#christmas dinner catering | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zegrasdrysdale · 5 days ago

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“shh! they’ll hear us”

with nico hischier

part of the 1k celly event

summary : Nico and his girlfriend host a Christmas party on the eve of the holiday for the Devils before their roadie begins right after Christmas

warning(s) : nsfw ! sexual content, fingering, oral (f receiving), public teasing, dirty talk

author’s note : happy holidays to all who celebrate ! decided that my gift to y'all is another installment of the 1k celly series. enjoy whatever holiday you and your family celebrate <33

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Something is wrong with Nico.

Not physically wrong, but he’s just acting different. This behavior didn’t start until his teammates and coaches began showing up at their loft apartment for the party they’re hosting for the Devils players and staff. She been playing captain's girlfriend and has answered every doorbell then began making rounds to greet each player and coach.

All while Nico keeps a hand on her.

Her boyfriend isn’t usually the one to be affectionate in public so his hand constantly being on some part of her body is throwing her off her game. She’s more focused on his touch than conversing with her guests.

She doesn’t know what brought on this side of Nico, but she kind of likes it. She’s always wanted to be more affectionate around their friends and family, but Nico was never a huge fan and she didn't push it. All eyes were already on her since she's Nico's girlfriend so early on, she didn't care.

Right now though, she's curious.

Coach Keefe and his family arrive last, which signals the end of her time greeting teammates and coaches that arrive at their apartment for the party. She focuses on conversing with her guests and making sure everyone is okay.

What usually feels like a very large apartment feels very small at the moment. There is an entire NHL team scattered throughout the loft with their families. She can't even escape to the kitchen like she often does when there are so many people because there is a catering group preparing the meal.

Nico doesn't leave her side as they socialize amongst the players and coaches in attendance. He doesn't stop touching her either. He rests a hand on her waist or on her lower back now that they've started to have longer conversations and not running to the door to answer it.

Okay, that's very different. His behavior is making her very curious. It makes her wonder if there is something going on that he's not telling her.

Dinner is served around six. A mix of vegan and non-vegan options so everyone has something to eat. They've brought in extra tables and chairs so the adults can fit around the dining room table. Within their parents' eyesight, the kids sit at a smaller table together to eat. They are out of earshot though so the adults can have conversations that little ears shouldn't hear.

Her first serving is lasagna. It's probably the best lasagna she’s ever had. Perfect cheese to sauce to pasta ratio. Some of everything in every bite she takes. She lets out a borderline pornographic moan as she chews the bite.

Nico laughs beside her as he eats some of the steak he grabbed. “That good?” he asks with a grin.

“So good, Nico,” she tells him with a full mouth. “Oh my God. We are absolutely going to get this catering group again next time we host a party. Fuck.”

He laughs again and takes another bite of his steak.

She begins a conversation with Kristen Haula on her left side. The women talk about how well the boys have played, complimenting the other’s significant other as they talk. Their laughs are among others as small talk continues at the table.

Everyone’s plates are nearly empty about a half an hour later. Erik has jumped into her conversation with his wife while Nico converses with Jack and Luke on the other side of him.

Yet, his hand comes down on her knee under the table cloth. She folds her hands and holds them in front of her mouth as she presses her lips into a line. She listens to the Haulas share a story about their kids, and Nico’s hand slides up her thigh to the hem of her skirt.

Bold considering his teammates and coaches surround him. If any of them see him, he’s probably going to be incredibly embarrassed since it’s very rare that he’s this affectionate in public. Even in his own apartment.

She doesn’t stop him though. She should, but she lets him keep going. Even after his finger dip under the hem of her tight skirt. Her teeth pull at her bottom lip behind her hands. She begins to tune out the story that Kristen is telling her, focusing on Nico’s touch that moves closer to her uncovered core. Yes, she decided to go without a pair of panties because they would have shown through her dress via lines. Her dress is skin tight and she didn’t think she’d be doing much leaning over.

Little did she know that Nico’s fingers would be inches away from said core while his teammates and coaches sit at the table around him. She didn’t think that Nico would try to do this while at the table with his friends.

His fingers trace shapes under the skirt, teasing her since they’re so close to her core. She can feel butterflies begin to flutter in the pit of her stomach, the possibility of getting caught like this turning her on.

She’s about to make a comment about the story that the Haulas shared when Nico’s fingers dip between her crossed legs and graze her clit. His fingers run between her folds and dips into her.

She gasps at the action and covers her mouth as if she let out a hiccup.

“I, um …” she trails off as Nico shallowly fingers her. “I’m going to run to the ladies room very quickly. Excuse me.” She pushes her chair back and Nico’s hands slides out from under her skirt.

As normally as she can, she disappears down the hallway toward the bedroom she shares with Nico. She closes the door and leans against the wood. She clears her throat and lets out a heavy sigh.

The feeling of Nico’s hand between her legs is still there and she presses her thighs together to get some kind of friction.

Why would he do that? Now of all times? He has every opportunity in the world to finger her and he does it at Christmas Eve dinner with his team around him?

Something is wrong with Nico.

A soft knock rings throughout the empty room. She is quick to turn and open the bedroom door, coming face to face with her boyfriend.

“You are insane, you know that?” she questions. “God. If anyone saw what you were doing-”

“Good thing no one did then.”

He steps into the room and shuts the door with a click. Her mind races a thousand miles a second as Nico looks at her. “You are genuinely the craziest person I have ever met,” she reiterates.

“Mhm,” Nico hums as he takes a step toward her. “Tell me more.”

She takes a step back every time he takes a step toward her. “You did all that for what?” she asks. “You go from rarely every touching me or holding my hand to putting your fingers inside me at a table filled with your coaches and teammates. If that was your way of telling me that you want to be more affectionate in front of people then good job-”

Her knees hit the edge of the mattress and she is forced to sit when she falls. She looks up at Nico, who nudges her knees apart and stands between them.

“Are you done?” he asks as he traces her jaw with the game fingers he had inside her a few minutes ago. “Or are you going to let me finish what I started at the table?”

Heat rushes to her cheeks when Nico mentions the table. She nods in response to his question.

Nico sinks to his knees in front of her. Her eyes track his moment as he pushes her knees apart to get a perfect view of her glistening core. His lip drags across his bottom lip before he presses a trail of kisses up her thigh from her knee.

“Oh my God,” she gasps when his lips touch her core. She leans back and props herself up on her elbows. She drops her head back at the same time Nico pushes her skirt up so it pools around her waist.

His tongue runs through her soaked folds and she sighs at the feeling. Nico hasn’t shaved in a few days either so it feels really good to have his mouth on her. She arches her back when Nico’s tongue pushes inside of her.

“Fuck!” she cries out. “Nico!”

“Shh!” Nico tells her. “They’ll hear us. You need to be a little more quiet. Or I’ll have no choice but to stop and leave you like this.”

She shakes her head and Nico smiles up at her before he puts his mouth on her core. Her jaw drops when he slips a finger inside of her. It takes everything to not cry out his name again as he fingers her closer to her inevitable orgasm.

Between his mouth and his fingers, it won’t be long until she comes anyway.

Nico slowly works her closer to the edge, quickening and slowing his pace to keep her from coming before he’s ready to let her. She’s a panting mess under his touch and the knot in her stomach tightens to the point where it’s almost painful.

Her legs shake where they rest on Nico’s shoulders. She looks down and finds Nico looking up at her through his eyelashes.

His fingers curl in a ‘come here’ motion inside her at the same time he sucks on her clit. “Fuck,” she sighs. “Fuck, Neeks. Wanna come. Wanna make a mess on your face and fingers. Please, please please please. Wanna come.”

“Come then,” he mumbles against her sensitive skin. “You wanna make a mess on my face? Then come, baby.”

It only takes a few more curls of his fingers and sucks on her clit before she’s coming. Her entire body tenses as she comes. She cries out his name in soft whispers so their guests don’t hear her. Her vision whitens and she sees stars behind closed eyes.

Her body melt into the mattress beneath her. She whines at the loss of contact. Her legs drop off his shoulders as he stands up. He grabs something to clean her up. She sits up when he’s done, grabbing his waist before he has a chance to clean his face.

With wobbly legs, she stands up and wraps her arms around his neck. “Come here,” she breathes out. Nico smiles and leans down, initiating a soft kiss. She hums when she tastes herself on his lips. She deepens the kiss a bit and runs her fingers through his hair.

“What you did at the table was kind of hot,” she mumbles against his lips. “The idea of getting caught with your fingers inside me kind of turned me on. I won’t lie to you.”

Nico grins and pulls back from the kiss.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

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MASTERLIST | 1K CELLY EVENT

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pickingupmymercedes · 12 days ago

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A Christmas Carol - Lewis Hamilton

A Christmas Special

genre: fluff (there's a bit of angst because it wouldn't be me without it)

wordcount: +3k

a/n: Wasn't planning on doing one, but alas, like the Grinch "I'm toasty inside and I'm leaking". Hope you guys enjoy it.

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

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Christmas was supposed to feel magical. It was supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine, sound like kids laughing over the crinkle of wrapping paper, and taste like mulled wine and homemade cookies.

At least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I power-walked from the kitchen to the dining room, a tray of meticulously arranged appetizers wobbling precariously in my hands.

“Where’s the rosemary garnish?” I called out, my voice sharper than I intended.

“On the counter where you left it,” my mom’s voice floated back, tinged with just enough exasperation to make me grit my teeth.

“Right, okay. Thanks!” I tried to sound upbeat, but it came out brittle, like one of the ornaments I’d already broken this week.

The house was perfect. Lewis’s Colorado cabin looked like it had been ripped from the pages of a Christmas catalog.

Snow blanketed the landscape outside, and the living room’s towering evergreen glittered with gold and red ornaments.

Both our families were here��mine and Lewis’s—mingling in various states of holiday cheer.

Everything looked exactly as it should.

So why did it feel like everything was on the verge of collapse?

I was usually the type to wing things. I’d always believed the joy was in the process, not the end result.

But this was different. This was the first Christmas we were hosting as a couple, the first time our families were all under one roof, and the first time I felt the weight of needing everything to be flawless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Lewis had said a week ago, catching me mid-panic as I tried to finalize the seating chart. “It’s Christmas. Nobody’s going to care if the napkins match the table runner.”

I’d rolled my eyes at him then, brushing off his easy confidence. “This is important, Lewis. It’s our first big family Christmas. I need it to be right.”

But now, with the pressure mounting and the hours slipping away, I was starting to wonder if he’d been right all along.

Still, I couldn’t stop.

There was too much to do, too much riding on this. It wasn’t just impressing everyone else; it was proving to myself that I could pull this off. That I could create something perfect.

“Y/n, the caterer just called. They’re going to be an hour late,” came Lewis’s voice from the kitchen, calm as ever.

I barely acknowledged him, my brain too busy spiraling into contingency plans.

Late appetizers meant a delayed dinner schedule, which meant the kids would get restless, which—… Okay, breathe.

“It’s fine,” I said tightly, not looking up from my task. “I’ll… figure it out.”

“Babe, it’ll be fine,” he replied, but I couldn’t bring myself to believe him. How could he be so relaxed about this?

This was the first time I could show everyone that I wasn’t just good at planning vacations—I could host the kind of Christmas that would make everyone look back and say “Remember that year at Lewis and Y/n’s place? That was perfect.”

But perfect came at a price. A steep one.

I was usually laid-back on holidays, but this one… well, I was turning into someone I didn’t entirely recognize.

Someone who had snapped at Lewis when he joked ironing the napkins was a bit much. Someone who brushed off my mom’s attempt to help set up because “I’ve got it, thanks.” Someone who hadn’t stopped to sit down—or breathe—since the day before.

I knew I was being ridiculous.

Rationally, I knew that no one cared if the table settings matched the garland on the fireplace or if the cranberry sauce came from a can instead of being homemade.

But rationality didn’t exactly have a seat at the table in my mind. Instead, it was crowded with doubts, insecurities, and the quiet, nagging fear that if I didn’t get this right, it meant something about me.

I wanted so badly to prove that I could do this—not to Lewis, not even to our families, but to myself. To prove that I could handle blending traditions, making everyone feel at home, and creating a holiday memory worth cherishing.

The irony? In chasing that, I was starting to lose the very thing that made Christmas special.

“Y/n,” Lewis called again, his voice pulling me out of my thoughts. I realized I had been staring at the same strand of lights for a tad too long. “Why don’t you take a break? Have some wine or something.”

“I’m fine,” I said, sharper than intended. He didn’t reply, and the quiet that followed made me feel worse than any argument ever could.

I sighed, sinking to the floor, the lights still tangled in my hands.

I glanced around the room, the half-decorated tree leaning slightly to the right, the dining table still bare, and the unmistakable hum of chatter from the kitchen where both families mingled.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But as I sat there, surrounded by the mess of my own making, a tiny voice in the back of my head whispered that it didn’t have to be.

I had just managed to shove the last box of ornaments under the console table when I heard a familiar voice call out, “Y/n! You didn’t even say hi when we walked in. What the hell?”

I turned, my brother already halfway across the room, his lopsided grin in place and a lumpy gift bag dangling from his hand. He had that look he always got when he was about to annoy me out of spite.

“Hey,” I muttered distractedly, glancing at the clock. Dinner prep was starting to fall behind, and I still hadn’t decided which candles to put on the table.

He stopped in front of me, arms crossed. “That’s it? Not even a ‘Merry Christmas, so glad you’re here, oh wise older sibling who taught me everything I know?’”

“I don’t have time for this, asshole” I said, brushing past him to fix the garland over the fireplace. “You and everyone else are so very welcome here, but I have a million things to do.”

He let out a low whistle. “Wow. Someone’s really leaning into their inner Scrooge this year.”

I didn’t bother responding, too busy adjusting a stocking that was slightly off-center.

“Alright, what’s going on?” he asked, softer this time. “You didn’t even notice when your niece tried to hug you.”

Guilt hit me like a truck, but I pushed it aside. “Nothing, I swear. I just… I want everything to be perfect, for her too, okay?”

“Perfect?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re the one who once wrapped all Christmas presents in newspaper and duct tape because you forgot to buy wrapping paper.”

“I was sixteen and broke.” I snapped.

“And happy,” he countered, his voice pointed but not, at all, unkind. “We all were. Because no one cared what the presents looked like. Or if the tree was crooked or the turkey was dry. We were just… together. That’s what made it Christmas.”

I turned to face him, arms crossed. “Are you seriously trying to give me some kind of Christmas ghost speech right now? Because I don’t have time for—”

“Maybe you should make time” he interrupted, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

I hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in despite my resistance.

“Look, I get it” he continued, his voice softening again. “You want this to be special, and it will be. But not because of the table settings or the garland or whatever else you’re obsessing over. It’ll be special because you’re here, and we’re here, and that’s all that ever mattered to us as kids. It’s all that matters now, too.”

“Thanks for the Hallmark moment. Really. But I have things to do.” I sighted instead of admitting he was right, as I turned back to the fireplace.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he stepped back. “Suit yourself, sis. But don’t come crying to me when the ghost of Christmas present shows up later to say ‘I told you so.’ over dessert”

I was halfway into rolling my eyes when it hit me. The pie. but couldn’t stop the small smile that tugged at my lips as he walked away. Still, his words lingered, like the faint smell of cinnamon that seemed to follow me everywhere this week.

“Seriously, what’s going on, now you look like you seen a ghost?” my brother asked, peering into the living room.

“Oh, no,” I whispered, the realization hitting me like a freight train. I had forgotten dessert.

My brother smirked. “Guess perfection really is a myth.”

Lewis appeared in the doorway; eyebrows raised in concern. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I admitted, my voice cracking. “I forgot the dessert. I can’t believe I forgot the dessert.”

“Babe, it’s not a big deal,” he said gently, resting a hand on my shoulder. “We’ve got plenty of food.”

“It’s Christmas, Lewis!” I suppressed a yell. “You’re supposed to have something sweet.”

Lewis exchanged a glance with my brother, who shrugged as if to say, ‘Your turn.’

“Hey,” Lewis said, tilting my chin up so I’d look at him. “What’s the one thing you always say when things don’t go according to plan?”

I blinked at him, tears threatening. “I don’t know.”

“You say, ‘We’ll figure it out.’”

“I’ve got it” I replied, careful to keep my tone light.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he came closer, a quiet warmth that made me hyper-aware of how tightly I was holding onto the matchbox in my hand.

“Y/n,” he said softly, and that was all it took for my defenses to wobble.

I set the matchbox down with a shaky exhale, staring at the empty plates in front of me. “I just want everything to be perfect” I murmured, more to myself than to him.

He stepped closer, his hands brushing lightly against my arms before resting on my shoulders. “It already is” he said.

I laughed under my breath, a sound that came out more bitter than I intended. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the cranberry sauce yet.”

“Babe” he said, his voice full of that frustrating calmness that made me want to hug him and throw something at him, at the same time. “No one’s here for cranberry sauce.”

I turned to face him, ready to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped me cold.

They weren’t teasing or dismissive or even annoyed, like I probably deserved after snapping at him all day. They were warm, steady, and so full of love it made my chest ache.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” he asked gently, his thumbs rubbing small circles against my arm. “You’ve been running around for days like you’re hosting the royal family instead of our families. What’s really going on?”

I swallowed hard, my resolve starting to crack. “I just…” My voice wavered, and I hated how small I sounded. “I want them to have a good time. I want them to see that we’re good at this, that we’ve got it all together.”

He tilted his head, studying me with that quiet intensity he always had when he was trying to read between the lines.

“You mean you want to prove that you’re good at this,” he said softly, and the truth of it hit me like a punch to the gut.

I dropped my gaze, staring at the floor like it might hold some kind of answer. “It’s stupid, I know” I whispered.

“It’s not stupid,” he said, his voice firm. “But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone, Y/n. Not to our families, not to me, and definitely not to yourself. You’ve already done more than enough by bringing them all over.”

I shook my head, tears prickling at the edges of my eyes. “It doesn’t feel like enough. I just… I want them to look back at this and remember it as something special.”

He reached out, tipping my chin up so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. “They will,” he said simply. “Not because of the candles or the napkins or whatever else you’ve been stressing over, but because they’re here. Together. And because you made that happen.”

His words settled over, softening the tension in my shoulders and quieting the storm in my mind.

“I don’t know how you always do that,” I said with a shaky laugh, brushing at my eyes.

“Do what?”

“Manage to say the exact thing I need to hear, even when I don’t want to hear it. Especially then”

He smiled, leaning in to press a kiss to my forehead. “It’s a talent,” he said lightly, his tone teasing but his eyes still serious.

I leaned into him, letting the steady beat of his heart anchor me. For the first time all day, I felt like I could breathe again.

“You’re right,” I admitted quietly.

“About everything?”

“Don’t push your luck” I muttered, earning a soft laugh from him.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his hands still resting on my waist. “Come sit with us for a while,” he said. “The table can wait. Dinner can wait. Right now, I just want you to stop and enjoy this.”

I hesitated, my gaze flicking toward the half-finished table.

“Y/n,” he said, his voice low and insistent. “Please.”

The weight of that single word unraveled the last of my resistance.

“Okay,” I said softly, letting him guide me toward the living room and let myself just be.

Dinner was still salvageable, the table was mostly set, and the stockings—mercifully—were straightened.

It was fine. I was fine. We would be fine.

I hadn’t slept much. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the last few days finally wearing off, or maybe it was the quiet nagging feeling that I hadn’t quite nailed it.

Either way, when Lewis stirred beside me at the crack of dawn, his alarm buzzing softly, I was already awake.

He leaned over to kiss my forehead, murmuring something about taking a quick shower before the kids woke up. I mumbled back something that sounded vaguely coherent, but the moment he stepped into the bathroom, I slipped out of bed.

Still in my pajamas, hair a mess, and not a speck of makeup to hide behind, I padded softly down the stairs. The house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only comes in those fleeting moments before the day begins.

The living room came into view, and I froze for a moment, leaning against the doorway. The tree stood tall, its lights casting a soft, golden glow over the room.

The presents we’d spent hours wrapping were still neatly stacked, though I knew that wouldn’t last long.

I sat down on the edge of the couch, tucking my knees under me as I watched the room come alive in slow motion.

First came one of Lewis’s nieces, her sleepy face lighting up the moment she spotted the tree. She gasped, then bolted back upstairs, her little feet pounding against the steps as she woke her brother.

A chain reaction followed—one by one, the kids tumbled into the room, wide-eyed and buzzing with excitement.

Next came my mom, her robe tied loosely around her as she headed straight for the kitchen.

I could hear her humming a Christmas carol as she rummaged for the hot cocoa mix. Within minutes, the scent of chocolate and marshmallows filled the air, mingling with the pine of the tree.

I didn’t say anything; I just watched.

Watched as the kids tore into their presents, the floor quickly becoming a chaotic sea of wrapping paper.

Watched as my mom handed a steaming mug to each child, all looking up at her with a grateful smile.

Watched as my brother shuffled in, still half-asleep but smiling as he plopped onto a chair with his coffee.

And then, almost as if she sensed I needed it, my mom came over to the couch and sat beside me, handing me a mug of cocoa, the marshmallows bobbing at the surface, and settled in with a soft sigh by my side.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” she said, her voice as warm as the drink in my hands.

“Merry Christmas, Mom” I replied, leaning my head on her shoulder.

We sat there for a while, watching the chaos unfold.

One of the kids trying to explain a new gadget to my dad, while my niece proudly displayed her new doll to Lewis’s mom.

It was loud and messy and completely uncoordinated.

And it was perfect.

“This reminds me of Christmas when we were kids,” I said quietly, my voice almost drowned out by the laughter and chatter.

My mom turned to look at me, her brow lifting slightly.

“You know,” I continued, smiling faintly at the memory. “When we’d open our presents in the morning, and you and Dad would be in the kitchen getting food ready. All the relatives would be there, the cousins running around, someone always spilling something…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “It was chaos, but it felt like Christmas.”

My mom chuckled, her hand brushing against mine as she squeezed it gently. “That’s what makes it special, honey. It’s never about the perfect decorations or the perfect dinner. It’s about… this.”

She gestured to the room, where Lewis’s nephew was now gleefully dragging people to play with him, everyone looking thoroughly confused but nodding enthusiastically anyway.

“The mess?” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“The mess,” she affirmed, smiling. “The people. The noise. The love in all of it.”

I blinked back the sting of tears, resting my head against her shoulder again. For so long, I’d been chasing perfection, thinking it was the key to creating something memorable.

But sitting there, surrounded by laughter and torn wrapping paper and the occasional shout of “Where are the batteries?”—I realized I already had everything I’d been looking for.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?”

“I hope I get it this messy, this right, every year” I said softly, my voice thick with emotion.

She didn’t reply, just leaned her head against mine, and we sat there in the quiet chaos, letting it all wash over us.

It wasn’t what I had planned. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better. So much better

And as if on cue, my mom glanced up and caught sight of Lewis standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame.

His hands tucked into the pockets of his pajama pants, his grin warm and knowing as he watched us. With a soft smile, she nudged me gently.

“Someone’s waiting for you” my mom murmured before excusing herself, her footsteps light as she headed toward the kitchen.

Lewis didn’t waste a second, crossing the room to take her spot beside me on the sofa. He flopped down with exaggerated effort, his arm draping lazily along the back of the couch.

“Well, well,” he teased, tilting his head to look at me. “I don’t think I’ve seen you out of the bedroom without a fully picked-out outfit, perfect hair, and makeup in days?”

I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “I’ve been… intense. Haven’t I?”

“A bit” Lewis replied, grinning as he reached over to tug my hands away. “But only because you care”

I lowered my hands, glancing at him shyly. “I just... I wanted this to be perfect. I needed it to be perfect. Not just for everyone else but—” She hesitated, her voice faltering.

“But?” he prompted, his tone gentle.

I bit my lip, my gaze flicking to the kids tearing through their gifts, then back to him. “But for me. For us. For... the possibility that this might be our future someday.”

The words faltered, vulnerable and unsure.

Lewis didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he reached out, slipping an arm around my waist and pulling me into his chest.

“Y/n,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “You don’t have to try so hard. You’re already more than perfect.”

I let out a small, disbelieving laugh, but he pulled back just enough to cup my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly over my cheeks as he looked me in the eyes.

“I mean it,” he said firmly. “I’ve been dreaming about a future with you long before these past few days. Ever since I saw you barefoot on that trail, convincing Willow it was the best way to feel the earth beneath her. Since you let Roscoe slobber all over you on the beach the very first time you met him. Since we spent three days on that road trip, eating two-day-old sandwiches and drinking from streams, and you still made it feel like the greatest adventure of our lives.”

My eyes glistened, a shy smile tugging at my lips. “You’re really pulling out all the stops here, aren’t you?”

“Whatever it takes” he replied with a playful grin before his expression softened again. “ You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Least of all me.”

We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, watching the kids dive into their presents. The room buzzing with laughter and the occasional triumphant shout of “Look what I got!”

My chest felt lighter than it had in days, my worries dissolving like the marshmallows in my cocoa.

I rested my head against Lewis’s shoulder, my heart settling into a steady rhythm that matched his.

But then, a thought struck and I sat up abruptly.

“Where are you going?” Lewis asked, trying to pull me back by the waist.

I swatted his hand away with a smirk. “You’ll see.”

I sprang to my feet, clapping my hands to gather the kids’ attention. “Alright, who’s ready to make a mess in the kitchen?”

A chorus of enthusiastic “Me!” erupted as they abandoned their toys and raced toward me.

I led them to the kitchen, my laughter echoing through the house as I opened cabinets and pulled out bowls, flour, and cookie cutters.

Within minutes, the kitchen was alive —flour flying, cookie dough being enthusiastically rolled and eaten, and the sound of uncontainable giggles filling the air.

Lewis stayed back, leaning against the back of the sofa, watching the scene unfold with a smile tugging at his lips.

I caught his eye once, winking at him as I smeared a dollop of cookie batter on one of the kids’ noses, eliciting a delighted squeal.

This could be our forever. Far from perfect, but perfectly us.

_____________________________________________________________

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If you’d like to be added to my taglist you can leave a comment or send me a dm/ask.

#f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 scenario #f1 x reader #lewis hamilton #lh #lh44 #lewis #lewis x reader #lewis imagine #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton one shot #lewis hamilton imagine #lh44 x reader #lh44 imagine #lewis hamilton x you #christmas

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fluentmoviequoter · 18 days ago

Text

Christmas Magic

hot cocoa bar celebration🧤❄️🎄

requested here! & inspired by Finding Santa (2017)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!(event planner)!reader

Summary: Your Christmas charity dinner is threatened when Santa quits at the last minute. Tim Bradford is the only person you know who is free days before Christmas, but it will take some magic to make him agree to put on the suit.

Warnings/Word Count: fluff, brief angst, quick mention of harassment, mistletoe and magic. 3.5k+ words.

I rented the center, tables with chairs are being delivered at noon, and catering arrives at 4. Got that. Santa, gifts, check, check.

You turn away from your computer to make a note about contacting the pediatrics hospital administrator. With your phone tucked between your cheek and shoulder, you’d nearly forgotten that you were supposed to be listening to James, the older gentleman playing Santa at the fundraising event you’ve been planning since September.

“I’m so sorry to cancel on you last minute,” James says.

Barely managing to catch your phone as you jerk in shock, you repeat his words in your mind. “Cancel? James, I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”

“Yes, ma’am, I’ve been fighting this rotator cuff for years and it finally won out on me. I know it’s last minute, but I can’t safely perform the Santa duties.”

“Okay, okay,” you mumble, pressing your forehead into your hand. “I understand, and I hope you feel better. I’m just not sure where I’m supposed to find another Santa days before the event, this close to Christmas.”

“If I hear of anybody who’s available, I’ll send ‘em your way.”

“Thanks.”

You end the call and stare at your computer screen. There is absolutely no way you can find someone – someone decent, at least – to play Santa Clause in three days. The event is on December 23rd, Christmas Eve-Eve, and it was hard enough to book James so close to Christmas Day.

“Oh, I’m gonna need a Christmas miracle,” you whisper as you reach for your mug.

A bell jingles outside, and you close your eyes. If only an angel capable of playing Santa were getting its wings.

“Are you okay?” your assistant, Holly, asks from the doorway.

“Not even a little bit,” you answer with a stressed smile. “We need a new Santa.”

“In less than a week?” she exclaims, setting a stack of papers on your desk. “How are you going to do that?”

“I have no idea. I could do open auditions, but then we’re just going to get all of the crazy people desperate for a Christmas gig in here, and I can’t sort through applications or anything with everything else going on,” you ramble before taking a breath. “Any chance you have a cousin, brother, dad, or a neighbor without a criminal record who could help me out?”

“My folks are traveling for the holidays and all of my neighbors are girls. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. We just… we have to think of something. Preferably by the end of today.”

“If anyone can pull together some Christmas magic it’s you,” Holly assures. “I’ll go make some calls and let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help.”

“Thanks, Hols.”

As she leaves, you open your phone and scroll through your contacts. Each name makes you a little more discouraged. Most of them are busy with families, out of town, completely unqualified, or you haven’t spoken to them in so long that you can’t justify asking for something like this, even if it is for the kids.

“It’s all I want for Christmas,” you whisper as you near the end of your list.

One name jumps out at you, but you hesitate to contact him. He might have to work or be coming off of a hectic holiday shift on the 23rd. But you’re running out of options, so you text Tim Bradford to ask if he’s free. The phone rings a moment later, and you answer immediately.

“No, don’t- Chen!” Tim scolds.

“Uh, hello?” you greet.

“Hi!” a woman replies. “My name is Lucy Chen, I’m Tim’s rookie. You asked if he was free on the 23rd and I’m calling to say that he absolutely is.”

“Good, good,” you reply, chewing your bottom lip. “I actually have a really big – huge – favor to ask him, so maybe I’ll call him back later.”

“What is it?” Tim asks.

“Uhm,” you hum, trying to find the right words. “I need someone to play Santa at the charity event for the Children’s Hospital Los Angeles and UCLA’s pediatric department.”

“I… can’t,” Tim says after a moment.

“He means he won’t,” Lucy adds.

Your shoulders drop as you murmur, “Okay. Bye.”

After you hang up, you realize that Tim Bradford is your only chance. If he really won't do it, you either have to put a woman in the Santa suit and hope for the best or disappoint every child and parent in attendance by announcing at the last minute that Santa can’t make it. You’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, but at least the diner down the street has good hot chocolate that will help you get your mind off it for a few minutes. You wave at Holly on your way out, then try to think of exciting, merry, and bright things rather than the coming disappointment as you walk to your favorite diner. As you enter, you notice three men sitting in the booth closest to the door, but they’re the kind of men you know you wouldn’t invite to be in the same room with wealthy women or children, let alone both at the same time.

“Robbery in progress at Vicksen’s Diner,” dispatch alerts. “Callers report three armed men, and one is blocking the main entrance.”

“7-Adam-19 responding, code 3,” Tim radios before hitting the lights and sirens.

“Vixen’s Diner?” Lucy repeats. “They must really like Christmas.”

“V-i-c-k-s-e-n,” Tim corrects. “It’s the last name, the family has owned the place for decades. The call you intercepted earlier?”

“What about her?”

“She’s probably there. It’s her favorite place and they have Christmas specials right now.”

“How do you know that?”

“Focus, Chen,” Tim snaps as he turns the sirens off. “We’re approaching the rear exit without a sound, understood? Our priority is to get these people safe, then and only then do we go after the robbers.”

“Yes, sir,” Lucy agrees.

“I don’t have any more cash,” the owner explains again. “It’s the twenty-first century, genius, most of our business is card or tap-to-pay.”

“And it’s Christmas,” you add from your booth. “Just go.”

“Not until I get something!” the man screams.

“How about a one-way trip to jail?” someone adds. “We already called the police.”

“Then pay up or they’ll have a body,” one of the other robbers says, turning their gun toward the customer.

Someone clicks their tongue, and you look over to see Tim Bradford and who you assume to be Lucy Chen standing behind the counter.

“LAPD,” Tim says. “Weapons down, hands up, or your Christmas is going to be even worse.”

The man closest to the counter tightens his grip on his gun, then curses and drops it as he raises his hands.

“I recommend you follow his lead,” Lucy tells the man beside you.

“Open the door,” Tim dares the final man. “My partner out there would love to lay you out.”

All three men surrender, and you watch Tim as he cuffs and zip-ties them while his rookie calls for backup.

“You said you had a partner out there!” the men complain.

“I lied,” Tim says as he stands. “You should know what it’s like.”

Three more patrol cars park outside, and officers take the would-be thieves out of the diner as Lucy checks on the owner and the other patrons. When Tim walks to your table, you lean back and look at him.

“I really need your help,” you explain. “It’s one night and you’d get paid.”

“It’s not about the money,” Tim replies. “Are you okay?”

“Then what is it about?” you press. “We both know you’re great with your nephews even if you hate to admit it. It’s only a few hours of asking kids what they want for Christmas, a few pictures, and then- then I’ll buy you dinner, whatever you want.”

“Why are you asking so close to the event?”

“Because I already had a Santa, but he tore his rotator cuff and backed out on me at the last minute. You know I wouldn’t ask something like this unless I really needed it.”

Tim nods, though he’s wondering why he is the one you’ve chosen to show your persistence and desperation to. Surely, you know other men capable of wearing an uncomfortable polyester suit and saying ho, ho, ho.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Tim points out. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. One of them pushed me out of the way, but-“

Tim moves closer to you and bends to look into your eyes. His gaze moves over your face before catching on the slightly red area against the side of your neck.

“You sure?” he whispers.

You nod and smile before you push past him to exit the booth. “I have to get back to work and find a Santa or break hundreds of hearts. Be safe, Tim.”

Tim watches you walk toward the door, and Lucy’s eyes widen as she gestures wildly toward you.

“I’ll do it,” Tim calls. He tells himself it’s because you’re so persistent and seem stressed, but deep down, he knows there is more to it than that.

“You don’t have to,” you say as you face him. “Don’t do something that’s going to make you miserable just because I need help.”

“I’ll do it,” he repeats. “Text me the details?”

“How ‘bout I just pick you up on the 23rd? Around noon?” you reply.

“Sure.”

“Thank you, Tim,” you say with your hand on the door. “You’ll never know how much this means to everyone… to me.”

Tim nods as you leave to return to work, and Lucy claps silently.

“Get in the shop, boot,” he demands.

“You look nice,” you compliment when Tim opens his door the morning of the event. “The red suits you.”

Tim swallows as he looks at you and says, “You don’t have to butter me up, I already said yes.”

“I’m just calling it how I see it,” you assure him.

“I thought this thing didn’t start until 4,” Tim muses as he locks his door and follows you to the car.

“It doesn’t, but we have to get the Santa suit fitted. If you want to leave after and come back at 3, you can take my car.”

Tim shrugs and buckles his seat belt. When you turn the radio to a Christmas station, Tim immediately switches it to a football show. Your jaw drops as you turn toward him.

“You don’t like Christmas music?” you ask incredulously.

“I just don’t think it’s okay to give someone 23 birds,” he explains.

“My car,” you argue when he reaches for the control.

“My Santa debut,” he replies.

You give up and back out of his driveway with an exaggerated scoff.

“Why do you want me to be Santa anyway? I get that you had to ask people you know but I’m clearly not jolly enough.”

“Why is that?” you inquire. “I can understand not loving the music or the commercialism. The rest of it, though, that’s what I don’t get.”

“Just… don’t love the holidays. Reminds me of the things I don’t have anymore, I guess.”

Glancing at Tim, you wonder what it feels like to be someone’s for the holidays. Yes, it’s hard to be jolly when you miss someone, but for a moment, you wonder what it would be like to listen to carolers and decorate the tree while being in love.

“What’s this event like?” Tim asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “Been working on it long?”

“Since September,” you answer. “It’s geared toward the kids, but we have to do something to get the parents in too, so there’s raffles, a silent auction, dinner, and an area where they can sit with each other while someone else watches their kids.”

“So, it’s for donors?”

“At first,” you explain. “The donors are welcome to come anytime between 4 and 7. Then, we make everything absolutely perfect and bring in the kids from the hospitals at 8. They get more time with Santa, more gifts and games and treats. I know we have to raise a lot of money, but it’s not worth it if the kids don’t get to have fun with it too.”

“You’re really good at this,” Tim compliments, looking at you. “I didn’t know how much you put into all of this.”

“Now you regret saying no at first, huh?” you tease.

“That depends on how good the cookies are.”

“Then why are you so nervous?” you ask as you pull into the event center’s parking lot.

“I’m not-“

“It’s hidden well, but it’s there, Tim. You know you’re good with kids, so don’t let the size of this get to you.”

“I’ll try.”

“And if you get overwhelmed, Santa can always take a cookie break. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

You wish Tim luck as you drop him off with the wardrobe designer you hired, then begin transforming the space into a winter wonderland.

“Are you okay?” Holly asks as you finish constructing the games for the children from the hospital.

“I came to ask the same,” Santa says from behind you.

You turn quickly and smile at the sight of Tim in the suit. His beard has been set aside while he takes a break, but something about seeing him this way feels right.

“I’m fine,” you assure them. “Rich people are hard to please, I’m used to it.”

“Nobody should get used to people screaming in their face because the caviar is room temperature,” Holly argues.

“Is that what it was about?” Tim asks with a humorless laugh.

“He got over it. I actually saw him eating the caviar later,” you say. “Besides, this is the part of the night I’m here for.”

“You’re an excellent Santa,” Holly tells Tim. “The kids went on and on about you.”

“Told you,” you sing song.

“Do I give gifts to every kid?” Tim asks you.

“Yes, give them as many as you want because we have more. The red candy cane paper is more girly gifts, blue snowflake paper is for boys, and the gingerbread paper is gender neutral,” you list. “The elves also have a list of what we have, so if a kid asks for something specific, someone can check for you.”

“You should’ve been a cop,” Tim muses. “I wish my boot could keep things this streamlined.”

“You need to get back to the Northpole,” Holly says, glancing at her watch. “Not that this isn’t adorable.”

“Tim,” you call as he walks away. “Thank you.”

“It’s the only thing you’re getting for Christmas!” he replies.

Holly smiles as she moves to your side, and you glare at her.

“A gorgeous man wrapped in a Santa suit,” she muses. “You got every girl’s dream gift.”

“He isn’t mine,” you remind her.

“Christmas seems like the perfect time to change that.”

“Excuse me?” a young girl asks.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling as you squat beside her. “What’s your name?”

“Sally,” she answers. “Will you go with me to see Santa?”

“Of course!” You offer your hand and lead Sally through the crowds of happy children and grateful parents to get in line to see Santa. “What are you asking for this year?”

“I want a Hug-Wave,” she says softly, wrapping both her hands around yours.

“What’s that?”

“It’s twin stuffed animals, and when you hug one, it sends a hug to the other. I want to give my brother one so I can send him hugs when I have to stay in the hospital. He’s coming to see me on Christmas, but I miss him.”

Your eyes tear up, and you smile at Sally as you move forward in line. “I’m sure Santa will bring you one,” you assure her. “Look, we’re next!”

“You’ll stay with me?”

“Of course, Sally.”

As you walk onto the red carpet platform, Tim looks at you before looking at Sally. You mouth her name, and Tim calls, “Ho, ho, ho, Merry Christmas, Sally!”

“You know my name?” she asks softly, stopping beside his knees.

“Santa knows all of the good boys’ and girls’ names, and you, Sally, are on my nice list!”

“Do you want to sit on his lap?” you ask Sally.

She nods but keeps her hand firmly in yours. You move to Tim’s side as he pulls her onto his leg and blink to get the tears out of your eyes as Sally tells Santa about the hugging stuffed animal she wants to stay close to her brother.

“I think you and your brother would love that, Sally,” Tim says. “I’ll tell my elves about your wish, and we’ll work on that.”

“Thank you, Santa,” Sally says before pulling her hand from yours and hugging Tim.

You wipe your face before taking Sally’s hand and leading her to pin the nose on Rudolph, where she plays with kids like she didn’t just tug your heartstrings. Turning to check on everything, you notice that the Santa chair is empty, and the elves are entertaining the children in line. Less than a minute later, Tim returns and continues to visit children and parents alike.

“Psst!” someone calls.

You furrow your brows as you turn, and when you see Lucy, your eyes widen in shock.

“Santa asked me to bring you this,” she whispers as she slips a large gift bag through the door. “Care to be an elf for me?”

“Thank you,” you tell her. “I’ll take it to him now.”

“It looks amazing in here!”

“You’re welcome to stay, Lucy.”

You walk toward the North Pole area and tap an elf’s shoulder to take the gift to Tim. He excuses himself after the last child and walks to your side with the bag in his hand.

“Where’s Sally?” he whispers in your ear.

You look up at him and feel your tears building again as you say, “Tim–”

“I’m Santa tonight.”

You locate Sally sitting at a table with her parents and brother and eating a cupcake. Following behind Tim, you press your hand over your mouth as he kneels beside her and offers the bag. Her parents look at one another in shock as she removes the bears from the bag, then mouth their gratitude to Tim. Sally passes her brother a bear, and they begin hugging them to hug one another, and you decide this is the Christmas miracle you hoped to see.

Tim exits the small dressing room in the back hallway and doesn’t see you before you wrap your arms around his neck to hug him.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his neck. “For being Santa and for giving Sally the gift.”

Tim tightens his arms around your waist before you pull back. “It’s the least I could do,” he deflects with a shrug.

“No, it isn’t,” you insist. “I talked to Sally’s parents. They can barely afford gas to go back and forth to work and the hospital right now because one of them has to stay with her full-time because of her treatment. That’s why her brother can’t visit much.”

“Is she…”

“The doctors are hopeful that her current treatment is working,” you assure him. “They’re expecting to send her home sometime in the spring if she continues improving. Tim, you made their entire year.”

“You deserve some of that credit.”

“You pulled off a Christmas miracle, it’s all yours.”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me why you chose to ask me to be Santa?” Tim asks with a smile. His hands are still on your waist, but you’re dreading the moment when he steps back.

“Because I knew you could do it,” you answer. “You’re the only person I know that is kind and generous, selfless without letting people know it, and even if you get mad at me for saying it, you are kind and a big softie. You’re special, Tim Bradford, and a gentleman, and the closest thing I’ve seen to magical in a very long time. That’s why I asked and kept asking.”

“Well, you’re the closest thing I’ve seen to Mrs. Claus… ever,” he replies lightly.

“Without the time to bake and ‘Mrs.’ you mean.”

Tim shakes his head and asks, “Who helped you decorate?”

“Holly, mostly. Why?”

Lifting his chin, Tim gestures to the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling.

“It’s tradition,” you begin.

“You don’t have to convince me,” Tim interrupts.

He moves a hand from your waist to your cheek and kisses you. It feels like fireworks, warm hot chocolate, and every good and magical thing you can think of all at once. You move your hands to Tim’s jaw and move together, then pull back to thank him again.

“Thank you for calling Lucy and getting Sally’s gift here so quickly.”

Tim’s brow pinches as he says, “I didn’t call Lucy. I thought you got the gift here for her?”

You shake your head, then ask, “Well if you didn’t order it, and I didn’t order it, which Santa asked Lucy to bring it?”

Tim hesitates before he says, “It couldn’t…”

“There you are!” Holly calls as she enters the hallway. “I could not find this entrance, geez. Oh, hey, mistletoe!”

“You didn’t put this up?” you ask her.

“Me? No, I don’t even know where to buy mistletoe. That made me sound so single.”

You look at Tim, who smiles and whispers, “Christmas magic,” as he leans in again.

#fluentmoviequoter hot cocoa bar🧤❄️🎄#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #fem!reader #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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qatarsprint2023 · 4 months ago

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𝖻𝗎𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖾𝗌𝗌𝗆𝖺𝗇!𝗋𝖺𝖿𝖾 𝗑 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

businessman!rafe coming home after a long day at work — drabble, soft!rafe, sexual implications word count: 500

Today was like any usual day of the week— Rafe had work, you had work and when you got home afterwards you took care of the house a little, made dinner, hung the laundry out.. all of that stuff.

Rafe, however, had a conference with some partners of the company and when he got home after working all day... God...

His hair was messy in all the right ways, his eyes a little tired looking, and that suit... God, Rafe looked way too good in suits...

"What?" he sighed, placing his bag down on the kitchen table when he noticed your lingering eyes as he entered.

"That suit looks good on you," you smiled at your fiancé in greeting as you finished sorting clean plates back into the kitchen shelves after emptying the dishwasher. "Is it the Armani?"

"It is, good eye," Rafe chuckled tiredly, loosening his tie and walking over to the refrigerator to grab some water.

"I mean, I did get it for you last Christmas," you replied with a shrug, turning away from the shelf to lean against the marble countertop and look at Rafe with his tie loosened, suit jacket off and now placed over the back of a chair.

"Right..." he hummed softly, rubbing his eyes in slight exhaustion.

His legs carried Rafe over to you where he set the cup down before resting his arm on the cold marble and leaning in above you, essentially trapping you between him and the counter.

You smiled in return, placing a gentle hand on your fiancé's broad chest as you leaned up to give him a soft kiss. Rafe’s hands rested on your hips, squeezing you softly.

"Good day?" Nod. "Was it stressful?"

"Very. Bunch of old corporate men..." he whispered, leaning down and burying his face into the crook of your neck, placing warm kisses against your skin.

You hummed softly at the gentle contact, allowing Rafe to pull you in and place soft kisses against your shoulder and neck. "Have you eaten?"

"Mhm," Rafe affirmed, peppering you with more kisses, moving up to your jawline until he got to your mouth. "Catering..."

Your fiancé grinned, pressing a chaste kiss against your mouth and pulling away with a little mwah. His fingers tapped a gentle rhythm against your hip, slowly sliding up underneath your shirt to give your waist an affectionate squeeze.

"You tired?" you hummed lightly as you reached up to gently run your fingers through his buzzed hair. A low hum came in reply, eyes shutting at your ministrations.

Your fiancé's arms wrapped around you, pinning you between his body and the counter; his head resting against your shoulder with a soft sigh.

"But I'm not too tired for you," Rafe murmured lowly, his hand sliding down lower to squeeze the back of your thigh. That drew a soft squeal of surprise out of you, making your husband-to-be chuckle cheekily as he buried his nose in your neck once more.

#qatarsprint2023 #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #drabble #outer banks #obx #businessman!rafe #rafe is way too soft in this

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hurtspideyparker · 9 days ago

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An Unexpected Irondad Christmas 🎄

Peter was having a very boring Christmas.

May was working a 12 hour shift, all his friends were busy with their families, and the streets were too quiet to patrol.

It seems even criminals have a conscious.

While the presents under the tree were strictly off limits, May did let him open his stocking on his own. Therefore his special Christmas breakfast included a hot chocolate bomb and microwavable bacon, his lunch a festive green and red gummy bear salad, and dinner... he was honestly a bit sick of sweets, so box mac and cheese it was.

Peter is browsing channels for a good Christmas special while the water boils when a knock booms through the apartment.

Peter frowns, remote hanging limply in his hand while he tries to recall if he's expecting someone. Sometimes Ms. Hacket from down the hall gets lonely and comes for tea.

The knock sounds again, more impatiently, and Peter sets the remote down to answer the door.

He opens it a crack and then freezes.

"Mr. Stark?"

He's in a nice coat, long and black with a collar and three buttons. His hair is fluffed up with specks of white, and his dark sunglasses have droplets of water from the melted snow.

"Hey kid. Merry Christmas. Or Hanukkah. Or... whatever. Happy holidays."

Peter opens the door more fully now. He can see that Mr. Stark is holding something, several plastic bags stuffed heavily.

"Merry Christmas to you too. Um, I didn't get you a gift or anything, was I supposed to?"

Tony looks down at the bags in his hands like he forgot they existed.

"Oh. No, definitely not. This is a funny story actually. Y'know, I have this big Christmas dinner at the tower every year, beautifully catered food, all my friends around a big table, Pepper makes this delicious coffee cake for dessert. We drink, stuff our faces, the more drunk of us sing stupid holiday songs. It was really nice actually, considering most of us don't have families to do that stuff with."

He looks wistful, eyes not in the present.

"That... sounds really nice Mr. Stark," Peter says when Tony spends too much time lost in thought.

"Yeah. Well, the band broke up this year, all my friends are gone, or hate me, or both. Pepper's in Florida with her parents, who also hate me, especially because of all the on-again-off-again stuff, so I definitely wasn't welcome there. Rhodey can't travel with his injuries. And I—" he breaks off into a laugh, hysterical and whining, "forgot to cancel the catering order!"

Peter stares at him with wide eyes. The man only falls further into laughter, but the glisten in his eyes is anything but joyful.

Eventually he calms, straightening up and showing off the bags in his hands, "I have so much food, really nice, expensive, well done food for a big family of super humans and spies, and I'm completely alone! I even offered Happy a Christmas bonus to stay and eat turkey but apparently he actually has family—"

"You bribed Happy?"

"Christmas. Bonus."

He holds out the bags to Peter, "anyways. You're a growing boy, your aunt seems hardworking. You guys deserve nice food so. Here. You take it."

Peter's hands hesitate to reach out but Tony simply dumps the bags into his twitching palms anyways, the boy nearly dropping them from the unexpected handoff.

"It's untouched. There's turkey, ham, ribs, three types of potatoes, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, extra gravy for Nata—uh, feta bites, balsamic glazed carrots, peas, corn, stuffing, fresh baked rolls... you get the idea. Just didn't want the food to go to waste and I know your aunt can't cook to save her life so. Actually, where is she? Should probably be an adult and say hello."

Peter stares in amazement and intimidation at the bags in his hands. He can now see they're full of food containers, dozens of them.

"She's not home. Holiday pay is pretty good so she's at work."

Tony takes his sunglasses off, blinking at the kid.

"Oh. So you're alone? That's depressing."

Peter has to bite his tongue so he doesn't point out the older man's much lonelier, much more depressing predicament.

"Yep. I don't mind that much, I'll see her later tonight and open presents. I've just been watching movies. And thank you so much for all this food Mr. Stark, you didn't have to think of me."

"It's no problem, really."

They both stand there for a moment. Tony looks around as if the chips in the door frame are paintings at Le Louvre, and Peter stares at the man with his awkward posture and red marked hands from carrying all the heavy food.

"Did—did you want to come in?"

"I suppose I could spare a few minutes," Tony answers without delay, shoving past Peter into his home.

Continue reading on AO3 ☃️

#irondad and spiderson #irondad #peter parker #tony stark #mcu #marvel #marvel mcu #christmas #ao3 link #marvel fanfiction #may parker #ao3 fanfic

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apomaro-mellow · 16 days ago

Note

Kitchen sex all the way for steddie bingo

Steddie Bingo Prompt: Kitchen Sex

Steve could die. He could actually die. And he'd toss himself off the balcony if he didn't think his mother would just call him dramatic and force his corpse to sit at dinner. Holiday parties were fun as a kid. He didn't mind the clothes and no one expected him to really talk and the food was good and he got to have dessert in his room.

Now that he was older and knew better, the banality of it all drained his soul. His parents weren't friends with any of these people, they were just business partners and colleagues. And everything else about them was fake too. The Chezwicks were staunch pro-life supporters but Steve knew both daughters had abortions. Darbie Everwood had some vague charity about helping the poor in Africa but frequently berated her mostly immigrant staff.

Steve's own parents talked about these people behind their backs and yet invited them into their home, all smiles. And Steve was expected to partake. He had learned the tricks of the trade. Smile and laugh, but don't look vapid. Play along and never let them know what you know until you needed something from them. And the most important thing he learned was how to keep his own secrets.

Steve checked the time on his watch and then looked out the window. He could see some white shirts, the catering staff, going on a smoke break. Which meant Steve's secret was waiting in the kitchen. He excused himself, and took a slightly roundabout way to get there. When he entered, all of the lights were off except for the oven hood's. It made the vast kitchen dark but the small light coupled with a bit of help from the moon through the window, Steve was able to make him out.

"Can't believe I'm missing a smoke break for you."

"You're more than welcome to go outside", Steve challenged, walking over to the silhouette near the light.

"And freeze my dick off? No thanks." A hand came up to cradle Steve's face and then trail into his hair, gripping the back of it. "Not when I've got you. And you're my good little cockwarmer, right?"

Steve let out a whine and crashed their lips together. They didn't have a lot of time. Not only would the staff be back after their break, but his father was going to call a toast soon. Steve would have been content to kiss him all night. But almost too soon, he was pulled away and then he felt lips on his neck.

"Eddie", he gasped in a whisper.

"I know we don't got long, sweetheart. How do you want it?"

"I wanna rub you off. And then shake hands with Fleming."

Eddie snickered against his neck and nibbled at his pulse. "The guy who cut funding for recreation?"

"Just so he can put more money in his own pockets." Because Steve's secrets were Eddie's too. He pushed Eddie against the counter and began to undo his belt. Eddie did the same for Steve, their hands fumbling in both the darkness and in their rush.

The hurry felt good. But Steve couldn't wait until tomorrow. His parents were going to the beach house for Christmas. Steve was going to the winter lodge. And he was bringing Eddie along. They both groaned as they finally got their hands on each other. Eddie stroked him, fast and dry and Steve did the same. Steve's lips found his neck. Eddie couldn't leave marks on him right now but the same was not true for Steve.

Eddie groaned at a particularly well placed bite. The sound tipped Steve over the edge and he was cumming, thinking of all the wonderful things he'd get to do to him in the lodge. He felt Eddie trembled against him and spill on his hand.

They cleaned up for the most part, readjusting clothes and hair and wiping their hands off. Eddie washed his in the huge industrial sink. While Steve went without. When he exited the kitchen, he made a beeline for Fleming.

@steddiebingo

Bingo card under the cut

#apo writes #stranger things #steddie #steddiebingoroundone #i'll post these all to ao3 when im done

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whorekneecentral · 1 year ago

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Sous Chef

Yuki Tsunoda x Chef!Fem!Reader

Warnings: yuki's got a crush, daniel plays match maker, cooking lessons, sexual tension, sex in the kitchen, oral (f!receiving), penetrative sex (p in v), cum play, finger sucking.

Word Count: 2,323

Author's Note: this is a random one, I won't lie to you. it's not very holiday based but it fit yuki so here we are :)) - also a very happy birthday to the queen of audios @2-fast-2-curious thanks for always being unhinged with me <33

merry smutmas series

Yuki finds himself more fascinated by the woman cooking than the food on his plate for once.

The holiday season was underway and Alpha Tauri was hosting their end of season holiday party for all of their staff.

Anyone that knows Yuki, knows his love and appreciation for food. If there wasn't any room in the budget, they got rid of some things to make sure they could fit in a chef. They didn't cater, everything was made to order - something Yuki greatly appreciated.

The younger driver could see into the kitchen from the little cut out they had, the same spot that the waiters would pick up their dishes. She was young, she moved quickly around the kitchen and it seemed as if she was in there alone. He never fully saw the woman behind the doors, just a glimpse of her here and there.

Dinner had wrapped up and thankfully for the woman behind the closed doors, dessert would be a spread, something she could take her time and work on.

Everyone was mingling and Yuki left his seat, making his way to his teammate, Daniel. "Hey man," Daniel smiled at him.

"Hi Danny," Yuki returns the smile, "do you know who the chef was tonight?" He asks, straight to the point.

Daniel nods, "that's y/n, she's a friend of mine. Why?"

"She's fantastic, the food was really good." Yuki tells him, a smile on his face. Daniel glances over at the opened window before looking back to his teammate. "Yeah it was, wasn't it? You know you can go back and tell her that yourself."

"No," Yuki shook his head, "I don't want to disturb her."

"Oh please, y/n cooks at my place with my niece and nephew running circles around her," Daniel slings his arm over his teammate, "I promise you won't be disturbing her, c'mon."

The Aussie walks his teammate towards the kitchen, bumping the door open with his hip as they walk in. You were in the middle of pipping the custard into the tart tins, not bothering to look up and see who was there.

"Don't even think about it," you say, not looking but you do see Daniel's fingers reaching for the Christmas cookies you had set out to cool.

He tsks, making a face at you when you finally look up. "You're no fun," he says, pulling you into a hug. You squished into your friend's side, the man kissing your forehead. "Dinner was great," Daniel says, letting you go.

"Thank you, Danny."

"I've bought a new admirer for you," he raises his brows, looking over at Yuki, the younger driver waving shyly to you. "I'll leave you two to chat," Daniel says, snatching a cookie off the tray before running out the kitchen.

You shook your head at your friend's theatrics, looking at Yuki now. "Please, help yourself," you tell him, nodding towards the cookies on the counter.

He smiles, picking one up and taking a bite. You had gone back to filling the custard tarts when you hear a soft moan. "Everything okay?" You looked up, brows furrowed.

Yuki blushes, "this is so.. wow. I don't have the words."

You chuckled, "thank you."

"I'm Yuki, by the way." He says, sitting on the bench as he eats his cookie.

You smile, "I know, Daniel talks about you all the time." You set the tarts in the fridge, turning around to face him again. "I'm y/n."

"I know, Daniel also talks about you."

The two of you share a laugh, the man watches as you move about the kitchen and set up the last pieces of dessert. "I just wanted to give you my compliments, the food was amazing."

"Yuki, thank you." You smiled, your hand pressed to your chest. "That's a massive compliment coming from you."

"I can't really cook but I do appreciate a good chef when I meet one."

"Well, I'd be more than happy to teach you a few things if you'd like. I'm in London until Wednesday, then we're closed for the holidays so why don't you come by on Tuesday ?"

"Are you sure? I don't want to disturb you if you've got things to do."

You shake your head, "I'm inviting you, it won't be a disturbance. Please say you'll come by. I have a new recipe I want to test out, so I could use the feedback."

"If you insist," Yuki smiles. You nod, "I do, otherwise I will have to fatten up Daniel again and I won't hear the end of it."

"Okay," he nods, "just send me the address and the time."

"I will," you smile.

It's late, the restaurant's lights have already been dimmed and the chairs were stacked up on the tables when he walks in. The hostess was on her way out but she let him in, knowing you were expecting him.

"Y/n?" Yuki calls for you, making his way to the back of the restaurant. "Kitchen!" You shout back, you back turned to the door as you stirred something in the pot.

"Hey," he smiles, walking in.

"Hi," you waved, not turning around just yet. "Can you pass by that jar, the one with the gold lid?" Yuki picks up the jar, opening it and passing it to you. the contents were red, and liquid, he read the label; chilli oil.

"What are you making?"

"It's a new recipe, I told you I needed a taste taster," you smile, setting the jar down as you let the sauce boil on the stove. "How was the drive over?"

"Fine." He smiles.

"Good," you wiped your hands on the towel, "I have a few things to finish up and we can eat. Do you mind helping?"

"That's what I'm here for," he gives you a smile, walking over to the sink to wash his hands before returning. In the meantime, you had set up a few things to cut. "Just the peppers and celery." You tell him, cutting a piece of the celery to show him how big you wanted it and you cut a bell pepper, showing him how to do it.

Yuki starts cutting the celery while you turn the stove off, stirring what was in the pot. You watched as he moved onto the peppers, struggling to get them to the same size you had shown him.

"Like this," you stood behind him, your arms wrapped around him as you held his own hand, showing him. Holding the pepper with one hand, you helped him move the knife slowly, up and down as he cut the peppers.

Yuki can't focus on the peppers, he should - to avoid chopping off a finger but he can't help it. All he can feel is your body pressed to his.

Your cheek pressed to his to watch as he cuts them, finally finishing. "Good job, Yuki."

The simple phrase shook him. "Thanks," he whispers as you let go of him, picking up the chopping board as you add the chopped veggies into the sauce.

Yuki sits, asking if there's anything else he can help with but you assure him that you've got the rest. It takes you a few minutes but you finish up, sliding a plate over the counter to him.

"What do we think?" You asked, handing him a fork. Yuki nods, looking down at the food on his plate. "Smells good."

You stand across from the driver quietly, elbow propped up on the counter with his chin in the palm of your hand, watching as he cuts the piece of chicken sitting on top of the pasta. Yuki takes a careful bite, his face going through 6 different emotions, you aren't able to gauge what he was feeling.

Brows raised as you wait for the final decision. "Well?" You asked, eager to hear what he thought.

Yuki wipes his mouth on the napkin, a smile on his face when he moves his hand, nodding. "Holy fuck.. that is.. wow."

"Yeah?" You smiled, and he nodded. "So good."

"Okay good, I wanted to make sure. It's a new recipe and I wasn't sure."

"It's perfect.. more than perfect." He says, mouth half full as he takes another bite.

You let Yuki finish eating as you tidy up. The man asks if you'll sit down to eat and you let him know that you already ate; you had a bad habit of eating bits and pieces there, never actually sitting down for a full meal.

Despite not helping to make the mess, Yuki offered to help you clean up. You two cleared up the trash and the leftovers, taking them into the fridge and making a bag for Yuki to take home. You decide to wash the few dishes left over from dinner and Yuki decides to hang around for a bit.

Yuki standing behind you, leaning on the counter as he watches you wash the dishes. Your hips bouncing from side to side along to the beat of the music you had playing

There's a tension in the kitchen, you wouldn't be able to cut it with your sharpest knife.

You ignored it, hoping it would go away but it doesn't. You know where it's come from but you aren't sure how to go about it.

Turning to face the man, he reacts before you could.

The man pins you against the counter, his lips find yours as his hand cups your jaw. Yuki's hands wandering across your body, tugging on the shirt you had on.

Pulling and pushing, little by little the clothes end up on the floor.

He lifts you onto the counter, your legs on either side of him as he steps between them. Rubbing up your thigh with one hand, the other pulls you by your chin to look at him.

Your eyes find his, watching as he sinks to his knees in front of you.

Your hands are flat on the cold counter as you feel his tongue against you. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you closer to him. Your hips jut forward when you feel his tongue against your clit, your hand gripping on his black hair.

He glances up at you and you’re like an angel on earth to him right now; head tossed back, skin glistening under the white light of the kitchen, his head buried between your legs.

Yuki mimicked his actions again until he can feel your legs shake, your grip on his hair tighter than before, his name strung along with the explicits leaving your mouth.

He gives you a minute to catch your breath as he kisses his way back up to your face. He smiles as he stands, kissing you and you're even more ready than you were before.

“This is wrong,” you whisper to him, eyes fixed on his hand that was wandering across your chest at the moment.

His lips follow his fingers, kissing and leaving little marks as he goes along his way. His tongue brushes over your nipple, your back arches involuntarily; your body betrays you.

“We can stop,” he says, a hand slipping between your legs.

You stop talking and pull him closer, kissing him once more; your way of telling him yes. He pulls you toward the edge of the counter a little more before he pushes into you. One ankle is over his shoulder and the other hooked around his hip.

And once again, you were a sight to see; back arched off the counter, eyes closed and your head tilted back, his name tumbling from your lips for what felt like the millionth time.

Yuki has never seen a prettiest sight.

He feels you clench around him, the hand on his shoulder digs in, your nails leaving behind their own set of marks. His hand reaches between the two of you, his fingers finding your clit once again.

“Oh my god,” your hips bucked, his fingers matching the pace of his hips, your body rocking back and forth to get the most out of him.

“Yuki,” you groaned, eyes pleading with him, “please.” You beg, your hand wrapped around his wrist.

“Hold on baby, patience.” He tells you, hooking your leg on his hip instead of resting it on the edge of the counter. His lips met yours, a hand resting on your hip to keep you up as he fucked you. The further he pushes, your body just keeps welcoming him like he belonged there.

He can feel you squeezing his cock, your eyes fluttering closed. Yuki smacks your jaw lightly, “look at me,” he tells you. “If you want to cum, open your eyes.”

You give in, your eyes opening a little and Yuki's thrusts are sloppy, you know he’s just as close as you are. A few more thrusts and you’re over the edge, calling his name as you do.

“Where?” He asks, his head on your shoulder and you know it’s not gonna last.

Your chest is heaving, barely able to hold yourself up, "anywhere."

It’s not long after, followed by a few sloppy thrusts, that Yuki cums too. The tip of his cock brushing between your folds, spreading his cum all over your pussy. He pulls away, smiling at the whimper he gets from you. His fingers replacing his cock, covered in his cum when you roll over, he sticks his fingers in your mouth and he doesn’t have to tell you what to do.

“Good girl,” he hums, watching as your tongue laps over his fingers. Yuki pulls his fingers away, leaning down to kiss you. A mess of the two of you, not sure where one of you starts and the other ends.

You take a minute to catch your breath, falling back against the counter. Yuki smiles, kissing you once more.

"I should cook you dinner more often." You whispered in the quietness of the kitchen.

Yuki laughs, "I'll thank you like that every time."

taglist: @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @forza55 @norrisleclercf1 @allalngthewtchtower @therealcap @burningcupcakefire @stargirl36 @brettlorenzi3 @guiseppetsunoda @magnummagnussen @flippingmyshit @savrose129 @lovelytsunoda @irda12-blog @dhhdhsiavdhaj @slytheringirlthatkillpeople @f1lovers22 @toomuchdelusion @eviethetheatrefreak @faye2029 @lillians-world-is-f1 @chalando1604 @lenaxwbr @im-obsessed @potashiuhm @lcxlerc16 @enjoythebutterflies3 @lillyfootballsworld @micksmidnights @mashtonbunny @chrlsleclerc @logischeroktopus

#yuki tsunoda #yuki tsunoda smut #yuki tsunoda x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 x y/n #f1 smut #merry smutmas xoxo

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reigningqueenofwords · 8 months ago

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Losing Her

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Word count: 1,156 Request: Anonymous. Love that you’ve jumped on the chubby Bucky train 🤗. Maybe reader is planning a party for a recent promotion or something and she has to be secretive so he gets super duper worried she’s leaving him because he’s gotten chunky?

Read on AO3

Bucky had gotten a promotion that he’d been hoping for finally, and you were so proud of him. He’d worked hard, and it had finally paid off. You wanted to show him just how proud, so you took it upon yourself to start planning him a part. That he would have no idea about. Conspiring with Tony, Nat, and Steve, the four of you worked to make it perfect. They’d help you make sure all your friends were there on time, and that everything was how you wanted it to be.

The phone was between your shoulder and ear as you worked on dinner for that evening when Bucky walked in. “That’s perfect! And it’s in my budget?” You asked. “Tony, just because you make a lot of money, doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” You teased. Hearing the door shut, you quickly worked on ending the call. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Night.” You hit the red button and put your phone on the counter before turning to see Bucky standing there, eyebrow raised. “How was work?” You smiled.

“It was work. What did Tony want?” He asked, curious.

You waved it off. “Working on Christmas presents early this year.” You told him.

“It’s May.” He noted. You simply shrugged and went back to cooking, confusing him.

Crawling into bed that night, you got a text as you got comfortable. Bucky was already waiting to cuddle you, but you quickly grabbed your phone. It was Nat, talking about catering. You replied, chatting with her for a few minutes before putting it face down on your nightstand. “Girl from work wants to grab lunch tomorrow.” You pecked his cheek before wrapping your arm around his waist, which had grown since the pair of you had moved in together. Putting your head on his chest, you didn’t see the look of worry on his face.

“I don’t know what to do, Stevie.” Bucky paced his office while on the phone with his younger brother. “I feel like I’m losing her.” His heart ached. “I’ve put on weight, I get that. I’m not as fit as I used to be. I work, and so sue me I’d rather enjoy my girl’s cooking over spending an hour at the gym.” He half whined.

Steve sighed, trying to ease his worries without giving anything away. “She loves you, Buck.” He assured him. “So much.” Being in the middle was hard, but Steve understood why you’d asked him to help. “How long have you felt this way?”

He sighed. “It really started maybe a week ago?” He shrugged, even though he couldn’t be seen. “I come home and she’s talking to Tony. Something about a budget. She tried to play it off as wanting to work on Christmas presents already. I pointed out it’s May. Then she gets into bed, and instantly starts texting someone. She said it was a girl from work, but why would she be texting her so late?”

“Honestly, you are dating someone who likes to plan.” He pointed out. “She honestly could be planning Christmas presents. Last year she took over a month just for your birthday present, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember.” He mumbled. It had been a good present.

Steve smiled to himself. “Don’t worry about it. I’m sure it’ll all blow over, and you’ll laugh at yourself for every thinking she’d want to leave you. She probably has bridal magazines stashed in your apartment somewhere, Buck.” He saw the two of you making it in the long run.

Bucky’s cheeks turned a bright red at that. “You think?” He asked, now a bit worried for a different reason. Were you hoping he’d propose or something? “Wait, do you think she’s planning to propose?!” He felt slightly panicked. He loved that you were independent, and didn’t care about ‘gender roles’, but he wanted to get down on one knee for you!

Chuckling, Steve was amused. “Calm. Down.” He said gently. “Breathe. Just get back to work, okay? I’ll see you for our usual dinner Friday.” He told him.

“Yeah…yeah…”

Throughout the next few days, Bucky’s worries went back and forth. From him thinking you were leaving, to thinking you’d propose and he wouldn’t get to surprise you with that. By the time Friday rolled around, he hoped that dinner would help. Every Friday night, your group of friends made their way to Tony’s for a nice dinner. It was something to look forward to when the weeks were long and hard.

“Tony never sends a car.” Bucky noted when you told him your car was there.

“Guess he wanted us to feel special.” You smiled, lacing your fingers with his as you led him outside. There was a nice black car waiting for you, the driver there, ready to open the door for the two of you to slide in.

Once in, his eyes watched out the window. “This isn’t the way to Tony’s.” He looked to you, noting how the lights from outside hit your face just so. “Where’re we going, doll?”

You grinned over at him. “You’ll see.” You teased, making him furrow his brows.

Twenty minutes later, the door was opened again. Bucky got out first, and then offered you his hand. He looked to the building, and noted it was a very nice hotel. Bucky allowed himself to be led by you, his mind trying to grasp at the most logical outcome. He stopped you, making you look at him. “Babe, I love you, and I wanted to be the one to propose. I don’t have a ring, or I’d do this the right way. But, I have to ask before you do it.” He rambled, making you stare at him. “Will you marry me?” He blurted out, making you giggle.

“I will, but I wasn’t proposing.” You cupped his cheek gently. Motioning to the two large doors that had opened, showing your friends, the room behind them set up for a party. A banner that read ‘CONGRATULATIONS’ was hung up.

“I guess we have two reasons to celebrate now!” Tony beamed.

Bucky’s eyes went wide, looking back to you. “Uh…” His face felt like it was on fire.

You pecked his lips. “We can go ring shopping tomorrow. We’ve been putting together a party for your promotion, babe.” You explained. “That ‘budget’ I told Tony to stick to, that he didn’t….” You shot a fake glare at the man. “Was for the venue, and supplies. That text I got was Nat. She was in charge of food. I worked with them, and Steve, to pull this off in about two weeks.” You wrapped your arms around him.

“That…didn’t even cross my mind.” He admitted. “I thought you were leaving me because I gained weight, or proposing. Then I saw this place and…well…” He said bashfully.

“I love your extra weight.” You grinned with a wink. “Now, let’s celebrate!”

#chubby!bucky #bucky x reader #chubby!bucky x reader

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canapeuae · 3 months ago

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alwaysshallow · 6 months ago

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gorgerous, part 8

Simon Riley x f!reader

previous part || next part

READ ON AO3

You're a vet with a pretty simple life. One day though, things change, when a big guy with a skull mask enters your clinic with a small, ginger kitten in his hands. (4,5k)

A/N: ....guess who's back??

Christmas is usually celebrated with someone you love. Someone you respect, someone that will cherish the moments with you because there’s not only a lot of things to prepare in a sense of duty, the feeling that you have to do this. There's a lot of things that you can genuinely enjoy.

Gifts. You love to think of something special for every person that is close to you, just for the pure satisfaction of seeing a smile on their face and a "How did you know?" question that makes you giddy every time you hear it.

What’s more, everyone gets something personalized, something that is from you, carefully picked amongst the hundreds of choices. You'd hate to give a present that looks like it had been picked at the last minute at a gas station; so, you spend a lot of the time buying and wrapping your gifts to some corny playlist that you made when you were eighteen, and you play it every year. Just for the vibe.

Meal, where you think of everyone. Their favorites, dislikes, something sweet for later, when the meal will be just too boring and the craving for chocolate would hit.

It’s good to note that most of the dishes aren't cooked by you (you don’t have time and skills to do so much), it's catering, but, it's the thought that matters, you think.

And it's like that… normally.

This year, you feel like all the holiday spirit is dead. Your mom and dad already planned the vacation—without you, which upsets you, but you don’t allow yourself to show that—and your friends go to their families. You’re gonna be alone in the most wonderful time of the year, so for some reason, you start to understand the Grinch.

You received an invitation from your friends, but you politely declined it. Feeling it would be either awkward, or you'd feel alienated in a family that you don't really know well. Besides, pity isn’t really your thing, so you prefer to watch Bridget Jones with cookies and milk, instead of being a burden.

Or, you preferred to watch Bridget Jones, before someone showed up in your life and made a little mess.

Before Simon came into view.

Maybe it's his aura, or maybe it's your high expectations and mindless dreaming, but you think it would be right to ask him. Even if he has plans—you think that a man like him doesn’t have plans—it's something that you want to do.

Just out of pure curiosity. Because based on the dinner you had with him, evening that you spent together, you think he'd be a good company. In your mind, you already see the banter between you and him. You already see how he argues with you that you shouldn't really put on a Grinch movie, or any Christmas movie because it’s tacky to think of a Hallmark movie and a meal together. You see how he rolls his eyes, when you hit “play” despite his protests.

How he tries to seem uninterested, but he’s more invested into the movie than you are, commenting out loud stupid choices of the heroes, sighing audibly, as you laugh in the background. How he absolutely devours cookies that you made, so you need to bake another batch of them because he's eating so much—rightfully so, for such a monstrous man in the military. He probably relies on his weight to stay in form.

It's hard not to drool, when you imagine it. His body under all of the clothing, his muscles, body fat. How he looks, how comedically bigger he is, compared to you. Fuck, you’d give a lot to see him without all of those clothes. Compression shirt leaves too much to your imagination to be satisfied with that only.

It’s even harder to maintain a calm face, when he asks you about something from the bathroom, and you jump in place, like you were just caught on something illegal or watching porn. You can’t even recall what he was saying, so with a frown you ask him to repeat the question.

If he’s not dense, he should know by now that you like him. Very much. Maybe too much, considering how far your imagination goes, and it only took… a few months, to fall into this mindset with a man that is rather known for being quiet. A man that did a horrible first impression in that weird mask, yet you’re still interested.

Your polar opposite.

While you love to talk, he rather avoids it. You love crowds (moderately), he does not. He probably prefers to sit alone in the cafe, reading away from the crowd, while you almost every time find someone to talk to, either if it’s a client or a barista that is glad someone doesn’t complain about the coffee. You talk, he’s more of a listener.

Fire and water; ice, even. Something that is on the opposite sides, something that shouldn’t work in the first place, but for some reason, it works perfectly well—for you, at least. You’re more addicted with the passing hours of your weird friendship with Simon, more curious to know him. Trying to adjust to the slow pace that he set in.

The slow dance around the topic is the thing you know Simon likes the most. It’s maybe the only thing that you’re sure he loves to do. Taking his time to observe, pounce and eventually attack, if he feels up to it.

It’d be easier that he’d ask you to spend Christmas with him, but you can’t have it all easy, no?

You bite your cheek and observe how he plays with Sparkles. The cat is invested in catching his fingers with her paws, gnawing on them, when he tries to take them away from her to take a sip of his tea. With a view like that, it’s easy to melt into a puddle and forget about everything that bothers you. It’s also very easy to have a prospect of you three spending holidays in your apartment. Wouldn’t be far from what you have now—big “bad” military man spending time with a tiny kitten, while you try to think of a proper breakfast.

It would be the best reward to have him around, when it’s your favorite time of the year.

But, it’s up to him, if he agrees.

And, for many reasons, unbeknownst to you, you want him to agree.

“You have somethin’ in mind,” he breaks the silence. Deep brown eyes are already scanning you from the bottom to the top of your head, curiously. Challenging himself if he’s capable of knowing what bothers you, before you’ll say it to him.

You’re not gonna make it easy for him, that’s for sure.

“I don’t,” you huff, like it’s supposed to convince him. “It’s just… I don’t know what to make for breakfast. That’s really it.”

Simon’s quick to accuse you. “Don’t lie.”

“I don’t lie?” You raise your eyebrow, like he just didn’t tell you the truth; he scoffs at your high-pitched tone, taking a few steps towards you.

“You bite your cheek, and stomp like a bunny. What is it if not lyin’?” He mimics you, raising an eyebrow too. If it would be anyone else, you’d be slightly offended.

Rather than that, you’re amused a bit. “Like a bunny?”

He shrugs. “Yeah. From Bambi, or whatever that was.”

It takes everything in you to not laugh right this second. “You watched Bambi?”

“With Soap,” he murmurs, almost in shame because of the confession. “Doesn’t matter, what do you have in your little head?”

One confession leads to another, you think. It seems inevitable to say this right now, as finding a lie would be the worst option ever in front of a human lie detector.

Besides, there’s no point in lying when you want him on Christmas.

“I thought that, you know, you could spend Christmas with me. Sparkles would be included, too,” you say, out of breath when you’re done.

In theory, this, telling him what you have in mind, should help you to get rid of that feeling in your chest. Feeling that makes you go back to being a kid, when you felt there’s nothing you can do about certain situations. When you could just wait for the mercy of the other person.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing right now. You’re waiting till Simon says something; a few minutes ago, you felt like it’s just a formality.

Right now, you feel that the ache got worse just by seconds. His blank stare doesn’t help you with anything, it just makes you wonder what is in his mind right now. Is he just so shocked that he doesn’t know what to say? Or is he trying to find the words to politely decline the invitation?

“So, you want to celebrate with me,” he speaks up. You don’t know if there’s been five minutes, ten minutes, or an hour since you’ve asked him, but nonetheless, it makes you mad how he asks another question, instead of answering yours.

Although, you don’t show it; you just chuckle, nervously. “Is that really weird?”

“Kind of? Masochist type of way, if I’m being honest,” he hums, tilting his head. You have this specific feeling behind your head that he’s not taking you seriously, but you try to push it away. You don’t need it, not now.

“Well, masochist or not,” you swallow the saliva, thinking it would give you courage to continue the conversation, “I really mean it. I’d love to have you here.”

He sighs, shaking his head, and you know you’re screwed. “We’re not quite here, bird. Nothin’ personal, but that’s probably the dumbest idea out here.”

“Dumbest… idea?” You raise your eyebrow, laughing at first, but then you look at him in disbelief. “Like, spending time together on Christmas is dumb?”

It looks like he doesn’t even want to hear what you are saying. Riley puts Sparkles to the transporter, getting ready to go, while you still want the answer. “So? That’s… it?”

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with you.” He shrugs, looking at you. “Simple as that, I don’t know what is so hard to understand.”

And then, he leaves.

Not only without breakfast, but without a word that would help you understand why he reacted like that.

As you can imagine, the following days are kind of rough.

Simon isn't a texter or a caller, doesn't have a reason for it anyway, so you're anxious all the time at work. You make more hours than you should just to stay in work and keep your mind occupied with something other than him because it still feels like he was at your place minutes ago, not days.

It doesn’t help. The unnerving wave of shame is overwhelming, so you can’t even enjoy your work the way you normally would. Because normally, work helps you with your inner peace, feeling like a hot shower after a long day. Relaxing your muscles, bringing your mind elsewhere.

Right now, work is just pouring more problems to the already full cup.

Maybe it’s a mistake, but you don’t really share it with anyone; what happened with the British guy. Too ashamed that you even thought it would be a great idea to invite Simon, you bottle the feelings instead of letting them out on a random girls night, when you’d be too drunk to remember what you’ve said. You don’t mention it to your best friend, in case she’d spill it to Soap, you don’t mention it to your parents, in a fear of being judged. Or, Simon being judged in that case, they don’t know him.

You feel like you don’t know him either, but he has to have a reason to not to come, right? It’s not like he decided that just out of spite, right?

Not only you feel bad, but the whole thing feels pathetic. Everything reminds you of him. A damn jar of peanut butter in your apartment (that you hide deep, as you don’t want to even look at that), cat toys at your workplace, LEGO, just because he said that it seems like the stupidest, yet the most interesting “puzzle thing” ever. If this isn’t enough, you catch yourself thinking of him at the gym, when you feel too fatigued to continue the training. Wondering if he’d push you to do the last set, what’d he say. Him, helping you with the exercises, seems like something inevitable. Something that could happen.

You need a cold shower after that.

These days, people tend to get on your nerves too. Your calm clients become someone that you don’t want to see, not even mentioning talking to them for more than it’s necessary. Happy couple in the shop irritates you enough to skip the aisle that they are in because if you don’t get to be happy, you don’t want to see other people happy like that. Not when you thought you’re gonna spend the holiday with someone special to you.

God. If one of your best friends would behave that way, you’d convince them they deserve better because no boy should make you feel like crap.

Now… yeah.

Now you should be the best friend to yourself, but it’s not going well for you. It’s way easier to try to lose yourself at work, watch rom-coms and eat ice cream, rather than face the truth.

You eventually come to the conclusion that spending Christmas would be a scratch on his emo reputation, so it’s better for you to ignore him completely from this point. If he hates this day so much, he could tell you in a different way than humiliating not only you, but your feelings.

It’s the night before Christmas when you see him, as you come back from the shop with your groceries.

He looks... fine, as always. Unbothered, as always.

Walking like the whole world belongs to him, loudly and clearly intimidating everyone who would even think of crossing his path. It's something that you, right now, envy him for. How heartless he seems, which definitely helps him not only with the job he’s doing, but for the moment like this one.

Where people, normally, feel ashamed.

The big guy facade fades just for a single moment—and you hopelessly think it's the moment he sees you, the last droplets of human decency speaking to him. He stops, looking at you from head to your toes and back. Estimating if you’re worth a while.

And when he decides that you’re in his circle of interest, he walks up even closer to you. Not a single emotion on his scarred face, and if you wouldn't know him, you'd be scared that he wants something malicious.

Maybe he does.

"Hi."

His voice feels like he’s under the water. Deep, unreachable, but for some reason, it reaches you. Simon’s presence floods your lungs, making it hard to breathe, or to do anything at this point. You have to take a shallow breath before you’ll do anything.

You can't quite reach out to yourself to bring anything other than "Fuck you", so you don't speak after the "Hi." A nod in acknowledgement of his existence is all you give him; because if you would try to speak, you'd be either aggressive or hysterical.

And it's the last thing you want to give him: emotions. Because he seems to love that you're the emotional one here; he can read people like a book, and you're tired of being one. Tired of being on his shelf, so he can grab you whatever he wants, and you have no control over it. It simply doesn't feel right to you, doesn't seem fair at any chance.

His tone snaps you back to reality. "Dove."

You sigh. "I have a meal to prepare. Can't really talk right now, Riley.”

"Ouch." He theatrically puts a hand on his heart, tilting his head to the side. You can't really say if he's surprised by your sudden change in behavior towards him, or amused. Maybe both, knowing him.

So, you do what you do best: you just start walking to your place, completely ignoring his presence. Pretend like you don’t care about this stupid Christmas, like you forgot what he said to you on that disastrous morning.

He grabs your arm, forcefully. You’re not even sure when that happens, when he jerks you towards him and you can see how he purses his lips in a thin line, looking at you with something resembling remorse, at best. Or something quite close to it, it’s hard to name it.

"'m not gonna let go."

"And I'll start screaming. You know I will. Like, actually, who would believe you that you just wanted to talk to me? You’re big, mean and generally speaking many people would—"

"If the invitation is still on the table, I'd take it, if we're bein' honest."

Like a fish, you open your mouth and close it a couple of times, dumbfounded. You can’t really tell if he means what he said, or if he actually said what you’ve heard; because there’s a possibility you just misheard something. You raise your eyebrow. "What?"

"Your hearing abilities amaze me."

"You told me a few days ago—"

"Changed my mind." He shrugs. So casually, like he didn’t actually make you freaking out about him, thinking you’re imagining things between you two because he rejected your invitation.

You repeat his words mindlessly, barely believing in them. “What changed, then? The big “I don’t spend Christmas” guy thought he’s gonna do it this year? Or something changed between us and it’s not that casual anymore? Or it’s not the dumbest idea?”

He grits his teeth. It’s not rocket science to see that he’d rather you just take his apology, but you’re not like that. At least, not after feeling so humiliated for a couple of days, thinking that you’re the stupidest woman on the entire planet. For what it’s worth, you need to make him regret his decision a little.

You want him to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stands right in front of you, the royal brown staring into your soul. It’s not like you will budge, and Simon seems to know it, when he rolls his eyes.

Fire and water. Maybe something that is not meant to be, and you started to slowly accept it after those days without contact. Sometimes people have different views on life, relationships and that’s okay. It’s not like you can change how he feels about you, but right now—

—right now, he closes his arms around you. Before you know it, he places his chin on the top of your head. Trying to isolate you from everything but him.

You try several times to leave his embrace, to punch him hard enough, but he doesn’t let go, and by that alone, you understand that somehow, you needed it. You just shoved it under the rug because it was easier.

Needed him, in general. Needed the reassurance that he probably doesn’t hate you so much. Your anger seems at lower levels right now, tamed, understanding towards him. It’s a stark contrast between you now, and a few days ago, when you wanted his head to be chopped off.

“I thought you passed on the party,” comes out quieter than expected. Like you’re actually afraid to say that, and he seems to know it when he tightens his arms around you for a moment.

“‘s not a party though, is it? Only us three,” he murmurs, shrugging. You could think he doesn’t care coming from the tone, but the look in his eyes, the small glint in them, says otherwise.

You scoff, pretending to be offended. Truth is, you’re far from offended right now. “Two is already a party.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Not a really reliable source, dove. But s’alright,” he says, tilting his head. He looks down at you and then kisses the top of your head. Not even bothered that a few minutes ago you wanted to punch him. “Let’s go already, hm? Probably you’d want to make some shit or else.”

“Or else,” you say. You have a lot to do, that’s true, but right now your focus is elsewhere—and that’s on his heart. You can hear how hard it is beating, the only indicator (besides the eyes) that he really wants to be here with you.

And If you doubted he has heart, now you really can see that, indeed, he has. Beating for no one else but you.

“You… can’t do that,” you say, without even looking at him. Your eyes are focused on the lantern nearby, the yellow light brightening the surroundings. “You can’t just say shit like that and expect I’ll be okay.”

“Listen—”

“—No. No, you should listen. I don’t want you to feel that you can say anything to me, to just come back without the consequences. Just promise me. It’s not hard, it’s not complicated, you know? Communication is actually easy, if you just try hard enough.”

For a few seconds, he’s quiet. Just like he was quiet on that accurst day, when everything got fucked up. You’re quick to open your mouth, but then, he answers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“You lost your hearing or somethin’?” He tilts his head a little to the right. If Sparkles wouldn’t be in a transporter in his hand, you’d smack the shit out of him. “Maybe you do need a doctor’s visit.”

“I said so much and you—”

“There’s nothin’ for me to say. I know, and I acknowledged it,” he says, abruptly, his gaze hardening. “I fucked up. Not denying that, but right now, I want to make it right. That clear?”

That is clear, and as he’s seemingly a man of his words, you go to your apartment without any other word about the past.

You learn that he’s more of an observer than a doer. He waits for your sign, for whatever that gives him a clear message about what he should and shouldn’t do. The effect of the military gets to him even in mundane tasks like hanging the lights or tossing around a few decorations there and there. Simon doesn’t speak until he finishes, and then he just stares at you, until you’re gonna give him the next instructions.

You can’t help but laugh, when you do. He seems so lost when you do that, irritated at first, but he probably gets the message.

"I don't... do, this," he says, when he's busy rolling the dough with his rough hands. For a man like him, he's very tender with how he does it. Caring that you've told him how to do it, not using all of his power.

“Do what?” You look at him, tilting your head to the side. You know exactly what he means, but for what he put you through, he deserves to have a little struggle, to be more vocal about what he feels. He seems to know it, assuming that he pushes the dough to the surface a little harder.

“This stuff,” he explains. His way of explanation is a little different than yours, but you’ll take what he gives you.

“Baking?”

“That too,” he mutters. “It’s weird to do this.”

“But, are you having fun?”

He nods, and you take it as a final answer. As you smile under your nose, you move on to the next step. You think you’re going to make everything on time, with help like him.

“My parents died on Christmas day.”

Or not.

You drop your eggs a second later; it’s the first, genuine reaction at his sudden words. His quick reflex is the only thing that saves them from going to waste. “Christ, dove, just watch it.”

“Simon, I—”

“—Well, everyone died. Tommy, his wife, kids.” He shrugs, continuing the monologue. You don’t know if it’s a coping mechanism, trying to make it seem like it’s the most normal thing in the whole world, but in some way, it is concerning. “That… well. I just don’t do anythin’ on this day. Or before, really. I pretend it’s nothing special, so I don’t summon whatever that shit was years ago.”

To say that you’re shocked would be an understatement. You have to fight your tears right now, to completely not fall apart right in front of him. “How young were you?”

“Twenty two, I think.”

You put your hand on his—trying to console him, give him some support, even if he doesn’t look like he needs one. “I can’t tell you—”

“—No shit like this.” He looks up, crossing his gaze with yours. Despite his words, you see something in them. Something that quietly says thank you. “I’m a magnet for bad things, and for what it’s worth,” he looks at you, “I didn’t want to get you involved, if something would happen. Everyone around me dies, if I let them get too close.”

“You do know that it’s bullshit, right?” You look up at him; the choice of words isn’t exactly the best, but he seems to know that you mean, when his eyes cross with yours. “I’m so close, and I’m not going anywhere, Simon.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that. See?” You put one of his hands on your waist, the second on your face. He doesn’t move them.

Simon’s eyes darken, second by second. They’re not a dark chocolate anymore, they resemble more of a dark ocean at midnight. It’s hard to find anything light in them. “I see, but you don’t seem to understand what I mean.”

You raise your eyebrow. “Then, explain it to me.”

“It’s a one way ticket. No backin’ out after this—”

“—I don’t want to back out, so.” You mimic his careless shrugging from earlier. It’s hard to ignore how he rolls his eyes at your act. “What?”

“You’re a brat. Should listen to the elders when they talk, not interrupt them.” He mutters, taking your chin so you could look at him better. “Maybe I could teach you some manners.”

You gulp. “Maybe you could.”

Maybe this interaction is something that needed to be said or done. Maybe Simon needed to reject you at first, and then come to you, so he would tell you part of his story, no filter. Maybe.

You do not care about that, not right now.

“Stay… still,” he sighs right to your ear, his big hand going under your t-shirt.

If you’d tell yourself that Simon Riley is going to be one of the most important people for you, the past you probably wouldn’t believe any of that. The first impression wasn’t the best, you were interested in him only because of the mystical aura surrounding him.

Yet, when one of his hands is under your t-shirt, the other on your throat, you couldn’t ask for a better place to be.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod x reader #x reader #simon riley x you #cod x you #simon riley/reader #simon ghost riley fanfic #ghost x you

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bumblesimagines · 11 months ago

Note

do you believe in soulmates?

i compare anyone i ever date to you. is that weird?

Love Quinn

i compare anyone i ever date to you. is that weird?

do you believe in soulmates?

Pronouns: They/Them/Theirs, GN!Reader

"And here we are." Love cooed, two plates of deliciously smelling pasta in each hand. You smiled automatically at the sight of her and the food, watching her set the plates down and take a seat beside you. She reached over for the wine bottle, popping it open and pouring wine into each glass cup. "All done!"

"We could've had takeout, Love. You didn't have to cook for me." You told her, picking up the glass and swirling the wine inside before taking a sip.

Truthfully, being an amazing hostess was just one of Love Quinn's many skills. She lightened up like a Christmas tree whenever she hosted at her place or catered for a friend, soaking in each compliment and groan of delight with a bashful yet gleeful smile. She enjoyed taking care of others, even if it'd all she'd done since the moment she and Forty could walk. Being a nurturing caregiver came naturally to her, something you'd noticed when you first met her at a birthday party. Your parents had enthusiastically introduced you to the Quinn siblings and the then-teen Love flocked to your side immediately. And ever since that fateful day, you had the luck of calling her one of your closest friends.

Love clicked her tongue and waved you off. "Don't be silly, (Y/N)! You know I like making your food." She smiled widely, that big toothy genuine smile of hers. She picked up her fork and twirled some pasta around it, bringing it to her lips and humming at the taste. "You know, if I had it my way, we'd be living together. I'd make you breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day. You'd never go hungry."

"Sounds tempting." You chuckled. "I wouldn't want to intrude though. A little birdie's been groaning about your dating life being... stale ever since Milo left to do... whatever it was he was doing."

"Ugh, dating here is just there's a Milo every five feet, you know? It doesn't help that I compare anyone I ever date to you. Is that weird? I mean, you're my best friend. You're like... I don't know. You mean a lot to me. You do a lot for me. You've raised my standards."

"Good." You snickered into your cup when she slapped your arm lightly. You'd never truly thought about Love's dating life, especially after James's death after his long battle with cancer. She'd dated anyone as long as James, hell, she married the guy. Milo had always flirted, made moves, and done things that she'd roll her eyes at and talk with you about. Then, he left and she never spoke of anyone again.

"Do you believe in soulmates?" Love asked suddenly, taking a sip of her wine. "I thought James was my soulmate. I thought he'd be the one I'd stay with forever. But... looking back on it, I'm not so sure anymore."

"I mean," You licked some sauce off your lips. "I think some people are destined to meet, to be in each other's lives. I'm not sure about soulmates but a lot of people meet and remain together for a long time, even just as friends. Why do you ask?"

Love smiled. "Sometimes I think you're my soulmate."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #x male!reader #x female reader #x gender neutral reader #x fem reader #you netflix #you netflix x reader #you netflix x male reader #you netflix x you #love quinn #love quinn x reader #love quinn x male reader #love quinn x female reader #love quinn x you #love quinn x y/n

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valleyof-goldenlilies · 1 year ago

Text

The Fuss About the Christmas Gala - Modern! Rhaenyra Targaryen x Reader

Summary: Rhaenyra faces a small crisis regarding the planning of the Targaryen Corporation's gala.

Pairing: Modern! Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem! Reader

Warnings: profanity, angst, slight talks of Rhaenyra self harming (biting her fingernails), fingering, lots of kissing, mentions of dom Rhaenyra, slight dom reader

Word Count: 2.3k words

A/N: hoe hoe hoe! a very merry late Christmas and Happy New Year in advance from me to you :) this is for all the Rhaenyra girlies out there! I hope you enjoy :)

lovely dividers credited to @firefly-graphics !

If there was one word that was the antithesis of Rhaenyra Targaryen right now, it would be the word calm.

For two days now, you had watched your girlfriend rush about like a madman caught up in a whirlwind. Unsure of what to do, you usually just sat on the couch, concernedly sipping a glass of water as you watched your girlfriend work herself to death.

Today was no different, and the stress had only multiplied by a dozen. Since the Targaryen Christmas Gala was this weekend, Rhaenyra was rushing around, calling up caterers, decorators, florists, to make sure that the weekend would go as perfectly as possible.

“Ugh, those fucking dim-witted imbeciles!” Rhaenyra raged, slamming her phone down on the couch where you were sitting. You looked up from your work, concern furrowed in your brow, as Rhaenyra sank into the couch next to you and began ranting. “Can you believe that the caterers had to cancel at the last minute? Said something about having to attend to the President’s dinner party for all his cabinet at the fucking Red Keep!” Rhaenyra was positively vibrating with fury, and if her anger could sprout wings, she would have flown away by now, probably to kick the head of the caterers’ ass.

“Nyra,” you tried to calm her, but she continued on with her tirade. “And the florists! No one can do their jobs right.” rhaenyra buried her face in a throw cushion, making a distressed noise. “I knew I should’ve accepted Alicent’s offer of connecting me to the florists she previously used at the other Targaryen events. But I’m just-”

“I know,” you said, hands going to rub Rhaenyra’s shoulders soothingly. Rhaenyra’s dislike for her stepmother was legendary among your social circles, and with how bullheaded Rhaenyra was, you can’t say you were surprised when she vehemently turned down her stepmother’s offers of connecting Rhaenyra to her contacts, preferring to do it on her own.

Rhaenyra’s anger soon turned into a crack in her voice, as she felt small tears slipping down her cheeks, seeping into the velvet of the throw cushion she was using to hide her face. She didn’t want you to see her like this. But the stress was really getting to her, and she soon broke, like a dam that had caved at long last.

Mortification and sympathy immediately filled you when you heard your girlfriend’s strangled sob, as you moved to take her into your arms. “I just-” Rhaenyra choked out, “I wanted to do this on my own. To prove that I could. This is the first event that Father asked me to plan on my own as future CEO to Targaryen Corporations, and I’ve-” Rhaenyra sniffled noisily. The snot from her tears was getting into the blouse you were wearing, but you could care less, only continuing to stroke Rhaenyra’s silver-blonde locks, trying to mollify her. “I’ve screwed it up completely. I’m such a fuckup.”

“You’re not a fuckup, Nyra,” you said softly, heart breaking as you watched her shoulders shake with sobs. “Don’t lie to me, Y/N,” Rhaenyra spat out, though the venom in her voice was weakened by how much she was crying.

“I haven’t finished yet,” your voice was chiding, but gently so. “A fuckup, absolutely not. Bullheaded? Stubborn? A little idiotic? Definitely so.” A choked laugh bubbled up in the midst of Rhaenyra’s tears, and you smiled at that, satisfied to have elicited a response apart from cursing or tears.

“What do I do, my love?” Rhaenyra sniffled, her tone stained with despair. “How am I supposed to face Father tomorrow and tell him that the caterers and florists have both cancelled? I barely can keep the rest of the event’s logistics from spiralling out of control too.” Rhaenyra barked out a jagged laugh. “Seven Hells, the only thing I actually managed to get done was secure the venue and the musicians. He’s going to be so disappointed in me, isn’t he?” You hummed, softly curling a strand of Rhaenyra’s hair around your index finger. “You know, love, I did offer my help a few weeks ago. The offer still stands.”

An exasperated sigh burst from Rhaenyra’s lips. “And I said no. I don’t need help…” Rhaenyra’s voice slowly trailed off, as the absurdity of words began to sink in. “Oh,” she spoke, voice sounding defeated.“I really am an idiot, aren’t I?’

“Oh, darling,” you spoke affectionately. “You are, but that doesn’t mean you can’t start amending that.” You kissed her on the forehead tenderly, wiping her tears away with your thumb. “Let me help you. Please, Nyra. You can’t keep insisting on doing everything yourself, you know.” Your voice was gentle, yet firm. “You need to let go of your pride. Capeesh?”

Rhaenyra grumbled a little, but she melted under the warmth of your embrace. “Fine. Capeesh. But maybe hold back on bruising my ego, why don’t you?” You chuckled, kissing her on the lips. “How else am I supposed to get you to learn, dearest?”

In all honesty, managing an event was definitely way harder than you imagined it was when you had offered your help. While the lack of a budget certainly helped, there were a lot of things the both of you had to consider. Such as the table seating arrangements, the order of the performances (who knew there would be so much fuss over whether the ballet-contemporary dance trope should come before or after the string quartet performance?), the approval of the various menus for guests with special dietary restrictions and the like.

Rich people truly never ceased to amaze you with their elaborate whims and fancies.

Even with your help, Rhaenyra still occasionally flew into anxious fits while the both of you were sorting out the details for the event, and you had to stop all work to comfort her when that happened. You also noticed her bitten off fingernails, an old childhood habit Rhaenyra was fond of doing. When confronted, Rhaenyra only sheepishly admitted that the stress often blinded her from doing anything else.

While it made your blood boil that Rhaenyra was neglecting her own well-being for the sake of the godsforsaken gala, you also felt an uncomfortable, crawling sensation under your skin, and that little voice in your head, telling you that you were to blame for this whole mess.

‘Why weren’t you more insistent on helping her out?’ it whispered, taunting. ‘How could you let your girlfriend stress herself to this point until she would mistreat herself?’

Still, you managed to wave the thoughts aside, wanting to just focus on Rhaenyra now. Gradually, as the plans for the gala became more and more concrete, Rhaenyra became noticeably more relaxed, the perpetual frown that was present on her lips slowly dissolving into a less tense expression. Although Rhaenyra still bristled at the thought of bringing in additional help, she reluctantly acquiesced when you mentioned asking Alicent, who was more experienced in hosting these events, to take a look at the event timeline. It was no easy feat for a Targaryen to set aside their pride, but you were very glad that Rhaenyra could.

As the night of the Targaryen Christmas Gala rolled around, you were in Rhaenyra’s dressing room, lips pursed in concentration as you fastened the delicate clasp of Rhaenyra’s diamond festoon necklace around her neck.

“Hey,” Rhaenyra said softly, looking at you through the mirror. “Mmm?” you hummed inquisitively, smiling widely as you finally managed to get the clasp buckled together. She grabbed your hands as she turned around, leaning her forehead on yours. “Thank you.” Love and gratitude laced her voice. You squeezed her hands in yours, leaning in to kiss your girlfriend on the lips. “It’ll be alright,” Rhaenyra felt a warm feeling seep into her muscles, extinguishing the tension she had been feeling all evening. “Don’t worry too much, hmm? It’s Christmas after all. Tis’ the season to be jolly, you know.” A light giggle burst from Rhaenyra’s lips, before she leaned in for another kiss. “I’ll do my best, love.”

Hours had stretched on, and it seemed the gala was going swimmingly. Though Rhaenyra had roped you into attending the gala with her - her reasons being that you were her beloved girlfriend and that she wanted every single one of the Targaryen family’s business associates, as well as all her family to see that you were the woman she loved - she had been noticeably absent for some time now.

Anxious footsteps thumped across the floor of the ballroom, as you politely manoeuvred past the gala’s attendees, trying to find the familiar figure clad in red.

When you neared one of the endless amount of balconies in this massive building, you breathed out a sigh of relief when you caught a glimpse of white-blonde hair. Standing out at the terrace, surrounded by the night and glowing under the shimmer of a thousand stars, Rhaenyra leaned on the balcony balustrade, her back to the door, as you admired her from behind.

“You look like a goddess from this view you know,” Rhaenyra smiled as she felt your arms encircle her waist, planting a soft kiss on her neck. “Oh no, you found me,” her tone was filled with teasing. She relaxed into your arms, seeking your warmth. “I found you,” Rhaenyra’s breathing grew heavier as you continued peppering kisses on her neck. “Why are you out here all by yourself, gorgeous? The party’s going well, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it is,” Rhaenyra sighed, tilting her head up to give you more access to her neck. “It just…still makes me a bit disappointed in myself, you know? That I couldn’t take charge of a simple event like this.”

“You’re belittling yourself again, my darling,” you murmured, lips grazing along the sensitive curve of her shoulder. “This event is far from simple, and you know that. Besides, it’s alright to accept the help of others when you’re overwhelmed.”

Rhaenyra closed her eyes, her hair falling into her face slightly as she cast her gaze downwards. “And I know. It’s just still hard to accept.” You purse your lips, wanting to comfort her somehow…

Rhaenyra felt her breath hitch as your fingers slowly made their way up her thighs, all while your lips still remained on her neck. “Where are those fingers going, hmm?” she murmured.

“I just want to make you feel better, my dear.” You trailed your kisses to the top of her spine. Do I have your permission, love?”

“Yes,” Rhaenyra breathed out, gripping the balcony railing tighter. “Fuck yes.” A wicked grin graced your face as she said that, as your fingers skillfully slid aside her panties, grazing them gently against Rhaenyra’s sweet spot. Her answering moan was a cry from the angels themselves.

“Wet already, hmm?” You murmured, the pad of your finger collecting the wetness of her slit. Rhaenyra groaned, “That’s usually my line.” You smirked in response, fingers playing with her folds with deliberation. “I know you’re always on top, darling. But isn’t it nice to have me take charge for a change?”

“Definitely no-” Rhaenyra had to bite her tongue as you plunged the first finger inside of her, pleasure coursing through her veins. “Oh, darling,” she moaned your name huskily as you added a second finger, beginning to move faster. A strangled cry rose from her throat as your thumb went to rub at her clit, her skin feeling feverish as she felt you tug off her furred shawl so that you could have access to her bare back. Your soft lips followed the curve of her spine, while your other hand went to trace patterns on her heated skin.

“Dominance is a good look on me, isn’t it?” You teased, adding a third finger, curling it in a come hither motion. Rhaenyra felt like she was about to faint, as a familiar budding sensation in her abdomen began to bloom. “I should do it more often, love. Who knew you could be a pliant mess under all that tough exterior?”

“Oh, you are so going to regret this later,” Rhaenyra growled, head already filled with the ideas she would do to punish you later when she got home. In response, you only rubbed her clit harder, making her let out a cry of needy pleasure.

“Nah,” you smiled, not fazed in the least. “I don’t think I will, dear.” The speed of your fingers quickened, and Rhaenyra let out a final wanton moan as she came, legs turning weak. You had to grip on tightly to her waist with your other hand that wasn’t buried to the knuckle in her so that her knees wouldn’t give in then and there.

“You okay, darling?” you asked teasingly, as your fingers gradually slowed their pace and you planted a kiss onto the crook of her shoulder. Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, though her breathing was still unsteady after the orgasm she had. “Don’t act so smug just because you’re in charge for once. You’re going to get it when we get home, darling.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you continued challenging her with that teasing tone of yours, retracting your hand from under Rhaenyra’s skirts. “Do me a favour before that, and taste yourself, darling?” Rhaenyra looked a bit miffed at that, though in good spirit. Still, she gave in with a dramatic sigh, as you lifted your fingers to her lips, making her suck her essence off of them. A light moan burst from your lips at the sight, and you leaned in to kiss her, threading your fingers in her white-blonde locks to pull her closer to you. When she abruptly broke away, you frowned, thinking that you had done something wrong, but she only pointed up and said with a sort of childlike delight, “Look, it’s snowing, darling.”

Caught off guard, you directed your gaze upwards, noting with wonder the white furls currently dancing in the sky. Rhaenyra laughed as a snowflake got caught in your eyelash and you let out a small yelp, flicking it off with her fingers. “Merry Christmas, darling,” Rhaenyra murmured, capturing your lips with hers again, her hand cupping your cheek. You smiled back, gazing adoringly into her eyes. “Merry Christmas, Nyra.”

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