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2-guns-b1tch · 1 year ago

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Midnight Visitor

Rating: Explicit +18

Pairing: BTAA! Scarecrow x F!Reader

I really wanted to write something about the Scarecrow from the Audio Adventures. I love his voice and his mannerisms so much. Sorry if this a little OOC, i think i wasn't able to portray him exactly right, but I hope you like this and let me now if I forgot to mention a trigger warning.

Ao3

+18 Minors DNI!!! Fear Play, Mildly Dubious Consent, Breathplay if you squint, Vaginal Sex.

The waiting room is practically empty when you come in. The only person in there is Miss Gold and she seems to be getting ready to leave for her lunch break.

"Hello, Miss Gold," your voice breaks the silence, making her jump on her chair.

Miss Gold snaps her head in your direction, laughing softly with a hand on her chest when she realizes is actually you.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Crane. I was sou caught that you startled me."

Miss Gold has been Jonathan's secretary for almost two years. She was a little shorter than you, wearing high heels to make up for the missing inches. Her round, rosy cheeks reminded you of a peach, matching her plumper silhouette. Her clothes were often pastel and soft, which made her stand out in the dull environment of the clinic.

Although Miss Gold was sweet and helpful, she always had this nervous expression on her face, looking like she was on the verge of an anxiety attack constantly. You needed to have a conversation with Jonathan to find out what kind of pressure he was putting on the poor secretary.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to sneak in like this," you say, approaching her table. "I came to bring Jonathan's lunch. Is he here?"

Miss Gold nods, "Yes, he is, dear. Would you like me to let him know you're here?"

"You don't have to, thank you. Go enjoy your lunch, Miss Gold. I will take care of the doctor now.”

You say goodbye before she leaves and you knock on Jonathan's door, his voice on the other end signaling you to come in.

"What's so important, Miss-" Jonathan lifts his head towards you, the annoyed expression on his face being washed away when he lays his eyes on you, a small smile forming on the corners of his lips.

You can't help but shiver as you walk over to his desk. The old, dark furniture gave the room a gloomy air, the dim lights creating strange shadows. But what made you feel more uneasy were the old Argus Studios posters hanging on the walls. Basil Karlo's wicked gaze followed you wherever you went.

You try to shake off that feeling when Jonathan gets up and meets you halfway.

"What do I owe the pleasure of your honorable presence?" he asks, raising an eyebrow.

You pull him by his orange tie – the same one you had gifted him last Christmas – until he was at your level and you could kiss him on the cheek.

"You forgot that at home, so I thought I'd stop by to deliver it to you," you lift the lunchbox, handing it to him.

He slaps a hand on his forehead, giving a breathy chuckle as he shakes his head. "What would I do without my dear wife?"

"You would probably end up forgetting your head somewhere," you pat him at the shoulder before sitting down on the therapy couch.

Jonathan just nods, sitting next to him. He opens the package, admiring for a few seconds what you had packed before he started eating.

You watch him finish the salad in just a few bites and then stuff his mouth full of spaghetti. He licks his lips, letting out a few moans of delight between bites.

"Good to know you still like my food," you comment out Loud.

"How could I not? That was one of the main reasons I married you."

You try to look offended by giving him a weak slap on the arm, but you can't hide your smile when he starts laughing.

"You're terrible!"

"You can't go back now. Until death do us part, remember?" he shrugs as if there's nothing you can do. “Besides, we both know you’re crazy about me."

You roll your eyes at him, but your fingers troke your wedding ring, a warm sensation spreading across your chest.

"You look hungry. What would you have eaten if I hadn’t brought your lunch?"

He shrugs as he finishes chewing. "I probably would have asked Miss Gold to buy me something. Don't worry."

But it was impossible not to worry. In these last months, Jonathan left early in the morning and returned only late at night. He said he was too busy at the office and that you shouldn't wait for him awake. Even then you always woke up when he arrived home and helped him take off his clothes, only being able to talk for a few minutes until he fell asleep exhausted.

Of course you were grateful for the comfortable life his jobs provided, and you were very proud of his career as a doctor and professor, but you didn't want him to work until he killed himself.

You run your fingers through his hair, brushing a few strands off his forehead. He definitely needed a cut. On top of that, he looked even thinner and the dark circles under his eyes were getting bigger. But even after all these years together, he was still the man of your dreams. A little mean and weird, but you didn't want it any other way.

Jonathan stares at you, his gaze as warm and loving as ever. But at the same time it seemed so far away, as if he wasn't really there.

"Today they're going to reprise some classic horror movies. What do you think? You, me, a bucket of popcorn?" you propose.

"I'm sorry, dear. Not today. I have some tests that I need to go through and-" Jonathan begins to explain himself, but you interrupt him.

"It's okay, you have work to do. I get it.”

You bite your tongue, hating how angry you sound. You didn't want to take your frustrations out on him, but you missed Jonathan so much. You missed dancing with him as he hummed some silly music he made up. To watch the classic horror movies he loved so much. To simply be able to talk to him without Jonathan falling asleep in the middle of a sentence. And you missed the sex, too.

Jonathan was still affectionate, of course, but the caresses and touches boiled down to a quick kiss before he left or a hug when he arrived. Nothing more than that. Now, Jonathan left a void around the house, like a ghost walking in the halls.

He places the lunch box on the coffe table, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You're upset, I understand.”

You move your gaze to your lap. "I'm not upset. I'm just... tired. I’ve barely seen you these last few days."

He puts his hand over yours, his skin feeling cold against your own.

"I know these past months have been difficult. But I'll make it up to you," he strokes your cheek, tilting your chin to look into your eyes. "I promise."

You really want to believe him, but a part of you suspects that these are empty promises. This behavior will keep repeating itself and you will keep forgiving him, until eventually you drift further apart.

A paranoid little voice in the back of your mind suggests a hypothesis for Jonathan's absence and you hate yourself for thinking about something like that. What if he was cheating on you? What if all this distance over the past few months was actually someone between you.

Jonathan wasn't that kind of man, but the voice kept repeating. What if? What if he had grown tired of you? What if that person was more beautiful? Or more interesting? What if they made him happier than you?

The idea makes your stomach turn and you swallow dry. You pull your hand from his grip, getting up from the couch.

"I should go," you say as you put the lunchboxes back in the bag. "After all, you have a lot of work to do."

You feel numb as Jonathan follow you to the door, barely feeling the goodbye kiss he places on your forehead.

You wish you had walked out of the office hoping that things would get better or at least satisfied that this is just a temporary crisis that all couples have to face at some point.

Instead, doubt and a feeling of distress accompany you all the way home.

——

You stir awake, being pulled slowly from your dreams. Everything seems hazy and fuzzy as you run you fingers over Jonathan’s bedside, but you only find his side cold and empty. You sigh in frustration, letting your head sink against the pillow again. You should be used to it by now.

The alarm on your bedside table signals that it's past midnight, the numbers on the digital clock flashing through the darkness of the room. You snuggle under the covers again, almost forgetting what woke you up in the first place. Sleep is so tempting and you start to drift off.

But an insistent sound keeps you awake. You stare at the ceiling, your eyes getting used to the darkness as you begin to make out what exactly the noise was.

Steps. Someone was walking around the apartment.

You pull the sheets, the sole of your foot meeting the cold floor. You try not to assume the worst as you get out of bed. Maybe it was just Jonathan coming home from work.

You step into the hallway, turning on the switch, but the light bulb flickers a few time before the shadows envelop you once more. You sigh, cursing yourself silently. The hallway light wasn’t working properly and you were supposed to change it weeks ago.

You walk slowly with your arms extended in front of your body so you don’t bump into anything until you can reach the bathroom door. You turn the lights on and a momentary feeling of safety rushes over you. Everything looks okay in the bathroom, so you decide to let the lights on and the door open to let a little bit o the light illuminate the hallway.

After that you go to check the living room and the kitchen. Your thin nightgown isn't enough to keep you warm on that cold night and you hug yourself, a shiver running through your skin.

You finally go to the front door to test the handle. To your relief, is locked and the bolt was in place. Even though you lived in a safe neighborhood you still had your fears, after all, Gotham is Gotham. You can never be too sure.

Maybe it was just a dream? You wonder for a second until you notice the light in Jonathan's office leaking through the small crack in the door. As you get closer, the sound of mumbling and papers being flipped through becomes more noticeable. Jonathan was really incorrigible. After hours at his office, he brought even more work home.

"Jon, you should go to bed," you stop in front of the door, rubbing your eyes until they get used to the brightness of the room.

You had the clear image of Jonathan in your head. He'd be sitting behind his desk with a tired expression on his face, pen hanging loose in his hand while he is finishing giving grades fos his students’ tests. You would whisper in a sweet tone and stroke his hair until he agreed to follow you back to bed.

Instead, your heart sinks as your eyes fall on the stranger leaning over Jonathan's desk, papers scattered everywhere. He was tall and thin, wearing a brown suit. His face was covered by a patched mask, a rope around his neck.

You've heard and read countless stories about him, but you never expected that one day you'd come face to face with the Scarecrow.

Sleep is a distant thing now. The adrenaline coursing through your veins makes your whole body tense, your feet stuck on the ground. Your instincts scream at you to run, fight, do anything, but the idea of moving seems impossible. All you can do is watch transfixed as Scarecrow stares at you from across the room, a heavy, suffocating silence forming between the two of you.

For some reason he seems as surprised as you do, as if he didn't expect someone to show up.

He walks around the table with slow steps, his hands raised in the air. "Hush. I didn't come here to hurt you," he sounds calm and... strangely familiar. But the grim smile sewn into his mask doesn't help to reassure you.

This is like a nightmare. The kind where you stay in the same place while running, unable to distance yourself from the monster that chases you, no matter how hard you try. But now, the monster wouldn't disappear when you opened your eyes. No matter how much you blink, he's still there.

He's only a few inches away, his hand almost touching your arm, when your feet finally work again and you run out of the room, heading towards the kitchen.

You can hear the Scarecrow right behind you through the rapid beating of your heart, his footsteps reverberating against the hardwood floor, but you don't dare look back.

Your first extinct is to open one of the drawers to grab the biggest knife you can find. You turn just in time to see the Scarecrow standing in the kitchen doorway, your trembling hands gripping the handle of the knife as you point the blade at him. The shadows cast strange shapes on his face, making the smile on his mask seem even bigger. For a moment he looks like one of the monsters from Jonathan's movies.

"Don't come closer!" you scream.

He ignores your order, taking one step toward you and then another. Approaching in the same careful manner that a predator approaches its prey.

You swallow, your wobbly legs seeming to be unable to bear your own weight. "If you come any closer I-I... I'm going to hurt you."

He pauses for a moment, tilting his head as he studies you. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves ma’am. You don't want to make any rash decisions."

"Stay away from me! My husband is going to arrive any moment and he's going to-"

The Scarecrow throws his head back in a cruel laugh that sends a shiver down your spine, as if you've said something stupid.

"Look at you, trying to rationalize with fear. So brave," he shakes his head, approaching again.

With every step he takes, you take another step back in a futile attempt to increase the distance between you. You keep retreating until you're backed against the kitchen counter and that's when it lunges at you. He slaps your hand, throwing your knife across the room.

You try to scream, but he presses his hand over your mouth to muffle your cries for help. You flinch at the sensation of the cold leather of his gloves on your skin, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your arm.

You're like a deer at headlights, too scared to fight for your survival. He was so close now, you could see his eyes through the holes in the mask, deep brown circles staring back at you. His pupils were dilated, he was enjoying it.

To your horror, he presses his face against your neck. He inhales deeply against your skin, letting out a satisfied hum. The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you shiver against his grip.

"You’re afraid, aren’t you? You’re afraid, and it’s delicious,” he whispers close to your ear, his voice becoming dark and low as he takes a sharp inhale. "Mmm. You fear is so sweet, I can almost taste it on my tongue. Oh, darling. You're terrified," he laughs hoarsely.

You close your eyes so tightly that you can see little white spots. The whole world seems to spin and you feel dizzy. Would he drug you with the fear gas that all the news have been talking about? Or maybe force you to swallow some of the drugs he makes that look like Halloween candy? You can only think of Jonathan coming home to find your lifeless body lying on the kitchen floor.

The sob you let out goes almost unnoticed and you think he'll just ignore you, but the Scarecrow leans back, your eyes meeting as tears roll down your face.

"Shhh. No crying. Those aren't the kind of tears I want from you," he says in a soft, almost soothing tone as he strokes your hair. "I'll let you talk now, but don't scream. Got it?"

You nod as best you can and he finally pulls his hand off of you. Your tongue feels heavy inside your mouth when you try to speak.

"Wha... What are you going to do with me?" you ask.

"I'm still deciding," he shrugs.

"I don't have anything you want."

"Maybe I don't want something you have. Maybe I want you to do something for me. Have you thought about that?"

His words take a second to fully hit you. You wish you had misunderstood, but it was impossible not to notice the way he looked at you, how his eyes traveled up and down your body. Your breath gets caught in your throat and you shake your head.

"Please don't. I... I have a husband and he-"

Scarecrow interrupts you with a loud sigh. "You keep talking about your husband, but where is he?"

You open your mouth to answer him, but close it right away, pressing your lips into a thin line. You didn't know where Jonathan really was. Maybe he wasn't even in the office. What if he had lied to you?

He continues in a low tone, as if he's telling you a secret. "What kind of husband leaves his wife like that? So lonely. So vulnerable," one of his hands goes down slowly to caress the bare flesh of your thigh while the other grips your waist. You are startled by the feeling of his hands on you, how his touch is surprisingly slow and sensual. You find yourself thinking about Jonathan for a second before remembering that he's not the one touching you.

"Were you waiting for him? That's why you're wearing this nightgown? How lovely," his laugh makes your cheeks heat up. "Lucky me."

He drags his hand up your stomach, running along your sides, teases one of your breasts until your nipple is a stiffen bud underneath your nightgown. You try to look distant on the outside, but it’s impossible to deny the wetness forming between your legs. You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to hold in any noises.

You don't want that. You don't want his hands on you. You don't want his body against yours. But you can't remember the last time you felt wanted. It's been so long since you and Jonathan had sex. You're so tired of feeling alone.

Even with these ideas running through your head, you place a hand against his chest, opening up a bit of space between the two of you.

"No. That's not right," you say, "I don't... I don't want this."

"Oh, don't be like that," he whispers, rubbing his face against you neck. "That could be our little secret. I'm not going to tell anyone. I promise."

The air is drawn out of your lungs, as if you've been punched in the stomach. You turn your head slowly, the words stuck in your throat.

"Jonathan?" you mutter.

His body tenses suddenly, and he tilts his head back, staring at you wide-eyed, like a child who just got caught with his hand inside the cookie jar. How could you not have noticed before? Maybe it was fear confusing your senses, but all the signs were there. The same tall, slender silhouette, the long limbs, the deep brown eyes. The same voice. The same laugh.

He breaks the silence with a low laugh, shaking his head.

"I knew I couldn't fool your forever. You always have been so smart."

He lifts the mask slowly, revealing every bit of his face. The face you knew so well. Jonathan's face.

A million questions cross your mind, but before you can say anything Jonathan presses you against the counter again, capturing your lips.

You gasp and throw a fist into his chest, pressing your teeth against his bottom lip, biting hard enough to hurt, but this jusy makes Jonathan growls like a mad dog. His hands run all over your body, not knowing where to stop. He tugs at your nightgown, the cold air sending shivers through your skin as he grabs and squeezes every bit of flesh he can reach.

The kiss is demanding and sloppy, his hot tongue trailing across your lips and invading your mouth. All you can do is hold on to Jonathan as if your life depended on it, making him grunt as your nails sink into his covered back.

There's something familiar about how your bodies move in sync. A sensual dance that the two of you had done thousands of times before. But now there's a hunger behind Jonathan's movements, something possessive, as if he won’t let you escape. Maybe you were as hungry as he was.

The next moment your world changes perspective as Jonathan turns you around, lowering you down onto the kitchen counter until your cheek is pressed against the cold surface. You moan softly as he lifts the thin material of your nightgown, his mouth leaving warm kiss on the skin of your back.

He pulls your panties down, kicking your legs apart. You were practically naked, while Jonathan was fully clothed, having only taken off his mask and gloves. You feel so exposed, nothing to hide yourself while Jonathan stares at you laid bare before him.

You can hear him shuffling behind you, undoing his own belt and pants in a hurry. You turn your head just in time to see him approaching, his flushed cock pressing against your pussy, making you both grunt together. You don't even care if it hurts, all you want is Jonathan inside you. Filling you completely. Fuck, you want him so bad.

He gathers some of your wetness, his dick sliding in between your folds in slow movements. You moan softly when the tip catches on your clit, the sweet sensation making you buckle your hips towards him.

"Jonny..." you whine, "Please."

Jonathan laughs in a mocking tone, but you know he's not in the mood for teasing either.

You’re wet enough so there is no resistance as he presses intou you, your walls stretching to accommodate his cock. Jonathan moves slowly, leaving you’re both panting when he’s fully inside you. The pain and the pleasure mix deliciously, you missed him so much.

The first thrust takes the air out of your lungs. The second makes your legs tremble. The third makes your back arch and a sweet sound leave your lips. He keeps rutting against you, slow and deep. The wet sound of your bodies combined and your moans reverberate through the walls.

"You're the perfect victim, you know?" he says in between grunts, "You're so beautiful when you're scared. Oh, and when you started running – Fuck... I almost lost my mind. I wanted to take you right there on the floor."

You clench around him, driving him even deeper into you. Jonathan realizes the effect his words have on you, giving you a breathless chuckle.

"Did you like that? Do you like the idea of a maniac fucking you?"

The idea shouldn't be so tempting, but you can't stop thinking about Jonathan hiding in the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal himself and pull you into the darkness with him, where he could do whatever he wanted to you.

You nod weakly and he grips you tighter, his nails leaving half-moon marks on the soft skin of your waist. His pace is brutal now, your body moving everytime his hips hits your backside.

"Next time... Hah... I'll give you some of the toxin, just enough to keep you on the edge and a little scared," he takes a sharp breath, throwing his head back, "And then... I'm going to put on my mask and I'm going to fuck you until you beg me to stop."

You open your mouth, but you can’t form words to save your life, so you reach out behind you

to something to hold until your fingers find the rope around Jonathan’s neck and you pull him towards you. He lets out a surprised sound, turning into a sinful moan. His chest is against your back, his chin resting on your shoulder.

It’s good. It’s so fucking good. You can’t believe you almost forgot how good it was to have him inside you. You make a silent promise to never let him leave again.

One of his hands moves around your body, his fingers meeting your throbbing clit. He makes quick circles around it, pinching and pressing on it hard. For a moment it all seems too much and not enough at the same time. His cock moving inside you, the pressure on your clit. It was overwhelming in the best kind of way.

With your cheek pressed against the counter and tears streaming down your face, you can feel your orgasm approaching. Behind you, Jonathan's movements get more and more out of rhythm and you know he's not that far away either.

He keeps one hand in between your legs while the other lays flat on your mid section, pulling you close to him, your bodies still glued together.

"Tell me -Ah... Tell me who I am,” he mumbles, cheek nuzzled in your temple. “Tell me what I am,” almost sound like he is begging and you could never say no to him.

"Scarecrow!" the word leaves your lips before you know it. "You're the Scarecrow."

"Yes! That’s right! That’s right, good girl. My good girl,” his praise goes straight to your pussy and you squeeze him impossibly tight.

You throw your head back, stretching your neck until you can kiss him. It’s all teeth and tongue while he keeps moving inside you with shallow thrusts.

Your orgasm hits you so hard that almost hurts. The knot in your lower belly finally snaps and the wave of carnal bliss washes over your. Jonathan comes right after you. He curses between clenched teeth, his hips curling, his breath hot on your skin as he fills your cunt with hot wads of cum.

You both breathe heavily in the middle of the kitchen, your sweaty bodies intertwined perfectly. Thank God he is holding you, because you barely can feel your legs and if it weren’t for him you know you would be on the floor by this point.

Jonathan snuggles up against your neck, murmuring something sweet, but your mind is too hazy now to hear him. You bring a hand up to his head, stroking his hair.

As you come down from you high, reality finally hits you. One of Gotham's most wanted criminals just came inside you and now he's cuddling you. Oh, and coincidentally, he's your husband... Fuck.

#jonathan crane #the scarecrow #jonathan crane x reader #scarecrow x reader #scarecrow smut #btaa scarecrow #batman rouges #rogue gallery #jonathan crane x you #scarecrow x you

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glimmerbugart · 1 year ago

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What’s Your Word?

Over the years, I’ve tried to come up with a “word of the year” to keep me moving forward in a New Year. Each year it’s been a different word. Some past words that I’ve used are:

Hope

Focus

Organize

Positive

Love

And a few more that if I really think back, they’ll come to me. These words have helped me grasp a “theme” that I want to continue during the 12 months of the year.

My word for 2024 is:

I’d like to spend more time this year “sharing” with others. And I’m really going to focus on sharing my art with others, through happy mail, random acts of kindness, mail art, leave behind pieces and cards. I think it’s a good way to bring positivity to my surroundings and people in my life, as well as those who I have never met.

It used to drive my father nuts when I would make things for people for special occasions, like birthdays, anniversaries or just to be nice. I loved sewing cross stitch patterns, making quilts, drawings and handmade pieces of art in my 20s and would spend hours creating special gifts. Most of these handmade gifts were for close friends and family and since I was in college and my early 20s, I didn’t have a endless amount of cash to blow on gifts for people.

He used to get so irritated because he’d tell me that I should just make things for myself because the people that I was making gifts for and spending all this time on really wouldn’t appreciate the effort and love that was put into something handmade. Yet, I trudged on, continuing to make things for others since that was really all I could afford after paying for college and working as many hours as I could get at my jobs.

And that started to ring true after a while. I started to realize that the handmade pieces that I would spend hours and hours working on, were often just cast aside and that made me feel really unappreciated and shitty. In fact, I can remember back when I worked at JoAnn Fabrics in my early college days, making about $8 an hour. My brother and his girlfriend had just gotten a little black Lab puppy, that I adored and couldn’t get enough of. On one of the delivery trucks, a new supply of fabrics arrived and, wouldn’t you know it, there was a few bolts of cotton fabric that had black Lab puppies on it! So I used a good portion of my paycheck the following week to purchase the fabric to make a “quillow,” which was all the rage back in the 90s. It was a quilt, that folded up into a pillow so you could use it for either purpose. And nice Sandy the fabric lady would stay late at work after we’d close to show me how to make my projects and help me with questions. It took me weeks to work on it! But I was sooo excited to give it to my brother and his chick for Christmas.

Fast forward to after Christmas, after I had painstakingly spent hours and a good amount of money on this project. I’m over at his house and I go to bring the trash outside, and what’s in the trash bin? My beloved “quillow.” Thrown away, like it was a piece of shit. All rumpled up and stuffed into the trash can. I was heartbroken. Sad. Angry.

And that’s when things started to shift for me… slowly. After several other creative projects that I handmade for said brother and now what was his second wife, all ended much with the same demise: The cross stitch that I made with his wedding song and had framed had a photo swapped out, to keep using the frame but the hell with the lyrical cross stitch (which, by the way, was done old school with a recording from the radio and me stopping, starting and pausing as I had to write down the lyrics to that shitty Bryan Adams song). And let’s also not forget the times that I’d be asked to hand make their kids Halloween costumes, fly them down to them in Alabama, only to have the kids decide they changed their minds and didn’t want to wear the costumes that I spent hours and hours on. Yeah, I got burnt out from being shit on by them.

Now that my parents are both gone and I’ve pulled the plug on the sibling relationship (which was the BEST decision I’ve ever made), I’ve gotten back into making things for people that I love and care about, and am pleased to say they appreciate. It’s nice seeing and hearing appreciative comments from the recipients, and makes me realize that I was simply focusing my maker energy on the wrong goddamn people!

So now, with it being a new year, my word is SHARE. And I am excited to start sharing more of my art with those around me!

What’s your word for 2024?

#2024 word of the year #Art projects #art studio littleton ma #Glimmerbug Handmade Art #art studio harvard ma

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mypoisonedvine · 4 years ago

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Spoiled | Bruce Banner x reader

(semi-sequel to my fic sugar, but you don’t need to read that to understand this!)

summary: it’s the first time you’ve had your boyfriend all to yourself for Christmas, and he makes sure it’s a holiday you’ll never forget.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: smut!!, infidelity (bruce is married, guys), wedding ring kink, damage to a very expensive dress (lol), daddy kink, sugar daddy relationship

Normally, Christmas is reserved for the wife, as it ought to be. But this year, Bruce had surprised you with a promise: you could finally spend Christmas day with your boyfriend. You weren’t sure exactly how he got out of spending the holiday with his wife, but he’d picked you up a few days before and driven you to a gorgeous secluded cabin somewhere upstate. Obviously you assumed it was a rental, so the fact that he’d bought it along with the four acres it laid on was a bit of a shock. Still, you were beyond giddy to have a few days alone with him, cuddling up in the big warm bed and admiring the snow-laden forest just outside the windows.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmured against your skin as you just started to wake up— and yes, you remembered that it was Christmas day. Any day spent waking up in his arms was a good one, Christmas or not.

“Merry Christmas,” you greeted in return as you spun around to kiss him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, pretty girl,” he chuckled as he slid your legs off of him, “don’t you wanna get up and open your presents?”

You rolled your eyes because of course he had to get you something, even when you told him not to. "I don't need any presents, Bruce, just having you here today is enough."

"Couldn't help myself. You're so easy to shop for, you look good in everything. Besides, I like dressing you up almost as much as I like undressing you."

“So it’s something to wear?” you deduced.

“Just get up and get ready, okay?”

You nodded and slipped out from under the quilt, dashing to the bathroom to splash your face, brush your teeth, and maybe throw on a little makeup so you wouldn’t look like you’d just woken up when you had, in fact, just woken up.

Slipping on a red plaid robe, you returned to the living room and found Bruce lounging beside the tree in his fuzzy house pants, distractingly shirtless. As much as you were compelled to kneel down and bury your fingers in that black curly hair that deliciously blanketed his chest, your attention was redirected to the long, flat box in his hands.

“Open it,” he encouraged as he handed it to you, circling around to stand behind you and stroke your arms as you gently tore the paper open. It was just a white cardboard box underneath, lacking in any labels so you had to pop the top off to see the garment inside. "You like Balmain, right?" he asked softly with a smile.

It was gorgeous; silk, it felt like, in a deep forest green that was almost festive in a way. "Bruce this is…" you trailed off, dropping the box and holding the dress at the shoulders, letting the fabric unfurl and spill down until you could see the whole dress. "This is too nice. I can't let you spend this much on me."

"Oh, it wasn't that expensive," he lied, "now go try it on."

You started to protest, but he cut you off with a kiss, resting his hand on the back of your neck and pulling you closer. You melted into his arms instantly, completely forgetting where you were and what you’d been talking about as your eyes fluttered shut and your lips slotted against his. When he pulled back, you were barely aware of what he was talking about when he whispered: “go try it on.”

“The dress!” you remembered. “I’ll be right back.”

You didn’t really need to leave the room to get dressed, he’d seen you naked plenty of times, but you figured it would make the grand reveal that much more exciting. Just putting it on made your skin all tingly, the soft fabric making you shiver as it brushed against you so delicately. The mirror wasn’t super helpful, too small to see how you looked past your shoulders, so you decided that you’d have to trust that you looked as good as you felt.

Seeing your heels just a few feet away, you dashed to grab them; they would perfectly complete the look, because it would be kind of odd to wear Balmain while barefoot. Sure, they were a bit uncomfortable, but it was worth it to see him turn around to the sound of your clicking heels, his jaw nearly hitting the floor as he watched you step closer. “What do you think?” you asked shyly.

He got up and approached you, his expression heavy with desire and making you shiver. He knelt down before you, looking up at you with dark eyes as he slowly— excruciatingly slowly— pushed up the skirt of your dress, his thick, rough fingers tickling your thighs.

You just had a thong underneath, lacy and delicate, meaning you felt it all too well when he licked you through the fabric.

"Ffffuck," you sighed, "Bruce, baby…"

"Y'like that, pretty girl?"

You nodded breathlessly, trying not to let your knees buckle when he did it again, reaching down to dig your fingers into his hair. "Don't stop, daddy, please."

He did stop, but only for a moment so he could gently hook a finger under the fabric and pull your panties aside, his hot breath tickling the sensitive skin of your mound. Finally, his lips latched onto your swollen clit, and you moaned lowly.

You were normally pretty good at standing in heels, but this posed a new challenge.

When he found a pattern of sucking your clit, fucking you with his tongue, and doing this positively obscene thing with his teeth that you couldn't describe but made your knees weak, you were soon barreling towards the point of no return. "Bruce, fuck, I'm close— gonna come, please let me come…"

He only nodded, not stopping his work for even a moment, and you clutched his curls tightly as your hips rocked against his face.

"Daddy, daddy, daddy," you chanted breathlessly as the coil finally snapped, a new gush of warmth spreading between your legs as you quivered above him. Your vision went black for just a second, head thrown back into a silent moan as you held your breath until all your noises broke forth all at once, somewhere between a scream and a sob and a sigh.

"Fuck, such a good girl for me," he purred, giving your sore clit one last luck before he instructed: "get on the bed," encouraging you with a little shove back towards it.

You spun to face away from him and get on your hands and knees atop the plushy mattress. Your face heated up as you heard him laugh. "I meant on your back, princess. God, you're a slut."

Embarrassed but aware that his words were more a compliment than anything else, you rolled onto your back and spread your legs as he climbed on top of you and slotted his body between them, shedding himself of his pajama pants until his thick cock bounced back up to slap against his stomach. You bit down on your lip, wishing he'd given you a chance to put that cock in your mouth (because it looked fucking delicious) but losing that train of thought as he ran his hands all over your body through the silky fabric of his gift to you.

Suddenly, with a deep growl, he grabbed the dress at the neckline and ripped it open right down the front. "Bruce!" you yelped in protest; your heart broke for the expensive dress destroyed, but your thighs clenched together at the sight of him tearing through it like paper.

"I'll buy you a new one," he sighed flippantly before diving in to roughly grope your breasts, littering your chest with kisses and stopping to teasingly suck your nipples along the way.

"Daddy," you whimpered, "please fuck me."

"Not gonna make you wait much longer, babygirl," he promised, "just tell me you love me."

It made your chest tighten and your cheeks warm, but you were happy to oblige. "I love you," you whispered.

"Once more, with feeling," he requested.

"I love you," you said again, a little louder.

He grinned, hovering over you as he pushed his cock down to slip inside you. You gasped and clutched the sheets beneath you as he moved deeper, his lips catching yours in a slow kiss. "I love you too," he replied gently before he began to fuck you in a way that was… anything but gentle.

"Fuck," you sobbed, wanting more than anything to arch your back and throw your head into the pillow, but you couldn't with your lip caught between his teeth.

You'd adjusted to his cock quite a bit since the first time you hooked up with him nearly two years ago, and yet it still felt like he was stretching you impossibly wide as he fucked you hard and deep. You figured at this point that you would never become fully accustomed to his size; you sort of hoped you wouldn't, because you liked the edge of pain that danced up your spine each time he entered you. When he hooked your leg in his arms, lifting it to rest his shoulder, he pushed even deeper and you whined beneath his heavy weight.

"So deep," you whispered.

"I know, baby," he whispered back. "You feel so fucking good, princess…"

It was impossible to keep track of the flow of time at that point, so it couldn’t been minutes or hours that he spent inside you, taking you apart perfectly piece-by-piece. You couldn’t keep track of how many times you came, either, aware only of an overload of sensations coming at your body from every angle.

He kissed you as he reached his own peak, mumbling your name somewhere between the movements of his lips against yours until you felt like you were floating just from the way he said it. You stayed that way for longer than you expected while he caught his breath, before he rolled off of you and you both sighed as you stared up at the ceiling.

"Fuck," he groaned, "that was… intense."

"That's rich coming from you, considering I'm the one that just got my cervix pummeled."

"I wasn't too hard on you, was I?"

"God no, it was amazing," you laughed, "but still… damn."

"I don't know about you but I worked up quite an appetite," he grinned. "I'm gonna get up and make blueberry pancakes, you want some?"

"Do you even need to ask?" you smirked, and he leaned in to give you a quick peck on the lips before he slipped on his pants again and dashed off to the kitchen.

As far as Christmas mornings go, you weren't sure it could get much better than an expensive gift, getting dicked down like it was the end of the world, and blueberry pancakes.

#bruce banner x reader #bruce banner smut #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x y/n

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imaginesupply · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming - Chapter Three

(Gif's not my own.)

Summary: The day has arrived, Captain Syverson is going home. For good, this time. He is going home to a civilian life he can hardly remember and a wife he barely knows, with memories of the war still fresh on his mind. Love might not be able to heal everything on its own, but it’s a good start.

Genres: Romance, drama.

Story warnings: Smut (always fully consensual), mentions of PTSD and nightmares and mental health, angst, hurt and comfort, fluff, mentions of war (minor), mentions of cheating (minor), mentions of pregnancy (very minor), police appearance (very minor), violence (very minor).

Notes:

It’s my first time writing for one of Henry’s characters and I’m unsure I did Sy’s character any justice.

This is a Capt. Syverson x OFC (Ada) story, written in 3rd person POV but OFC’s physical description is very limited so it could also be read as Capt. Syverson x Reader, I think.

English is not my first language, so there might be some mistakes. Proofread, but not beta’ed. We die like men and all that.

Timeline is a little wacky: The movie takes place in 2003 and the U.S. forces were withdrawn from Iraq in 2011, but I never set a precise date because I don’t think it’s essential for this story. However, some elements might not be realistic because if we set this story in 2003: Phone cameras quality was not as good as it’s now, but for the purpose of the chapters, I will need you to imagine you could film great videos with your flip phone haha. Plus, it says Sy is coming back after being deployed for more than three years which makes no sense unless we set this in 2006 or later. I am asking you disregard any time inconsistencies.

Also: I am not American. I only lived in the US for six months and it was in the Midwest, not Texas so please bear with me if I write something stupid.

Finally: This will be a Christmas fic and I intend to post the last chapter (there will be seven in total) on or before Christmas. However, religion is never mentioned in this story and the Christmas-sy elements of this story are limited to family gathering, gift giving and tree decorating.

Chapter Three starts after the cut. (Chapter Two can be found here.) Let me know if you wish to be tagged in future chapters or if you wish to be removed from the tag list.

Chapter Three

Chapter warnings: Smut, alcohol consumption (moderate), mentions of contraception and of pregnancy.

I think that’s it, but this chapter killed my brain – it was very difficult to write and I feel like I botched it. There are various important moments in this chapter that I found very hard to translate from my brain into words. And the smut, oh my God, it’s so bad!

"You know, when you came to me all bossy and told me to lose my clothes, I had something a lot different in mind." Sy grumbled from the bed, where he was sat wearing nothing but boxer briefs.

Ada laughed and turned around, sticking out her tongue at him before going back to what she was doing, namely sorting through Sy's clothes in the walk-in closet. She slid a pair of jeans off its hangers and threw it at him without looking back. "I admit that I probably don't need as many clothes as I own, but you're definitely a minimalist."

Sy grunted noncommittally, he was not amused, but tried on the jeans all the same. They didn't fit, he couldn't pull them up past the thighs. "Hey darlin'," he called her, a hint of amusement audible in his voice.

She turned around at the pet name and then forced herself not to laugh at the sight in front of her. Sy had already been a burly man when they had met, but it seemed he had managed to gain even more muscle mass in the past few months, now looking like an absolute bear of a man. Ada grinned and tilted her head at the cardboard box at the end of the bed. "Put those in the donation pile."

"Yes, ma'am," Sy said, getting up and doing as asked.

Ada grabbed her small pencil and added another item to the list. "So, you need jeans, new boots, sweatshirts, t-shirts..." She went on, listing the items. What he needed was a whole new wardrobe and she was the woman for the mission.

Turning around, she found Sy rolling his eyes at her. "I ain't need no new t-shirts, woman. I got the black one, the red one and the khaki one."

Ada chuckled and approached him on the bed, coming to stand between his legs. It was unusual for her to be taller than him, and with him sitting on the bed and her standing up, she still didn't have that much of an advantage. With a grin, she leaned forward and kissed his forehead before pulling back to look into his eyes. Instinctively, almost an automatism, his hands found purchase on her hips.

"Last time you wore your red 'DILLIGAF' t-shirt, three separate kids stopped and asked you what the acronym stood for and you looked at me for help."

Sy held her gaze, not keen on losing the staring contest. Ada didn't want to relent but she didn't want to force him either, not after what had happened while grocery shopping. "It's okay if you really don't want to go, I won't for-"

Sy shook his head, silencing her before she could even finish. "Let's get this shopping over with. But I'm warning you: I'll be complaining the whole time."

For a moment, Ada pursed her lips, seemingly unconvinced but eventually her frown was replaced with a grin. "I would expect nothing else from you, grumpy bear," she teased before turning around, excited about the task at hand.

Sy left to get dressed but not before landing a playful smack on her ass.

°°°

It went just as Ada had imagined. Sy sat down on the sofa at the far end of the store, keeping everything in sight, and she would occasionally come up to him with suggestions. To an onlooker, they resembled a devout worshipper trying to make offerings to a very picky and very handsome god.

His replies to the items she presented to him went anywhere from 'no' to 'not a chance in hell', without forgetting the classic 'you lost your mind, darlin’'.

After visiting three stores and Ada trying to visually guess his size because Sy absolutely refused to try out any of the clothes, they had managed to get most of what he needed. It just turned out to be near recreations of the clothes he already owned, just bigger and newer. And with more child friendly texts.

They stopped for coffee by the center of the open-air mall. True to himself, Sy ordered just that - a coffee with 'none of the fancy shit'.

"You're sure you don't want to go to any of your stores?" Sy asked, watching her sip on her colorful drink.

Well, the idea was tempting but she already had more candles and blankets than necessary. And she knew he was uneasy even if he was hiding it well. "No, it's okay. I know you don't like shopping and I can just ask some friends if I really want to go." Sy hummed.

By the time Ada finished her season exclusive drink, she noticed Sy was staring at a shop window. She was almost excited that he was finally interested in buying clothes before noticing that it was some video game advertisement.

"You can buy the game, if you want. No need to stare," she teased.

He reverted his attention back to her. "It's only compatible with the new console that came out last month and that one's sold out." Ada started beaming as he spoke. "What?"

"Well... a few months ago, I came across the launch announcement on the Internet. And I had seen the old model in the study, so I knew you liked it and since you were coming home soon..."

Sy's eyes became even bluer for a moment, a huge grin threatening to illuminate his face. "Are you saying that...?"

Ada laughed, shaking her head. He looked like a kid on Christmas Day. "Yes. It's wrapped in gift paper in the basement under the utility sink."

"I love you, wife."

Again, she scoffed. "Yeah, yeah... Now let's go get you that damn game."

°°°

Later that day, or rather night, Sy wasn't even paying attention to the movie they, or rather, she was watching. He had gotten the gist of it - superheroes teaming up together to save the world - that sufficed him. His focus was entirely on his wife nested between his legs, her back resting against his chest.

When they got home from the mall and went to sort through his clothes and belongings, finally unpacking the rest of his duffel bag, Ada came across his dog tags. She asked if she could keep them. Sy frowned at the odd request but agreed nonetheless, shrugging dismissively.

Ada then proceeded to put the chain around her neck and slide the tags under her blouse. He had stared at her a little confused; she was smiling, looking all smug as if she had managed to trick him out of something valuable and not just two cheap metal tags hanging off an equally cheap chain.

"The fact that I get to have both your tags means I am very lucky to have gotten you back alive and in one piece. I don't want to ever forget that."

With his height advantage, even sitting behind her, Sy could see the chain disappearing under her pajamas and the tags resting in the valley of her breasts. Somehow, the sight made him feel even more possessive than the wedding band on her ring finger.

Things always had felt slightly uncertain with Ada, there had always been the shadow of a doubt in his mind when it came to her. They had gotten married on a whim and she knew he was a green beret, deployed most of the time. It's an entirely different thing to marry someone you get to see for a couple of weeks every once in a blue moon and to actually live, share a home with someone. When Sy had told her, he was coming home for good over the phone, he had half expected her to ask him for a divorce or to find himself alone at the airport. His face hadn't shown it, but when Ada put on the damn chain he had hated wearing in the goddamn desert where it would chafe his nape or get tangled in his chest hairs, Sy felt as happy as a sand boy.

She seemed honest when she said there was nothing going on with that Tom guy. Not that he could truly blame her if there was, even if it would have broken him. His parents had been married for over thirty-five years and his mom found a new boyfriend not even two years after his father's passing.

And yet, Ada was there, cuddling with him on the couch. She hadn't served him with divorce papers upon his arrival. Instead, they had spent the past few days pretty much glued together as they usually did when he was on leave.

Maybe it was time he started to believe that he had come home to his wife and she really wasn't going anywhere. Especially since she hadn't asked him to wear a condom ever since he got home and he hadn't seen her contraceptive pills on her nightstand either. Sy even checked the bathroom cabinet where he knew she kept some medication, but he didn't find anything there either. This morning, he had even considered asking her about it, but he figured that if she hadn't mentioned anything so far, it was because she wanted it to be a surprise and he didn't want to ruin it. Though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't going to be checking the same cabinet for pregnancy tests in the future.

"You good?" Ada asked as the film came to an end, tilting her head back but only getting a view of his beard. It made her smile, though. Sy really was her bear: big, strong and hairy.

"Yeah, I just," he stammered slightly as if waking up from his thoughts. "I was thinking we should probably change the stairs' railing into something safer before we have kids running up and down."

"Yep, that's not gonna happen," Ada chipped in, jumping off the couch before starting to fold the blanket.

"What?" Sy blurted out, turning all his attention to her. "The railing or the kids?"

"The kids," she replied nonchalantly, now laying the blanket in the basket by the sofa. "If you want to redo the stairs, that's fine. I think we could even paint them white."

In a second, Sy was up on his feet, his imposing stature crowding her. "What do you mean, that ain't happening? You don't want kids?"

Ada frowned, suddenly uncomfortable at his intense stare. "No.”

"Why did you never tell me?"

"Why did you assume kids were a given?" Ada retorted, taking a few steps back to put some distance between them. "I figured that if it was important to you, you'd have mentioned it sooner, at some point at least."

Sy had to fight the urge to yell at her, the feeling of betrayal and even anger overwhelming him. If he never spoke of it before, it was because he didn't want to have kids while he was deployed and miss their first years. Instead, he forced himself to calm down, taking a deep breath. "Is that a not now or a not ever?"

Ada looked away for a second, gathering her thoughts before moving her eyes back to him. "I got a new Mirena coil a couple of months ago, so I'm set for the next three years at least."

He had no idea what the fuck a 'Mirena coil' was supposed to be but it wasn't hard to figure out. Instinctively, his hand went to the back of head, raking through his short hair. "Just to be clear, Ada," Sy paused, his nostrils flaring, "you don't want children?"

It didn't even take her a second to start regretting her counter after it came out. "Do you?" She snapped back, the enunciation of the 'you' harsher than she had intended.

The effect was instant, her question giving him pause. Did he? Now reflecting on it, Sy realized he had never asked himself that question. It was just something that you did. First you got a house, then you found a wife and started a family. He had never thought about it as an option, just as the next step if he was lucky enough not to die in Iraq.

"I'm so sorry," Ada apologized, her tone alone expressing her regret. She took his hand, forcing him to look at her only to find her eyes glistening as she attempted not to cry. "I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't questioning your parenting skills. I know you'd make a fantastic father, Sy." Her eyes closed as she took a deep breath before opening them again, their corners wet with tears this time. "I just never saw myself having kids, but if it's something you really -"

"I ain't gonna force you to start a family with me," Sy rebuffed, offended at the very thought. The abruption of it even making Ada smile, if only briefly.

She shook her head quickly. "What I meant was that if you want to be a father, then I wish for you to become one. But... I won't be a part of that scenario."

"No." He said, dismissing the idea as soon as she voiced it, catching her hands in his and stilling them midair when she started gesticulating instead.

"No, this is important!" Ada protested. "I want you to be happy, Sy. And I won't stand in the way of your happiness. You deserve to live the life you want and if that includes a family -"

"No." Sy ordered, his tone final and resolute, silencing her instantly. He had never used this voice with her in the past, usually reserving it for the soldiers in his unit. "Stop with that ridiculous suggestion, woman." Ada blinked. It was obvious in her eyes that she wanted to argue but she didn't dare defy his hard stare.

Sy closed his eyes and swallowed, searching for the right words. "The choice between having kids with some other woman or getting to be with you, is a damn easy one. I'd rather we be a family of two than have children with some woman I could never love."

She was crying again, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. Had he said something wrong? Ada didn't let him wonder for too long, her hand fisting in his t-shirt to pull him down to her lips for a ravenous kiss, their teeth clicking together.

"You know," Ada breathed out against his lips once they parted for air. "It doesn't have to be just the two of us. I am partial to pets."

Later in bed, with his sleeping wife snoring softly and her head resting on his chest, Sy tried to process their conversation only to realize there wasn't much to process at all. It didn't feel that much like giving up on a dream, as it felt like defining the contours his future with Ada. All that mattered to him was that it was a future with the woman whose contagious laugh he had manifested in his mind time and time again to drown out the sound of gunfire and make it through. Children might have been a bonus, he wouldn’t deny that, but their absence was something he could live with. He couldn’t same the thing about Ada.

°°°

"Got your," Sy paused, frowning as he read off the label, entering the kitchen, "Willamette Valley Pinot noir. How many do you need?"

Ada looked away from the oven to find him carrying four bottles of her favorite wine. Did he think they were drunkheads? "Do you want for Tom to have to spend the night here because we're all over the legal alcohol limit and unable to drive?" She laughed.

Sy grimaced. "One bottle it is," he announced, making her laugh all the harder as he set down a single bottle on the table that was already set before casting away the other bottles in the pantry - where they did not, in fact, belong.

Just as was his habit, Sy sneaked up on his wife as she leaned over the kitchen counter, putting away the remaining ingredients and hugged her back to him with one arm. He then dipped a finger in the jar she had filled with leftover caramel and brought it to mouth.

She gasped at his manners. "You can't just stick your fingers in everything that's sweet and lick it off, Sy," Ada chided. She heard it as soon as the words left her mouth, but it was too late.

A deep laugh rumbled in his chest behind her. "Can't I?" Sy goaded her mockingly.

Ada took a deep breath. She knew where this was headed and they didn't have time. It was primordial her pie didn't overcook, and Tom would be there soon. "You know what I meant," she groaned, attempting to sound annoyed but he could hear the smile in her voice.

"Do I?" He whispered against her ear, his beard tickling her skin and his warm breath making her shiver as he slid his hand under her skirt until he was cupping her damp sex over her panties. "Are you certain about that, darlin'?"

Her hands held on to the counter and her eyes closed as he started rubbing his hand along her folds over the fabric. He was also beginning to harden behind at an impressive rate. The temptation made her whimper. "We don't have time," Ada protested, even as her head fell back against him and she leaned into his touch, silently begging for more as she not-so innocently ground her ass on his crotch.

A swift glance at the clock on the wall told him all he needed to know. They had seven minutes. It would have to be enough, Sy decided. Time being of the essence, he was determined not to waste any.

“Open up your legs for your captain, darlin’,” he rasped, his nose nuzzling in the shallow of her neck, his hands already busy bunching up the soft fabric of her skirt around her waist.

“Sy,” Ada lightheartedly protested his eagerness. The idea was certainly enticing but they truly didn’t have time and she really needed to keep an eye on the pie. “We can’t-“

“I said, open your legs,” he repeated, gritting out the words as his foot snuck between her ankles, forcing her legs open himself. Sy barely had to apply any pressure, Ada complied instantly at his tone. There were very few situations in which she let him boss her around and this was one of them.

His hands brushed over her naked thighs, enjoying the way she shivered as he did so. Sliding his fingers higher up her inner legs, Sy expertly slid the scanty lace of her thong aside in order to access her clit. Ada keened under his touch, the rough skin of his finger pads slowly circling her already swollen nub. She couldn’t decide between pressing into his touch or attempting to pull away from it; it was both too little and too much all at once. “Already so wet and I’ve barely done anything to you,” he teased, hoping to sound less worked up than he was. Sy was set on keeping the upper hand. “Tell me, what is it that you want, darlin’?”

Ada whined as he removed his fingers from her core, his hands going to her hips instead and pulling her to him, letting her feel how hard he was for her. His wife reacted by rubbing her ass against him, determined to get what she wanted without having to voice it. “Sy,” she complained when he didn’t bite the bait, still grinding on him, surely getting his jeans wet with her slick.

“That’s not how it works, darlin’,” he chastised, going back to teasing her. His touch was ghostlike, too light to provide any real satisfaction and she groaned in frustration. “You have to ask for it like a good girl.”

He felt her body tense up against his as she tried chasing the friction of his fingers where she wanted them most, but Sy drew away before she could. “I swear to God I am going to make you regret-“

Smack. Ada gasped at the sharp spank on her ass, her body bending over the counter at the impact. Her ass was just too tempting in this position and Sy was running out of patience. “Ask like a good girl,” he ordered between gritted teeth, his hand descending to palm his crotch, hoping for some relief. Her little stunt was turning him on more than it should have.

“God, Sy, just fuck me already!” She sobbed, her legs rubbing together out of their own volition but her husband stayed put, rubbing his palm of his covered cock as he watched her. He wasn’t going to give up any time soon, she realized with a strangled sigh. “Please fuck me, captain,” she whispered, relenting.

Within a second, Sy was unbuckling his belt and pulling down his zipper. His cock was red, hard and throbbing impatiently. With time running out, Sy pushed himself into her without a warning. Ada whined at the stretch, gripping at the flour covered kitchen counter as one of his hands grabbed hold of her hips, the other moving to her breast. Then he started ploughing into her like there was no tomorrow.

Ada kept whimpering his name, but even she didn’t know what it was she was asking for. Her hips were digging into the cold stone and she knew there would be bruises come morning. He had barely started fucking her and she was already beginning to tense up with how worked up she was. “Are you gonna cum for me, darlin’?” Sy grunted, his jaw tense as her inner muscles clenched all around his cock. Ada nodded meekly, unable to speak. Just when he was starting to doubt he’d be able to hold off long enough for her to climax, Ada cried out, her tight walls milking him as she came. Sy exploded inside her with a strangled groan, slowly coming to a still inside her.

The doorbell rang. At seven o’clock on the dot.

"Fucking Brits and their punctuality!" Sy cursed, still panting before pulling away from her and tepidly leaving her warmth. Ada chuckled at his reaction, holding onto the counter for support for a few more seconds until she felt somewhat steady on her feet.

Sy tucked himself back into his pants and she adjusted her skirt over her thighs again before letting out a panicked squeak and turning around. Her front was covered in the flour she has spread on counter for the pie and the white handprint on her breast where he had held on to her was very visible on her black blouse. Sy couldn't keep himself from laughing. She looked great if you asked him, especially since Tom would be going to see just how well he took care of her. "I'll go get changed and you get the door!"

°°°

Sy’s eyes widened, positively surprised as he brought the first forkful of boeuf bourguignon to his mouth. The dish hadn’t appeared particularly appetizing on the plate, but it tasted so much better than it looked. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Ada glancing at him with an ‘I told you so’ smirk.

“I received a new shipment of books at the store today,” Tom told Ada in between bites. He owned a bookstore downtown, Sy had learnt. “There’s a new murder mystery I’m sure you’ll love.”

Ada stilled, a look of excitement washing over her face. “Is there… poison?”

Tom laughed. He had expected that question from her. “Ah, yes. And it’s set in the 1920s!”

Sy glanced from the one to the other, forcing himself not to sigh. Ada’s excitement was adorable, but Tom was grating on his nerves. All the conversation so far had been about novels they’d read recently.

“Please tell me that you saved me a copy.” Ada shrieked enthusiastically, prompting Tom to laugh before he suddenly producer a hardcover out of seemingly thin air. As if she was scared that he was only taunting her with it, Ada leaned over the table and snatched the book out of his hand, a smug look on her face before she started reading the back cover. Sy looked at her and chuckled, shaking his head fondly at her almost childish elation.

"So, where did you two meet?" Tom asked, shifting his attention to Sy. "Ada always told me that it was a story for another time."

Sy's grip tightened on his cutlery. Admittedly, the strong animosity toward the man had faded, but he was still not keen on making conversation with the man. "Here in Austin," Sy replied before going back to his food. Ada had to stifle a laugh at the face Tom made at the curt answer.

"I'll tell you," she offered, capturing Tom's attention. "I had just graduated with my Masters and managed to land a PhD position here in Austin. I was freshly debarked out of France and I was only to start to start mid January but I flew over in December already - wanting to fly with my own wings and all that." Tom chuckled as she gestured derisively with the story.

"Anyway, I hadn't found a flat yet, all my stuff was in a storage unit and I had the brilliant idea of going to Vegas. On my own. In a 1979 black Camaro rental."

Sy finally looked up from his plate. "It was from 1980 and it was dark gray, not black, darling’."

Ada found herself staring curiously at her husband as he interrupted her story before laughing. That's what it took to get him to talk?

"So, it was a 1979, dark gray Camaro,” Ada correctly herself. “Anyway, obviously it did not have a navigation system and I stopped at one of the few open bars open at 5pm on Christmas Eve, ordered a beer and tried making sense of the maps I found in the glovebox, making a list of the different exits and turns I would have to make.

"Sy was there drinking with some friends – loud friends, might I add. Well, I am struggling with the maps and he must notice because he approaches me at the counter, takes of his cap and asks me if I need help, in his southern drawl. Actually, no wait, his exact words were” Ada paused, clearing her voice. “’Need some help reading that map, darling?'" Tom laughed at her ridiculous attempt to imitate Sy’s baritone voice. To Ada's surprise, Sy blushed. It was barely visible beneath his beard, but it was there and it was the cutest thing she had ever seen.

"I looked down at the map she was studying and asked her if she was headed somewhere on the east coast. She then slowly looked at me and confidently told me she was going to Nevada, until I pointed out that she was highlighting the road that went East and her face burned up, all self-conscious." Sy recounted, now laughing as well and even Tom scoffed. " I said: ‘At this point, even a navigation system can’t help you, darlin’. You’d need an escort.”

Ada bit her lip, remembering that moment clearly in her mind. She had flushed, staring at the muscular man that towered next to her. He was burly and rugged and yet still exhaled a little softness behind it all. 'Well then, will you be my escort to Vegas? I am leaving tonight,' she had blurted out before she could stop herself.

"I cannot believe you drove from Austin to Las Vegas with a stranger, Ada!" Tom said teasingly, clearly surprised by his friend’s spontaneity and recklessness.

"Yes, I made him miss Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his family, and the best part is that we got married the day we reached Vegas on New Year’s Eve.” They had stopped a few times along the way, visited some towns and she had only known Sy for seven days when we got hitched at the kitschiest chapel imaginable. “We had to hurry to get a marriage license before the courthouse closed and a half-naked dude officiated because everyone else was already booked.”

Sy chuckled, sitting back against his chair and wrapping his arm around Ada's shoulders possessively. "She made me wear my old uniform that lasted all of fifteen minutes and was presided by an officer dressed as a cherub." He gestured at the framed picture standing on the cupboard next to them.

They looked absolutely ridiculous. Sy's uniform made him look too serious next to a tipsy Ada who wore the only white dress she had been able to find on such short notice and that definitely hadn’t been meant for a wedding because it turned out to be partly see-through under the camera flashes.

Ada shared some more stories about Vegas before excusing herself to the bathroom, the conversation instantly dying out as she disappeared, leaving both men in an uncomfortable silence until Sy’s curiosity got to him.

"So, you and her...?" Sy left his question unfinished. He wasn't sure what exactly it was that he was asking, he just wanted to know all there was to know.

In front of him, Tom gracefully dabbed him mouth with the ivory napkin and shook his head, with a tight smile. "No, nothing of the sort," the Englishman replied dismissively before Sy's inquiring stare forced him to expound. "It's not that I didn't think of pursuing something more with her, but Ada made it very clear from the beginning that she was a married woman and a faithful wife."

Sy hummed noncommittally, though internally he was reassured and maybe even elated. Mike had really filled his head with shit. Deep down, he always knew his Ada wasn't like that, it just felt good to hear it.

"My wife, for whom I left England, passed away only two months before Ada and I met. I was going through a rough patch then - and that's a euphemism. Carla had been talking to me about watching a particular film ever since it had been announced, it was an adaptation of her favorite novel." Tom explained, a smile warming up his features. "When she died before it premiered, I wasn't even sure if I even wanted to watch it without her... But the tickets had already been purchased and part of me hoped that for two hours, it would feel like Carla was sitting right next to me."

Sy listened, feeling sympathetic, if not a little uncomfortable by the man’s openness. He still wanted to dislike Tom but at the same time he couldn't imagine the wreck he'd be if Ada were to die on him.

"The cinema was packed and to accommodate a large group, Ada asked whether I minded if she sat down next to me,” Tom paused briefly, smiling at the memory. “I think it was listening to her laugh, cry and eat popcorn next to me during the movie that gave me the strength to drive home instead of off a cliff that night."

Sy gulped down the rest of his wine, still not a fan of the taste as he faced the Englishman before him. Not that he would ever say it out loud, but if he had failed to make it alive out of that godforsaken desert, he had to concede Tom would not have been the worst for Ada.

Silence fell again and Sy became uncomfortable, deciding to pour Tom some more wine. “I am glad Ada and you were there for each other.” When I should’ve been there for her myself but wasn’t, Sy thought but left it unsaid.

Tom chuckled as he observed the burly man in front of him. For all his muscles and gruff exterior, he carried the slightest of insecurities when it came to his wife. "There's a thick silver notebook Ada has kept for a couple of years. Maybe you should have a look at it.”

Sy wanted to ask what he was talking about but was interrupted by the sound of Ada's high heels clicking on the wooden floor as she made her way back to them. "I hope you weren't talking ill of me behind my back," she teased, squeezing Sy's shoulder absentmindedly. "Now, who's ready for my slightly overcooked tarte tatin.” Ada eyed her husband pointedly.

#henry cavill smut #syverson smut #henry cavill x reader #syverson x reader #henry cavill x ofc #syverson x ofc

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slashscowboyboots · 4 years ago

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The Blackboard Jungle: All I Want For Christmas Is You (Part 4)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Izzy tweeted! And in celebration, here’s the final part of this fic

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket @no-stone-no-bone @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands @smokeandmirrorz @sodalitefully @roger-taylors-car @harley-m-rose @whisperess33 @shawolat @80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: the f-bomb, total holiday fluff

You wound your way through the department store, dodging people and wanting to puke from all the Christmas music as you searched for your mother a nice gift. She was the last one you had to buy for, and you wanted to get her just the perfect thing this year.

I think she has plenty of snow globes, you thought, absentmindedly turning one upside down and watching the glitter float down, then heard someone call your name.

You turned and looked into the grinning face of Miss Peterson, Patti’s third-grade teaching cohort.

“Hiiiii, doll,” she chirped.

“Hello, Cindy, how are you?”

“Oh, I’m just great. Are you shopping for your boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend? I don’t-”

“Patti told me all about it. I mean, well she made a long post on Instagram, how the two of you had been friends for so long, good friends, at least she was to you, and you chose that Jeff Isbell over the happiest day of her life-”

“Did she really?” you snapped. “Well, since the two of you are so close, please tell her I said, ‘Merry Christmas.’” And go fuck yourselves, you thought, deciding your mother would enjoy a very nice pair of diamond earrings.

It was unbelievable to you, how you and Jeff were the names on everyone’s lips anymore, especially since it was all so mistaken. It was heartbreaking how everyone thought you were a couple, when you were simply coworkers who were also close friends.

Of course, you were never able to get him out of your head, especially since the Thanksgiving program. Your combined classes had first traced their hands and colored their drawings in, decorating their turkey pictures with feathers and googly eyes (you stifled a laugh watching the Harrison twins hungrily eyeing the paste, and snorted when you saw Jeff leaping over a chair with his gangly legs to glue their turkey eyes down himself) and enjoying their lunches together.

He had excused himself during the break, and you paused while eating your sandwich, thinking about how really good he was as a teacher, how he never once talked down to the kids or lost his patience with them. He always had time to listen to them, hanging onto their every word.

And they loved him in return, every single one of them showing them their turkeys the second they finished them, and the amount of praise he heaped on their artwork made you smile.

Putting away your lunch bag with a sigh, you looked up just in time to see a six foot tall turkey, complete with wattles, standing in the doorway of your classroom. His tail feathers were so impressive he had to turn sideways just to make it through the doorway.

The children erupted in cheers, and Mr. Isbell strode in and fanned his plumage to their great delight, then announced that if they all quieted down, he would read to them, “Bear Gives Thanks.” After he closed the book, he asked them what they all were thankful for.

He got various answers, from “my new puppy” to “my dad got a new job.” But the one that stood out the most was from Cicely Brown. She raised her hand and said in a quiet voice, “Mr. Isbell, I’m thankful for a teacher like you.”

Tears pooled in his eyes, and you heard a catch in his voice when he whispered, “Thank you.” He turned around (well, awkwardly walked in a circle to turn around) to you and asked, “Miss Y/L/N, what are you thankful for?”

“Hmmm. I’m thankful for friends. And I’m thankful for every person that’s in this room.”

His eyes met yours, his smoldering gaze still able to buckle your knees. “Me too.”

“But I don’t want to be an elf.”

“Oh, c’mon, Y/N, I went and got an elf costume just for you. Where’s your Christmas spirit?”

You put your hands on your hips and pouted. “I have plenty of Christmas spirit. Why can’t I be Mrs. Claus?”

“Because she doesn’t hand out candy canes. She stays home and entertains strange men while Santa works all night.”

“Oh, she does not!” You smacked Jeff’s arm, shaking your head. He really was going to talk you into this getup, wasn’t he?”

You took it from him and he said, “Hurry up and get changed. I need you to help me put on the Santa suit.”

“Why do you need help?” you called from the coatroom, pulling your green and red striped tights on.

“Because I make a skinny Santa, and I have to hold the belly while you button the jacket.”

When you came out, he had already changed into his Santa pants and boots and was sitting at your desk expectantly holding a pillow over his chest and stomach.

“Jeff, you really should eat more if you want to wear this suit,” you laughed, buttoning the buttons over his padded belly.

He made a face, and you said, “What?”

“Nobody calls me Jeff except for my mom.”

“What do they call you?” you asked, puzzled.

“Izzy. Or Iz, if you’re into the whole brevity thing.” He buckled his belt as all the wind left you, then he slapped your elf hat onto your head. Flicking the bell to make it jingle, he said, “C’mon, Sugar Cookie, let’s make a bunch of little people happy.”

It was entirely possible that you wished all the students a Joyous Holiday and handed them a candy cane after they visited with Santa. You had no idea if you actually did, the earth had screamed to a halt after you’d heard Jef-uh, Izzy’s admission.

After all the pupils had left, he shot you a delighted grin, then furrowed his eyebrows at you. “Hey, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” you said softly. “I’m….hot.”

“Me too. Let’s get changed and go back to the party.”

Although you were dazed, you flung your elf costume off in record time, exiting the coatroom in time to see Izzy unbutton his Santa jacket and toss aside his pillow. He slumped in your chair clad in a white undershirt, slinging an arm against his forehead to wipe off the sweat, and when he dropped it down beside him you could see a tattoo just below his elbow.

Without thinking, you walked over to him and picked up his wrist. Written in delicate script high on his inner forearm was desperadosdreams.

He tried to pull away from you, then he noticed you gasping for air with tears in your eyes. “Does that make sense to you?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, then pressed your lips to his, leaning down and throwing your arms around his neck. When you pulled away for a breath, you looked into his eyes, then pushed the sleeve of your shirt up and extended your arm.

“Does that say IZ?” he asked in a halting voice, and you nodded again, then climbed onto his lap for another passionate kiss. You carded your fingers through his hair as his lips traveled down the front of your throat, then he rubbed his nose against yours as you heard PJ Jones say, “I saw Miss Teacher kissing Santa Claus. And he liked it!”

“Hi, Ian!” you smiled, holding up your ring finger.

“Hi!” he grinned. “Ooh, that’s nice! Congratulations!”

You held your phone toward Izzy. “Ian, this is Izzy.”

“Oh, shit, he’s cute,” Sia said. “Hi, Sexy!”

“Izzy, this is Sia. She’s Ian’s fiancee.”

“Well……” she said, then they both held up their ring fingers.

“Omigosh! You guys got married?!” you exclaimed.

“Yes! I had to promote ‘Sharknado’ at the MGM Grand, and well, since we were in Vegas, we-”

Sia interrupted, “We found this Elvis impersonator, and it was so tacky and cool, I couldn’t have asked for a better wedding.”

“Congratulations! Can you guys come to ours?”

“When is it?” Ian asked, with Sia hollering “Hell yeah!” in the background.

“Next spring. We don’t want to wait that long.” You leaned over and pecked Izzy on the lips. “We’ve waited our whole lives to find each other, we want our married life to begin as soon as possible.”

Thank you so much for being a part of this fic! Because of wedding plans and moving and all that good jazz, I won’t be writing fics online anymore, but I will never forget how wonderful it was to have all your support. Love you always, desperadosdreams

“I do,” you said.

“You bet I do,” Blaze said, sliding your beautiful wedding band on your finger.

“Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Blaze, kiss your bride,”

He swept you in his strong arms, spinning you around, then dipped you and kissed you hard, the first kiss of the rest of your lives, as the fiery red sun sank in the horizon behind the two of you.

Now it was time for the two of you to begin your lives together, and dream as one. And as he kissed you again, you knew you’d found forever, and he had been worth waiting for.

#izzy stradlin x reader #izzy stradlin fanfiction #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses fanfic

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hlcreators · 4 years ago

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AUTHOR REC: star_k / @perfectdagger

Be sure to show some love and leave kudos and a comment!

And let it kill you (19k)

"Love is either a human construct or it can be real. But either it is real, or you make it so."

Louis doesn't believe in fate, but rather in choice. There's nothing romantic about being stripped out of his own.

Find what you love (26k)

“My Dear,

Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain you of your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you and let it devour your remains. For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover."

Or, Harry learns 16 years is a lifetime to be in love with someone else.

Santa Claus is from Turkey (11k)

Saint Nicholas was born in Patara, making Santa Claus actually from Turkey.

This bit of information has nothing to do with this fic, but somehow manages to tell you everything that matters about it: it's Christmas time and there's a turkey and a lot of mishappenings.

It also makes absolute no sense at all, but just roll with it.

a rose surrounded by thorns (3.3k)

There were nine levels of hell in Dante’s vision. Distantly, Louis wondered in which one you’d go for getting off on rimming the demon who ate your soul.

Nice day for a pizza wedding (12k)

There’s a layer of total surrealness to have your own name denied by a stranger, while said stranger has your cock in their hands.

Harry was glad he was in the sort of situation he knew exactly how that felt.

Or, a story about how Harry, 18 year old Tumblr and photography enthusiast, ended up enjoying his birthday with the pizza boy, in a night filled with pizza, his faithful camera and the doubt of how to correct someone you were flirting with that he got Harry's name wrong.

He only had Niall to blame.

Tell The World We Finally Got It Right (56k)

Louis snorted. “Nice try but I have to work, you sneaky little bastard.” Louis kissed Harry quickly with the intention of it being the last time as he also squeezed their hands together before letting go. “Seriously, go. I…” Louis hesitated a second, not really sure what to say as his final goodbye to Harry. “I’ll be waiting for you.” He settle on that, because that was a promise he knew he would be holding on to.

“Can’t wait. I love you,” Harry said, just as he had said that to Louis over the weekend many times. He finally let go of him and kissed Louis on the cheek, smiling brightly at him before he opened the door and got out of the car.

Louis would also hold onto those three words until the weekend came along.

Part 4 of the Mistletoes & Wrackspurts series, or the year when Louis and Harry finally decided to give themselves a try, (re)falling in love and making memories for a life time.

Harry’s Journal to self-discovery (24k)

Moving away from home is always difficult, especially when you come from a small city like Holmes Chapel and chooses to study English in London.

It proves to be even more difficult to Harry when she doesn’t feel like she fits anywhere but sitting on a park bench, watching The Girl move around like she’s the most fascinating being on the planet.

And to Harry, she kind of is. Too bad she doesn’t know why (yet).

High-five of your love (12k)

Reason #24: Because you forgot to buy a birthday present

Or, the fic where Louis is a mess of a woman, who's so busy looking for a job to help pay rent she manages to forget her almost-wife's birthday present.

She makes do in the end, anyway. She always does.

supposedly, this is steph's gift (from last year lmao) (4.6k)

this is the supernatural au nobody asked for. basically we headcanon HARD that louis is a fox so i started to write this.

so: louis is a fox familiar. harry is a witch. louis is traveling around the country trying to look for a witch good enough to bond with, harry is the witch dumb enough to help niall on his cases. they fall in love, even if witch/familiar relationships are frowned upon.

also liam is a hunter of generations and niall is the sheriff (not really) who shouldn't be meddling with witchcraft but he does anyway.

Pride and Prejudice AU that never was (7k)

Basically the p&p no one asked for and that i got too lazy to finish. or as i like to call it "louizzie hates harrcy, but they hate bang a lot anyway".

You can’t blame gravity (for falling in love) (28k)

“You know,” she’d always start, “I never understood why these chick flicks are so addictive.” She’d give a small laugh into her cup, hot steam warming her face, the living room in their hometown house lit only by the television, both of them cozy under blankets while the girls slept in their bedrooms. “You’re never, you know, that smooth while talking to the one you really want. When you like the person you’re dating you’re actually quite a mess, flustered and clumsy all around. You can’t control it.”

Or five times Marcel fell, and one time Louis did it (plus an extra one).

If You Ever Wanna Be In Love (119k)

“Finally! I mean, hi again… surprise?” Lottie had almost an innocent expression, but Louis wouldn’t be fooled by that.

Harry Styles was looking at him, nervously biting his lip, waving long fingers with different rings on them at him. “Hi?”

It had been more than three years since they last saw each other and there was Harry Styles at his fucking door again. Louis was fucked.

Part 3 of the Mistletoes & Wrackspurts series, or the one when a Holiday season together might be just what a wizard and a muggle with a too complicated past between them need to find each other again.

Butterflies (3k)

”Just a touch on the shoulder I’m passing out Wish I could of told her I’m freaking out For I have been poisoned by butterflies I have been stared blankly by those eyes What don’t kill only makes us stronger, well I guess I’m stronger now Roll with whatever flows or comes my way I always say”

(Butterflies - Hudson Taylor)

Love Is On The Radio (35k)

“So Louis, who’s the lucky person that will not only get to see Arsenal and Manchester United facing each other, but will also possibly become your girlfriend… or boyfriend? I mean, that’s a good catch, to ask someone out like this on the radio. It will be hard to say no after this.”

“It’s, hm, his name is…” Oh boy, Harry was about to pass out, he couldn’t bear to hear what Louis would say. Susie was looking at him, worried eyes watching him from the till as she noticed that Harry had simply abandoned his cupcake duties. “Harry. Harry Styles.”

To win a pair of tickets to watch Manchester United playing, Louis may have possibly lied to Nick Grimshaw on the BBC Radio 1 Breakfast Show, asking Harry, his best friend, to be his boyfriend. Problem is - Harry has always been in love with Louis and so, this Valentine’s he’s gonna see his dreams come true, with a tiny bit of a twist, in order to watch the football team they have loved together since they were kids.

Sick of Losing Soulmates (I Like You) (7.6k)

Time and hearts will wear us thin So which path will you take, ‘cause we both know a break Does exactly what it says on the tin

‘Cause I’m sick of losing soulmates, so where do we begin I can finally see, you’re as fucked up as me So how do we win?

I hope I’m not stuck on your waiting list Because I dream of you in colors that don’t exist And I think it’s high time for you to know I like you I like you I like you And I hope you like me too

Part 2 of the Mistletoes & Wrackspurts series, or the interlude in which 3 years apart seems to be nothing and too much at the same time.

Every Little Thing He Does Is Magic (92k)

There were only a few things Louis didn’t believe in. You could include in that list the Easter bunny, the tooth fairy, and also Father Christmas. Having four little sisters, though, he had to pretend that all of them were real for the sake of keeping their imagination alive.

Surprisingly, there was one thing, that not until his oldest little sister turned 11 did Louis believe in and did he think would actually be real: magic.

Louis’ sister was a witch and everything he knew would never be the same again.

Part 1 of the Mistletoes & Wrackspurts series, or the Hogwarts AU where Louis is a muggle, Lottie finds out she is a witch and Harry is Lottie’s wizard friend from Hogwarts, with a lot of magic, letters, owl cuddles and crushes on boys from different worlds.

#writer appreciation week #1dsource #hljournal #fics #author rec

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years ago

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But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 9: Follow The Rules]

Hi y’all, I hope you are all doing well 💜

Chapter summary: Veronica has some questions, Roger has a plan, John has a short temper.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, medical stuff, pregnancy.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

At the wedding, Roger is wearing a cast on his right arm and a dazzling smile...and a white suit that he looks criminally good in.

John is in black, Brian in blue, Freddie in maroon-colored velvet and heavy eyeliner. Veronica’s dress is high-waisted and falls in huge, billowing, shapeless ruffles to hide her silhouette. Her family knows, of course—it’s written all over the tense, grim lines of their mouths and the blades their pale eyes hurl at John—but none of those strict Catholics are going to mention an out-of-wedlock pregnancy in God’s house, nor at the modest reception in the church basement that follows the ceremony.

Veronica’s mother and aunts and sisters are just like her, docile and milky-skinned and small-boned, and you’ve helped them deck the vast room with enough flowers, ribbons, candles, and balloons to make everyone forget this event was thrown together in five weeks and on a shoestring budget. There’s a simple buffet with pot roast and potatoes and vegetables, a live band (some of John’s old friends from high school), and a homemade Polish honey cake baked by Veronica’s grandmother situated regally on a china serving dish. Veronica and John cycle through the tables of guests, smiling and nodding and thanking them for coming, dutifully and yet also seemingly genuinely cheerful.

“The boning is bloody impaling me,” Chrissie murmurs as she tugs at the bodice of her gown. It’s satin and a muted pink, just like yours and Mary’s and Veronica’s sisters’. “If I happen die, wrap me in one of those nice tablecloths I paid for and throw me in a ditch somewhere, will you love?”

“You got it.” You stab a piece of potato with your fork. “This should inspire you to be especially compassionate towards your own bridesmaids! Maybe no horrid shiny green.”

Brian chuckles. “Good luck with that.”

“Are you comfortable?!” Chrissie asks Mary, exasperated, fanning herself with a wedding program.

“I am,” Mary admits cautiously. “But...well...at the moment, I think my dress is a bit...roomier.”

Chrissie moans, dropping her face into her hands. “I always gain when the students go home for summer. My routine is wrecked, all I want to do is read Glamour magazines and listen to records, it’s too damn hot to go walking...and I adore ice cream.”

“I like you just fine,” Brian reassures her.

Freddie snickers as he taps his cigarette against an ashtray. “Yes, we’re all well aware of your anatomical preferences, Bri.”

Chrissie rolls her eyes. “Please do not elaborate.” She’s not offended—she’s far too used to Freddie’s shenanigans to be offended—but she’ll be embarrassed if he makes a scene at a wedding.

“Darling, I don’t care what anyone tries to tell you, plenty of men love a little extra meat on the bones. Particularly the ass bones.”

“We’re in God’s house!” you scold him in a hiss. “You’re going to give Great Aunt Zofia over there an aneurysm if she hears you!”

Roger quips: “Great Aunt Zofia stole the last kielbasa right out of my disabled, ineffectual grasp, so fuck her.”

You all burst into shocked, uncontrollable laughter. Great Aunt Zofia squints judgmentally at the commotion from several tables away, gnawing on her kielbasa; she’s been glaring at John and Veronica—the Tetzlaffs’ very own fallen angel—since she first ambled into the church. Roger rocks back in his chair, smoking with his unbroken left arm, smirking cockily and basking in the distraction from the real world that the wedding has gifted you all tonight. He catches you watching him—marveling at him, truthfully—and winks.

John appears and rests his hands on the back of your chair. “What’s so amusing? I swear, I leave you people alone for two hours and you’re having all sorts of fun without me, I won’t stand for it!”

“It was a lovely ceremony,” you tell him. “I’d forgotten how beautiful Catholic weddings are, all the music and ambiance.”

“And from what I saw, you knew most of the words.”

“We have a lot of Irish people in Boston. Saint Patrick’s Day is bigger than Christmas.”

John points at Roger’s cast. “It’s not paining you too much, is it?”

Roger holds his Dark ‘n Stormy aloft, and ice clinks in the misted glass. “Enough of these, and I can’t feel anything. Numb to the world’s many disappointments. I highly recommend it.”

“Noted,” John replies. Roger has pills for his arm, but they only take the edge off. You don’t know that because he’s told you; Roger never tells you that he’s hurting, that he’s frustrated, that he’s afraid. He wears grins and flippant humor like a second skin, shrouding his wounds—both physical and disembodied, old and new—in darkness. Still...you can see all those words he doesn’t say swimming in the depths of his eyes. “I think I’ll hunt down a Manhattan myself.”

“Dad made an impression!” you tell John enthusiastically. “I’ll have to let him know, he’ll be overjoyed.”

“He mixes a good one, that’s for sure. I doubt Cousin Bartosz will be able to compare.” He casts a glance at a perplexed-looking, flame-haired teenager manning a tiny wet bar.

“Booze won’t help you heal,” Freddie informs Roger, checking his reflection in Mary’s makeup compact and fluffing his lustrous hair. “Eat your vegetables. Get more sleep. When do you start physical therapy, again?” Then, to you: “Darling, when does Roger start his therapy?”

Roger sighs. “I’ve got it handled, Fred.”

“Dear, don’t have a fit, I just want to make sure you’ll be ready—”

“I’ve got it handled,” Roger repeats, his tone a warning.

Brian breaks the tension with a toast, his Vesper jangling against Roger’s Dark ‘n Stormy. “I’m thrilled, honestly. Now I’m not the only one who’s ruined a tour.”

Roger grimaces. “Thanks, Bri.”

“Yes, let’s all have a turn,” Freddie mutters, sipping champagne. “Deaky can electrocute himself while fiddling with his amp, and then I’ll...what? Have my foot chewed off by an alligator in New Orleans? Get gored by a wild boar outside Atlanta? It just can’t be a boring maiming, that’s my only request.”

“Alaska has grizzlies, huge ones,” Brian suggests.

“Darling, in what dimension would my luxurious self ever end up in fucking Alaska?”

You shake your head, frowning down into your wine glass. It’s June now, the dead center of a crestfallen year: the rest of the Sheer Heart Attack Tour is cancelled, the record company is furious, and the band is broker than ever. Queen is supposed to start recording their next album—their last album, the record company insists, unless it happens to be a runaway success—in July, but you don’t know if Roger’s arm will be healed in time. None of you know that. You wonder if this really is God’s house, or at least one of his homes, sanctified piles of bricks and glass scattered across the globe; maybe you could ask Him where Queen’s future lies.

Veronica swoops in and dusts an airy kiss onto Mary’s cheek, and then Chrissie’s, and then yours. “Thank you so much,” she gushes. Her high cheekbones are flushed, her watery eyes sparkling. She’s in heaven, sinner or not. Her massive white dress swishes with every step. “We couldn’t have done it without you. And you’re next, Chris! I can’t wait.”

Chrissie smiles. She and Brian are getting married just before Christmas. “Yes, well, time will tell if we’ll be serving Christmas ham or canned beans.”

“And then Mary...” Veronica’s gaze migrates across the table. Mary’s been wearing a ring on her wedding finger since Queen returned from Japan, a simple gold band that once belonged to Freddie’s mother. “What about you, Y/N? Any plans? Then we’d all be hitched!”

Red wine spurts from your lips and you fumble for a cloth napkin. Roger doesn’t believe in marriage, and neither do you; not after only four months together, anyway. And yet...is there some part of you that can’t help but think of papers and rings when you get lost in his eyes, of promises of forever, of some way to tie yourself to him like vessels to a heart? Sure; and that’s a little wonderful, that’s a little terrifying. “Uh, uh, oh, oh no, definitely no plans whatsoever.”

“What bollocks!” Rog sneers. “Really, what’s the point if you’re not religious? Who needs a bloody piece of paper to prove they love someone?! ‘I care for you so much I need the government to know we’re together and the hassle of divorce fees to make me stay,’ what the fuck. I mean, uh, no offense John, Bri, uh...this is all well and good for you, but...ah...”

“It’s just not your scene. That’s fine, Rog,” Freddie says with a tad too much empathy. Mary doesn’t seem to notice.

“But you’ll want children at some point, won’t you?” Veronica asks you, almost pained. She’s not trying to be cruel, you realize; she genuinely can’t fathom the pinnacle of a woman’s life as anything but being a wife and mother.

“Theoretically, sure. One day. Eventually.” You titter nervously. Roger’s good arm circles your shoulders, his cigarette lofting smoke. Oh, but wouldn’t he make beautiful children? You push that thought away. It’s too soon, it’s too much, it’s not in the cards for an impoverished maybe-drummer and his girlfriend; and a girlfriend—with all the intangibility and impermanence that title entails—is all I’ll ever be. “I think I need to travel the world a bit more first.”

John sighs and pats the back of Veronica’s hand. What is that weight in his voice...impatience? Annoyance? “Ronnie, please, don’t bother her.”

Veronica sulks, scraping the old scuffed linoleum floor with her pointy white heels. “I wasn’t trying to bother anyone...”

Mary comes to the rescue: “No, of course not. You didn’t, dear.” She likes Veronica more than Chrissie does. Isn’t she oppressively vapid? Chrissie has asked you more than once. Isn’t she so miserably naïve? Veronica is sweet, sure, but she has no fucking idea what she’s in for. “Babies are wonderful, but they do make things harder, don’t you think? Especially for the mother. You have to be ready to drop everything for them. All your other interests and aspirations.”

“I suppose,” Veronica mumbles. You can tell she’s thinking: What other aspirations?

“But you must be so excited!” You beam up at Veronica. It’s her wedding day, and John’s; it should be happy, it should be optimistic. And you’re learning to like Veronica—less than Mary, but more than Chris—because you know that’s the best thing for John.

She instinctively rests her hand on the swell of her belly; or, rather, where it must be somewhere beneath all those heaps of satin and tulle. Great Aunt Zofia’s glare intensifies. “I’m scared to death, to tell you the truth.”

“Why?!” Mary cries.

“I’m so afraid something will happen to him.” Veronica’s voice is soft, her blue eyes glassy. She’s certain the baby is a boy, claims she had some sort of dream about it. “There’s a lot of bad luck going around for us, isn’t there? And my mother lost four babies. Any time he stops moving, I worry constantly until my next appointment. I haven’t felt anything in days, and I just...I just...” She trails off, staring vacantly across the crowded church basement. She’s trying not to cry, you realize.

“I can try to check for you,” you offer. “If it would make you feel better.”

“Really?” Veronica sounds hopeful, but guardedly so.

“This is embarrassing, but I carry my nurse kit almost everywhere I go now. That’s why I brought my huge blue purse even though it doesn’t match the dress. You know, you can’t be too careful...”

“Yes, who knows when someone will try something idiotic like jogging backwards down the stairs?” Freddie muses. Roger lobs a pierogi at him. Great Aunt Zofia wheezes out a disgusted huff and crosses her veiny, wrinkled arms over her sagging chest.

“I have a stethoscope,” you continue. “I can’t guarantee I’ll find a heartbeat, but I’ll give it a try if that would help.”

“Would you, Y/N?” Veronica clutches for John’s hand, and he lets her take it without any resistance; but he doesn’t seem to know how to comfort her. He has the same dazed look on his face that he has a lot these days, the same look that Bri and Freddie sometimes get: like they’re on autopilot, like they’re actively filtering through brainwaves to fish out any that wander astray. Roger lands a kiss on your bare shoulder and pitches you a playful smirk, his I’m so proud of my too-fucking-smart girlfriend smirk.

You grab your purse from beneath the table. “Does God’s house have a cozy private spot somewhere?”

Veronica leads you, Mary, and Chrissie to a small unoccupied room that is used (how pertinently) as the church nursery. The pink wallpaper is dotted with waddling ducklings, cloud-shaped sheep leaping over fences, smiling suns and winged cartoonish angels. Veronica settles into a faded blue couch, and Mary and Chris help her shove aside the massive plumes of her wedding dress to reveal the plain shift she’s wearing underneath. She’s over five months along now, and her entirely unremarkable bump seems colossal on her delicate frame.

You pop the headset into your ears and press the chestpiece against Veronica’s unyielding belly, gliding it over the pearly shift as you try different positions.

“Anything?” Mary asks anxiously.

“It’s not bloody instant, Mary!” Chrissie snaps. “Be quiet so she can listen.”

“No need to be cranky—”

“You can’t find a heartbeat, can you?” Veronica says, her voice quivering. “Oh god...”

“Found it,” you announce. You hold the chestpiece in place as you yank the headset off and pass it to Veronica.

She gapes at you. “You’re just saying that so I’ll stop worrying, aren’t you?”

“Hear for yourself.”

Veronica takes the headset and listens, closing her eyes as the rapid-fire and rhythmic swishing of her child’s heartbeat floods through her ears. “Oh,” she breathes, beaming. “There he is.”

“That’s incredible!” Mary trills. “Can I hear too, Veronica? Whenever you’re finished...”

Mary listens, and Chrissie does too, and then you all help touch up Veronica’s hair and makeup before you head back to the reception. The cake is due to be cut in twelve minutes. As you smooth the short train on her dress, Veronica turns back to you.

“Do you think I’m a bad person?” she asks timidly, hugging her belly. “You know...for this.”

“That’s something I’ve always liked about nursing. So many jobs require sorting out who’s right and wrong, casting judgment, assigning punishment. There’s no weighing of the moral scales in medicine. It doesn’t matter if a patient is trustworthy, deceitful, good, bad, worthy, undeserving, if they disappoint you, if they’re the ones who hurt themselves. You treat everyone, you heal everyone. And I would like to keep that part of myself for as long as I can.” You smile at Veronica. “But, for the record, no. I don’t think you’re a bad person at all.”

She sighs in relief, untethering an anchor she hadn’t even known she’d been dragging around by her throat. “Thank you,” she whispers, tears snaking down her powdered ivory cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Come on.”

“How do you feel about marble lion statues? You know, the ones at the end of long, winding driveways. Rich people’s driveways. Mansion driveways. Or do you prefer gargoyles?”

“Roger.”

He groans, grins, presses his right fist into your palm. You measure the force with your mind, with your muscle memory. He’s stronger than he was yesterday, the day before, last week. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Rog teases. “You’ve got a soft spot for damaged people. Helpless people. That’s why you warmed to Brian so quickly. He was lying there all gaunt and jaundiced and terrified, and you just couldn’t resist, you just had to make sure all his wildest dreams came true.”

“I have a soft spot for self-destructive musicians who end up in hospitals, evidently.” Your gaze cruises over the scar on Roger’s forearm where the surgeons popped his bones back into place, stabilized them, stitched the ragged gore closed. You hate looking at it; you hate reminders of how mortal Roger really is.

“I want lions,” Rog decides. “For the driveway of our eventual mansion. I like the Leo connection.”

“And the Queen crest connection.”

His grin widens, toothy and radiant. “See, I knew you were the love of my life.”

“Come on. Again.”

He winces this time. “Doesn’t hurt a bit.”

“Uh huh. I bet.” You’ve slathered his fresh blisters with numbing antiseptic ointment, iced his arm, administered pain medicine, allowed him the constant sips of alcohol necessary for him to work, to drum, to sleep. But he still hurts. You imagine he hurts all the fucking time.

It’s August now, and Queen is recording their fourth album at Rockfield Farm. You and Roger are sitting by the pool as Freddie splashes around in the clear chlorine-smelling water trying to get John’s attention. John, meanwhile, is lounging on an inflatable raft, wearing black sunglasses and most likely asleep. Brian circles the pool snapping photos with your Canon F-1.

“I have a plan,” Roger informs you as he starts his stretches without prompting. He knows the drill, even if he likes to be difficult about it.

“By all means, enlighten me.”

“Fred’s thing, the weird one. It has a name now.”

“Does it?”

“Yeah. Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Oh, it’s perfect!” You try to stay out of the band’s business decisions as much as possible; it’s not your expertise, and it’s not your place, and there are already a few too many creative chefs in that kitchen. Still, you love when they share their magic with you. “Eccentric, whimsical, exhilarating. Just like the song. Just like Queen.”

“I’m so glad you approve. We’re going to make sure it’s the first single off the album. And I know exactly what song’s going to be on the B-side. Freddie and Bri don’t know yet, but I do.”

“Sounds like they’re going to murder you when they find out.”

“I’ll convince them.” His grin is crafty, daring. “Picture it: you’ve just finished the incomparable experience that is Bohemian Rhapsody. You’re a newly converted Queen enthusiast. What could possibly come next? You flip the record over. And the virile, screeching, pure rock and roll passion of I’m In Love With My Car is there to greet you.”

“Oh my god, Roger.” You shake your head in mock mourning. “They actually are going to murder you.”

“Listen, love, BoRhap is going to be a hit. I can feel it.”

“Sure,” you agree lukewarmly. You want to be supportive, you really do. But disappointment stings more than resignation.

“It will be,” Roger maintains, unmovable. “And it’ll sell mountains and mountains of singles...and with my song on the B-side, I’ll get half the royalties. Which means we’ll get half the royalties.”

“Which is how we end up with the hypothetical mansion.”

“I’m being serious.” Roger picks up his mini barbell weights from the water-splattered concrete and begins his bicep curls, flinching each time he lifts his right fist.

“Rog—”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “I’m going to make this happen. I’m going to get rich so I can provide for my family. You know about that, you know it’s on my list. And my family includes you now.”

“I don’t need a mansion, Roger.” I just need you. You stare at his right arm worriedly. “Are you sure—?”

“I’m fine!” he shouts, and you recoil. Brian peers over from where he’s taking pictures of blooming purple foxgloves. Instantly, Roger regrets it. “I’m sorry,” he says, setting down the barbells and cradling your face with his rough, bandaged hands. “I have to be fine, you know? I don’t have a choice. If I can’t play, I can’t be in the band. If I leave, John will leave too, and that’ll be the end of everything. Or worse, John will break the pact and stay and they’ll find a new drummer and forget all about me. Sail off into some blissful new future. And where will I be? Moping as I drag myself back to dental school? Becoming a freaking lab biologist? Resigning myself to being some excruciatingly ordinary bloke, someone who climbed just far enough out of Cornwall to know everything he’s missing out on?”

You try to imagine who Roger would be without the band, but you can’t. You’ve never known a pre-Queen Roger. “No,” you say, amused. “You’ll never be just some ordinary bloke. You’re too brilliant, too determined. Even if you do have a dodgy arm.”

He kisses you, and you can feel his lips curling into a smile beneath yours. “So you’ll let me buy you a mansion.”

“If you get I’m In Love With My Car on the B-side, and BoRhap is a hit, and Freddie and Bri don’t smother you with a pillow in your sleep...yes, you can buy me a mansion. Buy us a mansion.”

He winks, his sapphire eyes glinting in the late-summer sunlight. “Watch out, baby. I get everything I want eventually.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“It’s done,” John tells the others as he passes out copies of his new song, the second he’s ever written. There are only four sheets of crisp white paper; as you watch from the studio couch, you wonder what the song is about, why he didn’t mention it to you.

“It’s done?!” Brian yelps. “What do you mean, it’s done?! Nothing’s ever done after the first pass! That’s how it works, that’s how it always works, someone suggests something and then we all dice it and slice it and flip it around and stitch it back together like the world’s most maniacal surgeons, and then, only then, maybe, it’s done.”

You glance up from where you’re sewing an eleventh patch onto Roger’s jeans. “Must we disparage the medical profession?”

“Sorry, love,” Roger tosses to you with a laugh.

“It’s done,” John repeats.

“Deaky, darling,” Freddie ventures gently. “We should endeavor to keep our minds open to collaboration—”

“Oh, should we, Fred?!” Bri exclaims. “How extraordinary, you never seem to encourage collaboration when it’s your song on the cutting floor!”

“Okay space boy, you listen here—”

“‘I’m happy at home’?!” Roger reads, revolted. “We’re not the bloody Bee Gees, Deaks!”

John explains measuredly and patiently, as if to a child: “That’s the way it goes. We record it as it is or not at all.”

“That’s not how we do things,” Brian mutters, deep frown lines chiseled through his face as he scans the lyrics.

“Then just fill the album with your and Fred’s songs like you always do, I’m sure that’ll keep me and Roger loyal.”

Brian glares at John. John stares back stoically, his eyes like steel. Brian looks to Roger for support; Roger lights a cigarette and pretends not to notice.

“Darling, please, you’re not being reasonable!” Freddie pleads.

“I need it.” John turns to Roger now. “I need it to stay the way it is.”

Rog just watches him for a while, exhales smoke, shrugs. “Okay,” he says at last.

“Okay?!” Brian howls. “What do you mean, okay?!”

“He said he needs it,” Roger replies simply.

Bri throws his hands into the air. “Bleeding christ! ‘He needs it.’ What rubbish! Do something, Fred!”

“Oh relax, darling.” Freddie sashays to the microphone and points to Brian’s Red Special. “Let’s try it out.”

“But—!”

Roger claps Brian on the back as he trots by him towards the drum kit. “Come on, Bri. Big smiles. Just picture the nice shiny pounds from all those album sales plinking into your bank account. You’ll have fifty Christmas hams at the wedding, one for every guest.”

You listen passively from the couch as they rehearse, trying not to let on that you’re paying attention, trying not to overstep. But you can’t help being struck by the lyrics, feeling the somberness of Freddie’s voice and John’s tentative notes on the electric piano slink into your bones; because it sounds so familiar, because it echoes so many things that John has told you.

When Queen takes a mid-afternoon break and John slips into the kitchen for a Coke, you follow him.

“Hey John?”

“Yeah.” He rests his hands on the dining room table. They’re sturdy and unmarred and completely unlike Roger’s; and you aren’t sure why you notice this, but you do.

“I completely understand if I’m being intrusive, and if I am please just tell me to shut up and I will.”

He chuckles. “You’re never intrusive. Go ahead.”

“I was just wondering...who is You’re My Best Friend about?”

Now his smile evaporates. “No one in particular,” he says briskly. “It’s just a song. Just something to put on the album. Maybe a single one day. A soulless royalties grab.”

That seems unlikely. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He takes a swig of Coke, peers down at the table, traces swirls of centuries-old oak with his fingertips.

“It’s just...you know...well...it kind of sounded like...maybe it was about me.”

He looks up. And for the first time, John levels some of his infamous, razored words at you: “Don’t be such a fucking narcissist.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Two days later, John doesn’t apologize. But he smiles at you over tea, offers to clean off the fingerprints of strawberry jelly that Roger left on the Canon, splashes you from the pool as you sunbathe beneath lapis August skies. And you agree, wordlessly and unconditionally, to forgive him. Because John is your best friend, whether or not you’re still his.

Nine weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody is released as a single. (And, as promised, Roger ensures that I’m In Love With My Car is on the B-side.)

Twelve weeks later, Bohemian Rhapsody reaches the #1 spot on the UK Singles Chart, and remains there for over two months.

Fifteen weeks later, A Night At The Opera becomes the #1 album in the UK.

Fifteen weeks later, Queen’s future is suddenly crystal clear.

#queen fic #roger taylor fic

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years ago

Text

XVI.

"You will manage to keep a woman in love with you, only for as long as you can keep her in love with the person she becomes when she is with you." C. JoyBell

Rockin' around the Christmas tree, let the Christmas spirit ring. Later we'll have some pumpkin pie, and we'll do some caroling…

Naturally, my own vocals lightly meshed in with those of Brenda Lee while my head bopped back and forth to the infectious Christmas tune as it blared from the Beats Pill, I gifted to my mother a couple of months ago. To take advantage of the majority of my weight being pressed against the kitchen island, I slowly flexed my toes and extended my aches in an effort to minimize the throbbing in my feet. Short hisses turned into a deep sigh of bliss but unfortunately it was short lived once I grasped a knife in my hand again.

“Pass me two stalks of celery out of that bag, please.” My precise instructions were pointless. With her eyes intently focused on the phone in front of her, Celeste aloofly tossed the plastic bag in my direction as if I were a nuisance interrupting the ridiculous number of hours she spends interacting on Facebook. If anything, I avoid it, because once you reach a certain age, Facebook is nothing more than a scroll fest filled with engagement and pregnancy announcements, weddings and post-birth pictures, garbage hot takes from people about the most trivial of topics, and finally older relatives who have nothing better to do other than to be in everyone’s business, including yours.

“Shouldn’t you be doing something?” If she’s not going to be in the kitchen either helping me or doing something of her own, then the better choice would be for her to exit. She hasn’t been much company because we’re barely spoken since she arrived and I’d rather not be distracted by her sitting there in a trance with a phone in her hand like a mindless teen.

“Not really. You always do Christmas Eve, I do Christmas breakfast, and mommy does Christmas dinner. Don’t act brand new now.”

“I’m not acting brand new. I just see no point in you being in here.” Celeste does Christmas breakfast because it’s the easiest task to handle and I don’t have much of a problem pushing her dry ass pancakes around on a plate in anticipation for dinner later on the evening.

“For someone who claims to be so demure in the manner that you carry yourself, I’m super confused about why you have streams of diamonds glistening and circling around your neck.”

“What?” Thoughtlessly, I stretched my unoccupied hand up to the exposed skin and lightly brushed my fingers over nearly sixty carats of brilliant round cut diamonds that do not belong to me.

The manner in which O layers his many necklaces always grabs my attention and it’s something about the showiness in the midst of the simplicity of them that I continue to compliment whenever I see him donning them. This morning, for whatever reason, he randomly placed two of them around my neck as I stood in the mirror attempting to figure out just how festive my attire would be for today. Once I’d gotten past three unwarranted outfit changes, I found myself admiring the jewelry as it glimmered in the natural lighting cascading into his master bedroom beyond the curtains. I’d forgotten to remove them.

“They’re not real. It’s just costume jewelry.”

“They look pretty damn real to me.”

“Well, they’re not. There’s this new spot that opened up over on West 47th Street. I grabbed them in there. I just thought they looked cute and they reminded me of something Lil’ Kim wore one time. You know Kimberly Denise Jones is one of my spirit animals. They’re not something you wear everyday but it’s the holidays and I’m on vacation until after the New Year, so why not? I’m glad they look real though. That just means they were well made.”

“You seem to have a million alter egos. One minute you’re Florence Joyner, the next minute you’re Lil’ Kim, on another day you’re Angela Bassett, and then you’re Michelle Obama. We can’t forget you being the Oprah of sports journalism, oh and there’s Rihanna and Beyonce, who else?”

“Phylicia Rashard, Eartha Kitt, Regina King, Janet Jackson, Cari Champion, Lisa Salters, Pam Oliver, Jemele Hill. And I’ve never considered any of those women to be my alter egos. They’re women that I admire due to their drive, success, and character. I’ve taken bits and pieces from all of their careers and used them as lessons for my own. What you’ve mistaken is me saying that Lil Kim, Rihanna, and Tracee Ellis Ross are my style icons. Oh, and Mary J. Blige is my boot icon.” I think all women have a mood board of aspirations and inspirations. It doesn’t always have to be specific people. A portion of mine just so happens to contains who I believe are some of the greatest black women of the past and current generation. They’re not alter egos who I attempt to mimic but rather stories of triumph that keep me driven.

“What’s up with you and Kyle? Why are you interested?” I nearly cut into the flesh of my finger while dicing the stalks of celery. Briefly, I paused to gather myself, and immediately moved on to the three cloves of garlic.

“Nothing at all. I’m not interested so please stop pressing me about that. I’m not going to date your husband’s brother. I don’t do that all in the family stuff.”

“He’s really into you.”

“Or maybe you’re just exaggerating things. We’re just cool. We always have great conversations whenever we’re around one another and that’s good enough for me. I’ve already spoken to you multiple times about my disdain for your matchmaking bullshit. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a fan of it?”

“You continue to hold Shamel against me. Things didn’t work out. Okay. Shit happens. That doesn’t mean that every guy that I attempt to introduce you to won’t be compatible with you.”

“Compatibility? It’s deeper than that.” Parsley and cilantro were next for the wrath of the knife in my hand. I’m going to have to med onions next. I should have just bought all of this stuff chopped already.

“What’s deeper?”

“Celeste, you don’t know shit about what I went through with Shamel. You know the shortened version of years’ worth of bullshit. You think we just had a couple of typical couple disagreements to the point of us coming to terms with the reality that we could no longer be together? I wish it were that fucking simple, so don’t sit in here on your high horse with that matchmaker shit. Focus on your man and your marriage. I’m fine.”

I internalized so much of what I went through with the man. I was never the one to take my household troubles and spread all of it in places that it didn’t need to be. Anyone with the vision could see the tension between the two of us whenever we were out and about together and if you couldn’t see it, then it was thick enough to be felt. As my career began to take off, I chose to move as a single woman, often leaving him behind whenever I was out and about at industry events whether they were sports related or not. Shamel had a tendency to spend way too much time at the open bar, tossing back shots of tequila while slyly entertaining any woman that fawned over his deep mocha presence. He’d then cause a scene if he caught any men paying even the slightest attention to mine.

Beyond the decision to mask our toxicity as best as I could, I yearned to make my mother proud by being the quintessential woman; brains, beauty, a reputable career, and a good man standing alongside me. The pride she wore on her face at Celeste’s wedding stood out beyond any and everything that went on that summer night in Brooklyn. Since my father’s death, that wedding and all of the events leading up to it sparked a liveliness in her that I hadn’t experienced in quite some time although it had absolutely nothing to do with me. I’m not sure if she was vicariously living through my sister or she was simply just thrilled to see her began her own family, but in observing her response to it all, I wanted to give that to her.

After a short lived around of sex that left tears of mental exhaustion pouring down the sides of my face as I lie under him, he whispered in my ear that he intended to make me his wife. I’ll never forget the wave of nausea that rushed over my body and sent me dashing into the bathroom to empty out of the contents within my stomach. I thought of marriage as something beautiful until then. Just the thought of spending the rest of my life in misery with him left my mind in an emotional frenzy as I attempt to figure out when and how I’d end our relationship. Less than three weeks later, I finally mustered up the courage to get it done.

“You want to be alone forever?”

“Whether I do or I don’t, it’s my decision. You may be older, but we’re not kids anymore. We’re no longer in Brooklyn, under mommy’s roof, trying to figure out what we’re going to do with ourselves. You have your life and I have mine. I have time to figure that relationship shit out. I’m not stressed about it. Being single doesn’t bother me at all. For whatever reason, it bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me that you’re single. I just think you deserve happiness.”

“And you think that I don’t have it without a man? You give them way too much credit.”

And she always has. Celeste has been a serial monogamist for as long as I can remember her dating history. As soon as one relationship of hers would end, she’d be in another one within a week or two. I can recall a couple of overlaps, but that’s none of my business.

“Don’t put the whole bonnet pepper in there.”

“I know that. I’m only doing half.” The last thing I want is to give our mother heartburn on Christmas Eve.

In the midst of me pouring olive oil into the deep red pot I already had on the stove, I reached into my back pocket for my vibrating phone.

Mrs. Claus, I’m missing you. When are you coming home?

Home? To mask my budding smile, I slowly pulled my lip in-between my teeth.

Home?

This man knows how to put a smile on my face by saying the simplest things.

Anywhere I lay my head is just as much yours as it is mine.

I should have known that when he gave me keys and the security codes last night. I’m still in disbelief about that.

I should be finished here really soon and I’ll be right back at the North Pole to keep your lap warm, Santa.

It’ll be the first time I’m spending Christmas Eve anywhere other than here and to say I’m nervous would be an understatement. Usually around this time of the year, O would be in the midst of the season so his family would make the effort to come to New Jersey to be with him. Even though he’s currently not playing, they still decided to come up and enjoy the chilled weather. For the past couple of days, he’s convinced me to rid myself of my reluctance and to be with him and a few people I’ve yet to meet like his grandmother Mille, his uncle Mike, his aunt Pat, and his step-father Derek.

Naked right?

And don’t even get me started on the lie that I had to tell everyone in this house so that I’d be able to get out of our Christmas Eve tradition of my cooking and us sitting around watching our favorite Christmas classics while bundled up under quilts that we’ve had since Celeste and I were toddlers. That lie involved Taylor, who’s actually in Atlanta right now, and Scott who actually did invite me to his Christmas Eve game night over at his place.

I can make that happen. Not while the elves are awake though. That’s a bit inappropriate, Santa.

My snicker wasn’t soundless. It was loud enough to alert Celeste and her eyes slowly panned in my direction and raised in curiosity at what tickled me.

“It’s Taylor.” I said it before she could ask.

Baby, don’t be mad at me but I already cut the red velvet cake. It was just sitting there and I couldn’t help myself.

I knew he’d do it. The fume enticed him by itself, so his response to the finished product was of no surprise. I didn’t even make him promise me that he wouldn’t touch it because I knew he wouldn’t be able to help himself just as he said. It’s why I made two of them.

I knew you would. Enjoy it. That’s why I made it.

I spent the morning baking as a part of his Christmas request. Renee’s handling everything else, but all of the sweets are my task. When I return, I’m going to make my mini eggnog cheesecakes and cookies.

Try and make it back before the snow starts. I don’t want you driving in that.

It’s not supposed to be enough snow to keep the east coast hiding inside of their homes, but it will be enough to leave traffic dragging and the roads hazardous. I’ve never been much of a fan of driving in the snow, so I do want to be out of here before those flurries began to fall.

Will do. I’ll see you in a bit love.

“I can’t believe you’re about to go and spend Christmas Eve hanging out with your co-workers. Don’t you get enough of seeing them at work?” This is her second time making commentary about this since I’ve been here and I’m not even sure why. Celeste and I barely say much of anything to one another whenever I’m around, unless she’s scolding me about some area of my life that she assumes that I need to improve. It’ll be no different tonight as they’re all curled up in the living room watching classic holiday films while enjoying the dinner that I’m preparing and a shit ton of junk food we bought at Walmart the other day. Besides, her husband is here and when he’s with her, nearly all of her attention is on him.

“What’s the big deal? We’re not kids waiting around on Santa anymore. There are no babies here in the house that we need to be extra festive for. I’ll be back in the morning for breakfast and then we’ll all open up the presents together like we usually do. You won’t even notice that I’m gone.” Maybe my mother will, but she certainly won’t. Whenever her husband’s around, her attention remains solely focused on him. She parades herself on being a so-called traditionalist as a wife; whatever that means. Either way, her head is up his ass and luckily for her, his is just as far up hers.

“What time are you getting here in the morning? I figure I’ll at least be considerate enough to start making breakfast around them so by the time you’re here, you won’t have to eat cold food.”

“Most likely around nine or a half hour after it. It won’t be much later than that.”

“That’s if you’re not hungover, huh?”

“I won’t be. I have no plans to drink, unless it’s like a half glass of some spiked egg nog. Can’t go to a Christmas function and not have some egg nog. I’m driving, so it won’t be much.” I’m not irresponsible with my life and in addition to that, if O smells the alcohol on my breath, he’ll be scolding me all night long for having the audacity to drink and drive.

“Okay.” I never thought she’d leave the kitchen. She’s been in here since my arrival and comfortably settled at a spot in front of the island, while watching my every move. Initially, I thought she was doing it simply to be a critic of whatever I intended to prepare in the kitchen, but now I know she sat there as a mean to try and find her way into my business as she always seems to do. I’ve never been interested in what she has going on with Preston since she met the man. Even when we all went out to dinner a few years back and she first introduced him to both my mother and I, I didn’t have much of anything to say. All I could make of their connection was that she was obsessed with everything about him and luckily for her, he was smitten enough to feel the same way about her. She needed a man who could and world be a bit of a pushover for her and he is exactly that.

My father’s beloved stewed chicken or as he called it, poulet creole, was a breeze to prepare because I’m the only one in our home who learned every single aspect of that recipe directly from him. On a random summer day, while my mom and Celeste were out at the hair salon getting curls put into their hair for Sunday service, he interrupted me from watching ESPN, and called me into the kitchen for yet another one of his many lessons. The manner in which he taught me wasn’t by me looking on at his every task but instead me doing all of the work while he closely directed so I’d my hands would familiarize themselves with the process as he claimed. It was the same method that his grandmother taught him to cook with.

I preferred learning to cook under his guidance far more than my mother’s because she’s like a drill sergeant in the kitchen; barking down on her subject for any mistake or mishap with her directions. He and I laughed, danced to whatever he chose to play in the radio, and compared and contrasted our opinions on any topic we could think of. I will always hold him in the highest regard for allowing my self-expression to flourish. As a West Indian father of two girls, he could have easily chosen the overprotective and absurdly sexist route in raising us, but he didn’t. Rather than doing his best attempt to blind me from life beyond the doors of our home, he chose to listen to my perspective and then teach me about what life has to offer whether good or bad; easy, moderate, or difficult.

I miss him. Actually, that’s an understatement. During the holiday season, that pain that lies dormant within my soul flares up into an intensity that I have to stoically mask for the sake of getting through. As much as he emphasized the need to prepare both Celeste and I for the day that he was no longer with us, none of us ever expected it to be as soon as it was. I want to be the strong and independent woman that he raised me to be, but in some ways, I still need him. My mother needs him because she hasn’t been quite right ever since. Celeste needs him just as much, because there’s a part of her that has always sought him out in the men that she chose to allow into her life since his death.

“Celeste, I’m heading out.”

“Nice coat and hat.”

The caramel wool cashmere single-breasted silhouette was an unexpected gift from Kobe before we went on break for the holiday. Everything about the hand-embroidered embellishments and the manner in which it loosely accentuated my frame instantly made me fall in love with it with the Burberry piece. He encouraged me to open it up while we were standing there in my dressing room so I’d be able to see if I liked it, but I voiced that it wouldn’t be right to open it before Christmas. My curiosity nipped at me all morning long until I fed into its urge by opening it up and like a kid whenever they’re given anything new, I had to wear it immediately. The matching beanie hat is the cherry on top. Before I’m off to bed tonight, I intend to thank him again.

“Thanks. It’s my Christmas gift from Bean.”

“Who?”

“Kobe.”

“So, you’re going to be here around nine, right? You better not be late because I’m not defending you when mommy snaps.”

“Yes. I’ll be here. When she gets in from church, tell her to call me if she needs me.” I still can’t believe she went to Christmas Eve service. Actually, I’m quite surprised that she didn’t pressure Celeste and I into attending.

“Will do. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you. Merry Christmas Eve.” Unexpectedly for her, I leaned in and planted a soft peck on her cheek. We’ve never been the type of sisters who shower one another with a lot of love whether it be physical or verbal, but on there are those random occasions when I do show or tell her how much I love her. I’d like to think in all the ways I help her or come running when she needs me, it’s a reflection of what I feel just as much.

“Merry Christmas Eve. Have fun.”

“Will do. You too. Since mom isn’t here, maybe you and Preston can get a little practice in on that baby that you want.” With a slight scoff, her eyebrows raised.

“Since when are you on the wild side?”

“I’m reserved, not virginal. See you in the morning.”

A gust a wind slithered through the open space as soon as I opened the door to step outside and very faint sprinkles of snow filled the air as they lightly cascaded down to meet my frame. I thought I would have been out of here before it all started but the beauty of it ceased any complaints that I usually would have if it weren’t Christmas Eve. If anything, the snow makes the spirit of tonight even more fulfilling. I don’t have to dream of a white Christmas because it seems like the city is being gifted with one this year. “Happy Holidays stranger.” I didn’t see his car parked across the street nor had I noticed him jogging across the street after locking the doors behind himself and yet here he is, stepping up onto the sidewalk and inching closer to the steps of my mother’s porch to trigger a slight downward spiral of my mood with his presence alone. I don’t know what it is with Quinton and his purposeful choice to remain all in the family despite my resistance towards whatever he and my mother thought they had planned for my love life. Initially, I believed he genuinely viewed us as an extension of his own family and supporters in the neighborhood who he knew he could count on, but now, I’m not sure what the fuck this is or where he’s going with it. “Happy Holidays.” “How have you been?” “Well. You?” I was better just a minute ago. “I’m well enough.” “What brings you around? The holiday? You seem to always show up around here whenever there’s one.” In his hand, he held a gift bag that I’m going to assume is for my mother. It’s not that I mind that he buys her gifts, because deep down, I don’t. I’m mostly concerned with what they mean. “I don’t just show up here on holidays. I come over and check on your mom from time to time. You know I love Mrs. Nazaire.” My scoff was loud and clear. Any time we speak now, he sounds like nothing more than a fame hungry politician, who uses manipulation tactics to garner allies and supporters. I’m sure his antics are no different with my mother. It’s why she holds him in such high regard no matter how much I don’t give a fuck. “Yeah? It’s starting to feel like you’re screwing my mother. I’m not looking for any step-dads within our age range. Sniff around women your own age Quinton.” The sarcasm flowed from my mouth and into his ears; leaving a flustered expression on his face that quickly transitioned into one of annoyance. “I’m not. I’ve only been to bed with one Nazaire woman.” “I’m glad you used the past tense. I barely remember that one and done situation; but I’m glad that you do. She’s not here, but Celeste and her husband are. You’re more than welcome to wait for her and I’m sure that you will.” “I don’t know what it is that Shamel did to you, but you’re so bitter now. Not all men are hood gym owners who fucked you over repeatedly while dipping into women who bought memberships to be trained in doggystyle position rather than on treadmills. All I wanted to do was be a good man to you, but you’re coming at my head as if I’m your enemy.” He said all of that and yet I’m the bitter one? If anyone asked me anything about this man’s personal life, I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything aside from what I know from the days when we’d actually hangout with one another. I haven’t kept up with much about his life story since then and I’d prefer not to know now. That’s the difference between he and I; he remains invested in what doesn’t concern him while I can’t seem to find a reason or the time to concern myself with what he wishes I would concern myself with. “I’m growing a bit confused about who has the pussy between the two of us. Only bored and lonely women concern themselves with what was or wasn’t going on in another woman’s relationship. Damn, you were more invested in what Shamel was doing with his time than I was. I’m bitter because I don’t want to play your political trophy wife or are you bitter because despite my firm no, you’re still sniffing around here and chasing me? Find your dignity Quinton. Don’t go out like a wack bitch, aight?” “I hope you don’t go out like one either. Make sure you keep it classy by not fucking with all of those athletes that you’re constantly around. How many have you been with thus far?” “All of them.” I’m usually not the type to laugh at my own jokes but I couldn’t help but to chuckle at his facial expression. I’ve been slut shammed more times than I can count. It happens every day when random people hiding behind social media accounts on apps decide to accuse me of using my body in order to keep my job, so Quinton doing it isn’t offending me any more than it does when strangers are doing it. Initially, I used to be extremely irritated by it but I’ve come to terms with the reality that people are going to say and assume whatever they want no matter what I do or feel about it. No matter who I do or don’t have in my bed, my bills are paid. “Excuse me. I have some place to be.”

Stepping around him wasn’t the problem; it was the oddness of him standing there and watching me slip into my car. Like a lost puppy, he trudged up the stairs to the house door and continued to burn a hole into my foggy windows with a scowl on his face that I couldn’t see but I’m sure is there. Maybe one day he’ll get it or maybe he won’t, either way, I’m not responsible for what he feels. I’ve been clear with all intentions and lack their off.

No matter how much snowfall happens in the northeast year after year, as soon as flakes of any size begins to fall out of the sky, the snail-paced traffic is an immediate effect and it drives me insane. It’s one of the primary reasons why I was in no rush to get a new car and am currently wishing I had a driver taking me to my destination. Not even the holiday tunes that I love so much are distracting me from wanting to roll my window down and shout at the drivers in front of me who are missing green lights and evoking slight amounts of fear within me with their skidding. What would usually be a forty-five-minute commute turned into nearly an hour and a half.

The relief that washed over me at the sight of the double entry driveway was well received as I slowly inched my way in and focused in on the three bodies standing in the driveway. I reached out to him just a few minutes ago to notify him that I’d need help getting bags out of the backseat of the car, so we wouldn’t have to make multiple trips in the brisk weather. Unlike the other males standing alongside him, the handsome one who belongs to me was hilariously covered in an oversized Santa coat with a black hood covering his blonde mane.

“The traffic was so stupid as I was on my way to the Lincoln Tunnel. I will never understand how people who have been living on the East Coast since forever still fear the damn snow. It’s not even snowing that hard.” My right hand latched onto his and he carefully pulled me out of the driver’s seat and into his awaiting arms. My complaint went into one ear and right out of the other as he endearingly snuggled my frame as close to his as possible while nuzzling his chilled face into the nape of my neck. Admittedly, I needed to feel him in this exact manner for the restoration of the joy that this night is supposed to be and bring.

“And don’t even get me started on this ass wipe in this big ass Navigator who kept slightly skidding. I was caught in between being worried for my damn life and wanting to kick his ass for driving so stupidly. Oh and…” His peck was sweet; subtle and yet enough to leave me yearning for so much more.

“Give me your keys.” To oblige his request, I dropped them into his hand and turned to both Kordell and Derek who were looking on and most likely extremely bored with my rant.

“Hi guys.”

“You finally made it. This guy was about five minutes away from hopping into his Rolls Royce and driving all the way to Brooklyn for you.” I’ve only met his step-father Derek once and in my quick assessment of him I understood that he was more of a reserve man who somehow had a humorous side to him that couldn’t be ignored. He can crack a joke and it usually comes at the right time.

“I told him I was coming. I would have been here if it weren’t for the traffic.”

“And he wanted me to get in the car and go with his lame ass.” After a shared hug with Derek, I threw my arms around Kordell and pecked his forehead despite his maneuvers to avoid it. He’s not exactly the most physically affectionate person so I purposefully shower him with some of my own to worsen whatever annoyance his oldest brother sent his way.

“You weren’t going to come looking for me with your brother? I thought you and I are good friends now?”

“We’re family or whatever, but you and bro are old. I have a lot more life to live. I wasn’t about to catch hypothermia messing with the two of you.”

“It’s not even that bad out here. You haven’t seen a real blizzard yet Louisiana boy.” His dramatics earned a light mush to his head. I’d love to see how he reacts to a couple of feet of snow covering the ground and maybe even a power outage to go with it. Now that’s hell.

“Sarai, what is all of this?” The bewildered expression on his face and him using my first name evoked me to widen my eyes in a confusion about what I could possibly be in trouble about. I don’t believe there’s anything incriminating in my trunk and if there is, I didn’t place it there.

“Gifts.”

“All of this?” Like a nagging elderly man who borders between obnoxiously cheap and being frugal with his money, he extended his arm towards the overflowing trunk and placed his idly hand on his hip to await an explanation that he’s not going to receive.

“What? I told you that I was coming with gifts. Don’t be ridiculous. Just grab them. Oh, and don’t forget the ones in the backseat. I’m going inside. It’s cold.”

“This is crazy. You went overboard.”

“I know you’re not talking about overboard. There’s a Rolls Royce parked right over there. I can start there and keep on going for hours. You really want to do this right now?” If there’s anything I’m ever ready for; it’s to prove somebody wrong. Debating is an essential part of my profession as an analyst and I haven’t lost a debate yet if you let me tell it, so I can and will give him an extensive five minutes of dialog about his spending habits and how he is by far one of the biggest spenders that I know. This man doesn’t even use his washer and dryer. He dry cleans every damn thing and never wears the same underwear, socks, or t-shirts twice.

“Nah, baby, you got it.” Without any further questions or concerns, he extended his arms into the trunk and began to retrieve a few of the many bags that they all needed to bring inside.

“Wow. You know how things go in arguments. Good job, man.”

While on my way to the warmth, my laughter at Derek’s commentary was loud enough for me to hear it but low enough so that the man of my affection couldn’t make it out. Sometimes it’s just best to keep quiet about the reality that your man is willing to put himself aside to please you and, in this case, it was his mouth.

“Sarai!”

Sometimes I’m stunned by my sincere acceptance into his family dynamic. We’re anything but traditional and we’re navigating in a manner that I’m sure they don’t understand because we certainly don’t. Aside from my overwhelming emotional affection towards the man who belongs to them more than he does to me, they’ve been unknowingly responsible for making me feel like I deserve the joy that I feel when I’m with him and around them. In my transition from hugs with Heather, Jazzy, and those who I’ve been led around the first level of the house to meet, I haven’t been able to ease away the smile gracing my face.

“Your outfit and pajamas are upstairs in the room.” I know pasta when I smell it. The fumes coming from the kitchen appealed to my senses quickly and left my stomach turning in knots for nourishment.

“Outfit?”

“Wait until you see what your guy bought for you.” Her amusement was my fear. I tend to like to make him the butt of a couple of my jokes, but I don’t want to be the one on the other end of his tonight.

“Is it a onesie?”

“No.” Suddenly I wish this glass of egg nog were spiked.

“I’m going to head up and see it. If it’s a disaster I’m pulling the feminist card and blaming the both of you because we’re supposed to be united against these men.” I waggled my finger back and forth to point out the mother and daughter duo who found my apprehension to be amusing and began slowly inch my way up the spiraling staircase that leads to the upper level of the house. Though I could hear his voice loud and clear from the foyer, O hadn’t brought my personal belongings upstairs and I’m already up here so that’s out. With that in mind, it seems even more logical to take him up on his offer of my own closet space so that I no longer need to keep trekking overnight backs to and from here.

A blend of the Italian bergamot and clay sage from his beloved cologne meshed in blissfully with the gingerbread scent that I know he purposefully misted into the room just for me. Since December came in, he frequently made note of how my home smelled like cookies whenever he came over and accused me of trying to toy with his already slightly ridiculous appetite for junk food, especially candy. Despite my love for Bath and Body Works and Yankee Candle’s holiday scents, he deemed them to be exceedingly sweet and overdone. Now look at him.

Flutters filled my core at the sight of his master suite’s fireplace being utilized for the first time ever. Unlike my obsession with them, it’s a feature within the house that he hasn’t concerned himself with since moving in. There’s something about the way the flames are curling and oscillating, flickering like gleaming lights, and cascading hues of scarlet onto the wall that naturally warms the space.

“Your stuff is on the bed.” I knew he was in the doorway. The chills trickling onto the back of my neck spoke before he did.

“You put the fireplace on.”

“I figured you’d like it. Thank God it’s electric. I’m no fireplace expert.” As his feet trudged against the wooden flooring, he dropped my monogram Louis Vuitton Keepall Bandoulière duffle bag near the entry way of his closet.

“It’s beautiful.” If it were just us, I’d curl up on the floor in front of it with a good playlist going.

As soon as my Ugg boots were kicked aside, I inched closer to the bed and alongside three bags, was a Snoopy and Woodstock perfectly wrapped present that I certainly wasn’t expecting to see. My curiously instantly peaked but in a swift second, I checked myself for discarding the waiting rule I’ve grown up with. Celeste and I weren’t even able to open one gift at midnight on Christmas Eve.

“You forgot to put that under the tree?” Instead, I reached for the crimson red gift bag and snickered as soon as my hand silky velvet material that is identical to the kind covering his frame. My Mrs. Claus coat was that of something I’d be waiting for Santa in the bedroom in rather than keeping an eye on the elves. It’s lace-up front called for a good cleavage while the pure white faux fur trimming and flared skirted bottom were more along the lines of tradition until anyone notices the split open front. What exactly is supposed to go under this?

“No, that’s for you to open now. You probably thought I was playing when I mentioned it before but I really am impatient on Christmas Eve. I like to open presents the night before and just sleep on Christmas morning. Since it’s our first one together, I figured I’d be fair to your traditions and my own. So, we can open some tonight and then open the first in the morning. Fair?” Like an eager child hoping to get his way, his narrowed eyes slightly widened with hopes that I’d agree to what he calls fair. I don’t see what the big deal is. It all has to be opened either way.

“Fair.”

“So open that.”

Lazily, my body flopped down onto the plushness of the bed and I grabbed the box with a bit of shaking to increase his growing anticipation. The contents inside only slighting moved, throwing off just about all of my potential guesses for what it may be. My first donned a smirk as I commenced with tearing through the wrapping paper to uncover the infamous Christian Louboutin box under it. Shoes? Infinite brownie points already. Much like himself, I adore footwear. I stand by the law that a shoe can make or break a look more than any other article of clothing.

“You didn’t.” Instantaneously, thoughts of a random conversation I was having with Taylor came to mind. Christian Louboutin collaborated with Indian Couture Designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee on an extremely limited-edition collection featuring hand-embroidered sari fabrics and jaw dropping embellishments that left me in awe upon the sight of it online. Every piece of material used to craft the shoes were taken from Sabyasachi’s private archive, leaving only a few pairs of each design to be created.

“Didn’t what?” His confusion was intentional. The grin called his bluff. The lid to the box went flying behind me in an instant and in dramatic fashion, I dropped back onto the bed in astonishment and bliss at the sight of the exquisite thigh high boots that I fell in love with. Their golden delicate leather straps were specially designed harness and highlight the leg. On top of it, they’re made to measure.

“Is this real life?”

“I feel pretty alive, what about you?”

“How the hell did you get these? I called everywhere. No, literally. I e-mailed fucking Hong Kong for them. Supposedly only like six pairs were made.” “Those have been in my closet since October.” The nonchalance in his tone evoked a moisture lightly seep into the seat of the lace under my jeans. I don’t know whether to jump on the bed in joy or discard everything covering my frame allow him to twist and flip me into any position of his liking. Maybe both? Both can certainly be done.

“Come and give me a hug please.” With the box now resting alongside me, I opened my arms and awaited his presence. Like a weighted blanket, a wave of tranquility washed over me at the mass of his body now being closely hard-pressed against mine. My fingers found their way into the platinum blonde curls and few loose dreads dangling from his scalp and our lips met for a kiss that I’d been yearning for since I opened my eyes this morning. The sweetness of his supple lips intoxicated me far more than anything alcoholic ever could and the way his length fingers dug into the skin of my hips nearly blurred the actuality that we’re not home alone.

“I love them so much. Thank you, handsome.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Get up so that I can get one of yours from downstairs.”

“I can wait until after you’re dressed.”

“No, I insist. Let me get it.”

“Another kiss first?”

Without hesitation, I once again pressed my lips into his own for a deep peck and moved in a fluidity with his body as we eased off of the bed. I made it downstairs and back up, with a promise that I’d hurry up and change so the festivities could really begin. I need a quick shower first before I do anything else.

“I hope that you like it. I saw it and you instantly came to mind.”

“Can I just warn you that I didn’t wrap all of your gifts. The only reason why your boots were wrapped is because the boutique did it for me.”

“It’s fine. I don’t care about all of that.” The last thing I expected him to do is be frustrating himself with wrapping paper. His patience would never be able to handle it. For some odd reason, I enjoy doing it. I’ve been the designated gift wrapper in my family for years.

Though it may seem childish to some, I wrapped everything I bought him in Dr. Seuss’ “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” wrapping paper that I randomly spotted and happily picked up from a Hallmark store in Rutherford, New Jersey. Since he deemed it to be his favorite holiday classic, I imagined it would be festive to bring an element of it into the fun.

With my phone in hand, I snapped a photo of him as he tore through it to reveal the Louis Vuitton box, I knew it to be. Within seconds, its lid was on the floor and he drew away the protective paper to reveal the tan cowhide and calf leather “Christopher Backpack” backpack I bought for him. Unlike his ridiculously vibrant Supreme bags, I fell in love with the timeless style of the backpack and the classic solidness of its color. It’s a perfect choice for those game days when he’s more dressed up than down and needs something that’s subtle while still somehow being a statement piece.

“Damn, this is clean. This is perfect for when we’re traveling because they usually want us a little more dressed up.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Yeah, I love this baby. I don’t know about waiting until next season to wear it though. I’ll have this on within a couple of days. Watch.”

Knowing him, he will. If it’s new, he’s in it shortly after receiving it. I don’t know him to be that person who saves things for later. Why should he when he’s constantly either buying or receiving things?

“I’m going to take a short shower. It’ll be quick.”

“You already smell good. What you need a shower for?”

“I was cooking. I can smell it on me. It’ll be quick. Ten minutes.”

“Your showers are never ten minutes.”

“This one will be. I assure you.”

The fib didn’t go without being grumbled about when that ten-minute duration I assured him up turned into an additional ten simply because of the feel of the warm water cascading over my skin left me in damn near a state of slumber as I stood there. My lotion lathering came with assistance and so did pulling up the opaque plaid patterned tights over my thighs. By the way of their fit, they were clearly sewn together to cater to an extremely slender woman’s shape but by the grace of God and my man’s hands they were up and over my ass without a snag or hole in sight.

“I really can’t believe you bought all of this.” We look like we work in the middle of a mall. Instead of having crying babies sitting up on his lap for photographs, he’d have lusty women beating one another to a bloody pulp for daring to cut the line to ruin their chances of sitting upon his lap and asking for his genitalia while I’d be called Santa’s Slore.

“Let’s go outside.”

Intricate patterns of the weightless ice floated downward from the darkened sky. Each flake whirled and twirled as a faint wind blustered them in our direction. Much like the silly man alongside myself randomly dancing for his personal media guy’s camera, I joyfully tracked footsteps into the barely there bed of snow covering the grounds of his driveway and took satisfaction in the sound of it squishing under my boots. I’m no longer camera shy, but being on one with him has awoken what used to be a part of me. I already knew that George would be documenting all of this just as he does for a lot of milestones and random moments of his life, but what happens if I’m no longer what he wants and he randomly comes across this Christmas video and the pictures to go with it one day? How awkward would that be?

“Hey, look.”

“Huh?” Though he only spoke two words, the thick cloud of breath still lingered as I faced him. In following his eyes as they slowly panned up, mine met the mistletoe idly hanging on the door with the red bows that were already there.

“That was not there when I got here.” I saw the bows, but the mistletoe? No. Laughter spilled from our lips at what I knew to be true. I’m slightly fatigued, but I can remember what I did and did not see.

“It was.”

“It was not.”

“Come and kiss me so that we can go inside, open up more stuff, and play cards with grandma.”

“That tone. I like it.” I’m alright with a man taking charge every now and then.

“Come here.”

The frost of the winter air was of no match to the warmth radiating from our bodies and serving as a shield around our affection. I’d often fantasize about moments like this; having a companion to comfortably, and most of all safely, bare my all to without any guards or painful baggage weighing me down. I believed the advice of allowing it to come to me was standard and cliché, but I undoubtedly understand it now. It’s when you least expect it that the unexpected happens in the best way possible. I ruled him out of my life as soon as we had that initial conversation and yet the universe continued to cross our paths, naturally coercing me to allow him in. In the midst of all of my fears from the past and present, I want only him.

“Okay, let’s go. I want to see everything that you got me.”

“You can’t open everything tonight. That’s breaking our deal.”

“Huh?” I trailed behind him as he dashed back into the house and towards the living room.

“You heard me!”

I chose the kitchen counter top as my designated seat for what turned into the most chaotic gift giving presentation. Like a hood Santa Claus, all I could pay attention to was my man and his slightly sagging plaid pants zipping through his home pulling out gifts from seemingly everywhere. They jokingly talked about how much of a grinch he was last Christmas but he’s certainly redeeming himself this year.

I can’t remember the last time I thoughtlessly splurged on luxury designer goods but I don’t need to do so any time soon because he covered that and then some. Being overwhelmed was an understatement. Chanel, Versace, Bottega Veneta, Balenciaga, Saint Laurent, Fendi. I lost track of the rest and the process of just how I’m going to be able to organize all of it in my closet.

In watching him, it’s so easy to understand human purpose. In the midst of being here to seek fulfillment within our own purpose, we’re just as much here to look after our loved ones and even those who aren’t. Fortunately, he’s been blessed to have more and because of it, he spreads not only his love but also the benefits of his wealth among them. There’s a pride within it that has been radiating from him for over an hour now. I too, can relate. I’ve been given just as many hugs and kisses of thanks that he’s been given and I expect that it’ll continue when I am with my own family in the morning.

“Draw 4, blondie.” What he thought was going to be a swift Uno out moment turned into him having fifteen cards in his hand and a scowl on his face that is hysterical. He’d beaten me to the point of embarrassment at Spades because I’ve never been that great at it despite the many times my dad taught me how to play, so I had to somehow coerce him into playing something that I could play by pretending that I didn’t know how to.

“You know what, I’m going downstairs to whoop Kordell in some hoops because you’re cheating.” A snicker slipped past my lips at the playfully aggravated scowl on his face as he used his body’s strength to push his chair away from the round table. In a manner to taunt him, I held out my hands before me and wiggled my fingers to signify my lack of cards and the reality that I’d just won yet another game of UNO. My man being a sore loser isn’t something that he’s modest about. I and many others have known that about him for quite some time.

“Don’t be mad.”

“You’re cheating. You keep making up imaginary rules that don’t exist.”

“Seriously? The directions are in the box. Look at them or look them up on Google. It’s not my fault that you don’t know them all. You just suck.”

“I suck?” The amused expression on Mille’s face tickled all of us as she glanced back and forth, to take in every shit talking word as they left the both of our mouths. She’d been quietly observing the two of us since we joined both she and Jasmyne at the table for a round of card games.

Initially, I thought I’d been intruding on her time with her grandchildren, but the sly smirks and eventual huge smiles gracing her angelic face swarmed me with a warmness that I needed to further soothe me into a comfort zone around those who I do not know well just yet. Every couple of minutes or so, she’d give me either a gracious caress to the hand as a sign of her welcoming or a pat of encouragement to continue beating her oldest grandchild at Uno. I’m going to accredit that to the feminism within her.

“If the shoe fits, babe.”

“I’m going to remember that baby. The mental note is made.” He used his index finger to tap his forehead as I wordlessly ogled over his exterior.

If anyone looked at his attire, it wouldn’t be deemed as anything impressive; a black Supreme sweatshirt and a pair of black loose shorts to keep him much cooler than all of that velvet he had on. Simple. Why my eyes are continuing to embarrassingly bulge out of their sockets every time they land on him is beyond my comprehension. I’ve never seen anyone’s facial structure be as chiseled to perfection as his is. The silhouette of his jawbone is completely shielded by the blackness of his thick beard and yet just the hint of it sends unwavering shivers down my spine.

The glimmer in his faintly slanted and ever so narrowed eyes illuminates any room when that priceless smile arises on his face and every aspect of myself begins to figuratively melt into liquid form; between my thighs is the worst of it. In the midst of his sleep, I love to plant soft pecks down the finely lined bridge of his nose until my lips are gently pressed into the suppleness of his own. I’m addicted. I lose all sense of who I am whenever his warm tongue meets mine.

Handsome is an understatement; it isn’t enough to compare. He is beauty personified. I don’t believe there is another man in sports entertainment who has left me gasping for just a slight breath of air upon my every sight of him. It never gets old. I don’t believe it ever will.

Sometimes I have to wonder if he’s truly mine or if the universe is playing some type of sick joke on me.

“I don’t mind you remembering that.” Whatever payback he has for that may come with pleasure that I am more than willing to accept.

“Alright.” The sly smirk tugging on his lips was enough to leave me on the borderline of tickled and embarrassed as soon as he leaned over to plant a knowing and warning kiss on my lips. Despite the presence of his younger siblings and the elders within his family, he didn’t harbor not even an ounce of regard or bashfulness when it came to his need to have his hands touching some part of my body or any other display of affection, he bestowed upon me at random moments. His actions remained consistent with all that he does when we’re alone; barely any discretion involved.

“I’m not sure if my stomach is churning because of you two or because I want some cake, but I’m going to get some cake anyway. Y’all want anything?”

“You just mad.” And just like that, her brother’s large palms were lightly meshing into the side of her head for a playful mush and she instantly pushed him out of her way.

“I’m just fine with my egg nog.” Mille opted to keep hers virgin along with the other underage beings around. The rest of us had just a teaser of rum to give it a subtle kick.

“Me too. I’m fine.” I stepped on the scale a couple of days ago and I’ve gained five pounds. Between the man in my life constantly feeding me and the holidays, I’ve been overindulging on just about everything that’s offered to me. I need to get my life together.

With yet another shove to her brother’s side, Jasmyne darted away from the table with him hot on her trail with jokes about the size of her head which is no different from his own, but I’ll leave him be. They left the matriarch of their family and I at the table with decks of cards and a “Snow Place Like Home” five-hundred-piece jigsaw puzzle that she’s beginning to open so that we can attempt to put it all together before we’re off to bed. The peacefulness on her face evoked a solace within me that I’ve been seeking since this day began. My internal mourning subsided for the meantime as I observed her joy in being surrounded by family and most of all, because they’re all doing quite well in all aspects.

“My daughter went from telling me that you have my grandson’s nose wide open to telling me that he’s completely lost into your world and I couldn’t believe it. Odell would always laugh me off when I asked him about girls or women and he’d tell me that myself, Heather, and Jasmyne are the only ladies of value and importance in his life. From the way he’s been floating around here since your arrival and the way he looks at you, there’s officially a fourth.” My mouth moved to speak but the words remained stuck in the pit of my throat as her ash white eyebrows arose in a satisfaction at the believed accuracy of her all too knowing spirit.

“You don’t have to be modest. He’s not sitting next to you anymore.” Immediately, giggles spilled from her rosy lips prompting my shoulders to sink in a relief that I’m not sure why I needed.

“I’m not being modest. I just don’t know what to say. It feels like a lot of this is unfamiliar territory for me but at the same time, it evokes the shy and bashful side of me.” She’s been making little comments since we were introduced. I guess they were all leading up to this moment.

“That’s a good thing dear; a great thing. I’ve been wanting to meet you ever since his momma showed me a video of him working out with his physical therapists and trainers. You’ve built him back up. She gives you most of the credit for that.”

“I wouldn’t give myself any credit. His determination did it. You can’t keep someone with his determination down and he certainly wasn’t going to do it to himself.”

“Determination goes a long way, but often time, there has to be something or someone to ignite the fire behind that determination and that has been you. You cared for him, physically and most of all mentally, during what he calls one of the most disappointing and darkest times of his life thus far. So, don’t sell yourself cheaply because he talks about you like you’re priceless.”

“I believe in everyone having a person; that person that they can go to for laughter and good times or to lean on for a cry session. Whether it’s a close relative or a friend, you just need that person. I wanted to be that person for him because I know what it’s like to not have that person. He didn’t need pity. He needed encouragement that the injury is just a small part of his journey and most of all, he just needed someone to simply be there. That’s what you do for someone you lo-“

My tongue pressed against the backs of my top front teeth as I halted an admission that I’ve been withholding for a short while and coming to grips with on my own. I’ve been overly analyzing what that means for myself and how to navigate it going forward because it’s never felt quite like this before. As with all that I’ve been sharing with him, it’s new and I’ve jumped off of a cliff and into a pit of fear that I’m doing my best not to drown in.

Acceptance needed to come first and now that it has, I’ve been in a wonderment of whether or not those feelings are reciprocated on his end and how I’m going to handle my ever-going emotions if they are not. I cannot berate him for what he may not feel nor can I resent him for not sparing my feelings with lies if he does admit that I am in this alone.

I want to do nothing more than protect him. It’s almost odd because I’ve felt compelled to do that prior to even knowing him. Every attack and biased commentary that came his way felt like a personal attack on the character of a man who the world refused to understand. Now that I’ve experienced him in ways that are far beyond what were in my imagination at that time, I stand firm in what I knew all along. He’s not perfect and yet his imperfections are too what I love about him. He’s the embodiment of a security in his personhood and masculinity that I am irrevocably attached to.

“You could have finished that. Words are powerful but so are body language and actions. Yours have said it all. You know, I used to call you the young lady on TV that he likes so much, but now I call you the young lady on TV that he loves so much.”

Faint tingling nipped at the nape of my neck and the lined crevice of my back as certain aspects of her statement entered my ear like a vibrating echo; hypothetically repeating themselves for an emphasis to my thoughts. The last man I remember genuinely loving me laid down with my mom to create me. Shamel did not love me; I was something to do.

He rarely ever used the word and when he did, it was to emphasize something that he loved for me to do for him. In poor judgement and a lack of character, I accepted that because I was too emotionally exhausted to be combative with him or myself about it. Eventually, I didn’t even want him to love me. There didn’t need to be anything that kept us attached beyond an ignorant familiarity that I clung to for far too long.

“You really think so?”

“I know so dear.”

In an effort to help her, I reached my arms out and used my hands to spread out the many pieces all over the table so that we could begin a strategy to get it done. It’s been quite some time since I’ve done one of these and I’m not even sure my tired body can concentrate enough but I’m willing to try.

“Merry Christmas.” Yet again, the scent of his Sean Jean cologne slithered up my nose as the heat radiating from his body left me leaning back against my seat, relishing in it. His long arms extended over and he placed a navy-blue box down on the table directly in front of me. Upon my eyes landing on it, the all too famous Harry Winston initials were engraved in a bold gold on its surface.

“What’s this?” Along with him, Mille, and myself being in the room, there was also George who was continuing to document every aspect of this holiday celebration.

“Just a little something for my Brooklyn girl to rock with her Timbs.”

“Shut up!” Our regional teasing never ends. He tends edge me out with the Brooklyn jokes because I don’t know how many other ways, I can talk about how country he is. Technically speaking, he’s not even as country as some of the other athletes that I’ve spoken with over the last couple of years. Even his accent, that nearly melted me out of my heels the night we first conversed with one another, isn’t heavily ingrained with that Louisiana flare.

“Open it.” Without any bickering or hesitation, I slowly pulled up the lid on the box to reveal a pair of hoop earrings that instantly left me in a state of breathlessness. The emerald and round cut stones circled their platinum setting with a glimmer that one could not ignore. Every aspect of their make oozed a meticulousness to his taste and Mr. Winston’s talent. Any figure of price that came to mind could not match up with what sat before me and I know better than to ask him for specifics. I can admit to being a gold hoop wearing girl while I was back in high school, but I never imagined myself having a pair quite like this.

“Oh my God.” Circling my fingers over their surfaces solidified the reality of them now being within my possession and his supple lips pressing against my forehead widened the smile I was already donning.

“You like them? They seemed like they were very you when I saw them. Hoops for when you rock those buns in your hair.” Whether it’s a well done or sloppy bun, he always compliments how “cute” it is on me and he takes it a step further by enjoying the open access to my neck while my hair is out of the way.

“I love them. Thank you, babe. Thank you so much, they’re beautiful.” Just as I’ve done with every gift he’s given me thus far, I leapt out of the chair and threw my arms around his body in a physical showering of the love that I have for him. It’s beyond the gifts but rather the reality of him thinking of me and being so intuitive with what I desire and need that has taken his endless gift giving over the edge tonight.

“George did you get that? Now that’s a picture-perfect moment.” Mille’s face glowed in pleasure at the sight of us. I wonder if we’re reminiscent of those old black and white films that I secretly love so much. I hope so, but just in color. Everything about us is vibrant.

“I have it all Mama Millz.”

“I’ll be back.” I couldn’t take another moment of being in that unbearably warm coat or the tights.

I did change. The crimson red fair isle long john was a perfect touch for tonight. Much like earlier, the fireplace distracted me and I found myself sliding down onto the floor to marvel in its heat and beauty. If there were a pillow down here with me, I’d be asleep within minutes. Though he moved into this house not that long ago, for some reason it feels more lived in than my own. Maybe it’s because it’s filled with family right now or it may be the dogs, but I enjoy the way I feel here. There’s an eerie loneliness in my home that can be difficult to ignore sometimes.

“What are you doing?”

“Enjoying the fireplace.”

“Why are you acting like you don’t have one?” Once inside, he closed the door enough just to leave a crack in it.

“I don’t have one in my bedroom.”

“We can fix that.” Yet again, the nonchalance tone and now shrug awoken parts of me that I’ve been mentally taming since my arrival. He talks like he’s more than willing to give me the world in a silver platter if I were to request it.

“I have something for you.”

“I want something for you too.”

“Me first.” Rather than hanging it to him, I nudged the velvet gift bag towards his feet and he flopped down onto the floor to meet it. He dropped his gift for me, Cartier from what I observed, into his lap.

“Patek Philippe? Oh wow.” With no response, I allowed him to have the moment to himself as he pulled the chocolate toned leather box out of the bag. Our eye contact was brief as he pulled open the lid and his silence intrigued me instead of rattling my already racing nerves. Just as I’d done to the hoop earrings, his fingers ran over its surface while his lips parted to leave his mouth agape. It may not be on his arm now, but I’ve envisioned just how incredible it’s going to look on him over and over again.

“The blue isn’t only representative of the team but it also takes me back to the night we both spoke for the first time. You were wearing blue and black. In New Orleans, when we made things official, you were wearing blue. Blue makes me think of you. I know most associate that color with sorrow, but you give it life and joy. You give it character.”

Only the sound of the fire crackling against the wood served as a tune dancing in the air of stillness between the two of us. His reaction to so many of the other things I gifted to him were boisterous and comedic, but this stole his words and left him to wallow in speechlessness.

“Sarai, I love you.”

The wholeness of his words filled voids that I neglected and accepted as everlasting destruction. His patience has sealed my gaping wounds and rid me of the leftover scarring. The acceptor of my deficiencies and the protector of my delicate soul, in his eyes, for the first time in such a long time, I recognize myself. The duality of being able to love myself and him is as synchronized as my breathing.

“I love you too, Odell.”

Undoubtedly. Irrevocably.

#odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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justmewoo · 6 years ago

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Tony's Big Brother [ Male Reader x Avengers] A Wish.

A/N: This idea came to me last night and I had to write it out. This story is my first time writing one of avengers and my grammar sucks cause english isnt my first language so if people would like me to continue it please let me know :)

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CHAPTER ONE:

I was always my father's favorite son until his last breath, after all, I was the oldest. But did I enjoy that feeling of growing up? The answer is no, I did not enjoy being my father's favorite son because it hurt my younger brother Tony.

The fact he always compared us to one another and saying how Tony should be more like me, made my blood boil every time he would do that in front of everybody. Growing up, the distance grew between us making it difficult to communicate with one another.

Whenever I wanted to spend time with him, he would move or avoid me. He didn't want to play or do anything with me. Mom tried talking with him saying how "we are siblings and need to get along." But that phrase went in one ear and out the other, Tony simply did not care what so ever.

At six years old I made a promise to myself that I would protect Tony from the moment he was born.

I was born in New York City 1964. I was told by my mother that father was happy and excited about being a father. My name was chosen by him as [Male Name] Howard Stark. So you can say that's another reason why Tony could never like me. I had grown up as an only child, it was a lot of fun because I truly enjoyed all of his inventions and how he got to meet Captain America. Also watching war documentaries, something that Tony didn't like much.

We also had a butler named Jarvis, he always spent a lot of time with my brother. He was a lot closer to him than our father but he was more of a father figure to him than our own dad. When I was at the age of 15 my father would take the both of us to Stark Industries to know about the family business. But I just couldn't really find interest in the industry, my thing was learning how to build cars. Which also caused me a few problems with him.

When I hit my last year of high school I had made it into a top university where they would teach you to learn everything about Automotive Tech and Car. Yet, the second I got the scholarship, my father talked with the school informing them that I was going to stick to the "family business" and that I didn't need to learn any other thing besides the Stark Industries.

My mother was a very caring and loving woman if it wasn't for her I had no idea how we three would have survived. She was the opposite of my father and I only wish she would have lived a bit longer. It was my fault that both my mother and father died in that car accident.

We had gotten into a bit of an argument that night on December 16, 1991. It was my fault if only I hadn't had been so weak then maybe they would have still been alive. That night we were in the car, I had joined boot camp to enlist into the military but they both didn't want me going so they picked me up and were taking me home. But when we were on our way there, a motorcycle had been following us for the last five minutes until it cornered us, causing my father to crash the car in the middle of the road. A guy wearing black clothing and long raven hair who had a long silver metal like arm opened my father's door throwing him on to the ground and beating him to death...he then banged the back of his head against the car killing him in an instant. "Howard" my mother yelled in a low voice with pain. "You bastard!" I yelled in anger. My mother was seriously injured and couldn't move. I had to get her out of the car but I wasn’t able to move my body felt like it was paralyzed by the pain I felt. "Don't worry m-mom I will get you out of here." I looked down at my left thigh to see I had a few pieces of glass stuck into my skin that was creating a small puddle of blood. I clenched my fist in anger and made an attempt at moving my body but I had to little no avail.

I looked at the long raven man, he then began to move towards my mother's side and slowly grabbed her by the neck suffocating her. I closed my eyes trying not to picture her pain but it became impossible. Hearing her painful screams made me feel weak, she gasping for air until there were no more sounds. She was dead.

I bit my tongue trying to open the door, after much push and trying to swallow the screams of pain that wanted to erupt, I had opened it grabbing his attention. The man’s eyes then looked in mine, even with the small lamp post that was illuminating the street, it wasn’t enough to reach his eyes. It made my body freeze from just his stare alone- I dragged myself on to the ground, landing on my face. The pieces of glass were going in deeper making the small pool of blood to become bigger.

I tried getting up to fight him but he was too strong. He had managed to grab me from my back and throw me against the car. My bones then made a cracking sound with every hit I received. By the time he was gone, I had fallen unconscious. My body was covered in blood and cuts along with dirt. But to this day watching my parents being murdered in front of me is something I will never forget. All I could think about that night was Tony and the fear of dying.

But when I had opened my eyes it wasn't 1991 anymore. Somehow the world around me looked differently. Nothing looked like how I knew it used to be instead everything looked advanced. When I woke up I was in what seemed to be a room, with walls painted light green along with picture frames of a young woman with brown hair and blue eyes wearing a summer dress. Behind her was a tall male who seemed to be around my age and had all my features his hands where wrapped around her. My eyes widen when I noticed that guy was me and she was pregnant. The rest of the picture frames were of the two of us.

There was a picture of us on our wedding day. In the middle of the wall were about nine brown pictures that seemed to be a baby? There ultrasound pictures and if they are nine that could only mean that....

Crying sounds could be heard coming from inside the next room. I gulped when I heard the sounds of footsteps coming to this room. I looked down at myself to realize I wasn't wearing the same clothes anymore but that also sorta freaked me out. But I failed to notice the wedding ring on my left hand. Anyway, the doorknob twisted and opened revealing the girl from the picture holding a pink blanket and the crying noises were coming from that.

"I'm sorry did she wake you up. Maria hasn't stopped crying all morning since you last put her to sleep I, think she wants her daddy." She said walking around the bed and over to me, then handed me the baby girl. She opened her eyes and those brown eyes stared back at me, she stopped whimpering. 'She has my mother's name.' I thought inside my head.

The baby well Maria had some of her features but definitely had my mother's eyes. I rocked her with my arms back and forth carefully. "She's definitely daddy's girl. Told you she missed you its such a shame you have to go back to work at the office Mr. President of [Last Name] Cars."

I looked at her confused. 'Who's [Last Name] is that?"

I continued to stare down at her as she slowly closed her eyes falling into a deep sleep. The woman came closer to me and took the baby in her arms but not before planting a kiss on my cheek. She got up from the bed and exited the room leaving me alone in my own thoughts. "What the hell is going on here? Who is she and where am I? I need to get out of here." I stood up from the bed quickly exiting the room without making a sound. I went down the stairs only to bump right into her.

"I’m sorry I didn’t see you." I apologized grabbing her gently from her wrist. She suddenly hugged my side and wrapped her arms around my waist burying her face into my chest. I didn't hug her back and thats when I noticed the ring on my left hand. I just stood there awkwardly, "Thank you for changing [Male Reader] it means a lot now that we have our daughter. I just hope your parents love her as much as we do. Speaking of them, they called saying they might come to visit for Christmas next week."

I moved away to the side turning around taking a deep breath. I felt like my head was going to explode. None of this is making any sense at all. First I'm on the ground dying next to my parents and suddenly I wake up to a home in a different year with a wife and daughter and now my parents are alive. And who the heck is [Last Name] Car thing. I shook my head pinching myself hoping to wake up.

"None of this is making sense." I murmured.

"Are you alright [Male Name] why are you pinching yourself." She asked walking near me placing her hand on my shoulder. "Are you remembering the accident. The doctor did say some things wouldn't make any sense and that you might be confused."

An accident? The only way of knowing what's going on is if she explains it to me. I clear my throat. "Yea, can.... can you explain to me." I asked looking into her eyes.

"It was about a month ago when you got into a car accident when you were operating a new invention for a car. The brakes weren't functioning well so you crashed against another car. The doctor said it might had caused an impact in your head and memory." I shook my head. That can't be possible I suddenly looked around the living room looking for a date.

"What day is it today? What year are we in?" I asked as she ran a hand over my cheek looking at me with concerned eyes.

"It's December 17, 2015 hun don't you remember it's almost going to be christmas." She said planting a kiss on my lips, spinning around and taking my hand in hers guiding me to the other side of the living room to see a big Christmas tree in the corner with lights and gifts under the tree. 'It's almost Christmas?' She guided me to another side of the room to see more pictures with tons of people.

The people in the picture frames looked nothing like me. A man who seems to be in his late fourthies was standing next to a lady who appeared to be his wife because they where kissing each other. Next to them was me and a girl who looked older than me probably in her thirties. She had two kids and a guy standing with her. "Are these my parents?" I asked her. Nodding her head.

"Yes there your parents and sister along with your brother in law and two kids. Alice is your mother, Stuart is your father, Jane is your sister, Alex is your brother in law and the two kids are Anthony and Alexandra. And in case you forgot your wife's name which is me my name's Jennifer." She smiled at me.

"Right... I remember now thank you for telling me their names and yours. I guess I still have some recovering to do." I smiled at her acting normal but in the inside I was still freaking out.

"Thats what am here for to help you recover. Now that you know all the information do you think we can get ready to go out and shop for my parent's gifts?"

I smiled gently at her nodding and wrapped my arms around her placing my head on top of hers. 'Tony where are you.' was the only thought that came crossed my mind.

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ladywinchester1967 · 6 years ago

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A Wedding for Christmas

All I Want for Christmas is You: Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Josie (OFC)

Warnings: fluff, wedding feels, SMUT, dirty talk, oral (female receiving)

A/N: This is part of my collaboration with @ravenangel33 for our Christmas Fics! For context, read her fic Dean’s Christmas List, then my fic All I Want for Christmas Is You so you’ll be all caught up 😍 hope you guys enjoy!! Beta’d by @ravenangel33 but any mistakes are still mine. All pics are not!

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I had everything as far as I was concerned. A year ago, the man I loved, Dean Winchester, asked me to be his wife, what else could a girl want?

But then came the wedding planning, which I’d always heard was the most stressful part of getting married. With help from my Mom, sister, Becca, and Dean’s mom, Mary, wedding planning had been frighteningly easy. We’d found a cute little chapel in Lebanon that looked like something out of a fairy tale. Dean had also reminded me that there was a gorgeous bed and breakfast not far from the chapel that we’d helped get rid of a ghost in. When we contacted them and let them know what we were planning, they were so grateful about us getting rid of the ghost, they offered up the place to hold the reception along with their honeymoon suite as a special thank you to us.

Selecting a dress had by far been the most stressful thing in my mind. I knew what I wanted but was worried if Dean would like it or not. When I told him this, he had laughed.

“Sweetheart, you could wear a potato sack and I’d still think you’re the most gorgeous girl in the room.” Bearing that in mind, I picked a dress I loved, knowing he would love it too.

When the day before our wedding finally came, the chapel and the bed and breakfast took care of the decorations. They had done a beautiful job on their own, but the only thing I really wanted was a candlelight ceremony, which the chapel was more than happy to accommodate. We did the rehearsal, which went off without a hitch. When it came time for us to part for the evening, Dean was reluctant to let me go.

“It’s just a silly tradition,” He insisted “why should I have to spend a night away from you?”

“It’s bad luck to see me right before the wedding,” I told him “we’re gonna need all the good luck we can get.”

It had been harder on Dean than he’d anticipated to leave his old life behind. He was still an indispensable source of information, but for the last year, he had slowly moved away from the field and spent more time in the bunker with me while I planned the wedding and found us a house to live in. He’d ceaselessly worried about Sam, who’d insisted he would be fine without Dean. Thus far, that had proved to be true. We’d slowly moved our things out of the bunker and into the home we would be renting, gradually spending more time at home than in the bunker. Only a week prior had the last of our stuff been packed up and moved in.

He sighed and said “If you insist.”

“I do insist,” I told him “and remember what Bobby told you?”

He nodded with a grin “Happy wife, happy life.”

“See?” I teased “Not so bad.”

He rolled his eyes and kissed me sweetly. When he pulled back, he held my face in his hands.

“The next time I see you, we’re going to be getting married.” He told me, my cheeks flushing.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?” I asked “I know this is a lot of change for you.”

He nodded and smiled before kissing my forehead.

“Sweetheart, there’s no one I’d rather go through all this change with than you. You’ve been there every step of the way, which I love you for, but it’s time to put my past behind me.”

I smiled at him and then kissed him again.

“See you tomorrow,” I told him “I’ll be the one dressed like Big Bird.”

He laughed

“Now I KNOW you’re fucking with me,” he said “you don’t wear yellow.”

He had tried to guess what my dress looked like and so far, he hadn’t been able to. I’d thrown him way off the trail by telling him it was an obnoxious color or that it had feathers on it.

“Oh, before I forget,” I told him and then reached into my bag and handed him a small, wrapped box “I got this for you.”

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to get me anything.” He said “You agreed to marry me, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Don’t open it until tomorrow.” I told him “It’s something to calm your nerves for tomorrow.”

“I didn’t know whiskey packed up so nicely.” He joked.

When I woke up the next morning, my Mom, Becca, and Mary were all there to help me get ready. Becca took care of everyone’s hair while her son, Mason, played with my Mom.

“Any last minute advice before I put on the dress?” I asked my Mom and Mary. Mary kindly smiled and said

“Be kind to one another, the world is harsh enough as it is.”

My Mom thought for a minute and then said

“That whole “don’t go to bed angry” thing is bullshit.”

“MOM!” I exclaimed

“What?!” My Mom asked “Sometimes you need to sleep on something and come back to it the next day with a clear head is all I’m saying!”

I shook my head and unzipped the bag where my dress had been. The ladies helped me get into the gown that fit me like a glove. The lace sleeves stopped just at my forearms, lace and sparkly beading splashed across it with a short, pretty train. I looked in the full length mirror and couldn’t believe the girl looking back at me. Becca had done my hair in a simple chignon with a few locks curled and framing my face. Mom helped clip my veil into place as Mary helped me slip on the heels I was going to wear.

“Wow,” I said, looking at everything put together “I just, wow.”

When it was finally time for the ceremony, I tightly clutched the bouquet of amaryllis and white lilies as I waited for my turn to enter the chapel. I closed my eyes and hoped that the gift I’d given Dean would be enough to help him calm down as my memory flashed to when he’d given it to me.

“Okay, I got you something special this year for your birthday.” He said as he handed me a square box. I eagerly tore open the paper and inside the box was a set of keys with a small pendant that had the word “Baby” etched into it.

“You don’t call me baby,” I told him as I looked at the keys “only your car gets called-OH MY GOD.” I realized what they were, my own set of keys to his Impala. I nearly burst into tears as he said

“You have your own set now,” with a smile “you can drive her whenever you want.”

I had no words; that was the most powerful symbol of his feelings for me until he proposed. I looked down at the small heart pendant around my neck, I’d had it cut from the keychain. My mind flashed to when I wrote Dean the note I’d enclosed in the box.

Dean,

I know you’re probably nervous about today, so am I. Enclosed, you’ll find the keychain that you gave me with my set of Baby’s keys. You’ll probably notice there’s a small, heart shaped piece missing. I’ll be wearing it as a pendant for today and always, as a reminder that I’ll always have a little piece of your heart with me and you, too, will always have a little piece of my heart with you.

I hope this sets your mind at ease, at least a little, and I sent Sam with a flask of whiskey in case it didn’t. I love you and I’ll see you VERY soon!

Love,

Your Wife

When the music started, I took a deep breath and waited until the doors swung open to exhale.

The chapel was lit with dozens of candles and Christmas lights that brought out the rich reds and greens in the poinsettias and the garland that decorated the altar and the pews. At the very front, there he was, looking like he strolled right out of a men’s magazine. The crisp, dark suit he wore fit him perfectly and he’d left just a little scruff on his face, just the way I liked. His green eyes sparkled and he looked like he was having a hard time breathing as I got closer. Then, the last person I ever expected to see, Chuck, appeared. I went wide eyed as he smiled at both Dean and I. I handed my flowers to Becca and took both of Dean’s hands in mine.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Chuck said “thank you all for being here today as we witness the union of Josie Meyers and Dean Winchester. They have both elected to write their own vows, so with that being said, ladies first.”

Becca handed me the paper I’d written my vows on as I smiled up at him.

“Dean, from the moment we met, I knew there was something different about you, what, I couldn’t be sure. All I did know was that I had to get to know you better. Through your simple, caring gestures, kind and affectionate words, even your very presence has put my soul at ease. You are everything I hoped my Prince Charming would be plus many more things. You’re my hero, my rock, my protector and my best friend. I promise that I will always love you, comfort and keep you in sickness and in health until death do us part.”

Dean looked like he was about to cry but held back his tears as he pulled a sheet of paper from his coat pocket and began to talk.

“Josie, you showed me a life I never thought I could have.” he started.

Suddenly, he looked like he made a decision, folded up the paper and stuck it back in his pocket.

“You can read those later,” he said, his eyes laser focused on me as he held tightly to my hands “I’ll be anything you need, I promise. I’ll be there to hold you. I’ll remind you how beautiful you are every single day of our lives. I’ll protect you Josie, from anything that would harm you. And you will be happy, whatever I have to do, I will make you happy. You are my love.”

I watched as a single tear slid down his cheek and I gently wiped it away.

“I’ll take away all your tears Dean,” I’ll told him quietly so that only he could hear “I’ll take them all away.”

Becca and Sam then handed mine and Dean’s wedding bands to Chuck, who took them in his hands and closed his eyes. Imperceptible to anyone besides me it seemed, Chuck’s clasped hands seemed to glow as he held our rings, muttering something under his breath.

It suddenly felt like the world went silent. I looked around and saw everyone frozen in place except for Dean, Chuck and I.

“I know I’m kind of a last minute party crasher,” Chuck said “but I wanted to be here for this.”

“No, you’re fine.” Dean insisted and I nodded in agreement “But I have to ask, what was with the light show?”

“You saw that too?” I asked Dean, who nodded.

“I blessed the rings,” Chuck said “they’re protection for the two of you. No monsters will ever bother you or your children.”

We looked at each other and then at him.

“Why now?” Dean asked

Chuck’s eyes went soft and he smiled at both of us.

“Because you have earned it. Beyond earned it, now it’s time for you two to take it easy and live the life you want.” Chuck told us.

Dean and I stared at him and then at each other as a slow smile crossed Dean’s face.

“Okay.” Dean said with a nod “If she’s on board then so am I.”

They both looked at me, the gravity of the situation hitting me. No monsters would ever come after our family. We’d never have to worry about our children finding a ghoul under their bed or being attacked by a werewolf. My eyes pricked with tears and I nodded.

“Yes,” I said “absolutely.”

He then handed my ring to Dean, as time restarted, and said

“Dean, place the ring on Josie’s finger and repeat after me.”

Dean waited and then said

“Josie, take thing ring as a token of my love. I marry you with this ring, all that I am and all that I have.” He pushed the ring all the way down to the base of my finger as tears spilled out of my eyes. I felt a warmth radiate from the ring as I quickly dabbed my tears away and took Dean’s ring from Chuck.

“Dean, take this ring as a token of my love. I marry you with this ring, all that I am and all that I have.”

With our rings exchanged, Chuck smiled at the both of us.

“With the power vested in me,” he said “I bless this marriage and now pronounce that Josie and Dean are husband and wife. Dean, you may kiss your bride.”

Dean pulled me close and kissed me hard as our friends and family clapped and cheered.

We rode in Baby over to the bed and breakfast holding hands. When we stopped at a red light he kissed the back of my hand and said

“You look so beautiful, I’m one lucky, lucky son of a bitch.”

I smiled and said

“Oh, just you wait until I get you alone, then you’ll see how lucky you are.”

His eyes lit up mischievously.

“What do you have under that dress for me?” He purred against my hand.

“You’re gonna have to wait until tonight there handsome.” I told him.

“Come on sweetheart,” he pleaded “just a little peek?”

The light turned green and I nodded to the light.

“Get us to the B&B safely and you’ll get a peek.” I told him.

Once we arrived, true to my word, I pulled my dress up just enough to show him that I was wearing a garter belt.

“Fuck,” he breathed and licked his lip “I don’t know if we’ll make it through the reception now.”

“Oh, we’ll make it,” I told him “I’ll even make it worth your while if we do.”

His eyebrows shot up, looking intrigued.

“Whatever you say.” he said and kissed me. When he pulled back, he smiled and said “Mrs. Winchester.”

“I'm never going to get tired of you saying that.” I told him and went to reach for my door handle.

“Wait,” he said and I turned back to him “I have something to show you.”

He took the keys out of the ignition and held them up. There, in the winter sunlight, I could see the keychain I'd given him. He gently picked up the pendant around my neck and smiled, seeing how well the two fit together.

“This was perfect, by the way.” he said “And it did put my mind at ease.”

“Good,” I told him “I'm glad.” I held his fingertips in my hands and kissed his knuckles. “I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart.”

Once we got inside and the owners of the B&B stuffed us and our guests full of Beef Wellington, mashed potatoes, green beans and an assortment of beer and wine, it was time to cut the red velvet cake.

“Be nice.” I warned Dean as we took our places by the cake.

“Or what?” He asked in my ear.

“Or you won’t get the surprise I have planned for you tonight, Mr. Winchester.” I cooed in his ear. I watched his eyes pop with shock and he suddenly nodded.

“Okay,” He said “I’ll be nice if you will.”

I nodded and once the cake was cut, I only smudged a little bit of cream cheese icing on to his nose as he did the same to me.

After the reception was over, the owners escorted us to the honeymoon suite.

“Enjoy your evening Mr and Mrs Winchester.” The husband said and opened the door. I was about to walk in when Dean scooped me up into his arms and I laughed as he carried me over the threshold, kicking the door shut with his foot.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” I exclaimed.

“Hey,” He said as he set me down “you’re the one that made us sleep apart last night for fear of bad luck, and it’s bad luck if you don’t carry the bride over the threshold.”

I looked around the room, it had been decorated with rose petals all over the floor and a fire that was lit in the fireplace. I turned and set my eyes on my new husband who was looking around the room.

“Dean, what’re you doing?” I asked

“Just checking something,” he said “that’s all.”

“We don’t have to check for monsters anymore remember?” I asked him.

He gave me a smile and said

“Not what I was looking for, but thank you for the reminder.” He said as he took his phone out of his pocket and hooked it up to a speaker on the mantel. I heard the notes of a piano start as he strode over to me and took my hand.

“What’re you doing?” I asked as he spun me in a circle.

“Dancing with my wife.” He said, as if we did this all the time.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

I smiled up at him as he held me closely, I laid my head against his chest, both of my hands in his as we swayed to the music.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

Oh, I hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

“Dean?” I asked

“Hm?” He answered

“Remember when you asked me what I wanted for Christmas? Right before you proposed?” I asked him.

“I do.” He said and pulled back to look at me “Why?”

“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” I told him “both of us safe, happy and together.”

I know you haven't made your mind up yet

But I will never do you wrong

I've known it from the moment that we met

No doubt in my mind where you belong

His face seemed to glow as he smiled and gently kissed me.

“Me too sweetheart,” he said “me too.”

I'd go hungry; I'd go black and blue

And I'd go crawling down the avenue

No, there's nothing that I wouldn't do

To make you feel my love

I laid my head back on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart as he held me again. I closed my eyes, my other ear tuned to the music and the gentle crackling of the fire.

The storms are raging on the rolling sea

And on the highway of regret

The winds of change are blowing wild and free

You ain't seen nothing like me yet

The day I never thought I’d see was finally here. I wanted nothing but him for the rest of my life, everything about today felt like a dream. Some unattainable fantasy that occupied the back corner of my mind, but here it was, right here in front of me. I sighed, content, and finally feeling at peace.

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

There's nothing that I wouldn't do

Go to the ends of this Earth for you

To make you feel my love, oh yes

To make you feel my love

He ducked his head down and asked

“Was that okay?”

“Better than okay,” I told him and but my lip mischievously “now, I just want you out of this,” I said and tugged on his waistcoat, my mouth close to his, “even though you look drop dead sexy in it.”

“Mh, that right?” He asked and closed the gap between us by kissing me. He quickly shed his jacket and I tugged his tie off, flinging it to the side. His hands were immediately all over my back as he searched for a way to get the dress off of me. I had to admit, the feeling of his hands all over my lace covered back was delicious.

“Small button at the top,” I told him “the rest is a zipper.” With surprising quickness, he quickly undid the button and the zipper, causing the dress to practically fall off of me. He quickly caught it at my chest and peeled the sleeves down and off my arms. Under the dress was a champagne colored lingerie set that made him groan when he saw it.

“Fuck me,” he said lowly as I stepped out of the dress toward him “I AM a lucky son of a bitch.”

“And I’m all yours.” I told him as I stood on my tip toes and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“All mine.” He said, placing his hands on my hips and heatedly kissed me. He held me tightly against him, his hardened length up against my lower belly. He reached down and picked me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me over to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress with me straddling him as our kisses grew more and more impatient. I ran my fingers through his thick hair as he laid a firm smack on my ass.

“AH!” I cried as he started to attack my neck with kisses, his facial hair scratching my upper chest as I started to grind on him. “Dean, Dean!” I begged as his hands roamed up my back and unhooked my bra, damn near throwing it to the ground. He tilted my body back and sucked my left nipple in between his lips as his thumb teased my right nipple, they pebbled and hardened under his touch as I cried out loudly for him. The hand that was teasing my nipple slid around to my back to hold the nape of my neck. He kissed from my left nipple to the right one and sucked on it as well, making another cry rip from my throat.

The hand that was on the back of my neck quickly pulled me up right so that I was looking at him as he quickly undid the chignon my hair was in,

it fell in waves down my back, just the way he liked. He gave me a smile that would melt even the most frozen of hearts.

“There’s my girl.” he purred against my mouth as I quickly unbuttoned his shirt and practically ripped it and his undershirt off to get to his bare skin. His tanned and freckled shoulders and chest never failed to make me weak in the knees as I kissed all over his collarbone and neck. He hummed in delight as I kissed up his neck and to his ear where I gave him a playful bite. His fingers dug into my hips and he flipped me on to my back. I slid up the bed to the pillows as he discarded his socks, shoes and pants while I unbuckled the fasteners that held my stockings in place. He watched as I started to take the stockings off.

“Nuh uh,” he said as he crawled up the bed and up between my legs “let me.”

I nodded as he rolled the material down my leg, leaving kisses where the stockings had once been. I ached for him as he did the same thing to the other leg and my back arched. I unhooked the garter belt and he threw it to the side, both of us were left in nothing but our underwear. He crawled on top of me and kissed me, he pulled back as his lips worked their way down my body, gently kissing and touching every inch he could get to. I whined and writhed under him as he reached the apex of my thighs, the thin cotton material between my legs was now totally ruined thanks to him. He kissed me from clit to hole through the soaking material. It felt forbidden somehow, like we shouldn’t be doing this, but it also felt so, so right.

“Oh fuck, Dean!” I moaned as he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and worked them down and off of me. I watched as he flattened that sinful tongue of his and he licked a broad stripe up my core, making me throw my head back. I grabbed the pillow with one hand and his hair with the other as he sucked my clit between his lips, just like he’d done to my nipples. I twisted below him but his hands, which where now holding both of my breasts, anchored me to the bed. He rolled my nipples in his fingers as he licked through my soaking folds. I tightened my grip on his hair and whined out for him, god and incoherently as I felt the passionate flames he’d awakened in me take over me. I saw spots as his tongue worked its way inside me and my hips moved on their own.

“Fuck, I want you,” I moaned “god I want you so bad!”

He hummed in appreciation as my hips kept rolling, I rode his tongue until I had to snap my own hand over my mouth to keep from screaming down the house. My mind seemingly went blank as I came, my vision whiting out for a second as the high ripped through my body with a force like I’d never felt before. My legs fell open as he kissed back up my body and to my lips where I was laying there, shuttering.

“You enjoy that sweetheart?” He cooed in my ear as he gave it a playful bite. I could barely nod, my body felt boneless as he kissed me, working his way out of his boxers. Once he was freed, he lined himself up with my entrance.

“Gently,” I breathed “nice and slow.”

“I got you sweetheart.” he promised as his fingers slid through mine, pinning them by my head, his arms caging me in as he started to push his way inside me. He took his time and I could feel seemingly everything. Every ridge, every vein, ALL of him that was all for me. I caught his mouth with mine, kissing him as he sheathed himself all the way inside me. I squeezed his fingers in mine as I started to regain my senses. I placed my feet on the bed and moved my hips with his. He moaned in my mouth and kissed me harder.

“I love you,” he moaned between kisses “fuck, I love you.”

“I love you too,” I told him and opened my eyes, our gazes meeting “so, so much.”

His forehead touched mine, our eyes still on each other as he scooped me up and into his lap. I opened my legs wide to accommodate him, my feet still planted on the bed as I put one hand on the nape of his neck and the other on his shoulder. I kissed and sucked on his collar bone, leaving a trail of love bites and hickies in my wake. His blunt nails dug into my back as he cried out loudly.

“Josie,” he moaned in my ear “fuck sweetheart!”

“You getting close for me handsome?” I cooed as I bit his earlobe and he cried out.

“God,” he cried “oh fuck!”

“Come on handsome,” I said as I kissed him “come inside me Dean.”

“That what you want sweetheart?” He asked, breathing hard “you want me deep in you huh?”

“Yes,” I moaned “yes, please!”

He slipped his hand between our bodies and pressed his fingers into my swollen clit.

“Come with me,” he cried “come with me sweetheart.”

I couldn’t hold out, I fell over the edge, screaming into Dean’s chest as I heard him grunt and slam one last time into me as he came. We sat like that for a few seconds before we fell on to the bed together, totally spent.

Without realizing it, I dozed off and felt Dean gently shake me.

“Wake up sweetness,” he said, his bright green eyes looking at me “you gotta get ready for bed.”

I moaned and sat up as he handed me a robe from the bathroom.

“How long was I out?” I asked as I tied the sash around my waist.

“Not long,” He said “I wanted you to rest a little bit, I know today was a lot for both of us.”

I nodded and got up, walking over to where he was standing and hugging him.

“My new husband.” I said with a yawn and kissed his chest.

“My new wife.” He said fondly and kissed the crown of my head.

Once I’d washed my makeup off, brushed my teeth, I dug through my bag and found my honeymoon pajamas. I normally slept in an oversized shirt and panties, but I figured I could swap that for something a little sexier to surprise Dean. The black silk tank top had white lace on the chest and shorts that matched. The fabric felt nice against my skin and I smirked, wondering what Dean would say. When I walked out of the bathroom he was laying in bed with his eyes closed. I took the robe off and placed it over the back of a chair as I climbed into bed. He opened one eye, caught a glimpse of me and then opened both eyes.

“Well, hello there.” He said with a sexy smile.

“Hey.” I said and kissed him as I settled next to him.

“Where’d THIS come from?” He asked as he tugged on the hem of the shorts.

“This old thing?” I asked playfully “What? Don’t you like it?”

“Like is an understatement.” He said and pulled me close, my head on his chest and one leg over his hips. He kissed my forehead and said “You look gorgeous as always.” I snuggled into his chest as his fingers ran up and down my back. “Dean?” i asked

“Yeah sweetheart? What is it?” he asked .

“Can I see the vows you wrote for me?” I asked.

What was written on the paper occupied my mind more than I really wanted to admit. I look up at him and he looked concerned, biting his bottom lip anxiously. “Are you upset that I didn't say them?” he asked I placed my hand on his cheek and shook my head.

“No, not at all!” I exclaimed “What you said was perfect, I loved it.” I kissed him slowly and then added “I'm just curious.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile “stay right here.” he kissed my forehead and got out of bed to find his jacket. He hadn't bothered to put on any clothes and I couldn't believe that this perfect view was all mine to look at. His long, lean body with a perfect ass, toned tummy and thick things could make anyone turn to Jell-O.

“I'm liking the view Mr. Winchester!” I called to him, grinning mischievously.

With that dangerous grin I loved so much, he crawled back into bed and kissed me slowly. “Do you?” he asked and I nodded “Good, because you're going to be seeing a lot of it.” His fingers played down the side of my body as I envisioned him, naked for days in bed with me. This idea made me grin even more as he held the paper out to me.

“Will you read them to me?” I asked quietly, a small smile playing on my mouth. I knew deep down he'd never say no, but I always had to ask.

“Of course I will.” He said. He unfolded the piece of paper, cleared his throat and began to read. “Josie, you have shown me a life I didn't know I could have. You made me want to be a batter man for you, the kind of man you can be proud of. The kind of man who deserves to have you by his side. I was lost when I met you. There was nothing I wanted for myself or my life, now I do. I want to love you, I'm giving you my heart and my life. Whatever they're worth, it's because of you.”

My heart wrenched in my chest, I knew he cared about me deeply by I never knew how deep that love ran until now. My eyes filled with tears as he closed the paper and looked at me. “Oh Dean!” I cried as I snuggled into his chest and he held me tighter.

“I mean it sweetheart,” he said as he kissed the crown on my head “I mean it, everything is because of you. I love you.” I nodded off as he held me tightly and I knew without a shadow of a doubt, that anything this life threw at us, I could always count on him and how much he loved me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I hope you just enjoyed this collab, I know I had a BLAST working with @ravenangel33, if you guys haven’t checked he out, make sure you do that!!

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The Squad:

@waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @familybusinesswritingbro @ain-t-bovvered @mrswhozeewhatsis @girlborninstorms @dacleverfox @emoryhemsworth @bobasheebaby @deanscarlett @myinconnelly1 @mogaruke @imma-winchester-addict @purpleskiesandcherrypies @dean-winchesters-bacon @animerose96 @l8nit-l0vr @drakelover78 @curly-haired-disaster @roonyxx @snffbeebee @ezilyamuzed @mirandaaustin93 @srsllydunnodoncare @latetothewinchesterparty @emilyshurley @atc74 @midnightsilverafterdark @adoptdontshoppets @biawol @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @spaceystacey123 @bella-ca @clo-heda @closetspngirl @thekatherinewinchester @maddiepants

Dean/ Jensen:

@spnbaby-67 @akshi8278

#lady winchester writes #dean winchester #dean #supernatural #dean winchester x ofc #dean winchester smut #Supernatural smut #18 plus

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