#Saint Nick night

[cyberr-v0id]

Shout out to my mum telling us this morning that last night was saint nicks night, and we should have put out our shoes for chocolate. Could have done with that info. Like. Last night

[timmurleyart]

The Christmas tree lot. 🎄🎄🎄🌃⛄️☃️❄️🎄

[husbandohoarder]

In a world where David Harbour is Santa Claus you know damn well I’m Buddy the Elf 🤪

[calyptramoths]

yall ever get the horrible urge to do something RIGHT NOW otherwise youll feel sort of nauseous and a feeling of overall Dread if you dont

[foreverisntenough]

‘Act II’

Summary: Attraction is like a gravitational pull that is undefinable and unavoidable. Unbeknownst to you, Jude had been keeping an eye on you since he caught a glimpse on his best friend’s girlfriend’s Instagram but he’s been loving his single life. You always were independent and know how to swim on your own but maybe you have been just treading water. Could the tides change on a holiday in Greece when you finally meet? It might get a little rocky but maybe you could be his paradise.

Index

Warnings: This series is 18+ MDNI

Note: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to like, comment, or message me what you think of the series! ‘Act II’ is interconnected to the 'You’re Mine' and 'Ours' Series but can read it independently.

Chapter 22 - 'Galería D’ange ' | ‘Act II’

word count - 10.8 k

Lunch out in Madrid with Jude, Jobe, and Toby was a lively, carefree afternoon. The café was full of laughter and teasing, a pleasant contrast to the more serious moments you’d been through recently. You’d almost forgotten about the world outside until you noticed some fans began to gather at the window, phones out, eager to catch a glimpse of Jude.

“You came back for this?” Toby leaned over with a grin, nudging you lightly teasing. You laughed, feeling the attention, and instinctively buried your face in the crook of Jude’s neck, giggling as he chuckled too, his arm slipping around you protectively. 

“Obviously,” you joked, peeking up from behind Jude as Toby continued to tease. Lunch carried on with more laughs and playful jabs as you all enjoyed each other’s company. When the meal ended, the four of you wandered down a picturesque cobblestone street, the sun warming your skin but the breeze sending a shiver down your spine. The atmosphere was light, peaceful, and Madrid felt a little more like home with them by your side. 

“Yo…Have you heard about the new gallery in Carabanchel?”  Jobe casually mentioned as you walked.  You looked at him, surprised he had.

“You? A gallery? I hadn’t” you giggled. “But why do you even know that, Jobe?” you teased, a grin spreading across your face. 

“What, I can’t have interests?” He smirked.

“You can! You just didn’t tell me we had the same one. It hadn’t come up yet that’s all,” you said, laughing, hands raised in innocence. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah, why not?” Jobe shrugged, acting nonchalant. You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. 

“Since when are you so down for stuff like this? I tried to get you to go with me one time and you said no.” You raised your brow joking but recalling a recent event you got invited to. Jobe was in town and a friend of friend invited you to an opening knowing you were now in Madrid, 

“Because it was a pity invite!” Jobe yelped! Jude couldn’t go so you invited Jobe to go with you genuinely. He still was invited with or without Jule so whilst he was pretending to be offended right now… he hadn’t wanted to go that night.

“Alright alright, regardless, I think we should go today.” Jude, walking beside you, squeezed your hand and chimed in.  You blinked up at him, a bit confused. Normally, you’d have to persuade him to join you on something like this, but today, both brothers seemed unusually eager. 

“No…Wait… What’s going on?” You smiled.  Jude grinned but didn’t give anything away.

“Nothing, just thought it’d be fun.” He quipped. You weren’t going to press. If they wanted to go look at art you were more than okay with it. With a shrug, you let it go and continued walking, Jude’s hand warm in yours.  It was a sunny day but the weather was turning. It was brisk and so you had to nick Jude’s jacket off him adding a men's Saint Laurent jacket to your mini skirt, t shirt, and boots look. “You ruined my fit but I guess I’ll still go to the gallery with you, angel.” Jude teased. You giggled pushing your face into his bicep. The exchange almost distracted you from the direction change in your route. The cobblestone streets soon led you to a part of the city you loved but one you weren’t intending to go to today. You were struck by a striking green windowed wall, an old garage-style door with vibrant green window panes catching your eye. It made you smile. It reminded you of a door at your chateau.  You smiled at the look of the place, appreciating the aesthetic and the familiar feeling it brought to you, but as you got closer, something seemed off. The space was completely empty, just concrete floors and nothing inside.

“Jude…” you said, your voice holding a note of suspicion. “What is this?” He stopped walking and looked at you with a mischievous smile.

“Come on then, just trust me please,” he said softly, pulling you toward the empty building. You glanced back at Jobe and Toby, who were both smiling like they knew something you didn’t.

“No… I don’t like this. What is going on?” you asked again, more curious now than anything else but not appreciating Toby and Jobe’s smugness. Jude led you closer to the empty space, his hand still firmly in yours. 

“Voilà! Mon ange.” Jude cooed, leaning to whisper into your ear. You roughly could see inside, your eyes wide as you took in the space, its high ceilings and expansive windows filling the room with natural light. The charm of the old, worn exterior contrasted perfectly with the brightness and newness inside of it, and it felt like the perfect balance between something familiar and something entirely new. Before you could process it all Jude gently dropped a pair of keys into your hands before he moved behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist.  You stared down at them, heart pounding. “It’s for you… for us,” he said, his voice soft and calm, but the weight of his words settled over you. He leant around you, his eyes flashing to meet yours, and there was something vulnerable in them. “I wanted you to have something here. A place that feels like you.” He said. Your breath hitched. The gesture, the thought behind it—it was overwhelming. He was offering you more than just this physical space. He was offering you a home, a way to make Madrid yours too, to build something that belonged to you both. Jude’s hand cupped your cheek as he smiled softly. “You can do whatever you want with it. Sell it, keep it, leave it empty… or,” he paused with a smirk, “my personal suggestion is you make it the secondary location of my favorite gallery in the world. What do you think?” He cooed. Your lip trembled, and before you could stop it, tears spilled down your cheeks. 

“And she’s off.” Jobe, who was standing behind you, made a quip with a laugh. You barely heard him as Toby elbowed him to shut up. You were locked in your own little world, where all that mattered was Jude and the weight of what he was giving you. The thoughtfulness, the future he was offering—it all hit at once. 

“Do you want to go inside?” Jude’s voice broke through your daze. You nodded, but your hands shook as you tried to steady your breath. Jude noticed and took the keys from your hand, unlocking the door himself and holding it open for you. You stepped inside, feeling the cool air from the wide, open space wash over you. Jobe and Toby followed, their usual banter quieting as they sensed the enormity of the moment. You walked a few steps into the gallery but couldn’t move any further. The reality of what this space meant, the future it held, made your knees weak. 

“You good?” Toby, sensing your shock, gave your arm a gentle squeeze as he asked with a soft smile. You couldn’t respond, couldn’t do anything but stand there in disbelief. Jude had mentioned the idea of a gallery before, but you hadn’t taken it seriously. Now, standing in the middle of this space that was yours, you felt the full weight of his commitment. Jobe and Toby, sensing the need to give you two space, quickly made an excuse and headed out, leaving you and Jude alone. The second they left, your legs gave out, and you sank to the floor, your hands shaking as you tried to process it all. Jude was instantly at your side, kneeling in front of you. 

“Angel…” he murmured, his hand brushing the hair from your face. “It’s just the space, there’s no pressure. I want Madrid to be our home. And your work… it’s important. It’s important to you, it’s important to me.” His voice was so sincere, so full of love. “If having a little annex here in Madrid helps us build something that feels like home, then I think it’ll be good for us.” You looked up at him through teary eyes, your bottom lip quivering as you tried to form words. His face softened as he waited patiently for you to speak. He was giving you everything, and it was almost too much to bear. “So… thoughts?” he asked gently with a smirk, trying to pull you back from the brink of your emotions.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice cracking as more tears spilled over. “I love you so much.” Jude pulled you into his arms, his embrace warm and steady.

“C’mere, I love you too, Angel,” he whispered into your hair. “We’re going to make this our home. Together.” Jude helped you up, pulling you gently into his embrace as the two of you stood in the empty gallery space.

“Me and you.” You murmured into his chest almost silent, confirming your togetherness. 

“Us against them all, yeah?”  He cooed. You nodded. Normally, a space like this, with its bare walls and concrete floors, would feel cold and impersonal. But in Jude’s arms, it felt warm, alive. His presence, his heartbeat against you, made this gallery the most beautiful it would ever be, even in its emptiness. He looked down at you, his cheeky smile making your heart flutter. “I thought of a name… if you’d want to hear it,” he said, eyes twinkling. 

“Okay, go on” you said, your curiosity piqued. The moment broken by your soft giggles, leaning into his warmth. 

“Galería D’ange,” he said with a playful grin, stumbling over the Spanish and French words. His attempt was endearing, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was so Jude, and it melted you inside. Your eyes lit up with amusement and affection as the sweetness of the name settled in your mind. But then, Jude’s face softened into something more serious, his gaze intent as he continued. “And then we’ll add the ‘of Y/L/N New York,’ you know? Make it yours, connect to your gallery back there.” He told you. You blinked, processing his words as the reality of what he was saying sunk in. 

“Galería D’ange of Y/L/N New York,” you repeated slowly, the name rolling off your tongue with meaning. It was perfect. It was you. It was him. It was everything the two of you had built together, now grounded in something tangible and lasting. This was your life—intertwined with his, filled with love and adventure, and now, with a space to call your own. “Babyyyy,” you whined, overwhelmed with emotion, but your smile was radiant. “Perfect. Parfait. Perfecto,” you giggled, switching between all three languages with playful enthusiasm. Jude chuckled softly at your reaction, the warmth of his laugh spreading through you. “Thank you,” you whispered, your heart swelling with gratitude. You leaned in, kissing him deeply, your hands sliding up to his face as you pulled him closer, pouring all the love you felt for him into that kiss. When you pulled back, you gazed up at him with glistening eyes, unable to fully express how much this moment, this gesture, meant to you. But you didn’t need to. Jude knew, and the way he looked back at you, as if you were his whole world, said everything. So you stood there in the middle of the empty gallery, the air around you buzzing with quiet emotion as you held onto Jude tightly. The tears on your cheeks felt never-ending, your nose pressed into his shirt as you sniffled. His arms wrapped around you, steady and grounding, as if he were trying to physically hold together the emotions between you. 

 “Don’t take this the wrong way, but this really shouldn’t…” You trailed off, your voice cracking with the weight of how deeply overwhelmed you felt. “It shouldn’t work.” You finished your sentiment. Jude understood what you meant. You weren’t questioning the relationship, you were complimenting how unreal it was that you were finding success  Looking up at him, your eyes wide and filled with adoration, you pouted. “Why are you like this?” you asked with a pout, barely above a whisper. “You’re the sweetest boy in the whole world.” Your hands found their way to his face, cupping his cheek as your thumb brushed gently against his skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into your touch, as if he were savoring every second of the connection. And when he opened them again, your heart flipped. His gaze was soft, yet intense, filled with so much love that it made you feel like the luckiest person alive. He was so gorgeous, inside and out, and right then you were certain of everything. 

“It works because I love you,” he said, his words carrying a weight that made your chest tighten. “And no newspaper, no tweet, or even ocean can keep me from loving you.” Jude’s voice was low but steady, filled with unwavering certainty. His eyes held yours, and for a moment, the world felt like it had stilled completely. “I want you with me,” he continued, his voice soft yet firm. “Whatever you need, whatever you want—I’ll take care of it. I’ll take care of you, Angel. For the rest of my life.” You stood there, holding him in the stillness of the empty gallery, the city sounds faint and distant outside. It was just the two of you, wrapped in each other’s presence, as the moment stretched into something timeless. Tears continued to slip down your cheeks only slower, but there was a warmth in your heart that overtook the fear and uncertainty. You pressed closer to him, your body melting into his, and in that quiet space—empty, yet so full of promise—you stayed, holding onto the one person who made you feel safe in the storm. 

Time had passed since Jude gave you Galería D’ange. It was like the gallery built a damn blocking anything from the past from getting to you and Jude and today was just another day behind it. You held Jude tightly in the middle of the shop, your arms naturally wrapping around his waist as he reached up onto a shelf to grab something. 

“Angel, let go for a minute, yeah? I need to reach the shelf.” His warm laughter filled the small space as he gently teased. You blinked, realizing you hadn’t even noticed how close you were, how your body instinctively pressed into him, as if you couldn’t bear to be apart for even a moment. With a soft laugh, you apologized, reluctantly letting him go, though the warmth lingered between you. Things were so good—almost terrifyingly good, like you were waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you tried not to think about that. You let yourself stay in the warmth of these moments, the mundane sweetness of just being together. You were out running errands, something so ordinary but so full of meaning when you did it with him. A few people had stopped Jude for photos as you wandered through the streets, smiling and nodding politely as he interacted with the fans. It wasn’t overwhelming, not today. Just a few brief interactions, faces lighting up when they saw him, quick requests for a picture or a signature. It was part of the rhythm of your life now. After the shop, you stopped for coffee, the two of you slipping into a quiet corner of the café. But even in the hushed space, life had a way of reminding you of its presence. As you sat across from Jude, the faint sound of a camera shutter echoed, a flash going off accidentally as a girl tried to take a picture of her coffee. Or maybe it wasn’t an accident. It definitely wasn’t. Either way, it didn’t matter. She glanced your way apologetically, realizing she’d been caught. You gave her a small smile in return, understanding that this was life now—moments of hazy bliss with Jude, sliced through by interactions with strangers, with cameras, with glimpses of the outside world that never quite went away. But Madrid had become your home. You’d moved there primarily, letting New York slip into the background. You’d go back maybe quarterly, only when necessary, but that house nestled just outside the city with Jude—that was home. The kind of home you could breathe in. Where you could wrap yourself around him as much as you liked, no cameras, no interruptions. Just you and Jude, and the life you were building, piece by piece, moment by moment… And on occasion Denise would pop back in too. But today it was just the two of you. As you walked back to the car, the last whispers of summer clung to the air, the warmth still lingering just enough to remind you of the heat, though the crisp bite of autumn was making its steady, inevitable arrival. Madrid had that way of feeling alive during these in-between moments, where the seasons shifted, and the city’s energy matched the change. You tucked the jumper of Jude’s you were in tighter around you, enjoying the cool breeze that swirled around the street. Jude walked beside you, his hand brushing yours as you made your way toward the car. Ever the gentleman, he reached for the door handle, but not before planting a soft kiss on your temple, his lips lingering just long enough to make you smile. The moment was sweet, simple, until you felt the playful slap on your ass. He laughed, full and bright, watching your reaction.

“Jude!” you whined, rolling your eyes dramatically as you shot him a mock glare. “We’re in public!” You dropped your head to the side pouting. 

“Sorry, couldn’t resist angel,” he teased, his grin unapologetic. “Look leng today.” He smirked. With an exaggerated sigh, you slid into the driver’s seat, sending him a sarcastic shake of the head. 

“Thanks so much for that,” You cooed as he shut the door behind you. Of course, you were the one driving—again. This had become part of your dynamic, one that the public, and his fans especially, had picked up on. Jude, for all his skills on the pitch, was still absolutely useless behind the wheel, and you had teased him about it endlessly. He rounded the car, sliding into the passenger seat, completely unbothered by the fact that he was always chauffeured around by you. As you pulled out of the parking lot, heading home, the atmosphere between you was light, carefree. It was one of those days where everything felt just easy—running errands together, grabbing coffee, and soaking in the simplicity of it all. It was as normal as it could get. These were the moments you loved most, the ones that felt like a pause button on the chaos of your lives. But as the city blurred by outside the window, the buzz of Jude’s phone filled the car, and you saw him scrolling through something on social media. He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he scrolled faster, clearly amused by whatever he was seeing.

“What’s so funny?” you asked, glancing over as he leaned back in his seat, a sly grin creeping onto his face. He turned the phone toward you, and there it was—the video. Someone had filmed your entire little exchange back in the parking lot. The kiss, the ass slap, your mock protest, all of it. And it was already making the rounds online. The comments were blowing up. Boys were praising Jude, hyping him up for being so cheeky. Girls were half-swooning, half-scolding him in a mix of affection and exasperation. But then there was the real fan conversation that seemed to be dominating the thread—the one about his driving, or more accurately, his lack of driving.

‘Why can Jude still not drive? That’s a full adult ’ 

One tweet read, with endless replies echoing the same sentiment. It was a long-running joke at this point, one that had taken on a life of its own. Jude clicked his tongue, visibly annoyed but amused all the same.

“Nah, see… when are you actually going to teach me to drive? I’m just getting rinsed online at this point. They’re ruthless,” he said, glancing at you with a mix of frustration and playfulness. You couldn’t help but giggle, the sound bubbling up despite yourself.

“Wait, that’s what you’re concerned about? Not the fact that people are talking about you smacking my ass in public?” He shot you a serious look, his brows furrowed as if this was an actual pressing issue. 

“Yes. Everyone knows I can’t drive. It’s like a national crisis at this point.” He scrolled through more of the comments, his eyes scanning them casually as if he wasn’t slightly stung by the teasing. “But our relationship? That’s private. They don’t know anything about that.” Your eyes widened as you raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the seat. 

“Private, huh? Jude, you kissed me, then slapped my ass. So private,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. He shrugged, completely unbothered. 

“I can be way sweeter than opening the car door for you,” he said nonchalantly, scrolling through more tweets. “And I can definitely be rougher than tapping your ass.” You blinked, not expecting that. Your eyebrow raised higher as you studied him, waiting for the smirk you knew was coming. But Jude just kept scrolling, not looking up, completely casual about the whole thing, as if he’d just said something totally normal.

“Oh, really?” you asked, your voice low, teasing. Finally, he looked up, locking eyes with you, his expression softening into that playful grin you knew too well. 

“Really, angel,” he said, the edge of his voice teasing, but there was something earnest behind it. He reached over and brushed his hand against your thigh, his touch light, but the warmth of it lingered. His smile grew, and it was one of those rare moments where the public and the private blurred, and you realized how much of your relationship was still yours, still hidden away from the world, even with all the prying eyes. 

“You’re unbelievable.” You shook your head, trying to hold back a laugh. He leaned back, satisfied with himself, and scrolled through the last few tweets with a sigh. 

“All I’m saying is, one driving lesson would solve this whole thing. They’d have nothing left to clown me about.” He explained seriously. You shot him a look.

“Jude, I love you, but the way you panic at a roundabout… I’m not sure I’m the right person to teach you.” His face lit up with mock offense, a hand flying to his chest. 

“Roundabouts are stressful! It’s like driving in circles for no reason, angel.” You couldn’t hold back the laughter anymore. The absurdity of it all—the fact that Jude, this world-famous footballer, was more concerned about his lack of driving skills being roasted online than the viral video of your intimate little moment—made you laugh so hard, you had to concentrate a bit harder on keeping your focus on the road.

“Okay, okay,” you said between laughs, “we’ll do some lessons. But no promises you’ll end up with a license.” You cooed. He grinned, leaning over to plant a kiss on your cheek. 

“Deal. But for now, you can keep driving. I like having my chauffeur.” He smirked. You shot him a playful glare, but the truth was, you didn’t mind. These moments—the teasing, the banter, the simplicity of just being with him—made all the noise from the outside world fade away. This was home. And that was enough. 

"So, rough, huh?" you teased Jude later that evening recalling his joke earlier after the shops. You were  leaning against the bathroom counter as you got ready for bed. The playful smirk tugging at your lips was impossible to hide. Jude, mid-motion of pulling his shirt over his head, paused just enough to catch your eye in the mirror, his grin widening as he tossed the shirt to the side. He turned to face you, that mischievous look in his eye lighting a fire that you'd become all too familiar with. Things had been-well, let's just say spicy between you lately. With no hectic long distance travel schedules and the nights together stacking up, except for the odd away game, you and Jude had spent a lot of time wrapped up in each other. Not just in the bedroom, either-pretty much anywhere had become fair game at this point. The frequency had ramped up in a way that left you both breathless and constantly looking for the next moment to be alone. The scrutiny online about your relationship, the constant public attention, it only seemed to fuel the fire between you. It was as if the more people speculated and watched, the more determined you both were to shut out the world and claim each other, over and over again. Your relationship had found new life through this physical closeness, this undeniable pull toward each other. You weren’t sure you could possibly be more in love with him-this intensely connected, both emotionally and physically. And the sex? Well, it had taken on a life of its own. You were both impossibly horny all the time, a constant heat simmering between you, and it felt like no matter how much time you spent together, it was never enough. You found yourself stealing glances, teasing touches, small moments that quickly spiraled into more. It wasn't just a phase either. It had become your new normal, and you weren't complaining -except maybe for the fact that you couldn't seem to get enough. Your mind was often preoccupied with when you'd get your next fix, your next stolen moment with Jude. The real concern, though, the one in retrospect probably should’ve been entertaining more, was whether you were keeping up with your birth control. But honestly, having to drag yourself upstairs to grab a pill from the nightstand at 9:00 p.m. when you were cuddled downstairs with Jude felt like such an inconvenience. Especially when his arm was draped over your waist, and his lips were finding that perfect spot on your neck that made you melt. It was hard to care about practicalities when life felt this good, when he felt this good. Every kiss, every touch-it was like a drug, and you were both addicted. You couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to be in the perfect moment, where everything aligned just right, and nothing outside the two of you mattered. Jude stepped closer to you now, his hand sliding up your arm as he leaned down, his lips brushing just beneath your ear. 

"Oh, you have no idea," he whispered, his voice low, teasing, sending shivers down your spine.

You turned to face him fully, biting your lip, your heart racing in anticipation. His eyes sparkled with that playful, knowing look as he reached for you, pulling you against him. The warmth of his skin, the way his body molded to yours, it was almost too much-and yet, it was never enough.

"Care to remind me?" you teased, your voice breathless, the words barely slipping past your lips before he kissed you, deep and slow, pulling you into the kind of moment that you'd found yourself living for lately. Life was good. Jude was even better. Suddenly the bathroom mirrors fogged up with steam, blurring your reflection after you and Jude had fallen into each other once again. He fucked you in the shower till he was dripping out of you. You both knew you were being reckless lately, but the thrill of it all kept you repeating it again and again. It was as if you'd created your own little world within these four walls, a world where pleasure and desire reigned supreme. You locked eyes with Jude through the haze, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. He looks so fucking sexy, his frame glistening with water droplets from the hot shower. Your heart raced as you began to anticipate what was about to happen again, knowing very well that Jude could make you feel things no one else ever could, and you knew that because he just showed you moments ago. As he stepped out of the shower, his tanned skin contrasted with the white bath towel wrapped around his waist. You bit your lip as you watched him approach you, his eyes never leaving yours. The towel accentuating his muscular physique, you couldn’t help but admire the way his abs flexed as he moved.

"Not done with you, angel. Can't keep my hands off you," he whispered, his voice low and husky. You giggled, a playful glint in your eyes. 

"Okay. Come here, baby. Give me some more of you.” You smirked. Arousal flooding your veins all over again. He grinned, revealing his perfect pearly white teeth. 

“Starting to push the limits here, innit? Endless rounds and rounds, and you keep begging for more.” Jude cooed. He was teasing a bit but you both knew there was a slight undercurrent of irresponsibility in what you were doing.  

“Are you complaining?” You teased moving past any possible practical concern with a raised brow, dropping your own towel off your body. 

“Nah, never. You’re just too fucking good f’me. I could never stop wanting more of you.” His hands moved towards you magnetically, his hands then brushing up and down your sides, making goosebumps rise on your skin. You nodded, already feeling a little breathless. 

"I can't help it. You make me feel so good." You whined with a frown as you reached for Jude’s towel, and with a swift motion, you let it drop to the floor, revealing his hard cock. Your eyes widened at the sight, your mouth watering. He was thick and long, a masterpiece of male anatomy.

"Let me make you feel good again, angel. I want more of you," he growled, his voice filled with desire. You didn't need any more encouragement for things to kick off again. But in opposition to Jude’s ideas you hummed a ‘mmnhmm’ with a cheeky shake of the head. In a quick but smooth succession, you dropped to your knees, your hands reaching out to stroke his length. The skin was hot and silky under your touch, and you could feel a rush of power as you took control. "Oh yeah, baby?" he moaned questioning your decision to take more of him as your fingers wrapped around him. "That's it, take what’s yours." Your fingers moved up and down, teasing the sensitive tip, making Jude's breath catch. You leaned in, your lips brushing against the head of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum that glistens there. "Fuck, YN," he groans. "Your mouth... I need it." Jude was a mess. Neither of you could be satiated lately, and he, right now, was proving just that and thankfully, you didn't need to be told twice. With a sultry smile, you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head, savoring the taste of him. Jude's hands dove into your hair, gripping gently as he encouraged you to take more of him. "That's it, suck me off, angel," he pants. "Deeper, baby, let me feel you." You obliged, taking him deeper, your throat opening to accommodate his girth. Your eyes watered slightly, but the pleasure on Jude's face kept you going. His moans filling the room. You knew exactly how Jude liked head by this point in your relationship. It was almost down to a silence. As you sucked and stroked, Jude's hips began to thrust gently, meeting your mouth with each forward motion. The wet sounds of pleasure filled the bathroom, mixing with the steam and the scent of sex. "Fuck. I'm gonna cum, Y/N," he warned, his voice tight with restraint. "Fuck.”

"I wan’ it... all of it." You pulled back briefly looking up at him with lust-filled eyes, a string of salvia still connecting you to him. And so moments later, with a final, powerful thrust, Jude came, his hot cum flowed down your throat. You swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him, not wanting to waste a drop. He groaned, his body trembling as the orgasm washed over him.

"Fuck, that was so good," he breathed heavily, pulling you up for a deep kiss. You kissed him back, tasting yourself on his lips, and feeling his passion ignite yours.

"Come on, baby. I want more of you still. Bed now," you whispered commandingly against his mouth. Jude's eyes lit up with excitement. He was thrilled you wanted to keep going.  As you entered the bedroom, the soft sheets beckoning, you both knew this was just the beginning of another session. You pushed Jude onto the bed, his back against the headboard, you straddled his waist, your wet pussy already aching for him.

"You wanna ride me," he urged, his hands cupping your tits, thumbs flicking over your sensitive nipples. You leaned forward, your hands on his chest for support as you began to grind your hips, feeling his hard cock slide along your slick folds. Your tits bouncing with each movement, Jude's eyes darkening with desire. "That's it, angel, show me how much you want it," he encouraged, his hands moving down to grip your hips, guiding your movements. You moaned, the sensation of his cock rubbing against your clit drove you wild.  “Tell me how bad you need my cock.” You could feel your pussy throb as he teased you. You begged him to fuck you whimpering. 

“Jude please. Please fuck me. I want you,” you whined causing Jude to smile smugly. He lined his cock up with your entrance but kept you hovering above him, not allowing you to sit down. 

“I know.” He cooed as you sank down. He stretched you perfectly. You breathed slowly as he filled you. He held his same smug grin watching the pleasure on your face. “Such a good girl f’me. Just like that, baby.” He was enjoying watching you but his own feelings had him struggling to keep his eyes from rolling back. As you grinded on him, Jude knew this was a feeling he could never replace. His hands slid up your waist to grip your tits as they bounced with every movement. You leant back, your hands behind you for support, and begin to ride him with purpose, your pussy engulfing his length with each downward thrust.

"Fuck, you feel so good," You whimpered as his hands squeezed your ass, urging you on. The pace quickened, and your moans filled the room as you rode him harder, your pussy clenching around his shaft. Jude's hands move to your thighs, spreading them wider, giving him deeper access.

"That's it, let me feel that tight pussy," he grunted, his own control slipping as he met your downward thrusts with powerful upward strokes. The sensation was incredible, and you could feel your orgasm building, your body trembling with anticipation. Jude's eyes locked with yours, his gaze intense and loving. "Cum for me, angel," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Let go, I wanna feel you." He told you. You whimpered, your body tightening as the pleasure peaked. 

"Oh, fuck Jude... I'm..." Your words were lost as your orgasm hit, your pussy convulsing around his cock, milking him as waves of pleasure wash over you. Jude's hips bucked off the bed, driving his cock somehow deeper inside you as he came with a roar, filling you with his hot release this time in a different way. In the aftermath, you collapsed onto his chest, both of you breathing heavily. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips trailing kisses along your neck.

"I love you so much angel," he whispered, his voice filled with adoration. "You're my everything." You smiled, snuggling closer, feeling the warmth of his body and the wetness between your thighs. 

"I love you Jude. This...  was…we... are so good at that." You giggled, hiding your face. He hummed in agreement kissing your hair

And so as it goes, life was good all until it wasn’t. All it took was one tweet. 

‘All I’m saying is since that girl showed up Jude Bellingham has been shite. Save some energy for the games, mate.’

It felt like you’d read this exact tweet hundreds of times but apparently this one carried firepower and it brewed a whole debate online, for weeks. And so it was declared Jude’s form had been off—at least, that’s what everyone was saying. The press, the fans, the analysts. And somehow, as ridiculous as it sounded, you were the one they blamed. You’d become a convenient story for them, something to latch onto when the statistics didn’t add up the way they wanted. Even the most reputable pundits asking if his personal life or is the spotlight affecting him. Sure, Jude had been playing well, but his goals and assists were down compared to last season, and people needed someone to point fingers at. The narrative spun out of control in the way only a media frenzy could. It wasn’t new to you. But somehow, this time it stung a little more. You didn’t like that people were being rude to your Jude. It made you sad. You didn’t want to inflict that type of hurt on him and so… you hide. Tonight, you were at the Bernabéu. You’d come early, as usual, trying to stay out of the spotlight as much as possible. The stadium was slowly filling with fans, the energy building in that electric way it always did before kickoff. The roar of the crowd was still a murmur at this stage, the steady hum of anticipation floating through the air. You found your spot far in the back of the box, standing as you always did, eyes squinting to make out the figures of the players warming up on the pitch below. From here, Jude was just another one of the players, moving through his drills, stretching, shaking off the tension that always seemed to cling to the start of a game. This had become your routine, this quiet, removed place where you could watch without the weight of all those eyes on you. In a way, it was your safe zone—a place where you could feel present for Jude but shielded from the noise. From the stories. From the judgment. You shifted on your feet, feeling the cool metal railing beneath your hands as you leaned forward just slightly, trying to focus on Jude and not the knot in your stomach. It was hard to ignore the things people said sometimes, even when you knew they weren’t true. But before you could sink too deep into your thoughts, you felt a hand on your arm. Firm but gentle, the touch snapped you back to reality. You turned to see Denise standing there, her expression sharp but filled with concern. She didn’t say anything at first, just pulled you slightly toward her, her grip softening as she looked you in the eye.

“Hun…enough,” she finally said, her voice low but carrying the weight of everything unsaid. “You are not here for them. You’re here to support Jude. And you can’t do that from back here.” You blinked, trying to find a response, but nothing came. Denise didn’t wait for you to argue. She grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the front of the box, toward the seats you’d been avoiding. There was no point resisting; when Denise had made up her mind about something, it was best to just go along with it. And truthfully, you knew she was right. She sat you down next to her, her hand never leaving yours as if she knew you needed the grounding. Her tone softened, the edge replaced by something warmer, more maternal. She was incredibly sweet with you but you knew she’d always been tough, protective in her own way, and over time she had come to treat you like one of her own, the toughness included. You could feel that in moments like this. “Do you know the surname on your back?” she asked, her gaze steady. You looked at her, caught off guard by the question, but you nodded. Of course, you did. You wore that name every time you stepped into this stadium, whether or not you realized it. “You’re either part of this family or not. You decide.” She said it bluntly but you knew it wasn’t meant as a threat but as a reminder. Still, her words struck a chord deep inside you. You were part of this family—Jude’s family, but also this team, this life. You hadn’t chosen the spotlight, but it came with the territory, and Denise was reminding you of that in the most direct way possible. This wasn’t about the press, or the stories people told, or the numbers on a scoreboard. It was about standing beside Jude, even when things felt overwhelming. You couldn’t help but smile at her. It was a small, grateful smile, one that said more than words could. Denise nodded, satisfied, before she wrapped her arm around you, pulling you close in that protective, motherly way she had. She kissed your temple softly, a quiet show of affection that made you feel both cared for and understood.  As you settled into the seat, you felt the weight of a few eyes turning toward you. People noticed, of course they did. In this world, you were never truly invisible. The whispers and glances might come, but sitting here now, next to Denise, you realized something: it was okay. Let them look, let them whisper. You weren’t here for them. You were here for Jude. You straightened up a little, your back pressing firmly against the seat as the crowd roared louder, signaling the match was about to begin. The tension in your chest eased ever so slightly as the players lined up on the field. You could see Jude now, clear as day, and for the first time tonight, you didn’t feel the need to hide. This was where you belonged, and it would have to be enough.

Since the series came out, Jude had become, if possible, more clingy with you, though the internet had it all wrong. People assumed that with his fame, his talent, and the endless attention he received, he didn’t need you to ground him, that he was the star and you were just along for the ride. But in truth, Jude believed he needed you to perform, to thrive on and off the pitch. Jude was struggle despite the fact that he wasn’t playing badly, you both knew that and so did the more seasoned football fans too. But you also both knew the scrutiny was part of the job, but it didn’t make it any easier. Jude was always a target. If he wasn’t scoring or assisting every game, the critics were quick to pounce. It was exhausting, but you had your own ways of supporting him through it all, grounding him when the outside noise became too loud. Jude’s clinginess had always been endearing, even if the public rarely saw it. They had this image of him—self-sufficient, confident, the superstar who didn’t need anyone. But in reality, behind all the headlines and highlight reels, Jude leaned on you more than anyone could guess. He wasn’t shy about it, either. To him, you weren’t just his partner; you were part of his success, his comfort, his why. Every day was a reminder of that, in small ways that meant everything. Your presence had become a part of his routine, the glue that held everything together for him. 

Take this morning. He was mid-set in the gym, his arms straining as he pushed through the reps, sweat dripping down his face. Often, you’d sit on the floor of your home gym while he worked out, chatting away as he powered through reps, his eyes occasionally glancing your way for a quick grin, your words acting like background music to his workout. He swore it helped him focus. He needed you there. Today was no different, you sat on a yoga mat, leaning against the wall, scrolling idly through your phone while chatting with him, explaining some drama Winnie was in. He’d glance over between sets, grinning like a boy who couldn’t get enough of the sound of your voice, as if it was the only thing keeping him grounded during the workout. But sometimes you wouldn’t say anything at all, you’d just watch. Your presence enough for him. 

“You’re staring again,” he muttered teasingly, mid-lift, his breath labored but full of amusement.

“Who says I’m staring?” you shot back with a smirk, not even bothering to deny it.

“I can feel it,” he replied, his lips twitching into a smile as he set the weight down and shook his arms out. “Keeps me going, though.”

And that was just the start. Then, there were the breakfasts you made for him before training.  He’d follow you into the kitchen, waiting as you made him breakfast—his usual, the one you’d perfected over the months. It was always the same, exactly how he liked it. And no matter how many people offered to do it for him—a chef, his mum—he insisted that only your cooking was right. It was part of the ritual, part of his connection to you, and through that, his connection to the game. You once tried to tell him someone else should* handle but Jude had immediately vetoed the idea.

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “They wouldn’t make it like you do.” It wasn’t just the food. It was you. He was playing well—anyone with a proper eye for the game knew that. He wasn’t putting up these astronomical numbers in goals or assists, but he was solid, consistent, and crucial to the team’s strategy. Still, that didn’t stop the critics from coming for him whenever they could. That kind of pressure could break anyone. But not Jude—not as long as he had you by his side. And you knew he felt that. You could see it in the way he sought you out after games, his eyes scanning the stands, always finding yours, as if that was the moment he could finally exhale. With the international break around the corner, you felt a twinge of relief. It was always an intense period, with Jude off representing England. He was proud to pull on that jersey, but the added strain on his body was undeniable. You’d spent nights massaging the knots out of his back, watching him ice his knees after long stretches of games. He was fit, sure, but the game took its toll, and you could see the wear in moments of quiet, when he finally let down the walls. Still, the two of you were eagerly looking forward to this particular break for one reason: the draw. England versus France. The very idea of it lit a spark in both of you, not just for the magnitude of the match, but for everything it represented. Paris wasn’t just another city for you—it was a place loaded with history, with meaning. This international break there was something extra to look forward to. The two of you had been eagerly anticipating the draw, and now it was official. The game would be at that little old place on Rue du Commandant Guilbaud, Parc des Princes in Paris. December would bring cold air and frosty breaths, the perfect atmosphere for a match that was sure to be icy with tension between the two countries. The history, the rivalry, it all made the stakes feel even higher. You could already imagine it—friends and family in the stands, the energy electric, your heart racing as you pulled on Jude’s England jersey, feeling the weight of it, the pride, the love, but slight fear because you knew Louis was going to kill you when he saw you in the kit.  You grew up going to Parc des Princes but you hadn’t been in ages. The nostalgia was already pulling at your heartstrings, memories of the city swirling in your mind. But more than anything, you were excited to be there for him. To stand in the cold Parisian air, bundled up, but warm with pride as Jude stepped onto that familiar pitch, surrounded by tension and anticipation. This wasn’t just another match. It felt bigger, more meaningful. For Jude, for you. And you couldn’t wait to be there, standing by him as always, ready to watch him shine, knowing that no matter what, you were part of his every win, every challenge, every moment.

“oh mon Dieu. I’m so so so excited, baby,” you said one night seeing the fixture announced on Instagram as you curled up beside Jude on the couch, his arm draped lazily over your shoulder. “Feels like ages since we’ve been in Paris together.” You smiled jumping over your last Parisian memories with Whitney and instead skipping to recall better times with Jude.  He smiled, pulling you closer. 

“Feels like ages since we’ve done anything that wasn’t football-related.” He cheekily smiled a little annoyed at the fact that you were going for his work but also eagerly anticipating what was going to happen on this trip.  

“You’re not wrong,” you agreed, letting your fingers trace small circles on his chest. “But this match… Jude, it’s sweet. It’s like us..” You smile. His expression softened, a mix of pride and excitement. The darkness of the room wrapped around you both like a cocoon. “England versus France. December in Paris. The crowd, the atmosphere…” Jude’s hand slid across your waist, pulling you closer until your head rested against his chest. You smiled against his skin, your heart full.

“Big weekend, innit?” He smiled but his heart was pounding.  His voice was a soft rumble in the quiet of the room. You nodded none the wiser. He had plans for that weekend and he was stressed about much more than the game. “And my angel will be there f’me. Wearing my shirt, hmm?” He cooed, kissing your hair a few times.  You laughed, nudging him playfully. 

“Of course, likely freezing my ass off but I wouldn’t miss a chance to see my favorite player in the world. I’ll even brave the Parisian winter for it.” You giggled. 

“Such a martyr,” he teased, kissing the top of your head.

“I cant’t wait to see Kylian play, Aurel and Cama too, you know?” You giggled and Jude kissed his teeth. 

“Honestly. Just so rude. Can’t wear my kit anymore. Get one of your little French boys to give you a jersey.” He feigned offense. You kissed his neck with a giggled, squeezing him in a bone crushing cuddle. It was all in good humor because the truth was, you’d do anything for him, and he knew it even beat your own heritage. The match itself was already steeped in tension—the rivalry between England and France, the history, the weight of national pride.  The Parc des Princes had always held a special place for you but this time, it wasn’t just about the past. It was about now. It was about Jude, about watching him in the jersey that meant the world to him, feeling the weight of his name on your back as you stood in the crowd. There was something magical about it, something that felt different from all the other matches. Maybe it was the nostalgia of Paris, or maybe it was the fact that after all the scrutiny and pressure, this match felt like an opportunity for Jude to remind everyone who he was. And you’d be there, as you always were, bundled up in the cold, feeling every ounce of pride and love for the man who had your heart. Jude might have been the star, the one everyone watched, but the truth was, the game—his game—wasn’t the same without you.

With the break fast approaching you were worried about Jude’s body, more now than ever before. The season was relentless—game after game, with no real break in sight, and every added match meant another 90-plus minutes of strain on his already taxed muscles and joints. His shoulder, his ankle, his knee… they all weighed heavily on your mind. The problem was, Jude would never admit if something wasn’t right. He always brushed off your concerns, telling you he was fine, that it was just part of the game. But you could see it—the subtle winces when he stood too quickly, the extra time he took to stretch in the mornings, the way he sometimes favored one leg over the other when he thought you weren’t looking. And yet, lately, it wasn’t just Jude’s physical state that had you worried. There was something going on with you too. You felt so achy, this unfamiliar heaviness lingering in your limbs. By the afternoons, your energy was completely drained, leaving you groggy and fighting to keep your eyes open. And then there was your body. You’d been brushing it off for weeks, but you couldn’t ignore it anymore—your jeans didn’t fit quite right, not like they used to. They were tighter around your waist, your hips, and no matter how many times you told yourself it was just bloating or stress, the little voice in the back of your mind whispered something different. It was the reason why that trip upstairs at 9 p.m. to get your birth control had suddenly become so important again. For weeks, you’d been a little careless, caught up in the whirlwind of life with Jude, in the physical intensity of your relationship. It had been too easy to forget, to prioritize the comfort of cuddling on the couch over getting up and grabbing the pill. But now, you couldn’t brush it off. You couldn’t let it slip for one more night.  The problem was, the thought that had been creeping into the edges of your mind—the one that you were now terrified to even entertain—scared you. It was a fear you weren’t quite ready to acknowledge, let alone say out loud. Because if you did… what then? You sat on the couch beside Jude that night, your head resting against his shoulder as he scrolled through his phone, oblivious to the storm of thoughts swirling in your mind. His body was warm and steady against you, his presence always a source of comfort. But tonight, comfort felt elusive. Your thoughts kept drifting back to how off you’d felt lately, how your body seemed to be betraying you, sending you signals you weren’t ready to interpret. You knew you needed to make that walk upstairs to your nightstand, to pop that tiny pill and push the thought out of your mind. But for the first time in weeks, you weren’t sure if it was already too late.

“Everything okay in there, angel? You’ve been quiet tonight.” Jude’s voice broke through your spiraling thoughts, pulling you back to the present. His finger coming to tap on your temple gently but teasingly.  You forced a smile, looking up at him. 

“Yeah, just tired, that’s all.” You admitted a half truth. He kissed your temple where his fingers were, his lips lingering there for a moment, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You sure? You’ve seemed off lately.” Your heart skipped a beat at how easily he could read you, even when you weren’t ready to admit anything. You nodded, not trusting yourself to say much more. Jude was already dealing with so much—his body, the pressure of the season, the upcoming international matches. The last thing you wanted to do was add to his stress. But as you sat there, wrapped up in his warmth, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of uncertainty pressing down on you. Something was happening. You just weren’t sure what it was yet. And that terrified you more than anything. The night was quiet, the soft hum of the television the only sound filling the room as you cuddled into Jude’s side. After the international break games had been announced, Paris—Parc des Princes—was where Jude’s thoughts had been circling for days. He was focused on upcoming fixtures but also what was meant to happen outside of those match days.  You could feel his excitement simmering just beneath the surface, even if tonight, he was calm, content just being there with you. As you shifted, settling deeper into the couch, Jude’s voice cut through the stillness again. 

“I was thinking,” he began, his tone thoughtful but easy. “Do you think your dad would want to come to the match? I’d really like to invite him.” Jude cooed.  You blinked, surprised. 

“Yeah, I’m sure he’d love that. I can tell him—” You cooed almost instinctively, it was sweet but you were not really thinking about it much. Jude gently placed a hand on your arm, stopping you mid-sentence. 

“Nah, angel.” he said softly but firmly. “I mean I want to invite him myself.” His words hung in the air, and you pulled back slightly, sitting up, studying his face. There was something deeper in his request, something more personal than just an invitation to watch him play. For a second, you felt touched by how important it was to him. But then, like a wave crashing over you, the thought hit hard: What if something’s wrong? Your mind started to spiral. All the little signs—the achiness, the strange grogginess, the tightness of your jeans—they all seemed to be pointing in one direction, a direction you weren’t ready to consider. What if… you were… no surely not. The thought made your stomach churn. You suddenly felt a bit sick, not from any physical symptom, but from the sheer weight of the possibility. Seeing your family, especially in Paris, suddenly felt like a mountain you weren’t ready to climb. You pictured sitting across from them, the warmth of wine glasses being passed around, the ease with which they would pour you a glass without question. In your family, wine wasn’t just a drink—it was tradition, hospitality, connection. Refusing a glass would raise eyebrows. They’d notice, they’d ask questions, and how would you explain that? You couldn’t decide which option was worse: taking a test and confirming your fears, or sitting through a meal with your family, knowing you might be hiding something so monumental. “Angel?” You must’ve gone quiet for too long because Jude’s brow furrowed in concern.  You nodded quickly, trying to shake off the dizziness of your thoughts. 

“Yeah, yeah, sorry. I’m fine. Just thinking.” You forced a smile, still trying to process his request. “It’s sweet, Jude, but… You don’t have to do all that, why do you want to ask him yourself?” Jude didn’t hesitate. He looked at you with the kind of sincerity that always made your heart skip a beat. 

“It’s a big deal for me to have people at my games and not just there as spectators but I want them there as family, as friends. Your dad… he’s important to you, so he’s important to me. I’d love for him to be there as someone I invited, someone who’s part of my or our world.” His words softened the edges of your anxiety for a moment, his thoughtfulness tugging at something deep inside you. You knew your dad would appreciate that gesture. He wasn’t the kind of man who liked to use his name or status to get into fancy places. He didn’t care for the fuss of hospitality suites or special treatment. What he cared about was connection—being present, being part of something real. And here Jude was, offering exactly that. Although your dad was a man of comfort and luxury so you knew he wouldn’t complain in Jude’s box either. 

“He’d love that, Jude. Really, baby.” You smiled, this time genuinely. Jude’s eyes lit up, clearly pleased. He reached out, gently pulling you back down into his arms, your head finding its familiar spot against his chest. His lips pressed a soft kiss to your temple, a steadying presence as always. The warmth of his body, the rhythm of his breathing—it was enough to slow the racing of your thoughts, if only for a moment. As you lay there, your mind couldn’t help but return to the nagging possibility of what might be happening with your body. You tried to push it down, tried to focus on the feeling of Jude’s arm around you, the comfort of his presence. But it was hard to ignore. Every day, it seemed more likely that you were dealing with something much bigger than just fatigue or stress. You had brushed it off for so long, but now, sitting here with Jude, your thoughts swirling, you realized how scared you really were. And yet, in this moment, with Jude holding you close, something shifted. His kiss against your temple, the way his hand rested protectively on your side—it all steadied your heart. Maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be so terrifying. Maybe if Jude was by your side, and if your family was there too, it wouldn’t feel so overwhelming. The idea of facing whatever was coming with both of them by your side suddenly didn’t feel so impossible. As Jude’s breathing slowed, and you realized he was drifting off to sleep, you stayed awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling. The thought of Paris loomed ahead, the cold December air, the intensity of the match, the weight of what might be happening with your body. But maybe, just maybe, if you had Jude and your dad there with you, it would all be okay. Eventually, you let yourself relax into Jude’s arms, closing your eyes, telling yourself that whatever was coming, you wouldn’t face it alone. Maybe, just maybe, it would all be okay.

You leaned against the counter, watching Jude pace around the kitchen, phone in hand, looking every bit as anxious as someone about to make the biggest business deal of their life. You couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Jude, are you seriously this nervous to call my dad? You’ve known him for how long now?” You giggled. 

“It’s different this time. You don’t get it, alright?” Jude stopped, glancing at you with a look of half-embarrassment, half-whining. 

“Oh, I get it,” you teased, folding your arms. “You’re about to ask him to a football match, not pitch for a place on the team.” He groaned, running a hand over his hair, the nerves clearly getting to him. 

“Angel, seriously,” he whined, “don’t make fun. This is… important.” He glanced at you. You weren’t sure why this was such a big deal to him. Like just ask him to the game? Simple as. So you raised an eyebrow. 

“Important? Jude, you’ve invited people to games before.” You explained dropping a bit of the humor and inquiring a bit more genuinely. 

“Yeah, but this is different.” He shot you a look and mumbled. You could see that he was genuinely stressed, and that only made your curiosity grow. 

“Different how?” you asked, stepping closer, playful but also wondering what had him so rattled. “Are you planning something secret?” You teased and Jude’s breath caught momentarily in fear you knew why this was a bigger deal until he let out a frustrated sigh, cheeks turning a little red as he waved you off. 

“I’m calling him,” he muttered, “but I need to do it in private. You’re making me nervous.” He told you sheepishly with a childish pout. But that word made you pause. 

“Private? Why?” You asked. He shot you an almost panicked glance and headed for the door. 

“Because you can’t hear this,” he called over his shoulder, already making a break for the living room. “Don’t listen in!” You blinked, watching him retreat. What on earth was going on. Jude closed the door behind him, breathing out heavily as he looked down at his phone again, preparing himself. This wasn’t just about inviting your dad to the game—that part was easy. It was about the real reason he wanted to meet him before the match. He needed to ask your dad something far more important, something that had been weighing on his mind for ages now. He knew how much your family meant to you, and he wanted to do this right. He wanted your dad’s blessing before asking you the biggest question of his life, your life. Jude’s hand hovered over your dad’s contact before he hit the call button, exhaling deeply as he heard the line ring.

🪩🫶❤️‍🔥🍹🌞🍒 Thank you for reading! Please like, comment, or message what you think of the chapter 🍒🌞🍹❤️‍🔥🫶🪩

Next part - Chapter 23 - The Right Time xx

[ropebuny]

could you please post a list of kinky movies???

other than Secretary cause I already know that one haha

I actually haven’t seen that one yet ! it’s been on my watchlist for forever, I need to get around to watching it. and I haven’t actually seen many kinky or erotic movies unfortunately, so pls ignore how bad this list is but. I did my best ok. also pls keep in mind I haven’t seen every single one of these listed movies yet but I added them because their descriptions seemed to fit in here

bloodsisters: leather, dykes, and sadomasochism (1995) dir. michelle handelmann

videodrome (1983) dir. david cronenberg

crash (1996) dir. david cronenberg

from beyond (1986) dir. stuart gordon

good boy (original title: meg, deg & frank) (2022) dir. viljar bøe

belle de jour (1967) dir. luis buñuel

blue velvet (1986) dir. david lynch

the night porter (1974) dir. liliana cavani

venus in fur (2013) dir. roman polanski (🤢🤢🤢🤢)

venus in furs (1969) dir. massimo dallamano

sleeping beauty (2011) dir. julia leigh

the slave (1969) dir. pasquale festa campanile

liza (1972) dir. marco ferreri

the laughing woman (1969) dir. piero schivazappa

the forbidden photos of a lady above suspicion (1970) dir. luciano ercoli

the punishment (1973) dir. pierre-alain jolivet

successive slidings of pleasure (1974) dir. alain robbe-grillet

the story of o (1975) dir. just jaeckin

crimes of passion (1984) dir. ken russell

tightrope (1984) dir. richard tuggle

seduction: the cruel woman (1975) dir. elfi mikesch, monika treut

tie me up! tie me down! (1989) dir. pedro almodóvar

female misbehavior (1992) dir. monika treut

bitter moon (1992) dir. roman polanski (🤢🤢🤢🤢)

basic instinct (1992) dir. paul verhoeven

bound (1996) dir. lilly & lana wachowski

strictly speaking (1998) dir. kirk demorest

tops & bottoms (1999) dir. christine richey

first love (2004) dir. matteo garrone

s&m judge (2009) dir. erik lamens

be my slave (2012) dir. tōru kamei

kink (2013) dir. christina alexandra voros

wetlands (2013) dir. david wnendt

folsom forever (2014) dir. mark jensen

mr. leather (2019) dir. daniel nolasco

saint-narcisse (2020) dir. bruce labruce

divinely evil (2020) dir. gustavo vinagre

I cut your flesh (2020) dir. samhel

the pleasure of rope (2015) dir. bob bentley

fetishes (1996) dir. nick broomfield

venus in furs (1995) dir. maartje seyferth, victor nieuwenhuijs

new love in tokyo (1994) dir. banmei takahashi

the bedroom (1992) dir. hisayasu satō

beyond vanilla (2001) dir. claes lilja

the piano teacher (2001) dir. michael haneke

salon kitty (1976) dir. tinto brass

the duke of burgundy (2014) dir. peter strickland

pvt chat (2020) dir. ben hozie

in the basement (2014) dir. ulrich seidl

leap year (2010) dir. michael rowe

fruits of passion (1981) dir. shūji terayama

o fantasma (2000) dir. joão pedro rodrigues

a snake of june (2002) dir. shinya tsukamoto

islands (2017) dir. yann gonzalez

querelle (1982) dir. rainer werner fassbinder

sex, lies, religion (1994) dir. annette kennerley

love (2015) dir. gaspar noé

moonlight whispers (1999) dir. akihiko shiota

cruising (1980) dir. william friedkin

trans-europ-express (1966) dir. alain robbe-grillet

[chrollosbm]

Satoru Gojo is into Some Weird Roleplay (Christmas Smut)

art cr: glowx_21 on x

hey idk what this is LMAOO. i thought of this randomly bc gojo reminds me of a certain christmas character so i just ran with it! he's one of my three husbands who i love so much so i wanted to write about him. i'm so feral for him it's not even funny. anyways, i hope you enjoy and don't take it too seriously, unless you want to idc! mdni.

domestic gojo, husband gojo, dad gojo

female reader, no description of her features but i’m black so

warnings: piv sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, satoru won't shut up, dom gojo

i'm on ao3, pls support me there too!

wc: 1500+

“Satoru,” You surprised yourself in the way you were able to let out a single word with his unrelenting thrusts. “Baby. P-please slow down.” 

The man who was currently plummeting into you from behind let out a click of his tongue, ignoring your request and instead opted with a loud and hard smack to your ass, his pace somehow getting faster and harder. His hips were ruthless against the fat of your ass, creating clapping noises throughout the large bedroom.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He let out breathlessly, his tone as playful as ever, waiting for you to address him the right way.

You wanted to reach back and knock some sense into him, tell him to slow his thrusts before he knocked the wind out of you and woke up the children. His deep and powerful thrusts prohibited you from saying much though, with his fat cock reaching your g-spot so effortlessly that you were seeing stars.

If you could roll your eyes right now you would, but your body seemed to forget how to function, only capable of following the orders of your ridiculous but gorgeous husband behind you. “Saint Nick…please.” It would’ve sounded ridiculous to you if you weren’t being plummeted to Neptune with each touch of your gummy spot deep within you, but you were being fucked so stupid that you would call him God if he asked. “You don’t wanna wake up the little elves do you?” You played along as you continued panting, fingers grasping the silk sheets tightly, tears in your eyes from the intense pleasure.

You thought he was ignoring you again, with his long fingers digging deeper into your hips before he slowed his pace, deciding on an unhurried, rough one, sliding in and out of those warm, wet walls of yours with a long and drawn out “fuuuuuck,” leaving his mouth. “The elves are fast asleep, baby. Don’t worry about them, just take Santa’s dick, mmkay’?” His voice was jolly as ever, just like Santa Claus himself, and you would’ve laughed if his cock wasn’t basically touching your brain at this point. You could only let out small whimpers as he arched your back further, reaching only a place he could.

Why you agreed on letting your dear husband roleplay as Santa was beyond you, but Satoru had a way with words. All he had to do was promise to make you feel good, make you cum all night long, pretty please baby, in that convincing, deep voice of his, a pout on his features, those bright blue eyes begging, so how could you say no? 

You should have made some more conditions, one being to say no to the bells he had attached to the bed frame, with them ringing with each jerk of his hips, creating an impossibly loud jingle. He said it would get the two of you in the “Christmas spirit,” with the bed decorated in lights and ringing balls, sounding like a real sleigh everytime the bed hit the wall in full force. 

Your thoughts were interrupted by Satoru pulling himself out of you, leaving you empty and missing him already, causing a whine to leave your lips as he flipped you over as if you weighed nothing, before settling in between your legs again. You were faced with the beautiful man you were so grateful to call yours, his cerulean orbs were darkened somehow as they stared into yours, looking dazed and drunk off your pussy, his pupils slightly dilated. His pretty white follicles were tucked into a red santa hat, the puffy ball tossed on the side, sweat trickling from his temples from wrecking your insides. He had that adorable, innocent smile on his face, as if he wasn’t guilty of talking you into this comical predicament in the first place. 

“Will Mrs. Claus let me put the beard on again?” He let out, a pout forming on his pink lips, glossy from sweat and saliva.

“No, don’t ask again!” You almost yelled, your face scrunched in annoyance and he let out a booming laugh at your immediate response. 

Satoru did have a cheap, plastic beard that matched his white hair perfectly, but you made him take it off for a couple reasons. One being it looked terrible. As beautiful as the man above you was as he was staring down at you, shallow breaths coming from his perfectly shaped, rock hard abdomen, and his rosy cheeks, the beard made him look…creepy. Two being it was damn itchy. He had been going down on you when he had it on, but it was impossible for you to focus on his holy tongue work and perfect movements of his fingers, curving into you, hitting that spot that had you crying out his name for the night (fucking Saint Nick.) Once it began scratching your legs painfully, you’d forced him to take it off, which he did with a whine, throwing the damp, shitty excuse for a beard across the bedroom floor, before making you cum from his tongue alone, more than once.

Your husband’s wide grin was replaced with something immodest as he gripped your thighs, pulling you forward, and slipped inside torturously slow, earning a gasp from the both of you. His head was thrown back and his lip was caught in his teeth, causing your pussy to throb from both the feeling of warmth and fullness again, and Satoru’s effortless way of making you feel hot inside just by simple facial expressions, subsequently making a groan escape his lips before sinking into you completely, touching your gummy spot immediately with the angle he entered.

He kept your legs apart as he thrust into you forcefully and fast-paced again, with you giving no complaints this time about the commotion the jingling bed frame was causing. You didn’t care, for he was taking you to heaven in this position, goosebumps erupting from your skin and seeing black dots in your vision with each time he reached a new depth inside you. Your cunt was competing with the loud noises of those stupid fucking bells as it made sloshing noises throughout the room, and when you looked down, you could see your juices dripping onto his pretty, pale, absolutely perfect cock. 

As if he could read your mind, he spoke for you. “You’re so fucking wet, baby. My god.” His head was no longer tilted back, but also looking down as your tight, slippery cunt sucked in his dick, a feral look on his features, absolutely enamored by the sight. His pace never let up, his hips moving at the speed of light almost as he used one hand to press on your lower stomach, making it feel better than you thought possible. “You feel me in there? You feel Santa’s cock abusing this perfect little cunt?” His goofy grin returned and you couldn’t do anything but let out a loud moan of approval, face twisted up, still entertaining his mess because this just felt too fucking good. 

His hand moved from your tummy to focus on your clit, fingers rubbing small, soft circles, completely catching you off guard. Your legs began to tremble from the insane pleasure you were feeling, hands clenching the sheets so hard again you were surprised they didn’t come off the corners of the bed. 

“Can I make you a mommy again? Put another little helper in this belly?” That feral look was in his eyes again, tone as light as ever, as he slowed down, choosing a rough ram motion, causing your tits to jiggle at the change of pace, making Satoru groan at the sight, mouth halfway open. You didn’t know if it was the mind fog you felt from him fucking you brainless, but you nodded vigorously as tears fell down your cheeks, that white hot feeling in your veins approaching, mind so numb you would probably agree to having ten more of his white-haired, blue-eyed children. The two of your already had four, three you’d birthed and one you adopted, but you didn’t care right now, you felt like he had seriously taken you to the North Pole with the way his cock was basically fucking your guts.

His infamous smile returned before leaning down to place his lips on yours, barely kissing you, just sticking his minty tongue in your mouth and panting, speaking incoherent sentences along the lines of you being a “good girl,” and “taking his load so well.” You couldn’t comprehend a thing anyway, as your body began convulsing, washing over with relief as your orgasm was drawn out of you, long and bone shattering, with your back arching off the bed with a squeal that was hard to keep inside your body.

Satoru wasn’t too far behind you, with his eyes closed tightly, as his hips began twitching, the first time all night they didn’t have a consistent rhythm and he groaned out loudly, spurting long, hot ropes of his cum inside you.

His eyes opened soon after, those beautiful blue orbs staring at you adoringly with his signature wide grin on his face, in which you returned, panting heavily, so thankful for this beautiful, insane, goofy husband of yours. He grabbed the comforter and placed it over the two of you, kissing your lips softly, his breath heavy as the two of you exchanged small “i love you’s” back and forth.

“Mommy?” A small voice came from the corner of the room and your heart dropped, recognizing it as your three year old daughter’s, afraid of what she might’ve seen. Satoru hid under the covers, his hat coming off in the process and you had a full view of her now, with her candy cane nightgown and teddy bear in her arms, her lip quivering with tears in her eyes.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You asked, ready to get up and comfort your youngest, afraid something happened as it was past midnight on Christmas Eve. God, did the bells wake her up?

She stomped out the room before you could get up, wailing and yelling for her older brother. “Megumi! Mommy was kissing Santa!” Her cries could be heard throughout the entire house and you knew everyone would be awake by now.

Satoru’s loud laugh could also be heard throughout the entire house, its jollyness rivaling Saint Nick himself. 

my masterlist!

[rotthepoet]

Invisible String Theory (Anon!Slytherin Boy x Reader)

Chapter 4

warnings; NSFW, Stalking behavior, violence and self-inflicted injury(punching a wall), dumbification for like three sentences, some boys beef, reader has a panic attack, like kinda cliffhanger?

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

To Whom It May Concern,

Please leave me alone. 

Regards.

The folded letter sits on the mantle of the Slytherin common room fireplace. It taunts me. The soft, orange flicker casts long shadows over the room. Like a kid expecting Saint Nick, I wait. Patiently. Even as my eyes drift shut, exhaustion claiming my body, I prevail. Just a glimpse. Just a moment of eye contact. To know, to see, to end. A yawn racks through my body, and I stretch my arms above my head, my back popping.

Pinned.

A shrill shriek escapes me when a strong grip pins my wrists together above my head, and as soon as the scream leaves my lips, I’m released. Panic surges through my body, goosebumps plaguing my skin with a cold shiver, I stand suddenly and whip around to find–

Theodore.

It’s just Theo.

He has a sheepish look on his face, and he moves around the couch to gently lead me back to sitting, settling in beside me. He watches me lean back against the overstuffed cushions, releasing a deep sigh of relief.

“I’m sorry, I thought it was going to be funny.”

“No, no, it was. I’m just on edge,” I assured him, and shut my eyes, just for a moment.

Nott rests a hand on my knee, a friendly gesture, as he starts to rub small, comforting circles on the skin. “It isn’t helpful to stay up and wait for… It. Let’s get you in bed,” He whispers, and I shake my head.

“Just a bit longer, it’s the principle of the matter,” I explain, sighing and opening my eyes again. My eyes lazily scan the common room, abnormally empty, which makes me wonder about the time. Theodore sighs beside me and clicks his tongue. He shakes his head at me and suddenly, his arms wrap underneath my knees and around my back, and I yelp as I’m lifted off the couch. I wrap my arms around Theodore for the safety of my life, kicking my legs in protest.

“Let’s get you to bed–”

“Am I interupting?”

Nott and I’s head both snap towards the sound of a new voice, and a tall body stands in the shadows. Theo’s grip tightens on me, and I can’t help but squeak as his fingers dig into the soft skin of my thighs. The figure steps forward, his hands in his pockets, built like an athlete with wide, strong shoulders. Silver light passes through the Black Lake into our windows, casting an otherworldly glow across his face, and onyx eyes meet mine. 

“Riddle, you scared me,” I let out a shaky breath, slowly dropping my leg to the floor despite Theodore’s best effort to hold onto me. Speaking of which, he looks particularly upset. Maybe he doesn’t like being scared as much as he likes to scare people. “Anyone else planning on jumping out tonight? So far, I have two-for-two,” I try to laugh, but it falls silent as I notice the electric glare between the two. Another spat, I assumed, nothing surprising despite their tight-knit friendship. 

“You aren’t writing back to him, right?” Mattheo asks me, glancing at the envelope on the mantelpiece. Sheepishly, I look away and rub my goosebump covered arm. “It isn’t really writing back to him if I’m asking him to leave me alone–” “Asking?” “Telling. Telling him to leave me alone.”

Theodore scoffs and his hand finds the small of my back. “Let’s go, it’s too late for this,” He suggests, but with the way he gently leads me away from Riddle leaves no room for argument. I cast a glance over my shoulder and mouth a good night, not wanting to further upset whatever Theodore is brooding over. 

“You shouldn’t talk to him anymore,” Theodore mutters, leading me to my dorm room.

“What?” I ask, brows furrowing at his comment, “Look, whatever petty little fight you two are having will blow over,” 

“Not this time,”

“You say that every time, Theo!” I groan in exasperation, “You can’t just tell me who to hang out with just because you’re mad at them!”

Nott grunts in frustration and drops his arm from my back, stopping in his tracks. “Fine. Since, you want to be stupid-”

“Stupid?”

“Did I stutter?” He snaps, and my stomach churns suddenly at his tone, “Since you want to be so stupid, you can figure this all out on your own. No, actually. Go to Riddle. See how far that gets you.” He practically snarls at me, his once welcoming eyes now an angry rapid waiting to drown me beneath its waters. His gaze is suffocating. Angry.

“Fine,” I snap right back at him, but my voice is more confident than I feel, “He’ll be more helpful than you!” 

A sickening crack. That’s all I heard as Nott slams his fist against the stone wall, and a gasp leaves my lips in pure shock. Loose rock crumbles to the floor, skidding across the dungeon floor.

Theodore grips his first, his chest heaving with labored breaths, and blood drips from his balled fist to the floor. Before I can say anything, he turns on his heel and stalks away, leaving me alone outside my door.

Anxiety and anger seep into my stomach, and my brows knit with frustration. I push open my door, scanning my room, and my stomach drops when I find a bouquet of fresh red roses laying atop a heart shaped box of what could only be chocolates. I turn on my heel, but Theo’s name gets caught on my lips as I try to call for him, and suddenly, I feel very, very unwell.

Shit.

ﾟ+*:ꔫ:*﹤

I sat next to Mattheo at breakfast out of spite. Maybe it’s petty, but as Mattheo rests his elbow comically against my shoulder, Theodore glares at us from across the table. Draco continues talking at Theodore, unaware of his complete lack of focus on the subject at hand. I make eye contact with him for a moment, just a moment, and it sends a cold chill down my spine.

My eye drifts down to Theo's wrapped fist and wrist, his fingers tapping rapidly on the wood of the table. His stormy eyes never leave me even as I turn my gaze away, Parkinson catching my attention with a call of my name. 

“You got mail,” Pansy hummed, passing out each morning parcel. My anxiety creeps back up my neck, and I swear I feel Theodore still staring at me as I carefully tear open a crisp envelope. My hands shake as I slowly pull the nauseatingly familiar paper out, now stained with a deep crimson, and I hold my breath as I open it.

~

To Whom It May Concern, My Darling Future Husband,

Please leave me alone. I’m so sorry for being an insufferable brat recently. I really miss you, and I love you.

Regards. Yours, even if I need my attitude fixed.

I want that written word for word in your next response, or I promise you won’t like what I do to you. This is your last warning.

Yours.

P.s. You aren’t thinking about taking this to the headmaster, are you? It wouldn’t work out for you, love. Don’t be stupid. I hate when you don’t use that clever little brain of yours. Although, I wonder what you would look like fucked dumb.

~

A sob catches in my throat and fear courses through my body. The letter itself reeks, metalic, copper. I curl over in place, feeling my heartbeat quicken exponentially as I wrap my arms around my own stomach. A wave of nausea washes over me like a tsunami, and tears fall from my eyes as they squeeze shut. 

The outside world drowns away, any commotion muffled into a distant buzz as my ears start to ring. I’m hyper aware of the hand placed on my back, and beyond the buzz I can almost make out the voices of the friends surrounding me. 

Hey.

My brain feels fuzzy, and it flickers from one worst case scenario to the other. Pins prick at my skin painfully, making tears fall harder from my eyes.

Hey. 

I try to steady my breathing, but I can’t help but gasp for air.

Hey.

Hey, Hey, Hey, Look at me, Look at me.

I don’t look though, I can’t look. My body feels too light as my thoughts drift away, and the last thing I feel is strong arms catching me as I fall over. 

[la-femme-au-collier-vert]

IWTV Season Three Influences & References (so far) 😉

The First 21: How I Became Nikki Sixx by Nikki Sixx

Black Metal Rainbows edited by Daniel Lukes & Stanimir Panayotov

The Heroin Diaries by Nikki Sixx

The Art of Darkness: The History of Goth by John Robb

Set the Night on Fire by Robbie Kreiger

The Dirt: True Confessions of the World’s Most Notorious Rock Band by Tommy Lee, Mick Mars, Vince Neil and Nikki Sixx

The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975)

Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)

Mentioned at the SDCC24 panel by Rolin Jones and Daniel Hart:

David Bowie (particularly mid 70s/ Ziggy Stardust)

Mick Jagger of The Rolling Stones

Jim Morrison of the Doors

John Cale of the Velvet Underground

Freddie Mercury of Queen

Nick Cave of the Bad Seeds

David Lee Roth of Van Halen

Nicki Sixx of Motley Crue

Iggy Pop

Prince

Otis Redding

Mark Sandman

Ryan Kattner

Chappell Roan

Brandon Flowers of The Killers

Bjork

Fiona Apple

Daniel Hart 

T-Rex

Beastie Boys

Redd Kross

Tim Rose

Serge Gainsbourg

Electric Light Orchestra

Sweet

Florence Welsh

Saint Vincent

Raleigh Ritchie

Benjamin Clementine

Moses Sumney

Douglas Dare

Jeff Magnum

Paul Westerberg of the Replacements

Franz Liszt

Shostakovich

Gustave Mahler

Lang Lang

Martha Argerich

Gustavo Dudamel

Maurice Ravel cited by Daniel Hart on X

Nirvana cited by Daniel Hart during Reddit AMA

Season 2 here

Season 1 here

[topherwrites]

SNOWFLAKES IN MY STOMACH WHEN WE'RE KISSING

summary - spending the holidays with jake's family isn't always smooth sailing, but little else matters when you're grossly in love. (also - jake dresses up as santa for his nieces and nephews, you're real into it.) pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 2.7k rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni! content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / mostly fluff / jake being super in love / jake's family celebrates christmas / very brief angst / me being incapable of giving jake a good childhood / brief mention of childhood abuse / swearing / alcohol consumption / dash of smut / fingering / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: a little belated christmas one shot for you all. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated! TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Heat audibly blasts through the vents, the entire house sweltering. A solid summer day indoors. His mother won’t even let anyone touch the thermostat. In her defense, she grew up without a lick of snow on the ground and now it’s fifteen degrees in December, a real white Christmas.

Which isn’t exactly ideal for Jake considering he’s been roped into wearing a Santa suit for his young nieces and nephews. The suit is all red polyester—the least breathable material known to man—and thick faux fur cuffs. It’s causing him to start perspiring where sweat simply shouldn't be, his white undershirt clinging to his back and his crack.

“It’s too goddamn hot in this thing.”

Unbuttoning the jacket, he airs it out, the relief near immediate. 

Over his shoulder, he catches sight of you lounging on the guest bed—the one his mother oddly insisted that you could share—odd because that’s been a hard and fast rule for all the non-married seresin kids since his older sister began dating.

When she’d pointed him to the room, he’d paused, waiting for her to tell him which room would be yours, separately. Exactly like the sole previous time a girlfriend had stayed the night, way back in college, he figured you’d be placed in the room past his parents so no premarital shenanigans would occur. When that moment didn’t come, he’d stood there stupefied till you bumped his hip, nodding in the direction of the room.

Then he found out that with his brother and sister, their spouses and kids, and a few stray cousins and aunts staying, every other room was already occupied tenfold when he showed up with you in tow. 

He wasn’t sure if he would actually come down until a few days before, on the fence about spending so much time packed together with his family. But you’d volunteered to go along with him, meeting everyone besides his mother for the first time. Offering yourself up as a buffer.

It gives him pause less and less, just how much you care about him. Warmth spreads through him at the memory.

He was thankful that you had a bunch of airline credit banked, otherwise booking so late during the peak holiday season flights would’ve cost an arm and a leg.

Your feet kick back and forth as your eyes drag up his back, not put off in the slightest by his melting-like-frosty-the-snowman state, meeting his gaze with a heat you don’t attempt to hide. His irritation at the outfit dispels at your attention, melting away into something far sweeter.

“Is this doing it for you?”

“Oh,” your voice strained, “yeah, absolutely.”

And while there’s a bit of humor to the whole situation, what with the whole ‘being dressed as Old Saint Nick’ thing, your attraction to him isn’t a joke in the slightest. Sweaty, sunburned, exhausted. You seem to take a liking to any form Jake comes in. 

You continue, twirling your finger in a slow, instructive circle, humor alighting in your eyes, “Do a little twirl for me, baby.”

He laughs but gives in to your borderline indecent direction, turning steadily on his heel. He does a slow three-sixty, letting the jacket fall to his waist so your eyes can freely roam. Turning back to you, he takes you in the sight of you before he closes the gap, crawling over you to give you a kiss.

Things are so simple with you, you never make him work for your affection, it’s always present, even in your teasing. He doesn’t feel that pang of being inadequate that his father instilled in him when he was young—the pang that he let drive him for far too long into his adulthood. He can breathe right around you, loosen his tongue, soften his words. He can be a good man, not just a good pilot.

He loves you. You love him. Everything is right in the world.

────────────────────────

The kids love the whole theatrics of him dressing up like Santa, faux beard, and all. He answers their inquiries into whether or not he’s their uncle Jake with a falsely grandiose tone, handing them their presents—you’re not sure if they fully buy into it, but they all seem to be having fun.

Sipping on a mug of coffee, warm in your palms, you watch him from afar as he juggles holding two of his nieces, one dangling off of his arm like it's a monkey bar and the other calmly being held on his hip.

Ainsley and Avery—without judgment, you wonder what the reasoning is to name all your kids with the same first letter, like Pokemon evolutions.

“He’s always been good with them. Kids.”

Ah, the dreaded (potential) future mother-in-law ambushing you about kids part of the day. You had that penciled in for sometime around… now, generally. You look over at her. She looks back at you with a familiar glint in her eye. God, Jake looks just like her, same straight nose and dimpled smile and hooded eyes.

Mae doesn’t mean any ill will. You’re aware. But it all still settles ominously on your shoulders. The breadth of the unknown, what the future could hold, kids or not—whether or not you and Jake will even get that far, you hope so.

You nod slowly, calmly noting, “That’s not surprising.”

You see the way he is with them, how much they adore him. It’s a nice picture. But you're both still undecided on whether that’s one that you want of your own.

She seems to detect that you’re not going to humor her about the subject, dropping it. She looks at your empty mug, “Do you want a refill?”

────────────────────────

You casually gesture to the sprig taped to the doorjamb above you, “Is that what you were up to earlier?”

You note the little red berries, the toothed leaves, and the bush-like appearance.

“Maybe.” With a self-satisfied smile, he shrugs. His large palms grip at your waist, gently pushing you against the doorway.

You scratch at your cheek. “You know that’s not mistletoe, right?”

Holly. It's a frequent mistake, mostly from movies that wanted something to hang with a little more visual pop than actual mistletoe. He sighs, head falling back as he glares up at the traitorous plant. You’d never pass up the chance to poke a little fun at him, but now you want to bring the smile back to his face.

You poke at his side, bringing those pretty green eyes back to you, “But I suppose I can spare a kiss regardless.”

A smile creeps onto his face, warmth clear in his gaze. He leans his weight into you, not enough to crush but enough to let you feel all of him. Tilting his head, his voice drops as he questions, “Oh, will you make an exception? Bend the rules? For little ‘ol me?”

Breathing the same air, his nose nearly brushes yours. Everything but him, every sound and sight is extraneous—it all just turns to static.

You hum in agreement, “For you.” You brush the pads of your fingers along his cheekbone,  intentionally gentle, enjoying the way his lashes flutter at the gesture. “Now give me a kiss.”

Like the ever-dutiful soldier he is, he dips his head in assent, “Yes, ma’am.”

He takes the green light, gently molding his mouth to yours.

────────────────────────

His sixteen-year-old nephew, Sam, heckles him across the dinner table, quietly calling him a “fucking simp” as he hands you a refill of eggnog with a quick peck—that becomes two or three at his insistence, his lips chasing yours. His tone isn’t cruel, just an attempt at embarrassing his uncle.

He gets a smack upside the head from his dad—Jake’s older brother, Matt—for the language at the table, quick and sharp. Recycled material from their own childhoods. He tries to suppress the instinctual flinch, annoyance burning in his chest at how years later his heart is still sent racing. Jake wonders if he too, will become like their father. If it’s unavoidable. Something built into him. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with his brother.

He knows that he has the capacity for cruelty in him and though it doesn't come as quickly these days, he still has to make an active effort to not be a dick sometimes, especially with Bradshaw.

And then, a hand, warm and stabilizing, slides across his thigh, squeezing tenderly. His eyes bounce around the table, everyone pointedly looking at their plates, just like when they were young and his father thought that one of them needed corporal punishment for acting like a kid. 

Except for you, whose eyes are focused on Jake with so much understanding that he can’t help but knock his boot into his brothers.

“Don't do that shit.”

A tense moment follows. The clatter of forks stop, drinks pause at lips, and everyone’s eyes plant on him, perplexed that it’s been acknowledged in the slightest. Matt levels a stare back at him, and he wonders if he’s going to hear their dad’s signature line come out of his brother’s mouth—don’t tell me how to discipline my kids—leveled at anyone who ever expressed concern for the way their father treated them, teachers, other parents, their own mom.

His brother is the one to blink first, dropping his eyes down to his plate as he stabs at a piece of asparagus. The festivities resume around them. Quieter. 

It’s not a real acknowledgment. But he’s drawn a line in the sand.

Sam continues looking at him for a few more moments. He wonders if his nephew knows just how similar their childhoods were, why his father is the way that he is. Not that it would make it better, but it might help him to know that it’s not him, some fault of his own. 

Jake always thought that it was him. He knows a little better now.

────────────────────────

After all the kids have been bundled up in beds and the adults break out the liquor, it doesn't take long for Jake to crash. Sprawled on the couch next to you, his arm draped around your shoulder becomes less of a pleasant weight and more of a log hanging around your neck. 

You tap his stomach, softer and less-toned after the holidays—at your insistence that he actually eats some sugar for once and doesn’t, under any circumstances, wake you up at five am during your vacation so he can go for a run. You’re glad that he’s taken the threat seriously, that he’s taking it easy and actually relaxing while you’re here. He grumbles at your touch but barely stirs, about eighty percent tired, twenty-percent drunk.

“Christ, when did he become such a lightweight?” His brother directs his jibe disguised as a question to you.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, standing up. You pat his thigh, holding your hands out. “Up and at ‘em, lieutenant.”

His eyes peel open at the use of his rank. Blinking awake, he flops his hands into yours, not taking a strong grip. You're thankful for the fact that he barely relies on you to help himself stand, swaying minorly as he does so. You’re not particularly eager to see what’d happen if you had to haul all two hundred pounds of Jake upright on your own.

You both trod up the stairs. His hand caressing the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister as you go, the Christmas lights hung from it setting the staircase in a warm glow. With your arm looped around his waist and his looped around yours, you make slow progress towards the room at the end of the hall.

He toes off his boots as you shut the door to the bedroom, flopping backward onto the bed. Eyes fluttering sleepily, a hint of a smile on his face, he sighs out a breath. Voicing his inner thoughts aloud, his voice is gentle, “I'm so happy.”

The statement settles sweetly in the air.

Taking hold of your hand, he pulls you on top of him. His eyes heavy, he isn’t particularly conscientious about where you’re going to land, so you have to catch yourself before you knee him in the dick. Straddling him, you find your place in his lap. Affection, as it always does, blooms in your chest at the sight of him.

“Are you as happy as I am?” His question is gently curious, none of his old insecurity laced through.

You slowly nod, hands smoothing over his chest as you lean over him. “Yeah, I really am.”

Under your palms, you can feel him huff a pleased sigh.

Large hands land on your thighs, smoothing up and down the bare skin under the hem of your skirt. His eyes roam over your figure, from your legs, your waist, your chest, finally landing on your face, “You look so pretty. Have I told you that?”

Suppressing your smile, you squint as you tilt your head, imitating deep thought. You hum, “Mm, about twenty times today.”

“I think you could stand to hear it one more time.” He sits up on his elbows with surprising swiftness, his nose brushing along your cheek before his lips settle next to your ear, “You are so pretty.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss you, lips gliding softly over yours. He tastes like rum and vanilla. Under you, you feel him grow half hard. It’s one of the things that you never really expected from him, just how needy of a drunk he is.

He slips his tongue into your mouth, large palms squeezing at your hips as he guides you to rock over him. His breaths mingle with your own as he pulls back, panting, “You wet for me?”

Rucking up your skirt past your hips, his hand slips into your underwear and he swipes two fingers through the wetness collected there before you can—for the sake of his sleep schedule—gently turn him down. You fold over him, smothering your moan into his shoulder as he pushes in, his palm immediately harshly grinding against your clit. With your own buzz sliding through your body, you melt into the pleasure, task entirely forgotten. 

Burning heat spreads through your core, your cunt clamping down around his fingers. It’s so good—it’s always this way, like he’s read the manual on your body.  Slick sounds echo in the otherwise quiet room; your gut twists, high building.

Just as you're about to fall over the edge his movements slow, and the peak he was working you to begins to dissipate. But you're left on the edge as his brain seems to intermittently connect to its previous task, working over your pulsing clit. Your hips kick into his palm, the not quite enough stimulation tortuous. You try to roll off of him, but the arm around your back stays put. He grumbles for a moment. You nearly yelp at a shift of his palm shoots electricity up your spine.

You shake his shoulder, “Jake, Jake.”

“Mm,” he hums, “no, no.” He blinks himself only half-awake, eyes still drooping, “Second wind.”

You reach behind your back, sliding his arm from around you, pressing it to his chest. You draw his hand out from under you, the drag of his fingers sending waves of heat through you. Pressing a kiss under his jaw, you whisper, “Go to sleep.”

Eyes still closed he slides the fingers that were just inside you past his lips, casually cleaning your arousal off them. You have to pretend like that doesn't make your cunt pulse with need. He rolls onto his side, then mumbles into the pillow, “Fine, but I’m going to rock your world in the morning.”

You pat his stomach, placating him—sure that in the morning he’ll remember that he’s surrounded by his parents, siblings, and their offspring, that the walls are a little too thin for what he wants to do to you.

You collapse on the bed beside him, already nodding off.

You're proven wrong in the morning. He sends you over the edge twice with his head trapped between your thighs and his palm sealed over your mouth. And at breakfast, you have to play off the flush he carries as the AC putting out too much heat, smiles barely suppressed.

e/n: thank you for reading!

tagging those who liked the teaser: @mamachasesmayhem @pricelessemotion @sorchathered @dizzybee03 @always-and-forever-at @ofstoriesandstardust @sunlightmurdock @withahappyrefrain @aworldwideapart @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

[wearethekat]

Anticipated Upcoming New Releases

Anticipated by Me. Asterisk for titles where I haven't read anything by the author previously (ie sounds cool but unvetted)

*Hammajang Luck, Makana Yamamoto (14 January). In a far-future world, a thief is approached by the partner who betrayed her for one last job just after getting out of a prison planet on early parole.

Emily Wilde's Compendium of Lost Tales, Heather Fawcett (11 February). Book three of a series, in which Emily deals with the repercussions of being engaged to a faerie king.

Wooing the Witch Queen, Stephanie Burgis (18 February). Romantasy in which an evil sorceress queen gets catfished by a disguised imperial archduke pretending to be a librarian in a gaslamp setting.

The Tomb of Dragons, Katherine Addison (11 March). Reportedly actually coming out this year! In book 3 of the series, Thara Celehar investigates a case involving an old cemetery and a miner's group.

A Gentleman's Gentleman, TJ Alexander (11 March). Alexander sticks their nose into the Regency genre with this t4t lord/valet romance.

*Murder by Memory, Olivia Waite (18 March). A sci-fi mystery novella set on a generation ship, where a ship's detective investigates a mysterious murder.

*Aunt Tigress, Emily Yu-Xuan Qin (18 March). Reformed monster Tam investigates the murder of her aunt in Chinese folklore inspired urban fantasy Canada.

A Drop of Corruption, Robert Jackson Bennett (1 March). Sequel. Our Sherlock Holmes coded detective investigates the disappearance of a treasury officer with the help of her trusty assistant in a complex secondary fantasy world.

Don't Sleep With The Dead, Nghi Vo (8 April). Vo returns to the fantasy Great Gatsby setting with this novella from the POV of Nick Carraway post-novel events.

*The Gentleman and His Vowsmith, Rebecca Ide (15 April). An accidentally falling in love with your wedding vendor by during your arranged marriage book, now with a locked mansion murder mystery.

Advocate, Daniel M Ford (22 April). Book three of a series. Insufferable lesbian necromancer Aelis is summoned back to the capital to investigate an accusation against her former teacher.

Saint Death's Herald, CSE Cooney (22 April). Sequel to my particular favorite Saint Death's Daughter. Lanie Stones must contain her murderously ambitious (and dead) great grandfather before he conquers the world.

Ascension, ST Gibson (13 May). Sequel to Evocation about the contentious urban fantasy wizard polycule.

The Incandescent, Emily Tesh (13 May). A professor at a magical academy deals with some troublesome demons. (I'm VERY excited for this one)

The Mercy Makers, Tessa Gratton (17 June). Criminal heiress Iriset uses her ability to create magical disguises to infiltrate the palace and free her father, insinuating herself into the lives of the emperor and his sister in the process.

Last Night Before the War Was Won, Emily Skrutskie (24 June). Two redshirts unexpectedly don't die in a fantasy apocalypse after a band of plucky heroes intervene, forcing them to contemplate their one last night stand.

The Memory Hunters, Mia Tsai (29 July). Secondary world academia about using memory magic powers for archaeology.

Hemlock & Silver, T Kingfisher (19 August). A retelling of Snow White from the point of view of a healer trying to cure the poisoned princess.

[theharddeck]

santa baby (been an awful good girl) // coyote x f!reader

pairing: javy coyote machado x fem!reader (no y/n)

synopsis: coyote dresses up as santa + reader is only human = reader and coyote get it on in santa's workshop

word count: 6.6k

warnings: 18+ explicit content, minors DNI: unprotected sex, explicit PiV sex, a bit of dumbification, slight overstimulation, lowkey desecrating the concept of christmas but like in a hot way

A/N: i...i have no excuse. thinking of javy being dorky during sex has effectively ruined me. merry chrysler

The second Sunday in December was the tree-lighting at Miramar. 

The event entailed, of course, the lighting of the tree at the center of base, but also a crafts market, an ugly-Christmas sweater competition, and breakfast-for-dinner, but most importantly: a meet and greet with Santa. 

While it wasn’t required attendance for any of the Service members, most everyone who wasn’t on leave found some way to be involved. You found yourself at the cookie decorating station, trying to teach kids a modicum of restraint, and sneaking glances at your boyfriend over in Santa’s Workshop. 

That’s right, Javy Machado – distinguished Lieutenant, Louisiana’s finest, and your personal hero – was currently drowning in red velvet and faux ermine, dressed up as jolly old Saint Nick. His diamond-sharp jawline was hidden behind a monstrosity of a fake beard, but he had managed to master the twinkle in his eye. The night was winding down, but he showed no waning energy, just endearing interest in each and every child that made its way into the small structure. 

You could just barely see him through the front window of the Workshop, but every time you looked over at him, your heart fluttered. 

It was the way he hunched his shoulders, clearly trying to diminish his size to make himself seem less intimidating. 

It was the way he met each child’s eye, exuding comfort and kindness. 

It was how after a couple of minutes, even the shyest child seemed to relax against him, how their smiles brightened and their giggles echoed around the family center. 

You knew Javy was a total sweetheart, but it made you so proud to see how special he was making this Christmas for each of these kids, some of whom were having a dark season with their parents being deployed. 

There was a clatter and you looked away from the workshop to find RJ, one of Payback’s kids, looking guiltily up at you, holding an entire paper plate covered in Snowman sprinkles. The faint outline of a sugar cookie was visible under the blue-and-white pile, but not by much. 

Good thing it was only the ninetieth time this had happened today. 

“Happens all the time,” you said brightly, keeping your voice happy so the kid wouldn’t panic, and thinking of a diversionary topic. “Did you see Santa already?”

RJ nodded, willingly distracted. 

“He said he’d get me a Lego set!” he said, the slight lisp in his voice absolutely adorable. “A Lego set!” you repeated, folding the plate slightly so that you could pour the excess sprinkles into a dixie cup. “One of the Star Wars ones??”

“Yep!” RJ told you excitedly, his eyes widening, the sprinkles dilemma forgotten. “With an X-wing, so I can have a plane, like Daddy!” 

You finished pouring off the sprinkles, and turned the still-overly-sprinkled-but-now-recognizable-as-a-cookie plate back to RJ. He grinned up at you through a missing tooth and you couldn’t help but smile back. 

Payback might be nearly as bossy as Mav when you were up in the air, but he did have damn cute children. 

You were halfway through helping RJ with a sleigh-shaped cookie when the Christmas music they’d been cranking turned off with reverb, and someone cheerily announced over the loudspeaker that it was time for the festivities to draw to a close. Overhead lights turned on, dispelling the ambiance created by thousands of christmas lights, but you were halfway through the cookie, so you two kept working on it. 

What were they going to do? 

At some point, Reuben came over with a couple wrapped packages tucked under his arm, giving you a grateful look for keeping an eye on his son. 

The only warning you had was RJ’s reverent gasp and the widening of his eyes before you felt familiar hands on your waist and an unfamiliar beard scratching your neck. 

“Santa,” RJ breathed, and you tried to delicately step out of Javy’s grasp as he realized he couldn’t exactly greet his real-life girlfriend while there were still kids who believed in the magic of Santa within eyesight.

Javy cleared his throat and you pressed your lips together to hide a smile as you watched your boyfriend stand up straighter under the boy’s worshipful gaze.  

“RJ,” Javy said, his voice pitched lower than normal, to disguise it, and you noticed he was avoiding Reuben’s gaze pretty determinedly. “Doing some serious cookie decorating, I see?”

RJ nodded animatedly, holding up his plate to show “Santa” and nearly tipping both cookies off it in the process. Reuben dove for it, and you tried not to laugh, leaning lightly against Javy. You noticed absently that he must’ve taken the suit padding out, because you could feel his stomach through the red velvet.

Unfortunately, when RJ looked up from his plate, he noticed your lean, as well as Javy’s hand on your hip. He frowned, his small forehead wrinkling, and he tipped his head up at Javy. 

“That’s Coyote’s girlfriend,” he told Javy archly. 

“Uh,” Javy stalled, and you again found yourself fighting the urge to laugh, “yes. And…that’s why I want to steal her away for a moment. Coyote’s been a really good boy this year, and I want to talk about what kind of present he would want.”

RJ’s eyes narrowed, and he was about to say something else, before Reuben gave an exasperated sigh. 

“For God’s sake,” he muttered, reaching for RJ’s cookie plate, effectively poaching the boy’s attention. 

“Let’s show these cookies to your Ma, yeah, Junior?” he asked, before turning back to you and Javy. “And you two– behave.”

He spun on his heel, and RJ waved enthusiastically to you before following his father happily, and you turned to Javy, smiles breaking over both of your faces. 

“Not your most graceful, lieutenant,” you teased him, but Javy was already looking around the recreation center. 

With the overhead lights on, and the Christmas music off, it was rapidly emptying. Teams had already been tasked to come in tomorrow to clean it out, so for now everyone was clearing out, trying to get their kids home before the sugar crash set in, and Javy’s gloved hand found one of yours. 

“Come on,” he said quietly, in his normal voice, and you followed him instinctively when he tugged lightly on your grasp. 

You were surprised when he led you back over to Santa’s Workshop, and you ducked into the entryway. 

It wasn’t a large space, something constructed of red and green painted plywood pieces, barely big enough to accommodate Santa’s throne. The throne itself was a replica of the Iron Throne that Fanboy had paid a preposterous amount for, and had been convinced to donate to the greater good. He had then had to be led away from in agony, as Army Wives sanded down the pointy edges, and repainted the swords as candy canes.

“Nice digs, Santa,” you said wryly, your sentence ending on a squeak as Javy pulled you into his arms. 

Kissing him with the fake beard was funny, but his mouth was distracting enough that you soon forgot. 

You melted into him as you always did, your hands pressed against his broad chest. Javy’s strong arms banded around you as he kissed you hungrily, like he’d been waiting, like he’d been missing you. He tasted like peppermint, like the candy canes the “elves” (Natasha and Jake) had forced on him any time he started looking bored. 

When he pulled back, you were breathless, blinking up at him slowly. 

Javy smiled at you softly, his own chest rising and falling underneath your hands. He was so unbelievably handsome, always, but you loved his sweet smile. 

Especially how it looked from this close. 

“Hi,” you whispered, and Javy groaned, leaning down to kiss you again. 

His tongue swept into your mouth, and your knees almost buckled, causing you to cling to his shoulders. He was so strong, so big, and you knew he loved holding you, nearly as much as you treasured being held.  

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your lips, and you felt your skin heat. You were just wearing a festive sweater under a pinafore-style skirt, aiming for comfort and festivity over something that accentuated your figure.

“It’s just a–” you tried, but Javy made a disapproving sound and kissed you firmly, interrupting your rationalization. 

“Beautiful,” he insisted, after a moment, and you nodded dazedly. 

Javy hummed, approving, and he shifted to pull off his gloves. A moment later, you felt his index finger under your chin. He tilted your head up towards him, and his kiss turned gentle, indulgent. 

“I could feel you watching me, you know,” Javy murmured, between kisses. 

 You shivered when his thumb brushed over your jaw. 

“Hard not to,” you managed to say. 

Javy laughed, a low, warm sound, that you felt like a caress. 

“What is it, honey,” he teased, brushing light kisses up your cheek, and ducking his head to reach behind your ear, “the red velvet doing it for you?”

You let out a breathy gasp when you felt his teeth ghost over your earlobe. 

“‘Course not,” you mumbled, but it didn’t sound convincing. 

It actually wasn’t the red velvet. 

It wasn’t even how sweet he had been with the kids, which was pretty darn sweet. 

“What was it?” Javy asked, as he kissed down your neck. 

You shivered as his tongue and teeth teased you. When he reached the collar of your sweater, he nosed it aside, and sucked lightly at the space where your neck met your shoulder.

“The glasses,” you blurted. 

You felt him hesitate, and he pulled back, looking at you amusedly. 

“The glasses?” he echoed, and you tried not to squirm. 

“Well, and the beard,” you admitted. “Not the actual aesthetics, just, like, the idea of them…the idea of older you. Silver fox Javy, you know, graying and—”

With a whoosh, the overhead lighting in the recreation center shut off. 

You turned to look out the window, surprised to find that no one else was left in the recreation center. They had cleared out quickly and the large room was suddenly dark, except for the lights strung around the “roof” of Santa’s Workshop. 

When you looked back at Javy, his teeth gleamed as he smiled.

His hand trailed down his arm till it tangled with yours, and he pulled you deeper into the workshop. 

“Javy, we should go–” you started to protest, but you broke off when he sat on the throne. 

The twinkling lights cast a golden glow into the otherwise dark room, and even in the shadows, Javy looked so damn sexy. He shifted in the seat, his thighs spreading, and planted his boots on the ground. He still held your hand, and you really did feel like you were standing in front of a throne, a queen to his king.

“It’s just us, honey,” he said, his voice deep, and you were having a hard time coming up with a response. Not when he looked this good, not when he was looking at you like that, not when you could already see the outline of his hardening dick against the inside of his velvet suit. 

God, what a thought–velvet and Javy. 

Your mouth practically watered, and when Javy tugged lightly on your hand, you let him pull you. You stood between his spread legs, the throne tall enough that you barely had to bend down to kiss him. This kiss was impossibly slow, leisurely. 

Javy’s hands trailed down your body, settling under your ass as he pulled you closer to him. You whimpered as his touch pulled you flush against him, his body hard against you, and his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass. Your own hands ran over his chest, around the back of his neck, anchoring you to him.

His big hands kneaded your ass, and you whimpered against his mouth when he guided you slightly sideways, against where his dick rested on his thigh.  

You felt your kisses turn lazy as he overwhelmed you. 

His big hands, his strong thighs, his hot cock, his broad chest…you felt your knees weaken as the kiss deepened. 

Javy knew, and he pulled back, giving you space. His hand found yours again, and he led you from between his legs, before reaching under your skirt. 

His touch was slow, certain, as his fingers trailed up your thighs to your waistband, where he found the edge of your tights, and slid them down your legs. He went slowly, and you were grateful for it; your head was spinning and you didn’t feel like you could catch your breath. You watched as he pulled the tights down your thighs, prompting you to step out of your shoes first. 

“Here, honey,” he prompted, guiding you to balance on the thick toes of his boots, so you wouldn’t have to stand on the floor, before he peeled your tights off. 

That thoughtfulness, combined with the determined carefulness with which he undressed you, sent another wave of arousal for you, and you followed his instruction without thinking. 

His hands were back on your legs then, reaching under your skirt again, up and up, and you shivered when his hands ghosted over the front of your underwear. 

“Were you telling the truth?” he murmured, his voice low, and you pressed your lips together to trap a whine inside your throat. “Am I gonna find you worked up under here?” 

You weren’t sure until his fingers pressed between your thighs. 

And then you moaned, you couldn’t help it. Javy’s fingers pressed into your center over your panties, his touch collecting your arousal and you felt the drag of wetness between his finger, the thin fabric, and your skin. 

Javy hummed his approval, and his pleasure had you bowing into him. 

“Javy,” you whispered, not sure what you were asking for, but certain he would know. 

“C’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling you into his lap, his hands not leaving your panties, but still keeping you covered by your skirt. He guided you over his thighs, your legs spreading to rest in his lap, and you immediately were obsessed with the feeling of velvet stretched over his strong thighs. 

You looked up at his expression, and you felt your heart flutter. 

Christ, he was so beautiful. 

His expression was one of intense focus, but the panes of his face were so gorgeous, all the more for the fondness between the both of you. 

You pressed yourself up to kiss him, knowing you’d stumble over finding the words to tell him. Javy’s lips were so soft, his mouth so gentle, and the hand that wasn’t under your skirt cupped the back of your neck. The tenderness in his touch coupled with the strength in his hands was a heady combination, and you melted into his arms again. 

After a couple long, sweet kisses, you felt his hands move against you. 

You broke away from his kiss, breath catching as Javy dragged a thick finger over your now soaking panties. 

“You’re so warm here,” Javy murmured, his voice almost reverent, and your hands splayed over the red coat, grasping whatever you could. The pressure of his hand and the deep timbre of his voice were enough to drive you mad, and he knew it. 

“You feel so good, honey, so inviting…” Javy continued, and he pushed your panties aside. 

You whimpered at the first brush of his fingers against your core, slickened by your arousal, and warm against your skin. Your fingers scrambled to undo the red coat, fumbling with the buttons until you had the jacket undone, and you could feel the familiar cotton of his white undershirt. 

It wasn’t enough, you needed his skin. 

“Off,” you mumbled, and Javy chuckled as you pulled weekly at the bottom of his undershirt. It took some maneuvering, but you got the jacket off, then the undershirt, and then decided the beard and hat – while they had their charm – needed to go as well. 

And then you were breathless for a whole other reason. 

“You look like a damn fireman calendar,” you told him, your voice somewhere between amused and chagrined at the perfection that was a shirtless Javy Machado in red velvet pants and thick black boots, reclining in a garish throne. You decided that indulging the fantasy couldn’t hurt, and you guided the suit jacket up over his shoulders again. You tipped your head to the side, regarding your amused boyfriend.  

“Some mom in New Jersey would lose her shit,” you told him honestly, and it probably should’ve made you jealous, but it made you just so damn thankful he was all yours. 

You watched Javy’s abs contract as he laughed, pulling you back to him, and you smiled as he kissed you. You loved that it was like this with him – playful and fun, as well as just so fucking hot. 

It only took a moment for the laughter to fade from your kiss, and Javy’s hand was back inside your panties a moment later. 

He pulled a finger through your folds and your head fell back at his tease. He gathered your arousal with his finger, pulling his hand back up to the top of your slit. He found your clit easily, a familiar path, and when he pressed firmly, your legs jolted. 

“You’re Coyote’s girl, aren’t you?” he said thickly, and you wondered if he was thinking back to what RJ had said, or if he just liked the thought of you being his. Either way, you nodded weakly, overwhelmed by the pattern he traced over your clit. 

Javy turned his head so he could kiss your neck again, his lips pressing into you, tongue teasing you in a motion that mirrored his fingers at your core. You leaned into him, loving his strength and his focus on you. His hand, his mouth, his broad chest, all had your head swimming, and building up a heat within you. 

Your hips were moving, rocking into him, and you felt empty, needy. 

“Answer the question, honey,” he murmured into your neck, and he pulled back his hand to readjust. 

“Yes, Javy,” you breathed, forming the words feeling like a gargantuan effort, “yours.”

“Damn right,” he said, and then a finger was pushing through your folds as his thumb traced over your clit. 

You moaned as he pushed into you, a steady intrusion and just what you wanted. You rocked your hips into his touch, seeking more, deeper, and Javy chuckled. 

“Easy, baby,” he said softly, and you shook your head. 

“Need you, Javy,” you protested. His finger was thick, brushing into you, but you knew it wasn’t enough, knew it wasn’t what you needed. He grunted, shifting again, and then another finger was between your legs. Javy’s hand on your hip angled your hips downward, and your mouth fell open when he lifted his palm so you could grind your clit against it. 

His fingers inside you were pressing deep, stretching you, and you welcomed the width of them as you ground into his palm. 

“Baby, fuck,” you panted, and you felt his hips jerk up into you. 

Which had the opposite effect than what he had intended. 

Because his fingers were good, and his hand was good, and everything felt so fucking good– but you knew what was between his legs. And his hand wasn’t enough. 

“You need to be fucked, don’t you, honey,” Javy asked hotly, his voice low in your ear. You nodded desperately, your hips working against his fingers eagerly. He’d fill you so good, fuck you so full, and you needed it, needed him. 

You were overheating in your sweater, nearly wild with wanting him so bad, but you were taking everything he’d give you, always would. 

“Please, baby,” you whispered, and it sounded like a whine. You felt his hips press up again, an unintentional response, and your hips worked faster. 

“‘s too fast, sweetheart,” Javy said, but it sounded like maybe he was trying to convince himself too. “You’re not ready…”

You moaned, your head dropping to his shoulder. 

You knew he was right, knew you had to be worked up to taking his cock, but you wanted to be full of him, wanted to feel like his, wanted him to push everything else out of your mind with his dick. 

“Please,” you whimpered, unafraid to beg, and you felt Javy’s breath catch. 

“Cum for me first, honey, come on,” he said determinedly, and you would’ve scowled at him for his stubbornness, but he was working your body so fucking well. 

His fingers were pressing deeper inside of you, searching for the spot that would tip you over the edge. He knew when he found it because your whole body seized, and he fucking cooed, pleased and proud. His fingers worked faster inside of you, his palm grinding back into your clit, and you felt your body hurtling towards completion in spite of yourself. 

You whimpered his name, and Javy soothed you, his other hand falling to your ass again. He pressed you into him, shushing you as you trembled, and it was too much, too fast. 

Your orgasm broke through you, heat crashing over you as your boyfriend rocked you in his lap. You were shaking, you were pretty sure you were babbling, as Javy worked you through your orgasm, his strong fingers pulling steadily inside of you. 

You shuddered as you came down, the world fading from technicolor to the dark light of the rec center, and the ringing in your ears quieted enough to hear Javy murmuring praise into your ear. 

“So beautiful, honey, always so beautiful when you come. Fuck, you did so good, coming on my hand like that, such a good girl for me, always so good…”

You were pressed into his chest, and you snuggled closer to his warmth, temporarily sated. You felt Javy shift his hand, pull your panties back down before sliding his hand out from under your skirt. A moment later, you felt his chest vibrate, and when you pulled back to look, his eyes were closed, head tilted back, his fingers between his lips.  

“So fucking sweet,” he said, almost to himself, licking your orgasm off his fingers. You felt your core clench at the sight of it, at the everything of him, and you tilted your head up to him, needing his kiss. 

Javy acquiesced, and you both moaned when his tongue swept into your mouth, sharing the taste of your release. It was so hot, everything he did was so hot, and impossibly, you needed him again. 

You reached down between you, your fingers skating over velvet until you found his cock. He was fully erect now, trapped against his thigh, and when your fingers coasted over him, Javy’s breath caught. 

You hummed when his hips pressed up into your touch. 

Even without your body moving to encourage him, his thighs pushed his dick towards your hand, and you loved the feeling of him. Even through the soft material, he was so hard, so thick, and you were desperate for him. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Javy panted, and you loved it when he sounded like that, like he was barely clinging to sanity. 

“Don’t want to wait,” you trailed your hand up to his tip. You couldn’t feel the details of him through the suit, but you knew his cock, you knew where he was sensitive, and Javy groaned as you traced over him. He mumbled something into your sweater, but you couldn’t hear it. 

“Please, Javy,” you whispered, and he groaned again. 

His hands were on your waist, and they tightened when he pulled back. You were surprised by the truly forlorn look on his face when he looked up at you, and your hand paused, suddenly concerned. 

“I don’t have a condom,” Javy said dejectedly. “I’m sorry, honey, it felt pervy to put it in a pocket around all the kids and I–”

“We don’t need one.”

You didn’t mean to say it, but as soon as the words were out, you knew you meant them. You’d been exclusive for a couple months now, and you were tested regularly, and you trusted him. The more you thought about it, the more you wanted it– the more you needed it, the more you knew it was exactly what you needed.

Javy was so still underneath you. 

He was looking at you so closely, hope and caution warring in his expression. 

“Are you absolutely certain, honey?” he asked, and the way he was double checking was all the confirmation you needed. 

You leaned down to rest your forehead against his, loving the way his eyes followed you, even this close. You lowered your head to his, pulling back slightly when he reached up to kiss you. 

“100%,” you said against his lips, and Javy moaned, something deep in his chest, the hottest sound you’d heard. 

He surged up to kiss you, and you felt dizzy from the lingering taste of you on his tongue. When he pulled back, you were both breathless, just shy of giddy.   

“You want me to fuck you bare, sweetheart?” he asked, and his soft question made you shiver. 

“Please,” you managed, and Javy huffed something that might’ve been a laugh. 

“You’re gonna let me into that pussy raw?” he breathed, and you squirmed in his lap. You wanted him so badly, needed to feel him, just him. “Gonna let me fill you up, feel this cock press all the way into you?”

“Javy,” you moaned his name, fully wanton, unable to say anything else. 

Your hips were already rocking into him, craving the stretch of him. 

He seemed to understand, guiding you back to stand on his boots, while he shifted, sliding the suit pants down his thighs, along with his underwear. The red velvet pooled over his boots, brushing the tops of your feet, but you barely noticed. Instead, your eyes were trained between his thighs, where his dick was resting against his stomach. 

He had such a pretty cock. 

Long and heavy, curved slightly to the side, a plump head that felt absolutely unreal when it breached you. You were practically salivating for it, and you pressed your thighs together as you balanced on his boots. 

“Now you,” he prompted, and he helped you out of your sweater and skirt. A moment later, you felt Javy pull your panties off, now with no worry for the suit. 

He dropped the thin fabric to the ground and you stepped out of it, his fingers curled up to cup you. God, you loved how he touched you, so certain and steady, like him. You clutched his shoulder for balance, and Javy’s hand tightened over your pussy, pulling him to you by your pussy. 

You might as well have been on a leash. 

You could feel your legs trembling, you wanted him so bad. He guided you back onto his lap, your legs spread over his thighs again, but it was different now, because you could feel him. When you settled, your core brushed against his hot cock, and you both hissed out a breath. Desperation seemed to build between you, and Javy finally, finally let go of you, reaching down to hold his cock steady as you lowered yourself towards him. 

“Give me that pussy, baby,” he commanded, his voice low, and you wanted nothing more. 

When you felt the first press of his fat cockhead between your legs you felt like weeping. It was the smallest brush, but he was so thick, so broad, a promise. You held your breath as you lowered yourself down, a high-pitched moan working out of you when the head of him was fully inside you.  

“Ah, honey,” Javy breathed. 

It sounded like he was praying, and you understood, because it was just the tip of him, but already you were dizzy with how full you felt. 

You looked between the two of you, at the vision of his fat cock pressing into you and you moaned again. You looked so good together; it was amazing that he fit, that you could take him. You could feel his eyes on you, knew he was watching your face as you were watching where you were joined. 

“It’s so good, Javy,” you whispered, your fingers tightening on his shoulders. Your nails were probably leaving marks, not that either of you cared. 

“That’s right, sweetheart,” Javy said, his voice hoarse, “it’s so fucking good. How does my dick feel inside you, just me, so close to you?”

Your eyes closed and your jaw fell slack as pushed yourself farther onto him. The stretch neared on painful but nowhere near painful enough to make you stop. You felt him, like he said, you felt so close to him. It felt perfect, like you were made for this stretch.

“Halfway, baby,” Javy encouraged, and you practically choked at his words. 

Fuck, you thought you were farther along than that; it felt like you’d gotten farther along than that. 

But when you opened your eyes, there were still inches left of his cock, thick, searing length that you needed to fit inside of you. Javy’s hands rubbed encouraging circles on your back, and you realized your thighs were shaking. It felt like you were boiling, melting, but you knew you couldn’t stop, knew you needed to take all of him. 

Still, you couldn’t stop your whimper, “It’s too big, baby.”

Javy’s hips jerked up at your words, and his head fell back against the throne as he forced himself down, to be still. You both groaned at the ground that gave you, and Javy’s chest rose and fell rapidly. 

“You can do it, honey, you’re doing so good for me, so damn good,” he gritted, and you loved him so much. 

Loved that he was fighting for control but he still found breath to encourage you, soothe you, care for you. Your face felt wet, from sweat or tears, you couldn’t tell, but you made it the final few inches. 

When your shaking thighs met Javy’s legs, you both let out a trembling breath, and Javy wrapped his arms around you tightly. 

“Just stay here for a moment, sweetheart,” he whispered, and you lay your head on his shoulder, resting. 

You were so full. 

So sated, so absolutely content, like all you ever wanted to be was in this moment. You wanted to wrap this feeling up, remember it forever, this closeness. This perfection. 

Javy’s hands were still moving slowly up your back, his fingers pressing gently over you. You recognized he was breathing deeply, whether to help you monitor yours or because he needed to be controlled, you weren’t sure. 

You felt out of your body. 

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that, but it was long enough for the stretch to ease and your body to adjust. As you accepted him, as you welcomed him, your head cleared slightly, and you became aware of the gnawing need at your core. 

You needed him to move. 

You shifted in his lap, just slightly, and Javy’s breath punched out of him, as you clenched around him. 

“Jesus, honey, warn a man,” he choked, and you smiled. 

“Can’t help it,” you said, honestly, “just feels too good.”

“You’re telling me,” he murmured, turning towards you. 

He kissed you slowly, languidly, his tongue pressing between your lips as he gently pushed his hips upward. You felt your limbs go lax; he wasn’t even pumping but he was so damn deep inside you. It felt like a caress, something gentle and sacred, and you rested on him. 

He pressed up again, and he broke the kiss, his warm breath coasting over your lips. 

“Feels fucking unreal, honey,” he whispered hoarsely. “You’re so tight, so wet. God, I can feel every inch of you like this, feels like heaven.”

You hummed your agreement, turning your head to kiss along his jaw. Your lips brushed over his jawline, your tongue tasting his sweat, kissing him lightly as he rocked slowly into you again. Time felt like molasses, seeping so slowly by, and everything was distilled to the press of his hips into yours, of his cock straining inside of you. 

You whispered his name, and his hands slipped from your back to your waist. 

“Need something, honey?” Javy asked, and you whined in response. 

He was slow and steady, unhurried, stoking that heat inside of you. It was perfect, it was killing you, you needed more.

“Do you think,” Javy’s voice was still breathless, but took on a teasing lilt, “you were naughty or nice this year?”

You swatted at him weakly, his chest already huffing as he laughed. 

“You’re an idiot,” you mumbled, turning to a moan at another gentle rock.

“You know I’d know if you’d been bad or good,” he said, amusing himself even as you squirmed on his cock. “I’ve got a list.”

“I swear, Javy–” 

“Do you think you’ve been a good girl for Santa?”

God, he was such a dork, but he was also so hung, and you couldn’t handle both at once. But then Javy’s hands wrapped under your ass again. Before you could sigh in relief, he lifted you up, strong arms fully pulling you off his dick, and then thrusted up into you. 

You screamed. 

You couldn’t help it, you felt it so much, so deep, so fucking full of him, and Javy’s proud laugh turned to a groan as you clenched around his cock. He’d scrambled your brain with his dick, that was the only explanation, because you were moaning and you felt every limb shaking, and you needed him to do it again. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you wanted someone to hear us,” he chastised you gently, and you whimpered at his words. 

You both knew no one was left in the rec center, probably not even the parking lot, but fuck if the idea of someone walking in on you fucking your boyfriend on this throne of his didn’t turn you on even more.  

Javy sighed, something awed. “Is that it, honey? You want someone to see you? Want someone to walk in on you milking this bare cock? Want someone to watch me shove it so deep into your pussy, see how badly you need it?”

He lifted you again before you could respond, his strong arms pulling you up and then bringing you back down into his lap, his cock thrusting deep into you. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could only want more, need more. You felt something drip out of your mouth, realized belatedly you were literally drooling. 

Javy swore when he felt it, too, and his hips moved faster. He held you steady as he pushed up into you, slamming his hips up to meet yours. 

It was fast, it was rough, it was so, so deep, and you could only think that you needed him to keep going. 

Javy was grunting with each thrust of his hips, a gorgeous sound that had your mind racing. You could feel his balls slapping against your ass as he drove into you, so deep, and you scrambled for purchase, your hands clinging to the back of the throne, anything for leverage as he pumped into you. 

“I wouldn’t care,” Javy said, almost growled, and you felt your core clench tighter on him at that tone in his voice. “Fucking Simpson could break in now, honey, and I wouldn’t care, I couldn’t stop. You think anything could stop me now that I’ve felt this bare cunt around my cock? Nah, it’s too good, it’s so damn good. Fuck, honey, you feel—”

He broke off, and you felt his teeth bite into your shoulder, grounding himself as he drove into you. Vaguely you knew you were close, knew it in an abstract scientific way, because you could barely string two thoughts together, much less words. 

You could only cling to him, to your sweet, strong, Javy.  

“Riding me so good, baby,” Javy mumbled into your shoulder. “Being so good for me, honey, you’re always so good for me. My best girl, my beautiful, best girl. Sweetheart, I’m close, are you close?”

You nodded, or maybe you wailed, but you knew he could hear you, because his thrusts got more frantic. His thrusts were getting shorter, and you realized it was because he couldn’t reach as deep as he wanted, as fast as he wanted. Javy made a noise of frustration and his thighs flexed, then he was lifting you. 

Still impaled on his cock, he shifted you, turned you, and then your back was pressed against the cool surface of the throne. Javy was between your legs, then, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him back into you. 

“Please, baby,” you whimpered, and Javy groaned in response. 

“Anything, fuck, you know that, sweetheart, anything,” he whispered, and then he grabbed the throne. 

All you could do was take it. 

Lie in the space between his arms, between his legs, clinging to him as Javy gripped the throne for leverage and thrust into you. You were held firm as he thrust into you, the new angle causing his dick to brush against a spot inside you that had your toes curling. 

“Right there, Javy,” you cried, and you felt him press deeper, determined. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he panted, as his hips slammed into you. “God, you feel so good, I’ve got you… I know you feel good too, come for me, please..feels like fucking home in you, please honey, I need to feel you come–”

The throne was shaking with each of his thrusts and he pulled you even closer to him. Your body shook with each rutt of his hips, but as you molded to him, your clit brushed against the hard wall of muscle that was Javy. His cock hit that spot deep inside of you, your clit rubbed against his skin, and it was overwhelming, it was everything, it was enough. 

“Come with me,” you gasped, begged, feeling a blinding heat at the tips of your toes. Javy groaned, and you knew he wanted to protest, but as your body seized, you felt him tense with you.   

You cried out as you came, exhausted and overwriting and flying, but you felt it, felt him. Javy surged up to kiss you, his mouth locking on yours. You were too tired to kiss, too poised to respond, but so was he. And as you tipped over the edge, as you cried against his lips, Javy’s strong hips stilled, and you felt his chest heave as he pumped into you. Then you were warm, so warm, feeling his cum spill inside of you, feeling the world burn around you. It was everything, you and him, locked together and spiraling, shaking. 

You were so full. 

Javy collapsed against you, somehow finding the strength to push himself onto the throne beside you. You fidgeted, squirming until you were once again in his lap, panting and shaking, as Javy held you tight while your orgasms rolled over you. 

You were grateful for the Christmas lights. 

They were a gentle light, soft when you opened your eyes, illuminating Javy’s profile like a poem. Sweat slicked between both of your bodies, and you didn’t want to think about the state the suit was in. You could feel Javy’s heartbeat through his chest, a pounding rhythm, strong and steady as he was. 

You should get up. 

But you snuggled deeper into his chest, relieved by the deep breath you felt him draw. You both basked in the muted light, the warmth of each other's arms, and you decided the feeling was also the answer to Javy’s question– you’d been nice.

.............

Tagging some mutuals, some folks who asked for it, and general lovers of Javy: @daggerspare-standingby @blowmymbackout @teacupsandtopgun @mandylove1000 @callsign-fangirl @cheekymcgrath @goldenseresinretriever @mxgyver @laracrofted @coyotesamachado @wildbornsiren @bradshawsbitch @sebsxphia @roosterforme

[wildemaven]

caught kissing santa | dave york

-> pairing: dave york x f!reader

-> word count: 1586

-> content warnings: 18+ blog; established relationship/reader is married to Dave and stepmom to his kids, mentions of food and drinks, non-religious Christmas celebrations and Santa beliefs, alluding to sexy time but no smut, kissing, mentions reader is wearing pajama pants, fluff, soft Dave, one use of ‘good girl’.

-> note: this literally came to me this morning and i whipped it up during nap time. Not beta’d, so all mistakes and misspelling are my own fault!! -> masterlist / holi-dave masterlist

“So let me get this straight. You saw Santa last night. In the flesh. Just standing in our living room?” 

You hear Dave ask Alice to retell her story again from where you’re standing at the kitchen counter, pouring steamed milk into your coffee. Except this time, he encourages her to tell it at a slower pace  so you both could catch every word of it. 

“Yeah!! I was thirsty and wanted to get some water. So I got up to go downstairs, but when I got to the stairs I could see him in the living room.” Alice says, sitting across from Dave at the kitchen table where there’s a huge breakfast of pancakes, waffles and all the sweet toppings laid out. Her excitement is infectious. Her innocence is still palpable and going strong, as she states she saw Santa with her own eyes. 

“And what was he doing?” Dave encourages Alice to share more as he spoons several helpings of  mini chocolate chips onto his stack of pancakes with a hearty serving of peanut butter melting over the top. 

“Putting our presents under the tree.” Her words were muffled by a mouth full of sliced strawberries. 

“Hmm. I guess that makes sense. Where were you Molly, when all this excitement was going down?” Dave looks over to the youngest of his two girls, who’s been enjoying her own helping of pancakes with a mixture of berries and chocolate chips piled on top. 

“Sleeping.” You snicker into your cup at Molly’s blunt response. Her mild temperament was proof enough that the apple doesn’t fall far from the Dave York tree. 

You turn and lean against the kitchen counter, so you can watch the rest of their conversation unfold. 

It took some convincing to get Dave to go along with your idea of dressing up as the Jolly Man in Red this year. Knowing that Alice gets up every night to get herself a glass of water, it was the perfect set up for her to happen upon. Thankfully Dave folds easy to your convincing pleas and a good make out session on the couch late into the night seals the deal. 

Alice had come to you a few weeks ago about the matter. Asking about the validity of whether or not Santa was real. She had heard her friends talking about how they were getting too old to believe in such a silly thing and how it was their parents all along. You could sense the turmoil of her wanting to still believe in the idea of Santa, but also wanting to feel a part of her friend group who seem to be eagerly growing into their not quite pre-teen selves. 

As her stepmom, you didn’t feel like it was your place to have such a turning point conversation with her. Wanting to leave that for Dave and Carol to broach the topic with her if it were to come up again, supporting whatever their approach would be. You told Alice that Santa is real and he makes sure to bring a little holiday magic each year to everyone, no matter how old they are. Your answer seemed to satisfy her inquisitive mind and gave you an idea to give her a little extra Christmas gift in case this would be her last year believing in Saint Nick. 

“What was Santa doing?” Dave sits back into the chair to take in the rest of what Alice had to say. His arms crossed over his broad chest. Your attention is briefly drawn to the way his gray nightshirt pulls tight over his shoulders and back, then quickly refocusing back to Dave and the girls. 

“Putting all the presents under the tree. He had a big bag of them, too.” Her arms stretched out to give him an idea of how big the bag was. 

You smile at the way Dave is giving her his full attention. Never letting on that he was the one wearing the suit late into the night as he placed each present under the tree in the living room, while you watched him from where you sat under a blanket on the couch. Snapping a few photos of him as he really got into character with each gift. Pausing every so often, his hands on his waist, complaining how miserable and hot it would be to actually be Santa in the thick red suit and beard for an entire evening. He even warned that your gifts would be lost if you continued to laugh at his misery. 

Pushing off the counter, you join the three of them at the table. Settling into the open chair next to Dave, as you continue to sip from the warm coffee in your mug. 

“So did you say anything to him? Ask him if he brought you anything special this year?” You ask Alice. 

“No! I was worried I would scare him away and that he’d take our presents with him.” Her eyes widened as shakes her head no. It warms your heart hearing her response to this whole situation, the exact reaction you were hoping for. 

“Oh! I didn’t even think of that. We wouldn’t want him to take everything away that he brought for us.” You say looking over to Dave who’s smiling into his own cup of coffee. 

“He also seemed a little busy once he was done putting all the presents out. So I just went back to bed. Wanted to be surprised when I woke up this morning.” You’re confused by what she means when she said he was busy.

“Busy? How so?” You ask before taking another drink. 

“Well—“ She pauses and looks at Dave, as if to search for the right words before continuing, then back to you. “I saw something else before I went back to bed.” 

“What would that be?” Dave’s gaze shifts over to you momentarily when he inquires about what exactly Alice saw. Clearing his throat as he adjusts his position in the wooden chair and grabbing for his mug to keep his hands busy, his grip on it tightened and his knee bouncing at a steady pace. His fidgety movements are a telltale sign that he’s anxious— valid, given the way Alice has you all hanging by her every word at the moment. 

“I saw you kissing Santa under the mistletoe that’s hanging over the fireplace.” Alice looks you straight in the face when she says it. 

Dave nearly spits out the sip of coffee he had just taken. Coughing into his napkin as silence takes over the entire room. Molly halts her pancake devouring to stare at you with a shocked expression. 

“Oh! Umm, well—“ You fumble over your words. Sheer panic runs through your body as you try to come up with something quickly as to why Alice would have seen you kissing “Santa”. 

“Hey, girls look at what time it is. Your mom is going to be here in 20 minutes to pick you up. How about you go on upstairs to get your stuff together. Brush those sticky teeth and get dressed so you’re ready to go when she gets here.” The girls cheer in unison as they both hop off their chairs and run in the direction of the stairs that lead to their rooms. The bombshell revelation is long forgotten now. 

“Oh my god!” You let out a big sigh and slump down in your chair, your head turning to see Dave silently laughing to himself. “She’s going to ask me again why I was kissing him— but I think you bought me enough time until they’re back from Carol’s.” 

Dave reaches over and grabs your hand, pulling you from your chair and into his lap. Your arms drape around his shoulders, your temple resting against his forehead. His hand smooths over your pajama clad thighs, the other resting at your hip where he gives you a few gentle squeezes. 

“Thank you for doing that for her. She might not believe in him next year, but she’ll have this Christmas as a fun memory to tell her kids when they’re asking whether or not Santa is real.”

“Thankfully all she saw was the kissing— or she would have been scarred for life.” Dave says between the soft kisses he’s giving to your neck. 

“You’re the worst!” Playfully hitting his shoulder. 

“That’s not what you were saying when Santa was showering you with all those gifts last night.” His eyebrows waggle as he looks at you, rolling your eyes back at him. Your face heats up at remembering just how many gifts you were given.

“How about when the girls leave, you slip back into that red suit— forget the beard. And you can give me some more of those wonderful gifts.” You whisper, as if your suggestion might be heard by two sets of small ears. “I might be in the giving mood and have a few for you as well.”

“I don’t know. Have you been a good girl this year?” Dave asks in a low sensuous tone. 

“The best!” You manage to say before his hand is pulling your face to his, kissing you with earnestness. 

The sound of feet bounding down the stairs cuts the kiss short. Alice and Molly making their way back into the living room to pick up where they left off with their new toys. 

“Merry Christmas, Sweetheart.” Dave places the softest kiss to your lips. 

“Merry Christmas, Dave.”

[onceuponatown]

The history of Christmas traditions kept evolving throughout the 19th century, when most of the familiar components of the modern Christmas including St. Nicholas, Santa Claus, and Christmas trees, became popular. The changes in how Christmas was celebrated were so profound that it's safe to say someone alive in 1800 would not even recognize the Christmas celebrations held in 1900.

Washington Irving and St. Nicholas

Early Dutch settlers of New York considered St. Nicholas to be their patron saint and practiced a yearly ritual of hanging stockings to receive presents on St. Nicholas Eve, in early December. Washington Irving, in his fanciful History of New York, mentioned that St. Nicholas had a wagon he could ride “over the tops of trees” when he brought “his yearly presents to children.”

The Dutch word “Sinterklaas” for St. Nicholas evolved into the English “Santa Claus,” thanks in part to a New York City printer, William Gilley, who published an anonymous poem referring to “Santeclaus” in a children’s book in 1821. The poem was also the first mention of a character based on St. Nicholas having a sleigh, in this case, pulled by a single reindeer.

Clement Clarke Moore and The Night Before Christmas

Perhaps the best-known poem in the English language is “A Visit from St. Nicholas,” or as it’s often called, “The Night Before Christmas.” Its author, Clement Clarke Moore, a professor who owned an estate on the west side of Manhattan, would have been quite familiar with the St. Nicholas traditions followed in early 19th century New York. The poem was first published, anonymously, in a newspaper in Troy, New York, on December 23, 1823.

Reading the poem today, one might assume that Moore simply portrayed the common traditions. Yet he actually did something quite radical by changing some of the traditions while also describing features that were entirely new.

For instance, the St. Nicholas gift giving would have taken place on December 5, the eve of St. Nicholas Day. Moore moved the events he describes to Christmas Eve. He also came up with the concept of “St. Nick” having eight reindeer, each of them with a distinctive name.

Charles Dickens and A Christmas Carol

The other great work of Christmas literature from the 19th century is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. In writing the tale of Ebenezer Scrooge, Dickens wanted to comment on greed in Victorian Britain. He also made Christmas a more prominent holiday and permanently associated himself with Christmas celebrations.

Dickens was inspired to write his classic story after speaking to working people in the industrial city of Manchester, England, in early October 1843. He wrote A Christmas Carol quickly, and when it appeared in bookstores the week before Christmas 1843 it began to sell very well.

The book crossed the Atlantic and began to sell in America in time for Christmas 1844, and became extremely popular. When Dickens made his second trip to America in 1867 crowds clamored to hear him read from A Christmas Carol. His tale of Scrooge and the true meaning of Christmas had become an American favorite. The story has never been out of print, and Scrooge is one of the best-known characters in literature.

Santa Claus Drawn by Thomas Nast

The famed American cartoonist Thomas Nast is generally credited as having invented the modern depiction of Santa Claus. Nast, who had worked as a magazine illustrator and created campaign posters for Abraham Lincoln in 1860, was hired by Harper’s Weekly in 1862. For the Christmas season, he was assigned to draw the magazine’s cover, and legend has it that Lincoln himself requested a depiction of Santa Claus visiting Union troops.

The resulting cover, from Harper’s Weekly dated January 3, 1863, was a hit. It shows Santa Claus on his sleigh, which has arrived at a U.S. Army camp festooned with a “Welcome Santa Claus” sign.

Santa’s suit features the stars and stripes of the American flag, and he’s distributing Christmas packages to the soldiers. One soldier is holding up a new pair of socks, which might be a boring present today, but would have been a highly prized item in the Army of the Potomac.

Beneath Nast's illustration was the caption, “Santa Claus In Camp.” Appearing not long after the carnage at Antietam and Fredericksburg, the magazine cover is an apparent attempt to boost morale in a dark time.

The Santa Claus illustrations proved so popular that Thomas Nast kept drawing them every year for decades. He is also credited with creating the notion that Santa lived at the North Pole and kept a workshop manned by elves. The figure of Santa Claus endured, with the version drawn by Nast becoming the accepted standard version of the character. By the early 20th century the Nast-inspired version of Santa became a very common figure in advertising.

Prince Albert and Queen Victoria Made Christmas Trees Fashionable

The tradition of the Christmas tree came from Germany, and there are accounts of early 19th century Christmas trees in America, but the custom wasn’t widespread outside German communities.

The Christmas tree first gained popularity in British and American society thanks to the husband of Queen Victoria, the German-born Prince Albert. He installed a decorated Christmas tree at Windsor Castle in 1841, and woodcut illustrations of the Royal Family’s tree appeared in London magazines in 1848. Those illustrations, published in America a year later, created the fashionable impression of the Christmas tree in upper-class homes.

By the late 1850s reports of Christmas trees were appearing in American newspapers. And in the years following the Civil War ordinary American households celebrated the season by decorating a Christmas tree.

The first electric Christmas tree lights appeared in the 1880s, thanks to an associate of Thomas Edison, but were too costly for most households. Most people in the 1800s lit their Christmas trees with small candles.

The First White House Christmas Tree

The first Christmas tree in the White House was displayed in 1889, during the presidency of Benjamin Harrison. The Harrison family, including his young grandchildren, decorated the tree with toy soldiers and glass ornaments for their small family gathering.

There are some reports of president Franklin Pierce displaying a Christmas tree in the early 1850s. But the stories of a Pierce tree are vague and there doesn't seem to be contemporaneous mentions in newspapers of the time.

Benjamin Harrison's Christmas cheer was closely documented in newspaper accounts. An article on the front page of the New York Times on Christmas Day 1889 detailed the lavish presents he was going to give his grandchildren. And though Harrison was generally regarded as a fairly serious person, he vigorously embraced the Christmas spirit.

Not all subsequent presidents continued the tradition of having a Christmas tree in the White House. By the middle of the 20th century, White House Christmas trees became established. And over the years it has evolved into an elaborate and very public production.

The first National Christmas Tree was placed on The Ellipse, an area just south of the White House, in 1923, and the lighting of it was presided over by President Calvin Coolidge. The lighting of the National Christmas Tree has become quite a large annual event, typically presided over by the current president and members of the First Family.

Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santa Claus

In 1897 an eight-year-old girl in New York City wrote to a newspaper, the New York Sun, asking if her friends, who doubted the existence of Santa Claus, were right. An editor at the newspaper, Francis Pharcellus Church, responded by publishing, on September 21, 1897, an unsigned editorial. The response to the little girl has become the most famous newspaper editorial ever printed.

The second paragraph is often quoted:

"Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS."

Church’s eloquent editorial asserting the existence of Santa Claus seemed a fitting conclusion to a century that began with modest observances of St. Nicholas and ended with the foundations of the modern Christmas season firmly intact.

By the end of the 19th century, the essential components of a modern Christmas, from Santa to the story of Scrooge to strings of electric lights were firmly established in America.

Source

[ghulehunknown]

Mistletoe’d: Papa Emeritus III x F Reader

“Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 (coming soon!)

**WARNING - NSFW CONTENT - MDNI**

Summary: After the Ministry Christmas party, you join Terzo in his bedchamber for some festive activities.

CW/Tags: characters drinking alcohol, established relationship, clothed female nude male, blowjob, penetrative sex (P in V), condom use, cunnilingus, face-sitting, face fucking

Word Count: 4381

Available on AO3! Primo | Secondo | Terzo | Copia

Author’s Note: This is the third day of the four-part series XXXmas at the Ministry, a collaboration with @copias-sewer-rat, @molly-ghuleh, and @bupia - please read their works too!

Happy Hornidays! ❄️

xoxo, the Naughty Ghulehs 💋

Primo | Secondo | Copia

A HUGE thank you to AlexandrMcQueer on Twitter for the accompanying artwork! Check out the full NSFW version on her account.

Tonight was finally the night of the annual Ministry Christmas party, and Christmas Eve. Papa needed your help to pull everything off, so all week you were scheduling with the bakers, the cooks, the cleaning crew, and decorating.

But after this evening, you could relax. Well, aside from tending to Papa’s needs and making sure the ghouls didn’t get too soused that it ruined their unholiday in the morning. But after the party, you could enjoy the festivities.

Everyone began milling about and socializing in the main hall, picking at the large charcuterie spread and ladling punch or eggnog into glasses. It looked like everyone from the Clergy was there. Even Imperator and Nihil showed up, though they did not seem too sociable, seating themselves at a table in the corner. Primo immediately sat himself in one of the few chairs scattered around the hall with a large mug of something warm.

Suddenly the ghouls began whooping and you turned your head to see Terzo enter in a lavish looking Santa suit - it was made of crushed red velour with flecks of red sparkles and appeared to be trimmed with white feathers.

“Nice suit, Terzo,” you quipped, eyeing him up and down as he approached you.

“That’s Papa Claus to you, principessa,” he said with a snarky grin and giving you a smooch on the lips. “And you’re Santa’s little helper.”

That you were. He’d ordered you the shortest green elf dress, although the skirt was more like a tulle tutu. The outfit was a whole ensemble, complete with an elf hat with ears, pointy shoes with bells on the end, and candy cane patterned tights. You felt ridiculous, but ’tis the season.

Everyone was in their best holiday attire - anything from ugly Christmas sweaters to formal wear. The ghouls were all dressed in elf costumes, with the exception of Dew, who was dressed as Rudolph - an antler headband fitted over his mask and a red nose strapped to the front of his mask.

Cardinal Copia was wearing an old Saint Nick red and gold cloak over his red cassock, and a poorly made attachable white beard. Secondo was dressed in an all black 3 piece suit that had a subtle fleur de lis pattern, and was chatting with one of Primo’s ghouls.

The night went on, and you were actually managing to have fun. The ghouls turned one of the snack tables into a flip cup station (much to your dismay as you shuffled the catering staff carrying fresh trays of food back into the kitchen) and several of the Siblings started Christmas karaoke, with a very drunk-looking Copia taking the lead.

Terzo flitted between you and the rest of the guests, chatting with various Clergy members (and skillfully dodging Imperator each time). He snuck up behind you, squeezing your ass.

“Make sure these old fucks are having fun, eh?” he said lowly in your ear, nodding backwards to the senior members of the Clergy.

“And just how am I supposed to do that?” you said, one eyebrow raised, his hand still under your skirt.

He winked at you, handing you a bottle of opened bourbon before cupping your ass cheek in his hand and rubbing it. “We’ll cheers soon, then I can have you all to myself.” He leaned in closer to whisper in your ear. “Papa’s going to be coming down your chimney tonight.”

He clapped you on the ass then darted between people again. “Everybody - eggnog!” he shouted towards the crowd, raising his arms up. He was herding everyone to the center. You thought you might die on the spot from your cheeks burning red, but everyone was paying attention to him - thank Satan.

As everyone poured themselves another glass and gathered, you went around and splashed a bit of bourbon in everyone’s cup.

“Some bourbon for your eggnog, Cardinal?” you asked Copia, approaching him with the bottle.

“Eh, none for me,” he said, hiccuping and covering his glass. “It’s strong enough as it is! I’ve had th-three already.”

“It’s nonalcoholic, Cardinal,” you responded, blinking at him. He looked puzzled and walked away.

You made your way over to Primo who was almost snoozing in his chair. “Papa Primo?” you asked, holding the bottle out, gesturing towards his half empty mug. You weren’t sure if he was dressed like Scrooge on purpose or if those were just his pajamas but he mumbled something that sounded like “Bah,” and shook his head swiftly, the tassel at the end of his nightcap swinging around.

Everyone was standing in a semicircle around Terzo, who for once seemed just slightly lost for words. “Well, uh - shit,” he began, eliciting a few chuckles from the crowd. “I do not know what else to say, other than it’s been a fucking great year. We had two fantastic tours, and we’ll be continuing into next year… I, eh - met someone very dear.” He glanced at you briefly before continuing. “We won a motherfucking Grammy…!”

The ghouls whooped and cheered while the Siblings and other Clergy members clapped. You glanced over in the corner. Even Imperator seemed pleased - maybe.

“Sì, sì it has been phenomenal. You should all be very pleased with yourselves. So pleased in fact I think you should all celebrate, in eh, whatever means you choose to do. And if I do not see you all before the New Year, have an unblessed holiday. Now, we toast! Tomorrow morning we will celebrate our Savior’s birth. But for tonight, we sin.” He held up his glass and the others did the same. “To Lucifer!”

“To Lucifer,” you said, chiming in with a chorus of voices. You swallowed your bourbon-eggnog concoction - mostly bourbon by your heavy hand, you found as you winced slightly, the liquor burning down your throat. You didn’t drink much and this was your first holiday gathering at the Ministry. Next month would mark your first full year here, and the first time you laid eyes upon him - your Terzo.

“Eh, see you next year, Papa!” piped up Copia, still hiccuping as he nodded and ducked out of the crowd. You smiled at the Cardinal’s little joke. Terzo stopped in his tracks for just a moment and acknowledged Copia before walking away.

He rolled his eyes as he walked towards you then his face brightened. “Hello,” he said, standing very close to you.

“Hi, Papa,” you said, smiling at him and holding up the last bit of bourbon, swishing it in the bottle. “Saved the last for you.”

“Mmm,” he said, leaning in to kiss you. “How much? I need to keep my stamina for later.”

You took a swig and shuddered - Satanas, you still couldn’t drink straight liquor. “Not much now.” He chuckled at you and took the bottle from your hand, knocking back the rest. You coughed a couple of times and reached for some party punch, completely forgetting the one you reached for also had alcohol and coughed again.

He patted you soothingly on the back and asked, “Are you okay, tesorina?”

You nodded, finally grabbing the nonalcoholic punch and chugging some.

“Will Papa have to take care of his little elf this evening?” he said, trailing the back of his index finger over your cheek.

“No, Papa,” you said, clearing your throat. “I’ve barely had anything.”

“Good. I have a surprise for you tonight, amore.”

“Hm. Any hint?” you asked coyly.

“Not a fucking clue. Come to my room in five minutes just as you are.” He picked up a handful of hard candies from the snack table and popped a few in his mouth, staring at you while walking backwards a few paces before turning around and heading down the hall.

You continued to mingle with the other Siblings, trying hard to conceal your blushing cheeks but to no avail.

“Someone’s excited about something,” one said.

“It’s nothing,” you murmured.

“Come on - spill!”

“Well, Terzo and I -”

“Terzo?” said another.

“Oooooh!” the others said in a singsong tone almost in unison.

“He said he has a surprise for me, in his room.”

“So you graduated from office visits to home visits now?” asked the first Sibling, looking impressed.

“Well…I’ve seen his bedroom a few times,” you said, not willing to divulge the full truth just yet. You’d been spending most of your nights in his room and sneaking back into the Siblings’ quarters early in the morning. Even though each Sibling had their own room, you knew your Sisters would hear the door to the suite open.

“I think this is the most serious he’s been with anyone,” said the second Sibling. “I’ve been here a few years and usually he’s done with his fling after two months. But you’ve stuck around.” You shook your head, not willing to believe this hype only to be let down. You just wanted to live in the moment and enjoy what you had with Terzo. “You should go - you don’t want to keep him waiting.”

You smiled and bid your fellow Siblings goodbye as they all made lewd gestures to imitate various sex acts and waved you off, wishing you luck.

You walked down the silent and dark corridors, passing ghouls and Siblings alike shrouded in the shadows to have their midnight dalliances, no doubt egged on by the holiday cheer and the alcohol. You smiled, thinking about not having to hide in a hallway like when you first started dating him. Now you had his entire bedroom to have your sultry romps.

You opened his door and walked into his Papal suite, the familiar lush decor and smell of mahogany filling your senses. You passed by the small and elegantly decorated Christmas tree by the fireplace. You wondered just what his surprise might be when you saw him propped up against the wall, a rose in his mouth and —

What was that?

He was dressed in his Santa jacket and hat, with nothing else on - save one thing. Your eyes trailed along his upper body then snapped to what was in between his legs. On the end of his throbbing hard cock was some mistletoe, tied around his shaft by a red ribbon and a little gold bell below it. He waggled his eyebrows and at the same time isolated his pelvic muscles to make his cock bob up and down, tinkling the bell.

“How long have you just been standing there all hard waiting for me?”

His face fell momentarily and he took the rose out of his mouth. “I thought you would like it.”

“I do!” you said, suppressing laughter as best as you could while stepping towards him. You held onto the lapels of his jacket and leaned in. “I do.” He smiled again, a smug look of satisfaction washing over him.

“Good,” he said, handing you the rose. “Because you’re going to get stuffed and glazed just like Secondo’s honey ham.”

You bit your bottom lip, smiling. “But I don’t think it’ll be quite as delicious as you, amore.”

“It should be. I’ve been eating a lot of pineapple for this.”

“Really? Then I’ll have to taste it for myself,” you said, feeling the heat pool at your core.

He cupped your face in his hands, kissing you deeply, slipping his tongue in. You weren’t sure where to place your hands so you held onto the rose with one hand, the other in his hair. He swiftly brought you closer to him, his quivering cock poking at your thigh under your tulle skirt.

“Mm!” you said, surprised at feeling his hardness brush against you.

“Well,” he said, pulling away to look at you. “It’s not going to kiss itself, tesoro.” He twitched his cock again, making it bob up and down and wagged his hips side to side, making it shake the other direction and sounding the bell.

You eyed him slyly as you bent down, gently falling to your knees before him and placing the rose on the floor. You took his cock in your hand and began stroking his length, eyeing the perfect pink tip at the end. Each time you stroked him, the bell would chime.

“Oh cazzo,” he sighed, leaning his head back, his lips parted.

You flicked the tip of your tongue against the head of his cock and watched his abdominal muscles contract. He was like putty in your hands.

“You like that, amore?” you asked teasingly, his shaft in your palm.

He glared at you from the corner of his eye. “Stai zitto,” he said through moans as you continued to swirl your tongue around the head of his cock. But you could swear you saw a smirk pull at the corner of his mouth as he said this.

You closed your eyes as you took his entire length in your mouth, sliding him in and out and clutching onto his hips. The little leaves on the mistletoe tickled your nose each time the bottom of his cock reached your lips.

Clink! Clink! went the bell each time you slid him in and out of your mouth.

He started to whimper and moan quietly, his eyes closed in pleasure. His hand was on the back of your head, gripping your hair tighter the faster you went. At one point he began thrusting into your mouth, probably no longer able to contain himself.

Clink! Clink! ClinkClinkClinkClinkCLINKCLINK

“Mmm!” you mumbled around his cock as the greenery around his member assaulted your face over and over, scratching your nose and cheeks a little bit each time. CLINK.

Your eyes welled with tears as he hit the back of your throat repeatedly. CLINK. At this point you were hardly doing any work, just kneeling there and being used as a vessel. CLINKCLINK

“Satanas you’re going to make me cum like that,” he panted as he continued pushing his hips into your face.

You smiled around him - well as best as you could - and brought him closer by gripping his ass cheeks.

“Ah - cazzo!” he exclaimed, suddenly pulling out of your mouth and panting.

“Terzo?” you asked, trying to look up but you were unable to as his hand remained on your head as he used you to prop himself up and regain composure.

“I can’t cum too soon and ruin the evening, no?” he said, standing up straight and helping you up off the floor. “Not when I haven’t even taken care of you.”

You kissed his laughter lines around his mouth as he spoke, his Papal makeup smudged from your kisses earlier. “You always take such good care of me.”

He turned to face you and held you in an embrace, kissing you passionately again, his hands roaming all over your body. He began to massage your breasts through your costume, building the arousal between your legs even more. Your breathing quickened as you both moaned into each other’s mouths.

“Fuck this fucking blouse,” he said breathlessly, breaking away and tearing at the front of your green cardigan, the buttons flying across his floor - eliciting a ‘Shit!’ from you. “Mmm!” he mumbled, kissing you again, pawing at your chest.

He fumbled around your back at your bra clasp, unhooking it after a couple of tries. You urgently slid the straps off your shoulders and tossed the bra to the floor. He bent down to take your nipple in his mouth, circling his tongue around it and sucking. He alternated, pinching the other one between his fingers.

“Oh Terzo,” you sighed, running your hands through his hair, fiddling with the silver strands peppering his raven hair. He’d never admit to it, but you saw the box dye left on his bathroom counter.

Instinctively you squeezed your legs together, alleviating some of the need to touch yourself. You felt your heart race and a shiver run down your spine.

“Fuck me, please Papa,” you sighed, breath trembling.

“Mm?” he said, glancing up at you between your breasts with a glint in his eyes. He kissed all over your chest, up your neck and finally, your lips. “Is la mia principessa ready for her Papa to fuck her brains out, hm?”

“Yes Papa, please,” you said, still in a breathy whisper. “Fuck me.”

He nodded his head towards the bathroom and glanced over. “Go get a condom and meet me in bed. I’ll get the lube.”

“Why are there none in our nightstand drawer?”

“‘Our?’”

“Shit. You know what I meant.”

He grinned. “Ti stai dimenticando? We used them all last night and I didn’t have time to take some more out.”

Slightly embarrassed at your gaffe, you made your way into the bathroom and started opening drawers. “Where did you put the box?”

“Bottom drawer!” he called out.

Did he think differently of you now? Would he think you were too presumptuous and want to call the whole thing off? Or potentially, were you just overthinking things as usual? “Found it! Oh fuck, shit!”

“Sorella?” He sounded concerned and rushed over to find you on your hands and knees kneeling near the toilet.

“Almost got it!” You had dropped the roll of condom wrappers behind the toilet and had wedged yourself between it and the vanity. “Help me, Terzo!”

“Ah, I see now,” he said slyly. “Call for me in a panic just so you can entrap me.”

“What? Terzo, no, I really do need help, I drop- ”

“Sì, I can help,” he said, kneeling down behind you, his cock right up against your ass.

“It’s just, argh!”

“Argh!” he imitated you, running his hands all along your body.

“It’s right there I can’t - reach - !”

“Has anyone told you how sexy you look with your ass in the air in candy cane tights?”

You rolled your eyes but you knew he couldn’t see. “Er, no - um, thank you. But I dropped the condoms behind the toilet.”

He craned his neck to see. “Ah. This is quite the pickle we are in. You with your hand behind the toilet and your ass against my cock.”

“No, I believe it’s your cock against my ass.”

“What am I to do, tesorina? What should a Papa do when finding his lover in a compromising position, hm?” He leaned down and trailed kisses along your back, momentarily freezing your arm from the continued search of the condoms.

“Fuck…” you whispered, feeling his mouth move further south and his hands finding their way around your waist.

“What’s that, bella? You think Papa should fuck you? You called me in such a panic earlier that I did not bring the lube…mmm, what should we do?” he said, kissing you just above your ass. “Is la mia principessa ready?”

Your body ached with desire. You needed him inside you. He trailed his finger along your tights-covered behind, poking around where your entrance was. “Darling, I think your tights are just a little wet. Let’s see just how wet you are inside.” He gripped the fabric and you heard it ripping apart.

You let out a surprised gasp as the chill air hit your warm, now exposed nether regions. He entered you with a finger and your body shuddered against him as you whimpered quietly.

“Oh yes,” he said in an amused tone. “You are very ready.” He slid out and up to your clit, playing with it gently as you moaned and rocked your body back and forth to feel the friction against his fingers. “So responsive. Una così brava ragazza.”

“Please, Papa,” you said under your accelerated breath. “Please fuck me.”

“Don’t worry amore,” he said, reaching over you and grabbing the sleeve of condoms that you were having trouble getting just moments before. “I will.” He tore off one and ripped it open.

You readjusted yourself on the tile floor so you wouldn’t bang your head against the toilet or the side of the vanity as you heard the crinkle of the wrapper and the clinking of the little bell still attached to his dick.

“Oh FUCK!” you both said in unison as he entered you. He slammed into your dripping cunt with such ease, you felt him bottom out immediately. The tingle of the mistletoe against your clit heightened the sensation.

Clink! Clink! Clink! Clink! In and out, in and out. You both moaned each other’s names in pure, unadulterated passion.

“Ah - merda Sorella, you turn me into a teenager again. Fucking on the floor out of sheer desperation for one another.” Now he was so deep inside you the bell muffled against your body. CLUNK. CLUNK. CLUNK.

“So - mmm! - you’re d-desperate for me?” you said teasingly against the cold tile.

“La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca.” With that he fucked into you so hard, so fast, you couldn’t say another word. He pushed your head against the floor roughly, your cheek pressed against the cool marble so hard you could feel the grout indent. He nearly knocked the breath out of you as he hit your g-spot perfectly each time, a relentless grip on the back of your head.

“Ohhh - !” you moaned as he rammed into you over and over. CLUNKCLUNKCLUNKCLUNK. He was thrusting faster, riding out his orgasm, his nails digging deeper into your hips.

“Fuck - I’m going to - cum - Sorella - !” He pounded into you, tapering off his speed as he came, his cock twitching a final time before he slumped over your back, breathing heavily.

“Satanas,” he breathed, his chest heaving wildly as he pulled out, your body shuddering under him at the loss. You heard the snap of latex and the condom hitting the trash can liner.

You turned around and sat down, leaning against the toilet. You watched him untie the mistletoe and take it off, tossing it aside. “So how was it, with that?” you asked, nodding towards the discarded plant.

“Honestly? It was a little itchy. It might just be a novelty.” He tossed himself on his back against the floor. He looked at you, his chest still rising and falling from being out of breath. “How was it for you?”

“Honestly? It was a little itchy,” you repeated. You both smiled and laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

“Come here Sorella, I did not intend to leave you wanting. Hop onto Santa’s lap.”

You crawled over to him and straddled his lap, gazing into his eyes.

“What do you want this year for being such a good little girl?” He asked, caressing your arms and looking at your breasts before flicking his eyes up into yours.

“I want…endless kisses…and a mind-blowing orgasm,” you said, leaning down to kiss him.

He returned the smooch. “Mm, I did not know a present for you would also be a present for me. Come closer and sit on Santa’s face…that’s it, Satanas yes please.”

You moved up his body until you were straddling his face, then delicately lowered your body on him, doing your best to move your skirt out of the way.

He sputtered, spitting out the tulle from his mouth and pulling your hips towards his face again. He batted at the layers of fabric, cursing in Italian, before finding your cunt.

Your eyelids flitted closed as your lips parted in a silent “oh.” He took your clit in his mouth and sucked on it between his lips. He alternated between that and flicking your sensitive bud with the tip of his tongue. You looked down to gaze in his eyes but his face was completely hidden under a green tutu.

You began to buck your hips against his face as he used the flat of his tongue, building up the friction and feeling yourself closing in on orgasm. He switched up and deepened the suction on your clit, flicking his tongue against you simultaneously.

“Oh fuck Terzo - fuck, I’m so close!” You rocked back and forth as you pinched your nipples, heightening the sensation.

His fingernails dug into your hips again as he sped up his ministrations. Grabbing ahold of your waist, he slid you along his mouth faster and faster.

“Oh, Terzo!” you cried out in ecstasy, trembling on your knees above him as you came hard and fast in his mouth. He didn’t let up the motions or the intensity until you pulled away, giggling from the overstimulation. You climbed off of him and sat down next to him, both smiling at one another.

“How are you feeling? Good?” he asked, stroking your thigh.

You nodded your head. “Yes, very. But can I lay down next time? I’ve been on my knees an awful long time.” You both laughed.

“There’s Papa’s little hoe hoe hoe,” he said with a devilish grin. “Of course, amore mio. Anything for you.”

You held onto his hand, playfully caressing all his fingers. “It’s been a very good Christmas so far,” you remarked.

“Mmm. And you haven’t even opened your presents yet.”

“There’s more?”

“What, you thought this was it? No Sorella, go look under the tree.”

You eyed him suspiciously as you stood up, legs still a little shaky. You walked out of the bathroom and into the living room.

You hadn’t noticed the presents under the tree earlier, but there were a few. A lot, actually. Somehow even your gifts for him were under there. One of the ghouls or housekeeping staff must have moved them for you.

One caught your attention - a gold envelope poking out from the middle branches of the tree. You reached inside the tree, accidentally sending the package spilling onto the floor. Two plane tickets splayed out on the floor.

You picked them up in wonder - your name was at the top of one, and his on the other. You walked in a daze over to him.

“You did not truly think I would leave you with just my cock for Christmas, did you?” he said, following you out of the bathroom and now leaning against the wall. “I love you, principessa. I call you princess because to me you are. My sweet little thing. I want to give you the world, my world…would Italy be a good start?”

You flung your arms around him, tears in your eyes. “Yes, Terzo. I think that will be an amazing start.”

[Stay tuned for a continuation of this story!]

Italian to English Translations

(la mia) principessa ((my) princess)

tesorina (little treasure/darling)

amore (mio) ((my) love)

cazzo (fuck)

Stai zitto (Shut up)

Ti stai dimenticando? (Are you forgetting?)

Sorella (Sister/nun)

bella (beautiful)

Una così brava ragazza. (Such a good girl.)

merda (shit)

La mia diavoletta pensa di essere così intelligente, eh? È ora che chiudi la bocca. (My little devil girl thinks she’s so smart, eh? It’s time you shut your mouth.)

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