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saekkas · 1 year

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𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

summary: in which you need to wrestle your boyfriend, michael kaiser, out of his bed to fulfil a promise- re dye his hair.

notes: it's meant to be a continuation of this fic but you can read it as a standalone too! 2.1k words for my favorite german pomeranian <3

germany is beautiful. in all seasons and weather, even with rain and snow pelting down the windows. the bread and sausages make amazing breakfast items, the beer is pleasantly warm, and the sight of castles and palaces all around the country make you feel like a princess. your favorite though, is when spring comes around.

spring blows away the last dregs of winter. there are puddles from melted snow all over the station, sweaters are still needed because of the chilly air, and christmas decorations still litter around town square, ready to be replaced by the eggs of easter. it's when mother nature reappears, pushing winter away for another half year.

coincidentally, it's michael kaiser's least favorite time of the year.

"you don't love me anymore, do you?" he dramatically sobs into your neck, his hands holding onto your body for dear life. "you're moving away to break up with me, aren't you?"

his duvets feel like clouds. made out of the softest material, you find it hard to haul yourself out of the room every day. his sheets are made of silk, a beautiful rose gold in hue, and his bed is enormous, framed by mahogany wood on all sides. kaiser's bedroom is heaven on earth, and you've got your personal angel lying in the middle of it all.

"you've finally found someone better, haven't you?" he asks once more, his eyes peeking from your chest. his hair is a mess, the blue streaks already fading out to match the rest of his hair, there are dark circles surrounding his eyes, and he's got patches of drool in the corner of his lips. but you don't think he's ever looked more ethereal than this.

"who is it?" there's a pout on his lips, his eyes still drowsy from sleep. you watch with a smile of your own, taking in his fluttering eyelashes, your faces close enough to count every last one. "is it a guy from china that you met in hawaii? is he prettier than me? richer? is that why you're leaving me for him?"

"what are you even talking about, silly?" even when you roll your eyes, the smile stays, and you look at him with every bit of fondness in your body. "you're the only pretty boy for me. you know that."

his lips stretch out into a dopey smile, an uncontained giggle spilling from his lips. there's a certain giddiness in his motions, as if he couldn't contain his feelings inside his body. you watch with amusement as he kicks his feet, accidentally pushing pillows out of the bed.

"mhm. i know. just wanted to hear you say it," he hums, going back to nuzzling your tummy. he mumbles incoherently against your shirt before yanking the fabric up, burrowing his face onto your bare skin. "love you, pretty."

"were you out drinking last night?" you shake your head, squealing when he blows against your bare skin. "i thought i could trust ness to keep you out of trouble."

"i wasn't drinking." he's back to his whiny state, both of his hands tightening on your waist. there's a glare this time, his lips twisting back into a pout. "you shouldn't trust ness. trust me instead."

sunlight bleeds into the room, soft and serene as they bypass the curtains. a ray bounces off the mirror on kaiser's vanity, one he specifically added just for you, and makes its way to his face, bathing him in a dreamy glow. the reflection of light turns his eye into an icy blue, stealing your breath. he looks divine.

you take him in, as much as he does you. there's a muted sound from traffic, and the chatter of birds but in the moment, nothing else matters except you and him. his frown deepens after a moment of silence and you chuckle, relenting as you thread your hands into his hair.

"love you too, baby."

if there's anything you've learned from dating him through years, it's that your boyfriend absolutely loathes it when you fail to respond to his declarations of love. another thing, is that he becomes clingier and far more possessive when spring comes, dreading every moment he has to be away from you for matches.

it's seen in the way he's holding your body tighter, preventing you from moving an inch off the bed. he's pouty, lips twisted downward because it's the last day he has you to himself before he's called back to the field. it's on days like this that you smother him until he can't shake away the ghost of your lips around his body, even in the middle of a match.

"gonna let me move anytime soon?" the hand on his head moves to glide down his neck, stroking the sensitive skin around the back of his ear. you watch as he moans, his eyes snapping shut at the touch. "mein kaiser?"

"wenn du so weitermachst." his voice is low, his heart beating faster as he moves from his previous position to hover above you with half lidded eyes. "du wirst dich überhaupt nicht bewegen können, liebling."

translation: if you continue to be like this, you won't be able to move at all, darling.

you suppose there's a reason he's down on earth rather than above. michael kaiser may have the looks of an angel but he acts like the devil.

he's looking down at you with a dangerous glint in his eyes, as if ready to eat you alive. you gulp, eyes roaming down the expanse of his chest before they land on the necklace dangling by his neck. the ring it holds is 24 carats, gold, with roman numerals of your anniversary date engraved on the inside. it matches with the diamond encrusted promise ring on your finger, gleaming in the shade of his eyes.

you tug the necklace, pulling him until you're nose-to-nose. you shiver at the way his eyes darken even more, his lips quirking into a smirk. "who knew you were so naughty, liebling," he hums, pushing your knees apart to slot himself between your legs. "who taught you, hm?"

"you did," you say before lifting the ring to your lips, kissing it with a small smile. he shudders at the intimacy of the action. "you also taught me not to break my promises, right?"

kaiser raises an eyebrow at the direction you're taking this. he's got you on the bed, flushed, under him. to him, the only promise worth thinking about right now is the promise of intimacy and pleasure.

"i promised to dye your hair, remember?" you lean forward, this time pressing a kiss onto your beloved. "you can do whatever you want to me after we're done."

he groans, letting himself drop on your body. he giggles when you groan at his weight, his face flushing at your words. "whatever i want. that's a promise too, right?" the whisper of his voice against your ear is delightful, and you nod where you're pressed against his shoulder. "i hope you intend to keep that one too, liebling~"

he waits for a moment, savoring your warmth until you start to squirm. laughing, he hovers over you once more to press a kiss on your forehead before scooting over to make room for you to move. "gonna let me use your mask?" he grins widely when you nod, rushing over to the bathroom.

but not before stripping off his night tee and chucking it straight at your head, laughing like a mad man when you throw his beloved stuffed panda at his back in retaliation.

your boyfriend has always been restless. he's never shown much patience, and you should've known that re-dyeing his hair was going to be a hassle. "hold still, mikka." your tone is scolding but not stern, your eyebrows furrowed in concentration to make sure the dye doesn't spill. "i need to make sure you look pretty."

he stops squirming at the nickname, a mischievous smile spreading on his lips as he places a hand on your hip. "you should call me mikka more often, it's cute." he looks up from his position, seated on a chair and facing your front, and wiggles his eyebrows at you. "not only when you want something."

"yeah?" you hum, distracted by the strands of his hair in your hand. you grasp at it with gloves, sectioning to thinner pieces before using a brush to smear the color in. it comes out decently and you grin in satisfaction before moving onto another strand. "glad you like it. it suits you."

kaiser stays unmoving, not even answering back like he's supposed to. concerned with the sudden silence, you look down only to be greeted by a blinding his smile. you quirk an eyebrow, smiling at him in question. "what?"

"you're so cute." he tries to shake his head, stopping when you send him a glare. the hand on your hip squeezes at the fat in affection, his eyes shining even against the brightly lit bathroom. "ich liebe dich, liebling."

"very romantic of you," you say with a roll of your eyes. you store away the bowl of blue hair dye in your hand, leaning down to press a kiss. you feel him hum against your lips, his smile widening from the kiss as he pulls you closer. "i love you too, mikka. even when you won't sit still."

"are you done yet?" he asks with wide eyes, the sight of his puppy eyes looking at you from below sending butterflies to your stomach. "can i look?"

"mhm. go ahead." you step back, making room for him to face the mirror. you watch over his shoulder as he examines his newly re dyed hair, the blue strands at the bottom a contrast to his pale blond. you were getting used to the full head of blond, getting used to having mikka all to yourself. now you've got to share him with the world again as michael kaiser makes his comeback on the field.

"you like it?"

"i love it and i love you."

"maybe we should try another color next time. like purple or pink," you say before giggling at the way his face lights up at the suggestion. you eye him in curiosity when he turns to look at you with a proud grin.

he moves quicker than you expect, grabbing your waist and setting you on the bathroom vanity. he pushes you against the mirror, planting a searing kiss on your lips. you feel him smirk against your lips as his hands move to trail down your waist, settling on your thighs.

"there. a thank you kiss for my little genius," he says, breathless from the exchange, a wicked gleam in his eyes that you're wary of. he leans his forehead against yours, pressing a kiss to your nose. "one 'i'm sorry' kiss too."

"what for-" you're about to question him but a sigh interrupts your words, one that comes from the feeling of wet hair dye trickling down your neck and clothes.

you glare as he presses another kiss in apology. "i'm sorry."

"no, you're not," you snort at the teasing smile on his face. "now i have to go bathe."

he perks up, "want me to join-"

"no."

bonus:

"you really are pretty, mikka." glancing at the mirror from behind him, you watch with fascination as kaiser pushes a hello kitty hairband onto his head. it's yours, one you bought as a pair with his pink panther one. surprisingly, he likes this one more. "the prettiest."

you watch him nod to his own reflection, seemingly agreeing with your words. his newly dried hair bobs along with the motion, the strands fluffy and smooth. you'd run your hands through if you hadn't just spent the last half hour styling it.

"your prettiest-"

"-like a german pomeranian."

"...what?"

"nothing!" you laugh at the disgruntled expression he wears, shaking your head. hoping to appease him before the whining ensues, you hand him a small container filled with matcha facemask. his favorite to wear because it does wonders for his skin.

he looks at the thing as if it's offended his entire lineage. "you're seriously going to bribe me with this?" he pouts, crossing his hands against his chest.

such a big baby. your big baby, though.

"what's wrong? pomeranians are cute!"

"yeah but i'd be more of a husky," he grumbles as he pushes the pink panther hairband onto your head, clearing any hair away from your face. he uses a brush to smear the mask across, stopping every so often to peck your lips. "they're handsome, strong, and expensive."

"high maintenance, too," you mumble under your breath before shrugging. "i just like pomeranians better," you grin, scrunching your nose when he finishes with a kiss on it.

"...fine. german pomeranian it is then."

#blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #michael kaiser x reader #michael kaiser imagines #kaiser x reader #kaiser imagines #michael kaiser fluff #michael kaiser x y/n #michael kaiser x you #bllk x y/n #bllk x you #bllk x reader #blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock headcanons #kaiser fluff

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postmortemnivis · 6 months

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spring was simon’s favourite season.

maybe because it meant rebirth, seeing the trees turn a vivid green again and the fields full of flowers and colours gave him hope. he loved to wake up and open his window in the early days of april, when the world was finally getting rid of the chilly morning breeze that always made him sick the first weeks of winter. every time he felt the air getting warmer, he couldn’t wait to change his heavy winter jacket into his windbreaker.

maybe it was because his birthday was in may, and despite not having celebrated it like he should’ve when he was a kid, he knew you would never forget to wake him up with a soft peck on the lips.

‘morning birthday boy.

if you asked him, he would tell you he liked spring better than summer because the weather was more enjoyable, not too hot yet not cold. spring’s light showers were his favourite noise to wake up to, after the one of the coffee maker he got you for christmas.

the real reason simon was so devoted to spring, almost as much as he was to you, were you. what did you expect from him?

he knew you probably couldn’t remember, but all those years back, you two met in early spring, after a particularly difficult winter.

simons life had been a deep, cold and dark winter for the past years. two, five, ten, who kept count anymore? his days would blend one into the other, seasons slowly bleeding into the next, he almost couldn’t tell the difference between august and february. seasonal depression was real, but somehow it lingered all around the year for him. that was before you.

you were the first shy sun ray that filtered through the clouds, quite literally. you, as fresh as the cold rain, and your heart, as warm as a late may afternoon, were all he needed to get out of his hibernation. you were what simon needed to wake up, the signal that spring and all beautiful things were on the way, that he needed to arise and get out of his hollow tree.

for the first time in years, simon’s eyes realized that spring was blooming everywhere around him, he was just too deep into his winter, blind, to notice; the flowers were blossoming, as beautiful as ever. he was grateful.

for you, for spring, for the sun finally caressing his face and skin and for your sweet kisses, each of them feeling like the first warm day after months of wind and snow.

“good morning, birthday boy.” you whispered as you kissed his lips.

simon squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them. he’d heard you get up, of course, the moment you started stirring in bed he was informed you were awake. you could try to keep the military out of the house, but the instincts followed him home, whether you liked it or not.

your bright smile was beaming at him, your hands on his bare broad chest as you sat on his hips, your thighs on either side of his waist.

“‘mornin’ beautiful.” he mumbled, resting a strong hand on your hip as he sat back, leaning against the headrest.

“breakfast’s in the kitchen,” you smiled, “i made coffee too.”

he hummed. “can smell it. i heard you too.”

you grinned.

“what’re grinning at?” he tiredly grinned back.

“want me to bring you breakfast in bed?” you said, “we can stay here in bed all day if you want to.”

he shook his head. “nah, love, i’m coming to the kitchen. i’ll be ready in a minute.”

you brought your lips to his again before getting off of him and caressing his cheek as you walked back to the kitchen, waiting for him.

his eyes followed your figure until you left the room, and he raised his gaze to the ceiling for a minute before shuffling his feet to the bathroom. he closed the door and stood in front of the sink, his hands on either side of the ceramic. his brown eyes, so dark they looked black, remained fixed on his reflection before he walked to the big window and opened the panes.

“simon?” you called. “baby, your coffee’s getting cold!”

his broad figure stood there, studying the nature outside. there was a small park in front of the flat, a little green heaven where mostly children went to play, he could hear from there the laughters and giggles. the trees, wild cherries and guelder rose followed the small street, their branches almost reaching the top floor where you lived.

“comin’ love.”

it was the middle of may, almost summer, and simon took a big breath of the fresh morning air before leaving the window open as he turned around and walked to the kitchen, right into his little piece of spring.

#simon riley #simons a loverboy at heart #postmortemnivis #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #spring is in the air #my baby #i love spring #springtime

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vaaaaaiolet · 2 months

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It's the RPD's annual Secret Santa, and Leon's at his wit's end finding the perfect gift for his work crush. No competition, of course, except for the part where you make him promise not to bring something lame. Leon's got a week. He can do this. Right?

gn / m, fluff, romance, humor, leon is a SWEETHEART, you guys work at the RPD but you're leon's senior and also love reading??, no outbreak, inspired by the teapot episode of The Office lol, tw: claustrophobia

word count: 1.5k // read on ao3

a/n: vivi try not to mention christmas challenge go!!! @k1ssaphobe this one's for you <3 literally the ugliest effing banner i've ever made i'm SO SORRY but this completely destroyed my writer's block. i had so much fun <3

It’s all been downhill since Leon plucked your name out of a glass jar last week. Shit. Multiply that times three, rain down a couple red and green sprinkles for holiday spirit, and you have a great representation of how prepared Leon feels about being assigned the most crippling crush he’s had since high school for the RPD’s annual Secret Santa: you.

Shit, indeed.

His hands shake like tremolo as he rereads your name printed on his little slip of paper, and Leon decides right then and there that the best way to go about this is to not go about it at all. Plain and simple.

“Aren’t you excited?” you gush after your turn to draw from the jar. Poor you, you’d taken his jittery hands as enthusiasm.

Leon grins tightly. “For sure, yeah, I um… I love Christmas. Really excited. You get who you wanted?”

“Hey, no cheating. Not even with me, rookie.” You scrunch your face, clutching your paper to your chest. “Secret Santa’s secret. But it’s no secret that you’ve got to give it your all, so no lousy gifts allowed, got it?”

Well, there’s that plan gone. It’s back to police academy basics: Keep It Simple, Stupid.

There’s nothing to overthink about making a good impression as the newest RPD recruit, Leon gaslights himself while haunting the Target holiday aisle on Monday night. You routinely save him from Irons’ infamous wrath, so it’s only natural that Leon spends all of Tuesday in a stupor at his desk, definitely not thinking of how he could never pay you back the favor with a silly Secret Santa gift.

Wednesday rolls by and his coffee from yesterday sits in the break room, cold and overstirred next to today’s breakfast crumbs. How many times has Leon watched you sip tea at your desk? Five, six?

Your eyes sparkle over the rim of your cup when he asks you about your weekend. Really, he doesn’t get the hate for small talk. There’s nothing small about the smile that bunches up your cheeks when he cracks a stupid joke about the weather, and more often than not, Leon finds himself waterboarding his notes app with the names of all the novels you drop mid-conversation so he can binge their Sparknotes over the weekend. So it goes, according to Kurt Vonnegut.

Ugh, he should have paid more attention in English. What the hell is an allegory anyway? Leon spends all of Thursday browsing your Goodreads profile and wracking his head over the hefty price tags attached to your TBR list. His wallet makes for a terrible wingman.

But really, finding the perfect gift is no sweat at all. Leon is absolutely nonplussed (according to his 50th vocabulary-related Google search) when he steps into the RPD elevator on Friday morning with a clumsily wrapped, candy cane-striped bundle in his arms.

“Hold it plea- Leon!”

Liar, liar, pants on fire – he’s totally shitting his pants when you barely make it inside before the doors snap shut.

“Thanks,” you gasp.

Leon nods stiffly, his cheeks growing warm, and jams the second-floor button with his knuckle.

As the elevator starts its maddeningly slow climb, you hum, rocking back and forth in your snow boots. You’re cradling a package of your own, something four-cornered and fairly small. Leon, however, feels like he’s holding a bomb, the object of his affections standing less than three feet from his radius of destruction. How are you so carefree right now? You’ve probably got this gifting thing in the bag and he most definitely doesn’t.

Leon can see everything unfold the moment he enters the office. You’ve had your gift planned months beforehand, his gift is going to be horrifically lame when you open it, everyone’s going to clap politely but you’re going to hate him forev-

And then the elevator plunges into pitch black.

“Oh my god!”

Who screamed louder, Leon doesn’t want to find out.

The elevator shudders to a complete stop. Leon’s mental spiral of doom helpfully supplies him with an image of you two dangling in midair, suspended on wires. Maybe this is the universe saving him from delivering the worst Secret Santa gift of his life.

Leon blinks in the darkness, waiting for your unflappable voice to cut through the silence and figure a way out, headstrong as always, except you don’t, and Leon strains his ears to hear what’s surely not what he thinks it is, a whisper that sounds an awful lot like: “Leon, I don’t want to die.”

“What?”

“We’re gonna die,” you whimper. “I don’t wanna die.”

Your voice floats up from a lot lower than he remembers your head being, so he crouches down to find you with your arms hugged to your chest. You’re huddled against the wall, breathing all shallow. The package in your arms lies forgotten somewhere in the abyss.

“Hey, hey, nobody’s dying.” Leon reaches out to find your hand. “What’s the matter?”

“I have, cl-clau-”

“Claustrophobia?” He remembers that one well. Wishes he didn’t.

You nod fitfully.

“The dark doesn’t help either, huh?” he whispers, craning his head to look at the busted bulb on the ceiling. “Damn.”

Your palm grows colder and clammier in his hand by the minute, and the shakiness in your breathing is starting to worry him. Your head pops above your knees when you hear rustling in the shadows, and then the telltale Christmastime cacophony of wrapping paper being torn to shreds.

“What are you…?”

“Being resourceful,” Leon grits, tearing his Secret Santa gift open. He fumbles with its contents for a second, slipping something into a plastic compartment. “It’s not the best, but…”

The elevator blooms with soft, golden light.

“...it’ll do.”

“What’s this?” you murmur in awe, cupping your hands around the tiny book light Leon holds.

“My Secret Santa gift,” he chuckles sheepishly. “I kind of, um, blanked. I’m also really bad at giving gifts, so there’s also this,” he says, pulling out a mug from the heap of trashed wrapping paper.

When I Think About Books, I Touch My Shelf, it announces with impunity.

Leon blushes when you giggle at the inscription. Things always look better online than in person, rookie mistake. But at least you’re breathing better now.

“This is amazing,” you laugh, cradling the cup like there’s warmth inside.

“Not so amazing now that I’ve opened all the packaging.”

“Your Secret Santa won’t mind at all, trust me, not with a gift like this- ‘touch my shelf’, you’re unbelievable! Tell me where you got it.”

He shakes his head.

“Leon Scott Kennedy, if you don’t stop gatekeeping this incredible mug and this super useful book light, by the way, I’m going to tell Irons you spilled coffee all over his desk. I can be very convincing, y’know.” You cross your arms decidedly, waiting.

“There’s no need for all that!” he protests.

“That was a promise, Leon, not a threat.”

“C’mon, be reasonable here.”

“You’re still not telling me.”

“It’s for you, silly.” Leon tilts his head, face heating up faster than the book light bulb, “You’re my Secret Santa.”

He must be hallucinating the pink in your cheeks.

“Oh,” you breathe.

“Yes, oh,” Leon teases, scooching to sit next to you. “I couldn’t think of anything,” he confesses, “so I just went with the basics. I know you read and I know you really miss your old tea mug, the one that broke, right? You’re my gifting competition and I got nervy from how sure you were about your person’s gift. So, um, I played safe.” Leon finishes lamely and squeezes his eyes shut, hoping the light doesn’t also illuminate the shame radiating from his body.

And then he feels the press of an unbelievably soft kiss on his cheek.

“It’s much better than what I’ve got,” he hears.

His eyes fly open. Words don’t form right in his throat when you reach out for the package you dropped when the lights went out. Wrapping paper falls apart neatly in your hands (what don’t you do perfectly?) and you unveil a mini waffle iron, proportioned perfectly for somebody always running late without breakfast. Somebody like Leon.

“You keep missing breakfast and Irons is on my ass about saving you food all the time, so I guess took the practical route too,” you shuffle your feet, bashful all of a sudden. “And um, my gift’s kind of useless if we never make it out. Sorry.”

He fingers the tag in wonder.

Merry Christmas, Leon! There’s a timer so you don’t burn them :) xoxo, your Secret Santa!

You’re so goddamn sweet. You’re perfect and thoughtful and it’s all your fault that Leon didn’t have the faintest clue what to give you. Think, Leon, think. He knows he’s not this stupid. What do you give to somebody who has everything?

A kiss. One that’s all smiles and just as sweet as the way you kiss him back, because screw Secret Santa.

It’s hard to keep secrets when you’re Leon’s favorite one.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

#leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy fanfiction #resident evil #vaaaaaiolet #ao3 fanfic

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novlr · 1 year

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How to write the cold

The way we feel cold is universal, but the way we contextualise it is not. Cold has a variety of connotations for readers, so it's important to decide how to use it, and what mood you want to convey in your scene.

While cold is often associated with negative aspects in writing, if there's anything the winter season teaches us, is that it can be a positive thing as well. Rather than just using the word cold, in your next writing project, try to contextualise it. Describe the weather, the light on the snow, the comfort of warmth after an icy swim, or the fear and loneliness of the dark on a cold night.

Here are our quick tips on how to write the cold:

In nature

Clean mountain air

Glittering ice crystals

Unique wildlife, like snow hares or polar bears

Snow muffled sounds

Steam rising from hot springs

Icy water in rivers and lakes

Overcast and rainy

Bright sun on fresh snow

Icebergs, glaciers, and ice floes

Storms and blizzards

Branches moving and creaking

Frozen ponds

Morning frost on grass

Snowdrops pushing through snowdrifts

Crisp and clear night skies

Wolves howling in the dark

Bare branches scraping against windows

Eerie shadows

Foods and objects

The scent of cinnamon and nutmeg

Heavy winter coats and scarves

Rich, hot meals with lots of gravy

Tea or coffee left out too long

Ice-cream, sorbets, or ice-lollies

Metal that is cold to the touch (like pots and pans or door handles)

Cold beverages straight out of the fridge

An icy bath

Freezer trucks or walk-in refrigerators

Dry ice

Crisp, fresh sheets on cold nights

Ice sculptures

A tap with a drip that freezes in place

Frozen celebratory drinks (like daiquiris)

A single cube of ice floating in a whisky glass

A cold pack for an injury

Character moods

Isolated

Lonely

Aloof

Sad

Comfortable

Snuggly

Focused

Panicked

Indifferent

A lack of affection

Calm and calculated

Disengaged

Serene

Depressed

Awestruck

Anxious

Reverent

Melancholy

Nostalgic

Impatient

Frustrated

Reflective

Character body language

Hunched shoulders

Crossed arms

Shivering

Snuggling into something warm

Rub hands together for warmth

Tight or strained expression

Biting dry lips

Furrowing brow

Glaring against brightness

Tense and rigid stance

Stand close to others

Slow, deliberate steps

Move quickly to somewhere warm

Sitting relaxed in a warm space

Actions and events

Start a fire or build a shelter

Winter hikes

Outdoor activities like skating, skiing, or sledding

Traffic jams or snowed in cars

Frozen lakes cracking underfoot

Dodging icicles falling from rooftops

Going ice-fishing

Long sea voyages

Frostbite

Suffering from a cold, the flu, or pneumonia

Brainfreeze

Snuggling under a warm duvet

Sipping from a steaming hot drink for comfort

Cold-water swimming

Walking to work in the rain

Christmas in the Northern Hemisphere

Chrismas in July in the Southern Hemisphere

Reading a good book by the fire while it snows outside

Positive aspects

While cold is often associated with negative emotions, using it as a juxtaposition can often help to accentuate the positive feelings you want to convey.

If it's cold outside, a character enjoying a hot chocolate under their duvet will give a much more positive impression than if they were simply staying in bed.

The beauty of the natural world in winter, like snow, ice, and winter foliage can also be used to create a scene of happiness and wonder.

Negative aspects

Cold is often used to describe characters who are emotionally detached, calculating, or generally unfeeling. It's become an easy way to clue your readers in to how they're meant to feel about your character.

There are also more creative ways to use the cold, however, like describing the disappointment of forgetting about a hot drink you put down somewhere and only remembering when it's already gone cold, or the feeling of shock after you first step out of a warm shower.

Helpful synonyms

chilly

frigid

icy

wintry

frosty

cool

nippy

freezing

glacial

brisk

chilled

cool

polar

bitter

snowy

raw

refrigerated

arctic

rimy

draughty

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 9 months

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Phantom pain

Summary; Price said he would be back before Christmas, but you didn't think it would be like this.

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x reader (sunshine!universe)

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Onehsot

Word; 9k

Warnings; angst, injury, copious amount of fluff

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: Surprise update everyone! I've been feeling so festive this year, there's so much snow and everything's just so cosy, so this chapter comes as a little hurt to feel-good thing on the third of advent. If you don't celebrate Christmas or don't like the festive period, I simply hope that you have a great December nonetheless🥰

SUNSHINE UNIVERSE MASTERLIST

It had been a slow morning. Despite snow greeting you on the ground and in the air, you'd felt warm huddled in your jacket and the thought of cosying into one of the plush armchairs at your coffee shop. It had been serene; not many ventured outside in this weather. Yet, you'd smiled behind the lapel of your jacket when something other than cloudy skies and rain doused everything in a hue of grey.

You'd been in such a good mood that when you returned home with some pastries to go, saffron and caramel the main components in the golden danishes and tarts, you started a deep cleaning of your flat.

With the least Christmasy of Christmas songs playing from your speakers, you put up some festive lights, the warm glow softening every hard edge.

Although, while you're balancing on your stool, using some double-sided sticky tape to fasten a string of light behind your curtains, the music from your speakers is cut off by your phone ringing. You didn't think twice about heading to your phone, believing it was Marissa or one of your other friends. Yet, you stall when spotting the caller I.D. lighting up your screen.

Two weeks. John said his deployment would last two weeks. Of course, you would've been happy if he returned home earlier on any other occasion. But something made your stomach twist and your brows furrow when John now was calling less than a week and a half after he left.

"John?" You ask tentatively after answering the call and putting it on speaker.

"Sorry, lass, probably not the John ya wanted". Your heart fucking drops, your face falling in record time when it's a Scottish accent and not the easily recognisable British variant greeting you.

"J-Johnny?" Your voice breaks halfway through, unable not to. Even tears managed to well in the short seconds you realise what this call might be.

"Hey, easy, Price is alive and kickin'-"

"Oh god", you choke out the words, dropping to the couch behind you as you'd remained standing since you answered, for some reason. The tears that collected in the corner of your eyes trail down your cheeks upon your eyes shutting, more so from the sudden burst of relief than the fear that brought them.

"Fuck, you scared me, Johnny".

"Should've started with that", he excuses with a slight, strained chuckle before he clears his throat. "But... still callin' for a reason".

"Yeah, gathered that much", you return, wiping away your tears with your shirt sleeve.

"Captain got downed durin' the mission, nasty shot in the shoulder".

"What?" Your motion stills when you register what Johnny said, gaze falling to stare at the call-time ticking away tauntingly slow.

"Last time I saw him, he was in the infirmary and had just returned from a quick surgery".

"But is he alright?" You bring your phone closer to your face as if it somehow would make Johnny feel how you pressed for an answer.

"Huffin' and groanin' 'bout it but fine otherwise. He wanted me to call ya, knowin' the pain-meds he was forced to take wouldn't help him give good 'nough explanation of things".

"Okay, okay", you mumble. He's alive. Hurt but alive.

"He'll need to stay a while. But ya can come to see him if ya want".

"I can?"

"'Course, we'll be able to get ya a visitin' pass".

"Oh, thank you, Johnny", you breathe out.

"Nothin' to thank, lass. Can't stand the Captain's grousin' anymore". You chuckle half-heartedly at that. "I'll send you the details 'bout the visit and some information that's needed".

"Yes, yes, absolutely". You nodded along even if the Scot couldn't see the motion. "Send it over, and I'll fill out whatever's needed".

You don't know how much of a shit show things had turned into for them to return home early. Although, it must have been bad if not only John didn't go unharmed from it, but even Johnny seemed to have seen better days.

It was hard not to notice his roughened-up look when he met you by the army base's outer perimeter about two hours later. There were a few cuts and bruises littering his face, and even though the Scot didn't hesitate to bring you into a comforting hug as you jumped out of your car, you noted the slight wince he waved off as a 'bruised everything'.

Even if you'd been shaken after ending the call with Johnny, you attempted to calm down, telling yourself 'John's fine' before leaving your flat. Yet, those nerves flared right up when you entered the small visitors' centre beside the road. Thankfully, the very man who'd given you the news of John seemed to notice that the military surroundings were vastly unfamiliar and unnerving for someone not used to them, especially considering why you were here.

Johnny kept close the entire time, helping you with the needed papers for the visitor's pass by pointing to where your signature was required, even if he talked familiarly with the armed guards all the while.

You took deep breaths to steady yourself numerous times, feeling the Scot's attention fall on you each time he noted the same unease he previously only caught over the phone. You knew you weren't succeeding in hiding your nerves. Nevertheless, between being in a strongly off-limits zone for usual civilians and the fact you wouldn't be here if John wasn't in a hospital bed, you don't think Johnny or any of the other soldiers blamed you for it.

When everything was finally signed and read through, Johnny scribbled his signature on the dotted line beside yours on the last page.

With the I.D. around your neck, you exited the smaller building and jumped into your car again, only now the Scot hitched a ride back with you.

Your fingers rapped against the steering wheel once you were let through the gates and rolled forwards, teeth worrying your lower lip, eyes trained on the main compound further ahead.

"Lass", your eyes had swiftly adverted to Johnny, noticing his eyes shifting to your hands. You stopped with a tight lipped smile, your gaze having adverted forward again. "Price is roughened up but fine. He's been through much worse".

"I know", you sighed, having to hold yourself from going back to biting your lip. You'd seen John's scars, some on worryingly critical places on his abdomen. "But I haven't been there to see that...", you mumbled, eyes fixed on the parking lot ahead.

You and Soap didn't share much chatter as you parked, nor more than needed as he guided you through the building closest to the parking lot. However, he offered a reassuring squeeze of your shoulder when he saw you hesitate in the elevator upon reaching the medical wing.

A327. That was the room John apparently was in.

You looked at each door you passed, waiting for the right one.

324. 325. 326.

Your heart thudded hard in your chest as you finally reached 327.

With hands intertwining hands, fingers wringing each other, you merely stand rooted before the door. All of a sudden hesitant to step inside.

"He's gonna be fine, lass". Johnny's comment makes you look up at him. A gentler smile than usual meets you, causing you to release the breath you didn't know you held as you nod. "Let's get ya to meet him". The Scot gives you an encouraging smile as he opens the door, motioning for you to enter.

John's already facing your way when you step into the room that nearly shines white and beige. But your gaze only briefly meets his before it drops, flittering over his form.

He rests beneath multiple blankets that reach his stomach, his upper body clad in a soft white t-shirt that doesn't look like his own. Your jaw clenches when you spot his arm in a sling, stabilising it against his chest. As your eyes trail further upwards, a distressed sound bubbles up in your throat upon spotting the bandages peeking from beneath the left sleeve.

"John-", you don't manage to say anything more before you stutter to a stop, chest heaving on a sharp inhale.

"C'mere, love", his voice is hoarse, strained, barely more than a grating sound, but you move forward as on command.

You can't help how your mouth purses at how tired he looks, the hint of pain in his eyes so evident when you stop beside the bed.

"M'fine", John raises the arm of his healthy side, even so, he winces, eyes shutting tightly for a brief moment before they open again.

"Don't lie, I see that you're not", you murmur as you take hold of the hand that tried to reach your face, allowing his upper arm to drop and rest along the bed, instead meeting him halfway by bending down to kiss his knuckles.

John exhales deeply, eyelids fluttering close, the crease between his brows never smoothening. God, it hurts to see him like this.

You step closer, the side of the bed pressing into your thigh, planting a kiss at the very centre of the furrow. When you look down at John again, his features have softened, but his eyes still have a troubled look when that blue gaze meets yours.

"I'll leave ya two to it". You look over your shoulder, sending Johnny a look of gratitude.

"Thank you, Soap", John says. The Scot only nods in return, giving you a last look before he exits.

Once you're alone with John, you exhale almost painfully before gazing down at him.

"You don't know how scared I got when Johnny called", you admit. This time, John pulls your hand rather than face towards him, tipping his head forward to plant a firm kiss against your knuckles. "Thought-"

"Sit down, love". Upon catching your distress, John pats the side of his bed with a gentle voice. Although his attempt does little to ease your nerves, seeing how the slight move of his legs sideways to give you space only makes his features twist.

"Not a chance", you protest with a shake of your head, fearful of accidentally hurting him more. Instead, you glance around the room, finding a pair of chairs along the wall.

John doesn't hold you back as you release him and move towards them, but you guess it's more because he can't then don't want to.

You pull the chair along and put it as close to the hospital bed as possible, not hesitating to lean over the low metal railing at the side to hold John's hand again after sitting down, your other hand settling on his forearm, rubbing soothing motions.

You gaze up at the blue-eyed man, those pretty eyes of his duller than usual, exhaustion shining in its own faded might. His brown hair is one of the few darker accents in the room; the screen of the heartbeat monitor is the other source. Yet, it's matted, fallen to its own will against his forehead rather than styled into something casual by his fingers running through it and pushing it backwards.

Leaning forwards, your card your hand through John's hair, not nearly correcting it to how he usually does, but better nonetheless.

Your gaze flitters to meet his when you settle back in your seat, noting the smile adorning his lips.

"Happy to see you again, love". Not daring to test your voice, you kiss his knuckles in return. This time, you're positioned low enough that John's hand goes to cup your face when you lean away again, brushing his thumb over the apple of your cheek. "Even if it could've been under better circumstances".

You don't notice it until John's thumb paints a streak of wetness over your skin, but he redirects a stray tear rather than letting it follow its natural path.

"You're here. That's what matters". You squeeze John's wrist, leaning away to wipe your cheeks yourself, offering him a smile with a breathed chuckle.

"Was never not close to return". John wraps his hand over yours, letting them drop to the bed as he reflects your smile. "Shoddy shot whoever they were, used a handgun in close combat and still missed the brachial artery and brachial plexus", John releases one of those huff-chuckles of his. You shake your head, having no idea what difference it would make if whoever shot him hadn't missed those points, only that it probably would've been a lot worse.

"What- what went wrong?" Your gaze flickers to his injured side.

A heaved sigh escapes him before he speaks.

"Mission was bumpy from the start but went fine". You knew he let confidential details out, but you didn’t want to know anything apart from what happened to him. "Needed to wait out exfil in an abandoned buildin'. Remained remarkably silent until we got the call to move to the pick-up point. Got ambushed, absolute shitshow". He shakes his head with a grunt.

"How's the others?" You'd seen two of the four men, though Ghost and Kyle's absence suddenly irked you upon hearing what John told you.

"Bruised but none too badly". John ran his thumb over your hand. A low, partly amused, partly exasperated huff escaped him as he continued. "My turn to take the brunt for the team, it seemed".

Even if you could've wished for a better outcome for John, at least none of the others had gotten off worse.

You suck your lower lip between your teeth as you really try to take in his state, trying, only try again to find your words. Seeing John like this almost feels wrong.

You'd witnessed his soft side, but this wasn't soft. This is hurt. He wasn't sluggish as when you managed to keep him in bed rather than rise with the birds on the occasional weekend. This was exhaustion, one he tried to hide, but the lines on his face exposed nonetheless.

Barely anything could've pulled your attention from John as you tried to find your words, any consolidation that wouldn't sound like pity. And yet, when a knock sounded from the door, soon after swinging open, both your and John's eyes are pulled to the entrance.

When you spit the woman striding into the room, your brows jump up.

"Kate? Didn't think you would be here". Upon noticing you sitting by John's side, the American woman stalled, the computer beneath her arm pulled in front of her.

"I was involved in the mission the boys went on". She juts her chin towards the man at your side. "Mind if I speak to him?" Her tone wasn't stern, nothing hinting at malice or desire to break you and John up. Still, it didn't really sound like she asked.

You looked from Kate to John, not really stunned compared to feeling how a bubble unexpectedly broke. "Oh, yes, of course, I'll wait outside".

Considering how neither stopped you as you stood, John only squeezing your hand before letting go, you took it as an affirmation this wasn't a conversation you had any clearance to be present for and that one way or another would've happened either way.

Even so, Kate offers you a kind smile as you pass her on the way out. Yet, you note the blonde woman's features looked tighter than on the night of the party, without a doubt due to the predicament making John end up in a hospital bed.

When the door falls shut behind you, you lean against the wall just to the left of the entrance. It's silent to a degree you would guess the room John's in is semi, if not entirely, sound-proofed. Considering it isn't an emergency wing, you wouldn't disregard the possibility.

You sigh, eyes falling close. What a fucking day.

You don't know how long you stand like that, but you're only dragged out from whatever trance you entered once you catch the elevator stopping on your floor and the steps coming closer soon after. Considering you'd anticipated a nurse or the like, your brows rise when the pristinely white surroundings suddenly stand in stark contrast to the person dressed in dark army clothing.

"Heard from Soap you would be around". You smile as you push off the wall, meeting Kyle as he closes the distance between you. "How are you holding up?" The question brushes past your shoulder as he brings you in for a hug before keeping you within arm's distance, studying what must be your tired features.

"As good as can be". You smile in return. The young Brit rubs your upper arms reassuringly as he nods, seeming content with your answer as his arms drop to his sides. "You here to visit John?"

"I was, got some gaps in my schedule", Kyle confirms before cocking his head. "But I guess I'll have to wait, considering you're not there with him".

”Kate is paying him a visit”. He looks at the door with a furrowed brow before his attention tracks back to you and it smoothens. ”If you wanna greet him, maybe you have enough authority to”. Kyle only shakes his head.

”If Laswell wanted to talk to him first, there’s a reason. The rest of us will know in due time. Hopefully, he ain't such a grouse by then”. He shrugs, and you can't stop your laugh. This time, it's not half-hearted nor forced.

"All of you laying it on thick about how grumpy he is".

"He isn't such a charmer when things don't go his way and he isn't surrounded by pretty faces". You swat Kyle on the arm as he sends you a look. "Only telling you the truth, not all of us get special treatment".

"Yeah, yeah, alright", he nudges your shoulder with his knuckles before stepping backwards.

"Send the Cap'n my regards, have to be on my way".

"Will do. Have a good day, Kyle". He gives you a nod of goodbye in return as he turns on his heel, heading back to the elevator he came from a few minutes ago. You offer him a last wave before the door closes.

Alone again, you look at the clock on the wall. But, considering you have no recollection of when you exited the room, you can't tell how much time has passed since Kate arrived, only guessing it must be at least a dozen.

You scan the corridor, finding sporadic rows of chairs along the wall, similar to the ones in John's room. Not knowing how long John and Kate's unofficial meeting would continue, you move to one of the seats across from where you'd stood, fishing up your phone to make time pass faster as you sit down.

Taking note this time, you know another ten minutes have passed before the door opposite you opens and pulls your eyes from your screen.

You slip your phone into your pocket as you push up from the seat and head towards Kate, Even though she’s keeping the door open with one hand on the handle, you barely catch the end of John's sentence before it ends.

Just as you reach her side, Kate's attention trails from John to you, giving you space to enter by stepping out of the room. Flashing her a brief smile, you move forward but suddenly gets halted when her hand slips around your upper arm.

"It's good to see the Captain's got someone with him", her voice is lowered, only for you to catch.

Your lips tug upwards in a genuine smile. Without really knowing how to answer that, you offer Kate a nod and a small 'thank you' in return.

The smile she reciprocates with is much less strained this time around. "Take care of him now".

"I will". And with that, she nods goodbye, heading down the hallway while you re-enter the room.

"Spoke with Kyle". You begin while closing the door behind you. "He says hello". You forward his message to avoid forgetting.

When your eyes fall upon John, whom you barely catch an answer from, at least not more than a hum, you notice how he's sunken deeper into the bed.

"You tired?" You retake your place in the armchair as he hums again. As John scoots closer to your side and stretches his hand towards you, you settle your elbow on the bed and intertwine your hands again.

"Laswell was worried, wanted to check in and inform me some things that needed finishin' could wait". The pauses between his words were prolonged, and the pronunciation drawled as he briefed you on his conversation with Kate. "Should finish them, though", he grunted, trying to sit up straight against the pillows, but you settled a hand on his stomach.

"You need to rest, John. If Kate said things could wait, trust her". He stilled, looking back at you with slow, almost drowsy blinks.

"Fine", he agreed, settling into the bed again.

As he sighed, eyes fluttering close, you felt something bleed from your body, making your upper body relax forwards, head settling on the verge between John’s hip and his lower stomach. Feeling the weight, his eyes flutter open, head tilting forward as he gazes at you.

"Mm, talk to me, love, what you've been up to".

"Not much, really. I worked and met up with some friends. Oh, Marissa and I went on a little investment spree for Christmas".

"Investment?" John humours in a low voice, the twitch in his mouth unable to pull his lips into a complete smile compared to only tilting the edges upwards.

"If they're going to be reused yearly, that's an investment". He chuckles deeply, and you release a chuckle of your own.

You continue talking about what you've done in the week and a half you've been apart. Some Christmas baking, putting up decorations as of today, noting how most things out of the ordinary related to the holiday season.

Gradually, you notice how John's eyes fall close. Even so, he's still invested in the conversation with few-worded responses. But even those soon become nods and hums when his hand relaxes in yours. As you move to gently trail your fingers up and down his forearm, all while continuing to talk, the soothing motions make him heave a sigh.

Soon enough, the only sounds he lets out are the breaths escaping his parted lips, his softened breathing followed by the rhythmic movement of his chest.

You trail off in your sentence with a small smile, watching John's sleeping features. No furrow pulls his brows together, no involuntary twinge in his features letting on his pain. He looks at ease, and it finally settles your nerves as well.

In stark contrast to how you notice John's consciousness slipping, you don't detect yours slowly doing the same.

Your movements up and down his skin slowly grow shorter, from trailing between his wrist to the crook in his arm to only rubbing the spot your hand eventually stills on. The tension in your neck releases from the claws of whatever emotions had built throughout the tumultuous day, your head feeling heavier as it rests against his stomach. There's a fine line between when your blinking turns from slow to prolonged, even slimmer to when you can pinpoint your last conscious thought.

You're not the first to wake up. John's the one who stirs when a knock sounds from the door.

If not for the pain in his shoulder, despite being suppressed, he wouldn't blink his eyes so blearily and feel his mind sluggishly awake compared to what's expected of someone like him. Even so, his senses are sharper than yours as he notes your form slumped over the bed and your head resting on him, serene features remaining much like your steady breaths bleeding through the blankets.

His eyes trails to the door, releasing a low sound that must have sounded like a grunt to whoever was on the other side, but he couldn't care. The door swings open, Soap stepping through it much like he'd done a few hours earlier, but then with you by his side.

Now, the Sctosman closes the door behind him gently upon noting your sleeping form before his attention settles on John.

As Soap steps further into the room, John's eyes flit down to your sleeping form before rising again. With a swift look at the clock, he knows what the Sergeant is probably here for. He softly settles his hand upon your head.

You don’t remember falling asleep, only that John did, so when you’re roused from a dreamless nap by a hand cradling your scalp, you feel groggy when sitting up straight all too suddenly.

You blink repeatedly as your vision focuses again, finding John looking at you, his hand sliding down to the back of your head and down your arm.

"Sleep well?"

"Mhm". You roll your head, twitching at the twinge in your neck from your not-so-ergonomic sleeping position.

"Not the comfiest spot for ya". The Scottish accent catches you off-guard, as last you checked, only you and John were in the room.

You turn around, spotting the very Scot who'd spoken. "Oh, hi, Johnny".

"Hey, lass", he chuckles in return. "Just came ’bout to inform ya there’s a room waitin' if ya want to stay the night".

Your brows lift, eyes shifting to John, who's already watching you. "You don’t need to. I’ll be holed up here either way".

"It will just be less travel tomorrow", you shrug, turning back to Soap as you confirm you'll stay.

"Come on then, lass, visitin' hours are over soon". He opened the door slightly as he spoke, showing you he would guide you to your room for the night. You nodded, shifting out of your seat to stand, not without looking down at John.

"Go, get some proper sleep", he nudges your hip. You give him a brief smile before bending down, pressing your lips against his. They're chapped, but their plush warmth is soft. As you part from him, you mumble a 'goodnight' against him, an equally low 'goodnight, love' murmured against your lips, warming you further before you pull away.

You place the chair back where it's meant before fetching your things from beside the bed and offer John a last parting smile and a 'see you tomorrow'.

Just before you pass through the door, you look back at John, offering him a small wave, one he answers with a warm smile.

"You really turn the Captain into a love-sick man", Johnny's comment comes seconds after the door closes. You turn to him, seeing the amused look he sends you.

"Oh, shut up". You swat Johnny's arm, making him bark out a chuckle.

"Ain't nothin' bad, lass", he mused, nudging you back with his elbow.

The Scotsman lead you to another part of the compound, a freestanding building just across the one you exited, at the other side of the parking lot.

It had begun snowing. Fat constellations of powdery white fall through the air as you trudge through what's already covering the ground. You flick up the lapel of your coat, burrowing your nose in the fabric as you protect your eyes from the snowflakes desiring to stick to your lashes.

When you entere the building you'd been heading toward, the warmth inside was a welcoming change, and you shrug away the snow that had yet to melt into the dark fabric enveloping you.

This time around, there was no need to sign papers as upon your arrival, Johnny simply led you straight to the room appointed for you, handing you the key when stopping outside the door. As you entered, you were surprised, not knowing what you'd anticipated, but certainly not a space similar to a hotel room.

A low whistle pulls your eyes to Johnny. "Aye, not bad", his eyes rove over the room before settling on you.

"Much better than I thought", you agree, stepping inside, shrugging the bag off your shoulder, and simply putting it on the floor.

"Didn't think we would put ya in the barracks, did ya?"

"Never experienced military hospitality before, but didn't expect much", you shrug, smiling in return as you turn to face him.

He shakes his head. "That's the thanks", he quips, yet his grin deceives him. "I'll see ya in the mornin', lass".

"Johnny!" He halts in the step he'd begun to take, watching you with raised brows. "Just, thank you for... everything today". His fingers rap against the door handle as he shifts the weight on his feet.

"Knew it probably would be tough for ya and that Price probably hadn’t even thought ‘bout having ya visit here yet. S’jus' wanted to make it as smooth as possible for the both of ya. Know he would've done the same for the rest of us", he shrugs with a gentle smile. Johnny's consideration warming your heart.

"Thank you, really".

The side of his mouth bows upwards. "Ya are welcome". And with that, he closes the door.

***

When you wake up in an unfamiliar room, remembering where you are takes a few seconds. Then it comes rushing back as you see the visiting pass on the bedside table. Johnny’s phone call. John’s injury. The military base.

You sit up with a jawn, peeking out the room's sole window.

It’s utterly white outside, with no cloud in the sky as the sun just about peeks over the horizon, suggesting today will be considerably colder than yesterday.

Slipping from bed, you’re quick to dress yourself. The t-shirt you slept in gets stuffed into your handbag as you only shrug on the hoodie from yesterday, slipping into your pants not soon after.

You move to the bathroom, lamenting the lack of anything to freshen up. Even so, you splash your face with water, trying to tame your hair before sighing heavily, simply fetching the hair-tie you’d remembered to take off your wrist before bed.

Moving around the room, you remember the package of gum you’d thrown into your bag a few days ago, hoping you hadn’t chewed through the whole package when it would ease your mind about morning breath.

You rummage through your bag, cursing what yesterday didn't feel like a lot of stuff, but now does as you search for what you need.

A swift two-rap knock echoes from the door just as a triumphant sound escapes you when you spot the silvery package. Popping a gum into your mouth, you move towards the entrance, not surprised to find Johnny on the other side as you swing it open.

”Good morning”.

Johnny cocks his head as you smile at him before he splits into his own grin. ”Ya seem cheery this mornin’.”

”Seeing that John’s doing good helped me sleep better”, you shrug, catching a hum from him as you turn around to collect your stuff around the room. ”And then the bed was surprisingly good”.

”These ones are heaven in comparison to those in the barracks”.

”Yeah?” You turn towards the Scot standing with his hands behind his back, waiting at the doorstep.

“Aye, happy to not be rookie anymore”.

”Understandable”, you chuckle as you and Johnny step out into the hallway before tracking the same path you’d done yesterday. You could’ve done it yourself but had an inkling that you couldn’t move freely on the base.

”So you’re my guide while I’m here?” Blue eyes flicker down to you as he lets you pass out the door to the courtyard first.

It’s indeed colder today than yesterday, the chill biting your cheeks.

”Aye. Concernin’ Price was bed-bound; I needed to sign those papers in his stead”.

”And you don’t have better things to do?”

”L.T. gave me five minutes to spare”.

”From what?” The snow crunches beneath your shoes.

”Whatever drill he set up to run us into the ground”. You let out a surprised laugh at that, making the Scot grin. ”Yaself then, lass, goin’ to keep an eye out on the Captain for us when he leaves?”

Your eyes widen, switching to look at Johnny once evading an ice-spot as you cross the parking lot. ”He’s cleared to go home?”

”Haven't got any confirmation on it. But he's got no vital injury and has stayed close to two days, so it’s probable he’ll get to go home”, he shrugs.

The warmth rushes against your face as you enter the main building, much like yesterday, taking a right towards the medical wing.

”Feel like I’ll need to. Otherwise, he’ll stress the injury”.

”Wouldn’t be the first time any of us did that”. Johnny rubbed his neck as you raised your brows at him. He positioned himself opposite you as you stepped into the elevator, giving you a sheepish shrug. ”Comes with the job sometimes despite medical leaves”, the Scot excused the habit, only making you roll your eyes with a disbelieving huff.

”Then I’ll definitely have to ensure he takes it easy”. The doors close, and the elevator smoothly rises.

”Price won’t be able to say no to ya, never has since he met ya”. When your head dips into a shake this time, a smile adorns your lips that you try to hide. Even so, the Scot slung his arm around your shoulders with a laugh as you exited the elevator upon its chime and the doors opening.

The walk to John’s room seems much shorter than yesterday, without a doubt, because you know of his stable state. So when Johnny drops his arms from your shoulders, it’s not with bathed breath you open the door.

Unlike yesterday, your eyes don’t lock with John’s the second you enter the room designated to him. His gaze remains cast downwards on the tablet in his lap, even if his head tilts your way to show he noted someone had entered. Not until the Scot behind you offers a ’Mornin’ Captain’ does the man in the bed look up.

”What was that about makin’ him take it easy?” Johnny chuckles lowly, making you send him a look before he departs with a mock salute. You only shake your head at the man before entering the room.

”Aren’t you meant to take it easy?” You watch John with a raised brow, catching how the door slides close behind you while you slip out of your coat.

”I am”.

”Let me rephrase”, you chide him with a smile. ”Shouldn’t you relax, no work?” You move to the side of his bed with one of the chairs dragged along behind you.

”I-

”Don’t say that you are John. I know that look on your face”, you remark with a finger towards the easing purse of his lips and the furrow between his brows that’s not brought on entirely by pain like yesterday.

He sighs heavily, a locking sound coming from the tablet as he drops it screen-down in his lap. ”You’re right”.

”I know I am”. John releases a huff of laughter through his nose at your comment, softening your smile. ”Did you sleep well?”

He hums. ”Woke a few times ’cause of this-”. He jerked his head to his shoulder. ”Bed probably goin’ to set off my back”, he scoffed in annoyance at having to deal with the twinge in the lower part of his spine that you’d learnt most often came and went more frequently after he returned from a deployment or a bad mattress.

You hum, leaning forward to card your fingers through his hair that had fallen across his forehead after his previous jerky movement. While you do, you catch John returning the question, but your answer is an undeveloped ’good’, all your attention upon the locks your fingers card through.

His hair feels matted, and when your eyes briefly flicker over his face, you note his beard is untamed, not grizzly, but it’s lost the shine it usually always has.

”When was the last time you showered?”

”That's your way of tellin’ me I smell?” Your nose scrunches, hand falling to rest on the metal railing as your gaze locks with John’s amused one.

”No, at least that wasn’t what I was getting at”.

A chuckle precedes the more serious answer you get. ”About a week ago at the last safe-house, haven’t been able to have one after returnin’. Can’t wet the bandages”. You purse your lips, gaze momentarily switching to his shoulder before trailing back.

”How long before you can take them off?”

”The Doc visited before you came around and said I’m clear to leave, but the bandages needed to stay on until tomorrow”.

You nod. ”Johnny betted you would be able to go home today”.

”We know how these thing goes. Instructions about wound care, then sent off on med-leave before even attempting to come back and get shot at again”.

”Jesus, John”, you let out a chuckle of disbelief, shaking your head. When you raise it again, there’s a slight tug in the corner of his mouth and a knowing, truthful, look in his eyes. "Better we get you home and start the arduous wait, then." You offered him a smile and a raise of your brows, silently wondering if he was ready to pack up.

"Can't wait".

It wasn't a hassle to get John out of bed. He groaned and gruffed to himself as he pushed himself upright with your hand steadying him on his back, but that was about it. As he rose from the bed, you helped him into his boots and gently slung the jacket draped over his duffel-bag on the other side of his bed.

You'd sent him a look when he'd noted you of the bag's presence, remembering it wasn't there yesterday, to which he only explained Kyle got around and dropped off his things just after the Doctor had visited.

Although standard issued and didn't seem too heavy once you made the proposition to carry it instead of him, you cursed in disbelief when slinging it over your shoulder, not anticipating its weight. It had given John a good laugh before offering to take it regardless. However, you remained stubborn, motioning for him to take the lead out of the room with a 'you don't know how heavy our purses can be sometimes'.

But you don't enjoy a second of it as you trudge through the building; you more than John slowing the tempo. He catches you grumbling under your breath numerous times about what he's got in there, falling back to walk beside you once you reach the parking lot, mentioning he doesn’t desire looking back and find you toppled over in a heap of snow. He'd gotten another glare upon that comment.

You'd thought the drive home to John's would've been less arduous, but you'd found yourself unable to relax just as much, but for entirely different reasons.

With each turn of the car, you noticed how John braced his feet against the floor so as not to move in his seat, his free hand slipping beneath the seat belt to keep it from digging into his injury at times.

The way he acted made you all the more cautious in your driving, even picking routes that had more straight for his sake. You knew John noticed when you didn't take the usual right about halfway through the drive by the glance in your direction.

By the time you pulled into his driveway, the sky had darkened, and snow had started falling, making your and John's retreat into the house from the car hasty. Nonetheless, he managed to escape the weather that was worsening by the second much quicker compared to you as you fetched his bag from the booth.

You don't take more than a few steps into the foyer before you slip John's bag to the floor. When the pressure of the straps disappears, you sigh in relief.

John's chuckle makes you send him a glare. However, it melts away when your gaze finds the absolute disarray of his hair, now a combination of dirty and wet from the snow.

"Come one, I'll help you freshen up". You say, closing the door behind you, shielding you from the chilling cold.

"No need, love". You send him a look over your shoulder as you take off your coat, finding John stepping out of his barely laced boots.

"Why? You always have a shower when you get home?"

"If you have forgotten, can't get this wet for a day more". John nods to his shoulder as he faces you. "Can just wait 'till tomorrow".

Your brows furrow, and your hand falls to your hip while hanging up your coat. "John, I know how religious you are about your routine once you come home. There is no need to skip it just because you can't do it yourself when I simply can help".

You see his resolve falter somewhat as he regards you. "You don't mind?"

"Not at all", you shake your head. "Wouldn't mind a hot shower to warm up in this cold house of yours". A smile tugs in the corner of your lip when you end the sentence with an exaggerated wink.

It makes John chuckle as he shakes his head before those blue eyes rise to follow you when you approach. "Don't think I could supply that need now".

"Out of us two, I'm the one who can go a bit without being dicked-down". You kiss John's cheek as you slide the jacket from his shoulder, catching the harsh sigh as you wander to hang up his piece of clothing beside yours.

"That a challenge?" He hums as his un-injured arm sneaks around your waist as you finish your task, gently turning you around to pull you towards him. "Besides, I got other ways to satisfy you".

"Oh, I know". You give John a softer look as your hand slides down his forearm before gripping his hand, moving it to hang beside your bodies. "But let's listen to the doctor for now and let you heal up first". You offer him a smile as you back away and head into the house, John letting himself be led by you as you steer towards the stairs.

Not until you've reached his bedroom do you let go of his hand, ushering him to the bathroom as you move to his dresser. You swiftly dig through it for a new pair of pants, opting not to bring a shirt, believing neither of you could bother the hassle of attempting to put it on.

"Strip", you wave your finger towards John as you step over the threshold to join him in the en suite.

"Thought Doc's orders applied". You catch the smugness in his voice, sending him a humoured look, one he answers with a wink as he moves to sit down on the lid of the toilet. While John rid himself of the pants he'd gotten from the hospital, you place his own pair on the sink.

While he kicks them aside, your attention falls on the white shirt still covering his upper body. A furrow enters your brows, lips pursing. It would be challenge to take it off even if you helped him, being an uncomfortable and possibly painful process no doubt.

"Just cut it off". Your eyes meet John's, checking if you heard him right. With his head falling sideways in a nod, you move to the sink drawer to fetch the scissors, silently agreeing it might just be the easiest thing to do.

Mindful of the sling and bandages, you rid John of the thin cotton shirt, leaving him in only his boxers briefs.

While you turn around to throw the strips of his shirt into the bin, John stands, moving around you toward the shower. By cocking your hip, you swiftly close the drawer after putting back the scissors.

As you turn to say something to John, you catch him stabilising himself on the edge of the sink, knees just about to bend. Realising what he is about to do, all your previous thoughts are promptly cut short.

”You’re not kneeling on the floor." John stalls in his movement, looking at you. If he says anything in return, you don't catch it as you're already on your way out of his room.

The spare bathroom, which was under renovation the first time you visited, has now been finished. But you remember the stool John had used was yet to be taken to the spare room downstairs. Although you'd reminded him about it every time you'd been over, now you were thankful as you could fetch it as something John could sit on rather than the floor.

With a slight shuffling step, you bring the stool along with you and to where John waits, leaning against the sink, his eyes finding you the second you're visible through the open door of his en suite.

"Sit”, you motion to the stool you brought once John had moved to the side and let you set it down inside the shower's glass doors. A slight tug that doesn't evolve into a smile is present at the edge of his mouth as he follows your command.

When John makes himself comfortable on the stool, you gently nudge the back of his head with your fingers, urging him to bow forward to make it easier for you. Even sitting down, he reaches your stomach.

Pushing up the sleeves of your hoodie, you turn on the tap, testing the water steadily flowing from the showerhead on your hand. When finally finding the perfect temperature, you keep the stream gentle so as not to splash the bandages covering his left arm but rather trickle forward and down to the floor.

Small groans of appreciation escape John as you wash his hair, fingers running over his scalp to wet every single strand before setting down the showerhead and massaging some shampoo over his head. Earthy and clean scents fill the warm air as it steams every reflective surface inside the bathroom.

You do a double cleanse, not because you think John needs it, but because he seems to enjoy the gentle pressure off your fingers as they run up and down his scalp.

After washing away the last sudds, you take a towel from the rack and cover his head. Your laughter fills the air as you hear the huff of amusement from beneath the fabric draped over him as you attempt to dry his hair as much as possible by ruffling the fabric.

Ultimately, you slide the towel from his head, letting it hang around his neck to catch any stray droplets from reaching his shoulder. John turns towards you upon having his vision uncovered again, and you instinctively step closer when he does, inspecting his face.

”I don’t trust myself trimming your beard”, you card your fingers through the brown strands on his cheek. A low huff pulls your eyes to the blue ones steadily watching you.

”Can do that myself in a day or two. You’ve done plenty enough, love”. John’s about to stand, but your hand softly settles on his healthy shoulder.

”I only said I don’t want to go near the best part of you with scissors”.

”The best part, eh?” He pinches the back of your lower thigh, a squeak slipping out of you as you bat his hand away with a lower lip curled between your teeth.

”Don’t bite the hand that feeds you”, you chide with an evolving smile.

You catch John’s chuckle as you switch your attention to the counter, eyeing his products as neatly lined up as usual and the set of your own products beside them. Stepping away to the sink and out of his reach, you grab one of the face towels from the stack he’d bought for you to always have at his place, along with the other products needed.

When you turn back, you set the things on the sink-edge beside you.

”Said I can’t shape it up, but that doesn’t mean I can’t make the most out of what I can do”.

”You pamperin’ me?” Your eyes flit sideways, meeting a blue gaze watching you with a tilted head.

”I’m taking care of you, John”, you corrected him as you turned to wet your hands beneath the tap and squirted some cleanser into your hands.

John doesn't respond, only remains quiet when you start coating his face in the milky substance, merely staring up at you for a few seconds before his eyes flutter close when you cock a brow down at him.

You gently rub away the invisible grime on his face, staying clear of his beard as you lather his face. Humming gently, you wipe away the suds after a few dozen seconds and continue with the beard shampoo.

You’d seen the man, who now lets his chest deflate with a content sigh as you easily angle his head backwards with a few fingers beneath his chin, do his beard-routine a few times. It wasn’t difficult to remember, and you’re happy you didn’t need to ask John and bring him out of the relaxed state he’d entered as you used one of the brushes to rub the product into his beard.

Using the opposite edge of the towel, you also dry off his beard.

You wash off the white foam from the brush as you discard the towel before coating his skin in your moisturiser, only to continue by dropping some oil into your palms before you settle them over his lower face, smoothening them over the strands.

As you shift to the sink again, you reach for his comb, only to find John’s eyes had fluttered open when you turn back.

Those blues of his are soft as you gently comb his facial hair with slow movements. His hand settles on the outside of your thigh when you pick up the beard balm, warming it between your palms. The vanilla white lotion softens and warms between your hands before you work it through his beard.

Slowly, John's hand moves to the back of your leg while fingers lightly start tracing the line of his beard and skin, both much smoother than previously.

The moment was soft, gazing at one another in silence, before you cupped John's cheek and bent down. A gentle smell of something nutty from John's beard invades your nose as you press your lips against his.

Even if you end up trading multiple kisses, the pauses never let you drift further away than for your lips to rush against one another.

John felt the last bit of tension leave his body. Something awfully soft had infiltrated his heart as you fussed around him, your hand leaving gentler touches than even the Doc had done when he’d returned from the field with his shot-up shoulder. He’d tried to ward off your help and doting, but now he realised he needed this.

He’s been on 24/7 for over a week. He’s run on less food than at home. Countless times, his mouth had watered when thinking about the roast you’d shared before his deployment. He’s run on minimal sleep for several days in a row, barely more than half asleep when given a moment of tranquillity and nowhere near as relaxed as when having you in his arms. He’d looked over his shoulder for more than double the amount, only to be hit by a bullet in the end anyway, coming home broken.

John pulls away, cupping one of the hands that rests on his cheek, turning to kiss your palm. But, when he gazes at you again, your brows draw together.

”Don’t”.

"I didn’t say anythin'"

You only shake your head. "I know what you’re thinking, and no, you're not a burden".

"But I'm a broken man at the moment, love. Just see how much you've needed to do today", he scoffs, letting go of your hand, letting his fall onto his lap. You stop John from turning his head to the side, away from you, instead forcing him to watch you.

You look down at the man who meets your gaze with an almost sorrowful look. "And you think that bothers me?"

"Why wouldn’t it? It’s not your responsibility. Should just not have gone about gettin’ shot-".

"Jonathan Price". The use of his government name shuts his grumbling right up, his eyes even widening the slightest bit. "What bothers me isn’t that you got shot. I know the dangers of your work. What does bother me is seeing you in pain".

"I appreciate it, but there’s no need for you to do all this, to care for me". His voice is softer, but you still shake your head.

"Yes, there is because I love you". You barely notice the weight of what you say, those three chosen words leaving your lips in a too-natural fashion to be the first time. But rather than reluctance preceding and nerves following them, there's a sense of them being long overdue in the first place.

"I hate how much it hurts seeing your pain, so it’s not that I need to do anything for you. I very much care because I want to, John".

Compared to a few moments ago when John wanted to turn away from you, now he can't take his eyes off you. Whatever murky emotion which clouded his eyes has lifted, those blues clearer than ever as he stares right back at you, lips slightly parted.

"I’ve said it before, but you're too good for me".

"They say you get what you deserve". You offer John a smile, and something just crumbles then.

"God, you don’t know how much I love you, darlin’".

Your chest swells, heart suddenly pumping much warmer blood through your body. "So let me take care of you now when you need it".

"I- of course", he breathes, voice remarkably thin to support his gravelly cords as he shuts his eyes tightly. John gives you a single nod instead of attempting to continue his sentence, and you lean down to press a kiss against his forehead.

His arm loops around your waist the best it can from his slumped forward angle, pulling you close so his head rests against your upper stomach. Despite his hair being wet, you card your fingers through it, kissing the top of his head, his warm exhalation warming your skin despite the thick sweater.

"Goin’ to be one hell of a Christmas". The first half of the sentence is mumbled into you, the second half clearer as John looks up at you again.

You hum, feeling how one of the strands at the back of his neck drips water onto your fingers. "I only see more of a reason to have a lazy day".

"Where you do everythin’".

"Hush, now you’ve allowed me to do the work for once". You twirl the hair at the nape of his neck, looking back into those blues.

"Still don’t want you workin’ yourself to death". He gives you an honest rather than pointed look.

"I should say that to you", you only muse lightly in return, not needing to avert your eyes to his bandages as they shine like a beacon in the corner of your vision. "And I reckon it’s going to be fine either way".

"M’sure”, his reply is hummed into the sparse space between your faces before your lips press against his in a fleeting kiss. Before you lean back and straighten, however, his hand cups the back of your neck. "Thank you for all of this, love".

"You know it’s nothing". Although John doesn’t answer as you step backwards, you don’t catch any guilt, no trace of the previous gloom in his gaze. He believes your words, the crows-feet at the edges of his eyes and smile-lines around his mouth further proof.

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ageofevermore · 10 months

Text

HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

SUMMARY — two years after losing natasha, the only thing you count on is having wanda home for christmas

WARNINGS — canon endgame events, death, grief, cute wanda moment, tony being sweet/sentimental if you squint

AUTHORS NOTE — @family-house-of-m hope this is what you wanted :)

The worst thing about life always happens when you’re doing your best. It happens when you're lying in bed at night left with nothing but your thoughts, when you're finally catching up on chores that had been sitting on a checklist for months, when you finally see the rainbow after the storm. Life doesn’t care about the little things you could be doing, it doesn’t care that you have a load of laundry in the washing machine, or that you're six feet off the ground trying to hang a star from the top of your Christmas tree on a rickety old ladder. It doesn’t care, because the worst thing about life is that it never stops evolving. The days never stop dawning, relationships never stop changing, and the people you know never stop leaving. Leaving. It’s inevitable, but somehow even knowing that fact, doesn’t make it any easier to heal from.

There’s a pile of presents on the ground that will never be opened. There’s a stocking on the mantle that will never be glared at. There’s an empty spot in your bed that will never be warm. There’s a hole in your heart that can never be filled. Life moved on after Natasha Romanoff sacrificed herself, but you stayed there. You stayed in her shadow wearing her clothes and watching her movies, and you held onto her memories because if you didn’t, life would plow right over them. Your other girlfriend hadn’t been much better. She’d hexed an entire town, she only spoke Sokovian – the language that was so similar to Russian that sometimes in the middle of the night you confused her for Natasha – and she only cooked her favorite food. Maybe neither of you had found the strength to move on, but keeping her alive was more important then going to bed knowing you were healing. You could never heal. You’d rather cry through her favorite movie and sleep in her favorite shirt rather than forget about the little things that were already starting to fade.

It wasn’t your first Christmas without her. Last year was the worst. Nothing felt normal, because nothing was normal. Not only was your bed 33.3% colder, but the living room was missing her laugh, the dining room table was missing her plate, and your heart was missing the woman that had seen the best in you when nobody else did. You loved Wanda, and she loved you, but Natasha was the one who brought you together. Natasha was the one that had trusted in you both, and while your love could prevail even after her death, nothing was the same. Your life felt like the barren cold of winter that not even a flower could survive in. There wasn’t snow, there wasn’t rain, there was just dead and empty nothingness that could make anyone go mad.

Christmas was her favorite holiday. You never cared for it much, not until you met her, but she loved everything about it. She loved getting you gifts, and she loved that mistletoe gave her an excuse to kiss you in a room of people, and she loved walking around New York just admiring the lights and inflatables that were put out. When it was Christmas, she wasn’t a superhero, she wasn’t a child assassin or a murderer, she was just a Russian woman who loved to give love to the people that had chosen her. That’s what you loved about the Avengers. They had chosen each other. With the worst parts of themselves beneath a microscope for anyone to scrutinize (and boy did they), they had to choose to see the good, and once they did, there wasn’t anything that could dissuade them from being a supporter and showing up. They would always show up for each other, even after death. You just wish Natasha could see that.

You wish she could see how Tony hung her stocking on the mantle. You wish she could see how Wanda only wears her favorite pajama pants to bed. You wish she could see how Laura and the kids always start voicemails with her name. You wish she could see that she had presents waiting for her beneath the tree. You wish that loving her was enough to bring her back to life. You couldn’t help yourself when you saw them in the shops, but now that they sit beneath the tree never to be opened, it only makes your heartbreak feel fresh. You can still see her broken neck and shattered legs on the bottom of that mountain. You can still see the way blood seeps from her midsection and how it blends in with her red mane that’s sprawled around her, too far away for you to fix it. You can still see the life drain from her eyes, and the very last breath she wheezes out. If love was strong enough to bring back the dead, there’s not a single doubt in your head that Natasha Romanoff would be eternal.

Sighing, you finish putting up the decorations in your bedroom just as Wanda comes in, already dressed for tonight’s event. It had slipped your mind, and even if it hadn’t, you weren’t in the mood to join her and socialize with Tony’s megarich acquaintances who didn’t know or didn’t care that half of your heart was decomposing at the bottom of a mountain on an alien planet, not even able to be properly laid to rest. On nights like these, you hoped to god that she found a way back to you and Wanda, even if her body was far away. You hoped that when you die, she’s waiting with open arms, but you can’t be sure that her soul made it off of Vormir when her body couldn’t. Every Christmas, Tony hosts a gala with all of his billionaire friends, although now it's more of an excuse to get shitfaced then it is to raise money for his projects, but no matter the reason, Wanda would be going alone.

“I’m leaving for Tony’s.” Her voice was silky like a piece of red satin fabric, warming your skin from across the room. She looked like a dream in her floor length black dress, cleavage on display for any man to drool over. You couldn’t help but feel proud of who she had turned out to be despite all of the challenges that came up, and there were plenty. Desperate to feel her, to ground yourself in her embrace, you opened your arms, silently inviting her into your touch. She closed the gap between your bodies in seconds, Natasha’s perfume clinging to her skin. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice quivered, your fingers twitched, but you couldn’t possibly get any closer to her than you already were at this moment. You wanted to bury yourself in Natasha’s scent, wanted to plant your roots and never leave it, but Wanda had to go, and Natasha wasn’t really here anyways. She hadn’t been in two years. “Are you going to be okay? You don’t have to go.”

The gentle smile that pulled at Wanda’s lips had your heart doing backflips in your belly, her beautiful green eyes admiring every naked feature of your face. She clasped your cheeks in her hands, so close you could feel the exhale of her breath against your lips. “YA tebya lyublyu.” Her nose teased yours, nudging against it for the faintest second before her lips were chaining yours to a breathtaking kiss that made the room spin, and for a single second, your heart doesn't ache anymore. She tasted like peppermints, a very specific kind that Tony kept hidden in the top cabinets behind a bag of flour, but you knew that she’d used her magic to steal one, and your heart stuttered thinking about how Natasha would’ve been right at her side being the lookout. It was true that some things never changed, but somehow that saying wasn’t true at all. Everything had changed in the last two years, even these sweet moments, but for Wanda you would push through.

“I love you too.” You whispered when she pulled away, framing her face with your trembling hands for one last intimate embrace before she really had to go. “Come home to me.” You dropped your hands, watching the muscles in her back contract as she walked to the door and grabbed her crossbody bag. Another artifact of Natasha’s, though it hadn’t ever gotten to see the light of day on the redhead's sleek figure. She’d died three days after receiving it, and for two years it had sat in your closet collecting dust. She was all around you. In the clothes that you wore, in the food that you cooked, in the music that made you cry without even being sad. You and Wanda embraced every miniscule thing.

With a flirtatious flick of her hair, Wanda’s green eyes met yours for a final time before she disappeared down the hallway and into the cold night where miracles happened and snow fell. “I always do.” The slip of Sokovian on her tongue made your insides weak, but before you could pull her into bed and ruin the sheets, she was gone.

🎄⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊

The compound felt empty as you wandered around aimlessly, wearing nothing but Natasha’s favorite crewneck and a pair of Wanda’s socks. She never liked to frolic around in her comfiest clothes, but since her death, you’d shown it around the entire compound like maybe it would bring her back. It hadn’t, nothing ever would, but still you hoped for a miracle. You hoped that one day she’d come waltzing through the front door wearing a snarky smirk. She’d have a new hairstyle, and a new wardrobe, but she’d still be your Natasha. She’d fall onto your lap, eyes teasing and bright, full of mischief, and the first thing she’d say would be, “Miss me?”. You wouldn’t have the heart to be mad, so you’d just hug her tight and never let go, and things would finally feel right again.

With everybody out for the night, you settled on the couch with one of your favorite books and a mug of tea, throwing a blanket over your bare legs when the outside wind made your bones feel cold. In a moment of weakness, you let yourself get lost in the sight of Christmas around you. The LED bulbs on the tree were a dim white, just bright enough for the sparkles on the wrapping paper to glisten, and when you looked to the left, her empty stocking hung perfectly at an angle. For that one moment, you let yourself believe that she was here, that her arms were wrapping around your belly and she was pulling you into her chest and reading the words of your book over your shoulder, even though she would insist that she wasn’t when you turned your head to ask. You didn’t miss the superhero, the reformed assassin, the hero; you just missed Natalia. The woman who had never been truly loved until she found you.

Pulling yourself away from that fantasy, you opened your book, starting from the beginning. It was a classic story, one that you read every year around this time, but you could never get tired of it. As characters came to life in your head and the words became something more than just black text letters, you blocked out the notifications spilling in on your phone, entirely content with your simple night in, longing for the minute Wanda came home and the two of you could fall into bed together and sleep away the heartache that came with every new sunrise.

You hadn't realized how much time had passed until you slammed the book shut and let your eyes wander toward your phone that was laying face down on the coffee table. You always hated the climax of the book when the main character refused to believe the Prince was in love with her, but right now you couldn’t force yourself through it, so you chucked it to the end of the couch and let yourself have a moment to breathe. Scrolling through your notification, your heart sank to your feet seeing hundreds of texts from Tony, Steve, Clint, Bucky, Maria… everyone you could think of that had been at Tony’s gala. Everyone but one. With frantic eyes and labored breathing, you threw a pair of shoes on and booked it out of the compound into the frozen night, not bothering to slip on a pair of pants or a hat like Natasha would’ve scolded you about.

Tony had rented out the restaurant down the street, and while it wasn’t the closest trek, especially in your lack of clothing, it was quicker than waiting for a response from the world's mightiest heroes. You didn’t have to go far to tell that something was wrong. Firetrucks and ambulances lined the main road, and the breathtaking restaurant that Natasha loved to order in from was left in shambles. The entire exterior was demolished, and in a circle stood your friends, all solemnly hanging their heads. From the distance, you could make out tears on Clint’s cheeks, the lights from the police cars reflecting off of his dampened face all too similarly to how he’d looked on Vormir. Your eyes searched for Wanda in the crowd, coming up blank everywhere you turned. The closer you got to the scene, the easier it was for you to tell that something bad had happened. Tony’s suit was ripped at every seam, Maria’s face was cut up and smeared with blood, Steve looked so defeated that even Bucky’s prompts to pull him away fell on deaf ears. Just when you were about to ask what had happened, close enough to hear Sam sniffling into his sleeve, your entire world fell apart.

Four black wheels almost blended into the asphalt, and they would've had it not been for the large metal structure that sat on top of it. A bulky black bag was wheeled out, haphazardly strapped to the silver metal contraption so it wouldn’t roll onto the ground with any minor bump or jerk. Again, your eyes desperately searched for Wanda, but all you found were the sorry faces of your friends who had already watched your world fall apart once.

“No.” You shook your head, stepping away from Maria when she reached out to touch your shoulder. Your voice trembled, your heart stopped beating, you were sure of it. All the blood in your body rushed away from your head, leaving your hands to tremble as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing, and who you weren’t. You couldn’t see Wanda. You couldn’t find her. How could you not find the only redhead on the property?! There’s no way your beautiful, fiery, stubborn, sensitive girlfriend who was absolutely fine and completely alive four hours ago, was inside of that body bag. There was absolutely no way you had just lost your entire world when you were just barely surviving at all. “No. No no no.”

Dropping to your knees on the asphalt, agonizing sobs ripped past your lips and flooded the block. Tony winced, Clint broke down, Maria tried to console you, but all you could feel was the complete emptiness of nothing. You should’ve gone with her, if she had to die you should’ve died with her. You never should've let her go alone. She never should’ve come at all. Why was this happening? Why could you never have just one good thing?

“No! It’s not her! It’s not h-her!” You sobbed, shoving Maria away from you, violent cries deafening the paramedics who approached cautiously. Everyone knew who you were. Everyone knew that the infamous Black Widow was so comfortable in her sexuality that she had two girlfriends. Now, everyone was aware that only one remained. Wanda Maximoff and Natasha Romanoff were no more, finally reunited but not complete.

You didn’t think it could hurt any worse, you didn’t think life could be any crueler, but then the words to Natasha’s favorite Christmas song started playing through the broken restaurant speakers, and Wanda’s face so full of life and brightness dawned on you. Just last night she had sung these words so goofily, twirling you around your dark bedroom in matching pajamas. Just last night she had been alive.

i’ll be home for christmas, you can plan on me. please have snow and mistletoe, and presents by the tree. christmas eve will find me where the love light gleams. i'll be home for christmas, if only in my dreams

#wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff #wandanat #wanda maximoff x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff fluff #natasha romanoff fluff #wandanat fluff #wanda maximoff angst #natasha romanoff angst #wandanat angst #avengers x reader

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blouisparadise · 7 months

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Today we are excited to bring you the second part to our rec list of exes to lovers fics. You can find the first part to this rec list here. Please note that in some of these fics, they’re broken up before the story begins, and in some of these fics, they break up over the course of the story and then reunite. Happy reading!

1) The Prints Of Your Hands Are Still On My Canvas | Explicit | 4,563 words

Harry and Louis broke up not long ago. Everything was fine until then, problems started with Louis’ heat just around the corner, an important presentation that he could not miss, and a very visible (or more like invisible) alpha that could help him go through his heat. And then Harry shows up. (Again.)

2) Unspoken | Explicit | 5,175 words

Harry and Louis broke up when they were nineteen. They see each other after six years.

3) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he’s shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

4) Can I Stand In Your Light, Just For A While? | Mature | 11,875 words

“But like, if they offered you that much money it means they really really want your works.” Niall continued. “I mean I guess, I still don’t get why,” he shrugged. “It's because you’re an amazing artist Lou.” Niall squeezed Louis’ arm. “Also, maybe the CEO guy has some sort of crush on you, and that's why.” “I really hope that's not true.” The man paid for his tomatoes and put them into his tote bag. “Why? Is the guy ugly? Bald?” Niall babbled. “No, Niall…” “Old? I bet he’s old.” “Niall! It's Harry, he’s the CEO guy.” Louis sighed. “What?!” Niall shrieked, probably startling the whole block.

5) Wedding Bells Will Never Ring For Me | Explicit | 14,807 words

After a failed proposal a few years back, Louis gets an unexpected invitation to his ex - Harry’s – wedding.

6) Nothing’s Scarier Than Losing You | Explicit | 15,463 words

When Louis and Harry run into each other at a Halloween party two months after their breakup, they’re reminded of how rude, infuriating, and utterly perfect for each other they are.

7) How You Sleep At Night | Mature | 15,568 words

“-And…this is Louis.” And just that. ‘This is Louis.’ Louis feels like throwing up out of nowhere. So, that’s it then? Is he just a ‘Louis’ to him now?

8) Silk Chiffon | Explicit | 20,122 words

Louis gets a message from his ex making fun of him for pretending to know how to cook on Instagram. They settle on a simple bet, Louis had to be Harry's perfect little housewife for an entire month.

9) Under The Rain Or Under The Snow | Explicit | 20,667 words

Christmas AU where they broke up a month ago but Harry shows up at Louis’ childhood home for the holidays. Louis didn’t tell his mum about their breakup so staying with them is not ideal. Harry stays.

10) My Waves Meet Your Shore | Mature | 23,873 words

When Louis gets an email from his ex - Harry - it shouldn't surprise him as much as it does; they're parents now and it isn't rare to communicate with each other. But this? He wasn't expecting it at all.

11) Your Heart Is Dangled In Front Of Me | Explicit | 27,085 words

Harry Styles prides himself in being one of the best detectives in The 28th Precinct. But if there’s one case he can’t solve, it’s his marriage. At least not on his own. Joining forces with his five-year-old son and a free-spirited murderer-on-trial, Harry does whatever it takes to bring Louis back.

12) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

13) Last Blues For Bloody Knuckles | Explicit | 34,293 words

Styles was a name everyone knew. It had evolved into something of a fairy tale, a far away problem that normal people didn’t have to deal with. Louis never thought he’d find himself falling in love with him. When he finds himself pregnant with Harry’s child, he knows he has to leave the life, and Harry, behind. For her sake. He never expected Harry to show back up on his doorstep five years later.

14) The Wounds That Scarred Our Souls | Explicit | 35,910 words

Forever was nothing but a lie, Forever was just a ruse for the human heart, it gave you hope and then killed you. Forever was just a myth.

15) Stay Until Tomorrow | Explicit | 36,766 words

There’s a dull ache seeping through Louis’ body as he wakes up; a mild headache from last night’s alcohol intake, a cramp in his right arm from sleeping on it weird and a familiar soreness between his arse cheeks that Louis fully blames on his lousy one night stand.

16) Borrow The Moonlight | Explicit | 37,738 words

Louis and Harry broke up three years ago. The last thing Louis expects to see when he’s sent to help a guest is Harry, 3000 miles away from where he’s supposed to be.

17) The Space Between | Explicit | 39,917 words

Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

18) Just A Flicker In The Dark | Explicit | 57,204 words

Louis is a struggling witch desperate to prove himself after yet another magic disaster and finds a calling in the haunted house of client Niall Horan. Things get more complicated when he’s assigned a case partner: acclaimed medium and ex-boyfriend, Harry S

19) Dark Doom, Honey | Explicit | 57,801 words

Note: There is also an AU version of this fic, which is also an exes to lovers fic.

Louis lifted one shoulder, lips slightly pursed. “You are acting like an asshole.” Harry’s mouth pressed into a thin line, eyebrows knitting together. “I wasn’t being an asshole, I was following my own rules. The ones I always follow when I’m about to start an arrangement with a new submissive. If you don’t want this or are having doubts, we should stop now. But if we do this, I do want to make something clear, I’ll never do anything you don’t want to, but you have to be aware that I’ll never be sweet, I don’t do sweet, you already saw what I do. If you want something different you can go on dates, this is not that. Are we clear?” It was the perfect way out. Louis could simply say no and their lives would keep on going as they were. So far, nothing was changed beyond repair. But he wanted to be. At some point in his life, way before Harry and the betrayals, Louis lost a little of himself, and had never felt closer to getting it back than in Lair, with Harry. “Crystal.”

20) Men of Steel, Men of Power | Explicit | 58,849 words

“You’ve been watching me,” Styles said. Louis swallowed around nothing. He tried for light. “You’re the newest addition, people are bound to be curious,” he said. “Sure,” said Styles, in a somewhat condescending tone. “I’m not that daft, I do notice the curiosity regarding my clothes. That’s not what you’re doing though, hm?” Styles’ gaze was intense, and Louis could feel it burn on the side of his face, but kept his eyes stubbornly on the coffee cup. “I,” he said, licked his lips. Took a deep breath, tried to look open, confident, dominant. Alpha.

21) It’s Golden, Like Daylight | Explicit | 61,496 words

"I actually think you might be onto something.” Harry’s eyes widened. “You mean…” Louis nodded. “As crazy and insane as this, this might just solve both of our problems.” “Are you saying you’re in?” Harry asked. “I’m in.”

22) Feeling Borrowed, Always Blue | Explicit | 68,214 words

Louis has been dreaming of his wedding since he was young - he just never expected it to happen like this. words

23) Violent Delights | Not Rated | 76,174 words

Prince Harry is arranged to mate Princess Charlotte, but first he must spend a month completing courting traditions which ends in a mating ceremony. When he arrives to the Tomlinson castle, he finds the forbidden North wing holds that which the family has worked hard to keep secret. Mainly: the sickly sweet Prince Louis, who’s rare gender has forced his family to keep him locked away for his own protection.

24) Sink Into Your Sunlight | Explicit | 79,562 words

In the grand scheme of things Louis did believe in love, what he didn’t believe was that he would ever find it in his life time for himself. Low and behold he would find it with someone he didn’t anticipate, now it was just a matter of having it work out the way he dreamed of.

25) Halfway Home | Mature | 103,158 words

Harry Styles and Louis Tomlinson were improbable childhood friends, much to Harry’s dismay. They were thrown together each summer when Harry was forced to visit Louis’ grandfathers’ ranch in Black Hills, South Dakota. With each passing year, their friendship blossomed into something more. When trail rides turned to stolen kisses, and tragedies turned to confessions until they could no longer deny the inevitable draw they felt for one another. Though life and their future plans soon set them on different paths. Ten years later, Louis is the proud owner of Halfway Home Wildlife Refuge. Harry returns to the ranch to escape the perils of his past in London, and though their memories still haunt Louis, he won’t let that deter him from his goals. However, someone has been keeping a close eye on the refuge, and possibly Louis specifically, and Harry’s return may have unleashed more than just old passions. There’s a hunter lurking in the Hills, someone who’s decided they’ve bided their time long enough.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

#bottom louis #top harry #larry #fic recs #blp fic recs #blp

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girlgrouptrash101 · 10 months

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Chaewon (Lesserafim) as Your Girlfriend

Requests:

"Hi! I was wondering if you could do Kim Chaewon (former IZ*ONE/Lesserafim) as your gf? She's my ult and gahhh <3 and also Yiren from Everglow as ur gf as well? I love your page so much!!!!"

"Can I request for IZ*ONE Chaewon as your girlfriend?"

"I saw from one of your post that you have some IZ*ONE request...If you have time please do the Chaewon as your girlfriend.. I JUST CANT- LIKE HER RECENT PHOTOSHOOT IS SO🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥"

"can you do a dating izone chaewon please?"

A/N: these requests have been in my inbox for so long they all say izone instead of lesserafim.... now THAT is a reality check

- C

it all started on a rainy day at hybe, chaewon was running late, soaked from the rain, and just generally feeling under the weather

she walked into the company, her mood sour, knowing she had meetings upon meetings to get through before she could take a break

but when she walked into the first meeting room, she was introduced to you, the new intern. and let's just say her mood turned around instantly

the way your nervous smile made her heart flutter, the way you were too shy to make eye contact OHHH SHE WAS WHIPPED

she found herself looking forward to what she previously saw as boring meetings just so she could be around you and your infectious energy

n long story short, there was no way you were gonna say no once THE Kim Chaewon asked you on a date

i feel like a first date with Chaewon or a 100th date with Chaewon is just as romantic, like girlie is busy as hell so once she really gets to take you out she will treat you like royalty

and of course you do the same, but if you try to argue over who pays the bill her fiery side will quickly make an appearance

the snappy side of her personality mostly makes you giggle, you know she's trying to be threatening but she's just too much of a cutie patootie for you to feel any real fear

or when she's angry at someone else but immediately softens up when she sees you, doing a complete 180

so for times when things get stressful at the Lesserafim dorms, the other girlies just call you over to tame their fearless leader when she's stressed out

because your personalities mesh so well, you're really the only person that can calm and mellow her out the way you do

BIGGGG CUDDLER

morning cuddles, midday cuddles, evening cuddles, night cuddles. all the cuddles

i think she's more of a lil spoon but generally just loves being wrapped up on your arms and facing you or lying on top of you

the kind of girlie to keep trying to get even closer to you when it's not even physically possible (being close to my partner is not enough i need to be inside their skin core 😭)

big on matching pyjamas too

lazy mornings spent watching movies, chatting, drinking tea, just generally enjoying each others time and company

Chaewon is more of a night owl, you two often take spontaneous trips down to the Han river, the moonlight keeping the path bright as you walk around the scenic park

it's something about feeling alone in the world with you that gets Chaewon's heart racing, like it really makes her feel like she's find her lifelong partner

loves loves LOVES taking you to events n showing you off

less of a secret relationship girlie and more of a heyyyyyy this is my partnerrrrrr you should all look at how gorgeous they are but not too much or ill fight you 🥰

also not a fan of long distance. she loves to bring you to any and every work event you can come to as she just hates being away from you for too long :(

which also means you get to become besties w the Lesserafim girlies too. which basically means becoming Eunchae's 5th adoptive parent LOL

photos photos PHOTOS. all the time hehe

snow days in winter!!! every year you challenge yourselves to make a bigger snowman than the year before

hot choccie nights are a must, and Christmas movies even when it's like. April or something 😌

10/10 great kisser. and she KNOWS it

shutting u up with the most mind-blowing kiss >>>>>>

coming home from work to find out Shiro has eaten through every pair of socks you and chaewon have ever owned

but you can't get mad because that's Chaewon's baby no matter WHAT

"oh shiro U ate my socks?? good boy here's a treat 🥹🥹🥹" while you stand there dismayed,,, wondering how she can be so forgiving when it comes to that menacing fluffy cloud

decorating your new house together so it turns into a home, a place where you two can find comfort and be reminded of the other person even when you're there alone 🥹

coming to all Lesserafims shows >>>

which means getting to see Chaewon's "dododok" live. and then getting to tease her about it forever after hehe

Chaewon is also really happy to find someone who accommodates her busy lifestyle and supports her dreams no matter what, she never thought she would find someone so patient and understanding

so she does her best to support you through everything you do too, truly a power couple through and through 😌😌

board game nights w lesserafim >>>

but also <<< because they're all so competitive at least one of them WILL flip the table and walk off

meanwhile you're just happy to be there like 🥰☺️

chae always doing her best to talk to you in English but it's just things that Yunjin taught her... she just tells you that you "ate with no crumbs" 24/7

she is so pupu. the end

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aemondsbabe · 9 months

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A Promise is a Promise

summary: promises & phone sex || tom's trying his best to make it home to you by christmas, but a snowstorm derails his plans

pairing: tom bennett x f!reader

warnings: mature/explicit, 18+ (minors dni!), no use of y/n, afab reader, phone sex, dirty talk, fingering, masturbation, breast/nipple play, very slight angst but happy ending, probably not historically accurate bite me, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

a/n: happy day eleven of 12 days of smuff and happy christmas eve to everyone who celebrates!! hope y'all enjoy this one! Can be read as a part 2 to Homecoming or as a stand alone!

12 days of smuff masterlist!

gif creds to @rxyl

likes, comments, & reblogs are very appreciated but never required!

🌟add yourself to my taglist to be notified when i post new fics!

Your breath fogs up the window as you look outside one last time, sighing heavily as you watch puffy snowflakes rain down from the sky, scattering through the pale yellow shafts of light from the street lamps. You peer up and down the quiet street, frowning at the sight of all the twinkling lights and festive candles that decorated so many of the townhouses, feeling decidedly un-cheery this year.

Deciding that it wasn’t worth it to torture yourself further, you pad up the stairs to your bedroom, trying to ignore the soft glow from the Christmas tree in the front room. Your footsteps sound much louder than normal in the quiet house since your parents were out for the evening, attending some holiday party at a friend's house, one that you were in much too foul of a mood to even consider attending.

You’ve hardly had the chance to change your clothes before the phone in your room starts ringing loudly, making you jump. Sitting on your bed, you roll your eyes as you reach for it, expecting it to be your parents or some friend, calling half drunk from a party no doubt.

“Hello?” You sigh, pressing the phone to your ear as you stare disdainfully out the window, watching more and more of the traitorous snow fall from the dark sky.

“Well, try not to sound too excited.” A familiar voice chuckles, instantly making you perk up.

“Tom?!” Your eyes widen as you press the phone harder against your ear, “Where are you? Are you okay? I thought you said you’d be home this afternoon!”

You can hear him laugh on the other end of the line at your rushed questions. “Relax, love, I’m fine,” he sighs, you can hear springs squeak softly in the background, like he’d sat down on a bed, “The train’s just got delayed, ice on the rails or some fucking nonsense, and with the damn snowstorm, well…” He sighs heavily.

“Delayed for how long?” You ask, crestfallen.

“Dunno, the man at the station said maybe a day, maybe two,” you can practically hear his frustrated sneer, “What with it being Christmas eve, everything’s just a damn wreck, apparently.”

“Oh…” You try not to sound too heartbroken, not wanting him to feel worse, “Well, did you find somewhere to stay in the meantime? I hate the idea of you sitting at the station.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, “Some shoddy little inn. The train had to stop at some farming town in the middle of God knows where, but a bed’s a bed, I suppose.” You can hear two thuds in the background, no doubt him tossing his boots off somewhere carelessly.

“I’m glad you’re somewhere safe, Tommy,” you smile sadly, idly fidgeting with the bottom of your night shirt, well, really his nightshirt, “I wish you were with me, though.” You whisper, trying to ignore the sad little squeeze your heart gave.

“Wish I was too, love.”

The two of you sit in a comfortable silence for a moment, happy to simply listen to each other breathe after so many months apart. You really are trying not to let it get to you too much, but he only got so many days of leave from the RN and once he got shipped back out… you dare not think about it too deeply.

There’s some rustling on the other end of the line and you furrow your brows as you listen, hoping the storm isn’t interfering with the phone lines too.

“Tom?”

“‘M here,” he reassures you, springs creaking again as he settles back on the hotel bed, “Was just taking off my shirt.” He cooed, making you roll your eyes as you picture his playful smirk, your cheeks flushing as you imagined that cheeky little head bop that followed most of his lewd comments.

“Now there’s a sight I’d like to see.” You hum, reclining back against the many pillows on your bed with a small smirk.

“Bet you’d be falling all over yourself for it,” he laughs, propping up a knee, “It’s a miracle you’ve lasted this long without it.”

“Without what?”

“My cock.” He answers, voice confident and cocky.

“Tommy!” You squeak, giggling despite yourself, which makes him chuckle on the other end, “And here I was hoping months away would turn you into a romantic!”

“Fat chance, love.” He laughs heartily, smiling genuinely for the first time in months.

Again, a comfortable silence washes over the two of you, each of you clinging to the phone like it was truly a lifeline, feeling closer than you have in months although you’re God knows how many kilometers apart.

He sighs again, though this one makes you smile. It’s a familiar sigh, one he only does before he says something he knows will get a rise out of you.

“What’re you wearing?” You can hear his smirk, you can practically feel it on you as he speaks, his voice already low and raspy.

You can’t help the tittering little giggle you let out, biting your lip as your cheeks flush further. “Erm, just your button down, actually,” you say, shy all of a sudden as you squirm atop your covers, “The one you wore in secondary some days… oh, and knickers.”

“And knickers,” he murmurs, quiet for a moment before continuing, “My girl in my shirt n’ I’m not there to see it. A real shame.”

“Yeah…” you whisper, fidgeting with the small buttons lining the front.

“D’you have my shirt buttoned, love?”

“Yes?”

“You think you could unbutton it for me?”

The way he asks for it has your heart racing, excitement building steadily within you as you rub your thighs together, already seeking something to lessen the tension within you. Almost automatically, your hands reach for the buttons as you cradle the phone on your shoulder, holding it in place with your cheek.

“Yes, Tommy.”

“That’s a good girl, love.” He praises, chuckling lowly as a small, delicate whimper just barely makes it through the phone lines.

You scramble, all but ripping the shirt in two until finally the fabric falls away. You’re already breathing heavier, chest heaving enough to have the shirt slip off your chest instantly; your nipples harden quickly in the cool air of your bedroom, the small radiator only doing so much to heat the space.

“It’s unbuttoned.” You breathe, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to envision him doing the same.

“God, I wish I was there,” he sighs and your ears perk up when you hear a soft tinkling in the background, cheeks heating up at the thought of him slowly taking off his belt, “I miss those perfect fucking tits, lovely girl. Got off thinking about them every night.”

“Yeah?” You ask breathily, your fingers skimming softly over your stomach, coming to rest in the valley between your breasts.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, already breathing hotly into the phone, “Pinch them for me, pretty girl, yeah? Like I would.”

You gasp and quickly do as he requests, not being able to hold off any longer yourself. You whimper into the receiver as you tweak your nipples, your eyes roll back in your head at the thrill that shoots down your spine and settles right between your legs.

“Fuck, good girl.” He praises again, sounding like he’s speaking through clenched teeth.

“What’re you wearing?” You ask breathily, lightly tugging at your stiff nipples still as you rub your thighs together, your center already aching, “What’re you doing?”

“‘M rubbing my cock through my boxers,” he sighs heavily, “S’all I’ve got on.”

The thought makes you whimper again, imagining him cupping his already twitching length through the thin fabric of his underwear. Your mouth waters as you picture a wet patch near the tip, his cock leaking at the thought of you.

“Tommy,” you sigh as your back arches into your own touch, “Can I?”

Your meek question makes him chuckle. “Can you do what, love? You’ll need to be specific.”

You whine this time, biting your lip as your cheeks flush. “C-Can I…” you start, still feeling so impossibly shy around him sometimes, “Can I touch myself?”

“Thought you were already touching your tits?”

“Tommy!”

“C’mon, pretty,” he laughs, licking his lips as he imagines how cute you must look, cheeks all blushed with embarrassment, “Y’know what I wanna hear.”

“Can I touch my cunt?” You murmur, voice high-pitched and breathy.

“Fuck,” he breathes, head lolling back against his pillow, “Yeah, y’can, love, lemme hear you.”

Mindlessly, your hand drifts down. You don’t even bother to take off your panties, too impatient to go to the trouble as you shove your hand inside. A moan is punched out of you at the first touch, your core already throbbing as you glide your fingers through your slick folds. Tom groans along with you as your fingers finally begin swirling around your clit, your thighs spreading further.

“What, shit,” you sigh, a shudder rippling up your spine, “What’re you doing now?”

“Got my cock out,” he rasps, his voice catching, “Thinking about you while I fuck my hand, God, I wish it was your tight cunt, pretty girl.”

You whine again, back arching once more as your fingers skim over your clit before dipping down to gather more slick from your dripping entrance. You all but see stars when you rub yourself again, core clenching around nothing.

“Wish you were here…” You murmur, breath catching as you move your hand a little quicker.

“Yeah?” He asks in a low voice, “What would you want me to do?”

“Fuck me,” you whine, wiggling your hips impatiently, like he was just at the end of the bed teasing you instead of lost somewhere in the countryside, “Want you to fuck me, Tommy.”

He groans, louder than he probably should in a small inn. Your face flushes when you hear him spit, imaging his cock glistening as he uses it to stroke himself.

“Christ, I miss that pretty cunt,” he mutters, breath catching, probably speeding up in time with you, “Get a finger in there, love, fuck yourself like I would.”

Obediently, you do as he says, rutting against your own hand as you unceremoniously push two fingers into yourself, marveling at how tightly your walls already clench around them.

“Fuck, Tommy!” You squeak, clit tingling every time your palm smacks against it as you fuck youself.

“God, that’s it,” he groans, “Keep going, fuck, ‘m not gonna last.” He warns, knowing it’s been too long since he’d last had any privacy.

“‘M not going to either,” you assure him, shaking your head to your empty room as if he could see you, “Feels too good, oh!” You gasp, your whole body tensing up as you crook your fingers up, expertly locating that sensitive spot within you.

The two of you pleasure yourselves together for another few moments, heavy breaths and moans passing between the phones. Finally, Tom groans lowly again and swears through gritted teeth.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum,” he pants, the slick sound of his hand streaking over his cock in the background nearly makes you unravel, “Cum with me, pretty girl, please.”

The whiny way he says please is your undoing and you finally break, calling out his name breathily as you arch against your sheets. Slick sounds fill your bedroom as you peak, breathless at the way your core clenches rhythmically over your fingers.

Tom isn’t far behind you, his rough groans only adding to your pleasure. You whimper when he hisses out your name as he finishes, envisioning the way he paints his lower stomach with spend, cock twitching against his palm.

You breathe heavily for a moment as you both come down before you dissolve into giggles, your sour mood from earlier almost completely gone.

“Fucked you dumb n’ I’m not even there,” Tom gloats, sighing as he wipes away his cum with his boxers, too tired to get up and clean himself off properly, “You’re gonna make me blush, love.”

“Tommy!” You groan playfully, admonishing him through a giggle, “You’re horrible.”

“You love it.” He laughs tiredly, yawning quietly.

“Tired?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, the bed squeaking again as he makes himself comfortable, “Sorry love, s’been a long day.”

“I would imagine so,” you smile sadly still, twirling the phone cord around a finger, “I’ll let you sleep.”

“I’ll get to you tomorrow,” he promises, his voice heavy with sleep, “I swear, told you I’d be back for Christmas.”

“Tommy…” You sigh, glancing out the window to see snow still pouring from the sky.

“I mean it,” he murmurs tiredly, “A promise is a promise.”

You wake with a start, jerking up in bed as you look around blearily, unsure of what woke you. Your eyes narrow as you glance at the clock on your bedside table, too early still for even your alarm to be going off.

You jump as you hear a knock from downstairs, someone pounding at the door. Rolling your eyes, you slip on a robe before making your way downstairs.

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” You sigh, rubbing sleep from your eyes as you reach for the doorknob, tugging it open with a frown.

“Wha–” You stop in your tracks, gasping loudly.

“Y’gonna let me in or are you gonna leave me out here to freeze my bollocks off?” Tom asks with a grin, laughing when you practically leap into his arms and pull him into a suffocating hug.

“Tommy!” You gasp, clinging to him, “How did you, when did you?” You stutter, a million questions running through your mind. Finally, you pull back just enough to look at him, nearly crying as you at last look into his familiar blue eyes, “How?” You breathe.

“A very nice famer with a truck,” he laughs, holding you tightly to him, “Told ya I’d get home to you by Christmas.”

Not being able to hold off anymore, you press your lips against his, feeling warm despite the cold.

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#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett x you #tom bennett smut #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett fanfic #world on fire #world on fire fanfiction #world on fire fanfic #world on fire smut #wof #wof fanfiction #wof fanfic #wof smut #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #my writing #12 days of smuff

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