#Imagine you get your ass kicked in the street by a homeless 18 year old with waist length hair with no grasp on reality

[caterpillarinacave]

Listen, there’s a reason Lil Miss liked him so much

[ladylaviniya]

The Spirit of Christmas Eve

Masterlist || Chapter 1 ll Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: After an unexpected visit from your younger, overly pregnant and concerned sister- you are yet again put into a terrible mood. You receive a night visit from the ghost of your predecessor and fall into an abyss of confusion.

Pairing: Chris Evans x f!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, Disrespect to Homeless People, R4pe Fantasies, Masturbation, Dark Joke about Abortion, Hinted Xenophobia, Humiliation, Ghosts, Swearing, Alcoholic Use, Drug Use, Classism.

Word Count: 5k

Author Notes: This is a parody of the classic "A Christmas Carol" story by Dickens, I hope you come to enjoy it even though the pov holds cruel, toxic and abusive traits.

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09:00am, 24th December 2023, New York City.

Oh how you hated the holidays. You hated the red and green colouring, you hated the carolling groups and bands singing every day in December leading up to the wretched twenty fifth. You hate the baby Jesus in a manager nativity set ups.

‘Jesus wasn’t even fucking born on Christmas. He was a January baby according to Jewish scholars. It was all a ploy to satisfy and celebrate Yule with pagans before encouraging indoctrination!!’

And the smell of peppermint, gingerbread and fatty sugary foods left you feeling sickly.

“Unnecessary calories to dissolve the enamel of my teeth when it comes back up in the  goddamn toilet.”

The cold air and the slippery frost brought you no delight. Along the way you would kick the snow men in your walking path. You despised the bratty children sitting on the Santa laps in the malls.

‘Their parents should know half of those fat ass Santa actors are just paedophiles getting their kicks once a year? Yea I’d love a little boy all prim and plump to sit on my lap if I was a sicko in a red suit too.’

You hated the fact they were bringing Christmas trees in the day after Halloween.

“Sure, it spins the wheel of capitalism but God, do they have to look so trashy? Christmas is once a year, not two months long.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed as you strutted the street to your work place.

Your senior associate Marlene who you could’ve considered your friend had a heart attack early that year. She was a woman in her prime, at forty years old she had managed to build her business empire. No husband, no kids, no pets. She didn’t need those things, not when she raked in over four million dollars a year. She drank and smoked like a chimney, you wondered if it contributed to her death in the end. She was rumoured to be found naked, getting fucked by some no name sexy twenty-one year old playboy from South Korea. And among her blissful orgasm, her heart just couldn’t handle the pressure and faltered.

Imagine his horror. Balls deep and not knowing she had died. Little shit tried getting her money in the inheritance scheme. He tried pushing that he was her long committed boyfriend. One threat to the immigration department sent that kid running for the kills back to Seoul.

You were named successor in her Will. Now, it’s not like you needed her millions, you already had a full pocket. At twenty five you’d made your first million all because you picked the right pattern in your investments and put every cent into them. You worked instead of partied. And many had said behind your back that it made you a miserable sourpuss bitch with no friends. You didn’t need friends. Marlene was just a funny coincidence.

Some might have called you careless, impulsive, and greedy. But what that translates to you was the word ‘Wealth and Success’. You were wealthy and money made you happy. The more numbers, the more joy in your cold heart.

You entered the building that was now yours. Oh did I forget to remind you...you were the CEO of your tax collecting firm. I think that’s important for you to know.

Entering the sleek grey, white and black minimalist foyer you sighed in relief. No Christmas or holiday bullshit in here. You had banned all decorations and affiliations.

And you refused paid leave to anyone asking not to work on Christmas day. You remember scoffing last night at the amount of requests you had received about time off for the holidays.

‘I’m running a business, not a charity.’

Christmas was the best time of year for your job. So many stupid people take out stupid loans they can’t afford especially during the holidays period when gift giving is the centre cause of financial stress. You got a thrill out of denying loans and upping payment interest rates for those suckers who didn’t make their payments on time because they chose to spend the money meant to be going into your pocket on some disposable wrapping paper and a cheap pharmacy gift last minute.

As you stepped into the elevator you smiled cynically at the empty space. You could look at yourself in the mirror and pick apart all the things you loved and hated about your body. It was strangely therapeutic. Something about the critiques gave you a massive high.

But just as the elevator doors where closing a hand slammed hard through the gap.

“Wait!” came a familiar cry. Your face fell and you felt a tight discomfort seeing the face of your younger sister. Caroline.

Your eyes shot down to her belly. Big as a house in the ugliest knit Christmas sweater.

‘Pregnant again. Jesus Christ. What’s this? Number four now?’

You clenched your handbag tighter. You tried recalling some sort of baby shower invite from months ago, you totally forgot about it once you moved it to junk mail.

‘If she fucking asks me for money again, I swear to god she’s risking an abortion voucher in a Christmas card...are abortion vouchers even a thing?’

Caroline had married her highschool sweetheart, he was some sort of mechanic or something. A bum, like your Dad. You couldn’t believe she was dumb enough to breed with an imbecile like him. Mind you, her first son was clearly an teen pregnancy accident that sealed them together. And every year, she just seemed to pop out a new one. And every year that meant you gave her a fat cheque, usually six thousand dollars.

You ground your teeth as she forced herself inside and pressed the button of the doors shut immediately, not at all taking notice of you until mid way moving up in the building.

Her face lit up and she shrieked in delight at seeing you.  You strained a smile.

‘Yea, definitely looking for a handout.’

“Oh my god! I was about to fight security to come see you sissy!” she forced her arms around you. You bit your tongue. You hated hugs.

“Well…lovely seeing you too,” you muttered before awkwardly patting her back.

Her breath hitched at seeing the look on your face, “Sorry about not pre-warning, I did try calling you but your phone keeps going to voicemail.”

‘Oh good, she still hasn’t figured out I let them ring out.’

“And you didn’t reply to my emails.”

You fought a smirk, ‘because they go straight to junk mail’.

She smiled and babbled happily, “Anyway, I had to come here because I need to give you-“ she huffed and swiped a bead of sweat from her forehead before reaching into her nappy bag (that she treated like a handbag.) and retrieved a thick red envelope.

She handed it to you. Your manicured nails pinched the ugly stickers one of your nephews or nieces had chosen. Scribbled in absolute chicken scrap handwriting was your name, most likely also done by your nephew or nieces.

The elevator opened and you sighed, marching out to enter the offices with your solo office space down the hall with the largest window and finest view of the city below. You didn’t expect your sister to tail you. She waddled like a fast duck following you.

“I was thinking you should meet this guy that babysits-” She was talking to you about something but in all honesty, you weren’t listening until she mentioned the cursed words, “-Christmas Party.”

You deposited your handbag on your desk and spun on your heel. Your eyes wide, your smile straining into a sneer.

You snickered cruelly and laced your fingers together, “How many times have we discussed this? I. Don’t. Celebrate. Christmas. I don’t do presents, I don’t do carolling, I don’t do secret Santa’s and I sure as fucking hell don’t do Christmas Parties. I’m glad that you and Tim have fun with your kids and do all that meaningless stuff to shield them from the big bad world. I however am not in the mood for it. Work comes first. This is one of the busiest years of my life, the market is at an all time high in interests rates.”

She looked like she was growing smaller with every foul word that dripped like acid rain.

“It’s just one day, not even a full day. Just a few hours, not far from you,” she whispered and rubbed her belly comfortingly.

You shook your head and circled around your desk, “Might as well get this over with, you don’t need to ploy me with booze.”

You pulled out a cheque book from your drawer and slapped it down. You bent over and fished out a pen, pressing the ink to the slim piece of paper.

Your voice came out like a bark, “How much are you wanting this year?”

“Wh-what?” your sisters eyes grew wide.

You sighed and rolled your eyes, with a condescending tone, “How much money do you want to cover all the gifts? I hear Disneyland is great this time of year in Florida. I need a number. I have a busy day ahead of me so I’d just like to get this over and done with.”

Your sister didn’t answer. You glanced up. Her face was no longer smiling. She looked in pain. Her hand sat on top of her belly. She hissed and breathed out hard.

Her eyes were dimming down. She lost the joyful spark. She waddled to the guest chair in front of your desk and sat down.

She put the nappy bag on the floor.

 ‘great, thanks for the smell of cornflakes and breast milk on the carpet.’

Her breath turned husky and you started to reach for your desk phone ready to call a bloody ambulance to take her to the hospital. You couldn’t tell what the hell was wrong with her and prayed she wasn’t going into labour. You didn’t need to waste five thousand dollars on a carpet replacement because her waters might break.

Her eyes glared up at you as she tried to focus on pacing her breath. God, she looked like your mother with that look. It hurt. She got the best genes you had to admit. Even while pregnant she had this way about her that made men just want to beg for her number. You couldn’t tell if it was her ditsy personality or just good looks.

“Jim," Caroline corrected with strain, "-and I don’t need your money. We don’t want it. We have never have wanted it. This year, I just want you to put in the effort to spend Christmas with us as a family. You and I haven’t shared a Christmas since I was in middle school. My kids want their aunty to visit because I tell them you’re the coolest person alive...” her eyes narrowed, “Put the fucking cheque book away, and come to fucking Christmas dinner at least. It’s going to be at my house if you look at the invite that your nephew and nieces made special for you. They don’t want presents, they just want to see their aunty. Besides.... I told them you’d come if they put extra love into it.”

You chewed your inner cheek and stood up straight, crossing your arms and sat on the edge of your desk.

“You shouldn’t lie to your kids, Caroline,” you coolly said with icy impact.

You watched her eyes start to shine and water.

“Jesus,” you muttered, “Don’t fucking cry.”

She broke down immediately. You sighed with annoyance. ‘why did she have to come today of all days and act like this. It’s not a big deal. God.’

“You’re such a bitch and my kids have done nothing to you except love you unconditionally. The least you can do is show up,” Caroline struggled to stand out of the chair and when you reached out to help, she snapped like a firecracker and hissed, “Don’t fucking touch me.”

She groaned as she bent down, holding her belly and reached for her nappy bag, that she let you help her with. She suddenly looked so tired and deflated compared to when she had ducked into the elevator. You started to feel a tick of that itchy sympathy. Pregnancy always looked hard. Her first birth was so difficult, the second slipped right out but she didn’t have an epidural and the third time was an emergency c-section. In fact you weren’t even sure if she was meant to be having this fourth baby. It would be too risky. She could honestly kill herself. Now that was a bolt of fear that coursed through you.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” you sniffled, trying to distract your little sister from her anger.

She looked even more offended and scoffed, “You know, if you had even tried to come to my baby shower, you could’ve eaten one of the gender reveal cupcakes.”

‘Ouch.’

You looked down at your Valentino pumps. Seven years younger than you and she still managed to put you in your place with the snap of her fingers.

She rubbed her wet eyes with the tips of her fingers.

“I worry about you...” she mumbled, “You might have a lot of money Y/N, but money can’t buy you everything. Don’t you want to share memories?”

You tried hiding the laugh limbing your throat,, “Not this argument again...come on, I’ll walk you out and hire you a cab.”

You escorted her back to the elevator, all your employees watching and whispering about it. You knew your office needed thicker glass.

As you quietly pressed the button down, your sister finally said, “It’s twins. A boy and girl.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Eventually you only nodded and whispered, “Congratulations. You and Tim must be excited.”

“Jim," she grounded, "-and I are flat out on our feet with the others but yea...I’m thinking about naming the girl after mom.”

Again you didn’t respond. You wanted this interaction to be finished. You wanted to go to work and drink away the days leading up to New Year’s. Maybe you should take a trip overseas. You might run into a handsome one night stand with an attractive accent.

Your sister turned and hugged you again, she rubbed her sweet face into your shoulder and sighed, “I’m sorry for snapping. Please don’t be mad. Please promise me you’ll come to the party, even for five minutes.”

Her pleading eyes finally cracked your ice wall.

“Fine. Five minutes.”

The squealing giggle of delight made you groan internationally instantly regretting your words. Nonetheless you took it upon yourself to at least hug her back. God help you, you didn’t know how you’d survive.

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10:00pm, 24th December 2023, New York City.

On your way home you discovered with aggravation all the cabs and ubers nearby had been booked up and the traffic in the city horrendous. Of course. On Christmas eve it would look like this.  You decided to march your way to the subway. It would be the quickest way back home.

You had to cross the park to get there though.

And among your walking you passed a man laying down on a bench. He wore a baseball cap that hid his face. He wore a blanket over his shoulders. A puff of cold air escaped his pink lips.

His shadowed face peered up at you and held up a piece of cardboard that read the following: Homeless, please donate a food and blankets.

And something inside you cracked again. You fought the urge to pull out your purse and give him the only hundred dollar bill you had. You looked him up and down. And froze. Next to him was a bottle of liquor. Something malicious dripped from your lips. Words filled with cruelty and hate. It was bold and dangerous. But you bet he was drunk.

“What’s wrong? Aren’t there any shelters taking in scum? Are all the prisons full? Maybe if you got off your ass and got a real fucking job, you would be too busy making money instead of swilling down booze!”

He did not react in the way you expected. He smiled at an ankle, winked and held a finger up to his lips.

Your face curdled in disgust and hacked back your throat, spitting on him.

“Booze bum,” you muttered, and marched on, away from him.

Your chin jerked high. It was a method of teaching you had learnt in your youth. Shame someone until they commit to a goal and out perform it. To this day you are still doing that very thing, why not share that gift of knowledge with others?

You scowled the entire train ride home and flicked through your emails.

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11:10pm, 24th December 2023, New York City.

Alone in your penthouse apartment, you padded your way to bed scrolling through your phone. In your hand you cradled a wine glass and set it on the bedside table.

Beneath the soft cotton covers you sighed happily and used your phone to command the fireplace to be lit up. A fake flame on a flat screen tv with heaters all around you, filling your place with warmth.  Laying back into your pillows you scrolled your phone and frowned at all the Christmas themed posts online, all the tutorials and recipes you’d never follow and all the Christmas stories you’d never read.

Tossing the phone beside your wine glass, your hands snuck down into a drawer and retrieved your absolute best friend in the world. She was thick, long and quiet, totally sky blue and had twenty different settings. You slid the vibrator under the covers and shimmied out of your underwear. Your fingers fumbled, touching your wet cunt.

The alcohol was finally hitting you, warming you up. You weakly reached for your vibrator. You knew it would be a comfort to take away the anger and stress away from your day at work.

You pressed the silicone to your clit and switched on the toy. A soft sigh came from you as you rubbed it along your lower lips. You fluttered your eyes shut and tried to imagine a person and you having sex.

‘A policeman? No. College professor? No. Loser doorman? No…’ and then your eyes flickered in a quick vision of the homeless man from the park… ‘Yes. He must be miserable, pissed off, angry, he smiled but that would have been a lie, his long finger he held to his mouth should stuff itself inside me.’

Your hand slid up and pulled down the front of your night down. You dug your nails into your breast before tugging your nipple hard. You whined as you bucked your hips into your toy that you playfully prodded and tore out of you. You imagined that same stranger ripping your dress from your body and dragging you into the snowy woods.

Rape fantasies weren’t uncommon for you. It was something about the power struggle that sent thrills up and down your spine. You liked the pain. You liked being forced to give up your control. You slid the plastic cock deep into your slick pussy and mewled.

The homeless man would hold a knife to your throat and bend you over a log, no, no, that bench, so out and open and public for anyone to catch him tearing you apart. His hand would lick your skin in stinging slaps. The alcohol on his breath would be putrid. He’d call you names, whore, slut, bitch, cunt, fuckpig. And you would be totally helpless…

You lazily rolled over onto your belly and forced your ass up, your bed sheets falling down your thighs.

You pushed the dildo back in deep and turned on the highest setting, biting the pillow under you. You fucked yourself hard until it hurt.

The homeless man fantasy went on and on, forcing you to cum and cry. You didn’t care if neighbours or tenants below you heard. You imagined this terrible man after fucking you raw making you sit in his filthy lap, fucking you with the empty liquor bottle neck and letting strangers walking past the chance to spit on you and slap you until you cummed.

The fantasy didn’t have a fanciful ending fleshed out. You could only imagine him dragging you back to some ghetto homeless tent village under one of the city bridges and whoring your cunt out to his homeless buddies. You wanted to submit, to be used like that…

But not in the real world. Fuck no. Your reputation mattered greatly. You were too stubborn to willingly date a man and ask him to do something taboo like consensual non-consent play.

You tore the blue cock out and pressed it to your clit, riding out an ultimate orgasm that left your body feeling like jelly. Slumping forward you groaned into the pillows, you knew you had to eventually get up and pee. The alcohol still in your system made the journey feel almost impossible. But when your bare ass hit the seat, you leant back and sighed. 'UTI prevented!'

Getting back to bed wasn’t as hard as getting to the bathroom. You breathed in the smell of your own sexual prowess. No shame. You put away your toy and before you could search for your discarded underwear, you heard your phone pinged. You grunted with annoyance.

You glanced at the screen; it was a text from Caroline.

*Told the kids you are coming tomorrow! They’re so excited to see their aunty! Xoxo*

‘oh right…her Christmas party…it’s tomorrow…' you still hadn’t even looked at the invitation. Anger started burning its way into your chest when you saw the emojis and gifs she attached. Santa and reindeers and snowmen. God you fucking hated Christmas!! She didn’t need to remind you. You didn’t plan to be there longer than the strick three hundred seconds. The miserable evil stabbed your heart again.

It out you so over the edge you began to type, *Tell them I changed my mind, I’m busy.*

Before your thumb could slam on the message send, something strange occurred. The penthouse apartment lights started to flicker on and off repeatedly.

‘A circuit must’ve snapped. I know I turned off all the lights.’

You slammed your phone down and ripped off your bed sheets. Marching over to the telecom beside you door you prepared the mental speech of anger and abuse you’d deliver on whatever poor soul was handling the front desk of the apartment complex tonight.

You pressed the button hard and when no welcoming comment came you decided to wait.

You waited and waited and still no one acknowledged you over the telecom. There was a noise coming from it though. It was a sound of ragged breathing. Squinting with absolute judgement you hissed into the microphone.

You sobered up your voice and rubbed your eyes. Your wine was knocking around your insides at that point, it had polluted your blood. You just needed to stay awake for a little longer.

“This is penthouse three. Your lights are dimming and flickering out. I want someone to change all that bulbs and check the power wires immediately. Do I make myself clear?”

The unusual panting was still there and getting louder. You shook your head. Someone should’ve been repeating back your request and discussing a mode of action.

“Hello?” you angrily huffed into the microphone when no answer came for a long time.

You hissed, “Now you listen here. I don’t give a fuck it’s Christmas eve. You’re job is on the line if you cant fix my fucking lights.”

And then the line went totally dead and your apartment was entirely darkened. You groaned with anguish. Using your phone flash light you returned to your room.

“Fine,” you grumbled as you pulled the covers Of your bed back again, “Probably too drunk on eggnog to give a damn. Say goodbye to those two dollar tips dickhead.”

You laid back and fished out your bonnet, carefully lipping your hair inside the protective layer. You rolled onto your side under the covers and shut your eyes.

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12:00am, 25th December 2023, New York City.

For some reason at 12am you received a very obnoxiously loud phone call. Blindly you reached for it and accepted the call. You had a suspicion it was a prank call from overseas.

“Y/N,” said the caller. Your eyes cleared up fast at the sound of a voice you knew too well.

You almost dropped your phone. Surely it wasn’t her calling. You had seen her body at her funeral. She chuckled on the other side, her voice was just as rusted as you remembered. In the dream she had come over to your house and had a sleep over together.

Your eyes widened, “Wh-who is this?” you asked, “Do you fucking know what time it is?”

The identical voice of your passed companion echoed back, “In life you knew me as Marlene Jeong.”

You hung up the phone fast and sat up straight. Her hands trembled and the phone screamingly made another phone call from the same unknown number.

You answered it and heard her shriek, “Don’t you know hanging up like that is rude.”

You took a deep breath in. And shut your eyes. No. It couldn’t be.

“This prank isnt funny,” you barked into the receiver.

“Well I’d hope not. You know I wasn’t a fan of funny,” she grumbled back.

You picked up the phone and huffed, “If you’re really Marlene...tell me something only I would know...”

The phone went quiet and clicked off. You smirked, 'Yea, that's what I thought you sick fuck.'

The air around you grew colder. With the power out you accepted that the central heating was out too. Getting out of bed you stumbled down the hall to the linen cupboard and pulled out a few more thicker blankets. When you returned back to your room you screamed and jumped ten feet in the air, dropping the load of blankets.

Marlene was sitting on your bed, scrolling through your phone. She was not herself and yet was at the same time. She looked the same except for the fact her entire body was a light blue and translucent. She was naked. And you could see her translucent organs. In her hand was a false spiritual cigarette. Smoking rising from the tip and faded into the darkness. And don’t let me forget a important detail. She was floating and parts of her body wrapped in chains.

Hearing you, she turned her face away from your phone and winked. You slammed back into a wall, trying to get away from her as she floated closer to you. She took a mean drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke into your fear filled face. You could’ve fainted. The smoke didn’t smell like anything and was rather a cold breeze to your cheek.

You flinched and whimpered, “Marlene...what the fuck.”

She smirked and rolled mid air upside down,

“Long time no see. Or well...you can’t see me but I see you basically every day,” she cackled.

Your lips fell apart, “Wha-how- why...why are you hear? Should you be dead?”

She flicked the cigarette of ash that turned into blue light specs and disappeared before touching the floor.

“Oh trust dear, I’m dead, dead as a doornail. Little Kyong gave me a killer orgasm, literally,” she took another long drag, “I had no clue what was coming and poof! I’m on the floor choking and groaning and next thing I wake up to, is you moving your shit into my office and my penthouse. But I digress sweet snake...I’m not here on a social call...I’m here to send you a warning.”

Your head felt dizzy, “A warning? The fuck? Am I going to die soon or something?” you wrapped your arms around yourself.

She smiled and shook her head, “Oh no...no, no....something a tad more painful. See, I have been sent to play 'angel Gabriel' so to speak and inform you of a supernatural message.”

She floated around, chains at her wrist dragged behind her as she did. Marlene sharpened her gaze at you.

‘Woah did I take one too many Percocet with my wine...I must be high.’

“You are saveable unlike my dead cold self,” she said flying back to your bed and lewdly laying down, “My dead frozen heart could not thaw,” she sighed and tapped her chest.

You could see inside her at the organ most resembling heart was literally made of icy and was not beating. It was disturbing.  

“I’m destined to float while tethered to the world unseen, unheard, unloved…forgotten. But you? You still have a chance to atone. A spirit shall arrive and come to you in three shades…Christmas past, present and future. It shall greet you hourly between one and three o’clock.”

You timidly stepped closer.

“You need to open your mind and open your heart or else-“ she floated above you and groaned, “This will be your future fate.”

You rubbed your eyes and slapped your cheek. Marlene’s ghost was still there. She held up her wrist, showing off the manacle around it, “This is a fate no one wishes, trust me on that.”

Her face leant in closer to your face. Her hair floated around her like water tendrils.

She rattled the chains together, clinking them and explained, “The spirit will test you. And they will test you fairly. They will decide what to do with you after. They call themselves, Christmas past, present and future.”

When she had said these words, Marlenes ghost faded away, disappearing into the cold, quiet night. It took you a few minutes to catch your breath. You couldn’t believe or make sense of it and no matter how many times you pinched of slapped yourself, you found yourself still in the unexplainable dream. You tossed the blankets from the floor onto the bed. You had another drink of wine before you chose to return to bed. You tugged the warmest and softest blanket up to your chin. You were scared and confused. Your eyes grew heavier as you forced yourself to forget and ignore the apparition of Marlene chained nude and talking in riddles.

You laid your cheek into the pillow and fell into a deep slumber.

HELPINES:

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