#holiday fluff

One

The first time you run into Dr. Jack Abbot is at the Southwestern Veterans' Center.

You made a point of establishing a volunteer routine in every city you moved to, and your heart had always been partial to any kind of Veterans organization. Growing up as a military brat gave you a better perspective when it came to military members and especially veterans. You were no worshiper of the military, frankly you hated it not because of the industrial complex (well, not entirely) but because of how they treated active duty members and veterans. The fact the richest and most funded military in the world had families struggling to pay rent, most filing for bankruptcy at least once in their careers (if not twice, like yours had), everyone getting on EBT or standing in line at the food pantry during government shutdowns… it enraged you. So you funneled that anger and rage into volunteering.

Having moved to Pittsburgh for work in August meant that there was just no way you'd be going back to the midwest for the holiday season. Hence why you were at the SWVC, dressed in an old Air Force themed Christmas sweater, volunteering and making crafts with veterans and their families. You hadn't noticed him at first, too busy helping a group of kids create ornaments for their veterans, but he sure as hell noticed you.

Jack Abbot had not stopped in his tracks at the sight of a person in a very long time; not since he had met his wife (rest her soul) all those years ago. But tonight, as he volunteered at the SWVC, he found himself frozen. In a faded blue sweater, with a B2 Bomber dropping presents stitched across the front, was an angel. He watched as you helped tie ribbons to ornaments, as you smiled gently at the children and snuck them extra candies, before waving them off as they ran to show their presents to their family members. He found himself drawn to you, your smile, the way the light seemed to dance in your eyes. Before he knew it, he was in front of your station.

"Hi, what kind of ornament would you li-" you looked up and felt your breath stutter in your throat. The man in front of you was hot. Hell, to be fully dramatic, he was the most gorgeous speciman you'd ever laid eyes on. "L-like to make?" You hurriedly finished, feeling the tips of your ears burn as you met his eyes. "I'm actually here to help you, ma'am." That's when you noticed the volunteer nametag on his sweater, and prompty told yourself you were going to dive into the local river as soon as you were able. "Oh my god, sorry, I'm just used to running crafts solo." You admitted sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck. "No worries, chair force." He winked, and your brain short-circuited for the briefest of second, before the sass your mother gave you came barreling out like a horse at a race. "Better not be any, crayon muncher."

Jack's laugh sent warmth swooping through your body, and a grin broke across your face despite yourself. "Oh, I like you, blue angel. Now what can I do to help?" You stood and explained the different craft stations, discussed which needed the most hands-on help, and promptly saluted him as a group shuffled towards y'all, grinning and saying "Good luck, Captain Crayola."

By the end of the evening, your finger tips were covered in sharpie splotches and hurt slightly from all the paper folding; but best of all you had gotten to spend the night conversing with Captain Crayola, aka, Dr. Jack Abbot. Former combat medic, veteran, doctor, and a very kind man who made your heart skip a beat. The way he handled the children with such kindness, joked with the old gaurd, and showed tenderness to every person that came through the craft processional made your heart melt. That and his beautiful greying curls, his twinkling hazel eyes, his gruff and warm voice… God give you strength, you were always one to fall first and fast.

"Heading out?" Jack asked, watching as you wrapped a scarf around your neck. "Yeah, gotta go warm up the old beast and get home before my bed time." You joked, smiling at him with a warmth that spread down his spine. "I'll walk with you, if you don't mind." He offered, and felt a small smirk cross his lips at the shy look that crossed your expression as you nodded gently. You were adorable, and he liked seeing you blush. The two of you walked into the cold December air, a comfortable silence falling over the both of you like a blanket, as you approached your (hilariously or ironically) parked-right-next-to-each-other cars. "A blue car? I really shouldn't be surprised." He teased, and you rolled your eyes before shooting back a playful "And you with green? Not leaving much to the imagination, army." He smiled, a genuine, beautiful thing, that made your heart flutter. "Well, it's been fun working with you, blue angel, I hope to see you around." You grinned and gave a two-finger salute. "Right back at you, Captain Crayola. I'm sure our paths will cross again."

Two

The second time your paths cross during the holiday season is in the emergency room of what people affectionately (you think/hope) call The Pitt. Not for yourself, thank god, but for your colleague (and roommate) who got a liiiiittle too tipsy at the department holiday function nearby. That tipsiness led to them completely eating shit on some black ice, which led to you taking her to the local hospital, and sitting with her as she sobered up from the pain in her ankle. "Goooood this is not how I wanted to ring in the end of finals, Kansas." You rolled your eyes at the nickname. No matter how many times you corrected her, Josie would continuously call you Kansas, despite you being from Missouri. "Yeah, I know Jo, but life happens. At least we got in here quick, I've been in the ER for almost 12 hours with a friend before getting seen." You shrugged.

The curtain of the room was pulled open and the shocked "Blue angel?" that left Jack Abbot's lips made you want to melt into the floor. "Wait, did you call her- oh my god, Kansas, this is Captain Crayola!?" Your friend’s painful expression turned to delight, which made you want to evaporate into the air. "Oh my god this is a nightmare." You sighed, facepalming. "Did she just call you Kansas?" You looked at Jack, who was entirely too sexy in all black scrubs for his and your own good, as you felt your face grow hot. "Yes, nickname; I'm fine, why don't you focus on Josie, Dr. Abbot." You shoot back, trying to get the attention off of you as quickly as possible.

Nights in the ED close to the holidays had their own insanity to them, one that found Jack growing wearier and wearier the closer the snuck to December 25th. This new case, a twisted ankle from a very drunk partier, was just the cherry on top of that. When Jack opened the curtain, though, he found his heart skipping a beat as a familiar face greeted him from the chair. His blue angel sat there, wearing a very beautiful shimmery blue and purple dress that accentuated her curves, shaking her head at the patient on the bed. Then he heard your nickname for him come out of the patient's mouth, and felt himself preen a little. You talked about him. Just like he had talked about you (even if it was just to Robby, it counted). "Did she just call you Kansas?" The mirth in his voice could not be held back, nor could the mischief in his eyes go away as you deflected. Maybe this shift was getting better thanks to this twisted ankle.

You were staring at the vending machine as if it had personally wronged you. Josie was waiting on an x-ray for her ankle to make sure nothing was broken, and you were waaaay up past your bedtime (semester being over be damned, you had to pack for the flight back to Missouri); hence why you now perused the energy drink/coffee selection in the Pitt. "If you glare at it long enough, you might just break the glass sweetheart." You nearly jumped, swiveling to see Jack Abbot walk up beside you. You could almost feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him, and a shiver ran up your spine unbidden. "Well, if the Pitt had better options, I wouldn't have to glare so hard." You said, yawning towards the end. His gaze softened as he looked at you, and you tried not to read too far into it. "That's fair. Past your bedtime if I remember right."

Your soft smile further uplifted Jack's night. "Yeah, can't say I was expecting to end up in the ER, but there are worst things I suppose." You yawned again toward the end of the sentence and he had to hold back the urge to herd you to a quiet space so you could rest. The two of you had gotten the chance to talk more over the year, paths crossing often at the SWVC, but he rarely saw you this…tired. Vulnerable. And he wanted to protect it, protect you, and make sure you were hale and healthy. "Sorry I can't stop yawning, as soon as Josie is cleared to go, I'm getting an uber to take us home." "Us?" "Yeaaah, she's my roommate. God love her, but she cannot hold her liquor. Tonight being a prime example." He chuckled as you sighed dramatically. "You're a good roommate and friend…Kansas." He laughed at your groan. "I'm from Missouri, she calls me Kansas because all she heard was Kansas City—and everyone forgets it's a city in two states." You grumbled.

You settled on some vanilla coldbrew monstrosity in a can before walking back to the room with Jack. You continued to chat idly, ignoring the whispers from the nurses and the looks from residents as you chatted with their attending. You were friendly acquaintances, maybe even friends, so why were they being so extra about the two of you being close. When the X-Ray came back, you found yourself a little disappointed to be leaving Jack's company. "Alrighty, your ankle is not broken, just sprained; I would encourage using sports tape to help with walking. Otherwise, follow the PRICE method; Protect, rest, ice, compression and elevation." You made a mental note of this, knowing Josie was probably still too tipsy to remember the instructions. "Awesome, thanks Dr. Crayola." Again you wished the floor would open up and swallow you. Jack, good natured and kind, just chuckled and said goodbye. He lingered by you before leaving, leaning over to whisper a quick "Goodnight, blue angel.” before disappearing from the room. The scent of his cologne invaded your nose and followed him like a trail out the room. You nearly stumbled after him, but pulled yourself together as quick as possible. When you looked at Josie, she looked as smug as a cat who caught a canary. "Alright, you; time to get back to the apartment… You menace."

Three

The third time your path crossed Dr. Jack Abbot's during the holidays was at a bar in an airport. Your flight was delayed in Chicago, meaning you would be getting back to Kansas City incredibly late for Christmas Eve… if you made it at all. If you were lucky, you might be able to make it to Midnight Mass with your folks as a surprise, but you weren't feeling too optimistic. Instead, you sat at the bar nursing a hard cider, gazing wistfully out the airport windows. It was going to start snowing soon, and your flight may very well get cancelled, making your eyes burn with unshed tears. It had been four years since you were last home for the holidays (post the Josie incident), and this year you weren't going to be either…at least that's what you'd told your folks. This was meant to be a surprise, a joyful surprise in kahoots with your older siblings for your parents, but it seemed the weather had other fucking plans.

"Goddamn it all." You muttered, sipping the cider. "That's certainly a strong sentiment there, blue angel." Your head whipped to the side and met the warm hazel eyes of Jack Abbot. "Oh my god, Jack!" You laughed, a grin on your lips as you turned on the stool, and hugged the doctor. Jack chuckled and immediately wrapped his arms around you, cheek pressed to the top of your head. You bit back the contented sigh as the scent of Jack's cologne, and tried to ignore the warmth sliding down your spine at the feel of his arms around you. Over the last six years since you first met, you'd grown into easy friends with the doctor. Numbers had been swapped, a couple of outings together outside of volunteering at the SWVC a year were had, and more and more you were growing to like the good doctor as more than a friend. "What are you doing here?" You asked, pulling away somewhat reluctantly.

Jack sat in the stool beside you, flagging the bartender down for a whiskey neat, before turning his attention back to you. "Flying out to visit an old friend. I've got about two hours of a layover before my connection." You nodded, taking a sip of your cider. "What about you, blue angel, what's got you looking so frustrated and cursing the universe?" Jack watched as you sighed, tipping back the cider before answering. "It's a bit of a garbage fire if I'm honest; decided to surprise my parents for Christmas by coming home, planned it to the letter with my older siblings, but now… well. If the delays don't prevent me from getting home, then the incoming snow might." You trailed off at the end, feeling the lump in your throat grow. "I…I just wanted to surprise them, y'know? Haven't been home for Christmas in a few years—and they were practically begging for me to come home this year…"

Jack didn't hesitate to stand and wrap his arms around you as the tears fell. He rubbed your back in soothing circles as you cried into his shoulder. He tightened his hold slightly when you tried to pull away. "Jack, you don't have to, god, I'm sorry you don't have to—" your voice was wobbly, you peered up at him, eyebrows furrowed as he continued to hold you. His expression was one of empathy and . "It's okay, sweetheart, I've got you. You can let it out. I won't let go." He knew what it felt like to crack and break with no one there to catch you, and after the last few years of volunteering together and getting to know each other, he felt a protectiveness over you. He wouldn't let you break alone. He'd catch you. You leaned into his embrace and let yourself break.

"Passengers for flight 457 to Kansas City, your plane will begin boarding in ten minutes. Passengers for flight 457 to Kansas City, your plane will begin boarding in ten minutes."

"Looks like you've got a Christmas miracle, blue angel." Pulling away with a watery laugh, you wiped your eyes and looked up at Jack. "Grazie, Captain Crayola." Jack chuckled, reaching a hand up to brush your hair back from your eyes. His hand lingered, before cupping your cheek. Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him with wide eyes. Jack's eyes shone with tenderness as his thumb brushed across your cheekbone. "Anytime, blue angel. Absolutely anytime." If you could melt, you would have. Instead you mirrored his action, gently cupping his cheek and smiling up at him. "I don't know what I did for our paths to cross, but I'm thankful for it." Jack's lips turned up in a slight smile, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. "Ditto, chair force." "Don't push it, crayon muncher."

Jack walked you to the gate, an arm around your waist as you maneuvered through the crowd towards your boarding group. "Well, I guess I cried for nothing." You joked, cheeks still warm from the mortification of crying in public, especially in front of the man you had liked since meeting (and who, it seemed, to like you just as much). "Oh no, no, no sweetheart. You're emotions on the situation are valid, and crying is just a way to purge the excess emotion. It certainly was for something and there is no shame in that." Your lips pulled into a grin as you both stopped at the gate. "I can see why so many of the vets love to sit with you, y'know. You make people feel seen, heard, and validated." Now it was Jack's turn to feel his face warm as a dusting of pink covered the apples of his cheeks. "You're pushing it, Kansas." Your noise of disgust made him laugh, and soon you joined him in his chuckling. "You're incorrigible, Jack Abbot."

"Now welcoming group 5, now welcoming group 5 for flight 457 to Kansas City."

You smiled, a little sadly now, at Jack. "That's my cue. Thank you for everything, Jack. I-I really appreciate it." "Like I said, sweetheart, anytime." Jack, somewhat reluctantly, let go of you and watched as you turned to leave. What he wasn't expecting was for you to turn right back around, march up to him, gently cup his face in your hands, and kiss him. His eyes widened slightly, before a smirk pulled at his lips and his eyes fluttered shut, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close as he returned the kiss. For a long beat all that existed was this moment, with you wrapped in his arms, his lips caressing yours, and the scent of your perfume in the air. Pulling away for breath, you looked up at him through your lashes, and smiled somewhat sheepishly. "Happy Holidays, Jack." Jack grinned and pressed another kiss to your lips. "Merry Christmas, sweetheart."

Four

"Home for the holidays, I believe I've missed each and every face; Come on and play one easy, Let's turn on the love lights in the place…"

The music flowed easily from the Bluetooth speaker on the kitchen island as you pulled out a pan of freshly baked cinnamon rolls. A soft flurry of snow was swirling outside the kitchen window as you iced the rolls, humming along to the dulcet sounds of Kenny Loggins. It was the perfect Christmas Eve morning, and what would make it even better would be the person walking in the door in approximately five minutes; maybe seven if he was driving slow. You put the kettle on to make some decaffenated tea, pulled out the cream and sugar, and began cleaning up the dirty dishes from your baking adventure.

Jack was tired. The kind of tired that sinks into your bones and lingers long after you've gotten an adequate eight hours (well, four to six in his case) of sleep. The only way he got through the grueling Christmas Eve-Eve night shift was the thought of what was waiting for him at home. He smiled fondly at the memory of kissing you for the first time in the Chicago airport before you boarded your flight to Kansas City. It'd been a couple of years since then, and that new year the two of you had decided to give the relationship "the old college try" (you'd said with a wink, a joke at the fact you were a professor at the University of Pittsburgh) which brought you both to this holiday season. Your second as a couple, your first together on the literal holiday, and the first where you would be staying at his home. Robby had ribbed him at hand-off over how quickly he had moved to get out of the Pitt ("Where's the fire, Jack? Or should I say, whose the fire?" before he had softened and clapped Jack on the shoulder affectionately. "I'm happy for you brother, enjoy your holiday together.") but frankly, Jack couldn't bring himself to care. Not when his blue angel was waiting at home.

"Well, I'm finally here but I'm bound to roam, Come on, celebrate me home. Well, I'm finally here but I'm bound to roam, Come on, celebrate me home."

The sound of the front door shutting made butterflies flutter in your stomach. He was officially off from the Pitt until New Year's Day, meaning the kickstart of your holiday with the man you'd quickly fallen in love with. "Sweetheart?" His voice sounded a little rough, like he may have been yelling during the night. "In the kitchen!" You shouted, opening a cupboard and grabbing the bottle of local honey you'd bought at the farmers market before autumn had ended. It'd be soothing for his throat, especially in a cup of tea. Jack's greying curls more wild than usual thanks to the spiraling snow outside, his cheeks a bit pinker from the cold, and his eyes slightly tired. But they lit up when he saw you, and you couldn't help the feeling of lightness that filled you at that. "Happy Christmas Eve, I made my ma's cinnamon rolls, hope you don't mind orange flavored icin—mmmphm!"

Jack swept you up into his arms, lifting you to sit on the counter, and slanted his mouth against yours. You tasted of cinnamon, sugar, and a dash of citrus. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing back before breaking out in a dreamy smile. Jack pulled away with one last peck, leaning his forehead against yours. "Happy Christmas Eve, sweetheart. Missed you." You giggled, a sound that made him feel safe, and pecked his cheek. "Missed you, too. Though I was finally able to redo my syllabus for rhetorical theory without, ahem, anymore distractions." Jack cocked an eyebrow at you, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. "Oh really? And what had been distracting you, blue angel?" Your breath hitched as he leaned down and began pressing kisses to your neck, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin, making goosebumps rise up on your skin. “You know damn well what has been distracting me, Captain Crayola.” You gasped as he sucked on the sensitive spot at the conjunction of your neck and jaw, pushing lightly at Jack’s shoulder with a whine. “Jack, the cinnamon rolls are gonna get cold.” Acquiescing albeit reluctantly, Jack helped you down from the counter, and chuckled as you bumped your hip with his to get him to scoot over. "Now what kind of tea are you feeling this morning? And yes, you need a cup before you get some rest, with honey; you've got that gruffness that comes with yelling most of the night in your tone."

Your tail bone was being a literal pain again. Physical pain on top of emotional pain makes you teary eyed as you hope rest will fix it. The sound of jingling bells are faintly picked up as you unwind in your dark cool bedroom.

You fuzzily awaken to find your room more light and warm. You blink to see the sentient chibified form of your beloved appear on your nightstand. He waved his Bungeoppang at you; the scent of the fish shaped pastry is fresh and warm in the air, offering you to take a bite yourself, the creamy insides making you sniffle as thanks.

Your finger rubs his chibi cute head, petting him gently. He flushes in the cheeks, but his eyes wobble with concern. "Noona, is there anything more we can do to soothe your aches?”

Mini Beru uses his healing skill as best he can on your undie covered bum while Mini Igris was trying not to tip over from being tied up with tinsel due to some hijinks. Mini Tusk used his magic flames to at least soothe your afflicted area in case Beru's healing didn't suffice. Mini Tank cuddled your hand and licked your fingers, giving thanks by scratching under his chin.

"Dream or not ... thanks, little guys." That's when another presence made themselves known as they all turned to said figure walking around the bed from the shadows in the corner. His hand dismissing his shadow generals but letting his tiny self give you a nose kiss before following his soldiers back to the Realm of Repose.

Despite being an immortal man, your Jinwoo was technically stuck looking 25 if he didn't physically alter his appearance to age normally like everyone else. You were a few years older, case in point his Noona.

And he was your Woo Woo, currently wearing a red sweater with snowflakes crossing horizontally, as he sat on the edge of the bed, giving your hand a squeeze, leaning down to kiss your cheek, then your nose, and lastly your forehead.

"How are you feeling, baby?”

"I've been better. It's not just the tailbone. The holidays were never really my thing.”

"I know." He gave you some ibuprofen and a glass of water to help you down the tabs.

"Is it ... really you? Not just a figment? Or another trying dream?" Your words turn to mush as tears and sniffles leave you. Whether it was the pain relievers kicking in or your tailbone finally relieved through your crying due to anxiety triggered by chronic tension in your pelvic floor. You didn't know. All you do know is you need your Jin ASAP.

He cradles your blotchy face and kisses you as such. Shushes and coos you soothingly as he pulls out a handkerchief to help clean up the snot and tears. He suckles and chews on your red puffy cheeks, making a gaggle of giggles leave your lips, as was his intention.

"I'm always real to you, angel." His appearance changed to show himself in the Santa Claus hat and coat, a knapsack full of gift wrapped presents by his feet. "And for you, my dear sweet Y/n, your present." 

He helped prop you up against your pillows as you laid on your side. His giant scarred hand cradles your smaller soft hand as he aided you in unwrapping your red and light blue shimmering small box of a present and taking off the lid.

It was a custom-made snowglobe, crafted with engravings of silver and obsidian metals serving as the base. Amidst the water and the swirling snow laid a mini crafted castle of Shadows, Jinwoo in his Monarch armor, you in a flowing white dress laced and swirled with touches of obsidian and violet. Both of you danced as music like chimes played while your figures both spun around in your own little winter wonderland. They seemed so lifelike.

"Knowing you this past year has been unlike anything I've ever felt before. All the powers of a Monarch could never stop the rush I feel when I see your eyes, when I speak your name, when I hold you so close like this."

He moves to sit right by you to cradle you, warmth filling his expression as he watches you gaze at the musical snow globe. "Do you like it?"

"I love it ... thank you, yeon-in." Your face angles and turns up to kiss his jawline. "Did I use the right term this time? Or should I say Santa~?"

He deeply chuckles as he litters a trail of kisses along your chin and jawline. "Aien, yeon-in, Santa ... they're all me." He helps you set your globe on your nightstand. "Now then, how would you feel about going out with me tonight?"

Your giddy self clings to him as he swept you up in his arms. The setting of your bedroom turns to shadowy wisps and cool gusts as he teleports you both to the bustling glitzy setting of Seoul amidst the holiday markets and displays.

His shadows clad you in a comfy jacket, a sweater dress, leggings, and boots for the immersion. His Santa outfit changed into a familiar beige trench coat, a black turtleneck, grey slacks, and fancy snug black shoes and socks. He offers his arm to you with that flushed grin. "Shall we?"

You both explore his hometown like the booths selling and handing out samples. Such as him having you try things out with him like roasted chestnuts, some fish-shaped bread, and sweet egg bread; Gyeran-ppang. His thumb brushed the stray drops of Sujeonggwa; a spiced, sweet drink with persimmons like cinnamon punch.

The sight of carolers, the activity in the nearby amusement park with its very own skating rink, has him escorting you there just to immerse you in the variety of sights. You giggle as his shadows make you and him literally float just over the ice, startling and puzzling the other skaters on the rink, bringing a snort and chortle out of him.

But the moment you both wandered out of the city glamour and into the decorated natures filled with fairy lights and falling snow, he bowed to you, offering you his hand. "Would you honor me with a dance, aien?"

His shadows twirled around you to change your attire before his very own eyes. Now clad in a red and white hooded caped dress with ribbon adoring your head. His strapping wine suit that his shadows put him in complimenting your outfit as he dips you and lifts you up in the air during your little dance.

Others caught sight of you both. Whether couples or families or even the sparkling wisps in the air, they all watched you two dance like a ballerina and her regal prince.

The tinsel garland, the many wreaths, the sight of snowman and reindeer all blur past you as you're lost in your own little world with him, easing you into the steps while also sweeping you off your feet, snow dusting both of you in the hair, on clothes and lashes. He kisses you enticingly.

"Pulling out all the stops, are we?" Your tease against his lips make him smirk and kiss your more, distracting you as he springs off the ground, his lips curling wider at how you clutched him from how high you both were, partaking in the radiant view. He floats down to the balcony of what he introduced as his own private apartment. "Are you sure your folks don't mind you not being with them tonight?"

"Jinah's on a date with Jinho. Mom and Dad have decades' worth of catching up to do back at the family apartment. Plus, I told them ahead of time that I already had plans for tonight. Just me and you, my little angel."

His shadows opened and closed the sliding door for him so he could carry you over the threshold. The small Christmas tree display, the lite up tinsel garlands on every archway, and the homey music played softly in the background as his shadows bowed to you both.

The smell of warmly prepared food made you drool. He draped you across his lap on his comfy couch as the prepared feast littered his coffee table. "For you, my dear sarrang."

Japchae; stir-fried noodles, and Galbijjim; braised short ribs, with a Japanese-inspired strawberry cream Christmas cake in the center. Sikhye; a sweet, fermented rice drink, helps you down them. You feed each other, suck on each other's Sikhye dripping lips, and cuddle.

"Jinwoo, you overwhelm me with the strength to keep going. You make me feel brave even when the world — when life is squeezing me dry. You keep me going. You're my anchor. My inspiration. My very own pillar of strength."

"I feel the exact same way, Y/n, every single thing. It's always been you." His shadows handled packing up the leftovers and cleaning up as you both lay on the couch together, all warmly fuzzy from the good food, the good vibes, spending this day with him. You want to properly thank him. Through his shadows, through him, he could read your very forbidden thoughts.

"My naughty little minx ... you want to ride my sleigh that badly?"

"Yes, please ... Santa baby~ Let me be good to you tonight~"

The sight of you stripping down and having his shadows wrap you up in the strangely long red ribbon from your hair and plopping his Santa hat on your head makes the man snarl, his aura and eyes eminating now the whimsy of Saint Nick but the sinfulness of Krampus as he lifts you off your feet and throws you over his shoulder, smacking your rippling cheeks to fill the air with your sleazy cheers.

His shadows shred his suit as he tosses you on his bed, immediately devouring you and your gushing pussy. His bare back flexes as your fingers leave scratches along his sculpted muscles, his growl filled moans fill your ears heatedly. He has you tasting yourself as he makes out with you right after, drool and essence slipping out the corners of your mouths.

As he tears the ribbons off your glowing form, he spreads his Christmas cheer all over your face, your breasts, just about everywhere, as he jacks off his cumming cock, the squelching wet sounds making you both stain the sheets already. "I am the gift that keeps on giving. Isn't that right, my good little girl?"

"Oh yes Jin~! Yes I'll be good for you~!" His log thrusts needily between your jiggling boobs. He rolls you on your side so his throbbing length can jut right between your thighs, rubbing right on your fluttering cunt but not piercing you yet, lathering himself up in your juices.

"Jingle your balls right in my suger plums, beloved~!" Your wanton mewls fill the air as his nutsack slaps your stretch marked cheeks with such gusto. His hips stutter at your continued use of holiday terms for some sexual innuendo.

"Your wish is my command, my stunning snowflake." He lifts up your leg from under the knee to rub his swollen leaking head right into your quivering lips. "Fuck, I've missed this, love. Missed you. So damn much!" He groans as your slickened melons rub his pecs, having him devour your chest; tongue and teeth included.

"Nnmph~! Fuck, Jinwoo, yes~! Give me those cherry nubs! Nnnh, make me yours~!" He sucks your nipples red and raw, littering teeth marks from your neck to your tummy, from your inner thighs to your hips. His giant hands grip your hip handles until finger imprints and bruises were left in their wake.

Rocking around his sturdy bed, the headboard slams the wall and the mattress squeaks as he ruts like the polar explores in and out of your tight walls. "My dear sweet Mrs. Claus ... having your belly round with our child ... now that's what I call a perfect gift."

Your toes curl and your back arches as you cling to him, feeling him rubbing your gummy walls. "Oh Jinwoo my love~! Never stop fucking me~!" He rolls you both over, having you ride him properly, tapping his throbbing length like a mad man up in your quivering caverns, flapping your now marked breasts in his face.

"These feelings burning up inside ... I know neither of us are used to these kinds of things ... but I'm glad it's with you ... and only you." He sits up so he can sloppily make out with you, caging up both your cries as you milked him dry, his own seed stroking right up into your womb. He ruts through the high release, whimpering as your hands tug and run through his messy lovely hair.

The rest of the night hereafter is foggy from the twinkling of afterglow. He settles down with you laying atop him, still womb deep in you but limp dick satisfied, cradling you, brushing back your hair, kissing your forehead, settling down with you as you go into the ZZZs.

The moment you wake up, you do feel sore. And sticky. But the muffled sounds of children's glee reach your ears as the soft light of morning sneaks into the room. Jinwoo looks to be still asleep. He looked the same except for his hair.

It was longer, slight curls were at the nape of his neck, and the top parts were fluffier than ever before, with the bangs hanging in his eyebrows. It all perfectly frames his handsome face that you crawl up to and kiss all over. This felt like no dream. It feels too real. Albeit a ripple in time. You know he's OP ... turning reality on its head.

He chuckles sleepily from your face smooches, his grey eyes crinkled open for you as you move down to suckle on his pecs, licking all the way down to his abs, teething and biting them. His back arches and his hands flex while gripping your hips as his pent-up sighs and soft moans make you grin.

"Careful, you. I'd rather the kids not see their parents get all erotic on Christmas morning." His aroused filled panting as him already twitching inside you. You bit your bottom lip to keep your squeal in as he lifted you off him reluctantly, pulling himself out, cradling your still messy selves together.

"You were never gonna take me back home, were you?" His steely gaze was there a moment before it becomes tender as his hand waves over his empty nightstand to summon your gifted snowglobe of yourselves. "OK, that's a relief. I really do love my gift ... but really, are there still more surprises to come?"

Jinwoo's smug smile meets your lips. "Having the Shadow Monarch as your lover comes with many surprises, Y/n. After all ..." He hand envelops your left bare one, sliding down to reveal the wedding band ring that was now on your ring finger. "... you are my wife. From the moment we found each other ... getting to know you this past year ... I knew I needed to make you mine."

His strongest shadows watched the kids as you two took a warm, quick shower, changed the sheets, and put on your Christmas sweaters and sweatpants before heading to the living room hand in hand.

The sight of kiddie Suho and his younger sister D/n in their PJs, wrapping chibi Igris in tinsel garland and putting reindeer antlers atop chibi Tank, it made you and Jinwoo watch in humor filled affection. Suho is the spitting image of his father, but D/n is a blend of him and you.

"They're precious." You hummed as he hugged you from behind.

"They're our little miracles." Jinwoo kisses you some more before you see him scooping up his squirming giggling kids, growling playfully as he gives then wet buzzing cheeks kisses. "Come here, you little rascals."

He cooks some hotteok; sweet filled pancakes, for breakfast, along with preparing cups and mugs of some lactose free milk on the side. His chest blooms with warmth as he watched your kids clinging to you on the couch, calling you mama in their attempts to say eomma.

After having breakfast together at the small dining table, Beru gladly became his liege's footstool for around a minute before Suho tackled his favorite former Ant King into playing with him. D/n rubbed chibi Tank's belly like her furry pet. You placed chibi Tusk atop the tree, serving as the fiery magical star. And Jinwoo helped Igris out of the tinsel.

You curled up against Jinwoo on the couch as you both watched the kids tear up their presents open to find toys, Suho and D/n saying appa as well as papa as they wave their gifts at him, even calling him Santa. The twinkle in his eye made them more rambunctious, seemingly hitting the mark.

Jinwoo's knuckles brush yours, revealing his own wedding band before cupping your chin to tilt your face up enough to have you notice the mistletoe hanging above you both.

"Merry Christmas, Y/n." He kisses you briefly.

"Merry Christmas, Jinwoo ... my husband~" Your hand brushes his cheek as you reciprocated.

Suho and D/n's squealing selves seeing mommy and daddy being mushy had you both grabbing your rugrats for some overdue raspberries in the cheeks. With you and Jinwoo working together, your little ones were al trapped and at their parents mercy.

The content sensations of a hearty breakfast followed by a joyous morning has you and Jinwoo taking a nice long nap with your precious babies nestled safely between you both in your big shared bed.

All you ever wanted was for Jinwoo to be only yours.

You were late. The lecture on Kierkegaard’s concept of anxiety had already begun. The only open seat was next to a guy with a familiar slouch and a head of dark, unruly curls, furiously scribbling notes as if he were arguing with the professor on the page. You slid in, whispered an apology. He didn’t look up, just gave a curt nod. But ten minutes later, when you asked to borrow a pen, he finally glanced over.

His eyes, a sharp, intelligent grey—scanned your face, and you saw the exact moment his philosopher’s observation switched from academic to personal. He didn’t see a frazzled classmate. He saw the slight delay in your blinks, the distant, soft focus of your gaze. His brows drew together, not in judgment, but in clinical curiosity. Then he saw it: the faint, tell-tale rim of red lining your lower lashes.

He handed you the pen. “Rough morning?” he murmured, his voice low.

“Something like that,” you whispered back, a flush of shame warming your cheeks.

After class, as you both spilled into the bright, cold New York afternoon, he fell into step beside you. “For the record,” he said, stuffing his hands into the pockets of a coat that had seen better days, “self-medicating with cannabinoids to cope with existential dread is a time-honored tradition, but it does rather blunt one’s ability to grapple with Kierkegaard’s leap.”

You stopped walking, mortification freezing you in place. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only to professional misanthropes and former gifted-and-troubled youth.” He offered a small, crooked smile that softened the sharp lines of his face. “Which, regrettably, I am both. I’m Angus, by the way.”

That was it. You confessed it was a one-time, stress-induced mistake during finals, and he, to your surprise, didn’t lecture. He just said, “The world is a lot. Sometimes the escape hatch is tempting. The trick is not to get lost in the crawl space.”

A friendship built slowly, over bad library coffee and arguments about Camus versus Sartre that felt more vital than any of your actual coursework. He was different from the brittle, defensive boy from the stories he sometimes told about Barton. Softer around the edges, the anger tempered into a wry, observant melancholy. He called you “bright eyes,” a gentle tease about that first day that became an endearment. You learned the map of his face—the way his nose crinkled when he was thinking, how his curls fell over his forehead when he was tired, the rare, true smile that transformed him completely.

The liking crept in quietly, a warmth in your chest, a flutter in your stomach when his hand would brush yours passing a book.

So when his email arrived in mid-December, it felt both startling and inevitable.

Bright Eyes,

Boston in December is a special kind of bleak. All my mother’s festive cheer feels like a hostile corporate takeover. The thought of another silent, tense “celebration” in my childhood home (or worse, her husband’s) is more than I can currently bear. I find myself craving… something else. Something real. You once mentioned your hometown has a diner with pie that could induce a religious experience. Any chance the offer of asylum still stands? I promise not to philosophize at your family. Much.

- A

You wrote back within the hour.

Angus,

Asylum granted. Pack warm. The pie is even better than I promised. My family’s loud, they ask too many questions, and my dad will probably try to get you to help him fix the garage door. They’re going to love you.

Your hometown wasn't a picture-postcard place. It was a small, midwestern river town where the streets were lined with old oaks and the lights were strung with a haphazard, genuine warmth. The air smelled of woodsmoke and cold, not salt and old money.

He stepped off the bus looking like a displaced poet, duffel bag slung over his shoulder, curls escaping from under a wool beanie. When he saw you waiting on the platform, that real smile broke through, the one that still made your stomach flip.

“You came,” you said, stupidly.

“You promised me pie,” he said, his grey eyes warm. “And a reprieve from existential holiday dread. A compelling offer.” You hugged him, and he returned, giddy and a heart so warm. “Come inside, it’s freezing out there.”

Introducing him to your family was like watching a wild, elegant bird cautiously enter a lively aviary. Your mom hugged him immediately, calling him “honey.” Your dad shook his hand firmly and, true to prediction, within two hours had him holding a flashlight under the stubborn garage door opener, listening patiently to a monologue about rusted springs. Your younger sister asked him if he thought New York was overrated.

“It’s… densely populated,” he replied, with perfect seriousness, and she declared him cool.

The fluff was in the quiet moments in between the cheerful chaos.

It was in your childhood kitchen, him leaning against the counter while you made hot chocolate, his sleeve brushing your arm as he stole a marshmallow. “Domesticity looks good on you, Tully,” you teased.

“It’s a foreign country,” he said, watching your hands. “But the natives are surprisingly kind.”

It was walking through the snowy town square at night, the colored lights reflecting in his eyes. He told you about his first semester, how strange it was to be around people who didn’t know his Barton reputation, who just saw a smart guy with messy hair. You told him about the relief of being home, where your worth wasn’t measured by an organic chemistry grade.

It was Christmas Eve, after your family had gone to bed, leaving the living room lit only by the twinkling tree. You were both on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, listening to an old jazz record your dad loved.

“This is… nice,” Angus said, the word sounding profound in his mouth. “Uncomplicated.”

“Is it?” you asked softly, looking at the way the tree lights danced in his curls.

He turned his head to look at you. His face was so close. You could see the faint freckles across his nose, the soft curve of his lips. The air between you shifted, grew thick and sweet as the honey your mom put in her tea.

“You know,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve been trying to figure out what it was about you that first day. Beyond the, ah, extracurricular coping. I think it was that even in a daze, you looked like you were seeing something no one else could. Something kinder.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs. “And what do you see now?”

He didn’t answer with words. He leaned in, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t. His lips met yours, and it was nothing like the sharp, cynical kisses you might have imagined for Angus Tully. It was soft. It was sweet. It tasted of peppermint cocoa and home and a hesitant, overwhelming hope. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed. “I see you,” he whispered. “Bright eyes. I see you.”

your porch light spills out a golden circle behind you, glowing against the deep blue of the early evening. the sky is fading fast, the kind of december twilight where everything looks dipped in watercolor. you can hear the distant quiet of the neighborhood — someone’s wind chime, a car crunching slowly over frost.

and then, closer, much louder:

“—and then she said i talk too much in class, but i wasn’t even talking that much, i was just telling rina about the glitter glue, and—”

daichi’s voice interrupts, strained to the point of cracking. “uh-huh. yep. sweetheart, could you… maybe hold the ladder a little tighter?”

you round the corner of the house, following the spray of half-hung christmas lights. daichi is near the top of the ladder, one boot braced awkwardly on a rung that looks far too thin to support a grown man, his gloved hands working shakily along the gutter.

below him, your kid has exactly one hand on the ladder. the other is waving enthusiastically as they continue their monologue without pause.

“—and then rina said she didn’t even like glitter anyway, but that’s a lie, she loves glitter, she’s always asking if we have more—”

daichi leans down, terrified, looking directly at the barely-touching hand. “please. both hands. both— honey, they’re not even— babe, they’re not even holding the ladder!”

you bite your lip hard to keep from laughing. this was supposed to be a cute family moment. it has turned into daichi re-evaluating every decision he has ever made.

“i brought hot chocolate,” you announce softly.

your kid immediately lights up, abandoning the ladder entirely — daichi makes a strangled noise — and rushes over with both mittens outstretched.

you pass them the smaller mug, careful to help their little hands wrap around it. they blow on it dramatically, nose pink from the cold.

“mama, look! we’re almost done hanging lights!”

“oh, i can see that,” you say, glancing up at daichi.

he is clinging to the ladder like it’s swaying in hurricane-force winds instead of sitting perfectly still on your frosty lawn.

“i’m fine,” he insists, though he’s visibly trembling. “i’m great. not scared at all.”

“uh-huh.”

a breeze moves through the yard, stirring the lights hanging beside him. they sway gently, casting dancing reflections across his face. he’s flushed from the cold, hair slightly damp from frost, breath coming out in sharp puffs.

you step forward and steady the ladder with both hands.

his whole spine loosens in relief.

“oh thank god,” he mutters under his breath.

your kid, totally oblivious to the life-or-death stakes, takes a big sip of their drink and announces proudly, “i helped dad!”

“you did,” daichi says, voice full of forced enthusiasm. “such great help.”

“do you want me to hold it again?”

“absolutely not.”

you laugh, the sound carrying lightly into the cold air. “go on, love. finish the lights.”

daichi clears his throat and carefully climbs the last two rungs, hooking the final strand. his movements are exaggeratedly slow, deliberate, like he’s performing surgery on live electricity.

you can see the small details from below: the way his breath shakes just slightly, the way he keeps looking at where your kid used to be standing, the way he relaxes every time your hands tighten on the ladder.

when he climbs down, boots hitting the frosted grass, he exhales so deeply it fogs the air in front of him.

“see?” you tease. “that wasn’t so bad.”

“i was up there,” he says, gesturing with one gloved hand toward the gutter like he just scaled mount everest. “and our child was giving a ted talk on glue.”

your kid pipes up immediately, “it wasn’t a ted talk. it was important.”

daichi crouches to kiss their forehead, pulling them gently into his side. “i know, sweetheart.”

you hand him his mug, now warm instead of piping hot. he wraps his palms around it, leaning into your side. the lights above you flicker on — warm, golden, crooked in places but glowing beautifully.

they reflect in your kid’s eyes first. then in daichi’s.

“it looks good,” he murmurs. “really good.”

“because we all did it together,” your kid declares.

“yeah,” daichi says quietly, looking at you over their head. “we did.”

and you stand there as a family — hot chocolate warming your hands, winter running soft fingers over your cheeks, the glow of string lights painting your home in warmth — while daichi pulls you close enough to share his breath.

“next year,” he whispers, lips brushing your hairline, “we’re buying a sturdier ladder.”

you smile into his shoulder. “next year, you’re not allowed up the ladder.”

he hums. “deal.”

the three of you stay outside long enough for the cocoa to cool and the sky to go velvet-dark, the lights bright against the night, your world warm in the cold.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

Clark Kent

christmas with clark will change pretty wildly depending on how serious the relationship is/how far into your relationship you are.

like the first one, and you're casual, it's a 50/50 that you'll see him for new years, and absolutely no chance you'll see him christmas eve or day, at minimum. a few years in? you're a staple.

before i continue, i do wanna give a warning - personally, im not a big holiday person, my family never celebrated anything, so i can't say i know what the norms of christmas are outside of like movies and shows and shit. but i don't really think the kent's would celebrate like that, like they might do gifts if they all agree to it for the year, but i see their family as much more of a decor, movies, and making every festive recipe we can find - i feel it in my bones that this is biblical canon

like once you and clark are official, serious, real, that's it. you're his parents second son and holidays are all the more chaotic.

it's christmas movies (including die hard, fuck you) playing in living room, where no one is. you just faintly hear it from the kitchen, where something is consistently being made, if not several things at once. if the oven's being used for one thing the stove is being used for another. the appliances don't get a break and nothing is ready together

like everything is eaten and tried as it's taken out of the oven, it pulled off the stove christmas eve, whatever isn't eaten it's packed up after it's cooled off. every meal after is just made of leftovers from christmas eve until they're gone

i think for the kent's it is just super laid back, a time to appreciate the time you have with each other. i also feel in my heart that jon and martha were big on eating together. like dinner as a family was instilled in him as a kid, it's unfathomably rude to not. so i think christmas is one of the few times where eating isn't exactly synchronized. like he'll ask if anyone wants anything when he gets up from whatever game or during a movie, but i think there's a slight giddiness because he doesn't feel rude if no one says yes (i also believe the kent's are the most politely aggressive food pushers in the world, for a little extra context)

your first christmas with his family i think does have him nervous, because while it's chill for the most part, christmas eve morning to afternoon is hectic. there's movies, everyone is talking, doing completely different things. even if your doing the same thing as someone else like decorating or cooking, it's still separate and the steps are wildly different. it's a lot going on and it's already nerve-wracking bringing a partner home, much less during the holidays

his parents tease him a bit that first holiday, and really everytime the brings you back, about how he just looks at you, hopelessly enamored with you. watching what your doing like you're creating the new mona lisa instead of fucking up the shapes from the cookie cutter. they don't say much, just take turns playfully scolding him to watch what he's doing. sharing knowing looks that make clark red in the face when he notices

seeing you interact with his family, how you joke back with his parents and kind you are, how much you fit in. it makes him needy, despite. i think it's like clockwork every year, you barely make it through the door before he's pulling you by the shirt, bring you closer, trying to be as close to you as he can.

no amount of teasing him about it beforehand will change it, no matter how much he denies it.

and once you're home, he's so much worse. following you around like a lost puppy until you take him bed and fuck his brain half way out of his skull, as if that'll keep him from trailing behind you until you have to go back to work.

for new years eve, i don't think he does much usually. another headcanon of mine is that clark has the bedtime/nighttime routine of an old lady, so unless you like to party or have something you'd like to do, i think he'd have a late lunch/early dinner with some friends to celebrate new years (either on the day or eve, he's not picky) but otherwise, it's just another night for him.

i think if you're someone who likes to watch the ball drop, he tries to bargain staying home if he stays up with you to watch it. he won't, regardless. like he'll try, but he's going to get comfortable and fall asleep against you by 9 - maybe 10 at the latest.

Lex Luthor

as i said before, i don't celebrate anything and didn't growing up, so while i felt out of depth for clark, i think luthor is well within my wheelhouse because i don't think he celebrates anything as an adult

before you, he didn't celebrate, he didn't decorate, he didn't get gifts. nothing

after you come into his life, he keeps lists. he's a such a loser for you. like obviously he's rich, he has a ludicrous amount of resources. much more than enough to provide you a comfortable life 1000x over, so he keeps lists. tracks everything you want, like, have ever shown even a passive interest in it. any assistant, secretary, body guard he has, their participation is necessary. of course, it is.

lex can't be by your side every minute, but his employees can be when he isn't. they're supposed to keep tabs on you, anyway. to keep you safe, obviously. and throughout the year, he definitely gets you things. i don't think he's patient enough to wait to get you everything off of the yearly list. it's just so so so much more during the winter holiday season. it's always lined up with whichever holiday you celebrate, always has some way to just his grandeur

if your materialistic, or just like trinkets or whatever, it's a match made in heaven. you get your trickets, he gets to provide them.

if you aren't, if you're not one for material goods or grand gestures, he's at a loss and it'll take him years to figure out how to get you gifts. i don't think making things is something he's particularly open to and quality time isn't something that's entered his consciousness

if you don't want a lot of things, you're getting them with lex. you just are. but how much and what will change. you don't like material goods, so he'll try for baked good. clearing out bakery's and delis for you. taking you to fancy dinners and brunches.

eventually, he'll notice taking you out to eat seems to be a favorite, but smart men can be very stupid. he figures it's the experience of fine dining and the food. it's expensive; it looks expensive and it feels expensive. that's what he thinks you like. that's what anyone would like. i think he's so used to just paying his way to whatever, he doesn't really think about the holidays or gifts from any other lense.

once he figures it out - because he will, eventually. once he gets that it's the experience that you like. the time shared and spent together. once he understands that, gifts become more complex. like sometimes they're simple, like concerts or plays (always in box seats, of course). occasionally he'll rent out an aquarium so you won't be bothered or theatre if you want to see a movie. usually it's a few days to several week long scheduled trips of various resorts, going to different cities, countries, cultures

all of that is to say, regardless of which route you go, regardless of the fact that he doesn't normally celebrate, the holiday season is more than an extravagant month long ordeal that goes through new years

“Okay, your turn, Picasso,” he teased, handing you the icing bag like it was cursed.

You took it, puffing up your chest with false confidence. “Watch and learn.”

A few seconds later, a blob of icing exploded out the side and landed right on the roof piece. You blinked. Keeho blinked. Then, as if choreographed, you both burst out laughing.

He clutched his stomach, doubling over. “You—” he wheezed between giggles, “you judged me for that!”

You were laughing so hard you could barely hold the icing bag. “You made it look easy to mess up!”

The gingerbread house now resembled something between modern art and structural disaster. One wall leaned inward, the roof sagged, and the icing was forming stalactites. Keeho tried to hold a wall in place while you adjusted the roof, but every time you let go, it slid again.

“Hold it up like this!” you said, pressing one side firmly.

“I am holding it—wait, no, it’s sliding!”

“Then stop breathing on it!”

“I can’t not breathe!”

Another piece crumbled, and that was the final straw. You both collapsed onto the floor in laughter, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. Keeho wiped his hand on a napkin and stared at the sad creation on the table.

“Well,” he said after a long pause, “it’s official. Our gingerbread house looks like it survived an earthquake."

You tilted your head, studying the crooked little thing. “More like… postmodern gingerbread expressionism.”

“Right,” he said, grinning. “A commentary on the fragility of architecture under emotional stress.”

You snorted, and he grinned wider, proud of himself for getting you to laugh again. Then, leaning closer, he squinted at the house like he was judging it for a cooking show.

“Honestly,” he said, voice dropping to a mock-serious tone, “this looks pretty shitty.”

That made you laugh again—loud and unfiltered. Before he could say anything else, you leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm, soft, still tasting faintly of the peppermint candy he’d been nibbling earlier. When you pulled back, his grin softened into something quieter, sweeter.

“Well,” you said, brushing a bit of icing off his cheek, “good thing you have other talents.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

You smiled. Well you can sing, dance, you are funny and....well you are dangerously handsome."

Keeho blinked, caught off guard for a moment. Then his grin returned, slower this time, blooming like warmth after a snowfall. “Guess I can live with that.”

You both turned back to the ruined house, shoulders bumping as you sat together on the floor. It was messy and lopsided, but it was yours—every crooked wall, every drip of icing, every laugh that had built it.

“Next year,” Keeho said, resting his head on your shoulder, “we’re buying one prebuilt.”

You smiled, nudging him gently. “Nah. Half the fun is the failure.”

He chuckled, soft and low. “Then we must be having the time of our lives.”

Theo

The kitchen smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, the kind of scent that wrapped itself around you like a blanket. Christmas music hummed from the speaker, low and cheerful, and Theo stood at the counter with his sleeves rolled up, concentrating way too hard on shaping a cookie.

You leaned over to peek at his handiwork. “Is that supposed to be a snowman?”

He nodded proudly. “Snowman, star, Santa, reindeer—classic Christmas lineup.” He held one up for inspection, its tiny frosting eyes staring into space. “Perfection.”

You smirked and returned to your dough. “I prefer to get creative.”

“Creative,” Theo repeated carefully, the way someone might repeat a suspicious word.

He glanced sideways just as you were lifting one of your creations onto the tray. His eyes widened. Then his lips pressed together, trembling with the effort not to laugh.

“...That’s a Santa hat?” he asked, voice already cracking with amusement.

You looked at your cookie, tilting your head. “Yeah, obviously. You can see the pom-pom right there.” You pointed confidently to what was clearly not a pom-pom.

Theo’s shoulders shook as he tried—and failed—to keep a straight face. “Uh-huh. Yeah. Totally seeing it.”

You squinted. Why are you making that face?”

“I’m not making a face,” he said, grinning ear to ear. “I’m just… appreciating your artistic freedom.”

You narrowed your eyes, noticing the way his chest was shaking from holding in laughter. “Theo.”

“Okay, okay,” he said between chuckles, raising his hands like he was surrendering. “It’s just that… your Santa hats look a little…well..you know....it kind of looks like a dick."

Your jaw dropped, then you broke into a laugh so loud it startled the Christmas music into seeming quieter. “You’re lying”

“I'm not!” he said, laughing openly now. “You made gingerbread—uh—porn!”

You snorted, nearly dropping the cookie cutter. “Art’s subjective!”

He shook his head, still smiling, dimples flashing like Christmas lights. “It’s fine, though. I’ll still eat them. Every single one.”

You arched a brow, stepping closer. “Even the dick shaped ones?”

“Especially the dick shaped ones,” he said softly, eyes glinting with humor and something warmer.

You leaned in until your noses brushed, voice low and teasing. “Well, good thing they’re inspired by you, then.”

Theo froze for a heartbeat, then the words registered. His cheeks flushed pink, a quick burst of color against his winter-pale skin. “Inspired by me?” he repeated, half laughing, half hiding his face behind his hand. “That’s—wow.”

You laughed, resting your hands on his chest. “What? It’s flattering”

He looked at you with that quiet fondness he always got when he thought you weren’t paying attention, then gently swatted your ass with the oven mitt. “You’re lucky you’re cute. Now move before you burn your… artistic masterpieces.”

You gasped dramatically. “Did you just hit an artist?”

“I’m saving an artist from cookie arson.”

You both laughed as he slid the tray into the oven, the sweet smell of butter and sugar growing stronger. When he closed the door, he turned to find you still smiling at him, a dusting of flour on your cheek.

He reached out, brushing it away with his thumb. “You know,” he murmured, “I think I like your kind of Christmas art better anyway.”

You grinned. “Because it’s unique?”

He smiled back. “Because it’s you.”

And just like that, in the soft hum of the kitchen, with flour on your hands and laughter still hanging in the air, the cookies weren’t the only thing that felt warm.

Jiung

The glow from the TV flickered across the living room, painting lazy light on the walls. The couch was a battlefield of blankets, snack wrappers, and half-empty mugs of cocoa. Jiung was slumped in the corner, hood pulled over his messy hair, one hand loosely resting on your shin where your legs stretched across his lap.

You’d lost track of how many movies you’d watched—Christmas comedies, animated classics, even one that neither of you understood but kept watching because the snow looked pretty.

You sighed happily, spooning another bite of melting ice cream. “Hey, Jiung,” you mumbled, eyes half-closed. “What time is it?”

He fumbled for his phone, squinting at the screen like it personally offended him. “Almost midnight.”

“Seriously?” You sat up a little, blinking at the window. It was dark, snow still falling soft outside, the kind of hush that made everything feel suspended in time.

“Yup.” He let the word pop lazily from his lips, then sank further into the couch cushion. “Guess we’ve been here for, what, twelve hours?”

You gave a slow nod, laughing under your breath. “We really should move at some point, you know.”

Jiung tilted his head to look at you, one eyebrow raised, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Do you even want to move tho?”

You thought about it—about the warm cocoon of blankets, the sweet smell of cocoa, the weight of comfort in the air. Then you shook your head, grinning. “Nope. Not even a little.”

He chuckled, low and soft, like he’d been expecting that answer. “Good. Then we don’t.”

He stretched one arm above his head, yawning, then pointed at the remote lying near your hip. “Your turn. Play the next one.”

You leaned forward to grab it, your blanket slipping slightly, and Jiung instinctively reached out to fix it, tucking it back around your legs like it was second nature. The gesture was so gentle it made your chest ache a little.

You scrolled through the movie list until you found another old Christmas film—something predictable and heartwarming—and hit play. The familiar opening music filled the room, soft and golden.

Satisfied, you sank back down, curling closer to him this time. Your head found his shoulder, your legs still draped across his lap, but at a slightly new angle.

“Changing positions?” Jiung asked with a quiet laugh.

You hummed, eyes half-lidded. “Yeah. I have to or I’ll end up paralyzed.”

He smiled, the sound of it slipping into his voice. “Reasonable.” His fingers absentmindedly traced lazy circles on your calf through the blanket, warm and unhurried. “Can’t have that. Who’d change the movies then?”

You nudged him lightly with your knee. “Exactly. You need me for manual labor.”

Jiung chuckled again, that low, peaceful sound that always made you want to fall asleep right where you were. “Guess I do.”

The movie played on, a soft blur of music and dialogue, but neither of you really paid attention. The world outside could’ve stopped spinning and you wouldn’t have noticed.

Every once in a while, he’d reach for the hot cocoa and take a sip, then hand it to you without looking. You’d drink from the same mug, sharing warmth, sharing time.

As the snow drifted past the window and the movie credits rolled by in silence, Jiung’s head tilted toward yours until his hair brushed your temple. “You know,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper, “I think this is my favorite Christmas tradition.”

You smiled without opening your eyes. “Sitting on the couch for twelve hours straight?”

He laughed quietly. “No. Sitting here with you.”

You didn’t need to say anything back. You just pressed a little closer, hit play on the next movie, and let the world melt away again.

Intak

You sat cross-legged on the couch, bouncing your knee, trying not to peek down the hallway. The Christmas tree lights blinked softly beside you, casting playful shadows over the pile of pillows and snacks you’d set up for your little “pajama reveal.”

“Okay!” Intak’s voice called from the bedroom. “Close your eyes! No cheating!”

You giggled and covered your face with both hands. “They’re closed! Hurry up, or I’ll fall asleep before the big moment!”

“Ready?”

“Ready!”

You heard his footsteps approach—the soft shuffle of socks on carpet—and then his voice again, closer now. “Alright, open.”

You dropped your hands dramatically and looked up, eyes lighting with excitement. And then you froze.

So did he.

You blinked. He blinked.

You looked down at yourself: red-and-white plaid pajama pants, matching top with tiny candy canes printed all over. Then you looked at him. Same exact thing. Down to the candy canes.

A beat of stunned silence stretched between you. Then Intak’s lips twitched.

“Well,” he said dryly, crossing his arms. “One of us has to change.”

You gasped, clutching your chest like he’d just delivered a mortal insult. “Excuse me? I bought mine first!”

He raised an eyebrow. “No way. I got these yesterday.”

“Exactly! Yesterday! I’ve had mine since Wednesday!”

He pointed at you, eyes narrowing in mock suspicion. “Wait a second—are you wearing the men’s version?”

You scoffed. “No! Maybe you’re wearing the women’s version!”

He stepped closer, still pretending to squint like he was trying to detect clues. “I’m telling you, this cut is totally for guys.”

You looked him up and down, then smirked. “You sure about that? Those sleeves are kind of… fitted.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Wow, okay. I can’t believe my girlfriend’s trying to body-shame me in our matching pajamas.”

You grinned. “You mean my pajamas.”

“Our pajamas,” he corrected, rolling his eyes—but his smile gave him away.

The argument fizzled into quiet, the kind of silence that hums with amusement rather than awkwardness. You both stood there for a moment, mirroring each other in those ridiculous matching candy-cane sets.

Then his gaze softened. “You know,” he said, voice lower now, “you actually do look really good in that.”

You tilted your head, a small smile curving your lips. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, his grin lazy but warm. “Like… dangerously cute.”

You laughed under your breath, leaning closer. “Well, so do you.”

He smiled wider, that mischievous spark returning to his eyes. “Guess that means we’re both winning.”

Before you could reply, he leaned in and kissed you—soft at first, then a little deeper when you smiled against his lips. When you pulled back, his hand still rested lightly on your waist, and the twinkle lights reflected in his dark eyes.

“Look at us,” he said with a mock sigh, glancing down at your matching outfits. “We’re like one of those cheesy couples you see in Christmas commercials.”

You snorted. “Please. Those couples wish they were us.”

He chuckled. “You think so?”

You gave him a teasing look. “We’re way hotter. And our fashion sense is obviously unmatched.”

“Literally unmatched,” he said, laughing. “Because it’s the same.”

You both burst into laughter again, collapsing onto the couch in a heap of plaid and candy canes. The room filled with warmth, soft lights, and the sound of two people who couldn’t stop smiling at each other—even when they were dressed like twins.

Soul

You stared down at the recipe on your phone, frowning. “It says we need… egg yolks, milk, sugar, cream, nutmeg, and… rum?”

Soul peered over your shoulder, brows knit in mild confusion. “How much rum?”

You scrolled up and down, squinting. “Uh… it doesn’t say? It just says ‘add to taste.’”

He looked at you, expression flat. “That’s dangerous.”

You grinned. “We like dangerous.”

The kitchen looked like a miniature lab—bowls, spoons, and measuring cups everywhere, a faint scent of cinnamon hanging in the air. Soul stood by the counter with his sleeves rolled up, whisking something with exaggerated focus while you poured milk into a pot.

“So…” you said, glancing at him. “Do you even know how to make eggnog?”

He didn’t look up. “Not really. You?”

“God no.”

He smirked, eyes flicking toward you. “Perfect. We’re qualified.”

You both laughed, the sound bouncing softly off the walls. You cracked the eggs, added sugar, and both of you started throwing ingredients together like mad scientists.

“More sugar?” you asked.

“Yeah, probably.”

“More rum?”

He hesitated, then shrugged. “We’ll know when it’s enough.”

You added a generous splash. Then another.

Then another.

Every few minutes, you both took a sip from the wooden spoon, grimaced, argued about the flavor, and adjusted something. By the time you reached the bottom of the bottle, the kitchen smelled faintly like a bakery that had just discovered alcohol.

You set down the spoon, laughing. “Okay, I think we overdid it.”

Soul took a slow sip from his cup, eyebrows raising slightly. “Might’ve. But…” he paused, smirking, “it tastes good.”

You tried yours and immediately felt the warmth bloom in your chest. You laughed, maybe a little too easily now. “Yeah. Surprisingly good.”

For a while, you just leaned against the counter together, giggling at your terrible handiwork. Soul’s eyes softened as he looked at you—the messy hair, the flour dusted on your shirt, the way your laughter seemed to spill into every corner of the room.

Then, quietly, he set his cup down, stepped closer, and kissed you.

The kiss was slow and certain, the kind that didn’t need to rush because everything around it already felt inevitable. When he pulled back, your heart was doing a small, chaotic dance.

“That’s the alcohol talking,” you teased, brushing your thumb across his jaw.

He laughed quietly, shaking his head. “Nah. The alcohol just makes me say it faster.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Say what faster?”

He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your skin. “That you’re beautiful. That I like being near you. That this—” he gestured vaguely between you and the messy countertop “—feels like home.”

Your chest warmed at his words, the mix of affection and rum making your pulse trip a little. You smiled softly, leaning into his touch. “You don’t need alcohol for that, you know.”

“I know,” he said, voice a low rumble. “It just makes me braver about saying it out loud.”

You grinned, sliding your hands around his waist. “So, basically, drunk or not, you’re hopelessly in love with me.”

He smirked, leaning down until your foreheads touched. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Pretty much.”

You laughed, the sound light and tipsy and so full of love it made his grin widen. “At least we’re bad at eggnog together.”

“Mm,” he hummed, kissing the top of your head. “Best failure of the season.”

And as the snow fell quietly outside, you both leaned back against the counter — two cups of awful eggnog, two flushed faces, and one very successful night.

Jongseob

The living room looked like a decoration explosion. Boxes, glitter, and tangled strings of lights were everywhere, and the faint sound of carols hummed through the speakers. You stood with your hands on your hips, surveying the chaos.

“This,” you said solemnly, “might take a while.”

Jongseob was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a snarl of fairy lights pooled in his lap like a glowing snake. He sighed, holding up the tangled mess. “Define a while.”

You chuckled, crouching beside him. “You’re doing great, babe.”

He gave you a flat look. “I’ve been fighting this thing for twenty minutes.”

You plucked the lights from his hands. “You just need a system. See? You pull this part here—”

“—and it knots again,” he finished dryly as the cord looped back on itself.

You both paused, looked at each other, and then started laughing. After a few minutes of untangling, tugging, and near-swearing, the fairy lights finally gave in. You held them up triumphantly, and Jongseob groaned in relief.

“Victory,” you announced dramatically.

He leaned back against the couch, smirking. “At what cost?”

You grinned and started wrapping the lights around the tree together, your fingers brushing now and then as you moved in slow circles. The soft glow began to spill across the branches, and the room grew warm and golden.

While he adjusted the top row, you dug through one of the ornament boxes. “Oh my gosh,” you said suddenly, holding something up. “Look at this little reindeer!”

Jongseob leaned over to peek. “That thing’s ancient,” he said, grinning. “Pretty sure that was Keeho’s from, like, middle school.”

“It’s adorable,” you argued, turning it around in your hand. It had a missing antler and a slightly crooked smile, but it was charming in a lopsided kind of way.

“Wait.” He rummaged through another box, pushing aside a tangle of tinsel and ribbons until he pulled out something small. “Found this—its little friend.”

You took it from him, smiling. It was a matching ornament, another reindeer but this one wearing a tiny scarf. “They’re a pair!”

“Or a cursed duo,” he said, raising a brow.

You ignored him, stepping closer to the tree. “We have to put them together. They belong side by side.”

He watched as you reached up, then joined you, holding one ornament while you hung the other. For a moment, your hands brushed, and you both froze—close enough to feel each other’s breath.

“There,” you said softly, stepping back to admire them. “Cute, right?”

Jongseob tilted his head. “Cheesy,” he corrected, smirking.

You gasped and bumped his arm. “You are terrible.”

He laughed, the sound warm and easy. “Maybe.” Then, without warning, he slipped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you against him.

You looked up at him, mock-offended fading into something softer. The lights from the tree reflected in his eyes—tiny gold and green flecks, bright and alive.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that didn’t need a reason. When he pulled back, his smile was small but sincere.

“As long as you’re happy,” he said quietly, “I’m happy.”

You felt your chest tighten, but in the best way. “Even if I make you hang cheesy ornaments?”

He chuckled, pressing another quick kiss to your forehead. “Especially then.”

You both turned back toward the tree, the soft glow wrapping you in warmth. The reindeer swung slightly on their hooks, side by side—like the two of you, imperfect but perfectly matched.

To be so for real, this was NOT how you had wanted to spend the afternoon of New Year's Eve. You had planned to run by the paistesserie, get those cherry danishes you loved so much, maybe go to the corner liquor store for another bottle of moscato, and then binge watch all of Heated Rivalry to ring in 2026.

Instead you had tripped on a patch of black ice walking out of said paistesserie and, in trying to catch yourself, fucked up your left wrist. So here you sat in the lobby of the emergency department at PTMC, cradling the wrist to your chest and gritting your teeth, waiting to get called back. If your aunt wasn't on sabbatical you may have called her to see if she could check you out really quickly, but alas you were shit outta luck. Not that you would have called her; nothing against Aunt Dana, you loved her (she was your favorite, but don't let any of the other aunts hear that), but you respected the ecosystem of the emergency department. You weren't bleeding out and you were fairly certain a fracture could wait, so here you sat.

When a young doctor, god she had to be like 20, called your name you quickly stood and followed her into the ED. "I'm Dr. Javadi, what brings you in today?" You held up your wrist with a pained smile. "I kind of got into a fight with a patch of black ice and lost; think I may have sprained my wrist." You explained as she brought you into one of the rooms. "On a scale from 1-10 what is your pain level?" "Uhhh right now about a five." Javadi nodded, noting it on the tablet she held. "Alright, I'm going to take your blood pressure and heart rate, and get you some pain medicine for your wrist; then we'll get you up for an X-ray as soon as possible." You smiled gratefully and nodded, murmuring a soft thank you and willing yourself to relax (as much as you could with the pain radiating in your wrist) so they could get an accurate blood pressure reading. You let your eyelids shut and focused on deep breaths.

Just as the cuff around your arm began to squeeze tight, a knock on the door startled both you and Dr. Javadi. A familiar head poked in and you felt your heart skip a beat. "How're things in here Java— Broadway?!" Weather gods be damned you were going to fight that patch of ice and win for this humiliation. Why was this humiliating? Because there before you, with the look of someone whose puppy had been punted like a football, was the man you'd desperately been trying to avoid, Michael "Robby" Robinavitch. Wincing at a particularly tight squeeze from the blood pressure cuff, you gave a little nod. "Heeeeey, Robby."

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The first time you meet Michael Robinavitch is the morning you're moving into your new apartment. After living in Brooklyn, New York for the better part of a decade, you'd landed a job teaching at the University of Pittsburgh, bringing you back to your hometown. It came at the right time, not a good time, but the right time. Your dad was sick, esophegeal cancer, so being closer to home (aka living in the city again) would help ease the burden on your mom and siblings. It was a time of change, it should be exciting, but as you carry up the first few boxes to your new apartment, you can't help but feel a sense of dread fill your stomach.

You missed New York. Missed the home you made in Brooklyn Heights, missed your colleagues at NYU, hell you even missed the batshit craziness of a times square subway ride. And yet… you could see more trees here. More greenery. The air felt a little clearer, less heavy, and more… welcoming. You wouldn't have to fight so damn hard to belong, to carve a space for yourself and your art, to simply live. But that sense of grief remained, no matter how much you tried to dampen it down. Might as well embrace it than bottle it up.

You were in the back of your U-Haul, manuvering some smaller boxes toward the lip of the truck while trying to decide what could wait until Aunt D and whatever calvary she had called would get there, when a knock on the metal made you nearly jump out of your skin. "JesusMaryJosephandAllHisCarpenterFriends!" You spun around, hand clutching your chest, ready to chew out whoever had jump scared you…only for the words to die on your tongue. The person, the man, at the entrance of your U-Haul was incredibly handsome. He had to be mid to late forties, dark brunette hair with just a touch of salt and pepper beginning in his facial hair, and an easy smile that made your shoulders relax. "So sorry, I didn't mean to scare ya'." His voice was warm and a little rough, but made goosebumps erupt across your arms nevertheless. "Uh, no worries; I was in my own world." You smiled sheepishly, walking to the entrance and hopping down out of the truck, opposite of him. "I get that, moving requires a tactical and focused mind." His tone was serious with just a hint of humor underlying it. You felt a blush crawl up the back of your neck as his eyes remained on you- or at least you assumed that was what you felt from behind his sunglasses. "Yeah, or I'm just putting off the inevitable." You confessed, looking back into the truck. "Moving in or out?" "In, I just got here from Brooklyn." "Brand new to the city, then?" You chuckled and shook your head, looking back at him now. His sunglasses were removed and, again, you nearly lost your breath.

This man had the most beautiful brown eyes you'd ever seen. They were almost doe-ish, wide and warm, as they looked at you. He cocked an eyebrow at you and you cleared your throat. "Uh, no, I'm from Pittsburgh originally, my folks have been pining for me to come back— my aunt especially. She's bringing the calvary to help with the move." You were rambling a little, you knew it, but you couldn't help but do so. His eyes widened slightly, as if in recognition, before a smile broke across his lips. "You wouldn't happen to be related to Dana Evans, would you?" It was your turn to look surprised, then delighted. "Oh my god, yes, that's my aunt! How do you know her?" "She's the best damn charge nurse in the ED." You grinned, because you knew that was true. "So you work at PTMC! She's mentioned so many names but I haven't met anyone before. What's your name?" "Michael Robinavitch, but most people call me Robby." He held out his hand, and you took it giving him a strong shake. "Oh yeah, she's mentioned you! You've made her laugh in hard times, and for that I thank you. Aunt D means the world to me." You gushed before pausing, catching the faint blush on his cheeks from your words. You let his hand go, rubbing the back of your neck a little embarassed. "Uh, anyway, yeah, I'm Dana's niece—" You gave him your name, "—speaking of Aunt D, she should be here shortly with some fol—" Before you could finish your sentence, a car pulled up and the sound of your aunt's voice made both of you turn.

Dana hopped out of her car, looked both ways down the street, before running over and engulfing you in a bear hug. "There she is! My broadway babe! Finally home!" You laughed, hugging her back just as tight as your face flamed hot at the nickname. "Better change it from broadway babe to professor babe." You replied with a wink as you pulled away. "I see you've already met Robby! Jack should be here in a few with John and Parker; Princess and Perlah will be around in about 45 minutes." You nodded, the names familiar but you knew they'd be solidified once you saw faces. "Let me go put my stuff up in my apartment and I'll be back down to help." Robby said and you cocked an eyebrow. "Wait, you also live here?" His smile was warm, and maybe you were reading into it but shy, as he nodded. "Apartment A27, if you ever need anything." He nodded to Dana before strolling away, leaving you utterly shocked. Dana whistled once he was out of range and looked at you knowingly. "Careful there, broadway babe, you're gonna fall in love quickly if you keep looking at him like that." You sputtered, trying to deny what she was saying, before groaning and hopping back into the U-Haul to grab more damn boxes.

Meeting the rest of the PTMC crew went perfectly. John rolled up with Dunkin for everybody, and you gratefully accepted the large sweet monstrosity of caffeine he handed you. Jack Abbot was warm and sarcastic, ribbing your aunt lightly as they roped John into helping move the furniture; Parker and Princess were busy organizing where each of your boxes would go, and Perlah was unloading your kitchen items. Which left you and Robby paired up. Robby had shed his hoodie and had no business looking as fine as he did under the summer heat, carrying a box of your plays and liberettos, up the stairs to the second floor. You followed behind, doing your best not to stare at his very nice ass, as you carried a tote. "So, what brings you back to Pittsburgh?" Robby asked as you both took a break at the top of the stairs. "Oh, Dana didn't brag on that, yet?" You teased with a smile. Robby chuckled and shook his head. "She may have mentioned something about school. Are you a student?" "Nope, but I am surrounded by them." You winked, giggling at his blush. "I'm an Assistant Professor of Theatre at the University of Pittsburgh." You elaborated. "Oh wow. I guess that's why she calls you her broadway babe?"

Robby's eyes softened as you groaned, heat crawling up your neck. "God, she's calling me that other people? In public?" He chuckled, taking a moment to observe you as you stretched your arms and rolled your shoulders back. On first glance, he hadn't seen the similarities between you and Dana, but now they were clear as day. You had the same eyes as her, the kind that caught all of the good and the bad, but still looked at the world with love, understanding, and warmth. And your smile, it lit up the vicinity, it made him want to make you smile more. "Guilty, she's got your photo on the main desk in the ED." Your smile softened. "Let me guess, I'm wearing purple and holding a trombone over my head like a tuskan raider?" Robby laughed, a full belly laugh, at the description. "Uh, I'm not sure? That's one helluva description kid." You grinned. "It's my graduation photo from Northwestern." "Oh wow, what was your degree in?" "Funnily enough, music, originally. Then I switched to Theatre Music. Decided I loved theatre more, got into NYU Tisch for Performance Studies, and then moved forward into my PhD in Educational Theatre." Robby felt himself relaxing more and more around you, enjoying watching your eyes light up as you discussed your journey. "That's… that's really incredible. You should be proud of your journey." You looked away, somewhat bashful, and picked your tote back up. "Thank you Robby, I really appreciate that." You smiled, hitching the tote up with your knee. "Woah, what does that say?" He tilted his head sideways to read the cursive writing on the side of the tote. "Miscelleanous theatre shit?" He cocked an eyebrow in amusement. You cackled as he said it outloud, head thrown back, and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Pfft, yeah, it's exactly what it says. It's my miscelleanous theatre accoutremont; or as the kids would say…shit." He laughed, picking up the box labeled plays & liberettos, and followed you toward the apartment. He was going to like getting to know you.

The U-Haul was unloaded, thank fucking god, and you could not be more grateful. So grateful that you ordered a shit ton of take out, doordashed some beers and some wine, and turned the bluetooth speaker on to play your 80s/70s rock playlist. Conversation was flowing, stories from the ED that had you trying not to spew your wine from laughter, and you couldn't help but let your gaze wander to Robby. "So, broadway, what brings you back to the nest?" Jack asked, taking a gulp of his beer. "Oh, I got a job at University of Pitt; you're looking at the new assistant professor of Theatre." You grinned, sipping your wine. "Ahh, so Dana wasn't kidding, you're a performer?" Perlah asked and you looked down, smiling bashfully at the attention. "Uh, kinda semi-retired? I focus more on teaching nowadays than performing." "Ah! But you're so young! You can't put those days behind you so soon." Princess exclaimed and you giggled. "Uh, well, I guess we'll see what happens once I get settled back in. I haven't been in the arts scene locally in almost a decade." You acquisessed with a shrug. "Well, count us in to be front and center whenever you get into a show." John said, raising a beer. "Here, here." Robby agreed, and you all clinked your glasses and cans together. You grinned, maybe moving back to Pittsburgh wouldn't be so bad after all.

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"What's the diagnosis, Javadi?" You were desperately trying to will yourself to fade into nothingness as Robby hovered behind your doctor. "Uh a distal radius fracture, most likely a Colles fracture to the left wrist based on displacement and swelling, will need an x-ray to confirm how bad it is." She sounded slightly nervous, and you couldn't blame her. Robby could be intimidating. And kind, and annoyingly hot. Fuck, why did this have to happen? You were disasociating into the void when a hand on your shoulder brought you back to earth. Your eyes snapped up to meet Robby's concerned gaze, and you hated that the attention made you blush. "Wanna tell me what happened, broadway?" You swallowed harshly and nodded. "I, ahem, slipped on a patch of black ice leaving a bakery, reached back to catch myself and boom, pain of a thousand suns in my wrist." You tried to joke, but gasped in pain when he gently prodded your injured wrist. "Sorry, sorry darling." You bit your lip, feeling tears well up in your eyes not just from the pain, but the term of endearment as well. You hadn't seen him in a few months, not after overhearing him at the bar with Jack the week before PittFest, and you missed him. Really you only had yourself to blame, falling hard and fast for a man who didn't want you. "Radiology is, uh, ready Dr. Robby." Javadi piped up, looking between the two of you with wide eyes. You had to bite back the laugh in your throat, she looked like a deer in headlights. "Well, better go get this microwaved I guess." You joked, smiling at Javadi. Robby let go and nodded. "Come find me when the result is in." He said to Javadi before turning back to you with a look that you could swear was…caring? "I'll see you in a bit, darling."

Robby splashed some water on his face, patting it away with a paper towel, gazing into the mirror with a sigh. He hadn't seen you in months, despite living just downstairs from you, and he wondered what had happened to cause you to pull away from him. Over the past few years since you moved back to Pittsburgh the two of you had grown into close friends. Sometimes you'd stop by the ED to drop off some treats for the staff and end up chatting with him for a solid 10-15 minutes; other times you'd invite him upstairs for dinner after a particularly hard shift so he could vent. He'd gone to a few of the shows you directed at the University of Pittsburgh, always bringing something to congratulate you on your work. Each time you caught his eye in the lobby after a show he'd soak in the way your face would light up and how you'd manuever through the crowd to get to him. When something broke in your apartment, he'd come check it out; when you got the flu your first winter home, he took it upon himself to check up on you, bringing his bubbe's old matza soup to help you feel better. At some point, you'd begun taking care of each other, and he struggled to identify when and why you seemed to stop. All Robby could think about was the day he had moved from admiring (and crushing, though he'd never describe it that way) you to falling in love with you.

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You'd confided in Robby the real reason you'd taken the job at Pitt after a decidedly hard day two years ago, where you showed up on his doorstep with takeout from the local taco truck and tears in your eyes. You sat crissed crossed on his couch, faint narration from the documentary he'd been haphazardly watching in the background, as you discussed your situation. How your father was fighting stage two esophegeal cancer so you'd left the home you made in Brooklyn to help your family take care of your dad; how you took the job for the big pay raise so you could help with the hospital bills, but missed the freedom you had in New York. Some days were harder than others, like when your father had to switch to an all liquid diet while recieving treatment, and other days life felt somewhat easy-going.

Then came that day a few months ago, the day he'd —You had texted him, a simple "Come up if you're able." and he had taken the stairs two at a time, knocking a little frantically on your door. It swung open, and his face softened at the view before him. Your eyes were a little red, obvious tear tracks down your cheeks, hair mussed up. But there was a smile on your lips, and a relief-filled joy in your eyes. "I-it's my father, he's in remission." A hysterical hiccup/giggle escaped you as tears began to well up in your eyes again, your smile wide. "My dad, the treatments worked., he's going to be fine!" Robby didn't hesitate to scoop you in his arms with a cheer, spinning you around as he held you close. Your laugh was watery, but no less genuine, as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, holding on tightly as your feet dangled below you. "I'm so happy for you darling, so, so happy. This is such amazing news" He said, setting you back down and smiling down at you. "Thank you, Robby, I-I'm just in so much shock and awe. I mean, Mom just called with the news." Robby's eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. You'd just found out? "So, I'm… I'm the first one you've told?" He asked, and your shy smile was an answer in of itself. His cheeks will hurt later from all the smiling, but he couldn't help it. "I-I didn't want to tell anyone else, not yet. You… You were the first person I wanted to tell." You confessed, and his heart skipped a beat. He clasped your hands in his, thumb smoothing over your knuckles, and stared into your eyes. "I'm honored, darling. I really am." He caught you with a huff of a laugh as you launched yourself into him, wrapping your arms around his middle and resting your head on his chest. "Thank you, Robby. For being here. For everything." He held you to him, allowing the scent of your perfume to fill his nose and sink into his clothes, finding that he really would rather spend time holding you in his arms than anything else. You'd embedded yourself in his life, and he in yours, and rather than simply venting and comforting each other you had opened a new avenue. You wanted to share the good news, too; the joy in it's purest unadulterated form.

He loved it, no, he loved you.

The clarity of the fact he'd fallen in love with you scared him, something he, the week before the shift from hell, he'd expressed to Jack over a couple of beers. He'd glimpsed you somewhere in the bar with Dana, Cassie, Samira and Mateo, but hadn't seen you since. So, be spilled his guts as quietly as possible to Jack. "Life's too short to let love slip from your hands, brother. If you're nervous she doesn't feel the same, maybe check with Dana. No harm, no foul. But from everything you've told me—and from observing you two over the years? Man, I say you've got a keeper." Jack said, tilting his beer back. "I don't know, it's just—She deserves someone her own age, Jack. Someone whose going to be around for the long haul, who is mentally stable, who will always be able to show up for her. I'm not sure that's something I'm capable of." He'd taken a sip of his beer, thoughts spiraling. Jack squeezed his shoulder, bringing him back to the moment. "I think you're pushing your own insecurities and doubts onto her to avoid getting hurt, Robby. And while I can understand that, believe me, felt that way with my blue angel when we started getting serious; you still need to tell her. Otherwise you're building up a version of her that just isn't real, man." Robby nodded, tipping his beer back, then clearing his throat. "Yeah, you're right. I'll talk to her, tell her the truth, and hope it doesn't all blow up. I just, I don't want her to read things wrong, y'know?" He sighed, shaking his head. "I don't want to hurt her. I-I, I love her."

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And he had intended to, really he had! He was going to ask you to get coffee at the paitesserie you liked, sit down, and tell you how he felt when he saw you next… But he stopped seeing you by the mailbox in the mornings, or trudging up the stairs when he'd get home from his shift. At first he assumed it had to do with work, you were helping direct a fairly big production this semester at Pitt. But then your text responses became short, to the point, no longer filled with emojis and emoticons like they used to be; he planned to knock on your door after his shift, see if you were okay. He remembered you telling him that sometimes when you get overwhelmed your communication falls off, and that he was welcome up to the apartment anytime... And then the anniversary of Adamson's death arrived, the shift from hell that nearly pushed him over the metaphorical and literal edge, and thoughts of you had gone to the back burner of his brain. When he swam up from the depths of his own spiral, after he had processed what happened with Langdon, and Collins; Dana's sabbatical, Gloria's bullshit… All he could think of was you. Had you heard what happened? Were you doing okay? How was your father's recovery going?

Again, your texts were short and to the point; and then you had send him a long text explaining that you were taking on an advisement role at Pitt, so your responses may be shorter and he might not see you around as usual since you had more on your plate. He had congratulated you on taking on the role, and (as nonchalantly as possible) had suggested getting coffee soon. You'd said you would check your schedule and get back to him.

And then you hadn't… And he didn't push. He just… agonized a little, and then threw himself into work as per usual to ignore the pain in his chest.

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"So, you do have a Colles fracture. The good thing is you won't need surgery, just a cast." You sighed with relief. The last thing you wanted was surgery. "Awesome, thanks Dr. Javadi, I appreciate the help." She nodded with a smile and stepped out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts, and your guilt. You had meant to sit down with Robby and talk about what you'd heard at the bar those few months ago… But then PittFest happened, Aunt Dana had been assaulted, and you knew that that kind of conversation would just be the cherry on top of a shitty cake. So you said nothing. You isolated, like you tended to do when hurt, to avoid causing others or yourself any more pain. When he had texted to check on you a couple weeks of PittFest, you almost believed maybe he felt the same… And then you remembered his words to Jack. "I'll talk to her, tell her the truth, and hope it doesn't all blow up. I just, I don't want her to read things wrong, y'know?". The look of remorse on his face as he tilted the beer back, it was an obvious sign that you, once again, had read the signs wrong. What you had thought had been a bit of a slowburn romance over the years since you'd met was for not; and frankly it was all your fault. You should have known better, someone like him wouldn't want some kid who clung to his company like a life raft.

Instead you took on the advisement role for theatre majors at Pitt, knowing full well that it would overlode your schedule and take over the normal times you'd see Robby around the building, but convinced yourself it would be good for you. And it was, you loved helping students, but… you missed him. You told him you'd check your schedule for a time to get coffee, and then you chickened out. You're a coward. No wonder he doesn't want you. Too juvenile, even in your thirties. You swallowed back the tears that threatened to rise up, biting down on your lip to keep from crying. What you would give for your aunt to be working, she'd know what to do to distract you. She seemed to believe Robby was head over heels for you, but you struggled to believe her.

"Kiddo, I have seen that man "fall in love" more than a few times over the years and when I tell you he looks at you the same way I look at your uncle? I mean it. Honey, he's crazy about you." Dana had said one day as you spent the afternoon helping her with things around the house while said uncle and your cousins were away. She looked better, the black eye from that asshat in the ED having long faded, but there was a sharpness in her gaze now. It hurt your heart, but you were grateful she was okay and still with you. "You didn't hear what he said to Jack, Aunt D, and I… I just don't think I can handle having my heart ripped to shreds like that again. Not when my lease won't be up until July. I'd rather just… let sleeping dogs lie and move on." You had sighed, putting away the last of the freshly washed-and-dried dishes. "And I am telling you kiddo that whatever he said was probably just out of context. Seriously, just talk to him. It can't hurt. And if it does, I'll kick his ass like we're in Philly." You had laughed at that, and hugged Dana close, but the doubt continued gnawing at your gut.

And now here you were. Sitting in his ED, waiting to get a cast on your wrist, hoping you could get the fuck out of dodge before he came back. "God I just wanted to watch gay hockey players and binge on cherry danishes." You groaned, head thrown back against the bed, feeling the tears overwhelm you. "I just wanted to forget how much I love him and not let it gnaw at my bones." You whispered to the air, sniffling as the tears ran down the sides of your face.

"You love me?" Your eyes snapped open and you sat upright, hissing in pain as you jostled your wrist, making eye contact with Robby. He was holding yellow cast-materials, the same shade of the yellow-gold for University of Pittsburgh, and staring at you with wide eyes. "R-robby, I-I didn't hear—" He was by your side so quickly, abandoning the casting material at the end of the bed, and taking your right hand in his. "Darling, please tell me I didn't mishear you." There was something like desperation in his brown eyes, and your already cracked heart felt like it was breaking wide apart. Your tears couldn't stop. "You didn't mishear me, Michael. I said what I said." You whispered, closing your eyes and preparing for the rejection. His words from the bar repeating in your brain. "I love you, too, darling." Your eyes widened, squeezing his hand tightly to make sure you were awake. He squeezed back. "Wh-what? B-but I heard you tell Jack that you were going to tell me the truth, that you didn't want me to read things wrong." You pulled your hand from his to wipe the tears from your eyes. He leaned away and snatched a box of tissues from the cart in the corner, offering it to you with a grimace. You took a few and blew your nose as best as you could one-handed, and then used another to dab the tear tracks dry. "Darling, didn't you hear the end of that conversation?" You tilted your head in confusion.

"I told Jack that I didn't want to hurt you, because I love you." You felt like floating and like disappearing into the ground. "Oh my god." You gasped, covering your face with your non-injured hand. "I'm an absolute idiot." You muttered, feeling your face flame with the heat of embarassment. Robby tsked, gently pulling your hand away from your face, and tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. His warm, steady, soft gaze. "You are not an idiot, darling. A terrible eavesdropper? Potentially." You let out a broken laugh, shaking your head. "God, Michael, I'm so sorry. I-I thought I had misread all of the signs, thought you didn't… feel the same way. I, I didn't want to lose you. But then I self-isolated, god, literally what my therapist told me not to do, and I figured if I just waited long enough these feelings would go away but…" "But?" "They haven't. I don't think they ever will." Your laugh was humorless as you wiped your eyes with a tissue. "I think I've been in love with you since you scared the shit outta me in that U-Haul." Robby laughed, genuine and warm, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "You were the most beautiful woman I ever saw, I didn't think I had a chance." You leaned into his touch, cupping his hand with yours to keep it pressed to your skin. "You always had a chance. I didn't think I had a chance with you—you're a smokeshow, Robinavitch." You smiled at the blush that covered his cheeks. "I mean that, but it was your heart—the way you care for others, your dedication to your work, how you teach others with a gentle yet firm hand— that drew me in deep." You added, your tone sincere and serious.

Robby stroked your cheek with his thumb, the tenderness doing nothing to keep your tears at bay. "Please don't cry, darling, please." His voice sounded so broken, and you sniffled, taking a deep breath. "I can't help it, I feel like the biggest asshole in the world. You deserved better from me, not… not my cowardice. I… I would understand if you didn't want, anything to do with me." Robby shook his head, gently shushing you. He pulled his hand away from your face only to grasp your free hand in his. "I appreciate the apology, darling, but it seems the both of us have been—I think Santos said this once—idiots in love? If you apologize, then so do I. I should have told you sooner. I… I think I've been falling in love with you since you showed up at my apartment with those damn street tacos—" You giggled, shaking your head at the memory. "—but it was only solidified when you told me I was the one you wanted to talk to when your dad went into remission… It just reinforced the fact that I wanted to be the first one to see you in the mornings and the last one to see you at night; I wanted to share the joy with you, not just the venting and friendly banter. But I thought you deserved someone your own age, someone who could support you no matter what." You squeezed his hand, his words trailing off. "Michael, relationships aren't about support no matter what. They're give-and-take, push-and-pull, sometimes they're 50/50, sometimes they're 70/30 and vice versa—sometimes they're 100/100. I'm not looking for a full-time caretaker, I'm looking for a partner. One I can support just as much as they support me. And, may I remind you that, support comes in many forms. Also, I could not give less of a flying fuck about your age, Michael, you are everything I want. I mean, c'mon, that salt-and-pepper you got going on—" you reached out, lightly caressing the white in his beard with a small smirk. "—It's pretty damn hot, smokeshow."

You couldn't say you were expecting the next thing Robby did. But fuck if you didn't love it. Cupping your face in his hands, thumbs stroking across your cheeks, he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. Your eyes widened in surprise for one second, before fluttering shut and melting into the kiss. Your free hand reached up, grasping his shoulder to keep him from pulling away as you kissed him back, the kiss morphing from gentle to hungry fast. It wasn't like the rom-coms where the ingenue feels sparks and their foot pops up; but it was warm, and real, and made your heart beat faster. You pulled away only to breathe, Robby resting his forehead on yours, his lips curled up in a smirk. Your eyeslids felt heavy, your heart pounding, and your pupils blown wide. "You are a vixen, and I love you." Robby said, and it was your turn to smirk as you tilted your head to press a fevered kiss to his lips, nipping at his bottom lip as you pulled away. His answering groan shot down to your core, and you couldn't help but press your thighs together to alleviate the pressure. His eyes caught the motion and he shook his head with a grin, muttering about how you were a menace. "Alright, here's what we're going to do—" He started, standing up and reluctantly letting go of you. He grabbed the cast-materials and moved to the left side of the bed. "—I'm going to put the cast on your wrist, and then, you're going to hang out at the nurse's station and doordash some pastries," You opened your mouth to argue, but Robby held up his hand, so you closed your mouth. "From my phone, which I will give you in a second, and then, when my shift ends in the next hour, I'm going to walk home with you and we are going to order takeout and binge watch the… what did you call it? Gay hockey players?" "Mother Mary of God please smite me now." Robby's laugh made your grin, despite the embarassment. "It's called Heated Rivalry—" "Ahhh, yes, Whitaker and Santos were talking about it in the lounge." "It's pretty fantastic— I mean I loved the books, and most book fans have had nothing but positive things to say about the show." You trailed off as Robby sat down to wrap your wrist. "Well, we'll go back to the apartment, enjoy some food, binge watch your show... And tomorrow, we'll discuss where we want this to go."

"You sure you still want me after the disaster I created?" You asked softly as he began wrapping up your wrist. He paused and looked up into your eyes, nothing but sincerity in his eyes as he nodded. "I'm sure, darling. More than sure." The words felt like a balm on your heart, and you nodded back, letting a comfortable silence fall over the two of you.