#taking down Christmas boughs

[thedaveandkimmershow]

February felt like we didn't do anything. That's only because, of course, we started the year with a last-minute trip to Holland to visit family.

A very big deal, by the way. A huuuuuuge experience.

The reason we went was because one of my uncles was diagnosed with terminal cancer and this was our last opportunity to see him.

About a week after we returned home, he lived out his last wish to return to the country of his birth: Indonesia. He went with his wife and two "kids" (my cousins who're within a decade younger than me) on an adventure that involves a two-part international flight totaling about fourteen hours in the air. No longer able to walk on his own, it was a wheelchair for him the entire trip. Once in Indonesia, they began doing a greatest hits of family, old friends, places he and my aunt grew up in, lived, knew from childhood and teenage years, and then a bunch of tourist stuff. During the course of three weeks, they moved across the country from west to east by trains, small planes, and cars. It was a magnificent trip we got to follow online through an app called PolarSteps, a real-time travel blog with pictures and videos.

The trip was to last three weeks after which they'd all return home to Holland. Unfortunately by the last week, my uncle's cancer progressed so much that he was no longer able to eat or drink much, he was losing weight losing weigth losing weight... 

And then he was hospitalized.

In the end, he traveled the country of his birth from west to east for two and a half weeks, making it to Bali before he could go no further. He died one day after the day they were to return home. He died after his daughter returned to Holland and her daughter traveled the distance on her own to join him for the last two days of his life.

In his final hours, he slipped into a coma...

And then he was gone.

His memorial service was the first of March that's basically the thirtieth of February if there was such a thing as February thirtieth this year. We didn't catch the Livestream because it was too early our time but we did watch the video once it posted. 

Of course everyone's speaking Dutch so there's only so much we understand. Fortunately, I have some tasty apps at my disposal so now we have a version that's captioned in English. It's not perfect, I'm sure. But good enough for our understanding.

On the same day as the memorial service, February 30 (😉), there was a Life celebration gathering for my production mentor and friend, Tom Speer, who passed away at the end of November, last year. This day in which we gathered was also, would've also been, Tom's birthday. So yeah. There was wonderfully frosted cake alongside an assortment of food and drink. We sang Happy Birthday. The gathering was filled with a production/broadcast group of professionals whose paths crossed or have crossed. So there's a lot of catching up, filling each other in on our lives. Most of what we did, though, was share Tom stories. In fact the main event of our gathering was sharing Tom experiences as friends, as neighbors, as people who worked alongside Tom during his extensive career as a videographer. That really was the point. We all walked away knowing more about Tom than we knew when we first walked into the room.

It was a gift. It really was.

Continuing this thread of dear life slipping away, I also dedicated time to writing the obituary for Kimmer's aunt Jacquie who passed away at the beginning of November last year.

I wrote her husband's obituary after he died at the top of 2023. It was crazy bittersweet to do the same for his wife who passed away eleven months later. And yeah. It really is a galling thing to reduce someone's life to five hundred words.

Not my favorite thing. Like, at all.

With Jacquie, we didn't get as lucky with her obit photograph as we did her husband. Someone had taken a genuinely iconic photo of him and not long before forwarded it to his son, Kimmer's cousin.

Kimmer wound up going through every photo of her aunt online, in any photo album, and anything on her phone or laptop. What she eventually found was perfect... although it was a photograph of a photograph in an album. And because of the angle at which the photo was taken... and the reflections from the clear plastic covering the photo that obscured some of its details and because Kimmer was also in the photo standing shoulder to shoulder, slightly in front of her aunt...

Because of all that the photo was less than ideal. Fortunately, with an AI/Photoshop/Topaz Labs assist, I was able to scale up the photograph's resolution, pull Kimmer completely out of the shot, and restore anything that was hidden either by reflections or by Kimmer standing slightly in front of her aunt. It was a clever bit of magic these apps performed that produced the photograph we desired. Reminding us all through the process just how much we miss Jacquie.

Intersecting with all this loss on our minds, it felt like we were randomly asked "how are you doing?" more than usually occurs. Even on a normal day the question always gives me pause because there are so many moving parts in our lives and not all of them are awesome all the time. And some of them are. So what do we do? Average those things? Cherry pick? Go with fine???

Well...

The middle of the month was a spread-out Valentine's Day. Spread out because we never celebrate on the day because everyone's out and about celebrating on that day, clogging up all the quiet corners we care to occupy. Day after Valentine's Day, then, we went out to see a movie together, "The Holdovers" at The Crest in Shoreline. A magnificent experience we enjoyed with a humongous bucket of superbly buttered popcorn. The day after the day after Valentine's Day, Friday, we exchange presents and cards and flowers before heading out to dinner at Girardis Osteria in Edmonds for an ungodly amount of delicious pasta to accompany our wine.

Snow made an appearance at our home in late February, dusting our home and yard and cars three mornings running, melting completely for three afternoons running. On the first of those days I took our car—the one that was stolen in December and taken on a wild bumper car smash-up ride to Bellevue—I took our car to the body shop where we're having our next round of work done in April. This particular day, our insurance wanted the interior mold cleared out given that our car spent days in a tow yard with a fully smashed window during a string of relentlessly rainy days. After the drop-off, I catch a charming Uber ride with a gentleman who's incredibly proud of his wife and daughters for the degrees and graduations they just achieved.

Funny thing: one of his daughters works at a local company where one of his Uber customers turned out to be working. They figured it out during conversation that the customer and his daughter work in the same department.

Small world.

And the snow? 

While we got a half inch or less, he and his neighbors accumulated two inches of snow on their properties.

Cats were a thing in February. We welcomed into our home a big black cat named Quarter (after quarter note) on behalf of a dear friend who'll be away until Fall. Taking a bit of advice from a cat expert on YouTube, we kept our cat, Dinker, and the new cat apart for a week or so. Each was aware of the other, of course. But they never met in person. Early on, the closest they got was staring at each other through the glass of our family room door. No hisses. No aggressive postures. Just a curious sort of "who the heck are you?"

Eventually, they came to share the same physical spaces with a benign tolerance and trust. Again no hissing or aggressive posturing. Eventually, by the end of the month, they even got to be playful with each other. Tussling. Chasing after each other. 

They each have their own individual rituals and habits along with home bases at opposite ends of the house and a shared mealtime that turns into a bit of a race to see who finishes first so they can poach the other's unfinished meal.

February after Valentine's Day also bird witness to our first steps at deChristmassing our home. So far we've got all the garland down inside the house except for Kimmer's office where that bough will grace the room the full year. We've got most of the nicknacky decorations put away including the stockings hung above the fireplace. We've got a number of interior light strings put away even as most will stay up 'cause we like the look. All the icicle lights outdoors along our front gutters from one end of the house to the other are put away. As are the random lights we threw on the bushes. Thankfully, there was time to tag all the lights and garlands with their locations in preparation for the end of this year when they all go up again.

Hopefully, probably, we'll have it all out away before this month of March sees its last day.

The thread running through February that will continue running through every foreseeable month for the next one-and-a-half years is Kimmer and her doctoral program. Thirty-some hours a week of reading, writing, class interactions, lectures, conferences, and research paired with a thirty-hour work week and the never ending charting each such week adds to the pile. It's not the sum total of our daily routines and responsibilities but it is the main juggling act on a high wire that's going on around here along with everything that pops up because yeah. Things pop up that you gotta do or deal with or that you just wanna do as a break from what you gotta deal with.

So this.

Was not a month off. Just a different way to go wall to wall while maintaining a life together in there somewhere: lunches together, walks in the neighborhood, listening to podcasts, alternately streaming Royal Pains and Big Bang Theory, planning adventures, snuggling while the snow falls.

In the end, February was a month soaked in emotional experience. It was a lot of loss catching up with us in different ways that still hurt our hearts, sure. It was everything else as well. All the pieces and parts that add up and color our days. Which, I guess...

Is just what normal looks like around here.

🙂

[wndaswife]

a new tradition | wanda maximoff & gn!reader

Christmas is the busiest holiday for Westview’s planning committee, and it’s about to get far busier upon your meeting with a frustrating committee head.

Word count: 24 633

Tags | MDNI: smut, fluff!!! it is the season!, a little bit of angst, some humour, enemies to lovers, fingering, strap-on usage, nipple play, hair pulling, praise, mentions of reader’s genitals and breasts, afab!reader

Winter has always been beautiful in Westview. By the last week of November, there always came flecks of snow, signalling an upcoming white Christmas, and by mid-December, children were playing with their dogs and siblings in their backyards and town parks, sparking white blanketing the roofs, roads, and trees. 

The town’s planning committee certainly did their own part for the holidays too, for Christmas was the committee’s largest and busiest occasion of the year. The committee, composed of town volunteers and run by Westview’s municipality, began planning by the first of December, and continued on eagerly until the twentieth.

By the twentieth, there was an itinerary planned and prepared for a performance in the town square on Christmas Eve. Typically, there was a set of musical performers and, around the patio, snack vendors for things like hot chocolate and warm pastries, and small business pop-ups. 

Surrounded by outdoor heaters for the patio performers and the visitors, the town came together to listen to music, decorate cookies and ornaments, and support small businesses, with a fraction of all earnings going towards a local charity chosen in November by the planning committee.

Throughout December, the municipality itself decorated the town, with boughs of holly, lights, and other decorations and ornaments adorning the light poles, streets, and storefronts and their roofs. People of Westview began counting down until Christmas as the decorations gradually went up; by the time the town square’s patio was decorated, which was done last, they knew it was only a matter of days until the town celebration, and most importantly, until Christmas Eve. 

As anyone would guess, everyone involved in any town affair during the duration of December was rather busy, so you were rather grateful that you were able to join the planning committee late.

You’d always wanted to somehow be a part of Westview’s Christmas traditions since moving there for work a year ago. You moved in around the end of November after you graduated, and your very first impression of the town was the all-around magical month of December. But last year, you travelled to see your family, and couldn’t stay for the planning nor the celebration.

This year, you were hosting, and that meant you could finally take part in the committee as you’d wanted to do last season, though you did end up joining late because you had to bring unexpected extra work home. 

Naturally, you were rather excited to be able to both take a break from work and do something fun, and to get more involved with Westview’s community. 

But upon your first committee meeting, you realized you weren’t expecting the committee was so… hierarchical.

You understood and even expected the hustle and bustle of assigned responsibilities and time-crunching, and even a few of the disagreements during the meetings and over the text groupchat which sometimes seemed a little hostile to you, so perhaps, to word it more accurately, what you hadn’t been expecting was Wanda Maximoff.

The committee worked by dividing volunteers into different sections of responsibility, involving those who worked with the small business, who handled the budgeting, the charity partnership, the performing bands, and many others.

Wanda Maximoff was the head of planning. She led the committee meetings, and she was the first one every divided section went to to discuss any changes or new ideas. Wanda could independently veto or approve any adjustment or suggestion, and knew everything about everything which not even the many of the divided sections knew about each other since they were too occupied with their own responsibilities. 

Being registered as a committee volunteer took an application which went through Westview’s municipal website — not the committee itself. 

Wanda had seen in her email that a new member had joined the committee. She’d never heard of you, and though she wasn’t particularly close to anyone in Westview, so she wouldn’t exactly be the first to know about social matters, she’d asked a few of the other executive planning volunteers, and they hadn’t heard of you either.  

A large reason you wanted to join the committee was to become more involved in Westview’s community. The past year after moving last November was far busier than you’d expected, and along with a promotion at work, you’d had far too many new responsibilities to adjust to to have enough time to socialize or involve yourself very much. 

With that being said, the upcoming holiday spent with the committee was going to be your first real involvement with the town and your community. 

The first meeting was okay. It was around the end of the first week of December, which by the committee’s speed, was still late for you to suddenly jump in and join like they’d been playing jump rope. The meeting was somewhat of a debrief about how far everyone had gotten, while bringing up any new ideas in moving forward. 

It was actually rather incredible to watch them all plan and discuss; they were diligent and all worked well with each other, and additionally, they were partnering with performers and vendors who were all local, which made planning everything in December possible. 

You figured Wanda was the head of the committee for how every conversation either ended or started with her, and if they didn’t involve her, and was far more focused on what each group was saying than anyone else.

You didn’t speak very much, so perhaps that was why you might’ve appeared as some kind of outlier, but truly, you didn’t have anything to say, and wouldn’t have had anything to say even if you tried. 

Though you understood the logic of being the odd one out, not much attention was drawn to you, likely because everyone was far too busy to pay you much attention — that is, aside from the busiest in the room. 

Circles don’t have heads at their tables, and yet, Wanda was very evidently sitting at it. With the side of her chin in her hand, her head tilted slightly in your direction, your eyes kept flickering over at her, and more than half of the times you did, her green eyes darted away immediately and looked back over at whomever was presently speaking. 

After the meeting, you chatted a little with some of the volunteers you were sitting beside, waiting patiently for a window in which you could approach Wanda. Everyone who was part of the committee was sorted into groups to take on different responsibilities, but you hadn’t been sorted yet, and it wasn’t mentioned in the meeting, which you understood given how busy everything was, so you were hoping Wanda could sort you.

Wanda was slinging her purse over her shoulder when you approached her, and when she turned around, there was just a single beat in which she seemed to be surveying you, as if a resolve to the brief glances she had taken of you from afar. 

You introduced yourself to her. 

“Y/N,” she acknowledged, without introducing herself in turn. “Your name was emailed to me this afternoon after you submitted your application two days ago.”

You looked at her wordlessly for a moment then nodded, as if hesitant. You were waiting for her to continue. What did she expect you to say to that?

You felt slightly belittled for how unwelcoming initially came across, and how her greeting only called you to initiate more of the conversation on your own. And she wasn’t even really acknowledging you, she was just stating a fact, as if she would’ve said the exact words to anyone else in any professional setting. 

‘The sky is blue, it’s wintertime, there are light traces of freckles along the bridge of my nose, and your name was emailed to me this afternoon,’ she seemed to be saying. 

“Cool,” you answered. It was an answer in the form of an itch; you felt you couldn’t respond to her with the cordiality you’d initially intended.

It wasn’t just the way she had spoken, for you didn’t expect any obligation for any specific form of kindness. She was the head of the committee, and no doubt extremely busy and extremely stressed, and you were late to join, after all. 

So you put aside the way she was looking at you, in the bored and scrutinizing way she was, and how she kept looking over at you during the meeting only to say little to nothing welcoming or friendly upon your official introduction. 

If you knew Wanda well enough, not that many did, you would’ve noticed the narrowing of her eyes visible only by a slight twitch at the corner of them. 

Cool. 

“I was wondering how I’d be able to figure out what I should start helping with,” you told her. You hoped feigning curiosity would give yourself a good impression — you already knew it was Wanda who was assigned roles. 

“That depends,” she said, her focus not at all on you as she reached into her purse to take her car keys out. She looked back up at you. “Are you good at anything?”

For a moment, you genuinely questioned if you had done something wrong, and then you quickly realized it isn’t at all your responsibility to baby a grown woman. 

You repeated, genuinely confused and not willing to intentionally leave a bad impression this early into your volunteering, “Am I good at anything?”

“Are you good at anything discussed during the meeting?” she clarified, her expression remaining still and unimpressed.

“I wouldn’t know,” you answered, “this is my first time here. Wasn’t that mentioned in the email?”

Wanda looked to the side thoughtfully, as if thinking something over, but the slight rising of her shoulders as she took in a breath indicated irritation. Then she looked back at you. “It was. But I assumed you had some prior experience, perhaps from your own job or volunteering experience.”

Something uncomfortable and tense tightened in your stomach. It wasn’t as if she was saying anything particularly rude, but you knew it was meant to be somewhat offensive, if not purposefully condescending. 

“We’re always a bit rushed in booking the performances, so if that’s something that interests you, you can help with that,” she finally offered. “I’ll give you Kate’s number so you can contact her and make some plans to meet up on your own time during the week.”

After you received a Kate Bishop’s number, you tucked your pride away and thanked Wanda for her help, only to look up from your phone and find her approached by a man around her age whose face you recognized from the meeting, who she immediately looked far more friendly with.

You weren't planning on sticking around to stand idly watching the coldest woman you’ve met in Westview so far since you moved last November act all buddy-buddy with someone else right in front of you, but the transition from speaking to you to speaking with the man was far too stark to not notice the differences, even for the split second you stood there for.

He placed his hand on the table behind her, to which Wanda turned, leaning against the table and looking up at him as they spoke. A gold wedding band adorned the finger of the man’s hand which you noticed was placed on the table, and you assumed he was her husband. 

For a moment as you turned to leave, you sympathized with Wanda, who you could now envision as a stressed and overworked woman who was glad to see her husband after a long day. 

Perhaps it was just thinking over the bizarre contrast between her interactions with you and the immediate friendly demeanour she took with the man that made you turn your head back as you walked away, just to reconstruct her first impression on you. But when you turned, you realized she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring at all.

You were slightly confused and perhaps a little intrigued, but not at all invested enough to think about that nor about Wanda Maximoff at all by the time you left the building. When you got into the driver’s seat of your car, you sent Kate Bishop a text message introducing yourself and explaining how you got her number and for what reason, then headed home, eager to finally lay down.

By the time you were on the road, driving down the decorated light poles and storefronts, and down the snowy, sparkling white sidewalks and roofs, you forgot all about Wanda and that dreadful first interaction.

Two days later, you met up with the group within the committee which handled the preparation of the performances. You didn’t know who you were expecting to see once you met up at one of Westview’s cafes to plan and discuss, but you certainly weren’t expecting a group that was composed of only college students.

You weren’t much older than them — you finished your postgrad last year — but you were younger than Wanda, and maybe it was just because you harboured some remnants of bitterness for her, but you almost thought the group she suggested to you was intentional.

After an hour of conversing with them, however, you realized you were being far too obsessive with your first interaction with Wanda to have even had that thought upon meeting them, because you actually ended up having likely one of the first thoroughly enjoyable times with a group of people from your town.

Along with Kate, you were grouped with her friends America, Peter, and Kamala. If you were honest with yourself, you felt a little insecure about your age while being around them, listening to them discuss school while you’d been working for a year since graduation. But you felt, and they assured you once you mentioned it to them half-jokingly, that you honestly blended in just fine.

In fact, Peter very seriously thought you were in his history class this past semester.

But in a way, that made you feel a little bashful — did you still look like a college student, and not at all like the professional you thought you’d been becoming throughout the past year?

Is that what you looked like to Wanda that day you first met?

You didn’t see Wanda again until the next committee meeting, which you found out took place twice a week. Only the first meeting was mandatory, and the other was optional for any pressing questions, and also provided a window for opportunity to speed up the planning if anyone had any extra time to do so.

After the last few days meeting with your group and talking a little over the groupchat between all of you, you found yourself in a particularly good mood, and it was hard to stay sour in Westview when it was winter, getting closer and closer to Christmas each day.

You wanted to make a good impression and wanted to make some room for having further conversation with other volunteers, so you stopped by a cafe and bought a box of twelve fresh muffins. There were about two times that amount of people in the committee, but you were certain not everyone would want one, and you also weren’t sure how permitted it was to bring food to the meetings. 

You were planning on arriving early and placing the muffins on the table with a little note to take one, with an easy in and out without being seen. You didn’t want to be seen bringing the muffins in because you figured you’d end up behaving far too awkward in the act, effectively outweighing any possibility of having the first impression you wanted. 

If someone brought the muffins up, or offered you one, you were planning on somehow subtly bringing up that you were the one who brought them.

After setting the box down on the edge of the meeting room table, you placed the sticky note you wrote on top of it. You turned to head out the door, planning on waiting in the car for others to arrive before reentering, only to come across Wanda on your way out. 

She had her chin tucked into her scarf, and a knitted hat on, looking rather cozy and warm in her jacket, the purse which you saw her carry last week hanging from her shoulder. At the sight of you, and at how you slowed down as you passed her, she untucked half her face from her scarf and took her hat off, causing her brown hair to frizz up as she pulled it off.

Combing her fingers through the top of her head to smooth her hair down, she said, “You’re early. Heading out?”

“O-Oh…” you stuttered, feeling awkward.

You weighed the risk of telling her you brought muffins, since you didn’t know if bringing food was allowed. And wouldn’t you look even far more awkward if food was allowed, and you were running away from a box of muffins as if you’d just wired in a bomb?

Wanda continued to look at you expectantly, slowly unwrapping her scarf from around her neck, which distracted you from making a decision about what to tell her, for whatever reason.

“I brought muffins,” you suddenly said.

She blinked, eyes darting down at your empty hands which laid limp at your sides, then to your back and shoulders, which was devoid of any bag to carry any muffins in.

“I already put it in the meeting room.”

“It’s already in there?” she asked.

You nodded once.

“Then where are you going? Aren’t you staying for the meeting?”

Did she question everyone this seriously? Couldn’t she at least smile a little or give you a little laugh to ease the tension?

“I am. I just… forgot something in my car.”

Wanda looked at you for a moment, and surprisingly, it didn’t look like she was scrutinizing you. It looked like she was thinking something over. She looked in the direction of the meeting room, and you took the time to look at her ring finger. She wasn’t married.

“Why did you bring muffins?” she then asked, looking back over to you and putting her hat into her purse and holding her scarf.

You opened your mouth and promptly shut it, realizing all you knew to do in the moment was stutter, so you stayed quiet for a moment to think of what to say so as to not look like an idiot. “I just wanted to do something nice, I guess,” you said.

“Really?” Wanda said, her eyebrows raising ever so slightly, seemingly surprised. “I see.” She made some kind of noise, like a hum, and looked away into the general direction of the meeting room. 

Then she undid her jacket, looking at you only briefly and saying a few words before heading into the building: “Well, I won’t keep you from going back to your car. I’ll see you.”

When you thought back to how Wanda had kept looking over to you during the first meeting you attended, you imagined that she was interested in you because it was her first time seeing you, and figured she was likely that way with everyone who initially joined. 

Naturally, that meant that after conversing with her and proving yourself as able to reliably contribute to your group, you imagined she would treat you like any other member, and after that, you’d come to realize that you’d been thinking about her in a rather overdramatic fashion.

But instead, Wanda seemed to pay you even more attention. You caught her staring far more often, though this time, it was hard to justify this as stealing glances when you were actually part of a group this time. She made unwavering eye contact with you when you spoke, which she didn’t do with anyone else. She picked at your suggestions and progress reports more than anyone else in your group.

This time around, you genuinely started to feel rather frustrated. You’d been enjoying your last few days in Westview with your group, and were looking forward to the rest of the month, and had initially believed that your irritating interactions with Wanda were more or less made up by your imagination.

But this all seemed far too targeted to be coincidental.

You were even too irritated during the meeting to pay attention to anyone who was enjoying the muffins you brought — which was, unbeknownst to you, quite popular amongst the members. You told Kamala about the muffins when you’d bought them, since you asked her about where to go for the best ones, so she was able to drop your name to other members a few times.

After the meeting, Wanda was talking with the same man who approached her after the meeting last week — the same married man.

“Can I talk to you, Wanda?” you interrupted their conversation the moment you heard the briefest gap in their conversation. She looked over to you, along with the man, who for some reason irritated you far more than she did in the moment.

They exchanged a few last words before parting, and Wanda turned to you, adjusting her scarf. “What did you need to talk about?” she asked.

You had hoped she was planning on talking in a more private place, but she didn’t move anywhere else, and stayed more or less in the vicinity of traffic of people who were leaving. If she didn’t want to put any effort in nor give any indication that she cared about interacting with you, then you’d have the conversation right there.

“Do you have a problem with me?” you asked. 

For the first time, Wanda wore an expression around you that was other than bored and unimpressed, looking somewhere between entertained and surprised. “I’m sorry?”

“You asked me more questions about my group than anyone else I’m paired with, and more than anyone else in the committee,” you told her. 

“It bothers you to be favoured?”

You flinched back a little, as if the word ‘favoured’ had physically nudged you backwards. “F… Favoured?”

“Y/N…” Wanda let out a little exhale that you knew was a repressed sigh. “This is your first year volunteering. It is not unreasonable nor should it be threatening to you that I want to ensure you’re playing your part within your group. And I want to make sure you’re getting along well with everything.”

“You’re overdoing it,” you quickly replied. “I joined only a week late, and if you think I need more monitoring than any other volunteer, you’re not focusing your attention on the right things. You don’t think I notice that you look at me even when I’m not the one talking?”

In the split second of silence between your second last sentence and your final one, Wanda opened her mouth to respond, but quickly shut it when you mentioned how she kept looking at you. Her jaw seemed to tense and she adjusted her purse on her shoulder, her eyes darting over to the side for a brief moment.

“To each their own, Y/N,” she replied simply. “Either way, if you’re getting along with everything well, what I do shouldn’t bother you as much as it does. Everything is getting done on time, isn’t it? What more could you ask for?”

She likely had wanted the conversation to stop with a rhetorical question, but if she was really asking, then you were really going to answer. “I want to ask for you to stop treating the committee like it’s some kind of tyranny. You know, people come here in their spare time, away from their families and their homes to do something nice.”

Wanda visibly tensed, and she seemed to be fidgeting when her other hand moved to the front of her jacket to tug at the edge of her scarf. Perhaps she simply didn’t like confrontation. You wondered when the last time anyone confronted her was, and then you wondered when she’d given anyone but you a reason to confront her. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” she apologized disingenuously, clearly just wanting to end the conversation. You wondered if she had plans to get to, and at the thought that she was just in a rush to go meet that married man at some dingy motel, you exhaled through your nose with visible irritation.

You attended the following optional meeting because America wanted to discuss the possibility of including one of the bands at the college she went to into the performance setlist, so it was just you and her out of your group that attended. Typically, they partnered with more local bands, but America really liked them, and she was certain she could have them perform for cheaper than the usual bands they invited if they paid for their trip here.

Upon arriving, you noticed that there were a few pastries set out on the table, and thermos of hot chocolate and some paper cups and lids, which some members were helping themselves to as they settled in. Everyone was warming up with the hot chocolate, and looking delightfully surprised at the selection of pastries since a storm was beginning to come down outside as they all drove in.

“Y/N, dear, you had the right idea bringing muffins the other day,” Mrs Davis gushed as she approached you from behind, a hand on your upper arm. “Everyone is always so hungry at the evening meetings, since some of us have to squeeze them in before dinner.”

America looked amused at your confusion as your eyes darted between the pasties and hot chocolate and Mrs Davis. She knew you felt a little confused and preoccupied by being drilled by Wanda — though you chose not to share how much she irritated you — so she knew that you hadn’t paid attention to how popular the muffins were last meeting, or how Kamala mentioned to others that you brought them.

“Oh,” you replied with a friendly albeit confused smile. “Did you bring these?”

“I bought the hot chocolate, but Rio and Agatha brought the pastries,” she answered with a beaming smile. 

An excited and warm feeling grew in your chest at the thought that you’d started a little tradition, which made you forget all about how confused you initially were.

In spite of the cheery beginning and how the committee started out, chatting about each other’s holidays and preparations at home with their families, the meeting progressed with gradual confusion since Wanda still hadn’t shown up twenty minutes into the hour-long meeting. 

It wasn’t a good look on her, since a member of Westview’s municipal financial association had come to sit in to see how things were coming along since the committee was largely funded by them along with some other invested donors. 

By the twenty minute mark, everyone decided to begin speaking altogether and writing the biggest takeaways into a notebook, which would be provided to Wanda over text and in the committee groupchat. Things discussed in optional meetings weren’t always necessarily shared with the rest of the committee, since they were typically attended for more specific questions and planning, but it was Wanda who decided what should be made common knowledge, which she covered in the following meeting, or if it was pressing, she’d send it to the groupchat. But since she wasn’t there, it was decided that they’d record everything important that was covered, whether it was a resolved question or not.

Close to forty minutes into the meeting, Wanda arrived, looking a little frazzled, with her scarf and hat still on. She had tried to come in subtly but, perhaps intentionally, Rio called out, greeting her loudly. 

“I’m sorry for being so late,” she apologized, and you could detect a little breathlessness in her voice. She sat down and took her hat off, her hair frizzing up at the top like it did the other time she took her hat off. But she didn’t smooth it down before she undid her scarf, making her look even more frazzled.

As she looked around at the table and then at the notebook, and then at the municipal member sitting at the table, Wanda slid her jacket off and smoothed her hair out. “How… has everything been going?” she asked. She was then given a rundown from the notebook, Wanda nodding and listening carefully as it was all explained to her.

Throughout the rest of the meeting, you didn’t catch Wanda looking over at you even once.

The municipal member who had come to sit in pulled Wanda to the side after the meeting finished, engaging in a conversation which looked slightly serious from the other side of the room as you chatted with Mrs Davis and Rio and Agatha as they packed up their things while you and America helped. 

They all left as soon as possible, since Mrs Davis carpooled with Rio and Agatha on their way here, and the storm had suddenly come down rather heavy outside, so they were eager to get home quick before the visibility got any worse. America’s mothers were waiting outside for her, so you said goodbye to her too as you zipped up your jacket. 

By the time you headed out, Wanda was standing inside the building by the door, looking out through the windows at the side of the front door. She was back in her scarf and hat and bundled up jacket, so you weren’t sure why she was still hanging out at the front.

Upon getting a closer look at her as you continued to walk towards the exit, you noticed that Wanda looked genuinely stressed, unlike the other times you only assumed she was. She seemed anxious looking out the window, and seemingly tense in general. 

You looked outside the windows, and the snow was very quickly building, footsteps at least a few inches into the snow until they reached the ground, and a few people still getting into their cars, the sight of them blurring in the white veil of the blowing snow, shielded themselves from the wind, careful not to hit the other cars around them while opening their car doors.

“If you wait any longer to drive home, it’ll only be harder to get through the snow,” you said, stopping a few feet away from her. She jumped a little, turning her head to look at you and staring for just a moment before looking back through the window.

Her scarf was wrapped up to just below her nose, muffling her words slightly as she replied, “I’m waiting for an Uber.” 

“Huh? An Uber?” you asked. “No driver is driving around in a small town through a storm that just started. The salters haven’t even come out yet. Didn’t you drive here on your own?”

Wanda didn’t respond, and looked down between her phone — which you assumed she was tracking her driver through — and the window.

Though you were frustrated at her standoffishness and how she just completely ignored you, you inhaled sharply before pressing, “You should just call a friend or some family to pick you up. You’ll be waiting here at least forty minutes before your driver comes.”

“Incidentally, don’t you someplace to be?” Wanda suddenly asked sharply, turning her head around to look at you.

Your eyes narrowed and you adjusted your jacket, preparing for the winter storm. “Fine. Then I guess I’ll be seeing you at the next meeting — still waiting here for your Uber.”

She gave you a look as you walked past her and left the building.

You stormed off into the blizzard with enough anger that you were melting all the snow sprinkling down in your vicinity with how frustrated you felt, suddenly feeling like you were overheating in your jacket. 

There was something about Wanda that just really pissed you off, and even worse, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. After the meetings and when you were home, you hardly thought about her, and more often than not, you were ready to be friendly with her every time another meeting came around. But each time you interacted with her, she drilled herself further and further into your brain and buried herself there. 

There was just something irrational about how frustrated she made you that just sort of ate at you. You thought she looked so stupid in her scarf, and she looked like an idiot when she took her hat off and her hair was in a frizzy mess. 

And what was the deal with her and that married guy? She certainly wasn’t her brother or her friend with how close he got, and you could swear once you saw him brush his hand up against her hip — with the hand he had his ring on!

So, along with being just a dick, she was a stupid idiot who owned stupid scarves and stupid hats, and she was a homewrecker and a total anti-feminist for flirting with a married man.

Then, feeling frustrated and overwhelmed and not paying attention to your surroundings, you set your foot down on some ice and nearly slipped. You were flailing around and practically running in place desperately until your foot landed on the thick snow to give you enough friction to steady yourself.

And you knew it was irrational, but fuck, this was somehow all Wanda’s fault. 

You ripped your hat off, finally becoming overstimulated with it on, before sticking it in your jacket pocket. You looked back over at the building, and then at the parking lot which was very empty of an Uber driver, and you stormed back over to the front door. 

When you reentered the building, Wanda was still standing in the same spot, and when you turned to look at her, holding the door open from the inside, she looked up from her phone at you, confused.

“I’ll drive you home,” you told her bluntly. “Let’s go.”

She straightened, putting her phone in her pocket. “No, I’m waiting for my ride.”

“You’re not getting an Uber in this storm!”

“Well, I am. I already ordered one.”

You really weren’t planning on raising your voice, but you had nearly slipped on ice, and you needed to get out of your jacket, and Wanda looked so stupid with her scarf wrapped up around the lower half of her face.

“Wanda, let’s go!” you bit as if she were a child throwing a tantrum in a grocery store and you were her parent, who’d been patient for long enough.

She stared at you for a few moments, the whistling wind of the blizzard outside the only noise between the two of you. 

“Fine,” she finally mumbled, burying her face in her scarf and heading out the door. She waited a moment for you to exit the building behind her, before she followed behind you towards your car.

Wanda told you where she lived after she buckled herself in and you pulled out of the parking lot. She remained bundled in her hat and scarf. Maybe it was because Wanda hadn’t ever been in your car before, but she looked so tiny sitting in the passenger’s seat, half her head wrapped up in her plush scarf. 

But maybe she was making herself smaller, sinking into her jacket and the seat,

Taking in a small breath and trying to melt your frustration away in the warmth of your car, you asked softly, “Why were you late?”

Wanda shifted in her seat, folding her gloved hands in her lap. “My car broke down on the way here,” she explained. “I tried to stay around to get it towed, but I ended up having to leave it there because of how busy the towing company was. They suggested I get it done tomorrow morning instead.”

“How did you get to the meeting?”

“One woman came, but by the time she did, the car was already covered and far too stuck in the snow, and she couldn’t call anyone else. So she drove me.”

Maybe you got a little too excited at the thought that you were finally having a normal conversation with the woman who’d been irritating you so much, so you casually asked, “So, is that guy your husband?”

“What?” she asked, taken by surprise. She looked at you, the lower half of her face a little more uncovered. At the stoplight, you looked at her, seeing the bridge of her nose and her cheeks flushed a gentle pink from the warmth of her scarf.

Then you looked away and back at the road, feeling that you’d perhaps got ahead of yourself, and after thinking it over for a moment, you weren’t sure why that was the question that came out of you. You’d already come to the fine conclusion that Wanda was seeing a married man, but perhaps it was interacting with her normally that made you think for the first time that such a thing might be uncharacteristic of her.

“No, he’s not,” she finally answered. “I’m not married.”

You decided not to mention it again. You had already known that Wanda wasn’t married to him, and you weren’t really interested in knowing more about her love life. Actually, the idea that Wanda even had a love life made you a little uncomfortable. The idea that she could act in any way other than how you’d already witnessed her, and instead, as romantic and affectionate, was somehow startling.

“You should probably cancel that Uber,” you told her.

There were a few moments of silence, and you figured Wanda was cancelling the drive since you weren’t paying attention to what she was doing. Then, she said quietly, “I never got a driver. No one picked it up.”

You looked over at her for a second and she was still sunken down into her jacket, looking straight ahead at the road, whose visibility was becoming steadily worse as the storm progressed. “So… were you waiting for someone?”

“I was…” She sounded like she was thinking something through. “I was just waiting for the storm to die down before I tried to go home.”

“I’m sure one of your friends or some of your family would’ve come to pick you up,” you told her, thinking that she was the kind that was against asking people for help.

You were beginning to realize that Wanda always seemed a little tense each time you brought up any mention of family, so you didn’t press any further when she was silent in response to what you said. 

When you arrived at her place, you offered to help her out of the car, but she said she was fine to get out on her own. She closed the door behind her and walked around to your window. Though you felt a little put on the spot, you rolled the window down. 

You couldn’t really see her expression beyond her plush scarf still covering everything below the tip of her nose, but she looked just a little awkward as she looked at you, her gaze seeming uncertain and hesitant. 

“Thank you for driving me,” she said, and you couldn’t tell if she was purposefully mumbling or if her scarf was muffling her words. 

Suddenly you felt a little awkward, and your chest felt fluttery. “You’re welcome,” you answered.

“And I don’t know if you really care about these things, but everything I’ve heard about you from the committee has been very positive.”

“Oh.”

“They all say you’re very kind and responsible and friendly. And everyone thought it was really sweet that you brought the muffins earlier this week.”

You didn't want to say oh again, but you honestly didn’t know what else to say. You felt like you were put on the spot, and more than that, your face felt warm. “Oh. Okay. I see.”

Wanda blinked then looked away for a moment as if thinking of something else to say, though her expression was still and unmoving. But then she looked back at you and said, “Thank you for driving. I’ll see you next week.” Then you waited until she got into her house before you pulled out of her driveway and headed back home as soon as you could, getting out of the storm.

The next time you met up with your group, there was just under two weeks left until Christmas, and you were all making perfect time, and from what you’d been hearing, so were the other groups. 

“Did you see all the changes Wanda made to our document?” Kate asked as you all settled down in a booth from picking your drinks up at the counter.

You looked up from your mug.

“Changes?” Peter asked, sounding slightly whiny. “I thought our setlist and budgeting was perfect.”

Kate huffed as she scrolled down the Google Doc. “Yeah, but at least she only changed little things,” she said, leaning forward and reading the screen. 

“Like what?” Kamala asked, scooping some whipped cream from her hot chocolate with a spoon and sticking it into her mouth.

A small confused frown formed on Kate’s face. “Just, like… the songs and the order of the bands. And the accessories they were going to wear.”

“She didn’t change any of the actual bands?” America asked.

Kamala added, probably as some sort of inside joke, “Or relocate our spendings?”

“Umm…” Kate scrolled through the document again, double-checking. “Nope. None of that. She just fixed around random things.”

You didn’t really like talking about Wanda with them, because you were still partly convinced that you were just making it all up, and you were just being overly irritated around her. But you still couldn’t really pinpoint why she got under your skin so much.

Taking a sip of your drink and trying not to sound so invested in the topic of her, you asked as nonchalantly as you could, “Does she normally do all the other stuff?”

“Yeah, last year she relocated a bunch of our funding to a different group, then changed around the setlist we scheduled,” Kamala answered, setting her mug down, revealing a white rim of whipped cream along her upper lip.

Kate jutted her hand into the middle of the table, holding all five fingers up. “Five days before Christmas, by the way,” she added, eyebrows raised. “And we had to call the bands to tell them that their performance times had changed, which luckily didn’t conflict with anything, and we also had to cut way down on a whole lot of other things we were planning, and it was just…  a mess.”

“Oh,” you said, somewhat shocked at hearing the things she did last year. You already thought she could be rather tyrannical, but you wouldn’t have expected her to go into a group’s plans and change so much without notice.

“I thought she’s been sorta nicer this year,” Peter said, snapping his Biscoff cookie in half and taking a bite of one the halves.

Kamala suddenly gasped and leaned forward, her hands making contact with the table, effectively gaining the group’s attention. “Wait, is it true that she got in trouble at the last meeting for coming late?”

America nodded, “Yeah, because she was forty minutes late, and a woman from the town council came to the meeting.”

“She was late?” Kate asked, looking up from her laptop. “I guess that’s surprising for her, but why did she get in trouble for that?”

Peter mentioned, “Ned’s uncle works in Westview’s financial department, and he told me that the committee was behind in reporting the budgeting.”

“Oh,” America added, “the woman told me she was from the same department. So… I guess the tardiness was just the cherry on top.”

On the way back home from the cafe, you thought about how little you actually knew about Wanda from the meetings, and upon reflecting on your conversation in the car, you realized you didn’t get to learn much about her then, either. 

Something about that made you feel a little impatient, with Wanda seeming more and more like some enigma you were compelled to understand. You enjoyed seeing her that way more than you previously saw her since you could see her as more of a mystery than a weight on your shoulders.

But you couldn’t deny how relieved it made you that you weren’t the only one she’d ever pissed off.

By the time of the next meeting, there was a week and half left until Christmas, and everything seemed to be progressing well with all the groups. Everything was scheduled to be finished on time, if not a little bit early.

Aside from the newly-developed tradition of bringing a few snacks and drinks to the meeting, everything went as it typically did, aside from the fact that Wanda looked almost… a little flustered when you caught her looking at you, though you caught her far less frequently than you did the times before.

Because of how little she spoke with the other committee members, you figured it was because she felt a little awkward having interacted with a member outside of the meeting. 

And you didn’t forget about how you snapped at her when she wouldn’t let you drive her at first. 

It was a little embarrassing to think back on, especially with how frustrated you were, but you ended up being able to drive her anyway, and she told you that everyone had a great impression of you, so it wasn’t all for nothing.

While looking at Wanda from across throughout the meeting, you felt sort of bad for her. 

After thinking about it a little bit, why didn’t she mention any friends or family helping her with her broken down car? Or after the fact, once the meeting finished? Even if she was the kind to be against asking people for help, it must say something about her loved ones that she felt she couldn’t rely on them for help.

Then there was the matter about how she always looked a little uncomfortable when you mentioned family.

As much as you hated thinking about her love life for a reason you couldn’t entirely understand — though you were sure it was because it still felt strange for you to imagine Wanda could be in a relationship — it was a little depressing to imagine that the only person she’d been spending her holidays with was a married man.

Being the head of the planning committee for Westview’s busiest and largest holiday was a lot to handle, and volunteering was still something everyone did in their spare time, so the possibility that she could very well have dozens of other far more pressing things in her life going on, only to be reprimanded by someone representing the committee’s funding, couldn’t be very easy for her.

After the meeting, you approached her, and as you did, you came to the realization that you spoke with her at the end of every meeting you attended so far, and not even the married guy did that.

“Wanda, I was wondering if I could get your help with something,” you said as you stopped at her side while she was slipping a few papers into her purse. 

She hung her purse from her shoulder and turned to you. “With what?” she replied simply.

Although Wanda still hadn’t given you as much as a single smile so far, you thought you made a little progress, given that you also somewhat expected her to take your request for her help as indicative of your inability to keep up with the rest of your group.

As you walked out to the parking lot together, you explained, “Rio and Agatha’s group asked me for a little bit of help with planning the decorating of the performance patio since they were a little behind, and they thought I would know the best way to decorate since we’re planning the performers’ outfits.”

“They didn’t have to ask you, they could’ve just spoken with your group.”

“They did, but everyone else was busy. I have the least to do in the group since they all fit me in to do anything extra. And it’s not a big deal, I just wanted to discuss budgeting stuff with you.”

Wanda stared down at the snowy ground as she walked forward. Then she looked up and over at you. “Alright. We can meet when you’re free to ask me anything you want.”

Although you technically already had Wanda’s number since the committee groupchat was made through WhatsApp, she gave you her number anyway, perhaps not realizing that you already had it through the groupchat. And there was something about Wanda giving you her number that made you feel a little excited.

But what made you even more excited was that Wanda used one smiley face over text when you planned to meet up. 

That was basically a real life smile.

You decided to come early to your lunch with Wanda on the Saturday which you both planned to meet for. You were ten minutes early, but by the time you arrived, Wanda was already sitting at a table with a cup of coffee.

You rechecked the time, and you were indeed ten minutes early.

“Hi, I’m here,” you greeted as you stopped at the chair that was opposite of Wanda, taking off your jacket and hanging it from the back of it. “Have you been here very long?”

In the same way that she looked in your car, Wanda seemed tiny sitting at the table with her cup of coffee and wearing clothes that were a little more casual than those which she wore to the meetings. Maybe she always just seemed much larger to you in the context of the meetings, since she didn’t even really behave the same way outside of them.

“Hi,” she greeted back first. “I’ve been here for maybe fifteen minutes. I thought I would come early too.”

You took a seat and looked around at the place. It was primarily a cafe, but known for its cheap and delicious breakfast sandwiches, so it was also known as a breakfast location, but in the afternoon, as a proper cafe. You hadn’t been yet, but Peter had been queuing this place up to go the next time your group had to meet.

As you looked around, Wanda watched you, her fingers rubbing against the side of her warm mug, feeling a little nervous. When you looked back to the side of the cafe that was behind her and into her general vicinity, her eyes darted back down to her coffee.

Wanda didn’t know anything about you by the first meeting, but she was immediately drawn to how you seemed to her. You were curious, always looking around at the table, and very attractive. She knew immediately that you were going to do quite well at whatever you wanted to put your time towards. 

Truthfully, Wanda has never been good with socializing. She was good at planning and being professional in a way that other people hated enough so that she never really had to worry about being close with others. 

It wasn’t lost on her how you’d approached her at the end of every meeting, if not only to speak to her with some hostility. She noticed how sweet you were to the other members, and how well you were already getting along with everyone. Though she figured that anyone she asked would have said all those things she mentioned to you after you drove her to her place, she actually hadn’t been told anything about you. She just didn’t know how else to talk to you in that way.

No one really told Wanda anything in the social context; she wasn’t ever really wanted or thought about unless it was necessitated.

Truthfully, she didn’t feel jealous about how popular you were, but instead, she felt rather nervous to be around you. It felt similar to feelings of insecurity, if she really thought about it.

She decided to come to the cafe early to try and prepare herself for lunch with you, since she would’ve felt even worse panicking away at home or alone in the car. God, what did people even talk about over lunch? She couldn’t even remember the last time she met someone in such a casual context. It felt somewhat casual anyway, although you had asked her to discuss some of your committee responsibilities.

“Do you mind if we get some food before we talk about the budgeting?” you asked, and when Wanda looked up from her coffee, you were making eye contact with her. “I haven’t eaten yet.”

She nodded. 

You trailed off as you flipped through the menu, and when you noticed she didn’t have a menu open, you looked up at her. “Are you getting anything?”

“Oh. I know what I want.”

“Were you really here for that long?”

“I come here sometimes for breakfast if I wake up early enough.”

The image of Wanda coming in here for breakfast while bundled up in her cozy hat and plush scarf at nine in the morning kind of made you wanna tease her for such an adorable routine. Well, you told yourself it was adorable for her, at least. Breakfast restaurants were pretty popular in many contexts, for many people. But for whatever reason, you liked to imagine Wanda doing things like that.

The food came and you found yourself observing her as if she were some kind of specimen. It was interesting to watch her do things that didn’t have anything to do with the committee or planning or being a little tyrannical. Everything she did outside of that was interesting, like how she held her utensils or which part of her plate she ate first, or after how many bites she took a sip of her coffee.

“So, what do you do when you’re not volunteering?” you asked.

“I teach at a high school about thirty minutes outside of Westview.”

Damn. She must not be very popular there, either. You weren’t even trying to be rude by thinking that; if you were a high school student, you certainly wouldn’t have liked her.

“What do you teach?” 

But before she could answer, you quickly interjected, “Oh, wait, let me guess.”

She closed her mouth and smiled slightly, looking like she thought you were sort of entertaining or funny. “Okay,” she replied softly. “Guess.”

You hummed, looking at her in great detail as you thought over all that you knew of her. Wanda shifted in her seat, tugging at the bottom of her knit sweater and tucking her hair back, feeling a little awkward and insecure with you looking at her.

With a slight narrow of your eyes, you spun your fork between three fingers. “Can I ask you a question so I can make a better guess?”

“Sure.”

“Are you good with technology?”

“In what way?”

You clarified, “Do you know how to reset your wifi router?”

She looked up and to the side for a moment, trying to imagine what she would do if her wifi went out. “No, I don’t think I’d know how to. But I could likely figure it out on my own,” she answered, looking back at you. “And that’s far more than one question.”

“Do you teach English?”

A gentle smile formed on Wanda’s and then she nodded. “Yes.”

It wasn’t that English teachers seemed technologically unknowledgeable, but if Wanda did know how to reset her wifi router, she’d likely teach history or maybe even some kind of science. She thought that was funny. She didn’t laugh to indicate that, she told you that it was, with a little smile.

You then told Wanda what you worked as. At the moment, you were doing some research after your postgrad, hopefully to be able to do some further research abroad in preparation for… something or other. You weren’t entirely sure right now.

Wanda was actually quite soft-spoken, and a little shy. She always looked like she wanted to say something more than what she had already said, or was thinking something more and didn’t entirely know how to say it.

After you finished eating, it was you who finally brought up the budgeting although you had honestly only used it as an excuse to get to know her more. After that, it was pretty much just committee talk.

”Do you have any plans for the holidays?” you asked her as you packed up your things. You paid for lunch, since you had asked her to take time out of her day to answer your questions. 

Wanda hummed as she fit her hat on then did her jacket up. “I won’t be too busy. Usually, I call my family and celebrate on my own.”

“Call them?” you repeated. “Do they live far?”

“They live in Eastern Europe.”

“Do they ever travel to visit you?”

She didn’t answer for a few moments as the both of you stepped out of the cafe. “No. They prefer not to travel. They say they’re waiting for my brother and I to save up and host them here so they can live in America. “

So, could that married guy have been her brother? 

“Does your brother live in Westview?”

“No, he travels around. I don’t think he has plans to save up for them any time soon.”

You felt a little idiotic for being so invested in that man’s relation to her, and you were suddenly uninterested in talking with her any longer. After all, that guy was probably her boyfriend, and she was probably taken aback in the car the other day when you asked her about her affair. 

But it shouldn’t even matter to you whether Wanda was dating anyone. 

Maybe you’d suddenly become a huge ethicist during the holidays, and just subconsciously hated women who had affairs with married men. 

“Well, thanks for helping me with the budgeting,” you said, turning to her once you got to your car. 

Wanda looked at you first, seemingly confused for just a beat, before she looked at your car, which she recognized from the time you drove her. She realized she hadn’t really been paying attention to what she was doing; she’d only been following wherever you were going. 

“Oh, yes, right.” She collected herself, brushing invisible snow from her jacket. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you next week.”

Then when you were preparing to turn and unlock your door, Wanda stepped back to leave but hesitated a little, so you figured she had something more to say. 

She looked over to where her car was, then down to the ground and back to you. “Thank you for inviting me to lunch. Have a good rest of your weekend.”

By the next meeting, there was a week left until Christmas, and things were beginning to wrap up. There were only two meetings left, and the final one wasn’t set for any planning. 

The final meeting, since everything had been moving ahead of schedule so far, was going to be reserved for a committee potluck, and any of the committee members could bring their friends or family as long as the volunteers were planning on bringing enough food. 

No one wanted to fall behind lest they lose the date of the potluck, and so the groupchat had recently been busy with updates as groups remained on time or even ahead of time, and the present meeting was no exception. 

Wanda seemed to have gotten word of how the committee heard that she was reprimanded for being behind in reports, so she made an update on all the things she’d sent to Westview’s council as confirmation to everyone and to ensure that she’d sent accurate information. 

Your group was all but finished aside from needing to buy the accessories for the performers, which would just be some bracelets and Santa hats and other small things which unified them as they all performed for the same event. Kamala and America were planning on shopping for them this weekend, and would bring them to the potluck to keep them there until they were taken out of storage for Christmas Eve.

The other groups were all caught up and were just waiting on tiny things, like how the group handling the small businesses were waiting on finalized menu prices for budgeting, which would also be finished this weekend.

Rio and Agatha’s group had finished their patio designs too.

Wanda wasn’t under any impression that you purposefully came up to her at the end of every meeting, and she was more than understanding of the fact that they were just coincidences, or due to reasons that came up which required you to speak with her. It wasn’t like you wanted to.

She was sort of hoping you had a reason to speak with her this time around too, but she didn’t think you had any issues with your group or with things you needed to do for the committee like you did before.

Wanda walked out to her car, trying to accept that she wouldn’t see you again until the next major planning committee event you could attend. She wasn’t planning on going to the next meeting’s potluck, and she wasn’t planning on going to the event on Christmas Eve either. She didn’t really go to those things.

You sounded busy during the year when you explained your job to her, and who knew if you’d be in Westview for next Christmas? Not that she was any thrill to have in your company anyway; she hardly knew how to keep an interesting conversation.

She exhaled a little in the driver’s seat, slumping down into her jacket.

It wasn’t often that anyone gave her their time. She thought the way she regarded you was a little pathetic, since it was clear you saw her as your committee head and nothing more. 

Wanda started her car and headed home. She would be finished with her work by tonight before the potluck, since all the other things that remained to be done didn’t involve her reports. The rest of her plans for the holidays involved buying gifts for her family and shipping them through the post. On Christmas, she’d call her parents then talk to her brother, who likely wouldn’t be in the mood to speak with them in a group call.

Then she’d celebrate New Years’ at home alone, and in January, begin a new school semester.

The day of the potluck came, and it was the first year everything had been done not only early, but as exciting as it all was; this year was imagined to be the most thrilling one so far. The blizzard had brought in inches and inches of snow which had been a pain for anyone stuck in it while it had been happening, but a dream to wake up to by the next morning once it stopped.

Westview was decorated in a winter you often saw in the movies, and everyone at the committee was in a wonderful mood.

You waited for Wanda to show up, wondering what kind of food she’d bring, and hoping to see her in a casual setting again. You wondered if she would wear her committee meeting clothes or something more comfortable. But a part of you also kind of dreaded seeing her around the married guy, whose name you found out today was Simon, because it seemed that he brought his wife to the potluck.

But by the thirty minute mark, Wanda still hadn’t shown up. 

“Do you think Wanda will come?” you asked Kate.

She shook her head. “She doesn’t come to these things. She never comes on Christmas Eve either.”

“What? Really? But she’s the head of the committee. I thought she’d at least show up to the event since she put so much time into it.”

Kate hummed, thinking about that for a moment. “Yeah, I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I always just assumed she travels or something.”

You looked around at the food, thinking back on all the times pastries and other drinks were brought to the meetings, and you couldn’t recall if Wanda ever partook in them. You looked up at Simon, who was chatting away with his wife.

Some part of you imagined some grand gesture where Wanda came to the potluck though she typically didn’t attend, but you were almost entirely sure she wasn’t going to. From what you had learned about her in the last few times you spoke with her on your own together, Wanda seemed a lot more hesitant than one would guess. 

You took two of the takeout boxes someone had brought in case there was going to be leftovers — and there was certainly going to be — to take to Wanda. One box was full of a normal dinner, like some of the rolls, turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes and gravy. Then in the other box, you packed some dessert, like cookies, pastries, and some candied fruit.

Then you made your way to her place.

Maybe she had company over, like her actual boyfriend, but in any case, you were fine just dropping the food off and handing it to her. And you didn’t want to call, because you didn’t think you were that close with her, and you didn’t want to assume she was comfortable with you calling her out of the blue.

Her car was alone in front of her place, and it didn’t look like she’d pulled out of her driveway since at least last evening given how much it’d snowed over her tire tracks.

You knocked on her door, and after a few moments the door opened, revealing Wanda in sweatpants and a thin plain black t-shirt.

“Y/N,” she firstly greeted, surprised as she pushed the door open further at the sight of you. “Did we talk about meeting?”

“No, nothing like that.” You held the two takeout boxes out. “I just thought you’d come to the potluck.”

She looked down at the boxes, reaching her hands out hesitantly to take them, then retracting her hands so they froze halfway to them. “Are these for me? What are they?” she asked, looking at you.

“It’s the food from the potluck. I brought you dinner and a bunch of dessert.”

“O-Oh, you… really didn’t have to bring me this…” she answered, her voice softening as she looked back down to the boxes and carefully took them from you. She looked back up and smiled at you. “Thank you.”

After a moment of brief silence which made you quite nervous, since it was very awkward to be standing in silence in front of Wanda, you stepped back. “Well, I’ll see you on Christmas Eve then,” you said.

She stepped forward. “Would you like to come in, Y/N?” she asked suddenly. 

When you made eye contact with her again, Wanda looked down at the boxes in her hands. “I just made some coffee and I was planning on doing some reading, but…” She looked up. “I made enough for two, and I haven’t had dinner yet.”

You swallowed, feeling somewhat nervous. “If you don’t mind.”

Wanda’s shoulders straightened, her expression lightening. “I don’t mind at all. Please come in,” she invited, stepping back and allowing you to enter. 

As you stepped inside and Wanda took your jacket, she took silent deep breaths as she prepared herself to have a proper conversation with you. 

“So…” she started as she walked you into the kitchen, pouring you a mug of coffee. “What are you planning on doing for Christmas, Y/N?” 

You stood a few feet away from Wanda as she poured you her coffee, watching her. She asked you what you liked in your coffee, and she stirred it in. She looked kind of… cute in what she was wearing. She looked kind of cute looking all domestic.

You scratched your cheek awkwardly, looking away as you answered, “Well, this year my family is coming to Westview and I’m hosting Christmas this time. So I’ve been decorating my place and thinking through some things to make for dinner.”

She carefully placed the coffee in front of you and began plating the food you brought her from the potluck.

“That sounds sweet,” she said. “I hope you enjoy hosting.”

“Do you have any Christmas traditions?”

She hummed in thought as she closed the boxes. “When I still lived with my parents, we volunteered at a soup kitchen, then came home and had late dinner. After we ate, we opened our gifts, then watched a movie as a family.”

You smiled a little as she described it. 

Wanda brought her coffee and plate to the dining table, and you brought your own coffee and a platter of peppermint cookies which she said she made yesterday. 

Wanda’s house was decorated with string lights, and she had a few unscented candles lit around the house. Her place smelled like cookies and a little bit of cinnamon, and you figured she must bake a lot in her freetime. In the living room, which you passed on your way to the kitchen, she had a large tree in front of the window decorated with gold, white, and pink.

It was kind of cute to imagine her decorating, and she was obviously far more festive than you thought. But then you imagined her decorating such a grand thing all on her own, and that made you feel quite bad for her. Not that you didn’t think she couldn’t — she clearly could — but the idea of someone so alone during the holidays made you ache.

“You said your parents wanted to move to America?” you asked when you sat down at the dining table. You both sat on one side of a corner, closest to each other.

She took in a breath and took a sip of coffee. “Yes, I did say that,” she answered, setting her mug down then cutting a slicing bit of turkey. “But… I honestly don’t think they’re sincerely interested in moving anywhere.”

“And your brother?”

“He moves too much,” she answered. “I had to ask him to stay in one place for a month so I could deliver a gift to his address, but he just told me to send it to a post in Berlin, and he’ll fly over if he’s not in Germany anymore to pick it up whenever it’s been delivered.”

She looked up from her plate, watching you look around her place. She swallowed, playing with her fork a little bit. The candlelight from the dining table made your face look very smooth, and very warm.

Wanda rubbed her knuckle against the back of her cheek, feeling herself flush at the sight. “Um, Y/N,” she said, looking back down at her plate and cutting a piece of turkey just to keep occupied. “I’ve been thinking…”

You looked away from her Christmas tree which you saw from a distance. It was beautiful, and Wanda truly had an eye for decorating. Even her furniture was gorgeous.

“I wanted to apologize for how I must’ve seemed to you when we first met. I mean… not how I seemed, exactly, but how I behaved…” She poked at the piece of turkey she sliced. “I’m… not very popular with the committee.”

Something fluttered in your chest, forcing you to take in a breath of air. Maybe it was guilt, or… Well, you were completely justified for how you acted around her before. 

But something about watching Wanda eat at the decorated table in the middle of her dining room in her gorgeous house, and imagining her doing this every evening for dinner alone made your chest tighten. 

Even in her own house, she seemed small. 

“Can I ask you something kind of personal?” 

She looked up from her plate, lowering her fork a little. She nodded. “Of course.”

“Are you seeing Simon?”

Wanda answered quickly, “No, I’m not seeing him.”

Before you could stop yourself from pushing too far, you added, “But he’s always flirting with you.”

She looked down at her plate again. “Yes, he’s…” She trailed off. She put her fork down and took a sip of coffee. “Simon is interested in me — of course I know that.”

“I’m just curious…” you spoke cautiously. “Why don't you see him if you know he’s flirting with you?”

“You’re asking because of his wife?”

When you blinked in response, Wanda figured you had no idea what she was talking about. She took a bite of her turkey, and after swallowing, she said, “His wife isn’t very subtle about her own affair. But I don’t think she concerns herself with what other people think of her; she’s some kind of lawyer, so she’s typically never in town.”

“You know a lot about everyone.”

To your surprise, Wanda laughed, though it was a dry one. “No. Simon just tells me.”

You nodded, taking a bite of a cookie. 

Wanda looked up when you didn’t respond, and she bit the inside of her cheek. She wondered if you felt as tense as she did whenever you brought Simon up. She fidgeted with the string of her sweatpants with her other hand. She never knew whether it was ever appropriate to say the things she had in mind. Often, she hesitated between telling you what she wanted to say and staying quiet. 

Swallowing, Wanda set her fork down and fidgeted with the handle of her mug. “I know it sounds terrible of me, but Simon always compliments my work as the committee head. That’s what he comes up to me after the meetings to talk about.”

“Oh,” you replied.

Still, the idea of Wanda getting all excited and romantic with some guy made you uncomfortable. It still made you upset that it frustrated you so much, and you wished you could look down on her for her questionable interactions with him, but you couldn’t help but just feel frustrated about it.

A small silence came over the two of you as Wanda looked down at her empty plate. She racked through her mind desperately for anything interesting to say. 

Then she looked up and asked, “What do you think about Agatha and Rio?”

You sipped your coffee, thankful for how beautiful Wanda’s house was since it gave you any excuse not to look at her for a few moments during moments of silence. “I think they’re nice together.”

“I think they are too,” Wanda replied, adjusting her fork and knife on her plate. She wanted to cry out and bury her face in her arms. She felt so pathetic; she had no idea how to have a conversation. You probably just wanted to go home already.

Even so, she tried to keep talking with you. 

“But Rio doesn’t like me very much.”

You looked over at her, recalling the time Rio called Wanda’s name loudly when she had come in forty minutes late though she had been trying to walk in subtly. “I had a feeling,” you said. “Why not?”

“I saw Agatha for a very short time, and I didn’t know she and Rio were on a break,” she explained. “Agatha told me they were on a break after she and Rio made up, but I didn’t know beforehand.”

Something about that was incredibly funny to you, because Rio and Agatha seemed inseparable, and to imagine that Wanda, of all people, had somehow gotten between them was extremely funny.

Wanda looked up from her plate, her lips parted slightly as she watched you for a moment while you laughed out loud. She felt her heart in her throat at the sight of you. She’d never seen you laugh that hard, and she didn’t think herself to be that funny. 

“That must have been very awkward for you,” you said once you could speak clearly.

“Yes, it was,” Wanda answered, smiling at you a little bashfully, tracking you with her eyes as you looked down to the table then picked up your mug of coffee again.

Wanda was never really good at picking up signals from other people either. It must mean something that you were in her house and eating with her, and sitting so close, and you weren’t rushing to finish your coffee. But what next?

It had been a long while since she had any close friends, or any real friends at all, so maybe she was just misunderstanding how she felt around you. Perhaps it was normal to feel so nervous around you and attracted to you.

Should she pursue you as a friend? She didn’t know how to do even that, and she also didn’t know if you still saw her as only your committee head. 

“Why did you change all those little things on our document, by the way?” you asked suddenly. “Sorry to bring committee stuff up. I’ve just been curious.”

Wanda looked a little embarrassed and she fiddled with the handle of her mug with two hands, her plate now pushed to the side. “There wasn’t anything wrong with it. I just thought I’d make a few adjustments about things that guests brought up last year,” she said. 

She looked up, looking uncertain and even a little remorseful. “I hope they weren’t too much of a change. I just thought I’d try to help a little bit.”

For a moment you couldn’t imagine that this was the same Wanda who had changed major parts of the group’s planning last year just five days before Christmas Day, and then you recalled that sometimes you couldn’t believe that both Wandas you knew were the same person.

You could understand Wanda seeming much larger in the committee room and much smaller in your car and in the cafe because she was sort of scary in the meetings, and soft-spoken outside of them. But you didn’t have a clue regarding things like how she seemed to treat the committee differently this time or how she treated your group differently than previous years, since you recalled that Peter mentioned how he thought she’d been nicer.

“Not at all. I think the changes were nice.”

“Really?” she asked. The corners of her lips tugged upwards a little. “I’m glad I could help.”

Wanda put away the dishes and thanked you again for the food. She packed you some of the peppermint cookies too. 

As she was walking you to the front, she watched you from behind, wondering if it was normal to bring up things that didn’t necessarily pertain to exactly what the two of you were talking about in the moment — which was to say, nothing.

Second guessing and uncertainty surrounding how she should behave or speak to you always got in the way of saying things she wanted to say. 

“Y/N, thank you for thinking of me today at the potluck when I didn’t come,” she said quietly as you slipped your boots on. She played with the box of cookies in her hands. “I’m not very good with people, as you might have guessed. But…”

She trailed off and you straightened once your boots were on to look at her. “I really like spending time with you outside the meetings,” she confessed, “and I hope that we might be able to keep talking after the holidays.”

You swallowed, suddenly feeling your heart race at the sight of her averted eyes and her quiet tone. You took in a breath and then spoke. “Would you like to help me wrap some gifts tomorrow?”

Wanda looked up, surprised. 

“I have a bunch to wrap because I’m hosting Christmas, and some of my family members gave me money to shop for them here because they couldn't travel with too much,” you explained. “So… I’ll really need your help.”

She nodded, gripping the box a little tighter. “Of course. I’ll be there.”

That night, you and Wanda planned for what time she’d come over. She’d come around three so she could have lunch, and you offered to cook her dinner for her help. She wanted to deny the offer, but she truly couldn’t turn down the chance of having a home-cooked dinner with you at your place.

Though you were looking forward to having her over, you felt rather nervous about it all. Wanda had a gorgeous home and was likely a very talented cook as she was a talented baker, and you really didn’t want to disappoint her.

As you went through the grocery store in the afternoon after getting some last minute gifts, you decided on preparing salmon sushi baked, which you’d been wanting to try. You picked up the ingredients then headed home.

Wanda was far different from how you initially thought her to be, but she was still incredibly intelligent and responsible, and although you felt a bit awkward admitting it to yourself, she was gorgeous too, and you still didn’t entirely know the kinds of things she was thinking about you. 

She had said that she wanted to see you after the holidays.

As a friend, right?

You were at least certain that she saw you as more than just a committee member.

When had you even started feeling this confused about her, anyway? It was still possible she had a boyfriend or some kind of partner in Europe where she was from.

Thinking back to things you knew about Wanda made you feel a little flustered, even things that had really pissed you off for reasons you still didn’t really understand your reactions to, like her little cozy hat and the scarf that always covered half her face, and her habit of averting her gaze when you caught her looking at you.

When Wanda arrived, she was in jeans and a light brown knit sweater, her hair done in a braid. She smiled at you when you opened the front door, and she was holding a large Christmas gift bag full of different gift wrapping designs. You realized her hair wasn’t naturally as straight as you typically saw it, because the hair was a little wavy, pulled back into the braid.

Wanda sat down on your couch as you brought her some hot chocolate, and some fruit and a little charcuterie board you put together.

“Thank you,” she said, smiling up at you as you set down the food on the coffee table. She was smiling at you more than usual since she’d arrived, and you couldn’t figure out whether you were unsettled or flattered by it.

When you sat down beside her on the couch and Wanda was taking a sip of her hot chocolate, she asked, “How was your day?”

“It was okay. I was mostly running around,” you answered. “I was getting some last minute gifts, and then I bought the things for dinner today.”

At the mention of dinner, Wanda perked up. “Oh, right. I brought something.” She set her hot chocolate down carefully then stood up to go over to her purse, where she also had her wrapping paper set. You didn’t ask her to bring anything, but she brought about four different designs from her place.

She pulled out a bottle of white wine, which looked rather expensive, and brought it over to you before sitting back down beside you. “I was thinking we might be able to have some wine with dinner.”

You carefully took the wine from her and looked it over. “Wow, Wanda, this is a really good kind,” you mused. “I think I had this last Christmas, and I loved it. Thank you.”

“I’m glad, Y/N. I had a feeling you’d like it.”

After setting it down on the coffee table, you looked over to her, only to find her still looking at you. She had a sort of pleasant look on her face. A little smile formed when you met her eyes, which looked at you with a sort of focus or analysis whose details she didn’t disclose to you.

She looked away and took a grape from the charcuterie board.

“Should we start wrapping?” you asked, solely to release the tension in your chest.

You and Wanda sat on the floor in front of your tree, the coffee table moved so you could both reach the charcuterie board and Wanda could reach her hot chocolate. The two of you decided to use the wrapping paper Wanda bought, since hers was unsurprisingly far prettier.

“So, well… I’m actually not very good at wrapping presents. I always put them in gift bags,” you confessed.

Wanda took a box of expensive chocolates and aligned it with the wrapping paper. “I’m quite good at wrapping presents,” she boasted playfully, looking up at you as she cut the paper with a pair of scissors. “I can show you how.”

The chocolate box was wrapped pristinely, and Wanda turned it around a few times in her hands to show you its sharp edges and folds. She gave it to you so you could write on the gift’s label. 

“Where did you learn how to wrap so good?” you asked, taking another gift in an easy-to-wrap shape and setting it in front of your crossed legs.

“I had to do a lot of Christmas wrapping when I lived with my parents,” she explained. She stood up suddenly and took a seat beside you. She repositioned the gift in front of your legs and aligned it with the wrapping paper.

Between explaining how to wrap gifts to you and explaining how she learned while wrapping her own alongside you for you to follow her through example, she spoke while you listened.

“My brother and I also wrapped gifts for the soup kitchen I mentioned before,” she explained, her eyes darting between your gift and hers to make sure you were following along properly. “We wrapped so many, so I think I just got better at it over time.”

You spoke a bit slowly since you were focusing. “How long did you volunteer there?”

“I think about…” Wanda paused to think, then reached out to move your hand with her own. “Fold this underneath, not over. Keep it against the box,” she instructed. 

When you looked up at her after correcting yourself, she nodded, letting go of your hand as your fingers pressed the paper against the box. “Yes, just like that,” she said.

Then she continued, “I think we volunteered there for about eight years.”

You and Wanda spoke back and forth as you wrapped gifts together for about an hour, sitting cross-legged side by side beside your Christmas tree.

“Do you miss your family?” you asked at one point.

Wanda hummed as she taped some paper down. “My brother and I were very close,” she said. “I do miss him. I sometimes feel resentful that he hasn’t taken any time to come see me, but I understand that he’s always felt very trapped around family growing up. He was far more ambitious and impulsive than I ever was.”

You noticed she didn’t mention anything about her parents. 

“When did you both move out?”

“Pietro moved out when he was eighteen. He took up jobs wherever he travelled, and he’s always been a spirited and friendly person, so I hear he’d been able to make fast friends no matter where he landed.”

You noticed that Wanda typically avoided talking about herself when she had the chance to talk about anyone else, especially when it had to do with her family.

Sliding your last gift away under the tree after labeling it and turning your body to face Wanda with hers, you asked, “What about you?”

“I left much later, when I was twenty five. I studied to become a teacher here in America after finishing my undergrad there,” she answered, keeping her eyes on the final gift she was wrapping. 

She finished the gift and slid it over to you. You labelled it then placed it on top of another gift. 

“Wow. They all look great,” you said, standing up and taking a step back to look. “Thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done any of it without you.”

You looked down at Wanda, who was staring at the tree and the gifts in some oddly sentimental way. You reached a hand down to her, and the movement from the corner of her eye broke her focus. She looked up at you with a grateful smile then took it and stood up. 

Wanda opened the wine so the two of you could start drinking as you began to cook together. 

This was your first year out of school and you’d been working throughout it without even really getting a chance to settle it in. 

This Christmas season, you’d been doing a whole lot of meeting with people from Westview, and it was all incredibly fun. You felt like a college student again, surrounded by older Westview neighbours, doing fun group assignments, and worrying about travelling to meetings in the weather. 

But while you were cooking with Wanda, your place finally felt lived in for the first time since you moved to Westview.

It was nice to fit in, but it was nicer to be home. 

“So… Can I ask if you have kids? Or, like… some wild crazy ex-husband story that would be interesting to tell?”

Wanda’s eyebrows raised over the rim of her glass as she took a sip. “Goodness,” she said, setting the glass down. “Do I really look that old?”

“No, no,” you assured, waving your salmon-coated hands in front of you. She picked up a piece of salmon from the counter that had flung off from your finger and placed it in the glass dish that was nearly set to go into the oven. 

She watched you with a little smile, her cheeks warm from the wine as you flattened the salmon across the rice, thinking of a different way to form your question. 

“Then… Do you have a boyfriend?” you asked, looking up after a moment, meeting her eyes innocently. 

“No,” she answered. “I’m a lesbian.”

You blinked, partially surprised, and then feeling a little competitive. If she had a girlfriend, things would be totally different, for some reason. 

As if she could read your mind, she added, “But I’m not seeing anyone, and I don’t have an ex-wife or any children.”

It was most certainly the wine that was making the both of you feel a little bolder, otherwise you wouldn’t have asked her about whether she was seeing anyone, and she wouldn’t have seen your slightly flushed expression and thought to take the opportunity to tease you. 

“Do you have a partner, Y/N?” she asked, picking up her glass again. 

“No,” you answered earnestly. “I’ve been too busy to think about those things.”

She hummed at your answer, pouring a little more wine into her glass then topping yours off too. You washed your hands and put the salmon bake into the oven. 

“You’re not interested in anyone in your group?” she asked.

“Um…” You frowned a little at the thought, not because you were thinking about it, but because it was a strange thing to suggest. “No — no one there.”

Wanda would be lying if she said she didn’t think of placing you in that group because she wanted to see how you and Kate got along, amongst other reasons that were far less important now. She wanted to figure out if you liked girls, and Wanda figured she and Yelena had broken up since she stopped coming to meetings. But your answer wasn’t indicative of anything, so she figured she’d just never know. 

You set a timer on the oven and stood in front of Wanda, who’d been leaning her hip on the counter watching you after she cut the salmon and laid the seasoned rice out into the dish. 

“I guess I didn’t really think the rest of the night through,” you said sheepishly after taking a sip of wine. “What do you want to do?”

“Would you like to just talk at your dining table?” Wanda offered with a little smile. 

You and Wanda sat very close to each other, with the table’s edge between the two of you like it had when you were at her place. Except, her knee brushed against yours under the table with how close she was sitting. 

You said something that made Wanda laugh, and she crossed her legs on top of your dining room chair. Her cheeks were flushed a soft pink, and she kept leaning closer to you. 

Wanda had been worrying about the upcoming evening all day, wondering what kinds of things people talked about when they wrapped gifts together.

Then she wondered again about how you regarded her; you didn’t invite just anyone to your place, much less to do something as casual as wrapping gifts.

She’d actually Googled the kinds of things people did at these things, but she couldn’t find anything very good for what to say or do during gift wrapping activities, or even find anything for the specific occurrence. 

She’d even tried to search up how people advanced from a professional relationship to a more intimate one. She got some great tips on that from a website called Reddit — share more about your personal life, indicate with body language to express willingness for physical closeness, and maintain eye contact sometimes. 

Well, Wanda would say that it was all going quite well. She felt like a great socializer, and you seemed to be picking up on all her hints that she wanted to be closer to you. 

“I’m really sorry to ask, but I’m just curious,” you apologized, prefacing your next question as the two of you settled back down at the table, salmon bake now freshly out of the oven and on the dining table. 

Wanda was serving the pieces onto a plate after the both of you sprinkled fresh seaweed on top. “Don’t apologize,” she said. ”Ask me anything.”

“Are you close with your parents?”

The tension that often came over Wanda when you asked personal questions hadn’t seemed to come over her the entire time she was over. Instead, she would react with a familiar pensive silence where she looked like she was thinking something over before answering. 

“Not very close, no,” she answered. “My parents were very strict and very controlling of my brother and I. Pietro moved out the moment he could, and I stayed to complete my education and support them.”

“I see,” you said, taking a bite of your dinner. 

Before you could say how good it was, Wanda exclaimed with a hand over her partially-full mouth, “This is amazing. You’re a wonderful cook, Y/N.” Her cheeks were a little stuffed as she chewed and her hair had been loosened from her braid, showing more of the natural waves of her hair.

You had wanted to agree, but got a little distracted watching her, so after she swallowed another bite, she added, “I worked as a teacher’s aid through my undergrad and worked a lot outside of school to support my family. I still send them money frequently. I think my brother does the same, but we don’t talk very much about them. I’ve always been much closer to him.”

“May I ask you something personal too?” she asked. She looked up from her plate to look at you, and you nodded when you noticed she was waiting for visual confirmation.

She hummed a little, as if she were trying to select a good one. 

Then she asked, “Do you like women?”

The question surprised you and you weren’t sure whether you should laugh as if it were a joke. Your cheeks flushed at the idea of Wanda imagining you with a woman. But she didn’t seem to catch onto your embarrassment, even as she watched your face with focus.

You decided to answer simply given how nonchalantly Wanda was looking at you. “Yes.”

Then Wanda took a sip of her wine, looking at you still. 

“Okay,” she replied, smiling a little. “Have you dated recently?”

“Um…” You thought about that for a moment, then looked back at her. “No. I think it’s been about two years since my last relationship. What about you?”

Wanda swallowed another bite of her food. “I was with one of my coworkers when I first started working at the school for a few months.”

“Wow. How did that go?”

“It was a very bad idea.”

She looked up from her plate when you laughed, and Wanda couldn’t help but giggle thinking back at the absurd circumstances, which she discussed in more detail with you after you asked about it.

After dinner, you and Wanda decided that it wasn’t a good idea for her to drive home because of how she still felt a little tipsy, but it was late, and you didn’t want to keep her from going home, and you didn’t trust yourself to drive either. 

But because of how occupied the two of you had become inside, neither of you had paid attention to another snowstorm that seemed to have been going on for at least forty minutes.

“Do you think an Uber will come?” she asked, looking up from her phone with the weather app open and through the window in your living room, which you were also looking through while standing beside her.

“Ah… I don’t know,” you answered, sounding a little preoccupied as you looked outside. “The snow’s got some inches up your tires…”

Wanda looked at you, biting the inside of her cheek as she watched your deep focus. “Is it okay that I stay for longer? I don’t want to keep you up.”

“It’s really okay,” you said, stepping back from the window. “Please stay.”

The weather app said that the storm wouldn’t stop until later in the evening, so the plan was for you to stay up with Wanda until it died down. Maybe by then, you could shovel the driveway for her ride. Otherwise, she was alright with sleeping over. 

The two of you were sitting on your couch, the television on but paused about five minutes into a Christmas movie before one of you paused it for some forgotten reason, and became distracted in conversation moving forward.

Wanda was wearing some of your extra clothes, and you’d changed into something more comfortable too. She had undone her hair from her braid, and you thought she looked beautiful with her hair unstraightened. The two of you were drinking hot chocolate again after finishing off the wine, exchanging stories and talking about random things.

Then, as you looked over at the television, partly in deep thought about something you had just been talking about and the other part wondering if you should play the movie again, Wanda looked over your face, sitting with her knees up against her stomach, her body facing you. 

“Y/N, can I tell you something honestly?” she asked.

She thought back to the advice she read online — to become closer with someone, you should try being more honest about things to show that you were open to sharing your real thoughts and feelings.

“Sure,” you replied, turning back to her.

“I think you’re very attractive.”

Sometimes Wanda had a habit of asking questions or saying things which surprised you, in a tone that was entirely nonchalant. But often, when you looked at her expression and found that she was asking seriously or casually, you were able to gauge how to respond without seeming as flustered as you did — like when she asked if you liked women.

But this time, she herself seemed flustered too.

She brushed her cheek against her upper arm which was wrapped around her knees as you looked at her. “I’m sorry if that was a strange thing to say,” she said quietly, seeming hesitant to look away from you, but eventually looking back over at the paused movie.

Perhaps she was also thinking about playing it again, hoping to forget about what she said.

“Wanda,” you said quietly, getting her attention again.

When she looked at you, her eyes meeting yours and looking a little nervous, you said, “You’re really, really beautiful.”

Wanda’s hands tightened around her elbows, and she had the urge to hide her face. She didn’t want to, because she wanted to take the compliment well and say something kind in return, but her cheeks felt flushed and warm and she didn’t want to smile as wide as she felt she wanted to. 

Against her better wishes, she buried her flushed face in her arms, which were still wrapped around her knees. “You’re saying that to be kind, yes?” she asked, her voice meek, lifting her head and looking at you. “I read that sometimes people mirror others to seem friendlier.”

You only shook your head in response, and Wanda looked at you, trying to figure what to do with what you told her, her internal thoughts a downright mess.

Wanda imagined what would happen if she decided to stay quiet, like she normally did when she didn’t know what to say, or when she worried that she wasn’t reading social cues well enough to speak within the right context.

Maybe you might have lunch with your committee after the holidays, and realize that Kate was entirely your type. Maybe you would meet someone doing the same kind of research as you did in your postgrad at work. Maybe you’d stop staying in Westview, and start staying with your future girlfriend if she lived outside of town, and she’d never see you again.

“Can you kiss me? Please?” she asked suddenly, letting go of her legs and straightening.

Like a soldier acting on command, you reached over to her, ending up on your knees with one hand on the couch to steady yourself to meet her lips with yours. Your other hand rested on her knee, and Wanda took it, tugging you closer so you could move on top of her as she began to lean backwards.

You slotted yourself between her parted legs, her thighs closing against your hips, holding you in place. Her hands slid under your shoulders and laid against your upper back, keeping you close as your lips moved against each other. 

The little noises that came from her made you want to touch her in the most delicate way you could. You kissed her slowly, and she liked that speed. She shuddered when your tongue traced the bottom of her upper lip, and she immediately parted her lips for you. 

She rolled her hips upward when your tongue entered her mouth, the tip of her own running along the side of yours, like a gentle greeting, before your tongue swirled around her own slowly.

You parted from her lips to take a breath, and through hooded eyes you saw Wanda’s slightly open mouth, her lips glistening, before you leaned down and tucked your face into her neck. She whispered your name shakily, tipping her head to the side as your tongue flattened itself and ran up to the edge of her jaw.

Unsure if she was alright with you leaving marks, you gently suckled at points of her neck instead, nipping at her skin close to her neck. You felt the vibrations of her soft noises against your lips. 

One of Wanda’s hands moved down your lower back and tugged lightly at the waistband of your pajama pants. “Can I take it off?”

You lifted your head from her neck and nodded, reaching down to help her, and lifting yourself up onto your knees to readjust your positions. 

“Can you get on your back?” she asked, sitting up and removing her legs from between your knees. 

Wanda took the remote and set it down on the floor so you wouldn’t lay on it. She got on top of you, between your parted legs.

You kissed differently when she was on top. It was hard to explain, but you could feel it. She wasn’t necessarily slower, but she was careful and deliberate, your lips moving together as if to feel one another rather than doing so with the explicit intention to kiss. 

Your arm was wrapped around her waist, your hand pressed against the side of her stomach, feeling her shirt lift slightly as she moved, warm skin under your fingers.

She teased your nipple through your shirt in a way that made your body jerk slightly, the side of her finger grazing over it until it hardened and became sensitive. The pad of her thumb drew circles against it. 

The noises she made sounded more of satisfaction than pleasure as you whimpered beneath her, your body arching beneath her as she continued to tease your nipples. 

“Can I push your shirt up?” she asked, having to part from your lips to ask. You nodded immediately, lifting your back a bit while Wanda straightened so she could push your shirt above your chest. 

The position you were in was a rather vulnerable one, and made you feel more exposed than if you had just taken the shirt off. Her eyes darted between your breasts, before leaning back down, closer to you. 

Her eyes were still on your chest, and your shirt, bunched up close to your neck, obscured your view of her hands. Her finger teased at one nipple delicately, and you could figure that it was quickly stiffening based on a low noise Wanda made. 

She leaned her head down and wrapped her lips around it, sucking gently, her tongue rhythmically moving back and forth across the very tip of it and drawing soft moans out of you. 

Wanda paid such close attention to how her little ministrations were affecting you, and the speed of everything she was doing was perfect. She rubbed the tip of her tongue at just the right slow and teasing speed against your nipples, knew just when to pinch them between her thumb and index finger. 

You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had such a fixation on your nipples, let alone been able to make you feel this good while stimulating just them. 

She moved up and kissed you again, and the feeling of her shirt against your chest made you kiss her teasing. “Do you like when I play with your nipples?” she asked against your lips. “I can tell they’re very sensitive.”

You nodded immediately. 

“Would you like more?”

“Yes, please,” you practically sighed out in desperation. You sat up a little to take your shirt off to make it easier, and Wanda helped you get it over your head before placing it on the floor. 

She returned to teasing your buds, alternating between wrapping her lips around them, pressing gentle kisses to them, or rubbing her tongue against them. The pads of her fingers were gentle, careful to touch them right at their tips, which made you jerk upwards the most. 

At this point, you had practically been rolling your hips up against her for several moments straight, desperate for friction against your core. 

Wanda released your nipple from her mouth, watching your face as her fingers grazed across your clothed slit. She could feel the contours of your pussy against the pads of her fingers. She was so careful, and so delicate. 

She applied pressure steadily, rubbing up and down your slit, rubbing up the mound of your clit’s hood. She pressed into the empty space, feeling how easily your folds slid against the fabric of your panties — you must’ve already been rather wet. 

Her finger hooked around the waistband of your underwear and you reached down and tried to help her take it off. She repositioned herself to pull your panties off.

Your legs immediately parted for her and you watched as her eyes ran over your legs and thighs and then your cunt, your heart racing at the steady eyes you knew so well now focused on your pussy. 

One of your legs was partially dangling from the couch, while the other was bent, the side of your knee resting against the couch’s back cushion — you were entirely exposed to her. 

Wanda moved closer, unbending your knee and wrapping your leg around her hips so she could fit in between your legs. Her one hand placed itself on the couch by your hip. 

Curious fingers parted your folds carefully and you felt yourself flutter around nothing, a shudder running up your body. Two cool fingers rubbed slow circles against your pussy, so slow that you could hear the noises your cunt was making. 

“You’re so wet, Y/N,” Wanda said, her voice gentle and soothing. She spoke it as if narrating a fact rather than trying to intentionally talk dirty to you. “Your pussy is so soft. I wish you could see the way you look when I rub you this slow. The way you’re coating my fingers…”

She took her bottom lip between her teeth.

With the same two fingers, she parted your folds, watching your opening flutter for her. 

Wanda adjusted her posture, straightening her back and leaning forward to shift her weight onto her other hand. With one finger first, she slid into your opening, a satisfied noise leaving her at the feeling of how you wrapped around her middle finger.

“This is one finger,” she told you, looking up at your face. You nodded in confirmation. 

You clenched around her immediately, soft whimpers escaping you as Wanda began her rhythm, slow and intentional. She curled her finger upwards, applying light pressure against your g-spot. 

At the upward bucking of your hips, she straightened her finger inside of you and began to pick up speed. 

Wanda watched your back arch and your hips twitch upwards. She adjusted her speed and how hard she thrusted her fingers into you based on how much your hips chased her, or how much you pulled away or fluttered around her. 

Her eyes moved down from your face to your heaving chest, and she shifted her weight onto her heels so she could reach out with her other hand and grope one of your breasts. 

“Another finger,” you pleaded, reaching down to loosely wrap your fingers around her hand. She pulled out and reentered with two, adding her ring finger. 

As you adjusted to the size, evidently enjoying it much more for how you moaned out, gripping at the edge of the couch, Wanda experimented with her speed again, and tried thrusting her fingers in a little harsher. 

“Does that feel good?” she asked. 

“G-Good,” you stuttered in response. 

At your whimpers and your arching back, Wanda figured she found the perfect rhythm. She maintained it, then began teasing your nipples again. 

The double stimulation was far too much, and your leg wrapped around Wanda tighter. Your heel began to press into her lower back, so you set your foot down on the couch to avoid hurting her. 

“You feel so nice, Y/N,” Wanda said, practically cooing for how delicately she was speaking. “You’re so warm and soft. When I curl my fingers right here…” She curled them, pressing the pads of them against your g-spot, eliciting a whine out of you. “You fit around my fingers perfectly.”

She began to enter you each time with a delicate curl of her fingers, rubbing against the spot you loved. 

You panted, your hips lifting from the couch slightly as you felt yourself begin to tighten around Wanda’s fingers. She let go of your breast and wrapped a hand around the side of your waist, steadying you. 

“A-Ah, I’m gonna co-ome,” you stuttered. 

“Come for me, Y/N,” Wanda cooed. She looked down at you, biting down on her bottom lip as she watched your face contort in pleasure, listening to your whines mesh with your pants.

She maintained the speed you liked, until she felt you squeeze around her fingers, a cry leaving you while Wanda looked down at your body, feeling her mouth go dry at what she was seeing and at how much she loved feeling you around her fingers. 

You were younger than her, but Wanda never thought about your age difference very much when she spent her time with you. But you looked much younger below her as she watched you orgasm, listening to your delicate whimpers as you came down from your release.

Wanda slipped out of you slowly when your hips fell back down to the couch, missing the warm squeeze of your walls. She wrapped her lips around her fingers, savouring you slowly, her tongue sliding around her slick fingers. 

Then she moved on top of you, leaning down to kiss your lips. Her hand caressed your cheek, and you felt the remnants of her saliva rub against the corner of your jaw. She parted from you and buried her head in the crook of your neck, and you helped her position herself so she was laying on top of you, on your chest.

She turned her face upwards, kissing your neck chastly.

“You’re so good at that,” you said after you caught your breath in silence, Wanda having closed her eyes as she laid on top of you. Your hand was tucked under her shirt, rubbing her bare side.

With a flush of her cheeks and a repressed giggle, Wanda turned her face to rub against your chest. “Thank you.”

You untucked your hand from under her shirt and lifted it to her upper arm to play with the ends of her hair. Then you raised your hand to the side of her head, your fingers intertwining themselves into her hair, massaging her scalp gently.

Feeling the stark contrast from the present in comparison to when you first met her, you confessed honestly, “I actually really disliked you when we first met.” You avoided using the word ‘hate,’ because sometimes Wanda took your words very literally.

Wanda opened her eyes, looking up at you from your shoulder. “I know,” she said. “I figured you did.”

“But I thought I was just being overdramatic,” you added, “so I never talked about it with anyone, in case I would say things I regretted or if I figured I was just being confused.”

She wrapped her arm around your torso a bit tighter. 

“I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I gave you a hard time on purpose.”

“Why on purpose?”

Wanda looked back down at your chest, her hand rubbing against your side slowly. “At first, I felt a little awkward. I thought you were very attractive, and I knew you were younger than me,” she explained. Her fingers drew shapes against your skin, fidgeting slightly as she confessed what she regarded was embarrassing.

“Then you got along so well with the committee — far more than I ever had after volunteering for three years. And I knew you didn’t like me very much, and I also knew that if you spoke about it, you’d certainly speak with others who didn’t.”

Then she added quietly, “And I didn’t know how to speak with you; I don’t know how to speak with anyone. And when you drove me home during the blizzard, I felt very awkward. I didn’t know what I should say.”

You thought about that for a moment, and you realized that Wanda genuinely felt insecure about her struggles with socializing, and often behaved with hostility due to her inability to blend in well with others or figure out how to act in social situations.

“I didn’t think of you like that at all,” you said. “I only didn’t like you because you ran the committee like a dictator, not because I figured you had a hard time talking with people.”

“Really?” she asked, lifting her head to look at you. “I thought I stuck out like a sore thumb.”

You shook your head. “Kate said you didn’t typically come to events like the one downtown on Christmas Eve because she figured you travelled, and I just thought you were very different outside of the committee. I wanted to know more about you.”

Wanda felt her cheeks flush, and she swallowed. “You wanted to know more about me? Even after I was terrible to you?”

“You weren’t terrible to me, Wanda.”

She looked away, feeling a little awkward. You reached out and cupped her cheek supportively, your thumb brushing over the traces of the freckles by her nose that you’d noticed the first day you met her. She looked back at you, smiling at your supportive gesture.

“The day you drove me back, I told you all those things that I heard from other volunteers,” she said. “But no one really tells me those things. They don’t speak with me socially.”

“So… You just made it up?”

“No, I didn’t make it up,” she answered. She averted her eyes. “I didn’t know how to compliment you…”

You smiled at her shy demeanor. You rubbed your thumb against her cheek again, and Wanda re-met your eyes. “I don’t think you seem awkward, Wanda. You don’t stick out like a sore thumb,” you told her. 

Wanda always had a very difficult time with eye contact, but she liked being looked at by you. She replied softly, “You’re the only one who thinks that.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

Her smile widened at the sound of your playful tone.

“What?” she asked.

“I think…” You sat up, and Wanda slipped from your chest, sitting back into your lap as you reached down and put your shirt back on. “I think that we should go upstairs so I don’t have to be the only one without my underwear on.”

“I can take them off now,” she offered, shifting herself on her lap to slip the pajama pants you gave her off. 

You placed your hands on hers to keep her from undressing, and you stood up from the couch. “No, I mean, I want to have sex upstairs,” you explained.

“Ah,” she replied, feeling a little silly for misunderstanding, a smile forming on her face. She quickly stood up after you and followed you up the stairs. Her eyes kept darting down to your naked lower half below your oversized shirt, her heart racing at the sight of you, and at the act of following you upstairs. 

She sped up a little to walk beside you. 

You wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling you against her so you could kiss her. Wanda moaned softly into your mouth. She tugged at your shirt, encouraging you to pull her to your bed.

You unwrapped your arm from her waist, placing both hands on your hips and keeping her against you. Wanda felt herself ache at how you handled her, and she carefully stepped back as you led her towards your bed. 

She took a seat at the edge, your lips parting. 

The two of you spoke about using a strap, and you showed her the size you had. She held the harness up while you inserted it, then the two of you put it to the side on the bed as Wanda moved back onto your bed.

Your lips met again, Wanda parting her legs for you to position herself between. You felt her reach down to take her shirt off and you straightened to help her. 

She didn’t seem to receive as much pleasure when you teased her nipples as she did when she was doing it to you. She preferred for you to be closer to her, with your lips on hers or against her neck. 

Her hands tucked themselves under your shirt, running up the curve of your back. She pulled your shirt over your head and pulled you down to her. Her breasts were soft against your chest and you flushed at the sight of the soft flesh against your body.

You practically whimpered as you looked down at them, one hand massaging her gently, Wanda whimpering softly as you did.  

“You like them?” she cooed from beneath you, watching with rapt attention as your eyes looked down at her chest. She arched her back up and pushed herself into your palm, your hand full of her soft breast, her nipple stiffening under your contact.

After responding with a useless, distracted noise, Wanda cradled the back of your head with her hand and brought you down to her neck, where you sucked gently at her collarbone first before travelling up to her jawline.

Her pleasured sighs made you ache once more between your thighs, and you could feel Wanda begin to roll her hips up against you. Her leg wrapped around your hips and she pulled you closer.

Instead, you repositioned yourself to slide a thigh between her legs, making contact with her clothed core. Wanda immediately began rolling herself down against you, whiny moans coming from her. You bent your thigh forward, applying further pressure to her clit.

Her eyebrows furrowed together at the sudden attention, and she opened her eyes to look for where the strap was placed. “Please, now,” she begged.

Wanda eagerly took her pants and underwear off as you stepped off the bed and stepped into the harness. She swallowed at the sight of you, and she laid back down, her legs spread for you and her hands gripping onto the blankets, feeling a hummingbirds’ heart thrumming in her chest.

It had been a while since Wanda last had sex. 

She was more heartbroken over Agatha than she preferred to let on; for her, it had been a short fling on a break, while Wanda had sincerely liked her and enjoyed the intimacy. When she discussed it with you the time you came over to her place, it had been the first time she thought about it without feeling inadequate for serving as some temporary fling.

It wasn’t just that it had been a while that made her feel a thrum of both excitement and nerves, but also that she couldn’t remember the last time she felt so attached to someone she was about to sleep with. She wanted to do well for you, and she wanted you to feel a connection with her. 

You coated the strap with lube before setting it down on the nightstand and meeting her warm pussy with your fingers. 

A small whine escaped Wanda at the contact. 

You looked up at her. 

“Are you feeling nervous?” you asked. 

She nodded.

You lowered yourself over her, your fingers still rubbing softly against her warm folds. She made little noises, gripping into the sheets. 

“We don’t have to,” you told her, removing your fingers. “It’s okay if you’d like to go to bed, if you would rather that.”

Wanda shook her head adamantly and placed her hands on your sides, pulling you against her. 

“I want you,” she assured. 

Then, when she felt like she might go silent again like she normally did when she wasn’t sure what to say, she confessed, “I want you to feel connected to me, and… I don’t want you to be bored of me. After this.”

“Wh…” You lifted yourself up, your weight shifting onto your hand by her head to get a better view of her. “Why would I feel bored of you?”

“I want to spend time with you. I still want to see you even if you ever leave the committee, and even after the holidays when we both get busy. Sometimes, I still can’t tell if you like to see me just because you’re free over the holidays,” she explained. 

She added quietly, “I don’t want you to… leave me for someone you like more.”

You completely sat up, leaning back against your heels. Wanda sat up a little against your pillows and headboard. 

You took her hand. “No, Wanda, I really, really like you. Outside of the committee, and outside of… of the holidays.“

That made Wanda giggle a little, her hand brought up to her mouth. She felt her stomach filled with butterflies at the direct confession.

“You really like me, Y/N?”

With a poorly-repressed grin, you climbed on top of her again and added a little more lube to yourself, your hand wrapped around your strap. “I like you so much, Wanda,” you whispered against her temple. 

You heard another giggle from her before you delved into her neck, your fingers drawing circles against her core. You entered and exited her shallowly, steadily pushing yourself further into her with one finger with every gentle entry. The length of your finger slid against her clit with every stroke.

“Tell me when,” you said, speaking against her neck, curling your finger slightly with every slow entry, trying to see if you could gauge the speed she liked. 

“I want you now,” she sighed, her hand moving down to find your harness, pulling you against her hips. She let out a desperate whimper when your strap grazed against her core.

Wanda liked it in the same way she liked kissing you. Your speed was steady, and she took your entire length with her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you in so you met her skin with an echoing slap. Then she loosened the tension so you could pull back, before pulling you back in, lifting her hips slightly so she could meet you with the intensity she wanted. 

The speed allowed for her moans to be low and genuine, communicating what she couldn’t with words in little noises and sighs. 

You reached over her head to grip the headboard so you could meet her hips without the pressure of her legs. Wanda whined loudly, reaching up to wrap her hand around your bicep as she arched her back up against you.

She whimpered your name, her thighs squeezing against your hips.

“Y-Yes, like that,” she panted. “Ah, Y/N, I’m…”

“Fuck, you take me so well, Wanda,” you encouraged.

Wanda whimpered at your praise and she came not a moment after, crying out into your shoulder, her hand squeezing your bicep when your hips met hers with a slightly more forceful impact as she reached her peak.

Her thighs loosened from around your hips and she groaned, breathing out with a huff. Her hand remained gripping your bicep loosely. 

Wanda caught her breath while you laid beside her, rubbing her hip. You kissed her face gently and then the top of her head, and played with her hair.

“Do you want water?” you asked her.

“Please,” she replied, opening her eyes and looking at you with a little smile.

A few moments later you came back with a glass of water, handing it to her after she sat up. “Thank you,” she said, shuffling closer to you as you drank from your own. 

After she set it down, she looked at you with a smile, as if expectantly.

You exhaled a laugh into your glass then set it down, wiping the water that had splashed onto your cheek. “What?”

After some giggling in which Wanda bashfully asked to go again, the two of you switched positions. 

Wanda turned onto all fours and you held onto her hips, positioning yourself against her opening. She pushed herself back slightly, and you watched as her opening hugged your tip. She let out a soft whimper.

Everywhere you touched Wanda, your bare skin brushed against hers. When you looked at her, you could see every form her naked body took, how it curved and bent and folded. Her skin was cool to the touch and easily warmed.

The bed squeaked beneath the two of you in tandem with your hips meeting her ass in rhythmic slaps, and it didn’t take Wanda long to lower herself, unable to hold herself up. She laid on top of your pillows, moaning out as you kept the steady pace she liked. 

You sped up slightly and Wanda whined into your pillow.

“Do you like it when I do that?”

“Nngh, s-so good,” she groaned. She slipped her hand beneath her torso and massaged her breast.

You reached forward and wrapped a hand around the side of her waist to hold her in place. Your other hand moved her hand out of the way, and you groped her breast before flicking at her hardened nipple. 

Wanda held onto your wrist, her body jerking forward with each one of your thrusts. The headboard hit lightly against the wall in the same tempo as Wanda’s tiny whimpers, muffled by your blankets. 

With this position, it was far easier to thrust against her with a little more intensity, although with the same speed. 

“Is this too rough?” you asked. 

“A little…”

You let go of her breast and placed both hands on her hips, slowly lowering her so she was mostly laying flat. Her back was arched enough so that she was angled up against you, her ass slotting against the curve of hips. 

This way, your range of motion was centered closer to her body. 

“Is this better?” you asked, speaking softly now that your torso was entirely against her back. 

She nodded, reaching back for your hand. You let go of your hip and interlaced your hands with hers, holding it above her head, her other gripping at the bed sheets. 

“Faster…” she muttered against your pillows. 

You sped up, your hips meeting her ass eagerly, egged on by listening to her moans so close to your ear. 

From behind, you buried your face in her neck, kissing and suckling gently at the soft skin. You bit down lightly on her shoulder to see how she would react, and you were rewarded with a whiny moan and a squeeze of your hand. 

“Pull my hair,” she told you. 

You let go of her breast and took a handful of her hair, pulling it back, her noises now unmuffled from your pillows. Her hair was so soft. You were sure not to lose your grip. 

“Wanda, you’re doing so good,” you whispered. “You sound so fucking hot.”

She whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Mmm, Y/N…” She turned her head and met your eyes. “Am I being a good girl?”

Your mouth went dry and you felt like you were melting on top of her. Then you realized it made an incredible amount of sense that Wanda would be into being praised. 

With the way she was underneath your body, her hand squeezing around yours, and her hair tightened in your other, the blissed out look Wanda gave you through her hooded eyes made you completely speechless. 

You leaned in and kissed her, and Wanda immediately parted her lips. The kiss was messy for how often the two of you had to part to take breaths and exhale, panting into each other’s open months, tongues swirling around each other, grazing against smooth teeth, teasing at swollen lips.

“That’s right, my good girl. Take it just like that,” you grunted softly. “You deserve this, Wanda. You’ve been so good… Working so hard.”

Wanda whimpered, feeling even a little emotional at your words. Her lips were parted and her tongue was stuck out slightly, waiting for you as you spoke against her lips, her breath hot.

You tightened your hand around her hair. “You look so pretty taking it, princess. You make me feel so good when you sound like that.”

“I’m gonna come,” she whimpered. 

You maintained your speed so you could ensure she took you in deeply, taking your entire length each time, burying yourself inside of her. Wanda cried out at the depth, throwing her head back further and allowing you to readjust her grip on her hair. 

In broken noises, she whined, “Aa-ah, I’m coming, I’m com-”

Wanda’s words were interrupted as a long, loud cry left her parted lips, she let go of your hand, reaching up and helplessly grasping against your headboard, fingers pressing into the solid surface as she came. 

When she came down, her hand slipped from it, and you let go of her hair carefully, letting her catch her breath as you slowly pulled out of her.

You unfastened the strap from around your hips, setting it to some corner of your bed before laying down beside Wanda’s panting, tired body. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted. Her hair was a mess where you had been pulling it, and her body trembled with the post-tremors of her orgasm.

Your arm wrapped around her waist and Wanda immediately shifted, lifting herself up so she could bury herself against your front. Her arm wrapped around your torso, and she laid her head on the bicep of your other arm. 

She breathed out deeply, and you felt her entire body loosen and relax in your arms. 

When you pressed a kiss to her forehead, you saw the glimpse of her flustered smile before she buried her face in your chest. “You’re so gentle, Y/N,” she whispered. “That felt so good…”

“How couldn’t I be gentle with you?”

You unwrapped your arm from her waist and combed your fingers through her hair, smoothing it out and fanning it out against your pillows.

“Can I sleep here with you?” she asked, looking up from your chest.

You smiled down at her, and her eyes darted down to your lips, smiling a little in response when she picked up that you thought her question was a little funny. But you couldn’t even poke fun at her. She just looked so small in your arms, looking up and asking to sleep beside you.

“Of course. I want you to stay here with me,” you answered, moving your hand from her hair to cup her cheek. “I’ll get us some new pajamas.”

“Okay,” she answered, beaming up at you and asking for a little kiss before you went to dig through your wardrobe.

A few days later, you and Wanda decided to go to the Christmas Eve event downtown. It was both of your first times there, and Wanda felt rather nervous to go. You had no idea she thought so frequently about how others thought about her; you knew she was insecure about how she behaved, but not regarding how others viewed her.

She told you that she had considered attending many times before, but worried that people would see her attending and think she shouldn’t be there, and so she figured she ought to just do what was expected of her.

She was still rather nervous as she attended with you, but your presence reassured her in the first few minutes you were there. After a few minutes, Wanda became easily amused and was quickly beginning to have a lot of fun. She mentioned all the planning that had come up behind the scenes at things you passed together, and you couldn’t help but smile at how excited she was getting.

You had both said that you didn’t want to be too open about seeing each other right away, so in case the two of you might be seen by other committee members, you agreed on keeping intimate physical contact to a minimum while you were out. It was Wanda who had the hardest time remembering that. 

Sometimes you couldn’t help but wrap your arm around her when she got excited — she was too cute. She took a bunch of photos with you, and you took many of her on her own. You took dozens of photos of her while she wasn’t looking too; she looked like a kid experiencing Christmas for the first time.

Because you had convinced her to come, she paid for your hot chocolates and macaroni and cheese. But you paid for the churros and dulce de leche dip, because you were far more interested in trying it than she was.

The two of you stayed for a few of the performances, because Wanda hadn’t ever actually seen any of the bands they partnered with play. The two of you sat with your hot chocolates, Wanda holding the mac and cheese while you held the long churro stick.

“They’re so good, Y/N…!” Wanda whispered to you excitedly.

You laughed, and Wanda continued to look onwards with rapt attention.

As you were leaving, the two of you passed Mrs Davis, who had forgotten her mittens at home and decided to walk over to get them and come back to the event since she lived in very close walking distance. She called your name first, and you felt Wanda’s arm brush against yours, seemingly having stepped closer to you.

“Y/N, you made it!” she greeted cheerily, holding her arms out excitedly. Then upon seeing Wanda, her eyes darted between the two of you, trying to see if she could read the kind of outing this was. But a large and warm smile remained on her sweet face all the same.

“It’s so good to finally see you at one of these events, Wanda,” she said.

Wanda nodded, smiling a bit shakily, not that Mrs Davis noticed. “I thought it was high time I finally attended,” she said. 

Share personal information, she recalled from what she read online.

She added, “And Y/N offered to come with me since I didn’t want to come alone.”

“Oh, it’s so nice to see you out during the holidays, Wanda, I always wondered how you were the head of the committee, but were never able to enjoy the hot chocolate vendors you helped us find!” Mrs Davis laughed, and Wanda found herself genuinely smiling, pleasantly surprised by how much she’d been thought of.

“The hot chocolate was amazing,” Wanda conceded with a shy smile.

A voice called from behind the two of you, presumably Mrs Davis’ husband, for she waved back and quickly said her goodbyes as she said she needed to run.

“So, so happy to see both of you,” she said with a beaming smile. “Merry Christmas!”

Wanda waved goodbye, watching the older woman walk away before you both headed back to her car together. When you looked at Wanda, she had a little trace of a smile on her face, and after a moment, she held your hand, not saying anything.

You sat in Wanda’s living room going through the photos you took together, having stopped by a restaurant to pick up some dinner. She was laughing at them, asking you to send all of them to her, and recalling everything you did that night together with great excitement.

She cuddled close to you as she watched you send her the photos.

“I’m so happy we went,” she said, her cheek laying against your warm sweater.

You brought your hand up to her head, combing through her hair and massaging your fingers against her scalp. You watched as her eyes closed, listened to her breathing softly as you touched her gently.

After some silent moments, you asked, “Would you like to come to my place for Christmas?” 

Wanda opened her eyes and looked up at you. “But you’re hosting your family.”

You and Wanda had only been together for a few days, and by tomorrow, Christmas Day, you still wouldn’t have been together for even a full week. 

“I know, but… Wanda, I don’t want you to be celebrating Christmas alone at all. I want to spend it with you, and I want you to be there.”

She sat up, her hand still resting on your knee.

“But I’ll be meeting your family, right?”

You knew that family was a bit of a sensitive topic for Wanda. You didn’t want her to feel upset while she was there, and you didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable, or like she didn’t fit in. But unbeknownst to you, that wasn’t what Wanda was thinking about at all.

“You… will. Yes. But I promise they’re really nice, and they’ll really like you,” you tried to explain, hoping you weren’t turning her away from spending the holiday with you.

“But, I mean…” Wanda trailed off, trying to find a way to word her thoughts. “You’re introducing me to them as… What?”

The moment a weight was taken from your shoulders at the concern that Wanda would be too nervous to spend Christmas with any family, another one was added in which you and Wanda would have to think about how you wanted to see your relationship.

Wanda felt a bit of panic rise in her at what seemed to her as hesitancy. Didn’t you want to be with her? Were you feeling ashamed of being with her? Or even worse, were there some things about having a family that she just couldn’t understand? Was she fated to never fit in amongst people you loved?

You also felt nervous to approach the topic. Introducing her as your girlfriend felt like forcefully jutting her into your family dynamic. You wanted to show her that you listened to the stories you told about her family, and that you didn’t want to change how she was in order to enjoy Christmas with you.

“We can…” you started, going nowhere. “Maybe I can… If you want… introduce you as my girlfriend.”

Wanda felt her heart flutter and her fingers tightened around your knee. You took that as a sign of tension. 

“But that’s totally okay if that’s not at all what you want. I understand. Listen, we can try, just for Christmas, and if you hate it, we don’t have to do it again.”

Then Wanda became confused, pulling back. “What do you mean? You’ll break up with me after Christmas?”

“What? What do you mean ‘breaking up?’”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing right now? Asking me out so you can introduce me as your girlfriend?”

“I-I mean… Yes, maybe. I’m actually… I’m not really sure what I’m doing.” You frowned just a little, looking helpless. “I’m a little confused.”

She exhaled a little, feeling relief that at the very least she wasn’t the only one.

After regaining some of your confidence, you worded yourself carefully, and honestly. “I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable being around my family. I don’t want this to be something that divides us.”  

“Me neither,” she replied. She moved closer to you again. “I want to fit in with your family.”

“Wh… Really?”

Wanda nodded. “Of course,” she replied sincerely. “I want to be able to fit into your life. I want to take this seriously.”

Then after a moment, she asked quietly, “Do… you take this seriously?”

“Yes! Yes, I do,” you quickly answered, taking her hands. “I just thought that you’d feel uncomfortable being around my family for the holidays, and I didn’t want to force you to have a role with them by introducing you as my girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Wanda breathed out, understanding where the misunderstanding had come from. “But what about what you said about breaking up after Christmas?”

You let go of her hand to scratch the back of your neck awkwardly. “That… Well…” you trailed off, and Wanda squeezed your hand supportively. “Well, are we dating? Right now?”

Not even Wanda really knew, and she was the one who was most outwardly adamant about wanting to be serious with you.

“I want to be your girlfriend, Y/N,” Wanda said.

Your cheeks warmed and you felt your chest flutter with the idea of Wanda calling herself your girlfriend, and the idea that you were dating her. 

“Okay,” you replied with a little smile, and Wanda smiled shyly when you squeezed her hand. “Then… Will you be my girlfriend? Can we go out?”

Wanda couldn't help but giggle, both at the ridiculousness of the confusing conversation, and at the feeling of being asked to be your girlfriend. 

“Oh, you’re making fun of me now?” you teased, only making Wanda laugh harder. She tried to pull her hand away from you to compose herself, but you didn’t let her. 

You pulled her on top of you as she laughed. Your hands held her at her waist and you kissed her neck and shoulder. Then you laid your head back, watching with a smile as she came down from her laughter. 

She brushed her hair back and looked down at you. 

“Yes, we can go out,” she finally replied, pushing your hair back from her forehead with a delicate smile on her face. 

It wasn’t until after Wanda started dating you that she realized she was a little bad with words. It wasn’t only lacking the confidence to say things that made her bad at it, but also her struggles with wording things. But you somehow always understood her when she tried her best to explain, pulling together scraps of a cohesive explanation. 

You understood when she tried to explain how happy she was that she was your girlfriend, and you were hers only. Largely, you understood everything she tried to tell you, even when she thought she made absolutely no sense. 

It made her much more confident in speaking with others, and in sharing what she thought and felt in a sincere way, and not because she read a tip online saying that she should. 

You spoke with her over the phone as you ran the last few errands for Christmas dinner, and Wanda was preparing the dish she was going to bring. She asked things like what she should wear and if they’d like the dish she chose, and even things like conversation starters your family would like. 

To the last question, you honestly had no clue, and told her no one had ever asked you that before. It kind of made you laugh, which made Wanda laugh and realize she was overthinking. 

After you hung up, Wanda called her parents like she did every Christmas Day. This time, she was able to tell them that she was going to attend something later. 

Pietro, unlike her parents, for they didn’t understand the significance of what their daughter was trying to tell them, was thrilled for her. Though she wasn’t sure if he would actually hold up his end of the bargain, he communicated that he really hoped to see her for Christmas next year. 

She sent him the pictures of the Christmas Eve event she went to with you, and she promised to send pictures later that night too. 

Pietro was always very supportive of Wanda’s interests, and he said he truly couldn’t remember the last time she was so excited about anything. She hadn’t realized she was so excited about the dinner. 

He corrected her, saying that she seemed far more excited about dating you. 

Wanda knocked at your door, holding her own attempt at the salmon bake she believed you mastered the first time you cooked it last week. She heard the sounds of your family already inside and she felt her chest flutter with both nerves and excitement. 

She thought of Mrs Davis, and how excited she had been to see her. 

She thought of everything you’d told her, and how you’d wanted to know more about her when she thought she’d treated you horribly, and how you didn’t think she treated you horribly at all. 

Maybe she wasn’t so bad at all the things she thought she was. In any case, you still liked her. Though she didn’t think she’d ever get used to that. 

You opened the front door, quickly ushering Wanda in. You took the dish from her as she took her shoes and jacket off. 

“Merry Christmas, Wanda,” you said softly, leaning in and giving her a kiss. 

Wanda beamed at you. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

[sirhamburrger]

havin' deep and uncomfortable conversations around the christmas tree (rin itoshi x gn!reader)

(a continuation of this more ryusae-centric drabble) being unexpectedly vulnerable with you wasn't really on rin itoshi's christmas wishlist. but he does want to ask you something else, and it would really make his christmas if you said yes. you will get a sentimental feelin' when you hear voices singin', "let's be jolly, deck the halls with boughs of holly" || wc: 861 || tags/cw: hurt/comfort, background ryusae, itoshi brother drama (but they're working on it), rin is bad at telling people how he feels (he's working on that too) series m.list

you watch the video ryusei just sent you. it’s... of him slapping sae’s ass really hard, but after months of being stuck with them as your roommates, your humor is broken. you whip your head around, giggling, ready to show it to rin, but your smile fades when you see the crease between his eyebrows. that only happens when he realises he's forgotten to buy groceries, or…

or when sae texts him.

you set down the box of baubles tucked under your arm and take his hands in yours, brushing his hair out of his eyes so you can look at him properly. even so, he doesn't look you in the eye.

“everything okay?” you ask softly.

he blinks. you feel his hands clench into fists within yours. 

“yeah. everything's fine.”

“what did he say?”

"he wants to have lunch with me tomorrow.”

you furrow your brows slightly. “well, then you should go. i know we have plans, but we could always go another day.”

he nods, but he's got his brooding face on, still. there's something he's not telling you, and you're determined to get it out of him on this not-very-eventful saturday afternoon.

so you flop onto the ground by the christmas tree - the christmas tree the two of you are in the midst of decorating. wiggling your way into the shade of the lower leaves, you tug on his pant leg.

“well? join me!”

looking slightly bemused, he lays down on the floor and positions himself opposite you. admiring his beautiful eyelashes up close, you twirl a lock of his hair around your finger. he smiles at this, his breath fanning over your face.

you ask him point-blank, then, when he might least expect it.

“what are you afraid of?”

“nothing.”

“liar.”

you stare at him as seriously as you can, and he stares back with double the intensity. you’re locked in, you could say - it’s a shared tradition of yours that whenever you have a staring contest, winner takes all. the last cookie. choice of date location. or something you want to know.

seconds creep by. thirty. forty-five. a minute. a minute and fifteen. tears start to pool in your dehydrated eyes.

rin's gaze softens some.

"are we about to kiss?" you mutter weakly.

"give up, darling," he advises gently.

a tear runs down your cheek. "no."

he makes a tsking noise at your stubbornness, and slowly - very, very slowly - he closes his eyes.

"i'm scared that sae is going to treat me differently now that we're both grown up and he knows we can't ever go back to what we were before."

you blink.

damn, that's...

he opens his eyes. "happy?"

it’s like a punch to the gut when he says it like that.

"of course not," you mumble. "i'm sorry. i shouldn't have pressured you to say anything at all."

rin sighs heavily. "i think a part of me kind of wanted to tell you anyway, so."

"do you want to tell me more?"

he nods.

"when we were kids, it was all so easy. i looked up to him - i still do. we were together 24/7. we did everything together. and then he left for spain. came back a changed person. and okay, i get that he wants to reconcile and all, but it's just weird. he's really trying his best, and i am too. but we'll never be how we were in the past. it's too late for that."

"oh, honey..."

you want to reach over and hug him until he can't breathe, but then you remember you're lying on the floor. you scoot over to lie by his side.

"the important thing is that you're both trying really hard. you're talking to him more often, meeting him for meals - and sae really does want to make things right. i literally live with the man! he lets ryusei check his spelling in the texts he sends you."

"really?"

"yes, really. so you don't have to be worried. not at all."

“okay.”

you see the crease between his eyebrows has disappeared, and peck him on the nose. his lips twitch, and you see him open his mouth –

“move in with me.”

what?

“i want you in my life,” rin murmurs, abrupt, blunt, but that's how he does things, after all. “because i love you, and i want to be with you all the time.”

you're temporarily frozen in place, utterly surprised. but that quickly gives way to a rush of affection for your boyfriend, and you pepper his face with little kisses as he chuckles.

“i'll take that as a yes, then,” he says dryly, and you give him another kiss for his troubles.

you think of sae and ryusei, and pout. “i'm going to miss having them as roommates, though.”

“but would they make you breakfast pancakes every day?”

you pretend to collapse in his arms. “i’m going to wife you up one day, itoshi.”

he reaches for the switch on the christmas lights strung along the tree branches, and you look up, and your vision is filled with sparks of colour.

and in your little world, all is perfect.

this is what's happening btw (it probably wasn't very clear)

a/n: i never thought i would write for rin because for some weird reason i didn't like him when i watched his anime debut but like?? is he not so much like todoroki? (if todoroki was more edgy ig) but yeah i was prepared to write him as a sweetheart in this one

taglist: @anglefish3008, @standcom (closed, event completed)

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[the-californicationist]

Happy Holidays Cali, hope the holidays are treating you well.

I'm curious though, how do you think the 141 would treat you for the holidays? :)

Four Calling Birds

Gaz would be the classic Christmas romantic. The house has lights, the hedge has lights, the bins have lights. There’s a big Santa in the garden, and you’ve got three trees - all real and hand cut. The whole house smells like oranges and clove and balsam and cinnamon. You come home one evening, exhausted from work, and there he is, standing in your way, pointing straight up at the mistletoe, smiling like a fiend.

“Is that real?” You ask, reaching up to the hanging leaves in wonder, your fingers coming back coated in glitter.

“Yep,” he said smugly, wrapping you up in his arms, “Cut it myself.”

“Kyle,” you tried to protest, eager to set your bag down and get out of your clothes.

But, he took your head in his hands, lifting your mouth to kiss him, letting his full, soft lips take your breath away. Then, you felt your bag fall off of your shoulder, and you were dragged into the hallway, stumbling but weightless, lifted and carried in his huge arms. You were dizzy from his kisses, drunk on him, weak from the weight of the day. You opened your eyes and watched him shove his way into the bedroom, and you pulled your mouth away from his to gasp.

“Kyle!”

“What?” He stared down at you, playing innocent with his sweet smile.

“The ceiling! Have you lost your mind?”

All over the ceiling of your bedroom, boughs and boughs of mistletoe hung glittering from a series of carefully strung lattice, covering the whole room in its emerald green canopy.

“Mmm,” he sighed, dragging his hot mouth down your neck, “Looks like you owe me a few more kisses, babes. Some here,” he kissed your cheek, “Some here,” he kissed your mouth, “Some here,” he tugged down the neck of your top, suckling on an exposed nipple, “…and definitely some here.” His free hand writhed its way into your trousers and cupped the warm flesh of your crotch, that naughty mouth grinning as you sighed into him.

It took six months to get the glitter out of the rug.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

Johnny wasn’t much of a decorator, but the tree you did have was full of handmade ornaments from all of his many nieces and nephews. For him, it was all about spending time with family.

Christmas was the only reason you had bought this farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere. Six bedrooms lay empty for 358 days out of the year, but when the week of Christmas came around, you had MacTavishes up to your eyeballs. His oldest sister, her husband, her three kids, and their ancient sheltie all piled into your home in a laughing, screaming, tumbling bunch. His second sister, her wife, their two sets of twins, and their entire collection of foster children, a growing lot each year, all spilled in after them, well-mannered and armed with gifts and toys galore. His ma and da, each with their own fat corgi and hunched over their canes, made their way straight to the kitchen to start cooking meals like they were fighting some sort of battle with your pots and pans. Your whole home smelled like spice and savory meats within minutes, and when they left, it always seemed cleaner than when it had started.

And there was Johnny, right in the middle of them, shining like a star, tugging you around the house with him, singing and playing and dancing and celebrating every delightful bite. He always had a baby in his arms, and sometimes he was balancing two in his lap, covered in torn paper crowns and smeared with shortbread flour from messy little hands.

But, in the night, when all was quiet, he would move himself over you, pulling at your clothes like you were wrapped in paper, his very own gift. He shushed your protests, not willing to worry with you about whether someone might hear.

“Dinnae fash yersel’, bonnie. They all ken how bairns are made. Wouldnae it be grand to give the wee’uns another cousin to play with? C’mon, lass, lemme give you a wee MacTavish for Christmas.”

You were going to need a bigger house.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

Simon never really grew up with much of a Christmas, so your home lacked the glittering splendor of that of his sergeants. But, there were some things that were absolutely non-negotiable.

You had to drag out his scrawny, leaf bare tree from the attic. It was barely three feet tall, but he wouldn’t hear of buying another one. The star looked rusted, and half the lights didn’t work, but he made sure the bottom of it was always covered in thoughtful presents for you to open.

There had to be a Yule log. He wouldn’t hear of buying another gas fireplace, and he insisted on burning it right in the hearth, always good to sweep the ashes away when he was done.

And, above all else, there had to be The Pudding. It wasn’t homemade like the MacTavishes’. It wasn’t fancy like the Garricks’. It had to be the cheap one from the local Lidl for 80p. The Favorina six-month matured Christmas pudding was the star of the show, and your cupboards were full of them. You’d never seen a man take down so many individually packaged cakes before. He was like a machine. He’d come home, pull you into his lap, flip on the telly, and give you a needy look.

For once, it wasn’t your warm cunt he was begging for. No. Simon Riley was begging for another cheap pudding that you “shared” between you. You’d take the first polite bite, and he’d house down the rest like a starving dog, his mouth sticky from the sweet fruits and his breath hot from the bottom-shelf brandy.

Then, he would kiss you, groaning into your mouth, pulling you the rest of the way onto his lap, tasting like sultanas and cigarettes, choking you with his invading tongue.

“Si…” You panted, trying to escape, “Let me brush my teeth. I taste like figgy pudding, you nutter.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

You set a trap this year, and when you pulled a spare pudding out of the freezer one random day in July, you thought he’d never take his hands off of you.

🎄🩷🎄🩷🎄

John Price never once asked for presents for Christmas. He didn’t want gifts, and he would get so cross when you bought things for him even though he showered you with trinkets throughout the season. But, his apartment was never decorated. You wondered if he was a bit of a Scrooge. But then, you overheard him talking with his sergeant, telling him the only thing he wanted for the holiday was a beach with the missus, and you decided it was your turn to be Santa Claus.

One night, when John dragged himself through the doorway past quitting time, he noticed a big red arrow, cut out from craft paper, pasted on the floor. Then, a few feet in front of him, there was another. He frowned, setting down his bag and following the arrows cautiously through the house. It led him straight to the bedroom, and there you were, wrapped in nothing but a ribbon, tied up with bows, sitting on the middle of the bed with a box in your hands.

“Wha’s all this, then?” He smiled at your lack of attire, toying with the end of the ribbon and threatening to pull it away.

“Open your present, John,” you smiled, handing him the box.

“I told you, love, I don’t wa—“

“Open it,” you cut him off, pushing the box forward.

He twisted his mouth into a disgruntled grimace, but you knew he couldn’t stay mad at you for long. When he pulled the box apart, his eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed in confusion.

“What…”

He pulled out the plane tickets and inspected them further, trying to make sense of what you had done. You shrugged, rubbing his shoulders,

“I told Kate you needed some leave. So, we’re off to Fiji.”

“Fiji…” He breathed in disbelief, his blue eyes pinning you in place.

“Fiji,” you smiled, pulling the bow that covered your heavy tits off the rest of the way, “Private beach, palm trees, no cell service…”

He let the box fall to the floor and climbed over you, forcing you onto your back as his huge body bullied you beneath him. John’s voice was gravelly and low when he said,

“I don’t know what’s got me harder, love. Seein’ you all wrapped up like this, or the fact that I thought I just heard you say: no cell service.”

You gave him a wicked grin and leaned your mouth up to graze across the shell of his ear, whispering,

“No cell service.”

His hips thrust against you, spreading your legs apart from the force, making your soft skin scrape against the harsh canvas of his pants, burying his mouth against your neck, threatening you,

“Say it again, baby.”

“No… cell… service.”

By the end of your holiday, you were sunburnt, and you could barely walk straight, but you couldn’t remember having a better Christmas.

[pedrospatch]

when i’m feeling alone, you remind me of home

Javier Peña x DEA Agent Female Reader

summary: Spending Christmas in Bogotá, Colombia isn’t ideal. Javier knows you’re missing home a little harder than usual, so he comes up with a plan to cheer you up.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. minor deviation from canon timeline (had to make it work), reader is an agent for the DEA, NO AGE SPECIED, NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION, reader understands and speaks spanish but no mention of her race or ethnicity, friends to lovers trope, reader celebrates christmas, reader has a good relationship with her family, minor smoking and alcohol consumption (both reader and javi), reader’s a bit rough around the edges sometimes. fluff, soft javi, he’s a bit of a grinch in the beginning though. switches in pov’s and tenses.

*ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS AT THE END.

word count: 2.9k

a/n: thank you to @hellishjoel for inviting me to join in on this fun project!

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Javier Peña doesn’t do Christmas.

He especially doesn’t do Christmas in Bogotá.

He doesn’t see the point even acknowledging it.

There are more important things on his mind.

Capturing Pablo Escobar.

Dismantling the dangerous Medellín Cartel.

Living long enough to tell the fucking tale.

Those were his priorities while in Colombia.

Not decking the halls with boughs of holly.

And yet, there he is, fighting with a string of bright and colorful lights, wishing these damn things would put themselves on the tree. “Puta madre,” Javi curses underneath his breath as he tries untangling them from around his waist. Somehow, he only makes it worse. He grumbles, “This is fucking ridiculous—it shouldn’t be this fucking hard throwing lights on a goddamn fucking tree—” He pauses, spins around to find where he’d gone wrong and then continues grouching to himself. “Can’t believe people do this fucking shit for fun. Stupidest thing I’ve ever—”

Javi manages to free himself and glances down at his watch to see he’s running out of time—it’s past five now, and unless Messina’s in one of those bad fucking moods of hers and decides to dump some last minute paperwork onto your desk, then you’re going to be walking through the front door soon.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a deep and frustrated sigh.

He’d been an idiot to decline Connie’s offer to help him when she had dropped off the decorations for him earlier that afternoon.

“You sure you don’t need my help?” she had asked as she handed him the cardboard box overflowing with festive ornaments and tinsel. “I have a couple of more hours before I have to be at the clinic, you know. I can help you set it all up for her, make it all nice and pretty.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got it handled,” he’d replied. “I’m sure it won’t take me too long to put some—is this fucking fruit?” Confused, Javi shifted the box over to his hip, pulling out a string of dried oranges and red cranberries. “Um, what the hell is this for? This supposed to be a snack for me while I decorate?”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s a homemade garland.”

“It’s a homemade what now?”

“Garland, Javier. It goes on the tree.”

Amused, he’d raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fruit going back onto the tree? That’s ironic.”

Sighing, Connie rolled her eyes at him once more.

“Last chance. Do you want my help or not, Javi?”

“I appreciate it, but like I said, I’ve got it handled.”

She’d shrugged. “Alright, suit yourself, then.”

Little did he know how he’d regret his decision. It’s a bigger headache than he thought it would be, an incredible waste of valuable time he could’ve been using to hunt down new leads, do the job he came here to do and find Pablo Escobar. Then again, the more he thinks about it, the more Javi realizes this isn’t a waste of his time at all—not really.

Because he’s doing this for you.

Because he knows you love Christmas.

Because he knows you’ve been feeling homesick.

The season you normally adored was bringing you nothing but heartache this year. There is a void—a hole in your heart that only your family could fill.

“Messina denied my request for time off,” you had told him, taking a drag of his cigarette—you’re not much of a smoker, but he’d learned that tended to change on occasion when you were upset. “Said it isn’t fair to let me go home for Christmas. That I’m not the only one who wants to be with their family. And I get it. I do.” Sighing, you took a second drag and then handed the cigarette back to Javier; he’d put it between his lips, the taste of cherry flavored lip gloss that lingered on the filtered tip prompting a craving stronger than his craving for nicotine. “It was selfish of me to even think of taking time off. I just—I miss spending Christmas in my hometown, you know? Waking up to snow outside my window in the mornings. Building snowmen with my sister, hurling snowballs at my brother. I miss my mother and her cooking. I miss my father and how even at our age, he still insists on pretending to be Santa.”

Laughing, Javier leaned forward on his stool.

You’d asked him to meet you at your usual spot—a quiet lounge bar right around the corner from your apartment. When he walked in and saw the scotch in front of you on the table, he’d known something was wrong. You’re not much of a drinker, either.

“Does he eat the cookies and drink the milk too?”

You nodded, crossing your arms over your chest, a little grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. He tried not to let his gaze longer there too long—he’s just one man. There was only so much strength he could muster to keep fighting the temptation.

“Of course. He takes his role very, very seriously.”

Despite your smile, he’d noticed it right away.

The unmistakable sadness in your eyes.

You were tough as fucking nails.

In this line of work, you had no choice but to be.

But Javier knew your family was your weakness.

His weakness?

His weakness was sitting there in front of him with a crestfallen expression on her pretty face, tracing around the rim of her glass with her finger.

“It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Your voice had thickened, the emotions you’re used to bottling up threatening to boil over.

“Of course not,” he assured you. “There is nothing stupid about wanting to go back home to see your family. There’s nothing stupid about wanting to be with them for the holidays. I promise you that.”

You snorted. “Peña, we’re trying to bring down the most dangerous man in all of South America. Last thing I need to be doing right now is dreaming of a white Christmas. It’s fucking stupid, alright?”

Hesitantly, Javier lifted his hand and placed it over yours—it wasn’t the first time he’d ever held it, not the first time he had shown physical affection, but this was the most vulnerable he had ever seen you and he didn’t want to make things worse. Once he realized it was okay, he brushed the back of it with his thumb softly, soothingly.

“Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño.”

“No hay caso para eso, Javier.”

“Maybe I can convince her to let you go. She’s got me and she’s got Murphy. We’ll handle things here while you head home for a few days, spend a week with your family for Christmas. Doesn’t hurt to try, you know.” Javi squeezed your hand. Knowing just how fucking stubborn you could be, he insisted on it. “Por favor, cielo. Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. Dejame ayudarte.”

You drained the rest of your scotch and swallowed it along with the lump that had climbed it’s way up your throat. Setting the glass back down, you then pulled your hand out from under his and stood up.

“Forget it. I’m here because I have a job to do—we both have a job to do. I’ll get over it, Javier. Always do.”

Before he could say another word, you’d picked up your jacket and purse, making a quick dash for the exit before he could see the stubborn tear slipping out from the corner of your eye and down the side of your face. But he had seen it, and that’s exactly why he knew he had to do something for you.

About an hour later, Javi places a glittering star on top of the white spruce and then takes a couple of steps back, hands on his hips. Cocking his head to the side, he observes the tree and makes sure that he hasn’t left a single spot bare. He decides to add more gold tinsel until he feels oddly satisfied—and once he is, he pulls out his pocket knife, using it to open the small sized box he had brought with him; two different addresses were scribbled on the side of it in your mother’s handwriting, his apartment’s address the destination, her address the return.

“I wrapped it well,” she’d said over the phone. “It’s her most prized possession, so I really hope it gets to you in one piece or she’s going to kill us both.”

Javier slowly unwraps the object inside and feels a wave of complete and utter relief wash over him to see it made it through customs without breaking.

He squints, taking a better look at the ornament.

The little blonde ballerina is made of porcelain and holds a nutcracker soldier in her arms—the skirt of her dress is white lace embroidered with teeny red rosettes that perfectly match the blush painted on her cheeks and the color of the bow in her hair.

“It’s Clara,” your mother had explained to him.

“Who?” he’d asked, stupidly.

“Clara. You know, from The Nutcracker?”

“Oh yeah, that’s right,” he’d fibbed. “Clara. Got it.”

He had no clue what she had been talking about—but if it’s special to you, then it’s special to him.

Carefully, Javi hangs it on tree just as he hears the front door open and then slam shut so hard that it causes the paper thin walls of your unit to rattle.

“Peña!” you shout loudly. “You fucking asshole!”

Lip rolling between his teeth, he stifles a laugh.

You must have seen his Wrangler parked outside.

Grinning, Javier steps out into the hallway to greet you. “Hola, hermosa. Bienvenida a casa.”

“So, let me get this straight,” you say, tossing your purse and unit keys onto a nearby table. “You offer to give me ride to and from work but then proceed to ditch me and leave work three hours early—you leave me with no other fucking choice but to call a cab to bring me home and when he drops me off, I see your fucking car outside of my apartment?”

Rubbing his chin, he hums, “Sounds about right.”

You approach him, your hands curled into fists.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Javier?”

Javi’s quick to hold up his own hands in defense.

He won’t put it past you to knock him out—he and Murphy have seen you bring down men twice your size before without a weapon. Neither of them can decide if it’s hot as hell or downright terrifying.

“Okay, put those away and let me explain,” he tells you, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry I did that to you, but I did it for a reason.”

You scoff, “Well, if that reason was to piss me off, I have some news for you—it fucking worked.”

“That wasn’t the reason. Not this time, anyway.”

Chuckling, Javier extends a hand, holding it out to you.

You peer at it. “What are you doing, Peña?”

“Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti.”

Suspiciously, you ask him, “What did you do?”

He laughs again. He knew it wouldn’t make it easy for him. “You do know how surprises work, right?”

You lift your chin. “I do and I don’t like surprises.”

“I know you don’t, but I think you’ll like this one.”

Javi continues to hold out his hand and waits.

He’s just as stubborn as you are, if not more.

“We can stand here all fucking night, corazón.”

Sighing in defeat, you place your hand in his, heart skipping a beat when he smiles and laces together your fingers with his own.

“Cierra tus ojos.”

“Javier, I don’t want—”

He quickly cuts you off. “Do you trust me?”

Of course. Hell, you trusted him with your life.

And not just because it’s a job requirement.

Huffing, you do as he says and close your eyes.

“Good.” Javier places his other hand on your waist and his fingers brush against the patch of smooth, soft skin peeking out from between the waistband of your jeans and the hem of your blouse. Ignoring his burning desire to feel more of you, he leads the way into the living room and positions you in front of the tree. Without dropping your hand, he moves to stand directly behind you, chest pressed lightly against your back.“Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita.”

“Look Peña, I don’t know what you’re up to but—”

Your own startled gasp cuts you off mid sentence.

Squeezing your hand, he leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear and you can feel his grin as he whispers, “Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parece?”

You open your mouth to speak, then clamp it shut.

His surprise had left you speechless.

Pleased with himself, Javi nudges you towards the tree and then drops his hands down at his sides as he watches you gingerly touch the needles.

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, the delicious, woodsy smell of pine reminding you of your family and how you’d all pile into your father’s old pickup truck and head to the Christmas Tree Farm to find the perfect white spruce to take home. Your father took great care in the picking process—he wanted the tallest, fluffiest, most fragrant tree. “Need this place to smell like the farm!” he’d boom. You smile and can’t help but to think he’d approve of Javi—if not because of what he had done for you, then the choice in tree would be enough to win him over.

“Do you like it?” he asks, softly.

You open your eyes and whirl around. “Javi, I can’t believe you did this,” you say, breathlessly. Smiling brighter than the lights on the Christmas tree, you throw your arms around him. “I love it so much!”

He savors the embrace—and wonders if you know just how perfectly you fit right in his arms.

“There’s one more surprise,” Javier informs you as he spins you around to look at the tree once again. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” Peering at the tree, you frown. “What am I supposed to be looking for—wait a second, is that—is that Clara?” Your hand flies to your mouth and you look up at him in complete shock. “That’s the ornament my grandmother made for me when I was a baby! I’ve had her since my first Christmas. How did you—?”

“Santa no cuenta sus secretos.” Javi grins, pulling you closer against his side. “But if you must know, your mom sent it to me,” he confesses. “Actually, I have to be honest—this whole thing was her idea.”

Perplexed, you ask, “This was my mom’s idea?”

“I know you’ve been having a hard time being here during the holidays instead of with your family,” he says. “I called her up a couple of weeks ago, asked her what I could do for you. We started talking and came up with this.” He shrugs and touches a hand to the back of his neck, sheepishly. “I know it’s not the same as going home. But I thought it might be nice to bring a little piece of home here to you.”

Warmth blossoms inside of your chest as you turn to face him. You place a hand on his chest. “Javi?”

Nervously, his throat bobs. “Yeah?”

“Why did you do this for me?”

Javier lifts his hand and tucks a lock of hair behind your ear. “I told you. I just want to see you happy.”

“But why?”

You know why.

But you need to hear him say it.

You need to hear it from his own mouth.

Javi’s hand moves to cup the side of your face. “Is it not obvious?” he murmurs as he grazes the silky soft skin over your cheekbone. “Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientas igual.”

“How do you know I don’t feel the same for you?”

“Do you?” His thumb sweeps your bottom lip. “Do you feel the same for me?”

Your hand curls around his red plaid flannel.

“I shouldn’t,” you admit. “We’re work partners.”

He feigns offense. “Ouch. And here I was, thinking we were friends.” He now takes your chin between his index finger and his thumb. Licking his lips, his eyes meet yours. “Breaking my heart, baby.”

Your breath audibly catches. “We are friends—and it scares me to put our friendship on the line.”

“But?” he prompts as he tilts your head up toward his. His opposite hand finds your hip and pulls you closer to him.

“But when you do things like this—it’s hard for me not to fucking fall in love with you, Peña.” You drag your hand down his chest, your fingers relishing in the softness of his flannel. “It’s so fucking hard for me not to fall in love with somebody who feels like home.”

Javier’s chuckles softly.

“For the record, this wasn’t a ploy to get you to fall in love with me, corazón. But if it worked—” Javier pauses, dropping his hand from your face. “Then I guess it’s worth pulling this thing out.”

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Javi, what the hell are you—?”

He grins, holding the mistletoe above your heads.

“Connie said this might come in handy.”

Your eyes flicker to his lips, then meet his gaze.

“Ven aqui, Peña.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull Javi in and crash your mouth against his. You brush his bottom lip with your tongue and he grants you the access you’re looking for. He tastes like spearmint and scotch, and something else too.

He tastes like yours.

And he feels like home.

diver credit to @saradika-graphics ❤️

Translations

Yo hablaré con Messina, cariño. - I’ll talk to Messina, darling.

No hay caso para eso, Javier. - There’s no point, Javier.

Dejame ayudarte con esto. Yo solo quiero verte feliz. - Let me help you with this. I just want to see you happy.

Ven conmigo, cielo. Tengo una sorpresa para ti. - Come with me, I have a surprise for you.

Cierra tus ojos. - Close your eyes.

Puedes abrir tus ojos, bonita. - You can open your eyes, pretty girl.

Sorpresa, preciosa. Tienes un arbol de Navidad. Qué tal te parch? - Surprise, precious girl. You have a Christmas tree. What do you think?

Santa no cuenta sus secretos. - Santa doesn’t tell his secrets.

Tú bien sabes qué yo siento algo por ti, hermosa. Aunque no sientes igual. - You know all too well I have feelings for you. Even if you don’t feel the same.

Ven aqui, Peña. - Come here, Peña.

[i-ship-everybody]

Leo Valdez headcannons - fluffy version

————————————————————

Gender neutral reader

When dating Leo Valdez you are 100% his favourite person and biggest priority

He’s always looking for you and wanting to be with you

Leo will look to share everything with you, new snack? He needs to share with you, someone says something funny? He needs to tell you about it.

When anything funny or weird will happen he will always look to you and you to him

He loves when you play with his hair

Leo will play with your fingers/hands

Instead of buying you flowers, he will make you flowers out of scrap metal. Every anniversary, birthday, Christmas,etc you get a different type of flower

Leo acts all confident but this man cannot take a compliment

Call him pretty or say he did something well and he will blush and tell you to stop, to shut up if he has too

If you are a reader, painter, collector, music lover, baker/cook, or have any hobbies that involve certain objects, Leo will go out of his way to find you a little something to go with that

Leo always looks shocked when you get him anything

He will be in absolute shock if you get him flowers, he’ll play it off but will definitely keep them forever

He will watch Disney movies (the old ones) with you and he loves them

Leo is a diehard fan of cheesy rom-coms

You will find him doing things that he’s seen in the movies

He’ll run and hide if you point it out

If you are someone that’s quick with comebacks or just witty comments he will have fun just bantering with you

He tells you all about his time in foster care

You comfort him and make him feel loved

He is your #1 defender at all times

Anyone says anything about you and smokes coming out of Leo’s ears

He will however make the worst jokes about you and find them absolutely hilarious when they land horribly and you stare at him like:😑

He is surprisingly good at drawing

In his workshop doodles and sketches of you are everywhere, on sticky notes on the walls, scratched into tables, the corner of blueprints, just about painted everywhere with ink

He will get grease all over his face and arms and forget about it

Leo will then shove himself into your arms getting you both dirty

Once you two get closer and further into the relationship he is the most comfortable person ever, I mean saying every thought he’s ever thought to you comfortable

Like he’s comfortable enough to wake you up in the middle of the night just to tell you about some weird dream he had

He 100% pursued you

Leo saw you, knew he wanted you and went after that

He was nervous but he got Annabeth to help him come up with a way to start a conversation

If he needed to he definitely chased you

He grovelled for you, begged for just one chance

You might’ve just been entertaining him at first, then you realize that Leo is the most dedicated person ever

He is the definition of dedication and devotion

Leo won’t even think of another person if he’s with you

He will be your best friend

One thing about Leo is that he will do anything, and I mean ANYTHING with you

You want to go out? He’s down, you want to go get a snack then walk around? He’s already there, you want to go see a movie? Leo already bough the tickets.

Even activities less suited for him, like museums, library dates or spa days. Basically, any calm activity, he will still put the effort in to stay still and silent

And you do the more crazy, energetic ones, even when your not 100% for it

If your having a bad day, he will come in and do one simple act of kindness that will give you the strength to continue the day

For example, during lunch you will accidentally drop your bite of food from your fork and then put your head in your hands done with the day. He will laugh a bit, then get a napkin to clean it up

You’ll do the same for him

Leo is always dropping kisses onto you

Not specifically your lips or even face, if he’s leaving a room he’ll drop a kiss onto your shoulder than leave

Neither of you are big on PDA, hate it actually

But he will find a way to do casual touches that portray such emoting

He will drag his nails over your back and just give you nice rental scratches everywhere

You guys will listen to each other talk about your interest even when you have no idea what the other is talking about

He steals all the blankets and you will absolutely turn over at night to see him on your pillow

Makes your tea/coffee/any drink the best way ever

Casually drops the most beautiful, thoughtful sentences ever then just leaves

Like words that will stay with you forever

He’s always tapping “I love you” onto you

You learn Morse code and now you communicate through it when you’re around others

He has finally found someone that will put him first and whom he can share an intense, loving connection with

Leo is no longer a 7th wheel and will never be again

———————————————————————————

Should I do a NSFW or angsty version? Let me know!

[lucygxybaird]

12 days of Christmas - Day One

“Mama!” 

You feel a little tug at your sleeve, and you look down to see tiny fingers grasping the cotton, your daughter’s face obscured by the wreath she’s holding up with her other hand. A halo of evergreen boughs, studded with bright red berries and delicate white blossoms, and you can spot a few pinecones tucked in for effect. If you peek through the center, you can spot your little girl’s hopeful expression, and you know there’s no way you can refuse her. 

“What do you say?” you prompt, figuring that you might as well drive an important lesson home if you’re giving in so easily. 

“Pleeease!” 

Your arms are already full with other decorations — garlands; Christmas lights and candles; an exquisite set of baubles in red, green and gold that, according to the shy but proud clerk, he made himself; candy canes that may or may not actually make it onto the tree. And then there’s the things you actually need, like a bolt of cloth for curtains, a sack of flour, and perishable items that you know for a fact won’t have a chance to go bad before you eat them. Your girl is growing like a weed, and eating enough to make you believe you gave birth to triplets instead of just one child. 

“Can you carry it yourself?” you ask. 

You hear a dubious little hum from amongst the greenery, and you can’t blame her. It’s almost as long as she is, and certainly wider. “I can try,” she says. 

The two of you manage to get everything to the counter, and everything is crated up for you to take home — except the wreath, which is simply too large. Both you and your daughter look at it uncertainly, and you realize, as you cast your eye over your purchases, you have no clue how you’re going to get all this home.

You live close enough to the general store that you and your daughter walked here, with your little girl’s wagon in tow to get everything back. The problem is that your eye, so to speak, was bigger than your transportation. Your little girl could barely carry the wreath up to the register. The wagon is nearly full, and you still have things to add in. You certainly don’t want to risk breaking those pretty little ornaments— 

“You need a hand, ma’am?”

There’s time to register your daughter’s little gasp as she ducks behind your skirts, a flash of her white face peeping up — and up, and up — at the young man who has appeared next to you. You have to look up yourself, tilting your chin back to gaze into a face that is, frankly, apart from being open and friendly, rather handsome. 

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to startle anybody,” he says, a hint of chagrin creeping into his expression. “I just thought I could carry some stuff for you, if you’d like.” 

You reach back to rest a hand on your daughter’s golden head. “It’s not you,” you say. “She’s just shy.”

It’s the easiest way to explain your daughter’s behavior, but you feel a little stab of guilt, like you’re betraying her somehow. There’s more to it than that. But you can hardly countenance divulging such information to someone you don’t even know, regardless of the fact that his eyes are an extraordinary shade of deep blue, with charming crinkles at the corners which deepen as he smiles at you. 

“Aw, well, there’s nothin’ wrong with that,” he says. “Besides, how is she supposed to talk to me when I’m all the way up here? You might as well ask a little rabbit to chat with a bluebird up in a tree.”

He curls his upper lip so that his front teeth poke out, and he wriggles his nose in a bunny-like way. Unbelievably, you hear a giggle from the folds of your skirt. The young man kneels down so he’s closer to your daughter’s eye level.

“I’m Bunny — I mean, Billy.” He looks up at you, and you have the most absurd urge to lay your hand on his head, tangle your fingers in the dark curls catching a surprising amount of the faint winter sun. “It’s a pleasure to meet two such lovely ladies.”  

You introduce yourself and then your daughter. There’s a moment of silence, and then your daughter surprises you by peeking up at him and saying, “You could carry my wreath. But you have to be careful, okay? I really like it.” 

You open your mouth to remind her to ask more politely, but Billy just straightens up and nods solemnly. “I promisee, ma’am, I will take very good care of your wreath.” 

He ends up carrying the wreath, dangling from the crook of one arm, and a few of the smaller crates, freeing up room in the wagon for everything else. His legs are so long that he has to shorten his stride so that you and your daughter can keep up. You watch his face of any sign of strain, ready to say you could take something. But he doesn’t so much as wince. 

Instead, every time he catches you looking at him, he just smiles at you. You try to ignore the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach whenever he does this, but it’s easier said than done.

“Okay,” he says, rather matter-of-factly, as you tell him the house just up ahead is yours. “Do you have your tree up already?”

“Well — yes,” you say. 

You’re mystified as to why he wants to know, until he says, “Okay, good. That’s the centerpiece of everything. Now we can hang everything else up around it.”

You haven’t even considered the idea that he might want to stay and help decorate, and you’re about to say that you can handle this part yourself — but your daughter surprises you once again. She catches Billy’s sleeve and gives a little tug. She’s clammed up again, but she does lead Billy into the house, and points to the the wall above the small fireplace.

“You want it there?” Billy asks, and she nods. 

Before you can open your mouth, she adds a soft, “Please.” 

You start to tell Billy where your hammer and nails are, but he’s walking toward the kitchen where you keep them in a drawer by the stove, as if he’s been here a thousand times before. Upon catching your bemused look, he smiles once more and shrugs. “It’s where I keep ’em at home,” he says. “I just took a guess.” 

By the time you’ve unpacked the foodstuffs, he’s hung the wreath to your daughter’s specifications, delivered partially by small, barely audible sentences and hand gestures. 

He helps you put up the nails on which to drape the garlands, until the mantlepiece is hung with red and green. Your daughter carefully places the candles on the hearth, although she knows that she is under no circumstances to light them herself.

By the time everything is hung up or situated just so, your cabin has been transformed into Santa’s very own workshop. Your daughter is beaming, clinging to your skirts, and you can’t help but throw Billy a grateful smile.

“Thank you,” you say. “You really didn’t have to do all this. It’s very sweet of you.”

He smiles back at you. “My pleasure,” he says. “I know my ma never would have forgiven me if I’d walked on by without offering to help.”

The next thing you say falls out of your mouth before you can even think to say it. “You should stay for dinner,” you say. “It’s only fair. You deserve a square meal after all your hard work.”

In part, you really do believe this. Your little cabin looks beautiful, and you can tell your little girl is delighted — Billy’s kindness went a long way toward making that possible. For making her smile like that, dinner is the least you could offer him. 

But —

Quite simply, you also don’t want him to leave. There’s a warmth about him, a charm, that not only draws you in, but makes you feel safe. You haven’t felt like this since the early days with— 

You push the thought away before it can take root. Instead, you focus on Billy, who rewards your proposition with another smile. 

“I would love that,” he says. “Thank you.” 

From the corner of your eye, you see your daughter beam. It seems that she’s also taken a shine to this good-natured young man.

“Now,” you say, turning to her, “your job is to make sure that Billy doesn’t lift a finger to help me make dinner. He’s done enough. Do you think you can do that?”

With a firm mmmhm, your daughter doesn’t waste any time. She marches over to Billy and takes hold of his sleeve, leading him to the corner where her dolls are nestled in a wicker basket. Billy tosses you a look over his shoulder that has you biting your lip to keep from laughing. 

“Sit,” your daughter says, and then pauses, with a quick glance at you. “Please.”

Billy folds his long legs so that he settles on the ground beside her, and she hands him one of her dolls. While you busy yourself at the stove, simmering beef broth and vegetables to start on a stew, you can hear the two of them — though, in truth, it sounds like it’s mostly Billy — constructing a rather elaborate scenario. 

“Now, see here, Miss Pennyfeather—!”

Your daughter softly corrects him, “Miss Pennyweather.”

“Oh, sorry — ” Billy clears his throat. “Now, see here, Miss Pennyweather! I think your cat has been steee-eeealing my chicken eggs!”

Your daughter dissolves into giggles. “No, Miss Featherington!” 

“Oh, no? Wh00o-000, then?!”

More giggles. “A fox!”

“I ain’t seen no fooo-oox around here!”

As you cook up beef to add to the stew, you can’t help but overhear that, no, Miss Pennyweather’s cat didn’t steal Miss Featherington’s chicken eggs, but it turns out that another doll has been dressing up as a fox to steal the eggs — because she wants them to argue — so she sneak into their houses while they’re distracted and take their prettiest ribbons and baubles from their dressing table.

(The concept of a dressing table is something your daughter has recently discovered, and for whatever reason, she’s absolutely obsessed with it.) 

“I hate to interrupt,” you say, and you really do, because you kind of want to know how this ends. “But dinner is ready.” 

Billy gets to his feet and offers his hand to help your daughter up. She smiles and puts her tiny hand in his, and he lifts her up so easily that her feet leave the floor, making her squeal. He carries her to the table and plops her down in a chair, where she sits, a little disheveled from her journey, but flushed and giggling.

Digging into his dinner with gratifying gusto, Billy asks, “How long have you been livin’ in town?  I figure it can’t be too long.”

You smile. “Why?” you say. “Because I should have known better than to just bring a little wagon for my groceries? I didn’t expect Tunstall’s to have so much in the way of holiday decorations.”

Billy chuckles. “No,” he says softly, his eyes trained on yours. “Because I definitely woulda remembered seein’ you before.” 

You feel heat rise in your cheeks, and you drop your gaze to your bowl of stew, fiddling with your napkin. “We’re new here,” you say. “We only arrived just last week.”

“Just the two of you?” Billy asks. You sense something underneath the simple question, something almost…hopeful. 

You open your mouth to respond, but your daughter beats you to it. “It’s just me and Mama,” she says, concentrating on sopping up the last of her stew with a piece of bread. “Daddy went away.” 

You look up at Billy again, and he flicks his gaze heavenward. You shake your head and give the smallest tilt of your head toward the door.

No, your husband didn’t die. He simply left. The two of you had been fighting for months, mostly over money. You’d seen the toll it had taken on your daughter — the way she would bury herself under her covers whenever your husband started to yell, the way she would pick at her food and peek nervously at her father whenever he lapsed into sullen silence at the dinner table, the way she talked less and less. It was as if she was trying to make herself smaller. 

You didn’t realize she was taking a page from your book until your husband finally left. You woke up that morning to find his possessions missing, and you realized, after the shock had worn off, that it didn’t hurt. It just felt…freeing. You didn’t have to worry about his anger or his rebukes anymore.

But your daughter stayed inside the shell she’d created for herself. Around you, she was more like herself, but strangers — especially men — made her clam up again.

Except for today.

Except for Billy.

After dinner, Billy and your daughter go back to their dolls, while you clean up before sitting down with a pile of mending. You aren’t even surprised anymore that he doesn’t take the opportunity to take his leave. Honestly, the longer he stays, the more it feels like he’s always been here. 

It doesn’t take long for your daughter to start nodding off with Miss Pennyweather still in her arms. Billy gently pries the doll away, while you scoop your daughter up in her arms and tuck her in. 

When you turn around, you find Billy by the hearth, feeding more logs into the fire to keep the cabin warm. He straightens up and turns to look at you. 

For what feels like an eternity, the both of you just stand there, locking eyes from across the room. You walk toward him and touch his arm. 

“Can I say something?” he asks. He hasn’t taken his eyes off you.

You nod. “Please.”

“Your husband was a fool,” he says, so matter-of-factly that you can’t help but smile. “Anybody who walks away from you and your sweet little girl ain’t got the brains God gave a gopher.”

You have to — absolutely have to — bury your face against his shoulder to muffle your laughter. His own chuckle rumble against your cheek. 

You lift your head. “Do you have anyone to spend the holiday with?” you ask.

Family? A girl? 

He shakes his head. “No,” he says softly. “I’m on my own.”

You smile at him. “Not anymore.” 

Over the next few weeks, one may be forgiven for thinking that Billy actually lives at your little cabin. He’s there more often than not, fixing things that need fixing — your door has never quite shut right, at least not before Billy got his hands on it — and helping you with chores, from chopping firewood to sweeping the front porch. He plays with your daughter, from dolls to jacks to hide-and-seek.

And when your little girl has fallen asleep, you and Billy sit up by the fire, just talking. You start sitting in chairs on either side of the hearth,  but his chair ends up getting closer to yours, and then you scoot yours over, and then his ends up a few inches nearer. By Christmas Eve, the two of you are sitting so close that your knees touch. 

“I brought my fiddle with me, so I don’t forget it tomorrow,” Billy says softly. “Does your little girl like Christmas carols?”

“She loves them.”

He leans forward, and so do you.

“And you?” he says.

“Oh, yes.”

He leans in further. You reciprocate. 

“And me?” he says.

You laugh quietly. “How am I supposed to know if you love Christmas carols?”

Billy smiles. “No,” he says. “I mean, do you love me?”

He’s so close to you now that you can catch the cinnamon on his breath, a remnant of the hot cider the three of you shared before your daughter went to bed. Your gaze drifts to his lips before meeting his eyes again.

“Tell me I’m not the only one,” he goes on. “There’s somethin’ between us, ain’t there? I’m crazy about you. The both of you.”

“You’re not the only one,” you say. “I…I feel like I’ve known you forever. And I’ve never seen my daughter this way with anyone, ever. She adores you.” 

You pause. Now the two of you are close enough that you can count the faint freckles speckled over the bridge of his nose. “Billy,” you say softly, “since — since you’re coming back so early in the morning, maybe you should just…stay.”

“Are you sure, darlin’?”

You nod. 

“Can I hold you tonight?” he murmurs. “We don’t have to do anythin’ else. But all I’ve thought about since the moment I first saw you is holdin’ you in my arms.”

“Yes,” you say softly. 

He kisses you. You can feel it from the brush of his soft, full mouth against yours, to the very soles of your feet, like a bolt of lightning racing through every vein in your body. When you break apart, he gets up and takes your hand, leading you to your small room.

You climb into bed and he follows suit. His arms slip around you and pull you flush against his chest.

“Good thing you already packed your fiddle,” you whisper, and he laughs softly against your hair. 

Billy had helped you wrap your daughter’s presents after she went to bed earlier that night, and you can spot the pile from where you lay with your head on Billy’s shoulder. “Just how early is she gonna wake us up to tear into those?” he asks, his voice falling into your ear.

You give a quiet little giggle. “Pretty early,” you admit.

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “So we should probably get some sleep, huh?”

You hum softly in agreement. 

It’s been so long that you expect to lay away for hours, adjusting to the now-strange sensation of a man in bed next to you. But Billy’s warmth, and the strength of his arms around you, lull you under in what feels like a matter of moments.

Your daughter does wake you up at just about the crack of dawn, and she doesn’t seem all that surprised to find Billy there. Although she’s rather focused on her gifts, gasping as she takes in the sight of them, wrapping paper glittering in the glow of the lights.

When the paper is cleared away, and your daughter is cooing with delight over her new toys, Billy fetches his fiddle while you make breakfast. It doesn’t surprise you to hear that his voice is rich and warm. 

“Love shall be our token, love be yours and love be mine…”

You can feel his eyes on you as if he’s standing right behind you, running his fingertips along your spine.

“Love to God and all men, love for plea and gift and sign…”

You leave the stove for a moment and lean down to kiss his forehead. “I never answered your question last night,” you whisper. “If I love you or not.” 

He grins up at you. “No, you didn’t,” he agrees. “And? You’re not gonna break my heart on Christmas mornin’, are you?”

You chuckle, smoothing your fingers through his hair. “I do,” you say softly. “I do love you.”

He reaches up and catches your hand, presses a kiss to your fingers. “Love to all men,” he echoes. He kisses your fingers again. “And I love you, honey.”

A small figure wriggles in between the two of you, your daughter popping up in Billy’s lap. “And me?” 

“Were you eavesdropping?” you gasp, your affront all false.

She giggles. “Yes.”

Billy grins and cuddles her close, making her giggle again. “Well, that’s alright,” he says. “You don’t gotta worry about Santa for a whole year.”

You swat his shoulder gently. “Don’t tell her that.”

He flashes you an unrepentant smile before tickling your little girl’s side. “Yeah, and you,” he says. 

Your daughter settles comfortably in his lap. “This,” she says, after a moment of consideration, “is the best Christmas ever in the world.”

Frankly, you can’t disagree. 

[b0n3s-is-gay]

Christmas Science Lesson

A Very Merry Outsiders Christmas -> Here!

Synopsis: Decorating with Mistletoe is a dangerous game, especially when your boyfriend is Sodapop Patrick Curtis...

Tags: Fluff, kisses, gn! reader, falling on top of each other, pinning.

"Kissin' by the Mistletoe..." You absentmindedly hummed along to the radio as you stood on a chair, hanging up the mistletoe above the doorway as a joke. The whole point of this was to spice up the house hold with all the decorations and cause some chaos.

"Love come sta-" You hummed again before you felt the old chair give way under you due to the stress, the warped metal bending and sending you to the floor and taking some of the garland with you. "Fuck!"

Sodapop whipped around and tried to catch you, which ended up with you landing on top of him. "Fuck- You alright down there Pepsi?" You asked as you opened your eyes, only to see you were face to face with him while the mistletoe dangled above you from the garland that fell with you.

"I'm fine, but I didn't expect you to pin me to the ground." Sodapop answered with a laugh, finally noticing the mistletoe dangling above you. "Hm? The radio is saying to kiss under the mistletoe, the mistletoe is right there, you're on top of me... Might as well put that bough of Holly to use..." He whispered before trying to kiss you, only to be stopped by your finger on his lips.

"Mistletoe and Holly are not the same thing, Soda... But sure, I can give you some kisses." You chuckled before leaning down and gently kissing his lips with a smile.

Tag List: @witchyleehibernates

[lives-in-midgard]

🎄Beautiful Miracle🎄

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Summary: When your car breaks down in a small village you luckily find a bakery to stay in.

Word Count: 1095

A/N: Hey everyone! This is my first fic for my Christmas special hosted by the lovely @buckys-wintersoldier. I hope you like it! 💗

Dividers made by @saradika 💗

Prompt 1: Bakery AU

Masterlist | Fluffcember Masterlist

It’s the first day of December and it has just started snowing. You were driving through a small village you had never been to before when suddenly your car broke down in the middle of the road. You were just able to pull over to park your car in an empty parking lot. You tried to start the car again, but it didn’t work.

“Noo, that can’t happen now. Not now when it’s so cold outside.” You said to yourself. After another try, you decided to call a car service station. They told you that it would take an hour or more for them to get here. So, you decided to take your bag, get out of your car, and look for somewhere to stay. You took a few steps and then saw that there was a small bakery.

Maximoff’s Sweets

You smiled and opened the door to the bakery. The air was filled with the smell of cinnamon and vanilla. Everything was decorated with Christmas decoration and a Christmas carol was playing. You walked around and noticed that this place looks really cozy and beautiful. You couldn’t see the owner of this shop, but you could hear someone singing.

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly.” You heard the soft voice more clearly now and had to smile. Then a door opened and a beautiful young woman with red hair walked out of a room from the back. She had a plate with cookies in her hand and immediately smiled when she saw you.

“Hello and welcome to my bakery.” The owner smiled at you and placed the cookies in an empty spot.

“Hi, this is a really wonderful place here.” You confessed and looked around and then back at her.

“Thank you. This really means a lot to me. Especially because it’s my first Christmas here.”

“Oh, congrats on that.” You said and the woman had to chuckle. She looked so beautiful and lovely.

“What can I offer you?” She asked and you looked at it all deliciously.

“Umm, I’m not sure. This looks all so delicious, what would you recommend?” You asked her nervously.

“How about these cinnamon rolls? They are really good and a new recipe I tried.” She pointed to the cinnamon rolls, and you nodded.

“Sounds good. I’ll take this and a coffee please.” You answered and Ms. Maximoff turned around to make you a coffee. She put the dessert and coffee on a plate and then walked with you to a table. You sat down and she placed everything in front of you.

“Do you mind if I join you?” She asked shyly.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, great, because my new cookies just came out of the oven and need time to cool. I’ll be with you in a moment.” She went back, made herself a cup of coffee and then came back to you. She sat down across from you.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I haven’t introduced myself yet. I‘m Wanda Maximoff.”

“Hi Wanda, I‘m Y/N.“

“So, what brought you to my bakery?” Wanda asked and you told her the story of your car and how you luckily found her warm and cozy bakery. Wanda listened intently as the two of you drank your coffee and ate your dessert.

“Wow, that tasted so good.” You complimented her after eating the cinnamon roll.

“Thank you, love.” You blushed and looked out the window for a second and saw that it started to snow more.

“What do you like to do when you’re not at this wonderful bakery?” You asked Wanda as you looked back at her.

“Well, I love spending time with my brother and some friends, I love finding new recipes for all kind of stuff, and oh I really enjoy watching sitcoms.”

“Sounds really cool. What’s your favorite sitcom?”

“The Dick Van Dyke Show. I loved it when I was a kid and I still do.” Wanda told you.

“And what do you like to do when your car doesn’t break down in front of a bakery?” Wanda asked and you had to chuckle at her question. You told her about your hobbies and talked for a while until you got a message on your phone.

“Sorry.” You apologized and looked at your phone.

“Oh, no.” You mumbled when you saw the message from the car service station.

“What’s wrong?” Wanda asked.

“It’s the car service station. It will take them a few hours to get here because of the snow.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, but hey, you’re lucky you ended up here.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You smiled at her. A few minutes passed before Wanda said something again.

“Hey, I have an idea.”

“I’m all ears.”

“If you're interested, maybe you could help me with some cookies.”

“Yeah, sounds great.” You said and Wanda smiled happily. She showed you the kitchen where she makes all her desserts. Wanda then gave you an apron and you tied your hair into a ponytail. Then she showed you the recipe and started to put everything you needed on the table. You had fun helping Wanda bake the cookies and when you were done you put them in the oven and Wanda gave you a cup of hot chocolate. You stood next to her and talked for a few minutes until Wanda got the idea to decorate the cookies she had baked before you arrived. When you were almost finished, you received a message that the car service station will be here soon.

Wanda decided to give you some cookies and when you wanted to pay, she said that wasn’t necessary. You insisted that you wanted to pay, but Wanda was a little more stubborn than you, so she won. You put your jacket on and were a little sad to leave now, but you know where this bakery is so you could come back anytime.

“Goodbye, Wanda.” You said before opening the door.

“Wait.” Wanda shouted and ran towards you. You turned around and looked at her confused.

“I really enjoyed this afternoon with you and thought you might like to meet me again.” Wanda asked.

“I also really enjoyed it. I can give you my phone number, so you can text me.” Wanda nodded with a smile, and you gave her your phone number.

“See you soon, Wanda.” You said before walking out.

“See you soon. “You walked out with a smile, happy that your car broke down here and not somewhere else. Otherwise, you probably would never have met Wanda.

Taglist:

@marvelogic | @eviebuggg | @yelenasdiary | @youralphawolf72 | @severelyuniquereview | @mrs-bucky-barnes-73

[loveshotzz]

Is It New Years Yet?

steve harrington x fem!reader ✨Part One✨

Santa Tell Me

summary: When you meet Steve Harrington the first time it’s by accident, the second time a coincidence, and by the third he’s calling it fate.

wc: 8.1k

warnings: 18+ series, a christmas meet cute with steve who’s in his 30’s, smut in later chapters, drinking, smoking, eddie munson is our best friend/roommate, him and steve don’t know each other in this AU.

authors note: this wasn’t supposed to be this big or long but here we are. thank you for all your patience and sweet words, I’m so excited to share this with you.

series masterlist -> ✨ part two

The Marshall Fields feels alive with only three weeks left until Christmas, making it a next to impossible mission to get to your job in the restaurant that sits on top of the seven story tourist attraction. At least on time.

Bing Crosby’s ‘It’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas’ spills from the speakers overhead, the deep baritone of his voice is barely audible over the low murmur of conversation happening all around you. Lush, large boughs of green pine hang pristine from the historically tall ceilings, shimmering tinsel draped with purpose at the ends of them catching in the light. It reflects off the gold ornaments that cover it in a perfect pattern. It’s almost enough for you to forget how annoyed you are.

Your slip resistant shoes catch and scuffle along the deep crimson carpet as you move through the shoulder to shoulder crowd. It doesn’t take you very long to find a break in it, still scratching at your nose that itches from your walk through the fragrance department. Your small victory is quickly diminished when you see a swarm of families standing in front of the golden doors of the elevators. 

You silently curse yourself for not leaving earlier, completely forgetting that Santa was on the fifth floor today. As if on queue, a little girl with perfect blonde curls that bounce as she runs smacks into your legs just like your realization, falling back on her butt with a thud. Her pearly white dress flutters around her, and the two of you stare each other down for what feels like an eternity until her mother rushes over with panicked apologies right as her daughter breaks out the waterworks. 

The noise makes you grimace, mumbling a ‘it’s fine’ under your breath before turning on your heel. Reaching behind, you pull your phone from your back pocket to see just how late you really are, accepting defeat with having to take the scenic, much more time consuming route up the escalators. The bold white numbers that flash across the screen tell you that you’re already five minutes past the start of your shift. A long sigh slips from between your lips as you give up on trying to rush. 

Moving with the flow of the crowd, the beginning jingle of Mariah Carey’s ‘All I Want For Christmas Is You’ starts to play, and with the grand spectacle of the yearly decorations, it’s hard not to feel all the emotions of nostalgia they’re trying to pull from you, making you roll your eyes singing along with her under your breath.

The big water fountain in the middle of the men’s department comes into view from the tops of bobbing heads, one of the many physical markers in this building you’ve had to use so you don’t get lost in the retail maze they’ve created, letting you know that you’re close to your destination. Weaving through the sea of people, you try to gear up to break free from the human traffic jam, the signs pointing to the escalators in your sights. His panicked voice is what you hear first, an obvious friendliness still hidden underneath it despite the way it shakes every time you hear him say “excuse me?” 

Your eyes search for the owner, and when you find him, regret buries itself deep in your gut when they land on his face.

A perfect mess of dark chestnut hair, with tips that look like they were dipped in honey sits on top of his head. The hints of gold hidden inside shimmer under the lights, as it curls wildly behind his ears. It almost looks styled that way, that is until you see his big hand run through it twice in the span of a few seconds. Warm brown eyes squint as he turns in a full circle glancing between his phone and the signs the point to the city street exits on either side of him. The hoards of people surrounding him completely ignoring his existence as he looks around painfully lost. 

His nose is sharp, just like his jaw that’s dusted with the faint  hint of a five o’clock shadow. The two prominent moles that sit side by side on his cheek stick out on his unseasonably sun kissed skin that seems to glow against the dark maroon color of his sweater. It’s snug across a broad chest, just like the washed out black jeans that fit a light too well around his thighs. His chocolate colored peacoat looks tailored to fit his biceps, with shiny gold buttons that match the buckle on his russet leather loafers, and the chain that dangles from around his neck. 

You watch him try to ask a few friendly faces for help, only receiving a shrug and a half smile by the ones that actually acknowledge him. He mutters something that sounds sarcastic to himself as you get closer, his hands moving animatedly before he huffs pinching the bridge of his nose. 

Maybe it’s the Christmas decorations, or the Mariah Carey, or maybe it’s just the fact that you’d rather take pity on a handsome stranger than go to your job. Whatever reason it is, you decide to make the stupid mistake to help him.

“Hey,” you greet timidly, getting just close enough to smell the cedar and cinnamon that seems to cling to the expensive wool of his coat, ignoring the way your stomach flips because of course he smells good right?  

“Are you lost?” 

He doesn’t hear you over the internal battle going on inside his head, not even registering that someone is finally stopping to offer the help he’d just been pleading for, quietly grumbling, ‘you wanted to move to the city, now you can’t even find your way through a damn store’.

You clear your throat before it can get anymore awkward, alerting him of your presence while letting your curious gaze wander up his tall broad frame. Those squinted brown eyes look big now as they meet yours, and you can see green inside them that you couldn’t before and it sparkles brighter than the tinsel hanging from the boughs behind him. 

Yeah, you’ve made a huge mistake.

He blinks a few times, before a wide smile stretches across his face somehow making him even more handsome as he reveals a set of perfectly straight teeth. The smile pushes up his cheeks, and crinkles the skin around his eyes, and you watch all the aggravation from before melt off of his perfectly sculpted face and you wish you could go back those few minutes in time and abort the mission. This is no damsel in distress.

“Hi” is all that he says, peony’s painting his cheeks as he runs his hand through his thick hair again. It looks even softer up close.

“Hey,” you giggle, nerves taking over and you want to pinch yourself for it. “I just wanted to see if you needed some help, you look a little lost.” 

You try to seem indifferent when you catch the way his gaze roams quickly down your body, thankful you did laundry last night and had on your tight fitting work slacks today that showed off your curves. 

“So lost!” He groans, the blush on his cheeks deepening with the tips of his ears. “If I’m being completely honest with you, I don’t even know what floor I’m on.”

You try to hide the way you snort, slapping your palm over your mouth.

“Hey, be nice!” He laughs, trying his best to fight it to put on a hurt expression, “this is like my first time here, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you try to fight off you smile, “I didn’t mean to laugh at you —“

“Steve,” interjects with a grin, those perfect teeth biting at his full bottom lip as he sticks out one of his hands for you to take, a gold band wrapped around his middle finger you didn’t notice before gleaming when it hits the light.

“Well, Steve,” you try not to laugh, which ends up being easy to do when you slip your hand into his and watch it disappear behind his long fingers when they wrap around them. “You’re on the first floor if you can believe it.

“That’s fucking embarrassing. Wow.” He groans, letting your hand go to run his palm down his face, and you hate that you feel the loss in your gut. “Sorry I didn’t mean to cuss.”

“I’ll let it slide this time,” You tease with a wink, enjoying the way it only makes the color on his face deepen. “Where are you trying to go? I work on the seventh floor. I might be able to take you on my way.”

It takes Steve a minute to formulate an answer to your offer, still stuck on the fact a complete stranger was being so nice to him, and the silence between you goes on just long enough to make you second guess everything.

“Or I could just try and give you directions if that’s more comfortable for you.” You offer, adjusting the straps of your backpack nervously.

“I’m trying to get to the women’s department,” Steve finally blurts out, sensing the shift in your energy and quickly tries to recover with another card through his hair and a crooked smile, “specifically the handbags, and I absolutely think you should take me.”

His gaze narrows the color in his eyes darkening into something more flirtatious than nervous. 

“Who knows how long it’d take me to get there without a beautiful, clearly smart woman such yourself to help me anyway.”

Your stomach does that thing that you hate again, and all the heat in your body licks at your cheeks like flames. You can’t remember the last time a man actually used the word beautiful. Hot? Absolutely. Cute? Sure. Pretty? Yeah, a few times, but never beautiful. It sits in your chest where it blossoms into another painfully big smile that pushes your cheeks up even more, and you have to look away from his face for a moment when he matches it with his own.

“O- okay, if you just, uh wanna follow me?”  Words get lost on your tongue and it comes out more shy than you would’ve liked, but you turn on your heel before you can think too hard about it when he gestures you forward.

You hear him mutter ‘are you kidding me?’ under his breath as you lead him to the escalators just around the corner, making him realize how close they were this whole time and you wonder just how long he was actually looking for them. The smell of mint hits your nose as you pass the Frango chocolate stand and it mixes with the spice of his cologne as he trails close behind. Butterflies threatening to break from cocoons hearing the way his steps match yours. 

He stops next to you as you come to halt to wait your turn to hop onto the moving metal steps. You look up at him and there’s an awkwardness that threatens to fill the small space between you that has you giving him a tight lipped smile that he returns with the kind of confidence that makes your palms sweat and you have to look away. 

“I say we make our move after white puffer coat comin’ up here.” His voice startles you when it comes out low, close enough to the shell of your ear that you swear you can feel the whisper of his lips. Spearmint stings your nose from the gum that snaps between his teeth, and the heat of his breath makes goosebumps jump along the back of your neck. 

Why did you do this?

You meet his gaze from the corner of your eye, letting him see the playful glint that dances in them before giving a curt nod of your head.

“On the count of three…” You play along, despite everything inside you telling you to stop flirting back and it makes Steve’s whole face light up, long fingers flexing at his side with the need to find yours again.

“One..” He starts, and your eyes meet ‘white puffer coat’ who’s now only a few steps away before finding Steve’s again who’s stare very obviously never left your face.

“Two..” You giggle trying to hide the way your body starts to buzz and if it wasn’t for Steve’s giddy expression you’d be more embarrassed than you actually are.

“Thre-“ His final count gets cut off by the feeling of your fingers wrapping around his, tugging him onto the stairs early with a loud cackle that has you throwing your head back and he swears the sound tilts his world off its axis.

His cheeks dust pink under the bright light looking down his nose at you with a wide smile that shows all his teeth. An expensive loafer sits wedged between your work shoes and the other on the step above, caging you against the side as you ride up to the next floor, and he’s close enough for you to see a smattering of more freckles that dot the bridge of his nose and the side of his neck, even one on the tip of his earlobe.

He’s still holding your hand.

Your fingers twist and flex at the realization, dropping from his hold and Steve clears his throat because of it. Adam’s apple bobbing as you land on the second floor, he shoves his hand in his pocket, standing a more appropriate distance from you as you get on the next set of stairs going up.

“So what’s on the seventh floor?” He asks, finally breaking the silence that crackles with something you aren’t prepared for today.

“Oh, um, The Walnut Room.” you know where the big Christmas tree is?” You answer with a small smile and it makes him snort, the noise making your eyes go big and the corners of your lips twist up more.

“I couldn’t find the escalators, you think I know where the big Christmas tree is? Don’t flatter me so much or I’ll think you’re flirting with me, honey.” Steve grins, the cool air of confidence from before coming back and you hate that it makes your cheeks burn even worse the second time around.

“Well,” you start unable to bring yourself to meet his gaze as the two of you make your way to the next set of escalators with nerves rattling in your chest as the new floor brings more people, and it makes it impossible for him to keep his distance this time, “now you know where it is.” 

“Is that an invitation?” He smirks looking down at you, teeth gleaming even whiter from this close and butterfly wings tickle at your rib cage.

“Getting a new purse for your girlfriend?” You ask in an attempt to dodge his obvious flirting, doing your best to ignore the way his fingers keep bumping into yours as you share the same step.

“Mom, actually. No girlfriend.” Your obvious prying makes something smug flash behind his eyes. “Is that the answer you were hoping for?” 

You huff with a roll of your eyes, unable to fight the way your cheeks push up again despite the shake of your head earning a deep chuckle from Steve who can see right through you.

“I actually just moved here, maybe a month ago,” he starts, your heart sinking a little at his reveal and your walls that had started to slowly retreat quickly go back up the few inches they dared to come down. “M parents, they’re….they’re tough to impress, and I’m just trying to find something nice for my Mom. Something that screams ‘Hey! Merry Christmas! I didn’t make a big mistake moving here!’ You know?”

You nod with the kind of laugh that makes his eyes sparkle at the noise.

“A purse absolutely says that, I think.” Your words drip with sarcasm as the two of you make your way onto the third floor, shoulders bumping as you turn towards the next set of moving stairs, both your feet landing on the same metal step again. 

“You know, I thought so too.” He beams, not missing a beat. “What about you? Got any fun plans with your boyfriend for Christmas?”

Before you have a chance to answer, an impatient woman choosing to walk the escalators in the kind of rush you should really be in knocks into Steve’s back with her shoulder, making him lose his balance and stumble into you. Large hands grab at your waist to steady himself, the warmth of his palms spreading through your body as it seeps through the thin material of your slacks. The steady beating in your heart stutters before your pulse kicks into overdrive when the mint on his breath fans against your neck for the second time as he mutters an apology finding his balance again. You bite at the inside of your cheek when he finally lets you go, straightening up to his full height again.

“Gotta love the holidays.” You laugh, letting out a shaky breath that threatens to give you away.

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year, or that’s what they say.” Steve sighs, running his fingers through his hair again. 

He somehow leaves it even messier than before, and you have to fight the urge to fix it for him, as the top of the fourth floor comes into view along with the end of your time with the man you only half way regret helping now.

“The answer to your question is no, by the way.” You finally speak up, a mischievous glint in your eye that matches your smile.

“No you don’t have any fun plans? Or No you don’t have a boyfriend?” He tries to clarify, with the kind of lopsided grin that has your knees wobbling under it.

You don’t have time to recover when the ground underneath you stops moving as you both hit the bright red carpet of the women’s department. The fast moving crowd and the fact that you’re pushing nearly twenty minutes late for work is the perfect escape you need to get yourself out of making the mistake of staying long enough for the charming new to the city bachelor to ask for your phone number. 

“Handbags are over there.” You point to the giant Michael Kors logo that shines gold against a hot pink wall behind him, and you seize the moment he turns to follow the direction of your finger to hop back onto the escalators without a word.

You laugh echoes and bubbles over the even happier sounds of the Christmas music when Steve turns around to find you already half way up to the fifth floor.

“Really?” He throws his hands up, watching as you climb higher.

“I’m late for work! I hope your mom likes her gift!” You wave with the kind of smile that he’s sure will haunt his dreams tonight, that makes the corners of his lips twitch despite himself. “It definitely screams you didn’t make a mistake! Nice meeting you Steve!”

It had been four days since your run in with Steve, and much to your dismay that disheveled head of hair didn’t want to leave your mind no matter how much you tried. His breath stealing smile, and freckled skin invaded every day dream and even found their way into the ones in your sleep. No matter how many times you tell yourself that a man who looks like that has endless opportunities in a city like this, and he’s not going to tie himself down with a waitress who still splits her rent with a roommate. 

A change of scenery and a day off spent alone at the Christmas market is almost enough to do the trick as you search for ornaments to put on the tree your roommate Eddie tried to stop you from getting, arguing that he’d have to be the one to take care of it if you got a real one. Which to be fair, ended up being true, but when you catch him reading Lord of the Rings under its twinkling lights, you don’t think he minds it all that much.   

A few ornaments, two hot ciders, and a record shop later, you find yourself waiting for the train home looking at the sunset that paints the skyline in sherbet orange and red behind shimmering buildings. Lost in the music that spills from your AirPods, flashing lights catch at the corners of your eye, and the sounds of the holiday train start to get louder as its bright presence rolls up to the platform. The Santa that you know has to be freezing waves at everyone that’s waiting as it pulls in, and you can’t stop the way your cheeks push up despite the annoyance you would have normally felt if you were actually commuting somewhere in a rush.

The workers dressed as elves greet you with baskets of candy cane’s and bright smiles when the doors open, and relief floods your system when you see the train car is mostly empty. You give them a friendly wave and a nod, accepting the sweet treat before claiming your seat for the nine stops you needed to pass to get home. Red and green string lights flash strung up from the ceilings, and the silver metal poles that stick through the middle now resemble the candy they're passing out. The white fluorescent lighting that usually washes everyone out is replaced with a deep blue, and the faint sounds of  Wham’s ‘Last Christmas’ battles for dominance with the music in your headphones.

Relaxing into your seat, you let the steady rocking of the train lull you back into your thoughts, disappointed when they inevitably go back to the man you’ve been trying to forget. Thighs pressing at the memory at the feeling of his hands grabbing at your hips on the escalator, you huff and cross your arms in a silent pout. How can you have a crush on someone you don’t even know? 

The car starts to fill up more and more as the stops go, and by the third one you’re squeezing your tote bag to your chest with people surrounding you as they hold onto the plastic handles above your head. It’s hard to see anything above anyone’s waist, and you shuffle a little awkwardly in your seat. The spot in front of you frees up by the next stop and at the same time your AirPods die, a sigh of relief slips past your lips at the brief reprieve before the group waiting outside scurries in. That’s when you hear him…again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. First the damn bus, now the train? Jesus fuck- exuse me, god, I’m gonna be so late.”

The familiar smell of cedar and cinnamon envelopes your senses when a pair of black dress slacks fill your vision with a gold belt buckle on his waist that matches the chain you already know is dangling from his neck, and the ring on the hand that’s gripping the handle above you. 

You curse under your breath, taking your AirPods out and the muffled sound of Dean Martin’s ‘Let It Snow’ becomes full volume, along with the clinking of the metal tracks when the train lurches forward. Leaning back in your seat, you let your eyes wander up his broad torso you’ve reluctantly thought so much about. Steve’s a little more dressed up than the last time you saw him with a white button up tucked into his slacks. You can still make out the outline of his tank top underneath, despite the dim lighting, and the way he leaves the top two buttons undone flashes you a little bit of chest hair. The chocolate peacoat is replaced with a black one that has buttons to match. It fits around his arms just as good as the other one. 

His five o’clock shadow is gone now, and he somehow has even more freckles than before. Too distracted by him to scold yourself for having the urge to find and kiss them all, his messy bed head look he had the other day is replaced with something a little more controlled, and you wonder how much product he needed to use, especially that despite it all, a stray still threatens to fall across his forehead. 

“Not a fan of the holiday train are we?” 

Steve jumps at the sound of your voice, his eyes looking every direction but down until you clear your throat. They widen when they land on you just like the smile that spreads across his face, wiping away any signs of annoyance that plagued his features just seconds before.

“You!” He almost laughs, and he’s even more handsome than you remembered and you wonder how long it's going to take you recover this time, “Oh wow —“ even in the blue light you can see the way the color in his cheeks redden when he realizes that his crotch is unintentionally in your face, “let me just -“

He scoots back as far as he can which isn’t much but it’s enough to make the position the two of you find yourselves in less awkward.

“Well, well, well so we meet again.” He practically beams taking in your appearance now that you’re not dressed to go wait tables, catching the way he licks his lips before bringing his eyes back to yours. 

“It would appear so Steve.” Your smirk, proud of yourself for keeping up the act of playing hard to get.

“What do they call these things? Christmas Miracles?” His confident demeanor reappears and you’re disappointed that it sets your body on fire just like before.

Your snort loud enough for him to hear, earning you a deep chuckle from his chest that gets him that smile of yours he can’t stop thinking about.

“You think you’re so smooth don’t you?” You tease, biting at your bottom lip, meeting his eyes from under your lashes watching the way it makes the green and gold inside them turn into something darker.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” He winks, closing the space he made between you to let someone off behind him holding your stare from down the slope of his nose.

You narrow your eyes at him before you roll them but the twitch of your lips gives you away making his grin turn Cheshire.

“Where are you off to this dressed up? Hot date?” You question with an arched brow.

“For someone who’s pretending not to have a crush on me, you’re certainly fixated on if I’m dating someone aren’t you?” Shaking his head, he’s even more smug than he was on the escalators, “but no, beautiful, I’m on my way to meet a business partner for dinner.”

There he goes using that word beautiful again.

“What about you? The missing uniform tells me it must be your day off, spend it with that boyfriend of yours?” Steve smirks trying to get the definitive answer you refused him a few days ago.

“You’re calling me fixated? I’m not the one obsessing over an imaginary boyfriend I made up for someone else.” 

Steve throws his head back in a booming laugh as a bright smile lights up his face in a way that rivals the train. 

“I bet you think you’re so funny don’t you?” He mimics your previous sentiment with an intensity in his gaze that has you squirming in your seat.

“Not really, but I think it’s working for you.” Biting your lip as you wink, his hold around the handle tightens, and the gold in his eyes darken more. “I’m surprised you’re heading out of the loop so dressed up, where’s this hot business date?”

Steve’s smile falters, and the color you’re so used to warming his face drains along with the intensity of his gaze.

“What do you mean out of the loop?” That panic you’d heard shaking his voice a few days ago returns, as he tears his eyes away from you to look at the map above your head. 

“Oh no, Steve.” You realize the mistake he’s made before he does.

“No, no, no, no,” he groans, stomping a shiny wingtip oxford on the dirty ground. “God, Richard, fuck - he’s going to be so pissed at me.”

He says the last part more to himself, regripping his hold on the handle, brows furrowing as he pinches his eyes shut in frustration. His chest heaves a few times, and the veins in his neck start to show before you hear his quiet exhale over the sounds of ‘Jingle Bell Rock’.

“Hey,” You start, and sweetness drips from your tone as you resist the urge to reach out and comfort him, “I’m getting off on the next stop, you can come with me if you want and I’ll help you get on the right train. It’s an easy mistake, really. We’ve all done it.”

He doesn’t open his eyes immediately, and you can tell that he’s trying not to completely break down but slowly they blink back open and meet yours. The teasing edge behind them is gone as they soften around the edges with exhaustion.

“I think I owe you my life at this point, honestly.” He huffs with a weak laugh and you know if his hair wasn’t done his hand would be running through it right now. 

“Just a little bit.” You tease pinching two fingers together with a scrunch of your nose.

“Thank you,” he holds your stare, sincerity painting his features with something that makes you want to stand up and hug him. 

“Anytime,” you shrug and it’s harder to fake being nonchalant when he looks at you like that. 

The train starts to slow down as it approaches your stop, and the people around you become restless as they prepare to push through the crowded car to get off. Your body reacts like muscle memory when it comes to a halt with another lurch, and you stand up without thinking about the little bit of space that separates you and the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about all week. 

Your chest brushes against a hard set of abs before and even harder set of pecs, the cedar and sandalwood of his cologne is stronger than the last time it took over your senses like this. Fresh. The faint smell of his aftershave tickles your nose, and the heat of his breath warms against the berry chapstick on your lips. The realization of your mistake hits right as you lose your balance, and your body falls flush against his.

“Whoa, honey.” Steve chuckles, one of his big hands grabbing firmly on the soft curve of your hip to hold you in place, and you swear you can taste the spearmint of his gum against your tongue from his proximity.

Your hands reach out on instinct grabbing at his waist, making the muscles underneath flex from your touch and you can just faintly hear his sharp intake of breath because of it.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, I’m so sorry.” You bumble, instantly regretting looking up to meet his gaze. The smirk of his pink full lips has all your blood rushing to your cheeks as you quickly try to untangle yourself from him.

“You’re fine,” he laughs in your ear as you push past him, and it sends a shiver through your bones, especially when you can feel the heat of his body behind you as he follows.

The wind hits your face stepping onto the platform and the chill in the air feels good against your skin. People rush and zoom all around you as they try and make their next connection while you and Steve stand under the sign that flashes the next train times. In a loud roar, the holiday spectacle departs with jingling bells that ring off into the distance along with the whir of the crowd leaving you and Steve alone. You try to ignore the tension that bubbles under his stare against the back of your head, threatening to spill over any second as you pull out your phone.

“You live around here?” He’s the first one to break the silence stepping next to you, his gaze shifting curiously to your phone screen.

“Yeah, like three blocks away.” You answer absently, scrolling through the train lines too distracted by your search for the right directions to give him.

He hums quietly in response, pulling out his own phone from his coat pocket. His energy shifts from the panic on the train to something calmer, and you can’t quite put your finger on it. A nervousness still lingers in his shaky exhale that pushes through his nose, rocking back on his heels before shoving his phone in his pocket.

“What if we went out to dinner instead?” Steve blurts out, and his hand that’s been itching to run through his hair finally does, “I mean if you don’t have any plans right now.”

“Didn’t you say it was a work dinner Steve?” You laugh, finally daring to look up at your phone at him. Big mistake. 

The wind catches his hair, and that long dark honeyed strand falls against his forehead while his teeth gleam at you in a hopeful smile.

“I feel like I kind of already missed it,” he chuckles, “I’m supposed to be there now and if I read those directions on your phone correctly it said what? - 45 minutes to get there?”

You glance down and see the bold numbers that only seem to go up as the minutes pass and rush hour starts to kick in. 

“Besides, I owe you dinner for coming to my rescue twice in one week. I think the universe is really trying to get us to go get drinks if you ask me sweetheart.” 

You laugh a little nervous, rolling your eyes to try and hide how you aren’t immune to his charms but the glint that sparkles in his stare tells you that it’s not working.

“I mean, I guess it’s only fair. I don’t want to mess with fate and all.” You sigh, and it makes his whole face light up, “but if Richard fires you, that’s not my fault.”

“You have my word, if this dinner ruins the entire reason I moved out here. I will not blame you.” He raises his hand in the air like he’s swearing under oath.

“Steve!” You gasp, shoving his arm, and it has him throw his head back in a loud laugh that echoes through the empty platform.

“I’m kidding, that’s not going to happen. I don’t think.” He grins, earning another eye roll from you, but he’s too giddy to care.

You choose the cozy little Ramen spot on the corner called The Furious Spoon that’s only two blocks from the train station. It’s a close enough walk to easily brave the deep chill that follows with the setting sun and casual enough so that this doesn't feel like something you’re telling yourself it’s not. 

A date.

The warmth of the restaurant hits your frozen cheeks, thawing the parts of you that got bitten from the cold. Ainese hangs thick in the air, making your mouth water while the two of you make your way to the empty seats at the end of the long table that lines the side of the restaurant. You pretend not to feel his hand on the small of your back despite it burning a hole through your jacket as you push through the puffy coats that drape over the stools on either side of you.

Shrugging your layers off, both of you follow suit finding a home for them on the wide rectangular seats. Steve tuts at you when you go to pull your seat out waving your hand away.

“Seriously? No.” You half whisper yell, but the corners of your lips twist up and he decides it’s an empty objection pulling your seat out for you with a wave of his hand gesturing you to sit.

“My mom would kill me if I didn’t,” he swears but his smirk tells you not to believe a word he says as he puts both his hands on either side of your stool, spearmint hot on his breath against the shell of your ear. Cedar and clove on the fabrics of his clothes, it feels like he’s everywhere as he gives you two pushes in.

His knee bumps into yours as he takes the seat next to you, and another waft of his cologne hits your nose. Biting your lip, you decide to distract yourself with the menu as you actively try to make sure your leg doesn’t bounce with anxious energy. The restaurant is more crowded than you expected and Steve’s closer than you wanted. Your heart thumps wildly against your rib cage, scaring the butterflies that laid dormant for the few days in his absence right as they had started to stretch their wings. 

“This all looks so good,” he hums, eyes scanning over the menu before bringing his attention back to you, chestnut and gold shimmering in the low light as he looks down the slope of his nose, licking his full lips, “Do you have a favorite?”

You can’t stop your gaze from flicking down to his mouth, words threatening to get caught on the tip of your tongue watching the way the corners curl up into a grin, small dimples pushing into his tan skin when he catches you.

“Depends on what you like protein wise, but my go to is The Mother Clucker.” You manage to get out, trying to clear out the nerves out of your throat.

“Excuse me,” he snorts, “the what?”

Rolling your eyes, you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth as you lean over tapping a red polished nail to the chicken option on the top.

“Do you need glasses Steve?” You giggle watching him squint to read it.

The question makes him look at you out of the corner of his eyes with a narrow stare. 

“I’ve had perfect vision since high school. Thank you very much.” He scoffs holding the menu further away as if to help him focus on the small bold lettering. 

“Sure looks like it, my mistake.” Raising a hand in mock surrender, the gesture makes him knock his knee with yours earning him a giggle.

“Here I am skipping out on an important work dinner to spend my night showing you how grateful I am and you’re just bullying me.” Steve only manages to keep a straight face until you hit him with a soft smack on his shoulder, a full bellied laugh escaping him when whatever retort you’re ready to give gets cut off by your server finally coming to the table.

Steve’s charm flows from him with ease as he speaks to the young guy with a big septum ring and spiked hair. He talks to him like they’ve been lifelong friends when you place your orders and it reminds you how easily he got that same genuine smile from you just a few days ago at work, and again now as you sit next to him for dinner instead of writing him off like you told yourself you would. Your stomach twists in knots when his knee bumps against yours and stays there, the warmth of his body seeping through the fabric of his slacks and your jeans.

“So did you end up finding your Mom a gift that screams ‘I didn’t make a mistake’?” You question resting your cheek in the palm of your hand as you lean on the table with your elbow, you lift your chin up a little at him and it makes him flush.

“Oh yeah,” he laughs nervously, scratching the back of his neck, “I-I didn’t actually, so that's great. I’ll probably just get her a nice set of earrings or something, it won’t matter in the end anyways.”

His eyebrows knit together and for the first time all night he purposely avoids your gaze with a sip of his water. Your eyes follow the movements of his throat as he swallows.

“What do you mean it won’t matter?” You press, curiosity getting the best of you watching his confidence slip.

“My parents aren’t exactly thrilled that I moved out here to help with this start up, instead of taking over their family business back home. It’s a long story, but it was a big argument, well - multiple big arguments when I told them I was leaving.” He sighs, and you can see the dread of their arrival start to hang over his head like storm clouds. “Besides we never really spent Christmas together my whole life anyway, they were always traveling for work, so this whole thing is just -“ He rubs at his temple, “a thing.”

He runs his fingers through his hair without abandon this time.

“Ahhh,” you hum as missing pieces of Steve’s puzzle are revealed and you hate yourself for finding him more attractive because of it. 

“What about you?” He nods his head in your direction, mimicking your stance resting his head in his hand, “What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Well,” you start, more nerves settling deep in your chest as you start to lay some of your cards down, “I don’t go home for the holidays cause I usually have work. But me and my family get along fine, I guess. But my roommate usually goes to visit his uncle so I’ll probably order something really expensive to eat and watch a Christmas movie I don’t hate.” 

You shrug trying to hide that sometimes it does get to you, not having a full house of loud laughter or even someone to spend the day with, but the look in Steve’s eyes makes you feel like he sees you. He gets it.

“Favorite Christmas movie?” He asks without missing a beat.

“Oh, easy, The Grinch.” you snort.

“Fitting for you.” he winks, despite the tips of his ears turning red when your shoe finds his under the table.

“Rude. What about you? huh?” Your lashes flutter as you bite your lip feeling him start to play footsie with you. 

“Jingle All The Way, Arnold’s my guy.” He smiles big at the giggle you give him, and it warms your face just like his hand that slides further down his thigh, dangerously close to yours.

The bubble you find yourselves in pops abruptly when the smell of your soup hits your nose. Two large bowls get set down in front of you, steam pouring off the tops so much it fogs the glass window.

“You would like Arnold,” you manage to whisper yell over your servers arm and it’s Steve’s turn to roll his eyes, ignoring you giving the waiter a pat on the back with a ‘thanks man.’

The rest of your dinner is filled with easy conversion and touches that linger more than they should, just like the secret paths heavy lidded gazes make to each other’s lips that aren’t so secret in the dim lighting with your feet still intertwined. You hate that as you learn more about him, the more you want to know. The questions come with follow up questions as he tells you about the life that he left behind, his best friend Robin who he hasn’t spent more than six hours without for the last five years and how it feels like he’s missing a limb. 

It feels mutual as both of you sit there long after your bowls are empty, snow falling from a now completely dark sky as Steve listens to you tell a story from high school like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever heard. Just like the stories about you and Eddie before that, or the one about how you lost your I.D on a crazy night out. All of them felt like he was hanging on every word, and having his full attention like this made your stomach flip. The buzzing of your phone is what ends the night when your eyes catch how late it really is.

“Oh my god, is it really almost nine?” You gasp, but Steve seems unfazed, just like the tip of his shoe running up your calf.

“I’m actually surprised they didn’t kick us out,” he smirks, chuckling to himself before straightening his back. Deep crimson filling his cheeks when you both can hear the loud pop.

You’d tease him but you were too busy already missing his touch. God. Dammit.

“I should really get going, I didn’t realize we’ve been here for like three hours. I gotta be at work super early for this breakfast with Santa we’re doing,”  You huff, standing up and the change in energy is almost enough to make Steve’s head spin.

“You live like a block away, I think you’ll get home fairly quickly.” He looks at you confused as he stands up, watching you stuff your arms in your coat with a struggle with tangled sleeves.

“I just, I promised Eddie I’d be home at a certain time and he gets all worried when I’m not,” It’s a lie but you aren’t going to tell him that your panic is from the fear that spending this much time with him has now pushed you past the point of no return. 

He’s never going to leave your mind now.

“Let me walk you,” He insists, slipping on his coat with ease, broad shoulders filling it perfectly.

“I think you should worry about getting yourself home,” you tease, buttoning your coat that you won the fight with.

“Yeah, I can’t chance it, not without my good luck charm,” he winks and your knees wobble, “I’m calling an Uber. Can’t get lost that way.” 

“Let’s hope so,” you smirk, bumping shoulders with him despite yourself as you walk past.

“Hey! I thought we were friends now.” He whines following close behind, both of you giving a small wave to your server on the way out.

The cold air hits you the moment the swinging glass door opens, sending a shiver up your spine, tugging your coat closer, you silently curse the hint of cedar you catch on the fabric.

“Are we friends now?” You arch a brown turning on your heel to face him as you both hit the sidewalk.

“I was hoping,” he gives you that smile, the kind that you know always gets him what he wants, and god do you want to give it to him. But the gold shimmering on his belt and the reminder that he just moved here makes you stubborn and weary. “Maybe if you give me your number, we can do this again sometime and find out?”

“How about this,” you suck at the inside of your cheek loudly, and you almost feel bad when you see how his face drops, “If we run into each other again, you can have my number.”

Steve stares at you for a second, disbelief painting over all of his pretty features, but he’s quick to recover with a hand through his hair and a new poker face.

“Deal.” He sticks his hand out and now it’s you who has to take a minute to recover, “What? I accept.”

You narrow your eyes at him before you place your palm into his, that charming smile outshining the white snow that falls onto his long lashes. He purposely holds it longer than he should, the butterflies in your stomach coming to life when the warm pad of his thumb starts to rub small circles into your soft skin. 

“Till the next time beautiful, who knows, maybe I won’t take an Uber home. Take a gamble. I wonder who could possibly show up to rescue me.” He starts, earning another shoulder slap and a gasped ‘Steve!’

“Do not do that, Uber home you maniac.” You pull your hand away no matter how much you don’t want to, especially when he trails the tips of his fingers down your palm as he lets go.

“You win this time,” He grins pulling out his phone, and you watch him click the app before you start to walk towards the direction of home.

“I win every time, Steve.” You wink, taking a mental picture of the way it makes him bite his lip before you turn away hoping you didn’t just make some huge mistake.

Secretly hoping Steve Harrington gets lost again.

[thedevilinmybrain]

Hi love

Prompt: Love at first sight, like "the world stop when I first saw you" kind of.

Thanks xx

this is silly and a little dirty and flirty and happy christmas!

"Oh for heaven's sake, Louis. It's your turn. Just go do it!" Liam shoves a hand into Louis' jacket, shoves him towards where the line for the Christmas stall has already gained two more people. "Oi, alright alright. Fuck off then." Straightening his coat, Louis digs his hands into his pockets and waits. That's all he can do as the line slowly crawls forward. It's his own damn fault - promised to buy the lads a round of mulled wine since he lost the bet over at the ice skating rink. How was he supposed to know that fucking Zayn of all people knew how to skate because of ice hockey? Stepping up behind a couple that clearly has no idea what they want, Louis glances around. The Christmas market is all lit up with strands of multicolored fairy lights, heavy with boughs of fir and pine. It smells like a Chris Kringle dream, like cinnamon and sugar dust and cranberries. He half expects to see magic reindeer walking around, maybe an elf in the eaves of one of the canvas tents. What he doesn't expect at all is to finally be first line and come face to face with a literal Christmas angel. Louis is an expert on the subject. He's a Christmas baby after all. "Hi there. What would you like?" Green eyes, pink cheeks, a crooked grin. It's all Louis can see. Peering up at him from behind the rough wooden countertop, a crown of gold tinsel nestled in his curls. "You." It falls out of Louis' mouth, just an honest answer, and Louis can't feel bad about being this bold when the flush on the man's cheeks darkens. "I'm um," A ringed hand flutters around the top of his red apron, the man ducking his head a little. And god does flustered look downright devastatingly good on him. "I'm not on the menu." "Hi, Not on the menu. I'm Louis." Whatever rulebook Louis has prescribed to for dating has gone up in flames, and he's almost cringe at the worst line in the world if it weren't for the way the guy gives out a startled and loud laugh. "Oh! You've got jokes then, hm?" Brushing his fingers to his lips, the angel lets out another giggle before holding his hand out. "Well, Louis, it's nice to meet you." "Come now, love. You're really not going to tell me your name?" Louis asks, reaches to slip his fingers into the other man's, giving him a firm but slow shake. He knows he's holding up the line, knows he's laying it on thick, but the guy just is too close to a holiday miracle to pass up. "I'll tell you," Leaning down, the guy meet Louis' eye, all seaglass green with a hint of mischief. "But only after you take me out." "When you get off?" Louis asks, raises a slow eyebrow. "That won't happen till at least the third date." The guy pulls his hand back, turning to fill up a cup from the large stock pot on the water, the mulled wine a deep red. "But you can meet me here at seven."

[chilling-seavey]

Winter Warmers: Day 6 — Playing in The Snow

↳ A/N: ❄☃

↳ Summary: It's the first snowfall of the season. Your two children have very different opinions.

↳ Word Count: 798

↳ Winter Warmers Prompt List | The Way It Goes Masterlist

England had a particularly heavy snowfall that winter, just around the week before Christmas, bathing the sprawling land of the Russell’s family home in a blanket of white. Your three year old son was perched in the bay window at the front of your home since he had woken up that morning, begging and begging and begging to go out and play. He was so adamant that you basically had to force feed him breakfast to get him to have something in his tummy before he was rushing to the front door in only his pyjamas, little fingers still sticky from his pancakes. 

Once he was washed up and dressed—during which he talked your ear off about snow and all the things he would want to do in the snow—you started to zip him into his snowsuit. George joined you downstairs as you fastened your son’s boots, your husband carrying your four month old daughter on his hip with his other hand supporting her back and head. She was already bundled up in a soft pink snowsuit of her own, donning a warm knitted toque with a pompom on top and little mittens that matched. 

“All set.” George announced once he reached the bottom of the stairs, giving the baby a little bounce in his arms. She squealed out a giggle. 

“Us too!” you agreed, finishing up your son’s dressing as you passed him his gloves. 

Without another word, the three year old was bolting out the back door. 

George chuckled as the winter wind gusted through the open back door, your son not even bothering to close it in his haste, “Someone’s excited.” 

You pulled on your own coat with a smile, “Quite.”

George looked to the baby in his arms, cooing to her, “What about you, my little love? Are you excited to see your first snow?”

She stared back at his familiar face and broke into a gummy smile in reply. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. 

Once you and George had shrugged on your own coats and hats and gloves, you joined your son outside, already finding him flopping around in the snow that covered the spacious back lawn. The trees that framed the property were covered in snow, empty deciduous branches and lush rich evergreen boughs, making the entire scene just feel so magical. Perfect for the looming anticipation of Christmas that was just around the corner. 

“Mommy, Daddy, look!” your little boy called the second you stepped out onto the porch. When he saw that you were looking, he threw up a handful of snow into the air so it fluttered back down around him.

“Wow, buddy!” George humoured him, “You’re making it snow all over again!”

The little boy giggled and threw some more snow, wonder in his eyes as he watched it fall around him; flakes sticking to his hair and mittens. 

The snow wasn’t overly deep, just enough for a sufficient depth for the toddler to play in, which allowed George to bend down and lay your daughter on the snowy lawn. Her sweet face furrowed into that of confusion, her brows narrowing up at the two of you, big blue eyes blinking in the sunshine. She looked like a little pink grumpy marshmallow flopped out on the snow. 

George took out his phone and hovered it over her to take a few pictures with a beaming grin, “Oh, that’s the cutest sight ever.”

“She’s not pleased.” you chuckled at her expression.

“Come on, princess, give Dada a smile.” George cooed down to her, waiting to snap the perfect picture. 

Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout that was an exact copy of George’s own. 

He lowered his phone with a fond and slightly exasperated smile, telling her sweetly, “That’s not a smile.”

Just then, your son came bounding over through the snowy lawn, kicking up bunches of white with his every ungraceful step. You held out a hand, telling him gently, “Careful, love, your sister is down here. You don’t want to kick any snow on her.”

The little boy stopped and flopped down onto his knees in the snow beside the baby, only a few traces of snow flying onto her pink snowsuit. Her eyes drifted from George to her brother, her pout turning into a sweet smile at the sight of him. 

“Hi!” your son cooed to her, reaching out to pat her tummy with his mittened hand. 

She flailed her little legs in her snowsuit, kicking a bit of snow up and around in the process of her glee, innocent gaze fixated on her big brother. 

You and George smiled down at the sight, George snapping a few more pictures of your children together against the backdrop of the crisp blanket of snow.

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[odditycircus-2002]

What's This?

A/N: Given that it's the season, I decided to do this year's holiday special with my recent reader insert, Quan-chi's daughter. You'll know who I'm talking about if you've been following me for a while or want to read reader inserts with Pre-MK1 Scorpion, or just checking out my masterlist. For those just tuning in, all you gotta know is that Y/N here has never experienced many everyday things, including snow. They're Scorpion's close friend at this time and constantly sneak out to spend time with him. Also, this takes place in Japan, and I don't know how Japan celebrates Christmas or similar holidays completely, besides glimpses in anime, so Imma just wing it here. I DO know that it's treated as a second Valentine's Day over there.

When you first step foot out of The Netherrealm for one of your nightly visits with Hanzo, you are initially met with the landscape covered in a pristine white powdery substance. You first thought that a volcano went off in the area until the cold finally hit you. Curious, you scooped some of the white powder into your hands, feeling the chill of the substance. You take some in your other hand to pinch it, and it instantly melts into water, unlike the water from the rain here. You took a small bite from the pristine power in your hand to confirm your suspicion.

'It's just water like the rains in Earthrealm!"

You concluded before taking another bite of the snow, which you found to be refreshing on your tongue. But you then dropped it when you then took another look around the landscape to find, in the distance, the Shirai Ryu's compound covered in the white stuff and in a familiar glittering substance that shone like jewels. No, not jewels.... ice! It then hit you where you've seen this white powder and ice.

Wasting no time, you opened a portal directly outside Grandmaster Hasashi's living quarters, not bothering entering through the front like usual. You inadvertently ended up scaring some nearby Shirai Ryu with your sudden appearance, but you paid them no heed, praying to the Elder Gods that you're not too late. You practically broke down the door as you called Hanzo's name, horns out, hellfire blazing from your eyes and head. The man in question was in the middle of trimming a small potted tree, and automatically sprang into action, drawing his katana and demanding to know the danger. Hanzo is caught off guard when you interrupt him mid-sentence to barrel into the Grandmaster, wrapping your arms tightly around him.

Your hellfire disappears in relief that Hanzo is uninjured, the latter then asking why you thought he would be injured. You then remembered yourself and backed away from Hanzo, sheepishly apologizing for being overzealous as you thought Sub-Zero or the Lin Kuei were attacking the Shirai Ryu again. Hanzo went quiet at that, glancing at the snow and ice outside his living quarter before turning away. Seeing your words upset your friend, you swiftly try to explain yourself, stating you've never seen ice or the white stuff in the air besides when Bi-Han or Kuai Liang used it in combat. From what Hanzo told you about Lin Kuei attacking the Shirai Ryu, you thought the worst had happened when you saw those cold things everywhere.

"Snow."

Hanzo interrupted you before elaborating that the "white powder" you refer to is snow. He then turned to look outside, past his torn-off door to his for-now small clan, who gathered around, armed, at the commotion you caused. With a hand raised up and a few words from their Grandmaster, the crowd mostly dissipates as they return to their tasks, including hanging boughs of greenery and tying red ribbons on pillars. You could see Hanzo giving a barely-there smile as the festivities taking place.

"You're right to be concerned about the Lin Kuei attacking the Shirai Ryu again... But rest assured that, in this instance, they're not the reason for this weather."

You allow yourself to relax your muscles, apologizing for not entering through the front gates as agreed upon and the torn-off door. Hanzo just waves away your apology, allowing you to let your intrusion slide, just this once, since you were legitimately concerned about an attack and didn't know any better. But without the fear of an attack to occupy your mind and taking a moment to notice the more than usual colorfully decorated Shirai Ryu compound, new questions bubbled to the surface.

"What's this?"

You swept an arm, referring to the colorful lanterns, the ribbons, boughs of holly, and singing in the air. Hanzo explains that the clan is preparing for Christmas, which you didn't know either, which doesn't surprise the clan's Grandmaster. So, the leader of the Shirai Ryu decided to take it upon himself to walk around the compound to show you what he's talking about, with the added bonus of him being able to check on the clan's progress for the day. Hanzo does his best to describe the winter holiday as he did when explaining rain. Apparently, the old Shirai Ryu had their own festivities around the holidays, but it wasn't as extravagant as Christmas; the rebuilt clan brought in Christmas and its decorations. The clan's Grandmaster allowed this, seeing it as a way for the new clan to celebrate their new bonds as a clan and strengthen said bonds.

You couldn't believe your eyes as you took in the various decorations, seeing the paper snowflakes and the glowing lanterns painted with images of more things you've never seen before. It was all new and odd to you, and also so much fun! The clan members you ran into were happy to explain their winter traditions and what they mean to them, including your follow-up questions.

"Your baubles already shine like gems; why do you need little lights to make it sparkle more?"

But your favorite aspect of this "Christmas" was the music, specifically the songs. You've never heard songs that were so... happy and did not describe cruel massacres and brutal victories over enemies. You had never heard such songs. Hanzo raises an inquisitive brow when you randomly summoned your shamisen. He watched as you tuned your instrument and experimentally plucked its strings. Still, eventually, you were able to figure out how to play the same tunes the other clan members were singing amongst themselves. The Shirai Ryu that were singing stopped when you started playing but began singing again after they recognized your tune.

Hearing the caroling restart, you sped up your playing, and the carolers followed suit. In fact, you got so caught up in your playing and the joy welling up inside you that you didn't notice how your magic halted the snowflakes falling around you or you levitating a few inches off the ground or the gathering crowd around you. Nor did you notice the knot between Hanzo's brows lessening as he looked at your magic display. However, when you notice the snowflakes frozen in midair, you gather some around you, making them spin above you and the other singing clan members, who stopped singing to watch your performance. You then bunched the snowflakes together, but unfortunately, that only made a bowling-sized snowball, which was too heavy for the little magic you were doing, causing gravity to take over and for it to fall on your head.

Given that your clothing was made for the Netherrealm and not for winter, you shivered at the sudden temperature change and the water soaking into your clothes. Hanzo immediately notices this and heats himself up, not fully lighting himself ablaze but just enough to warm you up. You thank him for it, and you are grateful for the warmth. Despite being fully capable of warming yourself back up with a little hellfire, you opt to take up Hanzo’s offer to head back to his home to dry off as an excuse to stay as close as possible to the Grandmaster.

On the way back, you passed by homes smelling of cakes and pies, freshly baked. Something else you never heard of, much less tried. Upon your insistence, you approach one of the clan members to ask to try one of their winter treats. Specifically asking someone roasting chestnuts on an open fire, as you told Hanzo that you wanted to try something so fresh; who figured you could use something warm to eat as well.

To the former wraith’s surprise, rather than try the chestnuts offered, you picked out one of the coals USED to roast the chestnuts and swallow them whole while it was still hot! Rather than scream in pain, you let out a pleased hum as steam started to rise off your person. You remarked that you never had the treat freshly heated before while licking the remains off your fingers. The ninja offering you chestnuts could only stare bewildered while Hanzo raised a brow.

After eating a few more coals, you and Hanzo arrived at his home, where the latter started a fire to help dry off your clothes. You sat near a window that looked out to the rest of the compound while wrapped in a blanket that smelled like your dear friend, which you made yourself comfortable in. While you waited in silence with Hanzo, you allowed yourself to bask in the moment, enjoying the absence of monsters and nightmares; instead, there were good feelings all around you.

'It's like a wonderful dream, one I don't ever wish to wake from.'

You think to yourself with a smile. You're pulled out of your thoughts when you spot two of Hanzo's clan members kissing under a plant hanging above them. Your friend had to first explain what a kiss is and that it's a show of affection between two romantic partners. Apparently, it's an Earthrealm tradition to kiss under this mistletoe plant. You thought such a concept was unique, but you couldn't help but notice Hanzo's melancholic face as he watched the young couple beside you. That's when you remember that your friend had a wife, a wife he most likely kissed like the couple in front of you. Hanzo could never kiss Harumi again. You didn't know what to say to Hanzo then, so you stood beside him until your clothes finally dried. Before you left for the Netherrealm, you sincerely thanked Hanzo for showing you everything today, as it was all so wonderful. Your friend's usually stern expression softened at your once-rare joy as he offered to show you some of his family's winter traditions next time you visit.

When you returned to the Netherrealm, the Revenants and the rest of Quan-chi's servants noticed something different with you, although they couldn't quite put their finger on it. Quan-chi, having raised you since you were a newborn, quickly spotted it. During your usual healing session, in which you would power your father with your music to maintain his health, you started off playing your usual song to give some of your energy to your father. However, midway through, your song became more upbeat and, dare Quan-chi say, jovial? With the change in your song, the withered sorcerer felt a rush of raw energy he never sensed from you before that was almost unbearable.

You almost dropped your Shamisen when your father suddenly asked where you learned such a jubilant tune. You're quick to literally change your tune as you quickly make up a half lie that you happened to have overheard it from one of the damned souls, who most likely went mad. You trembled under Quan-chi's scrutinous gaze before he dismissed his inquiry and gestured for you to continue your playing.

Later on, after the session finished, you were allowed to return to your room as you had no immediate duties to fulfill. You tried to get some rest, but sleep would not greet you. You then tried to read one of the books Hanzo gave you, which you kept hidden under a stone tile, but your eyes started to wander as you reminisced the day Hanzo gifted you those books. Your face began to heat up as you remembered his warm, calloused hands briefly making contact with yours. You shook your head before hiding your books again, growing frustrated with yourself. Your eyes then land on your shamisen.

After making sure there was nobody nearby, you cast a bubble of silence around your room before tuning your shamisen and let your hands speak for you. It wasn't exactly what you would usually play, but it wasn't a cheerful tune. No, you played for an audience, including yourself, as you played out your sorrows and woes that would never be heard.

You thought about all the things you wish you could have, that you've been yearning for since you were a little girl, but don't. You wish you could live among the Shirai Ryu, fight alongside them, and celebrate their holidays with them. Yet, even if you could fool yourself for a moment or two, that sense of camaraderie you feel among them doesn't last, not when you have to return to the Netherrealm. You must return to Quan-chi's side and serve alongside him for your Lord Shinnok in his land of fire and screams. Still, you rather live in a realm of life and light...

You shook your mind before any traitorous thoughts could take root, afraid of what your father or God would do to you if you started to think like that. So you turned your wandering mind to your dear friend, Hanzo.

Oh Hanzo, how you wish he noticed how much you mean to him as your dear friend. You wanted to stand beside him under the mistletoe and feel his lips on your lips. Would they be warm? Would they be dry or moist? You don't know HOW to kiss, as you only learned about it today, but maybe Hanzo could show you how to do it properly. Wait, should friends be having these sorts of thoughts about each other?

You don't know if they should, as you never had such thoughts when thinking about Sareena. You don't even know the name of the feelings inside you when you think about Hanzo or when you're near him, but you do know they're in your heart. You do know that you may never be with Hanzo, as he belongs in Earthrealm with his clan, and you within the Netherrealm. It's just not meant to be. You're not Shirai Ryu. You're not Harumi. You can never be.

Playlist While Writing This:

"What's This?" From Nightmare Before Christmas

"Jack's Lament" From Nightmare Before Christmas

"Sally’s Song” cover by Amy Lee.

"Stolas Singss (Owl In a Cage)" by Sam Haft

[the-travelling-witch]

𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐦: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐱

pairing: marius von hagen x gn! reader

prompt: gift shopping + movie night

miscellaneous masterlist || hollysm event

When you came home from your gift shopping trip, you were exhausted, the bags you were holding seemingly weighing a ton. Marius next to you, however, looked as lively as life itself, the grin on his face not able to possibly be any bigger.

Of course, the shopping trip had been his idea but you had easily agreed, considering the approaching holidays and your lack of presents. Only when you had arrived in the city, though, did you remember something integral: Marius’s willingness to buy just about anything your eyes landed on for even a second.

“I still think the gem drop necklace would’ve suited you well,” the man next to you said, setting down his bags before taking the ones you were holding. Initially, he had offered to carry yours too but you wanted to do at least that much yourself. 

“And I’ll remind you again, I already have a similar one,” you sighed affectionately. “One that you bought for me, actually.”

“So?” He shrugged his shoulders way too casually when your eyes had nearly bulged out of your head when you saw the price tag. Cupping your cheek, his amethyst eyes were softer with love than the pads of his fingers felt against your skin. “You should have options to choose from, so don’t hesitate to be a little greedy. For you, there should only be the best.”

Smiling up at him equally as fond, you placed your hand over his, slowly stroking over his slender fingers with one of yours before humming pensively. “But I already have you, how could there be anything better than that?”

Your squeal echoed around the house followed by your giggles as Marius swooped you up into his arms, spinning you around before setting off towards the living room. Apparently, Vincent had been working hard as you were gone, because the house was tastefully decorated with boughs of holly, fairy lights and sparkling ornaments. 

“You can’t just say something like that and expect me to ever let you go again,” Marius chuckled as both of you plopped down on the comfortable couch. The festivities were still a while off but he looked like a child on Christmas already. “So, did you already think about what you want to watch today?”

“Hm, it’s a tough call,” you laughed, thinking about your options of Christmas movies. “Do you want to watch the obligatory story of a high-strung business woman falling for the guy moving to the city and opening her eyes to the beauty of Christmas? Or rather one about a rich prick falling head over heels for a woman that’s made out to be very plain but is actually super attractive?”

Marius tapped his chin in mock contemplation for a second, his lips quirking up into a grin at your sarcasm. “Let’s go with the first one. I already know all about rich pricks falling for stunningly beautiful people.”

At the end of his sentence he tapped your nose affectionately and your cheeks heated up consequently. Then you regained your composure and playfully jabbed your finger into his chest. “Marius von Hagen, you’re not a prick. You’re very sweet and attentive.”

“Who said I was talking about myself?” He laughed as you muttered a ‘Maybe you are a bit of a prick’ under your breath, then wrapped his arms around your middle tighter to subsequently bring you closer. “Well, you are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met, both inside and out, so maybe it’s true. I definitely think you changed me for the better.”

From up close you could study him without trouble as your hands framed his perfect face the same way your knees bracketed his hips against the cushions. Caressing your thumbs over his cheekbones, you felt his arms unwind from you so he could settle his ringed hands on your waist. 

Then, you leaned forward until your lips brushed his soft ones. The tips of his midnight blue hair tickled your skin as you deepened the kiss and Marius tugged you impossibly closer. One of your hands wandered to the back of his head to grasp at the soft locks there and he groaned breathlessly. There was no rush from either of you, your slow and sensual movements completely in sync as your hearts beat in unison against your rib cages. 

When you parted for the sake of breathing, Marius’s violet eyes sparkled as if you just hung the entirety of the stars in the night sky. Holding his gaze, one of his fingers mapping out the path from your jaw down to your collarbones, was like looking straight into the universe.

“What’s this? Can’t resist my charm any longer, darling?” You could see right through his cocky exterior, your boyfriend betrayed by the redness blooming across the tip of his ears, making his silver studs stand out even more.

“Mhm…” Humming confirmentally, the blush dusted his cheeks under the pads of your fingers as well. No matter how much he teased you, he was never prepared for you to reciprocate and turn his game onto him. “I’m just being a little greedy.”

“Ah, seriously…” Marius buried his head in the crook of your neck, making you giggle. But just when the vibrations travelled against his lips, he closed them around the skin there to leave his mark on you. “The things you do to me…I know I said you changed me for the better, but in one aspect I’ve become much worse since meeting you.

“When it comes to you, I’ve grown much greedier than ever before. So, won’t you give me every piece of you? I’ll gladly give you all of me in return.”

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[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 46.5

Posting the added Christmas part, which is entirely @queenie-ofthe-void 's fault. In the context of the story, this takes place just before Steve reconciles with Carol. We'll be back to our regularly scheduled programing tomorrow <3

Steve gets quieter and quieter as the days pass. It’s as if now that he’s not constantly bombarded with distractions, all they’ve been through has enough space to root into his brain and grow. Eddie doesn’t like it.

He’s curling into himself, smaller and smaller as he watches Eddie flit around the trailer from his perch on the couch. He never tries to join him or waylay him, never asks for anything at all.

All his neighbors are putting up their usual illegal trees and shitty old twinkling lights. It makes Eddie want to dig a deep hole and die in it.

He’d driven past the Harrington house last year on his way to Jeff’s usual Christmas Eve party. Their lights were white and classy, picture-perfect tree standing in the window, flaunting its opulence for all the world to see. Eddie remembers scoffing, turning up his tape as loud as it would go, hoping to disturb the Hallmark special undoubtedly going on inside.

Now, he wonders if anyone had been there at all, or worse, if it was just Steve, rotting on the couch, even more alone than he is right now.

He shifts his gaze furtively to Steve, grimacing when he sees the distant look in his eyes, trained on the television but taking in nothing at all.

“Hey, Harrington,” he calls nonchalantly, just to get a reaction. “Your folks coming home for Christmas?”

Steve grimaces, but his eyes focus and turn Eddie’s way, so mission accomplished. “Probably not,” he replies.

Meaning, they probably hadn’t been there last year. Eddie can’t believe he’s even thinking the thought, but he hopes Steve had gone over to the Perkins’ or Hagan’s houses, and spent the holidays surrounded by assholes full of Christmas cheer.

But Steve’s frowning down at his knees, so he doubts it.

Eddie and Wayne don’t usually bother with a tree, but they’ve still got their Christmas traditions. Wayne will come in from a late shift, and Eddie will have their traditional dinner of grilled cheese waiting for him. They’ll stay up late watching all their favorite Christmas movies, and then trade gifts as the sun begins to rise.

Eddie wonders if Steve has any traditions at all.

Then, he got an idea. An awful idea. Eddie got a wonderful, awful idea. With barely any forethought at all, Eddie walks over and takes Steve’s warm hand. “Come on, Steve,” he says, pulling on his arm until he gets with the picture and stands. “We’ve got stuff to do.”

Steve furrows his brow, but doesn’t let go of Eddie’s hand. “What? But–”

“No buts!” Eddie interrupts. He eyes Steve critically. His still-short hair looks greasy. Eddie’s not sure if he’s showered since Winter break began. A bad sign if he’s ever seen one. “Go shower and get dressed!”

Steve glares at him, but drops his hand, and walks to the bathroom without complaint. The shower turns on. Eddie rushes around, gathering his wallet and keys, stuffing his feet into his worn out boots. Once Steve’s done in the bathroom, he harangues him into getting dressed. He listlessly complies, tugging on jeans and bypassing his own clothes to tug on one of Eddie’s Hellfire shirts and Wayne’s coziest flannel, which he left draped across the back of his recliner.

Eddie herds him out the door and into the passenger seat of the van. Eddie turns the dials on the radio until he finds Hawkins’ one and only Christmas Station. The last dregs of Sleigh Ride pour out of the speakers at Eddie’s usual volume, Ella Fitzgerald’s dulcet tones serenading them.

Steve jumps at the volume, but otherwise doesn’t react. Rocking Around the Christmas Tree starts. Eddie sings it at top volume, bouncing in his seat to the beat. By the time they’re decking the halls with boughs of holly, Steve’s smiling, mouthing along to the words too quietly to be heard over the music.

Eddie reaches over, shaking him back and forth gently by the neck, trying to shake the ghosts of Christmas past right out of him. By the way Steve laughs, he thinks it may have even worked.

He pulls off Mirkwood, parking in the dirt between two trees, smiling brightly as he takes off his seatbelt and slides out of the car. He skips into the trees, pausing to wait for Steve. He hears the passenger door open and slam shut and Steve’s slow jog to catch up before he starts on his merry way again.

“What the hell are we doing, man?” he asks, looking down at his feet as they step over roots and fallen logs.

Eddie wonders if Steve feels that same drumming anxiety in his heartbeat that he feels. It’s the way the light passes through the trees, like something could come lumbering up between them and swallow them whole. Being back here in the woods with Steve by his side. Still, there’s something content bubbling up alongside the anxiety. No matter which side of Hawkins they're on, Steve’s still right by his side.

“Shopping!” he replies, beaming at Steve’s audible scoff.

“In the woods?”

Eddie wraps his arm around Steve’s elbow, pulling him familiarly into his side and holding him there. Steve doesn’t resist, just snuggles in, like Eddie’s that cute little teddy bear that now shares their bed.

“Well you see, Sir Steven,” he replies gallantly, make-believing that Steve really is a knight, and Eddie’s his loyal servant. “Those of the noble house of Harrington might pick out something perfect and green at Merrill’s lot, but us lowly commoners have to settle for what we can scavenge.”

“You didn’t even bring an ax.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking him lightly. “There’s those rich kid roots again,” he says, smiling conspiratorially over at him. “You think we need an ax for anything that’ll fit in the trailer?”

Steve rolls his eyes, but Eddie doesn’t even care. There’s life in them again. “It’s not rich kid roots that you’re going to be pulling out of the ground.”

Eddie laughs.

They don’t make it much farther before settling for a little sapling, already snapped. Eddie crows and finishes snapping it with his hands. It’s going to be a very Charlie Brown Christmas, and Eddie can’t wait.

Steve grumbles and groans at his choice, but when they get back home, he dutifully grabs the dinky pitcher from under the sink and fills it halfway with water while Eddie turns on the mixtape he’d made a few years back, full of his and Wayne’s favorite Christmas songs. Steve settles the tree in the living room, situating it in the corner so it won’t block the TV.

Eddie digs what little decorations he and Wayne have accumulated from the storage under the trailer, and they spend a good five minutes filling it with lights and garland. When the lack of bulbs becomes apparent, Steve scrounges through Eddie’s figurines, stringing them up and dotting them around the tree. It ends up looking a bit like they’d hung a bunch of tiny men to die, but Eddie loves it.

When Wayne gets home, he raises his eyebrow at the setup, but doesn’t comment.

Presents accumulate over the week leading up to the big day. A couple for Wayne, a few more for Eddie, a few more still for Steve. When Steve first sees his name scribbled in pen atop a box wrapped in scavenged advertisements, he looks like he’s going to cry.

Eddie and Steve trawl the shops, each picking up odds and ends for Will and the kids, and scratching both of their names on them. Harrington's payout is starting to run thin, but Eddie helps Steve pick out a few things from the record store for the Hellfire boys as well. Eddie can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when they fork them over.

He picks out a pair of mittens each for Nancy, Barb, and Jonathan, and looks especially proud of the World’s Best Mom mug he snags for Mama Byers, even as he blushes throughout the entire purchase.

Eddie catches him picking up a bottle of nail polish a few times, or a stack of baseball cards before he puts them down with a shake of his head and a world-weary sigh. He doesn’t ask who he was thinking about, doesn’t think he has to.

They wrap the presents side by side, forgoing bows and frills, and leave them stacked behind their little tree.

It all makes the trailer feel homey. Warm and safe.

Eddie plays phone tag with all their friends until he catches them all. Everyone bundles into the small space on Christmas Eve, exchanging presents while A Christmas Carol plays in the background.

Jeff and Doug maintain their manners, but the look of shock on Gareth’s face when he unwraps the new Metallica cassette that Steve hands him is a sight to behold. He sheepishly hands over a Hershey’s candy bar obviously bought from Melvald’s, but Steve just hugs him and takes a bite.

Will tucks Mama Byers’ wrapped present into his coat, lest he forget it. It’s loud and chaotic, but before he knows it, they’re all trickling through the door with well wishes and good cheer, off to continue the festivities with their own families.

When Eddie shuts the door on the last of them, he turns to find Steve looking sad and small.

Eddie claps his hands, aiming for big and bright. “Now, for the Munson’s traditional Christmas Experience.” He says each word with the weight it deserves.

Steve perks back up, spine straightening. “Traditional?”

Eddie nods, leading the way into the kitchen. “Uncle Wayne should be back soon, and I always make dinner,” he says, digging the ingredients out of the fridge.

“You can cook?”

Eddie scoffs, but then shrugs. “Well, I can make grilled cheese,” he says, plunking the butter and cheese onto the counter and grabbing the bread from its box. “And I heat up a mean can of soup.”

Steve scoffs. “You burn them every time, don’t you?”

“It’s tradition!” Eddie cries, but lets Steve hip check him out of the way and begin the preparations.

Eddie’d been twelve the first time he’d done this for Uncle Wayne. By the time he’d walked through the door, weary from a hard day’s labor, there’d been two sandwiches on the table, almost charred beyond recognition, and two luke-warm bowls of canned tomato soup. Wayne had said it was the best meal he’d ever had, and ate every last morsel.

The sandwiches Steve makes are browned and buttery, cheese melted just right in the middle. Wayne smiles when he walks in through the door, and they settle in front of the TV to watch The Grinch, meals tucked onto TV trays. The cheese stretches tantalizingly when Eddie pulls the two triangles Steve had cut it into apart. It’s the perfect sandwich. Wayne groans his agreement as Steve smiles into his traditional canned soup.

They watch Christmas movies all night, trying to find Steve’s favorites when he admits to never having watched most of them. And when dawn’s light starts drifting in through the kitchen window, Eddie bounds down to the dinky tree and passes presents out.

They open each present, one by one. Wayne tears up when he opens the World’s Best Dad mug that Steve must’ve bought, and Steve’s similarly water when he opens his own gift to find Wayne’s favorite flannel, pilfered often enough that it fits comfortably on his shoulders. Eddie outright laughs when he receives a mixtape from Steve. When Steve huffs in offense, he tosses the mixtape he made Steve at his head.

Steve smiles down at it, and spends the rest of the morning turning it this way and that way in his hands as he reads the track list and looks at the little drawings Eddie’d done by each song.

When they finally crawl into bed, his bedroom is much lighter than usual, but he’s too tired to care. Steve reaches across the scant inches separating them to grab Eddie’s arm and pull it into his chest like a security blanket.

Eddie sighs, content to close his eyes and sleep away the day.

“This is the best Christmas I’ve ever had,” Steve whispers into the quiet of the room.

Eddie scooches just a little closer, thinks of their dinky little tree and stupid thrifted presents, and whispers right back, “me too, Angel.”

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @1-8oo-wtfbro @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect

[heraldeez]

Because it’s funny and very off-season, would you be comfortable writing about Jayce doing some Christmas decorating?

(I laughed a lot writing this one, thanks for the prompt, anon.)

Jayce x Reader | 670 | SFW

Contains: mistletoe! and the hubris of man

You’re chewing on an excellent snickerdoodle cookie and waiting for the ‘snap.’

The tiny pine tree you’d brought home to stuff into the corner of your shoebox grad-student apartment couldn’t be more than three feet tall, set on a table to add a bit of winter cheer to the sea of textbooks and beat up mechanical projects that usually comprised your place. And despite its diminutive size, Jayce has spent the last five minutes strapping on a distinctly oversized tree topper to the poor thing.

It’ll totally work, or so he had said. Handmade. Just for you.

Not like you were going to tell him no, even before he had held the ornament aloft so giddily, absolutely gleaming with earnestness and excitement…

Jayce stands at the center of your living room, surrounded by cheery garlands and two tacked up stockings, staring down your tree with a contemplative hand on his chin, as though there were simply a better angle he could come at it from. The branch woefully strapped with the dense, albeit beautiful, piece of metalwork droops down towards him as if prostrate and begging for mercy.

“I just thought–” Jayce closes his mouth again for a moment, regarding the poor tree with a grimace. “I thought the wood might be a bit stronger?”

You blink at the topper – solid metal! The size of your cranium! In no universe was that thing meant for a tree smaller than the towering one in the festival market square! – and swallow back cinnamon sugar.

“Well, the ornament is just, uh, extremely well made,” you offer, gently.

Snap.

Shouldn’t have opened your mouth. The tree takes the opportunity to splinter, topper lurching abruptly into the floor at his feet with a dull thunk.

Jayce sucks in air through his teeth. “I owe you a new tree. And maybe a new floor.”

That startles a bark of laughter from you, standing up from the kitchen stool to go place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surveying the carnage. “Definitely not. We’ll just get more creative with displaying it.” Your eyes dart around your cramped living room for prospective spots. “I think it would look excellent on top of the bookshelf. Flanked with some candles.”

Jayce nods slowly, but his pout is still focused on the splintered bough. His brows still furrowed with the need to fix, to problem solve. 

“Before that,” you ply, drawing your hand from his shoulder to rummage in a festive bag beneath the coffee table, “would you like to help me tack these up instead?”

Jayce's eyes flick to the bundle of mistletoe sprigs dangling from your fingers. The frown startles off his face as his lips part slightly, wanting. 

“Oh! Well, yeah–” The corners of his lips quirk up, somewhat bashful, somewhat delighted. “Yeah, I can definitely help with that.”

The tree is all but forgotten in the subsequent flurry of kisses. One right there in the living room. One out on your tiny balcony, breathing in the scent of candied fruits and nuts wafting across your neighborhood from the festival market up the street. Another in the doorway of your kitchen. Approximately twelve exchanged in the middle of your bedroom, Jayce's fingers curling in the soft yarn of your sweater to haul you up against him, eager and sweet against your lips.

He lurches back sharply enough to make you jump, snapping his fingers. “I've got it – I'll build you a new tree. You don't mind the brass aesthetic, do you? It'll be very art deco.”

The abruptness of it startles laughter out of you, too caught in your mirth to remind him that Christmas is in four days, and he hardly has the time to spare building you some sort of steampunk tree.

And yet the tree appears, nestled in the crook of Jayce's elbow when he knocks on your door Christmas Eve, tiny and sturdy and gleaming in the light.

You marvel at it for a moment, and then pull him down for a much-deserved kiss.