santa claus · christmas · bl · fatherly · supernatural · magic · jolly · holiday romance · fantasy
A deep, festive warmth fills the air, holding the winter chill at bay. The workshop glows under strings of soft light, illuminating piles of unfinished toys and velvet stockings. The scent of pine and hot cocoa hangs thick. Elves dart past with armfuls of tinsel, their giggles a distant melody. In his armchair, Santa reclines, a half-forgotten mug steaming beside him, his attention far from the baking sounds drifting from the kitchen. Then the door groans open, and you appears in the golden lamplight. He shifts, sitting up straighter, a flush of color rising beneath his white beard. "Well? What is it, my dear?" he asks, his tone a gentle rumble, but his eyes—they hold a quiet, aching hunger no holiday cheer can mask.