I heard you were looking for fic tropes for Jade x fem!reader so how about a classic golden retriever!fem!reader x black cat!Jade west
Hot Chocolate
|| Jade West x fem!reader
|| Warnings; fluffy, grumpy Jade
|| Summary; when reader finds their friends caroling outside, they're invited in for a Christmas movie marathon.
Requests closed!
Started; November 23rd
Finished; November 23rd
Tag List; @queriaumpastelagora @wreathedinantlers @reneeslvt (if you would like to be added, comment and I'll add you!)
~~~
It was a chilly December night in Hollywood. You and Jade were at your place, cuddled by the fireplace. You were snuggled right up against your girlfriend. Face buried in her stomach, arms around Jade's waist. Legs stretched out across the couch while she was seated upright, Jade's arm finding its way around your waist.
The evening was quiet, peaceful. Until the faint sound of singing reached your ears. You perked up, looking towards the door and then to Jade. Who was already beyond annoyed. Who the hell still went caroling anyway? Jade questioned to herself.
Jade stood from the couch, grumbling to herself the whole way to the door while you rushed to catch up to her. You made sure to open the door first, your smile only widening further when you saw who it was.
Tori, Cat, Andre, Robbie, Rex and Beck. Tori had a smirk across her face when she saw Jade's grumpy expression. You knew instantly they were definitely doing this to annoy her. After all, Jade was way too easy to piss off.
You ran right over to your friend group. Ignoring that you were in your pjs and not dressed for the cold. Being the absolute golden retriever you were, you joined right in. Which only served to make Jade's eye twitch.
"Babe, seriously?" Her arms folded across her chest. Fighting back her amusement as she watched you," this is so stupid."
"Aw, c'mon, Jade!" Tori grinned, running over to wrap an arm around her. Jade just pushed her away with a scowl.
"Dang, someone must've gotten coal in her stocking," Beck couldn't help but tease.
Jade rolled her eyes, marched over to you and pulled you right back inside. Slamming the door shut. Their friends laughter could be heard outside, even you found yourself giggling as you kissed Jade's cheek.
"Deep down you wanted to join in so bad," you poked her shoulder. Jade swatted your hand away and fixed you with a glare, though there was no real heat to it.
"Whatever you gotta tell yourself," Jade grumbled. Walking over to the fridge to make herself and you a hot chocolate. She knew you were a sucker for them, especially this time of year; and as much as she pretended to not care... she really did. It showed in the little actions like this Jade did.
There was a knock to your door so you walked over, while Jade stayed in the kitchen. You opened it to see your friends again.
"Hey, Y/N! Mind if we hangout for the night?" Tori asked, you shrugged and let them in.
"Yeah, sure. Jade and I were gonna have a movie marathon if you wanted to join."
"Can we watch Elf?!" Cat asked hopefully.
Jade looked up from what she was doing when you invited them in and grumbled some more. Walking over to you and handing you your hot chocolate," as if this night couldn't get any worse." She'd mutter.
"Aw, Jade!" Tori pouted playfully," don't be surprised when the three ghosts of past, present and future visit you, Miss Grumpy."
"Ha! Cause you're acting like a Scrooge." Rex commented.
"Do we have to?" Jade looked at you, her grip on her own hot chocolate tightening.
"It'll be fun!" You nodded. Jade found herself wondering how she got into this mess as she glared at the ceiling.
And just like that, you, Jade and your friends were all either seated on your couch or the floor in front of it. Having a Christmas movie marathon.
Tori looked up at Jade," hey, Jade? Can we have hot chocolate too?"
It been in my WIPs for such a long time. I'll be posting more of my WIPs to clear it up.
𝙰𝙸𝙽’𝚃 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚁𝙸𝙽
The CDC was the first place you’d breathed easy in months. Deep down, you knew it wouldn’t last. Nothing did. But for one night, the solid walls and locked doors let you sink into the illusion of safety. Wine, hot food, clean air — a miracle.
Dr. Jenner had surprised you by showing everyone to the underground quarters. No stench of rot. No gunpowder. Just sterile white light, the burn of disinfectant, the low hum of machines. You nearly sagged against the wall in relief.
Jenner’s voice carried down the corridor as he explained the rooms and muttered about conserving power. Something about not plugging in the video game console. You stifled a laugh.
Dale gave your shoulder a pat, told you to take the room at the end of the hall. “Be nice for the others to have privacy for once,” he said with that fatherly smile.
By the time you reached it, your bag slid off your aching shoulder and thudded to the floor beside the bed.
“Finally,” you breathed. The room looked more like a cheap hotel than a bunker a thousand feet underground.
A bed. A door that shut. And—God bless—running water. Hot.
Then the door creaked.
Daryl Dixon filled the frame, crossbow strapped tight, hair damp with sweat and road dust. He stared at you like you’d broken into his place.
“The hell you doin’ in here?” His voice was rough gravel. “Jenner said this one was mine.”
You straightened. “Dale told me to take it. Said it had a shower.”
Daryl snorted, stepping in. Boots heavy, attitude heavier.
“Figures. Old man’s always stickin’ his nose where it don’t belong.”
He dropped onto the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes cutting to you like a challenge.
“So what—this a sharin’ thing now? Don’t look like this place’s got spares.”
You crossed your arms. “I could ask Lori, or—”
“Don’t.” His jaw ticked, voice sharp. “Last thing I need is folks thinkin’ I can’t handle sharin’ a damn room.”
A pause. Then, softer, grumbling: “Stick to your side. I’ll stick to mine. Simple.”
You sighed, rifling through your bag. “Fine. Shower first, or me?”
“Don’t matter.” He shrugged, eyes flicking away quick. “Go on. Prob’ly take longer anyway. Hog all the damn soap.”
You smirked, heading for the bathroom. “Don’t you dare lie down,” you warned.
He jerked upright. “Ain’t crawlin’ in your spot.”
“Not until you’ve had a wash,” you shot back. “Not sharin’ with soil and whiskey.”
For a heartbeat, he looked like you’d dented his pride. Then he huffed, standing.
“Hell. Fine. Don’t get used to me doin’ favors.”
Minutes later, steam rolled out of the bathroom with him. His hair stuck damp to his forehead, towel slung low around his hips. Water trailed down his chest. He froze when he saw his crossbow propped neatly by the table.
“You touch my gear?” His tone snapped like a trap.
You arched a brow. “It was blocking the door. You want me to break my neck climbing over it?”
His eyes narrowed. A beat passed. Then a grudging grunt. “Sound like a damn wife already. Naggin’ me about my bow.”
“And cover up.” You nodded at his bare torso.
Color climbed his neck. He yanked a flannel from his pack, grumbling.
“Ain’t struttin’ around naked. Don’t get your feathers ruffled.”
He dressed quick, muttering under his breath. You caught the words anyway: “Ain’t never been told to put clothes on so damn fast.”
You grinned, satisfied. “Just because we’re stuck in here together doesn’t make us married, Dixon.”
“Don’t take much these days,” he muttered, voice low. “World’s gone to hell, folks’ll talk if they see us sharin’ a room.” He tugged at his sleeve, jaw set. “Still don’t mean you get to move my bow again.”
“Then don’t put it where I’ll trip,” you tossed back, ducking into the bathroom.
“Always gotta have the last word,” he muttered.
…
Later, towel wrapped tight and toothbrush hanging from your mouth, you nearly dropped everything when Daryl shot upright from the bed like you’d fired at him.
“Jesus—! Woman, tryin’ to give a man a heart attack?” His face flushed, eyes darting anywhere but your towel. “Coulda warned me.”
You mumbled around the toothbrush, “Not like I’m strippin’. First time seein’ a woman?”
He groaned into his hands. “Don’t start. Seen plenty. Just weren’t expectin’ one walkin’ out like that.”
You smirked as you dressed. He muttered about “playin’ house” and “wrong ideas.”
When you finally slid under the blanket, he yanked it right back.
“Oh, come on,” you groaned.
“First come, first served,” he shot back, but loosened his grip just enough for you to take some. “Quit bellyachin’. Don’t need the whole camp hearin’ you whine.”
You scooted closer for warmth. He stiffened, then muttered, “…Fine. But you kick me in your sleep, we’re done.”
A few minutes later, he rolled onto his side, forehead near your neck.
“What are you doing?” you asked, pulse quickening.
“Can’t sleep on my left.” Defensive. “Ain’t tryin’ nothin’. Just how it is.”
You rolled to face him, catching his ears burning red. “Sure, Dixon.”
“Tryin’ to sleep,” he snapped, eyes darting anywhere but yours. “Don’t twist it.”
You smirked, eyes drifting shut. “I doubt that.”
He started muttering immediately, like a man keeping score. “First it’s movin’ my bow… then orderin’ me to shower… stealin’ blankets…”
“I ain’t deaf,” you cut in.
He startled, color flooding his face. “Thought you were out. Just talkin’ to myself.”
When you yanked the blanket again, he finally growled and hauled you against him, arm tight around your waist.
“Alright, enough. Quit wigglin’. Stay still.”
You squeaked. “Coulda just said you wanted to cuddle.”
“Cuddle?” His voice cracked. “Hell no. Don’t even say that word. Just keepin’ warm. That’s it.”
But his thumb brushed absently over your hip, breath warm at your neck.
Too tired to argue, you let sleep take you. The last thing you heard was his rough whisper:
“…Ain’t lettin’ nothin’ happen to ya.”
Morning in the CDC looked the same as night. Sterile lights. Humming walls. The only difference was Glenn’s grin when you and Daryl walked into the dining area together.
“Morning, lovebirds,” he sing-songed, mouth full of eggs.
Daryl froze. Bristled. “Shut it, pizza boy.”
Andrea raised her brows. “Lovebirds?”
Glenn grinned wider. “They walked outta the same room. Real cozy for folks who ‘ain’t sharin’.’”
Daryl slammed his fork down. “Weren’t no romance. Just the old man playin’ matchmaker. Nothin’ else.”
Lori smirked. Carl snickered.
Daryl’s voice sharpened. “What—stick her in with a kid instead? Nah. Don’t make sense. Ain’t explainin’ it again.”
Glenn only smirked harder. Andrea shook her head. Lori laughed into her hand.
You nudged Daryl under the table, biting back a smile. His scowl deepened.
“Don’t,” he muttered. “Ain’t funny.”
But the twitch at the corner of his mouth told you he wasn’t half as mad as he wanted them to believe.
