#probably trying not to hate himself for what he did | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sushirrrry · 2 days ago

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RIBBON a harry styles christmas one-shot; 15.4k words cw: intercourse (m/f) summary: harry, a cynic during the holidays, meets marianne, who turns his holiday blues into the prettiest colors of reds, greens, and whites. happy holidays <3

The only thing that Harry hated more than Christmas was the obligational Christmas parties that would precede it.

Anything that revolved around Christmas seemed to harsh his mellow; it was a build up to a day that truly didn’t seem to mean anything to him. He wasn’t religious, wasn’t surrounded by the family anyone would call supportive or happy, and most of all, he was alone most of the time beside his friends that seemed to keep him grounded. But they all had lives, families of their own to celebrate with.

Maybe it was because he never felt the joy in it—the simplicity of laying around the fire in the morning, sipping coffee as he looked out at the snow falling in heaps from the sky.

The holidays felt like a chore, like something people did because they always felt that they had to. Harry didn’t want to, so he just chose not to. Maybe that disillusioned cynicism led him to be more Scrooge than Frosty, but his hatred of the color red, twinkling fairy lights, and eggnog didn’t seem to cease when he was walking towards a house with a gift tucked under his arm, and a bottle of red wine was held in his other hand.

His friend, Manuel, had invited him for a holiday party—while he had attempted to say no, the office where he worked seemed to convince him that it wasn’t just about the party, but more about the conversations and refreshments that would also be involved. Drinking was a hobby that Harry could definitely get behind, so he found the bit of holiday joy in him.

Just for an hour, anyways, he had told himself.

Harry had been sat at his desk, staring at the blinking cursor on his laptop screen. It mocked him, a silent reminder of the article he had promised to deliver three days ago, but had been caught up on his phrasing, which meant that his true journalistic tendencies had given him the worst imposter syndrome since he had begun working there over five-years prior.

The topic was festive cheer in London—a piece meant to capture the magic of the holidays for his editor’s seasonal roundup. But every time he tried to summon the right words, his mind wandered to the irony of it all.

Harry, the self-proclaimed Grinch of his social circle, tasked with romanticizing a season he barely tolerated. Yet, there he had been, writing about the holiday markets, sending letters to Santa, and the most festive places to find the holiday lights.

The idea of writing about twinkling lights and joyful carolers felt disingenuous, like trying to paint over a gray sky with glitter. He sighed, rubbing his temples. Maybe he’d made a mistake trying to test his abilities on writing what he didn’t know—he had decided to try something new in taking on a project that he didn’t necessarily love. He was good at writing what he liked, so he was trying his hand in writing something he knew nothing about.

Now, the only person to hold accountable for choosing this was himself. It mocked him; Harry’s cynicism made every attempt to write about holiday joy feel like a bad joke.

It was then that he heard Manuel approach his desk, a sly look on his face as he started off with, ‘I know that you probably won’t come, but.’. Harry had rolled his eyes, but kept the smile on his face to let his friend and coworker know that he wasn’t just doing this for the holiday, but that he was still a good member of society, and a social one, at that.

So, instead of complaining, he had found a small gift for Manuel and his girlfriend, Franny—again, against everything that Harry was, and found it in himself to at least look the part of joyful.

When he had approached their home, Manuel looked him over with a already drunken, precarious smile that welcomed him as soon as the door opened.

“There he is,” Manuel laughed, pulling Harry inside, “Didn’t get the memo that you were supposed to wear red or green, but I guess I can’t be picky.”

Harry looked down at the black jumper that coated his body, the black denim pants making him stand out against the bright, bold colors of the holiday season. He handed Manuel the small gift—which was a puzzle of Dachshunds with Santa hats sitting around a fireplace. He knew that Manuel and Franny had two, so he was a bit chuffed with himself that he could find a gift that would actually make sense.

“Red and green just aren’t my colors,” Harry told him with a smirk. “Coal is black—still Christmas themed.”

Manuel laughed, “Only for the bad boys and girls.”

Harry shrugged with the same smirk that he had been wearing; Manuel took Harry’s coat, along with the gift and led him to the kitchen. “You can put the wine there in the kitchen—feel free to open it and get yourself a glass.”

The flat was already buzzing with the chatter of partygoers and the faint strains of Christmas music when Harry arrived. The scent of mulled wine and spiced biscuits lingered in the air, mingling with the occasional waft of a fresh pine wreath hung by the door.

Warm fairy lights draped across the walls cast a golden glow over the room, illuminating the sea of faces as people laughed and mingled, their cheeks rosy from the warmth and alcohol. It seemed that Harry knew most people here—knew was also a strong word, but he had been familiar with a lot of the faces here.

Harry could hear bursts of laughter coming from the kitchen, where someone was loudly debating the merits of figgy pudding and the actual necessity for fruitcake in the holiday season. The whole scene was a chaotic patchwork of holiday cheer, meticulously curated to appear effortless. He scanned the room, his writer’s mind noting every detail as potential material, before grabbing a glass of mulled wine from a nearby table and retreating to the sidelines.

Manuel’s place was decorated within an inch of its life: fairy lights twinkled around every doorway, garlands adorned the walls, and a massive Christmas tree dominated the living room, its branches weighed down by an excess of ornaments—each one meticulously placed. Harry stood with his glass of mulled wine from the kitchen and tried to blend into the background, his writer’s mind quietly cataloging the clichés for potential use later.

That was the way his mind worked, using every ounce of inspiration he needed was standing in this room with him.

“Enjoying yourself?”

The voice caught him off guard from his studying of the atmosphere. He turned to see a woman standing beside him, her dark hair tied up in a loose bun as strands fell into her face. She had an easy smile and the kind of confidence that put people at ease; the reindeer on her sweater was wearing an elf hat, which Harry took note of quite quickly.

“It’s... definitely festive,” Harry said, lifting his glass took take a small sip of the warm liquid, nodding to himself. He hadn’t recognized the woman, not knowing if she had worked in his building or not.

“Festive?” she repeated, her eyes narrowing in mock offense. “You’re not a Grinch, are you?”

Harry took a moment to look at her, wondering if she had been serious with her approach. When she saw her smirk and lifted eyebrow, he bit the inside of his lip and shrugged at her.

“I prefer the term ‘realist’,” he countered. “But sure, I guess we can villainize the term with ‘Grinch’.”

She laughed, a warm, genuine sound that made him smile despite his deepest will to not show any smile at all.

“Marianne,” she said, extending her hand out to him; her eyes were a deep chocolate brown, almost matching the doe-like creature on her sweater. Her lashes fluttered, long and full of volume to brighten them in a way that Harry felt intrigued by.

“Harry.” He shook her hand, noting the faint speck of paint on her knuckles. “Artist?”

“Teacher,” she corrected. “And you?”

“Uh, a writer,” He nodded, referencing Manuel who had been standing next to the tree, talking to a few other coworkers of his, “I work with Manuel, actually. Same agency. Currently battling a deadline, actually. Thought I’d come tonight to find some… inspiration.”

“Ah, the glamorous life of the creatively tortured,” Marianne teased, which made Harry’s heart skip a beat at the nonchalance of her wit, “What are you writing about?”

Harry sniffled, feeling his body get warmer at the thought of her initial intrigue; she was watching him intently.

“Uh, well,” He swallowed, “Really just writing about the festivity of London during the holiday season. What makes everyone so happy this time of year. That kind of thing.” Harry looked down into his cup, almost like he had been ashamed that he was unable to come up with those areas in his life.

Marianne nodded in understanding, humming along as she thought about it.

“You’ve really got that ‘I’d rather be anywhere else then here’ look, which is ironic considering this party is practically a Hallmark movie, and I’m not sure I know anyone that would pass up a comfy little Hallmark movie.”

Harry felt the smirk he had been wearing continue to creep up on his face. “Don’t let Manuel hear you say that. He’s very proud of his aesthetic,” Harry looked at the 8ft tall tree, “Lots of… color.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Did you see the mistletoe over the door? Also, very subtle.”

Harry turned towards the mistletoe that he had been standing underneath in the doorway from the kitchen space to the living space. A flush grew on his face as he took a few steps forward.

Marianne noticed, biting the inside of her cheek at his forward awkwardness before she took in a breath.

Harry licked over his lips before he turned back towards her, “So, how do you know Manuel and Franny?”

Marianne held onto her own mulled wine taking a gracious sip, her other hand in her back pocket before blinking a few times. “Uh, well, I work with Franny, actually. We work across the hall from one another.”

It occurred to Harry that he recalled Franny being a teacher, “Oh, right—I knew that. I mean—I knew that she was a teacher.” He corrected himself. His eyes looked up at the television that had started to play Last Christmas, people’s faces were audibly excited to hear it. Harry took in a breath, feeling a bit overwhelmed by the sound of it.

Marianne hummed, “Yeah, she teaches older kids, but I’m with the little ones,” She showed him her knuckles again, “As you can see by the lack of coloring inside the lines.”

Taking another long swig of the mulled wine, Harry cleared his throat noticing that it had gone down rather smoothly. His shoulder was bumped by someone trying to get by, and he took a step towards Marianne. But this time, he was tackled by the smell of an ocean breeze, coconuts and the salty air.

He furrowed his brows before shaking his head.

Harry glanced at her knuckles, biting back a smile now that he was a bit closer to her. “You have the hands of someone who truly understands chaos.” He teased her dryly, licking his lips to taste the subtly of the mulled wine remnants.

Marianne raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Ah, yes, artist. I think some artists may be offended by the comparison. Don’t expect me to pull out the crayons and start coloring in the lines with you, Harry.”

Harry chuckled, the sound light and easy, then his gaze flickered back to the TV, where the first few notes of Last Christmas were filling the room. Again. He groaned, shaking his head. “If I hear that chorus one more time tonight, I might just start questioning my life choices.”

“Poor Harry,” Marianne said dryly, a mischievous grin tugging at the corner of her lips. “Are you going to cry into your mulled wine now? Do I need to get you a tissue?”

“My empty mulled wine cup,” Harry shot back, half-joking. “I mean, it’s basically a Christmas carol written by a sadistic mastermind who knew exactly how to ruin people’s will to live. It’s basically Stockholm Syndrome in song form,” He rolled his eyes, “But I only give it a small pass because it’s Wham!”

Marianne snorted into her drink, clearly trying not to laugh. “Honestly, though, I get it,” She raised her brows, “The Wham! part, I mean. I love George Michael.”

Harry said, a playful edge to the tone in his voice. “We’re all trapped in this toxic cycle of holiday cheer, Marianne. How are we supposed to be happy in the state of the world?”

Marianne shot him a look, trying to suppress a laugh. “You’re ridiculous. You know that, right? Did Santa spit in your eggnog? Maybe you should think more about being thankful that your world is supplying mulled wine and Last Christmas on repeat rather than the worst parts of the world right now.”

“Sounds kind of dirty.” Harry said, leaning in with a grin, ignoring her attempt to turn his thoughts around, “Don’t want to think of Santa spitting anything.”

Marianne flushed at his comment, “Oh, so you’re freaky, too? Who thinks of Santa doing salacious acts?”

“You’re telling me Santa isn’t getting it on up there?” Harry quipped, “You’re telling me there’s other things to do in the North Pole than having salacious affairs with his wife?”

Marianne’s eyes widened in mock horror, and she nearly choked on her mulled wine. “I—what? Oh my god, Harry, stop.” She quickly wiped her mouth, though her face was flushed with both laughter and embarrassment. “I did not sign up for this version of Santa Claus. I’m just trying to have a holiday conversation here, and you’ve turned it into... whatever this is.”

Harry leaned back with an exaggerated look of innocence, grinning ear to ear. “What? You’re telling me you never wondered why Santa is so jolly all the time? Living in the coldest place on Earth... how do you think they stay warm?”

Marianne rolled her eyes, her expression a perfect blend of disbelief and amusement by his conversation. She hadn’t found this kind of conversation all night. “I don’t even know where to begin with that. First, no one needs to know about Santa's... extracurricular activities. And second, you're really going to make me picture Santa in some very inappropriate situations, aren’t you?”

Marianne reached into the kitchen, grabbing an open bottle of red wine before pouring more into each of their cups.

“Hey, I’m just trying to broaden your holiday perspective on the why,” Harry teased, nudging her shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been too focused on mulled wine and Christmas carols and not enough on the real holiday truth of it all.”

Marianne let out an exaggerated sigh, pretending to be exasperated, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Yeah, because Santa's private life is exactly what we need to be focusing on. Forget world peace. Forget the spirit of giving. Let's talk about Santa's salacious affairs with Mrs. Claus, maybe that’s what will save our Christmas joy.”

“I’m just saying,” Harry shrugged with a playful grin, “some things need to be looked at a bit more closely.”

“Well, maybe it’s you that needs to be unpacked,” Marianne quipped, she raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I think this may have some underlying tones for you. I saw you walk away from the mistletoe, but,” She bit her lip, “Maybe you’re ignoring some aspects of your life.”

Harry looked into his cup, pursing his lips to the side before he felt a chuckle leave him.

“All I’m saying is ff I’m not here, who will remind you that everything isn’t as wholesome as it seems?”

“True,” she said, taking a longer, deliberate sip of her drink, clearly still flustered but enjoying the chaos of the conversation. “But next time, could we please talk about something that doesn’t involve Santa Claus' imaginary affairs, or the world’s most depressing Christmas carol?”

“You’re just mad I’m ruining this precariously false magic of Christmas for you,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. “But, fine. Next topic: What’s your big Christmas wish this year? Aside from not having to think about Santa’s... extracurriculars.”

Marianne gave him a long, pointed look. “It’s for world peace and... if you make sure the wine stays full.”

“Well,” Harry grinned, taking the bottle that she had just sat down back on the table. He tilted it up pouring in a bit more to her cup, “that’s a wish I can definitely make come true.”

Her eyes narrowed for a split second as she studied him. “I mean, you’re tolerable. For now.” She took another sip of her wine, then leaned back against the wall, clearly enjoying the playful back-and-forth. “But honestly, I don’t know how you manage to be such a Scrooge with the Christmas spirit in the air.”

“I’m just realistic,” Harry replied, winking. “You can’t expect people to act like happy little elves when they’re being force-fed Last Christmas and peppermint lattes all month long. It’s exhausting.”

Marianne shook her head with a smile, clearly enjoying the banter between her and Harry now. “Maybe you just need to let loose a little. Have some fun. I don’t know... maybe kiss someone under the mistletoe or something.”

“Did the wine go straight to your head, then?” Harry’s grin widened as he met her gaze. “Is that an offer?”

Marianne shrugged nonchalantly, feigning indifference. “Only if you stop conspiring about Santa and his possible sexual affairs with Mrs. Claus. I must paint the holidays in a positive light for you, it seems.”

“Bold move,” Harry said with a half-laugh. “But I think I might need some help doing that, however, with your painting skills, I don’t know how well that will work.”

In a confident pass, Harry took a large step backwards, letting himself standing under the doorway that the obnoxiously large mistletoe had been hanging. Leaning against the doorframe, he took another large sip of the maroon wine before raising his brows at her.

Marianne soon felt a rush of adrenaline; her eyes landing on his green ones that had somehow been completely thought upon until they met in that moment. Taking a step or two, Marianne moves closer to him, letting her hand move to the nape of his neck. Taking the initiative, she let the distance between them close—her lips landing on his quicker than he had expected.

When they kissed, it was impulsive but electric, the kind of spark Harry hadn’t felt in a long time. His breath hitched as their lips met, the warmth of her touch grounding him in a way that startled him. Marianne’s fingers brushed against the nape of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine, while his free hand instinctively settled on her waist, pulling her closer. Their hips touched, brushing against each other.

For a moment, the room around them blurred—the music, the chatter, the festive chaos fading into an unimportant hum.

Harry’s mind raced, caught between the raw intensity of the moment and a nagging disbelief that this was actually happening. Marianne tasted faintly of mulled wine, her kiss both confident and exploratory, as if testing the boundaries of this unexpected connection. The steady rhythm of his breathing had grounded her in a way she hadn’t anticipated.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, both catching their breath even when neither had exerted any energy whatsoever. Something about it was breathtaking.

Harry chuckled softly, his voice low and a little unsteady. “Well, that was... unexpected.”

Marianne let her hand drop, a bit confused by his statement, “You knew it was coming, right?”

Harry blinked, swallowing as he shook his head then, “Oh—yeah. I wasn’t talking about… that.”

Marianne blinked a couple of times as if trying to process what just happened, seeing his eyes sparkle by the help of the twinkling lights that hung around the living space filled with people. But, in some odd way, she had found herself drawn to the one person who sat in the corner on his own.

“So, there you go,” Marianne took a step back, letting the space between them became vacant again, “Just making sure you are given the first-hand experience for your Christmas writing piece.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, a smug grin creeping across his face. “I’m just here for learning the traditions.” He looked in his cup, wondering how it was empty again. But the dizziness of his head had started to make more sense, he thought.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying it, but there was a flicker of humor in her eyes. “You know, I don’t think you’re as smooth as you think you are.”

“Hey, I’m just going with the flow,” Harry said, shrugging dramatically. “Can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. You were the one telling me I should take part in the mistletoe of it all.”

She narrowed her eyes, a hint of mischief in her smile. “Oh, I see how it is. You think this is your grand holiday conquest? I’m just one of many victims of your holiday charm?”

“Victims is a crazy word to describe yourself in this moment, Rudolph,” Harry’s thumb nudged the redness of her nose, knowing it was a fresh blush from the wine—possibly the kiss they partook in, “Now I’m the villain in your Christmas story? I was just trying to make your night a little more interesting.”

“Well, mission accomplished,” Marianne replied, her lips still slightly parted, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement at the way that he had certainly waltzed into her life. “But I’m going to need a little more than a holiday kiss to think you’re anything other than trouble. A quiet, Grinch sitting in the back of the Hallmark movie of a party. How do I get myself involved with your type?”

“Trouble?” Harry chuckled, leaning against the doorframe casually, still watching her with that confident smile. “I’m nothing but a good time, Marianne. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying yourself.”

“I’ll enjoy myself more when you stop making me think about Santa's love life,” she shot back quickly, her tone still playful at him. “You seriously ruined that whole festive fantasy for me, by the way.”

Harry grinned wider, clearly enjoying himself. “What can I say? I’m a truth-teller—it’s a gift. Someone has to keep you grounded in this reality.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her smile. “That’s what you think, huh? Well, I’ll admit, the night wouldn’t be nearly as interesting without you here. I had a conversation with someone who was a banker. Don’t know if I made great financial decisions this holiday season after that convo.”

Harry stepped forward again, not too close, just enough to keep the tension hanging between them. “I’m pretty sure that’s the nicest thing you’ve said to me all night,” He licked over his lips, which he noticed she had taken quite an interest in, “Being a tortured poet, or whatever you called me.”

The words sat between them when Marianne tucked her hair behind her ear, the parts that had fallen out of the messy bun. The moment stretched between them, the playful tension still hanging in the air like the faint scent of mulled wine.

Harry broke the silence first, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door that he hadn’t walked in too long ago. “So… want to get out of here?”

Marianne blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion, but the idea wasn’t entirely unappealing—she was just a bit unsure that he had offered at all. She took a small step back, still holding onto her drink. “Really? Just like that?”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, his grin widening as he stuck a hand in his pocket. “It’s the holiday season. The lights are up, the streets are empty, bit of snow on the ground... I don’t know. Seems like the kind of night you’re supposed to be doing something a little reckless.”

“Reckless, huh?” Marianne repeated, arching an eyebrow as she looked him over. “Is that the angle we’re going for now? I’m supposed to just follow some guy I barely know into the night and trust it’ll be… memorable?”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping him. “Fair point. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself. But, y’know… it could be fun. I mean, it’s not like we’re going to exchange deep secrets or anything.”

“Right,” she said, her voice slightly guarded but still curious at his intentions. “A walk could be good. In the cold. And no deep secrets—got it.”

Harry took a step closer, his eyes flicking to the door as if to give her the opening to say no if he was being a bit too forward. But he felt that he had been listening to and reading the signals correctly. “Well, if you’re not too afraid of a little adventure, I’d be happy to escort you around.”

She gave him a look, trying to read him, her lips quirking up at the corners despite herself. “I don’t know. A walk with a guy I just met. Seems a little… risky.”

“That’s the fun of it,” Harry said, his voice lowering slightly, his smile taking on an edge of uncertainty as if he was testing the waters himself. “Who needs safety when you’ve got the Christmas lights and a bit of mulled wine to keep us warm, right?”

“Mm, right,” Marianne murmured, her eyes flicking between his, the flicker of doubt still there but quickly overshadowed by something else entirely. “You’re really persistent, aren’t you?”

“It’s the innate journalist in me,” he answered with a soft chuckle. “But maybe I just really want to know where this night goes, and it’s something I have to investigate for myself.”

She paused, still unsure, but the weight of the moment—the chance to step outside her own box, to experience something unexpected—tempted her. “Okay, fine. But only for a little bit,” she warned, her voice light but serious, as though setting a boundary. “I’ll have to get my coat.”

“I’ll make no promises,” Harry replied, grinning. “But I’ll try my best.”

Marianne took a deep breath, then reached for her coat that had been hanging by the front door. When she had moved towards the door, he turned towards the open bottle of wine, taking it in his hands nonchalantly, hiding it against him before following her.

“Here, take this,” He handed the bottle to her, putting on his own coat, finding it within himself to tease her further, “Figure we don’t need a cup. Already shared lips, and all that.”

Marianne rolled her eyes, attempting to be disgusted by his charm but it was seemingly working against her.

“Alright. Let’s go, then. But I’m warning you—I’m not some easy Christmas miracle.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled as he held the door open for her. “You don’t have to be, but I’m already smiling in the face of a ten-foot tree filled with nutcrackers and elves, so you’re already doing something right.”

As they stepped outside into the crisp winter air, slipping away from the noise of the party, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that this walk—this simple, uncertain step into the night—was somehow an attempt at him moving outside of his sheltered, inhabitable box. But, then again, they barely knew each other. It could be awkward. It could be nothing. Yet, as the chilly air hit his skin, he found himself hoping for a little something.

Their conversation meandered from the absurdities of Christmas traditions to a shared love of books. With each few steps, Harry took a sip, passing the bottle to Marianne before she’d stop at a house and marvel at the lights that covered the snowy homes.

Marianne lit up as she described her favorite art books, her hands animated as she talked about the way colors and brushstrokes could evoke emotion. Harry, in turn, shared his fascination with biographies, his voice gaining energy as he recounted tales of writers and their chaotic lives.

“So, what’s the most pretentious book you’ve ever read?” Marianne asked, a teasing glint in her eye as she tucked her hands into the pockets of her long coat.

“Easy,” Harry replied, his breath frosty in the air. "Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Took me two years to get through it, and I’m still not sure I understood half of it."

She laughed, tilting her head. "Two years? That’s dedication. I gave up on it after fifty pages. Life’s too short for that much existential pastry talk."

“Pastry talk?” Harry chuckled.

“You know, the whole madeleine thing? It’s like an entire chapter about a biscuit or tea cake or whatever the hell it was. Something about taking the time to look back.”

Harry smirked at the way that she described it, almost laughing at her memory. “Fair point. What about you? What’s the most overrated book on your shelf, then?”

"The Great Gatsby," she said without hesitation. "It’s just rich people being sad."

Harry gasped in mock offense. "That’s a classic! That actually has a good point to it.”

"Sure, if you like a story where everyone’s miserable and nobody learns anything and it doesn’t even have a happy ending—Daisy just succumbs to societal pressure, and Gatsby lets her get away. And Tom is a fucked-up man with residual trauma and blood on his hands."

Harry chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he glanced over at her, clearly intrigued by the passion in her voice over talking about the story. His own thoughts and curiosity raging inside of him as he continues to question and push her thoughts, “But I still think there's something about the way it captures the illusions we all chase, right? The idea that money can buy happiness—or at least the appearance of it. Gatsby just sits in that large house, waiting, and longing for something that money can’t buy him.”

Marianne snorted, kicking a small patch of snow off the sidewalk as they walked. "That’s exactly it. It’s like a big, glittery metaphor for capitalism. Everyone’s just pretending to be happy, but underneath, they’re all screwed up. Like… it’s not even about Gatsby wanting Daisy—it's about him wanting the dream she represents. The 'American Dream' that’s totally unattainable and hollow, if you ask me."

Harry gave a low whistle. "Okay, you're really passionate about this." He smirked, trying to tease her, but buying into to rile her up more, "Maybe you're right. Or maybe I just like reading about rich people doing dumb things. It's... comforting in its own way."

Marianne shot him a side-eye, amused by his statement. "You would. You’re probably one of those people who reads Gatsby with a glass of scotch in hand, pretending to understand the intricacies of wealth and how the story itself was stolen in the first place."

Harry took a swig of the bottle of wine, handing it over to her, kicking a bit of snow himself. "Okay, maybe not the scotch part, but... you can't say it isn't fascinating. The idea that these people are stuck in their own version of the dream, but none of them can see how messed up it is because they’re just blind to their own misery. Gatsby is kind of tragic, in that way."

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her breath misting in the cold air. "I’ll give you that," she said, turning to face him, a teasing smile on her lips. "Maybe you're not as much of a lost cause as I thought. Understanding tragedy in a way that Shakespeare would be proud of."

Marianne took her own swig of the bottle; the warmth of her fingers was thankful for the liquor flowing through her veins.

Harry grinned, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets as they walked through the snow, the soft crunch of their footsteps blending with the gentle fall of flakes around them; he grinned at the sight of them falling from the dark sky. "Do you think it’s a love story? Gatsby?”

Marianne shook her head, laughing softly. "It’s not a love story. It’s an existential crisis in a green light. A beautiful, well-written existential crisis."

"Now who’s the cynic?" Harry remarked, his tone warm despite the teasing. "You know, for someone who seems to always look on the bright side, you’re sure good at analyzing all these sad, tragic romantic stories."

She shrugged nonchalantly, her breath visible in the cold before she felt a ping in her chest that was going to lead them down a different road of conversation.

"Sometimes the most realistic thing about life is that it doesn't end the way we want it to. And that’s fine. People don’t always get happy endings. So, yeah, maybe I’m a cynic in that way, but I do try to think about happy endings. But I think the stories that end badly are the ones that have the most to say."

Harry’s eyes lingered on her, a little more serious than before. “Yeah, maybe. Or maybe we just don’t know how to recognize a good ending when it’s staring us in the face. So used to being cynical you forget there are happy parts sprinkled into the story.”

For a moment, the lightness of the conversation faltered, the cool air between them carrying a heavier silence. Then, as if breaking the spell, Harry smiled, nudging her with his elbow. “But hey, I’m still not convinced Gatsby was a waste of time. He had a plan—he had the right idea for how to be romantic, but it just didn’t turn out in his favor that time. At least it’s better than reading a book about some random guy pretending to be some tragic, tortured soul who ends up alone, right?”

Marianne shot him a smirk at his placed words. “You wouldn’t happen to be describing yourself, would you?”

Harry’s grin grew wider, shaking his head. "Well, I did just say I wasn't the tragic type—so... guess we’ll never know."

Marianne felt the laughter dance out of her, the sound light and genuine, and they both slipped back into an easy rhythm as the snowflakes danced around them, each of them lost in the moment but strangely at ease with one another despite how little they really knew about each other.

Their banter flowed easily, the conversation peppered with playful jabs and surprising insights. By the time the topic shifted to their favorite holiday stories, the space between them had shrunk. Harry found himself watching the way Marianne’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, while she noticed the way his face softened when he spoke about writing. The connection between them deepened, unspoken but undeniable, as the night carried on.

As the night wore on, their banter became more flirtatious, the space between them shrinking until they were leaning in closer than necessary, arms practically touching each time they would stop to linger and look at the lights of the house. The way that the wine worked was in their favor, letting them be loose with the spirit of the holidays wrapping around them—even if Harry hadn’t expected it.

When they were stopped for a moment, Marianne turned her head into a tilt as she stared at the house in front of them. There happened to be a slur in her words as she mumbled out, “I have a bad astigmatism, and don’t have my glasses on, so these lights are kind of wigging me out. Feels like I’m on one and I really don’t know how I feel about the stupid light up gnomes.”

Harry bit his lip as he started to laugh at her remarks, trying his best to keep it inside. But when she turned to look at him, she noticed that the dimples in his cheeks were trying extraordinarily hard not to bust out laughing—which in turn, made her start to laugh even harder.

Tears started to build up in her eyes as she found it harder to breathe then, pulling her sweater over her face. She used her hand to push at Harry slightly, “Stop laughing,” She said, finding her breath, pointing her finger at him.

But it didn’t stop—he didn’t stop. Instead, he found himself laughing harder. Marianne wiped at her eyes, feeling the coolness of her fingers before shaking her head.

Harry let out a snicker, still grinning from the laugh she’d triggered. "I’m sorry, but you’ve got to admit it’s hilarious. Gnomes, really? Someone got paid and spent their money on Christmas gnomes? Horrifying. Especially if you can’t see that well."

Marianne rolled her eyes, trying to fight off the smile that threatened to spread across her face. "You're awful. I’m out here having a moment with these damn lights, and you're over here cackling like some evil villain."

Harry raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening at her accusations. Unfortunately, his lips hurt from the amount of smiling he had done that evening, "I can't help it! You’re too easy to amuse. You’re all serious about gnomes, and then—" He stopped himself, letting out a breath of laughter. "Sorry. Can we pretend I’m a gentleman for, like, five more seconds? I liked that part of the night."

She bit back another laugh, wiping at her eyes. "You are ridiculous. You know that, right?"

"Hey, I’m just appreciating the moment." Harry stepped closer, trying to hold his composure. "Look, we’re out here in the snow, freezing our asses off. Gnomes are the least of our worries, except if you’re you."

Marianne tilted her head slightly, her eyes still glinting when she took another close look at him. "Yeah, maybe we should get out of here before it gets worse."

Harry’s expression was far too immodest to hide from her, suddenly looking at her with the same glitter in his eyes that he had shown he before stepping under the mistletoe. “And you were the one saying it was too risky to go on a walk. Now you’re taking me home? Sounds like a perfect excuse to find somewhere warm.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, the weight of his words starting to sink in as she felt herself warming from the inside out. “I mean, if you’re cold, I do have a warm place nearby,” she said, her tone garnered in a bit of a tease now, though a little less controlled than before.

Harry’s expression shifted, a teasing spark in his eyes as he tilted his head. “A warm place, huh? What, like Mrs. Claus, offering me a drink to get me in out of the snow?”

Marianne found herself laughing again, shaking her head. "You’re seriously comparing me to Mrs. Claus now? Maybe I’ll just have to start baking cookies to seal the deal."

"Honestly, though, that’s probably how she got Santa in bed." Harry smirked, crossing his arms as he gave her a sideways glance; he rolled his eyes in a bit of mocking manner, “I mean, you can’t just offer someone warmth without it leading somewhere.”

Marianne chuckled, shaking her head but giving him a sidelong glance to match his. “Oh, you think you're that irresistible, huh?”

“I mean… you’re the one inviting me to warm up at your place,” Harry stepped closer, his voice lowering, the flirtation more obvious now. “So, if the shoe fits.”

She felt a flutter of something unfamiliar at the way his gaze softened, but she shook it off, trying to keep the conversation light. "Alright, alright. If you’re really that desperate for warmth, my place is a couple blocks away." She shrugged, pretending to be casual, but the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her as she fell into his touch a bit more; his hands moved to the sides of her arms before she turned to look at the gnomes once again.

Harry raised an eyebrow, his grin growing wider. "Well, you are offering warmth... can’t turn that down, can I?"

The air between them shifted. Marianne swallowed, her heart suddenly beating a little faster. “You sure about that? It’s not like I’m offering you a hot tub and a massage, you know. It’ll be more…” She thought for a moment, “More momentary than that.”

Harry chuckled, stepping even closer, “I’m sure. Besides, how bad can it be? Worst case, I end up on your couch with a drink and no gnomes. Preferably no Christmas lights. Not exactly the worst way to spend a night,” He shrugged, “But I guess I could also get behind us taking our clothes off and lying next to each other to conserve body heat—preferably you on top of me, if that is an option I can choose.”

She met his gaze, biting back a smile. "You’re intolerable."

They started walking again, the snow falling more steadily now, the night feeling warmer despite the chill. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, the tension thick but unspoken, a shared understanding between them as they made their way down the street, the promise of something more hanging in the air.

When they arrived at Marianne’s home, she walked up the small steps before reaching for her keys in the jacket pocket. They were both covered in a bit of snow, as it had started to fall more than before. The streets were starting to line with it; Harry stood with her under the awning to hide from the weather.

Her hands slipped the key into the lock before opening the door, the warmth of the house meeting Harry as he walked in behind her.

“Shit, it’s cold,” She cursed, kicking off her shoes and hanging up her jacket. “You can—I mean, just throw your stuff down there.”

Harry nodded a few times, kicking his own shoes off and placing his coat on the hook next to hers. The moment now started to feel a bit more real as he turned to notice her home around it. It was the definition of warmth and comfort; the space smelled like gingerbread, his eyes homing in on the garland wrapped around the staircase railing.

“Would you like something to drink? Hot Toddy maybe?” She offered, shuffling her way towards the kitchen, throwing away the empty wine bottle she had been carrying, “I can also do just tea if you think the alcohol limit has been breached.”

Harry put his hands in his pockets, moving his way into the kitchen to follow her. “Uh—whatever you’re having is fine with me.”

Marianne licked over her lips, tucking her hair behind her ear before she set the kettle on the stove and turned on some hot water.

“I—you know what, actually,” Harry made a remark as they stood in the kitchen. His eyes turned to her as he watched her lean against the counter, her arms were crossed over her chest as she watched him approach her with a look on his face that melted the frigidness of her hands.

Instead of speaking again, his hands reached to grab at her face, pulling her into him with a swift motion. The fluttering of her stomach nearly making her drop to her knees as he tilted her head back, letting his lips roam around hers.

Marianne felt herself moan into the kiss, her hands reaching to hold onto his wrists that held onto her so delicately, but with a needed force that had practically picked her up off her feet.

Pulling away for a moment, Marianne caught her breath; the kiss was unsuspected but entirely encouraged. “Okay, so— uh, let’s—”

“We—I think—” He pieced together, nodding, letting his nose rub against hers.

“Sofa—that’s fine.” She hummed, letting her eyes dim at the feeling of his hands wrapping around her waist. In an instant, his hands picked her up, placing her on his hips as she let her legs hold against him tightly.

The soft feeling of his black jumper under her hands was welcomed as he took them into the living room, placing her down on the sofa—she fell quite a bit from his hips, but laughed at the feeling when her back hit the cushion.

Harry’s eyes stayed on hers but flashed up to the window before he scattered a chuckle, “Window’s fully open.” He murmured, walking over before closing the curtains dramatically quickly. “Your neighbors almost saw you get fully rattled.”

Marianne placed her hand over her eyes in a flush of embarrassment by his words, shaking her head at the way that he spoke. Her feet hung off the edge of the sofa arm where he had left her, “You’re just so charming.”

Harry pulled the jumper off over his head, revealing the white t-shirt he had underneath, his eyes a bit dazed in the heat before he returned to his called upon place. Practically crawling, he found his way above her, the giggle coming from her made him smile. Her legs opened to allow him space for him on the sofa before her hands ran down the cotton of his t-shirt.

Marianne pulled herself up, letting her head rest against the accent pillow closer to the other armrest. Harry braced himself with one hand on the armrest, the other slipping around her waist, pulling her closer. His grin softened as his eyes scanned her face, lingering on the flush in her cheeks and the way her lips parted slightly now, caught somewhere between teasing and expectation.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, “for someone who just called me charming in an entirely mocking way, you’re making it really hard to believe you’re not into it.”

Marianne raised an eyebrow, her hand still resting against his chest, fingers curling slightly in the soft cotton of his shirt. “Oh, don’t flatter yourself too much. This is about getting warm, remember?”

Harry let out a soft laugh, leaning in closer, his breath brushing against her ear. His nose making it nudge against her throat as he felt her sink into the feeling; her eyes shut at the way that his tongue softly lapped at her jaw. “Is that so? Because from where I’m sitting—or, well, crawling—it feels like you’ve got me wrapped around your finger. Maybe vice versa.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, but she didn’t move away. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just easy to manipulate.”

His laughter faded into something softer, lifting his head as his gaze dropped to her lips. “Dangerous words, Marianne. You keep talking like that, and I might have to prove you wrong. Play hard to get and all that.”

She met his gaze, her pulse quickening as the air between them thickened. “Big talk for someone who was just crawling.”

“Actions speak louder than words,” He whispered, his mouth finally brushing against hers, tentative at first, as though testing her reaction. “I have a feeling that you could get me to crawl anywhere right now.”

Marianne didn’t hesitate. Her hand slid up to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. It was slow but deliberate, a mixture of heat and resistance, the kind of kiss that felt like it could spiral out of control if either of them let it.

When they finally broke apart, her forehead rested against his as they both caught their breath. Marianne let out a shaky laugh, her fingers still tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Well… this escalated quickly. I thought my night was just going to be mulled wine and ginger biscuits.”

Harry’s grin returned, lazy and utterly pleased with himself. “What can I say? I told you that holiday shit was overrated.”

Marianne rolled her eyes but didn’t move away from him.

Harry tilted his head, his fingers lightly tracing circles on her waist as he felt he needed to draw her attention back a little. “Maybe we’re both a little to blame. You’ve got this whole… 'irresistible' thing going on.”

She laughed, the sound more genuine now, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You realize we’re strangers, right?”

Harry nodded, his grin softening into something more sincere. “We know each other’s stance on Gatsby, and you’re calling us strangers? At the very least, Marianne. At the very least.”

When he pulled back, she let out a soft sigh, the weight of the moment settling over them. “Well,” she said after a pause, her voice lighter but with a subtle edge of mischief, “if you’re feeling so confident, maybe we should find another way to get warm. A heater would work splendidly in your place.”

Harry laughed, his voice low and rich as he leaned closer. “Oh, is that what we’re calling it now? A heater?”

She smirked, nudging him with her knee. Instead of reacting, Marianne took her fingers at the bottom of his t-shirt, letting it wrap in her fingers before pulling it up. The reveling underneath made her mouth dry at first; she didn’t want to give him too much attention, or it would only make his confidence stronger.

As their lips met again, Harry’s hands cupped Marianne’s face gently, his thumbs brushing along her cheekbones as though he were committing every detail of her to memory. The warmth between them intensified, their breaths mingling as the kiss deepened, slow and deliberate. Marianne’s fingers found their way into his hair, tugging softly, and he exhaled a low, contented sound against her lips.

The room around them seemed to fade into the background—only the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree casting a soft, warm glow in the dimness. Harry shifted, his hands sliding down to her waist as he pulled her closer, their movements unhurried but full of intent. Marianne let out a soft laugh, her head tilting back as she felt his lips trail along her jawline and down her neck, each kiss sending a flutter through her.

“Harry,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of hesitation and invitation. Her hands moved to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

He paused for a moment, pulling back to meet her gaze. His eyes searched hers, a question lingering in their depth. She smiled softly, her hand brushing along his jaw, answering him without words as she leaned in to kiss him again. The way she melted into him left no room for doubt.

Harry stood, pulling her with him, their bodies fitting together effortlessly. His hands lingered at her waist, steadying her as they moved toward the sofa, her laughter soft against his shoulder as they stumbled slightly. He eased her down onto the cushions, the glow of the Christmas lights illuminating the warmth in her expression as she looked up at him.

Their movements slowed, deliberate yet electric, each touch and kiss building the connection between them. Neither rushed nor hesitant, they navigated the space between them with care, the world outside falling away entirely. It wasn’t just the warmth of the firelight or the blanket that had been tossed aside earlier; it was them, discovering something in each other that felt both new and undeniably right.

As they drew closer, their hands found new places to hold to steady, and their breaths fell into sync. In the quiet of the room, surrounded by the soft hum of Christmas melodies and the faint scent of pine, their closeness became something unspoken, a silent understanding that this moment was theirs.

His hands moved to quickly remove her pants, threw her sweater off, his pants were off. The touch of their skin was electric as he practically panted into her kiss, noses nudging one another as he moved to touch along the edges of her panties.

Marianne bit on her lip as his fingers moved against her, she pressed herself against him. Harry moved the edge of her panties away, letting his fingers brush against her without the barrier between them. She gasped the feeling, knowing that she had been practically dripping for him without direct touch. The teasing, the night they’d had had been building to this moment before she threw her head back in anticipation for what she needed most.

“Don’t wanna’ wait any longer,” She murmured, the wine felt like it had been sitting on her brain, making her decisions cursed, “No messing around.”

Harry nodded into her neck, kissing her softly before he took himself in his hand, pushing open at her entrance before he let his mouth drop open slightly. He had been ready from the moment that she wrapped her legs around his waist. His brows furrowed at the feeling; the way that she wanted to surrender to him so quickly. When he pushed in, they both gasped at the feeling.

“Oh, fuck,” Harry breathed out, his eyes shutting before he clenched his fist on the armrest, his shoulder holding him up. He knew if he opened his eyes, he’d look down to see Marianne looking up at him with the bright, chocolate brown eyes—the demeanor of two people just needing affection to the highest.

It had been quick, no frills. They had barely undressed; her sweater was off, the black lace of her bra pushed against her breasts, her underwear pushed to the side, the thrill of their need for someone—anyone—had gotten the best of them as Harry’s hips pushed her legs apart.

The warmth that enveloped him was almost overwhelming. Marianne let out a soft gasp, her fingers digging into his hips as she pulled him closer. The urgency of their encounter left no room for gentleness or finesse; it was raw and intimate and something that neither of them had expected going into that night, but only what could have possibly been the best outcome.

Harry's hips began to move, slowly at first, then with increasing fervor. The creaking of the sofa that held their bodyweight beneath them punctuated their ragged breaths and muffled moans. Marianne arched her back, pressing herself against him, seeking more contact, more friction from their compromising position that was entirely unsuited for what they both desired.

"Harry," she whispered, her voice thick with desire. "Look at me. Please."

He hesitated, knowing that meeting her gaze would make this real, would shatter the illusion that this was just a nameless, faceless encounter. But the pull was too strong. Harry opened his eyes, looking down to find Marianne's warm brown eyes locked onto his, filled with a mixture of vulnerability and passion that made his breath catch in his throat. In that moment, the world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them suspended in time with the only light of the lamp in the dark living room space.

Marianne's lips parted, her breathing shallow as she reached up to cup Harry's face with trembling hands. The tenderness of the gesture contrasted sharply with the urgency of their coupling, adding a layer of intimacy that neither had anticipated. She hadn’t expected to feel the way she had, only knowing him for so long but the feeling of their skin on skin had somehow felt right.

"I—" Harry started to say, but the words died on his lips as Marianne pulled him down for a kiss. It was deep and desperate, their tongues tangling as they sought to convey through touch what they couldn't through words.

The kiss seemed to ignite something within them both. Harry's thrusts became more purposeful, angling to hit the spot that made Marianne gasp and shudder beneath him. Her nails raked down his back, leaving red marks in their wake, a physical manifestation of the intensity building between them. The pain mingled with pleasure, driving Harry to push harder, deeper, chasing the release that hovered just out of reach.

Marianne broke the kiss, throwing her head back against the arm of the sofa. Her legs wrapped tightly around Harry's waist, heels digging into the small of his back as she met his thrusts with equal fervor. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, punctuated by their shared gasps and moans.

"God, Marianne," Harry groaned, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He inhaled deeply with a groan following, drinking in the scent of her perfume mingled with sweat and arousal. It was intoxicating, clouding his senses and pushing him closer to the edge.

Marianne's hands tangled in Harry's hair, tugging gently as she felt the familiar tension building within her. Her body trembled beneath him, every nerve ending alight with sensation. She could feel herself teetering on the brink of that all too familiar feeling of want, desperate for release but wanting to prolong this moment for as long as possible.

"Harry, I'm close," she whispered breathlessly, her lips brushing against his ear. "Please, don't stop. Please. Fuck."

Her words spurred him on, his movements becoming more erratic as he chased his own climax. The couch creaked dangerously beneath them, but neither paid it any mind, too lost in the sensations coursing through their bodies.

Marianne's back arched sharply, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she finally tumbled over the edge. Her inner walls clenched around Harry, pulling him deeper as waves of pleasure washed over her like the ocean of her dreams. The sight and feel of her coming undone beneath him was too much for Harry to bear.

With a deep, guttural groan, he followed her over the precipice, his hips stuttering as he spilled himself inside her, the shaking of his body only stilled that her hands wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer for the relief he desperately needed.

For several long moments, they remained locked together, bodies trembling with aftershocks as they struggled to catch their breath. Her chest pushed upwards as she breathed; their lungs practically touching as Harry laid upon her, feeling light as a feather. The reality of what they had just done began to seep in as he stared at the nape of her neck for a few moments, replacing the mystical haze of lust with a mixture of confusion and lingering desire.

Harry slowly lifted his head from Marianne's neck, his eyes meeting hers once more even when he realized that he shouldn’t have. The vulnerability he saw there made his chest tighten. He opened his mouth to speak but found himself at a loss for words.

What could he possibly say to make sense of this unexpected turn of events?

Marianne's hands slid from his hair, trailing down his back before coming to rest on his shoulders. She bit her lip, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as she searched Harry's face for any sign of regret or disappointment that could have possibly been lingering in that moment. Finding none, that she could notice, she let out a shaky breath, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his skin.

"I... I don't know what to say," Marianne whispered, her voice barely audible. She swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. "This wasn't... I mean, I didn't expect..."

Harry nodded, understanding her unfinished thoughts. “Me neither," he admitted, his voice rough.

It was unspoken; but he concluded that he was still inside of her, blinking a few times in the heat of the moment. He shifted slightly, suddenly aware of their still-joined bodies and the awkwardness of their position. With a soft groan, he carefully disentangled himself from her, immediately missing the warmth of her embrace.

It was the odd feeling of wondering why he missed it then; he had only met her, but he knew that could have been the first and last time.

Marianne sat up, pulling her underwear back into place and readjusting her bra. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached for her discarded sweater, pulling it over her head.

Harry watched her, feeling a strange mix of emotions as he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up his jeans. The air between them felt heavy, charged with unspoken questions and lingering desire. He ran a hand through his tousled hair, trying to gather his thoughts before either of them was able to speak again.

Harry cleared his throat, licking over his lips as he sat next to her, fully dressed in her still in her underwear.

"I should probably..." he began, gesturing vaguely towards the front door.

Marianne looked up, her eyes wide and vulnerable. "Oh," she said softly, disappointment evident in her voice as she realized that he hadn’t wanted to stay. She glanced towards the window, where she could see the snowflakes lashing against the glass, driven by howling winds in the silence between them. "I-I mean, it’s really coming down out there."

Harry followed her gaze, noticing for the first time the storm raging outside. He'd been so caught up in the moment, in Marianne, that he hadn't even registered the sound of the wind or the snow that seemed to harbor on the glass.

"Yeah," he agreed, his voice hoarse. He hesitated, torn between the desire to flee from the intensity of what had just happened and the practical need to not walk back to his place in the weathering mix of snow and ice. "I suppose it wouldn't be safe to walk back home yet, then.”

Marianne nodded, a flicker of hope crossing her features. "You could... stay, if you want. Just— I don’t know, of course, whatever you want." she added quickly, not wanting to seem too eager or presumptuous that he would want to stay the night.

Harry considered her offer, his eyes roaming over her face. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, he found himself drawn to her, unable to ignore the connection that had sparked between them. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "Thanks."

A small smile tugged at Marianne's lips as she stood up, smoothing down her sweater as she placed it over her; leaving her in her panties that had the pink lace over the waistband. "I'll get us some tea," she offered, padding towards the kitchen on bare feet. “You— uh, if you’d like to clean up, you can head upstairs to the bathroom. I can be up there in a moment.”

Harry watched her go, his eyes lingering on the sway of her hips as she disappeared into the kitchen. He let out a long breath, running his hands over his face as he tried to process everything that had just happened. The sudden intimacy, the intensity of their connection - it was all so unexpected.

With a soft groan, he pushed himself up from the couch and made his way upstairs. The bathroom was small but tidy, decorated in shades of pale blue and white. Harry caught sight of himself in the mirror above the sink and paused, taking in his disheveled appearance. His hair was a mess, his shirt wrinkled, and there was a faint red mark on his neck where Marianne had nipped at his skin.

As he washed his hands and splashed some cool water on his face, Harry's mind raced. What did this mean for them? Would things be awkward now?

Harry stared at himself for another moment longer, looking directly into the mirror before he pushed the hair off his face. When going to leave the small upstairs washroom, he found himself standing in the hallway near the stairs; tension in the room was palpable as Marianne returned, two steaming mugs of tea in her hands. Harry had settled to follow her into her bedroom, his hair still damp on the front from the quick wash in the bathroom.

Their eyes met, and a spark of electricity seemed to pass between them.

Marianne set the mugs down on the nightstands; first one side, and then the other, her hands shaking slightly. She hesitated for a moment before sitting next to Harry at the end of the bed, close enough that their thighs brushed. The contact sent a shiver through both.

"I..." Harry began, but words failed him. Instead of being able to finish his words, his face turned towards hers when he felt her reach out, cupping Harry’s face in her hand. He leaned into her touch, eyes fluttering shut as they faced one another now.

In an instant, the tentative atmosphere shattered. Their lips crashed together in a desperate kiss, all thoughts of tea forgotten, once again. Marianne climbed onto Harry's lap, straddling him while his hands moved to push her down onto his crotch; the feeling of her once again drove his eroticism to a new height.

“Wait,” Harry told her softly, holding onto her wrists to pause her action. His hands reached to hold onto her in an affection to let her know that he hadn’t wanted to push her away, but to give him a moment. “Marianne, uh,” He swallowed, but felt her hips push into his, causing a moan to escape his lips unintentionally, “Fuck. I—I forgot.”

Marianne chuckled a little bit, her tongue leaving a small lick on his upper lip as she teased him.

“Was it important?” She asked, her voice a bit hazy and erotic. “You’re not married, are you?”

With a heavy breath, Harry held her hips into place again, letting a grin take over before he shook his head. “No, no—uh, but,”

Marianne stopped at his word; a bit curious to his need to speak then. Her eyes searched his face. Harry’s sentence hung in the air, unfinished as Marianne tilted her head, her darkened eyes searching his face. Her breath was warm against his cheek, her lips still ghosting over his as if daring him to finish the thought. She moved her hips slightly, testing his resolve, and Harry’s grip on her tightened, his fingers pressing into her waist as though anchoring himself.

“But what?” Marianne prompted; her voice soft yet dripping with playful challenge. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his jawline now, teasing him further. “You’re not exactly making a convincing case for stopping.”

Harry let out a breathless laugh, his head tipping back against the air as his hands slid to her thighs, squeezing gently. “It’s not that I want to stop,” he murmured, his voice rough with the strain of holding back. “I just... I don’t usually—”

“You don’t usually what?” she interrupted, her lips trailing down to the corner of his mouth. “Get this lucky? Because trust me, I don’t usually climb into laps, either.”

That earned a laugh from him, one that was half-frustration, half-admiration. “You’re relentless.”

“And you’re stalling even thought we could already be halfway through round two by now,” she countered, her fingers brushing over the back of his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “So, unless you’re about to tell me that you’re some kind of undercover royal or a spy with a secret identity, I think we’re good here.”

Harry’s lips parted as if to say something, but instead, he caught her mouth in another kiss, silencing any further conversation. This time, there was no hesitation, no holding back. His hands roamed her sides, sliding beneath her sweater to find the bare skin of her lower back, and Marianne gasped softly against his lips. Her nails grazed the nape of his neck, drawing a low groan from him that reverberated between them.

Marianne leaned into him, pressing her chest against his as she tugged at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she murmured, her voice edged with impatience. Harry obliged, breaking the kiss just long enough to yank the shirt over his head before pulling her back to him.

The warmth of her skin against his sent his pulse racing, and his hands found their way under her sweater again, mapping out the curve of her spine. Marianne shifted on his lap, her movements deliberate now, and Harry’s grip on her tightened instinctively.

“God, you’re trouble,” he muttered against her lips, his voice laced with both amusement and desire.

“You love it,” she shot back, her smile audible even with his eyes shut, even as she kissed him again.

Marianne pushed at his chest so he would lay on his back, letting the softness of the flannel blanket that laid across her neatly made bed touch his hot skin. As she crawled up his body, letting her lips flutter against his, he smiled again.

“You’re really going to make me go again? Christ, Marianne, you’re a bit of a minx.”

She paused for a moment; letting the tension sit with him. When he responded, making his lips yearn for hers, she had the answer that she desperately wanted from him.

“Seems like the want is mutual.” Her voice was a whisper, hot against his lips—his were parted, letting a moan fall through them.

Harry shook his head, “I’ll go all night.”

The tension between them crackled like static, the rest of the world falling away as their shared laughter melted into something deeper, something raw. The flicker of the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes as they lost themselves in each other, the cold night outside forgotten in the heat of the moment.

Marianne woke to the faint light of dawn streaming through her window. For a moment, she lay still, her mind piecing together the events of the night before. The complete covering of her body under the covers kept her warm, taking in a deep breath.

She turned her head, half-expecting to find Harry still beside her, but the bed was empty.

The night had been overwhelming in the most unexpected way; she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. Pushing her hair away from her face, her thoughts traveled to how the night had unraveled a stream of ribbon – her skin felt hot remembering the touches of his hands on her.

It had been a while since she had been that intimate with someone like that. One of the deepest regrets was knowing that she was waking up with him not there. It was always unspoken; waking up in the morning from the night before, padding out of the room with a mission to leave before you wake the other. She should have expected this, but in her mind, it had been more than just going home with someone.

She had felt that her and Harry had a connection of some sort. She wouldn’t even know how to get in contact with him if she wanted—she didn’t know his last name. She supposed that she could ask Franny at work for his contact information, but given that he wasn’t there the next morning, she figured that maybe he didn’t want to hear from her.

It had been a whirlwind. Making their way to the bed that night felt like a triumph in itself; she hadn’t expected their lingering touches to last, but almost every hour she would feel his hand creeping along her side, almost like he had been thinking in his sleep.

As Marianne sat up, she tried to not think too much of the night before but think more of the upcoming day instead. She stretched up, letting her arms dance above her head as her shoulders and neck felt tight.

When her feet hit the floor, it felt cold beneath her. She searched through her drawers, finding a long-sleeve cotton sweater that hung to her thighs. She threw her hair into a bun on the top of her head, before making her way to the stairs.

Padding into the living room from the staircase, she found him standing by the front door, his coat in hand. He looked up, startled, as she made her entrance.

Even in the morning, hair tousled with sleep, eyes a bit puffy from the early morning rise, he looked good. It looked like he may not have slept too well, which made her heart sink at the thought that she may have kept him awake.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head. His coat dangled from his arm. “Didn’t mean to wake you. I was just heading out.”

“Couldn’t figure out the lock?” She teased, her voice still husky with sleep.

Harry chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “I—yeah.”

Marianne crossed her arms, leaning against the railing. “Guess you can’t get away that easy,” She took in a deep breath, “Or without saying goodbye first.”

Harry took in a breath, putting one hand in his pocket as he turned towards her then. “I—I mean, I didn’t want to just leave, but I- I didn’t—”

Marianne shook her head, “No, I get it. Hook-up etiquette is…”

“Weird.” Harry bit his lip, “I’m a bit out of practice, I guess.”

“Hooking up with a lot of broads, then?” Marianne’s tone was teasing, and she smirked when the flush returned to Harry’s cheeks.

They stood in a beat of silence before she cleared her throat, trying to make the most of the time that he had been standing there—maybe to break the awkwardness that had come into the room yet again.

“Well, if you’re here, you might as well help me with something. I have a hard time doing it by myself—physically.” She bit her lip, eyes widening at the way her words may have been perceived, “Oh! I mean—not that, uh,”

“I mean, I guess we can go again, then. I guess I was pretty good at it last night, wasn’t I?” He chuckled, interrupting her to make the joke, then shrugged. “But, yeah, I can help with whatever.”

“Decorating the tree,” She pointed to a box of ornaments and a slightly crooked artificial tree standing in the corner of the room. Harry followed her gaze, a skeptical eyebrow raised. “I can’t reach a lot of the top. It’s just easier with two people.”

“You’re really leaning into the Christmas spirit, huh?”

“When you live alone, you’ve got to make your own magic,” she replied, already pulling the tree upright. “Or are you going to stand there and criticize my technique?”

Harry sighed but set his coat aside on the edge of the sofa. He had taken note that she still hadn’t put on pants, her underwear now had small bows of ribbon patterned in red, “Alright, then. Let’s do this—uh, is there any way that this can involve coffee?”

Marianne lit up, “Oh—yeah, of course. Let me go make us some. Can you start to take items out of that box?”

On her way to the kitchen, she put on a pot of coffee, waiting for enough for the two of them. Harry had begun to look through some of the items that she had for decoration.

Marianne opened the second box when she returned, setting a cup of coffee next to Harry on the coffee table. When she looked in the box, she was suddenly met with the remembrance of last Christmas; the way that she hadn’t put the lights away alone but was going to have to bring them out alone if Harry hadn’t been here. As they worked, untangling fairy lights and hanging mismatched ornaments, their banter softened into a rhythm that felt almost natural, like they had done this a dozen times before.

"Do people actually enjoy untangling these?" Harry muttered, holding up a knot of fairy lights with a grimace.

"Maybe they see it as a metaphor for life," Marianne quipped, carefully hanging a glittery bauble coated in silver. "Unravel the mess, and you find the beauty."

Harry snorted at her cute remark, "That sounds like something out of a self-help book."

"Hey, some of us need a little optimism to get through the day and the holiday season," She shot back, though her tone was light. "Besides, it beats your Grinch-like grumbling."

"Touché," He admitted, smirking. "Alright, Cindy Lou, where do these go?" He held up a string of lights, their multicolored bulbs catching the morning light.

Marianne stepped closer, her fingers brushing against his as she guided the string toward the tree. "Around the middle, I think. It needs some sparkle in there."

As they worked together, the conversation drifted from playful teasing to quieter, more introspective topics. Marianne shared snippets of her life—how she’d recently picked up pottery to distract herself after the breakup that past spring, how her students had surprised her with handmade ornaments last Christmas, especially when Harry picked one up and examined it with a bit of curiosity.

"One of them made this," she said, holding up a slightly lopsided clay star painted in bright primary colors. "He told me it was supposed to be ‘abstract.’ Big word for a four-year-old."

Harry chuckled as he looked up at it, he placed a red bauble on the tree, "Abstract is a solid excuse for anything that doesn’t go as planned."

Marianne gave him a warm gaze, letting her eyes fall to the way that his sweater sleeves had been rolled up. She watched the way that he took a step back, letting his eyes fall over the way the that the lights cast a soft colorful light over the room then. It was still early, but it looked like he had been contemplating for a moment.

Harry hesitated before speaking, then confessed, "I think I’ve been stuck in my own mess for so long that I forgot how to step back and just... appreciate things."

Marianne looked at him, her expression softening. "Maybe untangling fairy lights wasn’t such a bad metaphor after all."

The morning light filtered through Marianne’s small space, highlighting the modest but cozy living room. The faint smell of coffee mingled with the scent of pine from the Christmas tree standing bare in the corner. Harry stood beside it, holding the string of tangled lights, his hair still slightly disheveled. Marianne sat cross-legged on the floor, sorting through a box of ornaments, her sweater slipping off one shoulder as she worked.

“Alright,” Marianne said, holding up a particularly gaudy ornament shaped like a snowman. “This one’s either going on the tree or in the trash. Thoughts?”

Harry tilted his head, inspecting it with mock seriousness. “Trash. Absolutely trash.”

She laughed, tossing it to the side. “Wow, you’re ruthless. Remind me not to let you near any sentimental ornaments. My niece made me that.”

He smirked, kneeling beside her and picking up a small, glittery star. “This one’s safe, though, right? It’s classic.”

“Classic,” she agreed, handing him a hook for it. “Go ahead, looks like the last one.”

Harry rolled his eyes but stood, carefully placing the star on one of the branches. He stepped back, pretending to admire his handiwork. “Perfect. The tree’s basically done now, right? The lights are placed right?”

“It looks great,” Marianne shrugged, letting her smirk take over with a quick tease, “Well, the parts I was involved in.”

He chuckled but didn’t respond, his smile faltering slightly as he stared at the tree. Harry took a seat on the sofa, letting his gaze over the tree settle. Marianne noticed the shift in his expression, the way his shoulders tensed just a bit. She crossed her arms over her chest, her voice softening. “Hey. You okay?”

Harry glanced at her quickly, hesitating as if he didn’t want to answer, before he shrugged. “Yeah, just… thinking.”

She moved over to take a seat next to him, brushing her hands on her sweater as she moved closer to him. “Thinking about what? I—I mean, I don’t know if you have something against Christmas, I figured it was just your sense of humor, but…”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not really my favorite time of year,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. There was a part of him that felt odd giving her any information like this, but he figured that she had more intimate memories of him, so this didn’t seem quite as big, “Never has been.”

Marianne frowned, folding her arms. “I think it can be difficult for a lot of people, for a lot of reasons.” She trailed off, watching him closely.

He let out a soft laugh, though it lacked his usual warmth. “Shouldn’t be.”

She didn’t press, just waited, and after a moment, he continued.

“It’s just… growing up, I didn’t really have a family to spend it with. My parents… they weren’t around much. And when they were, Christmas was more about them fighting or making a show for other people than it was about actually being together, just the three of us, you know? By the time I got older, it just felt pointless to even try to get everyone together. They were never happy memories. Everyone else was celebrating, and I was just… there.” He gestured vaguely, as if searching for the right words. “I guess it just became this reminder of what I didn’t have.”

Marianne’s heart twisted at the vulnerability in his voice. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on his arm. “Harry, I’m sorry. That sounds… really lonely.”

He shrugged again, his gaze fixed on the tree. “It was what it was. But there just didn’t seem to be any reason to make any memories surrounding it. I just ignored this time of year.” He glanced at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“It—but this is nice. I like this,” He chewed on his bottom lip before he stared at the way that her hand settled on his forearm, his fingers brushing hers for a moment. “Thanks, Marianne.”

“For what?”

“For… I don’t know. Letting me be here, I guess. For not making this weird.”

She smiled, her expression soft as she took in a deep breath, “Everyone deserves to have one happy Christmas memory, at least,” She swallowed, looking back at the tree then, “I hope this is one of those.”

He nodded, swallowing hard as he looked back at the tree. “Yeah.” He cleared his throat, “Very much so.”

For a moment, silence settled between them, not awkward but contemplative. Harry felt a quiet shift within himself, a glimmer of something he couldn’t quite name but wasn’t ready to dismiss. Marianne’s sarcastic edge gave way to quiet vulnerability, while Harry’s usual cynicism melted into genuine curiosity about her. She told him about her students, and her decision to spend Christmas embracing her independence this year.

Harry glanced at her; her face illuminated by the soft glow of the fairy lights. For a moment, he felt the tension of his deadline and his usual holiday cynicism slip away, replaced by an unfamiliar warmth that tugged at the edges of his guarded heart. The glow of the fairy lights and Marianne’s quiet presence seemed to momentarily bridge the gap between his disillusionment and the simple joys he had long dismissed.

The multicolored lights blinked haphazardly, casting a kaleidoscope of hues across the room. A patchwork of ornaments dangled from the branches—some glittering with polished perfection, others endearingly imperfect like Marianne’s lopsided clay star. Tinsel shimmered unevenly, catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. Harry tilted his head, his critical eye scanning the mismatched decorations. It was far from magazine-perfect, but something about its imperfections made it feel... genuine.

"It’s a little chaotic," he murmured.

Marianne smiled, nudging him gently. "Kind of like us, don’t you think?" He glanced at her, the warmth in her eyes mirroring the soft glow of the tree, and felt his usual cynicism begin to wane.

"I think it’s perfect," he admitted quietly. It was far from perfect—the lights blinked unevenly, and the ornaments clashed—but it felt oddly right.

Harry let his gaze linger on Marianne, taking in the way the soft light caught the curve of her smile and the slight furrow of her brow, as if she were deep in thought. He wondered what was going through her mind, whether her thoughts mirrored the strange mix of contentment and uncertainty that churned within him.

Marianne, for her part, noticed the way Harry’s fingers tapped rhythmically against the side of his mug, betraying a nervous energy he seemed intent on hiding. It was a moment suspended in time, the world outside the small flat fading into irrelevance as they sat side by side, each silently grappling with the fragile, burgeoning connection between them.

Marianne glanced at him, her resolve to keep things casual wavering.

It was then that Harry decided he should be getting home. Marianne agreed, nodding a few times before Harry lifted from the sofa. She had followed him to the door, his coat in his hands before they stood in front of the door again.

“I had a great time,” He finally said, “With you.”

Marianne let out a breath, crossing her arms over her chest as she felt the cold from behind the door already. She pulled her top lip in her mouth before she cleared her throat, contemplating whether she wanted to say anything else. She noticed that he had been baiting her to speak, tilting his head.

“What are you doing tonight?” She asked tentatively, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry looked at her, his usual cynicism replaced by something warmer, softer. “No plans.”

Marianne bit on her bottom lip, taking every part of her independence away as she stared at him with a longing glance that caught his attention

“Would you like to go,” She shrugged, “On like, a real date?”

Harry pushed his hair off of his forehead, trying his best to hide the smile that caught on his face. It somehow wouldn’t go away. “I—yeah. I would, actually.”

Letting out a breath of relief, Marianne rested her hand on the back of her neck. “Great. Great—yeah.” She grabbed a piece of mail that sat next to the door, using a pen to write down her phone number. She stood to hand it to him, “Text me when you get home, and we’ll set something up.”

As a gesture, Harry took the half of the envelope she wrote, to write his own number—just in case they were to lose touch. Harry took the empty envelope she wrote on, folding it and putting it in his pocket before he leaned in kiss her. It was a soft kiss this time, one that melted for a moment before he pulled back and let his eyes fall over her. The breath was held in his lungs before he nodded a few times.

“Will do,” He told her, reaching for the front door, “Bye, Marianne.”

“Bye.” She stated softly, watching as he pulled the door behind him, a last fleeting glance.

Marianne stood by the door for a moment after Harry left, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. She let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, running her fingers through her hair. The reality of the night settled over her like the falling snow outside—quick, fleeting, and somehow magical.

She wandered back to the couch, sitting down and pulling the throw blanket over her lap. The Christmas lights on her tree twinkled softly, casting a warm glow around the room. She sipped the last of her coffee, the faint hum of the music station still playing faintly in the background.

For a moment, she thought about texting him first but decided against it.

“Let him make the move,” she whispered to herself, smiling at the memory of his crooked grin, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at her.

Across town, Harry walked briskly, his hands buried in his coat pockets, the envelope she’d written on folded neatly inside one of them. The snow crunched under his shoes, the cold biting at his cheeks, but he didn’t care. His mind replayed the way her lips felt against his, the sound of her laugh, the spark in her eyes when she teased him. He felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—lightness, as though the weight of the world had been lifted.

When he reached his flat, Harry sat on the edge of his bed, pulling out the envelope at the quickest moment he could. Her handwriting was rushed but endearing, the kind of messy scrawl that hinted at a bit of chaos, a bit of charm. He smiled as he unlocked his phone and began typing.

Harry: Made it home in one piece.

Harry: Free all day. Don’t want to sound too desperate, but I’d love to have dinner tonight.

He hesitated for a moment before sending another text.

Harry: Would love to do more Christmas light viewing, too.

He stared at the screen for a second longer than he needed to before hitting send. Tossing the envelope on his nightstand, he leaned back against his pillows, his mind drifting back to the warmth of her apartment and the way she’d looked at him like he wasn’t just passing through.

Back at Marianne’s place, her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, her smile growing wider as she read his message. With a grin, she replied:

Marianne: Glad you didn’t freeze. Dinner and a walk would be great.

Harry’s reply came almost instantly.

Harry: Pick you up at 7?

Marianne laughed softly to herself, leaning back into the couch as she typed her response.

Marianne: I’ll be the one in the ugly Christmas sweater.

Harry bit his lip, shaking his head.

Harry: I’ll be the one in black.

As Harry set his phone down on the nightstand, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The faint glow of the sun trying to peak from behind the grey clouds outside his window cast long shadows across the room, but his thoughts were nowhere near the cold night or the city beyond. Instead, they lingered on Marianne—her laugh, the sparkle in her eyes, the way she’d somehow made him feel less like a cynic and more like someone who might just believe in the magic of the season again.

He stretched out on the bed, staring at the ceiling with a contented sigh.

Christmas had always been something he tolerated rather than celebrated, a time of year that often felt more like a reminder of what was missing. But now, as he thought about seeing her again in just a few short hours, the easy way they fit into each other's company, he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself.

For the first time in a long time, Christmas didn’t feel like a burden. It felt like a beginning.

#hs #harry fanfic #harry styles fanfic #anon ask #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles smut #harry styles x original character #harry wattpad #ask #harry styles #harry #harry styles one shot #harry styles stories #harrystyles #ribbon

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meetletsinmontauk · 1 day ago

Text

stop waiting- L.H

There's not a synopsis, I'm sorry

Disclaimer: nsfw, contains smut!!

It had been 3 months since Lee Heeseung’s world turned upside down. 3 months since he switched from a homemade man to a big party animal. 3 months since his girlfriend, Karina, left. 4 years of relationship, for nothing. 4 years of promises and plans simply went down the sink. 4 years for at the end be cheated on with that Sim Jake guy. But Heeseung didn’t need her anymore, he had his soju, his hennessy and his weed. They would never leave him. That’s why every Friday night till Monday morning, he had his ass stuck in a party, surrounded by strangers, numb of feelings.

Numb of feelings, that was the best part, he couldn’t feel anything among the strangers, |among the drinking, the loud music, among the dancing, the sweat bodies, among the sex, and the different beds he had been on. 3 months of living completely alienated from reality. It was the price he decided to pay in order to not feel the pain, to try, somehow, fill the void Karina left on him.

He was at one of those parties, smoking some weed on someone's couch, next to his best friends Jay, Sunghoon and Ni-ki. He didn’t talk or hung out with them too much when he was in a relationship. But now, he was free and he had no one to tell him what to do or not. Even though his focus wasn’t on his friends, it was on a girl across the room. She was wearing a mini skirt and stiletto heels and she was an old acquaintance, they studied at the same high school, they had art classes together, and he simply hated that girl.

He hated her because she was perfect. She was beautiful, talented, kind, funny and intelligent, and, of course, he had fallen in love with her back then, when he was still a loser. During that time, they became closer very quickly, and he did everything for her. Everything to see her smiling. But she kept him in the friendzone, because she was banging with his old brother, Lee Taemin, who simply dumped her 2 months later, after he lost interest.

It was 4 years ago. It was the last time she talked to him, and because of that, even being perfect she was also an asshole.

He kept staring at her, wondering how were the odds they would be at the same party, in the same night? He dragged his joint again, trying to relax and praying she would go away soon. He probably wasn’t good in that manifestation thing cause out of the blue, she started to scan the room, till her gaze crossed with his. “Fuck”, he cursed under his breath. And, worse, she started to walk toward his group. “For fuck’s sake…”, he cursed again, then tilted on the couch, trying to convince himself that her presence wasn’t making him uncomfortable. Maybe it was because he hadn't seen her in 4 years, but she looked even more beautiful, the most radiant and sexy version of her, which made him hate her even more. “Damn”, he thought when she stopped in front of the couch he and his friends were sitting on.

“Hello, guys!”, she greeted, smiling, “Hey!”, drunk Sunghoon, sober Jay and stoned Ni-ki greeted her. But not Heeseung. She lifted an eyebrow and turned specifically to him “Hi, Heeeung”. He lifted his gaze, dragged his joint and exhaled slowly, everyone was looking at him, apparently he had no choice but to answer “‘Sup?” “Are you good?” “Do I look good to you?”. She stared at him, he looked good, but she wasn’t going to tell him that. “It’s been a while…”, she continued. Heeseung chuckled, “You think so?” “Why does he keep making rhetorical questions?”, she thought. “Can we… hum… can we talk? In private” “Now you wanna talk?” “Well, yes, it’s important” “You can speak. My bros and I, we’ve got no secrets” “I know we haven't spoken in a while…” “A while?!”, she ignored the 1000th interruption and continued, “...but, hum, could you tell your brother to stop trying to get in contact with me, please?” “Are you talking about Taemin?”, she nodded. Hee laughed, “You gotta be fucking kidding me! You come here, after 4 years, to ask me a favor!? Involving my hyung!?”, he paused to chuckle, “Do you think I am some sort of idiot?”.

She was embarrassed, the way he was stating she did sound like a selfish bitch “No… I just didn’t know who else to occur” “Well, if you want Taemin hyung to stay away from you, you go and tell him yourself”, she held back the tears, she didn’t remember Heeseung being so rude. Probably because he wasn't, but now he hated all women, he despised them.

“Heeseung, please, I wouldn’t ask you if I didn’t need your help” “I’m not your fucking bitchboy anymore” “But…” “If you’re done already, the door it's that way” he pointed to the door of the living room. “If you aren’t done yet, go anyway”. She opened her mouth to say another thing but she gave up, it didn’t seem he was going to bend.

“Sorry for bothering you. Bye, guys” “Bye!”, the other 3 said, while the 4 of them watched her go. Jay poked Heeseung’s arm to scold his friend, “Bro, you didn’t have to be rude with her” “What?! Are you defending her?!” “Bro, I’m just saying you could have helped her, you know your brother is an asshole!” “She’s not my problem, Jay. She picked Taemin back then, now she deals with him” “Yeah, but can you stop acting like a resentful child just for a second and…”, Heeseung put his hand on his ears and shouted, “Ah!”, Jay shutted his mouth and tapped his ears “You’re giving me a headache, Jongseong!” “What a hypocrite”, he thought before standing up. “Where are you going?”, Sunghoon asked “Bathroom” “Good! Bring me some more of this drink, yeah?” “Don’t you think you’ve drank too much already?” “Sorry, mom”, Jay rolled his eyes, “Will be back soon”.

When Jay stepped out of the bathroom the first thing he saw was her talking to her friend Minji. She had red eyes and was clearly nervous. He probably shouldn’t cause of his loyalty to Heeseung, but he couldn’t help himself, he had to do something to help. So he approached them, “Excuse me, girls…”, they turned to him “Hi, Jay”, she sniffed. Jay and her were friends in high school, they were lab partners, but he ended up being under Heeseung’s guard after they stopped talking. “I’m so sorry about Hee, he has been angry at everything lately” “It’s ok, I shouldn’t have talked to him, I know Karina doesn't like it, but he was truly my last option” “You…” “She’s telling the truth. She already tried everything, but Lee Taemin keeps creating fake accounts on instagram just to try talking with her”, Minji completed “I’m sure he does, but… you said Karina doesn’t like it when you talk to Heeseung?” “Yeah, that’s why I distanced from him” “You’re kidding, right?”. She crossed her arms and lifted an eyebrow, “No, Jay, I’m not” “Heeseung thinks you did that because of his brother” “Why would I? Heeseung was one of my best friends back then” “Fuck!”, Jay put his hand on his forehead, “Heeseung is so stupid!” “Why?” “Karina told him you asked her to tell Heeseung that if one Lee sucks, then 2 Lees probably sucked the double and you would rather lose your vision than to see any of them in front of you again” “What?!”, she and Minji said in unison “I never said that. Karina hated me since the first time we met” “Its true”, Minji commented. “Oh my God, I have to tell Heeseung about that”, Jay turned to leave, but she didn’t let him. “Jay, wait…”, she held his arm, he looked down at her hand “What?” “Don’t do it. I don’t want to ruin their relationship. Hee’s happy with her and I want him to be happy. Even with a nasty bitch like her” “Lucky for you, they are not together anymore”, her lips parted. “W-what? Is that for real?”, he nodded “What happened?” “She cheated” “With who?!”, Minji asked “Minji!”, she scolded her friend “How’s he dealing with that?” “Terribly. He’s angry at everyone and everything. He goes out every weekend, he leaves on Friday night, and shows up on Tuesday morning. And he’s drinking and smoking a lot” “Damn”, she muttered “I really thought it was weird to find him here tonight” “Yeah… Anyway I’ll try to convince him to talk to his brother” “Ok. Thank you, Jay, it really means a lot to me”, he smiled “It’s nothing. Bye, girls”, he said before winking at them and leaving.

When he joined his friends on the couch again, Heeseung wasn’t there anymore. Sunghoon was laying down, with his mouth open, REM sleeping while Ni-ki tied the korean man’s shoe’s laces in a way that Hoon would fall when he stood up. “Where is Heeseung?” “What?” “Heeseung. Where’s he?” “I have no fucking idea, bro” “Damn, Ni-ki! Is the weed destroying your neurons?” “Bro, I am not understanding anything you are saying today” “Fuck…”, Jay muttered, before leaving to try to find Heeseung. He asked at least 30 wrong people before finding the right one “Jungwoon! “Hey, Jay” “Have you seen Heeseung?” “I don’t even see him at home, man”, they were roommates, “Fuck…” “I think I saw him in the kitchen with a girl, then they disappeared”, Jay groaned.

He knew it meant he wasn't going to hear from Heeseung till Tuesday “Ok, Woon. Thanks bro”, he poked the younger’s chest and left, Sunghoon and Ni-ki would need his help to reach home and trying to find Heeseung was pointless.

…

A week later:

Jay was at the apartment they shared with Sunghoon and Niki. The 3 of them were having a gaming night, they even invited Jungwoon and Heeseung, but none of them heard from Heeseung since last Saturday. According to Jungwoon, he didn’t spend much time at their place as well. “He went home on Monday, I guess. Then he went to work, I didn’t hear from him for 2 days, and yesterday he showed up, said he had an off day and stayed in his room all day. I went to work this morning and when I came home in the afternoon he was already not there”, Jungwoon told them, sitting on their carpet while eating popcorn.

“Are guys worried about him or is it just me?”, Sunghoon asked “Yeah!”, the rest of them answered in unison. “Yes, man. But I have a plan” “What’s it?” “Do you guys remember that girl from his art class? The one he was best friends with?”, the other 3 nodded, “You don’t even attend the same high school as us Jungwoon!”, Sunghoon pointed out, “I want to be included. Now go on, Jay” “So, I talked to her at the party we went to last weekend, and it turns out Karina lied to Heeseung all that time” “What happened?”, Niki asked, “She never said those things to his ex. Apparently Karina just didn’t like their friendship and she cut contact to avoid ruining it” “Karina didn’t like any of his friendships”, Jungwoon added “That bitch”, Sunghoon rolled his eyes, disgusted. “You have to tell him that”, Ni-ki said “Yeah, but who said I can talk to him?”, at that moment Jay’s phone buzzed:

Lee Heeseung shared his live location with you

“Oh my God, guys. It's him!”, felt like he guessed he was the subject of their conversation. “What does it say?”, Woon asked “He just sent me his location”:

Park Jongseong: ‘Need me to pick you up, bro?’

Lee Heeseung: ‘Nah, come over. Bring the guys with you’

Park Jongseong: ‘Which guys?’

Lee Heeseung: ‘Anyone you want. Just come, it's boring without you to parent me’

“He wants us to come to a club in Hongdae”, they protested, nobody is in the mood for it. “I go, you guys can stay” “No! It’s game night! It’s not gaming night without you, Jay”, Sunghoon cried, “But I have to talk to him” “Do you think it will really help him to know the truth?” “I think so, at least a little” “So you should go” “Yeah…”

Park Jongseong: ‘Omw. Will be there in 20’

28 minutes later, Jay found himself in a club, trying to avoid being pushed and humped by the people on the dancefloor. He tried to text and call Heeseung one thousand times but he wasn’t successful. It took him more than 10 minutes to find the motherfucker among a smoke of weed and 2 girls on his lap, one in which leg. “Jongseong! Finally, man!”, Heeseung shouted so Jay could hear him over the loud music. “Same, bro! Same!”, Jay already had lost his patience, he didn’t know if it was because of the ocean of sweat and drunk people he had to face to find Heeseung or the whole past 3 months. “What’s wrong, man!? You seem stressed!” “I’m stressed!” “Why, bro!?” “I have to tell you something and you went missing the whole damn week! Where have you been, man!?” “Here and there! What do you want to tell me!?” “I'd rather do this somewhere where I don't have to shout in order for you to hear me!” “Chill out, man! At least tell me what this is about!” “Karina!”. Heeseung furrowed and his jaw tightened up, “I don’t want to know!” “Yes, you do!” “No, I don’t! She’s past!”, Jay pressed his temple, he was already done with that son of of a bitch, ““Can you stop being a fucking brat for at least 10 minutes and listen to me?!”, Jay said with his jaw and fist clenched. “Ok, ok! Chill, bro!”.

After Hee convinced the girls to leave his lap, he walked with Jay for the parking lot. He sat on the hood of his friend’s car and lit up another joint. He offered to Jay, but he declined “So, what’s about Karina?” “She is a freaking liar” “I know. That’s why we are not together anymore” “That’s why you’ve lost your best friend too” “What are you talking about?” “Remember when Karina said she asked her to…”, Heeseung cutted Jay, he didn’t want to remember those words. “Yeah, yeah, go on” “Apparently Karina made everything up” “How do you know?” “She said she never asked Karina anything. She also told me Karina didn’t like when you guys were friends. So she stopped talking to you cause she didnt want to ruin your relationship”. Heeseung scratched his chin, trying to find a way to attack her, "How do you know she isn’t lying too?” “You know what happened to all your friendships when you were dating her”, Jay was right, Karina didn't like any of his friends, boy or girl, she wanted him all for herself.

He dragged again, trying to process everything Jay said, “So… it wasn’t because of Taemin?” “No! She was your best friend, man, she wouldn’t have done it to you”. Heeseung placed his hands behind his head, everything Jay said made sense, all he wanted to do was scream. “Fuck!”, he screamed repeatedly. He jumped from the hood of Jay’s car and started to walk around “Can’t fucking believe on this!” “I couldn’t either” “Damn! All of those years for nothing”, he stopped walking in a sudden, as he remembered something really important. “And she reached out for my help, bro. And I acted like an asshole!” “Yeah, but you can fix that” “How?” “Talk to your brother” “Yeah, man I thought about that”, Jay rolled his eyes, Heeseung’s sarcasm didn’t affect him anymore. The older man threw the joint on the ground and stumbled on it with his shoe. “Can you help me? I think he’s here”, “Yeah, su…”, Jay’s phone interrupted him.

He got surprised when he checked on it, and saw her name on the screen “Hold on, it’s her”, he picked up “Hello?” “Jay? Please, help…”, he heard a sound of crashing, as her phone had been thrown on the floor “Hello? Are you still there?” “Who said you could do that shit, huh?”, he heard a masculine voice approaching her phone along footsteps “It was a mistake, nobody needs help. Bye’’, Jay’s face turned into white, as he saw a corpse. “Jay! What happened?” ”Taemin, I think he’s with her” “Fuck!”, he cursed “Stop cursing and let’s find them. I heard an echo, I think they’re in the bathroom” “Let’s go!”.

…

“Who’s that Jay, hum? Is he your new boyfriend?” “What if he is? It’s none of your business, your creep!” “Nah, nah, nah, baby girl. Don’t speak like that to me, cause I already made you happy” “It wasn’t happiness! You used me for your own pleasure when I was hopelessly in love with you!”, Taemin chuckled, and touched her chin. “Well, I guess I did. But…”, he approached her lips “I’m truly “ “Bullshit”, she spitted on his face “Ugh! That’s disgusting!”, he dried his face “Where are your manners?” “Who are you to talk about manners?! You were just rubbing your boner on my groin without my consent!” “It’s so cute when you pretend you weren’t enjoying it” “I wasn’t!” “Sure”, he caged her in between his arms, and dipped down to kiss her, but she didn’t kiss him back, of course. He pressed his erection in between her legs, holding her forearms against the wall when she tried to fight back.

That's when Jay and Heeseung came into the bathroom. Heeseung’s blood started to boil when he saw his hyung forcing her to kiss him “Lee Taemin!”, he shouted. His brother stopped kissing her and turned around “Heeseung?!” “Take your hands off her!” “Right now!”, Jay completed “Yeah, right now!”. Taemin laughed, “Or what?”, Heeseung approached him “Or I will tell dad you have been selling drugs to teenagers, he will love it” “Are you really using the ‘I’ll tell dad’ card?” “You bet I am”, the oldest man looked at her, then to his young brother “Fuck it! This bitch isn't worth it”, he took his hand out of her “If she isn't worth you can leave her alone, right?” “Whatever, man”, he slammed the door when he left the bathroom.

At that moment, she slid her body down the wall, buried her face in her knees and started to cry. Heeseung looked at her, then to Jay, he didn’t know what to do. “Do something”, Jay mouthed “Me!?” “Yes, go!” “No! You go!”, Jay didn’t even bother answering, he just turned around and left the bathroom. Hee rolled his eyes, then squatted in front of her and tapped her head, softly, “Hey… are you ok?”, she lifted her head and looked at him, she looked scared “Did he hurt you?” “N-no, he just forced me to kiss him and pressed his hard dick on his groin” “Fucking disgusting”, he muttered. “I was so scared he would do something more”, Hee stretched his hand and caressed her hair “It’s ok, he is not here anymore and he will not bother you again”, she leaned forward and hugged him “Thank you, Hee”, he nodded, without hugging her back. Then, he took her arms off him and stood up, “Well, I think I’m going to take some air, wanna join me?” “Ok”, he helped her stand up and took her to the parking lot.

After Heeseung called Jay and told him everything was ok and he could go back to his gaming night, they sat on the hood of her car. Heeseung got a beer on their way out of the club and she was laying down, stargazing. “Jay…”, she looked at him, “...he said you and Karina broke up”, he nodded, drinking more of his beer “He said to me you stopped talking to me because of her” “It’s true” “I thought you were an asshole for all those years. That you didn’t care about me or our friendship…”, he paused “...it was just made up”, he drank more. She sat up, “Hee, I always cared about you and our friendship, I’m sorry that I just walked away instead of talking to you, I just wanted to see you happy” “I’m sorry for not trying to understand you too, I just believed in her blindly” “It’s ok”.

They remained silent for a few moments before he finally said something. “I missed you” “I missed you too, Hee” “I like your tattoo”, he pointed to her left thigh. She had a beautiful and majestic dragon who went from her low belly to her leg “Do you?” “Yeah. It comes to the hip?” “To the low belly” “Wow! Sick’ “Thank you! I drew it by myself” “Really?!”, she nodded “I remember when we were in high school you were very good at art class” “Yes, I miss that time” “I don’t “Really?” “Yeah. That time was hell” “Why?” “I suffered every time I was around you” “I don’t understand…” “I had a massive crush on you and you just wanted to know about my brother” “You had a crush on me!?” “Yeah” “Well, I had a crush on you too!” “What?!” “But you were always flirting with Karina, so I thought you wanted her, not me. So when Taemin started to flirt with me, I just… got hooked on him” “She was the one who flirted with me!” “But you let her” “Damn, can’t believe it. Fucking unbelievable!”, there it goes, he was losing his temper again.

He jumped off the car’s hood and started to scream with her, “Do you have any idea of how happy we could be right now?!” “Hee…” “I’m ruined because of her! Ruined! And you!? You were almost raped in that bathroom! Fuck!”, he kicked the front tire of her Jeep. She jumped off the hood too, “Why are you so mad about it?! You were the one who got into a toxic relationship! The one who lost yourself in that damn relationship!” “Why didn’t you tell me you like me?! Why?!” “Why didn’t you tell me you liked me?!”, he didn’t say anything, she was right, it was as much his fault as hers. But she was pissed with his behavior since the last party, “I know why, cause you’re a coward!” “Shut up..”, he muttered, “You’re a fucking pussy! Your fucking loser!” “I told you to shut up!”, he screamed at her. She stepped forward, till her nose was inches from his nose “Or what? Fucking assho…”, but he didn’t let her finish, he took her lips on hers, discharging all the represed anger, all the feeling of inferiority he felt over the past years. It all turned into a ferrous, aggressive kiss.

She felt his salty tears on her lips, maybe she had crossed the line, so she pulled away from him to apologize “I’m sorry, Hee. I didn’t mean to, I was angry and…” “Shut up” “But…” “Did you enjoy the kiss?” “Well, I didn’t have much time to savour it but…” “Can you just fucking answer me?” “Yes… I think so” “Good”, Heeseung pulled her waist to another kiss, this time he leaned her against the hood of the car, in which she laid down, melting to the kiss, enjoying all the magical tricks Heeseung was doing with his blessed tongue. She never thought he could make her feel this way. She put her fingers on his hair and pulled it, searching for some relief. He moaned into her mouth, running a hand up her thigh, pulling her dress up with it, stopping on her belly button line. He looked down to appreciate the tattoo “You’re a terrific artist” “Thanks”, he took another look at it, then rubbed her hip bone, she thrusted it up as a reflex, he smirked “I can’t fuck you in public, babygirl” “I have a car, you know?” “I am waiting for your invitation”, she smirked, then reached for her purse and car keys. She stood up, then unlocked the car and opened the backseat door “Come in”, he did, she followed, slamming the door behind her.

Heeseung threw his belongings on the seat next to him “Come here”, he tapped his lap, she took her heels off and obeyed him. He grabbed her hips and pulled it down against his boner, wanting her to feel how much a simple kiss just made him crazy. She moaned with the stimulation, “Damn, you’re already so hard”, she muttered “It hurts”, he faked a pout “Won’t you help me?”, she smirked before moving her hand to his belt, unbuckling it. Heeseung watched her open his zipper and pull his boxers just enough for freeing his hard member, she gulped when she saw it, he was bigger than she thought. He squeezed her hips lightly, “Are you ok?” “Yes, I… I’m just thinking about how sore I’m going to be tomorrow”, he smirked “You know what a man likes to hear”, she took her lips to his neck, sucking it with the goal of leaving a mark on the sensitive skin. Heeseung threw his head back, and rolled his eyes, trying to suppress the groan stuck in his throat, his cock pressed against her belly was aching, he needed some damn relief. She finally pulled away from his neck to see her masterpiece “You are going to wake up with a bruise on your neck just for you to know” “You’re a fucking temptation”, he muttered, “What are you going to do about it?”, he didn’t botter in answer, he just ran his hand down her dress and pulled her laced pantie to the side. He looked her in the eyes the whole time he got into her, her facial expressions trying to hold a moan back was priceless, when his head collided with her cervix he started to move her hips, and neither of them could keep silent anymore, soon the moans started to stood out the sound of skin colliding. The windows of the cars started to fog but it wasn't important, Hee looked at her, who had her lips nailed in her bottom lip as she moved her hips by herself, “You’re taking me so well”, he commented in between his cutted breath, “Are you calling me a whore?” “I don’t mind if you are a whore, as long as you are my whore from now on”, she changed the angle of her hips, founding a sensitive spot, unable to speak more than just a muttered “Yes”, she whined, “Fuck, I’m cummming very very soon” “Good girl”, he held her hips again helping her to hit the edge, and when she did, he bucked his hips up to reach his own orgasm. After he unloaded inside of her, he pulled her body against his chest and muttered against her hair, “You are mine now”

…

2 months later:

Dragons. All Heeseung could think about was dragons. Because the thing he saw the most over the past 2 months was a dragon. Her tattoo dragon. Sex was good and she treated him like her boyfriend. Safer than fuck random girls he found in parties. It didn't mean he gave up on his shallow life. He still went to parties, he still avoided his feelings and had no intention in turning what they had into something serious. Even so, during the past 2 months he got a lot better, he wasn’t angry anymore, he still went to parties, but just Friday and Saturday nights, he went home after the parties ended, he started to help Jungwoon taking care of their place, he participated of the gaming nights, he took her out to places where there was not alcohol, he didn’t even got late for work anymore. Heeseung’s friends loved her, they knew he was feeling better because of her presence and her cares, “I feel like the void inside of me is finally filled again”, he confessed to Jay once “Don’t you think this is a problem?” “Why would it be?” “If she’s gone you will feel empty again” “She’s not leaving, bro” “How are you so sure?” “I just am” “If you say so”. But one day, everything was about to change, he just didn’t know yet.

Heeseung had a day off work and he decided he wanted to spend it with her. He texted her a casual:

‘I need you. Come over’

And half an hour later she was there, naked on his bed, doing what they did the most. They usually had very funny and nonsense talks after sex but that time she chose a topic Heeseung didn’t like at all, “Don’t you think…”, she said while tracing lines into his chest, where she was laying on, “What?” “...shouldn’t we like…” “Just say it, you can say anything to me” “...shouldn’t we be dating?” “Oh! Why do you think like that?” “Cause we’ve been doing this for almost 3 months already, and we kinda act like a couple but we're not a couple officially” “Why do you think we act like a couple?” “Because we do” “But… give me an example” “We go out on dates, we have sex, I know your friends and family and you know mine… Do you need a few more?”, she was right, he was getting trapped, “I don’t know, I ended a 4 year relationship 6 months ago” “Do you still love her?” “No, I don’t” “Do you love me?”, he lifted his head from the pillow “Do you love me?”, she lifted from his chest “Well, yes” “What?!”, he sat up too “Why?!” “What do you mean with why, bro? Do I need a reason to love you?” “Well, I don’t know how you can love me”, he stood from the bed, panicking, “Well, I see now”, she stood up too and started to wear her clothes, “Hold on, you don’t have to leave. We can just pretend we didn’t have this conversation, and you didn’t say you love me. There’s no need to feel embarrassed” “No. I am not embarrassed and I don’t want to pretend I didn’t say I love you. I’m not ashamed of my feelings” “Fine! Just… don’t go” “Look, Heeseung, we probably shouldn’t see each other anymore” “What?! Why?!” “You clearly need to love yourself right now and I am not wasting my time with someone who is not even aware of that”, she passed through him and grabbed her purse, “C’mon!” “Bye, Hee, figure that mess out”, then she walked out the door. Heeseung sat on his bed, still naked, feeling the hole in his chest getting voided again.

…..

2 weeks later, Heeseung felt like hitting the rock bottom. He was at a party again, leaning on the wall, holding a red cup with some shit cheap whiskey in it. His eyes burned two people across the room: Ni-ki and her.

He actually missed her and watching her getting all flirty with one of his best friends didn’t make things any easier. Ni-ki didn’t have much fault, she was the one who started a conversation and she was the one who kept touching his arm and chest whenever he said something funny, which was very often. But Ni-ki was equally blamed cause he bent to her charm, he probably was high from some herb he smoked. They were getting closer and closer, Heeseung could picture them leaning for a kiss anytime soon and for that, Jay could see smoke coming out from his ears. “What the hell are you doing, man?”, he asked, “Wondering which part of his face Ni-ki would like to be punched’ “Bro, no! You can’t do it!” “But I guess I will” “Please, don’t. Stop watching them”, but he couldn’t, he tried 3 thousand times and his eyes kept turning back to them. “Unfortunately, this isn’t an option” “Why not?” “Cause I fucking can’t, Jay! Fuck… Do you think I like it!?” “What’s the matter? You say you were happy to be completely free again” “It turns out I’m not” “What’s going on, bro?” “I miss her” “Do you?” “She made me feel… good, the best I felt the past 6 months. So, yeah, I miss her” “And you’re going to sit here and watch her flirting with someone else?” “She wants a real relationship” “So what?” “I’m never going to date again” “Hee, I know trauma can be difficult to get over but… if you want her, you must face your fear before someone else does and you lose her forever. I know Ni-ki wouldn’t mind having a girlfriend, so stop waiting and go after her! ”. He closed his eyes, just the thought of Ni-ki and her being a couple and having them around as a couple was killing him inside, but he couldn’t be in a serious relationship, not after everything Karina did to him. He opened his eyes to tell Jay he was going to leave, but he saw Ni-ki bending down and whispering something in her ear. And worse, she giggled, then nodded, which impulsed Heeseung to stand up and walk towards them. Then, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her to the bathroom, ignoring all her protests.

“What the fuck, Heeseung?!”, he didn’t say anything, “You’re being fucking ridiculous just like your brother. He did the exact same thing, forced me into a bathroom with him and did things I didn’t want to!” “Don’t compare me with Taemin. He’s a piece of shit” “You’re exactly like him, asshole. He just wanted to have fun with me, so did you!”. He was facing a window, she couldn’t see his face, so she didn’t know he was crying till he sniffed, rubbed his nose with his point and middle fingers before turning to her and saying with a weak voice “Shut up…” her furrow faded away instantly, her face relaxed, she didn’t know what was worse: his shaky voice, his swollen eyes or the sadness he was carrying in his gaze. She walked toward the Korean man “Oh, my God, Hee! Are you actually crying?” he nodded “Why!? I know I was rude, but, didn't mean to make you cry”, he didn’t say anything “Hee, talk to me…” he cleaned his throat “I…” he paused “Don’t…” “Don’t what?” “Pick him. Pick me” his voice failed again, he only had strength left to beg “Please” she frowned again “We already talked about it. If you’re not willing to take things seriously, you should let me go”, he didn’t say anything again, “Are you going to make things serious between us?”. He looked at her, she was waiting for an answer with a question mark expression printed on her face. “Fuck it” he said, grabbing her nape and pulling her for a kiss. A messy kiss cause he was a fucking big mess at the moment. He spent the last 3 hours thinking about the possibility of her lips being touched by Ni-ki’s lips and he was going crazy about it. So, yeah, he might be fucking rude in his perspective for just kissing her with roughness and without her consent, but he didn’t fucking care at that point.

All that mattered at that moment was the grip on his hair, her jawline being cupped by his big hands, those heavenly pieces of flash moving with his, the sweet taste of her cherry lip gloss mixing the salty taste of his tears, rolling down his face, reaching their lips and being absorbed by that act of love. Then suddenly, her hands moved from his hair to the hem of his t-shirt and started to run over his bare chest. In that moment, his conscience hitted him and he broke the kiss, stepping back “I’m so sorry. I….”, she looked up at him, searching for some hope, a small sign which would show her that, yes, he was going to fight with his own demons for her, for them. He rubbed the skin of her cheek, smiled, then nodded, “I’m doing anything for you, babygirl”. She smiled at him, maybe this time, he wasn’t going to run away anymore.

#enhypen #enhypen smut #lee heeseung #lee heeseung smut #heeseung #heeseung smut #enhypen imagines #enhypen one shot #enhypen fanfic

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cocoamide · 21 hours ago

Text

YOU'RE MY WISHLIST! ♡

⟡ synopsis ─ gojo satoru's the man who seems to be everywhere you go, whether it be within the comfort of your own home or miles away from the place. well, guess what happens when you show up looking a little too fine at your college's annual christmas eve party?

꣑ৎ content ─ MDNI, brother'sbsf!satoru / collegesenior!satoru x afab!reader, reader is suguru's younger sister, no use of y/n, reader can't escape him, suggestive content, reader is in love w/ gojo (and vice versa), intentional use of lowercase, usage of pet names e.g baby, pretty, good girl, etc., smut in the form of fingering, and probably more idk

◖word count — 2.6k

☆ credits ─ live laugh love @anitalenia 4 the gorgeous divider <3 no specific inspiration for this fic, just felt like writing one fueled by my christmas spirit (i have never celebrated christmas in my life, so if u caught me lacking, no u didn't!)

꩜ author's note ─ first fic ever & ofc it's ft. my man !! i'm not v satisfied with this work and it was really rushed towards the end, so feedback is much appreciated :3 merry xmas to all those celebrating and happy holidays ♡ title's from "a nonsense christmas" by sabrina carpenter :3

when you left home for college, you were certain you’d outrun the real-life horrors of your past— your parents' scoldings, the shitty food served at your school's cafeteria, the fake people you were surrounded by, and most importantly, your brother's best friend, gojo satoru, who just seemed to get finer with every single passing day.

the man was, for some reason, genetically white-haired all over. yeah, he had albinism, but god, the sight of him was no less than breath-taking. his sparkling, cerulean orbs, which glowed mesmerizingly both under the moonlight and the sun, seemed more and more enchanting with each passing moment. as the years went by with him by your brother's side, you told yourself to look away, refusing to acknowledge the feelings that flickered inside whenever you saw him. you did whatever you could to let go of them— tried to distract yourself with the shittiest of boyfriends, avoided him at school, locked yourself up in your room whenever he came over to hang out with your brother, you name it.

however, it seemed that luck hated, no, despised your embrace no matter how much you yearned for it, considering how the menace was always hovering around, inserting himself into your life at the most inconvenient moments. you're rehearsing for a school play in an empty classroom? the next thing you know, he has an arm propped around your shoulder and smiling at you in the most stupidly handsome way ever with a lollipop in his mouth as he asks you to just... practice with him around. oh, you're trying to get him off of you now? he'll steal your script before you can escape him and raise his hand up as high in the air as possible so you can't reach it. "hey, give it back!" you exclaim, only to be met by a smug smirk on his face and the most annoying "nuh-uh." he completely refuses unless you promise to not kick him out until the practice session is over.

you're walking back home with your brother, suguru? oops, gojo is there too! he's ruffling your hair no matter how pissed you get and yell at him; he only finds joy and pleasure in seeing you in this enraged state. whether he was a sadist, masochist, or simply insane, you did not know.

so, starting college felt like stepping into freedom. no more conversations centered around satoru, no more being so pissed you lose your voice from screaming, and no more late-night sob sessions everytime he got a new girlfriend.

however, it seemed that you'd forgotten that the stars didn't quite align for you, and the universe had decided to remind you of that very fact by ensuring that satoru received enough distinctions to be able to transfer universities. oh, and of course, the one he'd chosen just had to be the one you'd decided to spend the next 4 years of your life in. it wasn't until after you’d moved into your dorm and started your classes that you found out.

the first time you saw him around campus, you were freaked the fuck out. nevertheless, you simply assumed he was visiting a friend or relative and dismissed the sight.

however, much to your dismay, you discovered that he was, in fact, a senior at your college—a 2nd year, to be exact. it wouldn't be an understatement to assume you nearly had a heart attack when you found out, considering how this was the same guy who used to have a 2.6 gpa back in high school. when did he even start taking his studies seriously and lock in hard enough to meet the criteria and eligibility for your university, one of the most prestigious in the entire country? instead of rooting for you, fate just had to be your biggest hater.

every single time you saw him around, gojo would come up to you to exchange greetings and obviously, tease you about the most embarrassing things from your past while his obnoxious fangirls stared you the fuck down, wondering why he's so close to you even though you're just a freshman who should have nothing to do with him.

what surprised you more, however, was that you sometimes shared the same sentiment as them because you were definitely never this close with satoru. not in all the years your brother used to hang out with him, or all the times you'd seen each other on family dinners. sure, he'd teased you plenty, but he had no real concern or curiosity towards you. you found him walking you to classes, treating you to coffee and meals, buying you all the snacks you could ever need during exam preparations and so much more that you could never even list down.

and worst of all, the feelings you'd so desperately pushed away in the past had now creeped their way back into your heart and embedded every inch of your soul even deeper.

it struck you then—satoru’s actions might not be out of pure obligation. that would’ve been far too simple, too detached for someone like satoru. maybe, just maybe, there was something more to it, something unspoken lingering beneath it all. you couldn’t say for sure if it was intentional or not, but whatever it was, it felt personal, like you mattered in a way that went beyond the promises he'd made to your elder brother and family.

but still, you couldn’t help but wonder if it was all just in your head. satoru’s actions, the way he treated you—it didn’t necessarily mean what you thought it did. it could be nothing—satoru’s actions didn’t have to mean anything. maybe you were just fooling yourself, letting your feelings cloud your judgment. so, you buried them as deep as you could, pushing them aside, telling yourself that letting go was the only way to protect yourself from the uncertainty. it was easier to convince yourself that you were just being delusional instead of facing what could be very real.

although, you do seriously question your latter supposition at your annual college christmas eve party when satoru, dressed in the sexiest 3-piece navy blue pinstripe suit with a black tie, has you pinned against the door of the nearest bathroom. if haven't had the opportunity to pay enough attention to his luminous, cerulean eyes up until now, you do at this very moment when he's staring at you like a predator would at it's prey.

"satoru," you let out a breath you weren't aware of holding, "what are you doing?" gojo, whose gaze had shifted down to your lips, let out a chuckle. "oh, so it's satoru now," he murmured, his hand pushing your hair behind your ear. "fine, 'toru..," you pronounce, going back to the nickname you'd started calling him during the while you'd spent with him. "that's more like it." his eyes meet yours again, conveying the desire and thirst that stirred within him— for how long, nobody knows.

the air around you two was thicker than usual, laced with tension as well as something… else. "you still haven't answered my question." upon your words, the white-haired man's face broke out into a cupid-induced smile, the most beautiful you'd ever seen. "well," his right thumb traced the outline of your lips so light as if you'd break from further pressure, "i thought you looked beautiful." what he says renders you speechless, your throat gone dry and your cheeks turning the prettiest shade of rose (in his eyes, at least.) "you always do, but even more so today." and if you weren't already a flustered mess, you would most certainly be now.

your reaction only draws a smirk on his face, and he decides to tease you a little more. "so, on that note, what do you think i'm doing?," his voice lowers as his hand traces its way down to your neck. "i... uh- i don't know... you tell me." satoru grins, only wanting to push you further.

"yeah? how about i show you instead?" and a mere instant later, his lips come crashing down on yours— you couldn't say you hadn't been expecting or anticipating it, but absolutely nothing could prepare you for the way his warm and impossibly soft lips felt against yours. initially, you froze, and you came to realise that all the possibilities you'd once ignored were now very much real.

it wasn't a bad thing— no, nowhere near it, maybe even one of the best that could ever happen to you. however, it did feel like too much of a development to be able to process in a matter of seconds.

upon the realisation that you hadn't responded to his advances, satoru pulled back from the kiss, seeming rather puzzled. "was i wrong?" he inquires, voice lower and deeper than it normally would be.

the melodic sound of his voice is what breaks your trance and serves as your call back to reality. you wanted to say no, reach for his collar, get on your tip-toes and lean in to kiss him, but you were stuck in place. you couldn't find your voice or your words, and it felt like your heels were superglued to the tiles of the bathroom floor.

if it hadn't already been obvious, you'd been yearning for this moment for god knows how long, and now that it was handed to you on a sliver platter, you couldn't simply pass up on it. being well aware of the fact that this encounter could change your and satoru's relationship for either the better or the worse, you took a deep breath, cupped the sides of his face, and tilted your head just enough to be able to kiss the man. your hands gripped the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him even closer, if that was possible.

being the way he is, satoru smiled into the kiss and lowered his hands to your hips. he could tell you were pouring each and every emotion from both the past and the present, and of course, he was doing the same.

it was inevitable, really— now that you could feel his skin against yours, it wasn't too difficult to put the pieces together and figure out that this was all bound to happen, already having been inked into the wondrous book of fate.

and so, for the first time in all the years you'd spent alongside satoru, you could say that the universe was, in fact, rooting for you. the way gojo's lips moved against yours, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world when he pulled away, the way the both of you heavily panted but still chased each other's warmth again barely seconds later, are more than enough confirmation.

"no, you weren't," you reply, feeling giddier than you ever had. "i wasn't what?" his hands caress your cheek with a carefulness that was almost unlike him, and your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest (in the best way possible.) "you weren't wrong."

"and i'm still not wrong if i do this?" his large hand reached under your clothes and wandered up to your waist, resting over the skin of the region. "or this?" his mouth had reached your neck, leaving kisses-turned-bites all over, which were sure to transform into hickeys.

"no... no, you're not," you let out breathlessly, unable to escape the fire coursing through your veins at the slightest touch. you wanted more, so much more, and satoru was the only one who could fulfil your needs— not that you would have it any other way.

"you sure, pretty?" the corner of his mouth went up, resulting in a lopsided grin— he was obviously teasing you, that was just the way he was and always had been.

"uh-huh," you nod to reaffirm your statement. "good girl," he breathes out, only contributing to the echoes in the parts of your body which ached for him so badly.

his long fingers played and toyed with the hem of your dress, as if to test the waters. when you didn't resist, his hand sneaked up your thigh, gently fondling the skin.

despite the confidence in his actions, he observed every expression on your face cautiously, ensuring that nothing he did hurt you or made you uncomfortable in any way. when you show no signs on unease but instead only desire, he goes on to satisfy and soothe your needs.

his fingers traced their way up your inner thighs and lurked over the already soaked fabric of your underwear, bringing about a chuckle from satoru. "so needy for me already, hm?" he remarks, as if his own pants weren't tightening upon the observation.

"shut up, 'toru..." you're trying to regain your composure and keep up an attitude, but to no avail. the fact that he has you exactly where he wants you isn't helping, either. you're even trying to avoid his gaze, but the way you can feel his presence everywhere makes it impossible to do so— besides, he's making you face him again using his index finger and thumb to hold your chin in between, as he whispers out a "look at me, baby."

and when you do, you have to let out a gasp at the sight of him— his disheveled hair which was perfectly tamed at the start of the night, his half-lidded eyes as he looks at you like you're his entire world and his lips that are now slightly bruised and swollen from the kisses you've shared. it was beyond enough to get you all the more hot and bothered.

oh, but that's not the only factor contributing to the sounds you're making— it's also the way he's pulled your panties to the side and is currently tracing your slit ever so slowly. "want more, princess?" nearly mocking tone.

you hardly even manage to let out a hum before his slender fingers are running over the most sensitive bundle of nerves, eliciting a moan from you. your eyes roll all the way back when one of his digits slides inside you just a moment later— you'd never been this sensitive, but it seems that was going to be entirely different with satoru.

he added one after the other, and now, three of his freakishly large fingers were pumping in and out of you relentlessly— he was so good with them, you could practically taste your orgasm about to wash over you.

"'m close, satoru," you whimper out almost pathetically, and his fingers are going even deeper now, hitting the spots you'd never even dreamt of reaching on your own. "yeah? is my princess gonna cum for me?" his voice is rough and he's groaning as if he's the one receiving the pleasure.

you can only nod as your arousal overwhelms you, white ropes of cum spurting out from your throbbing hole with one final thrust of his fingers. his entire hand was covered in your fluids, which he brought up to his mouth to be able to savor the sweetness of your juices on his tongue. god, he was an obsessed freak when it came to you.

"ew, satoru! why would you do that?" you hold back a giggle, expressing faux disgust at his actions. he only kisses you in response instead of using his words, making sure you get to taste what he'd drawn out of you as well.

"you think suguru's gonna be mad?" he asks, obviously amused at the idea of your brother enraged when he finds out what you and satoru have done. "oh yeah, definitely." he sweetly presses yet another kiss to your lips.

"if it's at the expense of me getting everything i wished for, i don't care, babe."

@cuntphoric :33

#ash of the brightest flame ever burnt —✶⌒(ゝ。∂)#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #cocoamide

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julymusings · 3 days ago

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I just can't get the idea of soulmate!jason where you share scars out of my head. Jason is a canvas of scars. We all find them beautiful and wouldn't judge him even if we were held at gun point.

But imagine you were getting those scars at the same time he was... it would be hard. Of course you are worried about your soulmate, but when you wake up with a permanent, very purposeful J branded onto your face, can you really tell me you wouldn't be embarrassed to go outside? Afraid of meeting your soulmate who seems to be either a criminal or in a very dangerous victim situation? Would you not be even a little angry that now your face is ruined?

(I know there is makeup, but we are ignoring that for a second)

Yes, you share these scars with your soulmate and somewhere along the line you'd find peace with them. But in the moment when you look in the mirror and find an autopsy scar... I can only imagine what you would feel.

Oh, and poor Jason. He would never be able to forgive himself. He probably wouldn't even realize he has a soulmate because if you get a scar he wouldn't notice it beside all of his.

This isn't a request. I just wanted to share my thoughts and hear yours.

Oh absolutely. I’m wondering exactly how far the scarring would go— would you have burns from the explosion? Do you wake up covered in bruises from the crowbar? A bump on the bridge between your eyes from a broken nose?

I imagine you’d be pretty resentful toward the universe if you woke up with a J branded on your face and marks from injuries that aren’t yours all over your body. And finding the autopsy scar?? Grieving someone you don’t even know? How would you recover from that? Especially so young; Jason died at 15, so you’d probably be around the same age. Imagine going into school like that. Teenagers are awful. They take one look at you and assume you’re bad news, because why else would you look so roughed up? Stay away from people like that, their parents whisper through side-eyed fear. Whoever your soulmate is, you hate them at least a little bit.

And if you follow the storyline where the pit heals all of Jason’s scars from joker and before, imagine waking up one day, almost two years later, and everything’s just gone. Would it be relieving or terrifying? But then you start to get some more, different from the old ones but it’s still as if they never left. Callouses on the pads of your fingers from squeezing a phantom trigger. Slices on the tip of your ear (Jason narrowly dodged three daggers launched by a furious Damian after he accidentally stepped on Titus’ tail). Is this some kind of joke? Is your soulmate pool confined to a singular street gang that gets into the same fights every night? (Luckily open wounds are few and far between now. Maybe it’s professional fighter who finally invested in some body armor, your friend jokes.) At least there’s no branding this time. I guess whoever they are, they’re better protecting their face this time around. Either way, it doesn’t matter. You’re not sure you want anything to do with them anymore. Who’s to say someone hurt this bad is capable of not hurting you?

But he is, he’s so capable and deserving. It breaks your heart to learn the origins of those marks you stared at in the mirror, judging and hating. If you thought having those scars was hard on you, he must have felt it tenfold. You try to act like it never bothered you, but you both know it did. The look on Jason’s face when you absentmindedly mentioned you never really made friends until college because everyone saw you as unapproachable in high school— it took a full week of loving reassurances on your part and therapy sessions on his to get back to your normal.

But sharing his scars helps, even if just a little, in understanding every part of him. You understand his loneliness and fear because you felt it too. Some nights you swear you can feel the trace of a burning knife down the front of your torso, or bits of glass piercing your palms, so you know. You know that ice packs help with the ache, that aloe vera gel soothes the itching irritation from tiny cuts, and regular Hatha Yoga provides just the right stretch to loosen aching joints. He gives you a funny look when you gift him an aloe Vera plant for his windowsill, but says nothing, agreeing to take care of it when you ask him to keep it alive. One night you notice him repeatedly rubbing his red, burning palms down the front of his jeans and lead him to sit down before taking a clean knife and slicing off one of the stems, cutting it open to spread across his cuts. That silent statement of understanding, of seeing him in a way no one else does, has him welling with tears.

So, sure, having to grow up with only signs of him, not knowing who he was aside from anonymous messages on your skin was pretty difficult. But now when you trace across the bridge of his nose over the line of jagged skin, he can do it right back to you, and both of you can’t help but feel a little grateful.

I think I went a little off topic idk man I was just saying stuff but I love the idea of soulmate!jason where you get each other’s scars and that results in you feeling the same/similar but lesser symptoms of them and therefore knowing how to deal with them for him without him having to tell you🤭if someone wants to write a fic like this I will gladly read it

#can you tell from all my writings that i’m a jason nose bridge scar fanatic idk i just think it’s hot #jason todd #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood x reader #batboys #asks #robin #batman #JT🫶

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logictoinsanity · 17 hours ago

Text

some Logan's birthday rambling inspired by @eliemo and I's discussions and also his Logan's birthday post

Thinking about Logan getting really nervous leading up to his birthday, for alot of reasons but mostly because he's worried Wades gonna throw him a surprise party

Not for no reason, Wades thrown three surprise parties in the time since Logan came to this universe, plus Logan saw him updating his party playlist, and Wade keeps coming home with bags that he insists Logan doesn't look at.

It's not like Logan doesn't appreciate the thought- it's been decades since anyone's even thought about his birthday, much less wanted to celebrate it -he knows it's Wade's way of showing he cares, but Logan's never been a fan of parties, and definitely not surprise parties. He's never had one, but he doesn't like surprises generally so it's not a hard leap to make.

His birthday arrives, he's incredibly on edge as Wade drags him out of the apartment very instantly. Logan tells himself it'll be fine, he can handle anything, of course he can force a smile through a surprise party, he's the fucking wolverine. He doesn't really believe it, but he has to try.

Wade drags him around the city for a bit before finally deciding they can go back home, Logan's bracing himself, ready for the onslaught of people and smells and loud music and bright decorations.

They get home, walk up the stairs and open the door

Revealing their living room, exactly as they left it, with the addition of Laura and Al on the couch, and on the table, three wrapped presents, two takeout bags from his favorite restaurant, and what looks like a very expensive bottle of whiskey.

Logan stares for longer than is probably necessary before turning to Wade.

"No surprise party??" He asks, trying and failing to keep the relief out of his voice.

Wade raises what once was an eyebrow, looking at Logan like he's insane.

"Peanut, why on earth would I throw you a surprise party? You hate parties! and surprises! I figured you'd rather just have Laura over, eat an absurd amount of meat," He pauses for an exaggerated wink, "drink some fancy ass whiskey and pass out on the couch. We did get you presents though, can't stop us from that"

Logan stares at him a little longer. It had been a long time since anyone wanted to celebrate his birthday, but it had been even longer since anyone had bothered to pay attention to his likes and dislikes to nearly the extent Wade did; Logan wasn't exactly an open book, but Wade didn't seem to mind.

"Yeah. Yeah that sounds better"

#rambling #highposting #poolverine #deadclaws #deadpool and wolverine

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xiouahh · 1 day ago

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☆ numb ─ CHRISTMAS SPECIAL !!

It was Christmas Eve, and the group had gathered at Childe’s house, the only place spacious enough to fit everyone comfortably. The room buzzed with laughter, a few sarcastic quips, and, of course, a healthy dose of drama. The highlight of the evening was the annual Secret Santa, but for one person, it felt less like a fun tradition and more like walking into a minefield.

Finally, it was Scaramouche’s turn. He tried to look as disinterested as possible, casually reaching into his bag to pull out a small, neatly wrapped package. His gaze swept across the room—most of his friends were either laughing or eyeing their gifts with anticipation. But when his eyes landed on you, they lingered a moment too long.

The gift he’d chosen for you wasn’t something he’d picked lightly. In fact, he’d spent way too much time obsessing over it. He didn’t want to seem too thoughtful or too eager. That would give too much away—how often your name had been running through his mind lately. So, he went with something neutral, practical: a custom-made hoodie. Simple. Safe.

As he handed it to you, his fingers brushed against yours briefly before he pulled his hand back like he’d been burned. A flicker of embarrassment crossed his usually composed face. Great. Now you’d probably noticed. But he kept his mouth shut, like always.

You opened the package carefully, your expression unreadable. When you saw the hoodie, you raised an eyebrow and glanced up at him. Before you could say anything, he averted his gaze, pretending to examine something across the room.

" Woah. This is... actually pretty cool. " you said, holding it up with a grin.

Scaramouche straightened, trying his best to seem indifferent. " It’s just a hoodie. Don’t overthink it. "

" You’re terrible at pretending not to care, " you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips. You could see the faint blush creeping up his neck, betraying his calm exterior. He wasn’t fooling anyone—not even himself.

Inside, he was a mess. Relief? Embarrassment? He wasn’t sure. He just knew he was glad you didn’t hate it. At least, not outwardly.

Then it was your turn. You handed him a small, neatly wrapped box. He tore the paper off and found a silver bracelet inside. It was simple yet elegant, engraved with tiny stars and constellations along its band. Attached to it was a small tag that read: 'For the one who lights up even the darkest nights.'

Scaramouche froze, completely unprepared for the thoughtfulness of the gift. He wasn’t great with emotions—or receiving meaningful gifts, for that matter.

" What’s this? " he asked, his voice quieter than usual, as though he wasn’t sure how to process it.

" Just something for someone who likes to pretend they’re too cool for heartfelt things, " you replied with a wink. " Wear it, or just keep it. Your choice. "

His first instinct was to brush it off with sarcasm, but for once, he didn’t. Instead, he muttered, " Thanks. " It felt foreign on his tongue, but it was the only thing that felt right.

The group didn’t miss the awkward tension and jumped on it immediately. Childe raised an eyebrow, smirking. " Wow, didn’t see that coming. Someone’s got a soft spot. "

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. " It’s just a bracelet. Don’t make it weird. "

But even as he dismissed it, his fingers subconsciously brushed against the bracelet. He didn’t want to admit it, but he liked it—a lot more than he wanted anyone to know.

As the gift exchange wound down, the room was filled with laughter and teasing. Scaramouche leaned back, pretending to be unbothered by the chaos. But the warmth from your gift lingered in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling he couldn’t quite shake.

It wasn’t just a bracelet. It was a symbol—subtle, meaningful, and carefully chosen. And maybe, just maybe, it meant you cared as much as he did, even if neither of you was ready to admit it.

masterlist

SYPNOSIS.　You had always been the independent, strong-willed person who didn't need anyone's help. Despite your best efforts, your trauma continues to plague you, making it difficult for you to trust and connect with others. That is, until you meet a young man who is everything you've wanted in a partner. Despite his aloof demeanor, he manages to break your emotional barriers and become a source of healing and support for you. As you learn to trust and open up to him, he becomes the healer of your heart, helping you heal from your trauma. AUTHOR.　I’m so sorry if this is too short 😭😭🙏🏻 I thought of this last minute and was very exhausted .. I’ll make it up to u guys in the next episodes, probably. ++ More extras in the near future, Merry Christmas! <3 TAGLIST.　 @arlecchino-soon-main @skyoverkill1 @yo0ngleswag @scaraenthusiast1 @skyvella @lloovvv @ciellez @asukahiriko2 @trulyylee @lalalaloveallmydays @hearts4lizzzz @animeobsessed56 @exhaustedcommunist @meigalaxy @dragontammerz @heusalettle @iloveapplepie7 @vitanye @shyentsmissingink @jiminscarmex @vixialuvs @kunikissr @rishaling @liuaneee

#genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact au #genshin au #genshin impact smau #genshin smau #scaramouche #scaramouche smau #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi smau #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x you #numb smau #dividers from cafekitsune

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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 1 day ago

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I accidentally deleted this request but i still remember it. so I apologise to who requested it!

Prompt 8: Secret Santa

Prompt 19: "I know it's not much but-" "-it's perfect"

SECRET SANTA

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem! Summary: in which your friend group decides to do a secret Santa. and Eddie doesn't really care, not until he sees who he got. Warnings: One use of Y/n, I'm sorry, ok?!

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Eddie dug a ringed hand into the beanie that Steve had brought around the group.

He didn't really care for this, whoever he got he was going to chuck a few chocolates and candy their way and call it a day. he didn't have the money nor the energy to actually do this activity right.

i know what you're thinking. if he didn't want to do it then why is he here, in Steve Harrington's Livingroom with all his friends doing this?

well the answer to that question is the echo of your laugh ringing in his ear as he pulled the name out of the beanie.

Steve moved on and waved the hat in front of Dustin, who was too busy trying to see who Eddie had gotten to realise it was his turn

Eddie flipped open the piece of ripped paper and there he saw your neat handwriting, your name written so perfectly.

maybe he would try.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Eddie frowned. A week had past and he had no idea what to get you. At this point, it would be easier to slap a bar of chocolate and call it a day.

But he couldn't do that

There had to be some kind of thought behind it

If he just bought a quick snack for you to eat you would probably assume he doesn't care about you. Which is totally not true.

And what if he didn't get the brand you like? What if you were allergic to the flavour he got? What if you just didn't like chocolate

Eddie was becoming a mad man, overthinking everything.

You like music. He doesn't know what bands though

You like art, but are you more of a drawer or painter?

You like animals. But he can't get you a pet

This was so bullshit

Only girls know what to buy girls

So he went to one of the weirdest and coolest girls he knows.

"Robin, you're a girl" Eddie fidgeted as he slowed down to walk with her

The group were out in town for a lunch at the diner and he took his chance when he saw you walking at the front with Steve, ignoring the bubbling of jealousy, he stayed behind to ask Robin a question that was killing him on the inside

"Good observation skills you got there, dimwit" she snorted. Shaking her head disapprovingly

"No- I mean.. what do you buy for a girl?" He asked nervously, scratching the back of his neck

"Are we talking a little kid or do you mean a woman, Eddie?" The blonde girl replied. Of course she knows what he means, she just likes winding him up

Eddie sighed "a woman, Robin"

"And would this be for the secret santa?" Robin questioned knowingly

"Robin, just please" he begged.

Eddie needed help, he needed to know what to get you, to impress you

It was like the gods have given him a chance. And he'd be dammed if he got you a gift you hated

"You got Y/n, didn't you?" The Buckley girl asked

How does she do that? Eddie thought to himself

"No..."

"Aren't you friends with her? You should know what to get her" Robin shrugged

Which then raised the question

He is friends with you, right? He counted you as a friend, but did you count him as one?

Either way. Eddie definitely didn't talk to you as much as he'd like to.

Which makes him think, does he love you when he doesn't know anything about you

Wait.. he loves you?

"Robin, please, I'm freaking out here.. we give presents in 3 days and I have no ideas on what to get her"

"I heard her talking about how she needs a new bra the other day" his friend said casually

Eddie's steps came to a halt as he feels his whole body heat up. Robin laughs to herself seeing Eddie's red face and pink ears, blushing like a mad mad.

He can't get you a bra...isn't that.. harassment? Eddie thought to himself

"No.. I'm not getting her a new bra.. anything that isn't... weird"

"Oh well if you said not weird then I have a whole bunch of things you can get her!" Robin smiles cheerfully

That was a lie.

Robin had started blackheads at the curly headed boy who smiled back enthusiastically, asking what it is

"Eddie, you... poor man... there isn't anything you could give her that isn't weird... because its you"

Ouch.

Plan Robin was a fail.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Eddie layed in his bed. Hands together in his chest and he stared up at his ceiling

He was supposed to be leaving in 20 minutes but he couldn't bring himself to get out of bed

Not when the plush toy stared at him from his desk, taunting him.

He can't show up to Steve's house to give you a stupid teddy bear. He'd look like a fucking idiot.

He leaned up, staring at the soft plush animal. He was told it was your favourite animal by Robin, the only semi-useful thing she had told him 3 days ago.

He frowned, it wasn't even fucking wrapped!

He got up. Going to the cupboard, he didn't have wrapping paper.. but he had old newspapers that he used to use for craft laying around. He could use that, right?

He glared down at the present. A lump of paper strangled by a whole roll of tape.

He wasn't the best wrapper, ok?

Eddie thumped his head on his desk, banging it until he groaned in pain, holding his temple, shaking his head

This was useless. He's not going. He can't go. He won't do it to himself.

He rubbed his hands down his face. His tired and lazy eyes met with the little figurines he had personally made for dnd.

Of course. How could he be so stupid? He cursed himself for forgetting that he had made a little figure that represented you a few months back.

It wasn't for you, per se, but he wanted to secretly incorporate you in the game. You didn't even play, so it wasn't like you could call him out saying the little elf princess resembled you.

If he gave you this it would be seen as thoughtful and maybe even flattering, that he took the time to make you. Which he did do, but this way if was less creepy.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Eddie walked into Steve's living room, gift in hands with a sheepish smile.

Seeing you there, next to Robin, almost made his balls sweat. You looked beautiful.. you weren't gonna like his gift, but before he could turn back, Robin greeted him happily.

Jesus H Christ, Robin Buckley.

Eddie's smile tightened as you looked over, a soft smile planted on your plush lips as you said hello.

He lifted his hand to wave but slapped it back to his side quickly before going over to the tree. This was going to kill him.

He sat beside Dustin and made short conversation with the freshmen when he heard a hushed whisper of his name.

You were looking over at him when he looked back. You quickly turned away, your face flushing red as Eddie frowned

Were you making fun of him? Teasing him? Right, you must have thought you were a freak just like the rest of them.

It was hopeless, loving you. After so long you'd think he would learn to move on. Or maybe actually pack up the courage to talk to you, even in a group setting.

It was beyond you, the way he felt towards you. You assumed he didn't like you cause he never made any attempt to talk to you, and when you'd go up to start a conversation with him, he'd rush away, having something brilliant to say to Dustin. So you just gave up trying to be his friend, if he didn't like you.

But it was too late to take his gift back and run because Steve had announced it was gift time.

One by one, each member of the group went up to the tree and found the gift with their name on it.

Eddie stood up and grabbed the box, wrapped neatly in red and green wrapping paper, stuck together with a bow on the top. His name written messily on a ripped piece of paper that was taped to the top.

Dustin shook his box as Eddie sat back down, While You got up to get your gift.

Eddie nervously watched as you walked up to the tree. Looking down at the two presents left. You frowned at you picked it up, going back to your spot on the couch

You haven't even opened it and you already hated it.

Then one by one they started to open the presents. Guessing who had gifted them the present in their hands, Dustin had Guessed Lucas, Lucas had guessed Robin, Robin had guessed Mike, Mike had guessed Steve, Steve had guessed Mike, Eddie had guessed Nancy, Nancy had guessed you..

And as you opened your gift, tearing open the plush toy, your eyes immediately went to Robin, and you shook your head, smiling softly, noticing the small wrapped present.

You didn't take it out from the box as you opened it, but he could tell your reaction was mixed by the squint in your eye that was quickly replaced by a wide eye grin. Your gaze lifted and landed on Eddie.

You guessed him.

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

Eddie fought to catch you before you left. Making sure he was the last person to say goodbye as you left the Harrington home.

He followed you out, right to your car door before he stopped you.

The plushie raised to your chest as you snugged the soft fur of it. The figurine you kept in the small box he had put it in, held in your hand as he smiled sheepishly at you

"I uh-" he stopped himself, itching the back of his neck

He should run while he can, save himself from the embarrassment before you turn him away.

You don't even like him, right?

"I hope you like the gifts" he settled for., eyes tearing away from yours as he lazily pointed to the plush and the box.

"I do.. their really cute, thank you" you beamed up at him

Cute? You called him cute?! -oh wait

His faint blush drained from his face when he realised he misheard you.

"I know it's not much but-" he looked down at the floor before you cut him off

"-it's perfect"

Eddie looked back up at you, eyebrows raised "Yeah?"

"Yeah" you nodded "you can never have enough toys on your bed. I swear my bed it full of them.. and the figurine, wow.. the detail is amazing, Eddie.. I can't believe you'd do that"

Of course he'd do that. Totally not for his enjoyment for making the game better, but for you to enjoy, maybe on display or in the trash, he doesn't care.

-he does-

"I know you don't play but-" he started before you cut him off again

"I was actually hoping to ask if you'd want to teach me how to play... you guys reference it so much I just wanted to understand it.. if you want to?" You asked

"Of course I want to! I mean hellfire could use someone like you" he stood up straighter

You were interested in him? Well not him but- yeah sure let's go with him, for his sake.

"Someone like me?" You questioned teasingly

"A-an elven princess" he pointed to the little box in your hand.

You hummed and smiled, looking up at him so gently it made him want to faint.

After a moment of silence, Eddie decided that was enough because if he stared at you for one more second trying not to tell (scream) that he loves you, he would break.

"Well.. merry Christmas" he smiled tightly before backing up

"Oh, Eddie, Wait" you stopped him, opening your care door and placing the gifts on your passenger seat before leaning over to the back.

Eddie stood in his place, trying not to stare at your ass as you leaned over. He closed his eyes, licking his lips.

When his eyes fluttered open again, you were right in front of him, holding out a little wrapped box with a cute bow in it.

He looked up at you, confused before you leaned up and kissed him on the cheek

"Merry Christmas, Eds"

You backed away. Your hands together, fiddling with your fingers as if you were nervous. You got in your care and shut the door when he finally realised you had given him a gift.

As as you drove away, he opened it.

Opening the small box, his heart almost skipped a beat.

It wasn't much, but to Eddie it meant everything.

It made him know that you pay attention, that maybe you care about him, maybe in the way he does you.

And it was even sweeter because you didn't have to get him anything, you weren't his Santa.

You got him a ring

🦌𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ་༘࿐⋆꙳❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°°‧❆⋆.ೃ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶ

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY

#imagines #fluff #x fem!reader #oneshot #eddie munson #stranger things #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x fem #ami's christmas prompts #secret santa fic #dnd #merry christmas #christmas fic #eddie stranger things

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chimneyz · 2 days ago

Text

Blue Christmas

A sharp blade of sunlight stabbed through the blackout curtains right into Tommy's eyes, it was unbearable enough to wake him from his slumber. In a groggy groan, Tommy shifted his body, facing away from the sunlight, pulling the blankets over his head cocooning himself in darkness once more. A sharp pain drilled into his brain making it throb against his skull. The pressure from it makes it feel as if his brain formed thumbs pressing against the back of his eyes trying their damndest to push them out of his head. A botched lobotomy would have been better than his. The stale taste of last night's alcohol coated his tongue, it was bitter.

Tommy probably had too much to drink last night. It was all just one big blur, that has been happening more frequently... after... after everything. On his nights off Tommy spent his time at his favorite bar, a small little hole in the wall that was never crowded and always playing music from the post-punk genre from the late 70s and 80s. He either spent his time alone moping in the corner or with Sal who would sit there, listen to him and every once in a while offer a friendly pat on the back. Last night he spent it alone. He didn't have to spend it alone, yet he did.

Sal gave him a last minute invite last week to his house for Christmas Eve.

"You should come, Tommy," Sal said to him, patting his back. "Don't spend Christmas Eve here. Claire is making her famous chocolate caramel fudge."

"I'll pop by." Tommy sipped his beer leaning onto the bar counter.

He lied.

He will make it up to Sal and Claire some other time.

With the throbbing pain burrowed into his head, Tommy wondered if he drank more than he usually did. No, he didn’t have to wonder, he knew he did.

Christmas was the one time of year he always hated. Well, that and the Fourth of July. Fuck the Fourth of July.

Hate was an understatement, Tommy loathed Christmas. Despised it with every fiber of his being. He didn't remember a time when he didn't like the holiday. His feelings about it changed and evolved as he got older but he never liked it. As a kid his house became more unbearable, everything had to be perfect, and it never was. Not for his father at least. Somehow it was the one time of year he actually was home most of the time. His father had to show everyone that they weren't in his words: "The white trash family that everyone believes us to be, we will show them... all of them."

Tommy still didn’t know who the ‘them’ even was.

His father's temper became more heated, more violent. Tommy couldn't count how many times he watched his mother lock herself away in the bedroom and weep.

Not only did his house become unbearable, Tommy would watch all the other families on his street be happy. Actually happy. Being happy on Christmas was a foreign concept to Tommy. How the fuck can people be happy on Christmas?

When Tommy joined the army time wasn't an actual concept many hadn’t had the luxury to afford. Tommy never really knew the time. He forgot about the holiday altogether. Tommy could count on one hand what he was thankful for about the army. Not dealing with Christmas was one. The other, it got him out of that fucking house.

Once Tommy was discharged, he moved to LA, he never wanted to see snow again. The beginning of snow signified to him the beginning of the dreaded holiday. The only issue with moving to a place with no snow, people tend to go a little crazy with their lights and decorations. Tommy always figured it was to compensate for the lack of snow. His first Christmas in LA wasn't bad, but it wasn’t good. He was looking forward to being alone for once. He just didn't expect it to be just as overwhelming as spending it at home with his family. The silence was just too loud. After a couple of years, the silence became deafening. Luckily by that time Tommy was already a firefighter, and his schedule was always not what most would consider normal. Tommy actually took the time to work on the holiday to not be fully alone. However, the loneliness still ate at him from the inside.

But this year, this year was going to be different.

"Hey my sister and Chim are throwing a party this year for Christmas, wanna be my date?" Evan smiled at him, it was brighter than the fucking sun.

Tommy looked up at Evan's now boil-free face. Tommy should have known the conversation would happen at some point, Halloween was over and most people already started at least thinking about Christmas the day after. Tommy scooched up closer to his face, his entire body lying on top of Evan. It became his favorite place to sleep, on top of him with Evan's arms wrapped around him, his head lying softly on Evan's chest listening to his heartbeat. He now looked directly into Evan's big blue mesmerizing eyes pondering what to say.

"I-If you don't want to you don't have to - o-or if you have plans already with your family. You haven't said much about them so I wasn't sure if you are still on speaking terms or-"

Tommy moved closer, cradling Evan's face with both of his hands gently kissing his lips. "Yes," Tommy smiled, "I will go with you."

Evan stared at him with awe. He could have sworn he saw fucking starlight in there. Tommy relished in the way Evan looked at him after every single kiss. That starlight never dulled, not even once.

"Ok, good." Evan rested his head against this pillow smitten, holding on to Tommy a little tighter.

"Also last I checked you called me your boyfriend, don't you think it's a bit middle school to ask for me to be your date for your sister's Christmas party?" Tommy teased, his mouth morphing into a smirk.

Evan playfully swats at Tommy, his body shaking from a giggle he was trying to hide.

Tommy rested his head back on Evan's heart. Maybe this year will be different.

Tommy clutched his pillow close, freezing under the mountain of blankets, the lack of Evan's heartbeat ached Tommy’s chest. His head was still pounding away relentlessly. Not that it mattered, he was alone. He wondered if he deserved the pain throbbing between his temples.

A wave of nausea washed over Tommy, quickly he scrambled out of his cocoon of blankets running over quickly to the ensuite bathroom. Hunching over the toilet throwing up whatever alcohol and bile was twisting his stomach into knots. Aching from vomiting, Tommy rested his sweaty body against the cool tile floor panting.

"Fuck Christmas," he mumbled.

After a while, Tommy finally got up, maybe eating something would help. His footsteps echoed throughout his empty home. Tommy’s home was small, Evan called it cozy, but right now it felt endlessly large and cold. He hated his house, he hated that he hated it. Tommy spent years fixing it up into something of his own, now it felt like it didn't belong to him, that he wasn't

Once in the kitchen, Tommy opens the fridge, a cool breeze rushes through. To his dismay, there was hardly anything edible in his fridge. Tommy shouldn't be surprised, he hardly bought anything at the grocery store, he hardly ate since... since fucking up his own life. His head pounded, it was getting harder to ignore. Grabbing one of the very few water bottles in his fridge and a bottle of Excedrin, Tommy takes the pills and gulps them down with water. He didn't care that he hasn't eaten, he didn’t care that the meds might fuck up his stomach later, he needed to eliminate that headache fast.

Tommy’s eyes looked around the cold empty house, not a Christmas decoration in sight. As big as the house felt, the walls closed in around him. It was getting harder to breathe. Why was it getting harder to breathe? What if he was going to wind up dead in this fucking house alone? Would anyone miss him? Would he even miss himself? Life would go on and on, not even realizing he died, alone, in this stupid fucking house. Tommy knew he wasn't going to die soon, he was fit, healthy, went to the doctors, he was fine. Yeah sure, fine. Totally and completely fine... in this cold empty house.

He needed to get out of there, fast.

He didn't care that he was in his joggers and Evan's hoodie (in which he left behind months ago). Tommy quickly grabbed his boots, wallet, sunglasses, and keys, not even making an effort to tie the laces, and headed straight for the front door.

After shutting the front door behind him he let out a sigh of relief, of fresh air, as if the air in the house were poisonous to his lungs. Even with the sunglasses shielding his eyes, the sun was still too bright for him to see. Tommy’s eyes eventually landed on a crushed box in front of his doorstep. A small white box with crumbs spilling out of the broken edges. Ants crawled all over it, feasting on whatever was inside. Tommy tilted his head, curious about the mystery box in front of him. From the footprint on the box, all Tommy could assume was he stepped on it last night, too drunk from the bar to realize there was something waiting for him when he got home. He crouched down to the box lifting the lid. Broken crumbled Christmas cookies filled the tiny box. Sal must have left this here last night. Maybe Claire made cookies instead of her chocolate caramel fudge this year.

Tommy lifted what he could and threw it in the trash can at the edge of his driveway, whipping away the crumbs from his hand. Before closing the lid, Tommy caught the little note taped to the box. To Tommy was written in familiar handwriting, Evan's handwriting. Tommy quickly shut the lid, a nauseating pit formed in his stomach.

Christmas music echoes throughout the shopping isles of the grocery store. The wheels of the shopping cart squealed as they rolled along the linoleum. Tommy could only count a few others that were actually shopping. Talking his time - with nothing else to do - Tommy slowly strolled through the store looking at every little thing. It wasn't until he reached the produce aisle when Tommy abruptly stopped, the soles of his shoes speaking on the linoleum. He looked down at the variety of mushrooms before him.

"Which mushrooms should I choose, Tommy?"

Tommy turns to find Evan looking down at the mushrooms. Evan's eyebrows furrowed, his hands on his hips. Tommy watched as Evan bit down on his bottom lip contemplating. Tommy loved how Evan looked while contemplating.

Tommy loved Evan, he didn’t say it out loud but he loved him. He has for a while now, but it really didn't click until that day in the graveyard. He hoped the basketball tickets he bought just a couple hours ago showed his love. He was a little nervous about their six-month anniversary, he wasn't sure why. He hoped the tickets conveyed how much their relationship meant to him. It was how this whole thing started, right?

"Which do you think morel or chanterelle?" Evan asked.

"Uh, I am not sure," Evan chuckled, "What's the difference?"

"Well morels have this smokey nutty flavor, chanterelles on the other hand have this somewhat fruity flavor. I just can't decide what would be better for this orzo recipe. It has to be perfect."

"Evan hon' it's just orzo it doesn't have to be perfect. Besides, Maddie and Howie will be happy with whatever you bring for the Christmas party."

"Yes it does," Evan looked at him. "It’s my first Christmas with you, it has to be perfect."

Tommy’s heart swelled.

"Evan..." Tommy kissed the birthmark above Evan's eyebrow, "All I need is you for it to be perfect."

Tears stung Tommy’s eyes, the memory making him ache.

Quickly he wheeled the cart away, unable to look at mushrooms the same now. He quickly got the things he intended to get in the first place, a package of chocolate chip cookie dough and a small tub of cream cheese frosting. He didn't know why he took so long in the store, nor did he know why he took a shopping cart for two items. Maybe it was to stall time, to lean on something, to ground him.

From the speakers the soothing sounds of Wham! sung a little tune.

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

But the very next day, you gave it away

This year, to save me from tears

I'll give it to someone special

"You have got to be fucking kidding me right now."

Tommy couldn’t get out of that grocery store fast enough.

Tommy stared up at the screen above him, Babygirl, Wicked, Nosferatu. So many choices on the screen it made his headache again. The package of cookie dough tapped onto his thigh.

"What would have the least Christmas spirit?" Tommy looked down at the board teen.

"I don't know man," she said, not really looking up from her book.

"Wouldn't you've seen these movies?"

"Just because I work here doesn't mean I have seen any of them."

Tommy slumped down into the movie theater chair with his extra large cherry lime Icee slush, a large popcorn (extra butter), his package of cookie dough, and cream cheese frosting. He must admit he was surprised that the workers let him walk in with food. But he probably looked as he felt, like shit. Nobody really wants to talk to you when you look like you are going through hell, especially during the holidays.

Eventually, Tommy landed on Nosferatu, it seemed the safest bet, even though Tommy hated horror movies. Couldn't stand them. He always found himself to be anxious and jumpy after every single one he has watched. He never got that much sleep after a horror movie. But maybe that is what he needed, to be anxious and jumpy, to keep his mind off of things, to preoccupy. And the whole not being able to sleep after horror movies... Well, it wasn't like he was getting that much sleep to begin with these days. His bed was too cold without Evan.

"Babe?"

Tommy flinched, the mattress sunk down next to him as Evan sat next to him, his eyes filled with concern.

"Are you alright? You've been biting your nails a lot tonight?"

Tommy removed his fingernails from his teeth, he didn’t even realize he was doing it. It was a bad habit he had since he was a kid. His father practically yelled at him about it more times than he could count. Only pussies bite their nails. That is what his father always said. He picked up the habit again while in the army. Luckily it only became a habit when he was anxious. Tonight seemed to be one of those nights.

"Sorry," Tommy mumbled.

"Hey, you don't need to be," Evan inched closer, "What's going on inside that head of yours?"

Tommy sighed slumping his shoulders down, "I hate horror movies Evan, I am sorry I just do. I know you wanted to do this marathon of thirteen movies for thirteen nights but... I just can't stand them. They make me anxious and I can't relax after watching them. I am so sorry."

"Hey," Evan cupped Tommy’s face pulling him to look right at Evan, "Don't be sorry, we don't have to do it if you don't like it ok?"

Tommy nodded.

"Now," Evan smirked, "Let's see how I can distract you."

"Distract me?"

Evan hummed as he pulled down the waistband of Tommy’s briefs.

"Oh," Tommy hummed.

"Let me grab the lube, and I'll make you forget every scary little thing."

"You better," Tommy giggled.

Tommy watched the credits roll, he wished he did have a distraction, a good one, to keep the thoughts in his mind at bay. It was too bad that the perfect distraction probably wanted nothing to do with him now.

By the time Tommy left the movie theater, darkness covered the night sky. He got into his truck and left. Tommy didn’t want to go home, not yet. Not to the empty cold unwelcoming house. But where else would he go? Nowhere. Usually, on days like these, he'd sit down and watch Love, Actually and forget about the world around him. But not today, actually not even in the whole month of December. He never could get through the whole thing in December.

The loneliness was eating away at him. He didn't know how much longer he could take it, the loneliness was becoming too loud, too unbearable.

As Tommy drove down his street he looked through every house with lights wondering if the families inside were happy. Wondering why his family never was. Even the houses with no Christmas decor still felt warm and welcoming. But not his. Something was different though, someone was there, right at his doorstep.

"Evan?"

Tommy pulled his car into his driveway killing the engine. Evan fumbled with the large paper cards in his hands cursing under his breath as he picked them up. Tommy shut the car door unsure how Evan hasn't noticed him yet. The noise from the car door made Evan jump up, looking at Tommy with his big blue eyes, his cheeks growing pink.

"Uh, h-hey Tommy." Evan rubbed the back of his neck.

"Evan, what are you doing here?"

"I uh," Evan gestured to the large cards sprawled on the ground. "I wanted to do something... well. You love Love, Actually so much I thought that this would be-" Evan's cheeks morphed from pink to red. "I-It’s stupid."

"It's not stupid," Tommy chuckled. "It’s adorable."

"R-Really?"

Tommy hummed, walking a bit closer to Evan.

"The last one was going to ask if you could be my date to Maddie and Chim's Christmas party." Evan smiled.

"Evan, I... I can't..." his voice trailed off to a mumble.

"Why? It's not like you have any plans."

Tommy winced at Evan's words.

"S-Sorry, I didn't mean to, that was..." Evan pressed his lips together thinly, his shoulders stiff, "Uncalled for."

"Evan I don't know if that would work," Tommy murmured darting his eyes away and crossing his arms, "I hurt you. I am sorry for that but I did it anyway. How could you know I wouldn't hurt you again?"

Evan sighed, he inched closer to Tommy wrapping his arms around Tommy’s biceps squeezing them gently. "I don't... but that doesn't mean we should fight for this. Tommy, I went over what you said that night over and over on an endless loop. You wanted this just as much as I do, don't turn your back on this. On us."

"Evan, I am nobody's last, I am not someone people love unconditionally, that's just now who I am."

"You're wrong Tommy," Evan said, determination flaring in his eyes, "I love you. I love the good, the bad. Every single bit of you. You are loveable. Whether you are with me or not I will always love you, no matter what."

Tommy could feel the tears forming around his eyes.

"I wish you will choose to be with me," Evan whispered.

"Evan..." Tommy's voice cracked, "I-I have so much shit to work through."

"So do I. But let's not do it apart when we can deal with it together."

"The last time I let someone get in this close... it fucking shattered me. It took me years to pick up the pieces. I don't know if I can do that again."

"Are you not hurting now?"

Tommy huffed, "Of course I am, but-"

"Tommy I cannot predict the future, everything could work out for the both of us. We could die horribly tomorrow. Who knows? But can we just focus on the present and walk our path to the future together?"

"I am so sick and tired of being alone."

"I know." Evan moved his hand up holding Tommy’s cheek, wiping away a tear with his thumb. "Please don't be alone tonight. We can talk later but don't be alone tonight."

"You have no idea how much I wanted you by my side, how much I've missed you, how much I needed you."

"I think I have somewhat of an idea. You are calling me Evan again." Tommy's face felt warm, burning even. "You have no idea how much I needed you Tommy, how much I still need you."

Evan brought Tommy in closer, pressing his lips against Tommy's gently kissing him. Tommy missed this, needed this, craved this. He wrapped his hands around Evan's waist kissing back desperately needing Evan more than air itself. The kiss went from gentle to passionate making up for lost time, both hungry - no, starving - for each other.

Both parted gasping for air, Tommy watched Evan's eyes glitter from the stars above.

"I want to figure this out by your side, If you will let me." Tommy whispered.

"Of course," Evan kissed the center of Tommy’s forehead, "Merry Christmas Tommy."

Tommy chuckled, "Merry Christmas Evan."

Maybe this Christmas was going to be different after all.

#yay it's out!#it became a lot longer than intended but i am very happy with it #bucktommy #tommy kinard #evan buckley #911 #911 abc #bucktommy fic #eds writes fics

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beef-brisket · 2 days ago

Text

It took Lucifer a few moments to realize that Adam was rocking him slowly. He was so exhausted, so Lucifer just leaned to Adam's chest.

Adam held him for a few hours. He was surprised that he didn't find himself minding the king being in his arms. In fact, if he wasn't careful, he would surely be blushing from the fact that Lucifer went to find him for comfort.

Once Lucifer was asleep and breathing a bit better, Adam placed him in bed and pulled the blankets on top of him.

He was sick of Lucifer not telling him anything. Adam hated watching him die. He was a pain in the ass, but he didn't deserve this.

Adam slowly and quietly left his room and went to find Charlie. Hopefully, Lucifer has spoken to her about everything going on.

And lucky for Adam, she was just coming out of her office, and her guard dog wasn't with her.

Adam: Hey rainbows.

Charlie jumped and turned to face Adam. When she saw him, her face beamed.

Charlie: Adam! You're out of your room! And on your own! That's amazing!

Adam really hated that he actually liked Charlie's praise. But he'd rather die again than tell her that she was actually helping him.

Adam: Uh- yeah, thanks. I need to talk with you, are you free?

Charlie: Wow, Adam. Two therapy sessions in one day? I love the excitement, but spilling your feelings is exhausting, and it's probably best we leave this be a two appointments a week kinda thing, Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes: It's not about me, it's about your old man.

Charlie: O-Oh! Right! Come on in!

She held the door open for Adam and followed him inside. Charlie tried to hide the nervous ticks she had. She's really hoping this meeting will help her dad.

Adam: Right. Look. Your dad is... currently dying. And he won't fuckimg tell me anything, and it's driving me nuts.

Charlie: I understand, he won't tell me much either.

Adam sighed: Just... I want to kill the fuckers he's crushing on. Lucifer won't do the surgery and refuses to talk to the bastard doing this shit. So, if you know who it is, I'd like to know.

Charlie: ...you... want to kill h-them?

Adam: Yeah. Killing sinners is kinda my thing. What's one more?

Charlie: Oh, Adam. That's really adorable! Oh my god! You want to help someone!

Adam groaned: Look, princess. I may be hot, but that doesn't mean I'm a cunt, alright? He's in fuckibg pain, and as much as I... dislike him, I'd feel better disliking him when he's not on his death bed. So, do you know who he's got the hots for?

Charlie beamed again: You don't hate him anymore?!

Adam: Charlie! Come on, man! I'm really trying here!

Charlie: Okay, okay, sorry... yes. I know who da has a thing for.

Adam: Okay. Great. Where are they?

Charlie tried to hold back her smile: At the hotel~.

Adam: What?! It better not be that radio bastard! Actually, I hope it's him, I've been meaning to finish the job...

Charlie: ...what? You want to kill Al?

Adam blinked: Uh... no. Anyway, is it... a chick?

Charlie: A-Adam! The only chick's here are Vaggie and Nifty!

Adam: ...yeah?

Charlie: No! It's not a chick!

Adam: A dude? I knew that fucker was fruity... alright. The cat? He'd be easy to kill-.

Charlie: No! It's not Husk-!

Adam: The porn star? I mean, I get it. Four hands are kinda hot.

Charlie: It's not Angel-!

Adam: Hm... who else is here...? Bitch, you don't have many guests, huh?

Charlie rolls her eyes: There's one other guest here, Adam.

Adam: ...hm....

Charlie wanted to die. He was actually thinking about this?

Adam: ...Oh no. It wasn't that snake fuck, was it? Shit. My bad-.

Charlie: Adam! It's not Pentious!

Adam: The fuck are you yelling at me for?!

Charlie pulls at her hair: Did you lose some of your brain when Dad beat you up?! It's you, Adam! Fuck!

@things-arent-what-they-seem66 @fanofstuff01

Hanahaki Disease

The day of the failed extermination was the end of many things for Lucifer. The end of Heaven's terror, the end of his isolation, the end of the Exorcists, but most importantly, it was the end of the First Man.

He had his fun, taunting Adam for anything and everything, his weight, his wives, his attitude. He knew there was no way in Hell Adam would ever be able to beat him, let alone hurt him. But it was fun to rile him up, fucker did put his hands on his daughter. He deserved it.

Feeling Adam's mask break open under his fist was so incredibly satisfying, but not as much as feeling the bones in Adam's face crack and snap as he landed blow after blow. Just when he was about to do something horrific with his Hellfire, he felt a warm touch on his shoulder.

Looking up, he was met with the face of his daughter, begging him for mercy. Of course, Lucifer felt a teeny tiny weeeny bit bad when he saw how much golden blood covered Adam's face and clothes. But that feeling quickly left when he crawled out of that crater to spew more self-righteous bullshit.

After that, everything was a blur. The sudden silver blade sticking out of Adam's chest, to him falling, landing on the ground with a sickening crack. The tiny maid on his back, stabbing him over and over. And laughing while doing it.

Lucifer watched as an angel with one arm ran over to Adam and pulled him onto his back. Her begging was hard to listen to. It was affecting a deep part of him that was making him feel sympathy for the pathetic bastard. He couldn't have that.

So, he threw them out. Every single one of them. Forcing the army to leave their dead to be feasted on by the cannibals.

Lucifer helped his daughter rebuild. He even cooked some pancakes for everyone.

It wasn't until he was sure everyone at the hotel was asleep that he went out to check the carnage. At least, that's what he told himself. But it was a useless lie as he beelined for Adam's body.

Lucifer felt sick as he saw the state of it. Most of his stomach was gone, his limbs bitten down to the bone. But the most painful thing was his wings. They were broken, snapped, and torn apart. Eaten.

He was eaten.

Just when he thought it couldn't get any worse, the man twitched. And groaned. A bubbling noise escaped his throat, golden blood running out of his mouth.

He's alive.

Lucifer knelt down, his hand hovering just above his chest. It was definitely raising and falling. It was very weak, but it was still happening.

That's when Adam said his final words.

Adam: ...h-hate... you...

Lucifer watched as his eyes became empty. No feeling or purpose behind them. No holy light.

The day of the failed extermination was the end of many things for Lucifer. The end of his old friend. The end of all the good memories he had from Eden. The end of his hope to repair things with Adam.

But, the day after the failed extermination was the start of many things for Lucifer. The start of seeing Adam's chest slowly start to raise again. The start of Adam's stay at the Hazbin Hotel. The start of Lucifer's own personal Hell. The start of hanahaki disease.

It started the first day Adam was at the hotel. The man looked broken and defeated. He didn't even argue with Charlie when she told him about what he'd need to do to stay here. And she wasn't holding back, and neither was Maggie.

She had her spare pressed into Adam's neck the whole time. But the light in his eyes was gone, the need to fight back. He was still healing and was quite the horrid sight, but even that didn't give him any mercy from the members or workers at the hotel.

He watched Adam limp his way to the room Charlie said was his. The whole time, he said nothing, even when Lucifer made a few small threats to his life of he tried anything.

Lucifer felt a tickle in his throat, and he coughed and cleared it.

Lucifer: Hm. Weird. Better not have caught anything form those fucking angels.

Little did Lucifer know that was the start of something truly horrible.

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majorbuckyegan · 2 days ago

Text

don't you break my faded heart

stalag luft III, friends to lovers, first kiss, frottage. (17.2k)

this is my hbo war secret santa gift for @ineededacentralblog hope you enjoy <3

🎄 also on ao3 🎄

Sixty-eight days.

That was how long he'd been trapped at Stalag Luft III, although John could admit that he was already beginning to lose track of the days.

He'd thought that he was doing an okay job of keeping track, but as he laid in his bunk now, counting the marks that he had scratched into the wooden wall of the combine, the number only came to sixty-four. Usually he wouldn't have questioned it, but sixty-four days would only bring them up to the twentieth of December, and he knew that it was Christmas Eve. He couldn't help but wonder where he had lost those four days.

He supposed it didn't really matter, though. Every single day felt the same as the last; each of them blurring into a web of frustration, boredom, and misery. If he hadn't already known that tomorrow was Christmas, he never would have guessed.

The worst part about being stuck here was that there didn't seem to be any end in sight. Who knew just how much longer they'd end up being trapped here. Until the war ended? That could be years away, and the thought of being stuck here for that long made him feel sick to his stomach.

He knew that nobody particularly liked being here, but it sometimes felt as if he was the only one who truly despised it. For the most part, the rest of the guys seemed content to simply wait it out. He couldn't understand it. They were all waiting for something to happen, but he was pretty sure that they needed to make something happen; and he seemed to be the only one who felt that way.

Still, as much as he hated to admit it, he knew that any plans of escape would probably have to wait until the weather turned a little better. It was December, and they were God knows where in the middle of Germany. The temperatures at night dropped to a cold that he'd never felt before, the kind of cold that he could feel in his bones. So, with no solid plan, and with very little idea of their surroundings, he knew that it would be suicide to try and escape right now. Unfortunately, that meant resigning himself to the fact that they'd be trapped here until the Spring, at least.

Besides, every half-assed plan that he had come up with so far seemed less likely to work than the last one. Day and night, the fences were watched by eagle-eyed guards, who he knew were only itching to pull the trigger on somebody for acting out of line, and so he knew that a mad dash for the fence wouldn't result in anything other than a bullet in the head.

Over the last week or so, he had taken to going on walks around the block; looping around their combine and down as far as the end of the block, before coming back up along the side of the fence. He hadn't pushed his luck just yet, but he'd been inching closer and closer to the fence with each walk that he'd gone on, and he was pretty sure that he'd figured out the furthest point he could get before the guards in the watchtower started to get a little uneasy.

He wasn't quite desperate enough to make a run for the fence, but sometimes, he couldn't help but let himself wonder if it would really be so bad if he did? He didn't have anybody waiting for him at home, and so what did it matter, really?

Sometimes, he felt as if it would be a kinder fate than being trapped here for God knows how long.

Still, he knew that he'd never actually do it. He still had a responsibility to take care of his men, and he couldn't do that if he was buried in a shallow grave. As much as he sometimes wanted to just.. give up and let himself die, he knew that he had to stay strong for his boys; Brady, DeMarco, Crank, Murph, Hambone.

Gale. Always Gale.

Honestly, most of it was for Gale.

His boys were tough, and he knew that if they had to keep going without him, then they'd find a way to make it happen. When it came to Gale, though, he wasn't so sure, and that was maybe the main reason that he was determined to make it through this. He didn't like to place too much importance on himself, but he and Gale were.. well, honestly, he just knew that he wouldn't survive in here without Gale, and he was pretty sure that the sentiment was returned.

He tried his best not to consider the possibility that his dependency on Gale was completely one sided, because he was pretty sure it would kill him to find out that Gale didn't need him just as badly as he needed him.

He didn't think that was the case, though. When he had first been brought to the prison camp; he had staggered in on unsteady legs, his vision swimming from the pain in his head, as well as his broken ribs. He didn't remember a whole lot from that day, but one thing he did remember with startling clarity was seeing Gale at the fence, and feeling like life had been breathed back into him.

By then, he had convinced himself that Gale was dead, and so seeing Gale’s smile again was the sweetest thing he could have imagined.

He vaguely remembered Gale bringing him to the combine and fussing over him; carefully cleaning the wounds on his face, and patching him up as well as he could with their limited supplies. He hadn't spoken much, but his face had been closed off, and his touch had been careful and gentle as he had cleaned him up.

Once Gale had done all that he could do for him in that moment, they had sat in silence, until Gale had quietly admitted that he'd thought he was dead, that he'd been so scared to think that he was dead. He hadn't known what to say in return, because he wasn't used to that sort of emotion from Gale. So, he had simply taken Gale's hand to give his fingers a gentle squeeze, doing his best to convey everything he couldn't say with what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

So, as awful a situation as it had been, he tried to hold onto that memory whenever he felt that Gale didn't need him, or that he'd be fine without him. They hadn't spoken much more about it, but they didn't need to. He knew exactly how Gale had felt when he'd thought that he was dead, and the last thing he wanted was to bring that on him again.

His last few days at Thorpe Abbotts, when he'd thought that Gale was dead, they'd been.. God, he didn't even want to think of it. He didn't want to let himself dwell on how empty he'd felt without Gale; how hopeless, how heartbroken.

He had always known that his feelings for Gale ran deeper than simply friendship, or admiration, or respect. He barely had words to describe just how much Gale meant to him, or how deeply he felt for him, and even though he knew it was wrong, that didn't change anything.

He was a man, he was a Major. He knew that he shouldn't have these kinds of feelings for his best friend, and yet, falling for Gale had felt like the most natural thing in the world. Realizing that he was in love with Gale hadn't felt as terrifying as he'd imagined it would, because he really couldn't pretend that it felt anything other than right.

Still, he wasn't naive enough to believe that there was a chance of his feelings being returned. Gale had Marge waiting for him at home, and he had never been shy about his plans to marry her once the war was over and they finally got to go home. He was happy for him, he really was, and so he had resigned himself to the idea of keeping his feelings to himself forever. It was fine. It was.

Gale was the closest friend he'd ever had, and so while he knew that his romantic feelings for Gale weren't returned, he did know that Gale felt their friendship just as deeply. That was enough for him, and so that was one of the main reasons that he was so determined to get through this. It was the main reason he hadn't made a run for the fence just yet.

Like he'd said earlier, today had been just another day in a long string of days that were all starting to run together. The only reason he even knew what day it was, was because it was Christmas Eve, and he knew that the idea of being stuck here over Christmas had put a lot of the guys in a bit of a sour mood. They'd always known that they wouldn't be home for Christmas, but he'd at least thought that they'd get to celebrate it in England; where it felt like an occasion worth celebrating.

It wasn't quite time for lights out yet, but he had to admit that he was feeling a little bit mopey over the whole situation. He hadn't slept great last night either, and so he was cold, he was tired, and honestly just feeling a little bit sorry for himself, and so what was the point in staying up?

Some of the other guys were still up, sat around the tiny table in the middle of the room and talking quietly amongst themselves as they played cards, and so he knew that he probably wouldn't actually get to sleep until it was lights out. He didn't mind, he knew he wouldn't actually sleep until Gale crawled into the bunk anyway, and so he didn't mind staying awake for a little while longer.

It had been a couple of weeks since they'd made the decision to start doubling up in their bunks at night. It was just too cold to sleep otherwise, and especially since the blankets they'd been given were little more than a thin, raggedy sheet. There was no point in even trying to rely on them to keep warm at night, and so the easiest thing to do was just double up with another guy and attempt to share body heat.

Any reservations that any of the other guys might have had about sharing a bunk with another man had long since faded with the freezing cold temperatures that they had to endure at night. He knew that some of them might be uncomfortable with the idea of it, but he certainly wasn't about to freeze his ass off in the middle of the night, for the sake of preserving his masculinity.

Even now, it was cold, although it wasn't quite as freezing as he knew it would be later. That kind of cold didn't usually set in until the middle of the night, and he was glad of the fact that there was usually a warmish body in his bunk to seek heat from by the time the temperature dropped.

He sighed, pulling the neck of his sweater up a little more securely around his chin to try and keep the warmth in, although he knew that it wouldn't do much good. Even the warm clothes they'd been given were thin and threadbare, and he knew that they were probably the bare minimum that they'd had to be given. Still, it was better than nothing, and so he'd take it.

He could feel the stubble on his jaw and his chin as he pulled up the neck of his sweater, and he knew that he was probably due a shave, but he couldn't find it in himself to want to bother. What was the point in trying to keep himself tidy and presentable, when he'd been wearing the same shirt for almost a week by now?

Even with the hygiene facilities in the camp, there was really only so much they could do when it came to keeping themselves clean. The water was icy cold at the best of times, and brown and muddy at the worst of times. The soap consisted of whatever they could scrape out of the trough that they used as a sink, and their razors were blunt enough that they were almost always guaranteed to cut themselves while shaving.

Of course it bothered him, how could it not? But he knew just how much Gale despised it.

The other man had always prided himself on his appearance; on looking neat, and tidy, and well put together. It broke his heart to watch Gale scratching at dirt stuck underneath his nails, or scraping his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep it looking tidy.

He'd given Gale his last scrap of soap the other day, just so the other man would stop fussing and trying to wipe dirt off his hands that he wasn't sure was even there. It wasn't much, but Gale had smiled gratefully at him, and so he'd at least felt like he'd done something useful.

That was all he wanted, just to keep being useful to Gale, so that the other man would want to keep him around. He knew their friendship ran deeper than that, but it made him feel just a little bit better to give Gale a reason to want to keep him. He'd do whatever it took to continue being useful to Gale, even if that meant simply staying alive and not leaving Gale alone in here.

As if his thoughts were being read, he felt the thin mattress dip just behind him as Gale climbed into the bunk, and he glanced back over his shoulder at him, “Lights out already?” He asked. He hadn't taken much notice of the sounds of footsteps filling the room, too busy counting his scratches on the wall again.

Gale made a soft, affirmative noise, “Yeah, in a minute. They've started herding everyone inside.”

He just hummed quietly in response, before turning over so that he was facing Gale instead as the other man settled down.

Sleeping pressed up against Gale obviously didn't bother him, but he was relieved that it didn't seem to bother Gale either, because really, it was just about keeping warm during the night. He'd seen the way some of the other guys slept; Glen and Hambone usually slept with their backs to each other, the blanket shoved down between them, and as far apart as they could physically get. That didn't seem to be the most efficient way of sleeping in order to share body heat, but he wasn't about to start telling the other guys how they should sleep with their bunkmate.

He and Gale managed to make it work for the most part. It certainly wasn't warm, but it didn't feel quite so icy cold sometimes, and so that was enough for him. Besides, if he had his own selfish reasons for wanting to curl up close to Gale at night, then that was his own business, and Gale never needed to know about it.

Sometimes, on the really cold nights, Gale would press up close against him during the night, unconsciously seeking out warmth from him, and so he didn't feel bad about doing the same. On those nights, it was easier to pretend that they weren't trapped in this awful place. He could pretend that he was at home, in his own bed, and that Gale was with him; sharing a bed with him simply because he wanted to, not because he had to. It was a nice image to hold onto; one to get him through the worst parts of being here.

Once Gale had gotten as comfortable as he was probably going to get, he reached back over his shoulder to let down the thin sheet that they'd been using as a makeshift curtain. It wasn't much, but it kept at least some of the cold out, and it gave them some semblance of privacy. Not that there was anything that they needed privacy for, but he still appreciated it.

“You doin’ alright?” Gale asked once he'd settled back down, sliding a hand underneath the pillow, “You've been pretty quiet today.”

He just shrugged, “What's there to say?”

He knew that it was unusual for him to be as quiet as he'd been today, but like he'd just said, what was there to actually say? He was already in a bad mood because of the idea of being stuck here for Christmas, and so he didn't need to further that by sitting around talking about it.

Day in and day out, nothing had really changed since they'd gotten here, and so he didn't see the point in commenting on how cold it was, or how meagre their food rations had been, or how uneasy the guards seemed to be getting. They were conversations that they'd all had a thousand times by now, and he was actually sick of talking about it by now. He knew that Gale didn't want to hear any of his harebrained schemes for getting out of here, or any of his more morbid thoughts on their whole situation, and so he'd figured that he'd just keep his mouth shut and get on with it.

Gale nodded, and while it seemed as if he wanted to continue talking about it, he thankfully didn't push any further. He was glad, because he didn't particularly want to talk about any of it.

“Feels like it's gonna get colder tonight.” He said after a moment, biting his lip gently as he looked across at Gale.

For all of his insisting that he didn't see the point in talking about it, he hated simply laying here in silence. He obviously didn't mind it when they were actually settling down to sleep, but when he was laying here with Gale looking at him; he couldn't stand the silence. Besides, he could hear the rest of the guys still quietly talking to their bunkmates as they settled down, and so he didn't worry that they were keeping anybody awake.

“It does, yeah. Wouldn't be surprised if it freezes over.” Gale agreed quietly.

He was about to speak again, although he was cut off when there was a harsh bang at the door, followed by the sound of a guard yelling in broken English that it was time for lights out.

It didn't frighten him. The guards yelled, and they pushed them around, and they could be vicious when they wanted to be, but he wasn't intimidated by it. He knew that, if it came down to it, he could go toe-to-toe with any of them and would probably come out on top. Really, the only thing keeping him in line was the fact that they had guns and dogs. That obviously left him at a disadvantage.

He hated to see the way that Gale would flinch whenever a guard yelled, though, and the way he would always try to hide it. He didn't really understand the reason for it, because Gale was one of the toughest, strongest people he'd ever known, and so he'd been surprised to find that a bit of yelling made him so uneasy.

He did know that he'd had a rough childhood, though, and so he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with that; if it dragged up memories of having to just stand there and take it while his father yelled at him.

It was just another thing that he wanted to protect Gale from, although he knew just how ridiculous a sentiment that was. Gale was a Major, just like he was. He was experienced, qualified, competent, and he was more than capable of taking care of himself. He didn't need him trying to protect him from the world. Besides, he was pretty sure that it wouldn't end well for either of them if the guards were to pick up on it. They might see Gale as a weak link, as someone to target when they wanted to make a point. That was the last thing he wanted to happen.

So, all he could do was try to protect Gale as well as he could, without making it too obvious.

He sighed as he watched Gale chewing anxiously at his lower lip as the guards outside slammed the shutters on the windows shut, “They're not coming in here, Buck.” He whispered. He couldn't promise that, but the guards had no reason to come in here when they had already herded everybody inside, and so he just hoped that he was right.

Gale just shot him a look, before dropping his gaze again, “I know that.” He muttered.

“Sorry.” He whispered.

He didn't mean to draw attention to it, but he just.. he hated seeing Gale like this. He hated seeing him anxious and uneasy, and so he only wanted to do whatever he could to make him feel a little bit better. He just wanted to help. Still, he could see that Gale was embarrassed that he'd noticed, and so he wouldn't say anything more about it.

He just wished that Gale wouldn't feel like that, though, because as far as he was concerned; there was nothing to be embarrassed about. The guards could be nasty when they felt like it, and so it was only natural that Gale would feel uneasy around them. Still, if Gale would rather he just turned a blind eye towards the whole thing, then he'd just have to do his best.

“Sweet dreams, fellas.” DeMarco said from his own bunk, over the other side of the room, “If you're all good, maybe Santa will come.” He teased, before switching off the light.

He huffed softly, before turning his attention back to Gale as the room was plunged into darkness, letting himself simply watch the other man as he finally settled down.

The guards had closed the window shutters, but there was just enough of a crack that the light from one of the watchtowers outside just about shone through into the room, and so he could still slightly make out Gale's features.

It was just enough for him to see that the other man looked tired, dark shadows underneath his eyes that he was just about to make out, even in the light of day. He knew they were there, though, even if he couldn't see them all too well.

He couldn't say he was surprised. He'd been here a little over two months, and he hadn't seen Gale let his guard down at all in that time. He knew how exhausting that had to be, and that was without the added pressure of being the person that everybody looked to.

He knew that Gale felt responsible for the rest of the guys; much like himself. He knew that he felt as if he had to be Major Cleven all of the time, and that he felt a responsibility to make sure that everybody was safe, and well, and looked after. It was a pretty big burden to shoulder, and he knew that Gale tended to put himself last a lot of the time. That was where he came in, to make sure that Gale was safe, and well, and looked after.

He knew that, lately, it had been taking its toll on him, though. As he looked at Gale, he couldn't help but wonder if he was coming down with something. They'd obviously all lost weight over the last two months, but Gale had always been slim, and so the way he had dropped the weight seemed almost unhealthy. He just hoped that wasn't the case, because they had enough to deal with without Gale being sick too. Still, he knew he couldn't do anything about it if that was the case; all he could do was try and deal with it.

“Are you doin’ alright?” He asked softly, lowering his voice to a whisper so that he wouldn't disturb the rest of the guys who were trying to sleep, “You don't look so hot.”

Gale just shrugged, a tiny, barely there lift of his shoulders, “Just tired, I guess. Been a long day.”

“Yeah.” He agreed.

He really didn't know what more there was to say about it. Gale was right, it had been a long day, and so had yesterday, and so had the day before that. Every day felt more mind-numbingly draining than the last, and he wasn't sure how much more of it he could take; how much more of it any of them could take. Even on a good day, it was hard enough to slap on a smile and try to be strong for the rest of the guys, but on a bad day; he barely wanted to get out of his bunk. On those days, he wanted to keep Gale here with him; he wanted to simply pull the sheets up over their heads and pretend that everything was different.

They lapsed back into silence then, and he was almost sure that Gale had finally settled down to sleep, until the other man sighed again, shifting slightly where he was laying, “John?”

“Mm?”

“D'you-” Gale started, before sighing again, “Does it bother you that it's Christmas tomorrow, and we're stuck here?”

He swallowed thickly, trying his best not to focus too hard on how Gale's words made him feel. Of course he hated it, but what was he supposed to do about it? So, he simply nodded, shrugging his shoulders, “Yeah, of course it does.” He admitted softly, “Never thought it was gonna be like this. I thought we were gonna spend Christmas at Thorpe Abbotts.”

“Yeah, so did I.” Gale admitted softly.

“Guess I just got cocky.” He whispered, huffing out a soft breath of laughter, “Last two B-17s in the air, and all that.”

He remembered saying that to Gale over their breakfast one morning, and when Gale had told him not to count on it, he had simply smiled, because to think otherwise seemed like such a ridiculous prospect. He had genuinely thought that he and Gale would be the last two left, and he hated with every fiber of his being that he'd been wrong about that.

Gale just smiled back at him, something soft and devastating in the tiny gesture. It made him feel like his heart was breaking, and he didn't even know why.

He really did feel for Gale, though, because as much as he hated the fact that they were going to be stuck here for Christmas, it also meant that they were going to be stuck here for Gale's birthday, two days later.

Had they still been in England, he would have made a fuss; he would have tried to get him something nice, maybe even tried to get him a birthday cake. As it stood, all he'd been able to scrounge up for him so far had been a bar of chocolate, and he was planning on giving him that for Christmas tomorrow. It wasn't much, but it was something. He had tried.

“It'll be different next Christmas.” He said softly, although he wasn't sure if he even believed that. What if they were still here? What if things just continued to get worse and worse? What if either he or Gale didn’t make it to next Christmas? He refused to let himself consider that possibility, because it was the worst thing he could imagine.

Gale nodded, although he didn't look all that convinced, “You think so?” He asked quietly.

“I know so.” He said, forcing a small smile, “You'll be back home to Marge by then, I guarantee it.”

Talking about Marge was pretty much the last thing he wanted to do right now, but Gale just looked so.. miserable. He looked tired, and cold, and sad, and all he wanted to do was make him smile. Marge was the one thing that was always guaranteed to make Gale smile, and while the reality of that broke his heart a little bit, there wasn't a whole lot he could do about it.

“Yeah, maybe.” Gale said softly.

He sighed, only just resisting the urge to reach across and touch Gale. He wasn't even sure what he wanted to do; gently brush his fingers against his cheek, cup his jaw, comb his hair back from his forehead. All he knew was that he wanted to do something to comfort Gale, and he'd always known how to do that best with his touch.

“Try and get some sleep, can't have you sleeping in on Christmas Day.” He whispered, rather than letting himself touch Gale at all. He did let himself shuffle slightly closer, though, because there was no point in Gale even being here if they weren't going to attempt to share body heat.

“Yeah, you too.” Gale said softly, “‘Night, Bucky.”

“‘Night.” He said with a small smile.

He closed his eyes as he pressed his face in against the pillow, willing himself to drop off to sleep. He was tired, but he could still feel his mind prickling with worry over Gale and how he was doing. It was silly, because he knew that, right at this moment, there was nothing to worry about. Gale was next to him, he was in one piece. Maybe he wasn't doing as well as he would have liked, but there was nothing he could do about that right now. They could talk again tomorrow.

The room was quiet, the rest of the guys slowly starting to fall asleep. He could already hear somebody snoring over in the opposite corner, although he couldn't tell if it was DeMarco or Brady. It was coming from that side of the room, anyway. He could hear the wind whistling icy cold just outside the window, and it made him want to burrow himself in against Gale's side in an attempt to keep them both warm.

Even at the best of times, it wasn't exactly easy to sleep in this place. The mattress and pillow were lumpy and uncomfortable, and like he'd said before, the thin sheet wasn't anywhere near enough to keep them warm at night. Even though doubling up to keep warm was really the only option, the bunks weren't exactly made for two full grown men, and so he was glad that he was sharing with somebody that he really didn't mind being pressed up against.

Still, in saying that, there were some nights that Gale was fidgety and restless, and that didn't help with the whole sleeping situation either.

It seemed that tonight was one of those nights. In the quiet and stillness of the room, he could hear the way Gale was fussing next to him. As much as he understood that he just couldn't let himself settle sometimes, he had to admit that it was frustrating, and he immediately felt selfish for even thinking that.

He opened his eyes again, sighing as he watched Gale scrubbing at his hands with his sleeve again, obviously trying to wipe away dirt that probably wasn't even there. He hated when he did this. It was a nervous habit that the other man had picked up whenever he was feeling stressed or anxious, and it made his heart twist painfully in his chest every time he noticed Gale doing it.

Honestly, he wasn't sure how he hadn't scrubbed his hands raw by now, because of his inability to leave them alone.

“Would you stop?” He murmured, taking Gale's hands to keep him from fidgeting, although he frowned when he noticed just how cold Gale's hands were, “Jesus, Buck. You're freezing.”

“I'm fine.” Gale mumbled, attempting to pull his hands back.

He didn't let go, though, holding both of Gale's hands between his own, “What happened to your gloves?” He asked. He was sure Gale had had a pair, although in thinking about it now, he hadn't seen them in a while.

Gale swallowed thickly, seemingly doing his best to avoid his gaze, “Traded ‘em.”

“You- Buck..” He sighed. He couldn't say he was surprised, though. Gale had always been too selfless for his own good, he'd probably traded them away for something that would help one of the other guys out; an extra ration, medicine. Hell, he wouldn't be surprised if he found out that Buck had just given them away to someone that he thought had needed them more.

Gale still wasn't looking at him, though, and so he just sighed, shaking his head, “Come here.” He murmured, taking Gale's hands to slide them underneath his own sweater, pressing them to the skin of his waist. It wasn't much, but it was better than letting Gale freeze to death.

“John-” Gale started, attempting to pull his hands back from him.

“Relax, I'm just trying to warm you up a little.” He insisted. The whole reason they'd decided to share bunks in the first place was to benefit from the shared body heat. There was no point in Gale being here at all if he wasn't going to try and get some warmth from him.

He curled in slightly closer to Gale, dropping his own arm over the other man's waist to pull him in close. He and Gale had become accustomed to sharing a bunk by now, but it had never been like this. They had always settled for sharing body heat by simply being next to each other; they had never wrapped each other in any sort of embrace, they had never pressed right up against each other like this. If he was being honest, it felt a little too much like cuddling.

He had no issues with wrapping himself around Gale to keep him warm, but Gale obviously did take issue with it, if the way he tried to hold him at arm's length was anything to go by, “I'm fine, John.” He insisted.

He rolled his eyes, “You're shivering.” He pointed out, before reaching across to take his hands again, “And your hands are fucking freezing, so don't try and tell me that you're fine.”

He hated to think of Gale just laying there for the rest of the night, unable to sleep because of how cold he was. He certainly wasn't warm, but he wasn't quite as icy cold as Gale was, and so pulling Gale in tight against him was the least he could do in order to try and warm himself up. He just wasn't sure why Gale seemed to be dead set on insisting that he was fine.

Gale just sighed, turning his head away so that he wouldn't have to look at him, “You don't get it.” He murmured, sighing again, “Just.. stay over there.”

“What's goin’ on?” He asked softly.

He wasn't sure what was going on with Gale, but he really couldn't deny the prickling of hurt that ran through him at the way that Gale was trying so desperately not to be close to him.

It had never been like that between them. Right from the beginning, he and Gale had always been very physical with each other; an arm thrown around Gale's shoulder, sitting close enough that their thighs pressed together, letting himself touch Gale's jaw, his thigh, his waist. He remembered even kissing Gale on the cheek one time; when they'd been in the pub near Thorpe Abbotts and he'd been three sheets to the wind. He'd always been a very tactile person when it came to Gale, and Gale had never seemed to have a problem with it before now.

Maybe it was because of the circumstances, and where they were. Maybe Gale just didn't feel comfortable with him touching him when they were technically in a bed together. It had never crossed his mind that that might be the case, just because Gale had never seemed this uneasy with him before. It made him feel a little bit deflated.

Gale shook his head, although it was impossible to miss the way his cheeks had flushed, “Nothing. I told you, I'm fine.” He insisted.

He sighed, letting himself simply watch Gale. He had no idea what was going on, but he did know that he hated it. He knew that he wouldn't get anywhere if he were to push the issue, though. Trying to force Gale to explain what was going on would probably only have the opposite effect, and the last thing he wanted was for Gale to feel as though he had no choice but to go back to his own bunk.

“Fine.” He said softly. He didn't like it, but he wasn't sure what there was to do other than just leave it. Maybe he could try and get Gale to talk about it tomorrow; it might be easier when they weren't pressed up against each other in his bunk like this, “Just.. come here, at least. I won't touch you.” He promised.

Gale just looked at him for a moment, before dropping his gaze again as he shuffled slightly closer to him. He still wasn't touching him, but at least he wasn't trying to hold him at arm's length anymore. He was relieved, because Gale wanting so desperately to pull away from him like that had stung; as little as he liked to admit that. This still wasn't much, but hopefully Gale wouldn't be quite as cold.

“Get some sleep, Buck.” He whispered.

Gale just nodded, “Yeah, you too.”

He gave Gale a tight smile, before turning over onto his other side to face the wall. He couldn't ignore the fact that it was still bitterly cold, though, and so he simply sighed as he pressed back against Gale in an attempt to seek some warmth from him. He had promised him that he wouldn't touch him, but he'd meant that he'd keep his hands to himself, rather than trying to wrap him in his embrace. This was hardly the same thing.

He had obviously caught Gale off guard by doing so, as their bodies came into contact before Gale had a chance to move back from him. He hadn't thought much of it, because the whole reason they were sharing a bunk in the first place was to keep warm, but as he pressed back against Gale, he froze when he felt something press against his lower back, quickly realizing that Gale was hard and straining against the front of his pants.

“Wait, John, don't-” Gale hissed, putting his hands on the back of his shoulders to push him away.

He almost didn't know what he was supposed to say. As far as he was concerned, it wasn't a big deal. Gale was a man, he obviously had needs. It was nothing to be embarrassed about.

“Buck, it's.. it's okay.” He whispered.

“It's not. It's.. I shouldn't-” Gale cut himself off with a sigh, a short, frustrated noise.

He swallowed thickly as he contemplated how he was supposed to handle this, wetting his lips with his tongue before turning back over to face Gale. It was still dark in the room, but it was impossible to miss how mortified Gale looked; his cheeks flushed, and doing everything he could to avoid his gaze, “Is that why you didn't want me touching you? So I wouldn't feel that?” He asked.

“I'm not some kind of pervert, John.” Gale hissed, finally glancing back up at him, “I don't lay here every night, waiting for you to fall asleep, just so I can..” He trailed off, dropping his gaze again.

He swallowed again, trying with everything he had to not let himself think of Gale quietly jerking himself off next to him while he slept. He didn't think he'd ever get that image out of his head if he let himself think about it, and the last thing they needed here was him popping a hard-on too and making everything worse.

He suddenly understood what Gale's problem had been, though. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with the idea of him touching him, it was that he hadn't wanted him to come too close and realize what was going on. It was that he hadn't wanted to make him uncomfortable.

That was a notion that he couldn't quite wrap his head around, though, because the idea that Gale could ever make him feel uncomfortable was just ridiculous. Especially not with something like this.

Still, he had to remind himself that he had always kept his feelings for Gale strictly to himself. Gale probably thought that he would take issue with it, and that he'd be horrified upon realizing that he was hard while they were sharing a bunk.

That really couldn't have been further from the truth, though.

“It's nothing to be embarrassed about.” He said softly, shrugging his shoulders, “It just.. it happens sometimes. We've all been there.”

It wasn't as if it was completely heard of. Even he struggled with it sometimes, and he hadn't been completely celibate since leaving the States; not like he knew Gale had been. There'd been plenty of women around when they'd been stationed at Thorpe Abbotts, and so he'd managed to get it out of his system from time to time. He knew that Gale had been nothing but faithful to Marge since they'd left home, though, and so it was no wonder really that he was feeling a little worked up.

Gale just scoffed, shaking his head, “Right.”

“It's not.” He insisted, ducking his head to try and catch Gale's eye, “I don't mind.”

“How could you not mind?” Gale asked, finally looking at him, “It's.. it's wrong, and I-”

“Gale.” He whispered, cutting him off. He didn't want to hear it, he didn't want to hear Gale insist that it was bad, or that it was dirty, or that there was something wrong with him for it; not when that couldn't be further from how he felt about the whole situation. So, heart hammering in his chest, he pressed his leg forward to let his knee gently slide against Gale's crotch, “I said I don't mind.”

He certainly hadn't planned this, but Gale seemed to be on the verge of freaking out and just going back to his own bunk, so that he wouldn't have to deal with this. Like he'd just said, though, he didn't mind. Not in the slightest.

He really had no idea how this was going to go. Gale hadn't pushed him away yet, but that didn't mean that he wasn't about to. For maybe the first time in his life, he found himself completely unable to decipher the expression on Gale's face, and it was slightly terrifying, because he had no idea if he had just ruined this whole thing.

“John..” Gale eventually whispered, his gaze dropping to where his knee was still pressed against him, before looking back up at him.

“Tell me to stop, and I'll stop.” He breathed, letting his leg press forward a little more until he could slide his thigh against Gale's hard cock. It wasn't much, but he knew that even the slight friction would feel good.

Still, he wasn't about to do anything that Gale really didn't want him to do. The last thing he wanted was to end up feeling like he had taken advantage of Gale, or worse; for Gale to feel like he'd taken advantage of him. He didn't think he'd be able to live with himself afterwards, and while Gale hadn't pushed him away just yet, he still looked vaguely terrified, and so he tilted his head slightly to catch Gale's eye, raising his eyebrows at him, “Buck?”

“Don't stop.” Gale eventually whispered, reaching out to lightly touch his waist with shaky fingers.

That was enough for him, and so he let his thigh press a little more firmly against Gale's cock, his own breath catching in his throat as he did. This was literally the last thing that he'd imagined would happen tonight, and he still wasn't totally convinced that he wasn't dreaming.

How long had he wanted Gale like this? How long had he wanted some sort of excuse to touch Gale like this? For all that he'd imagined it, and had dreamt up hundreds of different scenarios in his head, he'd never imagined that it would happen here of all places. Still, he certainly wasn't naive enough to let himself believe that this was happening because Gale actually wanted him. It was convenient, was all. He was just helping Gale out, rather than leaving him to deal with it himself.

Gale exhaled a shaky breath as he tentatively rocked against his thigh, his fingers inching just underneath his sweater to press against the bare skin of his waist again, “I.. John, I-”

“I know, I know.” He whispered, winding his own arm around Gale's waist to pull him slightly closer, “Helping you out, is all.”

It was easy to let the words spill out, to reassure Gale that he was just giving him a helping hand. It wasn't hard to see that Gale hadn't quite let himself relax into this yet, and the last thing he wanted to do was frighten him off.

He didn't have the words to describe how long and how badly he'd wanted this, but he knew that giving that away wasn't a good idea. This wasn't about him or what he wanted; it was just about giving Gale some sort of relief so that he'd be able to sleep. That's all this was.

Gale nodded, seemingly satisfied with his words, although a soft gasp caught in his throat as they moved at the same time; as he pressed his thigh up between Gale's legs again just as Gale rocked down against him.

God, that was.. he couldn't even describe how he felt right now. Gale's cheeks were still flushed, although he couldn't tell if it was still purely from embarrassment, or if it was simply from arousal now. Either way, he looked so goddamn beautiful, and he knew there was no point in even trying to pretend that he wasn't hard by now too. He didn't see the point in trying to hide it, either.

“That feel good?” He asked, lowering his voice to a hushed whisper. They couldn't risk waking any of the other guys, and so he knew that they had to keep quiet. That only added to the thrill, though, to know that they were doing this in a room full of other people, who were oblivious as to what was happening in their bunk.

Gale nodded, sighing softly again, “Yeah, feels..” He trailed off, rocking his hips down against his thigh again.

“Tell me.” He whispered.

“Feels so good.” Gale sighed, pressing his fingers in a little harder where he was still holding onto his waist, “Please, John.. I need-”

“I know what you need, I got you.” He whispered.

He refused to let himself think too hard about it as he pulled Gale closer, sliding his thigh between both of Gale's to slot their hips together properly. Like this, they could grind against each other, and while that might have been pushing it a little far; he found it hard to think about that when it felt this good. He could insist all he wanted that this was simply about helping Gale out, but he didn't feel bad about letting himself have this.

“This alright?” He asked softly, his arm still around Gale's waist as he rolled their hips together.

Gale just nodded, a soft whimper slipping from his throat, “Yeah.. don't stop.”

He almost didn't know where he was supposed to look as he and Gale rocked against each other, their bodies moving together in a slow grind that had that heat and arousal pulling tight in his stomach. Gale was right there, his face barely inches from his own, although it felt almost too intimate to let himself look into Gale's eyes.

He was under no impressions; he knew that this wasn't him and Gale simply sleeping with each other because they'd given into their feelings for each other. It was just.. taking what they both needed from somebody who was willing to give it. Still, even though he knew that, the way he felt about Gale was.. well, he knew just how deeply he felt for Gale, how deeply he'd always felt for him. It would have been so easy to close his eyes and pretend that it was different; that Gale was doing this simply because he wanted him.

Still, he knew that this probably wouldn't ever happen again, and so he didn't want to end up missing a single second of it. To close his eyes meant that it could have been anybody pressed up against him like this, and he didn't want that. He wanted to commit every last detail to memory, rather than simply giving himself over to how good it felt.

He wanted to remember the hot and heavy look in Gale's eyes as they moved together, he wanted to remember every tiny sound that he made. He wanted to be able to remember this for the rest of his life; however long or short that might be.

He slid a hand down the length of Gale's thigh so that he could pull his leg up over his hip, pressing his own thigh a little more firmly between Gale's legs. It felt so goddamn good to be pressed up against each other like this, and he couldn't help the quiet moan that spilled from his throat as they moved against each other.

“Shh.. gotta stay quiet.” Gale whispered, wrapping his leg a little more securely around his hip.

He huffed softly, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's, “Easy for you to say.” He murmured.

“You think?”

He bit back a soft huff of laughter, letting his forehead roll against Gale's as he shifted slightly in an attempt to press in even closer.

With how their hips were pressed tight together, he could feel Gale's hard cock pressed against his own as they moved together, and it took every ounce of his restraint to keep his hands where they were; one on Gale's thigh to keep his leg up around his hip, the other one trapped between the thin mattress and Gale's shoulder.

He couldn't even describe how badly he wanted to touch Gale properly. If they'd been anywhere other than here, he would have slowly stripped Gale out of his clothes to leave them both naked. He would have used his hands, and his mouth, and his own cock to make Gale feel good; in a way that he was sure nobody had made him feel before. He knew that he couldn't, though. He knew that to even touch Gale's cock right now would probably make it feel a little too real for the other man, and he was still afraid of doing anything that might frighten him off. So, this was more than enough.

“God, Buck, that's..” He trailed off, a soft moan catching in his throat again as he let his gaze trail back up to Gale's face.

Gale was already looking at him, his blue eyes dark with arousal and something that looked suspiciously like want. He'd never imagined that he'd get to experience Gale looking at him like that; like they were the only two people in the world, like he was the only thing that mattered to him. He was almost sure that he was interpreting it wrong, though, because the idea of Gale actually wanting him like that was, well.. he knew that that wasn't the case.

He couldn't help but wish that they weren't in almost complete darkness, though, because he wanted to really look at Gale. He needed to be able to remember every single detail of this, down to the way that Gale's gaze flicked down to his lips for a brief moment, before looking back up at him. In saying that, though, if he let himself focus on that detail for too long, then he knew he'd only end up doing something that they couldn't come back from. It was best he didn't dwell on it.

“Please, Bucky.. I need..” Gale whispered, sliding his hands along his waist underneath his sweater, as though he was trying to pull him closer, even though they were already pressed right up against each other.

“I know, baby. I know. I got you.”

He used his weight to roll them over, his hand still cupped around the back of Gale's knee to keep his leg up around his hip as he pressed Gale back against the mattress, before settling on top of him. He braced his other forearm on the pillow next to Gale's head, a soft gasp spilling from his throat as he started to move again.

Jesus Christ, that was.. he didn't think it could feel any better than it already had, but like this, it felt like he and Gale were pressed even impossibly closer together, and he really didn't know how he was supposed to handle that.

He was between Gale's legs now; one of Gale's legs still hitched up around his hips, the other pressed up against the side of his body. It felt even more intense than it had before, though; and pressed up against each other like this, he could feel Gale's hard cock pressed right up against his own as he rolled their hips together. It felt so goddamn good to be able to feel just how turned on Gale was, and while he knew that it wasn't because of him; he was still the one who got to do something about it.

Like this, it was easy to pretend that everything was different. It was easy to pretend that he was actually fucking Gale, despite the fact that they were both still fully clothed.

Gale scraped his fingers down the length of his back as they moved together, his fingers pressing in hard enough to his bare skin that he almost hoped it would leave scratches. He wanted some sort of physical evidence to prove that this had happened, and that it wasn't something that his mind had simply dreamt up while he was asleep.

Still, he knew that there was only so much that he could dream up himself. For as much and as often as he'd imagined this happening, it didn't even begin to compare to the real thing. Like this, Gale was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen; the soft sounds that he was making, the way that he was trembling underneath him as they moved against each other. His own fantasies didn't even come close to the real thing.

“You feel so goddamn good.” He sighed, leaning down close so that he could whisper the words in Gale's ear.

He felt completely enveloped in Gale, and it really was everything that he had ever wanted. His mind was completely blank, filled with nothing but the thoughts of Gale, Gale, Gale. The feeling of Gale's legs around his hips, his fingers on his bare skin, the way that he gasped softly as they rolled their hips together. He didn't think anything had ever felt as good.

With how close they were pressed together, he could smell the rich, heady scent of Gale's sweat, and he couldn't help but press his face in against the hollow of Gale's neck, inhaling deeply. It made him never want to move from here, honestly. It made him want to burrow into the crook of Gale's neck and stay there for the rest of his life.

The only word that he could use to describe how this felt was intense. Gale was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, and the way he looked, the way he sounded, even the way he smelled; it made his head swim with lust, and desire, and hunger for the other man.

Gale moaned softly, the quiet sound slipping out despite his obvious best efforts to keep quiet. It was such a turn on to know that he was making Gale feel this good; that it was his touch, and his body pressed against Gale's that had the other man moaning and trembling like this.

“Gotta keep quiet, doll.” He teased, the pet name slipping out as he gently scraped his teeth along the taut tendon of Gale's neck. He knew he couldn't leave marks, and so it took every bit of his restraint not to suck at the warm, salty skin of Gale's neck, to taste him the way he wanted to.

As much as he knew they had to stay quiet, it felt almost intoxicating to know that Gale didn't seem to be capable of it by now. He wasn't worrying too hard about it, though. He just hoped that, if they had woken anybody else, that they assumed it was just one of them jerking off while the other slept. The makeshift curtain was down, and so it wasn't as if anybody could see them. Nobody had to know that they were doing this together.

Gale moaned softly again at the pet name, his back arching up off the bunk to press even closer to him, “Please, John.. that's.. you feel so good.”

“You like that? You like when I call you doll?” He asked, leaning up to whisper the words in Gale's ear again, “What about baby? You'd let me call you my baby?” He barely realized what he was saying, too caught up in the sensation of it all, and how good it all felt.

Waking up this morning, he never could have imagined that he would end up here; moaning softly against Gale's neck as he humped against the other man like a dog in heat. If he'd been in any frame of mind to share his inner monologue right now, Gale would have laughed at that, because it wasn't the first time that he'd been compared to a dog, to Gale's dog.

He always came when Gale called, and did whatever it was that Gale asked of him. Come, heel, sit, stay, bite. Anything Gale asked, he’d do without question, and he knew that he and Gale weren't the only two people who knew that. It was no secret that he was hopelessly devoted to Gale, although he was almost sure that he'd done a good job of keeping quiet about just how devoted he was to him, how deeply he felt for him.

At this point, Gale seemed to be past the point of doing anything other than panting as he rolled his hips up again, their bodies moving together in that rhythm that had flames of pleasure licking up his spine every time that he rocked his own hips down against Gale's body.

“Say it again.” Gale sighed, shivering against him as he pressed his head back into the pillow, still clutching at his back to hold him close.

“Say what?”

“That.. just, fuck.” Gale gasped.

“What, doll?” He asked, letting the tip of his nose trail feather light up the length of Gale's neck.

The only response from Gale was a quiet whine, his hips rolling up to meet his again, and so he grinned as he grazed Gale's neck with his teeth, slowing the rhythm of his hips until they were grinding each other almost painfully slowly.

“Knew you liked it.” He teased, his breath warm against the side of Gale's neck as he pressed slow, open mouthed kisses to his skin, “You are a doll, though, you're my doll. My babydoll.”

Gale moaned softly again at his words, sliding his calf against his ass to keep them pressed close together, to keep them entwined as he rolled his own hips up again, “Just like that.. God, good boy.” He sighed.

Without taking a moment to think about what he was doing, he leaned back up to press his lips to Gale's in a hard kiss, cupping his jaw in his hand.

He knew that actually kissing Gale was crossing a line, that it was turning this into something that it wasn't; something it was never going to be. He couldn't help it, though. It was hard enough to keep a level head with how good this felt, but hearing Gale call him a good boy, hearing how much Gale liked it when he called him babydoll; it made him feel as though his brain was backfiring.

Thankfully, Gale didn't seem to be phased by the kiss. He simply moaned into his mouth as he leaned up into it, letting a hand slide up to cup around the nape of his neck.

That was.. God, if he thought that it was good before, then he didn't have the words now to describe just how good it felt now, with Gale's lips pressed against his own. He'd been dreaming of this for as long as he could remember, and so despite the fact that Gale hadn't even touched his cock, it still felt like the best sex he'd ever had.

Still, he knew that whatever hope he'd had before of telling himself that this didn't mean anything, or that he was just giving Gale a helping hand, there was no point in even trying to pretend now that this wasn't everything he'd ever wanted. He was having sex with Gale, and while he knew deep down that it didn't mean anything to Gale, it was easy to pretend otherwise. It was easy to let himself be selfish, and take what he wanted; purely because he loved Gale, and he wanted this with him.

He couldn't help the soft noise that spilled from his throat as the kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against Gale's in a way that had the heat pulling tight in his stomach. He knew he shouldn't have let it get this far, he knew that they should rein it back a little, but he couldn't find it in himself to want to stop. If this was his one opportunity to have this, then he was going to push it as far as he could.

He let the pace slow down again, grinding his hips against Gale's as he delved his tongue into Gale's mouth. He couldn't ignore how intimate this felt; to be wrapped in each other like this as they moved together, with Gale gently stroking his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. Honestly, he could have stayed here forever, letting himself become familiar with the taste and texture of Gale's mouth as their lips and tongues slowly slid together.

He knew that he didn't have long left in him. It just felt too damn good, and he knew that it was only heightened because of who he was with. He was sure that, after this long, sex with anybody would have felt pretty damn good, but knowing that it was Gale underneath him just made it feel so much better. He could tell that Gale was getting close too; it was obvious in the way that he was trembling and whimpering underneath him, still clutching at his body to pull him closer.

He would have liked to drag this out for as long as possible, but he knew that that wasn't an option. Honestly, he was surprised he hadn't come in his skivvies almost as soon as he and Gale had first pressed against each other.

So, after one last slow, intense kiss, he let his teeth catch Gale's lower lip for a moment, before pulling away from him so that he could lean down and whisper into his ear again, “I'm so close, doll.” He breathed, rolling his hips again, “Can you feel how hard I am for you? God, the things I'd do to you if I had you in a proper bed right now.”

He knew he was veering into dangerous territory here, but he really couldn't have cared less right now. Gale could pretend all he liked that this didn't mean anything, and that it was simply about getting off, but how was he supposed to act as if that was still the case for him? He wasn't sure how he was supposed to pretend that this didn't mean everything to him.

Thankfully, Gale was either too far gone to realize what he'd said, or he was just choosing to ignore it, but he simply moaned softly as he dropped his head back against the pillow, “Me too, I'm‐ God, I'm gonna come.”

“Come on, you can let go.” He whispered, leaning back down to press another open mouthed kiss to the hollow of Gale's neck, “I want you to come for me, baby.”

That was evidently all it took to push Gale over the edge, and he gasped again as he arched his back up off the bed, his fingers digging into his skin where he was still holding onto his back. He looked.. God, he looked so beautiful. His eyes were closed, his cheeks flushed as he gave himself over to the pleasure of his orgasm.

He was right behind him; the sight of Gale as he finished just enough to push him over the edge. He moaned softly against the warm, sweat-slick skin of Gale's neck, clutching at the other man as he finally spilled into his own skivvies. That was.. Jesus Christ, he couldn't remember the last time that anything had felt that good.

They were both silent for a moment after they'd finished, still trembling against each other as they slowly came down from their high.

He could feel Gale's fingers still in his hair, gently scratching at the nape of his neck, and it made him want to just melt into the other man's touch. It made him want to fall asleep like this; still on top of Gale, with Gale's legs still wrapped loosely around his hips, breathing in the deep, heady scent that couldn't be anything other than Gale.

He knew that they couldn't, though. It wasn't unusual for the guards to drag them out of their bunks in the middle of the night in order to do a headcount and search the bunkrooms, and he didn't even want to think about what the consequences might be if they were caught like this. He knew they had to just consider themselves lucky that they hadn't already been caught out tonight.

He eventually made himself pull away from Gale, laying just next to him again. Their legs were still entwined further down the bed, though, and he was almost sure that Gale would be able to feel his breath against his cheek, with how close they were laying.

His mind was still feeling a little fuzzy from the intensity of his orgasm, and he could see that Gale was obviously feeling the same way, and so he let himself simply look for a moment; let himself really look at Gale, in a way that he'd never let himself do before.

Gale looked like a fucking dream, honestly. His hair was in disarray, and that flush was still high on his cheeks. His chest was still heaving slightly as he attempted to catch his breath, and he still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that it was because of him; that it was his touch and his body that had Gale looking so thoroughly worn-out.

“Should probably clean up a little.” He eventually whispered, just because he didn't know what else he was supposed to say. Gale wasn't freaking out yet, but that didn't mean that it wasn't about to happen. He knew how Gale's mind worked, and that didn't bode too well for him right now.

Gale turned his head to look at him, blinking lazily at him, “Yeah.” He said softly, before seeming to realize what he'd said, “Uh.. how-”

“Here.” He murmured, sitting up as well as he could in the confined space of the bunk. They weren't allowed to leave the combine during lights out, and so going down to the shower facilities to wash up was out of the question. They'd have to just make do with what they had.

So, he grabbed one of his spare shirts from the end of the bunk, handing it over to Gale so that he could give himself a quick, perfunctory clean up. It wasn't much, and it certainly wouldn't do a good enough job, but the alternative was to just do nothing until the morning, and he knew that having to go to sleep while feeling even more unclean than he had before would be just asking for Gale to freak out about what they'd done.

Gale didn't say anything as he took the shirt, and so he simply turned over onto his back, doing his best to give Gale some sort of privacy as he cleaned himself up.

He could feel his heart hammering in his chest as he stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him, although he wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

He had finally gotten everything that he had ever wanted, but it had left him not really knowing where he and Gale stood. What if Gale came to his senses while he was sleeping, and he woke up to find himself alone in the bunk, with Gale doing his best to avoid him?

He had finally gotten everything he'd ever wanted, but what if it came at the cost of his and Gale's friendship? The worst possible outcome of this was that he'd end up losing Gale over it, and he had a horrible feeling that that might not be such an unlikely scenario.

He just didn't know what he was supposed to say in order to make sure that everything was still okay, which he could admit was a first for him. He was usually an expert on filling silences with empty words, and talking simply for the sake of talking, but this was different. It felt fragile, as though he was going to ruin everything if he said anything at all.

He was dragged back to the present moment by Gale gently nudging his elbow with his own, and he glanced over to find Gale holding the shirt out to him, “Thanks.” He murmured.

He took the shirt, refusing to let himself think about Gale's presence next to him as he unbuttoned his pants so that he could shove the shirt down into his skivvies, cleaning himself up as well as he could. It really wasn't enough, and he knew that he'd probably still wake up tomorrow morning feeling sticky and uncomfortable, but that was a problem to deal with in the morning.

If nothing else, cleaning himself up like this was an excuse to not have to look at Gale for a little longer, just because he was almost afraid of what he'd find when he did.

Once he'd done as good a job as he was going to do, he tossed the shirt down the end of the bunk to be dealt with tomorrow, before swallowing thickly as he finally turned back onto his side to face Gale, “You good?” He asked softly.

Gale just nodded, although there was something in his eyes that he didn't like, something that looked a little guarded, “Yeah.” He whispered.

“Yeah.” He echoed, fighting to keep his gaze from dropping to Gale's lips as the other man chewed nervously at the lower one.

He couldn't help but think of how those lips had felt pressed against his own, and he couldn't help but want to do it again. He knew that was out of the question, though, and so he simply shuffled a little closer on the pillow. He knew that he was pushing his luck, but he ducked down slightly to lightly flick the tip of his nose against Gale's shoulder, “Should try and get some sleep, Santa won't come if you're up all night.” He whispered, attempting to lighten the mood.

Gale nodded again, although he thankfully gave him a small smile as he tucked himself in slightly closer to his side, before turning over onto his own side, facing away from him.

He still wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation between himself and Gale right now. The other man didn’t seem to be particularly perturbed by what they'd done, but that didn't really mean anything. He knew that Gale was good at hiding his feelings and covering up how he really felt, and so he knew that there was no guarantee that Gale wasn't freaking out on the inside.

Still, at least Gale hadn't insisted that he should go back to his own bunk. They might have been sitting on slightly rocky territory, but Gale was still here. He wasn't facing him, but he was still pressed against his side, and so he'd take that as a good sign.

He turned over onto his own side, curling up close behind Gale. He didn't chance wrapping Gale in his arms, the way he really wanted to, but he was close enough to him that he could feel Gale's hair tickling his nose, and his knees were pressed to the back of Gale's knees, their bodies curled close together. They weren't quite spooning, but it was something. It was nice.

He knew that they'd probably have to face what they'd done tomorrow, but he didn't want to think about that right now. The only thing that mattered to him right now was the fact that Gale was still here, and that he was happy to curl up with his back pressed against his front.

So, he did his best to push any thoughts of tomorrow from his mind as he pressed his face in against Gale's hair, willing sleep to come to him.

The next morning, he couldn't say he was all too surprised when he woke up to find himself alone in the bunk.

It took him a moment to recall the events from the night before, but once he did, his stomach turned uncomfortably when he turned back over to find that Gale was nowhere to be seen.

Checking his watch, he found that it was still early enough, but not so early that they weren't allowed to leave the combine yet, and so he tried his best not to panic about the fact that Gale had already gotten up. He had probably just gone down to the shower facilities to clean himself up a little better, he wasn't necessarily panicking over what they had done and deliberately made himself scarce.

He hoped so anyway, because he couldn't stand the thought of Gale doing his best to avoid him.

He and Gale had left things on relatively good terms last night, though. They hadn't exactly spoken about what they'd done, but Gale had still pressed back against his body in order to seek warmth from him during the night, and he hadn't pulled away when he had curled in close to press his face in against the back of his neck.

He just hoped that, in the time since Gale had woken up and had left the bunk, that he hadn't done too much thinking about what they'd done, and that he hadn't managed to convince himself that it was wrong, and bad, and dirty. It wasn't, and so he just hoped that Gale hadn't told himself that it was.

Honestly, as far as he was concerned, last night had been everything that he'd ever dreamt of. Sure, like he'd said, he and Gale had still been fully clothed, and the most they had done was grind against each other, but he just.. that didn't matter to him. Getting to be with Gale at all made it all worth it, and he knew that he'd never regret a single thing that they'd done last night.

“Hey, Bucky.”

He looked over at the sound of his name, finding Brady half sat up in his own bunk, and the younger man waved over in his direction, “Hey.” He said softly, scratching a hand through his hair as he pushed himself up onto an elbow.

“Merry Christmas.” Brady said, tossing a folded piece of paper over in his direction.

He picked up the paper from where it had landed next to him on the bunk, opening it up to find that it was an attempt at a handmade Christmas card. It wasn't much; a piece of paper folded over with a Christmas tree drawn in pencil on the front, and a short To Bucky. Merry Christmas, from Johnny written on the inside, but it was nice that Brady had thought to do it, especially when there wasn't going to be much celebrating this year.

“Thanks, Johnny. Merry Christmas.” He said with a small smile. Brady had always been a good friend to him, and even though he'd never said as much; he'd forever be grateful for the fact that he'd made him jump first when their fort was going down. Otherwise, he couldn't say for sure that he would have jumped at all. Still, he didn't like to think about it.

“Hey, you seen Buck this morning?” He asked.

There weren't many places that they could go, but he figured he'd ask anyway. He just hoped that, wherever Gale had gone, that it was somewhere they might be able to talk. Maybe bringing it up was a bad idea, but he wanted to at least clear the air, and make sure that Gale wasn't completely freaking out on him.

Brady glanced back over at him, before shrugging his shoulders, “He got up a little while ago, think he went down to the showers.”

“Alright.” He said with a nod, “If he comes back while I'm gone, tell him I was looking for him?”

Brady nodded, “Yeah, will do.”

He clambered down off his bunk then as Brady went back to his own devices, although he tried his best not to grimace at the dried mess in his skivvies. He knew that only just cleaning themselves up with his shirt last night hadn't been the best idea, but it wasn't as if they'd had much of a choice. It was either that, or go to sleep without cleaning themselves up at all.

Speaking of which, the shirt that they'd used was nowhere to be seen, even though he'd left it down the end of the bunk. He guessed that Gale had probably taken it with him when he'd gone to the shower, in order to give it a wash.

He quickly got his things together, grabbing his last somewhat clean shirt, as well as a change of skivvies. His pants would last another couple of days before really needing to be washed, and so he'd just make do. As well as the change of clothes, he grabbed his gloves, and the chocolate bar that he'd been keeping for Gale. He had a feeling that he knew where Gale might be, and so he'd head straight there after he'd cleaned up.

As he made his way from the combine to the washroom, though, he couldn't say that he was particularly looking forward to having to clean up. He knew that he probably wouldn't feel overly clean unless he managed a proper shower, and while there were showers here; the water was always icy cold, and it dribbled out of the faucet. Still, it was better than nothing.

It seemed Gale had already finished up and left before he'd gotten there, and he actually found himself pretty relieved for that. He knew that he and Gale had to talk at some point today, but he didn't want it to be while they were both naked and attempting to clean themselves of the mess they'd made last night. They could talk after.

He quickly stripped off, before stepping under the shower. Like he'd known it would be, the water was freezing cold, and so he didn't bother wasting time, just rinsed himself down as well as he could.

He didn't regret giving Gale the last of his soap the other day, but he could admit that it made for a less than pleasant experience now. If he never had to clean dried come off of himself with nothing more than cold water, then he was more than fine with that.

He quickly dried off and dressed again once he'd cleaned himself up as well as he was going to, although he found himself wishing not for the first time that their winter clothes were a little heavier. His sweater was a little better than just a shirt, but it still wasn't a whole lot to keep warm.

Once he'd finished dressing, he figured that he'd head straight for the library. He had a feeling that Gale might be there, and he hoped that he was right. This early, he knew that the library would be pretty abandoned, and so he hoped that he might get lucky, and find Gale there by himself.

Still, as he walked there, he couldn't ignore the nerves twisting in his stomach. What if Gale didn't want to talk to him? He knew that it was a pretty likely possibility, but it was one that he didn't want to consider. They'd be fine, they had to be. He and Gale had gotten through worse than this, and so all he could do was try and tell himself that they'd be fine.

Letting himself into the library, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found Gale sat at the small table in the middle of the room, his cheek propped in his hand as he read whatever book he'd settled on. He was relieved to find that he was alone, too.

Gale hadn't noticed him yet, too caught up in his book, and he couldn't help the faint smile that pulled at his lips as he watched him. Gale's hair was still slightly damp from his own shower, and his cheeks and nose were flushed slightly pink with the cold. He looked beautiful, though, and he tried his best not to get too distracted by the thoughts of how Gale's lips had felt pressed against his own last night, or the way he had scraped his fingers down his back, or the soft sounds that he'd made as he came. He couldn't let himself think about any of that right now.

So, he simply knocked at the door frame, giving Gale a small smile when he looked up at the sound, “Hey.”

Gale smiled back, although it looked a little bit tight, a little bit nervous, “Hey, you survived.”

“Survived what?” He asked.

“Brady.” Gale said with a shrug, “He said earlier that he was gonna smother you with your pillow if you didn't quit snoring.”

He couldn't help but laugh, stepping a little further into the room, “And here I thought he was being nice, giving me a Christmas card.”

Gale nodded, “Yeah, I got one too. Think he was up all morning making ‘em.”

He just smiled, letting himself lean against the edge of the table. He wasn't really sure what he was supposed to think here. Gale didn't seem too uneasy, but he knew that he was good at masking how he felt. He'd just never expected to be on the receiving end of that. Still, maybe everything was okay, maybe Gale wasn't actually freaking out.

So, he held out the pair of gloves, as well as the chocolate bar that he'd brought with him, “Merry Christmas, Buck.” He said softly, “Didn't have a bow or anything, so.. sorry they're not wrapped.”

Gale just looked at the gift for a moment, before looking back up at him, “What's this?” He asked.

“Your Christmas present.” He said, biting his lip gently, “I know it's not much, but I.. wanted to give you something, y’know? Since it's your birthday in two days too, and all that.”

Gale didn't say anything for a moment, although he eventually shook his head, a frown crossing his face, “I can't take these, John. They're your gloves.” He said softly.

“Yeah, but you need ‘em more than me. Did you forget how cold your hands were last night?” He asked, raising his eyebrows.

He had only planned on giving Gale the chocolate bar, but after feeling how cold Gale's hands had been last night, and especially after finding out that he had traded his own gloves away, he figured that this was the least he could do for him.

Gale looked back down at his book, his cheeks flushing slightly at the mention of last night. He shook his head again after a moment, though, glancing back up at him, “I can't, John.”

“What, ‘cause of last night?” He asked.

He hadn't planned on just diving straight into it, but he couldn't let Gale use that as an excuse to not take the gifts. They could sweep it under the rug and pretend that it hadn't happened if that was what Gale really wanted, but he refused to let it change anything between them. Before, he knew that, aside from a perfunctory complaint about how he didn't have to do this, Gale would have just taken the gifts. He would have thanked him for the gloves, and he would have shared the chocolate bar with him, and that would be that.

Gale's cheeks flushed again, his jaw working as he tried to figure out what to say, “Last night was.. it was a mistake. It didn't mean anything, and it should never have happened.”

He sighed, his stomach dropping at the conviction with which Gale claimed that last night had been a mistake, and that it hadn't meant anything.

Sure, he'd known that it wasn't a good idea, and he had tried telling himself all along that it didn't actually mean a thing, but how was he supposed to pretend that that was the case? Last night had felt like probably the most important sex he'd ever had in his life, and so he couldn't stand here and pretend that it hadn't meant anything to him.

“That's really what you think? That it just.. didn't mean a thing?” He asked.

“It didn't.” Gale insisted, looking up at him. His cheeks were still flushed with embarrassment, but he had the steely set to his jaw that he didn't like; the one that said that he wasn't going to budge.

He scoffed, shaking his head, “How can you say that?” He asked, “How can you sit there and act as if it didn't mean anything?”

“John-”

“No, I-” He cut himself off, sighing again. He didn't even know what he was supposed to say, how he was supposed to tell Gale that it had meant something to him, “Is it because of Marge?” He asked, “Is that it? You feel guilty?”

He hated to bring her up right now, but he just needed to know. Sure, he'd been expecting Gale to freak out this morning, but he had seemed so into it last night, and so he wasn't sure how he could sit here and claim that it hadn't meant anything. The only thing he could think of was that Gale was feeling guilty over being unfaithful to Marge, and he was trying to lessen that.

“It's not because of Marge.” Gale said, “It's..”

“Then what? ‘Cause you can say it was a mistake all you want, but don't tell me that it didn't mean anything, because it-”

“Because you shouldn't have had to.. do that.” Gale snapped, before shaking his head again as he slumped back into his seat, “I took advantage of you. I should've.. I should have just gone back to my own bunk, so you wouldn't have felt as though you had to do that.”

For a moment, he simply looked at Gale, because he almost couldn't believe what he was hearing. Did Gale really think that he'd taken advantage of him, and that last night hadn't been everything that he'd ever wanted? It was such a ridiculous idea that he almost couldn't take it seriously, but Gale's features were still twisted into an unhappy frown, and it seemed that he could barely even make himself look at him.

“You're serious? That's what you actually think?” He asked, before a huff of laughter bubbled out of his throat, “Buck, I- I didn't do anything last night that I didn't want to do, that I haven't wanted to do for.. I can't even remember how long.”

He hadn't planned on admitting that to Gale any time soon, but he couldn't leave it like this. He couldn't just walk out of here and leave Gale thinking that he'd taken advantage of him last night. If anything, he had worried about it being the other way around, and so he couldn't just stand here and say nothing.

Gale looked up at him, a frown crossing his face, “You.. what?” He asked.

“It meant something to me.” He said softly, trying to ignore the nerves twisting in his stomach again, “Ever since I met you, I've..” He trailed off, huffing softly, “I don't know, Buck. I wanted it, I've always wanted it.”

“Come on, John.” Gale sighed, and it looked as if he didn't know what he wanted to do with himself; whether he wanted to continue this conversation, or whether he wanted to be literally anywhere other than here.

“Why'd you think I kissed you, huh? Why'd you think I did any of that if it wasn't what I wanted?”

“That's just this place talking, John.” Gale said softly, “It's been a long time, for both of us, and we got caught up doing something we shouldn't have done, and y-”

“I love you.”

He felt as if he could have been sick once the words were out, but he couldn't do this. He couldn't stand here and let Gale try and talk him out of something that he knew he wanted. If Gale didn't feel the same way, then that was something he'd just have to deal with, but he needed to give him the whole story.

Gale just looked at him, and it was impossible to even try and decipher the expression on his face.

“I've been in love with you since we were in flight school.” He admitted, a huff of laughter spilling from him, even as he swallowed around the lump in his throat, “So don't try and tell me that it didn't mean anything, ‘cause I know how I feel, and I know what I want. Maybe it didn't mean anything to you, but I-”

He was cut off when Gale stood up from his seat and crossed the distance between them to pull him into a hard kiss, the force of it enough to have him staggering back a couple of steps, his back colliding with the bookshelf behind him.

For a moment, he simply froze, caught off guard by what was happening. It didn't take him long to catch up, though, and he dropped his hands to Gale's hips to pull him closer as he kissed him back.

This was.. he couldn't quite believe that this was actually happening. He'd been so afraid of what the outcome of this conversation would be; he'd been so afraid of Gale feeling like he couldn't be around him anymore, of Gale being disgusted by what they'd done last night. For some reason, this outcome hadn't been on his radar, and he barely had the words to describe how grateful he was.

He lifted one hand to fit it around the curve of Gale's jaw as they kissed, before stepping away from the bookshelf so that he could turn them around, pressing Gale back against the shelf.

Like this, he had a slight height advantage on the other man, and it felt so good to crowd up against Gale like this, to feel the way that he had to raise up slightly onto his toes in order to reach him. They were very nearly the same height, though, and that was something he wasn't used to.

Gale's lips were soft but slightly chapped against his own as their mouths moved together, and he couldn't help the soft noise that spilled from his throat as he parted his lips to Gale's tongue, meeting it with his own.

Last night, he'd been too caught up in the pleasure of what they were doing to really take in just how good it was to kiss Gale like this. Now, all he wanted was to sink into it. He could feel Gale's fingers shaking where he was still holding onto the front of his sweater, but he understood that this was all just a little bit overwhelming. He felt it too, and so he didn't see a reason to stop.

Dropping both of his hands back down, he slid them underneath the end of Gale's sweater, pressing his fingers to the bare skin of Gale's waist. He hadn't really gotten a chance to touch him last night, and now, he never wanted to stop. He wanted to press his thigh between both of Gale's again and see what other noises he could get him to make that he hadn't heard last night. He wanted to sink to his knees between Gale's legs and taste him. He wanted everything.

As if he could read his mind, Gale pulled back from the kiss, exhaling a shaky breath as he leaned his forehead against his, “Wait, John, I.. we can't do this here.” He whispered.

He pulled back just far enough to look at Gale, biting his lip gently, “We can't do it here, or we can't do it at all?” He asked. He didn't want to consider the possibility that Gale was already backtracking here, but he knew that it wasn't impossible. Maybe Gale had been just as caught off by that kiss as he'd been.

Gale just looked up at him, before lifting a hand to gently brush his fingers against his cheek, “We can't do it here.” He said softly, “Anyone could walk by and see, and I..”

“I know.” He murmured, leaning into Gale's touch.

He got it, he knew that they were fucked if anyone walked by and saw them all over each other. The best case scenario was that it was one of their guys, but if it was anybody else? If it was one of the guards? He didn't even want to think of what the consequences might be.

Still, it almost felt like there was a weight lifted off his chest at the fact that Gale had said that they just couldn't do it here, and not that they couldn't do it at all. It gave him a bit of hope that maybe it would all be okay.

So, he glanced back to make sure that there was nobody out in the corridor, before taking the front of Gale's sweater and walking him back to the other corner of the room, so that they were next to the doorway, rather than in front of it. At least here, nobody would see them if they were simply walking by.

He cupped Gale's face in between his hands, leaning in to press their lips together again. This kiss was softer, sweeter, and it wasn't much more than the simple press of Gale's mouth against his own. It was the kind of kiss that he had always imagined sharing with Gale.

He pulled back after a moment, lightly flicking his nose against Gale's, “It meant something to me.” He whispered, letting his thumb gently trace the silvery scar on Gale's cheek, “It's always meant something to me.”

“I didn't know.” Gale said softly, his hands on his hips to hold him close, “I thought.. I don't know, I thought I'd cornered you into it last night. I didn't know how I was supposed to face you this morning.” He admitted.

He smiled, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's again, “I mean this with all the love in the world, but that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard.” He teased.

Gale just huffed softly in response, sliding his arms around his waist again.

For a moment, they simply stood in silence, their eyes closed, their foreheads pressed together. He could feel Gale's hands pressed just underneath the end of his sweater, his fingers touching the bare skin of his waist. Honestly, he could have stayed here for the rest of his life, with he and Gale breathing the same air, and touching each other with gentle fingers.

“I love you too, by the way.” Gale murmured after a moment, “Just in case that wasn't clear.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” Gale said with a tiny smile.

He smiled back, although it dropped slightly after a moment, “What about Marge?” He asked.

It was no secret that Gale was planning on marrying her once they got home from the war, and he didn't think he'd ever forgive himself if he got in the way of that. Marge had always been a good friend to him, and so even though he'd never loved anybody the way he loved Gale, he didn't want to end up hurting her in the process.

In saying that, though, he didn't know how he was supposed to just let this go, now that he'd had a taste of what it was like to be with Gale. This was everything he'd ever wanted, and so he wasn't sure how he could just pretend that none of this had ever happened.

Gale frowned, although he didn't pull away from him, his fingers still lightly tracing patterns against the bare skin of his waist, “I don't know.” He said softly, “She's.. I'm going to marry her, John. I can't just leave her.”

“I know, I wouldn't want you to.” He admitted. He couldn't live with that on his conscience, and so he was relieved that Gale hadn't promised him that he'd leave Marge for him. He just wasn't sure where that left them.

Thankfully, though, Gale smiled again, even though it still looked a little bit unsure, “We'll figure it out, alright? We'll figure something out.”

“Yeah?”

“I'm tired of pretending I don't feel anything for you.” Gale admitted softly, “I don't want to give this up.”

He just smiled, closing his eyes as he leaned in to press his forehead against Gale's again. That was enough for him, to know that Gale felt the same way for him, and that he was willing to try.

He cupped Gale's chin in his hand, giving him one last soft kiss before pulling back just far enough to look at him again, “So will you please just take the gifts now?” He asked, a faint smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

Gale huffed softly, rolling his eyes, “I'll take the chocolate.” He conceded, “And I want you to share it with me.”

“And the gloves?”

“They're your gloves, John. You'll need ‘em just as much as I would.” Gale said softly.

“I won't need them. I've got you to keep me warm.” He teased.

Gale rolled his eyes again, although it was impossible to miss the faint flush that coloured his cheeks, “Fine, but I'm making you take them back if you get cold.”

“I can live with that.” He huffed.

He knew that it would be weeks before the weather started to turn warm again, and that there probably would be the odd night here and there where he wished that he still had his gloves, but he meant what he'd said.

Gale could keep him warm on the particularly cold nights, and he was glad that they could use that as an excuse for when he simply wanted to be close to him. He knew that, on the freezing cold nights, that nobody would think twice about it if they found he and Gale curled up together.

He was glad that he wouldn't have to hide it from Gale either. Sure, he had never shied away from tucking himself in against his side when it was cold, but he'd always been afraid of crossing a line, of doing something that Gale wouldn't be comfortable with. Now, he was glad that it didn't have to be like that, that he could be open with Gale when it came to his feelings for him.

“What's wrong?” He asked, upon noticing the slightly downturned tilt to Gale's expression.

Gale just shrugged, before glancing back up at him, “I didn't get you a gift.”

It hadn't crossed his mind to even expect anything in return, mainly because the gifts he'd gotten Gale weren't anything to write home about. He'd just never considered the idea of not getting Gale anything, and especially because, as well as Christmas, it was his birthday in two days.

So, he just smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of stringy hair out of Gale's face, “Kiss me.”

“What?”

“Kiss me.” He said again.

Gale did what he was told, leaning up to press their lips together in a soft kiss. It wasn't anything more than that, just the gentle press of Gale's lips against his own, although he could feel the smile pulling at Gale's lips.

“There.” He said once he'd pulled back, lightly flicking the tip of his nose against Gale's, “That's my gift.”

Gale huffed, rolling his eyes. He was smiling, though, and that was all he could have asked for, “You're sweet.”

He smiled, pulling Gale in again as he wrapped his arms around his shoulders in a hug, Gale's arms coming up to wrap around his waist again in return, “Merry Christmas, Buck.” He whispered, leaning his chin on Gale's shoulder.

He could have stayed here forever; reveling in the weight of Gale's arms around him, the warmth of his body pressed close against his own, the feeling of his breath against his cheek as Gale turned his face in towards the embrace. He and Gale had hugged a thousand times before, but this was different. It was more, and he found himself never wanting to let this go.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” Gale whispered, gently nudging his nose against his cheek.

He had no idea how much longer they'd be here for, but he was pretty sure that getting to have this with Gale would make it a little bit more bearable. It would give him something to fight for, something to actually make it through this for. He could. If it was for Gale, then he knew he could.

It wasn't much, but he could work with it.

#hope you like it!! <3 #clegan #mota fanfic #mine #hbowarsanta24 #hbo war secret santa

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