#Work this evening was so quick and easy now Christmas is over

[cxpperhead]

Rate your muse’s traits 0-10!

Compassion: 2/10 Bitterness: 2/10 Happiness: 4/10 Politeness: 8/10 Chivalry: 3/10 Pride: 8/10 Honesty: 6/10 Bravery: 8/10 Recklessness: 5/10 Ambition: 9/10 Loyalty: 9/10* Love: 7/10 Sense of family: 1/10 Attractiveness: ?/10* Agility: 10/10 Sex drive: 5/10*

Tagged by: @belost-the-watcher (♡) Tagging: @ataviisms, @caestusvulpes, @celerem, @cxpedcrusxder, @question-marked, @qu-tipie, @messeduphood, @red-hemlock, @sanguine-salvation, @whxlmedwing, @the-arkham-librarian, @the-rorschach-mask, @twcfaces, @umbrellamedic and anybody else who'd like to do this?

[delphi-shield]

:// sᴍᴀʟʟ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ғᴏʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴅ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ / ʙɪʟʟʏ.ʙᴜᴛᴄʜᴇʀ

Billy Butcher x Reader smut, hurt/no comfort wc: ~5.2k mdni read on ao3 digging the worms out of my brain real quick since i finally caught up with the boys. idk i think i worked through something personal with this, so like, that's a win for me.

summary: Butcher knows better than to be fucking around with you, but there's 50 quid in it for him if he gets you to call him 'daddy'. Easy money.

content: s4 spoilers, dubcon, butcher's pov, an exorbitant amount of kessler in the first half, age gap, general sleazy behavior, handjob, finger fucking, piv, pussy slapping, some just the tip action, blowjob, mentions of titfucking, degradation, general objectification, public sex, not proofread.

“Makes you realize men have nipples too.”

The bar is packed for a Wednesday night, but Butcher already knows exactly what Kessler is talking about. You’re a ditch lily, sitting tall in this shithole. He turns his head away, pretends he doesn't see the way you lick up a trail of spilled cosmopolitan from the side of your glass, pink tongue parting your lips, eyes half-shut. 

Fucking typical. Kessler could sniff out daddy issues and sadness from a mile away, and he was lethal at half that distance. He could have them wrapped around his finger in the time it took Butcher to take a piss.

His eyes linger. A thing like you doesn't belong in a dump like this. This is the sort of place girls like you stumble into at 1 AM, survey the crowd through the haze of cigarette smoke, and wobble right back out onto the streets, take your chances with the elements rather than the haggard, unfriendly crowd that hunches over their drinks.

Butcher likes Midwest 10's. Begs Kessler to stop ogling barely legal co-eds, says he's not some sleazy cunt in a John Hughes film. He can lie all he wants. If it makes him hard, it makes Butcher hard. 

He glances sidelong at your face. You've got this Christmas-light bright smile that makes his dick jerk. Kessler’s more than under his skin. He’s in his veins, in the same blood that raises his cock up like a goddamn bicycle pump when you lean over the bar, arms squeezing your tits together.

"You could probably fuck 'em." Kessler tips his head to the side, eyes locked on your cleavage. His eyes narrow, lips pursed, evaluating your chest and charting a course for his dick to travel.

"Shut up."

"Huh?"

Fuck. Your tip your head to the side from two seats away, brows pinched together. Cute, in a lost little lamb kind of way.

Butcher's eyes cut to Kessler. He's cocked it all up now. The sly, punchable grin on Kessler’s face turns him back to his drink. He drains his glass and gestures for another. If he doesn’t look at you, if he keeps drinking, this all goes away.

"Nothin'. Don't you worry about it, love."

That should be the end of it, but you’ve clearly got something wrong with you. You fiddle with your purse, pluck up your courage, and drop yourself onto the barstool next to him. Whether you’ve got no sense of self-preservation or you’re just that damn oblivious, he doesn’t intend to get to know you well enough to find out. Butcher's strained smile doesn't do much to smooth the worry lines away.

Kessler chuckles, leans back and props his elbows up on the bar. Cunt just wants to watch him squirm.

"No," Kessler corrects, drawing the word out. "I want you to get some pussy."

His eyes dart over to Kessler, looming over you, hands ghosting up your arms to squeeze your shoulders. He blinks rapidly, rubs at his face, tries to play it off like he's nervous or tired or whatever the fuck but when he looks down, there's your tits again. Butcher lolls his head back to the ceiling. Laugh it up, you fuckin’ cunt.

And Kessler does. Makes a show of slapping his hand on his thigh, head knocked back, grinning toothily.

He tries to ignore you, but you’re straddling that stool next to him in your little skirt and ordering another cosmo. This isn’t the kind of bar for cocktails, and he knows without even seeing the bartender’s eye roll that he hates you.

It's none of his business. He ought to keep himself sat there drowning in his drink ‘til last call and past that, make them throw him out on the street, give him a reason to swing first. It's a better idea than messing with you.

The bartender drops your drink off in front of you and turns before the words ‘thank you’ leave your glossy lips. Another sickly pink cocktail with a dried out lime dropped on top. Butcher can’t help himself. He’s got a soft spot for the clueless.

“Cheery bloke, isn't he?” He says, casting a sidelong glance at the bartender. He taps a finger against the bartop, inclines his head toward your cocktail. “That the only drink you know the name of?”

Your cheeks warm. You hide it behind a hand, turning your face away from him to laugh.

“What? No. I just think they taste good.”

Kessler snorts. “That’s a fat load of shit.”

Butcher agrees. His mouth twists into a half-hearted smile. He slides his glass over to you. 

“Try it,” he insists.

There’s hardly a passing thought for your own safety. You look between his scotch and his face and seem to decide it’s safe to take drinks from strange old fucks in bars. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, warm and soft - sticky. You must be more sloshed than you look, must keep spilling your drinks. Hell, for all he knows, maybe this place does make the best cosmo in the city. Maybe the bartender just hates your ass because you keep making a mess.

You don’t even ask what he’s drinking. (Maybe this is all a grift, he thinks. Kessler’s at his ear, chuckling - she ain’t bright enough for that.) You lift his glass and leave your lipstick behind.

“Oh my god.” You sputter, pound a fist against your chest. It makes your tits bounce. Fucking miracle your shirt is containing those things. “That tastes like ass.”

“That is the highest quality scotch this bar serves.”

“It tastes like someone put a cigarette out in a glass of whiskey.”

“It’s a shit bar.”

You laugh, head tipped back, nose scrunched - the works. You’re too tipsy for it to be on purpose. Being cute comes naturally to you. Must be how you’ve made it this far.

You pass his drink back and scoot your cosmo closer to you, spilling it as the glass skips over the pock-marked countertop. Butcher snorts, dabs it up for you with his sleeve. He’s starting to think his theory about the cosmopolitans might hold true.

“Well, here, a trade’s a trade.” He takes your drink by the stem (fucking amazed they even have martini glasses in this place) and pounds back a mouthful.

It isn’t that bad, but he makes a show of scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He slides your drink back over to you and mirrors the way you had clung to your drink.

“You’re kidding,” you laugh. “It’s better than yours. I don’t know how you drink that.”

“I’ll keep my liquid ashtray, thanks.”

Your eyes are all lit up when you smile, but it emphasizes the raw edges, the puffiness that lingers. Rough night for you, by the looks of it. Not like he’s having much of a better one.

There’s no harm in it. No harm in showing you what a proper drink tastes like, broadening your horizons and helping you both forget what a shit hand you’ve been dealt. He buys you a drink on the condition that you try something that isn’t a cosmopolitan. You can hardly stomach a whiskey and coke. He orders you a fernet and coke for shits and giggles, expects you to spit it out like all the rest, barks out a laugh when you declare it’s tasty, notes of lavender drawing you in. Notes of lavender - Christ, what fucking suburb did you pop out of? 

He introduces you to more drinks, leans closer with each empty glass. You're new here, you tell him. You tell him your name, too, not that he remembers. Got stood up on some shitty date. He knows it’s got to be shitty because what idiot in his right mind would take you here, of all places?

By the time he orders you both shots of Rumple Minze, you’re pressed shoulder to shoulder. Your hand splays against his chest, head leaning against him. You lift his shot to his lips for him and he’s too drunk to find it childish and irritating. He downs it and does the same for you, watches you extend that pretty neck to drink it down.

“I’ll get you a cab,” he slurs, rocking unsteadily to his feet.

“I already called an Uber.”

Jesus. It’s a struggle not to roll his eyes. Fucking kids. Allergic to one night stands, couldn’t take a hint to save their life. Even Kessler is on his side, his head thunking against the bartop.

It's for the best, he thinks, trying to curb his disappointment. He's got shit to do. Ryan to worry about. Kessler's a right cunt, pushing him to you. He hasn't got the time to be fucking about. This entire thing had been a waste of time, too busy trying to get his dick wet to make the most of what he’s got left.

Butcher stuffs his hands into the pockets of his coat, steps back, ready to split and stumble his way back home. He nods quick and sharp, tight-lipped smile to keep his frustration locked behind his teeth.

You show him your phone, make him squint to see what he’s supposed to be looking at. “My Uber is still a couple minutes away, so…”

Kessler picks his head up from the bar. He's a bloodhound for pussy. He picks up the leading edge in your voice before Butcher’s even done parsing your words.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” Kessler drones. “You can’t even get it up, can you?”

“I’m damn well going to try.”

“What?” You laugh, swaying on your feet.

Butcher wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side. “Nothin’. Don’t you worry about it. I’ll keep you company. Make sure no nasties try to get you.”

The cold outside is bracing. You wrap your arms tight around yourself and this time Butcher’s too drunk to pretend he isn't staring at the way your tits press together.

It’s your idea. Really. The way you look up at him, the way your lips stay parted while the pair of you pace the sidewalk. You wrap your hand around his bicep and squeeze, eyes drifting slowly to the side, to the alleyway just a few strides away.

See? It’s your idea, honest. He drags you behind a dumpster, pins you to the wall of the alley, and shoves his tongue down your throat, yeah, but you moan so fucking loud and drag him closer. It takes longer than he'd like for your hand to stop massaging his chest and start fondling his cock, but you're a sweet girl - don't seem the type to do this too often. Need some guidance.

Butcher lays his hand atop yours, wraps your fingers tighter around his bulge. Your breath hitches, your eyes flicking down to your hand, mouth popped open - got this sweet, vacant little look in your eye.

He'd bet real money you go dumb for cock.

“$50 says you can get her to call you ‘daddy’,” Kessler pipes up, leaning against the wall next to you. He tips a cigarette into his mouth, cups a hand around to light it, and Butcher swears the light from his zippo gleam in your eyes. He doesn’t doubt it. Seems cruel, though, especially when he can’t remember your name.

“What was your name again?”

It takes a bit for you to get dick off your mind and fish around for your name. You mumble, make him lean in close and tilt his head to get you to say it again, clearer.

You're the obedient sort. Pick up on cues so easy. Don't even make him ask for it again. He pats your cheek, smirk creasing his face.

By your side, Kessler flashes a crisp $50. He plucks it taut, fans himself with it, makes a real show of being a dick while you try to take Butcher's out of his pants.

At the end of the day, 50 quid is 50 quid.

“How ‘bout you ask daddy for permission, sweetheart?”

Your mouth moves wordlessly.

“Please?”

He clicks his tongue. “That’s real polite. But it ain’t what I asked for, is it?”

“Can I please play with your cock, daddy?”

“Better.”

Kessler slips the fifty into Butcher’s coat pocket while you fumble with his belt and free him from his pants. You lay his cock in the seam of your hands, cupping him like he’s a gift on two legs. You stroke him reverently, look up at him with big, thoughtless lamb eyes.

Your heart’s in it, but you’re too reserved for his taste. He grips your hand in his and guides you down his cock, shows you when to squeeze, when to twist your wrist, how to flick your thumb over the slit of his tip.

He can never make it last when he drinks. Should have warned you before he came on your pretty skirt, but you’ve got a natural talent for stroking dick. He keeps his groan locked up tight. It rattles through his chest and he leans into you, crushing you against the wall of the alley. His hips stutter and rut into your hand, still wrapped around him, coaxing every drop from his tip. You still toy with him while he tries to catch his breath. He’s got to push away from you with a mumbled “Christ, all right, that’s enough.”

It’s like he’s taking your favorite toy away. You pout up at him, hand still molded for his cock by your side, by the skirt his ruined with his cum. He almost gets an apology out, but you drag a finger through his mess and bring it to your lips, make a show of licking it up.

His chest aches. He isn’t sure if it’s the tumor or his heart desperately trying to pump enough blood down to his dick to get him up again.

Butcher crams two fingers into his mouth and scrapes the dirt from beneath his nails with his teeth. The rest is a blur. He knows that he kicks your feet apart, traces your slit through your panties before he pushes them to the side and finger fucks you until your head snaps back against the wall. It’s quick, messy - leaves his forearm soaked. He’s not so sure that was real, but he’s too drunk to figure it out, too gone ask.

He tucks himself back into his pants. You set your panties back in place, skirt still hiked up to your ribs. You slip a little lower down the wall, panting. He stops you before you can slip all the way down, pats your cunt, and tugs your skirt back into place.

“Let’s get you a cab, eh?”

That’s the last thing he remembers clearly. You’d missed your Uber, had to take a cab with him anyway. He remembers you leaning against him, tucked up against his side, hand stroking his chest. He’d pet your hair - soft as lamb’s wool - and whispered nonsense against your head just to get a laugh out of you. After you get out, the whole thing’s blank.

When Butcher wakes up at 2 PM the next day, choking on his own vomit, he can't find the 50 quid. He turns his jacket inside out searching for it. A scrap of paper with your number scrawled on it falls from his jacket pocket. He doesn’t spare it more than a glance and keeps digging for his wallet.

Lambs lose their appeal after the flying cunts nearly bit his cock off.

That farm had been dirty business. Wicked stuff, the kind that doesn't wash off. This work always has been, but this time the blood doesn't come out from under his fingernails. He tastes bile every time he breathes. The copper twang of blood trickling down the back of his throat is the only chaser he gets anymore.

He doesn't think of you often. He knows it'd break your little heart to hear it, have you looking up at him with those ‘fuck me, I'm sad’ eyes and that little girl pout that makes him feel every bit the lech he is. You’re a sweet thing. Vacant, just like him. It didn’t take long to piece that together.

You’re easy and malleable, quick to fit yourself around him in whatever way he demands. He liked that about you at first.

But when he calls on you at three in the morning for a quick lay and you answer the door in a full face of make-up, hair done and wearing the sort of nightgown that no one actually sleeps in, all he feels is distaste.

You let him crowd you against your couch (a neutral color, no blanket in sight, your living room just as blank as the rest of you) without so much as a ‘hello’. You hook a leg over his hip. No panties, he realizes, eyes locked on your drippy cunt, already flushed. Been touching yourself to the thought of this. He warms a little at the thought.

Butcher wedges his knee between your leg and grinds. Any warmth you’d kindled with wet pussy dissipates the moment you moan so goddamn loud, the sound hollow and plastic. He keeps his leg still, flexes his thigh for you to grind on. His jaw tightens. He nearly shoves his fingers in your mouth to keep you from making those stupid fucking noises.

You let him twist you up however he wants, more a posable toy than a person. He pushes you further along the couch until your back arches awkwardly against the arm. You don't protest. Of course you don't.

His thick fingers trail down your slit, part your slick folds for his inspection. He sways back on his haunches, admires the pretty way he's got you arranged, pinned open on his fingers for him.

He brings his hand down sharply on pussy once, twice - and the third time directly to your clit is just because you kept making that annoying fucking noise. That nasally, porn-star whine that drills him between the eyes and makes his hard-on flag. The way you twitch and jerk at each hit might be genuine but that fucking noise drives him up a wall. Christ, there's got to be something about you that's real.

Pussy’s real. Can’t fake that, he thinks.

“Stay right there,” he says, a bite to his voice when you try to shift against him again. If you could just lay there and take it - is that so much to ask for?

He guides himself to you, hips rocking experimentally. You suck his head in and his chin dips to his chest. He groans deep. It turns to a growl when you raise your hips. He lays his forearm against you, pressing you down - and that moan might have been real.

“Can't you do fucking anything right?” He snaps. His hips push forward, bullying himself deeper into you. You suck a breath through your teeth, your hand bracing against his forearm. “I told you to stay right there.”

A spark of indignation flickers in your eyes, flash-fire flushed out by the same pitiful little lamb wool you pull back over your eyes. Makes you look all downy, plush and fuckable - he's fished more respectable shits from the toilet.

You’re a good girl for a few more shallow thrusts, lay there just like he wants while he works himself to the hilt. He finds his rhythm sloppily, one knee propped on the couch, the other foot planted on the floor. Your tits bounce with every thrust and he’s stupid enough to take his hands off of you, trust you not to move while he gropes at your breast.

Immediately you rise to your elbows, try to arch your back deeper. He’s positive you’re trying to mimic some video, down to the exact angle of your spine, but your heart isn’t in it. His cock butts against your walls, shallower than before, the pleasure that had been tearing through his blood coming to a screeching halt. He hisses through his teeth, grinding out his frustration.

“Don't –” his shoves you back down, hand flattening against your cheek and pushing your face into the couch. Feels fucking awful any other position. “–fucking move. Don't fucking move. Trying to cum. Goddammit.”

Your hands curl into fists by your head. You hide your face, press it deeper into the cushion and he presses your face deeper to help you. The noise you make is pitiful, but at least it's real.

Fucking hell. Now he’s completely out of it. You’ve gone and fucked up pussy for him. He didn’t think that was possible. He can’t find the angle he needs, can’t get back to that gummy spot that make his vision blur.

He pulls out and flips you onto your stomach, ignoring the little whine you make. You don’t raise your hips - god forbid you take a fucking hint - so he sits you up for him and wedges his dick back in. It only takes a few thrusts for him to realize this is worse. Tighter, dry, chafing his dick like goddamn sandpaper.

“Your cunt shrivel up or something? Feels fucking terrible.”

He snatches your wrist, pulls your arm back at an angle that makes you cry out, and fills your palm with lube. Can't even get wet on your own. Fucking Christ, he's got to do everything for you. Even has to curl your fingers around his cock, drag your hand back and forth until you final get the big, swinging fucking hint and jerk him off.

He meant to stuff himself back into your cunt, but at this point your hand will do. Six one way, half a dozen the other. At least your hand doesn't chafe.

You’re silent now. Small mercies. The only sounds are the slick of your palm working him over and his labored breaths. Your hand is clumsy at this angle, but he’s not going to risk letting you move and fuck it all up again.

Once he’s close, he drops your hand and flips you onto your back again. A big hand presses your knees apart, opens you up for him. You're still so pliable, even if the sheen is gone from your cunt. You try to fix your hair. If he notices the tears brimming your eyes, he doesn't say anything.

He lines himself back up with your cunt, dragging himself through your folds. Your knees knock closer with each pass of his bright red tip over your clit. He taps it once with his cock, expecting another produced moan to rattle the walls, but you only whimper, your thighs trying to close around him.

Butcher smirks. He pumps himself into you, keeps himself shallow - just the tip past your puffy lips. 

You whimper, try to shuffle down and take more of him. Butcher’s hand grips your face, squishing your cheeks so hard it stings.

“Don't you fucking move,” he grits out. You used to take instruction so well. Now you've gotten all up in your own head. Nobody likes an uppity bitch, he ought to make you see that.

What he really ought to do is make you get down there and jerk him off. Your hand is still slicked, but you'd probably piss yourself at the chance. Instead, he pushes your knees damn near up to your ears and barks for you to hold your own legs. Your hands curl around the backs of your knees. There you go. Figuring it out again.

His hand strokes his dick quick and hard, one hand dedicated to keeping himself just inside you. It doesn't take long for him to cum. It’s a slow burn that seeps up through his belly, lattices up his ribs and congeals in his chest, makes him ache and cave over your body while his hips sputter. He squeezes himself dry, pumps his cum into your pussy until it flows past his tip and seeps down onto your couch. 

Butcher lingers over you, catching his breath. He’s already gone soft, his cock dropped out of you. He sits back against the opposite arm of the couch, splays himself out while you curl up.

Something burns in his chest - remorse, maybe. You’re all curled up against your couch, cheek cushioned on your arm - won’t look at him, don’t paw at him or lean against his side, don’t even reach to clean yourself up.

His head knocks back to the ceiling. He can’t be bothered to pull answers out of you. He reaches for the tissue box on your coffee table, plucks a handful, and cleans himself off.

He tosses the box back to the coffee table and shoves his boots back on, barely taking the time to lace them up properly. He scoops he coat up from where you’d shucked it onto the floor, buttons himself back up, and you still haven’t moved. His eyes linger on you for a moment, brow set low.

Can’t be bothered, he reminds himself. He runs a hand through his hair and makes for your door, boots thunking heavily against your floors.

“Can I see you again?”

You’ve managed to pick your head up when he glances back at you. You sound so desperate it's pitiful. His lip curls. He runs a hand over his head, looks anywhere but you.

Christ, even your apartment is blank and devoid of personality. He hadn't noticed it before, too consumed with the need to get between your thighs. He shrugs, and gives you a lifeless smile.

“We'll see.”

Butcher closes your door behind him and hurries down the hall. He turns the corner to see Kessler’s cheshire grin greeting him in the dark of your stairwell.

He ought to get right with you before his time comes. He isn't proud of the way things ended. Butcher’s a right bastard, but he isn't blind; he'd seen the look on your face, the hopeful shine in your eyes dulling when he'd left you there without so much as a ‘cheers, love, thanks for the rub’.

He doesn't bother texting you. He's already posted up outside your apartment. Giving you a heads up would only give him time to pussy out.

Besides, you're home. He knows it. You’re piss-easy to track. Home to work, work to home, same route, same time. It will be easy to knock on your door, get his closure, and slip out of your life for the last time.

It should be easy. He’s had harder conversations with people who meant more to him but he keeps staring at your door, trying to will himself to knock. He’s not that weak yet. He can still raise his hand.

Butcher turns to leave just as you open the door. His shoulders tense when you call out to him.

“Billy?” You blurt out. There’s genuine surprise there.

“I just thought I’d –” He turns to catch a glimpse of you and it sends him headlong into silence.

You look a right mess. No face isn’t done up, an oversized t-shirt draping off your shoulders. Your pajama pants are fluffy, snowflake print - tackiest thing he’s seen in a while. 

You duck your head down, trying to catch his eye. 

“You okay?” You hook your thumb over your shoulder. “Want to come in?”

He doesn’t. Not even a little. He wants to rip the band-aid off, forget he ever met you and let you get on with your life - whatever it is you do. But you step to the side and fix him with a weak little smile that he thinks might be real, and his feet take him in through the door.

It’s a nice place in the daytime, he realizes. Natural sunlight, open floorplan, your shelves crowded with plants and knick-knacks he’s never seen. You offer him a drink, laugh when he says water and fall quiet when he insists.

You hand him his drink and collapse onto your couch. Your legs kick up onto your coffee table, and for the first time he realizes your socks are fuzzy, too. He looks around, scans you from head to toe. Is this the right place? He keeps picking at his nails, trying to free the grime from under them.

Once you realize he’s baffled, you’re merciful enough to start the small talk. It’s awkward and stilted - his fault, his answers halting and quick. You give him grace, sip on your drink. Your laughs never quite reach your eyes, but you scoot closer to him on the couch anyway.

“Why are you really here, Billy?” Your hand settles on his thigh and curls inward.

It’s not how he wanted this to go, but he doesn’t stop you from sliding your hand higher while he chokes on his words. You’ve got his belt undone by the time he manages to string a sentence together.

“I've been a right cunt to you.”

“Mhm.”

“You don't got to put up with it, yeah?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Got your whole life right ahead of you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Fucking Christ, could you give him more than a noise? A few moments ago you’d held a conversation with him.

His irritation is snuffed out by your lips wrapping around the tip of his cock and sucking hard. Your hand pumps his shaft, twisting your wrist on the way back up. Good God, you learn quick.

Butcher could spoil you rotten if he had the time. He could get you whatever you wanted - if ever you wanted for anything. He cups a hand over the back of your head, encouraging, not guiding.

You’re methodical. You let your hand work what your mouth won’t reach, fondle his balls with the other one. It’s clinical. You’ve committed the moves to memory, when to swirl your tongue, hollow your cheeks, when to moan around him, when to look up at him with those tears straining at your waterline.

He finishes quick, his chest heaving. You pass him his water while you reach for a tissue box. He drains it and nearly misses you spitting his cum into a tissue, wadding it up and tossing it into the bin.

“I haven’t got much time left,” he says, breathless.

Your brow creases. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, your lips swollen. “What?”

“I’ve got this –” he gestures nebulously with a hand, like he’s trying to pluck the right words out of the air. “– thing. In my brain, see? Inoperable. So, if I up and vanish on you, it ain’t personal.”

You stay silent, stone faced. He wishes you’d say something. Even one of the irritating platitudes people like to parrot would be better than this. Your eyes harden. You purse your lips, breathe deep, and stand from the couch.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that, Billy. It was good to see you.”

Butcher’s still trying to catch his breath. He tucks himself back into his pants, a mess he’ll clean up later, and rises unsteadily. You don’t reach out to help. He makes another nebulous gesture towards you, his hand quivering.

“You want me to..?”

“Nah. Don’t strain yourself.”

He stuffs himself back into his coat, watching your eyes linger - maybe realizing for the first time how much slighter he’s looking. Butcher pats your cheek gently as he passes by.

You don’t ask to see him again. For your sake, he hopes this is the last time.

[bonny-kookoo]

More someone older smut drabble pls

When he wakes up, he feels somewhat.. anxious?

He slowly sits up in his bed to look around, checking the digital clock next to his bed on the small table twice just to make sure that he's truly not asleep anymore. Because this- just doesn't feel quite real.

There's faint music playing in his home, outside the bedroom. The smell of something cooking fills the room as well, dishes clattering a bit in the sink in the kitchen. He knows it must be you- he's aware that you're staying with him after all. But still.

This feels too much like his mind making things up.

The bedroom door opens slowly, your head poking in, before you realize he's awake. "Oh, you're up." You say, entering more openly now. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Why did you get up without me?" He wonders, feet meeting the floor as he's moved to sit on the edge of the bed, making you giggle as you sit down on the bed on your knees.

"Cause.. I wasn't tired anymore." You shrug, reaching out to somewhat tame his slightly wild bedhead. "And I thought you might appreciate breakfast?"

"I do appreciate that." He smiles, before he catches you off guard by tugging on your arm and making you lay down, before he positions himself over you. "But you could've also woken me up." He chuckles before pecking your lips once.

"But you were sleeping so tight." You say. "Looked like you were dreaming."

"Hm.. I was." He agrees, kisses moving to your neck. "Of you."

"Oh?" You wonder, stretching your arms above your head for a second. "What were you dreaming of?" You ask.

"Things I'd love to make a reality one day." He purrs against your skin, before he releases you again. 'I'll shower real quick, alright?" He tells you, before he pecks your lips once more and leaves into the bathroom to shower-

And you're honestly not sure what makes you feel so bold.

Maybe it's that feeling of safety you have with him, this odd sense of security here in his home, as if nothing can really harm you in here. So when you move to enter the bathroom as well, shower already running with him inside, you don't feel any sort of hesitation as you shed your clothes and join him beneath the warm water.

It's a sight that easily makes him stir alive, remnants of his dream revived as he watches the water pearl down your skin. The way you easily touch and kiss him is making his head spin, making him forget about your past hesitation in its entirety.

This is how it's supposed to be. Easy, simple. No worries about what might be the best thing to do.

Just existing.

Your hand on him makes him gasp into your mouth, a sound you eagerly swallow, his back hitting the tiled wall of the shower. He manages to turn the steady stream of water up ahead a bit lower as you fall to your knees, the anti slip mat on the shower floor cushioning them quite a bit as you work on him.

It's now what his dream was about- but he's sure he could never come up with a scene as serene as this anyways, imagination not advanced enough to even think of this potentially happening.

Just like back at your place before, this time once more he's a slave to your actions. It's causing his mind to go blank at the way your tongue runs over the head of his cock, beckoning him further and further towards his release. And then your hands join in to hold and touch what you can't fit, effortlessly making the muscles in his thighs spasm as he spills inside your mouth with his head thrown back against the tiles of the shower, a hand in your hair.

He can't let this stand.

And he doesnt- returning the favor shamelessly so with both his hands and mouth, eagerly devouring you as his first breakfast before he later on sits at the table in the kitchen to eat his actual one, conversation innocent enough to mask over the things that went down not even long enough ago to dry your hair fully.

If this is a dream, he doesn't want to wake up. If all the Christmas decor and your words about baking later are lies, he doesn't want to hear the truth.

He wants to stay like this-

And he'll do anything to make it work.

[queenshelby]

Chemical Reactions (P. 1)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy as J Robert Oppenheimer x Student Reader

Warning: Smut in later parts, Age-Gap, Infidelity 

Words: 1,867

Note: The fic is spoiler free and fantasy. 

It was just before Christmas when you took up a scholarship at Berkley and, since you were young woman at the tender age of twenty-two, you still could not believe your luck.

You got in to one of the most sought-after courses in the US when it came to quantum physics, which was a field so new and progressive that, to many, its attributes appeared to be rather absurd whereas, to you, it was a way of understanding the world.

The class you had applied for was that of J Robert Oppenheimer who was a well-known physicist and whilst you had only ever read about his works in the academic papers at Harvard, you were eager to finally meet the man whose work impressed you so much.

Being female in the field of physics, however, came with a price. Your skills had often been disregarded because of your gender and being excluded from experiments was not unusual either. As such, you were cautious and kept your obvious excitement at bay as, no doubt, criticism was a concept that your fellow students knew just too well and, in your mind, it was always easy for others to criticise those who they did not yet know, i.e., the new and possibly only female student in their class.

***

On your first day, when you arrived to the impressive building, you realised that you were over twenty minutes early and this, too, was not surprising.

You were punctual most of the time and when you weaved your way through the building, you were surprised by how little time it took for you to find the lecture room, which, thankfully, was unlocked and had a few other students already inside.

You selected a seat one row from the front, in a spot that, to most professors, said "I am eager to learn” which you hoped was beneficial seeing that, at least for now, you were the only woman in the room.

“Would you be accepted by your peers?” you pondered, but your thoughts were quickly interrupted when, who you assumed to be your professor, entered the room.

He was a frail but attractive looking man, wearing a grey suit that was matched by a white shirt and a dark coloured tie. He was smoking cigarette and put his dark brown leather satchel on the table in front of him, rifling haphazardly through the mess of papers inside.

Against your will, you felt a displeased look settle onto your face. Is the professor's class going to be as disorganised as his abyss of a bag, you wondered? Were those other students' assignments in there, begging to be lost?

You smirked for a minute at the intrusion of your very own thoughts about Dr Oppenheimer before you instinctively pulled your cheek in between your teeth which just when more students began to fly in to the room.

“Oh look, someone must have gotten lost” one of them was quick to say with a grin as he had spotted you and your neatly laid out stationary.

“The biology classes are conducted down the hall, in the third room to the left” was what another one said, causing you to rise from your seat in order to speak up against this nonsense just before the professor himself did it for you.

“And what makes you presume that she is in the wrong room, Mr Handley?” Dr Oppenheimer asked almost sternly and his reaction most certainly surprised you as, until now, you did not think that he had even noticed you.

“She is a woman, sir” the man stammered somewhat reluctantly, causing the professor to furrow his eyebrows.

“And you presume that this prestigious establishment seeks to exclude women from studying in the field of physics?” Dr Oppenheimer then asked, causing you to grin silently. “That seems rather absurd, wouldn’t you agree?” he then went on to add, causing the young man to nod.

“Of course... I mean, of course not” the student stammered just before Dr Oppenheimer began to call roll which is something you did not even notice as you were too transfixed on his demure and the way he presented himself until, eventually, your hand shot up at the sound of your full name.

“Present” you said, feeling a blush coming to your cheeks as the class and Dr Oppenheimer looked at you, the latter's blue eyes lingering on you a bit longer than the others.

You forced yourself to hold his gaze, not sure of the intention behind it and then, suddenly, he spoke:

"Miss Y/LN, now tell us, what have they been up to at Harvard these days? This is where you have transferred from, correct?” the professor then asked just as his look towards you intensified even more. His deep blue eyes were seeing right through you and yet you managed to answer him confidently.

“Not much in so far as the physics department is concerned, Dr Oppenheimer. In the last year we experimented with nuclear fission, but I assume that, considering the current political climate, so has everyone else. We then looked at metaphysics, stars, the universe…” you explained before sharing some of your findings and conclusions which impressed not only Dr Oppenheimer but also some of the other students.

When listening to you talk, it became obvious to him that you were rather intelligent even at such a young age and your interest in science was one of great significance.

“None of this is new” one of the students then said nonetheless after you finished your explanations and outlined your conclusions, to which you responded rather sharply yourself.

“I didn’t claim that it was. I simply answered Dr Oppenheimer’s question” you pointed out and the professor was quick to take your side again.

“And I appreciate your thorough explanation Miss Y/LN. It helped me understand where you are at when it comes to the presumed knowledge for my class” Dr Oppenheimer went on to say and you knew that, whatever the true reasons were behind his questions, his intent was not as innocent as he made it out to be. He wanted to know whether the physics department in Harvard knew more than the physics department at Berkley which, luckily for him, was not the case.  

The entire profession was well aware of the ‘program’ about to implemented by the US government and several physicists and educational departments began to protect their research with more earnest for a chance to cash in on the war.

But, Dr Oppenheimer did not appear to be one of those reserved physicists who were just in it for themselves. To the contrary, he really cared about making a difference and his research to date was well known within in the industry. He did not mind sharing his findings even if they were inconclusive and you have heard many stories about how he enjoyed working in the faculty as part of a group rather than on his own.

He was a leader but also a team player and, as such, when he wrapped up his questions for the day and announced the research project for the coming days, every student around him broke out into appreciative chatter as you remained in your seat, slightly dumbfounded, as the students were broken up into four groups.

---

“You worked in experimental before, have you not?” Dr Oppenheimer asked as, after a little while, he approached you and the group to which he had assigned you.

“I am pleased to know that you have read my file Dr Oppenheimer” you smiled after giving him a nod, which too is when you realised just how handsome he truly was. He must have been in his late thirties and seeing a wedding ring on this man’s finger came as a disappointment to you.

“I have read all of my students’ files” Dr Oppenheimer assured you just as you stood awkwardly at your table for a moment, debating whether or not to take the courage to ask him the millions of questions you had for him already until, suddenly, he prompted you to do exactly that.

"Did you have a question for me?" Dr Oppenheimer asked innocently as if he could have read your mind.

“Uhm…” you paused while cursing yourself already for having started your sentence with that godforsaken 'uhm' which, in your opinion, made you sound like an idiot.

"Yes, actually. I was wondering if, with this formula, you have considered the possibility…” you began to question, seeing how he had arrived at the calculations already presented to you and, just as you spoke with such great determination, you trailed off a bit as his gaze intensified.

“Quite frankly, you lost me there, at the end of your calculations but that is not to say that you are wrong” Dr Oppenheimer said almost politely as you looked at him somewhat flustered, causing your fellow students to chuckle and whisper behind your back.

“I must have lost my own train of thought just then. I am sorry sir” you said with blushing red cheeks as all of your confidence flew out of the window and you suddenly became aware of the way he was standing, with his hands against his hips, and the way he looked all together.

“Don’t be sorry Miss Y/LN. In fact, I am interested in exploring that idea of yours further, perhaps even after today’s lessons if you have time” Dr Oppenheimer then said as he adjusted the way he stood and smiled.

“That would be my pleasure, sir” you responded as you watched him spread his arms out on the table in front of you, far past shoulder width. He was leaning on his hands, causing the veins on his forearms to bulge slightly, which were exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of his white button-down shirt. He had his head tilted down a bit to look at you with those deep blue eyes until, eventually, he snapped out of his very own and somewhat intrusive thoughts which were thoughts you knew had nothing to do with quantum mechanics whatsoever.  

Dr Oppenheimer then licked his lips lightly before speaking again, distracting you from the first few syllables of his sentence.

"Good, then please come and see when you finish for the day, Miss Y/LN. I will be right here, trying to figure out what you were on about” Dr Oppenheimer then said just as the bell began to ring and the students started to pack up their bags, seeing that most of them had experimental workshops to attend to in the afternoon which, of course, included you. You too had a workshop, which was one you did not look forward to.

“Yes doctor. I will see you this afternoon” you told him with a reluctant smile as you pulled your lab coat closer to your chest and forced your face to remain neutral, even as you felt the heat burning up your neck. You then gave him a curt "thank you" before lifting your chin and turning to leave.

To be continued…

Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please!

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[joonsmagicshop]

Wait For Me?

Summary: Yoongi has to leave you for two whole weeks because of work. He asks you to wait for him and you get a very naughty idea, what if while you wait for him...he waits for you too

Paring: Yoongi/Reader

Work Count: 8K

Rating: M/18+

Tags: smut, sub Yoongi, slight dom Yoongi, Dom reader, not cuming for two weeks. desperate Yoongi, dirty talk, mentions of Yoongi's balls (We have all seen the bulge pics), video call masturbation, eating pussy, Yoongi is a whiny boy, reader calls him baby boy and gives him pet names.

Authors Note: Tag list people I am so sorry!!!!! I was fixing my tumblr and completely deleted this fic on accident so this is a repost. Also this is filth like this is absolutely top five filthiest things I have written (so far) so please enjoy

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

As you were about to take the chocolate chip muffins out of the oven your phone vibrated loudly against the countertop.

You hastily took them out, knowing how easy it would be to get distracted by your phone and burn the surprise you worked on for your boyfriend Yoongi.

You placed them on the stovetop to cool and quickly shucked off the bright blue oven mits Yoongi had bought you last Christmas and you picked up your phone to see a message from him.

Yoongi: Sorry darling looks like we have a meeting that is going longer than we thought. I’ll be home later. I’ll pick up something for dinner though

You frown when you read the message as you check the clock, it’s already five and Yoongi should have been on his way home.

You knew what you were getting into dating Min Yoongi of BTS and while you had assured him time and time again you were okay with him working long hours, being gone for days even months at a time and you were okay with being hidden for your own safety, sometimes it still made you sad how little time you got to spend with him.

You: It’s okay Yoongs. You pick up dinner I already made dessert so we are even ;)

Yoongi: Is this a euphemism or did you actually make dessert… I do remember promising to eat you out after we couldn’t wait to fuck last time

You: Gonna have to come home and find out sweetness, though I like the way you think and I’m holding you to that promise ;)

You felt yourself blush as you slowly took the now-cooled muffins out of the tin and began to place them in a plastic container.

Yoongi: Fuck.

You shake your head with a small smile on your face as you make your way back to the couch. You gather up your big blanket and drape it over your bare legs as you open your book to the page it was on before the timer dinged. You figured you might as well get settled in while you waited for Yoongi.

Yoongi: Well I know what’s on the menu for dessert ;) But what do you want me to pick up for dinner?

You blush when you read his message and feel a giddiness spread throughout your veins.

You: Whatever you like sweetness. I’m providing dessert anyway so your choice.

Yoongi: Babe you're going to make me hard in this meeting

You: I can’t help it if I like flustering my boy. Love it when you get all blushy and hard over something as simple as eating pussy.

Yoongi: Namjoon is shooting me death glares because I can’t concentrate you minx.

You giggle again and send him a winky face before locking your phone and opening your book with a satisfied smile.

Two hours later you hear the front door open and you tilt your head back to see Yoongi standing there in a plain white teeshirt and sweats. His hair is long and falling in front of his exquisite face and you put your bookmark in your book and saunter over to him.

You help him by taking some of the takeout food bags and you both comfortably slide into your routine of him setting the table and you setting the food up.

You both take your usual places at the table and you give him a quick peck on the cheek as you sit. His face flushes red and you grin at how easily flustered he seems to get with small acts of affection.

You talk about your day and Yoongi listens as you both dig in. The sunlight has long faded and you light some candles and dim the lights for the ambiance of it all.

Yoongi is usually pretty shy and quiet but tonight he seems extra quiet, letting your voice and stories fill the silence as he chews his food and sips his water.

You can tell something is off and while you want to give Yoongi the space to tell you himself as the night goes on he seems to draw into himself more, hardly looking at you and making himself smaller.

“Yoongs everything okay?” You ask as you stand to clean the dishes.

“I uh. Yeah. I mean. Our meeting today was shit.” He says as you abandon cleaning to shove your chair closer to his, letting your bare knee brush against his clothed one and intertwining your fingers with his long ones.

“You can talk to me about it you know. Here I was blabbing about my day when you had a crappy day. I’m sorry sweetness.” You say as he lowers his eyes to your intertwined hands and your stomach jolts with nerves.

“It’s okay I like hearing about your day. I love your voice.” He whispers.

You rub your thumb across his and give him time and space to speak.

“We got news today that we have a press release to do. In Los Angeles.” He mutters keeping his voice low as the candle on the table flickers and illuminates the beautiful curves of his face.

“That’s awesome Yoongi. You always have fun when you go to the States! When do you leave?” You ask brushing a lock of hair away from his eyes.

His mouth forms a hard line and your stomach drops.

“Tomorrow morning, eight am. Bright and early. Gone for two weeks…as of now” He scoffs as you feel your heart sink in your chest.

Yoongi just got home a week ago and you had all these plans and house renovations you wanted to complete and they were sending him away early.

“Namjoon was pissed. He said we had just gotten home and hardly had time to spend with loved ones before we were whisked away again. PR told us we don’t have a choice.” Yoongi grits out looking angry and torn as he rakes his hands through his hair to push it back from his face.

You rub his palm with your thumb trying to soothe him as he rants on.

About how unfair it is

About how much he loves the fans but he doesn’t want to leave again when he just got back

About how Hoseok complained because he promised his family he would spend a week away with them at their summer home and now he can’t

You take it all in and let Yoongi rant. You see how tense his shoulders get and you quickly get up off your chair to hug him.

“I’m so sorry Yoongs. I know you don’t want to go.” You say softly petting his hair as he melts into your shoulder and lets you comfort him.

“I just got you back I don’t want to go again. I hate leaving you.” He whines as you deliver a soft kiss to the crown of his head and he looks up at you through wide eyes.

“I’m gonna miss you too much. I lost you for two months now I get you back for a week and I’m gone again. I didn’t even get to fuck you as much as I planned.” He pouts which has you smirking and blushing as you rake your hands through his soft dark locks.

“We did have plans to make up for lost time.'“ You tease as Yoongi groans and closes his eyes.

“Don’t remind me. Being away from you last time was torture. Two whole months without you and this week we were so busy we hardly had alone time. And I had all these plans and things I wanted to do sexually and now we can’t” He groaned.

You let out a laugh.

“You were planning our sex life while working?” You ask in disbelief.

“Nah usually at night when I couldn’t sleep. I find staring at the ceiling dealing with time zone differences and jet lag gives you all sorts of time to think….and plan.” He says with a grin that has your pulse racing.

“You horndog!” You tease smacking his arm as he wraps his arms around you caging you in.

“Says the one who got me hard during a meeting today! I don’t even have time for dessert I have to start packing.” He says sadly.

“Sweetness I like the way you think but I did make dessert. Well…chocolate chip muffins. Bring them with you and share them with the boys.” You say as he stares up at you.

“As long as I don’t have to share you I’ll share the muffins….I guess.” He teases as you press a kiss to his forehead and smile against his warm skin.

You pull away and he gets up from his chair and you both get to work cleaning the kitchen. You had to admit the evening took a somber turn and even though you tried to be happy and excited for Yoongi and the band heading to LA for more press and to get their names out there, you were going to miss him terribly. A week was not enough time especially when you spent most of it visiting with your family, or his, or catching up with friends who missed you both.

After the kitchen is clean you both end up in the bedroom. Instead of sexy times, you are sprawled on the bed watching as he grabs his large black suitcase and places it on the bed next to you, then goes through all his drawers to see what he needs.

“Ugh, it’s going to be cold in LA. I’m going to have to pack so many sweaters and they take up so much room.” He sighs as he places a stacked pile of neatly folded sweaters on the bed and you watch as he sorts them all.

“Well save some for me. I like to wear your stuff when you’re gone.” You remind him with a grin as he picks a sweater from the bottom of the pile to throw your way.

It’s the soft black pullover sweater he wears all the time that no matter how many times it’s washed it always smells like him.

You grin and throw it over your head.

“It should just be yours. You look so much cuter in it than I do,” he admits as you crawl forward on the bed pushing his luggage out of the way to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Don’t say that Yoongs. You are just as cute as me if not cuter.” You tease which has him blushing pink and grinning like a fool.

“I’m not cute.” He mutters though you can tell he is pleased with being called cute.

Something you learned about Yoongi was as much as he adored receiving compliments he had a hard time accepting them and believing them. It was something the two of you were working on.

“Nope, my cute detector is going crazy every time I’m near you so it must be you who is the cute one.” You reply making beeping noises that have him blushing and giggling behind his hands

“You are so cute Yoongs. Especially when you wear sweaters that are too big and it gives you sweater paws, or when the weather is cold and your cheeks get extra rosy, or when you pretend to be this big and bad rapper but you become my subby little boy behind closed doors.” You continue as he gasps and you see a blush flood his cheeks.

“Stoppp you're making me blush!” He whines as you giggle and grab his wrists to move his hands from his pretty flushed face.

“Was that something you were thinking about on those long nights? How good it feels to be my subby baby boy and let me do whatever I want to you? Hmm?” You tease as you feel a sort of power heat up your skin at Yoongi’s flushed expression.

It took almost a year for Yoongi to admit that while he loves being in control during sex he also likes to be taken care of. You both had a long conversation about it and in your mind it made sense. Yoongi was the type of person to put everyone else first and always take care of others. Of course, he would like to be taken care of as well.

You had started playing around with the dynamic six months ago but with all his traveling you were having less and less time to explore this new and exciting part of your sex life.

“Y/N You’re gonna make me hard.” He whines as you look down to see a sizeable bulge in his sweats and you grin in satisfaction.

“My sweetness getting so hard just from thinking about me playing with him hmm? So horny Yoongs.” You provoked as your hand slipped from his shoulder to down his firm chest as you watched him suck in a breath. By the time you made it to his sizeable bulge, his cock was straining against the material and stretching it to show off his impressive length and girth.

“Y/N. I-” He looked at the alarm clock on the night table and groaned. “We don’t have time. I have to be up in five hours for the airport.”

You knew he was right but that didn’t stop you from giving his cock a squeeze which had a high whine leaving his mouth.

“You are right. I kind of hate that you’re right though.” You say with a soft laugh as you try to hide how affected you were by the whole thing too.

“Believe me I do too. I’m gonna miss you. I’m gonna miss this.” He admits as he leans in and kisses you.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders again and sit back on your knees as Yoongi deepens the kiss. His hair is soft and tickles your face as your mouth molds to his and you feel him smile against your lips.

“You will wait for me right?” He asks in a small voice when he finally pulls away from the kiss.

“I’m not going anywhere Yoongs.” You reply in the same small voice as he shoots you a small smile.

He pulls away and continues to pack as you lay back down on the bed and answer some messages on your phone.

You can’t help but stare at your hot boyfriend and the fact his bulge is still evident in his pants. You could see the outline and while he seemed to be nonchalant about it you were not and it was making you needy.

He moved around the room collecting things and you ogled him until an idea popped into your head. A way for you both to still explore things sexually while he was out of town.

You of course had already tried sexting and very naked video calls but this would be something…new. Something that made your core throb and your heart race.

“Okay, I’m packed,” Yoongi announces snapping you from your thoughts as you stare at him with a mischievous grin.

“Oh, I know that look. You are scheming and planning something. What is it?” He asks as you abandon your phone and push yourself off the bed to stand in front of him.

“Yoongi. You know how you asked if I’d wait for you.” You start slowly trying to control your excitement.

“The conversation we had five minutes ago...yes?” He teases as you bite your lip.

“Can you promise you will wait for me too?” You ask batting your eyes at him.

“I’m not sure what you mean?” He says voice low.

“Well. You like being my subby sweet boy don’t you.” You ask with a dark tone to your voice and a tilt of your head.

Yoongi swallows hard and nods.

“And you lay in your bed all alone and think of me, and plan fun sexy things to do when you get home.” You goad as he nods again.

“And does my Yoongi touch himself when he thinks about these things? Do you wrap your fingers around your cock and try to stay quiet while jerking yourself off?” You ask as Yoongi’s eyes are blown wide.

“I’m going to take that as a yes. Well, this time. You won’t. If I have to wait for you, I want you to wait for me. Two weeks. No cumming until you get home.” You say firmly as Yoongi’s mouth drops open and he gasps.

“Y/N” He whines but by the look in his eye you know he really likes this idea.

“You can’t tell me you can’t hold back for only two weeks. Are you an animal Yoongs? Do you really need your hands around you cock that bad?”

He shakes his head, lips parted and wet from licking them as he stares at you in shock.

“I-fuck I hate that idea but it’s also hot as fuck.” He admits as you trail a fingernail down his chest and he sucks in a gasp.

“Why? You want me to sit here and wait for you while you get to travel the world Are you telling me you are so fucking needy you can’t last two weeks without jerking off?” You bite out

“I think I’ll explode.” He admits shyly as you smirk.

“You will explode… when you get home. All over my face, or in my mouth, or pussy. I guess I have two weeks to decide don’t I?” You ask him as he nods.

You trail your hand down further and when you get to his sizeable bulge you cup it and he cries out softly. His cock jerks in your hand and his head lolls forward to watch your movements.

You waste no time slipping your hand in his pants and encircling his hard cock. Yoongi groans when you jerk him root to tip, and when you flick your hand over the crown of his cock your fingers are soaked with precum.

“So messy Yoongs.” You taunt as he thrusts up in your hand and fucks your fist.

It takes hardly any time before he is whining your name and spilling all over your fist. You work him through it and Yoongi is a whining shaking mess as you slow your movements and remove your hand.

You go to the ensuite bathroom to get cleaned up and you smirk when you can hear Yoongi’s labored breathing. You feel your arousal stick to your sleep shorts and you try to ignore the insistent throbbing of your pussy as you wash your hands.

When you come back in the bedroom the luggage is moved to the floor and Yoongi is flopped on his back on the bed in just his boxers

You stand in front of him with a warm cloth and Yoongi opens his eyes long enough to watch as you pull his boxers down to free his now soft cock and you take your time wiping him clean though most of his release got on your fist anyway.

You throw the cloth in the laundry and cup his now soft cock in your hand.

“D-Don’t Sensitive.” He whines out as you release his cock to cup his balls.

“All nice and empty Yoongs. If they look like this when you come home you are in big trouble.” You warn as he shivers under you and you tuck him back into his boxers.

You slide into bed next to him and he rolls over to spoon you taking his time wrapping his arms around you and pushing his cock into your backside, you can start to feel hardening again.

“Really Yoongi?” You tease as he chuckles softly in your hair.

“I can’t help it you are so hot. And the fact you aren’t letting me cum for two weeks. It’s going to be torture but it’s also kind of hot.” He admits as you smile against the pillow and fall asleep.

Seven days in and everything seemed to be okay.

You both got into an easy rhythm of texting each other when you could and sending pictures throughout the day.

His pictures always made you smile and miss him even more as you finally got to the weekend of your first week.

He had told you he was going to have Friday night off so you agreed to video call, showering right after work, and making a quick dinner so you could see him regardless of the time difference.

When you heard the shrill ring of your phone you bolted towards it almost knocking it right off the bed as you scrambled to answer.

Your heart thumped wildly when you saw his face on the screen. He looked just as beautiful as he did when he left and you both took the time to get caught up.

Joy seemed to radiate off both of you in waves and after almost two hours you finally had run out of things to say.

“It sounds like you are having a blast Yoongi! I knew you’d have fun!” You say as you pull the blankets up higher on your legs and get the pillows behind your back to prop yourself up.

Yoongi shoots you a gummy smile and you smile back at him, feeling warmth radiate from your chest. You love him so much it’s insane.

“Yeah I’m having fun, but I still miss you.” He acknowledges as you grin and rub your legs together to try and warm them up. The bed is always a lot colder when he is gone and the raging windstorm outside doesn’t help.

“I miss you too Yoongs. I miss your smile and your hugs and how you always make the perfect breakfast for me. I miss when you sing under your breath and I miss your hands.”

“My… hands?” He asks cutting you off with a confused expression

“Well, your fingers I guess. You have such nice fingers and hands Yoongi. Your hands are all veiny and your fingers are so long…” You trail off as you cock and eyebrow and Yoongi’s lips part.

“Yeah…” He says lowly as you feel arousal pool in your panties

Insatiable need coursed through your veins as you remember the last time you were with Yoongi. How you wrapped your hand around his cock and made him fall apart without even fully getting him naked. How he instantly succumbed to your idea of making him wait two weeks to cum and how whiny and needy he was that night.

“You know I love your hands Yoongs, and other parts of you.” You tease as you run your hand under the blanket out of his line of sight and you spread your legs as you dip your fingers into your waistband to find your aching core already wet with arousal.

“W-What are you doing?” He asks with a fiery gaze trailing up and down your body.

“I’m so horny Yoongs. We didn’t have time to take care of me before you left.” You whine as you circle your clit and your hips jolt involuntarily causing the phone to jerk.

“Just thinking about my hands get you that wet?” He mutters as you continue to give your clit light pressure and open your legs wider to give your hand more room.

You can feel his eyes on your body, his gaze piercing as you keep your eyes closed and give in to the sensation that is flooding your body.

It has been so long since you were touched even your hand is making you ache as you shift your hips to slip one finger inside your body, gasping when your tight heat sucks the finger right in.

“Fuck you’re making me so fucking hard,” Yoongi swore as he watched you pleasure yourself. His cock was sitting in his boxers rock hard and leaking, the weight of it and the heat of it against his skin was making him antsy and he longed to wrap a palm around it and make himself cum.

“Didn’t you say you would wait for me?” He teases as you flutter your eyes open and stare at him with a wicked grin on your face.

“I said I’d wait for you to come home. I never said I couldn’t cum, just you.” You said as Yoongi’s eyes widened in shock and his cock twitched pathetically in his underwear.

“You- I? How is that fair!” He groaned as you curled your finger inside your body and your hips rutted against it. You are aching to be filled even more so you add another finger and scissor them, trying to mimic how Yoongi’s cock would stretch you out.

“It’s fair because you're my subby boy. I don’t take orders from you Yoongs. You promised to be a good boy and not cum. You were so turned on you didn’t bother reading the fine print. Or asking for terms.”

You don’t bother to look at him when you respond. Instead, you curl your fingers against your front wall and let a moan spill from your lips as you ride your fingers.

“Y/N you- you can’t.” He whines out and when you finally open your eyes Yoongi is a mess. His hair is sweaty and plastered to his forehead, his cheeks are a dusty pink color and you can see how his teeth scrape his bottom lip in desperation as you pump your fingers in and out of your body, moving the phone close so he can hear the obscene noises.

“What if I cum untouched? That can’t count, right? I’m so fucking hard baby I can’t.” He breathes out, voice high-pitched and panicked as you snicker and halt your movements.

“Take off your boxers I wanna see your cock.” You demand as you prop the phone up on some spare pillows and Yoongi lets out a sigh of relief as he does the same with his phone and pulls his boxers down.

His cock springs up and hits his clothed stomach and you take him in. The crown is flushed a deep red and the vein that spirals up his cock is protruding and angry looking. His cock twitches against his stomach and you watch as he circles it with his hand.

“Did I say you could touch? You are supposed to be a good boy not a fucking animal who can’t control himself!” You bark as Yoongi rips his hand from his cock and his hips thrust up into thin air.

“You- You said I could take them off!” He argues as you stare at him through the screen and take in how truly fucked out he looks.

“Never said you could touch. That’s strike one. Strike three and you will be punished. I wanted you to take it out so I could make sure my bad boy didn’t disobey me.” You tell him as he gasps and quickly sits on his hands to stop himself from touching. His cock twitches weakly against his stomach and pearls of precum dribble out and coat his shirt

“Such a leaky whore for me Yoongi.” You growl as you open your legs wider and begin to circle your clit again.

Yoongi can’t tear his eyes away from your body and he whines and wiggles on the bed desperate to get his hand around his cock. He is so hard it is starting to hurt.

You continue to rub your clit and feel the coil of pressure get tighter in your stomach. Yoongi looks so desperate, so fucked out from watching you it turns you on more.

“Please, baby.” He cries out as you watch his cock twitch on his stomach and more precum oozes out.

“Please what Yoongi? If you're going to beg me to let you touch yourself the answer is no.” You growl as you speed up your movements knowing you are getting closer with every pass of your finger over your aching clit.

“Please cum for me, baby. I want to watch you watch you fall apart. Please my cock can’t take much more I need you to cum or I might cum on accident.” He admits as he stares at you in a frenzy.

His words set you off and you cum, crying out his name and arching off the bed as you ride out your high. You can hardly hear Yoongi’s desperate whines as you thrash on the bed and when you finally come down and the ringing in your ears stops you stare at the screen to see Yoongi who is staring at you with desperation etched into his features.

“I’m not going to let you cum Yoongs. Not until you’re home.” You say as you pull the blankets back over your lap and run a shaky hand through your hair.

You can see his cock throb again and Yoongi whines and ruts his hips up, desperately searching for any friction to relieve the painful ache of his cock.

“Fuck I’m so hard. Fuck you are so hot. Fuck.” He grits out as he slowly and carefully pulls his boxers back up, the feeling of the fabric against his cock makes him hiss and you giggle as you watch him grit his teeth.

“Wet dreams don’t count right?” He asks in a panic as his eyes widen.

“This two-week thing is really getting to you huh?” You tease as Yoongi nods and runs a hand through his sweat-soaked hair.

“I just watched the hottest girl on the planet make herself cum and I’m hard as a rock and can’t touch myself. This is torture.” He says with a half laugh that has you smiling.

“Is it too much? Do you want to stop” You ask honestly as you take in how truly turned on he looks

“Not at all. I know the end will be worth it. Though I don’t think my cock is ever going to go down. I’m close to humping the bed like a horny teenager right now” He says shyly as you giggle.

“I think that’s also against the rules.” You tease as he smiles at you.

“I know. I didn’t expect you to play dirty though. Watching you cum. Fuck nothing in the world is as hot as that.”

You feel yourself start to blush.

“You not making it easier on yourself you know.” You joke as Yoongi grimaces.

“I know. I should probably try to get some sleep though. We have an early day tomorrow. Namjoon is dragging me and Jin to some art thing.” He says as you feel yourself grow sleepy in post-orgasmic bliss.

“Sounds fun.” You say tucking a pillow comfortably behind your head and curling into a ball on your side.

“Yeah I’m hard as fuck and I get to go to a boring art thing tomorrow. Living my best life.” Yoongi pouts and you giggle softly.

“Love you Yoongs.” You sigh as you feel your eyes flutter closed.

“Love you too babe.” He says softly back as you fall asleep.

The second week was torture for Yoongi. Though you didn’t pull any more dirty tricks it seemed his body realized something was wrong with his refusal to jerk off and it was getting revenge.

Yoongi started to wake up with a hard-on almost every single morning and not just a case of normal morning wood, he would be leaking and twitching and so achingly hard that it made him want to hit someone or something.

Cold showers had become his best friend and his balls constantly ached even when he wasn’t hard.

Yoongi couldn’t wait to get home to you in more ways than one and on the final day, he was so jittery even the boys started to take notice.

The universe also decided to torture Yoongi because while he was supposed to get home at a decent hour the plane got delayed and he ended up flying it at two am

By the time he got home, it was well past three in the morning and Yoongi burst through the door and threw his bags on the ground. He would get them later, or never, it didn’t matter as long as he found you

He made his way to the bedroom quickly and when he entered he saw you snuggled on your side clutching his sweater. You looked so small under the big puffy duvet that Yoongi let out a small sigh.

You had books scattered around you and the TV was left on. His smile widened when he realized you tried your best to wait up for him.

He moved around the room slowly and quietly, turning off the TV, putting the bookmark you had left on the bed in the book and he slowly stripped down and slipped into bed to hold you in his arms.

He was hard. Of course, he was. But that could wait because you immediately rolled over and melted into his warm embrace, snuggling your head into his strong chest and smiling against his skin.

“Home?” You asked voice heavy with sleep.

“I’m home. Get some rest beautiful.” He mumbled as he kissed the crown of your head.

Yoongi woke up with a start as the sensation of a warm mouth around his cock made him twitch and jerk awake.

Was it another dream?

God if he came without your permission he would be in so much trouble.

Yoongi forced his eyes open and the wet heat enveloped his cock again sending delicious pleasure down his spine.

This was real

This was so real

And this was you

He lifted the blankets to see you had woken up before him and crawled between his legs and was currently sucking his cock while staring up at him with your innocent doe eyes

Shit.

His hands immediately gripped the blankets for dear life, his knuckles turning white as he fought back every instinct to thrust up into your mouth. It felt so good and he was so sensitive that he was moaning your name within seconds, trying to keep his hips glued to the bed.

You popped off his cock with a wet noise and Yoongi’s eyes shot open as you smiled up at him.

“Morning,” you called in a sing-song voice as Yoongi panted above you.

“M-More Pl-please,” Yoongi begged in a broken whine as you chuckled and sat up between his legs, pushing the blanket off of you and exposing his lower half to the cold air.

His cock was rock hard and wet with your spit and twitched at the loss of contact. Yoongi felt so much blood rushing south that his head felt dizzy and when you came up to straddle him Yoongi let out a frustrated whine as you sat too far back to give his cock any kind of friction.

“Now is that any way to greet your girlfriend after not seeing her for two weeks?” You stated crossing your arms over your chest and staring him down.

He could see that the cold of the room was affecting your body as your nipples hardened under your shirt and his cock throbbed painfully.

“Sorry, I just. Fuck I haven’t come in two weeks and you gave me a blowjob. I’m- all fucked.” He says breathlessly as you lean forward and catch his lips in a searing kiss.

Yoongi grabs your hips to hold you steady as he presses his lips into yours. Your lips part for his easily and when you grind down on his upper thighs Yoongi lets out a groan against your mouth.

You feel the wetness pool at your center as you let him take charge of the kiss. His hands tangle in your bedhead and he easily flips you over so you are on your back and he hovers over you. He growls against your mouth and nips and sucks at your lips as you gasp.

One hand comes to rest in your hair while the other plays with your nipples through your sleep shirt.

He slowly ruts his cock into your thigh and you can feel just how leaky he is as he smears his precum around your heated skin.

You pull away and gasp for air as Yoongi stares at you with darkened eyes and a look of pure lust on his face.

“While that makeout was hot as fuck I think you are forgetting who is in charge here Yoongs.” You tease as he shuts his eyes in frustration.

“I thought we were done with this. I didn’t cum for two weeks. You win. Now I get to cum right?” He asks voice low and gravely as you laugh and lightly push him off of you.

You get yourself situated between his legs and Yoongi’s eyes widen when you finally push his boxers down and fully expose his cock to the cold air.

“Not so fast Yoongi. I have to check and make sure you weren’t naughty.” You taunt as you run a finger down his cock and he shivers and grips the blankets for support.

You take your time with his cock. Picking it up and inspecting it, running your soft fingers all over the head and the shaft making it throb and twitch in your hand. When you give him a harsh tug Yoongi feels like the air is punched from his lungs as his cock throbs and leaks precum all over your fist.

“You can-can’t tease me. I’m so sensitive I might cum without meaning to. Please.” He begs as you slowly lean down to suck on his cockhead and Yoongi feels electricity running through his veins. He is so horny so desperate, that he can feel his cock throbbing with each touch, he can feel the precum ooze out of the slit and cover his heated shaft.

Your hand trails down the underside of his cock and he whines when you make it to his balls. They are heavy and hot in your hand as you roll them around and Yoongi lets out a noise somewhere between a grunt and a whine.

“Fuck you-you can’t… so sensitive.” He cries out as he arches off the bed at the sensation, the veins in his arms popping out as he grips the sheets for dear life.

This man is totally at your mercy and you love it

“So full Yoongs.” You taunted as you rolled them and played with them some more. Watching as his cock twitched pathetically against his shirt.

“We have to drain them, baby. You're so full you might burst.” You tease as you move away from his cock and sit beside him on the bed.

“Pl-please do something. I’ve been so good. Didn’t touch myself once. Please.” He begs jutting out his lower lip in a pout and you chuckle.

“How about I make you a deal? You stretch me out with your fingers so I can take your massive cock. If you can be a good boy and hold off a little longer I’ll let you cum inside me, with a condom of course. If you can’t control yourself you get to cum on your fist. Deal?” You ask

Without waiting Yoongi is already between your legs and you giggle when he spreads them apart and sticks his whole face into your pussy.

You cry out and grab for his hair as he licks up everything your body is willing to give him. His tongue is rough and hot against your core and when he flicks it over your clit you whine out above him.

He uses one hand to hold your hips down and the other hand comes to join his mouth as he slips a finger inside easily. You moan and thrash on the bed as he works you open. You can subtly feel his hips fucking his hot cock into the mattress and you grin when he lets out a wild moan against your core.

“There you are stretched please sit on my cock.” He begs quickly as he pulls away and sits up next to you on the bed.

His chest is heaving and his cheeks are flushed and wet with your arousal and you stare at him in shock.

“Did I say you were done?” You ask darkly as Yoongi swallows hard.

“I’m gonna cum. Seriously I can’t. Too sensitive it hurts too much.” He whined as you stared him down with a cold glance.

“The challenge was to control yourself Yoongi. Not rush your way into things so you don’t cum.” You say darkly as you push him down on the mattress and fully take control.

You don’t even bother with his cock. Instead, you climb up his body and position each knee so you are straddling his face.

“You rap and sing about how good you are with your tongue so fucking prove it. Make me cum and if I’m feeling generous I’ll let you cum.” You grit out.

You don’t bother letting him answer instead you sink down on his mouth and sigh when he starts to lap at your juices.

His tongue prods your entrance and you whine and grab for his hair when he sticks in inside. Thrusting in and out and flicking over your clit in a way that has you moaning out his name in broken whimpers.

You feel the bed shift and you look back in time to see one of his hands is sneakily wrapped around his cock, not jerking it, just holding the base in a vice-like grip and you realize Yoongi is very very desperate to cum, and trying his best not to.

“I’ll let you hold your cock like a pathetic loser who can’t hold his cum properly. If I see that hand move I’ll chain you to the bedpost and get a pretty cock ring to put around you. Or maybe a chastity cage that way we can make sure you aren’t cumming without permission. Would you like that Yoongs? Like to be my caged-up little slut?”

The whine he lets out is animalistic and you thrash against him when he brings his free hand up to play with your clit. You can tell he is doubling down to get you to cum and you watch as he leaks more precum on his fingers and that sets you off.

You have no time to warn him as you cum all over his face and tongue. The coil of pleasure snaps and you ride out your high chanting his name and holding onto the headboard for dear life.

When you finally come down and roll off of him both of you are breathing heavily and you crack your eyes open to see the very firm grip he has on the base of his cock.

“P-Please Y/N It hurts so bad. My balls are so heavy. Please let me cum. I’ve been your good boy. I’ve been so good.” Yoongi cries as tears of desperation leak from his eyes.

You slowly sit up on your knees and wipe his tears away. His cheeks are red and his eyes are swimming with more tears and all you want to do is make him feel better.

“Just let me get the condom sweetness. You have been such a good boy for me. Just last a little longer okay?” You coo as you reach into the bedside drawer to grab the condom.

Yoongi sighs in relief as you rip the packet and roll the condom onto his cock. The sensation has his cock twitching frantically and you bite back a smile.

“How do you want this?” You ask softly as you reach up to wipe more tears from his face.

“Don’t care. Just wanna be inside of you.” He mutters as tears still slip down his face and his body is thrumming in anticipation.

You climb on top of him deciding that riding him will be your best bet and when his cockhead runs through your folds he tenses up and grits his teeth so hard you could see the muscles in his jaw working.

“Deep breaths Yoongs.” You reminded him as he cracked his eyes open.

“I’m not going to last long. I’m so close to the edge that it’s insane. If you want to feel me inside of you I’m going to need to you sink down on my cock before I cum.” He warns as you finally do as he says and you take a deep breath and sink down.

Yoongi arches violently off the bed nearly knocking you off it as you put your hands on his chest and try to steady yourself.

You can feel his cock twitching inside of you and you open your mouth to taunt him but his hands are on your hips and he gives you no time to adjust as he fucks up wildly into you.

“Yoongi! Slow. Hurts!” You cry out as he thrusts and hits your G-spot effortlessly.

“I can’t babe. I have to move because I have to cum. There is so much heat and pressure down there. And you feel so tight and hot against me. Fuck you feel so good." I’m not going to last. Honest.” He says in a broken whine as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts.

The burn of his cock stretching you is still there but it is quickly replaced by burning pleasure.

Yoongi is fucking into you wildly, his hair is a mess on the pillow and the grunts and moans that leave his mouth are pornographic.

“Want you to rub your clit. Want you to cum with me, baby. I can’t hold back.” He warns as your hand quickly finds your clit and you rub it, arching your back to get him to hit deeper inside of you.

Chaos ensues.

You moan his name as your second orgasm catches both of you by surprise. You feel your walls flutter around his aching length and you cream his cock, wailing his name as it leaks out of you and down his shaft covering his balls.

Yoongi tips off the edge soon after.

His hands are harsh on your hips and he pounds up into you so forcefully that your teeth chatter in your mouth. You feel him twitch and he cries out your name in ecstasy as he cums hard into the condom

And cums

And cums

There is so much and he is still thrusting through it all as he empties himself inside of you.

You slump down on his chest as everything feels warm and fuzzy. Yoongi is breathing raggedly in your ear as his cock twitches inside of you and leaks out the last of his cum.

You are so spent your bones feel like jelly.

You lean your head up to see Yoongi crying and you wipe his tears away.

“It just felt so good. Fuck there was so much pressure and now it’s gone and I’m just so happy. Fuck two weeks without cuming is awful.” He comments as you finally slip off his cock and he hisses.

You walk to the washroom to get cleaned up and bring out a towel for him

His dark hair is plastered to his face and a sheen of sweat is covering his body.

You pull the condom off and snicker when you see truly how much cum is inside of it. He clearly was very pent-up and you giggle when you throw it out. You clean off the shaft and his balls and snuggle into bed with him, throwing the towel in the laundry you know you will have to do tomorrow.

“Fuck that orgasm was wild. I think I passed out at one point.” He admits to you as he wraps his arms around your body and you snuggle into his chest.

“You came a lot. Like a lot. The condom was almost full.” You say to him as he blushes and you press a kiss on his cheek.

“Don’t be embarrassed it’s sexy.” You say as you fall into a lapse of silence.

“That was torture but also all sorts of hot. It has been a long time since I have cum like that.” He says softly petting your hair and pressing kisses to your temples.

“Want to do it again?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“As long as you don’t make me wait two weeks. My balls were aching the whole second week. Fucking torture.” He grits out as you giggle.

“Worth it?” You ask staring into his softened eyes.

“Worth it.” He admits with a smile.

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[sometimesanalice]

Make You Mine This Season

Summary: It’s your second Christmas with Bradley and the holidays are always better with him by your side. After the perfect day out, you come home with a new accessory- just not the one you were hoping for.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Female Reader

Length: 8K

Warnings: so much fluff and some allusions to smut and a cast that looks like a candy cane.

(Author’s Note: set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe, can be read on its own)

You can’t fight the smile on your face as you watch Bradley studiously stare at the Christmas tree with a delicate glass icicle ornament dangling from his long finger.

“I think it need to go a little to the left, Roos,” you say, watching the way the little golden thread attached to it gleams from the many strands of white lights he had spun around it earlier in the afternoon.

The contrast between your handsome Naval aviator boyfriend and the very large, very fluffy pink Christmas tree he had bought for you would never not thoroughly charm you. 

“Here?” he asks, moving the dainty icicle to the left per your suggestion.

“Maybe just a bit up?”

Bradley moves it and holds it up to a spot near the little glass Hawaiian shirt ornament you’d gotten for him. He was so amused by it that he’d given it what he called a place of honor on the tree.

“Hmm, no. I think back to the right and down a smidge.”

He turns and shoots you a smirk over his broad shoulder, “Ok, now you’re just messing with me.” 

And then he hangs it on the tree with a flourish.

You laugh when he steps back and gives a dramatic sweep of the hand that would put Vanna White to shame.

Ever the showman.

He had been so excited when he’d found the ornaments in the storage locker he’d kept in Virginia earlier in the summer when the two of you had taken a quick trip to there to pack up the remaining things he’d left behind and bring them home.

The sleeves on the flannel plaid shirt he is wearing are rolled up highlighting his forearms and that snug fitting tank and the ridges of his abs on full display. You’d taken the liberties to sneak in a few glances as he’d bent over to grab ornaments out of the large plastic storage container you keep them in.

It’s an easy choice to abandon the silvery glittery Fa-la-la-la garland that you had been working on hanging on that tricky bit of wall space beneath the stairs to come stand next to him by the tree.

Plus, you know that you can get Bradley to put it up for you- even though he hates the feeling of glitter on his hands- if you offer to make him an Old Fashioned in exchange.

He drapes his arm over your shoulders and drops a kiss to the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his waist, the two of you taking a moment to admire the pretty twinkling tree in front of you with Bob Hope crooning softly on the background.

You love this tree.

And not because it is the most wonderfully ostentatious thing you’ve ever seen. Or because he’d surprised you with it when he asked you to move in with him the year before. But because it was one of the many ways he showed you just how important you were to him, just how much he paid attention to you.

Bradley kept asking what you wanted for Christmas this year, but you’d been avoiding giving him an answer.

Because he was the only thing on your list this year.

You would gladly never have a real tree again as long as it meant that Bradley got to be yours forever.

His allergy to pine trees had taken both of you by surprise last year. Before that chaotic afternoon last December, he had never had a real tree before, but it didn’t take long until his normally sunkissed skin has been covered in angry red hives.

And that gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir that you had selected from the Christmas tree lot had quickly become Jake’s gorgeous seven-foot Noble Fir.

But you’ll never forget that magical moment when you had walked into his cozy living room to see that candy colored confection of a tree for the first time and how proud Bradley had been to be the one to make your dreams of a pink tree Christmas come true.

It was something you had only ever mentioned once in passing, but that’s who Bradley Bradshaw is. The type of man who goes above and beyond for the people he loves.

Last year, the two of you had just picked up a couple boxes of basic multicolored bobbles to hang on the tree. But this year, your pretty pink tree has some new decorations that you’d collected along the way since then.

The sparkling frosty mug was something he’d found at the airport on the way back from when you’d taken him home to meet your parents for the first time. To no one’s surprise, they’d loved him. He’d had a lot of fun at the breweries you’d taken him to and you liked getting to see a tipsy and pink cheeked Bradley Bradshaw.

There was a blue miniature model toy Bronco with a bottle-brush Christmas tree hanging out the back was one you’d recently found at a Christmas market you went to with Nat and Bob the previous weekend. You’ve never handed over your credit card for something so quickly before in your life.

There was even a shiny shamrock that Jake had picked up to commemorate your first- and last- Leprechaun Run.

It was a promise you were coerced into making in exchange for Jake’s help and the use of his truck to move your things into Bradley’s place the weekend after you happily agreed to live in with him. You were planning on waiting until after the beginning of the New Year, but Rooster wouldn’t hear of it. You were able to hold off for a few days, but he’d made some rather compelling points with his mouth that had swayed your mind pretty quickly.

That New Year’s Eve, he’d kissed you properly and thoroughly surrounded by a dozen half-unpacked brown cardboard boxes.

You thought Hangman would have forgotten about it, but it turns out the only person that had forgot was a you, because you’d nearly spit out your beer mid-sip when he’d slapped down the race bib in front of you at the Hard Deck one evening in March.

It was just as terrible as you’d imagined it would be and worse. Not even the four-leaf clover bobble headband you’d worn had cheered you up even the slightest.

The term fun run was an oxymoron and you were willing to die on that a hill.

And of course, there was also a copy of the house key dangling on a pretty pink velvet ribbon. The one he’d originally given you was a permanent fixture on your key ring.

“So what’s the verdict, sweetheart? How did I do? Is it fluffed enough?” he asks, pulling back to look down at you.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen,” you say grinning up at him.

You’ve loved his homey Craftsman since the first time you’d stepped inside it with all of its warm wooden paneling around the entryways and ceiling beams. The hand tiled fireplace was mostly for aesthetics rather than functionality. You’d filled it with a display of tall pillar candles, but there’d been a couple of occasions where the two of you had stacked it with wood picked up from the grocery store and had the sounds of its crackles and pops serving as the soundtrack to your cozy night in.

You loved it even more now that your books were mixed in with his on the bookshelf. On top of his upright piano there were framed pictures of you and him and of all your friends and family. On the mantle of that fireplace were ivory knit stockings embroidered with your name and his.

This was your home now too, pink Christmas tree and all.

“The best thing, huh?” he says, amused.

“Maybe second best,” you muse, sliding your hand into the back pocket of his snug jeans, “Those Danny Zuko shorts you wore last Halloween still live rent free in my head.”

“I’ve still got those short-shorts, you just say the word and I’ll go put them on for you anytime.”

You snort a laugh and pull him down for a kiss.

The two of you have been together for almost a year and a half, but the way Bradley kisses you still sets off butterflies in your stomach and makes your heart flutter.

Soft kisses. Passionate kisses. Hello kisses. See you soon- never goodbye- kisses. Just because kisses. There you are kisses. Never stop kissing me kisses. All of them turn you upside down just like a snow globe.

He pulls away first, looking to the tree again contemplatively, “You know, the more I look at this the I feel like something is missing.”

You skim over the tree with its warm glow from the many strands of lights, the sparkling ornaments, the glinting icicles, and the delicate bejeweled snowflake tree topper. Short of tying on a few bows for the fun of it, there’s nothing more you think this tree needs.

“I might have tucked a little something in the piano bench,” Rooster says with a nod towards his well-loved upright, “Why don’t you take a look.”

You try and fail to ignore the swoop in your stomach as you walk up to the bench. You already know that you want to be his forever and the two of you are on the same page about it, but you don’t want to get your hopes up. You’re trying to be practical, realistic.

But the heart wants what the heart wants, and your heart wants him.

The seat creaks open as you lift the lid open with a not-so-steady hand, and sitting inside a small box filled with iridescent filler are the prettiest pair of ceramic ice skates you’ve ever seen. You lift the dainty ornament from the box to see that they dangle from a couple ribbons that have been tied together in a lovely bow at the top. They even have a little white fluff lining the rims of boot.

It was one of the things you missed most about home, your town had a little outdoor rink that was set up every year. You weren’t the greatest skater and it had been a few years since you’d laced up a pair of boots, but it had always been one of your favorite traditions growing up.

“Oh Bradley, they’re so lovely,” you say with a dreamy sigh, “I love it, thank you!”

You admire them for another moment taking in all their little details before hanging them up on the pink tree near his little Hawaiian shirt ornament in a place of honor on the tree.

“I have another surprise for you,” he says with a grin, looking very proud of himself.

“Oh? When did you become such a man of mystery?” you tease.

“Gotta keep my girl on her toes,” Rooster winks, sliding a finger through your belt loop to pull you closer before wrapping his arms around you. “You know how Hotel del Coronado has that ice-skating rink set up now?”

Of course you did.

The tickets went on sale a little over seven weeks ago and time slots had sold out in five minutes. You’d even signed up early to try and get a spot in the queue and it still had kicked you out with empty hands.

“Yeah,” you say slowly, drawing out the word, looking up at him skeptically.

Bradley has been on a training detachment at the time, so there was no way Mr. One Percent could have gotten them when you couldn’t. There’s just no way.

You must say that part out loud or think it loud enough for him to hear you because that gorgeous smile of his gets devastatingly self-satisfied.

“I sure did, sweetheart-”

You jump up and cut him off with a kiss, he is quick to get his hands underneath you for support while your legs wrap around him.

“Oh my god, Bradley, how?” you ask excitedly between peppering kiss across his nose and cheeks.

“Ok, I can’t take full credit. I had some help,” he admits, clearly happy with your reaction, “Nat has, and I quote, ‘fast fingers’.”

You make a little squeal in delight as you throw your arms around his neck to hug him and he laughs. It’s the best sound in the world to you.

“What do you say, want to make a day of it? I might have a few things in mind for our San Diego Christmas. We’re a couple weeks early, but I’m feeling festive.”

You get too distracted by his smiling mouth to give him your answer then and there, but you remember to officially accept later that night in bed after your heart finally stops racing.

Convincing you to move in with him might be the best thing Bradley’s ever done.

Those cool Winter nights last year had tasted like bourbon and were spent wrapped up together on the couch and under the covers.

Your first big fight had been over whose Super Bowl team was going to win. There had been a lot of trash talk that night, but eventually a peace had been brokered. And really, no one was a loser when it came to orgasms.

In the Spring, he had built you a bunch of raised garden beds in the backyard for you to grow whatever you wanted. He’d learned that he had a bit of a green thumb when it came to zucchinis, a fact that irked you to no end because you could never get them to produce anything. He didn’t know sunshine had a scent until he could smell it on your skin with your hands covered in dirt and a smile on your facec.

And he was not surprised to learn that he was also very much a fan of your sundress collection.

The golden Summer days were spent at the beach and taking road trips to nowhere in the Bronco then the long way home. Rooster burned more often than he cared to admit, but you started keeping a container of aloe in the fridge for him. He’d never say no to have your soft hands on his body, your touch more soothing than the cooling gel could ever be.

That Fall he’d finally been able to go home with you for Thanksgiving. He’d met your family earlier in the year, but you’d been so proud to show him off at the official family gathering as you’d sipped on your cranberry mimosa. And after a year of planning, the two of you had finally been able to enact your Stealthy Soufflé Scheme.

He had been determined to get his girl that closely guarded recipe no matter what.

Your Aunt Christine had been putty in his hands with all of his yes, ma’ams and no, ma’ams and charming smiles and All-American golden boy aviator thing. You’d primed him on what things she was interested in and he had fully leaned into it, sweet talk and all. It didn’t hurt that she had been a big fan of the expensive bottles Syrah the two of you had brought with you.

You and your mom had been thrilled when he’d presented you with the handwritten copy of the coveted recipe. He had been happy to do it, but he didn’t mind the way you showed him your thanks later that night in your childhood bedroom.

He was the first boyfriend you’d ever had in there, and if he has his way, he’d also be the last.

Victory- and that not-so-secret-anymore corn soufflé recipe- never tasted so good. 

The two of you had had a great first Christmas together last year, excluding the slight hiccup with the whole hives thing. And he knows he’s a bit of a perfectionist, but he wants to make this one even better.

He had let you sleep in as long as he could, but he was excited for all the festive things he had arranged for today.

“C’mon, sleepy girl. We’ve got plans,” he says, skimming a few soft kisses along your shoulder.

“Do those plans involve coffee?” you mumble sleepily into your pillow.

He chuckles and brushes back a few of the hairs that are stuck against your forehead, “Of course, it’ll be the first stop after.”

You peek up at him from under your silk eye mask, he’s always liked a slightly fussy girl. You’d even got him one for his deployments to help him sleep better on the carrier.

“After what, Roos,” you ask skeptically.

“You seemed to enjoy that Leprechaun Run you did with Jake and I saw that there was an Ugly Sweater Fun Run today and I signed us up, we have to be there in an hour.”

“Bradley, you didn’t,” you say with a gasp, sitting up like you’ve been struck by lightning.

You look so alarmed, clutching the top sheet to your chest, that he can’t help but throw his head back and laugh.

“No, I didn’t. I promise,” he says, trying to pull you into his chest.

You shove lightly at his shoulder, “That was so rude of you, Bradley Peter Bradshaw.”

“Not the government name,” he smirks, leaning down to trail a couple kisses along your neck. He likes the way you always shiver when his mustache grazes that ticklish spot under your ear.

“Oh my god, I swear I just had a war flashback to that second mile when Jake tried to make me keep up with him,” you huff, leaning your head to the side to let him continue apologizing with his mouth, “You’re so lucky I’m even talking to you right now.”

“I am very lucky to have such a pretty, smart, and forgiving girlfriend. One who appreciates over the top Christmas decorations and brunch with themed cocktails.”

That piques your interest and you seem much more awake now for someone who usually needs at least two cups of coffee before becoming a fully functional human being, “Themed cocktails, you say?”

“Mhmm, they even have a Ho-Ho-Hot and Spicy Bloody Merry, spelled m-e-r-r-y,” he says with a smile, running a finger down the bridge of your nose. “But to get one, we have to get out of this bed and into the shower.”

“Sounds like it would be more efficient if we took one together, huh?” you grin, wrapping your arms around his neck, “Plus I’m all about preserving the planet’s natural resources.”

The two of you were a little late getting out of the house, having worked up an appetite, but still manage to make it in time for the reservations he had made.

The restaurant had been swathed in miles of frosted evergreen garlands with so many oversized ornaments dangling and ribbons woven throughout that he wasn’t sure how it hadn’t come crashing down off the ceiling. Not an inch of it was left undecorated, it was all stands of lights and shiny wreaths and giant cellophane covered candies.

Brunch had been complete with a couple of those Bloody Merry’s he’d heard about from Coyote, as well as an order of Santa pancakes topped with a hat of strawberries tossed with orange zest infused syrup.

The Christmas radio station was playing all of your favorites and you were singing along as he zipped along the highway to the next stop.

The Ocean Beach Christmas tree was beloved for being San Diego’s unofficial response to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Bob had told him he’d stumbled upon it on accident one day last year when he had been exploring his new city and learned about the tree’s forty-year history and had enthusiastically recommended that Rooster added it to his festive agenda.

Bradley loved the way your face lit up at the sight of it. The top of the massive tree was leaning to the right and looked straight out of Whoville the way it decorated with all kinds of blow up pool toys. There were beach balls galore, traditional ones and ones that looked like disco balls, a few parrots, and even one shaped like an electric guitar.

“Oh my god, look!” He looks up from the text message he was replying to and follows the line of your arm to where your finger is directing his gaze, “Another bird defying the laws of physics.”

And there tucked away up in the tree next to a blow-up globe is an inflatable rooster.

On the way back into town, two of you stopped by Mission Bay to grab some more coffee and walk around the marina to check out some of the decorated boats docked for the Parade of Lights. He’d heard about it from Penny, who had even participated in the event herself a few years ago.

You’d both agreed the one that had turned the tall mast of the sailing boat into a glowing Christmas tree was the clear winner.

The next stop was something Bradley knew you’d be really excited about.

He’d found out about the Christmas centerpiece floral arrangement class from Nat who had a crush on the florist who ran the little shop.

The class was filled with mostly women, but there were a couple other men scattered around. They’d greeting him with that head nod that only men seem to exchange, like you got roped into this too, huh?, but what they didn’t know was that being there had been his idea.

Rooster was slipping his phone back into his pocket when you returned back to your little round table with an arm full of various flowers and different greens, with not a pine frond in sight. He’d even called in advance to make sure that there wouldn’t be any involved, just in case.

You were divvying up the things that you’d gathered from the long farmhouse tables in the front between the two of you when his phone pings again.

“Rooster, is everything ok? I feel like your phone is going off a ton this afternoon,” you asked, putting down the white berry looking things to look at him, a little crease there between your eyebrows.

“Yeah, of course,” he’d said, rubbing the back of his neck, “Fanboy decided to invite chaos into the group chat by asking if a hot dog was a sandwich or not. It’s getting pretty contentious.”

You give him a look but go back to dividing the pile in front of you, moving on from the berry things to some small roses.

“Also, for the record, a hot dog is definitely a category of its own. You don’t call a hamburger a sandwich,” you’d replied, not missing a beat.

“You won’t hear me arguing with that logic.”

“Good. Because facts are facts, Bradley.”

He pulled out his phone again to give it one last quick skim before turning the volume down, before noticing what flowers you’d just set in front of him, “Hey, are those dahlias?”

You hold up a stem with a large deep burgundy flower for him, giving it a spin between your fingers, “They are! It’s a little late in the season for them, so I’m surprised to see them here. Aren’t they pretty?”

“Those were my mom’s favorites,” he’d said fondly, remembering a backyard from decades ago that was lined with around the edges with the flowers.

“Were they? Well, I’m glad I grabbed them then,” you said with a soft smile, before handing him a few more to work with.

By the end of class, he knows his ears are pink because of how much you’re showering him with praise and gushing over his arrangement. He’d even gotten a few supportive thumbs ups from some of the other people in class.

“Seriously, Bradley. It’s so lovely! I mean, look at those pinecones you tucked in it. I can’t wait to put it on the dining table!”

You wanted to swing by Mav and Penny’s place to drop yours off for them, but he breathed a sigh of relief when he managed to convince you that it could wait until tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait for the next part of your day together.

Bradley jogs around the front of the Bronco to open your door for you after he parks at the Hotel del Coronado. He gives you his hand to help you down from the car, instead you reach and pull his face to yours.

The kiss is like spun sugar, airy and sweet. He could taste the lingering peppermint from your latte earlier.

“What was that for,” he murmurs against you lips.

“I just really love you,” you sigh, nudging his nose with yours, “Today has been so perfect. I feel like I’m in one of my Christmas movies, except I know you’re not going to ask me to leave my job in the big city to help you run your grandmother’s failing bakery to only get paid in gingerbread and Christmas spirit.”

“Lucky for you, my grandma could barely make toast, so you’re spared from such a fate. You wouldn’t need that little Mini Cooper of yours in a town that only has one stoplight.”

You press a quick kiss to his cheek, “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”

“We’ve still got one more thing on the list. You ready for this?” Bradley asks, holding his hand out.

You slip your hand in his with a grin, “Virtue and Moir better watch out.”

You can’t say you’ve ever expected to see an ice rink set up with a display of white sand and sparkling blue ocean behind it. But it was easily one of the most magical things you’ve ever seen.

The sunset has painted the skies a beautiful display of cool blues, soft pinks, and dusky purples. The palm trees lining the rink have been done up in strands of white lights that crisscross over it above your heads. The mixture of happy laughter, Christmas songs piped over the sound system, and waves crashing served as the soundtrack to the moment.

And you’re trying desperately not to fall and make a fool of yourself.

It was more than a little humbling stepping onto the rink after having not had a pair of ice skates on for more than a decade. It had been awhile since your family had indulged in this particular tradition, but you figured it would be like riding a bike.

It’s almost laughable now how wrong you were.

“How are you so good at this?” you jokingly accuse as you wobble on your skates, yet again. Luckily, Bradley’s sturdy grasp on your hand keeps you from falling.

He laughs, “I thought you said you did this all the time growing up?”

“I did! I just never said I was good at it.” A kid whizzes past you- a little too close, a little too fast- and Bradley shoots a disgruntled look at his swiftly retreating figure. “You come from a snow state, it’s in your blood. You automatically have the advantage.”

“Are you thinking of the other V-state? Vermont?” he teases, easily gliding around you swapping spots so that you’re closer to the edge of the rink rather than the middle.

“It snows in Virginia, I googled it.”

“I mean, yeah, but not a ton,” he says, “But it wasn’t like I was hitting up the indoor rinks either.”

“So you’re telling me you’re just a natural?” You roll your eyes affectionately at him.

He winks at you, “You said it not me, sweetheart.”

You’d nearly melted on the sight when Rooster had knelt down in front of you and looked up at you with such a boyishly charming smile as he’d tied the laces of your rented ice skates.

It took a moment to get your hummingbird heart back under control after that.

After a few more laps around, you’re starting to feel like you’re falling into the rhythm of it. You’re still keeping an eye out for people and the older kid who had earned himself more than one glare from people trying to enjoy their time on the rink as he erratically bobbed and wove his way through them. But your strides are getting longer and the shifting motion from side to side is getting smoother. You could almost claim to be gliding.

You’d forgotten how much fun it was, but then again, Bradley always made everything better and brighter.

Your cheeks ache in the best way from how much smiling you’ve been doing today.

And if you faked a couple wobbles so that he’d put his arm around you, it was worth the sacrifice of trying to look graceful. He’s already seen you at your best and at your worst, so you didn’t think your lack of skill standing on a quarter of an inch of metal was going to scare him away.

Rooster is a few feet ahead of you showing off some of his fancy footwork and maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted by his smile you would have heard the aggressive woosh of the kid’s skates as he sped up behind you.

It had only been a matter of time.

He collides with you but keeps his balance and propels himself forward, not slowing his pace in the slightest before taking off again. Your feet slip out for beneath you and before you know it you’re extending your right arm down to try and break your fall.

You meet the ice hard.

You feel pop.

A rush of warmth.

And then throbbing.

The next five hours pass in a twinkling blur of heavy guilt and aching pain.

Bradley had gone through so much effort planning such a perfect day for you and you feel terrible about how it ended.

The wait at the hospital had been miserable. The lights were too glaring and the noises too loud. The garish green and red garland draped on the desk seemed to mock you as you’d gone through the motions of getting checked in.

Your wrist had been killing you and you hated being the reason that Rooster’s leg hand been bouncing anxiously next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs. He’d tried to hide it, but you’d seen that deep furrow between his brows. You’d almost cried when he started stroking the back your pain-free hand with this thumb. It wasn’t until they’d brought you back for X-rays and had given you a light dose of painkillers that the world had shifted back into the dreamy soft focus it had been like earlier in the day with Bradley when he’d taken you on all those perfect dates.

You didn’t know if he had planned anything else, all you knew is that everything had unraveled so quickly.

It’s an odd feeling like you could float away at any moment. The painkillers made you feel buoyant and light, yet you can feel the weight on your shoulders just the way you feel the weight of the cast on your wrist.

Even now as the candy-colored lights that he’d put up along the front of the house bounce off of his still perfect curls, he’s wearing the softest of smiles for you as he works to open the front door. His dreamy brown eyes are reflecting nothing back at you other than warmth and affection and care.

Your wonderful, loving, perfect boyfriend. Your perfect Bradley.

You know it’s not entirely the drugs fault the way you’re struck by just how pretty he is. You’ve always thought so, but here and now you’re simply mesmerized by him under the glow of the Christmas lights.

“I don’t think I’ve been called pretty before, sweetheart. But thank you,” Bradley says with a little amused chuckle.

“Well you are. And your hair. Bradley, it’s not fair.” The words are tumbling out of your loose lips.

“My hair isn’t fair?” he asks with a tilt of his head, holding open the front door for you.

“No, it’s not! You just wash it and it dries like that?” He takes your purse from you and sets it on the entry table before helping to ease off the heavier sweater jacket you were wearing from your shoulders. “I don’t think you get it. You’re pretty, but you’re so handsome too.”

He squats down in front of you and smiles up at you before helping to slip off your shoes, “I’ll take handsome too if it’s on the table, sounds like a nice combo.”

“Please, you sound like Jake now,” you giggle.

“Oh no, we can’t have that now can we,” he grins, “But at least I’m pretty and handsome, hopefully that’ll cushion the blow.”

And you just love him.

You love him for the way he loves you and takes care of you and tries to make you laugh when he knows you’re feeling down. You reach up to pull his face to yours when you are distracted by the thick cast on your arm.

“This wasn’t the accessory I was hoping for for Christmas,” you say with a sigh.

The panic that electrifies your body is immediate as your spine goes ramrod straight. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. You can almost see the words swirl and twirl around him, and you know there’s no way you can snatch them back from the way they hang in the air.

“Ohmygod. Oh my god, I didn’t mean to say that.” You’re so flustered now, so embarrassed. “Please pretend you didn’t hear that.”

But Bradley is looking at you with his eyes crinkled around the corners and his lips pressed together like he is trying to hold back a laugh with the way his cheeks are pulling up.

“Oh, did you want a pair of earrings?” he teases, cupping your face in his hand.

“Bradley,” you whine.

“C’mere, baby,” he laughs and pulls you into his chest. You wrap your arms around him and wonder briefly if he can feel the hard plaster of your cast pressed against his back. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “You know you never did tell me what you wanted for Christmas.”

“Don’t need anything,” you murmur into the warmth of him.

He’s already all you’ve ever wanted.

As you make your way up the stairs, glow from your pretty pink tree seems brighter than usual. Normally, you’d take one last peek back at it before going to bed, but you’re still a bit wobbly on your feet. It’ll still be there waiting for you in the morning.

“Oh shit,” you hear him mutter from behind you.

“What’s wrong, Roos?”

“Ah- just stubbed my toe. C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.” The heavy tread of his footsteps is close behind you, you can almost feel the warmth of him at your back.

At you back. By your side. He’s the only person you’ll ever need.

They’d given you some of the strong stuff and he could tell that you were still floating in that sweet spot before all the gravity settles back into your bones.

The distal radius fracture in your right wrist meant that you’d be in the cast for the next six weeks. You’d gone with a white and pink stripped candy cane inspired look to match the tree, Bradley. While he wishes it wasn’t there in the first place, he thought the pattern you’d chosen was cute.

He’d quickly and quietly kicked off his shoes before he’d followed you into the bedroom. Hoping that you wouldn’t notice them, he’d take a disinfecting wipe to the floor and stairs tomorrow.

For as well as Rooster knew you, he felt a little out of his element because he knew you were hurting but he wasn’t sure what would make you feel better in that moment. When he offered to draw you a bath he’d instantly known it was the right choice by the look on your face.

So he’d made you one with all of your favorite products. The mound of bubbles he was able to achieve was truly impressive, if he did say so himself. He even dimmed the lights and lit a few candles for you.

Bradley had carefully wrapped up your cast in plastic wrap and secured the top with a rubber band. And the dejected pout on your face when you looked at it and called it an “unattractive arm condom” had nearly sent him over edge.

He’s already looking on his phone for other options, sitting on the bathroom floor next to you as you soak in the tub, when he feels your fingers thread through his hair and he leans into your touch.

“I really am jealous of your hair, you know. I’m sure there were a few of the girls at that floral class who were too.”

Your head is leaning back against the lip of the tub as you gaze at him, your hair wet from him washing it for you. He’d noticed the moment you realized how difficult it would be for you to do it yourself for the foreseeable future. But you brought out the optimistic side of him and he’d already come up with a solution, “I guess we’ll have to take more showers together then, so I can wash your hair for you. Plus, it’ll be good for the environment”. You’d laughed, and he was happy to see some of the light returning back into your eyes.

“I don’t know why when yours is so pretty,” he says, reaching out and lightly tugging on a lock of your hair.

“Did I tell you one of them asked me if you had a brother? She was honestly so put out when I said that you didn’t that I’m pretty sure she took the last of the dahlias out of spite when she saw me reaching for them. They didn’t even match her arrangement,” you say rolling your eyes, adjusting the way your plastic wrapped candy cane cast rested against the other side of the tub. “Like sorry not sorry, I’m not going to give you my boyfriend.”

“Was it the woman in the striped sweater?”

“Yes! It was her!”

Bradley had notice her checking him out a little too closely for a man who was clearly there another woman and happily taken.

“She had crazy eyes, I wouldn’t have wanted you to give me to her anyways.”

You snicker at that, “She did have crazy eyes.”

He makes a mental note to remember to grab the arrangements from out of the back of the Bronco before he goes to bed. He didn’t want anything to happen to them, but that could until after you were tucked in bed and asleep.

“But the instructor was so sweet, Roos. I told her that the dahlias were your mom’s favorites and then she went to the back and got me a bunch. She didn’t put them on the table or anything for anyone else, just handed them over to me for us to use. It was a real girls supporting girls moment, we bonded.”

He’s struck by the fact that you’d already known about his mom’s favorite flower. That you had let him think it was happenstance when really you had grabbed them because you’d known it would mean something to him. That you wanted to make it special for him when he was trying to make it a special day for you.

He didn’t think it was possible to love you any more than he already did, but you were so good at making him fall in love with you over and over again.

“That was really nice of her, sweetheart,” he says, his throat a little thick.

“It really was. And better yet she’s single and likes women,” you say with a grin, “I got her number to get coffee, but I might see if I can play matchmaker between her and Nat. She looks like Nat’s type.”

“This was our instructor? You got all of that out of her in a few minutes of conversation?” he asks, impressed.

You give him a cheeky shrug of your shoulder, “Yeah, I’m efficient. She owns the shop too. I think I’m going to order something for Penny and Mav from her closer to Christmas.”

“You know what, I think you’re right, she does seem very much like Nat’s type,” Bradley smiles to himself, Phoenix is going to be very excited when he tells her about this.

“’m always right,” you hum.

“You sure are, sweetheart,” he says fondly.

He watches as your eyelids start to get heavy and helps you to get out of the tub, wrapping you up in the biggest, fluffiest towel he can find and sits you on the bed as he goes into the closet to find something cozy for you to wear.

“What do you want me to grab you, baby?”

“Your shirt,” you call out sleepily.

He peeks his head around the opening, “Sweetheart, you’re not going to want hospital germs in bed.”

“No, not that one,” you say, scrunching your nose, “Your henley. The soft navy one with the little white flecks. ‘s my favorite.”

You look so tired, he doesn’t like the slump of your shoulders. He knows that feeling all too well and he hates that you feel so bad about something that you had no control over. It had been such a good day up until the end. But even so, you’re the only person he wants to go through the highs and lows with.

He strips down and puts both his clothes and yours into the hamper before grabbing the shirt for you. “Arms up,” he says gently, he pulls the sleeve wide to fit over your cast before threading it down your arms and over your head.

Rooster pulls back the covers for you to crawl into bed. He climbs in after you, cradling you against him as he reaches over for the remote to turn on your favorite Christmas movie channel for you to fall asleep too.

Your cast rests heavy on his chest.

The heroine just won the cookie cook-off and he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you murmur quietly into the dark room, “This is the second year in a row, Bradley, I really think we should consider skipping Christmas next year. For both of our sake’s.”

“We’ve got too much Christmas spirit for a little pine tree allergy or fractured wrist to keep us down,” he tips your head up so that you’re looking at him, “Give it time, it’ll turn around. I promise, sweetheart.”

He seals that vow with a sweet kiss against your lips and a few minutes later he feels as your breaths even out and you fall asleep tucked against him.

You wake up the next morning feeling more than a little groggy and cotton-headed as everything from yesterday comes rushing back to you.

As does the aching in your right wrist.

You reach out for Rooster, but his side of the bed is already cold. He’s always been an early riser and once he’s awake he doesn’t know how to sit still. You wouldn’t have minded cuddling with him for a little bit, but knowing him he has probably already brewed a pot of coffee for you.

When you finally crack open your eyes, you see that he’s left out a bottle of the prescription strength ibuprofen the doctor had sent home with you on your nightstand and a note written in his slanted script reminding you to take one. Your sweetest boy.

You attempt to splash some cold water on your face with one hand, willing it to depuff your face a little bit and then try to fix up your hair so that you look and feel less bedraggled. It is one thing if Bradley is the one responsible for it, but that wasn’t the case this morning.

Before heading downstairs, you decide on a whim to change out of his shirt and into the cozy cream-colored fuzzy lounge set you’d bought on sale the other week. It takes three times longer to get dressed than it usually did, but getting yourself at least a little more put together made you feel a bit more in control. You knew the extra effort wasn’t necessary, but you felt cute and it was making you feel a little bit better about everything.

The pink and white cast was a bit of a choice looking at it in the morning light filtering through the airy curtains, but you thought you pulled it off well. It was cheerful and fun. And you weren’t going to let it affect you or your Christmas plans with your perfect boyfriend.

There is still some residual guilt you’re trying to shake off, you know it was a fluke of fate, but you’re already thinking about ways to make it up to him all the same.

You gingerly make your way down the stairs making a mental note to look up what other festive things were happening this weekend and call out to Rooster, “Please tell me there’s coffee.”

The raspy laugh that reaches your ears makes you smile for the first time that morning, “I’ve got one ready for you in the living room, sweetheart. It’s ready when you are.”

The painkillers, the coffee. The man is a saint and looks like a god. And he’s all yours.

You take those final few steps a bit faster, ready for the strong dark roast that only he seems to be able to make to just right and to thank him for taking such good care of you.

You lose all words when you walk into the living room.

It’s like you’ve walked into a dreamy pink forest straight out of a fairytale.

Your beloved very large, very fluffy, pink tree covered with all of your memories collected from the past year and Bradley’s mom’s sparkling vintage glass icicles is surrounded by two other very large, very fluffy, pink Christmas trees.

The newest additions to the living room glow with the hundreds of twinkling white lights. It’s ethereal and whimsical the way the light bounces and dapples on the walls and floors.

And there standing in front of them is Bradley, barefoot in his favorite sweatpants in your cozy living room of the home he’s made with you looking like a daydream.

You don’t think it’s the prescription strength pain medication kicking in that makes you feel like you’re floating as you walk towards him. You know it’s all him.

Bradley says your name with such adoration, such love that you swear you feel your heart reshape in your chest with his name on it.

“I envisioned this a bit differently in my mind, but the way I see it, we’re just starting the ‘in sickness and in health’ part a bit early,” he says, taking your right hand and dropping a kiss to your cast. Your eyes well up at the tender gesture.

And then you stop breathing when he sinks down onto one knee in front of you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart. I love your big heart and the way you’re so kind and generous to everyone you meet. I love the way you can light up a room with your smile. The best parts of my days are when I am with you. You’re the only person I want to wake up to, the only person I want to fall asleep with in my arms, and the only person who I want a forever with.” He reaches out and takes your shaky hand in his warm one, “Last year, you let me give you more than a drawer and it has been the best thing that has ever happened to me. You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. This year, will you let me give you my last name too and marry me?”

You can almost see his heart that he is wearing on his sleeve. His pretty honey brown eyes are tracing over every inch of your face, almost like he is trying to commit every microcosm of your expression to memory.

You had imagined this moment so many times. It was the movie you’d put on in your mind on those nights when sleep felt just out for reach. And like a snowflake, no two dreams had been the same.

But nothing you’d imagined could have ever topped the reality of this moment here and now.

Because there was nothing was better than being surrounded by three pink fluffy trees and looking forward to getting to spend a lifetime with Bradley Bradshaw.

“Well it’s convenient I fractured the right one,” you say with a watery laugh as a few happy tears escape from your eyes.

“I guess that is a lucky break,” he grins.

“Literally.”

You didn’t think it was possible to smile this wide. That you could be this happy.

“You still haven’t given me an answer yet, sweetheart,” he says, slightly squeezing your good hand.

“Haven’t I though?” you tease. There’s no what he doesn’t know what your answer is, not with the way you’re beaming.

“C’mon, let me hear you say it.”

You don’t make him wait for long.

“Yes, Bradley, yes I will marry you. It’ll always be a yes with you.”

You barely get to finish your sentence before he is shooting to his feet, pulling you into his arms and kissing you.

Your Bradley. Your fiancé.

On Christmas morning, after all the presents are unwrapped, you find yourself sitting under your perfectly pink tree surrounded by scraps of ribbons and bits of shiny wrapping paper.

Even your striped pink and white cast looked particularly festive under the gleam of the trees.

Rooster is in the kitchen making another pot of coffee for the two of you to share. You can hear him singing along to one of the vintage crooner Christmas albums you had gotten him.

You’ll be hosting Mav, Penny, and Amelia for dinner tonight. You let yourself enjoy this quiet of the mid-morning before things get chaotic. The two of you had dressed the oval oak dining table yesterday afternoon. The centerpiece you’d ordered from Nat’s now New Year’s Eve date was stunning, there were even a few white dahlias tucked into the arrangement. Thankfully, with no pine needles in sight.

The tall pillar candles had been moved off to the side and a real fire was popping in the hearth of the tiled fireplace. And the sun streaming through the bay windows is bouncing off that sparkly silver garland that you’d gotten Bradley to hang up for you in a way that makes the shiny wooden floors look like they’ve been scattered with specks of confetti.

The swirling, sparkling, shimmering dots on the ceiling, however, were from your own ring as you move and tilt your hand admiring the way the sun illuminates it. You know the matching pair of diamond earrings that Bradley had gotten for you as you Christmas gift are shining just as bright.

He still blushes whenever anyone teases him about forgetting to pull out the engagement ring he had got for you before he’d proposed. But you wouldn’t have changed anything about that moment for the world.

The marquise diamond had belonged to his mom, but he had had it reset in gold with a halo of diamonds around it for you. He’d even bought a pink velvet box to put it in for the occasion. It was easily the prettiest thing you’d ever seen and your heart still fluttered every time you saw it on your finger.

The two new trees are still only dressed with the many strands of lights that they’d arrived with. You learned that Bradley had enlisted Jake and Natasha to help him out with that particular surprise that day a couple weeks ago when he’d taken you on what you affectionately refer to as the 12 Dates of a Christmas Proposal.

Your favorite pink tree, the one he had gotten for you last year- the one you’re sitting under now- was also in possession of a new accessory. A shiny new pink ring pop ornament Bradley had gotten to commemorate the occasion of you saying yes and was hanging in a place of honor on the tree right between the little Hawaiian shirt ornament and the dainty, dangling ice skates.

Saying yes was the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

Yes to forever. Yes to him.

This season and every season.

You couldn’t wait to see what new ornaments would fill those trees by next year.

And the one after that.

And the one after that.

And the next one after that.

Happy Holiday's! It's been almost a year since I've posted my very first story on here. I'm so thankful that a zoom kaboom plane movie has introduced me to so many wonderful people! Thank you for reading my stories and for all the support I've received over this last year! It has meant the world to me!

This story is set in the Oh, Christmas Tree universe. If you missed the fic that started it all, you can read it here!

Many thanks to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for so, so many reasons. I hope you enjoy this, this one's for you!

You can read my other stories here!

Taglist:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[gatheringbones]

[“Turns out that being a lesbian outside of the privacy of your own home was quite hard. I’m not talking about the various manifestations of homophobia—oh, that old thing. I’m talking about scoring. Picking up chicks. (As it turns out, I would come to prefer the type of woman few would recognize as female, the type who would cheerfully deck you if you called her a chick, but might, if I were lucky, see me as such: a chick, a babe, a femme fox.)

In the oeuvre of Mr. Spillane, being a lesbian seemed so easy, like shooting fish in a barrel. In my favorite lesbian novels, No Blonde is an Island and My Gun is Quick, all a gal had to do was brush up against another woman by the water cooler and, watch out, the sapphic sparks would surely fly. Lesbianism was something any woman could do, no special equipment, messy creams or liquids were required.

But when I walked into my first dyke bar in New York City, I had a rude awakening. It was like transferring to a new high school. No, it was worse than that. A new junior high school. You walk into the class on the first day and everyone turns to stare. Your clothes, your hair, the way you move, it’s all wrong. You have to change everything or die a horrible and lingering death.

I guess the moral of this story is that there are some pursuits, such as lesbianism, that one can’t learn from a book, no matter the author. A more crass sort might make some tasteless jokes at this juncture about “boning up” on lesbianism, or about “hands-on experience,” but the reader can be assured this dyke will not sink to that level.

I watched the other women dancing, talking, flirting. All transactions were conducted in a lingo as incomprehensible to me as straight guy sports speak. My late-seventies disco fever look was out of place here. Everyone looked like they’d raided the closet of their bigger, older brother while he was out repairing refrigerators.

I was the only one wearing makeup.

Someone approached me: “This is a gay bar.” I shriveled up and a gust of wind blew me out into the street.

I had no skills. No lesbian skills. I was stared at, rather than cruised, at the bars. I couldn’t find a way of singnaling to another dyke that I was open for business, a friend of Dorothy, in the life, on the bus. Let alone desperately horny.

Somehow I managed a few invites to lesbian parties. I’d figured out that wearing lipstick was wrong, but I was still doing it. I’m such a congenital WASP that my lips disappear without makeup; I couldn’t imagine having sex without lipstick. I had tried to pull a lesbian look together: oversized second-hand men’s clothes, an unbuttoned black vest, but Annie Hall does not work on someone five feet tall.

Nor could I play softball. When something is thrown at me, even if it is specifically designed for that purpose, I automatically duck. All I had going for me in the lesbian skill department was ownership of a cat. Enough to break the ice, but not cinch the deal.

Certainly I couldn’t just come out and ask some other dyke to show me the ropes, so to speak. The seventies were still going on even though it was now the eighties. Feminism and lesbianism had kind of merged, become one big multinational entity with Andrea Dworkin as CEO. You had to be sneaky to get laid.

Yikes. It had been so easy with men. All you had to do was bend over at the bowling alley and something would happen.

After two years, the drought ended. I saw a sign that advertised: “Double-X-Rated Christmas Party for Women.” The party was held in the basement of a Catholic church. Perhaps the priests had passed out upstairs and had no idea what was going on. Or perhaps the priests were the drag queens working the bar. Nevertheless, I was there as soon as the doors opened. And the doors were not the only thing that opened.

I walked into the basement where the party was taking place and saw rows of thrift store tuxedoes, second-hand prom dresses. The doorperson made it clear that these outfits could be borrowed for the evening. After they checked their coats, many party-goers were borrowing outfits from the racks and disappearing into the bathroom to amend their attire. As the evening went on, I noticed more and more women trading in their flannel and denim for sharkskin and taffeta.

At this, my first encounter with the women who produced the WOW Festival and would later open the WOW Cafe in a tiny linguini-shaped storefront on East Eleventh Street, I fell in love. In love with all of the women, with their outrageousness, their unruly desire. I wanted desperately to be a part of whatever it was they were doing…if the WOW Cafe had been a support group for lesbian skeet shooters, that’s what I’d be doing now.

Instead, I found theater, or it found me. And the theater, it seemed, offered a wonderful solution to my involuntary celibacy: the casting couch. In theater you are encouraged to have sex with as many people as possible; it’s an integral part of the process. At least at WOW it seemed like the shows were almost an afterthought to the flirting, a byproduct of the endless parties where women of every imaginable gender rubbed up against each other.

This last paragraph reads like a natural cue to cross-fade to the Story of the First Girlfriend, doesn’t it? At this point, I should see a stranger across a crowded room, our eyes should lock, and the violins should swell like wieners on the grill. But this scene isn’t part of my coming-out story. Who even remembers my first girlfriend? Not me. I remember lots of bodies, I remember rooms lit by lots of small lights, and above all else, I remember lots and lots of Rolling Rock. This movie doesn’t end with a soft-focus closeup on two women kissing; this is a coming-out story that crescendos into a crowd scene. It’s a wide-angle shot. The climax of my coming-out scenario isn’t a closeup on a lesbian couple but a panorama of a lesbian world.”]

holly hughes, from what comes first, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[luckykiwiii101]

Hey Upper East Siders. Want to play a game…? One condition, this time you HAVE to play by the rules. Or it’s game over…

- XoXo, Gossip Girl 💋 💌

And who am i? That’s one secret i’ll never tell, You know you love me - XoXo, Gossip Girl 💋 💌

————————————————————————————————————————

♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤♥️🖤

————————————————————————————————————————

Hey Upper east siders.

It’s that time of year again. When the sleigh bells are jingling and people add more items to their never ending wish list.What if i told you…it’s more than just a wish list.Ever wanted something so bad that you would do ANYTHING to get it? Well luckily, i’m not talking about signing a contract in blood. You don’t even have to lift a finger, nor shed any blood…or tears. You can have everything you’ve ever wished for.You just have to play a little game. Will you accept this dance…? If the answer is yes…keep on reading.

Now that we’re nice and ready. We can get started on this super quick and fun journey. If i didn’t say this earlier, GOSSIP GIRL HERE!! and i have the BIGGEST news ever! YOU will have entered/woke up in the void state within a week and manifested your dream life! Maybe you’ll do it in less than a week, and have a holly jolly Christmas XoXo. Just depends on how determined you are.

You know what happens if you aren’t…right? There are two outcomes. Let’s go over them shall we..?

“Will you have this dance..?” “No”

(Option A)

SPOTTED: Lonely Boy. Can’t believe they didn’t want their dream life, only in exchange for a little persistence. How tragic……And EVERYONE is talking. Wonder what Blair Waldorf thinks. If only they knew how easy life was…

“Will have you this dance…?” “Yes”

(Option B)

SPOTTED: SPOTTED, On the steps of the Met: B. Looking perfect, as usual. Feeling perfect, as usual. Having everything they’ve ever wanted. So much for such little “work”. Did they really think they could just waltz over here and not manifest their dream life? So effortless, it’s almost funny.

So……Which do you choose?

(thought so)

Option B?! Good choice. Looks like Little J will have everything they want and a ticket to the inner circle. Why waste precious time dreaming when waking life is SO much better?

Luckily, your journey will be very short, and VERY sweet.

YOU’VE BEEN INVITED!

Serena Van Der Woodsen, your invitations just arrived. With strings attached. Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Gossip Girl here…enough with the stalling. Now for the main event.

You will spend the next 7 days, accepting that you are a void master.

What is the void state?

Well well well. Look what we have here. An overcomplicator on our hands, caught red handed. (Just kidding, XoXo)

It’s a state of pure consciousness. When you are detached from your physical senses completely. You can’t hear, see, smell or feel anything. Must be heaven if your name is Dan Humphrey.

Did you know, that you enter the void state everytime you fall asleep? Shocked? Well don’t be. It’s nothing special. Things always work out for you after all, should be used to it by now. Doesn’t it feel weird to finally have Gossip Girl on YOUR side? Can’t wait to pry into your success soon……and write ALLLLLL about it. You better not disappoint me, you know what happens next. Don’t wanna end up like lonely boy……do you?

“But i don’t believe in the Void State.”

- Said no sane person ever. Unless your Queen B with a broken heart.

Here you go! 💋💌💋

Does little J want a virtual slap of common sense? Don’t tempt me. A few clicked pics of your journey home could turn into a journey to hell. You know you love me. XoXo.

How do I enter the void state?

(Here you go 💌💌💌)

Looks like entering the void state really IS sugar and spice and EVERYTHING nice after all.

Hear those silver bells? It’s a void master INCOMING!!!

Applying states for the void state:

(Here you go! 💋💌💋💌)

And everyone knows the biggest present comes in the smallest box………not so difficult after all.

Then there are those boxes you are SO glad you opened.

“Challenges” to apply:

EVERYONE knows that there’s no such thing as a “challenge”.

“Take one It Girl on a pedestal. Add a crowd eager to see her fall. And give them the means to knock her down. So sad how they know they’ll only be the ones who end up falling” - XoXo Gossip Girl

Is Queen B Feeling frustrated? : (Lotusmi’s void challenge)

Always finding your hands in your hair and your fist in the wall? Well this one’s for you! (💋 💋 💋)

Love complaining? Of course you do! Talk about a Blair Bitch Project.

And for the building to really blow up, all you need is an unexpected turn. Who knew changing attitudes were so helpful?Especially for the Stubborn Blair Waldorf.

Desperately Seeking Serena: (3 day void challenge)

Is Queen S feeling like she needs a whole mind reprogramming in a gorgeously short amount of time? Well it’s time to turn that mental frown, upside down! (Here you go!!! 💋♥️💋♥️)

Ah, what’s that magic word again? Oh, Consistency! Whoops! Don’t tell me you forgot too?

And anyone who’s used to bending the rules will find themselves breaking them.

Feeling like a Dare Devil?: (Void Princess challenge)

Confidence is built, and NEWS FLASH!!! You don’t need confidence to build it. No expense is spared.

(Post is here 💋💋💋)

There’s nothing Gossip Girl loves more than a little……push. Not off of a building of course………ofcourse.

Of course Gossip Girl here isn’t going to link every single void challenge here. Wouldn’t you like to come up with your own? Use your favourite one to your hearts content.

As we all know, there’s nothing Gossip Girl loves more than a surprise.

Is that a smile we see on B’s lips? The spotlight’s on her for once and no one helped her get it. I guess “miracles” can happen.

Distraction Method (made by the one and only, Gossip Girl)

Another stray thought lands in B’s lap. Will she use it as ammunition or will she surrender and put down her arms?

Here you go! 💌♥️💌♥️

What happens if Queen B doesn’t want to persist?

No, that’s not a tear in my eye. It’s just allergies. Without you, I’m nothing. —Gossip Girl

Who doesn’t love a five-finger discount. Especially if it’s the middle one.

Look who doesn’t want to end up on my blog. Who will I gossip about now?

Who cares if i’m pretty if i fail my finals?

Everyone knows that Blair Waldorf is SO much better than Rory Gilmore. Luckily for Blair, the word “failing” is unheard of. Too bad for Rory, it’s all she thinks about.

Read this 💋💋💋

Hey Upper East Siders. We hear that World War III just broke out. And it’s wearing kneesocks. Choose your side or run and hide. We have a feeling this one’s to the death.

Why should I listen to Gossip Girl?

Because “I was a teenage drug addict” is not exactly a winning college essay.

Now have a holly jolly Christmas with your every desire. You can thank me later.

Every happy ending is just a new beginning. Because on the Upper East Side, the good times ALWAYS last forever. You know you love me, XOXO —Gossip Girl 💋 💌

[urrockstar-xe]

mistletoe mishaps - j.t x fem!reader

posted dec 2nd, 2023 11:47 am

Anon asked: HII!! Happy holidays! I was wondering if I could request Jason Todd with the prompt “reader has been caught up in the stresses of the holiday, character has been spending the day trying to get them under the mistletoe” Thank you!! 😊

here you are my love! thank u for requesting :D happy holidays!!!

masterlist

wordcount: 0.9k

“Are you sure you don’t want any help with that?” Jason asked for the third time in the last 20 minutes, a mixed look of confusion and concern on his face as he watched you try to untangle Christmas lights.

With a sigh you shook your head no, despite probably needing his help, he had just been shot in his side a few days prior. Finally complying with your request that the Red Hood take the next few days off, an early christmas present for his girl is what Jason was calling it. 

Besides, you were too stubborn to accept the help you had so confidently denied needing to begin with.

so now you were left to untangle lights, make family/friends present lists and unpack boxes of Christmas decorations all on your own.

Although getting out the boxes was something Jason insisted on helping you with despite your efforts to stop him.

Deciding to give up on the lights for now, you abandoned them, tossing them aside somewhere near the tree box and pulling your notepad into your lap, resuming your list of present ideas.

“What are you getting Bruce?” You asked, not looking up from the book as you wrote down some ideas for Dick and Tim. “Hell if I know” Jason shrugged, chuckling to himself as you urgently wrote things down, both of you knowing you’d hate yourself for the messy writing later on.

“What do you even get for someone who has everything?” “Plus the batmobile” Jason added, earning an exaggerated groan from your lips in response. 

“Oh my god, I’m forgetting something” You sat up, eyeing all the boxes in front of you before standing up, discarding the notepad on the couch by Jason. “What are we missin’ babe?” Jason flipped through channels on the TV, knowing he’d probably get scolded for trying to help as you searched through the boxes. 

“Mistletoe!”

you ignored the way Jason’s eyes lit up with an idea, opening another box. “I’ll go get you some, okay? it’s an easy errand for me to run, and you’ll have one less thing to do.” Jason explained, standing from the couch and pulling on one of his discarded hoodies that littered your apartment. You reluctantly agreed, sending your boyfriend off with a quick kiss and instructions on what kind to get, and then he was out the door, and you were left with the mess surrounding you. With no idea where to even start.

After what felt like ages but was really only an hour, you heard the front door open as you set a snowman cookie jar on your counter. Jason was only partially surprised at how the apartment had barely changed when he was gone but he also didn’t really care as all he had in mind was the mistletoe in the small paper bag. 

“Hey, Jay. Do you think that garland by the door looks dumb?” You asked, mindlessly taking the bag, setting it on the counter unbeknownst of the small extra mistletoe in his hands. 

“It looks good, babe, you’re doin’ a good job.” Jason shrugged, softly grabbing hold of the soft material covering your shoulder, effortlessly spinning you around, and holding the mistletoe over your heads. You gasped, taking note of the grin on your boyfriend's face but not noticing the way it dropped when you reached up and took it from his hands. “Awh, you got extra? thank you, love.” You smiled at him appreciatively before turning back around and taking off, careful to not trip on any boxes as you worked away in the living room, leaving a rather flustered Jason behind. 

Jason shook his head, disbelief covering his face as he turned to follow you but opted out of that when he came up with a plan B.

The eerie silence from Jason concerned you far later than it should have when you tilted your head as if to listen better just as a painful groan exited your boyfriend’s mouth. Instantly you ditched the tree ornaments finding Jason clutching his side as he leaned against the counter, mistletoe now attached to the entrance of the kitchen. Sneaky Bastard

“Jason, I told you not to help!” You said, worriedly removing your boyfriend’s hand from his waist and lifting his hoodie to check if the bandage was bloody and for any hints of stitches ripping. 

“I’m okay” Jason huffed out, setting his hand on your shoulder as if the counter didn’t provide enough support. You sighed, looking up at him with worried eyes before taking his hands and leading him into the living room, with no arguments from Jason when you sat next to him on the couch.

Feeling his arm snake around your shoulder, this time you decided to just breathe as you leaned into his good side, examining the mess of your apartment before seeing Jason grab something from the side table in your peripheral view. 

“What is that?” You asked, curiously, and as if on cue he held out the small extra mistletoe. You gasped quietly at yourself in realization. “Oh my god, I’m sorry, Jay, I didn’t even realize. I’m so dumb” You covered your face with your hands while rambling, earning a laugh from Jason, followed by a kiss on your hair. 

“C’mon, doll, let me see you” he smiled at the sight of your face, now holding the mistletoe just slightly above your heads.

Jason palmed the mistletoe, still holding it in his hand when he hooked his finger under your chin to place his lips exactly where they belong

on yours, of course.

[hottpinkpenguin]

My request for the Peaky Blinders event: Tommy Shelby + A + B 🖤

A/n: yayyyyy my first Peaky Blinders request!!! thank you @astrangegirlsmind <3 hope it scratches the itch

Ask Me Stay - Tommy Shelby X Bodyguard Fem!Reader Word Count: 4331 Content warnings: non-canon, canon-typical violence, Arthur being Arthur, swearing, references to WWI, alcohol/drinking, implied smut, fade to black

There weren’t many females in your business. In fact, you were the only female bodyguard you’d ever met. Initially, it worked to your advantage: no one expected the full-figured beauty with the expensive silk gown and the pearl necklace to have two Brownings strapped to the inside of her thighs, or a switchblade sewn into the suede of her clutch. You looked much more the part of an expensive consort than a bodyguard, and it was a role you played well, leaning into the role of glib, can’t-hold-her-liquor arm candy. No one expected a woman to know how to slice a throat, throw a punch, or pick a lock. But after the element of surprise was lost in a market, that was it. No one was quick to forget you, and your business was only as good as your anonymity. So, once you’d worked a handful of lucrative jobs in any one area, you moved on. One town, one city, to the next. You’d crossed international lines, too: America to Ireland to England. Adjusting your accent had taken work, but it had been essential. The longer you could blend in as a local, the longer you could stay in any given place. 

Normally, a bodyguard’s dependability was a selling point, and their reputation was something they honed over years and years of diligent work in one area. You didn’t have that luxury. For all your gifts and guile, if you stayed too long anywhere, you ended up with a target on your back. You were too easy to pick out once people knew what to look for. At first, bouncing from one market to the next had proven near-disastrous for your business. Only able to take on a few jobs in a city, without a reputation and name recognition to trade on, you’d been forced to take meager, shit-paying gigs for washed up nobodies. The kind of men - because they were always men - who treated you like the escort you pretended to be. Even though you weren’t there to warm their cocks, you were there to save their hides. They didn’t seem to care much about that, especially after a few tall glasses of booze.

But then, you’d gotten wise. A few lucky hires later, your father had wised up to the importance of referrals. If your clients couldn’t re-hire you, you’d ask them to refer you somewhere. Usually to a contact in the business, based out of a different city. That suited you just fine, for reasons already discussed. Once this took off, the money started flowing in. You were able to buy better sidearms. Spend more on expensive gowns and jewelry to look the part. Your clientele started to ratchet up in status, in stakes, and in payoff.

It didn’t really all add up until one night in December, right before the Christmas holiday, when you’d been enjoying a rare evening off with your father. You’d been stretched out on the couch while he was pouring over the accounts, as usual, when he sat back from the open ledger with a shocked sigh. 

“I don’t fucking believe it,” he murmured under his breath. 

You’d swiveled your head around, recognizing the look of shock on his face as he rubbed his salt-and-pepper stubble (more salt than pepper these days, you realized) in distant thought.

“What is it?” you’d asked, bracing for bad news. Usually your father only commented on the accounts ledger when something was wrong. 

“You’ve got a perfect record, Little Doe.” He turned to you, using a childhood nickname he reserved for only when the two of you were alone, far from the eyes and ears of potential clients. “Perfect.”

You hadn’t really understood his point until the next client meeting, which happened to be the very one you were sitting in now. 

All the politicians, gangsters, and celebrities you’d been paid to protect: not a single injury among them. The countless expensive payloads you’d been paid to guard - diamonds, cash, drugs, you name it - not a single loss. Six years in the business without a single issue? Now that was priceless. 

You listened as your father made this point to the potential client, his eyebrows arching slightly as he contemplated a six year, no blemishes selling point. Thomas Shelby was a man of few words, preferring instead to sip dispassionately on a glass of Irish whiskey and let your father make the sale. You watched him carefully, smoothing your face into a mask of disinterest that matched his. Tommy’s reputation preceded him, as did yours, apparently. You and your father hadn’t been in Birmingham more than a month before the leader of the infamous Peaky Blinders had darkened your doorstep, cash in hand for a job he said needed the utmost discretion and impeachable talent.

“Your cost is steep,” he commented drily as he reviewed the bill your father had slid across the cherry wood poker table.

“I assure you, Mr. Shelby, our cost matches our service.” It was your father’s usual line, and, to his credit, he let it land with as much weight as ever. You’d noticed he was overselling Thomas Shelby - sounding a little too eager, maybe even bordering on desperate - which you knew was a reflection more of your father’s eagerness to secure the goodwill and the good referral of a well-connected gangster versus any real financial pressure to land the job. You were practically drowning in excess cash, a problem you’d been totally unacquainted with until quite recently. Thanks to your father’s astute management, savings were being made to ensure that the two of you wouldn’t have to clamor for gigs for quite a while. You doubted very much that, if it weren’t for Thomas Shelby’s name, your father wouldn’t have given him a sit down at all, preferring instead to celebrate the upcoming new year alone with you in relative peace and prosperity.

Thomas Shelby took another sip of his whisky as he scanned the receipt. His eyes lazed over the figures, then up to your father’s stoic expression, and then over to you. You were always present for client meetings, but didn’t speak until the contract was signed. Typically, you didn’t have to. All that was required of you to seal a deal was a coquettish smile, and maybe a timely demonstration of your skills (you’d left more than a few bullet holes in the walls of the flats you rented and in the Fedoras of your potential clients). 

“I assume this is your expensive daughter?” Tommy Shelby’s voice oozed with something halfway between derision and curiosity. You weren’t sure whether to be insulted or intrigued. Your father nodded, motioning for you. You rose from the chair in the corner of the room and stepped forward, giving Mr. Shelby a small nod of greeting.

“And I assume you typically play the role of what… a whore, when you’re working?” You fought down the rising heat that threatened to stain your cheeks. You heard your father clear his throat and fidget self-consciously. 

“I can dress for whatever part you would prefer, Mr. Shelby,” you replied coolly. “Most of my clientele are men of means, and a pretty woman dangling from their arm is a common sight. Makes it easy to blend in and do my job. If you’re unaccustomed to having beautiful women entertain you, then I’m sure we can reach a different arrangement.” 

Thomas Shelby’s expression gave away nothing as your sly insult hung in the air. You suspected he knew as well as you did that your words were rather empty, however clever your retort. You had to force your eyes not wander away from his, as alluring his sharp cheekbones and full lips may be. He held your gaze, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if he could read your attraction to him. You lifted your chin, halfway between a challenge and an invitation. You wondered if you imagined a small quirk at the corners of his mouth, as if he were fighting against a smile. 

“What my daughter means is that she-”

“Done.” 

You hadn’t realized you’d been holding your breath until you felt your shoulders relax with your exhale at his words. Your father had been in such a rush to save what he’d felt certain was a meeting gone sideways that he fell short of words for a few moments, his mouth closing and opening without any sound. Thomas Shelby rose, all brusque and business-like, as he withdrew a hefty wad of cash from his overcoat and casually tossed a handful of bills on the table.

“Your advance,” he commented offhandedly as he finished his drink with a hearty gulp. 

“When’s the job?” you asked hurriedly as he made towards the door. He hesitated briefly, hand on the doorknob, and even though he didn’t look back at you you felt your skin crawl under his attention.

“I’ll find you when I need you.” 

The door opened, a brief blustering December breeze jostling its way inside before Thomas Shelby stepped out into the Birmingham night and closed the door behind him.

You exchanged a stunned glance with your father. He was sifting through the bills left on the table. 

“He’s paid the entire balance,” your father murmured in a mix of disbelief and suspicion. For your part, you weren’t surprised, although you barely registered your father’s words. You found yourself peaking out into the dark street, pulling back the curtains just slightly. Down the empty road, you could just barely make out a dark silhouette retreating into the late night blackness. Only the orange-gold end of his cigar betrayed Thomas Shelby’s location. You cracked a half-smile as you watched him vanish around a corner, his words echoing in your ears:

I’ll find you when I need you. 

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

Four Months Later

“You’re fuckin’ jokin’.”

“Always such a way with words, Arthur.”

Tommy gave his older brother a withering glare as he motioned for you to step out of the darkened doorway. The glass-windowed door closed behind you with a heavy thud, bumping you deeper into what could only be described as a War Room. The Shelby brothers - Arthur, Tommy, and John - plus a stern looking dark-haired woman that the boys referred to as “Polly” were seated in plush, leather-backed chairs around a dark cherry-wood table. Surrounding the table on all four walls were maps, each of them marked up with pen marks, small red pins, and thread connecting points too small for you to read from this distance in a dizzying array of carefully laid out networks. The smoke in the room was so thick you wondered how your eyes weren’t watering. 

Aside from Tommy, the other three pairs of eyes sifted you over with suspicion, surprise, and no small amount of scorn. Tommy studiously avoided your gaze - and those of the others, you noted - and instead stood at the head of the table, bent over a large ledger. He’d barely exchanged a word with you since showing up unannounced at your doorstep two hours ago with the curt instruction to “pack for three days”. Aside from telling you that you were London-bound with his eldest brother, Arthur, you didn’t know anything about your assignment. 

“Introduce yourself, darlin’, we’re waitin’.” Polly’s voice was husky and dripping with hilarity, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. You doubted she was used to seeing another woman in this room, let alone a non-Shelby woman. 

“The name’s y/l/n,” you replied, clearing your throat a bit before continuing. “Mr. Shelby engaged my services several months ago, on retainer.” 

The youngest brother, John, chuckled wickedly and lifted an eyebrow at Tommy, still glued to the ledger book.

“That so, eh Tommy? Hope you didn’t shell out too much from the coffers!” He turned towards you, raking his eyes up one side and down the other in an obvious appraisal. “You always had an eye for a bargain, Tommy.” Your eyes narrowed at his insult. He shook his head and scoffed at you. “Since when do we make decisions about protection without consulting the family?” he pressed on. 

From across the haze, Arthur roared up out of his seat, practically vibrating with rage. His complexion was mottled under his patchy mustache and his eyes were bleary with whiskey. “I’ll tell you when, Johnnny Boy! Since Thomas fuckin’ Shelby elected himself the fuckin’ king of the Blinders is when!” 

Tommy didn’t give any indication that he’d heard either of his brothers’ outbursts before he replied back in a bored drone, “since the family is what we need protection from, in the first place.”

A breath of quiet descended over the uproarious Shelby clan as Tommy’s words sunk in. You weren’t entirely sure what was so revelatory about his declaration, but you found yourself holding your breath as your eyes darted from Arthur’s precarious dance on the edge of apoplexy, to the cold glare of Polly, to John’s self-congratulatory smirk, and lastly settling on Tommy’s ever-confident, disinterested face. Much to your surprise, he shot you a subtle wink you were certain only you could see. You felt your shoulders relax a half inch. 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Arthur’s whisper shook with fury.

“You know what it means, Arthur, don’t be obtuse.” Tommy lit a cigar and gently brushed his dark hair out of his face. He leaned against the table, retucking the hem of his crisply ironed shirt (impeccably well-tailored, you noticed idly as your eyes traced the seam up the side of his body) into the waist of his pants. You squirmed at the sight, suddenly lost from the conversation swirling around you.

“What are you playing at, boy?!” 

Tommy inhaled deeply from his fresh cigar as he fixed Arthur with the expression of an exasperated parent. 

“I’m not playing at anything, Arthur. I’m trying to make sure that the investments you’ve insisted on handling are executed properly and without incident.” 

“Incident?! What kind of fucking incidents are you expecting?”

“The kind of incident that usually starts with you being drunk at 10 am, like today.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ dru-”

“Arthur, don’t bother denying it, we all know. It smells like a goddamn distillery in here.”

John and Polly watched the volley with interest and a hint of fear. For every fraction of composure that Arthur lost, it seemed Tommy only grew more confident and cutthroat, bearing down on his brother’s insecurity with a viciousness that made you realize why he’d earned himself such a reputation on the streets of Birmingham.

“I do not need a fucking wet nurse!” 

Shit. You barely missed the whizzing whiskey glass that Arthur launched at the side of your face. An impressively accurate throw for a man that both you and Tommy Shelby had written off as a messy, 10am drunk. 

The glass collided with the door you’d entered through, shattering itself and the pane of frosted glass on the door in a rain of shards. Instinctively, you covered your face, just in time to feel the stinging bites of a few fragments dig in the skin on the back of your hand. 

The room erupted in a brawl before you’d risen from your crouch. Your hand had reflexively found its way to the butt of your pistol, diving into what looked like a pocket on the outside of your skirt, but was actually a split seam that allowed you direct access to the holstered guns you kept on your thighs at all times. Tommy Shelby had been faster. Before you’d been able to draw your weapon and fire a warning shot towards the eldest Shelby, Tommy had dove across the table at him, his hands wringing the collar of his shirt as the two collided with the back wall. A few of the intricate maps fell from their perches. Arthur’s chair tipped over with a heavy thud. Polly shrieked, John was yelling and trying to insert himself between the two. You were surprised once again by the accuracy of Arthur’s arm as he landed a few well-made punches against Tommy’s face. Tommy, for his part, responded agilely, wrenching Arthur up from the floor and pinning him against the table, his free hand drawn back for a haymaker. Polly’s voice ratcheted up another octave as she attached herself to Tommy’s fist in a weak attempt to stop him. John had wrapped his thick arms around Tommy’s midsection and was trying - futilely - to wrestle brother off brother. Arthur was taunting Tommy, his meaning lost to fury-fueled growls and obscenities, his voice gargled underneath Tommy’s choking grip. A trickle of blood had made its way down Tommy’s face from his nose and was beginning to stain his shirt collar.

Your shot split the chaos clean in two. An eerie quiet descended over the scene as the four frozen Shelby’s looked up at you as if they’d forgotten you were there. The bullet hole you’d left in the cherry-wood table half an inch from Arthur’s left ear smoldered with a thin trail of smoke.

“It looks like Arthur isn’t the only one who needs minding around here,” you commented coolly as you spun your Browning around your finger in a flashy show. You’d never been able to resist a little showmanship when it came to your guns. 

Whether it was your chastising or the sudden realization of just how out-of-hand this family meeting had gotten, you couldn’t be sure. But you saw the moment that Tommy Shelby’s eyes shuttered up. He buttoned away his rage with a self-conscious clearing of his throat as he straightened his tie. He lay off Arthur, who sprang up like an animal released from a trap. He eyed you warily, but looked properly reprimanded. Without much fuss, he grabbed his brown newsboy cap from the floor, smacking off the dust on his knee, and exited hurriedly. There was a noticeable hush on the gambling floor outside, where the Shelbys’ main book-rigging operation was headquartered. You could tell that whoever was out there - about twenty men, from what you remembered upon entering - was trying mightily not to make more of a scene than what was already done. 

John and Polly both slunk back to their chairs, looking at each other and then at Tommy and finally at you as like scolded pupils waiting to be dismissed. Tommy nodded at them absently and they both left, daggers shooting from their eyes at you. You didn’t miss the note of begrudging respect in Polly’s exceptionally brief nod as she closed the door with its busted pane of glass behind her. Leaving you and Thomas Shelby alone. 

You waited for him to speak, although you weren’t entirely sure he would. He had begun busying himself with re-hanging the maps that had been dislodged by the brother-on-brother melee of a few moments before. Which meant his back was turned to you. You watched as he wiped at his bloody nose with a handkerchief, dabbing away the trail of blood that had stained his chin and neck, before shoving the soiled square of fabric into his pants pocket. 

“Please forgive our manners, Miss y/l/n.” Thomas Shelby’s voice was so quiet you had to strain to hear him. You sank softly into one of the leathered chairs, swiping away some stray hairs from your forehead. 

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Shelby,” you replied softly. “Families are complicated. Doing business with them, even more so. Trust me, I know.” Your mind flashed to a few memories of rafter-shaking shouting matches with your father from earlier days in your career, when the money flowed less freely and the gigs were fewer and farther between. 

“It’s not alright, actually. I’m rather thoroughly embarrassed by my decorum… lack thereof, I should say.” Tommy turned towards you, still unable to raise his gaze from the floor. “My brother, Arthur. He’s a… he hasn’t been the same. Since the war. No one really has…” Tommy’s voice trailed off into a fog of memories, his eyes clouding over like you’d seen in so many others who’d seen the trenches of Europe. You waited, patiently. He resurfaced with a shiver a few moments later, half-turning towards you.

“Arthur needs more minding than I can give him, at this present moment. Besides, no man wants his baby brother acting as his keeper. I thought… well, I thought a beautiful woman like you would make a more… fitting partner for my brother’s business meetings.”

You felt your neck and cheeks redden at the compliment, your gaze dropping to your lap where you were fidgeting with your hands. Stop that, your inner voice chided as you clasped your hands together. You’re acting like a damn schoolgirl. 

“I guess I didn’t… I didn’t properly anticipate Arthur’s reaction. I should have addressed the topic with him first. Privately. Not in front of family. Or guests.” Tommy looked at you, sipping what was left in John’s abandoned whiskey glass down with a small grimace.

“You seem to have a great deal on your mind, Mr. Shelby,” you offered in conciliation. “Mistakes happen. To the best of us.” 

A moment of quiet descended on the two of you. Tommy was fidgeting with his shirt again in what you realized was a nervous tic. 

“Besides, Mr. Shel-”

“Tommy. Please. Call me Tommy.” He cut you off with an insistence that was so candid it felt almost intimate. Your throat went dry for a moment, but you forced yourself to swallow and nod. 

“Besides, Tommy. I am a woman who can take care of herself.” You reached across the table to place a pointed finger on the bullethole you’d left on its surface. Tommy followed your motion, chuckling at your quip. 

“Yes, you do seem to be… rather skilled at handling yourself.”

“My talents lie primarily in handling others, actually.” Normally, you’d have the wherewithal to deliver a double entendre like that with confidence, but this time the words slipped out before you had a moment to appreciate their subtext. Your flush instantly deepened as Tommy let out a surprised chuckle, his face splitting into what you realized was the first smile you’d seen him wear since you’d met. If it weren’t for the horribly grounding nag of humiliation, you were quite certain the sight would have melted you on the spot.

“Well, skilled handler or not, I owe you an apology. I put you in harm’s way, needlessly, and thrust you into the middle of a dynamic you never should have had to see. It was careless. I make a point of not being careless, Miss y/l/n. I swear to you, it won’t happen again.” 

His voice turned raw  and dark with sincerity, his cheeks reddening with a faint flush. He ran a hand raggedly through his dark hair, a few pieces falling haphazardly loose from his usual coiffure to hang roguishly across his forehead. You had to force yourself not to sigh with a forceful want. 

Rising quickly from your seat, suddenly acutely aware of your own awkwardness and in a rush to leave, you bowed graciously in his direction as you began making your exit. “I am packed and ready to go, sir, at your order. I believe I’ll bring my things to the Garrison down the corner - that’s yours, isn’t it, sir? I’ll wait there for further instruction.” 

“Please, y/l/n, that isn’t necess-”

“I can see you need your priva-”

“I’d much rather you stayed clo-”

“I’m no more than a few hundred steps, Mr. Shelby, surely you don’t need me closer than th-”

“I’d much prefer if you sta-”

“Thank you, sir, for the job and the riveting morning, I’ll be waiting at the Garrison, as I sai-”

“Y/n.”

Tommy had tried to intercept you before getting to the door, but he’d had to settle for a gentle grasp on your forearm. The suddenness of the moment and the intimacy of the gesture caught both of you a bit by surprise. The way he spoke to you - as if some sort of internal need was pressing its way out of his body into the syllables of your name - caused your breath to tangle in your chest. 

“Don’t go.” His voice was so soft you wondered if you’d imagined it. Up this close to him, you could see the facets of blue in his eyes, like cold spring water or an early fall sky. You had the dizzying sensation that you might fall into him if you kept staring at his eyes, so you settled for dropping your eyes to where his hand was still snaked around your forearm, his grasp gentle but demanding. 

“I- Mr. Shelby, I really ought-”

“There’s much to discuss, with your assignment,” he murmured quickly, gently pulling you away from the door. “And it’s Tommy.” You allowed him to lead you back to your seat, part of your mind yelling about why you were trying to scamper away while the other half railed about the impropriety of the moment. Adhering to strict moral codes and boundaries with your clients had always been essential, no matter how heavy-handed your performance while on the job could be. The lines felt dangerously close to blurred at that very moment, but from the treacherous hammering of your heart against your ribs, you were quickly realizing that you were not very much bothered by that realization at all. 

“If you don’t want me to go, Tommy, just ask me to stay.” Another bold statement slipped out before you could grab the words back. This time, however, you found yourself plunging headfirst into the moment rather than balking at it. 

A wicked smile spread across his face as he leaned against the table across from you, crossing his arms across his chest and considering you as if seeing you for the first time. 

“Very well, y/n. Stay, won’t you?” That smoldering quiet voice again, practically making your toes curl then and there. 

“It’s my pleasure, Tommy.”

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Prompt: 15: Christmas shenanigans under the tree, if you know what I mean.

Character: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley

Fandom: Call Of Duty: Modern Warfare ii

Warnings: soft sex, teasing, lots of after care, cock warming.

A/n: I apologize if this sucks

Simon used to hate Christmas, hate the Holidays. He tends to bury himself in his work, on missions but that seemed to change when he meet you. A simple civilian that he ended up saving while on a mission, one of the hostages he saved during the events with Hassan. You were stubborn, demanding to see the man that saved your life and to stop Soap’s teasing he obliged your little wish.

But that one meeting lead to a date, which lead to taking your calls, reading your letters, to you finally dating the man. Simon was surprised how easy it was to fall for you, while you were kind you were still that stubborn woman he saved. He couldn’t even understand why you loved him. He knew he did not have the best personality, he could be cold and most people couldn’t handle his dry sense of humor but you did which is why he was going to ask you to marry him.

“Simon?”

Quickly snapping the ring case closed the man shoved it onto his pocket as he turned to face you. “Yes love.”

“Are you okay? You were jus-.”

“I’m fine.” He stated quickly then stepped close eyeing your festive sweater, the man hoped you were at least wearing a pair of shorts. He wasn’t going to be able to focus if this was going to be the only thing you were wearing.

Stepping close he placed his hand on your hips, and of course you were only wearing your panties. A small growl, his brown eyes darkening with lust as his fingers moving to your panties. “Such a naughty girl you are Y/n.”

“Whatever do you mean Simon.” You did your best to act innocent as your fingers trailed across his chest.

“I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” He muttered watching you pull away, a smile dancing on your lips as you laid down by the Christmas tree. 

“Are you going to do something about it then?” You hummed raising the sweater higher to show off more of your skin.

“Darlin, you will be screaming my name by the end of the night.” Ghost knelt down as he pinned you to the floor.

Rubbing your fingers through his brown hair you hummed keeping the smile on your face. “You look so sexy Simon. I hate that you have to cover up such a handsome face.”

A small chuckle escaped his lip as he nuzzled into your neck, his teeth grazing the skin. “Darlin…you and a handful of people that get to see my face.”

Rather pleased you pulled him in for a kiss, your leg wrapping around his hip feeling him straining against his jeans, his fingers slowly tugging your panties off your body. His finger brushing your slick entrance before he started to unbuckle his pants forgetting about the ring. Grabbing his dick, he slowly jerked himself off watching you bite your lip. “Simon…you can’t tease me like this.”

Shaking his head he then captured your lips in for another kiss as he slowly pushed into your warmth, your pussy stretching around his cock. The man groaning into your neck. The sweater you wore pushed up past your breasts as he started to thrust, his hand on your hips.

Letting his tongue glide over yours his free hand slowly messaged your breast. Sex with Simon was always different. Some nights it was passionate, rough, just holding you close. Other nights it was quick, right before he had to leave or the moment he got home from a mission having the need to just be in your arms.

But right now he was going to take his time, he was going to make sure you felt every thrust. Every touch and movement of his. Simon was going to make you a sobbing mess. Breaking the kiss kept his movement slow, his thumb slowly gliding around your nipple.

You whined turning your neck, giving Simon the chance to nip and suck at the skin.His names falling from your lips as your rose your hips to meet his thrusts.

“Simon.” Your fingers tugging his hair.

A growl escaped his lips, pulling his hips back, his cock slipping from your warmth. The tip of his cock teasing your entrance then thrusted back into your pussy.

Your teeth sinking in your lips, the twinkling of the lights from the Christmas tree seeing you make the scene more romantic.

Though a cry suddenly left your lips as you felt his thumb tease your clit. You could feel your orgasm getting closer to the edge though it took one thrust for him to hit your sweet spot, your organs testing through your body. Simons hands clutching your hips tightly to stop your body from spasming.

Simon nuzzled into your neck, the feeling of your walls clutching his cock pulled him closer to his own release. Your lips wrapping around his hips pulling him closer, deeper into your pussy and with one more thrust the man was cumming as he coated your walls. Your name leaving his lips as his thumb ran gentle circles around your hips.

Staying within you, Simon turned to his side as a whimper left your lips. He placed a kiss to the side of your head then grabbed your left hand kissing it gently.

“Do we have a reason why your dick is still in me?” You teased glancing at him over your shoulder which the man kissed.

“Feel to good to leave, gonna have to stay like this for awhile..don’t make the rules…sorry.” He muttered though you knew he was smiling.

Biting back a yawn you closed your eyes as he let his thumb run over your ring finger. “Y/n….marry me?”

“What?” You gasped though his hand kept your hips in place.

“Don’t move, I have a ring in my pants pocket…but please give me an answer.” He whispered in your ear, you never expected him to sound so desperate.

Feeling tears spring to your eyes you grabbed his hand kissing it. “Yes Simon, I’ll marry you.”

Relaxing, he let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you Y/n, thank you.”

[classic-disney-imagines]

The sorceress

Pairing: Animated!Jafar x sorceress!reader

Requested: @hisokajackson

Warnings: None

Note: Thank you for this request!!!

~

Over the years as a sorceress, you play it by ear when it comes to dealing with your enemies.

That meaning being you let them play you do that you can play them just the same, only more intelligent.

You were known to be a villain; known to be not only very powerful, but very smart, wise, and atop all, calculating. Not only were you all of that, but you were an elegant soul with an attractive personality. The kind of personality that easily attracts people to you, both men and women. Most of the time being men, of course, the kind of men you had no desire to have anything to with him and it was like that for you to believe to be the story of your life. You were honestly prepared to live your life without a partner, or even finding an interest in someone until you met Jafar.

When you first saw Jafar, it was when you started living in the palace as a maid in disguise. You knew all along that Jafar was plotting to become sultan and take over the palace and nearby village. You knew of his diabolical plan, most important, you wanted in on his plan. The only thing is, you have walked by a closed door quite a few times as you listened in before finally confronting Jafar one day of what you know. You were eavesdropping once more and you come to realize Jafar’s plan indeed had reached a good level, though there are changes in it that must be made if he wants it to work, and that’s when you step in. By the time you confront him, you already had a few ideas in mind.

The night Jafar retuned from falsely imprisoning Aladdin, you made the move confronting him and he went quick to deny it at first, but you were quick to change his mind. You were gifted with the power of persuasion and it didn’t take long to persuade Jafar to accept your request.

“Jafar, may I have a moment of your time?” you ask in a loving tone.

“I suppose so. What can I do for you?”

“Listen, I know about your diabolical plan to become the sultan.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle watching Jafar’s eyes widen of this information before he quickly denies your claim.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must have me confused with another Jafar.”

That statement had given you the laugh of a lifetime before you could even settle and take it easy, just enough to say where you’re going with this.

“You’re not about to get in trouble by me, I reassure you. Anyways, I know about your plan and I want in.”

Now it was Jafar’s turn to be confused, he couldn’t believe what he had just heard.

“W-what?”

“I want in.” you repeat.

Truth be told, you wanted that kind of power as well and you were willing to just about anything to get it, to accomplish that.

Jafar didn’t agree to it right away, but all it took was for you to share some ideas that you thought would work best if you put both ideas together. You continue to share more ideas that can fit perfectly with his own plans as you explain with reason why working together instead of alone would be the best way to become successful in this plot. Jafar was pleased and impressed with the ideas you had come up with and shared, that helped to earn you a spot next to him as you continue to help Jafar reach his goals.

Another idea had come through to you and Jafar took it for piece it together with his own plan.

“What do you think?”

“I love the way your foul little mind works.” Jafar laughed hysterically.

Jafar’s reaction was better than expected, but it brought a smile to your lips, lighting up your face like a Christmas tree.

This all just felt so right.

~~~

[twistedinthreads]

Lost In The Labyrinth

Felix Catton x Fem!Reader

one | two

Part 3.

You came to Oxford to get away from America; from your mother's fame and the ghosts of your past. You get more than you bargained for when you meet Felix.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: drugs, alcohol, Oliver Quick mention, unprotected sex, breeding kink (kind of? I guess?), Christmas party, brief mention of Christmas, but it's not really specified if reader celebrates or not, brief mention of visiting a cemetery, dead sister, making out, reader being an idiot, reader is American, reader is kind of a nepo baby

Playlist (a work in progress!)

A/N: More sweet Felix. I wanted to keep going but it just felt right to end it here, so that's why it's a little bit shorter.

The Christmas party is more of the same; you snort a line with Farleigh in the bathroom and dance around with Vera to the music you’ve always claimed to hate. Everyone’s decked out in their attire, a sea of Santa hats and a blur of tinsel all around you while the DJ plays solely Christmas music. Someone definitely spiked the punch, and it’s got you all buzzed, though you elect to drink less, given the incident a few weeks ago. 

“I’m gonna go hang out in the rec room for a minute,” you yell into Vera’s ear over the music. She nods, knowing what you’re truly saying; I’m feeling overwhelmed and need a second. 

There’s a couple sitting on the couch making out in the vending machine light, but even more noticeable than that, Oliver Quick is playing a game of one person pool, shooting and then moving to the other side, a nearly pathetic display. You share a class with him, had been paired up for a project at the beginning of the year, and whenever you see him you strike up small talk, even when Michael Gavey burns holes in your skin with his stare. They’re usually together, which is why you find it strange that he’s all alone.

You walk over to him and observe him for a few seconds before speaking.

“Hey there,” he jumps and turns to you, giving you a shy smile. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“‘S’alright,” he mutters. 

“You should come party with us,” you invite. It’s the nice thing to do, and Oliver’s been nothing but polite to you. Sure, you caught him staring at your tits once, but he’s a guy, so it’s less than surprising. “Everyone is really drunk and really keyed up… and there’s a cheese tray.” it’s almost comical, you in your cocktail dress covered in tinsel, standing here asking the loner to come to the party across the hall. 

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” he shakes his head. “I’m uh, I’m good here.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Okay. Suit yourself then.” 

You fish out a couple dollars and get yourself a Coke from the vending machine, and then lean up against it while you drink, trying to avert your gaze from the kissing couple. It reminds you; you’d come with Felix, but have barely seen him the whole night, and your heart aches to be in his light, in his kind and welcoming presence. 

“Bye, Oliver,” you wave at him as you exit the room, making your way back to the party once you’ve sobered up a bit and finished your soda. He waves back, lips pursed as he goes back to his solo game of pool. 

Felix spots you immediately, eyes lighting up when he sees you. He yells your name across the room, and like a magnet, you run to him as he opens his arms for you to walk into. 

“There you are!” He exclaims. “Been looking everywhere for you.” 

“Sorry, needed a second,” you murmur as he lays kisses in your hair. Vera had made easy work of weaving silver tinsel through it to match your dress, easily swiping glittery eyeshadow across your lids to go along with it all. She’d even leant you some cheap earrings that looked like ornament bulbs. “I’m tired.”

“This party’s kinda lame,” he laments, rubbing your shoulder blade. “Wanna get out of here?”

Neither of you are drunk, just buzzed, mood heightened. The cocaine has mostly worn off, and now it’s just the beers working themselves through your system. Your kisses are languid, moving through the room without disconnecting from him. You push him down on your bed and crawl up his long body, your dress riding up as you sling a leg over his body to be fully straddling him. You lean down again, grabbing his pretty face in your hands, continuing to kiss him. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he murmurs when you pull away to unbutton his shirt. “So fucking gorgeous.”

He helps you take off your dress, and the two of you shift positions, your body caged underneath him as he so delicately kisses your cheeks and neck. “Fe?”

“Hmm,” he murmurs as he kisses between your breasts. 

“Fuck me,” and he moans, abandoning the kisses across your belly to kiss you hard on the mouth again. 

The sex is rough, his hips thrusting quickly as you grind back onto his cock. Your arms are thrown around his neck loosely, and he makes quick work of kissing your neck and face as he moans, your sweat mixing together when he rests his forehead against yours, mouth curled into a snarl. 

“I’m close,” he announces, and the tone of it makes you moan. “I’m close.”

“You can come inside me,” you groan. “It’s okay, I’m on the pill. Please.”

You feel yourself on the edge, stars bursting on the edge of your vision, your entire body tingling and legs shaking with the impact of it all, and you gasp out words that feel forbidden, words that you can’t control. It’s a strangled I love you, and you don’t even realize that you’ve said it until his mouth opens in a moan. 

You slap a hand over your mouth, and Felix looks at you with so much softness, just before he spills himself inside of you. You groan as he pulls out of you and rolls to the side, and you quickly move to get up out of his bed. 

“I should go,” you mutter quickly. 

“Woah, love, it’s okay!” He grabs for your arm, but you pull it away, hiding your embarrassment.

“Felix, I really have to go,” you don’t. You could use the studying excuse, your final two exams coming up on Monday, but you’ll just slink back to your dorm and go to bed, overthinking it all. You know you will. “I’ll talk to you later-“

“At least let me clean you up,” his big brown eyes plead with you, and you relent. He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with a towel, wiping you off gently as he presses kisses on your forehead. He doesn’t speak, though, and you sigh in relief at the fact. Once he’s done, he presses one final kiss to your forehead, and you pull your underwear and dress back on. 

“Please just talk to me,” he begs from the bed. “Please? We won’t see each other for a month and we should have a conversation.” 

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” it comes out quickly, almost garbled, and you don’t bother to pull on your silver heels, carrying them instead in your fingers as you make quick work of getting out of there, muttering fuck repeatedly as you leave his building. 

He comes to your door a couple hours later and you pretend to be asleep, the knocks on your door making your head pound even more as you overthink. He texts you, you don’t reply, and he backs off, not wanting to be a creep. 

He tries again on Tuesday, but you’re already halfway across the Atlantic when he comes knocking. 

He calls during break, you don’t answer. You put your mind on other things, like your mother’s Christmas dinner party and your father’s New Year’s bash with the remaining crew from the show he’s shooting. It feels like a movie, sitting around, skulking while he tries to reach you. One voicemail in particular sticks in your mind, the one where he calls you baby, and it sounds so saccharine sliding off of his tongue. 

Come on, baby. This is stupid! We need to talk about this.

Your stepsister takes you to the AMC on 42nd Street on Christmas, and afterwards, as you sit at a tiny Chinese restaurant feasting on crab rangoons and soup, she tells you to get your shit together. You still don’t reach out. 

Your break is uneventful. You visit your sister’s grave in Montauk the morning before you leave for Carolina, and you spend days sitting on the beach at your dad’s house, despite the cold. 

You have one thing on your mind as you return to Oxford. Your campus is littered with students, all excited to be back with one another, refreshed and ready for new classes. Your flight arrived late, and students mill about the quad, showing off their expensive Christmas presents. A couple people shout your name, and you wave politely before launching toward Felix’s building, praying he’s in his room. 

You knock, shifting from foot to foot with your hands entwined, rubbing your thumb across your palm. 

The creak of the door opening has your stomach churning, and as he reveals himself, hair mussed up, in nothing but a pair of boxers, you can’t help it. You lunge forward and kiss him. 

“I’m sorry. I’m such a fucking idiot,” you say after you pull away, and he’s grinning like a fool. 

“Yeah,” he whispers as he grabs your elbow gently, ushering you inside. “A little bit.” It makes you pout.

“I was so embarrassed,” you admit as you sit on the bed with him. “Like, who does that? It just came out, and I couldn’t control it, and I felt so stupid afterwards because we’re not even together like that-“

“We could be,” he interrupts, the words so nonchalant you wonder if you heard him right. 

“Huh?” 

“We could be together,” he shrugs. “I thought about asking you that night but you just ran off, so…”

“I didn’t want you to think you had to say it back if you didn’t mean it,” you say, playing with his fingers. “Lana told me to get my shit together but I didn’t wanna talk about this over the phone.”

He grabs your face, looking straight into your eyes. “I would’ve said it back that night. I would have. Because I do love you. I didn’t know if it was just an in the moment thing.” 

“It wasn’t,” you admit, looking straight into his brown eyes. “I didn’t mean to say it, yet, but it was real.” 

Your entire body is quivering in his hold, under his stare, so overwhelming you have to look away for a second.

“If you want this,” his thumb caresses the skin of your cheek. “I want this.” You lean your forehead against his, tears welling up in your eyes. The jet lag is catching up to you, and he’s still looking at you like the only person in the world. The sheer intensity of his gaze turns your insides into mush. 

“I want this, Felix,” Your lips are touching his ever so slightly, so you breathe the words into his mouth before he kisses you. It grows intense, his tongue slipping into your mouth before you push him away gently. “It’s late, I’m exhausted. Still on New York time.”

“Stay with me,” he’s all sweet, words syrupy and soft. “We don’t have to do anything.”

And, of course, you relent, falling into his familiar and warm arms. 

[masonmiamor]

sunset vows - - mason mount x reader.

gif not mine! 

A quick thank you once again to @masonspulisic for helping me out with the fic and the insta au, linked here! And to @masonm19 who helped me write and get feedback as well!! 

Summary: The anticipated day is here, and you can’t help but share and remember the feelings together along the orange horizon. 

feedback is appreciated! do not copy my work, please and thank you!

“Y/n! It's so great to see you honey!” another cheery voice said for the hundredth time that evening. You hugged and kiss their cheeks greeting them, you showed them the venue before taking a deep breath and sighing. You were at this for almost two hours, at your own wedding, playing as the event organizer but also the bride.

After your party planner got sick three days before your wedding only you and Mason knew what to do and how it would go down. You hadn't sat down or even eaten the entire day as you were in charge of mostly everything, but things were going to plan and that's the only thing that mattered. Mason was now your husband, but he didn't want the stress solely to rely on you, so he had christian to also help, a closest and dearest friend of you two.

“Do you mind taking over? I need to take a breather,” you said to your best friend who quickly nodded and handed you a bottle of water. “Go ahead, take your time, I have things handled,” she gave you a quick hug and helped you re-touch your makeup and change out of your wedding gown to more of a simple but silky dress that fit the evening.

You walked out the double doors to the outdoor area, breathing in the sea air. You and Mason agreed on having your wedding on a small secluded island with your friends and family, trying to keep it private but very special and memorable, and so far it has been. The first night you arrived here together, spending the entire night to early morning reminiscing how you got here today.

“When you first saw me, what was your first thought?” you said, taking a swing of your beer. Mason chuckled and looked at his hands, “I remember thinking you were the most beautiful girl in the room, Like Christmas morning, but I also thought you were with Puli.” You turned to him with your brows drawn in confusion, but a small smile plastered on your face, “What? Actually?”

“Yep. But when he told me he wasn’t with you, I knew it was faith,” he said kissing your temple after. Mason brought you closer and hugged you by your waist, “I remember planning what I would say every time I wanted to talk with you, rehearsing my words, repeating them in my head, and then quickly forgetting them. Christian always reassured me that you were easy and so sweet to talk to” he laughed, “And he was right. He played cupid for us.”

“What about you? What was your first thought?” he asked you, with a cheeky grin on his face, full dimples showing. “Honestly… I didn't know who you were. I just thought you were someone else in the room who was there to have a good time. I just remember thinking you were mysterious, weird, I know. But I caught your gaze many times on me and I wanted to know more of you, and what you did…” you say shyly.

“And look where that got us…” he implied, “Y/n look at me,” Mason grabbed your chin and tilted your head up to face his brown eyes dilating, “I love you so much. This, what we're about to do is the best thing that could ever happen to me. Meeting you has been the most special thing that has happened to me and I would repeat and do it all over again if it's to repeat history with you. Every laugh, kiss, hug, even tears, everything,” he breathed out.

You giggled and closed the gap between, your lips pressing against his softer ones, sinking into his touch slowly. “I love you, Mason. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

The second day you had all the inlaws come in, adjusting them into the rented-out homes and villas, the third night was having the bachelor parties, many drinks and games later everyone had passed out on the couch, you and Mason snuck out and watched the moon by the shore. Discussing your future, the plans after the wedding, and much more.

“I want three kids. Two boys and one girl,” Mason says grabbing a bite of the red velvet cake from the bachelor party. “Imagine our kids? Your eyes, my dashing smile, the locks of hair? I can’t wait for it,” Mason gushes. “Me either but I want to be selfish and have time for myself with you first. Kids are a definite answer but right now, let it just be us. And maybe a German shepherd?” you say, giggling when you see the white frosting on the corners of his mouth, dragging your finger to clean it off.

“I want to finish my degree and buy that white Georgian house we drove by the other day. Can you picture us there? With our small family and dog? Maybe own some farm animals? Picture the sunsets and bonfires in the summer, some holidays with our friends and family. I want it with you,” you said watching as Mason kept an intense gaze at you.

“You have me…” Mason whispered, “I'm not going anywhere that isn't with you,” he promises. “That house is guaranteed now. We will spend so many memories together, and cherish them for us to later show our kids,” Mason says. You quietly talk and relish more time as it becomes late.

“I don't want us to go back…” he groaned when looking at the late time. You yawned and covered your mouth, “I don’t either, but we need our sleep for today, baby,” you say, pressing a quick kiss on his lips. “I’m going to have to impatiently and anxiously wait for you for hours… I don't know if I can handle that,” he said hiding his head in the crook of your neck. Clingy Mason was your favorite, but right now you wanted to sleep.

“I'm sure I can maybe sneak out if time allows us,” you say, knowing inside you were just messing and teasing with him. “Really?” he said excitedly, his head quickly coming back up and searching for assurance. “No. No can do. If the girls find out, they’ll kill me. I don't want to show up to the ceremony covered in red, wouldn't be a good look,” you say laughing at his reaction. Mason playfully rolled his eyes, which caused you to laugh harder.

“I’ll be thinking about this…”

All of the friends you brought out help for the big day. Sophia helped with hair and makeup insisting she wanted to do it, Paula and Andrea helped steam the white dress to perfection, and other captured the moment. Christian, who played cupid, made sure Mason wouldn't leave the house he was in as he wanted to see you, he also was the ring bearer and brought the customized rings during the ceremony. It was perfect. Everything.

Now you find yourself here hours later. The sand beneath you felt cool and fresh, the sky appeared in different colors, and you had a sense of warmth inside you as you looked around on the small island. You carried your heels in one hand, feeling the cool breeze as you walked around picking sea shells. “Everything okay?” a familiar voice said behind you. You smiled and looked down before feeling a hug from behind. Mason's cheek rested on the top of your head, breathing in your coconut shampoo and other hair products. “Couldn’t be better,” you replied.

You felt him smile, and then place a small kiss on your blushed cheek, “Come with me, let’s take a breather. I haven’t been able to see or hold you since the church,” he says, interlocking your hands and taking hold of your heels. His once black jacket was off, and now just wearing the white button-up with the buttons undone on top and dress slacks. His hair is messy because of the air blows, but his freckles shine in the golden hour.

“You changed dresses?” Mason asked along the water, you nodded happily, “I did! I didn’t want my gown to get dirty with all the sand here, memory purposes. I got this dress here today,” you let go of his hand and did a small turn, to which he chuckled and hugged you by your waist, his hands guiding down dangerously low.

“It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, Mason grabs your left hand and kisses over your knuckles placing a small delicate kiss on your ring finger where both bands appear. Your eyes glim at the soft but intimate gesture, you tiptoe and kiss him, him groaning at the sweet taste along your lips.

“It doesn't feel real, you know?” you say looking out to the orange sky. “It feels like a dream… Today has felt like a dream and I'm scared to wake up that it is,” you joke. He grabs your hand again, “It isn't a dream. It's real baby. Today we officially got married, and it's real. Although this sky isn't…” Mason says following your gaze out. “Gimme your hand,” you say watching as his larger palm reaches out for your touch. “Dance with me,” you say beaming when he pulls you closer, “With pleasure.”

Your hand rest on his chest while his is secured on your waist, your hands interlocked as you move slowly. “You know this technically counts as our first dance,” he points out, you nod not caring, “It does but… take a look” You pause your movements. “Would you rather have this where it's just us two who can relish the precious moment, or have everyone look at you dance nervously?” you continue.

“Are you calling my dancing terrible?” he gasps offended, “I mean… Technically as your wife I vowed to be forever truthful so… yes?” you tease watching his mouth grow open. He picks you up and spins you in a circle, hearing your giggles grow louder and then the pleads to stop. “Take it back,” he says setting you down, you shake your head and cross your arms, “I love you but no,” you shrug your shoulders.

After a bicker of back and forth, he takes out the disposable camera and takes pictures of you. Mason's chest feelings soft and cold, his heart beating fast as he watches you smile and laugh, he knows it's real. He watches as you fix your hair, tugging and adjusting the dress, posing from one side to another, he knows it's real.

Your heart beats out your chest as you observe your husband roll up his sleeves to take pictures, after all these years he never fails to make you nervous even if it's the smallest movement. The chilling feeling along your spine when you bring the camera to your eye, adjusting the lighting before clicking the button to capture the moment. You know it's real when he runs towards you, grabbing the camera and facing it up to take the picture of both of you.

His pearly white teeth and dimples pop as he captures another shot, his hair is a full-on mess but it looks so adorable and so him. You walk hand in hand back to the reception, laughing when a worried Christian walks out the double doors. “What's wrong? It looks like you've seen a ghost,” Mason jokes, Christian giving him an “Are you serious look” at him.

“I cannot possibly deal with another person asking me why I'm single, or if it's okay for them to put me on their daughter,” he speaks his hands thrown in the air. “Why don't the two of you come back, and finally make the awaited Mr. and Mrs. Mount appearance?” he suggests with a forced smile.

“I love you both but it will get out of control if people don’t notice the newlyweds are there… Kai keeps having to tell everyone you're getting ready-” Christian continues to ramble, you take his hands and tell him to breathe. “We were just coming back, I can't thank you enough for helping the both of us out today. We can wait for you to take a breather and then start. How does that sound?” Mason says coming next to you to pat him on the back. “I don't need a breather… I need a drink and to find my date” Christian says chuckling. The trio walks inside, and Christian disappears with his date after finding her by the bar.

“Ready Mrs. Mount?” Mason says kissing the back of your palm. “Ready than ever,” you give him a quick kiss, suddenly becoming nervous about the walk. “It'll be okay. Just follow my lead, I'm right here,” he whispers in your ear calming you down. You hear the DJ call out on the “Now please, give a round of applause to Mr. and Mrs. Mount,” and tighten your grip on Mason’s hold.

“I love you, handsome. Today. Tomorrow. Forever.”

click here for the full insta au!!

not my au credits to @masonspulisic !!! all her doing 🤭💕💕

[oneforthemunny]

Hello :)

My birthday is coming up (New Year’s Eve). Was wondering if you can write a lil blurb about what cowboy!eddie treats me to!

i've been saving this one for you ;) was going to post on your birthday, but i'll be honest, i will probably be out of town and didn't want to miss it so here you go!!! an early birthday present for you with cowboy!eddie <3

“Goddammit!” Eddie hissed over the sizzling of pans, kitchen thick with steam and smoke from the cluttering of pans in front of him. 

You set your bags down, the crinkling plastic of each of the birthday bags from your lunch in town with your girls. The roads had cleared off, thankfully, and the Christmas crowd dwindled down enough for the lot of you to have a nice birthday lunch. 

Eddie had insisted you go, shooed you out of the house with a kiss and his debit card to cover your meal. You’d been suspicious, of course you knew he was planning something, but an elaborate… Birthday cake? Maybe? You couldn’t tell with all the pots and pans. 

Eddie angrily grabbed the phone off the wall, jabbing in the numbers on the pad. “Buckley, you fuckin’ said this was gonna be easy… No, it’s not fuckin’ easy! This raspberry shit doesn’t even look right, it’s brown… Food coloring? Why the fuck would I buy food coloring?.. Y’gotta be shittin’ me, right now. I told you she wanted pink fuckin’ cake and you told me to get raspberries and they don’t even make the damn thing pink. Are you out of your goddamn mind-” Eddie turned, mid-frustrated rant to see you standing there. 

His jaw unhinged, eyes wide, rounded like he’d been caught red handed- and he quite literally was, the raspberries stained his calloused hands a blushing shade of red. 

“Baby,” Eddie squeaked, shoving the phone back on the hook. “You-You’re back early. Are you back early? That was quick.” He rambled, side stepping in front of the simmering pans, the cake cooling on the rack, sink piled with batter filled pans. 

“We got our food pretty quick. It wasn’t too busy.” You hummed, setting the bags on the kitchen table. “What have you been up to?” Your lips curled at the edges, teetering on a smile. 

Eddie swallowed, throat bobbing as his heart raced. “I-I, uh, well, I was tryna make somethin’ for the neighbors-” 

“-The neighbors?” 

“Yeah, the, uh, the Jeffersons. For Christmas. A-A late Christmas thing.” Eddie fumbled through his words. 

You lifted a brow, looking at the mess in the kitchen behind him. “The Jeffersons are out of town until January eighth.” You met his widened gaze. 

“Oh,” Eddie’s cheeks hollowed. “Uh, are they?” 

“They asked us to get their mail for them, Ed.” You tilted your head to the side. “What are you up to, Munson?” 

Eddie’s lips rolled, twitching before he huffed, shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fuck, alright, you got me. I-I was tryna make you a birthday cake.” He stepped to the side, revealing the mess fully. “I asked your Mama while we were visiting what kinda cake you liked, and she said she used to always make you a pink one when you were little, and-and I went to the store and of course they don’t have anything pink, so I called Robin and she told me to use raspberries, but that,” Eddie scoffed, lifting the still smoking, simmering pan. “Turned brown, so it didn’t work.” 

Your chest swelled, lips pressing together to keep your own emotions in. Eddie hesitated, clutching the pan anxiously. “I-I just wanted to make it special, y’know? You-You said you liked it when your Mama would make homemade cakes, and I… I, honest, baby, didn’t think it was gonna be this hard. I’m sorry I laughed at you that one time you burnt that pie because this shit is hard.” 

You giggled at his words, stepping closer to him, looking inside the pan of melted raspberries. “That’s- This is really sweet, Ed.” You whispered, eyes shining when they met him. “You don’t have to do this, baby.” 

“No,” Eddie pointed at you playfully, shaking his head, boots stomping against the wood when he dumped the pot into the sink. “You want a pink cake, and I’m making you one. I just- I wanted it to be done by the time you got home so I could surprise you, but…” Eddie waved at the mess around him. 

You laughed. “I’m very surprised, Ed.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie’s tongue rolled on his dimpled cheek. “‘M sure you are. Just gimme a couple minutes. I think I got some red food coloring up here.” He turned, flinging open the spice cabinet. 

You moved to the sink, starting the stream so you could help him clean. Eddie’s head whipped around, curls flying. “What’s the matter with you? Sit down.” He shook his head, batting your hands away from the faucet. “I got it, birthday girl. Take a seat, alright?” He nodded firmly towards the small kitchen table. 

“Show me what you got, alright?” Eddie hummed, tongue poked out in concentration. “Tell me about lunch. Did that one friend of yours, the one that’s engaged, is she still..?” 

“...Miserable with her fiance?” You snorted lightly. “Yeah, she told us today not to pick out our bridesmaid dresses because she didn’t even want to get married.” 

“Christ,” Eddie muttered, shaking his head lightly. “Hope you don’t feel that way about me, darlin’.” 

“Never.” You grin, chin propped on your hand. “Bet her man never made her a cake.” You wink at him, proud at the way he blushes.

Later, when he'd deemed the cake to be finished, covered in sloppy pink icing, he sang to you as he carried the cake in, candles placed at the top. You beamed, a love drunk, gooey gaze on his bright smile.

"Blow 'em out, baby. Make a wish. Wish for somethin' good." Eddie grinned, sinking into the chair next to you.

You closed your eyes, lightly blowing each of the candles out. Eddie grinned, knife sinking into the cake.

It was hardly edible, the cake, somewhere between tasting like sugared Playdough and crumbling. You stomached it through tiny giggles, Eddie's exasperated huffs.

"Tastes like shit."

"No, it's not bad." You swallowed the bite thickly, hiding your grimace. "It's really not bad."

"You're lyin'." Eddie wagged a finger at you. He stood, snagging his keys and wallet off the counter. "Let's go."

"Go where?" You stood, gulping down the water at the table, trying to wash the taste out of your mouth.

"C'mon, I'll take you to get ice cream." He nodded, a hand falling gently on your back. "Not gonna subject you to eatin' that shit. Not even sure it's edible."

Eddie snuck in a candle, stuck it right in your ice cream cone, fishing out his lighter to light it in the middle of the ice cream parlor. "I won't sing unless you want me to."

"That's alright." You giggle, shaking your head, blowing the candle out for him. Eddie grinned, snatching the candle out carefully, placing it on the napkin in front of him. "Cheers, to my best girl, happy birthday."

You blushed, touching your cone to his. The two of you ate your ice cream, light hearted chatter and people watching. "This is a lot better than the cake." You laugh. "No offense, Ed."

"Yeah," Eddie snorted. "Don't know how people do that. There's so many fuckin' rules. I'll leave it to the people who actually know what they're doin' next year."

[chrisevansleftpeck]

Winter Stubble

Word Count: 816

Content Warnings: Kissing, cheeky comments ;)

(only good ones of him with more facial hair were him in prison being a sad boi so lets all pretend this gif is accurate for my sake)

You pressed your ear against Spencer’s chest, relaxing into him further. You and Spence were snuggled up together on his couch, the large, cotton, flannel-pattern blanket you bought him for Christmas draped across the both of you. It matched his apartment well and incorporated the same shade of brown as one of his leather lounging chairs. 

“This is good. Really, really nice.” Spencer threw his head back against the arm of his couch, wrapping you in his toned arms. You could tell he was still exhausted, beaten down from the case he had to work almost immediately after Christmas. 

You snuck a peek in, looking up at him from his chest. You watched his eyes fight to try to stay awake and the fluffy, sleepy mess his hair was in. He looked back at you, causing you to giggle and bury your face back into his chest.

“Hi.” He said, a big smile on his face. He scooted further down the couch so his head wasn’t thrown back and hanging off anymore. Spencer was quick to wrap his arms back around you again and placed a kiss on your head. 

You finally looked up at him again, giving in to the urge to give him a real kiss. Your arms came up from around his waist where you’d been hugging, up to his face. You cupped his cheeks and pulled him into you. 

“Ooh.” You sounded short and quick, confused. 

Spencer kissed you again, “Something wrong?” He asked as you signaled for him to sit straight up so you could sit in his lap. You wrapped your legs around him and held his face again. 

You thumbed over Spencer’s new stubble, grown in over break. He usually had stubble over his face and mustache area, but this was darker and fuller than usual. “Prickly.” You giggled. Spencer shook his head in your hands to release himself. You threw an inescapable hug at him, rocking in his lap. “You need a haircut.” You poked at him, also noticing his hair.

“I know, it requires a lot more shampoo now.” Spencer laughed, running his fingers through his messy hair. 

You continued running your fingers across his beard, “Now you get my struggle. Soft hair is expensive.” He grabbed a piece of your hair and twirled it around your finger as you spoke. 

“Want me to shave it, the beard? I can have a baby face again for a few days.” He offered, knowing he wanted to kiss you more than anything, but didn’t want to make it uncomfortable for you. 

“Hmm,” You thought, studying his face again. “Kiss me some more, then I’ll decide how I like it.” You whispered, practically into his lips. 

 “Yes, ma’am.” You kissed him slowly and deeply, humming into him against the feeling of his facial hair tickling your chin and lips. You felt him shift beneath you, trying to hide the growing feeling in his pants. You were practically on top of it, making it very difficult for you, too, to ignore. “I like this a shit ton, personally.” 

You couldn’t help but pull away and laugh. You could always tell when Spencer was really into something because he’d make a very unfiltered, un-Spencer-like comment. However, your pulling away didn’t stop him. He simply switched to place his lips on your neck. 

He hovered over your neck for a moment, “You’re going to laugh a lot in a second aren’t you?” Spencer looked up at you and asked with a smile on his face.

You nodded, “It’s gonna tickle so badly, oh my god. Get it over with, do it.” You joked, closing your eyes tightly and wrinkling your nose. 

“Okay.” Spencer warned you once more before going in. He placed a slow, sweet kiss on your neck. Your face softened at it in a way you didn’t expect. It almost felt good. No, it did feel good. Ticklish, of course, but it was the side of your neck so it was easy to get past the feeling. 

The continuation of rougher kisses against your neck left your lips parting unintentionally. You didn’t even realize it until Spencer stopped, running his thumb over the mark he left on your neck. “Sorry, the surrounding skin is a little more red than usual.”

“Oh, um, yeah.” You said playing with your hair, smiling at Spencer. 

Spencer studied your face for a minute. “You liked it.” He called you out, reading your smile easily. 

You attempted to hide your face in your hands, but Spencer was able to peel them away. “Hey Spence,” You whispered to him, now running your hands through his hair again, trying to nonchalantly work him up a little bit more. “I’d like to know how that feels in other places now.” 

“Let’s get to it, then.” Spencer said, pushing you back on the couch with a surge of passionate energy.