#so. yeah christmas has generally just been a really shitty holiday for me for Years

[finalhaunts]

@ december babies, is it a common experience for your birthday to be brushed aside in favor of celebrating it alongside Christmas or is this just me

[princesssmars]

holly jolly!

an abby anderson x reader based on my abby winter drabble !

wc : 15.718

contains : fluff, angst and smut . fxf relationship. fem!reader. switch! abby and reader. oral and penetrative sex. strap-on yippee. past abby x owen ewwww. owen hate bc i hate him and its funny. reader is a skier and abby does hockey! shitty dad for reader sorry girls. slight alcoholism sorry girls again. the reader is described as slightly tall i know yall been wanting taller readers. reader is kind of bitchy and abby loves it my fave dynamic (dynamic and pretty much the rest inspired by the little ruse go read it).

a/n : sorry i never got over my drabble guys. i dont know who exactly made hockey!abby but ive read em all so big creds to @angelkissiies @millersaurora @whatwouldsylwrite (and @eightstarr for calling abby princess) everyone else smoochies ily <3 made reader a skier because ive been obsessing over the olympics and i watched mollys game and thought it would be cool if i made a skier reader instead of a figure skater. ballerina next time if yall will indulge my delusions.

christmas has always been a bittersweet holiday.

you can remember the good parts from your childhood. picking out your first stocking with your mom. when your younger brother hid in the cupboard to try and catch santa. when your baby brother got cookie dough all over the kitchen, even on the ceiling. or when you were five years old and your dad gifted you your very first pairs of skis.

but it was hard to remember when the bad could get really bad. constant days spent out in the cold and snow, redoing your runs over and over until your legs burned and your back ached. your days that were supposed to be full of vacationing and fun instead filled with aches and falls and countless arguments once you realized you could start talking back.

some of the few friends you've had over the years tried to get you to focus on the good times and not the bad. that dwelling in the past wouldn't help you move forward. when you were younger you'd just call them assholes and move on, but recently it didn't seem worth the effort. that's probably why you started college with no close friends.

it was fine. you had your smarts, which helped you to get a full-ride scholarship when a skiing one fell through after a bad leg injury a few months back. because of that, your mom managed to convince your dad to get off of your ass for a while as you recovered. you had money thanks to your parents and you had your looks which would land you a hookup once in a blue moon.

you'd even made two acquaintances on campus, your roommate, tonya, who was pretty mellow and made sure not to bring the weed she smoked inside your dorm, and a girl named nora in one of your general ed classes whom you would partner up with often.

so yeah. it was fine. at least until the end of your freshman year.

you were running late for your ten am class, sleeping in because tonya had somehow managed to convince you to go to a small party with her last night and take body shots, and then when you were close to being drunk you saw one of your past hookups in the corner who you had dropped for getting way too attached way too quickly, so then you had to quickly find tonya and run back to your dorm-

youre in the middle of remembering ton's bird-like laugh when you nearly faceplanted into your front door when you ran full force into a hulking mass of a body.

the sound of them lightly cursing and asking if you were okay falls on deaf ears as you pick up your bag and hike it to your class, ignoring the stairs of the other students when you rush and plop into your seat.

luckily you manage to get yourself together afterwards, fixing yourself up at your dorm before heading to your next course with nora. as soon as you sit down she's teasing you about a video she saw of you getting wasted last night and you don't even have the energy to entertain her.

"well, instead of getting drunk off your ass again how about you join me tonight? one of my friends is on the hockey team and i got some nice ass tickets."

"c'mon, nora. hockey? seriously?"

"oh, im sorry ms. olympian, is hockey too good for you suddenly? just a bunch of women tossing a puck around too barbaric for you?"

"wait, you didnt say it was women's hockey."

"well, it is."

"..."

"..."

"what time does it start?"

at around five you're putting on a cute sweater and a puffer jacket before joining nora on the campus bus where she tries to quickly explain the rules of hockey to you in the span of five minutes. she asks how on earth you haven't been to one of the games or at least heard of the team's star breakout player. you have to carefully explain that you've had enough of sports to last a lifetime.

the indoor arena is packed, and you have to roughly squeeze and push multiple people out of the way to get by. nora starts laughing and tells you to leave the violence to the players and you brush her off. (for some reason she constantly loves to tease you.) when you both finally sit in your seats, you notice that they're behind the glass where the team players get out onto the ice and sit for breaks. nora suddenly bangs on the glass behind a player wearing an ANDERSON 20 jersey. the girl stands up and turns around and good god.

you weren't the shortest girl yourself, standing a couple inches over most girls you knew, but jesus she was easily almost six feet tall, and big, even if her jersey and gear probably made her look larger which really didn't help you focus. you liked the contrast of it with her face, bright, cute, and red from the cold as she talked to nora through the plexiglass. you were just about to admire the shape of her nose when her slightly unnerving blue eyes turned to you.

"hey, i recognize you!"

your brows pull in a deep scrunch.

"from this morning, you bumped into me and nearly knocked me on my ass."

"oh my god, i had a feeling that was you!" you hear the familiar noise of nora laughing at your pain. "jeez, how drunk did you get last night?"

"would you just- look, im sorry about earlier. i was hungover and rushing to class."

she smiles and shakes her head. "its chill, dont worry about it. nora, are you going to that party at derek's frat after? i swear he was begging me to come but i wasnt too sure."

"abby, everyone asks you to go to their parties and you never do! live a little." nora pauses before wrapping her arm around your shoulders.

you knew she was about to say something to piss you off.

"even little y/n here is gonna come and properly apologize to someone for once. isn't that right, hun?"

great.

"well, that wasn't my plan for tonight. at all." you say before picking up your giant hockey-themed plastic cup and taking a sip, hoping the chill of your slushie numbs out the rest of this conversation.

abby adjusts some of her straps and her helmet before resting her hand on the glass, noticing how the rest of her teammates are getting ready to go out on the ice. "well, i'd really like to see you there. is there any way i could convince you to come?"

"i don't know, is there?"

"how about... when i win, you come to the party with me."

you couldn't help but roll your eyes so hard they hurt. leave it to nora to be friends with the walking cliche of an arrogant sports player. you could've been spending this moment in your dorm watching a dumb hallmark movie about a businesswoman falling in love with a farmer while eating chips and drinking a self-indulgent capri sun.

"and if you lose?"

the announcer over the loudspeaker called for the game to start and the players started making their way onto the ice. abby winks at you before turning around and joining the rest of her team.

"trust me, i won't."

you scoffed and flopped back into your hard seat, sucking almost angrily at the bright red straw in your slushie to ignore nora's look.

"are all of your friends that annoying?"

"kind of. thought you'd enjoy it though. birds of a feather."

not bothering to entertain her, you focused on the game that was starting in front of you.

you could understand the basics of the game; one team had to get the puck into the other goal several times until they won. you had a brief understanding of some of the other rules, mostly because your father explained every winter olympic sport to you in great detail when you were twelve. it became so boring at one point that you fell asleep and banged your head on the coffee table, startling the both of you so much he decided to let you go to bed.

but as the game goes on you have to admit that anderson is frighteningly good at what she does. she moves gracefully and quickly on the ice, so well you think to yourself that if she ever tires of hockey she could seriously pursue ice skating, but when an opposing player gets too aggressive with her she returns it with force. she's like an avalanche on skates.

when the game ends you can't tell whether you're shocked or agitated. your team won in what nora called a 'total fucking landslide', the bright 6-1 lighting up the scoreboard like a smack in the face. it felt slightly awkward that everyone around you was yelling and celebrating while you were sitting statue still in your seat.

nora could probably sense your discomfort and gently pulled you up, telling you that the both of you could throw your things away before meeting up with some more friends of hers before heading to the party.

so awesome.

her friends were nice enough, a psychology student named leah and her boyfriend jordan who was some type of biology major. they seemed happy to meet you but happier to make googoo eyes at each other and go to the party, which meant you most likely wouldn't see them again once you got there unless you stumble upon the two in a hallway closet or bathroom. there was also mel, a nursing student who seemed slightly closed off but agreed with you when you mentioned this party would probably be loud and gross. a bunch of athletes celebrating a win is a recipe for disaster.

"finally, the campion herself arrives!" jordan cheers and raises his bag of chips up to abby who's walking up to your group, wearing a simple college sweatshirt and some black sweatpants. for something so basic she makes it look good, and if you didn't have any integrity and weren't pissed off about this party bet thing you'd tell her so. but you are pissed off and still have about half of your integrity, so you keep your mouth shut.

when she bumps into your shoulder with a 'told ya i'd win' you're about to reply with a snarky remark when a tall man with dark blonde hair and another with tanned skin and brown hair come up beside her and raise her up on their shoulders, chanting 'anderson, anderson!' on repeat. you look to nora who just rolls her eyes and tells you that she'll introduce you in the car.

you're all split into two cars, with you riding with the two strange men along with abby and nora. they tell you the guysin the front seats are owen and manny. also that they've all known each other since they were teens which definitely doesn't make you feel like an outsider. but manny keeps trying to joke around with you so you don't feel too awkward which you can appreciate. even if you don't really laugh.

when the car stops at a giant white frat house you arent surprised in the slightest. you were about to prepare yourself for another night of drinking and finding another hookup when abby throws her arm over your shoulder and decides that she likes you enough to spend most of the night by your side.

she walks with you to get drinks and then leaves to go celebrate with some other friends while you sit and nurse your drink for a while. it leaves you some time to think, asking yourself why you're acting like you're trapped here when you could just leave whenever you want, but you don't understand why you don't. maybe it's because you'll use any excuse to have a good reason to drown out your problems with alcohol. or because you're lonely but don't feel like admitting it.

after around half an hour she comes back and sits on one side of you while you talk to nora and joins in. she asks about your major, if you're from seattle, and how you met nora. after a while you stop rolling your shoulders when she asks a new question and settle into conversation with her. and after a few hours you learn more about her too, that her dad is a neurosurgeon and she's following in his footsteps with her pre-med major, but that as soon as she tried hockey she knew she wanted to do it forever. she tells you that she doesn't really like drinking, she knows most of the people on the other women's sports teams, that she used to date owen-

you choke on a sip of your vodka and nora pats your back with a chuckle. you were definitely off your game tonight. but besides that hiccup you have to admit talking to them is enjoyable. even their friend manny comes over and dares you to do shots with him and you were seriously about to do it before the girls talked you out of it.

over the next few weeks, you talk more and more to the anderson girl, to the point where you're staying up at night to talk to her over the phone and waking up to your roommate giggling in your face. once she was so tired after a game she started snoring and you would not let her forget it. just like she wouldn't let you forget the time you got wasted at a sorority party, got on top of the kitchen island, and danced to a city girls' song before she set you back on the floor.

you wouldn't ever admit it out loud, hell you had barely admitted it to yourself, but you had started to catch feelings for abby. there was nothing more mebarrasing and cliche to you than falling for your straight friend, and you really didnt want to be on eof those girls who did so. but in your defense, it was really hard not to. she was annoyingly pretty, lord knows how many times youe admired the freckles dusting her cheeks down to her shoulders. she was strong and smart and every other positive character trait your brain could conure up.

but the worst thing was just how nice she was to you.

in hindsight, the way everything fell into place was honestly the dumbest thing ever. you were at a county fair leah had heard about and asked you to come with her along with jordan and abby. obviously, the couple went in their own direction after a while, which left you and abby to wander around getting on the different rides and getting your reaction to abby eating her first-ever funnel cake. but then it was later, and the two of you had stopped at one of those rigged pop up games and you bet her twenty bucks that she wouldn't win, and if there was one thing you knew about abby it was that she took bets very seriously, so when she won and had to pick her prize you were a little confused when she picked your favorite animal and handed it to you.

when you asked her how she knew it was your favorite, all she could say was 'you said they were cool a few times and they're your profile picture on your private instagram, so i just put the pieces together.'

you went home and didnt talk to her for a week. or at least you tried to, because after a weekend of ignoring her calls and convincing tonya to bring you meals from the lunch hall the blonde girl banged her fist on your door and basically demanded you tell her what your problem was.

"i don't see what the big fucking deal is. i'm allowed a little bit of space from you, abigail."

she scoffed and you could see her tongue bunch in the corner of her mouth before her body pushed past yours until she was standing in the middle of your room.

"i'm not saying you can't have space and you know im not. i mean, one second we're having a good time together and then you just shut me out for no reason. if i did something wrong i need you to tell me. i can't read your damn mind, y/n."

sometimes it feels like you can, you think with a snort, feeling slightly embarrassed by the angry look on her face. you collect yourself and cross your arms over your chest. "i just don't feel like talking to you right now, so if you could please get out now-"

"nope. not gonna leave until you tell me what's wrong."

sometimes you could forget just how damn stubborn she was. it mostly popped up on the ice, and you had once overheard her coach say that if she wasn't such a great player she'd be benched most of the time.

"do you realize how annoying you're being right now?"

"don't care."

"i don't give a shit if you have muscles, i can still kick your ass."

"i'd really like to see you try, princess."

you groan and cover your face, but not before raising them in a choking gesture. you walk backward and sit on your bed, trying to take a breather before anderson follows you and resting on the ground in front of you, her large palms smoothing up and down your thighs.

"please, y/n, just...just tell me what i did and i'll fix it, i promise."

you've never been one to cry. or maybe you had been when you were a young child before your father taught you that 'crying doesn't achieve success, at least not the kind you want.' but you can see how much abby cares about you in her eyes and you know that despite you being unreasonable she'll put up with it anyway. your eyes start to sting and you rest your head in the crook of her neck.

she doesn't force you to say anything more than you want, rubbing the expanse of your back while another hand gently pats your head. after a long minute, you pull your head up and find that the space between your two faces is almost nonexistent, your eyes dart from her eyes to her lips, and before you can say anything else her hand is on the back of your neck and she's bringing your lips down to hers.

its soft and sweet and her lips are soft and feel like heaven against yours, and she doesn't give you a second to be confused about what's happening because she's making the kiss deeper and pulling your body closer to hers by putting her arms under yours and pressing you in by the back of your shoulders. you throw your arms over her shoulders and behind her neck and decide that you're going to enjoy this moment for as long as you can.

but eventually, you need to breathe, pulling your head back and letting out a shaky breath of air when abby just moves her ministrations to your neck, sucking and biting on the skin until it bruises.

"i..i thought you were straight." is all you can manage to voice, the feeling of her body pressed into yours and her teeth nipping at your neck making your mind hazy.

she laughs and kisses your neck a few times before looking you in the eyes. "well, i never actually said i was, you just assumed so."

"seriously? you dated owen? he's the dullest straight girl choice i've ever met. and we live in washington" you scoffed.

"yeah, well. that was a long time ago. i've moved on to bigger and better things."

she plants a big overdramatic kiss on your cheek, repeating so on the other side of your face until she can see your smile and hear you giggle. when you both calm down a little she backs up and wears a more serious look on her face.

"i care about you. more than i've cared about anyone before." she smiles, her thumb rubbing over the back of one of your hands. "except maybe my dad, obviously. and nora, she was kinda my best friend before you. but you get what im trying to say."

you laugh and nod at her. "i understand. i...like you too. a lot."

"geez, you're seriously emotionally stunted. but i'll take what i can't get, you'll warm up to me eventually." she slaps her hands on your thighs, ignoring the annoyed look on your face before scooching your body up until you're laying down on your bed, her body gently flopping down onto yours.

"abby! get the hell off, you're wearing your outside clothes!"

"cmon, just five more minutes."

and as much as you complained during those five minutes, you both knew you didnt mind that much.

after that things were really nice. at least for the most part. you were officially abby's girlfriend, which she had asked if you wanted to be the day after you two semi-confessed your feelings. she knew that this kind of commitment was new to you, and the last time it didn't go so well for her, so you both decided it'd be best to take it slow.

(slow meaning you did everything you two did before with the added bonus of making out whenever you wanted. you weren't complaining.)

but keeping things on the down low was a bit of a struggle. abby was a huge fan of pda, always found hugging one of her teammates after a successful game or cuddling with someone on movie nights. she would hug you when you were just friends, but now that you were comfortable with her touching you more in private it started to bleed into public life, her hand looking for yours when walking around or giving you a kiss on the cheek after you aced another test.

the next problem was your friends. you had told nora over a late night phone call while manny had found out when he had walked into the living room of his and abbys shared dorm and found the two of you with your shirts off and kissing on the couch, shouting in both spanish and english about how his eyes burned but he was happy for you both.

you both knew you could trust the two of them with your 'secret', but you didn't expect that end-of-the-year party owen and manny decided to invite you both to.

it was a mix of things really. you were going to just spend time with your friends and nothing more, but you were feeling really pent up. when you and abby decided to take things slow, that also meant sex. which at first was all right with you, hookups were a lot different than sharing yourself with someone you really cared about. but abby was just so effortlessly hot, and now since hockey season was over she had more time to spend with you and it was driving you up the damn wall. it got to the point that you found yourself nearly always on the brink of an orgasm when after a long day she'd press you into her bed and kiss you until you felt dizzy.

so when she decided to go to the party in a tight long-sleeved top and a normal pair of jeans, you definitely should not have been all over her as you were.

(to be fair. she was also on you like white on rice. you had decided to don a tube top with a mini skirt, figuring it couldn't hurt to dress up a little for a simple party. especially since it made your girlfriend look at you like she wanted to eat you alive.)

after mingling a bit and getting yourself a drink, you meet up with some of your friends and start to talk to leah about some drama in one of her classes when abby rejoins you, moving your body so your body is resting into hers. you aren't used to such a public display of affection, but this alcohol is blurring any desire you had to hide that she was yours and you were hers.

"god, you guys are so cute together it makes me sick." nora laughs into her red solo cup, shaking her head at your adorable but annoying affection.

leah's eyebrows scrunch up and she starts to pinch at your arm. "wait, am i missing something? you two are dating?"

at that point, some other people were listening in and looking in at the two of you, including none other than owen moore. now, you and moore were always cordial, but you wouldn't call him a good friend like you would the others. you always felt that whenever he saw or heard about you abby spending time together or heard about how close you two had gotten so quickly, he would smile silently while staring at you like he wanted to burn lasers through your brain.

and he was doing the exact same thing now, his grip on his bear so tight you feared the glass would break. somehow you were the only one who noticed.

"yes, we're together. finally managed to convince this one that jocks aren't just big dumb idiots a few weeks ago." abby's talking breaks you out of your thoughts, her arms snaking around your waist and pulling you to sit on her lap.

you cant help but roll your eyes. "i never once said that."

"well you were thinking it. i could tell."

some of the people who you didnt know and who were friends of friends said congrats, how cute they thought the two of you were, etc. it kind of weirds you out to have all these people paying attention to you just because of who you were with, but abby's quips to any weird remarks you didn't want to acknowledge made you feel better about anything.

but later on, when the two of you are unseriously dancing in the living room, owen comes over and asks abby to talk in private, leaving you to dance with some girls you recognized from the last party. but after three songs pass and abby still hasn't come back, you get a weird feeling in your chest and decide to go looking for the two. you head upstairs and down a few hallways before you hear two voices in a heated argument, and after numerous visits to her games, you can recognize abby's yelling anywhere.

before you can knock on the door to ask if something is wrong, it opens and you see a red-faced owen, not even saying anything before he knocks into your shoulder and goes back downstairs, clearly ignoring your call of 'fucking dick' to his back.

you scoff and shake your head, turning back around to say something to abby before you slightly step back at the look on her face. its dark, like if owen didn't leave she would have kicked his ass first, and now it's trained at you. you know she'd never hurt you, though. partially because she cares about you too much, and partially because you always keep a taser in your back pocket whenever you go to a party.

"abby? what's wrong? did he fucking say something to you?

she laughs before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the room, shutting the door behind you and locking it. her long legs take seconds to reach the bed, her arm releasing when your body sits and bounces slightly on the bed as she stands above you.

"its...its nothing, just owen being a dick like always."

her voice is strained and her hands are tensing into fists, telltale signs that she was really pissed off. you hold her hands in yours, pressing little kisses to her knuckles. normally you hated being so sappy, but you knew that being cute with her was a quick way to calm her down.

"don't worry. i can guarantee one of these days someone is gonna kick his ass. unless i do it first, and you know i want to." you joke and smile when she laughs, gripping her hands so she can sit on the bed next to you.

"yeah, youre right."

"im always right. you should learn that if you wanna stick with me."

she shakes her head before looking at you in silence, and you feel your face get hot under her gaze. you'd never admit it to her but seeing her so angry really did something for you. the bottom of your leg rubs against hers, and her eyes dart down before trailing up your legs to the point where your skirt is starting to ride up your bare thighs.

"here, babe? seriously?"

you sigh, figuring she was right and having your first time together in some stranger's house during a party was horribly tacky. you start to move your leg before she grabs it and puts it on the bed before grabbing you and resting you in her lap.

"i didn't tell you to stop."

so yes, you did get tacky in a strangers house. and back in abby's dorm. and again after you both showered.

so if there was one thing you could ever thank owen for, it was finally giving you both the push you needed to take the next step in your relationship. but after that night things were a little strained, as abby and owen were on a no-contact basis, their fight having something to deal with them and maybe you although she wouldn't go into details, which just led to this drama also spreading to mel since she was dating owen and was always pretty neutral when it came to you and tense when it came to abby, and mel was close friends to leah who was now close to you and...

it was complicated.

but you were used to not having people around. you had abby, nora, manny, and tonya, and that was all you really needed. speaking of tonya, you don't think you've ever seen anyone as happy for someone else's relationship as you did when you told tonya that you and abby got together. she said it was 'half happy that you found someone for you and half happy that someone will finally get the stick out of your ass.'

but your bliss was partially broken when your mother called a week after you had your last finals to let you know she and her father were going to be visiting seattle to talk to you about something important. at this point you hadn't talked to either of your parents since winter when your dad had not so discreetly told you he would be on your ass about skiing again as soon as your leg was alright again. and you were definitely going to dread every minute you had to spend trying to cordial to them, don't even mention finally introducing them to your girlfriend who you so far had never told them about.

for a few days after the call, you must have been acting weird because abby could tell something was wrong and took you to a relaxing little cafe she had found when she first got to the city. you're sipping on a milkshake while abby does the same across from you, digging into her stack of blueberry pancakes, waiting for you to tell her what's going on while she talks about her schedule now that school is out.

"manny's gonna be gone for a month because of his music internship, so i was wondering if you wanted to come and stay at mine while he's gone. we can watch movies, dance to music, or we can practice those recipes i saw on tiktok."

"mhm, that sounds nice, babe." you continue to at least show minimal attention to what she's saying, briefly slurping at your shake until she speaks again.

"yup. but after that, i might have to leave for a while, i haven't seen my dad in forever and he wanted me to stay for two weeks while my aunt is visiting salt lake."

her words slowly die out when she notices how you stop slurping your drink, your eyes staring into space as your thumb scratches at your palm.

throughout your relationship, you had told abby the rundown of your relationship with your parents maybe once. at first, it was because it was a touchy subject and you would be embarrassed if she knew the reason for the way you acted the way you did and thought your baggage was too much for her.

and then it was because deep down you were jealous. they had their ups and downs, but abby had such a pure relationship with her father that sometimes it made you sick. while he didnt flaunt his wealth because of his principles, but abby would tell you about all the times when she was younger that her dad would give her the best birthday parties, take her with him to conferences around the world, and made sure she had anything she desired.

so when you had to tell her that the most your dad did was give you a break to be a normal adult instead of shaping you into a champion, you don't think there was ever a time that you secretly envied her more.

"this is about your dad, isn't it?" she whispered, reaching across the table to take your hand in hers. you nodded, relieved that your girlfriend could read you like a book and you didnt have to say it out loud.

"could you tell me more about it?"

shit.

you sighed, a deep breath leaving your body and clearing your head.

"my parents are gonna be here soon. said they wanted to talk to me about something "important", which means my dad thinks i've had enough time to recover from my leg being nearly snapped in two because he thinks he knows better than the doctor. but hey, maybe when i was gone he got another fuckin degree to throw in my face."

while you ranted abby never said a word, just paying close attention and providing you comfort. out of everyone in the crew, she was always the person people went to talk to when they needed it. she said it was something she got from her mom.

"all my life he's been like this. just pushing me and pushing me until im at the point of breaking until i use my anger to win. there's no doubt he's still doing it. heard my brother is being scouted at his games and he's only fifteen."

abby nods and presses a kiss to your hand, treading carefully with what she says next. "your dad sounds...horrible, honestly. he never...hit you did he?"

you feel your body jerk back and both of your eyes go big at your reaction.

"no, no he would never. im serious. wouldn't make sense from a logical standpoint, id be in front of other people all the time and any injuries would fuck up my skiing."

"well that's a bleak way of looking at it, but im glad he didnt. but the other shit is still bad."

"yeah. definitely not looking forward to dealing with that again in two weeks."

"i know, but im here, and im gonna stick by you every step of the way, alright? even if your parents find out they hate me and curse my bloodline."

you couldn't help but snort at her. "nobody could hate you, anderson. you would annoy them too much and make dirty bets against them."

"what? that wasn't a dirty bet! you'd just never seen my skills before and i used it to my advantage."

"whatever you say abs."

abbys reassurance and patience helped greatly, and by the time you met your parents at their hotel for breakfast, you weren't nervous about whatever bullshit they had to say.

but for some odd reason, they were very cordial. your mom asked you about school, how your grades were, and how you liked your chosen major. when it got to the point if you were seeing anyone, you not so subtly gushed about abby and she seemed really happy for you. your dad even praised you for picking another sportsman, avoiding your look while he ate his eggs.

a week later you even had the courage to introduce them to abby, who told you she would cook something for all of you to eat.

that tiktok recipe she was talking about? it was ratatouille. and you had to admit it was delicious, and you wondered how abby was so good at so many things and she told you when she was a kid she wanted to learn how to do basically everything and her dad was more than happy to indulge her. sometimes you really wondered how she didn't appear to be so spoiled.

but your girl was nothing if not a charmer, and by the end of the night your mom was gushing over how much she liked abby and thought she was a great match for you.

your dad was...your dad. he acted polite, asking abby about her intentions, if she was dedicated to her studies and sports and you at the same time. blah blah blah. abby gave perfect human resources-like answers that she knew would make you giggle and loosen up.

once dinner was over your mother insisted on staying a little while longer to watch a movie, finding out she and your girlfriend both had soft spots for mamma mia and grease and planned to drink some wine and let loose for once. while the two were watching meryl streep panic on screen your dad tapped you on the shoulder and asked if he could speak to you in private, and you were mentally prepared to get into yet another argument.

"i know i'm the last person who gets to say this but..you've seemed to have really grown this past year. I'm proud of you."

"thanks. i guess."

he sighs, shifting on his feet. "i know i've always been hard on you and your brothers. i just-i knew that if you had guidance you could be phenomenal at whatever you do."

"yeah, dad, but that doesn't mean forcing me to train for ten hours a day when i was still in third grade." you could list more instances of him being overbearing and partially ruining your childhood, but you don't feel like being the person who makes the conversation go sour.

"i know. trust me, i know. look, your mother has us going to a shrink and...one of the steps is asking for forgiveness and whatever mumbo jumbo."

you almost snort but pass it off as a sneeze. your dad in therapy was about as believable as a talking donkey.

"well, it's nice to hear dad but it's not gonna be just as easy as being nice to me and my girlfriend for a night."

"i know. which is why i wanted to show you this."

he pulls out and his phone and after a few taps shows you an article. you read the word 'olympics' and nearly blow before he cuts you off.

"just listen, alright? one of the big coaches was caught and fired for doping a bunch of the players, so they're postponing the winter games for another few years for investigations to see if there's any more misconduct."

"are you serious?"

"deadly. and i know with your leg and your schooling you'll have your hands full but, i figured the best way i knew how to bond with you was to help you. it'd be enough time to get extensive physical therapy and train up. but only if you want to."

"dad, i. i really don't know what to say."

"you don't have to say anything, at least not now. just promise me you'll think about it, alright? and if by next spring you still don't want to, I'll never bring it back up again."

after that, your mother comes and says they should get going to get enough sleep for their flight tomorrow, and you bid your parents goodbye with stiff hugs and a genuine smile.

for the next few months into your sophomore year your on the fence. when you were a kid, despite the pain and the tears and the bruises, there was nothing you loved more than skiing. you swear that the adrenaline rushes you would get speeding down slopes were better than anything you've ever experienced, even sex.

(when abby heard you say that one night on the couch, she pouted and wouldn't touch you for a week, telling you to go back to those stupid slopes if that's how you felt.)

but the point was that you were basically going through a beginning life crisis. either stick with the new normal you've created and potentially miss out on fulfilling your childhood dreams, or take a risk and potentially come out more damaged than before.

you were planning on spending the next thanksgiving mulling it over, but to your shock baby invited you to come with her to her dad's house for thanksgiving with her family. when checking in with her to see if she and her dad would be ok with this big step, she told you it was actually her dad's idea and she'd be more than happy to have you meet her family.

you swear to god you have never been more nervous on a plane than you were on the flight to salt lake, only being soothed by the constant free drinks you get in first class, the six hundred page book in your hands, and abbys large hand constantly rubbing on your thigh and back. you suggested that you both join the mile-high club as a joke and she seemed a little too into it.

"babe please, i promise ill be quick. i can even put my fingers in your mouth."

"abby, i was just joking. im not gonna do that and get kicked off the plane. god, you're so fuckin weird."

"you make me weird. pretty please? ill pull out the puppy eyes."

"i really don't give a fuck."

and you come to find out that abby's stories were true because her dad is so weirdly nice. he greets you at the airport like he's known you all your life, and is eager to find conversation the whole drive to his house where you both are staying.

you were glad that like you abby had a smaller family, or at least one she spent thanksgiving with. after her father you only had to introduce yourself to her aunt and her small family, a husband who you have to look down at and likes to boast about his coin collection, and three children. the eldest, ashley, was closer in age to you and abby and was clearly abby's favorite cousin. the middle child was a wild child named kris, who didn't seem at all phased that you were a stranger and kept asking you if you'd ever heard of their favorite anime series.

now, you've never been the best with children, you repeatedly told your mother to throw your baby brother in the trash when you were six, but you couldn't help but fawn over abby's baby cousin lyle, the cutest infant you've ever seen who after a few hours of fussing because of the time change, he calms down into a smiling drooling little thing who, although he keeps tugging at your hair when his mom hands you to him, seemed to actually enjoy your presence and laughs like its the funniest thing ever.

you didnt catch the way abby looked at you fondly while you were playing around with her cousin or the way she swatted her father away when he called her out on it.

so thanksgiving was easy, a peaceful week full of meeting kind people and eating some surprisingly good food. but you didn't even get a week of peace after before abby brought it up.

christmas.

yes the holiday was full of joy and warmth when you were a child. but after a mini teenage rebellion and your energy you just...gave up on the holiday completely. last year you spent it alone inside your dorm which wasn't the worst thing on earth. you got to watch corny feel-good movies like national lampoons, drink hot chocolate with extra marshmallows, and had free reign to the library since the librarian apparently used to watch your games on tv. it wasn't like it used to be, but it was enough.

"so, you're coming with us to the cabin right?" nora reaches across the library table and takes one of your fries from the fast food you sneaked in. for some reason she refused to order her own fries, content to pluck the ones from your container.

"what? what cabin?"

"god, abby hasn't told you about this by now? i thought she would have taken you there already and made it her love shack or something." she quickly ducks her head when you toss a burnt fry at her, looking around to make sure no one saw. "it's her dad's cabin at one of the ski ranges in the mountains, she invites us every year for christmas break or new years if we can't make it."

"first, you're a perv. second, i don't know why she hasn't told me about it. id probably tease her for it anyway."

"well when you see her next ask her, because you definitely have to come with us this year."

"i don't know, nors. you know how i feel about skiing right now..."

"you don't have to ski! we literally never do, as sad as it is. we just hang out, go out for drinks, and hit the skiing town. im telling you cold resort parties are insane."

you take a minute to mull it over, staring into space as you tap your fingers on the hardwood table. nora fingers tap on the top of your hand.

"i understand you're going through things, with your dad and all. you don't have to come if you don't want to. but i know we'd really enjoy it if you came, especially abby."

you nod and eat another fry before gegging back to the novel you were reading, some 'all-time classic' abby had said you had to read.

you saw abby a few hours after that, yet again staying the night at her dorm to kick off the following weekend. when you entered using your spare key the smell of chinese food instantly hit you, and it took you by surprise since abby normally insisted on cooking for you and manny.

you set down your things and kicked off your shoes before heading into the little kitchenette, hearing the sound of rather loud whispers that stopped as soon the roommates saw you, noodles stuffed into both of their mouths.

"what the fuck are yall starin at?"

manny snorts before making some weird excuse for leaving, telling you he's meeting up with some meteorology student at a bar and he won't be home until tomorrow. you bid him. a quick goodbye before turning back to abby, the blonde picking through her food.

its only then that you notice the gauze wrapped around her palm, quickly cross the threshold to gently but firmly raise her hand up to your face to observe it.

your about to go on a triade when you see that sad pout on her face.

"tell me who did this to you." you grumble, putting on a fake deep voice.

she chuckles and shakes her head. "you're so weird."

"only because of you. tell me what happened."

"i was trying to cook before we ordered takeout and i just...got distracted and burned my hand. its not a big deal, don't worry about it."

you tell by the way her shoulders were tensing that she was getting into one of her moods, always hating when she failed at something and hating even more when people kept asking her about it.

"well im always gonna worry about, something that's also your fault by the way. what made you distracted."

"nothing."

"abs."

"please just drop it."

"abigail."

she groans before slumping her head into her arms on the counter.

so you decide to drop it. at least for a little while. you put away the rest of the food, deciding to eat the box she bought for you after her mood had been resolved before figuring you'd leave her alone while you took a shower.

but if there was one thing you knew about abby, it was that she took 'golden retriever energy' to a whole nother level. aka most of the time she couldn't leave you alone and followed you near everywhere. after only a few minutes, you heard the shower door open and felt her large arms circle around your waist and her head rest on your shoulders.

"i wanna ask you something. there's this cabin my dad owns that we all head to for winter break and stuff-"

you felt your heart skip a beat. to be honest part of the reason you were nervous about abby asking you this was because you were second-guessing yourself and your relationship. you hadn't even been together for a full year at this point, and even if you knew you loved her and that she adored you, you didnt want to be the one to bring up this thing she does with people she's known for years and get your heart damaged.

"and i wanted to invite you to go with us because i just know youd make it feel so much more special."

"i feel like a 'but' goes at the end of that sentence."

she rubs her head into your shoulder more, kissing at the soft and wet skin of your shoulder blade.

"i didn't tell you much. about my fight with owen. but everyone knows we haven't been talking much, but he's still been my friend since elementary, and i was hoping that maybe during the trip we could resolve things. but if he ever said something to you or about you i think id go fucking crazy."

your turn around and hold her head in your hands. her body is still slumped so her head is more at your level and her pretty blue eyes stare right into yours.

"i appreciate that. your slight anger issues make me feel honored." a smile quirks on her face and she nuzzles her head into your palms more. "and as much as he pisses me off, i don't know how i feel about causing a greater rift between you and your friends. ive only been with you less than a hear, he's known you for-"

"year or not doesn't matter. you mean...so much to me i can't put into words. the only reason i was nervous all day was that i didnt know how to make this sound like i wasn't putting him before you because i wouldn't. ever."

you look at her a bit longer, swiping away wet pieces of her hair back from her face so you can see all of her. because she's looking at you like she can do the same.

you both take an intimate shower without a word, helping the other bathe and lather her hair in apricot shampoo she's become addicted to. once you exit, dry off, and change into some matching fluffy pajamas she bought for you both, you finally head back to the kitchen to eat your food before turning on a movie.

it was only because you both decided to choose some random movie that the stupid thought crossed into your mind.

"could you imagine if we were that touchy all the time? we're already halfway there and it drives your friends nuts." you poked her cheek while you were resting on her, her arm wrapped around your shoulders while your legs intertwined on the couch.

"what do you mean?"

"just like, overdoing it. always with an arm around the other, making eyes across the room. if you wanna get extreme you could carry me on your back."

"or i could carry you on my front."

the shift of her hips and the tone of her voice makes you turn your head to look at her, nearly busting out laughing at the way her eyes are glued to the screen while she chews on her lower lip.

"stop doing that."

"doing what? im watching the movie. watch the movie with me."

"this is just like on the plane. y'know i was kidding about the exhibitionist thing at first-"

"baby, please."

"please what?"

she groaned while you just giggled at her, moving your bodies so she was sitting up on the couch and you were on top of her, adjusting your hips so you were straddling her waist.

"what're you thinking about, bunny?"

a subtle whine escaped from her throat and you smirked in triumph. there was nothing your girl loved more than being called the softest and cutest pet names, and you would frequently use it to your advantage, like the time when she refused to help you cheat on a test 'on principle' and you rested your face on her thigh from under the desk with a 'please, princess?' and she happily gave you the answers after roughly grinding herself on your tongue.

"i just...maybe if we played it up at the cabin owen would finally fuck off and realize im yours. i just thought it'd be funny."

you felt a warm feeling in your chest at the thought, showing your girl all the affection she craved from you on an idyllic vacation while also showing that dick owen who's boss. maybe then he'd finally let whatever his issue with you go. or not. at this point you didnt care.

"ok. we can do it."

"what? are you serious? i was half joking. i don't wanna make you do anything you don't want to-"

you cut off her sweet rambles with a press of your lips to hers. her arms brought you in closer until your breasts were squished into hers.

when abby texted the group chat the next morning next to you in bed to let the others know you'd be joining, you couldn't help but feel warm at the replies.

manny : thank god, i need a drinking partner since no one ever wants irish hot chocolate

leah : because the last time you made it you got drunk by five pm and kept singing baby its cold outside while doing both parts

jordan : and badly

manny : haters

nora : omg thank god

nora : this is all because of me btw

nora : tell y/n we're gonna have sooo much fun

manny : wait is she gonna ski

jordan : stop.

you giggled at your friends' antics. you were already imagining all the crazy things that would happen on the trip and happily listened to all the stories abby had to tell you.

mel : cant wait for the trip! hoping ben's is still open.

owen : 👍🏻

a snort escaped from you. "oh hes so pissed."

"definitely." abby agreed before turning the phone off and snuggling into your neck to relax for a little while longer. "prepare, he's probably just gonna get angrier from our masterful plan."

"technically my plan. and are you sure you still wanna do it? i don't wanna drive a wedge between you guys."

"he started that at that party. either he's gonna deal with me changing for the better or im gonna leave him in the dust. now shush, im going to sleep."

your hand smooths through abby's locks as she drifts back into sleep, and you soon follow her into it, dreaming of pale snow and the sight of the slopes.

the nex two weeks before break starts you're horrifically busy, finishing up some tests while also buying and packing everything you'll need for the trip. which is really just an excuse for you to get a bunch of those cute thick sweaters you saw on ebay but that's neither here nor there.

once your last class was finished abby immediately called an uber to take you to the airport, citing that as the host she always headed to the cabin earlier than everyone else to fix it up and stock up on little things, everyone would need or forget like extra blankets and lots and lots of water. during the trip to the airport, waiting in the airport since you were both 'get there hours before the flight' girls, and on the flight itself, abby was telling you stories of the cabin and what has happened on the past few trips that you should know about.

apparently, the cabin (in aspen, which you teased her was so basic) was bought by her grandparents (more teasing) for family trips when her dad was little. but as his siblings got older and started their own families the trips dwindled down, until his parents decided to just leave the place to him, telling him not to sell it for anything since it was worth a fat load of cash by now. hed take abby and her mom there before she passed, and then once she turned sixteen told her he trusted her enough to bring her friends up there if they could.

"honestly, i think it was part of him being nice and feeling sad we didn't spend much time together then. we were still mourning and he was always working." she sinks into her first-class seat, sipping on her complimentary ginger ale can. "but we're better now, and i get to have a laid-back vacation with my friends every year."

"sounds like a win-win to me. traumatic way you got there and all."

"you of all people saying that is hilarious, truly."

a few hours of talking and napping later and you've landed in colorado, a rental car waiting for you in the airport parking lot.

"abs, you are so secretly bougie. like, why didn't you rent a private car that time yours was in the shop and we were stuck in the rain downtown?"

"it's for emergencies and the necessary."

driving through the roads of aspen snowmass is something close to magical. at this point, the sun has set and the twinkling lights of the villages are everywhere, and you can see a plethora of christmas decorations inside shop windows.

when abby parks outside of the cabin your jaw is close to dropping, and you have to hold it up once you step inside. there was obviously a lot of wood, making up the floors, walls, and beams that connect both. but it was also decorated with relaxed brown and cream furniture.

"i want you to know if we get married, im not signing a prenup."

abby cackles before sneaking up behind you and tickling your waist, cackling at your shriek followed by a scowl.

"'if' babe, really? nice to know you're so committed."

"i'll be more committed if you give me a tour of this place."

the cabin was big, of course. enough bedrooms for your whole group and a few more. you honestly couldn't pick your favorite. there was a game room with a pool table you were just itching to beat jordan and leah at, a hot tub outside on the deck looking down onto the village that looked like the perfect place to drink champagne with nora talking shit about her recent ex.

"now, this is what i really wanted you to see," abby smiles before pushing open a wide set of doors on the upper floor and revealing to you the grand bedroom. there's a giant bed against the back wall, with a warm little nook tucked into a bay window.

"it's so nice here abs, really. i can't wait for everyone to get here so we can start doing stuff." you drop your bags by the front of the bed and flop your behind onto it, loving the way it bounces you up and down a bit. and you can tell that abby also loves it by the way she's staring at the way your boobs jiggle.

"im glad you like it, baby. but we don't have to wait for the others to get here to have some fun." a pervy little smile lights up her face and she starts inching towards you, making stupid little grabby hands as she does so.

"you're insatiable. aren't we supposed to be making sure this place is ready for everyone else?"

"wasn't it your idea for us to play everything up for fun? that includes sex. a lot of it. strap-ons are allowed on planes, by the way. and other things."

"...seriously?"

"seriously."

at this point, her arms are caging you into the plush of the comforter, and you don't know whether to look at the veins in her arms or her eyes or her mouth-

"you're staring, pretty."

"well you're all i can see, gorgeous."

she presses a soft kiss to the underside of your chin, her tounge poking out to lick down your neck.

"god, abs, please."

"please what?"

you groan and she just laughs at you.

the hardest part of being a switch was that abby could just throw shit back in your face when she became more dominant. it was both infuriating and arousing.

“im not gonna say it."

"you sure?" her large hand slips beneath the band of your pants until its resting over your underwear, teasing you.

"yes i a-am!" your refusal is cut off when two of her thick fingers slide inside of you, filling you up in the most delicious way. it doesn't help your case that there's no restriction, the wetness between your thighs letting her know just how much you were enjoying this.

"y'know, your master plan isn't exactly gonna work if you have an attitude with me, baby." her words are gravelly as she speakes into the crease of your neck, occasionally looking up at you to ingrain your reactions into her memory.

"god, abs."

"this is one the things i love most about you acting like a brat, just means i get to fuck and love on you until it goes away. and i've got all the time in the fuckin world."

just when you start getting close to your orgasm, you could've sworn in the distance you heard the sound of a door opening before closing a few minutes later. the feeling of abby kissing you and adding a third finger inside of you. you decided to just drop it

later on, after a nice long shower and putting on this cute warm sweater you bought, you and abby decided it was time to head out and get enough groceries to last for around two weeks until everyone else would arrive and decide what meals they would want after. it was very entertaining to watch abby standing in a fluorescently lit market aisle decide if she wanted to make a giant chicken pot pie or some creamy chicken soup one of her teammates told her about. she just stuck her tongue out when you looked at her.

once you returned to the cabin you could hear some music coming from inside the house, and despite your initial worry abby just smiled and rushed inside, your brain seriously wondering if you had chosen correctly romantically.

you headed inside with a few of the bags, setting them on the kitchen counters before heading to the source of the music that appeared to be coming from the living room. once you cross the threshold you are happily surprised to see your girlfriend and manny talking and laughing in the middle of the room.

"ah! nice to know abs hasn't broken you already." manny comes over to give you a big hug before setting you down and shaking your shoulders, just laughing when you start smacking his hands.

"jeez, what is with you guys? be normal."

"you forget im abby's roommate. this is because of you. you gave me this trauma."

you roll your eyes before patting him on the shoulder.

"ok, ok. why did you come early? when do the others get here?" abby asks from her place still on the couch.

"what, i cant just come because i love and miss two of my best friends."

the room is silent as you both stare at him.

"well just so you know, that was half true. but also," he looks down a dark hallway before tugging you closer to the couch so he can speak quietly. "mel and owen are here."

you blink. "thats...odd."

"very odd, but maybe it's a good thing? who knows, maybe owen's gotten over the whole fight and wants to put it to bed." abby turns to you, those big blue eyes filled with hope that you don't have the heart to squash with a joke.

"yeah, maybe."

"well if he did do that, i don't think he's in the mood for it now." manny chuckles.

"why not?"

"he was confused to see a car in the driveway, so he came by two hours ago and left like two minutes later. his face was as red as a tomato, you know how he looks when he's flushed."

oh my god.

you turned to abby and her cheeks were puffed, a clear sign she was trying not to laugh.

well, it looks like your plan was already working.

the next three days were more laid back, just spent taking a chance to relax and sleep in after your grueling semester. you decided to spend these days exploring more of the cabin, admiring all of the rooms and the random really pretty art pieces on some of the walls.

you swore that nothing could beat the bliss you felt on that second day, waking up to the faint sun in your eyes and abby gently snoring next to you, deciding to cook up a bunch of waffles, one of the meals you excelled at, and read a four hundred page book on the sofa.

(the plan was still in motion at this point, just more tame.

once jordan, leah, and nora came things really took a turn for the exciting. after hearing that you'd been cooped in the house these past few days, leah insisted you come with them to some bars and other hot spots around town. you hadn't been drinking much lately but figured that since you were surrounded by people you trusted and a bunch of strangers you'd be able to handle yourself.

and you did.

for the most part.

you just weren't expecting the bartender to be the chillest girl you've ever met and make a killer strawberry daiquiri, because before you knew it they were playing some old-school song over the speakers and were hanging off of leah's arm like a koala.

"oh my god, im so glad you invited me out. this place rules. have you tried the daiquiris? serenity said she'd make me one more but you can have it."

"her name is trinity, and you're getting touchy. where's abs?"

you shrug and she shakes her head, looking over your shoulders to see if she can spot the hulking blonde. she waves someone over and then abby is in your vision, a soft expression on her face as she tugs your body into hers.

"how much have you had to drink, baby?"

"mmmm, not too much. i could walk in a gay line. look, i even made a corny joke!"

"yes, you did." she squats down a little bit and you wrap your arms around her neck and your legs around her waist, trying to restrain yourself from making any noises when she lifts you with ease to the amusement of some of the people in the bar.

"how about we head back and take a long bath, pretty. ill even try those rose face masks you bought."

you were about to agree when out of the corner of your eye you catch owen, sitting inside a booth with jordan and manny, sparing looks in your direction.

you smirk down at her and she can already guess what you're thinking, tightening her grip on your hips.

"or we can do that later. and dance now."

you nod and loosen your legs for her to drop you but she just holds you tighter for a moment, leaning her head up to place a heated kiss on your lips before pulling away, fighting to ignore the tiny string of spit that connects your lips to hers.

"ok. now we can dance."

abby told you the next day that owen had asked to talk to her one on one in the morning and she didn't really understand what it meant. he apologized for lashing out at her, apparently, but still didnt agree with some of the 'drastic changes to her personality' that were happening lately.

you really tried to promise her that you wouldn't cuss him out, telling you she'd handle it later after having a conversation with manny to figure out when the hell he started acting like this.

focus on tried.

you and nora were in the kitchen that night making cups of hot chocolate, taking the chance to top them with all the stuff you weren't allowed to as a child. also probably increasing your risks of cavities, but whatever, it was nostalgic. you were laughing at the absurd abundance of whipped cream in her mug and the three candy canes in yours when you heard footsteps coming into the kitchen, looking over to see owen looking over some things in the fridge.

you looked at nora. she looked at you.

"so owen, how are things going with mel?"

his hand pauses over some leftover noodles, gripping it with a fist.

"we're great actually, thanks for asking norsie."

noras eye twitches, bumping into your shoulder before leaving the room to rest in the kitchen and wait for you before starting a movie.

owen turns and suddenly its just the two of you. staring at each other. you with a three-caned hot cocoa and he with a tupperware of linguine.

"what's your fucking problem."

his eyebrows shoot up, almost like he wasn't expecting you to actually bring up the tension at hand.

"y/n, is this really the time-"

"yes, it is the goddamn time to ask you why you've been acting like a dick to me and my girlfriend."

his mouth quirks downwards and you nearly laugh at the realization of the words, the glances, how he would look at abby sometimes like a kicked puppy even when his damn girlfriend sat on his lap, it was all because he couldn't move the fuck on.

"seriously? that's the reason? you've been putting me, putting abby through hell because you're still hung up over her? this is my worst gay nightmare."

"it's because ever since she's been with you shes been different, always acting like she's some better person now that she's over me. like i was the thing holding her back. how do you think that makes me feel, huh?"

you stare at him after his quiet outburst, his face that signature shade of pink and his eyes enraged. but he doesn't scare you.

you walk closer to him, entertained by the way she avoids you like the plague, and presses his back into the refrigerator. you want to lash out more, to scream at him until your throat is sore, to whisper all the little flaws about him you've noticed over the past year that are driving everyone away, but you won't.

"i hope it makes you feel like the heap of shit you are. goodnight, moore."

when abby feels you snuggle into her later that night, feeling your hands squeeze into her stomach from behind you, she asks if everything is ok, and you press a kiss to her cheek and tell her to go back to sleep.

the next morning it's christmas eve, and everyone is in the dining room eating breakfast and talking about how everyone somehow has no plans when you make a suggestion for the day.

"i wanna go hit the slopes today."

you swear most of them look at you like you've grown another head that just started trying to sing the tequila song.

manny continues chewing his eggs before giving you a thumbs up, but you can tell he's secretly been waiting for this. after you first met he asked you if you've ever skied again after your accident and then dropped it when you gave him a death glare. but since you've gotten closer he knows more about how it's not that you can't ski, but almost as if there was a mental block that stopped you from doing so.

"uhm...sure. i can see if we can do that. are you sure you want to?" abby rests her arms on the table and leans her head into yours, trying to give a sense of privacy for your answer.

"i'm not made of glass, abby. it's about time i get back out there. its the only way i'll known for sure about what my dad said."

"what'd your dad say?" mel speaks up from the opposite side of the table, her hand rested over owen's on top of the wood.

you straighten your shoulders. "some stupid doping scandal got the olympics postponed, and my dad said if i wanter he thinks he could get me back in shape by then to apply."

"holy shit! i mean, it's your choice obviously, but that's cool as hell. i think you should do it." jordan exclaims, sipping on his orange juice through a straw.

"wait, what about your leg? you've only had problems with it a couple of times, but is it alright enough to go ski?" nora asks. she was the one who besides abby you've told the most about your skiing problems, and once took you to the pharmacy to pick up your pain meds like it was no hassle.

"it's better if i don't push myself too much, but the blue and reds should be a piece of cake."

you look at abby, and even though she has no idea why you've had this sudden change of heart, she can hear the subtle excitement in your voice and nods her head at you with a smile.

thanks to everyone always waking up at the break of dawn for some reason, you're checked in to the slopes and ready to go only three hours later. jordan and manny even decided to join you and try their hands at the bunny slopes, the rest of the group deciding to find somewhere to sit and relax while they watched you all.

"mama please, you're embarrassing me." manny groans while you tilt his head from side to side to make sure all of the straps for his helmet and goggles are secure. you weren't about to have him getting a concussion and blaming you for bringing him here or the workers for their sloppy job.

"no one knows better ski safety than me. now shush, I'm almost done."

once you were finished you gently smacked his head and headed to the side of where the slope ends, abby beaming at you from over the rail. she was wearing this cute little beanie she bought for the trip and this all-black bomber jacket that made her look so much bigger than she already is.

"hello? babe, did you hear what i said?" abby's hand waves in front of your face bringing you back to focus. you slowly blink and she shakes her head. "you're so weird."

"again, i get that from you."

"whatever." her gloved hand rests on your face and she brings you closer so she can press a soft kiss onto your lips. when she tries to pull away but your arms are wrapping around her neck and pulling her body into yours, starting an impromptu makeout session before jordans wolf call yanks you out of it.

her fingers reach up to push a strand of hair back into your helmet. "are you sure you'll be ok up there? if your leg hurts just pull over to the side and i'll try to come up and help you-"

you cut her off with another kiss. "i'll be fine, princess. don't worry about me. just worry about all those losers I'm gonna show up."

she laughs that cute and loud little laugh of hers and sends you off, waving to you multiple times when she sees you go up the lift.

once you are at the top you go over everything again, making sure all of your equipment is snug, the track in front of you is good, and your skis are tight and before you know it you're standing at the top of the slope breathing heavy and feeling like you're about to have a panic attack.

your head feels like it's on fire and you swear that you are close to passing out when someone taps on your shoulder. you turn around and it's some teen by his face unobstructed by the goggles, a go-pro attached to his helmet.

"hey, sorry if i'm being annoying but, you're y/n l/n right?"

you nod, hoping he can't see the strained expression on your face.

"i just wanted to say that i think you're like, so cool. i saw that video of you training for the super g at thirteen and it changed my life, seriously."

your head felt a bit better at the memory. the adrenaline you got skiing down slopes at top speeds and then dodging the flags your father asked the owners if he could put on the track to help you train. they were nice people, and even let you pick what flags you wanted. a mix of pink and black.

"thank you. i swore that training took everything out of me. but at least i didn't have to worry about how i was doing in algebra."

he laughs and bobs his head. he clears his throat before slightly hopping on his two feet.

"you ok, kid?"

"yes, yeah, i just... ya see i have this youtube channel where i post videos of me riding down the slopes, helping beginners, trying the harder slopes, and stuff like that." he taps the go bro on his helmet. "and i was wondering if you wanted to do like, a friendly little race? i don't know, you don't have to i know you're leg is probably still healing, i can just go if you wa-"

"i'll do it."

his eyes bulge, surprised at your answer. you have to admit you're slightly surprised too. you weren't planning on doing anything more than inching your way down the intermediate slope a few times, but the memory of the super g has energy suddenly rushing through you. besides, it'd be a nice distraction from everything else. your dad. owen. you.

when you both get to the edge of the slope, you let him know you'll give him a twenty-second head start before you follow. he nods, and a few seconds later you're skiing for the first time in years.

and it feels fucking great.

at the speeds you are going the wind is whipping across the unprotected parts of your face, the stinging cold keeping you focused as you turn around trick hills and get your legs used to the feeling of slight strain. but your legs feel fine, and that makes you feel even better.

before long you can see the kid ahead of you and your friends in the close distance, nora's red coat bobbing up and down as she cheers for you. only five seconds after you pass your fan and can hear his slight spluttering before you're bringing your skis to a stop and the ice is flying from underneath them.

your heart is pounding as the kid, who tells you his name is aidan, thanks you for 'kicking his ass, i swear it'll get so many views". he tells you he'll tag you, and you do him one better by saying you'll follow him back and you're a little scared he's about to have a heart attack before he leaves to check in with his parents.

"oh my god oh my god oh my god! that was so fucking cool! i really thought you were gonna wipe out there for a second but I'm glad you didn't." leah squeezes your body in a hug rocking you from side to side. "are you gonna go again? if you do i swear I'll put on some skis and go down the bunny slope."

you throw your head back with a laugh, imagining leah slowly going down the snow while pizza and french frying her skis. you bask in the compliments given to you by nora who was watching the whole time and manny who tells you he successfully completed the green slope with no falls or bumps. you feel the urge to talk to abby, to have her tell you she's proud of you when you see her near one of the equipment cabins, talking to owen.

"are you gonna go again or do you wanna stop for the day?"

you look at nora with a grin. "yeah, i'll go again."

later that night, after a few more hours of racing your friends and even seeing a few more fans who recognized you, even one lady who said she remembered you based on your form, everyone is headed back to the house to end the day after getting some drink from the community lodge

for some reason, abby hasn't talked to you since, and based on what you saw you're preparing for the damn worst. a small part of you knows you might be overreacting, that there's no way she would fall for the bullshit more had to say to her, but her avoidance of you isn't helping that little part take charge.

like she could read your mind, she's on your tail and following you into your bedroom, taking off her clothes as you do the same but still no word before you head into the shower. under the heat of the water, you rest your head on the wall and close your eyes to try to center yourself. you know abby, you know how much she's done for you. owen wasn't going to get in the way of that and you refused to let him.

you dry yourself off, brush your teeth, moisturize your body, and decide not to put on your pajamas and just this cute robe abby bought for you before leaving the bathroom. after turning off the lights you stop in your tracks, abby sitting on the side of the bed and staring at you.

your feet slowly carry you closer to her before she rolls her eyes and tugs you onto her lap. your face is neutral, even when you can feel the bulge inside of her sweatpants. you tilt your head and she replicates it.

"let me guess, you got an attitude again?"

"you're a fucking hypocrite."

"wh?" her face jerks back in confusion. "what are you talking about?"

"don't play fucking dumb with me abigail. biggest personal growth moment for me in forever and you spend it talking to your damn ex, who if you didn't catch it is still hung up on you, by the way."

"i know, just let me explain-"

"no, i don't want to know. if you're just doing all this as some fucked up way to let me down gently i swear to god-"

you get cut off when one of her hands moves from your waist to cover your mouth, her eyes drooping when you nip at her palm.

"stop it. you know i wouldn't do something that shitty to you, please stop being so paranoid." she waits to gauge your reaction before she decides that you aren't likely to cut her off, softly rubbing at the skin under your eye. "please don't cry."

"im not gonna cry."

"just wanted to make sure. because i care about you, and that's what i was letting owen know that when he was being a jealous dick about you skiing earlier. told him I'm this close to kicking him to the curb for good."

"wait really? what'd he say? i bet he was pissed when i skied over that stuck stump, probably wishes i rode over it and fucking broke my back."

"jeez, you really do despise him." she shakes her head, smiling and rubbing her hands on your thighs. "but yes, he was wondering if maybe now that you were fine to ski you were trying to upstage me or something."

"and do you? and why were you ignoring me?"

she sighed. "literally the opposite. you're just...so amazing, and funny, and talented, and i just know soon you'll be this olympian and wont wanna deal with me and my dumb ex anymore."

"i mean, i am amazing you're right about that," you brag, giggling when she pinches you. "but i'd deal with anything to be with you. i don't even have the words. i wouldn't have gotten on that slope without you always pushing me, despite how annoying i may find it."

abby's' face is beaming and suddenly she's kissing you like you're air, leaning back into the bed so you can hover over her. she stops kissing you just to move her ministrations to all over your face, repeating little 'i love you's' as she does so, reveling in the little hums that leave your throat.

"ok, are we done being sappy so we can fuck now?" your question ends in a squeak when her palm slaps your ass. you look at her with a glare and she just dopily smiles at you, gripping your hips to flip you underneath her.

"y'know, owen and mel picked the room right next to ours." she grinds her hips into yours, the friction of the strap rubbing against you heightened since your robe was riding up to show her bare cunt.

"god, you want me to be loud, don't you?"

"mmhm." she grins as her hand moves down to push the band of her pants down, the feeling of the toy grinding out forcing you to bite your lip to hide your moan, embarrassed by how quickly she could make you want it. her thumbs moves to pull your lip from between your teeth.

she continues humping you until she can see you're wet enough to slide in, looking for your nod to push the strap into you, groaning as it just slides in.

"y/n, we barely did any foreplay-"

"shut up, please shut up."

for some reason she takes that as a sign to start thrusting, reveling in your moans as they finally start to pick up volume. you try to bite the back of your hand when she pulls it away, holding it in hers and holding it above your head. the action is so sweet it almost makes you cry, instead thrusting your head up to press a sweet kiss to her lips.

"mm, love when you're all sweet like this honey. wanna stay like this forever, love you so fuckin much i swear to god." she accentuates her last couple of words with short but harsh thrusts that knock the breath out of your lungs. your orgasm is fast approaching at this rate, and she can tell by the way your eyes are fluttering and your hand is squeezing hers.

"you gonna cum? huh? gonna cum all over me baby?" you nod your head, not trusting the words and sounds that are coming out of your throat. she moves her hand down to rub at your clit and suddenly your stomach is pulsing and your orgasm is hitting you like a truck, abby's following after yours as she's groaning into your neck and thrusting harder to grind the base of the strap into her clit.

it takes a minute for both of you to calm down, the bliss overtaking the both of you.

"was...was that loud enough?" you whisper and feel her silent laugh on top of you, rubbing your leg over the back of hers.

she pushes her head up enough to look you in the eyes, and you really regret asking the question because she's got that dumb-ass smile back on her face and shaking her head.

only a few minutes later she's got you on all fours, leg propped up as she forces your hips back and forth on her dick. and then after that she makes you ride her, and then the position she knows you're obsessed with: her fucking you while standing up.

"a-abs! abby! oh my god!" your throat is sore as her fingers grip the meat of your thighs, the force of her bouncing you and thrusting her hips up getting you closer and closer to euphoria. your eyes are closed and your head is tilted back, doing anything to avoid the way she's looking at you like you're some goddess she's been blessed to witness.

"just a little bit more baby. cmon, tell me how much you love it."

"i do! fuck abby, love it so much."

"love what, honey? you can do it, know you can. god you're so perfect."

your mind is hazy with the feeling of the strap hitting that sensitive spot inside of you with every bounce of your hips and her words that you barely even register her demand, groaning when she bites at one of your tits that have been bouncing in her face.

"tell me what you love. please, please tell me."

"nghh, love you abby! fuckin love your dick so much!"

"that's it, thaaat's it pretty girl. let everyone you're mine, that i'm yours-"

you're pretty sure she kept talking after that, but the rush of your orgasm deafens every sound and lights your body on fire, only able to feel the high and the cum leaking down your thighs. you go in and out of consciousness but come back to when you're both back in bed, abby pulling you onto her chest and she rubs a soft hand down your back.

"love you." you mumble, snuggling into the warmness of her.

"i love you too, y/n."

"'m sorry about earlier."

"me too. promise that i'll tell you whenever i'm feeling down. or when i'm dealing with a douche."

"me too."

you get the best night's sleep you've had in years.

in the morning everyone seems ecstatic for the holiday, ready to share their gifts with each other after breakfast. you decide to join in helping to cook, which gets you a crazy accusation from jordan saying your helping is just 'sitting on the counter so abby has something to look at while you drink a mimosa". whatever. abby is standing between your thighs and talking to you about her new workout schedule when owen and manny walk into the room, manny bidding you a sly 'good morning' with a smirk as owen grabs water from the fridge.

"hey owes, can you hand me one?" abby asks, her fingers drumming on your thigh as she uses the other to catch the bottle he tosses to her with a polite smile. your eyes are following the action suspiciously before abby is for some reason keeping a grip on the middle of the bottle as she opens it so the liquid spurts onto a bit of her shirt.

"ugh, abs! wait a second." you start to move off the counter when she holds your hips down.

"its fine, babe. i'm used to things squirting on me, anyway."

your face scrunches up as you smack her in the shoulder, your face hot as you hear jordan and manny cackling like hyenas and owen chugs down his water. abby just presses a loud kiss on your cheek.

other than your friends constantly teasing you, nora whispering a 'love shack' in your ear when she walks behind you in the living room, the day really is perfect. when the sun sets everyone is exchanging the gifts they got for each other. leah got jordan some necklace he's had his eyes on, manny bought mel some earmuffs after hers broke a month ago. some of them teased you for having surprisingly thoughtful gifts despite having a heart of only half-thawed ice, making you only reply that you weren't past taking the gifts back.

and then you open the gift abby got you and nearly cry; a custom snow globe, inside two mini figures dancing on a mountain of snow, one wearing skis and the other wearing skates. the she almost does the same with the corny 'cooking for two' book you bought her and the limited edition version of her favorite novel.

its a night full of warmth and laughter, and once it ends you find yourself standing out on the balcony, looking out at the lit lights of the village and the lifts on the slopes. your phone is in your hand and you open the text messages to your dad.

tell everyone i said merry christmas. its going to take me time to mentally heal enough to train. but if you're willing to do it with me then i'm in.

"hey, it's fucking freezing out here." abby opens the slide-apart door and comes up beside you, wrapping her arms around you to look out at the view with you. "are you ok?"

you sigh, turning to admire her. the redness of her cheeks, the tiny snowflakes in her hair. the way she's looking at you.

you nod your head.

"i'm on top of the world."

fics keep getting longer to overcompensate allah take me now. spent so much of yesterday aka my birthday writing this omg but it was so fun to write a more developed reader. uhhh idk stream cobra by megan.

[thessalian]

Thess vs Another Christmas

I have survived another Christmas! And also ended up ridiculously excited about household appliances.

It’s been that kind of year.

My parentals very much enjoyed their gifts. I think I was particularly successful with my stepfather this year, to the point where he was actually asking me how I made the peanut butter fudge. Between that and the custom-printed “This Human Is Property Of Digby” T-shirt I got for my mother, I guess nothing really says “I love you” like highly personalised gifts.

(Which got proven by my squee when I got home when one of the players in my D&D group gave us all a PDF of poem / ballad lyric sort of things for each of the PCs ... except hers, which I fixed immediately by writing one for her PC. THE CUPCAKE COTERIE IS RIDE OR DIE WITH FROSTING, MOTHERFUCKERS.)

*ahem*

Anyway. Gifts from the parentals did my list proud. New kettle (my old one still works but it’s kind of shitty) with matching toaster (my old cheap crap one doesn’t work anymore), and some cutting boards. Like I said - ridiculously excited about household appliances. Apparently Steam gift vouchers are coming. Hopefully in time for the Steam sale. I swear my stepfather does this every year. I even told them they could order the physical cards from Argos for home delibery but apparently no, my stepfather would rather try to do something complicated. There’s still some question about the air fryer I asked for. They said something about waiting until my birthday, and also how they’d like to wait until this place has been remodeled and I have more counter space. Thing is, it’s been nearly two years now and the other flat isn’t even done; if I have to wait until this flat is done, it’ll be years. I keep saying I could just move the thing to a cabinet when I’m not using it but I got a “we’ll see” so I’m kind of at the point where I’m thinking of making the decision to wait on that one myself. I don’t deal well with “we’ll see”.

Still, kettle! Decent kettle! And a toaster that works! Look, toasting’s one of the few things that makes gluten-free bread halfway edible; I need this. Also you can buy little gluten-free pancakes and waffles, and they generally heat best in toasters. And I have so much maple syrup.

...I need to get some gluten-free bread anyway. I have designs on a French toast breakfast at some point on my week off.

So, yeah, gifting went well, as did dinner, and I surprised people by asking for the turkey bones to make broth. Not that they were displeased; far from. “One less thing to throw away”, was my stepfather’s take on the whole thing. So I took home the bones, a little bit of the turkey meat (I have plans in the direction of turkey risotto), some of my mother’s stuffing, and some home-made fruit salad. Also there were absolutely no awkward conversations, at all! Not even when my stepfather was driving me back home; instead we ended up listening to some story on the BBC World Service about a guy who spent thirty years looking for some ancient Gaelic treasure, and shared a good laugh over it too. Those moments are few and far between with my stepfather, so I will savour it. (Not that he’s really a bad person or anything; just he and I are very different so it’s rare we have moments like that.)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to break in my shiny new kettle with a nice cup of coffee.

Happy Holidays to all!

[lovelyirony]

Title: I wish i could forget you

Tony Stark was not supposed to be in the car when Howard and Maria Stark attended a Christmas holiday party for another company. In fact, Hydra had wanted him to stay home. 

Unfortunately, Tony had ticked off Howard a bit too much, and so here he was in a tuxedo that was a bit too big, uncomfortably shiny shoes, and a temper that was close to blowing. 

Thank god they were almost home. 

When a car crashes, one almost can’t believe it. Tony can see the outside blurring, and he can hear glass crunching, and he hears things that he really doesn’t want to hear. He is fairly sure that Maria screamed. 

A metal arm. 

Huh. 

Well, not the most typical. He also doesn’t think that the man knows he’s here. 

Howard and Maria Stark are killed. Tony feels like shit because he couldn’t do anything. His forehead is bleeding and he didn’t want to move out of fear for himself, which seems selfish, but also maybe a survival instinct? 

God, his bow-tie is still constricting air flow. 

Once the man turns, Tony realizes that he wasn’t the target. They probably had no idea he was in the car, whoever “they” were. 

He gets out of the car. The car door creaks, and the man whips around. 

His eyes widen. 

“You--what?” 

The voice is surprisingly American. 

Surprisingly? He’s not sure why it’s surprising, it’s not like an American can’t kill just look at history, but still, Kind of surprising. 

"What, wasn’t supposed to be here?” Tony rasps out. He realizes now that he’s basically sent himself a death sentence as the man surges forward. 

“What are you doing here?” 

His eyes are piercing. Also very, very familiar with some photographs that Peggy has on her mantle and her desk. 

James “Bucky” Barnes. Son of a bitch. 

“What are you doing alive?” Tony asks. “I thought you were lost in a ravine in Europe somewhere.” 

“What--huh?” 

“Ravine. In Europe. You know who you are, right? Is this some kind of sick...what did they do to you?” 

“I do not know what you are talking about.” 

His eyes get cold again. 

“Who are you?” 

“I am the Asset.” 

It is now that Tony realizes that every single shitty sci-fi book is probably right, and his disdain of “wacky science” and “magic” have all been for nothing, because here is Bucky Barnes, who apparently has no idea who he is. 

Then Tony gets knocked on his ass. His body slams against the icy road, and Barnes is rushing towards a motorcycle. 

And he’s alone. He can’t breathe, all the wind knocked out of his chest. He thinks he broke a couple of ribs. 

- 

No one believes him. At all. SHIELD brushes it aside. 

“There’s no way Barnes could be alive. You were probably just seeing things,” they tell him. “Would you like us to find you a therapist?” 

“No,” Tony says, and they ask why. He laughs, sipping on his water. “SHIELD has so much loyalty to itself, I’m afraid I’d be compromised.” 

“Therapists aren’t supposed to divulge any information,” Nick Fury adds carefully. “And we’re a secret-keeping bunch. Nothing goes out that comes in.” 

“Unless, of course, it’s necessary,” Tony drawls, staring at Fury. God, the leather outfit...that’s weird. “Then I’m out in the open, Nicky. And what fun is that unless I get to show off an outfit in full-coverage?” 

“...I’ll have an agent escort you home. We’ll have guards overnight.” 

“Don’t bother.” 

“And why is that? Think you can handle it by yourself?” 

“Fury, my family has made a career out of thinking a lot of things. You’re not being as detrimental as you think.” 

He finger-waves, grinning and winking at agents on the way out. 

- 

Now comes paranoia. This is welcome, actually, because it’s allowing him to work up new security measures and hack into various security cameras around the world to see if he can find Barnes. 

It’s like he’s a ghost. And fuck, maybe Fury was right. Tony doesn’t like that, but that may be it. 

Merry fucking Christmas. 

- 

Years go by, and Tony keeps a tiny ear to any news about mysterious deaths that can’t be explained. A man that glows in lamp-light, has no identity. He’s not sure if it could be Barnes. God knows he’s no longer seventeen, and Barnes--it if it was Barnes--would be way older. He should’ve been an old man in 1991, but he wasn’t. 

It kind of reminds him of the conspiracy theory that Walt Disney was kept cryogenically frozen, which is just ridiculous, because as far as he’s concerned, you’d need a bit more to you than just regular skin and bones. 

And this is where it hits him. 

Barnes was experimented on when he was captured by Hydra. Peggy told him that Rogers told her that he was repeating his dog tag number over and over, as if someone was trying to take him over. 

Yeah, you’d need a bit more. 

Like a fucking super soldier serum. 

- 

This then delves into Tony realizing that if Barnes is flash-frozen, then...well, could Rogers have survived? He always thought his dad was crazy, but a broken clock is right twice a week or however the hell that saying goes. He never used it, he wasn’t a broken clock. 

(He was broken, but he’s not going to compare himself to a clock. Perhaps  Model-T.) 

- 

They find Rogers. Tony realizes Howard did his math completely wrong for years, and probably never let anyone look at it because he was a World Super Genius. And a Colossal Dick. 

Steve Rogers is one tough cookie to crack. Tony chips off some of the ice and puts it in a glass of scotch. 

“Do you really think that’s the most appropriate thing to do?” Phil Coulson asks. 

He’s shocked, but mainly because Tony has seen his Cap collection, and that man has so many limited edition cards and lunchboxes that it’s a bit crazy. But at least he knows how to decorate with it and not have it look like an absolute nutjob swept into his house and did it all in red-white-and-blue. 

“Phil, my darling, when have I ever done anything the appropriate way?” Tony asks. He stares at the face that’s emerging out of the ice. “Besides, what else are you going to do with this ice, hm? Besides melt it all off?” 

Steve is a miracle. Every scientist on earth wants to poke and prod at him. 

Tony breaks him out of SHIELD in a week, because he swears to shit if one more scientist asks to take blood samples “to see how going under Arctic temperatures affects the bloodstream” (and also take DNA for cloning) he’s going to lose it. 

Fury yells at him for two hours. 

Steve flips Fury off from the couch, where he’s been channel-surfing for the better part of three hours. 

“You’ve already corrupted him,” Fury scowls. “Rogers, we need to talk--” 

“He’s retired,” Tony says. 

(Steve is not, technically. Hasn’t said anything. But Tony is putting him on mandatory retirement for at least a year.) 

“What’s...what the ever-loving fuck is that?” Steve asks. 

An infomercial. For an automated chair. Mostly used for old people. 

Tony grins. 

“You wanna see how fast I can launch you out of one?” 

“I’m going to say yes. Professionally.” 

Ten miles an hour, and Steve goes flying across the room into a pile of pillows. 

It’s not the end-all solution. God knows Steve calls him “Howard” and asks where a lot of nasty food is, and sometimes can’t tell the difference between what his brain is seeing and what is actually there. 

But Tony gets him help. And Steve goes to art school. 

It’s all very funny, actually. Steve rants about “modern art” and how “if he could kill any concept it would be abstract expressionism, what the fuck.” 

Tony buys and then donates a Rothko in his honor. 

Steve fumes, but finds it hilarious. 

Then, there’s the attack on New York. 

Norse god of mischief decides to end New York, blah blah blah. 

Captain America reappears, everyone loses their shit, and Tony almost dies. 

Then he gets four other roomies besides Steve, and he has to make a chore chart. Ugh. 

- 

Barnes reappears in France. Tony gets a fairly good image, and Natasha stills. 

“You know about Winter Soldier?” 

“Barnes? Yeah.” 

“You know who he is?” 

“James Barnes. At least, I think. He tried to kill me, wasn’t very successful at it.” 

Steve overhears. 

This leads to a chain of events that ends in Steve not coming to family dinner because he’d rather sit in his room and listen to Green Day or Glenn Miller or whatever the hell gets him even more upset. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m sorry. But up until this picture? I was only about sixty percent sure I wasn’t full of beans.” 

“Why is that the phrase you use?” 

“What, full of beans? Bruce says I have to work on my cursing. Apparently, children are impressionable. Who knew?” 

It’s not a total success. Steve still doesn’t like that Tony didn’t outright tell him, but Tony isn’t going to tell Steve that he has the mental stability of a single cashew. 

So begins the hunt for Barnes. Which actually isn’t too bad. 

He’s in DC. Not for any political clean-up, unfortunately. He’s trying to kill Fury. Tony doesn’t know why, at least until he looks up Pierce, who’s technically, mostly retired from SHIELD. 

And yet still uses most resources that technically? He needs more than one authorization from multiple people. 

God, people are getting bad at covering their tracks. Used to be harder to catch and see if someone was doing dirty deals. 

(Okay, not like he can talk because Obie was...well, no use in discussing that now. He needs to focus.) 

Nat and Steve are bad at lying. This kind of surprises him, because Steve is usually a successful liar. He’s convinced Clint that it’s not him who keeps eating his peanut-butter-fudge ice cream, but Thor. 

And Natasha used to be Natalie Rushman. Then again, Tony was poisoned during that one, so that might just be on him. 

-

Helicarriers go in the water. 

Tony’s working on making sure most of the information doesn’t reach the general public, although he can’t stop it all. 

Barnes falls off the face of the earth, and Steve wants to go on another treasure hunt. 

“Let him come to us, or figure himself out.” 

“This isn’t a college kid going backpacking in Europe for a year,” Nat snaps. “He’s...you know who he is, who he was, and what he can do.” 

“Counterpoint: we don’t know if he secretly really wanted to see traditional decoration of Ukrainian Easter eggs,” Tony says. “God knows that I want to learn more about that.” 

“Is everything a joke to you?” 

"Only on federally mandated holidays,” Tony says with a shrug. “But let him be. Steve, it’s one thing that he didn’t kill you. It’s another thing that he hauled you up from the Potomac. I’m not sure I would’ve done that because who goes up alone to a helicarrier?” 

“Historically nobody,” Natasha says. “Most people don’t have any helicarriers.” 

“God, this situation sucks,” Tony says. “What if. We potentially. Ignore all of it and have spinach and artichoke dip? Hm?” 

“With toasted bread?” 

“I’m not an animal, Steve.” 

“Your penchant for four a.m. coffee while you don’t realize you’re singing songs from the seventies says otherwise,” he responds. 

“Well well well, if it isn’t the punishment of you getting the aux taken away for a week,” Tony taunts. 

“Oh, come on!” Steve whines. 

“Nope, just you having to listen to more of Bruce’s questionable tastes.” 

“Fuck.” 

- 

Barnes comes stateside. The only reason Tony knows this is because Jarvis says that he may have spotted Barnes, but he’s not sure. 

“J, you’re the most advanced system in the world, not to mention my son, and you like to hack into the Pentagon for funsies.” 

“All of that could not have prepared me for this.” 

Barnes is wearing a neon green tank top that is advertising Coco Beach in Florida. 

“Can I laugh? Or is that sad?” 

“Multitask, Sir.” 

“Oh, true.” 

- 

Barnes is not in New York. Tony has to near-about put an electric fence around the whole state so that Steve doesn’t go on a road trip. 

Hell, Tony doesn’t even trust him to go to coffee alone, but that’s a bit much. 

“We have to wait,” Tony says. 

Sam Wilson is a godsend. Also the funniest man Tony knows. 

He is also emotionally healthy and very perceptive, so he has been noticing that Tony is nervous. 

Because how do you face the man who killed your parents? Technically? 

“Are you talking to your therapist?” Sam asks. “Just thinking you should.” 

“Sam, we’re working on my issues from 2007. Believe it or not, it will be taking a full year.” 

“I don’t like that I can never tell if you’re serious.” 

“I know you remember the tabloids from 2007, I wrote a mesh vest. Clearly, I need so much help.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Maybe. Hey, I’ll catch you later. Clint and I are gonna go try and find some questionable shirts to crop.” 

“Did his little protege convince you? Bishop, right?” 

“Kate, yeah. She’s convinced our public image will go viral or something. Good luck with helping Steve and Nat with your super-soldier hunt.” 

“Thanks. Let me know if you find a shirt with my face on it. I want it.” 

Sam snorts. 

“Will do.” 

- 

Bucky Barnes comes to New York in early May. The springtime is slowly but surely fading off, sun approaching more and more. Tony is enjoying coffee on a veranda, and then suddenly his waiter is nowhere to be found and he’s not entirely sure if his visitor takes credit or debit. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Maybe. Depends on if you’re gonna kill me or not.” 

“I think Steve would be a bit broken up about it.” 

“Do you care what he thinks?” 

“On this situation? Yes. When it comes to culinary choices? No.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face. Tony’s trying extremely hard not to remember shattered glass and a motorcycle on ice. 

“Can we, uh, table this conversation? For later. Espresso and all that, plus the added bonus of our shared history, so...” 

“Shared history?” 

“You don’t remember?” Tony asks. Bucky shakes his head. “Ah. Then this is truly a comedy of errors. Maybe. Um. Listen, I, uh...I gotta go. You need to talk to Nat or Steve or hell, maybe even Thor. Is Thor a good option?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” 

“Barnes, I can’t exactly face you right now.” 

And then he jumps off a balcony. 

A fucking balcony. 

Jesus H. Christ, his therapist is gonna be so excited for their next session. 

The suit wraps itself around him, and he can finally breathe, and he’s thinking about calling Pepper and see if she would like to schedule him a vacation for maybe anywhere but New York and Iowa. 

“Why not Iowa?” Pepper asks. “They have good antique stores. I’ve gotten quite a few good finds for clothes.” 

“I can do shopping retail literally anywhere else, absolutely not.” 

“Spoilsport. Steve know you’re leaving?” 

“I didn’t even really tell Steve what happened with my parents.” 

“Oh, your therapist called. She sounded concerned, but also intrigued.” 

“It’s because Sally almost became an employee of NASA and still has a soft spot for aerodynamics.” 

“What exactly did you do when faced with Barnes?” 

“Check the front tabloid page tomorrow, just tell everyone I’m out of town.” 

“Got it. And Tony?” 

Her voice is soft. 

“Yes, dear?” 

He can feel her rolling her eyes. Affectionately, of course, but rolling all the same. 

“Be safe, and come back. You know Rhodey and I miss you.” 

“I miss you too.” 

- 

A week is spent in Malibu. He really is thinking about selling this place. But for now, it suffices. 

Steve texts him. 

bucky’s back. holy shit 

be back in a week. radio silence. 

got it. no more messages from me. thor tells me to tell you that he broke the sink 

:(((( 

And that’s it. He’s sitting in the house for a week, has already called Sally once and explained how his suit works, and then listened to her talk about how “his reliance on the suit to help him escape unfavorable situations is not exactly the healthiest but also none of my clients have had to face someone who is of weird standing.” 

It’s no secret that Tony doesn’t like Howard Stark. Who would’ve liked that sorry excuse for a father, a man who was so cold-hearted the Arctic looked like a tropical paradise? 

Maria was...Maria was different. 

She wasn’t a good mother. No, she was never a good mother. But she tried, and she didn’t deserve her fate. 

And then there was the question of Bucky Barnes. Who wasn’t Bucky when he was there, but still so damn recognizable. 

It’s kind of like when there’s a movie about a famous person, and another person plays them. Like Tom Hanks, essentially. Bucky played whoever the fuck they get Tom Hanks to play and it’s similar: you see the resemblance, but it’s not it. 

So yeah. 

There’s also the little tidbit that things get complicated when you involve personal feelings and rationality, and really? Tony misses New York. A lot. And he’s not going to let someone else overtake his life just because he’s uncomfortable. 

So he flies back to New York. 

- 

He’s in a bad way, Barnes is. 

“He remembered you,” Steve says. “What he did.” 

“Ah, there’s that.” 

“He doesn’t have to be here,” Natasha says. “I have a couple of SHIELD safe houses to choose from.” 

“None would be adequate to house something like me,” comes the response. 

Barnes looks remarkably shitty, as if he hasn’t slept in eighty years. And maybe he hasn’t. 

“Jail would be more fitting.” 

Tony rolls his eyes. 

“You are literally the most dramatic person ever, and Bruce threatened to take over the government because Thor ate the last croissant. Put those on the grocery list, Steve

“We’re not gonna throw you in jail,” he continues on. “Not because you happened to be used as a goddamned Swiss army knife. I have issues, sure, but I’m not going to be going all Hannibal Lecter or whatever.” 

“Who the hell is that?” 

“Cannibal. I realized that that’s a terrible comparison, please forgive me.” 

“Why a cannibal?” 

“Couldn’t think of anything else but Anthony Hopkins, the actor. My mistake. Point is, we’re gonna have to go through some channels, and I’m introducing you to BARF, as well as a new person who’s gonna rock your world.” 

“I’m pretty much well-acquainted with vomit.” 

“No, not that,” Tony says. “Although we can cover that through my 2005 edition of partying if we really wanna dig up some old magazine interviews. No, I’m introducing you to something that’s going to change your life.” 

-

After that, Tony doesn’t have much to do with Bucky’s life. 

He serves as a permanent guilt trip, nothing says “well, shit” much like being a permanent guilt trip. 

Sally tells him that they should talk it out. Do all that “and how do you feel?” questioning that makes his skin crawl and his eyes ascend to the ceiling. 

I mean yeah, they share a living space. Tony has seen Bucky laugh and smile with Sam, talk with Bruce about a really interesting article about regeneration of plant cells or whatever, and Bucky enjoys videochatting with Wakandan royalty. 

(It also helps that Shuri is blunt as ever, but so blisteringly smart. He’s reading her paper on regeneration of nanotechnology, and it just...it’s the Pieta of research, that paper.) 

But he never speaks to Bucky. Well, he does. But it’s more along the lines of “hey Barnes” and “how are you?” which aren’t exactly the Most Thought Provoking Statements Ever Made. 

Summer comes swiftly, and about near with a vengeance. Tony’s dealing with a heat wave and trying to figure out if going outside is even worth it, and then he and Bucky are alone in the kitchen. 

Tony was debating getting a couple of popsicles from the freezer. Bucky is considering sabotaging Clint’s smoothie that was supposed to be special for tonight, but that he’ll most likely forget. 

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Um, can we talk?” 

Shit. 

He’s been avoiding this, officially, for a month. Potentially more if you’re going to count a few choice events that have been brought up by his psyche. 

“Sure thing, buttercup. What are we talking about. Economy, world crises, the great debate on financial advice?” 

“Isn’t the third thing just the economy?” 

“We can break it down over coffee.” 

“Mm, maybe another time. No, I’m talking about us. About how I--I kind of ruined your life.” 

Tony blinks. 

“You didn’t ruin my life. If my life was ruined you’d be hit with so many lawsuits that I could make the rest of your life look like the third circle of Hell, or wherever it is that people go nowadays in Dante’s eyes. No, you didn’t ruin my life.” 

“I still killed your parents.” 

“If you hadn’t, someone else would’ve. Believe me, there were about fifteen others in line. Sometimes, myself included.” 

“You can’t not take me seriously,” Bucky stresses. “I still did a terrible thing. I just want to make sure you know that you’re being too kind.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Tony says. “Being too kind would have me feeding you grapes.” 

Bucky’s face blanks. 

“Don’t. I...I don’t wanna take advantage of your hospitality. I don’t want to remind you of what happened.” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t wanted,” Tony says. “Believe me. And if you want to leave, you’re free to leave. I don’t want to make you feel like you need to stay here.” 

“I...I want to make it up to you.” 

“Then use BARF and review it,” Tony says. “I’m serious. I need user feedback, and you’re the best candidate for it. Also, please try to convince Steve to wear neon yellow. I just want to see if he’ll do it.” 

- 

Steve wears neon yellow. Tony laughs so hard he cries. 

Bucky smiles. 

It’s a nice smile, really. It’s wide and happy and wow. That’s all worth it. 

And then BARF. Bucky just gives user feedback, nothing else. Tony doesn’t want to know anything else, but they start talking more. 

Tony finds out that Bucky’s been doing crosswords to catch up on current events, and he’s bought taped recordings of World Series games. 

He loves antique stores. He visits them and brings home little trinkets that he remembers in his own house, or what he remembered. He watched old commercials from the fifties and sixties, laughed as he remembered the Sears catalogs that would come in the mail. 

“Me an’ my sisters would beg my mom for new clothes from the catalog, and she never would. Always sewed our pants and skirts so damn well, I probably could’ve used them for the next ten years.”  

Tony laughs. 

“Well, I can’t promise I can sew. But I could give you some armor that could last you twenty years, if you want. Steve told me you’re thinking about doing some distance missions.” 

“Just observation, no armor required.” 

“Sometimes it’s the simple missions that get the worst hits,” Tony says. “Believe me, I know how it goes. So, do you want some armor?” 

Bucky smiles. 

“Sure.” 

“I’ll need feedback.” 

“I’ll give it all I’ve got.” 

- 

Bucky is a goddamned dream to design for. He knows exactly what he needs, what areas are most likely to be pierced, and also has a flair for the dramatic: he requests an Iron Man helmet be embroidered on the back. 

“You’re really just trying to be sweet on me, aren’t you?” Tony teases. 

“My master plan to gain your fortune,” Bucky teases right back. “I’ll waste it all on champagne pools and the worst-looking but most expensive shoes I can find.” 

Tony laughs. 

“Sugar, that’d be incredible if you could spend all of my money on that. I’d commend you.” 

Bucky smiles, and it shouldn’t be as nice of a smile as it is, but here Tony is with his opinions and his concerning thought that maybe he wants to see more of Bucky. 

- 

In the morning, there begins a routine. Tony is always up at eight o’clock. It’s a rare lull in Avenger-morning-routines: Nat, Steve, and Bruce are all done, and Thor and Clint won’t be in until ten o’clock at the earliest. 

(What can he say? Thor’s a god and Clint...well. He needs a lot of beauty sleep.) 

Tony makes coffee, and Bucky makes them both breakfast. Says that officially, it’s to test and make sure that his prosthetic is still performing under optimal conditions. 

(They both know that’s not it.) 

Tony always says he pours too much water, makes enough for two cups. 

- 

Steve calls them out on it. 

“You two are being weird,” he says. “And not like Thor and Bruce trying to reenact that one show about ghosts and unsolved things.” 

“That’s their form of courtship, don’t be fucking rude,” Clint remarks. Natasha snorts. 

“What, us being weird?” Tony asks, pouring a bit more coffee into Bucky’s mug. He always uses too much creamer and then won’t finish his coffee unless there’s more. “Why do you say that?” 

“It’s because you both do couple shit,” Bruce says, breezing into the kitchen. “Also, Steve, lovely to see that you have volunteered to be the next guest on Avengers: Unsolved. We’re planning on using you as a guilt-trip in order to access files about aliens.” 

“Truth will be found!” Thor adds. “But also, yes. Bucky, I thought you were taking him on a date to the art museum on Saturday.” 

Bucky turns red. So does Tony. It really is quite inconvenient. 

“I mean, we could go on a date there,” Tony says. “If you’re okay with that.” 

“You’re doing this in public?” Natasha asks, eyebrows raised. “Hm. Would not have called that.” 

“You owe me fifteen dollars,” Bucky says. “Not you Tony, quit looking at me like that. Yes, it will be a date on Saturday, I’ll wear a nice shirt. Nat said that I couldn’t do anything that surprised her.” 

“Technically, Tony surprised me.” 

“I thought dates were mutual events, hm? Fifteen dollars. I’ll use it to buy the best bouquet in New York.” 

“The best bouquet costs over a thousand dollars,” Thor answers. 

“Not questioning how you know that, but I’m scared of you,” Bucky says. “Then I will get the best fifteen-dollar-bouquet in New York.” 

Tony snorts, smiling. 

“I guess I’ll spray a bit of my perfume on my pillow then, soldier.” 

“I’ll pick you up at noon sharp,” Bucky says, grinning. He finishes his coffee. “We’ll make fun of Steve’s art exhibit together.” 

[welllpthisishappening]

The Couples That We Know

Technically speaking, they’re not supposed to be dating. Each other, at least. 

For Killian Jones, there are plenty of reasons to like working at Pendragon Publishing. Good pay, vaguely acceptable benefits, not-that-bad coffee in the break room. But there are also some things he kind of, sort of...hates. Namely the way dating his co-worker is possibly against the rules, and how that means they can’t go to the annual holiday party. Together, at least. 

So, enlisting the help of their best friends only makes sense. Pretend to date other people, avoid any hint of suspicion, and drink all the wine Pendragon’s party-planning committee can offer them. Perfect plan, really. 

----

Rating: Still teen, still with some kissing Word Count: 6.1K AN: As promised, the onslaught of Christmas fic continues. This one somehow has secret dating and fake dating because I know no trope limits. Also it almost sort of follows the prompt @the-girl-in-the-band-tshirt​​ sent in, which was "we’ve been celebrating our wedding anniversary on the wrong day for the past nine years." Attempts to follow the prompt were almost made. 

Also on Ao3 if that’s your Christmas jam. 

----

“You know, for this to work, you’ve got to actually stop staring at her. At least without quite so much palpable longing.” Opening his mouth, Killian has every intention of announcing how little he’s staring, but that would be a rather awful lie and it’s probably wrong to lie at Christmas. Or at least two and a half weeks before. Plus, Mary Margaret’s face makes even the thought of saying whatever he hadn’t entirely come up with impossible. 

“You going to give me detention?” “I’m seriously considering it.” He sighs. Dramatically. Nearly lets his chin slump towards his chest, which would add more than a fair share of melo to that aforementioned drama, and—“You think this is a dumb idea?” Mary Margaret’s eyes widen. 

Her lips practically disappear when she pushes them together that way, and Killian has to bite the side of his tongue so he doesn’t make some sort of teacher-based quip again. He really cannot afford to get sent to detention. Metaphorical, or otherwise. 

“There’s no possible way for me to tell you, again, how dumb this idea is,” Mary Margaret says, and that might be the most scathing string of words he’s ever heard out of her. Telling Emma suddenly becomes something of a necessity, and that’s a problem. 

The crux of their problem, really. 

Eyes flitting up, Killian ignores the wholly out-of-character sound Mary Margaret lets out when his gaze darts across the room and lingers on hair that’s looking shinier than usual, as if it’s trying to distract him and overwhelm him, and both things happening simultaneously is almost too much for his brain to deal with. When he’s had two glasses of wine, already. 

It’s not the best wine, actually. Killian’s not surprised. Pendragon Publishing is not especially well known for its money-spending efforts, and the annual holiday party is no different. Funded by some half-hearted party committee, that is very likely controlled by just one person, that same person does not appear to have an eye for decorating. If the copious amount of mistletoe hanging everywhere is any indication. 

And the whole thing exists to drive Killian insane. Both the mistletoe, and the party. Or so he will argue. When Mary Margaret inevitably points out what a dumb idea this is, again. 

She’s totally going to say it again. 

“It’s going to work,” Killian mutters, but it sounds inherently unenthusiastic, and Mary Margaret’s eyes cannot widen anymore. They’ll fall out. Which will cause a scene, he imagines. 

And they’re trying to avoid that. 

Or, well—avoid breaking the rules, technically. They don’t want to do that. Because Pendragon might host shitty holiday parties, but it’s one of the most well-known agencies in the Tri-State area, and both Killian and Emma like their jobs. They like each other too. 

Deciding to date wasn’t really part of the plan. But she makes him smile, and he considers the ability to make her consistently laugh one of his better talents, and they’re really good at kissing each other. Which is something they’ve been doing for far longer than anyone realizes. Months, actually. With post-work dinners, and weekends spent together, and Killian has started to find it harder and harder to leave her apartment in the morning, because he keeps staying at her apartment all night, and not proclaiming several rather life-altering strings of words is becoming more and more difficult. 

Which brings them right back to the crux of the problem. Pendragon’s holiday party, and its presumably boxed wine, and dating other employees isn’t explicitly mentioned in the employee handbook, but it’s very likely frowned upon and showing up here together wasn’t a feasible option. No matter how much he wanted it to be. 

Showing with other people, though. That made sense. 

It made—sense adjacent. 

“Did I tell you that you look nice?” Tilting her head, Mary Margaret’s gaze turns appraising and she wasn’t particularly pleased about having to take her ring off. It hangs on a chain that’s only occasionally fallen over the front of her dress, and David thought the whole thing was hysterical. 

He sent “Mary Margaret 101” facts to Killian all week. 

“You don’t have to actually woo me,” Mary Margaret counters, but there’s a bit of color on her cheeks that doesn’t have anything to do with the heat in this rented loft. It’s very warm. 

“No woo’ing, just facts. Should that dress look familiar, though?” “Depends on how often you’re rummaging around the back corner of Emma’s closet.” “Not that often, but—” Mary Margaret nods before he can get the rest of the question out, smiling over the top of her glass. Filled nearly to the brim with wine that may actually be capable of eroding paint. It’s so bad. That’s probably not a metaphor for anything. 

“You’ve really got to stop staring, it makes you look like a crazy person,” she adds, and to prove how capable he is of following direction Killian’s does the exact opposite. Back towards his girlfriend, and there wasn’t really a ton of planning before they dove into the deep end of this totally legitimate, absolutely will not blow up in their face plan. 

Will’s arm is slung over Emma’s shoulders. “Can’t clench your jaw like that, either,” Mary Margaret mutters. Keeping the laugh out of her voice is seemingly impossible. 

And rolling his whole head is juvenile, but Killian’s starting to feel a little drunk. Without any of the fun benefits. His head hurts. “Should have come up with a list.” “I could if you want.” “I do not, no.” Mary Margaret’s smile is a hint more honest, that time. It really is a nice dress. “That’s what I figured,” she says, tugging on his tie familiarly. “But you look like you’re going to challenge your own best friend to a duel.” “Swords are a requirement for that, aren’t they?” “Alexander Hamilton.” “Excuse me?” “Dueled with pistols, so—” “—Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays?” Snickering, Mary Margaret bumps her hip with his and there are at least ten unopened texts from David on Killian’s phone. Demanding update for what he was regularly referring to The Great Idiot Romance of 2020 . Although, he never mentioned that in front of Emma. 

Who very likely would have won that duel, should it have occurred. 

“Alright,” Mary Margaret sighs, like she hasn’t already agreed to a whole night of this, “we should probably mingle, if we’re going to make this look legit.” “Say legit again, please.” She sticks her tongue out. 

“Not a very good argument, Ms. Blanchard,” he chuckles, shifting his hand to the small of her back and he supposes he should eat something. To sop up all the wine. Her expression doesn’t change. Might get more scowl-like, if anything. 

And there’s likely no reason for Emma’s neck to twist the way it does, except something else vaguely melodramatic that Killian cannot think about for the next four hours, but she does and he stands up a little straighter. Presumably, at least. Mary Margaret’s reproachful tongue click is very loud. 

But then Emma’s eyes are widening as well, and her lips are slightly twisted and Killian does a God awful job of winking at her. 

He swears he can hear laugh — across the whole loft. Four hours at this stupid thing, max. Then he’s going to make out with his girlfriend. For possibly four hours straight. Which he imagines is a record of some sort. 

“Food,” Mary Margaret declares, fingers back on his tie and she makes him eat four bacon-covered somethings before they leave the table. 

To mingle. As is required by polite society and Mary Margaret Blanchard soon-to-be Nolan, and Killian quickly loses track of the number of people they smile at and the few others they nod in the general direction of, and he really should have been better prepared soon-to-be to evolve into a problem. He’s not. And Aurora’s gasp catches him off guard.  

“Oh,” she cries, hands flying to her cheeks in the middle of a group of editors congregated by the floor-to-ceiling windows, and at least that’s kind of picturesque. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Killian!”

Every one of his muscles tenses. Freezes, making Killian’s ability to stay upright all the more impressive, and it’s nothing except instinct when his gaze practically flies towards Emma. 

Who immediately tugs her lips behind her teeth, Will’s eyes widening to a size that would be comical in any other situation. 

Mary Margaret’s jaw works — trying to find an excuse, or an explanation, but there’s not any of those things and Killian finds himself nodding again. “Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, “that’s, uh—we are totally engaged.”

“Selling it,” Mary Margaret murmurs through clenched teeth, and he considers it an exceptionally large miracle that he doesn’t point that out. She’s not doing a good job of playing her role now, either. 

Aurora doesn’t notice. Another miracle. ‘Tis the season, or whatever. “So,” she presses, “have you set a date or—” Strictly speaking, biology was never one of Killian’s better school subjects, but he’s starting to wonder just how much stress the muscles in his neck can continue to cope with, and he’s all too aware of how much he’s beginning to resemble a bobblehead.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, we’re, uh—” Licking his lips doesn’t help their overall state, floundering under the expectant stare of half a dozen coworkers who are now heavily invested in a wholly fake relationship, and Mary Margaret’s hand threatens to crack several of his knuckles. When she laces her fingers through his. 

“Thinking next winter,” she says, sounding more honest than anything else they’ve told these people. “City’s basically all decorated for us, already, you know?”

Aurora does know, it seems. 

Her nod isn’t as erratic as Killian’s, is far more enthusiastic — complete with wide eyes that practically announce her interest, and the hammering of his heart against his ribcage makes it difficult to hear the footsteps that are moving towards them. 

Will looks far too entertained. 

Emma’s lips are still missing in action. “Couldn’t help but overhear,” Will drawls, and the duel is starting to sound very appealing, “sounds like congratulations are in order.” He’s going to kill him. Killian’s going to let go of Mary Margaret’s impressively tight grip, and he’s going to use both of his hands to strangle his best friend. Or at least ensure that he’s deprived of enough oxygen that he doesn’t continue talking. 

He will enjoy it. Thoroughly. 

Lifting her eyebrows when neither Mary Margaret nor Killian respond to this supposed stranger’s proclamation, Emma’s exhale is inappropriately loud. Rife with guilt, and an emotion Killian can’t quite name because being jealous of her best friend’s engagement to someone else is as absurd as anything they’ve done tonight, but it’s also kind of nice and— “Aurora, this is Will,” Emma introduces, and he’s actually got the gall to smirk in Killian’s direction. Before thrusting his hand forward, smiling a bit more good-naturedly at Aurora, who only looks slightly confused. 

That’s fair. 

All of this is flying off the rails, and Killian briefly considers how much of a scene it would cause if he barreled into the kitchen demanding better alcohol choices. It’s probably not worth it. 

“Nice to meet you,” Aurora says, like an actual human. With normal, human thought processes and presumably fewer holiday-based lies to deal with. “We were just talking about Killian and Mary Margaret’s wedding.”

Blood floods his mouth, and Killian’s only slightly worried about running out of tongue to bite before the night is over. Mary Margaret’s fingers somehow tighten even more, threatening the blood flow to his entire right hand, and Emma is very interested in the state of her shoes. 

“That’s absolutely what it sounded like,” Will grins, “when’s the happy day?” Glaring without making it obvious is actually difficult. Killian widens his eyes, but that only makes the width of Will’s mouth increase — like some literary cat, and Emma’s eyes keep closing for prolonged periods of time. Like at least several seconds. 

“Next winter,” Killian bites out, “we’re getting married next winter.” “Decided on a location, yet? Gotta get that stuff in early from what I’ve heard.” “Have you just?”

Will nods, shoulders shifting ever so slightly. Like he’s trying very hard not to laugh. It’s not entirely working. 

Maybe they should apologize to Aurora. 

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Will says, “wedding industry’s cutthroat like that. Plan months in advance, and even then you might not get your first choice.” “That’s definitely true,” Aurora agrees, and maybe Killian will just topple over. Sit down on the floor and drink an entire box of wine, and he doesn’t think anyone else notices when Emma pinches the bridge of her nose. “When Phillip and I got married, we went through a couple different venues before we found one that worked with our date.” “Sounds hectic,” Killian mumbles. Talking was a mistake. His voice doesn’t even sound like his own, Emma’s gaze snapping up in unspoken warning, and he’s worried he’s using up his miracle supply. So as not to cry out at the overall force of Mary Margaret’s fingers. 

All five of which were apparently blessed with mutant-type strength. 

“Luckily we’ve got that covered,” she says, brightly and only a little disingenuous. 

Emma blinks. “Yeah?” “Yup. Did you know you can get a permit for a Central Park wedding for like fifteen bucks?” “Wow, that’s—that sounds really nice, actually.” “Depends on whether or not it snows, but—” Mary Margaret shrugs, and none of them are lying anymore. Well, at least not quite as blatantly as five seconds before. Will’s smile almost looks legitimate. 

“You’re thinking of an outdoor wedding?” Aurora asks. “In the winter?” Another shrug, hints of color rising on Mary Margaret’s cheeks. “Early December, and we probably won’t be outside for very long. Mostly just the ceremony, and some of the pictures. There’s a certain kind of romanticism to the city in December, isn’t there?” Aurora doesn’t look overly convinced. Killian barely notices — is admittedly very preoccupied with the look on Emma’s face, and how it almost feels a little wistful and maybe just as romantic and not kissing her is somehow a victory and loss all at the same time. 

“You know,” Aurora says slowly, like she’s about to impart a crucial piece of information on them, “if we’re being honest, I am actually surprised this is happening.” One of Killian’s fingers flutters. Where it’s tangled with Mary Margaret’s, and Emma hasn’t blinked in years. Possibly longer. “Weddings? Or another wonderful event put on by Pendragon?”

“Bet they didn’t try and find this venue that far in advance,” Will mumbles. Emma closes her eyes. That’s like—half a blink, at least. 

Aurora shakes her head, still looking far more serious than the situation requires. “No, no, no, well...you and Emma are always together at work, aren’t you?”

Breathing is a challenge. 

Gritting his teeth less so, the overall tension in Killian’s jaw threatening to do permanent damage. Emma hasn’t opened her eyes yet. 

“We’re friends,” he reasons, and if he were actually engaged to Mary Margaret he’d be almost offended by this whole conversation. 

Lying likely robs him of any right to relationship-based offense, though. 

“Oh no, no, I know,” Aurora says, without sounding entirely honest, “and I’m sure it’ll be a gorgeous wedding. Just—if we had to guess, I think most people at Pendragon would have thought it’d be the two of you.” If nothing else, this night has provided a massive insight into all the facial expressions Mary Margaret is capable of making. At least half a dozen that Killian was previously unaware of, including the current one — a mix of disgust and appropriate scandal, and Killian resists the urge to point out that he and Emma probably couldn’t date, even if they wanted to, which they are, but that’s...that’s beside the point. 

Entirely. Like a different hemisphere from the point.

Aurora gives a tight-lipped smile.

“When did you and—” Will clicks his teeth, effectively redirecting the conversation. “—Phillip, was it?” Aurora hums. “Guessing you two didn’t get married in the winter, did you?” Whatever else she says gets lost in the buzz between Killian’s ears, the overall state of his heart continuing to threaten the structural integrity of his ribs, and Mary Margaret gives his hand several squeezes. To recapture his attention and whatever professionalism he’s barely clinging to, and she’d been right about romanticism. 

Of which he’s clearly bordering on hopeless at this point. 

Emma smiles. 

And Aurora excuses herself eventually — Phillip appearing like an unknowing brunette knight in conversational-armor, all four of them nearly exhaling in tandem. 

“So,” Will says, “scale of one to ten, how much did we suck at that?” “A forty-seven,” Mary Margaret replies, head lolling onto Killian’s shoulder while he finally lets out the scoff that’s been bubbling in the center of his throat.

“Next winter, huh? For real?” She makes a noise that’s presumably some sort of agreement, and Emma’s smile doesn’t waver. “Thinking about it. If Scarlet will double check with Belle about taking pictures in front of the library.” “Public property,” he replies, “don’t have to double check.” “But can we go inside at some point?” Killian asks. 

“Wimping out about temperature already?” “Expressing concerns, like Aurora who is—” “—A wedding genius, apparently,” Emma mutters, and Mary Margaret’s shoulders shake. She still hasn’t touched her wine. Eventually that will prove important. 

“Got a lot of opinions when it comes to other people’s plans, at least.”

“Eh,” Will argues, “did we give her much of a chance to delve into those opinions, or was Killian too busy making eyes at Emma?”

Continuing to open his mouth without actually saying any words is frustrating. For Killian. And the state of his heart, which cannot seem to find a rhythm anymore. Especially when Emma flushes, and threatens to stare a hole into the floor and of the two dresses she owns that are currently making the rounds at this party, the one she’s actually wearing is better. 

Probably because she’s wearing it. 

“I told you,” Mary Margaret grumbles, without any of her previous ability to chastise. She sounds almost amused. 

“Although,” Will adds, “Emma’s not doing much better, so—” Huffing out a breath only serves to flutter the few strands of hair that frame either side of Emma’s face, and that’s only vaguely messing with Killian’s perception of...reality, maybe. “Ok, you do not get to point out my own,” she leans closer, like that will help the volume of her next few words, “fake relationship shortcomings.” “Why not? It’s making all of this endlessly entertaining.” “I’m a better fake date than you,” Mary Margaret says. “You had to use your own wedding plans because you can’t take your ring off.” “That is nice!” People likely don’t turn the way Killian’s brain has already convinced him they do, but every one of Emma’s teeth is visible when she grits them like that and both of their potentially-obvious fake dates look properly ashamed. 

“Sorry,” Will grumbles, while Mary Margaret twists her heel and whispers, “no more wedding talk, I promise.” Emma laughs. That’s—surprising. And it’s not quite the laugh Killian’s also started claiming as his, but that feels almost possessive, and she’s definitely carrying less tension between her shoulders than he is. “I think that ship has sailed,” she says. “Should have thought about your outfit beforehand.” “Killian likes the dress,” Mary Margaret smiles. 

“Yeah, well Killian likes me, so…” Tugging Emma against his side, Will lets out another noise that will only garner them more attention, and people are starting to dance. The party fund could not afford a band. Or a DJ. Or anything more than what sounds like slightly muffled speakers and someone’s Spotify premium account. Killian hopes it’s premium, at least. 

Hearing ads in the middle of this instrumental Christmas music might be the last straw. For his sanity.  

“Well,” Will says, “if Mary Margaret’s going to start planning weddings, then I guess I do have to step my game up. C’mon, Em—let’s show ‘em what we’ve got.”

“And what do we have, exactly?” “Impeccable rhythm, and the lingering knowledge of a Groupon dance class.” “Do people still use Groupon?” Emma challenges, and Killian loves her an absolutely ridiculous amount. For several thousand things, but at this very moment, it’s mostly how her voice causes Will’s eyes to bug again and his tongue to poke between his lips and maybe the whole night isn’t a total disaster. He should tell her he loves her. 

Sooner rather than later. 

“My girlfriend,” Will replies, “who will totally be able to sneak Mary Margaret and David into the New York Public Library to avoid frostbite and ensure very pretty pictures, presumably on that fancy staircase they’ve got.” “Nothing sets the tone for a winter wedding like some casual breaking and entering,” Killian says, barely containing his grunt when Mary Margaret’s foot shifts. On top of his. 

Emma rolls her eyes. 

They’re just playing the soundtrack to A Charlie Brown Christmas now. 

“We’d appreciate whatever rules Belle could break for us,” Mary Margaret promises, “and will not mention that she’s the only person still using Groupon. Like, in the world.”

Will’s tongue is going to dry out. “Get on my fake date level, almost-Nolan.” “Shout that louder, please,” Emma groans. “And does the staircase not have a name? Fancy staircase cannot possibly be the acceptable vernacular.” “Probably not, because no one actual uses the word vernacular in actual conversation. Now you’re just trying to show off.” “Sound suspiciously like you’re impressed with my vast vocabulary, Scarlet.”

“Product of your profession.” “Grand, I think,” Killian says, fully prepared for Emma’s slightly parted lips. He will argue he’s prepared, at least. One of his knees does threaten to buckle though, and Will’s current eye-roll rate cannot possibly be healthy. 

“The profession?”

“The staircase.”

“Oh. That’s pretty lame, actually. It doesn’t have like a—staircase sponsor?” “Not that I’m aware of, but the entrance hall is called Astor Hall.” “Similar to the place of the same name?” Will quips. “Or—” “—The guy from the Titanic?” Mary Margaret finishes. “Why do you know about this?”

Killian lifts one shoulder. The one not currently providing rest for Mary Margaret’s head. “I know everything, a good fake-girlfriend would know that.” “And a legitimate girlfriend would dispute that,” Emma says, “plus, the Astors own or have endowed like half of New York. This is not impressive knowledge, and don’t get Mary Margaret talking about Titanic, she’ll start waxing poetic about Leonardo DiCaprio.” “I do have a longstanding crush on Leonardo DiCaprio,” Mary Margaret admits. “If I start quoting things about a real party and point out that Kate Winslet was willing to dance, will that get you guys to move?” Will demands. “Because we’re starting to draw attention and that’s probably not going to help our quest.” “It’s a quest now?” Killian asks. 

“Way more dramatic that way, so yeah.” “Please don’t start quoting Titanic at me,” Emma requests, pulling on the front of Will’s jacket and it’s a testament to their dedication to this ridiculous plan, or quest, that he wore a jacket. No matter how bad a plan it might be. 

Or quest. Whatever, honestly. 

“Alright,” she continues, “show off the lessons, or I’ll make fun of you for the foreseeable future.” Will winks. Not well, but possibly better than Killian is capable of, and he’s going to blame the wine. “Prepare to be absolutely wowed, m’dear.”

Rolling her eyes doesn’t do anything to shift the smile off Emma’s face, although she does look at Killian before she moves and the jealousy clouding his overall sense of being is as antiquated as the music and as absurd as anything else. 

Impressive, considering their overall barometer for absurd. 

“When do you think Aurora got married?” Killian asks, rolling his head towards a sympathetic-looking Mary Margaret. “Spring? June? That’s cliché, right?” “June,” she echoes. “Probably required her dozen bridesmaids to help her hand-make table favors, too. Just to really drive the point home. You want something else to drink?” “Yes, obviously.” Narrowing her eyes slightly when she nods, makes it more difficult to look at her — but that might also have something to do with the amount of alcohol Killian’s already consumed, and he really does appreciate how often Mary Margaret keeps making him eat. Even when it appears everything on this catering menu comes with bacon. “Don’t do that, ok?” he asks, at least two of their allotted four party-hours later. 

She lifts her eyebrows. “Keep texting my fiancé?” “Maybe you are the worse fake date.” “Well, you’re speaking in tongues now, so—” Shrugging, Mary Margaret’s shoulder doesn’t collide with Killian’s, but he’s also starting to feel a little buzzed. And hating bacon. And possibly happiness. On principle. 

Will and Emma keep dancing. Which also keeps them from having to interact with anyone else, but his buzzed-mind doesn’t care, and this whole thing was mostly his idea and that’s starting to really annoy him. 

That might be his base setting at this point.

“Bacon,” Killian clarifies, “don’t allow the national obsession with bacon to affect your food decisions when you—” Footsteps move by them, curious eyes and he’s not a frog, so his blood cannot possibly run cold. Plus, it’s honestly way too warm in this room. “We,” he amends, somehow rushing over two letters, and Mary Margaret noticeably sags against his side. “What was that about this being a dumb idea?” “Ah, getting fired at Christmas-time sucks. How will you buy us all presents, then?” Laughing helps loosen the knot of emotion that’s been growing increasingly tight in Killian’s chest, and the ends of Mary Margaret’s lips quirk up when he kisses the top of her hair. “Bacon is vastly overrated, though,” she adds, “people are obsessed with it.” “It’s weird, right?” “Definitely. Should I apologize for getting you engaged against your will?” Kissing her hair again is easier than responding, because responding might force Killian to contend with a lot of life-type plans he’s only half concocted, and he really should tell Emma he loves her first. Like, more than he realized. 

Until he had to pretend he didn’t. 

“Nah, but you can explain it to David because I don’t want my story to get interrupted when he inevitably starts laughing.” “You wanna dance?” Smirking at her does not have the same effect it has on Emma. And that’s definitely a good thing, but Killian’s drifting towards melancholy and the music isn’t instrumental anymore. Michael Bublé is a Christmas requirement, though. 

He flips his wrist. 

“Sweep you off your feet, Miss Blanchard.” She’s closing in on Will for number of pointed, if not passably amused, eye rolls. Still, Mary Margaret’s hand lands in his, and Emma’s eyes definitely drift towards them — which is as bad as it is good, and Michael Bublé’s version Santa Baby might actually be the worst thing that’s happened to any of them. All night. 

“Not exactly the pinnacle of music, is it?” Killian mumbles, and Mary Margaret hasn’t stepped on his foot. Or pointed out how close they linger to Will and Emma, both of whom look as unenthused by the music choices. 

And maybe it’s because he keeps staring, or possibly because Will is not the asshole he likes to pretend to be, but Killian is not entirely prepared for his friend to spin his fake date closer, or mutter something about cutting in that makes Mary Margaret laugh and Emma’s jaw drop and she steps on his foot. 

It’s the best thing that’s happened to him. All night. 

“We are not good at this,” Emma says, but she doesn’t sound all that upset about it and the buzz between his ears lessens. Turns into something warm and hopeful, and she’s close enough that he can smell her shampoo. 

“Something to be said for effort though, right?” “I’m not sure we’re making much of an effort.”

Nosing at her hair proves her point, but Killian’s—an idiot, and willing to blame romance, and the holiday season, and all the wine. So much. Even more bacon. God, he hates bacon. “Scarlet’s not subtle. And you look incredible.” “Do those sentiments go together?” “No,” Killian answers, “but true all the same.” “Flattery will get you everywhere.” Twirling her away, only to bring her back just as quickly, Killian doesn’t try very hard to avoid the smirk. So, he’s kind of a glutton too. For punishment, and poorly-timed emotions, and there’s a rather obvious glint in Emma’s eyes that leaves him breathless. Plus, she sort of slams back into his chest. “God,” she grumbles, “lacking some grace, huh?” “Eh, we’ll get there.” “Will we just?” He only realizes what he’s said when he notices the way her voice drops — rasped between lips that are redder than usual, and difficult to hear over goddamn Michael Bublé, and he’s totally staring at her lips. Obviously, he’s sure. “Yeah,” Killian nods. “Guaranteed.”

Part of him worries. Suddenly, Immediately. Overwhelming—ly. But Emma doesn’t move, and they’re more swaying than dancing now, and Mary Margaret’s footsteps are rushed. In a dramatic, everything is blowing up sort of way. 

That sucks, admittedly. 

“What are you—” Emma starts, but Mary Margaret just shakes her head. Yanking on Killian’s sleeve, she threatens to rip the fabric and he’s never heard her use any of those words. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she hisses. 

Killian tilts his head. “Be more specific.”

“Lance Sinqua is here. Is he supposed to be here? Why didn't either of you tell me he was going to be here?”

“He works in acquisitions, I think.” “I thought you knew everything,” Emma teases, and he has to bite the other side of his tongue. To stop from kissing her. 

Making out, more like. “I’ve had a lot of wine,” Killian reasons, “Should I be more concerned about why Sinqua being at his own holiday party is a problem?” Swatting at his side with both hands, Mary Margaret all but snarls. Emma looks appropriately surprised. “I know him,” Mary Margaret says, pausing between every word for emphasis. “And he has seen me.” What feels like the weight of several words and half a dozen ridiculous plans and/or quests fall into the pit of Killian’s stomach. Where they immediately crush a variety of internal organs. “Will’s distracting him now,” Mary Margaret explains, “but—he doesn’t know David personally, just that I’ve got a boyfriend—” “—Fiancé,” Emma corrects lightly, but the tone changes again and Killian’s never gone into shock before. He assumes it feels suspiciously like this. 

“I do not care; at all. Just—Killian, you’ve got to come. Now. Like right now.”

Nodding hurts his neck again, but Killian’s legs move on their own and his hand finds Mary Margaret’s and thinking about the look on Emma’s face isn’t healthy. Makes him want to stand on a table, or something equally absurd. Shout several things from several different rooftops, and he wonders if she’ll have to wear a red dress for the wedding. 

The real one, not whatever one he and Mary Margaret are going to lie about.

And to his credit, Will’s attempts to run distraction do look admirable. Moving hands and a nearly legitimate smile, while Lance nods in interest and continued conversation, and Killian squeezes Mary Margaret’s hand. In what he hopes is solidarity. 

“Hey,” Will exhales, as soon as he sees them, “here he is.” Killian’s cheeks ache. “Present and accounted for. You must be Lance, Mary Margaret said you’re old friends.” “Ah, I don’t know about old,” Lance objects, “but certainly the rest of it. I didn’t know she’d be here, would have asked you guys for drinks before or something.”

There’s really no word for the sound Mary Margaret makes at that. Part squeak, and what sounds like an admission, but that says a lot more about Killian’s growing guilt and residual jealousy and—

“How long have you two been engaged?” 

Racking his brain, Killian’s had too much to drink for this. He’s dimly aware of Mary Margaret swaying closer to him, Will’s grimace all but broadcasting how unprepared they are for that particular question, but it also seems like he’s trying to tell Killian something. He does not understand. Fuck boxed wine, quite frankly. 

He opts for honesty. 

Sort of.

It worked for Mary Margaret, after all. 

Sort of. 

“We’ve, uh—” Killian starts, “—been engaged only a couple of weeks, but...we’ve been dating since March.”

Will’s shoulders droop. His eyes turn imploring, but he can’t actually say anything and Lance is, so it absolutely does not matter. “March?” he echoes. “Your friend said it was kind of a whirlwind romance. Got together in the summer.” His mouth does more than open. His jaw drops, nearly to his ankles and shoes that he actually got polished because this party isn’t super important, but Killian wanted to look nice on his fake date and Mary Margaret’s hand is the only reason he doesn’t fall over. 

“Ah,” Killian breathes, “right. That’s—yeah, that’s right.” Lance doesn’t look convinced, either. He should go talk to Aurora. Who keeps glancing at Emma, like she’s got like SONAR. Joke doesn’t even make sense. In Killian’s head. 

“We’ve been celebrating a bunch of different anniversaries,” Mary Margaret cuts in, speaking so quickly it’s as if that lie jumps out of her mouth, does cartwheels and then gets a four from the Russian judge for lack of proper execution. “Y'know...romance, and everything. He’s uh—Killian must be thinking of when we met.” Lance quirks an eyebrow. He might hate Lance. He definitely hates Lance. “You’ve only known each other since March.” “Oh my God,” Will mumbles, scratching behind his ear. And really, that’s not what does it. But it’s certainly a tipping point, or a metaphorical straw, and Killian nods once before he lifts Mary Margaret’s hand to his mouth, mumbles thanks against her knuckles and marches directly towards his actual girlfriend. 

Who is standing directly under the mistletoe. 

It’d be more impressive if she wasn’t, honestly. 

And the music doesn’t stop — although Killian can’t really hear it either, an arm finding Emma’s waist, and her hands landing flat against his chest and someone cheers. Will. It’s definitely Will. Heads turn towards them, surprise coloring more than a few of their co-workers faces, while others look...less so. 

Killian doesn’t bother dwelling on that. He’s got more important things to do. 

“I’m pretty ridiculously in love with you,” he says, Emma’s eyes getting brighter and her lips as distracting as ever. Several of the less-than-surprised faces aww. Audibly. Which doesn’t quite make sense, but he’s still not dwelling and—“Not admitting to dating you is driving me nuts.” “When is your lease up?” “What?” “Were those words confusing in that order?” Emma asks, infusing the question with false confidence that he can hear perfectly and she should have confidence in spades. At least when it comes to this. 

Maybe if they get to keep their jobs. 

“A little,” Killian concedes. “Are you—do you want me to move in with you?” “A ridiculous amount.”

“That’s admittedly not the best adjective I could have used.” “Eh, I won’t get particular with syntax.” “Stop showing off,” Will yells, “and kiss other directly on the mouth!”

There’s a general hum of agreement — even while Lance continues to look a little confused, and Aurora looks a little offended, both of which makes sense because they were fairly awful liars, and someone’s given Arthur a microphone. So the owner of Pendragon Publishing can tell them, “Literally everyone knew, you both suck at not making out in the break room.”

Heat wafts off Emma, climbs up Killian’s neck and takes root in both of his cheeks and Arthur is not done. 

“It’s not encouraged. Intra-office relationships, usually way more trouble than they’re worth, but, well—all you really need to do is sign some paperwork with HR and maybe find some other corners that are less obvious.” Nodding slowly only makes it more obvious the kind of strain all of Killian’s muscles are under, but he can’t come up with a feasible response to that and Emma’s fingers curl. Into his shirt, and he imagines that makes it easier — when she yanks him forward, lips slanting over his and she doesn’t have to push up the way she normally does. Still, Killian’s fairly certain he hears one of her heels pop out of her shoes, and if this is how it feels when a heart beats its way out of a person’s chest, it’s actually fairly comfortable. 

“I love you too,” Emma mumbles, against his mouth. So, the only reasonable response is to kiss her again. Several times over. 

And they do fill out paperwork, eventually — the story of the fake date fiasco, as David comes to call it, perfect fodder for Emma’s maid of honor speech, and proof positive of the inherent romanticism of the city at Christmas. 

[bookerlausanne]

Now That I’m Free

A Destiel Secret Santa gift for @i-like-to-think-i-am-cool via this year’s @destielsecretsanta2020 ;)

I hope you have a wonderful holiday and that you can enjoy this fluffy, ridiculous mess I typed after 5 glasses of wine.

Summary: Dean finally has the words if he can only give them voice.

Warnings: I just had a breakup this week #2020, so this is the schmoopyiest, melodramatic, harlequinesque, most ridiculous thing I’ve ever written. I’m sorry it’s so short.  Post season 15. In no way canon compliant.

 “Now that I’m free to be

Myself, who am I?”

Mary Oliver, Blue Iris

 It was Christmas Eve and Dean Winchester was alone.

He sat in front of a beautiful tree filled with generic ornaments – nothing saved from his and Sammy’s childhood, nothing much to speak of on the road with their- with John. He wore his Star Wars ugly Christmas Sweater and sat staring at the lights with shitty cooking Bourbon in a chipped coffee mug sitting untouched and sweating next to him.

Sammy and Eileen are headed his way tomorrow, plans adjusted to accommodate Eileen’s eight-month pregnant body having trouble sleeping in anything other than her own bed. Dean would have been more than happy to drive to them, but the change of plans came too late to reach their house in time and the concern on Sam’s face begrudgingly prevented him from any teasing or complaints. Jack will be (Dean’s willing to bet) in pj’s and drinking hot cocoa in this very spot just waiting at 4:30 in the freaking morning for the rest of their family to arrive.

And Cas-

Well, Cas might show up, might not. Not like Dean’s his keeper or his bosom sister or his confidant or possibly even his friend, certainly not his lover-

Dean eyed the mug full of Bourbon and breathed out slowly. His jaw clenched and unbidden the last two years flashed before his eyes: Cas getting pulled into the Empty, defeating Chuck, Jack becoming the new Big Man Above, and Cas – fuck – Cas alive and standing in the middle of the Bunker with nothing more than a “Hello, Dean.” a perfunctory hug and an adios back to Heaven. Yet, again.

Dean knows he’s not being fair. Cas still half lives with him in the bunker. Well, not lives lives. Ok, so he does technically live here but in his own room and with barely any contact with Dean. Not really, not anymore. And Dean knows it’s been a rough time coming off something like what happened, what he endured – yet again – what he said. Confessed.

Dean shifts in his chair, closes his eyes, and tilts his head against the wall behind him.

“Fuck.”

It’s his fault and he knows it. He has always known. It’s always him. The air between him and Cas is nothing less than intense. Fraught. Cut it with a stone thick. Because for all that Cas found the courage to say everything he did that night, Dean has felt thick tongued and uncomfortable ever since. Which, of course, Cas has noticed and tried to give him space for. Which, of course, has hurt Cas’s feelings and created a seemingly vast distance of space between them. Which, of course, as previously mentioned, is all Dean’s fault.

But be it Kismet or Karma or just Jack, tonight that is going to change. It has too.

Because Dean isn’t getting any younger. It’s not like he’s unaware but it’s something he thinks about much more frequently than he used too – especially while working on fixing up the bunker to accommodate the next round of Hunters. A Bunch of Badass Bitches as Claire likes to say. Dean smiles at the memory of the exasperated look on Cas’s face hearing her say that.

“Suck it up, Buttercup.” He mumbles to himself before taking a moment to just breathe. He gets up and clears his small amount of dinner dishes and the mug to the kitchen before coming back to the tree. He stands there half transfixed, grits his teeth for a moment and begins.

“I pray to the angel Castiel – uh, hey Cas, look, I don’t know if you’re busy but I just need you to listen for a minute and uh yeah,” Dean clears his throat and takes a moment. “Back when, when you said what you said – look, I- I know things are strained right now and I take the blame for that, ok? You deserved a response then and after and now and I –“

The unmistakable sound of Cas appearing behind him makes him pause. And he knows, god knows Dean can sense Cas around him like they’re tethered heart to heart in any plane of existence. There is a brief silence filled with so much expectation it’s almost unbearable and Dean knows – as sure as he’s ever known anything – that this is the most important moment of his entire life. He feels sick. He feels a bead of terrified, anxious sweat roll down the side of his face. He continues.

“I- I don’t have to tell you some sob story about an unloving parent who heaped a bunch of homophobic shit onto his too-pretty son. At this point it’s hardly a secret that my dad was an ass. But that kind of fear that you develop…” Dean stops and shakes head. “Look, what matters is that I couldn’t respond to you that night. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t know and – yeah maybe that makes me the biggest asshole in the world to be so blind but I – I didn’t know. And I didn’t know what to say. And, when you came back, I still didn’t know what to say. I was frozen.”

Dean feels the tension behind him wind tight and he knows – god he knows he’s fucking this up but he has to try. He opens his eyes to the lights of the tree in front of him and fights to hold it together.

“I was frozen in the eye of a storm – because, Cas, I’m not the hero in this story. I’m not the good guy – no matter how hard I try. I-I’m not worthy. I’m not – fuck – I’m selfish.” Dean’s terrified but he must turn around. He must face this. He turns with tears in his eyes and sees Cas standing there just as wide eyed and teary as he imagined he would be. He’s hanging onto Dean’s every word because it doesn’t matter if he knows every piece of Dean’s heart, he still needs to hear it. Dean walks over to Cas until their positions are a perfect match for that night. Cas sees the struggle and determination on Dean’s face – still beautiful – and begins to hope.

“Cas, I love you.”

There is one moment where both men feel as though caught in the eye of a storm. The shock of Dean’s confession stills both until suddenly –

“I love you, too. I should have said it then, that night. I should have said it then. I should have torn down the walls of the deepest pit of Hell, torn down the foundations of Heaven myself to find you and tell you that I love you, Cas. Because I do – fuck – Cas.” Dean’s hands are cupping the sides of Cas’s face, thumbs trailing through tears of joy and shock and awe streaming from his too-blue eyes. The sight of his tears cuts into the marrow of his bones and Dean realizes that he has never, will never love anyone like he loves Cas.

And then Dean kisses him. Soft and sweet and so full of love he feels like he could die with it because  despite every negative, horrible, shameful thought that tries to break loose and tear up his mind Dean finally understands. He finally has processed and internalized and begun to believe. As Cas laughs and pulls him close murmuring his own words of love before making Dean’s breath catch at the passion of his kiss – how he slides a hand in Dean’s hair and tilts him as he likes, tasting the sweetness of his hot, wet mouth. And when Cas breaks their kiss to sweep Dean in his arms – making them both laugh at how ridiculous they must look - just to spin him around and shout with joy… that belief within Dean grows even stronger.

He is worthy. Worthy of love.

And he’s finally ready to fall.

[fallout4reactsblog]

A Very Commonwealth Christmas: Year Two

“Are we seriously doin’ this again?” Gage griped from his place beside the window. “It sucked last year.”

Ada shook her head. “Actually, by my calculations, the endeavor was a great success. Sole’s enthusiasm and overall happiness was far above predicted values. As such, it is only logical to repeat the exercise.”

Cait (who still refused to even look in Gage’s direction) huffed. “So long as we do somethin’ fun this year.”

Preston smiled gently, showing his infinite patience once again. “Of course. I wouldn’t ask you to do the same thing twice, so we’re switching things up a little. Is everyone familiar with the concept of Secret Santa?”

A mixed bag of responses came back.

“Well, it’s simple. I’ve written down everyone’s name on a piece of paper and put them in this hat.” He tipped the hat to show them the neatly folded squares of paper. “Each of us will draw a name, and you’ll get a gift for whoever you draw. Sole was worried that we didn’t exchange gifts ourselves last year, so this year we’re going to make that happen.”

“And what if we don’t like whoever we get?” X6 asked, not looking directly at Deacon, but the subtext was clear.

“You’ll just have to pretend. Remember, for the next few weeks, we’re all good friends as far as sole is concerned. We all get along.”

To Preston’s credit, he did manage to not glare at Gage, X6, or any of the others that were deemed “troublemakers,” but they got the message. He’d made plenty of threats last year if people didn’t get along, threats that were not empty and, undoubtedly, very much still on the table.

“But what about sole?” Piper asked. “Is their name in there?”

Preston shook his head. “They’re not playing. According to them, the effort of us playing is enough.”

Ada took the hat from Preston’ hands. “We will go in alphabetical order to draw names. Cait, you will draw first.”

Cait was at least kind enough to wipe her hands off, freeing them of the looser flakes of dried blood, before snatching out a name. It seemed that the reading lessons between her and Piper had been going well, because she didn’t ask what it said. That, or she was too proud to admit it.

Slowly, they passed the hat around. Some people were better at concealing their reactions than others; Deacon might as well have been wearing a mask for the emotion he showed, but Curie didn’t even try to hide her distaste for whoever she’d drawn.

“Alright, people.” Preston clapped his hands. “Because of the game, I’ve called in some extra help from the settlers to get the other preparations done. You should have plenty of time to get your presents. You’ve got a week.”

Ada

It was a pleasant surprise to have drawn MacCready, in her opinion. Though he wasn’t someone she’d spent much time around, he was a fairly easy man to understand. Plus, it was unlikely he’d be expecting much from her. After all, he would put more effort into his own family celebration than this one, and wouldn’t expect her to do anything but the same.

Still, a part of her wasn’t content with just getting something easy and moving on. That wasn’t the spirit of the game, now was it? But she couldn’t well talk to MacCready directly, so she hunted down the closest person to him.

“What would I want?” sole asked, wiping their hands off on a dirty rag. “Ada, you know that I’m not playing.”

“Of course. But you know all of us the best, do you not? And you have quite a lot in common with my partner.”

“Well, alright.” They leaned back against the workbench to think. “I mean, anything at all is enough to make me happy. A new coffee mug would be nice, though. I’ve been looking for one that’s shatterproof so I can just toss it in my bag on the road and not have to worry about it getting chipped or anything.”

“That is a helpful insight.” Already, her mind was working, thinking about things that could make life on the road easier. “Thank you.”

“Sure, anytime.” They turned back to the workbench. “Good luck.”

Cait

The evening found Cait curled up next the fire, beer in hand, bitching with Hancock about the whole thing.

“How am I supposed to know what Deacon wants?” she said, glaring at the bottle in her hand as if it was to blame. “I don’t know shite about him.”

“No one does. That’s his whole gimmick.”

“Makes him a shitty person to find a gift for, then, doesn’t it?”

“Just get him a box of ammunition or something. It’s a good, generic gift.”

She glared at him. “Do you even know if he uses a gun?”

“Well, now that you mention it, no. But there’s gotta be somethin’ like that that’ll work. Rad-X, or RadAway, or RadSomethingElse that he needs.”

With a sigh, she took another drink. “You reckon sole’ll mind?”

“They’ve gotta know how he is, right?”

She shook her head. “Who did you get, though?”

He crinkled what was left of his nose. “Guess.”

“Someone you don’t want, by the looks of it.”

“I’ve got the ol’ tin can himself.”

She snickered into her drink. “Bad luck.”

He let out a long sigh. “Anythin’ for sole, right? I’ll dig up a gift for crew cut, you find somethin’ for shitty James Bond, they’ll be happy and we’ll move on.”

“Yeah, sure. Anythin’ for sole.”

Codsworth

Of all the people that could’ve drawn Hancock, it had to be him.

Most people, of course, would take the easy way out. A box of chems would be more than enough to make him happy, and would be easy to procure in the Commonwealth. But it just didn’t sit right with him. It just wasn’t his style, so he needed a new idea.

“And you’re sure you don’t want to just get some drugs?” Farenheit asked.

“Positive.”

“Shit.” She blew out a long trail of smoke. “That makes things harder. Do you mind gettin’ your hands dirty?”

“I’ve been known to get into the occasional scrap.”

She nodded. “A while back, John lost his lighter to some punk, a raider or somethin’. He said it wasn’t a deal, never went and got it, but if you could get it back, I bet he’d like that.”

“And where is this hooligan now?”

“Last I heard, he was hiding out in Dunwich Borers.”

Not the safest place, but he could probably talk sole into going with him. After all, if they heard raiders had moved back in, they’d want to take care of business.

It was better than any plan he had, at least.

Curie

She wouldn’t have called herself a mean person usually. She liked to think of herself as someone who was generally kind and understanding, someone who was forgiving above all, someone who wouldn’t judge others based on rumor alone.

Porter Gage was her one (and only) exception. Which made her current situation awkward, to say the least.

Worse was that there wasn’t anyone to ask, was there? Except for sole, no one knew much about Gage, and those she was closest to happened to hate his guts on principle.

But for the next few weeks, that wasn’t allowed. She could harbor no ill will toward Gage, and instead had to consider him as just another friend of sole’s. Of course, usually that meant she would go straight to sole, but they were off-limits for direct questioning. They didn’t want to know who had drawn whom, which left her with only her own critical thinking to figure this one out.

While her critical thinking had not failed her, it seemed her own ability might.

“Sacre bleu,” she swore under her breath, staring down at probably half a dozen mirelurks. This area was supposed to be peaceful, and she’d hoped to track down some pre-war bug spray. It was no secret that he was no fan of insects, and as much as she hated to agree, these mirelurks were really starting to get on her nerves. Damn giant water bugs.

At least she had found the spray, and she was safe hiding up here in the rafters for the moment. How she was getting down was uncertain, and how she was going to dodge the mirelurks without losing a leg was also up in the air, but she’d gotten what she came for.

Danse

At least he had luck on his side. Of all the people to get a gift for, Cait had to be the easiest for him. She may not have liked him, necessarily, but he understood her better than he understood most of the others. The only better pull would have been Preston, but he wasn’t about to complain.

“I’m glad,” Preston said over breakfast. “Maybe it will help her warm up to you a little.”

“I wouldn’t be certain. I understand her hesitance; it’s a wonder to have been so widely accepted by your Minutemen.”

“Our Minutemen, now.” Gently, Preston tapped his shoulder with a fist. “But speaking of the game, I don’t suppose you’ve spent much time around Ada?”

Danse turned to him, surprised. “I would have thought you were more than equipped to be paired with Ada. After all, she has been the other primary organizer for the holidays around Sanctuary.”

“Yeah, but that’s all business.” Preston sighed. “I don’t think I know much about her as a person.”

“She seems to have affinity for the same kinds of junk that sole does. Perhaps something related to that?”

“Good idea.” He glanced up from the fire and smiled. “Thanks, Danse. I bet you’ll get a great gift for Cait.”

“I hope so. You’ll undoubtedly make an excellent selection for Ada as well.”

Deacon

“You’ve known sole a long time, huh?”

“But of course!” Codsworth says, dusting off the top of the fridge. “I have known sir/mum since even before the war. Before young Shaun was born, even!”

“And you’ve just stayed here this whole time?”

“Certainly. A Mr. Handy never abandons his post!”

“Must be hard.”

“It’s certainly not the easiest work, but I am happy to do it for sir/mum. It was easier before the war, when we had such modern amenities as vacuums and indoor plumbing, but I will endure for their sake.”

“That kind of loyalty’s hard to come by,” Deacon said, leaning back. “Sole’s lucky.”

Codsworth made a noise akin to a scoff. “They’d be luckier if they ever remembered to bring a new feather duster as I asked. I’ve been waiting months now.”

He shrugged. “They’ve got a lot on their mind. Little things lost in the mix. Happens to the best of us.”

It’s the nature of Mr. Handy’s to be talkative, which only gets worse when left alone for a couple hundred years. Still, at least it’s fun to stretch those interrogation muscles again. It’s been a while.

Gage

He knew this was rigged. It has to be. His luck wasn’t bad enough that, of all people, he drew Preston fucking Garvey out of that hat. Even worse, no one would trade with him; they said that it’s not the nature of the game. It was fuckin’ stupid.

So he was stuck with the one guy that hated his guts more than anything. Fuckin’ great. Worst part was, he would have to actually make an effort, because sole had been so thrilled he’d played nice last year, and the last thing he wanted was to get on their bad side. The Overboss’s anger was a dangerous thing, after all.

He hadn’t had much of a choice but to ask sole, despite their insistence on not knowing the pairs. An exception had to be made. After all, he wasn’t sure who else to go to, and they knew Garvey well enough to put him on the right track. Which left him here, digging around the catacombs in the Castle.

“Back in the day, there was a sword that the leader of the Minutement carried around,” sole had said. “Ronnie told me about it. I bet if you tracked it down and polished it up, he’d like that.”

So here he was, choking on dust, searching for some rusted-out piece of junk that probably didn’t actually exist.

“You’re doin’ this for sole,” he muttered, rummaging through a shelf that seemed to only have bags of cement.

Anything to dodge the Overboss’s wrath, even playing nice with fucking Garvey.

Hancock

The worst part was that he knew exactly where to start. He didn’t like it, oh no, in fact he hated it beyond belief. But he prided himself on giving good gifts, tin can or no, and this was a real easy one, if he could just make it work.

At least it was easy to convince sole. They’d gone out for a little bartering, he’d volunteered to come along, and from there it was easy enough to suggest they swing by the Prydwen to barter with Teagan and get paid for those technical documents. Both very time-consuming items, and both things that tended to draw attention once sole had their nice clothes on for bartering.

The nice thing about the Prydwen was that sole had keys to everything. All he had to do was “borrow” their key ring, find the right key, and he could stroll into Maxson’s living quarters like he owned the place.

His prize was easy to find. It seemed ol’ Arthur hadn’t moved on as well as he pretended; Danse’s holotags were sitting right on top of his desk, beside his terminal. They clinked as he picked them up. Sole had mentioned they’d had to turn them in to Maxson when Danse got exiled, and he’d noticed the former Paladin often reaching for a chain around his neck to find only empty air. Which made this gift the best anyone would be giving, hands down.

“Hey, there,” he muttered, turning them over to check the name. “We better get out of here before somebody sees us, huh?”

The nice thing about sole was that they were far too engrossed in bartering to even notice he’d been gone.

MacCready

What were you supposed to get a man that already had everything he needed? It wasn’t like coursers were supposed to want things anyway. Heck, did he even have use for anything except fusion cells?

Sole’s time being a precious commodity, it seemed, left him with three options (three fellow synths, if he was honest). One: Curie, the sweet scientist who had been a synth for about five minutes and had as little in common with X6 as anyone could, save for being a synth. Two: Nick, who didn’t like X6 and probably never would. Both bad choices which, tragically, left him with lucky number three.

Admittedly, since last years mutfruit disaster, he and Danse had upgraded from “I don’t like you, you don’t like me, and that’s fine by us” to “your presence around me isn’t the literal worst” which was a marked improvement. Still, he made the effort to catch Danse while he was working on his power armor, which meant he was probably in a half-decent mood and less likely to try to kill him.

“You sought me out for advice because I’m a synth?” Danse’s tone was not pleased. Surprise, surprise.

“Well, it’s not like you don’t have other stuff in common. You had your whole heart in an organization, too, and it gave you everything you needed.”

“When I was a Paladin, you mean.”

“Yeah. What would you have wanted?”

Danse sighed and shook his head. “As much as it pains me to admit, both Curie and I have observed that Generation Three synths seem to have a terrible fondness for Fancy Lads Snack Cakes. They were forbidden on the Prydwen due to their lack of nutritional content, and I would suppose the Institute is no different. If there is anything that X6-88 wants, that’s my best guess.”

“Snack cakes, huh? That’s... surprisingly easy.” He nodded. “I bet I could get my hands on a bunch in Diamond City, I bet. Thanks, Danse.”

“Of course. Happy to help.”

Nick

It seemed to be his lucky day, because his partner was someone he knew well, and had already planned on getting a gift for: none other than Diamond City’s favorite reporter. He’d gotten Piper a gift probably every year, and already knew exactly what he wanted and where to find it. Lucky him.

“Do you think I should do rose this year?” he asked Ellie, crouched to peer into the bottom drawer of a filing cabinet. He’d stowed away at least twenty years of perfume in there, specifically for Piper.

“You went floral last year,” she said. “Do you want to repeat yourself?”

“That was more lilac than rose,” he grumbled, but pushed the perfume in hand to the back.

“I don’t think we’ve tried anything citrus-y yet.” She hopped off the desk where she was sitting to look, too. “There’s a nice one somewhere in there. What’s it called? Fresh something?”

“Fresh Citron de Vigne.” He pulled the bottle out of the back. “This one was pretty popular before the war.”

“It might be nice to switch things up for her so she doesn’t smell like a florist all the time.”

He nodded. “All that’s left is to wrap it.”

“I’ll take care of that.” She plucked the bottle from his hands. “All you’re going to do is make yourself frustrated when you rip the paper.”

He glared down at his metal fingers, which tended to wreak havoc on anything delicate, especially wrapping paper. “Thanks, Ellie.”

“You can thank me by giving her my gift while you’re up there.”

Piper

The only real question was black or brown, but that was rapidly turning into one hell of a dilemma.

“He’ll like either of them,” Nat said from the couch. “That’s why you got them.”

“I know. I just don’t remember if I gave him a black tie last year.”

She couldn’t see Nat roll her eyes, but she could feel it. “Just ask Ellie. She’ll tell you.”

“Maybe I should give him the blue one to be on the safe side.”

“The one with the little cats on it?”

“Ugh, I forgot about the cats.” She tossed both ties onto her desk with a heavy sigh. “Why did I even get that one?”

“Hey, you don’t know that he won’t like it until you try.”

She shot her sister a scathing glare. “I’m not going to embarrass him in front of everyone with the blue kitty tie. If it was just us, maybe, but now it’s a whole event and I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. Which means it’s black or brown.”

Nat was unfazed by her sister’s glare. “Well, which one do you like better?”

“The black one.”

“So give him that one.”

“But I might have given him a black one last year.”

"So give him the brown one.”

“But I like the black one better.”

Nat sighed dramatically. “He’s not gonna care, Piper. It’s Nick and a tie. He’s gonna like it no matter what.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to think I can only get one color of tie.”

“You’re overthinking this. Here, give me both ties.”

Reluctantly, she handed them over and watched them disappear behind Nat’s back.

“Okay, right hand or left hand?”

“Right.”

“Brown it is.” Nat handed over the tie. “There, problem solved.”

She took the tie back and looked at it a moment.

“You know what, I think I’ll do the black one.”

Preston

Sewing was a nice, therapeutic exercise. After a long day of working on putting up lights and assembling trees and assigning cooking duties, it was nice to be able to come home and return to a project. Sole had told him about jigsaw puzzles once, and he figured this was probably a lot the same.

He’d designed this backpack specifically for Ada, less as an independent bag and more as something that could function in conjunction with the bags she already carried. It had been a uniquely challenging idea, and he’d spent quite a few nights on it before finalizing his pattern and beginning to actually cut into some leather.

Overall, it was coming along nicely. He figured it would be done well in time for the celebration. He hoped everyone else was progressing on schedule; if one of them showed up without a gift, well, he didn’t know what he would do. The idea that one of them would disappoint sole had crossed his mind more than once, and he swore to himself that if anyone failed to perform this year, they’d suffer the consequences. He just wasn’t sure what those consequences actually were.

He shook his head. No use in worrying about it before it happened. The best he would probably get would be a stern talking-to anyway, and maybe the chance to punch somebody in the face. Sole wouldn’t want him hurting any of their friends on their behalf.

Besides, depending on whoever their partner was that this hypothetical asshole had wronged, he might not have to do anything. He couldn’t see Cait letting it slide, that was for sure, and Danse believed so heavily in being a person of honor that he wouldn’t tolerate it either, no matter who had gotten screwed over.

In the end, he probably wouldn’t have to do anything, and that put a smile on his face.

X6

“You want what?”

He tried to not let his face betray him as he stared down Dr. Holden in the corner of the Bioscience division.

“A full lab kit for above-ground experimentation. Orders from the future director.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie; sole wanted him to participate in this silly game, which meant they had essentially “ordered” him to get a gift. What could a scientist want more than a full, top-of-the-line lab kit from the Institute?

“But not Father.”

He peered down at the doctor. “If you are refusing, Dr. Holden, I will report back to sole. I’m certain they will be happy to come themselves, or send word along to Father of your refusal.”

Dr. Holden huffed, and he saw the tiniest spark of fear in his eyes. “I didn’t refuse. I just wish they’d go through proper channels when requesting equipment, that’s all.” He scratched a few words on a piece of paper and handed it over. “There. That’ll get you everything you need.”

He said nothing, just took the paper coldly. Not for the first time, he appreciated that sole had authorized him to act on their behalf. For one, it showed trust, and it also made getting around much, much easier. All he had to do was mention their name, which carried the full force of the director’s office, and everyone was willing to acquiesce.

All he had to do now was make sure nothing broke. Glass was a difficult thing to transport, after all. He could relay straight back to Sanctuary, but Curie might see him, and the point was that the gift was a secret, hence the name “Secret Santa.” He could relay to the nearby Red Rocket, but that left him further to go, and more at risk of things breaking.

Decisions, decisions.

The Exchange

Shockingly, everyone had managed to get their gifts wrapped. Granted, some were better than others; Deacon still dominated with his perfect, sharp creases and hand-folded bow, where X6 might as well have just put his gift in a trash bag, but in the end it was the thought that counted.

Everyone had gathered in the newly established meeting hall of Sanctuary Hills, where sole had spent the last few days placing enough chairs and tables for everyone to be comfortable, as well as a few rugs to make the place feel cozy. They’d even made a fireplace appear out of nowhere, no easy feat, and with the settlers’ decorations it really did feel festive. Sole themself was seated by the fire, curled up with Dogmeat at their feet, and their eyes sparkled to see the gifts their friends had brought.

“Well, go on.” They waved their hands encouragingly. “Let me see what you did. I might be more excited than all of you are. Who’s going first?”

“It will be alphabetical,” Ada said, standing. “I will go first.”

She made her way to MacCready, who looked honestly surprised to see a gift appear in his lap.

“Ah, thanks. I’ll just, uh, open this.”

He tore into the paper and opened up the generic cardboard box, furrowed his eyebrows, and pulled out a series of small plastic jars.

“I have noticed you have an affinity for cooking,” she said. “I thought you might appreciate some new spices to try while on the road. It will be very difficult for you to break or spill them while traveling, as they are all in childproof containers.”

“That’s... surprisingly thoughtful.” He shook a container of dried parsley as if trying to figure out what it was. “Thanks.”

“Okay, my turn.” Cait clapped her hands and stood up. “Thanks for not changing your look again, Deacon. I’ll at least be able to find you.”

She dropped the box in his hands unceremoniously. “Don’t complain if it’s not somethin’ you want. You’re not the easiest guy to get a gift for.”

“Well, I appreciate the effort at least,” he said, peeling away the practically mangled wrapping. “If you ever want some lessons on wrapping paper, though, I’m happy to- oh.”

He pulled out a leather jacket, turning it around so that sole could see Cait had made the effort to track down the Atom Cats. A smile quirked his lips.

“Actually been looking at one of these for a while.” He gave Cait a real smile, this time. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” she huffed, clearly embarrassed. “I mean it.”

“Which brings us to me! Here you are, Mr. Hancock. One present, as promised.”

“It’s light,” Hancock commented wrily, shaking the box. “You didn’t get cheap on me, didja?”

“But of course not. I simply went for something more personal.”

“Personal?” He raised what was left of an eyebrow as he unceremoniously tore through the wrapping paper. “How did you manage that little trick?”

Codsworth waved an arm dismissively. “I have my ways.”

“Well, shit, I guess you do.”

He pulled the lighter out twirled it in his fingers and gave it an experimental light. It flicked on with ease.

“I guess you refilled it too, huh? That’s really somethin’.”

“So that’s why you drug me out to Dunwich Borers,” sole said, laughing. “I knew something was up.”

“Certainly not,” Codsworth replied, but his tone betrayed that if he could have laughed, he would have.

“Ah, I suppose that means it is my turn, non?” Carefully, Curie picked her way over to Gage. “Happy holidays, Monsieur.”

“Thanks, I guess.” He took it uncertainly. “This isn’t a bomb or anything, is it?”

“Of course not!” She sounded genuinely offended. “It is a gift, and not one that is easy to procure.”

“Just bein’ careful.” He still shook out the can more carefully than was probably necessary.

“Bug spray,” she explained. “It should repel the overly large insects you so dislike.”

Gage actually looked surprised. “I.. shit. Thanks.” He turned his head to the wall, obviously embarrassed. “Whoever’s next...”

“That would be me.” Shockingly, Danse had actually ditched his power armor for the day, at sole’s request. “Here you are, Cait. I hope it proves useful to you.”

She seemed hesitant, but accepted wordlessly, peering into the box. There was silence for a long moment, then she said, “I thought you only knew how to mod energy weapons.”

“I made an exception. That should provide you with exceptional damage and a better rate of fire for your shotgun.”

Cait could only shake her head, say, “Thanks,” and wave for the next person to go.

Deacon took his cue and handed his gift off to Codsworth. “There you go, buddy. Happy holiday.”

“Mr. Deacon.” Codsworth sounded all too pleased. “I should have known.”

Deacon shrugged. “Don’t beat yourself up. At least you know you got what you wanted.”

“How thoughtful!” Codsworth turned to sole. “You needn’t search for a new feather duster any longer sir/mum.”

They nodded, impressed. “I had forgotten I was supposed to be looking for one. Good work, Deeks.”

“Hey, you’ve got a lot on your plate boss.” He shot them a quick set of finger guns. “I’m just helping out with the little stuff.”

There was silence for a long moment before sole said, “Gage, I think it’s you.”

“What, already? Alright.”

He stood up, and when he paused in front of Preston, the room froze. No one even dared to breathe as he handed off the box, waiting for the other shoe to drop. After all, Gage was the only person Preston seemed actively willing to shoot at any time. This could only mean a fight.

“Happy holidays, Garvey.” He almost sounded genuine.

Preston accepted, understandably cautiously. “Thanks, Gage. Happy holidays.”

But when the paper was off, and the box was opened, Preston’s hesitation vanished into thin air. 

“How the hell did you even find this?” he breathed, slowly pulling the sword from its sheath. It glinted in the firelight.

“Ah, it was no big deal.” Gage’s face was smug, and he leaned back in his chair with confidence. “You guys shouldn’t leave important relics just sitting around.”

And to everyone’s surprise, especially Gage’s, Preston rose from his chair to offer Gage a handshake.

“Thanks,” he said. “For real.”

For a second time, Gage was stunned into silence before taking Preston’s hand and breathing, “Don’t mention it. That’s the game, right?”

Sole shot Gage a discreet thumbs-up as Preston settled back into his seat, and the poor guy could only nod.

“Well, ain’t that touching?” Hancock leaned over to pass off the small box to Danse, who had somehow ended up seated directly across the circle from him. “There ya go, crew cut. Don’t get your hopes up.”

Danse nodded. “I won’t.”

Sole shot Hancock a warning look as Danse carefully unwrapped it, and he winked in reply, as if to say, “Trust me.”

Danse quite literally choked.

As he pulled the chain out, the box fell from his hands, leaving the holotags in the open air. Sole gasped from their place by the fire, realizing exactly what Danse was holding, and Hancock let his smile widen.

“These should be on board the Prydwen,” he breathed, turning them over in his hands. “They should have been destroyed.” Teary eyes turned toward the mayor of Goodneighbor. “How did you...”

Hancock leaned closer to Danse, clearly enjoying his moment. “Well, it didn’t make much sense that they were on Maxson’s desk if they’ve got your name on ‘em. After all, they’re yours. What does he need them for?”

Danse leaned forward, too, pulling Hancock into a bone-crushing hug. “You could have died. If you had been caught...”

“But I wasn’t.” John Hancock truly looked like that cat who’d eaten the canary. “Happy holidays, Danse.”

“Thank you, John,” Danse replied, and his tone was sincere, without the hint of malice that usually accompanied any of his interactions with Hancock. “Happy holidays.”

Preston patted Danse’s shoulder as he let go, but still managed to shoot an impressed look across the circle at Hancock. Hancock made a peace sign at him, still grinning.

“Well, shoot,” MacCready said. “That makes me next, but I feel kinda stupid about my gift, now.”

He opted to deposit the clearly heavy box at X6′s feet instead of in his lap. It was by far the largest gift, and shockingly neat in its wrapping. He dusted his hands, said, “It’s heavy,” and returned to his seat.

“I admit that I have no clue what this is,” X6 said, prodding the box gently. “It looks too large to be fusion cells, which is what I thought it would be.”

MacCready smiled, just a little. “Maybe it’s a lot of fusion cells. Why don’t you find out?”

X6 carefully unwrapped the gift, and only just managed to open the box before his head shot up.

“Is this whole box full of them?”

“You betcha.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Sole protested from the corner, “I can’t see what it is.”

“It’s snack cakes.” X6 held up a box indicatively. “They’re difficult for me to acquire, due to the Institute’s strict supervision of my diet, but a vice among gen three synths. I’ve never seen so many in one place.”

MacCready, to his credit, managed not to look too smug at the courser’s apparent wonder.

Nick stood. “Here you go, Piper. I suppose you know what it is. Here’s Ellie’s, while we’re at it, but you can open it later.”

She laughed and held out a hand to stop him from returning to his seat. He looked at her, bemused

“What’s so funny?”

She shook her head and reached under her chair to hand off her gift to him. “Some luck, huh? Happy holidays, Nick.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Some luck, indeed. Happy holidays, Piper.”

They opened at the same time, Piper saying, “Oh, this is a new one,” at the same time Nick said, “Well, how classy.”

They held their gifts up in sync for sole to see, though Piper was still reading the label of her perfume.

“Citrus, huh? This’ll be nice for a change of pace. I haven’t had anything citrus-y before.”

“It’s been a while since I got a new black tie,” Nick replied, examining it. “I like the pattern. It’s subtle.”

“I can’t believe you both drew each other,” sole cut in, though they didn’t seem disappointed. “I bet you’d already planned to do gifts anyway.”

They nodded in unison.

“This does make things a little easier, though,” Piper said. “We didn’t have to set our own date this way.”

Sole shook their head. “Preston, we’re to you.”

“Sure. Here you go, Ada.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I have tried to predict what this would be, but had some difficulty, especially in the situation where you were the gift giver. I am curious, to say the least.”

“Well, I hope you like it.”

She cracked it open, albeit with some difficulty, before declaring. “This was not among the options I predicted.” She drew it from the box to examine it better. “How thoughtful. It even appears to be designed to work in tandem with my current storage.”

“That’s the idea. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can at least get some use from it.”

“To the contrary. You designed this yourself, and took the time to create it. I can see you’ve even stitched my initials along the straps, as well as the initials of those formerly in my caravan. The details and the effort make it quite touching.”

Preston knew Ada well enough to know that he had gotten the best possible response, emotion-wise, and turned to X6 with everyone else.

“Well, you all already know who this is for.” He carefully passed the box over to Curie, who beamed.

“Merci.”

He nodded, not entirely coldly, and she began to remove the paper with a surgeon’s precision, letting out a gasp when she’d opened the box.

“Oh, Monsieur! This is- I have not seen such fine materials since before the war. Where did you find them?”

“They’re top quality, designed for Institute scientists.” A hint of pride lingered in his voice. “I knew you would like them.”

“Yes, I like them very much! I cannot wait to work with new glassware again, it has been so long.”

Sole sighed contentedly from their chair, drawing their attention. “I’m so proud of you guys. I knew it was a risk asking you to do this, but I’m glad you could put aside your differences, at least for a while. Honestly, this has gone better than I could have ever imagined.”

“Anything for you, General,” Preston replied. “You’ve been more than helpful in putting us on the right track.”

They shook their head. “I was happy to do it. It showed me you were all really trying, when I thought we’d be seeing nothing but boxes of ammo. You all went above and beyond, and for that, I salute you.”

They picked up their glass and raised it to the room, smile still lingering on their face. “To all of you, for taking the time and energy, both physical and emotional, to indulge me. I’m beyond proud to call you my friends, and more proud to call you my family.”

“Happy holidays, everyone.”

[renaerys]

PPG One-Shot: Mall Santa (Boomer/Mike and Brick/Blossom)

Summary: To earn a little extra cash over the holidays, Brick, Mike, and Boomer agree to help out their buddy Todd at a Mall Santa gig. Shenanigans ensue.

This one is for @snailbutters, @genovah, and @hanaokm. Merry Christmas and happy holidays! Enjoy some Boomike, Blossick, and Capri Sus on me. 

[Cross-posted to AO3]

xxx

There were a lot of things Todd needed: a haircut, for one. His black hair was getting too long for gel and it was really pushing the boundary between greaser sexy and sad trash hobo. Money, for another. But like any other 21-year-old townie with a high school education and two restaurant jobs, he always needed money.

A new best friend, for yet another.

“I’m not your best friend,” Brick snapped as he tied a black tie around his neck. He needed to leave in ten minutes if he was going to be early for his dinner meeting with Oliver Morbucks.

Todd put a hand over his heart like it might fall out of the wound Brick’s words had stabbed there. “Dude, of course you are. I’m totally sorry if I ever gave you the wrong idea.”

Brick grimaced so hard he was sure he’d end up constipated. “No, you idiot. I know you think I’m your best friend. You’ve never shut up about it, even after we graduated high school. I’m pretty sure the whole fucking Peninsula knows it the way you go around shouting it when you’re blasted.”

Todd looked like he’d just received news that his favorite nana wasn’t dying of cancer after all. “Oh, cool. For a second there I thought I really hurt your feelings. You know you’re kinda sensitive, right?”

Oh god.

“What do you want, Todd? I have a really important meeting and I’m not missing it for your bullshit.”

Brick checked his reflection in the bathroom mirror in his one-bedroom apartment in downtown Townsville. It was a shitty hole-in-the-wall kind of place, but Brick was used to squalor. His break was coming, he could feel it. If tonight’s meeting went over well, he’d have a more steady revenue stream and, more importantly, the connections and clout the Morbucks name brought to open doors. All the long days at Red’s Auto Shop saving and scraping by would finally pay off, and just in time for Blossom to graduate from college. It was perfectly planned, meticulously manipulated, all down to this last pivotal dinner.

“Cool, no big deal! I just need to know if you’re free this weekend.”

“Free to do what?” Brick indulged him, because Todd was one of the few people on this planet who wasn’t 100% intimidated by his very presence.

“To help me with this Mall Santa gig I got. Harry Pitt was supposed to be my number two elf, but he ate some bad prawns and they had to, like, airlift him to Citiesville General.”

Brick stopped everything he was doing and glared at his second-to-best friend, which was a key fact because second was not the same as first. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

“I know, right?” Todd knew his way around Brick’s embarrassingly small bathroom, opened up the hair wax, and fixed Brick’s styling job. “Dude always had a weak stomach, you remember. But you don’t fuck with bad prawns. I mean, obviously.”

Brick swatted Todd’s hands away and checked his reflection. It was definitely an improvement. “Not that; the Mall Santa thing, obviously!”

“Oh, yeah. So you’ll help me out?”

“Fuck no.”

“Aw, Briiiiiiick,” Todd whined.

Brick grabbed his dinner jacket from the closet barely big enough to fit a small, starving child. Todd, who had latched onto Brick in the seventh grade like a goddamned barnacle and never let go no matter how hard Brick tried to push him away, followed. “Not if you paid me.”

“You’ll get paid! It’s $20 an hour!”

Brick hesitated over the threshold. “That’s higher than minimum wage.” It was higher than his hourly rate at the garage too.

“Seasonal gigs, man. That’s how you win.”

“It’s seriously fucking not.”

Todd, one of three people in the universe who actually cared about Brick on a personal level even though he wasn’t obligated by blood, made his blue eyes big and wide in a way that reminded Brick of Puss-n-Boots from Shrek, Todd’s favorite movie. “C’mon, bruh. Do your bestie a solid? Just this once? I really need the money and they won’t let me keep the gig without two elves to fill in. So please? Pleeeeeeease?”

And Brick, former scourge of Townsville, a Super with the power to literally raze the planet if it so much as tickled his fancy, and the dictionary definition of the boy every father dreads his perfect, pretty little girl falling for against her better judgment, cracked like an egg.

“For fuck’s sake,” he groused. “Just text me the time and place and get out of my face already.”

Todd punched the air with both fists. “Yes!! Oh, hell yes! I love you so much, dude.”

“Blow me.” Brick checked his watch. Shit, now he was merely on time.

“I’d consider it an honor,” Todd said, probably literally serious.

xxx

Boomer rolled glitter on his cheeks and around the edges of his dark blue eyes with the help of a compact as he huddled behind the North Pole set on the first floor of the Townsville Mall. When he was satisfied that he sparkled like the tinsel-festooned Christmas trees in Santa’s twelve-by-fifteen-foot “forest” themselves, he discreetly re-emerged just as the latest child slid off Santa’s lap.

“Merry Christmas, Dan!” bellowed a red and white-clad Todd behind an enormous, curly beard. “Remember to brush your teeth!”

The little boy ran back to his parents, who were having a word with the photographer about purchasing a picture of their son on Santa’s lap. Before Boomer could follow them, Brick was quick to cut him off.

“Where the hell were you?” he demanded. Sour as an un-sugared plum in his festive, candy-striped elf costume, Brick may have absolutely intimidated the seven-year-olds waiting in line with their parents for a turn on Santa’s lap, but Boomer only allowed him a bemused smile.

“Why, I was making toys for the good little boys and girls who came to visit us here at the North Pole,” Boomer said in a raised voice. He looped his arm through his brother’s and let his power surge with enough force to turn Brick around and face the crowd that was definitely within hearing range. “Isn’t that right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick pushed back with inhuman force, but Boomer held his ground with a smile as bright as the glitter on his cheeks as a little girl in overalls trotted forward.

She giggled. “I like your hat.”

“Thank you!” Boomer gushed, and he tipped his pom-pom-topped cap. “And what’s your name?”

The little girl giggled again. “My name’s Alynn.”

“Well, Alynn, why don’t you step right up and take a seat on Santa’s lap? I’m sure he has a great present for a cool girl like you. Right, Elf Mursten?”

Brick glared medieval torture at him, and he managed a smile that showed too many teeth to be anything other than life-threatening. “Of course, Elf Buller.”

Boomer’s smile tightened.

“Ho ho ho! Come on over, Santa doesn’t bite,” Todd said.

“What a psychotic reassurance,” Brick said soft enough for only the Super brothers to hear.

“Hey, Brick?” Boomer said, just as softly. “Cheer the fuck up.” He gave his brother a bone-crushing squeeze around the arm and broke from him. Brick could be a sourpuss when he wanted to be (all the time), but he wouldn’t mess up Todd’s Mall Santa gig when he’d bothered to show up and actually put in the effort at all. Complain as he might about Todd’s exuberance, Brick had always come through for his best friend since the seventh grade.

Boomer, on the other hand, had been very happy to accept Todd’s offer to work the two weeks leading up to Christmas. The hours were reasonable, the pay was good, and Boomer loved children. It was easy money in between local shows he and his garage band had booked over the holidays.

Plus, the photographer had a nice rack.

“Okay, Santa, Alynn. Look over here and say ‘jingle bells’!” A flash went off, and Mike Believe stood to his full height behind the tripod he’d set up for the day’s pictures. Even in reindeer antlers and a bright, red-painted nose, Mike filled out every fold of his brown Rudolph outfit almost to the point of popping a button. His broad chest puffed out when he put his strong hands on his hips and grinned brightly like he wouldn’t pick anywhere else to be right now.

Their eyes met, and Boomer flushed and smiled like a fool.

When Mike winked back at him coyly, his heart leaped into his throat. Mike had gotten home from college just two days ago, but the three weeks he had off for Winter Break would surely fly by like they did every year, and Boomer was determined to spend every moment together.

A tug on Boomer’s green tunic drew his attention. “Can I take a picture with you? Please?” the little girl asked.

Boomer beamed and scooped her up onto his hip. “Of course you can. Hey, Mike? Can you take one of us, please?”

“You bet! Get in close, now.” Mike readied his camera.

“Oh, wait a sec. Why don’t you take this too?” Boomer removed his festive hat and put it on Alynn’s head. It was big on her, but she laughed happily.

They posed for the picture, and Boomer hugged her cheek to cheek.

“Thanks!” The little girl tried to give him his hat back, but he pressed it to her chest.

“You keep it. Merry Christmas. Remember to be good, okay?”

Alynn’s father was waiting with a hand for her to take when she ran back to him, yammering about how she’d met Santa and his super cool elf friend, and Boomer watched them go.

“You know you’ll have to pay for that hat,” Brick said.

Boomer sighed and ran a hand through his cornflower hair. “You know I look better without it.”

Brick frowned deeply. “Uh-huh.”

“If you keep frowning, your face will stick like that.”

“Moron.”

He always had to have the last word. Brick went to stack the empty boxes wrapped in bright, shiny paper, which was probably more productive than blowing up the entire display. Boomer left him to it. It was time for their mid-morning break, anyway.

Todd got up to stretch. “Man, who knew sitting could be so tiring, huh? Whack.” His phone buzzed, and he grinned when he saw the caller ID.

Boomer, however, had eyes only for Mike as the latter turned off his camera and put a sheet over the tripod to protect it. “Working hard, I see.”

When Mike smiled, his dark eyes crinkled in the corners. He had a face made for smiling. “Oh, you know. Just helping out some friends.”

Like Brick, Todd had asked Mike to help out behind the camera for this gig. Mike didn’t exactly need the extra cash given his lacrosse scholarship that covered his college expenses, but the three of them had been as thick as thieves all through high school no matter what Brick said when he was annoyed. No way was Mike going to bail on the chance to help out a bro.

“This is cute,” Mike said, running a thumb over Boomer’s sparkly cheek.

“If only I could convince Brick to wear some,” Boomer said, lacing his fingers in Mike’s as they shuffled to the side of the exhibit behind a blinking Christmas tree for a bit of privacy.

Mike chuckled. “That’ll take a Christmas miracle. But anyway, I don’t want to talk about Brick right now.”

Their kiss was soft and mostly chaste, considering the venue, but Boomer didn’t mind at all. He rose up on his toes to lean into his boyfriend’s superior height and smiled into their kiss. Even in the middle of the Townsville Mall with shoppers mere yards away, for a few seconds Boomer got lost in the fantasy of the forest and the snow drifts, bright lights and magic that came around only once a year and had always touched his heart in a way nothing else quite could.

“Babe! You got here quick!” Todd’s excitement and a small commotion around Santa’s throne drew the lovers’ attention, and Boomer reluctantly broke the kiss. His Super hearing quickly picked up on what was going on.

“What is it?” Mike asked.

Boomer smiled wryly. “That Christmas miracle you wished for. Come on.” He took Mike’s larger hand in his and pulled him back toward the front of the display, where Todd had scooped up a very small, very fashionable Asian woman in his arms.

“Oh my god, don’t do shits in front of the innocent children, Toddy.” Hana patted her high bun and smoothed out her oversized black jacket once Todd released her.

“Hey, I just missed you is all,” Todd said with a genuine smile like he had really, truly missed his girlfriend since this morning when they had last seen each other.

“You guys are too cute,” said Bubbles with a giggle. As usual, she was adorable in blonde twin tails and a holiday-appropriate sweater dress. Shopping bags hung from both her arms, also as usual.

“Right?” Hana said, her deadpan façade melting completely as she beamed at her closest friend.

“No contest.” Bubbles set down her small nation of shopping bags. “Oh! Hi, Boomer!” She dashed to hug him in a flash of blue, and he caught her easily. “Oh my gosh, I love your glitter. You look like a supermodel!”

Boomer laughed and hugged her back. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. I really owe you.”

“Don’t worry about it. Oh, but you definitely need some touching up. Here, let me just…”

Mike had wandered over to Todd and Hana. “Hey, Hana. Are you staying for the holiday?”

Hana shrugged. “Yeah, my art show isn’t until after New Year’s. You know, I’m always looking for more models.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Mike laughed. “I’m honored, but I’m really nothing special, honestly. You might try Butch.”

Todd guffawed. “Oh man, Butch is, like, one of her top models! She painted him for what, six weeks last summer, babe?”

“Seven,” Hana said, dead serious.

Mike smiled nervously. “That’s a lot of inspiration.”

“He is very inspiring,” Hana said, deader and more serious.

“That dude is goals,” Todd said, totally unironically.

“I guess I can’t argue with that,” Mike said.

“Aaaaand done.” Bubbles stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Honestly? You’re the most beautiful elf the North Pole ever employed.”

Boomer snickered. “Don’t tell Brick that.”

“Don’t tell me what, now?” Brick emerged from his useless empty box stacking task, glitter-less and severely lacking in Christmas cheer.

Bubbles gasped, right on cue. “Brick! Where is your glitter? Get over here.”

Brick made a weird face. “What are you talk—hey!”

Bubbles all but accosted him with the glitter pen. Hana cheered and applauded, and Todd joined in because he liked to cheer and applaud in general.

“What are you—get off!” Brick shoved Bubbles hard, but a flash of pink caught her before she could crash into anything.

Blossom peered around her totally unfazed sister, a tray of lattes in one hand and her perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. “Brick,” she said.

Brick swallowed. “Blossom.”

She looked nice in leggings and a sweater dress that matched Bubbles’ style, except where Bubbles’ was white, Blossom’s was a scarlet that rivaled the shade of Brick’s eyes.

“I brought you guys coffee,” Blossom said, her eyes trained on Brick even as she held out the tray.

Mike took the tray before it could become collateral damage in whatever was going on between the two of them.

“Here you go.” Mike offered one to Boomer, who gratefully accepted it.

“Thanks!”

“I thought you weren’t getting home until tomorrow,” Brick said, as if he and Blossom were the only two people there.

“Change of plans,” Blossom said. “Problem?”

Brick seemed to remember what he was wearing and snatched his elf hat from his head. He bunched it up between his hands like that would hide his imagined shame. “It’s fine.”

It wasn’t fine, clearly. But it wasn’t Boomer’s place to intrude. He would have been extremely happy for it to end there, but sadly Blossom, like his brother, had a flair for the dramatic and an affinity for the center of attention.

She sauntered up to him and smeared the bit of glitter Bubbles had managed to draw on his cheek before he’d shoved her off. “Good,” she said, half an invitation and half a challenge.

Brick didn’t bend easily. Boomer knew his brother as well as he knew himself, and he knew Brick didn’t relent, never gave in unless he was well and truly beaten, which was rare. But he slackened now, lips parting and eyes falling. Even though his arms stayed stubbornly at his sides and he didn’t do something as scandalous as hold his girlfriend’s hand in public, he melted under her touch and attention.

“All right! Bloss, you’re back early! This is massive, like, supernova massive,” Todd said. “Hey, I know! Let’s throw a party at mine tonight! Brick said you weren’t coming back for another couple of days, so this is like a cool early Christmas present to all of us.”

Bubbles gasped. “Oh my gosh, yes! Let’s all go to Todd’s tonight, just like we used to. I’m calling Robin right now.”

“We can make it a real Christmas party,” Blossom said. Somehow, she’d gotten ahold of Bubbles’ glitter pen and now smeared a generous amount on Brick’s cheeks until he gleamed without suffering a nuclear meltdown. A Christmas miracle, indeed.

“You’ll wear the Santa suit,” Hana said. Demanded.

“Ho ho ho! You got it, babe.”

“That thing’s a rental,” Brick said. “And it’s, like, 75 degrees outside.”

“If he gets too hot, I’ll hose him down,” Hana said.

Brick smartly decided not to press her on that one.

“I like your elf costume, Brick,” Blossom teased. Maybe.

“I’m burning it as soon as I get paid,” Brick said.

“I thought it was a rental like Todd’s?”

He hesitated, trapped by his own logic, and she laughed softly and kissed the side of his mouth. Brick froze and played it off like it didn’t affect him, but his eyes were drawn to Blossom’s lips for the next six whole minutes. Boomer really didn’t get why he had to make everything so damn complicated.

“Hey, hombres, our break is up and I see a super cute kid waiting to sit on the softest lap in Townsville,” Todd said, sinking back onto his candy cane throne and patting his lap.

Brick visibly cringed.

“It could be worse,” Mike whispered to Brick. “At least this time we get to keep our shirts on.”

Boomer smiled at the memory of Todd’s last seasonal gig he’d roped Brick and Mike into over the summer. The shirtless carwash had admittedly been one of his more rewarding part-time jobs, and Boomer had the photo evidence to cherish the memory extremely fondly.

Blossom and Hana retreated behind Mike while Bubbles finished up her phone call with Robin and Brick admitted the next child on set.

“Welcome to the North Pole,” he said with all the cheer of an old tire. Nonetheless, his cheeks dazzled. “What’s your name, kid?”

She looked up at him but didn’t say anything. Boomer noticed her shyness and decided he better intervene.

“Hey there,” he said, taking a knee so he could be on her eye-level. “Merry Christmas.”

That alarmed her even more, and she hugged Brick’s leg.

“What the—” Brick put his hands up like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Great.”

The girl’s parents were busy talking to Mike about the picture packages and didn’t seem to notice what was going on.

“Uh,” Boomer said, ready to flag them down before the little girl got scared or started to cry. They’d been lucky this morning with only one child throwing a temper tantrum out of the tens they’d seen.

“All right, kid. I hope you have a good grip.” Brick floated off the ground with the little girl clinging to his leg and flew over to Todd’s throne.

Boomer was so flabbergasted by his brother’s gross disregard for this child’s safety in front of her parents that he was momentarily stunned where he kneeled. It was over in about two and a half seconds, with her parents none the wiser and the little girl still in one piece, miraculously. Brick peeled her off him and dropped her on Todd’s lap.

“Name,” Brick demanded. And then, reluctantly: “…To check you off the Nice List.”

The little girl looked up at him with wide-eyed wonderment, or maybe fear. “Morana.”

“Morana. Super. Tell Todd—I mean, Santa—what you want. And smile for the camera.”

Todd didn’t miss a beat and wrapped his arms loosely around her to hold her safely in place. “Morana, that’s a pretty name. Wanna tell me what you want for Christmas?”

Morana pointed at Brick. “That one.”

Brick turned as red as his messy man bun. Todd wheezed.

“Oh, yeah? Well, that one’s taken, but I bet I can get you a picture together. How ‘bout it?” Todd asked.

Boomer was up and moving in a blue flash. “That can be arranged.” He shoved his brother with a healthy burst of Super strength, and Brick all but fell on his knee next to Todd’s throne. Boomer waved back at Mike for the picture.

“Big smile now!” Mike said cheerfully, and snapped the picture.

“What the hell is up with these kids?” Brick asked when Morana skipped back to her parents and started chattering at them in a language Boomer didn’t recognize but assumed must be all good things from the way she grinned from ear to ear. “They get bolder every year.”

“Or you’re just getting softer,” Boomer teased.

“Yeah, right.”

Blossom laughed at something Hana said on a nearby bench, drawing both their eyes.

“Whatever you say, man,” Boomer said.

xxx

Todd’s party was a nostalgic and long-overdue affair later that evening. Unlike Boomer, who had to make do in a small studio apartment on the outskirts of Citiesville where the rent was more manageable and his commute didn’t matter when flying anywhere took only minutes, Todd lived in a big house he took care of for his often absent, globe-trotting parents. Blossom, Bubbles, and Robin had taken the initiative and strung up Christmas lights, while Boomer created and managed the playlist for the night. They had a good crowd with old friends from high school and new ones from work and college gathered for no excuse other than to have a good time.

Butch, Buttercup, Mike, and Todd had set up beer pong in the basement, where most of the festivities were taking place. As usual, the shit talking and macho bravado had soared to ludicrous heights.

“Come on, BC,” Todd goaded. “Money shot, right here.” He fluffed his Santa beard, the ends of which were damp with beer. Buttercup had one cup left to hit.

“I’m about to straight-up tea bag you with this ping pong ball, Todd, I swear to god.” Buttercup tried to focus on her aim after too many beers and the distraction of Todd’s stupid Santa beard.

“Do it, fucking do it,” Butch said, bobbing on the balls of his feet and slightly manic with the competition and holiday cheer, probably.

“I’m gonna fucking do it!”

“I don’t think you can fucking do it,” Mike said.

“Ohhhhh!” Butch hollered when Buttercup lost her temper and threw the ball too hard. It bounced off Todd’s beard and fell on the floor, leaving the last cup untouched.

“Mike, you cheater!” Buttercup shouted.

Mike burst out laughing.

“All riiiiight, the Toddster’s final shot. You filming, babe?” Todd asked.

Hana, across the table from Boomer, had her phone out and poised. “Kick their asses, Toddy.”

“Yeah, bring it on, Toddy,” Butch jeered.

“Oh, it’s about to be brought.”

“Oh god, please, you peaked in high school,” Buttercup said.

“Hey, he plateaued,” Mike said. “There’s a difference.”

“Just take the damn shot!”

Todd shot, hit the rim of the solo cup, and missed. Buttercup and Butch threw up their hands and whooped. They were still in the game, and the stakes were even higher now.

Boomer squeezed Mike’s arm in a silent excuse and went to change the music…only to find Brick and Blossom making out in the hallway like it was their last night on Earth.

The music was fine, he decided. No need to interrupt Brick and Blossom trying to fuse with the wall and face his brother’s cock blocked wrath. Discreetly, Boomer snapped a picture on his phone and texted it to Bubbles.

[Boomer: Shooketh]

Bubbles’ reply was lightning fast.

[Bubbles: More like shattered!!]

[Bubbles: Better get out of there before they catch you lol 💀]

After another hour (and Brick and Blossom’s reemergence from the wall in one piece with not a hair out of place because god forbid), Boomer and Mike decided to head out early. They went back to Boomer’s apartment, where a very excited Pomeranian welcomed them home.

“Hi, Pumpkin!” Mike brightened like the sun and scooped up his favorite girl, left in Boomer’s care while he was away at college. “Who’s ready for a walk?”

They walked Pumpkin and let her tire herself out running around the suburban neighborhood where it was too late at night for any cars to be out. A half hour later, they were curled up on the loveseat with Pumpkin snoozing in her fuzzy bed at their feet and an old black-and-white Christmas movie playing on low volume on the television.

“Hey,” Boomer said, lifting his head from Mike’s chest to look at him properly.

Mike set aside the hot chocolate he’d been drinking and pulled Boomer up by his waist. “Hey, you. What is it?”

Boomer smiled. It was silly, really. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” Mike returned his smile and leaned closer. He smelled like soap, a hint of chocolate, and something else that made Boomer want to bury his face in his neck.

“Just happy,” Boomer said.

“Really? I can’t tell.”

Boomer sat up a little higher. The neck of Mike’s old lacrosse jersey he wore dipped down his shoulder, too big on him and softer than a cloud. He pressed a chaste kiss to the underside of Mike’s jaw. “How about now?”

“Hm, nope, I don’t think I quite got that.”

Boomer threaded his fingers though Mike’s short, dark hair at the nape of his neck. Feeling coquettish, he gave his ear a nip. “How about now?”

Mike shifted on the couch and pulled Boomer’s bent legs onto his lap. His voice was as warm as the hot chocolate he’d been drinking. “I think I’m starting to get a vague understanding.”

Boomer laughed and painted a trail of kisses along Mike’s jaw, up his chin. He pressed a strong hand to his chest and put a little power behind it. Centimeters apart, he could taste the lingering heat of the hot chocolate on Mike’s breath. “And now?”

Mike’s eyes drooped and darkened. His hands slipped around Boomer’s waist, under the jersey, a silent entreaty. “I think you can do a little better than that, Angel.”

The secret nickname broke Boomer’s resolve, and he kissed his boyfriend full on the mouth with all the confidence and shamelessness he couldn’t give him that morning at the mall surrounded by children and their parents. Mike’s shirt soon found its way to the floor along with Boomer’s borrowed jersey. The loveseat was too short to accommodate Mike’s height comfortably, and after a few moments Boomer held him close and flew them to the bed in a flash.

“I’ll never get over how hot that is,” Mike said, breathless.

Boomer blushed, unable to help it. He was careful with his strength around Mike, but sometimes the X bonded to his bones pushed him to the raw, carnal boundaries of humanity. Mike’s hand on his cheek drew him out of those spiraling thoughts.

“I mean it,” Mike said. “I love that part of you. And I trust you completely.”

Words did not come easily, nor did they seem appropriate in that moment. Boomer bent to kiss Mike again and pull him as close as he could get. Wrapped up in the warm sheets and each other, Boomer’s silly little thought that he had never been happier grew and swelled to heights he never could have imagined before Mike. They lay there together, lazy and sleepy, as the credits of their forgotten holiday movie played on the television.

“One more semester,” Mike said, “and then I graduate.”

“I can’t believe you’re almost a college graduate,” Boomer said. “It feels like you left ages ago.”

“Four years is a long time, but it’s not forever. And you should get ready.”

Boomer looked up at him. “Ready for what?”

“To move, of course.”

“Move?”

“Hey, I love how cozy your apartment is, but I’m pretty sure Pumpkin would appreciate her own room once we’re living together full time.”

Boomer sat up properly. “You… You want to move in together? With me?”

“Of course! The only question is, where do you want to go?”

Boomer covered his mouth. Of course he had thought about getting a place with Mike, but that always seemed like the distant future. What if they didn’t stay together? What if the long distance was too hard? What if Mike met someone else at college? Brick didn’t talk about it much, but after a few too many drinks one night the year Blossom and Mike both left for college, he’d confessed how afraid he was that he would lose her forever. How can the old be exciting and fun compared to the amazing, new adventures she would be having?

But from the way Boomer had caught them all but absorbing each other at Todd’s tonight, Blossom seemed perfectly happy to keep him. And Mike…

“You’re serious,” Boomer said.

“I’ve never been more serious.” Mike took his hand and kissed his knuckles carefully. “I can’t wait to start our lives together.”

Boomer could have cried. He almost did. Life was hard, even for a Super like him. With endless bills to pay and the occasional monster to dispose of, sometimes he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions without anyone there to help pick up the slack. But this… This was his.

“Me too,” Boomer said. “And I don’t care where we go, as long as it’s together.”

“Well, cool. In that case, if you’re not opposed to it, was thinking farther north, like Metroville. There are some great photography jobs there that I want to apply for, and the music scene is bigger than it is here—”

“Yes! A hundred percent yes, let’s do it. When do we leave?”

Mike laughed. “June 1st, as soon as they hand me my diploma.”

Six months. It had a date now. Unthinking, Boomer threw his arms around Mike’s broad shoulders and hugged him tight. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

“It’s a date.”

Incidentally, they did not get much sleep the rest of that night.

xxx

I told myself I wasn’t going to do a ton of fluff, but damnit all, Boomike is SUPER CUTE and I couldn’t help myself. Let them have the happy ending they deserve. Thanks for reading!

[argylemnwrites]

First Noel

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC (Riley Liu)

Book: The Royal Romance (It Couldn’t Wait Another Moment universe, set around Chapter 21 of that story)

Word Count: ~1800

Rating: R (language, as always)

Summary: As their first Christmas together approaches, Drake and Riley find yet another element of their backgrounds they share.

Author’s Note: Not me posting a Christmas fic after the holiday, hahaha. The truth is that I am trying to get back into the swing of writing, and since I have painfully neglected Why Are We Still Waiting? I wanted to write something in that universe (I haven’t forgotten about that sequel, I swear... if anyone else still cares about that fic, hahaha). The whole discussion of “Walker Christmas” is something that actually really resonated with me during The Royal Holiday. As someone who has needed to work many Christmases, my family would often pick a different day to celebrate to accommodate my schedule, so the Walkers celebrating after the official holiday really rang true to me. So, in the ICWAM universe, this is how Riley leans about that tradition (and posting it after the holiday was totally on purpose *cough cough*)

Riley knew she’d fucked up. There was no point pretending that she hadn’t. The bad part was that she couldn’t really fix it. She was stuck. She was going to have to tell Drake, and she was absolutely dreading it.

Since he’d come back from Cordonia, things had been good between them. Really good, actually. They really hadn’t had any fights or spats or disagreements even. They had both been trying to be open and supportive and it was working. But now, that was all going to change and it was all her fault.

She’d reflexively agreed to work Christmas without really thinking about it. When Cam had asked for volunteers, she’d thrown her name out there instantly. It had always been her habit, having never had anyone to celebrate with and knowing that the odds of getting generous tippers on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day were way higher than your average night. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she hadn’t worked on Christmas.

Except this year, she actually had someone to celebrate with, and she hadn’t really thought about that fact until about fifteen minutes after she’d offered to pick up the holiday. She would have felt like a selfish bitch to walk into the back office and tell Cam she actually wanted to retract her offer to work both days, subjecting all her coworkers to a lottery and being seen as a flake at best, a giant asshole at worst. So, she just kept working, letting a giant ball of fear and regret stew in her stomach, getting worse and worse as her shift inched along and she was closer to having to tell Drake what she had done.

He was going to be pissed at her. She just knew it, and he honestly had every right to be. This was his first Christmas not in Cordonia, as far as she knew. He really only knew her in the city, and… fuck, she’d promised him that they would celebrate Christmas together when he decided he wasn’t ready to go down to Texas to spend the holiday with his mother and aunt. God, she was such a shitty girlfriend.

When Drake popped into the bar a few minutes before the end of her shift, she forced a little smile, but it must have looked hollow, because Drake furrowed his brow and gave her a slight frown. Sure enough, as soon as she had clocked out, slipped on her coat, and headed out from the bar hand in hand with Drake, he zeroed in on her mood.

“Did something happen tonight?” he asked, twisting back to look towards the bar.

Riley just shook her head. “No, I just fucked up.” She kept staring ahead, her boots crunching over the salt on the sidewalk, but she could feel Drake staring at her. He was obviously waiting for her to elaborate. She didn’t want to have to confess, to ruin their little bubble of peace and happiness, but she knew she needed to be honest and get it over with. So, she let out a little sigh before soldiering on. “I told Cam I could work on Christmas.”

Drake was silent for a second or two before he asked, “Eve or day?”

“Both.”

His silence stretched on a few moments longer before his response to that. “Oh,” was all he said. He kept his hand locked in hers, but Riley noticed him slow down his pace just slightly. She felt like absolute trash.

“I’m so sorry, Drake. I just wasn’t thinking. I’ve worked so many Christmases in a row that I think I just volunteered out of habit.”

“It’s fine, Liu.”

“No, it’s not. I was mad thoughtless. I totally get if you’re pissed at me.”

“I’m not pissed at you.”

Riley stopped at that, tugging Drake to a halt as well and pulling him around to face her directly. “Drake, come on. I fucked up.”

He gave her a little shrug and shook his head. “It’s not a big deal. I spent the last couple of Christmases in a bar anyway. At least you’ll be there too this year.”

“You spent your last Christmases in a bar?”

Drake ran his free hand through his hair as he shrugged again. “Well… yeah? Liam always had royal duties on the actual holiday, and after Savannah left, it’s not like I had anyone else to celebrate with or anything.”

Hearing how his most recent Christmases had been spent, Riley found herself feeling even shittier somehow. He finally had a chance at a festive and happy celebration, and she had ruined it. Her expression must have shifted enough to show some pity, because Drake shook his head. “Come on, it wasn’t so bad. Besides, you were the one who just said she was forced to work a bunch of Christmases in a row. That’s way worse than just grabbing a few drinks at a bar and calling it a night.”

“I didn’t have to work; I always offered.”

“You what?”

“I always volunteered if my managers asked, and if they didn’t, I switched with coworkers who had kids or families.”

“Tips that good on Christmas?”

“I mean, I usually got a customer or two that left a lot due to ‘holiday spirit’ or some shit, but it was more that I didn’t have anything better to do.” Riley kicked the toe of her boot against the sidewalk, her eyes pulling away from Drake’s gaze. She was trying to be better about acknowledging the painful parts of her past she would rather forget, but she still didn’t really like to talk about things like this. It tended to dredge up a slew of memories that she’d worked hard to put behind her.

“Liu… Riley,” Drake said, the switch to her first name prompting her to glance back up from her feet to his face. “When was the last time you had anyone to celebrate Christmas with?”

She bit her lip and let out a sigh. She knew that it wasn’t fair that Drake opened up to her about his past quite a bit while she still kept a lot of things to herself, but that didn’t make these things easy to talk about. “When I was 17. I was with the Andersons during one of my mom’s last prison stints before I aged out of the system. They were excited to finally get a chance to be foster moms since New York finally recognized their marriage from Vermont, so they kind of made it a big deal. I was so closed off by that point, though, that I didn’t really appreciate it.”

Drake just looked at her for a few moments before he tugged her into a hug, wrapping his arms around her back as he held her tight to his chest. “Why do you let me whine about my past when you had things so much worse?” he mumbled into her hair.

She let out a sigh, returning his hug as she hooked her arms around him. “It’s not a competition, Drake. It’s not like either of us had that cheesy Norman Rockwell holiday experience.”

He didn’t say anything else, just ran his hand along her spine. After a few moments, they stepped apart, hands locking back together as they continued along back to their apartment. 

“You know,” Drake said, “back when I was growing up, my dad worked every Christmas.”

Based on his tone, Riley knew he was trying to make her feel better about the fact that she’d agreed to work the holiday, but it honestly made things worse. Not only were his recent Christmases crappy, but so were his childhood ones, apparently. “God, I’m so sorry. If I had known you had a history of having people work on the-”

“No, that wasn’t my point!” he interrupted. “We made the 26th ‘Walker Christmas’ and we did the whole celebration then. Gifts, big meal, holiday movies, all of it. It was really fun and special. Even after he died and we could have just celebrated on the actual holiday, Savannah and I kept the tradition alive for a long time.”

“Really?”

“Yup. As we got older, Sav usually got us invited to some sort of fancy Christmas party with some of the nobles on the 24th or 25th, but the 26th just stayed our family day. I always loved that it was our tradition to celebrate then.”

She glanced over at him, wondering not for the first time how she had managed to find someone like him. Someone who didn’t seem fazed or flustered by any of her baggage, who somehow showed he cared without making it seem like a big deal. Maybe it was because they had enough similarities in their pasts that he “got it,” but that honestly seemed like it was selling him short. Because it went deeper than shared mommy issues and fears of abandonment. The way he treated her felt like so much more than similar traumas, and she sometimes didn’t know how to respond, so caught off guard by a level of compassion and understanding she would have never thought possible.

“You’re too nice to me,” she finally settled on, watching as Drake’s cheeks grew pinker than they had been from just the winter wind.

He shook his head. “Nah, it’s really nothing, Liu.”

She knew that wasn’t true, but she didn’t push him. She knew he wanted to just move forward and not make a big deal of things. So she stepped closer to him, bumping him with her shoulder as she gave his hand a squeeze. “So, what do we need to do to make it a true Walker Christmas?”

“Not let you anywhere near the oven to start.”

She elbowed him and shook her head as Drake chuckled. “I am not that bad of a cook.”

“Uh huh. Sure, Liu. How many times have you made gingerbread?” She just scowled at him, prompting him to laugh again. “Exactly. So I’ll take care of the cooking and baking.”

All Riley could do was roll her eyes as they kept walking along the sidewalk. “I don’t really have any decorations,” she said, “And I don’t think we’ll exactly have space for a tree.”

“Ehh, I bet we can still make it festive. It’ll be good, Liu.”

His steadiness and willingness to just roll with her screw up and make the best of it had made her a little emotional. She didn’t quite understand why someone like him had been treated like shit by so many people in his life, but all she could really do was be grateful that their paths had crossed. “You sure you’re okay with celebrating late?” she asked as they reached their building, dropping his hand to find her keys in her purse.

“Christmas isn’t really about a day on the calendar,” he said with a shrug, following her into the lobby.

She spun and kissed him lightly before starting up the stairs. “Thank you, Drake.”

“Of course, Liu. Of course.”

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

TRR/TRH: @iaminlovewithtrr @mskaneko @axwalker @jovialyouthmusic @marshmallowsandfire @kingliam2019 @sirbeepsalot @texaskitten30 @princessleac1 @ladyangel70 @debramcg1106 @masterofbluff  @sarahx206

Drake/MC: @no-one-u-know  @iplaydrake

ICWAM: @thequeenchoices @sunnyxdazed @sammie0220​

[birdhaslostit]

🎁🎄❄️What the Lupin Gang would do for Christmas!❄️🎄🎁

Helloooooooo Lupin fans! You may or may not remember me as that one chick who made that Halloween headcanon post a few months back, as well as the Jigen’s bangs post. I’m back with a Christmas post!!!

Please note: Personally, I really only celebrate Christmas in a non-Jesus-y way. (Which is how I’m also writing this post, because let’s be honest, do you really think Lupin is going to confession and shit? Absolutely not.) It’s purely out of habit because I was raised Catholic, but I practice witchcraft now. My family doesn’t know that though. Because of this, I considered also making posts for other winter holidays, so I could include Lupin fans that don’t celebrate Christmas. But I didn’t want to accidentally mess it up, or write something inaccurate about a holiday that I don’t celebrate. It felt disingenuous to make a Hanukkah post because I’m not Jewish and it doesn’t seem like my place, and I didn’t want to do a Yule one either, because no two people celebrate it the same way. So, I strongly encourage others to add their respective winter festivities to this post if they want to! We’re all about inclusivity here.

Without further ado:

🎁LUPIN:

I don’t feel like it needs saying, but this man goes bonkers for Christmas.

He flip-flops his choice of red or green jacket by the year. But it always comes with an equally garish Christmas-themed tie, just to make explicitly clear that this is The Christmas Jacket for the year, as opposed to the standard red/green jacket.

The hideout(s) are always decorated to the GILLS inside. It’s an odd mix of older classy decorations he’s inherited from his family, and absolutely horrendously tacky ones he’s bought himself. 

Picture real branch garlands, wrapped tastefully around gilded candelabras that have been passed down through several generations. And then one of those singing, dancing stuffed animals from Walmart that plays “Jingle Bell Rock” when you squeeze its paw, right next to it.

Christmas-themed heists? You know it, baby. But he won’t steal anything on Christmas Eve or Christmas. It just isn’t in the spirit of the season, in his opinion. But he’ll leave a little something-something with his calling cards during the rest of December. A candy cane, a sprig of mistletoe, a bough of holly, etc.

Lupin despises eggnog. He loves any other Christmas drink, just not eggnog. He’s too grossed out by the idea of drinking eggs with alcohol- some things just shouldn’t be mixed.

Will not allow anyone to mention the truth about Santa Claus in his presence. Yeah, he knows, but that’s not the point. It just feels like bad luck to say it out loud. The harder Jigen tries to debate with him that Santa isn’t real, the harder he digs in his heels that “of course he is you absolute Scrooge, how dare you! If you don’t believe, you don’t receive.”

Favorite Christmas Songs: Anything peppy! 

Wonderful Christmastime by Paul McCartney

Step Into Christmas by Elton John

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee

We Need a Little Christmas by Percy Faith and his Orchestra

A Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives

All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

Santa Claus’ Party by Les Baxter

Favorite Christmas Drinks: Literally anything except eggnog.

Favorite Christmas Foods: Anything obscenely sugary. Especially gingerbread men and other decorated pastries.

Favorite Christmas Activities: Loves to ice skate and make gingerbread houses! But his houses usually look fairly pathetic, no matter how hard he tries.

Favorite Christmas Movie(s): 

The Grinch (Jim Carrey version)

Home Alone

Scrooged

Christmas Gifts: The king of gag gifts, but he also gives surprisingly thoughtful presents too. He’s the kind of guy that would get a person something they mentioned once offhandedly that they really liked, and he’d go back and get it for them.

🎅JIGEN:

Lupin always wants to decorate the hideout(s) the second Halloween ends, but it never happens. With Jigen being the only American in the gang, he always puts a stop to it in order to preserve the quickly-disappearing border between Thanksgiving and Christmas.

What can I say, dude loves his Thanksgiving excuse to eat like shit and do nothing for a day. Even if it is a fucked-up holiday, historically speaking.

But once the Thanksgiving meal is over, he gives Lupin the okay to go crazy. He’s pretty stoked about Christmas too, but too full of turkey to contribute, so he just watches Lupin hang up Christmas lights everywhere while he lays on the couch and digests.

Jigen likes Christmas a lot, but like, in a normal person kind of way. Nowhere near Lupin’s insane level. He’s surprisingly open about his enthusiasm too. The average person would think he doesn’t really care about Christmas much (or anything else really), but to the gang, Christmastime is the most openly excited they’ve ever seen him.

One year’s Christmas-themed heist involved Jigen dressing up as a mall Santa as a part of the plan. The gang powdered his beard, gave him a pillow for his stomach, and sent him on his way. Everything went surprisingly smoothly, and he actually did pretty well with the kids. At first they were a little intimidated, and Jigen was kind of nervous- but he gave them all candy canes and they changed their minds pretty quickly.

Jigen enjoyed it a lot, actually... to the point that he may have potentially started volunteering to be the local mall Santa. Every year during December, he leaves for a day or two on “business.” Nobody in the gang can prove it though, and trust me, they’ve tried.

Favorite Christmas Songs: The classics and the chill ones, with a few rock ones thrown in for a little kick.

Mele Kalikimaka by Bing Crosby

Sleigh Bells by Gene Autry

(There’s No Place Like) Home For The Holidays by Perry Como

Jingle Bells by Frank Sinatra

Caroling, Caroling by Nat King Cole

Let It Snow, Let It Snow, Let It Snow by Dean Martin

Silver Bells by Dean Martin

Happy Holiday by Bing Crosby

Run Rudolph Run by Chuck Berry

Merry Christmas Baby by Bruce Springsteen (Sang this once after too much eggnog and will never live it down)

God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen by the Barenaked Ladies (He’s not into all the Jesus-y stuff, but it’s pretty catchy.)

Favorite Christmas Drinks: Jigen is ALL. ABOUT. THAT. NOG. He’ll make his cup a little stronger than everyone else’s.

Favorite Christmas Foods: He really likes candy canes, especially the mini ones. He’ll keep a few in his pocket with his cigs, and switch between them depending on his mood. Out of habit, it’ll usually dangle out of his mouth like a cigarette would.

Favorite Christmas Activities: Watching Christmas movies and laughing at Lupin’s shitty gingerbread houses.

Favorite Christmas Movies: 

Anything that’s on at the moment, really. He likes to lounge by the TV, and he’s not picky. 

He has a soft spot for A Charlie Brown Christmas though.

A Christmas Story, solely because of the BB gun.

Scrooged, because Bill Murray’s hilarious.

Christmas Gifts: Something practical and useful that the person never realized they needed until they opened the box.

☃️GOEMON:

Goemon wasn’t originally a huge fan of Christmas. Shocking, I know.

He now enjoys some aspects of it, and tolerates others. He likes the idea of giving heartfelt gifts and spending time with loved ones as a tradition, but dislikes the cheesy commercial aspect of Christmas.

He already enjoys the snow and walking through the forest, so the gang usually commissions him to pick a tree for them and cut it down with Zantetsuken. (If they’re somewhere where that’s an option.)

Unbeknownst to the rest of the gang, he will always replant the tree he cut down, and he will wrap something cozy around the bottom of the sapling to keep it safe. Yes, this was directly inspired by A Charlie Brown Christmas. No, he will not admit to this.

Favorite Christmas Songs: The instrumentals, and a few he’d rather die than admit to liking.

The Nutcracker March from The Nutcracker

Waltz of the Flowers from The Nutcracker

Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy from The Nutcracker

Christmas Time Is Here (Instrumental) by the Vince Guaraldi Trio

Greensleeves by the Vince Guaraldi Trio

Last Christmas by Wham! (He likes the storyline and the romantic aspect of it.)

Do They Know It’s Christmas? by Band Aid (He likes that it was for a good cause, even if it has its flaws.)

Happy Xmas (War Is Over) by John Lennon and Yoko Ono (Again, flawed, but he enjoys the intended message of peace. Also, represents Japan on the side with Yoko Ono.)

White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes

Favorite Christmas Drinks: Surprisingly fond of hot cocoa. Heavy on the whipped cream and marshmallows. 

Favorite Christmas Foods: Doesn’t really like eating gingerbread men, but enjoys decorating them. They’re always pristine, like something you’d get in a bakery.

Favorite Christmas Activities: See above. Also enjoys going out in the snow, and making ice sculptures with Zantetsuken.

Favorite Christmas Movies: Refuses to admit he likes any of these.

Any of the classic Rankin Bass claymation specials.

Any other animated ones for kids. Has a soft spot for A Charlie Brown Christmas and The Polar Express.

A few of those cheesy Hallmark ones.

Christmas Gifts: Something small and sentimental he saw while walking by a store that reminded him of the person he’s giving it to. Nothing extravagant, but thoughtful nonetheless.

⛸FUJIKO:

Fujiko decorates the tree. Period. Lupin cannot be trusted to do this on his own. Goemon picks the tree, Lupin and Jigen put it in the stand, and from there, it’s all Fujiko. The ornaments, lights, and tree skirt are all perfectly color/theme coordinated, and arranged like a pristine store display. 

She also has a few ornaments that she bought for each specific member of the gang. Lupin’s is a monkey (he was not pleased, but he’s whipped for her, so he let her keep it). Jigen’s is a carved wooden pistol. Goemon’s is porcelain, with hand-painted sakura blossoms on it. She bought one for Zenigata too as a joke one year- a tiny bowl of ramen noodles.

Her ornament? The star on top of the tree, because she’s the star of the show, baby. It’s actually a snowflake, made of the finest crystal she could steal.

Favorite Christmas Songs: Pop music and Motown’s finest.

Underneath The Tree by Kelly Clarkson

All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey

Santa Tell Me by Ariana Grande

This Christmas by Donny Hathaway

What Christmas Means To Me by Stevie Wonder

Sleigh Ride by The Ronettes 

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree by Brenda Lee

Christmas (Baby Please Come Home) by Darlene Love

A Marshmallow World by Darlene Love

I Like A Sleighride (Jingle Bells) by Peggy Lee

Favorite Christmas Drinks: Hot chocolate and mulled wine.

Favorite Christmas Foods: Loves baking and eating gingerbread men. She lets Goemon decorate them with her. Hers have lots of candy and sprinkles on them, while his are just icing.

Favorite Christmas Activities: Along with baking, ice skating! She’s the best at it out of the whole group. None of the guys are particularly good at it, but she makes them go with her at least once regardless.

Favorite Christmas Movies:

Hallmark ones, solely to make fun of them.

Babes In Toyland, but only the 1986 one, because it has Keanu Reeves in it, and “I don’t care if I’m your girlfriend, Lupin. In this house, we support Keanu Reeves.”

Christmas Gifts: Something expensive/extravagant that will make the person think of her every time they use it.

🎄ZENIGATA:

Zenigata is the second biggest Christmas enthusiast, just behind Lupin.

He doesn’t get to settle down and decorate anything really, since he’s always running after the gang, but he does lots of other little things to celebrate instead. Like getting hot chocolate instead of coffee, tuning the squad car radio to the Christmas station, getting an air freshener that smells like gingerbread, and wearing a festive scarf and gloves with his trench coat to keep out the cold.

In years past, Zenigata still had to work on Christmas Eve/Christmas, even if Lupin wasn’t out stealing anything. Lupin found out and thought that was a little harsh of ICPO, so he came up with a plan. 

Each year he sends a calling card to the station with the conditions that only Zenigata can come to investigate. Zenigata does some research, shows up to the location on Christmas Eve, and every year, nothing’s there except for a neatly wrapped present from Lupin. 

Zenigata keeps the present as “evidence,” goes back to the station, and they give him Christmas off to go investigate on his own, in case Lupin tries anything else. Lupin never does, but the station doesn’t know that. Bada bing, bada boom, Lupin just got Zenigata a vacation.

Zenigata never catches on, bless his heart.

Favorite Christmas Songs: Ones he can sing/hum along to in the squad car.

The Man With All The Toys by The Beach Boys

Celebrate Me Home by Kenny Loggins

Feliz Navidad by José Feliciano (Does Zenigata understand Spanish? Absolutely not. Does he get the point and think it’s festive? Darn right.)

A Holly Jolly Christmas by Burl Ives

Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer by Dean Martin

Winter Wonderland by the Eurythmics

Silver Bells by Dean Martin

Happy Holiday/The Holiday Season by Andy Williams

Santa Claus Is Comin’ To Town by Gene Autry

December by Earth, Wind, and Fire (Let him have this okay, it’s a good song and he gets made fun of for liking it by the rest of ICPO)

Skating by the Vince Guaraldi Trio

Favorite Christmas Drinks: Hot cocoa and eggnog, but not strong eggnog like Jigen’s.

Favorite Christmas Foods: Anything, really. It’s something besides cup noodles, so he’s grateful. Lupin’s gift always includes lots of various Christmas goodies because of this.

Favorite Christmas Activities: Zenigata enjoys the snow in theory, but doesn’t handle the cold well. So he likes to watch the snow from his window while he listens to Christmas music in his squad car and sips his hot cocoa.

Favorite Christmas Movies: He doesn’t really have a lot of time to sit down a watch a movie, with how hard he works. But he remembers a few from when he was younger, and he really likes those. His favorite is Frosty the Snowman.

Christmas Gifts: Something inexpensive because ICPO vastly underpays this poor man, and he’s always embarrassed because of that, but it’s always something super sweet and heartfelt.

MERRY CHRISTMAS! And for those who don’t celebrate it, HAPPY HOLIDAYS! <3

[thoradvice]

How is your life going?

my life is going okay ! my mental health has been a little rough over the last week or so. my eating disorder has been really hard to fight, especially. christmas is my favourite holiday, but it’s kind of tainted. december and january have always been rough months for me - my depression first started developing in december when i was 12/13, and the december after was even worse. and the holidays in general are just really difficult for my eating disorder - with all the holiday food and the new years resolutions to lose weight, or whatever. so yeah,, the last week or so has been rough, and i had a little breakdown last night. but i’m working on it ! i’m trying super hard to still work on myself & keep eating. i’m not always succeeding, but at least i’m trying.

but the rest of my life is going really well !! i was super proud of my end of semester grades, and i’ve recently started looking at universities in more depth, which has been fun. i’m pretty set on my choices now, i think. my christmas, aside from my shitty mental health, was really good !! we couldn’t do most of what my family usually does, because of covid, but it was still fun ! i got a game called immortals: fenyx rising and i’ve been spending SO much time on it. it’s so nice to have a hyperfixation again & to enjoy smth. i’ve also been rewatching my comfort show with my brother (he’s never seen it before), which has been nice, too.

honestly my life in general has been really good. i’ve made so much progress and grown so much in terms of my mental health, even if it’s taking a hit right now. i know what i want to do with my life, and i know how to get there. i have some amazing people i know i can rely on, and everything is starting to work out. it’s a really nice feeling :). i know you probably didn’t expect such a long answer, but thank you for asking anyway.

[ash-elizabeth-art]

Life Update

(warning for negative self-talk and just general negativity)

I hope you all had a good holiday/New Year. My Christmas was pretty good, and I spent most of New Year's Eve asleep, but I didn't mind.

I'm not gonna lie, I haven't been feeling my best lately. I've been tired, unmotivated, uninspired, and have been sucked into comparing myself to others and feeling like I'm not good enough. It's difficult. I don't like feeling this way, but I'm trying to take my time getting through it.

There's this part of me that wants, so badly, to be this person who gets up at the same time every day, has a consistent routine, and just puts their head down and gets to work. I want it so badly. I want to get things done, I want to keep up with things. But something always gets in the way. I'm too tired, or I don't feel well, or I'm anxious, or I'm overwhelmed, or, or, or, you get the picture.

And I know that I shouldn't be upset with myself for not being able to function like a robot. I am a person who struggles with a lot of things, physically and mentally, and it makes it difficult for me to be consistent. But still, I want to. I crave order. I can't stand chaos. I want things to be neat and predictable, and I'm having a hard time accepting that they're just not most of the time.

In terms of my work, that's also been a struggle. Like I said, I haven't been feeling very inspired or motivated. I think I'm getting bogged down with worrying about whether or not my work is going to sell. Because as much as I hate talking about the business side of things, I can't deny that it's there. I can't deny that I want my work to sell. I want to be able to put money in my savings. I want to be able to offer to pay for a meal without feeling this pang in my stomach. I want to feel more secure, more stable, but it's just so freaking hard.

I want to strike a balance where I'm able to sell my work without being annoying about it. I hate the thought of sounding like an annoying salesperson. I don't know if I strike that balance. And all of these thoughts about selling things makes it hard to remember why I enjoy making things in the first place and what I even want to make. That said, I have made a few things, and have a few more in progress. It's not much, but it's a start.

In regards to my medical drama, I'm gonna be honest, I'm just done at this point. I have one more cardio appointment and a follow-up with my regular doctor at the end of January, and I really just want to be done with it all for a long time after that. I'm sick of appointments, I'm sick of tests, I'm sick of trying to explain myself. All of the doctors that I've seen have said that I'm generally okay, so I just want to be thankful for that and move on. At the end of the day, I have fatigue, I have Premature Ventricular Contractions, I have mild Mitral Valve Prolapse, and I have shitty periods that I now have prescribed pain medication for, and I'm just gonna deal with it. I'm pretty used to the fatigue at this point anyway. I'm sorry to sound so negative, but it's just been very frustrating and upsetting and I'd rather not keep dragging it on.

So yeah, things have not been super great for me lately. And as much as I want to spring into action and fly through my to-do list and make loads of new things for my shop in record time, I don't think that's going to happen. I think I'm gonna need some time. It might take me a while to get back on my feet. To figure out what I want to do and how to do it. So until then, I might not be posting very often. And if you've made it this far, thank you for taking the time to read this and thank you for supporting me and my work.

I hope you're all doing well <3

[lovemesomesurveys]

First name?: Stephanie.

Middle name?:

Like your name?: Sure.

Named after anyone?: Nope.

Any nicknames?: Steph or Sis.

Age?: 32.

Birthdate?: July 28th.

Birthplace?: A city in California.

Time you were born?: Around 430PM.

Current location?: At home in a city in California.

Height?: About 5′4.

Like your height?: No, I wish I was a little bit taller.

Eye color?: Brown.

Contacts/glasses?: I wear glasses.

Hair color?: Dark brown.

Natural hair color?: My natural hair color is dark brown.

Dye your hair often?: Yes. I was dyeing it red for awhile, but I recently cut my hair really short for reasons, and since I was already well over a year due for a dye job, my roots were quite overgrown and the remaining half that was red was lost when I chopped off my hair. I plan on dyeing it again once it grows out more.

Righty or lefty?: I’m a righty.

Your favorite...

Type of music?: I like variety.

Band or singer?: One of my favorite bands will always be Linkin Park.

TV show?: I have several.

Movie?: I have several of those, too.

TV channel?: My TV is generally either on TV Land, CMT, The Hallmark Channel, or MTV.

Radio station?: I don’t listen to the radio anymore.

Place to be?: The beach.

Thing to do?: Read, color, surveys, check my social medias, listen to ASMR, watch TV, sleep.

Food?: Ramen, garlic parm and lemon pepper boneless wings from Wingstop, chicken tenders, eggs, pasta, turkey or bologna sandwiches, potatoes in various forms, pizza.

Non alcoholic drink?: Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drinks, soda.

Alcoholic drink?: None.

Animal?: Dogs and giraffes.

Holiday?: Christmas and Halloween.

Season?: Fall and winter.

Sport?: None.

Place to shop?: Boxlunch and Hot Topic.

Clothing brand?: I don’t really have one. I just get what I like, regardless of that. Although, I do like my Adidas stuff.

Scent?: I have a lot of favorite scents.

Restaurant?: I don’t really have one. Well, unless Wingstop counts as a restaurant.

Fruit?: Bananas.

Vegetable?: Spinach, potatoes, green onion, broccoli.

Fast food restaurant?: Jack in the Box I guess cause I really like their chicken tenders.

Pizza topping?: Extra sauce, extra cheese, garlic, green onions, spinach, cilantro, crumbled meatballs and pesto sauce.

Ice cream flavor?: Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake, cookies and cream.

Magazine?: Don’t have one. 

City?: Beachy and touristy cities.

Color?: Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, and yellow.

Number?: 8.

This or that...

Chocolate or vanilla?: Vanilla.

Pepsi or coke?: Both.

Hot or cold?: Cold.

Black or white?: Black.

Dog or cat?: Dog.

French toast or pancakes?: French toast.

French fries or onion rings?: Ooh, both.

Hamburger or hot dog?: Depends on my mood, but I’m really not a big fan of either one. I’ll want one every now and then.

Pepperoni or sausage?: Pepperoni.

Britney or Christina?: Both.

McDonalds or Burger King?: I like some stuff from both, but I don’t go to either one that much.

50 Cent or Eminem?: Eminem.

Canada or Mexico?: I’ve been to Mexico once. I’d love to visit Canada.

Hug or kiss?: Both, just depends.

Movies or TV?: Both.

Truth or dare?: Truth.

Do you...

Shower daily?: No. Every 2-3 days.

Sing in the shower?: Yeah.

Like to sing?: Sure. Too bad I can’t sing well.

Like to dance?: I don’t dance.

Smoke?: No.

Drink?: No.

Cuss?: Sometimes.

Talk to yourself?: I think out loud a lot.

Believe in yourself?: No. :/

Play an instrument?: Nope.

Go to school?: No, I graduated UC back in 2015.

Go to college?: ^^^

Have a job?: Nope.

Like your job?: --

Want to get married?: No.

Want to have kids?: No.

Get along with your parents?: Yes.

Get along with your siblings?: Yes.

Drive?: No.

Random...

Do you think you're trustworthy?: Yes.

Think your funny?: I have my moments now and then, but I’m not naturally a funny person. When those moments happen you can bet I own ‘em haha.

Ever toilet papered someones house?: No. That is such a stupid, shitty thing to do.

Gone garbage can tipping?: No.

What are your parents names?: I’m not sharing that.

Siblings names?: ^^^

Do you wash your hands frequently?: The pandemic has made me do so a lot more.

How many time a day do you brush your teeth?: At least once.

Collect anything?: Giraffe stuffed animals and knickknacks, key chains, Baby Yoda stuff.

Ever been in love?: Yes.

In love right now?: No.

What color pants are you wearing right now?: I’m wearing black leggings. 

How does your hair look?: It’s really short.

Ever had your heartbroken?: Yes, and not just in the romantic sense.

Been arrested?: No.

Been out of the country?: Yeah, I went to Mexico.

Can you stick your fist in your mouth?: No.

When was the last time you got drunk?: Almost a deacade ago on my birthday.

Do you do drugs?: Nope.

When was the last time you were high on anything?: Almost a decade ago as well.

Do you prefer the lights on or off?: I like them on usually unless I’m gong to bed. 

Do you prefer boxers or briefs?: I don’t care.

Do you like to laugh?: I mean, yeah?

Ever had a bloody nose?: No.

Have you ever caught a fish?: No.

What was the last thing you ate?: Wingstop.

What time do you go to bed?: In the early morning hours.

What's your favorite color?: I answered this already.

Do you like to give or recieve?: Both, but I really do enjoy giving.

Do you live alone?: No.

Do you own a blender?: Yes.

Do you like the snow?: Yesss. I wish it snowed where I live.

Ever been up a mountain?: No.

Ever been rootin'?: Rootin’?

Do you like surprises?: Good ones.

[lovelyirony]

24.) What happens when they get snowed in together?

Tony Doesn’t Like Crushes. He Doesn’t. They’re Inconvenient and Stupid.

He gets a crush.

It’s college and he’s focused on his grades and doing well and maybe taking twenty credit hours depending on how much self-loathing he feels, he’ll talk to his advisor about it and hopefully not be asked if he needs a therapist.

And then there’s Rhodey. Rhodey, who has the best smile, the kindest eyes, and also is not bad in the arm-department.

Well. He has headphones. And classes to get to. And he can ignore feelings. He’s been doing it for years, how hard can it be?

Hard. It’s hard to ignore feelings when you sleep across a room from someone, share space together, and get along remarkably well. Rhodey is so sweet, so thoughtful, and has the best sense of humor. He’s everything that checks Tony’s metaphorical boxes, and he…

He can do better. He can find a nice girl or guy to settle down with and love and be so glad and yeah he and his new spouse will come over to Tony’s house for the holidays, but not the holidays because they’ll have family and Tony won’t have anyone besides Dum-E, which is honestly fine, but like…Dum-E isn’t Rhodey.

And Tony will be a great host and laugh and joke and he and Rhodey’s spouse will get along like a house on fire and he’ll never tell the spouse that he’s in love with Rhodey and he’ll be the best man at their wedding and give a great speech, stay until the end of the wedding, and then absolutely smashed on cheap whiskey at home, perhaps.

A lot of secrets will be kept. You know, he’s mapping out quite a lot of life without knowing the exact outcome.

They go on a winter trip together. They have a week before Christmas, and their friend group suggests a cabin trip. Tony, at first, does not want to but then Howard calls him a “general disappointment” so why not further that sentiment?

(He uses a Stark Industries credit card to pay for literally everything and also buys an incredibly stupid vanity license plate that advertises an obscure diner in the middle of nowhere, Indiana. He likes surpassing expectations.)

Problem: Tony really isn’t one for outdoor winter activities. Rhodey can build a snow-fort and sled with the best of them, but he draws the line at skiing. So the other members of the group head to a ski resort about twenty miles up, say they’ll be back by the end of the day, and leave Rhodey and Tony to the cabin.

Alone.

And there’s a blizzard on its way, so the group calls and says they’ll have to stay overnight because the roads aren’t clear and it’s getting pretty dangerous. Tony says “okay,” realizes that he and Rhodey are also going to be snowed-in, and then realizes that they’re alone.

Together.

This leads to some panic, a quiet pep talk in the bathroom of how “you’re gonna act totally normal, Tony, not even mention the argument you and a humanities student had in the library over which coffee company is likely a front for criminal activity” and gets out there to deliver the news.

“Oh, okay,” Rhodey says, because It’s Not a Big Deal to Him. “You wanna help me make dinner?”

Dinner is something that Tony can make. He wasn’t raised to be completely helpless, and as much as he loves Jarvis’ soups and rolls, he is an older gentleman who waxes poetic about the worst pudding Tony’s ever had. (The English and their puddings…leaves nothing to be desired.)

They make cheap spaghetti and meatballs, and Tony laughs and laughs as Rhodey teases him about an answer he gave in their chemistry lecture, and he turns on an old radio and it’s warbling out old Christmas tunes, starting with an old Bing Crosby hit.

“Oh my god I love this one,” Tony says, moving a bit in the kitchen.

Rhodey holds out his hand.

“Care for a dance, Tony?”

Tony looks at the hand for only a moment before smiling and spinning into the move, laughing as Rhodey tries to sing the song terribly, because he doesn’t know it, and god Tony is pretty sure he’ll never like anyone else quite like he loves Rhodey.

They eat dinner together and smile at each other, and it’s so perfect. Tony hates it as he smiles back at Rhodey one last time and says they should get ready for the night.

There’s one room in the place they’re renting: they had been planning on doing a gigantic sleepover in the main room around the fire, high off of funny stories and sleepy with good food.

But now there weren’t enough people to stay warm in that room, and it was too drafty even with the fire, and so Rhodey suggests they just share the bedroom.

Tony freezes.

They are roommates and everything. They share the same bedroom and Rhodey’s seen Tony’s choice in boxer-shorts too many times to share in polite company.

So it’s not weird weird.

There’s only one bed.

God it’s like those shitty romance novels that Ana swears she doesn’t read, but always has on the bottom shelf of her nightstand.

So Tony gets ready for bed, ignores how his fingers shake as they tap against his thigh in a nervous, never-ending pattern. It will be fine. It’s just eight hours of sleep. Maybe less.

He wakes up at seven with one of Rhodey’s arms slung across his midsection and his head buried into the crook of his neck. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but Tony doesn’t dare move. It’s too nice, honestly. But he wants to stay like this for as long as he can.

[sincerelyreidburke]

Ok I have no idea where this is coming from but I want to hear about Nando and Quinn's first New Year's Eve together

First, Isabelle, please let me apologize for my delay on this ask fill. Rest assured I had never forgotten or abandoned this idea! It’s very soft, and here’s a ficlet to quell your curiosity.

I’m not taking “first New Year’s” super literally here, because this is set during junior year winter break. The reason I’m doing that is because while they’re dating for two winter breaks prior to this one, this is the first time they get to spend New Year’s physically together. I’ll enlighten you about the two New Year’s that occur prior to this one...

Freshman year: Nando goes to his hometown friend’s party, and Quinn watches a movie by himself. They FaceTime at midnight. Nando is kind of drunk, but being safe, and Quinn finds it endearing. They’re schmoopy, and Nando gets chirped by his friends when he comes back from whatever random room he stepped aside in to make the call.

Sophomore year: Nando goes to that party again, and Quinn is once again by himself, but this time, Quinn accidentally falls asleep at, like, 10:30. Nando wakes him up with another midnight call, and makes fun of him for being a weakling who can’t stay up late. Quinn is slightly grouchy because he’s half-asleep, but misses Nando very much, and therefore lets his grouch fade into soft.

Junior year: this. Long live the return of Gabi and Rosa Hernandez!

(Ask me anything about the crickets!)

//

junior year | december/january

 “Gabi! Rosa! Wake up; it’s almost midnight!”

Nando watches, with so much glee that he’s holding back a laugh, as both of his sisters rouse in unison. They sit bolt upright on the basement couch, in two different shades of alarm. Gabi rubs her eyes and makes some kind of half-asleep grunting noise, and Rosa is immediately wide awake. “What?” she cries, flailing her arms in panic. “Did we miss it?”

“No!” Nando replies, and next to him, wrapped up in his arm, Quinn is shaking his head for emphasis.

“You woke up just in time,” Quinn adds, then points to the clock on the basement wall.

Gabi and Rosa both look that way, and Nando holds up his watch, gesturing to its face. “See?” he says. “It’s 11:57.”

Rosa marvels at his watch. “I didn’t know we slept that long…”

“Yeah!” Gabi frowns, with a little hmph , and folds her arms. She’s wearing the nightgown she got for Christmas; it’s lavender, with sugar-plum fairies all over it. “Why didn’t you guys wake us up?”

“Well, we did wake you up,” Quinn points out, evenly. “There are three minutes left to go.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep ,” she whines. “I said I was gonna stay up this year!”

“It’s a good thing you have us,” Nando quips, and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Quinn, who is infinitely more patient with Gabi and Rosa than Nando feels like being with his little sisters right now, pats Gabi on the shoulder and remarks, “It’s okay, Gabi. Staying up on New Year’s isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway.”

“But you’re doing it,” Gabi points out.

Quinn tips his head into Nando’s arm, and Nando grins down at him, squeezing him around the shoulders. “I am,” Quinn says, “because I’m with you guys.” He pauses. “I fell asleep before midnight last New Year’s, by accident.”

“It’s true,” Nando says, chuckling, because that really is true— he remembers Quinn’s sleepy face picking up his FaceTime call at midnight last year, rubbing his eyes with a raspy voice over the phone. It was the cutest shit he’s ever seen, not to be dramatic.

Now, a year later, he nudges his boyfriend— who is sitting on his mama’s basement couch, live and in person, his for the entirety of the holidays. The end of Quinn’s fall semester may have been beyond shitty from a home life standpoint, but it led to this: Quinn, home with him, in Arizona, for all of winter break. And summer, once it comes. And the winter break after that, and, well—

Nando loves having him here, more than he can even say.

“Quinn’s a weakling,” he chirps, with eyes on the boy himself. “He’s no good at staying up late.”

Quinn squirms, with a little laugh, and swats upward towards Nando’s general chest region. “ Sebastián ,” he says, easily. Nando kisses his temple.

“Staying up late is cool !” Gabi cries. “Sometimes I use Mama’s phone to text Sebastián when it’s midnight at college, and he’s still awake .”

“Mm.” Quinn nods, with his cheek pressed into Nando’s shoulder. “Your brother has a habit of letting Ben have an influence on his bedtime.”

“I mean.” Nando wonders if defending himself is even worth it. Quinn is sort of right. “He lives right on the other side of the bathroom. He, like… invades my room.”

Rosa is studying the wall clock intently. “I’ll tell you guys when,” she announces, like counting down to midnight is a mission she is taking very seriously. “We have a minute and thirty-seven seconds left. Now it’s thirty-six. Thirty-five—”

“Aw, don’t count the whole time,” Gabi says, shoving her in the shoulder. “You’ll kill all the fun.”

“It’s okay, Rosa.” Once again, Quinn seeks to pacify the sisterly disagreements. He’s a natural, Nando notices. It sends him into thoughts of Quinn as a dad, which is so much for his extremely in love, extremely gay brain. “It’ll be midnight soon.”

Nando buries his face in Quinn’s hair to mask his smile, and plants a kiss at the top of his head. With three weeks in the Arizona sun under his belt— because even in the winter, the sun here is aplenty, something Nando will never stop loving about his home state— the usual strawberry tones of Quinn’s blond have lightened significantly. Not only that, but he has more freckles today than the number he showed up with when they stepped off the plane after finals. It’s a good look on him, and Nando hasn’t been able to stop himself from imagining what that means for Quinn if he lives here after graduation.

They’ve talked about that a little, which is plenty for Nando’s brain to run wild with.

“Wait!” Gabi draws something out from between couch pillows. The four of them are all stationed on the basement couch; Nando is resting against the end with his arm around Quinn, and the girls are right where they fell asleep for their accidental nap. It’s a smallish couch, but a comfy one, with a green plush cover that’s easy to sink into.

Gabi brandishes her finding— a silver noisemaker, the cardboard kind you blow into to unfurl it and make a sound. “I forgot about these,” she says.

“Oh, goodness,” Quinn chuckles. “Are you going to blow into that at midnight?”

“Uh, duh ,” Gabi replies. She tests it out once, sort of in his face, and Nando feels Quinn wince under him.

“ Gabi .” He huddles Quinn closer. “Remember, his ears aren’t like yours.”

“Oops.” Gabi’s cheeks flush just a little. “Sorry.”

Quinn smiles at her. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I know you’re excited.”

“Thirty seconds!” Rosa cries, eyes still glued to the clock. “When should we start counting?”

“At ten?” Quinn volunteers, and she seems to like this, because she nods.

“At ten,” she echoes. “It’s twenty-five now.”

Gabi bounces on her cushion, which sort of moves the whole couch just a little. “I’m so excited!”

Nando rests his hand on Quinn’s knee, who promptly tips his face up to smile at him. Nando bites back another laugh, and kisses his nose instead. Quinn’s smile is normal, but there’s humor dancing in his blue-green eyes, a little sparkle.

“Twenty!” Rosa, who’s usually pretty quiet, is even seeming excited now. She chews on the edge of her nightgown’s sleeve; it’s the same style as Gabi’s, but with gingerbreads and candies instead of fairies. Her hair is still in the fishtail braid Quinn gave her, while they were watching TV an hour ago. “Fifteen… aaaaand— okay, ten!”

“Nine!” Gabi joins her, bouncing once in her seat for each number. “Eight… seven…”

Nando participates in the countdown, as does Quinn, quietly, next to him. “Six… five… four… three… two… one—”

“ Happy New Year !” Gabi and Rosa yell, in unison, and Gabi blows into her noisemaker again, but this time angles it away from Quinn. Nando laughs, finally, and Quinn claps a little, for the girls’ excitement. Gabi jumps off the couch to dance around in front of it, and that’s about when Nando realizes that Quinn is looking up at him expectantly.

“Oh!” In a hurry, he pecks him on the mouth. Quinn is smiling when they pull away.

Gabi finishes her dance with a little bow, which Quinn claps, again, for, and Rosa sits calmly on the couch with both hands in her lap, still staring at the clock as the second hand moves 15 seconds psat 12. “I…” Rosa pauses. “Don’t feel any different.”

“I never do,” Quinn confesses. “New Year’s is an odd holiday, don’t you think?”

“I do think,” Rosa replies, with a nod, and then Gabi lets off a very loud yawn, collapsing back into the abyss of the couch cushions.

“Hm…” Quinn says, looking between them. “Are you guys tired? You stayed up really late.”

Rosa, because yawning is contagious, is also yawning. Nando feels like he might be about to yawn, even though he’s barely tired. “I think so,” she announces, and so, without much ceremony, they’re able to get them to go upstairs relatively easily.

They patter up the basement steps to the ground floor, and they’ll go from there to the second floor, where they’ll nestle all snug in their beds like it’s the night before Christmas and not the night before 2020. “Night, guys,” Nando calls after them, as they’re going. “Happy new year.”

“G’night!” Gabi calls, and Rosa waves over her shoulder. “Don’t stay up late!” Gabi adds, in a singsong voice, and they disappear through the door to the ground floor in a flurry of giggles.

Nando looks to the ceiling, and listens to their feet on the kitchen floor above them, still holding Quinn around the shoulders. He hears them cross to the other staircase, and then, slowly, their steps fade away entirely.

Nando waits at least three seconds after he’s lost track of the noise, then looks down to Quinn, with the shit-eating grin he’s been holding back for the past five minutes finally giving way. “Nice work, baby,” he remarks, holding his hand up.

Quinn laughs. He high-fives him, then leans into his chest. “I feel bad,” he sighs. “They were so excited.”

“ Pff .” He stands from the couch, lifting Quinn right up with him, and says, “Are you kidding me? They’ll never know.”

“I suppose.” Quinn hooks his arms around his neck. “Are we resetting the clock?”

“Sure, yeah.” He looks to the clock above the TV. “Let’s do that.”

The same way they did ten minutes ago, he helps Quinn onto his shoulders until he can reach to change the time on the clock. Nando holds him steady as he turns it back two hours, landing it correctly at 10:04 rather than the 12:04 Rosa and Gabi think it is right now. When Quinn is done, he hangs the clock back up, flashes a thumbs-up, and announces, “All set!”

“Perfect.” Nando grins, then reaches for his waist, bends over, and says, “Hold on tight.”

Quinn puts his hands down on his shoulders. “Holding.”

In a maneuver they’ve gotten down to a science, he moves Quinn from his shoulders to his back, where he gets a kiss to the cheek from him on his way by. From there, Quinn hops down, and Nando turns, lifting him so he’s facing him. Quinn winds his legs around his waist, and kisses him properly.

“We’re evil,” Quinn mumbles, nose-to-nose with him, when they pull away. “We lie to children.”

“Baby.” He closes his eyes. “They were never gonna make it to midnight anyway.”

“That’s likely true.” Quinn kisses him again, then eyes the couch, so Nando takes it as a cue to lead him back there. Once they’re settled, Quinn tucks himself right up into his lap, resting his cheek against his shoulder, and all is right in the world.

“What now?” Nando asks, like his mind isn’t already wandering. “You… wanna watch TV?”

“Sure,” Quinn murmurs, “we can turn it on.” He doesn’t sound opposed to it, but he also sounds relatively indifferent, like it doesn’t really matter if the TV is on or not.

So Nando meets his eyes. “We could…” He raises his eyebrows, with the tiniest smile. “ Not watch TV?”

Quinn swats him for the second time in ten minutes. “ Sebastián . Your mother said—”

“I know, I know.” He chuckles, kissing Quinn’s forehead. Leave it to his boyfriend to keep Mama’s spirit hovering over them even while she’s safely five miles away at work. She pretty much threatened his life before she left for tonight’s night shift re: funny business in her basement, and he shouldn’t try to go behind her back (despite the multiple times he’s done that during winter break already, at strategic times when they have the house all to themselves). Tonight, Nando won’t tempt fate. He leans toward the empty part of the couch and tells Quinn, “Hold on. I’ll get the remote.”

It’s buried in couch pillows, but he draws it up after a second of rooting around. He looks past Quinn to hit the power button, and flicks through the channels until he lands on the ball drop countdown. Two news anchors are doing shots, live on the air in Times Square. “This?”

Quinn isn’t even facing the TV, but he nods. “Anything’s good.”

So Nando drops the remote down into the cushiony abyss again, securing his hands on Quinn’s tiny waist. He’s in one of his many stolen Kiersey Hockey sweatshirts (this is a really nice one, actually, with his name and number on the sleeve), and a worn pair of blue shorts, which Nando can tell are his own because of how short they are. His socks reach nearly to his knees, and under the sweatshirt, he’s wearing a tight t-shirt that rides up his waist. So in other words, he wants Nando dead. And him being in his lap isn’t helping.

Nando edges his hands under the hoodie until he’s touching warm skin on his middle. He looks down into his eyes and murmurs, “God, you’re fucking cute.”

Quinn giggles like being cute has been his plan this whole time. “You’re not so bad yourself, papi.”

That gets Nando in just the right place, apparently, because the only thing he can think to want to do until midnight is just absolutely kiss the hell out of him. He gives him a kiss that starts soft and turns tender, and Quinn scoots up as far into his lap as he can go. Nando smiles as Quinn presses his thumb into his cheek, and when they pause to breathe, Quinn murmurs, “This is better than TV.”

He laughs, kisses him again, and nods. “Glad you agree, cariño .”

More or less, that’s how they pass the next two hours— making out on and off, occasionally sneaking a glance to the TV to comment on the absurdity of how news anchors entertain themselves waiting for midnight to come, trading bits and pieces of miscellaneous conversation. Between bouts of kissing, Quinn rests against his chest, his legs thrown snug around his waist, and Nando rubs his back under the shirt he’s wearing. His skin is a little sunburnt, thanks to his first taste of Arizona weather (and if he’s already burning in December, Nando can’t imagine what it’ll be like when they come home this summer) (which, by the way, is a wonderful thing to remember is happening).

That’s how they are when the countdown arrives— in fact, Nando doesn’t even realize it’s so close to midnight until he sees the TV out of the corner of his eye, and the ball is falling, with forty seconds left until the New Year.

“Oh— baby.” To get his attention, he rubs Quinn’s thigh right under the spot where his shorts end; he’s been holding him there for the last little while.

Quinn lifts his face from his chest; he’s been resting there so long that there’s a warm spot where his head was. On his way up, he turns his hearing aids on, since he shut them off sometime over the course of the past two hours. Nando supplies, “It’s almost midnight.”

Quinn rubs his left eye and asks, in this little, raspy voice, “Already?”

God , he’s so fucking cute. Nando is too gay to function. “Already,” he says, with an affirming now, and then chuckles a little and adds, “For real this time.”

Quinn laughs, pressing his face into his shoulder, and Nando takes the opportunity to squeeze him tight, with a kiss to the top of his head. His hair is so messy by now, a look he’d never show to the public. Nando loves his rumpled boyfriend more than there are words to express.

“Well,” Quinn mumbles, turning his head to the TV. “Perhaps I should actually watch it.”

Nando holds him close, and he watches, too. He hasn’t seen the ball drop in awhile, because for the past handful of years, he’s usually been at Antonio’s New Year’s party down the street. He and Quinn were invited to it tonight, but Mama had already taken the shift at work, so they gently declined in favor of babysitting the girls.

Nando loves hanging out with his friends, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t prefer this— a snuggly New Year’s Eve in his basement with the love of his life— to a house party.

When the ball hits ten seconds to midnight, the crowd in Times Square ramps up the noise. It’s all flashy and loud, and Nando used to think that going there one year would be fun, as a bucket list kind of thing— but it would be so much for Quinn, he would never do it now. He debates counting along with them, but he just watches and listens instead. Quinn is quiet in his arms, head rested against his shoulder.

Five… four… three… two… one— happy new year!!!!

On the TV, a symphony of confetti and cheering erupts. But Nando does not care, at all, what’s happening in Times Square at that moment, because as they ring in the first seconds of 2020, he’s looking down at Quinn. He keeps his eyes on the TV for just a second after the stroke of midnight, before he looks back up to Nando, with a gentle, knowing smile.

Nando tugs him close in his lap to kiss him, and that’s how they ring in 2020— wrapped up in each other with their first official New Year’s kiss. “Happy new year, baby,” he hums, when they pull away.

“Happy new year,” Quinn echoes. He’s cupping Nando’s face in his hand again, and his eyes are searching. “I love you.”

Nando beams. “I love you so much,” he replies, and kisses him again, for good measure. They’re playing Auld Lang Syne on the TV. The noise is a million miles away.

They’ve been together for over two years now, but thanks to the woes of a long-distance relationship, this feels a lot like their first real New Year’s together than the way they rang in 2018 and 2019. Nando wouldn’t change a thing, but FaceTiming at midnight just isn’t the same as holding him in your arms.

So, yeah. Happy new year, indeed.

*

They keep the TV on, and some time later, after more kissing and vigorous snuggling, they wind up just resting on the couch together. Quinn is still wrapped around him, half in his lap and half to his side, and Nando is rubbing very gently at the back of his neck. He thinks Quinn is maybe asleep, or definitely at least not tuned in on his hearing aids, so it comes as a surprise when he hears him mumble. “Sebastián… I was thinking.”

“Huh?” He looks down at him, threading his fingers into his hair. “What about, baby?”

Quinn is quiet while he takes a deep breath, then he snuggles impossibly closer into his chest. “Well, I was just… I wanted to tell you that I love it here.”

Something flutters in Nando’s stomach, but he holds back on saying anything, because Quinn sounded like he wasn’t done with his thought. It turns out he’s right, after a second. “I could completely see myself living here, you know. I mean— of course, I could see myself living here before, because it would be with you, but— well, I suppose being here? It’s made it more real. If you know what I mean?”

“I do know,” he replies, trying not to sound completely like an excited puppy, but probably failing. He can’t help it. They’ve talked about the future, and made clear with each other what they want; they’ve made a plan that fits them accordingly. But Quinn is right. Being home, with him, makes so many future plans so much more real in his head. For two years, he’s daydreamed about taking Quinn home. Now that he’s done that… it’s a lot easier to picture moving here with him, after graduation. And buying their own house. And marrying him. And having a family. And so on.

So, yeah. He gets it. “It makes me really happy to hear you say that,” he tells Quinn.

“Well, it’s the truth,” Quinn remarks, in that little know-it-all voice that Nando is so fucking head over heels for. He pauses a moment, pressing his palm flat against his belly, before he adds, “I can’t wait to live here with you.”

“ God , baby,” he says, and he can’t stop smiling. “I can’t wait for that, either.” He squeezes lightly at the back of his neck. “C’mere.”

Quinn lifts his head for a lazy kiss, and then snuggles right back in. He holds him so close, and that’s how they stay. Going to bed doesn’t even cross either of their radars for a very long time.

Nando wants to ring in every single year, for the rest of his life, just like this.

[thosedamnsmoshkids]

smoshblr secret santa

As the apartment door swings open, Shayne finds himself face to face with the abominable snowman in the form of Damien, shivering even under the biggest blanket he’s ever seen.

 Shayne barely has a second to take him in before he’s being yanked inside and the door is quickly shut behind him.

“What the fuck?” he asks immediately. 

“My heating bill was so expensive last month that I literally can’t afford it this month,” Damien says sheepishly. “So, blankets. Sorry.”

Shayne laughs. “That’s fine. The cold doesn’t really bother me. But you’re, like. Literally shivering, are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asks, only half-joking. 

“Yeah, no, I’m good!” Damien tells him, and so Shayne shrugs and moves on.

•••

Damien’s not good.

They’re on the couch, halfway through a so-bad-it’s-good Hallmark Christmas movie because it’s December 1st, AKA Time to Get Into the Christmas Mood, and Shayne would be having more fun if Damien’s shivering hadn’t escalated from comical to borderline worrying.  

It still takes him almost ten minutes more to bring it up. Finally, he braces himself for the impact of his next words, reaches for the remote, pauses the movie, and says, “Cuddle me, bro.”

“…What?” Damien asks slowly, looking like he’s seriously questioning Shayne’s mental well-being.

His face feels warm. “You heard me. Cuddle me, man. You’re obviously freezing, I’ve been told I’m basically a space heater. We’re bros, it doesn’t have to be a thing. Cuddle me.” 

He can tell Damien thinks he might be joking so he reiterates, “I’m serious. Open up.” He scooches closer and makes grabby hands for the edge of the blanket. “I’ll even say no homo if you want.” 

Damien finally laughs at that, and Shayne can’t help but feel triumphant. 

“Shut up, Jesus. Fine, get in here,” Damien says, sort of reluctantly holding out the edge of the blanket like it’s a sign of weakness to be cold or something. 

Shayne grins and immediately tugs him in, throwing an arm over the other man’s shoulder and wrapping the blanket around them both. 

Before either of them has a chance to say anything, Shayne unpauses the movie and the businesswoman on screen resumes Christmas tree shopping in the quaint little town. 

For a few minutes, it’s a little weird. 

 They’re both stiff, and super aware of each other’s bodies pressed firmly together. Shayne is somewhat regretting this decision and possibly his whole life. 

 But eventually, something shifts. He can’t quite put his finger on it. Perhaps it’s an amalgamation of several things, the pieces all falling into place in quick succession. Damien’s shivering becomes much less violent, and eventually stops. They both adjust a little, settling into better positions. It starts to feel comfortable.

 Natural.

 Like they’ve been doing this for years when Shayne is pretty sure this is the most physical contact they’ve ever had for such an extended period, ever.

 It feels… really nice, actually. If some latent feelings are making a bit of a reappearance, that’s hardly important. Obviously he’s doing this for Damien’s health and safety, so that tiny niggling voice in the back of his head trying to insinuate his intentions aren’t just to keep his good friend warm can suck it.

 He firmly ignores all thoughts in that general vein and refocuses on the movie. He’ll unpack the disaster he’s inadvertently created later. For now, he just feels warm.

•••

Shayne wakes up to something moving against his chest. He blearily opens his eyes, and finds himself almost nose to nose with Damien, hazel eyes wide. They both jerk their heads back. Shayne is suddenly very awake. Damien’s almost completely in his lap. He doesn’t remember falling asleep. 

For a few seconds, they just look at each other, bodies still intertwined. An ad for some other shitty Netflix Christmas movie is playing. 

Then, Damien is gone, off the couch and several feet away. He’s blushing. Shayne’s cheeks feel almost unbearably warm but the rest of him feels suddenly cold. He misses Damien’s presence immediately. 

Shayne can feel the awkwardness trying to settle in between them, and he can’t stand it. He braces himself for the second time that day, and in a spur of the moment decisions puts his cards on the table. 

“So that was nice.” 

Damien seems momentarily lost for words. His mouth opens and closes a few times. Shayne desperately resists the urge to make a joke and cut through the tension of the whole situation. It could all be over so quickly. He’d be more comfortable in the short term, but he doesn’t want that. Not if there’s a chance this could change things. 

So he waits. 

It takes a minute. But Shayne can see the moment Damien’s pride loses.

“You’re really warm.” Damien sort of slumps as he says it, avoiding eye contact. Coming from someone else, it might not mean anything, but Shayne takes it for the victory that it is. 

When Damien finally chances eye contact again, Shayne’s grinning. 

“Wanna do movie night again tomorrow?”

-

(it’s short, but i hope you like it! happy holidays :3)

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cass: I love it!!!! BRO you hit all of the things i love - worried tension, bro love, happy endings, AH!!