Characters: fwb!Hansol Vernon Chwe/Original Female, various Seventeen members
Prompts: fwb!Vernon, five times kissed + one, friends-to-lovers, gratuitous use of film, music and book references.
(a/n) My Christmas gift to my lovely followers. It’s not necessarily Christmas themed, but I hope you guys like it all the same. Much love!
The first time was Begin Again.
He was just fed up. Fed up with his perpetual writer’s block, fed up with how behind he was in education, and all over just wishing for some peace. Vernon missed sleep. He longed for how easy it was back in middle school to fall asleep, to collapse on his bunk and have a full eight hours to happily ponder over absolutely nothing. Now, whenever he did get around to sleeping, he was stuck in a purgatory of being infinitely restless. He felt nervous whenever he closed his eyes, thinking about what kind of packed schedule he’d face in a couple hours’ time, or that he could be spending this time perfecting his lyrics.
But the movies helped.
It was sometime around the end of winter that this whole thing started. Some random neighbor waiting for the elevator to open, who had about two or so boxes stacked so high he couldn’t see her face. When the elevator just didn’t want to help her out, she wedged her sneaker between the emergency exit to the stairwell.
I meant to have this little Christmas present for my followers done for Christmas Eve, but it didn’t happen. It’s still Christmas, though! So Merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy! Love you guys! [Inspired by this lovely cardboard Dean post :D (x) ]
You walk into the bedroom and you can’t stop the giggle that bubbles forth at the sight before you. Dean is propped up against the headboard of the bed, a Santa hat on his head, very velour-looking boxers in red with white trim, and the red and white Christmas tree skirt around his shoulders - nothing else. He has his trademark sexy, sassy smirk on his face as he looks up at you, his long, bare legs stretched out in front of him.
“Why are you wearing the tree skirt?” you ask, laughing.
A few days ago, I received my Christmas gift from you of over 1,000 followers. Good Lord, what did I ever do to deserve such wonderful people in my life? I still remember before I officially joined the fandom like it was yesterday, and it truly floors me how much love and support I found in our little corner of this site. The friends I’ve made here, and how much you all have helped me grow. This is so much more than just a simple fandom, this is a family. A family formed by a movie that just has to be real magic for all the incredible joy and togetherness it has given us. I know this year has been a rough one, and who can say what the future holds, but this is my Christmas gift to all my friends in this family; with a personal favorite fight song for our awesome Tough Girl, our OTP, the fandom, and all of us as individuals. No matter what gets thrown at us, we will stand together, we will fight, and we will be invincible.
With all the love in my heart, Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!
E/R, Modern AU, established relationship. Technically a companion to theotherfics I’ve written involving Enjolras and Grantaire’s son Max, but none need to be read to enjoy this.
At the end of the day, it was Bossuet’s fault – so many things were, if only because the poor man always seemed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was hanging over the side of Max’s crib, tickling his sides and grinning as the baby giggled in response, and looked up to ask Enjolras and Grantaire, innocently enough, “Which one of you is going to be Santa Claus?”
Grantaire laughed, but Enjolras did not seem amused, his lips pursing, and Grantaire’s smile was quickly replaced by a scowl. “Please don’t tell me Santa Claus is going to be the sticking point in how we raise our child.”
He was clearly joking, but Enjolras did not smile, and Bossuet straightened, glancing between Enjolras and Grantaire and offering a quickly muttered, “Right, so I’m just going to, uh, go…” before fleeing as quickly as possible, leaving Enjolras and Grantaire on either side of their son’s crib, glaring at each other.
“Santa Claus can be a formative part of a young child’s critical thinking skills, working out the mystery of just who could be the big man in red,” Grantaire said mildly as he reached down to rub Max’s stomach. “Please don’t tell me that you want to take that away from him just because you don’t approve of the whole Santa Claus myth.”