#Christmas Cheer Fic List | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

headkiss · 9 months

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maybe this christmas time

pairing: steve harrington x sunshine!reader

summary: working as an elf during the holidays (which he isn’t a fan of) is not how steve would choose to spend his time, neither is doing a bucket list of your creation. you end up changing his mind.

word count: 9.5k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns for r, some grumpy steve (he’s still a softie underneath it, i can’t help it!), some family issues (a phone call from steve’s mom), a rude customer, christmas activities/themes, fluff, and a first kiss!

a/n: merry christmas and happy holidays from me to you!!! i hope u guys enjoy this one, i had a lot of fun writing it!! big big thank you to @bcyhoods for sending the request that inspired me to write this fic and to @bruisedboys who helped me out when i was unsure about things <333 ily guys i hope u all have the happiest of holidays!

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Starcourt Mall is decorated to the brim. Fake snow and garlands, giant ornaments hanging from the ceiling, a Christmas tree that stays lit all day long.

And, in the middle of it all, Santa’s Workshop.

That’s where you are, where you’ve been for a couple of Decembers now. Every other month of the year, you work at the movie theater, scooping popcorn and scanning tickets. But, for December, you trade in your cinema t-shirt for an elf outfit, striped tights and all.

“It’s really not so bad once you get past the itching,” you tell Steve.

“Great,” he says, the sarcasm clear in his tone.

“Great,” you repeat, cheery enough for the both of you.

He wasn’t sure how it could get any worse than the sailor uniform. That is, until he saw what he had to wear for this gig.

It’s Steve Harrington’s first year at Santa’s Workshop, and you’ve been tasked with training him, though the job is mostly self-explanatory.

But unlike you, Steve didn’t volunteer for this.

“I can’t believe they picked me to do this,” he sighs. “Don’t even like elves.”

“Well they had to pick someone, Steve.” You shrug, “who knows, you might end up having fun!”

“Not likely.”

“At the very least, you’re getting paid, right?” You nudge him once with your elbow, “plus, if you’re extra nice, some moms give pretty good tips.”

You and Steve went to school together, but he never really spoke to you then. It was only after graduation that you had any sort of conversation with him. They mostly consisted of him bribing you with free ice cream to let Dustin and the gang into the movies for free.

That was after you caught him letting them into the back rooms to sneak in.

Now, Steve’s wearing a pair of slippers that jingle with every step just like yours, and in the only two shifts you’ve had together so far, you’ve spoken more than ever. Even if it’s mostly been instructions from you and an unenthusiastic comment in response from Steve.

“Do I really have to wear these fucking shoes?” He asks, following you out of the staff room.

“Yes. It’s part of the uniform.” You turn around to face him, walking backwards while he walks forwards. “Don’t worry, you’ll tune out the jingling soon enough.”

“I’ll hear these jingles in my nightmares.”

“At least you look cute!”

You spin back around, and Steve only rolls his eyes as he trudges on behind you.

Steve’s not quite sure how he feels about you, whether he finds you a little annoying or endearing. At the moment, with an elf hat squishing his hair, he’s leaning a little more towards the first.

He didn’t know you during school. Admittedly, he was an asshole for most of his time at Hawkins High, so that explains that. Even still, he doesn’t know much about you, only that you’re kind enough not to snitch on him for sneaking the kids into the movies and that you seem to seep sunshine all the fucking time.

And your sunshine seems to be dialed up during the holidays. Like you really believe in ‘holiday cheer.’

Steve knows, deep down and buried somewhere he’s not quite ready to face yet, that he’s mostly just jealous. Because if you like the holidays so much, if you’re smiling the way you do so often, you must have it pretty good at home.

To him, nothing else makes sense. Not when Christmas at the Harrington household has been absolute shit for years. First, it was the gifts he never wanted, things his parents didn’t care enough to know he didn’t like. Then, they dwindled until, eventually, Christmas did, too.

There’s a travel discount during the holidays, sweetie. We’re visiting dad’s boss’ cabin. Next year, we promise. Excuse, excuse, excuse.

So yeah, Steve’s never really understood the appeal. Walking behind you in a pair of jingling shoes and a scratchy outfit, he’s not sure he ever will.

You lead him towards the area where Santa’s Workshop has been set up, right by the fountain. There’s bright red carpet rolled out over the usual tiled floors, an area set up for the cue of families, and of course, a bench where some guy playing Santa will sit.

“Since we’re opening today I’ll show you the whole set-up routine.” You step over the rope with the sign that says ‘Gone to feed the reindeer!’ with Steve in tow. “Easy peasy.”

Steve steps over the rope behind you, shaking his head at the sound his shoes make when he lands. He chooses to listen to your voice instead.

“First, we count the props,” you nod over at the bin that’s tucked away behind a small tree, “there should be four sets of antlers, two santa hats, a red nose, and some extra elf hats.”

He stares at you—because why on earth would you have that memorized—and raises his eyebrows. For a moment, as he watches you grab the clipboard that sits atop the prob bin and start counting, Steve wonders if maybe he should be more like you. The kind of person who seems to see the good in everything.

Then, he remembers what the outfit he’s got on looks like and shakes the thought away.

“Why would anyone want to be a clown in these pictures?” He says.

“The red nose is for Rudolph, dummy.”

You say dummy with a smile, like it’s something to admire. Steve huffs.

“Rudolph’s a loser.”

“Aw, come on, he’s got his own song and everything! I’d say that makes him the opposite of a loser.”

“Of course you would,” he mutters, cursing the tiniest twitch of a smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. “What’s next?”

“Right,” you grab the bag that you brought from the staff room and set it on the ground by the tripod that’s already set up. “Next is the camera. Here, I’ll show you.”

The only knowledge Steve’s got of cameras comes from whatever Jonathan has told him, which hasn’t been very much, considering the pair’s history on the topic despite them being friends now.

So, he steps closer to you, watches as you pull the camera out of the bag.

“You just have to switch it on and make sure the battery’s full, right there,” you say, pointing at the small symbol that lets you know if the camera’s charged or not. “And don’t forget to take the lens cap off. I did it once and this dad yelled at me, so...”

You pop the lens cap off, putting it in the bag. Steve’s standing close to you, right behind you, his chin hovering over your shoulder, the warmth of his chest just shy of brushing against your back.

“Finally,” you continue, ignoring the little skip in your heartbeat, the way you breathe just a tiny bit quicker. “Set it up on the tripod, and you’re good to go.”

He watches your fingertips move easily, securing the camera to the tripod. When you’re done, you turn around to face him, and it’s only then that Steve realizes how close he’s gotten.

Close enough that you stumble and land against his chest, his hands on your upper arms to steady you as you pull back quickly, like you’d been burned. Steve, however, doesn’t let go just yet and he’s got no idea why.

He doesn’t let go until the music in the mall is switched on, the opening notes of some Christmas song startling you both. Steve steps back and releases you, dropping his hands by his sides and ignoring the twitch of his fingers.

“Alright,” you say, trying to brush the moment off. “That sound means we’re open. You ready?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Nope!”

Your lunch breaks at Santa’s Workshop feel like a luxury, because no matter how much you enjoy the job, it’s nice to get away from the rowdy children it forces you to deal with.

Unlike your job at the theater, where your breaks are staggered, the workshop closes for an hour every day, meaning that even during lunch, Steve’s stuck with you.

The sign by the line for Santa is flipped, and parents groan whenever they see the festive font saying you’ll be back in an hour.

You take the hour spent in the staff room as a time to ask him questions, what his hobbies are (“does driving a pack of 13-year-olds around count?”), if he likes his job at Scoops (“I’m starting to appreciate it more. The lesser of two evils, or something”), if he’d introduce you to Robin someday (“I’m afraid of what that might do to my sanity.”)

Today, you’re trying to tackle the subject of his Grinch-like tendencies.

“What’s your favorite Christmas movie?” You ask.

Steve doesn’t know why he continues to answer your questions whenever you throw them at him—which is often—but he does. He thinks it might be like being mean to a puppy, ignoring you. Unnecessarily cruel.

“Don’t have one.”

“Ugh. Come on, Steve! Everyone has a favorite.” You slump in your seat across from him at the small table in the break room. Steve stares at you blankly as he takes another bite of his lunch. “You can tell me.”

“I’m serious,” he says, nudging your foot with his when it comes close. “They’re cheesy.”

“Aren’t you secretly a rom-com fan?”

“How did you-”

“So, you actually enjoy cheesy movies!”

“Okay, well you don’t have to say it to the entire mall. Gosh.”

Steve wonders how you know that about him, how you’ve been able to guess a lot of things without him telling you. Briefly, just for a second, he wonders if that might mean something.

Like, if maybe you’re in his life now for a reason.

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me, Steve.” You smile what you hope is an honest, reassuring smile. “So, the cheesiness isn’t the root of the issue.”

“No, I guess not.”

“I’m gonna take a guess here,” you start, “and say that you’re not a fan of Christmas.”

“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

“Steve, I’ve never heard someone complain about jingle bells so much in my life.”

“We can’t all behave like we’ve been injected with sunshine.”

You don’t think he means it as a compliment, but you decide to take it as one nonetheless. But you suppose he’s right, there’s always gotta be a balance. Dark and light, happy and sad.

“Thank you,” you give him a quick grin. “And you’re avoiding the question.”

He’s silent for a moment, twisting his fork around between his fingers. “My parents never really did Christmas.”

Your heart squeezes a little in your chest at his words, at the way his tone goes quieter, at the way he looks at the table to avoid catching your eye.

Immediately, you feel guilty for prying, because the last thing you’d ever wanted to do was force him to tell you something he didn’t want to. It’s not your place, no matter how curious you are, no matter how much you’d like to give him a hug or something right about now.

It’s not your place, but you find yourself wishing it could be.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Steve.” You reach for his hand that sits on the table and give it a quick squeeze before pulling back. “You don’t have to talk about it. I shouldn’t have bugged you.”

“It’s okay. I’ve had a lot of time to accept it.” He shrugs, like it doesn’t affect him. But from the scrunch in his brows, you can tell it does, at least a little bit. “The Harringtons have better things to do than sit around cleaning up wrapping paper.”

Steve feels embarrassed, his cheeks warm and his head bent. He doesn’t like scraping this wound open, doesn’t like to think about what he was missing out on while everyone thought his life was perfect.

He especially doesn’t want you looking at him like he’s injured or something after this.

Surprisingly to Steve, you don’t. You actually do quite the opposite. You smile brightly at him, like you’ve just had an excellent idea, like you can inject a bit of your sunshine into him with it.

“How about this: I’ll teach you how great Christmas can be.”

“I think it might be a little late for that.” Steve tries to shake his admission away, to clear the room. He points at the elf hat on his head, “this outfit has ruined any last shred of hope I had.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that you make a cute elf? You pull it off better than I do.”

“You don’t have to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” Steve raises his eyebrows at you. You ignore that look. “Whatever. I cannot in good conscience, let you keep disliking Christmas. Think of how fun it could be. Plus, you owe me for all of those movies I let your children into.”

Steve already finds it difficult to say no to you, because of how kind you remain even when he’s snarky with you, because of the same kindness you seem to offer to everyone you meet.

So, even though he’s not sure what your plan entails, he sighs and says: “okay. Fine.”

“Wait, really?”

“Don’t make me change my mind.”

You cheer, clapping a little in your seat. “Oh my gosh, we can go skating, and go to one of those Christmas light festivals, and make cookies-”

“What did I get myself into?” Steve mutters, while you’re still rambling off ideas.

“-I’m gonna need to make a list.”

Even after your break ends, you seem to have an extra pep in your step, if that’s even possible. Your smile is a bit wider, your eyes brighter, and Steve can’t help but feel a little special for being somewhat responsible for that.

Really, what did I get myself into, he wonders.

In the time between him agreeing to your Christmas plans a couple of days ago and now, at yet another shift, Steve has realized that he actually likes you quite a bit. Even though your seemingly constant optimism drives him a little bit crazy.

You treat everyone with an attitude that’s so rare, he finds that his previous annoyance for you is slowly becoming overtaken by the endearment.

He won’t admit it, not when bantering with you seems to be the highlight of his days lately, but Steve is starting to be sort of grateful that he got selected for this job.

And that has absolutely nothing to do with the outfit he wears. He still fucking hates that.

“It’s alright, cutie,” he hears your voice say, all soft and understanding. He finds you, crouched down to talk to a little girl who seems to be wary of Santa. “I bet Santa will give you something extra from your list if you smile for the picture.”

The girl nods, like she’s determined. But, when you stand back up, she grabs onto your hand by your side.

“What is it?” You ask her.

“Can you do it with me?”

You look over to the girl’s mother where she stands to the side, and she nods, eager to get the picture done. So, with that, you say, “okay, then.”

Steve’s standing behind the camera as he watches you help the girl onto the bench beside Santa. Then you’re sitting beside her and telling her to look at the nice boy behind the camera.

It takes him a second to realize you’re talking about him, but when he does, he forces himself into action, bending to look through the viewfinder.

“Say cheese,” he says.

The click of the camera sounds, and then it’s done. You help the girl down, who goes over to her mom quickly and they head over to grab their picture.

Once they’re gone, the line dies down, giving you and Steve a rare pause from the pictures and overenthusiastic welcomes to ‘the North Pole.’

“I hope that family’s okay with my face in their picture,” you say, coming to stand beside Steve by the camera. “I mean, I know the mom nodded, but maybe they’ll cut me out of it.”

You’ve become more comfortable with Steve the more you’ve worked with him, getting to know him in how his grumpiness is more related to the holidays and early mornings than anything else, in how he turns the same grumpiness down when he talks to the kids.

You think he’s grown more comfortable with you, too, because he’s started bringing you a coffee in a festive cup in the morning, leaving it in your cubby without a word.

From Steve, you think that says a lot. His actions have always spoken louder than his words, you think. Like the free ice cream he gives you from Scoops, or the small nod he’d give you whenever he’d pick up the kids from a movie.

And now, there’s the small tug of his lips, the hint of a smile that has you saying, “Steve Harrington are you smiling right now?”

“Shut up,” he shakes his head at you. “That was sweet. What you did for that girl.”

Steve lets himself say what he thinks for once, because there’s nobody else around, because he wants you to hear it.

You hide your shy smile by looking down at your feet. You know that underneath everything, Steve is probably one of the best boys you’ve ever met, because even with his attitude, he’ll never say anything to truly hurt you, and with how little you know about his family, you also know that it’s rare for someone in his situation to remain so good.

Any resemblance of a compliment from Steve feels extra special, like its own gift in itself.

“Ruining her picture, you mean?” You ask, trying to cover up how you feel about him calling you sweet.

“You didn’t ruin that picture, sunshine.”

Sunshine. That’s new.

“Well I’m glad someone thinks so.”

Before Steve has the chance to respond, the line picks up again, and it’s back to business as usual. The routine click of the camera, the sound of parents telling their kids to smile nice and big.

You and Steve catching each other’s eye when a particularly entertaining family rolls around, laughing at the way he does an impression of a mom after she leaves. With work being sort of like this every day, you wish it could be Christmas all year round. You much prefer this to the theater, you think.

Steve can't say that he likes this job more than Scoops—Robin might call him traitorous—but he finds that you’d been at least a little right when you said that it would get better when he got used to things, when he hears the sound of your laugh rather than those stupid bells on his shoes.

He finds that he sometimes has to remind himself that he doesn’t like the holidays, that they aren’t like this all the time.

At the end of your shift, as you and Steve grab your stuff from the staff room, you turn to him, leaning against the wall as he shrugs on his coat.

“So, I made a list,” you say. “We are going to have the best Christmas ever, Harrington.”

“My standards are very low, so it wouldn’t take much.”

“Don’t care. I have plans. We can make gingerbread houses and get Christmas pajamas-”

“Absolutely not.”

While Steve already agreed to letting you show him Christmas your way, he thinks he can only take so much at a time. Small doses of your jolly spirit are plenty.

“Steeeve.”

“I am drawing the line. No Christmas pajamas. Not happening.”

“But the gingerbread houses are a yes?” You ask, hopeful and smiling like it’ll persuade him.

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

That’s what Steve decides to say, instead of simply agreeing because he finds that he’d like to spend time with you outside of work, to see if you’re really so bright all the time, to see if he can soak it up a little better when he’s not dressed as a damn elf.

That’s what he decides to say because it’s easier than spilling the rest of it out there. Much, much easier.

“But you already agreed!” You pout at him a little, exaggerated dramatics on your part. “You can’t just tell me I can teach you Christmas and then back out, I mean, I made an actual bucket list. With glitter and shit.”

“Oh no, not the glitter,” Steve places a hand on his chest, sarcastically scandalized. “That makes it serious.”

You blink at him, giving him a blank look. “Don’t diss the list. By the end of it, you’re gonna be jolly as fuck, trust me.”

“Jolly as fuck,” he repeats, shaking his head on a laugh. “You’ve got a way with words, sunshine.”

“Thank you.” You push your tote bag onto your shoulder, fishing out your keys, they clink in your palm when you find them. “I’m not letting you back out of this, by the way. The list is binding.”

“Well in that case…”

You give Steve a little smile, the flash of a sunbeam, before heading out, and he’s left standing in the break room wondering what you’ve got on that list, why you seem to care so much about it.

Huffing, he supposes he’ll find out soon enough.

Steve definitely should not have told you that he’d never been ice skating before.

It all started when you’d been talking about that damn list at your most recent shift, a couple of days after he’d accepted the fact that he couldn’t back out of it (did he really want to?).

“Hey, you have a change of clothes in your bag, right?” You’d asked him in between families.

“Um… yeah. Why?”

“Because, Steve, our festivities begin today after work!” You clapped your hands together softly, excited and encouraging, yet delicate. “I haven’t quite decided what we’re starting with yet.”

“I thought you had a list.”

“I do! But it’s not in order,” you shrugged, “I’m more of a mood-based decision maker, anyways.”

“Of course you are,” he’d said, his usual sarcasm lighter, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

“So I’m thinking we go skating-”

“Nope.”

“You can't say no to every idea I have. Then how will you get the Christmas experience?”

“I won’t say no to everything.” You looked at him like you didn’t believe him, so, quietly, he added, “it’s just, I’ve never been skating before.”

“Steve, that’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you reassured him easily, your voice honest in a sort of natural way, like you couldn't lie even if you tried. “All the more reason to give it a try. The point is to have fun, not to be good at it. I’m really not that great, myself.”

“If I hate it, we’re leaving.”

“Deal.”

And that’s how he’d ended up here, standing next to you at the rental counter at the ice rink, telling some teenager his shoe size so he could get a pair of skates.

Steve looks at you as you talk to the teenager, paying before he even gets the chance. He looks at the hat you’ve got on your head, the way your jeans are cuffed just enough to let your snowman patterned socks peek out of your boots.

He realizes that he’s only ever really seen you in uniform, at the theater and as an elf, and he thinks, quickly, like a car driving by, that you look really pretty like this. With snowflakes stuck in your eyelashes and all.

Though he’s never said it, barely let himself think it, he’s always found you pretty in a sort of undeniable way, like it was just a fact. Now, he finds you pretty in a way that makes him feel it.

His heart beats like it feels it, too. The traitor.

“Thank you,” you say, grabbing both your and Steve’s pairs of skates. You turn to him, smiling like always, Christmas lights reflected in your eyes, “ready to go?”

“As I'll ever be,” he says, letting you lead the way to the benches by the rink.

He watches the way you tie your skates, copying your movements on his own pair, double knotting the bow at the end. When you stand, he stays seated for a moment, suddenly more nervous than before, because the last thing he wants to do is embarrass himself in front of you, in front of everyone around.

Like you can read his mind, you say, “it’s okay, the first step is only standing. It looks harder than it is, promise.”

“I feel like you’re lying to make me feel better.”

“Why don’t you just stand up and find out, then?”

He rolls his eyes, more at himself than you, and pushes himself up from the bench. It takes him a second to get used to the feeling of the skates, of balancing on them, but eventually, he nods at you, eager to get it over with.

“‘Kay, so it’s gonna feel weird when you step on the ice, but you can just hold onto the side until you get the hang of it.” You start walking ahead of him, turning back to say, “I have a feeling you’ll be a natural.”

“Sure you do,” he mutters, shaking his head.

The rink is outdoors, the walls surrounded with string lights of all kinds, twinkling and colorful. In the middle, there’s a big tree, a shining gold star sat on top. There’s a hot chocolate stand to the side, the smell mingling with the freshness of the cold.

There are Christmas songs playing over the speakers (of course), and Steve thinks that if he hears one more rendition of “Jingle Bell Rock,” he’ll have to invest in a pair of ear plugs. On top of that, there’s the sound of laughter, kids with their parents, friends, couples, everyone seems to be having fun.

Everyone seems to be at ease except for him.

You step onto the rink first, skating a couple of steps forward to give Steve room to get on. He holds onto the side like you told him to, lifting a foot and stepping forward slowly, his foot slipping a little when it hits the ice.

You don’t say anything, don’t pressure him, only stand there with a kindness in your eyes that tells him you won’t be anything but patient.

Still, he doesn’t take too long to get the other foot on the ice, too, his feet carrying him forward a little bit, his hand gripping the side tighter.

“See? It’s not so bad,” you skate to his side, leaving space between you as Steve holds out his arm for balance. “Now all you gotta do is push yourself forward.”

“You make it sound like it’s easy.”

“It’s called being encouraging, Steve. Let me be encouraging!”

“Fine,” he stares down at his feet, his hair falling over his forehead. “So what do I do?”

“Use one foot to push, and then let yourself glide, switch feet, and repeat. You can do it.”

He gives it a go, and finds that it isn’t awful, but he moves slowly, and looking around at the other people skating, he’s not an impressive skater at all.

Steve has always felt the urge to be good at everything he does, basketball, driving, even fucking babysitting. He’s always tried so hard to do things well, like maybe, if he was talented enough, his parents would care more, would finally be proud of him for something.

He swallows that thought down and pushes forward again.

You follow his speed, gliding easily beside him, “look at you go!”

“I look like an idiot,” he says, his arm outstretched beside him, the other gripping the side, his knees bent.

When you look at him, though, all you see is the pink of his cheeks and nose from the cold, the way his hair brushes against his forehead, the focus in his eyes, the determination. No, you don’t think he looks like an idiot at all.

“You look like you’re trying, and that’s a great look on you, Steve.”

This time, it isn’t only the cold that pinkens his cheeks.

He doesn’t have time to muster up a reply, because the next time Steve skates ahead, he stumbles, his balance wavering until he feels your hand grabbing onto his arm to help steady him.

Then, your hand moves to hold his, and even through the layers of both of your gloves, he feels the warmth in his fingertips, some sort of tingling.

“This way, if you fall, so do I,” you say, squeezing his hand once, winking at him like the thought of falling doesn’t scare you one bit.

“Are you sure about that?”

“Super sure.”

You hadn’t been lying on that one, because eventually Steve does fall, and you fall right along with him, landing on the ice with a little, “oop!”

On his back, Steve turns his head to look at you, your hair a mess around you, some on your cheeks. He reaches out and brushes it away.

“You okay, sunshine?”

The response he gets is the sound of your laughter, a single loud cackle that has your eyes widening and a hand smacking over your mouth.

Your laughter fades into a fit of giggles, one so infectious that Steve—surrounded by all kinds of Christmas-themed things he swore he hated—laughs along with you.

And for the first time, maybe in his entire life, Steve thinks that the holidays might not be the worst thing ever.

Steve’s in a bad mood today, that scrunch in his brows you'd thought had been easing away back in full force.

It’s your first shift back together since you’d been skating only a couple of days ago, and you can’t help but worry that maybe it was too much, that you’d pushed him too far.

Even though, at the time, he’d been smiling more than you’ve seen him smile maybe ever, and you really thought that you had a shot at making Christmas better for him. You worry that he wasn’t as happy as he seemed, that he was pretending to have fun for your sake.

Steve, on the other hand, is actually glad to be at work for once, glad for the distraction it gives him. He’s unaware that his emotions are so visible on his face, that you think an ounce of his annoyance and anger is aimed at you.

All he knows is that after the morning he had, he needs this distraction.

This morning, it wasn’t the beep of his alarm that had woken him up, but the shrill ring of the phone on his bedside table. Groggy, with his eyes still half shut, Steve picked up the phone.

He wishes he didn’t.

“Hello?” His voice was almost a groan, scratchy from sleep, irritated at being woken up earlier than his alarm.

“Steve, sweetie!” His mother’s voice made him squint his eyes shut further. “Why do you sound so tired?”

“‘Cause it’s six in the morning, mom.”

“Oh, silly me. I forgot about time zones,” she said, though she didn’t sound the least bit apologetic. She didn’t even care enough to know what time it was for her son. “Anyways, I’m calling to let you know your father and I won’t make it home for Christmas this year. There’s this banquet we just can’t miss. You understand, don’t you?”

Steve doesn’t know why he’d been surprised, doesn’t know why her words, completely devoid of any kind of empathy towards the situation, made his stomach hurt.

“Yeah, okay,” he’d said, because it was no use to do anything but agree.

This was his normal: an almost monthly phone call from one of his parents from wherever they are in the world, no matter the time, always telling him that they’re missing this holiday, his birthday (which, at this point, he was shocked they even remembered), anything.

“That’s my boy,” she’d said, as if she knew him at all. She didn’t. Hasn’t known him—or cared to—for a long time. “I knew you’d understand.”

“Right.”

“Oh, there’s your father. Gotta go.”

And just like that, she hung up.

Steve almost wishes that they’d never call at all, because maybe then it would be easier to swallow their neglect. If they’d just forget him completely, he could get rid of that stupid, tiny sprout of hope he feels whenever they call, hoping things will be different.

At least it was his mother this time, he thinks. His father is a hundred times worse, only ever disappointed in Steve, asking about his job or when he plans on ‘getting a real life,’ never about him.

So yeah, Steve’s in a bad mood today.

The two of you don’t talk for the majority of your shift, you, afraid that Steve’s angry with you, opting to give him space, and Steve, stewing in every negative emotion that comes along with a phone call from his parents.

You don’t talk until one of the last families in line for the day comes up.

Once the kids are in place, you lean down to look through the viewfinder, counting them down and snapping the picture when they say ‘cheese.’ To the side, the children’s mom looks at you with so much judgment, Steve, even brewing in his thoughts, notices.

With the picture taken, you take the camera over to the mom, letting her see the picture the way you do with all the parents, making sure they approve.

Instead of approval, what you get is, “what the hell is that?”

You’ve dealt with your fair share of rude customers, at every job you’ve had, but this woman all but screams at you, and that’s rare. “Sorry,” you say, “I can take a new one, no problem.”

“I better be getting the new one for free with how these pictures are looking,” she practically hisses at you.

Usually, you can handle stuff like this, can smack on a smile and politely agree to get things taken care of, but today, the mixture of all your self-doubt and worrying about messing things up with Steve and this mother shouting at you, things pile up, and you feel your happy mask slipping.

“Um,” you start, voice small.

“You elves get worse every year,” she says to you. “I can’t believe people this incompetent even exist.”

Steve, hearing the whole thing, is quick to step in front of you, any thoughts about his shitty parents quickly fading in favor of helping you.

“Excuse me, ma’am, but she already offered to take another picture, and if that isn’t good for you, you’re free to leave,” Steve’s voice doesn’t slip one bit, standing his ground with every word.

You’re overwhelmed with everything going on, and when Steve turns around to look at you, nodding his head towards the staff room, you take the escape he offers you quickly, eyes blurry with tears you won’t let fall until you’re alone.

“You can’t speak to me like that!” The woman stomps her foot.

“I can, actually. She,” he points in the direction you’d gone, “is the kindest person I know, and you shouldn’t speak to her that way. I understand the holidays are a stressful time for everyone, but we spend all day helping people like you take these pictures, and the least you could do is say ‘thank you.’”

Rather than respond, the woman takes her children’s hands and stomps off.

Steve turns to find that the few families that had been in line before have decided to leave, and he takes the emptiness of Santa’s Workshop as an opportunity to follow after you.

He finds you sitting on the bench beneath your cubby in the break room, head buried in your hands, sniffling a little like you’re trying to be as quiet as possible. Steve can’t think about anything other than how much he hates seeing you upset, like a cloud covering the sun.

“Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside you on the bench. “Don’t listen to any of that. She was a bitch.”

You’re both grateful and unhappy that Steve came after you. Grateful because he’s kind, because he’s showing you that he cares. Unhappy because you’re embarrassed of him seeing you like this, because he calls you sunshine and you don’t feel like that right now.

It takes a second before you move your hands, wiping at your cheeks before turning to look at Steve, his brown eyes already on your face, unbelievably soft.

“I’m sorry,” you say, “I don’t know why I’m crying. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not,” he assures you. “She was awful to you after a long enough day. You have every right to be upset.”

“You’re being really nice,” your voice breaks a little bit, fighting any more tears that threaten to spill.

“I can be nice. I should be nicer to you.” He knows he should, but with Christmas and everything, it’s easy for him to be grouchy. “You sound surprised.”

“It’s just,” you shrug, almost defeated. “I thought you were mad at me today.”

Steve’s heart fucking aches at the sound of your voice, all small and lacking of the light he’s somehow come to like so much. And when another tear slips down your cheek, he can’t stop himself from reaching out and holding your face in his hands, thumbing the tear away lightly.

“I don’t think I could ever really be mad at you, sunshine.”

“Oh.”

His hands are warm where they hold your cheeks, a thumb still tracing back and forth over your skin. Not mad, then.

“I, uh,” Steve looks at where his thumb brushes against you, like he can’t believe it’s there, like he doesn’t want to look into your eyes for the next part. “I got a call from my mom this morning. They’re not coming home this year. Again. I shouldn’t be surprised but… anyways. That’s why I’ve been so quiet and shit today. Not because of you.”

One of your hands comes up to lay over his where it sits on your cheek, tangling your fingers with his and moving your hands down to your lap.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I shouldn’t take this stuff out on you just because you like Christmas and I don’t.”

You smile a little bit, a twitch of your lips, but Steve takes it as a win all the same.

“I’m gonna change that,” you say.

“Sure you will,” he replies, the sarcasm in his voice still there the way it usually is when he teases you, but this time, he’s smiling, too.

Steve told you to go home after that, assuring you that he’d take care of the few families left, and when you’d opened your mouth to tell him you were fine, you could stay, he’d pinned you with a look and told you again to let him do it.

So, you did.

You’d thought it would be a day at least until you’d see Steve again, but it’s only a couple of hours after your shift ends.

There’s a knock at your door, your apartment one of the ones built above a shop on Main Street, and even though you have no idea who it could be, you get up, sock-covered feet padding against the floor as you go over to answer it.

You’re surprised to find Steve on the other side—one, because you don’t think you’ve ever told him where you live, and two, because you didn’t think he’d want to see you more today than he already had—a bag in his hand and a shy sort of question on his face.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

He scratches at the back of his neck with his free hand before responding, a nervous gesture that he hasn’t been able to get rid of. “I thought that maybe, after the day you’ve had, you could use some cheering up. I could, too.”

You remember him telling you about the phone call from his parents, and something in your stomach flutters a little when you realize that his plans to cheer up involve you of all people.

“Okay.” You smile, you can’t really help it, “come in, then.”

He does, closing the door behind him and toeing off his shoes before stepping inside any further. Steve spots your kitchen table easily, and moves to set the bag he’s holding down.

“I thought we could do another thing that might be on your list,” he says. Steve tugs things out of the bag, gingerbread house kits, to be exact. “Gingerbread houses are Christmas bucket list worthy, right?”

“Absolutely,” you search his face, a little confused because last you heard, Steve was not into your whole bucket list thing, but here he is. “And you’re doing this… voluntarily?”

“I have the receipt. I can return them, if you prefer.”

“No! Don’t do that. I just mean- I thought you didn’t like Christmas or my list and that you were just playing along to be nice.”

“I might not be the biggest fan of Christmas, but,” he shrugs, opening one of the boxes of gingerbread, “you’re a good teacher, sunshine.”

You resist the urge to pinch yourself, like you might be dreaming because Steve, who you’ve grown to like an embarrassing amount, is here, offering to do this with you and giving you a compliment like it’s nothing.

When you respond, you hope your voice doesn’t give away how you really feel. Excited, happy, your heart jumping. “Can I get that in writing?”

“Shut up.” He shakes his head, pointing to the unopened box, “now will you come build this gingerbread house or what?”

“Mine’s gonna be way prettier than yours.”

Steve simply rolls his eyes, but there’s the hint of a smile there, too. He’s happy to see that your light is back, that you didn’t let what happened at work get to you too much.

You sit down beside each other at your table, gingerbread kits laid out in front of you. Icing and sprinkles, a cookie roof and chimney. You’re sure it’ll leave a mess, but right now you don’t mind.

There’s a sort of lightness in the air, the knowledge that this thing—friendship, more, whatever it is—between the two of you is something that you’re both happy to bask in. It’s unspoken, and that doesn’t bother you.

You and Steve start by unpacking all of the pieces, yours laid out neatly, his in a leaning pile that makes you bite back a laugh.

“The fucking roof won’t stay on,” Steve says once you’ve both started to put the houses together, and he sounds genuinely annoyed about it.

“Just put some more icing on it,” you say, “there’s no such thing as too much.”

“I don’t think icing will save me now, sunshine.”

You look away from your own gingerbread house over to Steve’s. His hands are holding the roof up, pushing them together so they meet at the top, and he’s staring at the thing with so much determination that you can’t help but giggle.

“You laughing at me?” Steve quirks a brow at you, but there’s a shine in his eyes. They smile even when his mouth doesn’t.

“I can’t believe you’re taking this so seriously,” you laugh, and that smile of his spreads slowly on Steve’s face, blooming like a flower. “It’s alright to admit defeat, Steve. My house is already better than yours.”

“Woah, this isn’t over yet, alright? Mine just needs time, don’t you worry.”

“Whatever you say, Steve.”

“Someone’s feeling brave tonight,” he teases, nudging you with his elbow without letting go of the roof of his house. “Don’t speak too soon, sunshine. I could be the underdog here.”

You lean over with your icing bag in hand, piping some more into the gap in Steve’s roof. “Here, let me help.”

Steve—always reluctant to accept help of any kind, even the smallest things—lets you. While he watches your face as you pipe the icing, the focus, the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips, you take his distraction as an opportunity to move, letting your icing fall onto his hand instead of the house.

“Oops,” you shrug, your tone suggesting that it wasn’t a mistake at all.

Steve gasps overdramatically, then leans closer to you, “Oh, looks like you’ve got something right there.” His hand reaches for your face, and he spreads the icing from it onto your cheek.

“You’re done for, Harrington.”

He only laughs, bright and quick.

Before you know it, you’re having some sort of food fight, putting a dot of icing on Steve’s nose, him tossing sprinkles at you. It’s a mess, but all you can hear is Steve’s laughter, all you can see is his smile. Unguarded for once, free and genuine.

By the time it dies down, there’s stripes of icing on your cheeks, red and green sprinkles scattered about the floor and on the table, and Steve’s got his own patches of icing to deal with.

“You better help me clean this, Harrington,” you say, your giggles still spilling, fizzling out softly. “What are we gonna decorate these houses with now?”

“Mine’s a lost cause,” he admits, the pieces now in a pile the way they’d started.

“So I won, is what I’m hearing.”

Steve looks at you, at the sparkle in your eyes that had been dimmed earlier at work, at the smile that spreads across your face when his eyes meet yours. Fuck. He thinks you’re completely beautiful, icing across your face and all.

His gaze snags on a piece of green in your hair, and before he can think about it, he reaches up and tugs it out for you.

“Sprinkle,” he says.

You look at his hands, messy from the gingerbread houses but never any less strong, and you remember how they felt in yours when you’d been skating. And when you flick your eyes back to his face, he’s already looking at you, gaze dipping to your mouth quickly, like he can’t help it.

And shit, you think. You really, really like this boy.

Before either of you can say anything more, you’re leaning towards each other, meeting in the middle and you’re not sure if you kiss him or he kisses you, but you end up with your mouths pressed together.

It’s featherlight at first, testing the waters. Then, Steve’s hands cup your jaw gently and pull you back to him, and you wouldn’t dream of doing anything but follow.

He kisses you again, still soft somehow, but more certain, his lips dancing with yours like you’ve done this a hundred times before.

You reach up and grasp his wrists in your hands, feeling his pulse under your thumbs. His heart is racing just as much as yours, you notice. Like your heartbeats have synced to a twin pattern, like this kiss was enough to do that.

And while you’re not sure what will happen after this, you know that something has shifted, that both of you are saying things you’re too afraid to say out loud.

When he pulls back, Steve presses one, two more pecks to your mouth, his thumbs tracing over your skin so lightly you might’ve dreamt it.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever think about kissing the same way after you. Steve feels warm the way he does when the sun beams on him in summer, and quickly, he thinks, I could get used to this feeling.

Then, he gets up and finds a small towel in one of the drawers by your sink, wetting it with warm water before coming back to sit with you.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, using a finger to tilt your chin up, swiping the towel over your cheeks to get rid of the icing there as lightly as he can.

And that’s that.

December twenty-fourth is your last day at Santa’s Workshop. Christmas Eve snuck up quick, and tomorrow, the twenty-fifth, the mall will be closed.

You’ve always enjoyed the job, but this year’s been your favorite by far. Usually, you and your coworkers would get along just fine, talking during shifts and laughing but never expanding outside of work, but it’s completely different with Steve.

He knocked on your door with gingerbread houses in hand and kissed you like it meant something. You like him so much that it’s in your bones, this feeling he brings out of you, how special you feel when you think about the trust he’s shown you.

But looking back, you think you were screwed from the start. From his scrunched brows asking you if the bells on the elf shoes were really necessary, to confiding in you about his parents, that list you made that seemed to be the beginning of what things have grown into now.

Green elf hat lopsided on his head, Steve smiles at you from where he stands by the camera. You smile back without thinking, like it’s natural, an instinct.

“Alright,” he says, talking to the kids sitting on the bench with Santa. “Everyone say ‘cheese’ on three. One, two-”

“Cheese!”

The camera clicks, and then it’s onto the next, the system you and Steve have created moving along smoothly, family after family.

If someone told Steve when he’d started this job, grouchy and prepared to pout about it every day, that he’d grow to like it, that he’s realized he’ll miss it when it’s gone, he would’ve laughed in their faces.

Never in a million years did Steve think he’d come remotely close to enjoying being an elf, but he has (he still fucking hates the outfit, though). You have everything to do with his surprising not-so-hatred of the job, of his careful fondness growing towards the holidays.

It’s all because of you.

Christmas Eve is a busy day at Starcourt mall, parents rushing about for last minute presents, teenagers taking advantage of holiday sales, and families lined up for their Santa pictures they’d forgotten about until now.

You don’t get breaks between families often today, but once you do, you and Steve are next to each other, making imaginary backstories for random people that pass by, dramatically reading lips of conversations.

The next time there’s an opening, you walk over to Steve, holding up your fist as if there’s a microphone in it. “So, Steve, tell me, how does it feel to have survived December as a Christmas elf?”

“I feel like I should get an award, maybe,” he says into your fake microphone. “I’ve gotten two rashes from this scratchy outfit. Two! And I’ll never hear jingle bells the same again.”

You laugh before clearing your throat and getting back into your news anchor character, “wow. You heard it here folks, North Pole outfits are not luxurious.”

“No, they are not.”

Steve can’t help but grin as he looks at you, as he jokes around with you so easily it feels like he’s known you for years instead of a month. He supposes he has known you longer, but never the way he does now.

“Now, will you be returning to Santa’s Workshop in future Decembers, mister Harrington?”

“Well, that depends,” he says. “I think I’ll require a certain presence to be with me if I come back. Can’t survive it without my doses of sunshine.”

My doses of sunshine.

You’ve never reacted to words the way you do with Steve, but when he says things like that, how can you not react? He compliments you in these indirect ways that only you could understand, and this secret language of yours has your heart skipping, your world tinted-pink.

That one makes you break character, “really?”

“Really.”

Looking up at him, at those soft, melting brown eyes that have always told you more than anything else about him, at the fondness in them, you think about that kiss.

You haven’t spoken about it, but you haven’t felt the need to. It meant something, you know that much, and by the way Steve sneaks touches—a squeeze of your hand, a palm on your back—he does, too.

“You make Christmas better,” he tells you.

He leaves you with that as the next family walks up for their picture, but you don’t miss the way his eyes linger on you, his gaze spreading sparkles over your skin.

It’s hard to focus when all you can think about is him calling you sunshine in that soft voice of his he’s only used when you’re alone, but you have to, so it’s back to work you go.

You don’t get to speak much again until your shift is over, the Christmas Eve evening rush swooping in and keeping you both busy.

It’s bittersweet, walking to the back room for the last time from Santa’s Workshop. You’re excited for tomorrow, because it’s Christmas and it’s one of your favorite days of the year, but it’s hitting you now how much you’ll miss seeing Steve nearly every day.

You’ll still see him, of course you will. Whether it’s him getting you to help sneak kids into a movie or maybe something more, something for just the two of you. Either way, you’re at least sure of one thing: Steve Harrington is one of the best people you know.

He’s the first to speak as you step into the staff room. “I have something for you,” he says.

Steve scratches the back of his neck, the smallest hint of pink on his cheeks. He’s nervous, and it’s the sweetest thing. He reaches into his bag, pulling out a small box, a white ribbon tied in a bow around it, a little lopsided, like he’d tied it himself.

You take it from him, smiling down at the box, because no matter what’s in it, he cared enough to get you a gift and that’s what matters, that’s what you’ll hold onto.

“Really?”

“Open it, please.”

You listen, tugging the ribbon loose and opening up the small box. Inside, you find a delicate chain, the pendant in the shape of the sun.

“Steve.” It comes out in a breath, your eyes welling the tiniest bit because this is the best gift you’ve ever received. He’s a gift himself, looking at you shyly, searching your face for a reaction.

“Do you like it?” He asks, his voice soft. “If it’s too much I can-”

“It’s perfect,” you say, and you mean it. “Put it on for me?”

He flashes you a grin, the corners of his mouth tugging up as he nods and takes the necklace from you, undoing the clasp as you turn around and move your hair out of the way.

You can feel his warmth against your back as he drapes the necklace over your collar, his fingers brushing the back of your neck as he fiddles with the clasp.

“There you go,” he says, taking a small step back to give you room to spin back around to face him.

You look down at the sun pendant sitting against your skin, touching it lightly. Steve’s actions speak volumes, and this one makes you feel so many things. But above it all, you feel like his.

He watches your face as you look at the necklace, the slope of your nose and the softness of your cheeks. The flutter of your lashes and the smile you don’t even try to hide. He’s been resisting the urge to kiss you since he’d done it the first time, but it’s stronger than ever now, with his present around your neck.

Your eyes meet when you look back up at him, his brown ones never failing to show how he feels, and your heart skips with how he looks at you. Like he cares, like he doesn’t intend on stopping.

He brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingertips gentle as ever when they brush against the side of your neck.

“I love it, Steve, really. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sunshine.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get you anything, I didn’t expect-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, his hand shifting to hold yours, fingers lacing with yours easily, “you’ve given me so much.”

Steve doesn’t know how he got lucky enough to get paired with you for this job, how he got lucky enough to have someone look past his slight grumpiness and really see him. You’ve given him Christmas as a whole, erasing bad memories, replacing them with new ones, and he doesn’t think any present could repay you for that.

“Oh wait!” You squeeze his hand before letting go and heading towards your bag, digging until you find what you’d been looking for. You hand Steve a folded piece of paper, “you should have this.”

As he unfolds it, he realizes it’s the bucket list you’d made for him what feels like forever ago, glitter and all. There are activities with check marks beside them, the ones you’d completed, and he shakes his head with the smile he seems to only wear when you’re around.

Very last on the list, your handwriting spells out words that make his chest feel light, his heart full.

‘Make next Christmas just as good.’

Steve finally stops holding himself back and kisses you for the second time, and you’re both certain it won’t be the last.

⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

thank you for reading!! if you enjoyed, please please consider leaving a reblog or comment and let me know what you think! it would mean a bunch <3

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imbored1201 · 9 months

Note

really enjoyed both your Barca x teen reader fics, would love another part if you can, particularly with more lucy!

Christmas Guest

A/N: I’ve been wanting to make a Christmas fic, so I thought this would be perfect

Barcelona Femeni x Teen Reader(Mostly a Lucy x teen reader), but some motherly Alexia

Word Count: 1,194

Growing up, Christmas always ended terribly. Always one of your family members getting into a fight with each other to the point where police may have had to be called or your parents yelling at you or each other.

"What do you want for Christmas?" Pina asked, and you looked at her, confused. It's something you were never asked about by anyone. "Nothing," you simply said and went back to changing. Claudia groaned.

"You never want anything; you told me the same thing for your birthday. Come on, anything? A video game? I'll even get you a car," Claudia said, frustrated.

"I don't even have a driver's license," you mumbled to her as you gave her a little smile and walked away to the field. She groaned, and went to rant to Alexia.

—————

"What are you doing for Christmas?" Lucy questioned you, "Nothing, just sleeping all day." She looked at you, confused. "Are you sure you don't want to go back home with me?"

She knew you had a complicated relationship with your parents, and her family loved you, so you were invited to everything. You've already been invited to four different people's family gatherings.

Ingrid's and Mapi's; they were going to Norway. Fridolina's in Sweden; Keira's, but she was leaving like right when the last game was over; and Alexia's. Alexia said if you didn't decide, then she would drag you to her family.

"I don't want to be a bother." Lucy shook her head. "Kid, my mom has a stocking hung up for you; she's been asking me every day if you're coming. Trust me, you're her favorite child." You smiled a bit at that. "Are you sure?" She nodded, "Okay then," Lucy cheered and jumped up. "We leave in two days," she ran off to brag to everyone you were going with her back to England.

You smiled a bit and focused back on your last practice of the year.

————-

Right when you got home, Alexia sent you to the dining table. "Alexia, it's Christmas break; I have no homework," you told her as she set down a paper and pen in front of you.

"Nope, you're making a wishlist. I want you to put at least 30 things." "Why 30?" "The whole team needs ideas."

"I don't know what I want," you muttered. "Well, you better think about it. Don't you dare move from that table until you have at least 25 things."

After the 10th thing, Alexia sat next to you and read what you currently had on your list. She did disapprove of some stuff, like all the nerf guns, since you would probably end up shooting someone in the eye.

"So Lucy?" Alexia asked you, "Yeah." Alexia looked a bit happy and a bit worried. Ever since you joined Barca, you've never left Alexia's sight. She even dragged you to her photo shoots.

"Okay, let's start getting you packed then, and please behave; you get more wild around Lucy.”

"I always behave," she gave you a look. "That's not what Leah tells me," you smirked. You still remember the yelling Leah gave you and Lucy when you guys snuck out after curfew to go to a nearby park.

You guys found it funny until the next day, when you had to do extra laps while everyone laughed at you and watched.

—————

Saturday, 5 a.m.

You groaned as Alexia put a beanie over your head and went through your suitcase again to make sure you had everything. "Your toothbrush?" "My backpack." "Charger?" "Backpack" "phone?" "Pocket," "do you have your headphones? You know you need those on the plane or you get really nervous." "In my backpack."

After more questions, you finally spoke up. "Alexia, we did this last night." "I'm just making sure you have everything," she defended.

"You're such an overbearing mom," Lucy laughed as she picked up your bag to put it in the trunk. Alexia was driving you guys to the airport.

The whole car ride was Alexia telling Lucy what you needed and your usual routine.

Lucy wasn't even listening; she kept reaching over to pinch and give you slaps on the thighs since you were kicking her seat.

The bye was odd; Alexia had some tears in her eyes, and you and Lucy awkwardly glanced at each other. "Lex, I'm only leaving for a week and a half," you told her.

"Nah kid, those are tears of joy," Lucy joked as Alexia gave you a tight hug.

Then she turned to Lucy, "you better bring her back in one piece of Lucia." Lucy smirked as she started dragging you into the airport. "I'm not promising anything."

—————

"Come on kid, mom is over here." Lucy's mom was waiting outside of her car, smiling softly. You were a bit scared; you knew Lucy's mom already; you guys had met after the Euros. You had also met her brother, niece, and nephew during the World Cup.

As you approached, she was quick to pull the two of you into a huge hug. "Y/N, how have you been?" She rubbed your back and pinched your cheeks.

"I've been good; how have you been?" "I've been amazing, missing my children and grandchildren as always, but I'm just happy we'll all be together again." Lucy smiled as she put the luggage into the car.

"Look, I got you two matching sweaters for Christmas Eve," she said as she held up the sweaters. You took it happily, muttering a 'thank you' and showing it to Lucy, who was smiling at your reaction.

After meeting her dad, Lucy could tell you were their new favorite child. You would sit with her dad and talk about sports, and her mom would teach you how to cook.

Lucy took you around her home and showed you all the places she loved as a kid. You two had also gone last-minute Christmas shopping for everyone.

You guys even spent all day eating ice cream and decorating cookies, something Alexia probably wouldn’t like since she didn’t like when you ate a lot of sugar. Lucy didn’t care, though; she happily dealt with your sugar rush.

—————

Christmas Day was eventful. You were woken up by her nephew jumping on you.

"Ow," you mumbled and groaned as you heard Lucy's laugh. "Come on kid, don't be a grinch," you sighed as you sat up.

You could hear the kids giggling and shrieking downstairs, and Jorge running around, probably chasing them.

"Carry me," you grinned at her. She rolled her eyes but listened, giving you a piggyback ride to the chaos.

Christmas went perfectly. Lucy's parents went all out with their 'youngest child', who was you, and their grandchildren.

When you got back home, all you could talk about was how great Christmas was. The team just listened and nodded along as they gave you their gifts.

————

"It looks like you're going to have a permanent traveling buddy every time you go back home, Bronze,” Mapi joked.

“Mom will disown me if I don't,” Lucy responded, as she watched you chase Pina around, shooting her with the huge nerf mini gun Patri got you.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso #woso fanfics #lucy bronze #alexia putellas #barcelona femeni x reader #barcelona femeni

658 notes · View notes

absurdthirst · 9 months

Text

White Christmas {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 19.8k

Warnings: Post apocalypse setting, threats of violence, technically forced entry, survival, mentions of family death, virgin reader, Reader celebrates Christmas, oral sex (male and female receiving), vaginal sex, loss of innocence, fingering, somnophilia, Joel's a little horny, cum play, pull out method of birth control, face sitting, 69, anal play, slight angst

Comments: Finding a cabin right before a winter storm blows in seems like a gift. Finding it occupied with you - a Christmas celebrating virginal survivor, is Joel's own Christmas gift. Providing safety and security in and out of your bed and giving Ellie the Christmas she had always dreamed of.

A/N: Merry Christmas belatedly!!! Charlie and I meant to have this finished by Christmas Day but life and family got in the way. But it's finally here! Cheers!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The temperature is dropping again, the chill making Ellie shiver as she pulls her jacket closer and follows behind Joel. There’s a heaviness to the air, it feels almost wet and Joel told her that meant it would snow today. They need to find a cave, a dilapidated building, something, and she wouldn’t complain about a fucking fire to thaw out her frozen fingers. “Joel-“

“I’m fucking working on it.” His tone is annoyed and she bites her lip. She hadn’t been about to complain, but he seems to think she is.”

“No, do you smell that?” She demands, sniffing the air loudly. There’s the scent of a fire in the air. Someone has to be nearby.

Joel frowns, squinting as he tries to look into the distance. His eyes aren’t the same as they used to be. He fucking hates getting old. Sometimes, when his body aches and he misses Sarah too much, his mind goes back to that dark place that’s memorialized on his face. He grunts, “come on kid. Let’s see what it is. Probably assholes who want to kill us but let’s see.” He snorts and Ellie chuckles, knowing how hard life is in the wilderness. The only person she trusts is Joel. He leads the way through the snow until your cabin comes up in the distance.

Joel tightens his grip on the rifle and looks around carefully, aware that the area might be booby trapped or there might be some guards. The place looks too neat to be someone holed up for the coming weather. This is obviously someone’s home. “Fuck.” The first flurries start to fall as the wind picks up and there’s nowhere else to put Ellie. He’s just going to have to make sure that he gets the upper hand when surprising whoever is inside and hold them at gunpoint until the coming winter storm is over. “Stay close.”

Ellie nods, watching Joel as he walks towards the cabin, and she shivers when the snow hits her face. He’s exhausted, clearly needing to rest, and so does she. You don’t notice his approach, too busy humming a Christmas carol as you putter around the cabin that’s been in your family for a hundred years. You smile as the pine smell fills the air, the fire crackling. You don’t hear the slight jiggle of the locked door until it’s flinging open and a man holding a rifle strides in. “Get down!” He yells and you scream as you do as he says, laying down on the floor. Joel immediately comes over to pat you down, wanting to make sure you’re not armed. “Anyone else here?” He asks, standing up and swinging his body around to see if there’s another person in the cabin with you.

“Don’t- no! Please don’t- don’t hurt me!” You curse yourself for not putting the bar on the door but you had been expecting to bring in another few loads of firewood. “Please, I-“ you know that you are in very real danger, it’s not like you’ve been isolated from what the world has become, even if you’ve managed better than most. “Don’t- don’t hurt me.”

Joel growls as you don’t answer his question and he smacks his rifle down on the floor next to your face. “Are you alone?” He shouts out at you and you shake. “Are. You. Alone!” He yells.

“Yes. Yes. I’m alone!” You cry and he stands straight, deciding to go through the house to make sure no one is hiding. “Ellie!” He shouts, calling the teenager in. “Aim your gun at her. She moves. You shoot.” He commands and goes around the cabin, opening every door and cupboard to make sure you’re alone once Ellie has her gun aimed at you.

You are shaking, only slightly relieved when the girl shows up. Somehow hoping that because there’s a younger girl, that some of the evils that could be visited on you, won’t be. “I - there’s no one else here.” You promise quietly.

“He won’t hurt you.” The girl murmurs. “Not unless you try to hurt us.” Huffing quietly, you listen as this dangerous man shuffles through your cabin, your home.

“You broke into my house, not the other way around.”

Joel comes back after realizing that you are indeed alone and he’s shocked. A woman in a cabin all alone. Something he hasn’t come across. “Stand up.” He orders, reaching down to grab your forearm and he practically drags you over to the chair at the dining table. “Ellie. Rope.” He demands, needing the rope from her backpack to tie you up. He doesn’t trust anyone. “No one coming back here?” He asks, wanting to know that there’s not an army of men coming back to this place.

“I- no, I’ve been alone for two years.” You admit, hating that fact. People don’t come here and you had burned and buried the last member of your family before the snow two winters ago. “Please, take what you want and - are you hungry? I have some stew, take it. Just- just don’t kill me….or worse.”

That makes Joel pause. You’re more scared of what he could do to you than being killed. That makes him feel sick. He never wants to be that kind of man in this horrifying new world. He swallows harshly and lowers his rifle from your face. “I ain’t gonna kill you.” He promises.

You bite your lip, trying not to show how scared you are. It’s not that you’re weak, you’ve survived the outbreak and the past twenty years since, but now you’re all alone. “Why are you- what do you want?” You manage. “Just take what you need.”

“We need a place to stay. Storm is coming. We can’t keep traveling in the wilderness without dying of frostbite. We need to stay here. You gonna let us?” It’s a rhetorical question but Joel is a gentleman enough to make it seem like you have a choice.

“You didn’t have to shove a gun in my face for a place to stay.” You frown. “All you had to do was ask. I’m not- you have a kid. What kind of monster would leave you two outside during a blizzard?”

Joel feels a little embarrassed now that he went so extreme but he is used to the dangers of this new world. “I’m sorry but I couldn’t take a chance. The kid- we have been used to some bad people.” He confesses, “I didn’t - I’m sorry.” He says, deciding to untie you just as Ellie says “you decorate for Christmas?” She asks, noticing the garlands and baubles placed around the cabin.

You’re confused by the turn of events but nod as the man starts to untie you. “I did.” You confess. “My Christmas tree is on the back porch. I was planning on decorating it after getting some more wood. Before the storm got too bad. It’s silly, but it makes me happy.” You shrug slightly, knowing how ridiculous it sounds.

“It’s Christmas.” Joel murmurs, remembering the holidays he spent with Sarah. He didn’t even know what month it was, let alone what day.

“It’s so pretty.” Ellie coos, eyes wide at the bright colors and decorations you have clearly maintained since before the outbreak.

“How do you know it’s December?” He asks out of curiosity. He only knows seasons.

“I’ve kept track.” You admit with a small shrug. “My dad had one of those organizers that had calendars for fifty years.” You snort, shaking your head. “We started making sure we kept track after the outbreak.”

Joel is equally impressed and peeved. Why would you keep track of the date when the fucking world ended? He doesn’t understand it. It’s all about survival. He glances around at the nostalgia. “I can’t - where’s the stew?” He asks, knowing that Ellie must be starving.

“It’s- the stove.” You nod towards the rustic kitchen. At the time, it had been considered quaint to have a wood burning stove and a water pump in the kitchen instead of the modern conveniences, but it had proven to be the best possible thing when the electricity went out. “It’s- I’ll fix you some bowls.” You promise, slowly standing up and watching him warily. “Warm yourselves. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you need to use it.”

Joel knows Ellie will want the bathroom. “You can go.” He tells her and she looks at him with gratitude before rushing down the hall. He watches you as you grab two bowls and pour the stew into it. He can’t believe you’re alone. Most women on their own…well, it’s a cruel world and all the women’s rights that were so hard fought went out the window when the pricks who were against them took over again with the new world. Joel is certain that you’re capable. You have to be if you’re still out here after so long in this small piece of paradise in the middle of nowhere. “So…you grew up here?” He asks, curious about you.

“I did.” You carefully ladle the hot stew and add a few of the coarse ground crispy corn bread rounds that you had fried up to go with it. Looking up at him to find him watching you closely. “I’m not going to poison you.” You promise. “You don’t hurt me and I’ll be happy to have guests for Christmas.”

Joel watches you for another second before he sits down, deciding to trust you but not enough to set his gun down away from him. When you set the stew down, he can’t help but groan softly. “Sorry. We, uh, we haven’t eaten for a few days.” He admits quietly, averting his eyes when you look at him in understanding.

“There’s plenty.” You murmur softly and move back over to the kitchen to get him and his daughter something to drink. “I’ve been lucky growing and canning vegetables. And I had just finished processing the deer I shot a couple of days ago.”

Joel is impressed but he doesn’t let that show as he watches you as you move around the kitchen. Ellie comes back a few moments later and her eyes widen at the hot food. “Holy shit this place is amazing.” She gasps before she sits down and starts to dig into the food.

“Manners.” Joel reprimands her, shaking his head until he looks at you. “Sorry. She’s feral.”

You laugh and wave off his apology. “It’s good to know some things haven’t changed since the world went to shit.” You tell him, setting down glasses of water. “Later on, if you want, we can heat up some water for a hot bath. It’s probably been awhile?”

Ellie nods, opening her mouth with food in it. “Swallow first.” Joel reminds her and she dramatically swallows her food.

“I would love a bath. Jesus, this place is incredible. How the hell haven’t you been killed?” She asks you, wondering if you’re some kind of super woman to have kept this place safe.

You snort and shrug. “It’s remote.” You remind her. “Not a lot of people come this way. Winter is too harsh. And when I’m not being surprised, I’m a damn good shot.” You glance towards Joel and then look back at his daughter. “I’m just living the way my ancestors did, I guess.”

Joel hums before he takes a bite of the stew, groaning at the taste after not eating for a few days. “Fuck this is good.” He says and Ellie nudges him, “manners, old man.” She says playfully and he rolls his eyes.

“So where are you heading?” You ask and Joel swallows, reluctant to tell you his plans.

“We are heading west. Trying to find my brother.” He says vaguely.

A gust of wind pushes against the cabin and you look outside. The sun is fading fast. “I understand.” You tell him, knowing that most are reluctant to reveal information. “But you will be stuck here for a few days at least. The storm is going to be bad.” Walking over to the coat rack, you pick up a heavy sheepskin coat. “I have to latch the shutters and bring in more wood.” You tell them. “Eat.”

Joel is cautious but doesn’t react as you head off to secure the cabin. “You can relax. She doesn’t seem like the type to stab you in your sleep.” Ellie says and Joel tuts, turning to face her.

“You should never trust anyone. Especially someone you underestimate.” He tells her, knowing he learned his lesson about that.

Outside, you scold yourself. “Fucking idiot, they could lock you out.” You huff, realizing your mistake as soon as the door closed behind you. “Then you’ll freeze to death.” You can’t go back inside and demand they come with you, and the temperature is falling faster than the snow. Making you shiver as you hustle around the cabin, snapping the shutters closed and latching them together to protect the windows and insulate the cabin more.

Joel doesn’t say anything until the door opens and his hand grips his rifle, ready for anything to happen. When you enter alone, shivering, he relaxes and lets go of his weapon. You set the logs down and he releases the tension from his body. You notice and he sighs, “I’m not - it’s not you.” He says, wanting you to know it’s not that he thinks you’re bad, he’s just developed habits.

“I should probably get another few armfuls.” You tell him. “The wind is starting to pick up and I’d rather not have to use the guide rope.”

“I can help.” He offers, standing up from the table. You hesitate for a second before you nod and he follows you outside to where you store the logs. “You prepped all this by yourself?” He asks, impressed even if he doesn’t say it explicitly.

“It’s not easy.” You admit. “I try to chop wood all year. Every day to make sure that there is enough. And during the summer, I try not to burn much, just for cooking.” You start to stack wood up in your arms. “Worth it when I’m warm in my cabin.“

Joel reaches out to take the wood from you, knowing he’s vulnerable without his hands free but also wants to show you that he can help. “You are very capable.” He offers you an awkward compliment just before he clears his throat.

“Thanks.” You murmur back, eying him warily until you’re back in the cabin. You lock the door but don’t bar it in case you need an escape. “So…bath time?” You ask Ellie who nods eagerly.

“Have you had others come through here recently?” Joel asks once you’re heating up water.

“Not for a long time.” Your eyes slide away, looking towards the wall where you have pictures of your family hanging up to remember their faces. “Last time was about five years ago.”

“You’ve been on your own this entire time? How the fuck haven’t you gone crazy?” Ellie asks with wide eyes. “All alone? Jesus, I think I’d lose my mind.” She says and Joel doesn’t comment, knowing that he’d probably enjoy the solitude if he didn’t have Ellie.

“I had family up until two years ago.” You explain. “So I haven’t been alone that entire time; but work keeps me busy. And there’s always plenty of it.” You set a bucket into the sink and start to pump the water handle.

“Two years.” He murmurs, surprised that you’ve been able to be alone for so long but he knows Bill was alone for a long time until Frank came along. Survival is more important than company. He watches you pump the water and he works on building up the fire.

There’s something about having people around that makes you happy. Humming a Christmas carol to yourself as you move the bucket onto the stove and open the burner to let it boil. “I should make some hot chocolate on Christmas Eve.” You hum to yourself. There’s still some left that had been dry sealed and you only make a cup on special occasions. Perhaps it would be something that the girl has never had before.

“Fuck yes. I’ve never had hot chocolate.” Ellie confesses and Joel raises his eyebrows at her in warning. Ellie watches you with curiosity. You seem like a glimpse into what the world was like before the outbreak and she loves it as you hum something she’s never heard before.

“I haven’t heard that song in…well, since before.” Joel confesses, amazed that you observe a holiday that is no longer relevant when it comes to this new world.

“Christmas was our favorite holiday as a family.” You admit. “I’ve got this crazy idea that if I continue to celebrate, then they aren’t really gone. You know?” You shrug, knowing how insane it sounds, but maybe you are a little crazy.

Joel doesn't understand that kind of mentality. For him, he tries to forget about those times. For a second, he glances at the tree you had brought in and remembers decorating one with Sarah year after year. How she'd tell him off for putting too many of the same baubles in the same area. Bossy like her mother. He shakes his head slightly to clear the memories and focuses back on you. "And you've never had anyone stay with you that wasn't family?" Joel asks, curious if you had someone at some point. You are beautiful, even he can see that, and he's certain that most men would've killed for a chance to stay here with you.

You smile wistfully and shake your head. “Never really had that opportunity.” You know what he’s really asking and you shrug before you get another pot of water to temper to boiling in the bath. “The few that have come have been groups. Passing through or seeking shelter for a time. No one stayed.”

Joel nods, surprised that no one has taken advantage of you. The world is harsh and you’re lucky to have gotten away with your life so far. “Do you have a razor? I need to shave.” Joel says, reaching up to scratch the heavy beard he’s grown during the travels in the wilderness.

“I’ve got a razor.” You motion for him to follow you to the bedroom that you had taken for yourself two years ago, because it has a fireplace. “My father was about your size.” You tell him. “The closet dresser still has his things, he’d want them to be out to good use.” You reach for the shaving cup and straight razor he had used your entire life, preferring it over the ones with cartridges.

Joel nods his appreciation, glad that you have some spare clothes. The ones he is wearing are practically threadbare now with holes in them. He walks back into the living room and looks over at Ellie, “go have your bath. I’m going to check the perimeter before it starts to storm.” Joel says, grabbing his gun and he trusts you with Ellie for some reason.

“Soooooo.” Ellie looks around and then back at you. “You don’t mind that we are here, right? Joel really needs to rest and maybe he can get some during the storm.”

You tilt your head curiously. “Do you always call your dad by his name?” You ask, wondering if the outbreak had changed those customs.

Ellie shakes her head and laughs. “My dad? He’s not my dad.” She declares and your eyes widen, suddenly tense. “And it’s not like that either. He saved me and I- I guess you could say he unofficially adopted me and now he’s stuck with me.” She explains and giggles, “he’s a miserable bastard but he has a good heart. You can trust him. He won’t hurt you.” She promises, “unless you give him a reason to.”

You relax slightly and nod. “I think you two are more of a threat to me at this point.” You point out. “But why don’t we just enjoy the fact that we are cozy and warm.” You click your tongue. “I think I have some clothes that might fit you too. From when I was younger.”

Ellie nods, “gee. This is - you’re like the best place we could’ve found.” She says and stands up. “Thanks for all of this.” Ellie tells you and you smile, “it’s nice to have the company.” She disappears down the hall. Joel comes back an hour later, surveying the area and checking the cabin for any weak points in case the storm gets bad. He doesn’t want to get ambushed during the storm. Old habits die hard.

“You have to be cold.” You huff, closing the door behind him and locking a thick piece of wood into hooks sunk into the walls of the cabin. It keeps the door secure against bear and man, even the wind won’t rattle it. “Go stand by the fire, get warm.”

Joel shakes slightly as he shuffles over to the fire, rubbing his hands to warm them over the flames. "Where's Ellie?" He asks and you tell him she's having a bath. He envies her a little as he shivers but the kid will be happy to be clean. "The perimeter is clear. Checked to make sure we have enough clearance in case someone decides to sneak up." He tells you, having learned some things from Bill.

You decide to not mention they are the first in years to come here, instead you decide to pour Joel a cup of hot chamomile tea you had decided would be the perfect ending to an adventurous day. “I have a bit of whiskey or brandy left if you’d like it?” You offer, having pulled a few bottles up from your father’s collection in the cellar.

Joel nods, "that sounds good." He doesn't remember the last time he had whiskey...maybe the night before he left Boston with Tess and Ellie. Yes, that was the last time. When you set the bottle down on the table with a glass, he pours himself a small measure, not wanting to lose his senses when he's in a strange place. "You having one?" He asks, looking up at you.

You take that as suspicion on his part and shrug, reaching for the bottle. “Sure.” You pour a larger drink and then tip the bottle back to take a shot straight from the neck. “It’s not poisoned.”

Joel snorts softly, "I was askin' if you wanted one. Didn't think you'd poison me like a goddamn black widow." He smirks and shakes his head before he downs the shot of whiskey.

You chuckle dryly. “Hard to be a black widow when you’re me.” You tell him, sitting down and staring at your tea cup. “Sheltered. That would be the word, I guess.”

Joel can tell you've been sheltered, not as jaded by life like he has been. "So does that mean you've never...?" He trails off, not wanting to fully ask before he remembers himself. "Sorry. That was over the line."

“Honestly? It’s kind of nice to be asked questions.” You admit, not exactly being embarrassed by your life, or lack thereof. “Didn’t exactly attract a lot of boys when I was younger.” You tell him. “Guess I was kind of the Ugly Duckling. It’s sheer fucking luck I was home visiting for the weekend from college when the world turned to shit.” You shiver slightly, not even wanting to imagine how bad it would be if you had been in the city. “And I was surrounded by family. So….no, I’ve never had sex.”

Joel nods, surprised and not surprised at your answer. It’s obvious you’ve been alone but you’re a beautiful woman who should’ve been worshiped by now. “That’s a real shame. I bet you look gorgeous when you orgasm.” Joel says bluntly, not one for mincing his words.

Your eyes widen and you look towards the closed bathroom door where Ellie is still soaking in her hot bath. “I-“ the man in front of you is handsome, rough and rugged like the men you had grown up around. He’s obviously capable and he must have a tender side if he’s caring for a young girl who isn’t related to him. You’re literally a forty year old virgin, and who knows when you’d ever have another opportunity? “Do you want to sleep with me?” You ask just as bluntly.

Joel raises his eyebrows in surprise at your bluntness and he glances behind you to the door where Ellie is. “Tonight. After she’s asleep.” He says, cock twitching at the thought of touching you, of taking your innocence. He knows it’s wrong. You should have a dinner date with flowers and chocolates and all that shit but fuck, he wants to see you fall apart. It’s been so long since he lost himself like that, not since Tess, and he needs to let go for just one night.

Swallowing harshly, you nod. “After she gets out, you can clean up too.” You would prefer to have your first time to be a good experience. “Then I’ll clean up as well.”

Joel nods, remaining silent as he thinks about touching you, making you moan. He doesn’t know you but he knows he wants to make you cry out in pleasure. He wants to lose himself in the act of sex. His mind has been so focused on survival, he wants to forget for a while.

Soon enough, your drinks are finished and you have cleaned up the kitchen from their meal. You had eaten while Joel was gone and you add some more wood to the fire. The light from the flames fills the space and the stove keeps the bedrooms warm on the other side of that wall. It might be a bit much to keep both going, but the temperature is falling fast and you want to keep the house warm since you have guests. “I should start warming more water.”

Joel can tell you are nervous and he works on getting cleaned up after Ellie is done and you heat up the water again. He groans as he sits in the bath, itching his beard and he sees the scissors and razor on the side. He looks down at his crotch and figures that could use a trim up too since this is your first time. He wants to make a good impression.

While Joel is in the bath, you settle Ellie down into the other bedroom. “Joel will want to sleep on the couch.” She tells you, flopping down on the bed with a sigh. “So I’ll just sleep here.” You chuckle quietly, knowing that he would probably be in your bed. “He’ll have plenty of choices on where to rest.” You promise and grin. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. Since there’s snow, we’ll make some candy, how does that sound? To go with the hot chocolate?”

“Hell to the fuck yes.” Ellie nods rapidly, unable to believe she’s wearing pajamas for the first time in…well, ever. “This place is fucking awesome.” She grins before she yawns, “thanks for letting us stay.”

“Despite what others might do, I think it would have been inhuman to let you stay outside.” You shake your head. “Besides, it will be nice to have company for Christmas.”

Ellie smiles, appreciative and glad you’re so kind. A rare bird in this world she’s grown up in. “Thanks. Joel will be nice to you.” She promises, “and if he isn’t, I’ll make him be.” She smirks and settles into the bed.

You grin and shake your head. “The sheets are fresh and the room stays warm from the stove.” You promise. “Good night, Ellie” She had told you her name while Joel was gone and the girl bids you goodnight as you close her bedroom door.

Joel stands up and dries himself with the towel, deciding to not bother dressing as he keeps it wrapped around his waist while he trims his beard and shaves it back into the mustache of his younger years. When he's clean and ready, he exits the bathroom and enters what he assumes is your bedroom. He finds you standing there, adjusting the pillows, and he offers you a rare smile. "All clean." He says to announce his presence.

“Oh, uh, I better clean up too.” You bite your lip. “Do you- um, I don’t know, do you want me to shave? Bare? I mean I keep my-uh, hair tidy, but what’s the preference for cunt hair after the apocalypse?” You ramble nervously.

Joel snorts, "baby, it's your choice. I don't mind exploring a jungle or you can shave. I ain't fussy. It's the end of the world." He chuckles and shifts to sit down on the end of the bed.

You laugh quietly, shaking your head at your nerves. “Okay, I’ll- I’ll be quick,” you promise, rushing over to your underwear drawer and pulling out a lingerie set that never saw any use since you bought it the week before the world ended.

Joel finds your nerves endearing and he watches you rush around your room until you disappear down the hall to the bathroom. The fire is roaring and Joel takes a moment to imagine that the world didn’t end. That he met you in a bar and you decided to take him home.

In the bathroom, there’s still a bucket of warm water and you make sure you scrub every inch of your body, sure that he’s not fussed but you want to pretend like this happened organically. He’s attractive and someone you would have crushed on in college, even if he is a little older looking than you.

Joel licks his lips, his stomach twisting as he thinks about how strange life can be. One minute he’s out freezing in the wilderness and not sure if he’s gonna survive. The next, he’s preparing to take a woman’s innocence in her cabin that’s like a haven in the middle of nowhere. When the door opens again, he takes a second to inhale deeply before he looks at you. That breath is knocked from him when he sees you standing there dolled up in silk and lace. “I- wow. You look - wow.” He chokes pathetically, his cock twitching under the towel.

“I know it’s stupid.” You feel foolish for putting on the trappings of another time, another social expectation. “But I- I wanted to feel like this is normal. We are normal.” You step forward and devour the sight of him on your bed. “I’m not expecting words or emotions. I just wanted to pretend this was not desperation on both of our parts.”

Joel shakes his head, “it’s not desperation. It’s a connection. The need to feel something other than desire to survive. I want you. Thought you were gorgeous from the moment I saw you. Let me make you feel good. You’ve been alone for so long, you gotta be touch starved. Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” He says, standing up to walk towards you but stopping before he touches you.

You lick your lips, feeling wet because of his words. “Drop your towel.” You order softly. You’ve seen a naked man before, but you want to see this one, the one who will finally touch you like you’ve dreamed of. “I don’t know what I need, but I want you to touch me. Make me think of nothing but you.”

Joel doesn’t deny you. You deserve more than what he can give you but he can at least offer you his body. He drops the towel, his cock half hard as he stands before you and his dark eyes drop to your lips. “Can I kiss you?” He asks gently.

“Yes.” You whisper, eyes trailing up and down his body. He's not exactly hard, but he’s also not soft. Weathered, and experienced would be the words you would use to describe how he looks. Reaching out, you brush your fingers over his hot skin, resisting the urge to moan.

Joel closes his eyes briefly as you touch him with soft hands. He shuffles closer and reaches out to cup your cheek, leaning forward until he’s pressing his lips against yours. “Fuck.” He murmurs when you whimper into his mouth and he deepens the kiss, tilting your head so he can taste more of you.

This man, the same one who had threatened your life and tied you to a chair, completely consumes you. Taking control of the kiss and making you forget your hands are even on his chest as his tongue sweeps into your mouth and makes you moan.

He cups your other cheek, pressing close until his body is completely against yours. His tongue sliding against yours and you’re a little clumsy but so is he. It’s been a while since he kissed someone like this. His hands slide down from your cheeks until he is caressing your back and finally, his hands squeeze your ass.

Your eyes open and you hum into his mouth when his hands find your ass. Unable to believe that the simple squeeze feels so good. “Fuck.” You gasp when he pulls back to breathe.

You’re so reactionary already and that makes Joel harden, imagining the noises he can get out of you when he’s inside of you. He groans softly and kisses down your throat while you catch your breath, his hands kneading your flesh.

“Can I- can I touch you?” You ask, emboldened by his groan of permission. Your hands map hot skin, scars and you feel him shiver as they drift lower. Groaning yourself when your fingers wrap around his hard cock.

Joel’s breath hitches. It’s been so long since someone has touched him, since he allowed his mind to relax. “Baby.” He murmurs, his hands sliding up your back to the clasp of your bra. He undoes it and you let go of his cock so he can drag it off of your body. “Shit. Look at you.” He murmurs, tossing the bra down so he can cup your tits.

There’s something that is so raw about someone else’s hands on your body. The feeling is so different from your own. He throb when you squeeze him and it’s amazing how the book descriptions have it right. Velvet over steel. His cocks skin is so soft and warm, the hardness underneath such a contrast. “Can I-“ you pull away and start to sink down to your knees. “I want to-”

Joel swallows, his stomach twisting. “You don’t have to. This should be about you.” He says, “this is about making you feel good.” He shakes his head, “you don’t - this is - you don’t have to.” He repeats, not wanting to be selfish.

“I want to.” You confess, your cheeks hot with both desire and embarrassment. “If this is the only chance I have, I want to do it all.” You tell him, looking up and wrapping your fingers around his cock again.

Joel nods, unable to deny you when you ask him like that. He wants this to be all about you and even if what you want is to suck his cock. You kneel down before him and he swallows harshly as you look up at him with wide and innocent eyes.

He doesn’t rush you and you’re thankful for that. Obviously circumcised, the head of his cock is beautifully flushed and beading a clear liquid. “Tell me if I do it wrong.” You order before you lean forward and press the tip of your tongue to the slit.

Joel hisses, watching you as you close your eyes and take the head into your mouth. It’s more than he can take but he inhales deeply and calms down so he doesn’t ruin this for you. “Fuck baby.” He murmurs, opening his eyes to watch you.

You think that you’re doing it right from the way that Joel’s voice drops, hitting you in the pit of your stomach and you swear your cunt is dripping onto the floor. You hum, enjoying the clean taste and surprising saltiness of the pre-cum. Squeezing the base and keeping yourself from going too far and gagging.

Joel caresses your head, allowing you to take your time as you explore him. Your innocence is obvious but he likes it. You are doing this for yourself and he likes that you aren’t acting. Some girls used to make a show about sucking his cock and then complain they didn’t want to do it.

You appreciate that he will let you take your time. Slowly feeling what he likes, what makes him groan. You hollow your cheeks and push him a little deeper, until you feel your throat close and your eyes water as you look up at him.

“Jesus.” Joel hisses as you take him deeper. A tear slides down your cheek and he quickly wipes it away. “Baby. Don’t push yourself. Take your time. Feels so good.” He murmurs, wanting you to know that he’s enjoying this.

Your lips stretch around his cock in a smile and you swallow around him, enjoying the way he moans when you do. This is something that you had thought would just be for the experience, but you love it. Especially when his knees buckle slightly and his hand on your head flexes in pleasure.

“Baby. Let me - you need to- shit. I need - stop.” He chokes, not wanting to cum. It’s been way too long since he jerked off, unable to sneak off and leave Ellie alone even while she slept. He doesn’t want this to be over before he even gets to be inside of you.

“Are you sure?” You pout slightly, wiping your chin and looking up at him. You’re out of breath, your cunt aching and all you want is to see this man cum.

Joel nods, dragging you up and he surges down to meet you to press his lips to yours. Turning you, he walks you back towards the bed. He presses you down onto it, his lips trailing along your jaw as he straddles you.

You gasp and are taken by the dominance in the motion. This is a man who can be so damn sure of himself and capable. Your hands slide over his chest and around his sides to stroke his back as he nuzzles and kisses your pulse. “Joel.” You moan softly, as if he were an old lover.

He twitches at your moan, loving how his name sounds coming from your lips. He wants to hear more of it. He continues kissing down your body, his tongue sliding along your collarbone before he ducks down to take your nipple in his mouth after he cups your tit and tilts it up for him.

You had never imagined it would feel so good, your thighs pressing against his hips when he’s between them. Keeping you open as he circles your nipple with his tongue and scraps his teeth over it.

Joel takes his time, sucking and biting your nipple until it's puffy from his manipulations. He groans and switches to the other breast, his calloused hands squeezing both as he slowly grinds against you.

His cock is throbbing against your thigh, leaking and hot. Making. You whimper with pleasure as you imagine him inside you. There’s no fear, no hesitation. Not when he could be rough and quick and he’s taking the time to make you feel so good. “Joel.”

He groans as he releases your nipple, kissing down your sternum and he flicks his tongue into your belly button as he lays between your thighs. His dark eyes meet yours as he pushes them back to get a good look at your cunt. “Jesus. Such a pretty pussy.” He murmurs, his fingers sliding through your folds until he spreads them with his thumbs. Leaning in, his eyes focus on you as he flicks his tongue over your clit.

You gasp out a sound, half inhuman as you experience his tongue against your sex. Hot and wet, he’s not timid as he tastes you. This is a man who doesn’t mind getting dirty and diving into things, just like he’s proving with your cunt. Eyes wide, they are fixed on the man between your legs.

Joel groans as he laps at your cunt until he is pushing his tongue into you. Curling it and pushing your legs back so he can get deeper. Fuck, you taste amazing and he groans as you moan softly. He wants to make this good for you so he focuses on your clit, his hand sliding along your thigh until he's pushing a finger into you.

“Oh god.” You whine, your walls clenching down around his finger. “You- your fingers are thicker than mine.” Just one finger is stretching you out like you aren’t used to, or maybe it’s just because it’s not your finger but someone else’s. He presses deeper and you hiss in pleasure when he finds a spot deep inside you.

Joel loves the way you whine, glad he’s not hurting you, and he pumps his finger a few times before he adds another, wanting to stretch you out to take his cock. He’s girthy and he doesn’t want to hurt you in any way.

“Oh fuck.” You moan quietly. “Where have you been for the past twenty years?” You could have used him in your bed, to be your companion in this decidedly lonely life. “Fuck baby.”

“Survivin’” He answers honestly against your clit as he curls his fingers, scissoring them to stretch you out, and he loves the way you gush around his digits, getting closer to your orgasm. He wants you to cum like this for him.

“Yeah.” You nod and understand what he means. Closing your eyes and letting him push you towards an orgasm. The first one that you’ve ever experienced from someone else. “Joel.” You gasp, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders and your hips push down. “Gonna- fuck, gonna cum!”

Joel grunts, loving the way you squirm beneath him and rock onto his fingers. He keeps the same pace until you are squealing, soaking his fingers with your orgasm and he’s so proud. He is glad you came so hard and he can tell you enjoyed it.

Your thighs are trembling and you’re breathing as hard as you did the night you had chopped down one of the big trees to let it cure. “Oh my god. Oh my god.” You can’t help but giggle a little, looking down at the man who is staring up at you with his chin on your inner hip. “That was….i have no words.”

Joel is pleased that you enjoyed it. He leans in to press his lips to your skin, kissing along your hip. You deserve some tenderness and he is happy to give it to you. He shifts to kiss up your body until he’s hovering above you. “You still want me inside of you?” He asks, wanting to make sure you still want him.

“All I want for Christmas is you.” You manage to tease breathlessly, reaching up and caressing his cheek. “Just- be gentle?” You ask, suddenly nervous about the thick cock that is throbbing against your belly. He feels like he could just cum against your skin right now if he rocked his hips a few times.

He chuckles softly, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “You tell me if anything hurts and if you don’t like it.” He demands quietly, his dark eyes meeting yours and he caresses your thigh, lifting it up on his hip so he can reach down to grip his cock. “You ready?”

“Been waiting all my life, Joel.” You roll your hips down and moan when you feel his cock pressing against your cunt. “Better make it worth the wait.” It feels good to tease, to make it lighthearted. You know he won’t stay, so there’s no entanglements here.

He likes that you don’t want him to offer you sweet words and endearments when this isn’t that kind of experience. He wants it to be good for you. He positions himself at your entrance and slowly, so slowly, starts to push into you.

The feeling is so foreign, so overwhelming that your mouth drops open on a low moan. Fingers curling around his shoulders, nails biting into his skin lightly as your entire body quivers. “Fuuuuuuck.” You whine, hating that it’s taken so long to experience this.

Joel keeps his eyes focused on you, on your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you in any way. You shake beneath him and he slowly rocks into you, opening you up inch by inch on his cock. “You okay?” He rasps, trying to control himself. It’s been too long since he was inside of a woman and you’re unbelievably tight.

“Fucking amazing….” You moan, caressing his back and staring up at him in wonder. “It’s so, I’m so full.” You whimper, “move baby, I want to feel more.”

Joel isn’t even all the way in yet and you’re looking at him like he hung the moon. He pushes the final inch inside and your nails bite into his back. “Tell me if anything hurts.” He demands before he slowly starts to pull back, his eyes fixed on your face as he pulls out until only the tip remains before he’s pushing back into you.

“Jooooooelllllll.” You practically wail his name when his hips snap forward and he slides into you to the hilt with a delicious pressure that has your thighs tightening. “Oh god, it’s so- so good.”

Your reactions have him gritting his teeth to control himself. You’re so lost in the sensation and your cunt is gripping him, wet and hot. “That’s it baby. That’s it. Good girl.” He murmurs, caressing your side.

“Is it- does it feel good for you?” You want to know that he’s enjoying it too. This isn’t just about you. “Does it- oh god,” your eyes roll back when he thrusts into you again. “Fuck.”

“So good.” Joel promises gruffly, “you’re so - Jesus. I haven’t felt like this in so long.” He admits, knowing that while Tess was good, she didn’t make him want to blow his load within seconds of being inside of her. There was no emotional weight, just raw physical need. This is heavier and he feels it in the way he thrusts into you, wanting you to enjoy every second of this.

You moan softly, stroking his back and reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. “Fuck, I would be addicted to you.” You confess, your walls clenching down around him tight.

Hearing you say what he was thinking has him thrusting a little harder. He leans down to kiss you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to swallow your moan, wanting to absorb everything you give him.

It helps, his kiss. Your moans are getting loud and you don’t want to wake Ellie, even if you’re sure she’s dead to the world. Wanting to keep this moment for just you and Joel as he rocks into you again and again.

He wants you to cum more than once on his cock tonight. He slides his hand between you to find your clit, rubbing it as he pushes into you.

“Oh god. Oh fuck, Joel.” Your eyes widen when he starts to rub your clit. Immediately clenching down around him again. He is amazing.

Joel needs you to cum for him. He wants to hear it, feel it, see it. He rubs your clit a little faster and adjusts his hips, wanting you to cum for him.

“Ohhhhh, oh god!” You cry out, throwing your head back and moaning when you start to cum. Body shaking under Joel’s in pleasure.

Joel groans as he feels you start to cum. Pressing his lips to yours to smother your cries in case you wake Ellie, he works you through it. Continuing to rub your clit and make you shake beneath him.

You pant against his lips, grabbing his hand when it becomes too much and drag it up to your breast. Wanting him to feel all of you, to leave not part of you untouched.

He squeezes your tit, his lips pressing against your jaw and he takes a moment to slow down, let you ride your orgasm. He wants another one from you before he pulls out to cum. He groans, “you’re so fucking beautiful. Beautiful and just - shit. So good.” He praises you, unused to being a man of many words but you deserve this considering how long you’ve waited for this moment.

Now that you have cum, you pull your legs back, wrapping them around his waist. “Let me- let me ride you.” You beg, wanting to feel what it’s like to sit on a cock and ride it. “Please, can I- I just want to feel it.”

Joel swallows, wanting to give you whatever you desire tonight. You deserve it. All of it. He nods and pulls out of you, shifting to lay down against your pillows. “Take what you want, baby.”

Biting your lip, you throw your leg over his hip and straddle him. “It looks bigger like this.” You admit, smirking slightly as you wrap your hand around him. “It’s supposed to feel bigger too, right? Feel deeper?

Joel nods, “yeah. Yeah it is. So I’ve heard.” He says, his hands sliding up to caress your waist until he’s cupping your tits. He squeezes them, pinching your nipples as you pump his cock.

“Oh fuck.” You moan, rolling your head back as he toys with your tits. “I want to feel you.” You murmur, lifting your hips and positioning him at your entrance before you slowly start lowering onto his cock.

Joel’s eyes flick down to where his cock is disappearing inside of you and he groans at the sight. “Baby, fuck.” He hisses and his eyes meet yours when your mouth falls open at the way he stretches you out.

There’s something intoxicating and empowering about being on top. About the man under you taking what you want and letting you have control. You have no doubt he could overpower you, force you to submit to him, but he squeezes your hip and your breast in encouragement.

He watches you as you take what you want, what you need. It's an honor to watch you discover what you like as you start to move on top of him. He swallows harshly, knowing that he will need to tell you he needs to pull out but right now, he's happy to watch you and be still beneath you while you use his body.

He does feel bigger from this position. Making your eyes roll back when you are settled on him fully. “Fuck, it’s like you’re in my stomach.” You whine, loving the sensation. “I love this. Fuck, does it feel good for you?” You ask as you roll your hips slowly.

Joel inhales deeply, trying to control himself as your walls flutter around his cock. You feel like a goddamn vice, squeezing him, and you haven’t even cum in this position. “It’s - Christ, it’s fucking incredible.” He promises, his hands squeezing your hips before they slide around to squeeze your ass.

You moan in pleasure and start to roll your hips faster. Feeling incredible every time you sit back down on his cock and moan out his name softly.

“That’s it, baby. Take what you need.” He murmurs, watching you take your pleasure and his cock twitches inside of you. “You feel so good. So fucking good.” He rasps, his brow furrowed as he concentrates on you.

You feel powerful, invincible as you ride him. Bracing your hands on his chest as you bounce on his cock, the bed creaking and swaying under you. “Fuck, baby.” You whimper, throwing your head back. “This is amazing, you’re amazing.”

Joel groans as you bounce a little faster. “You’re - shit - I need you to cum for me.” His hand slides down to rub your clit. “Cum for me baby.” He orders, surging up to wrap his lips around your nipple.

His arm is trapped between you, fingers furiously rubbing your clit while his mouth deliciously assaults your nipple. Making you cry out again when that knot of pressure explodes and the hot rush of your orgasm washes through you. “Joel!”

He works you through it, your hips stuttering from their previous rhythm and he loves the way you cry out into his ear, soaking his cock with your orgasm. “Baby. I need- I gotta pull out.” He chokes against your breast as he withdraws his fingers from your clit.

“Okay, fuck- let me-“ you don’t want to pull off his cock, but you have to. Obviously there’s no birth control and you’ve never been on it. Sliding your hips back, you watch as Joel quickly takes his cock in his hand and gives hard, quick tugs to the stiff length.

He grunts, eyes fixed on you as he works himself to his orgasm. It only takes a half dozen thrusts until he is pulsing in his grip and spurts of hot seed hit his skin, some hitting yours and a low groan escaping his lips as the pleasure overtakes his system.

Leaning forward, you press your lips to his after watching the first ropes of cum splatter over his stomach. Moaning into his mouth as he pants into yours while he works himself through it, finding it the hottest thing you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Fuck.” He pants into your mouth, squeezing his cock as he milks himself dry and he slides his tongue against yours, slowly pumping himself until he works himself until it becomes too much. His free hand comes up to cup your cheek.

Catching your breath with the kiss, you smile when you can finally giggle. Feeling like you are flying from the endorphins and the pleasurable ache between your thighs. “Merry fucking Christmas.” You whisper. “Holy shit, thank you for that.”

Joel chuckles softly, kissing your chin when you lean back. “My pleasure, sweetheart. Jesus, I don’t think - yeah, I haven’t had sex like that since I was in my early twenties.” He confesses, “did you enjoy it?” He asks, wanting to make sure it was everything you wanted and more.

You flip your leg over his and collapse against his side. “I fucking loved it.” His cock is softening and it’s strange to see it lying against his stomach, cum pooling under the flaccid flesh. “Can I taste it?” You ask softly, wondering if he will think you are strange.

He nods, a little speechless. Most women never want to go near cum, let alone taste it without it being direct from the source. Tess wasn’t one to swallow, she always spat it out. You look entranced and that makes his cock twitch in interest.

You were going to swipe your fingers through the sticky mess on his stomach, but you decide against it. Instead, you lower your head and take the cum covered head of his cock into your mouth to clean it off with your tongue.

“Jesus Christ.” Joel hisses, overstimulated but fuck, you are gorgeous. He thinks you’re incredible. “Fuck, sweetheart.” He pants when you give him mercy and release his cock from your mouth. “What do you think?” He asks you breathlessly.

“I think that I want this again.” You look up and shoot him again. “When you can, of course.”

Joel chuckles, caressing your back. “Might be a while. I ain’t young. I ain’t - it takes a while.” He says with a blush, “and I want this to be perfect for you.” He says softly.

“It already is.” You promise with a smirk and roll over to grab your panties off the floor to wipe the rest of the cum off his stomach. “Right now, I want to sleep, if you want to stay?” You ask, not sure where he would want to sleep beside you just because he fucked you.

“I want to.” He promises you. Joel should go sleep on the couch but he doesn’t want to. He wants to curl around you and fall asleep. He reaches for you, pulling you close as you grab the duvet to pull it over you both.

The room is warm from the fireplace and the sex, making you sigh softly as you settle into his embrace. “Goodnight Joel.” You murmur quietly. “I hope you sleep well.”

Joel knows he will. He feels safe and secure for the first time in God knows how long. He wants to curl around you, breathe you in, and go to sleep. He kisses your forehead, “goodnight.” He murmurs and closes his eyes, pleased to be safe and sound.

****

The storm wakes him up, the wind blustering past the window and he blinks a few times to remember where he is. His cock is hard again, morning wood from you curled around his body, and he remembers every detail about last night. God, you gave him all of you. You didn’t hold back and he’s honored that you let him touch you. He wants to touch you again. His hand caresses your back, gently shifting you onto your back, and he snakes down between your thighs. Spreading them, he groans at the sight of your pussy under the sheets and he leans in to slide his tongue through your folds.

You don’t want to wake up, warm and comfortable with the weight of someone beside you, but the most pleasure feeling from between your legs rips you out of your dreams. Waking up and gasping out Joel’s name when you realize he’s got his tongue pressed against your clit under the sheets, feasting on you while you slept. “Oh god.”

He loves the way your voice is rough with sleep as he wakes you with his tongue. Sliding it into you and his nose presses against your clit while his fingers push your thighs back so he can get even deeper

“Oh my god.” You moan again, eyes rolling back and your fingers twisting into the sheets. “Merry Christmas Eve to me.” You pant out jokingly. “I’ve gotten my present.”

He chuckles against your flesh, pulling back to flick his tongue over your clit until he sucks it back into his mouth. “Merry Christmas Eve.” He murmurs softly, his hand trailing along your thigh until he can push two fingers into you.

The room is still fairly dark, from the shutters and the storm outside, the room is slightly chilly so you know the fire has burned low, but you are in a magical place. Reaching under and running your fingers through his hair. “Joel, you’re so good to me.”

He curls his fingers, sucking your clit into his mouth and he desperately needs you to cum for him again. To hear it, to feel it. He’s addicted to you and he wants to make you feel amazing while you give him and Ellie shelter during the storm.

Your breathing comes in waves, the pleasure sometimes making you forget how as he presses against a spot inside you that makes your toes curl. “Joel.” You gasp out. “I- oh shit!” You squeal when the pleasure rockets through you and catches you by surprise. Soaking his fingers with your release.

He’s surprised by the way you soak his fingers and chin. Loving it honestly. He groans and works you through it, cock hard as he grinds into the sheets and moans your name as he pulls back to gently kiss your clit.

“Oh my god.” You whine. “Please tell me you are hard?” You ask, panting as you catch your breath. “Please, please be hard. I want you inside me again.

He grunts, “I’m hard. Have been since I woke up. Feel like a damn teenager.” He says, kissing up your body until he is pressing his lips to yours. His hard cock pressed against your thigh. “How do you want me, baby?” He asks softly, wanting you to continue to be in control.

“Just like this?” You know that it’s not emotional, but you can’t help but wrap your legs around his waist as your hands slide up his arms to curl around the back of his neck. “Slow? We have all day until Ellie wants food.” You joke. “It’s still early yet. She’s snoring.”

Joel nods, knowing the emotions between you are only because of your physical connection, of what you’ve given him. He swallows harshly and leans in to softly kiss you as he reaches between you to position his cock at your entrance, slowly pushing in.

You moan softly. Loving how gentle he is. You know that he’s tough, he could have hurt you, but he’s gone out of his way to make this amazing for you. “Joel.” You whimper into his mouth.

Your walls grip him and he hisses as your nails scratch down his back. “Sorry.” You mutter and he shakes his head, “no, I liked it.” He promises and pushes all the way in. He pulls back to look into your eyes as he starts to rock his hips, taking in every detail of your pleasured face.

Just like you asked him to, he takes his time. Staring down at you with a tenderness that almost makes you believe that this is real. This is your partner, maybe your husband, making love to you. “So good.” You whine softly. “I could spend the rest of my life right here.”

He knows you’re talking from a place of pleasure and not reality. He has to move on, to take Ellie west and find his brother. He rocks into you, caressing your side until he’s cupping your breast, squeezing it as he leans down to kiss along your neck.

It’s all you could want, this moment right here. You will be remembering it for a long time after this man is gone. You moan softly and tighten your thighs around him as he fucks you. Your walls clenching down around him.

Your walls grip him and he rocks slow and deep, wanting to hear and feel you fall apart beneath him again. “That’s it, baby. Christ, you feel good. So wet and tight around me.” He murmurs, loving the way you gasp when he lowers his pelvis so he can grind against your clit.

Biting your lip, you keep yourself from Asking him to stay. To settle here with you, him and his charge. You’re lonely, you can admit that. But you don’t say anything, just moaning when he works you back up to the edge.

He can tell you’re close. “Cum for me baby.” He demands, grinding lower and he pinches your nipple. “Cum for me. Cum.” He growls, needing you to fall apart for him again.

You shudder and can’t help but fall over the edge. Loving the roughness of the pitch and the desperation in his voice. Tilting your head back, you cry out softly as you shake under him in the most intense orgasm yet.

Joel pants as you cum around him, soaking him, and it’s an orgasm that seems to overtake your every sense. Your eyes close as you cry softly and he wishes he could commit that to memory. “That’s it, sweetheart. Shit. I- I gotta pull out. Got me worked up.” He confesses, reluctantly pulling his cock from inside of you. He reaches down to grip himself, pumping his length as he watches you recover.

“Cum in my mouth.” You immediately pant, reaching for him and pulling on his body as you beg. Wanting to see him cum as he fills your mouth is something you want to memorize.

Joel can’t deny you. He lets go of his cock and he shuffles up your body, straddling your chest. You lean forward to take his cock into your mouth and he groans. “Fuck. I- I’m not gonna last.” He confesses, “do you - fuck.” He chokes, pumping his cock as you suck on the tip.

Your eyes widen when the first rope of cum shoots into your mouth. Much harder than you had expected, it hits the back of your throat and forces you to start swallowing. Loving how his cock is pulsing, throbbing in your mouth as he spills, your hand gripping his hip to keep him close as you try to swallow every drop.

He closes his eyes as you take everything he gives you and he grunts your name, cock twitching inside of your mouth and his hand cups your cheek. “Fuckkkk.” He exhales shakily, one last slow thrust into your mouth until he pulls out of you.

Some of him has spill out of the corners of your mouth, making you lick your lips when he pulls out. “That was amazing.” You sigh, caressing his thigh as he hovers over you. “Thank you for the experience. And the wake up.”

Joel shifts off of you, reaching for you to curl you into his side. He cups your cheek and leans down to press his lips to yours. Not caring about the lingering taste of his cum. He doesn’t care about that. He kisses you firmly until he pulls back to nudge his nose against yours, “thank you for - well, I didn’t expect this when I saw smoke coming from your cabin.”

“I didn’t expect to have people come.” You admit easily, “but I’ve enjoyed having you both here. And while the storm blows, we will be nice and cozy here. And when you decide to leave, I’ll pack you up some supplies.” You offer softly.

Joel nods, unable to say anything else as you curl around him. He relaxes into the pillows, wanting to savor this time where he doesn’t have to fight for survival, to fight for his and Ellie’s lives. He kisses your forehead and closes his eyes, allowing himself to imagine a life spent here with you in safety.

Your eyes pop open when you hear the other bedroom door open. Joel is still asleep beside you and slowly, you ease out of the bed. Dressing quickly, you slip out of the room and out to find Ellie looking around. “Where’s Joel?” She demands, knowing the bar is still on the door and his gun is still here.

“He’s asleep.” You look back towards the bedroom. “Why don’t we build up the fire and I’ll start breakfast?”

Ellie nods, confused that Joel is still asleep. He never sleeps this much. He must be exhausted from all the late nights. You walk over to the fire and Ellie follows, "so...Joel slept in your room?" She asks teasingly.

“He did.” You aren’t embarrassed, but you don’t offer anything else. You aren’t sure if Joel would want her to know his business. Bending down. You stir the coals to life and quickly add more wood.

Ellie nods, “good. He needs to relax.” She isn’t sure what you guys did but she’s glad Joel isn’t fighting for survival right now. “It’s Christmas Eve!I” She remembers, “we can have hot chocolate, right?” She asks, excited for the holiday she’s never celebrated.

“We can.” You nod and smile at her eagerness. “And tomorrow, you will get some Christmas presents.” It might just be some old clothes you have and some socks that you had knitted, but you would be able to give her something.

Ellie’s eyes widen, “presents?” She asks and you nod. “I- wow.” She surges forward to hug you, “thank you. This is - this is the best fucking place ever.”

“You’re welcome.” You laugh softly and hug her back. “Don’t be too excited, it’s not a Nintendo or one of those gaming systems that were all the rage the last time Christmas was popular, but it’s given in the spirit of making you happy.”

“Nintendo?” Ellie asks and she snaps her fingers. “I used to - me and my friend-” Her eyes get dark with a loss that you know too well. “I- I lost my friend. We used to play arcade games in this abandoned mall until she was-” Ellie trails off.

“I’m sorry.” You tell her quietly. Everyone has lost someone during this time, but it’s obvious that this friend had been dear to Ellie. “Hopefully one day you can find a place to play again, smiling when you think about her.”

Ellie nods, appreciating how you don’t treat her like a little kid and you actually tell her how you think without censoring stuff. She appreciates you treating her like she should be. Joel tries to censor stuff but he can only do so much in this new world. “So…what’s for breakfast?” She asks.

“Well, I still have some eggs from the chickens, so I had thought we would have eggs and wildberry oat cakes.” You grin. “Like pancakes, but I ground up the oats for the flour.”

Ellie grins, “fuck yes.” She makes a fist and you giggle at her enthusiasm for something so simple. “I can help. I’m sure Joel will be up soon.” She offers and you nod.

Joel groans as he wakes up, his body stiffening as he tries to remember where he is until it hits him. He’s safe. It’s Christmas Eve. He swallows harshly and rubs his forehead as he sits up and reaches for the pajama pants you gave him that belonged to your father.

In the kitchen, the stove is hot, and you’re showing Ellie how you had ground up the oats using an old hand crank coffee grinder. Putting her to work with a grin as she talks to you.

Joel comes into the kitchen, finding you and Ellie cooking. “Something smells good.” He murmurs and walks over to you, he leans in to press a soft kiss to your neck.

Ellie puffs out a laugh and quickly turns her head. “I didn’t see nothin’ man.” She insists before showing Joel the oak cakes she had made, flavored with the dried wild berries you had picked this summer.

Joel appreciates the fact that she doesn’t call him out and he admires the oat cakes with a hum. “You did a good job, kid.” He praises her, suddenly able to let himself feel like the man he was before shit hit the fan. His shoulders aren’t tense, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to die every moment of the day. He ruffles her hair and she growls, making him chuckle.

You see that he’s relaxed and you smile, happy that you can provide that for this duo. To be a safe haven in the literal storm. “I thought that we would eat breakfast and then I will go into the cellar and bring up the small ham.” You offer Joel with a shrug. “I had planned on a small ham steak when it was just me, but it would be nice to have a proper Christmas dinner tomorrow?”

Joel bites his lip, “I don’t want you to waste all your food, sweetheart. You gotta survive the winter and I don’t- we don’t need to eat much. I’m already fuller than I’ve been in months.” He confesses, “don’t waste your resources.” He orders softly, not wanting to be the reason you go without.

“Joel….” You shake your head. “I have plenty of food.” You promise. “Although, I will need to get out to the barn at some point. Check on the animals.”

Joel nods, “I can do that. You stay in the warmth. I can see if there’s anything to hunt as well.” He adds, wanting to do his part. “I- I haven’t celebrated Christmas in many years and I- I do want this one to be special.” He admits and reaches up to cup your cheek.

“It will be special.” You agree, melting slightly at how kind he is being. “We will make sure of it. But you need to eat before going out in the cold.”

Ellie has never seen Joel like this before. He’s gentle. Something she hasn’t really witnessed. She’s seen the worst of Joel. The terrifying moments that he saved her life by doing what needed to be done. She’s never seen him caress someone. She focuses on the oat cakes as she turns away from the intimate moment, wanting to give Joel the time to enjoy this before he hardens up into the survivor he is

Breakfast is finished and it’s strange sitting down with other people, often it’s you and one of the books you are rereading. But it’s festive. You and Joel start talking about old Christmas traditions and Ellie is intrigued by the idea of ugly sweater contests.

Joel chuckles at her reaction, “yeah. Sarah used to make me and my brother Tommy wear the ugliest sweaters she could find.” His chuckles die down after a second, reminded of Sarah, and he frowns at how his heart aches but he’s happy to have the memories. “Another one was, uh, mistletoe.” He says, trying to distract from his reaction.

“Yeah.” You snort and grin. “Mistletoe actually grows wild around here.” You admit. Ellie has a confused look on her face. “If you were with a partner or a friend under the mistletoe, you had to kiss.” You explain with a small shrug.

Ellie smirks, "you should get some mistletoe. You know....so you guys have an excuse to kiss." She giggles and Joel clears his throat, raising his eyebrows at you. It's not the worst idea he has ever heard.

You shake your head, remembering how meddling teenagers can be. “I think that we will make the candy this morning.” You decide, eyeing Ellie. “How does that sound? Have the hot chocolate once Joel is back inside and everything is cozy again?”

Ellie nods enthusiastically, “hell yes.” She is so excited. She hasn’t experienced anything like this before. Joel smiles, pleased that she is happy. He remembers how much Sarah loved Christmas. “I’ll, uh, go get ready and I’ll go check on the animals.”

“Northwest corner, two hundred yards from the front door.” You’re sure that he had seen the barn, but just in case, you tell him. “I’ll bring in some more wood.”

Joel nods, standing up to go get dressed. You left some of your father’s clothes on the chair for him. If he thought it would be strange wearing a dead man’s clothes when the outbreak first happened, he’s immune to it now. Knowing that no one is making new clothes. At least not in the wilderness. He gets dressed and puts on his coat and boots, ready to face the storm for you.

You show Ellie how to clean up and start to bundle up as well. “Don’t stay out there too long.” You beg Joel as he grabs his rifle. “We don’t need meat too bad for you to risk yourself.”

Joel nods, knowing that he’s taken a lot of risks in life. He won’t linger out in the cold. He has to think of Ellie, of getting her where she needs to go. He winces as the storm blows in his face as he makes his way outside.

“I wish he wouldn’t try to hunt.” You murmur to Ellie as you wrap a scarf around your neck. “There’s plenty of food in the cellar.”

Joel squints through the blizzard as he makes his way into the barn, the animals all huddled together and Joel exhales, the cold air puffing as he checks on the animals, refreshes the water and hay, and makes his way back outside to see if he can find a lone deer or something.

With Ellie opening and closing the door for you, you manage to bring in another good few hauls of wood inside. Wanting to make sure that you stay nice and cozy over the next day or so. With Joel checking the animals, they should be set for a couple of days. You had meant to check them before the storm hit, but Joel and Ellie’s unexpected arrival had thrown that off. You had known the animals had plenty of food and water, but now you know they will be set for a few days.

Joel shivers as he picks up the two rabbits he managed to shoot and he makes his way back to your cabin. He knocks on the door and you unlock it. He shakes off the snow from his jacket as he enters the cabin, wiping off his boots and you take the rabbits so he can take them off along with his jacket.

“Go sit by the fire.” You huff, seeing how chapped his cheeks are and you rush over to the stove. You boiled together an herb tea, thinking it would be good for warming up the bones after coming back and you pour him a cup. “It’s herbs, but it’s tasty and hot.” You tell him, handing him the steaming mug. “I have some Vaseline for your cheeks.”

Joel huffs at you fussing over him but he secretly likes it. He rolls his eyes as he rubs his hands over the fire, feeling Ellie watching him with a smirk on her face. “We are gonna make candy today.” She tells him and he nods, trying to remember the last time he had candy.

You stoke the fire and pull out the large black cauldron to boil the sap. “So I have some syrup from my trees that we will boil down into a sticky candy.” You explain as you swing the hook around and set it up. “Then we pour it over clean snow.”

“Jesus. You have it all figured out, don’t cha sweetheart?” Joel says with awe in his voice. He’s never seen someone so capable except Bill. Only Bill never made goddamn candy. “Does it taste good?” He asks you.

“It’s amazing.” You shrug slightly, preening slightly at his praise. “We’ve been doing sugar boils for a long time. If you cook it down, you have sugar for the year.”

Joel hums, impressed at your ingenuity and your survival skills. “Sugar? For a year? Damn. I might never leave.” Ellie jokes and Joel meets your eyes, a hopeful sadness to them that makes his heart clench.

“You would be welcomed back anytime you’re traveling through the area.” You promise, although you know that you would probably never see them again when they leave. It’s just the way the world works now. “It takes a lot of sap, but there’s a lot of trees. I hang the buckets when the sap runs and gather it up once a day.”

Joel is impressed, certain that he’s never met a woman like you. Most women are strong in this new world but you seem to be thriving. Joel warms his hands and Ellie announces she’s gonna wash her hands before she helps you. Joel looks up as you walk over to him, displaying a piece of mistletoe in your hand. He stares at it for a second before he smiles, reaching for you. He cups your cheek and leans in to kiss you softly.

Leaning into the kiss, there’s something soft and sweet about this. You needed this. A reminder that you aren’t alone in the world and that there is good. Things to live for.

Joel knows he should be distancing himself from you but it’s hard. He pecks your lips when he hears the bathroom door open and he steps back just as Ellie enters the room. “Let’s make some candy!” She declares, rubbing her hands together.

Laughing at her enthusiasm, you show her how you are going to do it, bringing up a bucket of the sap from the cellar and pouring it into the cast iron cauldron. Soon, it’s bubbling over the fire and the entire house smells like syrup.

Joel watches you and Ellie work, making himself useful by gutting the rabbits for dinner. This feels too easy. Too domestic. It scares him a little.

It takes a long time, but Ellie is giggling as you talk about growing up here and thinking all the traditions and old ways were ridiculous when you were learning them. “Yeah, but now you have sugar.” She reminds you, making you grin. “True. And now, I’ve taught you some of the things that should never die out. Like the Christmas songs.”

Ellie grins, “so fucking cool. I wish I could’ve seen it. Before the world went to shit. How cool it must’ve been with the lights and the trees and - and the presents!” She exclaims and Joel sighs softly under his breath, wishing he could give her that dream but he can’t.

“It was really cool.” You admit. “There are times I wished that we had some sort of natural power. To run the lights.”

Ellie nods, “me too. Back in Boston, we had solar and some other sources but it wasn’t enough for a ton of lights.” She confesses, not really knowing much about how the QZ operated. Joel watches you interact with Ellie and he smiles, enjoying the way you seem to connect with her more than he has managed in months. He’s excited to spend Christmas with you and the kid. “You finish that candy yet?” He asks about an hour later.

“Almost.” You roll your eyes playfully at Ellie. About five minutes before, you had gathered clean snow in pans and you had shown her how to drizzle the thick, liquid candy into the snow and she had gone to town. “Come taste.”

Ellie grabs herself a piece, groaning at the taste, and Joel can't resist. He comes over after washing his hands and you pop a piece of candy into his mouth. He groans as the sugar hits his tongue. "Fuck, that - that's damn good." He murmurs, closing his eyes.

“Glad you enjoy.” You smile as it looks like Joel is having a religious experience. “I was thinking that some of the syrup might be used to bake the ham?” You ask, unsure of what they might think of the idea.

He nods, swallowing the candy, and finally opening his eyes. "Yes. Yes. That - Jesus, that's damn good." He confesses, licking his lips. Ellie turns her back to you both and he leans in to kiss you softly, letting you taste it from his lips.

Your eyes flutter closed and you wish that you could sink into the kiss but the kid is right here. You pull back reluctantly and smile.

The kiss is quick and Joel offers you a smirk as Ellie turns back just as he straightens up and he smiles at you softly, "let's get ready for Christmas." Joel says and Ellie grins, "fuck yes."

The day seems to go perfectly. You have decorations that you pull out and Ellie gets to squeal over. Soon the living room is filled with garland and bows, the small tree you had brought in just because you love the pine scent haphazardly decorated with the old ornaments. Adding to the decorations that you had up before they arrived. You sneak into the rooms and pull out items that both Joel and Ellie can use when they leave, a nice hunting knife that was your brothers for Ellie, thick socks and a heavy lined leather jacket for Joel, along with other things. You wrap them in scapes of flannel and bring out a stack of them to put under the tree.

Joel comes out of the bathroom to find Ellie shrieking over the tree. His eyes widen, "wow. I- shit. This is - presents?" He frowns, confused about what you managed to find to wrap up. He feels bad he didn't get you anything but he might have an idea of what to get you.

You smile at the unbridled joy on the teens face and shrug. “Just popped down to the store.” You joke. “Last minute Christmas deals are fantastic.” You had managed to find a pocket watch of your grandfather’s that was solar powered. You plan on giving it to Joel and telling him to charge it when he leaves since his wrist watch is broken.

Joel chuckles, coming over to you and he wraps his arm around your waist. “Thank you for making this so special for her.” He says, kissing your cheek. He allows himself to be tender, to shed the hard shell he hides in when he’s out there trying to survive.

“She’s a good kid.” You acknowledge, leaning into him. “I’m honestly happy that the two of you were here.” You bite your lip. “I was wondering what was the point of living out here by myself.”

Joel frowns, not liking the sound of that. He knows what it's like to be alone. "Then maybe...maybe you'll meet someone who will stay here with you. You gotta keep fighting. You gotta keep living. Otherwise all of this would've been for nothing." He says softly, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“Maybe.” You smile, the motion slightly bittersweet and shrug. “It’s not exactly a major metropolitan area. But maybe lightning will strike twice. You came when I needed something other than my own voice.”

Joel nods, letting go of you. He knows you want him to stay. If he’s honest, he wouldn’t mind staying, but he can’t. He has to find Tommy. He has to get Ellie where she needs to go. “You’ll be okay. You’re too good to not be.” He says softly as Ellie marvels over the tree. “Who wants to start preparing dinner?” You ask and Ellie nods, happy to help.

Dinner isn’t the ham, you are saving that for tomorrow, but the rabbit casserole you had decided on would go over well. You show Ellie what you are doing and how you make it and in no time, you’re sliding the dish into the oven.

Joel feels relaxed and he notices the guitar in the corner of the room. “Do you play?” He asks, trying to remember the last time he played the guitar.

“I do.” You smile at the guitar. “My father taught me a long time ago. After the world ended, it was the way we entertained ourselves during the evenings.”

“You play? I’ve always wanted to learn.” Ellie declares, eyes wide as she walks over to the guitar. “I used to play. Back in the day. I- I didn’t - haven’t played in years.” Joel confesses, “maybe we can teach you some chords?” He offers Ellie, wanting to give her something since you wrapped up some presents.

Joel nods, “I’m sure we can arrange that.” He promises and Ellie beams.

“Great! That - fuck yes.” She says and Joel doesn’t reprimand her like he normally does. It’s Christmas Eve.

“Come on, kid. Let’s help with the dinner.”

Ellie sets the table and Joel pours out the herbal tea you had made. “There’s a bottle of wine in the cellar.” You offer, shrugging slightly. It’s your last bottle but it’s a good excuse to open it as any. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

Joel won’t deny you if you want a drink. Hell, Bill and Frank went through most of their wine during their years together. He wouldn’t mind a glass. “Can I have a glass?” Ellie asks and Joel shakes his head, “no. You’re too young.”

You tilt your head and bite your lip, knowing it’s not your place to interfere, but you do anyway. “I don’t think a glass would hurt.” You offer. “My father let me have a small glass of wine on special occasions starting at ten years old.”

“Pleaseeee.” Ellie asks, “I used to drink vodka. Sneak it back in the QZ.”

Joel sighs, knowing the world has gone to shit and so have social standards. He nods, “one glass.” Ellie hisses in victory and Joel snorts, “one glass.” He repeats, knowing he has to limit himself too just in case something happens. You have to always be prepared.

You hide your smirk of triumph as you get down the wine glasses. “Joel, will you go down to the cellar? The wine rack is on the left.”

Joel nods, making his way downstairs to the cellar and he sees the stored food you have there. It’s impressive. It’s clear you’ve prepared a lot and he is proud of you. You’re not his. He’s not yours, but he’s proud of the strong, capable woman you are. He grabs the wine, blowing off the dust and he carries it up the stairs.

You are pulling the casserole out of the oven when Joel comes upstairs. “Perfect timing.” You smile softly, wishing you could have this every day. “Ellie, throw another log on the fire, will you?” You ask the girl.

Ellie nods, stoking the fire, and Joel takes the wine opener, remembering how to open a bottle of wine. He pulls out the cork and grabs the glasses, pouring three glasses just as you serve up the casserole.

“Soon, the snow will bury the cabin and insulate it even more.” You muse, the wind still rattling the shutters as the snow falls. “But we are nice and cozy here. The living room looks so festive thanks to Ellie’s decorating.”

Joel hands you a glass before he hands one to Ellie, teasing her by pulling it back for a moment before letting her have it. He takes his own glass in hand and clinks it with yours and Ellie. “Merry Christmas.” He declares, reminded of when he and Tommy would cheers with beers on Christmas Eve.

“Merry Christmas.” You hum and Ellie beams. “Merry Christmas!” She all but shouts it out, making you laugh.

“Let’s sit down and eat while it’s hot, shall we?” You ask and the teenager practically bolts for the table.

Joel chuckles and takes a seat. It’s strange to enjoy this time. To not feel like he constantly has a target on his back. He sips the wine after he sits down and groans softly at the smell of the casserole. “God, you could’ve opened a restaurant back in the day.” He compliments you.

“Thank you.” You fluster at the compliment and bite your lip. “I am sure that anything tastes good when food can be scarce.” You know you’re lucky, you had a family who worked hard and prepared so you can reap the benefits of it for years to come. “Merry Christmas, Ellie, Joel.”

Ellie holds her glass up, feeling so fucking cool as she clinks her glass with yours and says “Merry Christmas.”

Joel smiles, clinking his glass and when his eyes meet yours, he can’t help but stare for a long moment. Taking in this rare minute of peace and happiness in his otherwise turbulent world. He feels safe and secure. A rarity. And all because of you. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” He murmurs, winking at you.

You fluster again, feeling your cheeks heating up and you smile. It’s been such a whirlwind and you have enjoyed having them. “May your next Christmas be just as cozy.”

Joel doubts it, unable to confirm if he’s even going to be alive for the next Christmas but he murmurs a “thanks” and takes another sip of the wine. You grin and he continues eating his dinner with a groan at how good the food is after so long without consistent meals.

The meal is finished, devoured by both Joel and Ellie taking seconds and in the younger girl’s case, thirds. You smile at Ellie after she clears the table and notice that her cheeks are flushed. “How did you like wine?” You hadn’t missed her slipping some more wine from the bottle.

“It was…okay.” She admits, “kinda burned.”

Joel snorts, “that’s what it’s supposed to you. You get used to it. Then it tastes good.” He promises and ruffles her hair. “I think it’s time for you to go to bed. Sleep off the wine.” Joel tells the teenager.

You laugh when Ellie yawns and wish her a good night. “Presents in the morning!” She cheers and quickly shuffles off to the room that is hers for now. “I’ll clean up and then we can sleep if you want.” You offer.

Joel waits until Ellie’s door is shut and he shakes his head, setting down the plate you have in your hand on the counter, before he reaches for you to drag you against his body. His nose nudges your chin, dragging along your jaw until he whispers in your ear, “I don’t want to sleep.”

Shivering, you lean into his touch. “What do you want to do?” You whisper, almost afraid that you are reading the situation wrong.

Joel smiles against your skin, “everything. Want to touch you again. Hear you moan my name.” He murmurs, his hands sliding up until he is cupping your tits. “Want to feel you.” He whispers harshly, his mouth going dry at the idea of sliding into you again.

You moan softly and nod. “I want that too.” You agree, pressing up against him shamelessly. It’s thrilling that he wants you, even if it’s just because of convenience. Even if he just wanted you because of that, he wants you.

His hands squeeze your breasts as he kisses along your neck. “You’re so beautiful, darlin’. Wanna make you moan my name again.” He murmurs, sliding his hands back down to grip your waist and he turns you so he can softly kiss you.

The kisses you’ve shared have become familiar, your own hand sliding up into his hair as you kiss him back. Falling into his arms easily as he presses you into the counter.

His tongue slides into your mouth and he groans at the warmth of your body. He loves it. He groans into your mouth and his hands caress your body. “Bedroom.” He murmurs, wanting to see all of you.

Joel is one step behind you as you eagerly disappear into the bedroom. You’ll have to come back out, but for right now, you want nothing more than this man for Christmas.

He shuffles you into the bedroom, gently kicking the door shut behind him, and his hands grab the hem of your shirt, eager to pull it over your head. “Fuck baby. You’re so goddamn gorgeous.” He murmurs before surging down to kiss along your chest, kissing every inch of skin he can access until he bites down on your nipple through your bra.

“Joel.” You moan softly, eyes flitting closed and you are eager for him to touch you again. The fact that he is eager makes you drip with arousal. “Touch me again.” You beg softly. “Make me- I want you to fuck me.”

Joel groans as you beg him and how can he resist? He reaches behind you to unclasp your bra and drags it down your body, exposing your breasts which he eagerly attacks with his mouth, wrapping his lips around your nipple to suck and bite on it while his other hand squeezes your other breast.

His touch is burned into your skin. You will feel it for the rest of your life. Moaning, you reach down to unbutton your pants, eager to strip down and have him inside you again.

He chuckles into your flesh at the way you shove your pants down your legs and he helps you. When you’re naked, he guides you back towards the bed and pushes you down onto it. “Tell me what you want, baby.” He murmurs, his voice quiet but demanding.

You look up at him and bite your lip. “Strip for me.” You demand, wanting to see this rough, virile man take his clothes off for you. “I want to see all of you. And then I want you to make me cum.”

He can’t deny you. He shifts off of you and works on the buttons of the shirt you gave him. He slowly unbuttons it and exposes his chest. His dark eyes focus on you as he works on the belt before he unbuttons his jeans, shoving them down alongside with his briefs to expose his half hard cock.

“I want to suck your cock again before you leave.” Your cunt throbs and you have to press your thighs together. “It made me so wet.” You admit. “Want to see if it will happen again. Maybe you could cum in my mouth again?”

Joel groans, “baby. You- you don’t have to. I want to taste you again. Maybe…you wanna sit on my face and suck my cock?” He asks, always wanting to give you the choice.

You clench around nothing, turned on by the idea and you nod quickly. “Please.” You beg. “I - is it bad that I want to suck your cock? I love the way you moan.”

He s hakes his head,“not bad. Most women…they don’t like sucking cock.” He confesses. He shifts to lay down on the bed beside you. His cock hardens at the idea of you sitting on his face and he pats his cheek, “take a seat, sweetheart.”

You giggle slightly and bite your lip, wondering how to best do this. Joel takes your thigh and starts to guide you over him. “This is- really intimate.” You huff, feeling a little exposed with your holes on display to him.

He smiles, “it is but I’ll take care of you.” He promises and you hover over his face. He groans at your wet folds and he grabs your ass, pulling you down onto him with a moan of your name that’s soon smothered when his tongue slides through your folds.

Like last night and this morning, Joel’s tongue is magical, making you forget all about everything but the pleasure of him between your thighs. Until his cock twitches in front of your face because of your moans. Wrapping your fingers around his thick girth, you lean down and take the head into your mouth eagerly.

“Jesus.” He hisses into your pussy, his tongue going lazy from his swipes as you take him into your mouth. “Fuck.” He mutters into your folds and he hisses when you moan around him. Reignited, he goes hard on making you moan again, sucking your clit into his mouth.

It becomes a competition, seeing who can make the other moan louder, to stop pleasuring the other because the intensity is too much. You pump the base of his cock and take him deep into your mouth.

Joel groans into your flesh as you take him deeper, swallowing around him. He sucks on your clit, desperately trying to make you cum on his face.

You can't help but moan around his cock, grinding your hips back shamelessly onto his face. You had gotten over your embarrassment really quickly when you learned how much he liked this. It makes you take him deeper, swallowing around him as he spurs you on.

Joel groans into your cunt as you rock back onto him, helping him get you closer to cumming on his face. He pants as you work his cock a little harder, spit gathering in the coarse hair at the base of his length, and he grabs your hips, working you a little faster on top of him.

It's becoming a frenzy. Both of you are trying so hard to make the other break but Joel has the advantage of experience on his side. His grip shifts and he presses his thumb against your other hole, making you choke around his cock and the next flick of his tongue sends you flying.

Joel loves how you cry out, unable to care if you wake Ellie up as you moan so sweetly for him. He works you through it, his thumb pressed against your puckered hole until it slightly dips in to stretch you and he continues flicking your clit until you cry out in protest.

You rock your hips forward, pulling away from his still working mouth to make him chuckle. Taking his cock back in your mouth in an almost desperate attempt to make him feel just as overwhelmed although you know he will probably not want to finish in your mouth right now.

Joel pulls back, “wanna- wanna make you cum on my cock.” He pants, “please baby. Hands and knees.” He orders, wanting to do something different for you to experience everything while he’s here.

Moaning, you scramble off of him, eager to try the position you had always wanted to feel. You had been too nervous to ask if he would fuck you that way, but now you get what you want without ever even asking. “Fuck me.” You beg, looking over your shoulder as he shuffles to his knees.

Joel groans, leaning in to press his body against yours, his cock sliding along the crack of your ass. “Fuck baby. You’re - shit - you’re so pretty.” He murmurs, caressing your back before he grips his cock and positions himself at your entrance, slowly pushing into you.

Honestly, this position is more intense for you. He feels bigger than he had when you were riding him. Your back bows slightly and you push back to let him grind into him even more. "You're pretty." You gasp out, closing your eyes. You're sure that he's just saying that because he's inside you but you are a sure thing. He can fuck you as often as he wants while he's here. "More baby, please."

He can’t fucking deny you anything when your pussy is choking him like a goddamn vice. He pants and caresses your ass before smacking it. “You want more?” He asks and your pathetic whine makes him chuckle. He goes harder, his hips hitting your ass, and he eagerly watches the flesh jiggle.

All you can do is hold on, your fingers twisting in the sheets under you. After a particularly rough thrust, your elbows give out and you collapse down onto your face, right as you moan out his name. "Jooooooeeeellllllllll."

He groans, “that’s it baby. God, feel so fuckin’ tight around my cock.” He hisses, thrusting deep and hard. He shifts to plant his foot on the bed, jaw clenched as he works to push you into an orgasm. He wants to hear it again.

Rocking into you harshly, you grunt and moan while he fucks you. Clenching down around him every time he pushes deep, you love the way he twitches inside you. “Joel, fuck, yes.”

He groans as you clench around him. He reaches down to rub your clit, “cum for me. Cum for me baby.” He leans over you, kissing along your neck.

His chest is at your back and you moan. The expert touch of his fingers quickly has your body bucking under his. Starting to cum just like he ordered you to.

Joel groans when you clamp around his cock. He pants into your ear, kissing along your neck, and he rubs your clit a little faster to work you through it. “That’s it, baby.” He coos, rocking into you.

You pant against the sheet and moan. Wishing that he would fill you up just once so you could experience it. “Cum for me.” You whimper, closing your eyes in bliss.

He pants, so close to orgasm, and he hisses as he rocks into you. Over and over again. “Fuck. I- shit. Shit. Shit.” He manages to pull out just as he cums over your ass and back, hot seed hitting your skin.

You whine at the loss of his cock inside you, humming as you listen to him gasp for breath. “Fuck.” Your grin is tired and satisfied as you slowly straighten out on the bed. You know you will have to let him clean you up, or go to the bathroom to clean, but you don’t want to move right now.

Joel is uncaring as he looms over you and kisses along your neck. “So good, baby.” He murmurs, caressing your side until he’s shuffling off of the bed to head into the bathroom to clean you up.

Listening to someone move around the house is a luxury that you savor. Closing your eyes again with a smile on your face. Almost ready to beg him to stay and help you stave off the loneliness but you know he can’t.

Joel comes back in with a wet rag to clean you. He caresses your skin after you’re clean and leans down to kiss you softly. “Get into bed, sweetheart. It’ll be Christmas morning before you even know it.” He promises, tossing the rag in the sink after cleaning himself up and he pulls the covers back for you to get under them.

You climb into bed and into his arms. Enjoying the strength and steadiness of his heart beating in his chest. “Good night, Joel.” You murmur, holding back a yawn and suddenly ready to sleep.

Joel wraps around you after he blows out the candle on the nightstand. He smiles and kisses you softly until he falls asleep, a rare look of complete peace on his face. He winces when the sunlight streams through the slats of the shutters hours later and realizes it’s Christmas Day. He smiles softly and kisses your face, waiting until you whimper awake and he whispers, “Merry Christmas, baby.”

“Merry Christmas.” You groan softly, waking up and snuggling into his hold and sighing contentedly. You feel warm, safe and not alone, something that you had been wishing for a long time. It’s the best gift that you could have been given and you tilt your head up to kiss his chin. “Best Christmas ever.” You hum, kissing down along his throat gently, enjoying the sleep-warm scent of him. Memorizing it for when your bed is colder without him. “We should get up and get ready for an excited teenager.”

Joel groans softly, playfully, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Or we could just stay here all day.” He suggests just seconds before he kisses you softly. “She would kick the door down. She’s so excited.” He chuckles against your lips.

You sigh softly and smile. “We will have a good day. Pretend the world is normal outside.” You tell him. “Be cozy in this little bubble for awhile.”

Joel smiles, kissing your head, and he shifts to get out of the bed, grabbing his pajama pants, and he looks over at you, winking. “I’ll go make some coffee.” He offers as he grabs his shirt and slips out of your room into the kitchen.

You lay there for a moment before you get up and start dressing. Listening to the sounds of Joel opening the wood box in the stove and stirring the coals. The thunk of more wood being added. It’s completely domestic and you love it more than you should.

Ellie comes out once you’re dressed, eyes wide at the presents under the tree. “We got presents?” She exclaims and you nod, “yeah. Santa came.” You tease and she grins, rushing over to you and she wraps her arms around you. “You’re the fucking best.”

You grin as you hug her back. “You’re welcome. I hope that you like what I picked out for you.” The smell of coffee soon fills the air and you look towards the kitchen. “How about we have breakfast first and then presents?” You suggest.

Ellie pouts a little and Joel nods, reminded of Sarah when she used to be so eager to open gifts on Christmas morning. “Breakfast first.” He says sternly and Ellie nods, knowing it’s best to not argue with her father figure.

You decided to make breakfast quick since Ellie was so excited, so it’s done almost as soon as the coffee and you grin as you set it on the table. “We will have presents opened in no time.” You promise her with a wink.

Ellie tries not to pout as she agrees while Joel pours you out a coffee. You wink at him and he leans in to kiss you softly, “merry Christmas baby.” He murmurs and Ellie smirks, “Joel. Never knew you were a softie.”

Joel rolls his eyes and huffs but you just grin at how cheeky she is. Bolting down her breakfast as quickly as she can in her eagerness to get the day moving along so she can open her presents. Taking a sip of your coffee, you start your own breakfast when Joel sits down. It sounds like the storm has died down outside and the cabin is nice and warm. It’s a good day.

Youk grin as Ellie practically vibrates as she looks at the presents under the tree. “Go on sweetheart. Get the presents handed out.” Joel orders, knowing he would get Sarah to do that for him and Tommy when they’d celebrate Christmas.

You show Ellie which pill of presents is which, and pour you and Joel refresher cups of coffee to bring into the living room. The fire has been built back up and for a moment, you pretend, it’s just a normal Christmas morning. Sitting down on your old sofa and reaching for a throw to toss over your legs as Ellie bounces around creating two piles of gifts between her and Joel.

Joel frowns when he sees you don’t have anything and he remembers the simple gold ring he keeps on the gold chain around his neck. It belonged to his mother and no one has really seen it. He kept it hidden when he was in the QZ but grabbed it when he was leaving. He watches Ellie divide the presents and he looks at you, “this is too much, baby.” He says and Ellie is already ripping into a present.

“No it’s not.” You shake your head. “Things are hard to come by.” You murmur quietly. “I’m all alone. I don’t need my entire family’s wardrobe and things.” You remind him. “You two will be more comfortable traveling.”

Joel nods, opening a present to see a flannel shirt. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He murmurs and leans in to kiss your cheek. He watches Ellie open her presents with a grin and he frowns when you hand him another present. He quietly opens it, the velvet case and his eyes widen when he sees the watch. “This- I can’t accept this.”

“Yes you can.” You shake your head. “It’s solar. Hasn’t been used since my daddy died, but it’s a good watch.” You tell him. “I noticed your watch is broken, you wear it for the memory it carries. This will carry the memory of this Christmas, of me, with you.” You reach for his hand and close it over the watch. “I want you to carry it with you when you leave here.”

Joel caresses the watch, honored you’d want to give him something so special, so close to your family. He swallows harshly and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Thank you. I- wow. I - thank you.” He repeats, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Thank you baby.” He murmurs, “I love it.”

“Of course.” Ellie squeals and coos over her presents, clothes from your younger years and even some of your old jewelry for her to have. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She squeals and crushes you in a hug before she bounds off to try on the new things. You are happy she enjoyed everything and she’s having a good Christmas. “Now, I’ll start our dinner and make us some hot toddy’s to enjoy.”

Joel nods, “I’m just gonna use the bathroom.” He murmurs and stands up, heading into the bathroom to pull the chain from around his neck so he can take the ring off. He places the chain around his neck and holds the ring, heading out into the kitchen to find you. “Baby. I - I have a gift for you. It- it was my mom’s. I want you to have it.”

It takes you a minute to realize he’s trying to give you a ring. “Joel.” You whisper, frowning at the ring. You know that he will give you the same argument that you had given him. It’s probably the only thing that he has to offer you in his mind and to refuse it would be an insult. You look up into his eyes. “It’s beautiful.”

Joel smiles softly, a rare event, “like you. I want you to have it. You’ve shown us so much - well, no one has ever been quite as nice and I want you to have something special.” He says, reaching down to close your fist around the ring. “It’s something to remember me by.”

“I’ll never forget you, I promise.” You reach up with your other hand to cup his cheek. “Thank you, Joel. I’ll cherish it.” Leaning in, you kiss him softly, wishing again that he could stay and you could see what could grow between you. But it’s not to be. “Merry Christmas.”

Joel smiles, enjoying that you are happy on this holiday. “Merry Christmas.” He cups your cheek, his dark eyes meeting yours and he leans to softly kiss you. “I’ll never forget you.” He promises, “never.”

****

You shove another wrapped parcel of food into Ellie’s bag, zipping it up and patting it. They have stayed for two more days until the storm passed and every day was spent falling in love with both of them. Nights in Joel’s arms and days playing board games with Ellie and laughing at her sense of humor. Now it is time for them to leave and you are putting on a brave face. “You are all set.” You promise her, accepting the bone crushing hug she gives you and when she pulls away, you wrap her scarf around her neck and pull the beanie down over her ears. “Stay warm.”

“I’m gonna miss you.” Ellie huffs, squeezing you tight once more and pulls away to wipe her eyes since she’s told you she’s not going to cry.

Joel swallows harshly as he steps towards you after you hug Ellie. He pulls you close, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in. He’s going to miss you. So much. He has to leave though. He leans down to press his lips to yours, uncaring of Ellie watching as his tongue slides against your lips.

It’s easy to let him in again. Clinging to him and cherishing the last kiss you’ll ever have. “Stay safe.” You beg softly after a long minute where you are both panting for air when you pull back. “I hope you accomplish your mission. Find your brother, be happy.”

Joel doubts he could be happy. Not like how he’s felt while he’s been with you. These past few days…he hasn’t felt this at peace since he…well, pre-outbreak. He sighs and rests his forehead against yours and he kisses you softly one last time. “Be good for me, baby.” He murmurs against your lips, “stay alive.” He adds, knowing that being alone can be hard.

You give a small smile, knowing you can’t promise that, just like he can’t promise to be safe. The world is full of uncertainties and danger. Watching them from your porch is the hardest thing you’ve done in a long time. Waiting until they disappear from sight before you go back inside, the warm cabin is colder and lonelier now without the two people who had literally broken in and stolen your heart.

****

It’s been a year. Joel has been keeping track of the time and he asked Tommy to confirm it. After telling Ellie his plan, she’d been all in on joining him on the trek back to your cabin. Along the way, he had chopped down the best Christmas tree he could find and he knocks on your cabin with the snow just starting to fall on Christmas Eve.

Your gun in your hand, you warily unbar the door and slowly open it. You had shuttered the cabin earlier and the decorations are still in the box, in no mood this year for Christmas. The knock on the door seems almost surreal and you squint out through the crack before your eyes widen. “J-Joel? Ellie?”

He grins, seeing your beautiful face, and his memories did you no justice. God, you’re gorgeous. He nods, seeing the gun and he doesn’t care as he surges forward to cup your cheek and press his lips to yours.

You melt into the kiss immediately. Hastily setting the gun down on the table next to the door and throwing your arms around him. You never thought you would see him again and here he is, on your doorstep for a Christmas Eve. It’s the best present you’ve ever had.

He kisses you until he’s pulling back and pecking your lips. “Jesus, it’s freezing. Can we come in?” Ellie eventually interrupts the moment and Joel rolls his eyes. “I missed you.” He murmurs after they take off their jackets and boots and he’s wrapping his arms around you. “We found my brother. He’s - he’s in Jackson. It’s - it’s amazing. It’s a proper town. With people. Doctors. A goddamn bar. Come back with us to our house.” He requests softly.

“Your house? L-leave?” You are so confused but Ellie pipes in.

“Joel and I have a house. It’s got plenty of room and we want you to come. We can bring whatever you want and come back with the wagons to get everything.” She bites her lip. “Joel’s missed you. A lot. He’s been a grumpy fucker since we left.”

Your eye brow lifts when Joel nods. “I’ve missed you.” He repeats. “I want you to come live with me and Ellie. You can bring the chickens and everything you want from here.”

You stare at him in shock. It’s been a year and he hasn’t stopped thinking about you. “Baby. I- I want you to come back with us but you don’t - it’s your choice.” He promises, caressing your cheek and he lowers his hand, “you don’t have to decide now. It’s Christmas. Let’s celebrate and decorate the tree and then we can discuss it.” He promises, trying to compromise.

“I- yes..” you decide instantly. “We will have our Christmas here and then I will go back with you to Jackson.” You have been miserable without Joel or anyone else here and you never thought you would see him again. He’s back and he wants you with him. Christmas with Joel might have started here, with the white Christmas that had blown him into your life, but next year, you will celebrate with Joel and Ellie in Jackson. Next year and years to come.

#pedro pascal #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #joel miller tlou

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thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 9 months

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Someone Like You

Pairing: Billy Taylor (The Halcyon) x f!reader Warnings: Mild angst, handjob, smut. Word count: ~1.4k

Summary: The Halcyon is hosting its Christmas Eve party for its guests, and her and Billy are both feeling the pressure of being rushed off their feet. They find a moment of respite alone together.

Author's note: A part two of my first Smuffmas entry. Day eleven of the Smuffmas prompts - "a fancy party and praising". No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications.

It has been twelve days since her and Billy had decorated the staff sitting room. Twelve long, miserable days since she had last felt his lips upon hers and the way he’d rutted against her, not that she’s counting. They have scarcely had a chance to see each other in the lead up to Christmas. Beyond shy smiles and blushes exchanged in passing, they’ve had no other interaction. But that’s not for lack of wanting to or trying. The mistletoe she’d rescued has remained in her apron pocket, primed for an opportune moment.

December is always the busiest time of year for the hotel. People want to celebrate in style, and so they check in to the Halcyon to be waited on hand and foot. She’s not sure what it is about Christmas that drives people to make the most outlandish demands of the staff, but it has stolen away her festive cheer. She is exhausted.

It’s Christmas Eve and the day has been spent preparing for the annual party they host for the guests who will be staying with them on the big day itself. On top of turning down rooms, and helping the kitchen staff to prepare food, she’s now expected to serve drinks at the party itself.

The staff who are married with children have been given Christmas off to spend with their families, so The Halcyon is operating on a skeleton crew of the young and the single, her and Billy are unlucky enough to find themselves among them.

She weaves her way through the bar, abuzz with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses. Every surface seems to glitter with decorations, amplified by the muted lighting of the lamps that adorn the centre of each table.

Nodding and smiling politely each time a guest relieves her of a saucer of champagne that rests on the heavy tray she carries around the room, she breathes a withering sigh once it’s finally empty. Her feet ache with how many passes she’s made around the crowded space, yet there’s no time to rest. She has to collect the empties and take them back to the kitchen to be washed, so that they can be refilled anew by the bar staff. It seems never ending.

Doing a quick scan of the bar, she can see that Kate and Feldman are circling the room with drinks and canapés, so she’ll be fine to leave for a little while to wash up some glasses. The food prep has already been done, so the kitchen is empty, save for the staff going in to refresh plates and glassware.

The empties rattle precariously against each other on her tray as she walks carefully back to the kitchen, her burden suddenly seeming not quite so great as she spots Billy doing exactly the same thing. He’s clad in his usual bellboy uniform, though is without his cap, a means to help him blend in with the rest of the serving staff.

He pushes his tray onto the draining board next to the sink, and a glass wobbles, toppling off and shattering loudly against the hard linoleum of the kitchen floor.

“Ah– shit!” He grumbles, kneeling to pick up the pieces.

She quickly deposits her own tray onto the food prep table and kneels to help him.

“It’s okay, Billy, it’s just a glass,” she reassures him, picking up some of the larger shards and depositing them into the bin beneath the sink.

“I know, I know,” he replies with a sigh, “but I can’t seem to get anything right today.”

“How do you mean?” She asks, righting herself and brushing her hands on her skirt as he reaches for a dustpan and brush to sweep up the rest of the mess.

“Spilled champagne all down a lady’s frock just now, broke a glass,” his brow furrows as he brushes the broken pieces into the pan and empties it into the bin. “Brought the wrong luggage to the wrong room earlier too.”

She watches as he stands again, chucking the dustpan and brush to one side, and she offers him a sympathetic smile. “It’s our busiest time of year, everyone makes mistakes. I forgot to fold the toilet paper into a point in the Royal Suite earlier, and Mrs. Garland gave me a right earful.”

He tugs awkwardly at the bottom of his bellboy uniform, his mouth turned downwards, as is his gaze. “Yeah…but…I’m gonna be drafted next year. If I can’t get this job right, how am I gonna manage to defend our country? I’m useless.”

Her brows pinch together in concern, stepping forward to gently cup Billy’s cheek. It’s soft and warm against her palm, growing warmer still beneath her touch. “Oi, don’t talk like that. You’re doing a fine job. And you’re so brave, I know I’ll feel safer having you protecting us all.”

His blue eyes flit up to meet hers, wide and filled with uncertainty. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Billy, I think you’re wonderful.”

He huffs a soft chuckle, turning pink as he pulls away slightly, lips pressed into a tight smile. “I dunno about that…”

“Well, I do,” she reaches into her apron pocket, pulling out the mistletoe she’s kept stashed there since their first kiss. “See? I’ve been saving this in the hopes we’d use it again.”

Billy visibly softens, shoulders pulling away from his ears, and he steps towards her, hands gripping her waist as he presses his lips to hers. It’s a slow, soft, lingering kiss that they hold for a few moments, before he reluctantly breaks away. It sets her pulse racing and she wraps both her arms around his neck to keep him close.

“Anyone could walk in,” he whispers, his eyes searching her face uncertainly.

“They won’t though. They’re all busy.”

She kisses him again, and this time they are both more eager as he backs her up against the sink. She smiles into it, the mistletoe she’d been holding absentmindedly falling from her fingers and onto the floor behind them.

His excitement grows more apparent as he presses against her, and she drops an arm down between them to palm at him through his grey trousers.

He groans, pressing his forehead against hers. “We shouldn’t…”

“But you want to?”

“God…yes…yes!”

His voice is a strained whisper, causing excitement to flutter hotly in her lower belly. She uses both hands to unbuckle his belt, before unzipping his trousers and snaking her fingers into his underwear to wrap around his hardened length.

Her eyes widen slightly in surprise. Though she’d felt it as he’d ground against her the first time they’d kissed, it’s another thing entirely to have her hand on it. Billy is impressively well endowed.

“So big,” she coos, her thumb swiping over the wetness that’s gathered at the tip.

His head falls against her shoulder with a gasp, and his grip on her waist tightens as she slowly strokes her hand up and down, dragging the foreskin along with it, feeling every ridge and vein.

“So good for me, Billy, you’re so good.”

She speeds up her movements and his head tilts back slightly, eyes screwed shut and lips parted, as he breathes raggedly. “Oh god…please…”

Smirking, she leans in, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Have you ever been with a woman, Billy?”

“N–no,” he pants, hips canting to chase the movement of her hand.

“Do you think about it when you touch yourself?”

“Yeah…I…I think about you.”

She clenches around nothing at the confession, biting her lip, twisting her wrist slightly as she pumps at his cock.

“Is that what you want?”

He whines slightly, nodding and pulling her closer, a strand of his gelled hair falling forward against his forehead. “Mmmm…I want you.”

“Such a good boy,” she purrs. “Perhaps if you ask nicely then that’s what you’ll get for Christmas.”

She feels his stomach muscles tense, a grunt escaping him as he pulsates in her palm, coating her knuckles in hot, sticky spend.

Withdrawing her hand, she licks it from her fingers, the taste slightly salty, and hums in satisfaction.

He stares at her, chest heaving and eyes wide, transfixed by the sight.

“Are you real?” He asks breathlessly.

She giggles, brushing his stray strand of hair back into place. “If you do a good job for the rest of this evening, perhaps I’ll let you find out.”

#billy taylor x reader #ewan mitchell #billy taylor #billy taylor x you #billy taylor x y/n #billy taylor imagine #billy taylor smut #billy taylor the halcyon #the halcyon billy taylor #billy taylor fan fiction #billy taylor fanfiction #billy taylor fanfic #billy taylor fan fic #the halcyon #the halcyon fan fiction #the halcyon fanfiction #the halcyon fan fic #the halcyon fanfic

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gonzo-rella · 9 months

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Headcanons: Starting Your Freshman Year at Greendale and Joining the Study Group

MASTERLIST | AO3 | KO-FI

Requested by: Anon

Headcanons for being a new freshman at Greendale and becoming a member of the study group?

Ohh sorry i didn’t clarify! it doesn’t matter to me, i just liked the idea of the reader kinda being the baby of the group, so maybe everyone is in their later years at greendale?

Relationship(s): The Study Group (Jeff, Britta, Annie, Troy, Abed, Shirley and Pierce) x gn!reader (platonic)

Warnings: References to underage drinking. (Let me know if I need to add any)

(A/N: I started writing this literal years ago, but I rewatched the Community Christmas episodes today and it’s made me want to rewatch all of Community and start writing for it again. Not enough people write for it, and not enough people write gender-neutral-reader fics. This was like 90% done so it was a good place to start again. I went with making it so the reader joins the Study Group during season 3, since I had the idea of using the reader to replace Todd in the episode where none of them want to work with him. I haven’t followed the canon of season 3 verbatim, since it’d have made writing this kinda difficult (plus I haven’t seen season 3 in years). So, this is more general. I’m hoping to work through my list of Community requests from years ago throughout 2024, since I’m hoping to get more into the habit of putting aside time for writing.)

When you decided on taking Biology 101 during your first semester at Greendale, you were bound to learn of (and witness first hand) the notorious Study Group.

Your hope that you wouldn’t be roped into their borderline-narcissistic antics was killed when you were given Pierce Hawthorne as your lab partner.

To say he was annoyed would be an understatement.

Oh boy, did he make it known that he abhorred having to be your lab partner.

In fact, most of them seemed to hate the idea of being stuck as your partner, which was at least a little hurtful.

When Abed rearranged the lab partner pairings based on some mental computer wizardry, you got put with Jeff, who was a bit more subtle with his annoyance.

You spent most of that night standing there awkwardly while Shirley cried about being the least popular member of the Study Group, or trying to be some kind of mediator between these friends who you knew only from rumours and observing them.

You also had to rescue a turtle from being burned alive by Britta, which sent you over the edge into a fit of fury.

Annie was the one who apologised to you for everything, and, much to the chagrin of everyone else, invited you to join the study group.

Perhaps she didn’t expect you to take her up on the offer, but you did anyway.

Your first study session with them made them realise that you fit in well with the group.

Even Abed liked your presence, because he believed it ‘changed the status quo without being like when sitcoms add a kid character in a desperate attempt to boost the ratings’.

(He compared you to Frasier from Cheers)

For a while, though, you did feel a little isolated from the group, considering you were often the only one to comment negatively on the group’s questionable behaviour, which they saw as perfectly normal.

However, you adjusted to being in the group alarmingly fast, to the point of getting carried away in the Study Group mentality like the rest of them.

As the baby of the group, you were treated as such, despite being at least a bit more mature than Troy and Abed.

For example, if Jeff and Britta were in the middle of a heated discussion, you’d be told to ‘stay out of it’.

Abed, early on, would analyse you to figure out how exactly you fit into the group, such as deciding what archetype best describes you.

There’s also a chance that he would create and manipulate situations in order to test your personality.

Jeff would shut this down as soon as he figured out what Abed was doing.

In an effort to try and include you more, Annie would force each member of the Study Group to do an activity with you.

Annie invited you to a one-on-one study session.

(Also, if you’re taking any classes that she took in her first or second year, she’ll lend you her old materials, like notes, textbooks, study cards etc.)

Shirley took you to the mall with her and her kids, treating you like one of her own kids.

Troy and Abed introduced you to Inspector Spacetime, which you quickly became a big fan of.

(Watching it became a Saturday night ritual for the three of you)

Britta brought you along to a protest which ended in the both of you in jail.

(An irritated Jeff would have to come bail you both out, and Britta would beg him not to say anything about it to Shirley or Annie)

Pierce gave you $1000 to tell Annie that he’d taken you to the zoo.

Jeff invited you over to his apartment for beers, which resulted in you both getting wasted and having a tearful heart-to-heart with one another.

Despite adopting the Study Group mentality to a certain degree, you would be the least susceptible to the group’s dumbassery due to joining so late, which meant you’d often be the one to pull the group out of the stupid shit they were doing.

At the very least, you’d pull Jeff out of it, and he’d take the lead and sort out everyone else.

If you weren’t that close to your family, you’d probably spend holidays over at Shirley’s upon her insistence.

(I love love love the idea that she makes a custom Christmas stocking for you the first year you come over)

In a weird way, the Study Group became your family, albeit a dysfunctional one.

After your friends all graduated, you stayed in touch with most of them, even before you were reunited because of the Save Greendale Committee.

It’s safe to say that, even if you do join late, you’re still accepted as one of them, for better or for worse.

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sailor-aviator · 11 months

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Sailor-Aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge

Hello, hello! I wanted to try something a little fun for the holidays, so I figured why not host a little writing challenge! I've never hosted one of these, so this should be fun for all of us! Let's get started!

The Concept

I will have a list of holiday buzzwords with three slots available! Once all three slots are taken, then that's it! No more entries will be allowed for that word/phrase! As much as I love the holidays, I don't want to read twenty fics about the first snow. Just send me a DM/Ask letting me know that you want to participate and which word/phrase you'll be using and with which TGM character!

The Rules

You may sign up for more than one slot as long as there are slots available. However, you can not take up two slots for the same word/phrase.

Tag your fics appropriately! (Angst, smut, fluff, warnings, etc.)

18+ ONLY!

This can be a series, a one-shot, moodboards, or even a collection of drabbles! Just have fun with it!

You MUST use your word/phrase in some way in the fic. For example, if your word is reindeer, you could write about going to feed reindeer, or you could write about dressing up as a reindeer, or you could write about a reindeer sweater, etc.

HAVE FUN!!!

Your fics (with the exception of series) are due by the end of the day on December 25th!! When you are finished (or started the series/collection), you can shoot me the link so I can tag it below. Also, please tag me in the fic and tag the challenge! The more the merrier!

Tagging who I think might be interested: @goldenseresinretriever @bobgasm @hangmansgbaby @jupitercomet @mamachasesmayhem @seresinhangmanjake @blue-aconite @rosedurin but obviously anyone is free to join!

Word/Phrases below the cut!

Santa Claus

@number-0-iz w/ Jake Seresin

Reindeer

@garfield-mug w/ Jake Seresin

Sleigh

seresinsbrat w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Cookies - Closed

@seresinhangmanjake w/ Bradley Bradshaw

@shinycupcakebaker w/ The Dagger Squad

@the-aspiring-fanfic-writer w/ Jake Seresin

Presents

@sweetwhispersofchaos w/ Bradley Bradshaw and Jake Seresin

Merry Christmas, Dad by @seresinsbrat w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Holly

Wreath

Christmas Lights

@goldenseresinretriever w/ Bradley Bradshaw

garfield-mug w/ Bob Floyd

Candle

the-aspiring-fanfic-writer w/ The Daggers

@bluezraven w/ Jake Seresin

Bow

@mamachasesmayhem w/ Jake Seresin

Jack Frost

Til the Summer Comes Again by @sailor-aviator w/ Bob Floyd

12 Days of Ficmas by @callsign-phoenix w/ Jake Seresin

Christmas Eve

@nicestgirlonline w/ Jake Seresin

Firefigher!Bradley by @jupitercomet w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Christmas Morning

Merry Christmas, Darlin by seresinsbrat w/ Bob Floyd

Mistletoe - Closed

goldenseresinretriever w/ Jake Seresin

number-0-iz w/ Bradley Bradshaw

@aworldinsideaperson w/ Bob Floyd

Caroling

Scrooge - Closed

Have a Cup of Cheer by @dingochef w/ Jake Seresin

jupitercomet w/ Jake Seresin

number-0-iz w/ Bob Floyd

Elves

callsign-phoenix w/ Bob Floyd

Ornaments

callsign-phoenix w/ Jake Seresin

@myfaveficrecs w/ Bob Floyd

Bells

Jingle of the Bells by seresinhangmanjake w/ Jake Seresin

Stocking

@mikpieboo w/ Bob Floyd

Snowball

@a-reader-and-a-writer w/ The Dagger Squad

Chimney

a-reader-and-a-writer w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Eggnog

Baby, It's Cold Outside by @killthewhisperingart w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Candy Cane - Closed

@blackwidownat2814 w/ Jake Seresin

Candy Cane Kisses by aworldinsideaperson w/ Jake Seresin

Oh Baby, Baby Merry Christmas @callsigns-haze w/ Jake Seresin

Nutcracker

sailor-aviator w/ Bradley Bradshaw

@sweetwhispersofchaos w/ Natasha Trace and Bob Floyd

Gingerbread

the-aspiring-fanfic-writer w/ Bob Floyd

bluezraven w/ Bob Floyd

Snow

@alegendoftomorrow w/ Natasha Trace

Hot Chocolate

@devil-angel-winchester w/ Jake Seresin

@shinycupcakebaker w/ Bob Floyd

Snowman

@its-the-pilot w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Nativity

Silent Night, Joyful Hearts by seresinsbrat w/ Jake Seresin

@saltsicklover w/ Bob Floyd

Christmas Tree

sailor-aviator w/ Jake Seresin

Oh Christmas Tree by @rockstxr-x w/ Jake Seresin

Fireplace

saltsicklover w/ Jake Seresin

Delightful by @roosteraloha w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer

Coal

Midnight Mass

If December Never Ends by its-the-pilot w/ Bradley Bradshaw

Advent Calendar

Grinch

Ice Skating - Closed

alegendoftomorrow w/ the Dagger Squad

@goldenseresinretriever w/ Bradley Bradshaw

seresinsbrat w/ Jake Seresin

Pointsettia

Ribbon

Shephard

Sweater

goldenseresinretriever w/ Jake Seresin

Toys

seresinsbrat w/ Jake Seresin

Wrapping Paper

Chestnuts

"'Tis the Season"

"Merry Christmas"

alegendoftomorrow w/ Bradley Bradshaw

"Bah, humbug!"

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dearhargrove · 10 months

Note

Idk if ur requests are open but since it November now could you write a fluffy billy Hargrove x reader where they just get together and to Christmas stuff like watch movies and cuddle up by a fire with some hot chocolate just a cute Christmas fic

Cliché Christmas?

Billy Hargrove x fem!reader

summary Billy came over after you called him asking to, expecting you just wanting to cuddle or something. Now he was in the kitchen making hot chocolate and listening to you rant about Christmas movies.

word count 664

warnings nothing really

a/n thank you for this cute request @onlyreadz !!! I'm a whore for typical cliché Christmas activities (& if I had a boyfriend he'd have to join in on all of them) so I loved writing this. Idek how I hadn't thought of this before

masterlist

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You smile when you open the door, your boyfriend standing there with a grocery bag in his hand and a confused frown on his forehead.

“Babe-”, he starts and you ignore him, grabbing the bag and pressing a kiss to his cheek. You miss the small smile that interrupts his frowning because you start walking to the kitchen, excited to tell him what you had planned.

He follows after you, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching as you unpack the plastic bag with a giddy smile. You'd called him earlier in the day and told him to get some groceries, he had protested at first and told you to do it yourself but after some pleading and pouting he easily gave in, pretending to be annoyed as you listed the items.

Now with the ingredients for hot chocolate and some usual Christmas snacks, like gingerbread cookies, you stem your hands on your hips and turn to him, a grin on your face.

He raises an expectant eyebrow, “So? Why'd you send me grocery shopping?” He asks. “You should've guessed by now…” you tease and step to where he's standing to throw your arms around his neck. He pretends to be unfazed and keeps his hands on the counter top he was leaning against with his hip. “Alright, I'm gonna be nice and tell you since you obviously can't guess. We're gonna have a movie night. Christmas themed.”

There's silence between the both of you but you see the discreet disbelief on his face as he takes in exactly what your plans for today were. Not getting the enthusiasm you were going for (but knew you wouldn't get) you huff and turn back to get started on two cups of hot chocolate.

“Baby… you should know I'm like the last person to do this shit,” he mumbles in his usual tone and you hear him move before his arms wrap around your waist from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder as he presses kisses along your neck.

“Yeah and I also know you would do everything for me, so please?” You ask and look at him he sighs as if he's in deathly pain and huffs a “fine”.

Cheering a quiet “yes” to yourself you instruct him to stir the milk and other things together while you start presenting the different movie choices you had rented.

You doubt he could be any less interested but by now you also know well enough that he would do pretty much everything for you and to spend some time with you, no matter the activity. So he grumpily helps pick a movie (all the same Christmas cliché movies) while stirring the hot chocolate.

He makes a face at the sweetness the drink would turn out to be but doesn't comment on it, your excited face keeping him from it.

Twenty minutes later and you're both on the couch, your cup a third empty and dangerously balanced on your knee (Billy had his eyes on it the entire time to make sure you wouldn't spill anything) while the movie was playing.

You're sitting squished into his side, legs on the couch and blanket draped over both of your lower bodies. The movie is almost done and you look up at him. The light from the tv is mirroring in his eyes, highlighting them even more. His curls had gotten even fluffier and curlier from the light snowing outside that had gotten caught in them when he'd arrived and you were resisting to ignore the mug in your hand and just play with his hair.

“You're staring pretty hard, love,” he mumbles and turns to you before tearing his eyes off the movie and focusing them on you. You smile bashedly and then snuggle closer against his chest, “thank you for doing this with me. I know you don't really like these typa things.”

He shrugs, “Ah, well. Got a beautiful girl to make up for it, don't I?”

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove #dacre montgomery #dacre montgomery x reader

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thedrarrylibrarian · 5 months

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When I first started Happy Hour, @crazybutgood made me the cutest origami mug that resembles the foamy butterbeer in my Happy Hour image. I had been so nervous to try something new and write recs instead of just do lists and seeing that someone had enjoyed my rec enough to sit and fold paper into art was really touching to me. Since then, our whole fandom has been privileged to enjoy this unique and creative art that @crazybutgood has contributed. It's a joy to invite her to Happy Hour to give her own rec.

Thank you to @thedrarrylibrarian for this opportunity and for thinking of me!

The fic I’d like to rec is A Christmas Miracle by @sleepstxtic (E, 39k)

Draco is a world-renowned Magi-Diagnostician and Harry is a Cursebreaking Healer, both working in St. Mungo's. They're not- quite-friends, not-quite-lovers, who argue at work and have sex on the weekends. And they're both fine with it, thank you very much. But when a mysterious attack in the hospital leaves Draco trapped in a coma, Harry must do all he can to save him. All the while, an inexplicable, deadly, children's illness is spreading through wizarding London. Oh, and there's some Time Magic thrown into the mix.

A Christmas Carol with a Drarry twist.

Though this 25 Days of Drarry fic is set during Christmas, it’s a perfect read for any season. @sleepstxtic (Kat) uses her own wonderful take on A Christmas Carol to weave together a gripping medical thriller with Draco racing against time to save Teddy, after himself going on a journey of self-reflection as he travels through time with his Ghosts of Christmas. The scenes Kat writes for the time-travel are as emotional and gripping as the suspenseful case in the present, as Draco, moved by his eye-opening experience, navigates his duty – and expressing his feelings for Harry. The characters’ (including great OCs) dynamics, personalities – especially Draco’s growth – and dialogues are deliberate, on point, and a delight to read. Plus, Kat gives an especially wonderful snark and demeanour to Draco that are not only reminiscent of her inspiration of House M.D., but is also uniquely him. Of course, Harry too has his own sassy moments thrown in with his softness towards Draco.

Why I especially rec this fic (apart from Kat's brilliant writing that I always love) is that by December 2023, I had been on-and-off and down about a lot of things, including fandom. Though I wasn't sure where I stood then, one thing I knew was that I could always count on Kat’s amazing stories cheering me up. This one came at a time when I appreciated anything to rely on as an escape and a treat, and adding it to my list of subscriptions to daily updating fics last winter was a joy. The anticipation and thrill of following a daily WIP is something else; I eagerly read as the story unfolded each day, especially mulling over what might happen next after each cliffhanger, which Kat is infuriatingly good at. Her story is a wonderful unique blend of concepts and feelings of despair, fear, hope, and love, gelling into a plot that'll definitely have you hooked. Whether you choose to savour a chapter a day in your free time, or treat yourself to a late-night binge, I hope you enjoy unravelling the mysteries of the puzzling illness, what happened to Draco, and his and Harry’s future.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

#crazybutgood #happy hour #happy hour rec #happy hour guest rec #friday fic rec #happy hour guest fic rec #lots of love and happy friday

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the-s1lly-corner · 8 months

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The Creepypasta Masterlist, Volume 2

I don't think this needs any introductions, but welcome to volume 2 of the creepypasta masterlist! here you will find even more links to more of my writing! as usual if theres anything wrong with any of the links please let me know! As of 3/22/24 this list is complete!

MULTI CHARACTERS:

Hugging Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Masky/Tim, Hoodie/Brian, Toby, Puppeteer, Jeff, and Ben

Jeff, Slender, EJ, Toby w/ an albino!reader

Tim, Masky, Brian, and Hoodie developing a crush on the reader

LJ, EJ, and Slender w/ a reader who looks like Clyde (Pastra)

Kissing hcs for Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie and Puppeteer

Proxies, Ben, and EJ x reader w/ Albinism

LJ, Jeff, and Ben w/ a reader who has a perma smile

LJ, EJ, and Slender x reader who bottles up emotions

Reader meets LJ, Slender, and Ben

Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie, Toby, Jeff, Ben, and Puppeteer comforting the reader

LJ, EJ, Hoodie x reader who misses them and steals their clothes

EJ, Slender and Jeff as dads/dad figures

Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie, Toby, Jeff, Ben, Puppeteer on valentines w/ the reader

Slender, Splendor, and EJ visiting an old playground w/ the reader

Masky, Hoodie, and EJ when the reader wants their masks

Flirting w/ Masky and Hoodie

Slenderman, Splendorman, Masky, and Puppeteer x reader who steals their clothing

Slenderman, Masky, and Hoodie x quiet but sweet!preteen!reader (platonic)

Splendorman, Puppeteer, and Hoodie w/ a reader who got stood up on Valentine's day

Tim, Masky, and EJ x mother hen!hypocrite!reader

The proxies x reader who has a ballerina fighting style

SLENDERMAN:

Reader who hugs and kisses his tentacles

Celebrating christmas

Flirting w/ Slenderman

Getting into an argument w/ Slenderman

SPLENDORMAN:

Splendorman x gloomy!reader

Flirting w/ Splendorman

Arguments w/ Splendorman

Splendorman x quiet!shy!reader

EYELESS JACK:

EJ x stoic!reader whos only nice to him

Flirting w/ EJ

Aftermath of EJ accidentally hurting the reader

EJ x demon!reader who feeds off of emotion

Hunted (EJ x reader being tracked down by the cult)

EJ x reader who gets cuteness aggression

EJ interacting with his past self

EJs thoughts on the readers looks

Prince!EJ x Maiden!reader

More general EJ hcs

EJ x girly!childish!cheerful!reader

Reader telling him they love him

Eyeless Jack x gloomy!reader

Shut In (one shot fic)

EJ x reader who is stuck in a timeloop

Valentine's w/ EJ

EJ celebrating the readers birthday

Prompts 2 and 14 w/ EJ

Prompts 15 and 6 w/ EJ

EJ x immortal reader

Prompt 41 with EJ

LAUGHING JACK:

Haunted House attraction

Lj x reader who has BPD and has him as her FP

Flirting w/ LJ

LJ x possessive!reader

Cuddling w/ LJ

LJ comforting the reader + gift giving hcs

LJ x cheerful!girly!reader

LJ x Baker!reader

Arguing w/ Laughing Jack

Holding hands

Resting his head on your lap

SFW taking a bath with LJ

TIM/MASKY:

Dancing with LJ

LJ x pierrot!reader

Masky laying his head on your lap

Reader undressing Masky to tend to a wound

Reader doing Masky's nails

BRIAN/HOODIE:

Hoodie doing the readers makeup

Getting him snacks

PUPPETEER:

General Puppeteer hcs

Flirting w/ Puppeteer

OTHER:

Platonic Toby x reader w/ chronic pain

Platonic Jeff friendship hcs

Platonic Ben x seraphim!reader

Platonic Ben x computer ghost!reader

Arguments w/ Jeff the Killer (platonic)

Jeff the Killer cutting the readers hair (platonic)

Eyeless Jack and Laughing Jack dynamic

General dynamics and relationships

Platonic jeff x kid!reader

Platonic H I J with Toby

R T Y with toby but its the platonic alphabet

W T P with Jeff but it's the platonic alphabet

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whispering-about-the-tmnt · 7 months

Text

Current list of my TMNT Fanfics

✅ next to a fic means that it is complete

⏳ next to a fic means it is still being worked on

🔁 next to a fic means it will never be "finished" because it does not require completion (drabble collections, etc.)

I'm dividing these into two sections: fics in my 1970s AU iteration, and everything else.

1970s TMNT AU:

A TMNT Cookbook 🔁

Presented by Michelangelo, King of the Kitchen -- A collection of TMNT-inspired recipes and the very short stories behind them

Rating / Genre: G / Food & Cooking

Size: 3/? chapters (~1150 words so far)

Notes: Ties into my 1970s AU, but works for just about any version

Duck And Cover ⏳

January 28, 1977 -- When April O'Neil bought the building where she had spent her early childhood, she knew it was going to be a challenge fixing it up... but she never imagined that challenge would involve uncovering both evidence of the old owner's Cold War paranoia and a group of unusual "tenants" living twenty feet below her new property.

Rating / Genre: G / General

Size: 2/3 chapters (~9,100 words so far)

Notes: The first story in my 70s Au... centers around how April meets the Turtles

Other TMNT Fics:

A Cup Of Good Cheer ️✅

April is afraid that she got Donnie the wrong Christmas gift this year, but Leo tries to convince her otherwise.

Rating / Genre: G / Holiday, family, gen

Size: 1/1 chapters (~3,400 words)

Notes: Autistic Donnie vibes

All The Time In The World ⏳

All Donatello wanted was a little more time to think…

Rating / Genre: T / Drama

Size: 2/8 chapters (~1500 words so far)

Notes / Warnings: 2003 Universe; explosions, peril, guns, injuries

Displaced ️✅

An unprepared Donatello ends up on a Greyhound Bus to Springfield, Massachusetts

Rating / Genre: soft T / Mild drama, road trip, gen

Size: 6/6 chapters (~18,500 words)

Notes / Warnings: This was my first TMNT fic, which I originally posted some 25 years ago. It was written even earlier, though, right after the 1990s movies came out // Blood, guns, mild peril

Fleeting Thoughts 🔁

A collection of 100-word TMNT drabbles

Rating / Genre: G / Various, gen

Size: 9/? chapters (900 words so far)

Notes: I know it is hotly debated what the length of a drabble should be, but I was always firmly in the 100-word camp.

Just Breathe ️✅

Raphael has a frightening encounter on a chilly winter night.

Rating / Genre: G / Gen, mystery

Size: 1/1 chapter (~1,500 words)

Notes: Fits pretty much every iteration / mentions of suffocation

Midnight On The High Bridge ️✅

The High Bridge between Manhattan and the Bronx has always been one of Michelangelo's favorite places to go for a late night ride on his board; but on this cloudy evening, he finds more than just fresh air and freedom high above the Harlem River.

Rating / Genre: G / M/F, Meet-cute

Size: 3/3 chapters (~8,100 words)

Notes: Brings Oyuki into the 2007 universe; takes place a year after the events of the movie

Passage ⏳

Leonardo has an appointment with death.

Rating / Genre: T / Drama, supernatural

Size: 9/? chapters (~12,100 words so far)

Notes / Warnings: Originally written back in the early 2000s // Death and dying, gore, blood, mentions of religion

Red Dust ️✅

I had a dream last night. It was a long, restless, wandering dream.

Rating / Genre: G / Drama, poetry, gen

Size: 1/1 chapter (~700 words)

Notes / Warnings: Donatello-centric, Post SAINW, originally written and posted back in 2007 // mentions of death and dying

Requiescat ️✅

Leonardo died today.

Rating / Genre: G / Drama, grief, poetry, gen

Size: 1/1 chapter (180 words)

Notes / Warnings: Written a couple decades ago // Death and dying

Second Time Around ⏳

Two years after the defeat and banishment of Krang and Shredder, the Turtles and their human friends now have different, more personal challenges to overcome -- challenges that are made all the more difficult to deal with when Baxter Stockman and Karai pull them into a conflict that involves disentangling the complexities time itself.

Rating / Genre: T / Script, gen

Size: 19/? chapters (~28,000 words so far)

Notes / Warnings : A screenplay for a third Bayverse movie // Character death mentioned

Something Wicked ⏳

He felt movement all around him; something like the wind, though the air was dead still. He backed against the curved sewer wall… holding his breath as his eyes scanned the pitch blackness. The feeling grew closer, touching him… a whisper against his damp skin…

Rating / Genre: M / Horror, suspense, gen

Size: 21/? chapters (~64,200 words so far)

Notes / Warnings: Originally written and posted a couple decades ago, now being put under an extensive rewrite // Blood, gore, possible character death, whump, etc.

Still Waters ️✅

They say I'm the quiet one…

Rating / Genre: G / Introspective, poetry, gen

Size: 1/1 chapters (~200 words)

Notes: Also from over twenty years ago. A Donatello introspective.

The Bone Garden ️✅

You gathered up old papers, old photos… and you flipped through them, one by one, remembering…

Rating / Genre: G / Drama, grief, gen

Size: 1/1 chapters (400 words)

Notes / Warnings: Originally written on Halloween, 2007 for the 2k3 episode, Same As It Never Was, but now I feel that it applies to The Last Ronin, as well... or really, any story where one Turtle remained after the others had passed on // Mentions of death

The Scent Of Violets ️✅

Donnie and Mike are trapped underground with a memory

Rating / Genre: T / Drama, gen

Size: 1/1 chapter (~1,800 words)

Notes / Warnings: Written in the late 90s, early 2000s // Blood, severe injury

Under The Influence ️✅

Leo is under the influence of… something

Rating / Genre: G / humor, gen

Size: 4/4 chapters (400 words)

Notes: Just a silly little four-drabble story I wrote when I wasn't feeling so well a bunch of years back

When She Loved Me ️✅

She always said that I had his eyes. I don't know if I ever really believed her… after all, I never knew him. But I suppose they must be his. Her own eyes were deep and dark, almost black… reflective like mirrors. Mine are blue… light blue, like the sky. I think that sometimes she hated looking into them, because it was like she was looking at him again… like she was looking at my father.

Rating / Genre: G / Drama, gen

Size: 1/1 chapters (~2,500 words)

Notes / Warnings: Oyuki's backstory as I see it. Originally posted at FFnet back around 2000, though the fic is contemporary with the TMNTA Comics, setting its year at 1992 // Parental abandonment and neglect

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #ninja turtles #tmnt fanfic #tmnt bayverse #tmnt 2k3 #tmnt 2007 #tmnt 2003 #rottmnt #tottmnt #tmnt mm #tmnt mutant mayhem #tmnt 2012 #tmnt 1987 #writers on tumblr #tmnt archie #tmnt archie comics

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barbiewritesstuff · 6 months

Text

Love is Patience, love is kind

---

AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.

Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)

The title is still a work in progress.

TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.

The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.

Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.

It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.

Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.

That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.

The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.

Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.

“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.

He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.

“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.

Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.

“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts

“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”

The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.

Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.

After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.

“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.

For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.

Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.

Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.

“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle

“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.

“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.

“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.

“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.

Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.

“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.

Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.

“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.

“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”

Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.

The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.

It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.

“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.

“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.

Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.

“Please,” he adds

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.

“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”

She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.

Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.

“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”

“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.

Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.

Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.

“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”

“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.

“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.

“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.

“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”

“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”

“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.

Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.

Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.

“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.

“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.

“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”

“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.

Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.

“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”

Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”

“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed

“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.

---

Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.

They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.

“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”

Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.

“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.

The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.

“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.

“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”

“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.

He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.

Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.

Elaine stays quiet.

“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs

“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”

“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.

“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”

Kit remains there speechless.

“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”

“Leave.”

Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.

Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.

Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.

“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”

“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”

“Seems like a jump,”

“He came back to apologise,”

“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”

“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”

Dorothy sighs.

“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”

“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”

Kit glares at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”

Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.

“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.

“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.

It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.

“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.

“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”

“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.

“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.

“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cook laughs but says nothing.

“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.

“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”

Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”

“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”

“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.

She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.

She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.

Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.

“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.

“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.

Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.

Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”

“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.

Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.

Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.

As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.

By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.

Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.

She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.

One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.

She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.

To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.

“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”

“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”

“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.

“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks

“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”

“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.

Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”

Dotty shakes her head.

“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”

Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.

---

Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand.

“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”

Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.

He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it.

“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him

Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.

“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.

Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind.

Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads.

After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her.

There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home.

Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.

“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”

Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”

Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough.

“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread.

She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids.

Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house.

As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids.

“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”

Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”

“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”

“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin

“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.

“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws

“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”

Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more.

Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.

“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”

“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.

Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”

“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.

But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas.

“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down.

Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh.

“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere.

She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath.

Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.

Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.

“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”

“Am I not doing it right?” he asks

“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”

“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles

“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”

“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.

“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.

---

The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.

Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.

Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.

Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.

Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.

“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”

Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.

A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.

When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.

“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”

“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”

Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”

“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.

Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.

“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”

“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.

“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.

“Whyever would you say that?”

“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”

Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”

Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.

Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”

Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it get me a date?”

“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”

Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #original fic #fanfic #fanfiction

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cloneficgiftexchange · 9 months

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If you missed some of the amazing stories written for this event, here is a list of them!! They are organized by character and are in alphabetical order by title. You can also access a collection of those who posted their work on AO3 HERE! It's still open in case anyone ends up posting there in the future!

If you liked a story, consider reblogging it! Reblogs are a great way to show appreciation for an author’s work. Reblogs to signal boost this list are greatly appreciated as well.

NSFW fics are strictly 18+ and are marked as such.

It's Officially Christmas by @dragonrider9905

Keep You Safe by @secondratefiction

First Life Day by @ghostofskywalker

Snow Drift by @clone-anon

Life Day on Daiyu by @goblininawig

A Perfect (Life) Day by @literallyjustanerd

Deep Space Delicacies by @ghostofskywalker

No One Should Be Alone On Life Day by @starrylothcat

Still Hanging The Mistletoe For You by @anxiouspineapple99

Sugar, Spice, and Everything Nice by @melliejellybellybean

Wrapped Up In You by @multi-fan-dom-madness

All I Want For Christmas by @masterjedilenawrites

Come Away With Me by @imarvelatthestars

Hold You Tonight (Stay Close) by @ladysongmaster

Secret Santa by @flyiingsly

The Clonetrooper by @sunshinesdaydream

Blumfruit & Cheer by @diviluscorner

fatal dis|at|traction (NSFW) by @221bshrlocked

I Wish All Readers A Very Hunter Life Day (NSFW) by @dystopicjumpsuit

Sewing Lessons by @intricatechaosofyou

Winter Adventures by @wizardofrozz

Carol of the Cookies by @captainpains

First Winter Date by @loving-the-cambridges

Getting Caught In The Wrapping Paper by @pinkiemme

To Keep The Shivers At Bay by @ghostofskywalker

Comfort by @cc--2224

Candy Cane Cupid by @toomanybandstocare

I'll Take Care of You by @isaidonyourknees

The Cabin by @rinwritesfics

#LDE23 #clone trooper x reader #commander cody x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #daiyu veteran x reader #tbb echo x reader #fives x reader #commander fox x reader #hardcase x reader #tbb hunter x reader #captain rex x reader #tbb tech x reader #commander wolffe x reader

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ramp-it-up · 2 years

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I WONDER

Paring: Mob Boss! Steve Rogers x Reader (Ambrosia)

Word count: 3.4 K.

Summary: You are fed up with the secrets and lies. Now you have a secret of your own. And a decision to make.

Warnings: 18+ As always, MINORS DNI, SMUT, Lil bit of ANGST. Not Beta’d. All mistakes my own. Angst, jealousy, Mob secrets, implied reproductive choice, sort of an ultimatum, reader dons her freakum dress, fingering, semi public sex act, p in v, cream pie, oral (both receiving) breast worship, mid-sex revelation, size kink, breeding kink.

A/N: Based on this ask. This is the third Mob Boss! Steve Fic that comes after All I Want in the This Thing of Ours AU. Also Based on my Candy Hearts Valentine Prompt List found Here. Hope you like it @kenequa 💕

I no longer operate a taglist. Follow @rampitupandread to be notified when I post.

I Do NOT consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

Your regular noonday customer Tasha eyed your new stock boys and leaned over to ask you a question.

“That one is Robbie, and you should ask. He’s a sweet guy.”

You replied as if it were no big deal, making your decision at that moment. You turned your head and glanced at the tall blonde.

“That one is Steve, and he is single as a pringle.”

You smiled at her, ignoring the footsteps behind you as you closed the register.

“So now I’m single?”

You felt his hot breath on your neck and your nipples pebbled as he growled into your ear. Damn him.

“Steven. We’ve had this conversation. I can’t be in a relationship with someone who continually lies to me and does things behind my back.”

Steve looked down and his pants got tight at this view of your ass.

“Believe me Ambrosia. I’d love to do things behind your back. And I think you would too. If you would only let me…”

Steve’s broken voice almost broke you, but you took a deep breath and turned around. You gasped at the sight of his face, those lips, and the sense of his smell so close to you. You wanted him, but you couldn’t continue this way.

“Breathe, Baby.”

Your eyes fluttered shut at the heady feeling of lust surrounding you two and you considered relenting. You leaned toward him, wanting to just fall into his arms.

Steve silently cheered inside; you were beginning to break. You’d even shut him out on Valentine’s Day. A month and a half of never letting up the pressure was beginning to pay off.

Or so he thought.

You wouldn’t let Steve fuck you to shut you up. Not again. So you did just what he told you and breathed deeply, lifting your head.

Steve knew that glint in your eye.

“First, you seduced me without telling me that you are one of the most powerful mobsters in New York, then you bought my store without letting me know? You own me now? What else don’t I know about you?”

Steve ran his hand through his hair and backed up.

“You know all you need to know, Ambrosia. I love you.”

You stared hard at him, unrelenting. He continued.

“Listen, everything I do is to protect you. I…”

The bell rang above the door and you turned around to greet the customer. Steve turned to stare at the discounted Valentine’s candy. Then he got an idea.

He grabbed a bag and turned around to the sight of a tall man smiling down at you.

And you had the nerve to smile back at him!

He cleared his throat.

You looked over your shoulder at him. He glowered at you and stalked out.

“Stay here, Robbie. I need to handle some things.”

When you closed the store that Saturday night, you sat on your couch thinking about your relationship. Ever since Christmas morning when you realized what Steve had done and you’d flipped your lid, he’d endured your frosty demeanor.

You felt trapped, and most of all, scared. But you didn’t express that like an adult, you just gave him the cold shoulder. Maybe he finally got the message and moved on.

You fell asleep, full of angst and worry at the situation and awakened at the knock on the door. When you opened it, you greeted a tired looking Steve Rogers with a bag of what smelled like Thai food.

“Can I come in?”

You nodded, stepped back, and walked back over to the couch as Steve entered your apartment and shut the door.

You opened your mouth to say something but Steve raised his hand.

“Just… hear me out, Ambrosia. Today I understood for the first time what you mean. All I’ve done is take from you.”

You shook your head and he raised his hand again.

“I fell in love with you almost the first time I came in here. So I kept coming back, and buying you gifts, and when I asked you out without telling you the truth I took away your choice about whether to date a guy like me. And that was wrong.”

Your heart broke a little bit as he spoke. Steve looked like his heart was breaking too.

“When I saw how you struggle to pay your rent, I bought the mortgage without telling you, and that was wrong. When I saw that guy flirting with you, after I thought briefly about taking his life, I realize that I took your chance for a normal life.”

Your heart started beating faster as you realized what this was.

“Steve…”

“Please let me finish.”

Steve took a deep breath and walked over to the table.

“I’m here to give you some things. Things that you absolutely cannot give back. First, food.”

Your stomach was growling. Steve knew you so well. When you were upset, you didn’t push yourself to eat.

You came and sat down to a heaping plate of food. Steve sat across from you.

“Next comes the story of me and…this thing of ours.”

Steve nodded at your plate because you stopped mid-chew and your eyes got wide.

“You stop eating, I stop talking.”

Steve took a bite and watched you eat, sadness and love in his eyes.

“It started when we were kids. Bucky and I ran the streets of Brooklyn and fell in with this little smartass punk, Brock Rumlow. He was just a kid then. A kid who had a plan to make us the most feared mobsters in the city. He introduced us to Sam.”

You were astonished that Steve was opening up and at the name Rumlow. Everyone knew they were mortal enemies. You made sure to eat so you could hear how everything got to this point.

“I was a fucking runt,” Steve laughed and shook his head. “But they called me Cap ‘cause I was always the first one into a fight…”

An hour and a half later, you were on the couch, enraptured.

“.... and now, Bucky is working his way back to health, getting used to a new way of life. Sam is truly still caught in the middle. And me… well, I have fucked up the one love of my life.”

“Steve… “

He stood up and went back over to the table. He produced a manilla envelope. When it was in your hands, he nodded and you opened it. You dropped it on your lap, hand over your mouth when you saw the contents.

“It’s the deed to your store. I wasn’t trying to own you, or to control you, Ambrosia. I was only trying to protect you. From my life. But I realize now that you need full disclosure. And choice.”

He took you in looking up at him like that.

“God, I love you. You are the woman of my dreams, tough, smart, beautiful. But I want you to have free will.”

“What do you mean?”

Steve stood up and walked to the door. You followed.

“I did some digging today. The only people that know about us are you, me, Bucky, Sam, and Robbie. I thought I was protecting you, but I was just putting you in a cage. This was my escape from that world.”

Steve looked around the small apartment that was your home.

“But I can’t escape. Not just yet. And you’ll be okay if I never come here again.”

Your heart dropped as he let that sink in.

“You are right. If we are to be together, you would have to come into my world. And I don’t know if you are ready for that yet, Ambrosia.”

You were spiraling as Steve opened the door and turned around, leaning on the door frame.

“One more thing.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pink box.

“Happy Belated Valentine’s Day.”

You walked close to him to take the box, staring down at it in his hands. You couldn’t look at him. But he solved that problem by tipping your head up by your chin.

Steve kissed you sweetly, but his tongue swept into your mouth, savoring you as if for the last time. He pulled away, and then leaned back in for another peck.

He stood up, whispered a gruff, “Goodbye, Ambrosia,” and then disappeared out of your life.

You blinked back your flow of tears and looked down at the box in your hands. You opened it, and as you tipped the box, numerous white candies spilled out onto the floor.

You bent down to pick them up.

They all read, I WONDER.

You sat on your couch, the sugary sweets melting with the warmth of your hand. You ran the gamut of emotions: sadness, fear, then anger and frustration.

You thought you’d made the correct decision, but now you realized you had not.

Around one am, Steve was sitting in the VIP of Sam’s club, SamWells, being enveloped by the beat of the music. He couldn’t be alone right now, or he’d either go running back to your place or slip into oblivion up at his.

He didn’t need to think anymore.

Sam had been busting his balls all night, at his sour look, at the fact that he’d been nursing one drink for two hours, anything to get a rise out of him. Steve just stayed silent and sipped his drink, the ice melting slowly.

Suddenly, Sam perked up.

“I think that hottie over there wants you buddy, need to check her out.”

Steve snorted and finally ordered another drink, not looking in the direction Sam indicated.

“Too soon, Sam. I’m not in the mood.”

Sam’s eyes were focused behind Steve.

“I don’t know, Cap. This one seems pretty dope. I think she’s just your type.”

“Sam, I…”

You walked around the booth as Robbie let you into the VIP area. Steve’s mouth dropped open and took you in from head to toe. You were wearing a form fitting black dress and heels. Steve couldn’t stop looking. Then Sam whistled.

“Looking good, Ambrosia!”

Sam stood up and gave you a hug, then pulled back to admire you. Steve did too. You looked amazing.

You tugged at the dress, a little uncomfortable.

“I think it’s too tight. It was at the back of my closet. I wore it once, 10 pounds ago…”

“No. No, no. I think it fits just right. Juuust right. And those 10 pounds seem to be in just the right places.”

Sam twirled you and Steve stood up just as you turned to face him. You laughed and looked up at him, breathless.

He seemed a little jealous. It was hot.

“Wanna continue our conversation, Steve?”

Steve stared down at you, his body feeling one way, wanting to bend you over the booth, but mind wary of everything.

Sam cleared his throat as Steve scanned the club.

“I’ve got something to do over there.”

Neither of you acknowledged his departure, but Steve waved his arm to the booth and you slid into the leather bound seat that smelled like the two friend’s cologne.

“What are you doing here?”

Steve asked the question tersely, still checking the club to see who was there.

“This is dangerous, coming around here like this.”

You scooted closer to him, and eyed him up and down. He had changed into a multicolored polo and wore sunglasses, even though he was inside a club at night. His biceps popped with every move and the tense look on his face made you want to relax him. Hard.

You reached up and took his sunglasses off, glad to be able to look him in the eye.

“That’s funny. I feel super safe right now.”

You put your hand on his thigh, and his muscles tensed.

“Ambrosia. This is nothing to play with.”

Steve looked at you, his eyes falling to your cleavage and licked his lips.

Your hand went up further, and touched the tip of his dick through his pants. He was getting hard.

“Believe me Steve. I would love to play with things, and I think you would too, if you would only let me…”

You started stroking him outside of his pants and he drew in a harsh breath.

“Breathe, Baby.”

Steve did, then he took your hand from his cock and placed both of yours in your lap and held them there.

“What exactly are you here for, Ambrosia?”

You sat back, serious now.

“I’m here for you, Steve. I thought long and hard after you left. I love you.”

“Baby, I…”

“My turn.”

You shook your head and smiled as Steve looked down and started stroking your hand with his thumbs.

“I was thinking that we’re both being a little extra. I didn’t have to be so dramatic after Christmas. And I love that you told me your story, but you didn’t have to. You didn’t have to buy the store, and you certainly didn’t have to give me the deed. And I hate that you have to wonder…”

Steve opened and closed his mouth, letting you continue.

“I know. You are wondering what it would be like if I embraced all of you. And I think I’m ready to.”

Steve’s head snapped up and his eyes were wild.

“You can’t think, Ambrosia. You must know. Because there is no going back. I, and my crew will stop at nothing to protect you. You would be part of the family and that means a blood oath. If you want to love me, you gotta accept me. And the things I do. I’m trying to give you an out.”

You stared at Steve for a long time.

“I don’t want an out. I want you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Surer than sure.”

You smiled as you leaned in for a kiss. Steve stared at you hesitant, scared of what this would mean. When you cocked your head at him and smiled is when he decided.

Steve grabbed you by the back of the neck and pulled you to him, answering your smile with a passionate press of his mouth on yours. He pulled back, and reached for your hips, pulling you onto his leg.

You put your arms around his neck as you peppered his face and head with kisses as Steve felt you up and sucked hickeys onto your neck and cleavage. His hand was at the hem of your dress and moving north as he spoke into your skin.

“…Coming in here dressed like this. Gonna be the death of me. I gotta have you, it’s been too long.”

“Oh.” You breathed into his hair. “I came to get fucked tonight.”

“Holy fuck.”

Steve slapped your thighs.

“Then why are these legs still closed?”

You opened your legs and let his hand into the damp warmth of your inner thighs. He grabbed you at your apex so that you were sitting on his leg and his fingers, his thumb brushing your naked, weeping slit and delving into you. He looked up into your half closed eyes.

“Gotdamn, Ambrosia. You weren’t lying. Want me to fuck you right here?”

Your hand was at the hair on the back of his head now, pulling as he swirled his thumb around your plucky clit. You leaned your head down on his shoulder and whimpered, not answering his question.

Steve continued his assault on your needy pussy until he pulled a shaky, whimpering orgasm from you. It was not enough.

“It’s time you came up to my place.”

You stood up, a little shaky and more so as Steve made you suck his thumb.

“I’d love to see it.”

Steve didn’t say that he wanted more than just for you to see it. He led you over to a wall at the far end of the club, pulling out a remote. Part of the wall slid open to reveal an elevator door which he ushered you into.

“Each of us, Sam, Bucky, and I have our own elevators that go directly to our places. Totally private.”

“Interesting.”

You were on the opposite wall from him as he watched you possessively with his hand in his pocket. The ride seemed to slow down.

“Touch yourself.”

“Why?”

“Because if I touch you, I will fuck you in this elevator and I’m trying to make it to my bed.”

There was a long pause as you each listened to each other breathing.

“And you shouldn’t be untouched, Ambrosia.”

You put your hands in your hair and moved them down around your neck, trailing your cleavage.

Steve leaned back against the wall, his eyes blue fire as your hands roamed your own body and the places he wanted to be. He palmed himself over his pants and you whimpered.

“Don’t worry. You’re gonna get this dick.”

You started pulling your nipples through the material of your dress and Steve opened his mouth to lick his lips.

“They look so fucking big and beautiful. I’m gonna cum all over them.”

You were reaching for the hem of your dress when the doors opened. Steve came for you and you jumped up onto him, his hands holding you up by your ass as he propelled you through a dark and richly appointed space until your back hit a door.

“I’ll give you a proper tour when we come up for air.”

You chuckled.

“So I’ll never get a tour?”

Steve laughed too.

“You may be right.”

He reached for the knob and soon you were on your back on the softest king sized bed you’d ever experienced.

Steve was tearing off his clothes as you pulled your dress over your head. Steve beat you to your heels, unbuckling them and kissing your feet up to your calves. He pushed your legs apart so that he could see you fully. His hand traced your lips and he smiled.

“My sweet petals. Long time no see.”

“Are you… are you talking to my pussy?”

You huffed, indignant.

“I’m talking to MY pussy. Private conversation. I guess I’ll just have to whisper.”

Steve glided up your apex and made out with your cunt like it was going out of style. He suckled your clit gently at first, then with more pressure as he came up and inserted two fingers inside you.

“Still so so tight…”

He scissored his fingers as he pulled another orgasm from you, stroking his cock as your desperate cries reached his ears.

“Gotta get you ready for me.”

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he kneeled up and stroked his cock, lining it up at your soaked opening.

You keened as he pushed his thick tip inside you, your wetness making the most deliciously pornographic sounds, along with his outright moans for you as you squeezed him.

Your mouth opened at the sting of his size, but relished the full feeling. You loved being full of Steve Rogers

“Ambrosia, Ambrosia, Ambrosia….shittttt.”

When he started moving, the slap, slick, slap, slick sound made his eyes roll back.

“Who got you so wet, Ambrosia? So wet and so tight. Tell me.”

You whimpered your way through your explanation as he started fucking you harder.

“Hnnnnnhhhh. You, Steve. Always you. Only you.”

You were grabbing your own bouncing breasts absentmindedly and it made Steve pulse inside you.

“Fuck yes, show me those tits, point them at me because I’m… uggghhh.”

Steve sped up again. He was watching your erect nipples and areola bounce as you held them up for him to witness the bounteous beauty of them being knocked up to your face by his thrusts.

“So fucking beautiful. I’m gonna….Fucckkkkkkk!”

Steve thought he would black out at the image you just presented him. But he just fucked you harder, faster, better.

“Cum on me cum in my mouth cum on my tits Stevie….”

“Oh my goddddd.”

Steve pulled out and shot pearlescent white cum on your chest and in your mouth. You grabbed his softening dick and he rolled over on his back as you cleaned him up, sucking him dry.

“That little hot mouth of yours, Ambrosia. Fuck.”

You smiled and started stroking him, your breasts still covered in cum. As he watched you, you watched his cock come back to life.

“Holy Shit, Ambrosia.”

Steve grabbed you and turned around, pressing your head into the bed so that you gave him the arch he was looking for. He slid into you from behind, back into heaven.

“You make me feel like I could do this all fucking night, Ambrosia…fuck.”

Steve grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back as he pounded you and you begged him.

“Please please please cum inside me Steve, give it to me.”

Steve grunted.

“You saying you want my baby inside you?”

You moaned.

“It already is, Daddy.”

Steve pulled you up by your hair. He stopped because he didn’t quite hear what you’d said.”

“What did you say?”

“I said. I already have your baby inside me, Daddy.”

Steve pulled out of you and then held your face in his hands.

“How?”

You laughed at him.

“What do you mean, how?”

“I mean, when?”

“Probably Christmas. The last time we…I took a test two weeks ago. I’m probably about six weeks along.”

“Were you going to tell me?”

Steve sat back on his haunches, his erection fading.

“I’m telling you now. Just like you told me over six months after you started pursuing me about your situation.”

You reached for his head and made him look you in the eye.

“I thought I’d made the right choice, to cut ties and… well, when you left me, left us tonight I realized what I truly wanted. I want you. And I want this baby. I choose you to be the father of my child.”

You kissed Steve and he took you down to the bed.

“Do you want this?”

Fear bloomed inside you as Steve’s hand slid down your torso to your belly. He looked back up at you, eyes shining.

“Yes! Please…please have my baby Ambrosia. I promise I’ll never let anyone hurt you. Including me.”

“Okay.”

Steve kissed your belly and then pulled you under him to kiss your lips as you wrapped your legs around him and reached between you to stroke him back to life.

“Fuck, mama. What are you doing to me?”

Steve rutted into your hand.

“You were about to blow my back out Daddy. Get to it.”

You spit into your hand to lubricate him better and you looked like a vixen as he fell under your spell.

“Ugh! So nasty...”

You twisted so that you were again as up underneath him and wiggled your ass against his now hard length again.

You lifted your hips and Steve slid inside you, your warm wetness clenching his wide girth again.

“Fuckkkk, Stevie.”

The way you whimpered for him made Steve pushed your head back down. He started delivering the back shots immaculately, slowly, deep and hard, watched your cream froth around him, the vision of where you two were connecting making him even harder.

Then, he sped up and spilled everything inside you as you screamed for it, cumming around him and milking him for all that he was worth.

When you opened your eyes, Steve was smiling at you.

“What?”

“I’m just so happy.”

“Happy that I came here, or happy that we came. Or happy about little Stevie?”

He chuckled, “Little Stevie Hunh?”

He kissed you again.

“All three.”

Steve stood up and grabbed your hand.

He grabbed your neck and kissed you until you were breathless.

“Sounds like a plan, Mr. Rogers.”

Steve smiled at you and refrained from calling you Mrs. Rogers in return.

That was a title for another day.

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