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greensagephase · 7 months ago

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Nonviolent Communication - Part 19

Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: It's time. Word Count: 9.6k Warnings: angst; Miguel crying; mention of injuries; mention of death; mention of someone sacrificing their life; use of sedatives; Nonviolent Communication? More like Nonviolent [lack of] Communication Music (Spotify playlist): "Present" - Lloyd Vaan "Fade Into You" - Vitamin String Quartet "That Home" - The Cinematic Orchestra Masterlist A/N: Another update so soon? It's a Christmas miracle in October!

Part 19

Miguel tenderly gazes at you from his hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours. He feels a gentle breeze rustling his hair, a contrast to the warmth emitted from your hand near his. He can hear music and conversation taking place from afar, but none of that matters.

Miguel is so at peace right now, he even forgets that next week you’ll likely be moving out of the penthouse.

He simply focuses on the now, on this moment of tranquility with you.

Gazing at you, Miguel can’t help but think about how he’ll remember this weekend forever, even when he’s seventy. He’ll gaze at the moon and be reminded of tonight, how you’re sharing a thermos with freshly brewed coffee and holding each other’s pinky fingers under the moonlight. He’ll recall your whispered question about the children you were meant to have, but didn’t, and the way his answer seemed to satisfied your thoughts. He’ll remember the way you subtly lowered your arm, trying to play it off as nothing, and how he knew what you hoped, maybe even longed for: his touch.

His crimson eyes shining like rubies in the night gaze up at you one moment and the next they’re closed.

His eyes move rapidly under his eyelids, confused.

He opens them, but his vision is a blur. He’s suddenly overwhelmed with an ache all over his body, as if he hasn’t moved in days. Miguel repeatedly blinks, his mind trying to figure out what’s going on. He succeeds in clearing his vision, but the confusion remains.

Miguel was at the beach with you just now, hanging on a hammock below yours and holding your pinky finger, but now he’s here.

At an infirmary room.

Alone.

Miguel feels frozen for a second before he looks down at himself, finding his body clad in a hospital gown and laying on the bed. His confusion grows tenfold. Dread spreads throughout Miguel’s chest while he searches the empty and cold room he was in last year.

Why is he here? He was just on the hammock, his pinky finger wrapped around yours.

Where are you?

That thought has Miguel instantly sitting up despite the pain shooting through his body. His eyes search for you, for any sign of you in this room. He looks at the floor, the tables, and the uncomfortable chair you slept on last year pressed to the wall a few feet away. It’s empty, no sign of a pillow or blanket on it. He looks around once more, wondering where your duffel bag is at. It should be here somewhere, right?

Yet, Miguel finds nothing. No trace of you.

Where are you?

Where did you go?

The dread in his chest intensifies with every second, his mind a mess with thoughts. His heart rate shoots up, triggering an alarm that has the infirmary staff rushing through the door. In seconds, a doctor and nurses are at his side, trying to assess what’s wrong. They find the usual distant and stoic boss under distress.

“Why am I here? How did I get here? I was somewhere else,” Miguel says while they check the monitors, his voice filled with stress. “I was at the beach just now — with Dulzura. Where’s Dulzura at? Y/N?” he asks. “Where is she?”

“Sir, you need to calm down. Everything is okay,” the doctor replies in a calmly manner that only seems to frustrate Miguel even more.

“Where is she? Why isn’t she here?” Miguel continues to ask.

“We’re going to call Mrs. Jess and Mr. Peter B., alright?” the doctor replies, giving a subtle nod to a nurse on the other side of the bed.

“I’m not asking for either Jess or Peter. I’m asking you for Y/N. Just tell me where she is!” Miguel says, his voice rising out of frustration. All he wishes to know is that you’re here somewhere, somewhere close to him so the dread in his heart can cease.

Yet, the staff refuses to answer his questions and instead, fill his bloodstream with a drug.

“¿Dónde está? [Where is she?]” Miguel says softly, the sedative doing its job. “I was at the beach. I was with her,” he adds. “Dulzura?” he whispers, eyes fluttering. “Por favor, Dulzura… [Please]” he continues, his vision becoming blurry once more. “Stay…”

♡

When Miguel wakes up again, he detects voices in the room. For a few seconds, they sound far, far away.

He groans when he begins to feel the body ache all over again, still there. “Dulzura,” he says, voice hoarse.

“Miguel - it’s alright. We’re here,” a voice says.

“You’re going to be okay, pal,” another one adds.

“Where’s Dulzura?” Miguel manages to say, his eyes struggling to open. “Where is she?”

“Who’s Dulzura?” the second voice asks.

“I don’t… I don’t know,” the first voice says. “He never called Gabriella that.”

“Then, who… is he calling for?” the second voice questions.

“God knows what’s going on in his mind right now,” the first voice replies. “Look, his eyes are fluttering. Miguel? Can you hear us?”

At last, Miguel opens his eyes, groaning. He looks around, his vision blurry for a few seconds before they focus on the faces near him.

Jess and Peter.

“What - what happened?” Miguel asks, searching for you once more. He tries to spot your favorite blanket, the one you had over your legs just yesterday while reading a book in front of the fireplace at the bungalow, but he can’t find it. Your sweatshirt is nowhere in sight, too. There’s not even a hint of your scent in the air, as if you haven’t been here in days.

“You’ve been out for a few days, pal,” Peter says gently, eyebrows furrowed. “You took a lot during the fight trying to help Miles save his dad. By the way, he’s safe. They both are. And, we defeated the Spot, too.”

“Wh-what?” Miguel whispers, his mouth feeling dry. This makes no sense.

Jess sighs, giving Peter a look before turning to face him again. “We’ll explain everything, okay? But you need to remain calm.” With that, Jess tells Miguel everything. Peter listens, adding a few details here and there when necessary.

Miguel listens, his heart sinking and sinking with every word. His chest is filled with such a heaviness, he feels that if he was standing, he’d surely drop to the ground due to the weight.

How could it be? None of what Jess and Peter are saying makes sense, but according to them, Miguel has been at the infirmary for days after Miles and him, along with half of the Spider Society, worked together to save Mr. Morales and stop the Spot from unleashing chaos on the multiverse.

Miguel didn’t go unscathed, however. He was seriously hurt during the encounter, putting his life at risk for the sake of the multiverse and Mr. Morales’s life.

He thought it was only fair — even just — after being incorrect about the canon event theory. So, Miguel went into the fight ready to sacrifice his life. He had nothing else to give, nothing else to lose.

He was ready to lose his life.

And he almost did.

Apparently, Miguel did in fact die for a few minutes, but the infirmary team resuscitated him. Due to the shock and trauma his body received during the fight, it’s taken several days for Miguel to wake up.

“We’re glad to have you back, pal,” Peter says, donning that pink robe he’s been wearing since Mayday was born, but Miguel can’t force himself to care about anything right now.

He doesn’t care about what everyone has been doing around HQ over the last few days when Jess fills him in. He doesn’t care that everything is running smoothly. He doesn’t care about anything at all.

Both Jess and Peter watch him, giving each other subtle looks, though they’re sure Miguel wouldn’t even notice them if they were obvious ones to begin with. Miguel is distant, more than ever. His body may be here in front of them, but his mind is elsewhere. Far, far, far away.

They have no idea of the immense longing and pain the leader is under while he stares at the windows with the same sentences echoing in his mind over and over again.

It was all a dream.

You were just a dream.

You don’t exist.

Miguel was hurt badly, so much to the point he died for a few minutes, but that doesn’t affect his intelligence to figure it out. He dreamed of a life after the events with the Spot — a total of two years with you at his side.

He tries to swallow the knot in his throat while Jess and Peter converse, not knowing what they’re talking about. He tries to focus on the conversation, tries to pretend to be okay, but there’s a horrible, heavy feeling that grows and grows in his chest with every second, making it nearly impossible to breathe.

He puts on a facade.

He’s okay.

Miguel repeats the sentence, trying to make himself believe the biggest lie he’s ever told himself.

He keeps himself at bay, but he’s like a weak dam that finally crumbles when Jess and Peter leave.

It’s only in his solitude, in this horrible loneliness, within his cold and empty infirmary room, that Miguel’s chest heaves dramatically. His breathing speeds up, his chest heavy like lead.

His beautiful crimson eyes swell with tears, his vision becoming blurry once again. The knot in his throat never left, just temporarily paused. He feels it grow in this horrible and cold loneliness. It hurts. The knot in his throat hurts so much, giving him a burning and sharp barbed wire-like feeling. The thought that actual barbed wire pressed to his skin would hurt less crosses his mind before the devastating reality weighs down on him.

Miguel presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, sobbing his gentle heart out.

It has to be a nightmare. It has to be.

His lips tremble before a cry escapes from within.

How was he just there with you? Holding your pinky finger in his, in perfect solitude on the beach?

Miguel can almost taste the coffee you made just to enjoy on the hammocks. He cries at that, at how much you love coffee and the way your eyes seem to twinkle when he says he’ll make café de olla [coffee pot] just for you.

“God — “ Miguel says through his sobbing, his face tear-stained. “Please, please wake me up. I’ll do anything. Just wake me up from this dream — I beg you.”

But Miguel doesn’t wake up.

This is his life and you’re not here.

There’s no you.

You don’t exist.

Miguel cries and cries, until those crimson eyes can’t cry anymore.

He spends the rest of the day mourning and longing for you, the bitter truth crashing over him like rogue waves. He’s longing for someone he’s never met, someone he’s not sure exists, not even out there in the multiverse.

♡

Despite doctor’s orders, Miguel is back in the lab the next day. He stands on his platform, crimson eyes scanning over his screens. His platform is elevated all the way to the ceiling, where Miguel wishes to be alone and undisturbed. He wants to forget, but he cannot.

The lab’s counters are unorganized, parts and tools scattered about.

No one will volunteer to help organize them every week, Miguel knows that now. There’s no quiet conversation between you and Lyla, who asks questions about your comfort food or plans for the weekend.

There’s no hidden Mexican candy in the cabinets for you to eat. There’s no hidden scarf in his drawers with your scent interwoven within its fibers.

Miguel freezes.

Your scent.

Your soft breathing when you sleep.

Your voice.

He slumps over his platform at the realization, wincing at his wounds from the movement. He can smell it, somehow, even now. There’s no trace of it anywhere, but he can remember it and God, he holds on to it, desperately, like a man half dead clinging to life.

Miguel hears your soft breathing and voice then, plays it his head. He prays to God and every saint he knows he never forgets either sounds.

“Mierda [shit],” Miguel murmurs, a slight tremor in his voice. “¿Donde estás? [where are you?]” He wonders, his chest tightening the same way it does every time he thinks of Gabriella and his brother, Gabriel.

And he knows… He is mourning you just the same despite being made up.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, eyes closed as he remains slumped over his platform. Images of you flash in his mind like a movie.

The time he found you sick in your apartment, passed out and in pain. He made pasta for you and cleaned up your space a bit, even fixed the cabinets of your kitchen.

The night of Día de los Muertos [Day of the Dead] while you looked at his ofrenda [altar], the lit candles which gave your face a gentle glow.

Miguel recalls the times you brought him lunch and coffee cups too small to actually do much to his body, but him accepting them nonetheless after months of your offerings.

He remembers the Christmas Eve when you showed up with food, looking nervous because you were in his penthouse for the first time. He remembers your look of surprise seeing him dressed in normal clothes for once.

All these images flash in his mind, all the way to lunches on rooftops and sleeping on his living room floor to putting together that puzzle of two butterflies in a meadow during the beach trip.

“Miguel?” Lyla speaks suddenly. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“No,” Miguel replies, straightening up. His voice is weak with a hint of harshness as an attempt to hide his true feelings. “I’m fine.”

He repeats that to himself.

He’s fine.

He pushes through the first half of the day, his mind and heart a mess.

Even as the days go by and turn into weeks since the situation with Miles, Miguel feels lost.

One morning after showering at the penthouse, he stands in the halfway to the bedrooms. He knows better than to, but he pushes the door open to Gabriel’s old room. Of course, it’s the same as it’s always been since his brother’s death.

Somewhere in his long and intricate dream, you stayed here in this room after a fire on your building. You made it yours with a lot of hesitance, your idea being that you didn’t want to be a ‘burden’ to him.

Miguel recalls telling you to stop thinking that. You could never be a burden to him.

But now you are, only because he must carry on living with the mere imagination of your existence in his life.

♡

Miguel’s stomach grumbles while he works. He’s tempted to ignore the hunger and keep working to avoid his thoughts, but then he remembers that you would’ve disapproved of that behavior. An image of you frowning in disapproval flashes in his mind. Even though it’s just an image and he now knows he somehow made you up, he still can’t find it in himself to be the reason for a frown on your face, real or not real.

He engages the platform to lower it, deciding to go to the cafeteria. He stares at the ground, arms at his sides, a feeling of defeat filling him.

In that moment, Miguel wishes he would’ve never woken up.

Miguel sighs heavily in desperation and sorrow. He covers his face with both hands. He would’ve blissfully stayed in that dream, where things were great with his best friend. He swallows the knot in his throat now, the feeling all too familiar, for Miguel has cried every day since he woke up.

Miguel clears his throat and wipes the beginning of his tears away before dragging himself out of the lab, even though all he wants to do is stay in that dark and empty space — alone. He doesn’t want to look at the spider members, who’ll probably continue to stare hoping for something from him after everything that happened with Miles.

His mind hasn’t even wrapped itself around that situation and how everything he’s worked for has turned out to be wrong. Then, there’s the loss of Gabby, his sweet little Gabriella.

And of course, there’s the loss of someone he’s never met.

You.

He should’ve never woken up.

Miguel walks out into a hallway, a few spider members greeting his sight. He avoids their eyes, unable to meet their gazes. His steps feel heavy as he walks down one of the many hallways of their base, memories of him and you walking together flashing through his mind.

You’re everywhere.

And yet, you’re not.

Miguel almost turns around and heads back to the lab, even if it means not eating. How is he going to manage to walk past the conference rooms where you both spent time together each week, talking over coffee before meetings started? He doesn’t want to gaze inside because he knows only the ghost of you on your unassigned assigned chair next to his will greet him back.

He makes it past them, but only because he keeps his gaze down.

Somewhere, he hears a door open and a new set of footsteps join him. He doesn’t have it in himself to look up, even though the footsteps sound familiar in the midst of his internal turmoil. He hears a gizmo go off, probably the other person’s. He looks up, only by instinct, and freezes as his eyes capture the smallest glimpse of someone’s suit as they turn a corner.

It’s the smallest, shortest glimpse, but it’s there.

The colors of your suit.

His breath gets caught in his throat and before Miguel knows it, he’s walking faster. He turns and enters another hallway, missing the individual once again as they turn the corner. However, this time, his gaze is much more focused, so he’s able to spot not only the colors, but also part of the design of the suit for a fragment of a second, causing his heart to race.

His steps are determined as he continues to walk, following the person’s tracks. He can’t help but feel like he’s chasing his lifeline, feeling more alive than he has in weeks.

He must be going crazy, Miguel thinks.

It’s foolish and yet, Miguel follows.

He enters the cafeteria, met with a buzz from spider members having lunch. He looks around as they walk in front of him, blocking his way. He wishes he could silence them for a second as his gaze searches for you in the midst of the crowd. He spots the colors of your suit again, straight ahead, and follows, ready to push anyone if he must.

Miguel sighs in frustration as he pushes past a group, keeping his eyes in the same spot as to not miss the individual.

“Miguel-” someone says.

“Not now,” he replies as he keeps walking, not even sparing a glance.

At last, there’s the individual. Their back is to him but there’s your suit. Identical.

“No puede ser [it can’t be],” Miguel breathes out as he keeps walking, not sure what he’s even doing. All he knows is that there you are, or at least it seems so and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t talk to you, his best friend.

His steps slow down as Jess steps into view, facing him. She says something to you just as her eyes find Miguel. He watches as she gives him a nod and says something else to you, or at least he thinks it’s you.

With his heart racing, Miguel keeps approaching.

“Miguel,” Jess says, acknowledging him verbally. “I’m glad to see you. I was about to go and look for you to introduce someone to you — someone I think would be a great asset.”

He doesn’t say anything as he comes to a halt, just five feet away from you, your back to him still. As if in slow motion, he watches you turn around and there.

Your face meets Miguel’s eyes, your reflection finding a home in them.

There you are.

You are real.

You exist.

Miguel stares at you, his heart racing. He feels his breathing pick up but this time out of gratitude, happiness, and so much more. You’re here. You’re real.

You look at him with those eyes he knows so well, but there’s no recognition in them. You don’t recognize him at all.

“This is Y/N,” Jess starts.

“Nice to meet you, sir,” you say with a nod, not even offering your hand. “I’d shake your hand, but Jess has told me you…” you trail off.

“I’ve informed her,” Jess says, referring to no physical touch.

Miguel stares at you, his heart in pain. You’ve called him ‘sir’ instead of by his name or the nickname you gave him, Migs.

He lifts a hand, his pinky finger out, hoping you know.

You blink at the sight, an expression of confusion on your face when you see the gesture. You glance at Jess, hoping for an explanation.

Miguel gulps. “You don’t - You don’t remember… You don’t know me?”

“Sir…” you say gently, confused.

“Dulzura,” Miguel says, looking at you. “You really don’t remember me?”

“Miguel — what are you doing?” Jess asks, confused and alarmed.

“You don’t remember when I found you sick at your apartment?” he asks. “All the times I made you café de olla? You don’t remember the night we said we had each other. Always?”

“I don’t know what - Jess what’s going on?” you ask, turning to her.

“Dulzura, please,” Miguel says. “I’m begging you. I can’t bear this anymore,” he continues, feeling like he could die right now.

“Miguel, you need to calm down, okay? Please, get something to eat and rest. You’ve been working too much,” Jess says. “You’re scaring the recruit.”

“She’s not just a recruit. This is Dulzura,” Miguel says, frustrated. “She’s my best friend,” he adds, hoping you will remember, but no matter what he says, neither you nor Jess believe him.

“Dulzura, please. Please tell me you remember,” Miguel whispers, tears swelling in his eyes. “I’ve missed you so much. I’ve thought of you every day since I woke up, please. It’s been weeks since I woke up in that empty infirmary room, searching for you. We went to the beach because you invited me, remember? We bought groceries the day before, went shopping together. We made red chilaquiles [Mexican dish] that first morning we spent there and some of our friends showed up. We went for walks and I gave you a seashell. Don’t you remember?” Miguel asks in distress, noticing the lack of recognition on your face. “We put together a puzzle and talked about parenthood. You made me realize I’m open to the idea of one day experiencing that and romantic love, even if I’ve accepted I might not get to. Please, Dulzura! Please, please, please! How do you not remember? Dulzura, Dulzura, Dulzura…” Miguel repeats, brokenhearted and crying.

Miguel sits up in bed.

He gasps for air, chest heaving in the night. There’s tears streaming down his face and he feels sweaty as he looks around.

“Dulzura,” Miguel whispers, and at the thought of you, the bed covers go flying. He's on his feet in a second, walking barefoot towards the hallway.

Please, please, please… Miguel thinks as he walks past the door frame. He's barely taken three steps when he runs into something.

Someone.

“Miguel?” your sleepy voice breaks the silence of the penthouse, gently killing that dread in Miguel's chest and replacing it with a calmness — alleviating his soul.

“Dulzura,” Miguel breathes out, before turning the light on in the hallway. He needs to make sure you're really here, that you’re not a figment of his imagination. Relief washes over him when the sight of you in your pajamas, looking sleepily at him, greets him. He instinctively steps closer.

“Migs?” you ask softly. “What's wrong? I heard you calling for me. Are you alright?” You search his body and face for signs of injury, but find none.

Miguel raises his hands, that relief taking over along with the need to touch you, to feel your body to fully confirm you’re in the flesh. He moves them closer until they're near your face, in a cupping form. His hands tremble.

“Migs?” you whisper, noticing his trembling hands, a sight that breaks your heart, and their proximity to your face along with how they seem to be ready to cup your cheeks. “Did you have a nightmare?” you ask gently.

Miguel nods. “One of the worst nightmares of my life,” he answers, his hands growing closer.

You watch intently, sleep fading away quickly due to Miguel’s trembling hands and the fact that he seems to be seeking physical contact.

And Miguel would’ve, if only Lyla hadn’t popped up out of nowhere.

“What’s going on?” she asks, looking around. “Oh, you’re awake?”

Miguel’s hands drop to his sides, realizing what he was going to do.

“I - what?” you ask, confused by the entire moment. Miguel was just about to cup your face and now you’re left here in the hallway with Lyla floating between you.

“What’s wrong, Lyla?” Miguel asks quietly.

“Your gizmo detected you talking while the recording you always play at night was active. It’s past three in the morning. It made no sense for you to be talking at this hour if you have the recording playing, so I figured you were having a nightmare, but I see you’re actually awake and talking with Y/N, so,” Lyla explains.

“It’s alright,” Miguel forces himself to say. “Everything is okay.”

Looking between Miguel and you, as if trying to make sure it’s true, Lyla nods. “Alright, have a good night, you two!” With that, Lyla disappears just as fast she appeared.

You blink softly and turn to Miguel, noticing a bit of perspiration and his tear-stained face. He still looks somewhat startled from his nightmare.

“Come with me?” you ask softly.

Miguel nods, already having an idea of where you’re both going.

A few minutes later, he’s sat on one of the chairs in the kitchen with you at his side. There’s a pot with water and a few cinnamon sticks on the stove and two mugs on the counter ready to be filled with sweet canelita [cinnamon tea].

You stay quiet to give Miguel a few minutes to gather himself, some time to calm down. You glance at his hands, noticing they’re thankfully no longer trembling, which puts you at ease. Earlier, you were still sleepy and startled by everything, but the sight of his shaking hands broke your heart. You wonder if he dreamed about Gabby again, about losing her.

You sigh quietly, deciding not to ask right now and continue to give Miguel a moment, at least until the canelita is ready.

A few minutes later, you silently pour the liquid into both mugs and add a bit of sugar, before returning to the counter with them. You place one in front of Miguel and offer him a smile, hoping to comfort him.

“Thank you,” Miguel says softly, tired. He picks up the mug and blows on it gently, accepting the kind and warm gesture.

You gently stir yours with a spoon, looking at him. “Always…” you reply softly, lifting your mug to your lips now and also blowing on it to cool it off a bit. After some seconds of debating internally, you decide to speak. “Do you want to talk about it?” you ask.

Miguel closes his eyes, feeling better now that he’s out of that horrible dream. His breathing has gone back to normal and his mind is clearer. He nods. “Yes…” he simply responds before Miguel tells you everything about his nightmare.

Despite looking better, his voice falters at some points, especially when he reaches the part where he saw you at the end but you didn’t recognize him.

“And then, I woke up,” Miguel says. “I was - I was - I had to make sure you are here… That’s why I was going to your room.”

You nod, your heart aching for Miguel. You can imagine what he felt — feels — when you place yourself in his shoes. You’d be hyperventilating if you had dreamed of that.

“I’m sorry you dreamed that,” you say softly, wondering what triggered it to begin with. “It was just a dream though,” you add, hoping to reassure him. “I’m here.”

Miguel nods, looking over at you. “I know, you’re here. Safe.” Miguel is eternally grateful for that.

“And that dream isn’t realistic because I would remember you,” you say, trying to lighten up the mood. “There’s no way I would forget about my best friend.”

Miguel slowly smiles for the first time since waking up. “You would still remember me?”

“Always. How could I forget you?” you reply. “You’re…” you smile and look away for a few seconds. “You’re one of the most important people in my life. My brain, maybe because of some unfortunate injury might for a short period of time, but… My heart will always know you, always remember you.”

Miguel’s smile widens, his heart filled with tenderness. He forgets all about his nightmare with your words for now, comforted. “My heart will always know you, too, Dulzura. In every universe.”

You both keep smiling before turning your attention to the drink, both feeling more at peace right now. The two of you take notice of the time. Like Lyla said earlier, it’s past three in the morning, almost four at this point.

Miguel and you silently realize something. You’ve been in bed for hours at this point, since ten to be exact, but only an hour ago you both managed to get some sleep. Nerves, disappointment, dread, and God knows what other emotions has kept the two of you up because of what awaits in a few hours.

Your return to your apartment.

After arriving back to Nueva York from the beach trip, Miguel and you finally talked about you moving out. You realized you needed to address it, or at least you thought you had to, so you did.

After discussing with Miguel that you’re moving back, which he accepted and understood, knowing it’s time, you both went to the apartment to clean it. He’s helped you deep clean the space and move some things around, trying to be a supportive friend. The only space left to clean is your living room and of course, you’ll have to unpack the belongings that are now sitting in Miguel’s living room, ready to be transported in a few hours back to your universe.

Despite your silent and respective realizations at the same time and the fact that you’ve only managed to sleep for an hour, if even that, neither of you mention anything about it. Neither of you share that you’re unhappy with the situation.

Miguel doesn’t want you to leave, to move back to your apartment, but he knows he can’t ask you not to. He knows how much the apartment means to you because of Peter and all the memories it holds. It’s a special place, Miguel knows that, so he won’t, even if he wishes he could.

Even if the words are threatening to spill at any moment from his mouth.

Next to him, you refuse to say what’s on your mind, too. You don’t want to move out, even if you love your apartment so much. You do, you really do.

You love your building.

You love your little apartment, its coziness and warmth.

But most of all, you love the memories made within those walls. The moments you shared with your family, back when your parents were alive along with Aunt May and of course, Peter.

Just days ago, you stood outside it on the street and saw phantom memories play in your mind, like a film. You saw Peter and yourself walking side by side chatting, grocery bags in his hands, and remembered how he always tried to hold most of them despite your superhuman strength. You watched the two of you enter the building, still talking. Up above, you saw the light from the living room turn on before images of Peter sprawled on the old couch, which is still stored in Miguel’s building, with you on top of him came to mind.

Within a few seconds, you found yourself physically inside your empty apartment. You stood in the living room, looking at everything you left behind. Miguel offered many times to help you take everything to his universe for the time being, but you declined each time. The things that truly matter are here at his universe right now, everything else you can do without.

You took a turn around the room, realizing.

You stayed here, despite the years, even when everyone moved on. Your former friends kept their relationships, or found new partners. Some of them even have children of their own. They moved on and you stayed here, in this lovely apartment building you happened to come across one day. It was pure coincidence and later that week, Peter and you came to check it out. The apartment had opened up and rent was good, perfect for two people fresh out of college. Shortly after, you moved in and hosted your housewarming party.

It had its details, its little flaws, but it was your place. Peter’s and yours.

And nothing sounded better than that.

But as you stood there a few days ago, you couldn’t help but see it differently. Something happened while you were gone and you don’t know what it was, not yet, but it felt different.

Different in a good way.

That’s all you knew in that moment before you remembered you had somewhere to be. After some time of debating and debating, you finally decided to give Harry Osborn a chance to be a part of your life again. You hadn’t seen him in weeks at that point because he was out of the country for some business, but with his return a few days ago and your own from the beach trip, you decided to say yes.

You sighed when you gave the space one more look, holding on to that feeling, before you slipped out, stopping outside the window. You glanced back, trying to decipher that feeling one more time.

You gave up and swung off without a second glance of that apartment building you came across so many years ago.

So, yes, you do love your apartment, but… You turn the mug with canelita in your hand. You’d be lying if you said you’re ready to move back. You swallow the words and take a drink instead, thinking it’s not right.

It’s not like Miguel and you can simply continue to live like this, right? You both have your own spaces and you don’t want to overstay, even if Miguel has told you many times that you’re welcomed. That his home is your home.

You both have your own homes, so it’s time for you to return to yours.

Right?

Right.

So, then, why are you both still disappointed?

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s the hour. Maybe these feelings will pass.

All Miguel and you know, respectively, is that the next fifteen or so hours are dreaded, but neither of you can say a thing out of respect for the other.

You both hide your true feelings about your move, thinking it’s the right thing to do.

Neither Miguel nor you say anything at four in the morning while drinking canelita. Not when you have breakfast together for the last time as his temporary roommate. Not when you both pick up your belongings and travel to your universe, knowing you’ve left a bedroom vacant of life once again. Not when Miguel and you deep clean the living room, move furniture around, and hang your pictures back again on the gallery wall.

Neither of you say anything, even when you order pizza for dinner after only eating sandwiches for lunch. At this point, everything is ready. Every single room in the apartment has been cleaned; surfaces have been dusted, the floors have been swept and mopped, furniture has been moved and found a new home within the space, and your belongings have been unpacked.

Your gallery of photographs is back. Peter’s record player sits on the bookcase and the records are back in its original spot. The box containing his belongings is back in the closet. Your clothes are in their appropriate spaces, though some laundry still needs to be done. Your personal hygiene items have taken residence in the bathroom and dresser once more.

Tomorrow you’ll just have to buy groceries to restock the now clean fridge.

You’re set to go, something you realize while having dinner with the TV on in the background. Miguel and you talk, avoiding your internal thoughts about this move, and opting to focus on other things — anything to forget that in a short while he’ll be leaving.

Yet, time reminds you both of the reality. The hours have flown by too fast.

When Miguel glances at his gizmo, he realizes he should probably head home now, but the truth is he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to leave you or your presence and go to an empty home that awaits him.

Noticing Miguel’s glance at his gizmo, makes you check the time yourself. You mentally wince. It’s getting late, and that only means Miguel will soon depart and leave you alone.

You push the feeling away, telling yourself that you shouldn’t even feel like this. This is your home after all. You should be happier to be here, to sleep on your old bed, not Gabriel’s.

Miguel frowns at the gizmo, it’s time.

“It’s late,” Miguel says slowly, noticing that his tone betrays his lack of enthusiasm to leave. “You’re probably very tired after all the cleaning we did. You should rest,” Miguel continues, telling himself to think of you. You’re probably tired and want to rest on your own bed at last after so many months of not doing so.

“I…” you trail off, wanting to say that you’re not tired, but you realize Miguel might be after helping you, and you don’t want to keep him up any longer. “Yes, a little.”

Miguel nods, your lie making him think he’s right about your exhaustion. He slowly stands up, straightening his top. He smiles at you. “I’ll let you rest, then,” he says, hesitantly reaching for his gizmo. “I’ll see you… tomorrow, maybe?” he says, not sure. Miguel realizes that he might not see you on both days of the weekend anymore, that you’ll both go back to your routines before the fire, in which you’d have Saturday dinners and see each other again until Monday at HQ.

“Yes, tomorrow. We can discuss what time to have dinner…?” you say, sounding more like a question as you stand, too.

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, nodding. He sighs and steps into a clearer area of your living room, opening a portal that takes him a few seconds to launch, not of out technical difficulties but because he’s stalling. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Rest, okay?”

Standing in front of him, you nod. You question why there’s a heavy feeling in your chest, one you don’t like, but hide with a smile. “I will, you, too.”

Stalling for several more seconds, Miguel finally takes a few steps back. “Bye,” he says, too softly, unwillingly.

“By-bye,” you say, stuttering a bit.

Miguel manages a smile, a small one despite his chest growing tighter. He turns around, forcing himself to or he might never leave. He stops himself from glancing back at you one more time because he has a feeling that if he does, he might just shut this damn portal and stay another hour. Or, two.

You watch gloomily as Miguel disappears into the portal, the sight obliging you to bite your lower lip because his name is at the tip of your tongue. You want to call out his name and ask him to stay another hour. Or, maybe two.

But you both refrain from doing what your bodies are begging you to do and in the end, you’re both alone in your homes with a portal that grows smaller and smaller unlike the heavy feeling in your chests.

You look around the apartment when the portal disappears entirely. This is home, but if it’s home, then why does it feel different? Something has changed in the space — something that now makes you feel like… It’s not yours entirely despite the furniture and memories you hold within it. You shake your head and decide to distract yourself with laundry, hoping it’ll help with that heavy feeling in your chest.

Back in Nueva York, Miguel gazes out of his living room’s windows. He sighs, noting the silence. There’s no music, no TV, no sound of your footsteps from somewhere - no sign of you here.

Miguel shakes his head. Okay, maybe that’s a lie. There’s traces of you across the penthouse because you helped him redecorate over the last few months. The penthouse feels better than it did in the past. There’s no denying that. It feels homier. He glances to Gabby’s altar, the candle flickering. That’s his favorite change to the penthouse, an addition you suggested on Gabby’s birthday.

There are signs of you in the penthouse, yet… Miguel turns around and faces the living room. Something left with you and now the penthouse feels different.

Miguel pushes the thoughts away. He can’t be thinking like this. It’ll do no good because it’s not like he can change anything about it. He can’t ask if you’re open to being roommates again, in a more permanent way. You love your apartment too much to leave it and Miguel would never ask you to abandon it, nor suggest some other kind of arrangement that involves you not living there. On top of that, you’re probably glad to have your own space again anyway.

He sighs again and looks at the time, realizing that just about now you’d be wishing each other a good night. His heart aches at the realization, knowing that you won’t be able to do that anymore, have that little endearing closure to the night.

“Shock,” Miguel says, realizing just how much your return to your own place is affecting him. He rubs his forehead, wondering how long it’ll take him to get used to this when his thoughts are interrupted by his gizmo. He hesitantly checks, hoping it’s not something from HQ because he doesn’t have the right mindset for it right now, but he finds your name instead and his heart leaps. He instantly opens the notification.

Dulzura Good night :)

He smiles, chuckling quietly to himself before he replies.

You sit on your bed, gizmo in hand while you wait. Of course you remembered that about this time you would’ve wished each other a good night, if only you were still there at the penthouse. You glance around the room again before laying down, the bed feeling strange now, too. A second later, your gizmo beeps, so you immediately bring it up to your face.

Migs Good night, Dulzura :)) sleep well

You smile, holding the gizmo close to you before you sigh. It’ll take some time to get used to this.

Miguel and you complete your night routines like every other night. You brush your teeth, wash your faces, and do the the rest of it as always until you get in bed, in respective universes.

You both lay to sleep, alone, in your homes.

That’s nothing new, of course. You’ve both slept alone for so long, but a loneliness creeps up on the two of you while you lay on your beds, unable to sleep. There was comfort, more than comfort, in knowing you were both down the hallway from each other — just feet away. Now, there’s universes between you.

You both try your best to sleep, but nothing works. For Miguel, not even your sweatshirt and the sound recording helps him.

Hours go by. You toss and turn, and do it again, and again, and again. Miguel wonders if you’re asleep now, then decides you must be. You’re sure Miguel is, too.

Another hour later and you can’t bear it any longer. It’s no use. You slip out of bed and change into your suit, placing your gizmo on your wrist. You leave your apartment a few minutes later in the middle of the night, ignoring the fact that you’re barely back at your apartment and for some reason leaving it in search of a distraction because you can’t sleep. You swing around your city, eyes scanning for a diversion of some kind. You almost wish there was a robbery.

Finding nothing, you stop on a rooftop and look through your gizmo. It’s past two in the morning and you’re here instead of home. You sigh and look around the empty rooftop before clicking on your gizmo again, quickly inputting information. A second later a portal opens. You step into it, leaving a rooftop just to step on another one.

You’re not even sure why you chose this dimension, but you find yourself on Earth-42, on top of the tallest building in the city where you once stood with Miguel to gaze at the city below and where you nearly lost him over a year ago.

You quietly walk around the area, staying clear of it because you don’t wish to sit where you found Miguel nearly dead, before sitting down with a huff.

“No sleep tonight,” you say to yourself, already giving up on the idea of getting some rest tonight. You slip off your mask, placing it on your thigh and lean back to observe the empty rooftop, surrounded by silence.

It doesn’t stay that way for long though. Your eyes widen when you see another portal open a few seconds later, making you wonder who’s stepping out. Your curiosity is satisfied a second later and you’re met with that familiar blue and red suit you know all too well, but the wearer of it even more.

Miguel steps out of the portal, his back to you. His eyes move across the rooftop, silently wondering why he even came here of all places. He decided to leave the penthouse a short while back and swung around Nueva York to distract and maybe tire himself out before deciding to travel here instead, something in his gut telling him to do so.

“Mi-Miguel?” you ask, causing him to turn around immediately.

His mask is disengaged instantly, his face revealed and indicating equal surprise. “Dulzura?” he says, walking immediately to you like a moth drawn to a flame. “What - what are you doing here? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Miguel asks, bombarding you with questions while his gaze searches your body for signs of injury.

“No, no, I’m okay,” you quickly reassure him, noticing the way his face relaxes at your words. “What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is okay. What are you doing here?” Miguel asks again, crouching in front of you now.

“I asked you the same thing,” you reply softly, trying to get Miguel to answer first because you’re suddenly too embarrassed to share that you couldn’t sleep, or rather, share the reason why.

Miguel mumbles something under his breath, not wanting to tell you his reasoning for being awake either. “I couldn’t - I had some trouble sleeping tonight,” he admits a few seconds later. “You?”

You sigh. “I couldn't sleep either,” you confess, looking down to fidget with your mask.

Miguel's eyes widen a little. For some reason, he didn't think that would be the reason for you being here, considering you hardly have issues sleeping. “Why?” Miguel asks softly, noticing the way you're avoiding his gaze. “Did you… have a nightmare?”

“Oh,” you glance at him again, shaking your head. “No, no, I didn't. I just couldn't sleep at all. I haven't slept even a bit. Maybe it's just, I don't know, my brain being weird,” you huff out. “Wait - did you have one?” You ask softly, remembering that about twenty four hours ago, Miguel was having that nightmare about you not existing.

Thankfully, Miguel shakes his head. “No, no nightmares for me. I just couldn't sleep,” he says, moving and taking a seat next to you now, leaning back.

“I'm glad to hear that,” you reply, genuinely relieved it wasn't another bad nightmare like the one he had several hours ago. You recall how Miguel’s hands trembled, the way he looked at you, and his erratic breathing. Of course, the fact that he almost cupped your face comes to mind, too. You wonder if Miguel would've gone for it, if Lyla hadn't popped out of nowhere.

You both sit there now, on that same rooftop Miguel nearly lost his life at over a year ago. Your eyes sweep across the city, staying silent for a few minutes before Miguel breaks the silence.

“May I be honest?” he asks softly.

“Always, please,” you reply.

“I couldn't sleep because I missed — I missed you and your presence,” Miguel confesses with some trouble, his cheeks feeling warm due to the revelation.

You turn to look at him, smiling slowly. “Already?”

“Already.”

“I missed you, too, Migs,” you admit, smiling.

Miguel smiles now, sleepily. “You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

“It's relieving to know I'm not the only one,” he says, comforted, but also touched that you've been missing him, too. “I’m sorry you haven't slept, though. Are you not tired?” Miguel asks, his eyes searching your face.

You nod now, feeling some exhaustion within you that wasn't there earlier.

Miguel hums, still staring at you and thinking about how you’re both far more comforted with each other on this open rooftop in the late hours of the night than alone in the safety and comfort of your respective beds. He smiles softly when he notices your gaze become more and more sleepy.

“Maybe we need to…” Miguel starts quietly, thinking. “Maybe we need — or should consider — something.”

“Something?” you ask before a small yawn escapes your lips.

“We’re on a rooftop, instead of at home,” Miguel states, raising his eyebrow.

You nod, realizing what Miguel is saying. You missed each other on the first night and found yourselves in another universe without even planning it because neither of you could sleep. You wonder if Miguel is thinking what you’re thinking about.

“What are you suggesting?” you ask, intrigued.

“We can discuss it tomorrow, or well, later,” Miguel replies gently with a smile, glad that you seem interested on this ‘something’, too. “How about we leave this place?”

Leave? That’s the last thing you wish to do now that you’re in Miguel’s presence, but you can’t just stay on this rooftop all night, can you? “Home?” you ask, disappointed.

“Home,” Miguel says, standing up in seconds and offering you a hand to help you up.

You accept it and stand up with his help, dreading going home. You’re likely just going to stay up anyway. However, you nod to avoid showing your disappointment, even when Miguel opens a portal for you. He gestures with his hand towards it.

“Alright, we can discuss the something else later,” you say, stepping closer to the portal.

“We can. When we get some rest,” Miguel replies gently as you walk further in.

“Right, okay,” you mumble. “After some rest.”

You sigh subtly and step into the portal, touching ground again a second later. You look around, eyes going a little wide. Behind you, Miguel steps out of the portal, too, and straight into his penthouse’s living room.

Home.

You turn around to face him, surprised, and Miguel can only give you a sleepy grin.

“You can go upstairs to your bedroom, or we can stay here in the living room,” Miguel offers, feeling sleepy at last. He very briefly recalls something Lyla said a while back. Something about important people in your lives bringing you comfort and making it easier to sleep. Maybe that study was right after all because he’s suddenly feeling sleepy within a few minutes of being in your presence after he spent hours laying in bed, tossing and turning, helplessly seeking sleep but not finding it. Despite feeling sleepy, Miguel realizes he’s still not ready to part ways, even if it’s just rooms apart.

“I’m still not that tired,” you lie, not ready either.

“Me neither,” Miguel lies, too. “So… Living room?”

You nod. “Living room.”

“Do you want something to drink?” Miguel asks. “I can make some canelita.”

Half an hour later, Miguel and you sit on the living room floor. This time, though, you’re both sitting on the same side of the coffee table. There’s blankets and pillows on the couch behind you for later, but for now, you talk while enjoying the warm drink — growing sleepier and sleepier in each other’s presence when you couldn’t feel even an ounce of sleep before.

“It’s almost fall,” you state sleepily before taking a drink.

“Almost that time of year,” Miguel replies, realizing it’s true. The summer will soon end, another season approaching your lives. “The best time of the year.”

You chuckle. “Pumpkins everywhere, cold weather, sweaters — the best time of the year indeed.” You yawn.

“You’re sleepy,” Miguel comments, glancing at you.

“I’m not,” you counter softly.

“Right,” he replies, amused.

“I’m not. I’m just — yawning.”

“Because you’re sleepy,” Miguel says, noticing the way you’re blinking to stay awake.

You hum. “Nope, I’m still wide awake.” You yawn once more. “Do you remember the puzzle we completed last week? At the beach?”

“Yes, of course,” Miguel replies, sleepily. How could he forget? You both discussed something so personal while putting it together.

“I think I’m going to buy some,” you share, eyes feeling heavy.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Do you want to, maybe, do another one with me?” you ask, half awake and half asleep.

“It’d be a privilege,” Miguel replies, gazing at you sleepily.

“Yayyy, maybe I can find a jigsaw of a thousand pieces.”

Miguel chuckles next to you, noticing the way you’re leaning back. “I’m sure we can put it together in two or three days.”

“That sounds reasonable,” you state, unwillingly succumbing to sleep. “I’ll buy some this weekend.”

“I can get some, too,” Miguel says, picking up his mug to take a drink and stay awake. “If you want to come along you —” Miguel stops talking when he feels something on his bicep. He turns, still holding his mug with the other hand.

His gaze softens when he realizes you’ve fallen asleep on him and now your head rests on his arm after claiming not to be sleepy only a minute ago. He quietly chuckles through his nose to avoid waking you up. After putting his mug away, Miguel gently pulls the blankets off the couch and places them over the two of you before he gets comfortable, ready to give in to his sleep, too.

He relishes the warmth of your body next to his, knowing that later today, maybe you’ll both agree to something because sleepless nights are no way to live. Miguel knows that better than anyone else. While the Miguel of two years ago sought those nights because they were a refuge from his nightmares, the Miguel next to you now does not. He’s open to staying up late to talk or watch a movie with you, or something of that sort, but staying up to avoid sleep and nightmares?

Not anymore.

Never again.

And so, Miguel finally dozes off next to you, sleeping peacefully at last and without nightmares of losing you.

Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ��─── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next

A/N: Ummm, this is weird...? I'm back already, so, hiiiii! Another update is here! I hope you don't hate me after the first half of this chapter 😔 it was just a dream! But hehe, thank you for reading!! Also, thank you so much for the lovely comments on the last update! I have yet to reply to everyone because I had the motivation to write this chapter and basically I've been doing this all day, but I'm so happy a lot of you enjoyed it and liked the latter part of the chapter!! :))

Thank you again so much!! See you very soon...!!😌

Alondra❤️

taglist:

@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @freehentai @arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav @bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi @natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07 @nxrdamp

@rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01 @somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274 @vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9 @tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies @coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme @lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah @muzansucker @theleftkittycollection @kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l @aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots @l3laze @yujyujj

@taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese @damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1 @darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife @hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife @dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis @f1-hoff @llumetrii @nina-from-317

credit for green divider to @/vysleix

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara imagine #atsv x reader #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderman 2099 #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #nonviolent communication #soft!Miguel O'Hara

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dianawinchester03 · 18 days ago

Text

Season 3, Episode 8 - A Very Supernatural Christmas (Part One)

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: Hi everyone!! So….I did a thing💀 I may or may not have made a playlist for Y/N🙃 (I TOTALLY DID AHAHAHAH)

It’s on my Spotify but I’ll leave a link HERE for tumblr. It’s called ‘esp thing’ and for those reading on AO3, my tumblr is @dianawinchester03, you’ll see it linked in my navigation <3

Okay, I’m gonna start this chapter off by saying, IT'S SMUTTY. The beginning and the end so beware💀😭 We all know this episode so it’s also sad (lowkey teared up) Hope you enjoy❤️

This is only PART ONE and PART TWO is linked HERE.

____________________________________________

Third Person POV

Blackfoot, Idaho

•December 12th, 2007

It had been a little over two weeks since the trio’s unfortunate and ‘tragic’ encounter with Gordon. Within that time, they met up back with Jo, passed through South Dakota and retrieved Y/N’s beloved bike. Now back on the road, they finally finished a hunt, thankfully it was your average salt and burn. Sam, Dean, Y/N and Jo walked out of the cemetery together, all clutching their jacket’s to their bodies. Cold from the snow and exhausted from the long hours and in need of some R&R.

Y/N didn’t feel like driving so she tossed Jo the keys to Quinn. “Hey, you drive her tonight. I wanna rest a bit” Jo nodded and caught the keys, she knew how tired Y/N was and she didn’t blame her for not wanting to drive. “No problem, I’ll take good care of her.” Y/N smiled weakly and leaned against the car for support. “Thanks, skank.” She said gratefully. Jo blew her a kiss before turning to her own boyfriend, “You coming Sammy?” She asked, Sam looked a bit hesitant.

Not really wanting to hop on Y/N’s ‘death machine’ as he so kindly puts it, but he trusted Jo’s skills so he nodded, wrapping an arm around her waist before placing a kiss to her head as they trudged over to the bike.

Dean rubbed his eyes and stepped closer to Y/N and looked her over, noticing how exhausted she looked. “You look beat,” he commented, concern evident in his voice. “You sure you’re okay?” She flashed him a coy smile, her eyes flickering to Jo as she mounted her bike, strapping on a helmet on Sam the same way she would do for Dean. “Yeah, I’m just fine” She smiled wickedly before climbing into the Impala.

Dean wasn’t convinced but he didn't push the matter further. He got into the driver's seat while Jo started the motorcycle and revved the engine and Sam wrapped his shaky arms around her waist.

The drive back to their motel room was quiet, both too tired to make conversation. Y/N leaned back in her passenger seat, closing her eyes as she let the hum of the car lull her into a half-sleep.

Jo drove ahead on Y/N’s bike since Dean was taking his time in the Impala and since it was cold as fuck. Dean’s eyes darted back over to his girlfriend who still sported the coy smirk on her lips. Dean glanced at her with a mix of curiosity and concern. "Hey, you still awake over there?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

Y/N cracked open one eye and shot him a sly grin. "Yeah, I'm awake." She replied, her voice laced with mischief. This was one of the rare instances where Y/N and Dean were actually alone in the Impala so she took advantage. Suddenly, Her hand slowly trailed up Dean’s thigh from the passenger side seat, and she, of course, had that shit-eating smirk she stole from Dean plastered on her lips.

She felt Dean’s breath hitch, her eyes flickering up to him. “You little- is that why you gave Jo your keys?” It was Dean’s turn to smirk, realization dawned on him as to why she gave Jo her bike to drive ahead. "Maybe," Y/N said with a sly grin, her eyes twinkling with mischief. She leaned in closer to Dean, her warm breath tickling his ear as she whispered, "I wanted to make sure we had some alone time, baby."

Her fingers continued their slow ascent up Dean's muscular thigh, inching closer to his crotch with each passing second. Dean's body tensed beneath her touch, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Y/N chuckled softly, knowing exactly how to push Dean's buttons. Dean's grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles turning white as he struggled to keep his focus on the road.

"Alone time, huh?" His voice came out husky, laced with desire. "And here I thought you were actually tired." He shot a sideways glance at Y/N, his eyes darkened with lust. The Impala swerved slightly as his attention wavered, but he quickly corrected the path. Y/N giggled mischievously when she felt the Impala swerve, “What’s the matter, darlin’?” she teased, trailing her hand down his chest again and back onto his thigh.

Her touch sent tingles down his spine, and he tried to maintain his cool exterior despite the warmth spreading through him. “Just enjoying the ride, Princess,” he replied smoothly, trying to sound nonchalant while internally cursing himself for letting her get under his skin so easily. Instead, he decided to fuck with her a little.

He reached out, placing his large hand over hers gently guiding it back towards her lap. Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, pulling away slightly from Dean's grasp but not enough to stop the contact between their hands. “Come on, Dean,” she pouted, batting her eyelashes innocently, “Don't play coy, you never deny sex” With a sly grin, she leaned closer to him, her breasts pressing against his arm as she whispered into his ear.

“Sammy’s probably already at the motel with Jo, booking their room, it’s just you and me here.” Dean felt his resolve weakening as Y/N’s body pressed against him, her warm breath tickling his ear. He let out a low groan, his free hand reaching up to tangle in her hair. "Fuck, Y/N," he muttered, his voice husky with desire. His grip tightened in her hair as he pulled her head back, exposing her neck to him.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her sensitive skin as he growled, "If you keep this up, I'm gonna pull over right here and take you right in the back." A light moan escaped her lips. “And what’s stopping ya, charming?” She grinned, moving to straddling his lap, leaning down to lay kisses on his neck. Her weight on his lap made his cock twitch in interest, and he cursed inwardly. He loved how bold she was, always pushing his limits.

His free hand moved to her hip, gripping it firmly as she kissed his neck. "Damn it, y/n/n," he hissed, feeling her nipples harden against his chest through their clothes. "I swear if we keep going like this, we ain't gon make it to the motel tonight." Y/N giggled at Dean's words, loving the control she had over him. She could see the lust in his eyes, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch. "Good" she growled, grinding her hips against his growing erection.

“Because all I want right now, is just that” She moaned, peppering kisses down his neck feeling her grind against him, Dean let out a low groan, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. The need to fuck her right there and then was almost overwhelming. "Baby..." he warned, his voice rough with desire. "I gotta focus on driving... Or else we’re gonna end up crashing this car." He pleaded, as much as he wanted to take her in Baby, they were literally two minutes away from their motel.

She halted in her actions. “Well fine,” she huffed as she climbed off his lap, settled back in the passenger seat before stripping off her leather jacket “I’ll just finish myself” she chided before unzipping her jeans, pulling them down to reveal her lacy pink panties, Dean’s favorite. As soon as Y/N peeled her jeans off, Dean let out a low whistle. His gaze lingered on her exposed thighs and the curve of her ass peeking out from underneath her shirt.

"Fucking hell…" he hummed, his voice thick with lust as he shifted in his seat. "You know what... If you wanna finish yourself off, who am I to stop ya?" He watched intently as she began to stroke herself through her panties, a look of pure bliss crossing her face. It was an intoxicating sight, one that made his cock throb painfully in his pants.

Y/N moaned softly, her eyes fluttering shut as she continued to stroke herself through her panties. Her other hand reached up to cup her breast, tweaking her nipple through the fabric of her t-shirt. "Fuck... This feels so good," she whimpered, her body arching off the seat as pleasure coursed through her veins. "Wish you were touching me instead though..." Her words hung heavy in the air between them, making Dean even harder if possible.

“Oh my God!” she gasped, before slipping her panties off, teasing her clit. The sight of her completely bare below the waist, stroking herself in the passenger seat was enough to push Dean over the edge. His cock pressed painfully against his zipper through his boxers, demanding release. "Jesus Christ, y/n/n," he groaned, shifting in his seat.

His gaze was fixated on her hand as it slid down her slit, teasing her clit. He wanted nothing more than to replace her hand with his own, to feel her slick heat coating his fingers. Y/N let out another loud moan, her body trembling as she continued to rub herself. With the way Dean was frantically glancing from the road and back to her, it only seemed to fuel her arousal further.

"I bet you wish you could taste me right about now," she taunted, biting her lip as she spread her legs further apart, giving him an unobstructed view of her dripping wet pussy. Her fingers dipped lower, circling her entrance teasingly. She used her own slick to coat her nub once more, her whiny and breathless moan filling the car and Dean’s ears as she plunged two fingers inside herself, curling them upwards to hit that sweet spot.

“Oh my God, Dean!” The sound of y/n moaning his name, coupled with the sight of her fingers disappearing inside herself rapidly was too much for Dean to handle. Thankfully, they had arrived at the motel parking lot just in time to see Y/N’s bike was already parked, indicating Sam and Jo must’ve already booked themselves their own motel room. Leaving them to get their own.

He allowed his restraint to snap, pulling the Impala into the first free parking space before putting it in park. The car jerked forward with the rapid movements, making Y/N’s breast jiggle through her shirt, he then unbuckled his seatbelt, turning towards her. “You fucking tease," he growled, reaching across the seat to grab her wrist. "Let me help you with that."

She cried out as Dean grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from her dripping pussy. She looked at him with wide eyes, filled with lust and anticipation. A gasp of satisfaction left her throat as he replaced his finger with hers, toying with her clit. Dean's heart pounded in his chest as he watched y/n squirm under his touch. His thumb brushed over her swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to send waves of pleasure coursing through her.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice low and husky. "You like it when I touch you like this?” Without waiting for a response, he pushed two fingers inside her, curling them upward to hit that sweet spot within her. Feeling her walls clenched around his fingers drove Dean wild with desire.

He increased the pace, pumping his fingers in and out of her while his thumb continued its relentless assault on her clit. "That's it, baby," he murmured, his voice rough with lust. "Cum for me." He demanded as her cries of ecstasy echoed through his other ‘Baby’. He leaned closer, his mouth hovering just above hers as he whispered, "Show me how much you love my touch." Dean then leaned down and replaced his finger with his mouth, slurping her up like a hungry starved man.

“Oh FUCK don’t stop” Dean's tongue delved deep into y/n’s folds, lapping up her juices as he devoured her pussy. He could taste her sweetness mixed with the musk of her arousal, and it only fueled his hunger for her. Murmuring dirty praises against her slick flesh, punctuating each movement with filthy words. Words meant to drive her wild, to make her lose control as he sucked on her clit, flicking it with his tongue before diving back in to feast on her cunt.

“Good girl…scream for me just like that” His fingers gripped her thighs tightly, holding her in place as he pleasured her relentlessly. She grinded her pussy against his face shamelessly with every lick and suckle of her clit from Dean. "You're such a fucking slut for my touch," he groaned against her pussy. "So needy and greedy for my dick..."

Between licks and sucks, he whispered against her, his hot breath sending shivers through her body. "Fuck, you taste so good... Mmm, your cunt is so juicy for me... Yeah, cum on my tongue, baby…” Y/N’s body shook violently as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over her, heeding to her man’s command. Her hands fisted in Dean's hair, holding him tight against her throbbing sex as she rode out her climax.

"Oh fuck, Dean! Yes, yes, YES!" she screamed, her voice echoing through the empty car. "Don't stop, please don't stop!" She pleaded shamelessly, bringing up her hands to cup her mouth in an attempt to muffle her cries of pleasure with her hand but it was too intense, her hips jerked erratically, grinding herself against his face as he continued to lap at her sensitive flesh.

He drew out every last tremor of pleasure from her quivering body, the familiar flash of white lighting in her eyes as she orgasmed. Dean didn't relent, continuing to worship her spasming pussy with his tongue until he felt her start to come down from her high. Only then did he slowly pull back, his lips glistening with her essence.

Panting heavily, he looked up at her with a satisfied smirk. "That's what I like to see, Princess. You look so beautiful when you cum for me." Leaning back, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before capturing her lips in a searing kiss, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

Y/N kissed Dean back fiercely, their tongues tangling together in a passionate dance. She could still feel the aftershocks of her orgasm rippling through her, making her clit throb with renewed need.

Breaking the kiss, she gazed at Dean with hooded eyes, her voice husky with desire. "I think we've both worked up quite the appetite. Why don't we take this back to the motel room and satisfy it properly?" She grunted as she shimmied her jeans back on, handing him her pink panties. Which he accepted graciously, stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

She reached for the door handle, a coy smile playing on her lips as she glanced back at him. "Unless you'd rather finish what I started here in the car..." The thought of taking her right there, in the backseat of the Impala, sent a thrill of excitement through Dean. But he knew they needed privacy for what he had planned, something far more intimate than quickie sex.

"Nah," he said, grabbing her hand and helping her out of the car on his side instead. "A bed would be better. Besides, I want to savor every inch of you. Plus it’s cold as fuck." She laughed at his words, agreeing with them as he led her toward the motel room after booking the room for a couple of days. He couldn’t resist stealing a glance at her ass swaying provocatively behind her.

Y/N caught Dean looking and winked at him over her shoulder. She loved the way he ogled her, especially when they were alone like this. It made her feel desired, cherished.

Once inside the motel room, she turned to face him, her eyes locked onto his with a sultry promise. "Then why don't you show me exactly how much you want to savor me?" She began to undress slowly, peeling off one piece of clothing after another until she stood before him naked and ready.

Watching y/n strip was like watching a delicious meal being prepared. Each layer peeled away and revealed more of her ravishing body that begged to be touched. "Fuck, you're gorgeous," he breathed out, stepping closer to her. His hands reached out to cup her breasts, thumbs brushing over her hardened nipples.

His mouth descended upon hers once again, kissing her deeply as he pressed his body against hers. He could already smell her arousal mingling with the scent of their recent lovemaking. Y/N moaned into Dean's mouth, arching her back to press her breasts further into his hands. She loved the way he touched her, how he took his time to explore every inch of her body.

Pulling away from the kiss, she slid his brown leather jacket off of his broad shoulders. Allowing it to sink to the ground, she then reached for the hem of his shirt, aiding him with peeling it off of his body. "Your turn," she purred, reaching for the waistband of his pants. Dean grinned wickedly as she undressed him, his cock already straining against the confines of his jeans. Once freed, it sprang forth, thick and hard and ready for action.

Once fully undressed, “Jump” He ordered in a gruff tone, grabbing her hips, Y/N obeyed without hesitation, snaking her arms around his shoulder and hoisting herself up with a jump. Dean caught her easily, his girl wrapping her legs tightly around him as his hands gripped her thighs. "Good girl. I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you won't remember your own name." He praised as he carried her towards the bed.

She felt him position himself at her entrance, the head of his cock teasing her slick folds after lowering her onto the mattress, he settled between her thighs, the tip of his cock nudging insistently at her entrance. "Tell me you want it, y/n. Beg for my dick."

"I want it," she whimpered, feeling desperate for his penetration. "Please, Dean... I need you inside me." Arching her back off the bed, she pushed her hips up towards him, trying to impale herself on his length. Dean chuckled lowly at her eagerness, enjoying the sight of her squirming beneath him. With deliberate slowness, he rubbed the tip of his cock along her slit, coating himself in her wetness.

"So impatient," he teased, leaning down to nip at her ear. Finally, mercifully, he thrust forward, burying himself balls-deep inside her tight dripping cunt. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the exquisite sensation. "Fuuuuck, you feel incredible..."

Y/N cried out as Dean filled her completely, her walls clenching around his aching cock. The stretch and fullness was overwhelming, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through her nerve endings. "Yes, oh god, yes!" she gasped, her nails digging into Dean's back. "More, please... Harder!"

She rocked her hips against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him down into a fierce kiss as she lost herself in the rhythm of their passion. Driven by her pleas and the intoxicating taste of her lips, Dean began to move within her with increasing urgency. His hips snapped forward, driving his cock deeper into her welcoming warmth with each thrust.

One hand braced on the bed beside her head while the other slid down to tease at her clit, adding another layer of stimulation to their frenzied coupling. "Damn, you're so tight..." he whined, his pace growing more erratic. "Look at you taking my cock so good, like you were made for me...you’re amazing."

Y/N’s breath hitched with every deep thrust, her inner muscles fluttering around Dean's pulsing cock. She could barely form coherent thoughts as waves of pleasure washed over her. "That's it, sweetheart..." she moaned, her voice laced with lust. "Don’t stop. Pleaseee”, Tightening her legs around his waist.

Feeling Y/N’s legs tighten around him, Dean redoubled his efforts, his thrusts becoming even more forceful. He grunted with each stroke, reveling in the sound of her moans and the way her body responded to his touch.

"God, you're so fucking wet for me," he growled, leaning down to bite gently at the soft flesh of her breast. "I can feel how much you want this..." With a powerful thrust, he hit that sweet spot inside her that had her seeing stars.

Y/N shrieked in ecstasy as Dean found that magic spot deep within her, her vision blurring at the edges. She felt like she was teetering on the brink of something immense, her entire being focused on the intense sensations coursing through her.

"Oh god, yes! Right there, Dean!" she screamed, her fingers scrabbling at his back as he pounded into her relentlessly. “Don’t stop, please, I'm so close!" He suddenly pulled out, pulling his cock out of her before yanking her by her feet to the edge of the bed and flipping her onto all fours, y/n let out a startled whimper. But it quickly turned into a high-pitched keen as she felt his cock slam back into her, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper.

The change in angle intensified the already explosive chemistry between them. Dean gripped y/n’s hips tightly, anchoring her as he continued to pound into her. The clapping of their skins filled the room, "Shit, you look so fucking hot like this," he panted, leaning over her back to whisper in her ear. "Bent over for me like this... Take it all." increasing his pace once more, Dean drove into her with renewed vigor.

The combination of Dean's dirty talk and relentless thrusts had her soaking his cock and she hadn’t even cum yet. Her toes curling and her back arched. "Harder, baby!" she pleaded, pushing back against him with abandon. Begging him to say more dirty praises.

Encouraged by y/n’s pleas, Dean gave her exactly what she wanted. Harder, faster, deeper. Each thrust echoed throughout the room, punctuated by their mingled moans and gasps. "You're such a slut for my cock," he whispered huskily, nipping at her shoulder.

He reached around to rub at her swollen clit, applying just enough pressure to send her spiraling towards climax. The combination of Dean’s cock and his fingers' assault on her pussy proved too much for y/n to bear. As his words and touch coaxed her closer to the edge, she felt her orgasm building like a tidal wave, threatening to consume her entirely.

"Yes, yes, YES!" she wailed, her voice cracking with desperation. "I'm cumming, I'm cumming!" With a final, brutal thrust, he sent her careening over the precipice. Her pussy clenched rhythmically around his cock as she came undone, her whole body shaking with the force of her release as her eyes flashed again.

Her eyes connected with Dean’s from over her shoulder, a wicked grin on her face. With feeling her pussy convulse around him coupled with the fucking intoxicating sight of y/n’s eyes and that grin playing on her face, Dean buried himself to the hilt and let go, his own orgasm washing over him in waves.

"Fuuuck, y/nnn!" he roared, his hips jerking erratically as he emptied himself deep inside her quivering cunt. "So fucking perfect..." Collapsing against her momentarily, kissing her shoulder as his softening cock slipped out of her. In almost an instant, he went to work taking care of his girl.

After cleaning her and himself up, the bed dipped as Dean laid beside her, scooping y/n into his arms and pulling her against his chest. His hands roamed over her body, smoothing down her mussed hair, tucking a strand behind her ear before tracing comforting patterns on her skin. He placed tender kisses along her neck and shoulder, soothing her trembling body.

"I love you," he murmured, his voice rough with affection. "Are you okay? Did I go too hard on you?" There was an underlying concern in his tone, a hint of worry that he may have pushed her too far. "No, you did good," Y/N replied, her voice raspy with exhaustion. She snuggled closer to him, relishing the feel of his strong arms around her.

"I'm fine, babe. You didn't hurt me. You always take care of me." She lifted her head to plant a tender kiss on his chin. Dean relaxed, his lips tugging into a small smile. "Good," he replied, his voice gentle as he placed a kiss on her forehead and tucked her head beneath his chin.

____________________________________________

Ypsilanti, Michigan

•December 21st 2007

A little girl stood looking outside through a glass door and a woman stood outside, being interviewed by the Dean and Y/N who were disguised as FBI while Sam and Jo took a look around the house. “Um, my daughter and I were in our beds. Mike was downstairs decorating the tree. I heard a thump on the roof and then I heard Mike scream. And now I’m talking to the FBI.” The woman shakily explained, “And you didn't see any of it?” Dean asked while writing on his notepad.

The woman shook her head as she crossed her arms over her chest, “No, he was… he was just gone.” Y/N stood beside Dean, her gaze drifting towards the little girl standing on the other side of the glass door. She noticed how pale the child looked, her small frame trembling with fear. Y/N felt an ache of sympathy for the helpless girl.

“The doors were locked? There was no forced entry?” Y/N asked, stuffing her hands into her dress pants pockets. “That’s right,” The woman confirmed. “Does anybody else have a key?” Dean asked, “My parents.” The woman answered, “Where do they live?” Y/N asked with furrowed brows. “Florida,” The woman replied. Sam and Jo emerged through the door, “Thanks for letting us have a look around, Mrs. Walsh.” Jo said politely to the woman as Sam fixed his tie.

“I think we, uh, got just about everything we need. We’re all set.” Sam said gently as he stepped onto the porch. Dean and Y/N nodded, “We’ll be in touch.” Dean dismissed, Mrs. Walsh nodded in response. Her face filled with despair as the four headed down her porch, “Agents” she called out to them, the hunters turning back around almost immediately. Concern plastered on their faces, “The police said my husband might have been kidnapped.”

“Could be” Y/N answered, offering the woman a sympathetic look. “Then why haven’t the kidnappers called? O-or – or demanded a ransom? It’s three days till Christmas. What am I supposed to tell our daughter?” Mrs. Walsh stuttered, her voice cracking with emotion. Jo sighed heavily, biting her lip before saying. “We’re very sorry” apologetically. Mrs. Walsh’s face fell once more as she turned and walked back into her hour and the four made their way down her stairs.

“Find anything?” Dean asked Sam and Jo, the couple sighing. “Stocking, mistletoe… this.” Sam replied, handing Dean the small piece of evidence from out of his pocket, wiping his hand in his jacket. “A tooth? Where was this?” Dean’s face scrunched up in disgust as he accepted it, holding it up to examine the bloody tooth. “In the chimney.” Jo answered, fixing her blouse.

“Chimney? No way a man fits up a chimney. It’s too narrow.” Y/N pointed out. “No way he fits up in one piece.” Sam retorted. “Alright, so, if dad went up the chimney—” Dean began. “We need to find out what dragged him up there.” Sam finished, the four sharing a determined look.

Now in Dean and Y/N’s motel room, pictures of demons were pinned up on the wall. Sam and Y/N were searching the Internet for information about demons on their laptops. Jo sprawled across the bed, flicking her knife in her hand as she read a book about demons. The door suddenly opened and Dean walked inside, carrying a brown paper bag. “So, was I right? Is it the serial-killing chimney sweep?” Dean chimed, closing the door behind him.

Y/N snorted in amusement, rubbing her forehead as Sam deadpanned, “Yep. It's, uh, it’s actually Dick Van Dyke.” Dean’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Who?” His brows furrowed, “Mary Poppins?” Jo stated as if it was obvious, pushing herself up from the bed. “Who’s that?” Dean asked once more, causing Sam, Jo and Y/N’s jaws to drop. “Oh come on- ugh, never mind.” Sam scoffed, waving his hand, dropping his hand in defeat.

Y/N shook her head as she took up her coffee mug from the table, sipping it. Dean shrugged, setting the brown bag down next to Y/N, “Well, it turns out that Walsh is the second guy in town grabbed out of his house this month.” He scratched his head as he informed them, “Oh yeah?” Y/N asked as he walked over to the table to place a kiss on top of her head before peeling off his leather jacket. “Yeah” he answered.

“The other guy get dragged up the chimney, too?” Jo asked as she stuck her knife into her pocket and walked over to the coffee pot. “Don’t know. Witnesses said they heard a thump on the roof.” Dean answered with a frown, glancing over to his brother who wore the same expression. The brothers shrugged simultaneously. “So, what the hell do you think we’re dealing with?” Dean asked as he walked over to the bed to place his jacket.

“Actually, I have an idea.” Sam began, “Good, cause’ I’ve got horse shit.” Y/N grumbled, shutting her laptop as she leaned back into her chair. “Yeah, it’s uh, gonna sound crazy.” Sam warned them, “What could you possibly say that sounds crazy to us?” Dean chuckled, the other two women wearing expectant looks. “So…get this, and hear me out—” Sam began, pushing himself up. The three hunters nodded, “Evil Santa” Sam said sheepishly.

Dean paused, making eye contact with Y/N, who’s brows shot to the roof and Jo tilted her head. “Yeah, that’s crazy” Dean confirmed, Sam rolled his eyes but agreed. “Yeah. I mean, I’m just saying that there’s some version of the anti-Claus in every culture.” Sam defended, showing Dean and Y/N some pictures. Jo padded over to her boyfriend with two coffee mugs in her handis, extending one towards him. He thanked her before continuing, “You got Belsnickel, Krampus, Black Peter. Whatever you want to call it, there’s all sorts of lore.” As he handed Y/N the pictures.

She accepted, her own boyfriend walked over to her and leaned downwards to get a proper look. “Saying what?” Y/N asked, shuffling the pictures. “Saying…” Sam began as he took a sip of his coffee, he wrapped his free arm around Jo’s waist. She stood next to him as he leaned back in his chair. “…back in the day, Santa’s brother went rogue and now he shows up around Christmas time, but instead of bringing presents, he punishes the wicked.”

“By hauling their ass up chimneys?” Dean asked skeptically, Y/N snorted in amusement, gently tapping Dean on his stomach with the pictures. “For starters, yeah.” Sam answered, ignoring his brother's skeptical look as Jo snickered softly, sipping her coffee. “So, this is your theory, huh? Santa’s shady brother?” Dean said as he crossed his arms. Y/N rolled her eyes at the way Dean quickly dismissed the possibility. Sam sighed, glancing over to his girlfriend for support.

“He’s just saying that’s what the lore says” Jo defended, “Santa doesn’t have a brother. There is no Santa.” Dean shot back, “Yeah, I know. You’re the one who told us that in the first place, remember?” Y/N piped up, shooting Dean a look over her shoulder that made him shrink. He felt his heart drop in his chest, looking down guilty as Sam and Y/N shared a sad look. Jo glanced between the three with curious eyes, sensing more to what Y/N just dropped.

Sam frowned as he turned back to his computer and Y/N gulped down the rest of her coffee. Sam sighed heavily, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair, “Yeah, you know what, I could be wrong. I…” Sam sighed again, shutting his computer. “..gotta be wrong.” He muttered, Dean glanced over to Sam and then to Y/N. The wheels turned in his head before he said, “Maybe, maybe not” He said, placing up a finger. The three looked at him with intrigue. “What?” Y/N asked.

“I did a little digging. Turns out both victims visited the same place before they got snatched.” Dean explained, “Where?” Jo asked, her brows furrowed.

A little later, the four found themselves in a Santa’s Village. Christmas music played through the park, children were playing and people wearing Christmas costumes were walking around. Some in reindeer outfits, elves, you name it. The park was nicely decorated to accommodate any family and their children to visit ‘Santa’.

“It does kind of lend credence to the theory, don’t it?” Dean commented as they walked into the park, his hands stuffed into his jacket. Y/N and Jo walked between the boys, Y/N next to Dean and Jo next to Sam, “Yeah, but anti-Claus? Couldn’t be.” Sam scoffed, “Yeah, it’s a miracle. Dare I say, a Christmas miracle” Y/N deadpanned, earning laughs from everyone. Dean had a thoughtful look, shifting his gaze to Y/N before saying with a smile,

“Hey, speaking of, we should have one this year. All four of us, we should celebrate” Dean suggested, Jo’s face lit up at the suggestion but Sam felt like vomiting and Y/N’s face scrunched up, “Have one what?” Sam muttered, “A Christmas! I’m with Dean, we should celebrate” Jo said excitedly, Y/N and Sam threw each other glances but then Sam softened, his eyes glued to his girlfriend’s enthusiasm. Still, he shook his head, “Yeah. No thanks”

Sam had to force himself not to look at Jo because her face fell almost immediately, a deep frown replacing her smile, “Oh, come on! Why not? This is our first holiday season all together.” Jo pleaded, her eyes widening as she gripped Sam by his bicep and shook him. “Yeah, listen to Barbie, we’ll get a tree, a little Boston market, just like when we were little.” Dean tried to persuade them, “Charming, those weren’t exactly Hallmark memories for us, you know.” Y/N said with a dry chuckle.

Sam chuckled dryly in agreement. “What are you talking about? We had some great Christmases.” Dean said confused, Sam and Y/N looked over at Dean with faces that said, ‘the fuck?’. “Whose childhood are you talking about?” Sam scoffed. “Oh, come on, guys,” Dean whined. “Oh come on, don’t be such a party pooper” Jo whined, she wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck and tried to give him her puppy eyes.

She tried her best to pout, and the corners slightly turned in an attempt to look innocent and pathetic. Y/N looked over to Dean, who was also trying to bring out his best puppy dog eyes. The elder Winchester grabbing his girlfriend by her waist, Y/N almost melted into his resolve as Sam almost melted into Jo’s resolve but the two held up a strong front, glancing over to each other with looks that said, ‘Are they fuckin’ serious right now?’

“No! Just… no.” Sam said sadly, shaking his head. Y/N nodded in agreement, a solemn look on her face. “Dean, it’s not that I don’t want to spend time with you. It’s just—….no.” Y/N said firmly. Jo’s face fell once more as Dean looked surprised at the fact that not even their pleading worked. “Alright, grinches” He scoffed, forcefully taking his hands off of Y/N’s waist and walking away. Jo let go of Sam, nodding understandably. She placed a kiss on Sam's cheek, saying, “It’s okay, Sammy,” before excusing herself to the bathroom.

“You coming?” She asked Y/N, but the psychic shook her head, “I’m fine’ as she watched Dean storm off with a frown. Jo nodded sadly, making his way to the bathroom as Sam and Y/N shared a look before she let out a sigh. “You’d think after all these years he’d understand that Christmas isn’t our cup of tea” Y/N said with a shake of her head.

“You’d think” Sam chuckled dryly and rolled his eyes, “I don’t get it, he’s never made a big deal about it before…” Y/N shrugged, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Maybe he just really wants a family Christmas?” She suggested, her eyes piercing her boyfriend’s back standing in front of Santa Claus’s cottage with a thoughtful look. “Maybe” Sam muttered, getting lost in his own thoughts as he stared at a reindeer.

Broken Bow, Nebraska

•Christmas Eve, 1991

Reindeers pull Santa’s sleigh across the sky on the TV, which is playing “A Year Without Santa Claus”. Eight-year-old Sammy and Y/N/N were kneeling on the ground, both wrapping something with newspapers. “What is that?” Twelve-year-old Dean asked from the window still, where he was looking out for their dads, praying they’d be back for Christmas.

“A present for Dad” Sam answered as Y/N nodded, “I got something for daddy, too” Y/N said excitedly while Dean scoffed, “Yeah, right. Where’d you get the money? Steal it?” Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam looked at Dean with sharp squinted eyes. “No, Uncle Bobby gave it to us to give to ‘em. Said it was real special.” Sam smiled as he and Y/N put the finishing pieces of tape around the newspaper. “What is it?” Dean asked curiously, trying to catch a peep, “A pony” Y/N shot back sarcastically, hiding it away.

Dean scoffed again, a small blush playing on his cheeks. “Very funny,” he deadpanned as he made his way around the couch, sitting down next to her and taking up a magazine. “You’re just jealous” Y/N mumbled, shoving his leg with her shoulder as she poked her tongue out at him. Dean shook his head, smiling at her as she finished up wrapping the gift. They grew silent, the only sound being the tv playing the same Christmas movie from before.

“Dean?” Sam piped up from the ground. “Yeah, squirt?” Dean asked, not tearing his gaze from the magazine he was reading. “Dad and Mr. L/N are gonna be here, right?” Sam asked. Dean sighed, lowering the magazine in his hands. “They’ll be here.” Dean assured his little brother softly. Dean himself seemed unsure, despite trying to convince the two. A small pout played on Y/N’s lips at the thought of not seeing her dad for the holidays.

Especially when for the first time she actually had something to give to him, “But it’s Christmas” she whined. “I know, princess” Dean said as he reached his hand over, tousling her hair. “They know and they’ll be here. Promise.” he assured her. Sam was still looking over at his brother, a frown playing on his face. “Promise?” Sam asked timidly, to which Dean placed his hand on his brother’s head, ruffling his hair too. “Promise”

Y/N smiled, holding up her pinky. Dean snorted, rolling his eyes before interlocking his own pinky with her. The younger girl’s face flushed as she pushed back her hair once she let go of Dean’s pinky. “Where are they, anyway?” She asked curiously, a slightly nervous look on her face. She didn't want to hear ‘on business’ again from Dean, she didn’t even believe it when he said that. Because what ‘business man’ teaches his then six-year-old daughter how to shoot a gun?

“On business.” Dean answered dryly, flipping through the magazine. Sam and Y/N shared an unconvinced look, “What kind of business?” Sam pressed, “They sell stuff, you guys know that” Dean replied.

“What kind of stuff?” Y/N pushed, “Stuff” Dean shot back vaguely. Sam and Y/N sighed, shaking their heads. “Nobody ever tells us anything” Sam frowned, “Then quit asking” Dean huffed, rolling his eyes as he pushed himself up from the couch, not wanting to have this conversation. He made his way around to his bed, Y/N’s eyes following his every single move. He brushed off the diner food wrapping papers from his bed and onto the ground with a sigh, settling on the bed with his magazine.

Sam and Y/N glanced at each other, a saddened look crossing their faces. They hated feeling like they were such a bother, but they were just curious. “Dean?” Sam called out to his brother, and he groaned in response, running a hand down his face. “What now, squirt?” he grumbled, lowering the magazine. “Are they spies?” Sam asked as he and Y/N pushed themselves onto the couch, their elbows bracing in the back as they propped themselves. “Mm-hmm. They’re James Bond and Austin Powers.” Dean answered sarcastically.

“Why do we move around so much?” Y/N asked. Dean grew annoyed, “Cause’ everywhere we go, they get sick of your faces.” He shot back. Y/N’s face contorted in anger at the reply, her hands balling into fists, “Shut up!”

“No, you shut up” Dean shot back immaturely.

“Shut up, you suck!” Y/N shouted as she jumped over the couch and paced over to his bed.

“You shut up times infinity, you suck more!” Dean stood up, towering over her.

“Shut up times infinity times twenty!” She screamed back, tiptoeing to get in his face.

“You shut up first!” The two went back and forth, their voices getting louder and more heated by the second. Sam sighed, his head falling into his hands in embarrassment. “You two idiots, knock it off!” Sam yelled over their bickering, jumping over the chair to pull Y/N back from tackling his brother. “No, I’mma beat the crap out of him! Let me go, Sammy!” Y/N yelled, struggling in his grip.

Dean snorted in amusement, not really mad at her, he was just happy he got them to drop the subject. Sam rolled his eyes, pulling her back, “We’re old enough, Dean. You can tell us the truth” Sam went back to the subject in hand, Dean sighed as Y/N began to calm down, “You don’t wanna know the truth. Believe me.” Dean assured him, “I don’t get it, charming. Why won’t you tell us?” Y/N groaned, slightly frustrated. Dean sighed, shaking his head.

“Is that why we never talk about…our moms?” Sam asked wearily, gulping. This made Dean snap. He tossed his magazine to the side, marching over and getting in his little brother’s face. “Shut up! Don’t you ever talk about mom and Auntie M/N. Ever!”

Sam flinched at his older brother’s sudden outburst, his face falling. Y/N felt her heart lurch at the way Sam was being yelled at and at the subject of their mothers. Also flinching, she wanted to curl up in a ball with the way Dean snapped. She quickly pulled an equally terrified Sam back. Shoving the taller boy behind her.

Dean snapped out of his anger when he realized how terrified his little brother and Y/N looked. He felt bad, he knew he shouldn’t have reacted in such an aggressive way. The only reason he truly reacted like that was due to the way John and F/N would yell at him when he asked about them. He backed up, quickly picking up his jacket, “Wait, where are you going?” Sam’s shaky but concerned voice called out to his brother. “Out” he answered with a scoff as he put his jacket on. “When are you gonna come back?” Y/N’s voice piped up, sounding smaller.

Her eyes were fixed on the floor, she seemed to be trying to hold her tears back. Dean gritted his teeth, his breath hitched in a guilty way. He didn’t answer nor look back, instead he shut the door harshly behind him. Leaving Sam and Y/N in the room alone. Y/N looked at the door with a saddened look with tears threatening to fall from her eyes. It was silent, the only sound was the movie playing on the T.V.

“What did we do?” Sam croaked out, his voice just as sad. She frowned, pulling him into a tight hug, “Nothing” she whispered.

Ypsilanti, Michigan

•December 21st 2007 - Present Time

Y/N snapped out of her reminiscing as Jo made her way back to them, zipping up her pants and Dean paced back over to them. “You’d think with the 10 bucks it costs to get into this place, Santa could scrounge up a little snow.” Dean grumbled with distaste. “What?” Y/N asked, blinking rapidly while Sam was still lost in his head. Jo noticed the distant look on her boyfriend’s face and gently placed her hand on his chest, “You okay, baby?” She asked gently.

Sam seemed to snap back to reality as looked down to see his girlfriend’s concerned eyes staring up at him. He sighed, “No, yeah. I’m fine. Just remembering something.” He lied while forcing a smile on his face, to which Y/N’s frown deepened. Wondering if he was thinking of the same thing. “What’d you say, Dean?” Sam asked, clearing his throat. “Nothing. What are we looking for, again?” Dean asked, waving his finger at his surroundings.

“Um…” Sam began, looking around, “…lore says that the anti-Claus will walk with a limp and smell like sweets.” He explained as they all began walking more into the park. “Great. So we’re looking for a pimp Santa. Why the sweets?” Dean scoffed, Y/N chuckled in amusement at the analogy. “Think about it, Dean. If you smell like candy, the kids will come closer, you know?” She explained. Dean’s brows furrowed along with Jo’s, “That’s creepy.” Jo commented. They all lightly chuckled, “Agreed, sister” Dean grimaced.

“How does this thing even know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?” Dean asked, “I don’t know.” Sam answered honestly as they stopped in front of a small barn. Sitting in front was a man wearing a Santa Claus costume and a line of parents with their kids. People dressed up as elves directed them as a woman with her son approached Santa. “So, Ronny, come sit on Santa’s knee.” The man patted his knee, groaning as he helped the boy onto his lap.

“Ah, there you go. You been a good boy this year?” Santa asked. “Yeah” Ronny answered timidly. “Good. Santa’s got a special gift for you.” Santa cackled a bit creepily as he rubbed Ronny’s back. The hunters looked on speculatively, Y/N and Jo grimacing along with Sam. “Maybe we do” Dean answered his own question from before, as Ronny’s mother took his hand and led him away from Santa.

Then, a woman in an elf costume walked up to the hunters with a cheerful smile, “Welcome to Santa’s court. Can I escort your child to Santa?” She asked, “Uh…” Sam stammered as Jo shook her head. “No. No. Uh, but actually my brother here it's been a lifelong dream of his.” Dean said with a mischievous smile, smacks Sam on his shoulder. Sam sideeyed Dean as Y/N covered her mouth, trying not to laugh and Jo shook her head at the elder Winchester. Though she was amused.

The woman looked at Sam as though he was a freak, “Uh, sorry. No kids over… 12.” Sam shook his head, trying to clarify the situation. “No, he’s just kidding. We only came here to watch.” Sam’s words made Jo physically facepalm and Y/N squeeze her eyes shut to stop herself from laughing once more as Dean shook his head at the elf with a smirk. The elf backed up with a look of disgust, “Ew” before darting in the other direction.

Sam’s face fell when he now realized how it sounded, “I-I didn’t mean that we came here to w- Y- ” He tried to defend himself, only to snap his gaze over to his hysterical brother and surrogate sister, who were clutching their stomachs and wheezing. “Thanks a lot, Dean. Thanks for that.” Sam deadpanned, stuffing his hands back into his pocket.

Dean chuckled, ruffling his little brother’s hair affectionately. “No problem, Sammy.” Dean replied with a smirk, winking at Y/N, who was still holding her abdomen from how hard she was laughing. Jo scoffed, shaking her head in amusement also. Suddenly, his face turned serious as the man dressed as Santa Claus hobbled off his chair, “Check it out.” Dean drew their attention to him as he limped past them, their eyes following his every move.

With furrowed brows and curious eyes, the four watched while Y/N and Dean’s noses caught a sweet scent radiating from the man, “Are you guys seeing this?” Y/N muttered to them in an urgent tone. Dean nodded as Sam and Jo shrugged, “A lot of people walk with limps, right?” Jo dismissed skeptically. Dean’s face fell, “Tell me you didn’t smell that. That was candy, man.” He insisted, “That was Ripple. I think. Had to be.” Sam shot back, tilting his head to look at Santa once more.

“Maybe” Y/N sighed at the fact that they could be right, “We willing to take that chance? Dean asked with a raised brow in their direction. Sam and Jo shared a look, communicating with their eyes whether they should or shouldn’t. “Hey, we’ve chased a lot worse.” Jo mumbled, “Fair point.” Sam muttered back.

They ended up finding themselves staking out a simple house that was decorated with Christmas lights, which belonged to the man dressed as Santa Claus. It was nightfall and they had already been there, bored out of their minds in the Impala. Y/N and Jo were half-asleep out of their asses in the backseat while Sam sat shotgun with his brother.

Dean yawned, his head leaning back against the chair. He glanced wearily over at his brother who was resting his head in his hand, staring straight ahead. “I hate stakeouts.” Sam grumbled while Dean nodded in agreement, “Mm. Yup.” He replied, rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?” Dean asked with another yawn, “Same as the last time you asked.” Sam deadpanned. That earned him an unimpressed look from Dean as he chuckled slightly and held up a thermos, “Here. Caffeinate” he handed it to Dean.

Y/N was now beginning to wake up as Dean accepted the thermos with an appreciative groan, sitting up straight to open it. Once opened, he attempted to pour some into the cap but he came up empty. His face fell before he stuffed the cap back on, mumbling a sarcastic, “Wonderful” Chucking the thermos back into Sam’s hands.

Hearing her boyfriend’s crankiness, she carefully placed Jo’s head from resting on her shoulder to her lap and reached into her duffel bag, which was placed on the floorboards in the backseat. She dug around a bit and pulled out a Snicker’s bar.

Dean looked over his shoulder, noticing his girlfriend digging through her bag. He then looked down when a Snicker’s bar landed in his lap. His face lit up immediately like an excited puppy, glancing back over at her with a bright smile as she handed Sam a pack of gum. “I love you” Dean cooed before ripping the wrapping paper open with his teeth.

Y/N chuckled softly, “I love you more” she whispered, leaning over to press a kiss to the back of his neck while Sam opened his pack of gum. “So much better” Dean grumbled while taking a bite out of the Snickers bar. He chewed, taking a few seconds to look at it before holding it out to Y/N. “Want some?” He mumbled. she shook her head, “No thank you. Those are for you” she replied with a fond smile.

He pouted at her refusal, but shrugged and continued eating. Dean thought to himself for a second, his eyes flickering between Sam and Y/N, watching as Sam handed a stick of gum to her. Jo began to stir a bit in Y/N’s lap. Blinking her eyes a bit, her ears perked up when Dean suddenly asked, “Hey, guys?” He began, “Yeah?” Sam and Y/N answered in unison. “Why are you two boy and girl that hate Christmas?” Dean asked curiously, their eyes darkened. Sharing an exasperated look.

“Dean-” Sam groaned as Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose before wiping her mouth. “I mean, I admit it. You know, we had a few bumpy holidays when we were kids.” Dean admitted, chewing on his snickers bar. “Bumpy?” Y/N scoffed bitterly, “That was then. We’ll do it right this year.” Dean insisted. Sam’s tired features deepened while Jo listened in, now wide awake. “Look, Dean. If you want to have Christmas, knock yourself out. Just don’t involve us.” Sam said tiredly, turning to Y/N.

“You with me, y/n/n?” He asked for her to back him up. Y/N met his eyes as she lazily leaned back into the seat. “I’m with you, brother,” She said firmly, pumping a fist in the air. Dean looked at his brother and girlfriend with disbelief and a twinge of hurt as Jo rose from Y/N’s lap. “Oh, yeah, that’d be great. Me and myself making cranberry molds.” Dean muttered sarcastically.

“I’ll make ‘em with you, Dean.” Jo chimed in with a yawn, stretching out her stiff muscles. Dean smirked, “See? There’s someone with Christmas cheer.” he said, pointing a finger at her. Y/N rolled her eyes as Sam scoffed, his eyes softened when he glanced at his girlfriend’s tired face. “You sleep well, angel?” Jo smiled tiredly, “As good as I’ll get in this piece of junk” she replied cheekily, reaching a hand over to cup his face. Sam leaned into it, kissing her palm.

Dean looked visibly offended while Y/N cupped a hand over her mouth. “Hey, don’t hate on Baby” He scowled. “I don’t hate her” Jo laughed, “I just don’t find her comfortable. At all. But she takes us from point A to point B, so that’s all that matters.” she assured him, pinching his cheek. Dean scoffed bitterly, slapping her hand away from his face as Sam and Y/N rolled with hysteria in their seats.

“Asshole” He scowled again, crossing his arms over his chest. “Prick” Jo bit back with a cheekily smile to her surrogate brother. Once the giggles died down and the banter was over, the group was once again silent, watching the house when out of nowhere, Santa, still in his red cap, but in a green tank top. Peered through his window and then closed his curtains.

“What’s up with Saint Nicotine?” Dean mumbled curiously. Y/N raised a brow at him, all switching into Hunter mode when a woman screamed, “Oh, my God!” The four jumped out of the car and rushed over with drawn guns to the man’s front door. Dean and Y/N both peeked into the door when they heard Sam scoff, “Huh?” They turned to him with curious faces, “What?” Dean asked in a low tone.

“Nothing. It’s just that, uh… well, you know, Mr. Gung Ho Christmas might have to blow away Santa.” Sam snickered to himself, Y/N pulled her lips into her mouth to stop herself from smiling while Jo shot her boyfriend a light glare and Dean had a blank look on his face. “Shut up, ass, and kick the door in” Jo ordered, looking at Sam for him to do as told. Sam rolled his eyes, but did so without question.

The four rush in to see Santa sitting on the couch, holding a giant bong and a bottle of whiskey. Their eyes peered around the scrappy house, now realizing Santa was only watching TV as he stumbled to his feet. They quickly hid their guns behind their back, “What the hell are you doing here?” Santa demanded, his tone slurred. “I’m really not interested, okay?” The man on the TV said. “Mistle my toe. Roast my chestnut. Egg my nog.” The woman on the TV insisted seductively.

Sam and Jo looked over at Dean and Y/N panicked, the couple sharing a nervous look. “Ah, w-” Sam stammered as Dean cleared his throat, bringing a closed fist to his mouth. “S-siiiiiilent niiiiight…” He sang badly, clearing his throat again. “Hoooolyyy niiiight” Dean glanced over at a bewildered Jo and Sam and Y/N, who were both smiling awkwardly. Santa began laughing, sitting down to enjoy the show as the other three hunters began singing along.

“All is well…” They mumbled the lyrics terribly, barely remembering the classic Christmas Carol. “…all is dry.” Santa slurred along drunkenly. “Round and round…da-da da da daaaa” With that, Sam gripped Jo by his wrist while Dean gripped Y/N by hers and quickly pulled them out of the house.

Once at the Impala, they all collapsed with laughter, holding on to their sides. “That was priceless” Jo guffawed, leaning against the car. “I could have gone the rest of my life without hearing you three sing” Sam chuckled. Dean tried to keep a hard face but he was amused by it, “We speak nothing of this” Sam, Jo and Y/N nodded, still letting out a chuckle that would pop up every few seconds.

____________________________________________

•December 22nd, 2007

The next morning, they got notification from police radio that there had been another attack and kidnapping at a family house. Y/N and Jo decided to be the ones to go in and check it out, leaving Sam and Dean back in their rooms to get some rest since they were tired and the two women got more rest the previous night. “So, that’s how your son described the attack? ‘Santa took daddy up the chimney’?” Y/N asked Mrs. Caldwell, both her and Jo strolling into her living room behind her.

The petite woman nodded timidly, crossing her hands over her chest, “That’s what he says, yes.” She responded shakily, wiping the bruise under her eye. “And where were you?” Y/N asked politely as Jo took notes on Sam’s notepad. “I was asleep and all of a sudden…” Mrs. Caldwell sniffed, tearing up and her voice cracking as she reminisced of the events from the night before, “I was being dragged out of bed, screaming.”

“Did you see the attacker?” Jo asked, trying to be as professional and sympathetic as possible. Mrs. Caldwell’s face scrunched up as she shook her head, “It was dark, and he hit me. He knocked me out.” The psychic nodded understandingly, “I’m sorry, I know this is hard” Y/N and Jo shared a concerned glance, the former placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ll find whoever did this.” Y/N promised, giving the woman an encouraging smile which she weakly returned.

Jo’s head tilted when she noticed something familiar sitting at the fireplace, clearing her throat awkwardly before asking, “Yeah… um, Mrs. Caldwell, where, where did you get that wreath above the fireplace?” Y/N looked around at the wreath, and blinked, a little puzzled. “Excuse me?” Mrs. Caldwell’s brows creased towards the younger hunter, taken back by the weird question. Y/N looked at Jo expectantly for an answer, the latter shrugging and smiling awkwardly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “Just curious”

“Wreaths, huh? Sure you didn’t want to ask her about her shoes? I saw some nice handbags in the foyer.” Y/N relentlessly teased Jo with a smirk as they walked down the driveway and towards her bike, “Fuck off, slut” Jo groaned, hitting Y/N in the arm. “We’ve seen that wreath before, Y/N.” She added firmly. Y/N’s brows furrowed, “Where?” She asked as she picked up both the helmets from her Harley and handed one to Jo.

“The Walshes’. Yesterday.” Jo stated as if it was obvious. Y/N froze in her spot, her eyes widening in realization. “I know. I was just testing you.” She scoffed, waving it off as if she knew. “Uh huh. Sure you were” Jo scoffed, rolling her eyes as she climbed onto the bike. Y/N flipped her off, climbing on as well. She placed the helmet on her head, starting the bike with a twist of her key and revving it before the engine roared to life.

Now back in Dean and Y/N’s shared motel room, Jo held one bag with food and her other hand with a tray of drinks as Y/N shoved the key into the hole and twisted it, opening the door. There they found Dean at the table, chugging coffee and Sam on the phone with Bobby, pacing the room. “Are you sure? Alright, yeah. Check it out, and we’ll… I don’t know, call you back.” Sam’s voice could be heard as both women walked in.

“Bobby, huh? Find any lore?” Dean asked, setting the coffee pot down. Sam nodded, “He’s looking into it now. Said he’d call us back.” He answered. “Breakfast!” Jo announced as she gently placed the drinks down as well as the bag of food onto the table as Y/N pressed a kiss to Dean’s head. He chuckled softly, tilting his head up in time to catch Y/N’s lips with his own. Sam made a disgusted noise of protest, “Get a room.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, “This is our room, dumbass” She bit back, receiving a poked out tongue from Sam in response. To which she snickered, “How’d it go, girls?” Sam asked as Jo padded over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Pretty good…” Y/N began to explain, digging through the bag of food. Placing their respective boxes in-front of everyone’s chair. Sam listened intently while Dean stared at his food intently, digging in instantly.

The three ate while Sam called Bobby again and informed him about the similar wreaths the girls found out about. “Yeah, all right. Well, keep looking, would you? Thanks, Bobby.” Sam said once more, hanging up. “Well… we’re not dealing with the anti-Claus.” Sam began, making his way back to his seat. “What did Bobby say?” Y/N asked curiously through a mouthful of egg while Dean scarfed down his entire breakfast like he’s been starved.

“Uh, that we're morons. He also said that it was probably meadowsweet in those wreaths.” Sam snorted as he reached below the table to pull out his laptop from his satchel. “Wow! Amazing.” Dean mumbled half-heartedly, sticking into a piece of bacon with his fork. Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “You have no idea what the hell meadowsweet is, do you?” She called him out.

Dean stopped mid-chew, glancing up, his fork pausing halfway. “Nope” He snorted, stuffing the bacon in his mouth. Sam and Jo chuckle amusedly, sharing a look as Y/N shook her head, peeling out a napkin from the bag and wiping some of the bacon grease from Dean’s mouth. “I swear, you eat like a two-year-old” She muttered, dabbing the corner of his lips.

“You love me.” He mumbled, smiling cheekily when she wiped away some more grease. Sam shook his head as he placed his laptop, opening it to begin researching the plant and eating his breakfast in between. “So get this-” Sam started, sipping his coffee. He placed the paper cup down beside Jo’s hand as he continued. “According to the lore. It’s pretty rare and it’s probably the most powerful plant in pagan lore.” He explained, “Pagan lore?” Jo asked, her brows furrowed as she licked her fork.

“Yeah. See, they used meadowsweet for human sacrifice. It was kind of like a… Chum for their gods. Gods were drawn to it and they’d stop by and snack on whatever was the nearest human.” He further explained, “Why would somebody be using that for Christmas wreaths?” Dean asked with a mouth full of bacon, Y/N pointed firmly at him to chew and swallow before he spoke. To which he smiled sheepishly and shrugged. “It's not as crazy as it sounds, Dean. I mean, pretty much every Christmas tradition is pagan.” Sam pointed out.

Y/N and Jo nodded in agreement, “Christmas is Jesus’s birthday.” Dean stated, picking up his coffee. Y/N tilted her head in his direction, “No, Jesus’s birthday was probably in the fall. It was actually the winter solstice festival that was co-opted by the Church and renamed ‘Christmas’.” She informed him while Sam nodded along in agreement. “But I mean, the Yule log, the tree, even Santa’s red suit, that’s all remnants of pagan worship.” Sam added.

Dean looked genuinely baffled, “How do you know that? What are you gonna tell me next? Easter bunny’s Jewish?” He scoffed, stuffing his mouth with more bacon. Sam, Jo and Y/N shared amused looks as he asked, “So y’all think we’re dealing with a pagan God?” Sam nodded as he wiped his mouth, scrolling through some pictures of the possible Gods, “Yeah, probably Hold Nickar, God of the winter solstice.”

“And all these Martha Stewart wannabes, buying these fancy wreaths. What’s that about?” Jo asked, still confused. “Yeah, it’s pretty much like putting a neon sign on your front door saying ‘Come kill us’.” Sam told her, chewing on his eggs. “Great.” Y/N murmured sarcastically, sipping her coffee. Sam shrugged, squinting his eyes as he read an article on the laptop. He leaned forward, “Huh… When you sacrifice to Hold Nickar, guess what he gives you in return.”

“Lap dances, hopefully.” Dean joked, wiggling his brows at an unamused Y/N while Jo snorted, the former shoving Dean playfully while the latter shook her head smiling. “Shut up, idiot. Let him finish.” Y/N playfully chastised him. “Mild weather.” Sam deadpanned, rolling his eyes. All of their heads shot up in realization, Dean leaned back in his chair to glance out the window. “Like no snow in the middle of December in the middle of Michigan.”

He pointed out, gesturing to the window with his thumb before licking the maple syrup off of it. “For instance.” Sam nodded in confirmation, “Do we know how to kill it yet?” Jo asked, “No, Bobby’s working on that right now.” Sam responded, shaking his head. He then turned the laptop to show Dean the article. The elder Winchester began scrolling through as Sam said, “We got to figure out where they’re selling those wreaths.”

Dean raised a brow at him, “You think they’re selling them on purpose? Feeding the victims to this thing?” Sam shrugged in return, “Let’s find out” he sighed. “Why don’t we go? You fellas can stay in and get some rest” Y/N suggested, nudging Jo. The brothers shared an uneasy look. Sam turned and looked at Y/N doubtfully, “You sure?” He asked, not comfortable with sending them off without them again.

“We’ll be fine, Sammy. Besides, what’s the big, bad pagan God gonna do to us in a wreath shop, huh?” Y/N chuckled, ruffling his hair playfully after she and Jo got up from the table and to get their jackets. Dean got up as well, placing his trash in the garbage while mumbling, “I don’t like this.” To which Y/N rolled her eyes as she slid on her leather jacket, “How bout this? We gather the intel and you guys can go and gank the bastard. Sound fair?.” Jo suggested as she slid on her Jean jacket, zipping it up and pulling her hair out from beneath the collar.

Both brothers shared an uncertain look but eventually they nodded in reluctance. Y/N grinned smugly, “That’s what I thought” Dean shook his head, amused as he approached her. He wrapped his around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest. “Be careful. Okay?” He said lowly, looking her in the eyes. “Quit acting like I’m some newbie hunter, Winchester” Y/N quipped, snaking her arms around his neck before pressing her lips to his.

Jo did the same, padding over to Sam, who was still sitting at the table with a look of reluctance. “We’ll be fine, baby. We can handle ourselves” She assured her boyfriend, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. Sam nodded, trying to mask his worry. Dean gave Y/N a squeeze and a final kiss before letting go and patting her on the butt. She playfully scowled, rolling her eyes at him before turning to Jo. “Ready?”

“Yup” Jo nodded. The women shared one last look with their guys before exiting the motel room. As Y/N stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Everything okay with them? They’re acting worried for no reason” Jo commented as she rubbed her hands together. Y/N shrugged in return, leading the way to her bike, “Y’know men and their protectiveness, the Winchesters are like that but times ten.”

Jo rolled her eyes, scoffing, “Don’t I know it. Sam worries over me all the time.” She chuckled, hopping onto the back of the bike. Y/N chuckled as well, fastening her helmet. “Dean does it with me as well. He constantly tried to act all macho but he’s a big, lovable softy that surprisingly likes being the small spoon” She agreed, kicking the stand up before swinging her leg over and starting her bike.

Quinn roared as she revved the engine, the sound slightly muffling Jo’s laughter to her statement. Jo smirked wide, “Sam’s the same way. The man’s built like a damn rock, but he’s a huge baby at heart.” She chuckled at the thought, adjusting the way she sat on the seat, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist. “Brothers indeed” Y/N snorted before easing onto the road.

Y/N parked Quinn outside The Cozy Crafts. They spent hours in the town, looking into the meadowsweet wreaths but no shop seemed to know of them. They were internally hoping that this was the one because all they wanted to do was get back to their motel rooms and cuddle with their guys. There were numerous Christmas wreaths on display, they both hopped off the bike, stretching their stiff limbs before walking towards the shop. They entered, bells above the door ringing, announcing their arrival.

The scent of pine and cinnamon greeted them from the numerous candles dispersed around the shop, a sweet melody of Deck The Halls playing quietly by the front desk. A kind looking, elderly man stood behind the register, greeting the two women, “Help you, ladies?” He asked in a friendly tone. “Uh, hope so. Uh…” Y/N responded in a friendly tone, trying to come up with a story on the spot. A small smirk played on her face as she began, “…we were playing Jenga over at the Walshes’ the other night, and, uh… well—” She pointed to Jo.

“—she hasn’t shut up since about this Christmas wreath, and… I don’t know, why don’t you tell him, sweetie?” She reached over, patting Jo on her ass. The younger hunter looked unamused, her lips pressed to a thin line, “Sure.” she deadpanned before turning to face the shopkeeper. “It was yummy.” The shopkeeper glanced between the two women unconvinced, the psychic shooting the man a nervous smile. Jo’s eyes widened so she immediately began playing along.

She gave a fake, but convincing whine, “Oh my God! You have nooo idea. It was gorgeous, I just need to get my hands on it.” She complimented, playing the role of a snobby, upper-class wife. Y/N stifled an amused chuckle at the way she spoke. “I sell a lot of wreaths, ladies” The shopkeeper narrowed his eyes at them, “Right, right, but- but you see, this one would have been really special. It had, uh, it had, uh, green leaves, um, white buds on it. It might have been made of, uh… meadowsweet?” Jo explained, going into full detail.

“Well, aren’t you a fussy one?” The shopkeeper commented. Jo’s face dropped as Y/N stifled a chuckle again, placing a hand over her mouth. “Oh she is” Y/N nodded along in agreement, allowing herself to laugh. Jo shot her sister a quick sharp glare before averting her gaze back to the shopkeeper, plastering a fake smile on. “Anyway, I know the one you’re talking about. I’m all out.” The shopkeeper informed them, Jo sighed in annoyance as Y/N’s face fell.

“Huh. Seems like this meadowsweet stuff’s pretty rare and expensive. Why make wreaths out of it?” Y/N began fishing for information from him through small talk.

“Beats me. I didn't make them.” He shrugged in response. She raised a brow, “Who did?” She asked, tilting her head. “Madge Carrigan, a local lady. She said the wreaths were so special, she gave them to me for free.” He replied. “She didn’t charge you?” Jo’s brows furrowed as she and Y/N shared a look.

“Nope” The shopkeeper shook his head. “Did you sell them for free?” Y/N asked with a smirk in her tone, “Hell no. It’s Christmas. People pay a buttload for this shit” He scoffed, answering honestly. Jo narrowed her eyes at the man as Y/N’s smirk widened, “That’s the spirit” The man chuckled before glancing towards a clock on the wall, “Listen, ladies, I'd love to chat but I have to close up shop.” Jo and Y/N nodded, thanking the man for his time.

He smiled in return and pulled off his apron, placing it down on the counter. “Maybe try the Carrigan house, she may still have some on hand.” The man suggested before waving farewell to them as he went to the back room. Jo shot a nervous look at Y/N, “Think the Carrigans got any of those wreaths?” Y/N shrugged, “Only one way to find out.”

“Man, I’m tired. We’ve been at this all day” Jo groaned as they walked back to the bike. “And I’m starving” She added, patting her stomach. Y/N chuckled, “Don’t be so dramatic” Jo rolled her eyes before climbing back on the bike, adjusting her helmet. “Why don’t we call it a day? Our boys can go over there tomorrow” Jo suggested. Y/N sighed, “Yeah, it’s getting late. Might as well. Plus, it’ll get them off our asses too.” She agreed, climbing on the bike and fastening her own helmet.

Just then, her phone started to ring. The guitar riff for Metallica’s Enter Sandman filling their ears. Y/N sighed, pulling out her cell phone from the pocket of her leather jacket. “Speak of the devils” She quipped before answering the phone, “Yes, charming?” She answered sweetly. Dean’s voice crackled through the speakers, “Hey, baby. Where are you?” He asked, the faint sounds of an old rock song could be heard in the background.

“On our way back, we figured out where they got the wreaths. Gonna get dinner and then tell you when we’re back” She responded. “No need for that, I ordered pizza for us. We’re just waiting for you two to get back to eat” He told her. Y/N perked up at the mention of pizza, “You’re a godsend, Winchester” She chuckled. “Course’ I am” Dean smirked, “Just get your fine ass back here.”

She could hear Sam groan in disgust in the background and the sound of shuffling, probably being Dean tossing a pillow at his little brother. “Shut up, bitch!” Dean’s voice yelled back. “I hope you ordered pineapple on mine,” She teased. It was now Dean’s turn to groan in disgust, “I did. Nasty ass Hawaiian bullshit.” He muttered begrudgingly. Y/N snickered, “Thank you sweetie. See you in a bit, I love you” She smiled. “Alright sweetheart, drive safe. I love you more.” With that, the line went dead.

The brothers’ heads perked up, hearing engine noises from outside. Dean’s head poked out from the window and saw Y/N’s bike pull to a stop outside their motel room. He turned to Sam, “Get the door.” He ordered, grabbing the three pizza boxes off the bed. Sam rolled his eyes, “I’m not your slave, you ass.” He muttered but opened the door none the less, greeting the two women.

Jo entered first, tiptoeing to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek while Y/N had her strolled in with her helmet propped on her hip. Y/N let out an exaggerated sigh, “I am starving” She said before placing her helmet on the table beside the door. She walked over to Dean, wrapping an arm around his waist, “Thanks for the food, babe.” She smiled, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

They were all now around the table, Sam and Y/N were splitting a Hawaiian pizza while Dean and Jo were splitting a meatlovers, the four discussing the case. “How much do you think a meadowsweet wreath would even cost?” Dean asked with a mouth full of pizza. “A couple hundred dollars, at least.” Sam answered as he sipped his water. “This lady’s giving them away for free? What do you think about that?” Y/N raised a brow as she wiped her mouth, lazily leaning back into her chair.

“Well, sounds pretty suspicious.” Jo muttered in agreement. Dean seemed to go deep into thought, glancing between his brother and girlfriend before saying. “Remember that wreath Dad brought home that one year?” He asked with a nostalgic smile on his face. Sam and Y/N furrowed their brows at him, “You mean the one F/N stole from, like, a liquor store?” Sam tilted his head, “Yeah, it was a bunch of empty beer cans. That thing was great.” Dean chuckled, glancing down at his pizza slice in his hands.

Jo smiled at the mention of the trio’s shared childhood memory, “That sounds…awesome” She agreed, Dean nodded in agreement. “It was. I lugged it around in my duffel for three Christmas’ till the old man tossed it. Said we shouldn’t get attached to material shit” He shook his head as he reminisced on the heartbreaking moment. Jo scoffed at this, shaking her head. She was kinda happy she never met the man or y/n’s dad. Never really hearing good things about the way they treated their kids.

Sam and Y/N shared a tired look as Dean stuffed his into his mouth again before saying, “I bet if I looked around hard enough, I could probably find one just like it.” He suggested, still hoping they would be open to celebrating a Christmas this year. “All right. Dude… What’s going on with you?” Sam huffed tiredly, tossing his half eaten slice of pizza into the box, suddenly losing his appetite.

Dean shrugged, feigning ignorance, “What?” Sam rolled his eyes at his brother, “We mean, since when are you Bing Crosby all of a sudden? Why do you want Christmas so bad?” Y/N asked, narrowing her eyes at him as she dusted off her hands. Dean groaned, “Why are you guys so against it? I mean, were your childhood memories that traumatic?” he asked, genuinely concerned but he played it off with a chuckle. “No, that has nothing to do with it.” Sam insisted.

“Then what? Why don’t you wanna celebrate it, huh?” Jo chimed in, her tone a bit solemn. Sam sighed, glancing at Y/N for a moment. “I-I mean, I-I just… I don’t get it. You haven’t talked about Christmas in years.” He told his brother and Y/N nodded in agreement. Dean’s face fell, recognizing his mistake. “Remember that Christmas 03, right after I left home? Dean, we hunted a succubus and you never even mentioned it once” Y/N reminded him.

Dean paused, remembering the memory. He swallowed hard, clearing his throat before responding. “Yeah, I remember.” He nodded, avoiding eye contact. “But this is my last year.” He reminded them. The room fell silent for a few seconds, Y/N forcefully tearing her eyes away from him to stop herself from becoming choked up. Sam did the same as Jo sighed heavily, “I know. That’s why I can’t.” He broke the silence.

Dean frowned at his brother’s words. “What do you mean?” He questioned, his voice breaking at the end. Y/N and Jo both kept their gazes averted. Sam sighed, fixing himself in his seat, “I mean I can’t just sit around, drinking eggnog, pretending everything’s okay….when I know next Christmas you’ll be dead.” He said sadly, trying to keep his emotions at bay as his voice shook. Y/N and Jo’s stomachs churned at how right he was, this was exactly how Y/N felt too.

She was never big on Christmas to begin with, but the idea of her first Christmas with Dean as an official couple also being their last??? She couldn’t bear the thought, knowing if they made it one to remember, the memories would eat her alive if somehow….they couldn’t save him.

Dean’s expression was pained, his eyes glazing over briefly before he nodded and cleared his throat. “I can’t either..” Y/N agreed, her voice small as she kept her eyes on her hands. Jo nodded in understanding with a frown, her eyes remaining on the table. Sam’s shoulders slumped from the shared feeling of dread that filled the silent room.

_______________________________________________

Author’s Note: Remember loves that this is part one and part two will be linked HERE

Taglist: @hjgdhghoe @rach5ive @tiggytaylor @star-yawnznn @quarterhorse19

@deangirl96 @bitchykittenconnoisseur @globetrotter28 @hobby27 @mrsjjkwinchester

@juwu-theliciosa @magiccliopleurodon @nesnejwritings @karrah89 @whattheduckisupkyle

@iloveyou2mia @thelittlelightinthedarkness @lmhf1 @littletomboy2 @zigzoggy

@hey-its-zoe @modiddys-blog @thvxr @tommysaxes @cookiemonstermusic258 @elite4cekalyma

@ladykitana90 @strawberrykiwisdogog @barnes70stark

Xoxo

#dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #dean and sam #sam and dean #supernatural fandom #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #spn

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twiishaa · 4 months ago

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twisha’s merry christmas event! christmas morning with yuji itadori

yuji x fem!reader! it's yours and yuji's first christmas together. bless him, he's so excited to open up all the gifts and listen to christmas music!!

you knew yuji was an excitable person, much like a puppy. it was one of his many loveable qualities. it had been amplified by the quickly approaching christmas season lately. every day, yuji would find a different christmas activity for you two to try out. ice-skating, the christmas markets, winter wonderland, you name it! for yuji, christmas was a huge deal and being able to share it with you was what made him the happiest man in the world. what you didn’t expect, though, was him waking you up on christmas morning before the sun had even risen.

“babe, get up!” yuji said, in between a whine and a whisper, while violently shaking your shoulders. groggily, you opened your eyes and rolled over to check the time.

“yuji, it’s barely past 7 am…” you replied, wincing from the bright light of your phone.

“but! I wrapped all your presents, and I can’t wait any longer for you to open them,” you giggled at his cuteness. it was difficult to say no to him.

“alright, alright, we’ll get to them soon,” you said, smiling, “but maybe just half an hour more? then I promise we’ll open the gifts.” engulfing your boyfriend in a hug, you pulled him down net to you on the bed.

yuji melted into your touch, shifting into a more comfortable position.

“on second thought? maybe we should stay like this for a bit longer. the gifts can wait,” yuji sighed, contently.

—

it was yours and yuji’s first christmas as a couple. because of that, yuji had gone all out. when you two finally went downstairs, you were greeted by a plethora of presents, all slightly messily wrapped, causing yuji to smile sheepishly. “I was too tired to wrap them neatly,” he said; but still your heart felt full of how much love yuji had put into everything.

dating yuji made you feel like a child again. you were sure, without him, you wouldn’t be rushing to sit on the floor near the christmas tree and rip open badly wrapped gifts. in the background, yuji had put on christmas music, but you were sure you had heard the bridge of all I want for christmas is you more than a sane amount of times.

“yuji, can’t we put on something else now? im sure you’ve heard this enough!” you said, the last part turning into laughter.

instead of changing it, he flashed a bright smile at you and picked up another gift.

“oh, I see what’s going on,” you taunted, going to grab your phone, from which the music was playing.

“oh- no you don’t!” yuji quickly snatched the phone and started running.

chasing after him, you yelled, “come on! anything else! even like, last christmas or something!”

after the turn to enter the bedroom, you gained speed on yuji, and tackled him onto the bed, finally getting your phone from his grasp.

“got you!” you screamed.

you in fact, had not gotten him, just the santa hat he had been wearing all day, causing him to burst into laughter in your face. soon after, you joined in too, descending into a fit of giggles.

lacking the energy to get up, you collapsed onto him. yuji tenderly put his arms around your waist, encapsulating you in a hug.

“merry christmas baby,” he whispered. you rested your head on his chest.

“merry christmas.”

the year after that, all I want for christmas is you was your top song on spotify wrapped. it was banned in the house.

taglist @kcch-ns @hearts4hansol @d0milol

⋆⁺₊❅ and lastly, here's a link to the taglists! merry christmas~‧₊˚🎄✩ ₊˚🦌⊹♡

#twisha’s merry christmas event!#yuji x reader #yuji itadori x reader #itadori x reader #jjk itadori #jujutsu yuji #jjk yuji

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sodomizers-soul · 5 months ago

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Sodo/Dews Autism

under the cut as there’s talk of eating disorders.

Starting off, man has ARFID (Avoidant/Restricted Food Intake Disorder), it started in the pit, leading to why he’s a little malnourished.. there’s very little he’ll eat, but Mount always makes sure he has a stock of his safe foods.

Stimming: fluffy things. anything fluffy. he looks after copias rats just because he likes to hold them. shakes his hands a lot.

MUSIC. ALL THE TIME. i’m not even exaggerating here. he’s always got his headphones on, something like 102,000 minutes on his Spotify Wrapped.

copia bought him an ipad. big mistake, he’s never off it. pure minecraft kid. has literally made the ministry on there.

he’s very easily overwhelmed, he wears loops on stage because he can play without his earpiece. his compression shirt helps keep him grounded too.

doesn’t have meltdowns often, but by god satan, when he does it’s not by half. lots of tears, sometimes shouting. he just needs a hug sometimes, and to be told his feelings are valid.

he doesn’t like showing his hyperfixations, sees them as stupid. thinks they’re childish. until he gets the kuromi build a bears for christmas off the girls.

definitely sees himself as a burden, but he’s working on improving his mentality, more so since Phantom and Rora came along, he feels like he has to set an example.

#dewdrop ghoul #sodo ghoul #the band ghost #mountain ghoul #phantom ghoul #aeon? ghoul #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #aurora ghoulette #autism #actually autistic #tw arfid

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moon-and2saturn · 1 year ago

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Antithesis

j.t.k x reader & j.m.k. x reader

part I

summary: You’ve been going out with Josh for a few months now, but his twin brother still hasn’t warmed up to you. Despite your efforts, Jake can’t stand you and he makes sure to tell you every chance he gets. Finally, one night it seems like you’re about to get some answers, but the truth is a lot more complicated than you ever could have hoped.

word count: 4k

warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!! swearing, mentions of smoking (tobacco & marijuana), drinking, kissing, sexually implicit language, heavy petting, cheating *kind of* SMUT: semi-public sex, fingering (f. receiving), dirty talk, praise kink if you squint

listen to the official playlist on Spotify here

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

“Baby, you almost ready to go?” Josh pokes his head into the threshold of the bathroom from your bedroom with a soft smile.

“Oh, yeah, just another minute,” you reply, putting on the finishing touches of your mascara before turning toward him and slinging your arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in.

“You look breathtaking, as always,” he says with a smirk.

You and Josh have been going out casually for about six months now, but it never got to be very serious. You went on a few dates and had some heated nights together, but his band started its newest tour a month after you met, so the time that you’ve spent together since then has been sparse.

You first met Josh one night while out with your friends at your local bar. You’d gone to get yourself and the other girls another round when you saw him sitting there at the bar next to you. Almost immediately, his honeyed words and sweet smile drew you in. He told the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, you took the drinks to your friends, then you sat down next to him and the two of you got comfortable rather quickly.

You took him home with you that night and you couldn’t seem to forget him after, no matter how hard you tried. He was handsome, sweet, and ridiculously good in bed. You’ve had your fair share of flings over the years, but nothing could compare to him. As you fell asleep that night with his arm draped over your torso, you knew you were done for. Living in Nashville your whole life, you always vowed to never date a musician. You knew that they were wild and unreliable, but damn, this one just trapped you.

Soon after, he embarked on the band’s world tour. You didn’t always hear from him that often, but you never expected to. He called you after a show every once in a while, usually half-drunk and looking for some relief after a stressful day, missing you. You miss him too while he’s gone, but you’re still trying to avoid getting too attached to the idea of him being yours. You knew that he’d eventually get tired of you or find someone else while on the road. But despite never putting a label on it, he’s remained loyal, which surprised you.

After getting home from the European leg of his tour, he invited you to go with him as his date to a Christmas party at his brother’s house. Events like this made you nervous, considering the complicated nature of your relationship, but you could never really find it in you to say no to him. You’re feeling reluctant to go to this party in particular though, and not for the usual reason.

Josh’s twin brother, Jake, hates you. Yes, hate is a strong word, but you are convinced that he absolutely loathes you. You still haven’t been able to figure out why, no matter how hard you tried. You haven’t encountered him that many times, but all of the times you’ve seen him, he would never lay off you. He would question everything you said, scoff at your remarks, and you even caught him glaring once or twice from across the room when he thought you weren’t looking.

After every time, you would ask Josh about it and he would make excuse after excuse. “Oh, I’m sure he’s just having a tough day,” or “Maybe he just misheard you,” or “He’s probably just feeling a bit protective of me.” Whatever the reasons were, you had no interest in entertaining it.

The two of you aren’t even that serious, so you feel no desire to impress his brother. Besides, his younger brother Sam and their best friend and bandmate Danny have both taken quite a liking for you. Screw Jake, you didn’t need his approval anyway. So why were you nervous to go to his house?

You snap out of your daydream and come back to reality, looking up at Josh with a smile. “Thank you, baby. You look quite dashing yourself, you know.”

You’d decided to wear a midi-length black dress with a high slit, pairing it with a pair of black heels. You opted for simple makeup and added red lipstick for the season. It was a simple look, but elegant for a Christmas party. Josh was wearing a pair of khaki pants with a white pullover sweater, adorned with his favorite symbol, and some tan winter boots. His cheeks were rosy from the cold weather, a perfect canvas for the little white dots that decorated his cheekbones. They’re lifted slightly as he smiles at your compliment, revealing a toothy grin.

“You’re an angel. Shall we?” he asks, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

“We shall.”

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺

You both pull into Jake’s driveway and when you notice the lack of cars in front of the house, it becomes clear to you that you’ve arrived early. Great.

Josh turns the car off and gets out to round the car and open your door for you. You smile timidly at him as he takes your hand and helps you out of the car, then laces his fingers with yours and walks you to the porch.

“I promise, you’ll have a great time. Trust me,” he assures you as he knocks a few times on the large mahogany door. Much to your delight, it’s not Jake who opens the door, but Sam.

“Hey guys! Thank god you’re here. Jake thinks he’s running behind so he’s become so insufferable. Come on,” he says, clearly exasperated by his older brother already. The two of you follow Sam into the kitchen where you find Danny standing at the kitchen island, plating an array of cookies and appetizers.

“Oh, hey Josh. Y/N,” he says with a soft smile, then goes back to his task. You turn to your right to see Jake standing at the oven, hastily taking out a roast and placing it on top of the stove with a sigh. When he hears Daniel’s greeting, he turns his head and captures your gaze. You watch his eyes droop a bit as he turns back around, removes his oven mitts, and approaches you.

“Hello, brother. Nice of you to finally join us,” Jake mutters sarcastically, reaching over to grip Josh’s arm and giving it a light smack before turning to you. “Was this one holding you back? Probably takes hours to get ready, doesn’t she?” he jokes, stepping toward you to pull you into a one-armed hug, which is surely a formality. “To no avail, it seems,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, so quietly that only you can hear.

You scoff at him and roll your eyes as he pulls away, and turns around to head back to the oven. He speaks to you both as he walks away, facing away from you. “Would you both prepare the bar? All the booze is out in the garage, I’d like it in here.” Josh looks over at you apologetically then answers, “Yeah, Jake. We’ll go get it.” He takes your hand in his once again and you both walk back to the foyer to step out and grab the drinks.

Josh puts in the code and the garage door slowly rises, revealing the large pile of alcohol on the side wall. As you go to grab a few grocery bags of liquor bottles, Josh takes a pack of beer in each hand, opting to take the heavier stuff.

“I’m sorry about him. That’s just how he is, you know? He’ll warm up to you,” he says, looking at you and trying to gauge your reaction.

“How long does it take to warm up to a person? We’ve been seeing each other since June, Josh. Sam and Danny don’t seem to have any issues with me. So why him?” you ask, feeling frustrated.

Josh lets out a heavy sigh, looking at you with softened eyes. “I don’t know, Y/N. I’m sure he has his reasons. He doesn’t exactly wear his heart on his sleeve. I’ve known him since the womb and I still can’t always figure him out.”

“Well, it’s making me crazy,” you pout. He puts the cases of beer down and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around you and rubbing your shoulders. “I’m sorry, baby. Just ignore him for tonight, okay? I just wanna have a nice night with my girl…” he says, placing his hand on your chin to tilt it up to meet your eyes.

“Fine… but you owe me,” you tease with a smile, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth your while, darling, trust me on that,” he replies with a smirk, biting his lip. He leans down to capture your lips in his for a moment, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your neck, pulling you into him. His other hand which was once planted on your waist moves down to grip your bare thigh, exposed by the long slit in your dress. You sigh against his lips as his grip on your thigh tightens, pulling away from him slowly.

“We should get back…” you whisper. “Sorry, I’m just insatiable for you,” he says with a wink before reaching down to grab the beer and turning to walk out of the garage. You quickly follow, pressing the button the shut the door and then returning inside Jake’s house.

When you and Josh return inside, Jake has finished cooking and went upstairs to change into his party attire. The two of you stand around the kitchen island with Sam and Danny, chatting for a while as you wait for Jake to return downstairs in time for the rest of the guests to arrive.

You hear footsteps down the stairs and turn your attention to see Jake waltz back into the room. He’s put on a black button-down shirt, only fastening a few of the buttons on the bottom, leaving his bare chest exposed. An array of silver necklaces sits upon his exposed chest, the coins attached to the chains lying just right against his smooth skin. His wavy brown hair rests almost perfectly on his shoulders, which you notice has grown quite a bit since the last time you saw him. You think for a moment that it suits him, but you quickly shake that thought out of your head.

He’s wearing a pair of simple black dress pants with matching black ankle-length boots, seemingly leather. And of course, he could not go without his dark sunglasses, despite it being nighttime… and winter. Arrogant asshole.

Through the lenses, you panic as you see his eyes find yours. A smirk forms on his face as he finally approaches, and you already know that he’s about to piss you off.

“Didn’t anyone teach you that it’s impolite to stare, sunshine?” Jake says proudly, leaning against the kitchen island awaiting your response.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Jacob,” you scoff, standing up from your seat in the kitchen to go to the bar and make yourself a drink. Your cheeks flush as your back is turned to the rest of the group and you try to shake off the sudden feeling of embarrassment as you reach down to pour some tequila into your glass, topping it off with soda water.

Convinced that your face has finally returned to its natural color, you walk back to the kitchen, retrieve some ice from the freezer, and add it to your glass. You return to the island and stand behind where Josh is seated, placing your hand on his back and rubbing it slightly.

They’re caught up in a conversation regarding their time in the studio a few days back, but your eyes meet Jake’s once again. He takes a sip of his glass of neat whiskey, which he’s seemingly already poured for himself, not taking his eyes off of yours for a second.

What the hell is his problem? It can never just be a simple night, can it? Before you have the chance to question him, the doorbell rings and Jake retreats to open the door and greet his new guests. Perhaps you can catch him later to question him, but for now, you plan to just have a good time.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘ ⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✺

The night has gone smoothly so far, despite your concerns. Jake’s stayed out of your way, spending most of the time speaking with some record executives in the living area by the record player, attending to the music once the record ends every once and a while.

You’ve stayed by Josh’s side all evening, standing by the bar talking to Sam and Danny. You’ve already had three tequila sodas in and are luckily feeling much more relaxed. Not only that, but about three drinks in is usually when you start to crave a cigarette or two. So, you excuse yourself from the group and retreat to Jake’s back porch, stopping in the foyer quickly to grab your coat.

You slink out of the back door and sit down on the porch swing, pulling out a pack of American Spirit cigarettes and a black lighter. The porch is lit dimly by a string of lights, extending from the porch to the small garden next to it. The ground is laid with a thin layer of snow, probably only about an inch or two, and the pine trees in his backyard also have little blankets of snow resting upon them. It’s quiet, almost too quiet.

Then, as if the universe heard your thoughts, you hear the door open from your right. Much to your dismay, it’s Jake who walks out of the house onto the porch, with a joint already hanging out of his mouth as his eyes meet yours. He removes his sunglasses and his lips turn upward slightly as he walks over to sit next to you on the swing. You sigh quietly as you put your cigarettes back into your pocket, picking up on his hint and opting to smoke with him instead. What did you have to lose?

You reach up with your lighter still in your hand, lighting the joint between his lips for him. His eyes burn through yours as he inhales for a few moments before removing it from his mouth and blowing the smoke out to the side.

“Needed a break from the festivities, sunshine?” he asks, raising his eyebrow at you with a smirk, offering you a hit. You take it willingly, taking a drag and shaking your head.

“Not necessarily. It’s just about that time of night when I’d want a smoke,” you answer candidly, shrugging a bit before passing the joint back to him.

“Didn’t want your boyfriend to come with you?” he teases, taking a long drag. You roll your eyes at him, leaning back onto the back of the swing as he hands you the joint back and you take another hit.

“He’s not my boyfriend. And no, I just wanted to have a few minutes alone. You can see how well that worked out,” you say, taking one more hit before giving it back. He just looks at you for a moment with a puzzled look on his face, which soon turns back into a smirk.

“Well, who am I to let a lady sit out in the cold by herself?” he says, turning his body toward you more on the seat. His left arm moves to rest on the back of the seat, with his hand gripping the seat behind your head. You’re suddenly very thankful for the dim lighting, which you hope is successfully hiding the newfound pink tint of your cheeks from the proximity.

“What a gentleman,” you say sarcastically, taking a drag of the joint and crossing your legs as you turn your body toward him to mirror him. He takes it from your fingers and puts it out in the ashtray on the table in front of you, then sits back in his original position. The slit on your left leg causes your legs to become much more exposed to the cold, causing you to pull your coat over your legs slightly. To your surprise, Jake moves his right hand from his lap and slides it slowly to rest on your exposed knee, underneath your coat.

“You are cold, I can feel it,” he mutters, moving to sit a bit closer to you, looking down at your knee and then back up to meet your eyes.

“What are you doing?” you ask with a confused look, searching his eyes for any hint of what he’s thinking. You’ve never been this close to him before and for some reason, your immediate reaction wasn’t to pull away.

“I’m warming you up, sunshine…” he answers, his gaze still not breaking away from yours as he moves his hand from your knee to your outer thigh, rubbing it with his thumb.

“Jake, why do you call me that? I don’t get it,” you ask, hoping to finally get some answers about how he feels about you. Now was as good a time as ever. His lips turn up into a cocky smile, even showing a hint of teeth as he formulates a reply.

“Because you light up the sky, Y/N… and I shouldn’t look at you, or else I’ll go blind,” he finally answers, stroking your thigh again with a bit more force this time, causing you to take a deep breath and swallow harshly. “I shouldn’t touch you, or else I’ll get burned.”

Your eyes soften as you look back at him, still trying to wrap your head around what he’s trying to say. Before you have a chance to question him further, he continues.

“So, if I shouldn’t look at you… or touch you… then why do I still desire to?” he says inquisitively, gazing down at your lips for a moment before returning to your eyes. "Never regret thy fall, O Icarus of the fearless flight… For the greatest tragedy of them all, Is never to feel the burning light… Perhaps my own desire will be my downfall, hm?”

Your heart is beating out of your chest as you gaze up at him in shock. “Jake… what are you saying? I thought you hated me…” you say, in almost a whisper now.

“Sunshine, I’ve never hated you,” he answers, moving his hand slightly further up your exposed thigh. “I’ve just been resisting the light… but I’m not afraid to get burned anymore.” Oh. Your mind is spinning, from the combination of alcohol, weed, and hushed confessions.

Before you have the chance to tell yourself that you should take some time to think about this, your body acts without your permission and your lips crash against his. Immediately his hand snakes into your hair on the back of your neck, pulling you into him as his other hand continues to grip your thigh. Both of your hands find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging on it lightly, eliciting a groan from him into your mouth.

He pulls away from you for a moment as he moves his hand toward the inside of your thigh, inching closer to your already aching core. “Can I?...” he asks, and you nod feverishly. His lips find your neck as you lean your head back against the back of the seat, his fingers snaking slowly up the inside of your thigh.

His fingers find the black lace covering your lower lips, which is already soaked through from all the buildup. You feel him smirk against the skin of your neck as he feels the slick between your legs and then moves the fabric to the side. He runs his fingers through your folds, collecting your wetness before sliding one finger inside of you, causing you to gasp quietly.

His thumb rubs small, quick circles around your clit as he moves his pointer finger in and out of you, then inserts a second finger along with it. “Fuck, sunshine, so tight for me. Bet that feels so good, huh? Did you need it bad?” he whispers against your neck, laying wet kisses down to your collarbone. “God, yes, so good. Needed it so bad, Jake,” you mutter, already overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips and hands on you.

“God’s not here. There’s only me,” he says, increasing the speed of his fingers inside you, curling them upward to hit that special spot far back. You feel how close you are now, barely holding on. Your hand is gripping his shoulder hard, your nails digging into him through his shirt.

“That’s it, baby, come on. I know how bad you want it,” he says, kissing his way back up your neck to your chin. “Want you to come all over my fingers while my brother waits for you inside. Bet you look so gorgeous when you come. C’mon, make those pretty sounds for me, sunshine.” You whine, probably a bit louder than you should have, as his fingers finally coax your orgasm out of you. Jake’s lips find yours to muffle the sound of your cries as he works you through it, slipping his tongue into your mouth as you come down from the high.

He pulls away from you, keeping his eyes on you as he slowly removes his fingers from you and brings them up to his mouth, sucking your release off of them with a low groan. His left hand cups your cheek, pulling you closer to him, leaving only a few inches of room between you.

“So fucking perfect for me… Looks like my wings are melting, love. Too late to turn back now,” he says, his eyes glued to yours. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” you answer, resting your forehead against his, taking a deep breath before pulling away and standing up, walking back toward the door. You turn around for a moment, meeting his gaze and looking at him softly, before heading back inside to find Josh.

You find Josh in the kitchen, standing at the island with Sam. “Hey, baby, I was wondering where you went,” he says, snaking his arm around you.

“Oh, yeah sorry. I just went out for a smoke and got distracted,” you answer with a soft smile.

“Are you tired? We can head out if you want, I’m sure Jake won’t mind,” he asks with a smile. You nod and turn to see Jake walk through the front door; you guess that he went around to the front of the house to not raise any suspicion. Smart.

You both say your goodbyes to everyone before walking to the foyer, leaving Jake for last. Josh hugs his brother and pats his shoulder, then grabs his keys and walks out the front door.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you whisper timidly, looking up at him.

“G’night, sunshine…” he says with a wink, stroking your cheek lightly as you smile at him, then back away and walk past him out the door. Your cheeks are flush as you walk out to Josh’s car, getting in and buckling your seatbelt before he drives off.

“Did you have a good time, sweetheart?” Josh asks, looking over at you for a moment as he drives.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did,” you answer, looking out the window.

You try to think over tonight’s events as you drive down the long and winding road toward your house. Never did you expect Jake to act that way toward you. You had been convinced that he hated you, but all this time he was just… afraid of his desire for you? It still didn’t make sense to you, but you’re fearful of the feelings that your encounter with Jake has brought to light.

He was so different from Josh, in every way. While Josh was sweet, Jake was assertive. While Josh was desirable, Jake was seductive. It was like he cast some sort of spell on you. Jake is the antithesis of Josh. And for some reason, that intrigues you. But now what? Now that you’ve entertained Jake, there’s no way that either of you will be able to resist the temptation of having each other again. God, what have you gotten yourself into?

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

read part two here

Leave a reply or send me a message if you want to be added to the taglist! And as always, let me know what you think! I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter!

Our dear reader has a lot of decisions she has to make now, doesn't she? I guess we'll find out in the next chapter ;) see you then

Taglist:

@itsafullmoon @vanfleeter @klarxtr @itsdannysworld @lipstickitty @peaceloveunitygvf @wildmoonworld @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #jakegvf #josh kiszka #joshgvf #jake kiszka x reader #josh kiszka x reader #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fic #greta van fluff #greta van angst #greta van smut #greta van fleet smut

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billysjoel · 5 months ago

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2024 in gifs ♡

as of December 12, 2024

post your favorite and most popular post from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months)

i was tagged by the lovely emily @katebeckets and i'm literally incapable of choosing only one favorite set so sorry in advance lmao

JANUARY

favorite: rainbow mike flanagan repeat cast members (1117) + kate siegel set (1695) most popular: spn season 5 gag reel (emphasis on gag) (2456 notes)

FEBRUARY

favorite: scenes from an italian restaurant carrie x big satc set (33) + friends 'when were you under me' set (469) + candyman 2021 cyan/orange set (557) most popular: lisa frankenstein magenta/cyan set (4752)

MARCH

favorite: smosh pink google search (213) + crystallized seasons (145) + breakfast club color palette (1323) most popular: jordan peele film parallel (1592)

APRIL

favorite: candyman 2021 magenta/blue set (242) + wish i was here blended quotes (57) + last night in soho past/present transitions (732) most popular: crimson peak ghosts (2597)

MAY

favorite: hill house luke/robin lyrics (324) + dance hall days the idea of you set (58) most popular: evil dead rise red/blue set (1683)

JUNE

favorite: i took a break from giffing throughout all of june and most of july most popular:

JULY

favorite: i only posted one gifset this month!most popular: mike logan: smirky edition (61)

AUGUST

favorite: purple repo! set (718) + blue/gold bohemian rhapsody set (200) most popular: scary movie 3 cindy, the tv's leaking (1005)

SEPTEMBER

favorite: mike flanagan shows + quote (870) + faceless midnight mass (1962) + evil dead 2013 set (773) most popular: red color isolation beetlejuice set (2083)

OCTOBER

favorite (a lot bc of my halloween event let me live): neon flanagan formula set (990) + blue/orange practical magic set (1697) + horror vhs rainbow set (413) + maxxxine soundtrack (270) + poc in horror set (1749) + purple/orange criminal intent halloween set (46) + final girls set (717) + signs blue/green set (805) most popular: houses as characters in horror (3982)

NOVEMBER

favorite: yellow color isolation the substance set (1698) + midnight mass: the art of horror quotes (683) + the good wife appreciation set (142) most popular: the substance/the shining parallels (2789)

DECEMBER

favorite: smosh vs. zombies appreciation set (105) + chappell roan lesbian flag/spotify wrapped set (150) most popular: chappell roan in a nonsense christmas (408)

no pressure tags (as always): @kathrynmhahn @connie-rubirosa @miwtual @vinnymauro @swearphil

@bo-kryzze @mulderscully @anyataylorjoys @evilvvithin @six-demon-bag

@kvtnisseverdeen @raviposting @cindylouwhos @laurabenanti @shaunashipman

@swkywalker @zen-dayas @bellamysgriffin @jackharkness @hamishlinklaters

and literally anyone else who'd like to do this! please feel free to say i tagged you!

#ramblings #tag game #mygif

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coff33andb00ks · 5 months ago

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Recipe for the Perfect Christmas 4/12

When she awoke late Sunday morning, she could feel a surge of excitement. The weather forecast had called for a light dusting of snow. She didn't linger in bed as she usually did and, just as she had as a little child, flung back the covers and hurried to the window. Jerking the curtain aside to peer out, she grinned as she took in the sight.

Snow. Not a dusting, but what looked like a good six inches. Flakes still fluttered lazily down from the sky. They disappeared on the blanket of white that coated the back yard. Natalie watched for a moment, gleeful, as the wind rustled the row of balsam trees that bordered the edge of the property and sent a cloud of snow swirling through the air. Snow was different here than in the city, with its slushy streets and grouchy population. There, the attitude was that a little snow wasn't a good enough excuse to stay at home. But here…

Letting the curtain fall, she grabbed her robe and shoved her arms through the sleeves. Her shoulders weren't sore, thankfully, though she knew it was because she hadn't had to prepare croissant dough the night before. Later, in the afternoon, she would need to go to the bakery and do it, but for now she was only concerned with getting coffee then enjoying the snow day. She would take a good shower and dress in her comfiest clothes, then start a pot of soup and bake some bread. Then she would watch a couple of Christmas movies.

And, she decided as she descended the stairs, she would drag out the Christmas decorations. Her father had even mentioned getting a tree in the next few days. She had once campaigned heavily for an artificial tree, a pre-lit one that could be reused for years and years. Now, the thought of going with him to purchase a tree and then putting it up with him made her smile. She was looking forward to the little traditions. She was looking forward to help him untangle the strands of lights, to listening to the history of the old family ornaments as they hung them on the tree. She was even looking forward to him complaining that trees just weren't the same as when he'd been a boy, when apparently the entire county had set off into the woods to find and cut down their own trees.

Entering the kitchen, she stopped short and blinked in shock. Her father was there, at the table. Not dressed for church but in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, his feet in the ridiculous red fluffy slippers he preferred. There was a cup of coffee and his breakfast plate in front of him. There was a smile on his face.

And, sitting across from him, also with a cup of coffee and a plate, was Oscar.

"Good morning, sugar," Mark greeted her, lifting his cup.

"Morning," she said, wrapping the front of her robe around her and fumbling to tie the belt. "Good morning, Oscar…"

He smiled and wiped his face with a napkin. "Good morning."

"They canceled church," her father announced. "Looks like I'm staying home all day."

Natalie nodded, eyes still on Oscar. At the kitchen table. Eating breakfast with her father. He was somewhat dressed for the weather, and she supposed he'd taken his boots off at the door. "I see."

"The streets are a mess," Oscar said, cutting into his pancakes.

"Saw him outside with that little pup of his," Mark said.

"He made me come in to eat."

"Yeah, really twisted your arm." Mark chuckled. "I put the rest of the pancakes and the bacon in the oven to stay warm, sugar."

"Did you leave Penny outside?" she asked, finally moving from the doorway. Spying the dog lying on the rug in front of the sink, she smiled.

"I'd have left Oscar out in the snow before I left her."

"Me, too," Oscar said.

"So you two are doing alright?" After bending to give Penny a head rub, she moved to fix herself a cup of coffee. She hadn't seen Oscar since the day he'd told her about the dog. At least, not to talk to.

"She's great."

"How was the vet?" She looked at the dog, who seemed to be in perfect health. Her coat was sleek, and she could see that it had a tendency to be shaggy. Even though it had only been four days since she'd seen the dog in Oscar's truck, she could tell Penny was being well looked after. She was still a little scrawny, but Natalie had an inkling she would be at a healthy weight before Christmas.

Penny's brown eyes shone up at her, and Natalie would have sworn the dog smiled.

"Fine. Got her shots and everything. She didn't have a microchip, and the vet said he hadn't heard of anyone missing a dog like her, so she's mine now." Oscar's fork gently clattered against his plate. "She's going the week after Christmas to get fixed. Oh, and I had her chipped, just in case she decides to run off."

Natalie glanced over to see him smiling fondly at the dog, who'd curled up and gone back to sleep. She doubted the dog would leave what was obviously the perfect, doting owner. Leaning against the counter, she sipped her coffee, still perturbed that he was there. When he had come to dinner, they had eaten in the dining room. The kitchen was more intimate, she thought. But she had to remind herself that it wasn't her house. If her father was comfortable enough with the man to let him sit in his kitchen, she had no option but to accept it. Not that Oscar's presence really bothered her. What bothered her was how she felt around him.

A little off. She couldn't describe it, really, just that she was a little off. Her stomach would do a funny jump when he graced her with one of his smiles. Listening to his laugh made her feel a tiny bit weak. And when he spoke it was like her ears could hear only his voice. And the few times he had sang had made all of that worse. She wasn't used to feeling like that around a man. Not even around Pierre, who she had known for years and had fallen in and out of love with. Rather, the man she had thought she'd loved.

"What are your plans today, sweetie?" her father asked.

Dragged from her thoughts, she saw that her coffee cup was empty and moved to fix another. "Not much. Soup and bread and maybe some movies. I thought I'd pull out some of the Christmas decorations."

He nodded. "Guess we can go look for a tree this week."

"I'd like that."

"Are you gonna decorate for Max?"

Natalie tried to tune out Oscar's reply, but that was impossible. She listened as he said that yes he would be decorating. She listened as he explained there was only a little more work to be done on the house, mostly embellishments like trim and painting the bedrooms. Eve and Max had ordered furniture that was supposed to start being delivered that week and he would have to start arranging as well. Getting a plate and fork, she helped herself to bacon and pancakes, carrying the last of both to the table for her father and Oscar.

Penny lifted her head, sniffing inquisitively, then laid it down on her paws with a heavy sigh.

She tried not to notice that Oscar tore a piece of bacon in half and then lowered his hand. Smiling when the dog stood and slowly approached the table, she watched the bacon disappear then watched his hand lovingly rub Penny's head. Penny's tail wagged with joy, and when she realized there would be no more bacon, she leaned against his leg.

"I can't wait to see the old place done up for Christmas again," her father was saying when she pulled out a chair and sat down. "Fernando and Beth used to make it so beautiful. Nothing fancy or anything, just candles in the windows. Lights on the porch and around the roof. And three trees."

"In the living room window and the two turret windows upstairs?" Oscar asked with a grin.

"Yep, exactly that. How did you know?"

"It's what Eve wants to do." He chuckled. "She brought a ton of boxes yesterday filled with candles and lights. She's got sketches of what she wants me to do."

"Did they drive back last night?"

"No, they're still here. They were still sleeping when I left." Oscar leaned slightly to look at the clock on the microwave. "Grace is probably waking them up to see the snow now."

"I hope they can get back to Fairview safely," Mark said.

"Me and Max don't like driving in snow," Oscar admitted with a quick grin. "Eve doesn't like it either. If I know them, they'll probably stay until tomorrow."

"Doesn't the girl have school?"

"Half days. Eve's getting her transferred to here the week before winter break." Oscar nudged his empty plate away and reached for his coffee. "That's one reason Max brings her down with him all the time, so she can at least know the other kids by sight."

Mark nodded. "That's smart."

"Don't tell him that, he's already got a big enough ego."

Muffling a laugh into her cup, Natalie gave her head a small shake. From what she had seen, neither Oscar nor his friend had a big ego. Finishing her pancake, she wiped her mouth with a paper napkin. "I'll get the dishes after I get dressed," she told her father, carrying her cup to the coffeepot for more. "Good to see you, Oscar."

"You, too," he said, pushing back his chair as she left the kitchen.

She lingered in the shower, then took the time to blow dry and braid her hair before pulling on her fleece-lined leggings and oversized sweatshirt. Slipping a pair of fuzzy striped socks onto her feet, she glanced at her phone and saw a message.

Pierre.

She bit her lip and opened the message, reading it twice before locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed.

I think you're still being unreasonable. I can take care of you, you don't need a job. Most women would leap at the chance to not have to work. Don't be stupid, Nattie.

She hated that nickname. She hated the condescending words. She hated that she had wasted years of her life with him. Hated that she had spent so many hours in the past weeks trying to explain her point of few and feelings, only for them to be brushed away like unimportant dust.

She hated him, she decided, snatching her phone up and firing off a request that he not contact her again. She even went so far as to delete him from her contacts. And, as laughter from downstairs filtered up to her room, she swiped to delete the messages, too, so she wouldn't be tempted to send him a message when a late night made her sentimental.

When she got downstairs she saw her father in the living room, in his chair. His bad leg was propped up on an ottoman, and he had his tablet on, watching a youtube video.. Pausing in the doorway, she opened her mouth to tell him she was going to make bread and soup when she saw the small dog sitting almost politely in the other armchair.

"Mom would have a fit," she said. "No animals on the furniture."

"No, that was just the cat," her father told her, glancing at her over his reading glasses.

Natalie smiled, thinking of the hyperactive cat she'd had as a child. "Did she follow you in here?"

"Yeah." He turned his attention back to the tablet.

She was about to ask if Oscar had left her with him for a particular reason, then heard the gentle clink of dishes from the kitchen. Leaving the doorway, she went into the kitchen, sighing when she saw Oscar at the sink. Most of the dishes had already been washed and were on the rack, and she grabbed a clean dishtowel from the drawer before approaching the sink. "You didn't have to."

"I know," he said. The sleeves of his gray sweatshirt, and the red flannel shirt beneath it, were rolled up to his elbows. "Least I can do."

"The least you could do would be saying 'thanks' and leaving." As soon as the words were out of her mouth she knew they could be misconstrued. Taking a plate to dry, she sighed. "Not that I'm trying to kick you out. Dad likes you. And between you and me, I think he loves Penny."

"Are you saying you don't like me?" he asked.

"No!"

"So you don't like me."

"No, that's not what I'm saying. I like you," she promised.

He gently bumped her arm with his. "It didn't hurt to admit that, did it?"

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes and bumped his arm in return. "And earlier I was thinking that you don't have a big ego."

"I don't," he said, nudging her shoulder with his bicep.

"Please, I'm surprised your head can fit through the door," she snorted, nudging him back.

"My ego's stored in my butt, thank you." He flicked soap bubbles towards her, grinning.

She leaned back slightly to check, then nodded. "Mmhmm, I see."

"Did you just check out my ass?" He flicked more bubbles at her.

Natalie shook the water off a fork, making sure to aim it at him. "You brought it up."

"I have to, it's attached."

A surprise bark of laughter escaped her, and she dropped the fork on the counter. "Oh my god, that was corny."

"Made you laugh," he pointed out, snorting on a chuckle.

"I appreciate that." Picking up the fork, she dried it. "But I still say you've got to have a big ego."

"I really don't," he insisted. "I know I'm a complete dork. I'm sometimes socially awkward, I'm self-conscious, and I second-guess myself all the time."

"I find that hard to believe," she said. "I know I've only known you for… A week?"

"Has it only been a week?" He stopped washing the plate he was holding and let it slip back into the soapy water. "Yeah, we met at the bonfire."

"Seems like longer than a week," she murmured. Feeling his eyes on her, she moistened her lips. "Anyway, you always seem comfortable with yourself. Like you know what you want and how to go about getting it. I guess I could be wrong, and I probably see it because I don't know how to go about anything."

"Sure you do."

"I really don't. I just go along and do what I think people around me expect me to do."

"How do you mean?"

"Like… Coffee. I really prefer the powdered creamer. You know, the cheap, probably has some chemical in it that'll eventually kill me stuff?" She set the dishtowel down and gathered the flatware to put in the drawer. "I love it. Coffee doesn't taste right without it. My friends at work always got lattes with almond or soy milk and no-fat whip or whatever, so I did the same thing. I didn't want to be viewed as weird. Or judged because I like basic stuff. I just want regular coffee with a little creamer and some sugar and sometimes a little flavoring. But I never got it because…"

"Because you were worried they wouldn't like you?"

"No, not that." She sighed, moving back to stack the plates so she could put them away. "I never got it because I didn't want them to think I was the simple country girl."

"You wanted to fit in."

"Exactly."

"There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone wants to fit in."

"Dad gets almond milk just for me," she whispered, glancing at the door to make sure her father wasn't coming in to fuss at her for lying to him. Setting the plates down next to the rack, she bounced the toe of one foot against the floor. "Pierre only used it, and I said I'd started using it, and now—"

"Pierre?"

Damn it. Drawing in a clear breath, she nodded. "Yeah." She gestured lamely, trying to remember what she had said to him the last time they'd spoken. "He's the reason I'm not ready to dance in the rain."

"I've got one of those, too." He smiled. "Lauren."

"Lauren?"

"Ex."

"I didn't know you were with someone."

"I'm not, anymore." He seemed so at-ease about it. As though there weren't bitter feelings. And, when he smiled, she understood there weren't. "We both realized it wasn't the happily-ever-after we'd hoped it would be and split before things could get bad."

"That's both sad and sweet," she said. She wished she'd been smart enough to realize the same before it had all turned to hostility. "I'm sorry it didn't work out for you, Oscar."

"I am too. But," he said, pulling the plug in the sink and turning on the water to rinse his hands, "I'm happy for the time we had together. I still think she's a great woman, and I consider her a friend."

"That's great," she said. And she meant it. She wondered if, in the future, she would still consider Pierre a friend. She doubted it and wondered if that meant she weren't a good person.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out with Pierre," he said softly, turning off the water.

Handing over the dishtowel, she sighed. "I'm not."

"You're not?"

"He showed his true colors when things went to hell for me."

"Was it him that called the other day?" he asked, draping the towel over the edge of the sink.

She nodded. She didn't want to remember how disappointed she had been that her moments with Oscar had been ruined. "Yeah, that was him."

"It's none of my business," he said, unrolling his sleeves. "But do you—"

From the pocket of his jeans came a faint buzzing. With a sigh he pulled out his phone and looked at the screen.

Natalie held her breath, wondering if he would complete the question or let the call interrupt their talk. She wasn't sure yet which option she wanted. On the one hand, she hated this rehashing of her feelings that she wasn't good enough, that she was stupid. On the other, it was almost cathartic, because he seemed to understand. So few people did. Even those that cared couldn't understand. She didn't know if he cared, or if were just being a good, considerate person. She just knew she appreciated his empathetic ear.

"It's Max," he said, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

"It could be an emergency."

"If it was an emergency, Eve would be calling. Max would be too busy freaking out. I'll call him back in a few minutes."

She had an inkling he wouldn't start to ask if she didn't prompt him. She sighed, watching him button the cuffs of his red flannel before tugging down the sleeves of his sweater. His hands fell, and after watching his fingers drum the edge of the counter, she lifted her head to meet his eyes. "What's none of your business?"

"Do you still love him?"

"No." She frowned, not expecting the answer to come so quickly. Surprised at the sudden realization that she didn't, she exhaled a shaky breath. "And now I'm away and looking back, I don't think I ever did."

"Really?"

"I loved the idea of being in love." Taking the stack of plates, she stepped away and opened the cabinet door. "And everyone around me was getting their mate, you know? Everyone was getting engaged or married. Susie and Estie have been together forever, but they didn't get married until five years ago. I needed a date and asked Pierre, and then it was just…"

Oscar didn't speak while she sighed, but he did move over and take the plates from her, reaching up to set them in the cabinet. Closing the door gently, he dropped his hand to her shoulder and gave a gentle, understanding squeeze.

She felt the burn of tears. "It was just easy. He was successful, he was okay-looking, and he liked me. Then everyone started having babies and, well, I've always wanted kids. So I let things get more serious with him. And when he proposed last year, I said yes. Now I realize I said yes because I wanted the big wedding and for Dad to walk me down the aisle and so I could start having the kids I'd dreamed of, and that he was just there. I would have said yes to whoever asked."

Oscar's hand slid away and she gasped when he reached around her. She half-expected him to embrace her but he didn't, instead plucking a paper napkin from the holder on the counter. He slipped it into her hand then took a small step away, leaning against the counter. She knew he was watching her and raised the napkin to catch the tears before they could fall. But she couldn't catch the words that began to spill out.

"I've struggled with work since Covid. I was a staff writer on a paper and to save money they cut a lot of us. I found a spot at a local magazine and things were okay, but I had to take a pay cut. Pierre asked me to move in with him then, and things were okay. Then a few months ago the magazine I was working for folded. We didn't even know that the issue we were putting together would be the last until they called everyone in for a staff meeting. I had spent what little savings I had on wedding stuff, but I figured… Hey, I'm a writer, it'll be easy to find a job." She sniffed. "That turned out to be a lie. No one wants a staff writer anymore, they want to hire freelance people. Or get AI to do it. So I tried to find something else. But there was nothing. At least, nothing I could do, because all I have is a degree in English. I thought about teaching, but I don't have the level of education needed, and I'm not eligible for financial aid so I can't go back to school."

He remained silent, and when she glanced at him she saw compassion in his eyes.

"He wanted me to just focus on the wedding. We'd get married and I could be a housewife. I could stay at home and have babies and have his supper on the table when he got home at night. I know millions of women do that every day, and I think they're amazing. But it's not for me. At least, the picture he painted wasn't for me." She frowned, thinking of the archaic, misogynistic life he had dreamed up for them. "He just assumed I'd be grateful. He actually said that. That I should be grateful he was giving me every woman's dream. But… It wasn't my dream."

"What's your dream?" Oscar asked gently.

"I don't know anymore. I just know I don't want to be a character in some 1950s sitcom, only meant to care about the roast in the oven or the dry cleaning. I don't want that kind of marriage, you know?"

"You want a partnership."

"Exactly!" Whirling to face him, she nodded. "I want fifty-fifty. I don't want all of one thing to be my problem or his, I want us to share the work. It's what I grew up around. Mom and Dad were partners in everything, home and work. Some of my friends thought it was weird that Dad would fix dinner sometimes, or that Mom would be outside changing the oil in the car, but it seemed perfect to me. Even looking back now, it was perfect. Yeah, there were times they got stressed, and they argued about things, but they always came together in the end. Maybe I'm stupid and naïve, but that's what I want."

"You're not stupid." He frowned. "It's not stupid to want that, Natalie."

"Pierre thought it was," she muttered.

"Pierre's an asshole."

Natalie's jaw dropped.

"Sorry," he sighed. Then, making a face, he shook his head. "Wait, no, I'm not sorry. I don't know the guy, but he sounds like an absolute cunt."

"Oh my god," she breathed. "That's exactly what Dad calls him."

"Mark didn't like him?"

"He couldn't stand him."

"And you still got engaged to the guy?" Oscar whistled under his breath. "Wow, maybe you are a little stupid."

Gasping, she threw the napkin at him. Then, to her surprise, she began to laugh as he batted it back to her. Back and forth the napkin went, until he hit it too hard and it soared over her head. Gasping again, this time with breathlessness, she leaned against the counter. "That felt great."

"Laughter is the best medicine." He bent to get the napkin and crumpled it into a ball. "You should laugh as much as you can."

"Some days that's hard."

"Just think of raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens."

"And bright copper kettles and warm, woolen mittens?"

"That's the ticket," he said with a grin.

"Thank you, Oscar."

"For what? Making you laugh or calling you stupid?"

"Both, and for listening to me talk. I'm sorry for just unloading all that on you."

"You needed to unload," he said with a shrug. Reaching into his pocket, he drew out his phone and glanced at the screen.

"Is Max calling you again?"

"Texting. The kids want to do a snowball fight." He looked at her, and she could sense the question lingering between them.

"I haven't had a snowball fight in years."

"It's girls against boys," he said. "Girls are outnumbered."

"That is so sexist and unfair."

"You want to come?"

"Yes, because the numbers need to be even. Just let me get bundled up.."

Huddled behind the bush, Oscar grabbed Lucas's hand before he could wade through the snow towards his mother and sister. "Hang on," he said, tugging the boy back to safety just as a snowball whizzed by his head. It landed with a smack on the slat of the fence around the back yard. "We've got to be sneaky."

"'Neaky," Lucas agreed, nodding his head. "Daddy."

Leaning to peer around the edge of the bush, Oscar saw Max disappearing around the front corner of the house. He knew the plan. He and Lucas were supposed to be a distraction so Max could attack from behind. "Yeah, Daddy's sneaky."

"Nattie."

"No, I don't think Natalie's sneaky," he said, peering over the top of the bush. Ducking his head when he saw a perfectly aimed snowball sailing right towards him, he grunted. Eve and Grace were brutal. And they had the best weapon in their arsenal: Natalie. She had immediately dragged the other warriors – because they weren't girls – into a conference when they'd gotten to the house, and he had only caught the words 'strategy', 'plan', and 'idiots'. He could only hope that he wasn't included in the part about idiots, though he had a sinking feeling he was.

And she'd brought reinforcements. Susie had arrived with Michael and Hannah. Lilli had shown up with George, who'd pulled out actual battle plans. Esteban came a few minutes after his wife and kids, called George a moron, then called on Pato and Lando. Amira had climbed out of Pato's truck, and those two kept disappearing behind a tree to kiss instead of actually fight. Carlos and Sasha were there, too, but for some reason they didn't participate, instead watching the battle from the relative safety of the back porch.

Ducking as a snowball thrown by Lilli came perilously close to hitting him, he dragged Lucas back again. "She's just a pro at this."

"Nattie," Lucas said again.

"Yeah, Natalie."

Lucas giggled and pulled away from Oscar. Turning, Oscar saw Natalie leaning against the nearby oak tree. With a groan he watched Lucas slowly make his way through the snow to her, somehow managing to not be hit by any of the snowballs flung from the each side.

"Lucas," he hissed under his breath. "You're deserting me?!"

"Nattie!" The boy giggled, lifting his arms as soon as he was within reach of her. "Daddy 'neaky!"

"Lucas, don't!"

"Daddy's sneaky?" she asked, sending Oscar a look while lifting the boy to her hip.

"Daddy run." Lucas pointed to the corner of the fence, where Max's footprints were still visible in the snow. "'Neaky."

"It's an ambush!" Natalie hollered, darting out from behind the tree. "Behind you!"

Oscar stayed where he was, laughing as chaos descended upon them all. Snowballs landed, George yelped, Max practically cackled, and somehow Lando ended up face down in the snow. He finally stood, just in time to see Hannah heave a large snowball directed at her father's face. There were yells of outrage, and he wasn't sure who threw the two snowballs that pelted him in the face.

"Looks like it's a wrestling match," Natalie said. Laughing when he gaped at her, she set Lucas down, eyes on the boy as he began the arduous task of toddling through the snow towards his parents and sister. Once he'd fallen into the pile of bodies and was laughing, too, she twirled in the gently falling snow, her long braid falling over her shoulder.

It struck a chord. Touched a memory. "Hey," he said suddenly. "I've got something you might want."

"Oh?" she asked, eyes widening slightly as she stopped in front of him.

A snowball slammed into the back of her head and, from near the fence, came Susie's shouted apology as Natalie collapsed dramatically.

Chuckling, Oscar held out his hand to help her up.

"It's something I found when I was up in the attic." Snorting when her eyes widened further, he hauled her to her feet. "It's a couple pictures, not something gross."

"Pictures?" She kept her hand into his and stepped through the snow to the back porch.

"Yeah. It was a box with pictures of the town from a while back. Luckily they all had names or places on the back, or I'd have had to bring them all to your dad." He felt her hand squeeze his through their gloves and smiled as they mounted the steps. Her hand slid away while they stomped the snow off their boots, and he opened the door, motioning for her to go in first while he pulled off his gloves.

Penny darted out, yipping, giving Natalie's ankles a quick sniff before going to check out the snow. She made it down one step before snorting and turning to hurry back into the house. After kicking off his boots inside the door, Oscar led Natalie into the living room.

She pulled off her gloves. "How far back are they?"

"Going by what I saw, probably the 80s?" Oscar grabbed the box from the mantle and lifted the lid. The ones he had known would interest her were at the top, separated from the others by a slip of paper. Handing them over to her, he closed the lid and pushed the box back onto the mantle.

"That's Mom," she whispered, staring at the first photo.

"I thought it was. I didn't know her maiden name, but I knew her name was Marie."

"I've never seen this." Natalie sank onto the arm of the couch. "I wonder if she ever did…"

"I'm guessing they're pictures Mr. or Mrs. Alonso took," he said. He unzipped his coat, eyes on her as she stared at the photo. "You look like her."

"You think so?" She looked pleased at the thought. "I always thought she was beautiful."

"She was," he agreed.

She was silent while going through the pictures. Smiling, exhaling breaths of laughter, she studied each one, turning them over to read the note on the back. When she had finished she lifted her head and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "Oscar, these are wonderful. Can I keep them?"

"Of course."

"After Mom died her friends put together a little photo album of her through the years. Pictures they'd taken, you know. I treasure it. And I'll treasure these. I can't wait to go show Dad." She swiped at her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"You're fine," he whispered, glancing around for the pack of tissues that Eve had to have set somewhere. He found it on the coffee table next to the stack of coloring books Grace had brought. Handing them over, he waited until she'd dried her eyes. "I'm gonna try to get the rest to the people who are in them, or something. There's pictures of Main Street that someone would probably want."

Nodding, she unzipped her coat and carefully tucked the photos into the inner pocket. "Thank you so much, Oscar."

"You're welcome."

"I'm gonna go. I need to show them to Dad." She stood.

"I'll walk you back."

"You sure your blood won't freeze?" There was a playful gleam in her eyes as she headed to the back door. She stopped suddenly, bending to give Penny a rub.

"I'm fine."

"I just thought I'd ask. You can't drive in snow, you expect the streets to be clear like they are in movies…" Waiting while he put his boots on, she pulled her gloves on. "Next you'll tell me you don't know how to build a snowman."

"I know how to build a snowman," he scoffed, hoping she wouldn't ask him to prove it.

"How about snow angels?" she asked, tugging her hat down firmly.

"That's just jumping jacks laying down," he told her.

"I'll allow it," she sighed.

The back door opened and the kids spilled in, pink cheeked and giggling. Standing aside until everyone else had come inside, Oscar smiled at the laughter and chatter that filled the kitchen. The women buzzed around, gathering mugs and starting hot chocolate while Lando started a FaceTime call with Maddie to check in, passing his phone around so her friends could speak to her. Penny went from person to person, sniffing and wagging her tail.

"Girls' night tomorrow," Lilli insisted, dropping marshmallows into the bottom of each mug. "I'll do the charcuterie."

Dizzied by the overlapping chatter of the women as they planned their girls' night, Oscar sidled out of the way, gathering the kids' coats to hang up. Lando flashed him a grin, moving to help.

"Maddie's on bed rest isn't she?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, but I think she'd borrow her mom's gun and shoot me if I tried to stop her from going," Lando muttered. "You busy tomorrow night? We can meet up and hang?"

"I don't have—"

"We'll go to Carlos's. He's got the most room," Lando decided. "I'll text you tomorrow with details. Hey, Carlos!"

It was loud and chaotic, but Oscar found himself still smiling as he sipped his cocoa. Natalie met his eyes across the kitchen and when he lifted his eyebrows she nodded.

Eve stopped him at the door. "Did you give her the pictures you found?"

"He did," Natalie said from behind him. "I'm heading home now so I can show them to Dad."

"If we find more we'll let you know." Eve rolled her eyes when Oscar cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. If he finds more, he will let you know."

"Thanks." Natalie grinned.

"Next time it snows, we'll have another fight." Eve leaned to take Lucas's empty mug.

"It's a date. As long as someone doesn't cheat."

Oscar threw up his hands. "That was Max."

"I think he learned his lesson." Eve smiled sweetly. "I'm going to light the fireplace. See you!"

"Bye," Natalie said, then skipped down the steps.

A chorus of goodbyes rang out as Oscar bent to clip Penny's leash to her collar.

Oscar followed Natalie, not minding the lack of conversation as they walked along the sidewalk, Penny between them. At least, he supposed it was the sidewalk. A snowplow had been through, and what had once been the narrow sidewalk was now a steady pile of snow. When they reached the end of the block he caught Natalie's arm as she stepped over and onto the street. There was no traffic so they stuck to the edge of the street. He could see snowmen on front lawns, evidence of sledding along sloped driveways.

"Do you think it'll stop snowing?" she asked when they neared her house.

As though an answer, the snow began to thicken. Oscar stopped and tipped his head back. She giggled, steps slowing, and gave a slow twirl.

"Not the same as the rain," she said softly. Snowflakes clung to her hat. To her braid. To her eyelashes. One landed on the end of her nose and he watched it melt.

"I guess. But it's special in its own way."

"Have you ever danced in the snow?"

He shook his head. "Never got the chance."

"Maybe you should."

He looked on indulgently, a smile pulling at his lips as she twirled and spun. Penny barked, tugging on the leash, and he let go, watching the dog bound around Natalie. The snow swirled and danced around them and he was reminded of the snow globes his mother collected, with their colorful figures seeming to sway each time he shook them. He felt a little dizzy just watching, as he had always thought the figures in the snow globes would be after a vigorous shaking.

A giggle rang out from Natalie, and he had the sensation of something slipping into place. Something new and strange but familiar and comfortable at the same time. Like finding a favorite shirt he had thought he'd discarded. Like the first thunderstorm in the summertime.

Like something he hadn't felt in a long time.

Natalie stopped, eyes shining brightly as she bent to scoop Penny up.

His stomach dipped when she turned to face him, his dog snuggling close to her chest. Certain she could hear his heartbeat despite the small distance between them, he swallowed. "I don't think it's gonna stop snowing for a while."

Her eyes sparked, growing luminous as Penny tucked her head beneath her chin. "I hope it doesn't."

#f1 #oscar piastri #f1 imagine #oscar piastri imagine #my writings > op > xmas #oscar piastri x oc #f1 x oc

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