#what do you MEAN there’s no rebel cookie x reader fics

[ofrolysdogs]

I just want some good ass ovenbreak x reader fanfics but crk is everywhere I’m so

[hearts-hunger]

suum ca’nara (rest and peace) || din djarin x reader

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Summary: You and Din take your baby on a picnic, and rest and peace come more easily with the sun on your face and your husband by your side. || Standalone fic in the Jate’kara (Lucky Stars) series

Pairings: Din Djarin x Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff | Word Count: 4.6k | Warnings: None!

A/N: So this is quite possibly the fluffiest, sweetest thing I’ve ever written. I’m proud of how it turned out, and I hope y’all like it! (Also, this gif is what I imagine Din looking like in this fic - *swoon*, am I right?) (Also also, if you’re interested, the poem I use in this isn’t mine - god, I wish - but it’s called “Do you still remember: falling stars” by Rainer Maria Rilke) ♡

“Ad’ika, I think mama is going to be madder than a razor cat once she sees the mess we’ve made of her kitchen.”

You smiled to yourself at the tone of your husband’s voice, amusement and exasperation coloring it in equal measure. You hadn’t seen the state of the kitchen yet; you were supposed to be sleeping in, but the sounds of laughter and happy baby coos had drawn you from the bunk to see what your husband and toddler were getting up to so early. You guessed they were making breakfast, if Din’s steady, one-sided dialogue was any indication.

“I can never remember how much honey to put in,” he said. “Your ba’buir used to make uj’alayi when I was little, and he never measured anything. Just threw it in the bowl.”

You pictured little Din in the kitchen with his father, hands sticky-sweet as he learned how to make the traditional Mandalorian cake. You imagined your little one was watching Din with the same reverent attention Din had watched his father with, and felt your heart swell with love for your little family.

“That’s probably good enough,” Din said. “Now we need the nuts.”

Your heard your baby give a questioning coo.

“Yeah, those,” Din said. “Hold on, the bag might be a little too - ”

Thunk. The unmistakable sound of Koja nuts rolling across the floor had you bringing your hand up to stifle a laugh. Poor Din.

“That’s ok, buddy,” he said, his voice sweet and patient as he spoke to your most likely distraught baby. Your little one loved to try and help Din whenever he could - whether Din was polishing his armor, tinkering with the Crest’s control panel, or clearing his weapons, your baby could be counted on to be there to “help”. Most of the time, his help consisted of a steady stream of chatter and attempts to do whatever Din was doing, and Din tried to find little ways for him to contribute. That your baby had been trying to help his dad make breakfast and had spilled the nuts everywhere was sure to be upsetting for him.

His little coo of apology was absolutely heartbreaking, and you knew Din would be gentle with him.

“You didn’t mean to,” Din said kindly. “It’s ok. Do you want to help me get these up so we can finish the cake?”

You backed up from the kitchen door while they cleaned up, wanting to stay hidden a little longer. Din loved being a dad, and it came to him so naturally; you cherished the moments you got to enjoy watching or listening to him interact with your son when it was just the two of them.

Your baby started babbling animatedly about something, and Din responded with “oh” and “hmm” at appropriate times, encouraging him to speak and letting him know he was listened to. They finished up the batter and put the cake on to cook, the nanowave oven crackling slightly as it heated up. It was an old model, like everything else on the Crest, and you’d become so accustomed to its finicky nature that it was more familiar than frustrating.

“Osi'kyr,” Din said, dismal. “Your mama needs a new nanowave, huh?”

Your baby chirped his agreement.

“Yeah, we’ll have to see about getting her one,” Din said. “Maybe Peli knows somebody we can ask. But for right now, we have to get this place cleaned up before mama sees.”

“Before mama sees what?”

You came out of your hiding place around the corner and were met with two guilty smiles, both Din and your baby looking like you’d caught them with their hands in the cookie jar. Your little one was sitting up on the counter, an uncracked Koja nut in hand, his ears perking up at the sight of you. Din was covered in flour - little baby-sized handprints covered his black shirt and trousers, and streaks of white appeared in his sleep-mussed curls. The kitchen was a mess, like he’d said, but it was worth it to see the two of them so happy.

“Hi, cyare,” Din said, his smile a little sheepish.

Your baby added his own coo of greeting, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Good morning to you too,” you said. You gave your son a kiss on the top of his head. “What are you and daddy making?”

He waved the Koja nut in his claws for you to see. 

“Uj’alayi,” Din clarified.

You smiled. “Cake for breakfast, huh?”

He grinned. “Yeah, well, it’s got fruit in it. It’s healthy.”

He leaned close and kissed you, sweet with the taste of honey and ginger from the batter he’d tested before it went in the oven. He held his flour-dusted hands to the side of you so as not to get you messy too.

“Good morning, Mrs. Djarin,” he said sweetly, bumping your noses together.

You beamed. “Good morning, Mr. Djarin.” You gave him another quick kiss. “Do you want some help getting the kitchen cleaned back up?”

He looked a little distressed as he pulled back. “No, I mean - you don’t have to help. You didn’t make the mess.”

You gave an affectionate shake of your head. “Din. I don’t mind.”

He softened. “Well, if you’re offering. It’s very sweet of you, cyare. Sorry it’s such a disaster.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said, waving him off. “Most of the flour ended up on you and not on the counters, anyway.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, we had a hard time getting it in the bowl.” He took a cloth and began wiping down the counters, scooping your baby up while he did.

“But we’re ramikadyc mandos,” he continued. “Determined, tenacious. Not to be bested by cake batter.”

Your baby chimed in to agree with his dad. You laughed as you filled the sink with hot water.

“How did I get the two bravest Mandalorians in the galaxy on my ship?” you teased.

Din considered that. “I think you’ve just got good jate’kara, my love.”

You gave a pleased hum as he kissed you. “My stars are pretty lucky, aren’t they?”

He smiled. “Not as lucky as mine, cyare.”

When the kitchen was back in order, Din excused himself to take a shower while the cake finished baking. You got your little one dressed for the day in a soft, hand-stitched blue tunic Omera had made for him and tidied the bunk before heading back to the kitchen as the timer went off.

“Quiet a view, cyar’ika.”

You blushed at the teasing warmth of your husband’s voice as you took the pan from the oven and straightened, setting it to cool out of your baby’s reach. You turned and saw Din had changed into a soft white shirt and brown pants, his suspenders resting against his hips, his hair dark and curly from his shower.

“I’ve got quite a view, too,” you said, a little bashful as he smiled and crossed to you. You only had a moment to admire the endearing crinkles by his eyes before he kissed you, all tenderness and affection.

Your little one cooed and you both looked down to see him standing on the top of Din’s boot, tugging on his pants leg and giving uppy arms. Din chuckled and scooped him up, cradling him with one arm and drawing you close with the other.

“Let’s go somewhere fun today,” he said. “This system has some beautiful planets. We can have a picnic or something.”

You smiled. “Okay,” you agreed. You were a little surprised, as Din wasn’t usually very spontaneous, but the idea of a day spent just spending time with him and your baby sounded lovely. “Where should we go?”

He kissed your forehead. “I’ll go look and see what we’re closest to.”

He took the baby up to the cockpit with him to scan the nearby planets, giving you a few minutes for your own shower. You took two slices of uj’alayi when you went to join them; you gave one to Din, and he broke off little pieces to share with the baby.

“I think we decided on a planet,” Din said, indicating the display on the instrument panel.

“Baraan-Fa,” you read. “It’s forested, low population... is it safe?”

He shrugged. “Should be, with the place we’re landing. Most of the population density is around the town and the old Rebel base, so we shouldn’t run into anybody.”

You took your seat, happily taking your baby when Din handed him over to you so he could set your course. You were amused to see that your little one had succeeded in charming Din into giving him the silver handle off the gear shift, and he held it up for you to see.

“Your daddy must love you,” you cooed to him.

Din glanced back at you, his expression bemused before he saw what you were talking about. His smile was a little exasperated.

“Maybe we should get him some actual toys.”

You laughed. “He wouldn’t play with them even if we did, honey. He wants to be like you.”

“Yeah.” Din’s expression was soft with affection, and you knew he didn’t really mind that his son had chosen a part of the ship for his plaything. He turned back to focus on bringing the Crest into Baraan-Fa’s atmosphere, and you and your baby looked out the windows in pleasantly surprised wonder at the beauty of the planet. Every inch of it was green, hilly grasslands with blue rivers snaking through the forests. Din expertly landed in a small clearing in the middle of a wooded area, settling the Crest into a glade dappled with sunlight.

No sooner had the ship landed than you were out of your seat and downstairs, impatiently waiting for the ramp to lower as the welcoming breeze flooded into the Crest’s hull. You set your baby down on the soft grass and let him explore a little, tilting your head back to feel the sun on your face, breathing deeply of the clean air.

“You like it?” Din asked. You opened your eyes to see him leaned against the door frame, watching you with a gentle smile. You would have beamed back at him and told him how much you loved it had it not been for the sudden concern you felt at his appearance.

“You’re not wearing your armor,” you said. Checking briefly to make sure the baby hadn’t wandered too far, you stepped up the ramp towards your husband and made to steer him back inside the Crest’s relative privacy.

“Din - ” you protested when he gave a soft laugh and captured your wrists in a gentle grip, just as you had put your hands on his chest to push him back inside. “What if someone sees?”

He held both of your hands close to his heart. “There’s nobody here, cyare. I checked. It’s sweet of you to worry, but you don’t have to.”

You gave him a doubtful look. “You’re going to be out here without a helmet?” That sounded awfully reckless to you.

“I want to be able to kiss you,” he said, giving you a chaste kiss to illustrate his point. “And I want to swim in the river and feel the sun on my face. Can’t do all that with beskar on, now can I?”

You sighed. “No, but...” You met his eyes. “It doesn’t frighten you?”

He softened. “Sure it does,” he admitted. “A little. I don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve been out of the Crest without armor on. But that’s exactly why I want to. And if there’s no danger of anyone seeing me... I think it’ll be alright.”

He tapped the bracelet on your wrist, a modified version of his vambrace with the same remote controls of the Crest programmed in. “Besides, I told the Crest to alert us if there’s anyone nearby. It’ll be alright.”

You reached up to brush your fingers through his hair. “Well, it would be nice to see your face,” you said. “If you’re sure about it.”

He smiled and kissed you again. “I’m sure, cyar’ika. Come on, let’s go get our son before he wanders right into the river.”

You looped your arm through his, feeling like one of the promenading couples you always saw growing up on Naboo. He was a bit scruffier and dressed more casually than any young man on Naboo would be, but you liked him that way. 

As he led you on a leisurely stroll towards the river, minding your little one closely, you took the opportunity to enjoy being outside with him and being able to see his every expression. Din was nothing if not expressive, especially in his brow, and his face was alight with a happiness and peace that made his handsome features all the more alluring.

“Is there a word in Mando’a for ‘very handsome’?” you asked.

He looked over at you with a touch of confusion, either playing coy or just being genuinely oblivious. You suspected the latter, and it was endearing to you.

“No,” he said. “But there’s ‘very beautiful’ - ori mesh’la - and it means the same thing.”

You smiled. “Well then, Din, I think you’re ori mesh’la.”

His cheeks pinked. “Well, thank you, cyare,” he said, endearingly bashful. He smiled. “I think you’re ori mesh’la, too.”

You could have watched his face forever, charmed by his blush and the way his curls looked in the sun, but your baby gave an excited babble and drew you attention. Just in time, too, as he was barrelling full-speed towards the river without a care in the world.

“Oh, ad’ika,” you chided, unwinding yourself from Din and scooping your baby up before he reached the water. His ears drooped as you held him.

 “I know you want to go in, my love,” you cooed. “But you have to be careful.”

You saw why he’d been so eager to get in the water - the riverbed was covered in bright, colorful stones, glinting where they caught the sun through the water. You knelt on the bank and held your baby in your lap, reaching into the pleasantly cool water to scoop up a handful of the stones.

“Look how pretty,” you said, drawing them close so he could take a few. He grabbed the biggest one and turned it over in his claws, mesmerized by the opalescent shimmer.

“Batu,” he said, holding it up for you to see. You smiled. You and Din hadn’t quite figured out what “batu” meant, but it seemed to signal his approval, and you were always pleased to hear it.

“I see,” you said, charmed by his enthusiasm. “Show daddy.”

You stood and turned to face Din, who was watching the two of you with a gentle smile on his face. His brow quirked in excitement when he saw his baby holding the stone out to him.

“Look at that, ad’ika,” he said, coming close to examine it.

“Batu,” your baby said again. Din grinned.

“Yeah, ‘batu’,” he repeated. “You want to go find some more?”

At your little one’s happy coo, you and Din kicked off your shoes to wade into the shallow river. Din rolled the hem of his trousers as well as yours, since your hands were full with the baby, and pressed a kiss to your thigh before he rose.

The water lapped just above your ankles with the gentle current, and you spent a few minutes looking through the clear water to find the stones you thought were prettiest. Your baby wriggled to be put down, but the water was a little too deep for him, and you settled on drawing up handfuls of rocks for him to sort through.

“Hey, cyare, look at this one.”

You turned to see the stone your husband had found and were met with a splash of water.

“Din!” you squeaked, a smile crossing your face. Your baby giggled with delight at having been splashed, and the sound mixed with Din’s warm laughter.

“Sorry, love,” he chuckled. “Couldn’t resist.”

“Oh yeah?” you challenged. You bent down and splashed him back, getting him more thoroughly than he’d gotten you; he laughed and sputtered as he wiped his face on the shoulder of his shirt.

“That was so much worse than mine,” he said. “You’re awful.”

“Good thing you like me so much,” you said cooly.

He grinned. “Yeah, lucky you.” He kissed you and brushed the water from your face. You’d grown accustomed to the feel of his leather gloves, but you’d always prefer the gentleness of his hands, rough from years of hard work but always touching you in love. 

Pressed between the two of you and impatient to get in the water, your baby patted Din’s chest and babbled up at him.

“Come on, buddy,” Din said, taking him from your arms. “You want to swim a little bit?”

“You’re swimming in your clothes?” you asked.

He gave you a wry smile. “Why not? I’m already half-soaked.”

Your smile was slightly guilty. “I'm sorry about that, actually,” you said. “I didn’t mean to splash you so much.”

He chuckled. “I know. I’m not upset. Besides, it’s warm enough that it won’t take very long to dry off.” He nodded towards the bank where a flat rock jutted out over the water. “I was just going to sit over there and let him play where it’s shallow.”

“Oh,” you said. “Well, in that case, I’ll sit with you.”

You played with them for a long while, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Din while he held your baby’s hands and let him splash around in the shallow water. Despite his excitement, your baby was a little hesitant once he was actually in the water, and held tightly to Din’s fingers. As his fear eased and his confidence grew, he was happy to stay within his dad’s reach and only occasionally grabbed onto Din’s trouser leg when he lost his balance. His outfit was thoroughly soaked within minutes of his delighted splashing, but he didn’t seem to mind; he played happily and kept handing rocks to you, and you cooed over every one. 

You might have stayed with them and watched your little one play for hours on end if it hadn’t been for Din’s stomach starting to growl; you realized you were hungry too and playfully nudged your shoulder against his.

“Should I go get us some lunch?” you asked.

His smile was a little sheepish. “If you wouldn't mind,” he said. “I can get it, if you don’t want to.”

You ran a hand over his back. “I don’t mind,” you assured him. “What do you want to eat?”

“Whatever,” he said. “You know me.”

“So, just a whole ori'skraan, then?” you teased. Mandalorians always had big elaborate feasts at their celebrations to make up for the fact that they ate rations more often than not, since they were easier while on a hunt; you’d had the pleasure of attending a few during your marriage, including the one at your wedding.

Your husband grinned. “That’ll be just fine, cyare.”

You kissed his cheek before you stood, waving goodbye to your baby. You heard Din console your little one as you left towards the ship, explaining that you’d be right back.

You found the length of fabric you used for a baby sling and tied it around you like Din had shown you; Mandalorians carried their babies in a birikaad, to keep their hands free for fighting, and this was nearly identical to that style. You filled the sling with food from your pantry, wrapping up a few slices of the uj’alayi cake for dessert, and folded up one of the spare blankets to picnic on.

You heard Din singing as you walked back to the river. You almost didn’t realize it was him, at first - he was usually so shy about his singing voice, and he reserved it for lullabies when your baby was very fussy or drinking songs when he was deep in his cups with friends. He sang to you, occasionally, when you asked him to, and he was always endearingly bashful.

His voice carried over the clearing, mixing with the sound of the river and your baby’s happy laughter, and you drank it in the closer you got to him. It was a beautiful song, full of longing; Din’s warm baritone made it rich and lovely. The lyrics were in Mando’a, and you were too caught up in the sound of your husband’s voice to translate; you let his voice wash over you, warming you from head to toe.

You didn’t know how long he would have kept singing if your baby hadn’t caught sight of you, giving a happy coo of welcome. Din’s voice cut short as he turned, perhaps fearing you were someone else, but his expression softened into a smile as soon as he saw you.

“Hi,” he said.

You smiled. “Hi.” You rested a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t stop singing on my account.”

He blushed. “No, I’d been singing that one over and over. I’m sure ad’ika’s tired of hearing it.”

You knew that wasn’t true; your little one calmed faster to Din’s voice than he did to anything else. You didn’t want to embarrass him, though, and carded a hand through your husband’s sun-warmed curls.

“You two hungry?” you asked.

You baby gave an affirmative babble and gave his dad uppy arms; Din obliged him and dried him off a little as you spread out the picnic blanket. Your little one came and sat in your lap as Din helped you set out the food. 

“You missed your mama, didn’t you?” Din said sweetly. You brushed an affectionate hand over your baby’s ears and swapped the bright purple stone he held for a piece of fruit. He watched your hand carefully to make sure you hadn’t really taken his prize away for good; satisfied when you set it next to you on the blanket, he happily ate the bite-sized food you and Din took turns giving to him.

Din took your baby back to the river as you tidied up after lunch, and you were happy to watch and listen to them play as you stretched out on the blanket and read the book you’d taken from the shelf in the bunk. It was a collection of poems that Din had gotten you for your birthday, and even though you’d been excited to read it, you hadn’t had much spare time lately. You were quickly absorbed in the poetry as you read; the sun was warm on your back, and the sounds of your husband and baby playing created a comforting backdrop.

They came back from the river after a while, their hands full of brightly colored stones, their clothes half-soaked, and their expressions as tired as they were happy. Din set your baby down and let him toddle over to you; your little one added his stones to the collection you’d made, his ears perking up as he sorted through them.

“All done?” you asked, giving Din a gentle smile as he dropped his handful of stones into the pile. 

He hummed in agreement. “For now, anyways. He probably needs a rest.”

Your husband gave a soft groan as he lay beside you, tired and comfortable in the warm sun. “Your baby is a pretty good swimmer, mama.”

You closed your book and looked over at your little one; his smile was wide at his dad’s praise, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“I saw,” you said, tapping his nose and earning a giggle in response. “Did you like swimming with daddy?”

Your little one gave an affirmative coo as he abandoned the rocks and climbed up onto Din; with a great big yawn for such a little thing, he lay on Din’s chest and snuggled close when Din laid a hand over his back.

“Tired you out, didn’t it, ad’ika?” you said gently, brushing a finger over his ear. You looked to Din’s face and saw he was already dozing too.

You smiled. “Wore your daddy out too, I see.” His hair was light in the sun, almost golden in some places; his cheeks were rosy and sunkissed under his scruff, his expression peaceful and soft.

You kissed his cheek. “Did you know I love you?”

He gave a soft smile. “Yeah, I know. I love you too.” He turned his face towards you, your noses bumping together, his kisses tender and drowsy. You brushed your fingers through his hair.

“You’re gonna take a nap?” you asked, keeping your voice soft for your baby’s sake. He was already asleep, curled snugly under his dad’s hand, rocked by the gentle rise and fall of Din’s chest.

Din gave a content sigh. “Maybe. Lay here with me, cyare.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I’m not going anywhere, honey.” You kissed the bridge of his nose. “You want me to read to you?”

He nodded, moving his free hand to rest on the curve of your lower back. “What book is it?”

“The one you gave me for my birthday,” you said, flipping through the pages until you found where you’d left off. “Ancient Keltrian Poets, remember?”

He hummed in agreement. “You like it?”

“I love it,” you said sincerely. “Here - I was in the middle of this one, but I’ll start it from the beginning.”

You read to him for a while, pausing to underline or make notes when you found a line you really liked; his fingers drew circles on your lower back as he listened and made a few comments here and there.

“For stars, innumerable, leapt everywhere,” you read. “Almost every gaze upwards became welded to the swift hazard of their play, and our heart felt like a single thing beneath that vast disintegration of their brilliance.”

You traced your fingers over that stanza. “That’s kind of like our vows, don’t you think? ‘We are one when together, we are one when parted.’ Our heart feels like a single thing.”

When you didn’t get an answer, you looked over at your husband. “Din?”

He shifted a little, and you realized he’d fallen asleep. 

“Alright, cyare?” he mumbled.

“Sorry,” you said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He ran his hand over your back. “That’s ok, love.” Even mostly asleep, he still comforted you with intentional gentleness. “What did you say?”

You smiled. “Nothing. Just that I love you.”

He tilted his chin up just a little, asking for a kiss; you obliged him, gently pressing your mouth to his.

“Keep reading,” he said. “I love the sound of your voice.”

You softened. “I love the sound of your voice, too.” You brushed a wayward curl from his forehead. “What was that song you were singing earlier?”

A flicker of a smile crossed his face. “Naasad'guur mhi,” he said. “It’s a drinking song.”

“It’s pretty,” you said.

He hummed in agreement.

“What’s it about?” you asked.

“It says, ‘nobody likes us, we don’t care, we are the elite Mando boys from Mandalore.’”

You laughed. “That’s really what it says?”

He smiled. “Yeah. It sounds really nice when you have a bunch of people singing it all together.”

You gently ran your knuckles over his scruff. “Will you sing it for me later?”

“Sure, cyare. If you want me to.”

You settled closer to him and flipped the page to the next poem, reading it aloud a bit more quietly than you would have usually. Din’s breathing evened out until he was snoring softly; you smiled when you saw the way your baby had a fistful of Din’s shirt held tightly in his hand. The sound of the river kept you company as you read about stars and rainstorms and fields of aura blossoms; Din’s warmth beside you was comforting and steady. Days of rest and peace were few and far between for your little family, but they were sweeter for it; you held tightly to them when they came, and always thanked the jate’kara for days like these.

series taglist: @kyjoraven​​​​​, @sarahjkl82-blog​​​​​, @remmysbounty​​​​​, @bitchin-beskar​​​​​, @cosmicbreathe​​​​​, @prettyboyskywalker​​​​​, @happyxdayxbitch​​​​​, @radiowallet​​​​​​, @marvelous-glims​​ ♡

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please send me an ask if you’d like to be added to either taglist! ♡

[hellomissmabel]

Trophy Wife

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Dayton White x plus size!reader

Warnings: None I can think of.

Word count: 2.225

Summary:  Dayton White is the king of the race track. But what is a king without his queen? Y/N is the curvy daughter of the owner of a race track circuit and being a plus size girl amongst pretty grid girls and sexy race queens has proven to be quite challenging. But she’s a tough cookie and that is precisely what Dayton loves so much about her.

A/N: I’ve posted a masterlist with all upcoming plus size!reader fics. I keep getting new ideas, so this masterlist will be updated as the ideas come and go. There will always be an announcement post. If you want on the tag list, please comment on the announcement post of send me an ask!

This one is dedicated to @abovethesmokestacks because she wrote one of the most stunning Dayton fics ever and I wanna honour her.

All plus size fics can be found here

Born and raised amongst fast cars and pretty girls, your career at the race track started at your sweet sixteen when your father presented you with the keys to your very first car. Even though it wasn’t a race car, you were still allowed to drive the track after hours if you wanted. Your elder brother, Reese, started working as a mechanic as soon as he finished high school and your younger brother Roy aspired to be a race car driver just like your father.

Your father had wanted a different career for you, away from all the fast cars and pretty girls you grew up with, but the middle child is usually the rebel child. Ever since you were a little girl, you have been obsessed with the old photographs of your mother during her time as a race queen, before she fell in love with your father and said goodbye to the pageantry that accompanies the life of a race queen. So during the summer of your eighteenth birthday, you asked your father if you could work as grid girl for a couple weeks before you were off to college.

When you’re curvy, working as a grid girl certainly is an interesting experience. The outfits are usually too tight and too short and the racers too handsy. You were very much into grunge during your teen years and on most days would show up at the tracks in little high-waisted, black denim shorts and a band t-shirt tucked into them. Just because you are a plus size girl doesn’t mean you can’t handle those sexy outfits! And being an only girl in an all-boys family you learnt how the be more verbal and stand your ground, which those grabby drivers learnt the hard way.

Yet you also realised that the glitter and glamour goes hand in hand with prejudice. Some of the grid girls you worked with admired your body confidence. You loved your curves and you loved showing them off, but you also still had your insecurities. Some of the other grid girls took advantage of that, especially the ones sleeping around with the race car drivers, shaming you in front of them. By the end of the summer, you couldn’t wait to put the grid girl uniform aside and dive back into your books, much to your father’s delight. College was your way out, your escape from the race tracks that you held so dear for so many years, those same race tracks that made you feel bad for being curvy.

Unfortunately your mother died not long after your graduation and you immediately returned to the tracks to help your father out with all the funeral arrangements. He had aged well with the years but time was weighing hard on him after he lost his dearly beloved wife. So you had planned to stay a bit longer, until everything had been figured out and the race tracks were back up and running for their next big event. By then Roy’s career had taken flight and on his first professional race he asked you to stay one day longer so you could to do him the honour of being his race queen, should he win that day.

You protested heavily at first since as a full-figured grid girl, you had gotten enough dirty looks your way when you were younger, showing up in short skirts and tight dresses that barely covered your thighs. But he’s your little brother and had just lost the most important women in his life, so you jumped into one of those sexy race queen outfits and cheered your brother on. He finished second that day. Later that evening, your father asked you to stay involved in the family business as his personal assistant and general manager.

Working side-by-side with your eldest brother,  who was responsible for the cars, and your father who was responsible for the condition of the racing track, you put that fancy communications degree to good use. You still continued to cheer your younger brother on, but no longer as a grid girl or a race queen. You preferred the safety of the side-lines as you made sure the races ran as smoothly as possible.

As you were now responsible for the public relations, this also meant you had to get to know all the racers personally to a certain extent. This way you could tap into their needs effortlessly and inspire them to practice more often at your father’s race tracks, outside of the three days of competition. Some of the drivers from back in the day were now coaching the next generation race car drivers and most of them recognised you from before.

You had grown to be a stunning young woman you’re your curves were very well received amongst some of the new drivers. And that’s how you met him, with his intentions of gold and his icy blue eyes with a touch of silver. His smile made all the grid girls swoon and the race queens fighting to stand next to him on that stage. Because he is a winner and always finishes first. You were sold the moment you shook hands and congratulated him on yet another winning.

Flashforward to three years later, you’re biting your nails in the VIP room. While coaxing a big spender to invest his dollar bills into your father’s beloved racing tracks, your lover is racing towards another golden medal. One of the waitresses offers you a glass of champagne, telling you it’ll help with the nerves, and you thank her kindly. One of the sponsors you’re buttering up to checks out the girl’s ass as she leaves and you try to keep your disgust to yourself as he swoops in to take her place beside you.

He’s one of the newer attaché’s, born in a generation of new money, money that is gladly spent on fast cars. They don’t appreciate the sport anymore, they’re just here for the bets and the ladies. “I see the race is in capable hands,” he comments as he clinks his glass with yours. “You’ve done a marvellous job yet again.”

“Thank you very much. These tracks are my father’s pride and joy and it’s an honour to be hosting the annual NASCAR race,” you state confidently.

The man nods, smiling friendly at you yet ogling one of the waitresses behind you before he speaks again. “You’re White’s girl, right?”

“I am,” you state plainly, unsure of where to steer the conversation. “But if you want to meet him, you gotta talk to his manager first. I can point you towards her, if you want.”

He leans his arms on the bars in front of the windows that look over the tracks, his eyes glued on the competition playing out before them. “Nah, I was actually hoping to talk to you,” he chuckles softly as he straightens his back, facing you again with a little smile. “There are rumours that he’s going to quit racing. People are saying he wants to settle down and start a family.”

“Oh, really?,” you question tongue-in-cheek, accustomed to people prying into your private life. “That’s the first I’ve heard of this.” The man laughs lightly and takes another sip of champagne. “I don’t think Day’s ever gonna quit the tracks. He lives for this.”

“Never underestimate the power of a beautiful woman, love,” he assures you before placing his empty glass on a waitress’ tray as she passes by. “You might be surprised when you see what men are willing to do for their wives.”

You shake your head, asking another waitress for a refill. “But I’m not his wife.”

“We’ll see about that,” he answers with a grin as he bids you goodbye, leaving you puzzled as to what the meaning was of all this.

Despite your confusion, you’re relieved the man is gone. Now you can focus your full attention on the final round, exiting the VIP room and joining the crowd as you make your way down towards the workstation of your brother and the other mechanics. This is where the action is the wildest, the adrenaline rush the greatest. This is the best spot to see your racer cross that finish line and win yet another gold medal.

Everybody showers Dayton with congratulations and flowers and champagne. He pops open the bottle immediately, spraying some of the fans and friends that have gathered around him before emptying what’s left of it in a few long gulps. Passing the bottle on to his manager, who gives it to one of the grid girls to be taken care of, he searches the mass for one person in particular.

And then his eyes fall on you. You’re standing at the back and he swiftly pushes himself off the race car and with long strides makes his way towards you. “I won!,” he squeaks out as he picks you up and twirls you around, his laughter intoxicating as you giggle at his enthusiasm.

“Yes… you… did… babe,” you smile at him in between loving kisses. “I’m so proud of you!”

Dayton puts you down again but keeps his arm firmly around your waist as they guide the two of you to the stage. Normally he’d get on it alone because you prefer to stay out of the spotlights. But with a few gentle words and hot whispers here and there he sweet-talks you on the stage anyway, letting you climb on first before wrapping his arms around you again as he stands behind you, nuzzling his face in the nape of your neck and inhaling deeply.

“You smell so sweet,” he hums quietly into your ear. “You smell like home.”

After all three winners have received their medals and the racers have had their moment with the race queens, the stage is quickly vacated. Dayton would only accept his medal and flowers from you and he even said no to a kiss to the cheek from them, prompting a curious glance from you.

“What’s going on, Day?,” you comment on his odd behaviour. Dayton simply smirks and waves at a girl on the side-lines, whose heels click loudly as she rushes to his side with a little velvet box and a microphone.

He rubs his sweaty palms on his uniform first before taking over from the girl, nodding his head as a thank you. “I guess this is where I give my speech, hm?,” he chuckles towards the crowd as he releases you and steps away, leaving you flustered in confusion.

With a deep breath, he begins his story. “Five months ago, I told my sponsors I planned on slowing down after this race. My baby girl and I had just celebrated our three year anniversary and there was this little velvet box burning in my pocket. I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time. Longer than five months. Hell,” he exhales nervously, “I’ve been thinking about this since the moment I laid eyes on her!”

The crowd cheers him on, chanting his name. “Point is, I’ve got all these gold medals and all these trophy, but you know what the real trophy is?”

Everybody goes silent in anticipation of his answer and you eye him anxiously, wringing your hands together, your palms just as sweaty as his. “She is my trophy,” he declares into the microphone and you’ve never seen him more enamoured than in that very moment.

“She is the only trophy that matters,” he continues as his tenor grows with love and his voice turns more and more tender. “This woman here is all that is good in my life and all that matters. She is my trophy and I would like to ask her…”

Dayton gets down on one knee and the crowd goes wild. He pops open the box and shows you the ring inside, a beautiful silver band with a delicate gemstone in the middle, surrounded by intricate leaves.

“Y/N Y/L/N, would you do me the honour of being and my trophy and my wife?” And then he adds in a more cheeky tone, “Be my trophy wife, baby?”

Clasping your hands in front of your mouth, gasping in astonishment and crying out of sheer happiness, you ardently shake your head at this little stunt he just pulled. “Yes! Yes of course I’ll be your trophy wife!,” you chuckle lovingly, tears stinging your eyes as he slides the ring up your finger.

“I knew you’d make a show out of asking me to be your wife,” you comment shakily at his proposal as you pull him back to his feet and into a searing kiss.

“Where’s the fun in doing it the old-fashioned way, hm? A candlelit dinner isn’t really my thing, baby, you know that.” Dayton presses his lips to yours hard, moving them feverishly as his hands search for even an inch of exposed, soft skin.

“Shut up, Day,” you laugh jokingly, batting away his eager hands as they try to dip underneath your shirt. Dayton settles his hands on your hips instead, his lips pecking yours affectionately. “I love you, but don’t push it.”

“I love you, too, trophy wife,” he grins into the kiss as the cameras flash to get a good picture of the freshly announced future Mrs. White.

Tagging: @avengerofyourheart @a-little-hell-to-raise @marvelingatthewonder @mrshopkirk @hardcorehippos @knittingknerdy @winterboobaer @italwaysendsinafightt @viollettes @hymnofthevalkyrie @feelmyroarrrr @justareader @austinamelio @volklana @4theluvofall @themcuhasruinedme @theoneandonlysaucymo @caplanbuckybarnes @nenyakj @amrita31199 @emilyevanston @minervaem @howlingbarnes @buchananbarnestrash @youandb @you-and-bucky @fvckingsteverogers @thatawkwardtinyperson @that-sokovian-bastard @abovethesmokestacks @marvelrevival @marvel-fanfiction @justanotherbuckydevotee @barnes-heaven @heartmade-writingbucky @buckyywiththegoodhair @captnbarnesrogers @mellifluous-melodramas @its-not-a-phase-hux @melconnor2007 @ivvitm1109 @toofuckinfabulous @ailynalonso15 @hollycornish @delicatecapnerd @camigt1999 @learisa @curlyexpat @palaiasaurus64 @fanndas-snow-goddess @crisssivonne @yourenotrogers @tomhollandzs @supernaturaldean67 @beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep @aletheladyinred @beyondbarnes @xbergiex @reniescarlett @promarvelfangirl @capbuckybuchanan @lovemarvelousfics @riskybarnes @yknott81 @kanupps06 @rrwilson66 @pegasusdragontiger @mizzzpink @salty-holographic-stickers @sammyissassy @sebstanchrisevanchickforever19

Tag list for all plus size stories: @suz-123 @kiwi71281 @whatisaheroanyway @ilovebeingjoyful @veronicalei @meganlane84 @thescarsweleave @isaxhorror @pleasantdreamqueen @kudosia @georgiadean37 @revlismoriarty @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @evyiione @salamander-falls @taylorjacksonandtheolympians

Trophy Wife tag list: @bladebarnes @reniescarlett @georgiagrl1990 @sexyashmike @alexandragoestothemovies @skatinginpr0gress @jeleners143 @jesspfly @lostinthoughtsandfeelings @youpocketwitch @sebbystanlover-vk @spiderman-2013 @svenyves @almondbuttercup @sslater34 @lostinspace33 @addictivewriter @3dsaunt @ashleydivine @writevanna @marvel-at-bucky @movingonto-betterthings @tinyfistwarrior  @thefandomimagines @black-widow-fangirl