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hotdamnhunnam · 3 years

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congrats on 2k followers!!!!!! you're such a wonderful person and you deserve to be celebrated! for the emoji fic fest i'd like to send in the following emojis for raleigh becket: 😚☂️💦

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! And thanks for the congrats and kind words! 💗

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Under My Umbrella

Pairing: Raleigh Becket x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, random silly song references, Raleigh being a big dorky softie but also (shockingly!?) down to fuck immediately Word Count: ~1.6k Emoji Prompt: 😚☂️💦 (key words are in bold)

The breach is closed. The war is over and he saved the world and everybody knows.

And that’s the problem. Raleigh Becket doesn’t like the way the spotlight overcomes him. Light he never chose, so blinding as it glows. The way the masses flock like moths drawn to the halo set above him and blindly believe they love him. That’s not love—they know of what he did to save the day when push came to a cataclysmic shove, but truly they know nothing of him.

It’s a shame to live in fame. Beneath the shadow of his own overblown name. He doesn’t have the massive ego, to embrace the role of hero, to indulge when strangers scream after him everywhere he goes. He worries that his life won’t ever be the same.

That was what drove him to this small town tucked away and hid, a little off the grid—and he’s felt better ever since he came. He’ll never be completely unknown, but at least the crowds are tame, and leave him well enough alone. He’s so alone lately it’s almost lame.

He likes it that way though. Likes his routine of waking up and waiting at the bus stop, working at his humble job. The pay is low. Even more so when business is slow. And Raleigh savors the simplicity, the contrast to the constant flash of cameras when he was recently living in the city. Even the weather helps his cause by often shrouding this small town in rain and snow.

He’s the new golden boy in town you haven’t met. You’ve heard the rumors of a cutie who just moved here but you haven’t crossed paths yet. When you hurry to the bus stop this fine morning, find yourself caught in a downpour without warning… that’s when you finally set eyes on Raleigh Becket. Suddenly the rain is not the only thing getting you wet.

You would have made sure to bump into him much sooner had you known that this is what your ass was missing. Even when his mane is damp-darkened by the rain you can still tell he’s got a bright blonde head of hair. Big eyes as blue as the Pacific and deliciously pink lips just made for kissing. You could swear, you’ve seen his face somewhere… but even if you hadn’t you would still shamelessly stare.

You’d missed the forecast so arrived at the bus stop without an umbrella in hand. The golden god has one but you do not want him to think you’re staring at him as a hint that he should share it with you; that’d be a bitchy thing to do, to make such a passive-aggressive demand.

From Raleigh’s end—once he’s calmed himself down after reacting to the most beautiful girl who’s ever come around the bend—he clears his throat and clumsily invites you now to join him where he stands.

“Y-you can stand under my umbrella.”

He just says it with no introductory words. You find it cute as fuck that he’s so awkward. It’s a good thing too, given the awkward vibes uncontrollably coming off of you. “–ella, ella…”

You had just murmured it quietly… then bitterly regret that shit immediately. Cursing yourself silently for your idiocy. Maybe the poor guy doesn’t even know this reference to a song from the 2000s or whenever it was.

But apparently he does. The next thing that he bashfully goes on to say: “… ey, ey, ey.”

Suddenly all your insecurities about your stupid sense of humor fade away. All you can think about is standing under his umbrella and hopefully sitting on his cock later today.

***************

This bastard smells so fucking good it isn’t fair.

Can probably hear you breathing him so deep but you don’t even care. Standing beside this total stranger you have never felt such comfort anywhere. That subtle clean scent of simple unscented soap… mixed with the warmth of honeycomb and home and hope… cinnamon sugar muffins, sweet and soft and fresh out of the oven. Smells so wholesome you can’t cope.

You want to say something but don’t even know what. After a few seconds of silence steal another glimpse up at his gorgeous face and have to stop yourself from moaning like a slut.

… That’s when it hits you who he is. You were too caught up in his beauty that you hadn’t even realized who this hero truly is.

And Raleigh senses it the moment that you recognize—picks up on that familiar jolt of such starstruck surprise, that makes him feel like he’s an object for a sea of prying eyes. Less of a person, more a prize. It kind of hurts him, as he wishes he could meet a pretty girl and flirt a little bit, without his reputation far preceding him and getting in the middle of it. Wishes he could carry on like all the ‘normal’ guys.

Then he remembers he’s an awfully shitty flirt. That helps a little with the self-pitying hurt.

You gather up your fallen jaw to ask him the obligatory question as it’s naturally the only thing to do. “Are you…”

But then you pause—notice the shadow fall across his gaze of blue—you hate to think you were the cause. You can’t begin to process all his thoughts and what he’s been through, but you understand on some level that just because the whole wide world regards him with applause, that doesn’t mean you have to stand here and remind him that it’s true.

And so instead you just finish the sentence with something painfully dumb. The words just come, because all two of your brain cells are doing their usual stupid dance. “… are you into piña coladas by any chance?”

The sadness in his gaze fades a bit as he casts you a curious glance.

You backtrack to explain your silly words. You’ve referred to a super old song yet again, even older this time and he might not get it so you have to explain. You feel so fucking awkward. “I–I just thought that maybe since we’ve already gotten caught in the rain… we could work backwards…”

Before you can carry on with your explanation, Raleigh’s blushing face lights up in realization. His adorable pink cheeks flush red. “Oh my God I’m so sorry that went right over my head!”

He’s so fucking precious you can’t even stand it. Too cute to be true. You laugh off what you’d said and just shoot the shit, for a few minutes—or more than a few—till the two of you realize the bus isn’t coming and that you are stranded.

“Well, I guess I’ll just call in sick today.” He shrugs but shocks himself a little bit ‘cause that was not at all a Raleigh thing to say. He’d never lie about his reason for an absence from the job. Yet he might have to, if he hopes to carry on chatting with you, all day here under his umbrella at this lonely little bus stop.

“Me too,” you coo, smiling up at this wholesome heartthrob, then nervously shuffling your feet and looking out into the steady sheets of rainfall that surround you. Wondering whether or not he took the hint that you were asking him out on a date with that piña colada thing. You hope he didn’t; if he had gotten the hint, he isn’t answering.

As soon as the thought enters your mind, he picks up on your anxious energy and hits rewind. “Back to your piña colada question—I’ve, uh… actually never had one.”

Your heart perks up in happiness based on the promise in his tone. The promise that the two of you won’t have to spend this rainy day alone. The next words out of your mouth are a little flirtier than they should be maybe, but he’s such an innocent baby, that you just can’t help but have a little fun. “I’d bet there are a lot of things you’ve never done…”

Blue eyes go wide as if your insult was obscene. But Raleigh can’t stay mad at such a pretty girl. “What’s that supposed to mean?! I’ll have you know I saved the fucking world!”

And just like that he’s fucking told you—even though his tone is playful it’s still true—and though you obviously knew, he finds he’s no longer compelled to hide that part of him from view. The way he always used to do. As if he knows that you want all of him and not only the surface-level shit, as if you see into him more than just a little bit, whereas the rest of the world sees right fucking through.

He knows that you only just met, so maybe it’s too early to be feeling shit like this but he’ll take any glimpse of hope that he can get.

You take his hand and feel his pulse in sync with yours as your hearts race. Pure fucking joy. “C’mon golden boy, I know just the place.”

The place for his first frozen pineapple coconut drink. The place for his first indulgence in a new fucking kink: screwing someone he only just met in the bathroom of this little diner and whispering filth in your ear as he rails you so hard that the force of it might break the sink.

Through all the purity of Raleigh there is definitely something fucking dirty and you caught it from the first blink. Now you’ve gone and stirred it up in him turns out he’s even dirtier than you would ever think.

You standing under his umbrella was the start; you lifting him out of the shadows over his head sparks a new light in his heart. And you awakening new sides of him is honestly the sweetest fucking part.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

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arvinsescape · 3 years

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Arvin x reader fic with them doing just simple, domestic things maybe and Arvin being whipped and soft towards the reader.

A/N: Domestic stuff with Arvin? I live for this concept. Hope you enjoy 💕💕

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive content.

When people ask you what it's like to be married to Arvin Russell, most people don't believe it until they see it, especially not the women married to the men Arvin works with.

Arvin Russell is one of the softest men you'd ever met, he would literally do anything for you, he treated you like you were made of glass, unless of course you're talking bedroom Arvin.

You were having a BBQ at your house, it was your first 'house party' since being married.

"Here." Arvin said as he reached above you, grasping what you'd been trying to reach. Handing it to you with a kiss to the cheek before wandering off.

"Who's that and what have they done with Arvin?" Molly asked, she was married to his boss.

"What? Arvin's always helpful." You were quick to defend your recent husband.

"Yeah but it usually comes with a grumble of some sort, a 'fuck' thrown in here and there." She laughed.

"He's not that bad." You defended with a laugh.

"You should count yourself lucky, my husband would have watched me struggle for that." She laughed.

"Not Arvin."

Arvin groaned as he slung his bag down in the corridor of the house, seeking you out instantly. He found you where he knew he would, in the kitchen, making dinner. He smiled fondly at the sight in front of him. Your hair was a mess, a clear sign you'd just woken up. You had flour all over you, forehead, dress, hair, you name it.

"Flour bomb gone off?" Arvin asked, the stress of the day washing away as soon as he saw you. You whipped around as you looked at him hand on your chest.

"Arvin! I never heard you come in." You said with a laugh, relieved it was just your husband.

"What happened?" Arvin asked with a light laugh, approaching you.

"Well, I accidently took a nap and got up late to make dinner." You giggled as Arvin wiped some of the flour off your cheek. "Then I couldn't reach the flour so I used the spatula to help me get it down and well..." You trailed off as you gestured towards yourself.

Arvin couldn't help but laugh. You were clumsy that was for damn sure but he loved that about you. Gave him a goddamn heart attack sometimes when you'd trip over your own two feet but he loved it, loved you.

"You couldn't have waited until I got home?" Arvin asked as he pressed a kiss to your lips.

"No, then dinner would be late." You laughed as his hand wandered down to grasp your backside.

"I wouldn't have minded." He said as he pulled you closer for a passionate kiss. The timer you'd set making you both jump as you panicked over getting whatever pie you were making into the oven.

"Okay, that needs half an hour and then ready, so I'm not too late." You grinned as you wiped some flour off your forehead.

"So you can join me in the shower then?" Arvin said as he pulled you close to him again.

"Arvin Rusell," you said as you swatted his shoulder as you giggled when he pressed kisses to your neck.

"Y/N Russell you have two minutes to get in that shower before I throw you over my shoulder and take you there." Arvin said as he sucked on your sweet spot, a sigh of pleasure leaving your lips.

"I wouldn't mind you carrying me." You teased.

"Of course you wouldn't." Arvin laughed as he picked you up, legs around his waist as he held you up by your thighs before making his way to the shower.

You'd driven into the garage Arvin worked in, in a panic. Your car was making a strange noise so you'd brought it to were he worked.

"Arvin!" You shouted as you climbed out of the car and the men he worked with watched in amazement as the man had a near heart attack.

"Doll! Jesus christ you scared the shit out of me. Are you okay?" He asked as he approached you, bringing you to his chest, he feared something had happened to you or someone had hurt you.

"Sorry, my car is making strange noises. Can you please have a look at it?" You asked and Arvin instantly relaxed that you weren't in any immediate danger.

"Of course my love." Arvin said softly as he ran a hand through your hair. The boys in utter shock as they watched Arvin place a kiss to your forehead, they'd never seen him so soft.

"Arvin, get up!" You said as you threw a pillow at him.

"Get in." Arvin argued back, letting the pillow bounce of his frame and onto the floor as he lifted the duvet.

"No, you said you'd help me deep clean this house, now up." You said again, this time more firm.

"You're far to chirpy for whatever time it is." Arvin grumbled back as you laughed.

"Arv, please?" You begged as you got onto the bed, huge mistake as Arvin pulled you into his side, his strength far surpassing your own.

"Five more minutes and then I'll help." He argued as he snuggled into you, you instantly gave in.

"Fine, five minutes." You argued before you heard his soft snores reach your ears.

You were attempting to make a cake, Arvin was not helping. You giggled as he placed his finger that was full of cake mix onto your nose.

"Arvin, it goes in the tin and then in the oven." You laughed as he licked the batter off your nose. "Arvin, that is disgusting." You laughed more.

"Oh please, you say it like I don't lick your-"

"Okay, okay, I get it." You laughed as you swatted his shoulder. He laughed as a mischievous grin spread across your lips. You reached for the flour bag that was on the side, taking a hand full before blowing it in Arvin's face.

"Oh you are in for it now." Arvin laughed as he took the flour bag and poured it over your head.

"Arvin!" You laughed as you tried to dust the flour off you. "It's everywhere!" You said in disbelief, watching as more flour fell to the floor.

"I'll help you clean the floor," he grinned.

"You better, Arvin." You laughed as you poured sugar into his hair, watching as he laughed and shook his head, sugar mixing with the flour that was now coating the floor.

"Looks like it's snowed in here." Arvin laughed as he looked at the ground.

"You are so whipped for your wife." His boss laughed after he'd just watched Arvin carry you for seemingly no reason into the garden before placing you on your feet and in front of your friends before kissing the back of your hand and making his way towards his boss.

"Whipped?" Arvin questioned.

"Yeah, the shit you do for her, jesus christ, I wouldn't do half of it." His boss laughed and Arvin found himself somewhat confused, his boss wouldn't do the same?

"You wouldn't?" Arvin found himself asking.

"No, I bring all the money home, she looks after the house. You need to realise that Arvin. You bring the money home, the house? That's her responsibility. You should be able to just relax." His boss had watched him help you with everything this evening.

"I just try and give her what she deserves." Arvin mumbled, he was pissed with his boss, he had no idea the extent that the love between the two of you went.

"You bring her money home, what more can she need? Maybe a kid but after that? Your jobs done." His boss clapped him on the back.

Arvin remained silent, his boss was a misogynistic prick. You deserved the world and more, you did more for him than his boss would ever understand, you gave him all the love in the world, more than he deserved and he returned it.

He didn't care if it made him look whipped or like a soft arse, he'd happily knock some teeth out to prove he wasn't a push over. Well, not unless it came to you, he'd do anything for you, he'd move the world if you asked him to. But you'd given him something he'd not had in a long time, a place he felt loved, a place he could feel vulnerable and completely happy.

People didn't believe that the cynical, grumpy and occasional violent Arvin Russell could be so soft with you, not until they saw it for their own eyes. But it was true, Arvin Russell was incredibly soft and domestic for you.

#Arvin Russell #arvin russeell imagine #arvin russell x reader #arvin russell x y/n #arvin russell fluff

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bestintheparsec · 3 years

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As Does the Snow

Frankie Morales x Reader

Summary: You and your neighbor, Frankie, get snowed in together.

A/N: I wrote this down when the power was out while I was—you guessed it—snowed in. Nothing too deep/angsty in this (for once), just softness. Thank you for reading and I hope you like it!

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: none, some obvious tropes (snowed in, there was only one bed)

*Masterlist pinned to my page

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, prompting you to drop the pile of clothes you’re holding to answer it.

“Hey, Santi,” you answer the familiar friendly voice on the other end.

“You lose power yet?” he asks, slight concern in his tone.

“Just about an hour ago,” you reply, peering out the window. The sun’s still out, so you’ll be okay for a few more hours until it sets.

You’d all been expecting the power to go out, of course. The news has been tracking a seemingly out-of-nowhere snow storm that’s been headed your way, starting its impact a few hours earlier. You hadn’t expected to lose power so soon, though—it usually takes a lot more ice or wind to damage the lines. You’ve been preparing as best as you can for the cold nights ahead. With the lack of heat and power, it was bound to be a long night or two.

“You have everything you need, right?” he asks after a short silence. Santi and the other guys, most of them, live closer to the city and away from the countryside that you'd chosen to live in. With the way the roads are, everyone's been warned not to drive if possible. Not that there’s anywhere to go.

“Yeah, I always do—”

“Listen, I was wondering if you could go stay with Frankie during this whole thing,” he chimes in.

Frankie lives across the street from you—you’ve been good friends with him ever since you moved in years ago, even becoming a part of his group of ex-military friends when he introduced you to them, and you'd fit in like you’d always belonged there. It’s perfectly reasonable that Santi would ask you to go stay with your friend to hunker down during a storm. You would all stay with each other if you could, but seeing as that’s impossible and you and Frankie only have each other right now…yes, completely reasonable.

Fuck, who are you kidding?

What seems like a long time ago, you realized you had feelings for Frankie. And, by some luck—or not—you found out they were reciprocated.

But things don’t always work out the way you want them to; hell, it seems like things never do. At the end of the day, you both had wanted to pursue something more with each other, but life got in the way, just as it often does. You both had a lot going on in your lives back then, things you had to deal with and sort out alone. Ultimately—awkward conversations and deep talks and all—you’d both decided it was best if you simply stayed friends, lest things become overcomplicated.

And so you did. Despite this small history, things haven't really been awkward since then. He’s still a good friend to you, one of your best friends, really, and the subject hasn’t been mentioned again ever since.

Only, you haven’t really moved on. You haven’t been much good at leaving the feelings behind you, either. At first you just kept shoving them away, trying to convince yourself that you felt nothing at all whenever you were with him, nothing except friendly love for one of your best friends. But despite your best attempts not to, you found yourself slowly falling more for him. Being close to him for this long has made it even harder for you to move past it.

Not that you've addressed any of this again.

Had you sorted out the things you were dealing with back then? Maybe. But you’d both decided on what was best, years ago, and given that Frankie hasn’t brought it up again since, it’s likely he wants to keep things that way. Time tends to help some people to move on, where it drives the knife in deeper for others. Frankie’s been on plenty of dates since then, even a relationship or two. So you know you were probably just a momentary interlude in his love life, someone he stopped thinking about in that way long before you could ever even think about moving on. You're nothing more than a good friend to him now. And so you've kept your continued feelings for him to yourself, allowing them to thinly layer your friendship like a light dusting of sugar that’s never quite sweet enough to stand on its own.

But the thought of sheltering with him for a few days? You're not sure if you can keep your feelings contained if you're with him for that long and with that much free time to get lost in your thoughts. But given the seriousness of the storm, you were both bound to end up at one or the other's place, anyways.

You must have been silent for a little too long, because Santi speaks again, breaking your thoughts. “You can watch over each other, that sort of thing. Besides, you know how he can be…” he trails off, waiting for you to answer.

“I—yeah, I’ll go over there,” you finally agree, nodding to yourself. “I was going to check up on him eventually, anyways. I’ll go over as soon as I finish up what I’m doing.”

“Sounds good—let us know if you run into any trouble. We’ll find a way over there if we need to.”

You mutter a quick thanks and remind them to stay safe before hanging up, tossing your phone onto the couch with a resigned sigh. Moments later you pick it up again, quickly sending a text to Frankie to ask him if it’s alright for you both to bunker together for the night. Which he quickly agrees to, of course—you’ve spent many evenings over at his place, or his at yours.

Really, you don’t know why your brain’s suddenly trying to make this weird for you. You’ll bring some snacks and blankets, and it’ll be just like any other Friday night you’ve spent with him. Not weird. There’s nothing there (at least on his end) for you to feel awkward about.

You shake your head and finish your emergency preparations, trying to be done with it before it gets dark so you can head over to Frankie’s.

Exhaling deeply first, you ring Frankie’s doorbell.

“Coming!” His deep voice calls from inside.

You shove your hands into your pockets then change your mind, moving them to grip anxiously onto the straps of your backpack. Another few moments pass before you hear Frankie trod to the door. He answers it with a soft smile plastered on his face, the same one he uses every time he greets you. Immediately taking the bag you’re carrying off your arm, he beckons you inside and you follow, shrugging off your backpack.

"Did you need help with anything?" You ask, dropping your bag onto the ground and looking around the darkened place. The windows are covered, there's flashlights and candles out on the table, and a couple cases of water are stacked in the kitchen.

He’s layered up in clothing just like you are—a familiar flannel button-up peeking out from under his jacket. His hair is messy like he’s been running around all day, which he probably has been from the looks of it. If you had to describe it, he looks like...home.

Stop it, you mentally chastise yourself.

“Nah, I’m just making some final tweaks,” he remarks, walking over to pull the living room curtains shut. “The house is warm enough for now, but it won’t be long before it starts feeling like the inside of a fridge in here.”

He turns back to face you with a different sort of smile on his lips, a gentle expression you can’t quite make out.

Unbeknownst to you, Frankie’s been in deep for you, too. He knows you'd both agreed not to date, but over time he's come to greatly regret that decision. It was the right one at the time, but he can't help but wish things had gone a little differently. There’s no one he’d rather be around, and any and all dates he’s been on over the years have failed for the same reason—they’re not you. They could never be you.

Chances come and go, and his has gone. In more ways than one you’re a light in his life, someone he couldn’t ever deserve, and somehow he’s lucky enough to have you in his life at all—even if it’s just as friends. If he’s a better person now, a lot of it’s because you’ve been there to pick up the pieces, the same way he does and will always do for you without a second thought.

But something you can’t help him with is the fact that he’s fallen for you, hard, long after you’d both agreed to just be friends. And he keeps on falling.

He knows people change their mind all the time, but he’s been unwilling and unable to bring it up again with you. For all he knows, that agreement had just been your gentle way of telling him “it’s never going to happen.” He doesn't want to risk scaring you off and losing one of the best people in his life.

Frankie comes back to reality, watching you smooth out the front of your shirt.

“Okay, well, I brought some of my blankets in case we need to pile them up…” you say, pointing to the large bag you brought. “And since your stove is electric, it looks like we’ll be eating snacks for dinner.”

“That’s bold of you to assume,” he retorts, walking over to the kitchen. With a silly gesture, he proudly uncovers a large dish full of one of your favorites.

Frankie is certainly no chef, but he can put together a dish or two, even going out of his way to learn how to make the things that you both love. He puts a hand on his hip, amused by the surprised look on your face. “I made it before the power went out. They did teach us some things about preparation in the military, you know,” he teases, dimple on full display.

“And here I was packing junk food and sandwiches, like a loser,” you jest, grinning back at him. Frankie somehow always manages to make your life a little better. He beams and your chest constricts at the sight.

"Oh, we'll definitely need those for later," he reassures you with a grin. "If the guys were here that'd all be gone before the worst of the storm even hits," he adds, making you laugh.

Some of your favorite nights with Frankie are the ones that are completely uneventful, ones where you relax after a long day of work and binge your favorite snacks while watching some crappy movie on the couch. Then again, it's always the little things that make you happy when it comes to him.

Once you've had your dinner you both get comfortable next to each other on the couch, chatting about life and nothing in particular, the way you often do—minus the lack of electricity and a mostly dark room that’s barely lit up by a couple of small camping lights Frankie has. No doubt the other guys would make things a lot more chaotically entertaining if they were all here, but you’re happy it’s just the two of you now—even if it does make it harder for you to think straight at the moment.

Frankie says something that makes you chuckle and you look up at him, noting the delicate smile on his lips and the way it almost balances out the tired lines under his eyes. He meets your eyes, and if he looks like he wants to say something else, it's probably only in your mind because he doesn't.

The wind outside makes itself known, rattling the windows in its wake. You're suddenly grateful you'd agreed to come and stay with Frankie. Although you’re lucky to have a shelter, these kinds of storms are best when you don't have to ride them out alone.

You also become hyper-aware of how intimate the moments you share with Frankie are. At the end of the day, you're glad he's in your life, even if it's not the way the younger version of you wanted. You still have him and he has you, and that's really more than you could ever ask for.

A chill suddenly makes its way through you.

"Are you shivering?" Frankie stops talking mid-thought to ask you.

"What? No, I—" He cuts you off with a chuckle and shakes his head, reaching down into your bag. With a quick movement he pulls a beanie on over your head, purposely tugging it past your eyes as you laugh and playfully smack his hand away.

"Watch yourself, Morales," you attempt to glare at him as you smooth down your hair, but fail to contain your smile when you see that goofy twinkle in his eyes.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” he concedes and raises his hands in mock surrender. The grin is still on his face as he moves to fix the beanie on your forehead. Another quiet chuckle escapes his lips until his fingers move away from your forehead, accidentally grazing along your cheek.

It’s not the chill that makes you both fall abruptly silent.

It’s almost as if the wind wiped the grins off your faces as Frankie looks into your eyes with an intense gaze. His hand still hovers along your cheek, neither of you seeming able to move. You’re suddenly grateful that it’s impossible for him to hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears right now. Your imagination must be getting the better of you again, because you almost believe that there’s something wistful about the look on his face.

But just like that, he drops his hand and you both avert your eyes.

“It’s, um...getting late,” you break the silence. “We better get settled before it really starts getting cold in here.”

Frankie clears his throat, nodding in agreement and standing to pile some blankets onto the couch.

“What are you doing?” you ask him.

“Um...you know I don’t have the guest room set up. There’s just the bed in my room. You go get cozy, I’ll take the couch.”

"What? I'm not gonna steal your bed, Fr—"

“And I'm not going to have you uncomfortable in my house,” he brushes you off with a wave of the hand. “It's fine, querida, really. You know I've knocked out on this couch more times than I can count." Your chest warms at the sound of his pet name for you. It's harmless, just something he's always called you. But for some reason it makes your face warm to hear it this time.

“No, I mean...isn’t it better if we share? I think the whole point is to keep our bodies warm. It’s easier to do that if we’re in one room.”

He finally meets your eyes again, holding your gaze as though there's more than one thing on his mind, then runs a hand through his disheveled hair.

“I...Are you sure? I really don’t have any problem with—”

You smile softly at him, trying to hide any indication of awkwardness in your tone. “Yes, Frankie, it’s fine. Really. Besides, we can stack all our blankets together this way.”

He smiles back. “I have a big, fluffy one we can use, too.”

All the remaining heat in the house has definitely dissipated now, leaving behind a frigid chill. It's bearable for the time being, but leaves your skin covered in goosebumps anytime you expose so much as a sliver of skin to the air. The last time you checked, the snow had already made a significant cushion to the ground outside, and was still going strong.

You've been in bed for an hour or two, huddled into a ball underneath several layers of blankets and refusing to move because it only makes you colder to shift the air around.

Frankie's asleep next to you—you assume he's asleep, anyways. Neither of you have said a word in a while, and with the pattering sounds of snow falling outside, you're getting drowsy yourself. Still, you haven't been able to fall asleep, not even when you jam your eyes shut. It's too cold, for one thing, and for another, it's difficult to ignore the fact that he is right next to you. It's a big bed and there's a decent space between you, but still.

You shift positions yet again, trying to wrap yourself tighter in your section of the blankets. You move to readjust one of the blankets that's gotten pushed away, accidentally bumping Frankie's arm in the process. You grimace, hoping you didn't wake him.

"Your hand is like ice," Frankie's quiet voice suddenly fills the room.

"Oh—Sorry. I thought you were asleep," you mutter back, your voice muffled by the blankets.

"No. It's hard enough for me to sleep even when there's not a historic snowstorm going on." He jokes, though you know it goes deeper than that for him.

Not really knowing how to respond, you remain silent. Rolling onto your side facing away from him, you tuck yourself further into the blankets before resolving to pull them up and over your head entirely.

Frankie's soft laugh rumbles next to you. "Seriously, your skin is frozen," he tells you. “You’re like the opposite of a space heater right now,” he chuckles and you can hear the grin on his face.

You push the blanket off your face, feigning a groan. “Freezing weather and a lack of heat lends to poor circulation, Francisco.”

"I know, I just…maybe it would…it might be warmer if we slept closer together." His voice is so soft that you can’t help but think how nice it would be to fall asleep to the sound of it every night.

When you don’t answer right away he quickly adds, “Or not—I wasn’t trying to...I didn’t mean—Sorry.” Frankie shuffles uncomfortably under the covers.

“No, you’re right,” you murmur hesitantly, barely louder than a whisper. “It...would probably help.”

A beat of silence.

Then you hear Frankie gently move his pillow over towards you, scooting himself in until you can feel his warmth against you. He doesn’t move again at first, you only feel his chest rising and falling against your back. But ever so slowly, he wraps an arm over you, the weight of him sturdy and comforting. You can tell he’s tense—hesitant—until you place your own hand on his, holding him closer to you. Feeling you make yourself comfortable must put him at ease, and he relaxes around you. Neither of you say a word, just lay there sharing each other’s warmth.

You’ve fallen asleep on his shoulder on some late nights on the couch before—things two normal, friendly people do, right? But you’ve never let yourself think too much about it. You can hardly help it now, reveling in the way you feel safe in his arms, fitting perfectly along the curve of his body. You are warmer, although some of it may be because of the way your pulse is just a little bit quickened. You wouldn't mind if you had to stay like this forever.

Frankie quietly exhales, his breath warm against the back of your hair. “Better?” he finally speaks, his voice gravelly and hushed, not much louder than the sound of snow hitting the window.

A pause. “Yeah.”

You feel him relax even more, burying his cheek a little more into the space above your shoulders. “Let’s try to sleep, then, querida.”

And just like that, Frankie Morales manages to make you fall a little bit more in love with him.

It’s then that you realize—it’s always been simple with him. Everything is always...easy with him. Nothing’s overcomplicated or messy; it’s just you and Frankie. It’s what drew you to him first, long ago. It wasn’t the outspoken openness that that others had, nor the confident resolve, but the quiet way he cares for you. The way he manages to always make you laugh, even at the times when it’s almost impossible to. The way he makes you feel so whole that you forget there was ever anything missing in the first place. That’s how he found his way, permanently, into your heart.

For Frankie, it’s always been you. You’re a grounding presence to him, someone who’s made him familiar with peace again over the years.

He lies there listening to the sounds of your breathing, sure that you’re finally fast asleep. He feels sleep coming over himself, too. He knows he’ll sleep a little easier tonight with you. He’ll weather anything when it comes to you. That’s how he knows, and convinces himself that once this storm business is over, he’ll tell you. For now, he lets himself follow you into slumber. His last conscious thoughts are of how he wouldn't mind having you in his arms like this every night, and if it weren't for your warmth lulling him to sleep, he might've confessed to you right then and there.

Permanent tags: @immundusspiritu @aeryntheofficial @i-like-those-odds @padlilli @hail-doodles @hiscyarika @taman-a @electricprincess888 @max--phillips @myrin1234 @aloneontheoutside @pascalisthepunkest @ah-callie @fleurdemiel145 @katialvi @murdermewithbooks @pisss-offf-ghostt @kayebede @lamnothome @fan-g0rl @lokiaddicted @mrsdaamneron @poedaneron @wolfshifter4life @dindjarindiaries @rociomz @opheliaelysia @dyn-djarin @randomness501 @unsaidsunset @hayley-the-comet @mrsparknuts @exy-issexy @palalover @forever-rogue @adikaofmandalore @kaetastic @zannemes @mstgsmy @wille-zarr @arabellathorne @f0rever15elf @lv7867 @stilllivindue2spite @urbankaite2

#frankie morales x reader #pedro pascal x reader #frankie morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x you #triple frontier #my ff

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manonblaqkbeak · 3 years

Text

Sugar, sugar

(genuinely hate coming up with titles lol)

this is just rowaelin being pining idiots, one of my fave tropes for day 11--delayed love confession

just a note, the lifestyle in this fic is more of a background note and doesnt really take centre stage in this fic. it’s one ive been tempted to write for a while tbh but didnt really get around to it until now

cw: very, very light smut (like barely non existent, but just in case), a lil bit of swearing

enjoy! :)

3k words (officially my longest fic, yay!)

Every thought in Aelin's mind was blank. She trudged through her apartment that she shared with Nehemia, absentmindedly kicking off her heels that Rowan purchased for her months ago. Then the light jacket she wore joined the shoes, the fabric was perfectly soft and perfect for the autumn chill.

It was yet another piece of item that Rowan purchased for her. A lot of the things she had know were thanks to Rowan, either from his own wallet or from the biweekly allowance he sent her—a generous allowance that was a thousand times better than her weekly paycheck from the bookstore she'd been working at since she turned twenty-two; her business degree had turned out to be useless and so she turned to the bookstore that had been her stable job for three years.

Aelin barely touched her weekly wage now, it was practically buried underneath the money the Rowan gave her.

Because Rowan Whitethorn, thirty-five and a successful CEO who was well known, was her sugar daddy. Had been now for fourteen months. But he was more than that, more than just a man that paid her to spend time with him. He respected her, was loyal to her, listened to her and responded with actual sentences instead of a word or two like other men she had dated. He was charming, didn't treat her like she was nothing but arm candy, and she knew him so well, as he knew her, and each fortnight she sometimes forgot their whole arrangement, but she was sharply reminded when she received the notification from her bank that the two and a half thousand dollars that Rowan sent her was now in her savings account.

When she agreed to their arrangement after several get-to-know you dates, Rowan had wanted to give her three and a half grand every week, and gods Aelin had been tempted because she had never had so much money in her life, but told him that it was far too much and negotiated.

Two and a half thousand was the lowest that Rowan was willing to go, and even though Aelin only knew him for two weeks at that point, she could tell that he would not budge, so she agreed to the amount.

The first time that money had landed in her account, Aelin had thought that maybe she had imagined the whole thing, but the money was a sharp reminder of what she know was—a sugar baby. Those words still didn't feel like they applied to her.

And he still spent money on her when they spent time together. Just last week he gifted her with diamond earrings in the shapes of roses with a necklace to match. She wore them tonight, not because he bought them for her but because she genuinely loved the pieces.

Needing something sweet—despite the fact she had only finished her chocolate hazelnut gelato twenty minutes ago—she dug through her fridge and found the brownies that Nehemia had baked the other day. She told herself that she would leave some for her long-time friend, but Aelin really doubted that would happen.

Aelin relished in the cold air of the fridge as she found the new can of whipped cream on the top shelf. The fridge was one of the first things she purchased with the money she was now being gifted with (and after that came a new washer and dryer, a dish-washing machine and television. Almost everything in her apartment was brand new now, the food were actual brands instead of the generic, tasteless shit. She had bras that fit her properly and were so damned comfortable that she forgot she was wearing them half the time).

The old fridge was a cheap hunk of junk that she and Nehemia purchased off Facebook marketplace for a hundred dollars, it barely kept things cold, but with expensive rent and bills and general life things, Nehemia and her couldn't afford anything better.

Which was how she ended up in this situation. Picking up more shifts barely gave them anything extra, because the economy right now in Terrasen was shit. Nehemia had made a joke about needing sugar daddies, and Aelin, knowing that Nehemia could never really do such a thing, had decided that maybe it was a good idea.

Nehemia had told Aelin that she was insane for pursuing such a thing, and that she had only been joking, but Aelin was not and that she could handle herself if things went wrong.

Nehemia had told her not to do anything, but Aelin was determined and started her search. It had taken a while to find a website that was genuine and didn't make her feel like she had to scrub her eyes out with bleach.

She created her page in private, because she not only was Nehemia against the idea, but so was Elide and Lysandra—she didn't dare tell Aedion what she was doing. Her cousin could be an overprotective pain in her ass at times, and Aelin was very well aware that if Aedion caught wind of what she was doing, he would have locked her up in her room without any type of device so she couldn't go forward with her plan.

She appreciated their concern, she did, but she was a consenting, tax-paying adult, and if she wanted to use her time to get paid spending time with a rich man, then Aelin was allowed to do exactly that.

It wasn't prostitution, she had looked it up, because it was the sugar babies that had the power and so that was how it went with her and Rowan.

Aelin didn't even have sex with Rowan until it was the sixth month anniversary of her and Rowan's...relationship (and gods, it was the best sex Aelin ever had. Rowan was a generous and completely unselfish lover).

He was the first one she came across on the site and almost drooled down herself when she saw his picture. Silver hair, pine-green eyes, a beautiful tattoo down the length of his left arm and tanned skin, he was stupidly attractive and only ten years old than her.

Aelin messaged him first only after being on the site for ten minutes, deciding that surely he was the best one and that she needn't bother to look at any other candidates.

They hit it off straight away, and after deciding on a restaurant to meet at, Aelin had informed Nehemia of the matter, which she was promptly met with question after question: why can't a thirty-four year old man find someone his own age? Is he one of those men that can't date a woman five minutes older than him because of some stupid made up reason? How do you know for certain that it's him in the picture? What if he's cat-fishing you? What if he's a freak, or a killer? What if he's just pretending to be rich to kidnap you? What if, what if, what if?

And so after a heated discussion, Nehemia had come along on her date-that-wasn't-really-a-date and sat a few tables away from her and Rowan, watching them—especially him—the entire time like a hawk.

Aelin had completely forgotten that her friend was there, so enraptured by Rowan and what he did and how he saw life.

It had been fourteen months of seeing Rowan and genuinely enjoying spending time with him and weeks ago, she realised that she wanted it to be something more. That she had come to care for him, not because of the money, but purely because it was Rowan and he made her feel seen and he wasn't afraid of her, because she had once been told by an ex that she could be too much and that he couldn't handle all her baggage.

Aelin wanted a life with him.

So Aelin told Rowan she loved him when he dropped her off tonight after their dinner and a movie date, telling him how she felt, and he had said thank you. He gave her a chaste kiss on the cheek and went home, leaving behind the pine-and-snow scent of him.

Aelin really wanted to find a hole to crawl into and die.

She was scarfing down her third brownie when Nehemia's bedroom door opened, her friend clad in an old matching pj set, her slippers shuffling across the tile.

“What happened? Are you okay?” her friend asked upon seeing Aelin's guttered look. Her dark brows furrowed. “Did that bastard hurt you? If he did, I'll—”

“He didn't do anything,” Aelin interrupted her friend. Taking the food, Aelin planted herself on the teal blue velvet sofa Rowan gave her for Yulemas last year, ignoring the scent of not just him, but of them both from when he came over after work just the other day with pizza and a DVD that she insisted that she watched because it was too good not to, when they forgot all about the movie as Rowan buried himself inside her, leaving hickeys all over her neck that she had to cover up with thick concealer.

Nehemia joined her on the couch, her friend momentarily forgetting for now that she had walked in on her and Rowan just moments after they finished, muttering under her breath in Eyllwe as she glared at them defiling the couch, and gave her a look that Aelin knew that Nehemia would listen to every word that came out from her.

And when Aelin was done recounting the story, all Nehemia could come up with was, “Oh.”

“Yes, 'oh,'. I've probably fucked up the whole thing. So don't be surprised if I call you on your lunch break tomorrow telling you he's broken things off.”

“Aelin, I don't think he will. I know that I'm not the biggest fan of your...situation—”

“I'm aware,” Aelin said, cutting her friend off. “You still won't let me buy you a new mattress, even though yours is hard as a brick and lumpy as hell. I've told you that you can pay me—”

“Aelin,” Nehemia said, “we're not talking about mattresses right now. As I was saying, I doubt he'll break things off because I've seen the way he looks at you. I still think he's too old for you, but he cares for you. You probably just caught him by surprise.”

“How does he look at me?” Aelin was observant, but sometimes when she was with Rowan, all her observation skills went out the window.

“Like he loves you,” Nehemia said, no hint of doubt in her voice.

Aelin sighed, her feelings slowly starting to crush her. “I guess I'll just have to take your word for it.”

Sighing once more, Aelin put the food back in the fridge, showered and went to bed, forgoing her usual night texting ritual with Rowan.

She really wasn't looking forward to tomorrow.

X X X X X X

Rowan couldn't concentrate, which wasn't a good thing, since his job dealt with having to concentrate all the time. But no matter what mind-focusing techniques he did, he couldn't stop thinking about Aelin.

Couldn't stop thinking about how she said she was in love with him. How her beautiful eyes had been sparkling when she said those words to him. And how the light in them dimmed when he said thank you and kissed her on the cheek, telling her that he would talk to her later. But he hadn't texted her, nor did she.

I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.

Thank you. He really couldn't believe that was what he said. Felt like an utter fool and a bastard as he realised he probably crushed her heart. Aelin didn't like being vulnerable, and she had been when she said those words and he had gone and fucked it all up.

Rowan loved Aelin, he did, but he truly wasn't prepared for those words. He loved how on the weekends they would be up at one am, baking chocolate goodies, dancing in the quiet kitchen, humming quietly to Aelin's classical music playlist, with her wearing not the nightgowns that he loved, but one of his old hoodies.

He didn't think that he would get along with her so well once they met, thinking that their online interactions were nothing but a fluke. He was moments away from deleting the profile because he didn't actually create it, but Fenrys had, his friend grumbling that he needed a girlfriend, with Rowan arguing that creating a profile on a sugar daddy site was not dating but probably the opposite, when Aelin messaged him.

His life-long friend didn't listen, much to Rowan's annoyance—but he didn't grab his phone out of his friends hand; Rowan blamed it on the several whiskys he had downed by that point.

Aelin bewitched him on that first meet up. She was intelligent as hell and funny, and creative and beautiful. He was aware of why she was on the date with him, but he didn't care, just as long as he got to see her again.

Fourteen months later and Rowan was still bewitched. He wanted to be with her on a permanent basis, but wasn't completely sure how to take that step.

Clearly, Aelin had taken that step for them, and Rowan was the worlds biggest moron.

I love you, Rowan. I'm in love with you.

Thank you.

Groaning, Rowan turned away from his computer and looked at the skyline, ignoring the buildings to instead watch the puffy clouds drift by.

Aelin loved watching the clouds, loved stargazing, loved questioning about the universe and what the skies held.

He never really paid any of that stuff attention, not until he met her.

Rowan didn't want to lose her, didn't want her to think that he was about to break up with her over this. He had to see her, so he grabbed his keys and wallet, told his secretary to hold his calls for the rest of the day, and went to visit Aelin.

X X X X X X

It had been an usually busy day for a Wednesday and Aelin was glad for her lunch break as she trudged up to the roof of the shopping centre. She wasn't really allowed up here, but she wanted some fresh air and to feel the sun against her skin as she sat down and dug into her lunch—fast food, unfortunately for her, because she was so frazzled from last night that she completely forgot about making a pack lunch.

Rowan hadn't called her, or texted her. Not even an email had been sent her way.

Aelin hated that she felt so damned mopey. She was an independent woman, but gods, even a good morning text would have been fine.

She finished her lunch, popping several mints into her mouth to get rid of the onion taste, when the roof door crashed open and a familiar hulking figure came into view.

He must have spoken to Elide to find her here.

Aelin's brow furrowed. “Rowan, what are you doing here?” Oh gods, surely he wasn't going to break up with her, she still had hours to go; there'd be no way she could work if she had tears in her eyes.

Taking her hands in his, Aelin stood up. She steeled herself against whatever he was going to say.

“I love you, Aelin. I'm in love with you, too,” Rowan said, his eyes soft and full of genuine love. Aelin's heart shot up into her throat. “I want a life with you. I want us to buy a home, one that has warmth and character, and a big garden. I want a dog. And kids too, if you want, I know that you've never mentioned it, but if you don't want any then that is completely fine. I want to support you in whatever endeavors you want to take, and if you ever want to go back to university, then I'll support you, or if you want to find a way to use your business degree, I'll help you with that, too. Whatever you want Aelin, I'll give it to you, as long as you're by my side, I'll be happy.”

Aelin was silent for so long that Rowan thought that maybe he shocked her into silence. But eventually, she smiled, one that was dazzling in its beauty that it took his breath away.

“You love me?”

“I do, Aelin, I love you.”

She kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”

Rowan groaned at the amusement in her tone, in her eyes. “You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

She smirked. “Definitely not. It'll be a nice story to tell our children...one day. For now, I think we should contend with being proper significant others.”

Rowan nodded, smiling. “I like the sound of that.”

“Good, because I need to get back to work, since I'm no longer accepting your allowances. I won't deny the use of your credit card, but other than that, you are no longer my sugar daddy.”

It was Rowan's turned to smirk, and it was the one that made her core clench. “How about I be 'daddy' instead?”

Aelin snorted, even as she clenched around nothing again. Smacking his arm lightly, Aelin kissed him. “Only if you behave,” she said against his lips, “and now I really need to go back to work.”

Rowan walked her back, their fingers laced together, and as she turned to say goodbye, Aelin said, “I'll see you later, daddy.”

Rowan groaned, and it took everything in him not to take her hand and into his car to have his wicked way with her.

By the time he thought of a response, Aelin was already back to work, helping a customer with an impressive stack of books in her arms.

But she knew he was still there, because the way she swayed her hips to the counter was all for him, and when she saw him watching her, Aelin winked, making Rowan's heart flutter in his chest.

He really did love her. And he would live with her teasing him for the rest of his life, just as long as she was with him.

#rowaelin #rowaelinmonth #my work

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batfamtv · 3 years

Note

I was wondering if you can do a request with Finnick Odair and my oc/me (Hannah). You don’t have to use my name, but it’s Hannah if you do. So here’s some backstory. So Hannah’s father is a district 1 victor of the hunger games, her mother is a stylist and her father lived in the capital now due to district 1’s privileges. Hannah was born and raised in the capital, but was taunt by her parents to be anti hunger games, due to her father being in the games and seeingnn the horrors along with being traumatized by seeing them when she was 8. So her and finnick met while her mother was his stylist in the games. They became friends and caught feelings when they were 16. She was one of the only person who knew the truth about his “many lovers” and she was there to help him through it. They started dating when they were 19 and when they were 21, they were able to sneak Hannah back on the train with them into district 4. The capital tried to get her back, but since this was great publicity and stuff, they just left it because it wasn’t as important. Finnick proposed to her in the capital before the 75th games. She was kidnapped and toutured by the capital with Joanna and Peeta before being rescued by Gale and the others she was also tortured with the tracker jacke serum which made her extremely paranoid. So maybe you can do something where Hannah and finnick get reunited in district 13 after she was rescued.

i would pull you from the tide

finnick odair x f!reader

in between the screams and the pain, you see finnick.

you remember the first time you meet him: young, handsome boy with a playful smile. he didn’t like you at first, thinking you were just another spoilt capitolite, but you and your family were kind, making sure he was being cared for while he stayed at the capitol (snow’s orders) for his ‘clients’.

“hi finnick dear,” your mother had introduced you then, “this is my daughter, y/n. she’s your age and wanted to meet you.” finnick had eyed you from top to bottom, but didn’t say anything other than a stiff nod. you had remained there beside your mother, almost feeling hurt for his coldness, if not for the sympathy you felt for him when he emerged out of the arena.

you also remember the first time he had actually let you in: when you came by his capitol apartment to bring him the stew your parents made for dinner, and finnick was there, crying on the floor. you knew what snow was making him do, and your family have been trying hard to make sure the victors are safe and protected here in the capitol, but you can only do so much. finnick had stared at you then, and you expected him to yell at you, to flinch when you came closer, to shove you away when your arms wrapped around him. instead, he held onto you, and cried in your arms. “i hate it here,” he had mumbled against you, “i hate it, i hate it, i hate it!” and there was nothing for you to say but “i’m sorry” and “i’m here finnick, i won’t leave you alone.”

you saw him every year, yet with another set of tributes from his district. but finnick wasn’t cold to you anymore, instead sought you whenever he had free time, because you loved to hear stories about the ocean, and how one time he saw a huge whale breach the surface of the water, and you felt his youth glowing from him, and you had decided then and there that finnick odair deserves to be happy.

“you should come to district four sometimes, y/n,” he had told you enthusiastically, even though you both knew it was forbidden to travel between districts. the wishful thinking was enough though, as you watch him remember the ocean, and you could see the ocean itself in his eyes, “i know you’ll love it!”

nodding, you ran your hands through his hair, almost smelling the saltiness of the sea in him, “yeah,” you had smiled at him, “maybe i will.”

more of those years go by in your mind, but when you open your eyes, you are still somewhat trapped in time. shivering from the cold, sore from all the beatings, you can hear peeta’s cry from a couple of cells down. you also hear johanna’s voice, she’s calling out to you, wondering if you are still alive.

“y/n?” she asks. “are you there?”

“yes,” you croak, the sound gravelly and painful. you struggle to move closer to johanna’s cell and you can almost see her grinning face.

“good,” you hear her say, “finnick would kick my ass so hard if you died.”

absolutely exhausted and pained, you close your eyes, and more memories come.

you don’t remember exactly when your feelings for him changed, but when it did, it hit hard. you remember staring at finnick, and blushing whenever he caught you.

“were you looking at me, y/n?” one eyebrow raised, he tossed another sugar cube up in the air before catching it in his mouth.

blushing red, you shook your head vehemently, “no! why would i do that?”

he shrugged, “well, i am pretty attractive.”

he tossed another sugar cube, but failed to catch it. hearing your laugh, he turned to face you with a dramatic frown. you only shook your head, “sure you are,” before turning away (absolutely hoping he didn’t see your face burn bright red after you jokingly admitted to him that you did, after all, find him attractive).

he would always smile that teasing and boyish smile before sauntering toward you and making you even more flustered. you remember one night when it was really bad for him, limping towards his apartment because he was hurt by one of his clients, and you had fussed over him, worry etched on your face. you remember him crying against you as you held him, and him whispering to you that you kept him sane. you had fallen asleep like that, arms around finnick odair, silently hoping you could do more to protect him from this life.

finnick odair had loved you then, maybe way before then, but he didn’t tell you yet.

and perhaps, one of the reasons why he was so reluctant to tell you, and everyone else about what he felt, was because he knew the president would set his eyes on you. and finnick didn’t like that.

you remember the smile on finnick’s face, so so bright and beautiful, when he saw you get out of the train in district four. your parents snuck you out of the capitol to surprise him, and he was both worried and exhilarated. you also remember how nice it was in his district, especially that one night when you both walked by the shore at night under the full moon, when he had kissed your lips so softly as though he was scared to break you. you remember the warmth in your chest that exploded throughout your body when you threw your arms around him and kissed him back.

when you open your eyes again, it’s another day. you’re sure that you’re awake for most of the time, when they beat you up and submerge you under the water, but you don’t remember any of it. something in your mind tells you that you may have pushed those memories away, locked them deep down and all you can remember is finnick, finnick, finnick.

one of the worst days of your life was when he was reaped for the quarter quell. your family had been contacted by plutarch heavensbee immediately after, and you remember how plutarch silently apologized to you that finnick got reaped, and you made him promise to get finnick alive.

“katniss everdeen is our priority.”

“then make him second,” you pleaded, tears threatening to leave your eyes, “please.”

plutarch had nodded grimly, and you promised to yourself that you would do anything it takes to keep finnick alive.

the night before the games, he brought you to the rooftop. you were scared, for him, for the rebellion, for everything. you were scared that everything was going to change.

“not all change is bad,” finnick reassured you as he took both of your hands in his. “for example,” he smiled cheekily, biting his lower lip, “when this is over, we can get married.”

“what?” your eyes widened at his statement. he pulled out a ring, something so simple and yet beautiful (and resembled the one you were sure you saw at a shop while in district four).

“when there are no more games,” he smiled as he slid the ring to your ring finger, “when can get married. build a cottage by the sea.”

you admired the ring on your finger, overwhelmed by the proclamation and enticed by the thought of waking up next to finnick odair in your own little seaside cottage. then you threw your arms around him, pressing your lips on his with a smile.

“this is why you need to win,” you whispered against his lips.

finnick nodded, “this is why i need to win.”

the next time you’re conscious, you can hear peeta’s screams again. you’re too tired to move, limbs too sore to use and so you just lay there. as peeta’s screams for katniss faded into the background, you hear finnick’s voice.

finnick screaming your name.

you remember watching him run aimlessly through the forest, the sound of your voice calling him. “y/n! y/n!”

katniss tried to tell him that the voices are from jabberjays, they weren’t real. but finnick was inconsolable, insisting that jabberjays copy sounds from the source.

“please, let me go!” he had yelled at katniss. “they got her, they got y/n!”

he was panicked, crying for you, and you couldn’t do anything but watch as it went on for an hour. you wanted to console him right then and there, to hold him and reassure him that you’re fine, but you weren’t able to.

you didn’t want to open your eyes, but you hear his voice again. finnick’s not screaming your name, but he is whispering it. something warm covers your hand, and you almost flinch if not for the familiarity of it. when you do open your eyes, you are met by a bright light, almost harsh, but most of all--

“finnick,” you whisper, and your voice is hoarse.

finnick exhales when he looks into your eyes and sees that you’re really here, you’re alive. he cups your hand in his, pressing kisses on it as he tries to keep his tears from falling. “y/n, how are you feeling?”

you don’t know what to tell him. confused as to where you are. tired and sore. relieved to see that he’s here in front of you. in love.

despite all of this, you can only think of one thing. the one thing you’ve always felt whenever you look into finnick odair’s eyes.

“happy.”

finnick smiles boyishly, as he look down, clearly flustered. it takes someone special to make him flustered like that, and it’s always been you.

he reaches over to plant a gentle kiss on your temple, nose, cheek, and then lips. “me too.”

#batfamtv #hunger games #hunger games imagine #thg imagine #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair imagine

173 notes · View notes

matchamorphosis · 3 years

Text

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ 𝓫𝓲𝓻𝓽𝓱𝓭𝓪𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼!

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓻𝔂 | you’re the birthday girl and the birthday girl always gets what she wants.

𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮 | fluffy smut

𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰 | daddy!andy barber × bratty birthday girl![black//woc] reader

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | 4.5K

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | 18+ nsfw! ddlg lifestyle, daddy kink, hint of brattiness, kinda spoiled reader, fingering, slight size kink, ass groping mention, spanking mention, punishment mention, loads of praise, loads of kisses, loads of sweets being consumed, stuffie talk, teasing, there may be a few grammar mistakes

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓹𝓽𝓼 | easy living by billie holiday, teddy wilson ♡ dance of the sugar plum fairy by pytor llyich tchaikovsky ♡ babygirl by charli xcx ♡♡♡

𝔀. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮 | this is a little birthday gift for @cloudystevie 💗💘💞 go show some love to the birthday princess cherubs!!! ♡ hope you enjoy this jasmeen darling, happy birthday ♡♡♡

♡ long fluttering lashes bat soothingly at the sight of flowing auburn liquid pouring from your teapots spout into your stuffies porcelain tea cup, the drip drop of the last dip before you raise the pale pink tea kettle up.

♡ the sweet smell of cakes rising in the oven flows in a curled aroma throughout the kitchen, catching the hints of rich german chocolate and zesty lemon you smile tenderly as you finish pouring all your stuffies cups of tea.

♡ this tea party isn’t common like your other tea parties before, your stuffed animals know this as all their plastic glass eyes dash along the various jam puff pastry and chocolate icing treats that rest on rosy designed plates atop lacy doilies which crowd the table.

♡ it certainly isn’t like your other tea parties, there's a sparkling trance in the air that grows stronger wherever your angelic presence takes you and it surely captures all their plastic eyes on the extravagant purple silk that adorns the smooth sweet pea lotion that sparkles off every inch of visible strip of skin.

♡ a glittering swarovski tiara rests on the crown of your glossy curls that fall in thick abounding ribbons, shining silver gleams with every shift of your head it correlates well with the powdered sugar like snow that falls softly outside and Andy dusting a layer on hot and ready out of the oven blueberry tarts.

♡ the expensive headpiece surely was a sight for sore eyes, it brightened the silver stars in your hues when you were caressing the satin like bath wash that smelt of peonies and strawberries, bathing that early morning to get ready for your special day.

♡ taking your special time appreciating every hill, bend, curve and dip of your body as a knock struck the door, “is my birthday princess in here?” Andy’s voice rung, pulling your head up in attention you grinned.

♡ “she is daddy!” you replied as your lower half swished in the rose petal water, hearing the bathroom door opened and the pad of Andy’s loafers hit the marble bathroom tiles.

♡ rippling contentment raptures and allures your bubble bath soaked figure when his bearing body comes into view while you were focused on rubbing your shoulders with your sugar scrub.

♡ taking delight in the peachy zest fragrance as you admired your freshly painted acrylic nails you had your daddy help you apply the other night, unaware of Andy’s glorifying glance as he stands looking down at your charismatic care.

♡ a white towel wraps your head keeping your hair in place and a light sheet mask rests on your face, bending down on his knees Andy’s hands grab your body sponge before rubbing the planes of your back covered lightly in bubble suds.

♡ “what do you wanna do first today princess? anything you want and anything you need daddy will give it to you,” Andy spoke, his head snaking in the crook of your neck and before you could speak you broke into a fit of giggles as the sponge in his hand intentionally grazed the sensitive skin of your sides while his lips pressed wet kisses on your neck.

♡ “d-daddy stop!” you broke but your seemingly endless giggles kept getting in the way as Andy continued to smile as he kisses your neck while his other hand dipped into the water to tickle your other side.

♡ receiving the reaction he wanted his fingers stop their tickling torment but not before caressing the bubbly skin of your waist and stomach, you only have sight of his wide shoulders as his head continued to trail kisses down your neck, nibbling and sucking on your skin here and there.

♡ “go on sweetheart, the tickle monsters gone,” Andy smirk against your skin before lifting his head away from your neck and his arms from the bath tub soapy water, shifting your body around causing the water to splash over the railing you sat in place star struck at your daddy’s attire for the day.

♡ as much as it tingled the space between your thighs at the sight of him wearing those tight collared polos that drove you crazy beyond control you grinned up at him as you told him of your plans and ideas but Andy’s surprised to find you don’t wanna go out to get more presents.

♡ “I thought you wanted to go out princess, what changed? you love going out and getting more presents,” your daddy spoke, causing your eyes to shift shyly away as you took sudden interest in your shiny nails as they gripped the outline of the tubs rim.

♡ “I know you said that you wouldn’t mind but I just want something between you and me, and- and do you know the tea party i’ve been talking about? the one with my stuffies? with the tea and sweets and cakes, may we please do that today daddy?” voice softly bashful and sweet as can be Andy coos down at you after pecking the tip of your nose.

♡ “absolutely princess, how about we have your tea party after lunchtime. how does that sound?” you nodded your head enthusiastically and Andy chuckled, “perfect, what is the birthday princess going to wear?” and of course he’d say that.

♡ the sole reason you weren’t getting out of the tub was because he had to decide which dress you’d wear but before your daddy knocked the bathroom door you already came to a resolution.

♡ pointing to the dresses that are hung on their individual hangers on the towel closet near the bath tub, “i’m going to wear the pink puff sleeved one for brunch and the purple slip for my tea party,” you spoke, watching as Andy got up to grab a towel from the closet then the hanger bearing the pink dress.

♡ the dress wasn’t inherently familiar to Andy nor does he remember buying it for you but he had to admit he has bought you loads of dresses, bags or whatever else that made you so stylish and posh to come to a memory of so.

♡ instructing him to get which strap heels and what designer bag from your closest you want to go along with the short puffed sleeve dress as you took the sheet mask off your face and washed the citrus sugar scrub then floral bubble wash from your skin.

♡ from the doorframe your unaware stance doesn’t notice the focused observation as your daddy admired and traced every detail of your bare bodice as your hands rubbed the soap from your neck to the undercurve of your breasts.

♡ with no sight of bubble suds on your skin you bend over to retrieve the towel on the near stool Andy set for you but before you could reach it Andy’s strong arms wrap around your bare chest, pulling your soaked back into the solidness of his bare chest.

♡ you gasp at the contact while his hands take rough handfuls of your breasts as his fingers roll your nipples, his face sneaking back into the crook of your neck as he bite and sucked, not afraid to leave love bites anywhere his lips graced against.

♡ “daddy,” you moaned but it’s quickly hushed as he rolled your nipple between his fingers, his other hand leaving your breast to glide slowly down passed your stomach till it found the slick of your needy cunt that erupted more small sweet noises with every dip his fingertips took at teasing your hole.

♡ your head throw back, resting on one of Andy's biceps that steady on the tubs rim the hand doesn’t leave from pinching your nipple or groping your tit as his other doesn’t stop tracing figure eights or rubbing the slicked pearl at the peak of your pussy before thrusting a stretching thick finger into your tight hole.

♡ “let daddy take care of you princess,” Andy shushed in your ear as your sweet moans and little sighs captured his when another finger pumped into your hole, your grinding hips rippled the water attempting to find the perfect balance that will help you reach the blinding pleasure and spill your euphoria on his fingers.

♡ “daddy please! please daddy!” you whispered hopelessly in his ear, your quivering body desperate for his fingers to break the chain tightening in your belly and before you could whine and beg once more as he takes his fingers out your hole your back suddenly arches when three fingers thrust in and out of your weeping cunt.

♡ your arched figure has your head falling back more against his bicep till you neck only rests upon it and Andy takes the opportunity to smash his lips to yours, teeth rough to bite your bottom lip you gasp and moan as his tongue enters your mouth just like his fingertips graze the golden spot at the end of your slicked channel.

♡ your going to combust, the erotic cocktail of his hot tongue swirling with yours and his thick fingers thrusting and stretching your honeyed pussy is making you see stars even though you have them closed, your hands rise to frame his face, fingers spread to dig into his toffee brown locks as the other relishes the scratch of his beard.

♡ its again that he hits the sweet spot his curled fingers graze against that has you whimpering in contrast to his relentless passionate kiss while you rest at the mercy of him and his thick fingers, “daddy p-please, I need to come! please let me come, daddy!” you're able to beg as he lets go of your lips from his.

♡ “why should I let you come princess? give me one good reason,” his low voice rumbled as his smirk plasters against the skin behind your ear, making you shiver Andy’s enjoying pushing you passed your limits as well as savoring the immature pout while your forbidden honey slowly coats his knuckles deliciously.

♡ “b-because it’s my birthday daddy. i-i’m the birthday princess, your birthday princess,” you whisper as a tear drips off your curls under lashes to your cheek, his chest fills again with an awakening desire to have you crumbling and moaning underneath him.

♡ possessing your lips again you gasp in pleasure when his fingers pump impossibly more continuous as you tug the handfuls of his toffee brown hair in your grip, achieving to pull rough growls from him and to your own satisfaction him scissoring you open while his other fingers your other tit.

♡ however we can only have so much of something before we’re washed up on the tide of ecstasy and Andy knows how much the big wave is going to wash over you as your thighs tremble and your moans turn into needy whimpers of barely audible daddys and pleases that do nothing but increase the speed of his fingers and harden his cock.

♡ “come on my fingers princess, come for daddy sweet girl,” your grip on his hair tightens as you feel his fingers pull your orgasm closer and closer to the edge, you pull his head away from your neck to just smash your lips against his into a bruising kiss nothing more than teeth, tongue and hot breath.

♡ and as Andy guessed the thrashing wave washed over your body as his relentless fingers continuously hit the g spot that had you screaming his name when you came on his fingers, your arched position slipping a bit your daddy’s quick to take care of you.

♡ pulling the plug of the tub and rinsing your body again from sweat, Andy washed your sore core with warm water and a hand towel before wrapping your body covered in dew drops and carrying you out of the tub and into your room to dress you.

♡ settling you done on the plushy comforter of your shared bed with a quick peck to your lips before he can turn around and grab your body lotion from your vanity, your gripping grasp at his wrist stops him in place.

♡ “what wrong princess?” he says but your eyes don’t reach his blue ones, his heart stammers and paces wondering if he did something wrong, bending his knees till he’s face to face with you.

♡ “did daddy hurt you when he was trying to make you feel good princess? what’s wrong sweet girl, can you please tell me,” Andy speaks as his hand cups your chin to gently turn your face to meet his bit your eyes look down shyly.

♡ “can I have a bubble bath tonight daddy?” your whispered as your fingers grip the belt loops of Andy’s trousers, his sly smirk not getting too big too tease his little one but still pronounced.

♡ “of course dove,” his low voice broke, pressing a kiss to the soft skin of your shoulder, your neck then you jaw then finishing on your lips.

♡ “with you?” picking his head up from the sweet and floral scent of your shoulder his eyes cascade into yours as your faces are centimeters apart.

♡ stricken by the twinkle in your hues and the bountiful soft of your lips your soaked hands creep up his wrists, hitting all the right spots that inspire another pleasurable session to take place between your legs.

♡ thick fingers stroke your overstimulated folds, shuddering from the contact you don’t dare dart your eyes away from his gentle ones, “as you wish princess,”

♡ at this time it’s a quarter after lunch, much later than both your enchanted session of touches and kisses you have a small porcelain jar in your hands, the lid set aside you stare down at the perfectly cubed sugar lumps.

♡ “how much sugar lumps would you like with your tea mrs. genevieve?” your gleaming glossy lipped smile radiates across the table to your plushed white bunny rabbit who sits atop a stack of books you stole from Andy’s office in order to reach above the table top.

♡ the bunny plushie dressed in her daisy blue sundress, matching sun hat and finishing her outfit with a shiny sapphire bow comfortably around her neck sits next to your other stuffies dressed handsomely and eloquently for the special occasion.

♡ they sip from the steaming cups of honeyed herbal tea your daddy prepared specially for them while nibbling on sweets of custard eclairs and fluffy macaroons, heart squeezing in contentment.

♡ “four sugar lumps? that’s far too much sugar mrs. genevieve! I am giving you only two! you’ve already had ten cookies! same goes for your husband- yes bartolommeo I am speaking of you-!”

♡ the playfully sternness that possess the softness of your voice makes Andy widely smile to himself as he takes the numerous pans of rising cakes out of the double oven.

♡ the older man goofily grins to himself, of course he knows you are imitating him, down to his tone to the scrunch of his brows he would usually have to put you in your place and remind you of your manners but he doesn’t, seemingly enjoying this.

♡ letting you continue to let you discipline the stuffies on their sugar intake while your extended arm swindles a chocolate chip cookie or two in your sneaky grasp from the untouched plate at the other side of the counter.

♡ Andy let’s the action slip, it’s your birthday! you’re the birthday girl and the birthday girl can treat herself to as much sweets, gifts, and attention her heart desires.

♡ tchaikovsky orchestrated symphony of the nutcracker plays on the amazon echo, every single one of your favorite details you planned for this tea party he partakes in joyously while listening in on his little one playing the perfect hostess.

♡ settling the hot pans on the kitchen island, not far away from the table you’re treating all your dressed stuffies to Andy slips off the oven mitts and sets a timer for the cakes to cool down.

♡ prepping your favorite fruits to be sliced, jars of frosting and icing to be whipped, melting chocolate to be spread and chopped nuts to be sprinkled Andy seems to know what direction he has for each and every cake.

♡ it was indeed a major saving grace he had a few years of experience in the baking category ever since he started to date you, you were demanding and very high maintenance cause you only wanted the best cause you deserved the best.

♡ that’s one of the many things Andy adored about you besides the fact his little princess loves sweets, baked sweets to be more specific and technical.

♡ at the very start of their relationship he became accustomed to whisking eggs, sugar, and butter, sifting flour and dry ingredients without making a mess as well as becoming patient for not only your brattiness but the sweets in the oven to.

♡ baking was now a favorable hobby of his now and he loved baking, whether or not you watched and helped him with cracking an egg or two or by himself as you attended your big girl responsibilities.

♡ although on this day he devoted himself to not let you raise a single finger, on this day you were truly a princess more than you were any other day and your daddy enjoyed looking over to you.

♡ adoring your sweet giggles and honey voice as you remarked back at what your stuffie said as you refilled their cups and snacked on the prepared sweets he completed.

♡ “are you enjoying your tea ms. dolores? how about you mr. alfred? I know you two prefer peppermint than sage and chamomile but I had daddy add just enough honey for your liking,”

♡ dazzling eyes flash to the mint green piggie in her flowy gingham skirt and white blouse then the indigo whale in his top hat, of course only you could hear their kind affirmations of agreement.

♡ “stupendous! i’ll be enjoying my coffee- no ms. darla you cannot have any coffee! you are too little! the only one who can have coffee is mr. humbert,”

♡ your eyes dashed from the kitten stuffie to the teddy bear with spectacles on his nose and a buttoned up tweed jacket covering his arms and chest, “he has reached the proper age to drink coffee, you all have to wait,” your retort makes Andy’s brow arch in amusement.

♡ “and what is the proper age for a stuffie to start drinking coffee?” Andy broke as he bite of a slice of apricot; the tangy citrus nectar coating his tongue he continues cutting the colorful fruits on the platter waiting for your answer.

♡ “sixty two,” your answer quick and analyzed, Andy chuckles thankful he isn’t a stuffie who must obey the critical coming-of-age caffeine consumption law.

♡ “that’s very old princess, or should I say congresswoman? have you poured elder humbert his coffee?” andy spoke while recounting the cookies on the plate to know how much you’ve already eaten, you haven’t eaten a large portion of the forty cookies but he’s coming more concerned of your caffeine intake as you blurt out a loud reckless giggle.

♡ “i've refilled mr. humberts cup four times now! I think he really likes the oat milk,” you grinned up at your daddy as you drank from your porcelain cup, your sparkling eyes never leaving his as Andy playfully squinted at you deviously.

♡ “he does now? and exactly how many tea cups of coffee did my little coffee bean drink?” he spoke in his authority tone, placing the batter spatula down as he relished in your childish smirk.

♡ “they’re tiny tea cups daddy. why don’t you guess.” your glossy lipped smirk was as tempting and teasing as your purred voice, the purple silk dress made your smooth skin glowy just like the lavish fabric.

♡ Andy couldn’t help but take little peaks here and there as you bend over the table to refill a clinking cup of tea for your stuffies, his longing stare as the hem of the tiny silk dress rose up to your high thighs, inching to catch a glimpse of whatever panties you have on.

♡ however with this erotic tension laced interrogation it seems to be losing its stern touch that usually melts you into a puddle of obedience as Andy admires your glowing face then pursue to have get an answer, you can be so distracting when it comes to dishing out punishments.

♡ but who wouldn’t be inattentive from the task at hand when the shimmery highlight of your plump cleavage and glittery cheekbones capture the apple of his eyes, as much as your smirk widened as you received all the attention filled glances that fuel the seductive that drips from your lips as the purple silk strap of your dress falls off your shoulder.

♡ “well?” your voice broke the silence but before Andy could open his mouth the timer for the cakes went off, you smirked to yourself as you took another sip of your sweetened coffee, saturated with a bit too much oat milk and sugar lumps you shifted to meet your eyes back to your stuffies.

♡ “I apologize if I am being a rude hostess but I hope you all have kept this special event going between yourselves. I was busy with daddy talking about some stupid stuff,” you didn’t dare lower or mutter the last bits but vocal them, smirk deviously to yourself as you felt your daddy’s glance at the back of your head.

♡ it did nothing but spread the disobedience you craved and the lingering wetness dripping from your cunt, although you played an untouchable poker face as you heard whatever utensil that was in his hand settle down as his footsteps come nearer and nearer.

♡ walking around the counter of his baking station to you sitting crossed leg in your cushioned chair making conversation with ms. darla complimenting her pine green and white striped sailors outfit as if you weren’t the one who dressed her.

♡ “oh hi daddy!” you beamed, pretending to not see the stern glare in his blue hues or remember misbehaving the minute before but you couldn’t help but deliciously eye the thick muscle of his arms that are crossed over his wide chest.

♡ “do you need something daddy?” you stood up on your knees to attempt to come to eye level with the man but you’ve only come face to face with his chest, causing you to tilt your head up for Ari to meet your astral irises laced in faux innocence.

♡ Andy’s defeated sigh before bending down to come eye level to you, “princess, listen to me please,” he spoke and your eyes sparked up in attention, loving the sudden embrace of his large hands wrapped yours, making them all warm and toasty as well as making you feel so small.

♡ “I know you really wanted to have this tea party for a long time now, daddy loves making sweets for you and your stuffies but daddy doesn’t want to punish you for any bad behavior. daddy doesn’t want his special angel to cry on her birthday and he doesn’t want you cooped up in a corner at this tea party because you’re doing such a good job playing hostess! can you be my good girl and behave for daddy? can you do that for me princess?”

♡ Andy’s soft voice and soft caress of your hands and cheeks are like magic, as if with each stroke of his thumb against your chin that swiped your glossy lips planted bundles of rose buds in the pit of your belly, growing rapidly within the minute.

♡ “yes daddy I can be your good girl! the bestest good girl!” your enthusiasm made him grin, a ray of sunshine clearing the cloudy thoughts of introducing a punishment out of his head.

♡ “i’ll hold you up to those words princess but you’re doing so good now. play nicely with your stuffies while daddy works on decorating your cakes. can you do that for me to princess?”

♡ you nodded your head with a content smile, “words please princess,” Andy reminded you.

♡ “yes daddy I can do that,” he smiled to himself as you brought your attention back to your stuffies but before he can walk back to his prep station a tug of his trousers pulls him in place looking back down at you to spark in concern when your eyes gloss with neediness.

♡ “what do you need princess?” he spoke, hands rising to stroke and pet your hair only but grab that same hand and pull him towards you, murmuring what he assumes to be what you want under your breath. “uh-uh, speak up princess,”

♡ “you didn’t play with me today daddy! can you please play with me for just a few minutes before going back to the cakies?” your pout was like a punch in his gut, a bullet ricocheting through his rib cage, his very kryptonite but he should now these few minutes of daddy little playtime will turn into hours upon hours with you on his lap unaware or purposely ignoring his hard on.

♡ “okay princess, but just five minutes! I have two more cakes in the oven and dozen others to decorate for you,” he softly smiled but you smiled so brightly as you picked you off the chair and into his arms before sitting down on the chair himself and settling you on his lap comfortably.

♡ “would you like me to refill your cup mr. humbert?” your voice chipped, Andy’s glance falls on the old stuffed bear seemingly passed out on the table cloth, its short snout resting in the toppled over porcelain cup.

♡ “I think mr. humbert had a bit to much coffee for today,” Andy spoke but you shook your head as you refilled ms. dolores tea cup, adding her desired sugar lumps after biting into a slice of cake, chocolate and whip cream staining the corners of your lips.

♡ “mr. humbert falls asleep all the time, it’s normal. see he’ll wake up right now- mr. humbert wake up!!!” you shouted but the stuffed bear didn’t bulge, “I think mr. humbert had too much coffee daddy,” speaking as if you found that conclusion.

♡ Andy chuckles at you, petting your hair and tracing your shiny locks with his fingers while you spoke to mrs. humbert, your body reaching over the crowded table top to reach a plate of macaroons at that opposite side, the sight clouding Andy’s mind of the many other things he’s suppose to do.

♡ the helm of your purple slip dress rises past your thighs and as much as Andy wants to grope your ass he doesn’t want to interrupt your conversation or humiliate you in front of your stuffed animals.

♡ yes you had a special rule when it came to touching you inappropriately around your stuffies.

♡ however the sight of the lavender silk covering your ass seemed to wrap the plumpness of it perfectly enough that it was impossible to not lift up the thin curtain to run his open palmed hands over your globes, take harsh handfuls and watching the skin of your cheeks bounce with each spank.

♡ but he kept your rule in mind but it was becoming more difficult with you wiggling it practically inches away from his face or when you sat back down on his lap and continued to shift and ‘accidently’ grind on his stirring cock.

♡ your ass in the sultry silk dress purposefully or accidently shuffling against his tensed loins felt like burning heaven until he came to a sudden flaming question whether or not your wearing anything under under the lavender.

♡ immediately upon that lingering thought filling all his action mechanisms his curious hands creep through the slit of your provocative slip, a slight stickiness is welcomed against his thick fingers as the sinful honey runs down your thighs and as his fingers keep wandering, your wet pussy.

♡ Andy’s cock is hard now, bulging in his expansive trousers that keeps getting teased the plumpness of your ass inches away from his watering mouth, you surely wouldn’t find a retaliation to give him as his fingers creep up to meet your folds.

♡ his wandering hand is under the table, no where near eye level for the glass beady black eyes of your stuffed animals to see but they can however question your flustered stuttering state as his taunting thumb traces figure eights with your slick.

♡ “daddy-” you hush but it’s interrupted with a quick slap to your bum, Andy’s smirk widening at the sight of it jiggling along with the fabric, he can’t help but take his thumb covered in your pleasure and take it in his mouth.

♡ moaning at the delicious taste of you before grabbing your ass again in rough handfuls, making finger like indents that could possibly bruise your skin you bite your lip in anticipation for another spank until Andy’s large hand hovers over the curves of your hips till he grips your waist.

♡ “keep playing sugarplum, pretend daddy isn’t here playing with your princess parts,” finishing the husky whisper in your ear with a kiss to your cheek, whimpering slightly as one of his hands glide back to the slit of your dress and playful fingers slowly rub your slicked pearl.

♡ you don’t argue as you continue to play hostess with your stuffies while trying to survive your daddy’s teasing fingers, attempting to not let a single sound escape your lips or a stutter in your words, hoping your daddy will keep his promise and only play with you for five minutes before going back to the cakies.

♡ yet as you think that unfortunate thought Andy’s finding pleasure of his own, maybe he won’t just play with you for five minutes since he’s infatuated with the cake in front of him.

♡ the older man knows you’ve been wanting him to put you in your place the moment you started acting cocky and who is he to not give it to you?

♡ the birthday girl always gets what she wants

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daltonacademia · 3 years

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There’s A Time For Daring - 1

charlie dalton x fem!reader [post events of the movie]

word count: 1.7k

warning: allusions to sex / slight sexual harrassment? drinking, mentions of neil’s suicide, horrible parents

Charlie couldn’t help but emit a low growl as his vomit-inducing, picture-perfect, high-society mother and father, whom he despised, prodded him towards the expansive front entrance of Nealson Preparatory School located in southern Vermont. His fuschia-lipped, cakey-faced mother, Cynthia Dalton, was a well-dressed, dignified housewife by day and charming socialite by night; she was particularly harsh as she trampled his pen-stained oxfords with her spearish kitten heels. His eyes shot daggers at the snow-strewn path below, a familiar fire burning in his core.

There were many things Charlie was tempted to furiously spit out at his parents, but instead, he managed to keep his jaw clamped shut, his pearly whites digging into the light pink of his lips hard enough to draw blood. No matter what he shouted, cried, pleaded, they wouldn’t budge. They never would. And it was infuriating.

“Charles! Being expelled from such a prestigious school is no laughing matter, young man. That school cost us quite the pretty penny! How dare you defy the rules to the extent of expulsion. It’s disgraceful, and I will tolerate it no longer!” Charlie’s mother shrieked, furious tears smudging the thick mascara that coated her eyelashes.

“You’ll be shipped off to Nealson Preparatory School in February, and if I hear so much as a single mention of your name not followed with overwhelming compliments, you can expect nasty, nasty consequences! Go pack your things, you’ll be staying with Aunt Barbara until the first of February finally arrives!” The rims of Charlie’s brown eyes stung with anger, frustration, and furthest down, sadness. He was diminished to nothing but an image-ruiner to his mother. The person who was supposed to love him, protect him, save him from the horrors of this hell called Earth.

Mr. Dalton silently observed the boisterous outburst from his expensive leather armchair across the den, a glass of strong, half-drunk whiskey in his palm. Charlie couldn’t bear to see their despicable faces any longer, and as his body felt no longer under his control, stomped up the stairs in a huff, rapidly swiping away the glassy tears spilling from his eyes. Thoughts of running away, escaping it all, flooded his unstable mind. ‘I get why you did it, Neil. I really do. But did you have to go so soon?’

But instead of lingering on the image of Neil any longer, he hastily threw his bare necessities into his suitcase, which was still covered in an array of Welton Academy stickers.

The grounds of Nealson were unsurprisingly well-maintained; it reminded him a lot of Welton. The impeccably manicured lawns, gleaming, icy blue lake, the gothic stone arches and pillars. It was eerily similar to Hellton, even down to the ice-cold blanket of snow coating the distant rolling hills. It’s beautiful, Charlie thought, surveying the slow sprinkling of snow, No, it’s hideous.

Before he could fully vomit at the vile grounds of his new school, his parents fiercely shoved him inside the Headmaster’s dingy office, politely taking the vacant mahogany seats beside him. Charlie couldn’t be bothered to listen to a word his parents said with pearly white smiles, which were no doubt tooth-rotting, sugar-coated lies about the real reason he was expelled over a month prior.

He knew that they couldn’t just be transparent and tell the Headmaster that he had socked the utterly vile Richard Cameron’s face in (rightfully so, in his opinion), or that he was a star member of the infamous Dead Poets Society, or that he had gone to the extreme lengths to stage a phone call from none other than God himself. It didn’t work like that.

His mother’s cheeky, artificial voice sounded precisely the same as it always had: carefully rehearsed and slathered with naivety. Seemingly without hesitation, the catty woman could deflect any less-than-pleasant questions or insinuations about her “golden role-model” son, who’s admittedly “a little misguided at times”.

The new headmaster seated across from him appeared to be around the same age as Mr. Nolan, which, as far as Charlie was concerned, was older than the Cretaceous period at least. His pale-as-a-ghost skin was wrinkled and paper-thin; his patchy, gelled side-swept hair was (very obviously) dyed a deep, midnight black, reminiscent of an off-brand Elvis.

Charlie’s ears continued to mute the awkward conversation happening amongst him, his focus instead shifting around to the various awards and certificates lining the ivory walls. They all seemed so phony; ‘Best Headmaster- 1947-1959’, ‘Nealson Academy: Exceeds Expectations’. The Headmaster had even framed his high school superlative: ‘Voted Most Likely to Succeed’. What a pathetic-

In a swift blur, his parents rose from their seats, his mother clutching her magenta purse with matching pursed lips. Charlie was handed a hefty, stapled packet packed full of school rules and guidelines with a denture-toothed smile from Headmaster ‘Campbell’. This’d make some decent kindling, he thought as he yanked the packet from his clammy clutches, leafing through its pages with a smirk, this garbage’s almost laughable.

A syncopated rhythm of raps on the door, followed by a gravelly, ‘come in', presented his new dorm escort. His chauffeur just so happened to be you, the accomplished and universally admired student body president in the same grade as the newcomer. You were dutifully donning Nealson’s horrendous uniform: a crisp, white button-up accented with a blue and silver tie was topped with a depressing grey sweater vest. An equally loathsome pleated skirt concealed your thighs, and your ankles were shielded from the chilly February air with black crew socks.

You extended your perfectly manicured, soft hand out to your brand-new peer with a yearbook-worthy smile, introducing, “Hi. Welcome to Nealson, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.” You swore you heard the brunette mutter something disrespectful under his breath, but nonetheless, he, rather unprofessionally, shook your hand with an eye roll. Things between the two of you were not starting off the way you hoped, but you were determined to make a good impression. The best impression possible.

“Charlie Dalton,” he replied with a mischievous smirk. The brunette standing in front of you reeked of cigarettes, and there was the slightest smell of cheap beer clinging to his clothes. His brown hair was messy, springing out in every direction, despite the water furiously combed through it. His eyes glinted with rebellion, a look so alluring yet dangerous.

“I’ll be showing you to your dorm, which you’ll sleep in for the remainder of the year.” Since Dalton was starting in February, he only had five months of studying before long-awaited senior year. Mr. Campbell waved the two of you off, and with that, you trekked towards the Boys’ wing, Dalton sauntering at your side.

The walk through the main corridor was silent and awkward. You had tried to enchant him with fun facts about Nealson and its (extensively selective) history, much to his obvious boredom and dismay. His umber eyes glazed the walls, uninterested in the decor. His mind seemed to be elsewhere, but for all you knew, it could be on the bottom of the Pacific Ocean.

After a while of treading through the high-ceilinged corridors illuminated with fleeting pale rays of sunlight, the boy next to you made no attempt to hide him drawing designs up and down your body.

“I’ve never been to a school with both boys and girls,” he drawled with a smirk. “Do things ever get exciting around here?”

You shook your head no while indiscreetly tugging down the hem of your skirt uncomfortably, and he said, “Do you think you’d maybe wanna spend the night with me in my dorm? Make sure I’m all settled in?”

Your whole body, from head to toe, froze. The audacity of this… creep! Your tongue poked, nearly stabbed, the back of your teeth, wanting to unleash a select few words to the disgusting Dalton beside you. But alas, if he were to tell anyone of your fiery wrath, you’d be demoted from class president faster than you could explain what really happened. It’s a corrupt system, sure, but even with the power that comes with such a title, there was no way to mend it.

Eventually, while you were wrapped up in the furies of your mind, Dalton revealed a small, autographed golf ball from his trousers pocket and began throwing it up and down above his head casually with every step.

“Can you not?” you snapped at the chestnut-haired boy after he tossed the sphere up and down again in an arch. “Don’t wanna get in trouble on your first day, do you?”

“You think this’ll get me in trouble? Have a little fun, it won’t kill you. I promise.” Dalton turned his gaze towards you, an annoyed but smug grin painted on his lips. He slowly tossed the golf ball to your hands, intending for you to catch it. However, the small ball evaded your grasp, instead bouncing around the hardwood floors below you, creating a series of loud, reverberating thunks.

“You were supposed to catch it, you know,” Dalton teased, nonchalantly watching you chase after the rogue orb. After it was finally safe in your clutches, you stomped over to the no-good newbie, irritated.

“Nealson’s strict. They don’t let stuff like creating an awful lot of racket go unreprimanded.” You were seething; red-hot blood pumped through your veins. Dalton didn’t look anything but utterly amused.

“Wow, you’re just about one of the biggest suck-ups I’ve seen in a while.”

“A what?” you growled.

“A suck-up. A rule-following poster child of excellence? A bratty, know-it-all? Anything along those lines?” He sputtered insults so nonchalantly, it made your blood boil and eyes sting.

“You better watch it, Dalton. I don’t know who you think you are-”

“I’m the best thing that’s happened to this school, by the looks of it.”

You had nothing left to say to this conceited shuck of a boy who really thought that he was all that and a side of fries. Well he wasn’t! Not in the slightest! And if his first day of classes wouldn’t drill it into him, you would.

The rest of the walk was pin-drop silent and tense. No more fun facts about Nealson escaped your downturned lips, just the light patting of his beat-up oxfords and your pristine mary-janes on the polished wood floor. The hallways seemed more depressing than usual, their framed portraits and condensated windows didn’t fill you with the motivation that you came to expect.

After finally arriving at the boys’ dormitories, you grumbled, “well, this is it. Have a swell life, Dalton.”

“Right back at ya, Y/L/N. Let’s hope this isn’t the last time we meet.” He gave you a cheeky wink before slamming the door in your face.

#dead poets society #Dead Poets Society (1989)#dead poetry #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society quotes #DPS #dps fanfiction #charlie dalton x reader #charlie dalton x y/n #charlie dalton

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jerkbitchidjitassbutt · 3 years

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It Was You (Part One)

A/N: Jensen and Y/n are childhood best friends. When his agent informs him that his image could use some improvement for a role, will she help him? Or will her feelings get in the way?

A holiday (Christmas centric) Jensen x Female!Reader Best Friends to Lovers series for @spnchristmasbingo. Un-beta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Header created by me with images from Google. Chapter word count: 3371

Series Warnings: break up; angst-ish at times (if you squint), but mostly all the fluff.

I consider this an AU, as Jensen is single in this fic. This is completely a work of fiction, and I wouldn’t want his reality to be any different, this is purely for entertainment.

The slight chill of a Vancouver December morning roused you from a peaceful sleep, making you snuggle further into the down blanket and comfort of your plush bedding. It was two weeks until Christmas and the weather was supposed to be a balmy high of 32 degrees today, so you had planned to stay in, do some shopping online, and stay by your cozy fireplace with every holiday movie you could find. Willing yourself to get five more minutes of shut eye seemed like a helpless feat as the wintry cold seeped into your apartment. You opened your eyes to the gentle prisms of light floating in through the adjacent window, the sunrise indicating it was time to get up for the day.

Sitting up to perch on the side of your bed and grabbing your wide-rimmed glasses from the nightstand, you slid your chilled toes into the warm slippers waiting and shrugged on your fuzziest sweater. It may be time for that fire sooner than you thought.

Padding into your kitchen to get a much-needed caffeine fix after last night’s dinner and drinks with the rest of the cast and crew, you took your favorite mug from the cabinet and loaded the coffee maker, making an extra cup or two for you and any visitors you might have a bit later.

Jensen’s apartment was down the hall, and if you knew him, he’d still be sleeping, but he’d probably wander over at some point this morning. Cradling the mug in your hands warmed them slightly and sent a shiver down your spine. Even your warmest pajamas and the heat from the thermostat did little against the Canadian winds. Laughing slightly to yourself, you’d thought you’d be used to it after six years of winters here.

You wandered towards the windows of your living room to pull back the long curtains. It was a favorite spot to have your coffee and gaze at the sights of Vancouver. Settling on the window seat, you felt a warmth spread through you as you noticed it had snowed in the night, and from the looks of it, it was a depth of fresh, soft powder – a type that you rarely saw growing up in Texas. People were bundled up tightly as they walked the streets, but a few people, adults and kids alike, were already out playing in the thick blanket of snow.

As your coffee began to warm you through, you couldn’t help the giddy feeling of joy that rose at the sight – it made the holiday season and the spirit of it even more intense than just viewing the lights of downtown and the large decorations everywhere. For some reason, snow just sealed it all up in a nice little bow.

Sure enough, about halfway into your second cup of coffee, you heard a key in your door and Jensen shuffled in, still wearing his pj’s with tousled hair, but he had thrown on a thick sweater too.

“Good morning.” You called, still seated at the large window.

“Mornin’ sweetheart.” He replied with a quick wave as he tossed his keys on the counter and waltzed into your kitchen in search of his mug, his voice still thick and gruff with sleep.

He mixed his cream and sugar and took a long sip, letting out a contented sigh after the steaming liquid entered his body. He was notoriously grumpy without his coffee, but he always met you with a sweet greeting when he came over. Walking around your kitchen island and into your open living room, he slumped into the recliner across from you and pulled the leaver to release the footing, allowing him to lean back with his feet up. He adjusted himself to get comfortable, careful to not spill the mug in his hand.

“What time did you get in last night?” you asked, taking another sip from your own cup.

He covered his eyes with his free hand, still obviously tired. “About 2:30. You know how Jared gets when we break for hiatus, he never wants the party to end. He was still talking to me as I was shutting my door.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Jared was the most social person you’d ever met and knowing that he wouldn’t be back to Canada and on set for a month, he would always soak up every little bit of time he had with the cast and crew. Even though Jensen was griping about it now, you knew he also didn’t mind. He’d probably be missing everyone, especially Jared, about four days into the break. You didn’t get home until about 1 a.m., and that was only because you were beginning to doze off in your cocktail.

“Tell Cliff thanks again for driving me home last night. I just couldn’t cut it.”

“Yeah, I know… Lightweight.” Jensen teased.

“Hey, you didn’t have a 5 a.m. set call yesterday like some of us.”

Jensen huffed a small laugh from his seat, still resting his hand across his closed eyes. His sweatpants hung low on his hips and his green Henley stretched across his biceps as he rested his coffee on his thigh. A slight 5 o’clock shadow and the bedhead he was sporting all combined into a handsome image. He may be your best friend, but you could still appreciate the looks the man was blessed with.

Seemingly close to falling back asleep, you called to him in a hushed voice, “Jay. If you want to go back to sleep just put your coffee mug on the table, okay?”

“Hmmmph. No, I’m up.” He fibbed, as evident from the way he blinked widely once he opened his eyes again. Forcing himself to stand, otherwise he would really fall back asleep instead of just resting his eyes, he walked towards you with his cup, dragging his feet slightly as his legs sluggishly pulled him across the room. His head was down and his shoulders were wilted, but he was trying to get his body moving.

When he reached you, you felt his chest bump your shoulder before he rested his cheek on the crown of your head, his arm dangling by his side as he slumped. He took a deep breath before rubbing his hand across your back and standing, smiling as you peered up at him with a grin.

Licking his lips, he finally peered out to the streets below and his eyes went wide, “Y/n!” he practically shouted.

You flinched, “What? What’d I do?”

“You didn’t tell me it snowed!”

Giving a huff and a giggle, you couldn’t help but be sarcastic, “I’m sorry, was I supposed to while you were falling asleep in my chair?! Besides… it’s Canada. It’s not like snow is very rare here.”

“Y/n! That’s, like, snow! The kind we used to wish for when we were kids!”

“I know, I thought that too.”

“Well, c’mon!” he said, setting his cup down on the ledge. “We gotta go!”

“What? Go where?”

Jensen was already halfway through your living room and heading for the front door but paused to turn and point a finger in your direction, “You, me, snowman. Now.”

“Jay,” You whined. “It’s cold and its early. You sure you don’t want to just watch Netflix?”

“Y/n!” he said once again, looking as excited as a 12-year-old on a snow day from school. “Snowman! Please?” he begged, waving his arms frantically as he gestured outside.

“Okay, okay. Fine. No need to use your puppy eyes on me. I’ll meet you outside in 15 minutes.”

With that, a huge grin broke out on his face and he took off down the hall, leaving you to go in search of your heaviest ski jacket.

Jensen knocked on your door soon after you shrugged into the puffy coat, dressed in thick snow pants, his own jacket, and a black beanie and gloves with a small bag in his hand. Straitening your scarf before locking your door, he barely gave you a moment to put on your knitted pom beanie before he was pulling you by your hand towards the elevator of your building and pushing you out of the revolving doors into the frigid air. Heading to the side where a large park sat adjacent to your complex, he looked around before tugging you along to a spot with a large open space. He nodded to himself, as if to say he’d found the perfect place for his snowman-building escapade. As your boots crunched beneath you, you each began gathering handfuls of snow to make a large base, then packed and sculpted two more spheres. Though you initially protested, you had to admit that it was fun, and the coldness against your cheeks wasn’t bad after a bit, particularly after seeing how happy Jensen was when his finished product towered over yours. He’d managed to gather the majority of the snow within about a six-foot radius of where his snowman stood before piling it high.

“Hey, hey… look at that. An accurate height difference!” He touted, teasing you.

“Oh, hush you. It’s not my fault that you were given the extended version of the human body.” You glared at him playfully.

He laughed as he bent to rummage in the bag he’d brought, producing two carrots. He wiggled them in his hands before handing one to you. He was just about to place it in a very telling place when you grabbed a handful of snow and threw it in his direction.

“Jensen!” You berated. “That’s not where the carrot goes! There’s kids out here!”

He stood up slowly, turning to you with a serious smirk, “Did you seriously just throw a snowball at me?”

Wiping your hand on your pantleg quickly, you gave him a mischievous grin, “Who, me? I’d never.”

“Oh, its on!” he declared as he bent to scoop up the little bit of remaining snow in his reach, that which he hadn’t used for his snowman.

Ducking behind your own, he threw and missed, sending the snow flying passed you. A quick grab from around you produced another snowball that you chucked from behind your shield, hitting him square in the chest. The fight lasted for a good while, the two of you trying your hardest to target the other as many times as possible and receiving some laughs and glances from passersby as they walked along the sidewalk. Finally, Jensen gave up and took off towards you, chasing you in circles before he tackled you into the plush ice, pinning you beneath him as he tried to bury you both.

“Jay! Oh my God, stop! Its freezing!” you yelled through your laughter.

“Truce?” he asked, his eyebrows raised in a challenge.

He was still on top of you, his nose and cheeks a bit flushed from the wintry air. He still had that devilish smirk on his face, but his green eyes were soft and something beneath them made your heart flutter slightly in your chest. He scanned your face quickly before glancing towards your lips, but you were quick to snatch another fistful of snow to smash onto his head. Scrambling out from underneath him, you ran as he said something about you being a cheater before he jumped to his feet.

After the war ended and a truce was finally declared, you both put the finishing touches on your snowmen after you found sticks for the arms and coerced Jensen to put the carrot in the right spot. He stood back proudly, admiring your handiwork.

“Hey.” He gestured to you, “C’mere.”

A bit warry that he was going to tackle you again, you came to his side as he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket and turned on the camera. Pulling you into him, he said, “Gotta have evidence of our masterpieces.” He reached around your waist and tugged you in close, framing both of you and your snowmen in the background. The cold air made the tip of your nose and the apples of your cheeks change in color, and there was still some snow in your hair from when Jensen wrestled you, but both of you smiled widely. Feeling the scruff of his short beard against your temple and his arms wrapped around you made you think about the way his eyes danced across your face moments ago, but the thought was quickly dismissed as he stepped away from you slightly after he made sure the picture wasn’t too blurry.

“Oh, crap. Is that what time it is?” he said, alarmed, looking at his phone screen. “I have to meet Stacy in an hour.”

Stacy was his publicist and agent, but he usually didn’t meet with her during the hiatus. “You’re meeting Stacy today? What’s up?” you asked, a bit confused.

“She wants to talk to me about this movie. Some sort of romantic drama she thought I may be good for.”

“Oh,” you replied, “that’s great! You didn’t tell me! Would you have to cut back filming the show?” While you were a bit surprised, you were genuinely happy for him.

“Stacy knows Supernatural comes first, so I hope not.”

“Well, let’s get inside so you can warm up and change. I was going to make my mom’s chili and cornbread for dinner tonight, if you want to join me after your meeting.”

The excitement on his face was palpable as his eyes lit up the moment you said it, “You know how much I love your mom’s chili. We’re just meeting for coffee near her office, so I’ll bring the beer.”

As you were walking back into the building, your phone rang. It was Stephen, your boyfriend of three months.

“Stephen, hey.” You said as you entered the elevator, not missing the slight eyeroll that Jensen gave.

“Hey, honey. How are you? I didn’t want to call too early, just in case you were still sleeping after last night.”

“I’m good, thanks. Actually, just got done building a snowman with Jensen.”

A short silence followed, until Stephen spoke up again. “Oh, that’s nice.” He said, his voice noticeably clipped. “Well, I’m going to take my lunch break soon. Would you like to meet up? I can come to your side of town.”

“Uh, sure. I’ll meet you at that café on 3rd in about a half an hour?”

“Sounds great. See you there.”

Shoving your phone back in your pocket, you ignore Jensen’s stare as the elevator climbed to your floor.

“So…” he pressed. “Stephen?”

“Yeah, Stephen. We’re going to meet up for lunch while you have your meeting.”

“Hmph.” He huffed.

“Jay, we’ve known each other our whole lives and to this day you’ve never liked a single guy I’ve ever dated. What’s wrong with Stephen?”

“I don’t know. He’s just kind of… meh.”

He wasn’t lying, if you were being truthful. Stephen was meh. He was cute and had nice eyes and dimples, but he didn’t make you laugh. He was a bit dull and your sense of humor didn’t mesh with his well. Still, you thought that it might get a bit better once you got to know each other and began to understand one another more. Your relationship was still very casual, but maybe it could go further? You weren’t really sure, honestly.

“What about you and Laura?” you asked, quickly changing the subject.

“I told you… that was nothing.” He quipped as you reached your door. “We went on like three dates.”

“Yeah, the last one being just this past week.”

“Yeah, and it just didn’t go well.”

You let out a small sigh. Discussing your dating lives wasn’t really something the two of you loved to do with each other. Maybe when you were teenagers, yeah. You’d asked each other for advice and gossiped a bit about the people in your high school, but as you grew into adults it just became a subject you both steered away from besides the occasional, hey I’ve got a date conversation. Neither of you had ever really found a person that the other approved of, each finding a reason to be picky every time.

“I’m sorry, Jay. I’m just deflecting.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I was pushing.” He said sincerely with a small smile. “Well, you enjoy lunch. My meeting’s at 1:30 across town, so I should be back by 4 at the latest. Pick out a movie for us, okay?”

“Sounds great. I will.” With that, he kissed you quickly on the side of your head and went into his apartment as you ducked into yours. You freshened up quickly and changed, grabbing a different peacoat, hat, and scarf as your others were still wet.

It was a short walk to the café, and they had good sandwiches. You were surprisingly hungry, so you were glad to see Stephen waiting outside for you. He gripped your hand tightly and gave you a quick kiss in greeting before leading you into the restaurant. You were seated and ordered quickly, knowing that he would have to return to work soon.

“So, how has your day been?” You asked as you shrugged off your coat, hanging it on the chair behind you.

“It’s been… good.” He muttered.

“Uh oh,” You said, getting his attention as he looked away from you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, really. I was just surprised to hear that you were with Jensen today. You had mentioned you were going to stay home.”

Stephen smiled, almost in an attempt to let you know that he was trying to be lighthearted about it, but you could tell it bothered him.

“Yeah, when he saw it snowed last night, he just really wanted to make a snowman.” You laughed, trying to steer away from the subject. Stephan wasn’t overstepping, but he also wasn’t going to prevent you from spending time with Jensen. The two of you had been inseparable since, well, practically since birth. Your parents had been the best of friends, so you were pretty much raised together.

“Have you, um…” Stephen began, hesitantly. “I know you’ve been friends forever, but have you ever had feelings for him?”

His blue eyes shown with a slight jealousy as you felt a slight pang to your heart.

“No, of course not.” You managed to say with a steady voice and a smile as you picked up your napkin to place in your lap.

It was a lie, one that you’d been telling for years. At one point in your life, you were in love with Jensen. But, the past was in the past. If Jensen didn’t even know, why should Stephen?

Stephen seemed satisfied with your response for the most part, and the two of you had a pleasant lunch. When you stepped away to use the restroom, your phone chimed. Stephen tried not to even look towards your side of the table where your phone sat, but when he saw Jensen’s name, he read the text quickly before the screen dimmed.

Hey, sweetheart. Finishing up here soon and then I’ll be heading home. Do you need me to grab anything from the store?

Stephen knew the two of you were a package deal, and thought he could honestly be alright with it, but between working together and spending practically all of your time together, he was starting to wonder where he fit in in your life. He busied himself by checking his Instagram as he thought about what he should do and found that Jensen had tagged you in a photo from this morning. The caption was simple, just a few words about the filming hiatus and the first snow of the season, but the two of you were so close. Stephen found himself wishing that you could reserve a smile like that for him, but he had yet to see it.

It hurt, but he knew he couldn’t play second fiddle to Jensen. He cared about you, but perhaps it was better to bow out now.

“Hey, sorry about that.” You said brightly as you got back to the table, smiling. It still didn’t reach your eyes, though.

Stephen leaned forward on his elbows with a sigh, “Y/n, I think we should talk.”

To be continued...

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inkbyajm · 3 years

Text

Holiday Blues

pairing: C.H. x fem!reader

category: fluff, slight angst

word count: 1.1k

notes: it’s been two weeks, but i finally wrote the second part to the holiday series! i decided to change a few things: for starters, in this world, the pandemic DOESN’T EXIST for the sake of the plot, and the reason why corpse and reader can’t see each other is because she lies and says she doesn’t quite have the funds to travel. anyways, it’s christmas in three days, and 2020 will be over NEXT WEEK i’m so excited!! also, i’m curious as to which christmas songs you’re obsessed with at the moment 👀 to me, december means i can finally blast I’M GONNA KILL SANTA CLAUS by the most greg of all gregs - mr. danny gonzalez. and no one can stop me, because ‘tis the season.

< previous next >

It was halfway into December and Corpse had felt absolutely no holiday cheer. Well, that’s not exactly true. He’d streamed once or twice, he’d played with friends off camera too. But once everything cut, the corners of his lips would drop and he’d slouch back into his seat, with an air of defeat, as he thought about his love having a merry time on the other side of the Atlantic ocean.

Unbeknownst to him, (Y/N) and his friends had collectively decided to throw a big Christmas party in the new OfflineTV mansion the group had recently finished renovating. (Y/N) wasn’t going to leave her boyfriend without a present, nor was she leaving him to celebrate anything alone. While, initially, a festive gathering was all she had planned, a little bird (more like a flock) had been telling her all about her partner and the state he had been in lately. He wasn’t exactly fooling anyone with the “I’m fine”s and the “yeah, I’m good, just tired”s, contrary to his belief. So she very bravely decided to take on the 14+ hour transatlantic flight and pop in for a visit in the city of angels only a couple of days before Christmas Eve. Until then, though, he had to be kept in the dark. And in this case, what he didn’t know did hurt him.

━

It was a chilly morning when Corpse woke up with his body aching all over. Another restless night, another long day to spend. With a groan, he got up to start his morning routine, while taking his medication along the way.

As he walked to the kitchen to make up some kind of breakfast, he scrolled through his social media feeds to see if anything new had been posted while he was away.

His heart tightened ever so slightly, he couldn’t tell if it was due to his condition, or due to the feeling of jealousy which rose the longer he stared at her recent post. He felt selfish, of course she was allowed to have male friends, he himself had many female friends. But he still felt like that could have been, or rather should have been, him.

Dejectedly, he went on to Twitter to end up feeling even worse. He didn’t feel like telling anyone about how pathetic of a boyfriend he was being, yet he wanted to get out something. In the end, he settled with a good ol’ cryptic message as per usual Corpse Husband style.

Not feeling like eating much anymore, the brunette settled for quick oats. An hour had gone by, maybe even two, time was difficult to keep up with when nothing was done to spend it. He sat in his living room, the pictures she had posted floating around his mind, and realised (Y/N) hadn’t called him once since the beginning of the month. She’d warned him she was going to be busy, but he thought perhaps she had at least an hour to talk about all the riveting things she had been up to in the past couple of weeks.

Nervously, he picked up his phone and hovered his finger over her name. Wasn’t it late where she lived? What if she was having dinner with her roommates? It would be rude to interrupt their evening. But as he was hesitating, his finger had accidentally pressed the screen, prompting the ringing to begin.

It rang once, it rang twice. Three times. Four. Just as he was about to hang up, the timer had started, indicating that she was on the line.

“Hello?” Warmth instantly spread across his chest at the sound of her voice he hadn’t heard in too long a time.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

Corpse felt shy all of a sudden, as if he was speaking to her for the first time. He hadn’t thought about what he was going to say beforehand.

“How are you?” he asked, putting her on speaker as he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt.

“I’m good! Really good, actually,” she spoke softly, a hint of pep in her voice, “how are you doing?”

“I uh...I woke up feeling sore today. Feels like someone beat me up in my sleep.” he followed up with a light chuckle so as to not completely ruin the mood. There was a short moment of silence before (Y/N) finally responded.

“I’m sorry. Did you take your medication?” Her reply felt somewhat off. Usually, she’d make it a bigger deal, asking him to rate the pain from 1 to 5 (1 being “eh, it’s barely there” and 5 being “put me out of my misery”), making sure he was going about his day alright, or even giving him virtual kisses to make him feel even a little bit better.

“I did, yeah, I took them this morning.” He wanted to talk about something, anything, but he couldn’t not think about what had been bothering him for the past two hours. “So, I saw you had one eventful day yesterday?”

“Yes! (F3/N) and I went on a hike early in the morning, and oh, Corpse, it was so magical!” he heard her gush, “there was snow everywhere, it was so so pretty. And although it was kinda really cold, we built super cute snowmen and made snow angels! Then I spent some time baking sugar cookies with my roommates, after that we went shopping for a bit. They had both gone out with their partners in the evening, so I went to bother (F3/N) again. It was cool though, he didn’t mind. I promise.” she giggled, finished with her rant.

Although he was sad that he hadn’t gotten the chance to make such fun memories with her, he was also pleased to hear how well she’d been doing. She sounded so joyous, so full of life, he didn’t have the heart to burden her with his gloominess.

“That sounds nice.” he faintly smiled, “I’m glad you’re having a good time.”

Oh how it absolutely broke her to hear him desperately trying to support her, to keep up the image of not being bothered in the slightest. She was very close to telling him how much she missed him, how badly she wanted to see his pretty face and run her fingers through his soft messy curls. But she had to resist those temptations, for their reunion was only a few days away, and she had worked very hard to create this temporary distance between them. It was all for the end goal. Determined to follow through with her plan, she had decided to end the call early.

“Sorry, (F1/N) just messaged me. They need another pair of hands to set up the Christmas village on the table.”

“Oh, alright, yeah, you go make your house pretty. Send me a picture of the masterpiece.” She was sure to have heard her heart break right then and there.

“Of course, bubba. Okay bye, love you!”

His heart swelled a little at her words. At least she still loved him.

“Love you too.”

#corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse husband x you #corpse x you #corpse husband fic

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archerdaryl · 3 years

Text

Peppermint Sugar.

You’ve been tasked with decorating the Christmas cookies while Carol is out on a hunt. It would have gone just fine if the archer hadn’t shown up.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Tags: more cute christmas vibes, sfw, fluffy and fun but still a little slow burn Word Count: 2.5k Notes: This one-shot follows on from London in Your Eyes! I’m thinking about turning it into a little collection of Christmas fics that all link together. As always I would love to hear your thoughts. ♥

You’d been at Carol’s house for barely ten minutes and you were already overwhelmed.

The air was thick and sweet like molasses, a pleasant surprise that was almost enough to soften the visual overload that was waiting for you in the kitchen. There were trays upon trays of cookies sitting on almost every counter space you could see. You had happily agreed to help decorate while she went out on a run with Ezekial and his knights, but good God.

There were at least a hundred cookies there. And they all needed expertly icing.

You approached the kitchen island slowly, eyebrows knitted together as you cursed under your breath. You can’t have been the only person she asked. Especially considering you weren’t exactly artistically inclined. Sure, a snowman was simple and you could probably figure out how to ice a Christmas tree adequately enough, but a couple of the shapes you couldn’t even identify.

“She’s lost her fucking mind.” The words escaped you in a mumble, followed by a long exhale.

Looking back you weren’t sure why you agreed to this in the first place. Maybe it was the assumption you wouldn’t be stuck here alone at 7am or that it would only be a few cookies you could hide at the bottom of the pile. You couldn’t have been more wrong, but you were at least relieved that you didn’t bother to change out of your yoga pants for the occasion considering you were going to be standing there decorating for hours.

Eventually you accepted that simply staring at the endless trays of cookies wasn’t actually going to do anything and you moved towards the stove to boil some water for coffee. While you waited for it to bubble, you organised the trays according to cookie shape and decided to start on what you could only assume were snowflakes.

How could you possibly mess those up? All you needed was white icing. If by some miracle Carol had got her hands on some food colouring, maybe you could be real fancy and mix a little blue in too.

You continued to wipe down the counters, dusting off remnants of flour before placing the first tray in front of you. You soon found a set of instructions left behind by Carol and you would be lying if you didn’t say you were relieved. You followed them, grabbing everything you needed and mixing up some sort of concoction that resembled a very basic icing.

Carol had to have chosen you for a reason. You hoped she had more faith in you than you did in yourself.

She had to, because you were already bored and you had barely begun.

And then the door swung open, almost making you jump.

“Oh my god, my very own knight in shining armour.”

Daryl Dixon stopped in his tracks and stared at you in confusion.

“Wha’?”

“I could settle for scrap metal.” You grumbled.

He narrowed his eyes before hesitantly moving his way through the house, eventually disappearing into the basement with Dog trailing along behind him. You mumbled a rather sarcastic goodbye before grabbing a ziplock bag and carefully spooning the icing into the bottom right corner, following Carol’s instructions as closely as possible.

“Thought you were huntin’ today.” Daryl shouted as he climbed back up the stairs.

“I was supposed to be. Carol wanted me to do… well, this.” You gestured to the mountain of cookies behind you and tried to hide your disdain. Dog happily padded towards you and demanded neck scratches by pushing his snout against your legs. Naturally, you obliged.

“On yer’ own?”

His crystalline gaze traced your form as he leaned onto the opposite side of the kitchen island. You were in an old hoodie, hardly form fitting but the dark red hue complimented your eyes, and there was a dusting of icing sugar across your cheek. He smiled ever so slightly, but said nothing.

“Unless you’re offering to keep me company, yeah, it looks like it.”

The pair of you hadn’t spent much time together since the Christmas fair. Keeping food stocks up was more important than ever with the snow being as heavy as it was, and the fact The King insisted on an extravagant Christmas celebration wasn’t helping anyone’s work load. Keeping busy kept you both from thinking about that stolen moment of innocent intimacy, though Daryl still found himself staring at you just a little bit longer with his fists clenched every time you crossed paths.

He was chasing the sensation of your hand in his without even knowing it.

“Ain’t got much else t’ do,” He lied, shrugging and leaning further onto the countertop with his forearms, “Watchin’ you fuck up might be fun.”

You didn’t bother glaring at him, your hands went straight for the icing sugar, picking it up in a pinch and flicking it right into his face before turning to find some scissors. You heard him splutter and blow hard, as if that alone could erase your act of vengeance.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You snorted and returned to your original position at the kitchen island, your grin widening after seeing the mess you made of him.

“I think you look great.” You insisted, “As ruggedly handsome as always.”

Daryl’s lips thinned in faux annoyance, though his eyes betrayed him. He was unable to come up with a retort of his own. He was stuck on two words in particular.

Ruggedly handsome.

He knew you were being sarcastic, you had a habit of that, but it still made him feel a little embarrassed. If not for the icing sugar speckled across his face, you likely would have noticed him blush a little.

“Handsome huh?”

Daryl had never been one to concern himself too much with the way he looked. He could never afford to and there certainly wasn’t any point anymore with the world in the state it was. However, in that moment he realised that when it came to you, he felt a sense of insecurity previously unknown to him.

“Oh yeah. I’m super into the whole dandruff thing.” You teased further, gesturing to the sugar speckled in his hair.

He rolled his eyes and pushed himself up off the island counter, “You talk too much.”

You had thrown him off on purpose. You had no choice. You couldn’t stand there and lie to him to protect yourself from the feelings you constantly tried to bury. Daryl Dixon was many things but ugly was not a word that ever came to mind. Yet, you couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him he looked like home either.

“C’mon. Carol will kill me if I don’t get something done.”

Daryl wasn’t sure what exactly it was he was supposed to be doing, but he was perfectly happy to be there even with the nerves causing havoc in his stomach. Anyone else would have considered them butterflies, but he wasn’t exactly a teenager dealing with a high school crush.

He met you behind the island and towered over you at your side. You forced yourself to concentrate on the task at hand, continuing to spoon icing into the ziploc bag. As he watched your hands at work, he leant down onto folded forearms and chewed the inside of his bottom lip absentmindedly

How did they look even softer than before?

He supposed it was because you were inside where it was warm, nuzzled within that oversized hoodie of yours. Was the rest of you as soft as your hands? He lost himself for a moment wondering what it would be like to fall asleep against your chest, your heartbeats perfectly in sync.

What the fuck was he thinking?

Quickly clearing his throat, he took his index finger and scooped up a blob of icing before you could steal it away with your spoon. He savoured the sweetness as he sucked it off his finger and then looked up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

This was the most time they had spent together in days and he wasn’t about to ruin it by getting caught up in shit that didn't, no, couldn’t matter.

“Don’ start somethin’ you can’t finish girl.”

You met his gaze, eyes briefly drifting to his sugar sweet lips before you allowed a smirk to tug at the corners of your own.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Dixon.”

“Oh yeah?” He replied, cocking a brow before going in for a second scoop of icing.

Before you could even try to swat him away, Daryl had gotten his hands on the bowl and darted out of reach. Though his mischief may have been a distraction from his wandering thoughts, you were none the wiser. To you, this was one of those rare moments where he let his guard down enough to act a fool without wanting to beat himself up about it. You couldn’t be pissed even if you wanted to.

Grabbing the bag of powdered sugar, you immediately rushed after him, eager to make an even bigger mess than you already had. You followed him into the lounge where he had collapsed onto the couch, making himself comfortable and continuing to scoop out sticky white icing with his fingers.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You whined, unable to keep an amused grin from tugging at the corners of your mouth, “Don’t think I won’t ruin this couch.”

Daryl looked up at you and allowed a snort of amusement to escape him. He didn’t doubt you for a minute, but he didn’t care about decorating no cookies and he knew you didn’t either so it wasn’t like he felt particularly guilty about the matter.

You stood your ground, your hand venturing into the bag of powdered sugar. Daryl watched you carefully and weighed up his choices, which didn’t take long at all because he soon found himself leaning forward to grab your forearm, pulling you down onto the couch with him in a poor attempt to keep you from attacking again.

What he didn’t consider was the bag of sugar doing a somersault out of your hands and creating an even bigger mess anyway.

“Ah, shit!” He groused.

You landed awkwardly on him, having to adjust yourself so that you were flat on your back while he was laying on his side next to you with his arm bent to prop up his head. You quickly found yourselves coughing and having to wave your arms as you tried to dissipate the cloud of sugar, which mostly landed in a little hill on the rug but had still managed to leave heavy traces all over you.

“This,” You gestured to your hoodie and the mess around you, “- is on you.”

“Fuck that, I weren’t the one chasing me with sugar.”

After a futile attempt of wiping down your stomach with your hands, you turned your head to look at Daryl with a frown. You didn’t realise how close you were to each other until you met his eyes, which almost made you trip up on your words. You didn’t remember them being that blue.

“You’d really leave me to fend for myself like that?” You pouted.

Daryl opened his mouth to speak but the words got stuck in the back of his throat. You were so close. Too close. He could smell the sweetness on your skin, paired with peppermint which he could only assume was your toothpaste or some sort of lip balm.

“Carol won’t get mad at her pookie.”

He reached for the pillow by his legs but didn’t follow through on the threat as you quickly grabbed his arm and pulled it back towards you.

“I’m kidding!” You practically shrieked, his arm resting over your stomach with your fingers still wrapped around it to keep him from going for the pillow again, “Well, actually…”

“Stop.”

“It’s true and you know it. Please don’t leave me with this.”

Daryl went a little stiff. He wanted to pull away. He could feel the warmth of your body against his, could see each individual eyelash, and, fuck, those fingers of yours were wrapped around his arm. He was almost afraid to breathe. He didn’t want to take up more space than he already had.

You had spent many sleepless nights at each other’s sides in the past, either in temporary shelter while on a run or for comfort when things got bad. You had not, however, been this wrapped up in one another. Not in the slightest. He only had to put his head down for you to take him into your arms, and the thought of that alone was enough to make his heart skip a beat.

Once again, something had shifted and those uncharted waters were only getting deeper.

“Ya’ know, Dog can be pretty bad sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

Your eyes were locked and the words spilled from each of your lips slowly. Your grip on his forearm softened but you made no effort to let him go. In that moment it seemed as if you only saw each other and that the wall you insisted on keeping up was starting to crumble. It was only a matter of time before one of you rebuilt it, but right then, right in that moment, you could have laid there forever.

You wanted to know what he was thinking, if his thoughts were as scrambled as yours. You felt safe at Daryl's side, as if nothing could ever hurt you again, and you found yourself wanting him to pull you in closer.

God, he was already so close. One of you only had to lean in.

“Yeah. Carol don’t gotta know.”

“But the cookies…”

“Can’t ice no cookies without icin’.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

Daryl wet his bottom lip with his tongue and he could have sworn your eyes lowered to his mouth for just a second. He wanted to be put out of his misery. He felt like a damn school girl losing his head over someone he couldn’t have. You hadn’t approached this - whatever this is - for a reason but he wasn’t feeling very reasonable anymore.

Did your mouth taste as sweet as his? Would the peppermint make his lips tingle?

All he had to do was lean in.

Then, the unmistakable sound of the front door being opened echoed throughout the house. You both froze and confusion turned to horror when Carol eventually called out to you, claiming the weather had taken a turn for the worst.

You sat up on your elbows, eyebrows knitted together in worry whilst Daryl went completely silent, both annoyed and embarrassed that Carol had trespassed in her own home. You were mortified, there wasn’t a damn thing to show for your time there other than icing sugar everywhere, but you were also a little relieved - not because you didn’t want to be pinned in place next to him, but because you were finally able to take a full breath.

“Quick.” Daryl muttered, “Out the back.”

“But -”

Daryl didn’t give you a chance to argue. He quickly but carefully climbed up off of the couch and grabbed your hand without hesitation, squeezing it tight and pulling you along towards the back of the house where you could both escape.

You squeezed back, a childish grin growing across your sugar dusted face as your hand fit perfectly into his once more.

#the walking dead #twd #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon ff #daryl dixon oneshot #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #mine #my fic #christmas fic #christmas

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world-of-aus · 3 years

Text

Baby It’s Cold Outside - 14

Warnings: Christmas Fluff

A/n: Oh god I am so late with this, BUT I HAD BLOCK ON THIS ONE HORRIBLY! After drafting up though, I have decided to cap this series at 15, my mind has put together a wholesome little ending, and I can’t wait to really wrap this one up for you all so you can enjoy the fluffiness. There has been a few days time skip from the last chapter but that will be noted within this chapter. As always thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

All Other Parts Can Be Found On My Masterlist In My Bio!

The next couple of days leading to Christmas Morning had passed you in a blur, with helping your mother grab last minute gifts, to pushing through people in the grocers to grab the items needed for Christmas dinner, you hadn’t had time to breathe much less bask in the newest shift between you and Bucky. The only time the two of you had together was when you were tucked away in your room, arm thrown around his waist, his lips pressed softly to your forehead as you talked well into the morning.

“no one and I mean no one better knock on that door because I swear they’re going to have to forcefully pull me from this bed,” you murmured burying yourself deeper into the pillow, body instinctively curling closer to Bucky.

“It’s Christmas morning sugar,” he chuckles low warm breath fanning over your head.

“Exactly,” you replied curling closer, “Christmas morning, we did all the celebrating yesterday evening, there’s no reason we should be beckoned from bed this early, besides I'm sure my parents have had enough of being in our presence for the past few days.”

“They did get a lot of us these past few days didn’t they, almost couldn’t get you alone if even for a few seconds,” he hums with a chuckle, “so, there's really no way to pull you out of this bed?”

You’re shaking your head, the movement causing you to nuzzle his chest, “nope, no way I finally have you for more than a few seconds, m’definitely not passing this up.”

He chuckles low, “not even if there was something in it for you?”

Your head perks up at that, head resting on your hands that lays flat on his chest, “you trying to coax me out of bed Barnes, thought you’d be trying to keep me in it,” you grin.

“I’ll have plenty of time to keep you in my bed later once we get back home, but yes, right now I’d really like to coax you from it, have something for you.”

A smirk parts your lips, warmth creeping on your cheeks, “I'll indulge you just this once Buck, but only this once, so don’t let this get to your head.” Another chuckle bubbles in his chest, arms tightening around your form, lips pressing to your head, “bless your heart sugar, now get up and get that cute ass dressed, warm preferred.”

“With sock, shoes, and a jacket this time,” you questioned teasingly recalling the day the two of you had shifted from just friends to something more.

“Yes please,” he replies his warm arms falling away from your body as he lets you get up, body begrudgingly pulling itself from the warmth. “Although I wouldn’t be opposed to holding you, I'm not sure we would get far.”

“What about kissing me, would you be opposed to kissing me?”

A smirk kisses the side of his mouth as he leans forward at the same time you dip in, “you know I'd never be opposed to kissing you sugar, now that I've got a taste of you, don’t think I could ever get tired,” he hums pressing his lips to yours.

A pleased noise leaves your lip, at the press of his against yours, “mmm now get dressed don’t want the day getting later.”

“You know I should have tried a little harder to convince you to stay in bed with me,” you shivered as you continued to follow along.

“Almost there sugar, c’mere,” he murmurs switching sides with you, his arm falling over your shoulder, “I told you to dress warmly.”

You glance up at him, “listen Buck I didn’t think you were going to drag me through the streets in this weather, nor did I think the wind was going to be this bad.”

“Well to be fair,” he laughs, “neither did I, lets pick up the pace a little we’re almost there.”

The two of you moved quicker down the snowed sidewalk; bodies pressed tightly together as you rush to get to the destination Bucky had chosen for the two of you this morning. With your head pressed down to your chest, eyes casted down to avoid the wind hitting you harshly head on you don’t catch sight of your favorite coffee shop coming in to sight.

It isn’t until he’s pulling the glass doors of the shop open the warmth and smell of roasted coffee beans hitting you that you realize where he’s brought you. Instantly your eyes are meeting his, “you remembered?”

A warm smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, his hand squeezing your sides, “You know for being here almost two weeks I though you would have caught on that I remember a lot of things you tell me, c’mon lets go find a seat.”

You don’t have to be told twice as you delve further into the warmth the shop provides you, picking out a table in the corner closest to the windows.

“God I haven’t been here in so long, almost forgot how much I loved coming here with ma on Christmas mor-“

A smirk pulls at the corner of Bucky’s mouth, “Bucky did you- ” he nods his head smile pulling tighter.

“Last night before I joined you in bed I asked your parents what was something special they did with you on Christmas Day, your ma told me what you two did every morning, she said it might be something special for me to do with you.”

“oh buck, you didn’t have to do this, I would have been fine spending my day with you in bed.”

“I know, but that’s not the only reason I brought you here this morning, wanted to be somewhere special when I did this,” he answers.

Your head tilts to the side in question, “when you did what?”

Though he doesn’t get the chance to answer as a waitress pulls up to the table, “hiya you two what can I get you?”

Bucky rattles off your order and his as if he’s been coming here for years, the waitress pulls a kind smile as she promises to return with your orders soon.

“are you real?”

Bucky chuckles eyes meeting yours as he leans lightly on the table, “why wouldn’t I be real,” he questions.

“because Buck, I'm just having a hard time believing no one has swept you up, like – look at you.”

Bucky shakes his head, a grin splitting his lips, “sweetheart I already told you, the reason no one has swept me up, is because I already had my eyes on someone else.”

“After all that time,” you question, “I just – I can’t believe that you would wait that long.”

He shrugs his shoulders, “what can I say, you’re worth it.”

Warmth creeps your cheeks as you try but fail to hide that shy grin behind your hands, “so about that thing you wanted to give me.”

Bucky catches on to your question, and he’s holding up a finger asking you to hold on as he turns his body slightly to dig into his weighted coat.

You watch him pull a small bag from his jacket, he holds out the red and green bag, your brows furrow as you take it from his fingers, “what's this Buck, did you get me a gift,” you questioned.

“I did,” he answers with a warm smile, “go on, open it.”

Your lips pull a pout, eyes meeting his, “but Buck I didn’t get you anything, you sh-”

He waves you off, “this gift was a long-time coming sweetheart, I've been holding onto it for about two years actually, trust me it was long overdue.”

“two years?”

“just open it y/n, trust me.”

You give Bucky one more glance before you’re turning back to the bag in your hand, placing it down on the table, your finger pulls at the strings, letting it fall open. You pick out the wrapping paper stuffed in there before you’re met with a small jewelry box, your eyes glance back up.

“go on sweetheart,” he laughs.

Reaching into the bag you pull out the box, fingers slow to pull it open, your lips part as your eyes catch on the surprise in the box.

“Bucky you didn’t,” you breathe eyes meeting his.

“I remember you telling Cain to get you one, and I think I recall Steve or Natasha mentioning that you had brought it up with James at one point.”

“You’ve - Bucky how long have you been holding onto this?”

“About two years,” he answers, “whether I had come here or not with you, I would have found some time to get this to you, even if it had to be through Natasha,” he chuckles.

Your heart races in your chest as you pull the pendulant from the velvet your finger twirling the silver jewelry in your fingers.

Your threatening to water eyes, meet Bucky’s, “just when I can’t possibly grasp how you’re real and you’re here with me, you manage to go and do this and make me question it all over.”

Bucky chuckles, hand finding yours, “how am I supposed to match something like this Buck!”

“Say you’ll ring in the New Year with me.”

“you know I will Buck, how can I not,” you laugh, he shakes his head a warm smile pulling at his lips, “Ring in the new year as my girl.”

You didn’t think you could of possibly said yes quick enough.

Day 15 (FIN)

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#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fluff #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #marvel au #marvel fluff

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dirty-holy-things · 3 years

Text

Christmas Tree Farm

Part III of the Invisible String Series

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV Read on Ao3.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x AFAB Reader

Rating: Mature, for slight references to sex and swearing.

Words: 6.6k update

Chapters: 4 / ?

Warnings: Very few. Swearing, subtle references to sex.

Author's Notes: This story is broken into two segments, with the first half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas together, and the second half being Reader and Bucky's first Christmas spent with the Wilson's, their found family.

Summary: The winter holidays can be a challenging time for many, and you and Bucky were no stranger to lonely Christmases. But love has a curious, insistent way of melting away the ice that locks away and protects our hearts; and as time passes, both you and Bucky finally allow yourselves a little bit of that holiday cheer.

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The city lights somehow shone even brighter, thanks to the addition of copious (or one could say, excessive) amounts of Christmas lights that likely threatened to upend the entire city’s power grid. Every storefront was decked out with tinsel and trees, each mannequin was dressed in their holiday best, and you couldn’t take two steps without being greeted by a vibrant advertisement for “This season’s must-buy holiday gifts!” While you certainly weren’t a Grinch by any means, you also hadn’t had much of a reason to celebrate the holiday through the past few years; that was, until you found yourself a 106 year old, semi-stable boyfriend with a secret love for Christmas that was comparable to that of an eight year old on a sugar high.

Bucky Barnes was an intimidating figure to those who saw him in the streets, but after nearly a year of dating, you had thoroughly cracked that hard exterior to see the gentle and romantic man who had been locked away and frozen for so long. People on the streets saw a powerful man with a gleaming metal arm; you saw a man who could pick you up with ease, throwing you over his shoulder before pinning you down and tickling you. Shoppers in the grocery store saw a brooding and intimidating figure; you saw him fall asleep on the couch, his frame protectively curled around his cat Alpine. You had once been like all those strangers, only seeing that which was on the surface, but you had come to know and love him as a whole person.

And as such, it did not come as that much of a shock when, shortly after Thanksgiving dinner, Bucky’s requited love for Christmas broke through for the first time. “Hey, doll,” he started, an inquisitive tone in his voice. “Where’s your Christmas music? Been goin’ through your records but I can’t seem’ta find any.”

“Don’t have any,” you called out from the bedroom, folding the last of his laundry that had taken up permanent residence in your top right dresser drawer. You strolled into the living room to see him still flicking determinedly through your collection, hoping against hope to find something that would put the apartment into the holiday spirit. “Buck, I’m pretty sure I don’t have any Christmas records — but I can play some music from my phone, if you want me to.”

“Don’t worry about it, sweets.”

He sank into the plush fabric of your sofa, sighing defeatedly. You laughed at his exaggerated response, before moving to sit next to him, draping your legs across his and nestling into his arms. You pulled your phone out of the pocket of your leggings, searching for a Christmas playlist, before you were distracted by Bucky’s lingering, pensive look. “What’s on your mind, Bucky?”

He sighed, metal hand tracing cool circles into your exposed skin. “It’s nothing, it’s silly.”

You frowned, not thrilled with his sudden withdrawal. “Clearly it’s not nothing. C’mon, Buck, you can talk to me.”

“I haven’t had a real Christmas since 1943,” he said slowly. “Hydra certainly didn’t celebrate, and after I came back from the Blip, I didn’t have anyone to share one with. I thought — I had thought, maybe, since I have you, we could do something for Christmas together. But, if you’re not really in’ta Christmas, that’s okay.”

You could tell that his casual tone was forced, you could pick up the subtle changes in volume and pitch. Your heart ached for him, as you thought about the loneliness that he had endured for decades, all of the holidays and joy and traditions and memories that he had missed out on; and while you weren’t a Christmas person by nature, by god, you were going to be one for Bucky Barnes.

***

You fully assimilated into the Christmas spirit and enthusiasm, trying to provide Bucky with every sweet, cheesy, moment of joy that he had been denied for so long. The weeks leading up to Christmas were positively filled to the brim, near-bursting, with holiday spirit and theme-appropriate music, the lyrics echoing throughout your apartment to the extent that you wondered if future tenants may one day hear ghosts of Christmas past — also known as the ghost of Bucky Past, as he sang along to every tune that crooned its way through the small, shared space. You had never seen him so indulgently and freely happy before, so you didn’t begrudge the fourth or fifth playing of the Holiday Hits records, or his subtly-insistent urging for a real Christmas tree.

It was the second week of December when you executed your ‘master plan.’

Manhattan wasn’t exactly known for its Christmas tree farms, so you had planned on making the long and laborious trek out of the city to fetch your own real tree. Bucky was more than happy to oblige, with the promise that he could fell his own Christmas tree; you had no doubt that your sweet, sensitive, and powerful super-soldier could fell whatever tree stood before him. But aside from your confidence in his physical abilities, you wanted to give him this Christmas moment, this Christmas memory — you wanted to give him the opportunity to bring his tree back to your shared space, and to create these Christmas memories with him. You wanted to break his pattern of ignored or heartbroken Christmases, and after he had confessed his love for the holiday that Thanksgiving night, you had been thinking about all of the ways you could make this year special for him.

Bucky had been more than thrilled by your suggestion to drive out of the city for an evening, particularly for a Christmas tree, and the two of you sank into the slow, gentle peace that steadily grew as the car carried you further and further away from the bustling city. You had picked a destination that was quite far from the city center, having seen the positive reviews online and the promise of free hot chocolate; and to be honest, you thought that the brief break from city life could do the two of you some good.

He had picked you up from your apartment, after acquiring this evening’s rental car; and his time spent battling lazy rental car representatives and New York traffic had given you the perfect amount of time to enact your vision for the apartment before his call rang through, informing you that he was here and waiting by the front door. Your drive out of the city had been filled with more and more Christmas music, cups of coffee, and a stash of chocolate chip cookies that you had decided would be appropriate fuel for the evening ahead. Bucky had eaten ten out of the twelve you brought.

The Christmas tree farm was illuminated with countless twinkling globe lights, a soft golden glow radiating around you and bouncing off of the freshly-fallen snow that crunched underneath your boots. Bucky grinned from ear to ear, in an easy way that you had never seen before, and you felt a rush of confidence and surety about your somewhat-secret plan.

Upon your arrival at the Christmas tree farm, Bucky had quickly picked out the prettiest tree in the entire lot; the branches were tightly packed and well-filled with needles that smelled of pine and childhood memories. The attendant who had handed him the axe to fell the tree watched in shock and awe as Bucky cleaved through the tree trunk with two strong strokes; you laughed quietly into your hot chocolate, bemused by your boyfriend’s blatant display of strength. Bucky strapped the tree to the top of the rental car with impressive speed, and it was not long afterwords that you were hurtling back into the city, towards the apartment that the two of you now called home.

Forcing the tall tree into the slim elevator was a challenge, one that Bucky took in stride; and after multiple curse words and sweaty exclamations of frustration, it finally fit to the point in which Bucky could abandon the advanced geometry he had been working at. The ride upwards was humorously tense, as Bucky observed you being pinned in by the tree, and you nervously awaited the arrival that you had planned for your sweet super-soldier.

Your front door now held a large wreath, bedecked with poinsettias and glimmering gold tinsel; the sight caught Bucky off-guard, as he recognized that this was a new addition. “I like the wreath, sweets,” he grinned, moving to shift the tree out of the cramped elevator and free you from its heavy, pine-scented branches.

“Thought some Christmas decorations were in order,” you laughed lightly, finally freed from the cramped elevator; and you briefly wondered how long that fresh pine scent might linger within the small space. Bucky kept the tree upright while you nervously opened the door, suddenly anxious that maybe you had taken the Christmas enthusiasm too far.

Bucky was a man on a mission, as he determinedly hauled the tree through the hallway and into the living room; you had previously cleared a corner for the tree, right next to your patio door, hoping that the ambient light from the city would help to illuminate the tree that would now fill the recently-vacated space. You watched him corner the tree into the wall, ensuring it was supported appropriately, before he turned to survey the apartment that was surrounding him.

You might’ve gone a bit overboard with the Christmas decorations, but you would’ve thrown yourself overboard ten times more to see that smile spreading across Bucky’s face.

The entrance to the apartment now displayed a vibrant poinsettia wreath, and a welcome mat that said ‘happy holidays,’ a sentiment ensconced by the image of ivy and red berries. The tea towels in the kitchen were red and green, boasting cheeky jokes about holiday cheer, and the glassware had been replaced with wine glasses and rocks glasses of emerald green crystal. The kitchen table was fully dressed for Christmas, with gold and green accents at every turn, highlighted with poinsettia blossoms. Your plush ivory couch was now draped with multiple blankets: one chunky knit, one soft and fuzzy, and a wool blanket with a plaid blend of emerald green, dark navy, blood-red, and gold. All of the picture frames and artwork on the wall had been wrapped over to look like Christmas presents, the fireplace was bedecked with mistletoe and holly, and even the bathroom hand soaps had been swapped out for holiday scents.

“Sweets — what’s, what’s all this?” Bucky asked breathlessly, surveying the unexpected sight before him.

“It’s our first Christmas,” you responded, your voice barely above a whisper as you moved to wrap your arms around his waist, savoring the combined scent of pine and that which was distinctly Bucky. “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes — and I want to make every kind of Christmas memory with you. I want us to decorate our tree together, I want us to sneakily wrap up presents for each other, I want us to wear silly matching pajamas, I want us to leave the decorations up for way too long just because they bring us back to this perfect moment.”

Bucky’s strong and irresistible hands guided your body towards the couch, your bodies collapsing softly into the cushions as his plush and chapped lips pressed into the soft skin of your neck, biting gently at your racing pulse. You could feel the excitement and joy radiating from Bucky, comparable to the blazing heat of the sun, or a fire, or any other brightly-burning thing, and you knew that your decision to go all-in for Christmas had been the right one. Grinning to yourself, you thought about the extensive, and… myriad applicability of mistletoe you had acquired, and how you might work this into a Christmas miracle of your own.

“I love you, doll,” Bucky exhaled against your flushed skin. “I’ve never felt so fuck’n lucky, to have someone like you lovin’ me.”

You allowed yourself a moment to sink into the weight of his words, allowed yourself to feel appreciated, valued, desired, wanted. “Loving you is the easiest thing in the world,” you whispered, your hands tracing gently across the sharp and chiseled planes of his face. “Loving you is as easy as breathing… even when you steal all of the covers, or insist on rewatching Lord of the Rings for the fortieth time.”

Bucky laughed, a deep chuckle echoing from his chest as he pulled you closer against his thickly-muscled body. “Looks like quite a lot of mistletoe here, doll,” he grinned, pressing a casual kiss against your forehead as he surveyed the state of the apartment.

“Oh, yeah, that was intentional,” you quipped, giggling as you leaned in for a kiss; only to have Bucky pull away, a devilish and almost dark grin on his face.

“Y’sure you’re ready for that?” He asked, his voice holding a shred of a threat and the weight of a promise.

“Bring it on, Barnes.”

*********************************************************

Christmas had grown to become a full-fledged, extravagant, blowout event with each year that passed. The holiday season started earlier and earlier, as you both plotted and planned for how to one-up the other with some sort of holiday surprise or thoughtful gift; and you eventually grew to ignore the odd looks of your neighbors as the poinsettia wreath was now regularly hung before Thanksgiving dinner was done cooking.

This year, however, was going to be different. After a handful of long-weekend trips down to Louisiana to visit Sam, Sarah, and their family, you and Bucky had decided to take an extended vacation - two weeks, to be exact. The two of you would be sharing both Christmas and New Years with the Wilson family, and you couldn’t possibly be more thrilled — or anxious.

Over the past few years, Bucky and Sam had settled into a brotherly sort of friendship, full of barbed comments, silent hugs, and quiet words of encouragement and advice; and after you met Sarah on your first Memorial Day trip to the small town, the two of you had taken to one another like lifelong best friends, sharing a love for merlot and a sense of worry for the two men who were dead-set on saving the world.

So it came as little surprise when the Wilsons invited the two of you for an extended stay; and you had eagerly agreed to the idea of both a vacation, and a holiday spent with your found family. Bucky had pretended to be resistant for a moment, mumbling something about ‘not wanting to share his time with you,’ but had caved easily when you pressed on the matter. He was likely just as eager to have a family Christmas as you were — but Sam certainly couldn’t know that.

You had spent nearly two months leading up to your trip relentlessly questioning Sarah and Sam about gift ideas, feeling an immense pressure to get things right. You struggled to keep up with the ever-evolving interests of AJ and Cass, and you felt the need to find something perfectly sweet and thoughtful for Sam and Sarah, as they had been so kind as to invite you and Bucky into their home for the holiday season. Bucky was able to sense your nervousness about finding the perfect gifts, and was able to remain fairly level-headed and reasonable as you perused countless stores. However, as empathetic and kind as your super-soldier may be, he was still prone to bouts of boredom or hunger.

“Look, sweets, we could get the kids gift cards and I’m sure they’d be more than happy —“ Bucky started, before you cut him off with an icy glare. You were in the fifth store of the day, and while Bucky’s patience with you had extended far past a reasonable amount, he was admittedly wearing thin.

“No gift cards,” you bit, cutting him off harshly, before rubbing your hand across his forearm gently in apology. “I know Sarah said they didn’t really need any more gaming stuff, but they’ve got a pretty good deal for the new Xbox here…”

Bucky chuckled lightly, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in for a kiss on the temple, forgiving your earlier tension. “With the way you’re try’na spoil them, you’d think they were our own kids.”

You blushed, knowing he was likely right. You were prone to gift-giving and over-indulging the wants and whims of those you loved; Bucky knew that firsthand, and was fair in assuming this would extend to all you loved — whether they were currently in existence or not. “Just imagine if we ever do have kids, Barnes,” you said lightly, hoping the barely-concealed eagerness in your voice didn’t betray you. “Honestly, you’ll be even more of a sucker than me.”

“Me? No, not at all,” he huffed, arms crossing over his broad chest.

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from within, unable to picture a situation in which Bucky would be anything other than a marshmallow around children, particularly his own. “Between the two of us, you’re the one who will be a softie. Mark my words, Barnes, you’re gonna be wrapped around a tiny little finger one of these days.”

He chuckled softly, eyes flitting lightly across your body. “Y’call me Barnes an awful lot, sweets.”

You nodded, shoulders raising as if to say, so what?

“Makes me think you might like the name — y’maybe might even want it for yourself,” Bucky grinned, a simultaneously mischievous but sincere glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes playfully, nudging your shoulder into his chest. You returned your focus to the sale tags in the store, trying desperately — and futilely — to quell the reflexive, undeniable excitement that came with the idea of a life with Bucky.

Marriage, a home, babies, the whole nine yards — but you were in Target, you were getting way too ahead of yourself. That was a thought for another day, another time.

***

Your arrival at Sam and Sarah’s home had been just as warm and welcoming as you expected, with Sarah ushering you and Bucky upstairs to the spare bedroom that had basically become yours after the extensive number of vacations and visits. You and Bucky both slept well that night, as the long drive had worn you down, and for the first time in several months — if not over a year — you were up the next morning before Bucky Barnes.

It was Christmas Eve, and the excitement of this day was not lost on you; rolling away from Bucky’s solid grasp was a challenge, but you managed to do so without disturbing the sleeping brunette who had been wrapped around you like a weighted blanket. You laughed quietly to yourself as he sleepily grabbed for your pillow, pulling it inwards to cradle it between his arms.

You stealthily snuck out of the room, wanting Bucky to get whatever measure of rest possible, and made yourself decent before heading downstairs to find Sarah in the kitchen. She was dressed and ready for the day, and you slumped into a kitchen chair with a yawn.

“Coffee’s ready, I’d suggest y’get it before Sam and Buck are up.” Sarah joked with a sleepy smile. So far, only the two of you were up, and you gratefully accepted her recommendation for a cup of coffee, appreciating the warmth and rush of caffeine that it offered.

“Is there anything I can help with?” You asked, as the two of you sat down at the kitchen table together.

Sarah smiled into her cup of coffee, taking a long sip before responding. “I’ll probably have’ya give me a hand with the pancakes, you’re a good judge for when to flip them,” she commented, eyes wandering to the bay window that offered an exceptional view of the sunrise. “You can also help me by giving me a heads up about the boys’ Christmas presents.”

You instinctively felt the need to say no, to preserve the integrity of the surprise and excitement of Christmas morning, but you realized that telling Sarah wouldn’t spoil the surprise for the boys. You excitedly discussed the details of the gifts, both for the kids, and for Sam and Bucky, and despite the clock indicating an obscenely early time of 7:48AM, you still felt the Christmas spirit radiating in the cozy kitchen space.

You and Sarah worked together to prepare a full breakfast, consuming cup after cup of coffee until you heard the unmistakable sound of Bucky stepping heavily down the stairs and towards the kitchen. Stepping away from the pancakes for a moment, you quickly started to brew another pot of coffee; and as you returned to your station by the stovetop, you giggled as you felt Bucky’s arms wrap securely around your midsection.

“Well this is a Christmas miracle,” Bucky whispered into the soft skin of your neck. “You’re up and outta bed before me.”

You laughed, turning to faced him as he continued to hold your body against his. “We’re not even to Christmas yet, Barnes — who know what kinda surprises might be in store for you.”

Bucky hummed suggestively, his teeth barely grazing your skin as you shivered against him. Your body instinctively molded to his, and you were in the process of turning around for a kiss when you heard, “Ah, ah, ah!”

You pulled away from Bucky with a laugh, seeing Sarah standing by the sink, hands planted firmly on her waist as she stared the two of you down with the kind of glare that only mothers could possess. “Not in my kitchen! Save that shit for Brooklyn.”

There was an undeniable heat in your cheeks, and you could see the pink tinge that Bucky’s face took on as Sarah called the two of you out. He still kept his hands on you, but with less suggestive placement. “M’sorry, Sarah, I just couldn’t help myself.”

She rolled her eyes before tossing him the coffee mug she had just finished drying; Bucky, of course, caught it despite the lack of warning. “Well, help yourself to some coffee and breakfast - I suggest you get started before the boys are up, it’ll be a frenzy before too long.”

Bucky laughed and grabbed your mostly-empty coffee mug as he strode across the kitchen; he was filling the second cup as a thunderous sound echoed through the house, as Cass, AJ, and Sam quickly filled the remaining space in the kitchen. The boys were startlingly hyper despite having just woken up - you couldn’t remember the last time you woke up that exuberantly - and Sam yawned while making a beeline for the coffee pot that Bucky held in his metal grasp. The two men exchanged the coffee pot silently, but peacefully; and you and Sarah stepped back from the kitchen to rest on the couch, to enjoy the remainder of the morning and watch the feeding frenzy that was comparable to piranhas descending on the sun-streaked Louisiana kitchen.

***

The remainder of Christmas Eve had gone smoothly and happily; AJ and Cass fell asleep close to 11PM, about halfway through The Grinch, and Bucky and Sam had carried them to bed despite weak protestations that they wanted to stay up to catch Santa. As soon as Sam and Bucky returned to give the all-clear, indicating the boys were soundly asleep, you and Sarah set to work on bringing out all of the gifts that had been carefully concealed.

You were stacking presents meticulously when you saw Bucky taking a handful of the Christmas cookies that had been left out for Santa; Sam had noticed as well, and he frowned. “Hey, man, I don’t see you in a red suit with a white beard,” Sam whispered loudly.

“Don’t see you in one either,” Bucky responded around a mouthful of a poorly-iced sugar cookie. The five of you had spent the afternoon baking and icing cookies for Santa, the neighbors, and the mailman; and while it was adorable and endearing, there was a distinct lack of artistic talent for cookie decorating.

“Bucky, share the cookies,” You laughed, nudging him to hand over the plate that he had taken hostage. Bucky grumbled, but you could see the way the corner of his lip quirked up; he was just as amused and happy in this scene as you were. The remainder of the cookies were shared, Sarah finished stuffing the stockings, and you placed the last present under the tree; looking at the last gift, you saw your swooping handwriting on the tag: To Bucky, with love.

“Is that everything?” Sarah asked, an exhausted but content look upon her face. “Last call for gifts, before Santa takes off for the night.”

Bucky coughed, giving Sam a side-eyed look that didn’t go unnoticed by you. “Should be everything,” Bucky responded cooly, but you could see the subtle flexing and whirring in the prosthetic arm that indicated a sort of nervousness within him. It was Christmas Eve, what could he be stressing about? Unless a gift had gotten lost in-between airports; but you had accounted for everything, you were sure of it. Shaking off the feeling as a side effect of exhaustion, you smiled when Bucky extended a hand to help you off the floor. “Ready to say g’night, doll?”

You nodded, and the both of you said quiet goodnights to Sam and Sarah before heading to bed for the evening. Tucking yourselves into the warm, soft bed, you saw the clock blink at 12:08AM. “Merry Christmas Bucky,” you whispered softly, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead, the soft glow of the moon illuminating the few silver hairs that had slowly appeared along his hairline.

“Merry Christmas, doll,” he mumbled happily, from the warm space between sleep and waking, the space where anything good could feel true, the space where Santa might be real and the world might be kind.

***

You had forgotten how early kids tend to wake up on Christmas morning. A silent apology to your parents passed through your groggy mind as you worked to drag yourself out of bed, having been roused by the inescapable sound of fists banging on the closed door and children’s muffled screams of, “Wake up! It’s Christmas!”

Bucky wore his usual early-morning scowl; one that would’ve sent fear coursing through any rational person, but it was a look you knew and loved. He pressed the soft, downy pillow over his head, trying to muffle out AJ & Cass’s insistent excitement. “Too… early…”

You laughed hoarsely, your voice not fully awake just yet. “You try telling them that, see how far it gets you,” you suggested, as you grabbed for your glasses and the pair of pajama pants that you kept handy for decency’s sake. Bucky grumbled again, and glancing at the clock, you realized you couldn’t blame him. It hadn’t yet cracked 6AM, and while Bucky was the early riser out of the two of you, this was a solid hour before his internal clock would typically wake him up. “C’mon, Buck, up and at ‘em. It’s Christmas morning, there’s presents and coffee waiting.”

The two of you finally emerged from the door, disheveled and sleep-deprived, only to be greeted by the loud cheers of AJ and Cass, who informed you that everyone else was already up.

***

The den quickly devolved into a chaotic mess of torn wrapping paper, slackened bows, crumpled tissue paper, and more toys and electronics than the room should’ve rightly been able to hold. The adults sat back and watched as AJ and Cass tore through every present, shouting and jumping and screaming in excitement with each gift that was voraciously revealed. You had shrugged your shoulders in a subtle I’m sorry to Sarah, as the kids triumphantly lifted the new Xbox above their heads. She didn’t seem to mind too much, however, after watching AJ and Cass tackle Uncle Bucky to the ground with promises and threats of ‘kicking his old butt at Mario Kart.’

As the glitter and tinsel settled throughout the love-filled room, AJ and Cass proceeded to withdraw from the early-morning celebrations to play with their new assortment of toys, games, and electronics. You had finished your second cup of coffee and had sent Bucky to retrieve your third, while you and Sam plucked the remaining gifts from underneath the tree, to be distributed amongst the adults.

You passed Sarah a thick envelope that was tied with a silver ribbon, and watched as she pulled forth a stack of papers of various sizes — airplane tickets, hotel check-in details, Broadway tickets — and happy tears flooded her cheeks as she hugged both you and Bucky tightly, thanking you for the fully-planned vacation. “Oh, and it’s not written anywhere officially, but we’re also volunteering to babysit,” you added, and laughed as Sarah grinned and clenched her fist in excitement.

“We are?” Bucky asked, pretending to be surprised. You elbowed him gently, and he corrected himself. “Yes, of course we are.”

The gift-giving continued, with lots of laughter and happy tears. Sam and Sarah had gifted you the slate-blue Le Creuset you had been eyeing wistfully for years, and Bucky received a set of tickets to a symphony performance and dance night, featuring hits from the 1940s. “Might have’ta bust out the old uniform for this one, doll,” he said with a sly grin. “Used to look real nice in those slacks, y’outght’a have the chance to appreciate the view.”

“Oh, I can only imagine the number of girls you pulled in that uniform, Barnes,” you teased. He shrugged nonchalantly as a thick arm draped around your shoulders, pulling you closer into his relaxed body. “Hey, ease up — you’re gonna make me spill my coffee!”

Bucky planted a solid kiss against your forehead as he drew you in closer, albeit with more consideration for the scalding-hot beverage in your hand this time. “That’s ancient history, sweetheart. No need to worry about Dolores at the nursing home stealing me from you.”

“Y’sure about that, Buck? I’ve heard stories about you and a redhead named Dolores…” Sam interjected, a playfully antagonistic hint to his voice. Bucky retaliated by throwing a pillow at Sam’s head, with the kind of ferocity that could only come from a super-soldier. “Kidding, kidding,” Sam laughed, as the pillow hit him squarely in the shoulder.

Both you and Bucky laughed, and he plucked the cup of steaming coffee from your hands, taking a sip before commenting further. “Only one girl I ever truly loved, sweetheart, and she’s right here with me,” he said softly, his voice rough and gravelly, but full of sincerity.

You knew that Bucky loved you, and you knew that you loved him. Little else in the world seemed to matter past those two facts, but you also understood that your shared love existed in a complex and challenging world. A world that you struggled to find a place in, a world that had all too many places for Bucky to fill; the freedom of narrative had been stolen from both of you, but as you retrieved your Christmas gift for Bucky, you hoped you had found a way to give a piece of that narrative back to him.

You handed him a thin, flat box; meticulously and nervously wrapped, the tag unmistakeable; To Bucky, with love.

You watched him open it excitedly, and he pulled out two photos. The first photo was from the original Captain America exhibit at the Smithsonian, the one that had stood for several years now. The second photo was one that you had taken yourself, of the recently-updated exhibit; specifically, the segment of the exhibit that documented Bucky’s history. You watched his facial expressions closely as he examined the differences, and you saw his jaw twitch and throat tighten as he focused more closely upon the second, most recent image.

“W-what’s this, doll?” He asked, his voice shaking.

You placed a hand gently over his, the one that held the image of the updated exhibit. “This,” you spoke softly, pointing at the inscription, “This is your legacy, Bucky Barnes. The true one. The one that matters, the one that countless people will read every single day. This is the story that everyone will know.”

Looking at the photograph grasped tightly within Bucky’s human hand, you read aloud the new inscription.

“Born in 1916, Barnes grew up the oldest child of four. An excellent athlete who also excelled in the classroom, Barnes enlisted in the Army shortly after the attack on Pearl Harbor. After winter training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin, Barnes and the rest of the 107th shipped out to the Italian front.

Captured by HYDRA troops later that fall, Barnes endured long periods of isolation, deprivation, torture, and experimentation; but his will was strong. In an ironic twist of fate, his prison camp was liberated by none other than his childhood best friend, Steve Rogers, now Captain America.

Reunited, Barnes and Rogers led Captain America’s newly formed unit, the Howling Commandos. Barnes’ marksmanship was invaluable as Rogers and his team destroyed HYDRA bases and disrupted Nazi troop movements throughout the European Theater.”

Bucky nodded, commenting quietly. “I’ve seen this part, at the Smithsonian.”

“Yes, that was the original; the one you would’ve seen. They also noted your date of death — but as you well know, there’s more to the story,” you added gently, drawing your finger across the image to direct Bucky’s attention to the new addition.

“Barnes was tragically captured by HYDRA operatives after what was perceived to be a deadly fall. Captain America and the Howling Commandos mourned their loss of their brother and companion, with the unit fully dissolving after the loss of Captain America.

Barnes was kept as a HYDRA prisoner of war for decades, before being freed through the work of his childhood best friend. Recruited by Rogers to fight against the Titan known as Thanos, Barnes fought valiantly alongside the Avengers and helped restore the world to its rightful state.

Barnes is recognized as one of the great heroes of our time, having successfully overcome the might of both HYDRA and Thanos. As a nation, and as a global community, we now look to Barnes as an example: an example of what is good, what is right, what is resilient, what is brave and unbreakable.”

Your hands were shaking as you finished reading the new inscription, the new addition to the exhibit; and while your hands were shaking, all of Bucky was shaking. You reached an unsteady hand out towards him, letting it settle onto his shallowly breathing chest. “This is how the world will remember you, Bucky. Not as the Winter Soldier, but as a hero, as James Buchanan Barnes. The Winter Soldier was never you — and nobody will make that mistake again.”

Bucky huffed, exhaling strongly, and you could see that he was fighting off the tears that were threatening to spill from his ocean-blue eyes; you reached to hold his hand, squeezing it tightly as you smiled up at him. His bottom lip trembled slightly as his free hand came up to stroke your face; you leaned into the cool feeling of the vibranium against your warm cheek and kissed the corner of his hand that lingered against you.

“How’d you manage to pull this off, doll?” Bucky asked, voice shaking.

You shrugged and smiled playfully. “I think you’re forgetting that I work for the Smithsonian Institute, Buck. I was able to pull a few strings, call in a few favors — and anyways, museums are pretty heavily invested in having the correct information.”

Bucky laughed hoarsely, the tears receding before they had the opportunity to fall. Sam and Sarah had watched on quietly, both of them feeling grateful for the acceptance and love that you and Bucky had found with one another. “Y’know, Buck, I was thinking that your gift was pretty impressive, but after this… I dunno, man. She might have you beat.”

You looked back and forth between the two men; clearly, secrets had been exchanged, and you had been left out of it. Bucky winced as he leaned over to retrieve your gift, agreeing with Sam. “Yeah, shit, I don’t know how I can follow that. Rewriting history? Jesus, you didn’t even give me a chance.”

Bucky placed a long, narrow box in your hands, and despite his previous comment, he still smiled excitedly as you picked at the red, snowflake-covered wrapping paper. “Whatever it is, Buck, I know I’m gonna love it.”

The lid to the box opened with ease, and the contents both shocked and confused you for a moment. Your fingers nimbly grasped the silver dog tags that rested within the box, the metal chain clinking against itself as you looked more closely.

JAMES B BARNES

32557030 T42 2B

R. BARNES

3092 STOCKTON RD

SHELBYVILLE IN

The tags had been unmistakeable, undeniably familiar, from the moment you laid eyes on them. Holding the tags tightly within your hand, you turned to Bucky with questions in your eyes, and on your lips, but he beat you to it.

“Yes, these were mine. But they’re yours now.”

You stuttered, still shocked by the gesture. “B-But Bucky, aren’t you supposed to keep these on you? Isn’t it like some sort of rule? In case — oh, god, in case anything ever happened —“

Bucky shushed you as you became increasingly worried by the thought of something happening to him, the thought of him disappearing without anything remaining to identify him as the man that you loved. “Shh, doll. Nothing’s gonna happen to me, and that’s exactly why I’m givin’ these to you. I promise, I’m never gonna leave you. I’ll never be far enough away from you to need these ever again.”

While Bucky may not have cried, you certainly did, unable to fight off the swell of emotions that hit you like a tidal wave — but a tidal wave of all good things. The weight of his words ad his gesture was overwhelming; he was handing you a piece of himself, entrusting it to you, and promising that you’d never again have to face a world without him in it. You thought about these same dog tags, how they had rested against his chest for decades, and now having this piece of him so close to your heart threatened to entirely overwhelm you.

“I love you, Bucky, god, I don’t even know what else to say right now, I love you more than anything —“ Hot tears rolled down your cheeks, and you breath was a staccato rhythm as your gaze flitted between the dog tags and the man they belonged to.

Bucky grinned, and you could see the threat of tears had returned. “Just promise me you’ll wear ‘em — and that you won’t lose ‘em.”

You nodded and smiled sweetly at him, before handing him the dog tags so he could fasten them around your neck. His hands cupped your chin and brought you in for a gentle kiss, despite the protests of Sam and Sarah; but they sounded worlds away, because your whole world was right here, holding you, and would never let you go.

***

Taglist: @bdavishiddlesbatch @aleynaandrews @who-is-a-heretic-now

#Bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes x you #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x y/n #winter soldier #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #invisible string #Bucky Barnes fluff

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prose-for-hire · 3 years

Text

All I want for Christmas is you

[This is a (late) part of my 12 Days of Chirstmas fics]

Pairing: Spike x fem!reader

Request: Hi! A spike request angst for the holiday collection. Where spike and the reader get into a massive fight and he says some really hurtful things. So its really awkward leading into Christmas and the reader considers leaving him. But then spike gives the reader a present on Christmas like a sorry present that changes her mind :)

Requested by: Anon

Warning: Spike and reader fight and say mean things. Swearing. Very light sex references.

A/N: I use the ambiguous phrase ‘jewellery’ rather than explaining what the object is because it’s a reader insert and some people like certain items and some people don’t like any jewellery (blame Buffy and Dawn sorry)

You and Spike loved each other, you knew this. But you and Spike also argued. All the time. You had broken up and got back together more times than you could count. It was a ‘can’t live with him, can’t live without him’ situation. And you were just going in circles.

This particular time, finds you and Spike finishing decorating the crypt. It had been fun, by all accounts. You had even got a tree. He had managed to distract you a lot, making an hour’s task lasting the entire day.

When you were loved up, it was bliss. It was fierce passion. Often languid and sensual. Even giddy and fun at times.

He hugged you from behind, closing his eyes as he inhaled, kissing the back of your head. His hands started to wander from your hips and you closed your eyes in delight. Pressed against him felt so right.

“Did you hear that?” You said, your eyes snapping open. It was bells. Little, twinkling Christmas bells. It was eerie, not cheery. You hadn’t bought any bells.

Spike groaned in frustration and looked around as if you had gone mad. You were always doing this. Driving him wild. Teasing him so.

“What in the buggering hell are you goin’ on about?”

“There’s something…” You said cryptically as you looked around, which irritated him to no end.

“It’s nothing, just- come here”

“Spike! Why don’t you listen to me?” You pouted slightly, hoping it was entice him to take you seriously, check if there was a threat. But it did the opposite.

“Oh, right, and what’s your plan then? Why don’t we scream and run away. That’s about the form of your fighting skills anyhow ain’t it?”

“Just shut up – it’s Christmas” You snapped, looking at him as if he needed to drop it. But this just irritated him, as if you were chastising him. Like he was someone you could control. Emasculate.

“Poor little y/n, making things up for a scrap of attention again” He stuck his lower lip out and tilted his head to the side, in a way that nobody would describe anything other than patronisingly, “You don’t know who you are, not without me” He added the end after a pause.

“You’re the one that followed me around for months on end before I agreed to date you!” You bit back. This is where everything tended to go south. Fast.

“Yeah? Well we’re only together after last time ‘cause I took pity on you and took you back – saw how I left you wantin’ thought we might as well. You’re attractive at least” He leaned in and took your chin, moving you to face him as he insulted you. You held back tears. He was supposed to love you, why was he always so mean?

“Fuck you, Spike!” You shouted, grabbing his wrist and moving him from touching you before adding, “You’re such a self-assured pig!”

“Yeah, you love it” He purred.

“I hate you”

“No, you don’t” He stated. Before dragging his voice out almost sing-song like but in a humourless way, “You want me. You need me” He bit his lip, moving closer and closer, making you shiver. He was trying to charm you into submission. Again.

Well, it wouldn’t work… not this time anyway.

“You’re the one that wouldn’t leave Buffy’s doorstep until I came back with you! You’re obsessive! You’re a slave to love, no - to pain, Spike!” You stated, moving away from where he had started to back you against the wall.

“Slave to you” He offered, that look in his eye. Offering to forget about it, although he had been the one that had been cruel. His look offering making up. In bed, wherever you wanted. He would even apologise if it meant you wouldn’t leave him again. But you were still mad, still angry at the way he spoke to you.

His look almost made you back down, he was hard to resist. You were addicted to each other. Even when you were fighting it could switch to sex so easily. To hot passion.

But not today.

“No. You’re not. You don’t want me. You want drama, a fight. I’m sick of it! Forget it” You shouted, continuing, “I mean it this time, Spike! We’re done!”

“Love, you don’t mean that – we’re-”

“Finished!” You ended his sentence for him, “Get out!”

“No- I’m the one with my name above the door, you don’t bloody pay the rent” He said, backing away from you as you had that look in your eye. You could be downright vindictive.

“Neither do you - it’s a crypt, you don’t pay shit!”

“You wouldn’t throw your fella out just before Christmas, would you, love?” He tried as you had walked him out of the front door, throwing his leather duster at him. He caught it in a ball and clutched it to his chest.

He sighed exaggeratedly. He really didn’t want to have to rough it somewhere, exposing himself to possible sunlight. He wanted you again. He cursed himself. Wished he had just kept his mouth shut.

But you weren’t so innocent. If he hadn’t created an argument, you would have done. It had been in the air. Building up over weeks.

“Bloody women!” He screamed at the door you had unceremoniously slammed in his face. He heard you slide the bolt across the door and he kicked it for good measure, howling in pain and hobbling away.

To add insult to injury, as he stalked through the streets trying to find a suitable crypt it had started to snow. The first bloody snow here in centuries and he had been caught up in it. It couldn’t get any worse.

Shit. Why did he have to think that? He rounded the corner and almost ran straight into the Slayer. He had been dragging his feet, kicking a stone until he looked up and saw her.

“There a reason you’re terrorising the sidewalk, Spike?”

“None of your business”

“Y/n’s kicked you out again hasn’t she?” Buffy’s face lit up as his face gave away she had guessed correctly.

She enjoyed seeing him like this. She was your best friend and she thought (no, knew) that you were too good for him. She told you all the time. But you were both too swept up in the animal attraction. In the possessive, heated entanglement you couldn’t escape if you wanted to.

“Betty the do-good…-er” Spike floundered. It wasn’t his best line. He was ridiculously sad. Mourning the loss of his relationship with you again. He craved you, he wept for you. There was a deep aching in his chest the further he walked from the crypt. The further he walked from you.

“That was tragic. You weren’t kiddin’ when you said you were bad” Buffy said, not able to hide the smile at her own joke.

“Yeah, well, just lost the love of my un-life here. Give a bloke a break” He snapped, sniffing and trying to wipe his eye on his sleeve subtly. Buffy rolled her eyes but for some reason, before she went over to the crypt to collect you and the overnight bag you had packed and re-packed more than you can count, she turned back to him.

“You know she feels the same. Maybe it’s time to let go, Spike. Or buy jewellery. I hear girls like jewellery” Buffy shrugged.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t know” He muttered, luckily she didn’t hear it or she would have spun back and staked him on site. She only hadn’t before the previous interaction because she knew you would never forgive her.

Your relationship was infuriating. And not just to you and Spike. It had a ripple effect, it was a part of your friends lives too. One day you would be shouting and screaming, the next passionately making love on the nearest surface. It was exciting and painful, like whiplash from a rollercoaster. The rollercoaster that was y/n and Spike.

It had been a few days now. You were staying at Buffy’s. She was a good friend to you. No matter how many times you and Spike yo-yo’d between love and hate she was there for you. With as little judgement as she could.

She comforted you while you cried, heartbroken despite Buffy being sure you would manage to find it in your heart to forgive him yet again. You clutched the mug of hot chocolate she had made, complete with marshmallows. She had learnt well from Joyce.

Dawn had slipped you some of her freshly baked sugar-cookies that she had made specially to cheer you up. She had decorated them with little Christmas characters which made you smile at her.

The girl adored your relationship with Spike, whether rightly or wrongly. She looked up to you, wanting to emulate a passionate relationship like that herself when she was older. It was like you were in a romance novel or something.

What you and Buffy didn’t know that since you had moved in, Dawn was Spike’s spy. She was, for the price of $5 and scary stories from his past, she told him all about what you said and how you were feeling. He now knew you were upset, missing him. Wallowing the same as he was. Well, good. But now, he had to make it up to you. He made Dawn help him brainstorm into the night.

She wanted to do it, she was sure it was for a good cause. In the name of true love, obviously.

Spike walked her back to Buffy’s where the Slayer was pacing and you were watching out for her to come home. You were going to give her the heads up that Buffy wasn’t pleased that she had gone awol. The snow had fallen thick now, anything could have happened and Buffy was scared Dawn was hurt.

You saw her then, with him. Your heart rose and your eyes glistened. You watched him trudge beside her, the white glow of the snow lighting up his face, making his cheekbones more prominent. He took a final drag of his cigarette before throwing it away, his eyes finally meeting yours through the window.

You walked to the door and unlocked it, whispering to Dawn that Buffy was gunning for her before turning back to Spike.

“Love…” He started. You just shook your head, you were still hurt.

“Goodbye, Spike” You said pointedly, closing the door on him once more. This time you turned with your back against the door, sliding down it as you started to cry. Dawn worried that it would take more than the Christmas gift they had been planning to win you back as Buffy scooped you up. She suggested that there was plenty of Christmas films you could watch, to take your mind off things. You nodded, leaning against her shoulder debating yourself whether to run after him or not. Buffy decided against any heavy romance-based films as you continued to sniff.

Eventually, Christmas Day came and it was the first that you spent without him in years. You usually made up before. You spent the entire day with a fake smile plastered on your face, not just at the slightly misjudged present from Anya (it was a vibrator, because you were on your own. You opened it in front of Dawn not realising and Buffy had to cover her eyes).

You thought about him the entire day. You ached, pined. You almost braved the thick snow, that you had almost been snowed in by, more than once before one of your friends distracted you with something.

As night fell, you gave up hoping. That was, until, there was a sharp knock at the door. His knock, you knew it. You had slammed the door in his face too many times not to know that knock. You sprinted over there, swinging the door open.

“Spike” You breathed, smiling. You had felt his absence so painfully.

“I know, I’m not stopping, wouldn’t wanna interrupt the touch-feely bollocks I’m sure is in full swing about now” He said and it made you smile, You loved the way he spoke. His accent. The way he phrased everything as if he had crafted it just for your ears.

He handed you a surprisingly well-wrapped gift as you smiled down at it, “It’s- for me? But I didn’t have time to get-”

“You know the only gift you could give me worth anything would be you” He admitted, which was how you felt for him. You didn’t need this, but you knew this was his way of apologising.

You opened the present and gasped, smiling wider. It was jewellery, just the kind you adored with a little gem that sparkled in the moonlight. You looked over at him, how could you ever have doubted him? He did his best by you, he always did. You knew who he was when you had started dating, just as he had known who you were.

“Spike, I’m sorry for how-” You started, but he shook his head, taking your hand.

“This- the way we- it’s not right, I know it” he admitted that the way things were, the bad seemed to take over the good. He lived in hope, though. He was convinced that this time it would be all love, “But I want you, I burn for you – it’s why the gem’s that colour, see? You’re the only one for me, the only one I could ever love through it all” He said it so honestly. So sincerely.

You invited him in after you whispered your own affections, much to everyone else’s chagrin. You showed them the gift and Dawn cheered, telling you she helped. You grinned at her and Spike had to convince Buffy not to stake him again. You both stayed in the living room for a moment, listening to the rest of them talking and just gazing into each other’s eyes.

Then you were kissing. His lips on yours hotly, you had missed this so bad. His lips were made for yours. He drank you in, all of you. Your flaws and your perfections.

He loved your everything. The good and the bad. And you matched his message. He felt it, deepening the kiss. Forgetting where you were for a moment. Until he heard your friends mutter insults at him.

He picked you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. All the while, you had barely stopped for breath. You never wanted to part from him again. You were pressed close to him, willing him even closer.

His lips caught any exposed skin on your neck, your jaw as he carried you without word upstairs. You looped one arm around his neck, the other against his jaw so you could catch his lips again with heightened desire.

The others just watched you leave, trying to ignore the way you were all-but grinding against Spike in anticipation. None of them were surprised by the turn of events but they weren’t exactly pleased either.

Buffy, Xander, Willow and Giles all shared a look as you and Spike thudded against the walls as you walked along the corridors upstairs trying to find a room to slip into.

They all wondered how long it would last this time as you gave yourselves a very merry Christmas.

#Spike #Spike btvs #Spike x reader #Spike imagine #Spike x you #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #btvs x you #Christmas fic #12 days of christmas #12 Days of Xmas #female reader #female #x reader

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lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

Oh, can I please ask for one of your folklore prompts? “And I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want/just not home” my tears ricochet For a young Tony, maybe? It doesn't have to have a pairing if you don't want to. :)

A house and a home are different. Tony did not know this until he was in college, much to his surprise.

A house is somewhere you live. A central place that you come back to in between visits to other people or places or countries or anything else. It is not personal. It is something you use until you no longer see the need or the desire. You can move to a lot of them.

A home lingers. A home is where you smile late at night over drinks. It is where crumbs reside from last night’s takeout, and you spend lazy Sundays.

(Tony also didn’t know what that was either.)

He’s lived in a lot of houses. He has a lot of houses. There’s the one in New York that is looming and lonely and probably would be his least favorite except it’s in New York, which earns it its redemption.

There is sunny Malibu with its beaches and great views. There are a few others.

None of them are homes. It’s just a place to rest for a couple of months or a year or until Howard decides it’s not enough.

He gets to MIT and gets a dorm room, same as everyone else. It is pitifully sad, he gets sun only in the mornings, and that sucks. He kind of hates it. He guesses that’s the college experience.

He also has a roommate. Jarvis had told him it’d be good for him, and Tony had had to talk Howard out of about twenty-seven different legal documents that basically said “if you ever breathe a word of anything to anyone, you’re being legally sued.”

James Rhodes. Literally studying to become a rocket scientist, has questionable taste in posters, and waves at Tony when they meet each other.

“Call me Jim.”

“...Jim. Are you eighty or something?”

It’s probably the wrong thing to say. It definitely is the wrong thing to say by Jarvis’ raised eyebrows and down-turned frown.

But James Rhodes takes it in stride.

“You can call me something else if you want, but it has to be good and I have to approve it. Can’t be my last name, can’t be Jimmy. Anything else is fair game.”

Different reaction. That’s...that’s weird.

So Tony shrugs, smiles as Jarvis leaves, and realizes that he’s alone and Howard doesn’t really have an influence--except he does, god he does--and Tony asks James Rhodes if he’d like to get pizza.

“You know anywhere with good pizza?”

“Wanna find out if Hemingway’s is any good?”

“It’s either going to be artisan hipster or the worst. Hell yes.”

It’s artisan hipster. It is bad, and James laughs as he tells a story and burns his tongue when he’s reenacting his mother is chewing him out, using his full name, and:

“Rhodey,” Tony gasps out.

“I told you that you couldn’t use my last name!”

“It’s technically not your last name, sugar plum,” Tony mocks, using one of his mother’s nicknames against him. “You are forever now Rhodey. Forever.”

From there, friendship progresses. Tony’s never actually had a real friend before, not that he tells Rhodey that. Besides, Rhodey probably knows. Tony just automatically assumes he’s paying for everything, and he’s not sure what to do with genuine affection for a couple of months.

He looks at Rhodey with such love and affection. He does, really. Rhodey has created a whole new world for him.

And then, the holidays.

Thanksgiving is Tony’s least-favorite-holiday for a variety of reasons. It’s all a fake kind of gathering. “Coming together to celebrate gratefulness” is the biggest goddamn crock of bullshit he’s ever cooked in his life, and for once his family isn’t doing a PR stunt, so his mother has announced that he’s welcome to be back home, but they won’t be there.

Howard is taking Jarvis with him on a trip to England to visit Aunt Peggy and probably talk shop about Cap and ice and stupid fucking theories about the degree of alive he’ll be when he’s found.

(When. What pretentious bullshit.)

Tony doesn’t want to be alone in the house, because that’d suck shit and MIT would be better. At least he could make shitty ramen and cry and only get a noise complaint instead of one of the cleaning staff members saying that he probably needed therapy.

“You are not staying in the dorms, what the fuck man,” Rhodey says. “You’re coming home with me.”

“Now darling, I thought you said we weren’t going to be forward about this whole thing,” he purrs, putting on an old Hollywood accent. “Are you finally coming up and seeing me?”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be as forward as I want,” he decides, and Tony wishes he wouldn’t say things like that, because that seriously get’s a man’s heart rising. “Besides, I told you that you need to have my Aunt Kendra’s rolls, and that’s a promise. So, Thanksgiving is now with the Rhodes’ family.”

Tony doesn’t know if they know that he’s coming. He also doesn’t know the dress code, and Rhodey is absolutely no help.

“What do you mean by casual?” Tony squawks. “Is it business casual? Dressy casual? Jeans casual?”

“What do any of those mean?”

“Oh my god, I’m going to look like a failure at this shindig. Your mother will die over her cooking because I’ll pull out of the wrong wardrobe and be a fool. I’ll die, and you’ll have to bury me, and you won’t even know which outfit I’ll want. God, this is going to--”

Rhodey shuts him up, putting a hand over his mouth.

“Just wear your red turtleneck and your dark jeans or whatever. That looks nice.”

“You noticed?”

“You don’t give me as much credit as I deserve,” Rhodey grunts. “Early wake-up on Monday. I’ll supply coffee as long as you give me gas money.”

“I’ll give you anything for coffee. I’ll give you my hand in marriage for coffee.”

“Don’t tempt me,” Rhodey teases. “I might actually do that.”

God, I wish you would.

Rhodey’s house is a nice place, a wire fence bordering with a porch swing covered in a light dusting of snow, and swinging slightly with the wind that blows through the neighborhood.

There are quite a lot of cars parked in the driveway and in the street, and Tony can see at least six people inside the house, which is more family than he actually knows on either side.

It’s all warm and yellow, and Rhodey moves with an ease that Tony didn’t know happened outside of those cheesy family shows.

He throws open the door and there are shouts of joy and happiness and “Jimmy-boy!”

“I didn’t know Jimmy-boy was on the table,” Tony remarks dryly. “And here it’s been for months, Jimmy-boy.”

Rhodey groans.

“This is worse than Rhodey,” he mutters.

A woman who could only be his mother steps forward, grinning.

“Call me Mama, darling. And what’s this I hear about ‘Rhodey’?”

“He burnt his tongue on pizza while telling me about a time he got a well-deserved talking-to by your own graceful words, Mrs. Rhodes,” Tony says. He’s charming. Oh, he’s very charming.

She giggles.

“I said mama, but I can’t say I’ll mind too much when you talk like that. Jim, you should’ve had us meet earlier.”

“You see I would’ve, but I happen to value myself,” Rhodey says.

“You do?” a man says. Mr. Rhodes, tall and a smile that could put any of the fake veneers in Hollywood to shame. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Rhodey gets pulled into a hug, and he laughs, and Tony has the Distinct Memory that He’s Never Been Hugged by his Father.

Well, isn’t this a time to realize family inadequacies!

“Rhodey, light of my life, where am I setting up my suitcase?” Tony asks.

“Come on up with me. We’re sleeping in my room, hope that’s alright.”

It’s more than alright, and Tony smiles when he sees Rhodey’s room.

He loves it. It’s decorated with model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, a peeling Star Wars poster that has most definitely been needed to be thrown away for more than five years (but won’t be), and a few trophies from soccer.

Tony’s never had his own room decorated with anything but the current trends, his mother hand-picking his comforter and the decorations in his room. And they all say he’s so “fashionable” and “keeps an eye out for trends.”

(Ha.)

It’s odd for him to see a house look so...lived in.

“Welcome home,” Rhodey says. “I haven’t grabbed it yet, but I’ll use a sleeping bag and you can take the bed.”

Tony snorts.

“No way, honeybee. I’m not kicking you out of your own bed. We’ve shared a bed before, this is no different.”

"Only if you’re sure,” Rhodey says, smiling at him. “This is a bit different than both twin beds being crashed together because we wanted more space for the fridge.”

“This time we don’t have the fridge,” Tony quips as Rhodey laughs.

“Come on, let’s head downstairs. Mama’s probably gonna have us wash dishes or something. Maybe set up some more chairs.”

What actually happens is that their laundry machine has gone rebel-mode, and is currently trying it’s best to fling the door open and spew laundry everywhere.

“Shit,” Mr. Rhodes says, looking at it. “Another call to the repairman this month...”

“He won’t get here until a week after Thanksgiving,” Mama says, sighing. “How much do you mind your jeans freezing up a bit?”

He smiles a bit at his wife.

Tony’s never seen that. But he likes it.

“I can fix it,” he says. Family turns to him. This is all quite embarrassing. “I, uh, I’ve taken apart some washing machines before. I think I can figure it out, if you don’t mind me poking around.”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” Mama says. “Jimmy, I like this one.”

Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“I’ll go get the toolkit for you. Need anything?”

“Towels and you, honey-pie.”

“You get one out of two of those options.”

“You treat me like a vagrant,” Tony declares. Rhodey laughs as he heads to go get supplies.

The night goes on. People occasionally check in, and Rhodey assures them that it’s going well.

“Instruction manuals are such bullshit,” Tony says. “Half the time they’re written by someone who doesn’t even know how to do it themselves. The other half, no one uses them.”

“Well when you take over your company, write better instruction manuals,” Rhodey says. “Pass me a towel, things are about to get sudsy.”

Forty-five minutes later, the washing machine is probably doing better than it was even at production, and Tony gets a kiss on the cheek and cheers all around him.

“This calls for cookies,” Rhodey declares. “Tony, let’s go get some.”

They sit at the kitchen table, and Tony learns so much about Rhodey’s family. He sees him laugh and relax and tell the funniest stories about when he was little and got stuck in a tree.

It’s home. That’s how he finally understands it. Home where you keep on going long after, with people you love.

He doesn’t have one of those.

He thinks, maybe, that he could make a home of his own. Maybe he could have AC/DC posters lining a wall, or have the pictures of friends and vacation in the kitchen.

And Rhodey would be there. For now, he’s going to enjoy his hot chocolate and try to get more embarrassing stories about his best friend from his family.

#lovelyirony writes #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #the difference between a house and a home #mit era #rhodey #tony stark #jarvis #anyways yeah i don't think tony would actually know what a home looks like #he's Deficient

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