#projecting on y/n

[n3onstarss]

An Odd Predicament - Ch. 1, Lost

Montgomery Gator x Transmasc!reader

You get an unexpected roomie after the disastrous fire that took down the Mega Pizza Plex. How will a human and a gator survive this odd predicament?

this is literally just me projecting, so 'reader' also has autism and just anything else i have. this is self indulgent and I'm sorry if you came here looking for a random fic, whoopsies!

also, Chips is based of my sister's dog, Jack is based off of my dog and Sally is based off of my late cat

TWs for; talk of trauma, mentioned sh, mentioned anxiety, mention of death/decommission

if i miss anything please let me know so I can tag it!

A dark house sits on a empty back road in the middle of borderline nowhere. Neighbors are few and far between enough that everyone keeps to their own. The outskirts of the city are quiet and devoid of human life this early in the morning except the occasional car passing by on the way to work or rooster crowing. All is calm and the one-story mobile home is all too dark and still not dark enough. The moon, inky black and new, is setting slowly, partially covered by dark rain clouds. Inside this little house in the middle of borderline nowhere is two cats, one dog, and one person. The dog, Chips, is curled on the couch. The little Australian shepherd passed out completely. The black cat, Sally, is curled on top of the tall bookshelf by the TV and the ginger cat, Jack, is curled on top of Chip's hip.

And the human?

The human is fast asleep in their warm, cozy bed. That was, until a knock at the door jostled Chips awake and got her to barking. The barking itself wakes you suddenly, startling you out of that comfortable warmth and the lull of sleep. The scare, and the falling out of bed it caused, made your adrenaline and heart rate spike.

It took a minute of flailing to separate yourself from your now-tangled blankets and nab your phone off your bedside table.

"7 AM?!" a whisper yell, almost a hiss, escapes you. Who in their right fucking mind would knock on your door at 6 IN THE MORNING?!

You debate actually answering the door, or climbing back in your twin size bed and soaking up the left over warmth, if there was any by now, and letting Chips scare them away. But, alas, the knock came again, and Chips was persistent in her yapping.

Draping the comforter over your shoulders, clutching it closed and stalking through the cold, dark house was easy enough, but once you reached the main living area something felt.. wrong. No car lights or flashlights are outside, your porch light is off and you can't hear anything even when you press your ear to the front door. Chips wasn't even near the front door, where was she barking from?

Then, the knock sounded again. This time you could pinpoint from where, the back door.

Meandering your way through the living room and little arching doorway was fine, but panic reared its ugly head once you got to the kitchen. What would happen if you opened the door? Who the FUCK was outside?? Are you gonna end up on some shitty true crime podcast?

All was silent inside and out, if you didn't count Chips barking up a storm and the tippy-taps her nails made on the floors. You almost walk away, thinking maybe it was just some stupid racoons, but then a familiar voice spoke in a hushed tone.

"Hello? Cher, are you there? Cher please, open up darlin' I can't be seen outside. Please?"

The shock of hearing your coworkers voice outside, let alone begging you to open the door, was enough to break you from your stupor and you stepped closer to the door. You'd know that voice anywhere, being his official 'caretaker' at the pizzaplex.

"Monty? hello?" a hoarse whisper, but apparently heard and acknowledged. A heavy, relieved sigh escaped the now vaguely-visible silhouette outside, shadow showing through the frosted glass.

"Cher!"

Chips was still barking away, and you reached into her treat bowl and handed her a rawhide so she'd be busy and quiet. After Chips ran the corner and into the living room again you finally went to open the door. The wooden door, the one with the frosted glass, unlocked with a audible click and opened with a squealing creak. Now you could clearly see your coworker outside. And oooooh boy.

even in the dim moonlight and through the vinyl door's glass you could see ash and burns covering the, once green now grey, silicone. His glasses were broken and his claws dull. His paint was chipped, he was missing a tooth and one eye seemed to be drifting. He looked like he was about to be split right in half if he wasn't careful.

Red hot rage boiled in your veins. Someone, or something, had hurt your coworker, your friend, bad enough to make him have to trudge all the way to your house from the pizzaplex while damaged, dirty and, by the looks of it, low on power and spaced out.

he came from the pizzaplex. the pizzaplex that was well within city limits.

How has he even gotten here, anyways? and where was everyone else? All questions for another time, right now you had to get him fixed up and safe.

"Monty. what happened?" you spoke, trying to keep your voice soft to not alarm him anymore then he already was.scooted out of the way and leaned to prop open the vinyl door and invite him inside.

He took his sweet time standing outside all spaced out and staring blankly at you as if questioning why. And in that time Jack, that ginger bitch, came around the corner and gunned it straight for the open door. Luckily you'd gotten him that little bell collar, even though it was annoying as all hell, cause you were able to scoop him as he tried to dart past. He wasn't even phased by the gator animatronic outside, the fearless bastard. Now you had a door propped and a cat under your arm, and Monty looked more bewildered then ever.

"Well, are you coming in?" Your tone was teasing and playful as you try to keep panic from seeping through. and apparently you succeeded.

"Yeah, yeah sorry.." And with that you finally had the gator indoors, and not a second too soon.

A car drove past slowly, you could see it from your back door as it came crawling up the road. As if searching for something.

As if searching for Monty.

That stupid gator and you had been planning to try and get him outta there for months, especially recently with threats to decommission the glamrock over every little thing. But now here he was, safe and sound, and you were not going to send him back to that stupid fucking hellhole.

You didn't even spare the car a wave as you step back indoors and locked up again. Jack wriggled his way out of your arms, onto the floor and back up to the counter. The cold door against your forehead works wonders to calm you and counting to 10 definitely helps. You're only standing for a few seconds when you turn to check in Monty.

Somehow the massive gator looks so.. small. He's holding the tip of his tail in both hands and looking around your kitchen. anywhere but at you, you note. He looks like he's about to cry, if animatronics could, and he's swaying a little. His hands are insanely jittery.

"Monts, you good?" what a stupid stupid question. of fucking course he's not, you idiot! He's hurt, tired and shaking like a damn leaf.

His head snaps to look at you, eyes blown wide, before they return to normal and he calms down in the span of seconds.

"Huh? oh, yeah, I'm good.." by now he's dropped his tail and is holding one of your chairs to keep himself upright.

"yeaaah, no. you're definitely not lookin' so hot bud. stay right here, I'll be back."

Thank God for you being semi-prepared. that oil wouldn't come out of the floor for a while if it got in it and you had a oil towel somewhere. Speed-walking feels all too slow and your blanket was getting tangled, so you drop it and keep moving, jogging now through your small house You have to go through the arch, to the little hallway and then down the small hallway to the bathroom. Snagging the oil towel is easy, now to find a damn charging cable strong enough to charge Monty. And luckily, you had just the thing.

A jog past the guestroom to the end of the hall put you in your room. Sitting right on your dresser was a faz-co official portable charger. Stolen months ago by accident after you'd out in in your bag absentmindedly and never returned for fear of getting fired.

You jogged back to the kitchen, towel and charger in hand and almost fell tripping on Chips, who had taken over your comforter and was getting rawhide all over it. Oh well, there are more important issues right now.

The kitchen is surprisingly empty when you arrive, and panic floods you before a noise grabs your attention. Heavy footfalls echo through the house, and the source is definitely in the living room now.

please don't let there be oil on anything, please, your thoughts are panicked, but the worry about oil distracts from the fear of your friend essentially dying in your house, even if only for a second.

Monty is lumbering sluggishly around the living room, standing in the middle with his tail held close so as not to break anything. strange, the 'most aggressive' animatronic is being careful as he moves about your house. Sally is awake now, and gearing to jump down and say hello.

There is indeed oil in the carpet, but that's fine.

"Monty, c'mere please." You don't have the heart to be mad at him right now.

Monty drops his tail in surprise, and it hits the chewed up remote, courtesy of Chips. The TV comes to life and a news station quietly plays a devastating scene.

"Tonight, a tragic story and the potential end of a legacy. Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizzaplex has been burned down in a series of unfortunate events this evening. The fire is rumored to have started in the basement and the authorities are investigating as we speak. The fire was reported to have started at about 5 in the morning. The cause is thought to be arson or electrical errors, but it in unconfirmed," As the man speaks images of the Plex are in screen. One, whole and clean, shoes the Plex as you'd seen it just last Friday, only two days ago, and the other shows a pile of burnt timber and metal.

Monty now seems visibly distressed as you're both transfixed with the screen, a low whine escaping his voice box. After they cut to an ad break you lean down and grab the remote, shutting the TV off. In this time you hadn't realized Sally looping between Monty and your legs and bunting her head against both of your calves.

It must've made an interesting sight to a witness if there was any; A gator looking sheepish, a human in shock and a cat unaware of the situation. Both the robot and human staring slack-jawed at the news showing their home and workplace destroyed. Huh, it would've been funny if it weren't for you losing a job and Monty being half-dead and traumatized.

You slowly collect your nerves, hoping you can do this without making anything worse. ignore.. that. for now and work on patching up Monty.

"... Okay Monts, take a seat on the floor please? by an outlet?"

Monty is now dragged out of his stupor too.

"Huh? oh, yeah, okay. okay, I can do that." Monty meanders over to the far wall and sits directly under the window, not a full foot from the recliner. You walk over and crouch down next to him, plugging in the cord to the outlet and then maneuvering around to sit infront of him.

"Can you open your stomach hatch please?"

a quiet hiss fills the air as his stomach hatch swings open like double doors, revealing his charging port.

"Thank you." How Monty isn't freaking out right now you don't know, but you're lucky he's being compliant right now. A quick click and he's all plugged in, charging up. Next matter, now that his battery won't die while you work, checking for injuries. Sure animatronics don't have blood, but they were still programmed to feel, and that includes pain. Extra lucky you, the animatronics have stomach-like tanks that allow them to ingest certain items, and holy fuck do you hope that list includes acetaminophen.

"Stay right here, I'll be back in a few seconds, I'm going to get you a painkiller before i start cleaning you up, mkay?" You stand up and back away, holding your palms towards him like someone convincing a dog or toddler to stay in one place. Except, y'know, it's the plex's most violent animatronic who you are lucky enough to be close friends with.

Monty blinks up at you and nods, and with that confirmation you take off sprinting. First the acetaminophen, which is in your bedside table. You dart down the hall, make an excessive and exaggerated jump over Chips, and grab the door frame to help you turn. You almost throw the bottle with how fast you snag it, before turning and running back. And now a drink to wash it down. The kitchen is filled with the sound of pouring rain, looks like that storm you'd been hoping for finally came, but this wasn't the time.

Holy fuck you hope he can drink water or Dr.Pepper, cause that's all you got right now. Grabbing a plastic cup and waiting for it to fill with the fridges filtered water takes longer then you want, but snagging a can of Dr. Pepper out of the cardboard box on the counter is quick enough.

However, now you're hindered in your running. Running will spill the water and shake the can, both are bad. You kinda forget his short the walk is to where Monty is parked.

Setting everything down, you finally get to work. Struggling with the child lock in your frenzy, Monty watches with quiet amusement at your panic. The bottle comes open and two tablets spill into your palm. Or, it was supposed to be two, you now have a handful of the red and blue capsules. pinching two you dump the rest back in and hand the two to Monty.

"Water or Dr. Pepper?" the question is fast and catches Monty off guard. no matter how long he's worked with you, it still surprises him you're the only person actually interesting in giving him a say.

"Uhhh.. water?" He's not sure how to respond, and you can hear that. You finish screwing the cap back into the acetaminophen and place it on the windowsill, which means leaning over Monty.

Monty has had a bit of a.. admiration?, almost, for a while now. The close proximity makes him freeze as you reach over him. And now you're back where you were, criss cross applesauce on the floor and holding a glass of water out to him. He registers the pills in his right hand now and realizes what he's being expected to do. Normally, he would resist if told what to do, but he was tired and sick and in pain, plus it was you, he trusted you with anything.

He took the water into his left hand, popped the pills and downed the glass all rather quickly. The glass was set on the windowsill right next to the acetaminophen bottle.

"good job, Monts. next matter of business," you said, trying to keep your voice light and teasing, but panic still laced the edges, "you're obviously hurt and leaking everywhere, may i clean you up?"

another polite question, another surprise. You could be so mean when you wanted to, but never with Monty. Monty, who trusted you. Monty who you had fallen head over heels only three weeks into your new job. Monty, who you had been working with for almost 6 months now. Monty. Your friend.

A nod and a low hum, a purr almost. Confirmation.

"thank you, M. will you please scoot from the walk just a bit so i can clear your spinal strut first? I'll be quick so you can lean again, i just wanna make sure your spine isn't damaged."

"sure thing, cher."

the sound of metal on carpet was quiet, but all the commotion and then silence drew Jack to the area like mice to cheese. Ironic, considering his full name was Montgomery Jack, after the cheese. You hadn't been working at the Plex when you got Jack, and once you did you teased Monty about sharing a name with your cat.

Saddled in behind Monty, you began feeling down his spine from the base of his neck down. and, technically, since his tailbone was connected to the spine you had to check his tail. Sure he didn't have bones like humans, being a robot and all, but it was reassuring to check. Jack pranced his way into Monty's lap and plopped down, content to rest on the dirty gator.

"all clear, no fractures or breaks that i can feel.. are you okay enough to run a diagnostic?" as if on cue the gator freezes up and his eyes close, semi-obvious signs of a diagnostic.

"All done. Just some dull claws, some cracked abdominal plating and a broken teeth, nothing too ba-" "and burns, and you're definitely not okay and in a ton of pain." you didn't give the poor gator a chance to finish his sentence of self-proclaimed okay-ness.

"What hurts the most? well work our way down the pain scale so you don't sit here in pain while I work.. if that's okay of course?" Monty chuckled a little at that, you were almost as much of a papa bear as Freddy was, if not more. nagging on everyone for their needs but neglecting your own. Like that time you told Monty to go take a breather but wore your binder for almost 2 days straight like an idiot.

".. the burns hurt the worst, then the plating.." he loathed to admit that he was hurt, he hated being taken care of unless it was you, but he wouldn't say that out loud. you knew this but refused to let him wiggle out of this. you were going to help of it's the lest thing you do.

"Okay, good start. I think I have some burn cream in my garage," you started to say as you 'stood' on your knees and hobbled around him. Seeing him gently stroking Jack made your heart swell with pride and something you didn't dare admit. "I can run and grab it if you and Jack wait here. I know it won't help much, being a robot and all, but the cooling sensation should get through your sensors and take the edge off the pain. Or an ice pack if you don't think the cream'll work."

"Icepack's fine." Monty didn't stop petting Jack for a second while the little ginger rolled around and chirped at him. As you stood up to leave you could hear a quiet "..thank you."

Your ventures through the house are much calmer now, knowing the extent of Monty's injuries are not the worst and can be dealt with with time and patience.

You pull open one of the dark green drawers and snag some Ziploc bags, you'd noticed quite a few bad burns and wanted to have enough ice for at least the major ones.

At first you try to get the ice directly in the bag by holding it open with both hands and pressing down on the paddle thing with your pinkies, but that just gets ice everywhere. You cringe at the noise of ice hitting the floor, but Jack and Chips come sprinting and Sally trots in after them. It's not long before Monty is also on the doorway, watching you frozen with a look of mixed astonishment and disappointment at the three animals gathered around the melting ice on the floor.

You know he's there, hard not to when his hulking frame makes so much noise traversing your old mobile home. You look up at him bewildered and throw both arms down to gesture at the animals before you..

and Monty chuckles.

That's.. a sound you haven't heard in a while. He's been so serous lately, worried about decommission, but here he is, safe in your home and laughing at your pets' antics. Eventually he looks from you to a chair and back, as if silently asking to sit down. The moment you nod, he's gingerly pulling out a old chair and settling into it.

You smile and how oddly polite he looks while sitting at your little table. It's old and wooden, all the chairs creak and the table is one of those circular ones with the leg in the middle. the leg of the table and the headrest things on the chair are all delicately carves into swirls and grapes and the table leg has lions faces on all four sides. it was a gift from your grandma, and Monty looks so out of place next to it. Maybe it's the sight of new tech with old furniture, but it makes you stifle a giggle.

Finally back on task, you walk back across the room and open one of the top cupboards, snagging some stupid plastic Halloween cup you're half sure you've had since childhood. As you walk back to the fridge and begin the task of getting ice into the cup and then into the bag you realize Monty observing you. By now the little beasts have lapped up the ice and disappeared, all except Sally, who was weaving between and bunting Monty's legs again.

Eventually the bags are full, and by that time it's only 7:47 am. You begin to prepare the bandages and tape to attach the bags when you realized it had only been 47 minutes since your friend, and coworker, showed up to your house in the middle of nowhere. How did he even get here?

"Hey Monty.. How did you get here?"

the question catches the gator off guard, making him freeze. He slowly sits back in the chair from where he had been leaned over to pet Sally, eyes blank and blown wide.

"you don't have to answer-" you start, realizing you overstepped, before he cut you off. "Walked."

"I'm sorry if I overstepped, i didn't know and I wanted to make sure you were okay and-" "Cher. I'm fine, you're fine, we are fine."

You suck in a breath through clenched teeth teeth and close your eyes. Monty guides you through a old, simple exercise you both used. "in..." a deep inhale, "and out..." a equally deep exhale. You rinse and repeat a few times, willing your heart rate to slow. The memories that come with the instructions are soothing.

You're the one who started it, using the trick to will yourself down from panic and anxiety setting in and keeping you from scratching at your hands. Eventually Monty picked it up and would say the words for you and you for him when his anger nearly boiled over. Now it had been as easy as breathing to say in and out for the other when they needed it.

And boy did it do wonders.

"okay, okay.. I'm good. Now, let's get you patched up!" Monty was always astonished at how fast you could bounce back. It always felt like there were two Suns instead of one, just one was a bit more angry and prone to mood swings. Before he even said a word he'd already had icepack's slapped, figuratively not literally, over his burns and secured with bandages.

As Monty watches you do the last wrap he notes the scabs across the back of your hand. When you finish tying the double knot and go to leave he gently snatches your wrist and drags you closer to him.

"You been scratchin' again?"

Ohhhh no. you were in for it now.. "Uhhh.. no? Jack's been getting real handsy about wanting to play, bit and scratched me a few times, but I'm all good!" You faltered and stumbled through your confession, unsure about your lie. You didn't wanna blame your cat, but you didn't want to admit it had been getting bad again either. winter was fast approaching, and that meant seasonal depression.

"You don't sound too sure, cher. is that what happened? truly?" He didn't wanna push too far and scare ya away, but he needed to know so he could help.

crickets. no response. the house was so quiet you could hear the whirrs and clicks coming from Monty's body as it preformed it's functions.

"it's not a big deal! its nothin' i can't deal with Monts. But look at you! you're covered in burns and basically bleeding out! We need to worry about you right now, I'm fine."

"So we're both not fine. Noted."

You can't argue with that, you guess. Just in the nick of time Chips starts barking at Jack and they begin to play. It's like.. 8? in the morning now. you're out of a job too, so you get a day at home. A yawn escapes you, you hadn't slept much and when you did it wasn't good.

"So... is the oil a leak or..?"

"Nah, just leftovers from earlier. should be dried now. wouldn't mind a little wipe down if you're up to it, but i can do it if you don' wanna."

"nah, i got it. glad you're not leaking though."

A warm towel is pressed to dirty silicone as you try your best to scrub off the oil without hurting him worse. He's stiff as a rock the whole time, relaxing slowly as the towel makes him feel cleaner again. Once the oil was all gone you made for your room.

"I'm going back to bed, I'm not usually up this early on a Sunday. You're welcome to sleep anywhere you want if you want. everything in the house is fair game, the blankets are in the hall closet. The porch is always open, but i don't recommend going outside just yet. G'night Mont!"

Monty looked after you bewildered. You trusted him to just.. show up at your house and not do anything while you sleep?!

It takes a few minutes, but Monty decides to follow you into your room. He raps his knuckle lightly on the door before entering to find you looking passed out.

well.. you had said everything in the house was fair game so...

Monty walks back into the hall and grabs the comforter off the floor, as well as a couple throws off the couch and some pillows, and meanders back into the dimly lit room. He starts up a nest of sorts right by your bed, not wanting to be far from you.

you were safe, he knew you and knew you would protect him. the same couldn't be said for many others.

Apparently you weren't yet asleep because while Monty was rearranging the blankets you spoke up.

"Monts..?"

that startled him. a little too much. He stared at you, frozen mid work.

"Monty you big idiot don't sleep on the floor.. come on.." you sleepily scooted back, patting the spot next to you. It was such a small bed, but Monty couldn't say no to you. He lifted himself off the floor and quietly crawled into your bed. it took a lot of wiggling and rearranging but eventually you were both settled, him on his back and you on his chest.

"you plugged in..?" you mumble against the muffling silicone. Monty shifts a little and nabs a charger off the floor while you sit up enough for him to plug in. once he was secure you instantly flopped down and drifted off.

Your shallow breathing was soothing to Monty, and a strange feeling bloomed in his chest. something like pride, but so much more. He nabbed some extra blankets off the floor and made sure you were cozy before relaxing, the feeling only getting stronger.

Monty was soon lulled to sleep by the adrenaline crash, the pouring rain, the acetaminophen coursing through him soothing his aches, and the warm, comforting weight on his chest.

Oh yeah, he could get used to this.

#monty x reader #montgomery gator x reader #montgomery gator #self indulgent #projecting on y/n #fnaf fanfic #fanfic #x reader #fnaf monty #fnaf montgomery gator #fnaf montgomery #montgomery x reader

[shanalikeanna]

Based on Solar Lunacy: Chapter 13 by @bamsara

#fnaf security breach #dca fandom #solar lunacy #the daycare attendant #dca x reader #dca x y/n #dca x self insert #fnaf sun #fnaf moon #I'm still going strong I love this fic so much #I did catch back up with it and I really just could draw so much #there need to be more hours in the day #also you can tell I just really love the scenes where Moon is feral #not projecting #totally

[1-800-kami]

imagine rambling about a topic that you’re really passionate about to your boyfriend, satoru. it’s about something that you clearly enjoy a lot, and he could easily tell how enamored you are about it just from the look on your face. he finds himself smiling unconsciously just at how cute you are.

you’re in the middle of speaking when suddenly, you stop. you’re silent now, and you find yourself shrinking away from satoru with a frown. god, you always do this with people. you ramble about something they could really care less about, and they’re probably thinking about how annoying you are. was he even paying attention to what you were talking about?

you feel your cheeks heating up, and you put your head in your hands. “i’m sorry for talking so much. you probably don’t even wanna hear about all of this-“

oh, but satoru’s different. he gently grabs your hands so he can see your pretty face, and he smiles. satoru coaxes you to continue speaking. “don’t say that. where did you even get that idea from? just keep talking, baby…

…you know i love listening to everything that you have to say.”

#this is Not me projecting btw #gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff

[woewriting]

BLOODLINES wednesday addams x vampire!reader

tags. mdni, +18 only! blood mention/drinking, reader's a vampire duh, no pronouns used, thigh riding, small master x pet dynamics at the end. word count. 1595 a/n. first wdw in weeks... just a small thing for my vampire fellas. | masterlist

──

Your leg bounced up and down, the almost inaudible sound of the heel of your shoes hitting the wooden floor annoying the girl sitting next to you on the bed, the movements of your legs and the way you chewed on your bottom lip enough to get her annoyed.

Closing the book, Wednesday turned to you, eyes alternating between the irritating move and your features.

“Can you stop with that infuriating sound? It’s distracting me.”

“Uh?” You look at Wednesday, eyes darting from yours to your bouncing leg in a silent answer. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t even notice it.”

“Now that you do, stop it.”

“I can’t control it.”

Wednesday took a deep breath, bringing her hand to rest on top of your knee, forcing you to stop. Somehow, your leg was still shaking under her touch and now, a heatwave spread inside your body at the sudden touch, a bright red color threatening to take over your vision, a sharp pain in your gums.

You closed your eyes, taking deep breaths and trying to take control over your instincts. But Addams being so close to you with her almost unnoticeable perfume and hand on your thigh, it was hard and any small thing coming from her was enough to get you to lose control.

“You’re starving, aren’t you?” All you could do was nod, not wanting her to see the sharp fangs that sunk on the inside of your mouth. Removing her hand from your leg, you felt a weight being placed on top of your body instead. “Open your eyes, let me take a look at them.”

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“I wasn’t asking. Open them now and look at me.”

Despise the calming way she spoke, her words and demanding tone were enough to get you to do as you were told, unable to resist the smell she had; It was like a spell placed on you.

Wednesday brought her hands to your face, opening your lips to see the sharp fangs you were hiding, pressing the tip of a finger under one, a single drop of raven blood poking out of the small wound was enough to cover your lower lip with her movement.

“Wends…” You warned with a hoarse voice, controlling the impulse to lick the sweet blood off of your lip.

The dark, silky sheets under your hands ripping off around your nails, stopping you from digging the skin of her waist. Knowing Wednesday, she would definitely make you pay for a new set.

Ignoring the warning timbre in your voice, Wednesday opened her white blouse, dragging the fabric away from her shoulder area along with the strip of her bra.

“Take it.”

“No.”

“If you want to keep that snarky tongue of yours, I suggest you to stop fighting and just do as I am telling you to.”

The second you focused on the cold, pale skin, of her neck, everything around you turned red, melting as you caught the sound of her blood flowing through her body, the steady pace of her heartbeat, muffling every small sound that surrounded the both of you.

All you could hear, see and smell, came from the small girl sitting on your lap. And that was all that matters.

The red, warm, sweet blood that kept her alive. The blood of a Raven, Wednesday being the last one of her bloodline known to you.

Noticing the lack of motion coming from your frozen body, the Addams girl gently tugged you by the back of your head, bringing you closer to her.

“Take it.” She whispered; fingers lost in your hair. “It’s all yours.”

“All mine…” You replied, lost in your red reality, barely processing what left her lips, all you could hear, loud and clear, was the pumping of her jugular, the sweet blood rushing through her veins.

Leaning in, your nose brushed on the cold skin, taking a deep breath. The ghostly touch causing the other to close her eyes. You opened your mouth, enough for the tip of your tongue to touch her, a surprised sigh coming from Wednesday.

“I profoundly hate when you do that.”

“Are you sure? Because I can hear every beat of your heart.” You placed a kissed near her collarbones. “And the way your thighs are pressing against mine.” Another kiss, a little bit higher.

“Stop talking. It’s an order.”

You laughed against her, hands slowly moving from the silky sheets to her thighs. “You’re in no place to boss me around, Addams.”

“I thought you enjoyed being my little pet.”

“I enjoy more when you’re my prey.”

Looking into your eyes, Wednesday could barely see the color of it, dark red mixed with golden strings covering most of your iris, pupils dilated in a black color. The veins under your eyes, disappearing and appearing as if it was following the beat of a music, little did she know it was synchronized with her own heartbeat.

It always felt like that, to be under her spell, if felt paralyzing, something in the way Wednesday smelled and tasted like, so sweet it was like drinking honey.

For her, having your teeth sinking in her neck, poison spreading through your saliva turning the pain into pleasure in just a few seconds. She would never admit, but being your personal blood bag made the pain settle in between her thighs.

She needed you as much as you needed her.

Why else would she sit on your lap and keep you around? Allowing you to follow every single step of hers like a lost puppy, holding you on a tight leash, stopping you from biting others like a misbehaved puppy.

Gulping, she licked her lips, your eyes following every single movement of her body. She felt like an addicted waiting for the next jet of poison, it’s been days since the last time you fed on her.

“Did you drink from somebody else?” You shook your head. You tried to, actually, blood bags, human blood straight from the vein, animal blood that you captured with Eugene’s help; they all tasted like garbage. “Then why are you refusing to do as I tell you to?”

“Because I don’t want to hurt you.”

A small grin tugged on her lips. “I want you to hurt me.”

A gush of adrenaline ran in the veins under your eyes the second you heard her whisper, eyes filled with a specific glow that you almost never see in Wednesday: excitement.

The moment your fangs dug in the cold skin, a low moan escaped between Wednesday’s parted lips, the fingers in your hair pulling you impossible closer. The hot, thick red liquid filled your mouth, the iron taste almost unnoticeable, being replaced by a sweet taste that only she had.

Throwing her head back in an attempt to give you more access to her neck, she didn’t even notice that small rhythm her hips were following against your legs, rubbing herself on you. Her scent, stronger than ever, filling every centimeter of your lungs like smoke.

Moving your hands to her hips, you bruised the covered skin as you helped her steady movements. Opening her lips to take a deep breath soon became a breathless moan, your name escaping her parted lips as you drank more and more from her, the poison spreading through her veins as you lick the open wound, capturing what escaped from your hungry mouth before biting her again.

Wednesday was weak in your arms, the hot feeling in the pit of her stomach getting hotter and hotter as she rounded her hips on your leg, a wet stain on the fabric of your jeans as she came, eyes rolling to the back of her head and body falling back, being held by your hands.

Switching positions, you laid the small girl on her bed, dark silky sheets embracing her body as you laid on top of her to lick around her neck, not wasting a single drop of the precious blood that you couldn’t go without.

Kissing your way up to her face, Addams still had her eyes closed, a fainted reddish color spread on her cheeks as she came down from her high. When she opened her eyes, she was met with your golden ones, shining like a star in the night sky. She caressed your face, thumb swiping your lips to collect the thick liquid that covered them before gently sucking on them, maintaining the eye contact; a satisfied hum in her throat.

“Kiss me. I want to taste my blood on your tongue.”

As she commanded, you connected your lips together in a kiss that was soft at first, turning to bruising and desperate as her legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you in, lips wrapping around your tongue to get more of it before she breaks the kiss, hands moving to your shoulders.

“What are you doing?” You asked, confused, as she tried to push you down, but you, being stronger than her, didn’t move an inch.

“I need your tongue somewhere else, and I need it now, so be a good pet and collaborate with me.”

Wednesday was nearly screaming inside, her weak body in desperate need of you, one of the collateral damages from your poison. And the way you smelled, the way your hands touch her body, it was a lot more than just the venom that rushed in her veins, there was something else in the brownish glow that stared at you. You smiled.

“As you wish, master.”

#✍️ #wednesday addams #wdw #bloodlines #wednesday drabble wednesday #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday x reader #wednesday addams x reader #netflix wednesday #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday x gn reader #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday addams x gn reader #wednesday addams x gender neutral reader #wednesday x female reader #wednesday #wednesday x gender neutral reader #evilwednesday #1k club #wednesday addams tag #spidey's projects

[wesstars]

hot on your lips

tara carpenter x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: her hands are on your shoulders, and the next thing you know, your back is pressed to the bed, and tara’s rocking her weight on top of you. she leans in close, breath as soft as her skin against your lips, breathing out a quiet ‘yes.’ wc: 3.0k tags: explicit, minors DNI!! no-ghostface au bc i didn’t feel like fitting it in. bad dirty talk, top!reader and bottom!tara, needy!tara, D/s dynamics, reader is a little tiny bit of a sadist (as a treat,) sex on camera, exhibitionism and voyeurism, mild restraint, mild degradation, horribly excessive use of italics a/n: am I back?? idk how i feel about this. thank you to @evilwednesday for helping me out w the cover image & the title :)

masterlist

Tara’s in your arms before her bag even hits the floor.

You’re so, so glad the hallway is empty as she nearly bowls you over in the doorway of your shared apartment, peppering your face with kisses. You lift her up and give her a spin, pressing your lips to hers—it’s pure comfort, after so many long months of Tara’s school semester. Long distance was a real bitch sometimes, but Tara reminded you every day of how it was all worth it. In fact, you’d felt as if what you had with her was made more real by the distance so often between you. But now, she’s in your arms, finally, and you nudge her suitcase inside with your foot, bending to grab the backpack she’d discarded.

Pulling back, she speaks, so soft and shy it nearly makes your heart burst. “Hi.”

“Tara,” you breathe, “I thought—I wasn’t supposed to go pick you up from ORD until—”

“There was a change of plans,” she interrupts, palms on your cheeks to pull you into a bruising kiss. You feel yourself practically melt into her, like a docile dog in a firm hand. You set her bag down, just managing to not drop it. “I took an earlier flight-” her lips are on yours again- “Couldn’t wait.”

“Couldn’t wait… for what?”

“This.” She slips her tongue into your mouth, all hot and velvet on your teeth. God, the way it felt to miss her was addictive, but this was a million times better. Grabbing blindly, you miss the door handle a few times as you’re distracted by her soft lips, finally managing to slam the door shut. Shifting your strong hands to the soft crease of her ass and thigh, you bump your teeth into hers in your eagerness, but she doesn’t seem to mind. You walk her into the apartment, kicking the door shut behind you. 

Tara smells like the airport and outside wind, something uniquely New York caught in her hair. She pulls back for only a second to reach around, drop her jacket and shoes, leaving her in just a shirt and comfy sweats. Her palms are sun-warm on your cheek and your neck; any place that she could touch was fair game for her. Your mind feels hazy already—it makes it hard to focus as you try to maneuver around furniture you could navigate in the dark, Tara’s presence more than disarming. Part of you wants to slow down, ask her how her semester went, but the smarter, Tara-influenced majority of you knows that with the way she was pulling at you and your heart, she would straight up kill you if you did that. You’re all too happy to oblige her, kissing her back for every day that she’d been gone. 

“I missed you,” she whispers as she pulls on the collar of your shirt, even though you’re pressed so close already. She’s feather-light in your arms as you carry her down the hallway, nearly stumbling through the bedroom door. You let her down to stand between your feet, freeing your hands to cup her jaw. The curve of Tara’s face is as familiar as the way her nose brushes against yours, soft. It only takes a second, really, but with just her scraping her nails on the back of your neck, you’re wanting, enough to hold her tight and feel her melt against you. 

Tara nearly topples the both of you when she grabs your shirt again and pulls. You just barely catch yourself from crushing her against the bed—but as always, she takes you by surprise, wrapping her arms around your shoulders and slanting her mouth against yours to deepen the kiss. The look in her half-lidded eyes as you peek down at her tells you all you need to know about her intentions. With the way you were kissing up on her, anyone would think that you’d been apart for years, not months, but god knows you couldn’t get enough. 

It’s near obscene, the press of your tongue against hers, but with all of the urgency built from the past few months, it only serves to split you open. As quick as it began, your kiss, broken by barely a gasp for air, turns heated and hungry. It’s filthy, and the urge to spit in her mouth and make her swallow is more than a fleeting thought. Instead, you force her thighs open with your hips, grabbing her ass and pulling her close.

Under her sweats, you can feel the edges of fabric underneath, and you grin, skimming your hands lower. You furrow your brow when you feel a telltale band of elastic, and your hands tighten on her thighs.

“Tara-” your voice comes out a rasp- “are you wearing thigh highs?” You’re nearly dizzy with how much blood rushes from your head to your stomach, pooling low and hot.

“I know you like them.” Tara smiles a little, impishly, but she looks down to your hands instead of your eyes. You know her—she’s looking for confirmation that she’s right, that she hadn’t overstepped in wearing something for you. In your mind, it’s absurd of her to even entertain this sort of thing, the way it sends a tingle up your spine. But Tara needs it, and you’re more than eager to please. You trail your fingers to her waistband, pulling her sweats down and off to expose her. Your grip on her hips is tight and squeezing, holding her in a way that’s unmistakable as want.

You cock your head, ignoring how loud your heart runs. “Oh, yeah? Is that why you’re matching again?” You take her hand, slide your thumb over her fingernails, in gel black. The sheer fabric is the same shade, soft as sin against your palms. Briefly, you consider tearing them apart, seeing the ruin of tatters against her skin—but her little whimper as you trace your fingers where her thighs spill out over the top makes you change your mind.

She’s breathing hard from just the kissing, and when she sighs into your mouth, you’re reminded of the way she’d boldly suggested, your blushing cheeks visible even on FaceTime, that you let her take a souvenir back to her apartment. Tara had complained that she was bored, in a way that homework couldn’t solve, her wide eyes telling you that was as true as could be. You never could back down from a challenge, no matter how warm it made you feel—that was why there was currently an old camera sitting on the bedroom table. You smile, biting your tongue.

“Remember what you said that night, baby?”

You point to the other end of the room, to the camera there, mocking. You expect her to laugh, to shake her head with an exasperated fondness, and push her lips back on yours. Instead, she freezes, swallowing. Her grip on your biceps tightens.

“Tara?”

She turns her gaze to you, and in the half-light you see that her pupils are blown, wide in a sort of disbelieving arousal. It hooks you in, a tug in your stomach, as your mind fills with only Tara. 

“Tara…” you repeat, “do you remember?” She’s quiet, a blush rising steadily to her cheeks. “‘Don’t you wish you could see what you do to me,’” you tease, leaning in close. “You want me to watch you, right? Well, doll, there’s a camera right there.”

“I—” Tara nearly protests, but oh, her flush, the way her hips move so subtly, is telling enough for you. Not letting her hesitate anymore, you grab her shoulders, flipping her so she’s under you. She fits perfectly, holding you up just as much as you’re holding her down.

“You’re gonna watch this when you’re alone, right?” You tease, trailing a hand down her arm to push her wrists above her head with one hand. In your daze, you know her tells as well as you know that drag of desire in your stomach, and so you already know that she’s— “You’re gonna watch this and rut that needy pussy on your hand, is that it?”

It’s your turn to look for confirmation—distantly, it rings in your mind that you must’ve lost your mind, to be talking to Tara like this, but what’s more apparent to you is the moan that escapes from her mouth, the way her eyes slide shut.

“Yeah,” she breathes, something shameless in the twist of her brow as she arches her back. Her nipples press into your chest, hard through her thin shirt, her knees falling open even more. She’s warm, underwear just clinging to her and leaving nothing to imagination. “I’ll watch it whenever you want me to.”

“You will,” you laugh, something deep and dark. “But when you touch, you’ll let me know when you’re gonna come, okay? So I know that you’ve stopped, like a good girl.” You grind your hips between her thighs, watching her breath catch. It’s a soft, bated moment, but something cracks in the air, nearly audible. The shift between the two of you is a familiar one, apparent in the way that she clings harder to you, presenting her chest, the column of her throat, the tilt of her jaw. 

“I will,” she says obediently, her pleading gaze making you grin. “I’ll stop, I’ll touch myself, whatever you want—”

Just as quick, you’re pushing yourself off of her. The room is quiet, save for your footsteps and Tara’s breaths, adorably shaky. The camera is easy to set up, even if you do chance a look at her one too many times. You’re back by her side, and you both watch the red light, winking back at you.

You sit down next to Tara, trailing your hand up and down her stomach. “I’ll tell you every dirty little thing I’d like to do to you, if you’re patient,” you whisper in her ear, something meant for only her to hear.

Her hands are on your shoulders, and the next thing you know, your back is pressed to the bed, and Tara’s rocking her weight on top of you. She leans in close, breath as soft as her skin against your lips, breathing out a quiet ‘yes.’ Giving a little twist that not-so-accidentally presses her heat against the seam of your jeans, she pulls her shirt and bra off in one miraculous motion. You touch her skin, smooth and warm and hot, and you just know she enjoys how your eyes can’t help but drop lower, your hands nearly following. She leans in to kiss you again, the ends of her hair tickling your collar. You both pull back, and you take a second to just look at her, and you can see how she’s been. School was long and difficult, it’s in the set of her eyes, and you want to know more, despite the burn in your stomach. 

But with the way she’s looking back at you, white little teeth worrying at her lip, you all but smile.

“Alright, pretty girl,” you tease, “what is it, now?” She whines when your hands meet her chest, rolling her nipples between your fingers. “C’mon, tell me.”

It comes more easily than you expect, and it drops molten heat into your chest. “I wanna ride your face,” she whispers. You grab for her hips, tight. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.” 

Glancing over at the red light, you bite down a groan. “Do you think you deserve it?”

“Yes, yes—” she’s already straining against your grip, trying to crawl her way up your body.

“That’s for me to decide, Tara.”

She keens, but she drops her head to watch your hands on her—she’s sensitive—as she pants. You shush her, sliding your thigh between hers. It must catch on her in just the right way, because she’s tensing up in your arms, fingers digging into your shoulders. 

“You’re looking so desperate,” you laugh, glad she can’t see the flush on your cheeks.

“I am.” Her bold declaration stops your heart in your chest; you know she’s telling the truth. 

“So say ‘please,’” you murmur, head spinning.

Her eyes are glossy when she finally looks at you. “Please…”

“Very good,” you say patiently. You lean up to kiss her, sucking her bottom lip none too gently. “Why don’t you beg a little?”

You see how the false hope makes her tears so willing to spill out. Her hips rut on your thigh, with no rhyme or rhythm—you’re practically begging yourself to help her, but you hold back.

“Please,” she says again, taking a ragged breath. “Please, want your tongue in me—”

“Louder, Tara,” you snap, threading a hand in her hair and pulling her head up, none too gently. You force her to look in the camera, watching her pupils dilate as she stares down the lens. “I want you to be reminded of what a whiny bitch you are.”

“Want you to eat me out,” she whines to the camera, closing her eyes against the redness in her cheeks. “Want…” The next time she says it, it's louder—you release Tara’s hips to pull her panties off, nearly tearing them when she shifts up the bed at the same moment. 

It makes you ache, being so close to touching Tara, her scent heady and thick, ensconcing your every sense. Her hands grab the headboard as you wrap your arms around her thighs to pull her closer to your lips. She’s practically shaking in her anticipation, and truthfully, it’s hard for you to wait any longer. You trace your tongue across the stretch marks on her inner thighs, and then straight to her cunt. She’s all velvet and honey against you, as you eagerly run your tongue up and down, savoring what you’ve missed. It’s so intoxicatingly good that you nearly miss the way she cries out, your name a shameless prayer. 

You miss her weight on your chest as her back arches, and immediately you’re tracing the dip in her spine. Irrevocably, you’re watching her every move as you tease at her clit, making her rut her hips against your face, chasing friction.

“Fuck,” she says on an exhale, breaking the word into two damning syllables, just like the ba-dum of your heart. Tara tears her hand from the headboard, threading her fingers into your hair to pull you closer. It’s a gesture that you should chastise her for, but you can’t bring yourself to resist her.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” You wrap your lips around her clit and ease two fingers in at the same time—she’s so wet it doesn’t take much to get them in. When you look up at her, the glazed expression on her face is something sated and satisfied, like chocolate wouldn’t ever melt in her mouth. A lazy grin graces her lips, a dusty pink rising up on her cheeks as she squirms against you, adjusting easily to the familiar stretch. 

Somehow, you can feel in your gut that she’s being good for the camera, and you can’t bring yourself to take your time. You want everything at once, to make her come over and over again into your waiting mouth, greed your only sin since you were so far past lust, falling into adoration and something dangerously like—

“Please.” It spills out of Tara’s mouth, golden and warm.

“You’ve been saying ‘please’ an awful lot, Tara.”

You wrap your hand, the one not knuckle deep in Tara’s cunt, around her thigh. Squeezing, you felt the soft stockings against your palm as you guided her hips to rock into you, your fingers and your tongue. You wanted her to feel whenever she’d play the video back, for her to be able to memorize fucking your mouth, so no matter the distance, she’d remember. As if on cue, her moan echoes around the walls, in your mind. 

“The camera’s gonna pick that up, you know.” Your voice is rough, out of breath with how warm it is to be under Tara.

Her voice is tight, choked. “I know, baby.” 

You don’t stop, only shifting slightly to get your thumb on her clit, so you can lean back. You swipe your tongue on your bottom lip, tasting her so sweet, and you watch her eyes, fading in and out of focus, tracking your motion.

“Gonna—”

“Tara,” you laugh, but it’s a warning. She whines, hips twitching, and you can see her lip between her teeth.

“Gonna—oh god—it’s—”

“Gonna what?” You mock, flexing your fingers. “You can do better than that.”

“Please, let me come?” Something warm unfurls in your chest at Tara knowing you want her to ask, your perfect girl, even when she’s so far gone.

“Why?” Your question makes Tara still her hips, which is saying something. “Why should I let you, baby?”

She’s quiet, and since you’ve always been weak for her, you take pity. Your heart’s racing, and the heat in your stomach craves to just see her.

“You’re so good for me, my love… why should I let you come?”

“Because—” Tara breaks off with a lovely little whine, and then it hits her. It breaks up into a floaty feeling in her stomach, like a plume of sparks. Her thighs are trembling around your head, and you lean up to smear her slick on your lips, nudging her clit. “Because I’m your good girl.”

“That’s it, doll,” you murmur. “Come for me, Tara.”

And Tara comes, white hot and tense against you, and in that moment, you think you believe in magic. You want to invent something new just to eternalize her with more than the camera, something more than memory. She’s breathing hard, and you wiggle yourself out from under her. Pliant in your arms, she’s quiet as you help her lay down gently on the covers. For you, your mind was anything but quiet. You think you could run anywhere just to feel Tara, and you can’t resist smiling. Crawling over to give her a peck on the lips, you think Tara’s done—she’s blinking sleepily, eyes flicking between you and the camera, so you move between her knees to shuffle her stockings off, skin against skin. You hear her clear her throat, breaking your trance of fondness.

You look up—you see Tara look to the camera again, and your eyes helplessly follow. She’s got a mischievous little quirk to her lips, like she just knows how bad you wanted to see her come, and…

“You’re gonna tell me those dirty things now, aren’t you?”

--

a/n cont'd: 🌝

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

#project wes #fanfiction #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #scream franchise #scream movies #scream 5 #scream 6 #tara carpenter x fem!reader #tara carpenter smut #tara carpenter x reader smut #smut #reader insert #self insert #i really don't know how to use tags god #tara carpenter fanfiction #lgbtq #tara carpenter x y/n #jenna ortega smut #jenna ortega x reader

[strawberrymothteeth]

Somniphobia

#fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moondrop #daycare attendant x y/n #daycare attendent #fnaf security breach #teetharts #this is probably self projecting a lot but I have a huge fear of sleep. #fear of the dark and sleep vs moon who will win?? #it’s my y/n and if I want my y/n to have fear of sleep and ocd so be it.

[miguelhugger2099]

<<Prev Next>>

Nerdy!Miguel that finds himself nervous at trying to woo you.

Nerdy!Miguel that isn’t quite confident enough to try and sweet talk to you without becoming a stuttering mess.

Nerdy!Miguel that instead would like to take his practice elsewhere: with other people.

Nerdy!Miguel who gives his charming smile to a pretty girl passing by, who wraps his arms around a blondes shoulder and bends down to whisper in a brunettes ear.

Nerdy!Miguel whose pride grows bigger with each positive reaction from others.

Nerdy!Miguel who has to remind himself that this is just to build up confidence when it comes to you; that the shy giggles and blushing cheeks from others mean nothing to him. But the attention is nice, he supposes…

You’ve seen it all. How could you not? With each passing day, your heart breaks little by little—the bile in your stomach rising up your throat at just how different Miguel is acting. He’d been so sweet—always a shy one that could barely speak up, let alone flirt.

You thought he liked you. Maybe this was your fault? Maybe you should’ve spoken sooner about your feelings for him. Maybe he had gotten sick of you? You just thought it would’ve been cute to keep seeing him stumble and blush before saying something but it seems like you’ve grown greedy.

As you stand there, watching Miguel’s arms wrapped around women, you decide to not waste your time any further. If this was his true colors then it was best that you waited—you didn’t want to love a man who acted like that.

But Miguel’s eyes were always looking for you in a room. He just happened to catch a glance of you leaving, but he wasn’t sure if it was really you or not, so he shrugged and continued on with whatever the group blabbered on about.

#me ignoring my project that’s due tomorrow to write about miguel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel x you #miguel o'hara imagine

[tlou-reid]

i’ve written sunshine!reader before but i’ve been thinking about grumpy!reader and sunshine!felix catton

grumpy!reader playing early 2000s pop music in her dorm room while felix is over. she initially (and repeatedly) told him that studying only happened at the library, but he finally convinced her to let him come over.

sunshine!felix who is shocked by the decorations covering her part of her dorm room as it is in contrast to the plain-looking clothes she wears.

sunshine!felix telling grumpy!reader he wasn’t expecting her to listen to this kind of music, joking about rock and metal music.

grumpy!reader who rolls her eyes at his comment because everyone listens to pop music. sunshine!felix adamantly disagrees—his music taste is far too superior and indie for pop music.

sunshine!felix who keeps smiling when he hears grumpy!reader singing along under her breath while she figures out complex math equations.

sunshine!felix who tells grumpy!reader that he loves hearing her sing love songs, that she’s adorable when he tries to hit high notes.

grumpy!reader who rolls her eyes and throws a highlighter at him. she huffs “get back to work and stop staring at me!”

sunshine!felix who has a teasing smirk on his face, insisting that she is too distracting. he can’t help but pinch her pretty cheeks, that are covered with a small, shy blush.

grumpy!reader who won’t allow him to get under her skin and into her heart, no matter how hard he tries.

#LOOK MAN #I AM PROJECTING RN #not my usual fandoms but i would die for jacob elordi #felix catton imagine #felix catton blurb #felix catton x reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton fanfic #felix catton drabble #saltburn imagine #saltburn blurb #saltburn drabble #saltburn x reader #saltburn x you

[chocsra]

chuuya wakes up to the unfortunately shared bed of your checked in hotel that the port mafia assigned you to. he's begrudgingly slept next to you, the redhead never wanted to invade a woman's privacy like that but doing anything else would be suspicious, it'd be odd for an alleged married couple not to share a bed.

he scans his eyes to your sleeping figure, your blanket rumpled all over your legs, the rest of your body sprawled out in a comfortable but messy position as your eyes remained fluttered shut. chuuya noticed the sliver of your shirt exposing your stomach as he swallows thickly with conviction.

he'd rather not touch you in any way but, he feels like it's wrong to just leave you there. so, with a calculated and gentle tug, he pulls the hem of your shirt down to cover your exposed stomach. unbeknownst to the ginger, your eyes flutter open as you rub them, your hair splayed out against the pillow lifting as you lift your head in confusion.

"what the fuck!--" you jolt up from his once cautious movements, and swiftly slap him on the face, making him wince, though written all over his face was: 'i deserved that.' you quickly pulled your shirt down and covered yourself with a blanket. "wait, no!-- it wasn't like that!" chuuya stumbles all over his words, a pink tint spreading to the apples of his cheeks and ears, even to the tip of his nose as he tries to explain himself frustratingly.

"i was just trying to pull your shirt down." he explains, rubbing his cheek pensively, watching as you glare at him suspiciously. "what was that look for then?' you retort, lips tugging into an annoyed frown. "hey, what am i supposed to look like when i wake up in the middle of my sleep?" the man huffs, looking around the dim room, trying to cover his embarrassment. you scan your eyes on him with malice, though you know he isn't that type of guy, nor did he seem anything but sincere. an overcoming silence fills the room, before you begrudgingly break it.

"why aren't you sleeping? aren't you worried about tomorrow's assignment?" you question quietly, the redhead scoffs in return, "me? no way. you just keep tossing in your sleep." he retorts, before attempting to lay down and sleep again, although, he jolts up again. "do you know much you move in your goddamn sleep?? you're keeping me up." chuuya claims, pointing around to the loose ends of the shared room, making you scoff in bafflement. "are you crazy?" you rhetorically question, biting your inner cheek pensively, "why are you even observing me while i sleep?"

from the former accused actions of the mafioso, he did seem like a creep right now. a pink tint blends in his cheeks a more noticeable shade once again as he scowls, "it's not my fault! you kept slapping me while i was trying to sleep." chuuya claims once again, making you scowl in return, "you're no better. you kept snoring and cursing out dazai!" the redhead huffs as if he were deeply offended by your words. "i wonder who you're gonna share a bed with in the future -- god save him!" chuuya grumbles in annoyance one more time before flopping to sleep, facing away from you, shutting his eyes as you do the same.

but chuuya definitely needs to be saved right now. for the countless times he's woke up tonight, now, your arms are curled around his waist, cheek squished against his back. "[Y/N].." the redhead mutters, pulling your arms away, feigning a raspy sigh as you halt but quickly return to encircling your arms around him. he drops his head from looking at you, shuffling his body so that you feel uncomfortable hugging him. but nothing works.

then your hands lock and tighten together like you're going to preform some sort of clinch, so chuuya quickly turns around to face you, making sure he doesn't die. "you're impossible.." he murmurs with a pout tugging on his lips - if blushing was a sport, chuuya would've won the Olympics because of you. your head was rested on his back, now it's his chest as you curl your arms around him even tighter.

the redhead brushes some loose strands of hair out of your face, sighing intently, before encircling his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer so you can't toss around and slap him in your sleep. if it meant to stop you from moving so much, chuuya would gladly have you sleep in arms, or so he tells himself, because he really wouldn't let anyone else pull that at all. he buries his face in your shoulder as he exhales, feeling the moon soak over the remaining hours of the night.

"don't be mad when you wake up, 'kay? this is your fault." chuuya mutters one last time before drifting off to a peaceful sleep, for the first time in forever since he's shared a bed with you. but, as grumpy as he his - he's lucky that he gets to hold you while doing so.

#yes i based this off vagabond #don't take this as my writing comeback! it's just a drabble i thought of randomly #I'll put my soul in my other projects #but like i have so much I haven't completed #chocsra #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x fem!reader #fem reader #nakahara chuuya x reader #chuuya x y/n #drabble

[k2ntoss]

jason: you should pick the red ones, you know?

y/n: but they don't match my dress, i think that green goes better

jason: but red is prettier

y/n: baby, red won't match my grad dress

jason: ):

y/n: what if i paint my nails red, hm? bet they'll look pretty with my degree and later with something else

jason: (:

#brainrot marita #i swear i'm projecting myself here bc i'll have my graduation tomorrow #yes i picked green shoes and they are cute #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd blurb #jason todd fluff #jason todd x y/n #red hood imagine #red hood fluff #red hood #jason todd

[fic-over-cannon]

Jason Todd would ask (not demand) to have a copy of your class schedule. He’d want to know what days you’re free to have lunch together and when to come meet you in the library with a thermos of your favourite drink. He’d join you in your studying, claiming the seat next to you for his own. He’d lean back in his chair, the picture of lazy confidence. A book held in one hand, the other wrapped around the back of your chair. He knows not to bother you too much when you’re so deeply focused, but he thinks the way you scrunch up your nose at a particularly difficult concept is adorable. He’ll gently untangle your fingers from where they’re anxiously pulling at your hair in frustration, let you squeeze his hand instead until the emotion passes. If you spend too long absorbed by your work, he’ll persuade you to stop. Ask you to take a break with him to get something to eat and rehydrate, that the work will still be there once you’re ready to come back to it. Jason carries your book bag with ease, waves off your protests and tells you to let him be a good boyfriend.

#am i projecting a little bit? definitely #jason todd x reader #jason todd x gender neutral reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #jason todd imagine #jason todd headcanon #jason todd fic #sunnie writes 🌻 #snack fic

[thewalkingdilf]

thinking abt daryl with a size kink!!!

he definitely loves how big he feels in comparison to you, especially when he can hold both of your wrists in just one hand, pinning you down and fucking you into the mattress

“fuck baby, you’re so small, like my own lil personal fuckdoll.”

“gonna let me throw ya’ around and use ya’ like a toy?”

he loves when he can see the outline of his cock bulging through your stomach while he fucks you, it sends him over the edge every time. he always makes sure to point it out to you.

“see that, baby? look how well you’re taking my big cock. doing such a good job, pretty girl.”

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #may or may not be projecting just cause i have a size kink #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead daryl #twd #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl dixon imagine #the walking dead imagine #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon blurb #daryl dixon imagines #daryl dixon x reader #twd daryl dixon #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl twd #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl smut #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl x you

[ectobabble]

Presents that the Imposter gets Moon in the next chapter. DCA can change their clothes whenever. Moon likes lambs.

This looks like the story is cozy but like, no. Sloppy is a style.

#fnaf au #fnaf fanart #moondrop #fnaf moon #fnaf daycare attendant #daycare attendant moon #riding out the high of having my workplace set up finally- going to image dump and then drop the project as usual lmao ... unless? #fnaf sb #fnaf dca #dca au #dca fanart #moon x reader #moon x y/n #moon x oc #imposter glitter roots

[woewriting]

CHERRY LIPS wednesday addams x reader

tags. mdni! soft wednesday, established relationship, implied sex at the very end, no pronouns used, but the word 'girlfriend' is used once. word count. 1521 a/n. i'm late for wdw, i know, but i couldn't let y'all and @wesstars down... better late than never, right? i hope you like it and im sorry for any mistakes. | masterlist

──

When you moved to the small town of Jericho and started working at the only coffee shop around, you didn’t expect to get anyone’s attentions, especially from the local “freaky”. Wednesday Addams was full of surprises and secrets and, apparently, everyone here knew a bit about her.

Gossips followed you around like fog in the morning after a raining night, the eccentric Addams always being the subject that echoed inside the brownish walls of the cafe.

“I’ve heard she eats raw meat,” a high school student dressed in black and blue uniform said to her friend, no caring enough to at least whisper.

The other just nodded, not paying attentions to her surrenders, not even when the little bell above the entrance door jingled.

“My father told me her dad killed someone in Nevermore when he was a student… imagine being the daughter of a killer.”

“Imagine being the daughter of a former police officer who was expelled from the police force for not being able to solve a simple case that happened more than 20 years ago.” The tranquil voice caught your attention, causing you to turn on your heels behind the counter.

Wednesday was standing next to the table where the two students sat, arms crossed and a deadly shine in her eyes. You smiled.

“Miss Addams, please stop terrorizing the small girls, they know nothing about life,” you spoke once you saw the reddish color in the girls’ cheeks.

“They better learn fast; life is not gentle.” She turned her head to you. “And neither am I.”

“Oh, should I fear for my life?”

You tilted your head, trying to get Wednesday’s attention in order for the girls to go back to the other students of Nevermore. The raven girl redirected her body towards you, taking steps until she was standing in front of the cashier.

“You most definitely should.”

Head motioning for the girls to leave, you placed both of your hands on the icy, black marble that covered the top of the counter.

“If I die, who’s going to make you your favorite cherry muffin?”

“Before I met you, I survived just fine without the sweetness of it in my daily life, I’m positive I can do it again once you’re gone.” She lifted her chin. “Now stop staling and bring me a double expresso, no sugar and a cherry muffin before I start terrorizing you instead.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes as she turned to sit on the costumery table.

Putting the cherry muffin in a plate, you turned to the Italian coffee machine with an empty white mug in hand and freshly brewed coffee in the other.

As the bitter liquid slowly filled the porcelain, flashes of the first time you were face to face with Wednesday took over your memory. She was so small in her black and white Nevermore uniform, looking like an old school cartoon, disappearing behind the other students as she patiently and quietly waited in line to order. She stared at you, taking two steps ahead when the last person in front of her moved away with their order in hands, taking a seat with the others, black eyes that didn’t blink and looked dead, the pale white skin didn’t help either. Not a single mark on it, you noticed, except for the adorable freckles that spread over her small nose bridge and covered the surrounding area of her cheek bones.

She was polite and calm, unlike the others, speaking in a monotone voice that actually surprised you.

Wednesday ordered a small size expresso with no sugar. You offered her a muffin, freshly out of the oven and still warm. She was reluctant in saying ‘yes’ at first, but something in you convinced her.

Once the mug was filled, you placed it side by side with the muffin, smiling and murmuring a small ‘I hope you like it’, to which she replied with: “Thank you,” extending her hands to take the plate and mug of the counter.

She looked at the red-blood muffin before looking at you, giving you a small nod of her head before walking to an empty table.

You watched as she sat herself down and stared at the small cake in front of her, you licked your lips, curious to know if she would like it or not; it was your favorite, after all.

Wednesday tilted her head to the side, analyzing the sweet in front of her, internally admiring the color of it and how the powdered sugar on top of it reminded her of snow covered in blood.

Taking the wrap of it, she hesitantly took a bite of it, slowly chewing it. You bet your lips, anxiously standing behind the counter. She then took another bite, and another one, and another one, rapidly finishing the muffin.

You smiled to yourself, finally changing the focus of your attention.

Now, almost 7 years of the first interaction, you still secretly admired Wednesday as you waited for the coffee to fill the small sized mug. But now was different, she started drinking a double expresso to maintain her brain awake and cherry muffins became a part of her daily life.

But only if it was made by your hands.

Once the porcelain turned bitter black, you left your place from behind the corner and sat them down in front of the goth, taking the empty seat in front of her.

“Thank you,” Wednesday said simple, eyes focused on the yellowish pages that had all her attention.

“A new case?” You asked, curious, taking a look around the nearly empty coffee shop.

“A runner found two dead bodies in the woods on Saturday, the captain assumed I’d be interested and gave me the case this morning.”

You pursed your lips, a tight knot in your stomach as your eyes analyzed the super graphic images that decorated the table. Pushing the images away from your point of view, you wondered how Wednesday could eat the red-blooded muffin while looking at actual blood.

As if she could read your mind, black painted nails reached for the small cake, her eyebrows sewing together once she saw what you did, “Care to explain what this is?”

You pursed your lips, containing a smile. On top of the sweet, a white skeleton’s head was drawn, black, deep-hollowed eyes filled with dark chocolate chips with a sewed-like smile under and dark red blood dripping from its eyes.

“I made it for you, Halloween is near, and I figured you’d like it.”

“I can see that. What I want you to explain is why there’s blood coming from its eyes. Bones can’t bleed, there’s no tissue that can carry blood vessels or veins, it's just bones.”

You rolled your eyes, “It’s a cupcake, Wens. Just eat it.”

“Fine.”

When she took the first bite, dark red filling dripped onto her hands. It was a mix between the sweetness of sugar and the sourness of cherry combined that only you could do it perfectly.

“So… did you like it?”

Wednesday chewed and swallowed everything, licking her lips to capture the remained syrup, missing a small drop on the corner of her mouth. The tip of her fingers covered in the cherry liquid.

“It’s too sweet, next time don’t add any sugar to it. It’s not healthy. And it’s also too sticky and messy. I need a napkin.”

Reaching out for her hand, you sucked the tip of her fingers, closing your eyes at the sweetness that filled your mouth.

“You don’t need a napkin, you have a girlfriend to clean it for you.”

Wednesday widened her eyes at your action, looking around to make sure nobody saw that. The coffee shop was empty as it was almost noon and everyone was either at work or at school, only the two of you occupying a space inside.

“That was unnecessary.” She said with an affected tone.

“It was very necessary, I needed to see if it was too sweet.” You stood up, taking the empty plate in hands. Before returning to the kitchen, you leaned into her personal space, noses touching and the smell of her perfume filling your senses, that small drop being the only thing you saw in front of you. “You have some here too.”

The moment the tip of your tongue licked the red syrup, so close to her lips, Wednesday grabbed the mug near her hands, squeezing it hard enough to break if it was made of fragile material.

Before standing up properly, you pressed a chaste kiss to her lips, tasting the sourness in it.

“I’ll make sure the next ones aren’t too sweet for you, cara mia.” You winked, rapidly walking back to the counter to start preparing the muffins for the afternoon clients. And for your bitter girlfriend that cursed you under her breath for fogging up her brain with your tongue, taking away all the concentration she needed to solve this murder case. One that would need to wait after she locked the door, turned the open sign to ‘closed’, and dragged you by the hand to the supply closet.

#✍️ #wednesday addams #wdw #wednesday drabble wednesday #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday addams x you #wednesday addams x y/n #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday addams x gender neutral reader #wednesday addams x gn reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x y/n #wednesday x you #wednesday x fem!reader #wednesday x female reader #wednesday x gn reader #netflix wednesday #soft wednesday #cherry lips #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x gn!reader #wednesday addams fanfic #wednesday addams tag #1k club #spidey's projects

[wesstars]

touch

jenna ortega x fem!reader (no pronouns)

summary: jenna, your lovely girlfriend, has been away filming for far too long, in your opinion. she thinks so, too. wc: 2.6k tags: explicit, MINORS DNI. all characters are 18+. phone sex, masturbation, bad dirty talk lmao, this is basically all bad dirty talk, light D/s dynamics, name calling/slight degradation, praise, reader is a soft dom, strap-on referred to as “cock,” horribly excessive use of italics, feels a bit odd writing rpf… a/n: @crazyoffher :) returning the favor!

masterlist

6:01 pm

call u in a sec?

A grin lighting up your face at the text, you hurriedly type an affirmative reply as you unlock your apartment door. Dropping your bag, you kick your shoes off, sighing as you shed your coat. Making a beeline for your bedroom, your eyes slide shut as you flop down on your gigantic bed. You’d washed the sheets earlier, and they were feeling extra soft. If Jenna were here, she’d be rolling around in them, covering her own scent with one of fresh linen.

Usually, she was—you were lounging in your shared apartment, a wide open space near the top of a sleek, tall building. Every evening in LA, the two of you could be found here, the appeal of a night in far exceeding that of a night out. A bottle of wine and a packet of popcorn to share wasn’t rare either, the expensive drink wasted on you two young lovers. 

Everything had happened so quickly, but you loved it. A chance meeting on a plane had led to a long conversation about anything and everything, so common for new couples, and one-drink dates across busy nights had culminated into a fateful party invitation and an equally fateful blushing confession. Your relationship was wild, and crazy, and everything you could’ve wanted. A year later, Jenna had surprised you with a set of keys. It was a certain kind of promise that made those long nights, waiting for a phone call from half a world away, so worth it.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes in your pocket. Seeing the ID, you instantly pick up.

“Jenna?”

“Hey,” her familiar voice comes shyly through the speaker, a comforting sound. “Are you busy?”

“No, I just got home from work.”

Jenna hums in a way that tells you she’s plotting something, and her little stifled giggle just confirms your suspicions. You fake a sigh, happy to venture into her ploy.

“Jenna, did you have something to drink?”

“No.” She huffs a laugh. “I just miss you. Tired of me already?” She asks, with innocent veneer.

“Of course not,” you say. “It’s good to hear from you, you're so busy now, I had to talk to your secretary,” you teased. She was busy, but you’d already done the calculation of Jenna’s timezone to yours—for her, filming would’ve just wrapped up in the midnight hours. For you, the setting sun was just beginning to stream through the glass walls, and you pressed the button on the nightstand to draw the curtains.

“Well, if you’re not busy,” Jenna presses on casually, “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Jenna,” you smile. It was a dialogue you two had often, something you never tired of. 

“Mmm,” Jenna’s voice tugs in your stomach, lilting into a whine at the end of her emission, “I miss you, baby.”

Your mouth goes dry; it’s an automatic reaction. Damnit, this girl—she knew what kind of effect she had on you. You were glad the room was dark, because if you had to face your own blushing cheeks in the light, you might’ve just collapsed. You pull the phone away from your ear long enough to take a deep breath. “Do you, Jen?” Keeping your voice composed, you roll the end of the duvet between your fingers to keep you grounded.

“Miss you so much,” she says, the rustling in the background telling you she’s rolling on the covers. She lets out a lilting laugh, the sound sending a swooping, giddy feeling into your stomach. Jenna’s trying to lure you in; it was her game: enticing you with that docile, persuasive tone.

You decided to play, though you held back just a bit. “How much?”

“Some of your clothes still smell like you,” she says in lieu of a direct answer. “So I’m wearing your big shirt, the black one.” You’d been wondering where that shirt went, one you often slept in. Even now, you can see in your head how Jenna looked when she stole that shirt: it cut off at her thighs, the kind of sacrilegious short that inspired crimes. It reminds you of countless times she’d surprised you, when you slid your hands up under the hem to find—

“What else, Jen?”

“No bra,” she replies sweetly, laughing lightly at the end. 

“No bra, huh,” you repeat. You can practically feel your pupils dilating, the heat around your collar. “Good.”

“And this,” Jenna sighs, “lace number I got here; it looks like the one you gave me last year.” 

Your jaw clenches, and you glance at the clock, looking but not seeing. You remember what she’s talking about—a pair of panties, an expensive little excuse for fabric that grew dark at the slightest moisture. Jenna’s birthday had ended in a long, long night.

“It’s red,” she says, “just like my nails.”

Fuck. Everything feels hot, and you can just picture her in that standard issue trailer, lights dimmed, alone in a way that should be illegal. “How much time do you have?”

“Not a lot… got an early morning tomorrow.” There's a trailing edge of disappointment in her voice, but you’re familiar with her—she’s looking, hoping for you to guide her, to push her in the way only you know how.

You breathe in, deeply, your own desire quickly falling prey to Jenna’s. She had you wrapped around her little finger, that’s for sure, but she trusted you to hold her down. “Hand in your hair, Jenna. Gentle,” you instruct.

You hear her sharp inhale, but you have no question that she’ll listen. When Jenna gets like this, playful but pliant, you know she’s willing to go with just about anything you ask. It’s torture for you, each second you wait. “Now pull.”

Her responding whimper sends a bolt of heat down your neck, and you let out a silent breath. Jenna loved it when you would touch her hair, even when it was as innocent as just braiding it. The haze in her eyes when you’d tug on her locks, telling her how good she feels, was your favorite. “Harder. Do you like it?”

She breathes out, “yeah.”

“Good,” you say. “Tell me what’s been on your mind to get you eager like this.” She’s shy, you hear it in her sigh, even though her hands are still running in her hair. “C’mon.”

“I miss your mouth on my neck.” The words tumble out of her almost immediately, and you dare to wonder if that’s been on her mind all day. The bruises you’d left there before filming started were long gone, no doubt. She’d begged you to make them darker, and you were all too happy to please. “I miss the car, before the airport…”

Those frantic, heated ten minutes you two were able to spare in the car before Jenna’s flight were chastised by her manager and makeup team, but you wouldn’t have traded them for anything. “That’s perfect Jen,” you coax gently. She liked your encouragement, you knew. 

“And…” it’s as if something snaps in the air on the telephone line, pushing both you and Jenna’s inhibitions to the ground. “I wish you were here,” she whispers, the cliche line sending equally cliche butterflies rushing through your lower stomach. “I’d be on my knees for your cock right now, and you’d pull my hair, so I’d-” she whines, a small and breathless noise-“suck it so good ‘cause I know where it’s going next—”

“Fingers in your mouth,” you interrupt, blood rushing in your ears. “And listen to me.” If you’d let Jenna keep going, you might’ve just booked a plane ticket right then and there. You can hear her obey you through the speaker, moaning softly. “Play with your nipples under your shirt. Be gentle.” It’s a warning, you know she knows, and a reminder that you control her pace.

“Mmm,” she hums, complying. It’s practically confession on bended knee, how her muffled whimper makes something shoot through your lower stomach.

“Press down on your tongue.” You hear her breath shaking, right in your ear. It makes you bite your tongue to keep from moaning out loud. “Don’t gag, don’t be greedy, Jenna.” She whines around her fingers, and you know her telltale little cry as she touches herself as instructed. You can hear that she’s not being as gentle as you wanted, but you had always been weak for your girl.

“You wanna put on a show for me, honey? Twist.” You wouldn’t know it, but Jenna instantly closes her eyes at the word show, her pulse spiking.

Jenna’s uneven breaths are pure song to you through the speaker, and it puts your every nerve on edge, remembering how she would sprawl on your sheets, just like how you were now, happy to be over or under you. She’s so vocal tonight, every exhale coming out with a small oh, and it makes you wonder if it’s because of something more than just the distance and time between you two.

The cadence of her breathing matches your stuttering heart. “For someone that likes having her mouth stuffed,” you mutter, “you sure wanna talk real bad.”

The whimper Jenna lets out is enough of an answer.

“Alright babydoll, you can take your fingers out.” Almost immediately, you can hear her panting. You keep your voice even, despite the heat on your cheeks. “I bet you’re soaked, aren’t you?”

Her voice is raspy when she speaks. “I am…”

“Two fingers in your cunt.”

“What about-” you can hear her swallow- “what about my underwear?”

“Push it to the side,” you say, dismissive. You could practically see Jenna like this, warm brown hair splayed on the pillows, shirt rucked up to her breasts, with enough want to end a war.

It’s silent on the other side of the line, save for the shallow breaths you hear her taking. “Are you waiting, good girl?”

She hums an affirmative. 

“Go ahead, I won’t make you beg right now,” you say with a nonchalance you absolutely do not have, “fuck yourself.”

Her breathy laugh in response would drive a saint to sin, and she’s only all too eager to comply. Jenna’s shudder comes out in her moan as she shoves two fingers in herself, shameless in her need.

You close your eyes, her quiet little moan telling you all you need to know. The impatient groan she gives you is just vulnerable enough to be desperate, and it makes your head swim.

Jenna’s voice is small. “You know…”

“What is it, darling?”

“Wish I could put this on a camera for you, baby,” she whines, breath hitching. “Wish you could watch me right now.”

The mere thought of it is enough to have you biting your lip, hard enough to bleed. With the way that Jenna loved to perform, the idea had occurred to you before, but you were always too hesitant to bring it up. “You want me to see you, don’t you? Blushing and wanting all by yourself,” you mock, your arousal overriding your rationality, “you need someone to fuck you, is that it?”

“I need you to fuck me, fuck me so hard that I don’t remember it all, and,” her voice breaks, “you’ll make me watch our video later, to make me like this again.” You close your eyes again, your knuckles growing white around the sheets fisted in your hand. 

“Like what, Jenna?”

“Messy, and-” her voice climbs higher with a gasp-“needy.”

The words cling in your mind, ivy on a terrace. It only takes half a moment for your mind to conjure her up again, flushed cheeks and two fingers deep in her pussy, framed by red lace.

“Is that what you are, mmm?”

She gives a moan, and you laugh because she’s embarrassed. It’s nearly pathetic, how bad you wish you could see Jenna’s face.

“Want…” There’s a hesitant pause. “Want your hand around my throat, too.”

God, no one knew how to play you quite like Jenna did. “Jenna,” you groan, your facade rapidly crumbling, “you’d look so pretty like that, baby.”

“Yeah,” Jenna agrees mindlessly, “I like it ‘cause…” her voice is strained in a way that you just know she has her head thrown back, strong and delicate, “you’re so gentle.” It’s with a bleeding intimacy that momentarily makes you forget you’re thousands of miles away from Jenna, and the only thing you can think of is her warm eyes on yours, just begging for you to touch her.

She quiets down, and in the damning silence that follows, you hear her fucking herself. And because you know your girl, you know she wants you to hear.

“That’s filthy, Jen,” you say, matter-of-factly. It makes your head spin, the knot in your stomach tightening.

“I know,” she whines, and you can hear her going just that bit faster. “Fuck-” she exhales sharply- “I’m—I’m close.”

“Already?”

“I’m sorry,” Jenna whispers, and you know with every hitched moan, she’s hitting that spot inside of her. She’s not sorry, and you certainly aren’t either. “I can’t help it…”

You hum noncommittally, feeling anything but. “Don’t come until I say, alright?”

Jenna moans right into the receiver, and you can tell she’s frustrated to high hell. You laugh lowly, something cruel, and it only serves to fuel the way your fingers crave the smooth of her skin, how your tongue wants for her taste.

But that’s when you hear it, blazing through the fog in your mind, of brown eyes and pink lips. “Please…”

“Please what?”

She falters, breathing ragged. “Please let me…” A beat.

“Let you…?” You press on. 

“Please,” her voice edges on the right side of desperate, the side that makes all of you pulse. “Baby, I’m so close…”

“I know,” you say simply. 

There’s a silence that hangs in the air, and you know without seeing that Jenna’s cheeks are so red with her embarrassment that you could’ve slapped her and not gotten that same glow. You wait, patiently, nails biting into your skin.

“Let me come, please.” Her voice comes out like a quiet sob, resistance broken by her desire.

Letting out a long breath, you press the phone harder to your ear, feeling your fingers tremble. “You’re such a needy slut, Jenna.” She whines again, pleading and keening.

“I know,” she’s soft with it, “I am… so, please?”

You bite your lip, mind swimming, letting her plea hang in the air. 

“Come for me, Jenna.”

It's quiet, at first, and then you hear it—a soft, little ah from where she’s clapped a hand over her mouth, and then muffled moans spilling out from behind as she tries so desperately to not let anyone else hear. You clench your jaw, wanting so bad to tear Jenna’s hand from her mouth just so you can take in every little whimper, quiet her with your mouth instead. But you whisper praises into the phone instead, coaxing her through her orgasm. She comes hard, you can hear it in the way she pants after she’s calmed down.

Jenna’s breathing evens out, and you know it before she does—she’s asleep. Your eyes close again, fist clenched in your bedsheets. It wasn’t the first time that she’d fallen asleep right after she came, and it makes a soft little grin play on your lips. The other end of the line is a loving, sated silence. You keep your voice low, not wanting to wake her.

“God, the things I’m gonna do to you, Jenna.”

--

please do not repost, reproduce, copy, translate, or take from my work in any way. thank you!

masterlist

#project wes #fanfiction #jenna ortega #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega smut #smut #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader smut #reader insert #self insert #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega fanfiction #jenna ortega fic #lgbtq #jenna ortega x y/n #wednesday addams x reader #how can I snooze and miss the moment you’re just too important #tara carpenter x reader

[ghost-proofbaby]

EARLY MORNING (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: new routines are formed between you and eddie, and a code-word is formed for the bad days.

warnings: fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), mentions of financial struggles, mentions of weed, eddie is just having a rough time (just like me fr)

wc: 2k+

the full menu

Eddie doesn’t process he’s not the only one in the parking lot until your palm is smacking against his window.

He had been too wrapped up in his music he currently has blaring, the heavy bass and guitar riffs of For Whom The Bell Tolls shaking his van’s foundation as he let his eyes close for just a second. He wasn’t sleeping — he wishes he was sleeping. It was early, still four something in the morning, and he had hardly slept at all the night before. 

That slap of your hand against glass startles him, breaking whatever trance he had put himself under.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, blinking drearily as he rolls the window down and reaches to turn down the music, glaring at the image of you standing there with your arms crossed like a mother rearing up for a scolding, “Can’t a man have some relaxing alone time with Metallica before he slaves away for the siren?” 

Your demeanor cracks a bit, corners of your lips twitching to expose your amusement. You’d taught him that ridiculous joke — slaving away to the siren. That sly grin you were currently biting down on is the same one you wore when he’d been scolded for saying it in front of management.

“Dude, I could hear your music from across the parking lot. There’s nothing relaxing about it.”

Dude. He pretends like he won’t overthink that term, tries to focus on the endearment behind it rather than the sinking feeling in his gut. It’s hard to do that when you look so damn pretty, though. Bare faced, hair messily styled for the shift ahead of you two, those staple black jeans that always drags his jaw along the floors. 

“Shut up,” he doesn’t even have to ask, already leaning over to unlock his passenger door before you’ve started the journey around the front of the van. It’s a normal routine at this point for the two of you to sit in either his van or your Jeep together before opening. Enjoying a moment of silence with each other before you spend the next five hours and some change navigating the chaos that is the morning rush. Once you’re planted in the seat beside him, door securely shut and a shit-eating grin you don’t try to hide, he finally continues, “It’s relaxing to me. Not all of us start our day with that Taylor Swift shit.” 

Your grin widens, and so does the cavern in his heart that strangely resembles the shape of you, “You secretly love that Taylor Swift shit, don’t lie.” 

And you’re right. Of course you’re right, but for all the wrong reasons.

He loves it because you love it.

“I believe company policy is we can lie until we’ve had our first shot of espresso,” he grumbles, still trying to act unimpressed as he crosses his arms and shuffles deeper into his seat. He pinches his eyes back shut, this time just to avoid staring at you.

His mind and heart alike can’t take the way you look in the lavender dusk that still lingers in the parking lot, the soft light filtering through his van’s windshield. 

Metallica continues to play in the background, much lower than it was previously to your arrival. He’s content to sit here, the sweetness of your perfume hanging heavy in the air and just knowing your presence exists beside him now. To hear your breathing if he focuses hard enough. To listen for if you begin to pilfer through his glove box, to listen if you begin to tap along to any melodies on your knees. Small things. Things you don’t think about, and things that occupy his mind in a suffocating fashion. They have for the last several months now; you’ve managed to occupy his mind quite consistently, even on his days off. If he’s given a day of leisure, all he can do is consider what you’re doing. If he’s scheduled a shift without you, all he does is compare the other baristas to you. It’s poisonous. It spells out trouble. 

But in this moment, it more so whispers comfort. He knows there’s nearly thirty minutes until the key holder for the morning will arrive, and he lets himself lean into it. For the first time in nearly twenty four hours, sleep and rest alike are gunning for him with ease.

He’s got one foot in the door of falling asleep when you break the silence, “Hey, can I ask you something?” 

“You just di-“ 

“Shut up,” you huff, and he cracks open an eye, “I just… Okay, you can tell me to fuck off if you want.”

That catches his attention. Both eyes are wide open now, boring into yours. 

“Well?” he hums. You’re nervous. And it’s cute, and it’s normal. These moments are always quiet between the two of you. He hardly even remembers how this first became the normal routine for you two, but he’s grateful. He looks forward to it so much that his mind has spent the last two weeks trying to formulate ways to extend the tradition to after your shifts together to finally solidify that offer of friendship he’d accepted so long ago, “Don’t just leave me hanging in anticipation, babe.” 

The nickname rolls off his tongue with no effort. It’s different — with other coworkers, with customers, with everyone. He hasn’t picked up the habit of dropping nicknames with these strangers, but he has with you.

You, who has coined him as dude. Again, he tries to not overthink it.

“Have you not been sleeping well?” you blurt out, starting to fidget with the edge of your shirt and not looking up at him, “I just- I’ve noticed you’ve been more tired this last week, and I get it — we’re all always tired in the morning. I mean, it’s early as fuck. But I just noticed you’ve been more quiet and you’ve got these bags under your eyes and you’ve been sneaking more cold brew shots and-“ 

You don’t take a single breath as you rattle off your list of observations, seemingly petrified to reveal to Eddie that you see him. You notice him. 

It’s an unfamiliar feeling; to know someone has a watchful eye on you and, furthermore, cares about the changes they pick up on. 

Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever experienced it before. Or the warmth that floods his chest.

“Oh, hey,” he finally sits up. Your mouth is still moving, ready to continue on, “Hey, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out and lands on your knee. It effectively leaves both of you speechless. 

“I…” How does he tell you? How can he best reveal the truth? 

I am tired. I’m not sleeping well. Bills are piling up and life is kind of shitty right now, and nothing really makes sense. Except you. You make sense, by some odd chance. You make it better.

“I’ve just had a lot of trouble sleeping recently. Don’t worry about me so much,” he settles on instead, the only words not too heavy to force out of his mouth. 

His hand is still on your knee. 

And suddenly, your hand comes down over his hand, palm a few degrees cooler than his own knuckles. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, “That… that doesn’t help, but it sucks and I’m sorry. And if I can help in any way… just say the word.”

The word — what is the word? He wishes he knew it. He’d blurt it out in a heartbeat. 

His hand squeezes your knee, and in sync, your fingers return the gesture to the top of his hand. 

It’d just been a lot, recently. He’s tried to take some of the burden off of Wayne at home, he’d been looking into taking night classes at the community college back in Hawkins, he’d been considering a second job to help claw their way out of the current sea of debt they were drowning in. He was always in his head, he was having nightmares when he’d try to get to bed at a decent time. Panic attacks were occurring that even the weed couldn’t take the edge off. Questions of his future, questions of his worthiness of the people in his life — they’d all started to haunt the quiet corners of his room in the middle of the night. 

But they didn’t haunt these roads, this parking lot, this time spent with you. You’d enter his line of sight, and it all just shuts off.

“Is everything okay at home?” you gently press at his silence, eyes flickering up at him for only a moment before a finger mindlessly traces over one of his rings. 

No. “It’s… fine.” 

Last night, he’d nearly put a hole in the wall before he’d settled to curling into the center of his mattress until his knees and chest were familiar companions. Until the tears he’d tried to ignore turned into silent sobs and he’d eventually cried himself to sleep a mere hour before he needed to be awake again for work. 

“Just say the word,” you repeat yourself. He wants you to look at him again; it’s easier to breathe with your eyes on his, “Say the word, and… Fuck, I don’t know. We can both call out, just take a nap in the back of your shitty van.” 

And oh, he smiles at that. The thought of the two of you in the back of his shitty van, as you had so lovingly called it. He thinks if you two did that, he might just sleep well for the first time in weeks.

“We’re already here,” he shrugs and finally lifts his hand, patting at your jeans before he entirely retracts his touch. He tries to not ponder on the falter of your own hand, the way you had hesitated in letting him pull away, “But, for future reference, what is the word?” 

“Huh?”

“The word. What’s our code word for… just saying fuck it and taking a day for ourselves,” he explains. 

He hopes he isn’t overstepping a boundary. He hopes you weren’t just being polite.

You smile softly this time, something genuine shining through as you think for a minute before looking at him. This time, your gaze doesn’t falter as you whisper, “Mordor.” 

He can’t help it, he snorts. “Mordor? Have you even read Lord of the Rings?” 

“Nope,” you shake your head, still focused on him, still encouraging the air to enter his lungs finally and not even knowing it, “But I saw your copy on the back desk. Maybe that can be one of our fuck it activities — you read it to me or something. Make me into a nerd.” 

That imagery gets to him. Nearly makes him tear up. You and him, in the back of his van, your head on his chest as he reads his favorite book to you. He nearly screams mordor right then and there. He knows he’s getting ahead of himself, and that’s probably not what you meant, but he wants it. With each passing day that he spends around you, he finds himself wanting things like that more and more. 

You treat him differently than everyone else. You don’t climb into the car of the other openers, you don’t seem to let that painfully polite guard down with everyone else in the same fashion. Even Nicole had noticed it.

“She’s awfully soft for you,” she’d commented one morning as Eddie and her had been left alone as you went to the back to clean dishes before the store was open, “Out of all the people she could’ve gone mushy for, it’s you. Can’t figure out why for the life of me.”

He couldn’t either. But your tenderness you'd extended so easily to him fuels him, makes him yearn for it when you’re not around, makes him think maybe there’s a bigger reason for all of it. Or maybe, that’s just what friends are for.

“Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer one of these days,” Eddie finally muses, leaning his head back and trying to smile with the same type of softness you offer him. Tries to make sure you know it goes both ways. Tries to communicate the fact that one of these days might just come sooner than either of you expect.

Your smile tells him the message is well received.

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#coffee shop blues #my writing #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfic #posting this before an open woohoo #just short and sweet and projecting