#space sisters secret santa 2023

[pascalispretty]

Old Holiday, New Traditions

Joel Miller x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: cowgirl sex, unsafe sex, Joel mouthing off during sex, established relationship

Summary: Safe in Jackson, Joel celebrates his first New Year's Eve in decades. (ao3).

Notes: My Secret Santa gift for @bluebeary-jay! Merry Christmas! My thanks as always to @misscharlielulu for her support.

Joel had never been one for a big celebration on New Year’s Eve. There had been a few parties with Sarah’s mother when he was younger. Later, he rang in the New Year with Sarah – sitting her on his shoulders to watch fireworks, or moving clocks forward to feign the moment of midnight for her.

After Sarah, he’d had no desire to celebrate. It was just another marker of time, the yawning gulf opening up in his life between her past and his present.

All the New Year meant to him was another year without his baby girl.

Yet somehow, between their arrival in Jackson in the spring and the approaching winter, Ellie had gotten him to look forward to it. She spoke excitedly of the party held in Jackson to kick off the new year. It involved weeks of preparation, and almost everybody in town pitching in to help. Slowly, the promise of the New Year was no longer something he dreaded.

And then there was you. You, who’d been in Jackson for longer and filled Ellie’s head with stories of New Year’s celebrations past. You, who’d somehow worked your way into Joel’s bed, and then his heart. He’s hard pressed to explain how you – bright, tender you, who still got upset when your neighbours’ cat left small carcasses on your doorstep – had taken to him so quickly.

Between you and Ellie, you convince him to attend his first New Year’s Eve in decades.

****

It’s late by the time the two of you head back to Joel’s place. It’s almost one in the morning, but the party in the Tipsy Bison isn’t showing much sign of slowing down. You’d left Ellie giggling in a corner with Cat, the two of them no doubt thrilled to have pulled one over on Joel about being ‘just friends’.

The snow crunches under your feet as you make your way home, your hand tucked into the crook of Joel’s elbow. The sound of the party carries far down the street, almost every resident of Jackson still inside. Only those on patrol, and those too sick to get out of bed, would miss it. It’s a celebration of surviving and thriving for another year.

“Make any resolutions this year?” You ask Joel teasingly. The air is cold enough to make your breath mist, and you shiver despite your warm clothes.  

“Yeah. Stop lettin’ you ‘n Ellie talk me into stuff,” he huffs.

“Oh come on. You had a good time.” You had caught him smiling at one point, watching Ellie dance with some of the other teenagers.

“Wasn’t terrible,” he says eventually. “Ellie looked like she had a real good time.”

“Yeah, she did,” you agree. “All the other kids seem to really like her.” Cat in particular, though you don’t say that aloud. It had been sweet to watch the two tiptoe around one another with all the hallmarks of an adolescent crush.

“It’s good for her. Bein’ around people her own age, bein’ able to have friends.”

“I still can’t believe Dina managed to get her to dance.” A smile tugs at the corner of Joel’s mouth again. His smiles aren’t frequent, but it’s a huge change from the intimidating, scowling man who had first arrived in Jackson over a year ago. Slowly but surely, you think Jackson is becoming his home.

In just the same way, his home is becoming yours. You’re spending fewer nights at the house you share with Dina and Rebecca. Ellie no longer reacts with any surprise when she finds you having breakfast at her kitchen table. You even keep a change of clothes tucked in the bottom of Joel’s dresser. You’d never ask Joel to put a label on whatever you are, but you’re not sure you need him to. As if to prove your point, he doesn’t even ask if you’re coming home with him; he just carries on walking right past the turn that leads to your house.

The noise of the party has long faded by the time you get to Joel and Ellie’s house; your boots crunching through the snow is the only sound you can hear. You and Joel stomp your feet to shake off the loose snow, and unlace your boots standing right next to the front door so you can step inside in your socks. Joel had imposed the rule about not tracking snow inside after Ellie had gone flying on the wooden floor left slick by snowmelt, and you’d both readily agreed. Joel takes your boots with him, doubtless to put them with his in the kitchen to dry off as you start taking off your many layers.

In just your jeans and a tee shirt, you make your way upstairs to Joel’s bedroom. The heat is on; it doesn’t take long for the warmth to come back to your feet and fingers. Turning into Joel’s room, you don’t turn on the main light. Instead, you light the candle on the bedside table, casting the room in a soft golden glow.

The candle lit, you move over to the record player in the corner. There’s a vinyl already waiting, so you simply switch it on and lower the needle. Soft, Spanish guitar fills the room. You’re flicking through the crate full of records when Joel’s strong arms loop around your middle. You can’t help smiling to yourself, resting your hand on his as he kisses the side of your head.

“Music, candles, you got me drunk…you tryin’ to seduce me darlin’?” He whispers against the shell of your ear.

“Tommy was the one who got you drunk,” you remind him. Joel grunts in acknowledgement, squeezing you a little tighter.

“My mind ain’t on Tommy right now.” He turns you in his arms, those dark eyes of his unfathomable as he looks down at you. “I’m more concerned with how I can thank my girl.”

Before you can respond, he leans in and kisses you. It’s a soft kiss, barely more than a peck. It’s still enough to send the first sparks running through your veins. Joel brings one of his hands up to cup your jaw, his large palm warm against your skin.

“You looked pretty when you were dancing, baby,” he murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. A derisive snort escapes you.

“I looked like an idiot.” Dina had pulled you in to dance, some variation on a jig that had both of you collapsing into breathless giggles by the end.

“You looked happy.” Joel kisses you again, a little deeper this time. The simple statement fills you with a different kind of warmth, and you make a contented sound against his full lips. You loop your arms around his neck, trying to get as close to him as you can. He holds you tight, and not for the first time you’re struck by the contrast in his sheer strength, and the gentleness with which he handles you.

The hand at your waist creeps below the hem of your shirt, sliding up to cup the weight of your breast. Even over your bra, his touch makes you shudder.

“Off,” he huffs impatiently, breaking the kiss to pull your tee shirt up and over your head. You start in on the buttons of his flannel shirt, doing your best to concentrate as Joel brushes your hair back over your shoulder and starts kissing your neck. His stubble prickles at your delicate skin and his lips immediately kiss away the sting.

The heat of arousal floods through your body, your fingers skittering over the small buttons. It takes you longer than it should to get the navy shirt off him, followed swiftly by the soft grey tee shirt he had on underneath. You can feel his cock starting to stiffen against your belly, and it only adds to the tingling sensation under your skin as your nerve endings set alight.

Joel steers you both back towards the bed, the two of you shedding your remaining clothes as quickly as you can. He settles himself into bed, leaning back against the headboard as he helps you into his lap. You sigh softly as you settle on his thighs, one of your hands curling around the wood of the headboard and the other finding Joel’s shoulder.

 “You’re so pretty, baby,” Joel murmurs, his hands warm on your hips. He pulls you closer so your hips are flush with his. His cock, hot and hard, bumps against your middle, trapped between your bodies. He crushes you close in a deep kiss, tilting his head to slot his mouth against yours. One of his hands slides up to caress your breasts again, touching you with increasing impatience.

When you break apart, he leaves you gasping for air. Precome smears across your belly as you press closer to him. It’s not enough. You feel uncomfortably slick and devastatingly empty; you let out a soft, longing sound.

“Need you,” you whine, your fingertips skating over his stomach to grasp his cock. The weight of it in your hand makes you shiver. Joel uses his grip on your hips to encourage you up, rising up on your knees enough to be able to notch the broad head of his cock against your entrance. A hiss escapes through Joel’s teeth.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He exhales a gasp into the side of your neck, his breath hot on your skin. He bites into the soft skin as you start to sink down on him. You inhale the scent of his hair, the soft curls tickling your face as he trails kisses and nips down your skin.

“That’s it,” he mumbles against your throat. “That’s it, good girl, take it just like that…” His hands help you move. As wet as you are, he’s so much that you can’t take him all in one go. You have to sink down slowly, impaling yourself with gradual flicks of your hips. Every thick inch of him strains your muscles, but the feeling of fullness is glorious.

“Oh, fuck, Joel-” you manage, breathless. He makes a hushing sound, smoothing one hand down the line of your spine. It’s meant to be a soothing gesture, but it only serves to wind you up even more, your nerves fraying at his touch. He flexes his hips, somehow driving himself in even deeper, and you whimper into his hair.

Joel coils one strong arm around your waist, his nose pressing against the hinge of your jaw. He lets you catch your breath. When you give your first, halting twist of your hips, he stutters an inhale, the fingers on your hip tightening.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, his voice tight with need. “Ride me, go on.” He starts to move with you, meeting every slow stroke of your hips. Every pass of his cock stokes the fire in your belly higher. You cling to him, needing to be as close as physically possible. The room feels suddenly stifling, your world shrunk down to just your bodies on Joel’s bed.

Your pace had started slow, but Joel is beginning to move with growing insistence. The hand on your hip presses between your bodies. When his searching fingertips find your clit, you drop your head back like a puppet whose strings have been cut. It opens you up more to Joel, giving him easier access to the sensitive bundle of nerves at your apex.

“Need you to come,” he grunts, his thumb stroking across your clit. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” With every thrust of his hips, he works his thumb across your clit, setting you alight from within and without. Every shift and touch pulls you closer towards the edge. He mouths at your neck, your eyes fluttering closed as you writhe on his lap.

You start to move a little faster, chasing the high of your climax. Joel matches your pace, the obscene sound of your bodies meeting filling the room.

“Like that, that’s it, sweetheart,” he croons. “Good girl, baby, take what you need…”

“Joel,” you whine. “Joel, Joel, Joel-” You say it like a prayer, chanting it over and over.

It’s not long before he sends you hurtling over the edge, your orgasm hitting you so hard that you barely manage to hold yourself upright. The tension that’s been coiling in your belly snaps, sending molten fire pouring through your body. You feel him covering your face with kisses, the sensation of it far away somehow as you come back to yourself slowly.

His thumb keeps stroking circles around your clit, dragging out your climax. It threatens to push you into oversensitivity, and you whimper pathetically. Your cunt clenches around his length, the muscles unsure whether they want to pull him in deeper or push him out. The fluttering of your walls must get him there; before your brain can catch up to what’s happening, he’s pulled out of you.

It only takes a few desperate strokes of his hand before he’s coming all over your stomach. You feel ruinously empty, your primal need for Joel not helped by the ragged groan he lets out as he comes. He sits back against the headboard, and you watch the rise and fall of his broad chest as he struggles to catch his breath.

“Sorry baby,” he mutters, his thumb catching a pearlescent bead of come before it can drip down onto your cunt. He reaches for the stack of rags he keeps in his bedside table for this purpose, carefully wiping away his spend. You’re too tired to wash properly; instead, you simply let yourself fall onto the bed beside him.

Joel presses a kiss to your forehead before rolling over to blow out the candle. Taking advantage of the movement, you curl up behind him, spooning him. For once, he doesn’t grumble and protest and claim he doesn’t like it. He just rests his hand atop yours, and lets you snuggle closer.

You look down to see if he needs help as he draws the blankets over you both, and you notice the window for the first time since you came home.

At some point while you were having sex, it started snowing. It’s coming down thick, the world outside the window only visible in shades of white and grey. Tomorrow, everything will look fresh and new, the perfect start to a new year.

“Joel?” You whisper softly.

“Yeah?”

“I really am glad you agreed to come.” You rest your head against his back. It takes him a long moment to reply, and you almost wonder if he’s fallen asleep on you.

“I’m glad I went. It was my first good New Year’s in decades,” he says eventually. You snuggle closer, his back warm against your cheek.

“Happy New Year, Joel.”

Taglist:

@avengersfan25 @misscharlielulu @apenny4thots @its-nebuleuse @irishavengersassemble

[trashcora]

space sisters secret santa 🎁 for @thetriumphantpanda

So, time heals all wounds, I guess? It wasn't time that did it.

[bluebeary-jay]

Hold me close and hold me fast

Hi, my darling @always-andromeda!! I'm your secret santa from the space sisters server 🥰 I hope you're having a fantastic day and will enjoy what I wrote for you 💕 I tried to mix fluff and angst into your Joel prompt and it was tricker than I thought it'd be but hopefully I did it justice 😌 I wish you all that's best and happy holidays!!

Summary: It's been a long time since Joel was in any relationship and because of that he has absolutely no clue how to react to your affections. It culminates into an angsty conversation which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, fluff and angst, soft and shy Joel, hurt/comfort, established relationship 💕

Word count: 3.3K

A/N: dividers by @saradika, beta read by @reddedmiller ❤️

Twenty years ago, when the apocalypse started and Joel Miller lost his only daughter, he was certain that he’d never feel happy again. Time didn’t heal his wounds – he still thought like that when he was fighting for survival with Tommy, then when he was doing side jobs with Tess in the QZ… It was never going to get better.

But somehow, as he looked up at the massive tree he just helped the others set up in the middle of the square in Jackson, he realized that it could. It did. Now Joel had a home here. He had his brother back, he had Ellie whom he cared for like his own kid and he had a community that welcomed him into Jackson, people who didn’t know about the horrible things he’d done and therefore didn’t hate him.

“Hi, handsome,” he heard from behind his back and turned around to the most beautiful face in the world – the main source of his newfound happiness. You. His girl. “Are you done with work?”

He nodded with a small smile gracing his lips. You were the newest addition to Joel’s life, but the most precious one in his eyes. Unlike everyone else in Jackson (excluding his brother), you knew all about the sins he’s committed. And yet, you still chose him. Every day you continued to choose him, to envelop him with the warmth of your love which Joel wasn’t sure he deserved.

He’d never tell you, though. Not as long as you kept him in your heart.

“Yeah, no, we’re done. M’pretty sure my back will blow if I have to pick up or carry one more damn thing.”

Right at that moment Tommy walked by with another box full of tree ornaments in his arms, and huffed a laugh when he heard his brother complaining.

“Jesus, Joel, you really are gettin’ old.” He put down the heavy box on the snow and sighed, propping his hands on his hips and nodding at you. “You sure you’ll be able to put up with this grump?”

“Positive.” You climbed onto your tip-toes to press a kiss to Joel’s cheek, and he felt his skin growing hot under your lips. He turned his head to hide the embarrassment evident on his face, missing the slight furrow of your brows, but not missing a hearty laugh his brother let out.

“Aww, is the big, scary man gettin’ all shy from a little kiss on the cheek?”

“Get lost, Tommy.”

Tommy chuckled and bent down to pick up the box again. “By the way, you two have any plans for today? We’re makin’ a screening of some Christmas movies for the kids, and after that the adults will head to the bar. You should come.”

“Well, if you want to?” you directed the careful question to Joel, but he shook his head just slightly, causing you to smile. “But we actually have other plans for tonight.”

That was true, and there was no way Joel would trade those precious hours spent in your company for having to sit – or worse, dance – in a loud room full of half-drunk people.

“Sounds like somethin’ I don’t wanna know about.”

“We’re just gonna bake some cookies for Ellie,” Joel murmured when you bumped his arm lightly with a giggle. The irritation at his brother lessened slightly when he heard the sound of your laughter. “But don’t tell ‘er.”

“My lips are sealed.” Tommy winked at Joel, then shifted his eyes to you. “Enjoy your evening, lovebirds.”

“That’s the plan.” You took Joel’s hand in both of yours, beaming up at him with excitement. “You’re ready?”

“Yeah.” He inconspicuously let go of your hands to brush the arm of your jacket lightly, and then nodded in the direction of his house. “C’mon, darlin’.”

He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too harsh as he hid his gloved hands in the pockets, intending to blame it on the cold in case you asked. But instead of saying anything, you just matched his step and slipped your hands around his arm. Joel went rigid when you leaned your head on his shoulder, the side of your body almost hugging his.

Joel loved you like no one before and until he met you, he hadn’t been this happy in years. But there was a problem, a major one, in your relationship that he didn’t at all know how to address.

Because Joel didn’t have any clue how to react to all your touches.

No matter if they were tender or needy, brief or lasting, he always felt out of his depth. It’s been so long since he actually wanted to be intimate with someone that when the chance arose… he was at loss. You were such an affectionate person and he loved that part of you, he cherished all touches and gestures you graced him with – craved them even – but…

He stole a glance at you, wondering if you could feel the stiffness of his body when you were so close, but it seemed that you were none the wiser. He tried to will his muscles to relax, but it didn’t work and he still felt an uncomfortable feeling crawling up his arm.

The problem wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was supposed to do as your partner, but ever since Sarah died, he hadn’t had an opportunity to show affection to someone. Everything he thought about seemed awkward and incongruous, but he really didn’t want you to think that he was an inexperienced old man who didn’t know how to please – and in your case, love – a woman.

He did. In theory.

So he tried his hardest to show you in other ways how much he cares about you. He brought you gifts, whether they were knickknacks scavenged during his patrols or wooden figurines he made for you. He did what he could to relieve you of your duties, helped around the house and out in the town. He found time during the day to spend with you or at least just talk in passing if you both were busy.

But that still wasn’t enough. He knew that wasn’t enough.

Every damn time you cuddled, every time you kissed him or did something as simple as lay your head on his shoulder, Joel never felt better. He never wanted those moments to end, but at the same time he just couldn’t reciprocate, and it was tearing him apart, because he could see how hurtful it was to you.

“You’re quiet.”

Joel snapped out of his thoughts and looked down at you, noting that you’re almost at his place. He breathed a little lighter when he realized that he managed to go all this way without the need of pulling his arm out of your grasp.

“Is everything alright?” you asked with concern in your beautiful eyes and squeezed his bicep slightly, causing Joel to clench his teeth. “Listen, if you’d prefer to go with Tommy, just tell me…”

“Hey, I’m okay, sweetheart,” he assured you quickly and even managed to smile as if the guilt of not being able to even kiss your forehead wasn’t eating him alive. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with right now.”

“Just right now?” you asked teasingly, and Joel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.

“Listen here, you little tease…”

A bright smile returned to your face and you tugged his arm down so your lips could reach his stubbly cheek – and (only a little) reluctantly, he let you kiss him with a huff.

But the guilt of not telling you the true reason of his worries was still swirling in his stomach, making him feel sick for the rest of the way.

An hour and a half later the cookies were already done, and somehow the attempt to clean each other off the flour and the colorful frosting you used to decorate them ended up with you sitting in Joel’s lap, kissing him softly.

Not that he minded.

There was nothing as wonderful as the feeling of your lips on his skin, Joel was sure of it. It’s been an embarrassingly long time since he was with someone that made him feel like a young boy in love again, but your every gesture, every sound coming out of your mouth and every day he got to spend with you was just a confirmation of how lucky he was to have you.

Even now, as you were kissing him slowly and without any rush, he felt butterflies fluttering in his stomach. But while they initially appeared from the happiness and giddiness you were causing in him, the longer your hands wandered – and the longer his stayed uselessly at his sides – the worse and more stressed he felt.

“You know you can touch me, right?” you asked playfully at last, and the pit in Joel’s stomach grew almost tenfold in size. “It’s highly encouraged, actually.”

There was an actual question in your voice, which made him feel even worse. He should’ve known you’d address it eventually – after all, nothing went past you – but it still felt so awfully embarrassing to admit it to you. He was an old man, but felt like an inexperienced teenager who didn’t know how to make a woman feel good.

You moved to kiss him again when he didn’t answer, too lost in his own thoughts, but on instinct Joel pulled back – actually ducked – out of your reach. Immediately regret painted his face at the rejected look in your eyes, and he started to rake his mind in search for something he could do to fix it, but nothing came to him. He knew what you’d want from him – you’d forgive him if he took your face in his hands, kissed you with all his strength, let you know that you did nothing wrong… but it made him nervous just thinking about it, let alone do it.

“Sorry,” he quickly muttered. “I didn’t– didn’t mean to… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, look at me… What’s wrong?” You brushed some hair out of his forehead and Joel exhaled shakily, feeling weak in the knees at your touch. “Talk to me, baby. Did I do something?” Joel shook his head and you pressed your lips together. “Did something happen, then?”

“No.” He shook his head quickly, but he avoided your eyes. “No. Nothin’.”

“Joel…”

The room got too stuffy all of the sudden, the shirt on his back too tight and your body too heavy on his lap. Joel knew he was panicking over nothing, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t want you to see him like this, so unsure and embarrassed over his own insecurity and behavior… So he gently removed you from his lap and stood up from the couch.

“Sorry, I gotta… I need some air. I’ll be right back, alrigh’?”

“Joel.”

No ‘baby’. No ‘handsome’. The tone of your voice made him stop dead in his tracks, and he turned around to meet your sad, solemn eyes.

“Just tell me if you don’t want me anymore.”

Your voice, so small and weak, took him off-guard and for a couple of seconds Joel wasn’t sure if you really said that, or if it was just his imagination playing cruel tricks on him. He blinked several times, but you were still in front of him, sad and… oh, god, you were on the verge of tears.

“What?” He couldn’t help a curt, disbelieving chuckle that escaped him – which was a terrible reaction, he realized when you turned your head away from him. “I– I don’t understand.”

“You don’t ever want to touch me first.” You let out a shuddering breath and lifted your arm to wipe your eyes, and Joel realized with mortification that he fucking made you cry. “And when you do it’s only when I initiate it, but sometimes you just pull back and it… it makes me feel so unwanted. And I know I might come off as too clingy…”

“Hey, none of that.” Joel quickly made his way to you and sat back down, gazing at you with his brows furrowed in worry. Your face was tearstained already and you avoided looking at him, but didn’t pull back when he took your hand gently in his. “Darlin’...”

“Just tell me if it doesn’t work for you,” you breathed, your voice thick with tears which also welled up in your pretty eyes again. “I hate not knowing if I… if our relationship makes you happy.”

“Of course I’m happy, babygirl.” Joel lifted your hand as if to kiss it, but hesitated. He had half a mind to draw back, but you needed him now, and he needed to prove that he really loved you. So, tentatively, he pressed his inexperienced lips to your fingers, making you look up with suspicion dancing in your irises. “You make me the happiest I’ve ever felt.”

“You’re pretending.” The quiet accusation combined with you withdrawing your hand caused Joel’s heart to break and he opened his mouth to explain, but you didn’t give him a chance to. “I don’t want you to pretend now that I’m upset, I want– Joel, I need you to be honest and tell me if it isn’t working for you. You always move away when I try to hug you and during all this time we’ve been together I can count on one hand the number of times you kissed me first. I don’t…” you choked down a sob and a new wave of tears flew down your cheeks. “I don’t want to waste either of our time if that isn’t what you want. If I’m not what you want–”

“Sweetheart, you’re the only one I want,” Joel whispered with pain in his voice, moving so he could sit closer to you. “M’so very sorry that I wasn’t…” He searched for the right words, but everything felt flat on his tongue. “I’m sorry. For everythin’ I did that made you feel this way.”

“But why?” you asked pathetically, staring at him with defeat and sadness. “You never said anything and I wouldn’t try to touch you so much if you just told me you didn’t like it!”

“I do like it,” he cut you off with a firm tone, which caused you to stop abruptly. “I fuckin’– I love it when you touch me, darlin’. I’m dyin’ for you to keep doin’ it, but I…”

“You what?” you asked, softer this time, and Joel swallowed hard, nervous how you’ll react. But you had the right to know, so ultimately he pushed through his discomfort.

“I just don’t know what to do,” he finally settled on that. “I really, really love when you touch me, babygirl, no matter in what way.” He took another deep breath, bowing his head to look at his hands so that he didn’t have to face you. “But it’s been so long, damn decades, since I… since anyone touched me in the way you do. I never loved someone the way I love you. I’m very sorry, I just don’t know what I’m s’pposed to do… when someone…”

He trailed off, worried that he might break down and cry in front of you if he says another word, and he’d prefer to avoid it at all cost. The world outside was so harsh and cruel already, and you needed someone strong – a safe haven, a pillar you could lean on. He was that someone for everyone around him for the last twenty years, and even longer before the outbreak.

But it was so much different now. You made him feel safe and loved no matter what he could provide to you and it was almost scary how vulnerable he was becoming in your presence.

“...when someone cares for you?” you asked quietly. Joel nodded, and tears gathered in your eyes again, though now for a very different reason. “Oh, Joel…”

“M’sorry,” he whispered, his own vision also going misty. “I want to give you everythin’ you desire, darlin’. If you give me another chance, I promise I’ll try to…” He shook his head, defeated. “I don’t know. I’ll try to get past it.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” You scooted just a little closer and put your hand on his knee lightly. He looked up with anguish swimming in his brown eyes, not believing that you were still here and not already out of the door. You worried your lip between your teeth for a couple of seconds before inhaling deeply. “How about… I show you what to do? We can go as slow as you want.”

Joel slowly shook his head, not understanding. “...show me what?”

“You said you don’t really know what to do, right? So how about I show you exactly how… you know.” You smiled almost shyly, but it only caused Joel’s heart to beat even faster. “Where to put your hands.”

Joel was nodding before you even finished speaking.

It was embarrassing, really, how excited he got at this idea, but just the thought of your hands guiding his, demonstrating where and how to touch you, had him feeling weak in the knees and hot under his clothes. You smiled, almost with relief, and moved even closer until your thighs were touching.

“Here, just relax. We can stop at any time, just say a word,” you said soothingly, placing his palms on your hips and sending him a small smile. Joel wondered if you could see how red his face surely was, feel how sweaty his palms got. “Is this okay?”

“S’better than okay,” he breathed in something akin to wonder. “It’s easier… Everythin’ seems easier with you.” His chest was tight when he looked up at you. “Thank you.”

It wasn’t a lie. You did make it seem effortless, and though Joel could still feel the rigidness of his muscles and tendons, the tension was slowly melting away, replaced by a tingling warmth on his skin.

You gave him a reassuring smile and his eyes flickered to your lips almost involuntary. You noticed it, of course – Joel didn’t think he was exactly subtle with his staring – and cupped his jaw in your hands. His arm, practically instinctively, encircled your waist and pulled you closer before he could stop himself, but you didn’t berate him – in fact, you seemed delighted by his action.

“Now, are you going to kiss me or not?” you whispered coyly, brushing his cheekbones with the pads of your thumbs. Joel chuckled at your attempt to put him more at ease, but it worked and he leaned in to press – very, very carefully – his lips to yours. He felt you smiling against them and his eyes filled with tears from the overwhelming relief.

“I love you so much,” he murmured with his mouth only millimeters from yours. “So much, babygirl.”

You hummed a quiet love you, too, and moved your lips up to softly kiss his eyelids, then temple, then cheeks and nose. Joel almost wanted to cry when you started running your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp gently. It felt so good, your touch so nice and tender… He couldn’t remember when was the last time someone treated him with such care. Maybe never. “Next time it becomes too much, you tell me, got it? And I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

Your touch didn’t bother him now that he admitted what was weighing heavily on his chest for so long. Now, it felt soothing. Grounding.

So, so loving.

Joel held you closer, melting into your embrace, and claimed your lips in a soft – if not a bit shy – kiss.

There was nothing else he’d rather be doing tonight.

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒

ㅤㅤmodern!oberyn martell x f!reader

genre: smut, minors dni, modern au

word count: 2k

summary: when you accidentally blurt out one of the fantasies that you kept locked up in your head, oberyn is more than eager to oblige to your request.

warnings: piv, anal sex, first time anal, rimming, fingering, lots of lube and praise

a/n: we did a secret santa for our server space sisters and my giftee was @iamasaddie! Happy holidays love! I hope you enjoy this little smutty fic, I definitely enjoyed writing it 🎄🎄🎄

can you guys believe i couldn't find one decent image of a peach being fingered???? a shame really

**stunning divider by the amazing @saradika <333

Everything about Oberyn drives you crazy. 

The way he dresses, the way he smells, the melodic lilt of his voice—every part of him you adore and cherish. You’re undeniably lucky to have this man in your life and not only that but to have him as a partner is something you’re in awe of every single day. He satisfies you like no man ever could. He gives you every bit of himself. His tongue, his fingers. . . it’s almost as if the man was solely created to bring pleasure to you. 

But, despite all of that, you’re still not as open as you wish to be. You can never be as blunt with him as he is with you. He needs to drag your desires out of you. Tease you until you snap and practically shout at him to make you come. Oberyn doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he’d said on multiple occasions how much he enjoyed it. 

“Look at you so wet around my cock,” he purrs, the back of his tongue hitting the roof of his mouth roughly on the word cock. Oberyn’s right. You are wet. Soaked even. Every time he rocks you forward you feel the wet fabric of the bedding scraping your outer knee. You moan loudly into the pillows, fluttering around him as he fucks, fucks, and fucks himself deeper into you. 

You’re not sure where you end and he begins. Sex with him is always like this. Mind numbingly beautiful. Satisfying. You feel the warmth of the Christmas lights framing your window kissing your sweaty skin. Your clit throbs. You don’t think you can hold on much longer. 

But just as you’re nearing the edge, Oberyn’s thumb traces the tight rim of your other hole. He slowly pushes in, only a bit, the stretch adds enough pressure for another moan to come tumbling out your lips, your upper body fully falling. Oberyn hums, his hips slowing into a sensual grind. “Does my sweet girl want me to fuck this hole next?” This is something that he teases you about more often than not. He’s never acted on it though. “So fucking tight.” 

He pushes his thumb till the first knuckle and it’s like electricity shooting down your spine. Your entire body jolts, the words leaving your throat before you even realize what you’re saying. 

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes yes yes—please fuck me there—” 

Oberyn stops. 

So does your heart. 

Fuck fuck fuck. That was meant to be a secret. 

“What did you just say?” 

“Nothing!” you answer quickly and high-pitched. “I—I didn’t mean anything by it.” 

Oberyn dips until his lean chest is firmly pressed against the curve of your spine. His lips touch your ear, his breath warm and inviting. The hand that was teasing your hole slips to the side to cup your ass. He kneads the muscle tenderly. 

“Are you sure?” he hums. “Why would you hide this from me?”  

“I. . . wasn’t. . .” 

“Ah, so you admit it is something that you want.” 

You let out an airy chuckle, “I hate when you do that.” 

“Do what?” 

“Just trick me into admitting things.” 

“I just asked a question,” he says innocently. It’s a bit hard to focus on his words when he’s cock deep inside of you. “Now, tell me why this is the first time I’m hearing about this.” 

Oberyn drags his lips down to the base of your neck and kisses you, your body melting into the sheets instantly. You’re glad he can’t see your face right now. You don’t think you can admit this while those observant eyes are looking down at you. 

“I’ve never tried it before. And. . . I was nervous to ask about it,” you take a sharp inhale. “I did want to tell you. I just—You’re already so much better at this than I am, I didn’t want to look even more inexperienced.” 

Before you know it Obeyn has you by the shoulders, twisting your body enough so that you’re facing him instead of keeping your head buried in the pillows. You chew on the inside of your cheek. He looks serious. Did you say something wrong? 

“Better at what?” he asks even though he knows the answer. 

“At sex.” 

“Sex is not a competition, and for what it’s worth you are good at it. And I love being your first when it comes to intimacy. You have nothing to be ashamed of,” he starts moving again, the heavy drag of his cock between your legs making your eyes roll. “But, if you are still feeling anxious let me prove to you how much I love being your first—and last.” 

Your lips curl into a small smile, “Last?” 

His smile is sinister. Teeth showing as he dips to your neck, taking a slow, yet sharp, bite. A whimper rattles your throat. “Is it wrong for me to want to humor the idea that I’ll be fucking you somewhere no one has before and that no one else will ever touch you beside me?” Oberyn pulls out, your body immediately aching to be filled again. “Get on all fours.” 

You oblige eagerly. Your arms are shaking as you prop yourself up, the inside of your thighs slick. Oberyn reaches for the nightstand and pulls out the bottle of lube. When he disappears behind you again you expect the cool feel of jel, but instead, you receive his mouth—and tongue. 

“Oh fuck—” 

“Be still,” he growls, gripping your hips. “Let me feast.” 

He swirls his tongue around your asshole, hot saliva dripping right against it. You shudder as he pushes it through, teeth grazing the flesh gingerly. Oberyn parts your cheeks with both hands and pushes the wet muscle deeper. Pleasure rakes your body, your core throbbing with need. You’re close. Just a couple swipes of his tongue and you’re already there, ready to burst. 

He mouths against you and when he deems you wet enough, he slips a finger inside. Your body tenses around him, the sensation foreign but not unwanted. Oberyn’s one hand cups your sex, fingers starting to draw patterns around your throbbing clit while he thrusts the fingers in and out. Moan after moan rips from your throat. The stimulation against your clit loosens you further. He slips another finger. Both knuckle deep as he fucks you with them. 

“That’s it. You’re stunning like this. Beautiful.” 

You fist the sheets, hips sloppily grinding back to meet the fast movement of his fingers. “O–Oberyn please. . .” 

“Oh you think you’re ready?” he chuckles and for some reason, the sound urges a fresh gush of wetness to roll out of you. “Tell me how badly you want me to fuck this sweet ass and maybe. . .” he groans. “Maybe I’ll give you what you want.” 

Your breath catches in your throat, “Please fuck me with your big cock Oberyn—I need it—Need you—” 

He hums and something about the way he moves makes you think he’s not satisfied with your begging. And here you thought you’ve been doing a good job. He pulls away both hands and drags them up your back, cupping your shoulders. You’re in near tears when his cock spreads your folds and grazes against your clit. “You want me to fuck you here?” 

Oberyn’s a cruel, cruel man. 

“N—No,” you whimper, shaking your head. “Not. . . not there.” 

“Where then?” 

“My. . .” Damn it, your voice is trembling. “My ass.” 

You say it silently, barely above a whisper. He hisses through clenched teeth, pulls back his hips, and snaps forward, fucking your thighs instead of where you really need him. “Louder,” he commands. 

“Fuck me in the ass—” you practically shout. “Please please please fuck me in the ass—I want to feel you—Been wanting it for so long.” 

You sigh happily at the feeling of a generous amount of lube being poured down from the bottle and directly onto your hole. Oberyn pours some into his palm, jerking himself until he’s fully coated in lube. The bulbous head of his cock teases your hole, your back arches for him, urging him to go on. 

He fills you inch by glorious inch. The sounds he’s making behind you are downright sinful—your body reacts to his sweet moans, your name falling from his lips. You feel so full. Once again your upper body falls to the sheets, your poor arms too weak to support yourself any longer. Oberyn keeps your ass up in the air, still pushing his cock deeper. 

“So big,” you slur, your body feeling aflame. 

“Just a little more. You’re taking me so well, such a good girl.” 

Your body jerks as he buries himself a bit deeper, has he always been this thick? “Say that again. Tell me how good I am, please.” 

Oberyn blankets your shuddering body, holding himself still, he begins to whisper in your ear, “So good. You’re always my good girl, even when you do keep secrets from me. You’re the perfect glove for my cock. I am going to fuck you so good that your inside will be the shape of me.” 

Just as you get wetter and wetter at his words, Oberyn fills you to the brim. You choke around nothing, every nerve thrumming with pleasure. Your body squeezes him tight and when you finally loosen a bit, Oberyn groans. 

“Can I move?” 

“Please.” 

He squeezes your hips as he pulls out, the heavy press of his cock making you see stars. Then before you can gather yourself he’s pounding into you, stretching you to your limits. There’s a hum in your ears and vaguely you can hear him moaning your name. Your mouth floods with saliva, his teeth sinking into where your neck connects with your shoulder.  

Desperately you reach back and take a hold of his wrist. Your touch only spurs him on, hips deliciously moving in and out. The sound of skin slapping against skin becomes louder and louder. 

“Oh god,” you moan, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “I’m gonna come.”

“Can you come like this?” He asks genuinely. “With my cock in your ass?” 

You don’t think you can actually. Your close. So very close that you can taste your orgasm on your tongue, but you just need a bit more, just a little touch—

“Do not—“ Your hand stills, you weren’t even aware that you’d begun to move your arm to stroke your clit. “Tell me. Tell me why you want and I’ll give you fucking everything.”

“I—I need you to touch me.” 

Oberyn doesn’t make you say it twice. He’s stroking your clit with fast strokes, his hips in perfect rhythm with his thrusts. Hear licks you from the inside out and the pressure between your legs builds, builds and builds until you can’t take it anymore. 

It happens all at once, your body shatters into a million pieces as you shudder around him, his cock splitting you open over and over. Between your moans you can hear him groaning your name, telling you how good you are, how perfect. 

You feel the rush of wetness running down your thighs and Oberyn’s fingers that were so deftly circling your clit moves to your hip, squeezing the flesh. 

“That’s my sweet girl, coming so pretty with my cock in her ass—I’m going to come, fill you until you’re dripping—“ 

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Your entire body clenches, hugging his cock tight. Oberyn comes with a shattered breath and shallow thrusts, he pushes forward, balls deep. Another orgasm washes over you, your body thrumming with pleasure.

“Fuck—“ he rasps, slowly easing himself out. A shiver crawls up your spine as come slips down between your cheeks and down your thighs. He kisses the skin between your shoulders. “You look so good like this. So full of come.” 

“Wish I could see,” you hum. 

“Next time I will bring a camera.” He collects himself on his fingers and slips them inside of you, a moan deserts your lips. “Or perhaps I should fuck you again.” 

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks again. 

“Do not ever hide anything from me again. Promise me.” 

“I promise.” 

[guiltyasdave]

it’s the season

part of the space sisters secret santa 2023 - for @pascalispretty, merry christmas sophie! 🫶🏻

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

word count: ~ 1.8k

summary: Joel had promised his daughters that they would bake Christmas cookies this weekend - which turns out to be more complicated than he had anticipated. Fortunately, their new neighbor next door can help.

tags: AU! no outbreak, Joel has both of his daughters, FLUFF, hints at reader’s sad backstory but nothing specific, mentions of alcohol consumption, able-bodied reader, I think that’s it? Let me know if I missed something <3

dividers by @/saradika-graphics 🫶🏻

full masterlist here

follow @guiltyasdavenotifs and turn on notifications for fic updates

shoutout to @reddedmiller for holding my hand while writing this and convincing me that it’s not trash, i love you bby <3

It’s Sunday, one week until Christmas, and Joel Miller is beginning to lose his mind.

His daughters had been bugging him about baking Christmas cookies with them for weeks, and he wants nothing more than to make them happy, but while Joel is many things, he’s certainly not a baker.

Work has been hectic lately, which apparently led to him forgetting to buy the ingredients that the girls swear up and down they had requested several times.

He’s had to sent Sarah to ask one of their neighbors to lend them something twice now and by the looks of it, he’s gonna have to do it a third time. She groans and insists to take Ellie with her this time, complaining about how this is “sooooo embarrassing, Dad!”

You furrow your brow when your doorbell rings for the third time in half an hour, a slightly disbelieving look on your face when you open the door and once again reveal the young girl from next door standing on your porch, this time accompanied by who you think is her younger sister.

You only moved into the house a month ago and don’t really know any of your neighbors, except for the elderly couple that lives a few houses over. They had introduced themselves hours after you moved in and have tried to invite you to come to Sunday church with them several times, an invitation that you consistently decline.

You know the girls though, you often see them through your windows, constantly pestering their father, who constantly fends them off in a kind of gruffy but clearly loving manner.

The girl who had introduced herself as “Sarah” when she first came by thirty minutes ago to ask for baking powder smiles at you apologetically.

“Hi… again. I’m so sorry, do you by any chance have cinnamon as well?”

You can't help but laugh this time. “What are you guys even doing over there? I think I do, why don’t you come in while I go check?” They nod and follow you into your kitchen where you start digging through your supply of baking ingredients.

“Our Dad said he’d bake Christmas cookies with us today, but he forgot to get the groceries for it,” the other girl explains. “I’m Ellie, by the way.” You smile and tell her your name, then hand over the cinnamon to them.

“That’s very sweet of your Dad,” you remark, “I’m sure he’s trying his best.”

Ellie’s eyes fly over your neatly organized collection of ingredients and baking utensils, then her face lights up with an idea.

“Hey! You look like you’re a good baker and our Dad is really struggling to be honest. Do you want to come over and join us?”

“Ellie,” Sarah argues, “you can’t just invite people like that, I’m sure she has plans already.”

You don’t, to be fair, but you’ve never spoken to their father before, who’s rather giving the impression that he likes to keep to himself.

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude…” you begin, when Sarah looks around herself and notices that you don’t have any Christmas decorations up around your house.

“Or do you not celebrate Christmas?” she asks, “You obviously don’t have to come if that’s not…”

Your heart warms at how considerate the young girl is trying to be. “No I do, I just didn’t…” you trail off, not sure how to explain that it feels pointless putting up decorations just for yourself and that you don’t want the reminders that it will be the first Christmas in your life that you’ll be spending completely alone. You shake your head and plaster a smile on your face. You do like baking and maybe this will help getting you into the spirit.

“You know what? Okay, if it’s alright with your Dad, I’ll come over and see how I can help.”

Both girls beam at you and you follow them over to their house, where you find their Dad elbows deep in a mixing bowl with dough sticking to his fingers and swearing to himself under his breath. You feel awkward and definitely like an intruder but the girls’ mouths are going a mile a minute, explaining how you had soooo many baking supplies and that you had agreed to help them.

Their Dad introduces himself as “Joel” and you feel your cheeks heating when you notice how attractive he is up close. You had already thought that when you’ve seen him from afar, but now that you’re standing in his kitchen, it really hits you. Trying to snap out of it, you take a closer look at the dough that he’s fighting with.

“This needs more flour, then it’ll be less sticky,” you mutter, suddenly feeling a bit shy, and go to add it to the mix in his bowl. He huffs a “Thanks” and you smile, still fighting the heat in your cheeks but also feeling excitement buzz through you as your hand brushes against his when you pull back.

The girls kick back into action then, throwing several recipes at you that they want to try and you do your best to coordinate it all, running back to your place for ingredients several times, accompanied by an apologetic look from Joel every time, but you honestly don’t mind. His daughters are adorable and you’re having more fun than you’ve had in months.

Sarah turns on the radio and Christmas songs sound through the kitchen. With the music in your ear and the smell of freshly baked cookies in your nose, you feel at ease, comfortable.

When all the cookies are baked and thoroughly taste tested, the girls retreat to their rooms on the upper floor, leaving you and Joel alone in the kitchen. You find that you don’t want to leave, don’t want to go back to that big empty house where it’s just you, not now that you’ve basked in the warmth of this family home right next to yours all day. And just maybe, you want to spend more time with Joel.

“I have a bottle of pretty good red wine, shall I go and bring that? Half of my kitchen’s contents are here already” you joke and Joel laughs.

“I’m sorry about that, I’m usually better prepared, but work’s been crazy these weeks and the girls insisted on baking today, so…” He scratches his neck and you smile at him.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ve had a great time today. Finally got me into the holiday spirit a bit, I kinda really needed that.”

You walk over and take the wine bottle back to his place where you sit down in the living room, the Christmas tree that has been mostly decorated by the girls shining in the corner and the several strings of fairy lights that Sarah has spread all over the room glowing around you.

You feel a warmth and comfort that you haven’t felt in a long time, but also a kind of envy for this feeling of family, of how clearly this man and the two girls belong together, how their house is basically imbued with love for each other. A feeling that you’re not sure you’ve ever had, but that you suddenly find yourself desperately longing for.

“So…” Joel begins, a faint expression of uncertainty on his face. “Is it just you over there, or…?” You understand what he’s asking and nod, a wry smile playing around your lips.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s a bit of a long story, really, but yes, it’s just me.” The understanding is clear on his face and he doesn’t push you, sensing that you don’t want to expand on the subject and you’re grateful.

You still talk about both of your pasts, where you grew up, where you went to school, learning that Joel lost his parents when he was young, only two years after he had Sarah, how it had been just the both of them in the beginning, with the addition of his younger brother whom he speaks of with the loving kind of exasperation that only an older sibling can muster up, and how he adopted Ellie a few years later.

You finish the bottle quicker than you would like to, and when Joel walks you home and you’re both stood in front of your door, you’re drunk on more than the red wine, a happiness in your veins that warms you from within.

Joel clears his throat, his eyes trained on your face.

“Listen, I don’t want ya to feel pressured or nothin’, but would you want to come over for Christmas Eve? ‘S just me an’ the girls, nothin’ fancy, just-“ he shrugs, his hands buried in his pockets, “don’t like the thought of you alone in this house on Christmas.”

It might be embarrassing how quickly you say “yes”, but you can’t bring yourself to feel that way. A smile stretches across Joel’s face as he tells you “good night” and kisses your cheek before you step into your house and watch him walk back to his.

Christmas at the Miller household is one of the best evenings that you’ve ever had. Sarah and Ellie have gone all out on the decorations now that they have a guest, leaving twinkling lights, glitter and ornaments in every corner and on every surface, Joel makes a surprisingly good dinner, you’re playing board games with the girls that dissolve into fights between them most of the time, everyone is talking over each other and you’re all eating chocolate until you’re sick with the sugar high.

Late in the evening, with both of the girls softly snoring on the couch, tangled up in each other like two overly large kittens, Joel and you are sharing another bottle of wine. You feel so full of happiness that you feel like you might burst, a smile on your face that feels like it’s never gonna leave again.

When it’s time for you to go home, Joel stands with you and walks with you to his front door. “Thank you again, for inviting me,” you smile at him, “this was probably the best Christmas Eve that I’ve ever had.”

He nods, his gaze dancing between your eyes and your lips.

“Merry Christmas,” you murmur, butterflies erupting in your stomach. He leans in and you hesitantly do the same. Before you can overthink it, you cradle his face in your hands and pull him towards you, your lips meeting in a soft kiss.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers against your lips.

i hope you liked this!!! merry christmas and happy holidays 🫶🏻

[covetyou]

best in show

ao3 ⋆ masterlist

pairing: Dieter Bravo x f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: dual narrative, masturbation (m), voyuerism, drug reference (our boy is sober but struggling), subby Dieter, slight humiliation kink, very brief mentions of other sex acts (anal play, PIV, cum play), reader talks Dieter through a very nervy wank. word count: 3.7k summary: The Academy Awards, the most well known, well planned, film award ceremony in the world. So why is the host missing?

A/N: @agentjackdaniels happy holidays from your space sisters secret santa! sorry if this is a bit early for you - it's the 20th in my time zone, I promise! I went the route of award show!Dieter with a twist. Welcome to the Oscars, with your eccentric host - Dieter Bravo.

the suits mentioned are from SNL (blue, we're ignoring the yellow pants), the late late show (pink) and the tonight show (green).

dividers by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

"Bravo, you're up."

You rap your knuckles against the door again, hoping against hope that he just hasn't heard you and he isn't coked up out of his mind.

"Bravo!" you shout, knocking harder this time, as a voice blares through your in-ear. Fifteen minutes until showtime and the host is still nowhere to be seen. And it is your fault. You'd drawn the short straw and had been tasked with being his handler for the night, keeping him out of mischief and on time. Currently, it looked like you were failing at both.

"Right, I'm coming in!" You cannot be dealing with this shit. You're not paid enough.

You open the door, poking your head around to see if he's inside the dressing room, like he should be, only to find it completely empty. Stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you take in a deep breath and put your hands on your hips. Fuck. Whoever's idea to put Dieter-fucking-Bravo as the host for this years Oscars really needed a kick up the ass, and you'd be first in line to do it.

The room looks tidier than you expected. There's not an obvious illicit substance in sight. Sparkling water sits on the vanity, along with make up and haircare products. You didn't even know where his stylist is, but it was nice to know she'd at least been here. His clothes are still neatly lined on a rail - the first hanger is empty and you assume that's a good sign. It's got to be, right?

Except, Dieter Bravo is still nowhere to be found, and you've ran out of places to look for him.

The only conundrum is all the lights are still on. He'd left the room in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to switch them off, and yet no one had reported him frantically dashing out in a drug fueled mania.

Even the bathroom light is on. And the door is ajar. You think it won't hurt to check inside, or at least turn the light off. A place like this burned through electricity like nobodies business, but your compulsion to turn off unused lights wins out and you're heading toward the bathroom on auto-pilot.

You only hear the whimper when you're already pushing the door open, and by then it's too late to stop.

That's how you find yourself stood in the doorway, watching as Dieter Bravo furiously jerks his cock with his eyes slammed closed and his head thrown back. You could back out, you should, but instead you stare transfixed as his fist moves over himself, so lost in it all that you don't even think he's noticed you standing there. You really should go before he notices.

Making a quiet retreat you -

"Stay."

Your eyes snap to his. He's looking at you now. His hand has stilled, squeezing himself tight, and you frown. You shouldn't. You shouldn't have even come in, and you definitely should not be seeing this, and you even more certainly must not be considering his offer.

"If you want. Please."

The nod of your head is so small it's practically imperceptible, but he sees it and groans deeply, resuming his strokes on his cock. It's framed in vibrant blue, and you're reminded how he wouldn't even be here if he didn't have that suit. One of the conditions he'd made on hosting was he would get to have a "more exciting" wardrobe, and the green, pink, and blue you'd seen wheeled in on his rail earlier today certainly lived up to that.

It looks good on him. He looks good. Fuck. You really should go, why did you nod your head.

You watch him swipe pre-cum from his head and draw it down his cock. He looks painfully stiff, and you wonder how long he's been at it, if this is the first time today or if he's been jerking himself every opportunity. Either way, you're mesmerized, watching as his large fist draws up and back down his length. You should do something - go, say something, tell him to stop, join in.

Instead, you just stand there, gaping at it like a fucking idiot. Why is your mouth watering.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long," you interrupt.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

You hold back a laugh. From what you'd heard about Dieter Bravo, that was not a problem he seemed to have very often. You don't hold it back well enough though, and a small sound escapes you, triggering a shudder that you watch run down his back.

"Oh god."

"Did you -?" like me laughing at you, you cut yourself off.

You lean against the doorframe, attempting nonchalance as Dieter tugs on his cock, watching you as you watch him.

You dismissed him earlier, regarding him with indifference and not ever really looking at him. But, appearances alone tell you he's changed. No longer is there a sunken look to his face from too many nights spent out of his mind. He looks healthy, healthier than you've ever seen him, but he looks scared. Frightened, borderline terrified even. You know the only thing standing between him and pure panic is his stiff cock in his hand.

It's probably why he can't come, but is equally desperate to. And if he liked you laughing, well, maybe you could give him a hand without actually giving him a hand.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, and his strokes slow, becoming more deliberate and focussed as you talk to him.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't."

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, then looks down at his cock here it lays heavy in his hand. He spits, gliding the saliva across his length.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

The stage managers voice blares through your in-ear so loudly that you know Dieter has heard it. You purposefully hold the button on your mic as you watch him, making him pinch his lips shut to hold back his moan.

"I've found him," you say into your headset, releasing the button. Let it be known you are not bad at your job, and if anyone was going to find him first it would be you.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

"I do, I do, I need to - "

You're holding down the button on your headset again, and he audibly groans this time.

"He's in the bathroom."

When you release the button for the final time, you raise an eyebrow at him. His breaths are coming in ragged and heavy, his eyebrows pinched together as his eyes threaten to flutter closed. You're no expert, but you can tell he's close, and by the movement of his hand you can tell he's still struggling to get there.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, pleading with his sad, pathetic eyes. You'd be lying if you said all of this wasn't turning you on. If it hadn't turned your legs to jelly and you weren't grateful for the sturdy doorframe propping you up. If your panties weren't soaked through and your core wasn't throbbing just from watching and speaking. If you weren't desperate to take him in your hand, bend yourself over the sink in front of him, anything.

But there was no time.

With four minutes to go, you do the only thing you can.

"Come, Dieter."

He's due on stage soon. He knows he is. That very thing is the reason why he shouldn't be doing this, but the very same reason why he's doing it in the first place. He needs it, something, anything, to take his mind off of it all and to take the edge off. Six months of sobriety and too many people to keep him accountable meant he couldn't - wouldn't - turn to his usual vices, so this would have to do.

He's struggling. Any other day and he would've come already, maybe to the thought of some gloriously plush tits, painting golden tan lines with his cum. Or a tongue swirling expertly around his asshole. Or the grip of something warm and wet and hot around his cock that wasn't his own fist. But today, nothing is working.

The bang on his dressing room door startles him, not only making his whole body twitch, but his dick too.

And then comes your voice, muffled but so obviously you even through two doors.

"Bravo, you're up."

Shit. He's gotta finish fast, he can't go out here like this, and he can't go out there with nothing to relieve the panic coursing through his veins. And then his mind flicks back to earlier in the day, meeting you and shaking your hand. Your hands had been soft, and you'd smelled fresh and clean. It calmed him. But then you'd listed off everything you needed him to do and told him and his team to get to it with a sharp click of your fingers before stalking off. His cock twitches again, and suddenly he has exactly the fuel he needs to get himself off.

He begins moving his hand again, stroking his balls gently in the other. You've probably gone away, stalked off with your ass jiggling in your pants just like earlier. He grunts, closing his eyes to savor the image. You'd looked good. He can remember the clip of your sensible heels on the floor now. Fuck, he'd let you step on him with those shoes given the chance.

"Bravo!" Another knock on the door and another sigh. If you stay there knocking long enough, it'll get him off. He just knows it.

"Right, I'm coming in."

He knows he should panic. Knows he should stop, tuck his cock away, pretend he was just using the bathroom and washing his hands. But he doesn't. The threat of being caught, by you, spurs him on. If only he could get closer and just fucking come already.

The door of his dressing room opens, and Dieter has to bite back a moan. When the door closes again, he has to fight back disappointment until he hears your footsteps just outside the bathroom. He never fully closed the door, and there's no time to shut it now. He's so close.

"Oh fuck," he whispers, looking down at his weeping cock where it's gripped in his hand. It's rock solid, flushed tip oozing pre-cum that trickles from his slit and coats his fingers with every jerk of his fist.

Time drags on as he hears you walk around, looking for him. And then your footsteps approach the door and he can't help but whimper at the idea of you catching him with his cock in his hand.

His eyes slam shut, his head tilting back as he bites back a louder moan. He doesn't hear the door open, but feels the air shift, blowing a cool breeze over him that makes his dick throb in his hand. If the blood wasn't pounding out of his head so hard he would have heard your small intake of breath as you took him in.

He really should stop. But he doesn't.

And when you go to leave, he really should let you go, but he doesn't do that either.

"Stay."

You're beautiful, in a way that you wouldn't even recognize in yourself, but fuck are you beautiful. Even when you frown at him, eyebrows pinching together, you're beautiful.

"If you want. Please."

Dieter Bravo is not a begging man. Outside of the bedroom. Or the bathroom. Or anywhere else where his dick can get involved really. He didn't beg for this job, they'd approached him. He tried to make himself into such a diva that they'd retract their offer, but his agent was determined for him to take it and for once get some good PR under his belt. The promise of good PR did nothing to stop his nerves.

When your head does the tiniest of nods he feels like he could cry. Knowing that you're watching him - and, fuck, how attentively you're watching him - his balls draw tight, threatening to spill themselves before backing off. It's still not enough. Why the fuck is it still not enough.

"Please I-"

"You don't have long."

Your voice. It's like it's just been drizzled over his brain and is melting him from the inside out, turning his body to goo.

"I know, I know, I just - I can't -" he pants, looking at you with desperation. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows it's painfully obvious that he can't come if his life depended on it. And it practically does - if he didn't come and get out there as soon as possible, his career would very likely be over. He can see the headlines now - BRAVO ABANDONS OSCARS IN COKE FUELED FRENZY. If he still did coke, he wouldn't be having this problem.

"You can't what?"

"Come. I can't come."

He knows you try not to, but he hears your laugh. It's small, but coming from you, directed at him, it does things to him he didn't expect. He lurches forward as his whole body shudders.

"Oh god."

He squeezes his eyes shut again, hoping that this'll finally be it, finally be the thing that sends him over the edge.

"Did you -?"

He didn't come, that much should be obvious, he thinks. But then he's looking at you again and gets lost in your eyes as you watch him with such nonchalance that it makes him ache down to his bones.

"If you don't come soon, they're gonna catch you."

He groans, desperate strokes becoming slow and more deliberate as he listens to your voice. If you just keep talking to him he'll get there, and this will all be over and he can get out there and do his damn job.

"Do you want that? Do you want to be caught with your dick in your hand?"

"F-no. No, I don't." Liar.

"Then you've gotta be quick and come."

He nods his head frantically, and spits down onto his cock, watching as his hand glides up and down. He imagines it's your hand for a moment, smaller more delicate fingers pulling at his cock, smoothly moving back and forth in an attempt to get him off.

"If you're not careful you're gonna make a mess all over yourself."

Dieter doesn't give a shit about that right now. Just a little longer and he'll be there, he knows it. He just needs you to keep going.

"Fuck, don't stop. Please don't stop."

Five minutes - has anyone got eyes on Bravo.

It's muffled, but he can hear the words clear as day through your in-ear. The stage manager sounds pissed, and the devilish look in your eye as you reach to press the button to respond has him biting back a moan and stilling his hand on his cock.

"I've found him."

He lets out a shaky breath when you finally release the button again, his cock feeling red hot and angry in his hand.

"Didn't say you could stop. You still need to come."

Looking to you, he starts jerking his cock again and nods. "I do, I do, I need to - "

And then you're pressing down the button to speak into your headset again and he's groaning before you even speak.

"He's in the bathroom."

He doesn't give a shit if they heard. His knees feel weak and his eyes are ready to clamp closed, but he can't resist staring at you and that cocky look on your face as you release the button again. Your eyebrow quirks at him and he knows in that moment he'd get on his knees and beg you for something, anything, if only he had the time.

"Look at me."

Dieter looks up, feeling the desperation roll off himself in waves. He wonders if you can feel it, and if any of this is having any affect on you at all. Fuck, he hopes it is. He's going to come. He's really, actually, going to come.

Time's ticking, he knows it is, and his balls are getting tight and tighter again, he can feel them pulling up but he still can't -

"Come, Dieter."

And his vision goes white as he explodes in his palm.

You're staring at him. He can't believe he just did that and you can't believe you stayed to watch. And you talked him through it.

More specifically, you're staring at the cum splashed all over his shirt and how it's slowly but steadily trickling down the fabric. He's lucky he opened his jacket before pulling his cock out, or the whole outfit would be ruined. Dieter is so blissed out that he doesn't even notice, softening cock still in his hand and eyes still closed.

Until rapidly cooling cum drips onto the back of his hand and he's opening his eyes, looking down to the crime scene splattered across his shirt.

"Fuck."

The panic in his voice is obvious. People will be bursting in to collect him any moment, and there's one hell of a mess to clean up. But, you're a problem solver by nature, it's why you're so good at your job.

"Take it off!" you tell him, snapping out of your cock induced trance and gesturing to the ruined shirt.

"What? I didn't think there was time to-"

"I'm not fucking you right now," you hiss. "You've got two minutes, take it off, I'll grab another. You've got other outfits, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah the shirt with the pink suit should work. My stylist is gonna fucking kill me - wait did you say right now - "

He's alone in the bathroom, tucking his dick away, throwing his jacket aside and peeling the soiled shirt from his shoulders before you can answer. Usually he hides the evidence, but there's not time to stash the extra shirt anywhere when there's another sudden knock on the door. The best he can do is throw his jacket back on over his bare shoulders so at least he's not seen to be topless and alone with you as he steps into his dressing room.

The door swings open just as you reach for the hanger of the pink suit, stopping you in your tracks.

"Dee. They're looking for you," his stylist walks in, looking at her phone. She spots you first, before flicking her eyes to Dieter and pointing in confusion. "Oh, hi. Where's your shirt?"

He shrugs, shoulders rising high as you stare at the exposed section of his chest now on full display beneath his jacket. "Changed my mind about it. Looks good enough like this, right?" He checks himself out in the mirror and adjusts his hair a fraction as if nothing untoward had just happened.

You're starting to understand how he won his own Oscar all those years ago.

His stylist seems to be just as eccentric as he is, and is thrilled by the choice to go shirtless. You're not sure your boss will be, but before you can offer a different shirt, Dieter is being whisked away by the production crew, all with confused looks on their faces as they take in his outfit. Dieter takes one last look back at you, mouthing a quick thank you as he's dragged off to begin the show.

The 96th Academy Awards go off without a hitch. You're already hearing reports from online that Dieter Bravo is a hit, his opening outfit being lauded as unique and a breath of fresh air for a sometimes stuffy and overly serious award ceremony. You watch him out of the corner of your eye through two costume changes - both times watching as he leaves wearing a shirt under each of his bold colored jackets.

It's a chaotic, well oiled machine, and by the time all is said and done and after parties are in full swing, you're winding down and saying thank yous and goodnight to the crew who made it all happen. One last sweep of the dressing rooms and you'll be on your way home too.

Empty, empty, empty. And then you're opening the door to Dieter's dressing room, ready to flick the light off and put the building to bed.

Except, Dieter Bravo is there, a vision in deep emerald green, holding the messed shirt from earlier in the evening in one hand and scribbling a note onto the back of a small card with the other. He sees you enter, and looks as stunned to see you as you are to see him.

"No after party?"

He looks sheepish, almost embarrassed when he answers.

"Not any more."

Admittedly, it was perhaps a stupid question to ask a recovering addict. "Oh."

You both awkwardly stand for a moment, Dieter keeping his eyes locked on the card in his hand before he's walking toward you and shoving it in front of you. You take it just as he edges past you out of the dressing room.

There's a note addressed to you and a number, scribbled hastily in Dieter's messy handwriting.

"I didn't want to be too forward, I know these things are..." he trails off with a wave of his hand. "Was just gonna leave that here and leave it up to you."

I owe you my life. Let me take you for coffee. Call me? D x

Looking up from the note, you can see him hesitantly make an exit. Calling after him, he stops in his tracks, spinning on his heel to look at you with more hope than you expect he intended.

"I'm just about to close up, if you wanted to go grab that coffee?"

And so, at 11pm on the night of the 96th Academy Awards, you find yourself in an empty diner, drinking bad coffee with Dieter-fucking-Bravo.

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr

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[missredherring]

Wrong Until You Make It Right

Joel Miller x Plus Size!F!Reader

Rating: T

Word Count: 3k.

Summary: After a long day when his kitchen sink starts leaking, there's only one person he thinks to call. You make a house call and Joel gets a wake up call.

Contents: no outbreak!AU. No kids!AU. Co-workers to lovers. Power imbalance (contractor/subcontractor). Reader is nicknamed "Patches."

A/N: This is a Secret Santa gift for the lovely @covetyou!!!

I hope you like this, Lo. All of your prompts were great and I had a hard time passing up Dieter giggling about butt plugs, but I couldn't resist Joel pining over his pretty subcontractor plumber.

I was going to try and wait to post this closer to Christmas but I'm so impatient to give it to you!!

I know nothing about plumbing except for what Google told me. Not beta'd; all mistakes are my own. Divider by @saradika-graphics.

Joel’s feet are wet. Why are his feet wet? 

He blinks his eyes back into focus from where he’d been staring blankly at the dishes and looks down at the floor. There’s a small puddle at his feet which explains the deeply unpleasant sensation of wet socks, but not why or where it came from. He opens the cabinet under the sink and a few more trickles of water rush out to settle around his feet too.

He sighs, and for one sweet second he considers going out to his truck, getting the sledgehammer, and just smashing through the whole damn kitchen. But then he thinks of the work and money it’d take to fix everything after his temper tantrum and sighs again. He turns on his phone’s flashlight and looks under the sink. There’s the usual pipes and nothing is obviously broken, but there is a puddle at the bottom of the cabinet to match the one on the floor. He hears another drop of water fall as he closes the door. 

His head hangs between his shoulders and he squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. His phone is in his hand and ringing before he really knows what he’s doing. Your name is on the screen and his gut is mixed between the flutter of anticipation to hear your voice, and the sick twist of ‘oh shit.’ He shouldn’t be calling you this late after an even later day, but he has a plumbing issue, and you’re the one he always calls for plumbing issues. Ok, not always, but for the past year and a half you’ve been his plumber of choice. 

Your tiny voice is yelling at him by the time he makes up his mind to not hang up on you.

“Did he butt dial me or something? Man…” You’re talking to yourself and it sounds like you’re moving your phone away now so it’s his turn to call out your name.

“Patches, uh, hey. I meant to call you.” He says quickly. He grabs a kitchen towel and throws it on the floor, soaking up as much of the water as he can, moving it around with his already wet foot.

“What’s up?”

“I have a problem at the house. Kitchen sink is leaking.” 

“I just checked the kitchen pipes yesterday. Did something–”

“No, not at the site. At my house. There’s water all over the floor and–” He can feel the need to explain himself mix with the nerves in his gut and it’s an effort to stop the words. “Could you come over and take a look at it please? I know it’s after hours. I can call someone else.”

“Don’t worry about it, Miller. I’m leaving the site now, so I’ll see you in a bit.” You say and end the call. 

He’s left looking at his phone’s clock and rubs at the back of his neck, suddenly aware of his sore back and arms and the weight of tiredness behind his eyes. Joel takes the gamble and finishes the remaining dishes in the sink. He can give you the curtesy of a cleaned up workspace at least. When he’s done he goes under the sink again and turns off the water valve. 

Another hanging kitchen towel catches his eye as he straightens up and he tells himself that he might as well dry and put away the dishes while he waits for you to get here. Right after he changes his socks.

Headlights flash through the front windows and his phone chimes with a text. He checks it even though he knows it’s from you, and a moment later you’re knocking at the door. 

Joel saw you just this morning, passing you in the site’s upstairs bathroom as he left to meet up with the materials supplier. He already has the urge to give you a wide berth, to leave the room you haven’t even entered yet. As he opens the door he knows, deep down, that being alone with you is a bad idea.

You’re standing on his doorstep, still in your preferred work uniform of a t-shirt branded with your plumbing company’s logo and a worn pair of overalls. Sturdy boots are on your feet and you’ve got a tool bag in one hand as you shove your phone in a pocket with the other.

All of a sudden he regrets everything. Calling you was a mistake. You shouldn’t be here, all round and soft and looking like you’ve walked out of every dirty dream he’s had since he was a teenager just learning what to do with a stiff dick only steps away from his bedroom, his couch, his kitchen counter. Hell, he’d happily deal with his back and knees aching tomorrow if you let him fuck you on the stairs right behind him, or up against the door after he closes it.

You raise your eyebrows at him when he doesn’t say anything and just stares at you. “You said you’ve got some busted pipes? You’re gonna have to let me in if you want me to look at them, Joel.”

He nods and moves out of the way. His hand is fidgeting at his side, but he's happy to let it go, relieved that it hasn't done something dumb like reach out for you instead. “Thanks for coming over so late. I appreciate it.”

“You know, there’s a porno that starts out like this,” You say as you pass him, a teasing grin on those lips he does his best not to think about. “The genders are usually flipped –which is just a ridiculous waste of potential– but don’t worry, all I have in here are my work tools. I left my other tool bag at home.”

You laugh and it’s all he can do to force some kind of sound out of his mouth that he hopes to God sounds like a laugh instead of a groan at the thought of you watching porn. 

“I promise I can pay, no need for a trade of services.”

You click your tongue and give him a look over your shoulder. “Shame.”

Joel finally closes the door behind you, pointing the way to the kitchen. It’s the only other room on this floor with the lights on, so you find it easily and Joel follows you, watching the shift of your hips as you walk. He’d always thought the overalls looked good on you, hugging the lines of your belly and ass and making him want to pop the buttons at your hips to see how far down your shirt went today. He's seen it ride up your sides, revealing skin and rolls that his fingers itch to touch. 

They’re covered in stains and patches, just like every pair you own, but he recognizes this pair and that patch on the back of your leg. It was one of the first jobs you'd worked together and he was still keeping an eye on you, getting the feel of how you worked and how well you fit into an established crew all trying to get the job done on schedule. 

The denim had gotten caught just at the back of your knee on a nail that had been sticking out while you checked a pipe fitting. You didn’t care much, just glad the skin underneath hadn’t been caught as well. The next time he saw those overalls there was a patch over where the hole had been, the stitches neat and straight in a way Joel knew his mother would’ve admired.

He glances away from that same patch and the others that have since joined it when you set down your tool bag on the counter. 

“You said the sink was leaking?” You ask him with a curious tone. It was the same one you used when triaging plumbing issues. There's what the client thinks the problem is and what actual problem is, you'd told him when he'd asked about the obvious ‘customer service’ persona you used. He was good enough dealing with customers, but you had a way with them that made him wonder just how much patience with stupidity you had. He hopes it’s a lot because he’s feeling really stupid right now, as you give him another look.

What the fuck is wrong with him? He’s been in a hundred different kitchens, bathrooms, and houses with you, but somehow you being in his own home, in his own kitchen feels different. He likes to savor a pot of hot coffee at that table when his schedule allows for it. That counter is where he dumps his stuff from the day and shakes off his responsibilities as head contractor for a few hours before he has to do it all again. 

Now you’re here in the middle of it, and all his brain can do is wonder how you’d fit in those scenarios. Would you join him at the table, watching the sun come over the trees while you both wait for the coffee to cool down? Would you want something to eat first, needing something in your stomach instead of having caffeine first thing in the morning? Would you lean against him as you tug your boots off and take a moment to rest there, pressing your face into his shoulder tenderly before making a face and moving away to tell him he stinks? 

Joel’s done his damnedest to keep things professional with you, despite the attraction he feels, but now those lines are blurring. There's a familiar curl of desire starting in his gut and he knows he can't let his thoughts wander much more or he'll just make it worse. When he'd changed into sweatpants after getting home, he certainly hadn't thought he'd need the camouflage jeans could provide. He swallows and falls back into the safe zone of work.

“Yea. I was washin’ up and water was coming straight outta the cabinet underneath.” 

You hum and pull out a small flashlight from your bag. Clicking it on, you open both cabinet doors and go down on your knees. After a second you roll back onto your bottom to sit on the floor. He watches as the extra fabric of your overalls stretches over your thighs and the denim creases and pushes into you, and when you readjust to get more comfortable he can’t stop the thought of taking you down to the floor himself. The way you’d laugh at him as he’d wrestle with your clothing, trying to get his hands on any part of your warm skin he could until you took pity on him and helped, lifting your hips up into his as you move them out of the way for him. 

You’re up to your shoulders in the cabinet by the time he blinks the fantasy away and he catches the tail end of what you’re saying. 

“-- you aren’t trying to fix this yourself. Most guys think they can do it.” You say, your voice muffled and echoing at the same time somehow. 

He scoffs. He’d been hired to clean up the aftermath of underqualified “Mr. Fix-it’s” plenty when he was starting out and building up a client base to branch out into contracting. 

“I know enough to shut the water off and call someone who knows what they’re doing. I don’t mess with plumbing or electric, you know that.”

“Right,” There’s a pause before you speak again. “I’m surprised you called me actually, Joel.”

His brows pull together in a frown you can’t see. “Why’s that?”

“I get the impression that you don’t like me much. You’re always scowling at me.”

“I scowl at everyone.” He says, but you’re not wrong. He often finds himself scowling when he catches sight of you on the job. It’s not because of anything you’re doing, it’s because he has to remind himself to stop ogling you while you’re both at work.  

Instead of saying anything else you motion to the faucet. “I can’t tell much right now. There’s no giant holes or disconnected pipes. Turn on the water and let’s see what’s going on.”

He nods and after stepping around you he flips the faucet handle all the way back. 

It happens all at once. The only warning they get is gurgling and the interrupted flow from the spout before something breaks and it’s no longer a drip but a full spray of water coming from where it shouldn’t.

The handle is slammed back down and he’s standing there with his hands held up and a driving need to do something to fix the mess. You’re still leaning into the cabinet, taking a final look at things before he hears the squeak of the water valve being turned off again and you emerge.

You’re soaked. It’d splashed some onto his pants, but you’d gotten a direct hit. Your hair, your face, and down your chest: it’s all wet, dripping onto his floor. 

“Shit, Patches,” He’s all out of kitchen towels. “Hang on.”

You’re where he left you when he comes back, towel in hand. He can see how tired you are in the tight lines around your mouth, the dark circles under your eyes, and the way you’re slouching over your lap. He hands you the towel and you nod in thanks.

It’s a brisk rub down that leaves your hair even more of a mess and the way you hold the towel to your chest in an attempt to draw out some of the water that’s seeped into the denim makes him regret giving up the towel. He holds a hand out to you and helps haul you up to your feet, both of you grunting with the effort. 

“Well,” you start. “From what I saw it’s an easy fix. Just needs some new fittings and fresh tape. I know I’ve got the tape on me, but I’m not sure about the fittings. I can definitely take care of it tomorrow though.”

He nods and is trying to think of something else to say, to keep you longer, when you do it for him.

“Could you get something from my truck for me, Joel? I’ve got a bag of clothes, behind the driver’s seat.” 

“'Course.” He says and you pull out your keys from one of the numerous pockets in your overalls. He wouldn't have minded having to find them himself. Your truck is somehow neat and dirty at the same time and the bag you mentioned is easy enough to find. 

He’s jostling the duffel bag, shuffling the handles in his hand, back and forth as he comes in when he’s stopped in his tracks. You’ve unhooked your overalls and taken off your shirt. The denim is bunched at your waist, held up by your round belly and leaving your chest bare except for your bra. Joel doesn’t know what he’d do if you’d taken that off too, even though it must be wet.

There are red marks on your ribcage and indents on your shoulders where the elastic has pressed into you throughout the day and he wants to soothe them, rub his thumbs and fingers over the marks on your sides as he kisses your shoulders. 

You’re leaning so casually on his counter like it’s something you do all the time. Like you’re just waiting for him to come back. He knows you’re doing just that, but the domesticity of the scene you make is too strong deny and to keep blaming it all on the strong physical attraction he has for you. The thought is clear in his mind and it breaks through all the bullshit he’s been telling himself for the past year in a half: this is what he wants. To come home with you after a long day and spend the rest of the night relaxing together. 

His heart trips over itself and he understands that this is it. He can’t avoid it anymore.

“Here.” He says and you jump a little at his voice. He hands over the bag and doesn’t speak again until you pulled a shirt on. “I like you plenty and that’s the problem.” 

You're in your underwear in front of him with one leg in your own pair of sweatpants. You're bent over, your breasts swinging a little with your movement. There is no shy turning away, just a grateful shucking of wet clothing and he’s only looking at your face and eyes now. 

“You’re damn good at your job and I’ve been trying to be professional around you,” He pauses and rocks his jaw. Then he says your name, not the nickname he gave you or your surname or anything else. Just your name. “I like you a lot, as more than a coworker and these feelings haven’t gone anywhere in the time I’ve known you. If you’re not interested, this won’t change anything at work,” He promises. “But I’d like to see if there’s something there, with you. If you want to.”

He shuts his mouth with a click and almost winces as what he said comes back to him. If Tommy heard about this, he’d never hear the end of it. Hell, he might not have the smoothest lines out there, but he said what he needs to.

You pull your arms into your shirt and there’s movement under it before you’re pulling the wet bra out from an arm hole and tossing it on the pile of clothes. The sigh you let out is gusty and full of relief. 

“Thank fuck it’s not just me. You’re one stubborn man, Joel Miller, but I’m glad we’re finally talking about it.” You reach out to him and smile when he takes your hand. It looks small in his, and he can feel the calluses on your palm catch on the calluses on his fingers. “I’d really like that.”

It’s Joel’s turn to sigh in relief and he squeezes your hand. “I was gonna order a pizza. D’you want to stay for dinner?” 

You narrow your eyes at him and take your hand back to poke him in the gut. “Feeding me won’t get you out of paying for work, you know.”

Joel shakes his head and gets his phone out. “Not even if it’s from Ty’s Place?”

Your lips purse in consideration and it’s with a giddy feeling that Joel realizes that he doesn’t have to push down his urges anymore. He gives into it and leans down to kiss your pretty mouth.

It takes a second for you to reply. “...maybe if you get breadsticks too.”

He chuckles and kisses you again.

[thetriumphantpanda]

the gift that keeps giving | marcus pike

Summary | Isn't it just your luck to get the office hottie as your secret santa this year?

Pairing | Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Word Count | 1.4K

Warnings | Just... Marcus Pike being Marcus Pike, some flirting and general office banter and a steamy kiss but nothing explicit!

Authors Note | To my Cheese & Crackers. My Darling Friend. I hope this makes your festive season that little bit lighter. I hope you love this because I love you, to the moon and back and beyond. Thank you for making 2023 that little bit easier. Happy Christmas @undercoverpena 🧡

“That’s looking a little worse for wear.” Marcus, stood at your desk, waiting for his report, finger pointed at the very much dead succulent on your desk.

You look up from your desk, fingers still flitting across the keyboard as you race to finish the notes he’d asked for.

“It’s looking dead, Marcus.”

“I was trying not to rub it in,” He shrugs, running a finger over one of the branches, a look of remorse on his face when he snaps off and lands on the white of the desk, “But yeah, that’s very much dead.”

“Frank deserved it.” You shrug, eyes never leaving your screen.

“Frank?”

“Yes, Frank,” You nod your head towards the succulent, “You’re meant to name plants, makes you more attached to them, more likely to care properly for them,” Another shrug of your shoulders, “Now look at him, showing me up as a bad mother.”

Marcus can’t help but chuckle a little, “You’ll have to get yourself another.”

“If I can’t keep a succulent alive,” You sigh, fingers slowing ever-so-slightly on the keyboard, “There isn’t much hope for anything else.”

“I believe in you.” He offers.

You stare at him through your lashes, a look that warns him that he needs to be quiet, “You know, the longer you stand there distracting me, the longer it’ll take me to type these notes up?”

“I always thought you thrived on pressure?” He teases, reminding you of a conversation a few months ago where you’d admitted that the best work you produce is always to a time crunch.

“Marcus, respectfully,” You finally look up at him properly, “You need to leave me alone, if you go and sit down in your office and leave me to it, this report will be on your desk in the next twenty minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You’re late.” Your voice is monotone as Marcus hurries out of the elevator.

“I know.” He’s stressed, twenty minutes late to his debrief meeting.

“I told you last night what time you needed to be here.”

He runs a hand over his face, taking the manila file from your hand, flicking through it to make sure he knows what the fuck is going on right now.

“I’ve just moved.”

You sigh, shake your head, but keep up his pace as you race through the office, “What’s that got to do with you being late?”

“The fridge magnet,” He offers, as if you’ll know exactly what he’s talking about, “I lost it when I moved.”

“Am I supposed to make the link myself?”

He stops at his desk, blindly opening drawers, rooting through papers to try and find something, “I used it to pin important things on the fridge, like when I need to be in to speak to the big boss.”

You shake your head, trailing behind him again as he starts walking again, “You can get a damn fridge magnet on every street corner, Marcus.”

“I know,” He says, a little breathless, as he finally comes to the meeting room door, “I’ll get around to it eventually, promise.”

There’s a small gift bag sitting on your desk when you come back from the Christmas lunch. There are an array of other gift bags and small wrapped presents on everyone’s desk. You sigh, flopping into your chair. Someone from the finance team is already passing around glasses of something fizzy, work clearly done for the day. Someone is hooking their phone up to the a speaker. You look left and right, making sure that no-one is looking, before you pull open the top of the back and peer in.

You can’t quite believe it, reaching your hand inside to grasp the pot, pulling it out. A scoff leaves your mouth, a small cactus sitting in a pot that’s been painted like a Christmas jumper. You shake your head, a laugh escaping as you drag a finger over the little spines, like you always do when trying to choose a new plant. You push the bag out of the way, setting the small plant down on your desk, right where Frank had been before.

You use your fingers to turn it around, setting it perfectly in place, when those familiar legs come into view, perfectly pressed trousers right in your eyeline, but it isn’t the legs you’re really looking at, although you do sometimes, it’s his fingers, pressing a fridge magnet onto your desk, sliding it across to you, a magnet that is now so familiar to you, having stood in that damn gift shop for almost thirty minutes try to choose the right one. One with a watercolour painting splashed across it, one that you know he likes, never shutting about what the colours mean and how it makes him feel.

“Oh my god,” You feign surprise, “Does this mean you’ll be on time from now on?”

“It looks like,” He’s got a smile on his mouth when you look at him, “Also means you’ll be able to get off my case.”

You smile back at him, “I’m pretty sure I’m the only reason you still have a job after your timekeeping this past month,” You tease, “But sure, if you want me off your case that bad, I’ll leave you alone.”

His attention moves from the magnet to the cactus already having pride of place on your desk. He picks it up, annoying you slightly as you’d just got it in the right position for you, “What are you going to name it?”

You raise your eyebrow, a knowing look in your eye, “It’s your gift, Marcus, you should name it.”

Marcus drops his head, a snort of a laugh breathing from his nostrils, “That obvious, huh?”

“About as obvious as this.” You bring your fingers to the fridge magnet.

You hold his eyes, watching as he thinks for a second, before he offers his name, “Vincent.”

There’s an actual laugh that drops from your mouth now, “You’re so predictable, Pike,” You shake your head, “Of course it would be an artist.”

He shifts from foot to foot a little, “You know,” His hand comes nervously to the back of his neck, “If it wasn’t for the damn $5 cap, I’d have gotten us a gift certificate to this restaurant downtown that I like.”

You breath catches in your throat slightly, because there’s no way, there’s no way that means what it means, “Us?”

“Yeah, I mean, if you’d like it of course,” His nervous hand running up and down the side of his neck, “I don’t need a secret santa to take you out.”

You shake your head a little, bite your bottom lip, “It’s funny, because if it hadn’t been for the $5 dollar cap, I would have got us tickets to the new exhibition at the gallery.”

Your words sink in, him realising you want him just as much as he wants you, outside of this office and the professional relationship you have.

“And what if dinner came with a kiss?”

“What if the exhibition came with one too?”

He’s taking hold of your wrist, dragging you from your chair, back out of the office and down towards the privacy of the alcove near the elevator. Your back, pressed against the wall, Marcus’ hands on your waist as his mouth finally slants over your own. It’s exactly how you’d imagined it for all these months, soft but sure, warm hands seeping through the layers of your clothes. And he tastes exactly as you thought he would, slightly sweet, considering his sweet tooth, and you can taste the beer he drank at lunch. It’s intoxicating. You slip your hands under the shoulders of his suit jacket, gripping the broadness of him as he pulls away.

“Gotta keep your hands to yourself,” He whispers against your mouth, “If you don’t we’re gonna be sat with HR in the morning.”

You bite your lip, leaning towards him a little to press your lips gently to his own, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, agent.”

He looks at you, fire in his eyes, “Go and get your things,” It’s a strict order, that floats straight to settle in your tummy, “I’m sure I can get us in for dinner somewhere.”

“Yes, sir.”

[jolalibrary]

no need for mistletoe

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: all of that led to this. The now. Eyes staring at him as he stands in front of you in a moss-green shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, curls not buried by a hat. “Hi.” “Hi,” you reply, before he’s ushering you in.

warnings: fluff, soft!frankie, first kisses, christmas vibes, lil’ flirting. brief mention of Frankie being a dad. wordcount: 2.6k

to @nothoughtsjustmeds - merry christmas from me, to you. you gave such amazing prompts, i tried to include as many as i could, and here it is. i hope you love this as much as i heart you.

When the cab comes to a stop, you find yourself outside of a very nice house, on a very quiet street.

Dropping your gaze down to the address on your phone, swallowing. Your nerves suddenly begin doing their thing to your gut again. Working. Gnawing at your insides as you flick your gaze back up to the number on the mailbox.

That’s when you take in the little ‘Santa Stop Here’ sign stuck into the perfectly maintained grass, the faux snow footprints which lead up to the porch and the array of twinkling lights that set this one out against all the others.

And, honestly, it’s just what you imagined from his home.

Not that it stopped the nerves from swirling, doubling up inside you—apprehension having begun to mount itself on top of worry.

Taking a deep breath, you pull out some notes, paying with a smile, before stepping out with a keep the change—and a Merry Christmas—and a slam of the cab door.

It takes everything within you not to yank the door open and get back inside. Even more not to turn and look at the driver, to not show how nervous you were.

Instead, you stare ahead. Steadying yourself as tyres crunched gravel, silence washed itself over you.

And then you were alone. No way of turning back—not without a phone call and another long wait.

Glancing around, you hover your eyes over the homes on either side of the one you’re standing outside of. Noticing the differences in how they’re dressed, how subtly was more one style and perfectionism the other.

This house looked entirely different. And, even if your fingers shook as you clutched your phone, a smile still managed to cut through. Your mind concocting images of the boys all banding together to hang lights, orders being flung—reminiscent of when they’re all attempting to train Benny (all at fucking once).

Biting down on your lip, you blow out a nervous breath—because you’re here now. No point in dwelling. You just need to walk up, rap your knuckles on the door and say hello. Simple. Easy.

Yet, it takes another minute to place one foot in front of the other. Hand stuffing your phone into your pocket as you—the heels of your boots catching on the stone path, cautious not to smudge the prints that lead the way to his front door.

It had Benny who had told you the more the merrier. But would more mean you?

You who barely knew much about them. Outside the version of them you see at the gym.

The one you had inherited, been given, had handed to you—it’s what your dad would have wanted being said when the keys—all heavy and scary—were placed in your palm. No business knowledge, just given the tip to be good to the regulars—the regulars mainly being Benny, his brother and his friend.

It had begun with letting him in at odd hours. Then you’d gotten Will’s number, for when he was in town, for when he needed access to the gym to help his brother train.

Then, when their visits became more routine, that’s when you began staying later to do “admin”—code for wanting to be around just in case.

The just-in-case is the reason half your wardrobe is dumped on your bed and your nerves are frantic from the cab ride over.

Teeth nipping at your lip, you second-guess the bottle in your hand—the little paper bag of treats you’d managed to grab before the store closed. You begin to re-question your outfit, whether you were over or underdressed, whether he’d be mad that his friend just invited you—

A flurry of thoughts, all rushing around like snow in a storm. All landing, thickening at your feet, burying you deeper and deeper in doubts and worries until you’re shrouded in light.

It’s warm, almost pearlescent as it illuminates the wooden porch you’re standing on.

It was cliche, very romance-novel the way the two of you met. Him having stepped through the gym door, lit up by sunlight, hands stuffing his t-shirt into the back of his jeans. All broad, loose curls and dark features—and a shy smile that only slowly broke out across his face.

From there it was little waves. Your eyes linger on his fingers, the length, the way they appear worn, weathered—and sometimes accompanied by a band-aid, sometimes close to skin colour and others with cartoons on.

It’s a while until names are shared and exchanged. Until you can put together an idea of the man who always wears a sun-scorched hat and clothing from a colour palette you’ve named him.

Then, you learn little things. That he likes listening to vinyls, that he has a son, that he likes the idea of working out but prefers to keep fit by building things.

What kind of things? Anything. Anything? Anything.

It’s how the conversation first began when he’d offered to build you a bookcase. A small one—easily tucked away behind the counter you’re often perched at and he’s often leaning against. Pointing out that he always sees you with a book, and that you must have a pile of them at your feet.

That’s when you learned he was astute, too.

All of that led to this. The now.

Eyes staring at him as he stands in front of you in a moss-green shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, curls not buried by a hat.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, before he’s ushering you in.

You hear the laughter from another room before the door is closed. Frankie hovers, taking the wine and the paper bag as you slide off your coat. His face flushed, eyes staring at you before you watch him swallow, mouth opening, but you beat him to it—

“Thank you… for not minding that Benny invited me over.”

Nodding, he smiles. “Well. I asked him to invite you.”

“Oh?”

Looking at his feet, he smiles—soft, more sly. “M’really glad you could make it.”

"Well, Merry Christmas Eve?"

Licking his lips, he seems to swallow. "Merry Christmas Eve."

There’s something intimate about photographs, especially in frames dotted around a home.

A sea of memories displayed, the stories there, but not quite heard. Not until someone is willing to share them, to animate the frame and allow it to make sense.

Your fingers trace the air close to them, lingering on unworried smiles, spotting the beginning signs of the lines you’ve come to admire.

In your wildest fantasies, you never thought you’d be here. Not as the hours ticked on, not even when the brothers bid their goodbyes, and you suggested going with them.

You don’t have to. No? No.

So you didn’t. Hovering in the living room as Frankie bids them goodbye. You hear the sounds of claps on the back, and boisterous goodbyes quickly hushed before they exchange plans for tomorrow. You’re distantly aware the door closes, and that there are approaching footsteps, but you don’t drag your eyes from the set of photos on the shelves.

“I’m sorry for… them.”

Grinning, you sip from your glass. “You don’t have to. I like them.”

Nodding, Frankie folds his arms, leaning in the doorway, your fingers still ever so close to one of the photo frames—one of five men, him in the middle, three out of the five recognised, the other two a mystery.

“Your son is adorable,” you say, glancing up at him, finding his eyes creasing as a grin adorns his face. “He has your smile.”

Letting the words wash over him, you take another sip, letting the taste coat your tongue, and smother over your bottom lip—all the while holding his gaze. The one unmoving, all unwilling to tear itself away from yours. It charges the air, and makes it vibrate. Forces the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up, and knots something in your stomach. All as heat blooms across the rest of you, up your neck, smearing itself across your chest.

Because he’s given you this stare a few times. But, never for this long.

Not this constantly, either.

It hasn’t ever made your throat feel this dry, not able to quench it even as you pour more liquid down it; it hasn’t ever quite made your ears burn, always just cheeks.

“You want to see my garden?” Narrowing your eyes, you watch him walk backwards, heading to his coat hook. “Heard you can see a lot of stars tonight.”

Smiling, you nod. Simple, fucking easily. Taking the jumper outstretched to you—fingers brushing over his, just lightly, a spark of something streaming up your wrist as his lips part.

A part of you, one full of longing and need, hopes he felt it too—wishing for it. More so, as you pull his jumper over your head, trying not to noticeably inhale as the warmth settles on your skin, and finds a home in your bones. You’re coated in him, both physically in his clothing and his scent. The one which lingers when he leaves your desk and you have always wished to bottle.

“C’mon,” he whispers, a twinge of nervousness to his tone.

So you do follow. Jacket under his arm as he grabs two bottles from the side—your hand placing your glass down, twirling the ends of his jumper around your fingers, letting him lead the way out, his foot propping open the door so you can head out first.

And he’s not wrong.

The sky is littered with them, soft twinkles thousands of miles away, looking down on the two of you as your warm breath makes spirals appear in front of you—slow wisps of steam that carry themselves to the few clouds floating past.

“You doing much tomorrow?”

You don’t know why you ask it, cringing inwardly. Because tomorrow is the twenty-fifth, and it’s obvious, even more so the more you think about it, that he’ll have his son. Likely to be somewhere for dinner from the conversation overheard.

Frankie steps closer, shoulder practically close to yours, recalling what you’d overheard, layering more information—sharing how he’ll pick his son up at lunchtime, bring him back to open presents, and then they’ll be off to Benny’s. He goes overboard, surprise, surprise.

Your laugh fills the air, somehow unsurprised until Frankie asks you what you’re doing.

“Um, well. I’m usually alone for Christmas—well, except for the other gym goers who also hate the holidays.”

Snorting, Frankie slides the jacket in his hand around your shoulders. Your eyes glance from the swings and slide to meet his gaze.

Iit’s warm when you do. All warm cocoa, digging into you, soaking you in something you’re trying to translate. Whatever it is, it makes your heart flutter in your chest, forces heat to rise up your neck again—kissing your cheeks, your ears.

“You should…” his hand rises, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighs. “Shouldn’t be alone.”

Rolling your lips, you gaze back over his garden—the small space you imagine only looks this good because of him. A small paradise, perfectly painted. Lit up by more strung lights and little lanterns plunged into different flowerbeds.

You smile at the swingset—the one made from mismatched wood. Your thoughts concoct an image of him building it, brushing his curls back from his forehead.

“You look really pretty,” he whispers.

And the words make your head turn, tentative, wary.

“Wish there was mistletoe.”

Your heart pounds and it distils the nerves. You don’t have to force it, it bleeds naturally over your lips—a smile which smudges over your face, and makes your hand place your bottle down on the ledge.

It’s quiet—oh, so quiet—as you turn to face him fully. Body turned, heart thundering in your chest, all suddenly empowered, awake, bold.

The thrum of one chance dancing with the blood in your veins.

“You don’t… you don’t need mistletoe, Frankie.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you let out a breath.

Letting it fog the air, swirling itself out into the night as you clutch his jacket around your shoulders, watching him move.

It’s breathless the way he says okay. It’s swallowed by the soft slant of his mouth over yours. It’s instant, the way warmth spreads out through you. Made all the more powerful by accompanying fairy-light touches to your skin, allowing your body to curl into him.

Then, it deepens, your lips finding his with more purpose, more intention. His palms cup your cheeks, and like his gaze, his mouth is like fire. It rushes into your mouth, filling your chest and fanning its way out to your outer edges. It’s dizzying, magical—almost worthy of a foot rising off the ground or floating away into the clouds.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, balling it in your fingers as it turns messy, needy—all heated and desperate.

Then, you both part. Barely a slither of space between both your faces, his eyes opening, smothering you in something which makes a tangled coil of need tighten inside of you.

“Wanted to do that for a while,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a while.”

His fingers lightly skate over your cheek, thumb drawing light circles on your chin.

“You got any plans for the 27th?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “Just the gym.”

“Okay. I’m taking you out on our second date.”

Frowning, you begin to grin. “Second?”

Dropping his hand from your face, Frankie places a chaste kiss on your lips. One that makes you want to chase him for more, but the growing gap following it prevents you.

“Yeah, the first is me going inside, grabbing us a plate with some pizza on, and sitting under the stars. If… if that sounds okay?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It sounds perfect.”

He grins, hand brushing over his chin as he takes a step back. Your hand digging for your phone, the screen illuminating, as you hear him pull open the back door of his place.

“Oh, and Frankie?” His eyes look over at you, wide, beautiful—a mixture of sudden worry and dread filling them. “Merry Christmas.”

Turning to flash him your phone, the minute just passing midnight, you smile—removing the fear in his eyes, making them widen, and grow.

He thinks. Ponders.

Can see it in the way his eyes narrow and a line appears between his brows. Then, the door in his hand meets the frame, and the soles of his boots hammer on the decking, before he closes the gap to you within four strides, your face in his hands, lips pressed to yours.

“A kiss from you is the best gift I could have ever have gotten,” he whispers, between stealing your breath.

Swallowing, you roll your lips—tasting the beer from his lips on your own. “And a date with you is all I wished for.”

an: i really want a pizza under the stars with frankie now

[always-andromeda]

⋆⁺. ❅ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 ❅ .⁺⋆

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⟡ Joel Miller x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ⟡ 3.6k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⟡ With Sarah away for the holidays for the first time ever, Joel is stuck without a single clue as to what to do for Christmas. That is when you decide to show him the most wonderful time of all. ♡

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⟡ Hey, Jana (@janaispunk)!! I'm your Secret Santa!! I really liked your prompts, so I ended up going with a little bit of almost all of them. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write some absolute tooth rotting fluff and hopefully you enjoy some of the creative liberties I took!! I am a massive fan of your writing so I hope from the bottom of my heart that you enjoy this little piece!! Happy Holidays!! (divider credits go to @saradika-graphics)

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ⟡ absolute fluff, bits of angst (Joel misses his daughter and has a hard time adjusting ;-;), no actual smut but there are a few suggestive moments (regardless, minors, please do not interact), no outbreak universe, mentions of Sarah sprinkled throughout but no mentions of Ellie whatsoever, mentions of alcohol consumption, non-religious celebration of Christmas, overall it's a decent helping of fluff with Joel learning to enjoy the holidays in a new way.

Sarah wasn’t coming home for Christmas.

When she had first called to deliver the news, Joel hadn’t known how to reply. He gave a curt affirmation and listened to go on about Christopher and everything pertaining to him. Christopher’s sister was going to take her shopping. Christopher’s parents owned horses. Christopher was going to take her to see a production of A Christmas Carol after having dinner at one of the nicest restaurants in town. Christopher, Christopher, Christopher.

The protective father in him was glad. Hell, he was overjoyed that she’d managed to find a guy who was so good to her. But the lonely, single father in him was…deflated.

For two decades she’d been home for the holidays. Year by year, no matter what changed, she was the one constant. There she was, dragging him off the couch to make cookies – because no matter how old she got, Sarah always insisted upon leaving some out for Santa. They’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate and for that moment in time…everything was wonderful. It didn’t matter how the business was doing or what kind of trouble Tommy had gotten himself into. Joel had his little girl. And for the longest time, he told himself that that was all he needed.

He tried not to let it bother him too much. Work kept him busy enough. He took pride in being one of the few contractors in town who’d take work with the holidays looming so closely. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to avoid the celebration forever. Especially when you started questioning, “What are we doing this year?”

For the last two years you’d joined him and Sarah on their yearly tradition: takeout and Christmas movies. It had been the time of his life, spending Christmas Eve with his favorite girls and waking up to you beside him on Christmas morning while Sarah made cinnamon rolls. And before Christopher came into the picture, he could’ve replayed that Christmas over and over again and he never would’ve gotten sick of it.

The first time you asked about plans, he evaded it, giving some vague excuse about not knowing what his schedule was going to look like.

The days flew by and your tone grew more impatient until one day, while you sat in the passenger seat of his truck, your question turned into, “Joel, what’s going on?”

He’d just pulled into his driveway. If he wanted, he could dodge the question again. He could get out of the truck and slam the door behind him, putting an end to the conflict before it even had the chance to begin.

Then he risked a glance at you. Already, your brow was furrowing in frustration. A solid pang of guilt thumped heavily in his chest. He really couldn’t afford to avoid this one.

“I just–” he hesitated, not knowing how to word it; not wanting to embarrass himself. “Usually Sarah would be home and–”

“Oh…” you trailed off, obviously detected.

Joel quickly added, “I’m sorry. I’m just used to her bein’ here.” You still wouldn’t meet his eye. He softened his tone before carefully taking your hand in his. “Listen, darlin’, it’s not that I don’t wanna spend the holidays with you. Believe me, I do. It’s just that I haven’t had a holiday without that girl in so long. I ain’t even sure what I’m supposta’ do.”

You nodded solemnly, voice quiet but rigid as you replied, “I get that.”

Joel sighed. “I raised that girl for her entire life. Every year I had to figure out what a girl her age might want for Christmas. An’ every single year she’d get all excited waitin’’ for Christmas mornin’. Gettin’ to see that girl smile as she opened up her presents…I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”

Finally, you spared him a look as he stared off into space, his eyes getting a tad misty from the memories.

He met your gaze, smiled wistfully, and swallowed the lump in his throat, “I just miss my little girl. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I’m sorry, Joel.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly and managed to put on a smile with pursed lips. Even if you didn’t understand exactly how he felt, he was grateful for the compassion. If he had told Tommy or one of the guys on his crew…hell, he didn’t think he’d have been able to express it in the first place.

But they wouldn’t have accepted those emotions like that. Tommy especially probably would’ve offered to take him out for a few drinks later to forget about it all. And sometimes Joel didn’t mind that. But something told him that this wasn’t something Joel could just drink to forget about.

You continued suddenly, “How would you feel if I came up with some activities for just the two of us? Every day this week leading up to Christmas, we’ll do one thing. And you can opt out on whatever days you want if you have something else in mind. Let’s just have a quiet, gentle Christmas, okay?”

Sarah was only going to get older. And if things with Christopher went well enough…there were going to plenty of Christmases without her to come. Joel had to accept that sooner rather than later.

And that was how the so-called Wonderful Week began.

Day one was simple enough, or so it seemed.

In all of his grief, Joel hadn’t really thought to put up the Christmas tree. After all, that was something he usually did with Sarah. And he’d done a pretty damn good job at avoiding anything relating to her for the first half of December. But if there was any hallmark of the season, a tree was most definitely the big one.

So he wasn’t incredibly surprised when he came home from work to see a massive box sitting in his living room.

“Hey, what’s this box for?” he called out in the house as he set his keys down in the dish beside the front door.

You emerged from the kitchen, smiling ear to ear, two whiskey glasses filled with a milky substance in your hands.

“Hey, you!”

“Hey?” Joel cocked an eyebrow, noticing the bright red Santa hat on your head. “What the hell do we have here?”

That only seemed to make you smile wider. Your eyes lit up as you walked across the living room and handed him one of the whiskey glasses. “What we have…is a brand new Christmas tree,” you answered proudly, pausing and waiting for his reaction.

Joel only squinted before stating, “I still got a perfectly good tree in the garage that you coulda’ dragged out.”

“Perfectly good?”

“Perfectly good,” he affirmed.

“Joel, remember when we put that thing up last year? Almost all of the lights were completely burnt out. Remember how we had to go buy a separate string of lights? And remember how much you hated putting them on and taking them off? You’ve had that old thing since–”

“Since Sarah was little,” he answered curtly.

“Yeah…” you trailed off. Your smile turned sheepish and Joel could practically see the gears turning in your mind, wondering if you’d stepped over the line. 

Joel shot another hard glance at the box that sat smack dab in the middle of his living room. It seemed to challenge him. Was he really going to get this hung up over an old tree? Or was he going to take this opportunity in stride?

He looked back at you. You and your little Santa hat with the white puff ball at the end resting elegantly on your shoulder. Then there were your hands, nervously fiddling with the smooth edges of your whiskey glass. His gaze swept up to your hope-filled eyes that were awkwardly searching him for some sign of tension. He couldn’t be upset at any of that. You were only trying to cheer him up. What kind of Grinch would he be to get upset with a creature as gorgeous and lovely as you?

With a deep breath, Joel spoke, “Well. If we’re gonna put this thing together tonight…might as well get started, I suppose.”

At that, your whole being seemed to practically glow. You set your drink down on the coffee table before making your way to the box to cut at the tape holding it closed.

Joel took a swig of his drink. Egg-nog spiked with something. Another sip made him realize it was Kahlúa. He snickered and shook his head.

That was another little thing you’d gotten him into. Joe was firmly a hard liquor sort of guy until you insisted that if he liked plain coffee, he should at least try coffee liqueur. Sure enough, he liked it. Most of the time you were right about stuff like this. And here you were doing it all over again with this silly tree.

Before too long, you’d both lifted each section of the tree from its cardboard confines and nestled them on top of each other before locking them into place. Joel normally hated fluffing out the tree, and it certainly wasn’t made any better considering it was fresh out of the box. But the liqueur and the Christmas music you’d turned on and had softly playing in the background added a little ease to the task.

The best part was definitely adding the ornaments. Thankfully, you’d stuck with the old box of ornaments that he’d kept beside the old tree in the garage. For a moment he was grateful you hadn’t gone as far as getting brand new ornaments too.

He liked the old ones ten times more than he liked the old tree.

Of course there were random filler baubles in various shades of red, green, silver, and gold. But the ones that got to him were the handmade ones. Some of those went back thirty or even forty years. He pulled out a flat clay sculpture of a dog painted in blue that had faded significantly over the decades. Joel ran his finger over the words on the back.

Thomas Miller, 1980

Tommy had only been seven years old. His art teacher had just fired all of the ceramic ornaments the kids made before going off for winter break. Joel only vaguely remembered the day his little brother came home with that ornament in hand. But he remembered all too well how every year since he’d hit adulthood his brother would take a little glance at the little sculpture and proclaim that it was the best goddamn thing he’d ever made with his own two hands.

“Because I made it for my big brother,” he’d say in a faux sentimental tone. But underneath the machismo and the teasing, Joel knew that it really did mean a great deal to Tommy. Which was why he was still hanging it up thirty years later.

However, the next one made him stop in his tracks. Joel carefully pulled the ornament out from under a layer of bubble wrap. Though it was also made by Tommy, 

Sarah’s first Christmas hadn’t been the easiest. Her mother had just left and money was tight. Joel had been taking every job he possibly could to scrape together money for rent and the necessities. Tommy was still in high school and had his own life to live, yet he always offered to babysit Sarah after he got out of class.

That year, Joel hadn’t had the time to worry about the holidays. Little did he know that Tommy had been saving up since Halloween to get a little tree and some cheap plastic ornaments. But the cherry on top of it all was the one other ornament that Tommy made.

It was a small circle of clay, just big enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Right in the center was a little footprint. Words carved into the clay underneath it said: Sarah’s First Christmas, 1988.

Joel could picture it then, fifteen year old Tommy carefully pressing his niece’s foot into the clay before rewarding her with Cheerios. That period of time forged them into something greater than brothers, Joel thinks. It made them Sarah’s protectors. The ones who would always make sure she was taken care of. And no matter how old she got, that would always be true.

Right as tears started welling in his eyes from the memory, he felt your hand brush his shoulder. “You alright, Joel?” you spoke softly.

“Look at this one,” he answered hoarsely before showing you the ornament.

To his delight, you smiled tenderly and asked, “Where did that come from?”

Much of the night went that way with Joel telling stories about the various ornaments that were in his box and you telling stories about the ones that were in yours. After another drink, he found himself loosening up even more.

The two years prior hadn’t exactly been like this. Both of those Christmases happened before you’d moved in. Back then you were merely observing his and Sarah’s celebrations. This year was different though. This time…you and him were making up your own celebrations.

In the days following, Joel found himself looking forward to whatever you had planned. It was a relief to know at the end of a long day, he’d get to come home to you waiting with some new trick up your sleeve.

Day two immediately presented a challenge in the form of two gingerbread house kits. Because, you argued, who better to construct a gingerbread house than a contractor? Joel couldn’t help but snicker and roll his eyes when you pulled out a level and the tape measure from his tool kit.

“Think you got this wall straight, Miller?” you joked, holding the level up to the solid cookie wall. 

“You’re funny.”

“Just making sure everything is all even,” you shrugged. “One would hope that the big fancy contractor would care that his gingerbread house was up to code.”

Day three was a bit of an unexpected one. You finally got him to load up the boxes of old clothing and other odds and ends that had been gathering dust in his garage for far too long. Joel kept telling himself he’d donate them some weekend but continually forgot. So of course you were the one to remind him by remarking how important it was to give a little for the holidays.

It was a little bittersweet, especially since a good chunk of it was stuff Sarah had gotten rid of before moving out for college. Joel was all too aware that there was a small part of him that feared that the second he gave it all away, his daughter would definitely be calling him up just begging to have that butterfly tank top she wore in fifth grade back. But he also knew that that probably wasn’t going to happen.

So bye-bye went the dusty boxes of hand-me-downs, off to homes that could appreciate them again.

Day four brought popcorn garlands. He opted out of spiked drink for that one, knowing that he needed a steady hand if he was going to be able to thread delicate little pieces of popcorn onto some string. However, with his thick fingers, he still managed to poke himself with the crafting needle.

And really, making the garland was soon forgotten by the dozenth time you grabbed his injured hand to kiss it better. Joel really didn’t need any sort of alcohol in his system to start feeling lightheaded before pulling you into his lap for a bruising kiss.

By the end of the night, both of your garlands were only long enough to hang in a single doorway. But that was just fine with Joel.

Day five was Christmas Eve. Another night where he was sure you had something big planned – he later learned that you originally wanted to make Christmas cookies. But Joel was never any good with the whole cooking and baking thing. And tonight seemed as good of a night as any to take a load off.

“What will Santa eat when he comes down the chimney?” you protested in a teasing tone.

Joel scoffed, “Santa can starve for all I care. Tonight, I want to settle down and relax with my lady.”

“Lady,” you rolled your eyes. “Who are you calling lady?”

“You, Little Miss Christmas. Now go put your pajamas on. We’re gonna have a nice night in and you’re gonna like it.”

You laughed one deep laugh from your belly and replied, “Yes, sir.”

The next time you showed your face downstairs, Joel had planted himself firmly on the carpet with a box of old photos.

“Whatcha’ got there?” you asked as you folded your legs and settled beside him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Joel glanced over, catching the tail end of a wide eyed expression on your face as you peeked over his shoulder. 

“What’s that look for?” he chuckled.

Joel tilted the photo in your direction. It was a picture of you and him from the year prior; the second Christmas you spent with him. You were ice skating, Joel standing firmly behind you, one hand placed firmly on your hip and the other wrapped around you, keeping you from completely falling over.

“I didn’t know you got a picture from that night,” you mumbled.

“Oh,” Joel set the photo down and picked up a small, leather bound album from the box in front of him. “Sarah took a whole buncha’ pictures that night. They’re some of my favorites.”

“Really?”

Joel didn’t miss the sentimentality in your tone. He himself had almost forgotten that Sarah had brought her camera along that year. She’d taken a photography class during her freshman year of college; so it was practically attached to her almost every time she came home that semester.

She’d surprised him with the album a few months afterwards, raving about how adorable you and him had looked the entire night. I’ve never seen you get so sappy about a woman before, she’d teased him before adding, but it’s kinda cute, ya know?

Joel had brushed it off then, putting it with the rest of his old family photos. But over time it quickly began to mean something more.

He’d lost count of how many times he’d pulled that little book out and flipped through the photos. And now, for the first time you were looking at them with him.

“Really,” he asserted. “You look real pretty in all of ‘em.”

And God, did he mean it. On the next page was one of you wearing this red, satin number at a dinner party. He could easily remember the way that the material practically flowed down your curves like water. And he remembers the way his attraction for you pooled heavily in his belly and the way he had to make himself stay cool until he could get you home and get that outfit off of you himself.

The shot right next to that one was from the same dinner party. Joel had a can of whipped cream in one hand and a dollop of the stuff in the other. And there you were, attempting to lick at the smear of whipped cream on your nose.

He showed you the album and you grimaced before smiling sheepishly, “God, I can’t believe Sarah got that moment.”

God, that smile, Joel thought to himself. He could never get tired of that smile.

“Yeah,” Joel nodded. “I’m glad she did. I tell ya’, that girl can really capture the beauty in a moment.”

You started to speak, “You say beauty…I say–”

“Beauty,” Joel repeated. “You’re beautiful. And that’s that.”

You were quiet for a few seconds as Joel continued to flip through the album. The more little moments he remembered from the year before, the more gratitude welled up in his chest. And before he could really control it, his mouth was moving.

“You know I’m glad I get to spend time with you, right?”

“Oh, that’s good. After last night I was sure that you were just sick of me,” you quipped.

“I mean it,” Joel said with a playful nudge at your side. “I know I’m not the easiest guy to get along with. I’m old and I’m ornery and I’m probably a real pain in the neck sometimes. And the fact that you’re willin’ to put up with a pain in the neck like me…especially around this time a’ year…it means a lot. Everything you’ve done this week…all for me? I’m grateful, darlin’.”

Your expression faltered and you batted your eyelashes, gaze fixed on your hands in your lap.

“I just like taking care of you. I like making you happy,” you murmured.

Joel turned his head and leaned in, closing the distance between your faces.

“Good thing you always make me happy, darlin’,” he mumbled against your lips.

As he pressed a kiss against your lips, his hand settled on the small of your back, pulling you into his arms. The little photo album dropped between his legs and was soon forgotten, the same way a lot of his worries for the holidays had as soon as you came in.

At that moment…he didn’t think about Sarah. Didn’t think about her never spending another holiday in his home again. She'd come back home at some point, just like his worries probably would; he’d always worry about his little girl. Though he wouldn’t forget the years of memories he’d had before you, he wouldn’t let himself dwell on them for so long that he forgot about you. Your presence was more than enough of a present for him.

[agentmarcuspike]

“t h e l o n g e s t n i g h t”

– a secret santa holiday fic for erin @perotovar ✧

pairing: marcus pike + nonbinary!reader synopsis: left alone in the big city during the longest night of the year, a stranger in a club makes you wish it were even longer. word count: 1.9k a/n: i was so fucking excited when i got you as my giftee, erin. i love everything you make, gifs and stories, and i've been wanting to give something back to you, so i’m grateful for this excuse/opportunity. wanted to post it on the actual solstice, but when i saw you were my secret santa too, i couldn’t wait lol. (a lil shoutout to @scenaaario as well, for being my secret informant.) love u, proud of u!

It's the winter solstice; the shortest day of the year.

But then again, it’s also the longest night.

All of your friends have already gotten on their trains and planes to celebrate the holidays with their families, leaving you to create your own traditions. Usually you’d get out of town as well, hole up somewhere the sky is clearer, the air lighter. Celebrate the return of the sun, the light, the new year, with a bonfire and candles to drive the dark away. From without, so within.

This year is different. A last minute opportunity presenting itself for your best friend; spending the holidays and New Years in Thailand with her Man of the Month, had left you in charge of house sitting, looking after her apartment and moody old cat.

So this year, on the darkest of the nights, unable to escape the city, you’re hoping to make the many hours pass as quickly as possible, the promise of lighter days the only thing you look forward to.

You’ve been staring at yourself in the club’s dirty bathroom mirror for far too long, impatient fists knocking on the door, and you yell at them to give you a second. Face sweaty, eyeliner smudged, eyes empty, you barely recognize yourself. The sheer black shirt you’re wearing is unbuttoned as far as it can be. With a last look at the person in the mirror, you straighten your septum piercing, and make your way out of the bathroom.

The heavy scent of spilled beer and sweaty bodies hit you as soon as you open the door. Thumping music, more bass than tune, tickles your eardrums, and you can feel the sound as waves of prickles on your skin. The soles of your boots stick to the greasy floor where you’re making your way across the room, squeezing through the crowd of people, who are all moving as one; a massive creature with many heads, twice as many arms, and a sole purpose with existence: To dance the night away.

It’s not possible to avoid touching people as you push through to get to the bar, so you try your best to be respectful with your hands, but as you place them carefully on a slim waist to push past, a zap runs through your arm, as if your finger were a fork and this body were electric. Five thousand Volts of static travel between you, and the body your hands quickly withdraw from must have felt it too, because he quickly turns to face you.

Looking down at you, his brows are raised, mirroring yours, mouth slightly agape. A different type of electricity runs through you as your eyes meet. It travels from your face, burning your cheeks, through your throat, removing every trace of moisture on its way to your stomach, where it does a loop, and ends as a throbbing pressure between your legs.

In the short moments of flashing lights, you can make out his features. High cheekbones shadowing his clean shaven face. Slightly crooked nose and sharp jawline. Kind eyes, crinkling at the corners, softening it all out.

You can’t hear him, but his shoulders shake as he laughs, and you laugh too, looking away nervously. He brings your attention back to him when he leans down, mouth to your ear.

“I’d shake your hand, but I’m worried you’ll shock me again.”

His voice is surprisingly deep, but not booming. It has a comforting, gentle glee to it, and his breath tickles the sensitive skin around your ear.

“I’m Marcus,” he finishes before pulling away far enough to look at your face again.

Staring at each other, you can only giggle. You lick your lips before leaning in, lips brushing the shell of his ear as someone bumps into you, pushing you closer. With a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, you tell him your name.

“And you shocked me!” you accuse.

“Why would I do that?!” Marcus yells, hand on his chest in mock offense.

Something about him has you grinning, your mouth dry, upper lip sticking briefly to your exposed teeth as you close your mouth. He’s funny, he’s cute. You wanna buy him a drink.

Your platform shoes give you some extra height, but you still have to stand on your toes to reach his ear when he stands up tall.

“Thirsty?” you ask, supporting yourself with a hand on his bicep.

“Parched.”

“Drink?”

“Yeah.”

Your hand glides from his upper arm, across his warm skin, feeling the nerves in his forearm flex under your fingers. When your hand reaches his, you squeeze it once before taking the lead, creating a path and guiding you both through the crowd towards the bar.

The music is quieter there, muffled by a thin wall dividing the bar area from the dance floor. You can no longer feel the booming bass in your body, but the way your heart is beating it might as well have slipped inside of you, bruising the inside of your chest bone with insistent thumps, begging to be let back out again.

Marcus leans on the bar bench, and you do the same. Or, at least you try to. Your height makes you feel more like a child being allowed to order hot chocolate by themself for the first time, face peeking over the bar like a meerkat. He must see it too, because he shoves you playfully.

“Wanna sit on my shoulders so you can see?”

You roll your eyes at him. “Yeah, yeah. Heard it all before.”

He turns towards you, looking down at your shoes.

“I mean, even with the platforms…”

“Okay, mister, we’re both well aware of how much I need a couple of inches.”

Your accidental innuendo catches him off guard, and he just stares at you for a second.

“No, wait–” you begin.

“Wow!”

“I didn’t– That wasn’t what I–”

But it’s too late, you’re already blushing, burying your face in your hands as you groan.

Marcus just laughs, patting your back with a soft, gentle hand.

“All good, don’t worry. How about we start with two fingers?”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Not sure whether to be impressed or offended by his abrasiveness, you look back up towards him, but he’s not looking at you. You follow his gaze to the bartender, who’s busy filling two glasses with… two fingers of whiskey.

Marcus accepts the glasses from the bartender, and hands you one with a satisfied smirk.

“It’s gonna be a long night if you keep this up,” you murmur, shaking your head playfully as you smile into the glass.

“I’ll drink to that,” Marcus grins back, finishing his drink in one go.

He looks at you expectantly, and with a grimace you down your own, before you let him grab you by the hand and pull you back towards the dance floor.

Marcus’ hands softly grip your waist as you move to the music. He gracefully guards you, quickly and easily twirling you out of the way whenever someone grinds too close. Your own hands rest on his broad shoulders, one of them moving slowly to the back of his neck, your thumb drawing small circles over the soft skin behind his ear.

He closes his eyes, leaning to rest his forehead against yours, and you swear you can feel the vibrations of him purring through his chest.

You’re no longer following the music, your bodies swaying to the steady pulse of your own hearts, which are beating in unison, a tango for just the two of you.

Marcus’ dark eyes flutter open, so close you can barely focus. His nose brushes yours as he leans in all the way, connecting his lips with yours. Soft at first, mouths closed, firmly pressed against each other. With your hands on his neck, you pull him down towards you, closer, closer, closer, and his hands on your waist grip you tighter.

He breaks away, nuzzling his nose against your cheek as he moves to your neck, where he presses open mouthed kisses to the sensitive skin, sucking lightly. A shiver runs through you, leaving goosebumps from your tailbone to the very top of your head. You turn towards him, seeking his mouth with your own.

This time you part your lips to invite him in, poking your tongue out ever so slightly. He accepts your invitation, feeding you his tongue back, the residue of whiskey coating it burning deliciously. It’s soft, your mouths working together instead of fighting for dominance, but it quickly grows more needy, two sets of hands grabbing and pulling, searching for something to hold onto.

Your hands settle on his lower back, finding the waistband of his pants, hooking your fingers in his belt hoops. With a quick tug, you pull his hips flush with yours, and he gasps into your mouth. He pulls away, just far enough to look into your eyes properly. A question between you, pulled tight like a rubberband. Requesting permission to move further. You nod at him once, giving him the green light, and the rubberband snaps as his lips once again connect with yours.

And he indulges. His hands travel to rest at your lower back, before sliding down to cup your ass, squeezing once. You catch yourself wishing, for the first time in your life, that you’d worn a skirt, so you could have felt his big hands against your skin. The cramped mass of people dancing around you are oblivious to your endeavor, only bumping into you every now and then, but Marcus doesn’t let you budge an inch, holding you tight, a hand on your ass and one arm sneaking around your back, holding onto your waist.

Your thumbs find the sliver of skin between his waistband and his shirt. With slow movements, in contrast to the quick blinking of lights seeping through your eyelids, you draw tiny circles on the soft skin of his narrow waist. One of his hands moves back to your face, thumb resting against your lower lip as he delicately pulls on it with his teeth, soothing the sting with his tongue immediately. You wish he’d have bitten harder, drawn blood. That he’d taste you, mix the fluid from your veins with the ones of his mouth. Swallow you.

He thrusts against you once, seeking friction, hard and impatient underneath his clothes. Had he shoved his hands down yours, he would have found you dripping as well; so slick and ready to take him. But all you can do with the crowd of people moving around you is hold on tight, and hope for an opening, however small, between atoms, letting your bodies move inside each other, the way his tongue does in your mouth, and your hand, secretly between your bodies, gently covering his protruding bulge.

You squeeze him gently, and you can feel his lashes flutter against your nose as he rests his forehead against yours, his mouth open in a silent moan.

The dance floor doesn’t exist anymore. It’s just the two of you now. Two hungry bodies, two lonely souls. You hear no more music, ears filled only with the sound of rushing blood. All you can taste is whiskey, and all you can see is him. You catch yourself wishing that this night, the longest one of the year, would last just a little while longer.

— happy holidays !!! x

[survivingandenduring]

This is for @trashcora Space Sisters Secret Santa 2023

Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays or fuck off to it all 🖤💜

[epicrainbowsheep]

Darlin’ just you wait till then

Joel Miller x Reader

Joel and his darlin' make gingerbread houses, and things get frisky...

This is for the amazing Puddles @gasolinerainbowpuddles , Merry Christmas from your secret Santa!!!! Hope you enjoy :D

Walking into the kitchen with the box of the gingerbread house you just brought. “JOEL COME DOWN STAIRS” you yelled as you unpacked the decorations, lollies and candy, making sure to spread them out. “I don’t understand why I’ve gotta do this” He grumbles as he walks down the hallway, zipping up his jeans.

“Come on Joel it’ll be fun, plus Sarah said you need to do something holiday related since she isn’t able to make it this year” Joel grumbles yet again, standing next to you now, slowly surveying all of the parts of the gingerbread house they’ve got to build. 

Grabbing two sides of the house, “How are we supposed to put this together” He questions, looking around for something to stick it together with. You chuckle and hand him the piping bag with the icing in it.

“You use this darling” Joel takes it from your hand and pipes it along the seam, placing the two pieces together, it manages to stand up. Making sure to do it with the others, you start to pour some lollies into the middle before Joel attaches the roof. 

“Alrighty now that’s done” Joel stands behind you, wrapping his hands around your waist, pulling you in tight as he kissed your neck. You sigh as you give his access to your neck, “Darling we’ve still got to decorate it” he nuzzles your neck and speaks husky into your ear. 

“How ‘bout we do it together like this” he slides his big hands over yours, he picks up the decorative icing and slides it slowly into your hands, gently caressing as you both move your hands into position. His big hands squeezing yours and guiding the tube over the roof, you start to blush at the feeling of his hands enveloping yours.

With his hands over yours you both continued to decorate the gingerbread house, you could feel his errection against your arse. You bent forward a little making sure to grind your but slightly into his cock, Joel groans in response and grinds his bulge back into your arse.

Both of you moan, dropping the icing bag Joel grabs your hips pulling you even closer to his cock, grinding even harder. He sets a decent pace, groaning out in pleasure. “Darlin’ you feel what you do to me?” humping stronger to emphasise his raging hard on, his arms flip you around with his hips pining you to the counter, his arms wrapping around your body.

You hook one leg onto his hip, his left arm making sure to grip it tight. His clothed cock rubs perfectly against your cunt, both resuming from where you left off, this cock grinded hard into you. 

“Shit ba-aby” He stops himself suddenly, his head resting on your shoulder panting. “You okay Joel?” You questioned, worried something was wrong you bring your leg down from around his waist. He stands up, stabilising himself against the kitchen counter.

“I’m okay sugar, just not as young as I used to be, nearly got to excited there” He gave a sheepish grin, “Can only really come the one time before I’m pooped” He grabs your hand and leads you towards the bedroom. “Besides I can think of a better way of makin’ you cum” He walks you backwards towards the bed, pushing your shoulders so you fall onto the bed.

You bring yourself to rest against the pillows as Joel slides your underwear off. “Been thinkin’ about this pussy all mornin’” His arms wrap around your legs, hands gripping the meat of your thighs, pulling you roughly towards his mouth. He licks a stripe along your pussy, earning a moan from you before he shoves his face into your cunt.

His tongue licking rapidly around your clit, he moves his mouth downwards, making sure his nose is level with your clit and starts to rock his head from side to side. “Shit Joel” You moan out, arching your back, he groans in response to you, grabbing your arse with his big hands and grips it tight.

He starts motor boating your pussy, his mouth going crazy sucking and licking your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit hard. “Joel I’m close” You manage to speak, your orgasm building up with all the pleasure your receiving from Joel, the thing that pushes you over the edge is the feeling of his beard scratching against your clit.

Your hands fly to his head and tightly grip his hair as you moan out Joel’s name in pleasure. You move your eyes to Joel who has his head raised, mid-wiping your juices from his mouth on to his sleeve. He crawls up towards you with a smirk on his face, bringing his mouth up against your ear “You enjoy that darlin’” Making sure to bring out his southern accent heavily, knowing it gets you going.

“Y-yes Joel I did” You moan out again as his fingers tease your hole, sliding two fingers in, starting to pump them hard, he gripped your shoulder and pulled you into him, his mouth staying right next to your ear, speaking in his deep southern tone as before.

“Your such a good girl baby” He groans out as he hears the squelches from your pussy, “Your positively wet baby girl, hear that?” He purposely slows down his fingers, making slow movements to prove his point, “Your pussy makes the most delicious sounds” He feels you tightening up around his fingers, he picks up in speed which takes you over the edge for a second time.

Bringing up his wet fingers to his mouth, he sucks your juices off, making sure to wrap his tongue around each finger, putting on a show for you. “Taste even more delicious baby” He kneels up and strips off his shirt, and manages to pull off his pants. “How ‘bout you show me your pretty tits baby, so I can see them bounce as I fuck you” He growls, staring you down as you strip the remanding of your clothes off.

You lay back down as Joel crawled back up your body, slotting between your legs, his cock nudging against your thigh. He brings it towards your cunt, moving it up and down, teasing you. “You want my cock darlin’” Joel says against your lips, teasing you even further. 

“Yes Joel I want it, please fuck me” Joel chuckles, just putting the tip of his cock in. “I think you can do better than that, beg for it” groaning out in frustration, “For fuck sakes old man just screw my brains out already!” You grip the back of his head and pull his lips to yours in a passionate kiss, this seemed to spark something in Joel.

He slammed into you, pausing to make sure you adjusted to his cock, his thick cock stretched you with just the right amount of length, not too big but real thick. “Shit Jooelll” You groan out, feeling the stretch, he moans out as you clench around him, he breaths in and starts thrusting into you.

He rolls his hips into you at a languid pace, making sure to get his cock as deep as it can go, you could feel his cock rock into you, rubbing against your g-spot with every thrust. “Joel faster~” moaning out as he obliged. He started to set a bruising pace, his cock managing to hit the right spot every time, you clamp around his cock as you came, screaming his name.

Joel groans out as you came, he’s trying to hold out on summing so he could last longer but your sweet pussy has a death grip on his cock. “Fuck darlin’ I’m cumming” He moans out your name as he came, giving a few more thrusts before he pulls out, nearly collapsing on top of you.

“Shit sweetie… that was…” You puffed out, can’t finding the words, feeling half fucked out. “Glad I can still make you breathless darlin’” He curls into you, resting his head on top of your chest. You both cuddle in silence for a while, enjoying each others warmth, you break the silence groaning “We still gotta go shopping to get your brothers present”.

“We can do that later” Joel grunted in response, pulling you closer to him, nuzzling his head into your chest again. His legs wrap around yours as he closes his eyes, “We can just nap for now, too lazy to get up” you chuckle and stroke his hair. “A nap sounds good baby” You get comfy, adjusting the cushions to accommodate both you and Joels bodies.

“Joel?” You asked out to his, closing your eyes, getting a ‘Hmm’ in response. “Do you ever think about our future?” Your question wakes him up, he lifts his head up, leaning on his arm to look at you. “Yeah of course I do” He smiles, looking even more handsome in the late morning sun. 

“What exactly do you think about?” You look into his eyes and he smiles again, “Marriage why you askin’” you look sheepishly at him as you respond “We’ve been dating for a good few years, I’m just wondering if it ever crossed your mind, I know we joke about it but I just wanna know where you properly stood”.

He grabs your jaw and kisses you lovingly.

“Christmas is comin’ darlin’ just you wait till then”

[gasolinerainbowpuddles]

(っ◔◡◔)っ🚀🎄 ꌗꉣꍏꉓꍟ ꌗꀤꌗ꓄ꍟꋪꌗ ꌗꍟꉓꋪꍟ꓄ ꌗꍏꈤ꓄ꍏ 🎄🚀

For my dearest Space Sisters Secret Santa Exchange Giftee, @doctorliamsr

Please enjoy me trying to squeeze in as many of your prompt requests as I can in the form of a poem and an edit:

What a scoundrel little Ezra is, ready to mollywop any and every snowball fight participant inside the TARDIS. He'll deal with the Doctor's reprimand later and sweet talk his way out of it, that charming little menace! Ever the curious pilot, dear little Frankie is so often mesmerized and intrigued by the workings of the TARDIS. He watches intently every time the Doctor switches a flip, turns a knob, or shouts some nonsense that somehow makes the spacecraft react in some unexpected way. Frankie doesn't have much time left to ponder what exactly set off the TARDIS to create so much snowfall (and so quickly) as Ezra's tightly packed snowball hurdles towards his trusty Standard Heating Oil cap. But why not aim for Joel instead, distracted as he is by the novel tune of "Dick in a Box" from SNL playing from the radio? Ezra hadn't made it this far in life by not choosing his fights wisely. So he leaves Joel to his inner wonderings. When had anyone even turned that on? Who picked this song? Who the hell had even written it? Frankie's surprised yelp will soon get his attention back to the task at hand, and unfortunately for Ezra, Joel embodies the ancient proverb: knuck if ya buck.

Who will win the snowball fight? Well, that's for you to decide. Leave a comment below with who would win the snowball fight. Bonus points for saying how they won it.

Merry Christmas, ♥Puddles♥

[simplyholl]

A Gift For A God

Pairing: Loki x F. Reader

Warnings: Smut. 18 + ONLY. Minors DNI.

See My Masterlist Here

This is a gift for @fandxmslxt69 ❤️❤️❤️ for @fictive-sl0th Secret Santa 2023!

You sigh as you walk out of the sixth store today. You had been Christmas shopping for your boyfriend, Loki. But, you weren’t having any luck. What do you get a god who has everything? He was used to the finest fabrics on Asgard so he was picky about his clothes. You couldn’t afford the super nice brands he was accustomed to.

You thought about buying him more books, but he had so many there was hardly any space left for them in his room. The bookshelf was filled and overflowing. You voiced your concerns about what to get him, and he assured you that you didn’t have to get him anything. “All I want is you, my love.” He said while kissing each of your knuckles the night before.

You load the gifts you bought for your family into your car, looking at the other stores in the shopping center. You needed to run into the craft store for your sister’s gift. She had taken up sewing recently, so you thought you would get her some fabric.

You walk through the aisles, hoping something would catch your eye. When you reached the fabrics, you chose a few that your sister would like. You look on the opposite shelf, feeling the different textures. You stop immediately when you find a silky red one. You had the perfect idea.

You lay on Loki’s bed, fidgeting with the blanket. It wasn’t often you could surprise him. He usually knew you were up to something before you could act on it. This time, he didn’t have a clue. You could hear his footsteps echoing in the hallway as he walked to his room. You couldn’t wait for him to come in and find you.

The door creaks open. His heavy boots thump against the floor. Thud. You squeeze your legs together to quell the throbbing but it’s no use. Arousal pools against the smooth fabric. Thud. Your heart beats faster as he gets closer. Thud. You try your best to stay in the sexy position you’ve posed yourself in, on your back with your hair splayed across his pillows.

The light in his bedroom comes on illuminating you on his bed. Loki lifts his brow, his eyes darkening as he notices you. “What have we here?” He asks, walking painfully slow toward you. When he finally reaches the bed, he doesn’t bother taking off his fighting leathers first. He kneels beside you, his weight causing the mattress to dip under him. “You said all you wanted for Christmas was me, and here I am.”

“Here you are.” He purrs, pushing his long hair behind his ears. He reaches out to toy with the bow holding your breasts within. An amused expression crosses his face as he runs a long finger from the loops on the bow to the small piece that barely covers your aching nipples.

His digit stills as it lands on the sensitive nub. You whimper, as he removes his hands from you. He hovers, admiring your beautiful body wrapped up perfectly for him. The long piece that connects your chest to your ass barely covers anything. Loki’s gaze holds on that spot for a moment. You don’t think anything of it, until he nudges your legs apart with his leather clad thigh.

“You’re soaked already, darling.” He smirks, reaching down to swipe at your core. His finger dips underneath the ribbon, collecting your arousal. He brings it to his lips, savoring your taste. He releases his finger with a loud pop. You squirm, wishing it was you in his mouth, not his finger.

He captures your lips in a sweet a kiss, and you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close. Loki scatters kisses along your jaw line, down your neck. His teeth nip your collar bone, and you arch toward him. “This is the best gift I have ever received, my love. Perhaps I’ll take my time opening it.”

He palms your breasts gently, careful not to reveal your nipples. You press them against his rough hands, hoping he would give in. Finally, he rolls one between two fingers, the silky ribbon rubbing deliciously against you.

Loki lowers his head, his black curls fanning against your arms. He takes a hardened peak between his lips. His warm tongue flicks against the fabric, making you squirm. “Loki, please?” You whine, tangling your fingers in his hair.

He pinches the smooth fabric, playing with the bow. Slowly, he pulls it apart, leaving your chest bare before him. He removes the rest of your makeshift lingerie, spreading your legs. He admires you before burying his face between your thighs. His firm, velvet tongue strokes you slowly. You buck your hips, trying to get him to go faster.

It’s no use, his arm traps you, holding you down. Loki works your clit with the flat of his tongue until you are a whimpering mess. You cry out his name as he seals his lips on the most sensitive part of you, sucking roughly. You come apart underneath him, thighs gripping his head, holding him in place.

Loki doesn’t bother taking off his clothes, he removes himself from his pants, pushing them down his hips just a little. He lines himself up at your entrance, pushing into you slowly. You lock your legs around him, pulling him toward you.

He groans as he sinks deeper into you. He buries his head against your shoulder, lips latched onto your throat. He draws the delicate skin between his lips. Your legs tremble around him as you feel another orgasm building.

Your nipples graze the leather top as he lifts your leg, rocking into you with hard, deep thrusts. You clench around him. He rewards you with a growl that rips from his chest. His teeth scrape against your shoulder.

You grip his arms, incoherent cries escape you as your orgasm barrels through you. He grips your hips tighter, thrusting wildly. Loki bites down on your shoulder as he finishes inside you. You shiver, you love it when he marks you.

He rubs his nose against yours, locking eyes with you. “I love you more than you could ever know.” He confesses as you lazily play with his hair, bringing his mouth to yours. He holds you in his strong arms, telling you how much he loves you, and how proud of you he is. You smile, thanking the powers that be for blessing you with Loki. Every day feels like Christmas morning with him.

Secret Santa 2023 taglist: @joyful-enchantress @mochie85 @muddyorbs @holdmytesseract @sailorholly @lady-rose-moon @superficialdomina @cultofcarter @coldnique @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @smolvenger @loz-3 @catsladen @lokisgoodgirl @acidcasualties @divine-knight-hand @quirkiest-turtle @glitchquake @nyxlaufeyson @fandxmsIxt69 @holymultiplefandomsbatman

My Taglist

@lokisgoodgirl @fictive-sl0th @lokidbadguy @ozymdias @cindylynn @cakesandtom @eleniblue @marygoddessofmischief @mochie85 @goblingirlsarah @wheredafandomat @freegardenbanananeck @lokidokieokie @l0ki3000 @multifandom-worlds @alexakeyloveloki @ladymischief11 @kats72 @mischief2sarawr @lamentis-10 @loz-3 @litaloni @lulubelle814 @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @avengersfan25 @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @mybugabomlb @bunny24sstuff @luthien-elvenia-asher @gruftiela @asgards-princess-of-mischief @weirdothatwritess

[pedrorascal]

Space Sisters 2023 Secret Santa – Masterlist

We would like to thank every server member who participated in this event! 🎄

You can find all the gifts published by the participants under the cut!

Happy Holidays from the admins and mods of the Space Sisters server! 💚

(about Space Sisters || join us!)

MASTERLIST

* - Mature/Explicit work

VISUAL ART & MISC

Gifset (The Last of Us) - from @trashcora to @thetriumphantpanda

Gifset (Marcus Pike) - from @perotovar to @agentmarcuspike

Fanvideo (Din Djarin) - from @survivingandenduring to @trashcora

Graphic & Poem (Ezra, Joel Miller, Frankie Morales) - from @gasolinerainbowpuddles to @doctorliamsr

FANFICTION

Frankie Morales

no need for mistletoe - from @undercoverpena to @nothoughtsjustmeds

Jack Daniels

* Cowboys & Closeups - from @agentjackdaniels to @epicrainbowsheep

Oberyn Martell

* Reaching for the sweetest, sweetest peaches - from @psychedelic-ink to @iamasaddie

Din Djarin

No Words Needed - from @againstacecilia to @sweetercalypso

Dieter Bravo

No Way Out - from @doctorliamsr to @psychedelic-ink

* Red Herring - from @nothoughtsjustmeds to @missredherring

* Best in Show - from @covetyou to @agentjackdaniels

Marcus Pike

* The Longest Night - from @agentmarcuspike to @perotovar

the gift that keeps giving - from @thetriumphantpanda to @undercoverpena

* baby, when the lights go out - from @iamasaddie to @survivingandenduring

Joel Miller

Friendly Conversation - from @doctorliamsr to @psychedelic-ink

* Old Holiday, New Traditions - from @pascalispretty to @bluebeary-jay

the most wonderful time - from @always-andromeda to @janaispunk

Around the Tree - from @sweetercalypso to @againstacecilia

* Darlin’ just you wait till then - from @epicrainbowsheep to @gasolinerainbowpuddles

it’s the season - from @janaispunk to @pascalispretty

Wrong Until You Make It Right - from @missredherring to @covetyou

Hold me close and hold me fast - from @bluebeary-jay to @always-andromeda

dividers by the lovely @saradika-graphics 💚