#all I want for Christmas is to snuggle Nathan Bateman ong

[foxilayde]

Imagine spending Christmas with Nathan Bateman at The Compound.

You’ve decorated the house with warm twinkle lights (“honey these are TACKY. I can program the existing house lights to any stupid color”), balsam scented candles (“why’d you get these, we’re in the middle of a FOREST, the place already smells like tree sap”), Christmas music, tinsel, an ornamented tree in the living room (“Jesus, babe what’d I say? We’re SURROUNDED by these things. Did you really have to get Dave to helicopter in a Douglas Fir from Williams Sonoma?…. Yes I know what Williams Sonoma is, it’s on the fucking credit card statement, that’s how.”) You make hot chocolate with peppermint candy canes (“do you know how much sugar is in that cup you’re sipping? No thanks.”)

He’s a bit of a Grinch. He rolls his eyes when it’s your turn to pick the movie for your movie night and you choose “Elf”. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t touch the caramel popcorn you made either. He folds his arms and grits his teeth when you laugh and quote your favorite lines along with the movie.

When it’s his turn to choose a movie he picks The Shining.

“The fucking Shining, Nathan? The Shining??”

“What? You love The Shining!”

“Of course I love The Shining, but it’s not a Christmas movie!”

“It’s Christmas adjacent.”

“How so?!”

“There’s… snow. And family.”

“You’re absolutely right, who could forget the great heartwarming Christmas theme of chasing your child with an axe through the snow? It’s practically Rockwellian.”

“Jesus. Fine. No Kubrick. How about Die H—“

“I knew you were going to say Die Hard. Fine. Die Hard. Great compromise Nate, really. Nothing says cherishing warmth and peace like C4 down an elevator shaft.”

You fold your arms and sit back against the couch stiffly in a very Nathan-like fashion.

“There is a love b-plot with Holly.”

“I said fine, Nate. Que it up.”

You don’t get up to make the candied pecans you’d been planning on. You seethe and use your frustration to push back your tears. What a jerk.

If it’s any consolation, Nathan isn’t engrossed in the film either. He looks cold, folding his arms for warmth in his thin henley. You’d usually wrap his grumbling ass up in a fluffy blanket, kiss his cheek, and offer him some herbal tea or hot cider (to which he’d unequivocally decline and request a beer instead). But you don’t. You both sit a cushion’s distance apart, unswaddled, unsnacked, and unhappy. Nathan glances over to you about every 10 seconds, his demeanor shifting until halfway through the film he pauses John McClane and asks, “I can’t enjoy the movie when you’re acting like this.”

You tamp down the urge to screech at him like a tea kettle, and instead speak to him in a level sarcastic tone he can relate to.

“I apologize, Nathan. I can only imagine how frustrating it must be to want to enjoy something with the person you love, only to have them be rude and cold. Sincerest fucking apologies.”

You don’t look at him, you wrap your arms tighter around yourself and stare at the still frame of Bruce Willis in the air shaft, feigning engrossment.

“I’ve been a dick. I’m sorry, it’s just it’s fucking Q4 and the dev team launched the latest hardware so goddamn late in the fall it’s been a—“

“I get it. I’m sorry you’re stressed. and I’m sorry for foisting all this hokey shit on you.” You gesture around the room to the twinkle lights, tinsel, tree and snowflake paraphernalia. “I should have known you were stressed about work and it wasn’t fair trying to force you to be all Holly Jolly.”

Nathan scoots closer to you and takes your hand in his, playing with your fingers when he says, “work should never be an excuse for me treating you like crap. I’ve been bonafide fucking scrooge, spitting on tiny Tim and shit.”

“Am I tiny Tim in this scenario?”

“Nah. Jacob Marley, without a dou—“

“Shut up, ass!” You shove Nathan’s shoulder and you both laugh. He brings you in for a tight hug and pulls you down to his chest for a cuddle.

“You know what I did for Christmas last year?”

“What?” You finger the texture of his cream colored Henley.

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“I think it’s pretty clearly stated in that NDA that all your intellectual property remains a secret on penalty of death? or something equally dramatic?”

“I was here. Alone. didn’t even realize it was Christmas till I tried zooming Ted about something or other and saw everyone in the office was offline. When I put two and two together I left the lab, drank about a gallon of sake and Sapporo, watched ‘Its a Wonderful Life’, and… cried.”

“You did not.”

“I did.”

“Awww, Nate-y poooo, everytime a bell rings an Angel ge—“

You squeal when Nathan flips you over on the couch, hovering above you, he tickles your neck aggressively with his beard as he playfully peppers the underside of your chin with kisses.

“Penalty of death, remember?”

“Your tender side is safe with me, Ebenezer.”

Nathan looks into your eyes for a few beats. Really stares into them before glancing around the room at all the warm glowing decor.

“The place looks nice.”

You smile up at him, warm happy tears pricking at the corners of your eyes when you smooth your hand down his cheek and into his soft beard.

“Thanks.”

He continues to stare at you. You suspect there’s a secret vulnerable monologue going on in his head when he stares into your eyes. things he’ll probably never say, never admit, never profess. He’s like an iceberg this one. Most would disregard him as “cold” and move on. But you know better. Even if you can’t see it , you know the depth of him beneath it all.

“Merry Christmas” you whisper

“You filthy animal!” you both say at the same time, hugging each other in a fit of mild laughter.

“Oooh Home Alone. Let’s watch that one!”

“Sounds great.”

You grab the fuzzy blanket, prep the candied pecans, and watch the film; cuddled up all cozy with Nathan as snow falls silently outside the glass walls of your glowing little sanctuary.

#Nathan Bateman x reader #Christmas fluff #Oscar Isaac #all I want for Christmas is to snuggle Nathan Bateman ong