When you’re upset, your fluffy, chubby baby bee hybrids are quick to notice!
Maybe you’re sad over losing a batch of eggs. You’ve come to really care about your babies, and it’s painful. They notice you hiding your tears and sleeping through the day and they’re on their way to comfort you.
“Mama! Mama!”
“Oof!”
“Mama, open!”
You hear several of your babies bees flying into the door, calling for you. It’s clear they’re falling onto their butts before getting up to do it again, so to make sure they don’t hurt their little heads, you open your door.
“Mama’s not feeling too good, okay?” you murmur, letting your little ones crowd around you. They buzz, letting out happy whines and purrs as you give them some attention they’ve been craving.
“Make mama happy!” one of them babbles, toddling your way.
“Mama, kissy!”
“Cookie for mama!”
They’ve all brought treats and are giving you kisses and snuggles. The fact they’re trying so hard to comfort you makes your eyes well up with tears.
“No cry, mama!”
You settle down and share your snacks with your babies as they spend the day cheering you up.
Alright. It is September again, which means we have three months left until Fluffcember. This should give you more than enough time to prepare - and I am going to post the lists (plural) for this year's challenge.
As you might notice: I learned from the entire "it is summer in the southern hemisphere" thing. And as such I decided it is only fair to just make two lists this year. One with winter-themed prompts as usual, and one with summer themed prompts. It is up to you which one you use, or whether you mix and match.
This does not mean necessarily that there will be no "Fluffcember in July" next year - I will probably make a poll about that in February.
As always: The rules and the prompts are under the cut!
Rules
This challenge is for any and all fandoms, as well as original fiction.
You can participate with fanfictions, fanart, but also graphics, gif collections and similar things.
You can mitch and match the summer and winter prompts as you like.
If you post your works on tumblr, please tag this account (@fluff-cember) and tag it as #fluffcember25, so that I can reblog it!
Also please make sure that if you post it here that you mention the fandom somewhere in the blog. (I want to reblog with fandom tags and I will just not know all fandoms from character names.) Mentioning the prompt would also be very welcome.
If you write something for the challenge, make sure that it is at least 100 words in length.
On Ao3 you can add your works into the collection. The collection will go online in November.
You can post entries belatedly for a day, but not early.
As always: The only fandoms I will not allow are RPF fandoms of people who are still alive or lived within the last 100 years. This very much includes KPop. Where I live the legal rules about this are iffy and I am not gonna risk that. You can of course write it, but such works will not be reblogged or be permitted in the collection. I am sorry about that.
The List
Day 1: Mittens | Swimsuit
Day 2: Caramel | Lemon Juice
Day 3: Spices | Barbeque
Day 4: Hail | Summer Rain
Day 5: Chocolate Chip Cookies | Ice Cream
Day 6: Ice Fishing | Canoe
Day 7: Polar Bear | Sea Gull
Day 8: Evergreen | Palms
Day 9: Fridgid | Sweating
Day 10: Mistletoe | Fan
Day 11: Glitter | Clear Sky
Day 12: Knitting | Chalk
Day 13: Board Games | Hiking
Day 14: Snowflake | Late Evening
Day 15: Fireplace | Beach
Day 16: Cold Snap | Heatwave
Day 17: Cabin Fever | Nature
Day 18: Sled | Water Fight
Day 19: Eggnog | Cold Beer
Day 20: Avalanche | Waves
Day 21: Penguins | Dolphins
Day 22: Solstice | Midnight Sun
Day 23: Ice Berg | Caves
Day 24: Last Minute Present | Family Reunion
Day 25: Winter Vacation | Road Trip
Day 26: Leftovers | Salad
Day 27: Cold Breeze | Stargazing
Day 28: Snow Melt | Thunder
Day 29: Jack Frost | Pranks
Day 30: Icicle | Waterfall
Day 31: Fireworks | Festival
Winter Alternatives: Sauna, Movie Night, Glacier, Childhood Memory, Coffee Shop
Wolffdaughter!reader x Max Verstappen
Summary: As Toto’s daughter, you’ve secretly been dating Max, his own star driver, for months, and during Christmas with the family in Austria you finally decide to tell him. After nerves, chaos, and Toto’s dramatic shock, he ultimately accepts your relationship, turning a terrifying confession into a warm, funny, unforgettable holiday moment.
Warning: none, only fluff and love
Word count: 2.2k
The closer the car crawls up the winding mountain road toward your family’s Austrian home, the more your nerves twist themselves into tight, aching knots. The world outside the windows is breathtaking, tall pines heavy with fresh snow, tiny clusters of lights from houses scattered across the valley, the sky dimming into a soft winter blue, but none of that peace manages to settle in your chest, because all you can think about is your father’s voice, deep and firm, repeating the same rule he has told you since you were old enough to date:
“Schatz, I will support anyone you choose… but no drivers. Absolutely no drivers.”
Your fingers twitch against the hem of your sweater as you look over at Max, whose profile is illuminated by the faint glow of the dashboard. His hand rests on your thigh, warm and grounding, but when you look closer, you notice how he keeps clenching and unclenching his other hand on the steering wheel, the tension making his knuckles pale. For a man who can overtake at impossible angles and thread a car through chaos at three hundred kilometers per hour, he looks startlingly human — anxious, unsure, and slightly nauseated.
“You know,” he murmurs without looking away from the snowy road, “I was thinking… maybe we should turn around. Just temporarily. Strategically. To reassess.”
Your jaw drops.
“Max. You’ve raced side-by-side with Lewis at Silverstone. You’ve driven Spa in the rain. You’ve survived Helmut Marko. You can handle my dad.”
He forces a weak smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Your dad frightens me more. Much more.”
You sigh, because honestly, he has a point.
Falling for Max Verstappen was never part of the plan, but neither of you stood a chance. When he joined Mercedes, the whole world expected tension between him and your father, not a secret relationship between him and his daughter. And yet here you are, months later, sitting beside the man you love deeply, actually contemplating how to introduce him to your father, as your boyfriend.
Susie is the only one who knows, and she promised, with the seriousness of a general going into battle, that she has your back.
Rosa, your younger sister, found out, and she practically vibrated with excitement, loudly insisting this was “the best plot twist ever.”
But your father… Your father is still blissfully unaware.
The car turns onto the final driveway, the one lined with lanterns and fairy lights that your family puts up every December. The house comes into view, warm lights in every window, a plume of smoke rising from the chimney, and the kind of inviting glow that normally makes you smile, if not for the fear crawling up your spine right now.
Max parks, inhales shakily, and shuts off the engine.
For a moment, the world is silent. Then he reaches for your hand, entwining his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing against your knuckle in a slow, steady rhythm.
“I’m with you,” he says softly, voice sincere in that quiet way he rarely allows the public to hear. “Whatever reaction he has… we’ll handle it together.”
Your chest tightens, with love, with fear, with hope.
You nod.
“Okay. Let’s do this.”
The front door opens before you even knock. Susie steps out into the cold, wrapped in a cream-colored sweater, her face lighting up the moment she sees you. She pulls you into her arms with a warmth that immediately softens your tension, whispering against your hair, “It’s going to be fine, darling. I promise.”
Then she turns to Max and gives him a hug as well, an act that clearly floors him, whispering something reassuring that makes his shoulders relax ever so slightly.
Rosa appears behind her, dramatically peeking around the doorway like she’s watching a reality show.
“IS HE HERE?!” she demands, far too loudly.
The moment her eyes land on Max, she practically squeals, jumping in place.
“Oh my God, you two look SO CUTE together!”
You glare.
“Rosa.”
“What? I didn’t say anything!” she insists, still beaming like a lighthouse.
Max swallows hard. You squeeze his hand.
And then, the moment you’ve been dreading. Your father steps into the doorway. Tall. Stoic. Intimidating. Black sweater, soft house socks, firelight behind him illuminating his presence like a halo of authority.
When he sees you, his whole expression melts, the stern lines softening instantly.
“Schatz,” he says, opening his arms.
You press into his chest, hugging him tight, inhaling the familiar scent of pine, coffee, and warmth that always makes you feel safe. But the second he pulls back and his gaze shifts to Max standing behind you…
The smile freezes. The warmth drains slightly. The jaw sets.
“…Max,” he says slowly.
Max’s voice cracks.
“Hi, boss.”
Rosa snorts. Susie elbows her hard.
You take a shaky breath and step forward, tugging Max along with you.
“Papa,” you begin, heart pounding so loudly you can feel it in your ears. “There’s someone I want you to meet. Properly.”
He raises one eyebrow.
“Properly? I already know him. Too well.”
You wince. Rosa makes a choking noise. Susie pretends to cough.
Your chest tightens, but you power through.
“Papa,” you say, voice trembling but steady enough to get the words out. “Max is… he’s my boyfriend.”
For a long, awful moment... silence.
Max holds your hand like he’s clinging to a lifeline.
Your father looks between you both, his expression unreadable, his brain clearly performing every calculation known to man.
He exhales very slowly.
“I said no drivers.”
“I know,” you say softly. “But this… happened. And it’s real. And he makes me happy.”
Before Toto can reply, Max steps forward, visibly terrified but refusing to back down.
“With all respect, Toto,” he says quietly, voice steady despite the fear flickering in his eyes, “I love your daughter very much. And I would never hurt her.”
Your breath catches. Your father’s gaze sharpens.
“You love her?” he asks, as though the words hold the weight of the universe.
Max nods.
“I do. Completely.”
Toto stares at him, then at you, at your blush, at the way you lean toward Max instinctively, at the way your hands stay tightly linked.
Something in his posture softens. Slowly, he steps toward Max.
You hold your breath.
Toto lifts a hand… and places it heavily on Max’s shoulder.
“If you hurt her,” he says calmly, “I will put you in the slowest car on the grid.”
Max pales. Rosa bursts out laughing.
Susie mutters, “Honestly, that’s fair.”
You groan, “PAPA!”
But Toto pulls you both into a warm, if slightly awkward, three-person hug.
“Welcome,” he says quietly to Max. “To the family. Even though I do not approve of your… recruitment strategy.”
Max exhales like he just survived a 20G crash. You squeeze his hand, tears pricking your eyes.
As you all step inside, snow drifting gently behind you, the warm noise of your family filling the house, Max leans in and whispers, “That went better than expected.”
You smile.
“See? He didn’t kill you.”
“Not yet,” Max replies.
*
Dinner is warm and loud and full of the familiar, chaotic comfort that only the Wolff household seems able to produce, the long wooden table covered in candles and winter greenery, Rosa giggling as she tries to steal roasted potatoes from your plate, Jack bouncing in his seat while telling Max about the snow karting “championship” he intends to organize tomorrow, and Susie overseeing everything with the calm efficiency of a queen who has already accepted the madness of this family years ago.
You sit beside Max, your knees brushing under the table, his hand resting lightly on your thigh as if he needs the reassurance that he’s really here, really accepted, really allowed to breathe again. His shoulders have dropped, his face has relaxed, but every now and then you feel him exhale like he’s letting out another layer of tension he didn’t know he was holding.
Your father sits across from you two, wine glass in hand, leaning back slightly in his chair as he watches the interaction between you and Max with the intense focus of a man analyzing on-track data. There’s warmth in his eyes, unmistakable, even in its stubborn restraint, but he’s also undeniably curious.
And then he says, with absolutely no warning:
“So. Tell me,” he begins, voice deceptively calm. “How did the two of you manage to hide this under my nose? In my team? In my garage?”
Max freezes mid-bite. You choke on your drink.
Rosa bursts into laughter.
Ben mutters, “Here we go.”
Susie gives Toto a look, a very behave yourself kind of look, but he ignores it completely, turning his full attention to you and Max like an investigator about to crack a case.
“Well?” Toto asks, tilting his head. “I am listening.”
Max clears his throat and sits up straighter.
“In fairness, Toto, we… tried very hard not to be obvious.”
Toto raises an eyebrow.
“Tried very hard? Max, I have watched you race side by side with Lewis without blinking. Why are you blinking now?”
Rosa snorts into her drink. You take Max’s hand under the table, giving it a reassuring squeeze before you jump in.
“It wasn’t like we planned anything,” you explain. “It just… happened. And when we realized it was serious, we didn’t want the whole team, or the whole paddock... to explode.”
“And we definitely didn’t want to make things harder for you,” Max adds quickly. “Given the media, the politics, the rivalry talk… it just didn’t feel fair.”
Toto studies him for a moment, then exhales, swirling the wine in his glass.
“Considering I did not hear a single whisper,” he says, “either you two are very skilled… or my team has become lazy.”
Jack perks up from the end of the table.
“What does lazy mean?”
“Nothing, Schatz,” Susie says, patting his head.
Toto ignores them, still locked onto you and Max.
“So,” he continues slowly, “how long has this been going on?”
You exchange a glance with Max.
Then you answer honestly, “Eight months.”
“Eight?!” Toto’s voice jumps half an octave, which is practically a scream, by his standards. “Eight months and no one told me?”
Rosa grins. “Susie knew.”
Toto turns to his wife with scandalized betrayal.
“You knew?!”
Susie sips her wine, utterly calm.
“Of course I did.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“I thought it wasn’t my place, Toto.”
Toto opens his mouth, then closes it, then looks at you and Max again, still processing, still recovering, still stubborn.
Finally he says, “I cannot believe this.”
You bite your lip.
“Papa… you’re not upset, are you?”
He sighs, long and dramatic, setting his glass down and rubbing his forehead.
“I am not upset,” he says slowly. “I am… surprised. Deeply surprised. Shocked, even.” He pauses, then adds with absolute seriousness, “And also mildly offended that you two are better at hiding things than a team of eight hundred engineers.”
Max cracks a tiny smile.
“Thank you?”
“That was not a compliment,” Toto says, pointing a long finger at him.
Across the table, Susie catches your eye and gives you a wink.
Dinner continues, warmer now, the tension unraveling with every shared laugh. Max relaxes more with each passing minute, answering Toto’s questions about life, racing, travel, and everything in between with earnest sincerity. You feel your heart swell every time Max glances at you, that soft look he only gives when he feels safe, when he feels home.
At one point, Toto notices your intertwined hands beneath the table and sighs, shaking his head with a defeated smile.
“I still cannot believe my daughter is dating Max Verstappen,” he mutters.
Rosa leans in with a grin.
“Papa, come on. It could be worse.”
Toto narrows his eyes. “How?”
Rosa shrugs.
“She could have shown up with Christian.”
Max nearly dies laughing. You bury your face in your hands. Toto groans loudly. And just like that, the last bit of tension breaks.
Later, after dessert, after stories, after Rosa forces everyone into a family photo, you catch your dad watching you and Max from across the room, his expression complicated but undeniably soft.
He approaches slowly, placing a hand on your shoulder.
“Schatz,” he says gently. “You look happy.”
“I am,” you whisper.
He nods, resigned, protective, and then turns to Max.
“And you,” Toto says, pointing at him again, “be careful with her heart.”
Max stands. “I will.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
Your dad holds his gaze for a long, quiet moment… then offers his hand.
Max takes it.
And in that simple, steady handshake, surrounded by laughter, warmth, snow outside the windows, and the comfort of family, you know: this Christmas might have been terrifying, but it also became one of the most important moments of your life.
Reader runs super warm, like warm enough to melt snow on their own in surprising quickness, so like living furnace warm. And because eels are cold blooded, when they hold hands in the snow they cause a bit of steam because of the snow clinging to their hands.
Ah, esteemed patron! Welcome!
You have placed a Fluffcember reservation for Day 28: Snow Melt, featuring Monsieur Floyd Leech.
The "flavor profile" here is exquisite. The biological contrast between a cold-blooded eel (who becomes lethargic and cold in winter) and a "living furnace" Reader? And the visual of steam rising from joined hands? That is top-tier sensory writing.
The kitchen has prepared this Manager's Specialty Pasta with a side of thermodynamics. We do hope this meal is to your satisfaction!
Serving: Snow Melt
"Ngh... it's freezing~."
Floyd Leech was miserable. He was draped over a park bench like a discarded wet towel, despite being bundled in a massive, puffy coat. His mood was as grey as the sky.
"I can't move," he whined, his voice dragging. "My fins are frozen. I'm gonna turn into an ice sculpture, Shrimpy. Then you'll be sorry. You'll have to carry me back to the Mirror."
"You're being dramatic, Floyd," you said, standing in front of him. You, in contrast, had your coat unzipped. You were radiating heat like a walking stove.
"Am not," he grumbled, burying his nose in his scarf. "Merfolk aren't built for this. It's a design flaw. I need a heater. Or a squeeze."
He reached out a gloved hand, wiggling his fingers demandingly. "Hand."
You smiled and pulled off your own glove. You didn't mind the cold; your circulation was aggressive. You reached out and took his gloved hand.
"Ew, no," Floyd complained, using his other hand to rip his glove off with his teeth. "Skin to skin. I need the good heat."
He grabbed your bare hand with his large, freezing cold one.
The reaction was immediate.
"Whoa," Floyd breathed, his eyes widening.
It wasn't just warm. It was hot. Your skin against his icy palm felt like he had touched a mug of coffee fresh from the microwave. The shock of it zinged up his arm, waking up his sluggish nerves.
"Shrimpy..." he murmured, staring at your joined hands. "You're burning up. Are you sick?"
"No," you laughed. "Just warm-blooded. Extremely warm-blooded."
A few snowflakes drifted down, landing on your joined hands.
Usually, snow would sit on Floyd’s skin for a long time before melting. But the moment the flakes touched the back of your hand—and the places where his cold fingers pressed into your hot skin—they didn't just melt.
They evaporated.
A tiny, faint wisp of white steam curled up from the space between your palms.
Floyd leaned in, fascinated. He watched another snowflake land, turn to water instantly, and then seem to sizzle into mist.
"Haaa~?" A wide, delighted grin split his face, his lethargy forgotten. "Look at that! You're steaming! You're actually steaming!"
He squeezed your hand tighter, interlacing his long, cold fingers with your hot ones, trying to absorb every joule of energy you were emitting.
"It feels... tingly," he purred, the sound vibrating in his chest. "Like holding a hot rock from the vent. Or a kettle."
He tugged you closer, wrapping his other arm around your waist and burying his freezing face into the crook of your neck (which made you yelp).
"Ahhh~," he sighed contentedly, practically melting against you. "That's the stuff. You're melting me, Shrimpy. Literally."
He looked up at you, his heterochromatic eyes half-lidded and happy.
"I'm not letting go until I stop seeing steam," he declared. "You're my personal heater now. Don't turn off."
A "dish" served with scientific wonder and leech-style clinginess! The kitchen is delighted to confirm this reservation.
The bell over the café door chimed the same way it had two years ago, when Quinn Hughes had stumbled in half-awake, juggling too many things at once and promptly spilled an entire latte down the front of your sweater.
“Careful, babe,” you teased as he held the door for you now, the winter air brushing past your shoulders. “Wouldn’t want a repeat.”
Quinn’s cheeks went pink. “I said I was sorry like… fifty times.”
“Fifty-seven,” you corrected, bumping his shoulder as you stepped inside.
The café always looked exactly the same—warm lights, wood tables, the smell of espresso and cinnamon baked into the walls, the only difference was the small Christmas decorations. The same barista who had witnessed Quinn’s mortification that morning glanced up and winked.
Quinn’s hand found yours, fingers threading through like it was instinct.
“Feels weird, right?” he murmured. “Coming back here today.”
“Weird good,” you said.
He led you to the same small table near the window, the one he insisted on wiping frantically with napkins two years ago while apologizing in a frantic rush, accidentally introducing himself halfway through the panic.
You sat, watching him as walked over to the counter, and before the hockey captain could get a word out, the barista held out your orders. Quinn glances up at the guy who just shrugged and said, “The two of you come here a lot.” Before turning away and continuing his cleaning.
Quinn walks back your table, just as you set your phone down “So…” he said, sliding a cup toward you.
Your usual order.
Steam curled above the top in a soft white swirl.
“He remembered our orders,” you teased.
“Yeah… took me by surprise though.”
You blew on your drink, cheeks warming. “Still sweet though.”
Quinn pulled out something small from his jacket pocket. Not a ring box—because that wasn’t the plan for today, or so you thought,—a familiar-looking item wrapped in brown paper.
You raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
You peeled the paper back to reveal a navy-blue coffee sleeve, hand-stitched with tiny white thread. It said:
“Q ♥ Y/I — since the spill.”
Your breath hitched.
“Oh, Quinn…”
He shrugged shyly. “I just… y’know. Wanted something that matched the story. Since this stupid little place kinda started everything.”
“Not stupid,” you whispered, sliding your hand across the table to take his.
“Never stupid.”
He smiled softly—the kind of smile he only ever gave you, gentle and full and a little shy. He cleared his throat, and your attention snapped back to him.
“I, uh…” he started awkwardly. “I wanted today to be special.”
Your heart warmed. “It already is.”
He swallowed hard and reached into his coat pocket.
Not fast. Not dramatic.
Just Quinn—slow, nervous, deeply sincere.
“I come here all the time on my way to the rink,” he said quietly. “And every time, I look at that spot right there—” He pointed at the doorway where you’d first bumped into each other. “—and I think about how crazy it is that one dumb mistake became the best thing that ever happened to me.”
Your breath hitched.
“I mean, who spills coffee on their soulmate?” he said with a shaky laugh.
“Apparently you,” you whispered.
His eyes flicked up to yours—soft green, steady, overflowing with something warm and terrified and hopeful.
“And I know I’m not… loud like my brothers, or the most exciting guy in Vancouver, but I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything.”
Your chest tightened, heart thudding so hard you thought the whole café could hear it.
Then Quinn got up from his chair.
Walked around to your side.
And dropped to one knee.
The teenage girl, that was studying for her year end exams, gasped softly.
The older woman, who was knitting gifts for her family, whispered, “Oh, how lovely.”
The barista leaned forward with his chin propped on his hand like he’d been waiting for this.
But to the two of you, no one was around. Quinn opened a small velvet box, fingers trembling just a little.
“Since the day I spilled coffee on you,” he said, voice thick, “I’ve wanted every day after to be yours. And I want all my days to start and end with you. If you’ll let me.”
Tears blurred your vision instantly.
“Baby…” you whispered.
His voice broke.
“Will you marry me?”
You nodded before your brain even caught up.
“Yes—Quinn, yes, of course I will—”
You pulled him up so quickly he stumbled, arms wrapping around your waist as you buried your face in his neck. He laughed through a shaky breath, holding you tight, like if he let go for even a second you might disappear.
The barista clapped quietly, mumbling “Been waiting for this moment.”
The older woman dabbed at her eyes with a napkin as the two of you reminded her of her and her late husband.
The teenage girl snapped a picture whispered, “Oh my god, goals.”
Quinn slipped the ring onto your finger with careful, trembling hands. Then he cupped your cheeks and kissed you—soft and slow and overflowing with everything he didn’t say.
Outside, snow continued falling.
Inside, in the little coffee shop where your story began, a new chapter started.
Because here you were, two years later, sitting in the same place, with the same boy who spilled coffee on you…
Only now, he was the love of your life.
couver.y/n has posted
liked by jackhughes ariela_sherwood bboeser and others
couver.y/n From a coffee shop accident to forever with my favorite captain 💌 _quinnhughes
comments are limited
bboeser called it
trevorzegras awe he proposed… I honestly thought you would have to do it
a/n I do not associate nor agree with JKR. Her speech is hateful and should not be spread nor should her hate be endorsed financially. Pirate movies, thrift books, support your local fanfic/fanart creators!!
There was something disquieting about the Great Hall on the morning everyone left for holiday break. Most students were off in their rooms, eagerly packing to return home, leaving just a few to stay behind in the dining hall to eat breakfast alone. Including you.
It was…strange to say the least, but one thing you’ve come to learn was that any moments of silence you found was not one that would last forever. Not when you were dating George.
“Good morning, love! He plopped down next to you, chin propped up on his hand with a broad smile. “I was looking for you today.”
You smiled, your lingering remnants of a bad mood fading away just in his presence. “Were you,” you asked teasingly.
“Yeah, why are you here alone? Shouldn’t you be packing for the holiday?”
You stabbed at the food on your plate awkwardly. “I was but you know,” you paused, coughing out a half-hearted laugh. “I mentioned to my mum the other week the idea of you coming over during the break and it didn’t go over so well.”
George tilted his head down at you, a look of concern ghosting over his face as you gave him a trying smile that you only seemed to wear around the topic of your mother.
“Something along the lines of ‘either don’t bring that boy or don’t come at all’,” you mimicked, exaggerating the voice that rang through the Howler. “Give or take a few comments about being a blood traitor and a disgrace to the family. Same old.”
You avoided looking at the boy as all your words came out in a jumbled ramble, trying to play it off as unbothered.
George frowned, watching you as you continued to poke at your food without actually eating it. “Love,” he spoke, putting a gentle hand to yours and taking the fork from your hand. “You’re telling me your mother told you not to come home for Christmas? …cause of me?”
You sucked in a breath and let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders. “I mean I wouldn’t say ‘cause of you. It’s been a long time coming to be honest.”
“Hey,” he called, reaching out to place a hand on your leg. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re spending Christmas alone this year. There’s still time to pack your things and…”
“No,” you insisted, more firm than before as you turned to face him. “I’m miserable anyways during the holidays. My mum fussing over everything, the family asking if I’m still with ‘that Weasley boy’ as if you don’t have a name, even the pretentious dinner that always ends in some screaming match over politics. I’m tired of it. At least here it’s quiet.” You slowed down, finally taking a breath. “I’m sure it won’t be too bad here. It’s only what, two weeks? I’ll be fine George.”
The two of you faced each other now, your hand over George’s as you looked to him with reassurance. But he seemed to be spacing out, the gears in his head turning rapidly.
“George,” you questioned, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek.
He stayed silent for a beat longer, thinking. “...or…you can come with me?”
You blinked, confused as George’s own smile grew wider and wider. “The train leaves in about an hour, we can hurry up and pack your things now. I’m sure Mum wouldn’t mind either with how often Harry’s over, she’s been wanting to meet you anyw–,”
“George,” you interrupted with a laugh as he began to stand up, dragging you with him. “I can’t just go to your house for two weeks!”
The pair of you stood in the aisle between tables, George turning back to you with faltered excitement. “Why not?”
“I–I mean it’s so last minute, I don’t want to just expect someone to make room for me on a whim…”
“Love,” he spoke gently, finally pausing to stand in front of you. “I promise you, my mother would want nothing more than to have you over, same goes for everyone else there. The last thing I want is for you to be alone in this huge castle on Christmas.”
He took your hands, grasping them in his own as they lay at your sides. You rolled your eyes playfully, squeezing his hands. “Okay,”
You weren’t exactly sure what to expect from the Weasley home, but it was somehow fit everything you envisioned whenever George told you some sort of story.
While the house itself was large, it didn’t hold much space, nearly every inch of the home housing some sort of relic of charm. There wasn’t a place you could look where you’d find an empty space. Most of all, it was much unlike your own home: grand, spacious, and isolating. You could walk miles in your home without ever bumping into another person.
You felt like you were home the second you stepped in.
“You have a very lovely home Mrs. Weasley,” you spoke softly, taking it all in.”
“Oh,” she exclaimed, “Thank you dear, a little bit of a mess if I must admit. Had I known we were having guests…”
She trailed off, turning to you with a warm smile. “Never you mind that,” she dismissed. “You call me Molly, dear, I insist.”
George stood behind you, his hand resting on your waist comfortably. “I practically had to fight her to come along. Kept insisting that she’d be fine at Hogwarts.”
“Oh no dear,” Molly gasped. “None of that. No one in our family will be alone on Christmas if I have anything to do with it.”
You paused, looking up at her with widened eyes. “Family?”
“Of course dear. With all the things Georgie has told us about you, you are practically a part of the family.”
You looked up at George, a small smile sneaking onto your lips as a red tint spread across his cheeks. “Mummm.”
But she merely waved him off. “Oh hush, someone was bound to mention it at some point. Now, don’t let her sit in the living room all day, take her things and bring it up to where they’ll be staying.
You watched with a smile as George graciously took you bags.
“You’ll be staying in Charlie’s old room,” George motioned, letting you walk in first. “He’s off in Romania and will only be here on Christmas. Fred and I will be right next door. I’m sure mum would have my head if I entertained the idea of us sharing a bed.”
As George placed your bags down on the bed, you couldn’t help but look around the room with a sense of awe. It was cluttered with posters of Quidditch teams and small dragon figurines that seemed to fly in place.
Your mother, ever the perfectionist, protested the idea of you decorating your room to your own taste, so to see so much personality within it only seemed all the more amazing to you.
Then your eyes fell on George, who already gazed at you with adoration.
“So,” you question with a smile sneaking onto your lips. “Do you and Fred share a bunk bed or is it one big bed and you fight for space.”
George rolled his eyes, reaching out for you and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Haha, that’s quite creative, did you come up with that on your own?”
You grinned, pressing your hands against his chest instinctively. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
With a hum, you leaned forward, pressing your lips onto his in a soft kiss that made you thankful you didn’t stay at Hogwarts like you originally planned.
“Oi! Lovebirds! Stop shagging and come join us outside!”
You backed away, catching Fred as he just dashed off. “What’s going on outside,” you questioned.
George shrugged, still holding onto you. “Likely playing in the snow or som—,”
You cut him off with an excited gasp, backing away from his hold. “You’re allowed to play in the snow?!”
George looked at you oddly yet half-amused. “Aren’t you?”
“No,” you exclaimed, already throwing your coat on. “Mum says it tracks snow and creates a mess.”
George always knew you to be bubbly, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever seen you so excited as you practically threw yourself in the snow, quick to mesh in with Fred, Ron, and Ginny.
“George,” you shouted gleefully. “Make a snowman with me?”
He smiled from his place in the snow, about twenty feet away from you. “Already started on the body.”
Nightfall came quickly, every moment of it spent in the snow and you couldn’t help but think back to where you’d be had you chosen something else.
If you went back home, you’d be miserable and cooped up in your room, thinking of all the reasons why you missed George.
Yet, had you stayed back in the castle, you were sure you’d only be a little bit happier than you’d be at home.
“And there,” George exclaimed, admiring his handiwork as he placed a carrot in the face of your snowman. “It’s perfect.”
He fell back to your side, once more wrapping an arm around you as you looked up at him with adoration in your eyes.
“Thank you, George.”
He looked at you, a little shocked. “Of course. It’s only a snowman.”
“No, not that,” you laughed. “I mean, inviting me, making sure I wouldn’t be alone this year. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so ‘at home’ than I have here.”
day nine done omgg!! I don’t publish for George but I love writing for him, he’s a sweetheart
simon “ghost” riley x gn!reader, neighbour simon, snowed in, protective simon, caretaking, fluff, before relationship, prequel: baby steps; fluffcember day 16: cold snap
simon had never been the type to get involved in other people's business. that was until he met you, his neighbour.
whenever he was on deployment, you took to checking his apartment, watering the few plants you insisted he keep alive and even allowing him to come home to a fridge filled with homemade meals prepped for at least a couple days, allowing him to settle back in.
so, when he noticed you struggle to carry something heavy, he helped you. when he watched you almost getting scammed by an electrician, he stepped in.
and when a sudden coldfront hit in the middle of spring, the coldest the uk had been in decades, came out of nowhere, he waded through the snow.
because for all your care, he knew you were not the type to prep for these kinds of events.
his fist was heavy against your door and he leaned in. “it's simon. you home?”
it took a moment before the door opened and his eyebrows raised. you were wrapped up in many layers of clothing and still shivering. no wonder, your place was icy.
“your heating's out?” he deduced and watched you nod.
“thought i had 'til winter to fix it,” you explain between chattering teeth. “now the heating company can't get through the snow.”
“and you didn't think to call me?” when you just stare at him, shivering, he sighs. “c'mon, you can crash at mine.”
he helps you gather up your essentials and carries them over. almost immediately you wince when you enter his apartment. the warmth is almost burning on your cool skin.
he throws a towel at you. “take a shower, change. you can take the couch until your heating is fixed or the cold passes.”
while you dissappear in the shower, simon makes tea and sits in front of the tv.
“c'mon, lay down,” he coaxes you when you appear again. clothing had not been among your essentials, so you are now wearing his shirt and sweatpants that shrunk in the wash some time ago. “look tired.”
“couldn't sleep,” you admit and take the blanket he offers. “i was too scared i'd freeze and not wake up.”
his eyes narrow at that, as if the cold is a tangible threat he could fight off. “that won't happen here.”
he watches you as you pull your blanket over your shoulders and burry in his couch. it is old and worn out, which makes it easy to sink in.
“need anything else?” he asks quietly, and his thumb brushes your ankle before he adjusts the blanket to fully cover you.
“no.” you glance at him. “thanks, simon.”
he gives you something almost like a smile. almost.
he doesn't reply, just moves to the kitchen and cleans up, since he wasn't exactly expecting company. when he is done and returns to the living room, your eyes have closed.
with a quiet sigh, simon sinks into the armchair. he watches you, curled up on his couch. looks like your bleeding heart is infectious.
“you gettin' soft, riley,” he murmurs to himself.
simon leans back and stares out at the snow, still falling from the skies and draping the city in a layer of muted silence.
back from the grave darlings!! I haven't been writing much lately due to burnout but hopefully I'll be able to finish doomsday and do this fluffcember lol!
fluffcember prompts from:
@fluff-cember
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It is finally December, which means it’s the holidays! and cold weather. Very cold weather.
The two of you strolled through the shopping district. It was bustling with people trying to snatch the Christmas sale, lights twinkling and hanging from the buildings, it was magical. While walking along the busy road, you were wearing your usual winter outfit— a cute cream colored coat with fuzzy faux fur lining, some heat tech clothes and stockings underneath, a cute miniskirt, ugg boots, and mittens. For some reason you had the urge to dress cutely this Christmas.
Bakugo… He’s quite a warm guy due to his quirk which needs a lot of sweat in order for it to function right.
So when he saw you wearing mittens, he felt a bit… jealous? angry?
Why would you use mittens when your supposed to be “human heater” was right there? Well, it was good that you were wearing mittens but he couldn’t help but feel this way. And he hated the feeling so much. He cursed himself mentally as he held your covered hand, making sure you don’t get lost.
While walking around the shopping mall, trying to find each other gifts for this year, you stumbled upon couples. Of course the place would be crowded with couples, it’s the holidays. You could hear Bakugo muttering curses underneath his breath and you had to stifle a laugh.
Browsing through the shelves, Bakugo spotted something- or someone that just pissed him off so badly.
“Put your hand in my jacket darling~” the couple cooed. Having no care in the world at all as they were publicly showing affection.
He could feel his face burning in anger and fumes coming out of his nostrils as he continued to glare at the now disturbed couple.
You noticed it of course. Who wouldn’t when he was gripping your hand so hard?
“Jesus Bakugo! Loosen up a bit!” you winced as the grip got tighter, which snapped Bakugo back to reality. “Tch,” he sneered as he looked away. “This place is too loud, let’s just go.” he scowled before dragging your hand out of the crowded mall. You couldn’t help but look at him utterly confused.
“Why are you acting like this? Did I do something wrong or did you see something bad?” you asked, anxiety slowly rising as he continued to drag you out of the bustling Shibuya. His jaw tightened as he finally stopped his movements. His head lowered before shifting his body to face you.
“Take your m….” he mumbled, too incoherent for you to understand what he was saying.
“Take my what?”
“I said take your m… off…” he mumbled again. Still incoherent for you to understand the last part of the sentence. You tilt your head, still confused and a little frustrated from his sudden tantrum.
“What?”
“I said take your mittens off, damnit!” you huffed, arms crossed as he looked at the right, avoiding any eye contact with you.
“Huh?” you looked at him astonished. Bakugo Katsuki asking you to take off your mittens? It was quite out of character for him to ask for something like a death wish. It’s the first time— and it was quite weird.
“DO YOU WANT ME TO FREEZE MY HANDS???” you looked at him in disbelief, still oblivious to what he meant. Till it finally clicked. It finally made sense.
A smirk rose from the corner of your mouth and couldn’t help but tease. “You want me to use you as a hand heater now?” she cooed, leaning a little closer, which made Bakugo flinch. You could tell he was getting more and more embarrassed from how red his ears were.
“Shut it, you-!” he grumbled and roughly took your left hand. He took your mitten off and placed your hand on the pocket.
Fingers intertwined with his and his warmth warming up your frosty fingertips better than mittens could ever do.
