#wiaww2021

[starlightsearches]

Mistletoe and Holly

Part 1 │Part 2│Part 3

Modern! Armitage Hux x Femme! Reader

Notes: Hello all! I gotta be honest, these last few months have not been awesome for me. The school year has been super tough, and I have not had nearly as much time or energy for writing as I wanted. I wasn't planning on doing anything for Christmas, since I didn't think I'd be able to finish it, but after seeing @cyantomatos incredible winter prompt list, and reading @girl-next-door-writes lovely 10 days of Huxmas, I couldn't not be in a Christmasy mood. This is what I came up with, and I'm super excited to share it with you. All three parts are written, and I'll be posting them every other day this week.

This is heavily inspired by girl-next-door-writes 10 days series, so if you like this even a little bit, PLEASE go and check out her stuff.

5. Chocolate / Jewelry / Cold from cyantomatos winter prompt list

Warnings: just language, fluff and some angst

“Is this really your house?”

Your eyes are wide, and bright with reflections of the white-yellow lights adorning every eave and branch of Brendol’s estate. Thick flecks of snow catch in your hair in a kind of makeshift crown, too cold to melt just yet.

“It’s my father’s,” Armitage answers without really answering. He’d never spent longer than a few weeks here after his father moved to America. They were miserable breaks away from various boarding schools, until he was old enough to elect to stay in the empty dormitories for the duration of Christmas. Curled up alone in the frozen picture windows with some monotonous morality tale from the library was still an improvement to the seemingly never-ending days locked in his father’s hallways, always awaiting some new torture disguised as celebration.

You put your hand out on his arm, urging him to stop, and the world goes quiet, absent his echoing footsteps and frosted breaths.

“You’re not royalty are you? If you’re in line for the throne you have to tell me.” There’s laughter in your voice—an inside joke after all the Hallmark movies you’d forced him to watch during long nights of dull casework.

Armitage decides to play along, albeit a bit more macabre. “Only if my father dies.”

It’s difficult to hide his smile as he treks on towards the door of the colossal estate, listening to the clack of your footfalls on the cleared cobblestone drive as you catch up, taking him by the arm.

He shouldn’t feel this way—overcome by such a luminous sensation every time you touch him, like he’s warming his hands by a fire. He reminds himself, over and over and over again, that you’re friends. Just friends. Work acquaintances, really.

Although, he knows that’s not really true either. Work acquaintances don’t agree to spend the holidays together. Work friends aren’t supposed to be your date to family Christmas parties.

Armitage sighs through his nose. It’s awfully cliche of him to be head over heels for his pretty paralegal, and it’s awfully depressing that you’ll never feel the same way for him.

You manage to reach the covered doorstep without incident, despite the thin sheen of ice and the treacherous height of your heels. He pauses for a moment, holding you back from knocking on the door just yet.

“I have something for you,” he says, reaching nervously into the inner pocket of his coat.

Armitage hadn’t been sure if he would give you the gift. He’d purchased it a month ago, but the receipt still sits folded crisply in his wallet. There were a few times he almost returned it, planning instead to buy something a little less insinuative—like a gift card, or fuzzy socks. He stopped himself each time, at the thought of you wearing it.

He places the dark jewelry box into your gloved hands, and you look up at him through your lashes with a smirk. “Isn’t it against the rules to open a gift on Christmas eve?”

“I thought you might want to put it on now.” He hopes you’ll attribute the rosiness in his cheeks to the wintry chill, and he watches intently as you pop the lid on the jewelry box. Your soft gasp turns to a cloud when it escapes your parted lips.

“Armitage,” you whisper, the tip of one finger brushing along the delicate chain, “it’s beautiful.”

His chest fills with pride, the tension finally releasing from his shoulders. It had been quite the gamble—buying you jewelry. He wanted something understated, classic. Something appropriate for the office, and not overtly romantic, but still personal. Something that would remind you of him.

You lift the necklace from the box, holding it up to the light, admiring the pearl pendant that hangs from it’s center.

“Will you help me put it on?”

He swallows hard, and takes it from your hands, along with the box, tucking the latter back into his pocket. You turn away from him, pulling the scarf from around your neck, faint goosebumps spreading across your skin now that it's been exposed to the frigid air.

His hands shake as he undoes the clasp, circling the chain around your neck, his gloved fingers brushing against the neckline of your coat. He can’t believe he manages to secure it on the first try.

“How does it look?”

You turn back to face him, patting your hair to make sure it’s still in place. It suits you perfectly—the chain sitting gracefully against your skin, the delicate pearl resting just below the hollow of your throat.

“Lovely,” he breathes. He’s not talking about the necklace.

The lack of light—or maybe it’s the cold—must be playing tricks on his mind, because he’s almost certain he can feel you leaning in towards him.

“Thank you.” Your voice is a whisper in the darkness.

“Don’t mention it.” He whispers back.

He can feel that he’s leaning in, now, too, and he catches himself, clearing the air with a cough. “It’s well deserved—for all the hard work you do.” Your eyes go wide, your gaze falling to your shoes.

Jesus. Had that been a moment between you? If it was, he'd managed to fuck it up spectacularly. Before he can let the weight of his failures register, he knocks loudly on the door, and it opens for him immediately.

You’re welcomed in by Brendol’s staff—two men who begin helping you both out of your coats and scarves and gloves before ushering them away as quickly as they can manage, and you’re left standing in the entryway in your party clothes.

It looks just as he remembers it. The tree takes up most of the enormous room, reaching practically to the ceiling, the star perched at the top so high that Armitage has to crane his neck to take it in. The entire thing is dripping with lights and ornaments, each bow weighed down with gold and silver bobbles the circumference of his hand. The rest of the space is equally festive—decked in garlands and ribbons, although they’re a little more tasteful. That must have been Maratelle’s doing—Brendol wouldn’t bother with those; no one would see them as a status symbol, unlike the tree.

Armitage restrains himself from rolling his eyes.

He’s about to say something to you, maybe make a wry comment about the overwhelming smell of pine, but he stops. You’re staring at the decor, lips parted, with an expression that could only be described as wonder.

Armitage softens. Without the thought of past misery, without all the ire he holds for his father, it’s like The Nutcracker come to life. A winter fairytale—the kind that children dream about, and probably adults as well, although a little more privately. It must be, in your eyes, the makings of a perfect Christmas.

He wishes he could feel that way, too.

Any possibility of that is immediately dashed into pieces—Brendol and Maratelle have walked into the room.

Unlike the house, his father looks much worse than he remembers. Gaunt, with bloodshot eyes and dark creases beneath them, Brendol hides his sneer behind a sip from his whiskey glass, and it’s clearly not his first of the night, given the way his hand shakes. Something must have happened to put him in such a sour mood on his favorite event of the year. Maybe one of the staff addressed him and forgot to add “sir” at the end. Or maybe he’s just now realized he can’t spend the next two days humiliating Armitage for coming to Christmas alone, again.

“Father,” Armitage offers him the barest form of greeting he thinks he can get away with, ushering you forward. With both Brendol’s eyes and yours on him, it’s become difficult to think, despite all his planning. He’s not sure whose expectations he wants most to meet.

He settles on an awkward grab at your shoulder, pulling you a little closer and then hesitating when you stiffen, like an estranged relative has forced you into an unwanted hug.

You move past his embarrassing stumble after your initial hesitation, stepping close against his side with a self-conscious laugh, your torso nestled against his, and the smell of your perfume in the air. He tries to continue without incident, despite the sudden lightheadedness he feels.

“This is—”

You practically lunge at his father, shaking Brendol’s hand with a jittery vigor just as he stutters out your name. Brendol manages a not-overtly offensive grunt in response—either too drunk or too stunned to admonish you for the perceived offense. When his gaze flits back to Armitage, though, his jaw is tense with rage.

Oh god—he should have prepared you for this. He had plenty of opportunities—in the office, on the couch at his apartment, eating your first meals of the day together late into the night. It just . . . it had never felt right. They were holy places when he was with you, and inviting the thought of Brendol felt like sacrilege.

And he didn’t necessarily see it as a problem if his family thought you were a couple, even if he hadn't said the words out loud.

Maratelle is slightly more polite during her own introduction, shaking your hand and offering Armitage a small nod. There’s never been any love between himself and Maratelle, but they can at least commiserate in the fact that they’re both forced to put up with Brendol.

She attempts to make pleasant conversation, asking about the drive and the weather, but every word said is overshadowed by Brendol’s stern glare. Armitage ushers you away soon after that, not wanting to spend a single second in the same room as his father if he’s not being forced to do so.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you’re muttering the words under your breath, holding your face in both hands as he steers you towards the nearest waiter. Grabbing two glasses of champagne, he hands one to you, which you drink from immediately, staring at the ceiling like you’re hoping to be raptured, “I am so sorry.”

He almost chokes on his champagne, before righting himself, watching you incredulously. What could you be apologizing for?

“What?”

“I completely embarrassed you back there,” you respond, shifting your weight from foot to foot, looking anywhere but his eyes, “I was so nervous, and I wasn’t even thinking, and I just . . . I wanted them to like me.”

Your voice grows smaller with each word, and the sounds rattle around in Armitage’s brain, becoming more jumbled by the second, like someone has vigorously shaken a box of puzzle pieces.

“My father doesn’t like anyone.”

It’s not the best response he could come up with, considering what you just told him, but it is the truth. You do at least laugh, somewhat pulled from your worries, nudging him in the side with your arm.

“Come on, be serious! He must like you, at least a little.”

He’d never understand it—how sure you are that he’s worth something, just because you manage to tolerate his presence. You’ve come to his defense before, in the breakroom while the interns bitched about his behavior and none of them assumed he’d be walking by. It’s different, hearing this kind of praise outside the office, and to his face. It’s not just that you think he’s intelligent, or hard-working, or good at what he does. You think that he is good.

He’d take that over approval from Brendol any day.

Armitages offers you his arm; he should be introducing you to the rest of the guests, but he whispers one last assurance, hoping you’ll feel at ease.

“I’d be more worried if he did like you.”

There’s people in almost every room on the first floor, chatting cooly and filling up on hors d'oeuvres before the meal has even started. A few of the guests are family—distant cousins and such who strain to remember Armitage’s name—and old colleagues of Brendol’s. The overwhelming majority are Armitage’s former coworkers, still employed by his father at First Order Industries. The Christmas Eve dinner has been a tradition since Armitage’s childhood, and while most of the guests would probably prefer to spend this time in their own homes and with their families, they’re forced to be here—either too desperate for Brendol’s approval or too afraid of his displeasure.

No one is excited to see him. He’s not bothered by it—he hadn’t wanted to see any of them either. The mutual displeasure is almost as satisfying as the way their eyes go wide when they see you on his arm.

Dinner starts soon after that, just as he'd planned; he had hoped to arrive in time to avoid the majority of the socializing. You keep at his side, following his lead on the way to the expansive dinner table, overflowing with glittering china plates and delicate glassware.

It would be nice, under different circumstances, to be here with you. He’d be able to appreciate the way your lips curl up when he pulls your chair, or the soft weight of your hand on his arm when he sits down beside you. If this were some other party, he’d give you all of his attention, whispering in your ear and sharing smiles over dim candlelight, alone together in a sea of people.

While it’s not what he wants, the dinner isn’t overtly painful. Brendol is just out of range for polite conversation. Instead, you’re entertained through the courses, talking animatedly with the wives of Brendol’s business partners.

He’s certain they’re searching for gossip, excited to debrief over tea in the following weeks and dissect each and every minute gesture you’re making. You play the part beautifully, to your credit—recounting your stories animatedly, moments he had forgotten or passed by without much thought. They carry more weight told from your point of view; he almost believes it, too.

Praise falls generously from your lips as you describe the pro bono cases Armitage has taken on this year, and when his father scoffs; you don’t even stumble.

He wants to stare openly, but he restrains himself. How easily you’ve taken away Brendol’s power. You’ve reduced him to a petty, complaining drunk without a word, and it strikes Armitage in the chest: that’s all that he is.

Could it be possible that you’re right about him, as well?

The night grows long, and yawns are interspersed by bites of rich chocolate tart and sips of warm brandy. Your hand rests comfortably on his wrist, your fingers drawing calming shapes as you explore the landscape of his skin, and he decides finally that bringing you here might be the best idea he’s ever had.

“A room has already been made up for you,” Maratelle says to you, sitting stiffly in her chair, “It's in the guest wing of the house, I'm sure Armitage can show you after dinner—”

“Jesus Christ, Mara,” Brendol interrupts, finally drunk enough that not even the watching eyes of his guests can keep him quiet. “He’s a grown man, not a child. They can stay in his room. Save the maids the trouble of two sets of soiled sheets.”

Fucking hell. Armitage’s face bursts into flame, and Maratelle fumes silently, staring at her husband with wide eyes.

“That would be indecent, dear,” she seethes through clenched teeth, just barely managing to maintain her decorum. It’s the only thing that sustains her, in this god awful relationship. She’d rather be dead than divorced.

Brendol rolls his eyes, slamming his glass down on the table, ensuring that anyone on the other side of the room who may have missed the spectacle are now fully aware.

“My god, Mara, he has a place of his own now. It’s hardly uncommon for a man his age to share a bed with someone he’s seeing.”

It’s imperceptible to anyone but him—the glance Brendol sends him across the table, so quick he could almost pretend he’d imagined it, if he didn’t know better.

Damn him. There’s know way to tell how long Brendol had known that your whole relationship is a farce, but it doesn’t matter. He knows, and he’s determined to ruin his son over this little charade.

“I think,” Armitage speaks up, just barely keeping his anger at bay, “we might all be more comfortable with keeping the arrangements as they are. I wouldn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

Maratelle sends him an appreciative nod, turning back to see what Brendol will say now that Armitage has sided with her. She doesn’t know any better; Armitage’s side is always the losing side when it comes to Brendol.

His father is about to speak again, smiling wickedly, living for the chance to toy with his son.

“Actually—” all three of their heads turn to you, hearing your interruption, and Armitage can scarcely breathe, “I think it would be a wonderful idea if we stayed together.”

Your eyes are only on him, fingers sliding between his own, and he’s sure he won’t live long enough to see how this all ends.

“Of course, if it’s alright with you.” You turn back to Brendol, waiting for his permission—his surrender. You’ve beaten him at the game he designed in his favor.

Brendol grits his teeth, fuming silently, but he nods, and the other guests slacken, grateful that the conflict is over.

Your fingers are still entwined and you give his hand a gentle squeeze of reassurance. He barely notices. All his thoughts are taken up by the knowledge that in no time at all, he’ll be laying in the darkness beside you. Alone.

He offers you a pathetic attempt at a smile and takes a long drink from his brandy glass, kept sane only by the thought that there will be an entire year’s worth of days before he has to spend Christmas with his father again.

That is, if he survives this one.

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[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 5

Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader

Prompts: Chocolate / Jewelry / Cold

Warnings: V romantic and V sweet

Word Count: 556

A/N: Droids are my favorite characters in SW so of course BB-8 had to be in on it. Credit of this challenge goes to @cyantomatos

You feel like something is off with Poe today. You can’t put your finger on exactly what has changed about him though. You sit and wonder about it as you eat lunch, analyzing details you remember. Maybe his hair is a little more frizzy? His shirt is a little too loose?

You think back on your morning with him, How for once you were able to wake up in his arms, both of you sleeping later than you should have. It was a rush to get ready, you dashing out of the door before him but even then he seemed different. You didn;t think he was nervous about his mission tomorrow, but his droid unit BB-8 had been especially quiet today. Odd behavior from your boyfriend and his droid.

Usually those two find you and bug you every moment they can spare. You didn't see Poe all day, but you told yourself he's preparing for his mission so it shouldn't be that worrisome. You continue to try and not wonder or worry as you mindlessly flip through some news articles on your holopad. It's taken your mind off things while you wait for Poe to come home. It's distracted you enough that  a small thump on your leg makes you jump and look down at BB-8.

You smile and lean over to pat his little head as he chirps and beeps away telling you about a… “A present? Poe got me a present? Poor thing, he's making you be his errand droid.” You coo at the little droid as he opens the small compartment in front of his body and he holds out a ring? You take it and stare in confusion, turning it towards you and tilting it in the low light and then it hits you.

It’s not just a ring, it's the ring. The one Poe has worn faithfully around his neck for the entire time you’ve known him. Your brain clicks into overdrive as you try and process your emotions as BB-8 wiggles around in anticipation and looks between you and the doorway. You look up to see Poe, happiness and nerves swirling in his dark eyes. He scans your face and takes a few steps to kneel in front of you. You're breathless with tears as you say his name. “Poe. This is your mother’s ring...are you?” The question hangs in the air as he reaches for your shaky hand.

Poe settles your hand on his cheek and kisses your palm before turning back to face you. “It was my mothers, but I'm hoping from now on it will be yours. If you'll have me.” An indignant squawk from the droid at his side makes you both chuckle. “Sorry buddy, If you’ll have me AND him.” The brightest smile lights up Poe's face, making the stubble under your hand scratch your palm and soft creases form outside his eyes. You feel like you're in a daze as you look at him, so beautifully perfect. Poe is the brightest star you have in this galaxy filled with unrest and war. You say nothing and instead slide your hand to grip a fistful of curls at the nape of his neck and bring him in for a kiss. 

After a moment Poe breaks away breathlessly and bites his lip. “So that’s a yes, right? You never said it but I'm gonna to assume-” You make sure his lips are too preoccupied to keep babbling, calming his nerves with a deep kiss.

“Yes Poe, my answer is yes. So shut it and kiss me again Dameron.” You pout as he pulls away, but instead he gently takes the ring and slides it onto your finger. He takes a moment to stare down at it on your hand before kissing the ring gently. He looks back to you with unshed tears in his eyes and does what you asked, only softer and sweeter.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message

[asirensrage]

Winter Prompt 7. Late Night | Love Language | Comfort

I don't have a title for this prompt. It's just something small. I wrote it thinking of Sam and Michelle. It could work for Kate and Steve (in the far future lol). It's up to you. Rating: G ----

“You okay?”

She clutched at the cup, hoping that the warmth of the hot chocolate would seep into her soul. Anything to make her feel a bit more settled. More alive. A blanket dropped on her shoulders and she smiled to herself as she felt him tuck it around her.

He sat down next to her, thigh pressed against hers. She leaned against him, breathing in his scent. Snow was falling lightly, slowly covering the cars in the driveway and she wished she could see the stars. She felt like she was home when she could see them.

He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer against him. He didn’t speak or press her for answers on why she was sitting outside at three am. He just sat.

She felt herself relax further against him. It was a blessing that he could just sit in silence with her, enjoying each other’s company without actually needing to do something. It had taken them a while to be able to actually settle, but when they weren’t fighting, when she wasn’t trying to run from him and everything he offered, they were good together. These moments highlighted that.

“I’m okay,” she finally offered. “I just miss them.”

He shifted slightly. “Yeah.” He didn’t offer any apologies anymore. There wasn’t anything that hadn’t already been said. She missed her home, her family, and the holidays always somehow made that longing and grief worse.

“Did I wake you?” She turned her head slightly to look at him for the first time since he joined her. His hair was tousled and he was wearing a coat over the shirt he had been sleeping in.

“No. Just woke up and you weren’t there. Wanted to make sure you were good.”

She smiled at him. Warmth blooming in her chest at his words. “Here.” She pulled back, moving to open the blanket he had tucked around her and motioning him to join her in it. It took a few moments for them to manage to cover both of their backs and she was soon pressed against him. It was warmer like this. The man ran heat like a furnace, she was surprised he even needed a coat. But then again, she reminded herself that he thought it was colder than she did. She swung her legs to rest over his and leaned her head against his shoulder. His arm wrapped around her back and held her close.

“Thanks.”

She felt him press a kiss against her hair before he leaned his cheek against it. “Anytime.” They stayed there, cuddled together on the porch steps and watched the snowfall.

taglist: @raith-way @ocfairygodmother @lokitrasho @zeleniafic @jewelswrites-ish @tessasocs @reggiemantleholdmyhand-tle @chickensarentcheap

[hogwarts-is-my-wonderland]

Writing in a Winter Wonderland Challenge

Day 16: Cabin│Storm│Quiet

Pairing: Barry Allen / Karen Starr (OC)

Timeline: set after the events of Crisis on Infinite Earths.

For a cabin in the middle of nowhere, there was too much noise around. The howling of the wind, the shaking trees, the snow building up outside the wooden building—and yet, Karen found everything comforting.

Not once did she complain to Barry. Not when he told her he'd rented a cabin for a short Christmas getaway or when he showed her the clothes he'd bought for each. She didn't bring up the usual argument about her being capable of paying all this when she was the millionaire in the relationship nor did she argue about the three-day period of their vacation.

Frankly speaking, she wasn't sure this wasn't a dream.

She sat down in front of the fireplace, watching the flames crackle. Karen focused on that sound, drowning the storm outside.

But it did nothing to abate the one going inside her.

Barry dropped in front of her with a sigh, leaning his whole body on her legs until she opened them and now his head came to her chest. He was, to her amusement, still wearing the many layers of sweaters under his parka, a stark contrast against her flimsy white turtleneck shirt. Speedsters did not stand the cold, after all.

Another mystery of this surprise: Barry could not have thought this on his own. He wouldn't have willingly chosen the one place on earth where he was at his weakest.

Or maybe that was the point. No one would expect to find them there.

"You're thinking too loudly," Barry said.

She smiled weakly. "Am I?" Her fingers threaded through his hair.

He melted at her touch, falling completely into her embrace.

"You are. I hate it when you do that."

She pulled at his hair. The noise she got in response was lewd.

"Didn't you say you loved my smarts?"

He chuckled. "Okay, it's a love/hate relationship. You know how much I like your laser focus... but when you think too much about... whatever, it's like you're on another planet."

"Loved the pun there," she commented dryly.

"You're not with me. And I want you to be with me all time."

Her mechanical heart thumped loudly at that. She’d had an inkling about the reason behind this trip.

"Who gave you the speech?"

"Cisco and Caitlin." He turned his head so he could look at her face. "You?

"Iris." Her eyes darted. "And Mattie."

His face twitched. "They don't have a right to butt into our relationship."

"They do it because they care." She took a deep breath. "And because they aren't wrong—we are getting too co-dependent." They had moved in together not a day or two after the Anti-Monitor's defeat, just shy of Karen having her memories fixed. With her strength and his speed, they'd settled down in five hours. Then Barry had formally requested a Leave of Absence at the station and Karen had asked Bruce to send her replacement at the New York headquarters.

They only left their new—old?—place whenever a Flash emergency happened. Barry couldn't be away from her for minutes (to him, it was akin to hours), couldn't stop touching any part of her to ensure she was alive and real. Karen was no better, asking him all sort of things��whether it was from their shared experiences, the memories she had from Power Girl, and even daring to bring up Divine—just to confirm she wasn't going crazy.

Team Flash hadn't liked it. They'd tried to get them both at STAR Labs and when that ultimately failed, they'd cornered them separately.

Barry's response? Renting a cabin in the outskirts of Keystone City and stranding them in the middle of a storm.

And people said Karen was dramatic.

"They can't blame us," Barry complained. "You died, I died, then Oliver rebooted the universe, and you didn't remember me but the Anti-Monitor was still kicking alive—then Clark threatened me—"

"Oh my Rao," she rubbed her eyes, "are you still on about that?"

"I just wanna spend time with my wife." His stubborn face dropped. "Who isn't my wife anymore."

"Well, at least we get to plan the wedding this time," Karen said carefully. "Make it as romantic as you dreamed as a kid."

His voice was a near whine. "Our wedding was romantic."

"We eloped in Las Vegas two days before the end of the universe." At his pouting, she relented; Karen ran a thumb over his eyebrow. "But yeah, it was romantic."

He was smiling now and so was she. She'd forgotten how much happiness Barry brought her. That whenever he was around, the world's loudness paused. It did not fall silent, it just... quieted down.

Suddenly, being cut off from everything and everyone seemed like the best idea ever.

[amoonagedaydreamer]

This is what I want for Javi. Peace. Belonging. 🥰

Day 11 of my December prompt list. The whole list can be found here.

Fun fact, I wrote this one in an email draft at work because I got the idea and couldn’t put it down. I’m not at all sure the ages work, but don’t look too hard at that.

Prompt: Antique | Secrets | Family

Character: Javier Peña

Growing up, Javi changed his mind more than a few times about what kind of family he wanted.

At 2, he didn’t understand. Why were people talking about girls, what was kissing? He didn’t know what any of that was, all he knew was mom frowned when people called him a ‘little heart-breaker’, and that was enough for him. Whatever that was, he didn’t want to be that.

Keep reading

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 13

Pairing: Steve Murphy x GN!Reader

Prompts: Winter Forest / Gingerbread / Hockey

Warnings: Food & language

Word Count: 514

A/N: I couldn't help myself with the Javi part. I laughed too hard writing this lmao credit of the challenge goes to @cyantomatos

This wasn't exactly how you wanted things to go as Steve walked through the door. The kitchen sink is piled high with dishes, flour is spread on nearly every inch of counter space, and smoke wafts from the oven. He runs in looking alarmed to see you fanning the smoldering oven with a cloth. "Sorry, my last batch of cookies burned to a crisp." You glance over at the blackened cookies in question.

Steve lets out a low whistle. "You fall asleep while these were baking?" He pokes at one with the spatula. He glances over at the other cookies sitting on the cooling rack. "Least these turned out pretty good." You almost body slam him, backing him away from the kitchen before he can snatch a cookie.

"Out! We have to decorate them first!" You can see the argument brewing in his eyes already. "I know it may be childish for two grown adults to decorate gingerbread men, but we won't be home for the holidays. I always do this with my nieces and nephews and I miss it this year." Steve's eyes are soft as he looks at you, the bickering leaving him as he bends down to grasp your face and offer a kiss. 

"I know honey. I know this is hard. But I wasn't arguing about the decorating, I just wanted a taste test." His boyish grin spreads into a full laugh when you ruffle his hair and flip him off. 

"Dammit Steve I burned one batch, we don't have many good ones left!"

An hour later both of your bellies are full with dinner and icing is spread across the table as you two work. You adorn Steve in cookie form with some hard candies. You even manage a crooked tie with red icing. Steve laughs as he makes Javi, trying and failing to pipe a cigarette onto his mouth.

You look in bewilderment as Steve grabs another cookie and meticulous ices a...bra? "Steve what the fuck are you doing?" He looks up with a mischievous smirk across his rosy lips.

"Just making Javi a cookie prostitute." 

And that's when you absolutely lose it. You clutch your stomach from laughing so hard and you see Steve bent over with his shoulders shaking. It takes long minutes for you two to calm down. You're wiping your eyes and smiling widely at Steve.  "God you're a menace. Thank you for humoring me with this.""

You can't tell what emotions flash through Steve's face as your words hit him. Guilt? Embarrassment? Either way it almost looks sad as he reaches for your hand. "I'm not humoring you by decorating gingerbread cookies, this is a piece of home for me too. I enjoy this. Spending time with you, laughing with you. You're all the best parts of me baby." 

He kisses your knuckles and you stand, sliding into his lap to wrap him in a tight hug. The holidays may be different this year, but you've got Steve and really that's all you could ever ask for. 

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 10

Pairing: Joel Miller x GN1Reader

Prompts: Hot Cocoa / Crafts / Laughter

Warnings: maybe some flirting? That's about it

Word Count: 726

A/N: craft time with Joel be still my heart. All props to @cyantomatos for the challenge!

You narrow your eyes in contraction as you stare at the chunk of mangled wood in your hand. You use your knife to pick at the base, rounding it out like you've seen Joel do countless times. You feel his eyes on you now and you glance back at him. He’s leaning on the back of your chair, tall enough to be able to see over your hunched frame at his desk. He nods at you when your eyes meet. “Go on now, you're doin' it right honey.” You turn back to your work, cheeks warm at his praise.

You have loved seeing this side of Joel over the past year. Settling in Jackson has brought out an unknown (to you) hobbies. He spends his spare time whittling away, making guitars, furniture and figurines from wood. He likes the little knick knacks, trading them around town and building any furniture that’s needed. Joel hasn’t lost his skill over the years, even if he did comment he was rusty at the beginning. You have your own hobbies, but seeing him carve little horses and animals fascinated you and he was all too eager to guide you. 

As you finish the bottom and move to working on the body of the penguin you wanted, Joel’s hands run down your arms. “Now you wanna be careful here. Alternate working on each side of the body, you don’t want to take too much off on one side.” He shows you with his hands over yours how he delicately scrapes small pieces on each side. His breath is warm against your neck, but he leans back again to let you have control. 

Under his direction, you get it pretty even, moving to work on the head.”Same as the body but careful, one slip up and he’s headless.” You flash him a glare and concentrate again, blocking out his chuckle and the movements he takes to pull a chair next to you. He picks up a knife to sharpen it, watching you work and giving out tips when you look lost.

“God, this looks so much easier when you do this.” You put down the egghead penguin and stretch, muscles aching from sitting too long. Joel picks up your figure and looks it over, turning it around and inspecting your work. “Suddenly I feel like i’m back at school with the teacher grading my work.”

The lopsided smile he shoots you makes you giggle and he places the figure back in front of you. “Well now, since I’m the teacher. I’ll give you a B.'' You blink at him a few times, watching his smile grow wider by the second. You flick a piece of wood shavings at him and cross your arms,

:How dare you. Only a B? I say my skill is easily an A, but I guess my grade just reflects your teaching.” You try your best to keep a straight face as he raises his eyebrow and scoffs. In a blink of an eye you’re out of your chair and in his lap, thrashing around for a moment as you squeal his name. His calloused fingers graze your side as he starts to tickle you. You bat his hands away, laughing louder before yelling a surrender.

He takes the smack on his chest without flinching and wraps you in his arms. Even if you wanted to extend the teasing, his warm embrace is too good to resist. “I am a damn good teacher darlin, I've never had a complaint. Have heard some about you though.” The pinch at his sidemakes him jump this time. He reaches again for the little penguin and holds it in front of you both. “Really is good for your first one though. Seems like you watch me do this more than you supposedly read your book.” Another pinch is given along with another round of giggles. 

“I can’t help that I like watching you work more than reading.” You place a kiss to his bearded jaw and pluck your work from his fingertips. “C’mon let’s go take a break.” You crawl off his lap and take his hand, helping his creaking body to stand. As you leave you take one last look at your project, knowing that tomorrow after patrol you and Joel will be back. 

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 3

Pairing: Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels x f!Reader

Prompts: Books / Pets / Christmas or String Lights

Warnings: just fluff for this one!

Word Count:  705

A/N: Credit for the challenge is all @cyantomatos 

You take a deep breath as you step out into the cold Kentucky morning. The sun was shining brightly on the rolling field in front of you. As you curl up into a rocking chair to bask in the sunlight, you relax and your mind drifts to your husband. 

You two have only been married a few months, but you knew Jack for quite a few years before you two started dating. The man would flirt with damn near every person he was around, including yourself. You knew of his past and didn't take the sugary sweet words to heart. Until he asked you on a date with the most serious and earnest expression you had ever seen on his handsome face. His warm eyes matching his name, a pool of whiskey that glittered in the light. 

Now you sit on the farm you both own, with a few horses and chickens, the kind of life you two would talk endlessly about wanting. Something slow, a respite from the crazy world and his intense job. This was a rare weekend morning where Jack was home, but he kissed your head as you sleepily grabbed for him early this morning, saying he would be back later.

 As you sip your coffee and wonder just where he ran off to, you hear the crunching of the driveway as he drives up in his truck. You can see him beaming at you from the windshield as he pulls up to the front steps. You go to stand up and greet him when he rolls down the driver window and sticks his head out. “Hold up now sugar, turn right around and get in that house for me, I got you a surprise.” 

His grin is devilish and the sun glints off his sunglasses, glittering just like you know his eyes are underneath. You cock your eyebrow but turn anyway, padding back into the house to settle on the living room couch.

You smile as you hear him fumbling with something as he comes through the door, low curses spluttering out as he huffs. You turn your head to ask what he’s up to but your jaw drops at the sight in front of you. 

Cradled in either one of his arms are two small puppies. One seems to be sleeping peacefully in his arms while the other one wiggles around trying to get free. You gape as Jack takes a step and plops the wriggling puppy in your arms.

“I know, despite you saying that you're fine, that you get lonesome when I have to travel. These two lost their mama and I figured we’d be perfect for them.” Jack beams as he talks, looking amused as you stare in shock as the puppy licks your face and whips his tiny tail around. 

“Jack, are you… You really...what?” All you can do is sit and laugh as you look at the two sweetest puppies you've ever seen. “Oh, they're so cute, you’re gonna love living on a big farm, huh?” you coo at the puppy in your arms. Obviously the answer is yes judging by the way the puppy continues to lick away at your hand. 

Jack takes a seat next to you, gently placing the other puppy down and grabs you hand. “After you get dressed sweet thing, we can go buy some supplies. If you want to keep them of course.” Jack’s grin widens as you gasp and hold your puppy closer to you. The one sleeping in his arms rouses and crawls towards you to sniff at your pants. “Last time we did that video call when I was out of town you looked too damn pretty to be propped up in our bed all sad. Besides, maybe they can keep that damn rooster in line.”

You glare at his last words, Rufus the rooster was perfect of course, but you still lean in to give your husband a kiss.

“Thank you so much my love,these two are perfect and what I've always wanted...just like you.” you drag Jack against you by his collar to continue with some sweet kisses as your puppies wander around the living room inspecting their new home.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 6

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x F!Reader (can also be read as GN tho, I wrote it with f!reader in mind though)

Prompts: Christmas Tree / Movie / Candles

Warnings: ANXIETY talk pretty heavily. Santi is THE respectful king.

Word Count:

A/N: The most self indugent thing I’ve written so far lol. wiaww challenge is from @cyantomatos

To say that you're nervous would be the understatement of the year. Your legs feel heavier with every step you take and your knock on the door seems too loud. To think you’re all hung up about a guy; That's what you've heard from a few friends all day today, but they didn't understand. They didn’t understand the strong magnetic pull of Santiago.

It started several weeks back, tagging along with your best friend to hang out with her boyfriend and his friends. You were indifferent about going but you quickly changed your tune. You and Santi locked eyes and talked the entire night once introductions were made. 

This led to coffee dates, dinner plans, and now a movie night. At his place. However, you asked to take things slow and Santi was perfectly accommodating to that.

As you wait the minute or so it takes for him to come to the door, you force yourself to take a few deep breaths. Your heart jumps in your chest when you hear the turn of the lock, but when his face appears, every worry and every fear you've built up that afternoon melts away at the smile on his face when he sees you.

Santi ushers you in, making you both cram into his small entryway. As the door closes he wraps himself around you in a warm hug “There’s my girl, you look gorgeous tonight.” He peppers small kisses down your neck and nuzzles behind your ear as you bury your face into his neck. The cold chain around it hits your nose and makes you giggle against him. He pulls away and smiles, helping you out of your coat. “I already have that awful hallmark movie ready, go sit and I’ll make popcorn.” 

One and a half movies later and you’re unwilling to leave the cozy position you and Santi have found yourselves in. He’s lying propped up on his back, legs splayed enough for you to lay between them on his chest. His hand runs a path down your spine, a blanket tangled around you two with just the light from the T.V to light the room. 

You take a peek up to watch Santi, who's now deeply invested in this so called “cheesy awful movie.'' He’s grown out his beard a little more, small flecks of grey speckled throughout the dark hair. Even though the stubble on his jaw is so prominent, the structure is sharp like his cheekbones and nose. His brows are furrowed as he watches, dark eyes flitting between the two characters arguing. 

You’re so lost that his sideways glance to you almost startles you. He flashes you a wink and goes back unbothered to watch the movie. You simply stare in awe of this gorgeous man splayed out beneath you and holding you close. As you lay your head back down and refocus your attention you feel his warm breath against your head. "M'glad you suggested this." His warm voice floats to your ears and bounces around happily in your head.

Once the second movie is over and you insist on helping clean the dishes, Santiago helps you put on your coat. As you button up, He’s gracious enough to fix the collar, but you both know he has ulterior motives. He takes the opportunity to give you a lingering kiss, instantly making you breathless. As you stand dazed, his voice breaks the moment. “I hope you enjoyed tonight...you seemed a bit nervous earlier.”  You can tell he’s concerned, probably has been most of the date.

You meet his eyes and your genuine smile visibly calms him. “Yeah, I was. But I had nothing to be nervous about cause it’s you. You respect me and respect wanting to take things slow. Anxiety got the best of me, that's all.” The warmth in his eyes is enough to confirm exactly what you just said. 

“I like you sweetheart and I'm just as happy to take things slow too. We’re just enjoying the ride, and where it takes us, yeah?” You nod and reach for him again, locking him in a kiss that's a little too steamy to pass off as going slow. You pull away reluctantly and take a deep breath. It's now his turn to look dazed, but he recovers and opens the door. “Call me when you get home.” The stern order is acknowledged with a mock salute as you make your way to your car. 

As you pull away you see him standing in the doorway, porch light shining bright around him. It only turns off when you’re just out of sight. You smile and go home, eager to tell him you've arrived safe.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 26

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Prompts: Disney / Celebration / Community

Warnings: iimplied alcohol drinking (aka having a massive hangover) Reader is mentioned wearing a dress. A drunk confession and a kiss

Word Count: 547

A/N: credit for the challenge is all @cyantomatos

A car horn outside is what startles you awake from your deep sleep. You jerk awake, sun burning your eyes as you squint at the open window. The room is filled with sun, warming the room to the point that you’re sweating and there doesn’t seem to be a breeze outside either. 

As you squeeze your eyes shut your head starts to pound so you twist so your back is to the window. Bits and pieces of the night before come floating back to you, but it’s all a bit too fuzzy. Your head and mouth feel stuffed with cotton balls and you groan, snuggling back into the bed and the person next to you.

It takes a few minutes for you to register that someone is snoring away in your bed and when it does set in, your eyes fly back open, taking stock of who's here. To your horror the pieces slot together and realize it’s Javier. Your coworker. Your friend. The same friend you celebrated with last night. 

You met up with him and Steve to celebrate Christmas, since you all are too far from home and family. You remember drinking a LOT and even dancing with Connie in her living room once you all went back to their place for a bit more drinking. 

Your head falls back down, goraning again at the sudden movement, your stomach beginning to churn as your head pounds more. This seems to stir Javi and he turns around, squinting against the sun much like you did earlier, but recovering quickly.. “You alright? Need some water?” his hand comes up to rub your arm soothingly as you groan even more.

“No, no water. Not now. God Jav, how big of a fool did I make of myself.” your words are hard to understand as they are muttered into your pillow. He laughs, getting up and leaving the room for a few moments, coming back with water anyway. 

“Fuck if I know, I only remember the ending.” He settles back in bed, sitting against the headboard and talking a large gulp from the glass. He looks down and frowns as you stare at him with wide eyes. “We didn’t… You asked me to stay, tore off your dress and shoes  and crawled in bed.  I slept over the blankets.”

You take a breath and laugh, a pitiful sound considering the pain you’re in. “I know Javi. You’re a good guy.” He looks bashful, distracting himself with the glass. A few memories come flooding back as you both sit in silence and once again, you look at him with wide eyes. “Oh god, I kissed you didn’t I?"

He's not bashful now, looking serious, staring you straight in the eyes as he nods. Your mouth is forming the words to apologize when he swoops in and kisses you softly. It’s sweet and chaste and it makes you melt into the mattress below you. “If I remember, you said you had a crush on me then kissed me before you fell asleep. Don’t apologize.” he presses the water to your lips, urging you to drink and rehydrate yourself. You take a few sips and look at him, suddenly breaking out into a smile. 

“Damn, I guess we have more to celebrate now.”

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

EmMikMil’s wiaww Masterlist

writing in a winter wonderland Challenge 2021 

A bit late, but here are links to all the WIAWW prompts from last month!! Again, all the credit to the challenge goes to @cyantomatos  I loved every moment of doing this!!

 Pero Tovar - Snow

Marcus Pike - Snowman

Jack “Agent Whiskey” Daniels - Pets

Frankie Morales- Cooking

Poe Dameron - Jewelry

Santiago Garcia - Movie

Din Djarin - Love Language

Marcus Pike - Dancing

Poe Dameron - Stuffed Animal

Joel Miller - Crafts

Will Miller - Family

Bucky Barnes - Ugly Sweater

Steve Murphy - Gingerbread

Ezra - Warm Bath

Santiago Garcia - Snowed in

Pero Tovar - Cabin

Bucky Barnes - Ice Skating

Joel Miller - Dressing up

Dave York - Eggnog

Din Djain - Alone

Aaron Hotchner - Sunrise

Will Miller - Baking

Joel Miller/Frankie Morales - Competition

Ezra - Sewing

Jack "Agent Whiskey" Daniels - Candy Cane

Javier Peña - Celebration

Benny Miller - School Break

Marcus Pike - Memories

Dave York - Surprises

Ezra - Gold

Joel Miller - Collections

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 31

Pairing: Joel Miller x GN!Reader

Prompts: Countdown / Glitter / Collections

Warnings: some kisses!

Word Count: 490

A/N: Here it is, the last fic for the writing in a winter wonderland challenge!!!! I’be loved every challenging second of it all, and it was all possible cause of @cyantomatos Hope you all enjoy and HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You could hardly contain your excitement at the treasure trove of goodies you found for Joel. There was a music shop up on the ridge, one you know Joel and Ellie have been to a couple of times, so it was thoroughly picked clean. There had been a sighting of some clickers so you scoped out the location. The little hidden trap door to the attic caught your eye, and inside was the ultimate jackpot.

You have everything you found set up in Joel’s studio, and now you try and fail to wait patiently. He's been picking extra patrols lately, a cold sweeping through the townsfolk and keeping some at home. Luckily not a lot of infected have been in sight of town in a while. ‘

The boots on the front steps perk you right up, and you hurry to open the door for him. He seems surprised to see you greet him, but he wraps you in his arms, kicking the door shut, “Well hey honey, your patrol go alright?” he pulls away to assess you, wrongly assuming that something went wrong today. 

You shake your head and grip his hand in yours, “No, it was great! No sign of the clickers but I did find you a gift!” you drag him up the stairs, tugging him up the stairs in your excitement. "Now, you know the old music store you and Ellie have gone to?” you’ve finally reached the closed door.

He seems a little skeptical but nods, “Yeah, we got everything we could, not much left there.” Your smile is smug as you open the door and gesture him in. The shocked look on his face is worth all the dirt and grime on your clothes. “Where the hell did you find all this?” He digs through the box of guitar strings and picks.

“You missed the attic entrance in the office. I hopped up there and found all of these. I know they'll be good additions to your collection. I haven’t checked if the strings are in good condition.” He’s quiet as he looks through them, kneeling on the ground to inspect the two guitars and their beat up cases.

His hand gestures to you, and as you approach he pulls you down with him. His eyes are shining in excitement when he looks at you and he grins widely “You did damn good darlin’, this is…” he’s looking back at the loot and you feel warm and fuzzy, content in seeing his raw happiness at the sight.

"So I did good then?" he scoffs at your question. He leans into you, placing his hand behind your head to hold you in place as he kisses you. He doesnt stop until you both feel dazed from lack of oxygen. "I guess that's a yes?" You giggle along as he chuckles at you, confirming with another kiss that yes, you did good adding to his beloved collection.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 4

Pairing: Frankie Morales x GN!Reader

Prompts: Blankets / Cooking / Traveling

Warnings: Food is a main theme, Frankie being a MENACE. Things get a hint spicy but nothing graphic. Minors just shoo, be gone

Word Count: 578

A/N: A bit different since I wrote this from Frankie’s POV. Challnge by bestie @cyantomatos

Frankie can’t help but stand in the doorway and watch you prepare dinner. Even though it's his turn to cook for the two of you, you insisted on making dinner. He watches you sway and hum along to the low music playing before his eyes shift over to the stove. You have something delicious cooking in the pot, but the bowl next to it…

He sneaks silently, watching your back like a hawk as he reaches for the small bowl. Whatever you're cooking requires some bacon crumbled on top and, of course, you won’t mind a taste tester. As soon as Frankie pops half a strip of bacon into his mouth you turn around, eyes narrowing as he smiles innocently.

You smile sweetly back at him, but you look a little too sweet. You cross your arms before locking eyes with him. “Frankie, if you had some bacon you should probably start chewing it, you don’t wanna choke.” You keep your eyes steady and Frankie, brave as ever, stares right back.

However, the bacon drippings were filling his mouth and he had to chew it, it tastes too damn good. You somehow get it perfectly crispy every damn time while he usually burns it. Your grumpy pout as you step forward to move him away from his snack makes him smile. You always say he looks cute when he's grumpy, and now he can understand why. “You’re cute when you’re grumpy too, baby.”

Frankie can see you soften slightly as you stand between him and the bacon. “You’re very sweet Francisco, thank you, but leave this bacon alone I swear. You’re not gonna eat all the bacon up again.” All Frankie can do is raise his hands in innocence as you slowly turn around to stir the pot on the stove. “I’m warning you Morales, you better watch it.”

Frankie scoffs and leans back against the counter, watching you finish up. You turn down every offer he gives to help so he just enjoys the view. There really is nothing he loves more than just being home with you. For quite a few years of your relationship you two couldn’t live together so now he enjoys these little domestic moments. It’s these thoughts that propel him forward to you, back still to him as you work at the stove. His arms wrap around you and he kisses your shoulder as you lean into him. “Have I told you today how much I love you?”

Frankie makes sure to whisper those words nice and rough into your ear and he's rewarded by feeling your entire body shiver in his arms. You turn your head and press a few short and sweet kisses to his mouth. You hum happily as you turn back to look at the pot needing your attention. “ Nope. you haven't told me today. Pretty sure all your love is for the bacon and not me.”

Frankie laughs as he nuzzles your neck, pressing even more kisses into your skin. He's interrupted by the oven timer goes off and once again you swat his grabby hands away as you step back to pull the main dish from the oven. Frankie sees the opportunity arise and before you can say a word, he snatches another much larger piece of bacon and darts out of the kitchen. Your shouts after him nearly makes him choke from his laughter. Whatever punishment you dole out later would absolutely be worth it.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!

[starlightsearches]

Mistletoe and Holly

Part 1 │Part 2│Part 3

Modern! Armitage Hux x Femme! Reader

Notes: Here's the final part of my modern Christmas fic, inspired by @cyantomatos incredible winter prompt list, and @girl-next-door-writes lovely 10 days of Huxmas. Very sorry that it's late!

11. Antique / Secrets / Family from cyantomatos winter prompt list

Warnings: Language, fluff, some discussions of child abuse, and I think that's it!

Armitage watches his breath coalesce into soft clouds in the dark interior of the barn, stamping his feet together, hoping to generate some warmth.

“We can go back in a moment,” you respond to the soft taps of his footsteps on the hay covered floor. He brought you out here to see Brendol’s thoroughbreds, and the creatures vie for your attention, each trying to smuggle another sugar cube out of your waiting palm or wiggle to the front of the group for a scratch on the nose.

“Whatever you’d like,” he says, trying to cover the way his teeth chatter. He had snuck the sugar cubes, as well as a pair of unattended galoshes, out of the staff area just to entertain you, and he’s not about to leave over a few numb fingers.

You’ve been such a good sport so far, despite the tedious aspect of all Hux family Christmas traditions. You had kept a polite, albeit skeptic, smile on your face during the morning’s mass—a custom that no one enjoyed and made little sense to Armitage. The only higher power Brendol believed in was himself.

The gift exchange was solemn, as well, since his family is small and not particularly fond of each other. Unwrapping your gift for him had easily been the highlight of the morning. The soft wool scarf sits around his neck now, a bit of sky amid the gray weather.

He had flushed when you told him the color brought out the blue in his eyes.

“Alright,” you brush the sugar granules from your hands before replacing your gloves, “I think we’ve spoiled them enough. Let’s go get warm.”

You take him by the arm again, and it’s nice to have this barrier broken—to have you reach for him whenever you like. There’s a short shelf-life on moments like these; soon enough you’ll be back in the office together, while he’d certainly welcome your fingers brushing through his hair when you hand him his coffee . . . it wouldn’t be appropriate.

You tramp through calf-deep snow that crackles under every step, following the path you had carved earlier on the impromptu tour of his father’s grounds. It takes a moment to stomp the excess snow off your boots once you reach the door, brushing it from your shoulders and your hair before you step inside.

“Someone was expecting us,” you say with a wry smile, gesturing to the two steaming mugs of hot chocolate waiting on the counter.

“They like you, you know,” Armitage comments, shrugging out of his jacket before hanging it on the hook. He’d noticed almost immediately that the staff had taken a liking to you, their preferences shown in subtle ways.

You laugh self-consciously, rolling your eyes. “Why? I didn’t do anything.”

He’s not sure what to say. This skirts difficult territory; could he tell you the truth about his mother? How she had worked with some of these same people, and the soft spot they felt for her—and him by extension—now reached you out to you as well?

The desire tears at him, to have you know this part of him—to know him more fully than anyone who has ever loved him—but there’s also the need to keep it hidden. His past is torn and sullied, blood-covered like his father’s hands, and this, whatever it is, is pristine. He’d like to keep it that way a little longer.

“You didn’t have to do anything,” he responds simply, handing you a mug. You raise your eyebrows, but don’t challenge him.

Hot cocoa cups in hand, you wander through empty rooms together, waiting for the Christmas dinner to begin. He takes you through the ballroom, the dim dining room, the galleries and the library and the greenhouse, and then you stroll the hallways aimlessly, coated in a comfortable silence.

“What’s in here?”

You’ve already pushed the door open before he can stop you, and the tidal wave of memories that come with it.

“It’s- it’s my father’s office, but I don’t think we should—”

It’s quieter inside this room, years and years of silence spilling from the walls only interrupted by the plush sound of your footsteps on the thick carpet.

“Wow . . .”

Your lips have parted, scarcely breathing as you take in the imposing room, the rows of bookshelves, and vaulted ceilings, your hand brushing over the dark, aged wood of his father’s desk.

Armitage can’t appreciate any of that. It’s a room filled with ghosts. He sees himself as a child, still young enough to need help tying his shoes, hand clutched to his face and holding back tears, trying to avoid another cuff from his father’s drunken fist. Or the night he had stood in the darkness, alone for hours and too terrified to move, waiting for his father to return with a punishment, although Brendol had certainly forgotten him.

Then there was last Christmas. He’d never forget that.

“This room suits you, I think,” you comment, off-hand, looking back at him, and he has to hold the back of an overstuffed armchair to keep from stumbling.

“What?”

“I can see you working in a place just like this,” you continue, moving around his father’s desk before walking towards him, “very stately and refined. I think it suits you.”

It hits him like a punch to the chest, every sad memory and haunted thought he’d kept at bay rushing over him in an overwhelming current.

“No,” he states firmly, and he hopes the harsh sound in his voice might cover up these latent emotions. “No, there’s no chance of that.”

It’s no use. He stares down at the blurry upholstery, and prays that the tears might be cleared.

He feels your hand on his arm before he sees you beside him, fingers tracing down the inside of his wrist over the path of his veins. “What’s wrong?”

“I-,” what could he say, out of all the things that weighed heavy on his mind? What would he choose to share with you? The words come, whether he means them to or not.

“Last year, I told my father I wanted to leave his company. I wouldn’t work for him anymore, and he- he didn’t take it well.”

He’d spare you the details: the murderous look in Brendol’s eyes, the shake in his hands, the bruises across his chest, blows his father landed before he managed to fight back.

“I was cut off,” he states flatly, “no employment, no family, nothing left to inherit. My father rewrote his will that very day. After years of financial security—abundance, really—I . . . was left without.”

The confession leaves him empty, carved out and emotionless. He feels nothing at all when he speaks next, despite the torture the memory still inflicts.

“My mother was in his employ at the time. Christmas was the only time I had the chance to see her, and— and he sent her away. Permanently. With nowhere left to go, she moved back to England, and . . . we’ve lost contact.”

It’s his greatest regret. He’d left that night—stormed right out of his father’s office and through the door without a look back. It wasn’t until much later he’d realized the pain he’d caused himself. The words he wished he’d had the chance to say to her still linger on his lips.

“Armitage,” there’s so much sadness in your voice, and when he looks up, there’s shining tears coating your cheeks, “I’m so sorry.”

Panic sinks through him; he has to stop this, immediately. His hands are on your face, desperately trying to clear your cheeks before he can stop himself.

“Please, don’t cry for me. These tears are undeserved.”

“Don’t say that, Armitage,” you grip his wrist with shaking fingers, and there’s a stern look in your sorrowful eyes, “you deserve everything.”

This has to mean something. The world he’s built on the foundation of your indifference crumbles around him, and he’s unsteady, left balancing on the slimmest glimmer of hope he’d allowed himself.

Armitage glances at your lips, then your eyes, still shining with tears. He tries to think of something to say.

You solve that problem for him, too, when you press your lips to his.

Your mouth is softer than he’d imagined it to be, lips warm and inviting as you rewrite the painful memories of this place.

He clutches your waist in his hands, pulling you close enough he can feel your heartbeat in his chest, your fingers warm and delicate as they absently spread your tears across his cheeks.

He can’t bring himself to pull away, the silent fear that this might be the first and only time he’d ever feel you in this way echoing loudly in the back of his mind, even as you slip your tongue over his lips.

You’re forced apart by the shrill sound of squeaking hinges.

Armitage gasps, staring through the doorway at his father. Brendol stands, furious and shaking with impotent rage.

Neither of you breathe, waiting to see what Brendol might do.

His chest fills with righteous fury, mouth curled down in a sneer, but his vile words never come. The light fades from his eyes.

Armitage falters, scarcely believing in his father's defeat. He’d already taken everything he could from his son, and it hadn’t broken him. There was nothing more he could do.

“Dinner is in an hour,” he says flatly, turning back the way he came, “Maratelle wants us all to be ready by the time guests begin to arrive.”

The sound of his father’s footsteps fade, and Armitage holds back a laugh, feeling so light he has to fight to keep his feet on the ground.

“Well, we don’t want to be late for dinner,” he whispers to you, an incredulous smile on his face.

You pull him closer, your warm, sweet breath brushing against his lips, and he shudders despite himself.

“Why don’t we let them wait?”

Hux Tag List: @tartheanmaid, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @aramanna, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars, @xxinvisiblexx, @fear-prism, @serenaisavillain, @a-literal-no-name, @fresa-luna, @masterjedilenaaa

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[starlightsearches]

Mistletoe and Holly

Part 1│Part 2│Part 3

Modern! Armitage Hux x Femme! Reader

Notes: Here's part 2 of my modern Christmas fic, inspired by @cyantomatos incredible winter prompt list, and @girl-next-door-writes lovely 10 days of Huxmas.

This is heavily inspired by girl-next-door-writes 10 days series, so if you like this even a little bit, PLEASE go and check out her stuff.

7. Late Night / Love Language / Comfort from cyantomatos winter prompt list

Warnings: just language, fluff, mild horniness, and some angst

Armitage tosses another log on the fire, the flames licking at the blackened stone. The heat doesn’t break through more than a few feet of the icy chill that permeates the room, and Armitage rubs his hands over his arms, grateful for the protection his thick, flannel pajamas offer him from the cold.

The en-suite bathroom door opens, and he tenses like an animal listening for strange human footprints, instead hearing your voice call out over the rumble of the water.

“Uh, which towels am I supposed to use?”

Armitage holds his breath, warding himself against the scent of the steam and the soap and your skin, barely able to gasp out the words.

“They’re under the sink.”

The hinges squeak, and he hears your triumphant shout before the door shuts and he’s able to breathe again.

This is too close. It had been different at the party, when every touch had happened in public and his father’s potential presence around any corner kept him from imagining the way your hands would feel—your nails tracing patterns through his hair or the flat of your palm across his ribs. There’s nothing keeping him from the knowledge of it now, besides his own self-doubt and your lack of interest. It makes him want to peel off his own skin; he has no use for it if it's not pressed against your own.

Instead, he putters from place to place—pulling open the curtains to watch the snow fall through the large picture window, feeling for a draft under the door, rearranging his clothes in the armoire, first by color, and then by order in which he’ll need them.

“I swear to god,” you call out to him when you open the door this time, letting the warm, wet air pour from the bathroom, “I have never been in a fancier bathroom before. I could live in that shower.”

Armitage hums in response, clutching the fabric of his dress shirt for tomorrow’s mass in a fist so tight it wrinkles. He’ll have to find time to iron it in the morning.

“Maratelle seems alright,” you fill the silence amiably, ignoring his reticence as you ready for bed, “but your father’s a piece of work. I can see why you didn’t want to come.” The rustling duvet punctuates your statement as you climb under the blanket, getting yourself comfortable. His jaw is clenched so tight he's surprised it hasn't snapped.

If he waited long enough, would you fall asleep without him? He could find ways to keep himself awake—for the whole night if needed. He’d use any excuse to stop himself from crawling beneath those sheets beside you.

He must seem ridiculous, in your eyes—a grown man terrified of his father’s ill-will, and so mortified of the idea of facing him alone that only your pity has saved him from it. And look how he’s repaid you; you’re left without a bed of your own to sleep in.

“Hey, Armitage.”

Your voice is soft as snowfall, and he shivers, like you’ve traced your fingers down his spine. He clears his throat silently and addresses the back of the armoire.

“What is it?”

Maybe you want to leave. He wouldn’t hold it against you.

“It’s just . . . " your voice is soft and pleading, the annoyance he had expected completely absent, "you don’t have to worry about me. I offered to come because I knew this would be hard for you, and I want to help. If that means we share a room to piss off your father, then that’s okay with me.”

Had you read his mind? Armitage lets out the breath he’d been holding, overcome by your acute understanding.

He releases the clothing from his clutches, standing straighter. Maybe he could do this, and more importantly, maybe he should. It might be his only chance. Even if you’d never look at him the way he wants you to, he could have this night—could have the heat of your body and the tenderness of your sleeping sighs to sustain him through his loneliness. He shuts the door of the armoire, the determined set to his shoulders only faltering when he hears your next words.

“It’s probably for the best that we share anyways—if I had known how cold your house was I’d have brought more substantial pajamas.”

He can’t not look at you, and when he does, his chest folds in on itself, crushed and empty. You’re divine—hair damp from the shower and splayed across the cream pillowcase, brushing against your bare shoulders. The low neckline of your tank top reveals more of your luminous skin than he’s ever seen before, the blanket resting just below the swell of your chest. He can picture, in agonizing detail, what could happen if he were someone else, and if you wanted him. The way your lips would part as they formed the words—“come to bed, please, darling”—and how his whole body would ignite as he crawled over your prone form, slipping one strap and then the other down over your shoulders, his lips at your neck.

“Actually,” he straightens, turning automatically back towards the fire and the sitting area before it, “I think it might be best if I stay on the couch tonight. You can take the bed.”

Armitage walks with stiff steps towards the overstuffed sofa. It’s much too short for him to lay comfortably, packed with dust, and still less frightening than the alternative. Your footsteps echo close behind him on the stone tile, your hand at his wrist, pulling at him until he’s forced to look you in the eyes.

Jesus.

“You can’t do that,” you say, brow set and stern, “you’ll freeze! I’ll have to thaw you out in the morning.”

You’re tugging at his sleeve, pulling him back in the direction of the bed, and he just barely manages to hold his ground. Armitage keeps his eyes on yours, refusing to let himself look at your bare legs, stretched long beyond the hem of your shorts, the white lace at the edge brushing rhythmically against your skin as you shift from foot to foot, trying to generate some warmth.

“I’ll be fine by the fire,” he replies, but he takes one step forward, and then another, called by the siren sound of your voice, willing to follow wherever you take him.

“Then do it for me. I’ll be way too cold alone in that bed. I need your body heat.”

He glances back to the couch, although the farther he gets from it, the warmer he feels.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“For the last time, you’re not; now lay down.”

He follows your directions, taking up the space you’d been only moments before, the sheets still holding a bit of your body heat, and you crawl over top of him in a strange mimicry of his earlier fantasies. You land beside him, pulling the sheets into place and turning off the bedside lamp.

“See,” you say, laying back as the room plunges into darkness, “this isn’t so bad.”

No, it’s certainly not.

And as much as he wants you, those thoughts don’t trouble him now—he’s able to appreciate this moment for what it is. Just being with you is a gift. Your presence here, your friendship, it’s all unprecedented—undeserved.

Miraculous.

“Armitage.” You whisper his name. He realizes that he never likes the sound of it unless it’s on your lips.

“What is it?” Your soap smells like peppermint, filling the air with its crisp, cool scent, but your presence comforts him like a warm cup of coffee nestled in gloved hands.

You don’t respond right away, and he turns, just now feeling the gentle trembles that move through the mattress.

“Are you still cold?” He sits up straight, and you nod, curled up tightly on the bed and shivering, trying to preserve a little warmth.

“I think there might be some extra blankets in the hall,” he glances around the room, looking for anything he can use to help you, “or I might have a jumper you could borrow—”

He’s about to offer you his portion of the blankets, until he feels your hand on his shoulder, pulling him back down to the bed.

“Just . . . stay here.”

You’re watching him—he knows you’re watching him—and he tries desperately to keep his features passive, but it’s no use. You must know how he feels about you. He’s never felt less subtle than he does now—like his every thought is projected on his face, playing out for you in a humiliating highlight reel.

You lay down at his side, both of your heads sharing one pillow, and your hands grip tightly at the loose fabric on his pajamas, pulling him closer.

“Is this okay?”

He hums in assent; his throat is too tight even to form a word as simple as yes.

Armitage feels you everywhere—your breath warm at his neck, a hand brushing rhythmically over the tense musculature of his back. The slow rise and fall of your chest mirrors his own as you press yourself tighter against him, and he can feel the give of your thighs, the heat of your skin seeping through the fabric of his pajamas as you adjust your position, further entwining your legs.

This is different. This is unparalleled—better than any midnight fantasy or any derailed train of thought.

You’re nuzzling your head into his chest, and he must be flushing all the way down to his feet, his head so foggy he barely hears your mumbled gratitude.

Armitage remains motionless and wide awake, maybe for minutes or maybe for hours—terrified to move, certain that if he shifts even a centimeter, he’ll lose this perfect dream.

“You're better than any of them give you credit for, you know.”

“Hmmm?”

He thinks he may have imagined the words, convinced that the cadence of your breathing had meant you were fast asleep. Do you sleep talk? He’d never heard it before in the sparse handful of times you’d dozed off while he finished up some late-night paperwork.

You shift again, resting your chin against his chest, and he can't look at you, instead letting your words fall against his neck.

“I know you worry about your father . . . and I’m sure his opinion means more than mine ever could, but everything I said about you at dinner? It’s all true. I mean every word of it.”

“Really?” Maybe he's the one asleep. This feels like a dream.

“Of course, Armitage,” you shift, looking at him with sleepy eyes, but he’s never seen you more serious than you are now, “I’d never lie to you.”

If there was ever a moment he’d like to kiss you, this is it.

The pregnant silence is broken by the steady toll of the grandfather clock in the entryway, it’s twelve chimes echoing quietly throughout the house. You lay your head back on his chest, unwilling to fight the languor that threatens to consume you anymore.

“Merry Christmas, Armitage.”

He'd repeat the words back to you, but there are tears in his eyes.

Hux Tag List: @tartheanmaid, @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @catboykenobii, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @aramanna, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @generalthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars, @xxinvisiblexx, @fear-prism, @serenaisavillain, @a-literal-no-name, @fresa-luna, @masterjedilenaaa

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[emmikmil]

wiaww Day 22

Pairing: Will Miller x F!Reader

Prompts: Bells / Magic / Baking

Warnings: Food is a big theme today!

Word Count: 492

A/N: credit to the challenge goes to @cyantomatos

It feels like you’ve been preparing for this day for weeks now. Going over recipe books, deciding what you want to make, and taking multiple trips to the grocery store. You’re well known in your family and friend group for making the best cookies one the holiday season. Since you have a new boyfriend and friend group to bake for, your reputation is on the line. 

Well, that may be a bit dramatic, but still you show your love through your baking and this is the first major Holiday dating Will. Luckily, he gladly offered his help in your day of baking and you can never turn down quality time with him. in all honesty, you just expected for him to sit and keep you company, maybe even load the dishwasher but that wasn’t the case.

You open the door for Will bright and early, greeting him with a kiss. He hands you your favorite coffee order and immediately goes to the kitchen. He's sorting out what recipes you should make first as you mean against the door frame watching him. He has no issue with putting on your extra apron and rolling up his sleeves, ready to be directed with whatever work you have.

A few hours later you lean against the counter, looking fondly at Will as he peers into the oven. “Molasses cookies look good, they need more time though. The chocolate mint ones are chilling and the sugar cookies should be cool by now?'' As tired as you feel, he’s still focused and full of energy. "I can order us some lunch?'' you realize you’ve been zoning out, Will’s eyes on you. You really can’t find the words to tell him how much you appreciate him helping so you walk to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and hugging him close. You tell him your thanks, but it’s muffled from having your face smushed into his chest.His arms come around to hold you close, kiss given to the top of your head.

After a moment you pull away, gazing up at Will. “Are you opposed to having cookies for lunch with a sandwich?”

Will smiles broadly at this, “Now I’m not saying that’s the only reason I offered to help, but…” He laughs as you bump his hip, bending down to get the last molasses spice cookies out of the oven. As you place them down, Will is staring at you with so much sincerity in his eyes. “I really did want to help you. I know you do this every year for the holidays, and I remembered you saying last year you were up until midnight. I just want to help make things easier, especially since you’re making more than usual to take to the guys.” 

Will Miller could not be more perfect if he tried. He earns himself a kiss and another hug, more thanks pour from your lips.

**I have not set up any sort of taglist just yet but if you would like to be tagged in this month’s challenge/ other writings please shoot me a message!