#but I don’t get one until Christmas Eve and that’s when I’ll be at my mom’s FOR Christmas

[josephquinnswhore]

Christmas Eve - joel miller x female reader

summary: Christmas Eve with your husband.

word count: 2k

content warning: fluff..slight insinuations to sex, girl dad joel, heavily pregnant reader, anxiety surrounding pregnancy, birth etc. Pre established marriage, joel is in his early 30’s. no outbreak. I think that’s it?

a/n: it’s chrissy eve in Australia… 10:15pm as I’m posting this. Merry Christmas to all my moots / fans of Joel / Pedro / whoever reads this. Love you all x

Lights draped around the window frames and along the porch were strung up, emitting a golden glow along the cleared pathway to the front door. Tinsel is tightly wrapped around the wooden frame of the steps to your front house, complete with a beautiful wreath on your front door.

Through the curtains, you could make out Joel’s figure up on the step ladder, hanging more lights in the living room.

As you step foot into your home, the harsh wind follows you as you tap the snow off your boots on the doormat, a freezing breeze curls up your neck, making you shudder.

But as the front door closes behind you, all you feel is warmth. The ugly Christmas sweater you wore has poorly stitched reindeers, snowflakes and the ugliest shade of green you’d ever seen. Alas, You’re shocked to see Joel wearing his matching sweater as you step through the threshold of the living room.

Tinsel hangs along the hallways, the smell of the pine tree fills your lungs with warmth. Never did you think it could be possible to crave a smell—until now. The fresh scent of pine tree that Joel had cut down, he and Tommy had lugged it into your living room to use as a Christmas tree upon your insistence.

He turns to face you, raising an eyebrow at your messy hair and few intact snowflakes on your sweater. In hand, you’re clutching a sacred tin of powdered hot chocolate.

His ugly Christmas sweater is the same as yours, but red. His dark hair is littered with greys, feral curls untamed and his face framed with a pair of thick specs. The rainbow lights he’s hanging up with a hammer and nail reflect in them for a moment, before he removes them. His sweet, warm brown eyes meet your own.

“House looks good baby,” you call softly, admiring how beautiful the decorations looked with his determination, not allowing you to do anything more than decorate the tree, and wrap the gifts, since it was your favourite part about Christmas, excluding the gingerbread baking.

He climbs down the ladder, hooking his glasses through the neckline of his sweater, setting the hammer and nails onto the flat surface at the top of the step ladder.

“Without your vision this never would have come to life. Sarah’s going to love it.” He preens, stepping toward you. “How was it out there?” With an all recognisable voice of concern, you smile.

It was beginning to snow outside, and Joel was anxious the entire time you’d been gone.

“Chaotic, shopping on Christmas Eve isn’t for the weak. I had to practically fight an old lady to get this tin of hot chocolate you know?”

His soft laugh breaks the tension of his anxiety, just glad to have you back. His arms snake around you, resting on your hips. “Sounds like you needed your man to come with you hm? I’ve got no problems protecting my girl from the oldies.”

“I can handle them, plus.. I’m glad you stayed. Sarah’s going to be so happy when she sees all of this. Did you remember to do Santa’s footprints with flour?”

Tsk. “So much distrust baby, course I remembered, I ain’t the one with baby brain y’know?”.

You roll your eyes at him, shoving his chest lightly. “And who’s fault is that, hm?”

Joel chuckled as you rolled your eyes, knowing how much you secretly loved his teasing. He followed your gaze to the lights before smiling, proud of his work.

"I’ll take half the blame, honey," he said,

“If you don’t recall, I’ll recite the way you begged me to get you pregnant—“

With your cheeks warming you interrupt. “Alright.. alright. I remember.”

His thumb leaves your waist, curling into your cheek to caress you softly with adoration. "I’m glad you convinced me, baby. You look so beautiful, you’re glowing.”

Your cheeks feel warm at his praise. The warmth of the fire crackling inside of the living room begin to ease the ache in your joints, particularly your knees and ankles.

“I look and feel like a whale.” It had been hard on you, anyone could see, with your stomach so round and swollen, the Christmas sweater struggled to stretch over your stomach to cover it entirely.

Joel shook his head, slipping his warm hands underneath your sweater to caress your aching stomach in a soothing notion.

"No," he protested softly. "You look like my beautiful, pregnant wife who is about to bring a little bundle of joy into the world. Half of me, and half of you.”

With a soft hum, you find yourself smiling. The thought warmed your heart, a small bundle of love, made of you and him. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me, Joel Miller.”

"Hm?" Joel hums in return, planting a kiss on your cheek, his nose nudging your own. "That's good to know, I might have to use that to my advantage."

He leaned in to whisper in your ear, his hot breath sending a shiver down your spine. "Maybe... it'll get me everything I want."

With a baited breath, you breathe out a shaky response. “And what is it that you want?”

"Hmm..." Joel pretended to ponder about it for a moment, his hands sliding down to rest on your hips again, fingers curling into the curved surface.

"Since you asked," he murmured, his voice low and enticing. "All I really want for Christmas is to spend it with you. But if you're looking for a more tangible gift, I guess I could think of a thing or two."

With a roll of your eyes, you snag a candy cane off of the tree beside you, and uncurl the plastic and stick the hooked peppermint lolly into your mouth, sucking the flavour off with a pop.

“Hot chocolate first.” You insist, kissing his cheek, leaving sticky residue on his warm skin. “I didn’t drive through a snowstorm and fight an old lady for nothing.”

You shake the tin of chocolate powder as if to remind him, garnering his attention.

Joel chuckled wipes the sticky candy cane residue off his cheek. “You got it mumma. Hot chocolate first, then I'll tell you what I really want for Christmas."

Joel gestured towards the couch by the fireplace with one hand and an expectant gaze.

"Go take a seat and relax. I'll make the hot chocolate, and then you can tell me about that beautiful baby of ours and how you’re feeling."

He swats your ass softly, amusement clear in his voice.

“Thanks baby. For everything. My feet are killing me.” Minutes later you graciously accept the warm mug of hot chocolate, the white mini marshmallows are soft and starting to melt.

"Anything for you baby.” You know he means it too.

He took a seat on the couch beside you, the leather sinking under his weight. "How's everything been today? Any contractions?"

You shake your head with a small mouthful of the gooey, warm, sweet drink. “No, nothing yet. I feel like she’s never going to come at this rate..”

A soft hum vibrates within your chest as he encourages you to shift towards him, and he props your feet up onto his lap to remove your shoes and socks, promptly massaging your swollen ankles.

“Do you think she’ll come before the new year?”

Joel continued massaging your ankles, looking down at your huge baby bump as you rubbed it tentatively, he can sense some anxiety coming from you as a first time expectant mother.

Sure, you’d practically raised Sarah since she was twelve months, but this was different. A newborn, the birth.. that was all new to you.

"Hard to tell, baby," he said with a thoughtful expression, not wanting to cause you any stress. "But judging by how big you are, I wouldn't be surprised if she decided to make her debut soon."

He looked up at you, his gaze meeting yours as he decided to pry further, coaxing the truth from you. "You feeling ready for the big day yet?"

“I’m terrified,” you admit in a gentle whisper between you, a sudden sense of vulnerability curates between the two of you. It makes it all the more real.

Joel's expression softened as you admitted your fears, his fingers pausing in massaging your ankles. Watching as you set your now empty mug down onto the coffee table, having satiated your sweet tooth.. for now.

"Hey, I get it," he reassures quietly, his thumb gently rubbing circles on your foot in a comforting gesture this time, rather than a massage. "Giving birth is a big deal, baby. But you're gonna be incredible. You're strong, you're capable, and I'll be right there with you every step of the way. I promise.”

Joel smiled warmly, squeezing your shoulder gently as you slowly processed his words of encouragement, that no matter what happened through the birth, you’d soon have a family of four. “You’re right.. it’s all going to be okay.”

"You're damn right it's going to be okay," he said with conviction. "Because we've got each other, Sarah, and our precious little girl.. Sadie, right?”

He moved his hand from your feet, leaning closer to place his hands on your stomach, feeling his daughter actively kick at his affectionate touch. Seeing you nod in confirmation. “Yeah.. Sadie.”

"Just think, in a few days, you'll be holding our baby in your arms."

The thought is overwhelming, a small baby in your arms, Sarah, who had turned six earlier in the year. She was stoked to be a big sister, asking every day when the baby was coming. Constantly cradling your heavy stomach with her small hands, singing as she prompts the baby to kick.

The image of innocence, a young child that still believes in Santa, which will hopefully carry into the next few years of your lives.

The thought makes you smile, wrapping dozens of presents for everyone and sticking them under the tree for all of you, your family of four plus Tommy and Maria who annually joined you for Christmas celebrations.

Joel glances around the living room, taking in the sights of the lights and the decorations that adorned the house. The tree stood in a corner, covered in colorful, homemade decorations from Sarah, the topper at the top of the tree shaped like a snowflake coloured in with a half dozen colours being Joel's favorite of them all.

"You know," he said softly, his hand still resting on your tummy. "This is going to be our last Christmas as a a family of three..."

The thought makes your heart ache with guilt or perhaps anxiety, biting into your lower lip. “It’s all a bit much isn’t it?”

"Yeah, it is," he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. He was getting older now, creeping into his early thirties. To start over again, he felt a little out of practice.

"It's a lot to take in, baby, I know. But that doesn't mean it's a bad thing. We can do this together, Tommy and Maria will help.. we aren’t doin’ this alone. Sarah will adore our little girl. And I know you’re goin’ to be an incredible mother.”

Ever the romantic.

With a wry smile and your heart swelling inside of your chest, you offer him what he had indignantly prompted for earlier in the evening. “Want to try and get this baby out?”

Your hand trails through his hair with a suggestive smile. Joel raised an eyebrow at your suggestion, a sly grin spreading across his face.

"Hmm... Now that's a proposition I can get on board with, baby."

[multimilfs]

Agnes O'Connor x Fem!Reader: Poking The Bear

Summary: Agnes has the misfortune of being called in to work a murder case on Christmas Eve. When she leaves you frustrated, you decide to do what you do best; poke the bear.

AO3

A/N: I said "is anyone going to humiliate this woman in this ultra-specific way?" and didn't wait for an answer. Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals <3

Words: 8k

Included: Established relationship, Christmas, Porn with plot; g!p, teasing, somnophilia (implied), dacryphilia, phone sex, accidental orgasm, semi-public sex, humiliation, jealousy, blowjobs, dom/sub, sub space, throatfucking, unprotected sex, masturbation, light breeding kink, light degradation, praise, orgasm denial.

Tag List: @vii-v @absolute-memegarbage @crazycatladycaceta @hannah-0730 @shinysuitcloud @bubbly-moonwarrior @emilynissangtr @onemansdreamisanothermansdeath @thelesbianapollokid4 @dmtrxie @notice-shy @vintagegoddess12 @rosie6reyes @softfruity @tragicsapphic34 @msharkness @setsuna1415 @kermidd5 @snickerdoodles-stuff @women-are-so-ethereal @imlike-so-gaydude @lotus-ignis @n0body-is-perfect @goblinscum420 @d-z20 @borntodieedition28 @autbot @ee-bah-sims @kathrynscontroversiallyyounggf @renravens @theothersideofthescreen @sp3c-tr0 @sapphicharknesss @coffeelover245 @madamslaytan @heady-pomegranate @ragnarockz @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @goforgreat @welmelsblog @igoturmoney @mol2311 @obnoxiouslycontemplating @bellatrix-black8 @deathly777 @emmasaviorqueen-blog @greatygreatgreat @chlizets @latedawnearlysunsets92

Through the peaceful, warm silence of the morning, an alarm clock blares.

Agnes growls under her breath as she does every morning, lumbering from the comfort of the bed and over to the windowsill where the alarm clock sits. A particularly rough blow shuts it up.

God, why did she let Vidal insist on this shift?

Her routine is simple enough she could do it with her eyes closed; and does, for most of it. It isn’t until she turns the shower to a cooler temperature that she feels anywhere close to awake. She needs coffee—bad.

Halfway through said cup of coffee and one of the donuts you picked up, she realizes she hasn’t kissed you good morning yet.

You grumble a bit when she turns you over, untucking your head from the blankets, but you don’t wake. You look heavenly, painted in the warm glow of the Christmas tree you insist on keeping plugged in all night. Agnes smiles.

Pressing her lips to your forehead, she murmurs, barely a whisper, “Be good, baby.”

A hand wraps around her wrist and she startles. Pulling back, your eyes haven’t opened.

“Agnes, come back to bed.” You say, voice gravely from sleep.

“Vidal will be on my case if I don’t show.”

“I can make your morning better than Vidal can.”

You stretch, curling back into the blankets, but hold her wrist just tight enough to indicate you’re still half awake. It’s good your eyes are closed; she doesn’t need you seeing all the kinds of fond you’re making her.

Agnes really shouldn’t get you started, but curiosity kills cats, not bears, “Oh yeah? How would you do that, baby?”

“You’d come back to bed and sleep until I say.”

“And then what?” She prods, trying not to laugh.

“Then we’ll have a really nice breakfast. Donuts for you.”

“What would you have?”

“You.” You answer, casual and so matter-of-fact, “I’ll even swallow, out of Christmas spirit or something.”

Agnes jolts at the change. Though true to form, she can feel the familiar coil of arousal between her legs. She really shouldn’t have gotten you started.

She’s half awake, she won’t remember this, Agnes tells herself as she tries to move from her kneeling position on the bed. Your grip on her wrist remains.

“Sleep. We’ll have fun when I get home.”

“It’s Christmas Eve.” You whine.

“I’ll be home before you know it, I swear.”

“Fine. ‘Love you.” You murmur.

You rescind your hand and turn over, pacified as you burrow back under the covers. Agnes shakes her head.

“Love you too.” She whispers.

With one last parting kiss to your forehead, she’s gone, with you none-the-wiser.

—

You wake up a mess.

There’s a half-remembered conversation with Agnes lingering in your mind, but it’s hazy enough to feel like a dream; an unsatisfying one, the persistent throbbing between your legs says. You offered to blow her, you remember that much—it’s all pretty blank after that.

No, there was something about having fun when she got home, too.

You can’t wait that long.

It isn’t until two of your fingers are knuckle-deep and you’re missing the fullness Agnes offers that the idea strikes you. You scramble blindly for the phone on your night-stand. The movements change the angle of your fingers and you whine, rolling your hips, even as the blind grabs for your phone grow more frustrated.

Once found, it is ripped viciously off the charger, and you open it, going through your messages for the quickest access to her number. You grin at the contrast between your long-winded messages and Agnes’ one word responses.

An infinitesimal movement of your hips reminds you of your intention.

The phone is brought to your ear and it rings… and rings… and rings…

…and rings…

“O’Connor.” Her gruff voice comes down the line.

Your breath hitches in your throat. You squeeze around your own fingers at the sound.

“Yes, Detective, I’d like to report a crime.”

There’s a brief pause on the other end.

“Go on.”

“Well, my wife woke me up this morning and got me turned on, and she didn’t even have the decency to fuck me before she left. What kind of woman does that, Detective?”

You can hear the curve of her grin, “A lousy one. That’s a pretty serious crime.”

Maybe it’s the low, lilting drawl of her voice down the line. Maybe it’s the way you can see how she’s sitting in your mind; shoulders back against the seat but hips forward, legs splayed with careless confidence, one hand toying with her belt. Maybe it’s the easy humor she slips into with you that she’s never had with anyone else.

Whatever it is, two sentences from her brings you closer to finishing than thirty minutes with your hand has.

You whimper, “Keep talking.”

Another pause. Then the faint rustle of fabric.

“What are you doing?”

Her tone is utterly serious. Unforgiving. And god if it isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

Finally showing your clit some attention, you moan shamelessly. It’s nice to feel full, but your fingers never quite reach the right spots, and you can’t get off on penetration alone—with Agnes or otherwise. It’s fun to work yourself up though; pushing to the heights you can reach there before really giving yourself the stimulation you want.

If she keeps talking, that—combined with the circling motions on your clit—will send you straight over the edge.

The anticipation builds over the line. For a moment, you pull the phone away to make sure she hasn’t hung up. She’s likely weighing the best thing to say to both turn you on and strike the fear of punishment into you.

Instead, her tone is almost pleading, “Don’t do this now.”

An image strikes you of making Agnes beg, of driving her to a point where the easy dominance falls away, and she’s reduced to chasing whatever kindness you give. It brings you so much pleasure it hurts. You need it. But how to get it?

“Is Agent Vidal in the room with you?” You ask.

The idea of Vidal witnessing what you’re doing to Agnes makes your toes curl.

“No.”

“I thought you were stuck with her today.”

“Leave Vidal out of this.” She demands, but it’s strangled.

She’s clawing for control over the situation, scrambling for a foothold. Normally, you’d give it to her. Normally.

“I don’t think I ask for much…” A lie. You make many requests in the sanctity of your bedroom, “all I wanted was for you to fix what you started.”

“Baby.”

You have to pull your fingers away from your clit, desperate to come but not ready yet.

“There are so many ways you could have done it, too. You could have woken me up with your head between my legs… or with you inside me. It could have been nice, right?”

Only the sound of her breathing comes down the line. Heavy, uneven, like when she’s holding herself over you, hips driving her deeper—

God, you’re so close.

You whisper, needing to know that she’s as affected as you, needing to hear her say it, “Are you hard, Agnes?”

“Yes.”

Even though you haven’t moved any part of your hand, the mental image nearly sends you tumbling over the edge.

“Will you come with me?”

“I…I can’t.”

You know. With the shades open, her office is basically an observation room; meaning if she were to do what you ask, there’s almost a guarantee she’d be caught. A sick part of you wants it. Wants to know that you have enough power over her to make her take the risk.

Gently, you begin to toy with your clit again. You can make her do what you ask. All you need is for her to say it—the confirmation that you’ve undone her so thoroughly that she can’t help but fist her cock under the desk where anyone could see.

“Please.” You beg.

You hear her inhale, the sound sharp in your ear. The words are on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes are no doubt shifting around the office, searching for the perfect way to hide what she’s about to do.

You’re standing on the precipice.

The harsh beeping of a disconnected call blares in your ear. Yanking it away, orgasm thoroughly ruined, you yell in frustration.

—

An officer pulls open the door before you can reach for it, nodding, “Ma’am.”

The precinct is busy for it being a holiday. Uniformed officers sit around desks, either on the phone or talking with others. You spy the Chief talking animatedly to a few toward the back.

They’ve really done up the place this year. Last year it’d been sad, grey. Now there are a few little trees spread around, some personal decorations here and there, a menorah on the front desk with candles waiting to be lit. It livens up the place.

In the back sits the partial vision of Agnes’ office. The blinds are somewhat closed, but she’s left the door open, allowing you enough of a glimpse to know she’s in there. You can imagine her without having to see; her sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hunched over the desk, hand toying with strands of her hair as she frowns over evidence.

Gazes follow as you cut through the center of it all. You do your best to ignore the heat working its way up your neck. Once upon a time, a few of the other officers had tried to catch your attention. You’d entertained a few of them. But they were minnows, and you wanted the shark.

You wanted the unapproachable, stone-faced Detective O’Connor.

And you had been the one to catch Agnes, but her fellow officers couldn’t imagine their illustrious Detective not being the one to do the catching. If only they knew how you could have her eating from the palm of your hand.

A swift knock on the open door and you lean against it. She’s exactly as you imagined. Though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on her forehead and her fingers tap on the desk like she can’t sit still.

She doesn’t look up, barking, “I’m busy.”

“I’ll pass this off to one of the other officers then.”

Her head snaps up and you grin. Hanging from one of your fingers is a white takeout bag. The scent of orange chicken and rice permeates the air, but it isn’t what you’re hungry for.

Work forgotten, she looks you up and down, licking her lips. Her fingers twitch on the desk. You clear your throat and she snaps out of whatever daze she’s in. Clearing her own throat, she sits up, tugging on the bottom of her flannel shirt. Your smile widens.

“Close the door behind you.”

Stepping in, you kick it closed with a low, “Yes, Detective.”

“What are you doing here?”

“My job.” You cross to her desk, dropping the takeout bag on top. You’re perched on the edge closest to her. She looks up at you from her chair, lips pursed, tugging on her shirt again, “What kind of wife would I be if I let you go hungry?”

“None of the other guys get lunch delivered personally.”

“None of the other guys are married to me. Do I get a kiss for my troubles?”

Briefly, she looks out into the precinct—not that she can see much with the shades drawn—then back to your lips. Agnes shifts, licking her own, before nodding.

You lean forward and hold onto the chair by one arm, capturing her lips in a rough kiss. Your other hand palms the length you know pulsates between her legs. Upon contact she grunts into your mouth, hips bucking.

Her hand fumbles blindly for your wrist. Catching it in a firm grip, you can feel the tension in her frame as she decides whether to press you closer or shove you away.

Pulling back just enough to smile, “Poor baby. Have you been like this all day?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what, Detective?” You murmur.

Her breath hitches. Blue eyes so blown out they’re nearly black regard you, her chest rising and falling as she struggles for an even rhythm of breath. You test her grip and find its slackened. The palm of your hand caresses the entire outline of her through her jeans.

Agnes doesn’t push you away, but she doesn’t pull you closer, either. The hand on your wrist allows you enough movement to stroke slowly from base to tip. Every inch of her seems to jump at the whisper of your touch.

Looking into her eyes, you can see how she’s fighting for control. She just can’t find the path to it. Good. You want her like this—panting and desperate. It makes you clench around nothing.

“What have you been imagining all this time?”

She swallows. Clears her throat, “Vidal will be back soon.”

“I can be quick.”

“Anyone… could see.”

“We have a few options. Your favorite is off the table, though.”

The favorite in question being Agnes bending you over the desk and fucking you hard and fast. It’s efficient, allowing her drive in deep while having the benefit of spanking you as she chases her reward. Her cock twitches at the reminder.

She’s tense, taut with energy like she’s only a few strokes from finishing right here. The thought is hot and you want it, bad��but not all dreams can be reality.

“What do we have?” Agnes asks, finally.

“If I crawl under the desk no one would see what I’m doing.” You offer.

Your hand keeps moving. It’s more for yourself than anything; you like feeling her, hard and wanting, yet so restricted, jumping at the slightest bit of attention. A thumb swipes over where you know the head is and she chokes, hips stuttering from what had been a slow roll into your hand.

“Do it.” She demands.

The subtle authority returning to her voice sends a shiver down your spine. One more swipe of your thumb and she keens, before clamping her mouth shut.

You laugh. Waking up this morning, this is the last thing you expected for yourself from the day; but you can’t deny you’re enjoying every second.

“That’s my girl.” You praise.

Bracing to slide off the desk, there’s a knock on Agnes’ closed office door, and disaster strikes.

The knock startles you. You try to turn and look toward the door, but forget just how precarious your seating situation is on the edge of the desk. You lose your balance. You’re able to get your foot under you just enough to fall into Agnes’ lap, rather than onto the cold tile of the office.

Agnes lets out a cross between a harsh breath and a moan as you fall into her. Your back presses firmly to her front.

“Don’t—god, I’m gonna—”

Strong hands settle on your hips to shove you off, but it’s too late. Agnes grunts. Nails dig into your sides as she ruts helplessly against your backside, unloading spurts of cum with every press of her hips.

You freeze in shock.

Then out of habit your hands find hers. With one, you lace your fingers together. With the other you caress her wrist, brushing gently as you turn your head to meet her eyes, careful to keep every inch of your body where she needs you. Her hips tense, stuttering, whimpering as she fights the orgasm that’s ravaging her.

“It’s okay. Let it happen.” You encourage, brushing a finger against her inner wrist. A war is waging over her face as she’s caught between desire and shame. Desire must win out. Agnes movements pick up speed as she furiously grinds up against you, and you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips, “That’s it.”

Now that she’s given in, she can’t stop, the hands on your hips clenching as she presses closer, harder with every thrust, powerless to the desire she can’t stop shooting. A wounded noise leaves her throat. You empathize; you know well how getting what you want can quickly move into pained-pleasure, when your body just keeps giving and giving.

Agnes’ expression is pained, laced with helplessness to her pleasure. Her eyes don’t leave your own as she rides out the waves. You try to sit still, letting her take what she needs. She allows you to watch every twitch of her expression, hear every noise she lets slip—it’s an act of trust that overwhelms. Lifting a hand to her cheek, you wipe at the perspiration there.

Eventually, she relaxes into the seat, her hips stopping in their frantic search for friction. Her eyes slip closed and you watch her breathe.

You’re eternally grateful that whoever knocked didn’t barge in right after; there is no way you’d have been able to talk your way around what was happening. It’s a mercy that Agnes rarely shuts her office door—now that she has, everyone understands something important is going on.

Running a finger along her cheekbone, you whisper, “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” She growls.

“Given the mess you just made, I’d say you’re on cloud nine.” You tease.

With a sudden show of strength, you’re shoved into a standing position. You turn to take in the weight of Agnes’ glare.

Agnes snarls, “Fuck you.”

“You could have… if you had a little self control.”

Your eyes fall to her lap for emphasis, the evidence of her desire stark against the front of her jeans. Her hands clench on the arm-rests. Blood has rushed to her face, painting her features in red hues that betray her forced calm.

The sight of her so humiliated is doing it for you; and you can see that she sees, regarding you with a loaded, wary look. It will take no shortage of negotiation, but you will be revisiting this again.

You open the take out bag and pluck out the napkins near the bottom. Carefully, you wipe them over the planes of her face, soaking up the sweat that had been clinging to her skin. Agnes doesn’t meet your eye.

“Agnes.” Waiting until she locks eyes with you, “It’s okay.”

She scoffs, “I came in my pants like a fucking teenager.”

“And it was hot.”

“You’re really something else, you know that?”

“Oh, I’m well aware. I also know that you love me for it.”

Agnes rolls her eyes.

“Unfortunately.”

“Careful, O’Connor, I can still give this lunch away to one of your coworkers.”

The bag is promptly snatched from your reach. You laugh.

Now that she’s standing, you breathe a sigh of relief; her flannel is long, perfectly hiding the evidence of your activities from the world. You just hope no one outside was looking in too closely.

Desire rears its head at the thought. You need to get out of here before you do something that’ll get you both caught.

You lean up and steal a kiss, “Enjoy your lunch, baby.”

When you open the door to leave, you come face-to-face with Agent Rio Vidal holding two cups of coffee in her hands. You startle and she raises her brows at seeing you.

“Agent Vidal.”

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here, sweetheart, or I would’ve bought an extra coffee.”

“That’s okay, I was just bringing Agnes something to eat.”

“Take mine.” The coffee cup is held between the two of you. You can see the faint mark of her lipstick on the lid as she leans in, “I don’t need the extra caffeine anyway.”

“Keep it, Vidal. She can have mine.”

You turn so you can take in both of them. Vidal is relaxed, posture brimming with a quiet confidence while Agnes is tense, staring at the two of you like she could throw something—and she would, if she didn’t think it’d encourage the former somehow.

Agnes has always been… odd around Vidal; moreso than the normal awkwardness between two exes. And Vidal has never been subtle with her interest in poking Agnes’ nerves.

Whatever it is, you’re going to use it and see where it takes you.

You accept the offered cup of coffee, making deliberate eye contact with Agnes as you take a long sip. A latte—thank god, Agnes’ black drip would’ve made you gag.

“Thanks for the coffee.” You murmur low. Then you throw your wife a smile, ignoring the promise of pain in her eyes, “See you at home, Agnes.”

—

Coming home you’re delighted to find a few last-minute packages on the porch. Carrying them in, one shifts heavily in your arms, and you know immediately what it is; one of the speakers in Agnes’ car crapped out on her a few months back, so the passenger-side only spits out static where there should be music—or the sports broadcasts, in your wife’s case; you bought her a new stereo system so she wouldn’t have to ‘make do’ anymore.

There’s also a few new shirts, a nice leather belt, and a watch she’d been eyeing but wasn’t willing to buy for herself. You wrap all of them with a smile on your face and slide them under the tree.

The busy work of it all eases the tension in your shoulders and some of the arousal between your legs. There’s a lingering peace in every corner of your home. It’s quiet, barring the music playing from the kitchen, casting a nostalgic glow over you where the lights seem just a little warmer.

You sit down on the couch and take it all in. Ornaments wobble on branches, glittering and winking at you as they twist. There’s a garland draped over the fireplace with dancing lights; you feel warmer inside when you remember how Agnes helped you set it up, shaking her head at your excitement.

With the bustle of the season, you’ve forgotten to take time like this to stop and let it sink in. So many spend Christmas alone, hungry, without a place to go. You don’t have to. You have a wife who will spend every second with you in the warmth of your home. Tears prick your eyes.

You fall asleep on the couch with that warm feeling in your chest.

—

The scent of garlic and butter tickles your nose. You snap awake.

Did you leave the stove on?

You shoot up from the couch and throw off the blanket you don’t remember grabbing. It falls to your feet, twisting in your ankles, and you do all you can not to fall face-first onto the floor. How long have you been asleep?

Wait. Did you even put anything on to cook?

Agnes’ flannel-clad back greets you when you round the corner. A sigh leaves you. One hand settles over your chest, willing your heartbeat to slow to a normal pattern. It all comes back to you; wrapping gifts, sitting down to enjoy the quiet, intending to get up and start dinner afterward.

You step into the kitchen and wrap your arms around her waist from behind, forehead resting between her shoulder blades. A hand lifts your own so she can press a kiss on the back.

“How was work?” You ask, voice muffled by her shirt.

“A waste of time.” She answers. Her form shifts, one shoulder tensing as she stirs what sits on the stove, “It could’ve waited until after Christmas.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Vidal’s a workaholic and fails to realize the rest of us aren’t.”

“You are most of the year.”

Agnes grunts noncommittally, “What trouble did you get into?”

“Wrapped a few gifts, took a nap. I’m surprised some of your guys weren’t beating down my door with how rowdy I was being.”

“Chief would’ve just sent me to handle you.”

“I’d like that… you, handling me…” You murmur, hand moving down her front with intent.

A strong, veined hand grabs your own. She forces it back to its former resting place. You keep your hand where it is directed. The haven you’ve found nuzzled against her back—surrounded by the scent of her cologne and the heat of her—is just as inviting as anything more salacious could be.

Something bubbles and pops on the stove. Agnes jolts, before relaxing. You drag yourself from your haven to look over her shoulder; a pan of sauce is stirred on one burner, boiling pasta churning away on another. Simple, but hearty.

You press a kiss to the skin you can reach, just behind her ear, “You’re getting better.”

Before, her dinner of choice would’ve been a canister of peanuts, maybe a microwave dinner.

“Don’t say anything until you’ve tasted it.”

“I’ll do what I want.” You answer.

“Don’t I know it.”

Jabbing her side with a finger until she cracks a grin, “Let me taste, so I can tell you how amazing it is.”

The wooden spoon is lifted from the sauce and over her shoulder to your mouth. You wrap your lips around it, immediately lulled further into bliss by the combination of onion, garlic, and tomato.

“Agnes, that is delicious.”

Her brows raise. With a flourish, she allows herself a taste.

“You love to stroke my ego.” She says in that self-deprecating tone you know well.

Your hand and mouth move before you think, “That’s not the only part of you I like to stroke.”

Whether by a lapse in understanding or simply because she lets you, your hand finds its mark before Agnes can stop it. The full width of your hand presses at the apex of her thighs. Your mouth drops open.

Agnes is painfully erect for the second time today with little work on your part.

She drops the spoon against the pan and removes your hand again, blunt nails biting into your skin in the way you like. You don’t react, still reeling from the information you’ve gleaned. Agnes libido isn’t what it once was—a reality of age—even if she’s like a well kept oldsmobile; capable of going the distance and then some once you get her properly started. But you’ve done very little in the way of actually getting her started since visiting the office.

“What on earth have you been up to today?” You ask, breathless.

“Don’t start.”

“I’d say you’re well past the starting point, given what I just felt.” A laugh escapes, then you pause, “You didn’t…”

Agnes curious gaze meets yours over her shoulder. Understanding dawns, along with indignation, “Of course not.”

“Needing a little extra help is normal.”

“This is all your doing.” She snaps, “Go sit down.”

“If it’s all my doing, you should let me fix it.” You coo.

In a sudden burst of movement, Agnes is out of your arms, sauce and pasta left behind on the stove. You blink. Did something happen at work? Have you hit a nerve?

She crosses the space to the kitchen table. The chair at the head of the table, facing the stove, is yanked from its resting place. You wince as it shrieks against the floor. But she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, turning the chair and meeting your eyes with a hard look, pointing.

“Sit.”

You move without thinking. There’s a subtle note of steel beneath the command that sends you into submission on instinct, like a pet might jump to obey their owner. The thought doesn’t chafe today; you want to be good, you want to obey.

Plopping down into the seat, hands settle on your shoulders. Agnes growls in your ear, “Stay.”

And you do.

As she finishes dinner, moving the pasta into the sauce with an unsure—but successful—flourish. As she nearly burns herself cutting the garlic bread fresh out of the oven. As she casts quick, dark glances your way every few minutes, as if having to make sure you’re where she left you.

You are the picture of poise and obedience, fighting every desperate urge for nearness to follow her command. But the longer she takes the harder it becomes. Hands settled on your thighs, your fingers scratch anxiously at the fabric of your pants, helpless and without any other way to expel this building energy.

“Agnes.” You whine.

“Quiet.”

It takes ages before she approaches you. She takes her sweet time putting dinner on plates, making it pretty in a way you know is just to drive you crazy; she doesn’t give two fucks about whether or not something looks nice as long as it tastes good.

Dinner is brought over to the table, but you tilt your head. Agnes only brought one plate.

“Up.” She commands, “You’re in my seat.”

You stand. Reaching for the chair next to hers, a hand on the back stops you from pulling it out. There’s the deep sound of porcelain meeting the wood of the table. As she leans around you, the scent of her cologne makes you dizzy.

Agnes snaps her fingers. You jolt, snapping back into your own mind. She points to the floor and your brows furrow. Then, it clicks, and your face grows warm.

You sink to your knees in front of Agnes’ chair as she sits in it.

“I can guess what a perp is going to do just by the way they sit in interrogation.” Agnes drawls, idly tapping her knee as her mind works, “But you… I can never guess how you’re going to act. Look at you now, all good and obedient for me, when you were acting like a whore in my office today.”

So caught up in the dizzying feeling of submission, you’ve been oblivious to the weight of your own desire. Agnes’ words change that in an instant. There’s a needy, pulsing beat between your legs, and you clench your thighs together in an attempt to help yourself. It doesn’t work.

“You started it.” You say, breathless.

You can’t breathe around your desire for her. Oxygen is a secondary need to the feel of her, whether she’s buried deep inside or grazing her fingers over your flesh; you want her and it hurts. But you keep your hands on the tops of your thighs.

Agnes chuckles. It’s a low, rolling thing. Agnes’ usual response to amusement is to grin, maybe even shake her head and scoff—laughter is a rare thing, aged and cultivated until it’s amber laced with smoke over your senses. You feel the heat of it. The intoxication it brings is warm, a weight settling comfortingly over the shoulders.

“I’m collecting on your offer from earlier.”

And with that, her thighs part, and you surge forward without being told. Her belt is unbuckled in one fell swoop. You moan, unable to help yourself, needy for the feel of her skin, to taste.

A testament to the overwhelm of your desire that the concept of toying with her again does not cross your mind. Your hand finds the desperate length of her cock, exposing it to the cool air.

It stands proud, tip flushed and leaking, veins stark against the fair skin. You pant. With single-focus, you lean forward.

An equally fair hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to Agnes’, “How many taps?”

You blink. You’re buried beneath desire, mind clawing its way to the surface.

“T-Three.”

Agnes nods and you’re free.

The first thing you do with your newfound freedom is flatten your tongue and lick a broad stripe up the length of her. The hand on your jaw goes slack in surprise, Agnes’ hips jumping. A groan echoes through the room.

You circle your tongue over the tip, drinking in her taste and the sounds falling from her lips. It’s heady, making the room fuzzy around the edges.

Submission brings with it a strange feeling of power. You’re doing as she bids, being good, but every sound and reaction coming from her is real; the truest manifestation of how well you’re doing to please her.

The world falls away. Your head feels floaty, strangely empty despite the manuevers you’re employing with your mouth. You don’t need words, you don’t need thoughts, you just need to offer Agnes whatever she wants.

Which you do by taking her cock in your mouth until she hits the back of your throat.

A thud sounds from her hand slamming on the tabletop, scrambling for something to grip as she chokes out, “Fuck!”

You do all you can to repress your gag reflex, forcing yourself to just relax everytime she hits the back of your throat. Agnes has her head thrown back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling as she pants, whimpering with every movement of your tongue and mouth.

Through it all, her hand remains on the side of your face, a careful guide. You can’t help the hand that sneaks under your skirt; Agnes is shaking with tension, begging to let go and chase her pleasure at your expense, but she’s holding herself back and guiding you through taking her in the way that would do the least harm.

You moan. Agnes’ cock twitches in your mouth and she matches your moan, a semblance of that control slipping with a particularly rough thrust. You gag, tears forming in your eyes.

The hand between your thighs shakes, fumbling for your clit while focusing on what really matters. You’re so wet there’s barely any friction.

You want Agnes to make you gag again. You want her to push into you and take what she wants until you’re crying.

Looking up, you try to will all of that thought and intent into your eyes, but Agnes’ are closed.

You whine.

Blue eyes regard you from beneath drooping lids. You will one thought into your mind and one thought only; use me.

Agnes swallows. The pad of a thumb runs under your eye, collecting some of the wetness there as if to say are you sure? In answer, you take as much of her as you can physically manage, eyes meeting her own the whole time.

Her restraint snaps.

Agnes’ hand travels to the back of your head, her hips moving faster and firmer than you can comprehend. She takes over completely; driving into you for what she needs, making you gag obscenely, without a thought in the world for if it is too much.

Not having to make choices allows you to focus on obtaining your own pleasure. With every tear she forces from your eyes, you swipe over the pulsating bud of your clit. You can feel your own orgasm building low in your gut.

“I’m going to cum.” Agnes groans.

Delight shoots through you. She’s going to cum and it’s because of you; because you were good and gave her everything she needs. It feels amazing.

Why, then, do you pull off and out of reach?

Agnes growls. You blink.

Words. There are words to go with the desire you feel. You close your eyes, searching for them, mentally scrambling at the edges until you can wrap your hands around them and their meaning.

“Can I…” You start, voice rough from the beating your throat has taken, “Can I ride you?”

Agnes makes quite the scene; splayed open on the dining room chair, hair a mess and eyes blown out, cock twitching and needy through the fly of the jeans she ruined only a few hours ago. You clench.

Agnes licks her lips, “Yeah, alright.”

You stand on shaking legs and Agnes holds up a hand, stopping you as she lifts her hips and fumbles in her back pocket. She obtains her wallet and rifles through until she locates a small foil wrapper.

It’s safer, you know. You’ve used one almost every other time for the duration of your marriage.

“Agnes.”

The woman in question pauses before opening the condom. Her brow pops up in an unspoken question.

The words are instinct, comprehensive thought still far away, “I want you to cum inside me.”

Outside, the world rages on. Westview residents race down the street, returning home from last minute errands, gifts in tow that they’ll have to sneak inside. The wind is kicking up and through the trees as snow grows closer with every second.

And then there is you and Agnes, tucked in the warmth of your home, caught in the weight of your words. Stopped in the face of the potential consequences.

Agnes throws the unopened condom on the kitchen table.

“Then come here.”

You stand with your legs on either side of her own, steadying yourself on her shoulders. One steady hand settles on your hip. The other pushes your panties aside and aligns her to your entrance as you lower into her lap.

You could take her in one motion with how wet you are. Yet, Agnes keeps your descent slow, careful. She watches your face with every inch you take—same as you watch hers.

Agnes’ chest is heaving, eyes dark and stormy, face pinched in concentration. She’s the most handsome person you’ve ever seen. You clench around her and her hands tighten on your waist.

“Sorry.” You murmur, out of habit.

Agnes raises a brow, but doesn’t respond, helping you down the last few inches. When you settle fully in her lap you let out the breath you’d been holding.

One hand sneaks under your skirt to trace shapes on the bare flesh of your hip.

“You pulled an interesting stunt with Vidal today.” Agnes says. The hand on your hip tightens, “I’m not so sure I should reward your behavior.”

“Then why let me…”

“Why deny myself just because you’re acting like a brat?”

There’s a small testing thrust of her hips. You clench. She groans, head falling back against the chair. You whimper. Trying to move your own hips, eager for what you’ve been denied, you find yourself held in place.

That’s not fair. All day she’s been teasing you, driving you to the edge of what you want—what you need, just to deny you.

“You started it.” You whine, trying to move your hips again, still finding yourself held stationary as she leisurely thrusts up, “You woke me up and got me all bothered, it’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair, baby.”

“Please.” You whine, “It’s not my fault, please.”

Muscles in her arms tremble as she lifts you slightly before sinking you back down onto her. The fullness makes your toes curl but it isn’t enough.

“Calling me at work and getting me worked up wasn’t your fault?”

“…No.”

Agnes laughs, “If you’re going to lie, you could at least be convincing.”

You won’t win this fight by playing fair, not when Agnes is clearly uninterested in fairness.

“You… You feel so good. Can’t think properly.” You breathe, moaning a bit more than comes naturally, “I’m so full of you.”

The thrust of her is uneven. She stops moving you completely and you fight down a grin.

You press a hand between your bodies, applying pressure to your lower stomach as she continues to thrust, subtly picking up speed. Her pants are growing louder, a wheeze leaving her mouth when you press.

“That’s you.” You murmur, leaning forward and ghosting over her lips, tracing the bridge of her nose with the tip of your own. You press harder and enjoy the way she groans, “Nobody has ever been as deep inside me as you.”

“Fuck.” She snarls.

You’re pushed up again, suddenly empty, and whine, blinking at the change. But then her strong hands are on your hips and spinning you around.

Your front is pressed against the table, bent so your cheek rests on the top of it. The texture of her jeans is rough against the back of your thighs as she lines herself and fills you in one thrust.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry.

Agnes sets a brutal pace, chasing that which only you can offer. Every thrust has her cock brushing that perfect spot inside you and you lose control of whatever sounds you’re making.

“Is this what you wanted?” Agnes snarls in your ear, “For me to leave work and fuck you like some bitch in heat?”

“Yes!”

“You haven’t earned it.”

“No, Agnes, please!”

“Hold it.” She orders.

With every move she makes, you do all you can to ignore the pleasure, to pretend it doesn’t exist. It’s somewhat possible when it’s only her cock. But then she leans down and starts toying with your clit and you cry out, fighting not to roll your hips against them.

You want what you’ve been chasing all day, but you still want to be good. You’re her good girl, aren’t you? You have to keep being good even if it hurts.

So, you hold your orgasm at bay, while Agnes chases her own. Judging by the uneven rhythm of her hips it won’t take long.

“Please let me come, Agnes. Please.” You beg.

“Why should I?”

“I’ll give you anything—anything! Please, my love!”

“Anything, huh?”

The tone of her voice is low, dangerous. Layered with a rasp that nearly undoes you.

If she doesn’t let up, it doesn’t matter how good you are; you’re going to cum.

“Anything!”

Agnes phone is slammed down on the table right beside your head. It isn’t on, but you have the sinking feeling that you’ve just landed yourself into something far worse than expected.

Her thrusts stop, but she keeps a light, teasing pressure that grazes your clit just enough to keep you engaged without getting you off.

It is torture. And the silence building as you stare down the upturned cell phone is only making it worse.

“I’m going to make a call and turn on the speaker. Then, I’m going to fuck you. And you’re going to let whoever is on the phone hear you as I make you cum.”

The weight of it is like a lead weight of nerves in your stomach, “But—“

“If you want to act like a whore you’re going to be treated like one.” She snarls, then her tone grows softer, “Yes or no, angel?”

Whoever she calls and puts on the line, you’ll never be able to look in the eye again. But you’re so full and eager that you don’t truly care at this point.

Besides, it’s Christmas Eve, maybe everyone will be too busy to pick up.

“Yes.”

A harsh thrust that forces the air from your lungs, then her lips are next to your ear, breath hot, “That’s my girl.”

The echo of your own words from earlier make your toes curl. Her phone is snatched from the table and she continues to toy with your clit as she makes the call.

It rings… and rings… and rings…

Faintly, you hear the line connect, and you gasp.

You can’t make out who the voice belongs to, but you hear a faint, “Yeah?”

Agnes barks down the line, “Don’t say a word.”

The bang! as her phone hits the table again makes you jump, a small shriek leaving your lips. It wobbles. Faintly, you’re impressed she hasn’t broken the thing with how she abuses it.

A long finger slams down on the speaker button and as the phone tilts slightly, you read the name on the screen, and your eyes widen.

Vidal.

Before you can say a word, though, Agnes is back to work. Something in the action of being heard has made her more aggressive. You swear you can feel the bruises forming on your hips where she grabs, leveraging you for every single thrust.

You try to choke down your moans and whimpers, not wanting Agent Vidal to hear you like this, but Agnes won’t stand for it; one hand grabs your jaw and pries your mouth open.

She pushes in to the hilt and you let out a shrieking moan.

“You were so talkative before. Have you lost your nerve?”

“I—please—“

“Calling me this morning and getting me worked up, teasing me in the office, in the kitchen… and incapable of handling your punishment.”

“I’m sorry, Agnes. Please.”

“Please, what?”

“Use me. I want—I need you to fuck me until I can’t remember being without you—I need you to fuck me until you cum inside and make me yours forever—please!”

The knowledge that every word from your mouth is being heard by someone else is not forgotten, but you’ve been pushed beyond caring. Agnes is intent on making you beg for what you want and you want it bad.

Agnes’ fingers and cock alternate stimulating you. If her fingers are working, her hips aren’t—and vice versa. You’re frankly astonished she’s been able to last so long because you’re teetering on the edge of pleasure at the barest contact.

But her will has always been steel. And she wants to see you humiliated.

The hand on your clit slides to your lower stomach and presses, mimicking your own actions only minutes before, “When I knock you up, you’re going to feel it right here.”

Something inside you snaps. You wail.

Agnes’ hips are moving at a clip, every inch of her rubbing where you need, setting you alight from within. Her hand doesn’t move. The faster she goes, the deeper she drives, her hips begin to lose their rhythm.

Any words devolve into animalistic grunts as she ruts into you, mouth alternating between kissing and biting at your neck from behind.

You’re so fucking close. If she denies you now, you think you might die.

“Let me cum, Agnes, please—pretty please—I’ll be your good girl, please, I’ll be so good. Let me cum and fill me up, it’s all I want—“

Through gritted teeth, “Go on then.”

Something inside you snaps.

The command is exactly what you need. Your entire body clenches so tight you fear you may never relax again. You lose track of what noises leave your mouth, you think you may even lose consciousness for a few moments.

All you know when you come to is that your throat is raw and Agnes is driving into you, choking out in your ear, “Gonna cum—“

Her hips meet your own at full force and don’t pull back, remaining, pulsing forward as if she can’t get close enough. Every spasm of her cock paints your insides with her desire, marking you as hers. Agnes holds your hips as she presses in with every twitch, struggling to breathe.

Weakly, you reach a hand back to tangle in her hair. Your throat aches, “That’s it, baby. Fill me.”

A groan. Another rough twitch.

It reaches a point where the pressure ebbs. She remains, but she’s not twitching anymore, nor is she fighting to become one with you. There’s only the sound of your breathing in the room.

Agnes moves to straighten and pull out, but you whine, reaching back to grab whatever part of her you can reach.

“Stay.” You whisper.

She pauses.

A hand gently caresses along your spine, “You can’t stay like this, angel.”

“Just let me feel you a little longer.”

There’s a comfort in the fullness; in the knowledge that Agnes is the only woman who can provide this for you. That she even wants to.

It’s all a blur beyond that.

Eventually, you can’t stand being bent over on the table anymore, even if you never want to be without the feeling of Agnes inside you. The call with Vidal is disconnected at some point. You and your wife move slowly, hand in hand, up to your bedroom.

You gently shove her onto the bed while grabbing damp washcloths. Neither of you can stand a shower at this point.

The two of you take your time, being careful to mind the sore spots. You lean slightly into Agnes as you wipe some of the sweat from her flesh.

“You’re so good to me.” You murmur, kissing the underside of her jaw, “Thank you, my love.”

“Consider it an early Christmas gift, angel.”

You tamp down on the urge to say something sappy for her to scoff at. Instead, you guide her down and kiss her, soft and slow.

[flemingology]

Hey could you maybe do a fic about reader and alexia on christmas eve where reader is very pregnant and the baby is due in a couple of weeks but it comes early (christmas eve) and there is a lot of stress and drama of course being mainly from alexia and the baby is eventually born on christmas! maybe include alexia’s family and some of the barca girls in some way? Sorry it’s so long😭

christmas came early ─ alexia putellas x reader

part of my christmas series. full masterlist here!

in which: christmas eve unexpectedly brings you and alexia the gift of new life

warnings: pregnancy (symptoms), labour (not descriptive at all lol), very fluffy

wc: 4k

a/n: i wasn't too clued up on writing labor, so i didn't. i didn't want to make it unrealistic and i was gonna get mad as hell at myself if i tried and i couldn't get it how i wanted. i hope you enjoy tho!

“Be careful,” Alexia hummed against your lips, giving you another kiss after claiming 4 times that the previous one was the last one. “I will. We will. I promise.” Your fiancée tentatively crouched down and put her hands protectively on the side of your growing bump. “Be nice to mama,” she said softly, her eyes flicking towards yours as she spoke to the little wonder growing inside of your belly. “She’s making sure you’re gonna be all strong and healthy when you’re born in a couple months.” The Spaniard finished with a soft kiss against your belly, hoisting herself back up and tenderly pressing her lips against yours. The last one, she promised, again.

You’d never get used to the sight of Alexia speaking to your bump, speaking to the little life that was growing inside of you and that was going to make you mothers. “Chop, chop. Don’t be late. I love you.” Alexia hummed in mock annoyance, but turned on her heels and stepped towards the front door. “I’ll be back for dinner. I promise.” She blew you one final kiss and then set off to the training grounds.

Ever since you found out you were pregnant, it was like someone flipped a switch within Alexia. She had always been quite protective over you, way more rooted in jealousy than she'd ever like to admit, but since you were carrying her baby, she took it to another level. Not only that, she was also preparing for motherhood like she would prepare for football games. She researched, took classes, watched youtube videos and read articles with great interest and attention, wanting to be as prepared as possible for the day your kiddo would arrive.

Part of Alexia's overprotectiveness was also rooted in the struggle you'd gone through in trying to get pregnant. Your IVF journey hadn't been the kindest on either of you. Failed attempt after failed attempt, you were nearing the brink of giving up, but on your 4th attempt it had finally stuck. You couldn't nearly express the joy that overcame the both of you, the realization dawning on you that you were going to become mothers. Together. A childhood dream that was finally coming into fruition, with the love of your life.

The first couple months, though, were hell. Headaches, dizziness, cramping, food aversions, backaches, nausea, vomiting, swelling, itching – you name it, you had it. It felt like life punching you in the face for having wished so bad to get pregnant, you had to deal with all the consequences now. Still, you took it in your stride as best as you could. You kept going to work for as long as possible (until Alexia could no longer be convinced to allow you to go), you stayed on top of your part of the chores at home, you still went to all of your wife's football games, all whilst trying to get used to and accommodate for the little life that was growing in your belly. Symptoms be damned, you were finally pregnant and you wouldn't let anything ruin your happy, little pregnant bubble.

Now, with the due date nearing, Alexia was very reluctant to leave you for training every day. You assured her time and time again that you were going to be fine, your mum and Eli both had their phones on them at all times for if you were to call with an emergency. A well-packed hospital bag had been sitting by the door since a couple weeks (way too early but you gave in when Alexia had been pacing around the house for the best part of an hour instead of sleeping), so you were good to go to the hospital if necessary. The staff at Barcelona kept Alexia's phone with them at all times, so that a potential call wouldn’t go lost in an empty dressing room.

Christmas was nearing, though, and even though your wife was reluctant to agree, you'd invited Ingrid and Mapi over for a Christmas dinner. You were still a couple weeks from your due date, so you assured her you'd be fine. You opted to stay at home rather than going out, Ingrid and Alexia deciding they would cook the meals for the evening so you could lay back and relax. There were a couple times in the running up to the holidays that Alexia tried to convince you to blow off the plans you'd made, but you insisted you didn't. As much as you couldn't wait to meet the little baby growing in your belly, you didn't want to miss out on your final Christmas Eve with just your fiancée because of her stubborn overprotectiveness.

–

Alexia got up with the reflexes of a cat when the bell rang, glaring down at you as you also tried to get up. You didn't fight back and plopped yourself back down on the couch, too tired and too big a belly to really argue her point. Preparations for tonight hadn't been smooth sailing, in all honesty. You'd been hit quite bad with some of the third trimester symptoms lately, especially the Braxton Hicks had majorly upped in frequency. They were very short, only mildly uncomfortable and infrequent as you started to get them, but now only three weeks from your due date, the tightening sensations in your uterus lasted longer, were more painful and came in a steady frequency.

Your fiancée uncoordinatedly ran around the house all afternoon, trying her best to balance preparations for Christmas Eve and a very pregnant, slightly annoyed girlfriend to the best of her abilities. She managed, though, and you never really doubted that she wouldn't. If you had to describe your lover in one word, it would surely be determined. Whether it came to football, or taking care of you, or arranging your shoes on the shoe rack with meticulous, millimetered precision – she didn't do things half-assed. It was all or nothing for the Spanish midfielder.

The table was set, wine was cooled (lemon water for you, seemingly your latest craving), some preparations for dinner had started, presents were on the coffee table, soft music was playing from the speakers around the apartment, the mood lights were on, Alexia did good. More than good, and it settled half your nerves for the evening. You hated that you couldn't help her, that you were bound to the sofa. But even if she allowed you to help, you would probably not be able to find the energy to get up and run around the place.

You heard some muffled voices coming from the hall, moving to sit slightly more upright, but you got caught out by another Braxton Hick. You winced slightly and rubbed your hand over your swollen bump, closing your eyes and trying to control your breathing.

"Amor, are you okay?" Alexia's worried voice rang through the living room as the three of them entered the living room. You took another deep breath before replying, the contraction easing away as you finally sat up a little more. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, Ale. Just another Braxton Hick." You mustered up a small smile, and if Alexia sensed the worry in your expression, she didn't say anything about it. They'd been more frequent than ever before today, and it was worrying you slightly. You tried to push away the thoughts, though, excited to celebrate Christmas Eve with your fiancée and two of your best friends.

The night went on smoothly. Conversation flowed easily, as it always did between the four of you, and Ingrid and Alexia cooked up a delicious meal. The girls each made a dish from their respective home countries, Alexia making Catalan escudella – a meat stew with sausage, and Ingrid made pinnekjøtt, lamb prepared in a way that you tried your best to remember, but couldn't try to remake even if you tried. The table was filled with all kinds of deliciousness, and you felt genuinely happy. The Winter holidays had always been your favorite period of the year, so to be celebrating it with some of the most important people in your life, felt great.

It wasn't until later that evening that you all found yourself on the sofa again and got to opening presents. You all promised one another that you wouldn't go overboard with anything, but no one wanted to come up empty-handed. Mapi gifted you and Alexia a tiny little Barcelona shirt with your fiancée's name on the back, a baby Adidas tracksuit and then also some scented candles and incense sticks for around the apartment. You and Alexia bought Mapi and Ingrid a gift card from this art store they'd been wanting to buy something from the past couple months, and a couple bottles of fine Spanish wine.

The four of you lounged on the sofa, enjoying each other's company as the evening ticked away. You were taking a moment to yourself to appreciate your surroundings; your cozy apartment made even warmer by three of the most important people in your life, with a little baby growing in your belly, that'd been growing safe and healthy inside of you for the past 37 weeks. The warm laughter of your fiancée rang through your place and you felt fuzzy inside, taking a deep breath and enjoying the moment. Your state of bliss got abruptly interrupted, though, by another Braxton Hick. Or so you thought. Your wince didn't go unnoticed by your invitees, their conversation quieting down as they glanced over at you. "All good, baby?" Alexia said softly, as she put a hand on the small of your back.

You were about to tell her you were fine, that it was probably just another practice contraction, until you could feel something warm and wet between your legs. You thought you were imagining things, but it was there. It was definitely there. "Ale," you breathed, trying to compose yourself before you set off the whole house with what you were about to say. "I think my water broke." You opened your eyes just enough to see how Alexia's widened, her mouth opening and closing a couple times, seemingly rooted to her spot on the sofa.

"Joder," she murmured, "you're not due another three weeks!" You winced as another contraction came, doubling over to the best of your abilities with your pregnant bump in the way. "Vale, Alexia, do something!" You heard Ingrid say, ushering your fiancée to stand up and get the hospital bag. "Come here, love, I'll help you stand up and we'll get you to the car." Ingrid's soothing voice grounded you slightly, and you looked up at her with a worried expression. "I'm not due another three weeks," you mumbled. "That's okay. Your baby has been growing fine as it should be, so this won't be a problem. Three weeks isn't all that bad. You'll be fine. But you have to go to the hospital, okay? Take my hand." You did as the Norwegian told and gripped her hand like a vice, not missing the wince shooting across her face but not bothered enough to care. You stood up with Ingrid's aid and looked at the wet spot on the sofa, another confirmation that you really weren't imagining things. Your baby was on its way.

Ingrid led you towards the front door of your apartment while Mapi called the elevator up, the both of them wanting to get you downstairs and in the car as quick as possible. You heard rummaging around behind you, probably Alexia rushing around the place trying to get everything that was necessary.

She had never been as nervous as she was now. Not during Champions League finales, not while taking game-winning penalty kicks, not at the World Cup, no. Nothing would ever compare to the stress she felt right now. The hospital bag that had been sat at the door for weeks seemingly didn't have everything, according to Alexia's thoughts (it definitely had way more than necessary, but you didn't have the heart to tell her that), so she haphazardly threw in some more stuff that she could find around the house. Why you'd need a cutting board, she doesn't know. She still threw it in there. A mop? Probably handy for something, no? She threw the door to your apartment closed behind her and rushed downstairs, Ingrid and Mapi already helping you in the car as she threw the bag in the trunk and rushed over to the driver side.

"Stay with her, Ingrid," Alexia said. "Hold her hand in the back seat, por favor." Your fiancée's voice was laced with worry, but you couldn't find it in you to try and console her. You knew she didn't have to rush like was doing right now, it was going to be hours before you'd actually go into labor, but the contractions were getting more frequent and were definitely getting more painful, leaving you speechless and crushing Ingrid's hand. Mapi sat next to Alexia in the passenger seat and you were slowly realizing that probably wasn't the best of ideas, the two women both as nervous as each other and not helping one another in the slightest at calming down.

The ride to the hospital was less than smooth, and you could hear Ingrid scolding Alexia every couple minutes for her driving. She was speeding, definitely also crossed a red light, traffic fines be damned. You arrived in 12 minutes, 5 minutes less than it'd took the last time you practiced the drive to the hospital. Alexia stepped out of her driver seat and rushed to the other side of the car, helping Ingrid with getting you out of the backseat of her car. "Lean on me, amor, it's not far, okay?" You were relatively sure you would be able to keep yourself standing, but the idea of leaning your body weight into your fiancée was to enticing to turn down.

Once you were inside and registered, everything went by in a flurry. You were led to a room where you'd have to wait until you had enough dilation to actually go into labour. You went from contraction to contraction, each one getting worse than the other, up to the point where you felt like you had to get your baby out. They had completely dropped, and you could feel them pushing against your underside. The waiting felt endless, and you felt like an eternity went by until you were finally cleared to go into labour. It had been an eternity to be fair, having had to wait the best part of 5 hours.

Alexia stayed with you during labour, whispering words of affirmation and motivation in your ear whilst you worked your way through birthing your baby. It was rough, painful, hard, it was ugly. You screamed, cried, yelled, you got angry, but it was all for a good cause. You were pretty sure that you bruised Alexia's hand as you held it through it all, but not a fiber in your body could be bothered with anything but pushing the human past your lips out of your belly into the world.

At 4:03am, you finally did it. You felt like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You had successfully birthed your little baby, and they were healthy. Alexia got to cut the umbilical cord, something she felt quite apprehensive about, but an experience she wouldn't want to trade for the world. "Mi amor, you did it, look at him." Alexia leaned her forehead against yours as the nurses were cleaning up your son, preparing him for some skin-to-skin contact in a couple moments. You closed your eyes and breathed her in, a small smile forming on your lips despite the heavy exhaustion that rested on your limbs. "Sorry about your hand," you whispered. "No sorry. I'll let you bruise my hand a thousand times if that means we get to have a healthy son."

You felt an overwhelming sense of gratification and love as Alexia pressed a tender kiss against your forehead. You stayed like that for a couple moments, until the nurses finished cleaning up your son and waddling him in a little blanket. Now came a time what they called the golden hour, a critical moment for the newborn and their mother to bond. Your son was softly placed on your chest, your hands being guided to support him and his head appropriately. He stirred a little, but seemed to find a comfortable position to rest in, and seemed to fall asleep quite quickly. You felt tears well up in your eyes at the perfect sight in front of you. Finally, after trying for so long, you had a perfectly healthy baby laying on your bare chest. It was yours. Yours and Alexia's.

You cradled his head and kept him close to you while he slept, your fingers trailing across his tiny body. "He's so small," you whispered. You looked up at Alexia when you didn't get a response, noticing her sitting on the chair next to your bed, with unshed tears in her eyes. "Oh, baby," you cooed, holding out your unoccupied hand for her to take. She intertwined her fingers with yours and brought your hand up to her lips, pressing a gentle kiss against it. "You did it," she mumbled, repeating the same words from before. You chuckled. "Yeah, I did," you spoke softly. You stayed in silence for some time until your son started to stir a little. The nurses had said that he'd probably not be able to sleep for too long before he'd have to eat.

"I think he's hungry, Ale." The brunette perked up and stood from the chair, accompanying you by the side of the bed. "Want me to call a nurse? Or will you manage yourself?" You contemplated the options. "You should call a nurse. Just to be sure." It didn't take long for someone to arrive in the room, and she assured you that you did the right thing by calling someone over. With the help of the nurse you unbuttoned the hospital robe further and helped your son settle against your exposed breast, guiding his head to your nipple. He latched on immediately, and an unfamiliar feeling overcame you as you felt his little mouth sucking on your nipple. "Are you okay, bebé?" You nodded, relaxing a little deeper into the bed and holding your son tight against you so he could nurse. Alexia watched on in awe as you fed your newborn baby. She was amazed by everything that was happening, by her child, by you. More tears welled up in her eyes as she watched you nurse him, feeling overwhelmed by the love for her newfound family. She cupped the back of your head with her hand and guided your face towards hers, locking gazes. "You're incredible. Te amo." You smiled brightly at your fiancée and responded, "I love you so much."

The rest of the night went on smoothly, and by the time the clock hit 5:30 you were all settled again. Your son had nursed perfectly, settling some of the nerves you'd had around the whole feeding process. The nurse assured that everything was fine with him, and also gave the okay to Alexia to take him from you if she wanted to. She hesitated, worried that she in some way would break him if she took him away from your chest. "Bebé, what if I drop him?" You withheld a chuckle, quickly realizing that she was being way more serious than you thought she was. "Alexia, you won't drop him. I promise you. You're going to do so good." You tried to reassure her, but her eyes were still laced with worry as she leaned over to you. You let her take him from you, guiding her hands and arms to support his body and his head appropriately, and then she was holding him. She was holding him. In her arms. He slightly stirred, both you and Alexia holding your breath as he let out a little cry, but he quickly settled against her chest, breathing out a deep sigh.

You stared at the scene in front of you like a lovesick puppy, and you weren't sure anything in your life would ever top the way you felt right now. In front of you was your fiancée, soon-to-be wife, who was holding your son, your little wonder that you had the privilege of carrying for the past 37 weeks. In this moment, you couldn't imagine that you ever even contemplated giving up on your IVF journey. Then you wouldn't have had the pleasure to extend your family of 2 into a very happy family of 3. "He's so perfect," Alexia whispered, carefully not to wake up your son. She softly traced a finger over his face, his tiny nose, down to his tummy. "So small." She continued her path down to his legs and then his sock-covered feet, admiring the way they both fit right into her hand.

"Want me to call the girls over?" You questioned softly, not wanting to ruin the moment, but Alexia had told you earlier that Mapi and Ingrid were still waiting in the waiting room and you didn't want to hold them from any sleep any longer than you had to. They were professional athletes at last, and even though they were on a break, it wasn't the best for them to be out of their sleep rhythm for this long. "Sí, you can call them." You did, and it didn't take much longer than a minute for the two girls to enter your room.

You met their gazes and noticed how tears welled up in both their eyes, seeing their ever so stern captain holding her son with so much love and adoration in her eyes. "Dios mío, es tan pequeño," Mapi whispered, slowly inching closer to where Alexia was stood, close to your bed. You could see the tiredness etched across their face, but neither Mapi nor Ingrid would've missed this moment for a lifetime. "What's his name?" Ingrid asked, her gaze pointed towards you. "James."

You and Alexia had disagreed on everything until you found the name you eventually agreed on. She didn't like what you liked, and you didn't like what she liked. But when you stumbled across James, a Hebrew name with Greek roots, the equivalent of Jaume, your minds were made up.

"James", Mapi whispered, leaning over your son and softly tracing along his nose with your finger. "He's perfect, wow. Congratulations to both of you. You're going to be amazing parents."

You soaked up the love from the moment. The clock was nearing 6 now, and you were beyond exhausted, but the sight of your fiancée cradling your son close to her chest is what kept you going. Your little Christmas miracle. You wouldn't change it for the world.

[hotluncheddie]

My @steddieexchange for @lulalulens !! :) <3

wc: 3k | rated: E | tags: hurt/comfort, confessions, Christmas fluff, fingering, handjob, they both need a hug and they both get one

₊✩‧₊

It’s Dustin that causes it. Not on purpose, but he’s the catalyst. The uh, what did Robin say about movie plots? Oh, yeah, he was the inciting incident. 

The glasses had a red tint to the lens that reminded Dustin of Cyclops, and Daredevil - something he was sure Eddie would find cool. He held them up in the air as he ran through the store back to Steve. Was sure Eddie would like that they were from the thrift, that they had story - were like an artefact.

And Steve agreed, was exited by Dustin’s excitement. Exited to see Eddie’s face when he opened them. 

Always exited to watch Eddie smile. 

(He didn’t tell Dustin that, since they were still figuring things out. Keeping being together on the low until, well, Steve wasn’t sure. Only Robin and Wayne knew, and that was enough, for now.) 

So Steve smiled, agreed that it was a good choice, but also rolled his eyes, calling them both dorks for thinking looking like a comic guy was cool. But when Christmas Eve came around and the party gathered in the trailer to make it easier on Max’s still recovering body and Eddie’s still recovering reputation, Steve was exited. He shifted in his spot on the couch next to Eddie to watch his face, which was grinning as Dustin handed him the brightly wrapped box. Steve’s arm draped over the back of the couch twitched and his resolve quickly folded, he let his fingers find a wisp of curls to hold, to connect them. 

Eddie opens the case with a laugh, agreeing with Dustins references. ‘I’ll wear these on my first magazine cover.’ He declares, standing and slipping them on. ‘What do you think Mikey? Metal?’ He asks in front of them all, posing with his hand on his hips. Mikes cheeks go slightly pink as he nods and Eddie sends a wink to Steve.

But then Steve notices Eddie’s smile fade slightly as his eyes scan the room, his breathing change. Eddie, with hands clenching his hips so tight his fingers go white, looks up at the untarnished ceiling of the new Munson trailer, and squeezes his eyes shut.

‘Now, not that I don’t love you all, but Wayne allowed me one Christmas smoke and I’m hankering.’ Eddie says woodenly, clapping too loudly in the sudden, cautious, quiet, and turns for the door. 

Steve watched him slip quickly into his shoes and bring his hand up to remove the glasses, a tremor in his fingers. 

The door slams shut a moment later. 

He didn’t even put on a coat. 

Steve’s hand comes to Dustin’s shoulder as he gets up from the couch, trying to tell him it’s alright, trying to tell him not to follow. Lucas pipes up about cigarettes smelling nasty, pulling Dustin into an argument about whether his present for Max is better than Dustin’s present for Suzy. Smart kid. 

Steve grabs his and Eddie’s coats, pulling his own boots on and zipping up. 

‘I’m just gonna, uh.’ he mumbles, half out the door and looking to Robin. He raised his eyebrows, she nods. 

The yellow light from the trailer window cast elongated patches across the frozen ground, too cold now to snow but the flurry they had a few days ago still stubbornly remains in patches, glittering faintly in the light. 

Steve find him, hunched over the front of the bimmer, shadowed by the thicket of bare branches that offer the only corner of privacy from neighbouring unis. 

He approaches slow, Eddie’s shoulders are rising and falling a little too rapidly, white clouds of icy breath billowing out into the star laden sky. The glasses gripped in his hand, knuckles white.

A rogue patch of icy snow crunches under foot. ‘I know you loved it when I called you hot stuff last week, but this is taking it a little far don’t you think?’ He asks softly, draping Eddie’s coat over his shoulders in slow catalogued movements. 

He rests his hand there, between Eddie’s shoulder blades. The rise and fall of his breathing is staggered, and shaking. He rubs circles between the two points of bone, hoping it’s soothing, trying to time it with Eddie’s breaths and is thankful as they slow somewhat, becoming deeper, less ragged. 

‘Want to talk about it?’ 

‘No s’fine. M’fine.’ He mumbles, rubbing his nose. 

‘C’mon, don’t be like that man.’ Steve says softly, his heart clenching as Eddie’s lip wobbles. 

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly. ‘It was, it was like I was back there.’ He whispers. 

‘Oh, Ed’s.’ 

Eddie rises finally, tugging at his sweater collar like the stretched material is too tight, sucking in great slow lungfuls of icy air. 

Steve prise the glasses out of Eddie’s stiff fingers, slipping them into his pocket and manoeuvring Eddie properly into his coat. He goes willingly, pliant as the adrenaline leaves his body, hollowing him out. 

‘I, I don’t.’ he sniffs, eyes brimming with tears. 

‘Shh, You’re okay.’ Steve hushes, pulling Eddie into his arms. Hand on the back of his head as he buries his face in Steve’s neck. ‘It’s okay,’ he whispers, rocking them gently, his collar slowly growing damp.  

They stay until Steve’s ears go numb. Until Robin and the kids need to get home. Until Eddie’s face is blotchy and red, but no more tears fill his lash line.

The party files out and into Steve’s car while Eddie slips back into the trailer, mumbling quiet goodbyes and closing the door behind him. 

//

‘Dustin finally took the hint that it’s none of his business why you left, and that no one thinks he caused it.’ Steve says, tossing his keys onto Eddie’s cluttered nightstand. ‘All it took was Rob, Erica and Mike all agreeing on it. My opinion didn’t do shit, obviously.’ He smirks over at Eddie, shucking off his jeans. 

Eddie grunts, just a soft puff of air from his chest. Eye staring up blankly at the ceiling, chewing on a lollipop stick. (Another of Wayne’s ‘we need to quit smoking’ ideas. It helps.) 

‘But can you call him, tomorrow?’ Steve asks, pulling his socks up and taking off his polo.

Eddie blinks over at him finally. ‘Yeah, ‘cause. Wasn’t his fault.’ He murmurs, his eyes raking over Steve. All of him soft and fragile in the lamplight: he always looks smaller somehow, without his jacket and jeans, plaid pyjama pants and worn sweatshirt softening all his edges, reminding Steve how fragile he really is.

He steps over, pulling the stick away from Eddie’s lips, dropping it in the waste basket. 

‘Come here, please?’ Eddie holds his hand out. 

Steve smiles at him, dropping down onto the bed and pulling the quilt up over them both. He shoves at the pillows and leans his head against the wall, pulling Eddie down onto his chest and wrapping him up in his arms.

Eddie nuzzles in, cheek against Steve’s undershirt, hot breath ghosting over his nipple. Steve combs his fingers through Eddie’s hair. 

‘I really thought I was okay, that I was over it.’ He whispers.

Steve hums, resting his cheek on Eddie’s head. 

Eddie swirls a pattern across Steve’s skin with his finger. ‘I, I remember, when the bats, you know’ and his throat clicks on a swallow, ‘remember looking up at the sky and the, the lightning was red. Like, it was like the whole world was made up of these big, red, fucking gashes through the grey. Everything, everything, hot and wet and bleeding.’  

‘Eddie.’ Steve’s voice cracks.  

Eddie sniffs. ’Sorry, that’s, God. Depressing as shit huh?’ His hand splays out, long fingers stretched across Steve’s pec. He clenches his fist.

‘Hush.’ Steve chastises gently, squeezing Eddie tighter. ‘You know I don't mind. I mean, I still get nightmares, and I didn’t even, I wasn’t. You.’ His throat tightens. Eddie was in the hospital, for months. 

‘Stevie.’ 

Eddie’s fingers are on his cheek, stroking gently beneath his eye. Steve breaths deeply through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. 

’S’okay, you got me, we’re here. You got me.’ Eddie murmurs gently. Steve swallowing back a noise, blinking away the sting at his eyes. 

Eddie pulls at him, at the neck of his t-shirt, at his jaw. ‘C’mere, huh? C’mere.’

Steve opens his mouth, moving lower down the bed and sliding his thigh over Eddies. Focuses on the warmth and softness of his lips, the pressure of them against his own. 

Eddie pulls him closer, over and up so he’s straddling him. Their mouths still connected, teeth scraping against lips, sliding together in a way thats hot and wet and makes Steve’s whole mouth tingle. 

‘Can I? I I need. Let me, please.’ Eddie goes for Steve’s shirt, his waistband, pulling and gripping the fabric in his palms. 

Steve rests his forehead against Eddie’s, he can feel his heart beat in his ears. ‘We don’t.’ he swallows. ‘We, are you sure Eddie? It’s, you’re, you were upset.’ he lays his fingers against Eddie’s neck, pulse fluttering under his fingertips. 

Eddie grasps Steve’s hand, pulling it up to kiss at his knuckles. ‘I want to feel like I have control over something in my life Steve. I want this, with you. Let me want this.’ Eddie’s eyes are dark and wide and Steve cant help but fall right in. 

Their hands move until they’re both naked and panting against each other again. Steve grinds his hips down as Eddie whispers in his mouth. ’Come on, we, we got control over fucking nothin. Let’s have this. We have this.’ His fingers pulling at Steve’s hair. 

Fumbling around on the floor by the mattress corner Steve finds their lube. Taking a second to bite his lips and grind his hips again as Eddie sucks wet kisses across his neck.

Eddie’s hand retightens, this time at the back of his neck once Steve is close again. ‘Please.’ He speaks into Eddie’s mouth. ‘Fingers.’

Calloused fingertips tap gently at Steves bottom lips and he swirls his tongue around them, hollowing his cheeks as the hand on the back of his neck squeezes and he feels tension seep out all along his spine. His whole body going pliant and gooey. 

‘A little more.’ says Eddie, pulling his fingers out. Steve uncaps the lube and squeezes some on, having to blink hard in order to refocus his eyes. 

Eddie circles his rim and Steve licks into his mouth as a finger slips inside. They’re fully hard against each other and Steve doesn’t know which sensation to move towards most. 

‘Let me in, baby let me in.’ Eddie whispers, demanding, pleading.

‘You have me, I’m here.’ Steve moans, a second finger slipping inside and stretching him out. His skin hot and prickling as he wraps his hand around them both. Eddie whimpering into his neck.

He feels the scared little monster of want and possessive need raise inside him.  The fire in his belly morphing into something hungry and dangerous. 

‘Don’t, you, I want you to tell me. Always tell me, when you’re not okay.’ He says, whining slightly, eyes squeezes shut. ‘No, no bullshit okay? I want, let me help.’ Because, because even if he can’t fix it, he can still do something, still be enough to help a little.

‘Steve.’ Eddie’s voice is wet. His hand comes up to cradle his cheek. ‘Stevie, baby, look at me.’ 

Steve opens his eyes, the moisture on his lashes sticking them together. His chest rising and falling rapidly. 

‘I love you.’ Eddie says. 

Steve gasps, hand squeezing them both reflexively, making them groan. Eddies fingers twitch inside of him and his skin feels too tight, his mind too foggy to process anything other than the beat of his heart in his ears. 

‘You love me?’ He gasps. ‘You love me.’ 

‘I love you.’ Eddie goes back to kissing his neck, sucking a bruise and crooking his fingers just so. 

Steve laughs, delirious. ‘You love me’ and he starts moving his hand in earnest, the glide slick with their combined pre.   

He grinds himself down as Eddie adds another finger, clenching his teeth at the stretch, and feeling the familiar heat spread through him. 

‘Eddie, baby, m’close.’ he gasps. 

Eddie speeds up, pumping his fingers inside him, grinding his hips up into Steve’s hand. A needy string of ‘ah ah ah’s’ is all he can manage as his vision tunnels. His thumb swiping over their sensitive heads before gripping them tighter, moving his hand faster. 

Steve doesn't know who spills over his fist first, but Eddies fingers were working relentlessly inside him, scissoring and pressing until he couldn't hold on any more, the spool of him unraveling itself completely as he came all over them both.

Panting, he looks down at Eddie below him. His hair splayed out, haloing his flushed cheeks and bitten red lips. Steve marvels at him, watches Eddie drag his clean hand across his face, combing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead. 

‘Hey’ he says, voice soft and wobbly. 

Eddie smiles up at him, cheeky, reaching up and spreading some of the cum into Steve’s skin where it splattered up as high as his chest hair. Steve giggles, feeling loose and happy. 

‘Hey’ he says again, and Eddies eyes flick to his. 

‘I love you.’ He whispers. 

Eddie beams softly as him, his eyes shining.

Steve leans down, kissing him, not caring about the mess between them as he splays his hands across Eddie’s chest, sinking into him and he swears their hearts beat in time. 

They kiss until he can feel Eddie falling asleep beneath him, his mouth moving slower and weaker until its just Steve pressing their lips together, feather light. 

‘Don’t fall asleep on me just yet.’ He says, nipping at Eddie’s lip and laughing at the low growl he receives. ‘One sec, kay?’  

Eddie squeezes him, mumbling out and huffy little ‘one’ just to be annoying before he lets Steve up. He goes to the bathroom to wash his hands and comes back with something to wipe them both off with. 

Eddie is completely pliant as Steve swipes over his chest and crotch, lifting his hand to get between his sticky fingers. The only tell that he isn't fully asleep is the singular cracked eyelid that allows him to follow each of Steve’s movements.

He tosses the cloth into the dirty clothes pile, which isn't his favourite of Eddies organisation choices but right now he doesn’t really care about anything other than crawling under the sheets and wrapping Eddie up in his arms. 

He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow. 

//

Steve wakes in that slow rolling way that happens when he knows theres nothing needed of him, when his body and mind relaxes enough to let him sleep until he doesn't need to anymore.

He stretches and flips onto his front, shoulders popping deliciously and he just breathes there, eyes closed, until the smell of coffee permeates his reprieve. 

pulling Eddies discarded sweatshirt on and a clean pair of boxers he shuffles into the kitchen, knuckling his eyes and yawning until his jaw clicks. Something in the back of him mind marvels that he can wander into the kitchen without the use of his sight and make it there just fine. Another part wonders, vaguely, how his hair looks, but those thoughts are quickly trounces by the chair he falls into and the steaming mug that Wayne places before him. 

‘Merry Christmas kid.’ 

Steve smiles up at him, the first sip of coffee making him shiver. 

‘Didn’t know hair could do that, must be a Christmas miracle.’ Wayne mumbles from behind his own coffee cup in his gruff, deadpan way.

Steve just scowls at him, taking another sip before he combs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it down. He feels the strands fling right back up to where they had been and shrugs. 

‘My present to you. Be grateful.’ He says.

Wayne grunts, his eyes sparkling, and he stands to start cracking eggs into the heated up skillet. But not before ruffling Steves hair.

‘Ed, get off the damn phone and come get this bread toastin’.’ 

Eddie’s leaning against the wall with his back to them, phone cord tangled around his fingers. He’s back in his pyjama pants from last night and Steve realises with a burning stab that he’s also in the polo he discarded on the floor yesterday. 

‘Yes. No. Dustin I gotta go, Wayne’s calling. Yeah, we’ll swing by tomorrow okay? Me and Steve sure, yes, okay. I know Dustin, I know. You’re fine. Okay, see you tomorrow. Bye, yes, bye.’ Eddie finally hangs up the phone, sounding exasperated but when he turns he’s already smiling. 

Steve catches Eddie’s hand as he shuffles back into the kitchen, kissing the back of it and preening as Eddie kisses the top of his head. 

‘Happy Christmas love.’ Eddie mumbles into his hair. 

Steve sighs, happiness swelling in him. 

‘Dustin wants us over tomorrow, he got new D&D stuff he wants me to see and he specifically requested your presence.’ Eddie says and starts putting bread in the toaster.

‘Bet if he knew you said it like that he’s get all weird, he only ever says nice stuff about me when I’m not there.’ 

‘He’s obsessed with you Stevie, that can make a person act weird.’ Eddie refills his coffee. ‘He’s fine though, now, by the way.’ 

Steve nods.

‘Speakin’ of weird, after that first time you took Ed to the drive in he came back with a real bug up his ass, wouldn't stop talking about-‘ 

Wayne is stopped abruptly by Eddies hand across his mouth. 

‘Okay old man, enough with that.’ Eddie says, voice an octave higher than normal.

Steve grins as Eddie peaks over to him through his hair. Grins harder as they start to bicker, continuing to make breakfast in the tiny kitchen. 

He’s definitely planning on asking Eddie about that later. But for now, he enjoys the comforting warmth that spreads through him. The feeling of home. Of being loved. 

₊✩‧₊

sorry this is posting after the holidays but its done! we did it! hope u all enjoy!

Tag list: @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @hickeysgodcomplex

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @wheneverfeasible @hbyrde36

@bookworm0690

[keeryhours]

fall in love again - steve harrington

Steve Harrington x female ex wife! reader

Masterlist

Summary:

Steve comes over to spend Christmas Eve with his ex wife and their three kids.

Warnings:

Dad!Steve, Mom!reader, talk of divorce, kissing

Word Count: 1.5k

A/N:

This is late for Christmas but I hope you enjoy this short little Christmas story anyway!! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for making the best banners and also being my bestie ily

—

“Alex, stop shaking the presents! You have to wait until tomorrow just like everyone else!”

Your 7 year old son groaned but put the gift down, flopping down on the couch with a huff. “You’re no fun.”

“You’re the one trying to ruin the surprise,” you pointed out, going back into the kitchen and taking the cookies out of the oven. You went to lift Madelyn, your 2 year old, from her high chair when a tiny tornado came tearing through the kitchen.

“I didn’t snoop,” Lena, your 5 year old, said, reaching for one of the hot cookies before you lightly swatted her hand away.

“No touching, they have to cool.” Maddie on your hip, you flitted around the kitchen, gathering the supplies to decorate the cookies. “Dad’s gonna be here any minute now.”

Lena did a little dance and Alex cheered from the living room. You rolled your eyes with a faint smile - Dad was always a hit, you were pretty sure they’d never been this excited for you to show up.

You and Steve had been separated for almost a year now. You still got along pretty well and co-parenting was going well so far. This would be your first Christmas apart, so Steve was coming over to spend the night for the kids.

The doorbell rang as you were setting up the different colors of icing. “I’ll get it!” Alex and Lena called at the same time, fighting over each other to get to the door first.

They must have eventually made it to the door because you heard it open before another wave of noise hit as the kids no doubt jumped into their father’s arms, Steve swinging them around like they weighed nothing. “Where’s your mom?” you heard through the noise of giggles.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Alex said.

“Making cookies for Santa,” Lena added.

Three sets of footsteps headed down the hall and then the commotion was exploding back into the kitchen.

“Are they cooled yet?” Lena whined, pulling on your sweater as she eyed the cookies on the tray.

“Almost,” you answered, switching Madelyn to the other hip. But as soon as she spotted Steve, she was reaching for him.

“Dada!” She called, tiny fists grabbing towards her father. Steve smiled, taking her from your aching arms.

“Hey, baby girl,” he said, tickling her tummy and making her laugh. “You all ready for Santa to come?”

Madelyn giggled again, although she still didn’t quite understand the whole Christmas thing yet. You checked the cookies, seeing they were cool enough to start decorating.

“You guys ready to decorate?” You asked, and the kids started dancing around before you even got the sentence out.

“I’m doing reindeer,” Lena announced, pulling a chair over to the counter and climbing onto it.

“I’m doing Santa Claus, so I’ll be the favorite and get the best toys,” Alex said, looking at his sister with a smug look on his face.

Lena turned to you and Steve. “That’s not fair!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, bud,” Steve said, ruffling Alex’s hair. “Pretty sure you all made the nice list this year…somehow.”

“Hey!” Alex and Lena said at the same time, fake offended expressions turning into giggles. They each grabbed their icing bags and started decorating the cookies. You and Steve watched, Madelyn peering over their shoulders to watch them work.

Once your little artists were done with their cookies, the five of you shared some, being sure to save plenty for Santa. Then you all piled on the couch in the living room to watch Christmas movies.

Madelyn was put to bed after the first movie. Alex and Lena passed out 2 ½ movies in, and you and Steve carried them to their bedrooms. Once they were safely tucked in bed, you and Steve returned to the living room, flopping on the couch.

Steve put an arm around your shoulders, and for a minute you could pretend that nothing had changed. The absence of the ring on your left hand told a different story.

“I’ve missed you guys,” Steve admitted, his head resting on top of yours. It was intimate, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.

“We’ve missed you too,” you said honestly. The kids had missed Steve terribly, asking about him at bedtime every night and sometimes even crying for him after bed. It made you feel horrible. You missed him, too, especially when you were laying in bed alone at night.

Steve sighed. “I don’t know why we’re doing this.”

You looked up at him. “What do you mean? I thought you wanted to spend the night for the kids?”

“No, not that. Of course I want to be here. I just meant…” he let out a long sigh again. “Why are we going through with this divorce?”

You were silent. It was a question you’d asked yourself countless times. You didn’t want to divorce Steve. But for the past few years it had been nothing but constant arguing.

“You know why,” you said, your voice small. No conviction behind it.

“Look, I’ve been thinking,” Steve said, looking down at his hands intertwined together. “I’ll go to couples counseling with you. I’ll do whatever you want. I just want to work things out with you, okay? I’m not ready to let this relationship go. I’m not ready to let our family go.”

You looked over at your ex husband to see him staring right back at you, emotions swirling behind his brown eyes. “You mean that?”

“Of course I mean it,” Steve said with a small laugh, taking both your hands in his. “I want to be with you, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.”

You felt yourself soften at his words. You had been trying to convince Steve to go to counseling with you for ages, but he always said he didn’t see the point. You truly felt like it could help you through some of your communication issues and get rid of those stupid constant fights for good. “I’m…really happy to hear you say that, Steve. I didn’t want to throw our family away either. I miss you. The kids miss you.”

At the mention of his kids, Steve’s expression turned sad. “I’ve been an idiot. I feel like this is all my fault. They go to sleep at night sad and confused and it’s all because of me.”

You wanted to comfort him, but you weren’t sure what to say. You leaned your head against his shoulder instead, enjoying being close to him again. “They’d be thrilled if you came home.”

Steve was quiet for a minute. He had been crashing between Eddie’s and Robin’s places. “Would you?”

“Would I what?”

“You know, be happy if I came home,” Steve said, his voice small and unsure of himself and completely unlike him.

You intertwined your fingers with his. “I would be. I…miss you more than you know.”

Steve smiled softly. He placed his fingers gently on your jawline, turning your head to face him. He leaned in slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, until you felt the soft plush of his lips against yours. Your eyes fluttered closed and you felt butterflies in your stomach like you were back in high school again, not two grown (separated) adults with three kids asleep upstairs. You liked the way it made you feel.

You tangled your hands in Steve’s hair while his rested on your hips, pulling each other closer and closer while your lips frantically worked together like you only had so much time together.

“Mommy, have you seen-“

You and Steve jumped apart at the voice, both turning to see Lena standing there rubbing her wide eyes, her comfort blanket in hand.

“Is- is everything okay, baby?” You asked once you had found your voice.

A smile slowly grew across her lips. “Yessss. I’ll…leave you two to it.” She turned around and sprinted back up the steps with a giggle. When she reached the top, you heard her loudly whispering, “Alex, mom and dad were kissing!”

You covered your red face with a hand, stifling your laughter. Steve was less embarrassed, chuckling to himself as you heard the kids creep to the landing to eavesdrop.

“We have an audience now,” you whispered to Steve, amused grin still on your lips.

“I think they’re pretty happy about it,” Steve said quietly back, before leaning in to press another kiss to your lips. You heard both kids gasp and giggle again.

“Does this mean you’re back together?” Alex called from the stairs.

“Go back to bed!” You and Steve called at the same time.

You were met with a grumble of Fines and the shuffle of small footsteps back to their bedrooms. You and Steve looked at each other - and busted out laughing again.

“I guess we have some explaining to do in the morning,” you said, shaking your head. Steve held your left hand in his.

“I guess we do,” he said. “Maybe you could put your ring back on for the occasion?”

[rosemariiaa]

~A Winter’s Promise~

˖˙ ᰋ ── pairing: Paige x Azzi

˖˙ ᰋ ── rosie’s note: hi hii, this is somewhat an apology fic. i wanna drop some fics all december but idkkk. i love pazzi as moms and i love little evie, and that airport pic made me smile! happy reading lovelies 💌

˖˙ ᰋ ── themes: fluff, teasing

enjoy!!!

The first pang of frustration hit Paige as the flight attendant’s voice echoed over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, due to weather conditions, Flight 386 to Minneapolis is delayed indefinitely. Please stay tuned for further updates.”

Paige groaned, rubbing her hand down her face as she leaned back in the stiff airport chair. She’d been stuck in the terminal for hours, itching to get home for Christmas. This wasn’t just any Christmas; it was her first chance in weeks to see Azzi and Evie. Azzi had been holding down the fort with their daughter while Paige played overseas, and though video calls and texts helped, it wasn’t the same.

Her phone buzzed on her lap.

flight still delayed?

Paige let out a sigh, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. What could she say? She wasn’t even sure she’d make it home tonight.

yeah, they’re saying the storms getting worse

might not be able to fly out til tmr :(

i’m sorry baby, it’s okay we’ll make it work just get here when you can

i’ll figure it out dw, give eve a kiss for me

She ran a hand down her face, feeling the weight of disappointment settle in her chest. Azzi had told her to take her time, but the thought of missing Christmas Eve with her wife and daughter made her stomach churn. Evie had been counting down the days until she was home, and Paige had promised her she’d be there.

“Not happening,” Paige muttered to herself, standing abruptly and grabbing her duffel bag.

She approached the airline counter, waiting impatiently behind a handful of equally frustrated travelers. When it was finally her turn, the agent didn’t even look up as they spoke.

“Sorry, ma’am, all flights are grounded for the night.”

Paige gritted her teeth, leaning against the counter. “There’s gotta be something you can do. Another flight, a private plane, a damn sled—I don’t care. I just need to get home tonight.”

The agent glanced up, unimpressed. “There’s nothing I can do. The FAA has grounded all flights in this weather. I understand your frustration, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Paige interrupted, stepping back and glancing down the line of counters. Her eyes landed on another agent at the far end—a younger one who looked far less jaded by the onslaught of holiday travelers.

Paige approached them with a calm smile, adjusting her duffel bag on her shoulder. “Hey, uh, I’m hoping you can help me out. My flight got delayed, and I really need to get home tonight. My family’s waiting for me.”

The agent blinked up at her, their eyes widening slightly. “Wait… are you Paige Bueckers?”

Paige grinned, leaning on the counter. “Guilty.”

The agent flushed, glancing around nervously. “Wow, uh, okay. Well, all the commercial flights are grounded…”

“But?” Paige prompted, her grin widening.

“But there���s a cargo plane heading out in a couple of hours. It’s not exactly meant for passengers, but…”

“I’ll take it,” Paige said immediately.

The agent hesitated. “Are you sure? It’s not gonna be comfortable—”

“I don’t care,” Paige cut them off. “As long as it gets me home.”

—————

The cargo plane was every bit as uncomfortable as the agent had warned. Paige sat bundled in her coat, her duffel bag tucked under her feet, as the freezing air seeped through the metal walls. It didn’t matter, though. Every bump and jolt of the flight was a reminder that she was getting closer to Azzi and Evie.

When they finally touched down, Paige didn’t even wait for the engines to stop before grabbing her bag and sprinting off the plane. She flagged down a cab, her heart racing with anticipation as they drove through the snowy streets.

By the time Paige’s cab pulled up outside the house, it was nearly midnight. Snow clung to her jacket and hair as she stepped out, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her backpack on the other. The driveway was packed with cars, no doubt belonging to Azzi’s parents, her brothers Jose and Jon, and Paige’s little brother Drew.

She grinned, imagining the chaos waiting inside. This was family, the kind of loud, vibrant love she and Azzi thrived in.

—————

Inside the cozy home, the scene was the picture of holiday warmth. The smell of freshly baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, where Azzi’s mom was icing a batch of gingerbread men. Her dad was leaning against the counter, chatting with Drew and keeping a watchful eye on the boys—Jon and Jose—who were loudly arguing over a basketball game.

In the living room, Azzi was curled up on the couch with Evie tucked under her arm. The little girl’s head rested on her mom’s chest, her wide eyes glued to the Christmas movie playing on the TV.

Evie suddenly looked up, her pouty expression catching Azzi’s attention. “When’s Mommy coming home?” she whined.

Azzi sighed softly, brushing her fingers through Evie’s curls. “She’s trying, baby. The snow’s making it hard for her plane to fly.”

“But I want her here now,” Evie huffed, crossing her little arms over her chest.

Before Azzi could respond, the front door burst open with a gust of cold air. Everyone turned toward the entrance, startled. Paige stood there, her hair and jacket covered in snow, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder and her backpack in hand. “Hi Family!” Paige grinned.

“Mommy!” Evie squealed, scrambling off the couch and sprinting across the room. She threw herself into Paige’s arms, nearly knocking her off balance.

“Hey, munchkin,” Paige said, her grin wide as she hugged Evie tightly. “I missed you.”

“You’re home!” Evie cheered, clinging to her neck.

Azzi stared from the couch, her jaw dropping slightly. “Paige?”

Paige’s blue eyes found hers, her smile softening. “Where my hug at?” she teased.

Azzi rolled her eyes, finally getting up and crossing the room. She wrapped her arms around Paige’s neck, standing on her toes to kiss her softly. “I thought your flight got delayed,” she murmured against her lips.

“It was,” Paige said, her hands settling on Azzi’s waist. “But I pulled some string y’know.”

“You pulled some strings?”, Azzi echoed, but her lips were already curving into a smile.

Paige smirked, squeezing her waist. “What can I say? I had to get home to my girls.”

“Paigey!” Drew’s voice cut through the moment, followed by the sound of footsteps thundering down the stairs. Jose and Jon were right behind him, and before Paige knew it, she was being pulled into a round of hugs and handshakes.

“Man, you’ve been gone forever,” Jose said, clapping her on the back.

“You bring us anything?” Jon added with a grin.

Drew smirked, holding his hand out. “I know you got that NIL money, P. What’s up?”

Paige laughed, shaking her head as she pointed toward Azzi. “Y’all act like Az ain’t got brand deals, too. She’s the one you should be harassing.”

Azzi crossed her arms, giving them a mock glare. “Don’t even think about it. I already bought you all a crap load of gifts,” she warned, though her smile betrayed her amusement.

—————

Hours later, after the house had finally quieted and everyone was asleep, Paige and Azzi lay tangled together in Azzi’s childhood bed. The moonlight painted soft shadows across the room, and Paige couldn’t stop herself from running her hands up and down Azzi’s sides, savoring the warmth of her skin beneath her sweatshirt.

Azzi sighed contentedly, her head resting on Paige’s chest. “You’ve gotta be exhausted,” she murmured, tracing absent patterns on Paige’s stomach with her fingers.

“I am,” Paige admitted, her voice low, “but I missed you too much to care.” She tilted her head down, brushing her lips against Azzi’s temple. “Layin’ here with you? This is all I wanted for Christmas.”

Azzi’s lips twitched into a soft smile. “Very smooth, Bueckers,” she teased, but there was no missing the way her body melted further into Paige’s.

Paige tightened her hold on her waist, her fingers dipping just under the hem of Azzi’s sweatshirt. “Smooth? Nah, I’m just honest.”

Azzi laughed quietly, a blush creeping up her neck. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Paige countered, her voice taking on a playful lilt.

Azzi tilted her head up to meet Paige’s eyes, her gaze softer now. “I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige smiled, brushing her nose against Azzi’s before capturing her lips in a slow, lingering kiss. The kiss deepened quickly, Azzi’s hand sliding up to cup Paige’s cheek while Paige’s fingers splayed against her hip, pulling her closer.

Azzi broke the kiss with a gasp, her forehead resting against Paige’s as she tried to catch her breath. “Everyone’s right downstairs,” she reminded her, though her tone lacked conviction.

“So?” Paige murmured, nipping lightly at her bottom lip. “They’re asleep. You really think anyone’s gonna hear us?”

Azzi tried to keep her composure, but Paige’s hand had slipped under her sweatshirt completely, her palm pressing against bare skin. “You’re terrible,” Azzi whispered, her voice unsteady.

“Terribly in love with you,” Paige shot back, earning an eye roll that turned into a quiet laugh.

Before either of them could take things further, a faint, sleepy voice called out from the hallway. “Mommy? Mama?”

Azzi groaned, flopping onto her back as Paige chuckled under her breath. “You jinxed it,” Azzi muttered.

“Better me than her walking in on us,” Paige teased, sliding out of bed and grabbing her sweatshirt from the floor.

She opened the door to find Evie standing there in her fuzzy Christmas pajamas, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. Her hair was tousled, and her eyes were half-closed.

“What’s wrong, munchkin?” Paige asked gently, crouching down to her level.

“I had a bad dream,” Evie mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

“Come here,” Paige said, scooping her up effortlessly. She carried her back to the bed, where Azzi was already holding the blankets open for her.

Evie settled between them, her tiny body curling against Paige’s side as Azzi tucked the covers around her.

“Can I stay here?” Evie asked, her voice small.

“Of course, baby,” Azzi said, kissing the top of her head.

Paige pressed a kiss to her cheek as well, her heart swelling as Evie yawned and nuzzled closer. She glanced over at Azzi, who gave her a knowing smile.

“Merry Christmas, mama,” Paige whispered, her hand reaching over to lace fingers with Azzi’s.

Azzi smiled, her thumb brushing against Paige’s knuckles. “Merry Christmas, Mommy.”

They lay there in peaceful silence, their daughter’s soft breaths filling the room. Paige thought about all the miles she’d traveled, the delays, the chaos—and how every moment of it was worth it to be right here, wrapped up in the love of her family.

˖˙ ᰋ ── taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @juspeaks @sierrale8ne @imaginespazzi @makethemhoesmad @kmoneymartini @pazzilover101 @ashortyluvsports @lupinqs @melpthatsme

[froggiewrites]

Sickly Sweet

Pairing: Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've got a horrible cold, and Sanji is determined to take care of you. He may be going a bit overboard. Warnings: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Illness Word Count: 1.1k Notes: I'm sick as a dog right now, so I wrote a little something to comfort myself. Not proofread or edited, just words on the page. Hope everyone's having a good Christmas Eve (or Christmas, if it's already day of for you), and I hope none of you are sick like I am!

The doting had been so nice at the start. Your head was pounding, you could barely breathe through your nose, and your throat was so sore you felt like you had swallowed glass. So when your dear sweet Sanji had insisted on taking care of you, you had absolutely no problem with it.

Until now.

“Darling, angel, light of my life, please, just one more sip.” He was holding the cup of soup directly in front of your face, begging you to open your mouth. This was sweet the first time, but now you were halfway through your fourth cup of broth and you felt like you were going to explode.

You manage to mumble through pursed lips, “Sanji, I’m full.”

“Just one more, love, please.”

“Sanji, if I drink any more, I’ll throw up.”

“You won’t throw up, dear.”

“I definitely will. I’m about 80% soup right now. Maybe even 90.”

A slight wrinkle settles on his brow as he pouts. “Darling, you need fluids. It’ll help you recover.”

“I understand that. But there’s only so much room in my body, and we’re full up right now.” Your voice is getting croakier with every word you speak, and you can see Sanji’s eyes filling with even more concern. “Sweetheart, I’ll have more later, I promise. Please just…let me digest for a little bit.”

For a moment you simply stare into each other’s eyes, and you try to emphasize your pout and watery eyes. He folds like a house of cards. “Alright, dear.”

His hands are gentle as he cradles your face, his eyes adoring. You let your eyes close, basking in the love he has for you, before you feel him pull you closer.

You just barely get your hands between your lips, his brushing lightly against your palm.

“Mmm?” He mumbles against your hand in confusion.

“You can’t kiss me! You’ll get sick!”

You’ve never seen him look more devastated in your life. You honestly think he’d be less hurt if you shot him. “I can’t–I–What? No! I can’t kiss you?”

“No! You’ll catch whatever I have!”

“And it will be worth it!”

“I don’t want to get you sick! I don’t want you to feel like this!”

“Darling, not kissing you for however many days this lasts will be far more tortuous than the cold, I assure you.” He leans in again, his expression just begging you to let him press his lips to yours. Are those tears in his eyes?

“Well I’d feel awful getting you sick. And you went twenty-one years without kissing me, I think you can last a few days.” You pull your blanket tighter around you as though to shield yourself from his desperate begging.

“Darling, I didn’t know what I was missing then. Now I can’t live without you for a moment. Please, just one kiss. I probably won’t even get sick.” He falls to his knees, his chin resting on your thigh as he gazes up at you adoringly. “Please, dear. Just one.”

It would be so easy to deny him if you didn’t also desperately want to kiss him. You imagine the comfort of his warm, his arms wrapped around you protectively, his lips against yours. You could really forget how awful you felt, just for a moment. Sanji has a way of making you forget about the rest of the world. But you have to remain strong, for his sake. “Sanji, my love, it’s for your own good.”

He presses his face into your leg, making a pathetic whimpering noise. “My love denies me at my weakest. How cruel.” Despite his words, he nuzzles into your leg when you place a hand on the back of his head. “Would you kiss me if I were sick?”

“You wouldn’t let me.”

His silence speaks volumes.

But then he changes gears.

“But if I get sick from this would you kiss me? Since you’ve already had it?”

“I would.”

He lifts his head a moment, staring at you, before diving for your forgotten cup of soup. Before you can even process what he’s doing, he chugs it, pressing his lips against where yours had rested and purposefully consuming all of the germs you probably put into the cup.

“Sanji, what the hell?”

“Now I’m already infected! I’ll either get sick or I won’t. Kissing you won’t change anything.”

You sigh. That’s not really how this works, but he’s staring at you with such boyish pride for his genius little trick, and you were always going to give in anyway. “Come here, love.”

He actually cries out, “Yay!” like an excited child, before rushing forward to crash your lips together. The kiss is sweet as always, his lips soft and his hands gently caressing your cheeks. When you pull back to breathe, he falls forward, wrapping you in his arms and pressing comically loud smooches all over your face. “I adore you,” he says, with an amount of reverence normally reserved for gods.

“I love you too,” you say with the exasperation that one can only hold for the people they love most. “I’m not taking care of you when you get sick.”

“Yes, you will.” He has the slightest hint of a smug grin on his face before he nuzzles into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse point. You wonder if he truly understands that beat is only for him.

You can’t hide your smile as it cracks through your faux annoyance. “Yeah, I will. But I’m going to be very smug about it.”

“You can be as smug as you’d like, my dear, as long as you’re with me. You can treat me however you’d like.”

“Don’t say that. What if I wanted to be mean to you?”

“Do you?”

“No, never!” There’s real horror in your tone beneath your cracking voice.

You can feel his lips turn into a fond smile against your skin. “I know, dear. That’s why I can say that to you.”

“I could be evil. People change.”

“Not you, my love.”

“I could be evil! I contain multitudes!”

He laughs quietly, pulling you so you’re pressed against the bed under his comforting weight. “Sure, sure. You could be as evil as you wanted.”

“Right,” you murmur, before a yawn breaks through. Sanji had managed to distract you, but you truly were exhausted fighting off this bug.

“Go to sleep, my love. You need your rest.”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I’ll try. If I’m not, I won’t be long, I promise.”

“...Are you going to bring more soup? I don’t think I can handle any more.”

He doesn’t answer, kissing your forehead before slipping his eyes closed, encouraging you to do the same.

He’s definitely going to bring more soup.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[meazalykov]

tis the season

lea schuller x nwsl!reader

summary: surprises are apart of the christmas holiday

for @katelynnwrites

it’s two weeks before christmas when you make the final arrangements to fly back to munich.  

the lie comes easily when you’re on the phone with lea, her voice soft and slightly tired after a long training day.

“i wish i could come,” you say, shifting on your couch as you stare at the tickets on your coffee table. 

“but the pride has me doing all this promotional stuff… media shoots, a kid’s camp, the whole thing. you know how the off-season is over here in america.”

lea hums on the other end, a pause where you can tell she’s disappointed but trying to understand. “it’s okay,” she replies, though her voice says otherwise. “i know you’re busy.”

“you’re mad,” you tease lightly, trying to keep things playful so she doesn’t linger on it too much.

“i’m not mad,” she sighs, but you can practically see the pout on her face through the phone. 

“i just miss you. christmas is better with you here.”

its time likes this when you regret leaving germany to pursue the more competitive league. yes, you weren't getting much play time at bayern (now being a starter for orlando and winning the league and championship) but at least you had your lea there with you.

“i miss you too, sonnenschein,” you reply softly, a pang of guilt settling in your chest. 

you’re lying to lea, but for a good reason—one she’ll never see coming.

getting obi on board with your plan was surprisingly easy.

“so you’re telling me you’re flying back to propose to lea,” she says when you call her later that evening. you can practically hear the grin on her face.

“yeah,” you laugh nervously. “she has no idea. i’m gonna need your help sneaking around though… like a lot of help. can i stay at yours when i get in? i just need her to not know i’m there until christmas eve.”

“obviously,” obi replies immediately. 

“this is gonna be so fun. she’s gonna kill me when she finds out i knew, but it’ll be worth it.”

“she’ll forgive you,” you grin.

obi laughs. “maybe. just don’t mess up the proposal, y/n.”

“not a chance,” you say confidently, though your heart starts pounding at the thought of the big moment.

when you arrive in munich two days before christmas eve, obi picks you up from the airport. the cold air hits you immediately, a stark contrast to florida’s weather, but it doesn’t bother you. 

the city feels like home, even though you left for the opportunities in the nwsl. your chest tightens a little as you pass familiar streets and shops on the way to obi’s apartment.

“she thinks you’re still in orlando, right?” obi asks as she pulls your suitcase into her building’s elevator.

“yep,” you confirm, stretching your arms after the long flight. 

“we talked last night. she said she’s just decorating and baking for her christmas party. apparently she invited half the bayern team.”

obi grins. “you’ll have quite the audience, then.”

“i’m not nervous about the crowd,” you lie, though your stomach flips just thinking about it.

“i’ll believe that when i see it,” obi teases, unlocking her apartment door. 

“just keep quiet while we’re here. she’ll come looking for me eventually, and i’m a terrible liar.”

“got it,” you reply, plopping onto her couch. “and thanks again for this.”

“anything for my bestfriend and her lover,” obi says dramatically, earning an eye roll from you. but you smile anyway.

it’s christmas eve, two hours into lea’s party, when you arrive at the building you once called home. obi’s beside you, grinning like an accomplice in a heist. you take a deep breath as you stare up at the lit windows of lea’s apartment. 

inside, you can hear music playing and faint bursts of laughter—probably giulia or sydney causing chaos.

“ready?” obi asks, handing you a santa hat to wear.

“ready,” you exhale.

obi opens the door, and the warmth hits you immediately as you step inside. for a moment, you’re frozen in place. the room is full of people—some of your old teammates, like tuva and giulia, as well as other familiar faces from bayern. 

sydney spots you first, her face lighting up in pure shock as she nudges giulia beside her.

“y/n?!” sydney shouts, grabbing everyone’s attention. all at once, heads turn your way, and chaos ensues.

“are you kidding me?” giulia shrieks, pulling you into a hug that nearly knocks you over.

“what are you doing here?!” sydney adds, squeezing your arm as she laughs.

“merry christmas?” you offer, grinning as tuva joins the dogpile of hugs. you’re swarmed by familiar faces, everyone excited and surprised to see you back in munich.

across the room, by the tv, you finally spot lea. she’s standing there frozen, eyes wide, her lips slightly parted in disbelief. you can’t help but laugh at her stunned expression.

“did you know about this?” lea asks obi, her voice loud enough to carry over the chatter.

obi raises her hands defensively. “maybe,” she replies with a smirk.

lea gives her a light punch on the shoulder, shaking her head with a small smile.

when you’re finally done greeting everyone, you turn your focus to her. the room seems to blur as you make your way over, her eyes never leaving yours.

“hi,” you say softly, pulling her into a hug. she holds you tightly, her face buried in your shoulder as she exhales shakily.

“you lied to me,” she murmurs into your ear, though her voice holds no anger—just relief.

“i did,” you admit, kissing her temple. 

“but it was for a good reason.”

she pulls back slightly to look at you, eyes narrowed playfully. 

“you’re lucky i love you.”

“i know,” you grin, pressing a quick kiss to her lips before leading her toward the couch.

the evening feels like stepping back into a life you still hold close to your heart. you sit beside lea, your legs tangled as the two of you share cookies from a festive tray. her hand rests lazily on your knee as sam and georgia argue over which holiday movie to put on. 

the room smells like cinnamon and pine, the soft hum of laughter filling the spaces between conversations.

it’s like you never left.

after a while, when the last of lea’s guests filter out just after midnight, you watch as she shuts the door, her movements slow as if the weight of the evening is finally catching up with her.

you finally got to say goodbye to obi, who gave you a hidden smirk before walking about the door. 

“i didn’t think i’d see you this christmas,” she says softly, turning to face you. her smile is small but filled with warmth.

“i didn’t want to miss it,” you reply, standing up to meet her in the center of the living room. the apartment feels quiet now, the twinkle lights casting a soft glow across the space.

she steps closer, her arms wrapping around your waist. 

“well, i’m glad you’re here.”

you take a deep breath, your heart pounding as you reach for her hands, gently pulling them away so you can hold them in yours. she frowns slightly, confused by the sudden seriousness in your expression.

“i need to talk to you about something,” you say quietly, meeting her gaze.

“go ahead,” lea swallows nervously.

“lea… ever since i met you back in 2020, i knew you’d be someone important to me,” you begin, your voice steady but soft. 

“at first, it was just your smile—you were so confident, so full of life when you came from essen while I came from freiburg. then i got to know you a bit more as the first season together went on, and i realized just how special you are. you’re strong, lea. not just on the pitch, but as a person. you always take care of everyone else, even when you don’t have to. you have the biggest heart, and you love so deeply… being with you has made me better in every way.”

you pause to take a breath, feeling the emotion swell in your chest. lea’s eyes are wide, her hands squeezing yours tightly. you can see the tears already gathering at the edges of her lashes, but she doesn’t say anything—she just lets you speak.

“even after i left for orlando, even with the distance, we’ve stayed strong. you’ve been my home, no matter where i am. and i want to make that official. i want to spend the rest of my life with you, lea.”

you release one of her hands to reach behind you, pulling the small velvet box from your pocket. your heart pounds as you slowly drop to one knee, your gaze never leaving hers.

lea gasps softly, her hands covering her mouth. you smile up at her, your typical confident smirk softening into something far more tender.

“so,” you say, voice light but full of emotion, “will you marry me, sonnenschein?”

“you’re… you’re insane,” she breathes, reaching into her jogger pocket. your eyes widen as she pulls out her own velvet box, and suddenly she’s dropping to one knee as well.

you freeze, blinking at her in disbelief. 

“lea, what…?”

she laughs softly, tears brimming in her eyes as she mirrors your position. 

“you think you’re the only one who plans things, liebe?” her voice is shaky, her smile trembling as she opens the box in her hands, revealing a ring that catches the warm glow of the twinkle lights.

“i’ve been carrying this for weeks,” she admits, her cheeks flushed. 

“i thought about waiting until you came back to munich for the next international break… but now you’re here. and i don’t want to wait anymore.”

there’s a moment where neither of you say anything, both of you kneeling on the living room floor, tears streaming down your faces as you stare at each other. your heart is pounding so hard you think she can hear it.

“so,” she continues, her voice soft, steady despite her shaking hands, 

“if you’ll marry me… then yes, y/n, i’ll marry you.”

“you’re proposing to me while i’m proposing to you?” you choke out, a watery laugh escaping as you wipe at your face.

“looks like it,” she grins through her tears.

you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re both laughing and crying, holding each other as the rings sit forgotten between you. you pull back just enough to look at her, cupping her face as you whisper, “yes, sonnenschein. a thousand times yes.”

“and yes to you, liebe,” she replies, leaning in to press her forehead against yours.

your hands are trembling as you both reach for the rings, and you can’t help but laugh when neither of you can slide them on properly at first. “stop shaking!” you tease, though you’re no better, fumbling with her finger as you finally slide the ring into place.

“you’re shaking too,” she fires back, laughing as she slips the band onto your hand with care. for a moment, you both just stare at each other’s hands, the weight of the moment settling in.

“we’re really doing this,” you whisper.

“we are,” she murmurs, smiling softly.

you don’t know who leans in first, but the kiss that follows is deep, filled with every unspoken word, every long mile you’ve spent apart, and every promise of the future you’re now building together. 

when you finally pull away, your cheeks are wet, her eyes shining as she looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

“merry christmas, y/n,” she whispers.

“merry christmas, lea,” you reply, your voice soft, steady, and full of love.

masterlist

[janeyseymour]

Never in a Million Years, Unless... part 4, final

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Summary: melissa schemmenti said she’d never do a lot of things. until you come along.

WC: ~3.05k

The idea of planning a wedding with Melissa is easy enough. While she’s the one who had proposed marriage, she’s done this before- you haven’t. So, while her hand is in the mix when it comes to decisions, it’s mostly what you want. She’ll put her two sense in when she deems it necessary, but for the most part, it’s you. 

You won’t lie, you’re exhausted over all of the wedding planning on top of teaching. Pulling off a wedding is long and hard. Nights usually end in you falling asleep with various papers scattered over you, a mix of papers to look through for the wedding and IEP papers for your students. You’re exhausted throughout the weekdays, and weekends that were once spent lazing around and soaking up any energy you could for the upcoming week are replaced with going to different venues, different fittings, various tastings…

But that day comes and goes. Mr. Johnson walks Melissa down the aisle, your own father walks you down. Jacob ends up officiating the wedding, being something of a son to your now wife. Barbara stands at the redhead’s side, while you have Janine standing by yours. You’re officially Mrs. Schemmenti. The plaque by your doors change from ‘Ms. Schemmenti’ and ‘Ms. Y/N’ to ‘Mrs. Schemmenti’s outside of both of your classrooms. The rings that you wear stay on your fingers and sparkle brightly. 

Not much changes in all actuality. Before the two of you officially decided to tie the knot, you were essentially married anyway. The two of you still live the lives that you did as girlfriends.

About a year goes by as married women before your mother begins asking you again when you’ll have a child on Christmas Eve.

“Mom,” you sigh out softly from your place beside Melissa. Her hand lays gently on your thigh.

“I’ll I’m saying is-”

“I don’t know that we want kids, Mom,” you tell your mother very flatly. “We both have a lot going on with the kids at school as it is.”

That first statement doesn’t necessarily tell the whole truth. You would like to have children of your own. But you know that your wife doesn’t- that topic was one that you spoke about in detail when you were getting serious. 

“Those aren’t kids that I get to spoil though,” your mother argues back.

You have to bite your tongue from lashing out on the holiday, but your wife just chuckles from beside you, squeezing your leg gently. “We’ll see,” is all she says before dotting a few warm kisses to the side of your head.

You turn to look at her with furrowed brows, and she just gives you a smile that tells you that you’ll speak about it later.

Of course, you both get swept up in holiday traditions, and the topic of potentially having children of your own doesn’t come up again that day. You’re both exhausted by the festivities, and you’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

But come Christmas Day, you’re settling on your couch in the living room again with a stack of presents for each other.

“Merry Christmas, my love,” Melissa tells you softly as she hands you the last present that she has for you.

Your eyes sparkle with love for the redhead that you’re lucky enough to call your wife. “Hun, you already got me enough.”

“Just open this one,” she prompts. “I think you’ll like it.”

With a lifted brow, you begin to carefully unwrap the present, and when you open the box, there’s a few things in it.

a stuffed bear and a… a onesie?

“Mel, what?” you turn to look at the woman sitting next to you. “What is this?”

You know she isn’t pregnant. There’s physically no possible way for either of you to be pregnant at this moment.

“I’m ready.”

Your eyes immediately begin to well with tears. “Mel, I-” You wipe at your eyes frantically as you continue to look at the items in the box. You pull them out carefully to get a better look at them. They’re- they’re absolutely precious.

“Mel, you told me-”

“I told you a lot of things,” your wife says softly as she reaches up to brush away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “I told you I would never date a coworker, I told you I would never get married again, I told you I wouldn’t ever take the plastic off my couches or lamp. Didn’t I do all those things anyway?”

“Y-yeah,” you choke out.

“You’re the miracle in my life, babe,” Melissa tells you with conviction. She leans in to kiss you gently. “So, what if I changed my mind on this one thing too?”

Your arms around your wife tightly, tears clouding your eyes again as you truly realize that she’s serious about having a baby with you if you’re ready. “Really?”

“Really,” the redhead mumbles into your hair. “I know you want at least one, and I- I’m ready to take that on, as long as it’s with you.”

And so, once the holiday season is over, you begin to pour over your options in terms of how you want to go about attempting to have a child. It does sadden you slightly that the two of you can’t make a baby on your own- that this child will not have the DNA that your wife does entirely- but one of her brothers is more than willing to help you with this affair.

The only person aside from your brother in-law to know is Barbara Howard. Melissa and you confide in her quietly during a professional development day when you both seem more stressed than usual.

“Melissa, dear,” the kindergarten teacher knocks on her doorframe softly. She had really only come down to see if the three of you were going to lunch like you usually do on these days, but what she had walked into was not what she was expecting to see. Where your wife would usually be scrolling on her phone, glasses on the tip of her nose, because she was caught up with her work, Barbara sees the redhead with her head in her hands, fingers entangled in the curls. Where you would be humming quietly as you plan for the next coming days, you’re near tears.

“Girls?” your grade level partner comes into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Is now not a good time?”

That gets your wife to look up, although you continue to stare down at the papers in front of you.

“Melissa, what’s going on?” Barbara treads lightly.

“Stressed to hell and back,” your wife grumbles. “Trying to-” She glances to you. “Trying to have a baby is… good lord.”

Brown eyes widen, and perfectly sculpted brows creep up the kindergarten teacher’s face. “What?”

“We haven’t told anyone,” you whisper. “But I- we’re trying to get pregnant, and it’s… it’s just been a lot.”

Barbara nods sympathetically and pulls you into a warm hug. “I understand that. I’m sorry it’s been so hard.”

“Three treatments,” you sniffle out. “We have one more shot, and then we won’t have the money to try again for… for a long time.”

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher whispers as she rubs circles on your back. “Sweetheart.”

“I- I don’t know what we’re doing wrong,” you mumble into her shoulder.

Melissa groans again. “I told you, you ain’t doin’ anything wrong. I don’t know how many fuckin’ times I have to tell you that.”

“Melissa,” Barb tries to cut in. 

“It just- it takes time. And maybe now isn’t our time,” your wife continues.

You whip around and look at her, tears and remnants of mascara streaming down her face. “Is our time going to come then? What if it doesn’t? We’ve been through this three times, we’re- we’re running out of time!”

Green eyes meet yours, and you can tell that she’s ready to fight fire with fire, but at your heartbroken look, she softens. “Honey.”

“I can’t keep doing this!” you cry. “I- I can’t! Do you know the toll that it’s taking on me, physically and mentally? I-” you lose yourself to tears, hugging yourself and not even bothering to wipe at your eyes anymore. There’s no use.

Melissa sighs and she makes her way over to you, wrapping you up in her own arms. “Mi amore.”

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” your wife tells you softly as she kisses your temple. “I’m the one who should be sorry… I shouldn’t have started swearing.”

You chuckle through your thick tears. “Maybe not.”

“I’ll be sure to pray over the two of you,” Barb promises. “I’ll leave you be for now.”

“We’re still going to lunch, right?” You look up. “I- I think we could all use some time out of this damned building.”

“If that’s what you want,” your counterpart tells you. “But I also won’t say nothin’ if you two decide to just go home at lunch… not like Ava’s here to notice anyway, and I know the two of you are all caught up on your work.”

Your wife’s eyes twinkle with just a bit of mischief. “We might sneak out then, if that’s alright with you.”

“I’ll swear Janine to secrecy and take her out to lunch as a bribe,” Barbara chuckles as she turns on her heel.

“Thank you,” you call softly as you wipe your nose with a tissue.

“Of course,” your grade partner replies. Then she turns back to face you. “And hey, I’ll be praying for you.”

When the rest of the crew sees you and Melissa leaving the school with all of your bags come lunch time, well… Barbara Howard is there to shoot them daggers and dare them to challenge her authority in not saying anything.

By the time your fourth and final appointment comes around, you and your wife had made peace with the fact that it just may not be in the cards for you to have a child of your own this way. You’ve discussed other options- adoption, foster care. No matter what, the two of you have decided that whatever happens is okay. There’s no more stress around it.

You leave the appointment not feeling any different than you had before you had gone in. Time will just have to tell.

The time comes for you to take that damned test again, and you really aren’t expecting anything to come from it.

“Whatever happens, happens,” you sigh as take the test from your wife’s hand. She kisses you softly and nods before you disappear behind the door.

You do your business, set it on the counter, start your timer, and then walk out of the room. You can’t just sit there for the next five minutes dwelling on it.

“I love you,” Melissa whispers as she takes you into her arms gently.

“I love you too,” you mumble as you sit down on the bed.

The next few minutes feel like hours as you mindlessly scroll through social media. But then your phone starts to buzz, signifying the time is up, and your fate is in the bathroom.

You take a deep, fortifying breath to steady yourself. Melissa just squeezes your shoulder gently before the two of you make your way out of your bedroom and into the bathroom.

“Are you ready?” the redhead asks you softly.

You shrug. “I have to be, right?”

“Whatever it says, we’re going to be okay,” Melissa promises you. “No matter what.”

Neither of you makes a move towards the test.

“Can you look at it?” you ask as you hug yourself tightly. “I- I’m nervous.”

“Yeah,” your wife sighs softly. “I can look.”

You turn your back to the test, facing the mirror, although you keep your eyes down. You don’t want to see the look of disappointment on her face when she sees that it reads negative again like you had the other three times.

Because you’re facing away from your wife, you don’t see the wide eyes or the grin that appear on her face almost as soon as she reads that one simple word: positive. She sets the test back down on the counter and looks to you. 

Her arms snake their way around your waist and gently pry your hands away from your body.

“Stop hogging our baby,” she teases you softly.

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in, but when they do, your jaw drops. You freeze in her arms.

“What did you just say?”

“I said to stop hogging our baby,” your wife repeats. “Let me in on the cuddles.”

“You- we’re- it worked?” you stammer out as you turn to face the redhead.

She nods with an ear splitting grin on her face. “It worked, mi amore. It worked.”

“We’re going to be parents?” you ask her, tears of joy rapidly falling down your face.

She nods again. “We’re going to be parents.”

You and Melissa both understand that you’re quite early into the pregnancy, and there is a risk this early on, so you don’t announce anything quite yet. And it’s difficult to do so. Your excitement is hard to contain, and your wife’s is even more so.

Morning sickness hits you hard. It hits you hard, and it hits you out of nowhere- which only makes it more difficult to keep this big secret of yours between you and your wife.

You’ve taken to eating lunch in your classroom more often, under the guise of having things to work on and prepare for. In reality, the many different aromas that swirl through the break room are enough to make you want to vomit the second you step into the room- much less sit there for thirty minutes. 

Those who aren’t aware that you were going through fertility treatments are none the wiser, accepting that you’ve got more on your plate than usual this year. But Melissa knows. And she has an inkling that Barbara is aware of it too.

That suspicion is confirmed when your grade level partner comes into your classroom one morning with you bent over the trashcan and your wife holding your hair back for you.

“Oh honey,” the kindergarten teacher mumbles as she makes her way into the classroom and shuts the door behind her. “I’m assuming that last round worked?”

You close your eyes as yet another wave of nausea ripples its way through your body, but you force yourself to nod. “Please tell me all of this nausea is worth it.”

“I was sick as hell with Taylor,” Barbara sighs. “It’s worth it.” She then proceeds to pull a bag of something out of her purse and hands it to your wife. “These might help. My niece had terrible morning sickness with her son, and these lollipops did wonders for her.”

“Thank you,” Melissa smiles softly. She reaches the hand that isn’t holding your hair up and gently squeezes her best friend’s wrist.

“How far along?”

“Eight,” your wife relays. “It’s been like this for the last two weeks.”

“Well, hopefully those work,” Barb shrugs. She turns on her foot to leave the two of you be, but she stops herself in her tracks. “Congratulations, you two. You’re going to make wonderful mothers to a very lucky baby.” You hear her press a kiss to Melissa’s cheek before you feel one being planted on the top of your head.

As soon as you’re finished emptying the contents of your stomach, your wife hands you the small container of mouthwash that you now keep in your purse. You take it with a grateful smile before spitting it out into the trash can. Melissa closes it up quickly and takes it out of the room before she reenters and hands you a lollipop.

“Mel, I don’t want a lollipop,” you chuckle softly.

She insists you take it. “Barb said it’s supposed to help with the morning sickness.”

You’ve never open a sucker so quickly.

Those things work like a miracle, and you keep them on hand for the rest of your pregnancy. 

When it comes time to tell the Abbott clan, you’re thirteen weeks and you’re able to conceal the newly appearing bump under slightly baggy sweaters and shirts. The group is thrilled with this news, clearly excited to shower the newest addition to the Abbott family with lots of love.

After telling them, they’re all a bit more mindful of what they bring into the staff room for lunch- a considerate gesture. They’re constantly bringing in little gifts for your unborn baby. It was clear to you before how much your work family cared for you, but this only proves to you how lucky you are to have these ridiculous, goofy, wonderful, special people in your life.

And after what feels like forever, you’re holding a stunningly beautiful little girl in your arms.

“Margaret Jane,” you whisper to the little bundle of blankets. “Our little Maggie.”

“The little girl that we wished and prayed for,” your wife mumbles as she strokes your daughter’s cheek with the tip of her finger. Her eyes don’t leave the baby, but you feel a soft kiss being pressed to your head as she whispers, “I’m so proud of you.”

You look up at her tiredly, but the warm smile on your face hasn’t left since you were handed your girl for the first time a few hours ago. You lean up just slightly, as much as your aching body will allow. Your wife leans down the rest of the way to kiss you softly.

“You know,” Melissa sighs quietly. “If you had told a recently divorced me that this is what my life would turn out to be… having a perfect wife and a beautiful little girl I get to call my daughter, I would’ve told you that you were bat shit crazy- never in a million years would that happen.”

“I know,” you laugh tiredly.

“Miracles really do happen,” your wife says softly as her fingers brush over the small tufts of red hair atop your daughter’s head. 

TAGS: @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @sweetcheeksschemmenti @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights @emilynissangtr @squinnchy @dopenightmaretyphoon @emeraldoceansstuff @shinyfaerielights  @blkmxrvel @marvelwomenrule @sarahjohannson @casualfoxwitch @babytakeittothehead

[mqrrstarr]

CHRISTMAS SPECIAL!!

Gladiator Characters x GN! Reader

Feat: Geta, Caracalla, Commodus, Lucius, Maximus, Acacius, Lucilla, Macrinus!!

Christmas Day and Eve headcanons!

Warnings: poorly edited, just a girl who loves these characters and the holidays, a bit short

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS!! don’t feel the same vibe as I did when a child, so I’m coping with writing. This will be a seven part series regarding Gladiator characters and Christmas and I’ll try to post them all BY THE END OF THE WEEK (?) but uhh don’t hold that against me. Enjoy!!

EDIT: the series has been canceled cause I can’t write. Wait until December 2025!! 💗

Summary: headcanons for all the gladiator characters and how they’d spend Christmas Eve and Day with their SO.

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

Geta would spend Christmas Eve with dinner specially made for his SO, (he def has better cooking skills than Caracalla) and he’d lovingly give them a bonus Eve gift. It’s a beautiful moment, where the strong and feared leader of Rome and succumb to the one he loves.

“Enjoy it darling. The beauty of the holidays does not compare to yours.”

He’d watch you enjoy his meal, and drink the wine he picked out especially for the occasion. As much as music was needed, Geta refused to let anyone interrupt your moment together.

On Christmas Day, it would depend on what happened during the night. Was it a peaceful night, was it active, or was it bland? Either way, Geta would get up and prepare presents for you, a surprise for no one other than the love of his life. He’d do it quietly, and super early in the morning. He’d rarely sleeps in peace anyways, so why use the energy elsewhere?

It would also be a morning where you wake up gently, and be surprised by the lavish decorations Geta has placed. Gold and white silk decorating his room, and most of all, your Emperor was still yours.

- - - - - - -

Caracalla is in love with the holidays. He gets giddy, childlike, and excited every time. This is a period in the year where he can remember something good about his youth. He likes to keep himself happy, and now that you’re his? You’re included in all the traditions.

During your Christmas dinner, he’d bring out a bunch of dinner games, have slaves perform for the both of you (AMND reference btw) and it would be a wholesome night.

Before Christmas Day, the eldest emperor cried during the night. He laid in your arms, and caressed you in return.

“Sweets. I cannot express how much care…”

He looks at you like a puppy worshipping its owner.

“I truly care about you. And although these times are happy and remind me of things, I hope to make new memories with you.”

The night would pass, and the morning would come. You’d wake up in Caracalla’s embrace, and to be frank, none of you got the others gifts out. So you just opened everything together, and you had never seen the man so happy.

- - - - - - -

Commodus and Christmas. What an interesting mix. Take a emotionally damaged man with immense childhood trauma and put him in a holiday where he did nothing but suffer? Where his own father ignored him and gave him nothing but one gift?

Christmas Eve with him was truly nothing but a dinner. Now that he had you, he tried to forget and make new memories. But the shame and pain was still visible in his eyes. You couldn’t take it anymore and sat next to him, caressing him and saying words of affection.

“My present from Venus, ignore my past and ignore my anger. My father ruined my mind, and all you can do it heal it. This Christmas will be my first with you, and if my last? Than I would rather be dead.”

You looked at him with such sincerity in your eyes, he became submissive to your touch and you both proceeded to sit next to the fire in his room.

Christmas morning arrived promptly, and knowing this was a very sensitive time for Commodus, you got him a gift he’d never forget. This necklace, engraved with your initials and his; with both of your favorite jewels. And, a new laurel crown for the one and only Emperor himself.

Commodus nearly fell down into tears, so grateful he was finally seen.

- - - - - - -

Lucius loved you with his entire heart. After being forcefully removed from his mother as a kid, and already losing his first wife, he couldn’t bear the thought of losing another person special to him.

To Lucius, Christmas is the mark of the end of the year, another time to celebrate the fact you’re both alive, and that you’re both still warriors. (writing from a Gladiator! perspective rather than Prince!)

“My love, I am eternally grateful to the Gods that we can be together.”

He kisses your forehead, gently as to not hurt you. You spend your Christmas Eve with a simple meal, and the next day not as lavish either.

Lucius adored you already: but he’d try to get a gift anyways, even though he already admires and thinks you’re just amazing! (Poppy and Branch dynamic)

He’d come up with something cute and homemade, providing the point that it doesn’t have to be expensive to matter. (save me Lucius save me)

- - - - - - -

Maximus wasn’t the same after the loss of his previous wife and child, and this time was bittersweet for him. His SO kept him sane, and he tried not to let his sadness show through.

You decorated the tree in your home, one Maximus was able to buy after years of being a Gladiator. He occasionally goes to the fights, but not anymore. Now he’s a Senator. (NOT CANON ITS JUST SO HES NOT DEAD AND IT WILL MAKE SENSE IN THE OTHER SEVEN PARTS)

He came up behind you and kissed your neck, watching you place the last of the ornaments.

“Excellent work my dear. Excellent. I’m going to bed now, meet you there?”

And he went away in a form far too sad for the usual Maximus. You knew him well, and simply decided to go to sleep as well. The following morning, you woke up first and decided to get your gift for Maximus.

It was a wooden carving of him, his late wife, his late child, and you all together.

Maximus woke up a few minutes later, and got your gift from the bedroom! (You were in the living room.) He got you a bracelet from his dead wife, something that really meant a lot to him.

“My dear? I’d like to give you this. It belonged to my former wife, and she liked it dearly. Made form Spanish jewels and metal, of course. I love you, but I beg for you to understand that she and my son still live in me. You understand, right?”

You nodded, happy and overwhelmed. You gave Maximus his gift, and tears were shed from the both of you. Your gift meant a lot, as you accepted his love and the love for those gone.

- - - - - - -

Acacius loved the holidays. It was a time where he could relax, sink into his own bed, be clean, and most important, be with you.

You finished preparing the meal, a mix of both his and your favorite foods with some Roman delicacies thrown in there.

“Looks great my sweet. Not as good as you though! But you know I love you.”

He caressed your hips before helping set the table. The meal was prepped and Acacius sat you down first. (WHAT A GENTLEMAN)

He sat across from you at the table, and you talked about what was going on, what you wanted to happen in Rome, etc.

Eventually, stuff happened and you both woke up in the each others arms in the morning. Acacius always laid very still in the night, out of pure instinct. However, Christmas morning he couldn’t stop moving around, and woke the both of you up together.

He eagerly said, “Hurry up and change, your gift is outside.” He smiled and left promptly.

Outside, there was a gleaming white stallion.

“For you. A horse just as grand as your soul.”

You smiled. Who wouldn’t want a horse as a gift? But inside you shattered. The only gift you got for Acacius was a painting of himself. You showed it to him, and he reassured you it was enough. Let’s just say he’d also show you it was okay.

- - - - - - -

Lucilla loved the holidays. She decorated excessively, both as a young woman and as she is now. (hc, it’s because Lucius loved the looks and lights of Christmas and the guilt of having him leave her has followed her forever)

“One more wreath I promise… it’s just an extra special one… done!”

She looked at you and smiled. It radiated calm and positivity, an effect only Lucilla had. You kissed her and assured the place looked great.

“Dinner should be set by the slaves by now. It should be good. I trust it is. They sent by fresh fruits and veggies and proper meat as well. I’d like to give you your gift now, would that be alright? I just truly cannot wait.”

You nodded yes, but you’d have to get the gift from the room. You agreed to meet again in five minutes to exchange gifts.

Soon, the two of you are reunited, and she presents a lovely sculpture of you, portrayed in such an ethereal form; as if the gods had carved it themselves. You gave her a crown made from pure gold and a ring, as you knew she loved collecting rings. The ring you gave her had your initials carved, signifying the both of you tied together.

- - - - - - -

Macrinus had a holiday anytime one of his prized gladiators won. Yet, Christmas, was an actual holiday he could look forward to.

“Uh, Dove, do you know if the servants have finished the meal? I’ve got a bunch of gladiators waiting to fight in your honor.”

(he calls you Dove bc you’re his symbol of peace!)

He planted a kiss on your forehead before leading you to the garden outside, where a meal was served and the servants were waiting patiently, deserts, fruits, wine in their hands.

Five gladiators waited in chains to be released to have a “playful” hand to hand fight, something Macrinus found plenty delight in.

“I have a gift for you. I won’t be around tomorrow, as the Emperors requested a meeting with me. So I wish to give you this. I know it’s a bit excessive, but you deserve it.”

He gave you a pearl necklace with ruby earrings to go with it, and a slip saying you owned a young gladiator.

You thanked Macrinus, and you enjoyed the meal as the gladiators fought and the moon shined upon the both of you.

“I live for you, and I love you Dove. Fly high always.”

[lesbiansanemi]

Uuggghhhh I don’t wanna go to work today

[thesassypadawan]

Toyland (Stephen x FemReader) *Blurb*

Summary:  You’ve been good all December long, hoping that your daddy would shower you with all the toys on your wish list.  Make it a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve for you.

Warnings: 18+ (mdni), because there sooo much of the smut.  Bit of a dom nerd, fun toys, special ‘playtime’, and… Stephen’s cute, big dick.

Notes:  Happy Holidays, lovelies!  Welcome to track four of my special holiday mix, Toyland! ❤️💚

- All too familiar feeling tug, pull at the pit of your stomach.  Growing stronger and more feverish as you slip that naughty, buzzing device between your soaked folds.  Further still until it plunges into, stretches your velvety walls.  Excited, elated giggles bubbling and spilling out from around your bright red ball…gag.

- “Like your new toys, angel?”  Perched, lounging on the plush couch.  Stephen smiles smugly, knowingly over the rim of his coffee mug.  “Of course you do.”  Watching with keen interest while you wriggle and writhe on the rug, in front of the tree.  “My little slut loves it when both her stockings get stuffed extra full.”  How you squirm and kick your legs happily when…

- Clicking the tiny remote twice…high-pitched, muffled squeals echo off the living room walls in response.  The vibrations in both your greedy holes becoming greater, so powerful that the humming practically rings in your ears.  Makes your teeth chatter, brain go a tiny bit dumb.  Toes curl ever so slightly.

- “That’s what I like to hear,” he chuckles, hint of condescension in his tone.  Taking one last long sip, he sets aside his drink.  Leaning forward, looming above you.  Free hand winding and encircling his big cock.  “Now why don’t you be a good girl.”  Pumping it slowly…fat tip an angry red, glistening with snowy beads of pre oozing from the slit.  “Show daddy how much you enjoy them.”

- Eagerly you obey, fingers fumbling.  Clumsily sinking your plaything in and out of your cunny.  Thumb sloppily circling and teasing your throbbing nub.  “Go on…”  Hips twitching and rocking in time with his steady strokes; your choppy, uneven thrusts.  Desperately trying to get it to drive deeper, to kiss and bruise your aching cervix.  “Let me see…”

- Another two clicks and your eyes start to roll, vison filling with blinding stars and fading to white.  Back arching slightly off the floor, thick thighs trembling.  “Come, sweetheart…”  From the overwhelming pleasure that shoots up your spine.  The effort and strain of your bouncing body, supporting your burdening weight.  The intensity of Stephen’s hungry gaze.  “Make a nice, big mess…”

- Chest rises and falls frantically.  Shallow, deep breaths and pants escape through your nose.  Teeth biting into, leaving faint impressions in the ball gag; taste of rubber, along with all those sweets you gobbled up earlier, flooding your mouth.  “Maybe then I’ll let you open, use another present…” 

- The coil inside you is so tight, the heat stifling.  Holes flutter and clench like crazy at the sound of rapid, wet slaps.  The symphony of gruff moans, low snarls.  “One that I’m sure…”     Slick trickles down your plump bottom, dripping onto the pile of strewn pieces of festive wrapping and bows beneath.  Mixing and mingling with his juices, to create a jolly cocktail.  “My babe will love even better…”

- Yet again he clicks twice.  Causing you to scream and cry quietly in joy all because…  You're spending a truly magical and memorable Christmas Eve.  Exactly how you wanted…  Spoiled rotten by your dotting daddy…  Surrounded, dwelling in your own personal Toyland…

Tag List: @espinathena-17, @myheartwillgoon2022, @laylaplease, @princessswifie, @kenobiskywalker16, @loverforoldermen, @adorbzliz, @sythethecarrot, @divineani, @fuckmyskywalker, @jediavengers, @anisangeldust, @anakinstwinklebunny, @xhunnybeeex

@hearts4sammonroe, @pitas-star, @sythethecarrot, @naberriess, @steven-grants-world, @valyna27, @elcaballerodragon, @yayyy5678, @anakinsrilgirlfriend, @padme-urlove,  @brattyyybbg, @mrschr1stensen, @rosie-chan92, @beresfordsgirl, @darthdaddi, @icosmiclou

[zepskies]

Love Actually - Part 1

Paring: Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

Summary: Ben gets in late on Christmas Eve with a Grinch-like attitude, but you’re determined to force some holiday cheer into his system.  

AN: Here’s my last entry for the TGWRC: Christmas in July event! It’s set in the same world as “Break Me Down,” and set before “Checkerboard.” But this can be read as a stand-alone! Hope you enjoy…

Theme: Christmas movies Prompt: “That’s a poor excuse for a tree.” 

Word Count: 3,100 Tags/Warnings: SB being himself, wee bit of angst, potential fluff overload! 

Part 1: "Humbug"

He was late. 

It was Christmas Eve, and your boyfriend was late. 

With a large bowl of popcorn in your lap, you sank further into your favorite corner of the couch, drumming your nails on its arm. 

Your favorite Christmas movie played on the ridiculously large flatscreen Ben had insisted on when you two moved into this apartment. But you couldn’t get into the story like you normally would.

It was the first Christmas you and Ben were spending together since he’d started working with, instead of against Supe Affairs and the CIA. In fact, he was on an extended mission—hunting down a rogue supe in Idaho, of all places.

Freakin’ Idaho. Goddamn potatoes, you thought irrationally, shoving another handful of popcorn into your mouth.  

While he’d been gone, you went all out in decorating the apartment: red and white candles, stockings, various ornaments, multicolored string lights, and poinsettias. You’d even found a nice little tree that fit in the only free corner of the living room.

Well, you’d had to rearrange some furniture to make that happen, but in the end you’d succeeded. It felt like you were living at the bottom of a snow globe.

You hadn’t heard from Ben at all in over two weeks. The day he left you outside your office in the Surveillance department replayed often in your mind.

Two weeks ago…

“Don’t give me that face, baby doll.” 

Ben quirked a smile at your concerned frown, and he propped a gentle fist under your chin. You crossed your arms.  

You knew he had to go. Butcher and the rest of the guys were waiting outside the S.A. office. And you were proud of him for what he was doing, genuinely trying to put in the work on this “hero” thing. But you didn’t have to like the timing. It was only two weeks until Christmas.

“Fine,” you agreed. “Just get this guy quick. I don’t want to hear my aunt’s shady-ass sniping. Every time I show up to a family gathering by myself, she starts plotting my arranged marriage to her fucking pediatrist, her divorce attorney—mind the irony there—or even the guy who packages meat at the grocery store—” 

“All right, Christ. I’ll be back in fucking time,” said Ben. He grabbed your arms to stop your verbal flapping. Then with a grin, his hands moved to the curve of your waist, down to get a healthy grip of your ass. 

“’Sides, I’m the only one flingin’ meat around here,” he said with a deepening smirk. 

You rolled your eyes, but a smile threatened to take over your frown as he pulled you flush against him, trapping your hands against his broad chest. You found purchase on the hard fabric of his uniform. 

“You’re so gross,” you said. But you pulled him down for a searing kiss. If you weren’t going to see his handsome face for a while, then you were going to make the most of this moment. 

And it seemed your boyfriend felt the same way; his arms wrapped around your frame like steel bands. Your fingers swept through his hair as your tongue slipped into his mouth, making his grip on you tighten with a pleased hum. 

“Oi! Sid and fuckin’ Nancy,” Butcher called from down the hall. “Got a fucking job to do. Today, if you don’t mind.”

Ben broke away from you, just enough to frown in irritation over your head. 

“Calm your fucking tits, Churchill. I’ll leave when I’m good and damn ready.”

You couldn’t help but giggle into his chest.

Now, it was quite literally hours away from Christmas Day. 

You would be seeing your family tomorrow, regardless. You and Ben were supposed to go to your mother’s house for dinner. But you were starting to think that he might not make it tonight, let alone tomorrow. 

And if you had to deal with your aunt nosing into your personal business again, your hand might just “slip” while pouring yourself a rum-filled eggnog, so you wouldn’t be held liable for your actions when you inevitably snapped on the bitch.

Sighing, you continued munching on some popcorn while you focused on one of your favorite parts of Love Actually. Hugh Grant was shaking his ass to “Jump In” by the Pointer Sisters.

The music was infectious, and you found yourself doing a little shimmy yourself on the couch in time with one of your favorite rom-com Brits. 

With the TV volume as loud as it was, not even the door of your apartment unlocking could stop your mini-jam session. 

And the door soon opened, revealing a dusty, soot-covered Benjamin, still in his supe suit and tactical gear. He took a small step back when the gaudy Christmas décor assaulted his eyes, but he blinked through it as he turned his head. 

His lips curved at the familiar sight of you—bundled up in your pajamas and a fuzzy blanket on the couch, bopping to the beat of some shitty ‘80s song he actually recognized. You were alternatively mouthing the words and eating fistfuls of popcorn. 

Shaking his head, Ben stepped into the apartment and shut the door with some force. You finally perked up at the sound, your smile alight with happiness when you realized he was home. That alone made him soften a bit. 

“Ben!” You paused your movie and bounded over to greet him with a warm hug and a deep kiss.  

He brushed your hair back and allowed himself to revel in the familiarity of you in his arms. 

“Aren’t you a fucking sight,” he murmured.

Ben was still getting used to having someone to come home to, but it was grounding. This place was his home now, mostly because you were in it.  

“You okay? How did it go?” you asked, wiping off some soot from his cheek. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Ben offered you a cocky smile. “We smoked that pyro bitch.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You what?”

“Relax, the supe’s alive,” he said, rolling his eyes, as if it grated him to admit it. He wouldn’t tell you that the supe had two broken arms and probably a crack in his skull. “Being shipped off to prison as we speak.”

You nodded with a smile. “Good. I’m proud of you.” 

His lips pulled at a grin. But then you took his face between your hands with a hard slap (though it didn’t even sting, the point was made in your annoyed frown). 

“You’re late,” you said. Ben raised a brow. 

“Excuse me?” he said. 

“You heard me. You’re fucking late,” you repeated. “Go take a shower. I already started the first movie without you.” 

You tugged him by the hand and all but pushed him into the hall that led to your shared bedroom. 

Ben wasn’t one to be manhandled though. He dug his heels in obstinately. 

“Christ, I just got home. All I want to do is sleep…unless you want to give me a proper fucking welcome.”

He glanced at you over his shoulder with a more than suggestive smirk. He turned around and pulled you into his firm chest. His hands smoothed down your back and squeezed your hips, with his thumbs dragging under the hem of your pajama top.

While your lips threatened a smile, you had to wonder how he had enough energy for reunion sex, but not enough to watch a simple movie. 

Still, his offer was all-too tempting, making heat prickle along your skin wherever he touched. Nonetheless, you managed to remain stubborn and pushed gently against his chest.

“Down, boy,” you said. “If I let you get your hands on me now, I’ll never get through my list.”

First it was Love Actually, then Christmas Vacation, followed swiftly by Home Alone and its sequel, Lost In New York. 

Ben frowned at you. “So? Watch ‘em tomorrow.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, it’s Christmas Eve.”

You gestured to all your hard work in the form of the decorated apartment.

“Tomorrow, we have dinner at my mom’s house. So tonight, you’re gonna go shower," you said, pointing at him. "I’m going to make some more hot chocolate, and we’re watching all manner of cheesy, romantic, and downright silly Christmas movies until your Grinch-ass gets some holiday spirit.”

Ben released a tired sigh and dropped his hands away from you.

“I haven’t slept in three fucking days," he said. "I’m not staying up all night again for some corny bullshit.”

You frowned in disappointment. 

“Ben, come on. Please?” you tried, but he just waved a dismissive hand and continued his way to the bedroom.

For a moment, you watched him go in disbelief. Was he really going to be like that? 

With a flash of hot annoyance, you huffed and decided that you weren’t going to let him ruin the night for you. 

So you went into the kitchen and whipped up some hot cocoa, breaking out the actual Godiva chocolate bars you bought just for this moment. You poured out one mug initially. But you listened to the old water pipes working, knowing that Ben must’ve been taking a shower. 

You knew he wasn’t just tired. He didn’t seem to be looking forward to tomorrow either, and  was going along with it for your sake. Which, to be fair, could just mean he still wasn’t totally comfortable around your family. (Your sister Luisa still hadn’t totally warmed up to him.)

You also had a feeling that he just wasn’t into Christmas.

The question was why… 

But you poured a mug for him anyway, adding some mini marshmallows into each one. You brought both mugs with you back to the living room and set them down on the coffee table. 

Getting comfortable on the couch again, complete with your blanket, mug, and the popcorn bowl, you pressed “play” and continued watching the movie…even though you felt just a bit lonelier. 

But then, a weight dropped on the other end of the couch. You flinched and looked over at your now clean and pajama-clad boyfriend, who eyed you begrudgingly with his arms crossed over a soft plain shirt. 

You smiled at him warmly. “Hey, baby.”

His grouchy face was the very picture of “humbug.” Biting your lip, you set down the popcorn on the coffee table and handed him the spare cup of hot chocolate. 

“I made some for you,” you said. He gave you a brief nod and took a dutiful sip. But not even rich, chocolatey goodness could curb his sour mood as he stared blandly at the screen. 

You knew that face. That was his, I’ll do this for you, but I’m not gonna fucking like it—face. 

When he stifled a yawn, you knew that he hadn’t been lying. He really was tired. Sometimes you forgot that while Ben was all but indestructible, even he had his limits. Chasing that rogue supe across the country must’ve taken it out of him, even if he wouldn’t admit it. 

So you reached over and plucked the mug out of his hand. His brows knit together as he watched you set it down on the coffee table with yours. Then you grabbed his hand. 

“Come ‘ere,” you said, tugging him toward you. 

“What now?” he groused. 

“Just come on. Don’t bitch,” you teased. You guided him to lay across the couch, with his head pillowed in your lap. You grabbed an extra throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him, making sure that it covered him up to his chest. 

“What am I, a damn kid?” he said. But you knew his griping had no real weight. Already he was humming deep with pleasure as your fingers carded through his soft brown hair. You let your nails drag lightly over his scalp, massaging his head. Your free hand stroked his cheek. 

Ben closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh through his nose. The movie continued to play, but you were no longer paying much attention. This was more important. 

When he opened his eyes again, they were drawn to the small, four-foot Christmas tree in the corner of the room, next to the TV. 

“That’s a poor fucking excuse for a tree,” he said. 

You frowned and followed his gaze. 

“I think it’s adorable,” you replied. And it was the only one you thought would fit in this cozy, but very narrow apartment. 

Ben’s arms crossed over his blanket.

“I’ll go tomorrow, find us a real fucking tree,” he said. 

Your frown deepened a little. “But I already decorated this one. All by myself, I might add.”

He eyed you then, a bit softer.

“All right, we’ll get a second one for the dining room,” he grumbled. “Getting the tree up is a man’s job anyway.”

You rolled your eyes at that. But you tried to see if there was anything deeper to read in his words. Not for the first time, you wondered how he’d spent his holidays in the past. No doubt with a lot of fanfare and celebrity parties during his hay day as Soldier Boy. You were more interested in his life before that.   

“I remember, my mom would run the show at Christmas,” Ben said.

You blinked down at him in surprise. Without knowing, he’d opened up on your exact curiosity. 

Or maybe he just knew you better than you thought.

“She’d have all the help in a damn tear around the house. Cooking, decorating, the whole nine yards. It was a perfect scene, like something out of a catalogue,” said Ben. “But getting the tree was always my dad’s job. His only job, really.”

You smiled and continued to listen with rapt attention. Your thumb continued to stroke along his neck. 

“One year, he got this massive one. Must’ve been…I don’t know, twenty feet. I don’t even know how he got it through the door, but he was mighty fucking proud of himself,” Ben said.

His gaze trailed beyond you, lost in faded memories. They played in his mind like a reel, wordless, but bright and warm. 

“Who decorated it?” you asked. Your voice drew his attention back. 

“Me and him,” Ben admitted, surprising you yet again. “Meanwhile, Mom baked up a storm for the Christmas party they threw every year…”

It was a rare moment where Ben recalled what seemed to be a nice memory of his father. But soon enough, the nostalgia dimmed from his eyes.

He cleared his throat and swiped a hand over his mouth, as if that could erase his moment of vulnerability. 

Then he turned to face the TV screen. 

“So what’s even happening here? Seems like there’s four goddamn movies playing at once.”

You cracked a smile and continued brushing your fingers through his hair. You also rewinded the movie so he could actually follow the story.

“Yeah, that’s what makes this movie so classic. See, there’s Emma Thompson and Alan Rickman. They’re married, kids, the perfect life, right? But he’s actually cheating on her with a younger, sluttier woman.”

“…And this is a fucking Christmas movie?”

“Yeah, you’ll see. Then there’s Liam Neeson.”

Ben perked up at that. “The Taken guy?” 

You nodded. “Yep! He’s a widower, but he has a stepson who’s got a sweet little crush. So he’s gonna try and help the kid impress the girl by helping him learn the drums.”

Your boyfriend nodded. 

“Musicians get plenty of pussy, that’s for damn sure,” he said. And with a knowing grin, “Actors get more though.”

You snorted and pointed to Hugh Grant next. “He’s my favorite. He’s playing the Prime Minister, who falls in love with his assistant, Natalie. That’s her right there.”

Ben raised a brow at your choice of “favorite.” If nothing else, he noted your type for older men. 

But he smirked when Natalie kept verbally fumbling in Hugh’s presence, then stared along with the Prime Minister at the woman’s ass when she walked away at the end of the scene.  

“Hmm, I’ll admit. She’s got a juicy peach,” Ben remarked. You laughed and hit his shoulder playfully. It worked an amused smile onto his face. 

He took your hand from his shoulder and pressed the back of it to his lips. You blinked down at him, and you warmed with a smile at seeing his more relaxed face. 

He kept your hand on his chest, his thumb drawing back and forth over your wrist. 

So you proceeded to explain the various angles of the movie until he was all caught up. 

You two watched the rest of it together. Like always, you cried when Colin Firth poured his heart out to his housekeeper, Aurélia, half in his mangled Portuguese and half in English. You cried again when Emma’s character finally confronted her cheating bastard husband. 

And you held your breath when Hugh and Natalie kissed as the stage curtain fell down, revealing their relationship to the world. 

By the time the credits rolled, you were an emotional mess. You were happy though. Typically you’d watch this movie with your sister, but it was nice to share the holidays with someone… 

Someone who loved you enough to curb his Grinch attitude about cheesy romantic things, like tree decorating and watching rom-coms with hot cocoa. 

You glanced down, and sure enough, Ben was asleep. He had turned onto his stomach. His head still rested in your lap, his cheek pillowed by your thigh, and he had a hand curled around your leg. Your big, growling bear of a man had a gooey center that sometimes surprised even you. 

For one mischievous moment, you considered sticking a piece of popcorn up his nose. 

He looked so damn peaceful that you didn’t want to ruin it…yet now you couldn’t get up either. 

Shit, you thought, but your grin was soft. Oh, whatever. Sleep is overrated.

You queued up Chevy Chase’s Christmas Vacation next in your movie marathon and settled in. You laid a gentle hand on Ben’s back, between his broad shoulders. 

And his story about his parents returned to the forefront of your mind.

Maybe he didn’t hate Christmas. Maybe it was just difficult for him to remember the genuinely good ones. Maybe he missed his parents; both of them, despite how contentious it had been between him and his father. 

You could certainly understand that. But now, you would make sure he would remember this one for the “good” column.

You only startled a little when your cell phone chimed on the coffee table. The screen read 12:00 a.m. It was officially December 25th. 

You then felt Ben’s warm hand squeeze your leg. His eyes were still shut though, his breathing deep and even in sleep. 

With a smile, you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

And you whispered in his ear, “Merry Christmas, Ben.”

AN: Yay! I hope you liked this fluffy one for SB. 🎄❤️

Did you like Ben's little day trip down memory lane? Let me know in the comments! 😘

**Note: There will be two more parts to this due to popular request!

Keep Reading: PART 2

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist ||

genre(s) -> fluff, non-idol, hybrid au, poly au, requested paring(s) -> ATEEZ x reader warning(s) -> nothing :D words -> 1.8k

abstract -> why not celebrate two holidays instead of one...

y/n’s perspective

“Can we celebrate Christmas this year?” Wooyoung had asked me since last year we couldn’t since… Well, I got San two months before and celebrated when he wasn’t adjusted and even Wooyoung wasn’t something I wanted to force upon. So even though I did get them gifts we didn’t go all out since we didn’t feel up to it. 

“Ooh! Can we?! I heard you make gingerbread houses and decorate a huge pine tree and–""You’re exaggerating” Yeosang scolded Wooyoung who pouted and glared at the Doberman hybrid.

“Hmm? Do you want to celebrate?” I asked and they nodded. I chuckled and said why not… “Can we get a tree then? Even if it's small?” Seonghwa asked and I chuckled. “Get the biggest tree you’d like within reason of fitting it in the elevator of course,” I said and they grinned.

“We should do Secret Santa! I remember you did it when you were still in high school” Wooyoung suggested and I was surprised but everyone else looked confused. “Why don’t you explain to them what it is first?” I asked and his bushy tail moved back and forth as he explained the concept which everyone agreed. 

They’d share with each other but since I was the one with money… the one who got me would have to buy it with my card and id just trust what it is. 

Meaning… Some were unhappy with who they got. 

Unfortunately… Sometimes things don’t go as planned and we don't celebrate Christmas as planned. With the whole lawsuit, I was in and out of the apartment and settling it. As well as adjusting to Mingi and the entire situation with Yunho running away, it was the end of January when everything was settled and the living room still had Christmas decorations.

Sure we briefly celebrated  New Year’s but… they were upset we didn’t get to do everything as planned. Until… someone spoke up about it. 

“Why can’t you celebrate a late Christmas?” Yunho asked and everyone was silent in thought before looking at me. I chuckled at their perplexed faces… “If you guys want–” “YES!!” they yelled, not letting me finish. “And Valentine's Day is coming up too” Yeosang pointed out as everyone looked at each other. 

Well… combining two holidays in one day was an interesting thought. Everyone had re-pulled who they would give as Secret Santa and like before… but were unhappy with who they got. 

San -> Hongjoong. Hongjoong -> Yunho. Yunho -> Seonghwa. Seonghwa -> Mingi. Mingi -> Yeosang. Yeosang -> Wooyoung.  Wooyoung -> me. 

“Angel… who got Seonghwa?” Yeosang asked first and I sighed. “Why?” I asked and he groaned softly. “Cause he’s the easiest to get something for and Wooyoung… Well, he doesn’t like me giving gifts” he explained, which was true. Every time he suggested Wooyoung try something, the fox hybrid didn't like it. 

“You got Wooyoung?” San asked suddenly joining us and the Doberman nodded. “I’ll trade you? I have Hongjoong” he said and Yeosang scoffed. “He’d be harder to get something for” he scolded and I laughed. 

“You’ll figure it out,” I said and they sighed as I walked off wondering what they’d get from each other. Of course, it would be cheating for me to get them a Secret Santa since… Well, I already got everybody's gifts on actual Christmas and then a bucnh of stuff for Yunho and Mingi already. It was mainly an event for them to look forward to.

I just hope this month of February will be… happy memory for them since they have never experienced the holidays before. 

Seonghwa wanted to use the tree we got but never used it and decorate it pink. Which Yeosang and Wooyoung were ecstatic about. They decorated it with hearts, roses, and other red and pink decorations. It was Valentine's Christmas!

We’d do “Christmas Eve” on the day before Valentine's Day to make it a full effect. Cause while we did have a feast for actual Christmas it wasn’t the same.

“I want to switch Secret Santas!” Mingi whined for the hundredth time. “What’s so wrong with Yeosang?” I asked and he pouted. “I wanted Yunho” he muttered and I chuckled. “Besides he only likes expensive things I don't understand!” he complained and I was gonna offer help when I heard a laugh behind me. A familiar white-striped tail made its way to my waist before he grinned. “I know who Yunho? And he wants to switch!” he said and Mingi lit up. “Will he want Yeosang–” “I want Yeosang so I'll make him a deal” he said and his tail had happy syndrome. 

“Ok! I have to look for things now!” he said, running to his room. “You have Mingi,” I said and he nodded. “I also know Yunho wants to trade for Mingi,” he said and I sighed. “What's the point of a Secret Santa?” I asked and he chuckled “I don’t know, all I know is that Yunho probably has me if Hongjoon has been asking to trade with him,” he said and I sighed. 

“There’s no point in the secret anymore huh?” I asked and he kissed my head before laughing and walking off. “Yunho has Seonghwa?” Yeosang asked now out of nowhere… I laughed. “Yeah? You’re gonna have to fight Hongjoong for that”

Mingi successfully bought and secured a gift for his traded Secret Santa… Yunho. Whilst Mingi is the same… for Mingi. However, there is a current… bribe going around. Yeosang has been bothering Hongjoong to get Seonghwa, while Hongjoong wanted to get Seonghwa something lego or animal-crossing related. Yeosang wanted to get a perfume and skin care set they’d both been looking at. 

It was all for selfish reasons since they’d share it so he’d be getting himself a gift. I already offered to buy him one he denied it and wanted to get his way. 

Seonghwa however… bought the set they’ve been looking at for him… and maybe himself. So… in a way, Yeosang got what he wanted but he’s pouting while looking for Wooyoung’s present that is hard to find. 

San was also having a lot of trouble with… well Hongjoong. Meaning there wasn’t any more trading happening. It was officially set. 

Hongjoong → Seonghwa Seonghwa → Yeosang  Yeosang → Wooyoung  San → Hongjoong Wooyoung → myself  Yunho → Mingi  Mingi → Yunho 

Now what was left if they waited for the days to go past a celebrated with one another as they fully believed in the skit of it being Christmas. 

when it was finally the day after our "Christmas Eve" we all woke up early either in valenties or Christmas pajamas. huddled around the Valentine's Day tree as we saw who would go first.

They decided the oldest would go first, and they'd decide after that.

"I got Yeosang!" Seonghwa announced as he got the fanciest wrapped box. Yeosang looked surprised but... Mingi's tail was wagging since he got to switch from the fellow canine.

"Here I was hoping for the biggest box "Yeosang teased and as he opened it, he was soon in a state of shock. "It's the set we've been talking about!" he said with a grin as he for once thanked the older.

The image shocked everyone as Yerosnag actually hugged Seonghwa. Until he pulled away realizing and huffed as he got his big present and put it in front of Wooyoung.

"Ah... I was kinda hoping you weren't the one who got me" he muttered as the Doberman glared. Wooyoung chuckled as he opened it and his fluffy talk wagged. He then looked at Yeosang in shock.

'This is one of a kind!" he said as he looked at the jacket Yeosnag was able to get. He had me talk to Wonyoung to help me get it... but it was a one-of-a-kind jacket that Wooyoung only had now.

Wooyoung had one hobby in common with the Doberman... to collect all kinda of clothes.

"I... have you. Do you want your gift now or last?" Wooyoung soon asked as he carefully folded the jacket as he looked at me expectingly. "I'd say hers should be last" Hongjoong announced and everyone agreed.

Now they went with Hongjoong as the second oldest.

"I got Seonghwa," he said as he gave... Seonghwa is the biggest box. He looked shocked. He started opening the cute pink stared swapping paper as it revealed...

A Star Wars Lego set and some animal crossing in-game good cards. Seonghwa's eyes got all big and his tail was swaying in content as he talked the fellow tiger in a hug.

"The tigers are showing PDA again" Yeosang complained and I chuckled. The next now was Yunho as he was the next oldest that hasn't given his gift.

"Mingi," he said as he handed the gift to the boy and he was happy to see he got a gift from the one he admired most from here. He opened it and he revealed... a Tokyo ghoul manga set.

He's been reading the digital version on my tablet but has also stated he might be collecting manga soon.

He was so happy he started showing off the art style in it. It was cute seeing Mingi get excited and something to look forward to in the next few days.

"I also got you!" Mingi said as he clumsily stood up to grab the gift in heart wrapping for the other giant. Yunho opened it carefully to reveal... "A PlayStation?" he muttered in shock as he looked at it carefully. It had a spiderman design as he even found a venom figure inside it.

Everyone seemed happy with their gifts... even though some of them cheated. Honestly... most of them cheated.

"And yours!" Wooyoung as he was now in front of me. I was most curious to what he did since he said he wasn't planning on buying me anything.

I opened it to reveal... a small little book.

"It's... a story about us! About how the heroine saves her seven princes... it may not be as good as your writing but it ends happily and-" I cut him off with a hug. While... it may have seemed small it meant everything.

The writing was everything to me so... "Thank you, I bet it'll be my favorite book" I said and he chuckled as he hugged me back.

"It's actually not badly written. I'll give it to Wooyoung for that" San said and I chuckled. "It's all of us... but written a little different. Everyone helped with their section. I really hope you'll like it" Wooyoung explained and I nodded. I know he liked to read what I wrote since we met... but seeing how he actually wrote something for me, made me want to tear up.

"Of course I will!!" I said and he smiled. "One more thing, and something from all of us!" he said and suddenly they all pulled out roses.

"While we're celebrating our own version of Christmas it is also Valentine's Day! So who will you choose to be your Valentine?"

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[bigmpregnm]

Christmas Magic - Part 1

[Story Collection] | [●] [Part 2🔴]

The night was quiet as the snow fell over the modest home on Christmas Eve. 25-year-old Mark stood beside the bathroom sink, helping his six-year-old son, Asher, brush his teeth. At 6’3” tall, with broad shoulders and a physique honed through years of building houses, Mark was the living definition of strength and kindness as his face glowed with love for his son.

“Buddy, don’t forget the back ones,” Mark reminded Asher, brushing his own teeth and making exaggerated faces that had the boy giggling despite the froth of toothpaste spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

“Like this, Daddy?” Asher asked, his tiny hand scrubbing at his molars.

“Perfect,” Mark said, ruffling Asher’s golden curls, a mirror image of his own. “You’re going to have the shiniest teeth in town. Santa might see his reflection in them and get jealous.”

Asher’s amber eyes, exactly like Mark’s, widened. “Santa’s coming tonight! Do you think he’ll bring me what I asked for?”

Mark smiled, crouching down to meet his son’s excited gaze. “He might, but only if you’re asleep when he gets here. You know the rules—no peeking until morning.”

Asher pouted playfully but nodded. “Okay, but can you tuck me in? I’ll close my eyes super tight.”

“Of course, bud. Let’s finish up here first,” Mark said, guiding Asher to rinse and spit. The two stood side by side, observing their shared reflection in the bathroom mirror. Asher looked like a miniature version of Mark, down to the tousled blonde hair and warm amber eyes. “All right, little man, off to bed.” Mark turned off the bathroom light and lifted Asher into his arms, effortlessly carrying the boy down the hall.

“Daddy, do you think Santa ever gets tired?” Asher asked, resting his head on Mark’s broad shoulder.

“Maybe a little, but he loves making kids happy. It’s worth it to him,” Mark replied.

“That’s what you do, Daddy. You make me happy,” Asher whispered sleepily.

Mark’s heart swelled. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’d do anything for you, Asher,” he said when they reached Asher’s room. Glow-in-the-dark stars and superhero posters decorated the room. Mark laid Asher gently on the bed, snugly tucking the blankets around him.

“Thanks, Daddy. I can’t wait to see my gift. I’ve been a good boy and sent my letter to Santa,” Asher said, smiling, already half asleep.

“I know. But I don’t know what you asked for. You’ve been keeping it a secret from me,” Mark teased, trying to find out what Asher wanted for Christmas. “What did you ask for?”

Asher softly shook his head. “Can’t tell! Santa knows, and that’s enough.”

Mark laughed softly. “Okay, keep your secrets. Sweet dreams, buddy. You’ll have a lot of presents to open in the morning.” He kissed Asher’s forehead and switched off the bedside lamp, leaving only the soft glow of the stars above. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Daddy,” Asher whispered as his eyes fluttered shut.

Mark watched his son’s peaceful face for a while, getting slightly emotional. He stood in the doorway, his mind drifting to the events that had brought him here. At just 19, a fleeting romance had left him with the unexpected responsibility of fatherhood. The girl hadn’t wanted to stay, and his parents had turned their backs on him and his son. He had to drop out of college and find a job to support his boy. But despite the loneliness and challenges, Mark never regretted his decision to raise Asher alone. The boy was his greatest joy. He was the reason why Mark woke up every morning.

A soft smile spread across Mark’s face as he turned and stepped out. He checked the time—10:00 PM. It was time to set up the presents for Christmas morning. Heading to his closet, he uncovered the stash of gifts hidden beneath a pile of old coats. He carried the brightly wrapped packages to the living room, arranging them carefully under the tree. Looking at the gifts made him smile; he could already picture Asher’s ecstatic reaction. However, he was nervous because he didn’t know what Asher had written in his letter to Santa.

With a yawn, Mark stretched, heading to his bedroom. He was wearing only his Christmas-themed pajama pants, the fabric snug against his powerful legs and hips, highlighting the contours of his muscular butt. His torso was bare, revealing a body honed through years of hard work—broad shoulders that seemed to carry the weight of the world with ease, a powerful chest sculpted with defined pectorals, and arms corded with thick muscle. He had the faint dad bod softness at his midsection, which only enhanced his rugged but huggable appeal.

Mark’s skin had a sun-kissed hue left after long hours spent under open skies. His face, perpetually clean-shaven, was a masterpiece of symmetry and charm, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and lips that curved naturally into a warm smile. Framing this vision of handsomeness was his thick, golden hair, a perfect complement to the amber glow of his eyes. He was a handsome man, lusted over by men and women, but he didn’t have time for anything apart from caring for his son. Dating was out of the question.

He flopped onto his bed, letting out a sigh. He occasionally felt the weight of loneliness, but his thoughts always returned to Asher, his pride and joy. “I’d do anything to make him happy,” he whispered before drifting off into the stillness of the night.

The quiet didn’t last. Mark awoke to an unusual chill, his eyes fluttering open. The clock on his nightstand glowed, showing 00:00. He sat up, rubbing his arms against the cold that seemed to seep from nowhere. The windows were shut tight, and the snowfall outside was gentle, not enough to explain the sudden drop in temperature. Then, he saw a bright blue light floating in the center of his room. It pulsed, growing larger and more radiant, casting icy tendrils of air across his skin. Mark’s breath hitched as the light expanded into a massive sphere, illuminating every corner of the room.

The sphere shimmered, and a towering figure emerged as it began to fade. Mark’s hand darted to the nightstand lamp, flipping it on. He gasped, his eyes widening in disbelief. Standing before him was a man unlike any he’d ever seen—an absolute colossus, towering at an intimidating seven feet tall. His body was a masterpiece of sheer power and symmetry, with muscles layered upon muscles and a definition that seemed almost inhuman. His chest was broad and thick, like a massive shield, with every ridge of his pectorals perfectly sculpted. Massive shoulders led to arms thicker than Mark’s thighs, and each bicep looked as if it could crush steel. His torso tapered to a deeply chiseled abdomen, where every muscle stood out like the bricks of a fortress wall, and his obliques curved sharply inwards. He looked intimidating.

The man’s thighs were monumental, each as wide as a tree trunk and leading down to calves that seemed carved from marble. He wore only a red fur-trimmed brief, styled like Santa’s costume, which clung to his enormous, muscular hips and showcased a massive bulge that didn’t leave anything to the imagination. A thick black leather belt wrapped around his thick waist, emphasizing the Santa-like style. His dark, neatly styled hair complemented a strikingly handsome face that defied reality—high cheekbones, a strong, square jaw, and a beautiful smile that could melt the North Pole. His piercing, electric blue eyes glowed as if holding some magic, and they locked onto Mark’s with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine.

Even the man’s skin seemed ethereal, glowing faintly with a warm undertone, and his sheer size and presence filled the room, making Mark feel small for the first time in his life. Mark’s voice caught in his throat as he stared, struggling to process the surreal sight before him. The two locked eyes as Mark froze in disbelief, and the room seemed to hum with a strange and inexplicable energy.

The massive man’s brilliant blue eyes softened as he stepped forward, his sheer size making Mark instinctively lean against the headboard. Mark’s eyes inspected the towering figure up and down as the stranger raised his hands, palms outward, in a gesture of peace. “Please, don’t be afraid,” the man said, with a deep, low voice that had an almost musical quality that eased some of Mark’s tension. “I haven’t come to hurt you or Asher.”

Mark’s brow furrowed as his protective fatherly instincts kicked in. “How do you know my son’s name?” he asked angrily. “Who are you?”

The giant of a man offered a gentle smile, his face expressing peace despite his imposing stature. “I know because Asher has been writing letters to me. Well, to my father. But since we work closely together, I’ve taken it upon myself to answer his wish.”

“Your father?” Mark asked, still unconvinced. “Listen, I don’t know who you are or what you’re trying to pull, but if you don’t explain yourself, you’re out of here.” It was an empty threat, and Mark knew it. He glanced at the man’s colossal biceps, each nearly as thick as Mark’s waist. There was no way he could actually “kick him out,” but Mark wasn’t about to let his guard down entirely. Not yet.

The man chuckled softly, his massive shoulders shaking, not offended by Mark’s challenge. He was impressed instead. “My apologies,” the man said kindly, inclining his head. “Let me introduce myself properly. My name is Nick, and I’m one of Santa’s closest helpers. Together, we fulfill wishes—especially those from good kids and adults who have been kind and generous throughout the year.”

Mark blinked, trying to process the words. “Santa? Like... Santa Claus? Is he real?”

Nick nodded, his smile widening. “Yeah, he’s real. He’s only ‘Dad’ to me, but yeah, the great and mythical Santa Claus. And tonight, I’m here because Asher made a very special wish. One I felt needed a personal touch.”

“Santa’s your dad?!” Mark’s defensiveness faltered, replaced by confusion and curiosity. “Wait, Asher’s wish? What did he ask for?”

Instead of answering outright, Nick extended a hand. Ten sheets of paper appeared in his grasp, materializing out of thin air in a shimmer of soft golden light. He handed them to Mark, who hesitated briefly before taking them. The papers had Asher’s unmistakable scrawl, with slightly crooked letters and uneven spacing.

Mark read the first aloud: “Dear Santa, I’ve been a good boy. I only want one thing: a little brother.” This text was on all ten sheets. The sheer simplicity of the request made Mark chuckle. He rubbed a hand over his face as he sighed. “That kid… He’s been talking about having a little brother for months. One of the moms in his class just had a baby, and Asher’s classmate talks about it constantly. And Asher is going crazy about also having a little brother. I didn’t think he’d actually write it to Santa.”

Nick’s smile remained. “Well, he did. And I thought it was a wish worth granting.”

Mark shook his head, laughing. “Look, I’d love to give Asher everything he wants, but I can’t make that happen. I don’t even have a girlfriend, let alone the time to date.” He gestured toward the empty side of the bed. “I’m a single dad, Nick. I’m doing my best, but this one’s out of my hands.”

Nick stepped closer, the floor creaking faintly under his immense weight. “Christmas is a time for miracles, Mark. That’s why I’m here—to help.”

Mark arched an eyebrow. “Help? How exactly do you plan to do that?”

With a smile, Nick extended his hand again. This time, a beautifully decorated Christmas cookie appeared, its surface adorned with intricate red, green, and gold icing patterns. The scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and sugar wafted through the air. “Some very talented friends of mine made this. It’s a special cookie—part of the magic that will make Asher’s wish come true.”

Mark stared at the cookie, then back at Nick. “You’re saying this cookie does what? Creates a baby brother out of thin air?”

“Not quite,” Nick said with a wink. “It’s more of a catalyst. The real magic comes from what happens next. You eat this cookie, and we’ll go the old-fashioned way to get you pregnant. You know what I mean?” Nick said, gesturing at his enormous bulge.

“WHAT?!” Mark shouted, his mind racing. “No, no, dude! I’ll stop you there. Look, I was eating your story until you lost your mind. I’m a man. I don’t know how things are in the North Pole, but last time I checked, men can’t get pregnant.”

“I know. But I told you, Christmas is a time for miracles, and this cookie will make the impossible possible. Believe me. My friends have used this, and I’ve lost count of how many babies they’ve had. Oh, and they’re men,” Nick responded, playfully emphasizing his low voice when he said ‘men.’

Mark stared in disbelief, struggling to process the information. Part of him thought Nick was crazy, but deep down, he knew Nick was telling the truth. The sheer absurdity of the situation should have made him laugh or demand Nick leave immediately, but Mark couldn’t help but feel that this was real. He thought of Asher, remembering the boy’s bright smile and unwavering belief in Santa. He remembered the many times Asher had asked Mark to give him a little brother. 

“But I—” Mark said, pondering his options.

Nick’s deep voice broke through his thoughts. “You’ve always said you’d do anything for Asher. Isn’t that right?”

Mark hesitated. “I did say that,” he admitted, his voice softer now. Mark looked at the cookie again, then at Nick, and something else ignited inside his body. Despite the absurdity of the entire situation, Mark felt a flicker of hope—a chance to give Asher the one thing he’d been dreaming about. And simultaneously, a chance to have some intimacy with the most muscular man he had ever seen. Mark had been alone for years, and now the perfect specimen of manhood was willing to spend the night with him.

“I promise I’ll be gentle. Believe me, I didn’t come here to hurt you. But you’ve been a great man, and your son is in the top 10 of the good boys list,” Nick said, gesturing at Asher’s letters in Mark’s hand. “Also, I know we’ll enjoy this.”

“You’re quite a persuasive man, Nick.” Mark took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s do this,” he said, willing to make Asher happy and also enjoy Nick’s cock.

Nick’s smile broadened, his entire face lighting up with genuine joy. “You’re making a wonderful choice, Mark. I promise you won’t regret it.”

Mark reached out and took the cookie, its warmth surprising against his fingers. As he brought it to his lips, he couldn’t help but glance back at Nick’s towering frame, feeling safe and excited. Whatever magic this was, he trusted that Nick would ensure everything turned out right. The cookie melted in his mouth, its flavor a perfect blend of holiday spices and sweetness, and a soft warmth spread through him. Looking up, he saw Nick watching him with a smile.

“Now what?” Mark asked innocently but well aware of what was coming.

“Oh, I think you know what’s coming. Let the magic begin,” Nick said, clapping his hands and making his briefs disappear. “Remove your pajamas, Mark.”

Mark’s jaw dropped as he saw Nick’s briefs disappearing, revealing a 2-foot-long, soft cock and a pair of basketball-sized balls. “How? What? That thing’s not going to fit inside me.”

“It will, don’t worry. That’s part of the magic in the cookie,” Nick said, approaching the bed as Mark reached for the waistband of his pajama pants and slowly pushed them lower to reveal his wide hips, thick bubble butt, bull balls, and 6-inch-long soft cock. “I’ll admit I’m impressed, Mark. You are a very attractive man, and that butt looks nice. You could have any man or girl you wanted, but lucky me, you’re mine tonight.”

Mark chuckled as Nick climbed onto the bed, making the mattress creak and sink under his immense weight. Nick crawled up until he was right above Mark, looming a massive shadow over him. Mark felt tiny compared to Nick, and he couldn’t resist the urge to reach up and caress the huge man’s enormous pecs. Mark’s hands explored the hills and valleys on Nick’s torso, making the big man smile.

“Wow! You’re gigantic,” Mark mumbled, barely able to process Nick’s massive size. “So big everywhere.”

“Thanks. I could always help you get this big, but that’s a task for another day,” Nick said, winking at Mark and tightly pushing his body against him. “So, are you ready?”

Mark swallowed hard, looking down as he felt Nick’s massive cock hardening against him. The fuck tool was so enormous that Mark thought it was all a dream. “I am, but I don’t think this will work. I don’t think it’ll fit. I’ve never... you know—been with a man.”

Nick grinned and leaned to kiss Mark’s lips. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle, and the cookie will do the rest,” Nick said, slowly lifting Mark’s legs into position. “We only trust the magic.”

Their eyes locked into each other as Nick lined his now-four-foot-long cock with Mark’s hole. Nick pushed softly as the massive head of his cock came in contact with Mark’s entrance, making the smaller man moan and shiver. Mark took a deep breath in preparation for what was coming, fearing the pain that it would bring if the cock even got inside him. Nick pushed harder and felt Mark’s hole gaping for him before it opened to allow the massive fuck tool inside.

“Oh, fuck!” Mark shouted, unable to contain his moans as the enormous cock stretched him, making him feel the most intense and painless pleasure he had ever experienced. “You’re so big!” He added, partly surprised and partly asking for more.

“I know. Thanks for noticing,” Nick replied as he continued burying inch after inch of his massive cock into the moaning single dad. “How do you feel?”

“Good! It feels fantastic!” Mark mumbled, breathing heavily and closing his eyes in overwhelming pleasure. “I—I love it.”

“Told you. Christmas is a time for miracles.” Nick grinned, and his hips bucked hard once his whole cock had disappeared into Mark’s willing hole. “And honestly, your ass is the best I’ve ever had. The list isn’t long, but still, you’re the best.”

Mark smiled and reached for Nick’s enormous arms for support as the massive man pounded hard into him. They locked eyes as the fucking intensified, the room disappearing as the magic flowed between them. Mark could feel Nick’s enormous cock stretching him beyond what he thought was possible, but he could only long for more. He knew the plan was to give Asher the little brother he wanted, but Mark loved the baby-making process. It was a much-needed intimacy for a man who had been alone for so long.

Nick’s thrusts sped up, making the bed creak, and Mark’s moan grew louder. The huge man loved how Mark’s butt felt against his body, and deep down, he wanted to spend the whole night with this man. Nick had been doing things like this for years to grant adults their wishes, but this time was different. He had never gotten a man pregnant, at least not with his own seed, but Mark was special. Mark was a wonderful dad who would do anything for his son, but apart from the emotional side of the plan, Nick found Mark so hot that deep down, he couldn’t help but desire to stay for a while longer.

Nick’s massive cock felt so good that Mark’s 9-inch-long cock throbbed hard even without getting touched. It wasn’t long before Mark curled his toes and shot a massive cum-load all over his own abdomen, accompanied by a loud moan. But still, he was so horny that his cock stayed hard as Nick continued pounding hard. Mark couldn’t articulate words; his mind was foggy with pleasure, and his body only desired more.

“I hope you’re ready; I’m so close,” Nick said, taking Mark out of his pleasure-induced trance. “After this, there won’t be a turning point. You will be pregnant,” he gently said.

“DO IT!” Mark responded, and Nick immediately released a tsunami of cum that made Mark groan as his belly bloated like a balloon. “Fuck! So much! So much! Yes!” Mark shouted as he felt Nick’s warm cum coating his insides, making him feel so good that his cock exploded with another load.

*

Mark lay on his bed a while later, looking at the ceiling, his chest heavily rising and falling as he struggled to catch his breath. The recent events played over in his mind like a vivid dream, leaving him blinking repeatedly in awe and disbelief. His body felt heavier, his slight dad-gut now swollen and firm to the touch, a noticeable fullness pressing outward. Mark’s hands instinctively moved to caress the gentle curve of his belly, his fingers grazing the taut skin as he tried to process what had just happened. He felt full—full of Nick’s cum and full of joy.

Nick lay beside him, his massive frame taking up a significant portion of the bed. He reached over, his warm hand resting gently atop Mark’s belly. The soft motion of his fingers tracing soothing circles sent a wave of comfort through Mark. “Everything is going to be okay,” Nick kindly said. “You’ve done so much for Asher already, and now you’re giving him something he’s wished for with all his heart.”

Mark exhaled slowly, still unable to fully comprehend the situation. “This… it’s all so unreal. How is this even possible?” He asked, looking to his side to observe Nick’s massive, soft cock resting over his tight. The monster was now soft, but Mark still couldn’t believe that something so big had been inside him only a few minutes before.

Nick smiled, his blue eyes shining bright. “Christmas magic has its ways. For now, you need to rest. Sleep is important for the magic to do its work. By the morning, Asher’s wish will be fulfilled, and everything will make sense.”

Mark’s brows furrowed, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “How… How is this supposed to happen? Will it hurt?”

Nick’s hand didn’t falter in its soothing motion. “The magic cookie started everything, and now your body is adapting. You’ll experience everything in one night, including labor. It won’t be easy, but the magic will guide you through. You’ve got strength beyond what you realize.”

Mark swallowed hard, his heart pounding hard at the mention of labor. “Labor? That’s…”

“Painful,” Nick admitted, “but temporary. The magic will ensure you can handle it. Trust me. By tomorrow night, you’ll look back on this and know it was worth it.”

Mark hesitated, his gaze lingering on Nick’s calm demeanor. He was scared but knew he could trust the man despite the overwhelming strangeness of the situation. “Okay,” he responded, his eyelids growing heavier.

Nick leaned in, gently kissing Mark’s lips. “Good. I wish I could stay, but I have a long night ahead. Rest now. Your body needs all the energy it can get to grow the babies.”

Mark’s eyes were already closing when he caught the last word. “Why did you say babies?” he mumbled sleepily.

Nick chuckled softly. “Asher asked for a little brother, but he wrote ten letters. I came here to grant him everything he asked for. Don’t worry; you’ll manage. I’ll return in the morning to help.”

Those were the last words Mark heard before sleep overtook him. The room felt suddenly cold again as Mark drifted off, his breathing evening out.

...

[nathanbatemanfucker]

In Plain Sight, Ch 1: Docile Pyre

summary: nathan tries his best to wade through the sea of feelings you’ve brought up in him. he’s kinda shitty to you while doing it.

pairing: nathan bateman x f!reader

contents: this entire series is 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, enemies to lovers (sorta), boss/employee dynamics, nathan is a pining asshole, reader is so competent and cool

wc: 2,200

AN: BE NICE TO ME PLEASE GOD. i don’t know where this came from. on christmas eve morning, nathan bateman himself walked into my apartment and made me write this. who am i to argue with a man who looks like oscar issac?

in plain sight masterlist | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

Nathan learned quickly that his usual backhanded compliments and intelligent snarkiness don’t work for you. You don’t care enough to let him get under your skin, don’t care enough to be baited into an argument. It gets under his skin.

You make him sick. Sick in a way he’d never felt before. He thought he was the epitome of unbothered and unchanged until he met you. He feels like a fucking teenage boy, wiping his sweaty palms and reminding himself that he’s in control. He’s the boss. So why does his heart flutter when you look him in the eyes so intently as he gives you task after task to do?

You never complain. You never say much at all. He wishes that you would say something. That you would lash out or fight back— give him something. He wants to see you.

But you’re prim and perfect. All “yes sir” and “no sir”. Mr. Bateman this and Mr. Bateman that. No one calls him Mr. Bateman. It’s fucking silly, the way it affects him when you do. You handle each task he gives you with ease— even when he has you calling the most difficult of his colleagues. In meetings, they mention how charming you are, sweet and charismatic. Nathan doesn’t even get that. For someone who’s all about AI, blank stares, and obedient droids, your likeness to them is driving him crazy. He knows that you’re a person with emotions, desires, and opinions. So he picks and picks and picks, hoping that one day you’ll break.

Why won’t you show him? Why does he care so much? Why is he completely enamored with you anyway?

Being around you starts to confuse him. Nathan hates that feeling. He likes to be the smartest in the room— he needs it or he starts to feel small. Like he’s that little boy he was all those years ago, staring up into the angry eyes of his parents as they spew insults at him. But, he can’t seem to find a balance when he’s around you, he hates the feelings you invoke but can’t seem to work himself out of the tangled mess in his heart. Before you, he was sure that he didn’t have one anymore.

“Can you work overtime tonight? I need all of this sorted and filed,” He gestures to stack upon stack of paperwork in the corner of his lab.

“I just need to make a call, sir.”

Nathan knows that you have a life outside of him and this job— any normal person would. But, he’s not normal, is he? It reminds him that despite these harbored feelings, he’s not compatible with you. You deserve someone normal. Maybe that’s who you need to call, maybe you already have someone. Jealousy courses through his veins.

He raises a brow at you, his voice cool, “A call? You have something more important to do than your job?”

You give him no information. Just a polite smile as you head towards the door, “I’ll just be a moment, sir.”

Nathan pretends to tinker around with his synthetic brains and limbs and skin until you’re finished filing. He thought it’d take longer, but you finish in a couple of hours. He’s always impressed with you and your performance but it goes sour the moment you reach for your bag.

“If that’s all Mr. Bateman, I’ll see you at 9 a.m.”

“Wait,” He says, trying to prolong your time together, trying to see if you’ll give him any sort of reaction if he gives you more work. But no. You turn to him with ease, a polite and expectant look on your face. He gives up. “I’ll send you a grocery list. You can be here at 10 a.m.”

“10 a.m.,” You repeat with a soft nod.

Then Nathan’s all alone again. He heads into his bedroom, opening one of the closets. He needs to get lost for a while. He needs you off his mind.

—

Nathan tries. He really tries not to watch you so closely. He tries to distance himself from you. He stops giving you the tasks he used to give you just to hopefully piss you off. His attempts are useless though. The only thing that could keep him from watching you is firing you. He doesn’t have control, he feels powerless in the face of your docile stare.

He starts to notice things. That your hair is a little out of place. That your clothes aren’t as crisp and clean as usual. He sees the bags under your eyes. He sees you sleeping during your lunch break instead of eating. Your work doesn’t suffer and neither does your attitude but the subtle light in your eyes gets dimmer and dimmer as time wanes on.

Nathan had wanted to see you, sure, but he didn’t want to see you like this. Something’s wrong. He’s not sure has the courage to ask you about it. He feels guilty when he has to ask you to work late on a Thursday afternoon. It feels like it’s festering inside him and he almost forgoes asking. It gets what he’s wanted for months and months on end. You finally crack.

“Hey, I need you to work late tonight,” He murmurs, more gently than he’s spoken to anyone…ever. Fuck, you make him soft. It’s disgusting. It’s unfair. It’s blasphemy.

You continue to type when you respond, “I can’t, sir.”

Nathan freezes, unsure if he’s just heard you correctly. “Excuse me?”

You inhale a soft breath, your gaze airing on slightly apologetic, “I said that I can’t. I can’t work late tonight, Mr. Bateman, I’m sorry.”

“And why not?”

“I’m not sure that that’s any of your business. Sir,” You add respectfully.

“Any of my business?” He repeats, incredulous.

“Yes, sir.”

He stares at you for a handful of seconds, weighing his options. The tasks he wants to give you could wait until more— he’s simply impatient. But, he’s got buy-in now with your disagreement and secrecy. He could push…and he does. “I didn’t ask, I ordered. I need you here for a few more hours.”

It works. For the first time since you started working for him a little under a year ago, you finally show him something. You’re angry, he can tell by the way your brows knit together and your mouth twists. It thrills him.

You stew for a few beats, no doubt deciding if you should voice your rebuttal or go on as usual. Nathan watches you eagerly, hoping of course for the latter. It doesn’t come. Instead—

You close your eyes, growing statuesque. Nathan can only tell you’re still breathing because of how close he is, and how intensely he’s watching you. You open your eyes after a moment and say easily, “Then I need to make a call. It’ll just be a moment, sir.

You work diligently that night, finishing up in just half the time he suggested. He’s almost tempted to give you more, but he knows that would just make things worse. Despite your cool collected manner, the air in the room feels heavier, the energy shifted. He knows he’s fucked up. And if he wasn’t sure, he is when you get up to leave without your usual goodbye or so much of a glance at him.

It’s only after you’ve gone that Nathan takes a good look at his calendar. It’s New Year's Eve. He’d made you stay late on New Year's Eve. That guilt from before rears its ugly head, more gut-wrenching than before. He makes his way to the kitchen to drink it away. It’s replaced with alcohol, hot jealousy, and a hint of sadness. You’d had plans for New Year's Eve. You weren’t going to be lonely like him, if you still made it to those.

Fuck and who were they with? Some guy? Some woman? Did it matter? Not really. The only thing that mattered is that you opened up to them. You show them who you are. Nathan sits hunched over on the couch, bottle in hand staring into the fire.

No, I’m not sorry, he thinks drunkenly to himself. If keeping you late kept you with him and away from whoever was in your life then he wasn’t sorry. He was selfish and unkind, but not sorry. Assholes like him don’t get to be sorry. He’d be a monster that would keep you as long as he could in any way that he could.

—

When you come in on the second, you look exhausted despite the day off. It almost sets him off, but he’d spent most of yesterday thinking about you. The drinking had taken away his guilt, his jealousy, or that unworthy feeling he’s been running from all his life. You…well you make him want to face. Dig to the root of it and cast it out of himself, but he knows he’s not strong enough. The most he can do right is an apology.

Nathan comes to sit on the edge of your desk, blocking the screen so you have to look up at him. “Hey.”

You look up at him with those soft, tired eyes. “Yes?”

He shifts, scratching the bare patch atop his head awkwardly, “I uh— the other night, it was shitty of me to make you work late on New Year’s Eve.”

“I made it work, sir.”

Fuck him, you’re making this hard. His silly little anger about your disposition isn’t justified, he realized that when he sobered up yesterday but he feels ready to explode with it. Spending New Year’s Day alone had never bothered him until yesterday. He had never himself alone, given his bots, until you. You’re screwing with his head, making it all fucky.

“Mr. Bateman?”

A small shiver runs down his spine. He nods, clapping his hands together before hopping off your desk. He needs space and air. “It won’t happen again. On any holiday.”

You fix him with a polite smile, nodding, “Sure.”

Nathan avoids you as much as he can for the rest of the day. Maybe that’s his only option now. He knows that there’s no point in fighting this. Once he feels a certain way it might as well be set in stone. It’s hard to accept that. Even if it wasn’t, he doesn’t want to.

He runs into you on his way out, and before he can think better of it, he’s talking, “Hey, wait up one second.”

“I can stay late, it’s not a problem,” You say mechanically.

“No, I’m not— fuck I’m not asking you to stay late again. I’m an asshole but Jesus fucking Christ.”

“Did I make a mistake then, sir?”

He can’t help himself— he laughs. It dissolves into a maniacal giggle, his hands rubbing at his eyes. “Fuck’s sake. No, sweetheart, you didn’t make a mistake. What I meant to say earlier was I shouldn’t have made you work late on New Year’s Eve. I shouldn’t make you work so late any day, I don’t know your life, I don’t know you.”

“Alright.”

“And what I mean by that is— you know that this is me saying sorry? Right?”

“Yes, Mr. Bateman, I understand what you’re saying completely.”

“Great. Well?”

You tilt your head at him— it’s almost unsettling. “Well?”

“Usually someone apologizes, says it won’t happen again, and then the other thanks them. Accepts the apology. All that jazz. That’s how it works in the movies at least if I’m not mistaken,” He grins, leaning up against the wall with his arms crossed.

“Yes, sir, I know how apologies work.”

He nods his head at you expectantly, “Then it’s your turn.”

You do that thing again from the other night, where you go so still you could be made from stone. He watches you with curious eyes, and when your gaze meets his, he can see it— the fire. He’s cracked you again. This time he hopes for a better result.

Shoulders squared, clutching your bag tightly over your shoulder you say, “With all due respect and complete honesty, Mr. Bateman, I don’t accept. I don’t care to. While I appreciate your attempt, none of what you said was a true apology. That almost means that well, there was nothing for me to accept. I’ll see you at 7 a.m., sir.”

Nathan watches you leave, his mouth slightly agape. You had just, so politely and succinctly told him off. He feels like his world has been turned upside down like he’s been bitten by a snake he was told wasn’t poisonous. And he wants to be bitten again. Again and again, he wants to stoke that fire in you until it’s an uncontrollable rage. A forest fire with no end in sight. He wants to be engulfed in it, willing and ready to suffer the burns of handling you. Where he’d been prepared to give up on you after apologizing— okay with sacrificing you to someone who might actually have a chance at deserving you— he refuses to now.

This feels like a challenge. You want him to be better? He’ll do it. He’d do anything for you. And he will.

nathan taglist: @missdictatorme, @hon3yboy, @runa-falls, @campingwiththecharmings, @toracainz, @steven-grants-world, @clemdango04, @faretheeoscar, @jdbxws, @crispysublimecupcake, @sub-aro, @faretheeoscar, @cupidysm, @whentheskyispinkandabitblue, @nova-ivy541, @kotaropuppy