#christmas eve at the grave

[pulledrounder]

Mountain Dreams, At the Cemetery // Fiddlehead, USMA // Otto Hesselbom, Christmas Eve at the Grave // Laura Gilpin, I Rarely Dream of Orpheus // Sergej Andrijaka, New Year’s Night 1984 // Big World, Christmas Eve

[bebs-art-gallery]

Christmas Eve at the Grave (1896) by Otto Hesselbom ❅ New Year’s Night (1984) by Sergei Andriyaka

[lemuseum]

[left-handed-spaghetti]

I saw this painting “Christmas Eve at the Grave, Otto Hesselbom,” and all I could think about was Todd and Neil…

[koschei-the-ginger]

fox mulder is the character of all time, he's a 6 feet tall little spoon, he's severely traumatized, his two jobs are being no.1 enemy of the state and a professional personal space invader, his ideal date is going ghost busting on christmas eve, he fought nazis in world war 2, he loves spock, he has a porn collection but hasn't been laid in 10 years. he's utterly devoted to his coworker, to whom he proposed multiple times, but waited 7 years to kiss her. He wore said coworker's cross on a date with a hot vampire lady, he punched his boss in the face, he has 2 different fathers, his best friends thought he was a serial killer. he fucked on Sir Arthur conan doyle's grave in college, he is even bisexual.

[sammybii]

ITS THAT DAY AGAIN✨

[zahri-melitor]

Tim doesn’t have a lot from Dana.

Two years of memories.

Just six or so months between her wedding to his father and Jack’s death. Another few months after that until Bludhaven exploded.

Two Christmases, and two birthdays.

The first Christmas never really happened as his dad and Dana were snowed in in Chicago. They’d come home bearing apology gifts, but Dana still didn’t really know Tim at that point, so it had been…stuff. New video games. A new watch. A new Discman. (Dad had ponied up for Green Day VIP tour tickets, out of guilt; Tim had taken Ives with him).

Tim had spent his fifteenth birthday in No Man’s Land. His present had been the government-funded extraction (which he had subsequently ignored only to sneak back in repeatedly).

That year, Tim had spent Christmas Eve in Bristol with his father, just the two of them. It was Jack’s concession to having missed the previous two Christmas Eves, between his coma and the previous year. (It had been two years since Tim had buried his mom. They’d visited the cemetery earlier that day, before Tim answered an urgent call from Oracle to go look for the babies kidnapped by the Joker).

For his sixteenth birthday, Bruce had given Tim a paranoid breakdown, his dad had given him a new wireless modem, and Dana had given him dress shoes.

For all his scepticism at the time, the shoes had eventually come in handy.

For the funerals.

Between the Crisis and the cruise and the chaos surrounding identifying bodies in Bludhaven, the Winters’ had handled Dana’s funeral. An invite hadn’t made it to Tim in time – he’d only met Dana’s family that once, at the wedding – but Alfred had seen the funeral notice in the paper and forwarded it to Tim.

Dana was buried outside of Gotham, with her grandparents. Bruce had taken Tim up to see the grave.

Two years, and a pair of shoes, and a recipe for soup. The memories of her laughter at the dinner table. A mug that she’d picked out and drank her coffee from every morning.

The silent gap of a third missing parent, one that people forget he ever had, because she was only his step-mother.

Little things.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Regret & Rememberance || Grieving!Ghost

Rating: M + DDNE Words: 2.9K~ Pairing: Gravekeeper!Reader x Grieving!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., death, child death, mourning/grief, canon 09 ghost backstory, dissociation, cemetery/graveyard, graves/headstones. Tags: you/your pronouns, gn!reader, angst, flower language/symbolism, hurt/comfort, platonic relationship. Summary: A hobby of yours causes you to cross paths with an undead man. a/n: for those who care about flower meanings, like me... ;)

You started volunteering at one of the local cemeteries after putting in a request with the town hall.

It was a simple thing, really. You were just providing extra help to the ground's keepers who did little else but mow the grass, trim the trees and bushes, and blast away leaves and dirt from the headstones and pathways with a hose.

You bought your own supplies with the help of a small voucher the town hall provided you, and then you went and cleaned the headstones at the cemetery.

You quite liked doing it. You always liked cleaning and polishing things until they were squeaky clean. And so, you'd carefully remove moss and overgrowth, and wash the engraved lettering in the old graves, and, sometimes, out of your own dime, you'd use a small paint brush and a little jar of enamel paint to fill in the lettering and make it readable again.

It was a passion project for you; you enjoyed seeing the graves come back to their original (or as close as you could get it) state, and even read up on funeral/cemetery/work/life records at the town hall to find out who was who.

It was peaceful, almost therapeutic. You tended to pick the times when you knew the cemetery would be mostly empty and you'd go row-by-row, eyeing the older graves and seeking out the ones that need caring.

It was during one of those times that you saw him for the first time.

As you meandered about, carrying a small caddie of cleaning supplies in one hand, and pulling the hood of your waterproof parka over your head with the other, you notice him.

It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon. Wintertime, Christmas had been just three days before. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, giving the cemetery and even darker and gloomier atmosphere, the rain showering down over the entire city of Manchester.

He was tall, so, so tall, and with shoulders so wide and arms so thick, even below the hoodie he's wearing... And yet he looked so small, as he looked on at the graves at his feet...

You knew those graves, you'd memorized the majority. It was the Riley family. A really big tragedy, a recent one, just the year before, on Christmas Eve. The news had said the house burned down because of a faulty heater, and killed everyone, including a little boy.

You settled at a grave not far from him and regarded the man with knitted brows, trying to sneak a glance under his hoodie, maybe catch his eye, and offer him a smile and some courage... But underneath, he might was well have been a void.

The dark clouds and atmosphere only made it that his face was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, and the dark scarf wrapped around his neck and hiked up to cover his nose and mouth certainly didn't help.

You knelt by the grave you were going to clean and began removing the cleaning supplies from your caddie, grabbing a small bench scraper so you could remove the moss growing on the front face of the grave.

But before you began, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at the man again. He must have felt watched, however, because he turned his head toward you and from underneath his hood, all you saw were a few short blonde hairs peeking out.

You tried to do exactly what you intended, offering him a small smile and a nod... And then turned away to properly working, trying to give him space, or respect... You tried. Really. But... something about him... In less than a minute, you looked over again.

And he was gone without a trace. Looking around, you saw no tall, dark figures speed-walking away.

For some reason, a chill went down your spine when you noticed you were alone again... Almost like he had been a ghost, a figure of your imagination...

-

You saw him a lot more times after that. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him.

You'd arrive and he'd already be there, almost like he timed it perfectly every time.

Never a word exchanged, though you looked at him from a distance and, sometimes, he looked at you too.

He'd always leave a small flower arrangement between the center two graves. Purple hyacinths, white chrysanthemums, and black dahlias.

And then he'd leave not long after you arrived.

Sometimes you wondered if you being there made him leave... If he wanted to avoid being there when you were, to avoid being stared at. But you couldn't help yourself from staring.

Truth be told, you'd go long weeks without seeing him, but he'd always come back...

And when he did come back, he'd come pay the graves a visit multiple times a week for a few weeks...

Whenever he wasn't there, you dared to venture toward the grave and gaze upon, especially right after he had left... And you'd pay you respects to the family buried there...

-

Sitting in the public library attached to the town hall, you carefully combed through the cemetery records of the last year, with a hot tea beside you.

Riley. There it is.

Obituary notices for five members of the same family, on the same date.

Joanna Riley, née Pearson, aged 57. Thomas Riley, aged 33. Beth Riley, aged 32. Joseph Riley, aged 4. and Simon Riley, aged 37.

Two mothers, and their three sons. An innocent child in the middle of it all. All killed by an accidental fire, with a starting point on a faulty heater, right before an important holiday.

Their obituaries said that Joanna had worked in a textile factory for most of her life, Thomas was a cook at a restaurant, Beth was an esthetician and Simon was a... soldier.

You looked at the pictures attached to the obituary, of each of them... So alive, so... free. Pictures taken from Facebook profiles or school records, in Joseph's case... All of them with big happy smiles...

Joanna had big eye bags, but she had wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and deep smile lines, like she'd spent a lifetime laughing... Her hair was already fully grey, cut into a bob with a fringe.

Thomas was thin, and had prominent cheekbones and a dip in the cheeks themselves, as well as deep eyebags with bulging eyes, but a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face. He was a blonde.

Beth's picture showed that her nose tended to scrunch whenever she smiled, her dirty blonde, nearly brown hair, was hair tied back into a bun and a fringe falling over her blue eyes.

Little Joseph had a toothy grin and was wearing a school uniform, his blonde hair swept to the side by a comb and his blue eyes sparkling... You found your lip trembling at the thought that, perhaps, that was his first day of kindergarten picture...

And, lord, Simon Riley... He was halfway through winking when the picture was taken. He had the warmest brown eyes and the smuggest little smirk on his lips as he held Joseph in his arms, whose face had been partially cropped out of the picture, but clearly was mirroring his uncle, while holding a little teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck.

It made you sad, to see those pictures. Sadder than when you researched all the other graves' you've cleaned. Many of them included children too... But something... something about those kind faces...

-

You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Maybe a family friend?

A distant cousin?

Maybe someone from Beth's side of the family, since she's a blonde and the stranger is too?

You hadn't dared approach him, striking a conversation but you were so full of questions.

Was it wrong to be so curious about a stranger who's only at the funeral to mourn and pay respects? (Definitely.)

You wanted to ask him everything.

Who is he?

Why does he come visit at the worst times and days, when it's rainy and dark, and empty?

Why does he disappear so often for weeks at a time?

Why does he keep coming back?

Someone had to pay for the funeral arrangements, after all... Maybe it was him. Maybe he's family.

Why else would he casually drop £200 worth of arrangements on the graves every time he comes?

...

Truth be told, you hadn't seen him in nearly two months. It was the longest it'd gone since coming to visit.

Around Christmas of the following year, and he hadn't come to see the graves... and you knew that for certain. Not only did you not cross paths with him, but there were no flowers at the graves.

Could it perhaps be that he's trying to move on?

Or maybe something happened to him?

You hated to think of the possibility that the stranger could've given up, moved away, or died himself.

Worse, it made your heart ache...

So you made a choice. One of those times before you went in to clean another grave, you stopped by the florist around the corner.

Dropping nearly as much money as he usually did in a gigantic arrangement, a couple of candles, you wobbled into the cemetery again.

-

Simon Ghost sat on his bed in the shitty flat he was renting from a nice old lady who didn't ask too many questions.

It was barely a flat, more so a cramped tin of sardines that the council allowed to be called a 'studio' because it had enough space to fit a bed, a counter, fridge and stove, and had an attached bathroom.

He had just gotten clearance from the military hospital to be able to walk around without his crutches and just his cast boot, and good thing too.

Christmas had been days ago and he hadn't gone to visit the graves just yet... he could feel the need to see them scratching in the back of his head, trying to get out, digging into his bowns..

After succeeding in tying the laces on his regular boot, he pushed himself up to his feet, a bit shaky and unsure as he attempted to shift his weight around.

But, after succeeding, he wobbled over to his small wardrobe, grabbing his usual hoodie and scarf combo, pulling them on.

He pondered about opening a window to air out the flat, the scent of hair bleach and chemicals still lingering in the air... But he decided against it.

He left the flat and locked the door, then carefully limped his way to the bus stop beside his block of flats.

...

It was already getting dark when he made it to the cemetery and past the gate, carefully limping his way to the graves.

He looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes, seeking you out. He wondered if you were around, if you were also looking for him, or if you didn't even notice he had been gone.

Had he still been Simon, he would've already gone up to you, struck up a conversation... and he would now too, joke about how he'd been 'slacking off', mutter some nonsense of 'working hard/hardly working'...

And yet he wasn't Simon.

'Simon' was buried in the grave he was going to now visit and, unlike the rest of the Riley family, he was getting no pity.

Not like mum, Beth, Tommy and Joseph... And yet no one but Ghost was ever there to pity them, to mourn them. And once he was gone, no one would even remember them.

They deserved better than what they got. They didn't what happened to them. They didn't deserve a death that gruesome...

And t was thanks to Simon that they were dead in the first place. He didn't deserve any pity.

Ghost would not mourn Simon. Ever.

...

And yet, as he approached the graves, the large arrangement he always brought with him, tucked under his arm, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

A beautiful light arrangement sat in the same exact spot he usually placed his own... right between Tommy's and mum's headstones. It was light and feminine and... cute. A stark difference to his own, dark and moody.

He crouched in front of the graves, setting aside his own arrangement and, very carefully so, running a trembling hand over the petals of the flowers. Fresh, not just from the recent rain, but from being a recent addition. Maybe only a day or two old.

A mix of pink and white carnations, an overwhelming amount of baby's breath, and some kind of herb stems wrapped around them.

Carefully, Ghost plucked one of the stems of the herb and brought it up to his nose to smell it. The scent of chemicals from his hair bleach didn't make identifying the scent any easier, but, after a moment, he realized it was rosemary.

Rising to his feet and looking around once more, Ghost sought you out again, trying to find the sight of you hunched over, scrubbing away at one headstone or another. No sign of you.

Looking down at the graves again, his eyes got drawn to something out of the corner of his eye. A small statue that had not been bought by him, leaning against Beth and Joseph's shared grave.

A brown ceramic teddy bear... with a baby blue ribbon around his neck.

Just like the one he'd bought in a Poundland when coming back from deployment, in a hurry, after Tommy had called him to let him know Beth had gone into labour... not wanting to show up empty-handed at the hospital.

It had become Joseph's favourite toy, he'd sleep holding it, would drag it along behind him as he learned to walk, and would take it to kindergarten every day.

"Fuck..." Ghost hissed as he fell to his knees in front of the graves, his fingers digging into the wet grass and his eyes closing as his whole form was racked by sobs.

-

You didn't know how long he'd been there. But he was soaking wet, dripping all over, on his hands and knees, hiccuping and crying at the foot of the graves.

You noted the way his leg was in a cast inside a black boot, which helped ease your worries that he hadn't given up on coming, he'd just been unable to for a while.

Swallowing your fear, you bounded up to him, holding your umbrella protectively over the two of you as you stopped by his side.

He looked the smallest you'd ever seen him...

Taking a deep breath, you slowly crouched beside him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling him shudder, his breath hitching, audible even through the wind and the aggressive pitter-patter of the rain on your umbrella.

"Breathe... It's okay..." You murmured as you looked at him. "Breathe."

The man took a deep, ragged breath, shuddering with each one, his arms, impossibly strong, trembling and struggling to hold him above the grass which was now essentially more mud than grass.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." You murmured and tilted your head so you could peek below his hoodie, to check on him.

Bad choice on your part, because only then did you notice that his scarf had been loosened by him, to allow him to breathe, revealing his face.

He was deformed, badly so. His cheeks were hollow and cut through by a jagged Glasgow smile, and his skin so red and blemished, you'd think he had been burned alive at one point in his life.

Those were no ordinary scars... from a small injury, or an accident... They were too precise, not random... Those were... inflicted on him.

He didn't reply, nor did he try to cover his face or turn away, he just shuddered more, hiccuping and sniffling amidst his tears.

"I hadn't seen you in a while..." You told him gently. "I was... worried that you'd never come back." You admitted. "So... I figured I should look after them for you."

He gulped, audibly so, deep in his throat. For a while he didn't speak though his lips pushed and pulled like he was chewing on his cheek, looking for how to answer.

"Thank you." He murmured, his voice gruff and raspy, the words sounding like they had been eating away at him, gnawing at his bones.

"Do you... want me to toss it all out?" You asked slowly, watching as he thrashed his head side to side and sniffled again, hissing through clenched teeth.

"N-No..." He replied and took a hulking breath, like it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"Okay..." You added and nodded solemnly. "Want me to help you up... because of your foot?" You offered.

"No... I've got it." He added with a nod and swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his hands into fists to keep himself from lying on the dirt.

You paused and looked between him and the graves. "I'll leave you be, then..." You replied and turned to collect your cleaning supply caddie from the path beside you...

Only for one of his hands to suddenly catch your bicep and stop you, which caused you to freeze. "Stay..." He pleaded as you slowly turned to face him again.

His face was turned toward you as well. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his nose had a deviated septum, and his whole face was riddled with scars and blemishes...

And yet those brown eyebrows of his... and those brown eyes... the way they stared at you... Sorrowful, afraid, hurt but... warm... You remembered seeing them, in that fucking obituary notice months ago...

Sure he was a blonde and very deformed but... this was Simon Riley.

You were looking a dead man right in the eyes.

[diejager]

Ooo I just love how you write platonic yanderess

Can you write a platonic yandere Ghost with his little sister😗

Of course. Of course.

Pairing : Big brother Simon "Ghost" Riley & little sister reader

Cw: canon violence, death, Ghost background, death, murder, dark, platonic yandere, protective Ghost, murder, mental breakdown, depression, trauma.

Wc: 1.3k

The last thing he wanted people to know - even his team - was about his civilian life, the secrets he held under lock and key near his heart, and a hard appearance. He protected what little was left of his old life fiercely, he wasn't Simon Riley anymore, he was "Ghost" now and that's all people knew. All the pain and torture he went through, from digging himself out of his grave to finding his family murdered, dead in the home they thought safe.

He remembered going home, exhausted and ecstatic to see his family, he celebrated Christmas with his family, drinking and eating at Tommy's house, you sitting next to him - your older brother. He was lucky that everyone was free that night, you both had unpredictable schedules, him being a red beret and you a field medic. Although he never had the chance to work with you, you were always skilled with your hands, bandaging and nursing his wounds.

You fixed him up when your dad got too drunk, Simon used to wrap himself around your body and receive every hit and berate of degrading insults your dad liked to spew. Simon protected you and you played his nurse until it became too real, you left for military service a few years after him, wishing to help the one who protected you so often.

He left to drink with friends on the eve, military buddies, you promise to come back once you got something from your flat near the edge of Downtown Manchester (it was a bit far, but always noisy, it helped quell the nightmares that silence brought).

He rushed home when he finished with whatever Sparks had done, ending him and his accomplice. They knew where he was before, it put his family at risk, then the call he got only solidified his fears when he stepped into Tommy's house, door open and lights off.

He found you sobbing, kneeling over Tommy and Joseph's bodies, cradling them. The dread and devastation he felt were overpowering, his life in the military had cost him his happy family. He was served revenge on a silver platter, a few scrapes here and there, but you two had disappeared in the dead of Christmas.

Everything from public relationships to your face was a risk, and somehow, he managed to keep you by his side wherever he served. You were the medic and him the lieutenant; (Name) and Simon Riley were dead, simply Doc and Ghost. That's how the world knew you and how Task Force 141 called you. Doc and Ghost, stuck by the hips, wearing similar masks and worked spectacularly together.

You were the last of his family, of the life he had before the murder - his dreamy heaven - so he kept you close, he protected you like he did when you were younger. If they got too close, he'd dispose of them immediately. Your safety was his top priority, whatever he did was for you, and the purpose he built himself was to ensure that you'd live.

He wanted you to stay, the agonizing pain of feeling lost and alone was harrowing, and he couldn't risk the chance of losing you too. They haunted him in his sleep, the memory of their deaths and his regrets, it all loomed over him like a reminder of his mistakes - his failures. The 'what if's lingered in his mind, the 'should have' and 'could have' becoming a mainstream of his thoughts when he looked at himself in the mirror; what if he never joined the army; what if he was there that night; he should have been there with them, instead of drinking at a bar; he could have saved you the grief and pain he felt, the one you shared like an open wound.

It should have been him.

He told himself that so many times, to you and himself, always mumbling about it at night, pointing the finger at himself for the loss. You stayed by his side, smaller arms wrapped around him like a blanket of comfort, warm and reassuring with words that pushed back his demons. He loved you so much, for being here and for always sticking to him.

You don't blame him for it, he doesn't understand how you don't, he saw it as his fault for bringing the enemy home.

"'S not your fault, Si," you whispered to him, his mental state too fragile for loud noises. His ears were ringing, almost so loudly that he thought his mind would implode on itself. You knew he felt everything much stronger, being the eldest of the trio he felt more responsible. "You're not to blame, Si. None of it, ya understand?"

He liked how your hands held his, gripping him tightly to bring him back to earth, far away from his violent mind. You supported him when he crashed and he held you when you broke, their deaths never left you, it simply brought you closer together than you'd think possible.

You closed yourself from others and built a wall of brick and cement, yet you smiled and socialized freely, you spoke enough for you both - or so Ghost insisted. He grew colder, callous, and brash with others, reserving his sweeter and softer side for you.

He stood near you, practically looming over you with his height of 6'4, broad shoulders, dark fatigues; a giant wall of muscle, you'd tease him, though you knew he was only protecting you. He's grown wary of everything that tried to approach you, he would stand before any approaching figure and glare them down.

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish, you were told from the file Price sent you, walked to meet you, smiling broadly and eyes squinting from the bright sun that bared down on the base. Besides him was Gaz, Kyle Garrick, olive-skinned and leaner than both males - blockheaded blokes, you called Simon and Soap.

His newly formed habit stood out the moment Ghost moved to block you from their sights, standing high and sneering when they stood feet away from you. You saw them flinch, hesitation seen through their eyes before they closed in, greeting Ghost who stared at their hand.

"Doc, pleasure meeting you, Soap, Gaz," you moved around Ghost, tapping his forearm reassuringly, his tense form slumping slightly. "He's Ghost, sorry 'bout him, he's not much of a people's person." Ghost huffed as you shook their hands, peering between them to the other duo approaching: Captain John Price and Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

Ghost acted once more, moving to guard you even though he knew Price prior to the formation of Task Force 141, you both knew him. You shook his hand, bowing your head lightly out of respect for the experience and battle-hardened man.

Other than guarding you, he hoarded your attention like a dragon hoarding his gold, keeping you by his side wherever he went as much as he stuck to yours. Per your conditions, you and Ghost would always be assigned together, and Price sympathetically complied. You bunked together and ate on the same table, he warded away unsavory glances and you lashed out at those that glowered at Ghost.

Although you'd burn the world for Ghost, he took it a step further, he took it upon himself to take care of whatever plagued you. Be it harassment from a fellow soldier, he'd disappear the next day; be it an unintentional threat to your safety, properly disposed of; be it someone who's trying to get close to you, too close to you, would find themselves jumping into an oncoming train.

He did as he should to keep you from harm, any kind that would mean losing you. A desperate man takes desperate measures, and Simon "Ghost" Riley is the most desperate elder brother in the world.

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | march 7 phase | words: 644

tw: transphobia, anger issues, swearing

When Walburga finally passed away, Regulus and Sirius took their partners to check if there was anything worth keeping in the house they grew up in.

As they entered a shiver went down Regulus spine, all the horrible memories coming back. He wanted to leave as soon as he saw the family portrait hung on the wall across from the entrance. There were four figures painted on it - Walburga, who looked terrifying even in a painting that was supposed to warm her image; next to her stood Orion, haughty, with a mustache covering his mouth; they both had one of their hands each on the shoulders of their children - Sirius and someone Regulus never was.

"Love, you're shaking," a soft whisper came to his ear as a hand reached his back, squeezing lightly in a comforting gesture, calming him down a little. "They're gone, nothing's going to happen, I've got you," James murmured into his hair, kissing him there a moment later.

Feeling a bit less stressed Regulus nodded and smiled at his fiancé, taking his hand. James smiled, too, squeezing the hand lightly.

As they went through the Grimmauld Place lots of expensive, mostly useless shit was found - some swords, ancient piano, silverware made of real silver, Dior plates (why? just… why?) and paintings by famous painters such as Rubens, Monet and some others. Reaching second floor Regulus immediately went to scratch off the name tag on his old room’s door.

"This bitch! She could have just left it, but of course not! It would be too much of a disgrace to the family if anyone noticed!" he yelled, as the tag fell to the floor piece by piece. Regulus started banging on the door, angry to the point that tears of frustration started streaming down his face. "You could’ve just tear it off and not put another one on, but of course you’re too envious for that! I hate you! Do you hear me?! I!" bang. "Hate!" bang. "YOU!" Regulus may have acted a bit psychotically, but who wouldn't in his situation? His own mother was being transphobic towards him even from her grave.

When he calmed down few minutes later, James approached him, kneeling by his side and whipping the tears away. "Better?" he asked Regulus and he responded with a small nod. At that James pulled Reg to his chest and held tight, whispering sweet nothings to him.

***

A few hours after Regulus' breakdown, they had packed up all of their old clothes (most of them were to be sold and the rest would be given to their future children), grabbed some of the nicer things their parents had left behind, and sat in the living room with tea and an old photo album. As they flipped through the pages there were comments like ‘Don’t you have any normal pictures? Like, from a bathtub or a playground or something?’, provided mostly by Remus.

When Regulus turned another page James gasped and Remus whistled. In the photo, he sat at the Christmas Eve table with freshly cut short hair, wearing a black suit and matching tie.

"Your inner Sirius awoke that year, huh?" his brother-in-law asked with amusement.

"Oh, his inner Sirius awoke to the point he even wore a binder to piss them off further. And I, as an ally, acted like I didn’t know who they were referring to anytime someone used his deadname. Mother told me to stop then, remember Reggie?" his brother asked, turning to him. "She said that it was just a phase" they both laughed at the memory. Yes, Walburga almost had a stroke as Regulus walked down the stairs in one of Sirius’ old suits and a new haircut. She was so stunned she forgot to punish him after everyone went home.

"Well," Reg said, smirking smugly "I guess it wasn’t just a phase, mother."

[pampanope]

What are the shadows and Graces doing for Christmas and Christmas Eve ? Does Graves distribute gifts like Santa ?

((Waaaay past xmas lol but life be like that 🤣😩))

Graves gives his pple their xmas bonuses and some time off if they wish.

And of course gifts are exchanged!

Thing is, Graves is content to hand out stocking stuffers and have big feasts prepared but he never actually expected anything back… in the early days at least :)

I have this hc that a combo of Graves’s childhood and initial desire be a more distant Commander in the early days of SC are what would keep him from accepting gifts.

But they kinda wore him down over time, poor man’s vastly outnumbered XD

Nowadays he accepts them with an exasperated huff followed by a sincere thanks

(I can’t interior design; his rooms from a reference 🤣)

[bebs-art-gallery]

Christmas Eve at the Grave (1896)

— by Johan Otto Hesselbom

[l0velylecter]

hiii just came across your site and your hcs of the cod men are so fucking amazing!!! i was wondering if you could do a part 2 of the size difference imagine w/ the other cod men characters? but only if you're not busy!! thnxx

— the men of cod : mw ii with a tiny s/o [vol.ii ] characters : captain john price, phillip graves, kyle ‘gaz’ garrick, rodolfo parra fandom : call of duty modern warfare ii tags : gn!reader, headcanons additional warnings : size kink, manhandling, explicit descriptions of sex ( not me writing this on christmas eve LOL it feels illegal )  rating : e for explicit, nsfw!

01| His breath ghosted against your nape, the invisible hair standing up, begging to be pet. Price's chuckle reverberated down your spine, pricking the skin with goosebumps as his beard scratched the surface. With his size, he could easily have you bent over his knee, four fingers sinking into your body to spread you wide. He never gets tired of seeing you like this, disheveled and writhing just from his hands, struggling to adjust to the size. And when you'd try to grind yourself down the hilt, he'll firmly still your hips ( even if his own self-control is on the brink of collapsing.) — Patience, love. I need to be thorough with you.

02| As much as you enjoy standing up to Graves, sometimes, there's something in submitting yourself to him that feels downright euphoric. And Graves is more than happy to manhandle and fuck you into a mating pres. With your size, he's obsessed with how easy it was to get you into this position: ankles on either side of his shoulders as he drives his cock into your quivering hole. Your body was coiled tight, the pleasure so intense it was painful, tears pricking your eyes and running down your neck, which only turned him on even more. His body curved and bowed, hips pressed hard against you, arms below your body, and hands gripping your shoulders. And when he comes, hot spurts of cum spilling, dripping down your stomach, he kissed your leg. Teeth latching on to skin as he groans desperately — Fuck, fuck, fuck, baby you're so tight, so good, so wet for me. Do you like that baby? I know you do. I know you can take it. You're a good girl. 03| The heat was blooming against your abdomen, seizing your body into a spasm as Gaz pushed your legs apart to push himself deeper — hands, firm and steady against your hips to maneuver you however he wanted. He had you against the couch, the wall, the kitchen counter, and now atop the bed. And you enjoy being overpowered and pinned against any surface for him to take, to please. Even after preparing you, he still needed to be careful, arms on either side of your face to not crush you. You shuddered, feeling your stomach bulge, his cock pulsing inside. He pats your thighs in encouragement, thumb stroking you down your high as you come undone — That's it, babe. I got you. I got you. 04| You never expected this from your sweet Rodolfo. And how can you deny him when he had asked you so kindly? Even on his knees, with you sitting across him, he still reached your eye level, your hand absentmindedly smoothing down his arms to feel the muscle. He was so careful with you that you sometimes forgot how big he was. As you tried to sink onto his cock, his hands eased you down the hilt, head lightly hitting the headboard when you started rocking back and forth: fingers digging into his broad shoulders. Even when he was setting the pace, handling you like a doll, a toy, he was still gentle, only roughly pulling you down to push you to finish — Gracias, mi corazón. Thank you.

a/n : anon thank you so much for requesting ( and your sweet compliment ) ! i had so much fun writing this hahaha it’s been a while since i wrote something so steamy 🙈 i hope this lives up to your expectations + happy holidays <3

imagine the men of cod : mw ii & size difference [ vol i ]

[greensagephase]

New Year's (Nonviolent Communication One-Shot)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x SpiderFemaleReader (colleagues to friends to lovers; currently in the friendship era, so no romance.) Summary: New Year's with your spidey friends and Miguel. Word Count: 7,526 Warnings: A little bittersweet at the beginning; Reader eats meat (sorry to my readers that don't consume meat; I just realized I've included so many meals throughout the fic with meat and never thought of nonmeat eaters); terms in Spanish are included but translations can be found at the end; some crying but they're happy tears; soft Miguel; fireworks Short A/N: This is a one-shot for my Nonviolent Communication fanfic but can be read as a standalone. Masterlist

Happy New Year!!

You close the door of your apartment, making sure it’s locked before you walk down the hallway. You make your way down the building, fixing the scarf you threw around your neck earlier since your city is experiencing strong winds today on top of low temperatures. You could’ve easily just stuck to swinging around the city for what you’re doing but you remember that it has been years, since your Peter died, that you’ve walked the streets of your own city on New Year’s Eve.

The two of you used to go out each year, holding hands amongst the crowd before you found your way to the center of the celebration, joining other citizens to welcome the new year. Peter always held you close, your back pressed to his chest to keep you warm as the two of you enjoyed the performances of artists. And then at midnight, you’d welcome the new year with a kiss and a “I love you.”

“Did you unplug the lights?” a feminine voice asks as you reach the lobby of your apartment building.

“No,” a second voice, a woman, replies.

“Girl, you know the landlord said to not leave the lights on for long periods of time because of a short circuit.”

“It’ll be fine,” the second voice responds.

You turn sideways as you hear the young women join you, coming from a different floor than yours. You face the front again, not paying attention to their discussion as you’re lost in your thoughts regarding the last New Year’s Eve you shared with Peter. It was so long ago, and you silently wonder, where did the time go? If you try hard enough, you can almost feel Peter’s lips against yours; so sweet, so tender, so gentle… So Peter.

At last, you exit the building with the young women behind you and go in a different direction than them. You fix the scarf once again, but this time closer to your neck as you immediately feel the chilly breeze on your skin. You walk the street, hands in your coat’s pockets as you move alone. The sun is already setting even though it’s early in the afternoon, and the streets are, as always, busy and filled with so much energy. As you walk past people, you take it all in, the realization hitting you more now. You’re walking the streets on New Year’s Eve again after years.

In the last few years, you went out to patrol, watching from rooftops in solitude. You managed to cut your friends off in a short amount of time following Peter’s death, so the first holidays without him were spent completely alone, and every year after that was the same. You never stayed out close to midnight, especially on New Year's Eve, for you couldn’t bear the sight of kissing couples. It hurt too much. Instead, you found yourself at home, settled in your once shared bed, alone. That’s the way it was, until last year, when the Morales family invited you to their building’s party and then found yourself once again in Miguel’s penthouse because Mr. and Mrs. Morales asked if you could take him food just like you had for Christmas Eve.

You head to your usual flower spot, picking up a variety of them before you head to your destination. When you reach the cemetery, you find other people, visiting loved ones one last time before the year ends. You find your parents’ graves and change their flowers from last week before you move to Aunt May’s, and at last, to your Peter’s. On one knee, you kneel on the cold and frozen ground after you move some snow away, and proceed to clean his grave like you did the others. You clear away snow and find last week’s flowers, frozen. You replace them with the fresh ones, arranging them nicely for him.

“Happy New Year’s Eve, Peter,” you whisper softly. You look around slowly, the figures of other people meeting your gaze before you return it to Peter’s grave. “So, last night when I was out on patrol, I heard one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard. I think it would’ve made you laugh…” you start as you talk to him like you always do, telling him about your patrolling. You always focus on the night shift because the nights are always the craziest. You tell him about what happened over the week, the universes you went to, the missions, the little moments between you and your friends, all of it.

By the time you’re done, the sky is fully dark. You sigh softly and look up, noticing that you’re alone at the cemetery now. You rub your cheek softly, feeling the coldness. The kneeling has created a cold and damp spot on your pants, allowing you to feel it on your skin. You can almost hear Peter telling you to stand up and go home, to shield yourself from the cold.

You smile softly as you hear his voice in your head. Sometimes you like to imagine that he sits in front of you or on his stone, smiling at you as he listens to you talk, maybe even adding his thoughts despite you being unable to hear them. You know better than to do that, but it used to bring you comfort in the first months after his death.

“I miss you,” you whisper. “I always do, Peter.”

You imagine Peter now, returning the words you’ve whispered.

“I miss you more, love.”

You smile in the darkness of the cemetery, the wind blowing against you, causing you to shiver.

“Go home, darling. It’s too cold. Go home, please.”

You stand up and pull your pants at the knee to relief yourself from the unpleasant cold sensation and sigh. “I do need to go home. As I’ve told you, I have plans,” you tell him with a smile. “I’m meeting with the group and then with Miguel. He insisted on cooking. Again,” you say with a soft chuckle. “I don’t know what he’s making but I just know it’s going to be amazing. He’s an amazing cook, Peter. I’ve already told you about it but he really is great... In many ways,” you state softly as you look down at your wrist, where your gizmo rests. Your fingertips touch it delicately.

“From what you’ve told me, he sounds like a great man, love.”

You smile softly and nod at no one, feeling an ache in your chest. You’re uncertain if it will ever truly fade.

“I love you, Peter,” you whisper pressing a kiss to your fingertips before pressing them to the gravestone. “I’ll always love you, no matter what.”

“I love you, darling. Forever. Never forget that.”

You straighten up and sigh again, feeling the winter breeze biting your skin. You pick up the frozen flowers that you’ve collected from all the graves to dispose of them appropriately and nod at Peter’s gravestone.

“Happy New Year, love. We’ll see what this new year brings, hm? I look forward to it. I know you’ll be there with me along the way.”

“Forever, darling.”

You nod once again before you head home, keeping an eye out for any threats but there seems to be nothing amiss. You return home and prepare your belongings. You baked some cakes for the party at Miles’s universe and one more on top of other sweets for when you head to Miguel’s.

You head to the first universe, where you spend close to two hours. As soon as you arrive, you're welcomed by Miles's neighbors who have grown to know you, or at least the version all the spider members agreed you'd play, Miles’s school mentor. You're eventually greeted by Miles and his parents and in a matter of minutes, you find yourself with a plate full of food and sitting under the water tower with all your friends. The ambiance is lively with outside twinkling lights hanging all across the rooftop. The scent of food fills the air and the building's DJ is keeping the mood light with their song choices. You have a great time, listening and talking with your friends about the year, recalling memories you've made over the three hundred and sixty-five days.

At last, you depart from the party, but not before giving each of your friends, including Mary Jane, Mayday, and Gayatri, a hug for the new year since you most likely won't see them until later tomorrow. You head back to your universe to pick up the last baked items and then head to Miguel's just on time.

You immediately find yourself in Miguel's living room. Music fills the air thanks to Miguel’s new record player that you gifted him just a few days ago for Christmas. The thought of him already using it so much warms your heart.

“Hey.”

You turn to the voice. Miguel. Your smile grows at the sight of him as he stands at the entrance of his living room, looking cozy as always in a beige turtleneck sweater. He gives you a soft smile with pink cheeks, probably from the heat of the kitchen since he cooked dinner.

“Hey, Happy New Year’s Eve,” you say.

“Happy New Year’s Eve. May I take that?” he asks, gesturing to your reusable bag with baked sweets.

You nod and walk closer to him, he meets you halfway and takes the bag from you gently.

“I baked a cake and a few other things. Also, Mr. and Mrs. Morales sent you food. I packed it in there as well. They wish you a Happy New Year,” you tell him, passing on the well wishes from the Morales family.

“Thank you for bringing it. I’ll be sending them a thank you card this week with Miles,” Miguel answers, still smiling.

He tells you to follow him as he leads the way to his kitchen and dining area, the scent of food immediately surrounding you. Like always, Miguel places your bag of baked sweets on the counter before he turns and gestures to your coat. He offers to help take it off, and you let him, finding some relief once it’s off. After hanging your coat, Miguel leads you to the stove to show you everything he’s cooked.

“Una taquiza,” Miguel says. “I cooked different meats like carne asada, chorizo, al pastor, and two more, **so we have options. I also made three different salsas, and of course there’s the toppings, like cilantro and diced onion, and a few other things.”

You smile at Miguel’s set up and tell him what kind of tacos you want. As always, Miguel serves you your food, asking you to take a seat once you tell what you want. He moves through the kitchen with ease as he prepares your food, talking quietly with you as music continues to fill the air. Not long after, the two of you sit side by side, enjoying delicious tacos topped with cilantro and diced onion and the salsas Miguel prepped, even with some grilled banana peppers and a glass with agua de Jamaica.

All throughout dinner, the two of you talk about the year and other things. You even share with Miguel that you visited your loved ones earlier, which leads Miguel to tell you about his own visit to Conchata and Gabriel’s resting place. Noticing the look on his face, probably about Gabriella, you change the subject to the record player, which instantly lights up his eyes.

“I’ve ordered more records,” he says, as the two of you head to the living room, after taking care of dishes. “I got you a few that I remembered you like as well. They’ll be arriving in a few days.”

You glance at him, smiling softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he says quietly, hands in his pockets as the two of you stand in front of the record player.

“Thank you,” you answer, equally quiet.

“Always.”

You sigh softly as you listen to the music. It’s a record from your universe that you gifted Miguel so he could start his own collection. The two of you hang out in his living room, listening to music as Miguel tells you about the records he bought. You can’t help but smile as you see his excitement about them, making you feel more than satisfied with your decision to gift Miguel his own record player.

An hour later, the two of you sit in his living room. You’re each on one of his couches, the music still playing, yet it’s a different record now. The fireplace is on and outside, the citizens of Nueva York are already setting off fireworks. For a few seconds, you both stay quiet, listening to the music and fireworks until Miguel breaks the silence.

“What if…” Miguel starts, thinking about something that’s been on his mind.

You look at him, wondering what he’s going to say.

“What if… we go to Miles’s universe?” he asks quietly, meeting your gaze. “So, we can be with them as the new year starts.”

You stare at him, blinking softly as you realize he said “we” not “you” meaning…

“You want to…?” you start but trail off, trying to confirm that you’re understanding what he’s saying.

Miguel continues to hold your gaze with a soft smile on his face. “We can find a nearby rooftop…”

“One that’s empty so we don’t attract attention,” you finish, smiling.

“Yes. Do you want to?”

You nod, smiling. “If you’re up to it, yes but - please don’t feel pressured to if you’re not comfortable with it.”

Miguel shakes his head. “Last year you didn’t get to exactly see them as the new year started. You were here with me. I know how much they mean to you, and how much you mean to them. I don’t want you to… choose,” Miguel explains. “As long as it’s an empty rooftop, I’ll be fine. Promise,” he adds to reassure you as he notices your concern.

“Okay, but if at any point you don’t feel like it any more, please don’t hesitate to tell me and we can come back,” you reply softly.

“Will do,” he tells you with a soft smile.

“Alright, but you want to bundle up. It’s freezing. Go on and put more layers,” you tell him.

Miguel continues to smile, finding your concern for him regarding the weather sweet. “Alright, I’ll be right back,” he says before he heads upstairs to his bedroom. He quickly goes through his closet, finding a coat that he slips on in seconds. He grabs a scarf and throws it around his neck before he grabs the mittens you gifted him just a few day ago. In a minute, he’s on his way back downstairs.

You turn from a window just as he steps back into the living room. You find yourself unable to tear your eyes away at the sight of him in a coat. For some reason, the sight makes you feel something you can’t quite pinpoint in the moment but you brush it off. Your eyes move to the mittens, the ones you gifted him a few days ago, in one of his hands before he leads the two of you back to the kitchen where he places the mittens on the counter. He walks towards the cupboards.

“I just thought that we could use something to keep us warm,” he says as he pulls out two thermos.

You raise an eyebrow in curiosity before you watch him open a pot that’s been sitting at the back of his stove, one that he didn’t open earlier. You smile as you guess what’s inside, and sure enough, Miguel confirms your suspicions as he begins to pour café de olla into one thermos before moving to the next one. He turns around to face you, holding the two thermos now.

“Ready?” he asks as he hands you one before he grabs his mittens with his free hand now.

“Ready,” you reply as you hold your thermos, already wearing your coat and your other accessories since you put everything back on while he went upstairs.

The two of you head back to his living room where Miguel opens a multidimensional portal to Miles’s universe. In a matter of seconds, you’re both standing on an empty rooftop. You lead the way to Miles’s building, knowing your way around more than Miguel does. You swing from rooftop to rooftop, with Miguel behind. He follows you closely, grinning to himself as you sneak past rooftops with people having their own parties until at last, you stop on the closest empty rooftop to Miles’s building.

The two of you stand side by side, looking across to where your group of friends are. As always, they’re hanging out by the water tower, away from the crowd to avoid raising suspicions, especially with Noir and Spider-Ham. You wait a few seconds before you notice their spidey senses go off, causing them to turn towards Miguel and you. You wave at them as they stare back with shocked faces. You grin as you realize the reason, turning to look at Miguel, who stares at them as he holds his thermos. His face is relaxed. There’s no smile or grin but there’s also no glare.

“Miguel… If you-” you stop when Miguel turns to look at you.

“It’s alright… I’m alright, don’t worry. I’m just thinking about how it’s actually really cold. Are you okay with your coat?” he asks, glancing at your attire with concern in his eyes.

“Oh, yes. I’m okay, don’t worry,” you reassure him just as you notice your friends swing towards the rooftop you’re on.

“Well… this is a surprise,” Peter B. says as he places Mary Jane down, who nods while holding Mayday.

“A big surprise,” Pav adds, as he lands with Gayatri.

The rest of the group lands on the rooftop, staring at Miguel and you like you’ve grown an extra head. You give them a subtle look, asking them not to stare because you don’t want Miguel to feel uncomfortable or overwhelm when he’s trying. Thankfully, your friends catch your drift, hiding their surprise as they begin to greet the two of you.

“You guys hungry? There’s still so much food left, we could all probably eat seconds,” Miles says offering.

“Is there still some of that flan left?” you ask with shiny eyes, which Miguel notices.

“Yeah! I can bring you guys some food. To be honest, I feel kind of hungry myself,” Miles says with a little frown.

“You know… Me, too,” Noir replies.

“We’ll get some food, then” Miles says. “Be right back.”

You watch as Miles, Hobie, Margo, and Gwen swing back to the other rooftop. You watch in amusement as you see webs flying around, gathering food.

“And no one notices,” Miguel says amused as he notices the webs, too.

“Everyone is too busy talking,” you murmur softly, turning around as Noir and Spider-Ham approach Miguel.

“Nice mittens,” Noir tells Miguel. “Helpful for a piercing, cold night like this.”

“This kind of weather takes me back to when…” Spider-Ham begins, sharing some story from his universe with Noir and Miguel as you’re suddenly but gently pulled backwards.

“Um, hi?” you say as you find Mary Jane and Peter B., each holding on to one of your arms and tugging you away from Miguel.

“So…” Mary Jane starts, holding Mayday, who also seems to be staring at you with curiosity.

“So?” you repeat, sounding more like a question.

“How did you do it?” Peter B. asks.

“Did what?” you ask confused once they stop pulling you. You look around them to see Miguel. His back is to you as Spider-Ham is still talking. Noir gives you a quick glance before he turns his attention back to Porker. You suddenly feel like this is some little plan.

“How did you get Miguel to agree to attend? He never likes to go to anything, even HQ events,” Peter B. says, confused.

“I… Didn’t. He offered.”

“Oh,” Mary Jane simply says.

“What?” Peter B. says.

Mayday laughs in Mary Jane’s arms.

“Are you guys okay?” you ask.

“We’re perfectly fine,” Mary Jane says with a glance to Peter.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Just… chatting,” he replies.

“Right…” you answer, giving them each a glance.

You turn to Mary Jane as she’s called over by Gwen, who has returned to the rooftop with some food. She heads over, carrying Mayday away and leaving you with Peter B. alone. You raise an eyebrow as he stares at you. He shakes his head and smiles, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“Kid… I don’t know how you did it but… I’m glad,” he says as the two of you stare at Miguel. He’s still caught up with Noir and Spider-Ham, but seems to feel the gazes because he looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows furrow as he realizes you’re not near him anymore. Peter looks away, trying to hide the fact that he was staring. You, however, continue to stare back at Miguel. He meets your gaze before his eyes, subtly and without your knowledge, follow Peter’s arm around your shoulder. He gives you a slight nod before turning back to Noir and Porker.

“He offered. I didn't ask him,” you tell Peter B. quietly once Miguel has turned his attention back to the two men.

Peter nods, smiling. “He's… I'm just really happy for him and for you.”

You smile at him, remembering his talk from Thanksgiving, when he told you that he was happy you and Miguel were moving forward and had each other after being closed off and distanced from others for so long.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods.

“I just hope… You know what this means. It’s a big step for Miguel, Y/N. A very big one. And I’m so proud of him. And of you. The two of you have come so far and - ugh, I’m growing sentimental, aren’t I?” he asks with a soft groan. “I already had to stop myself earlier, just thinking about another year passing and Mayday growing up too fast for my liking but I just - I’m proud of Miguel, you, and all of us. And, I feel good about the future. About this new year, you know? I think we’re going to be okay,” he says as the two of you watch the other spiderlings swing back to the rooftop. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“I have a good feeling, too,” you answer before you repeat his words. “Everything is going to be okay.”

“Hey! I got the flan!” Miles says, waving you and Peter B. over.

You chuckle and nudge Peter B.. “C’mon, your favorite. You better hurry up before I eat it all.”

“I’ve already eaten two slices, I don’t think I can - or should - eat another one,” he replies with a frown.

“More for me,” you answer as the two of you head over to the group where food is being passed out.

You end up taking a seat on the edge of the rooftop with a plate on your lap. Once settled, you gesture to Miguel to join you and wait for him, shivering slightly as a cold breeze hits you. You’re surprised when you feel something being wrapped around your neck before the fabric rolls down your front - a scarf, Miguel’s to be specific. You look up at him as he takes a seat next to you, opting to sit on the side from which the breeze is coming from, and not by accident. Miguel purposely chooses this side to shield you from the breeze with his own frame.

“Your scarf,” you tell him quietly as you hear your friends talking in the back, though you pay no attention.

“You’re cold,” Miguel simply answers as he brings a piece of flan to his mouth with a fork, avoiding your gaze.

You nod. “If you need it back, please let me know.”

He turns to look at you again, nodding. “This flan is amazing. No wonder Peter had two slices.”

You chuckle as you bring your own fork to your mouth but stop halfway as Miguel’s words truly sink in about Peter and the flan. Did Miguel hear what Peter and you were talking about previously? You look over at him but his face reveals nothing.

All your friends end up sitting on the edge of the rooftop to eat, joining Miguel and you. You notice Miles sits on Miguel’s other side, keeping enough distance to respect his tío’s boundaries. You look at yourself, realizing you’re too close to him, so you subtly shift over, moving closer to Margo, who raises an eyebrow at you. You shrug and keep eating as someone says there’s only forty minutes left before the new year.

As you eat, your friends share funny things that have happened so far after you left the party earlier with Miguel and you. You’re so engrossed in the conversation that you don’t even notice it until you bring your arm down from eating that Miguel seems to have moved closer to you. It becomes clear when you brush arms with him. You keep your gaze on the party scene, listening to the music the DJ is playing for the night. Your face reveals nothing but you’re silently thinking about Miguel’s scarf wrapped around your neck, the warmth from him being near, and how he’s blocking the cold breeze with his body, which makes you wonder if he did it on purpose. You realize, he did.

Your attention is redirected when you spot Mr. and Mrs. Morales from across the rooftop, waving at all of you. You greet them with a smile and a wave before looking sideways, finding Miguel giving a wave of his own and a nod of appreciation before he turns to Miles.

“Please give my gratitude to your parents for the invitation and the amazing food, mijo.”

“I- I will, tío. Thank you. I can already tell you they’re happy you’re here,” Miles replies gently.

Miguel gives Miles a nod, a hint of a smile on his lips that leaves Miles with wide eyes.

You turn away and continue to eat, smiling to yourself.

“I think I’m going to grab another slice of flan,” Miguel mutters to you.

“I think - I probably shouldn’t. I’ve eaten way too much sugar today and I’m going to pay for it later when I can’t sleep,” you reply with a grin.

“Well, you have the day off tomorrow, so you can stay up without any worries,” he replies, meeting your gaze. “I’m probably going to stay up late, too, so...” Miguel trails off.

“Staying up on nights like these is fun, especially with… amazing people.”

“I think so, too,” he replies, giving you a soft grin.

Caught up in your own little world, neither of you notice Miles’s parents still watching from across the rooftop, with a smile on their faces.

“Mira, she did it,” Mrs. Morales says with a soft smile as they watch you and Miguel sitting side by side, talking like nothing, even noticing the small grin the leader and founder of the Spider Society gives you. “I told you,” she adds, as they turn around to head back to the party.

“Well, we’re yet to see it fully happen” Mr. Morales responds.

“Con esas miradas… Jeff, be honest here,” she replies, eliciting a laugh from Mr. Morales before he pulls her closer.

“Time will tell, mi amor.”

Shortly after, you look at the time on your gizmo. There’s only twenty minutes left until the new year. You sigh softly as you look down at the next building. You decided to climb up to the next rooftop just for a few moments, especially when Miguel was approached by Spider-Ham again, apparently he didn’t finish his story earlier. You smile and shake your head as you notice Miguel’s eyebrows creased in concentration, looking down at Porker as the latter tells his story.

You look up at the sky, knowing that in a little while, it will be lit up by fireworks, welcoming the new year. You pull your coat closer, trying to shield yourself from the wind as you reflect on the year. It’s your first full year in the Spider Society and only the second year that you’ve spent with friends, with family, after being alone for three years following the death of your Peter, who was the last bit of family you had in your universe. You glance down at your friends, hearing their laughter and chatter as they move about the rooftop and before you know it, tears spill down your eyes.

You quickly wipe them away but more roll down your cheeks, making you turn away to prevent anyone from seeing you. However, a pair of red eyes have been looking after you from the moment you left the rooftop and they immediately notice your tears.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you - do you mind if I just - I need to check something,” Miguel says to Porker. “I’m sorry,” he adds as he’s already heading towards the wall, climbing it within seconds using his webs. He finds you on the other side of the rooftop, your head hanging low. “Y/N?” he says softly, approaching you.

You turn sideways and quickly clean your tears. “Hey, I’m just…” you manage to say. “I think this wind got to me, that’s all.”

Miguel frowns, walking closer to you. “Y/N…”

“I’m okay, Miguel,” you reply softly as you finish wiping your tears, turning to face him at last. You give him a small smile, eyes a little red.

The sight makes Miguel’s heart ache. He’s not okay seeing you like this and it shows on his face as his frown deepens.

“They’re happy tears, I promise,” you say at last. You walk over to the other side, looking down at your friends again. “I was just thinking about… All those years I was alone,” you whisper so softly, your tone carrying some sadness.

The sight of your teary eyes and the sound of your voice makes Miguel wish he could take your sadness away and make it his own.

“I went from having my little family and friends to having no one, and I’m to blame for that. I pushed my friends away, hoping that they’d be safer away from me. I don’t regret my decision but… I won’t lie. Some days felt… Some days were not great but now I have this,” you say pointing down at your friends. You turn to look at him. “I have…”

Miguel holds your gaze, his face expression softening. He gives you a nod, knowing that you’re deciding whether or not to say what you want to say and encouraging you to.

“I have you. I have all of you in my life and I’m so - thankful for it,” you reply with a smile as a few more tears roll down your face. “I’m sorry - I don’t know what got into me,” you apologize, wiping your tears with the back of your hand.

“Don’t apologize,” Miguel whispers as his hands balled into fists. He can’t stand the sight of you crying, even if it’s “happy tears” as you said. He wishes he could reach over and dry them with his hands. “It’s okay… It’s understandable,” Miguel says softly, understanding what you’re going through for he was thinking about it earlier. This year has been so different, so much better than previous years have because he’s had you by his side and the others when he has let them. “They’re…”

“A little family,” you answer and Miguel nods, smiling softly.

A little family. One that neither of you ever expected to have but you do.

“I’m sorry. I guess - I’m feeling a little sentimental especially after going to visit my loved ones,” you say, wiping some tears away and turning to face your friends below.

“It’s okay…” Miguel reassures you, stepping closer as you keep your gaze on the next rooftop.

You nod, trying to blink out the last tears. You don’t want to make Miguel uncomfortable nor dampen the festive mood, even if you’re not sad but just filled with gratitude for the amazing people you have in your life. Your thoughts are interrupted and you’re filled with surprise once again when you feel soft fabric pressed to one of your cheeks.

Miguel stands near you, looking at you with a soft expression on his face. He tried to fight it but in the end, his need to comfort you won over. Now, he gently dabs his scarf, the one still wrapped around your neck, over your cheeks to dry them.

You stand still, frozen by the act, as this is the most intimate gesture Miguel has ever done for you. You feel the softness of the fabric, and how gentle he dabs your skin with it. Even though there’s no skin-to-skin contact, you’re silently overwhelmed by the gesture - by the milestone - Miguel has reached just minutes before the new year arrives.

Noticing your cheeks are dry now, Miguel lets go of the scarf, letting it fall against your coat once again. He takes a step back, avoiding your gaze.

“I…” he starts.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you whisper softly, offering him a small smile of gratitude.

Miguel nods before his red eyes meet yours. You can’t help but notice his red cheeks, and wonder if it’s from the weather or from something else.

“Always,” he replies gently, giving you a soft smile.

“Mayday, this is how you throw a snowball, sweetie. See?” you hear Peter B.’s voice. “Now your turn. You grab it like this and - wait! Look out!”

You turn just as you see a snowball heading your way, straight to your face. You lift your hand to cover yourself but the snowball never hits your hand. Instead, it hits Miguel’s hand because he placed it on front of yours to shield you.

“Peter,” Miguel says, looking down at him.

“I’m sorry - I was trying to teach Mayday but man - she’s got a throw, doesn’t she?” Peter replies with a grin before he laughs, picking up Mayday over his head.

You laugh softly and shake your head. “She’s already so strong. Imagine in a few more years,” you say.

Miguel turns to you, happy to hear you laugh. He smiles. “It’s going to be interesting but… we’ll be there to help out with her. She’ll have great mentors,” he says as he notices Peter offering Mayday to Hobie to carry. The younger Spider-Man accepts, giving her a little salute.

You grin. “That’s true.”

“You guys coming down from up there or?” Hobie asks, glancing at the two of you.

You share a glance with Miguel before you both jump down, joining the group again.

“Five minutes left!!” Gwen announces as she pulls out little hats and glasses with different years printed on them.

“It’s the 2020s here. I forgot,” someone says.

Miguel raises an eyebrow at this. You turn as you hear Margo realize it’s the 2020s in Miles’s universe.

“You’re going to get to celebrate the 2020s,” you tell Miguel, since the 2020s in his universe took place decades ago before he was even born.

“That’s… true,” Miguel answers, realizing it as Gwen passes out hats and glasses with everyone’s year printed on it. He hesitantly accepts his from Gwen before she moves to you, handing you your designated year. You thank her and place the hat on your head, saving the glasses for later.

You look around as everyone puts on their little hats and glasses, finding Peter and Mary Jane fixing Mayday’s but she keeps taking it off. You smile in amusement before turning away to look across the rooftop, to Miles’s building. You can feel the energy change as everyone starts gathering in a group. Someone calls out the time over the the music, which is still lively. You sigh softly. Another year has come and gone but you’re excited about it. You weren’t lying to Peter B. earlier when you told him you have a good feeling about the new year.

Everything is going to be okay.

“Two minutes!” someone says.

You glance at Miguel. He’s still holding his hat and glasses in one hand, staring at the rooftop with Miles’s family and neighbors. There’s a thoughtful look on his face as he silently recalls years when his childhood home hosted large gatherings like this one. He also thinks about the one New Year’s he spent with Gabriella. She was so excited about the fireworks, tugging his sweater for him to look, much like his brother Gabriel did when they were kids. He sighs softly and turns his gaze to you.

“One minute,” Miles says just as everyone gathers around Miguel and you.

You smile at Miguel and give him a little nod as your friends start counting down out loud. He looks at your little hat, grinning softly at the sight.

“Thirty.”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Twenty-eight.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Twenty-six.”

“Twenty-five.”

“Ah, man. She keeps taking it off, Mary Jane,” Peter complains softly from somewhere.

“We should just leave it,” MJ responds.

You glance back, noticing Mayday in Mary Jane’s arms as she plays around with the glasses. Peter B. holds on to her hat, giving up on trying to place it on her head.

“Fifteen.”

“Fourteen.”

“Thirteen.”

“Twelve.”

“Eleven.”

“Ten.”

You turn back to the front, waiting for the fireworks to illuminate the night sky.

“Mayday!” Mary Jane calls out before you sense something coming your way thanks to your spidey senses.

“Seven.”

You turn and catch Mayday just in time, causing her to laugh. You laugh softy before she flies out of your arms and towards Miguel, climbing up his torso to his shoulders. Miguel looks equally surprised but ready to catch her just in case she falls.

“Four.”

“Three.”

“Two.”

“One! Happy New Year!”

You hear your friends and Miles’s neighbors and family yell just as Mayday slides a pair of glasses on Miguel’s face with the year “2024” on them. She doesn’t do too well of a job, making the glasses dangle from one of his ears. Muffled laughter fills your ears and when you glance around, you find your friends trying not to laugh as Miguel stands there with the standard new year’s eve glasses hanging from only one of his ears while Mayday sits on his head, giggling at the fireworks.

Miguel raises an eyebrow that sends everyone to the edge of the rooftop, pretending that they’re no longer laughing at the sight. You, however, don’t hide your smile even when Miguel turns to face you. Seeing your smile, Miguel’s own lips twitch into a grin.

“Smile!” a voice says out of nowhere. “Got it!”

You turn and find Lyla, floating in midair just a few feet away from the three of you. She very quickly displays the photo, showing Miguel and you smiling at each other with Mayday on his head and the 2024 glasses danging from his face.

“Lyla,” Miguel says, shaking his head.

“The first picture of the year, Miguel! For my new photo album. Happy New Year!” she calls out to everyone, appearing in front of your friends and quickly snapping some photos before she disappears. At the same time, Mayday swings away towards her father’s arms, who quickly wraps his arms around her in a protective embrace.

“She said new photo album. I haven’t found the other one,” Miguel says as he finally slides the glasses off, shaking his head softly, yet there’s some amusement in his voice.

“I’m sure one day she’s going to show it to you. Knowing her,” you reply with a chuckle and he nods, agreeing.

“You’re not wrong… Happy New Year, Y/N,” he says quietly to you as your friends are all hugging now, with a soft smile on his face for your eyes only.

“Happy New Year, Miguel,” you reply, smiling. “I wish you a wonderful year.”

“I wish you a wonderful year, too,” he answers before you receive the first hug from Gwen and Margo.

Miguel watches as you’re hugged one by one by your friends. The gang knows Miguel is not open to physical touch, yet, so they stick to wishing him a happy new year verbally.

A few minutes later, with everyone back on Miles’s rooftop to meet Mr. and Mrs. Morales, Miguel and you stand side by side watching Peter B., Mary Jane, and Mayday, who are in front of the two of you. The Parker's point at the sky for Mayday, showing her the fireworks. You smile at the sight, distracted by it.

“Your thermos,” Miguel says, taking your attention from them.

You turn to accept it, remembering the thermos just now since you placed it on the ground at some point during the night to free your hands. You smile as you reach for it with your gloved hands, careful not to drop it or touch Miguel’s hand out of respect for his boundaries regarding physical touch. You notice he has his mitten off on this hand, probably storing it in his coat’s pockets. As you reach for the thermos and slowly wrap your hand around it, you feel it. Despite your precaution to not touch him, you feel Miguel’s pinky wrap around yours softly. He gives your pinky a gentle squeeze before he releases it, letting you fully grasp the thermos and retrieving his hand once he feels you have a good grip of it. He looks down and retrieves his mitten, sliding it on again before he grabs his own thermos from the ground.

You turn to the fireworks, smiling softly to yourself as you think about Miguel’s gesture. You suppose this was his New Year’s “hug.”

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” he says softly.

“Happy New Year, Miguel,” you reply as the two of you continue to watch the fireworks in Miles’s universe for a while longer before you both return to Nueva York.

And just like Miguel said, he stayed up the whole night, with you keeping him company in his living room, and the record player playing soft music. **More café de olla was drank and more of your baked sweets were eaten as the hours went by in his dimension.

You don’t return to your own universe until after you have breakfast with Miguel, due to his invitation. When you return home, you make your way to your bedroom and hang up your coat. You change into fresh clothes and are thinking about taking a short nap as you start putting your gloves and scarf away. It’s then that you realize that you still have Miguel’s scarf. You forgot to give it to him when the two of you returned to his universe. You hold it in your hands, appreciating the softness of it before you tentatively pull it closer to your face, his scent filling your lungs. You put it on your bed and shake your head at yourself in disbelief before you enter your bathroom to freshen up.

At last, you climb into bed and set up an alarm even though it’s still morning. When you pull the covers, you accidentally pull the scarf, too, but instead of putting it away, you pull it closer before you settle down. You fall asleep shortly after, softly inhaling Miguel’s scent from his scarf. 🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆🎆

Next Part

Translations: Una taquiza - this is a like a taco buffet; the main dish are tacos and you can choose whatever meat and toppings you want Carne asada -grilled meat, usually beef Chorizo - pork sausage Al pastor - marinated pork meat; Agua de Jamaica - hibiscus tea café de olla - coffee made from a pot Flan - a dessert; custard topped with caramel tío - uncle mijo - literally means "my son" but is used as an endearment term friends, too Mira - Look Con esas miradas - With those gazes mi amor - my love _________

Posting this at around 10pm on my time, just before the new year. Wasn't planning on writing this but here we are! This is officially my last writing piece of the year. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support and love for Nonviolent Communication. I never expected for it to get this much support and love, so THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! It truly means a lot to me and it has been amazing having the opportunity to write especially for a character I've grown really fond of. I also want to thank all the amazing readers that have created fanart for the story. I just saw someone posted a new one and I'm SO HAPPY AND THANKFUL FOR IT <<<<<<3. I will get to it in a bit as I'm getting ready to hang out with my family but just wow. 🥺 I'm so honored and grateful for every single piece of fanart that has been made. If you haven't already, please go and check it out and show some support to the artists. You can find the fanart here! THANK YOU AGAIN!!

Also, thank you for the lovely asks and comments. I always enjoy reading and responding to them!!

Thank you for everything and I'll be back with part 12 very soon. I wish you all a Happy New Year, filled with all positive things!!! ❤️

-Alondra

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - epilogue

you know you never stood a chance series

epilogue: maybe light a candle

series masterlist | prev chapter 

Joel Miller x f!reader

Words: 2.9k

Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Joel hasn't come home yet. (this takes place about three years after the end of the main story.)

Warnings: established relationship, angst, christmas in the apocalypse, technically spoilers for tlou pt 2, mentions of breastfeeding (not as a fetish), found family, poor communication, oral (f receiving), postpartum depression, possibly violating child labor laws by using a baby as a plot device, pls remember I am playing fast and loose with both canon and the timelines lol

also on ao3

dividers by @saradika-graphics

It’s Christmas Eve.

Or, at least, according to the council. You’re not sure if anyone is really sure what the date is anymore.

But for all intents and purposes, maybe it’s Christmas Eve. The holiday is a thin, moth-bitten version of its former self, but you’ve never been the holly-jolly or the religious sort, so Christmas Lite suits you just fine.

Maria had invited you and Lulu to the mess hall for a big meal and activities for the kids. It was less of an invitation than an expectation, but you stayed home anyway.

And maybe it wasn’t fair. Maybe she wanted you there for the same reason you didn’t want to be there. She’s fucking tough, maybe the strongest person you know, but she has to be feeling Tommy’s absence today, too. It isn’t Aléjandra’s first Christmas, but likely the first one she’ll remember, which is worse.

But it’s more than it just being Lulu’s first Christmas. It’s that Maria had made a point of telling you that Ellie would be there.

You prepare to watch her leave for the night. The light pours in the window when she opens the shed door, and you know she can see your shadow haunting the living room.

You want Ellie to meet her sister. You dream of it nearly every night. But there’s no way in hell you’re doing it without Joel. It’d break his heart. You like to think she knows, at least. Someone (probably Tommy) had to have told her.

So when she climbs the steps instead of walking past, you freeze. Her knuckles rap against the wood, and you close your eyes. You can’t. You need to, but you can’t.

“Maria asked me to remind you that you promised to come by tonight,” she calls through the door.

She knows you can hear her. She knows you choose not to respond (but she doesn’t know you bite your lip so hard to resist that it bleeds).

It would be wrong. But the ache is so strong you’re convinced it must be a physical wound.

She leaves.

“There goes Ellie,” you tell the baby, as you always do. “She’s got places to be, but she loves you very much.” The guilt of keeping them apart makes you nauseous.

Maybe it isn’t true yet, but you think it is. You think, despite everything, despite the anger she harbors for Joel (and a fragment of that for you), that she already loves her sister. Even if she’s only the shadow of a sister spied through dark windows and across the street.

You wonder if she knows her name. Tommy had started the whole “Lulu” thing, and though it had grown on you now, it made you suspect he hadn’t thought to mention she had a real, full name.

Luna Luann. Luna, for Ellie, and Luann for Joel’s favorite tía, the one who smuggled them chewing gum and taught Joel his strong right hook when the other kids were picking on Tommy.

You’d take this secret to the grave, but you hated the name Luann. But when he brought up the suggestion, he had talked about her for nearly twenty minutes, and so you love the woman despite her name, just for the way she brought a little more of Joel out.

You thought they’d be home by Christmas. You’re trying not to worry, but worrying’s one of the things you’re good at. It doesn’t help that you’re still struggling. You’ve been told it’s normal, but these last two weeks with Joel gone have been so hard.

She’s cutting a tooth (her very first), and you can barely catch a break. You sleep when she sleeps, but it’s never enough. A few neighbors have been bringing casseroles still, and it’s the only reason you’ve been eating.

So, you think it’s probably understandable that you crumble after you watch Ellie walk away and Luna starts to cry. The lights are out except for the single candle in the front window. You keep it lit all night in case Joel comes home. A beacon.

If you had a widow’s walk, you’d be haunting it. But you’re not a widow—couldn’t be, you’re not even a wife—and he’ll be fine. He’ll come back.

Joel always comes back.

It might be Christmas Eve, and you’re slumped against the wall of your living room, crying in tandem with your infant. There’s nothing wrong, you checked. It’s so much worse that she’s probably just picking up on your mood.

You orbit around each other that way. She is the sun that you and Joel revolve around, but his absence has sent you both off balance.

The sun might be the more accurate comparison, but you usually like to say Lulu, your Luna, was your moon, and Joel was the sun. He disagrees. He says he’s the rock, and you are her light.

It was profoundly beautiful, but none of the concepts held up to the reality. The truth was that you were a constellation, but without Ellie, you made no recognizable form. Sagitta with one feather, an arrow that can never fly true.

When you settle down to sniffles and the errant tear, Lulu has fallen asleep against your chest. You creep upstairs and lay her in the crib squeezed between the bed and the wall.

The room was plenty large, and part of it had been set up as a nursery. But after she was born, you spent each night on the floor next to the crib.

Joel hadn’t been having that. After the first week, he sat you down and asked if you’d be able to sleep in the bed if she was next to you.

And then he just… built a second, smaller crib. One that fits right up against your side of the mattress. It was low to the ground, so all you had to do was reach down, and you could feel her little chest rise and fall, or scoop her up to nurse her in the middle of the night. She’ll grow out of it fast, but by then, you hope you’ll feel secure enough to move her to the big one just across the room.

You had been embarrassed. Didn’t want anyone to know. After all, mothers had been putting their children to sleep in different rooms for ages. But you weren’t afraid to tell Joel, knew if there was anyone in this town that understood, it’d be him (and Maria).

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with keepin’ your baby close,” he said, as gruff and blunt as always.

When Joel comes home, he finds you that way. On your side, arm dangling into the crib with Lulu’s tiny fingers wrapped around your own. He sat down and gently tapped your shoulder, trying not to disturb the baby.

“What’re you doin’ here, darlin’?” he whispers when you stir. You blink up at him through sore eyes, then smile softly, sending his heart skittering.

“You’re home,” you say, extracting your finger and sitting up to reach for him.

He wraps you in his arms, lets you burrow into the nest of his broad shoulders. “M’sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, chasing the words with a kiss.

“Tommy okay?”

“Yeah, he’s good. Just hit some delays on the way home. Bridge was out. I thought y’all were going to the party?”

You don’t answer right away. You know he’ll feel bad. That he does feel bad, that the guilt eats a little part of him each day. All he wants is his girls all together.

“I was,” you mumble, feeling the tears prick with a vengeance. “But Maria said… Maria said that Ellie would be there.”

Joel’s arms squeeze you a little tighter for a moment. “Y’know I don’t want to get in the way of you talkin’ to her.”

“I know. But after last time… she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore, anyway.”

“She’ll come around,” Joel says.

It reignites a new round of self-hatred, that he’s sitting here consoling you. After all, she had spoken to you after their fight. Sat down and told you she wasn’t mad at you, that she knew he probably didn’t even tell you.

And he hadn’t told you, hadn’t clued you in, trying in his foolhardy way to spare you the burden of the lie. And you were mad at him for it; you’d had your own spat after.

But you weren’t mad he did it. Not one bit.

He can tell you don’t want to keep talking about it, and that’s fine by him.

“You miss me, baby?” he murmurs, a teasing brush of his lips over your neck.

You roll your eyes. “Oh no, did you have to go two weeks without gettin’ laid?”

He chuckles, dark and raspy, as he reaches to cup your ass and squeeze, smirking when you gasp.

“And you’re tellin’ me those little fingers were enough for your greedy cunt? Like ya ain’t droolin’ for my cock right now?”

You whimper. He’s right. Two weeks is too fucking long for either of you.

He tugs you properly into his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, before he just stands up and carries you into the guest room across the hall. It’s not ideal, but if you leave both doors open, you’ll be able to hear Luna if she wakes.

“How’ve you not thrown your back out?” you grumble as he manhandles you.

He tosses you onto the bed, already peeling off his clothes and pointedly ignoring you.

He’s halfway through tugging his jeans down when he stops and looks at you. “What’re you doing? Let me see ya, sweetheart.”

You’ve long gotten over how easy you are for him. You only hadn’t stripped yet because you wanted to work him up. “You can see me just fine. Or do you need your glasses, old man?”

He takes the bait, shaking his head, before looming over you and running his hands down the sides of his old shirt you use for a nightgown. He barely grazes your breasts, just brushing the tips of your hardened nipples and grinning when you whine.

“Up,” he orders, tugging at the hem of the shirt.

You lift enough for him to pull it off and flop back down. It’s your turn to smirk as he watches the way your tits bounce with deep hunger.

And then he fucking rips the along the side of your panties and pulls them off, throwing them to the floor.

“Hey!”

“Shut up, you can sew ‘em back.”

“I’ve already sewn that pair twice, Joel. You’re a fuckin’ menace.”

“Is that so?” Suddenly his breath is hot against your cunt, and you clench around nothing.

“Uh-huh,” you moan as he runs one finger along the seam of your cunt. “‘Cause you’re a menace.”

“Only for you, darlin’.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Let me do a survey around town.”

He shuts you up by sliding two fingers right into your cunt, the stretch almost too much. Almost. But you don’t really notice because he buries his face between your lips, and any sassy remark comes out in a desperate cry.

He pulls away and gives you a warning look, head tilted. His free hand comes up to cover your mouth, thick fingers clamping down and digging into your cheek. It makes you moan, but it also muffles it, so it works out fine.

“If you want your turn, you gotta be quiet. Otherwise, I’ll just have mine and shut you up proper.”

You choke down the moan dredged up by the thought of his cock down your throat and make the saddest pleading eyes you can muster.

He rolls his, shaking his head, before he goes back to your neglected clit.

You’re close, so close when you hear it. You pat Joel’s head, sitting up. “Was that the door?”

The shift is immediate. Three years in town has allowed Joel to relax somewhat, sometimes, but he slips back into it in an instant. He pulls back, brow furrowed, squinting like it’ll help him hear better.

It comes again, louder this time, insistent enough for him to pick up. A firm knocking.

There’s a pause, but Joel’s already on his feet, pulling his clothes back on. He tosses your shirt over as he ducks out of the doorway and you’re slipping it over your head when whoever is outside grows impatient.

Rapid, furious banging rattles the door, and you dart across the hall to shut the bedroom, but it’s too late.

Lulu starts wailing immediately, her little face scrunched up, nose wrinkling, and tears pouring out faster than a faucet. You scoop her up and soothe her, cradling her as she finds solace for her hurt feelings and empty stomach.

Joel goes downstairs, partly to shut up the racket but mostly because the sound fills him with dread. When he opens the door, it flings wide, and the tirade begins immediately.

Ellie storms in, already yelling. “—could you? What the fuck is wrong with you? You won’t even let her come out for fuckin’ Christmas because she might see me?”

You’re going down the stairs as soon as you hear her voice, but she stops yelling when she sees you on the landing.

“It’s not his fault,” you say, face hot with frustration and raw hurt. You hate the way your eyes water.

“Like hell, it isn’t. Maria said you were going to come, that one of you might actually have the balls to tell me you had a fuckin’ baby, and—”

“And I decided not to go, Ellie. Joel wasn’t even home. He didn’t know.”

Lulu has started to cry again, distracted from nursing by your ire. You murmur apologies, kissing the little tuft of dark hair on her head, and try to coax her back to your breast.

Ellie’s eyes are wide, and feet planted, ratty sneakers dripping filthy snow across the floor. Her mouth hangs open as she takes in the tiny, ruddy creature who finally agreed to return to her meal.

“Hey, Ellie. We had a fuckin’ baby,” Joel says after the silence hangs for a minute too long.

The bark of laughter that bursts out of her looks like it hurts, but she can’t fight it. The tension dissolves into absurdity and then tears.

Ellie sits on the ground instead of the perfectly nice sofa to her left. You come down the stairs and sit beside her.

You look up at Joel, and he nods. You wish he’d come sit, but he’s too afraid to break the peace. “Would you like to hold your sister?” you ask Ellie, keeping your voice low and steady.

“Can I? I mean… what if I break her?”

“She’s pretty tough.” Lulu is done eating, just suckling for comfort, so you pry her off your breast and tug your shirt back up.

Joel takes her without thinking, leaning her against his shoulder to help her work out the air.

Once she gives a satisfactory belch, he thrusts her at Ellie, who’s startled enough to take her without thinking about it.

You all hold very still. Except Lulu, who is blissfully unaware of the strife and coos up at her big sister. She bats a little hand at her face, smacking her nose in an attempt to grab on. Ellie laughs, and her smile, her perfect smile that you haven’t seen in a year, breaks out.

You can’t help it; you start crying. Ellie looks up in alarm, but Joel shakes his head, moving closer to rub your shoulder.

“It’s not you,” he says solemnly, “it’s just hard, after.” He gestures at the baby.

“It is you,” you say, and Joel scrubs a hand over his face with a soft groan. “It’s—I’m sorry, I just—”

Ellie’s looking like she might make a break for it. She tries to hand the baby back to Joel, who refuses.

You get ahold of yourself. “It’s not bad, Ellie. I’ve just been waiting for this since she was born.”

Ellie softens and then scowls. “Then you should have told me. You should have told me you were pregnant in the first place. I said you could talk to me.”

“No, I couldn’t,” and you pause as she shoots a dirty look at Joel. “No, not because of him. Because I would have done the same damn thing, so you may as well hate me too.”

“What?” She seems genuinely shocked, which you don’t have the patience for.

“I would do the same damn thing. If I had been there, there would have been nothin’ in the fuckin’ world keeping me from getting to you, Ellie. Nothing short of death. Not then, not now. I’d do it for her, too.”

The room is stifling, and Joel hasn’t even lit the hearth yet. Your breath comes out in little puffs, and every one of you has wet, devastated eyes. Even Lulu, who looks like she might be the first to break into tears.

Ellie looks down and sighs. “So, Lulu, huh?”

“Actually,” Joel says, and chances a step closer, squatting down. “It’s Luna. Luna Luann. Tommy’s just an idiot.”

Ellie’s a smart kid. You can see the moment it clicks—the way she looks up at Joel with something akin to hope. It fades quickly, but you know he saw it, too. His own staggering heart, heavy with love unspoken, is betrayed in the way he has to fight a smile, choke down the relief. Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe next year, you’ll get a tree.

thank you all so, so much.

*title from "Alone This Holiday" by The Used

[discordantwords]

fic recs - november & december 2023

As we close out the year, here are some of the (completed) fics that I've read and enjoyed over the last couple of months. I feel so incredibly lucky to be a part of this fandom. Look at all these fics! What an embarrassment of riches!

4 Times Sherlock Proposed, & One Time John Returned the Favour by PipMer

5 Times Rosie Gets Into Trouble & 1 Time She Doesn't by Jaye Harriet

A Case of You by Silvergirl

A Midnight Clear by Khorazir

A Poison Garden, a Prize-Winning Leek, & a Corpse in the Maris Pipers by mydogwatson

A Wedding on Christmas Eve by PoppyAlexander

All Too Familiar by weeesi

Armour Plastique by 796116311389

Cold Inside by LoloLolly

December Moments by Lock_John_Silver

do not stand at my grave by rachelindeed

Don't You Mind by Goldt_39

His Very Last Vow by bozuri

Home by vitruvianwatson

Home is Where the Human Skull Is by theclosetenby

Locked Room by Calais_Reno

Lost Along the Coast by JRow

moon earth sun by orphicsun

Nothing Gold Can Stay by Raina_at

Nothing to Celebrate by discordantwords (self rec!)

Point Zero One Percent by amaruuk

Pretty Paper by stopthat

Relapse and Redemption by JennLynn77

Scream! by johnwatso

smoke signals by simplyclockwork

Stages of Grief by IwillbeReichenbach

The Adventure of the Reluctant Docent by mydogwatson

The Marked Man of the Emperor Dragonfly by Jaye Harriet (heed the tags on this one, MCD, not a happy ending)

The Skin Over My Heart by standbygo

The Way Home by Calais_Reno

The Wizard of Baker Street by Calais_Reno

Three Impossible Things by Snowfilly1

What If... by johnwatso

What should I do but tend by Ibbyliv

Wrapped Tight by CopperBeech

Yorkshire by lurikko

As always, be sure check the tags before diving in. If you've read something fantastic over the last couple of months that I've missed here, please send me some recs. Happy reading! :)