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the-faceless-bride · 8 days

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The woods, a witch, and a wolf pack. Punchline?

Summary: (paranormal Au and takes place 1874) Kyle was out later than normal. Away from his pack wasn't a good idea he knew he shouldn't have gone out late; but Johnny had set his heart on a pie tonight, and he wanted Johnny to get his wish. Staying out looking for berries revealed itself to be an awful idea as a group of hunters we in the woods. And he... wasn't fast enough. Good thing he found a house.

Warnings: Not many. blood, inaccurate monster lore, Gaz being adorable but untrusting, 141 members being worried and upset.

This is pretty short compared to what I would normally write, but I'm trying to get in the groove. I've been writing all of my fics on my phone, I'm trying to get back into the swing of writing.

Kyle cursed himself for being careless, not telling the others of his pack where he was going before sneaking off; he wanted to surprise Johnny, but had he known there were a group of hunters playing Van Helsing nearby he would've been more careful.

Now he was trying to limp away and hide with an arrow sticking from his side, it was much more painful than anything he'd felt before; and he had been roughed up bad before, but not like this. This was agony; a seething, burning pain. It traveled from his side through his ribs to his chest, from his stomach to his weakening knees.

Fuck. He didn't want to die here. In the woods, alone and in agony. That's when he smelled it. A welcoming smell, one that made him feel safe.

A house. A house that he'd never seen before, behind a hidden Rocky arch that was covered by a waterfall of vines and leaves. When did this get here? He always knew this hidden archway, but last he and his pack checked, it led to a dead end. Didn't it? Fuck. He can't remember, not when all he can hear is the pounding of his heart trying to escape his ribcage.

The door slightly ajar, he stumbled clumsily through the old wooden door; a cozy interior. A war fire, candles light all on the walls and interesting clocks, trinkets, and spices hung from the walls. The house was warm, very warm compared to the cold, sharp air outside; a soft velvet couch, a dark green covered in a flower pattern.

Kyle tossed himself down on it with a sigh and a groan. He wanted to pull the enflamed arrow from his side but didn't dare; not wanting to bleed out. 'Merow' Kyle jumped, a skinny black cat with the largest, brighest yellow eyes he'd ever seen sat on the arm of the sofa saring at him.

Kyle gave it an awkward wave, "hello," he said, just above a whisper. "Well, isn't this delightful. A pup bleeding all over my nice sofa." a voice jokes, Kyle whips his head to the voice with a growl, he didn't know who this was but he wasn't going to give them the idea he wouldn't harm them if they tried anything.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt you," Kyle stops his growls but still sits stiff ready for anything, "now before we start, would you like a warm drink? Coffee, tea, whiskey?" - Kyle shakes his head, "I made pancakes earlier? Fancy one? Best you'll ever taste," - he again shakes his head. "Well then, let me take a look."

Kyle slowly and hesitantly leans to you, letting you see his wound. He was confused. Most people who knew who or what he was normally would shoo him away or try to kill him.

"Don't worry, this should be a quick and easy fix."- you move to a corner, wall filled top to bottom with shelves pulling a trinket box out before taking a small flower.

"hear, eat this." - Kyle look from the flower to you then back - "I know, strange. But it will help; Wolvesbain is a pretty flower. It's probably what led you to me. The sent is pretty irresistible to pups like you," - Kyle rolled his eyes at being called a pup, but you were right; that sweet smell that lead him to this house was coming from the pretty little flower clipping that you held between your thumb and forefinger.- "wolvesbain is a helpful little flower, it can be rather helpful to you, when not mixed with poison... In fact, looking to plant this flower was the whole reason for coming here,"

Kyle hesitantly ate the flower. It wasn't as earthy and awful as he expected, though it made his mouth water, not in the good way. More of the he shoved a handful of pepper mint down his throat way.

"I'm terribly sorry for the hunters," -Kyle raise a brow at you-

"The hunters are particularly my fault. You see, when I came looking for these flowers, my reputation of a witch followed me, and they trailed behind. Wolvesbane normally only grows near the paranormal creature themselves, much like Monotropa uniflora or black roses. I needed them for my garden. However, I tried to say clear of you and your pack. Usually, the lesser the flower, the further away the pack is. However, you seemed to be nearby," - This was true, Kyle and his pack were nearby. Not very close, but close enough that he was able to run here in his time of need, not wanting to bring the hunters to his lovers - "so either you and your pack just got here, are hidden or you're a long way from home,"

Kyle sat, thinking of what this meant. You'd unintentionally brought danger to him and the ones he loved. What does this mean? Were you going to stay in these woods? If you left, would the hunters go too? Where did this house come from? You say you just got here, yet you have a garden filled with magic plants and a house that wasn't exactly small. It wasn't a small cozy cottage like his packs. It wasn't a tent you'd just set up. It looked as if it had always been here.

"Well, it should be about that time," you say as you look as an old pocket watch from your dress pocket, " I'm happy you ate that flower, I'd hate for this to have been painful for you," - Kyle tilts his head, confused - "that arrow is a hunters arrow, it's been crafted specifically to hurt you. A normal needle and thread wouldn't be able to close that wound. And this type of threat can be... painful to the paranormal creatures of the night. But with that Wolvesbane, you won't feel a thing!" You say as you stick his side with a needle.

He felt nothing.

"There. You should be good now, I'm no doctor, but I'd say I did a rather good job." You smile as you begin to clean up, putting the needle and tread away before storing the arrow away with the rest of your gunter weapons you've collected over the years. "Thank you." You jump, the first words he's said since he's been here. "Well, thank you as well," - "for what?" - "not ripping me to shreds as I walked through the door," you tease.

"Where's the mutt?"

"I'm not sure,we lost track of him"

"He probably bled out somewhere,"

"Well find him, he'd make a nice furr rug! Haha!"

They were still looking for him. While due to the flower he ate, he may not feel the pain, but that doesn't mean his body isn't affected by it. He wouldn't be able to outrun them, not a chance.

"You can stay here. You won't be able to run if they see you. Tomorrow, I'll travel halfway with you, I'll throw off your trail. Then you'll be gone before those hunters realize your long gone." As you say this, the house seems to dim. The candles along the walls begin to dim their glow.

"Come now." You say, nodding your head up the stairs. He follows right behind you, Kyle can't thank you enough. Now, the only thing he'll have to worry about is the earful he'll get from John and some whining from Johnny. He's never been so happy to hear those than right now.

"I live alone and don't get much company, so if you don't mind, you can sleep with me. I'd prefer you have something soft to rest on, especially with that bad side."

"I have no problem," he smiles at you. You certainly are strange. You climb onto your bed after taking off your over dress and shape wear sighing as you get warm under the covers. Kyle shortly following after.

He can't sleep. He's worried sick. What if his boys came out looking for him and got hurt? He hated making them worry, and he's sure they were worried sick. He felt guilty. He's pulled from his thoughts as he felt a soft touch, "they'll be ok." A soft and low whine crawls from his chest, he knows. But that fact doesn't settle his mind.

When morning comes, Kyle finds himself wrapped around you, his face buried in your hair arms and legs tangled. You smell nice. "Good morning, Pup," -you say with a sigh as you struggle to get up sleepily putting on your dress,- "morning,"

"Fancy breakfast? Or should we hurry on our way? I'm sure your pack is worried sick," - "As much as I'd love some pancakes, I think I've caused enough trouble," - "next time then?" - Kylr smiled, "next time."

Leaving the house and back into the woods was nerve-wracking for Kyle, constantly peaking over his shoulder, worried he'd find a man with a crossbow pointed at him. But you didn't seem worried at all. You seemed to know exactly where you were going; like you'd lived in this wood your whole life.

Just as you approach the babbling brook, you stop; "This is where my path ends, Kyle." You smile up at him, "it's time for you to go." - "Well, would you maybe like to stay? It's almost time for lunch, won't you stay?"- You smile, bit before you can answer, You both hear voices that have Kyle's head whipping around to see them.

"I FOUND HIM!"

Kyle smiles excitedly, "JOHNNY!" Kyle breaks into a sprint, colliding into the smaller yet muscular Scott, a pair of footsets coming quickly behind. "What the hell were you thinking?!" - "it's good to see you too, John."

"Where have you been?"

"Why didn't you say you were leaving?"

"What happened to your side?! Your shirt is drenched in blood!"

John, Simon, and Johnny all firing questions one after the other, "it's alright, I got help." - "help? From who?" - "Well, she -" while Kyle turned around to point you out, you were gone. Where did you go? "Well, whoever she was, I'm glad she helped you." - "yeah, I'll have to introduce you..." he says, his voice trailing off as he wonders where you went, and what exactly was your name? He'd forgotten to ask... infact, you had said his name just now... when had he told you his name?...

#kyle x reader #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick #taskforce 141 #task force 141 #tf 141 #141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #cod 141 #poly 141 #cod x reader #cod x you #monster au #witch!reader

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cottonlemonade · 1 month

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Hi there! could i get a medium to large mango with boba for tsukishima! i really love your work

Just A Dream

word count: 806 || avg. reading time: 3 mins.

pairing: post-time skip husband Tsukishima x chubby!Reader

genre: this has it all - for some reason, fluff, a pinch of angst and a dash of spice

warnings: mdni, nsfw

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Kei woke with a start. Fumbling fingers reached for the glasses on his nightstand. It was absurd, of course you‘d lay next to him when he turned around. Right? He swallowed and looked over to the other side of the bed. Sure enough, in the dark he could just make out your soft curves under the blanket, gently rising and falling in a deep peaceful sleep. He let out a sigh. It was just a dream. You hadn‘t really fought, he hadn‘t made you cry, you hadn‘t been disappointed in him. You hadn‘t left. But nevertheless, the panic in his chest felt real. He should make sure to prevent his nightmare from ever becoming reality. What an absurd thought. Or was it?

He leaned over and, his eyes now accustomed to the night, admired your features. The cute chubby cheeks all smooshed together, making you look impossibly adorable. How he ever got you to fall in love with him he‘d never know. He felt like going down that road of thought was not exactly safe for him. Your husband brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear and with a touch light as a feather kissed your temple before getting out of bed.

First things first.

He headed to the kitchen to grab some water, emptying the cup in deep gulps, feeling his pulse settling down.

Quietly, he reached into the cupboards to set the table for breakfast the next morning and once he was satisfied with his work, grabbed his phone. He had used this service many times before but it had probably been months since the last time he even got you flowers. He bit his lips, scolding himself, as he selected a bouquet of your favorites to be sent to your office some time next week as a surprise. Then he stood in the dimly lit living room, looking around for inspiration. What else could he do? What would Tadashi or Akiteru do?

Didn‘t his friend just tell him last weekend that he always included a little love note in his wife‘s lunch box?

Now, Kei, as gifted of a man as he was, didn‘t cook that well. He was decent with ramen and could fry a mean egg but his skills were definitely not enough for a bento. Plus, technically it was Sunday tomorrow and it wouldn‘t make sense for the lunch box to sit around a whole day. But… he could do the love note. How cheesy. Would you even like it if he did? He sighed again. Only one way to find out. He rummaged around in his desk and found a little note pad you had gifted him as a joke last Valentine‘s day - two brachiosauruses forming a heart with their long necks. He cringed when he reached for a pen. But it had to be done. No stone should remain unturned in his endeavor to prove his love for you. With gritted teeth he wrote one note after another, but they all sounded too out there, too much, insincere.

So in the end after several crumpled dino post-its he wrote I love you, x K and, before he could change his mind, quickly stuck it into your day planner for you to find on Monday.

After another thorough check on the kitchen table to make sure he didn‘t forget any dishes, he made his way back to the bedroom. His feet, cold from the wooden floor, slipped underneath the blanket and he pulled you close to wipe away the very last remnants of panic clinging to his heart. You were right here in his arms, still asleep, still unbearably gorgeous. Kei buried his face in your hair and took a deep calming breath.

He supposed there was one more way he could show you his love tonight…

Kisses pressed to your shoulder and neck made you stir against him.

“Kei?“

You turned around, sleepily rubbing your eyes. He brought his hand from your hips up to your breasts and squeezed them gently, just the way you liked, ghosting his fingertips over your hardening nipples.

“Mmh… Kei… what?“

“I need you, sweetheart.“, he muttered. You couldn‘t know that he meant it in more ways than one.

You let out a tiny sleepy giggle. “Is that so? Well, no complaints here.“

He kissed you, elated when you immediately opened your mouth for him to deepen his affection.

“Can I … ah, y/n… can I be inside you?“

“As if I could ever say no to you…“

He raised your nightgown above your head, relishing in the sight before him - his beautiful naked wife smiling up at him.

When he entered you slowly a few moments later he felt beyond relieved. It had all just been a dream and yet, he still couldn‘t believe his luck.

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a/n: this one got away from me - I’m so sorry for the added angst! I hope it’s still fine. Thank you so much for your request and your kind words and I love your writing, too!! 🌱

for requests see here

#sunnys lemonade stand #tsukishima x chubby reader #haikyuu x chubby reader #chubby reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima fluff #tsukki x chubby reader #tsukki smut #haikyuu tsukki #hq tsukki #tsukishima kei x chubby reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima smut #haikyuu tsukishima #tsukki x reader #tsukishima kei

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ellesgreenaway · 2 years

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say that you miss me | eddie munson

summary: a birthday party brings eddie reluctantly back together with an old high school flame he hasn’t seen in two years.

word count: 7.7k

warnings: minors dni, smut, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie (?), swearing, afab reader, slight angst, hurt/comfort, reader initially doesn’t come off very well, use of drink and mention of drugs

a/n: i’m actually a little nervous about this one as it’s really the longest fic i’ve ever written and i haven’t really written like much in this way so please be kind to me! any feedback is really appreciated :)

“Du-ude!” Steve cries out in despair when he opens his front door, both voice and face riddled in disappointment. “I told you to comb your damn hair when it’s wet! What is this shit?”

Eddie blinks deadpan, standing frigid with a large box full of an assortment of black market priced alcohol (it was half spiced rum, clearly not much of a demand for it) with his little box of the good stuff buried deep. “I think you mean to say: Hey Eddie, thanks so much for bringing hundreds of dollars of merchandise to my party.” He replies, thick with sarcasm.

Eddie could barely hear himself speak. He had only arrived a whole twenty minutes after the said start time of the party that Steve had announced to the group (and repeatedly after for the last several days leading up to it), deemed by young person status as way too early, and yet Eddie could barely make out any other sounds apart from the dreaded sound of the popped-up excuse of rock that was overplayed on every radio station booming thickly through every wall of the (quite frankly) colossal hunk of a house Steve lived in. People were bustling in and out of rooms and collecting in rooms like it was New York City, and it immediately put Eddie on edge. He arrived early to make sure he could be scarce, not the centre of attention.

Steve rolls his eyes, taking the box of beverages from Eddie’s hands. He made sure his drug box was taken out before it was no longer in his possession. “I’m just saying man, you complain time and time again about how frizzy and knotty it gets, and when I offer you sound advice, you disregard it.” Eddie is following his friend blindly through the open plan grandeur of a home Steve finds himself lucky enough to live in, half not listening because he thinks he’s never seen a house this big before, let alone been in one. He bumps into person after person, recognising them all from high school, and it’s only a few seconds before the lump in Eddie’s throat grows ever bigger as he realises this was just an excuse to throw an informal high school reunion. It had only been months for Eddie compared to years for everyone else; he wasn’t sure he was mentally prepared for this to be thrust upon him.

“And you still don’t listen!” Steve quips harshly, and the tone gets Eddie’s attention after a long while, making the metalhead roll his eyes with minimal care.

Eddie shrugs lightly, an end destination in sight as Steve sets down the worn cardboard onto a spacious wooden table, placed against the wall where an assortment of other drinks have already been placed in their regiment.

People are looking, and aren’t really making it subtle, either. They were probably just as surprised as Eddie was - what was he doing showing his face in Steve Harrington’s home? - but it seemed that, by some miracle, they were friends, so it was a heckle-free zone. As much as Steve’s reputation had dropped since he left school, he was still much more well-known than anyone else in this house. The shouts of murderer and satan worshipper were hung up at the door for one night only.

It was packed beyond belief, but when Eddie looks around him, he notices the entire bottom floor of the house is rid of personal photos, glass and anything that exceeds the value of ten dollars. Apparently, even at the ripe old age of twenty-one, Steve is still deathly afraid of getting his ass handed to him by his parents. Eddie knows he wouldn’t want that from Wayne, even if he were forty.

“When’s Robin getting here? I rarely see her without you.”

Steve seems to relieve himself of some of the party hosting stress that evidently seems to have piled on top of him throughout the day at the mention of his best friend’s name. “She came from work with me this afternoon, she’s just running an errand for me.”

Eddie’s eyes widen, more in disbelief than shock, it was quite on brand for Harrington to get the whole gang involved for something so trivial as a party that will probably be filled with people he’s been dreading seeing since the day he graduated — everyone he went to high school with. Worse, people who finished high school before he did.

A small snort leaves Eddie’s nose, mindlessly fiddling with a small bowl of gummy bears that sat lonesome at the edge of the drinks table. It lay practically untouched, and he could only imagine that Robin had insisted some sort of food would be provided at the bash. Eddie was growing uncomfortable; he rarely spent time alone with Steve Harrington, and it’s never exceeded the point of awkwardness. It was teetering on the edge of such.

“I dread to think what you got that asswipe Henderson to do for this.” Eddie laughs, and it seems to have avoided the edge of that awkward ledge, as Steve chuckles along just as the door goes.

“He got home from college only last night and is currently hauling ass, borrowing speakers from Family Video to bring them here. Little dude can barely carry one of those things, will probably need Mike or some shit to help him.”

Steve opens the door to Robin, who looks annoyed as per with her friend, holding up several sheets of fax-printed paper. She walks through without even greeting the birthday boy, something that ignites a stifle of laughter from Eddie under his breath. That earned him his own greeting from Robin, throwing him a quick wave as she slams the paper down on the table.

“Did you print it all? That fax machine is crap at the best of times.”

She rolls her eyes, throwing a pointed look at Eddie as if she were asking for help. “Why did I just walk in with three sheets of paper, dingus? To hand in a college essay?”

As Eddie’s smirk gets wider, Steve’s scowl deepens, snatching the paper to his own hands, scanning it momentarily.

“Honestly, I don’t even know why you need a list to this stupid party, anyway. Everyone’s already here, this town hasn’t had a party in years.”

Hold up, now Eddie’s curiosity seems to be piqued. His head whips to where Steve stood on the other side of him, taking the paper for himself and carefully dissecting every name that was typed in several long columns.

His eyes stop tracking on one name, head whipping up to Steve. “You invited Y/N?”

Steve furrows his brows, taking a swig from a beer he had picked up from the table. “You, Eddie Munson, know Y/N Y/L/N?”

Eddie swallows thickly, eyes shifting to the floor, uncharacteristically nervous, the paper being shoved roughly back into Robin’s hands. Seeing that name gave him such an immediate rush of butterflies he thought he was going to barf, and he was sober.

“I need a drink,” Was all Eddie could respond to the question posed to him, taking the nearest liquor and pouring a quick shot. It was unfortunate, he realised as the liquid burns layers off his throat, that it was tequila, but anything to take the edge of what he was feeling right now.

Robin widens her eyes, shifting the tequila bottle away from her friend by a few metres, worried the whole bottle would be demolished before long if Eddie carries on like this. “How about we start slower, hm? Like a beer,” She replaces the shot glass with a can quickly.

Steve narrows his eyes suspiciously at Eddie; he knows his fair share of the feeling a drink could fix instead of facing a past flame, but the pairing of Eddie and Y/N doesn’t fit at all in his head. “When were you two a thing?”

Eddie screws his eyes shut; he knows he can’t really avoid this subject for long. “Senior year. My first one.”

A small but triumphant cheer leaves Steve’s lips, clearly already on the edge between tipsy and slurring, his hand coming down to clap proudly on Eddie’s shoulders.

“Didn’t take you for goody two shoes to be your type man, but then again, how I ever dated the smartest girl in Hawkins beats me.”

Cringing and deciding he was officially too sober to take part in this conversation about his past love life, he takes his belongings, eyes drawn to the garden door.

“Surely someone needs some weed by now right?” He asks rhetorically, but turns to Robin with pleading eyes, who just shrugs bemused.

So much for these new friends.

Thankfully for Eddie, half the people at this party who were already drunk and looking for a little boost to keep the night going had somehow remembered Eddie was the drugs guy, not the accused murderer guy, and a small queue had formed at the bottom of the garden as he got on with what he was used to doing the whole of highschool: living in the darkness dealing the bad stuff to the angels of society.

It was such a monotonous process, asking what was needed, sorting it out into the numerous small translucent bags, opening his hand and waiting as the exchange was made. His head stayed down the entire time, so over the game of which Hawkins sweetheart wanted an experience of the dark side. It also depersonalised it for him, made him feel less guilty for doing what he did. He knew the risks of these things, but he didn’t have a choice. Being working class and only having a minimum wage job at The Hideout meant he was the lowest of the low. Not many options are handed to a young man with no savings and only a highschool diploma to his name.

“I had always hoped that something better for you would come along apart from this, Eddie.” Lulled a sweet tone, almost dripping with it, dancing into Eddie’s ears. His head snapped up. The sweetness was all too familiar to him, something he had occasionally dreamt of in the last few years.

And yet, dreams don’t really amount to the feeling of seeing you again. Except, it wasn’t the exact replica of the young woman he had seen leave Hawkins for college. You were rougher on the edges, a cigarette balancing between your index and middle finger, the smoke of it wafting up into your hair and around your clothes.

Eddie stifles a chortle, and he can’t help the smirk line his lips like he was seventeen again, “And I had never hoped to see someone like you smoking cigarettes when you berated me for doing the same.”

You roll your eyes, flicking the thing out of your delicate fingers, letting it fall into the damp grass. It sits there on the ground for a few seconds, burning into the green until your boot comes to crush it. Now the cigarette lays limp and surrounded by the ash of its former flame.

“It’s social only. I’m not addicted.”

The adjective almost felt like a small jab at Eddie, but he brushes it off, deciding instead with a polite smile. It was all he could manage when the beating of his heart thumped heavy in his ears and throat.

“It’s nice to see you again, Y/N.” Is what he settles with, but the thing is he actually meant it. It was nice to see you, however belated it may have been. And while there was a roughness he seemed to have never seen in you before, he was pleased to see that you had finally grown into your character. You were the woman you had always strived to be in highschool: unapologetically yourself, and it almost made him swoon in admiration.

Your face softens at that second, the first bricks of the wall you had built up around herself removing one by one. It was then that Eddie sees that you hadn’t really changed, no matter how grown up you had become. That same excited and slightly naïve sparkle of your eye appeared, just as you whisper back, “You too, Munson. It’s been a while.”

A wide grin began to line Eddie’s lips, and just as he were to open his mouth again, ready to dive into a nostalgic conversation and settle into memories that he cherishes so dearly to his chest, you get a fierce tap on your shoulder - more of a jab really - causing you to turn around and face whoever was disturbing Eddie’s time with you.

Another girl, someone who looks familiar but not enough for Eddie to care, along with Nancy Wheeler, who flashed Eddie a knowing little smile, eyes shifting to you, bounced up beside Eddie’s ex, grabbing onto your shoulders enthusiastically. The move almost made you fall from the surprising weight added to her back.

The unknown friend speaks first, her jaw constantly moving up and down, a fluorescent pink piece of bubblegum the one to blame for the jarring movement smacking in Eddie’s ears. “Hey, we’re about to play some poker in the basement if you wanna join,” She whines, and Eddie sighs to himself quietly. He had only managed to have forty-five whole seconds of you to himself, and you were already in high demand for your attention. It was something that harkened Eddie back to when he was coupled with her all that time ago. The girl notices Eddie sigh, her sharp gaze shifting to him, scrutinising everything about him in just a split second. “Who’s he?”

Suddenly you grow bashful, your cheeks darkening across your cheeks and the bridge of your nose, averting your eyes down to the patch of grass where your cigarette lay lifeless. Your mouth opened and closed again, the speechlessness overcoming every sense in your body.

Despite the flash of hurt that pangs Eddie’s chest, he speaks up, “I’m just the drugs guy.” He informs her with fake sincerity, one she didn’t notice as her eyes light up slightly at the opportunity struck before her to turn the party up a notch.

You flash Eddie a grateful smile, turning to your friend. “He’s not just the drugs guy,” You begin, and a match of hope lights itself in Eddie. Just say we dated, say we were a thing, a fling, anything, he begs in his mind. “This is Eddie Munson. We…We um- We went to school together. His mom used to clean my house.” You say bluntly, and the match in Eddie dies out quickly.

Suddenly Eddie is reminded why he and you never worked out in the first place; not only did you ever manage to admit to one single person that you and Eddie were together, no, scrap that, in love, with one another, but it reminded him of a time more peaceful than what he’d been through in the years since you. His mother no longer being around was the hardest pill to swallow.

Seeing the disappointment fill Eddie’s eyes, you attempt to reach your arm to Eddie, and he’s letting you, showing no signs of resistance to the attempt of comfort, but you stop yourself just short of his bicep. The hesitation is all too clear all throughout you, body and face and all, and Eddie isn’t sure how much longer he can take this. He doesn’t need to be reminded by the first (and so far only) person he ever loved to tell him through everything but words that he wasn’t good enough.

Eddie lets in a sharp breath of the late autumnal air, the release of it creating a pillow of cold air that wisps around his face. “I best clock in a break, it seems custom has dried up for now.” He announces, as usual with an air of humour laced in with it, but as his eyes shift to avoid yours, he catches Nancy’s instead, who frowns with a level of concern that was equivalent to pity, and Eddie was certainly not in the mood for that.

“Hey Eddie, come play po-” You begin to ask, but Eddie was fast leaving the garden, which has slowly become unbearably stifling despite the chill creating thousands of small goosebumps underneath the leather protection of his jacket.

That drinks table was most certainly going to be raided.

You were glad to see Eddie again, you really were - you felt like after so many years being lost and bewildered, trying to find your footing in this weird world, seeing him again felt like she became grounded slightly again. You were really home now.

“So, that’s the infamous Eddie Munson,” Mused Wendy, a friend from college who’d come home with you for the weekend, sharing with you and Nancy an exciting wide smile, almost dying to hear the words that you wanted Wendy and Nancy to play matchmaker.

Wincing, you push her animated friend off of yourself, traipsing slowly back to the house where Eddie had well by now disappeared into. It would be near impossible to find him again in all this space with so many people in it.

Nancy pulls a puzzled face to the pair of friends, “Wait, you liked Eddie too? I just thought he had a massive crush or something.”

“Huh! Liked? The girl was in love with him, Nance. Spent her entire first semester in freshman year wallowing in our dorm for no reason until I finally got it out of her.”

Nancy was even more confused by the statement, and the journalistic instinct in her begged for more information, linking her arm through yours as they carried on their walk back to the loud wall of sound. “What happened between you guys?”

You sighed, looking down at a small chip that’s appeared in her nail polish since coming to the party. As much as it was nice to see Eddie again, reliving the mistakes of your past, and making them again wasn’t something that screamed 21st birthday to you, even if it wasn’t your birthday.

Still, you knew if you weren't going to say now, Nancy would be bugging you until she gave all the details and more. At least now she had control over how much you could reveal. You hadn’t even told Wendy everything, just the basics. “We dated in senior year. I was…concerned with how we’d look together. To everyone else. I knew it wouldn’t help my social status, basically.” You admit guiltily, and you knew that Nancy was smart enough to put the missing pieces of the jigsaw together, and her eyes widen with shock and a slight disappointment when she eventually does.

It made you sting. Yeah, you weren't proud of what you did either.

“And you just…what, haven’t spoken to him since then? Senior year of highschool?” Nancy exclaims out loud, and you try not to notice the sharp daggers Wendy points at the eldest Wheeler sibling, but you shrug it off, the guilt swimming in your lungs.

It was going to drown you.

Shrugging your two friends off your shoulders, you turn to them, a fierce look in your eyes, switching between them and the sight of the dozens of college students all crammed together dancing to whatever was playing. “Will there be lots and lots of booze at this poker game?”

Wendy smirks slightly, grabbing your hand and yanking you back inside the house, the once barely distant thumps of the music (you swore it was quieter before she came out into the garden) now distinctly deafening, feeling your organs jump with you in your body in time with the beat of the tunes. Nancy wasn’t far behind, more cautious than the impulsive actions of your freshman roommate and much more aware that there were other people attending too, but the busyness of the atmosphere has you not thinking straight.

That and the fact that Eddie Munson was at any given place in this house right now.

Approaching the drinks table where they earlier dropped off a polite bottle of wine (it had already been drunk), Wendy grabs three clean plastic shot glasses, reaching for the half-empty bottle of tequila standing nearest to her.

Nancy screws her face up, waving her hand in near total dismissal.

“Oh my God Wendy, you’re trying to kill me. I need a chaser if I’m gonna be forced to shot that.”

Laughing with an almost cynical undertone, Wendy raises the shot glass right under both Nancy and your noses. Both of you share the same look of dread.

“I know none of these small-town Indiana dorks apart from you two, so if I’m gonna have a good time, you’re gonna get wasted with me and we mess around, ‘kay?”

Well, you couldn’t really disagree with that doctrine.

Flinging back shot after shot, the music went from thumping and slightly unbearable beat of the music to danceable and you were even almost starting to enjoy it. You danced with your friends, well, it was dancing in their eyes, squashed among the dozens of people that amalgamated in Steve Harrington’s living room, and although the three of you were panting as you danced, the back of their necks collecting beads of sweat that eventually dripped down your necks, tickling your spines. It had been nice, for once, you thought as you waved your arms around in the crowd, grinning madly at your two friends, that you were able to fully enjoy yourself without consequence. Usually, you had practice in the morning, or study group, or you wouldn’t even be out, writing an essay until the early hours of the morning instead.

There was a slight sadness in your eyes as you danced, too. You might have been drunk and dancing like no one was watching, but she still felt the trickles of dread as the regret you had felt for the whole of freshman year for Eddie had returned in full force.

You were feeling small tears prick the back of your eyes; it came on suddenly, like a big wave at sea that looked small at first but was actually going to swallow you whole, and the dancing came too to a sudden stop.

You swallow thickly, patting your purse around your shoulder to make sure her cigarettes were packed away. “I’m um— I’m going to go for a quick smoke break, ‘kay?” You shout over the throbbing bass, and luckily your wave of emotion came at the right time, both Nancy and Wendy agreeing they’ll meet you in the basement game of poker Jonathan, Robin and Steve were at.

The lighter came in contact with the cigarette as soon as you had stepped outside, and you had never been so grateful to take a puff from something you tolerated at the best of times, walking over to a step at the side of the house, letting the cool air gently penetrate your burning skin.

When holding the stick of tobacco between your two fingers, your mind once again goes to Eddie. How he brought up the fact you told him off as much as you could whenever he smoked one of his own, and how much it was true. The memory brought a bittersweet chuckle past your lips, slightly curved from the nostalgia.

You heard the sound of feet dragging against the pebbles of the driveway behind you, and you weren’t very surprised to see Eddie approach you, his trademark smirk painting his mouth, but it was more subtle than usual.

You throw him a wobbly smile, suddenly feeling the need to put the cigarette out again, so desperately insecure of doing anything remotely bad around him. Eddie, of all people, but you knew it was because these were all things you never would have done in highschool.

He was going to walk past you, step over her tight-clad legs and carry on his journey to what looks like his van, just a few metres off in the distance, but a thought bubbles up in your mind, and you knew it would bug you forever if you didn't ask there and then.

“Do you have regrets?” You ask, just above a whisper but not quite talking at a normal volume. You were nervous to ask.

Eddie turned around, furrowing his eyebrows in curiosity at you. He likes to think he still knows you well enough to know that this isn’t brought on from random drunk thoughts, but he also knew he couldn’t just ask outright what got you asking questions like this. Not anymore, anyway.

He begins to walk back, standing over her just centimetres away, his eyes studying your face, which was turned down to the ground, your lips pursed desperately around the cigarette that was nearly out, looking at you drain everything you could out of it. He decides to perch next to you, leaving a big enough gap that it was considered appropriate. “Regrets about what? Mine are sorted into categories, you know.”

You smile, puffing out a laugh from your nose. “I dunno, like…Do you ever regret not going to college? For not passing senior year first time? All those little things that you could have changed, could have altered to make that slight little bit of improvement, but you just…didn’t?”

Eddie thought about your question, lighting a cigarette of his own while he pondered. “I could’ve, yeah. I could have done all that shit, got a degree, left this town, maybe studied something I knew I would be good at. But, ah, I don’t know. I don’t think there’s any point in wasting my energy on the what ifs. I have shit I gotta deal with now, today, and that takes up enough as it is,” He inhales deep, getting lost in his thoughts while looking at you. He had never seen you so troubled, not even when you two broke up. “I feel like I could have done better, a lot of times, but do I regret it? Rarely.”

You don’t really respond, just sniff and look away again, your hand drawing through your hair delicately, but it was like it was bothering you. Everything seemed to look like everything was bothersome in a way.

“My turn,” Eddie declares, feeling like this was the only way to find out what was wrong with you. He wasn’t even thinking about the fact that he hadn’t seen you in two years, or that forty-five minutes ago he wanted to be anywhere but around you. The need to act like your support dial had overwhelmed him like an instinct. This was natural. “You have never felt the need to feel regret once in your life, sweetheart.”

“Not a question.” You point out.

Eddie chuckles, holding his finger up to you, “Patience, I’m getting there,” And suddenly you turn to him, your body strong and straight, but eyes are full of worry for whatever he could possibly ask. He hopes you know him well enough to still guess it’s probably to get to the bottom of whatever was bothering you. “So you’re obviously regretting something, what is it?”

You huff heavily, and Eddie could sense your walls were going up, defending yourself from the vulnerability and insecurity you once gave herself willingly to with Eddie. You shuffled away one inch. “I haven’t seen you in two years, Munson. You can’t expect me to tell you all my worries and fears like we’re still together.”

Eddie feels the need to remind himself to be patient, swallowing thickly. He can’t help but trick himself into thinking this, looking at you, the moonlight twinkling in your eyes, making you look so ethereal with your beauty.

“You asked first, sweetheart, don’t pretend you don’t miss talking to me.” He replies, but it just seems to have frustrated you more. Eddie knows it’s not frustration directly at him, your frustrated with herself.

You look at him, eyebrows crossed, a crease diving the two of you. “So what? I— ugh! Everything is so fucking complicated!”

“With me?”

“Yes!” You cry, and you’re stood now, pacing up and down the little alley created at the side of Steve’s house. “But no, too. I…seeing you tonight has just thrown me off, that’s all. I…I can’t think straight.”

“Ah, so that’s why to your friends I’m still Eddie, a friend whose mom cleaned for your mom?” He asks, and it was petty, he knows, but the stings of pain just couldn’t help but trickle their way into the conversation. All he ever wanted from you was to just admit that you were both in love, even if it was once upon a time.

You crumple your fists as if you were containing all your anger in there, but when your head throws up to look at Eddie, who’s also stood up by now, your eyes are full of nothing but apology.

“Come on Eddie, you know I never meant that. And…And you always meant more than that to me. So did your mother. She was like family to us.”

Eddie huffs, and the dread returns to him like a bad sickness. He realises tonight, seeing you for the first time in months and months that really, he never got over you. You matter as much to him now and as you did when you were seniors sneaking around, but the insecurity fills his chest when he explores the thought that you could ever have felt the way he did.

Maybe he was too drunk. God knows you were too.

“I think I’m just gonna conduct business from my van for the rest of the night. Enjoy the party, Y/N.” He says defeatedly, walking to his van and expecting his old flame to walk in the opposite direction.

But you didn’t. You didn’t walk away, not this time.

“Well what do you want me to do, Eddie? Take back the past?! That’s impossible!” You ask as you follow him to his van, your hands flying around your face wildly. There were tears glassing over your eyeballs, and no matter how mad at you he is for hurting him, for making him feel every bit like he didn’t deserve to be loved, Eddie’s chest still tightened when he saw you like this. You run your hands through your hair again, practically ruining it, sniffing roughly. “I loved you, I loved you like I’ve never loved anyone else before…and yeah, I couldn’t say it out loud when I was seventeen, and I’m sorry, I really am,” You’re looking at him dead in the eye now, any hesitation or resistance he had seen earlier in the night now completely gone, and Eddie feels a change in the electricity around the two of you when he looks back, “but you can’t punish me forever. I’m done being punished, Eddie. If you wanna move on so badly, do it.”

He thinks you’ve said this because you know deep down that the daring words that drip from your tongue edge Eddie to stay, do the complete opposite of what you’ve offered him. You’re not dumb, you’ve probably noticed the way that ever since you asked him that question at the side of the house that he’s inched closer to you with every word shared between you, nice or not. You can probably smell the mix of musky wood from his cologne and the ashy taste of cigarettes that permanently linger in his mouth, just as he can smell the sweet floral tones of your perfume, a mix of flowers and soap.

You have seen to finally have given him an out. It should have felt relieving.

Yet Eddie just couldn’t back away. He hesitates a scoff, low and scowling, tired of arguing but he has no other way to talk to you right now without wanting to just take your face in his hands and kiss those plump glossy lips of yours. “You still couldn’t even admit we were even together. We’re twenty now. Hell, almost twenty-one. Three years on and you can’t admit it!”

You’re bashful, looking down to the concrete driveway. “I don’t want them to give any more excuses to constantly pick at you.”

“Them?”

“This batshit crazy town, Munson! What do you think people will do when they find out we dated, huh? They’ll tear you apart, think you corrupted me or put your bullshit claims of satanism onto you, and I can’t help you! I’ll be in Emerson!” You say, the tear falling loose from your eye and trailing down your cheek.

Eddie blinks at you, the act of anger slowly washing away on his features. “You heard about everything then, huh?”

“I think I spent my whole summer telling people to go fuck themselves for thinking someone who likes metal and plays a kids fantasy game was capable of murder.” You says with a nervous chuckle, and Eddie’s heart rises to a flutter, staring at you with contentment, and a reminiscent reminder of the way he used to look at you when you were together; with total infatuation.

Suddenly Eddie was stuck.

He was stuck because he had finally been given an opportunity to move on from you, try and forget your face as he lived your life and you carried on with yours in Boston, but he doesn’t think he had ever imagined a more beautiful thought than thinking about you telling a stranger making comments about Eddie the murderer to do one.

He stays stuck while looking at you, leaning against the back door of his van, head staring at the cold night sky, exposing your neck, your chest heaving up and down from the exhaustion of their argument. Eddie couldn’t stop staring, momentarily parting his lips and wetting them with his tongue.

He steps closer to you. It was only one small step, barely stretching his legs before your thighs touched his. You look down again to look him in the eye once more, but differently than before, you’ve noticed the change in air, too. You noticed the way Eddie has his lips slightly parted, his chocolate doe eyes are blown open, pupil swallowing the colour almost entirely. His hand is inching closer to your cheeks, and when his palm eventually comes into contact, you feel singes of his burning hot touch, almost like fire, and it alights a small gasp from your lips, a sound that roars Eddie’s determination to life.

His thumb lowers, tracing delicately down your cheek until it reached the corner of your lips, slightly chapped and the gloss drying in odd places, all the while keeping the fierce hold of your eyes that made you soften and pant harder in anticipation.

A small smirk quirks one side of Eddie’s mouth. He has you right where he wants you, ready for him to launch onto you and get back to what you used to do in highschool, but he wasn’t going to give it to you just yet. “I would kiss you,” He begins, voice low and grumbling a little with the whisper, “But you might not want everyone else to know your pretty little mouth likes kissing the freak of Hawkins.”

Immediately you roll your eyes, your own hand cupping Eddie’s cheek. You take the majority of the leap, their lips in contact but not kissing when you ever so slightly take your back off the van door.

“You kiss me right this second, Munson, or I tell everyone that you cried watching Grease.”

He stifles a snort, smirk only growing wider. “We can't be having that, can we? I have a reputation to think about.”

When their lips finally connect, Eddie feels like he’s truly on fire everywhere, the touch of your lips igniting a burn that’s travelled through every vein in his body. It’s like his body has woken up again after years of being asleep, a jolt of energy surging through his nerves, and he wasn’t going to waste it.

Eddie’s hands instinctively slide onto your waist as the kiss deepens, your mouths open, tongues playing with one another desperately. It was messier than Eddie had ever imagined, and definitely less romantic, but when you settle your arms around his neck, pulling on the hairs at the nape, any coherent thought about his dream reunion with you goes out of the window.

It’s possibly minutes before you finally disconnect, silently making out at the edge of a party like the teenagers they once were when you were together, but you never lose contact, your lips peppering kisses constantly on his lips and around them. Eddie is distracting himself putting his hands under your top, the cold of his hands against the warmth of your belly eliciting a high-pitched whine from you, and it’s a noise Eddie is familiar with.

It had been too long since he heard that heavenly sound.

You seemed to have kicked your thinking brain in, taking Eddie’s face between your hands and taking his lips off your neck. “Do we really wanna do this again? I…I don’t want you to beat yourself up for this.”

Eddie throws her a lust-filled smile, but the question of concern has his heart fluttering. “What did I tell you about me and regrets, darling?”

You throw him a grateful smile, but you still hold him with hesitancy. Oddly though, it’s a different kind of hesitancy than what he’s used to. He throws you a questioning look, and you sift his chocolate waves through your hands when you give in. “I want you to know that I always regretted the way I handled things with you. Because the love I felt for you…the love I feel for you, I never went about it the right way.”

Now the insecurity and fear has left Eddie, because as he looks at you, his hands enveloped in yours and flush against your sternum, trying not to think about those tits he’d missed so much swallowing half the conjoined hands as they squeezed together, he’d finally felt like he understood her side after all this time. You were just as insecure.

“Let me show you then, sweetheart,” He pleads quietly, pressing kisses to each corner of your mouth, “Let me show you how much I missed you.”

Happily relenting, you flush your lips against his, connecting once more, but this time it felt more comforting to the both of them, like coming home at long last. It wasn’t long before your mouths opened for one another, Eddie’s tongue in your mouth and sucking your bottom lip as you mewled in response. His cock twitches when he hears you make those noises, thinking he’d never hear them again yet here he was, against the back door of his van with his lips attacking yours, and your hips pressing into his crotch, making him grunt in response.

“Fuck Eddie,” You pant, already breathless when your lips aren’t on Eddie’s for three long seconds, and Eddie wants to throw his head back if it weren’t for your hands tangled in his hair. “As much as I’m happy to show everyone how much I love me a bit of Eddie Munson, this is a bit public for me.”

Eddie feels himself smirk into your neck, travelling down and he feels his chin touch the top of your tits, and he tilts his head down to kiss them gently. The traces of fingers and fiddling of clothes that so desperately want to be taken off but can’t in the open driveway with random people walking in and out of the house. Your touch feels like feathers along Eddie’s skin, and it makes him just want you more with every growing second.

He accidentally bumps your temple as he grabs onto the back door handle that stood beside you, opening it roughly. “Get in the back sweetheart,” He says lowly, taking his hands and putting them on your waist as he gently hoists you into the back. It was a place of small haven for the both of you, and the reason why Eddie always kept his van so clean compared to everything else he owned.

When you’re in you hold your hand out for Eddie to get in himself, giggling when he shuts it and takes hold of your waist again, finding it impossible to stay away from it, his fingers dancing delicately up your top, slowly making its way up your ribs and to the underwire of your bra. Your small gasp of surprise only encourages Eddie further, his hand reaching to the top of your bra and pulling your tits out, taking your nipple between his fingers and rubbing slowly, your head throwing back to the side of the van as you moan with more vigour, mouth open agape as you breathe heavily.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re always so noisy for me,” He groans, pinching your nipple for a high-pitched cry, which you gave him with no resistance. His cock lays stiff in his jeans, and he’s not sure how much longer he’s able to wait before he cums in his pants, so his other hand snakes down to where your tights and knickers scantily cover your pussy, rubbing over your clit and hearing you cry out into the crook of his ear.

He does that for a few seconds, switching between making sure each breast sat peaked and awake for him while running your clit, the wetness of your pussy quickly bleeding through the thin layers that protected you, his hips rutting against your thigh as he groans in every rhythmic motion of his hips. Your lips are always on him somehow, and just as Eddie feels like he’s going to burst, feeling his orgasm starting to bloom, his hands travel to your ass, cupping your cheeks in his hands and squeezing before he huskily asks you to jump, your legs wrapped around his waist while you work on getting your tights off, leaving them stretch just below your knees.

Eddie drags his lip between his teeth when he looks down to your panties, the large spot of wet ever so distinct to him, even in the pitch black darkness of the night.

Finally deciding to relieve himself, Eddie uses the one hand he’s not using holding onto you to take his belt off and undo his zipper, moaning with volume as he takes his cock between his hands, squeezing at his base lightly, all the while staring at you, your eyes filled with intense arousal.

“Fuck me, Eddie, please,” You whisper, your forehead resting against his in a sweet manner of intimacy in the heat and sweat of the activity you were both partaking in.

He drags his cock slowly against the thin layer of panties, your moan making him twitch even in his hand.

“I— shit, I’ll fuck you, sweetheart, if you say that you miss me,” He says thickly, his fingers toying with the edge of your knickers.

Forehead still on his, you kiss his cheek gently, then his nose, then the corner of his mouth and then to his lips when you reply, that twinkle in your eyes returned and brighter than ever in the darkness of the back of Eddie’s van. “I miss you Eddie. Jesus fuck, I’ve missed you every day. Not one day I didn’t think about you.”

He seems satisfied with the answer, kissing gently on your lips while he puts your panties to one side, delicately prodding your hole with his finger, and you clenched around him perfectly, dripping wet and waiting for his cock to fill you up all the way.

You both moan loudly when Eddie ruts his hips up, thrusting all the way. He swore he’d never forget how perfect you feel, how you managed to always fit him just perfectly, the right fit for him, but with him inside you once again for the first time in a few tears, it’s like a memory that had come to life once more.

He thrusts with a consistent confident pace, your mouths conjoined to silence the sounds of panting and morning as the van rocked back and forth as he fucked you against the sound of the van, your hands occasionally pulling on his hair when he ruts deeply to your sweet spot.

When you throw your head to the side, your moans getting more pant-like and heavy, and Eddie remembers your queue that you were close, and he was determined not to cum until he had satisfied you entirely.

“Come on baby, I know you wanna come for me. Miss me—fuck, miss me so much you’ll be such a good girl and cum just for me, yeah?” He grunts, his speech coming in time with his thrusts, and your loud moan in response tells him you’re close, really close, his thumb coming to massage circles onto your clit once more.

You moan again, tugging on Eddie’s hair, “I’m gonna cum Eddie.”

He presses a sweet kiss to your cheek, “Cum then, sweetheart. Make me proud,” And it undoes your knot, your orgasm washing over you like a tsunami wave, Eddie feeling himself come undone just when he feels your juices drip down his cock and onto the thighs of his jeans, riding out his high with you by rocking gently, slowly coming to a stop when your moans run out and you tiredly hang your head into Eddie’s neck.

Kissing you once again when he pulls out, a whine of sensitivity leaving your mouth, he pulls your knickers and tights back up, stuffing himself back into his jeans before taking your hand and sitting you down on the small black loveseat he had bought for the band whenever they had practice.

Your head rest against his shoulder, hands mindlessly playing with the zip of his leather jacket while he strokes the top of your hair, pressing occasional kisses into it.

“I meant what I said, you know.” You whisper into the silent air, the van thick and muggy and smelling of sweat and sex that should have been enough to get Eddie out, but he was too tired to care. “I miss you everyday. And I-I fucked up, I know, but I wanna try again, with you,” You sat up now, looking at Eddie straight in the eye. “If you’d let me.”

Eddie smiles, full of love and adoration, taking your hand and kissing your knuckles as if they were made of gold. “I’d be stupid if I let the love of my fucking life get away from me like this again.”

tagging some people i love!

@will-on-the-internet @prettyboyeddiemunson, @benedictscanvas @indouloureux @lilacletter

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson ansgt #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x afab reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson x gn!reader #stranger things fic #ruby writes

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dancingwithfoxes · 6 months

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10 little subtle ways and things you could be doing that are witchy!

(esp if you're still in the broom closet) ❤️🦊

1. virtual and online altars

pinterest boards dedicated to your gods/goddesses; quotes and aesthetics.

tumblr dedication blogs.

social media page with your witchy alias.

discord server, a private place to organise channels and create categories for what you want, i.e., spellwork, candle magick, crystal associations, etc.

music playlists, for both manifesting and connecting with your deities, they love coming through music.

2. journal/book altars

similar to the idea of a book of shadows, this will be personal writings and thoughts for specific deities.

you can customise it and decorate it much like a physical altar! i.e., stickers, washi tapes, markers, sparkles.

custom spreads for whomever you work with, you can put prayers you've written for them, words you want to convey, and express.

3. the wooden box altar, also known as a travelling altar

a place to put all your trinkets and necessities.

if you're unable to have a physical space, having one that's portable will help you take your altar wherever you go.

you can carve/paint the box to be more personal for you, or to be ultra discreet about it you can just customise the inner part so it doesn't stick out to people you don't want knowing yet.

4. origami shapes

for manifesting, write out what you would like and fold it into a star to carry out the manifestation.

use the idea of symbolism to embed your intentions, for luck, a four leaf clover. for allowing new opportunities to find you and let go, a butterfly, to succeed in something you could make a bird; "soaring to new heights."

you could also use this time to connect with your deities, just being with them in the moment.

5. financial abundance

if you can't blow cinnamon on the first day of the new month, put a dash of it in your morning coffee or tea first thing.

use of coins in the soil of your plants welcomes in prosperity.

likewise with coins, frogs are symbolic of wealth.

a bay leaf where you keep your wallet/purse, the exchange of the money you give out you will receive back with a little extra.

6. kitchen magick/green witchery

add spices/herbs to help achieve something you want i.e.,

pancakes with vanilla and honey to bring in loving and warm energy.

adding pepper/salt/basil/rosemary to encourage protection.

for clarity and insight, chamomile tea.

to have peaceful and calm resolve, lemonade with fresh mint leaves.

7. clothing and jewellery

wearing items of clothing or jewellery in honour of your deities, i.e.

rings, bracelets, and necklaces that symbolise something of them for you.

shirts with quotes you feel resemble them; colour associations work plenty.

if you crochet or make your own items of clothing, knot magick or sewing in a symbol that means something for you can help you feel confident when wearing it.

8. self-care can be devotional

doing things that make you happy whilst doing it in honour of your deities allows them to be present in your simple joys.

writing, poetry, reading; feeling called to read something because it holds a message for you.

indulging a show or something you watched in your childhood years, deities take pleasure in watching something that means alot to you and will be grateful to share that moment.

treats and specific cravings, i.e., little upg, but loki loves sweet pastries.

taking a walk about in nature gives your deities more room to show you the beauty of the world. take them to your favourite bench, to your favourite coffee shop.

knot magick, if you crochet, make something in honour of your gods/goddesses. they will ensure it brings you comfort when you hold it.

painting your nails, you can charge your nail polish beneath the moon or mix in a little moon water to be energised and intuitively connected.

9. cleansing and clearing of old energy

water

will help the bad flow out and let the good flow in.

showers/baths are good for self-cleansing.

holding a glass of water before drinking it and wish your intentions.

crying, allowing yourself to feel what it is you're trying to process in order for it to be released. can't release something you haven't finished going through yet.

moon water, I recommend this during a new moon as that's more symbolic to starting anew, planting seeds and encouragement toward growth.

sun water, can help with energising you and bringing in positive energy, also a confidence boost.

earth

holding onto a crystal for a few moments, just breathing in and out.

crystals can be used for cleansing, smoky quartz, clear quartz. there is a crystal for all your needs.

plants! plants are great for protection and for taking in bad energy. they will listen to what you have to say, and will love you as much as you love them.

food, especially grown from the earth can help you feel refreshed and buzzing with energy.

fire

burning, writing out your hardships, struggles, anger and burning them (safely please).

lighting a candle while you work on something, very therapeutic, and you can visualise the bad energy being burnt out and released.

incense, the smoke is a natural cleanser and will do wonders. you aren't restricted to using sage to cleanse; others you could use are myrrh, sandalwood, lavender, or cedar. it's completely up to what your preferences are.

air

breathing in and out during meditation, as you take in some air and release it, upon release visualise what you're letting go of.

bells, the frequency of dinging bells helps to disperse bad energy.

sound cleansing through soft music, and intentional frequencies. you'll find alot of these up on youtube.

10. divination methods (aside from tarot/pendulums that i know of)

clouds, observing what you see and the shapes you recognise, what you need to know will be reflected in nature.

ceromancy, candle wax, burning a candle after asking for some clarity or an answer and having the wax form a shape for you to interpret.

numerology, angel numbers, and the significance of the numbers.

automatic writing, done in your personal journal, it's unconscious writing that can help channel messages you may need.

bibliomancy, randomly selecting a passage or words from a book.

capnomancy, the use of smoke from candles or incense, and reading the shapes and forms casted by the smoke

conchomancy, divination through seashells, shapes, and the type of shell.

casting a set of charms on a cloth and divinating the meaning of where they landed.

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rookthorne · 8 months

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⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐀𝐧 𝐎𝐥’ 𝐅𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐎𝐟 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐲

Bucky had been away for a long, long time, and your heart ached with missing him. Although, the time apart had allowed you to plan a surprise that would rock his world once he walked back through the door of your home, and into another era.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 — CW!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 — 2.2k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 — Tooth rotting fluff, alcohol consumption, Bucky has a housewife kink

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 — I got so inspired by this idea that I ended up making a playlist for it.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 — HERE

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔 — @allcapsbingo 𝗢𝟰 — 1940s — Masterlist — @anyfandomfluffbingo 𝗜𝟱 — Time Travel AU — Masterlist

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄'𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

A dream come true was something you could only ever hope for – that one day you would have all of what your heart had yearned for. You wished the same for Bucky.

While it may not have been possible for all of Bucky’s dreams to become a reality – that flying car was a little bit harder to achieve on your own – you, however, had a pretty good hunch that what you had in store for him as soon as he came home, would be pretty damn close to ticking a few boxes.

Your apartment, once a dream of your own and entirely yours, had taken on a new life of a golden era. Warm tones from beige and brown, to cream and gold, filled the space in an assortment of features and nicknacks, from the upholstery to the very furniture that sat proudly in your living room and kitchen.

The research behind such a bold move had paid off in many ways – not only were you standing amongst Bucky’s dream home of the forties, you were revelling in the feel of the swishing fabric of your dress. Simple in its design and comfortable in its proportions – thank you sewing machine, you thought happily. It embodied the very essence of a nineteen forties housewife; something Bucky had let slip as a fantasy, though, as progressive as the ages himself, he realised that was just that, a fantasy.

One that you were going to bring to life, just for a day.

Your peep-toe heels clicked over the tiled floor of your kitchen as you swayed your hips, a mixing bowl in hand while the radio you had found at an antique store played The Andrews Sisters. A plum pie, a delicacy that Bucky’s mother had made for his birthdays in his youth – a treat to spoil both him and Steve, much smaller but no less innocent – baked away in your oven, filling the room with the sweet scent of spiced fruit and pastry.

Bucky had been away on a no contact mission for weeks now, and your heart ached from missing him – the loss of his smile and bright eyes, paired with the soft voice you had come to associate with comfort, with home, had been hard. Nonetheless, you kept yourself busy with the planning behind this surprise.

The kitchen was completely transformed. Cupboards were filled to the brim with dishes that would have made his mother swoon. A wooden phonograph was placed on the coffee table in the living room as the centrepiece of your plan, perfectly in view from the kitchen. Low, quiet jazz, complementing the voices of the sisters, played from the aged horn and you hummed along.

Your dress flowed from your waist as you stepped around your kitchen, and you ignored the strange, new restriction of wearing stockings and a garter belt – you wanted to make this as authentic as possible, and if Bucky reacted well, it would make it all worth it.

Strong, sugary smells filled the air as you opened the oven, your plum pie was baking away and turning golden brown, and you grinned as you watched the pastry bubble in the heat. “Almost there,” you sang happily, and you closed the oven.

A trumpet solo played over the radio and you danced in place for a moment, letting the music carry you and take you back to the smell of the Barnes’ kitchen – the vision of Winnie working away with Bucky at her heels with Becca, and the sound of old cartoons on the television in the background.

It was his home, and now, you had breathed life into it once more.

Heavy footsteps suddenly sounded at the door, the jiggle of the doorknob followed soon after, and you gasped, hastily placing the mixing bowl down onto the counter. The door opened with a loud creak, and, “Baby! I’m home! Oh-”

Silence followed the shocked exclamation, and you couldn’t help but giggle quietly. You adjusted your hair and smoothed the skirt of your dress in your nerves.

“Baby? What the hell?” A solid thump of a bag hitting the floor followed his question, and then he walked down the entryway, where he paused again – he must have seen the phonograph. “What- Where the hell did you get one of those–? Sweetheart, where are you?”

“In here–the kitchen,” you called back. You bent your knee slightly and tilted your head, battering your lashes; the effect instantaneous. Bucky rounded the corner, absolutely flabbergasted, but once his gaze landed on you, he froze in place. His mouth fell slack in shock and his eyes widened. “Welcome home, honey,” you cooed, smiling with blood red lips.

“Doll,” he breathed, looking you up and down; taking in the fabric and length of your dress, the tight nylon stockings that were held up by a garter belt, then, your heels. “Oh, fuck.”

“Now, James, that’s no way to speak in the presence of a lady,” you teased, waggling your finger. “Behave now, or you won’t be getting any of my pie.”

“I- What?” Bucky sputtered, blinking rapidly as though to clear his mind of the hallucination. “What? Are you–are you for real? This isn’t a dream?”

“Honey, if this was a dream,” you said, sauntering forward, making sure to watch his expression. “Could I do this?” You leaned in close and kissed him on the cheek – the stain of lipstick staying on his tanned, scruffed skin. His fingers brushed over the spot with a sharp exhale. “Would you like a drink–some whiskey?”

Bucky shook his head in disbelief and moved to step closer, but you placed a hand on his chest; blood red nails, matching your lipstick, were sharp in contrast against the black of his tac suit. “You’ve had a long day, love. It’s time for your wife to take care of you–would you like some scotch, or whiskey?”

“I’m dreamin’,” he breathed, awestruck and in a state of utter disbelief. “No way this is fuckin’ real.”

You grinned. That Brooklyn twang had come back full force in his voice, he had slipped and he hadn’t even realised. “Oh, it’s real, husband. You go on and sit down, let me take care a’you.”

“Husband,” Bucky murmured. You winked and pointed at the dining table that was set to cater for two, the decorations extravagant and homely. “Husband.”

The liquor cabinet, restocked just for this occasion, tinkered and clinked as you grabbed a set of glasses and a bottle of whiskey. “I have missed you so, honey,” you sighed, pouring the amber liquid into both tumblers. “It’s not the same ‘round here without my man to keep me warm.”

Bucky choked. “Oh, doll, ‘m back now, yeah?”

“I made you your favourite for dinner,” you continued, smiling as you placed the glass full of whiskey in front of him. “Roast and all the fixings–can’t have my man starved now, not after he works so hard.”

“You spoil me, darlin’,” he praised, a boyish smirk on his lips. “My best girl takin’ such good care a’me.”

In lieu of an answer, you turned your back and strode into the kitchen, sashying your hips as you went. The timer by the oven went off just as you rounded the corner, and you paused to take a deep breath – Bucky loved it, you had surprised him in the best way possible.

Plating the roast went smoothly and you were sure to give Bucky double the portion – even in a fantasy the man would be starved. “Honey, would you care to lower the lights?”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied, almost breathless, and the lights in the dining room dimmed. You heard him sit back down in his chair with a heavy sigh. “What the fuck,” he muttered, but you could hear the grin in his voice – he was happy.

You rounded the corner with his plate. “Here you are.” The plate, brimming with food, seemed to light another fire inside of him, and he whistled as he looked at the steaming roast. “Just you wait, honey,” you rushed, booping him on the nose and making him blink in surprise. “A gal needs her own plate.”

Bucky chuckled as you turned tail back to the kitchen and returned with your plate. You sat opposite him and grabbed your glass of whiskey, raising it for a toast. “To having my husband home, ‘cos damn it all, I miss the oaf,” you said, a light laugh in your voice.

“To comin’ home to my wife, the one I love with all a’me and who makes the best roast this side a’the Brooklyn bridge,” he cheered, clinking your glass with his own.

Dinner passed without a hitch. Bucky had eaten through his plate like a starved man, as you expected, while you worked through your serving at a more sedate pace. You couldn’t help but smirk and giggle when he made noises of pure satisfaction and contentment at your cooking.

Finally, Bucky slumped back in his seat with the biggest grin on his lips and you couldn’t help but stare. “What you lookin’ at, darlin’?”

“Just the love of my life,” you sighed happily, placing your chin in your hand. “Most handsome fella I ever did see, you know.” To your utter shock, Bucky blushed and ducked his head. “Oh, don’t you go telling me no one’s been sweet on you?”

“Stop,” he groaned. “This is jus’ so much–you’re even talkin’ like the dames back then.”

You winked. “Honey, what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t know what my husband liked? A’course I know I’m talking like those dames.” Rising from the table, you collected the plates and cutlery, much to his protest. “No, you just sit and relax. I’ll take care of this.”

The timer in the kitchen went off again and you hurried over, placing the dirty dishes in the sink to deal with later. You peered into the oven and felt another sense of pride swell in your chest – golden brown pastry was cooked to perfection with bubbles of plum juice and sugar bubbling in the gaps between the scored lattice.

“What smells so good, darlin’?” Bucky asked from behind you, and you gasped in fright, spinning quickly enough to send the skirt of your dress whirling. “Whoa, easy, sweetheart. Jus’ me.”

“Don’t you do that again,” you scolded, narrowing your eyes at him. “Next time you’ll have your pie privileges taken away.”

Bucky pouted and cocked his hip to lean against the counter, crossing his arms so his left arm clinked and whirred as the plates set. “You’re no fun, doll. C’mon, indulge your husband jus’ this once, yeah? I work so hard, after all.”

“You can wait for me to get the pie ready, you brute.” Bucky laughed and stepped out of your way, content to watch you organise the counter so the pie could rest and cool. “Will you fetch the icecream from the freezer, honey?”

“Sure.” The hum of the freezer was quiet and you waited, waited, then, “You made ice cream?”

“I did.” You beamed as Bucky placed the container on the counter, your homemade vanilla ice cream finally set and sweet enough to devour. “Thank you, honey.”

Bucky kissed your temple and leaned against the counter again. “You almost done with that pie, darlin’?”

You nodded once. It was a fiddly process, but finally, the pie sat on the cooling rack. “There we go,” you hummed, staring proudly at your baked plum pie. “I can’t wait for you to take a bite, my love. I followed an old recipe.”

“Now ain’t I a lucky fella,” Bucky said, that twang in his voice so strong you could have sworn you had rewound the decades. “Such an ol’ fashioned gal. C’mere.”

Flesh and metal hands found yours and pulled you into the middle of the kitchen, just as the radio played a familiar tune, “Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again; it's been a long, long time.”

You placed your hands on Bucky’s chest and smiled at him, and he placed his hands on your waist, swaying you in place as the music played a solo. The two of you danced slowly in the kitchen, in one another’s arms, happy and content to be back together.

Bucky brought you closer and you linked your hands around his back as best you could, standing as close as possible to him. Kitty Kallen continued to sing, “Haven't felt like this, my dear, since I can't remember when; it's been a long, long time.”

There was a low hum in your ear, and you blinked. Bucky was humming along to the song, holding you close and swaying slowly side to side – a romantic embrace of the ages. He hummed and lowly sang the words, “You'll never know how many dreams I've dreamed about you, or just how empty they all seemed without you.”

Together, you both hummed the final lines of the song, holding each other tight. “So kiss me once, then kiss me twice, and kiss me once again; it's been a long, long time.”

You pulled back from Bucky and cupped his face in your hands. “Welcome home, baby,” you whispered, and you kissed him on the lips, pouring all your love for the man before you into it – the yearning for him to be close, and to be one with you.

Bucky smiled into the kiss and held your hips in his hands. His grip was tight and you squeaked against his lips as he lifted and turned with you in his grip, placing you onto the kitchen counter away from the pie. “And ain’t I glad to be home, sweetheart.”

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #allcapsbingo2023 #rookthorne's works

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futfemfantasies · 10 months

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Not for long \\ giovana queiroz x reader

Prompt #30

Stirring the food in the pot, the aroma of the different herbs and spices hit your nostrils. Just as you put the wooden spoon down, you feel muscular arms envelope your waist and you lean back into Gio. You feel her pull you closer while her lips attach to your exposed neck. One hand goes under your shirt and while the other slightly underneath the waistband of your shorts. Your eyes flutter close but re-open sooner than you’d like, as you smell something burning. You quickly try to salvage the food but it was too late. You turn to Gio who has a mischievous look on her face and is laughing at your supposed ‘angry’ face.

“What are we going to eat now?” You ask, still made about the now burnt spaghetti sauce. Taking a step towards you, Gio scans her eyes up and down your frame and bites her lip slightly.

“I can think of something” Your eyes go wide at Gio’s suggestion and you lightly hit her on the arm.

“We can order in and have a lazy night okay?”

You agree with Gio’s proposal and suggest getting pizza from your favourite place around the corner. You announce you are having a shower and you’ve never heard Gio speak quicker on the phone than in that moment.

After some fun activities in the shower, you both retreat to the couch where you wait for the pizza. The doorbell rings through the apartment and you jump up with excitement, with Gio laughing and shaking her head. Oh how I’m going to miss her, Gio thinks to herself. She gets pulled out of her thoughts by a kiss on her cheek and a plate put in her lap. She quietly thanks you and busies herself by eating as many pieces of pizza her stomach allows her. You move the pizza box to the kitchen to come back to find Gio in that same position again, lost in her thoughts. You put yourself in her lap and cupped both cheeks.

“What’s going on baby?”

“I have some news and I don’t know how to tell you without crying”

“It’s okay baby, you’re allowed to cry”

One tear escapes Gio’s eyes then a waterfall appeared down her cheeks. You held her close and tight and she did the same to you. You moved to a more comfortable position where Gio was lying on top of you, her head on your stomach, saturating your tee shirt with tears but you didn’t care. You just wanted to know what has gotten your girl so upset, so you could think of some ways to help. You brush your fingers through her hair and her breathing evens out, she’s relaxed now. Gio looks up at you with her red, puffy eyes and sad smile decorating her face.

“Can you tell me what’s got you so upset now my love?” You question, tucking her loose hair behind her ear

“I’m leaving Barca at the end of the season. I’m going to Arsenal”

You take a few seconds to digest what Gio just said but then you break out in a big smile, hugging her tightly.

“This is so great for you baby”

“How do feel about it?” Gio asks you as she sits up slightly, pulling you into her lap.

“I think it’s going to be great for you babe. I just know Leah and Beth will look after you”

You talk about everything about London and Gio doesn’t appear to be upset about it now.

It’s been four long months without seeing your love and you’ve finally got time to surprise her. You picked up a little knock to your shoulder so the Barca medical team suggest 2 weeks to heal. After long discussions about recovery and the healing process with the head of medical, they let you have 2 weeks personal leave. You got back from training and dumped your kit bag at the door. You kick off your trainers and sprinted upstairs to immediately book a flight to London. You found a flight leaving in 5 hours, so you quickly text your teammates to tell them you won’t be in the country and race around to find your passport and pack your bag. In the middle of all the chaos, you almost forgot your daily call with Gio. You both talk about your day when you hear Gio sniffle, meaning she’s about to cry or has just cried.

“What’s wrong G?”

“I miss you” Gio pouted.

“It’s only temporary mi amor”

You two eventually hang up, with your lame lie of you having a team bonding lunch you need to get ready for. Gio reluctanty let’s you go and you promise to call her later. You check the time and you are set to leave in 30 minutes. You shove more random clothes, that consisted of both yours and Gio’s in a suitcase before having a quick shower and setting off.

You arrive in London and you feel like you can breath again. You whistle down a taxi and give them Gio’s address. The whole time you’re bouncing your leg and picking at the skin around your nails. You are nervous and you don’t know why. You’re about to spend 2 weeks with your girl and watch her play with her new team. A little while later, the taxi pulls up to the apartment complex and you thank the driver as he got you suitcase out of the trunk. You quickly scroll through yours and Gio’s texts to find the apartment number. As soon as you find it, you race to the elevator and put in the floor number. You practically run out of the elevator and run down the hall to apartment 347.

You take a moment to yourself before wiping the palms on your sweats and knocking on the door. You hear that accent you’ve missed so dearly yell out ‘I’ll be a minute!’. You cover the peep hole and the wooden door swings open to reveal your Brazilian beauty wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt and panties. You both look at each other like it was the first time all over again until Gio hugs you tightly. You wince slightly due to your shoulder and Gio immediately apologises.

“What are you waiting for? Kiss me”

Gio rolled her eyes before kissing you passionately. Eventually, you both pulled away and Gio wheeled your suitcase inside. You both went straight into her bedroom and cuddled. A few hours later, you decided to tell Gio your news. You looked up at her and the golden light from the sunset shone perfectly on Gio’s features, making you fall in love with her all over again.

“I have some news” You say sitting up slightly.

“I’m all ears”

“I’m leaving Barca at the end of the season” This causes Gio to sit up too.

“Where are you going to play?”

“Arsenal”

“You’re kidding?” You shake your head and Gio leaps up from the bed and starts celebrating.

“I’m so happy for you beautiful” Gio jumps on the bed and kisses you, but both of you smiling so it’s short lived.

“I told you it was only temporary”

“I love you mi amor”

“I love you more baby"

#womens soccer #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso imagines #woso #woso soccer #giovana queiroz x reader

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tomorrcwz · 3 months

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hi i saw your request are open and i wanted to know if you could write where clement novalak (f2 driver) gives his partner a necklace?

★ . . . 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐊, 𝐂𝐍𝟐𝟏

pairing: clement novalak x reader (no pronouns used)

in which he gifts you a dainty silver necklace with his initials when he comes over to your place

the early hour of the evening settled upon you as the wind outside grew colder and the sun didn't show an arm anymore, leaving the sky darker and dull behind your closed curtains of your small living room.

On your lap rested a bowl of a day old rice mixed with tofu and some vegetables you had found in your freezer, that you decided to spice up with a splash of a sauce you've got in the pantry — it was a quick meal, everything thrown in the pan and boom, your food was ready to eat after only a five minute expenditure. It also hit the spot, and the half-full box of cookies your french boyfriend sent to your house yesterday after you had ranted on the phone how the day in the office had been utter shit and you really craved something sweet, paired rather well with the tea as a desert on this boring night.

some friends of yours went out in a club but that wasn't for you, when you knew, you had to show up the next day at work — you didn't want to wake up with a massive headache, too, if you were being honest, so a chill night at home it was.

sitting on the sofa between lots of pillows and a plush blanket thrown over your lap, you pushed the ceramic bowl back on the table and grabbed the remote to change the series; you decided, you weren't in the mood for the british bake off and searched for the percy jackson series to rewatch.

watching annabeth, percy and grover ensembling the given task by the oracle, you re-visited the time where you still were the same age, dreaming of fighting the furies and other strange greek myths monsters alongside the trio, falling in love with the handsome apollo kid luke and forming a friendship with clarisse, a child of the god of war. now you were years older than them, sitting in your shoe box sized apartment, mentally drained because of work and half asleep as you took a bit of the slightly stale cookie.

the door rang, breaking your tales of being a halfgod up. a sign escaped your throat as your eyes flitted to the clock on your wall; it was nine pm and you wondered who wanted to grace his or her presence at your door at that time of the day. you weren't in the mood for a visitor and prayed for a lost delivery man.

feet tapped against the wooden floor, reaching the door. you pulled the doorknob open, eyes roaming the body of the man who kneeled down and fumbled with his bag.

"can i help you?", you grumbled, irritation laced your voice.

the man's head turned upwards, a grin widely presented on his lips as his dreamy brown eyes looked into yours; you mirrored his smile, happy to see clem.

"hey treasure, rough day, eh?", he asked, standing up to pull you in a much needed hug. clem's body radiated warmth and his woody vanilla scent brought you immense comfort. he felt you nod on his shoulder, face mushed in the crook between his left shoulder and strong neck.

the french didn't let you go as you went back inside, foot pushing the door close behind you and you went deeper in your apartment till he turned you both around and he fell backwards first on the sofa. "Want to talk about it?"

"no", you mumbled, a purr rumbling in your throat while clem's fingers messaged your scalp. "'m happy you're here, clemy."

you laid there, relaxing against him, only hearing the soft noises of the tv diddling in the background as your boyfriends hand cradled your head, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips. soft butterfly kisses followed, none filled with nothing but romance and peace; your right hand found its place at the nape of his neck, tugging his hair to hear a sweet moan of his, one you loved to hear whenever you slowly made out — the pair of you knew that tonight's kissing and touching wouldn't result in sex but nonetheless you enjoyed to dance to the edge.

abruptly, clement stopped the kiss, caressing your warm cheek with his thumb. then he dipped his finger between your lips, feeling the wetness of your mouth and a groan left his throat. his eyes were hyperfocused on your tongue, which glided along his thick thumb, sucking and nibbling playfully on it.

with his free hand, he pulled something out a pocket of his trousers, fiddling with it as his brown doe eyes watched yours; a blush coated his cheeks at the lustfilled gaze of yours and he felt his trousers tightened.

gently, he pulled his thumb out of your mouth and rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. "i love you."

you hummed, repeating his words, basking in the moment of being loved and in love. then, you felt coldness running around your throat and clem's palm laying on top of it — it was dainty, another necklace he got you.

"open your eyes, treasure," the french man whispered, resulting you to do so.

fiddling with the dainty silver band of the necklace, your fingertips stop at the pendant, two small curved letters 'cn' as well as the number 21, clems racing number. it was beautiful and unpretentious, going along prettily with the rest of your jewellery, mostly your boyfriend brought for you.

"Oh clemy, i love it", you mumbled, kissing the cold pendant before looking up at your bearded boyfriend, giving him a big smooch. "merci beaucoup."

"Tout pour toi. Si je te donnais les étoiles, tu les aurais entre tes mains, treasure."

= everything for you. if I could give you the stars, you'd have them in your hands.

CLEMY IS THE LOML GUYS !!!

#clement novalak #clement novalak x reader #clement novalak imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f2 x reader #f2 imagine

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buy-desi · 1 year

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#wooden cutlery holders #Indian Spice boxes #Wooden Masala Dabba #wooden masala box

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eemcintyre · 11 months

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Flipped (Tom Cruise)

TW- n/a

Summary- Tom's daughter keeps him company from her playpen while he cooks dinner.

Just a smol little idea I had that I had to put into existence :)

It was a regular evening at the Colorado house; Y/N was holed up in her office conducting an impromptu business phone call while Tom got a head start on dinner preparations. The baby, Indie, kept him company nearby in her playpen- between chewing on her sleeve and crawling laps around the pen’s perimeter, she watched her father with interest.

“Y’know, a captive audience is the best kind of audience,” Tom spoke to her as he ignited the stove, placing a pan of meats and vegetables over the flame.

He reached for a wooden spoon, but before stirring the ingredients, attempted to toss the spoon into the air and catch it. As it fell to the floor with a thud, he shot a glance down the hallway and listened for Y/N’s voice, but it appeared she hadn’t heard. Spoon in hand again, he returned his attention to the baby, raising his other hand to his lips in a shushing gesture.

“Now, this stays between us. If your mother finds out, she’ll laugh at me,” he grinned. “And I might lose my kitchen privileges. Technically, it was her fault because she distracted me, but the last time she saw me trying to be fancy I may have sliced my hand open… and we don’t need to open Pandora’s box again, ok?”

At that moment, Indie let out a loud squeal and Tom threw up his hands in defeat.

“Remind me never to plan a heist with you.”

Turning to the assortment of spice bottles he had gathered earlier, he said in an exaggerated, pretend female voice: “If you can’t grow, harvest, and dehydrate all of your own spices, store-bought is fine.” Indie laughed, feeding into his theatrics. “Now, I used to be really good at this. We’re gonna try again.”

He flipped each spice bottle in the air, from one hand to the other, as he added it to the pan. Despite a couple of near-misses, this second attempt produced no casualties, and he chuckled to himself: “The old man’s still got it.”

The baby continued to laugh until she drooled.

“You see, I was in a movie once where I played a bartender, and…” He cringed as he began to recall the details of the movie, particularly the sexually charged elements. “Yeah, you’re not going to watch that. Ever.”

#tom cruise #one shot #creative writing #fanfic #tom cruise fic #tom cruise imagine #tom cruise x female reader #tom cruise x reader #x reader #tom cruise fanfic #tom cruise fluff #drabble

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stevethehairington · 2 years

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Spaghetti is on the menu tonight.

There's a pot of water getting close to boiling on the back right burner of the stove, and Steve keeps a close eye on the pan on the front left burner as his special recipe homemade tomato sauce (the one Eddie can't get enough of) simmers away.

He's humming under his breath — Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy, he heard it on the radio earlier and it's been stuck in his head since — stirring the sauce periodically.

The big pot starts to bubble, so Steve sets the wooden spoon down and reaches for the pack of noodles, box already cracked open and waiting to be overturned into the boiling water.

That's when Eddie shuffles into the kitchen.

"Mm, smells good in here," he says, joining Steve at the stove. He drapes himself over his back, like the clingy koala he secretly is. He tucks his chin over Steve's shoulder and curls his arms around Steve's middle, hands dipping beneath the fabric of his shirt to press against the soft of his stomach.

"Should be ready in ten," Steve tells him, leaning back into Eddie’s touch.

"Good, m'hungry," Eddie replies, pressing his lips to the side of Steve's neck. He bares his teeth, bites down just a little.

It makes Steve laugh softly, squirm a little to get Eddie to quit it. "That tickles," he complains, and Eddie laughs into his skin.

"Can't help myself, baby, you just taste so good," Eddie says, then presses a kiss to the spot — an apology.

"Grab me a clean spoon?" Steve asks, giving the sauce another stir.

"I guess," Eddie responds with a pout, not wanting to let go. He keeps one arm around Steve and pulls away from his back just enough to allow him to stretch his other arm out to rifle through the silverware drawer and snatch up the requested spoon.

"Thanks," Steve says, taking the spoon. He tips his head back to press a kiss to Eddie's forehead, as best as he can from the awkward angle.

He sets the wooden spoon aside, and dips the clean spoon into the sauce, cupping his palm beneath it as he brings it up to his lips for a taste. "Hm," he hums after the test, smacking his mouth as he tries to figure out what's missing. "It needs something else."

Eddie taps the side of Steve's hand. "Lemme taste," he requests.

Steve dips the spoon back in, then twists in Eddie's arms to hold it out for him.

When Eddie leans in, he bypasses the proffered spoon and instead catches Steve's mouth in a kiss.

Steve laughs into the kiss, the smile that breaks out across his face getting in the way.

"Tastes perfect to me," Eddie says, grinning wide enough that his dimples leave deep indents in his cheeks.

Steve rolls his eyes fondly and pushes his hand into Eddie's face. Eddie just catches his wrist and turns his head so he nuzzles his cheek into Steve's palm.

Eddie does eventually let Steve guide the spoonful into his open mouth after, copying Steve by smacking his lips. "Maybe some salt?" He suggests, and Steve nods.

Eddie doesn't wait for him to ask for it, just darts across the counter to their little spice rack, pulling the salt from its spot. He hands it over to Steve, and takes up his place behind him once more.

Steve starts to hum again as he adds the salt, stirring it in. He makes it to just before the chorus and stops, bending down for another taste.

That's when Eddie decides to pick the song up himself, only he starts to sing it out loud instead. He keeps his voice soft, but lets it fill their little kitchen as he warbles out the lyrics.

The sauce is simmering, the pasta is cooking — nothing needs their direct attention. So Eddie takes it upon himself to snatch up Steve's hand, take a step back, and twirl him around.

"Eddie!" Steve cries out in surprise, and he goes spinning back into Eddie's arms, facing him this time.

"Steve," Eddie says between verses, amusement dripping, then swings him right into a happy little dance, matching the pace of the song as he croons the lyrics out.

Steve laughs as he stumbles into Eddie's arms, and tries to protest, tries to say, "But dinner!"

Eddie just waves a hand. "Dinner will be fine," he tells Steve. "Dance with me." And he wraps his arms around Steve's waist so that Steve has no choice but to loop his around Eddie's neck, and sways them around.

The dying golden light of the day streams through their curtains, painting the kitchen in a warm glow, and Steve allows himself to be led through it to the smooth cherrywood of Eddie's voice as he sings out the jaunty lyrics to the song he knows Steve loves.

As the song comes to a close, Eddie finishes it with a flourish, and tries to dip Steve, who squawks out in surprise and clutches tighter onto Eddie's neck, laughing and smiling and warning Eddie not to drop him.

When he rights Steve again, Steve shakes his head and reaches up to cup Eddie's jaw, to guide him in for a kiss. Slow, deep, toe-curling.

"You're ridiculous," he says. "I love you."

Eddie's smile glows, his eyes sparkle. "I love you, too." And he leans in for another kiss.

(If they end up making out a little, pressed against the kitchen island, and the pasta overcooks a bit, well, it's just the two of them eating it, so it doesn't really matter.)

By then, dinner is pretty much ready, so Eddie reluctantly leaves Steve's side to fetch the plates, and Steve drains the pasta and adds it to the sauce.

They sit across from one another at their tiny little table, knees knocking and legs tangled beneath. They hold hands over the tabletop and share twin smiles as they enjoy their meal together.

Spaghetti night is always a good night.

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mack writes #(yes i wrote this at work instead of ACTUALLY doing any work LOL)#((but domestic steddie IS always more important so))#macks ficlets

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firefirefruit · 3 months

Text

Steel in Her Veins, Chapter: Twenty-Eight

Read On: AO3 | Table of Contents | Next Chapter

Characters: Fem!Reader x Roronoa Zoro

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Sugar and Spice and Everything… Sooty

Raya races all the way up the ladder, her breath staggering in her lungs like a hellhound set on a bedevilled chase. She leans against the door, lips parting for the sharp and successive breaths to leave her system, her arms firmly curling over the heavy crate of alcohol she’s managed to swipe from the kitchen.

A heavy quake stammers across the surface of the crate, vibrations pulsing through the glass bottles like a fissure ready to spill. Almost unwillingly, she cranes her neck downwards to the mysterious assault, and when she realises the source of the ruckus, her lips fold into a heavy grimace.

Across the surface of the box lies the shattered remnants of Kikoku, humming and shuddering in such a startlingly low pitch, that its voice could raise devil spawn to grace human land.

Fuck, she hisses to herself. What has she gotten herself into?

Through the brown strands of her windswept hair, her eyes pierce down at Roronoa who reluctantly grabs the ladder by his firm hands as he heaves himself forward.

This is all his fault, she thinks to herself - a thought she finds herself repeating more and more often as a source of respite.

“I don’t get what you want me to do,” he grumbles out, a tied bottle of sake dangling from in between his teeth. His feet smoothly trace along the next ledge of the ladder. “I don’t know how to make swords. I don’t know how to -”

“Don’t try to weasel your way out of this, Roronoa. You’re guarding me,” Raya instantly replies, leaning over the high ledge of the crow’s nest. Her eyes briefly scan through the crowd of pirates, impatient fingers fumbling over the bannister like a worried mother.

“Guard?” Zoro immediately bursts into a scoff. He climbs the last ledge with one effortless leap, his boots creaking against the wooden panels of the floor. “You’re actually being serious?”

Raya doesn’t look at him - instead, she squints her eyes even harder, trying to filter through the mass of drunken moving bodies. “Look – he’s there.”

You subtly nudge your head downwards to a certain narrow-eyed pirate’s direction. Thankfully, after begging for Nami’s help to keep him distracted, it seems like he’s actually starting to loosen up. You notice there’s a beer curled within his inked fingers, and every so often he lifts that same bottle up to his lips, liquid pouring into his mouth with a sharp swig.

Into a smiling mouth, to be precise.

Raya gapes at him a little, and despite the hellish circumstance she’s in, a little grin appears on her lips as she takes in his countenance.

He’s actually been smiling for more than two seconds so far – isn’t that some sort of new record for Law or what? Raya thinks to herself.

"Look, he's all tipsy right now," she explains, turning back to face Zoro with a frown reserved only for the likes of him. "But we both know he'll snap out of it soon enough. And when he does, he's going to climb all the way up here and beat both our asses up. You're here to make sure he doesn't catch us off guard."

Zoro stares at her, clearly unimpressed with his designated role. "So, I'm the one who has to deal with his whining while you get to…?"

Raya stares back at him, clearly unimpressed with his reaction. “Roronoa, I’m fixing the goddamn sword you fell on. You guarding me sounds like a walk in the park compared to what I have to do.”

And for a moment, they’re locked in a silent staring contest.

Raya's eyes are narrowed in determination, her gaze like twin laser beams boring into Zoro's skull. She looks like a furious wet cat ready to swipe her paws at the source of her irritation - or maybe more like a stubborn toddler refusing to back down from a standoff with a particularly dead statue.

Zoro, on the other hand, looks like he’s trying to channel his inner rock, his expression stony and unyielding. But there’s a twitch in his eyebrow, a hint of something dancing in his eyes, as if he’s secretly enjoying this absurd standoff with her.

But just when it seems like the silence might go on forever, a small, involuntary twitch at the corner of Zoro's mouth gives him away. Raya catches it immediately and can’t help but smirk triumphantly, knowing she’s won this round.

"Glad you agree," she replies, her voice laced with sarcasm. She throws him a bottle of beer, flipping her hair in his face.

With an irritated grunt and a shuffle away, Zoro instinctively catches the bottle and takes a long swig, his gaze fixed on Law as he monitors his movements. For a while, the two of them stand in silence, the only sounds being the distant ruckus of music and voices and the gentle creaking of the ship blending beneath them.

“Whatever. Let’s go inside before he sees us fucking around up here,” he murmurs. And with a swift spin and snatch, the crates of clinking alcohol disappear from Raya’s arms and into the swordsman’s. While he casually strides into the crow’s nest. Raya remains standing there blinking stupidly, completely taken off guard by his quick-handed thievery.

With that, the realisation rises, a growl set on her face as she stomps after Zoro, hot on his heels.

“Don’t forget we’re sharing those!” she hisses.

In response, the swordsman rolls his eyes but doesn't protest, knowing that arguing with Raya will only prolong their time on deck where they risk being spotted by Law. He sets the crates down with a thud, and they both settle into a comfortable silence as they crack open the bottles and down their drinks.

Zoro’s expression is unreadable as he surveys the mess before him. "So, what's the plan?" he asks, his voice gruff but curious.

Raya sighs, running a hand through her thick hair as she tries to gather her thoughts. "First, I need to assess the damage," she says, leaning her elbows over the table above the broken sword. "Then… I guess I’ll get cooking…"

Zoro nods, leaning on the table beside her as he examines the poor mess of Kikoku. The once formidable blade lies in pieces before them, the jagged edges reflecting the dim light of the lanterns overhead.

"Well, it's definitely broken," Zoro says straight-faced.

"Thanks for that insightful observation," Raya snaps, reaching for one of the broken pieces of the sword. “Really, what would I do without your thought-provoking commentary, Roronoa?”

“Well, what else am I supposed to do?” He retorts, laying lazily against one of her stools. “I’m trapped in here, doing fuck-all.”

Raya looks at him indifferently and shrugs. “Sleep?”

“I’m not tired, I’m bored.”

Raya smirks, a sudden mischievous glint appearing in her eyes. Whatever idea she’s cooked up is getting her excited, with the way her teeth are gleaming in their full glory.

"Weeeell, lucky for you, I've got just the thing to cure your boredom," she says, reaching under the table and pulling out a tattered colouring book and a handful of crayons. She sets them on the table in front of Zoro with a playful grin. "Try this. I'm sure Chopper won't mind if you borrow it for a bit."

Zoro eyes the colouring supplies sceptically, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me," he mutters, picking up one of the crayons and turning it over in his hand. Raya offers him a shit-eating grin when he raises an eyebrow at her.

"Come on, it'll be fun!" she urges, nudging the colouring book closer to him, repeatedly pushing it into his elbow like prodding a wad of lettuce on a stick to an unimpressed tiger. "And who knows, maybe you'll discover a hidden passion for art."

Zoro hesitates for a moment, then sighs dejectedly and takes the crayon, flipping open the colouring book to a random page.

"You’re gonna be the end of me," he mutters, leaning back in his chair and starting to colour in a picture of a pirate ship.

Raya watches with amusement as Zoro tentatively starts colouring - his movements, cautious at first before he gradually gains confidence, his strokes becoming bolder and more deliberate. She can't help but snicker at the sight, finding it oddly endearing to see the idiot swordsman engaging in such a seemingly childish activity.

For a while, they work in companionable silence, the only sounds being the scratching of crayons against paper, the clinking of metal and the occasional chug of beer as they take breaks to de-sober themselves. Raya finds herself relaxing as she focuses on the task at hand, the tension of the earlier confrontation with Law fading into the background.

But as they work, she can't shake the feeling of Kikoku's presence beside her, the broken pieces of the sword humming with a furious energy that seems to seep into the air around them. Raya glances at the shattered remains of the once formidable blade, a frown tugging at her lips as she tries to make sense of the strange sensation.

Kikoku seems to be muttering to her, the fragments of the sword vibrating with an intensity that sends a shiver down Raya's spine. She strains to make out the words, but they're muffled and indistinct like whispers carried on the wind.

"Kikoku, what are you saying?" Raya murmurs, reaching out to touch one of the broken pieces of the sword.

In immediate response, Kikoku screeches from underneath her fingertips, making Raya flinch her hand away in shock.

‘What do you fucking think, you incompetent excuse of a human being?’ It screams in Raya’s head, rattling her very bones in her body.

Raya clenches her teeth, anxiously running a hand through her hair. "I’m sorry, Kikoku. I really am. I don’t know how it all… If you let me, I promise I’ll be able to fix you."

Kikoku hums angrily in response, the vibrations of her broken body resonating against the desk. It swirls around on the wooden surface, almost trying to will itself to spiral around into a flurry of blades.

‘Not enough. I seek for revenge. Not enough. Not enough.’

"Kikoku, please," Raya pleads softly, her voice laced with desperation. "I understand that you're angry, but I can fix you. Let me help you.”

Again, the sword vibrates with an almost manic energy, its broken edges glinting ominously in the dim light of the lanterns.

"I’ll find a way to make things even, I promise," Raya continues, her voice tinged with determination. "But for now, I have to focus on fixing you. Once you're whole again, we can figure out what to do next."

‘What are you planning, human?’ she spits, her voice sharp and demanding. ‘Let me listen to your pathetic attempt at salvaging my trust.’

The swordsmith takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what comes next. "First, I need to assess the extent of your damage," she says, reaching for another piece of the broken sword. "Then, I'll figure out a way to repair you. And if that's not enough... well, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

Kikoku's response was a begrudging silence, the vibrations of her broken pieces slowly starting to calm. Raya took it as a small victory, a glimmer of hope in the midst of uncertainty.

Raya offers a tentative smile to the sword. “I won’t let you down.”

Hours pass in a blur as Raya meticulously fits the broken pieces of Kikoku back together, her hands steady despite the weight of the task. It's slow progress, but with each piece she adds, she can feel Kikoku's energy shifting, becoming less volatile and more... resigned.

"I'm sorry," Zoro blurts out suddenly, the words tumbling from his lips before he can stop them, his voice slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol in his system.

Raya’s head snaps up, surprise flickering in her eyes as she meets Zoro’s gaze. Her fingers pause in the momentum of her work, work now being the last thing on her mind.

"I… For what?" She mutters out.

Zoro leans over the table, his fingers gently spinning the bottle around in his hands.

"For...for breaking the sword," Zoro admits, his voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to...I mean, I know that doesn't excuse what happened, but I just...I'm sorry."

Raya pauses, taken aback by the unexpected apology. She stares at Zoro, seeing the sincerity in his eyes despite the haze of alcohol clouding his judgment.

His lone grey eye remains steadfast on her, and although he tries his best to mask himself into indifference, a flicker of something breaks through when Raya really looks at him with her soft brown eyes.

Something breaks within him – or more so, something loosens up within him, and his control over himself - albeit hanging on by fragile and intoxicated threads - has finally been torn apart.

Raya doesn’t know why, but her breath catches in her throat when he does this. When he really looks at her. With that grey eye, intense and relentless with feeling.

In a panic, she immediately disengages from the stare and looks down to her lap, one hand fumbling with a hammer, the other shrouded in a red-hot flame for blade-tempering.

For a moment, silence envelops them, broken only by the faint sound of their breathing and the occasional crackle of flames from Raya's hand. She's not used to hearing such sincerity from him, especially not when it comes to admitting fault. It catches her off guard, leaving her at a loss for how to respond… and now, she doesn’t know what to do.

Instead, she focuses on the task at hand, the broken pieces of Kikoku spread out before her like a jigsaw puzzle waiting to be solved. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady her hands as she reaches for another piece of the sword.

"It's... I know, Roronoa," Raya finally manages to say, her voice barely above a whisper. She can feel the warmth of Zoro's gaze on her, his silent offer of forgiveness hanging in the air.

Raya can’t control it any longer. She has to look up at him again, and when she does, her warm brown eyes latch onto his enraptured gaze with such ease, with such naturalness.

And then, Zoro’s stare softens.

Raya doesn’t even recognise this… look on the swordsman, this out-of-place soft glint that consumes his face, like he’s finally uncoiled his hands from the tight reins of his self-restraint.

Zoro doesn’t know what else there is to say. He doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel at this moment, either. But in his drunken courage, his hand acts out of its own will, lifting up and away from his bottle as his eyes flicker down to her mouth.

Raya’s breath halts as she remains still. Her own senses have vanished away, along with her train of thoughts, and all she wants to do is to lean into his hand.

And they do. Zoro’s fingers press against her jaw, deftly lifting her chin up. He makes her stare straight at him with no room to escape. And Raya is completely breathless. She gives in to the pressure of his fingers, blinking at him curiously, observing the all-consuming focus on his face. His eye flickers down from her gaze to her mouth, his thumb laying idly only a few millimetres away from her skin.

And with no thought in those eyes, his thumb reaches and presses to the corner of her lips, swiping in one circular movement. For a moment, Raya’s lost in the intensity of Zoro's gaze, the heat of his touch lingering on her skin like a brand.

A subtle breath releases from his lips when he touches the corner of her mouth.

He moves his thumb again, unsatisfied with the singular touch, now placing it ever-so softly over Raya’s lips. He looks at her in the eyes, his gaze darkening and unwavering, as he brushes his thumb over her mouth, parting them ever so slightly, so softly, so slowly.

But then, as quickly as it came, the moment passes. Zoro pulls away, his expression once again hardened into a mask of indifference. He picks up his bottle, taking a long swig of sake as if to wash away the lingering traces of emotion.

He shows his thumb to you, a layer of dark black powder coating his skin.

“You had soot on your face,” he mutters out roughly.

Raya blinks in surprise, her heart pounding in her chest as she processes what just happened. She can still feel the lingering warmth of Zoro's touch on her lips, the ghost of his thumb brushing against her skin, the heat of his breath hitting her skin.

And for a moment, she's at a loss for words, her mind reeling from the unexpected intimacy of the gesture. She looks up at Zoro, her gaze searching his face for any sign of what he might be feeling, but Zoro's expression remains impassive. His eye remains unreadable as he wipes the soot from his thumb with a nonchalant air - it's as if the moment never happened, as if he's already moved on from whatever fleeting emotion prompted his actions.

She swallows hard, trying to push down the heat that surges within her. She knows that she should say something, to retort back with a typical Raya joke or simply say something really sarcastic, but all of the tricks in her conversational mind die right at the tip of her tongue, right at the entrance of where his fingers were laying against only a few moments ago.

But before she can do anything – to recover any tiny piece of dignity that still remains within her, a sudden crash from outside the crow's nest shatters the moment, sending them both scrambling to the porthole with hushed breaths.

As they silently peer into the window, they’re met with the sight of Law stumbling towards the door, his movements erratic and unsteady, a wild look in his eyes.

"Shit," Raya curses under her breath, her heart pounding in her chest. "He’s early."

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happy-beeeps · 6 months

Text

Day 6/7: Gifts and Stars

Summary: After educating Din on the holidays of your home system, you realize you forgot to get him a gift for one of the most important.

WC: 3.4k oops

Warnings: 18+ CONTENT NSFW MINORS DNI!!!!! Massage, fingering, handjob, p-in-v sex, reader is afab. Unprotected sex, wrap it before you tap it! Soft smut!!!

A/N: okok so I've alreaady lost the plot but my goal is to get 8 AND 9 out tomorrow so I'm back on track. As an apology, please expect 3.5k words of gratituots Din smut and feelings.

18+ Only Below the Cut

Din had been incredibly receptive the first time you told him about the holidays of your home system. He had celebrated your family and home together during the festival of the hearth, had cooked local foods during the independence celebration. Now, it was time for your favorite holiday, and the one you were most anxious about.

Amordi wasn’t, like, entirely a holiday built around sex. It wasn’t not that but, like any good holiday, there was a fable behind it.

Of course, no one really knew the fable anymore but, there was a point—at some point.

What Amordi was now was an excuse to be in love, or to celebrate being in love. Little kids would pick each other flowers, or shower their parents in handmade gifts. Friends would spend the day together, gushing over one another with platonic love and declarations of a friendly devotion.

Couples… did a number of things.

The hip, young people were taking spice, claiming that the drug made them connect with their partners and made getting physical all the more sensational. Older couples spent the day holding hands, looking at holovids of their weddings, pampering each other with the kind of devotion only decades can bring.

You hadn’t really thought about you and Din—didn’t even tell him about it. How do you tell your partner, “Hey, there’s a holiday coming up, and it’s expected you’re going to give me a shit ton of gifts and also the fucking of a lifetime?” You just decided to avoid it altogether.

That is, until the early evening of Amordi, when Din placed a small, wooden box on the table in front of you, while you were busy trying to spoon feed an incredibly angry 50-year-old baby.

“Happy Amordi.” He said, sitting down beside you and tapping his thumb on your chin. “I hope you like it.”

You nearly dropped the spoon in shock. Fuckkriffdankferrik how had he found out? How had he known-

“I can use the holonet too, you know?” Was his response to what must have been a look of sheer terror, and he laughed at the blush that now painted your face.

“Figured you were too old for that.”

He placed a hand on his chest and rocked back in a gesture of fake wounding. “Just open the present.”

You did as you were told, opening the small wooden box to reveal a beautiful, thin bangle of shiny metal. Along the side was a carefully inscribed mudhorn surrounded by a collection of small stars, and the realization hit you.

“Din, this is beskar.”

“I know.”

“This must have cost you a fortune,”

“It didn’t, she owed me a favor.” He picked up the delicate bracelet, how it sent a flutter down your stomach to see how delicate things looked in his hands, and showed you how to open and close it; a small clasp on the side. “It would’ve been worth it anyways.”

The she was not lost on you, and the implications of the armorer standing over her forge, making you a bracelet? It was enough to bring tears to your eyes. “Din, really, this is too much.”

“But look how well you wear our crest.”

It’s the softness in his voice when he says “our” that gets you, and you place a hand on the cheek of his helmet, kicking yourself for not shutting the windows already. “It’s beautiful, Din. I can’t thank you enough.”

An hour later, and you’re trying to find a way to thank him enough. You don’t have time to go into town, it’s at least a half hour each way on the speeder, and you are not an efficient shopper. His birthday isn’t for a few months, so you haven’t gotten his gift yet. In fact, the two of you decided to forgo Life Day gifts, choosing instead to deck out Grogu’s nursery with all the bits and bobs he could ever need. Now, as Din settles the baby to sleep in the other room, you’re panicking.

Your closet is a nightmare, and you don’t even know how you acquired so much shit. Like, truly, there is so much shit in here. And none of it is helpful. At the very bottom of a pile of your things, you find a small, black wrapped package you remember picking up the one time Din took you on to a quarry on Canto Bight. An idea pops into your head. It’s a little tacky, and admittedly a cop out, but you’ll make it up to him tomorrow with a nice breakfast and something from town. For now, this will have to do.

When Din walks into the room, you’re smitten by the way the soft candlelight reflects off of his armor. You’re perched on the edge of the bed in a short, satin robe, a deep blue with shimmering stars sprayed across it. Next to you is a bottle of oil, something fancy he had gotten you on Naboo once, and you gesture to your bed. “It’s time for your gift.”

If you could see his eyebrows, you know they’d be cocked. One hand falls to his hip as the other lifts his helmet off his head, freeing his face to you at last. His expression is skeptical, but he’s grinning. “Are you the gift?”

“Please,” you scoff, motioning him to sit down and guiding him by the shoulders. The house Karga had gifted you was the perfect size for your family but, you and Din being the selfless parents you were, had chosen the smaller room. There was something so domestic about his form, large and demanding, in the small space, made even smaller by the fact that you refused to compromise on the size of the bed. “I’m giving you a massage.”

Din doesn’t say anything at first, but he does move to help you with all the buckles and clasps of his armor. Soon enough, he’s clad in just his underlayers, and you’re quick to help him out of his shirt, exposing his tanned, scarred skin to you.

“Stop oogling me,” he says, but there’s no venom in his words. Instead, his barb lands exactly where it should, and you gently push him backwards onto your bed, and poke at his hips.

“Move, flip over.”

“This is so romantic,” he says, deadpan, “I love when you prod me like a bluurg.” He listens, of course, and moves to lay tummy down on the bed.

Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes, and you hoist yourself up and perch yourself on the squishy part of his ass. You reach off too the side (earning a grunt from Din) and drip some of the oil onto your hands, rubbing them together to warm it up. Once you feel it’s been adequately warmed, you drag your hands from his lower back up to his shoulders and press.

The groan Din lets out is genuinely orgasmic. You’re not sure he’s ever made a sound like that before, and to hear it at the result of your hands is… a little enticing. You work the tense muscles there, pushing your knuckles and the pads of your fingers into the knots so tense they feel like they’re made of duracrete.

“Kriff, what do you do all day, carry around bricks?”

“No, just you and the kid.”

You send a poke to his side and his laugh rumbles through the mattress. You work him slowly, hands coming up his neck to rub at the tender spots you know his helmet digs. They drag down, along his lower back and the base of his underwear, rubbing the sore expanse of skin there. Din says little, save for “that feels good,” or “kriff, there’s a spot.” His voice is muffled into your bed, and you don’t miss the way he slowly melts like butter beneath your hands.

You figured when it was all said and done, you’d make out, fuck, and go to sleep. You know, like adults. It’s Din, it takes very little for you to want to jump his bones, and today wasn’t an exception. What you don’t expect is for the heat in your belly to grow with every tender press of your hand, or the way his groans sound deeper, more guttural with each push. You relish in the sweet joy of caring for a man who has made it his soul purpose to care for you, to protect you.

You often forget this is a man who has killed, killed for you before. You often forget how little you’ve grown to mind it.

You treat him so softly it makes your heart throb. Din deserves every good thing in this world, every buttery breakfast pastry from the cafe that just opened in town to the freshest pot of caf in the morning. You’re almost at the brink of moving beyond turned on and into pure, uncorrupted adoration when Din groans and unexpectedly pushes backwards against you, causing you to fall off of his back and onto the other side of the bed.

He sits up, then moves off the bed, standing at its foot. You simply stare up at him, his tall form, completely armorless in front of you, heart fluttering at the way his eyes rake the rest of your body.

He reaches to grab you, his hands fitting under the crooks of your arms and hoists you towards him, pulling you up off the bed and standing in front of him. His fingers fall to the soft silk of your robe, and drip down to the thin tie, dangling limply in front of your now aching core.

“Wanna give you another gift.”

“Din, I’ve hardly even given you a gift.”

“You’ve given me plenty, cyar’ika.”

His hand is tugging at the tie in an instant, and the traitorous bow falls loose almost immediately. You stand before him in the rest of the set, the lacy little thing you’d bought when you were waiting around for him in Canto Bight. It matches the robe, and his eyes water at the sight.

“The stars match my bracelet.” Is all you can offer him, feeling suddenly so exposed and so incredibly turned on. You need him now, and need him bad, more than you think you’ve needed him since the day you two got married.

“Sweet–I can’t even say the things I want to say to you now when you act so sweet.” His voice is flustered, deep. His eyes are darkened with lust and he snakes one hand around your waist, the other playing with a piece of hair that dangles dangerously close to your breast. “Want to do so much for you, mesh’la. Want to make the rest of your life so easy.”

“I don’t need easy, I just need you.” You whisper, and the sound he makes in response sends a shockwave to your core.

He’s on you in an instant, lips crashing onto yours in a kiss equal parts passionate and longing, like he’s been waiting to devour you for a lifetime. You can taste the wine you shared at dinner on his breath, and it shoots a spark in your brain. You will love this man for the rest of time and even then you’d find a way to come back to him.

His lips move to your neck as his arms guide you softly to the bed, your back flush with the mattress. It’s warm from where he was laying earlier, and he moves his body on top of yours, caging you in. You’re completely surrounded by Din–his scent, his body. You’re completely in bliss.

He kisses you further, dropping his lips from your neck, to your collarbone, to the soft curve of your breast, his hand snaking underneath you to shimmy your bra open. He breaks for a moment when he does to give you a moment to shimmy the garment off, and runs a hand through his hair.

“I will never get enough of you.” He says, thumb rubbing a soft circle against your peaked nipple. He launches back down to you a moment later, his tongue replacing his hand. He sucks at the tender flesh of your breast, nipping at the soft bud, and his hands begin to snake down your hips, hooking under your panties and you shimmy a bit so he can pull them clean off. One hand presses your hip firmly into the mattress, while the other makes soft, circular motions along your inner thigh. You try to buck into his touch but his hand presses harder, and you can feel him laugh against your breast.

“Din, please,” you beg, and he breaks away for a moment, his hand sending a soft, teasing touch against your slit. When he finds it nearly completely soaked, he groans, his head burying itself in your neck.

“You are so good to me, so soft and perfect.”

He sucks at your neck then moves back to kiss you, a finger moving to make slow languid circles against your clit.

The sensation makes you cry out into his mouth, and he quickens his pace just slightly before pushing a digit inside of you. The sensation of being filled at all has you near begging him to do something, anything, for how bad you need him.

“Din, please, need you,”

“I haven’t given you your gift yet,” is all he says when he breaks your kiss, smirking at you slightly. Din is quiet, never too chatty, and you’re always surprised by the sudden bold streak he gets in bed.

He slips another finger in and hooks justright, and quickens his pace along your clit, his movements eager. He knows how to work your body, knows each spot to press, each motion to do. It’s one of the blissful things about him, how easily the two of you can read each other.

It also means he can read that the coil in your belly has tightened rather dramatically, and you’re just about to snap.

“Come on baby, let me feel you,” he murmurs as presses at just the right spot on your clit, hooks just the right spot inside that you swear only he can reach. You’re cumming around his fingers near instantly, your orgasm sending tingles down your spine, through your fingers.

Instead of breaking away and immediately moving to remove his pants, as you’d hoped, he shifts down, moving himself so his face is right in front of your core, pressing slow, sloppy kisses to your thigh.

No, no no. You wanted to treat him this was supposed to be his gift. You’re already one orgasm in the whole, and you won’t last long with his mouth on you.

“No, Din, wait,” you start, and he backs up immediately.

“What’s wrong, do you want to stop?”

“Yes, but it’s because I need you in my mouth,” you start, moving towards him as he backs up onto his knees, and you push the waistband of both his pants and boxers down. You see the slight panic in his eyes calm at this, and he helps you remove his clothes, but he pauses when you reach for his cock, throbbing and already leaking precum.

“But what if I need you on my mouth?” He replies, and you groan, trying again to reach for him. He’s soclose and looks so good from here, you can’t resist him.

“Din, seriously, this is your gift,”

“I feel like we’re past that, let me,”

“How about,” you pause, finally catching him and begin slowly pumping his cock in your hand. You can see him fight the groan that threatens to come out of his mouth, “We call it even and you just fuck me?”

He takes no time in considering your offer, replying with a short “deal.” Before picking you up and flipping you on your stomach.

Oh fuck, you’re in for it, you’ve taunted him and now you’re in for it. You had him facedown on this bed earlier, you should’ve know he’d be waiting for it. One of his calloused hands moves itself under your hips and brings you up, and you can feel his tip pressing against your soaked entrance as you rise.

“Are you ready for me, gorgeous girl?” He murmurs, taking a moment to press a kiss between your shoulder blades and bring your hair out from your face.

It’s cute, it’s romantic, but you need to be fucked immediately. You try and respond in a way that seems sultry, but you swear it comes out more like a yelp when you respond, “Fuck yes oh my gods.”

He pushes into you slowly, cursing the entire way. You try to fight the moan that comes on but you relent as he pushes deeper, his length once again finding every single spot inside you that threatens to have you undone after one push.

He starts his strokes slowly, hands grabbing tenderly at the flesh of your ass. He feels so good like this, pressed against you fully to the hilt, and you quite literally cannot even fathom the concept of ever feeling this good ever again, even though you know each time is better than the last.

He begins to quicken his thrusts, moving at a fast, hard speed that has you being pushed forward into the mattress with every motion. His grip on your ass tightens, and you relish in the small pinpricks of pain and the knowledge that you know there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow.

You’re getting wetter by the second, and one of his hands moves itself downwards to make a sloppy, but phenomenal, move to your clit.

“You’re, so good to me.” You pant out in response, and he groans. You can see his head dipped back over your shoulder, his adams apple bobbing.

“You’re so good to me. Wanna marry you over and over again, too perfect, too good.”

His words have that all too familiar rush of pleasure start to surge through you, and you gasp as his thrusts become deeper, harder. He starts back up again. “Won’t ever leave, can’t ever leave. There’s nowhere in this galaxy I’d rather be than right here, love you, love you so much.”

Those words enough, mixed with his quickening and brutal pace, having you clamping down on his cock, cumming harder than you think you ever have. Din’s romantic, passionate, and dare you say emotional. That being said, you can count on maybe two hands the amount of times he’s ever said the words “I love you.” A few more in mando’a, but the words “I love you,” have struggled to be said. You’ve never not felt them, he says it in ways so specific to him, but the raw emotion in his voice, the way it cracks a bit at the words “so much,” has you cumming hard.

He responds immediately, and you feel him quicken and then falter, as he cums deep inside you. There’s a moment, a breath, where the two of you bask in one another, in the heat of the moment, before he pulls away and out of you.

You’re happy to flop down onto the bed, and a look over your shoulder shows you Din in the tiny fresher attached to the bedroom, running a towel under the warm water of the sink and returning to run it along your folds. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade before tossing the towel in the laundry and climbing in bed, moving to sit on top of you.

“You’re gonna suffocate me,” you grumble, trapped beneath his weight.

“Are you calling me heavy?”

“Yes.”

He laughs, uninhibitedly, and you wonder what he’s doing before you smell the familiar, floral aroma of your body oil, and feel his hands rub along your back. You happily melt into him, mumbling, “this was a pretty good gift, right?”

He says nothing, but runs a ticklish touch across your ribs, so you know he agrees. You lay there, happy to be molded by him, and bask in the warm silence of the room. After a moment, he speaks up, quietly but assuredly.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

Your breath catches from his words and the well timed push on your ribs, but you do your best to shift beneath him, and catch a glimpse of his brown eyes, illuminated in the warm candle light.

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #din djarin imagine #din djarin x reader #din x reader #din djaren #dincember 2023 #din djarin smut

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trulybetty · 8 months

Text

Cake | Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,961 Warnings: Fluff with a dash of spice, mature content, talk of food, family & trouble sleeping. As all the Pedro characters do, Marcus Pike comes with his own warnings. Summary: At the end of a long week of hosting duties, it's late at night and you're unable to sleep. AO3: Linked

A/N: As hard as I try, pun not intended - I can't seem to write smut for our man Marcus. But there's some illusion to spice here - which is progress. One day maybe we'll progress further, but until then - enjoy! xx

Also, thank you to @wildemaven, @marcus-is-my-muse & @lunapascal for the Marcus Pike visual inspo - quite a few I hadn't seen before and have tucked away for future writings...

Cake.

The only sound in the kitchen was the scrape of the barstool as you pulled it out to sit atop. The oversized and overstretched cardigan you’d pulled on slipped down your one arm but you paid it no kind. Your attention was focused solely on the pink box in the centre of the kitchen island. Pulling it towards you, you traced the logo printed on the front. The small light from the oven hood provided a dim glow to the room, it being too late at night for anything brighter.

The day had been long, longer than you’d anticipated. The pulse at the balls of your feet was a reminder of this as you absentmindedly lifted your left ankle atop your right knee. You rubbed at your foot to help alleviate some of the sting of wearing heels for most of the day.

As you continued to dig your thumb into the ball of your foot you pulled the cake box to you, flipping it open with one hand. The combined smells of almond, raspberry and lemon filled the air, and with a deep breath in and exhale you felt the tension of the day easing away. There were wooden forks on the counter atop pink napkins that bore the same logo as the cake box, which made you happy to know you didn’t have to get back up after making yourself comfortable.

You picked a fork, letting it hover above the cake for a moment, savouring the moment before taking a bite. The delicate balance of flavours—the sweet almond sponge mingled with the tart raspberry filling and zesty lemon icing—flooded your mouth. It was culinary bliss, and you closed your eyes for a moment to cherish it.

A perfect end to what had been an overwhelmingly emotional day.

Just as you were about to go for your second bite, you felt the sudden warmth of a body behind you, enveloping you in an unexpected but welcome embrace, Marcus's warm chest pressed against your back. He gently kissed the nape of your neck, causing a pleasurable shiver to run down your spine. His strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer to him as his face found its resting place against the crook of your neck.

His hand moved slowly down your left arm until it found its target—your hand. His fingers intertwining with yours, he lifted your hand and tilted it side to side, watching how the dim light danced along the facets of the single diamond that adorned your engagement ring, making it twinkle even in the darkest hour of the night.

Together, you both admired the ring that had adorned your finger now for all of two weeks—beautiful but not ostentatious, a far cry from the ring Marcus of some years back would have picked out. But you still had admonished him for the size. To which he’d shrugged with a smile, some habits were still hard to break.

“It's beautiful, isn't it?” he whispered, his voice tinged with wonder and awe.

“Which one? The ring or the cake?” you asked with a grin, your gaze shifting from your sparkling diamond to the cake still in its box sitting in front of you.

“Both,” he chuckled, “But mostly you.” He kissed the underside of your jaw, still not letting go of you. You could feel his smile against your skin, and it made your heart swell with emotion.

“You couldn't sleep either, huh?” his voice was a low rumble in your ear, imbued with a sleepy huskiness that you found incredibly endearing.

“No,” you admitted softly, leaning back into him. “I guess all the excitement finally caught up to me.”

Marcus chuckled, his breath warm against your neck as he left lazy kisses between words. “It's been a rollercoaster of a week, that’s for sure.”

“You know,” you began, your free hand spearheading another forkful of cake from the plate, “cake actually makes everything better.”

Marcus raised an eyebrow, “Is that so?” he said as he loosened his hold on you, allowing you the freedom to turn your body towards him.

“Hm, there’s science and everything to back it,” you insisted, with a playful matter of fact. “Sugar and chocolate—endorphins, serotonin, all the feel-good stuff, you know?”

Marcus chuckled, clearly amused. “Well, who am I to argue with science?” He tilted his head back slightly, opening his mouth in anticipation as you turned to face him, fork poised in mid-air.

The cake was a simple yet opulent finish to a day filled with love, laughter, and a little chaos. What family event isn’t? Your engagement to Marcus had brought your closest friends and family to town, since neither of you were native to the city, turning the past week into a whirlwind of activity.

This evening had marked the end of the week of celebrations, culminating in a dinner for both sides of the family. And while the affection and well-wishing from everyone had been heartwarming, it had also been overwhelming.

You’d laid in bed, Marcus sound asleep next to you, but you’d tossed and turned. You had felt like you were still riding the adrenaline high of not only the engagement but the week of hosting duties. Unable to wind down despite the late hour, you headed for the kitchen. Your secret rendezvous with calm, disguised as a late-night cake tasting.

As he ate the cake from the offered fork, you watched his face light up. It was a simple thing, but you felt a warmth spread throughout. Here you were, in the middle of the night, eating cake in your kitchen with the man you were going to marry. There was a kind of magic in that simplicity, an affirmation that you were each other's comfort and joy, even in the most mundane of moments.

He swallowed, savouring the lingering taste before looking at you with gratitude. “Okay, I might be a believer.”

“Science doesn’t lie.” You replied, taking another forkful for yourself this time and relishing the taste that spread over your tongue.

“This cake is divine, but it's not quite the sweetest thing in this room,” Marcus responded, nudging your knees apart with his hips.

His eyes dropped to your lips before he leaned in to kiss you. It was a gentle, lingering kiss—deeper than a peck but not rushed. It was a kiss that said 'I love you,' 'I appreciate you,' and 'I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you,' all rolled into one.

The combination of the cake, the quiet, and the deepening intimacy, in spite of the tiredness of the long day, meant it didn't take long for the kiss to pick up in fervour. Your hands moved to Marcus's neck pulling him closer. Exploring your lips with tenderness and gentleness his tongue teased yours, drawing out a low moan from you.

Marcus finally broke away, breathing heavily as his thumb swept across your lower lip. Taking a small step back he reached behind you for the cake box, pulling it towards the edge of the counter. You watched him smirk as he dipped his finger into the thick icing and brought it to his lips for a quick taste.

But when he looked at you with those dark eyes filled with a mischievous glint, your heart thumped heavily in your chest and you felt your cheeks heat. A small smile crept across your face in suspicion of what was to come next.

“Have you tasted how good this stuff really is?” he asked with an impish grin, extending his finger out to you, still mostly covered in icing

Without hesitation and not breaking eye contact, you took the entirety of his finger into your mouth and slowly dragged your lips up, only to release it with a satisfying 'pop'.

He groaned as he watched you lick your lips, an exaggerated move by you knowing the effect it would have on him.

“While you were right,” he said, “cake does make things better.” he paused to place a gentle kiss on your lips, “But there’s still something missing, and I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his hand slid up your thigh.

You could feel his hot breath against your ear as his fingers brushed against the hem of your cardigan, gently grazing your bare thigh and barely skimming the edge of your panties. He leaned into you, murmuring into your ear: “And I think I just found it.”

Your breath hitched as you felt his fingers start to tease at the sensitive skin.

He began to unbutton your cardigan, his fingers masterful as he moved from one button to the next with one hand. As the fabric parted, he slid it off your shoulders, letting it pool at your waist.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you felt, more than saw, his affirmation as his gaze travelled from your face down your body, and back again. A soft 'wow' escaped his lips, here you were, exposed in the most intimate of ways, and yet you’d never felt more cherished.

A feeling that you’d never been without since the first days of your relationship with Marcus.

The room seemed to pulse around you, the delicious ache of longing mixed with the heady sweetness of the cake you’d just shared. His fingers lightly brushed against the side of your neck, moving down to trace the line of your collarbone, as if he were drawing invisible constellations on your skin.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours as he whispered, “You’re incredibly beautiful, you know that?”

“You’re incredibly charming, you know that?” You rebutted playfully, earning a soft laugh from Marcus.

He took a step back, taking the time to savour every moment of this intimate moment. His eyes seemingly drank in your form as if it were the first and last time he would ever see you. He reached out with one hand, tenderly cupping your face as he leaned in for another kiss.

You could feel desire radiating off him in waves as his hands explored your body. Your fingers found the hem of his t-shirt and slid under to run up and down the expanse of his back, pulling him back to you as you hooked your legs around his waist. There was no missing the effect this late-night make-out session was having on him.

His breathing grew uneven, mirroring your own laboured inhales and exhales. As he withdrew, his forehead met yours in a lingering touch. You both took a moment to regain your composure. His eyes met yours, reflecting the same want you felt coursing through you.

“As much as I'd like to continue this here,” Marcus bit at his lip as he thought about the idea of helping you up onto the island and taking things from there. However, the reality of the day was nipping at his stamina and he knew it would be over before it could even begin, “how about we head back to bed?”

“Back to bed,” you echoed with a smile as you disentangled your legs from around his waist. Already knowing that neither of you were going to be going back to sleep any time soon. Marcus helped you hop down from the stool, his hands lingering at your waist for a moment longer before finally letting go.

Leaving your cardigan in a pile on the stool, you took Marcus' hand in both of yours and led him back to your bedroom, tiptoeing the cool wooden floorboard in the dark and up the stairs.

“So,” Marcus whispered, his lips tracing a path along your neck as he closed the bedroom door behind him, “where were we?”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike fanfic #marcus pike fanfiction

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