#rating tacky christmas movies

[kjack89]

Timeless

Because it may have been almost a month, but what is time, anyway.

The air in the antique shop was thick with dust, and Combeferre coughed into the crook of his arm before giving Enjolras a look. “Remind me again what we’re looking for,” he said, picking a particularly tacky snowglobe off of the shelf without bothering to hide his look of revulsion.

“A gift for Grantaire,” Enjolras repeated for easily the twelfth time as he examined the spines of a stack of ancient books with yellowed pages.

“Right,” Combeferre said, replacing the snowglobe and sharing a knowing glance with Courfeyrac. “Why?”

Enjolras glanced up at them and away again. “Does it matter?”

Courfeyrac leaned against a shelf that creaked ominously, and he hastily straightened. “Well, it’s not Christmas,” he reasoned.

“Not Grantaire’s birthday, either,” Combeferre added.

“And no judgment, Enj, but it’s a little late for Valentine’s Day.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together, glaring a garish painting of a sad clown as if it had personally offended him. “It’s an apology gift,” he said sourly, staring determinedly away from Courfeyrac and Combeferre so that he didn’t have to see the look they inevitably gave each other.

He was already familiar with it.

“Uh-oh,” Courfeyrac said, with barely suppressed glee masquerading as concern. “What are you apologizing for?”

Enjolras sighed. “I said something stupid.”

“No shit,” Combeferre said, uncharacteristically blunt, not that Enjolras didn’t likely deserve it. “But what specifically?”

Enjolras sighed again, raking a hand through his blond curls before telling them reluctantly, “We were watching some movie, or at least, it was on in the background while I was doing work. Some kind of rom-com thing and it ended with the couple old and happy together, and Grantaire made some comment about how maybe that’d be us someday and—”

Courfeyrac stared at him, all traces of amusement vanished. “Don’t tell me.”

“I just pointed out that statistically—”

“Enjolras,” Combeferre and Courfeyrac groaned simultaneously. 

Enjolras winced. “I mean, the world’s probably going to be uninhabitable long before we’re elderly—”

Courfeyrac rolled his eyes so hard it looked physically painful. “Mm, yeah, whisper that in his ear, see how it goes.”

“I didn’t realize he was trying to be romantic,” Enjolras muttered, the tips of his ears flaring as red as his favorite hoodie as he continued to avoid meeting Combeferre or Courfeyrac’s eyes. 

“Of course you didn’t,” Combeferre sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Enjolras huffed another sigh. “And now I need to make it up to him,” he said, determined to force the conversation back to something productive.

Combeferre just gave him a look. “And you decided an antique shop was the best place to find a gift because…?”

Shrugging, Enjolras picked a small ceramic ornament off the shelf, turning it over in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell it was supposed to be. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “He loves this place, so I figured there must be something here worth getting.”

Courfeyrac made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a hastily-stifled cackle. “Pretty sure he likes the bar next door better,” he said.

“Probably,” Enjolras said, “but I can’t exactly get that for him, can I?”

Though at the rate he was going, that might actually be the only gift big enough to make it up to Grantaire.

“Fair enough,” Combeferre said, ever the voice of reason. “Why don’t we split up, cover more ground?”

Enjolras made a face. “Why does this feel like the start of a slasher movie?”

Courfeyrac smirked. “Probably because if you don’t succeed, your relationship’s going to be the first thing to die?”

Enjolras glared at him. “Thanks for your support,” he said dryly.

“Anytime,” Courfeyrac said, saccharine sweet.

Enjolras rolled his eyes as he turned to survey the assorted crap that evidently passed for antiques. He knew he should be more grateful that his friends were willing to put up with him and his now decades of emotional incompetence, but in his defense, they didn’t have to be such assholes about the whole thing.

Though, in this case, Enjolras definitely deserved it.

He scowled as he drifted somewhat aimlessly down the aisle, not even sure what he was looking for. His eyes fell on a tattered cardboard box perched precariously on the end of one shelf, or more accurately, on the neon green postcard taped to the front.

PHOTOS AND LITHOGRAPHS, it proclaimed. TWENTY-FIVE CENTS EACH.

Enjolras had no idea who in their right mind would buy random old photos of people they’d never met or places they’d never been, but he intrigued enough that he pulled the box off the shelf, shuffling through the untidy stacks until he pulled one out at random.

It was a black and white photo of two young men in dinner standing next to each in front of an old-fashioned car. He flipped it over and he could just make out, written very faintly on the back, ‘Before the big dance, 1944.’

He frowned as he turned the photo back over, but before he could toss it back in the box, he caught sight of the familiar half-smile the shorter of the two men wore. A smile that Enjolras had kissed more times than he could count, and without warning, he could see it in his head like a memory he didn’t even know he’d had.

“Hey, kid,” Grantaire said, giving Enjolras that little smile as he leaned against the fence.

“Don’t call me kid,” Enjolras said, breathless. “I’m eighteen, and besides, I graduate soon.”

“I know,” Grantaire said, raking his eyes slowly down Enjolras’s body, his smile sharpening. “Besides, you don’t look much like a kid tonight.”

Still, Enjolras hesitated. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. I know you’re shipping out soon, and I doubt you want to spend your time with a bunch of kids…”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “Didn’t we just establish you’re not a kid?” he said easily. “Besides, someone’s got to keep an eye on. Especially if Courfeyrac spikes the punch again.”

Enjolras half-smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wish I was going with you.”

“I don’t,” Grantaire said flatly. “Hard enough fighting the Nazis without having to worry about you getting shot or blown up.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “You’ll write?”

“As often as I can,” Grantaire promised, reaching for his hand. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

It was a hollow promise – they both knew too many young men who would never return from the war in Europe. But before Enjolras could point that out, Grantaire dropped his hand, straightening. “Mr. and Mrs. Enjolras,” he said with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

“Oh, Grantaire,” Enjolras’s mother said. “I didn’t realize you were going tonight.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Thought I’d give the kids a little treat,” he said easily.

Enjolras’s father laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. “And hopefully keep them out of trouble,” he said.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, winking at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes.

“Wait, before you go, I want to get a picture!” Enjolras’s mother said, and Enjolras groaned.

“Ma, not tonight—”

“Just one,” she said, and Enjolras’s father frogmarched them both over to pose awkwardly in front of the car. “See, all done.”

Enjolras just sighed and looked at Grantaire. “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered.

Grantaire grinned. “I’ll make sure I bring him back in one piece,” he promised Enjolras’s parents, who both just smiled and waved.

Enjolras and Grantaire made it all the way down the sidewalk and around the corner before Grantaire pressed Enjolras up against the side of a garage to kiss him. “Sorry,” he said. “You really do look good, kid.”

“So do you,” Enjolras murmured, and Grantaire kissed him once more before releasing him.

“What do you think?” he said, casually. “Make an appearance at the dance and then you can come back to mine to say goodbye properly?”

If Enjolras had his way, he wouldn’t say goodbye at all. But since that wasn’t an option, he settled for nodding. “Yeah,” he said. “Sounds like a plan.”

Back in the antique shop, Enjolras shook his head, feeling almost dizzy as the memory – or whatever it had been – faded, leaving a strange sort of buzzing sound in his ears. He set the photo down with trembling fingers, and then, like an idiot, reached back into the box again for another.

This time he emerged with a color photograph that looked like someone had torn it out of a book based on the caption in tiny print underneath the picture. ‘Portrait of a young man writing a letter,’ the caption read, dry and boring like any art book Enjolras had the misfortune of flipping through, ‘ca. 1650. Artist unknown.’

Enjolras frowned down at the picture, letting out a sigh of relief that it didn’t look anything like Grantaire.

At least, until he realized that it did look, at least a little bit, like himself.

Enjolras’s chest felt tight as he scanned Grantaire’s latest missive. Where most of his friends sent updates on how their efforts were going to liberate Enjolras from the cursed marriage his parents had foisted upon him, Grantaire’s alone were like a balm in these dark times. They weren’t full of hope, as Enjolras would never expect from the cynic, but they were full of certitude, of no promises but instead guarantees that no man could stand between Grantaire’s blade and Enjolras.

“Patience is a virtue neither of us possess, but I must beg you for what little you can spare me,” the latest letter read. “Dark is the night but soon we shall be reunited in the dawn. And should we fail, know that my heart will belong to you for the rest of time, and none may cleave my soul from yours when we depart this earth.”

Enjolras traced his finger over the scrawled ‘R’ at the bottom of the page, lifting his finger to brush against his lips. Only then did he sit up in his chair, straighten his shoulders, and grab his own quill to begin to write his response.

Again, Enjolras resurfaced in the antique store, and he reached out automatically to grab the shelf, steadying himself against it. His head swam, and he had no explanation for what was going on, save for the obvious that he’d finally cracked under pressure and lost his entire mind.

It didn’t feel like he was going crazy, though. He was still him, still in this cursed store, still trying to find some kind of apology gift and instead unearthing bizarre memories of, what, alternate lives?

A hysterical giggle rose in his throat and he did his best to tamp it down, instead reaching for the box to return it to its spot on the shelf. 

Instead, he caught sight of a lithograph on the top of the pile of pictures, a charming little scene of what could only be a Parisian café a century or so ago, and despite now having two very distinct reasons to know this was a bad idea, he lifted it out of the box.

He couldn’t even pretend to be surprised at what happened next.

Enjolras squinted up at the sun, too high in the sky already for how much he had to accomplish that day.

But as he strode past a café, someone hailed him, delaying him all the further. “Enjolras! Join me, won’t you.”

Enjolras scowled at the dark-haired man seated at a table outside of the café, his chin propped in his hand as he grinned at him.. “I see you are putting your morning to good use,” Enjolras said sourly. “Alas that some of us have more important matters to which we must attend.”

Grantaire’s grin widened. “And yet what may be more important than sating your hunger and thirst?” he asked with feigned innocence. “Even gods take the time to feast with mortals.”

“I suppose it is well that I am not a god, then.”

He turned to leave but paused when Grantaire called after him, “All the more reason to join me, then. As I doubt I merit the company of gods regardless.”

Enjolras sighed, turning back to again refute him, but before he could say anything, Grantaire straightened, his grin sobering into something more genuine, something that made Enjolras’s chest feel inexplicably warm. “Please,” he said, something soft and almost sweet in the word. “Would the world cease to spin should you spend a half hour letting someone take care of you?”

“Is that what this is?” Enjolras asked, forgetting to be harsh.

Grantaire shrugged. “A first attempt, at least.” His grin returned. “How am I doing thus far?”

“That remains to be seen,” Enjolras said, hesitating for only a moment before, reluctantly, sitting down across from him. “Very well. You have a half hour. Do your best.”

“For you, I always do,” Grantaire said, his voice low, and Enjolras was suddenly aware that the warmth on his cheeks had nothing to do with the sun.

At least this time, he didn’t feel like he was going to collapse upon returning to himself, which was a small sort of comfort. He did feel a little shaky, which probably explained how his renewed attempt at putting the box on the shelf instead sent it falling to the floor.

Enjolras groaned as he bent to pick up all the pictures and shove them back in the box, hoping this didn’t mean he’d suddenly experience a hundred memories at once. Luckily, he remained entirely in the present, and he hastily gathered all the photos, placing them back in the box, which he successfully returned to the shelf.

Only then did he notice a photo he’d missed, and he sighed again as he bent to pick it up, glancing automatically at it. This was a color photo, much more recent if a little out of focus, of two older men kissing, and he flipped it over to see if anything was on the back. 

In bold Sharpie strokes, someone had written ‘FINALLY! Fifty years in the making. June 29, 2015.’

Enjolras felt the breath catch in his throat. Three days after Obergefell.

He waited for the memory to overwhelm him yet again, but this time, it didn’t come, and he frowned down at it, a little surprised. Maybe it was because neither man particularly resembled him or Grantaire.

Or maybe it was because he and Grantaire had to live this memory themselves.

It was a stupid thought that somehow still had tears pricking in Enjolras’s eyes, and he shook his head, starting to return the photo to the box before hesitating.

He knew what he needed to give Grantaire.

— — — — —

“I bought these.”

Grantaire glanced up from where he was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Hell of an opening,” he said mildly, sitting up as Enjolras sat down next to him. He accepted the paper bag that Enjolras held out, his brow furrowing, and he carefully shook out the four pictures Enjolras had purchased from the antique store, fanning them out across the table.

He blinked down at them and back up at Enjolras, his brow furrowing, just slightly. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You bought four random pictures?”

Enjolras jerked a nod and then took a deep breath. “I wanted to apologize.”

Grantaire looked up at him, his expression neutral. “I’m listening.”

Enjolras wet his lips before telling Grantaire, “I meant what I said.”

Grantaire sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ok,” he said, with something like patience, “maybe we need to first circle back to what the concept of an apology means—”

But Enjolras refused to be deterred from his point. “You and I both know that we aren’t guaranteed to get old together, let alone separately,” he said, and Grantaire fell silent, something tightening in his expression, something that Enjolras wanted desperately to smooth away with his fingertips. “Hell, we’re not even guaranteed to make it to next week, let alone past November, or five years from now or what have you.”

“Stirring oration as always, Enj—”

“But what I should have said,” Enjolras continued, “and didn’t, is that it doesn’t matter how much time we have together. What matters is that we have any time at all.” He reached for Grantaire’s hand, a little surprised when Grantaire let him take it. “Whether it’s five years or fifty years, any time that I have with you will be worth it. I don’t know if we’re going to get a happy ending, but I’ll be damned if we don’t get a happy right now with each other. And that– that’s what I should have said.”

He had faltered a little at the end, but it was worth it regardless for the look in Grantaire’s eyes, for the small half-smile that lifted just one corner of his mouth, for the way his fingers tightened around Enjolras’s.

Enjolras took another deep breath before telling him, “I went to the antique store to get you a present to say that I’m sorry, but instead I got these.” He gestured at the pictures still spread across the coffee table. “Something about them– I can’t explain it, but I look at them, and I see us.” He shrugged, a little helplessly. “I know that between the two of us, I’m the believer, but I have to admit, until I saw these, I don’t know if I truly believed that it really is me and you, forever. Whatever that forever ends up looking like.”

He squeezed Grantaire’s hand before telling him, “So I didn’t get these for you. I got them for me, to remind myself of that. Because the only gift that I can give you that matters worth a damn is time.”

Grantaire’s smile was soft and his eyes were just a little bit wet, and he shook his head. “Enjolras—”

He broke off as if he couldn’t quite decide what to say, and Enjolras added, “And I really am sorry that I didn’t say this the first time around.”

Grantaire shook his head again. “Well,” he managed, his voice thick, “you said it now. C’mere.” He tugged Enjolras to him, reaching up with his free hand to cup Enjolras’s cheek, to brush his thumb along his jawline as he leaned in to kiss him. “I love you.”

Enjolras kissed back before telling him, “I love you, too.”

Grantaire kissed him once more, his lips curving into a smile against Enjolras’s before he leaned back to ask, innocently, “So does that mean you didn’t actually get me a present, or…?”

Enjolras sighed, the exasperated, endlessly fond sigh of a man in love with the biggest pain in the ass he’d ever met. “Just shut up and kiss me.”

And for once, Grantaire did. After all, they had time to worry about presents later.

They had all the time in the world.

[canon-in-too-deep]

Love Comes With Extra Pickles

I've decided to release the beginning of my unfinished Durgetash fast food au out onto my tumblr, where it may overgraze and ruin the landscape as it roams. Love Comes With Extra Pickles A modern day fast food Baldur's Gate au. Rating: T Relationship: Gortash/Dark Urge (called Tav) Wordcount: ~3.6k (Also I wrote this around Christmas so, uh, that's why there's some weird holiday references)

Beginning below the break.

It was a muggy day in early December.  The overcast weather made the sea look like a gray silk sheet tossed out into the wind, and the once vibrant colors of fall were now muted as the promise of rain clung to the air.  

Enver Gortash climbed off his silver motorcycle, and tucked his helmet away as he stretched his legs in the parking lot of Hellrider’s Kitchen.  The smell of french fries and grease mingled with that of saltwater.  Fast food wasn't his preferred fare, but after a long day at work and then a tedious commute of weaving between rows of traffic, he wanted to just grab something quick to eat before he headed back to his loft. 

It had been ages since he’d last been in a Hellrider’s Kitchen, Gortash mused, as he twirled his keys in one hand and strolled towards the entrance.  The franchise had exploded out of Elturel and now had at least one shop in every city of the Sword Coast.  Their food tended towards the spicier side of things, but it was a flavor that Gortash had long grown up with, and he at least preferred spicy to the slimy and briny slop they served over at Balduran’s Burgers (‘Baldurans’ Burgers, Eat Like An Emperor!’ was their trite slogan).  It was a quick and efficient solution to sate his hunger and refuel his caffeine stores when his awaiting fridge was empty and the nearest Coffee Grove was overflowing with a line of hippies and teens—two demographics he didn't care to endure over any period of time.

The electronic doorbell dinged as he crossed the threshold of the eatery, passing the cardboard cutout of a caricature knight astride a disproportionate horse.  A crimson, fur trimmed santa hat had been placed atop the knight’s helmeted head—a touch of holiday cheer amidst the glaring fluorescent lights that bounced off the red, yellow, and white tiles of the floor.  

Gortash’s gaze flickered over the half filled plastic tables and stools that were scattered across the left side of the eatery.  To the right, prop shields and swords that looked like they belonged on a C-list medieval movie set were hung up on the wall, bracketing the framed certification that promised that this establishment had, at one point, been deemed suitable enough to serve consumables in.  A few more cheap attempts at decor in the form of tacky tinsel garlands and strings of tiny bells adorned the counter, in front of which was a short queue of customers that curved out around black stanchions topped with striped bows.

Gortash took up his place at the back of the line and absently checked his phone, flipping through the tedious emails from work he'd have to respond to and deleting the incoherent text messages from Orin that were mostly just gorey pics she'd found on the internet—at least, he hoped she had found them on the internet.

He opened up the group chat and checked to see if Thorm had finally sent the confirmation info he had asked for.

Ketheric Thorm [4:58 PM]

I have finalized the deal with the Zhents.  - Ketheric Thorm

Enver Gortash [5:00 PM]

Good.  Send us the receipt. Ketheric Thorm [5:07 PM]

How do I do that? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:07 PM] Thorm.  Save the image of the receipt.  Then go to this group chat and pick the photo you want to send. Ketheric Thorm [5:17 PM] How do I save it? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:17 PM] Tap and hold, then click ‘Save To Photos’.

Ketheric Thorm [5:28 PM] Now how do I proceed to show the group? - Ketheric Thorm Enver Gortash [5:29 PM] You’re in the group chat now.  Click the button in the bottom corner and select the image of the receipt.  Hit send.

Ketheric Thorm [5:46 PM]

What button? - Ketheric Thorm

Orin de Red [5:47 PM]

OMFG THE BUTTON THAT LOOKS LIKE A CAMERA YOU SHRIVELED SACK OF SINEW

Accompanying Orin’s last text was a dozen knife emojis followed by a dozen heart emojis.  And Ketheric still hadn't sent the copy of the receipt.  Gortash punched the bridge of his nose, closed the chat and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

He sighed.  He was never truly off the clock when it came to his job at Bane, Bhaal, & Myrkul.  Climbing the ranks of the company had long been his goal, one that he had utterly devoted himself.  Over the years, he had clawed and charmed his way to the top to serve as Bane’s personal chosen assistant, snatching up whatever control and power he could find along the way.  Unfortunately, his position under Bane meant working closely with the right hands of the other two partners in the company.  And that meant managing Ketheric’s tediousness while simultaneously wrangling Orin’s madness, and praying that their brittle workplace relationship would endure long enough until Gortash got his next promotion.  Still, he could deal with his inept colleagues after he’d sated his appetite and refueled on caffeine.

At last, the person in front of him finally paid and got out of the way.  Gortash stepped up to the register, glancing at the menu board hanging above the counter.

“Welcome to Hellrider’s Kitchen,” came the empty enthusiasm of the cashier.  “We swear an oath to flavor.  What can I get you today?”

“I'll have a number three and an extra large coff—”  Gortash eyes widened as he looked at the cashier, and he suddenly froze.  

There, right in front of him, was none other than Tav.  Tav.

Tav, Bhaal’s favorite child. The one that the senior partner had hand chosen and trained to rise through the ranks of the company.  The one that had cleaned house and crushed any and every sniveling coward that dared to step out of line.  The one that had combined ruthlessness and efficiency into one divine form dressed in a blazer and a killer smile.  The one that had spent countless hours working alongside him, toiling away at their ambitious schemes and grand designs.  The one that had fucking crushed his plans when she’d disappeared without even a goodbye.

His Tav.

Gods, how long had it been?  One year?  Two years?  Three?  It felt like their history had been dragged into the depths of eternity, but at the same time, the image he had held of her in his mind was one that felt as real and vibrant as the woman before him.  

Time seemed to stop completely now as he took her in.  And he saw that she was still the same.  Sure, her hair was longer now and worn up in a ponytail, and she was dressed in that tacky red and yellow uniform, but she was still the same.

The same nose that seemed to wrinkle up in unfettered judgment.  The same lips that pressed together and looked like they could utter gut wrenching curses or sneering false praises.  And the same eyes, that were so bold and defiant and utterly piercing, with an underlying glimmer of barely contained murderous annoyance.

A single syllable slipped from his uncharacteristically paralyzed lips.  “...Tav?”

Her name hung in the air between them.  And he felt the anticipation of the question build up, until she blinked at him, and gave her answer.

“Yes?” was all she said back.

Gortash swallowed dryly, and quickly recomposed himself, tugging down his coat collar and making sure his shirt was smoothed of any wrinkles.

“Tav,” he said again, more pointedly this time.

She glanced down at her name badge where T-A-V was written in black sharpie.  Then she looked back up at him.  Sounding slightly exasperated, Tav said, “Yes?  That's my name.  Do you need help with the menu?  I recommend smiting your fries.  It gets you an extra serving of our radiant ranch dipping sauce.”

Gortash frowned, and leaned forward a bit, placing his hands on the counter that separated them.  “Tav, it's Enver Gortash.  Surely you must remember me.”

She blinked.  

“Oh.”  She parted her lips hesitantly.  “Uh, yea, sorry, I don't.  I had an accident a few years back, and my memory's been a bit of a mess since.”

“When you didn’t show up at Moonrise, I…  I thought you'd left me,” Gortash said to her, completely ignoring the line behind him.  

“I what?”  Tav’s brow scrunched up.  “Look, whoever you thought you knew, that was a long time ago and I'm a different person now.  I think.  Or so I've been told.  Anyway, I'm sorry if I wronged you or anything and forgot about it.  Really sorry.  So, if you'd like to place an order, I do have other customers that—

“Hells, Tav, I've missed you,” Gortash said, eyes only on her.  “Come back with me.”

“Uuuuh like I said, I don't know you, dude,” Tav said.  “Sorry if I forgot, but if you're not going to order anything, I have to ask you to step out of the line.”

“Forget the goddamn line,” Gortash said, leaning in closer.  Tav backed away, squirming behind the register.  “You have to remember me.  Tav, we were good for each other, we could still be good for each other—”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, mister.” “We were on the cusp of perfection, you and I.  We were poised to take over the entire company—” “Sure, sure.  Look, I have other customers waiting—” “Tav, you were my favorite fellow assistant at the company.  I tolerated Orin, but I liked you—”

Tav backed away from the counter and gave him a sharp look.  “I'm getting my manager.”

“Wait!”  Gortash reached out for her, but the counter was in the way.  He let his hand fall back to his side.  A thousand questions and a million commands roared through his mind, but a resigned sigh was all that came out.  “Just…give me the number three with an extra large coffee.”

She eyed him cautiously.  Then took a small step forward.  “Will that be for here or to go?”

There was a pause as he gritted his teeth.

“...to go.”

She rang him up.  He took out his wallet and paid.

As he took his receipt, he looked her in the eyes, and with a tinge of bitterness on the tip of his tongue, he said, “Keep the change.”

~~~

Tav squirmed behind the register as Enver Gortash stared at her from beneath his tousled black hair, dark gaze emphasized further by the dark circles under his eyes.  He looked like one of the shaggy raccoons that kept trying to get into the dumpster out back, as he stood stiffly by the counter and waited for his order.  That thought might have made her laugh, if she weren't so mortified.

She did her best to remain professional, and kept punching away at the keypad as the next customer placed their order.  Working at a fast food chain meant she had experienced her fair share of weirdos.  But having to deal with this particular weirdo was making her heart race beneath the cheap cloth of her button up uniform. Tav chewed her lip.  

Gortash had seemed to buy into her lie, at least.

And it had been a lie.

Because, while Tav had actually been in an accident two years back—which had led to her cutting herself off from her own family, starting therapy with Withers, and completely changing her worldview—her bad memory was not so bad as to forget her ex.

Her bloody ex. Gortash.

Her Gortash. Tav cursed her luck.  

The Enver Gortash she remembered would never have popped into a fast food joint like this.  He had been brilliant and arrogant and callous and cutthroat, and keen to show off with the wealth and influence he had built for himself.  Cheap burgers and coffee were the sort of late night comfort foods she would have been the one to bring to their dates to mock him with.  But never him.  He would have taken her out to the fanciest restaurant with more stars to its name than one could see in the smoggy city skies.  And he would have smirked at her from across the table and poured her wine older than both of them as they laughed and planned and performed their dance as Bane and Bhaal’s chosen ones.  Yet, here he was, in the middle of Hellrider’s Kitchen, dressed in a gaudy leather jacket and a black button up shirt that had far too many buttons undone, standing so out of place against the brightly colored cheesy decor.  

Gortash looked the same.  Same carefully tousled hair, same five o clock shadow, same blue steel eyes so dark they were almost black.  The clothes might have been a bit fancier.  And the circles underneath his eyes seemed to be a bit darker than they had been before, with a few more creases joining them around the edges.  But he was still the same.

Tav tried not to sweat from the heat of the grill and the intensity of his gaze.  Her panicked lie had been a half truth; the initial shock of the accident had left her mind scrambled.  Ever since, she always forgot what she needed when she went to the grocery store unless she brought a list.  But the accident hadn’t been so bad as to completely erase the unofficial relationship she had been in with her father’s business partner’s (decently) handsome and (relatively) young assistant.  

Instead, that accident had been a wake up call for Tav.  In life or death experiences, some people claimed to see a white light, or a flashback of all their past deeds.  What Tav had seen instead had been a reflection of herself, hollow and empty in the reflection of the doctor’s visor.  And she looked utterly miserable, alone, and bitter. That was the first step.  The first step, towards realizing that there was more to life than making money and amassing influence through the suffering of others.  That the cutthroat, cruel world her father wanted her in wasn’t the one that she wanted.  That she yearned for a relationship not built upon power plays and manipulation, but a genuine one, full of compassion and hope.

She knew that it started out as selfish.  And yes, even two years later, she still knew she had a very long way to go to truly be a better person.  But the more she strayed from her father and his company—and the more she spent time practicing empathy and compassion—the more she began to think that she could maybe, truly, someday, become worthy of being a better person.  And that small kernel of hope kept her going.

With her new outlook, came new friends.  And her new friends were an important, guiding influence on her, teaching her that people could actually care, without money or power or influence hanging over their heads like a guillotine, and that she could care in turn.  They had been the ones to really show her how bad the environment at Bane, Bhaal, and Myrkul’s had been.  

As for Gortash—well, he was so devoted to the company that surely he would have continued to be just as bad an influence on her if she’d stayed in touch.  He was a prick and an arse.  He got good people like Karlach fired and his morality was as loose as his half-laced shirt.  He was a controlling, manipulative bastard who had only tolerated Tav in so much as she had been brutal and cruel herself.  And he would have tried to drag her back down to the depths she was trying to escape.  Or so she told herself.

Really, when she’d deleted his number and blocked him two years ago, she had figured he would have moved on and forgotten her in turn.  That he would prove to be just as selfish and apathetic and incapable of love as she’d tried to convince herself that he was.  

But now, Gortash’s words echoed in her ears, as she counted out change to pass to the customer in front of her.

‘I tolerated Orin, but I liked you.’  Why did he have to come back, after all this time, when she had worked so hard to build a new life for herself out of the shadows of depravity and the cycle of viciousness she had been entrenched in?  Why did he have to speak to her with such fervor in his voice that made her question ever leaving him behind?  

She felt shame and guilt stir up in her just as much as embarrassment.  One look at him and she was backsliding into her deceitful ways.  He made a hypocrite of her.  She knew this.  But she did not know what else he would make of her if he knew the truth.

“Ahem.  Tav.  I seem to have come off stronger than I intended.”

Tav blinked again, and realized that the line had cleared, and Gortash had taken the opportunity of the gap to approach her at the counter once more. “I do apologize for my enthusiasm.  Orin said you’d left me, but I never forgot about you,” he said, in that low sultry voice of his that settled so familiarly in the depths of Tav’s chest like a fine sip of whiskey.  “If the past is lost to you, let me clear up some mysteries, then.  We share so much history.”

“Uh, no thanks,” she said as politely as she could.

He gave her a look that she couldn’t quite read.  It might have been disappointment, or it might have been calculating, or it might have been something far away in between.

“Well, at least let me give you my number in case you change your mind,” Gortash said.  And he pulled out a black wallet with a golden clasp.  He plucked a sharply printed business card from the folds, and slid it across the counter towards her. Tav glanced down at it.  Her heart continued to drum a rapid beat.  “Look, I—” She was cut off, as her coworker came up next to her and plopped a tray on the counter.  “Order for Gor-trash!”

“Gortash,” the man in question corrected, irritably. Tav picked up the cup of coffee and the paper bag and practically shoved it into his arms.  “Here you go, have a blessed day.  Bye!” Gortash’s eyes lingered on hers, and she couldn’t help but notice the heat of his hands—her own brushing against his as she let go of the paper bag. “I’m going to take my break.  Cover me,” Tav said to her coworker.  And Tav logged off of the register and quickly headed towards the breakroom. Tav retreated into the breakroom and collapsed into a cracked plastic seat next to the sad Charlie Brown-esque fake Christmas tree HR had set up.  Beneath the glow of the cheap twinkling lights and the harsh filters of the overhead fluorescents, she buried her head in her arms.  And proceeded to have a mild crisis.

Everything was okay, Tav reminded herself, as she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to reign in and calm the flustered thoughts that were multiplying and bouncing against the sides of her skull.

Tab bit her lip.  She replayed the moment when his black ice gaze had turned towards her and thawed in recognition.  His surprise had ripped through that confident, composed mask he always wore, and it would have mirrored her own if she hadn't recognized him first a second sooner and had had the briefest of moments to school her expression.  

Gods, her stomach felt like it was trying to unknot itself.  Her palms were sweaty, and she felt like her heartbeat was playing along to “The Little Drummer Boy.”   

Parum-pa-pum-pum.

Someone tapped her on her shoulder, and Tav nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Sorry!  Didn't mean to scare you.” Tav glanced up, and saw one of her coworkers—Lia—peering down at her.  Lia’s long dark hair fell across half her face like a curtain as she tilted her head.

“It's okay,” Tav said, giving a weak smile.  “Just jittery at the end of my shift.” “Ooof, I know how that goes.  Especially running the register,” Lia said with a sympathetic look.  She pressed something into Tav’s hand.  “By the way, you left this at the counter.” “Oh.  Thanks,” Tav said, automatically.  She looked down at the matte black business card. “Are you okay?” Lia asked her.  “That guy wasn’t being an arse, was he?” “...he kind of was.  But I kind of was, too,” Tav admitted. “Well that sounds like something juicy,” Lia said, raising her brows.  “But, I totally understand if you don’t want to share.  Just know, I’m sure that whatever he did was waaaay worse than what you could ever do.” “Thanks,” Tav said, and she tried to give her a small smile.  She wasn’t sure if she could quite agree with that last statement. “And you know I’m totally down to stalk that guy’s socials for you and drag him for all his embarrassing pics, right?” 

Tav managed a shaky laugh.  “Thank you, Lia.  But it’s alright.  Really.  Really.” “Okay, then.  I better get back out there.”  Lia gave her one last look, before turning and leaving the breakroom. And Tav was left to contemplate the business card in her hand.  She turned it over, and traced the embossed golden letters, almost wondering if they would rub off at her touch. Enver Gortash.

He didn’t mean anything to her.  Not anymore.  Not after how far she had come.  No, she was in a better place now.  She was here.  And here, he was just an annoying customer, a blip during her shift.  And nothing needed to change.

Tav paused.  And shook her head, flicking the business card into the trash can.  She whispered her thoughts out loud to herself, as if it were a spell that would stave off the unsettled feeling her in gut.

“...nothing needs to change.”

[mollywog]

You open the door and see me dressed as The Hunger Games 10th Anniversary dvd collection. That’s right, I’m dressed as one giant cardboard box that has separate DIN A4 pages glued to it. I say: Trick or treat!

Pick three characters and tell me how you think they'd spend the night of Halloween! Do they like to have it cozy? Do they watch a horror movie?

Special request: A moodboard around one character's night :) Alternatively, give me some book/movie recommendations that they'd read/watch that night!

This is everything I could have hoped for in my first Trick or Treater @caesarflickermans !!

I wanted to complete your treat as requested, but a different idea took over and then ran away from me a bit…

So instead you get the outline for a Halloween themed girls night with Enobaria, Delly, and Katniss from the Wild Wednesday universe.

Set after Wild Wednesday (which still needs 1-2 chapters to wrap up, but Spoiler (not spoiler) Katniss and Peeta end up together

When Enobaria invites Katniss it’s more of a command than a request.

Enobaria insists it’s a Mellark tradition though none of them are actually Mellarks - she guesses Enobaria married into the name, but Delly is more like an honorary sister, and Johanna is Peeta’s business partner, and she and Peeta have only been dating for about a month. Katniss is so tempted to decline but though they may not share the name, they are Peeta’s family and she really wants to make an effort so she agrees (though she spends the days leading up to it in anxiety.)

Peeta appreciates the gesture and sends Katniss to the get-together with a box of the strangest assorted of baked goods based on each of their preferences.

It’s at Delly’s and girl LOVES a theme and is not afraid to be tacky - she doesn’t care that it’s just the 4 of them - she has spider webs, cauldrons, plastic spiders/rats/snakes, Halloween napkins, plates, cups - everything is themed black, orange, green, and purple

Johanna bails at the last minute- she apparently does this often and Katniss wishes she’d known that was an option.

Delly hands Katniss an unnaturally colored and sickly sweet ‘Margarita’ that matches the decor- Enobaria refuses- pulling out her personal bottle of jalapeño vodka. She says shots are less calories but also makes a comment about swearing off tequila and something about ‘not wanting to repeat last time’ - she laughs and Delly smirks, but Katniss has no idea what they’re talking about and they don’t elaborate.

Enobaria and Delly bicker over what movie to watch - Delly would prefer Hocus Pocus or Nightmare before Christmas while Enobaria wants horror. They ask Katniss’s preference and she claims she’ll ‘watch whatever’ and is relieved when it doesn’t turns into a ‘thing’ where she has to admit she isn’t a ‘Movie Person’: Growing up her family didn’t spend money on rentals, or TV channels for that matter and she never saw any of the ‘classics’. When they eventually had the money for streaming, Prim would have movie marathons where she’d watch the top 100 most iconic movies to try and make up for the years worth of pop culture she’d missed. It didn’t interest Katniss, so now it’s just something that makes her feel like an outsider. Enobaria eventually wins the argument because she’s child free and refuses to watch anything rated lower than PG13 - she puts on something she proclaims ‘a classic’ with lots of blood and little plot. Katniss is squeamish, but it’s all so cheesy and fake it doesn’t really bother her - It doesn’t matter - it ends up just being background noise

Delly begins setting up her nail supplies - Katniss isn’t surprised that Delly would want to do nails but is shocked when Enobaria sits down across from Delly to go first: Katniss has only ever seen her with the polish-less, neatly trimmed nails she’s currently sporting - anything else would get in the way at the gym. Enobaria somewhat defensively explains that she treats herself once in a while and Halloween is her favorite. Delly applies nail extensions, filing them into points and painting them a glossy black, embellished with gold accents (to match her teeth) Katniss nurses her too-sweet, electric green drink and watches in fascination as this terrifying woman allows herself to become defenseless in 5 minute intervals as her nails cure under the UV light.

Though Delly and Enobaria couldn’t be more different (at least in Katniss’s opinion) they’ve know each other long enough that they converse comfortably - they aren’t purposefully excluding her but she just doesn’t share the same common ground. She’s at least been to the bakery enough to know Johanna’s cadence but here she feels like a third wheel.

Enobaria must sense this because she asks about work specifically Haymitch - he’s her boss and kind of an ass, but she’s worked for him for 10 year and they’ve grown on each other so he’s her ass and she’s defensive of him. But Enobaria surprises her and doesn’t mock him - she tells a story about how he’d bested her in a budget negotiation a handful of years ago - she tells the story with amusement instead of bitterness

Delly insist they not talk about work so she asks Katniss about Prim, which is the easiest thing for her to talk about (not to mention her drink has kicked in.) Delly suggests next time they invite Prim and Katniss is feeling like she might want there to be a next time and that Prim would enjoy this too and maybe these not-real-Mellark women are onto something when it comes to family.

[scary-senpai]

Holiday Hi-jinks - Ch 11

[i actually started this for wanpanmas 2021 and things spiraled out of control, lol]

Rating: Teen

Category: Fluff, Humor (Situational Irony Goes Up To 11), Misunderstandings, Comedy of Errors

Pairing: Garou x Genos. Garou and Saitama Are Besties (and also drive each other crazy constantly). There is some background Serirei, which I hadn't anticipated, but characters are like children--they're gonna do what they're gonna do.

Fic Summary: When Garou and Genos agree to watch Tareo for the holidays, chaos ensues. Genos accidentally ruins Christmas with science. Saitama confronts his arch nemesis (elves). And who the heck keeps melting all of Garou's snow monsters? Certainly not Reigen Arataka.

In this Chapter: Garou finally gets revenge on Saitama for stealing his Christmas decorations. The elves have their own plans. Everyone in the house has one fucking braincell. This reads a little bit more like a horror movie than most other chapters. You can blame John-senpai for this, as well as most of my other bad ideas.

“Where were you on the morning of December 22nd?” Garou demanded, slamming his palms on the table. “And don’t give me some bullshit about ‘playing video games’—King is sick and tired of covering for your ass."

Garou adjusted the desk lamp, beaming a harsh glare directly into Saitama’s eyes. With the right lighting and a few key props, Garou had transformed their kitchen into some kind of hybrid courtroom/interrogation chamber… not that you could easily see it. For the sake of dramatic effect, Garou had kept the room dark—except for the interrogation lamp, of course.

Saitama hated Christmas decorations, and Garou understood this. Perhaps for that reason, Garou had decorated their entire yard with garish Christmas geegaws of every terrible, tacky stripe. The tiny wooden elves were the worst offenders, and so Saitama had stolen them a few days ago, and subsequently dumped them in the lake.

“Hey, watch where you aim that thing.” Scowling, Saitama batted the lamp away from his face. Garou, being the impudent cat that he was, batted it right back where it had been. The spotlight washed over the elves, illuminating their loathsome little features and their unusual outfits.

“Did you have to dress the elves up in little judge robes?” Saitama protested. “That’s so weird—”

“Focus, Baldy,” Garou growled. “The longer you stay silent, the worse it’s gonna be for you.”

[[read the rest on ao3]]

[fivie]

Rating Tacky Christmas Movies

Halloween is over and so it is officially, irrefutably The Festive Season now and the TV is already showing deliciously low-budget Christmas movies and my plan is to watch as many as possible and also rate them, so that you can better choose which ones to inflict upon yourself!!

Today’s maiden outing was A Gingerbread Romance. See my scorching review below.

(There are spoilers.)

This one really dragged me in with its honestly amazing premise, which is that main character Taylor, a successful architect, is selected by her firm to represent them in an apparently high-stakes competition to design and build a life-sized gingerbread house, for which task she is required to team up with a baker. And like first off, that’s hilarious, and secondly the film really duped me for a hot minute into thinking it was going to be way more interesting than expected, because obviously Taylor is the uptight career-driven character who needs to learn the true meaning of Christmas and the baker is going to be her obligatory love interest who is going to teach her - and the baker is revealed to be a hot French lady. Logically I knew this was not going to pan out the way I wanted it to, this is a Hallmark movie, but for a second there- But no, Hot French Lady turns out to be a Bitch, naturally, and teams up instead with Taylor’s rival, so, whatever, saw it coming, I’ll just write the superior fanfic where Taylor and hot French lady baker get together and teach each other the true meaning of Christmas through their beautiful unfolding love, IT’S FINE. 

So enter back-up baker Adam, our hetero love interest who works in a bakery where he is creatively stifled and who is a single father to his daughter, Brooke. Christmas movies love single dads, don’t they? I guess it’s to code the male characters as Sensitive and Wholesome, and also the kid/s always take a liking to Main Character which helps hurry the romance along. Anyway the guy playing Adam is like, a hunk but kind of a bad actor, but honestly everyone in this movie is a bad actor so he’s in good company. He and Taylor argue about her design for the gingerbread house because she wants it to be “cutting-edge” and he just has weirdly strong opinions about Christmas and stuff being traditional and the sanctity of gingerbread and blah blah a lot of this stuff should have been cut from the movie but we have to see them arguing so that we get that this is going to be One Of Those romance stories. You know this movie had three writers? And YET.

Anyway Taylor insta-bonds with Brooke and continues to have what I think is intended to be flirty-antagonistic banter with Adam but it’s all so flat that it’s not entirely clear. And like, I’m just saying, but Taylor and Hot French Lady had a way more immediately antagonistic vibe and would’ve had a way more interesting relationship arc BUT WHATEVER, IT’S FINE. Also the movie does that THING where the first time you see Adam at home, he’s with his kid and also a woman, which is clearly meant to make you go ‘wait, he’s MARRIED?’ but then later the woman is revealed to be his sister. Only, when movies do this, it usually involves at least one other character getting caught up in this misunderstanding - but not here!! Taylor only meets the sister once and is immediately introduced to her as Adam’s sister and honestly she doesn’t do anything except mildly puzzle the audience at the start and should not have been in the movie at all, that’s my hot take. ANYWAY, as the movie progresses Adam and Brooke start dragging Taylor to every Christmas-related Thing around town because they’re so horrified that, because she travels around a lot with her job, she’s never home for Christmas and so doesn’t really celebrate it much. That is the extent of Taylor’s Christmas Sin, by the way - she doesn’t hate it or anything, she’s just a woman who lives alone and is usually in another country at Christmas time, but in a Christmas movie this is unacceptable!!! Also they decorate her entire house and get her a huge Christmas tree without asking her if any of that is cool first and she’s like ‘WOW!! (:’ and I was like ‘what the fuck!!’

An important thing to note about this movie is that it takes place over 10 days. They have 10 days to design and build this life-sized gingerbread house, and in between they find time to go ice skating and browse the Christmas market and have painfully stilted conversations. Neither of them seem to have to go to work, not even Adam, who works in the retail industry, and it’s Christmas. They also have 10 days to fall in love, as a Christmas movie demands. And it’s...it’s real bad, folks. There’s no chemistry between Taylor and Adam, every stop on their journey to romance feels totally unnatural, neither of them know how to emote properly, and the whole situation is probably summed up by the fact that my flatmate and I burst out laughing at their extremely sterile kiss at the end of the movie. But wait, I’m getting ahead of myself.

There are no real stakes in this movie - Hot French Lady and Taylor’s architect rival are set up as antagonists at the start, but they ultimately do...nothing. There’s even this whole weird part where a security guard at the gingerbread house competition (yeah) makes some remark about how he’d be in big trouble ‘if anything were to happen to one of these houses’, and I then spent the whole rest of the movie waiting for Taylor and Adam’s house to get sabotaged, or for the baddies to fix the competition, or something, but no, I was a fool, there is no plot. The only stakes-adjacent thing is that, should Taylor win the competition, she will most likely get a big promotion that will see her sent to work in another country, because designing a big gingerbread house is how you get a promotion in the world of architecture. This is firmly established as being Taylor’s Lifelong Dream. And wouldn’t you know it, she and Adam win the competition, the supposed antagonists are weirdly good sports about it, and Taylor is informed that she is being promoted and she’s going to Paris. (Once again I pause to reflect that this would not have been an issue at all if Hot French Lady had been the love interest. They could have gone to Paris together. GOD.) Adam is devastated that this woman he has known and bickered with for 10 days is leaving to pursue her dream instead of spending Christmas with him and his daughter. In between all this Adam also finds out that his own Lifelong Dream of owning his own bakery is coming true, but he seems pretty unmoved by it so, whatever I guess. 

Ultimately Taylor decides not to be a selfish monster and gives up on Paris to come back and spend Christmas with Adam and Brooke. Apparently there are other awesome architecture projects coming up in their own city, and I assume her saying that is supposed to make me as a viewer feel better about her decision, but it did not work. You’ve known this man for 10 DAYS, TAYLOR. And then they share the most comically soulless kiss in history, THE END.

-

Top lines from the movie:

Taylor: (with madly waggling eyebrows) Desperate times...call for desperate measuring cups.

-

Taylor: (Complaining about being made to design a gingerbread house, which feels like something of a step down from her previous architecture projects.)

Adam: (Deadly serious and deadpan) There’s nothing shameful about designing a gingerbread house.

-

Overall rating: A promising premise, but bad acting, a poor script and the tantalising possibility of much more interesting lesbians let it down. Kind of funny but for all the wrong reasons. 4/10

[star-lemonade]

Chapter 5: Casserole

Series rating: R  (AO3: E)

Warnings: polyamory, marking, mentions of pegging, smut

Word count: 5k

Genre: Smut, romance

Female Reader x A.C.E Byeongkwan, Female Reader x A.C.E Sehyoon

beta-ed! Thanks so much to @Alexing1061

Masterlist

 |

Chapter Index

Summary: You admit your crush on Sehyoon and after an apparent rejection, Sehyoon has to make a confession of his own.

If you don’t enjoy reading about relationships that involve more than two people, this story is not for you

Taglist: @multistan-net

The cafe was comfortably warm. While waiting in the queue you rubbed your hands. A cold had settled into the streets of the city and it would take some time inside before you could feel your fingers again.

You ordered two coffees and sat down at one of the small tables. No sooner had you settled down, the door opened and Sehyoon entered. You waved and he waved back, a little smile on his face.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

He peck you on the lips and seated himself opposite you. The long, black coat matched his dark suit and white shirt in its professionalism. He looked like the hip CEO of a startup.

“So. How did it go?”

You were on the edge of your seat, wanting to know how the talk with his boss had gone. Before he could answer, a figure appeared next to you. The waitress smiled and set the mugs of coffee down. You thank her and she left. Sehyoon sipped on his coffee, lost in some thought, but you were still waiting.

“So?”

A smile broke on his face. He leaned forward, beaming and said:

“I got a raise.”

“Oh my god! Congrats!”

You took his hands and shook them violently to release your happiness. This was amazing news for him. Although he had been at his company for years they had underpaid him. If Sehyoon had gone somewhere else, he could have made more. That was why you and Byeongkwan had joined forces and persuaded him to talk to his boss.

In your celebration you had somehow landed in his lap. Some of the other customers, but especially the two young women at the table next to yours, glared disapprovingly.

“He matched the offer I got from that other company. So, let’s get something nice to eat after I get my salary.”

You nodded and kissed him. It ended too fast, but you were in a cafe. Sehyoon reluctantly let go of you and you sat back on your chair.

“Talking about fancy dinners. Someone from work invited me for dinner with her husband. Do you wanna go with me?”

Having to spend an evening alone with her and her husband did not seem like a good time. You needed backup there.

“Sure.”

He offered you his hand and you took it. Despite walking outside in the cold, his hands were warm.

“Oh, are you cold?”

Without waiting for an answer your hand was sandwiched between his. He rubbed your hand and slowly the cold faded.

“The other one is cold too.”

Pouting, you showed your other hand. He smiled and gave it that same treatment. What a good way to stay warm.

The weak sun hung deep in the blue sky and the cold was already lurking in the shadows. An almost magical feeling hung in the air. First Christmas decorations had appeared in the shop windows and some trees in the park had been hung with small lights. You stood at the entrance of the small park and waited. It was Friday late afternoon and the street was packed with shoppers. You scanned their faces but so far you had not seen him. For some reason you felt nervous. Even though Sehyoon had expressed his delight at the thought of you and Byeongkwan going on a date, it still felt odd. It would take time to get used to.

A figure waved. You saw him on the other side of the street waiting for the crosswalk. Byeongkwan wore a puffy jacket, loose fit work out pants and a beanie. The thick scarf hid half his face.

“Hey!”

“Hi!”

You threw your arms around him and he chuckled. When you pull back he would not let you get away. He pecked your lips once and as you were about to protest, he kissed you. You moved your lips against his. His lips were wonderful. They were warm and soft, exactly what you needed right now. For a moment you forgot that you were outside, on the street with people around you.

“… I’m really happy with how the students are doing, that choreography was pretty hard for them.”

You walked slowly along the path as joggers and shoppers passed. It felt nice to spend time with Byeongkwan again. You slipped your hand between his arm and his upper body. Walking arm in arm around the park felt like a scene from a movie.

Byeongkwan had come off work a little earlier so you could meet, when it was still daylight. The sun set earlier each day.

“Well, I’m sure it has nothing to do with you being a good teacher.”

A smile tucked at the corners of his mouth and he petted your hand on his arm.

“Thanks.”

The sun was disappearing behind the buildings and you shivered, snuggling closer to Byeongkwan.

A couple passed with some delicious smelling food. That reminded you …

“Do you wanna have dinner with me?”

Just as you asked, you walked past an entrance to the park. Byeongkwan and you had completed a round.

“I thought that’s what we were going to do anyways.”

You had not actually decided anything beforehand. It had just been a vague declaration of “we want to spend time together”. On your phone you had a short list of recipes you liked.

“What do you think about this?”

Byeongkwan checked the recipe on your phone and nodded.

“Sounds good but I don’t think there are any of that at the apartment.”

You went to the store to pick up the groceries. There were surprisingly few people around and you flew through the aisles, picking out all the ingredients. Because this was an unfamiliar supermarket it took a while to get everything. You had read somewhere that the layouts of stores were confusing on purpose to keep you there longer. While in the line for the checkout you and Byeongkwan held hands like it was the most normal thing. No one was paying any attention to this and smiled to yourself because you knew a secret they did not.

Outside the store it was freezing. Byeongkwan looked around before starting to walk.

“Where are we going?”

He headed in the direction of the next subway station.

“To Sehni’s place.”

The sun had made way for the biting cold of the night and your breath rose, puffs of fog. Each of you carried a bag with ingredients.

“Isn’t your apartment closer?”

He looked in both directions before crossing the small side street. A sign at the next corner marked the entrance to the subway.

“My apartment is … very practical.”

Byeongkwan pulled the zipper of his jacket higher. His scarf was also back in his face. You hurried to the stairs that promised escape from the cold.

“I basically use it for storage only at this point.”

Indeed the air got warmer as you descended underground. The glass doors at the bottom of the stairs released a stale, warm wind from inside the subway station.

“So you moved in with Sehni?”

Your voice echoed from the tiled walls of the hallway that lead to more stairs going down.

“I mean, It would be great to have an actual shared apartment, where I have all my stuff…”

This topic was dropped, when you saw that your train had arrived and you both ran to get to the door. Inside the car was packed with people and way too warm for your thick coat. Byeongkwan unzipped his jacket and you seized the opportunity to sneak your cold hands under it and around his chest. Compared to Sehni’s broad shoulders and massive chest, Byeongkwan seemed rather petite but his body felt solid and warm. Your head rested on his shoulder and he kissed your hair before burying his nose in it. In this position the ride with the subway could have lasted forever. You loved it.

Sehyoon‘s apartment was deserted and dark when you arrived. Its owner was currently spending his evening with some friends which was partially why you were with Byeongkwan on this day instead of him. Date night was date night, today just with someone else.

The small hallway with the built-in closet opened into the open kitchen and living room with the only other rooms being the bedroom and the bathroom. The kitchen was separated from the living room with a counter that also added more space for cutting and working. On the living room side of the counter stood a small table with two chairs where you had had breakfast with Byeongkwan last time.

For dinner you had opted for something simple to make, a casserole. While you made the sauce, Byeongkwan cut the vegetables into small cubes and you watched with half your attention. He had rolled up the sleeves of his black sweater so they would not get stained and the muscles in his forearms moved as he cut. His skin was very pale against the dark fabric and even to your surprise you found yourself thinking about leaving a hickey somewhere on him. How it would look when you sucked at the skin. It would turn red and you would have done that. The thought was exciting. Now where would you put one? The neck was an obvious answer but not one you liked. A bit tacky. On his chest maybe? Not as obvious but you would know it is there. Maybe if he wore a low cut shirt the mark would be visible. Everyone could see someone did that to him.

“What is it?”

He did not even look up from his vegetables and your brain needed a moment to register that he had addressed you.

“What?”

You echoed. I think I stared. Damn. I stared.

“What were you thinking while licking your lips like that?”

“Ehm…”

The cutting stopped and he looked at you expecting an answer, but you were a bit too embarrassed to tell him. He would think it’s weird that I want to essentially bruise his skin.

“Come on, spill.” He pressed and when you reverted your attention to the sauce, he put down the knife and wrapped you in a back hug. He kissed your neck and it tickled.

“Tell me!”

Perk. It tickled.

“No!”

You wound in his grap. Tickling.

“Come on!”

You ducked your head trying to limit his excess. Your face was hurting from laughing.

“Tell me!”

Breaking out from his grasp seemed impossible. You could hardly breath.

“Okay, okay. I will tell you.”

He let you go, gently turning you towards him, but you looked down, catching your breath. You had to tell him because you would not survive another assault like this.

“I was thinking about … how I wanted to … ehm … leave hickeys on you.”

Oh boy, I said it. He will think I’m weird.

“Okay.”

You looked up at that. Definitely not the reaction you had expected. Byeongkwan did not seem particularly distressed about this and went back to cutting the vegetables.

The sauce had thankfully not burned while you had almost died from laughing. You watched Byeongkwan from the corner of your eye. His reaction has been so odd, it bothered you. You wanted to know why he was so calm about this.

When he was done with the vegetables, you stacked the casserole. The oven was hot and you opened it.

“How long will it take?”

He asked with a slightly husky voice, when you placed the dish in the oven.

“About an hour.”

You started the timer set for 50 minutes. Then you would have to put the cheese on it and increase the temperature for a good finish.

“Good.”

Byeongkwan’s hand landed on your shoulder and turned you around. His eyes were dark and his hands wrapped around your middle. Okay, so that is where this will go.

He crashed your lips together and backed you up against the counter. The kiss was desperate and your stomach clenched as his hands slid into your hair. Secretly you had been thinking about him all week, since you had decided to meet.

You could feel him, half hard, pressing against you and moaned quietly. He used your weak moment and slipped his tongue into your mouth. The counter was pressing uncomfortably against you back but you could endure it for a bit longer if it meant having him kiss you like this. It made your knees like rubber. What ever cold had remained from outside was now driven out. You felt hot. Breathing would be nice though. You broke the kiss to get some air and saw the pupils of his eyes blown out with the want.

“Come.”

He took your hand and you followed him to the bedroom feeling like a lovesick teenager. Giddy and beaming from ear to ear. The bedroom was mostly unchanged from last time except the sheets on the bed were now a dark blue.

Byeongkwan sat down on the bed and pulled you into his lap, his arms secure around your waist. His soft lips moved slowly against yours as your fingers buried themselves in his silky hair, lightly pulling at it. He moaned, low and quiet, into your mouth and you rolled your hips in his lap for some friction. You were getting a bit worked up too.

He broke the kiss and pulled his sweater over his head leaving him in a dark, soft t-shirt. You took the hint and removed your pullover. His hands were under the hem of your t-shirt immediately, gently rubbing your lower back as you continued to kiss. The feeling of his lips was addicting, you did not want him to stop clouding your mind.

“So you want to leave a mark, hm?”

He purred into your ear before kissing down your neck that you presented willingly to him. An affirmative noise was all you could muster. Coherent sentences were not possible at the moment.

“I got a suggestion as to where.” He leaned back slightly and you looked at him, head spinning with the need of wanting him inside you. You got gently pushed off his lap and you stood up with shaky legs, watching as he pulled the t-shirt over his head and opened the button of his jeans. Okay, wow. You could not decide where to look first. He had beautifully defined muscles and his pale skin was begging for you to mark it. The fact that he wanted this too had alleviated all concerns and guilt you had felt.

Your hands flew to his abs like metal to a magnet and ran down towards the bulge in his pants but never reached it because he laid back on the bed. He pulled the jeans and the hem of his underwear down exposing more of his perfect stomach.

“What do you think about here?”

His finger ran over the area that was previously hidden just under the waistband of his jeans. The thought of putting a hickey there made your mouth water and you swallowed hard. The smile on his face was down right evil as you pulled down his pants and the underwear the rest of the way. He positioned himself in the middle of the bed. You ran your tongue over the area in question, earning shiver from him, before starting to suck and bite. The way he responded made you even more wet. The sucking in of air, was followed by a higher pitched moan and his hand landed on your head. He had a hard time keeping still and shifted slightly under you. His fingers were tangled in your hair. You pulled away to look at your work. The area was a deep red and Byeongkwan was panting audibly, he looked uncomfortably hard.

“Do you want to ride me?”

It sounded more like a plea than like a question.

“yes.”

You could not get out of your clothes fast enough. He got a condom from the bedside table, rolling it on. You straddled him and rocked your hips forward along the length of his hard penis before aligning it under you. You let yourself slide down on it until he was completely inside you and your hips met. As you had not even fingered yourself the stretch was almost painful, but so good at the same time. You rolled your hips and his hand caressed your thighs.

“You feel so good.”

His hips twitched a little under you, trying so hard not to thrust up. Your hand traveled up his body and landed on his chest that you proceeded to use as rest as you lifted your hips and pushed down into him again. His arms supported your motion. A sharp pain in your knee made you stop. _Okay, then I have to do it differently. _You opted for rolling and grinding against him instead.

With your hands on his thighs, slightly bent back was the perfect angle. The pressure on your clit and g spot was making you light headed. You felt your whole body tense and you held your breath. So good. His cute moans pushed you over the edge and you rode your orgasm out while looking into his eyes.

“Can you continue?”

His voice was tense, his face and neck flushed pink. Some hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. You nodded and rolled your hips into him again avoiding your oversensitive clit touching anything. He closed his eyes and moaned again. It motivated you to push through the uncomfortableness. You let his hands guide your hips. He looked beautiful, with his pink cheeks and half opened mouth. He came with a loud, half-suppressed moan.

Thankfully the casserole did not burn while you had been in the bedroom. You turned up the heat for the last 10 minutes to get a good crust and went to the bathroom to clean yourself up.

“Here.”

Byeongkwan handed you a sweater and some fluffy pants.

“Thanks.”

The clothes smelled of the detergent that they used. You sniffed at it as you walked back to the kitchen and turned off the oven. The casserole smelled delicious.

Byeongkwan joined you not long after in the kitchen. He set the table and you placed the hot dish on it.

“It smells amazing.”

You helped yourself to some food. It was very hot and despite your hunger, you forced yourself to eat slowly. Byeongkwan’s hair was still wet from the short shower. You wanted to hug him. I guess the sex made me soft for him.

Thankfully the kitchen had a dishwasher. Washing everything by hand would have been awful. You settled down on the couch after loading the dishwasher and Byeongkwan turned on the tv. The hoodie he was wearing was too big for him and made him look very cute. He laid down and you snuggled up against his chest.

You continued the series you had watched the last time. Despite the warmth coming from Byeongkwan your back felt cold and you shivered.

“Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

He pulled out a blanket from under his head and threw it over you.

“Thanks.”

You did not pay that much attention to the story unfolding on screen. The position you were in was too relaxing. You were surrounded by warmth, secure in Byeongkwan’s arms. He stroked your hair. It was so gentle that it made your heart arche.

“Kwanie…”

You did not know what you wanted to say, so you just snuggled closer to him, if that was possible. His breathing had become very steady and when you looked up you saw that he was asleep. It’s very nice laying like this, but it won’t be comfortable to sleep here all night.

“Kwanie!”

You shook him gently. He stirred and groaned.

“Let’s go to bed.”

The sun woke you up the next morning._ _Byeongkwan was next to you, still asleep. His hair was disheveled and you wanted to pet it. He however was not the only other person on the bed. Sehyoon laid half on top of him, also sleeping. You had not noticed when he had gotten home or had entered the bedroom. Either he had been very quiet or you had slept like a stone.

As quietly as possible you stood up and opened the door. It creaked. You went to the bathroom.

When you came back, Byeongkwan had turned around and they were facing each other. His eyes were open now and he listened to Sehyoon talking. His voice was too quiet for you to understand anything but it sounded a bit husky. One hand was drawing circles on Byeongkwan’s bare shoulder, but now Sehyoon pulled him into a hug. You felt like you were intruding. _Maybe I should go shower first and give them some space? But I still gotta get something to wear. _You decided to just announce your presence.

“Good morning.”

You said and they both perked up. For a very short moment Byeongkwan was surprised and Sehyoon confused. It was only a moment. Then Kwanie beamed at you and Sehni gave you a smile that could melt ice instantly. Sehyoon looked very tired and you wondered when he had actually come back.

“I will make breakfast!”

Byeongkwan peeled himself out of his boyfriend’s embrace and got up. He collected his hoodie and pants from the chair next to the bed. Before he could leave however Sehyoon half-shouted: “Wait! What’s that?!”

“Huh? What is what?”

Byeongkwan looked down and you followed the outstretched arm too. It pointed to the hem of Byeongkwan‘s underwear. There something red and blue was peeking out. The mark from yesterday evening. Your face was instantly hot and your heart hammered in your chest.

“Wow.” Sehyoon reached over and ran a finger over the skin. Byeongkwan bit his lip. _There are no other marks on him so I guess Sehni doesn’t do this. _Yesterday the thought of other people seeing the mark on Byeongkwan was a huge turn on but now that Sehyoon was examining it, you felt anxious. As if he had heard your thoughts, Sehyoon looked at you, then up at his boyfriend’s face.

He smiled softly. “You two? Huh?”

A pout replaced the smile as he sank down on the bed again. “And you didn’t even tell me?”

He looked back and forth from you to his boyfriend.

“Ugh.. I …”

You stammered.

“Don’t make her feel bad.”

Byeongkwan lightly slapped him.

“I’m not mad, just.. I wanna know things too. Come here!”

He spread his arms and you jumped on the bed, into his embrace.

“You smell like a liquid store.”

Sehyoon laughed and kissed the top of your head. Byeongkwan joined you on the bed, embracing both of you.

“My head hurts.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Byeongkwan pecked his lips and got up. He left for the kitchen and you got to enjoy a moment with Sehyoon. You wrapped your arms around him and snuggled against his chest.

“How was it yesterday? When did you come home?”

Your voice was muffled by his shirt. Sehyoon groaned and rubbed his eyes.

“3 am, I think?”

You had been asleep then for sure.

“A friend had a bad break up and I had to take care of him.”

He tightened his embrace as if he was afraid you would leave too. So that’s why he is this hungover. Usually he doesn’t really get drunk. You kissed his cheek. Poor Sehni, he needs some extra care today.

“I need to drink something and shower. Let’s get up.”

You got some clothes from your backpack that you had brought the day before and took a quick shower. The hot water was a blessing.

Sehyoon had made coffee and Byeongkwan set the small table. There was a problem though. The table was only for two. Two chairs.

“You two eat, I will have coffee first.”

The mug in Sehyoon’s hand steamed. He leaned against the kitchen counter and watched as you sat down opposite Byeongkwan.

“I need a bigger apartment.”

Friday had become your favorite day of the week. It was the day when you spent time with Sehyoon and Byeongkwan. Either with one of them or sometimes with both. You would have movie nights and clubbing with Byeongkwan, long talks and cuddling on the couch with Sehyoon.

On this particular Friday you went to their apartment for a game night. Three was a good number to play any number of games. It was not as boring as playing with two. You did not know what game they had in mind, just that it was a cooperative one.

You arrived at the building at about half past six with a backpack. They had told you not to worry about food and drinks, but you still needed something to wear. Secretly you loved wearing their clothes. You did not know whose clothes were actually in the closet. There was no indication of who owned what. Byeongkwan tended to wear a looser fit, so everything except the suits seemed to be comunal.

Sehyoon opened the door and you fell into his arms. The thick fabric of his sweater was perfect to just sink into. Sehyoon felt warm and solid in your arms. You let your weight rest on him. He held you up as if it was nothing.

“We’re gonna play something later. Are you sure you can play like this?”

Holding onto him tighter was the only answer you gave him and he chuckled.

“How about you give me some love too?”

The pout in Byeongkwan’s voice made you smile. Being left out was not something he liked. If there was cuddling while he was in the room, it had to involve him as well.

“Okay.”

You let go of Sehyoon and moved on to the next victim. Byeongkwan was almost drowning in his clothes. The fluffy tie-dye hoodie was the cutest thing.

“Hard week?”

His voice was soft against your hair. _Had _it been a hard week? One of your colleagues had been sick since Sunday which meant all their work had to be done by other people. So in addition to your own work you also had to do a bunch of other things that you were barely familiar with. To get everything done in time you had to work over time. You had even fought your boss to get off work so you could be there on time. It was not like your boyfriends would not understand and more like you did not live for your company. You had to have leisure time too.

“Yes…. I missed you.”

“Aww. We’ll have a nice relaxed evening, okay?”

He kissed the top of your head and patted your back.

On the couch table they had already set up a board game. The map vaguely reminded you of fantasy novels.

“Here.”

Byeongkwan handed you the manual. The game they had bought was like an easier version of dungeons and dragons. Each of you played a different character with a specific skill set. You had to work together to fulfill the mission and win the game.

The time constraints of the game were what made it interesting. Indeed you lost the round.

“Let’s order some food and try again.”

Sehyoon handled the actual ordering and you decided to prepare some plates. Eating out of the container was okay, but you prefer something that was not cardboard. Byeongkwan joined you in the kitchen.

“I think, if we spread out more next round we will do better. We waste too much time by trying to go long distances.”

He nodded absentmindedly and made himself a tea. I guess the game is not where his thoughts are.

Byeongkwan studied your face. Something he did when he wanted to say something but could not quite bring himself to say it.

“What is it?”

He pursed his lips and sized you up. Is something wrong with my outfit?

“What do you think about pegging?”

It was as if he had hit you between the eyes. You were dumbfounded. Byeongkwan took a sip from his drink without breaking eye contact. He just loved making you blush didn’t he?

“Ehm..”

You were not sure what to say really.

“You know what that means, do you?”

You nodded stiffly. Why am I this speechless?

“It’s just, I have never done that.”

Good, so you can speak.

His expression softened.

“That’s okay, but do you want to?”

His eyes glittered as he waited for your answer. Byeongkwan however was not the only one who was waiting. Sehyoon had sat down on the other side of the kitchen counter and watched with eyes wide open. He looked like someone who did not want to miss a single detail.

“Maybe she needs to … see some arguments for that.”

Sehyoon offered to Byeongkwan. Arguments? Why does that sound like code??

Byeongkwan had this evil glitter in his eyes. He had something in mind. You swallowed hard. In a motion so fluid it could only come from someone with a lot of body control, he leaned forward, his arms outstretched over the counter. The position showed off his firm ass. The way he arched his back made the air catch in your throat.

Sehyoon exhaled and the sound snapped you back to reality.

“This is too much tension for me.”

Byeongkwan straigthened again and looked at Sehyoon who walked away.

“How about you get to watch?”

Sehyoon froze mid step. He had voiced on several occasions that he wanted to watch, so this really got his attention.

“What do you say?”

Without thinking about it your hand landed on Byeongkwan’s ass. A triumphant smile appeared and your face burned. Maybe that had been a bit much.

“Yes and yes.”

Sehyoon whistled and Byeongkwan kissed you.

[searchingwardrobes]

The Christmas Wish: 1/4

Merry Christmas, @snowbellewells​ ! You have become such a sweet friend to me, so I wanted to gift you with something this holiday season. Since we were talking about Hallmark Christmas movies the other day, I thought the perfect gift would be writing you a Captain Swan version of one! I hope you enjoy it and have a wonderful Christmas with your family.

Many thanks to @kmomof4​ for being my beta when I know this week is busy with your family. Thank you so much, my dear friend!

This has four parts and one chapter will be posted each day this week, with the last one posting on Christmas Eve. It is loosely based on a Hallmark movie starring Jessie Schram, funny enough, called The Birthday Wish. This fic is set in 3b, but sticking to canon didn’t work at all with what I wanted to do, so it ended up being canon divergent. I think the only canon part that remains is Zelena. There’s no Rumple, no Neal, no cursed lips, no time travel. Yeah, I know, not much canon left, haha. Let’s just say this is more character driven . . . .

Summary: Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. "I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me?" Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out. The "answer" to her wish had to be some kind of trick, however. After all, it wasn’t as if anything in the vision she received could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook, the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

Rated G for Hallmark movie levels of fluff and Christmas feels

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @teamhook​ @xhookswenchx​ @bethacaciakay​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @welllpthisishappening​ @optomisticgirl​ @hookedonapirate​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @spartanguard​ @let-it-raines​ @tiganasummertree​ @vvbooklady1256​ @scientificapricot​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockianwhovian​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @hollyethecurious​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @jrob64​ @wellhellotragic​ @winterbythesea​ @winterbaby89​ @lfh1226-linda​ @carpedzem​ @thesschesthair​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @cutieodonoghue​ @justbecauseyoubelievesomething​ @juliakaze​  @thisonesatellite​ @therealstartraveller776​ @thislassishooked​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @killian-whump​

Chapter One: The Vision

“Mom, come on! It’s already started!”

Emma hadn’t seen her son this excited since they left New York. Henry was standing in the open door of their room at Granny’s, shifting with nervous excitement from one foot to the other. Emma was on her hands and knees with her head halfway under the bed. Where the hell had her other boot gotten to? It couldn’t have just disappeared. Then again, this was Storybrooke . . .

“Everything alright, lass?”

The sound of Hook’s voice made Emma jerk backwards and smack her head against the bed frame. She scowled at the pirate who was now standing at Henry’s side as she sat up on her knees rubbing the lump that was rising on her head.

“Where’d you come from?” she muttered as she rose to her feet. A dust bunny tumbled from her messy hair, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.

“Sorry,” Hook apologized with a slight smirk that made her think he wasn’t all that sorry.

“I can’t find my damn boot,” Emma snapped at him, almost as if it were his fault.

“Want me to help you look, love?”

“Mo-om,” Henry whined.

“Actually,” Emma replied, pushing her hair out of her face with one hand so she could look at the pair in her doorway - one on the cusp of adolescence and the other looking far more handsome than he had a right to in those ridiculous pirate clothes. Anyone else would look like they were headed to a tacky Halloween party. “Could you take Henry down to the Christmas carnival?”

“I thought we were going together!” Henry exclaimed.

Mom guilt slammed into her at his crestfallen expression. Between figuring out this new curse and trying to stay one step ahead of this wicked witch (Wicked Witch of the West? Seriously?), Emma knew she had neglected time with Henry. It was so different from what he had been used to in the life they had built in New York, and she hated letting him down. Not to mention that at twelve, Henry wouldn’t be wanting to hang out with her for too much longer, and she was missing it.

“I’ll be right down. It’s gotta be around here somewhere.” She really needed to buy an extra pair of boots, but frugal habits born of so many years on the streets didn’t go away easily.

“I’ll guard him with my life if necessary,” Hook swore to her solemnly.

Henry rolled his eyes. “First off, I’m twelve, not two. Second, it’s a Christmas carnival. What’s going to happen? I get hit in the head with a candy cane?”

Hook just arched a brow at her, and she shook her head ruefully. Little did Henry know. Sometimes his lack of memories stabbed her with even more feelings of guilt. She waved him off.

“I know, I know. Just get down there and teach Killian how to overdose on Christmas sugar.”

“Will do,” he told her joyfully as he shot off towards the stairs, Killian hurrying after him.

Emma collapsed onto the bed for a minute once they were gone. She’d told her mom

that having a Christmas carnival on Main Street was a bad idea with the Wicked Witch still out there. On the other hand, she had yanked Henry out of school, dragged him away from his friends and the life he had known, and brought him to this bizarro town. Now he was having to celebrate Christmas here, too. They didn’t have a tree or the Christmas decorations they had bought together last year. They hadn’t made cookies and hot chocolate for their annual viewing of Home Alone. Of course, technically, it was only annual in memories that weren’t real, but that was beside the point. The point was she was now ruining her son’s Christmas too. Ever since he heard about the Christmas Carnival, he’d set aside his Nintendo DS and his cell phone for the longest span of time since they’d arrived here.

Emma got up and resumed her search for that elusive right boot. She finally found it wedged beside the TV, hidden by the window curtains. She yanked both boots on, then turned to glance at her reflection in the mirror. She frowned at her tangled hair and grabbed a brush. Once her golden hair was glistening and smooth, she grabbed her lipstick and reapplied it. It wasn’t until she was touching up her mascara that she scowled at herself in the mirror.

Who exactly are you primping for, Emma?

She refused to answer her own subconscious as she tossed the mascara angrily onto the vanity. It bounced and slid into the sink, but she just left it there and marched out the door.

The Christmas Carnival was literally on her doorstep, filling the street in both directions from Granny’s patio. A choir of children from the elementary school stood on a stage near the post office belting out Christmas carols, led by someone who looked a lot like Mary Poppins (she probably was Mary Poppins, Emma thought with a chuckle). Leroy and some of the other dwarves had gathered around a booth where you were supposed to toss as many bean bags as you could into the mouth of a giant wooden snowman. Merry Men cheered and laughed as they took turns trying to pop balloons in a dart game. There were plenty of other typical carnival games: ring tosses, coin drops, wheel spinners, and one of those “go fish” games where kids tossed a clothes pin at the end of a string over a blanket and one of the nuns from the convent attached a bag of Christmas candy. There were also merchants with booths selling all sorts of handmade Christmas gifts, and food booths offering everything from hot chocolate to corn dogs to cotton candy.

She found Killian and Henry fairly quickly. They had found David at the strong man game. She chuckled to see her father spitting on his hands and rubbing them together before lifting a mallet and slamming it down. A bell went flying up, ringing loudly and impressively as it almost reached the top of the strong man game. With a smirk, her father offered the mallet to Killian. Emma rolled her eyes but couldn’t look away as Killian took off his coat. He really needed to go without that long coat more often, she liked the figure he cut in those tight leather pants -

“Are you kidding me?”

Emma jumped at the sound of her mother’s voice. She turned to see Mary Margaret shaking her head as she watched the men.

“That is just unfair,” she continued. “I know your father is wary of Hook’s feelings towards you, but to challenge him to that game . . . “

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you know . . . “

Emma crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her mother with a scathing look. “Know what?”

“He, um . . . well, that is, he only . . . “

“Only has one hand?”

“Well yeah.”

Emma arched a brow and gave her mother a smug grin. “I think Killian can handle himself.”

Right on cue, Hook swung the mallet with his good arm, and the bell flew up. It didn’t make it as far as her father’s swing, but it was still damn good. Emma smiled as she watched her father slap Killian on the back.

“Killian is it?” her mother asked pointedly.

Emma turned to take in her mother’s curious stare. She tightened her arms further around herself. “Uh, yeah, that’s his name. It’s the name we use around Henry, so you know . . . “

“Okay,” her mother teased, a smirk of her own teasing her lips. She changed the subject, however, by lifting a plate holding a cupcake into Emma’s line of sight. “Happy Birthday!”

Emma cocked her head. “Birthday?”

Her mother sighed. “I know it was almost two months ago. Yet one more moment I missed. I wanted to make it up to you.”

“It’s okay, really.” Emma took the plate and looked at the cupcake. It was chocolate with white icing and blue sprinkles. “It’s not really Christmas-y. Where did you get it?”

“A cupcakery opened along with the new curse. Felicity’s.”

“Is that her real name?”

“It is.”

Emma snorted loudly. “Cute.”

Mary Margaret grinned. “I know.” She threaded her arm through Emma’s and steered her towards a group of picnic tables set up beneath some fairy lights. Emma let her mother pull her to the table and sat down with the cupcake between them. Mary Margaret pulled something out of her pocket with a proud smile. “Felicity even gave me a candle and some matches!”

“Really?” Emma asked with raised brows as her mother stuck the candle into the cupcake. It was sparkling blue with a star on top.

“Mhm,” her mother said, “I told her it was for you and how I missed your birthday, and she wanted it to be special. The cupcake is special too, she said. It’s her Sugar Plum Fairy cupcake, and she was almost sold out. This was the last one.”

Emma spun the cake around, eyeing it. She had obviously been in town way too long if she was suspicious of an innocuous cupcake. The woman owned a cupcakery, for heaven’s sake! She had to sell the damn things. And what better way to drum up business than to pay extra special attention to Snow White? Emma let out a breath as she told herself to just relax and enjoy the cupcake. The bright pink and glittery decorations may not be her style, but it was chocolate, and you couldn’t go wrong with chocolate in Emma’s opinion.

Her mother lit the candle, her eyes sparkling as she sang “Happy Birthday.” Emma squirmed, never comfortable with such attention, praying no one else heard the song.

“Make a wish!” her mother exclaimed.

Emma bit her bottom lip as she suddenly remembered the last time she had made a wish on a cupcake. She had wished that she didn’t have to be alone on her birthday, and seconds later, Henry had knocked on her door.

So Emma leaned forward, closed her eyes, and a wish bubbled up unbidden from the depths of her heart. I wish I could just have a simple, domestic life. Is that even in the cards for me? Breath left her on an exhale just as the wish floated through her mind, and the candle blew out.

“Hey, where’d you get the cupcake?”

Emma opened her eyes to see Henry standing beside her. Behind him were her dad and Hook. Even as her son eyed her cupcake jealously, he shoved a forkful of funnel cake into his mouth. She chuckled.

“I didn’t buy it at the carnival,” Mary Margaret explained. “I bought it at a bakery specially for your mom.”

“Why?”

Her mother, who had the world’s worst poker face, went slack jawed and stammered as she looked at her daughter. Emma calmly removed the candle, licked the icing off, then started to peel away the wrapper before she answered her son.

“Because I helped her set up her baby registry the other day, and after two hours of agonizing over strollers, high chairs, and onesies, she owed me.”

It was only half a lie. Emma had helped her mom register at Storybrooke’s only baby store. Named, naturally, The Stork’s Nest. And it was also true that the experience had been torturous enough to earn her dozens of cupcakes.

She still wished she didn’t have to lie to her son - even half lies.

*******************************************

When Emma awoke the next morning to blurred surroundings, she wasn’t alarmed at first. It always took her a minute to fully awake and adjust her eyes to the morning light. But when she couldn’t see well enough to even find her phone on the nightstand, worry gripped her. She sat up abruptly in bed, trying to blink the sleep away. She squinted, and still all she could see was a white blur that she assumed was the sun streaming through the window and around it only blurry gray. She groped in the general vicinity of the nightstand, knocking over the lamp. She swore loudly as it crashed to the floor.

“Mom!” Henry shouted as he burst through the door.

Emma turned towards his voice, assuming that the moving brown blur in front of her was her son. “I’m . . . fine,” she lied, not wanting to alarm him. “Just go downstairs and ask Granny’s help to go get your gr - I mean, David.”

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

She pressed her lips together and took a sharp breath in through her nose. “Just go, Henry, okay?”

She heard him grumble something under his breath about how he wasn’t a little kid anymore, but she heard the door to their rooms open and close anyway. While he was gone, she rubbed at her eyes, then opened them again, but still she couldn't’ see a damn thing.

“Swan?” Hook’s alarmed voice cried out as he burst into the room.

“Killian?” She squinted at the big black blur in her doorway that she assumed was the man in question.

“I know you said to get David,” came Henry’s voice as a smaller brown blur joined the larger black one, “but I ran into Killian in the hall, and I know him better, so . . . “

“It’s okay, Henry, just give me and Killian a minute.”

“I want to know what’s going on!”

“I know, kid,” she said, her voice softening, “and I’ll explain in just a minute, I promise.”

Henry made no reply, at least none she could tell. She heard the door to her bedroom shut and sensed Hook drawing closer.

“What is it, love?”

“I can’t see,” she confessed softly, reaching out a hand for him.

“What?”

She could clearly hear the strained concern in his voice. Her hand found his, and she used him as leverage to stand up from the bed. He was closer than she had anticipated, and she awkwardly bumped against his chest.

“I mean, except for a light blur over there, and a dark blur I assume is you, I. Can’t. See.”

Emma thought ironically of those black frames with the clear lenses she had worn for

merely fashion reasons back when she was a teenager. They seemed incredibly stupid now.

“How long has this been going on?” Killian must have bent his head closer to hers because his breath was hot against her cheek.

“How long? I just woke up this way!”

“This must be some kind of sorcery, love. You don’t just lose your sight overnight.”

Do you? Emma wondered. She vaguely remembered some movie she had seen once where a woman woke up suddenly blind. It was probably a Lifetime movie, though, and she wouldn’t call those medically accurate by any stretch of the imagination. Nevertheless, she gripped Hooks arms tighter and shook her head.

“Maybe it’s magic, maybe not. Either way, get my phone, call my Dad, and ask him to drive me to the doctor, okay?”

“That will waste too much time. Maybe I could -”

“You can’t drive, and I don't’ think this warrants a 911 call.”

Did Storybrooke even have 911? She should look into that.

“As you wish,” was all Killian said, his voice solemn. The words took her back to a hot jungle, his lips on hers, and his hand tangled in her hair. She swallowed thickly as she pulled her hands away from him. He reached around her, and then she heard the familiar beeping sounds as he opened up her phone. She was glad she had given him that cell phone crash course the first time he’d watched Henry for her.

“And Killian?”

“Yes?”

“Can you explain this to Henry for me? Without freaking him out?”

“Of course.”

Then he brushed a kiss across her brow and swept from the room, leaving her flustered. He’d done it so swiftly, without hesitation, as if it were something he did everytime he told her goodbye. Maybe it had been unintentional?

Needless to say, it had been a weird morning.

*********************************************

“Is your sight coming back?” her father asked, unable to hide the fear in his voice as he drove through the streets of Storybrooke.

Emma squinted out the window of her dad’s truck. “That really bright blue to my right is the ocean I’m guessing?”

“That’s a no, then.”

A strained silence fell between them, but what could Emma say? She hated to worry him, but there was no denying this was really, really bad.

“You sure we shouldn’t go straight to Regina?”

“Not yet,” Emma told him, “let’s rule out a physical cause first.”

“I don’t know if that’s any better than a spell.”

“Believe me,” she muttered, “I know.”

“Your mom Googled it already -”

“That’s never good.”

“- and people with green eyes are at higher risk for eye cancer and macular degeneration.”

“Not helping, Dad.”

“Sorry,” he muttered, reaching for her hand and squeezing it. “It is good to hear you call me Dad again, though.”

Emma’s eyes blurred even further with her sudden tears. “Sorry I can only seem to say it in crisis situations.”

“Hey, all in good time. When you’re ready.”

He released her hand, and Emma resisted the urge to grab it again. She was so thankful to have him with her. How many times had she fantasized about parents who would take care of her when she was sick? Though she would have preferred something less dramatic than sudden blindness. A cold and some chicken soup, maybe.

“I know I’m not the best judge of this at the moment, but aren’t we going the wrong way?”

“I’m not taking you to Storybrooke General. An optometrist arrived with this second curse, and I think I trust whoever it is with my daughter’s eyes more than I trust a possibly drunk Dr. Frankenstein.”

Emma chuckled at the wry sound of her father’s voice. “I bet mom wishes an obstetrician came with this curse too.”

“You have no idea.”

Her father slowed the truck and made a right turn. He assisted her out of the vehicle, and she slipped her arm through his as he guided her to the door of the clinic. She felt him freeze suddenly beside her once the door swung closed behind them.

“You!” he exclaimed in a suspicious voice. “I know you! What the hell is going on? I thought you were a baker!”

“No,” another voice calmly replied, “that’s my sister Felicity. I’m Avery, the receptionist for Dr. Liv Lachesis, the optometrist. Which I should also explain -”

“Welcome,” a third voice spoke up, “how can I help you today?”

“Triplets?!” David exclaimed.

One of the women - Emma couldn’t tell which one - chuckled lightly. “Yes, triplets. It always throws people.”

“Well,” her father sighed, “I have a twin, so I can relate. We’re here for a bit of an emergency, though. My daughter woke up this morning unable to see.”

“That is an emergency. Emma, why don’t you come with me?”

“How do you know my name?” Emma asked suspiciously as the doctor gently touched her elbow.

“Everyone knows the Savior.”

Dr. Lachesis’ words were gentle and soothing as she guided Emma into the exam room and helped her sit.

“Now just lean back Emma, and try to keep your eyes open. I’m going to put these drops in. It may sting a little, but it shouldn’t hurt. Okay?”

Emma nodded her head. Even though the optometrist had a soothing bedside manner, she still felt her stomach knotting with nerves. Dr. Lachesis gently held Emma’s right eye open, squirted two drops of liquid in, then repeated the procedure with her left eye. Emma blinked, hoping to see more clearly. She panicked when instead of blurry splotches of light and dark, before her eyes was nothing but inky darkness.

“It’s going to be okay,” the doctor soothed, as if reading her thoughts. “Lean forward and look into my phoropter.”

Emma had no idea what that was, but she leaned forward anyway. The doctor guided her face forward, and Emma felt cool metal pressed against the skin around her eyes.

“What do you see?”

“Nothing.”

Emma heard a click while the doctor adjusted the machine’s settings.

“Look again.”

Dr. Lachesis’ voice was almost hypnotic, and Emma blinked once again. The black nothing before her faded, and she could once again see fuzzy splotches of color. The fuzzy splotches then cleared, and objects took shape before her. She was outside, dressed in a sweater, boots, and all the normal winter outerwear. Snow crunched beneath her feet and the air was crisp and cold against her cheeks. She blinked again, and tilting her head up saw that she was standing in front of a beautiful blue Victorian home with a welcoming porch, and a turret with windows nestled on one side. It reminded Emma of a doll house she had admired in a store window one Christmas as a child.

Emma then realized there were voices and laughter behind her, and she turned to see a man standing in front of the sliding door of a black minivan. He was bending over, buckling a toddler into a car seat. He straightened and turned towards her, and Emma froze in shock.

“Look, Graham, Mama’s got your shoes.”

Emma squeezed her eyes shut, wondering even more what kind of crazy contraption a phoropter was to make her see what she was seeing right now, but when she opened her eyes the scene hadn’t changed. Captain Hook was buckling a toddler into a minivan. What the hell?

His eyes sparkled with mirth and he was smiling in a way she had yet to see. He gestured with his hook towards her.

“Swan? The shoes?”

She looked down to see that she did indeed have a tiny pair of brown boots dangling from the tips of her fingers. As bizarre as the whole scenario was, she shuffled forward and handed Hook the shoes. He narrowed his eyes and studied her for a beat before turning back to the child before him. He chatted amiably with the child, making him giggle as he slipped the shoes on his feet and tied them deftly with one hand. Emma stared at the little boy of about three, cataloguing his features. He had the same shade of eyes Emma had - a cool, pale green. He had a little dimple in his plump chin, much like her and Snow. His hair was thick and black, curling over ears that pointed in an almost elf-like way. Emma felt her jaw drop as she looked from the child to Killian and back again.

“Mama?” Emma startled when a little girl popped up from behind the little boy. “Mama did Daddy really almost burn down Granny’s when he got you a Christmas tree?”

The little girl looked so much like Emma, it was downright eerie. Except she had bright blue eyes. Eyes that looked really familiar . . . but it couldn’t be!

Killian chuckled as he scratched behind his ear. “Well, in my defense, I was new to the entire concept of electricity.”

Wait a second - did this girl just refer to them - she and Hook - as Mama and Daddy? Then Emma took in Killian for the first time. He was wearing dark skinny jeans and a motorcycle jacket instead of his pirate garb, yet that wasn’t what really surprised her. What surprised her was the charcoal wool beanie on his head. Captain Hook wearing a beanie? Surely this was some sort of hallucination. Emma then glanced down at herself.

“What the hell am I wearing?”

“Wowds, Mama!” the toddler - Graham? - laughed, kicking his little feet.

“Mama, you have to wear the tree shirt to go get the tree,” the little girl added. “It’s ta-dition.”

“That’s tradition, Hope, now buckle up so we can get going,” Killian instructed.

Suddenly, a golden blur rushed past Emma, and she let out a surprised shout as a golden retriever jumped into the van.

“Sorry,” Killian apologized, “the kids begged to bring Nana along. I didn’t think it was a problem since the tree farm is outside.” He paused and tilted his head as he studied her. “Are you okay, love? I can drive if you want. I know your morning sickness still bothers you some.”

Then the strangest thing of all occurred when Killian Jones - Captain Hook himself, put a hand to her belly then brushed a kiss to her lips. It was the kind of quick, familiar kiss a couple shares when they’ve been together a long time. Emma looked down where his hand rested, and sure enough, her belly was swollen beneath her sweater. Her hideous red sweater covered in a garish Christmas tree with pom pom balls for ornaments. She swayed on her feet.

“Emma!” Killian cried in alarm, his arms going tighter around her.

Everything went blurry, again, then dark. Emma blinked her eyes, and suddenly she was back in the optometrist office looking through a metal contraption that must have been the phoropter. She jerked away and leapt up, her gaze darting wildly about the room. Well, at least she could fully see again.

“What kind of crap was that?” she yelled at Dr. Lachesis. “What kind of spell did you put on me?”

“It was my sister who cast the spell. I merely completed it.

“Completion is my area of expertise, sis,” Avery spoke up from the doorway.

“Okay,” the doctor sighed with a roll of her eyes, “I showed you the middle. It’s what you wished for, after all.”

“Emma,” David cried out as he pushed his way into the room, “are you okay? What did they do?”

Emma shook her head, unsure of how to even describe what had happened. Not to mention her father’s reaction if she told him she’d just seen herself knocked up with her third child with Hook of all people.

“Nothing, Dad,” she muttered, “let’s just get out of here.”

After all, it wasn’t as if anything in that vision could ever in a million years be real. It was ridiculous. Captain Hook the father of three driving a minivan? Impossible.

[clockworkgraystairs]

Christmas Dinner || Jurdan X-mas in July

AHHHH there is more Christmas!Jurdan!!!!!!!!! 🎄🎄

Rating: T

Summary:  The Duarte's are hosting their Christmas dinner and Vivi sets a trap for Jude to bring his boyfriend and introduce him to the family.

I guess this can be considered a little prequel to You got me trippin? 

This is also my first time posting somethin in 1st person sooo...let’s see how it goes lmao

Tags:  @jurdannet @jurdannetrevels @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 @sweetlyvillainous @aesthetics-11 @thesirenwashere @jurdanhell @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover @nightbringer @b00kworm @mysweetvillain @thefolkofthefic @yafandomsdotnet @vanessa172003​

[if you wish to be tagged/untagged or if I forgot to tag you pls let me know!]

A massive thank you to Becca @sweetlyvillainous​ for betaing this for me!! Love u 🧡

Masterlist             Read on AO3

This is a terrible, terrible idea I keep repeating myself.

If I’d shown a little more steadiness with my sister I wouldn’t be in this situation. I knew she was nervous about presenting her girlfriend to the family, specially to our father. And because she is extra as hell, she couldn’t choose another date that wasn’t on Christmas Eve. For weeks now she’d been texting me, grumbling about how was she going to be able to pull it off. I told her to relax and just go with it.

What I didn’t expect though, was for Vivi to arrive out of nowhere to the school where I work, talking nonsense about me bringing a fake date to dinner with hopes of taking the attention away from her. 

After spending 15 minutes trying to convince her it is not necessary for me to do that, her insistence is such I end up babbling how bad that idea is since I already have a boyfriend, and fake dating someone else would certainly create problems.

Big mistake.

Looking at me with something like betrayal in her eyes, now she starts questioning me about that boyfriend who I’d never talked about before. I bite my lip. When it comes to personal stuff I prefer to keep it private, even with my own family. I have my reasons. 

And just because luck is not on my side today, in the middle of her inquiries I hear a faint “Hey, babe!” behind me. I groan. Of course. Of course he had to arrive in that moment. 

We both turn to look at him. Cardan approaches us wearing that mischievous grin reserved only for me, so different from the polite smile he uses with his students. His hair is tied up in a bun as he also wears it for work, few curls escaping it in the most adorable way. 

With a pang of panic, I notice Vivi noticing how dumbfounded I’m looking at him. Her eyes light up in a way that I know means nothing good. I frown at her. 

“I was looking for you on the cafeteria, one of your students told me you were here.” He pauses. “I- didn’t notice you were busy though, sorry.”

“Not at all!” Vivi says with exaggerated enthusiasm. “I’m Jude’s older sister, Vivi! You must be her lovely boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah I am. Nice to meet you!” If I didn’t know him so well I wouldn’t notice the slight blush on his cheeks or the way he looks at me in contained alarm.  

It’s too late by the time I put the pieces together. When I realize what is about to happen, my sister is already handing Cardan a rolled piece of paper.

“I came to make sure Jude invites you to our family Christmas dinner! She’s so absentminded sometimes isn’t she?” 

I’m going to kill her. Slowly.

Horrified, I stand there and see Cardan take the invitation, grinning. His polite, charming smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” He says. “Thank you so much Vivi.”

My sister turns to me and whatever look it’s on my face makes her hesitate. Although, not enough. She claps her hands once and makes an excited squeal. “Well I must go now! But I’m so excited you’re coming to join us Cardan, see you there. Ciao!”

With that she turns and leaves.

-

So here we are. My boyfriend driving by my side, as we are about to arrive to my parent’s house.

My knee bounces without control as I twist my scarf between my fingers. At any moment now, I’m sure my heart is going to bolt out of my chest. 

“Jude dear, is everything ok?” He asks. I notice I’ve been quiet almost the entire road.

I turn to look at him. He looks dashing, even if it’s not a strictly formal dinner he always finds a way to dress as it was. Black ensemble and green scarf that stands out his pale skin, though his nose and cheeks have a touch of color because of the cold weather. 

“Yeah it’s just... My family is a little,” I pause. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

We are not the type of family that introduces romantic partners, ever. My twin sister tried to do it some years ago with a terrible and embarrassing outcome. At some point in the middle of breakfast, she’d asked her daddy to pass the salt. Both our father and Locke moved to grab it at the same time. What came next, well… if that Locke dude had restrained himself to make a sarcastic and really tacky comment about it, maybe he would still be welcome in the house. Alas, he is not. 

Ever since that day, every time someone brings a guest to the house my father gets in a mood that is pretty uncomfortable for everyone. Sooner or later he makes everyone run.  Not exactly the first impression I want Cardan to have. 

We’ve been together for some time now, about eleven months. But the topic of introducing our families has never been on the table so far. I know he comes from a problematic family even if he doesn’t talk much about them. As for me, I have to admit I’ve grown so attached to him that I’m terrified of Madoc, or any other of my relatives, scaring him away.

He takes my hand in his, warming it, and smiles softly. “It’ll be ok. Breathe.”

I sigh, hoping he’s right and grip his hand tighter.  

The inside of the house looks as if Santa’s bag had exploded. There are lights and ornaments everywhere. Even the tree is bigger than previous years. A delicious smell of food fills the place. As I stare in awe I hear voices coming from the living room.

“Jude? Is that you?” Hurried steps sound in the wooden floor and a few seconds later my little brother appears wearing an absurd red and white onesie. He crashes against me and I laugh, hugging him back.

“You do realize that’s for little kids don’t you?” I ask. “It looks good on you, though.”

Oak scoffs and pulls back. “Well of course it does. I look good on everything.”

Cardan chuckles next to me and for the first time my brother notices him. His eyes and mouth open widely, blinking at him and then turning back at me. Once. Twice.

“Jude,” He murmurs. It cracks me up how shy he can get around new people. “Who’s this?”

Ah, here we go. I take a deep breath and grab Cardan’s hand again. 

“Don’t be rude,” I warn him. “His name is Cardan. Cardan, this is my brother Oak.”

Cardan greets him, extending his hand to him. Oak shakes it, visibly puzzled. “And Cardan is…?”

“My boyfriend.” 

A slow, mocking and devilish smile spreads on his face. I swear to god that kid was taken out from the movie Cheaper by the Dozen. All the shyness is suddenly gone.

“You and Vivi are really trying to give dad a heart attack today aren’t you?” He turns to Cardan and adopts a serious expression I almost believe. “Please tell me Jude doesn’t call you daddy.”

“OAK!” I hiss. I look at Cardan and he gazes back with amusement, I notice he’s biting back a laugh. 

“WHAT? I need to know earlier if I need to take my phone out, last time I didn’t have time to record when dad…” He motions with his hand. Yeah, I remember.

“She doesn’t.” Cardan affirms. Mimicking my brother’s mischievous smile he asks. “Is there a story there I need to know?”

Oak hesitates, even though I’m sure he’s dying to spill it out.

“Taryn would kill you.” I remind him.

“She’s not coming. For what I’ve heard, either it’s Locke’s turn to visit his family or something about dad running him under the car if he dared appearing. I’m not sure.”

Great. 

“What if I beat you at Mario Kart?” Cardan asks, pointing at the console resting next to the tv. 

Oak squints at him. “Are you challenging me?”

“It’s not a challenge when I know I’m going to win.”

Turning to me, my brother grins. “I like him.”

-

I know this is the first time I’ve brought someone home, but still I don’t know if I should be offended at my parent’s surprised faces. Oak had to tell my mother twice that Cardan is my boyfriend before she nods in understanding.

On his side, Cardan is being the full gentleman. To be fair he always is, but I notice the extra effort he’s doing today. It warms my heart. The only sign of nervousness I notice in him are occasional deep breaths he takes when he thinks no one is watching.

We get to meet Heather too, who is adorable and I honestly don’t know how on earth she fell in love with my lunatic sister. In a matter of minutes Cardan is already friends with her which helps with her evident tension. Vivi seems to relax as well. 

Christmas music plays on the background as we eat. This is probably my favorite part of the evening. Don’t get me wrong, I love gatherings with my family but food calls me on a spiritual level. Cardan knows it too, chuckling at my excitement while I’m serving us mashed potatoes. 

“So, Cardan.” My father starts, serving the wine. My heart leaps in my chest, oh no. “You met my daughter at work?” 

He nods. “Yes sir, I arrived there about two years ago. I teach preschool and first grade.” Winking at me he adds. “Jude used to hate me.”

Madoc turns to me, frowning. “What happened?” I roll my eyes, classical worried dad.

I take a long drink from my wine and shrug. “Nothing, he stole the ‘best teacher award’ from me, on his first six months. I’m pretty sure he bribed the students that year.”

To my surprise, my father barks a laugh. We all stare at him wide-eyed. 

“Keep repeating that to yourself, love.” Cardan teases. “It was a clean triumph.”

“You’ve always been competitive Jude, that’s no secret.”  Vivi adds. “It’s nice to finally meet someone who can pull up with that.”

I turn to glare at her. You and I are going to talk later. She sticks out her tongue at me. 

“Do you guys have sex?” 

“Oak!” My mother shouts as my father and I both choke on our wine.  

-

When Cardan parks the car outside my apartment it’s already past midnight. 

Surprisingly, this turned out to be one of the best Christmas celebrations I’ve ever had. My boyfriend somehow managed to not only avoid any uncomfortable moments around my family but also to wrap them up around his little finger. With jokes and tales about us the night had passed incredibly fast. 

Toasts were made, hugs and gifts were given. By the end, we were sprawled on the floor wearing silly sweaters and watching the merciless Mario Kart match between Oak and Cardan. It ended up in a tie. Rematch was already set for New Year’s Eve.

It was everything I never thought it would be.

“Well, did Vivi’s plan work?” Cardan asks.

I turn to find him already looking at me with a knowing smile on his face. Still, it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“C’me on, you weren’t really planning on inviting me to your family’s dinner. Something was surely going on the day she gave me the invitation.” 

Sighing I whisper. “I’m sorry.” 

He knows me too well, more than I even know myself sometimes.

“Don’t be, it’s not a topic we usually discuss.” He shrugs, reaching my hand with his. His thumb makes slow circles on my skin “Still, I should’ve asked if it was ok with you. Forgive me if I crossed a line.”

“You didn’t. I just wasn’t planning for you to meet my family yet.” I regret those words the moment they leave my mouth, knowing how they sound. Cardan doesn’t let go of my hand but he stops his ministrations. “Wait, that wasn’t…”

“Jude, it’s ok.” He says, turning to the windshield. I know him well enough too, and notice the touch of sadness behind his words. 

“No it’s not. Please listen.” I insist, my heart is beating fast now. That look on his eyes is exactly what I tried to avoid the whole night. “The reason why I wasn’t thinking to introduce you to my family is that they’re ridiculously hard and annoying with every new person that visits. And this is the first time I took someone home and…I don’t know, I-”

“You thought I’d leave?” He turns his gaze back to me, warily. 

At the beginning of the day I did. But I don’t find the words to admit it, so I don’t answer.

After a moment of silence he asks “Do you want to know why I agreed to go?”

I swallow and nod. Cardan inhales deeply..

“We’ve been together for some time now. And you know, you must know, I’m not playing around Jude.” I start to say something but he silences me with a soft finger against my lips.  “I love you. If I agreed to whatever scheme your sister had in mind it was because I wanted to show you that I’m not going away. No matter what.”

“My family…”

“They love you. It’s only natural for them to ask what my intentions are… and maybe tease us about it too. I’m willing to admit your dad is a little scary. But not enough to make me run away.” He winks, cupping my face.“There is nothing on earth that would make me want to run away, Jude. That’s how much I love you.”

Feeling my eyes sting I blink. “I love you too.”

We’ve said those words before. But I find that they acquire a different meaning, somehow deeper. My chest is suddenly too small to hold everything I feel for this man. He’s not going anywhere. He loves me. I’m grinning like an idiot and I’m proud of it. 

I lean to rest my forehead against his. “Since it’s our first Christmas together… and you already met my family.” His smile widens at that. “Would you like to stay the night?”

“There’s nothing I would like more.” Cardan angles his head to give me a kiss that I accept gladly, coiling my arms around his neck.  “I usually spend Christmas alone, I guess it’s time for new traditions.”

We remain entwined for some minutes, it fastly turns into something hotter and desperate. I’m already straddling his hips when I pull back a few inches. I bet my lips are as swollen as his. He is looking at me with hunger… and love.

“How about a tradition in which we spend Christmas night undressed and watching some crappy Netflix movies?” I suggest.

My toes curl when he leans to bite my lobe and purrs. “Yes, please.”

[lady-divine-writes]

Klaine Advent Drabble 2020 - “Overdone” (Rated PG13)

Summary: Kurt objects to the amount of mistletoe the decorating committee at NYADA hangs for Christmas … until he sees his chance to get a kiss from the man of his dreams. But catching Blaine underneath the mistletoe, even in a school covered in it, turns out to be more difficult than Kurt thought. (1693 words)

Notes: Re-vamped for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2020 prompt 'dispensable'.

Read on AO3.

Kurt expected NYADA to decorate for Christmas. And considering he attends a school for the dramatic arts, he also figured the decorations would be over-the-top. But he takes exception to the ridiculous amount of mistletoe the decorating committee deemed fit to hang on everything, each bundle flanked on both sides by red garland (probably as a warning to less approachable people to run, which he appreciates). 

Kurt sees mistletoe as problematic - a completely dispensable part of holiday decorating. 

NYADA, on the other hand - not so much.

It hangs in hallways, in doorways, in bathrooms (definitely a sexual assault charge waiting to happen), tacked up as far as the eye can see. He removes a few of the less appropriate ones as a public service, especially when he discovers one dangling over his desk in costume design class.

There seem to be two camps of people when it comes to mistletoe – those who flock to it and those who avoid it like the plague.

Kurt identifies with the latter.

That is until he passes Blaine, the man he's been crushing on hardcore, in the hallway and sees him get caught beneath a sprig with another student. She shyly perches up on her toes to kiss Blaine on the cheek, and Kurt realizes this vile flora could be the key to unlocking a brilliant plan.

An excuse to kiss Blaine.

He's been trying to find a way of telling Blaine that he likes him since the moment they met. But regardless of the time they've spent together (mainly in class and on school productions), he has yet to find a way to let it slip. 

He doesn't know how to make the first move.

At this rate, he'll be doomed to pining from afar until the end of the school year. 

As fate would have it, as Kurt starts contemplating a plan to catch Blaine under the mistletoe, he finds he's standing underneath a bunch tied in red and white striped ribbon.

“Hello, Blaine!” Kurt calls, jumping at the opportunity when Blaine bustles by.

“Oh! Hey, Kurt!” Blaine smiles when he says Kurt’s name but keeps his nose buried in the score of a musical he’s planning on auditioning for over the break. 

Hence, the mistletoe above Kurt's head goes unnoticed.

Blaine turns the corner at the end of the hall and disappears.

“Well,” Kurt says sarcastically to himself, watching Blaine go, “that went well.”

***

The second time Kurt sees his chance, he’s pulling costumes for a production that Blaine is co-directing. While Blaine sits in the front row of the theater, supervising a dress rehearsal, Kurt finds mistletoe hanging in the costume vault. He stealthily hides the three suits he’s supposed to be looking for behind another rack and sends Blaine a text.

To Blaine:

Having trouble finding the suits for Act 3. Please come to the vault and advise. Thanks!

He stands underneath the mistletoe, popping an Altoid for good measure. Several times he hears footsteps approach the door, but they eventually walk by. 

Then ... a pause.

A distracting flutter grows in his stomach. The cramped room starts getting progressively hotter. After what seems like an hour, another set of footsteps approach. 

This time, they stop. 

The door opens. 

A face peeks in. 

And ...

Rachel bounces in. 

“Hey, Kurt!” Her eyes land on him for only a second, then she starts scanning the racks. “Blaine said you need help finding the---oops!” She bites her lower lip, eyes darting upward. “Look who I caught under the mistletoe?” Before Kurt can object, she skips up to him and plants a cherry red kiss on his left cheek. “Ah! There they are!” She pushes past him without taking a breath. “They were right behind you! If they were snakes, they would have bitten you!”

“Oh, were they?” he says, watching her double-check the tags on the hangers, ensuring that these are, indeed, the correct suits. “Well, you know … last place you look.”

She snags the suits, pinches his non-kissed cheek, and heads out the door.

“Merry Christmas!” she sings. “And you’d better watch your head! That mistletoe is  everywhere! ”

“Will do. Thanks for the warning.” Kurt watches her leave, waiting for the door to click completely shut before he throws an unattractive tantrum.

***

The third time Kurt tries to enact his plan, he takes no chances. He sets himself up underneath the mistletoe in the hall outside the dance room, knowing Blaine will have to pass by there on the way to his T.A. assignment. He sends Blaine a text, asking to meet, vague as to why. He can’t think of a convincing reason, and he doesn’t want to lie, but it doesn’t matter. Blaine says he'll be there even without an explanation.

Kurt smooths down his shirt, fixes his hair, tugs at the hem of his jacket, readjusts his shoulder strap. He can't stop fidgeting. The anticipation is unbearable! 

The students in Cassie July’s class start to file out. Kurt does his best to look inconspicuous, but they ignore him anyway, talking excitedly about their upcoming holiday plans. Cassie follows them out, muttering about, “Fucking Christmas decorations!” and “Tacky ass tinsel!" She catches Kurt standing outside her classroom and glares at him as if he farted.

“Uh, Merry Christmas,” Kurt says with a weak smile.

“For God’s sake!” she growls, leaping up with an arm raised. For a second, he thinks she's about to smack him or dunk on him like a basketball hoop. She snatches the mistletoe off the wall. “I hate this stupid romantic Christmas shit!” Without a word to Kurt, she storms down the hallway, strangling the mistletoe in her hand, and tosses it in the trash.

“Hey, Kurt!” Blaine walks up to him, unaware of the violence against vegetation that just took place. “You wanted to talk to me?”

“Uh ...” Kurt looks up at the torn garland hanging pathetically above his head. That's how he feels – pathetic. Why can't he get this one thing right? With the amount of mistletoe hanging about, the odds of him getting kissed by Blaine are in his favor. Maybe he should take this as a sign. He sighs. “You know what? Never mind.”

***

Kurt has one last chance to make this happen before classes wrap for winter break. He knows that Blaine’s last class lets out at 2:30, so Kurt leaves his class early, grabbing his books and his bag at 1:45 and racing out mid-lecture, hoping to make it to the front hallway before Blaine and cut him off.

Students have already started crowding the hallway, exchanging gifts, saying their last goodbyes before they leave for the next three weeks.

Kurt spots a cluster of red garland, and he knows that where there’s red garland, there’s mistletoe. He slides underneath it, standing there like a sentry, keeping an eye peeled for Blaine’s curls through the mob. Right on schedule (or actually, five minutes before), Blaine comes around the corner, carrying his bag bulging with everything he keeps at school over his shoulder. 

So Kurt knows he’s leaving for the duration.

Not that he's going far. Kurt knows for a fact that Blaine's apartment is within walking distance of his loft. Even if Blaine goes home to visit his parents, they both come from the same state. They're bound to run into one another before the beginning of next semester.

Still, it feels like this is it. 

His last chance.

“Blaine!” Kurt calls through a new wave of students washing into the hallway from behind him. “Blaine, can we …?”

“Kurt!” Blaine sees Kurt over the crowd but doesn't slow his steps as he hurries toward the door. “I’m sorry I missed you earlier, but I really have to run!”

“Blaine! Blaine! I just wanted to …!”

“I’m sorry, Kurt!” Blaine turns and waves, walking backward towards the door with a sympathetic smile. “I have to go!”

“Oh … okay.” Kurt waves back, sighing in defeat. “Merry Christmas.”

Kurt watches Blaine leave, a weight growing in the pit of his stomach. Serves him right, relying on some stupid Christmas tradition to get what he wants! A tradition he  hates ! He should have just gone up and asked him. 

Yeah, and how would that go? 

We’ve had coffee a few times, went to the movies twice, and ate lunch together. I'm not sure if you noticed, but I think I'm in love with you. Would you kiss me?

Pathetic. 

That's what he is. 

That's what this all is! 

Like Cassie said - stupid romantic Christmas ...!

Kurt feels a tap on his shoulder and freezes.

Shit ! He’s still standing under the mistletoe! Someone is behind him, expecting a kiss. With any luck, it's just Rachel again, delighted to catch him twice doing something that makes him  really  uncomfortable. 

He sighs, resigning himself to the fate of having to kiss some random human unintentionally.

“Okay,” he says, turning around to face destiny. “Let’s do this.”

“Gladly.” An arm around his waist pulls him close. The familiar smell of Pierre Cardin fills his nose. He feels himself dip back, catching a flash of hazel eyes and a sly grin before lips capture his – soft and warm and incredibly gentle. It’s a breath of a kiss, lasting only long enough for Kurt to realize he’s being kissed, and by  who , before the man cradling him in his arms pulls away. 

Blaine sets him upright, holding him a second longer to make certain he has his feet.

"Oh!" Kurt mutters, the shock of being kissed by Blaine taking his breath, and his capacity for thought, away. But then he remembers, "Oh. Right. Mistletoe." 

That wasn't a genuine kiss. Blaine doesn't like him like that. Kurt set himself up for this. 

His gaze travels up, but over their heads, there is no mistletoe – just a string of fluffy red garland and a gold foil star.

Not a single semi-parasitic shrub in sight.

“Nope,” Blaine says, leaning in to brush his lips against Kurt’s a second time. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”

[gabriel-agreste-has-no-rights]

Rating: G

Summary: When Marinette has to cook for her family reunion, Adrien offers to help. Only one problem: he has no idea how to cook. With Plagg's help, Adrien proposes a Disney-inspired solution that will either keep him from making a fool of himself, or backfire terribly. (Spoiler alert: it backfires terribly.) A university-aged Adrinette reveal fic.

Word Count: 6437

XXX

“Plagg, what am I going to do?  I don’t know how to cook!”  Adrien pulled at his hair as he paced circles around his apartment.

Plagg, meanwhile, lazily hovered with his paws crossed behind his head.  “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you tried to swoop in like some kind of superhero.”

“I am a superhero.”  Not that it mattered, because his superpower was destruction. Maybe his Lady would’ve been able to help Marinette cook dinner for her family reunion, but Adrien was … well.  Even though the cat miraculous didn’t actually make him more disaster prone, he had enough bad luck in the kitchen on his own.  He’d survived on spaghetti and takeout since moving into his own apartment this semester.

“Why don’t you just tell her you can’t do it?  Something came up.  You fell headfirst into a pool of cream cheese.  You got zapped by an akuma and all your hair fell out.”

“That hasn’t happened in at least a month.  Besides, I can’t flake out on Marinette.  She needs me.”  He stood up straighter.

“What she needs is someone who won’t turn soup into an explosive.  What about your friend Alya?  Isn’t her mom some kind of chef?”

“She’s out of town for Christmas.  Nino too, or I’d ask him to help me.”  Did he know anyone else who could teach him how to cook in one night?  Kagami was back in Japan, Chloe wouldn’t touch an oven to save her life, Luka was on tour with XY… Ladybug was pretty much his only friend still in town.  She would probably be willing to teach him, but on their last patrol she’d mentioned she’d be busy the next few days with her own plans.

“You need to get some more friends, kid.”

“It’s kind of late for that,” Adrien murmured.  Too many people in his classes were more interested in the Gabriel name than in him.  Besides, he might not have made a lot of new friends, but he’d gotten much closer to Marinette and his old friends now that he had more control over his schedule.  

“Well, as your very first and best friend—”

“Chloe was technically my first friend.”

Plagg glared.  “As your first and best friend, I will help you for the low low price of two wheels of Camembert.”

Adrien stopped pacing.  He only realized he’d ended up in the bathroom when he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

“Wait.  You know how to cook?”

Plagg scoffed.  “I’ve been alive since the dawn of time.  I’ve picked up a thing or two.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow.  “You also thought that my blender was a jet tub for kwamis.”

“Okay, so you humans have invented some fancy new gadgets since I was last out, big deal.  I still know more about cooking than you.”

Unfortunately, he was probably right.

“Alright.  Deal.”  Adrien held out a finger, and he and Plagg shook on it.

“Alright, loverboy, let’s get cooking.”

XXX

“No, not like that!  What are you trying to do, knock someone out with that thing?”

“At least I wouldn’t do it with the smell!”  Adrien instinctively waved the frying pan in front of his nose, and the burned remnants of roux glopped out onto the tile.

“Coward.  It’ll taste good once you put it all together.”

Adrien wasn’t convinced.  But then again, he hadn’t followed Plagg’s instructions exactly.  Plagg never gave him quite enough time to pour the ingredients in the pan or measure the spices with the little spoons.  

“I wish you’d be able to help me while I’m there.”  Adrien sighed.  “I’m going to forget all of this as soon as I leave.”

“You can’t be good at everything, I guess.”  Plagg shrugged.  “You can still always call your girlfriend and say you gave up.”

“She’s a good friend.  We’ve been over this.”  He’d promised not to call Marinette ‘just a friend’ on the grounds that she deserved better than that.  But she still wasn’t his girlfriend.  Which was fine, so why did his stomach sink slightly?  Probably just nervousness about the task ahead of him.  

“And I’m not giving up.  What if you just … hid in my hair and whispered advice?”

Plagg tapped his chin.  “Maybe if you wear a hat …” A grin suddenly split his tiny face.  “Hey, what if you wore that ug—uh, that beret Ladybug gave you?  You know, from your fan club?”

“Great idea!”  Adrien bolted out of the bathroom and towards his closet.  He wore the hat every once in a while—its ridiculous energy was too good to leave hidden like it had been in lycée.  He made a special point of wearing it to every meeting with his dad, though he did feel a little bit nervous of wearing it around Marinette.  She was in their university’s design program; she’d probably think it was tacky.

Oh well.  He’d probably been tackier around her before.

“You sure you’ll fit in here?”  Adrien squinted at the underside of the beret before pulling it over his hair.

“Looks cozy enough to me.”  Plagg slipped under, and Adrien felt him shuffle around. Unfortunately, his voice was too muffled for Adrien to make out after that.

“Plagg?”

“Blegh.”  The kwami scrambled back out and scraped his tongue with his paws.  “Your hair tastes like shampoo.  I can’t talk without getting a mouthful of it.”

“Guess that isn’t going to work …” He pursed his lips as he adjusted the beret.  “It’s too bad real life isn’t like Ratatouille. You could just tug on my hair and do all the cooking for me.”

Unless …?

“Oh no, don’t give me that look.”  Plagg crossed his arms.  “That’s just a movie.  Though it would be nice to show you what it feels like to get dragged around for a change …”

“It’s worth a shot, isn’t it?”  Adrien didn’t really think it would work either, but Plagg was magic.  

“Fine.  But I’m upping my price to three wheels.”

Plagg slipped back under the beret, and Adrien felt a tugging sensation on his scalp.  But nothing seemed to happen.

“Guess that was a pretty dumb idea,” he admitted sheepishly.

Then green light crackled from his ring.  

His arms flung into the air.

“Ack!  Plagg, did you do that?”  

Adrien heard a muffled cackle from under the hat.  Then his legs started walking towards the refrigerator.

“Okay, so this is … working?  This is working!”

Plagg missed a few times before guiding his hand to pull open the fridge.  Of course, his next step was to reach for a wedge of Camembert and hold it up to his head.

“The sweet taste of victory,” Plagg said while popping out to swallow the wedge whole.

“More like the rotten taste of old cheese.”

But Adrien still grinned.  However Plagg had pulled off his puppeteer trick, Adrien wasn’t going to make a fool of himself tomorrow.

XXX

“Adrien!”  Marinette threw her arms around him as soon as she opened the door.  “Thank goodness you’re here. My parents just called and they got a last-minute order and—eep!”  She sprung back, her eyes wide as she stared at his beret.

“Come on, it’s not that bad.”  He rubbed the back of his neck, trying not to feel embarrassed.  Marinette wouldn’t judge him based on what he wore.  “It was an old gift.  I like that it drives my father crazy.”

Plus, Ladybug had hand-delivered it, but she probably didn’t care about that.

“W-well then, it’s perfect.”  She grinned too wide.  “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a hat before.”

“You’ve definitely—”

“Anyway, no time for that!  There’s only five hours before Uncle Wang gets here. Nonna is already at my parent’s, and my other grandma and grandpa are coming for the first time since Mom moved here.  Not to mention fourteen of my cousins I’ve never met and their parents!”  Marinette rushed towards the small kitchen, which was already full of steaming pots and used pans. She threw on her pink oven mitts and pulled a tray of golden-brown pastries out of the oven.

Adrien swallowed.  Marinette’s kitchen might look like a war zone, but she clearly knew what she was doing.  What if he just got in the way?

“How did you end up in charge of the food?”  he asked while throwing on a mint-green apron from inside the pantry door.  Her great-uncle was a world-class chef, and her parents owned a bakery.  Her grandpa Rolland had even taught mice how to bake.  

“I’m not in charge.  I just need to help a little since Uncle Wang is running late, and the reunion starts tonight, and Grandpa won’t bake anything in bulk because ‘that’s not how it’s done’’—she used a gruff imitation of his voice—“and my parents have so much bakery work to do. I’m just trying to do what I can.”

She sighed as she stirred a pot of wonton soup.  “Unfortunately, I can’t do a lot.”

“What are you talking about?  It looks like you could feed an army with all this.”  

He carefully dodged Marinette as she scrambled in a drawer for a fork.  She tested the rice noodles boiling behind the soup, then grimaced and slumped against the counter, fork nearly slipping from her fingers. Her hair was falling out of her bun, and flour smudged her pink apron, contrasting with the splatters of dark sauce.

“I hope so.  There’s just … so much to live up to, you know?  Everyone on both sides of my family cooks.  And now I have to merge styles from two different cultures in a way that will please everyone …”

Her gaze swept across the counter, where dumplings and quiches, brothy soups and thin crêpes—even ratatouille, ironically—lay in various stages of completion. The savory and sweet fragrances somehow melded together in harmony.

“I know I can’t understand how hard that must be. About trying to bridge two different sides of your family, I mean.  But you’re amazing, Marinette.” He stepped closer to her and brushed a streak of flour off of her cheek. “You’ve already worked so hard on all this; I can’t see how anyone wouldn’t love it.  May I?”

He gestured to a spoon sitting in one of the soups, and she nodded.  He raised it to his lips and sipped the tangy broth.  A bit of crunchy bamboo shoot added texture to the savory liquid.  He didn’t want to eat too much—it was for her family, not him—but if it weren’t for that, he could’ve downed the whole bowl.  He could practically taste the love and care she’d put into it.

“See? Amazing.”  He grinned.  “Just like the rest of the food we’re going to make.”

At least, the food she made would be amazing.  He just hoped that what he made with Plagg’s help would be edible.  And not offend her family.

Her lips parted before curving into a smile.  “Right.  Thank you, Adrien.”

She paused, staring for a moment, until one of the shallow pots started bubbling over.

“Ack!  The filling!”

She rushed to switch off the burner and remove the lid before sighing loudly.  “I think it’s still alright.  Now I just need to fold this into the dough …”

“Can I help with that?”  he asked, feeling like a rock in the middle of a river as Marinette flowed between the cooking stations around him.

“Huh?  Oh—um, why don’t you work on filling the crêpes instead?  This baozi is a Chinese dish, and it’s my first time making it by myself.  Not that I don’t appreciate the offer!  You were so sweet to come at all, and—”

“Marinette.”  He squeezed her shoulder gently, wishing he could relieve some ot the tension there.  “I’ll do the crêpes.” 

She let out a breath.  “Thanks.  I was going to do a pear-hazelnut filling, if you’re okay with that?  The pears are in the bottom right drawer of the fridge, and the hazelnuts are on the middle shelf in the panty.  All the spices are up there.”  She pointed to the cabinet above the sink.

“Sounds perfect,” he said with the fake confidence he usually saved for his modeling jobs.

Before he could ask for a recipe, she went back to work, leaving him to his own devices in front of a stack of unfilled crêpes.  A mixture of the rich smells and his own nerves started to turn his stomach.

“Are you ready, Plagg?”  he whispered, adjusting his beret.

In response, his scalp twinged, and then his hand rose and formed a thumbs-up.

“Well, here we go.”  He cracked his knuckles.  

He rinsed out a pan that it looked like Marinette had previously used for some kind of stir fry.  That wouldn’t be a problem, would it?  It looked like every other pan in the apartment was in use already.  

Marinette didn’t stop to correct him.  Then again, she seemed to be in ten places at once, adding spices and stirring and adjusting dials and rummaging through cupboards, all in between filling her baozi.  Watching her work was so mesmerizing it was almost too easy to ignore his own job.

Until Plagg started tugging his hair again, anyway.

This is going to be weird, he thought while Plagg directed his hands to chop the pears.  He was pretty sure he could’ve done that himself—he didn’t want his kwami chopping off one of his fingers.  But resisting at this point would just increase his chances of accidentally getting stabbed.

Besides, Plagg was fast. He diced the five pears in the time it probably would’ve taken Adrien to cut up one.  Granted, he also left a juicy mess on the counter, but it sounded like they were on too much of a deadline to worry about that.

Plagg tossed them into the pan, cores and all.  Adrien frowned at that.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered.

“What?”  Marinette asked from where she was stretching out dough.

“Um, nothing!  I just, uh, talk to myself while I cook.”

“Oh, me too.  I was just trying not to do it in front of you.  You know, in case I sounded crazy.”  She laughed, seeming to release a little bit of tension. “I think I picked it up from my mom.  She always says the steps out loud as she does them so she doesn’t forget which one she’s on.”

He smiled at the image of her doing this with Mrs. Cheng.  “Did you cook with your mom a lot?”

“I don’t think I’d say a lot.  I was pretty busy in lycée, and I didn’t appreciate her culture as much as I do now.  I wish I would’ve learned more.”

“It looks like you learned a lot if you can put all this together.”

She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.  “Thanks.  That means a lot.”

He retrieved the hazelnuts and tossed them into the pan.  She still had her back to him, the baozi taking up most of her attention.  Should he ask her to check his work so far?  Plagg didn’t hesitate to nab some spices from the high cabinet and start sprinkling them into the pan.

“Wait—not that one!” he hissed, trying to drop the shaker that read chili powder before Plagg could add it.

“Adrien?  Is something wrong?”

He spun, quickly shoving the container behind his back.  “No!  Everything’s just peachy—er, pear-y.”

She giggled at his joke, even though it had to be one of his lamest puns yet.

“Okay, but you can let me know if you need help.  Sorry I just kind of threw you into this.”  Her arm gently brushed his as she dialed back the heat on the noodles.  “Um—is there a reason you’re holding chili powder?” 

“I was just moving it so I could reach the, uh…”

Plagg helpfully directed his arm towards a different spice.

“... garlic salt?”

Marinette blinked, and he hastily shoved the garlic salt back, selecting cinnamon instead.  He should’ve known that trusting the kwami who liked eating rotten cheese would be a mistake.

“You’re so funny, Adrien.”  She laughed again.  “But, um, you might want to double check your pears.  I think some of those still have the cores in them.”

His face flushed.  Thanks a lot, Plagg.

He picked out the cores with a pair of tongs, hoping that his kwami wouldn’t try to take over again.  Adrien might be bad at cooking, but at least he wasn’t going to try and poison Marinette’s family.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have much idea of what to do next.  He’d turned the burner on high, and the pears were starting to sizzle.  How did nuts cook?  That didn’t make a lot of sense to him.  He probably needed something liquidy to go with them, right?

Aaaand the pears already smelled like they were burning.  He quickly flipped back the knob while he searched for something to turn into a sauce.  Milk?  That would make it nice and creamy, right?

He grabbed the half-gallon from the fridge and splashed a bit into the pan.  Drops splattered the counter, and he winced.

That was when Plagg again decided to take over.  Adrien grit his teeth as he selected the block of muenster from the cheese drawer.  That definitely didn’t belong in the crêpe filling, but Adrien couldn’t get him to stop without making a scene in front of Marinette.  Who would then wonder why he was yelling at himself, and either think he was insane or find out his secret identity.  Both of which would be unacceptable.

He growled, hoping Plagg would get the message.  If he did, he didn’t show it.  At least Marinette didn’t hear over her own soft humming.

The sliced cheese went into the pan, plopping wetly in the milk.  Maybe the finished product would surprise him, and cheese and pears would create a tasty sweet-savory combo, and Marinette would be super impressed by his originality, and she’d invite him over to cook with him again, and they’d make a cute romantic dinner together …

He banished that daydream before he could think too much of it.

By that point Plagg was using his arm to whisk the milk and melting cheese together.  The pears and hazelnuts had settled to the bottom of the pan.  He frowned as the whisk failed to unstick them.

“This isn’t working,” he said under his breath.  “We might need to start over.”

He swore he could hear Plagg’s irritated sigh.  But the kwami jerked the pan up, taking it towards the sink.

“Hey, what are you—Plagg!”  he shouted before he could stop himself.

Plagg dropped the pan in the sink, spraying hot milk-cheese-pear slime all over the backsplash.  And all over Adrien’s apron.  

And, most importantly, all over his face.

“Adrien!”  Marinette dropped her unfinished dumpling back on the counter.  Filling spilled out as she rushed to his side.  “Are you okay?  What happened?”

He hurriedly tried to splash cold water on his face, but spilled it more down his shirt than anything.  She offered him a damp hand towel, which was much more helpful.

“I’m so sorry.”  His face still burned, but not from the hot food.

“It’s okay!  Accidents happen—trust me, I would know.”  She smiled before her eyes widened.  “Oh no, your beret!”

“What?”  He slapped his hands to his head, prompting a tiny yelp from Plagg.  So he was still there.  Under his hat.  Which was still on his head. Phew.

“It’s got milk on it.” Marinette reached up like she intended to take it off.

“No!”  he shouted, and she stepped back, startled.

“S-sorry!  I just thought I’d help you clean it off, since it seems so, um, important to you.”

“I like it with the milk on it.  It adds, uh, character?”

He heard Plagg snicker from beneath the beret.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”  she asked.  “If you need to take a break, or, um, get a new shirt … n-not that I want you to take off your shirt!  Uh—forget I said that.”

She shook her head, and more strands fell out of her bun.

He frowned down at his shirt.  Unfortunately, the splatter had made it under his apron, and his shirt was pretty gross.  He even felt a slimy pear sliding down under his collar.

“I’m okay,” he said.  “Finishing all the food for your reunion is more important.”

“No, don’t worry.  I can handle it.  Just having you here to keep me from freaking out has helped more than you know.”

She took the towel back from him with a smile.  Frankly, he was still surprised she wasn’t angry with him.  He’d come to help, and all he’d done so far was waste her time.

“I’m really not bothering you?”  he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.  Bad idea.  His hands were still a bit wet and sticky.

“You could never bother me, Adrien.”  Her cheeks pinked before she turned back to fiddle with the soup.  

“Really?  I thought …”  He bit his lip, remembering how many times he’d startled Marinette before.  How many times he’d seemed to make her uncomfortable, or awkward, or … he wasn’t really sure what.  There had always been something keeping them apart, no matter how close they became.

Maybe it’s just your little crush, Plagg would’ve teased.  Thankfully, he wasn’t going to talk while trapped under the beret.

“Thought what?”  she asked once she’d added some seasonings to the soup.  

“I thought I’d be your last pick for cooking help,” he said, which wasn’t quite a lie.  “I didn’t want to tell you, but I … well, I don’t really know what I’m doing.”

Best to just admit it now, rather than after he’d ruined her family reunion.  

Marinette blinked before covering her mouth.  “I’m so sorry.  I should’ve known you probably never cooked at your house.  And here I am just asking you to throw together a crêpe filling!”

“It’s okay!  I’m the one who’s sorry.  I should’ve told you, I just … I wanted to impress you.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have admitted that much.  He was sure he heard Plagg laughing from under his hat.

“You … wanted to impress … me?”  She pointed to herself, as if there was anyone else in the kitchen he might have been talking about.

“Is that really so surprising?”

“Uh—yeah, actually.” Marinette stared at him like he’d grown a second head.  Plagg hadn’t peeked out, had he?  “I might be able to cook, but you’re good at everything.  Fencing, basketball, Mandarin—which took me ages to get halfway decent at—not to mention you’re drop-dead gorgeous—”

His heart stopped.  Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head.  

“I mean—you’re a model; of course you’re gorgeous!  It’s literally your job.  I bet people call you gorgeous all the time.” 

“Not when I’m covered in slimy food, though.”  He grinned.  She thought he was drop-dead gorgeous!  Maybe he hadn’t made too much of a mess after all.

“Well—you would be a lot more gorgeous if you took off that stupid beret!”  She pointed at his head.

“W-what?”  He pulled it down over his ears.  “This is my emotional support beret.  I can’t take it off or I’ll cry.”

“Why did you have to pick that one, though?  It’s so—I don’t know!” She gestured vaguely.  “It looks like a fourteen-year-old made it!”

He pouted at her.  “Hey, be nice.  It was probably fashionable in Brazil at the time.”

It did look pretty silly, but that was its appeal.  Fashion-savvy Marinette probably wouldn’t understand that.

“R-right.  In Brazil.”  She shook her head.  “Why do you like it though?”

He blushed.  Aside from spitting in the face of the Gabriel brand, it also reminded him of the day Ladybug had appeared in his room.  That serendipitous event had never happened before or since.

“How embarrassing does it sound if I say my old crush delivered it to me?”

“Your—your crush?”  She blinked.  “But then—you had a crush on Ladybug?”

The soup started bubbling again, but she made no move to quiet it.

“Of course I have a crush on Ladybug.  I’m pretty sure all of Paris has a crush on—wait, how did you know Ladybug was the one to deliver it?”

Marinette’s face went pale.  “I—um, well, I … I think the soup is burning!”

She rushed to stir it again, but Adrien caught her hand.

“Wait, Marinette, please.”  His heart beat faster.  He’d never told anyone about Ladybug’s visit.  She hadn’t been surprised when he mentioned Brazil, either.

But what could he say?  Come out and ask her if she was Ladybug?  That would be too good to be true, right?  Marinette couldn’t be Ladybug; he’d seen them together once.  But he’d pulled crazy stunts to protect his identity too.

She bit her lip, but didn’t pull her hand from his.  

“I can’t answer that question, Adrien.”

It wasn’t a confirmation.  But it wasn’t a denial either.

It had been five years.  Five years, and he still didn’t know who his partner was.  If she was here, in front of him, after all this time …

… he’d still respect her choice not to tell him.  As much as it hurt, he’d do it.

“Alright.”  He sighed.  “I get it.”

An uncomfortable silence pushed between them, punctured only by the bubbling soup and beeping oven.  The first batch of Marinette’s baozi was done; she removed them without speaking.

Why couldn’t they go back to five minutes ago, when she’d called him gorgeous?  He was already thrilled to hear Marinette say that.  But if she was his Lady too?  He’d melt just like that cheese in the pan.

It was going to drive him crazy if he thought about it too long.  He turned on the faucet, hoping that the loud water would drown out his thoughts as he did the dishes.  At least that was one task he could accomplish without ruining any more of Marinette’s food.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, barely audible over the running tap.

“What for?”  He was the one pushing the boundaries between them.  If she was even Ladybug at all.  Maybe he’d managed to misinterpret everything, but he couldn’t see how.

“For not being honest with you.  I wish I could, I swear.”  Her hands squeezed her dough, and it oozed out between her fingers.

“I’m sure you have your reasons,” he said with resignation.  Ladybug was the Guardian.  She couldn’t risk revealing her identity.  Even if it felt unfair, he should be used to it by now.

But before, you didn’t think Ladybug was one of your best friends.

Even more than that, if he was honest with himself.  He’d wanted to be closer to Marinette for a  long time now.  What if he was just deluding himself with wishful thinking?

“I wish I didn’t, sometimes,” she murmured.

He switched off the faucet and turned to face her.  Maybe some things needed to stay secret, but not everything.

“Marinette?”  He swallowed.

She looked up from where she’d been absently rolling the dough again.  So much for not wasting her time.

“Y-yeah?”

He didn’t expect to confess to her while standing in her kitchen, with Plagg hiding under his old beret, with his clothes covered in the ruined crêpe filling.  But it was important, and if he could finally admit it to himself, the least he could do was admit it to her.

“I don’t just have a crush on Ladybug.”

“You—you don’t?”  

Was it just his imagination, or did she deflate a little?

“She’s still very important to me.  I know she always will be.  But I’ve come to realize how important you are to me, too.”  He watched her face as he spoke, but her wide eyes were impossible to read.  Hopefully he wasn’t ruining everything with what he was about to say.

“I like you, Marinette.  As more than a friend.  And I would never want to make you uncomfortable.  All I’ve ever wanted is to be closer to you.”

For a moment, her face didn’t change.  She just stood there, staring blankly, like someone had pressed a pause button.  He would’ve thought Bunnyx had stopped time to reset his screw-up if it weren’t for the soup continuing to boil over.

“Marinette?”  he prodded, his stomach beginning to bubble as nervously as that soup.  

She jumped.  “Yes, I—comfort you me make—yike lou—”

A stream of incoherent noises followed that.  Oh no, he’d broken her!  Why couldn’t Plagg have taken over and stopped him from talking?  

“—ugh!  I thought I dopped stewing this years ago!”  She dropped her burning face into her hands.

Adrien reached out to touch her shoulder and then thought better of it.  His arm fell limply to his side.

“I’m so sorry.  You can just forget I said anything.  I’ll—I’ll let you finish up the food and get out of your way—”

“No!”  She waved her hands, startling him so bad he stepped back—and slipped in a puddle of spilled dishwater.

“Adrien!”  She caught the front of his apron as he fell, but that just meant she was pulled down on top of him.

He yelped as his head cracked against the linoleum.  At least she landed on his chest, his arms cradling her.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry—AAAAAH!”

“What, what!?”  He sat up as she scrambled off of him.

That was when he caught sight of the striped beret lying in the puddle next to him.

Oh no.

Plagg laughed nervously from where he was tangled in Adrien’s hair.  “Hey, Pigtails.”

“Chat?”  Marinette smacked her hands to her cheeks.  “You’re—you’re Chat Noir?” 

“Surprise!”  Plagg wasn’t in Adrien’s line of sight, but he could hear the grin in his kwami’s voice.

“Where’s Bunnyx when you need her?”  Adrien groaned.  Not only was his confession a total bust, but he also ended up giving away his most important secret.

And he still didn’t know for sure that she was Ladybug.

“You’re Chat Noir.”  Marinette plopped down into the puddle beside him.  “Adrien is Chat Noir.”

“Yeah, yeah, we got that,” Plagg said.  “Are you gonna put the poor kid out of his misery or not?”

“Huh?”  She blinked.

“He’s in love with you.  Hopelessly, stupidly in love with you.  He loves you almost as much as I love cheese.”

That was a pretty big point in favor of Marinette being Ladybug. He guessed he should count himself lucky, but that also meant he’d just slipped and fallen in dirty dishwater in front of not only Marinette, but Ladybug.

He closed his eyes.  “Plagg, please let me die in peace.”  

“... Adrien?”

He felt her breath fan over his face, and his eyes back snapped open.

Her gray-blue eyes were hovering right above him.  Well, he had said he wanted to be closer to her.

“Y-yeah?”

“Please don’t die,” she said softly.  Her hand came up to cradle the side of his face—or maybe she was just trying to make sure he hadn’t bruised himself. “I l-love you too.”

Every one of his brain cells fizzled out.  She.  Loved him?

“I think I am dead.”  He smiled, reaching his arms around her.  “I’m pretty sure I just went to heaven.”

Her face flushed.  “You’re always going to be that cheesy, aren’t you?”

“Are you really surprised, Princess?”

“No.”  She leaned in, brushing her nose against his.  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Ew, gross.”  Plagg gagged.  “This isn’t the kind of cheese I signed up for.”

“You’re the one who said she should put me out of my misery.”

“Yeah, well I think you both need to put this food out of its misery.  The soup’s burning.”

Marinette sprung up, eyes wide.  “Oh no!  We still have to get everything ready!  And the crêpe filling isn’t done and I haven’t finished the baozi—” 

“It’s okay!  We can still get it all done … somehow.”  Adrien winced as he stood up.  Now they were both covered in a mix of dishwater and crêpe filling.  “Just keep Plagg away from it all.  He’s the reason I ruined the pears.  Oh, and he’s the reason I was wearing that beret, too.”

She went back to work as if nothing had changed between them.  It was honestly kind of amazing how quickly she had the noodles and soup under control, like she hadn’t just been freaking out moments before.  

“He’s got as awful taste in fashion as he does in food?”  she asked.

“No—well, probably, but that’s not important.  The beret was to hide him so he could help me cook.  Like in Ratatouille.”

She blinked.  “That works?”

“It would work better if my kwami knew how to cook, but yeah.”

“Hmm …”  She tapped her lips—lips he would hopefully be able to kiss once all this was taken care of, he thought with a giddy grin—before snapping her fingers.  “That’s it!  I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before!”

“What’s it?  Wait—Marinette, where are you going?”

“You’ll see!”  She winked before disappearing behind her bedroom door.

He gave the soup a careful stir while waiting for her to come back.

“You’re welcome.”  Plagg crossed his arms and smirked irritatingly.

“For what?” Adrien scowled.  “All you did was give away my identity and embarrass me in front of the love of my life!”

“Love of your life?”  Marinette appeared behind him.

He nearly knocked over the pot of soup.  It was what he deserved for startling her so much back in lycée, he guessed.

Plagg snickered.  “Bold words coming from the guy who called her a good friend earlier.”

“She is a good friend!  And the love of my life!  She’s Ladybug, Plagg!”

He pointed to the giant red-and-black egg in Marinette’s arms.  The Miracle Box.  She was Ladybug!

“You didn’t know that when you said it five seconds ago,” Plagg pointed out.

“Yeah, well—I guessed it,” he huffed.  

It had been the only answer that made sense.  And it was true.  Hopefully he could blame the tears pricking his eyes on the onion in the soup.  If not, though, crying over his amazing partner (who loved him!) was probably still the least embarrassing thing he’d done today.

Tikki poked her head out of a cookie jar.  By now he’d been startled so many times that her presence hardly registered.

“Don’t worry, Adrien.  Marinette has said way more embarrassing stuff than that.”

“Which we won’t repeat in front of him,” Marinette said dangerously.

His head was still spinning from all the revelations.  Of course, he wasn’t too surprised—who else but Marinette was amazing enough to be Ladybug?—but it was still a lot to take in at once.

“While I definitely want to hear about that later, what’s the Miracle Box out for?  Is there a kwami of cooking?  Or do you think Sass could give us a Second Chance on all this mess?”  he asked, trying to bring his focus back to the problem at hand.

“What you said about Plagg gave me an idea.”  She punched in a code on the spots, and the egg cracked open to reveal the miraculouses.  “He might not know how to cook, but I’m sure some of the other kwamis do.  And if not, I’m sure they can follow directions.”

“Great idea, Marinette!”  Tikki clapped.  “Wayzz and Pollen are pretty good at cooking, from what I remember.  Orikko is too, but you shouldn’t cook chicken in front of him.”

“Makes sense.”  Adrien nodded before turning to Marinette.  “You think they’ll be enough to make up for how badly I messed up?”

“Of course they will.  We’re Ladybug and Chat Noir; there’s no mess we can’t fix.”  She smiled as she equipped the bracelet and hair comb, then passed the Miracle Box to him.  “Have Tikki help you pick out a few more kwamis.  Together we’ll get this done in time. I know it.”

Relief washed over him, and he smiled back.

“As you wish, My Lady.”

XXX

“You’re sure I won’t be intruding?”  Adrien asked as they pulled up to her parents’ bakery.

“Of course not.  There’s no way my family would leave out my boyfriend.”  She shifted her tupperware to her other arm and reached up to adjust his (newly cleaned) beret.  “Even if he has terrible fashion sense.”

“It’s a Marinette original!  There’s nothing more fashionable than that!”

“An original from when I was fourteen!”  she pouted.

“It’s too late, Bugaboo. I’m never taking it off.”  He kissed her forehead.

“I’ll make you a new one.  Anything would be better than mixing lacy hearts and stripes.”

“I guess that’s fair.  But I’ll still treasure this one forever.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately as she pushed open the bakery door.

Not long after, Adrien, Marinette, and her family were settled around the dining room table, a feast of French and Chinese cuisine in front of them. The two sides of her family mingled, mixing as seamlessly as the dishes.  Rolland was deep in conversation with Wang about traditional cooking techniques in France versus China.  Gina (who’d insisted he just call ‘Grandma’) was regaling two of Marinette’s cousins with tales from her travels.  More of her younger cousins ran around the table, barefoot soles slapping against the hardwood floor, their hands occasionally reaching up to snag a dumpling or croissant.  It was a tight fit, but Adrien didn’t mind.  He was thrilled to be included at all.

While they ate dinner, he kept catching her looking at the hat.  But every time she did, he’d make eye contact with her, and then she’d blush and smile bright enough that it was worth every glare.

“So, what are you up to these days, son?”  Tom asked over his bowl of wonton soup.

Son.  Already, Marinette’s parents felt more like family than his own.  He would love to be part of her family for as long as she would let him.

Hopefully forever.

“Oh, not much.”  He put an arm around Marinette.  “Just learning how to cook from your amazing daughter.”

He winked, and she blushed again.  Red was her color in and out of the suit, it seemed.

“He needs all the help he can get.  You should’ve seen what he almost put in the crêpes today.”

Tom laughed.  “Well, it looks like it all turned out perfect.  Thanks for your help, both of you.”

Under the table, Adrien and Marinette shared a fistbump.  This wasn’t the first adventure they tackled together, and it wouldn’t be the last.

[foli-vora]

deck the halls with hundreds of fictional cocks, fa la la la la, la la la la—

It’s my favourite time of year!

Here are my holiday fics for this december - all of which have been completed/mostly completed and scheduled for the noted dates. They're packed with the fluffiest of fluff and spiciest of smut and are made to provide cosy comfort and warmth - no angst will be found here!

These are the 'main' ones, but I'll probably get drunk off of holiday spirit so there'll most likely be extra drabbles that I'll throw out whenever and add on as I go. Fics will be tagged #folijollyxmas if you wanted to follow along!

↳ my only wish

jack daniels x singlemumf!reader. rating: explicit 18+ ONLY.

typical hallmark movie. he’s never been one for christmas - he hates the tacky decorations and the ear drilling music, but maybe the owner of a small town bakery and her children will change that.

- part one

- part two

- part four : coming soon

↳ meet the yorks

dave york x f!reader. rating: explicit 18+ ONLY.

just a filthy soft as fuck christmas fic in the york house.

↳ under the tree

bradley “rooster” bradshaw x f!reader. rating: explicit 18+ ONLY.

santa came early for bradley and he’s positive you’re trying to kill him. too bad mav also decided to arrive earlier than planned. awkward chaos ensues.

coming soon

↳ tinsel tangle

matt murdock x f!reader x frank castle. rating: explicit 18+ ONLY.

christmas decorating and baking and gift wrapping and porn. it's just porn idk.

coming soon

↳ curse breaker

marcus pike x f!reader. rating: explicit 18+ ONLY.

after an embarrassing confession to the pretty stranger at the bar, you find that maybe this is the year you break your apparent 'curse'.

31/12/22

[visceraah]

The sound of music

(aka i’m so sorry for naming it after a musical it has nothing to do with dkjsdjksdjk names are hard)

My gift for @anianthe for @sanderssidesgiftxchange

Rating- Teen cause i’m incapable of not writing wayyy more swears then are necessary-

WC- 2947

Ship- Just Virgil interacting w the other sides,, feel free to interpret romantically if you want!

Warnings- not really any! Remus shows up briefly so.. beware of that. and ig Virgil is also kinda mean bUT he does it affectionately.

AO3

-

“We’re having a movie night!”

Virgil blinked. Took off his his headphones which, unfortunately, hadn’t been playing anything- he wore them out of habit, sometimes- meaning he heard everything his stupid best friend just said.

“No, we aren’t.”

Roman flopped down on his bed without waiting for any indication it was okay, something Virgil was all too used to. “We are now.”

Virgil sighed heavily and pushed Roman with his foot, trying to roll him off the bed. He didn’t budge. “And if I don’t want to?”

“Pleaseeee?” Roman employed the puppy dog eyes and Virgil knew already this was a losing battle. Ugh.

“I get to pick the movie.”

Roman perked up immediately, coming to sit next to him. “Yes! Okay! Just- Disney?”

Virgil rolled his eyes, wondering if Roman was capable of consuming content made by anyone else. He was beginning to doubt it. “Nightmare Before Christmas, then.”

“Predictable.” Roman murmured smugly, and he elbowed him.

“You want this movie night or not?”

“Okay, okay! I yield!” Roman cried, clutching his ribs. Virgil was pretty sure he was more upset at the prospect of a cancelled movie night then the ‘pain’ he was overplaying right now.

“Okay.” Virgil agreed, smugly, and set the movie on.

He’d seen it a million times already, which for most people would only make it boring by now- but Virgil found comfort in familiar things. Plus, that animation! He could happily watch it a million more times- and, honestly, probably would.

That meant he had it memorised, though, and soon enough he was singing along to the introduction under his breath. He listened along contently, until an unfamiliar third voice joined the chorus, and he startled, looking to the side. “Roman?”

Roman stared back, raising an eyebrow at him. “... Hi.”

“Were you singing along?”

Romans eyes flicked between Virgil and the screen, where the movie was still playing, in confusion. “Yes, Dr Gloom? Look, I know what a downer you love to be, but these pipes can’t stay closed all the time! They need exercise- and, the world deserves- neigh, needs to hear them!”

Virgil huffed at the dramatics, although it was fond. “I never said it was a problem, Sir Sing-a-lot, I’m just surprised.”

“One, that’s not an insult and I’m absolutely using that,” Roman retorted, “And two… It’s Disney! One of their best! Do you really expect me to not know the words?”

Virgil snorted, but he had to admit, he couldn’t disagree with that. “Whatever, nerd.”

Roman gasped, somehow seeming more upset than when Virgil had elbowed him. Of course that’d be what got to him. “I am not! I’m a prince- a very princely prince! Not-”

“Whatever you say, prince of the nerds.” Virgil hummed out, smirking to himself. Maybe Roman bursting in out of nowhere wasn’t so bad… This time. He still hated surprises and would not be convinced to do this again. He said that every time

-

Being Romans best friend, unfortunately, had its side effects. One was unplanned, unannounced Disney marathons he had no choice but to roll with. Another was actually listening to his musicals so often he learned to like them, too.

For all he said about Hamilton being overrated (and Romans reaction was priceless every time), he had to admit it was good. A little fast for him to keep with, but he rarely sang along to his songs anyway, preferring to hum quietly unless he was really in the mood.

He liked keeping his music to himself, too- he didn’t want to annoy anyone, so he always wore headphones- but sometimes he just wanted to drown the world out, and they went to full volume. Worked a treat to drown everyone out, but plenty audible to everyone else in the room. Sometimes, though, they’d just have to live with it.

Today was one of those days, where Virgil didn’t want to speak to anybody and had the volume to show it. He was playing one of Princeys musicals, too, humming along to ‘my shot’ no matter how different it was to his normal taste. He nodded in acknowledgement as he passed Logan on his beeline for the fridge, planning on grabbing the easiest and least healthy snack possible.

Retreating with his bag of marshmallows in hand- he was pretty sure they weren’t meant to be in the fridge, but they were imaginary, so maybe nothing needed to go in the fridge. Holy shit.

He pulled the headphones back, opening his mouth to ask Logan's opinion, when he heard a sound that made him freeze in his tracks.

Logan was rapping along to himself. And well. Jesus, how had he forgotten about that? He stared, still in disbelief, and Logan awkwardly trailed off when he noticed his gaze. “Ah, you could hear me.”

“Yeah, I just wanted to ask… Doesn’t matter. Holy shit, Lo, you’re amazing.”

Logan flushed slightly, looking down at the table. “I simply have an appreciation of the genre, and Hamilton has some particular, uhm- how would you say? ‘Bangers’.”

Virgil laughed, slipping into the seat opposite him and taking the headphones off completely. “Dude, I’ve spent enough time with Roman to know having an ‘appreciation’ doesn’t mean you can pull something off.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly fighting back a smile. “I am not sure he’d appreciate you saying that.”

“Eh, I’ve said it to his face before- and will again.” Virgil dismissed, feeling his lips turn up as well. “Why don’t you do it more?”

Logan shrugged, adjusting his glasses awkwardly. “It is hardly a logical skill for me to have, so it simply… Hasn’t come up.”

“Ro doesn’t need an excuse for songs to ‘come up’ before he starts singing them.” Virgil pointed out, and Logan chuffed.

“No, he certainly doesn’t. But we are different people.”

Virgil laughed, nodding. “You could say that again.”

“Oh. Alright, we are differen-”

“It’s an expression, dude. Come on.” Virgil interrupted, sounding nothing but fond as Logan widened his eyes in realisation.

“A highly illogical one, but alright. I can add it to my flashcards to avoid further confusion.” He decided, pulling out his deck there and then to add to. He paused when he heard the crackling of a plastic bag pulled open, looking up as Virgil helped himself to a marshmallow. “Please do not tell me you intend on consuming that entire bag.”

“Maybe.” Virgil held it out, grinning now. “Want one?”

“A key ingredient is gelatin, created by boiling down a pig or cows bones, skin, ligaments or tendons.” Logan deadpanned, and Virgil almost threw the whole bag away in disgust before he remembered,

“But they’re imaginary!”

Logan titled his head. “I suppose so.”

“Actually, I was thinking…” Virgil began, curious about how the fridge actually worked. Soon enough Logan was in a full-fledged rant about mindscape food, and half of it went over his head, but he didn’t mind listening. It was interesting, after all.

-

Whatever concerns Virgil had about not bothering anyone with his music, the other sides didn’t share them. Roman didn’t hesitate to sing whatever came to mind as it came to mind, offering full renditions of his favourite musical tracks daily, Logan could be heard humming to himself as he worked, Remus had no restraint about… Anything, really, and this was no different, Janus wasn’t exactly considerate, and Patton- Patton was the worst at all.

He wandered the mindscape belting out whatever was in his head at the moment which, as a father figure, was always old, tacky, and bad. They’d learned to ignore it for the most part, but some of the songs he played… Some of them were just unforgivable. And, sitting on the couch as Patton tidied up a little, Virgil had left himself completely at their mercy.

“JOLENE-”

Virgil pulled his hoodie over his ears, wishing he’d brought his headphones. Or just not left his room. “Please, no.”

“Jolene, Jolene, Joleeeeeeeene, I’m begging of you please don’t take my man-”

“Pain, Padre. This is causing me physical pain.” Virgil groaned, slamming his head back in an attempt to make it all stop. Unfortunately, the sofa was soft, and he just bounced back. Eurgh.

“Awh, cmon kiddo! I’m just singing. You could always join me.” Patton chirped, rearranging the same jar for the fourth time in three minutes.

“I might die.” Virgil deadpanned, staring Patton dead in the eyes, and he giggled.

“Don’t be silly… Come on, my music isn’t that bad!”

Virgil couldn’t quite believe his ears. Maybe they were still bleeding from being subjected to Dolly Parton. “You listen to dad music.”

“Well, yeah, but what else did you expect from your pops-”

Virgil groaned louder, shaking his head. “I- whatever. When’d you even start listening to country music?”

“Nico likes it!” Patton replied, brightly, and Virgil bristled.

“That’s it, Thomas has to break it off.”

It took Patton a second to recognize Virgil was joking, and he started laughing. “Don’t be so judgy! I listen to your music- in fact, I quite like being cautious in the disco.”

“Oh my god.” Virgil pulled his hood down further over his eyes, the secondhand embarrassment hitting him full force. “You’re so old.”

“Now, I know I’m no spring chicken, but that’s hardly a nice thing to say-”

“We are all the same age.” Logan interjected as he walked through the room, gone before Virgil could try and drag the only other sane one around him to his aid.

“Look, Patt- I love you, but Dolly is too far.” Jesus, Virgil was spending too much time with Roman. Dramatic ultimatums weren’t his style at all.

“... How about Country Roads?”

“Jesus Christ.” Virgil sunk further back into the sofa, hoping it’d just swallow him and his smile.

-

“I wanna play a song.”

“Get your own headphones.”

“But yours are so loud, they’re basically speakers! You ever turn them up to full volume while they’re on? How loud are they? Oooh, reckon they could rupture your eardrums so blood would bubble out your ears and trail down your face-”

“Stop.” Virgil interrupted with a grimace, before Remus’ imagination could go anywhere gorier. They’d been at this for ten minutes and his answer hadn’t wavered once. “It’s a no, alright? Just… Go away.”

Remus huffed loudly and dropped onto the sofa next to Virgil. Great. “What do you want?”

“Hmmm… Oh, I can do a list!” Remus declared, and before Virgil could tell him please, god, don’t, he was off. “A pony- to disembowel so I can use its guts for ritual purposes, that one dick in a Russian erotica museum they claim is Rasputins and has magical fertility powers, for Barry Bee Benson to be real so I can fu-”

“Alright!” Virgil shuddered and disconnected his headphones. He didn’t know what Remus wanted to do with a literal bee, and he liked it that way. “There.”

Remus grinned a grin with far too many teeth, just a little too sharp, and Virgil rolled his eyes, waiting for whatever monstrosity he was about to hear.

 There’s some whores in this house, there’s some-

“You did not just play WAP!” Virgil punched Remus in the arm, pulling his headphones off “You- I swear to God, don’t do the dance.”

Remus was already halfway stood up and Virgil quickly pulled him back down. He’d never wanted Remus to stay sat next to him more in his life. (To be fair, it wasn’t something he felt often.)

“But I already know it!”

“Of course you do.” Virgil grumbled, glancing over at Remus. “Why do you have to play… This, up here?”

“Jannie’s kicked me out, you know how he is.”

Virgil blinked at him, regretting what he was about to say before the words even left his mouth. “If I get him to back off, will you keep your music to the dark side?”

“That’s not fun, though! Ooh, wait, Logan likes rap, doesn’t he? Reckon he’d like to see the dance?”

Virgil stared at Remus blankly. “Please, say that was a joke.”

“It wasn’t! If you wanna hear one, though… Ooh, ok. Two kids walk into a hospice- ”

“No.” Virgil interrupted again, although even he had to snort a little at how ridiculous it was. Even if it was also deeply, deeply twisted. “I- look, I’m gonna do it.”

Remus tilted his head further then looked natural. Virgil was pretty sure he heard a crack. “Thought you hated me and Double Dee.”

“I- I’m just doing this for my sanity, alright? And Logans.” Virgil snapped back, avoiding meeting his eyes.

Avoiding things didn’t work with Remus, though, and soon enough he was uncomfortably close, peering right at Virgil with that unsettling grin. “Awww, Purps is being nice to us.”

“Shut up.” Virgil hissed, sinking out before Remus could pry any further. Creativity was so pushy, Jesus.

-

Virgil shuddered. He hadn’t been in the dark side of the mindscape in years and, after so long of the bright upstairs, the dark walls felt a little claustrophobic. He just needed to make this quick.

He strode down the hallway, trying to squash the growing nervousness in his stomach. What was the worst that could happen?

… Literally the worst thing he could’ve asked himself, he realised, speeding up subconsciously. So much could go wrong, while he was down here, and he didn’t even know where Deceit was, what if he tripped and fell and broke something and nobody would-

Piano, faint, made him stop in his tracks.

He wasn’t really an expert in classical music, but this had to be one of the more famous pieces, because he’d definitely heard it before. It was good, though, Mozart or something. Pretty difficult, too.

Exactly the kind of pretentious shit Deceit would play, and kick Remus out to enjoy. (Although Virgil couldn’t really blame him for that second part). Emboldened now he knew he wasn’t alone, and could make some jokes about what a snob he was, Virgil entered the room the sound was coming from.

He paled, because in front of him sat Deceit. At a piano. Playing the song.

“Since when do you play.”

Deceit only glanced up at Virgil, the melody smooth even with the interruption. He hated to admit it, but it was impressive. “Things have been quiet. I had time.”

“Quiet? With Remus?”

“I made things quiet.” Deceit amended, shrugging nonchalantly. Knowing him, it had probably been meant to sound as murder-y as it did. Didn’t stop Virgil from shuddering, anyway, serving as the perfect reminder of just how desperately he wanted to leave.

“Alright, look- whatever plan or plot this is, or is covering up, I don’t care.”

Deceit sighed, looking up at Virgil without faltering the music once. Jesus, he actually was good. “You’re right, I’m incapable of having any interests whatsoever without there being some deep, sinister plot behind it. You’ve spotted my evil plan.”

“I- alright, sarcasm’s meant to be for something obviously not true! That could be true!” Virgil protested, already feeling like he was losing this.

Deceit just raised an eyebrow at him in response, and Virgil instinctively hissed back, feeling more and more like he was backed into a corner.

Deceit had the nerve to laugh at him. “It’s been a while since you’ve done that.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had to talk to anyone so- so-” Virgil groaned, glaring at Deceit. “Stop playing that stupid thing, would you?”

“Alright.” Deceit agreed, and Virgil waited. He kept waiting. The piano continued and after an excruciating minute of listening for an end, he cursed. Why had Virgil assumed he’d be honest?

“Dick.”

“That is my legal name.” Deceit agreed dryly, and Virgil rolled his eyes. He was impossible to talk to.

“Look, just let Remus back down. He’s probably scarring Logan as we speak.”

Deceit smiled at the thought, looking back down at the keys as he played them. “I never said he couldn’t be down here. Oh, and I’m sure there’s /nothing/ about ‘scarring’ Logan that could’ve appealed to him.”

“What, so Remus lied?” Virgil crossed his arms. Remus was plenty of things, but one of them was painfully, brutally, upfront and honest. “That’s your thing.”

“Not lied.” Deceit tutted, like scolding a child for not knowing something they should have. Virgil clenched his fists. “Just… Was dramatic.”

Virgil tried to figure out what he meant before realising it meant literally nothing, and he glared at Deceit. “Stop being so cryptic for five seconds and tell me, Jesus.”

“I wasn’t aware you cared about him so much.” Deceit smirked, and Virgil threw his arms up in exasperation.

“I’m trying to get rid of him!”

Deceit snickered but finally, mercifully, seemed to have already had his fun. “I didn’t tell him to get out if he couldn’t just be quiet and not…” His smile faltered… “Dance on the piano.”

Yeah, that expression was priceless. Virgil laughed as Janus furrowed his eyebrows. “What?”

“Just… Nevermind.” Virgil was pretty sure imagining that scene playing out was enough entertainment to last him weeks. And a reminder that honestly… Remus didn’t cause as much chaos as he gave him credit for. He was all bark… And plenty of bite, too, but nothing too permanent. “Keep playing, or whatever.”

“You aren’t going to demand I fetch the Duke?”

“He’s not a dog.” Virgil dismissed, resisting a smile at Deceit’s murmured ‘ehhhhh’. “He’ll come back when he wants to. And Logan can look after himself.”

“Amazing.” Deceit sighed heavily. “You wasted my time for nothing, then.”

Virgil could be proud of that, at the very least. He grinned in way of response, sending Deceit a nod before he sunk out.

[let-it-raines]

Tell Me It’s Real (it’s real) {1/1}

Killian Jones has done a lot of stupid things in his life. The stupidest, however, was telling Liam that he and his best friend Emma Swan are dating after Liam presses him on why he hasn’t started dating again after his last breakup. It’s fine. Liam lives an ocean away, and Killian has time to figure out how exactly he’s going to deal with this before there are any actual consequences. 

That is until Liam shows up at Emma’s parents’ house in Storybrooke four days before Christmas thinking that Killian and Emma have been dating for months. 

Emma’s going to murder him.

(A fake dating AU)

Rating: Mature

a/n: You guys, it’s the holiday season, and you all know what that means! Fake dating! That’s right! I’m finally using the ultimate wintery/holiday trope, and I’ve kind of fallen in love with it! I obviously have to write it more, right?! I apologize for any major influx of words this/next week. I just wanted to post all of the things I needed to post while I’m desperately waiting to go into labor 🙈

This one is for you all but especially @resident-of-storybrooke​ @wellhellotragic​ @captainsjedi​ and @thejollyroger-writer​ ❤️

Found on AO3 | Here |

Tagging my one-shot list: @captainsjedi  @galaxyzxstark @thejollyroger-writer @kmomof4 @tiganasummertree @xellewoods​ @idristardis @karenfrommisthaven @shireness-says​ @scientificapricot @captswanis4vr @a-faekindagirl @ultimiflos @jamif @dreameronarooftop15 @nikkiemms @resident-of-storybrooke  @bmbbcs4evr @onceuponaprincessworld @jennjenn615 @mayquita @teamhook @kmomof4 @ekr032-blog-blog @superchocovian @ultraluckycatnd @cs-forlife @andiirivera @qualitycoffeethings @jonirobinson64 @mariakov81​ @shardminds​ @spartanguard​

-/-

“Oh my God,” Emma mumbles as she falls back onto his couch and hangs her feet over the back, “my mom is freaking ridiculous.”

“Freaking?”

She twists her head to look at him and roll her eyes. “My mother could somehow hear me swear through the phone if I did, so I substituted. She’s magic.”

“Mary Margaret Nolan is many things, love, but I don’t believe she’s actually magic. I’d also be remiss to say that she cannot hear you swear while she’s a couple hundred miles away.”

“Trust me, she can.”

Killian huffs and uncrosses his legs before propping his socked feet on his coffee table, noting the little smudge that he needs to clean. Emma must have had her coffee here this morning. “Why is your mother freaking ridiculous?”

“Because she, like the mothers in every Hallmark movie in existence, keeps asking me if I’m going to bring someone home for Christmas. I’ve brought a boyfriend home exactly once, which went horribly, and then I said I would never do that again. She also seems to think that I’m secretly dating someone and that she’s going to weasel this information out of me.”

“She cares about you is all.” Emma laughs, and he knows that she’s about to call him on his bullshit.

(He hopes Mary Margaret can’t hear his thoughts.)

“She cares,” Emma says hesitantly while her thumbs swipe across the screen, “but she is annoying. I’m going to tell her I’m not bringing someone home.”

“Besides me.”

“Yeah, but you don’t count.”

“Well, thanks,” Killian chuckles. He reaches over to pinch her side, but she barely flinches more than a slight squirm away from him. “I’m glad I don’t count.”

Emma tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and drops her phone against her stomach before turning to look at him with what he swears is a slight pinkness to her cheeks. “You know what I mean, KJ.”

“Aye, darling,” he promises before leaning over and lightly pressing his lips to her cheek, “I do. What do you want for dinner? Did you eat before you came over?”

“I came right from the station and skipped lunch because paperwork is an absolute bitch.” “Careful, Nolan,” Killian laughs, “your mum might be able to hear that dirty mouth of yours. How do you feel about Tai takeout?”

“Mexican.”

“Chinese.”

“You’ve got a deal, my friend,” she sighs as she twists on the couch until she’s sitting up the right way and her hair is jostled everywhere. She looks ridiculous, and he can feel the smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the monster that is her hair. “Also, would you hate me if I told you that I have neither packed for this weekend nor wrapped presents?”

“I could only hate you if you said you also needed to do laundry.”

Emma flips her hair back so that he can see her face, and he already knows her answer. “I need to do laundry. Like, two weeks’ worth of it, and I think I might also need you to wrap my presents instead of me trying. I can’t get the corners all straight like you do.”

“You want me to come over tomorrow and help?”

“I’ll love you forever if you do.”

Killian bites his tongue and nods, resisting all of the words he wants to say and winking instead. “I knew eventually you’d fall in love with me, darling. I’m too irresistible for it to never happen. I simply didn’t think it would take five years.”

“Guess you’re not as irresistible as you thought.”

“Or maybe you’re too stubborn.” She reaches out to slap him, and he grabs onto her wrist. “No, you definitely are.”

-/-

“Bloody hell, woman,” Killian scoffs as he pushes Emma’s suitcase into the back of his car. “What did you put in here?”

“The presents you wrapped.”

“Then what’s in the duffle bag?”

“More presents you didn’t wrap because I hid them from you.”

Killian groans and leans forward to rest his head against the suitcase while he scuffs his shoe against the pavement. “Is there any way for me to get out of going to your parents’ house for Christmas? I don’t think I’ll be able to last this entire week if it means I’m going to be lugging around all of your stuff. I think I’ll celebrate Christmas by myself this year.”

Emma pats his back. “You’ll be fine. It’ll be fun. My mom is making your favorite apple pie because she loves you more than she loves me.”

“You know,” he starts, pushing the suitcase in a little bit more and slamming the trunk closed, “suddenly I think I’ll be able to make it. However, you, darling, are going to have to be the one to suffer from your mother’s interrogation over your dating life, so I’m not sure that you’ll make it.”

She slaps his back this time. “Shut up and drive.”

“As you wish.”

It’s not a long drive from Portland to Storybrooke, just over two hours, and it passes quickly while they listen to a true crime podcast and debate how much eggnog Emma’s uncle James is going to drink before noon every day. Emma has to update him on every new development in her family since he saw them all last year at Christmas so that he doesn’t step on any toes by asking about dead relationships or even dead relatives, and he tries to commit it all to memory. Emma’s got enough relatives and quasi-relatives to fill an entire auditorium, and it’s always shocking to him how different that is to simply he and Liam. They’ve got this wild and complex history that’s continuously evolving, and his family can be summed up into a few short phrases.

Dead mum, deadbeat dad, an aunt who wanted nothing to do with Killian once he turned eighteen, and one brother who still lives in England while Killian stayed in America after he finished university.

Small. His family is miniscule. It’s only he and Liam, and while FaceTime is a bloody brilliant invention, it’s not a substitute for the real thing. They usually see each other at least twice a year, Killian going to England once and Liam coming to Maine the other time, but this year Liam couldn’t get off work and Killian couldn’t afford the outrageously expensive flights for such a short trip.

He’s trying to save up to have enough for a down payment on this home he’s been looking at, itching and aching to get his hands on it so that he can renovate, and every dollar he doesn’t absolutely need is going to his savings. Liam told him that if he so much as thought about touching his savings that he would find a way to cut off his balls even from an ocean away.

Killian would like to keep those two particular assets.

So it’s another Christmas spent in the quirky small-town of Storybrooke, Maine where he gets to hear David tell the exact same stories about Emma that he’s heard every year before he’s suddenly corralled into a private room and threatened within an inch of his life if he ever breaks Emma’s heart.

Obviously his balls are never safe.

But he’d never hurt Emma. Ever. And despite what David and Mary Margaret and possibly a few other people think, he and Emma are nothing more than close friends. There will be no breaking of hearts.

Except maybe his if Emma ever does find someone to bring home for Christmas. Killian wants her to be happy, more than most anything, but that Christmas will definitely be one he doesn’t spend with the Nolans. They’re like family to him, but he’s not sure if he’ll ever have a permanent spot. Killian knows how it is with Emma’s boyfriends. They’re never comfortable with him, and he’s heard the fights about him through thin walls and hushed phone conversations, and one day Emma’s going to choose someone else over him. It’s inevitable.

And he’s the fool who fell in love with his best friend and has never had the balls to ask her out.

He’s got to stop thinking about his balls in all of these unpleasant scenarios.

“Bloody hell,” Killian mumbles when he pulls onto Main Street and sees the quite frankly ridiculous amount of decorations lining the streets and filling all of the shop windows. “Did an elf throw up here?”

Emma reaches over and squeezes his ear. “You would know if your own kind was in town.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Careful,” she hums, “we’re within five miles of Mary Margaret. She’ll be able to hear you.”

“I will take my chances, love.”

“It’s your funeral.”

“As long as you don’t bury me in one of those tacky Christmas sweaters, I don’t think I’ll mind.”

“Damn,” Emma laughs before tugging his ear again and leaning over to lightly brush her lips across his cheek, “I guess I’ll have to change my plans for your funeral attire then.”

When they get to the Nolans’ farmhouse, Emma tells him to pull onto the gravel driveway and park next to her dad’s truck instead of parking on the side of the road next to the white fence like their guests usually do. Only daughter’s privileges or something like that. He’s not complaining, especially when he picks up half of Emma’s bags to carry inside and is suddenly reminded that she definitely packed a brick or two in there.

Emma opens the unlocked door, something that still fascinates him as someone who has never lived anywhere but a city, and everything inside is exactly the same as the last time he was here. White walls full of family pictures and antique pieces Mary Margaret found in her thrift stores, and little stems of greenery stuck around to bring some color to the place. It looks like one of the homes on Emma’s favorite HGTV show. He can’t recall the name now, but there’s always a hell of a lot of white and throw pillows. He’ll never understand the throw pillows.

The Christmas tree centered in the archway left of the stairs is bare of everything but lights, and Killian already knows that Emma is going to give up decorating halfway through while he finishes her part. Her parents wait for her to come home to decorate it every year, and every year she hangs about ten ornaments before getting distracted and leaving him or someone else to finish.

“Mom,” Emma calls out as she drops her bags at the bottom of the stairs. “Dad? Where are you guys?” There’s no response, and when Emma turns to look at him with raised brows, he shrugs his shoulders and carefully places his bags on the ground. “They have to be here. Dad’s truck is here. Let’s go look out back.”

Killian follows Emma’s lead through the living room and the kitchen to walk out on the back porch, but when they open the door, the backyard is empty, not a single soul to be seen. Emma immediately pulls out her phone and runs her fingers across it while her brows furrow and her smile slowly curves downward the longer she stares at her phone.

“They walked into town for lunch,” she finally explains while sticking her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. “Like, they knew we were going to be here soon, and my parents decided to walk to town. I told them to bring us back food.”

“Granny’s?”

“Of course, KJ. There are fifty restaurants in this town, and my parents only go to one.” She pushes against his shoulder. “Now come on, let’s go put our stuff upstairs and then raid the fridge for the good eggnog before James gets here.”

-/-

There’s a picture of Emma and her parents hanging in Emma’s bedroom over her dresser. She can’t be more than five, and her hair is even brighter and curlier than it is now. He thinks it might be the most adorable thing he’s ever seen. She’s got whipped cream on her nose and chocolate spread across her mouth, and David has chocolate smeared against his cheek while Mary Margaret has flour in her hair. Someone must have snapped the picture for them after a disastrous baking incident, and Killian wishes the joy in the photo could be captured and shared today.

“Woah,” Killian mumbles when he turns and sees Emma pulling his clothes out of his suitcase, “what are you doing with my stuff? Why are you hanging it in here?”

“You’re staying in my room this year.”

“Like hell I am.”

Emma turns her head and rolls her eyes. “Don’t get your underwear bunched up. My grandmother is staying in the guest bedroom, so you got booted out. My bed is more comfortable than the couch.”

Killian reaches up to scratch behind his ear while hoping his cheeks don’t redden. “I promise I can sleep on the couch or on the floor. It’s no problem, love.”

She sighs even as she puts a pair of his jeans on a shelf in her closet. “Are you serious? You want to sleep on the couch?”

He’d love to sleep in the bed with Emma, but that seems like a horrible idea. He can hide his feelings for her most of the time, but being in the same bed, especially when he knows that Emma is a heat-seeker in her sleep, wouldn’t enable him to hide certain physical attributes of his feelings.

“I truly don’t mind.”

“Fine,” Emma huffs, but your clothes are still going to stay in here unless you want to bother my grandmother every time you need something. I hear she’s looking for a new boyfriend.”

Killian barks out a laugh and grabs one of his nicer dress shirts from Emma before she messes it up. “I’m fine keeping my clothes in here. I don’t think Ruth and I are suited for a relationship.”

“You never know. You could be my step-grandfather one day. I bet you’d buy me the best Christmas presents.”

“Only if you’re good.”

Emma winks. “Always.”

“Emma?” a faint voice calls out as the house slightly shakes after the slamming of the door. “Emma, are you here?”

“Upstairs, Mom,” Emma calls out. “We’re unpacking.”

The stairs creak as Mary Margaret walks up toward them, and suddenly she’s there and smothering Emma with a hug that he’s seen a million times.

“Oh, sweetie, I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too. It’s good to be home.”

“You say that now, but wait until your dad gets home and asks you about the last time you had your tires rotated on your car.”

“I took it to the shop for her last week,” Killian explains, and Mary Margaret releases Emma from her embrace before turning to him with a bright smile.

“Bless you for taking such good care of our girl,” Mary Margaret sighs. She embraces him, and Killian does the same. “I’m thrilled that you could come and spend Christmas with us again this year.”

“I am too. Thank you for having me, love.”

“Always.” She pats his back and pulls back. “David will be here with your lunch in a few minutes. Why don’t we go and get a head start on the Christmas tree?”

-/-

The Nolans are as wonderful as they always are, and it’s refreshing to spend time in a house so vibrant and full of life. They’re what Christmas movies and children’s novels are made of, and sometimes Killian forgets how wonderful, if not slightly overbearing, they are because of Emma’s slightly more pessimistic view on life. She’s happy most of the time, a smile usually on her face even when it’s wry, but he’s seen her go through her breakups with Neal, Walsh, and several guys in between and seen the darkness that resides behind the green of her eyes. People have betrayed her in the worst ways that humans can be betrayed, but she pushes that down…most of the time.

He understands that.

What he doesn’t understand is having a family like this.

Or, well, he didn’t understand that until Emma came sauntering into his life one day telling him that he needed to stop taking her parking spot in the parking garage that their two apartments share. It was all a misunderstanding. His apartment gave him the wrong numbered lot, and he’s never been so thankful for a clerical error and an angry blonde woman.

Love of his bloody life, he thinks.

No, actually, he knows this even as he watches her try to act something out in this ridiculous game of charades where she’s standing on one leg with her hair brushed in front of her face.

One day he swears that he’ll tell her and that he’ll stop harboring these feelings, but he’s selfish and doesn’t want to have their friendship altered. He also doesn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She shouldn’t have to harbor the burden of his feelings for her, especially if she doesn’t feel the same way. Emma owes him nothing more than what she’s willing to give. Being friends is more than he could ever ask for, but his mind betrays him and imagines a time in the future when they’re still playing this stupid game but with a ring on both of their left hands.

That’s a dangerous thought that he pushes down in favor of looking at his texts.

Liam: I’m sorry I didn’t manage to call you today. You want to try again tomorrow?

Killian: Our usual time?

Liam: Sounds perfect. Have a good time with the Nolans. I’m sure that’s got to be weird for you this year.

Killian’s cheeks heat, but he doesn’t respond to Liam’s text as Emma loses her balance and stumbles to the ground until she’s flat on her ass and her entire body is shaking with laughter.

“I was a f-freaking f-flamingo,” she stutters out between laughs. “How did no one get that?”

“Why didn’t you flap your wings?” David questions.

“I did,” Emma sighs as she falls back in laughter. “You guys are all idiots. Why can’t I have Killian on my team? He’s better at this.”

“Because in order for Killian to stay in my house,” David begins, “he has to follow my rules. Rule one is that he helps me with whatever home improvement project I’m working on. Rule two is that he’s on my team for all games.”

“Those are dumb rules.”

“I rather like those rules, love.”

She holds her middle finger up on both hands.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret gasps, “don’t do that.”

“Next time guess that I’m a flamingo, and I won’t have to.”

“Don’t fret, Mary Margaret,” Killian teases. “Emma has always been a sore loser, as I’m sure you know.”

“She’s the worst,” she agrees. “Does anyone want to keep decorating the tree? We didn’t get far earlier.”

Emma groans.

“Or we could keep getting obliterated at this game.”

“Tree,” Emma sighs, “definitely tree.”

-/-

Emma lasts a whole ten minutes decorating the tree before giving up and walking away to eat her leftover onion rings from lunch.

He finishes decorating with David and Mary Margaret, and they tell him that he’s taking Emma’s place on next year’s Christmas card.

-/-

Killian wakes to the smell of coffee and to the sound of hushed talking in the kitchen. Light is peeking through the closed curtains, a sliver crossing over his right eye, and he grumbles and turns back over on the couch hoping that the crick in his neck and the ache in his back will go away after being awake for a few hours.

This couch was not this uncomfortable when he sat on it for most of the evening yesterday.

“KJ,” Emma calls out, “do you want blueberries in your pancakes?”

“Could you use a quieter voice?”

There’s a shuffling and a creak of floorboards, and all of the sudden a firm grip is tightening around his bicep that has him snapping up. “Bloody hell, woman. Have you ever heard of – Liam?”

“Did you miss me, little brother?”

He must still be dreaming because all of the sudden his brother is standing above him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Liam shouldn’t be in Storybrooke. He should be eight hours and a plane ride away, and there’s no way he can be here. Right?

“Are you going to get up and hug me or are you going to stay on that couch like the lazy ass you must be to have fallen asleep down here last night instead of in an actual bed with your girlfriend?”

Killian’s mind is playing catch up. He’s still half asleep and thinking that Emma is going to make him blueberry pancakes, or more likely Mary Margaret will make him those pancakes while Emma watches. Then, all of the sudden, Liam is here standing over him and not in England like he should be, which makes no sense when…holy shit.

No.

No, no, no, no, no.

Fuck.

“David can be a bit old-fashioned,” Killian lies as he sits up on the couch and then stands to give Liam a hug, squeezing him tightly to convince himself that Liam is really here. “He doesn’t like me to sleep in Emma’s room unless there’s absolutely no other place in the house.”

“You’re both adults.”

“David’s house, David’s rules,” he continues. “What the hell are you doing here? How did this happen?”

“Emma arranged it,” Liam murmurs into Killian’s hair. He smells like he always does and feels just the same. This is some kind of miracle, and Emma Nolan may be the greatest woman alive to do something like this for him. This had to have been her idea. His brother is here. This is real. “And I’m a wanker who has lied to you for weeks about not being able to take off work.”

“You’re probably too good a liar.”

“No such thing.” “That’s what criminals think.”

Killian pulls back from their embrace, his cheeks already beginning to ache from his smile, and sees Emma standing in the archway to the room with her arms crossed over her chest and the cheekiest smile he’s ever seen gracing her lips.

“You absolute tease,” Killian chuckles as he walks toward Emma and wraps his arms around her waist, picking her up and tugging her close to him while her feet dangle from the ground and her arms loop around his neck. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

“Sometimes I like you and want to do something nice.”

“Nice?” he scoffs out as he buries his face in her neck and her hair. “This is more than nice. You’re bloody brilliant.”

Her hand rubs up and down his back, and he melts into it, wondering if he can stay in this place and this moment forever. “You deserve it. Though, you really have to explain to Liam that we’re not dating because – ”

“Liam,” Killian blurts out, pulling back from Emma to turn over to his brother and his Cheshire Cat smile, “could you excuse us for a moment? I promise I’ll be back in a hurry and we can talk and eat breakfast then, yeah?”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Emma is staring at him with the impossible combination of wide eyes and furrowed brows, and she gasps when he practically picks her up again and carries her through the archway to the kitchen and out the door to the back porch. It’s freezing, something he knows Emma is going to complain about, but he needed a little privacy.

“What the hell are you doing?”

God, he’s an idiot. An undeniable idiot, and he has completely and totally screwed himself into a corner.

Sighing, Killian puts Emma on the ground and moves to run his hands up and down her arms to keep her warm. She going to hate him for what he’s about to say.

“Don’t hate me.”

“That is never a good way to start a conversation.”

“Yeah, well, you’re going to hate this conversation.”

Emma huffs and reaches forward to tuck her hands underneath his sweatshirt so that the iciness of her skin is touching his back and absolutely electrifying him. Why is he like this? He’s a damn bastard.

“Hey,” Emma whispers as her nails scratch against his back, “tell me what’s wrong, KJ.”

Swallowing, he nods. “I’ve done something stupid.”

“Did you kill someone?”

“What? No. Why would you say that?”

“Because you do stupid shit all the time, and that is the only thing I can imagine you doing to have you this freaked out.”

Killian laughs and a white puff of air escapes through his lips before he leans forward and rests his forehead against Emma’s. “I told Liam we’re dating.”

“I’m s-sorry. What did you just say?”

“Liam thinks we’re dating, which is probably why he’s said several confusing things in your correspondence over the past few weeks.”

Emma’s nails dig into his back hard enough to draw blood, and she pulls back so that he loses the feel of the heat of her skin. “Well, that explains a lot, but how the hell did Liam get the impression that we’re dating? Also, I’m going to freeze to death. It has to be fifteen degrees.”

“I know, I know,” he mumbles before pulling her back into his embrace. They must be a pair standing out here in so few clothes with the air nipping at their fingers. “I, well, long story short. Liam was concerned about me after Milah left me because he didn’t seem to think I was dating.”

“You weren’t.” “That’s beside the point.”

“It’s obviously not.”

“Anyways,” he murmurs into her hair, “he was being a buggering ass for so long and one day I told him that you and I had begun to see each other. That was maybe…six months ago. Possibly seven months.”

“What the actual fuck?”

“You’re going to wake up your mum with that kind of language.”

Emma takes a step back while she bounces on her toes and rubs her own hands up and down her arms. Her nose is positively red. “Why would you tell Liam that we’re dating?”

Because I’m in love with you, and he knows it.

“Because I wanted to get him off my back, and you were around when I told him.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Emma chants, and she stops bouncing on her toes to pace back and forth on the porch. “So what was your plan when Liam was eventually going to visit and he realized we weren’t dating? Or when you started dating someone else and suddenly you had to explain why I was so cool hanging out with you and your new girlfriend? Liam literally works in fraud. I think he would have realized something is up.”

“Insurance discovery is not – ”

“Killian.”

He holds his hands up. “My apologies, love. Look, I realize that I’ve screwed up, but I didn’t think I was going to see him, certainly not here. I thought I’d have more time to figure things out. I didn’t – bloody hell, what am I going to do?”

“Have you ever considered telling the truth?”

“No, absolutely not.” Emma opens her mouth to protest, but he doesn’t let her. “Listen, if we could simply pretend to be together for this one week, I’ll figure something out once Liam’s gone home. I promise I won’t make it awkward for you or for anyone. He would be devastated if he found out I lied to him like this, and I’m sure he’ll have me committed for being insane.”

“You want me to pretend to date you. I think I could have you committed for that idea alone.”

“Yes. Come on, darling. It won’t be difficult. We’re already close. We simply have to add in a little public affection, and he’ll never know the wiser.”

“KJ,” she sighs, and his heart is beating so loudly he thinks it might be in between his ears. This is a horrible idea for seventy-two different reasons, but right now he’s desperate not to be a disappointment to his brother. “You know I would do anything for you, but how would this work? My family knows we’re not dating, and I can’t lie to them. That would be too much of a mess.”

“Tell them. Let them be in on it. I don’t even know. I’m sure it would be highly entertaining for them.”

Emma chuckles and rubs her hands up and down her face. “They would die of laughter. My dad…you wouldn’t even have to give him a gift. This would be gift enough, especially because it would be reassurance to him that you weren’t actually fucking me.”

“Exactly,” Killian points out while he inhales a breath of chilled air. “Please, love. I will do whatever you want when we get home.”

Her brow arches. “Really now?”

“Anything reasonable.”

“Okay, okay,” she sighs, and then all of the sudden she’s stepping forward and pressing up on her toes while her arms wrap around his neck. “I’ll think on what I want my reward to be because – ”

And then, in the most unexpected moment of his entire life, Emma Nolan’s lips are pressing into his, cold and a little chapped but altogether wonderful in all of the ways that he’s spent years imagining. His hands curl around her back, pulling her closer to him so that he can feel the soft curves and hard lines of her body while her lips start to move over his, soft and slow. This isn’t real. It can’t be. He’s loved her for too long, even if he didn’t realize it for a long damn time, and this is all he’s wanted.

But then Emma is pulling back and lingering in his space, forehead pressed to his and breath intermingling so that he’s not sure whose is whose.

That’s when the ball drops, and he’s starkly reminded that while he may have felt Emma’s lips on his, while he may know that she likes to focus on one lip at a time and nibble the slightest bit, that wasn’t actually real. Emma’s next words reaffirm that for him.

“Don’t think too much about that,” she heavily breathes, basically panting next to him. “I’m sure we’d have to kiss at some point, and I didn’t want it to be awkward in front of Liam.”

“Aye, I know,” Killian lies. “Brilliant thinking.”

“I’ve watched a lot of really bad Hallmark movies. I know how this works.” She falls back from him, and Killian’s left standing there like an absolute asshole. “Let’s go inside. You’ve got some catching up to do with your brother.”

At that, she turns away, opening the door to the kitchen, and Killian reaches up to touch his lips, still feeling Emma’s kiss there.

He’s well and truly fucked.

-/-

Killian isn’t there when Emma tells her parents and Ruth their plan, and he’s not entirely sure if she plans on telling the extended family that will pop in and out over the next few days, but he knows the exact moment that David knows. David walks into the living room still in his pajamas, takes one look at Killian as he talks to Liam about how he’s been lately, and walks right out of the room trying to smother his laugh.

Smooth, mate. Smooth.

Mary Margaret is much better and only manages to stare at him with a goofy grin for a few minutes before her face returns to normal and she doesn’t look like she knows the world’s most stupid secret.

It’s all fine and good until Emma comes into the living room and gracefully plops herself down on his lap, wiggling around until she can get into a comfortable position. It takes far longer than it should, and when she winks at him, he knows exactly why she’s doing what she’s doing.

It’s payback.

Emma is very nonchalantly grinding down onto his lap so that he’s half-hard, on the way to being completely hard, and his sweatpants don’t do much to hide anything.

Killian is not going to sport an erection in front of his brother and Emma’s parents.

“Bloody hell, woman,” he hisses into her ear while his hand wraps around her stomach and holds her still. “Have you lost your mind?”

She tries to move again, but his grip doesn’t allow her any movement. “No, but I think you will in a few minutes.”

“So,” Liam claps, “do we have any plans for today? Is there anything I can help you with Mr. and Mrs. Nolan? Thank you again for letting me invade your holiday.”

“Don’t think a second thought about it.” Mary Margaret waves him away and stands from her chair. “Any family of Killian’s is family to us. Christmas falls on such a weird day this year being in the middle of the week that we have all kinds of extra time. I believe we’ll lounge around for most of the day today, but I might start on my pies so I don’t have to do them all tomorrow. Feel free to do whatever you want. I’m sure you and Killian have lots to catch up on.”

“We can catch up while helping you,” Liam promises before nudging his shoulder into Killian’s. “Besides, I���m sure Killian is eager to impress you both since this Christmas he’s Emma’s boyfriend and not simply a friend. It’s a whole new set of standards.”

Killian is going to choke on air.

“Which is exactly why my eyes will be on him, especially since I’ve just been informed he’ll be sleeping in Emma’s room tonight.”

“Dad,” Emma groans, “don’t be ridiculous. I feel like it’s safer for Killian to sleep in my bedroom here than anywhere else. I mean, you don’t know what we get up to when we’re back in Portland.”

“Please don’t even say that. I don’t want…images in my head.”

“Oh my God,” Emma gasps as she grinds down, hard, on his lap so that his fingers curl into the couch. “Stop. I swear, you’re so old-fashioned sometimes.” Emma rises from his lap then, and he quickly grabs a throw pillow on the couch to cover his tented sweatpants before Emma leans back down and brushes her lips across his, lingering there. “I’m going to go take a shower. You should find a movie to watch while I’m gone since I have a feeling you won’t want to move for a little while.”

“Aye, love,” Killian agrees with stuttered breathing. “I think I can manage that.”

-/-

Emma’s bed is smaller than it looks. Or maybe he simply feels like it’s smaller now that he’s underneath her covers and can feel the heat of her body radiating toward him. He’s kissed her twice today with several close brushes of her lips on the corner of his, but he can’t handle being close to her in bed. What the hell is wrong with him? He and Emma touch all the time, have been physically closer than this, and he cannot begin to count the times they’ve fallen asleep next to each other on one of their couches. This should be fine and normal, and yet his body is on fire, little sparks of electricity shocking him.

This is a weird, wonderful day, and it’s as if his entire personality has been shaken by it.

His brother is here and will be spending Christmas day with him, something Killian didn’t think they’d be able to do this year, and he’s kissed Emma.

Unreal.

He should get a grip and stop freaking out. This isn’t him. He’s always cool, calm, and collected. He isn’t the type to freak out or worry over little things, and yet his mind has been in a constant state of panic all day.

Now that he can feel Emma’s heat radiating toward him and the smoothness of her leg occasionally brushing against his, Killian knows that every decision he’s made today has been stupid.

The bed shakes as Emma violently flips over onto her side until she’s facing him and wrapping her arms around her pillow while her face squishes back into her neck. “So…today was weird.”

“That’s certainly one way to describe it.”

“I mean, we spent the day with my family, which is always weird, coupled by your brother, which is weirder even though I knew that was happening, and we also spent the day pretending to be together. Like, I think Liam is downstairs on the couch thinking that we’re up here fucking right now.”

“I would prefer that Liam doesn’t think about my sex life.”

“Imaginary one.”

“Oi,” he complains, reaching over to pinch her side so that she squirms away before sticking her legs through his calves. Bloody freezing feet. “It may have been awhile, but I’ll have you know that my sex life is nothing to knock. It’s not as if you’re out often.”

“At least I’m not lying to my brother about my dating life.”

“Sorry about that again, love,” he whispers as his hand runs up her side and rests alongside her waist, fingers curling against warm skin. “I don’t – I shouldn’t have…”

“Hey,” she whispers while brushing back some of his hair, “I don’t mind. Not really. There are worse things in the world than having to make out with a hot guy over the holidays.”

Killian waggles his brows, putting on a façade to keep himself from rambling on and on about his feelings for Emma. “I knew that you fancied me.”

She flicks her fingers against her forehead. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I promise I’ll try my best.” Killian leans forward and brushes his lips against her forehead, lingering longer than he should. He’s had a taste and can’t seem to get enough. “Let’s get some sleep, love. Your mum said we’re spending all of tomorrow baking, and I think it’ll take up all our energy.”

“That sounds like a good idea, especially since before we go to sleep, I plan to wear you out with some rather rigorous love-making.”

Emma laughs as she turns around and nuzzles into her pillow, keeping her freezing feet still tucked in between his calves while Killian wonders once again what the hell he’s gotten himself into. How could this possible get worse?

-/-

Monday is more than busy. When Mary Margaret said they were going to use up all of their energy baking, she meant it. She’s baking a pie for every single one of their neighbors, and each one gets more care than Killian thought possible. He, Liam, Emma, David, and Ruth all try to help, but in the end, Mary Margaret only finds he and Liam useful. David, Emma, and Ruth all wander off and wrap presents or write holiday cards to go along with each pie, and he’s mostly left in peace and quiet to bake pies and have time to catch up with Liam in a way that they can’t do while apart or in the company of others.

Killian is still in shock over Emma arranging Liam’s visit for him. It’s one of the most thoughtful gifts he’s ever received, and he’s convinced that he doesn’t deserve her. She never claims to be particularly kind or giving, but he sees all of that in everything that she does for him.

She arranged for his brother to fly from England and stay with her parents for Christmas, and she’s pretending to date him to cover up Killian’s mistakes.

What a woman.

And she’s surprisingly good at pretending to date him. Every once and awhile she’ll wander into the kitchen, stealing fruit from his pie filling and popping it in her mouth before brushing her lips across his shoulder, his cheeks, his lips. She runs her hands along his arm, tracing the muscles and the veins, before wrapping her hands around his waist and squeezing him. It’s all these natural, affectionate touches that he grew accustomed to while in a real relationship, but there’s a thrill every time Emma does something like this simply because it’s Emma. He’s got a heat deep in his belly, a redness flushed on his cheeks, and emotion is lodged in his throat always waiting for what she’s going to do next.

It’s a surprise.

A great one too.

And despite his constant reminders to himself, it’s easy to forget that none of this is real when he threads his fingers through Emma’s as they sit on the couch and argue over what Christmas movie to watch or when Emma runs her foot along his calf. It’s easy to forget when Mary Margaret softly smiles at the two of them while David scowls, and it’s even easier to forget when Liam asks them questions and neither of them have to lie about their time spent together.

It’s so real that Killian is convincing himself that it is real, especially the next day on Christmas Eve when he and Emma are delivering the pies and laughing so hard that his lungs burn (that could be from the snow and the cold) and his stomach aches while Emma does impersonations of each of her neighbors before they knock on their doors.

She’s spot on each time.

Killian loves her, honestly and truly. He loves the freckles on her face and covering her shoulders. He loves the sound of her laugh and the way that it trickles through the air like a sweet melody. He loves her wit and the way she’s quick with her words, and he loves the way her nose scrunches up when she’s trying to concentrate or when she’s cold.

The chilled air nips at her nose and reddens it enough that Killian finds himself leaning forward and biting down at the tip before kissing her there. Her cheeks blush and turn as red as her nose, and Killian wonders if he’s ever been more in love with her than he is at this moment.

Likely not.

But it’s not real, and the weight of that weighs heavy in his stomach.

It’s not real.

It’s not real.

“Do you want some hot chocolate, KJ?” Emma asks him later that night as he, Liam, and Emma lounge in the living with the rest of Emma’s family already gone to bed. David teased them about staying up so late that Santa won’t come visit, and it’s a wonder the man can still make such awful jokes when he hasn’t had a young child in so many years.

“No thank you, love. I think you’re the only one who can drink chocolate after we’ve consumed so much sugar today. My figure isn’t going to thank me after this week.”

“I mean, I wasn’t going to say anything, but – ”

Killian reaches for a pillow and tosses it across the room at her, but she quickly dodges out of his way and wanders into the kitchen where he can see her clumsily grabbing all of the ingredients for her to make her homemade hot chocolate. He sighs, content, and leans back into the couch with his hands behind his head and his eyes closed.

“Do you think she’s the one?”

“Hmmm?”

“Emma,” Liam repeats, “do you think she’s the woman you’ll spend the rest of your life with?”

Killian does that thing where he chokes on air again, and he bites his tongue to keep from coughing. Of-fucking-course Liam would ask him something like this. Of course. But this is his own fault and a mess of his own making.

Turning his head, Killian opens his eyes and looks at his brother sitting in the armchair opposite him before quickly glancing over and making sure that Emma isn’t listening. “I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “I’d want to. I just…I’m not sure if Emma feels the same way.”

Liam’s brows furrow together while he shakes his head from side to side. “Trust me, she does.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“She told me.”

Do. Not. Choke. On. Air.

“I’m sorry,” Killian sputters while he tries to catch up. “What?”

“Emma,” Liam explains, tugging his blanket further up his lap and waving toward the kitchen where Emma is spraying whipped cream into her mouth. “We were both up early this morning while you were sleeping the day away, and she and I got to talking about how you’ve been doing lately with all of the changes in your department at the university and, well, life. You’ve found a good one in her. To be honest, I didn’t quite believe you when you said you’d gotten the balls to tell her you fancy her, but now I can see that you actually have.”

Killian scoffs all the while trying to stop the swirling of his stomach. “I wouldn’t lie to you about something like that.”

Except he definitely would.

“I know, little brother, but can you blame me for being hesitant? You’ve been in love with her for years. I didn’t think you’d ever actually act on it, especially after Milah.”

“Yeah, well, things happen. And it’s younger brother. There’s nothing little about me.”

Liam yawns, his eyes scrunching up in a way that reminds Killian of their mum weirdly enough. “If you say so. I think I might have to call it a night soon.”

“What? I don’t get to grill you on your dating life.”

Liam winks. “No. Those are my privileges as the elder brother.”

“That’s bullocks.”

“That’s life.”

“What’s life?” Emma wonders as she walks back into the room with a large mug topped in white cream with what he’s sure is cinnamon sprinkled on top. She carefully places it on the side table before sitting down and curling into his side. She pulls his arm over her shoulder, and he lightly tangles his fingers into the ends of her hair.

“Killian was trying to ask me about my dating life, but I told him I have elder brother privileges and don’t have to say a word.”

“He’s dating a woman named Elsa,” Emma blurts out, and Liam’s eyes practically bulge out of their sockets. “It’s only been a month, but he, as the two of you would say, fancies her.”

Killian’s entire body rumbles with laughter, and he’s never seen a sight so wonderful as Liam with his jaw dropped and cheeks reddened. Amazing. Emma is amazing for throwing Liam under the bus like that.

And maybe that’s why he leans over and presses his lips into Emma’s, tugging on her bottom lip and tasting hints of chocolate and cream, a kiss so sweet that he wants to taste it forever. Emma moans when his tongue runs across the seam of her lips, and the sound goes straight to his groin before Liam coughs and he’s brought back to where exactly he is and the situation he’s in.

That kiss wasn’t necessary, and he shouldn’t have done it.

(But he doesn’t regret it.)

“That’s the last time you and I ever share secrets, lass,” Liam grumbles, but Killian knows that there’s no ill will there. “And if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to go to sleep, so if the two of you could – ”

“The old man is kicking us out,” Emma teases before getting up and grabbing her mug, taking such a large chug of it that the remnants of whipped cream remain above her upper lip.

“You’re walking in dangerous territory, Ms. Nolan.”

“I’d care, but you’re not the Jones brother I like to impress.”

Liam huffs and waves her away. “Goodnight, love. I’ll see the two of you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning,” Killian tells Liam. “If Santa comes down the chimney, pretend to be asleep so he can leave you your lump of coal.”

Liam salutes. “Aye, aye, captain.”

Killian follows Emma upstairs until they’re in her bedroom and she’s sitting down on her bed downing the rest of her hot chocolate while she flips through the channels on the frankly miniscule television on her dresser. It’s quiet, nothing but the brief sounds of the TV and the hum of the heater, but Killian’s mind is loud with thoughts of Emma and Liam’s conversation and if she really did tell Liam that she loves Killian or if that’s something Liam inferred on his own. Or maybe she was simply keeping up the charade.

This week has fucked with his mind, and doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore.

“KJ.”

“KJ.”

“KJ!”

“What?” he jumps, blinking until he can focus on Emma. “Did you say something, love?”

“I asked where your head was because I’m pretty sure it was in a galaxy far, far away.”

“Something like that,” he awkwardly chuckles while scratching behind his ear. “You ready to go to bed?”

Her head cocks to the side, but she tells him yes before they both go into her small bathroom and shuffle around each other to go through their routines like they’ve done this every night for years and not simply the past few days. Soon enough, all the lights are turned off and they’re settling into their spots to sleep, breaths evening out.

Until they aren’t.

“Kilian?”

He turns his head and inches closer to Emma and can see the green of her eyes in the darkness. “Yes?”

“When you told Liam you were dating someone, you could have said anyone. You could have made a girl up, said someone at the university he didn’t know. You didn’t have to say me.”

“No, I supposed I didn’t.”

“So why did you?”

Killian swallows and closes his eyes. He doesn’t know how to answer this. She’s right. He shouldn’t have said her name. He should have said someone else’s, but he didn’t.

“Was it perhaps,” she continues as her toes drag along his calf and he feels the soft smoothness of her legs underneath her ridiculous snowman pajamas, “that you wanted it to be me? You wanted it to be true?”

“Emma – ”

Her hand reaches out to cup his face, palm against cheek, and sparks ignite over his skin. “Because I wish it was all true. I – ”

There have been times in his life where all Killian longed for was to hear the lilt of Emma’s voice. Now is not one of those times. Now, as his hands curl into the soft strands of her hair and his lips capture hers in the fiercest kiss they’ve shared in the past few days, all he cares about hearing is the little moan he got a glimpse of earlier making a reappearance in his life.

It does.

Almost too quickly, but Killian’s not complaining.

This is them kissing because they want to, even more so than all of the other times before, and Killian is absolutely savoring every little thing about Emma that he can – the soft lips, the insistent kiss, the sounds she makes.

God, the sounds.

She tastes like hot chocolate even more than she did before. It’s suddenly his favorite drink.

“So was this?” Emma starts.

“Yes,” he murmurs against her lips before trailing his teeth across her jaw and down her neck, grazing there and tasting the sweet salt of her skin. “Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

Emma’s resulting laugh quickly turns into a gasp when he nips at her neck, at her earlobe, down at her collarbone. He can’t stop tasting her, touching her, wanting to be with her. This week has been a torturous tease of what they could be, of what he’s wanted them to be, and now that it’s apparently real, he can’t seem to stop himself.

Emma tells him that she doesn’t want him to.

Killian is unsure of how much time he spends with his lips over Emma’s, the two of them getting to know each other in the deep light of the television, but frankly, he couldn’t give a damn about the lack of light. Liquid fire is running through his veins, and with every touch of Emma’s hand down his back and every caress of her lips, he melts a little bit more into Emma despite the fact that she still has on the snowman pajamas.

They’re endearing and very much Emma, and he nearly complains when she tugs down the pants, but that’s only nearly. He’s made a lot of stupid choices in his life, but refusing Emma Swan won’t be one of them.

“Can you be quiet for me, love?”

She nods her head, a smile on her face, and then he’s kissing her again while he pushes inside. She’s warm and wet and fucking glorious, and it takes everything in him not to gasp away from Emma and groan loud enough not only to wake up David and Mary Margaret but the entire town of Storybrooke.

That would certainly be something.

“I thought you said we were supposed to be quiet.”

He harshly thrusts into her at her tease, but she’s right. They are supposed to be quiet. Mostly they are, but the whispered grunts and quiet mumbles of each other’s names seem to fill the room and to mix in with the slapping of skin and the murmur of the television. Killian has to bite down onto Emma’s shoulder to tamper down his own cries of pleasure before turning his head into her ear to whisper to her.

“Fuck, you feel good like this.” His hands can’t stop moving over her, even with the limited space between them and around them, and Killian feels every hitch of Emma’s breath and hears every creak of this old mattress. His hand runs over her shirt, finding her breast underneath, and Emma buries her face in his neck as she cries out at the touch. “I have a feeling you’d feel good in any way.”

Her nails scratch against his back, and he swears that he hears her tell him to shut up.

Killian’s hand leaves her breast to find where they’re joined, rubbing in circles there as his peak gets closer and closer, waves of tension and pleasure washing over him as his heart beats faster than it ever has and every feeling in his body is focused on this and nothing else as Emma falls apart and he follows her soon after.

Their chests both heave as Killian falls off of being on top of Emma and onto the mattress, and the grin on his face has to stretch all the way to his eyes. Emma curls into him, resting her head on his chest, and he wraps his arm around her shoulder before kissing her hair.

This week doesn’t make a lick of sense, and he definitely doesn’t care.

“Believe it or not, that’s the first time I’ve ever had sex in my parents’ house.”

Killian barks out a laugh, one that he’s sure can be heard by everyone in the house, but he doesn’t give a damn, not anymore. “Funny, it’s the same for me.”

Emma slaps his chest before sitting up and pulling her messy, slightly damp hair into a bun. She’s still got on the ridiculous pajama shirt. “This has been a weird week, KJ.”

“But a good one, aye?”

“Yeah,” she smiles, leaning down and pressing her mouth over is, “the best. I’ll have to surprise you with your brother more often.”

“Good. I’m glad you know that I’ll have high standards for us going forward. Just wanted to state that upfront.”

Emma shakes her head as she laughs and places her knees on either side of his thighs to straddle his lap. “Merry Christmas, you idiot.”

“Merry Christmas, my love.”

-/-

They never tell Liam that it was all a lie because, in truth, none of it was.

It seems that everyone knew that but them.

Two Christmases later, there are rings on both of their left hands, and David finally lets Killian be on Emma’s team in charades.

They obviously win.

[tvmoviechristmas]

A Christmas Surprise (BET, 2020)

I don’t go to places. Places come to me.

Starring: Wendy Raquel Robinson, Keesha Sharp, Katelynn Bennett, Mustapha J. Slack

Plot Synopsis: A mother gets a Christmas surprise when her daughter announces she's engaged. Now the holiday is thrown into chaos as she deals with her less-than-impressive and soon-to-be son-in law, his overbearing mother and an impending wedding. (x)

In My Humble Opinion: It was 1 AM. I was watching my 4th made-for-TV Christmas premiere of the evening. I was tired. I was wondering if I was pushing myself too far that evening.

And then Wendy Raquel Robison appeared on screen with a fan. In the opening scene, she wrestled a child in a Christmas decoration aisle. She sang. She laughed maniacally. She did her best Wendy Williams impression. It was a performance that had an energy that so many of these movies lacked and it was something I sorely needed as a pick-me-up as I was battling through so many performances that were willing to be pleasant and only pleasant. 

A Christmas Surprise has a ton of sequences that are allowed to brim with comic energy. Awkward musical performances and paint fights and dueling wedding toasts abound throughout. Do all of them work to their full comedic effect? Not really, but to see a movie really lean into the comedy side of things was delightful.

That’s not what makes A Christmas Surprise worth watching though. No, what makes A Christmas Surprise  worthwhile is that it takes its characters seriously. You read the logline and you assume that the film is just going to make Wendy Raquel Robinson’s mother character a villain character who needs to learn a lesson by the end and have that be that. While the first thirty minutes of the movie leans into that vibe, it quickly course corrects and allows the nuance of the situation and its characters shine through.

Is Wendy Raquel Robinson’s character perfect? Not by a longshot, and the movie makes sure to call her out. However, the movie also makes sure the audience knows that she has been put into a really shitty situation and that she is owed understanding and apologies from other characters as well. The movie lets characters talk their problems out and be more than just archetypes. It takes the plot seriously, and as a result you take the movie seriously. 

A Christmas Surprise is a Christmas comedy that actually wants to make you laugh which was made it stand out to me at first. However, it is also a movie that wants you to invest in its story, which is why I am going to remember it over the long haul.

Watch If: You think the best plan is to be supportive, if you think it’s tacky to send a Lyft to pick up your friends from the airport or if you love giving (surprises) but not receiving (surprises).

Skip If: You dress like a Prince wannabe, you think Santa would love it if you stole stockings from a child or if your mother is the Ghost of Christmas Past.

Final Rating: ★ ★ ★ (★) ☆

If you like this blog, please consider donating to my Kofi page! You can also donate money to kbange@gmail.com through either Venmo or CashApp. Thank you!

[fivie]

RATING TACKY CHRISTMAS MOVIES PT. 2

I’ve been way too sick to keep up with this as much as I’d hoped but now it’s time for ‘A WISH FOR CHRISTMAS’ starring and executive produced by Lacey Chabert who is truly ageing like a fine wine, like wow I haven’t seen her in anything since Mean Girls and hoo mama

This one gets off to a flying start with an opening title in the exact shade of a green screen. Like??? Who did this.

The premise of the movie is that Lacey Chabert has two personality traits which are that she loves Christmas and that she’s a bit of a pushover. After her boss steals her Cool Idea at work and takes the credit, she runs into a Santa with the fakest-looking beard ever and he grants her CHRISTMAS WISH to have the courage to stand up for herself, though it will only last 48 hours. To avoid confusion, every time Lacey Chabert is about to use her magically granted courage, the camera zooms in on her and extremely loud chimes sound and sometimes, but not always, there’s a weird ripple effect on the background and it is just as amazing as you’re imagining. It’s a little bit ‘That’s So Raven’, a little bit ‘Carrie’.

So Lacey Chabert uses her Temporary Magic Courage to call out her boss at the office Christmas party, which causes her boss’s boss, whose name I believe is Peter, to be super impressed by her and ask her to come with him to pitch her super good idea to some big business guy. (What’s the idea? What does this company do? I haven’t the faintest idea.) Peter has one personality trait which is that he doesn’t like Christmas. Also Lacey Chabert and her friend tell us, the audience, that he’s attractive so that we know that is also a trait he has.

Anyway Peter and Lacey Chabert have to travel to the cutesy Christmassy town of White Ridge for this business meeting because of course they do, and possibly my favourite fucking thing of the whole movie is that it’s only after they get there and Peter is recognised by a childhood friend that he reveals that White Ridge is his HOMETOWN and his entire family still lives there HOLY SHIT WHY WOULDN’T YOU MENTION THAT. The mean businessman keeps trying to cancel the meeting but Lacey Chabert is a GIRL BOSS now, for 48 hours, and keeps them on track. She meets Peter’s entire family who, naturally, love Christmas and immediately love her also. There is obvious Unresolved Beef between Peter and his father and I so dearly hoped it would be because Peter told him he didn’t like Christmas and his father, in full Santa costume, cast him out of the house, but it turns out to be because Peter dropped out of law school to instead make his vaguely-established company. Lacey Chabert uses her Girl Boss powers to elbow her way into the family drama. A number of wholesome Christmas activities are undertaken and it’s never mentioned how weird it is for Lacey Chabert to be doing all this with her boss and his family all of whom are complete strangers to her - even Peter himself, as it was earlier established that she’s never been brave enough to speak to him before. The dialogue is all very stilted and also sounds like it might have been written by a bot who used words that are technically correct but sound just slightly off in context. Lacey Chabert painstakingly explains what Christmas crackers are to Peter who apparently is an alien and needs this explanation. Peter remarks on how ‘bold’ Lacey Chabert is and they make attempts at flirtatious banter but unfortunately there is zero believable chemistry between them and also Peter delivers all his lines like 95% of his brainpower is focused towards what he’s going to have for dinner later.

The big meeting happens and the mean businessman is not only mean but also rude and misogynistic, Lacey Chabert is a Girl Boss and won’t stand for it, and they fail to get the deal or the contract or whatever it was. Peter is very cross. He does not care that mean businessman was sexist and belittling towards Lacey Chabert; he says that she shouldn’t have taken it personally and that mean businessman was a client, not their friend, because as we all know it’s fine for people who aren’t your friends to be sexist and belittling towards you. Lacey Chabert is guilt-ridden and sees the error of her ways. Her 48 hours of magical courage run out but she lets herself into mean businessman’s limo and, in a scene we DO NOT GET TO SEE, talks him into signing the deal/contract/whatever.

The movie ends back in the office, because Peter makes his employees work on Christmas Day, but as per Lacey Chabert’s suggestion he brings them gifts and Christmas dinner and pays them double time instead of time and a half and everyone is just so super happy, so it’s fine actually, it’s fine!! Lacey Chabert turns up with a new hairstyle and gives Peter mean businessman’s contract. He is flabbergasted but still does not apologise for berating her for showing basic self-respect in the face of total rudeness. They kiss in the foyer. Peter reconciled with his dad offscreen and now his family are also at the office. Everyone is so happy to be at work on Christmas day. The super fake looking Santa from the start shows up to give Lacey Chabert a conspiratorial wink. Lacey Chabert and Peter kiss again under the mistletoe, and it is somehow, impossibly, even emptier than the first time. The movie ends, as all cheap Christmas movies do: abruptly. It’s over. Wow.

-

Top line from the movie:

Peter: (dead eyed and without inflection) You really are somethin’.

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Overall rating: I think this had a budget of like $12. The chimes and on-screen distortion whenever Lacey Chabert got courageous were extremely funny and add a least a point and a half on their own. Peter made everyone work on Christmas and should be guillotined. 4.5/10

[hookedontaronfics]

I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 2

Title: I’ll Be Home For Christmas - Part 2 Pairing: Taron x OC Rating: T Warning: None A/N: Merry Christmas to all of my lovely readers! Thank you for being here on this journey with me, for your likes, comments and reblogs. You have been a blessing to me, and I hope to be the same for you, a tiny little corner of the internet that is a welcome retreat from the real world. I wish you peace and joy and blessings in the new year ahead! Love, Jess! X

Andi woke up before the alarm, before the first fingers of daylight had begun to slip past the window shades and creep across the carpet. She shivered in the chilly room, realizing Taron had stolen most of the blankets. He looked adorable though, so she had a hard time being mad at him for that, and wrapped her arms around him as she snuggled in closer with him, if only to be able to tug the blankets back over to her side. Taron sighed softly in his sleep, his brow wrinkling slightly before a small smile settled on his face. She considered herself very lucky to be with someone who still caused butterflies in her stomach, even after all these years.

She dozed off again for a little bit, but soon her bladder demanded to be appeased, so she slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her sleeping husband, or Tibbs for that matter, who was still cocooned in blankets at the foot of the bed. She took care of her business and padded downstairs in her slippers, pulling a robe around herself as she went. She paused for a long moment in the dark living room, lit up from the moonshine, drawing patterns from the tree on the wall.

“Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse,” she recited softly from memory, reveling in the way the quiet house almost felt like it was holding its breath, a hushed whisper of excitement for the day ahead, even if she and Taron wouldn’t actually be home for it. She walked to the kitchen and got the coffee started, seeing as the alarm would be going off soon enough. They had a 4.5-hour drive ahead of them before they’d be in Aberystwyth, cozy and warm with his family.

She grabbed her favorite mug out of the cabinet, a tacky burgundy mug with two narwhals on it that read “I will narwahlways love you.” It had been a silly Valentine’s Day gift from Taron, but also the day he’d asked her to move in with him once they’d decided they were serious after an on-again, off-again relationship. Sure, there had been bumps in the road, and it hadn’t always been magical, but sometimes Andi was convinced it was what made them stronger now; they had fought hard to get where they were, and they were happy. That path didn’t have to be perfect as long as they had arrived there in the end; and she knew without a doubt they had earned it.

She poured herself some coffee, doctoring it with honey cream and sugar, making it probably sweeter than any coffee had a right to be, but it was the way she loved it all the same. It made her think of warm summer days and sunflower fields. She was lost in thought, sipping on her coffee, when Taron snuck up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and placing a kiss on her neck.

“Merry Christmas, love,” he said in her ear, nuzzling gently into her neck and sighing contentedly.

“Merry Christmas, T,” Andi replied in a whisper, her eyes tearing up slightly at the sweet, affectionate way he was holding her. Those baby hormones were certainly something else, she thought ruefully as she brushed the tears away quickly. “There’s coffee ready for you,” she added.

“Coffee sounds delicious,” he said, making no move to get some, still cradling his wife. He placed a few more kisses along her neck, his fingers deftly untying the robe and finding their way under the hem of her cami, caressing the skin of her stomach and waist and leaving goosebumps over her skin. Andi turned to face him, kissing him full on the lips, relishing the feel as he responded in kind. He walked her back until her butt ran into the counter gently, their kisses hungry. Andi let the robe slip from her shoulders to the floor, no longer aware of the morning chill in the house. She felt very warm, indeed, as Taron���s hands found purchase at her waist, pulling her hips against his so she moaned softly into his mouth.

“Don’t you dare start something you can’t finish, babe,” she said, pulling away to look at him for a moment, full of desire but aware of the ticking time clock too.

“Must I wait?” he groaned slightly, running a hand over his face and trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes.

“I’m not about to keep your family waiting while we… have fun,” she snickered, stealing one more kiss from him before going to pour him some coffee, missing the pout he gave her in response.

“But I’ve been waiting over a month,” he whined.

“That’s your own fault for being away so long,” she teased Taron, handing him a mug of steaming hot liquid, made up just the way he liked. She had that down to an art now. “I’m going to start getting ready, okay?” she said, kissing his cheek quickly and returning upstairs. Taron, for his part, fed Tibbs, sipped his coffee, and tried desperately hard to calm himself down. He knew he needed to see his family, since it’d been even longer than his absence from Andi, and they had news to share that he was incredibly excited about as well.

He eventually joined his wife in getting ready, donning a comfortable blazer over a plain shirt and jeans and, as usual, ready before she was. He went to pack the remaining gifts in the car, and by the time he returned Andi was putting on her coat.

“It’s warmed up a bit outside,” he remarked as he returned. “I’ve fed Tibbs so he’ll be good to go until we get back home and you look absolutely beautiful,” he smiled, taking her in, appreciating the way the blush rose in her cheeks. That he could still do that after all the time they’d been together always warmed his heart a bit.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, almost shyly.

“Well I do, and I’m a damn lucky man,” he replied sweetly, pulling out a long, skinny black box and holding it out to her.

“Taaaron, we promised, no gifts,” she said, shaking her head.

“Then consider it an “I’m sorry I’ve been gone so long” gift, not a Christmas gift. But I saw it, and thought of you.”

Andi cracked the box open slowly and gasped at the necklace inside. Really it was simple, a silver chain with a purple gemstone rendered in the shape of a bougainvillea flower. But she had been obsessed with those flowers on their honeymoon in Santorini, Greece, and it had been one of the best vacations they’d ever had together. Every day had been stunningly perfect, and the memory associated with those flowers was so strong she could nearly hear the waves on the beach as Taron carefully removed the necklace from the box and fastened it around her neck.

“Thank you, this means a lot,” she whispered. “It does make me feel closer to you,” she grinned.

“As soon as I wrap with this film, we should go back, before you get too far along in your pregnancy to travel. Just you and me and the beach and no worries at all,” he smiled.

“Is that a promise, husband of mine?” she asked, and he nodded his head vigorously.

“Abso-bloody-lutely,” Taron grinned, his dimples popping out and making her swoon.

“Well, I broke our rule too, and got you something,” Andi smiled, pulling out her gift and handing it to Taron. 

“Another gift?” he said, shaking his head. “You really shouldn’t have,” he said as he quickly unwrapped it, pulling the box open to find a glitzy pair of sunnies from his favorite brand. “Andi, you really shouldn’t have!” he exclaimed, knowing just how much that particular pair cost, and it was a pretty penny indeed.

“Yeah, well, I wanted to so I did, and I know how you adore those. So put them on your handsome face and let’s get out the door!” she grinned. 

He pulled her to him and kissed her sweetly, the way his eyelashes brushed his cheeks when he closed his eyes making her swoon again. “Thank you, darling, truly,” he said as he slid the sunnies on his face and looked every bit the movie star Andi knew him to be. 

“These were a good choice,” she grinned, admiring him a bit.

They managed to lock up the house and pack themselves into the car, both in a cheery mood as they sang Christmas carols, only stopping once to grab breakfast sandwiches when they both got hungry. They watched the sun rise over the still-green hills of Wales, and she knew how happy Taron was being able to spend the holiday with his family. They were lovely people, and she always felt like part of the family when they were there.

“Do you think Mari and Rosie will like what I bought them?” Andi asked suddenly, making Taron chuckle.

“Of course they will. They’re obsessed with Frozen right now, so anything to do with it they’ll absolutely love. I think you did just fine.”

“Okay, well, I just hadn’t seen them in a while, and I know you sent me ideas of things to buy since you wouldn’t be here to do it yourself. But it still makes me nervous,” she admitted.

“My family loves you, Andi. There’s literally nothing to be nervous about,” Taron replied, grabbing her hand and squeezing it supportively.

“What about the baby?” she asked, biting her lip.

“Ahhh,” Taron sighed softly, figuring there was more to her anxiety than just the presents themselves. “Mum will be over the moon you know. She’s never tried to pressure me about kids, but I think she’d be incredibly excited to be a grandmother. And I’m not exactly getting younger here,” he smiled. “I think it’s the right time in my life, and it’s the right thing for us too. I’m excited, and there should be nothing else that you’re feeling about it either.”

“But that’s just… not realistic, Taron. I am anxious. And I’m scared, that we’ll lose this one too. I’m worried that I won’t be a good mum. I’m excited, but also terrified in equal measure,” she said softly. “Because something we’ve wanted, something we’ve tried for a few times, something that could be so good, could so easily be ripped away from me and I don’t know if I’m strong enough to handle that.”

“Oh, darling,” Taron said gently, glancing at her quickly before training his eyes back on the road. “You are the strongest person in the world I know, and you’ll be the best damn mum there is. And we will get through whatever comes our way together. I understand the undercurrent of fear; I’m not immune to it. But I also want to hope, and I want to be excited, and until I have a reason to not be those things, I’m going to let that be my guiding principle, yeah?”

Andi nodded her head, knowing she was being overly emotional but also, in some ways, unable to control it. She just wanted so very badly for this to have the happy ending they desired. They had dreamed about it together for awhile; spoken about being parents in hushed whispers at night. To be able to share that dream with the man she adored, the man she loved and had devoted her entire life to, it felt like she had finally arrived at her purpose in life. She rested her hands on her belly; she had begun to show slightly, the barest bump she could only dream the best future for.

They were comfortably silent for a little bit, the strains of music the only sound in the car. The rolling hills soon gave way to the glittering water of the sea, grey clouds scudding across the sky in a hurry on their way to who knows where. Andi began to recognize some of the landmarks along the way, and soon they were cruising into Aberystwyth, Christmas lights twinkling and doing their best to outshine the sunlight. She breathed a small sigh of relief, happy to have finally made it, the place feeling at once familiar even though she had only been a handful of times.

Taron’s sisters ran out to greet them as soon as they had pulled up to the house and parked. Squealing excitedly, they hugged Taron tightly, and he hugged them back. “My stars, how you’ve grown!” he exclaimed cutely. Soon his mother and stepdad had come out to help them bring everything in, spreading their gifts out under the tree along with the others.

They talked and laughed together so much, Andi’s sides were aching from it all, and her face nearly hurt from all the smiling. The food was delicious, and she ate until she felt she nearly might pop. Watching Taron with his family filled her with a certain kind of warmth, and she was grateful to be a part of it at all. The girls, of course, couldn’t wait to open presents, and so they all settled in the living room after the meal, passing out gifts to one another, the girls absolutely loving their Anna and Elsa dolls and wanting to play with them immediately.

Despite Andi’s nerves over her and Taron’s news, she really needn’t be; when Taron’s mum opened a gift with a sweet little onesie made to look like the iconic orange velvet Kingsman jacket, her hands instantly went to her mouth and she nearly cried. It was the sweetest thing, getting to share in the excitement of that moment. “Well it’s about damn time, son!” Taron’s mum teased him, beyond thrilled for them, and soon Andi was having to tell her all the details too, which she didn’t mind one bit.

They ended up cozying up on the couches to watch a movie, and Rosie and Mari snuggled up to Taron on either side, leaving Andi to hug the arm of the couch instead of her husband. When his mum tried to correct them though, Andi just laughed and waved off the concern. She would never get enough of seeing Taron with kids, to be honest, especially as he was going to be a dad soon himself. Everything about this Christmas Day with his family reminded her of that, and she couldn’t feel happier.

The day had worn on and soon they decided it was time to head on home. Of course his mum offered for them to stay in the guest room, as she always did, concerned about them driving home late at night, but Taron seemed keen on getting back home, as he hadn’t really had much chance to enjoy being home at all since he’d arrived. His mum insisted on packing them some leftovers to take home, telling Taron, once again, that he needed to get some meat on his bones. Andi and Taron shared an eyeroll behind her back, but she knew he loved and appreciated his mum very much. Hugs and kisses and wishes of “wish you could stay longer!” were exchanged all around, and soon they were back in their car and headed back to London.

“I’m kind of sad to see Christmas over already,” Andi said wistfully.

“Who said it had to be over once we got home, eh?” Taron snickered lightly. “We can celebrate in our own way.”

“You’re quite naughty, you know,” she just laughed lightly, knowing exactly what he was hinting at, not so subtly.

“What!” He exclaimed innocently. “I’ve been home for a whole day and have yet to enjoy my beautiful, pregnant might I add, wife! A man’s got needs.”

“Uh-huh,” Andi just laughed, though she couldn’t deny her feelings for him too. “Today has really been just perfect though,” she smiled over at him.

“It has been,” he agreed. “And I am grateful I didn’t miss this one,” he said, raising her hand to his lips and placing a sweet kiss on the back of her hand.

“Me too,” she said softly. “It wouldn’t have been as magical without you.”

“It wouldn’t have been Christmas at all for me without you,” Taron said earnestly. “You are my whole world, Andi. I hope I never leave you with a doubt about that again.”

“Oh, T. I’ve always known that. I think, just facing this new adventure, feeling like I was bearing that news alone, was really difficult for me. But we’re good now. You’re here, and you know, and we’re going to be doing this together from now on.”

“Yes we are,” he agreed. “You won’t feel alone in this, not a damn minute, I promise.”

They talked off and on some more, sharing ideas and plans for the future ahead of them, but Andi started feeling incredibly tired, happy but worn out from the day. She tried hard to stay awake, partly for Taron’s sake, but eventually she lost the fight, drifting off to sleep, her head against the window. Her breath left little fog patterns on the glass as she snoozed lightly. Taron couldn’t help but smile to himself, just completely grateful for this moment with her, a moment that felt all too precious.

When they finally made it safely home, he didn’t bother trying to wake her. He went to the front door first and unlocked it, leaving it open a crack, just enough for him to be able to push it open without his hands. He returned to the car, carefully opening the passenger side door. He reached across his sleeping wife, unbuckling her seat belt, and then ever-so-carefully maneuvering her out of the seat and into his arms, lifting her up and carrying her inside.

“Hmmmmm, Taron?” she asked sleepily, her head resting against his shoulder as he climbed up the stairs slowly.

“We’re home now,” he said gently.

“I fell asleep?” she asked, her eyes fluttering open slightly.

“Just a bit,” he grinned. “But you can stay sleeping, it’s okay.”

“Oh, but I was supposed to stay awake for you,” she giggled lightly. “You know, for reasons,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows at him playfully, but the sleep was still heavy in her eyes.

“There will always be another day, babe. You need your beauty sleep, now that you’re a mama,” he said cutely, carrying her to their bedroom and setting her gently in the bed.

“God I love you,” she said softly as he leaned over her gently and kissed her, sweet and slow, enjoying the feel of her lips against his.

“I know,” he said against her lips, his bright green eyes meeting her deep chocolate brown ones. They held the gaze for a long moment, feelings shared but not needing to be expressed out loud. It was almost as if their two hearts were beating as one, and soon, they would add a third to their little home.

Taron left her briefly to bring in their presents from the car, to make sure Tibbs was okay and to secure the rest of the house. Andi wriggled out of her pants and sweater and tossed them on the floor before snuggling into the covers, pulling them around herself. Right here, this moment, was exactly where she wanted to be. She checked her phone for a moment, smiling over the text messages and social media wishes of “Merry Christmas!” from her colleagues and friends. She responded to as many as she could until Taron returned to the bedroom. He also mostly tossed his clothes aside, crawling in in just his boxers, exhaustion from driving all day working its way into him.

“We’ll have to figure out a way to reveal our news to everyone else soon,” Andi smiled as she got comfortable with Taron, her fingers finding purchase under the covers on the smooth skin of his chest.

“I’m sure we will,” he said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. “Something cute and creative,” he said, his eyelids already drooping closed. “But for now, sleep,” he sighed.

“Oh I guess,” she giggled, well aware that she was in no position to argue. “Sweet dreams, my love,” she said, nestling herself into the crook of his arm, the warmth of his body familiar and reassuring. All she knew was that the past two days had been near perfect, at least once Taron had gotten home. She had to laugh at her anger earlier, the way pregnancy made everything feel sharper, more in focus, more intense, the highs much higher and the lows that much lower. They were certainly in for a ride, she thought, as Taron’s breathing slowed and she could tell he had drifted off. He was never one to waste a moment of sleep, but she didn’t mind it so much. The quiet, peaceful moments were always where she felt most at home. And wherever Taron was, that’s where she belonged.

“Merry Christmas, darling,” she whispered into the quiet stillness of the room, brushing her fingers lightly over his forehead, brushing his already-messy hair aside. Right here, right now, this moment, was the greatest feeling of home of all. As that thought warmed her heart, she felt the sweet siren song of sleep calling, and she willingly succumbed to slumber, happier than she’d ever felt before.

Wishing you and yours the merriest holiday season and peace and joy in the new year to come!