#tis the season for vague holiday shenanigans

[vincentvalenfine]

solstice kiss

vincent valentine/reader alcohol use, fluff, he just deserves a mistletoe kiss ok? wc: 621

After the festivities at the bar die down finally, late into Winterfest's last hurrah before the solstice ends, you spend the last few sips of your drink giving everyone an appropriate show of affection. Hugs for Tifa, Yuffie, and Barret, a solemn nod and fistbump for Cloud, mane ruffling for Red, and then you're headed out the door to walk home, just a little tipsy. Okay, maybe buzzed... it's a pretty decent buzz. Too bad the cool night air will make it dissipate faster.

A shadow detaches itself from behind a lamppost and begins following silently. You give him about half a block of pretending to be oblivious before deciding to make your move.

(If Vincent didn't want to be noticed, he wouldn't be. A former Turk is much better at tailing people than this, so it's clearly for your benefit.)

"Geeeeeeez, it's just so cold out here! It'd be so nice if some tall, handsome stranger decided to help me warm up..." You talk louder than you know is necessary, and still manage to start just a little when his arm settles over your shoulders with the warmth of his cloak draping there as well.

"You don't need to shout," Vincent says mildly, and you lean into him with a pleased grin.

"Weeeell, no. But it was funny."

He snorts at that, and keeps your tipsy stumbles from dropping you to the sidewalk on the way back to your apartment. The good news is his warmth helps you stay feeling pleasantly buzzed, and at your door the world still has a warm glow to it that'll disappear once you go to sleep. Vincent has already slipped your keys from your pocket to get the door open, giving you the chance to lean into him some more and soak up the feeling of having his arm around you. He's so absurdly dextrous even with that gauntlet, flicking through the keys precisely before the right one lands in his fingers.

"Hey, Vincent?"

He glances down at you while opening the door, brow quirked in wordless invitation to continue, and you wait for just the right moment beginning to step through the doorway. "Look up."

Eyes darting up, and he spies your well-laid trap: the sprig of mistletoe taped to the top of your doorframe inside the apartment, hanging above your heads as you smile innocently. He looks down at you again, brows lifted with surprise while his cowl hides the rest of his expression. It can't hide the color starting to seep across his face though.

"It's good luck to kiss right before midnight on the solstice you know," you tell him with a mischievous little grin.

"That is still five minutes away."

His deadpan tone doesn't deter you, and you slip your index fingers through a beltloop each to pull him snugly up against you. A little grunt escapes him at the move but he doesn't pull away, and his hands come to settle on your waist, though he doesn't yet lean down for you.

"You are still tipsy," he murmurs.

"I like you when I'm sober too, Vincent," you reply, feeling the alcohol's warmth in your chest and your own giddiness at his proximity in your cheeks. He hums quietly at that. Then he leans down finally and presses his lips to yours, soft and fleeting before he's already pulling back. It's not enough, it's never enough of course, but you're still enthralled by the softness in his expression, the warmth in his eyes reserved just for you.

"You will catch a cold like this."

He starts ushering you inside, and even though you pout at him you still let it happen - it's too precious when he's protective of you.

[omgkatsudonplease]

[image description: a small angel ornament made out of a dough clay-like substance hangs from a christmas tree decorated with red garlands.]

tis the damn season, a fic by @omgkastusdonplease

Sam and Eileen would be going to the party together. Dean would have no one. And that meant he’d be relegated to at least three hours of his own father complaining about his eldest son being an immature fuckup who thinks making videos for YouTube counts as a job… on his own.

“Castiel!” he shouts to the living room. “Screw it, I changed my mind. Come back.”

Castiel is back in an instant, scruff and all. Dean vaguely thinks about the angel that had appeared to the virgin Mary, and wonders if that one had looked at all angelic, or if all angels were supposed to look like discount Nathan Fillion.

“This is a vessel designed specifically to appeal to you,” says Castiel, looking rather smug.

Dean resists the urge to flip him the bird.

(Dean needs backup for a holiday party. His prayers are answered by divine intervention. Non-hunter supernatural holiday shenanigans AU)

read here on ao3!