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How Romantic | Stiles Stilinski
✦ pairing — Stiles Stilinski x female!Plus Size Reader
✦ *word count — 2.4k
✦ request — Stiles comes home from school for Christmas and surprises the reader? Maybe some supernatural element happened and snowed them in together, can be friends to lovers where Stiles uses that time to confess to her?
✦ warnings — light angst, reader hates the cold, fluff.
✦ author's note — made a tiny adjustment just so this would have some sense, hope that’s okay.
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Your mom didn’t tell you she wouldn’t be home the weekend you arrived. You found out through text when you asked her why she wasn't opening the door. She told you where to find the spare key and assured you she and your sibling would be back on Tuesday. It was Saturday.
There was food in the pantry, but you could go and buy something if you wanted to. It would do you good to explore the town; as much as you complained about the weird happenings, you would die of boredom if you stayed home while your family came back.
If there was something you liked about Beacon Hills, it was the weather. You didn’t fare well in the cold, never had, not even in vacations where the snowy scenery was breathtaking and the beverages soothingly warm.
You unpacked and changed your shoes. Your bedroom had been cleaned recently, the bedsheets were fresh and smelled of the fabric softener your mom had used all your life.
The doorbell rang. You wouldn’t make it through the weekend without having a stroke if you had to entertain one of your neighbors, you just wouldn’t — you didn’t need to be reminded that people found you cruel for leaving your mom and sibling to live with your dad in San Franciso.
Knowing they would call her if you didn’t open the door, you hurried your way down the stairs and took a deep breath. You could come up with something if needed, maybe the excuse of needing to buy groceries.
But you found your favorite person in Beacon Hills as you opened the door, and suddenly whatever it was you had been dreading was dumb and childish and maybe things weren’t so bad around here if it meant getting a big hug from Stiles Stilinski.
“What are you doing here?” you asked against his shoulder.
He laughed, squeezing you. “Your mom said you’d be here.”
That made you part from him. “You called my mom?”
“Needed to know where to go.”
The mere idea of Stiles visiting you at your dad’s made you giggle. Your dad didn’t hate him or anything, but he was the protective type and Stiles had always managed to get himself in the most ridiculous trouble, so your dad was weary.
A harsh gust of wind hit you, making you frown. It wasn’t uncommon for the night to grow colder, but it couldn’t have been that late. “Wanna come in?”
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Stiles closed the door himself, following you into the living room.
“Man, it’s just as I remember!”
You had to admit your mom took exceptional care of the house. She kept the furniture polished and the surfaces unblemished, just as she managed to keep every ornament around the place pristine; the Christmas ones included.
The tree was small compared to your dad’s, but your stepmom had always been known for going the extra mile. You would have stayed with them for Christmas if you didn’t love your mom and your sibling so much, and if you didn’t have to choose.
“When did you get here?” you asked. “Oh, you want something to drink?”
“This morning.” He welcomed himself into the kitchen and opened the fridge. A laugh escaped him. “Your mom still buys the same orange juice brand.”
“She refuses to change it.”
“Have you tried others?”
“Annie buys it fresh at the farmer’s market.”
He hummed. “It has pulp, though.”
“You can strain it.”
With a shrug, he grabbed a soda. “I, for one, don’t drink juice anymore.”
“Oh, you eat healthy now?”
“Ha ha, very funny.” He cracked the can of soda open as if to make a point. “Juice goes bad before I can finish it.”
“Set a reminder on your phone.”
“Is that what you do?”
“I live with other three people, Stiles, the juice runs out in like two days.”
He hummed. “How’s that working out for you, by the way?”
“It’s okay,” you answered truthfully. “Kinda weird to have another sibling, but… she’s a sweet kid.”
Stiles stared at you as though reading you. It wasn’t your favorite trait of his if you were completely honest, but it came with the package. “I guess I have it easier.”
“Eh. I’m sure I live in the better city.”
He rolled his eyes. You always had this silly fight and always came on top because not much could defeat San Francisco.
“Is it getting cold or am I going crazy?”
“It’s a little colder than when I got here,” he agreed.
You went through the cupboards, looking for tea or coffee. You hated the instant coffee your mom bought out of habit, so you would have to settle for green tea.
Stiles laughed at your raccoon-like behavior. He inhaled deeply. “I was—” His phone started ringing. “Give a second.”
You nodded and turned back to your tea-making task.
“What’s up, dad?” Worry seeped into Stiles’ voice; not uncommon when it came to his dad —or Scott—. “Snowing? Are you drunk?” At that, you turned around and saw him wince. “Sorry. No, no, I’m at— yeah, I’m with her.”
You peeked through the kitchen window and sure enough, the patio was covered in glittering snow.
His eyes widened when he saw the snow falling. “Yeah. Call me if—” Stiles huffed a laugh. “Okay. Be safe.”
The wind picked up, making you shiver. The house had never been this cold before.
“Fuck. What are we going to do?” He gripped his hair, now a little longer and shinier. You supposed he started taking care of it. It would fall off if he continued tugging on it as though the world was ending.
“Stiles.”
“What?”
“It’s fine. The snow will melt eventually, we’re not stranded in the wild.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
“It’s okay.” You patted his shoulder. “I can make us something warm to drink. Are you hungry?”
“Not really. Maybe later?”
“Sure.”
You both sat on the couch. Stiles continued sipping on his soda while telling you about one of his dumb classmates.
He seemed distracted, but then again, Stiles always seemed to have a lot in his mind.
“When was the last time it snowed here?”
You should have known he was thinking about that. “The seventies, I think.”
“It just doesn’t make sense.”
You had to agree. Things had stopped making sense in that town long ago. Even your mom, who loved Beacon Hills more than life itself, thought so.
Stiles knew of her borderline obsession with the town, how it ruined her marriage because she couldn’t accept your dad’s desire for a better life, a good career. “Has your mom mentioned anything weird going on?” he insisted. Now full-on detective mode.
“Like magic or…? She hasn’t, to be clear, but you gotta be more specific.”
“Well, it’s more complicated than that. Even if you call it magic, what kind of magic? Is it for nefarious purposes? Are they just pranking the town? Do they have the ability to cause more harm?”
Your eye twitched. “I'm going to bite you if you don't shut up.”
“Maybe I'm into that.”
“How romantic of you,” you grumbled.
You left that place because of all the supernatural bullshit and it still found some way to torment you the few times you visited.
It was a painful reminder of why you only liked small aspects of the town — you were even on the fence when it came to most people. Finding a sense of community was hard in Beacon Hills but your mom insisted otherwise.
"I wish I hadn't come," you admitted out loud. "Why did I listen to mom?"
"Come on, that's unfair. It's just the weather."
"Caused by a fucking curse or something worse! What if someone brought the apocalypse? I haven’t even graduated, and I will die here!"
You supposed he was used to it. His adventures, if you could call them that, had been some kind of fucked up exposure therapy.
There was a reason you never were part of the group, no matter how fond of Stiles you were or how sweet you thought Scott to be — you couldn't come with the things they went through on the daily.
Even hearing about it had been anxiety-inducing. Living it? No, thank you.
"I miss like fifteen minutes ago when I was the one freaking out."
"I miss when things were normal around here.”
"Hey.” He reached over, resting his warm hand on your knee. “I'm here. It's just you and me, okay? Whatever is going on — it can't hurt you. I won't let it."
You would have believed him if the lights didn't flicker for a second.
When the power didn't go out, he smiled at you. "See? Everything's fine."
"That's a stretch."
Stiles tilted his head, observing you. “Do you really hate this place?”
“I—” You pursed your lips and shrugged. “Hate might be too much, but sometimes I wish I could just leave it behind.”
“Ah, it’s not so bad.”
“Says the guy who visits once a year.”
He lifted his hands in surrender.
The cold started to become unbearable in mere jeans and a shirt. You made sure the windows were closed, and as you locked one, you saw just how thick the layer of snow had become.
Not a single inch of the driveway could be seen. “Holy shit.”
There was no way anybody would be able to leave their houses. If they were lucky enough to be home.
Stiles stood behind you, trying to see just what had shocked you so much. “Oh, man.”
“You think… you think this could be fixed?”
“I don't know,” he admitted. “It has to, obviously, but…”
You nodded. It wasn't his fault. “I'll bring some blankets.”
“I'll make you some tea. You're shivering.”
You didn't realize until he told you, but you were in fact shivering.
Finding winter clothes wasn't as easy, and the blankets hadn't even been unpacked from the vacuum-sealed bags your mom kept in the closet.
You were too cold to move properly. The insulation helped with the heat in the summer, but for some reason, it had nothing on the cold.
You dropped some of the blankets through the stairs, scared you would fall if you attempted to carry all of them. Stiles picked them up and quickly laid a couple on the sofa.
“Your tea is ready,” he said softly. That worried tone of his appeared once more. “Come.”
You handed him a pair of sweatpants you snatched from your sibling's room and one of your hoodies. “These should fit if you want to be warmer.”
“Drink that,” he instructed you. “I'll be right back.”
You hugged the mug between your hands, warming up your fingers. The steam hit your face as you brought the mug closer to your mouth, making you aware of how cold the tip of your nose had gotten.
Your first sip didn't do much, but by the third one, you started to feel better. You didn't even know Stiles knew how sweet you liked your tea, but it was perfect.
He was back quickly, sitting beside you and draping one of the thickest blankets over both of your laps.
“Better?”
You hummed, reaching over for the TV remote. “Wanna look for something to watch?”
“Yeah.” He took the remote from you. “Let's see…”
Somehow, you ended up watching a baking contest. As the show continued, you and Stiles got closer looking for more warmth.
He laid on his back. You allowed him to rest his calves on your lap which earned you an incredulous gaze from him.
“Don't be ridiculous,” he told you. “Come here.”
You gave him a wary look. He insisted. You struggled, but you did as he said and laid on top of him, bringing the blanket with you as a cape.
Stiles fixed the blanket on top of you and snuck his hands between the fabric and your sweatshirt. Inhaling deeply, he said, "You smell good."
"I'm trying this perfume out, see if I finally find the one."
"The one perfume, or...?"
"Yeah,” you laughed. “What else?"
"You know, the one."
"Oh, that. Might be too late. Or too soon, who knows? But... doesn't feel plausible right now." You fixed your eyes on the TV where one of the contestants had just burnt caramel. “What an idiot,” you criticized, not truly meaning it. You had never made caramel before in your life, you probably never would attempt to.
Stiles, being Stiles, didn't let you change the subject. "Why not? School?"
"I don't give a shit about school, Stiles. It's nice to have friends and you know, have fun. Things just never work out in the more-than-friends aspect."
"That's great,” he exclaimed in glee.
You lifted your head off his chest. "What?"
"Shit, no, I didn't mean it like that." He fisted your sweatshirt from the back to keep you in place. “I had it all planned, you know? But the snow and its weirdo master or whatever caused this had to ruin it.”
“Ruin what?” you asked softly, afraid you would start assuming nonsense if he didn't explain himself.
“We were supposed to go to Santa's village and ride the Ferris wheel, and I was going to tell you there, maybe bribe the guy so he got us stuck up there for a while… we would look at the town from above and it would have been very romantic, actually.”
“Romantic,” you repeated.
“I really like you," he sighed out. "It's kind of an understatement if I'm being honest.”
So it wouldn't have been nonsense after all. "I... I like you too. Have for a while."
"Yeah?"
You hummed. "I thought it was obvious."
"I thought I was being obvious."
You shook your head. Stiles never gave any indication that he was interested in you, not in that way. He was always nice and considered your opinions, but you chalked that up to being good friends.
"I need to start being obvious, then." His hand came up to the back of your head. "Can I kiss you?"
You kissed him first, resting your hands on his chest. Stiles smiled into the kiss, pushing your face closer to his.
As you both parted for air, he said, "We'll figure it out, right?"
You could only assume he was referring to the distance. "I hope so."
"Let's enjoy these days first," he suggested, for once not being the one to worry. "We should probably make some phone calls, and find out what's going on with the snowstorm." He gave you a quick kiss. "Later, though."
You laughed but agreed. Stiles and you spent the evening sharing lazy kisses and chaste touches, sure you would eventually have enough time to do everything more and the small things in between.
Maybe snowstorms weren't so bad.
Oh, who were you kidding?
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Hi sweetie ! I'm the anon who asked for Peppermint Bark with Tim, thank you so much for writing it! It made my heart melt 😍💕
PS: hope you have happy hollydays 💕
PS2: I'm sorry I didn't answered before, a tornado hitted my city and I couldn't log in until now. Me and my family are okay tho 🙈
I'm glad you liked it! Thank you so much for your request and your well wishes — hope you have a good year.
I'm happy to know you and your family are okay. Please be safe, sweet anon.
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Productive Ways to Make Up | Dean Winchester
✦ pairing — Dean Winchester x afab!female!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 2.1k
✦ request — Maybe taking charge of the plus size reader. Like hot angry rough sex. Spanking maybe? Idk that just seems like it would be a good one. Maybe just they get in a fight during the holidays. Like at the readers family’s Christmas party. Then dean takes charge of her and they have angry rough sex
✦ warnings — nsfw, teasing, hints of a fight, smut, spanking (reader receiving), angry sex, rough sex, fellatio, face fucking (reader receiving), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (please don’t do this), creampie, aftercare.
✦ author's note — changed this to a New Year’s party just to fit the date better.
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The fight got out of hand easily, as things often did with Dean. It was one of those fights that you didn’t know how escalated to this, on this day specifically when you needed him on his best behavior.
Your parents had been excited to finally see you for more than a couple of hours, happy that your hectic schedule had given you a break for New Year’s. You had to skip Thanksgiving and Christmas because you were out of town, your mom didn’t take it well. This party was supposed to be perfect for everybody.
Dean rarely made things hard for you, but he had to do it today, apparently.
You left early, making up an emergency with Dean’s brother. Poor Sam, you had to drag him into this just so your dad wouldn’t start hating your partner out of nowhere.
For the first time in a very long time, getting home was worse for your mood. Dean didn’t help, glaring at you as you peeled off your jacket as if you had done anything wrong, as if you started the stupid fight.
He grabbed you by the hips before you could leave the living room, grip tight and strong. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To the bedroom. Or am I not allowed?”
“Watch it,” he warned.
“I need to call my mom and assure her Sam isn’t dying.”
Dean pushed you against the wall to stop you, trapping you with his warm body to the cold wallpaper.
“Dean…” You struggled against his hold.
“Oh, honey, you know what you’re doing, don’t you?”
In most circumstances, you would wiggle against his hands just to egg him on. But this time, you honestly simply wanted to annoy him into letting you cross the living room and hopefully find the warmth of your cozy bed where you could call your mom and take a nap.
Dean had other plans. You hated that you weren’t as against them as you wanted to be. After all, it was a more productive way to take out your anger than yelling at each other in the middle of the half-empty living room on New Year’s Eve.
Your breaths mingled as both of you opened your mouths to say something. Dean took charge, as he often did with these things, and leaned in to kiss you.
A hand of his came up to grip your chin, forcing your mouth open to slip his tongue past your red lips. You squirmed, feeling your skirt ride up at the movement between the wall and Dean’s bulk.
“Don’t be a brat,” he gritted out. Yet he traced the outside of your thighs with both hands, forcing your skirt to bunch up at your hips. Humming against your skin, he manhandled you toward the couch.
His hands fell on your ass. He made it jiggle with a light spank, laughing when you gasped in surprise. “That okay?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you consented.
He immediately spanked you again. “Count for me.”
“One,” you mumbled as the first slap landed. Dean hummed, you could picture the smile on his face, and did it again. “Two.”
“See how easy everything is when you listen to me?” He sounded almost condescending. Slapping you again, harder, he waited for you to count once more before rubbing his hand over the spot he had just hit.
He made you count to ten, careful not to make you cry. No matter how pretty you looked with tears streaming down your face, this was clearly about control, not a punishment.
Rubbing your ass, Dean ripped your pantyhose and spread your legs open. “Of course you’re fucking dripping already.”
He sat on the couch and brought you onto his lap. You would probably ruin his new pants, but by the way he grabbed you and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, that was his intention.
You moaned as he pushed his tongue against yours. Before you could start enjoying yourself with the kiss, Dean pulled away. He even laughed when you whined.
“Be patient,” he told you. “You aren’t supposed to enjoy this too much.”
You pouted, naively thinking it would convince him. Dean wasn’t in a playful mood, he just wanted to remind you who was in charge and why. His grip on you tightened, bringing you flush against him.
The tent in his pants brushed against your sensitive skin. He purposefully drove you to move your hips backward, then forward. You rested your hands on his chest, grinding against him of your own volition.
"You're enjoying this, huh."
Dumbly, you hummed. His laugh almost snapped you out of it, but it was too late. You cried out as he stopped you from keeping grinding. It bordered on torture, feeling the texture of his pants on your bare skin, rough and so readily available for you to get off.
Dean pushed you to your knees and undid his pants in haste, pulling his cock out of his underwear swiftly. He petted your head for a moment, then tapped his cock against your cheek. “Open up.”
You did so, resting your hands on your thighs in expectancy.
He caressed your cheek before shoving his cock into your mouth, only careful not to get to your throat for a moment. As he hit your throat, you gagged from the force, then relaxed as your brain registered what was happening.
He groaned as you began to hollow your cheeks, thrusting his hips up and choking you with his cock. You gagged once again, balling up your fists. Not touching him was worse than the sensation in your throat, that one you weirdly enjoyed, something about him causing you to gag and slobber all over his cock simply did something to you.
He knew.
“Should have known this would shut you up.” He rutted his hips, groaning deeply as his cock slipped down your throat.
He grunted as your tongue slid along his cock, gripping your face tightly so he could fuck your mouth at a quicker pace. The only indication you got that he wanted to come was him pressing your face to his pelvis.
Before you could taste the familiar salty cum, he pushed you off his cock and caressed your neck with his thumbs as he regained his breath.
"On your back."
You understood he meant on the couch simply because you were sure he would never fuck you into the floor when your backs were so ruined from all the hunting. So you laid on the couch you had fucked on more times than you could count and waited for him to get inside you.
Dean showed you two fingers. "Keep these warm for me, yeah?"
You nodded and opened your mouth, eager to suck on his fingers. Dean cackled, shaking his head.
"Can't leave this pussy unattended, honey." He teased at your entrance, gathering the slick dripping down your labia. "So good for me," he mumbled to himself.
Sliding his middle and ring finger inside you, Dean hummed to himself. "Knew you'd be warm and ready for me."
Teasingly, he curled his fingers. You whimpered.
"More." You couldn't help yourself.
He started shoving his fingers in and out, thrusting like he had done this a million times before. He almost had. The lewd sounds bouncing against the walls made your skin grow hot, feeling yourself getting more aroused at the wet echoes.
You squeezed around his fingers and rolled into his hand. Dean tsked, shaking his head. He tried to hide his proud smile from you as best as he could, but the cockiness always won over. His thumb grazed your clit as he wiggled his digits inside you, crisscrossing them.
"You know what? Go ahead, fuck yourself on my fingers. Can't do all the work for you."
Rutting against Dean's hand, you allowed yourself to enjoy the tendrils of pleasure every time his thumb made contact with your clit and his digits became buried inside you. He would stroke against your movements when you would get too complacent, reminding you he was still in charge. As if you would have it any other way.
You gasped out his name, hands floundering in search of something to hold onto. Dean removed his fingers before you could even grasp your orgasm.
Taunting you, he licked his fingers clean. "You would have made your mess already if you hadn't been so difficult earlier. You know that, right?"
You mumbled a reminder, "You were difficult too."
"Take that back," he demanded, wrapping a hand around his hard cock.
You shook your head, frustrated to no end as Dean started to pump the cock you should have been riding already.
As if reading your mind, and somehow agreeing, he roughly grabbed your thighs and forced your legs open enough to slot himself between them. He slapped his cock against your clit, smirking when you jolted. He did it a couple more times, only stopping when he dragged his tip along your slit to wet it.
Dean coated his cock all over with your wetness, using his fingers to gather some more for good measure. The emptiness inside you grew. All of this was not only unnecessary but only dragged your so much-needed pleasure.
"Gonna fuck some manners into you, honey," he announced in glee as he pushed inside you.
"Uh-huh."
He hovered over you to kiss you, sticking his tongue into your mouth while holding your legs open. You panted as he thrust into you with little care of pace or rhythm, only worried about fucking you stupid.
"I can feel how badly you want to come already," he boasted, relentlessly pumping his cock into you like he would die if he didn't reach as deep as humanly possible. "Hold on," he insisted, almost desperate. "You gotta wait until I tell you to."
Just as you were going to hum in acknowledgment, he pulled out and forced a desperate cry out of you. Dean grabbed your hips, guiding you onto your knees and hands.
Pressing his chest to your back, he pushed back in. His hands moved to your belly, searching for the hem of your top; as he found it, he rode it upward. Some of his fingers were ice cold, leaving goosebumps all over your skin as his hands reached your breasts.
He pulled on your breasts as he pistoned into you, quickly and harshly, pushing your face into the couch. You gasped for air, whining as you ground back against him, chasing permission to come.
Dean wouldn't relent that easily. He dropped your breasts, wrapping an arm tightly around you whilst resting his other hand on your thigh. Slapping your clit, he started to pant in your ear. "You're so fucking close," he told you, as if you didn't feel like you were on fire.
His fingers drew circles on your clit, applying as much pressure as your desperate humps and his hurried thrusts allowed him to. "Come on," he encouraged you, "let go. Make a mess all over my cock."
His thrusts only slowed down long enough for you to ride your high, coming so close to using him to get off that you hoped you would remember to plant the idea of trying that out into his head. He picked up the pace again, taking advantage of your pulsing walls and your half-relaxed state.
"Inside?" he asked breathlessly.
"Yeah." You moaned at the overstimulation, hoping he would just come already so you wouldn't have to go through more of it right now. Maybe later.
Not only did he fill you with cum but he pushed it deeper with a couple of pumps, moaning through a string of curses. His embrace loosened around you, but Dean didn't let go.
With his chest against your back and ragged breath in your ear, Dean coaxed you into laying flat on your stomach. "You okay, baby?"
You hummed. "Yeah, all good."
He kissed your shoulder and slowly withdrew from you, slipping out. "Gonna clean you up," he told you before you could ask if something was wrong.
Cleaning you up with a damp rag, Dean caressed your skin soothingly. "Can you sit up and drink some water?"
You gave it a try, groaning as you turned around on the couch. Sitting up was especially daunting as your sore ass made contact with the cushioned seat.
"I..."
You looked up at him, glass in both hands.
"I'll run you a bath, then we'll call your parents and invite them over for dinner this weekend."
"Really?"
"Really."
By the end of the night, you called your mom from your warm bed, head on Dean’s chest while his fingers traced your back.
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Mistletoe Madness | Steve Harrington
✦ pairing — Steve Harrington x gender neutral!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 600-ish
✦ request — Steve Harrington, for the winter theme, established relationship, but it is the first time having the reader over for christmas, and Steve keeps moving around the mistletoe so he can keep getting kisses, acting surprised whenever they're both under it. Still, he always has a big grin when the reader grabs him by the collar every time to pull him in for the kiss.
✦ warnings — just fluff.
✦ author's note — late, I know, I know. I'm sorry, life has been hectic and I’m basically only using one eye while typing. Hope you enjoy it anyway!
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You started to get suspicious by the third time you ended up under the mistletoe. It would have been one thing if you were at a party and somebody was playing a prank on you, or if you hadn’t been dating Steve for so long.
“Babe, would you help me with this?” he asked from the kitchen.
You stood up from the floor where you had been attempting to fix the lights on the tree and followed his voice.
The moment you reached the doorway, he gasped. “Look up!”
You didn’t have to do so to know there was mistletoe above your head. Reaching over, you grabbed him by the collar and brought him in for a kiss. He was never happy with a small one. His arms snaked around you as he deepened the kiss, sighing as though you hadn’t kissed him in a long time.
The big stupid grin on his face made it hard for you to be mad so you just shook your head in amusement.
The next time, the lights had been fixed and you were trying to find the right angle to place his camera for some photos in front of the tree.
Steve spent five minutes fixing his hair, ignoring your insistence that he looked perfect already.
He sauntered toward you and reached up. You assumed he would fix your hair now, but his hand hung over your head instead.
You sighed and looked up. There hung the mistletoe, pinched between Steve's fingers. Without a word, you pulled him into another kiss, grabbing him by the collar with one hand while you buried your other fingers in his hair.
Steve harrumphed as you parted from him, bringing a hand up to his hair and fixing his hair again. “Ready for the photos?”
“Yeah.”
He dropped the mistletoe onto the couch.
You laughed. "At least let the poor thing be in the photo!"
He shook his head. “And make it look like I need to force you to kiss me? No, thank you. You’ve been all over me all day!”
You rolled your eyes. “Come on, it’s getting late, and this sweater is itchy.”
Steve complied, probably because he was growing hot with a jacket indoors on top of his own sweater.
Taking photos was a pain, though. He refused to stop, arguing it was better to have many options for an album than to settle for less-than-good photos.
At the end of the night, after dinner, you agreed to go for a walk to look at the houses around the neighborhood.
He buried his hands in his pockets, patiently waiting for you to wrap your scarf around your neck.
You were searching for your gloves when he withdrew something from his pocket, gasping. “Would you look at that?”
Honestly, you should have known better, expected it even, yet you looked up and came face to face with mistletoe.
Despite yourself, you laughed and pressed your lips to his. Steve threw the mistletoe to the floor, wrapping both arms around your middle. Your fingers again tangled in his hair, but this time he didn’t have any complaints.
You would have told him to forget about the Christmas lights in the neighborhood, and the walk, and the cold you would have to endure. But you wanted to see the pretty houses and swing your clasped hands as you walked around the neighborhood he had insisted was perfect.
“This is the only present you’re getting from me this year,” you said sternly, lips ghosting his.
"Really?” Steve asked in a child-like high pitch.
”No,” you admitted.
You just couldn’t be mad at him!
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Christmas Morning | Jason Todd
✦ pairing — Jason Todd x female!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 1k
✦ request — Jason, spending their first Christmas living together and fem reader gifting Jason something she made that she knew he’d really like with him saying something like “you didn’t have to do this for me”. It can be a portrait of them together that she painted or commissioned.
✦ warnings — mentions of sharing clothes but Jason is huge so !!!, fluff.
✦ author's note — I know this is late, but my health and a family thing got in the way. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.
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You woke up as someone hovered over you. A kink on your neck prohibited you from turning quickly, and you couldn't shake sleep off your eyes.
Jason's voice filled your ears before you panicked, “Go back to sleep, baby.”
In reflex, you glanced at the window. Your eyesight hadn't improved as sleep hadn't really left as you had hoped. You could tell the sun wasn't up yet though. “Everything okay?”
He hummed. “Sleep. I'll join you in just a moment.” Jason turned in the direction of the bedroom. He then came back, shaking his head. “What am I doing? Come to bed.”
You groaned, already warm albeit awkwardly laying on the couch. He helped you untangle from the blanket, surprisingly stopping himself from chastising you for trying to wait up for him.
“Jay!”
“Mmh?”
“It's Christmas!”
He laughed lightheartedly. “Yes, honey, I know.”
“You should open your gift.”
“You wanna open gifts before going to bed?”
“Please?”
“Okay. Let me get changed at least, yeah?”
“I’ll make coffee!” you announced, already on your way to the kitchen.
The apartment wasn’t the biggest place in the world, but it was the first place you had truly called home. Jason made that happen. He made your life more bearable since you met him just being in it.
Oh, you just couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened his gift.
Coffee was still blooming when Jason wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You relaxed as he pressed his front against your back, sighing happily when he kissed your head.
"Slow night?"
"Kind of. I bet tomorrow's gonna be hell."
“Tonight, technically.”
“Well, if we’re being smartasses, it’s tomorrow because it gets busier after midnight.”
You groaned. “Can’t you let me win on Christmas?”
“No.” He kissed your head again. “We can’t put our traditions to the side because it’s Christmas.”
“Are you calling your girlfriend a loser?” He tightened his arm around you as you tried to reach the cupboard. “Move, let me get some mugs.”
“I’ll get them.” He pushed you into the counter, pressing himself flush to your backside as he pretended to struggle to reach the mugs with his already long arms. You laughed, and so did he as you hurried to fill the mugs with coffee. “You’re my loser, by the way.”
“Mmhmm.” Wagging your butt, you said, “Move. Your gift is waiting.”
“And here I thought you were the gift.”
“You didn’t just say that.”
Jason removed his arm from your waist and picked up both mugs. “Let’s pretend I didn’t.”
You followed him into the living room, giggling. You giggled even harder when you found him pouting, feigning offense over your laugh at his corniness as if it was the first time either of you teased each other.
God, you loved him.
“Go on,” you encouraged him, sitting next to him on the couch and picking up your coffee.
“Me first?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
As if teasing you, he opened the small gift you had gotten him first, when you thought you wouldn’t get the one you had planned from the beginning in time.
“Jason, come on! You know which one I meant.”
“Okay. I love the jacket, though. Let’s see how long it takes you to steal it.”
“I got a similar one for me, you dick.”
He glared at you. “How dare you? Are my clothes not enough for you now?”
You playfully hit his arm. “Can you please just open the other gift? I really want to see if you like it.”
“Of course I’m going to like it, baby, it’s from you.”
If only he knew how badly you wanted that to be the truth.
He tested the weight of the item, giving you a quizzical look when he shook it and nothing rattled. Now intrigued, Jason ripped the wrapping paper.
Whatever he had been expecting, a portrait of you both mustn’t have been one.
You always took photos together and you loved them. There was something about having his face all over that made things a little bit better. A reminder that you had someone to love, someone at home to wait for, someone to laugh and share secrets with.
Naturally, you drew him a lot. He was your favorite thing to sketch out as practice, when you were bored, or when you were trying out new supplies.
So you coaxed him into picking his favorite photo of you both and tried recreating it in different mediums until you found the perfect one.
And now he knew why you insisted that he had to pick one from the hundreds you showed him on your laptop a couple of months ago.
His eyes didn’t leave the painting as he said, in such a soft voice you could have cried, “You didn’t have to do this for me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Fuck,” he laughed. “I look so handsome.”
“You are.”
“And look at you, so fucking pretty.” He gazed up at you, resting the painting on his lap. “You’re so talented, baby. I don’t deserve this, but I’m not complaining.”
You briefly kissed his lips. “Shut up. You deserve everything I give you and more.”
He smiled, immediately going for another kiss. He interrupted it though, too excited to be thinking about kissing his girlfriend who loved him dearly. “Where are we hanging it?” he asked excitedly. “Here? Yeah, here, so everybody can see it.”
“Wherever you want, babe, it’s yours.”
“I’ll get something to hang it tomorrow,” he announced, eyes trailing down to the painting once again.
“I’m so relieved you like it,” you admitted.
“Like it?” He sounded offended. “Love it, more like.”
“Well, I see that now, but—”
He gently put the painting down so he could reach over and hug you. You hugged him back, resting your head against his, pulling him as close as you could.
Before you could speak, before you could remind him just how much you loved him, Jason said, “It’s the best thing I’ve seen since I met you.”
He was warm and smelled of the moisturizer he always stole from you. “I know I don’t have to say it, but I love you. I hope it’s been a good Christmas.”
“It’s been the best,” he assured you. Kissing your face, he added, “And it’s getting even better because it’s your turn to open your gifts.”
You nuzzled against him. “Five more minutes.”
“Ten if you want.”
He tightened his hold on you.
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Gonna rest my eye for a couple hours and then I'll continue writing. I hope to have two fics out by tomorrow night too.
Have a wonderful Christmas if you celebrate. And if not, a lovely day.💕
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Peppermint Bark | Tim Drake
✦ pairing — Tim Drake x female!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 800-ish
✦ request — Hi honey! For the Christmas fics, can I request something with Tim Drake? He has a crush on Y/N but is too shy to confess. Y/N’s at her aunts house and Tim goes to wish her a Happy Holydays and they end up under the mistletoe
✦ warnings — mentions of food (candies, mostly), kissing, fluff.
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You made your way to the front door with more annoyance than you should have been feeling while making holiday candy.
Making candies and baking cookies with your aunt was the highlight of the holiday season for you. She liked giving goodies away to neighbors and friends.
She miscalculated this year, though, and had to make a quick run to the grocery store which left you watching a cake in the oven —for cake pops— and having to clean up all the mess.
You even started with the first batch of peppermint bark!
So you opened the door mildly annoyed but immediately forgot about it when Tim Drake smiled at you.
“Tim!” You had expected a bothersome salesman or a package for your aunt. It wouldn't have been the first one of the latter that day.
Boy-ish as ever, he scratched the back of his head. “Almost thought no one was home.”
“Sorry, I— You wanna come in?”
He nodded. Before crossing the doorway, he handed you a box of chocolates wrapped in a floppy bow as though he had tied the bow himself. “You always liked these… Right?”
“Yes, I’ve always liked these,” you assured him.
Tim let out a relieved sigh, head lightly thrown back and shoulders dropping. Immediately, he perked up. Still, he didn’t come in. His eyes were fixed on the upper part of the door.
Worried a dangerous animal was creeping around your aunt’s garland, you looked up too. There was mistletoe on the doorframe. You didn’t know your aunt had bought mistletoe, much less knew she had hung it on the front door — was she trying to finally make a move on her new pretty neighbor?
You tried to say something, make this less awkward. The two of you must have looked like idiots blocking the entrance to your aunt’s house, looking up at the —now obvious to your nose— fresh mistletoe. Words abandoned you this time, and words rarely came out of Tim first so it was either you or the wind that would come up with anything.
The wind was slow this time. You wished it hadn’t. The only thing you could say was, “Oh, mistletoe.”
As if he hadn’t seen it first.
Making matters worse, Tim stammered, “We, we don’t have to…”
You panicked. You really wanted to. Honestly, you had been waiting months for him to make the first move and it was painfully clear he wouldn’t if you didn’t give him a nudge. So you forced words to come out, “It's tradition, isn't it?”
His gaze fell on you. His cheeks turned pink as he processed your words, but seemingly in the same state of mind as you, he nodded. “Yeah. Some traditions need to be kept, of course.”
You giddily smiled before you could stop yourself from looking too eager. It was all the encouragement he needed.
Tim cupped your cheeks in both hands, cradling your face as he brushed his lips against yours. Something stirred within you, and although conscious that it was supposed to be a small peck, you once again took the role of the bold one and pressed your lips more firmly against his. He welcomed them.
You rested your free hand on his arm, holding the chocolates in the other one, and felt his nose nudge yours in an attempt to kiss you better. Leave it to him to know how you liked to be kissed after a few seconds of contact.
Before any of your aunt’s neighbors saw, or complained about the two idiots kissing on a doorway in the middle of the afternoon, you parted. “Uhm, I need to check the cake,” you blurted, just now remembering the oven was on.
“You’re baking?”
“We’re making candy and all that stuff. Come, I’ll give you some peppermint bark and truffles.”
Tim followed you inside, taking in all the decorations your aunt put up. The tree was huge, with ornaments of different sizes in red, green, and gold — small teddy bears in flannels covered the spaces between spheres and handmade ornaments with the names of family members and friends. He smiled upon seeing the Christmas village on the coffee table and quickly reached the kitchen where you were already taking the cake pans out.
“Just in time?” he asked.
“Yeah. I’m getting the hang of this, I think.”
Tim watched your hands, almost entranced, as you prepared a box of candies for him. First, you laid the paper, then carefully placed the candy in stacks. You added a couple of the test cookies you had made just for good measure.
You tied a bow on the closed box and handed it to him. “Here. I hope you like them.”
“I…” He laughed. “Would you like to get coffee sometime? One day you’re not making candy, I guess…”
“I thought you would never ask.”
He finally took the box in his hands. His eyes twinkled as he asked, “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Tim. I would love to.”
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Good Company | Bucky Barnes
✦ pairing — Bucky Barnes x female!Plus Size Reader
✦ word count — 2.8k
✦ request — For the Christmas fics thing can I ask for something with Bucky Barnes? The reader is completely tired of her grandmother telling her that she should lose weight to get a boyfriend/fiancé right in front of the whole family at every Christmas dinner. The reader is talking about it with two of her coworkers/friends until Bucky interrupts her and tells her he can go with her as her boyfriend
✦ warnings — light angst, mentions of fatphobia, mentions of food and beverages (alcohol included), fake dating, fluff, kissing.
✦ author's note — changed this one a little bit just so I could leave some stuff up for interpretation or else I would have gone overboard.
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You weren't feeling as festive as everybody in the building. Your work environment was good, you got along with your coworkers just fine for the most part, and the pay wasn't bad at all.
Your family, though... there was room for improvement there. A big room. Maybe an open plan apartment's worth of improvement.
It had come to the point that you weren't sure you wanted to see them for the holidays. Your grandmother always had something to say about you — your career, your friends, your weight, your relationship status.
She wanted you to be just like her and your aunts, to 'make sacrifices for a greater life' as she so eloquently put it. You were supposed to hate yourself, to change everything about you to please her.
Her excuse always boiled down to your loneliness in the romantic department. You couldn't tell her about hook-ups and fizzled-out flings so you would often nod along and take her absurd comments.
You wouldn't handle them that well this year. It was a tough one for everybody, but she would only use it as an excuse to urge you to find a partner before life got worse.
Reaching your car in the parking area, you made sure it was intact before unlocking it. You were checking the backseat when someone called your name.
You half-expected to be told you were needed for an emergency, but as you searched for whoever had called for your attention, you found Bucky.
"Oh, hi, Bucky."
He gave you a small smile, greeting you back. "Going home?"
"Yeah. I hope traffic isn't too bad."
"You free for dinner or coffee?"
"Right now?"
"Uh-huh."
"Sure. "
He led you to a small bistro, one of those hole-in-the-wall establishments he always seemed to find. Bucky gave you recommendations from time to time, and that was the extent of your dynamic outside of work.
You ordered drinks first and talked about silly things while you decided what to order for dinner. Once the order was placed and you had a few sips in you, Bucky turned more serious.
First, he cleared his throat. Seemingly not comfortable enough yet, he sighed. "I heard your conversation with Nat and Sharon..."
You hadn't even seen him at lunchtime and somehow he had managed to hear your rant about family expectations. Which meant he heard you at the edge of crying over your overly honest grandma.
You looked down at your half-empty glass. "It's... a lot, yeah."
"I'm available for the holidays." He pulled a napkin and started rolling it up into a log. "I can go with you, say I'm your boyfriend. Or fiance if you want, I know a jeweler who could lend us a ring."
"I couldn't ask that from you. It's supposed to be a jolly time."
"I'm offering."
"A tempting offer," you admitted. You didn't want to sound desperate, although he certainly knew you were. "What would be in it for you? How would I repay you?"
"Not being alone on Christmas is enough already. "
He started to fold the napkin into a tiny square, focused on making it look perfect.
"Well, I'm sure my family will be happy to keep you company. So will I."
He looked up at you, then nodded. "Tell me about them?"
So you spent dinner telling him about your parents and grandparents for the most part, small details of your siblings and nephews. You didn't want to overwhelm him too much.
You also spent days worrying it would end in catastrophe. What would your family think of you if things were to fall apart?
Bucky didn't back down when you warned him about the questions he would have to endure, or when you reminded him he would have to be affectionate to you.
He helped you wrap gifts and asked your opinion on the clothes he planned to wear. He was also curious if your family knew he was coming.
They did. You told your mom a day after your dinner with Bucky, on your daily morning phone call. She was thrilled, albeit mad that you hid your relationship status for so long.
You just hoped your grandmother would be as thrilled – maybe less offended that you kept a man hidden from her scrutiny.
He laughed when you told him she probably would try to get him for herself and grabbed your hand to tug you closer. "Can't do. I'm already taken, didn't you know?"
"Oh, really? Are they a better prospect than my grandma and her handmade blankets?"
"Hey, you never said something about handmade blankets. I might have to reconsider."
You hit him on the shoulder without even realizing you were doing it.
He didn't complain. Instead, he pulled you into him and said, "Your grandma will have to settle for having me as a grandson."
You were sure she would be glad to.
Bucky was easy to like. You weren't worried that anybody would have anything negative to say about him, not even your overprotective brother.
Looking up at him, you felt your face warm up as you realized he had been staring already. "Do you want me to drive tomorrow?"
"No, no. You just gotta guide me and look pretty."
You tried hard not to think about it, about his flirting and compliments. It came easy to him, it wasn't a big deal.
Well, it shouldn't have been.
════════════════════════
You sat on the passenger seat, letting a Christmas playlist do the heavy lifting as you did your best not to bombard Bucky with suggestions as to what to say.
He wasn't stupid, and you had found he listened to what everybody said and internalized the useful parts. He didn't need you to treat him like a distracted child.
You just needed everything to be perfect and to survive Christmas dinner without crying for once in your adult life.
As if knowing you were torn between your anxiety and the catchy song playing, Bucky reached over and rested his hand on your knee.
"I'll be the best boyfriend, doll, don't worry."
You didn't doubt it. "I've never lied to them like this."
There was a first for everything. You were just glad you weren't doing it on your own.
Bucky helped you carry the gifts while you carried the cake you got from a bakery Sharon recommended.
Your mom opened the door in all her glory, with her hair done and a glittery black sweater underneath her red apron. Her eyes lit up when she saw you and Bucky, potentially more because he was real than because she missed you, and ushered you both inside.
Most family members were there already for your grand entrance, expectant, a tad impatient to see the man they would get to judge together.
Your brother and dad tore their eyes away from the football highlights on the TV at the same time, examining Bucky from head to toe.
Bucky introduced himself as such, just Bucky, but your brother insisted on calling him James which earned him a pointed look from your mom.
"I've heard so much about you," your mom said cheerfully. An attempt to dissipate whichever tension your brother could have arisen.
Bucky laughed charmingly, sharing a complicit look with you. People around you surely saw it as a gesture between lovers. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, ma'am."
He won her over with that, much like he did with your aunts and sister. Your brother would sneak weary glances from time to time and even looked offended when your dad laughed at something Bucky said.
But you agreed with your dad. Bucky was just so easily likable, serious on the exterior yet the funniest person you had met —a charming man who happened to be easy on the eyes.
Your grandmother, though, she almost fell in love with him. She grabbed your hand, giving it a strong squeeze. "See? I told you you'd be happier once you found a man."
You tried to smile at her.
"I'm the happiest," Bucky interjected. "Your granddaughter changed my life."
Your grandmother cooed, relishing just how right she had been. You were sure she was thinking you got lucky that you didn't even have to lose weight to find him.
If she thought so, she didn't say it. In fact, there wasn't a single comment regarding your weight the entire night. The fact that Bucky had his arm around your waist must have helped.
You saw another side of your grandmother, the fun one.
All you needed to be in harmony with your family had been to show up on somebody's arm.
It helped that Bucky was open to answering questions and patient with the kids who insisted he had to play with them because he was new.
Your brother was the only cautious one. He wasn't impolite, but his questions were as piercing as his eyes and his words too cold to come from your favorite person in the world.
He had never been anything but warm, much to some of the other men's disappointment. Raised mostly by your mom, you both were taught to be welcoming, to choose kindness even when it was the toughest thing to do.
But your kind brother didn't appear when it came to Bucky. You feared he knew you so well that your ruse had been discovered.
You followed your brother to the patio where you found him checking his phone. His fiancé was on a family trip, he probably missed them.
"You could be a little nicer," you said casually.
Your brother let out a huff, putting his phone away. "He looks like the type."
"The type?"
"Like the ones I had to beat up for breaking your heart in high school."
You tried not to think about those people and their cruel jokes. Their bets, their mocking tones. You had enough with the things your grandmother still said, the never-heard-before heartlessness she would throw your way the moment you showed up on your own again.
"This isn't high school."
"I'm looking out for you."
"Why don't you just say you think he's out of my league?"
"Because that's not it." He sounded offended, ever the protector. To make matters worse, he wisely said, "You didn't have to get a boyfriend if you weren't ready."
You frowned, trying to read his face in an attempt to find what he was getting at. Bucky wasn't the first person you had introduced your family to as a partner.
"If anything," he said, standing tall and lifting his shoulders in a shrug, "you're out of his league — who dates a coworker?"
"Me."
Your brother shook his head in disapproval, as he often did when you were younger. His semblance softened immediately. "You know what I mean."
"I don't."
He twisted his mouth, then tilted his head as he pointed —to him— the obvious, "He's more into you than you're into him."
"I wish you wouldn't say it like it's a bad thing."
"It is when you're so stiff around him."
Maybe you let your nerves get the best out of you. "I don't want to give Mom and Dad the wrong impression. Or grandma... you know how they are."
"Just... be careful. And call me if you need me; for anything."
You kissed his cheek in assurance and went back inside. Only then, you realized just how cold it was outside — you were only wearing a sweater.
You sat close to Bucky, resting your head on his bicep as your mom continued telling him about her upcoming retirement.
He wrapped his arm around you, bringing you closer. His comforting warmth seeped into you, pressed to his chest. He rubbed his hand along your arm, feeling just how cold you were.
You hoped he wouldn't want to move any time soon.
If he wanted to, he concealed it well. Bucky was hesitant to part from you when dinner was served, and even more after when your niece asked you to do her hair.
Eventually, you had to leave. It wasn't ludicrously late, but the drive was an hour long and you didn't have it in you to send Bucky home on his own while you stayed there for the night — inviting him to stay was out of the question.
He promised to visit soon, joking that he would bring you with him as a plus one. Your grandmother laughed so loudly that it scared you. It made you sad. You got your family's hopes up, and for what? A peaceful dinner that would only serve as a bitter reminder?
It was over so quickly and the aftermath would haunt you until you found someone else to lie. Or to actually date.
There was a chance you ruined it for yourself. Who would your grandmother approve of after having met Bucky?
You didn't know if you would approve of anybody else after that either. It didn’t snow this year. As though even the weather thought you had been wrong for lying to your family on Christmas from all days.
Bucky nudged you. "You good?"
"Yeah," you answered quickly
"You sure?"
"It was a long day."
"You didn't have a good time?"
"I woke up at five in the morning," you clarified. Not a lie, but you were used to that kind of schedule. "I'm surprised you still have so much energy."
"Having good company helped."
You hated that he said that.
It would have been so nice to agree, to enjoy how happy your grandmother had been, and your mom's laugh, and your sweet brother's worry...
Not hearing vitriolic comments about your body and lifestyle was lovely. You would still hear it soon, but at least your Christmas hadn't been ruined by your family but by yourself.
Sadness washed over you as your apartment came into view. You didn't know exactly why, he was still your friend, you would see him at work and have a secret just for the two of you which meant you were closer friends now.
You shouldn't have been glad to have him as a friend, to have a person willing to lie to multiple people just so you would have a good Christmas.
"Thank you. For everything." You didn't know how else to say goodbye. You would see him in a couple of days at work.
Ever the polite one, he smiled and said, "It was my pleasure."
You climbed out of the car and told him to drive safely. Bucky only nodded. Waving at him in goodbye, you smiled softly. Then, you stepped into the first front step.
"Hey,” he called for you from the car.
You turned around. “Yeah?"
He rolled the window up and killed the engine. Swiftly, Bucky got out of the car and approached you. "I liked it."
"You can come next year if you want." And if he wasn't busy. Or in a relationship.
"I didn't— I mean, yes, I would like that, but I liked the whole thing.”
Your heartbeat quickened. You lifted your eyebrows, not able to ask what he meant by that.
But you didn’t need to, Bucky was willing to openly say it, "You know, the handholding. And having you all over me especially.”
You froze on the spot, watching him get even closer. You were still on the first step, meeting his gaze by mistake.
He huffed to himself and added, "I always thought you were pretty, but having you this close... God, how did I ever go about my life without this? How can I go back to that?"
"Buck..."
"Look—"
"You wanna come in? Have some hot cocoa or a glass of wine?"
He let out a relieved laugh. “Yeah. It’s fucking freezing out here.”
It was and while you thought you looked pretty in your cozy sweater and your light coat, you really should have layered up. Bucky hung his jacket in the coat closet as though he had done so hundreds of times.
“Wine or hot cocoa?” you asked once he was comfortable in the living room.
“Wine.”
You pulled a pair of glasses out of the cupboard and set them on the counter.
Bucky stopped you from reaching for the bottle. “Wait.”
You turned around to face him. “Changed your mind?”
At the same time, he asked, “Can I kiss you first?”
You pressed your lips to his as an answer. He quickly kissed you back, cupping your cheek in one hand while the other one found the space between your hip and waist.
He caressed your cheek, making you sigh into the kiss which he took as an opportunity to deepen it. You grabbed his face, accepting the pace he chose to kiss you with.
The hold on your body became stronger as Bucky tried to pull you closer for which he lost his step, making you laugh and pull away in worry that he would hit his hip against the kitchen table.
He shook his head, assuring you he was fine.
Your hands ended up on his shoulders while he grabbed you by the waist with both hands.
"Merry Christmas," he said against your lips before kissing you again.
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Battling an eye infection (one of my eyes is so swollen I can't open it) so I'm slowly working on ficmas but I'll try to cram and have every Christmas-themed request out by the 25th!
Thank you for your patience. Happy Holidays!<3
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Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
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Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes
Text
Ran out of time last month for health reasons, but the fics I worked on will come out this month as part of ficmas, don't worry.
If you want to request a winter/holiday themed fic, you have until December 6th at 11:59pm central time!
18 notes · View notes