Tumgik
#celebrations for a grey day
Tumblr media
linda evangelista & kyle mclachlan by steven meisel (1993)
98 notes · View notes
notbecauseofvictories · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
[ Graceland Cemetery, Chicago Illinois — October 2023 ]
60 notes · View notes
xi-off · 10 months
Photo
Tumblr media
6/12
18 notes · View notes
errantgoat · 5 months
Text
Why does Harvey have such a good chemistry with Astarion
why
he was supposed to romance Shadowheart and this elf came out of the left field
he's not even into dudes (though admittedly Astarion is like his own separate category 😭)
4 notes · View notes
queeraak · 6 months
Text
i must confess that fall is the worst season in my opinion and i don't know why people like it. everything bad about the world is represented in october - november
#seth.txt#1. the colors are dingy most of the month and aren't that great. worst shade of orange#2. sickness is increased as it is cold and flu season. when i get sick it's always fall or winter#3. seasonal depression increases as the days get shorter and shorter. why do you people like when it's dark at 5pm#4. the food is lame. people who love fall usually love the food or thanksgiving which is just mash potatoes and pumpkin which both suck ass#5. the holidays in winter at least make it worthwhile because christmas and new years are both objectively better aesthetically#6. halloween feels really superficial like no one truly celebrates it anymore on a widespread level. should be hyped up like christmas#7. idc what people say dealing with cold is way worse than dealing with heat if you have ac. i am always cold so colder = always bad#8. all plants dying is so ugly to look at and there are no little birds and animals around during the fall which makes the depression worse#i could think of reasons for hours i think i have explained my manifesto well enough for now#actually hold on adding another amendment.#9. having to wear long sleeves pants and socks indoors is torturous and disgusting to where battling the coldness is the lesser evil#10. the sky is always fucking grey for some reason fucker that isn't beautiful esp when it's not even raining#11. you can't go swimming or eat ice cream as easily. name any fall activity that remotely compares to swimming in the summer you're wrong
2 notes · View notes
sarahvilelaheart · 9 months
Text
Tumblr media
This is an art of White, Black and Grey Spies celebrating this year's World Rock Day while forming a rock band: White sings into his microphone, Black plays his electric guitar and Grey plays her drums. So... Happy World Rock Day 2023! 👨‍🎤🎸🥁 And enjoy! 🙂
2 notes · View notes
chronal-anomaly · 1 year
Text
Oh man what if I wrote the hc that Lena doesn't actually age, but her body does deteriorate over time??
But I won't
3 notes · View notes
simbohargreeves · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Some festive fun before mom and dad arrive
6 notes · View notes
itsmccomplicated · 2 years
Text
happy birthday sofia sloan-torres!
Tumblr media
6 notes · View notes
Text
Why do people think it's a good idea to have fireworks EVERY NIGHT AND DAY OF DECEMBER?!?! Like, I'm currently fighting the urge to claw my ears off and/or have a meltdown (which I KNOW is imminent) and for WHAT?? THEY AREN'T EVEN THE NICE LOOKING FIREWORKS they're just flashes of light and DOING THEM DURING THE DAY ASWELL is overkill
1 note · View note
homunculus-argument · 4 months
Text
I get that christmas time must be grating for non-christians living in a predominantly culturally christian areas, but I don't think the solution is to try to tone down and neutralise christmas celebrations. I think it would be fun if the Big Fucking Holiday of every religion with enough local followers would have as much hype going on at their time. Getting a rough grasp of different religions' calendars by seeing what kind of decorations and set-ups they've arranged at the grocery store and stuff. Like even if I don't know how those ingredients are cooked or what those decorations are for, it'd be cool to see them around. I wouldn't be as sick of christmas if there were other completely different but equally hyped holidays, too.
I have no problem grasping that for everyone else, christmas day is just another grey monday. But I wanna know what you are up to on the days that are just another mundane weekday to me. Maybe there'd be less mundane, grey mondays if there was more reminders that someone is always celebrating.
3K notes · View notes
swiftispunk · 3 months
Text
snowflakes, a fireplace, and you | joel miller x f!reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
joel masterlist | main masterlist | kofi | follow @swiftispunkupdates for fic notifs
pairing: bed and breakfast owner!joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ word count: 13.9k
summary: you get more than you bargained for when you end up snowed in at miller's inn on christmas eve. warnings etc: [NO OUTBREAK] fluff, the softest joel you'll ever meet in your life, some mentions of grief, brief smut, reader celebrates christmas, food, alcohol is consumed but no one gets drunk, reader has some family angst (specifically some mother issues), reader's father is dead and the fic will touch on how he died, reader can fit into joel's sweater, found family trope, sexual tension, sweet joel kisses, unprotected p in v sex, brief oral (m + f receiving), joel gets both his daughters, this takes place in upstate new york because i said so. no use of y/n. *note: this reader is basically an ofc. she has a backstory, a family, and several details about her life are relevant to the plot. i wanted to tell a full story with this one. i hope you will still find it immersive and enjoyable.
a/n: thank you to everyone who willed this fic into existence! i had the very best time with it. she's tropey as hell, but ya'll knew what you were signing up for. love yas and merry christmas (one day late) to all those who celebrate! divider by the lovely @saradika-graphics
Tumblr media
dec. 23 - the arrival
Just beyond the quaint village borders of Cooperstown, New York, lies the cozy, family-owned Miller's Inn. Housed beneath a cover of pines in the lush surrounding forests, this historic cottage has been lovingly refurbished and meticulously kept-up in order to maintain its original charm and architecture. With just four fully furnished rooms, every guest at Miller's Inn can expect to be treated with unparalleled care and service during their stay.
Whether you're here for one night or one week - at Miller's Inn, you're home.
It's all warm and fuzzy - and you're sure it's true to a certain extent - but the sweet little blurb on the simply designed website fails to mention the inn's most appealing feature:
It's not your fucking mother's house.
Christmas spirit be damned, that had been the deal. You'll make the trip home from Austin (half a day's travel complete with flight and drive), you'll even come for Christmas dinner and play along with the whole happy family charade. But only on your own terms, and only with an appropriate level of space. If that means spending your nights somewhere several miles away from the house you grew up in for the few short days you're back in town, so be it.
An uncomfortable sense of familiarity passes over you as you drive through your hometown. Main Street looks much the same as it had when you'd left all those years ago, blanketed now by a thin layer of snow, every storefront decked with garland and fairy lights. Fog rolls off the distant mountain, barely visible through the grey, overcast sky.
You think you catch someone waving at you from the sidewalk; maybe an old neighbour, maybe a family friend, maybe a stranger - if one could really call anyone in Coopertown a stranger.
You don't stop.
No, you keep your eyes straight and drive clear out of town, following the directions on your GPS until the village dissipates into dense, green forest.
It's even further out than it had looked on the map, a solid twenty minutes of driving before you see billowing smoke rising above the treetops, another five before you come upon a clearing and the sign that lines the road beside it: Miller's Inn.
"Turn right and you've arrived at your destination," the robotic, pleasant woman in your phone tells you.
"Yeah, yeah, okay," you grumble, turning off the app and chucking the phone into the passenger seat beside you.
There are three vehicles already parked out front, two with out-of-state license plates and one a rusted old pick-up truck. You pull in beside the sedan from Ohio.
Despite the short walk from the car to the front door, you bundle up in your mittens and coat, steeling yourself before ducking out into the cold winter's day with your duffle bag slung over your shoulder. The flecks of sun peeking through the clouds sting your eyes, reflecting uncomfortably off the layer of snow on the ground, thicker here than in town.
Standing before the front steps of the cottage, you assess it for the first time. A wraparound porch surrounds the small, two-storey cottage, which appears to be built mostly of stone. Christmas lights don the railings of the deck, and a lush, pine wreath hangs on the red-painted door. In the centre of the wreath, there's a neatly decorated wooden placard, painted over with the words, Happy holidays, welcome home - The Millers.
It makes you cringe.
A bell rings above you as you open the front door and cross through the threshold. Inside, you're greeted by an air of warmth, the faint sound of Christmas music, and the smells of burning wood, fragrant pine, and sugar. A front desk, littered with garland trim and popcorn strings stands unattended before you, and you frown, peering around you towards the cozy common area to your right, complete with burning fireplace, mismatched couches, a large, haphazardly decorated Christmas tree, and altogether no people.
"Hello?" you call out to no one in particular.
"Crap - " a voice says to your left. You whirl to face the source of sound, and take in the other half of the main floor of the inn. A long wooden table takes up most of the space there, accented with candles and nutcrackers and a festively patterned runner. Roughly ten chairs surround it, the entire scene bathed in daylight from the wide window on the far side of the room, revealing snow-covered forest just beyond its frosted glass.
Amidst it all, a young girl, tall and curly-haired, barely older than fourteen, clamouring out of a room you can't see beyond the dining set-up, clapping what appears to be flour off of her hands. She all but sprints to take her place behind the front desk, muttering, sorry sorry sorry under her breath the whole way there.
"Hi!" she says, nearly out of breath when she finally meets your gaze with a put-on, beatific smile. "Welcome."
"Um, hi, I'm just checking in," you tell her, hearing the way your voice tilts up a bit at the end like you're asking a question.
"Great!" she exclaims, but then she frowns as she peers down at a mess of papers on the desktop, and you get the feeling she doesn't normally handle this part.
"Um...okay...so...name?" she asks, her curls bouncing as she looks up at you, then down at what appears to a sign-in sheet, then up at you again.
Uncertainly, you tell her and she nods with feigned confidence, glancing back down at the list of names and furrowing her brow.
Who the fuck is in charge here?
"Uh...shit," she murmurs and now you frown, suddenly terrified there's been some sort of mistake.
"Is there a problem?"
The girl chews her lip before hastily shaking her head and softening the worry on her face, for your benefit, you assume. "No, no! I just can't read his stupid writing. Hey, Dad?"
She calls that last bit over her shoulder, towards an open door behind the desk. No one responds.
The girl rolls her eyes. "One sec," she tells you.
"Okay..."
She flits behind the door and you tap your foot impatiently, starting to get uncomfortably warm under all your layers.
You hear another voice now, deep and gravelly, but you can't quite make out the words. Then, a moment later, the girl returns with someone new in tow.
A man, at least forty-five, a smile painting his weathered face adorned with greying scruff under a mop of messy brown curls. He's broad, framed by thick arms and wide shoulders, deliciously accentuated by the green flannel he's wearing, the sleeves of which are rolled up the elbows, revealing tan skin and a black-banded watch on one wrist.
Unconsciously, you stiffen, stand a little straighter in his presence - what's that about?
"Alright, what's the issue?" he's asking the girl, both of them rifling through the stack of papers. His accent gives you pause; it's one you're used to hearing back home, but not here.
"The issue is your chicken scratch," she gripes, pointing at the list of names accusingly.
The man just chuckles, clearly unbothered by the gentle ribbing.
"It ain't that bad," he grumbles. Finally, he looks up at you, his eyes all soft and brown, the right side of face dimpling as he smirks at you crookedly. "Welcome, miss. Sorry 'bout all the confusion. Name?"
You repeat it, your voice coming out a little breathier this time as your body responds to his low drawl and his unwavering eye contact.
Something flashes across his face when he hears your name, something like recognition, something like sympathy, something that makes your insides twist as you drop your gaze and he quickly collects himself.
"Alright..." he hums to himself, the girl peeking up over his shoulder as he trails the tip of a pen down the list.
When he finds your name, he rolls his eyes dramatically.
"Come on, kiddo, it's right there," he says to the girl, glancing up at you like he's trying to loop you in on the joke. You smile tightly.
She leans in close to see the name he's pointing at and scoffs.
"Is her name Scribble McScribbleton?" she jokes and her Dad laughs like it's the funniest fucking thing he's ever heard.
"Shut up," he chuckles, noting something beside your name before checking you off his list and playfully hip-checking the girl away.
She's laughing, the sound all trilling and soft as she pops out from behind the desk and starts to make her way back to the kitchen.
"Hey!" her Dad calls after her. She turns back to face him without hesitation. "Go find your sister, please."
She salutes him and then darts off in the other direction, calling for an, "Ellie" as she goes.
"My daughter, Sarah," the man tells you once you're alone, cocking his chin towards where the girl - Sarah - had just disappeared.
"Hm," you nod, fully sweating under your winter coat now, distinctly uncomfortable at all the family comradery. You've never understood how it seems to come so naturally to other people.
"I'm Joel. Joel Miller," he goes on, reaching across the desk to extend a hand out to you. You fumble with your duffle bag as you take his hand in yours and shake, his massive palm engulfing yours, even wrapped in your fluffy mittens.
"Oh, hold on there," he says, hurriedly rounding the desk to take your bag off your hands and hook it over his shoulder.
"Uh, thanks," you mutter, finally slipping your woolly mittens off and unzipping your coat. Your hands are clammy and your mouth feels dry, but with the way Joel's eyes are glimmering in the warm light of the inn, you get the feeling it's not just because of the fire.
"Quick tour," he announces, already turning to lead the way into the room to the left, the one with the long table and the wide window.
"Dining room, obviously," he grins. "Breakfast is from 7-10 every day. Coffee, eggs, cereal, all that kinda thing. Even got oat milk now, if that's your thing."
"Just cow is fine," you tell him. He chuckles.
Properly in the room now, you take it in in all its understated glory. It's clear the space had been an extension from the original structure, the walls here lined with wood panels rather than the stone you could just make out in the living room. There's a small radio on the windowsill, which you now recognize as the source of the Christmas music, the sound slightly scratchy and hollow now that you're hearing it up close.
It strikes you how it all feels less like some stodgy hotel and more like the dining room of a loving family. You swallow hard against the emotion that stirs in you.
"Kitchen's just back there," Joel says, pointing towards the door Sarah had come from earlier, where the smell of cinnamon and ginger is steadily wafting in your direction. "You ever need anythin'; food, water, coffee…just holler for me or one of the girls."
"Great, thank you," you mutter. Then your curiosity gets the better of you. "Are you from the South?"
He smiles as he guides you out of the dining room and back through the front hall.
"S'it that obvious?" he asks, casually placing a hand between your shoulder blades to herd you towards the living room. You're not prepared for the way it makes your stomach flutter.
"I just - I live in Austin. I mean, I grew up here, but I live there now."
That flash of recognition crosses his features again when you tell him you'd grown up here but again, he swiftly reins it in, something more like curious disbelief taking its place.
"Get out," he laughs. "S'where I'm from."
"Oh," you nod, glancing around the quaint little common area, the bright red stockings marked Joel, Sarah, and Ellie that hang above the stone fireplace, the smattering of ornaments dangling from the real pine tree, the various rugs that cover the hardwood. Family photos and vintage photographs of Cooperstown line the stone walls, and towards the back of the cottage, you can just make out the end of a staircase, along with a door leading out to a mudroom marked Staff Only.
"So how the hell'd you end up here?" you find yourself asking, regretting it the minute it slips out. 
When he doesn't answer right away, you backtrack.
"Sorry - I didn't mean - " you stammer. "The inn is beautiful, that's not what I - "
But Joel just laughs, clearly not offended by you putting in your stupid foot in your mouth.
"I just can't imagine choosing to live in Cooperstown when you could live well...literally anywhere else in the world," you confess.
Joel's laughter dies down and then he's looking at you in that way again, all quiet sympathy and understanding. You stare down at your boots.
Don't say it, don't say it, don't say it.
"Came up here with my brother a while back," he explains. You breathe a sigh of relief. "We loved it so much we brought the girls with us the next summer. We all kinda fell in love after that. Then this place went on the market and we just couldn't say no. Mind you, it was in shambles when we got our hands on it. But Tommy and I fixed it up." He pauses, deep in thought as he remembers. Then he turns to look at you with an affectionate smile, answering your silent question. "S'my brother, Tommy. He's moved on - got a wife and kid out in Wyoming. Just me and the girls now."
You nod, working to keep the conversation away from the past. "They help out around here?"
His smile widens. "Yeah, they're good kids."
You nod, wishing the fondness in his voice didn't make your chest pang with a deep-seated ache.
It twists open into a gaping hole when he speaks his next words.
"Hey, I don't mean to pry or nothin' but when you said your name, I - "
He's blissfully cut off by the door to the mudroom cracking open, bringing with it a gust of cool air and Sarah, accompanied by another girl now, the one you can only assume is Ellie. She's shorter than her sister, though they appear roughly the same age. Her pale cheeks are painted pink with cold and she shakes snow out onto the doormat when she removes her hat to reveal knotted brown locks, dampened with sweat against her forehead.
You note that the two girls don't particularly look alike.
"Found her!" Sarah announces, while they both remove their coats and boots and leave them strewn messily in the mudroom. With the door cracked, you can see a large pile of wood stored there, and what you think must be a chest freezer.
Ellie seals the door shut behind her, locking out the cold and following Sarah to their Dad's side.
"Didn't I tell ya we got check-ins today?" he admonishes Ellie lightly.
"I was just goin' for a walk; don't have a cow, old man," she teases, already helpfully taking your duffle bag from him and slinging it easily over her tiny shoulder. Sarah erupts into a fit of giggles and you're stunned to see Joel take it all in stride, shaking his head with a fond little smirk.
"Well how 'bout you make yourself useful and walk our guest to her room?" he teases right back, mussing up her hair even more with a big hand on the crown of her head which Ellie slinks away from smoothly.
"Okay, okay," she laughs, attempting to smooth out the stray hairs to little effect.
"Room Four," Joel tells her, pulling a key from his pocket and tossing it her way. She catches it with practiced ease.
"Yes, sir," she says with mock obedience.
You all turn towards the kitchen then as a loud beeping noise echoes through the cottage and Sarah throws her hands in the air excitedly.
"My cookies!" she squeals, and in the blink of an eye, she's gone.
"Cookies?" Ellie asks, looking at Joel expectantly.
He hums. "Think she's got gingerbread goin' or something."
"Fuck yeah," Ellie says, the casual curse falling from her lips in a way that feels both completely natural and totally jarring. You can't help but laugh. Joel, on the other hand, gives her a stern look.
"Let's mind our manners, please," he warns her, in a voice that makes it sound like it's not the first time he's had to remind her of that. 
"Yeah, yeah," she mutters absently, waving a hand at him dismissively with a playful smirk. "This way, miss," she says to you, already making her way towards the staircase.
"Thanks again," you murmur awkwardly to Joel as you make your way after Ellie. He nods in response, his smile a little tighter than before, that knowing look back in his eyes.
"'Course," he says, burying his hands in his pockets. "You need anything at all - "
"I'll holler," you finish for him, repeating his words from earlier with a friendly smile.
-
The old, wooden floor creaks below your feet and Ellie hasn't stopped talking for a second.
"Room Four is the best," she's telling you as she leads you down the narrow hallway, past all the other rooms and a few more doors marked Staff Only. "You get the best view, if you like looking at the brush, I guess. Sometimes there's an owl that hangs out on one of the trees but I haven't seen him yet this winter. You'll definitely see a deer though. Do they have deer in Texas? I can't remember. Joel would know."
Joel, you note. She calls him Joel.
"I'm pretty sure they have deer in Texas," you grin.
She shrugs, reaching the last door on the left, the one adorned with a large, white 4.
"Ah, well," she says as she unlocks it and leads the way inside, still chattering away. "There's also the turkeys, they're kinda funny. And Sarah says she saw a bear once but that's bullshit."
She plants your duffle bag down onto the hardwood and spreads her arms wide.
"Here you go," she grins. 
It's cozy, a corner room so there are actually two windows, one that faces the forest beside the cabin and another that looks out onto the back lawn. The snow-covered grass is bordered by even thicker woods, nearly impossible to see through, especially as the already grey sky above begins to darken, evening rapidly closing in.
The room itself consists of a queen sized bed, made up with quilts and a superfluous amount of pillows beneath an intricately-whittled wooden headboard. Warm light bathes the space from the lamp on the nightstand, bringing into view the embroidered wall art and the large multi-coloured accent rug under the foot of the bed.
"Thank you," you tell her.
"Shared bathroom's just across the hall, breakfast's at seven, and uh....I think that's it," she concludes, though she quickly corrects herself when she remembers another detail. "Unless - sorry, shit - do you have any other questions?"
"I'm good."
"Cool," she nods, handing you the key and making her way back towards the door. You inch further into the room, twiddling the key marked 4 in your fingers.
"Oh, one other thing," Ellie calls from behind you. You twist around to find her halfway out the door. "Um, cell service is kinda shitty here, so if you need to make a call or something, just come to the front desk."
Great.
"Thanks."
She gives you one last little nod and a smile, and finally ducks out of the room.
-
It's freezing.
Not at all wanting to trek down to the front desk to call your mother, you'd opted for a text instead, just a note to let her know you'd made it to town and were safe at the inn. It had taken forever but eventually it had sent, and with little else to do, you'd changed into your sweats and curled up into bed, exhaustion quickly catching up with you after your long day of travel.
You'd slept barely an hour before you'd been awoken by the sound of your own teeth chattering, your toes numb even beneath the two quilts you'd burrowed yourself under. 
A glance at your phone tells you it's just after 8 p.m. and that the absence of daylight has apparently caused the temperature outside to drop; it’s now well below freezing. Blinking the sleep out of your eyes, you now see that it's snowing, the flakes all fat and fluffy where they stick to your window and coat the pines outside.
There's no fucking way you're going to be able to sleep like this.
You pad out of bed, on a mission to find more blankets if it kills you. One of those doors marked Staff Only had to have been a linen closet, surely.
Only when you creep out into the dimly lit hallway, you immediately come face to face with Joel. More accurately, you walk right into him, colliding with his solid chest and stumbling back until two of his hands on your shoulders steady you.
"Whoa, careful now," he hums.
He's still clad in his green flannel, only now paired with a pair of dark grey sweatpants and a thick pair of wool socks.
"Shit, sorry," you mumble, shaking your head as you try to wake up. Joel drops his hands.
"S'alright. You need somethin'?"
"Um." You point a thumb back over your shoulder towards your room, your bravado fading in an instant. You suddenly feel distinctly guilty for having to voice your discomfort. You've never exactly been good at asking for help. "It's just kinda cold in my room. I was looking for blankets if you have any but, I'm sure I'll be fine, it's not - "
"I got blankets," he cuts you off with a smile and if you didn't know any better you'd think he looks a little endeared.
"Oh - great."
"C'mon," he says, beckoning for you to follow him down the hall. Sure enough, he leads you to one of the Staff Only rooms, flinging it open to reveal shelves of sheets and towels and indeed, several blankets.
"How many you need?" he asks, already fishing out two and stacking them in his arms.
"Two is probably fine."
He grabs a third anyway. You hold your hands out for them but he keeps them in his grasp as he walks you back down the hall to your room.
"Sorry 'bout the cold," he adds. "Heat's actin' up. I'm gonna take a look at it tomorrow. What with this storm comin' and all..."
"Storm?"
"Some big winter storm comin' through tomorrow. I think they're oversellin' it," he smirks.
"I hope so." As if things weren't already shitty enough. 
"Don't you go worryin' your pretty little head, darlin'. You're in good hands here."
Your heartbeat inexplicably stutters at that, the way his drawl curls around the pet name and the casual use of the word pretty. You freeze up as the two of you reach your door, Joel at last handing out the pile of blankets in his arms.
"By the way," he murmurs, his voice dropping like he's telling you a secret. He leans a little closer and your breath hitches in response. "You don't gotta go sneakin' around. F'you need somethin' - don't matter the time - you just knock on my door. I'm right down the hall. Okay?"
You nod back at him somewhat dazedly. "Okay."
He pulls away, flashing you that disarming smile again and crossing the hall towards the bathroom.
"See ya at breakfast," he says.
"See you at breakfast," you reply but he's already closing the bathroom door behind him, leaving you alone in the hallway.
You fumble your way back into your room, fan the blankets out onto your mattress one at a time before curling back into bed with just one thought on your mind:
The bed and breakfast owner is really kind of handsome.
dec. 24 - the storm
You unceremoniously jolt awake at the sound of whistling wind kissing at your windows.
Under layers of woolly insulation, your body is warm and sticky with sweat. But the second you free your arms from your mountain of blankets, you're hit by a stinging kind of cold, pricking at your skin and making you shiver violently.
The forest outside your windows is almost completely invisible, cloaked by a thick fog of blowing snow. You wrap your blankets tightly around yourself, all the way up to your neck, and roll over to check your phone. You must have beaten your alarm.
You tap the screen once, twice, a third time, finally frowning confusedly when it doesn't immediately come to life. Then you realize - it's off. But you'd had it charging all night. What the fuck?
You press down on the power button but are granted only the low battery symbol in return. You check the cord and it's definitely plugged in. Unless...
You reach one arm free from your cocoon of warmth to flip the switch on the lamp on the nightstand and -
Nothing. No power.
Goddamnit.
With a heavy sigh, you steel yourself and throw the blankets off, finally rising up out of bed. Even the rug on your bare feet is cold. The hardwood is worse. Your entire body shakes as you layer up in three pairs of socks and hurriedly slip into the one sweater you'd packed. It's still not good enough. As silly as it feels, you decide to add your winter coat for good measure before ducking out into the hallway.
In the bathroom, you brush your teeth and attempt to warm your hands under the faucet but it's no use; the water stays cold no matter how long you run it.
It occurs to you then that you don't even know what time it is. What if you've missed breakfast?
"Shit," you curse under your breath, stuffing your freezing hands into the pockets of your coat and rushing downstairs.
It gets warmer and warmer the closer you get to the living room, the smell of burning wood tipping you off to the fire there. Unconsciously, you drift closer, allowing the warmth to seep into your bones and bring your frozen fingers back to life.
There are no guests on any of the couches, you note, no teenage girls or handsome bed and breakfast owners.
And as much as you'd like to stay right here in the glow of the fire, your empty stomach is screaming at you to find some food, and fast.
The sound of laughter has you whirling towards the dining room and you breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe you haven't missed breakfast after all.
Only when you reach the threshold to the dining room, you find there are no guests here either. Just Joel and Ellie, sitting beside each other at the table with playing cards in their hands, and Sarah, jotting idly in a notebook across from them. They're all dressed in sweaters and woolen hats.
"Read 'em and weep, old man," Ellie grins, slapping her cards down onto the table with triumphant relish. "Full house."
Joel raises his eyebrows and nods, his expression unreadable as he carefully assesses her hand, and then his own.
"Hey, Sarah," he says to the other girl.
"What's up?"
She looks up from her notebook and Joel cocks his chin, beckoning her to come around the table and join him. She smirks, flitting to his side to peer over his shoulder and peek at the cards he's displaying for her.
"What do you think?" he asks her.
Sarah considers his hand for a moment, eventually pursing her lips and shaking her head sympathetically at Ellie.
"Aw, what?" Ellie groans. "No fuckin' way!"
"Sorry, kiddo," Joel shrugs, fanning out his cards beside hers. "Four-of-a-kind."
Ellie throws her head back in frustration while Sarah laughs hysterically, turning to retake her place on the other side of the table when at last she notices you, wrapped in your winter coat, curiously watching the entire ordeal from your place in the kitchen doorway.
"Oh! Morning!" Sarah greets you, her brows furrowing when she notes your getup. "Uh...Dad?"
He twists in his chair to face you, his eyes widening at you wrapped up in your coat before his expression softens into a smile.
"Mornin' sleepyhead," he chuckles, rising to meet you in the entryway and walk you into the dining room with an arm around your shoulders.
He pulls out a chair for you and you uncertainly take a seat.
"Sorry - my alarm didn't go off. Is the power out?"
"'Fraid so," Joel says, rummaging in a cabinet behind him and setting a plate and utensils out on the table before you. "We got the gas goin' at least, so I can get some breakfast goin' for ya."
"Oh, I didn't miss it?" you ask up at him. He smirks.
"Oh, no, you missed it," he admits. At that, Sarah and Ellie snigger but Joel easily silences them with a look. "S'just after 11:30."
"Oh my god, are you serious?" Embarrassment washes over you - how had you overslept so much? "You don't have to make me anything, it's my own fault - "
"S'okay, darlin'," Joel assures you, placing a comforting hand on your upper back. "We're all holed up here till this storm passes anyway. You want some coffee?"
"Um, sure, okay." 
He nods Ellie and she rises from the table without question, darting to the kitchen in the blink of an eye.
"Sarah, can you see if we still got some fruit?"
"Mhm," she replies easily, closing her notebook and following Ellie into the kitchen.
It strikes you how happy and willing the girls are to help him out, and not in a way that makes it seem like they're afraid of him. It's like they genuinely want to do right by him. You can't begin to understand how he's managed to cultivate that kind of relationship with them; it's completely foreign to you.
"How do you like your eggs?" Joel asks you, backing away towards the kitchen after the girls. "I gotta use 'em up before they go bad."
"Um, scrambled is fine but - Joel, what do you mean we're holed up here till the storm passes?"
He stops in his tracks, staring back at you in confusion like the answer should be painfully obvious. "I mean it's a mess out there, darlin'. Got about three feet of snow last night."
Oh, god.
You turn towards the window for a better look and now you see it - thick layers of snow blanketing the earth and the road and the hood of your car. Ice and snow pellet the window ceaselessly, and the force of the wind outside vibrates violently against the exterior of the cottage.
You also note that your car is now the only one parked out front, alongside the rusted old pick-up you can deduce must belong to Joel.
"Did the other guests leave?" you ask, frowning.
Joel strides back towards the table, and when you turn to face him, you think he looks a bit bashful.
"There was a lull in the storm this mornin' and they got outta here when they had the chance. Most of 'em were here to see family in town for the holidays so..."
Shit. Shit shit shit.
Joel must see the worry that's begun to creep across your features because then he sighs and shakes his head, and his bashfulness shifts to look a lot more like guilt.
"I'm sorry, I shoulda woke ya," he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Just - let me get you some breakfast and maybe this'll clear up."
He doesn't sound particularly hopeful. But he seems so eager to please that you can't help but give in and accept. You give him a tight-lipped nod and he smiles, excusing himself and disappearing beyond the kitchen door.
The second you're alone, you let your head fall into your hands with a groan. This can't be happening. Your first Christmas back home in years, your first genuine attempt to bridge the gap between you and your mother, to show everyone that you are the bigger person, willing to forgive and make amends and now - what? You're just the daughter who didn't show up, who couldn't even be bothered to call with an explanation. You can practically hear her voice the second she finds out the truth, when she discovers you're stuck just outside of town, in the bed and breakfast you'd willingly chose to stay in -
This never would have happened if you'd just stayed with me instead.
"Um, miss," a small voice calls and you look up at once to find Ellie poking her head out of the kitchen door. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Oh, um," you clear your throat to dislodge the lump there. "Two milk."
"Cool." She shoots you a thumbs up and slips back into the kitchen.
You take a deep breath and try to steady yourself. There's still a chance the storm will clear. You can still make it for Christmas dinner tonight. Maybe the power will come back and you can at least charge your phone.
Another moment passes and then Sarah and Ellie emerge from the kitchen at the same time, Ellie clutching a steaming mug and Sarah with both her hands behind her back.
Ellie carefully places the mug on the placemat before you while Sarah stands across the table with a mischievous smile.
"Pick a hand," she grins.
You sniff a laugh out through your nose and Sarah's smile widens.
"Um, left?" you say warily, playing along.
"Aha, good choice."
She frees her left hand from behind her back to reveal an orange. 
"What if I hate oranges?" you ask, but you're already reaching out to take it from her outstretched hand.
"That is unfortunate but we have a strict no take-backs rule around here."
You nod with put-on solemnity. "Of course. I wouldn't want to go breaking any rules."
It elicits a chorus of laughter from both Sarah and Ellie and something warms in you at the sound. You can't help but smile in response.
"Do you need anything else?" Ellie asks from beside you, and her tone lets you know she's hoping the answer is no. You tell her just that, that you're fine for now, and as you'd suspected, she collects the deck of cards off the table and darts into the other room with Sarah in tow.
You set your orange aside for now, much more drawn to the warm mug of coffee that feels like heaven when you take it in your hands. You sip it slowly and let the heat trickle down your throat, let it warm you from the inside out.
A few quiet minutes pass, Ellie and Sarah chatting away in the living room and the wind outside whipping wildly against the glass. It's almost peaceful, watching the storm from inside- if you let yourself forget you're stuck here on Christmas Eve.
"Alright," Joel's voice is suddenly saying, pulling you from your reverie as he comes through the kitchen door with his big hands full. Leaning over you, he sets down a plate of scrambled eggs and toast, followed by a small bowl full of various spread packets. With his body so close, you're bombarded by the scent of firewood and pine rolling off him, transfixed by the exposed skin of his arms where he's folded up the sleeves of his cable-knit sweater.
"Scrambled eggs," he says, still leaning in close and pointing with one thick finger at each of the offerings before you. "Bit of local sourdough. And then we got butter, peanut butter, jam, uh...marmalade, I guess."
His delivery wavers on the last one and it makes you both laugh. Marmalade must not be too popular. 
"Thanks," you tell him earnestly, reaching for a butter packet. You expect him to leave you then - go join his girls in the living room - but instead, he pulls up a chair at the head of the table. He grunts as he settles in and stretches his arms up over his head. His sweater rides up his belly a bit, and your eyes widen at the hint of skin that pokes out, soft and faintly hairy.
You shift your focus to toast before he notices.
"Sorry about all this," he says, shaking his head as he drops his arms to place his elbow on the tabletop. "S'bad luck."
"I should've checked the weather," you shrug around a bite of your toast. "It's been so long since I've been up this way. I forgot how bad the winters can get."
"Nah, this is somethin' else, though," Joel posits, glancing out the window and the raging storm. "Been a while since I've seen a storm this bad."
"Figures," you grumble, unable to keep the bitterness out of your tone. Joel seems to notice, his brow furrowing as he searches your face. You burn under that stare, keeping your own eyes fixed on the plate of food in front of you.
You quickly change the subject.
"They're nice girls," you say, nodding in the direction of the living room, where you can still hear Sarah and Ellie giggling away.
Joel's brows even out and he smiles at that, fondness setting in like it always seems to do when you mention them.
"Yeah, they're alright," he agrees.
You tuck into your eggs, falling into comfortable silence. You see Joel open his mouth like he's about to ask a question - the one you're sure he's been dying to ask since he'd heard your name - but you cut in before he gets the chance.
"I don't mean to be presumptuous or anything but Ellie, she's..."
Your voice trails off, not really sure how to finish the sentence.
"Adopted," Joel fills in for you, clearly unoffended. You nod; you'd thought as much. Not that it matters, of course, but something in you wants to understand their family dynamic. Maybe because of how much it differs from yours. 
You're not really sure what to say to that and you don't want to pry, so you just keep eating and wait for him to tell you more if he wants to.
And he clearly wants to.
"Her parents were old friends of mine," he explains. "We lost 'em when she was real young. She didn't have no one else. It was either I take her in or she ends up in the foster system. And I wasn't gonna let that happen to her."
"Wow," you whisper, genuinely moved and frustratingly envious. Ellie isn't even Joel's daughter by blood and the two of them seem to share a stronger bond than you and your parents ever did.
"Wasn't always easy, raisin' two girl on my own but...if I could do it all again, I would," he smiles, staring off distantly in the direction of the living room with his big arms crossed over his chest.
Christ.
He's too good, you think. Too kind. Too...annoyingly handsome.
You're staring. Until something outside catches your attention.
For the first time since you'd awoken, the films of white outside have cleared, a break in the constant precipitation finally appearing. 
"Oh, shit," you murmur, scarfing down the last of your eggs and hurriedly rising from the table. "I gotta go."
Joel frowns, watching you with concern in his eyes as you quickly shuffle past him.
"Darlin', I don't know if you - "
"It's fine, look, it's clearing up," you insist, gesturing towards the window and the slowly clearing sky.
"For now," he argues. "And the roads - "
"It's Christmas Eve, Joel," you interrupt, your voice oozing finality. "I have to at least try."
He still looks unsure - and maybe a little disappointed - but he doesn't argue it further. Not wanting to waste any time, you race out of the room, flying up the stairs to your bedroom to grab your bag and your boots. You'd been planning to sleep here tonight too but with the weather as bad as it is, you have no idea if your plan to go between your mother's and the inn will even be feasible. You'll just have to cut your time at Miller's Inn shorter than expected. 
You leave your key on the front desk and hurry out of the cabin to your car, ignoring the looks of concern that Sarah and Ellie shoot you as you pass them in the living room.
The wind is still blowing hard, the air bitingly cold against your cheeks. You trudge through the dense, wet snow to your rental car, your hope fading fast when you see the windows coated with ice and the roof buried in snow.
Determined, you wipe at the snow with your arms, desperately attempting to clear it off your windshield. You try not to think about the dense snowbank blocking back tires, how there is absolutely no fucking way you're going to be able to back out of here like this.
You have to at least try.
God, and it's always you who has to try, isn't it? Frustration boils over into wet tears that freeze the minute they spill from your eyes, as you fight with the icy handle of your car door, frozen stuck no matter how hard you pull it. God forbid your mother ever put the effort in - when was the last time she came to visit you? When was the last time she called to talk for more than ten minutes? About something other than herself?
Why is it that everyone else got to shut down when dad died and you had to be the one who kept trying?
You stumble backwards when your fruitless tugging suddenly pries the door open and you fall on your ass, right into a snowpile.
"Fuck!" you curse exasperatedly.
Two hands are on your shoulders then, a gentle voice murmuring, "Hey, hey, you're okay, I got you," before you can even start to hoist yourself back up to standing.
"You okay?" Joel's asking, unwitting tears still pouring from your eyes. "You hurt?"
You wipe away the wetness from your cheeks, putting on a brave face while Joel hooks his arms under your armpits and pulls you upright with impressive strength.
"I'm fine," you insist, pulling yourself free from his grasp. He's still got his arms outstretched like he wants to help you further, his cheeks all pink against the bitter air. He's only in his sweater, his jeans haphazardly tucked into his untied boots.
"Darlin' - "
You ignore him, stubbornly getting into your car and slamming the door shut behind you. You can see him in your periphery, watching you worriedly as you jam the key into the ignition and turn.
All it gets you is a metallic, grinding noise.
"Fuck, come on," you whisper to no one, turning the key again and saying a silent prayer under your breath.
That hollow, clanging sound echoes out for the second time, your car still refusing to start. 
A quiet sob catches in your throat and your head falls forward into the steering wheel. Defeated, you sigh, long and ragged.
A tap on the glass has your head snapping up. It's Joel, of course, peering at you through the ice-coated window.
"Why don't you come back inside, sweetheart?" he suggests, cocking his chin towards the cabin.
He looks so earnest, his brown eyes all soft and full of concern. He really is so handsome. You sigh again and accept your fate, pulling your key from the ignition and letting Joel guide you back into the inn.
-
It's quiet at Miller's Inn. Maybe the quietest it's been since you got here.
Your miserable musing is soundtracked only by the crackling fire and the faint sound of Sarah humming away while she decorates cookies at the kitchen table. You, meanwhile, are curled up on the couch in the living room, basking in the warmth of the fireplace while you try not to stare out the window.
You're not doing a very good job of it, you realize, slung over the back of the couch to get a better view of the scene taking place beyond the frosted window.
Just at the edge of the woods, Joel is chopping wood with Ellie. More accurately, Joel is showing Ellie how to chop. Sure and confident when he wields the axe, Joel demonstrates the swinging motion with practiced ease and breathtaking strength. You watch with wonder as he repeats it, over and over, imagining the soft grunting sounds he's making with each downswing, resisting the urge to bite your lip when his face screws up a bit with the effort.
Perhaps even more affecting is the way he watches Ellie when it's her turn, his gaze intent and protective each time she takes the axe in her little hands. There's something so endearing about the competent manner in which he corrects her grip and adjusts her stance, the approving nod he offers her every time she makes a clean split.
You quickly avert your eyes to the fire when you see them start to make their way back towards the cabin, cradling stacks of chopped wood in their arms.
"How's that fire doin'?" Joel calls to you as he steps inside through the back door and kicks off his snowy boots.
"Uh..." You squint into the fireplace just as a big log in the centre collapses into embers and stifles the burning flame.
"Could use some help," you admit.
Joel grins and gives you a nod, crossing the room with an armful of firewood. He sets it down by the hearth and you try not to stare as he shucks off his brown leather coat and tosses it onto the other couch beside him.
Once again, though, you find it's impossible to look away. Not when he crouches and rolls up the sleeves of his sweater, not when he prods at the dying flame with an iron rod, the muscles in his forearm flexing as he does. Certainly not when he expertly places a few fresh logs onto the embers and purses his plush lips to blow into the coals, the dwindling sparks catching new life as a bright, thriving fire begins to spread.
"You see how I did that, kiddo?" he asks over his shoulder, bringing you right back down to Earth as you finally register Ellie standing behind him, watching him work with rapt attention.
"Add some wood, poke it, blow on it - boom, fire," she shrugs. "Looks easy enough."
Joel rolls his eyes as he hoists himself back up to standing with a hand on his knee, grunting a little in the process.
"You say that now," he grumbles. "But if you ain't careful, you'll singe your damn eyebrows off."
"That would look cool," she argues.
You giggle at that and Joel rounds on you. "Don't you go encouragin' her now," he says.
"What? I think she could pull it off."
"She could!" Sarah yells from the kitchen.
Joel raises his eyebrows in mock disbelief, betrayal written all over his face.
"Here I am tryin' to teach my girls fire safety - "
"Which you've taught us a million-billion times," Ellie interjects.
" - and all I'm gettin' is ganged up on."
You laugh at that, a proper throaty laugh, maybe your first real laugh since you'd arrived. Joel glances over at you at the sound, smiling warmly, his sweet eyes crinkled at the edges like he's genuinely pleased to see you enjoying yourself.
You get momentarily lost in that gaze, the way it lingers a little too long, the corners of his lips dissolving into something more pensive. It makes your cheeks warm, the intensity of his stare hitting you in a rush of fluttering butterflies. Suddenly shy, you pointedly avert your eyes.
Joel clears his throat.
"How 'bout we get some dinner goin'?" he suggests, tearing his gaze away from you at last. You exhale for what feels like the first time in minutes.
"Hell, yes!" Ellie agrees, already taking off towards the kitchen.
You take it as your cue.
"I'll just leave you to it then," you say to Joel, rising up off the couch. He frowns.
"What're you talkin' about?"
"Well, I - I don't want to intrude on your Christmas dinner. I'll just go hang out in my room."
His confusion only seems to grow the more you go on.
"But it's freezin' up there," he protests.
"I mean, yeah, but - it's Christmas Eve. I can just...let you be with your family."
"Darlin'."
He places two big, warm hands on your shoulders, his gentle touch somehow placating and exhilarating all at once. His eyes all doleful and inviting, he minutely shakes his head, effectively silencing any further arguments.
"You're part of this family tonight. M'not gonna let you spend Christmas Eve all by yourself. Understood?"
It's all you can do just to nod in response.
"You just stay here by the fire," he goes on, rendering you breathless when he moves one hand to loosely cup the side of your face and trace his thumb across your cheekbone. "And keep warm, alright?"
He does it so casually, letting you go so quickly you almost can't believe what's actually just happened.
"Alright," you agree as though you could possibly say anything else at the moment.
He smiles. "Good. I'll take care of ya, alright? No one's gettin' frostbite or goin' hungry under my roof."
"Thank you," you tell him, and there's an unexpected reverence that coats your words, one you hadn't intended.
You realize you can't remember the last time someone took care of you.
-
As afternoon fades into evening, the storm returns full swing.
Fresh snow begins to fall, squalls of white licking at the window as darkness overtakes the sky outside. You gaze out into the cold and try not to think about your mother's disappointment, all the snide remarks she'll make to the rest of your family when you don't show up tonight, bailing on Christmas dinner with no explanation.
The smell of salt and herbs saturates the cabin and you let the promise of a home-cooked meal distract you. Sarah brings you cookies and lights candles all around you, muttering to you how, "The tree looks kind of sad without all the lights."
But the tinsel there glistens in the glow of the fire, sparkling against all the mismatched ornaments you can only assume were crafted by much younger Sarahs and Ellies. The sight of them makes your heart swell in an unfamiliar way and you think, actually, it might be the most beautiful tree you've ever seen in your whole, entire life.
You eat dinner around a candlelit dining room table, situated between Joel and Sarah, almost like you belong there. Wrapped in the sweater Joel'd loaned you, feasting on the meal he'd cooked up with his daughters, you'd be forgiven for starting to believe it. Outside, the storm rages on, but in here, it is warm - safe.
Joel makes a toast to family and his girls roll their eyes but clink their glasses with his all the same. You do too, internally correcting the sentiment as a toast to this family, this family that seems so happy and comfortable and fond of one another, this family that had so generously let you in on their evening when they could have just as easily turned you away. To Joel, who keeps peeking over at you from the corner of his eye, who smiles softly at you and encourages you to eat seconds, who - every so often - places his massive hand on your upper back soothingly and rubs, a gesture that feels so naturally comforting you're not even sure he's doing it consciously.
Of course, you don't miss the way Sarah and Ellie exchange mischievous little glances across the table each time he touches you. Your skin burns every time you catch them.
Clean-up consists of depositing your dirty dishes into the kitchen sink to become tomorrow's problem, the four of you eventually finding your way back into the living room to cozy up around the fire.
The girls are quick to take the bigger couch, eyeing you and Joel expectantly as you shyly sit side by side on the loveseat, your knees just barely brushing.
Something sparks there, at the place your bodies touch, torrid as the crackling fire.
"I have an idea," Ellie says, sitting up excitedly.
Joel leans back into the couch, fanning his palm out over his full belly and spreading his knees a little wider so his thigh bumps up against yours in the process. "What's'at?" he asks.
"Why don't you play us all a song?" she grins, but she's looking at you.
At that, Joel...blushes? He huffs out a laugh that almost sounds nervous, maybe a little embarrassed.
"Seriously?"
"Come on, it's not like we have anything better to do," Sarah adds.
"Oh, well, now I really want to," he retorts sardonically.
"You know what I mean."
"Please, pops?" Ellie softly pleads. "I'll sing with you."
Joel looks between the two of them doubtfully, but ultimately caves, sighing with a shake of his head as he rises up off the couch to the room behind the front desk.
"Christ..." he's muttering to himself as he disappears from your view.
The girls are sniggering again, watching your confused expression turn to realization as Joel returns with an acoustic guitar in hand.
Oh.
"Can't believe I'm doin' this..." he grumbles as he retakes his place beside you. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as you watch him carefully tune the strings by ear before strumming out a simple chord and nodding to himself.
"What do you wanna hear?" he asks the girls.
"The one with the drunk tank!" Sarah suggests.
Joel laughs and shakes his head. "'Fairytale of New York'?"
"Yeah, that one."
Joel sighs resignedly, sitting up a little straighter in his seat and dancing his fingers along the neck of the guitar. You hold your breath as you wait to hear him begin, but before he does, he looks up at Ellie with raised eyebrows.
"You'll sing with me?" he asks her.
She mirrors him, straightening her spine and giving him an encouraging nod.
There's a beat, as Joel once again appears to steady himself, his eyes quickly darting over to you, watching him with curious wonder and then - he starts to play.
It begins with a stirring introduction as his thick fingers press expertly into the strings, already gorgeous enough to make your heart pang. Then he opens his mouth.
It was Christmas Eve, babe...
You practically feel your jaw hit the floor as the dulcet tone of his singing voice rings out through the cabin. Rich and low with just a hint of rasp, he carries the melancholic opening verse beautifully, with all the comfort and familiarity of someone who's sung these words hundreds of times before.
It's like he disappears inside himself as he sings, his eyes slipping shut almost of their own volition. You're instantly transfixed, your gaze flitting between his lips and his fingers, the shadows cast onto his cheeks by his eyelashes, the relaxed set of his features even as his voice effortlessly moulds around the winding melody.
It's so earnest and raw, you're shocked to feel a stream of salt trickle down your cheek when he sings,
I've got a feeling
This year's for me and you
It's only when his eyes snap open and he nods over at Ellie, counting her in as he concludes his verse, that you tear your eyes away from him and yank yourself free from your trance.
The atmosphere shifts then as the tempo increases. Joel taps his foot and Sarah claps along as Ellie's lilting voice melds seamlessly with her father's. It's all smiles and laughter then, for them and for you, as you allow yourself to join in on their fun - even if it still feels sort of wrong. You clap your hands in time with the song and for the first time, you feel less like an audience to their joy and more like a part of it. That feeling only lingers when his duet with Ellie ends and Joel artfully shifts into a chorus of "Jingle Bells" that has the four of you singing along in varying shades of pitch.
Your voice blends in with theirs more fittingly than you would have expected, and even you have to admit that right now, it sure feels a lot like you're part of the family.
-
Eventually it comes time for the girls to go to bed, their reluctance evident as they bid you both goodnight - hugs for you and Joel - and trudge upstairs to their room. You pretend you don't see it when they flash a pointed look at their father, then you, a look he returns with a bemused frown and a shake of his head.
The moment they're gone, Joel cocks his eyebrows at you and ducks away to the office behind the front desk, returning with a cloth bag full of wrapped gifts.
"Ho, ho, ho," he chuckles and you smile too, thoroughly endeared as he sets them out beneath the tree; a few for Ellie, a few for Sarah, a grocery bag full of stocking stuffers which he splits evenly among all three hanging socks.
"You're a good dad," you find yourself saying as he finishes up.
Joel grins, appearing genuinely affected before he quickly deflects. "That's Santa to you."
"Okay, Santa," you laugh and Joel shoots you a playful wink before disappearing again to chuck his empty Christmas sack back into his office.
"I'll just wait for this fire to die out," Joel says as he retakes his place beside you. "You're welcome to stay." A brief pause. "I'd like you to stay."
"I'd like that too," you reply truthfully.
Joel grins and the fire dances in his sweet, brown eyes.
"You want a drink?" he asks then.
You smile - alcohol and the holidays; now that sounds more like the Christmas you know.
"What are we having?"
"Well - " Joel rises up off the couch with a soft groan, and you ogle at his back as he goes to rummage in a cupboard under the stairs you hadn't noticed before. "Got this nice bourbon a guest left for me or - "
"That."
He twists to smirk at you over his shoulder. "Good choice."
You can't help but return his smirk as he hurries out of the room to the kitchen and returns a moment later with two crystal glasses. He pours you each a generous, neat drink, candlelight glowing in the amber liquid. He leans into the couch beside you and clinks his glass with yours and once you've both taken a long, warming pull, he sighs and stretches an arm out behind you, opening his broad body to yours.
Maybe it's the drink - or maybe it's the way your skin has been prickling from your proximity to Joel all night - but now you're finally alone, you decide to test the waters.
"Why do I feel like you're putting the moves on me?" you tease him, keeping your tone light even though you'd really, really like for him to be putting the moves on you.
"Shit," he laughs, but he doesn't move his arm. "Would you hate if I was?"
"Not at all," you assure him, sipping at more liquid courage while your heart rate increases tenfold. "Please, continue with any and all moves."
He laughs at that. "Let me work up to the next one."
"Aright," you grin, holding up your glass for another cheers. "I will patiently await your next move."
Then you both laugh, eventually falling into comfortable silence backdropped by the raging storm outside and the dwindling fire before you.
"Thank you, by the way," you say after a moment. "For all of this. You've been more generous than I deserve."
Joel tuts. "Don't mention it, darlin'. It's Christmas. Season of givin'."
While he speaks, the arm he has behind you moves and his hand comes down on your thigh, his thumb tracing absent circles over your knee. Tingles shoot up your spine, both at his touch and the double entendre, but you work to stay level.
"Is that your next move?" you ask, glancing down at his fingers spreading wide over your leg.
He chuckles. "How's it workin'?"
"Little cheesy," you admit but your pulse is pounding in your ears as warmth from his palm saturates straight through your leggings and seeps into your skin.
He nods, not bothering to argue it. "That's fair. Can I keep this here?"
He twiddles his fingers around your thigh to punctuate his request and you nod.
Another few moments of quiet sipping pass, charged by his hand taking up your thigh. You lie your head back into the couch and let the warmth of the bourbon drip through your veins, oddly at ease in spite of your circumstances.
"My mom's gonna be so pissed at me," you confess.
Joel frowns. "Pissed?"
You sigh and take another long pull of your drink, more out of necessity now that you're apparently opening up to this man.
"I haven't been home for Christmas in years," you begin. "Honestly, me and my mom barely even talk. But she decided that this year - this year was gonna be the one we spent Christmas together like a family."
You shake your head and down what's left of your drink. Joel doesn't speak, just tops up your glass and waits for you to go on.
"Of course, all that means is that I had to make the trek up here, to this place that makes me...miserable - which she knows. Paid for all of it by myself, by the way. Just so she can look like the big hero who saved Christmas when I come through the door."
You stare into the fire as the admission pours from you but you can feel Joel's eyes boring into your face. His fingers tighten around your thigh and you take a deep breath.
"And then I didn't show," you shrug, the words escaping you in the form of a humourless laugh. "Came all the way up here just to - "
You cut yourself off, not really sure what you'd been about to say next. Just to...what? Spend the night with a loving family? Get cozy on the couch with a handsome bed and breakfast owner? Smile and laugh and sing and feel cared for, for once in your life?
It feels shameful to admit it, but you think part of you might be grateful for the storm after all.
"Anyway," you conclude around another sip of bourbon, the alcohol starting to tickle sweetly at the edges of your brain. "Guess I ruined Christmas."
You tilt your glass towards his with a self-deprecating smirk and Joel clinks it almost reluctantly.
"Well if that's what she thinks, then..." Joel shakes his head like he's searching for the right words. "I'm glad you ended up here with us instead."
Emotion licks at your insides and you smile in spite of yourself. "Me too."
He shifts a bit in his seat to face you full-on. He's smiling too, soft and sweet, as he reaches between your bodies to pick a small piece of fluff off the chest of the sweater you're wearing - his sweater.
The proximity is overwhelming and for a moment it feels like time stops altogether. You watch his eyes as he traces a line down your arm to take your hand in his. You let him turn your palm over in his grasp, feeling the way his calloused thumb catches on your skin when he drags it over the lines in your open hand.
"This alright?" he asks.
"Mhm," you assure him, breathless as his delicate touch lulls you into a state of peace, underscored by a sudden, burning twist of desire.
"Hey, uh..." His brows knit together, his smile fading a bit even as he maintains the steady patterns he's drawing over your palm. "Somethin' I've been wantin' to ask you..."
That look from yesterday is back in his eyes, the sympathetic knowing. But it doesn't scare you now. You've already opened your heart to him more than you've opened it to anyone in years.
You wrap your fingers around his, stifling his motions to grip his hand like a lifeline. 
"Yes, I'm who you think I am," you tell him.
His eyes remain fixed on the place your bodies are connected.
"I remember you," he whispers. It doesn't surprise you. There are no strangers in Cooperstown. "What happened to your old man...Jesus, what you went through."
He shakes his head and takes a long, ragged breath and you're certain he's thinking about the two girls upstairs, safe and warm in their beds. Doing the math in his head like he's realizing they're about the age you were when you watched your own father die in a boating accident.
"It's okay," you say quietly, squeezing his fingers a little tighter. "It was a long time ago."
"I just can't imagine..." he sighs. "And after all that, for your mama to still treat you like that..."
You shrug dismissively, bringing the rim of your glass up to your lips. "Yeah, well, we all process that shit differently, I guess."
It comes out sounding more bitter than you mean it to and you sip your drink to dull the pang of deep-seated anger in your guts.
Joel just shakes his head again, stealing your breath when he lifts your conjoined hands up to his mouth and lightly kisses the back of your knuckles. There's something so reassuring about the gesture, something so genuine in the way he whispers, "I'm sorry," into your skin.
But something else is clawing its way up your neck, something screaming at you to steer this conversation away from dead parents so you can keep feeling his lips on your skin.
"Is that your next move?" you ask him, your voice shaking just the tiniest bit as his mouth hovers hotly over your hand.
He grins against you. "Why? S'it workin'?"
You take a deep breath, and then you take a chance.
"You could...kiss me somewhere else," you suggest.
His eyes flash up to meet yours from beneath his long, dark lashes, the same thing burning bright in your core reflected back at you in his gaze. You watch with bated breath as he slowly lets your hand fall, collecting your glass and placing it on the coffee table along with his own.
He moves at a careful pace as he turns back to face you, his eyes trained on your already parted lips. His tan skin glows in the orange firelight and you want to taste him.
Unconsciously, you lean in closer as he takes your face in both his hands, stroking his thumbs over your cheekbones as his gaze darts from your lips to your eyes, searching.
"Yeah?" he checks in, like he's asking permission.
"Yeah," you nod, eagerness bordering on desperation as he finally closes the space between you to press his lips over yours.
You can't remember the last time someone kissed you like Joel does. Soft and patient, his chapped lips fit perfectly against yours like puzzle pieces. You let him take the lead, let his tongue pour into your mouth and sigh when it does. Bourbon lingers on his tongue, but there's something else there too - a scent and taste that's distinctly Joel, woodsy and warm and male.
Neither of you in any rush, your lips move in a tender dance as your hands loop around his neck and your fingers find purchase in the curls at the back of his neck. A low sound rumbles in his chest in response and ignites a pang of arousal in your core.
And yet...you almost think you'd be content to just keep kissing him forever. One of his massive hands moves to cradle the back of your neck and tilt your head back so he can kiss you deeper and you press your body impossibly closer to his, until you're sure he can feel your heart beating in your chest.
He kisses you until you're breathless and dizzy, finally pulling away to meet your faraway gaze with a sweet little smile.
"How was that?" he asks.
You try to think of a smart response but all your brain can conjure up is, "Good."
"Fire's out," Joel breathes, nodding behind you.
Still entwined in his embrace, you twist to see what he's seeing; the remaining logs burnt away to black, the flue now shrouded in darkness. You shiver, but you don't feel cold.
"I guess that means it's time for bed," you say, refocusing on him, his face only inches from yours.
"C'mon," he hums, unraveling your bodies to help you to your feet. Together, you blow out the candles, sheathing the cabin in near-total darkness. You wait at the foot of the stairs while Joel checks the locks on the front door and closes all the curtains, shielding you from the storm outside for the last time tonight.
He finds you there, and in the black of the night, he guides you up the stairs, sure of his footing in spite of the darkness. He leads you down the hallway, past his room to yours, unlocking it for you with his master key.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispers and your heart falls a bit - you don't want to leave him yet.
"Oh. Goodnight, Joel," you respond reluctantly, reaching out blindly to cradle his face in your hands. Scruff scratches at your palms and you can't help yourself; you crane your neck to kiss him again, quick and chaste. "Merry Christmas."
He hums lowly and presses his lips to your forehead.
"You need somethin', you just knock on my door, okay?"
He pulls back just in time for you to tell him, okay, and then he's turning away, his form lost to the darkness the moment he's out of arm's reach.
Longing overcomes you the moment you close the door behind you.
In spite of everything, Joel had somehow managed to give you the happiest Christmas of your life. Just by opening his home to you, offering you a seat at his family's table, making you feel something close to loved; you're not sure he'll ever know how much it had meant to you.
Warmth emanates from the top of your head to the tip of your toes, curling incessantly in your tummy. It keeps you standing firmly in place, refusing to accept that the night is truly over.
As your eyes adjust to the blackness, something comes into view, something left on your dresser by Sarah or Ellie or Joel - and it shatters what's left of your resolve.
You snatch up the flashlight in a giddy haze and hurry out of your room before you change your mind.
Your feet carry you down the hall to the door marked Owner and then Joel is throwing his door open before you've even had the chance to knock. His eyes rake over you, hungry and curious.
"I need something, Joel," you tell him.
Without a word, he smiles, holding a hand out to you to pull you into his chest.
He's less patient here, in the dimly lit safety of his room, the flashlight falling to the floor as he snakes his arms around your back and crushes his mouth against yours. The moment the door closes behind you, he's crowding you towards his bed as his lips traverse your neck and his hands peel at layers of clothing.
It's all hushed and heady as you let him strip you bare and lay you out beneath him, melting at the way he gazes down at you in wonder, his palms trailing over your skin and leaving traces of heat in their wake, warm enough to combat the whipping winds of cold licking at his windows.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, shaking his head like he can hardly believe it.
"Joel," you softly plead, your fingers clawing at the edges of his sweater. "Let me see you."
He nods, a low growl echoing in his chest as he quickly obeys and lifts away his top layers.
"Oh," you sigh at the sight of him, unconsciously sitting up to run your hands over his belly, dotted with a light smattering of hair leading downward, invitingly soft beneath your touch.
Joel chuckles at your reverence, watching you as you glide your palms up and over his chest while he undoes his jeans and lets them fall away with his boxers.
And his cock might be only the thing perfect enough to draw your gaze away from his belly, thick and hard and right at your eye line. You don't wait - can't wait - just take him in your hand and stroke, peering up at him when he gently cups the side of your face. Something about his soft, lustful stare makes you smile.
His own parted lips twitch up at the corners, and it spurs you on; you lightly pull back his foreskin and sink the tip of his cock between your lips, swirling your tongue around his slit and tasting salt. Joel curses above you and you take him deeper, his musky scent all-encompassing, intoxicating. His hand moves to cradle the back of your head and tangles in your hair just as you begin to bob on him, your eyelids fluttering closed as you sigh around him.
But Joel has other plans. He pulls you off his length with gentle but insistent force, dropping to his knees and pressing you down into the mattress with his hands splayed across your stomach.
"Can I kiss you here?" he murmurs gruffly, spreading your thighs apart to make a home between them, his scruff already dragging across your skin as he nears your wet centre.
"Oh, god, yeah - yes," you nod fervently, breathless just at the offer. Merry fucking Christmas to you.
Joel groans, licking his lips before diving forward to close his mouth around your heat and lap hotly at your core.
He's fucking greedy with it, devouring you like you're his favourite meal in the world, as meticulous and patient as he'd been when he'd kissed your lips by the fire. It doesn't take him long to bring you to the edge, not with the way his tongue easily finds your clit and massages it with such caring intent you swear you feel a tear well in your eye when you come, when firelight burns behind your eyes and Joel holds you flush against his mouth with two arms hooked under your thighs.
It's all a blur after that, Joel repositioning you so he's hovering over you on the bed, hooking one of your legs up over his hip, some exchanged words about protection and not needing it and Joel's grateful groan in response. His skin is soft beneath your fingernails as he sinks inside you, your body making space for him with ease, slotting into the warmth of your cunt like he was made to be there.
He fucks you slow and urgent all at once, his whispered ramblings about how perfect and beautiful and good you are lost to the wind outside. Below the cover of his body, his strong arms braced on either side of your head, you feel perfectly protected, shielded from the storm in every way - shielded from anything bad at all - and as he crashes onto his elbows to connect his mouth with yours, you think that maybe this was always where you were supposed to end up this Christmas Eve, that maybe all the stars had aligned to bring you this; Joel grunting softly against your lips, your bodies and breaths becoming one until he's hastily pulling out to come steaks of white across your stomach.
"You okay, sweet girl?" he asks when it ends, when he's finished wiping you clean with an old t-shirt and pulled you into the solid warmth of his embrace.
"Mhm," you smile into his chest, kissing the skin there and committing the taste of him to memory. "Can I stay here with you?"
Joel strokes your hair, tugging his blankets up over your naked bodies before kissing the top of your head.
"'Course, baby," he whispers. "'Course you can."
dec. 25 - the goodbye
You're awoken by the bright light of day and the sound of knocking at Joel's door.
"Wake up!" a voice is yelling from the hallway. "Joel, wake up! It's present time!"
You blink against the daylight and exchange a sleepy smile with Joel, his soft eyes all bleary with sleep and only half-open when he calls back, "Alright, meet ya down there!"
You laugh as your head falls forward into his chest, feeling his lips press into your hair. You linger in the cover of his body and his blankets for perhaps a little too long before you finally roll out of bed.
-
It doesn't feel strange to be here anymore, sipping coffee around the Millers' fireplace, slotting into their Christmas morning as if it were yours too. You rejoice right along with the girls when they open their presents, soften when the two of them surprise Joel with a gift of their own - a songbook full of Hank Williams songs and a framed photo of Joel and his brother from when they were kids.
The power returns and Ellie calls it a Christmas miracle, the lights on the tree coming to life as the electric heaters whir all around. The storm has passed, and reality is quickly settling in, that as much as you'd like to stay, you have a flight to catch tonight and a family of your own you should make one last attempt to see before you leave New York.
Joel's hand on your knee beneath the dining room table as you share your last breakfast together only makes it harder to imagine leaving. 
But leave, you must.
The sky outside has cleared to blue, the snow having finally stopped falling some time in the night. Sarah and Ellie shovel away heaps of snow and with some careful coaxing from Joel, you're finally able to start your car.
You never could have imagined when you'd pulled into this place two days ago what a lasting impact it would have on your heart. You'd been dreading coming here, and now you can hardly stand to go.
"Thank you," you say to the Millers, your temporary family, who'd given you so much in so little time and asked for little in return. "For everything."
"Come back soon," Sarah pleads, throwing her arms around you in a tight hug. Ellie joins it, pressing herself into your side and muttering a simple, "Merry Christmas."
Joel watches on till the girls untangle themselves from you to glance between you and their dad.
"We'll just, uh, leave you guys alone for a sec," Sarah says, making Ellie giggle as the two of them hurriedly make their way back into the cabin.
Alone in the driveway, Joel saunters closer to you with a small half-smile.
"Little matchmakers, huh?" you joke.
Joel shakes his head, but his smile widens. "Yeah, they like to think so."
"With them on your side plus those moves of yours..." You whistle softly. "Good luck to the next helpless young woman who gets snowed in here."
He laughs. "I don't exactly make a habit of this kinda thing, sweetheart."
"So what, I'm just that special?"
You mean it like a joke but Joel's smile fades, his tone deadly serious when he says,
"You are."
You swallow hard against the sudden lump in your throat, overcome with emotion as you throw your arms around his middle to bury your face into his chest. You breathe in the scent of his leather jacket while his own arms encircle you and squeeze.
"What'll you do now?" he asks when he pulls back to hold you by the shoulders.
You take a deep breath, a sigh that turns to vapour between your bodies.
"I'm gonna go spend what's left of this Christmas with my mom," you decide. "And I'm gonna tell her I'm sorry. Then I'm gonna get on a plane, and I'm gonna go home."
Joel smiles, something like pride in his eyes as he leans forward to press his lips to your forehead.
"You're always welcome here," he says.
"Thank you," you sigh. "Thank you, Joel."
He finally lets you go, his hand trailing down your arm as you turn away. You look over your shoulder with one hand on your car door, the two of you exchanging one last fleeting smile.
"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he says.
"Merry Christmas, Joel."
-
Guided by muscle memory and sheer will, you drive towards your mother's house, your nerves mounting with each passing mile. Your dread reaches a fever pitch when you pull into the driveway and your mother comes bursting through the front door, her face all screwed up with some emotion you can't place.
You take a deep breath and prepare to face the music, bracing yourself for the wrath as you reluctantly climb out of your car and meet your mom halfway through the driveway.
"Mom, I'm sorry - " you begin but you're cut off when she throws her arms around you in a suffocating hug and it's only then you realize she's crying, wet sobs catching on your jacket as she all but squeezes the life out of you.
"Oh, sweetie," she cries and she doesn't sound angry at all. Not snide or cruel or cutting. Over her shoulder, you can see the rest of your family gathering on the front porch, varying shades of relief on their faces.
"Mom - " you mutter confusedly, too stunned to even hug her back. "It's okay, mom, I'm okay."
She releases you at last, patting at your arms and your shoulders and your head like she's checking you to be sure. You frown at her tear-streaked face, not finding any trace of malice there.
"Oh, honey, I'm so glad you're here," she says hoarsely and your heart swells at how much it sounds like she means it. "We were so worried."
"You were?"
Fresh tears well in her eyes, another ragged sob getting stuck in her throat.
"The storm was all over the news - I thought - " She shakes her head stubbornly trying to dispel whatever horrible scenario she'd imagined you in. "I'm just so relieved you're safe."
"Oh," you mutter. "I thought...I thought you'd be mad."
The suggestion seems to genuinely pain her, more hot tears pouring over her cheeks as she cups your face between her hands.
"I'm so sorry," she croaks.
You're not sure either of you know what for exactly, but you let the words wash over you all the same.
"It's okay, mom," you assure her, and least for now, you choose to let it be true.
"Can you stay? For a little while?"
"Yeah, mom. I can stay."
And you do, spending your final few hours in Cooperstown in your childhood home, allowing yourself to feel at peace there. Surrounded by your blood family, you carry with you the memory of the Millers in your heart, all their unconditional love for each other and the unwavering kindness they'd shown you when you'd needed it most.
You think, probably, you'll carry them with you forever.
2K notes · View notes
lovebugism · 1 month
Note
Shy!reader who has never had a valentine and Steve who pulls out alllll the stops to make up for this—flowers, chocolate, jewelry, candles, a nice dinner, even stuff like a teddy bear and those cheesy kid valentines
happy love day <3 — steve helps his shy gf celebrate her very first valentine's day (shy!reader, established relationship, cw for brief mentions of anxiety, 1k)
Valentine’s Day afternoon is grey and gloomy, but your beaming makes up for it. You’re smiling wide and sparkling with it the second you see Steve waiting for you in the parking lot outside your work. He’d promised to pick you up, yes, but you’re always giddy at the sight of him.
“Hey, babe,” the boy greets with his own grin, crooked and perfectly pink. 
He looks all cool, leaning against the driver’s side of his car. Pristine sneakers crossed over one another, sweater sleeves pushed up to his elbows, strands of cinnamon hair draping his forehead — how are you supposed to do anything but melt for him?
“Hi,” you respond in a tinier voice, walking closer to him now. You duck your chin to your chest and peer at him through your lashes, always so painfully shy.
“Did you have a good day?”
“It was alright,” you shrug and plant yourself in front of him. The deep scent of cologne staining his shirt combines with the earthy scent of impending rain. The concoction makes you dizzy. “Kept thinking about seeing you the whole time, though.”
Your confession makes the bridge of his chiseled nose scrunch. 
“Well, that makes two of us,” he quips before revealing the bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. A small thing wrapped in pale pink tissue paper — pastel lavenders and pale baby’s breath — as pretty and delicate as you are.
You light up instantly, eyes glittering as they flit from the bushel of flowers to Steve’s proud grin. “You got me flowers?” you wonder, quiet with disbelief. You take them with a soft, trembling hand.
Steve shrugs. “‘Course I did.”
You bury your nose in the perfumed florals and flash a sheepish look over them. “No boy’s ever gotten me flowers before…”
Steve knows this. He knows you’ve never had a valentine before him — that you’ve never been with anyone the way you’ve been with him. It’s why he’s always so soft and perfectly patient with you.
“‘Cause other boys are stupid,” he says, grinning when it makes you giggle. He takes another step closer to you and smooths his warm palms over your arms. His thumbs rub gently along the outsides of your elbow. “Do you like them?”
“I love them,” you insist, smiling so wide it hurts. “They’re gonna look so pretty in my room.”
“Want me to take you home then? So you can get ready for tonight?”
Your brows pinch at his mischievous tone. “What’s tonight?”
“Dinner. I wanna take you to that fancy, new Italian place in the city.”
“Oh.” Your panic is subtle but still written all over your face. You’re not good at going out — you’re worse at trying new things. Steve’s certainly made you braver, but you’re always a little timid at heart. 
Steve knows this and assures with a soft smile, “But we don’t have to if you don’t want. It was just a suggestion.”
“I want to,” you hear yourself say.
His brows raise, visibly shocked. “You do?”
There’s something about the way he looks at you, with a glimmer in his deep brown eyes, that makes you bold. You nod once, firm and foreignly confident. “Yeah.”
Steve tries not to be too obvious about his smiling, but he wears his love for you all over his face without trying. “Then let’s go.”
—————
Rain beats heavy against the window of the candle-lit restaurant, a wild and delicate cadence. The flickering flame paints Steve’s smile golden while his eyes glow a shining amber. He tries to woo you like you’re not wearing the pretty dress he bought you — like you’re not wearing his initial in a pendant dangling between your breasts.
“You’re the Obi-Wan for me,” he jokes before taking a hearty bite of his steak. He chews through the mouthful and gestures with his fork. “You know. Like only one—”
“I get it,” you assure with a sickly sweet smile.
He’s been doing this for a better part of an hour. The Valentine’s Day crowd rushed in, and your waiter got your order wrong, and the whole thing spun you into a tizzy. Steve’s been trying to distract you from your nerves ever since. And it’s worked. Mostly.
“Well, you’re not laughing!” he retorts, playful in his solemnity. “That one was good— you gotta give me some credit.”
“It was,” you assure with a quiet nod. You don’t say it like you mean it, but more like you’re trying to appease him.
“Are you saying you can come up with a better one?” he teases.
You think for a moment, doe eyes flitting across the droplets sliding down the window beside you. Your glossed lips purse all pretty to the side with the weight of your pondering. A smile tugs slow at your lips when you turn back to him. “Obi-Wan Ke-bone-me.”
A laugh sputters from Steve’s mouth. As pure and innocent as sunshine. He nods with a proud, lopsided smile. “You’re right. That was way better.”
“I Obi-Want you tonight,” you follow, giggling still.
“You are on fire tonight, you know that?”
You laugh again, louder this time. Steve beams at the pretty sound and waits until you’ve scooped a too-big bite of pasta in your mouth to compliment you. “You’re so pretty…” he murmurs in a low, honeyed tone. His eyes sparkle with amber, warm and visibly fond.
You stop mid-chew to scowl. You’re too cute to look threatening — especially when you’ve got spare sauce dotted on the corner of your mouth. “Stop…” you scold after you’ve swallowed down the mouthful.
Steve laughs, loud and boyish. “You are!”
“You’re being too nice…” you grouse with your nose scrunched.
“I’m your boyfriend. I’m supposed to be nice.”
“But not this nice,” you insist, smiling despite yourself. You twirl noodles around your fork to busy your fidgeting hand. Your sheepish gaze flits from the half-empty plate to the beautiful boy in front of you. “I think you’re starting to ruin everyone else for me, Stevie…”
His chest sparkles with a warmer feeling. “Well, yeah,” he shrugs. “That was kinda the plan here, babe.”
“Was it?”
“Uh-huh,” he nods and folds his arms over the white-clothed table. He grins wide and leans in close.  His cinnamon eyes sparkle with a mixture of adoration and mischief. “You fell right into my trap.”
You smile back at him, so happy that you did.
1K notes · View notes
starry-eyedblog · 3 months
Text
see what you do?
merry christmas to those who celebrate! this is my gift to you guys. i was able to motivate myself to write out a small drabble based off of this image i posted the other day, enjoy!
warnings/tags: john price x reader, 18+ suggestive content
Tumblr media
it’s late at night, the two of you getting ready for bed together. you’re currently stood in the bathroom alone, cleaning all the grime off from the long taxing day. you’re dressed in a simple long sleeve pyjama top and cute underwear, stood on your tippy toes to stare into the mirror, your hips pressed to the marble counter. you don’t notice john walking into the dimly lit bathroom, your eyes shut as you clean the soap off but you feel him, his strong arms wrapping around your waist.
“hiya baby,” you say softly, dragging the cloth down your face gently to wipe off the remaining soap from your cleanser. he doesn’t respond, instead pressing his face into your shoulder to take a discrete sniff of your scent that he can never get enough of. “ready for bed?” you ask, opening up your eyes, eyelashes fluttering a few times to focus on your partner’s face in the mirror.
you chuckle softly at the sight, heart melting at how content he seems with your body flush to his. he’s currently only dressed in grey boxers, his usual attire for bed leaving his warm, hairy chest pressing into your back. “always look so good like this love.” he mumbles into your shoulder and you flush pink. “m’jus gettin ready for bed john, nothin special.” you usher out, grabbing the tub of your nighttime moisturizer and unscrewing the lid.
as your fingers dip into the soft white peaks, you feel john press his body impossibly closer to yours. “miss me that much huh?” you smile as you smear the moisturizer onto your face and rub it in carefully. it doesn’t take you long to massage it into your skin, and soon your placing the tub back onto the counter near the sink. “fuck sweetheart, you really don’t know what you do to me.” he mutters, his voice low and sending a shiver down your spine.
before you can even respond, he’s twirling you round causing your left arm to grab the counter behind you to steady yourself while he gently takes your right hand and guides it down to his crotch where he hold’s your hand there with both of his hands, dwarfing yours. that’s when you feel it, how achingly hard he is. fuck, he’s practically leaking through the fabric.
“see what you do?” he rasps, looking up from where your hand is resting to stare at your pretty face. you slowly trail your eyes up to meet his, a pink flush settling on your face. “that jus from me getting ready for bed?” you ask, voice quiet and almost strained. he nods, neither one of you moving your hands. “everythin’ you do turns me on love.” john purrs and his hands squeeze around your right hand gently.
you’re in a state of surprise and arousal, unable to comprehend how he’s this hard just from watching you do your nighttime skin routine. but god, is it hot. “why don’t we take care of it then?” you whisper, giving his hard cock a nice squeeze that has hips bucking up slightly and a groan tumbling from his mouth. “fuckin minx,” he gasps before he’s letting go and quickly pulling you over his shoulder in a fireman lift, bringing a quick swat down on your arse that has you squealing.
“you’re not gonna be sleeping for awhile princess.” john states, carrying you into the bedroom with ease.
@bjornthebearguy
2K notes · View notes
doki-doki-imagines · 4 months
Text
Who falls for the mistletoe trick? feat. mk1 Liu Kang, Johnny Cage, Tomas, Mileena, Kuai Liang
author note: another severe case of "I'll die if I don't post them today" LOL. Hope you'll like them!
Tumblr media
Liu Kang -He falls for it. -For real? The creator of this timeline didn't expect a mistletoe from his partner at the entrance of their shared house? -Yes, Liu Kang knew from day one that this would happen, and he waited, breath itching and hands tingling in front of the doorstep each day since December started. -You point up, a knowing smirk on your face and Liu Kang acts surprised, white eyes widening a bit before looking down at you. "What a surprise, dear one." His voice is steady, like always, but your ears twitch, a mischievous undertone you can hear thanks to the time you spent together. "You knew this would happen right?" You said now in his open arms, steps lulling you, door closing thanks to Liu Kang's graceful kick. "Maybe" He looks up smiling like a fool "Now it is time to celebrate traditions." -You are the first to get closer, your lips pressed against his soft ones, his right hand finding peace in the back of your head, pushing you closer, the other on your lower back, moving in slow circle, his fire slowly enveloping you, his tattoos hidden under the bandages glowing faintly. -Liu Kang loves Earthrealm traditions.
Tumblr media
Johnny Cage -He doesn't fall for it, but you do for sure. -Not like you had any chance when all the ceiling is filled with mistletoes. -He welcomes you with open arms, smiling from one ear to the other knowing perfectly well that you won't avoid celebrating the tradition. -He asks for a kiss each step you make, they are fast, simple smacks. -Till, one step at a time, the back of Johnny hits the table, your body now laying on his one, not a single breath of air to separate your bodies. -His kisses trail down your neck, his moist lips leaving you warm all over, his right hand lifting one of your legs. -It's time to take the matter in a more comfortable place… -Bonus: How could you not expect Johnny to have mistletoe-themed boxers? "Since you have been so loyal to the tradition it would be bad to break them now, no kitty?" He says smirking, while you don't know if you wanna die or laugh at the situation.
Tumblr media
Tomas Vrbada -He falls for it! Congrats, it's not easy to surprise a ninja. -Tomas knows what a mistletoe means, he remembers when he watched with his sister Christmas movies, disgust plastered on his face. -Tomas feels giddy, a warmth that envelopes him completely. -He feels like a fool, a dumb kid during Christmas, a giggle escapes his mouth "So, don't I get a kiss?" His arms are open. -'It should be the other way around' you think, but it doesn't develop further, more excited to kiss your lover. -He is so overjoyed his legs become jelly, Tomas could only dream of being so loved by someone. -A simple gesture that brought him immense joy, fingers tapping on your back, playing your skin like a piano. -"Why so happy Tomas? Did I do something funny?" You question, lips barely apart. "You just reminded me of happy memories." He replies, hands now steady on your hips, grey eyes twinkling with joy.
Tumblr media
Mileena -She…doesn't fall for it. Not because she knows what a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling means, but because of her observation skill. -"Dear, why there is a plant on the ceiling?" Voice rasped, head bending slightly. "Well, it's a long story…" -You explain to her what it means, never looking at her in the eyes, worried she find the tradition (and you) stupid. -She smiles, 'thank god' you think, her plush lips finding yours before you can finish the explanation, making you stutter. The kiss is fast and for sure not satisfying, leaving you aching for more. -"Is this fine, dove?" her arms lay on your shoulders, keeping your bodies close, lips so close, but also so far away… "I think I'll have to show you how to do this, Empress" You finally close the distance, courage finally sparked your soul. Mileena grunts, a shiver runs down her spine thanks to her fave honorific. -You didn't exchange just one kiss that day.
Tumblr media
Kuai Liang: -He totally did notice the mistletoe but also doesn't know the meaning behind it so he just walks by. -"Ah, mister! Stop right there" Index finger touching his chest, hidden by so many layers of clothing "It's time to pay up." one hand caresses his cheek, while the other glides in his onyx locks, smirk plastered on your face. -But…he doesn't move? His brown eyes look at you questioning. "So you don't know about the mistletoe tradition, mh baby?" "Care to explain, fireball?" His eyebrows furrow, way more focused than he needs to be. -And so you do, looking at his face getting softer and softer at each phrase, just to end up snickering, a familiar sparkle in his brown eyes. -"You really find any occasion to get a kiss from me." "Are you saying you'd rather not?" You pull away, watching him in fake annoyance, eyes glued to his to notice if he takes the bait. -He does, a kiss fierce as he is, a kiss that leaves you breathless but that you wish it to be neverending. -"Is this fine?" Kuai Liang asks, a hint of jolly in his voice. "Yeah, but I think you should do that again, you know, just to be su-" -You won't need to finish the phrase.
1K notes · View notes
occudo · 6 months
Text
So this day last year (September 25.) I posted my very first TMA fanart, celebrating Jmart day- after that, I may or may not draw them a few more times.
Tumblr media
Well, I did start a comic series where Gertrude is still around, so they have a more normal time.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And maybe made a couple of safe house drawings.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And a Victorian AU version of them, which became a P&P-themed series of fanart.
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
And I maybe made a fanart for a really good fic by @milkteamoon where Jon is a vampire.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And maybe after that, I made another AU where Jon is a witch, and Martin is his knight, named The Magus Archives, loosely inspired by arthurameslove 's fic.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
And I got commissioned by the lovely @cirrus-grey who then wrote a fic for them.
Tumblr media
And maybe I made a couple other smaller AUs with them, who knows.
Tumblr media
So glad that I spent the last year drawing these two for a very normal amount.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Let's hope next year will be similar :'D
2K notes · View notes