#those are Christmas Day food for me (leftovers from Christmas Eve) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

michelangelinden · 2 years ago

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hii!! can I please ask for number 2, jukebox, romantic, for the winter prompt list? I hope you're having a good day/night!

Hello!! Of course!!

Here is 2. Pressing your cold nose against their neck from this promptlist for you!!

(i had a couple leftover asks from the Autumn prompts, so I asked them to send in a Winter prompt instead, to fit the season)

this was beta read by me and Grammarly, because writing's not that easy, but Grammarly can help /ref (it sucked btw)

The Molina family had some strange holiday traditions, Luke had come to realize over the last couple years of knowing them. Of course, they celebrated Christmas differently than his family, being Puerto Rican and all, those are definitely not the strange traditions he’s talking about (in fact, he really enjoys it, mostly the food though, he was delighted when he'd been invited to their Christmas Eve dinner for the first time).

No.

There were however the annual “Pyjama ‘Home Alone’ Watch Party”, the “Who Can Buy The Ugliest Tree Ornament Contest”, and the “Building A Snowman So High It’ll Fall Over Mission”, among other things. And then what Luke found by far the strangest, the “Ice Camping In The Mountains Trip” between Christmas and New Year.

That’s where he found himself, in the car, about to reach their destination. Ray had invited him to come along, now that he and Julie had been dating for over a year, much to Carlo’s protests about having to watch him and his sister be lovey-dovey for two days straight. Luke had accepted the invitation, of course, any opportunity to spend time with Julie was taken, although he hadn’t really been sure what exactly “Ice Camping In The Mountains Trip” implied. Then again, he could’ve guessed, because it implied exactly what it was called—a camping trip into the mountains, like up there, where there was ice.

He was already wearing too many clothes for his liking, a sweater with a shirt underneath, a hat, and a scarf, and they hadn’t even exited the car yet. Julie next to him didn't look any different, minus the hat, but she was huddled up in an incredibly soft-looking knitted sweater, that he had felt the urge to hug her in since she had put it on at their last fuel stop. Carlos probably wouldn't approve.

"Five more minutes, guys," Ray announced from behind the wheel, Carlos bouncing in his seat next to him. When Luke looked out the window, he found a thin layer of snow covering everything that wasn't the street, and he shuddered at the sight of it.

"It may look cold now, but it's gonna be really cozy once we set the tent up," Julie told him quietly.

His head snapped towards her. "Tent?"

She frowned at him. "Yeah, tent. How else would we be camping?"

Luke opened and closed his mouth like a fish. "I was hoping on a caravan. Maybe a cabin," he said eventually.

"Cabins are for losers!" Carlos called from the front. "Tents are the real deal!"

"It's minus degrees out there," Luke tried.

"Don't be silly," Julie said and patted his hand, "it's just below 30°F."

Still super fucking cold.

"You won't freeze, Luke," Ray assured him. "We've done this so many times. We have sleeping bags and many blankets and a portable heater."

"And each other," Julie added, slipping her hand into his. Luke smiled at that. He did like the prospect of cuddling with Julie the whole night.

"Ew, gross!" Carlos seemed to disagree. "Dad, they're already holding hands, I can't do this!"

Ray chuckled. "Calm down, mijo, we've talked about boundaries." He caught Luke's eyes in the rearview mirror. Luke nodded back at him, nervous, even though he had nothing to worry about. He really wasn't up for anything other than maybe a small kiss while being around Julie's dad. Ray turned back to the front and addressed his son again. "Wait till you have a partner of your own, then you'll get the two."

Carlos crossed his arms. "I'm never gonna fall in love and have a partner. I'm gonna stay single, like Bobby."

Luke couldn't help but chuckle. "Reggie is Bobby's partner though, even though he doesn't fall in love."

"Yeah, but only platonic. Not as gross as you two."

Luke resisted the urge to tell him that even though Reggie and Bobby were queerplatonic partners, they did kiss sometimes, just because it was fun, and were more touchy than he and Julie. He doubted Carlos would enjoy knowing that.

So instead, to tease him more, he leaned over to Julie and made obnoxious kissing noises. Carlos immediately groaned, turning away, but Julie laughed brightly. She smiled at him when he stopped, eyes fond.

"Idiot," she muttered, then pecked his lips.

They reached the small campsite they were headed to not much later, a large area with benches and fireplaces all over. Luke started freezing the second he stepped out the door, but Julie just placed his flannel coat over his shoulders and shoved a bag with pegs into his hands.

“Working will get you warm,” she said, then patted his cheek and walked off to help her brother unpack the car.

Luke helped Ray set up the tent. To Luke’s surprise, it went really well, considering historically he was not the best guy to set up tents with. But Ray seemed to have mastered the art after years of it, so the hardest part was getting the pegs into the slightly frozen ground, which Luke eventually resigned to using a log for.

Then he watched Julie and Carlos set up a fire in the fireplace, Ray watching them carefully. Julie had asked Luke if he wanted her to teach him how to do it, but he declined, too scared to accidentally set their tent on fire in the process. So he just watched them do it, impressed by how quickly they got it to light aflame, even in the cold.

Everything got a bit more comfortable after that. They were wrapped in jackets and blankets, Luke and Julie huddled close next to each other, the fire heating their cold fingertips. They had dinner and Ray even brought out marshmallows, crackers, and chocolate for s’mores, to all of their delight.

Despite Luke’s hesitation about the whole thing, and the fact that he couldn’t feel his toes, he had a lot of fun. The campsite was basically deserted apart from a group of hikers at the other side, so they were not embarrassed to sing a song or two, Carlos doing his best at keeping up a rhythm on the back of his plate. It was cold as hell, but Luke really got why the Molina’s have made this one of their winter traditions—the smiles on everyone’s faces could have lit up the world, and Luke felt himself warming up a bit from the inside out.

The sun set quickly, stars littering the night sky that were a spectacle of their own, but eventually, it got too dark and late and cold, and they decided that it was time to head to sleep.

Carlos was grumbling again. It was a tent with two compartments, but instead of getting to share one with Julie, he had to sleep in the one with his dad, which he said, “snores like a bear!” Ray suggested he could sleep outside if it bothered him that much, which made Carlos shut up about it quickly.

And then finally, Julie and Luke were laying down on the air mattress, a little cold but comfortable, two blankets ready to go and another one at the side, looking forward to cuddling. Luke pulled Julie close the second they were horizontal, and she let him, hugging his middle.

“I know you feel cold, but you’re like a portable heater from the outside,” she commented as she pushed her face into his chest.

He laughed. “Thanks.” He brushed a hand over the back of her head, hair wrapped in a silk scarf to keep from going frizzy. “Are you warm enough?”

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she responded. Luke frowned, confused, but then she tilted her head upwards and pushed her ice-cold nose into the side of his neck.

Luke yelped and reeled back. Julie just cackled. She turned her head to push it into his shoulder instead.

“Jesus Christ, Jules!” he let out, now laughing with her.

“The chance was too good not to take it,” she said around a giggle.

He sighed loudly but chuckled. His neck calmed down from the shock and he relaxed back into his pillow, turning towards her.

“Come here then,” he said. When she looked up at him, he gently took her chin and tilted her head upwards a bit, so he could press a lingering kiss to her nose. “Gotta warm you up,” he whispered, before kissing her forehead as well.

She giggled. “Thanks.” She reached up to kiss his lips. “Love you.”

Luke’s chest warmed at her words. He kissed her back. “Love you too,” he muttered into her lips.

They melted into each other, a slow cocoon of heat enveloping them underneath the blankets. But the peace wouldn’t stay long.

“Dad, I can hear them being gross from here!” Carlos called. It was followed by a deep sigh.

“You won’t hear them if you go to sleep,” Ray responded tiredly.

“But—ouch!” There was a rustling noise coming from the other side. “Did you just kick me?”

“I know nothing.”

More rustling.

Then, “Luke, if I apologize, will you let me switch?”

“No chance, dude,” Luke called back. Julie snickered as she curled back around him.

#pushing the aroace!Bobby agenda #i write juke so rarely but they're so soft i love them!#thanks for sending this in!!#linden writes stuff #linden answers asks #julie and the phantoms #juke #luke patterson #julie molina #ray molina #carlos molina

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sserpente · 3 years ago

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A/N: Requests from two anons. I know exactly what would make a perfect gift for President Loki. So let’s say that this is the canon story of how he got his new horned helmet, alright? ;-)

Words: 1133 Warnings: violence, a bit of angst

“Look at this stuff, isn’t it neat…” You sang to yourself as you dug your hands into the piles of debris—leftovers Alioth had not bothered to devour. You rarely came across useful things these days.

Electronic devices usually didn’t survive the pruning, making them completely useless—not to mention that the Internet connection in the Void was probably an utter mess. Every now and then, you found a few clothes that were still wearable and one time, there had been a pair of pretty earrings hidden in a cardboard jewellery box.

Food and toiletries were the most important things to look out for, though. Even gods had to eat and that included Loki. You had nothing else to do and while Loki usually enjoyed the comfort of his bed made from hundreds of stolen blankets and sleeping in, you grew restless after too much silence—even though the God of Mischief looked rather adorable when he was asleep.

You had been counting the days since your pruning. 311 in total. It had been shortly before New Year’s Eve—shortly before the TVA had shown up to stop Loki from running for president. Now you were stuck here and Loki had claimed you first as an assistant, then as a fuck toy and now as a lover.

You had probably lost your mind already, so why not fall for the most dangerous and unpredictable man you had ever met? What could possibly go wrong?

You sighed. 311 days. It was gonna be Christmas soon. Only here in the Void, you would hardly get to celebrate it. There weren’t even any trees for you to decorate, let alone anything to decorate them with. All you could do really was to pretend and maybe ask Loki for a merry illusion.

You frowned when your hands closed around a horn-like shape. You pulled it out, examining it with a smile. There were indeed two golden horns that were part of the head of a costume, possibly a Viking, and it reminded you of Loki’s helmet. He had lost it when you had been attacked by the TVA and was now unable to conjure it up given it never made it to the Void. He usually went for an illusion whenever he wanted to appear extra intimidating.

Maybe… you could surprise Loki with a Christmas present? Reaching for the dagger strapped to your thigh, you got to work, cutting out the golden part of the headpiece until you could rip it off. A little more shaping… it wouldn’t cover his whole head like his old helmet did but it would frame his face perfectly and highlight those gorgeous cheekbones of his.

You smiled to yourself. All you had to do was sneak it past Loki somehow and hide it until Christmas.

Loki’s mood had drastically changed when you joined him for breakfast a while later. He was distanced, cold and… almost cruel. A little like he had been when you first met. It was probably another Variant that had angered him with something but you had to admit, it had not quite ever been this bad.

“Loki… are you okay? Is there anything I can do? You seem… tense.”

“Tense?” He repeated, making you freeze. His tone… his tone made you want to flee the scene. “Do I?” He asked with his head tilted, his blue eyes narrowed at you. “It’s funny, is it not? How you offer people the tiniest amount of trust and they take it with their hands outstretched… but in the end, they will disappoint you. As always.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “I have no idea what you are talking about, love.”

You flinched when he suddenly jumped up, sending the chair flying and the cutlery and dishes toppling over with a loud clatter that hurt your ears. His hands closed around your neck, dragging you up and backing you up until your back hit the wall, with Loki’s face only inches from yours.

“What are you hiding from me?” He hissed, his grip tightening. You gasped.

“L-Loki! What is happening, calm down, please! I’m not hiding anything!”

“Oh no? I watched you sneak back inside this morning, concealing something under that repulsive dress of yours.”

“Y-You said you liked this dress!”

“Oh, did I?” He scoffed. “Well, isn’t it just too bad I am the God of Lies, pet?”

Fuck. “Loki, listen to me! Okay, I did bring something in today, something that I hid and that I don’t want you to see. It’s a Christmas present, for Heaven’s sake. I… I found something in the debris that I thought you might like… and since there’s only a few days until Christmas…”

“Oh, are you still counting the days? Accept it, pet, we are not going anywhere. We are stuck here. What makes you think you can keep secrets from me now? I’m in charge!” He bellowed. You swallowed. That was the reason his campaign had failed. His grief and his anger, his desperate need for recognition had overwhelmed him and turned him into a megalomaniac tyrant. You knew he didn’t truly mean to hurt you—your heart stung nonetheless, tears forming in your eyes.

“I wanted to surprise you, alright? Go. I hid it under the spare bed. Go right ahead.”

Loki let go of you as if your skin was burning him all of a sudden. He gave you another glare, not uttering a single word as he marched into the spare room of his makeshift palace and flung the mattress away with a blast of his magic.

His lips parted when his blue eyes fell on the golden helmet. It had taken you another hour to shape it perfectly and make sure it would look as good as new. Now, you were not so sure anymore that he would have even liked it.

“Where did you find that?” He choked out after a moment of silence.

“The debris. It… it was part of a costume. A theatre costume, I presume. It reminded me of your helmet so I cut it out and shaped it. I was going to give it to you on Christmas Day.”

Loki took a deep breath… and then another.

“I, uh…”

“Don’t bother.” You knew what he could be like, after all. “You can throw it away if you don’t like it. I just thought… never mind.”

You turned to leave, if anything to hide the new tears worsening your sight as of right now.

“I do like it.” Loki suddenly said, grabbing your wrist. “Thank you.”

Your smile was weak. “You’re welcome.”

“And…” He paused, pulling you into his arms. “And you do look beautiful in this dress, pet.”

You closed your eyes. It was his way of saying that he was sorry.

A/N: Christmas has to be angsty with President Loki, right?

If you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate it so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

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itsallyscorner · 4 years ago

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Hello. Could I request a Chris Evans x reader, where they have a little girl and she finds out that peple kiss under the mistletoe. So she's always running around the house with it playing matchmaker (obviously everyone is taller than her) and she's like: "Now you have to kiss."

This is the cutest request!! Omg🥺❤️ Thank you, hun! I hope you enjoy it🎄❤️

💌.

Under The Mistletoe

Major dad!Chris

(Gif from @cevanscentral )

Ever since Chris had hung the mistletoe up in the living room’s doorway, it had always caught the curious eyes of your sweet Audrey. Your daughter, like her father, was always full of wonder and anticipated to learn new things. She was always curious about her surroundings and had a never ending amount of questions.

Lately, the mistletoe had been the subject of her thoughts. She would wonder what the purpose of the mistletoe was and why it was hung in the living room doorway instead of the tree. Sometimes the little girl would find herself standing underneath the mistletoe, staring up at it as she tried to come up with some kind of reason as to why it were there.

One day, Chris had found his daughter standing underneath the mistletoe, her big blue eyes sparkling from the lights of the Christmas tree a few feet away from her. A classic Christmas cartoon played on the tv, though it was long forgotten by Audrey.

“Hey jellybean, watcha up to?” He crouched beside his daughter as he followed her line of sight.

“It’s a mistletoe, bean. It comes out during the holidays and whoever is underneath the mistletoe gets a kiss.” He explained to her as he gathered her into his arms. He stood up, resting Audrey on his hip so she could touch the festive plant.

“Do they really need to be kissed?” She continued to quiz her dad.

“Of course they need to be kissed! It would be a crime if someone doesn’t get kissed underneath the mistletoe!” Chris claimed causing the eyes of his daughter to widen. Suddenly, Audrey cups her dad’s face and presses a giant kiss onto his cheek.

“I can’t go to jail, dada! I’m too young!” His daughter says, a hint of fear in her voice. Chris lets out a heartfelt laugh at his daughter’s reaction. His other hand comes to land on his left pec as he continued to laugh.

You walk out of the laundry room, having just finished throwing in the wet clothes into the dryer.

“Mama!” You heard Audrey whine. You rush to where her voice came from, which was the living room. You enter the room to see Chris red in the face as he tried to stifle his laughs.

“What did you do?” You eyed the two loves of your life. A pout is on Audrey’s lips, her brows softly furrowed together.

“Mama, dada keeps laughing at me!” She wiggles her way out of her dad’s arms and crashes into your legs. Her face was tucked into your thigh in embarrassment.

“And why’s that, babe?” You ask her, running you hands in soothing circles on her back.

“Dada said that if you don’t give kisses under the mistletoe, you go to jail! So I kissed dada’s cheek and he laughed!” An adorable little pout was set on her lips, her arms crossed. You give a look towards Chris, who was now silently laughing in the corner.

“Babe, why’d you laugh at her?” You asked your husband, finding the situation slightly amusing. Knowing your husband, he had probably teased your little girl to the point where she grew upset at him.

“She literally said, ‘I can’t go to jail, I’m too young!’ And proceeds to just press kisses onto my face.” Chris explains through his laughter. A hint of a smile is on your lips, shaking your head at your husband. Crouching down to your daughter’s height you told her, “Don’t listen to half the things your dad tells you, he’s messing with you, bean. You’re not going to go to jail if you don’t kiss anyone under the mistletoe.”

Chris had calmed down and sat beside you on the floor. You daughter glares at him causing him to snort. You roll your eyes before nudging your husband’s shoulder.

“C’mon, babe. It’s funny, our daughter’s a comedian.” Chris sees the smile hinting at your lips, trying to get you to crack.

“Shut up.” You whisper to him through gritted teeth. “Now apologize, you dork.”

Chris tries to recollect himself before looking at Audrey seriously, “Jellybean, I am so sorry for laughing at you and tricking you. It hurt your feelings and I’m sorry.”

Audrey sighs before pressing a light peck on her dad’s forehead, “I forgive you.” Chris wraps his giant arms around your daughter and pulls her into a hug.

Over her shoulder, the goofy look comes back onto his face as he mouths, “So gullible.”

You quietly chuckle as your daughter pulls away from the hug. She turns back to you and a smile is on her face.

“Mama, can I have my own mistletoe?” She asks you, looking at you with those puppy eyes.

“What’s the harm?” You thought to yourself. It was just a plant and she would probably use it on her dolls or stuffed animals. She’ll probably forget about it in a few days.

“Course you can, I’m sure daddy has some leftover decorations in the garage. He might have another mistletoe.” You shrugged as she happily jumped around.

Boy were you wrong.

The mistletoe had become a hit with your daughter. To her, it was her most prized possession. She held onto the mistletoe everywhere she went and used it to her advantage. When she wanted kisses, she would ask one of you to carry her and she would hold the mistletoe to the best of her abilities above your heads. She even taught Dodger that when the mistletoe was above him, it meant a kiss on the cheek for Audrey. Or a lick to the face in Dodger’s eyes. You and Chris enjoyed the fact that something so simple could bring your daughter so much joy. Compared to the dolls and stuffed animals she had, nothing compared to the mistletoe.

Audrey had pride in her mistletoe and showed it off to everyone who entered the house. She made it her own mission to spread more love in the house by making everyone kiss each other with the mistletoe.

This year, Christmas Eve was being held at your household. Chris had suggested it since your shared home was bigger than the other’s houses. Because there were many additional rooms, his siblings and their kids would be able to stay the night for Christmas Day.

The house was full of chatter and Christmas energy. All the kids were running around from room to room as the adults yelled after them to be careful. Dodger was hanging out under the dining room table, taking a break from the energetic kids. The dining room table was full of food, Lisa had arrived at the house earlier in the day to get a headstart on the cooking. Together, the two of you had filled the table with multiple dishes and an assortment of sweets.

You were sat on the couch talking with Carly and Shanna, catching up with each other’s lives. Scott was with Chris, along with his new boyfriend, who was celebrating Christmas with the family this year.

You and Carly were talking about your kids. You had just mentioned the little mistletoe incident that happened a week ago with Audrey and Chris. “Is that why she’s been carrying that mistletoe around?” Carly asked as she motioned to your little girl. She was running around with her cousins, her styled hair now messy, dress sleeves falling past her shoulders, and the mistletoe still enveloped in her hand.

“Honestly, I didn’t know she would grow such an attachment to it. I thought she was going to get over it in a few days and jump on some new craze.” You laughed sipping on your wine.

“I think it’s cute!” Shanna chimed from beside you. The boys had moved into the living room after standing in the dining room. Chris shot you a wink from across the room as he talked to Carly’s husband.

Scott and his boyfriend approached the three of you, a toothy grin on both their faces.

“What are you girls gossipin’ about?” Scott presses a kiss to your cheek and pulls you into a tight hug.

“Oh yeah! This is Steve!” Scott motions to the man beside him who shyly waves at you. “Steve this is (y/n), my sister in law. (Y/n) this is Steve, my boyfriend!”

Instead of going in for a shake, you pulled Steve into a hug, “It’s nice to meet you! We’re glad to have you over for Christmas!” The Evans were really rubbing off on you.

“Likewise, thank you for having me!” Steve hugs you back. The two men sit on the rug as you all fall into a conversation. A half hour in and Audrey comes running into the living room. Her bright eyes spot her uncle Scott, as excitement bubbles in her stomach.

“Uncle Scott!” She runs up to him and wraps her short arms around his neck. Scott chuckles as he hugs his niece back.

“Uncle Scotty, look what I have!” Audrey holds the mistletoe up in pride. Scott’s mouth gaps as he sees the plant.

“Is that a mistletoe!” He moves the plant closer so that he’s getting a better look. What Scott doesn’t notice is that he’s moved the mistletoe directly above him and Steve.

“Yeah and look uncle Scott! You guys are under it!” She excitedly cheers. You see Scott and Steve both blush, you’re about to protest when Chris calls for his brother across the room.

“Scott, you know what that means!” Chris teases his younger brother from across the room.

With the encouragement from her father, Audrey says, “Now you have to kiss!”

Scott turns to Steve with a smile, “It’s a mistletoe, I don’t make the rules.” Steve agrees and the two share a peck on the lips. Everyone at the house cheers when they pull away. Satisfied, Audrey giggles at her work.

“Okay, little miss matchmaker. Back to your cousins, the adults are talking.” Scott teases Audrey as he nudges her back to the other kids.

“That’s my girl! Doin’ god’s work!” Chris cheers in pride as his daughter skips out the room. The holidays were about family and seeing his brother so happy made him happy. Without the help of your little girl, Scott probably would’ve never made the first move on Steve. It was a holiday miracle, thanks to that mistletoe.

#marvel #mcu #avengers #chris evans #steve rogers #chris evans x reader #cevans #chris evans imagines #christopher robert evans #steve rogers x reader #Chris Evans fluff #chris evans oneshot #chris evans drabble #chris evans headcanon #ally’s requests #dad!chris evans

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nationalharryleague · 4 years ago

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Christmas in Holmes Chapel

Pairing: Harry Styles x Y/N

Genre: Christmas fluff on top of Christmas fluff

Word count: 1.7K

A/N: Hi everyone! This is something I wrote super quick because I was in the Christmas spirit! I was/am also quite drunk (so be nice)!! More of my better writing can be found in my masterlist and I would love to hear what you think ab this in my ask! Also shoutout to Liz (@kiwicherryallaboutharry) and Morgan (@soullikestyles) for beta-ing and being sweethearts!! Thank you for reading <3

***

Shouts of “they’re finally here!” were the first things she heard when Harry opened the door to his mum’s house. After two delayed flights, ten hours on a plane, and bumper to bumper traffic the entire way to Anne’s, they were in shambles. This was the first time the pair were spending Christmas with Harry’s family, and this was definitely not the way she wanted it to start. She almost started crying when Gemma took her into her arms after nearly running across the house to greet her.

“I’m so happy you two made it,” she smiled, rubbing Y/N’s tired back when she didn’t release from the hug right away. “I was afraid that you weren’t going to make it tonight.”

“I could cry, Gem. I'm so happy to be here right now,” she confessed honestly, exhaustion clear in her voice.

Gemma released her from the embrace when Harry tapped her on the shoulder. “Hello? I’m here too. Do you not miss your baby brother?” His voice dripped with sarcasm and his dimples were deep on his cheeks, as they always were when he was home.

She rolled her eyes at him, muttering sarcastically “not as much as I missed your lovely girlfriend,” before he pulled her into a hug of his own. The two were the spitting image of each other, both with their exceptionally similar smiles and adorable noses. He squeezed the smaller woman tight, enjoying their reunion after not seeing each other for at least three or four months. They were still so close, even after Harry’s move to LA to be closer to his girlfriend. Y/N had pretended more than once that she hadn’t overheard them when he would call her for relationship advice.

Looking away from the Styles siblings, she was met by Anne's bright smile paired with her wide open arms extended for a hug. “Sweetheart, it’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed with a Santa hat sitting snugly on her head, pulling her close to the woman’s warm and kind body. “There are plates of dinner made up for the two of you in the kitchen and plenty of leftovers in the fridge if you want any more.” She was naturally so caring about those around her and tonight was no different.

“Thank you so much, Anne,” she said graciously. “I’m so sorry we’re so late.”

“Oh, stop it. It’s a Christmas miracle you made it at all with the snow,” she brushed away her apologies, her voice taking a more serious turn as she locked her eyes with hers. “I’m so happy you’re here, Y/N. You’re just as much a part of our family as Harry is now.”

Y/N’s heart warmed with the kindness behind Anne’s words. There was so much love surrounding her right now, too much for her to comprehend without getting teary eyed. She was so thankful for the tenderness and care Harry’s family had shown her over the last three years. She felt at home in what used to just be a house to her; like she was a part of the family.

“Oi, stop hogging her,” Harry teased Y/N, bumping her hip lightly with his and nudging her out of the way so he could hug his mum.

“Harry Edward, I raised you to be polite. Leave the poor girl alone,” she scolded, but opened her arms up wide to receive her son. He was so much bigger than she was, seeming to swallow her body whole in his arms. Y/N couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips as she watched the two interact.

The pair of travelers were passed around the living room, giving hugs and kisses to the various aunts, uncles, cousins, and stragglers that were attending Christmas Eve dinner at Anne’s. The room was full of loud boisterous laughter and Christmas music that played off an antique record player and it smelled like wine and the remnants of a large dinner that had been eaten when they just couldn’t wait any longer for the two to arrive.

Y/N’s stomach growled without permission as soon as she saw the plates of food resting on the counter that had been waiting for them. The pair stood hovered over the plates and ate like they hadn’t seen food in weeks. At the moment, she could only think of two things she knew about Anne for sure: she knew how to raise children and she was a fantastic cook.

When she looked up and saw a spot of gravy hanging on the edge of Harry’s mouth, she just couldn’t resist. She tiptoed and pressed a short kiss to the corner of his lips, taking the gravy with her in the process. He looked down at her with a slightly surprised, but mostly loving, look after she pulled away. The edges of his lips turned up, asking “What was that for?”

“You had something,” she mused, jokingly twirling her pointer finger in the direction of her own mouth.

Before she could process it, his lips were back on hers, kissing her slowly and with so much love. His lips were soft and pillowy as always, but there was something more behind them that she just couldn’t place.

“What was that for?” she asked breathlessly when he released her, using his own words against him.

“I know I have been kind of on edge all day and I just wanted to thank you for dealing with me. I love you so much.” She couldn’t fight the grin that found its way onto her face every time he told her that he loved her. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe she had nabbed such a good one.

“I love you too. Are you alright?” She asked worriedly, noticing the way his eyebrows were nervously knit together and how his posture was slightly worsened like it always was when he was stressed.

“I’ll be okay soon.” There was more behind his words, she knew it for sure, but Harry was very good at playing it cool when he wanted to. She knew he would either tell her soon or it would resolve on its own; she trusted him to tell her what was going on if he really needed her.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Gemma stuck her head into the kitchen and announced that the annual Charades tournament was beginning. Y/N had only heard about the myth of the Charades tournament before and she was excited to find out why her boyfriend raved about it so often. Harry excitedly grabbed her hand, leading her into the crowded living room, watching as the first teams had already begun acting out and guessing.

Before long, it was Harry and Y/N’s turn to go, matched up against Gemma and her husband. She sat on the couch, assigned to play the guesser after he cockily told her ‘there's only one actor in this family,’ and watched closely as both Harry and Gemma read the clue written on the small slip of paper. Gemma gave him a playful and excited smile before extending a friendly hand for him to shake.

“You ready for this, H?” she asked, but once again, Y/N felt like there was more behind her words than friendly competition. Y/N began to think she was being kept in the dark about something, but before she could think too hard about it the pair had begun their miming.

Harry took the approach of creating a circle with his pointer and thumb, repeatedly slipping the whole he had created over his left ring finger.

“Wedding ring!” she guessed excitedly from the couch, only to be met with a shake of his head.

He then moved to get down on one knee, pretending to hold a ring box in his hands. “Asking someone to marry you!” she questioningly yelled again, only met with another shake of his head, but she could tell she was getting closer.

It was when he performed the same ring gesture while on his knee that she got it. “Engagement ring!” She nearly screamed and jumped off the couch, twirling in celebration (a symptom of always being a bit too competitive) after Harry’s face lit up and signaled they had won.

She was confused for a split second when she came back around and Harry was still on his knee, but it all made sense when she saw the real ring box that was now in his hands. Her hands flew up to her face in shock and she was unable to form coherent thoughts, let alone words.

“My love,” he began softly, “I knew I wanted you in my life forever from the moment I met you at that stupid bar. I fought Mitch so hard that night, but he dragged me along and it was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She remembered that night fondly, but it had admittedly been a mess. She had just gotten dumped and so had Harry, when they found each other at the end of the bar, far away from anyone who was actually having fun, they had started talking and never stopped.

“You make me a better person,” he went on as tears had begun to roll down her cheeks, “and I never want to be who I was before I met you ever again. I love you so much and I never want to live without you. So,” he took a deep breath with hopeful eyes, “will you marry me?”

A shout of “Yes!” let her lips before he even finished, throwing herself at him and bringing him into a kiss.

It all made sense now. She understood why Harry had been so upset when their flight had been messed up, and why Gemma and Anne had been so excited to see them, and especially why he had been on edge all day. He was nervous to ask her, in the most charming and endearing way.

The crowd around them cheered when they finally stood up and their eyes locked as Harry delicately slid the ring onto her left hand. His eyes were slightly teary, but held an excitement that was unmatched. The ring was giant and beautiful, exactly what she expected from him when the time came, and she could barely tear her eyes away from it.

“This is the best Christmas present ever, H. I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

Thank you for reading! Reblogs/feedback are much appreciated!!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fan fiction #one direction fan fic #one direction #my writing #harryandhockey #Harry Christmas fic

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redrisingsun · 3 years ago

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Swedish Holidays for all your Young Royals needs

Due to popular demand (by like five people) here’s a brief description of all the major Swedish holidays and how they’re celebrated because I can’t stand here and pretend as if we really celebrate Christmas the 25th. We have more holidays, I've only written about the ones we celebrate in my family. I come from a working class family and live in Southern Sweden, however I do have family in Stockholm. I'm not religious in any way and as far as I know, most families don't celebrate these holidays because they're religious, but because it's tradition.

yall better appreciate this, it took me literal hours

January

1: Dubbed as one of the collective pizza days in my household. It's the day after New Year, and most people either order in or eat leftovers.

Week 2 or 3: Most people return to their jobs, schools and other daily activities.

February/March

Fettisdagen ("Fat Tuesday"): celebrated 47 days before Easter. The actual date varies, all from early February to early March. It's an old Christian tradition where you'd eat fatty foods before the "before Easter"-fast and is supposedly a thing in other Christian countries as well. These days, most people celebrate by eating semlor with their family, and most don't fast before Easter.

The semla is a sweet bun with whipped cream and almond paste.

Våffeldagen (Waffle Day, 25th of March): I think this day stems from a Christian tradition, but these days the day is mostly to get together with family and eat waffles.

April

Påsk (Easter): Again, the date varies, but Easter is usually in April. Easter stems from Christianity and is celebrated to remember Jesus' death and resurrection. Easter spans over a week, but I personally only celebrate one of those days.

Påskafton (direct translation: Easter Eve, English translation: Holy Saturday) is the Saturday of the Easter week. In my family, the children get to look for Easter eggs (often filled with candy).

Some children also dress up as Påskkärringar (Easter crones) and I think this tradition has to do with the Witch Trials in Sweden, but I'm not sure. Chances are you won't need to know anything about this for your Young Royal fics, because mostly girls dress up.

Sometimes, we decorate eggs.

Later, we sit down to eat together and spend time with our families. Common things to eat for Easter is potatoes, eggs, herring and meatballs.

Valborgsmässoafton (Walpurgis Night, 30th): We burn a big bonfire in the evening to celebrate that spring is here. I live in a fairly small town, so mostly everyone gathers at one spot and burns the fire together. When the bonfire is burned, most people go home and that's it. It's also seen as a reason to have a party (mostly for teenagers and young adults, I think) and get drunk as fuck.

May/June

Sveriges Nationaldagen (Sweden's National Day, 6th of June): Most people are home from school and work. We hoist the Swedish flag. Idk. However, the Royal Family celebrates by getting dressed up in Swedish costumes. This year, the King held a speech and the family went to Skansen (which is an amusement park/zoo. You can read more about it here). There's music and the military does their weird little thing. You can watch the National Day Celebration on Skansen from 2014 here.

Midsommarafton (Midsummer): date varies, but is celebrated a Friday in late June. I'm sure there's a Christian explanation for this one, but I don't personally know it.

Midsommar (midsummer) means middle of the summer.

Again, this is a day to eat and spend time with your family (or drink, depending on who you are). We eat pretty much the same things for Midsummer as we do for Easter.

For Midsummer we also dance around a Midsommarstång (direct translation: Midsummer Pole, English translation: Maypole) and make flower crowns.

How Midsummer is celebrated depends a lot on your age (most teenagers and young adults again see this as a reason to party), where you're from and a million other things.

My personal favorite Midsummer tradition is probably more common in the country than in the city, for example. You're supposed to pick seven different flowers without saying a word. Then, you sleep with the flowers under your pillow. Supposedly, you'll dream of your future husband (or wife! But I think it's more common that women and girls do this). This tradition also varies. Some people say you need nine flowers and some people say you have to climb over fencing for it to count.

Some teenagers or young adults spend time with their friends to party, instead!

You can watch part of a Midsummer celebration at Skansen here.

The Royal Family usually celebrate Midsummer privately, but I think there's usually new pictures of the entire family around this time.

Day after Midsummer: Collective Pizza Day 2. Everyone either eats takeout or leftovers because no one can be bothered to make anything and like half of the population has the worst hangover they've had since New Year.

Summer Holiday Note: most people in Sweden have four weeks of paid leave each summer.

July/August

Kräftpremiär (Crayfish party) - date varies, normally early August. Basically people get together to eat crayfish and drink. You can usually get paper plates and plastic cups and whatever with ugly crayfish motives (which is fun), but I've never done this.

October

Halloween (30th): Halloween is nowhere near as big in Sweden as it is in the States. We just buy some lösgodis ("loose candy", where you can throw whatever kind of candy you want in a bag. See pictures). Trick or treat is so unusual in the town I grew up I've only ever had one kid ask for candy and when I celebrated Halloween with my grandparents (in a city not far from Stockholm), it was the same. I usually buy some candy and watch a horror movie, but that's about it.

However, Halloween is (again) a reason for teenagers and young adults to drink and party.

November

Alla Helgons Dag (All Saints' Day): Date varies, usually early November. It's a day to remember the dead and we usually light a candle at the grave yard.

December

Första Advent (First Advent): Date varies. Sunday four weeks from Christmas Eve. We mostly just light a candle, honestly. Then, each Sunday for the next four weeks, we light a candle. Here's actually the Crown Princess wishing Happy First Advent with her family! Unfortunately without English subtitles, but here's the translation: "Today is the First Advent. Advent means arrival and hope, something that feels extra important this year. (her husband lights the candle) We want to wish everyone a happy first advent!"

Andra Advent (Second Advent): date varies. We light the second candle.

Tredje Advent (Third Advent): date varies. We light the third candle.

Fjärde Advent (Fourth Advent): date varies. We light the fourth candle. In my family we usually decorate the tree this Sunday.

Julafton (Christmas Eve): Celebrated the 24th. YES, THE 24TH. Christmas Eve obviously varies from family to family, but there's a few things most people have in common. Usually, we get one gift in our sock (which hangs on our bedroom doors in my home, because we don't have a mantle) when we wake up. As kids me and my brother almost always got a movie or something to keep us busy until it was time to leave for our grandparents house.

For lunch we eat the Christmas dinner. It's the same damned food as our other holidays. Herring, meatballs, potatoes, sausages etc, but now, we also have julskinka (Christmas ham). Some people eat ham even for Easter, but we only really eat it for Christmas in my family. Obviously the food varies a little from season to season, but as a picky eater I always just eat potatoes, meatballs and ham.

At 3, Kalle Anka (Donald Duck) is on. Yeah, we watch the same damned stuff every year. It's tradition, alright? Anyway, Donald Duck lasts for an hour or so, and first you get to see Santa work in his workshop, then Disney characters wish you a Merry Christmas with scenes from their movies (original, I know). There's Lady and the Tramp, Donald Duck (obviously) and a million other things. Then there's also one or two trailers for movies Disney will release the coming year. I really couldn't be bothered to find everything on YouTube for you to watch, sorry!

After Donald Duck, we open the Christmas gifts in my family. Normally we just rip out gifts open lmao.

After opening the gifts, we usually eat a second time. This time it's time for porridge. Tomtegröt (Santa porridge) is sweet and often served with cinnamon. Usually, everyone is so stuffed at this point that you only eat because you "have" to eat porridge for Christmas (again, at least in my family).

The last thing we do in my family, is to get a puzzle out. My grandpa almost always gets a new puzzle for Christmas, so we'll put that on the dining table and work on it together until it's getting too late for us to stay.

The Royal Family usually release new pictures of the family for Christmas and wish everyone a Merry Christmas.

Day after Christmas: Not a collective pizza day! There's usually too much Christmas food left to be able to order pizza. Usually, we have Christmas food to eat for four-ish days after Christmas, and by then you're getting really tired of it.

Sometimes we watch something on television, but for the most part we just sit around and spend time together. I think the Crown Princess read something from the Bible this year? I'm not actually sure if the Royal Family go to the Christmas Service, but I don't think so.

Nyårsafton (New Year's Eve): last day of the year. We shoot fireworks, eat food and dessert and spend time with family. This day we normally eat something "fancy" or something you we don't usually eat.

At twelve, we go out to light some fireworks (or just watch fireworks). When that dies down, it's time for the cheese platter. My dad wants it, no one else ever eats from it, we still do it every single year because "it's not New Year's without it". When we've had the cheese platter, everyone go to sleep and that's that.

People obviously celebrate this differently, as well. It's not uncommon to go see your friends or have guests over, and some people party rather than have fancy dinner with their parents. I personally prefer spending time with my parents, because that's what New Year's is for me.

Some people give resolutions, but I think it's more common in the States.

Christmas Holiday Note: It's common for people to not work between Christmas and New Year's Eve where I'm from.

Some things you might want to know about the Swedish Royal Family and Sweden overall:

The Royal Family in Young Royals is not the real Royal Family (obviously).

The Royal Family usually spends time on Öland during the summers.

Chances are Wilhelm and his family live at Drottningholm Slott (Drottningholm Palace) and not Stockholm Slott (Stockholm Palace). Drottningholm is used as a home for the current King and Queen and is located west of Stockholm. However, the scenes where Wilhelm is home is shot at a palace called Stora Sundby Slott. I doubt Wilhelm and his family would live here if they were the actual Royal Family since it's used as a place for people to gather when they want to hunt for sport. However, if they truly live at Stora Sundby, it takes almost two hours to drive from Stockholm to the castle.

Bjärstad is AT LEAST two hours away from Stockholm.

Bjärstad to Stora Sundby Castle takes approximately an hour and a half by car, and between nine and twelve hours by bus. Which means these two boys can't just take a twenty minute bus to see each other.

Bjärstad to Drottningholm takes a little over two hours by car and four-ish hours by bus.

Bjärstad to Stockholm Slott takes over two hours by car and three and a half hours by bus.

Hillerska is shot at Kaggeholms Slott (Kaggeholm Palace), and is a hotel.

The age of consent in Sweden is 15, HOWEVER it's illegal to have sex with someone four or more years younger than you if you're not both over the age of 18. Let me illustrate: -Person A is 15 and Person B is 15. It's legal because both are 15. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 20. It's illegal, because there's a five year old gap between them. -Person A is 15 and Person B is 18. It's legal (but probably frowned upon), because they're both 15 or older and there's not a four year gap between them. -Person A is 18 and Person B is 30. It's legal, because both are 18 or older. Idk if this makes sense or if this is what it looks like anymore, but this is what it was like when I still went to school. Obviously people aren't going to run around and call you names if you happen to date someone four years younger than you (I know a girl who met a guy when she was 14 and he was over 20), but please, be mindful of this. Our age of consent doesn't give you a right to be weird and nasty to teenagers (yes, I'm talking about Edvin).

Also, the Royal Family have their own website, which you can find here. As far as I can see, there's more information on the Swedish page, but there's plenty translated to English. You can also read of the Swedish Royal Family and its history on the palaces's website, here.

All pictures have been taken straight from Google. I haven't used any sources, because this is shit I do every single year with my family. Feel free to correct me or add things you do, but keep it respectful, please!

Friendly reminder that I've simplified some parts of this to make sense, specifically the dates of the Advent celebrations.

If there's anything you don't understand or want more information on, you're welcome to contact me! I take pretty long to reply, but I'll definitely try to get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you!

#young royals #young royals netflix #yr netflix #yr #wilmon #please im begging you love this

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gii-heylittleangel · 4 years ago

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new traditions | holidays & new year & 15x20 doesn’t exist & everyone is alive & fluff & one big family | 1250 words

Read it on AO3 or keep reading here.

The world is quiet. There are no apocalyptic events happening anywhere, no Big Bad of the Year out for their heads, and no deals looming over them anymore. Their family is back and safe and alive and Dean can’t believe they had an honest-to-God Christmas dinner with everyone: Jody, Donna and the girls; Garth, Bessie and their kids; Charlie and Stevie; Jesse, Cesar and the little girl they had just adopted; Bobby, Eileen, Jack, Sam, Cas, and even Rowena had come to see them. Everyone they had lost because of Chuck, everyone that been murdered and taken before their time was there with them and the bunker had never been so happy or alive—not even the Christmas they had ith Ms. Butters had been as good as the holiday with their family was.

Most of them stayed a couple of days after Christmas, eating leftovers and watching movies and playing games or just resting—and Dean couldn’t blame them because it was, indeed, a great to spend the days, especially after everything that had happened.

Still, almost everyone already had plans for New Year and left before December 30. Claire and Kaia went on a road trip with one of the bunker’s cars—after Dean had made her pinky-promise she would be careful with it; Donna and Jody would spend it together in one of their cabins while Patience stayed with her father. Charlie and Stevie went back home for their geek movies and their new tradition of binge-watching Star Wars all day. Jesse and Cesar were flying to Mexico to visit family. Rowena had gone back to Hell after promising she’d show up more to visit them. Even Bobby had plans when he left the bunker that morning, even though he refused to tell them what it was.

Sam and Eileen wanted to see the fireworks from the city and Jack had begged them to let him come with them so he could see his friends. So, in the end, only Cas and Dean stayed in the bunker for New Year’s Eve, which Dean didn’t have a problem with at all; he has missed Cas more than he can understand and he’s more than happy to have some time alone for just the two of them.

They spend the day huddled together, watching movies, eating junk food and drinking hot chocolate. Dean falls asleep at some point in the afternoon—which he refuses to acknowledge as him getting old—his head resting on Cas’s chest as Cas threads his fingers through his hair, and those are some of the best hours of sleep Dean has ever had. He doesn’t even see Sam, Eileen and Jack leave, just knows because Cas tells him once Dean’s awake. There’s a documentary playing on TV and Cas seems to be very interested in it, eyes glued to the TV. Dean’s, on the other hand, are glued to Cas, watching how beautiful he is and how ethereal he looks in the TV’s blue light, even though he’s completely human now, his eyes the colour of a summer, cloudless sky.

The whole domestic vibe they’ve been having the last few weeks still lingers in the air and Dean doesn’t want it to ever end; sure, he doesn’t want to stop hunting, not for now at least, but he still wants to have this. He wants to be able to spend whole days with Cas so they can make up for all the lost time; he wants to have some quality time with Eileen now that she rarely leaves the bunker so they can get to know each other more; spend more time with his family, even take care of Garth and Bessie’s kids—even though he still hasn’t forgiven them for not naming one of their kids Dean—or visit Jesse and Cesar and spend some time with their daughter, who is just the sweetest little kid Dean has ever seen. He wants to make things right with Jack, he wants to let go of some of his anger so they can go back to the healthy relationship they had been slowly building before Chuck.

Cas must sense Dean’s thoughts somehow—and how he still does that while being human, Dean doesn’t know—because he finally turns away from the TV and looks at Dean, his left eyebrow slightly up.

“A penny for your thoughts?”

Dean chuckles, pulling Cas closer to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Just thinking about our family. How we’ve got everyone back and things are good.”

Cas smiles, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in the most adorable way. “It’s so good to have them closer now. We can even start new traditions.”

“Yeah, we could. Always have everyone over for Christmas. No one can’t not come unless they have a good reason. That way, everyone will be together at least once a year.”

“I like that tradition. Especially if it involves you, Jody, Stevie and Cesar cooking.”

Dean throws his head back and laughs loudly, shaking his head fondly. “Angel, I can cook for you anytime you want.”

Cas gives him one more kiss, his hand on Dean’s cheek, running his thumb along his jaw affectionately. Dean gives him a smile and is about to turn back to the TV when Cas grabs his hand and pulls him up and towards the door, his other hand carrying some of the blankets. Dean doesn’t have time to ask Cas where they’re going, too focused on not tripping over his own feet as Cas hurries them to the bunker’s front door.

The air is chilly and snowy, everything covered in white and looking outer-worldly. The colourful fairy lights on the walls of the bunker reflect on the snow beautifully and Dean wants to stop and admire it, but Cas continues to pull him, making his way towards the woods. The snow crunches under their feet and Dean likes it so much he wants to let go of Cas’s hand and jump around the trees to crunch some more, the same he and Sam used to do when they were kids.

Before he can, Cas stops in a clearing, the sky wide open over them, so clean Dean can see dozens of stars. He turns around, trying to look at all of them at the same time as Cas cleans some of the snow to place one of the blankets on the ground. He sits on it and extends a hand to Dean. He takes it and lets Cas pull him down.

“Cas,” he starts as Cas wraps blankets around their shoulders. “What are we doing here?”

“I thought we could start another new tradition”. Cas smiles, his hand soft and warm on Dean’s. “Just you and me, somewhere in the woods, wrapped in blankets to watch the fireworks. What do you think?”

“I love it.” Dean smiles, pulling Cas closer to kiss him just as the fireworks explode around them.

And they keep their promise the best they can; if they can’t be at the bunker, they’ll find a nice, isolated place in the woods, bringing their blankets—except that one time in Brazil; it was way too hot for blankets—so they can huddle together and watch the fireworks explode around them as they year changes. Their New Year’s kisses are always one of the best and Dean pours all of his heart and soul into them, every single time. It’s the best tradition he could ask for.

#writersofdestiel #destiel fic #holiday fic #dean winchester #castiel #littleangelwrites #happy #15x20 doesn't exist

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scullydubois · 4 years ago

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Only the Light Ch. 14

As the new year beckons Scully to put her life back together, she and Mulder share a Valentine's 'anti-date' on the Hoover Building rooftop.

TW for brief discussion of disordered eating.

--------------

The new year struck Scully with a particular melancholy. 1994 was, to put it plainly, one of the worst--if not the worst--year of her life. Even without her disappearance, it would earn that title. Her father’s untimely passing and the brief but brutal closure of the X-Files wrenched the few good things left from her fingers. Factor in the four weeks in late summer that she has no memory nor knowledge of, and you’ll understand why Scully has taken to calling it her year on the dark side of the moon.

Of course, the aftershocks of her abduction are still felt every day. Flipping the calendar does nothing to remedy that. At her last appointment, Dr. Zapolsky noticed that Scully’s weight had decreased rather sharply from previous visits and made the point that “rapid weight loss can stop ovulation,” which Scully interpreted as kicking her while she was down. That’s not exactly fair, after all. Technically, her period stopped well before she decided to restrict herself.

It’s odd how it happened. Her weight was fine before her abduction; slender but within the healthy range for her height. Even when she was returned, it had only dropped a couple pounds, as if they fed her...as if they cared. She found that hard to believe. In the months afterward, she sought a physical representation of her mental anguish, and since she and food were never on the best terms to begin with, the choice was simple.

The other day, she had to punch an extra hole in all her belts to hold them steady on her hips. She knows the consequences of this; she’ll live them and accept it.

There has been some beneficial progress. Dr. Zapolsky started Scully on low-dose birth control around Thanksgiving, hoping that it would balance her hormones and regulate her periods. It has, in fact, brought back her cycle, something that Scully did not expect. She gave Melissa her leftover tampons in October. Now Melissa buys enough for the two of them and insists that Scully doesn’t owe her a dime. Scully is too grateful for this to speak about it.

Her downward spiral reached a snag when she realized that smoking would make her birth control ineffective, shortly after her and Mulder’s Christmas Eve smoke break. She ditched the cigarettes, mad at herself for taking a month to read the disclaimer (she’s a doctor for god’s sake, she should know better!), yet glad to have an out. Smoking was a habit she exercised because she could. It won’t hurt her anytime soon, and millions of others do it, so where’s the harm? That was her thinking. As soon as she had a reason to stop, she did, and it felt a bit like jumping from a runaway train just before it skids off the tracks.

So she is better, and she is worse. Which really means she is the same as she was. That is the conclusion she carries into 1995’s frosts and thaws.

There is one thing she is certain of, something that she hadn’t given much thought to until the one year anniversary of her father’s death. She needs her faith back. She’s always practiced in a cyclical pattern, her devoutness orbiting in and out like the moon around the Earth. Sometimes closer and brighter, sometimes farther away, sometimes nowhere to be found.

She has to believe it will come back; it always does. She was made in God’s image, and her father’s. This is both a blessing and a curse.

But no one can be God, and she can’t be her father either. His faith never wavered. If hers was the moon--fickle and subject to doubt--his was the sun, steady and warming everything around it. This was a quality she was envious of, and then guilty in her blasphemy. She has never managed to feel completely content inside the bounds of piety like he could. She’s constantly shaking the devil off her back, then repenting for it, then wondering if it were all worth it. What if...what if...what if...she isn’t fully persuaded in her beliefs, and she knows that this is the worst sin of all. Like Mulder though, she wants to believe, and shouldn’t that count for something?

Imperfection is allowed. Understood, even. Doubt is not as permissible. “He who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind,” the Bible says. Sometimes Scully takes that to mean she should walk into the ocean. Then she realizes that would be blasphemous too.

Some people believe without trying. Her father was one of those. Mulder too, in a different way. She used to think that she was too. Now she’s not so sure. “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.” How many times has she read that line? Has she ever lived up to it? She’s seen and still not believed. Certainly that means she’s going to Hell.

Or is she already there?...She wonders that sometimes. Maybe she didn’t make it back from the other side. Maybe the devil just wanted her to believe that she had, and so he’d constructed some kind of diorama of Scully’s life that would go wrong bit by bit, boiling her like a gradually heated bathtub. No resting in peace for the unbeliever.

She can’t imagine a worse punishment than all the potentially good things in her life getting dismantled beyond her control. She’d rather never experience them at all than know their joy then watch them fall apart. Missy would kill her if she heard this, but you can’t please everybody.

It is at this point that Scully embarks on her chosen method of religious self-flagellation: going through the Ten Commandments and determining whether she’s violated them. Count up your sins and God won’t have to; practically the tagline of the Catholic faith.

She thinks she does okay with the first few. She has no idols, she honors her mother and father, and Mulder knows not to call her on Sunday mornings. Of course, the part about not taking the Lord’s name in vain can be tricky, but she’s working on it.

Number five is where it gets dicey. Thou shalt not kill. She imagines that she wouldn’t, not on purpose, but the circumstances of her job worry her. God makes no exceptions for self-defense. And what if she were ever to be a true doctor? If she couldn’t save a patient, does that mean she killed them?

Her father was in the Navy. He never killed anyone.

Number six...well, she doesn’t mention that often. Few people know about Daniel. Missy is one. Scully harbors a genuine shame regarding that time in her life, not so much because of Daniel, but because she was complicit in hurting his wife and daughter. It was a young, foolish mistake that she never wants to make again.

She feels pretty good about number seven. The only thing she has ever stolen is one of Charlie’s matchbox cars when they were kids. She was uninterested in Missy’s hand-me-down Barbies and Raggedy Ann dolls. The boys’ toys were much cooler. She trusted the Lord enough to know that He wouldn’t hold something she did when she was seven against her. Besides, she gave it back when Charlie figured out it was missing. She just wishes he had let her play with him after that.

Number eight: thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor. She considers honesty one of her best qualities. She sure hopes God does too. She’s not the most open person, but that’s different from lying…

Nine is a lost cause, considering six had been broken. This was her least favorite part of her family’s religion: the power it had to cause her shame about her own body, her own desires. She had her first crisis of faith over this at age 14. Missy comforted her with something she has never forgotten: “The original sin was the serpent’s deception, not Eve’s desire. Even God pins it on the woman.” She knew her sister could only say that because she didn’t truly believe and wasn’t trying to, but it had stuck with Scully through many moments when she needed it.

And finally, thou shalt not covet thy neighbor’s goods. She supposes she did this with the matchbox cars when she was seven, but in literal terms that’s about it. Metaphorically, she does this all the time and struggles with why she feels so inadequate. Her sister’s confidence, Mulder’s tenacity, her father’s faith...The ideal Dana Scully would have all of these. The real one is a work in progress.

--------------------

So it goes that she finds herself prepping a case in the office on Valentine’s Day. Mulder’s scheduled to fly to Florida the next morning to investigate attacks in a community of circus performers. He’s convinced it’s the Fiji Mermaid, she’s convinced he needs to get his head checked; the usual. This is one comfort Scully can always rely on. No matter how utterly twisted her life gets, she will always think Mulder is crazy, and he will always go along with it.

The occasion of the day goes unmentioned until what Mulder lovingly refers to as “closing time,” which is not a specific time but rather the point that he finally gives up for the day, usually hastened by his partner’s prodding. Scully has learned the signs of his dwindling tenacity by now. She glances at the clock as he pulls his glasses off his head and tosses a sunflower seed in the wastebasket, pleasantly surprised that it reads only 5:15. He catches her checking, his eyes--amber today--meeting hers.

His lips curl in amusement. “You got a date or something?”

“No,” she blinks, feeling like a child caught taking a cookie from the jar. Her cheeks grow hot, threatening to make a scene. “I figured you did, since you’re finishing up so early.”

Mulder straightens his stack of papers, clinking them against the desk obnoxiously. “Think again, buckaroo.”

He’s taken to calling her that lately. Neither one of them is sure why, it just popped into his mind one day and stuck. It makes her feel like a heroine in some 70s Western shoot-out flick who wrangles all the bad guys and locks’em in the county jail. She’s thankful that someone can see her for what she could be rather than what she is. It helps her see that too.

He stuffs his papers in a manila folder, then rises from behind the desk and stoops toward the backpack he prefers to a briefcase. (She called him a kindergartener once because of it and he remarked that he’d ‘rather be a kindergartener than an adult.’ She couldn’t argue with that.) “Valentine’s Day isn’t really observed under the Fox Mulder calendar,” he says, unzipping the bag and putting the folder in. “Halloween and Thanksgiving, those are my holy days.”

“You worship at the shrine of the food pyramid,” Scully smirks.

“Yes indeed. Wait--” Scully’s gaze flicks to him, genuinely concerned. He dissolves her uncertainty with a boyish grin. “--does the food pyramid include candy?”

She rolls her eyes, but it’s not deeply felt. She misses these flat-lining comedic routines of his, usually at their best when they’re putzing through some tumble-weed town where the bathroom stalls at the gas station don’t lock. He loves being the funniest person in a ten-mile radius, and that’s not a satisfaction he can have in DC. She wonders if he tells these lame jokes to strangers now, or if they were just for her.

“Speaking of food,” he says, brushing a hand through his hair, “you wanna grab dinner?”

Scully’s forehead creases. “Like, in a restaurant?”

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna be that forward, but I guess we could take it to yours or mine...”

Scully laughs lightly, wrapping her arms around herself, fingers caressing her bony elbows. “We’ve already covered what day it is,” she demures. “Everyone having dinner is going to be on a date.”

“You’re right...the restaurant probably won’t let us in unless we make out in front of the hostess,” he deadpans.

“Not to mention that we don’t have any reservations…”

“Well, making out might remedy that, depending on the hostess.”

She gives him her ‘last straw’ look--crossed arms, arched eyebrow, stinging glare--and he raises his hands in surrender. “I’ll stick to slipping a twenty, then.”

Scully uncrosses her arms and slinks toward her purse rather languishly. “No restaurants, Mulder. It’s too much trouble on a holiday.”

“I sure hope you didn’t mistake my suggestion as an invitation to Mulder’s Downhome Country Kitchen, cause that place is not Michelin star rated.”

“I’m well aware. I’ve seen the menu.”

“Is Chateau de Scully open tonight?” he asks with an eyebrow raise that his partner couldn’t have missed if she tried--and she did.

“Well, the chef is celebrating Valentine’s Day with her girlfriend in Oregon, so you’d be waiting awhile for your meal.”

“There’s no back-up chef? I don’t know, someone who may need to feed herself while the chef is away?”

“Yes, but she doesn’t serve the public.”

“Ouch.”

He plucks their respective coats off the rack, folding his own over his arm and throwing his partner’s over her shoulders. She jumps just the tiniest bit--she probably thinks he didn’t notice, so he’ll pretend he didn’t--then slips her arms in the sleeves and pulls it on properly.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, avoiding eye contact.

After he’s put his own jacket on, he hoists up his backpack, fielding off his partner’s near swerve into laughter. She’s barely maintaining a straight face, and even if it’s at his expense, he loves it because unadulterated joy is something she deserves so much.

“You know what, I’ve got just the solution,” he says as he strolls out the doorway, flipping the light switch as he goes, leaving Scully scrambling in the dark.

“Hey!”

He hears her petulant voice, followed quickly by the laugh he was looking for. When she turns to him after locking the office door, her eyes are still shining from the momentary euphoria. He is so happy to know her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place is the Smithsonian of vending machines.”

“Mm-hm.”

“And I know a door to the rooftop that never gets locked.” He flashes her a sly look, his intentions pure despite himself.

“It’s 40 degrees outside,” she counters before he can even voice his proposal.

“Sure, but we can make some fresh coffee, and there’s gotta be blankets in that storage closet of ours.” Ours. Very few things are theirs. She wishes he would say it again.

As much as her instinct is to protest, she can’t quite muster the resolve to. I mean, it checks all the boxes. It’s not a restaurant, she’d only have to eat a snack from the vending machine, and she wouldn’t have to spend Valentine’s night alone, which is a sneaky sadness that had been pressing at the back of her mind.

“Fine,” she bluffs, as if it were a great inconvenience to her. She enjoys the cat-and-mouse game, what can she say? “You find the blankets, I’ll get the coffee.”

Mulder smiles, his lips edging over his teeth in an aesthetically pleasing way that makes Scully feel like he missed his calling as a male model. Of course, this smile isn’t posed. The constant in his life is his partner’s unpredictability. Everyone thinks she’s a stone-cold skeptic, but he knows she’s an uncertain believer, and there’s no one harder to pin down than that. Her yes to his Valentine plans may as well be an admission that Bigfoot exists.

“Let’s meet by the sixth floor stairwell, okay?” he prompts, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Flashes of Christmas Eve sabotage her thoughts--her mother’s kitchen, her untidy tipsiness, Mulder just trying to iron things out. He’d touched her, and she’d lashed out at him. Reaction formation, that was the term for the defense mechanism she’d used. He knew it, probably studied it extensively. Concealing an impulse by acting out its opposite.

Instead of mentioning this, she looks him in the eyes and says, “Okay, I’ll use the coffee machine on the sixth floor then,” as if his touch hadn’t brought forth both memory and desire.

“Great. See you there.” He pulls finger guns, and she thinks that maybe this is already her best Valentine’s Day yet.

----------------------

Five stories of stairs is a long way to go with two hot mugs of coffee. Scully had hoped there would be some styrofoam cups--something she could put a lid on--but the Bureau is stingy, so she had to go all the way back to the basement, grab their coffee mugs, take the elevator back to the sixth floor, brew some dark roast (to Mulder’s probable discontent), then hope that by some miracle, they could make it to the roof.

Ever the idealist, Mulder takes the challenge in stride. Though his arms are already bundled with some comforters he found tucked away in storage (he shudders to think how old they must be), he takes the handle of his mug, squeezing the blankets snug against his chest.

“Are you sure about this?” his partner asks with her usual uneven tone. “What if we get all the way up there and the door is locked?”

“We knock and get the snipers to open the door for us,” he answers matter-of-factly.

Scully’s eyebrows shoot up. “Snipers?”

“Oh yeah, did I forget to mention? There’s a longstanding rumor about snipers on the roof that I’d like to get to the bottom of.”

His demeanor is just loose enough to make Scully question whether he is in fact kidding. A conversational casualness permeates all of his sensational soliloquies because to him, the phenomena he’s discussing should be regarded as a fact of the world. If he ever launched into an indifferent lecture on the subject, she’d know he was bluffing.

Having never heard the rumor herself, she decides this is simply a figment of his overactive imagination. She’ll play along. “Well, if it’s anything like the talk of you being spooky, then it doesn’t look good for us…” she teases, her own smirk eliciting an identical one from her partner.

Masking his impatience by embodying the role of the gentleman, Mulder uses his free hand to prop open the stairwell door, ushering his partner through. The landing of each story has one stray light bulb, there for show more than anything. Most of them are either flickering or burned out, the agents discover as they inch their way up, one slowly taken step at a time. Step, pause for the coffee to settle, hope it doesn’t breach its container, step: that’s the process they adopt for approximately 100 steps in the cold Hoover stairwell. There are many ways to show love; Mulder bets that you wouldn’t find this in any lame self-help book.

“Do you think Romeo would have done this for Juliet?” he muses.

“Depends on what he was expecting once they made it to the top,” Scully quips, the edges of her lips turning up slightly.

Mulder nods, perpetually amused by her (too) infrequent jaunts into suggestive territory. “My man really got ahead of himself with the whole ‘dying for her’ schtick.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Mulder eyes her. “Actually, I think it was you who was going to die for me.”

“Not for you, because of you.” Her statement is neither packed with malice nor free of blame. “There’s a difference.”

She may as well have shot him at point blank range; then at least she could see the bleeding. She didn’t mean to be so blunt, but he gave her the perfect setup. Mulder cauterizes his own wound, disguising his pain as a joke. “Damn, I was finally moving past that!”

“At least one of us was,” she says, her voice fluttering, and he knows she’s just teasing, but god, what if she’s cauterizing her own hidden wounds?

They reach the door labelled ‘roof,’ and Mulder can’t decipher what happens first, him putting his hand on the door handle or her placing a chilly hand on his cheek. Playing it back in his head later on he won’t even be able to figure it out-- it cut time loose from its axes in such a way.

“Are you okay, Scully?” He’s not sure why this is the first question out of his mouth, but it is.

“I need a hand warmer,” she murmurs. “The coffee’s already cooling off.”

All the while, Mulder is acutely aware that her hand’s still on his cheek and she’s got him propped against the door, and what does she want him to do with that information?

Her thumb grazes his mole, and it becomes clear to him that there are two ways this scenario could go, and if she doesn’t want the second one it’s imperative that she stop rubbing rhythmic circles into his skin.

He clears his throat. “Do you want to...do you want me to check for snipers?” Her touch continues, uninterrupted.

“Is the door unlocked?” Her voice sounds airy and far away. She probably didn’t even hear his question.

He pushes on the handle, confirming their freedom. “Yes ma’am,” he answers, fear of a sort edging him into total politeness. He is twelve tiptoeing through the too empty halls of his house, again.

“Let’s have a picnic,” she says, still light and airy, as if that weren’t the plan the entire time. Then, she breaks into sudden laughter, pulling her hand away from Mulder’s cheek in her fit. “We forgot the food!”

She is back to normal now, his steadfast Scully with a side of joy.

Half of him mourning for the otherworldly Scully and the moment that could have been, he laughs too. “There may have been some lapses in planning.”

“We can make do, can’t we?” There’s a glimmer in her eyes that suggests the moment is not as far gone as he believed.

“Cold coffee sounds like an enduring Valentine’s tradition,” he affirms.

They choose not to dwell on words like “enduring” and “tradition,” entering the chill of the Hoover Building rooftop on Valentine’s night.

------------------

They’re not that far above the city really--the Hoover’s no NYC skyscraper--but their heads are in the clouds, that’s for sure. It’s not the typical dinner date complete with melted candles and overpriced dessert and overly attentive waiters, but as it turns out, they would both hate that. After all, this is not a date, it’s a casual hangout between two coworkers who don’t have dates on Valentine’s Day. If anything, it’s an anti-date. That’s what they tell themselves.

February’s unrelenting chill swirls around them, catching Scully’s hair in playful tantrums and turning the two of them into life-size paperweights atop the blankets. More sensible people may call the night a bust, but not the Prince of Halloweentown and his esteemed guest. This unconventional adventure is exactly what they bargained for.

Scully looks to Mulder, who’s holding his coffee like it’s a beer. She smiles. That is so him.

She exhales, and her breath spells itself out on the air. She tilts her face to the sky, as if the sun might suddenly rise and bask her in its heat. Mulder notices and fixes his attention there too, happy to have an excuse to look skyward. It’s his outlet, like hers is the sea her father dedicated his life to. His preferred escape method is to fly away; hers is to drift off.

He forces himself back into the moment, here, with her, and the expanse of the sky. “I once spent fifty bucks on one of those ‘name a star’ certificates, and I can’t even see it because of the goddamn light pollution.”

“I think that’s really more about the gesture than anything else,” Scully replies, trying to soothe him as if this were actually a pressing problem. “Unless you bought it for yourself...?”

Mulder chuckles. “No, no. It was for an old girlfriend.”

Scully raises her eyebrows in amusement. “Did you name it after her?”

“No, we named it the Rhine star.”

A puzzled look passes between them. It gives him a twinge of joy that his partner is not the encyclopedia she seems to be.

“After Joseph Banks Rhine, the founder of parapsychology,” he clarifies. “We were both fascinated by the field.”

“Oh.” She turns her face back toward the sky with the feeling of a kid who missed the winning word of the spelling bee. There are times when she is grateful she does not know everything, and times when she is not. Somehow, this is both.

“I’ve thought about buying another one and naming it after Samantha,” Mulder continues, “but it feels too much like a grave marker.”

“I’d consider it a lovely tribute,” Scully counters, used to doing so. “But I’m thirty and I own my own gravestone, so take that with a grain of salt.”

It’s true--once Dana was returned, her mother couldn’t bear to look at the gravestone she’d had engraved in memory of her missing daughter, so she gave it to Mulder, who saw no logical place for it to go except the woman whose name it bore. Margaret hadn’t wanted her to know that it existed, that they’d gotten so far as considering her gone. While it brought Mulder no joy to present it to his partner, it served as a reminder of the miracle her survival was, and in such bleak times, they had both needed that.

“It doesn’t scare me--the thought of dying,” Scully says to the stars. Mulder wonders if she meant for him to hear it. He wishes he hadn’t, but he’s met with the realization that she is trying to start a conversation when her eyes look into his.

He doesn’t know where to go with this, so he toes the line between deep and sarcastic. “I thought Catholics were all about that heaven and hell stuff.”

“Yes, but…” where is the line between truth and blasphemy, she wonders? Settling herself, she starts over. “I’ve lived both on Earth, so what have I got to fear?” She turns her glance to the blanket, as if shrinking out of the Lord’s sight. “Besides, sometimes I think I’m already there.”

“Heaven?”

“No, Hell.”

He should have known. He grips the edge of his blanket, wondering why his parents had prioritized the sex talk but never explained what to do in a situation like this. He has a psychology degree, sure, but he’s as much a psychologist as she’s a physicist.

“There are periods of life, I think, where everyone feels like that,” he says in the most earnest voice he can conjure. “It’s just that nobody ever talks about it.”

“Did you feel like that with Samantha?”

Leave it to Scully to turn a personal conversation back on him.

He bites his lip. “Yeah, yeah, I did. Still do, if I think about it too long.”

“How did you...move past it?” The lights of nearby buildings reflect off her blue eyes, galaxies to his black holes. He’d give anything to sluice the pain right from her heart.

He’ll rely on his words instead, despite knowing there are depths they cannot touch. “I, uh, I didn’t really move past it, I just moved. Kept moving, I guess. I found a place where I could make progress out of my pain. Here--the X-Files.”

Scully swallows hard, knocking back tears. "That’s the issue. I feel stuck. Just completely unable to go forward. There’s a current in my brain that keeps pushing me backward.”

Mulder lets out a deep breath, trying to take both their pain with it. “Have you considered seeing a therapist?” he asks delicately. “It sounds like you may have PTSD.”

“Over what?” she practically snaps. “I don’t remember a thing.”

“That doesn’t mean you have no memories. Regression hypnosis could help recover repressed or unconscious memories, so you could understand exactly what’s bothering you.”

“You think I haven’t heard this spiel from Melissa?”

“I bet Melissa doesn’t have first-hand experience with it.”

“No, she doesn’t,” she murmurs in the tone of an apology. She knew that he had it, she had listened to the tapes. How could she let it slip her mind? It is uncouth of her to look down on his chosen method of healing.

Mulder isn’t bothered. He continues, “It helped me. Both in recalling the details of the experience, and in having a recorded recollection of it. It helped me feel less...insane.”

“Mmm.” If he were just a bit closer, she’d reach out and touch his hand.

“If anything, I wish I did it earlier.”

Scully’s understanding of him sharpens, like an ophthalmologist flipping the lens, making her vision clearer. Her gaze probes him, mutual souls recognizing mutual pain.

“Hey.” He uses his extended wingspan to touch her shoulder with the care an older sibling would show holding their baby brother for the first time. She turns her head, their faces mere inches away from each other. His eyes are a dopey brown, his breath scented with coffee.

“Yes?” she says with a coquettish flitting of her eyelashes.

“You should come back out on the road. I could use someone to shoot down all my wild whims.”

She can’t help but smile, though she keeps her mouth closed. “Tired of telling jokes to strangers who don’t laugh, are you?”

He smirks. “Well, yeah, that too.” He leans back a bit, putting enough distance between them to keep the sparks in check. “Of course, if you’re not ready, there’s no pressure. I just think you could use the change of scenery and--you know--companionship.”

She nods, looks out into the night. He’s got the pulse of her problems and the salve that could soothe them. “You’re right.” How often does he get to hear those beautiful words come out of her mouth? “I need to get out of my cocoon, and I think I’m okay enough to do that now.”

“Yeah?” There’s a twinkle in his eyes, something like hope.

She laughs--catharsis manifest--and it’s like a sheen of light coming through a crack in her jagged surface. “Yeah, Mulder. I’ll make the arrangements with Skinner.”

He pumps his fists in the air. “Hallelujah!”

She hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. Any stray thoughts she had of him being lonely she chalked up to her own delusions.

“Florida is probably a lost cause,” she notes, “but after that…”

He nods, pats her shoulder. “After that.”

To have her back meant something like freedom. The X-Files had never been anything without her. He had never been anything without her.

#oh to share a morbid conversation with your partner on a rooftop on valentines day #i struggled with this part but im quite happy with how it came out <3 #only the light fic #missy and scully fic #the x-files #txf #txf fanfic #fox mulder #dana scully #mine #thank you as always for reading and supporting

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lostinfic · 4 years ago

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Christmas Eve (stuck) in the Lab

Chapter 12/12 *complete*

Summary: Dr. John Smith and Rose Tyler both work at the Natural History Museum in London, he’s a scientist and she works in the gift shop. They are only friends, but the upcoming staff Christmas party promises developments they’ve both been longing for. However, John and Rose end up stuck with Martha, Donna and Jack in the laboratory, and shenanigans ensue: decontamination showers, cocktails in beakers, a game of truth-or-dare and a Secret Santa rigged by meddling friends.

Tags: mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff with light angst, found family

Rating: Teen (for now) | Words:11556

@doctorroseprompts

Ao3

The click of doors unlocking interrupted their celebration and made everyone run to the railing to watch the entrance below. Kate Stewart entered the laboratory. She wasn’t wearing a hazmat suit, which must mean….

“You’re safe,” she declared.

Palpable relief washed over the group.

Rose’s stomach untangled. She covered her mouth with her hand, laughing shakily. She had to call her mum.

She turned to John, he was all loud cheers and big grin. He grabbed Rose around the waist in a hug that lifted her off the floor.

When he put her back down, his hands lingered at her waist, and hers on his shoulders.

Kate joined them up in the gallery.

She gave some scientific information they all seemed to understand except Rose. She gathered the substance was not harmful to humans.

Kate handed them an information sheet. “Just in case, be on the lookout for symptoms on this list. Call the number at the bottom if you have any concerns.”

Jack was out the door before she’d even finished talking. Martha, Donna and John left in different directions, to call relatives or pick up their coats and keys.

Rose should have hurried outside too, but she dawdled, feeling oddly nostalgic. She shut down the monitor and covered the leftover food with plastic wrap.

She was aware of John’s spearhead left on the corner of the table, but couldn’t look at it.

She felt bad for disliking it. She appreciated its monetary value, if not its sentimental one. She wished he hadn’t just picked something off his shelf; her gift dealt with in an efficient manner, then dismissed.

Donna carried Rose’s backpack from her office and up the stairs. She had something else in her hand, too.

“I thought you should know, this is what John was going to give you.”

Donna unrolled a poster with a beautiful map of the world in neon colours. She explained how he’d made it using UV light and special proteins.

It was perfect, bright and creative and just so special. Yet it only added to Rose’s frustration.

“I don’t know why he changed his mind. He really likes you, Rose.”

“But not enough to tell me himself.”

“Or so much it scares him.”

“Well, he knows where to find me if he needs help with that too.” She sighed, regretting her snark. She was tired. “I suppose it’s because of what happened to his parents.”

“What about them?”

He hadn’t confided in Donna, but he had in her. Maybe that meant something. And yet, Rose couldn’t help but remember once again how she’d fooled herself into believing Jimmy’s behaviour meant more than it did.

From the gallery, Rose could see across the lab, down into John’s office. He was still there, talking on the phone.

Her heart softened for him, as it always did.

Perhaps, for once, she should be the one going to him. In her determination to not misread any signals, she’d forgotten to send out her own.

---

As she approached the Doctor’s office, she overheard his conversation with the airline.

“Were you able to book another flight?” she asked after he’d hung up.

“Yes. Later tonight.” He hesitated. “The Mendoza team is counting on me. I can’t let them down.”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain yourself to me. I go out of my way to avoid the street where my dad was killed.”

He nodded and offered a sympathetic smile.

“It’s important work I’m doing every year. I’m helping out labs with less means to preserve their own history.”

“I believe you. I’ll see you in three weeks, then. Drop by the shop as soon as you can. I fully expect you to use those vouchers.”

“I don’t know,” he joked, “maybe if you sweeten the deal with your employee discount.”

“I think that could be arranged.”

“Good. Looking forward to it.”

“Me too.”

Rose shuffled her feet and wrung her hands. John rearranged random items on his messy desk.

“I think I need your help,” she stammered.

“Yes, of course! What do you need? What can I do?”

“I’m not quite sure how to get money out of this.” She held out the spearhead.

John sprang to action. He sent her links to trusted auction sites, wrote a description of the item for her and hunted down the original authenticity certificate.

She had to stop him when he got trapped, elbow-deep in a filing cabinet.

“It’s okay. It can wait.”

“But if you get the money now, you might be able to enroll in time for the winter semester.”

Rose narrowed her eyes at him.

“Did you listen to my conversation with Martha?”

“Er, well, I wasn’t listening so much as voices accidentally reached my ears.”

“Right.”

He sat on the edge of his desk, his long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankle.

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to,” he added.

“S’alright. Explains a lot actually.”

“Listen, I know some professors and uni administrators and how to get financial aid.”

“You would help me?”

“Absolutely.”

“And if university isn’t what I want? I mean, I haven’t even got my A-levels.”

He shrugged. “You deserve all your dreams to come true, whatever they are. You’re brilliant, Rose.”

No one had ever said that to her. Not this earnestly.

A lump rose in her throat.

Before she’d found something to say, he offered to walk her home.

“I live in Peckham. That’d be quite a walk.”

“Don’t care.”

---

Fresh air welcomed them outside the Museum. It felt like they’d been trapped inside for years. Early dusk painted the sky a soft lavender, and fluffy snowflakes drifted down over them.

After a few steps, John took Rose’s gloved hand. She smiled and tightened her fingers over his. They laughed shyly for no other reason than the sheer pleasure of having their affection reciprocated.

In front of the Museum’s ice rink, John babbled on about bronze-age skates made from animal shins and references to skiing found in writings of the Han dynasty, in China. Joined hands swinging between them, they laughed more than the fun facts warranted. Their hearts felt as light as the snowflakes floating down from the sky. Simply put, they were utterly giddy.

They strolled down a quiet street. Decorations twinkled in windows and relatives greeted each other at the door.

John’s pace slowed down, his gaze turned inward and unfocused.

“I think I might call my former foster family,” he said at last, glancing at Rose for approval.

“Sounds like a great idea. You were close to them?”

He nodded. “The last ones I lived with, they really encouraged me to study. I even had a sister, of sort, Sarah Jane.” He smiled at the memory. “She was a Smith too. We used to pretend we were real siblings… I should’ve kept in touch.”

“Never too late for that.”

They passed by a tube station without stopping. Street lights switched on one after the other, as if only for them. They would have to part ways soon. It was a long ride to cousin Mo’s house, and he had a flight to catch.

At the gate of a quiet garden square, Rose stopped walking. They still held hands, and she fiddled with the cuff of his jacket.

“You remembered Jack’s dare, didn’t you?” she asked him.

“Uh, vaguely. Well, most of it. Where was he keeping that mistletoe?”

Rose waited a beat, but he didn’t say anything else.

“John, you know what you were saying about helping make my dreams come true?”

“Yeah?”

He stepped closer. Her breath quickened. She licked her lips, and his gaze flicked to her mouth.

“Well, maybe there’s a dream you, uh, you could…”

“What?” His face split into a grin. He clicked his jaw. He knew full well what she was trying to say.

“You could kiss me. Shut up.”

She looked away, but John’s hand on her cheek brought her eyes back to him. He opened his mouth, probably to say something smart-arse again. Instead, Rose grabbed his scarf and pulled him down to her. Cold nose tips met pink cheeks. He laughed against her lips. Their arms wrapped around each other, bringing their bodies together, as close as their winter coats allowed.

Rose forgot the cold and the passersby, she forgot it was Christmas Eve. Her hand in his hair knocked off his beanie. A tiny whimper came from the back of his throat, and she found herself with her back to the garden gate being thoroughly kissed. It was probably a good thing they were wearing so many layers.

When they broke the kiss, he rested his forehead on hers. The clouds on their breath mingled.

“Now I regret booking another flight,” John whispered.

“You’d better not forget me whilst you’re gone, mister.” She poked him in the chest playfully.

“Haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met— I doubt I will after that kiss.”

“Let’s give you plenty to think about, then.”

She rose to her tiptoes and kissed him again. An unforgettable kiss.

#ficandchips #ten x rose #doctor x rose #Christmas fluff #finished but stay tuned for a bonus smutty chapter #lostinfic writes stuff

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lesbian-deadpool · 5 years ago

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I’ll Be Home For Christmas

Part two of ‘We Were On A Break!’

Natasha Romanoff X reader

Words: 2,286

Warnings: Loneliness? Longing, insecurities, slight adult themes, but mainly just fluff. A kinda shit ending.

Request: Yes. You guys wanted a part 2 and here it is!

Summary: You never stopped waiting.

A/N: You may ask me if I combined both the Pentatonix version and Micheal Buble’s version. And I would have to say, yes. Yes, I did.

(Not My GIF)

***

I'll be home for Christmas

You can count on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents by the tree

06:43 PM. Christmas Eve.

Touching down at the snow-coated JFK Airport made Natasha more anxious than she had expected. But this was a form of anxiety unlike any that she had felt before. This one was filled with excitement, at what waited at home.

You.

In all your wonderful glory.

Oh, how she had missed you.

Natasha had had a lot of time to think while she was away on the God-forsaken mission. One she wished Nick would have given to someone else. Maybe some rookie who was just growing into their boots, and had only been on a few missions before. God knows it was easy enough for them, it was just long. That perhaps was why Nick wanted her to do it. But that didn’t stop Natasha from hating his decision. That was one of the things that frequently flew into her busy mind.

The mission, of course, was still on her mind most of the time. Albeit more so thinking of ways to make the darn thing go faster.

Which it did not.

The mission had lasted for six years.

Six fucking years.

But hey! You know what they say? Absence makes the heart grow fonder. That saying sure was true for Natasha. She just hoped, with everything she had, that it had been true for you, too. And that her fear of you getting sick of waiting, moving on with your life with someone else by your side, was only a sick little thought that her mind dreamt up.

Seventy-four months.

Three-hundred and twenty-five weeks.

Two-thousand, Two-hundred and seventy-seven days.

Fifty-four-thousand, six-hundred and sixty-one hours.

Three million, two-hundred and seventy-nine- thousand, seven-hundred and seven minutes.

To the dot.

Like I said. She had a lot of time to think.

Natasha would lay in bed at night, counting the days, hours, minutes, hell even seconds, that she was away from you. She didn't know when she was returning to you and your hopefully awaiting arms. So, this was the next “best” thing. And when that was done, her mind would fill with you.

What you were doing. Who you were doing it with. The things that had changed. The things that didn’t. Memories of the things you've done together. And daydreams of the things you haven't. The very same things that Natasha planned on experiencing with you the moment she got back.

That’s all that ran through her mind during those six years.

And now she was back. And holy fuck was she excited.

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

“Y/N. Y/N, wake up.”

You felt a pressure on your chest, pushing you up and down on the mattress, in excitement. Not unlike how a child would.

You grunted out, turning your face to cuddle more into your soft pillow.

“Y/N,” the voice said, full of laughter. With hand’s tugging at your shirt, to try and get you up. Only making you huff out in annoyance, every time you were tugged up an inch or two, “Baby, please wake up.”

The body above you was now content to lay upon you, brushing their thumb over your lips, stopping every now and then to place a quick peck on them.

“Natasha, what do you want?” you groaned sleepily.

“I want you to get up.”

“What time is it?” You peaked an eye open to look upon you red-headed girlfriends beautiful face. Her hair was a mess, and her eyes were still tired. And yet. To you, she still looked like the most beautiful person in the world.

“It’s six twenty-two.”

You groaned again, flinging your head back. “Why won't you just let me sleep?!”

“Because it’s Christmas day.” Natasha smiled excitedly, which caused your heart to swoon. Knowing how much she loved the holidays because she never celebrated them as a child, or even when she was older. Once she had met Clint, her love slowly started to grow. Then she joined the Avengers, which only accelerated it more. But once she had met you. It was like every ounce of excitement she was deprived of, came flooding out of her.

And you wouldn't have it any other way.

“Is it?” Natasha nodded happily.

You sighed, “Well, then I best get up, huh?”

Natasha grinned at you, before leaning down and pressing a heavy kiss upon your lips.

Your eyes widened when she pulled away, jumping from the bed, to make her way out of the room, calling over her shoulder, “C’mon, I’m cooking breakfast.”

“No!!” You jolted up. “Don’t you dare go near that kitchen!”

I'll be home for Christmas

You can count on me

Please have snow and mistletoe

And presents by the tree

The first Christmas without Natasha hurt, just like you expected it too.

It had only been three months since she had left for the mission, you had missed her more and more every day. And as soon as the holidays came around, it was almost unbearable how much you missed her.

But you weren’t completely alone.

All of the Avengers had their own plans around Christmas, but they always thought about you. Knowing you would end up spending it all alone if they did nothing about it. But, lucky for you, you had some of the best, most caring friends in the world.

Throughout the whole holiday season, they would invite you drag you along with them to join in on their festivities.

You spent Thanksgiving with Sam’s family. You remember smiling so brightly at all the young children, who looked at you like you were one of the greatest people in the world, just because you were an Avenger. Sam got jealous real quick, stating, “I’m your family. Why don't you act like this with me?” to which they said something along the lines of, “We’re used to you.” and, “But you’re a nerd.”

That was a fun day.

Wanda would drag you to a quaint and quiet coffee shop, hidden from most of New York, and have a warm drink and some cookies there, before going for a walk around Central Park.

You along with Bucky, helped Steve decorate his apartment. It took longer than you would have liked. But as a ‘thank you’ Steve bought you all food, and you ate it while talking to them about their Christmas’s, back in the olden days.

Thor didn’t really understand Christmas. But he still knew how much you had been missing Natasha this time of year, so he did what he thought best. Went to Bruce for help. That turned out to be a very good idea. Because you spent a full weekend with the men. Watching Christmas movies. And chuckling at how invested Thor was, in every single one of them.

Christmas day was the busiest, by far. But that's exactly what you needed.

First, you would wake up at Tony’s place. After spending Christmas Eve at the cabin with him and his family. Then you would have Christmas dinner with Clint and his family, before giving the kids the gifts you bought them. Before finally returning home, and having Carol force her way into your apartment with her space cat, dropping her off to “keep you company”, or so she said. You just think she got tired of Goose eating the leftovers, so piled the ginger onto you, then flying off back home after a long hug.

Goose wasn't all that bad.

You spent Christmas night with her on your chest, as you reminisced about your holidays with Natasha.

And that’s where you lay now, on the couch, a holiday movie playing in the background, as the cat purred away on your chest. Your hand idly stroking through her soft fur, eyes closed, remembering.

Six years later.

Still waiting.

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

Laughter flowed throughout the room.

Your laughter to be exact.

There Natasha stood, in the doorway of your shared bedroom, a short as all hell Santa costume clinging to her body, capturing every single one of her curves. Her hair was let down in waves, with a Santa hat sat atop, as to finish off the look.

“Stop laughing at me!”

“I’m sorry. It’s just, that I never expected to see you, dressed up like this.”

“Do you not like it?” Natasha asked, suddenly self-conscious. As she rolled her shoulders and tugged the skirt of the dress down some, altho it did nothing to hide her body, before wrapping her arms around herself.

At this, you jumped up from where you lay on the bed, moving over to Natasha and holding her arms in your hands, rubbing soothing circles into the flesh there.

“Now I did not say that.” A kiss to her cheek. “I think you look amazing.”

“So, you do like it?” Natasha asked, as her arms moved to circle around your neck.

“Does a bear shit on the woods?”

Natasha had to close her eyes because she rolled them so hard, shaking her head at you.

“You just had to say the least sexy thing ever, didn't you?”

Humming, you moved to pepper kisses down Natasha’s neck. “Don't worry. I can easily bring it back.”

“I know you can,” Natasha groaned. Walking you back to the bed and pushing you onto it, before straddling you. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas.” You smirked.

Christmas Eve will find me

Where the love light gleams

I'll be home for Christmas

If only in my dreams

07:22 PM. Christmas Eve.

The walk towards your green painted apartment door, had Natasha growing more and more anxious.

Of course, she couldn't wait to see you, hold you again, to have you wrap your arms around her body. To have you by her side.

Natasha had missed the bones of you, and she wasn't going to let you go again. Not for anything this world, or any other, would throw her way.

But there were still those lingering thoughts in the back of her head, the ones that made dread tingle up and down her spine. What if you had moved on with your life? What if you didn’t live there no more? What if you met someone else, and when she walked in, she would see stuff that she didn’t recognise as hers? What if-? What if-? What if-?

Before she knew it, Natasha was stood in front of your door. Hoping her key would work as she pushed it in, she turned it.

It works.

A bright smile lit up on Natasha’s face. Giving her some hope, that she knew she didn’t need.

The door swung open, showing the homely apartment to her. Her belongings adorned with yours, filled the rooms.

Oh, thank, God!

The pictures with you two together still adorned the place.

And then she knew. She knew you were still hers, and she was still yours.

Taking a hesitant step into the home, Natasha listened to the Christmas film playing from the tv in the living room. She carefully placed her duffel, which held all of her belongings from the past six years inside, down beside the door, sliding her boots off beside it. Continuing her way into the apartment, nothing but you on her mind.

Then she found you.

Natasha stopped in her tracks, seeing you once again startling her slightly, in the best way possible. Tears pooled in her eyes as she watched you doze on the couch, with a ginger cat, Carol’s cat, sprawled out on your chest.

She couldn't take it anymore. She had to touch you. Hold you. Kiss you. Anything! As long as she was next to you.

The cat gave a sweet, but slightly annoyed, little ‘mrrp’ when she was placed onto the chair next to the couch.

“Sorry, Goose,” Natasha whispered to the cat, that now glared her way.

Laying herself atop you lightly, Natasha began peppering your neck and face with slow kisses, whispering your name between each one. After a little while of this, your eyes slowly opened, only for your vision to be filled with Natasha's stunning face.

“Natasha?!” you yelped, sitting up quickly, almost causing said red-head to fall off your lap. But luckily, she wrapped her arms around your shoulders before she could.

“Hey, baby,” Natasha cooed.

Your eyes, as well as hers, filled with tears once again, continuing to flow down your cheeks.

Starting forward, you clasped your lips over hers, kissing her for all the kisses you missed, thanks to your time away from one another. Feeling the same intensity flow from her.

“Am I dreaming?” you mumbled against Natasha’s full lips.

Ouch!

She pinched you. She really pinched you.

You playfully glared at a smirking Natasha, as you rubbed your arm.

“Does that answer your question?”

You didn’t grace her with an answer. Only pulling her back in for another forceful kiss. Natasha muttering promises, that she was never going to leave you again, this is what she wanted. You. And nothing else.

And you believed her. Why wouldn't you?

From now on. You would have Natasha back by your side. Just like you had dreamed of, for the past six years.

The rest of the night was spent doing nothing but holding the other, kissing, touching. Just being together.

And tomorrow? You didn’t know what you would do.

But none of that mattered.

You had Natasha back.

And she had you.

Finally.

And she was never leaving again.

If only in my dreams

#original work #original fanfiction #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #marvel #MCU

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smearsyd · 4 years ago

Text

Safe in Your Arms | PCY | Part Two

Lee Seoyun had scars.

Perhaps she had been saved from physical scars, but they were visible enough to her. Thick reminders stood out in her mind that made words like worthless, not good enough, not grateful enough, unloveable, feel like a second skin. She didn’t think she was capable of healing— her parents had told her that she would always be broken, and weren’t your parents the ones who were supposed to know you the best?

So years ago, when Seoyun tragically spilled her hot chocolate all over the front of poor Park Chanyeol’s winter sweater, she was expecting severe backlash— not a forgiving smile and definitely not a new friend. Muchless, Seoyun never in a million years would have imagined that Park Chanyeol would soon be falling in love with someone like her. To be the person who made her, for the first time, feel safe in his arms.

This is Seoyun healed, despite her scars.

characters:

+ park chanyeol (exo), you as lee seoyun (because names are important)

what to expect:

+ christmas + boyfriend!au + fluff and romance

length:

+ 3 parts, bonus drabbles + 25kish in total

warnings:

+ sensitive topics + mentions of traumatic past + smut on part two

read it here: (updating… stay tuned)

+ part one + part two + part three + bonus + masterlist

author’s note:

+ i hope you enjoy it ❄️

if you want to be tagged, please reply to this post!

@bbhmystar @itsmesa

Christmas Eve

Perhaps Seoyun couldn’t explain to anyone exactly why, but she despised being late regardless. To her, being late was like turning all the burners on the stove on to high and walking away; being late is accepting possible disaster.

She didn’t have the mental security to deal with lateness. Even if she was trying.

“Please hurry.” She was pacing again. He looked like he was trying not to drop the soap.

“Seo,” he lightly chuckled like her predicament was somehow endearing, “we won’t be late.”

She glanced at the clock again and wondered if it would eventually wear out from her abundant attention. “We will if you don’t get ready in the next ten minutes and are walking out the door.” She gave him one of those pointed looks, the real distinct one. “Your parents live thirty minutes away and dinner is at six and—” the clock looked like it was glaring at her, but maybe that was her imagination, “— it’s 5:22!”

Chanyeol turned the water off, grabbing the towel that was extended from her hand. His fingers were sinking into his wet locks when she noticed the slight curl to his lips and the growing shine in his chocolate eyes.

She knew what was coming before it even happened, but that didn’t actually stop anything, or rather, it didn’t stop him.

Chanyeol was pouncing on her and landing small kisses all over her head before she could get out that he was going to crush her hair— that didn’t really matter, but at the same time, it did when you couldn't help but worry that people were going to notice and would they ask and what would she say and would they think that she can’t put herself together and what if Chan—

“—Baby?”

Seoyun hadn’t noticed his grip slowly waning and his once playful eyes dulling down to frosted worry. When did everything get so heavy, she thought? When would things change?

His fingers brushed back lines of distress from her forehead and worked what felt like a failed sigh from her lips.

“Sorry,” she breathed out, not wanting to seem like a burden, “I’m fine.”

It wasn’t always easy to tell what he was thinking, but sometimes, like now she would say, she could simply feel it. She could feel it in his calm eyes and that slight head tilt, and the stronghold he has around her as he pulls her against his chest. She could just feel it.

“Tell me what’s wrong, so we can fix it.” He murmured into her hair, his breath soft in the powerful kind of resignation that made it hard not to trust.

“I—” she started, but stopped.

It was hard to explain what was wrong when she didn’t even really understand it herself. Was it that she was worried about being late? Or was it actually something else? She should be thinking more about it and why it impacts her— wait, was that therapy talking? She’s too jumbled to be sure.

“I think it’s just this time of year… it’s not easy for me.” That sounded like a confession.

He hummed, patterns being drawn over her tensed shoulders.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We can call it a night on the couch, order that good Chinese from down the street. Watch cartoon reruns. I’m easy baby, and whatever makes you happy will make me happy.”

“Easy, huh?” A smirk finds its way onto her face as she involuntarily lands a resonating smack onto what she is now realizing is his bare bottom.

He sucked in his bottom lips with a chuckle, “I set myself up for that one didn’t I?”

“Ugh, huh.”

He didn’t move from around her when he tilted his head, waiting patiently for her real response. “What’s it gonna be, Seoyun?” He was gentle like that.

She couldn’t resist when she tucked her forehead under his chin, just resting there for a second in his embrace.

“Let’s go,” she finalized. “I want to go.”

“Are you sure?”

She was sure, she knew he could tell too. But it was his after thought of wanting to be sure that warmed her up on the inside, that made her fall for him in the first place.

Maybe it was that part of him that she was thankful for the most, the part that just wanted her to be happy.

Simple, really. Yet so hard to find.

“Yeah, Channie, I want to make you happy too.”

…

Seoyun looked down at her heaping plate with an internal sigh. Not only had Mr. Park insisted that she take extra helpings, but Baekhyun had somehow weaseled all of his vegetables onto her plate as well. Almost everyone was done and yet she still had plenty left to go.

Although somewhere deep inside her she knew that there was nothing wrong with that, she couldn't seem to get rid of the feeling that she was committing some terrible crime by possibly making them wait.

She could hear a nagging voice, almost too strongly in her ear, one she had thought she wouldn't hear again. It whispered in words of anxiety and hurt, telling her what she would be able to rationalize as not true if she could just take a breath. The whole morning had been so chaotic and nerve-wracking to Seoyun that she couldn't seem to get a grip when she needed it the most.

Christmas wasn't easy, it was hard to get over the fact that it was a time to spend with family and be thankful for one another. It was even worse when she thought of the fact that not only does she not get to do that now, but that she had been ripped of that right for her whole life.

Seoyun felt herself tensing up, her hands clammy in her lap as she struggled to take a reasoning breath. The claws were setting in again and instead of feeling lost in desperation, she was just left feeling angry. A raw, blood curdling angry. What did she ever do to deserve to feel this way? She never asked to be born into a house where she would never be understood. She didn't want to live a life where she had no control over her emotions and yet, time after time, no matter how strong she gets, a simple plate full of food at a table where everyone else is done is enough to set her over the edge.

It's not fair. It doesn't make any sense. She hates it more than anything else because in the end she knows that the cause of her anguish is only herself.

Those insistent voices telling her that she is a worthless burden are long gone. And even if they were still here, she knows now that it isn't the truth anyway.

But somehow she finds herself like she is now, chest aching, heart racing, tongue twisted, into a hole she isn't sure how she got into in the first place. She doesn't know what's worse anymore, feeling the claws of anxiety or knowing that they are always looming right around the corner.

And then his hand was in her lap and like a sail finally pulled up, the storm wasn’t so capable of knocking her overboard.

She watched through half-lidded eyes as Chanyeol reached over and discreetly exchanged their plates, placing his empty one on her setting and digging into her previous dish. Any other day, and maybe she would have nagged him for being greedy, but as his hand tightened around hers, soothing circles pressing into her palm, she understood.

She felt silly then, maybe even a little ridiculous, but it was hard not to think it when looking around the table. Baekhyun, Chanyeol’s best friend since high school, was talking animatedly about his new teaching job, saying something about how one of his students was basically a piano prodigy, better than me even. And then there was Chanyeol’s parents, their smiles and comments filling the room with a welcomeness that she never got to experience as a child.

The whole atmosphere— it was kind, it was gentle, it was accepting, it was loving. She didn’t have anything to worry about.

Chanyeol’s eyes met hers willingly, though they bore a tinge of worry, and she nodded a sign of ease to say I’m okay now.

Chanyeol leaned over and placed a delicate kiss on the side of her mouth, nuzzling his nose there before retracting his warm touch. Seoyun let out the breath she hadn't realized she had been holding and let him guide her back to shore.

“Seoyun darling,” his mom called, “please tell me you want leftovers, there’s so much left.”

She was right, the food on the table was enormous despite the amount they all ate. Regardless, the comment fell flat against her and she couldn’t help but to smile at the irony.

“Don’t harass my girlfriend,” Chanyeol whined around a mouthful of rice, sending his mother a meaningless glare.

“Girlfriend? Isn’t she more than that by now?” She retorted with a wink in Seoyun’s direction. “I’m expecting grandchildren by next Christmas, you hear me?”

Baekhyun pretended to be grossed out as Chanyeol’s food came spewing from his mouth. Seoyun patted his back, trying to hide her smile.

“Mom, stop.” He groaned.

Chanyeol's mom only chuckled silently before beginning to pick up the mess, including Chanyeol's now discarded plate. Seoyun and Baekhyun stood up to help, taking dishes in and out while carding the leftovers into individual sealed containers to be taken home. Baekhyun, for once, offered to wash the dishes and so Mrs. Park excused herself with a yawn, sending Seoyun a second wink before leaving the room.

Seoyun was just about to go scold Chanyeol for not helping out when she saw his animated silhouette talking with his father on the balcony. They seemed to be in some kind of deep conversation, Chanyeol's hands making wide gestures while his father smiled fondly. The whole exchange made her heart warm, but she did wonder what they could be talking about.

“Ugh, Seo? Anyone in there?” She heard from her left ear, a hand and face popping into view. She shrunk back, peeling her eyes from Chanyeol before sending Baekhyun a look that screamed bro, boundaries.

“You gonna help with these dishes or keep eye fucking Chanyeol from across the room?”

“You may be taller than me, but not by much so I’d watch what I say if I were you.”

He quirked an eyebrow up at her, obviously not threatened at all. “Woah, is this your way of saying that you’re a closet dom, because damn, I could get behind that.”

She reached over and was punching his arm before he could even bask in his own joke. Baekhyun relented with an open mouthed laugh, the one everyone knew him by, and went back to drying the dishes.

“Seriously, though,” he started up again and she glared so quickly he almost dropped the plate, shaking his head at her. “I was about to say thank you. What were you thinking?” He wagged his eyebrows.

She ignored the second half of his statement, “thank you? For what?”

Baekhyun sat the towel down and faced her; his playful demeanor was slowly molding to something more serious, but still soft and sunny like how she imagined him in her head.

“Thanks for taking care of my best friend.”

Seoyun couldn't help herself when she smiled in relief, though she wasn’t sure what she was relieved of. “I’m pretty sure he takes care of me, not the other way around.”

He looked as if he was pondering that for a second before letting a long nah drop from his mouth. “It may seem that way to you, but take you out of the equation and then suddenly there’s nothing left.”

He said it so simply. And yet—

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he dragged out, “that he loves you, like a lot.”

She knew that, right? She knows he loves her, but of course, sometimes a reminder is nice.

“Now that, I can’t deny.” Came a voice from behind her. Baekhyun simply smiled that innocent, but not so innocent smile of his and dipped out of the kitchen, leaving her and that voice alone.

“What were you two talking about?” Chanyeol asked, coming into view with a lopsided grin plastered on his face.

“Oh nothing,” she breathed out. “Just about how I haven’t been kissed under the mistletoe yet.”

He hummed, wrapping her in his arms and swaying them softly back and forth. “Well,” he smiled, closer now than ever, “I guess I’ll have to do something about that…”

Yeah, she thought, reminders are nice.

…

Seoyun lets out a loud laugh at Chanyeol's impression of Baekhyun's mortified face during dinner when he saw that the first course was cucumber salad as they enter their home, barely remembering to kick the snow off of their shoes or hang their jackets in the right spot.

Seoyun's heart feels light and happy as she lets Chanyeol lead her upstairs into their room, his hand snug in hers. She realizes that this is a feeling she only seems to be able to experience when she is with him. It feels special, like a treasure they dug up together.

"Thank you for tonight."

He sent her a soft glance as he closed the bedroom door and began to hang his suit jacket. She began fiddling with the buttons on her dress, her gaze down towards the floor. She's never been good with expressing what she means, not with so much constantly running through her train wreck of a mind, but right now she feels like she has to get something off of her chest.

Maybe it was the way Chanyeol had looked at her earlier under the mistletoe, or when he exchanged his plate for hers, but either way, she feels so loved and cared for that it almost hurts. Hurts in the way that she’s expanding, growing, and trying to tell herself that she does deserve it. Chanyeol means everything to her and she is ready for him to know that her love isn't what it once was— that after everything she thinks she is finally accepting that love and giving it back just as equally.

She thinks she knows her worth now, which is saying something.

Comparing how she first felt for him to now would be like setting a candle and a forest fire next to each other, you can't deny either, yet the difference is almost laughable. She wants to be able to tell him that her love is deeper than the first kiss they shared in her stuffy car, the cup of hot chocolate he made when he came home to her shivering under his doorstep as a crying mess, when she spent the night for the first time and he sang her to sleep as she fought off nightmares of screaming parents, when she told him about what really happened to her before she met him.

Each memory shared made her love for him grow deeper and deeper, but something has changed now and she isn't sure if she can contain how she feels any longer. She wants to be with him for a long, long time, she just doesn't know how to express it when they’ve already been together for so long.

“Seoyun?” She hears him call, his voice tender and laced with something so raw that she can’t seem to meet his eyes. “What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?”

Seoyun looked up with confused eyes and found Chanyeol's worried ones as he came to her side, his large hand resting on her small cheek. She felt him brush away tears that she didn't know she had shed. She sniffed and let a secretive smile stretch onto her lips.

"I just love you a lot, that's all."

A surprised look fell onto his face and he opened his mouth to respond, but promptly shut it closed again. She knows this is because she rarely ever tells him how she really feels. Partially because she had never said those three words growing up, but also partially because she was afraid. What if her parents were right and she really was unloveable, worthless, not good enough? Would he leave her for someone better and she would have to pick up all of her broken I love you's?

"Say it again." He whispers, the shock now gone from his face and now in place of it were candles flaming to life. Seoyun doesn't mind saying it again because unlike then, she is sure of Chanyeol's love and now she wants him to be sure of hers.

"I love you."

"Again." He persists with a throaty voice, pulling her so close she could only look into his swirling eyes. He rubbed his nose into the skin beside hers, taking in a deep breath that stirred something in her stomach awake.

"I love you so much." She half moaned when his hands trailed slowly down her body, squeezing her in all of the right places to feel his love. The look in his eyes was something stronger now, stronger than the times before, as his lips planted kisses on the side of her open mouth.

She thought then that he must understand.

She felt her hands unbutton his shirt and slip inside to explore his smooth chest. He hanged his head on her shoulder, bringing his lips up to line her neck with fiery kisses.

"Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me how you love me."

"I love that you always know what I’m thinking, what I need." She gasps out when he sucks on that spot on her neck. "I love that you stay up late just to make sure I don’t have to fall asleep alone. I love that you always tell me you missed me even when I’ve only been gone a few minutes." Chanyeol urges her to continue, his hand coming under the hem of her dress and playing with the waistband of her underwear, making her mouth go dry as she tries to speak.

"I love how you will pretend not to know me in public if I accidentally burp even if you had just done it too.” He pinched her where it counted, a half chuckle falling from his open mouth. “I love how you touch me so softly and carefully like you want me to know just how precious you think I am."

She could feel Chanyeol's fast heart beat as she palms his chest. His breaths have gotten quicker and he was letting out deep groans that were doing something dangerous to her as he moved against her.

"Tell me I'm the only man you'll ever love." He gets out into her skin, nipping lightly at her ear with a sense of desperation as his hands roam greedily around her body. "Tell me that you're happy here in my arms, that you won't ever leave me."

She’s not afraid anymore. She wants all of it.

"Tell me baby, I need to know." He whispers again.

The words catch in her throat as waves of what reads as desperation and an aching need swirls within his aflamed eyes. She can’t bare it any longer.

And then Seoyun was reaching up and smashing their lips together. She wasn't sure what came over her, but it seemed inevitable in the moment that they would kiss.

Chanyeol stood motionless, shocked by her actions, before easily giving in. A deep groan escaped his mouth that she felt down in her stomach as he moved his lips in sync with hers, putting his hand softly on the back of her head to deepen the kiss. He desperately clutched her to him as he traced his lips around hers, as if rediscovering her all over again.

Seoyun has always loved his hair and now that she could run her fingers through it anytime she wished, she buried her hands into it, twirling the locks around her nimble digits. There was no more space between them, but she wanted to be closer, close enough to feel like they were one.

Chanyeol seemed to understand her want, or really, her need. She pulled at his unbuttoned shirt, sliding it off of his shoulders and running her hands hotly over his milky skin. He latched his mouth on the base of her collar, his favorite spot, as his large hands ran up the side of her thighs and settled on her midriff with one gruff word, off.

Seoyun's mind was reeling with desire as she reached down to tug the dress off of her body, not caring any longer if it ended up crumbled or not. Her bones felt like they were breaking from relief as she fell back onto the bed, arms open for him as he followed.

Chanyeol was flush against her, all barriers between them vanishing, her body shivering in want for him. Her ankles became locked behind his, his mouth planting soft, lingering kisses on her exposed torso. His breath warm as it traced all of her skin as if trying to implant her whole self in his mind forever.

"Tell me," he whispered against her lips as he inhaled her greedily. "Tell me what I want to hear and then let me show you how much it means to me."

Seoyun felt over the edge already, her stomach tight in a knot, but his words were close to pushing her over. She wanted him almost more than anything, but she didn't want him to show her, she wanted to be the one showing him.

"You know I love you," she moaned into his rough cheek. "Without you," she confessed. "I don't make any sense."

Her hands ran along his arms and she swore she would leave bruises on his skin. He felt strong, though, and steady above her as he pushed into her like a wave crashing into the ocean.

"You're mine.”

"Always," came his immediate response, his voice like smooth honey as he kissed the back of her hand and fell into her once more.

Seoyun felt like her chest was ripping apart, she loved him so much. Fire was raging up and down her body as she tried to file each gesture into her memory. His hands gentle against her bare legs, the undoing gasp he made into her shoulder from her confession, the way they lost themselves into one another— she would remember it all for a long time.

Seoyun swore she would never forget, for the rest of her life, this moment. The way he called her name like every other word had been lost and the final kiss they shared before he collapsed into her arms, tired but full of one another. He kissed the crown of her damp forehead and she realized that he was home, and always would be. He was big enough to shield her from the nightmares of her past and she was finally enough, more than enough, for someone else.

"You promise?" He asked one last time, his voice soft and fragile-like.

"I promise."

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