Breakfast With A Monster [a Barry Allen AU]
Request: hi sorry to bother but i saw you lost your asks, so can i send my request again? one where is the reader’s birthday or something and evil!barry takes their daughter and they prepare a surprise for her? she gets really happy bc barry was never one for romantic gestures
a/n: ok but the fluff tho….
Barry has never been a deep sleeper. Especially since his daughter was born. So, when he wakes up at six a.m., face to face with a monster, he tries not to groan. His eyes blink open to see his three year old daughter hopping up and down, puny pointer finger pressed to her lips. Screwing his eyes shut, he tugs the striped comforter off himself, careful not to wake you.
His bare feet come into contact with the cold stone floor and he pushes himself off the bed, fixing his white t-shirt that’s slipping from his shoulder. The little girl pads down the hallway, deep purple fuzzy covered feet not making a noise. Yawning, he scrubs the sleep from his face, following his daughter slowly. It’s too early.
When he’s far enough away from the bedroom, he sinks to Y/D/N’s level, blinking. She waits for him to see. Oh, and he does. Behind her is a mess of random food; eggs cracked on the kitchen counter, yoke seeping into the draws, flower scattered across the floor, milk dripping off the table, creating a pool in the flower. It’s like a food fight went on in the middle of the night.
Before Barry can even ask, the three year old shoves her palm in front of his mouth. The dark purple onesie is half unzipped in the middle of the big green circle, so it sags in front of her chest, and the hood with one eye falls onto one of her shoulders. “Mommy’s bifhday today!” she stage whispers, looking at her daddy with big blue eyes. “Pa’ca’s!” she points, puffing her chubby cheeks.
A smile creeps on his face and he stands up, zooming around and cleaning the kitchen. After everything’s clean, he picks up the little girl, setting her on his hip, above his striped gray and white boxers. “Ask daddy first next time, buttercup.” he mumbles, placing her on a chair, “You and me can make pancakes together, but you gotta help me. I’m not a chef.”
She claps her hands, watching her daddy speed away, coming back with a light blue hair tie. Quickly, he throws her light brown hair into a makeshift ponytail, lifting the chair to the counter. His hand grabs the pancake mix from the cabinet, opening the box and putting the bag of mix in front of her. Yawning, he picks up the last of the milk, a plastic yellow bowl, and a couple eggs.
“Okay, help daddy pour.” he instructs after ripping the bag open. He feels her little hands on his, lifting them, and the mix, to the bowl. It creates a mountain of brown powder. “Now we need milk.” he whispers, handing her the half gallon carton. With his help, she splashes the liquid in. Then he does the eggs to save time. “Here, honey, help daddy mix.” he says softly, sticking the wooden spoon in the bowl. She grins, grabbing the top of the handle, circling the spoon with his help.
He takes care of the frying pan, but lets her pour the mix and flip the pancakes over; mouth opening and closing as she concentrates. Grinning he flops four of them on a plate going towards the fridge - “I do! I do!” she pouts, nudging her daddy out of the way. Reaching up, her hand just touches the fridge handle, wrapping around it and pulling, her body moves back and she squeezes her eyes shut.
Maybe Barry yanks it open, maybe not, but she giggles, snatching the syrup off the rack. Her messy ponytail sways back and forth as she runs to the bedroom, hood flapping up and down. Barry follows suit, plate of pancakes in hand. “Mommy! Mommy! ‘Ake up!” she beams, watching you blink slowly. “BIFHDAY!” she yells, waving the syrup.
With one hand, he picks her up, setting her on the bed; she crawls to you, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your cheek. Barry grins, sitting down and putting the plate in your lap. “Happy birthday, babydoll.” he mumbles, pecking your lips sweetly.
“Aww, you guys… I love you.” you smile, happy tears in your eyes. Your daughter shoves the bottle in your face, making Barry laugh. “Thank you, little monster.” you giggle, tickling her stomach; she shys away.
Rubbing his eyes, Barry gazes at you, “And I’ll have your present in-” he checks the time, “ten hours. When the store closes.” he smirks, kissing your lips again.