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'Twas the Saturday Night Before Christmas - Wyatt Walker x Fem Reader

This fic is a combined fulfillment of my 2 remaining Wyatt Walker requests from last year, for dialogue prompts "I'd kiss you if you let me" and "I'd spoil you rotten if I got the chance" (both from anons). This is a winter holiday-centered fic, and was intended to be posted about a month ago, but...my motivation has been practically non-existent, and my mental health is in the gutter. I kind of fell out of love with this fic TBH (a crappy personal Christmas probably didn't help), which is probably why it took so long to finish, but hopefully some of you will enjoy it anyway. Gif is mine, as always.

PS : Moodboard at the bottom is not meant to be ethnicity-specific. I just had a very specific item of clothing in mind and there was only one model in the photos.

(( word count ~ 4,400 ))

“I don't need help!” the young woman shouted against the noise of passing traffic, before Wyatt had even closed the driver-side door of his truck. She hadn't even looked up at him as he slowly began to step toward her, loose gravel crunching under his boots. “Seriously,” she called out, finally glancing up from her own activities, toward the stranger in the 'Hibdon Tires Plus' button-down, the blinding sun at his back. “I've got this.”

Wyatt had been traveling down a stretch of highway toward his uncle Dallas' place to plan an upcoming heist, and had driven past a car pulled over on the side of the road – a not uncommon site. It had been in his rear-view mirror as he passed, when he'd noticed a young woman on the passenger side, fiddling within the confines of the wheel well, and he had taken the next exit to circle back around. He hadn't expected to be snapped at as a result, but he continued to approach anyway.

“I've got a better jack in my truck-”

“Look, mister...I'm a big girl,” she answered as he neared close enough to touch the bumper of her car, pausing in his steps to listen to the stranger, who, contrary to her phrasing, looked rather petite in comparison to himself. “I've already done most of the work. I don't need help.” The standard tire, low on air, was indeed leaning against the car, halfway between herself and Wyatt, the spare tire bolted into place. Wyatt glanced at her hands, gripping the crank handle, grease and blood on her knuckles.

“I see you've, uh...scraped yourself up, there,” Wyatt pointed out, and she glanced down to her wounds, exhaling with an eye roll, and looking back up to him. “Wouldn't be any trouble,” he insisted, taking a step forward, and reaching a hand out. “Ain't no reason for you to hurt yourself any more than you already have,” he added, and she let out a breath from her squat position on the pavement.

“Fine,” she finally breathed out, holding out the steel rod for the stranger to take.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Are you always that stubborn?” Wyatt asked as he sat across from the stranger in the booth of a breakfast-centric diner, flipping through the menu, deciding between waffles and pancakes. True to her exasperated word, the work to change her flat tire had been mostly complete, but she had admittedly appreciated his assistance in the finishing touches of the task, and had agreed to join him for a meal after.

“I'm just...having a bad day, alright?” she declared, shrugging her shoulders as she gazed at the laminated pages.

“I bet,” Wyatt agreed, glancing up at her while she was distracted. If he'd caught proper sight of her the first time around, he'd have pulled over immediately. “Nothing like a popped tire to ruin your afternoon,” he continued, and she shook her head slightly.

“More like, dealing with the cost of replacing it,” she mumbled, picking up her glass to take a drink of watered-down soda. “I, uh...never mind,” she began and immediately ended, but Wyatt spoke up instantly.

“Maybe you didn't notice, but, uh...” Wyatt indicated the patch on his shirt. “I can get you a good deal-”

“I got laid off, today,” she suddenly piped up, and Wyatt's brows knit together as he sat up straighter. “My department got downsized, as of...” she glanced at her phone screen, “Fifty-seven minutes ago.”

“Wow, that's...shitty,” he admitted, unable to form a more articulate response, and she shrugged before dropping her shoulders and slumping back against the cracked, vinyl upholstery of the booth.

“It sure is,” she stated simply, staring at the handsome but ill-timed stranger across the table. “They say this shit comes in three's, so...you're not gonna dine and dash, and stick me with the bill, or something, are you?” she asked, a defeated half-smile across her lips.

“No, of course not. I, uh...I was just thinkin' that, um...” he hesitated, running his fingers through his hair, as he stared at the young woman across from him – pleasing to his eyes, and charming, despite the unfortunate circumstances they'd met under.

“I hope you're not about to ask me out,” she mumbled, glancing away from his umber eyes as their waitress came into view from across the restaurant. “No offense, but now is so incredibly not the time-”

“Well, actually, I was gonna ask how you'd feel about working at my car shop.”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Think ya' got enough ornaments up there?” Wyatt asked as he stepped into the lobby of his auto sales and repair shop, watching the young woman who had infiltrated his life so completely over the last several months, hanging baubles on an artificial tree.

“I think there's still space for a few more,” she retorted, glancing down from her perch on the step-stool, toward the boss she had a less-than-professional relationship with. “You're welcome to make adjustments-”

“No, I, uh...you look like you've got it under control,” he answered immediately, standing to the side to observe her efforts.

It had been almost half a year since that chance day when he'd found her changing a tire on the side of the highway, and near-instantly offered her a job before he even knew her last name. At the time, he hadn't even been certain there was enough work around the shop, outside of sales and repair, to consistently fill up a forty-hour work week, but Wyatt had quickly found he'd underestimated the value she could bring to his business. Filing, secretarial work, payroll – mostly the excess responsibilities that fell on his own shoulders, he had placed onto hers, but she had become so much more than that. Not only to himself, but to the entirety of his staff, she'd become a near-constant morale boost, to the point that work simply didn't feel right when she was out during regular operating hours. It had even been her idea to have a small Christmas party, including a 'Secret Santa' gift exchange, and with several of the men without partners or much family to speak of, no one had turned their nose up at the idea. It had, unsurprisingly, fallen on her to decorate for the event, and so she found herself putting the almost final touches on the tree, preparing for the small, upcoming party.

It certainly looked more festive than anything Wyatt had put out for the season at home, the owner realized, as he glanced around beyond the tree, to the strings of lights and garland, the paper snowflakes adhered to the windows. His exploratory gaze did not go unnoticed.

“Am I missing anything?” a feminine voice spoke up, and Wyatt directed his vision back toward the young woman within arm's reach.

“Hmm?” Wyatt mumbled in answer, and the young woman took a step down the short ladder, closer to the floor.

“You look like you're searching for something specific,” she clarified, and Wyatt shrugged in response.

“I was, uh...makin' sure there wasn't any mistletoe hangin' around,” he answered, and she gave him a quizzical look.

“No, that...hadn't exactly occurred to me,” she answered, her brows quirked as she considered him. "Who are you gonna kiss in a shop full of dudes, anyway?"

"I'd kiss you if you let me," Wyatt blurted out, the words automatically falling from his lips before his brain could catch up. He instantly closed his eyes, his mouth opening and closing again without any more sound escaping, and when he finally opened his eyes again, he was not surprised to find her staring at him. The look on her face was not as easily discernible as he'd hoped. Before he could come up with something intelligent to say, the sound of his name being shouted across the shop caught both their attentions, and the two glanced in the direction of the voice. When Wyatt glanced back up in her direction before leaving the lobby, he found her back to him, her nimble fingers working at the artificial tree, her response still unstated.

When Wyatt arrived at the source of the shouting of his name, he found a semi-familiar man who occasionally delivered auto parts, watching out not for Wyatt, but the young woman in the lobby he leaned to the side to catch a glimpse of.

“I don't know how you get any work done with that hot little piece hangin' around here all day,” the delivery man uttered as he continued to stare, holding out a clipboard requiring signatures.

“How about you show a little respect, and stop starin',” Wyatt muttered as he scribbled his name on the form, pressing it back into the other man's hand, who voiced something sleazy in response. “Hey,” The shop owner spoke up again when his recommendation was ignored. “Why don'tcha pop your eyes back in your head before I rip 'em outta your skull?”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

The shop was mostly silent between the hours of closing, and the scheduled party, no one left at the auto-centric business save for the boss and his secretary, the Saturday before Christmas. All the mechanics had gone home in the mean time, for a proper meal, a shower, and whatever else, leaving the remaining two to do whatever it was they did when they were alone together. Rumors had swirled for months, though no one outside Wyatt and his secretary much cared about whatever was going on between the two of them. It had mostly just come to be a light source of amusement for the auto technicians, watching their employer and the only woman in the shop pretend that things were completely professional between them. It didn't much help their case of said professionalism when both had traded between themselves and the auto workers to make sure they had each other's names for Secret Santa.

“Wow,” Wyatt had stated simply as he stepped out of his office, through the garage portion of the building, and into the lobby. “This looks...I really don't pay you enough, do I?” he mumbled as his eyes scanned the tables full of laid out foodstuffs, the individually marked bags under the tree that would soon be joined with the Santa gifts, filled with 'masculine' treats like miniature bottles of liquor, meat snacks, each man's favorite candy, and of course – their holiday bonus checks. More festive decor dressed up the generally plain room, and the occasional ornament that didn't seem to quite fit in with the shiny, vivid baubles, dotted the tree.

“Probably not,” he heard a soft voice behind himself, and he swiveled about to find his only female employee, expecting to find her dressed in the same slacks and button-down she'd worn during the day. Wyatt's mouth opened slightly before closing again, no sound escaping, as he stared at her, and the shimmery blue dress that clung to her frame, and flowed out to end half way down her thighs. When he remained silent, and simply stared, she spoke up again. “Do you think it's too much?”

“I, uh...I think it might be a little too...little,” he answered, more articulate words alluding him. “Not sure how I feel about my guys seeing you like this,” Wyatt continued as she started to wander closer, watching his eyes, as his own focused on what she wore and what it failed to cover.

“I'm not worried about them,” she mumbled, reaching for his hand when he extended it toward her, staring at him intently as his gaze finally made it back up to her eyes. When he reverted back to silence again, his fingers stroking her hand and wrist as traffic flowed beyond the large windows, she glanced to the tree that she had put so much time into decorating. “So, um...how does everything look?”

“Looks great,” Wyatt murmured immediately, and she rolled her eyes and smiled, reaching her hand up to his cheek, and directing him toward the display beyond herself that she'd put so much effort into.

“I meant the tree,” she emphasized, taking a step back to watch him as he scrutinized her work. Beyond the vivid, reflective, jewel-toned baubles, Wyatt found far older pieces hanging on the occasional branch, made not of glass or plastic, but of cotton and pipe cleaners, construction paper and googly eyes. Wyatt stared at the aged crafts in silence, glancing over half a dozen trinkets from the past, finally reaching out to pluck off a miniature tree, made of glued-together Popsicle sticks, decorated with green paint and pom-pom balls of various colors. Flipping it over in his large hand, he found his own name scrawled on the back, misspelled and in his own handwriting, along with the year of the ornament's creation.

“Where...” was all he could manage as he held the school craft – older than the woman beside him – in his hand, his umber eyes twinkling from the reflections of the colorful lights, and his sudden, overwhelming emotions.

“Dallas,” she immediately answered, Wyatt's gaze drifting back to the tree to return the extracted ornament, and tug off another. “He found some boxes of...well, Walker history I guess, in his basement. Including your, uh...handmade ornaments,” she continued, as Wyatt began to explore the tree more thoroughly, drawing off each hand-crafted piece he found to inspect it more closely. “If anybody asks, I'll say they're mine,” she suddenly mumbled as the two of them watched a vehicle pull in off the street, and onto the lot the shop resided on.

“Think I'm gonna get embarrassed, or somethin'?” he questioned as he looked back at her, and she glanced out the window, at the second car that pulled in, noticing the beginnings of fluffy snow, falling from the sky, and reaching a few dozen windshields.

“I think you're already starting to get misty-eyed,” she confirmed, reaching for his empty hand when familiar mechanics started emptying out of their respective vehicles. “Hey, um...I need something in the back, and I need a tall person to help me get it,” she suddenly spoke up, and Wyatt's brows drew together as he followed her, dragged along by the smaller hand that gripped his larger one. The two of them eventually stepped into a narrow room full of boxes of files – not much more than a glorified closet – and Wyatt's gaze fell upon the tallest of the stacks as the lobby door opened, and new voices began to filter in.

“Which one?” he inquired simply as he glanced around, his secretary pointing to the door instead, or rather a piece of something plastic and green sat above the moulding. Wyatt reached up to grasp the faux foliage, comprised of green leaves and white berries, and before he could utter another word, his employee gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her height, her lips mushing against his. The fake mistletoe fell out of Wyatt's hand as he reached to cup her cheek instead, her back meeting a wall almost immediately as he pressed her against it, her body dwarfed by his own as his palms gently cradled her face. The sounds of their kisses were completely drowned out by the collective noises of the men that had begun to filter in to the lobby. “Is this because of what I said the other day?” he queried as he loomed over her. “Or is this my Christmas gift,” he added, nudging the green bundle on the floor with his shoe.

“The first one...kind of,” she confirmed, placing her hands against Wyatt's chest and gripping the fabric that draped over it. “I guess I also just...kinda got tired of waiting,” she added, shrugging her shoulders, closing her eyes as he leaned over her, placing his forehead against hers after he captured another quick kiss.

“The first day we met, you made it clear you didn't want me askin' you out,” he reminded, and she took a breath and sighed, shaking her head, the tips of their noses brushing against one another. “And! I wouldn't ever wanna make you uncomfortable, with you bein' my employee and all.”

“Do I look uncomfortable to you?” she spoke up, and Wyatt stood back up straight, carefully cupping her jaw as he looked over her features. “Funny,” she mumbled, reaching up to grasp his hand.

“I'm serious, though...I'd rather you be comfortable than prioritize my own...” his words fell away as she stood up on tip-toe to steal a kiss, then another, Wyatt chuckling when she nudged him back against the closed door. “Think we oughta get out there, before the boys start dippin' in to the eggnog,” he mumbled, though his arms continued to rest around her waist.

“Wait, not...hold on,” she answered suddenly, slipping out of Wyatt's grasp as she stepped back toward a stack of boxes, reaching an arm through the crack of shadowy space between them. “Why don't you go ahead and, uh...open your gift,” she mumbled, pressing a pristinely wrapped present into his hand, the paper's pattern distinct and aged.

“I can wait-”

“No, really...go ahead,” she encouraged, and he lowered his gaze to the paper-sheathed box. Glancing up at her for a moment, he cast his eyes back to the item in his hands, and began to carefully open it, guiding a finger between the edges of wrap. Pulling the paper away, a confused look formed across his face, and he managed a simple, questioning, “You shouldn't have?”

“Oh my g-...keep opening,” she huffed, and Wyatt's brows drew together as he stared at a box meant for fuses, but he continued along, finally drawing out something rectangular from inside, packed with green tissue paper. Glancing up at her expectant face once more, Wyatt tore the remaining paper away and stared at the framed photo in his hand. His eyes darted back to hers, and down to the picture again – a joyous moment between a child-version of himself, and his deceased mother, captured on film.

“Dallas?” Wyatt asked simply, his mouth pressing into a strained frown as moisture began to well up at the corners of his eyes.

“Of course, Dallas,” she mumbled, reaching up to brush fallen strands of hair from his face as he wiped away quickly-forming hot tears from his cheeks. “I didn't quite hit the $25 limit, but-” A pounding on his office door, beyond the file closet they stood in, cut off her words, and Wyatt wiped more tears away from his eyes as he stood up straighter. “I, um...I knew you wouldn't wanna cry in front of your guys,” she whispered, and Wyatt's gaze met hers, lifting up a tear-dampened hand to brush her hair back from her face. “Do you like it?”

Wyatt tilted his head as he considered her, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, “I love it.”

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

To neither Wyatt's, nor his secretary's surprise, the party was already a festive, joyous success by the time they made it out of the closet, their emergence fortunately going unnoticed. The mechanics, and guests who had arrived as their plus-one's, quickly dived into the food and drink, including the alcohol-infused eggnog, and a collection of gifts – mostly in holiday-themed bags – began to accumulate under the tree, among the initial shop-financed gift bags. A particularly shiny box was eventually added after Wyatt disappeared briefly to his office, and within an hour of the gathering beginning, bags and boxes from under the tree had slowly began to disappear as they were collected and opened.

Eyes glancing around the room to make sure all the employees and their guests were distracted, the secretary dropped her gaze to the box in her hand, wrapped in a way that displayed effort despite a lack of skills – the paper metallic and holographic, the edges cut jagged from failed attempts to slice a pristine line. The tag on the gift stated it was from 'Santa', but the handwriting was instantly recognizable as Wyatt's, and she glanced his way, relieved to see his eyes focused elsewhere, before she began to pluck at the clear tape. A wave of discomfort washed over her as she exposed the interior, a smaller box inside the larger box, this one upholstered in a velvet-like fabric. When she glanced back up again, she found Wyatt's umber eyes trained on her from across the lobby, a bottle of domestic beer in his grasp. Taking a deep, nervous breath, she inched the smaller box open, and was met with a loud smack of hinged edges meeting each other when she let it close again. Staring at the fabric-covered box, she glimpsed inside once more, then quickly closed it again. Wyatt let out a sigh from his isolated corner of the bustling room as he watched her cross it, and disappear down the short hallway that led to his office.

She was plopped down in his swivel chair by the time he entered his office, himself, to join her, away from the noise of the party.

“So, you make me make the first move after almost six months-”

“I didn't make-”

“And then you draw my name for a $25 gift, and end up spending...do I even wanna know how much you spent on this?” you asked, exasperated as she gripped the jewelry box in her hand. His silent stare drew a sigh out of her, and she sat the box down on the desk. “More than my rent?” Wyatt looked away to some invisible spot on the wall. “Two months of my rent?” Still no answer. “Please...tell me there isn't anything on the sales lot priced lower than what you spent,” she implored, and her boss glanced toward the parking lot beyond the window at her back. “Wyatt?!”

“I'm thinking!” he answered, watching her slump back in his chair. “I can't remember the price of every car out there off the top of my head,” he insisted, but both the boss and his employee knew that wasn't true. He was too meticulous for that, which only served to validate her irritation. “Do you not like it, or-”

“It's not...this isn't about whether I like it or not-”

“So, you do like it,” he interrupted, and she rolled her eyes, shaking her head slightly.

“...Well, of course I like it,” she finally mumbled, a smile finally returning to Wyatt's lips as he pushed off the door with his foot and took a few steps, sliding into the stationary chair on the opposite side of his desk than normal. “But, that isn't the point,” she huffed, watching him as his shoulders shifted, as he made himself comfortable. “This is...this is way too much.”

“There's no such thing,” he responded, and she slumped further against his chair, glancing toward the door at the sound of a clatter beyond it. “I'd spoil you rotten if I got the chance, darlin',” he continued, “If you gave me that chance.”

“I don't need you to spoil me,” she muttered as he stood up and stepped around the desk, sinking down to sit on the floor by her feet, his legs crossed. “Just be normal...ask me out on an actual date, or something,” she offered, a roar of laughter from a handful of voices erupting from the lobby, drawing both of their attentions.

“So...should I take the necklace back, and-” he began, but she swiped the box before he could lay a hand on it from beside the desk. “No?”

“No...I like it,” she admitted, opening up the box again, finally drawing out a pendant hanging from a delicate, silver-toned chain. “What is it, anyway?” she asked, gazing at the flashes of color that seemed to shift in the glow of the flood lights, streaming in from the window.

“Uh...Tanzanite?” he confirmed, though he sounded a bit uncertain. “I never heard of it, but I guess it's your birth stone?” he explained.

“One of them,” she confirmed. “Certainly the most expensive.”

“Well...I also thought it was the prettiest,” he insisted, tugging his phone out of a denim pocket and shining the flash light on the gem. It shifted deep blue to vibrant green, hints of violent at the furthest edges. “Rare, and unique, and...beautiful,” he continued, staring at the glistening stone before his gaze shifted higher, to the eyes of the young woman that sat before him.

“Guess I'm...lucky you pulled my name,” she finally mumbled, and he winced as he began to stand up, his knees aching a bit as he rose, the sound of something breaking in the lobby convincing him it was time to rejoin the festivities.

“Actually, I had to trade with one of the guys,” he admitted, taking her hand to give her leverage to stand, her feet a tad unsteady as the booze-spiked eggnog she'd enjoyed earlier began to take noticeable effect. “He didn't wanna give up your name, either.”

“That's funny, I had to trade for yours, too,” she answered, grasping the box in one hand as Wyatt held the other. “But, um...he was kind of thrilled to get rid of it.” Wyatt shrugged as he reached his empty hand for the doorknob, but his secretary grasped it gently as his fingers formed a grip around the brass-toned metal. “I wouldn't have taken no for an answer though, just so you...” she finally shrugged, and Wyatt leaned against the door to watch her flustered form. “I wasn't gonna let someone else make you cry,” she murmured, and he chuckled softly as he recalled the gift, or rather gifts that she had given him. Not just the photo, or the ornaments, he realized. She'd dug up a piece of his past he'd thought long gone, and he was grateful for it, and for her. As he began to lean in toward the expectant young woman before him, the knob in his hand seemed to turn of its own accord, and the door opened up to reveal a few of the more inebriated employees, mentally returned to their teen years, trying to catch a sight not meant for them. The door immediately closed again in their faces as Wyatt shoved his palm against it, his other hand weaving into the young woman's hair as he leaned in for a kiss.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Comments and reblogs are appreciated and encouraged. I have a bad habit of not always responding, but I read them all and they make my days less miserable.

tagging : @gissellec1 , @sashimeep , @callsign-fangirl , @jessy02 ,

@charliehoennam , @bleeding-heartz , @amethystblackkchaos

MY TAG LIST HAS BEEN UPDATED TO THOSE WHO REGULARLY COMMENT OR REBLOG. SEE MY PINNED POST FOR DETAILS. I WILL NO LONGER BE TAGGING PEOPLE WHO NEVER COMMENT OR REBLOG MY FICS.

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