❄️ 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞. || 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝: 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐬 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞!
“What’s wrong?” Parker questioned, sliding a cup of coffee across the counter to you.
He’d noticed the frown on your face, and the general lack of excitement you’d shown recently. As soon as he asked you, it was like the dam broke, and tears started to slip from your lashes.
“Oh, hey,” Parker gasped, feeling guilty for making you cry.
You shook your head, covering your face as he wrapped his arms around you, embarrassed to be crying in front of your boyfriend. His lips pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, trying to comfort you as you wept.
“I’m sorry,” you sniffled, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.
“Don’t be. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. I’m just homesick. I miss Sokovia... Zemo always used to help me decorate the manor. But here, it’s just... cold.”
Parker hugged you, knowing that the move to New York had been an adjustment after Zemo was taken to prison and you were extracted from Sokovia. He’d done his best to help you be more comfortable in the tower, but it wasn’t your home.
“We’ll decorate here. It won’t be the same, but we’ll make it festive,” his brown eyes were filled with adoration as he gazed down at you, and you offered a small nod in return.
“Thank you,” you whispered, pushing up on your toes to kiss him.
“Parker, I am going to fall!” You gasped, shaking your head as you stood on the interior balcony, looking at the massive Christmas tree that spanned over two stories.
“Never, baby. I’ve got you.”
He hung from the ceiling on one of his webs, insisting that he could hold you so you could hang ornaments on the tree. You were hesitant, even though you knew he’d never drop you.
You held strings of lights and cranberries, gingerly standing on the railing. He wrapped his arms around you, gently swinging away from the platform so you two were hanging over the two-story drop.
“Don’t be frightened, you’ve got it. Just lay them on the branches,” he said, moving around the tree and helping you hang the lights, berries, and various glass ornaments that sparkled under the twinkling lights.
“What are the two of you doing?” Bucky asked, reaching out to help you step back down onto the floor as you finished.
“Decorating,” Parker answered as if it were obvious.
“Stark never decorates.”
“That’s why we’re doing it.”
Bucky nodded, looking pleased with the tree. You draped garland over the mantles, changing the tablecloths to deep reds. Lights hung in every room, and it took days to decorate the tower.
You hung stockings with everyone’s names, putting candy and small gifts in them. You made Parker close his eyes while you filled his, squealing at him to wait for Christmas as he tried to peer inside.
He set hot chocolate into your hands before pulling you down on the couch, insisting you needed to rest your feet after you’d been on them all day, decorating. You wore fuzzy socks that looked like reindeer, matching your red plaid pajamas.
You made yourself cozy in his lap, drinking the peppermint hot chocolate that he’d made special for you. The mug warmed your hands, filling your senses with a sweet scent. Parker’s arms snaked around your middle, kissing the side of your neck and gently squeezing your hips.
“Does it help?” his voice was low, hesitant to ask how you were feeling, not wanting to risk another round of tears.
“Yes, thank you,” you rested your cheek against his shoulder, looking at the tree decorated in red and gold. A fire crackled in the hearth, and a Christmas movie played on the television, creating a festive atmosphere.
A soft dusting of snow was coming down outside, New York in the freezing temperatures while the two of you stayed warm in the tower. Your homesickness faded as you felt more at home in the tower, celebrating the holidays as you did before.
Parker convinced everyone to participate, and presents filled the spaces under the trees, and Christmas music poured out from Tony’s office as he worked, or Bucky played the songs on the piano after everyone gathered for dinner. All it took was one wide-eyed look from you, and everyone would sit to watch Christmas movies with you, even when they found them cheesy and silly.
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𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧. || 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲’𝐬
The office was quiet, the peaky blinders off at the races. You cleaned, enjoying the brief state of peace, a rare occurrence with the boys always around.
You dusted the shelves of Tommy’s office, your breath catching in your throat as you bumped a frame. You tried to catch it but it slipped from your fingers, shattering on the wooden floor.
You felt sick, your stomach dropping as you knelt down. You delicately lifted the photo of Tommy and his late wife, Grace, thankfully still in tact. Tears blurred your vision, anxiety burning your throat.
You carefully set the photo on the desk, trying not to hyperventilate as fear set in. You knew you’d have to tell Tommy, and your hands were shaking at the dread of his return.
You cleaned up the broken glass, cutting your hand by accident in the process. A small cry left your lips, crimson — a color you were used to after years at Tommy’s side — dripped down your palm.
“You alright, love?” The deep voice came from the doorway.
You whipped around, startled at Tommy’s sudden arrival. He was home far earlier than you’d expected, which likely meant the races didn’t have the desired outcome.
“Mr. Shelby…” your voice broke, a sob breaking through your lips.
Anxiety rose in him, hating to see you in such distress. Tommy was fond of you, and the sight of your tears — and a bleeding hand — he found much more deeply upsetting than he understood.
His steps were heavy as he crossed the floor, moving to your side to see what had afflicted you. Broken glass had been mostly cleaned up, all except for a piece that had hurt your hand.
“It’s alright, let’s get you cleaned up,” he helped you to your feet, and you shook your head, not wanting to let him help you when you knew he’d be angry at you as soon as he discovered the cause of the broken glass.
Your name came out in his stern tone, one that allowed no argument or disrespect. Tommy lifted you to sit on the desk, not noticing the photo turned over on top of a stack of papers.
He held your hand, turning the palm up and gently cleaning it with a cloth and a bit of water. He wrapped the small injury, thankfully shallow and not severe.
You couldn’t stop crying, tears slipping down your cheeks in thick trails. His hand came up to your jaw, tilting your face up to look at him.
“What happened?” Tommy’s blue eyes bore into you, forcing you to swallow the knot in your throat.
“It was an accident. I didn’t do it on purpose, I swear…”
He waited for you to take a breath before you confessed your infraction. Tommy couldn’t make up what had possibly upset you so much, but he didn’t like that you were so frightened of him.
“I was cleaning and I knocked the photo of you and Grace off the shelf. I tried to catch it, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed, gently picking up the photo and handing it to Tommy.
He went deadly silent, looking down at the photo. He sighed, closing his eyes for a moment before placing the photo in a box, placing it on top of the bookshelf.
“I’ll understand if you wish to beat me, or fire me, or-”
Tommy’s hands came up to cradle your cheeks, partially stunned by how distraught you were over a frame and some glass. The photo was fine, even if it wasn’t, Tommy would’ve never dreamt of striking you. He knew you hadn’t done it on purpose, nor were you being reckless.
“It’s alright, darling.”
You braved a glance up at him, calmed by his gentle voice. Your cheek pressed into his palm, thumbs brushing the tears away.
“You’re not angry?” You whispered meekly.
“No, and I don’t want you making yourself ill over it. Come on, we’ll have some tea, enough tears,” Tommy commanded, lifting you down and placing his hand on the small of your back.
You leaned into his comforting touch, walking quietly beside him down to the kitchen.
“I’ll put on a kettle.”
“No. You’ll have a seat,” he gently tapped your ass to get you to move toward the sitting room.
“Yes, Mr. Shelby.”
You did as he asked, waiting for him on the velvet couch. He reappeared with two cups of tea, sitting down beside you and popping open his cigarette case. You lit it for him, watching the silvery smoke spill from his full lips.
“You’re frightened of me,” he pressed, watching your hands shake as you picked up the teacup.
“No, sir. Just frightened of disappointing you,” you corrected, exposing just how badly you wanted the mobster’s approval.
“You’ve never done anything of the sort. You are aware of my fondness for you, are you not?”
Your eyes snapped up, warmth heating your cheeks and the tips of your ears. His lips turned up into a small smile, amused by how shy you were in front of him, even after living in his home for several years.
“You’re fond of me?”
A small giggle escaped as he pulled you to straddle his lap. He put out the cigarette before kissing you, tasting of smoke, gin, and earl grey tea. His tongue broke the seal of your lips, deepening the kiss as his hands groped your body.
He was strong and powerful and made you feel so safe, the worries of the evening fading into distant memory. You kissed him back, your hands coming to rest on his shoulders, fingertips brushing beneath the collar of his shirt.
“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he confessed, his lips ghosting your collarbone, fingers pulling down the strap of your dress.
“Take me, then. Fuck me, Tommy,” you practically begged, your chest heaving under his mouth.
He stood up abruptly, strong hands lifting you under your thighs and carrying you to his room, playfully tossing you on the bed. You watched, completely mesmerized as he undressed, tossing expensive clothes aside as if they were nothing. Your dress joined the pile, lingerie following until you were bared to the man.
He went to climb onto the bed when you stopped him. Tommy watched you curiously, putting his hands on the bedposts for stability. You knelt on the edge, your hands holding his thighs.
He exhaled, his eyes rolling back as your tongue ran up his shaft, before taking his cock in your mouth. Tommy moaned as you bobbed your head, his hand dropping into your hair, tangling in the locks.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he hissed as you hollowed your cheeks, your mouth warm and wet around him.
His hips rocked a bit, holding your head down as he forced himself a bit deeper in your throat, making your eyes water. You flattened your tongue against him, feeling him twitch in your throat.
“Off, I’m not comin’ down your throat.”
You gasped as he tugged you backwards, pushing you back onto the sheets. Strong hands grabbed your thighs, pulling them apart as he dipped down, tasting himself on your tongue. The sudden intensity pulled a moan from your lips, stuttered as you felt him line up against your pussy.
He watched your back bow off the bed, your lips parting as he pushed into you, holding your hips still until he was buried fully inside of your tight cunt, achingly stretched around him. You struggled to adjust, gripping his biceps and whimpering his name as his hips rocked against yours, fucking you in an easy, smooth rhythm.
“Tommy, fuck,” you moaned, turning your face into his neck.
A laugh rattled through his chest, his arm holding you close against him.
“I don’t want to hear such nasty words from that pretty mouth. But hell, woman, keep saying my name like that.”
You repeated his name like a godless worship, overwhelmed as he fucked you into bliss. Stars danced in your vision and you clung to him, nails dragging red lines down his back.
“Tommy!” You squealed as his pace quickened until he was railing into you, chasing his own orgasm as he tore one from you, the first ever from another man.
It ripped through you, scorching your nerves like fire and flooding between your hips. He felt you throb around him, his thrusts growing slicker as he came after you, finally stilling the rocking movements.
You struggled to breathe, panting and falling back against the pillows as you slipped from his arms. He caught his breath, kneeling between your thighs before gently disconnecting your bodies, earning a pained whimper.
Tommy hushed you, tracing his fingertips down your side in a soothing motion. Your gaze followed his touch, smiling lazily as endorphins made your mind feel cloudy.
He admired you, fucked out and exhausted beneath him, looking beautiful and utterly ruined by him. Tommy kissed your forehead before lighting another cigarette and lying down next to you.
“Don’t worry about the photo.”
You snuggled into his side, your head resting over the tattoo on his chest, sighing deeply as his hand traced up and down your spine.
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