#fluffy fic

[143-iloveu]

Credit for all photos goes to the original owners. I do not own these images.

MDNI - Not all of my works are NSFW, but I do not want minors interacting with my blog just to be safe. All NSFW content will carry a Mature Community Label. Ageless and empty blogs will promptly be blocked.

Constellations

Idol!Felix X GN!Reader

Tooth-rotting Fluff

Content Warnings - None

Word Count - 548

When your exhausted boyfriend comes home from dance practice and falls asleep in record time... you can't help but admire him.

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

Fifty-five seconds.

That’s all the time it took for Felix to fall asleep once his head hit the pillow - a new record. You decided to count purely out of curiosity. He’s been heading to dance practice before dawn for the last four days, and Lord knows the boys don’t wrap things up until they are beyond exhausted. He hasn’t gotten a good night’s sleep this whole week.

As he drifts farther into dreamland, his tense muscles are finally given a chance to relax. His lips are forming a sleepy little pout, and a trail of drool is forming at the corner of his mouth - his signature face whenever he’s burnt out. He looks so peaceful lost in his dream. Your heart flutters at the sight. You could swear that you found your heaven within Felix. What selfless deed had you performed in your past life to be given the chance to be with such a sweetheart?

You’re quick to take advantage of the opportunity to admire the beautiful man who’s lying before you. His blonde locks are fanned across his forehead, some falling in his eyes. His breathing is slow, chest rising and falling in time. But the thing that always pulls at your heartstrings is seeing the freckles on Felix’s angelic face. It’s as if God painted constellations across his cheeks just for you to cherish.

You lay in bed next to him, attempting to count how many individual freckles you can see.

‘One hundred forty-three,’ you think to yourself.

That’s the farthest you’ve ever gotten.

Suddenly, Felix rolls further into you, burying his face in your chest and wrapping a strong arm around your waist. He holds you tight against him, and you can feel a small smile spreading across his lips. He must have felt you staring and rolled over to hide his face. He’s always such a shy baby whenever he catches you staring at him with hearts in your eyes.

He’s trapped you within his grasp, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. You have only a single complaint; you weren’t finished counting. You sigh, accepting that your mission has failed. There’s always tomorrow. Although, you’re certain his freckles are infinite, just like the number of reasons to love him.

“Sweet dreams, my freckled prince,” you whisper.

He hums in response.

“I love you, Yongbokie,” you say gently against his temple before pressing a kiss to it.

“I love you too, Y/N,” he mumbles against your chest.

It feels as if you see God every time he says your name, intoxicated by the sound of it falling from his pouty lips. If his love were a religion, you’d be a devout worshipper. You’ve got him, and he’s got you; until the end of time.

He gives your waist a small squeeze before looking up at you with the cutest sleepy eyes. His lips are puckered, silently asking for another goodnight kiss. You happily oblige. A smile crawls onto his face, and he shifts to get comfortable again. He quickly falls back asleep, a light snore escaping his lips. You lay there truly appreciating the fact that you can call this man yours. Without him, you’d be completely lost. Soon, your exhaustion drags you off to join Felix in dreamland.

A/N: I am so freaking soft for Lixie. I wrote this one-shot in a couple of hours but went back over it hundreds of times since writing it. It has sat in my finished works folder for over a year, and I'm finally ready to let it see the light of day. I hope you love this as much as I do!

-Ashe 🦊🐺

©️ Please don't repost or translate my works on other platforms.

#Spotify #lee felix #bf!felix skz #lee yongbok #bf!lee felix #skz felix #boyfriend!lee felix #bf!skz #bf!stray kids #boyfriend!felix skz #skz #stray kids #stray kids fic #stray kids fluff #fluff #skz fic #skz fluff #fluffy fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #felix x reader #stray kids felix #boyfriend!stray kids #boyfriend!skz #Lixie Doodle SKZ #lee yongbok felix #tooth-rotting fluff #tooth rotting fluff

[oh-my-damn]

Sleepy Orange

Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader

Summary: You come back from a fight exhausted beyond belief. Astarion does his best to take care of you. Part of that includes peeling your orange.

Wordcount: 1300

Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. A happy, sappy, in love Astarion (just as he deserves to always be)

Masterlist

You huffed as your tired body plopped down on the bed in your tent, a groan spilling out when you land on the many pillows adorning it.

Your head lolls back as your eyes droop closed, every muscle in your body aching from your escapades today.

It had been a long one. A long and rough one. It felt like you'd been fighting for days when you finally came out victorious, but the price of winning meant that you'd been covered in blood and bruises.

One long bath later, you were finally back in your tent, lit candles scattered about, jewel-shade pillows in velvety fabrics adorning the space.

Your living accommodations had certainly become more colorful and frivolous ever since you and Astarion had decided to shack up together.

It had been an accident, at first. Your relationship had it's ups and downs, but after defeating Cazador, he finally told you how he felt. He laid himself bare for you, not just his body but his soul as well, and your heart soared at the idea that the man you fell for so recklessly finally loved you back. Even with everything the two of you had gone through.

Eventually, it came to a point where the two of you would spend every night in each others arms, either in your own tent or his. So naturally, you came to the conclusion that it would be easier if you just shared one tent. Together.

It had taken a period of adjustment, at first, but it didn't take long for both of you to find a home in your newly shared accommodations. For Astarion, an important part of his living space was that it be elegant, and comfortable – at least whatever comfortable meant to his standards. For you, it felt more lavish than anything, but after a while you started to find your own comfort in merely the thought that he loved the space. You found comfort in the thought that he felt at home, considering it had been so long since he'd felt that way.

You and Astarion aside, however, your work was still cut out for you on the fighting front. Defeating Cazador was nowhere near the end for you, even despite of Astarion now being a free – albeit still spawn – vampire, your main quest remained the same, and you were still fighting day to day to make it happen. Which is why you're currently camped out on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, planning your next move.

Unfortunately for you and your companions, your presence in Baldur's Gate didn't exactly please everyone, which is why a group of mercenaries had cornered you earlier, prepared for a fight. They got one, but victory didn't come easily, which is why you're now achingly sore to the point of almost crying.

Your bones ache, so do your muscles, and your stomach feels empty beyond what could possibly be deemed healthy, but you're simply too tired to make any food.

You almost manage to drift off right there, in just your casual outfit on top of piles of velvet pillows, when you hear soft steps approaching, entering your tent.

You already know who it is just by the sound of his steps, how silent they are; you can tell that the only reason there's a sound at all is for your benefit, to alert you of his presence.

When he speaks, his voice is soft, laced with worry, a gentle whisper that caresses your mind, lulling you gently.

"Darling. Please tell me you're not dead."

A tired smile works its way onto your face, but your eyes remain closed as you murmur, "I'm alive."

"Thank the gods," Astarion responds, and you can just imagine the characteristic smirk on his face as he speaks, "Because if you were, I'm sure our companions wouldn't hesitate to suspect it be my doing."

You can hear him ruffling about faintly, closing the flaps to your tent to grant the two of you privacy, but your mind is already desperately slipping towards dream-state, only urged on by your body.

A beat passes before he speaks again, more quietly this time, but his voice is clearer than before despite it, which indicates he's moved closer to you.

"Have you eaten anything yet?"

You mumble something inaudible, but you manage to shake your head slowly, your eyes staying closed as you remain too tired to offer him a proper response.

He let's out a sigh, one that's steeped in worry rather than disappointment, and then you feel something cold gently brush over your cheek. His fingers.

"You need to eat, my darling. I know you're tired, but you haven't eaten all day. What can I get you?"

Your brows furrow as you shift slightly on the bed, tilting your cheek into his embrace. He cups it carefully, his cold touch soothing on your skin when his thumb caresses it.

"Mh, dunno.." Your response is barely there, but Astarion doesn't move away, his voice determined.

"I cannot in good consciousness let you sleep before you eat at least a little bit. How about fruit? An apple, perhaps?"

You grunt, your brows furrowing as your head shakes.

Astarion tuts gently at your antics, his fingers brushing over your forehead in a soothing manner, "Okay, my sweet, point taken. No apples. An orange then, would that entice you?"

You hesitate. An orange does sound absolutely perfect right now.

But then you let out a whine, "Too tired to peel it."

Astarion chuckles softly, his fingers gently sliding down the bridge of your nose as he whispers, "Don't fret, my dear."

The bed shifts again, his cool touch leaving your face, but it doesn't take long before your mind steals you away again, luring you into your dream state.

You're almost there when you feel movement again, your brows furrowing slightly as your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips.

Astarion gently slides a hand down your arm, his voice quiet, "I'm back, my love. I've got something for you, won't you indulge me in having a few bites?"

You stir at his words, settling against the pillows again, and then you feel something prod at your lips as he speaks again, "Open up for me, darling."

Your lips part, and he gently feeds you an orange slice, the taste making you hum when you bite down on it.

Astarion smiles at the tired look on your face, further peeling the orange to get more slices when you chew them.

"There we go. Tastes good, yes?"

You nod sleepily, blinking owlishly to look up at him through tired eyes. His smile widens when your eyes meet his, his adept fingers expertly peeling the orange without issue, "There she is. My little warrior."

You let out a tired chuckle at his words, parting your lips when he offers you another orange slice.

"Just a few more, darling. Then I'll let you rest."

You nod, your eyes fluttering closed again, but it doesn't deter him from feeding you the remaining orange slices as he speaks to you quietly to keep you awake.

"You were a sight for sore eyes today. I bet Gale is jealous you're not halfway to passed out in his bed right now."

You let out a snort at his words, shaking your head which makes him chuckle, "Now now, stay still, you little vixen. Eat the last of your orange."

You comply, chewing the last few bites and swallowing with a satisfied hum once you finish. His cool fingers gently caress your face, first your cheek and then down to your jaw, before you feel him lean closer. You feel his lips brush a kiss to your forehead, and then another on the tip of your nose before he whispers, "Thank you for eating. You may sleep now, my treasure."

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion bg3 #fluff #astarion fluff #orange peel theory #bg3 fic #astarion fic #astarion x female tav #orange peel #feel good fic #fluffy fic #fluffy astarion #astarion romance #astarion ancunin

[curi0us-gh0st]

Lovesick (Miyawaki Sakura)

pairings: miyawaki sakura x fem! reader.

word count: 1,2k

genre: fluffy , angst (?)

summary: The world where people have a life count, and you in your first life discover a new feeling for someone who is in the last life.

warnings: wlw, romance, reader is innocent/naive, reader is younger than sakura, happy ending maybe? [no review]

a/n: I had been thinking about writing this for a long time, but I had forgotten, so when I saw the inspiration video, I ran to write it!

For decades, with the evolution of the world, technology and human life, in order to avoid social problems and catastrophic events that affect existing society, people have obtained a number of lives to live, each with the amount they deserved. The older ones, who had more lives, were wise, they knew about every occurrence of their past lives and helped the younger ones, while the younger ones, like their first life, were silly and curious, eager to discover what each thing did and happened; Cases in which older and younger people came together to talk, sharing emotions and adventures already lived, until the last moments, at the end of the last designated life, the person would die forever.

This was the case of Y/N and Sakura, two young women who were in a group living their longed-for dreams, along with Yunjin, Chaewon, Kazuha and Eunchae. The youngest, Eunchae and Y/N in their first lives, while Yunjin and Kazuha were between their eighteenth and twenty-second lives, although the older ones were in the range of their thirtieth to fortieth lives, they lived together without conflict unlike many others. groups that mixed.

Sakura was the oldest among all the girls, even though Chaewon was the leader, they all saw Sakura as a mother behind Chaewon. Sakura always fought for what she wanted, that's why she was where she is, being an idol and living her dream of being a singer, time taught her with hard lessons how important every moment is and that always touched Sakura, even meeting other people in her life. range of lives and newer. One of the youngest that caught attention was Eunchae, Le Sserafim's little baby, she was about a few months old, the girl had barely known the rain, but the moment the drops fell, she pulled everyone outside to play. Sakura treated her like a little sister and Eunchae treated her like an older sister.

The only person she tried to understand was Y/N, so young but so reserved, little did she know that she made the girl's little heart skip a beat when she asked if she was okay or touched her to fix something in her outfit.

Y/N was as confused as she was, her heart racing and her sweaty hands made her confused, not knowing why, she even thought she was sick, maybe she was? It was the confusing and unfamiliar feeling she liked to feel, always staying close to Sakura and smiling when her stomach seemed to bubble, whenever Sakura praised her her cheeks would catch fire, like she had a fever, when Sakura handed her some handmade gift. and she would like to spend days holding it.

How foolish, she thought.

The girls were recording a new video, the other girls had already recorded their parts, leaving Sakura and Y/N alone. Sakura in the small room, in front of the microphone as she struggled to get the desired tone right, her face frowning with exhaustion, an annoying feeling making her think that she is incapable of that, when the youngest girl's voice was heard.

“Unnie, relax… You can take a break and drink some water.” Receiving a negative wave from Sakura. “It’s okay, you can do it, I know.” The girl behind the glass encouraging her oldest member, after a few attempts getting it right and making the girl celebrate, jumping on Sakura when she left the room. "I knew! You’re the best, unnie.” Sakura's strong hug made the older girl laugh at the younger girl's cute behavior, thanking her and asking her to leave.

Little did Sakura know that after leaving the room, she left a little girl jumping with happiness for just letting her hug her, Y/N ran to catch up with the older girl only to intertwine their hands.

Her most confusing day was when Sakura was lying on the floor after practice, the youngest lying next to the girl and looking into her beautiful eyes as she talked to the other girls, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, her mouth half open as her eyes glowed. of admiration, the collapse was when Sakura caught her looking at her and smiled, sitting down and giving her a kiss on her forehead as she got up to leave, Y/N was stuck on the floor, scaring the remaining limbs with her emotional scream coming out of your mouth.

Upon arriving at the dormitory, the girl ran to the leader's room, holding her own heart, her rapid breathing leaving the leader worried.

“What happened Y/N? All good? You are sick?" Chaewon quickly got up to help the youngest.

“Unnie, I don’t know…”

"What are you feeling? Tell me and I’ll help you, let’s go little one.” The leader held the youngest's shoulders, making her sit on the floor.

"My heart…"

“Does it hurt?”

“No, it doesn’t hurt.”

"What then?"

“Every time I'm with Sakura unnie, he... He speeds up and hits very hard, I think I'm sick of Sakura unnie, but unnie is the person I admire most, I can't stay away!” She complained to the leader, her lips forming a pout. “My palms sweat, my stomach bubbles, my heart beats so hard and my cheeks burn, what will unnie think? That I'm allergic to it? No, no, do you have medicine for that?” The girl anxiously waits for a response from the leader only to receive a laugh. “Why are you laughing, unnie? What if I'm sick? Even maybe dying?”

“You’re so naive, Y/N!” Chaewon sits in front of the girl, trying to calm down. “You are so mature that I forget that this is your first life…”

“Unnie!”

“Okay, okay, okay.” Chaewon surrenders. “You’re in love, Y/N.”

"Passionate? Is this serious? Will I have to stay away from Sakura unnie? If so, I'd rather die! Is there a cure? Or medicine?” The girl asked desperately.

“Hey, calm down.” The leader laughed. “This is not a disease or anything like that. It is a feeling related to love, passion and desire.”

“Oh, what is this?”

“Seriously you don’t know?” The girl shakes her head. “Okay... When you find someone special who you want to spend the rest of your life with, it's called love, you feel your heart burn for them, you feel the desire to spend every minute with them, you want to do everything possible and the impossible for them is smiling , that’s what you’re in love with.” Chaewon explains.

“Have you ever been in love, unnie?”

“Maybe so, maybe not… But this is about you and Sakura, you should tell her how you feel.”

“What if she’s not in love with me?”

“Well, at least you’ll know what it’s like to fall in love with someone, you can still love each other.”

That night, Y/N left Chaewon's room confidently, creating expectations and scenarios to tell Sakura how she felt the next day. The next day came, and the day after it came, and the day after it came, she couldn't confess to Sakura and she couldn't even get close to her without panicking.

Days passed, as well as weeks, the group was traveling to Japan, Sakura and Kazuha's homeland, it was night while Sakura and Y/N walked through the cold streets of Japan on a random night, their thoughts were messed up, mainly because of recent information that I learned while talking in a group.

“What life is this, unnie?” Kazuha asked Sakura.

“This is my last one.” Sakura smiled sadly, her smile so painfully beautiful as she tried to get the others to accept the fact.

Y/N's heart was heavy, for some reason sad and afraid, so immense in her thoughts that she didn't even hear what the older woman was saying.

“Knock, knock… Terra called Y/N. “ Sakura snapped her fingers in front of Y/N.

“H-hi.” The girl paid attention to the Japanese woman.

“I'm asking you if these snacks are enough for us, Yunjin said she was hungry, I'm afraid it won't satisfy her…” Sakura rambles while looking at the bags.

"Me me…"

"You?"

“Sakura unnie, I’m sick!”

"Eh? You are sick? From what?” Sakura was surprised.

"Love Sick! For you! My heart beats so hard in my chest when I'm with you that I fear it will leave me, my breathing quickens like I'm running a marathon, my stomach bubbles like I'm boiling hot water on the stove, and my cheeks are always burning like I'm underneath. Sun, I don't know if you have the medicine for this because Chaewon unnie said I should talk to you but if you're not sick like me, could you give it to me? Please unnie, be in love with me! I know you have little time, and I have so much, but please, can I stay with you until the last and make you better? I promise to do everything possible and impossible to make you laugh, I want to spend every minute with you, unnie!” You spoke in a loud tone, declaring everything you felt, leaving Sakura so confused with the request.

“Y/N, you’re so cute!” Sakura declared, laughing softly. “You didn’t understand what Chaewon unnie said, you’re not sick, darling…” her stomach dropped.

“It happened again, my stomach!”

“Hey, it’s okay, I’ll explain but we have to go back to the hotel.” Sakura held her hand, making her palms sweat.

“See, yes I am sick!”

"No, it's not." The Japanese woman held Y/N's cheeks, which took on a reddish color.

“Yes I am…” The girl pouted.

Sakura shook her head, pressing your lips together gently in a sweet, soft kiss, taking her time to pull away as she was pushed away by you, only to take her hand and place it on her chest, her heart beating furiously.

“Unnie, what is this?” Her eyes threatened to spill tears.

“You’re in love, just like me.”

Her eyes sparkled at the older woman's words, the feeling of joy exploding inside you as you connected things, how could you be so silly!

“Unnie, you…”

“Do you really want to spend every minute with me? And do you want to know what you’re feeling?”

"Yes please."

“I’ll show you, little one.”

The walk was extended due to a long conversation about love, passion and desire, reaching the only consensus, they would be together until the end of their lives or until the end of their illnesses, called love.

#👻 gh0st fic ! #fluffy #fluffy fic #kpop #kpop fic #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #izone #izone x reader #miyawaki sakura #sakura miyawaki x reader

[makooo0stuff]

hi!! i was wondering if you could write a miles X male! Reader.. where the reader has a feminine name ( I have an oc named clementine.. that’s a guy as an example) and whenever he talks about him; everyone thinks they’re hearing him wrong until the day comes where miles introduces his boyfriend to the group of spiders he hangs around & his parents

Absolutely! That's honestly so adorable me and my boyfriend love this req

-----------------------------------------------

Pretty Boy 💛

Pairing: Miles Morales x Male! Reader

Fandom: Across the Spiderverse

CW: Y/N is used, reader has social anxiety, pet names. (Mi vida, My boy.)

A/N: Set towards the beginning of astv at Miles' dad's party (but things go well)

Give this song a listen if you'd like!

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Today was the day you were finally going to meet Miles' parents, although the two of you had been together for several months you never necessarily met either his mother or father.

You sat inside your bedroom staring up anxiously at the ceiling, you brought your hands to your chest, squeezing them gently. You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh. "It's gonna be fine Y/N, It'll be perfectly fine..." You muttered to yourself, you brought your hands up to your face and sighed.

Your phone buzzed next to you, laying face down on the matress. You picked it up and glanced at the screen, the blue light illuminated on your face. Miles' contact name and pictures popped up. 'My boy <3' You smiled and unlocked your phone; eagerly reading the text from him.

'Hola, mi chico guapo <3 My parents are still hosting the party tonight, you still coming?' Miles' text showed up, You couldn't help but smile a bit.

'Yeah, I'll see you tonight at the party.' You quickly texted back. You couldn't help but smile, Miles made you feel so loved.

You got ready putting on something nice but comfortable; nothing too overdressed either. You decided on something nice looking and then headed over to Miles'. Once you arrived the party was lively, people eating and talking to each other. You stood off to the side looking down anxiously, no idea where your boyfriend was.

Finally after standing off to the side you spotted your boyfriend walk through the door, He carried two big cake boxes and bee-lined straight to you. "Mi vida.." Miles said pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "C'mon Mi novio let's go say hi to my parents.." He took a quick breath and set the cakes down, the two of you looked for his parents before they found you.

"Mijo, Who is this? Is this that girl you've told us about, Y/N?" Rio questioned, her arm interlocked with Jeff's.

"Mami no, esto es mi novio Y/N." Miles corrected his mother as you stood next to him anxiously.

You waved at Jeff and Rio before gaining the courage to speak up. "Hello Mr and Mrs. Morales, It's so nice to finally meet you." You spoke, giving them a small smile.

Rio smiled back at you "Y/N right? When Miles told us about you the first time we thought he was speaking loco, But it's very nice to meet you. Welcome to the Morales familia." She smiled at you, she understood you had the best intentions with Miles.

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Here are all the español translations!

Mijo - My son

Mi vida - My life

Mi novio -My boyfriend

Hola, mi chico guapo - Hi my pretty/handsome boy

Mami no, esto es mi novio - Mom no, this is my boyfriend

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©️ makooo0stuff, do not copy my work or alter in anyway without my permission .

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x y/n #miles morales x you #astv #makooo0stuff #makooo0stuff writes #spiderman astv #miles morales x male reader #spiderman fluff #fluffy fic

[jasmines-library]

‘Tis the Season

Summary: It’s Christmas time, and after a long time apart, you and your brothers are finally together to celebrate, even if it is inside a motel room.

Warnings: tooth rotting fluff.

Note: Merry Christmas!

⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤

The Winchesters have never been big with celebrations. Especially since Mary passed away and hunting became the only thing on John’s agenda.This meant that you had never really experienced a proper Christmas before and neither had either of your brothers. Sure they remember snippets of Christmas from when they were younger and your mum was still around but it was never the same after that. John was never there and the three of you were often left to mill around in a shitty motel. The three of you would celebrate in your own little way. You would exchange gifts which, in Dean’s case, were often stolen or given to you by Bobby, and despite their efforts to make Christmas as normal as possible for you it was never quite how you had pictured it. Never how Sam and Dean remembered it. It didn’t help that John had told you when you were heartbreakingly young that there was no Santa Claus.

But this year, something was different. The Winchesters were celebrating.

You strolled down the road, your arm hooked around Sam’s as you admired the lights that had been strung up like bunting between the rows of buildings and hung from lampposts in the street. You wore your thickest jacket: an old blue hand-me-down from Dean, that you were pretty sure Sam might have even owned at one point before he grew taller than your older brother, and hand bundled yourself up with a scarf to shelter yourself from the frosty air.

The streets were quiet besides a few odd couples that greeted you and Sammy with a warm smile or a gentle nod. Most people were at home, celebrating the Christmas holiday.

The frost that blanketed the ground crunched under your feet and made your feet feel like small ice cubes despite the fact that you were wearing two pairs of socks. You and your brother walked quickly back to the motel where Dean was hovering over the stove tucked away in the corner of the motel. The moment you opened the door and were greeted with the warmth of the room and the smell of the food, you couldn’t help but smile up at Sam, as well as chuckle at the sight of your eldest brother. He had donned a red Santa hat and was singing along to the song he had turned up too loud on the radio between taking swigs from beer. He wrapped you up between his arms when the two of you returned with the last of the ingredients he needed before you made your way into the room.

On the nightstand between the two beds, replacing the lamp that had been shoved aside, sat a tree. It was measly and far from extravagant, sure, but you thought it was a nice touch. Dean had spotted it on the way back from a hunt and had insisted on buying it for the motel room. You spent the rest of the day hanging old car air fresheners from the branches as if they were baubles. It was makeshift; but somehow that made it seem even more special and you beamed brightly. You placed the brown paper bag you had been clutching beneath it, making sure to roll over the top to make sure that the contents were hidden.

“Alrighty.” Dean announced “Grubs up.”

The three of you squeezed around the table and began to tuck into the food that Dean placed in front of you on the table. Dean was far from the best chef that much was true but at a time like this you were grateful that he had made such an effort to cook. As the three of you ate between bouts of conversation and fits of laughter, it made you realise how much you missed spending time with your brothers. This was the first time you had truly sat down together in…well forever. Times had been kind of hectic with Sam returning from Stanford and everything with Dad and Dean, you were glad that for a few sweet moments, the three of you could just be a family. For once there was no worrying about monsters. No worrying about who was going to vanish next. It was just the three of you enjoying the little things in life.

Dinner, by far the best one you have had in a while, was followed up with gift giving and the three of you bundled on to the beds, sipping glasses of cold eggnog.

“Okay Sammy,” Dean said as he produced his first gift from his duffel. It seemed the three of you all had the same idea because it too was wrapped in a brown paper bag. “This one is for you.”

Sam unwrapped it eagerly, producing a dark glass bottle of his favourite beer.

“Thank you.” He laughed, producing a bag of his own. “It seems great minds think alike.”

Dean chuckled and he tore open the paper to reveal his favourite drink secured inside a porno magazine by an elastic band.

“Ok. This is for De.” You pulled out a small bag and handed it to him. Inside lay a small keychain in the shape of a pie that you had spotted on a rotating rack inside the gas station which you couldn’t resist buying, alongside a couple of packets of beef jerky that Dean always seemed to keep stashed away in his glovebox.

“Thanks kiddo” He laughed as he hooked the keychain onto his keys.

“And this is for you, Sammy.” You produced another bag and handed it to him, watching keenly as he unwrapped it, pulling out the clear plastic and producing a pair of wired headphones.

“It’s to stop you complaining about Dean’s music in the car.” You prompted.

“Hey!” Dean said with mock hurt. “I think you’ll find I have great taste in music.”

You raised your hands nonchalantly “tell that to him not me.”

“I’m just saying Dean, there are things out there besides mullet rock. You should try updating your cassettes some time. Seriously, dude.”

“You know the rules, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “Driver picks the music-“

“Shotgun shuts his cakehole. Yeah. I know.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, enough. This is for you, Y/N.”

Sam rummaged around in his bag for a small white box before handing it to you. You took it gently. It was light in your hand.

“It's from both of us.” Dean added.

You peeled open the box slowly to reveal the insides which almost made you tear up. Inside the box sat a dainty necklace in the shape of a heart. It seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place where you had seen it before. When you picked it up and turned it over in your palm to admire the delicacy of it, you noticed the small hinges on the side so decided to open it.

Inside was a small cut out of an image. The three of you were much younger here. Sammy was still smaller than Dean and you barely reached his hip. The three of you were grinning from ear to ear as you gripped onto each of your brothers hands as they swung you through the air at the moment the image was captured.

“It’s beautiful.” You sighed, looking up at your two brothers. “Where did you-“

“It was moms.” Dean said. It then hit you that you had seen her wearing it in pictures.

“Bobby found it while sorting through some of Dads old stuff that was left around his. We thought you should have it.”

“It’s perfect. Thank you.” You smiled. “Help me put it on?”

“Of course.”

Dean moved closer to you, moving your hair aside so he could clasp the end of the good chain together.

“It looks like it’s always belonged there.” Sam told you when Dean let go of it so it could hang around your neck, settling on the centre of your chest.

“It’s perfect.” Dean told you.

“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

“Merry, Christmas, Boys.”

Although being hauled up in a motel may not have seemed like the ideal way to celebrate Christmas for the average person, just being able to spend time with your brothers was enough for you. You cared not for an extravagant meal and bucket loads of expensive gifts. You were happy to settle with what you had and the fact that the three of you had celebrated like this meant so much to you as it did to them. The three of you may not have much, but you have each other, and that’s worth far more than anything else.

#supernatural x reader #supernatural x little sister reader #supernatural x sister reader #supernatural #supernatural fluff #fluffy fic #supernatural fanfic #Dean Winchester #dean winchester x little sister reader #Dean Winchester x sister reader #Sam Winchester #sam winchester x little sister reader #sam winchester x sister reader #winchester!sister #win!sis

[rippersz]

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Fem!Named!Reader x Larissa Weems; (Fluffy, romantic, ships in the night, angst) (8K word count)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Why are you here?

Why are you here if you’re so tired? So exhausted? So bored?

Why are you looking for meaning in a foreign country? And why can’t you find it? Don’t you know passion isn’t found in the street? Don’t you know it doesn’t just exist beneath the light rain and cold wind? Your shaking body won’t get you anywhere but across the cobblestone bridge - and even then, you must trudge. Wade through the distinct desire to fall asleep.

Why are you trying so hard to stay awake?

You have come here for a reason - for an escape - and yet, you are plagued with the same thing that haunted you back home. It is inescapable, this distinct feeling of emotional helplessness. You feel too much or you feel too little. You explode with desire, with sadness, with anger, or you are cool and detached. You cannot find an in between. You cannot find a warm, soothing balance. You walk the line of extremes and get upset when the grey areas cease to exist.

So you run away to France and think that you can find yourself in what? Hm? In the Eiffel? In the lights? In the love? Please. You have not felt love. You have not felt real love. You have not felt anything beyond passion and lust, and even then those feelings were artificial. Forced, almost. You have looked at men and you have seen their shoulders and you have witnessed the bobbing of their throats and the easy fluff of their hair and you have been thoroughly unimpressed. For what exists for you there? What is in their strong arms? What is in their DNA? What lies in them that cannot be discovered elsewhere? Why are you expected to view them and want them?

Why are you expected to love?

So many questions, not many answers. They swirl around inside like the milkiness of an oatmeal bath, opaque and bottomless. They swirl and you watch. Utterly mesmerized. Hypnotized until you feel the distinct desire to fall asleep. Constantly tired, you are. Always so exhausted, dragging your feet along the pavement. Blindly clutching the collar of the black coat that covers your arms and back. Its hood leaves your face bare for the elements. Wind sweeps and rain smacks and you are certain you’ll get sick from walking out so late at night in the cold.

What on Earth came over you? Who could ever be so stupid?

Shivers run the length of your body. You feel like a wet dog thrown out in the street, proving far too difficult for the family to continue dealing with. Too loud and too needy and too caked with mud everytime you walked into the house, so they had no choice but to discard you. It is better, after all, than having a defective animal. No one wants a dog who cannot love. No one wants a dog who cannot be understood. No one wants a stray. And no one-no one-wants a shivering pup walking slowly on unsteady legs. No one wants that. No one wants you.

Except for the sign in the distance, blurry and far away - past the stoplight and across the street. A golden light flickers brightly above an evergreen background, and you can just barely make out, through squinted eyes, the bold gold lettering. ‘Madame: A 1920’s Brasserie’. You can’t help but think that it’s a rather silly name. Madame. Can’t get more French than that. And, it appears, can’t get more authentic. The restaurant stands out in a way that borders on tacky. It is all dark mahogany, golden accents, and small details of matte red and green. The sconces on the walls glow like mini-fires, and you find yourself… drawn. Intrigued. It is inviting and it is late. The windows are dark; the world inside is its own. And you need an escape. A proper one. None of this wandering shit that leads you to nowhere but a random spot with aching feet and the distinct feeling of dissatisfaction. None of this waiting around emptiness.

You are cold and it looks warm and you are just an abandoned dog. How can they expect you to deny yourself some peace?

–

The very moment your boot slides over the threshold, tapping down lightly on a dark wooden floor, your body is changed. A veil of something different flows over your shoulders, draping behind you, and suddenly you feel as though you’ve stepped into another world.

Have you? Or were you just hit by a car in the middle of the road and slipped into the Afterlife?

If that had happened, and you were indeed dead, then the Afterlife was an absolute treat. It seems like a small speakeasy, with a stage at the very back of the restaurant - lit up by a few spotlights and otherwise empty aside from a single microphone stand and a piano. In the dark corner beside it, there’s a cello, a trumpet case, and a deconstructed set of drums. The lights are dimmed so intensely that only the flickers of tabletop candlelight and a few burning wicks by the bar help you squint through hazy darkness. It feels like a dream as smoky hands curl into the air and caress your lungs as you breathe, creating something intoxicating when paired with the heady scent of mixed perfumes. Mixed perfumes that all seem to belong to women. Only women. It’s not crowded but a few souls linger. Couples leaning into each other at their booths, their pupils melting into hearts. Friends sitting lazily at one of the center tables, toasting to something you can’t hear. A group of flirts. A lonely soul or two nursing martinis by the stage. A woman at the bar. The bartender. One server drawing in a notebook, tucked away from the rest of the world. All women. All… dated. Old fashioned. It feels like you’ve stepped into the 1950’s - or something like that. You’ve never been very good with time. But they are different. Wearing dresses with pulled in waists, collars, square necklines, bateau necklines, coats and hats and heels and gloves. Not a phone in sight. Some are in suits, too. Marlene Dietrich type suits. Tipping The Velvet type suits. Very dapper. Very clean. You’re overwhelmed.

Distantly, somewhere, the gentle keys of piano jazz fill the buzzing room - and you feel lightheaded. Dizzy with warmth. The rain purrs against the windows, blowing with the wind trying to get to you. But you have reached safety. Nirvana. And you find yourself itching to shrug out of your coat and disappear into a glass of something tangy and sweet.

“Amaretto sour,” you murmur to the lady behind the bar, sluggishly pushing back the hood from your head.

“Choose somethin’ else, sweetheart.”

The response is immediate. And annoying. You pause, halfway out of your coat, and look from the polished mahogany of the bar’s surface to the amused glint in the bartender’s eyes. There’s a cloth thrown over her shoulder and a dark loose vest sitting tight against her button up. White. Sleeves scrunched by the elbows. A smirk on her lips. Your gaze melts into a glare.

Stop looking at me like that. I’m just a dog. I don’t want whatever smiles you have to offer.

“I don’t know,” you growl, tugging the coat from your body so harshly it nearly tears your arms off.

But she doesn’t seem to mind your irritation, and better yet, she doesn’t really seem to care. Her eyes only track the way you throw your coat over the back of your chair and push yourself onto the high-top stool. You reason your anger is probably out of place in such a dreamy world, just like your choice of alcohol, but you’re too tired and cold to bother giving her a smile. And being kind has proven to be more and more exhausting as the days go by. It’s not like she deserves it anyway, being so casual with you. Standing so tall, with such confidence, not even the slightest bit weary or weathered from the long day. You don’t even know what time it is - only that it’s late. Past the twinkling stars kind of late. Way past sunset kind of late. So late that you think the restaurant may be closing but you’re not even sure. No one has left. The women are still happy, buzzed and delighted by the concoctions in their glasses. Still all lonely by the stage. Still knee-deep in the quiet place of Madame.

Still a silly fucking name.

“Bailey’s Colada then,” you drawl, running a hand through your messy curls. “And an extra shot of pineapple juice. I dunno.” You shrug, leaning into your hands as your elbows press into the wood of the bar. They’re cold, covering your eyes. Damp. Tense with the chill from the rain you just escaped. And eager to feel something grounding.

Too bad the bartender is still a bitch.

“I’ll give you one more try.” She thinks she’s so clever, smiling at you like that. She thinks she’s so charming.

You want to rip her happy eyes out.

You want to sleep.

“Just. Get. Me. A. Fucking. Drink.” Your gaze shoots daggers, piercing her right through the heart between the gaps of your fingers.

If you were any more aware of your surroundings, instead of just appreciative, then you’d notice that the only liquor they serve is the kind produced during the 1950’s. The popular drinks back in the day. True to the time. Devoted to the piece. Overall very good with details. But details are not something you have the energy to notice. And there’s not a damn thing on Earth that can tear you away from the drugged feeling of your eyes slowly drooping. Growing hazy with fatigue. Vision blurring. Body shivering, still dripping small beads of water from your coattails onto the floor. Distantly, you hear the bartender speak.

“Hey- are you okay?”

No, you want to say. No, fucker. Can’t you see I’m not okay? Just get me a damn drink and-

“If you don’t mind my interrupting,” a voice - deep, English, breaks through your haze. “I suggest a Tom Collins.”

Great. And I suggest you shut the Hell up.

“That work for you, princess?”

You want to reach across the bar and strangle her so bad that your cold fingers twitch, but something stops you. No- someone stops you.

“She’s exhausted, Leslie. Leave her be.”

Yeah. Finally a person who has a fucking clue.

You want to speak, and perhaps tell the person to go away, or throw your hands up in the air and yell ‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’, but before you can open your mouth, the seat next to you squeaks. It spins around, dragged lightly by a white-gloved hand, before it moves to accompany a figure. A figure with a lot of misplaced confidence and a lot of audacity. A lot of self importance and a lot of gall. A lot of… oh.

You swallow.

A lot of height, as well. A lot of height and a lot of elegance. She slips into the chair with practiced ease, placing her hands in the right places and her heels on the right rungs, tugging the chair to spin around and face- you. You. Of course you. You, who are the odd one out. You, who waltzed in from 2024. You, who are not one of them. You, an abandoned dog and you, who are cosplaying as a content human. Of course the stranger turns to face you. And of course she is beautiful. All pale skin and shining blue eyes and snowy curls pinned extravagantly atop her head. A jawline that is softer than fresh downy pillows and could cut glass if it grows tense. Long arms. Long legs. Red lips. A scar-so faint you have to squint-but a scar nonetheless. You wonder where she got it from. You wonder why you wonder.

“It’s palatable,” the stranger speaks. The tip of her nose moves with her words. It’s cute. She has a very distinct face. Sharp features. Eyes not too hooded but not too wide. They don’t look at you directly, and instead focus on a spot near your hand. On the mahogany, where it’s (thank god) clean.

The bartender turns her back to make the drink and you take that moment, away from her bastard prying eyes, to speak.

“I hope so.” It’s ruder than intended, but doesn’t seem to offend. Those red lips quirk into a smile, and she looks at you- finally- from beneath dark lashes. Her makeup is fresh. Her skin looks warm.

“The Amaretto Sour and Bailey’s Irish Cream only rose to fame in the 1970’s,” her covered fingers run along the smooth wood, “The Mai Tai, Tom Collins, and Sloe Gin Fiz, on the other hand…” She tilts her head, shrugs one shoulder, and flicks her eyes from you to the bar. It’s endearing, annoyingly enough. And you’re sure that for a second, the blush on her cheekbones is a figment of your imagination.

For some reason, you shoot her a wry smile.

“Lemme guess… popular in the 50’s?”

An auburn eyebrow ticks up, splashing feigned surprise across that pretty face.

“How did you know?” Her tone is pitched a bit too high as she gasps. A bit too hysterical. It makes you roll your eyes and look away, taking a moment to glance at the dark floor beneath your feet. You shake your head.

Maybe it’s her beauty. Maybe it’s her humor. Maybe it’s the fact that she understands you’re so tired you could fall asleep right there where you sit.

“Tom Collins,” the bartender steals your attention. The glass is full, sliding across the bar at top speed, and you can barely hope to reach out and catch it before the stranger’s white glove is stopping it from tipping right over the edge. Only a splash of the sweet drink spills onto clean leather. You watch. You get the distinct urge to lean over and lick it clean.

Just like any other mutt. Eager to lap up the scraps. Even when they’re not yours.

“Shouldn’t you be finishing up, Leslie? I thought the bar was closed.” Leathered fingers curl around the tall glass, squeaking lightly beneath the strength of her pressure.

“And why would you think that, Larissa?”

Larissa. Name fit for a dream.

The bartender doesn’t look too happy. There’s something acrid in her expression, something that pulls at her lips in a way most unpleasant. She looks sour. Jealous. Of her? No. No, not of her.

Of you?

Yes. Absolutely of you. You can see it in the way her green eyes shift- running from your face to Larissa’s and back again. Upset. Betrayed. Let down. It makes you want to smile. Larissa seems kind. The bitch behind the bar isn’t, you’ve decided. Not fucking kind at all. And you’re happy when Larissa’s pretty red lips stretch into a bright smile. The very lingerings of derision hide in the sweet lines beside her mouth.

“It’s a quarter after midnight, Leslie. And you close at-”

“11:30, yeah I know. Whatever.” And with that shit attitude, Leslie tugs the cloth from her shoulder and walks away; leaving you to your precious company.

Your precious company who takes the glass from the bar and holds it out to you, completely unphased by the cold condensation wetting her glove. It’s later than you thought it was, but you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? No. No, you don’t. So you hide your surprise and stare into Larissa’s eyes instead.

“A peace offering?”

Her smile, this time, is genuine. Wide and perfect, showing off those white teeth and the delightful little scrunch of her nose.

“Yes,” and the warmest chuckle rumbles up from her pale throat, “a peace offering.”

You nod and take the glass. It’s very cold, but you don’t feel it. Not when she’s looking at you like that. Watching you raise it in a silent toast and a quiet thanks. Her eyes follow you when you bring it to your lips, when you drink, and when you allow your expression to scrunch up only the tiniest bit. She lets out a loud laugh at the sight of that, and brings a large palm up to cover her open mouth, probably finding her exquisite joy to be too unladylike. You almost tell her to take it away, to allow herself to cackle freely, but it’s not your place. You’re just a dog. And you’re too busy swigging down more ‘zesty lemonade’ to pause and perhaps mention that her bright laugh is something to be marveled at. To be joined in.

You’ve never felt this way.

This way… what is this way? Amusement? No. You’ve felt that before. Happiness? No, because it’s not that. You’ve felt that - a long time ago. Contentment? No. You don’t feel safe. You don’t feel like you want to stay forever. In fact, you kind of want to leave. It suddenly feels too stifling. Too… romantic. Ah. That’s it. Romantic. Looking into those twinkling blue eyes and finding genuine intrigue there. Interest. She is beautiful and you want more. More conversation. More of her voice. Because there she sits, waltzing over to your spot, making your eyes widen, and giving you a drink. One that isn’t too bad either - after getting over the initial tartness that sort of stings your tongue. And she just sort of expects you to be okay with it? To not want more? And more? And more? You are a dog and you want to tell her that.

I am a dog, Larissa. I have learned to be desperate. I have known what it is to want for more. Can you give me more? Just another smile for a sweet stranger?

“I don’t mean to laugh,” her voice is gentle, becoming clearer once she takes her hand away from her mouth, “but your face was- it was…”

“What?” You lick your lips, tilting your head. “What was it like?” And you can’t help but pull another face, exaggerating it, crossing your eyes and frowning, smoldering, and sneering all at the same time. Thank goodness it seems to do the trick as in the next moment, you hear a surprised stuttering laugh fill the air. It makes for the most beautiful harmony with Madame’s soft piano music; lilting and light and gorgeous. A silver lining. A golden undertone. You follow in her beautiful steps and join her in laughing.

“Was it like that?” You grin, taking another sip. “Just like that?”

“Yes,” Larissa gasps and nods, pressing a hand to her chest, “Precisely.”

Your combined chuckles eventually fade and silence falls like the rain outside. Softer, now. A light brush against the windows - like the storm decided to calm as soon as Larissa sat down beside you. But that’s a silly thought. Storms don’t bend to the actions of women.

Except, you ponder, watching Larissa pick invisible fuzzies off of her beige coat, they may make exceptions.

“Where are you from?” You say it so quickly you don’t even realize it comes from your own mouth. Just your luck that your inner thoughts betray you.

But Larissa only looks charmed, and possibly grateful for a conversation starter. She straightens up in her spot, giving you her full attention. It is excruciating. It kills the shivering you’ve been indulging in since your outside excursion - and fills you with something just short of… giddy.

“The United Kingdom originally, but Vermont is where I stay now,” she responds, resting her palms along the bar’s edge.

Vermont? Odd.

You raise an eyebrow.

“Long way from Vermont, aren’t you?”

Those red lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. True, you think she says in her head. Very true.

“Indeed,” blue eyes sparkle, “I figured I needed a holiday.” She tilts her head and you know the question is coming. “Are you a long way from home as well?” It’s a wonderful question. A good question. A perfect question, truly. You want to tell her yes but you’re not sure if that’s the truth.

“I-” Well. Abandoned dogs don’t have homes, Larissa. Can’t you see that in me? Can’t you recognize it? Don’t you know?

Apparently not. Her beautiful face is still open and inviting, unshaded by judgment. Unperturbed by your unfamiliarity. You don’t know how to react to that. How to respond to her kindness. Her patience. She is unknowingly opening a can of worms and you are knowingly staring at her, mouth flapping open and closed, trying to conjure up words that don’t sound like I have no home.

“Please don’t feel obligated to answer,” Larissa waves her hand in the air, “I understand it’s quite personal.”

Oh. How sweet you are to a stray.

“No, I just… I’m a little lost right now,” you admit with a sigh, tipping the glass back until you can swallow the rest of the liquor in one smooth gulp. Something shifts in Larissa’s expression while you lose yourself in the feeling of alcohol sitting in your throat. It’s a miniscule difference when you look at her again, but you spot it anyway. Sadness. Melancholy. Understanding. Pity. All scuttling around in the depths of her eyes and the furrow of her brows and the downturn of her lips.

Normally you hate pity. Normally you despise it. Normally you figure it isn’t for you. You don’t deserve it. You’re just a person with no wind and no destination and no path. You’re just a dog overdue. So why do you need pity? Why do you have it? Why do you get so angry at anyone who wants to give it to you? And why is Larissa any different? She’s still a stranger. Just one with a pretty face. And beautiful hair. And the most gorgeous voice…

“Doing a bit of soul searching then?” Her tone is intentionally light.

“Yeah,” the glass makes a small ‘clink’ against the bartop, “I guess so.”

Kind of. Sort of. Yes? And no. Whose soul are you searching for? Which life do you want? Why are you so lost, when they say that everyone has a place on Earth? Where is your place?

Do you have one?

“Why France?”

“Good question,” you shrug, not really knowing the answer yourself. “City of lights, I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Larissa nods, drumming her fingers against the wood. “City of love, as well. In case you haven’t heard.”

Yes. She’s right. Very right. You lick your lips and nod along. City of love, indeed. City of love with the way that dress looks on her, for sure. City of love with the way she looks at you, too. City of love with the way she smells. Like vanilla and jasmine. Strong, intense, a cologne that probably costs a million dollars - for a woman that looks like a million dollars. City of love. It’s written in the piano that fills your silences. In the air that breathes between your bodies. In the bubble of privacy that lives on when Leslie disappears from behind the bar with a heavy clang of its trapped door. She throws the cloth onto the wood, shoots one last glare at the two of you from over her shoulder, and fucks off into the dark of the stage area. Probably to pick up some other sad woman that’s just as lost as you.

On any other night, I may be the person she takes home. But right now I’m with Larissa. And that’s where I’m gonna stay.

“Not for her,” you snark, watching Leslie retreat before turning back to your company.

Larissa hums, but her eyes don’t follow the bartender like yours did. Instead, they stay on you. Glued to the side of your face, then to the full of your features when you give her a small disgusted expression. You’re rewarded with a light chuckle. “Yes, except for her,” she clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Leslie has always been…”

“Rude?” You start, putting an elbow on the bar and leaning on your palm, “Annoying? Flirty? Shitty? To name a few,” you roll your eyes, flipping your hand in the air.

Larissa only closes her eyes and snorts. “She has always been… eager? I guess that’s the right word. Eager.”

You don’t like the sound of that. Eager people are desperate people. Desperate people are loose cannons. They’d do anything for- well- anything. And Larissa is not an ‘anything’. Larissa is not a reward. And you are not a desperate, eager person. You are not a loose cannon. You’re just a lost one. A rusted lost contraption that was thrown off of the side of a pirate ship. Silly loose cannon, searching for land. No reward.

“For you?” The disapproval that colors your tone does not seem to surprise Larissa. In fact, it only makes her nod.

“Yes, I’m afraid. Though I can’t imagine why,” those broad shoulders of hers shrug, “I’m not nearly as fascinating as half of the women that grace this bar.”

That’s what you think.

“I beg to differ.” It comes out so confidently you kind of want to punch yourself in the mouth. What the fuck do you mean you beg to differ? What would you like to follow that up with? What would you like to say? Oh no, Larissa. You are WAY more fascinating than the people that ‘grace this bar’. You are WAY more intriguing. Leslie has good taste, sure, but a shit attitude about it. I can imagine why she fancies you. I can imagine why anyone would. Yeah right. You can’t say that. But you’re still curious, so instead of giving her a moment to register and respond, you ask the burning question. “How long have you been on holiday if you’re so sure?” But really the question is: How often do you come here?

The pink in porcelain cheeks has deepened. You’re sure it’s from your comment, but you refuse to allow the buzzing of your heart get any worse. It’s already filling your ears, drowning out the piano, and you yearn for the safety of contentment. The same contentment you didn’t feel before. Is this still romance? Or was this never romance at all?

“About three weeks. An extended stay. Though I must admit, I’m nervous about returning to work. I fear I’ve left it too long,” she frowns, twisting her lips in a way that says ‘But what can you do?’.

“Three weeks! What do you do for work?” If there were some more drink in your mouth, you probably would’ve spat it out by accident. Three weeks? Sort of a long time. A long time to be away from work and a long time to be alone.

Unless she isn’t alone… to which you’d actually like to leave right now if that’s the case.

There's hesitance in her eyes. "I'm... a school principal," she says slowly, looking away. “But I needed it. Prolonged stress isn’t good for me. Or for anyone, really.” Her voice softens, carried away by the music as she glances down at her hands. You get the strange desire to hold them. It pops up first as a soft urge in your mind before barrelling forward and pressing hard against the front wall of your thoughts. Reach out and hold them. Hold them. They are soft. They are the kind of hands that reach out and pet the strays. Feed the strays.

But you’re too scared you’ll bite.

“Preach,” you murmur, unsure of how to continue. What are the duties of a school principal? “But- ya know. Good for you I guess. Are you returning to Vermont soon?”

“My flight leaves at seven tomorrow. I’ll get back at approximately half past five in the morning if I’m lucky.”

“Hm. And if you’re unlucky?”

Another small smile.

“Then I’ll never get back.”

You find that to be quite interesting. She’s not worried about her job in a way that speaks to severe anxiety, but in a way that speaks to nervousness regarding her passion. Regarding the children she has to look after. The parents she has to (no doubt) reassure. The world that she is important in. The oil that runs through the machine. She keeps them going - and she has been gone for three weeks. You’re rather curious about the aftermath, and about the scene she will return to upon arrival, but it’s hopeless and misplaced. You will not see what happens. You will not spot the relief on her face. You will not know how life continues for her. Because she is leaving, this beautiful stranger, and she has a home. And you are a stray dog. Abandoned. Hungry. More, more, more. She does not want. She is satiated. Larissa has lived out her dream here, her relaxation, and now it is time to turn around and face the music. Return home. And be part of the family again.

How does that feel? Family?

“How long do you plan on staying?” She asks, looking just as curious as you feel.

A sigh rattles your bones as you lean your head back and push out your chest, relishing in the pops that run down your spine. Exhaustion is creeping again. You didn’t even notice it was gone.

“Probably… forever?” It’s not the truth.

“That can’t be true.”

“No,” you groan, “it’s not. So I don’t know. Maybe forever. Maybe I’ll leave tomorrow, too. We’ll see, I guess.”

That pretty gaze burns into the side of your face. It is full of questions, even when you’re not meeting it, and you’re suddenly sort of scared to look at her again. Scared that she’ll know everything. Scared that she’ll realize what you really are. Not just lost, but hopeless. No way of being found. Because what will you do and where will you go? Nothing and nothing. That seems to be the answer these days. Nothing.

“Do you have any family you’re traveling with?”

Her voice is soft again. Colored with feeling. What is she feeling? Is it still pity? You glance at her, out of the corner of your eye, just to check. No. Yes? No. Maybe. Could be. Or it could be something else. Could be hope. Could be sadness. Could be something better. You can’t clock it, so you return with a question of your own. It stings you to say it- embarrasses you to wonder- but you can’t help yourself. You’re just a dog. You need more.

“Do you have anyone that will be waiting for you at 5 in the morning?”

Her eyebrows twitch for the smallest shade of a second. It’s barely there, but you see it anyway. You see how she frowns and recovers. Maybe that was too far. Maybe that was too blunt. Maybe you should just hold your fucking tongue and stop digging into other people’s business-

“Honestly? No. I’ll probably have to grab a taxi from the airport.”

Oh.

For some reason that’s worse. Worse than if she said yes. Worse than if she started to go on a tirade about a lover waiting for her. Worse than if she mentioned a gaggle of friends or even a coworker. How can she just have- that? That? A taxi? You can’t hide the way your face falls. You just can’t. And you can’t contain the way your heart breaks a little. Crackling like a burning fire, pounding away behind the frailness of your chest. Dropping pieces all over the floor of your innards as you see Larissa get lost staring into space. Probably looking over the different types of liquor bottles as she figures out how best to get a cab from the airport with the least amount of trouble. You kind of want to reach over and shake her shoulders. Take her out of her own head. Insist that it’ll be okay. But of course it’ll be okay - she never said it wouldn’t. She never made any indication that being alone was something she didn’t like.

However, she did walk over to you, didn’t she? And she did sit down next to you. And she was alone at the bar. So maybe the isolation is getting to her. Maybe she needs to go back home. Maybe you need to go with her.

Maybe you need to shut the fuck up.

“I don’t have any family,” you respond, figuring it’s only fair. “So it’s just me.”

Larissa gives you a distracted hum before she takes her eyes away from a place over your shoulder and moves them to your face. To your eyelashes and your eyebrows and your cheeks and your nose. You don’t know what she sees. Hopefully not a dog.

“And no prior commitments? No one waiting for you either?” She seems hesitant to ask, but you know it’s just because she doesn’t want to be impolite.

Oh, Larissa. You can’t offend dogs, Larissa. Others can but not you.

“No. No roots, if that’s what you mean.”

She nods. “I see.”

“Do you?”

A long leg goes sliding up to cross over the other and for a second, you’re lost in the smooth length of them. Her calves and thighs are gorgeous. The hem of her dress falls below the knee. A little restricting but classy. She is very beautiful. And slowly, as the night progresses, you’re beginning to fear what will happen when she leaves. Which is silly, because she’s still a stranger. She doesn’t even know your name. And she has a home to return to and you’re doomed for the rest of your life.

“I believe I do, yes.” And that’s enough of an answer for you.

From that sweet point on, you fall into silence.

The ambience of Madame hasn’t shifted in the slightest. The earlier smoke only renewed itself once certain cigarettes ran out - and the piano looped into another song. Probably playing over a speaker system you couldn’t see or a record player somewhere in the dark. No one takes center stage. No one leaves. It’s still empty drinks, empty hearts, empty heads, and full laughter. Easy chatter. Women getting closer. Women holding hands. Women with their palms on each other’s thighs. Women with lipstick marks on their cheeks. Women with perfectly pinned hair, like Larissa’s, are left with loose curls and messy ends - easily destroyed by a wandering hand or a particularly heavy kiss. You refuse to blush at the sight of that when you turn around and make eye contact with a woman at a booth, but your body doesn’t listen. Your body finds it scandalous. Your body finds it exciting.

There are no threats. There are no men. No shouts, no loud drinking, no busy football games, no beer-stained tables and hugs that hit a bit too hard. There’s no gag-worthy cologne and no clumsy feet stepping on the toes of ladies and no drunken asks for a number or company home. There’s only peace. Sweet and fragile, not even broken by the wind and rain that beats and floats against the windows. You wonder when the place closes if it’s already so late.

You wonder why there’s so many women.

“There was no um-” your throat grows hoarse before you clear it, putting a hand up to your mouth while you look at Larissa. She’s waiting patiently for you to continue. “There was no… advertisement? I guess? That said this place was- is it like… a lesbian… bar? Or something?” You sound more and more childish the higher your voice goes but Larissa’s smile is gentle.

“There’s no advertisement needed. Everyone knows Madame in Paris is a place of community acceptance. However, it’s apparently more popular in the Spring. Tourist season and all that.”

“Oh.” Oh.

Larissa’s brows furrow. “Something wrong?”

Well, yes. Sort of. Kind of. Uh…

“No I just- it’s not Spring now?” You frown, lifting your elbow from the bartop and putting your arm in your lap. What does she mean?

“No,” Larissa shakes her head slowly, stopping the light drum of her fingers. “It’s Autumn. November, actually.”

November? But…

“Huh,” you blink, “must be more lost than I thought. Weird.”

The very beginnings of a frown pull at those red lips, giving away her worry; and for some reason, you’re hasty to reassure her.

“But it’s probably just the exhaustion or something,” you huff out a self-deprecating smile, “No biggie. Maybe I’m like- too buzzed to comprehend. Or too hungry. I don’t know,” you gesture to your head, waving off the concern that she was going to show you.

But it doesn’t work.

“Perhaps you need dinner then,” Larissa tilts her head, looking at you from beneath her eyelashes.

In that moment, she’s perhaps the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. Lit by low candle light. Shadowed by her own form of mystery. You kind of want to lean over and kiss her - which is weird, because her lips are just like any other person’s lips, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. But dogs change sometimes, don’t they? Just like any other creature. Dogs change. And instead of wanting for more, they want for something different.

“Yeah. Perhaps I do.”

Your company takes a moment to look behind you, running her gaze over the interior of the restaurant. You see her blue eyes flit from couple to couple and group to group and crying woman to the next crying woman. You see her nose wrinkle when she spots all of the cigarettes and you see the twitch in her kitten-heeled foot before she’s uncrossing her legs and moving to stand. Every nerve in your body jumps to stand with her. To follow her lead and let her whisk you away. But you don’t know if that’s what she wants - and you don’t want to assume just to be let down. You don’t want her to look at you like ‘What the fuck are you standing up for?’ so you stay in your seat and watch her fix up her coat, straighten her gloves, and grasp the purse on the back of her chair. Everything about her is so elegant. Smooth. Maybe you’re hallucinating and she’s only a dream.

“I know a place nearby. Do you want to join me?”

You look from her hands to her face, caught frozen by the timber of her voice. Do you want to join me?

“Is- are you sure?” Your heart is screaming.

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Larissa gives you a small confused smile.

You lick your lips. “You don’t even know my name.”

“Alright. Do you want to tell me on the way?”

No one ever asks. Everyone stopped a long time ago. There’s no need to wonder, to know, when everyone understands that you’ll just disappear sooner or later. Abandoned dog with an abandoned mind. But here she is asking - and it would be rude to ignore her.

“Sure.”

—

The weather is still brisk when you step outside. The rain is not as harsh and the wind not as bad, but the chill is just as strong. It seeps through your coat rather quickly and you have to shove your hands in your pockets to hide the way they shake. Larissa seems to be faring much better, walking along at a steady pace and adding to the clicks your boots leave behind on the pavement. Despite the dreary weather and the dark sky, threatening to break with another downpour at any moment, the streetlamps are beautiful. Guiding you both through the midnight haze and the swiftly settling fog. You feel like a ghost, floating along there by your company’s side, trying to keep yourself from staring up at her. The bar’s seating apparently did her no favors as when she stood up and led the way outside, you nearly tripped over yourself upon noticing the height difference. She is… she is something extraordinary. You wonder why you’re the one there beside her. Maybe Leslie had a better chance. Maybe you’re just a placeholder until she leaves.

“Are you going to make me guess?” She says eventually, pausing mid-stride to look down at you.

There’s only a few inches difference. Maybe a near foot. You’re not sure. You haven’t asked. But you want to. Curious dog.

“Sure,” you shrug, amused by the way she sighs and continues forward. “It’s not that hard.”

“Elizabeth,” she starts.

Cute.

“No.”

“Emily.”

“No.”

“…Erin?”

“No. What’s with all the ‘E’ names?”

“Would you prefer I start at ‘A’?”

“Might make it easier.”

“Nothing will make this easier.”

The walk feels like it goes on for ages the more she speaks. One name after the other after the other. You smile at the ones that are close and snort at the ones that could never suit you. Larissa only rolls her eyes and tries again. It’s silly and fun and lighthearted and you feel something inside you lighten. Though maybe it’s the Tom Collins, finally kicking in after a day of no food and one boozy drink. Larissa doesn’t seem to mind your occasional giggles and huffs - she even joins you, especially when you almost trip over your feet walking along the curb and she has to reach out and tug you back from the street and the ground. Her coat is cold but her body feels warm. There’s a small droplet of rain that hangs off of a strand of white hair behind her ear and you’re desperate to brush it away, but you don’t. You can’t. Can’t gather the energy to reach out. Can’t gather the energy to get your hopes up. So you move away and the game continues.

Down the street, along this turn and that, through rights and lefts and around lamp posts and street lights and intersections and parks. Far far away and all over the place. You walk for so long your legs begin to twinge - and then she says it.

“Jasmine?”

“Nope.”

“Lilith.”

“No.”

You’re waiting for a stoplight to turn red, but Larissa breezes past you. Head held high. Strides long. Back straight. The world does bend for her. And so do you.

As soon as you reach her side, she takes a steadying breath.

“Iris.”

Why your heart decides to take that moment and skip multiple beats is something you’ll never understand. Maybe it’s just the way she says it. The way it tumbles off of her tongue and slides from between her teeth and disappears into the ether. Maybe it’s the look she gives you and the way she stops when you’re a bit too quiet for too long and the corners of your mouth can’t help but quirk up. You’re not proud of her - that would be silly - but she certainly looks proud of herself. If that slowly spreading grin is anything to go by.

“Iris. Is that it?”

You nod and watch as her nose scrunches up with joy and her gloved hands make little muted claps in excitement. You think you can get used to the way she says it. Like it’s something to be cherished - something delicate and soft. Iris. Eye-riss. Iris. Slow and measured. Careful. She wants to take as much caution as she can when she says it. And when she finally goes to resume your walk, she lets out a little hum and glances down at you from the corners of her eyes.

“It’s a lovely name.”

Oh, Larissa. You’re killing me here.

“Larissa is nice, too. Very… elegant,” you respond, trying desperately to take the attention off of you. It’s been so long since you last heard a compliment like that, you’re unsure how to react. How to be normal about it. How to stop yourself from circling her body and pulling her close and pushing your head against her chest to listen to her heart. To see if she’s real. Because only fake people pay attention to strays - and she’s too wonderful to be anything aside from a figment of your dear imagination.

“That’s very kind of you, Iris.” Oh say it again. Please god, say it again.

But she doesn’t. And you don’t push it. And you don’t look at her for fear of bursting into flames. And you continue your walk until you come across a park bench and you sit down - drawing her attention and luring her back over to stand while you rest your legs.

“Feels like we’ve been walking forever! Where are you taking me?” You glare at her, all playful looks and pouts.

“To my lair. Are you scared yet?” She shifts on her white heels and you can’t help but give her a small chuckle.

“Me? Scared of you? Yeah, right. In your dreams, blondie.”

“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet. I can be quite terrifying when I want to be,” Larissa defends, crossing her arms and cocking out a hip.

“Yeah. To school children maybe,” you grin, spreading your arms out over the back of the bench to sit comfortably. “But not to me.”

“Hm. Not yet, anyway,” her tone is airy, making you blow air out of your nose with amusement.

“Uh huh.” You pause, close your eyes to bask in the chill that bites at your skin, and then open one to look at her. “How tall are you, anyway?”

She towers over you there - standing beside the wrought-iron arm of the bench while you sit and crane your head back. Outlined in the soft glow of the park lamps, you begin to wonder if Larissa is not an imaginary friend or a ghost but instead an angel. She certainly looks the part. You really wouldn’t be that surprised if huge ivory wings sprout from the defined lines of her shoulder blades.

“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” Oh, she’s teasing me now. You roll your eyes.

“Since you first stood up.” The truth is always best. And it makes her smile softly.

“Six foot, three.”

Your lips part, falling open before you catch yourself. Six feet and three inches?! Jesus, woman. You swallow around your delighted shock and push yourself off of the bench - bringing yourself to your full height on the backs of your heeled boots.

“There’s no way,” you snark, crossing your arms.

“Oh really?” Those red lips grow into a smirk and never in your life have you wanted to feel something more. Never.

“Yeah. Really.”

And of course that’s how you sign your heart away - for a split second later, there she stands. So close you can smell the old wine on her breath and see the individual lines in her face. It’s only half lit by golden light, but that doesn’t matter. You’re beginning to think your eyes were made for seeing her. And you’re beginning to think your body was made for standing so close. She smells like the rain now. Like the rain and the stars, which twinkle brightly behind her head as you resist the urge to step back and look at her. There is no backing down from this. There is only matching her height head-on, even though that’s impossible. But that’s the joke. So you move to stand on the tips of your toes and get into her personal space and only when you do, do you realize your mistake. She’s even closer. And her blue eyes have gone wide. You see a deep black abyss take over the oceans of her irises and suddenly, you think your name is very inadequate in comparison to the gorgeous cerulean of her gaze. To the way it envelopes you and electrifies you and warms you all at once. She is a vision. She is everything you want to look upon. And her eyes dart between your own, carrying shock and admiration with them. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what’s happening. This doesn’t feel like romance anymore. This isn’t contentment. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know why you want to lean into her and fall.

And you don’t know why she decides to pull away.

“I’m sorry,” she says so quickly, so quietly, you think it’s just a whisper of the wind. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

Her eyes are still wide, but they’ve been captured by something terrible. Something sad. You open your mouth - to say what? - you don’t know. But she’s taking a few steps back and you close it. Her hair is still perfect, but there’s one strand loose. It flits wildly in front of her ear. A sign of her loss of control, perhaps. A sign that someone got through. She’s not a guarded woman and yet she is. She’s not private and yet she is. You didn’t have the deepest talk of all time and yet you did. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say to get her to stay. So you just say her name.

“Larissa-”

“It’s been very nice to meet you, Iris,” she murmurs, interrupts, clears her throat, and adjusts the purse on her shoulder. Those blue eyes glance around madly, like she’s scared of being caught. “But I’m afraid I have to go now. I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Your flight leaves at seven.” You don’t know why that’s the thing you say. You don’t know what that’s going to do - but before you can even hope to say anything else, she nods and looks at you again. With unwavering strength. With a hint of an apology.

“Yes. It does.” Her lips press together firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that whisper, softer than the distant break of your heart, she’s turning around and walking off into the rain.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Lazily waves my hand around before walking away. - Rip x

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TAGS (please keep in mind Tumblr won't allow me to tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm

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[dianneking]

Nightmares (Larissa x Reader comfortfic)

What??? A comfort fluffy fic from the Angst Fairy themselves? Well, what can I say. I like to try things out. Also I love a challenge. Also, it felt right to write this fic today and so I did (who am I to argue with the Muses?). All of that aside, I hope you enjoy!

Tags: Fluff, Comfort, Nightmares, Established Relationship, Second-Person POV, Teacher!Reader, Ungendered Reader, Lots of Cuddling. Wordcount: 1.719 words. AO3 link in title below!

This fic is dedicated to all the people who have offered me comfort. There's many out there, and you all know who you are and are all precious to me, but in particular I want to mention Cat and Cal @tenderheartgrumpymind, @scream-queenlover, @bigolgay, and @heidsworld. I am grateful for all of you.

Nightmares (Larissa/Reader)

You looked at her silhouette in the darkness. She was by your side, the faint light from the stars filtering through the window just to glide on her chiseled cheekbones, kissing her forehead, for once relaxed in the deep embrace of sleep, where no worries could reach her and no decisions had to be taken.  Her breath came out in slow, rhythmic puffs, so soft that you could only hear them thanks to the total tranquility of the night around you. Usually that would be enough. You’d wake up in the night, and just fall asleep after a little while, allowing yourself in the meantime to bask in her beauty, in how lucky you were to see this side of Larissa Weems. The side that had shed her armor, the signs of her power. The side with her hair rolled up and held in place by a silken scarf. It had taken so long to get to this point. For your relationship to progress far enough for her to trust you with the whole of herself.

She had been cautious at the start. You could see she was holding back, giving you her whole attention but not her whole heart. You could understand why. The both of you were not at your first relationship, you both had been hurt, you both had been burned. You knew that sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of something new, of a new special connection with someone, just to discover that that that person was not at all how you had imagined them to be, or maybe they were, but still for all the affection held for one another, you simply weren’t compatible.

And so people came and go, and you both had found yourself older, and less trusting towards potential partners. Always expecting something to go wrong, because it had always done so. You could see the same reticence in Larissa and – maybe paradoxically – you had been reassured by that.

And as time had proven, it had not been a flash in the pan. While the physical attraction was there and undeniable (how could it not? It was Larissa Weems you were talking about! The closest thing to a goddess that the earth was blessed with!), it was not and had never been just sex between you two, there had always been hope to see it become something else, something more – and the determination to try your best to make it so.

Date after date, evening in front of the fire after evening in front of the fire, you had slowly grown to know Larissa. She had opened up to you as you had to her – the good, the bad, the ugly. She had slowly let the “perfect principal” mask fall, and had shown you her flaws, she had candidly told you how she was aware of many of them, how she still was working on them, trying to get better at them.

“I had given up, you know?” she had confided in you once, as you were sipping wine staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace “I thought, well, I thought I was too old. What’s the point of trying to change after 40? I am already too set in my ways. Ha. Ironic, isn’t it? A shapeshifter who can’t change.” She had snorted at that. A loud, inelegant sound that was perfect precisely because it wasn’t perfect. It was real. “But then I saw you. You came to Nevermore and you took each day as a personal challenge. You brought so much good to the academy, to the students, to the staff itself! You fixed things that I hadn’t even realized were broken. And suddenly, I felt like I wanted to change as well. I still do. I want to be better. If Nevermore, that has been stagnant for centuries can be changed for the better, why can’t I?”

The question had hung in the air, and you had understood the unsaid things hidden between the lines. Somehow, in your self-appointed crusade to make the academy a better place, you had given her hope. Hope for herself. Hope she hadn’t allowed herself to have.

That night was the night you had realized how in love you were with Larissa Weems.

Maybe, it was the night she fell in love with you, too.

Even if you were both living on campus, it had taken two full years before you had decided to move in together. Well, it was more of you going to live in Larissa’s large, luxurious principal quarters. That had come well after you two had officially announced your relationship status, first to the board, then to the staff, and finally to both students and parents.

That had been petrifying. You had been afraid and so had Larissa, even if she showed it less than you, used as she was to have her mask always firmly in place. If it came down between choosing between your relationship and Nevermore, you both knew what her first choice would be. You had explicitly talked about it. You had pulled numbers. You had checked the rulebook. You had prepared as much as possible, hoping that it wouldn’t have to come to giving up your work to stay with her.

You would have done it.

You both knew it, as much as you knew that Larissa would never give up hers.

But luck had been on your side. You had only been showered with positivity and kindness and heartfelt well-wishes. There had been no difficulties, not mutterings, nothing. The only awkward moment had been when the Addams family had expressed their felicitations by sending about a dozen severed heads “To bring horrid prosperity to the new couple”. But even that had made a wry smile come to Larissa’s face, and she had just shaken her head and had the severed ones brought to the biology lab (“Well they’re here already, might as well use them for science”).

It felt like yesterday and yet it had been seven years ago. Your tenth-year anniversary was drawing closer and closer. By now you knew each other like the back of your hand. You knew what made each other tick, you knew what brought comfort. You enjoyed simply spending time together, each immersed in their own activity, and yet able to lift your eyes and bask in each other’s company.

Which brought you to your current predicament.

She knew you suffered from nightmares, and she had told you over and over again to wake her up if you ever needed comfort after one of them. You knew that. And you knew you wouldn’t mind if the positions were reversed. Sleep be damned, if Larissa needed you, you’d stay awake for days on end.

You stretched your hand over, letting it hover in the air above her shoulder. Was this okay? Were you really allowed to? No matter how many years passed, it felt like you were back to being Larissa’s employee, waiting outside of her study, hand just about to knock on her door, wondering if you weren’t just about to waste her precious time.

You could picture her, shaking her head at you, “Don’t be silly, darling! You never disturb me.” And smile at you that precious smile, the smile she reserved for you and you alone, the smile that made her eyes light up and dance. Even just imagining – remembering – that smile gave you strength. You brought you hand down softly on her shoulder, a gentle caress, a tender touch.

“Love?” You tried to keep the pleading out of your voice. She was immediately awake, used to being on call for any emergency in the school.

“What’s it, darling? Everything alright?” Her British accent was even thicker when her voice was still wrapped in sleep. It was adorable.

“Nightmare. Could…Could you hold me?” You hated how little your voice sounded. How it had broken halfway through. You hadn’t even realized how close to tears you had been before you had woken her up, but you could feel them filling your eyes now, making her lovely silhouette wobbly in the darkness.

“Oh darling, of course. Come here.” She turned towards you, opening her arms. You lost no time diving into them, hiding your face in the crook of her neck, the soft fabric of the scarf pleasant against your forehead. “Oh darling, that bad?” You nodded against her neck. You had put up a brave face, not even realizing yourself how much the images and the sensations from your dream had shaken you.

She hummed and you could feel the vibrations against your own body. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. It was going away anyways, the dark, cold tendrils of it being chased away by the warmth of the embrace Larissa was wrapping you in.

“Very well. Then you can just relax. I am here. I have you. You are safe.” You could feel your legs entwining together, skin against skin. She had always been so warm. You nuzzled her neck further, breathing in her scent. Patchouli and black pepper and something else, something comforting and relaxing, something utterly and completely Larissa. You felt her wrap her hands around your back, pulling you tight against her soft body. You felt her lips press a tender kiss to the top of your head.

You were enveloped in a cocoon of comfort, with the world so far away, with all its burden of sadness and hatred and worries. There was nothing of that that could reach you here, in the safe nest of your lover’s arms.

One of her hands started moving up and down your back, rubbing it lightly, soothingly, hypnotically. You focused all of your attention on that, on that single, simple movement. You didn’t know how long you were there, soaking up her affection, her care, her love. Slowly, you felt your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, your breathing slowing down, until finally you fell asleep in Larissa’s arms.

You couldn’t see the small, tender smile that graced her face when she looked down at your sleeping form, nor the second, even more loving kiss she pressed on your hair.

“Sleep well, love.” She whispered in the darkness of night.

And you did.  

Liked it? You can find more of my fics in my fanfiction masterlist or in my AO3 profile page!

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[littlemissmanga]

Good Morning! I’m making some rounds asking for some of this beautiful fluff with a touch of giggle in this prompt list.

So if you would give this prompt a go- "well i guess that answers my question." With Rex saying it?

Have a wonderful day!

Hello dearie!! Oh, I will always put forth an effort for our dear captain! I am making my way slowly through these but thrilled to say I have finally finished this one.

I hope you enjoy!

A Little Something Sweet for Breakfast

Pairing: Rex x short!Reader

Warnings: None, pure fluff

W/C: 1,218

Dividers by @saradika

It was quiet in the mess hall and Rex considered that nothing short of a miracle. The 501st was on shore leave and it seemed the boys had their fill of fun the night before considering it was already 0700 and not one of them so much as stirred from the barracks.

Rex strode across the room, datapad in hand and ready to use this rare peace to finally have a quiet, relaxing meal. But as he made his way to grab a ration pack, a shuffle in the next room caught his attention.

The boys rarely went into the kitchens on base. There was never a need. So, as the shuffle grew into a clattering, Rex prepared himself for the inevitable chaos and made his way over. Opening the door, he took in a breath, ready to use his “Captain” voice to startle whichever shiny was making the ruckus … only to choke on his tongue.

“Oh, Captain! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake.”

You were … well, he honestly wasn’t sure what you were trying to accomplish with one knee on the counter, pulling your body higher so your other leg dangled beneath you, arms out to hold onto the sides of the cabinet. Metal cutlery and plates littered the counter and floor around you.

“I .. you …” It was far too early for these shenanigans, and Rex was thoroughly at a loss to find you at the center of it this time. As a civilian non-combat operative, you weren’t as disciplined as his boys on the field, but you were generally respectful and kept yourself out of trouble … despite the efforts of some of his vode to corral you into their latest shenanigans.

Certainly a respectable feat, at least in Rex’s book. And that’s all he would attribute the swoop in his stomach to anytime he’d see you. Respect.

If that swoop were accompanied by a heat in his cheeks at the sight of your smile — particularly if directed at him — or the racing of his heart at the sound of your laughter — even faster if he caused it — Rex never let himself do more than acknowledge it.

He was your superior officer, after all. Anything else would be unbecoming of his station.

“What are you doing?” he tried again, trying not to sound as confused as he was.

“Making breakfast.” You turned, bringing up your other leg so your entire body was balanced on the narrow ledge as you dug further.

“Huh.” Stepping closer, Rex slid his datapad onto the counter next to your leg and stood just behind you. Unsure arms kept rising to shadow your back before returning to his side as he grew ever more uneasy by the precarious balance you’d achieved. “Didn’t realize cooking required gymnastics.”

Impressively, much of your torso disappeared into the void of the cabinet when you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “It does when everything on this ship is built for giants. Here-”

Rex’s reflexes kicked in, catching the item before he could even register that what you had tossed over your shoulder was a half-finished bread roll. But before he could form his next question — and honestly, he had so many he really didn’t even know where to start — you slipped smoothly down from your perch. Unfortunately, for him, Rex misjudged his own spacing, standing too close to give you enough room. As you moved to the floor, the curve of your rear brushed tantalizingly lightly against his stomach before finally gaining a more respectable distance.

The rush of blood pounding in his ears blocked out most of your own next question. Actually, he couldn’t hear you at all. The movement of your lips as you turned to face him was the only clue he could decipher indicating you’d said anything at all.

“Huh?”

Your lips curled. Maker, he really did like it when you smiled. It wasn’t just with your lips, though their plush, gentle curve was sweet. No, your smile radiated from your eyes, and he knew if he looked too long, he’d be lost.

“I asked if you wanted some, too. I don’t mind making a second helping for you.”

Rex wasn’t a stupid man. He could hear the tease of your tone. The light-hearted nature of your banter along with the sweet offer was a flirtation even he could pick up on. He would never abuse his station and hit on a subordinate. And like a divine solution, here you were, offering him a way forward.

But in that moment, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to get himself to reply with even an ounce of charm he regularly sees his brothers wield.

Never one without a plan of action, Rex was stuck in limbo, struggling to respond with an ounce of the charm he routinely saw his brothers deploy … when he felt his stomach gurgle, the sound radiating out from him to fill the room.

Heat immediately flooded his face, but before he could apologize, your choked laughter rang out.

“I guess that answers my question.”

Stepping into his space again, you took the bread roll from him. But instead of stepping past him, you stayed.

You’d never been that close to him before. So close he could count the lines and imperfections on your face. And he did. He wanted to memorize everything about you.

He was so focused on those details, he missed entirely that you had been closing the distance, standing on your toes to press closer, until your lips pressed lightly against his cheek.

They were cold and chapped and so karking perfect on him. Your warm breath against his skin flooded any remaining rational thought away.

When you pulled back, your eyes didn’t meet his despite Rex being sure you could feel the intensity of his stare. Instead, you looked past him as you fell back onto your heels, a hand coming to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you repositioned to move away.

“Right, well, breakfast will be ready in just a —”

He didn’t let you finish. Before you could step away, Rex’s hand slid to gently hold the curve of your jaw, keeping you in place as he tilted your face up to his. You blinked owlishly up at him.

“You missed,” he said, finally getting his brain back online. “I think you should try that again.”

To Rex’ delight, your smile returned as you leaned back in. Only this time, he met you halfway, biting back a satisfied moan at the press of your lips against his. Taking a half step forward, he invaded your space as you had his, encircling you in his arms as he lost himself in the moment.

After what was probably too long, Rex finally let you go. Your eyes stayed closed for a heartbeat more, even as you moved back, shifting your weight to rest more against his hold on you, and Rex greedily took the chance to appreciate everything about your contented expression in the moment, satisfaction coiling inside him knowing he put that look on your face.

When you did open your eyes, there was a twinkle of mischief in them you usually kept well hidden. “Better?” you asked.

He pressed his forehead to yours. “Much.”

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Taglist: @wings-and-beskar @starrylothcat @sev-on-kamino @wolffegirlsunite @secondaryrealm @idontgetanysleep @freesia-writes @multi-fan-dom-madness @dystopicjumpsuit @sinfulsalutations @sunshinesdaydream @clonemedickix @anxiouspineapple99 @wizardofrozz @dhawerdaverd @mythical-illustrator @dreamie411

#captain rex x reader #tcw rex x reader #fluffy fic #pure fluff #first kiss prompt

[666herescared]

My papa showed me this post on Twitter:

And I was like, "Not Wukong, but Shadow dad?"

So I drew this adorable thing instead of going to bed.

Have fun and happy scrolling, everyone!

#lego monkey kid #lego monkie kid #lmk #lmk au #ShadowDad au #Dad Macaque #Baby Mk #Fluffy fic #shadowpeach #spicynoodleshipping #freenoodleshipping #monkie kid macaque #mk lego monkie kid #Shadow Lantern #lmk fanart

[heartbreak-sandwich]

Billy knows better than to side eye you when you talk to Steve. The two of you have been friends since he and Robin worked at Scoops Ahoy together, and though Billy knows you have no interest in Steve, he can't help but satisfy the need to bite the inside of his cheek every time he sees you two talking alone. With one hand in his pocket, he walked with purpose as he approached the table where you two were enjoying smoothies.

"Thought I might find you two here." You heard Billy's voice ring out over the bustling echoes of the mall courtyard. You couldn't be totally sure, but you thought you detected some edge to his words.

"Exactly where we said we'd be?" Steve asked, raising his eyebrows. Billy subtly jutted his chin upwards and let his eyes bore into Steve's. Now you knew he was obviously bothered, but Steve was still staring back in total confusion.

"Right on time" you chimed in, rising to your feet and meeting Billy where he stood. He slung an arm around you and pulled you in by your waist a bit tighter than you expected, all the while never breaking his stare at Steve. Billy was challenging him, and Steve obviously didn't understand what was happening. He looked to the left, to the right, and back to Billy again.

"Is there a problem, Harrington?" Billy asked, venom rising with every word he spoke. Steve shrugged awkwardly in his seat, looked around again, and finally responded.

"Why would there be a problem?" Billy pushed an audible breath from his nose as his grip around your waist grew even tighter, but he didn't say another word.

"I guess we'd better get going," you piped up, longing to break the tension before Billy got too heated. The new mall had just opened, and the last thing you wanted was to be involved in it making headlines again, citing your overprotective boyfriend being arrested all because you and Steve decided to have a smoothie on a Friday afternoon.

You said goodbye to Steve who gave you an awkward half wave, still looking puzzled as ever as you and Billy made your way toward the mall's exit.

"What was that about?" you asked him in a hushed but stern tone.

"What was what about?" It wasn't like Billy to play dumb about his aggression, but the two of you had talked many times about his behavior toward Steve. It was starting to soften, but Billy still had his moments, and he knew it really affected you. You weren't letting it go this time.

"I thought we talked about Steve." Once in the parking lot, your voice was at full volume. You had been patient for so long, but now you were starting to feel annoyed that Billy couldn't just let things go. "We talked all about your fears, your jealousy, and the reasons why you hated Steve - none of which were valid, by the way - and you're still staring him down like prey every time you see him. I don't get it."

"I'm trying, okay?" Billy looked away from you and pulled out a cigarette, opening the door of his Camaro. He really thought you were going to let this go.

"Try harder," you countered, pushing his driver's side door shut mid swing.

"Hey--" Billy threw his arms up in frustration. You knew he was heated now, and so were you. Deciding that you needed the upper hand in this situation, you knew exactly what to say.

"Don't you trust me, Billy?" His arms fell to his sides. He turned around and took a deep breath.

"Babe," he said, turning back to you. "Come on. That's not fair -"

"You know what's not fair?! The fact that my boyfriend and my best friends can't get along because he can't let. Things. Go. You talk about wanting to grow and change, but you don't do it. Where is that going to leave us?" Your eyes stung as they welled up with tears. Billy looked as if you had knocked the wind out of him. The pain of losing you would always be too much for him to bear, and he knew he had gone too far today.

"I'm sorry," he said, reaching his hand out to you. "Please just listen." You took a step toward him. He took your hand in his and pulled you close to him so he could look directly into your eyes. "You know it's because I'm always afraid. I'm always afraid of losing the things I love. El showed me the truth, and you know that. It's just taking me some time, and I'm sorry you're suffering for it."

"I'm trying to be patient," you sniffled, tears spilling over and running down your cheeks. "But it's so hard when all I want to feel is happiness, warmth, comfort. After everything that has happened here in Hawkins, I just want home to feel like home again, and this makes it seem impossible." Billy knew this wasn't just about him and Steve. This was deeper. You were missing the comfortable life you knew before just like everyone else in The Party. He wiped your tears away with his thumbs, his hands cupping your face as he continued to stare into your eyes.

"I'll make home feel like home again. No matter what I have to do, I promise you I will do it for you." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and embraced you, swaying you gently as your crying calmed down. You knew he meant it, and you knew he was more than capable of doing so. Billy never, ever broke his promises.

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove fluff #stranger things #stranger things fic #fluffy fic #billy hargrove blurb #steve harrington #harringrove tension #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gn reader #billy comforts you #jealous billy hargrove #fight to comforting #oc #billy hargrove oc #billy comforting you after a fight

[mymelodymia]

Hey bby how r u? I got a request cause my emotions have been wonky asf can you write where Mike has a younger sis like 13-14 basically going through a lot and is getting bullied at school for not being the "prettiest" being teased and picked on constantly for being the "weird" one, shy, mostly to themselves hard to make friends etc. Iv gone through that and it sucks :(

Uhh fluffy lots of comfort mike lowkey beats the shot outta them. Anyways ty 😊 have a good one hun 🩷

Bullys // Mike Schmidt x sister!reader

**not a ship**

Summary: you're being bullied and don't say anything,

Warnings: bullying, bruises, Mike beating the shit out of some middle-schoolers,

Age: 13

A/N: hi baby! I'm doing good, I hope you like the way this came out 🥰

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You had been being bullied for a while now. You kept it a secret for a while, most nights you cried yourself to sleep. What did you do to them? You hadn't done anything to them, they just did it to be little pains in the ass.

You tried to make friends but no one liked you and you didn't know why. You got good grades, you helped people in class, and you were literally the sweetest person in the world.

One day you couldn't take it anymore, you were riding home on your bike when you were suddenly hit the ground. Some kids had pushed you, (assholes) you skined your knees on the road, and Injured your palms from catching yourself.

They all took turns kicking you, before an old man walked out in a robe, yelling at them to get off his lawn (sorry)

You were badly injured from the force of the kicks. You could barely stand back up. You had been able to cover up most of your bruises with hoodies and sweaters, but you couldn't take it anymore

You broke down crying on your bike, sobbing loudly. You somehow had the strength to slowly peddle the bike and got home two hours after your curfew. It was now sundown, the street lights had turned on not long ago.

Mike was extremely worried about you. You had been very distant and quiet over the past few months. You spent most of your time in your room. And you oddly always left food on your plate. He didn't know why, he assumed it was connected to puberty in a way.

But when he saw you biking down the street, he let out a sigh of relief, but soon turned angry.

"Where have you been!? Do you know how late it i-" he yelled, pausing when he saw your tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. "What happened? W-who did.....whats wrong?" He asked holding one of your shoulders

You slowly took of the jacket you were using to hide the cuts and bruises all along your body. He gasped and gently caressed a few down your arm.

You sniffed and he hugged you. Wrapping his strong arms around you securely. "Who did this to you?" He asked as you sobbed into him. "Y/n...please tell me who it was, i need names." He said in a soft tone.

You slowly whispered every single person who ever hurt you. And that took a while since practically everyone in the school was bullying you.

He listened carefully, remembering everything you said. He carried you inside, sitting on the couch, he allowed you to crawl into his lap and cling to him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, he held you to his chest. He couldn't belive someone would hurt his baby sister. This disbelief quickly turned into anger.

Filled with rage, he slowly set you down and took his car keys and put on his coat. You didn't have the strength to follow him, so you curled up into a ball and sat there for a good hour.

Mike returned with a small bruise on his cheek, just under his eye. Let's just say that he took care of them 😈

He picked you up like a baby, cradling you in his arms. He walked you over to his room and plopped you down, forgetting about your injuries.

When you winced in pain he immediately apologized, "oh im so sorry, i forgot, im sorry baby.." he said taking you his arms again, kissing the top of your head.

He walked out for a moment and returned with a tube of something, he applied a small amount to his cheek in a mirror, before coming over to you.

He rubbed it gently into your skin, being sure not to hurt you.

You thanked him when he was finished, he set the tube down on his night table, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you gently. You rested your head on his chest softly.

"Mike."

"Hmm" he responded, waiting Patiently for you to continue. "They have been doing this for a few months now, they'd call me fat and ugly all the time and whenever i would laugh they'd say its ugly." You kept going on and on about what they did to you for a few more minutes.

"Y/n, baby, you are not fat, and your laugh is one of my favorite things to hear, dont let that stuff get to you okay? I love you, and since i haven't heard you laugh in so long i would definitely tickle you right now, but i might hurt you so, just wait until your bruises are gone" he said with an evil smirk on his face. You whimpered, giggling at the same time, you snuggled into his chest.

He ran his fingers through your dark curly locks, rocking you back and forth, he sung you a lullaby to lull you to sleep. This was one of the only nights were he didn't dream abt Garrett.

This was a good excuse.

+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+

Tags

None :((((((

#mike schmidt fnaf #mike schmidt #mike schmidt x sister reader #mike schmidt fluff #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #fnaf movie #fnaf #fnaf x you #x reader #x you #reader insert #comfort #fluffy fic #request done #anonymous

[marvel-fanfic-writer-8675]

Eucalyptus

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Warnings: fluff, cursing, innuendos

Summary: gardening, and someone showed Bucky tik tok

You loved gardening, your boyfriend on the other hand…he definitely did not have a green thumb, that’s for sure. You once left him in charge of your plants while you were on a mission and he killed them all, even the cactus, you were only gone for 3 days.

You had gone to the nursery (plant store) to look around and find a new plant for your garden in the back of the compound. Your garden was enjoyed by everyone, they all loved being able to go out and sit on the bench you had in there, and relax, let all their past bad experiences melt away. It was like the team’s own secret hideout from the world. You came back from the store super excited to show the team your new finds.

“Honey! Can you please come help me get the plants out of the car,” you asked your boyfriend, Bucky. “Of course doll, let me go grab Steve and he can help us too.” After bringing all the plants to the garden the team had come out to see what would be added to the special hideaway.

Natasha, believe it or not, was one of the most excited about the new additions, especially when she saw one specific plant. “Is that, Dagestanian Spleenwort?” She was wide eyed and almost tearing up. “Bless you…?” Tony answered, confused at the long, hard to pronounce name. “Dagestanian Spleenwort,” you responded, “a fern usually only found in Russia but they had one at the store I went to and I thought it would look nice.” Nat smiled softly and went to touch the fern. “Back in the Red Room they had a bunch of these outside in the outdoor training area, I would spend the little free time I had hiding in the plants, they gave me a feeling of comfort.” You set a hand on your friend’s shoulder, “I’ll be sure to take extra care of it, and you can help me if you’d like.” Natasha nodded and you went through more of the plants you had bought.

“I also got a lemon tree for that bare space in the corner,” you continued. “We can make lemonade!” Thor shouted excitingly, it was one of his favorite Midgardian drinks. Everyone chuckled and you agreed that yes, you could make lemonade. After you had finished saying all the stuff you’d gotten everyone went back to what they were doing beforehand, leaving you to plant your new plants. Bucky stayed back a minute to say goodbye, but was surprised when you told him to wait for a minute.

You ran out to your car and grabbed one final, secret plant you had gotten. “What is that doll?” Bucky was very curious at the bushel of green you held in your hand. “I found some Eucalyptus at the store for only $2!” “Eucalyptus dick,” Bucky shouted. You just stared at him in shock. “Eucalyptus dick!” He doubled down on the joke. “Honey, who showed you tik tok?” You asked with a slight smirk at the idea of your 107 year old boyfriend on tik tok. “Peter showed it to me when he saw a funny captain America video,” he admitted. You shook your head and set the eucalyptus down. “What am I gonna do with you,” you pondered as you gave him a kiss. “Love me eternally?” He responded like a cute puppy, enjoying his kiss. “I suppose,” you said, smiling up at him, as he pulled you in for another kiss.

You spent the rest of the day with Bucky out in the garden. He had brought out his favorite book and was reading while you worked with your plants. After you had finished you sat next to him, your head leaning on his shoulder. “All done doll?” You nodded, leading him to the new plants. “Looks beautiful doll, just like you.” You blushed at the compliment, elbowing him softly for his cheesy statement. “I love you, you dork,” you teased. “Good, cause I love you too, my little garden fairy.” You both laughed, walking hand in hand back inside, just in time to join the team for dinner.

Steve had made some chicken recipe he found, he loved to make food for the team, it was his way of showing he cared. He had a book with all the team’s likes, dislikes, allergies, etc. You and Bucky sat down in your usual spots, greeting the rest of the team. “So, how did planting go?” Clint asked. “It was great planting the eucalyptus..” Bucky smirked at you as you said eucalyptus and at the same time, him, Sam, and Tony all yelled “eucalyptus dick,” and burst out laughing. You just raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend as he looked at you, pretending innocence, “love you doll,” he tried. “Sometimes I question how we ever ended up together,” you sighed, kissing his nose, making him blush. The conversation then moved on to how Tony blew up part of his lab…again.

After dinner, you and Bucky volunteered to clean the dishes. You put on your shared playlist and got to work on the mountain of dishes. After the dishes were done, you still had water on your hands so you decided to start a fight, you flicked the water at your boyfriend who immediately turned to you, “oh doll, you don’t know what you just got yourself into…” he took the faucet and sprayed you quickly with the water. Laughing, and soaked, you moved and gave Bucky a huge hug, getting him soaked in the process. While hugging, you grabbed the faucet and sprayed Bucky’s back. You then started running towards your shared bedroom, but against a super soldier, you had no chance. He caught up to you, wrapped you in his arms and dipped you, giving you a kiss in the process. “Really thought you could run away doll? You started this fight,” he smirked. “Yeah and I was gonna finish this in the shower, but if you don’t want to join me then…” Bucky’s face lit up, “no, yeah, let’s go shower, gotta get off all the dirt from the day ya know.” And with that you both showered and got ready for bed. Some nice, warm cuddles in your boyfriend’s arms was just what this day needed to end perfectly.

#marvel #bucky barnes #bucky fic #bucky x reader #bucky fluff #Bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #Bucky barnes fic #bucky x female reader #fluff #fluffy fic #marvel fanfic #james bucky barnes #James Bucky barnes x reader

[chronicbeans]

I need more fluffy Simon Petrikov x Reader angst turn fluffy comfort fics NOW or else I will do it myself.

This is a threat because I am not confident in my ability to write fluff.

But I will if I must lol

#adventure time #adventure time simon #simon petrikov #adventure time fionna and cake #adventure time: fionna & cake #fionna and cake #fionna and cake simon #simon petrikov x reader #comfort fic #light angst #hurt/comfort #fluffy fic #angst fluff

[gorey-maiden]

Cuddle bug - Jeff the killer

The sun slipped in through the cracks of the broken blinds with a bright warm glow, the beams hit your face your eyes opened winching slightly, you felt a soft weight on your chest, you cran your neck down a bit seeing your adorable boyfriend Jeff cuddle up on you with a blanket draped over both of you the sun shined off of his pale almost snow like skin making him look angelic ironically, you used one you your hands brushing through his dark locks slowly trying not to hit any knots, you used your other hand to rub his back in a comforting manner, you adored these moments since they didn't happen often because its always chaotic around the mansion, the man in your arms stirs slightly groaning he raises his hand taking off the lace sleeping mask you had bought for his last birthday as a joke but he now begrudgingly uses it since Jane burnt his last one "good morning lovely" he says in his morning voice you loved so much "good morning darling" you kiss his forehead, he buries his face into your neck as he begins to blush it being obvious from the pink that dusts his ears, you smile softly as you wrap your arms around hims, you wish this moment would never end.

#horror #creepypasta #jeff the killer #jeffrey woods #proxy #x reader #oneshot #fluff #fluffy fic #marbel hornets

[rippersz]

Pillow Promises

—————

—————

(A Reader x Jan Stevens Oneshot) (Fluffy, tiniest bit Angsty, tiniest bit toxic, good ending)

—————

The room is bathed in a soft pink and orange glow; keeping the pleasurable haze alive and real.

Your heart still pounds from earlier activities, only slowing when Jan nuzzles closer and puts her satin-covered head on your shoulder. The dull point of one bunny ear brushes against your neck, wedged between you and the bed’s headboard, and you force down a shiver at the ticklish feeling.

She’s so close and warm it’s a wonder how you haven’t fallen asleep yet. The book in your hands isn’t even that interesting - not when she’s next to you. Looking as sweet as she is, cheeks still flushed with blush and mouth still stained with lipstick. You got up after to grab a washcloth and clean the two of you off, but she took it for herself and insisted she do it on her own. She didn’t do a very good job, but that was fine. Jan Stevens, for as put together as she is, doesn’t really mind mess. Not when it can be tidied. And washed.

Though if you could keep the evidence of your eroticism on your body forever, you would. The lipstick, the sweat, the stains and the sex, all of it - you’d keep it all.

But you can’t.

So you relax into the pillow behind you with a soft sigh and listen to her breathing while the tiny words on the page take you somewhere else. Jan is probably reading too you think, so you linger on each page before turning - allowing her to catch up even if she’s not really paying attention.

When she speaks a few minutes later, you realize there’s definitely been something else on her mind.

“Why don’t you move into my room permanently? For the rest of the session?” Her voice is smooth honey in your ear, only slightly hoarse from her earlier moaning, but it’s tinged with hesitation. Worry. A soft placating tone like she’s coaxing you into it but isn’t sure if you’ll agree or not.

But that’s silly. Of course you’ll agree. It’s nearly a bloody honor if not exactly that.

“Uh ye-yes. Yeah. Sure. If you... want me to?” The nervousness is normal around your lover - you’ve learned to deal with it - but still, you ask. Even though she proposed the idea. Moving into her room was a big thing. And the session was nearly over anyway. The group would go on tour and you’d be released back into the wild, your pockets heavier with cash, and a new fresh view on life. On cooking. On sound in general.

So there’s no harm, is there?

No.

No, you’ll stay for the remainder of everything and then you’ll… leave. Somehow. Someway. You’ll leave.

You’ll do as the rest will do and pack your few belongings and say goodbye to the doctor and the tech assistant and the gardeners and the rich people and the caterers themselves and then finally, to Jan Stevens. You’ll say goodbye and you’ll leave her. Her and her beautiful room and her strange bunny pajamas and her fascinating way of speaking and her interesting understanding and misunderstanding of art. You’ll leave behind her dark eye makeup and her fashion sense and the click of her heels and the swinging pendulum of her emotions and you’ll leave behind all of the million fires she lights in you.

You’ll do that.

And you’ll be fine.

How? You don’t know. You don’t know at all. But you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. You just have to enjoy what you have as you have it - and what you have right now is a wonderful one-of-a-kind woman, a Jan Stevens, sitting up and looking at you with a wide awed smile and sparkling eyes. Excitement is spelled across her handsome face. Sometimes you forget you can kiss her in moments like these.

“Yes,” she says, her hands reaching up to glide the book out of your fingers and push it onto the floor on her side of the bed, not bothering to save your place (and not really caring either) as she grasps your palms. “Yes! Yes, I want you to. Why else would I ask, silly thing?” And she likes to call you that. Silly thing, pretty thing, dumb little thing, darling thing. Always her thing. Always her little pet.

It’s a tiny bit concerning- how much sway she has over you- but when she’s clenching your hands in her own and intertwining your fingers and getting so close that the tips of your noses nearly touch, you can’t really help but find yourself falling even more. All for her, naturally. A Jan Stevens devotee. It’s kind of cute. And she seems to love it, and it doesn’t hurt you, so why should you mind? You’re not one of the caterers; your relationship doesn’t affect their art. They can play with their sounds and their food and you can play with your employer and everybody wins. Especially when you get to return to the warm comfort of her bed every night, safe from the cold brisk air of autumn and in lovely company while she explains the different aspects of her art degree with you.

It’s a very real form of Nirvana. And you’re so lucky to have it.

Her big smile makes you shy - and you find yourself looking away, past her shoulder, before bringing her closer by your connected hands and pressing your forehead into the crook of her neck.

“I dunno,” you reply, muffled and content, while she squeezes your palms in a comforting rhythm. “How long have you been thinking about asking me?” You don’t talk about feelings all that often, but you know Jan well enough to understand that she allows uncertantities to ruminate within her thoughts. For far too long. So asking is only a polite way of reminding her that she can be open with you - as that’s the best way to keep things healthy.

But whether or not she cares for healthy is something you have yet to figure out.

“Since that first night,” Jan breathes, successfully distracting you when she lets your hands slide away and replaces her empty palms with the soft strands of your hair. “I kept wishing you’d come earlier - but I know we agreed you had to wait until they fell asleep.”

You nod into her shoulder, taking a moment to breathe deeply and swim happily in the tender scent of her fresh laundry and floral cologne as you soak in her words. Since that first night. How long ago was that? Only a few weeks. Every evening since, you’ve been sneaking across the lawn and entering through the back door; greeting her in the hall with a sinful smile mirrored on both of your faces. It’s an exhilarating feeling, sneaking about like that, but being invited to her room, to stay there, would make things easier. You wouldn’t have to worry about waking anyone, or rushing out in the morning. You could even stay for breakfast with her….. you could even eat at the table in the kitchen and talk about whatever dreams you had the night before.

A wistful smile draws across your lips.

“…it’ll be nice,” Jan continues, soft and gentle. “We can spend more time here without worries. For as long as we want.”

You give her another nod, and try to ignore the tiniest trip of your heart. As long as we want.

Oh if only that were the case.

If only you could stay forever.

But if Jan didn’t wish it, it wouldn’t happen. No matter how much you longed for it. No matter how many nights you spent awake next to her, listening to her soft breaths, feeling the way she kicks in her sleep, your dreaming wouldn’t pay off. Jan Stevens calls the shots. And you’re just the pet who listens. The pet who yearns.

Though really…. Really you can’t help yourself. Really you can’t control what you feel. Really you can’t stop your own body from betraying you as your lips fall open and your tone speaks into the soft fabric of her pajamas and says

“As long as we want?”

It’s so soft, so barely there, that you figure she may not have heard it.

But despite her ears being covered, she knows. She hears. And so the gentle stroking hand in your hair slows, and you try not to resist the urge to pull back and stumble out of the bed and run far far away.

“I-” she starts, then stops, and you’re too busy trying to control your own heart and hide in the space of her neck that you can’t notice the surprised expression on her face. You sound hopeful. Why do you sound hopeful? Do you mean… do you… no. Well. Maybe? Jan blinks, then resumes the playing of your hair. “…The session ends in two weeks. What are your plans?”

To stay, I hope.

“I don’t know.” You don’t mean to sound so desperate and lost, but it’s the truth. You can probably get some good money off of the book that you’re writing about the Institute, and that’s just on the side of the journalism that got you into the gig in the first place. So you do have options - but none of them include the plush comfort of Jan Stevens’s body. And that’s a shame. What a shitty future. You can’t imagine finding any true happiness there; sparing the moments in which you think about Jan of course. Most thoughts about her bring you happiness.

The dull warning of being domesticated rings out like a siren in the back of your mind, but you leave it be. Domestication and devotion are sometimes good. They certainly feel that way.

Jan starts to push pieces of hair back behind your ears - and you take a moment to distract yourself and return the gentle affection by reaching up to one of the floppy ears by her head and playing with the loose fabric. An amused smile pulls at her stained lips, but her eyes are trained on the side of your face. Oddly vulnerable and oddly open and suddenly you think that maybe somehow your dream will come true.

And the gods must hear you.

“Well you don’t have to tour with them,” she murmurs.

You nod.

“You’re right. I don’t.”

“Mm. And the Institute’s been looking for an official documenter for some time now…”

That’s true. It has been. Even since before her, the owners through the years have tried time and time again to find someone to stay for records sake - in a similar fashion to the doctor. Someone who can handle the… oddities. And the changing personalities and the recruitment process and the pressure and the rules and now, above all else, the intensity that was Jan Stevens. Someone who can listen and obey and be utterly loyal, which is not like the doctor, but is instead one of Jan’s personal preferences. You’ve tried for so long not to allow yourself to even dream of getting that position; surely sleeping with the boss wasn’t a good idea for such a long term commitment. But no. Jan almost seems to… disagree?

You nod again, slow and unsure of where she’s going with this.

“That is… also true.”

“Mhm,” she hums, “and I can also do with some… daily excitement.” On that note, the hand in your hair tightens- and your head is suddenly being wrenched back. You meet smoldering blue eyes and stained lips and bunny ears and beauty beauty beauty oh so handsome beauty. Her breath warms your face you’re so close. “Can’t you?” Jan coos.

“Y-yes. I can do with- yes,” you agree, a little lost because your brain’s fizzled out in the face of her brazen mood. But she doesn’t seem to mind - and instead, she grins.

“So is that a yes?”

You blink.

“A yes?”

“You’ll stay?”

Oh.

Oh!

Jan is looking at you as though you’ve just told her she’ll never have to be lonely again. Which, honestly, in much fewer words, you have.

She’s told you in the past, on lust-drunk nights in the dark, that she doesn’t like loneliness. That the orgies are unentertaining and that at least one other lover in the past ruined her hopes and dreams of having anyone at all. Being as she is doesn’t really help either. She understands she’s eclectic. Not everyone’s cup of scalding hot tea. But at the same time, she meets caterers who could understand her. Who could love her. If only she wasn’t the boss. If only they wanted to love her more than their careers.

Do you love her more than your career?

Your eyes trace the lines of her face, right up to each curved edge of the satin bunny costume. Over the hills of her cheeks and tiny flaws in her lips and deep black of her eyeshadow and proud bridge of her nose and you find… you find… you find………

…you find her smile to be beautiful.

And worth seeing.

Each day.

Everyday.

For as long as she’ll have you.

Whether that’s for the rest of your lives or less.

“Yes,” you say, “yes, of course I’ll stay with you Jan Stevens.”

—————

Digging my claws into fluff so no one thinks I’m a heartless deranged animal who can only write smut and angst (even though that is the very truth) - Rip x

—————

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfiction #fanfic #jan stevens #jan stevens x reader #jan stevens flux gourmet #flux gourmet #Gwendoline Christie #Gwendoline Christie Jan Stevens #jan Stevens x you #jan Stevens x y/n #fluffy #fluffy fic

[purplecoffee13]

Mr. Sunshine - pt. 1

Summary: Harry is a chipper guy with a dimpled smile, amazing coffee, and a need for a tutor. You are a smart girl with an obsession with caffeine and a distaste for people. Harry is infatuated with you from the day he met you, and now he’s determined to spend more time, even if that means bribing you with coffee.

Wc: 2.5k

Tropes: grumpy!MC x sunshine!Harry (based off this ask)

Warnings: none. (for now *evil snicker*)

A/N: tumblr won’t let me add a picture for some reason, but just know that I was going to add the one of dunkirk!Harry in an orange sweater and green pants, leaned against the wall with his jaw clenched as he looks at a guy’s phone. I love that picture of him. Okay, anyways, enjoy!

Masterlist

Harry Styles has been obsessed with you from the very first year of Uni. He was paired with you and two other people on a sociology project, and since then, he has been enamored with everything about you.

It wasn't like your charm took him over. If anything, your silent glare is what drew him in. You guys seemed to have the laziest project partners because they barely helped, and whatever suggestions they did have were absolutely useless.

You were a quiet girl. Not necessarily because you were shy, but because you simply didn't feel like talking. You would usually say no more than ten sentences during a group meeting, but everything you did say was always of substance.

The first time you were alone with Harry, it was in the library, where you were supposed to have a group meeting to revise each other's work that you had all divided up. Harry and you were the only ones who actually showed up, and ended up revising each other's, and then the others' work that they had sent via e-mail.

Harry had never laughed harder than that day.

The comments you made while revising their work were so witty and sharp. Their work was incredibly bad, most of the spelling was even wrong. It was quite literally a train wreck, but your quick mindedness kept Harry's dimples on display.

You hadn't even tried to be funny, and you had never experienced someone actually liking what you said and being interested in it. It made you feel weird.

After that, you were sure you would never see Harry again. He was on the rugby team, very popular with the ladies and seemed to have a busy schedule with all the parties he went to. You weren't a stalker, but your roommate couldn't stop talking about him ever since they hooked up somewhere in the first month of uni. She was determined to go to every party Harry went to, as an attempt to sleep with him again, and Y/N had to hear all about it. She was glad her roommate graduated last year, her new roommate was way nicer anyway.

You didn't go to parties. It wasn't like you hadn't tried; you went to three parties in the first week. But that turned out to be the worst decision of your entire life... oh well, that's wasn't the point. The point was, there was no scenario in which you would ever cross paths with Harry again. Except that there was, apparently.

After the summer, fresh in your second year, you entered the auditorium for the introduction class for second years. It was nothing special, just a little welcome back with a presentation on what to expect for this year.

You decided to sit at the front. The louder people usually sat in the back, so you wouldn't be bothered here anyway. You had comfortably taken a seat in the first row, knowing many people would be too weirded out to sit so up close anyway. But about five minutes before orientation begin, you heard the seat next to you creak, and Harry Styles sat down next to you.

"Hi." He smiled at you.

"Hey." You greeted him back, glancing at the podium to see how long it would take for the presentation to start. You hated chit chat, and you knew he could talk a lot.

"How was your summer?" He asked, ever so polite. That was one thing about Harry, he was always nice and sweet. It didn't exactly go with his college reputation, but you also didn't expect any differently from him.

"Oh, just peachy." You said in a bit of a monotone voice, leaning back into your seat, and keeping your eyes fixated on the screen even though there was nothing to see yet. You were in no interest to keep this conversation going. You had chosen the bloody front seats for god's sake!

"Good to hear." Harry grinned at your sarcastic response, turning his head to the podium alike. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about your beautiful face and your ability to give him a stomach ache from laughing all summer. When he saw you sitting alone, he knew it was the perfect opportunity to approach you.

There was about ten seconds of silence, ten beautiful and peaceful seconds. But then it started. That nagging feeling inside of you, and it didn't take you two more seconds before you succumbed to it.

"How was your summer?" You said so softly it could almost be classified as a whisper. Harry's head shot your way, his eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" You heard the amusement in Harry's tone, and you immediately regretted ever speaking up. You turned your head to him with a fake smile.

"I said, how was your summer, Harry?"

Wow, he liked that.

You had never said his name before, not even when you were in that group project with him. Harry only realized that now that his name fell from your lips. Now, he was definitely going to try and make you say his name more. He liked the way it just rolled off your tongue, even though saying that sentences seemed like a bit of a struggle.

"Why, thank you for asking Y/N! My summer was splendid." He said with an overly excited tone that made you want to push him out of the chair.

"Good to hear." You repeated his words in a murmur. Another few empty seconds went by, and you felt like you had fulfilled your duty. Now you wouldn't have to feel guilty about being impolite, and—

"Yeah, I mean, I went to this surf camp somewhere in Portugal. It was pretty cool. And after that, I went to the Amalfi Coast for a week and a half. Have you ever been to the Amalfi Coast, Y/N? Because I hadn't, and honestly it was even better than I expected. A little touristy though, but I guess that just had mostly to do with the season."

Oh my god. Your face paled. He wouldn't stop talking. Uninterrupted, he kept yapping on and on about this surf camp and the Italian cuisine for three minutes. It were the longest minutes of your life.

But you didn't shush him. You weren't sure why. You knew he was doing this to tease you, but a part of you didn't want to be disrespectful and cut him off. He was the only one who had actually delivered work and showed up to every meeting last year, and he had been nothing but nice to you. So, despite him being an annoying pain in the ass, you decided to just let him talk.

Harry couldn't believe you just let him talk.

He was waiting for you to shut him down, but you didn't. He was able to keep going until the presentation begun. And although you didn't give any verbal input nor did you look at him the entire time he was speaking, he still couldn't believe you let him annoy you without even so much as a death glare. He had never been happier about being ignored.

He kept quiet for the orientation, but it took no longer than fifteen minutes before the presentation ended and everyone was free to go. You took your time with packing your notebook into your bag, mainly to avoid the crowd at the exit.

Harry was waiting until you'd stand up, to walk out of class together, but his friends mobbed him and pulled him along to go and get beer for some king of party that same night. He could've killed his friends. He felt like he blew his shot with you now, but he wasn't going to give up.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

*four weeks later*

You stare at the styrofoam cup in Harry's hands, a bored frown on your face as you look from the cup up at him.

"I bought you coffee." He says. His voice seems relaxed, but there is a hint of stress behind it that you can detect for some reason.

"I didn't ask." You reply in a bored tone, taking the cup out of his hands and taking a sip. Caramel Macchiato. "Thank you."

The corner of Harry's mouth tugs up, and he takes a seat besides you on the park bench. His arm is stretched out behind you, and he turns his entire body towards you. You, however, keep reading your book just like you were doing before he pushed that delicious coffee in your face.

"Y/N." Harry tried to grab your attention, but you keep your eyes fixated on the book.

"Harry." You echo his name.

"You would say we're friends, right?"

"I would not."

"Yes we are." Harry chuckles, but he sounds a bit defensive. You finally look up at him, your face stern as ever.

"I don't think we qualify as friends. Maybe acquaintances." You shake your head.

"We sit next to each other in every class we have together. You like me and we're friends, just admit it, Y/N." He teases. He knows you two are friends, but you are too stubborn to call it a friendship. He also knows that stems from the fact that you haven't had many friends, and thus it is not some kind of way to hurt his feelings.

"I tolerate you."

"You love me."

"You're just lucky I haven't pushed you off this bench."

"There's no point in denying it, Y/N." He dramatically sighs, and you clench your teeth at his toothy grin. You roll your eyes and go back to reading your book. You have learned over the last four weeks that it is best to ignore him. Kind of like a puppy. It stops misbehaving once your turn your back to it.

"So, now that we've established that we are best friends forever, I wanted to ask you a favor."

There we go, you knew there was a catch to this ridiculously good caramel macchiato. Seriously, where did he buy this?

"No." You instantly reply.

"You don't even know what I was going to ask yet."

"If it involves you then I want no part in it."

"Oi! Now that's not how it works, silly! Being friends means you want to be around each other. That's the difference between friends and strangers." He over explains it to you like he would to a child, lightly patting you on your shoulder.

You let out a big sigh, then shut your book and open your bag, getting ready to leave. Harry is being too annoying today; his chipper energy always throws you off. You get up and walk away, taking another sip of the coffee he bought for you. The warm liquid is so smooth and sweet, sugary but just the right amount.

Fuck...

You stop in your tracks, and turn around, walking back to Harry. He is surprised to see you returning to him, and his stomach tenses up out of excitement.

"Where did you get this." You point at the coffee in your right hand. Harry slouches a bit, his legs spread wide. Your eyes accidentally trail off to his legs, but you quickly regain your focus. This is not what that's about— why did you even do that?

Harry, however, has a shit eating grin on his face. He noticed it, the distraction in your eyes. Bingo, he thought. That was his sign.

"Tutor me, and I'll tell you." Harry throws the offer straight on the table.

That's what he came to ask you? Jesus Christ...

"Why?"

"I can't make sense of literature class. I need your help. You're good at writing, I saw the grade you got on that first paper."

He's right, you are good at writing. You've always loved literature and all the theories that came with it. It kind of came with being a loner, you guessed. Or maybe you are such a loner because of your preference of books over people. That thought threw you for a loop, but you quickly got out of your head.

You weigh out the pros and cons of tutoring Harry. You wouldn't ask him for money, because you feel like you know him too well for that. Plus, it just feels like ripping him off, especially when it comes to tutoring literature theories. So what other pros are there besides him bringing you coffee? None. The cons consist of quite literally everything else that comes with tutoring Harry: the free time that you have to dedicate to him, his loud presence, him...

"If you bring me one of these to every session, I will help you." You say, going against your own better judgment. Harry's eyes light up.

Your brain scrambles to understand why you are feeling so opposed to rejecting Harry in any sense of the word, but you can't seem to figure out where the pit in your stomach comes from any time you want to be mean to Harry.

"Really?" He asks in pure disbelief.

"Don't question it, I'll change my mind."

"You're right, you're right." He throws his hands up, a sliver of stress flashing over his face that makes you want lift up the corners of your mouth. Harry gets up and puts his arms around you. You just stand there, one arm stretched out, trying to protect your coffee.

"What are you doing?" You ask, an uncomfortable frown on your face.

"I'm hugging you."

"Well don't. You're separating me from my coffee." You say, and Harry laughs at the strained sound of your voice. He is smiling at you once pulled out of the hug.

"Alright, I've got to split. We'll text about when and where?" He asks, slinging his book bag over shoulder. He turns around to walk away, but he looks back when you speak up again.

"You don't have my number." You say, to yourself just as much as to him.

"Don't worry about it." He calls out and disappears into the distance before you can say another word.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

*5 hours later*

Unknown number:

Hey teach. Told you not to worry about it ;)

You:

Is this the part where I file a police report?

Unknown Number:

If you never want to see that caramel macchiato again, then be my guest.

Anyways, I was thinking about wednesday at 4. That a good time for you, teach?

You:

Not if you keep calling me 'teach'.

Unknown Number:

Right. I'll let you choose another nickname. You have the choice between: buttercup, peanut, or cuddle cakes.

You:

You know what, I'll find that coffee place by myself.

Unknown Number:

Ah, c'mon. I threw cuddle cakes in there especially for you. Personally, I prefer ‘munchkin’.

Y/N? Wednesday work for you?

Hello?

Okay fine sorry, I'll bring the coffee and I won’t call you cuddle cakes.

Please reply, I'm desperate.

You:

Yes, I can see that from the four consecutive texts.

Unknown Number:

:)

You:

Wednesday's fine. See you then.

Unknown Number:

Great. See you then sweet cheeks.

You:

I'm blocking you.

Unknown Number:

Blocking me is blocking the access

to that caramel macchiato.

*seen*

See you Wednesday ;)

#harry styles #fanfic #writing #blurb #series #harry Edward styles #one direction #fluff #fluffy fic #grumpy sunshine #grumpy sunshine trope