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yayakoishii · 2 days

Note

can we get some drunk love confessions from sanji?

Sober (Pt. 1) | Sanji x Reader

Fandom: One Piece

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x GN! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Genre/Tags: Light Angst, Fluff, Insecure Sanji; there's a scene that might feel like dub-con to some but it's consensual from both sides– please read at your own discretion! ♡

A/n: thank you so much for this prompt anon,, I love drunk confessions myself so I was excited to write this!! I wasn't sure if you wanted the reader to be confessing or Sanji, so I decided to make it Sanji this time since I already wrote a fic where reader drunk confessed. I hope you enjoy this ♡

Part 2

also available on ao3!

The shouting on the ship got your attention from where you were playing cards with Usopp. Across the deck, Zoro and Sanji were fighting again. Even in the dark cloak of nighttime, they sure had the energy to fight without missing a beat. You sighed to yourself then decided that it would be better if you went over and distracted Sanji so the fight would end.

Except, before you had even stood up, the screaming stopped and the two were now stomping towards Zoro's stash of sake. You raised an eyebrow as you saw them sit down across each other, still glaring. You hurried over to them after telling Usopp that you'll be back in a while.

"What's going on?" You asked quietly to Nami and Chopper who had been watching over the two.

"They're having a drinking contest," the navigator replied matter-of-factly. Your eyebrows shot up in shock. Why would Sanji challenge Zoro to a drinking challenge of all things? "Zoro challenged him. And of course your lover boy couldn't back down."

"Nami!" You hissed at her, cheeks flushing. "Don't say that so close to him!"

Nami gave you a deadpan look. She still lowered her voice for your sake, "Sanji is dense as fuck. I bet all my money he wouldn't figure out your feelings from such a simple term."

"I'd still rather not risk it," you muttered underneath your breath before turning your attention to the drinking challenge in front of you. The two of them had already managed to down more than half of the first bottle. Illuminated by the lights on the deck, you could see the slight flush starting to rise on Sanji's cheeks.

The blonde chef could hold his liquor well but going against Zoro was probably equivalent to digging his own grave.

"This is not gonna end well," you sighed. "I'll just go finish my card game with Usopp. Are you gonna watch over these two or…?"

"They're paying me to play referee," she shrugged. You rolled your eyes and bit down the smile trying to come up. Chopper announced that he was going to sleep and to call him if something happened. You both waved him goodnight. Giving Nami a thumbs up, you went back to your seat too. Usopp was staring intensely at his own cards. You stared at him for a few seconds.

"You looked at my cards, didn't you?" You said flatly. Usopp's eyes widened and he started denying but gave up when you started shuffling the deck again. "Let's play one short game before turning in for the night."

You could still hear Zoro and Sanji fighting in the background, the noise just incoherent enough that you couldn't quite make out the words. You could tell Sanji was steadily getting more and more drunk as his voice started getting a little higher and shrill as he shouted. Even in the dead of the night, the Thousand Sunny was as lively as ever. The thought made you smile to yourself as you triumphantly showed your card sets to Usopp, finishing the game.

"You're suspiciously good at this," Usopp complained as he started packing up the cards.

"Be happy I didn't bet money on this," you grinned and leaned back in your chair. "You'd be a penniless beggar otherwise."

Usopp muttered something under his breath that you didn't quite catch. The day's exhaustion was starting to catch up and you decided that it was a good time to go to sleep. You had the early morning lookout shift anyway.

"Goodnight," Usopp called out as he left. You tilted your head up and down to acknowledge his words but stayed in your seat for a few more minutes. The shouting had ceased sometime ago and the low murmurs of conversation washed over you like a lullaby.

"(Y/n)!" Nami's shout of your name startled you awake from your half-asleep state.

"What is it?" You asked with a yawn as you made your way over. "Is their match over?"

"I had to stop them cause I don't think either of them plans to stop," she frowned. "I don't know about Zoro but Sanji would definitely die of alcohol poisoning if this goes on."

You laughed for a second but froze when you realised that Sanji was staring intensely at you. It made you self conscious and you automatically carded a hand through your hair to ensure it wasn't sticking out awkwardly.

"You should take him back while I squeeze my money out of Zoro," Nami winked at you and ran after the swordsman who had already wandered off somewhere. She was gone before you had even finished nodding.

"Alright, Sanji, come on," you smiled down at him, holding your hands out so he could stand up with the support. The chef stopped staring at your face and switched to staring at your hands instead. From your angle, you couldn't quite see his full face but the red splotches on his ears and cheeks were enough indication of how drunk he was. You waited for a few seconds. After a few beats of silence, Sanji placed his own cold hands into yours. You immediately covered them, trying to warm them as you pulled him up. The blonde must have been more drunk than you had thought because he lost his footing and nearly crashed into you.

Thankfully, you realised just in time and instead of the two of you falling on the deck, Sanji had crashed into your arms. Chests pressing, now he was the one looking down at you with a half-lidded gaze. The proximity resulted in Sanji's smell enclosing you, and you flushed at how one of his hands had sneaked around your waist in the confusion somehow.

"So beautiful," he whispered. Your heart was thudding faster, almost like it was trying to escape the confines of your ribcage. You nervously laughed it off.

"Alright, you've had too much to drink," you joked and tried to separate but Sanji's grip did not loosen. He always fought with his legs so you tended to forget that his arms were just as strong. Fingers spreading apart, his hand splayed across the small of your back. The cold touch over your shirt made goosebumps rise on your skin but you were distracted by the way Sanji's tongue was lightly grazing over his lips. The soft pink seemed to be shining in the light.

"This must be a dream," he spoke quietly, seemingly more to himself than you. You stayed still, praying that Sanji couldn't hear your crazy heart rate and that he would forget this tomorrow. (Or well, maybe he shouldn't forget this. You didn't know which option was more appealing at the moment.) "You smell divine, my love."

"Y- You too?" You squeaked out in panic, wanting to hide your face but your hands were trapped between your bodies, resting on his shoulders. Sanji laughed at your words– a soft, genuine, relaxed laugh that you didn't often get to hear. It made your embarrassment quell down and your heart felt warm. Sanji wasn't wrong. Something about this whole night seemed to feel hazy and distant, like a dream. He would only say such words and smile like that around you in a dream, right?

"I wish this wasn't a dream," his words sent something cold down your insides. "If only this was real…"

You paused and looked up at him. Pushing your body on the tip of your toes, you leaned into his ear and asked quietly, "What if it wasn't a dream? What would you do?"

You didn't know what had possessed you but it felt like the right thing to do, the only natural question to ask after his previous words.

"So many things I've wanted to do for so long," his words were still quiet, almost like he was afraid to break the tranquillity of the night. You stepped back and Sanji let you this time. His expression seemed broken and his eyes looked glassy.

You had never actually seen Sanji drunk. He had a high tolerance for alcohol and he usually didn't drink much to ensure he could take care of anyone else who was. (He always said it was just for the ladies but you knew he was secretly looking out for everyone even though he wouldn't admit it.) He never really cried in front of you either. The fact that a drunk Sanji was sad and broken was news to you.

"Sanji," you didn't realise you had cupped his cheeks until you had already done it. Something about that desperate look on his face had spiked an intense urge in you to hold him close. "Is everything alright?"

"If this was reality," his voice wavered, unconfident and so unlike the usual him, "you wouldn't look at me like you're doing right now. If this was real, you wouldn't be in my arms right now. You would never love me the way I love you and you would never see me as something beyond a crewmate."

Your breath hitched at the words, fingers accidentally pressing harder into Sanji's jaws. He didn't seem to feel it because a tear slipped down his cheek and onto your hand, the liquid trailing between your touch.

"That's okay," he blinked, a few more droplets falling down or getting stuck in his eyelashes. "As long as I can hold you like this in a dream… that's enough for me. I won't ask more of you if this was real. All that you give me is already more than I deserve. After all, for someone like me… There's no way you would fall for someone like me. And that's okay. Because you deserve someone better. But I'm so selfish. I wish I could keep you all to myself. I wish I could hold you like this in reality, and tell you how much you mean to me. I wish I could make you smile all the time and be a shoulder for you to cry upon on your bad days. I wish I could k- kiss you and tell you over and over… how much I love you."

It felt like a swarm of butterflies had suddenly erupted in your chest. The fluttering feeling was ticklish and you couldn't quite form words and you could only gape at Sanji. He still seemed to believe this was a dream because his other hand cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed against it, gentle and warm, no longer cold after all the proximity in you two. Before you could say anything, he dipped down and captured your lower lip in between his own, gently caressing it with his tongue. The sudden sensation made you erupt in flames, the blush reaching the tips of your extremities.

"S- Sanji," you breathed out shakily when he let your lip go to slip his tongue into your mouth. You wanted this. You had wanted it for so, so long– but not like this. You drew your head away before he could successfully infiltrate the warm, wet cavern of your mouth and instead gave him a flushed smile. His eyes still looked glossy but there was an unmistakable softness in them.

You would normally have told yourself that he was just drunk and didn't mean it. But there was a part of you that knew it wasn't the effect of the alcohol. Sanji was unbearably honest when he was drunk. His true feelings were what's making him sad. Denying them would be both idiotic and disrespectful, but you couldn't accept them either. The words he spoke weren't ones he had decided to say himself. He thought this was a dream.

"Tell me this tomorrow morning," you whispered, pressing a gentle and slightly wet kiss on his cheek. "Tell me you love me when you're sober. Tell it to me, when this is real and no longer a dream. I'll wait for you to tell me when you feel ready for it."

Sanji stared down at you, his eyes starstruck and in an expression of awe. The sight made your heart clench but you told yourself that he will do it. He will tell you his feelings again, when he is in full consciousness. For that, you had to let him go right now.

"And then we'll do everything that we have wanted to do for so long, yeah?"

°•❀•°

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forbiddcnsirvn · 2 years

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instagram » DEVILSERPENT uploaded a new photo.

DEVILSERPENT: Taken from when we celebrated our small, but meaningful honeymoon, yet another day that’s tucked in deep within the heart that I’d never thought would beat so yearningly for someone before. It feels forever and beyond has passed, doesn’t it? Since the second we laid eyes upon one another. I remember how enticed I was from that one passing moment alone – you were not like any other that I had seen or met, the underdog that was chewed by everyone around him and yet remained to hold inferno that could conflagrate every inch and thread of my being. When I grew up, I was raised in an environment where love was a ludicrous thing and attraction implied nothing but material rewards – assignment after assignment went by to chisel me into something that was entirely unloveable. And to think of it now, I am still astounded by how much of kindred spirits we had always been. We were both sewn by tragedies, by the surroundings that were anything but kind, and we bit the world and hands that tried to care for us. It was peculiar in theory how we eventually ended up strung together, and yet here we are, and then I started believing that it had always been fate all along. I remember being convinced that soulmates never existed – that the other half of our existence was made up by nothing but anecdotes and fairy tales that were not made for people like me, like us, but now there is nothing that can reduce my belief that we have always meant to come into one. There are many evidences of that – how we clashed, volcanoes erupting against one another, hell-stricken, and yet when the night collapsed we’d discover ourselves still in each other’s arms. If that isn’t fate, and if you aren’t the one piece that completes me, then I’m not sure what would be. I’m not sure if I would ever believe in anything else anymore.

Cyrek, my soulmate, my rockstar – we have grown up a lot since, but there is not a day where I don’t crave you the way I always had. They say attraction falters once the novelty wears off, but that is not the sentiment that I can relate to. We may have grown older, but each second I spend without you by my side is the hardest to endure. I do not care if you’re ill, I do not care if there are days where you might not be able to embrace me the way you usually would; every moment I lie down next to you and being able to watch you drift off into sleep, no matter how short-lived, is already more than enough for me. You are enough. I know that you doubt that very often. Your worth, your values, but I do hope that one day you will realize how important you are by just existing and being yourself. I don’t give a single shit about the flaws that you may have, I have loved those for years, and I have loved YOU for years, and nothing about that will ever change. You’re still the person who brought me out of my confinement so we could watch the world and moon spin together. So I could breathe in the air, and wake to the sound of your humming in the morning. You’re still the person that breathed life into me and pulled genuine laughter out of me sincerely for the first time in God knew how long. You taught me ventures, and affections, and stupid quarrels and love. No matter how many anniversaries that we’ll have, that would never ever change and I will be here even through your worst days. Kind of funny, huh? How willing I am to drop many off my proximities, but for you, and you alone, I will be here.

We have built so much over the years. Our marriage, our entire army of children, this little found family that I admit I’m still trying to warm up to entirely and the trailer that we share our nights in. It has not always been easy, and yes, you can be a hardass and I can be a complete brat, but we make it work - don’t we? I’ve learned that wealth means nothing when the person that you long to be is not around and that simplicity in life is not always bad. Of course, there isn’t anything simple about our relationship in nature and I kind of love that about us a lot, but when it comes to living, just sitting at the porch and on your lap while summer heat breezes in and you tell me about your shitty days and those creatures you are not allowed to name, that feeling is, undoubtedly, indescribable. I want more of that and I always will. I crave not for the exquisite things, but the little ticks where we can be intimate together after our long days or rowdy exchanges, where I can just stare at you and be content that you are still around. With me. If there is one wish that I could say for this anniversary, is that I would like to be able to have another year writing this sappy shit while you work your odd jobs and I am waiting for you to come home. And next year, I will wish for the same. I am yours, and I forever will be. Happy anniversary, Cyrek, I love you deeply. ♥ @devilsprxphct

#&& SOCIAL MEDIA #DID I OR DID I NOT WRITE A WHOLE NOVEL YE #wrote this the other day fighting against sleep but for them i would #another ship of ours hitting anniversary????? excuse me while i'm emo #in all serousness i am so happy to have been able to write this again i love them and i love cyrek wholeheartedly and i always will #it's been such a journey watching them grow and even through many changes they are still so meaningful to me #i will never regret building this ship years ago because you've once again given me one of the best #and cyrek is such an engaging muse that is just as important to me as my own and!! everything about him pulls my interest #i'm so glad he's still around and that you are as well <3 #q.

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srgntjamesbuckybarnes · 3 months

Text

Past, Present, ...

Summary: After sleeping with Bucky after months of comforting him during his nightmares, Y/N returns from a three-week mission to find out she's been replaced.

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Near death, Implying attempted suicide (it's not)

Word Count: 5.7k

A/N: Not Beta'd. Dusting this off from the drafts. I wrote this while sleep deprived. Not sure how we got here but the original ending wasn't a happy one. Enjoy whatever this is instead.

How much space is too much?

According to James Bucky Barnes, three weeks isn't enough.

Three weeks on an assignment was enough for Y/N to become homesick. She understood she would have to pause her life to save the world, but what no one informed her was that the rest of the world would continue to play.

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice shouted.

Adjusting the strap of her duffle bag on her shoulder, Y/N turned her head to find her co-worker jogging towards her. Slanting her eyes, Y/N raised her palm to block out the sun.

“Wilson,” she addressed the man when he was near.

Bent over with his hands on his knees, Sam panted. His sweatshirt stretched across his back making the dark patch of sweat more prominent. Squinting up at Y/N, Sam breathed, “Did you just get back?”

Y/N bobbed her head, adjusting the strap on her shoulder once more for emphasis rather than comfort. She did not need to ask to know Sam just returned from his run. He usually ran with Steve and Bucky, but they always finished well before Sam. It wasn’t uncommon for him to return hours after the super-soldiers.

Pushing off his knees, Sam stood, tilting his head toward one of the many entrances in Avengers Tower. He knew better than to offer to carry her duffle bag. The weight of missions was often packed in the bags they returned with.

Y/N and Sam strolled side by side. Sam only paused to open the door for Y/N. Trekking into the tower, he could finally relax his eyes from the intense sun. The two stood shoulder to shoulder, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

“I thought you were already back,” Sam admitted, watching the light above the elevator doors.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows. Her mission was supposed to be longer. If anything, he should have anticipated her return later. Facing the man beside her, she asked, “Why?”

Ding.

Scrambling into the elevator, Sam leaned against the wall across from Y/N. She reflected his behavior, leaning against the wall behind her.

Once the elevator started moving, Sam confessed, “Bucky skipped his run today. I thought I saw you with him before I left. Guess I was wrong.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, reopening a recently closed wound. She released her lip long enough to confirm what Sam already knew. “You were wrong.” Ignoring the coppery taste flooding her tongue, she drew her bottom lip between her teeth again.

She hadn’t seen her teammates in three weeks. She hadn’t seen Bucky longer. She assumed they were doing great, but Bucky didn't share her thoughts. He denied it, yet he went out of his way to avoid her since their last mission together, since they slept together. How one could be sweet in one moment and cold in another, Y/N would never understand.

Y/N and Bucky started off rocky. He hated her from the moment they met. Bucky was struggling in the field, so Steve asked her to keep an eye on him. Bucky rejected her the second Steve introduced them. He saw through Steve’s plan and stomped his feet like a child. Rather than confirm Bucky’s insinuation, Steve vouched that she deserved to be on the team for her talents, not to babysit Bucky. He even suggested that Y/N and Bucky spar to prove it. Bucky loathed her then. She laid him out several times that day. It was the reason Steve sought her out in the first place. Bucky was a far more experienced fighter than Y/N. He should have won every fight. He lost them all.

Muffled voices were heard from the other side of the doors. Voices Y/N craved to hear since she departed for her mission. When the doors spread, Sam was the first to enter the room. “Hey guys,” he called out, extending his hands toward Y/N, “look who I found.”

Y/N tentatively stepped off the elevator, joining her friends in the living room. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so many eyes on her. “I didn’t know there was a party,” she joked, waving.

Tony was the first to speak up, a glass of honey liquid in hand, “Glad, you're back. We were just getting to know Bucky’s girlfriend over here.” He lifted his glass.

Y/N’s eyes followed the direction of Tony’s glass. Her hand tautened around the strap of her duffle bag for support. Y/N hadn’t noticed the extra body in the room at first. The team always had someone over for business or pleasure; it didn’t matter. This time it did because staring back at her was Bucky’s guest, his girlfriend, undoubtedly here for pleasure.

The stunning woman beside Bucky introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Evangelina, but everyone calls me Lina.” Y/N could see the muscles in her uncovered arms tense. Even though she couldn’t see the hand attached to the arm from the other side of the bar, she knew Evangelina was holding Bucky’s flesh hand. “But Bucky calls me Angel,” she added, batting her eyelashes at Bucky.

The woman wasn't solely attractive; she also had a heavenly name. Y/N mentally gagged at the thought of hearing Bucky call his girlfriend Angel.

The coward refused to meet Y/N’s eyes. He took a lengthy drink from a glass matching Tony’s. Stark usually drank top-shelf liquor. Y/N might have been concerned under different circumstances, but she knew the liquor did not affect him, unlike herself.

“Y/N,” she weakly introduced herself, gnawing on her bottom lip again.

“We were just having drinks. Care to join us? There is plenty of alcohol. I can make you something,” Evangelina offered politely.

Y/N’s teeth clamped tight on her bottom lip. She spent three weeks wishing she could return to the tower, only to be treated like a guest, an outsider in her own home.

It was then that Bucky decided to face her, yet his eyes looked right through her. Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t know it was feasible to feel more alone in her home, surrounded by friends and a man she had been intimate with, than by herself in a foreign country. She wondered if he could see the hurt written on her face.

“I-I don’t-”

Bucky’s whiskey-strained voice interrupted, “No. No drinks.”

A gasp pulled Y/N's attention away from the couple. Cold, pale hands rested on her cheeks, rotating her head from side to side. “Y/N, you’re bleeding,” Natasha chastised.

Wrestling out of Natasha’s hold, Y/N utilized the back of her hand to wipe the blood from her lip. Staring at the crimson fluid coating her skin, Y/N jerked her head. “I can’t.” Blindly smashing the elevator button behind her, she whispered, “I have to…” her voice trailed off as she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. Disregarding everyone’s silent questions, she bolted into the elevator, only letting her shoulders sag when the doors closed. The strap of her duffle bag slid from her shoulder landing with a thud. Gliding her back down the wall, Y/N cradled her knees and wept.

Every night before bed, Y/N prayed the sun would never rise because when day broke, Bucky vanished. Her dreams filled with memories of their last mission together. Reality was the price of admission for eight hours in heaven.

Y/N clenched her jaw at every public display of affection between the new couple. In the time she had known him, Bucky had never been touchy-feely in public. Now, he couldn’t appear to stop. Bucky only ever reached for Y/N after a nightmare or horrific mission. He reached for her at his lowest and she responded with open arms. He might have another woman occupying his bed, but he continued to fuck with her head.

The voice in her head wasn’t her own anymore. Every thought she had echoed back in his familiar deep timber. She couldn’t shake him. A twisted part of her brain wondered if he couldn’t shake her either.

Sam’s comment when she returned from her assignment should have been her first clue. He had mistaken Evangelina for her. Sam had been the first to mention the resemblance between the two, but it wasn’t the last time Y/N received those kinds of comments.

In the time that Y/N had gotten to know Evangelina, which wasn’t much, she concluded that she didn’t hate her. The two had more in common than she wanted to admit. Evangelina made it a point to befriend all of the Avengers; Y/N included. Y/N hated that she enjoyed her company. It was a tough pill to swallow at first, but she couldn’t hate the woman for her taste in men. Who didn’t find Bucky Barnes attractive?

Bucky had been more challenging to read. He didn’t prevent the women from becoming friends, but he didn’t encourage it either. He continued to keep his distance from Y/N, only interacting with her in group settings.

The Avengers were unaware of Bucky and Y/N’s history. Their relationship was exclusively behind closed doors. Y/N wondered if Evangelina would be her confidante if she knew Y/N had warmed his bed first. Maybe Bucky told her and that was why she pushed to be Y/N’s friend. Maybe that was the reason she asked to raid Y/N’s closet for her date with Bucky. Even though Y/N desperately wanted to slam the door in her face, Evangelina was innocent in the situation. So, she agreed.

“You have so many pretty dresses,” Evangelina said in awe. Her hand ran across each piece of fabric dangling in the wardrobe.

Y/N’s fingers plucked at a loose thread on her comforter. Although they were now friends, helping Bucky’s girlfriend pick out an outfit for their date was still awkward. At least it was on Y/N’s end. Evangelina was none the wiser.

“Perks of being an Avenger.”

“What’s it like being an Avenger? Bucky never talks about his work life. He’s always tense when he returns from a mission.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow even though the other woman couldn’t see her. Bucky was slow to open up, especially about his past as the Winter Soldier. Y/N wasn’t surprised he dodged the topic. Ever since Natasha leaked classified files, Bucky’s past became public knowledge. Bucky and Evangelina’s relationship progressed beyond what Y/N previously had with Bucky, at least on the surface. She didn’t know much about their life behind closed doors. Bucky never took Y/N on a date or made her his girlfriend, but he let her hold him in her arms at night and let her in after a difficult mission. Yet his girlfriend practically confessed she knew nothing about his troubles. That was what shocked Y/N.

“It’s…” she paused, attempting to find the right words to convey the difficulties of the job without disturbing her. “It’s like war. You save and lose people. It’s rewarding and sucks at the same time.”

Evangelina pivoted with a black cocktail dress in hand. “That sounds awful.”

Y/N shrugged. “People do it every day. Steve, Sam, and Bucky were all military men before this.” She waved her hands around the room.

Evangelina caught the shift in Y/N’s tone. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, a reaction Evangelina grew used to from her exchanges with Bucky. Altering the subject, Evangelina pressed the cocktail dress flush to her body. “What about this one?”

Y/N sucked in a deep breath. She wore the dress on her last mission with Bucky. Though he didn’t say it in public, his reaction when they returned to the safe house that night was enough to know Bucky admired the dress. With Evangelina’s similar figure, Y/N knew Bucky would equally appreciate it on her, especially since he wouldn’t get to rip it off of Y/N again.

She would have told Evangelina about the dress, but it was none of her business. The past was in the past. One Evangelina wasn’t a part of. If Bucky hadn’t told her about their past neither would she. Was it bad to send Evangelina on a date in the dress Bucky had fucked her in? Probably. Did she hope he would think about her the entire date? Absolutely.

Clearing her throat, Y/N plastered a phony smile on her face. “Good choice.” After the date, the dress would be tarnished, like rerecording over an old tape.

Y/N never considered herself a masochist, but she couldn’t escape the role of a domestic sinner. She couldn’t sabotage Evangelina’s relationship no matter how Bucky made her feel; however, she could ruin her own relationship. There was a time in her life when she thought Bucky was the one. Part of her still believed it. It was the part she had to sacrifice.

She told herself Bucky’s soft caresses and lingering stares meant nothing, that every promise spoken was a lie to satisfy the moment. Everything Y/N ever loved had been hard to part with, so she convinced herself Bucky never truly loved her. He couldn’t with how readily he replaced her. Could he? It didn’t matter because he chose Evangelina.

“Hey, Y/N,” Steve welcomed jovially.

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows as Steve’s voice carried down the hall. Who was he talking to? Rounding the corner just in time, she hadn’t missed the way Steve’s eyes enlarged at the sight of her.

“I didn’t realize,” Steve began, his eyes flashing between both women. “I thought you were Y/N.”

Evangelina chuckled, gliding her hands across her abdomen to smooth down the front of the dress. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Y/N was considerate enough to lend me her dress.” She turned to Y/N, who was still standing in the archway of the lobby. “Thanks again.”

Before Y/N could reply, a hand slinked around her waist, drawing her into a solid body. Startled, Y/N tensed.

“Hey, Ange-” Bucky’s tongue twisted as his eyes landed on Y/N. He was relieved he peeked at her face before he complimented her appearance. He dragged his arm back to his side in a flash. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”

Y/N chewed her lip, taking a step back. Bucky was dressed from head to toe in black, matching Evangelina. Y/N wondered if they planned to dress for her funeral before or after they killed off any romantic feelings she had for Bucky.

“I did the same thing,” Steve laughed. Bucky glowered at him, forcing his hands into his pockets. Steve held his hands up, “I didn’t touch anyone though, that was all you.”

Bucky grumbled, crossing the lobby to plant a kiss on Evangelina’s forehead. His right hand rested on the small of her back. “You look gorgeous,” he whispered against her hairline.

Evangelina grinned, “You don’t look bad yourself.”

Y/N couldn’t argue with that.

The faint smile on Bucky’s lips disappeared as the hand on Evangelina’s back ran up her spine. The tips of his fingers halted over a loose thread beside the zipper. Anyone would have glossed over it, but not Bucky. Not when he was the one to patch the dress up and certainly not when he was the one to tear it in the first place. When his gaze collided with Y/N’s, she knew he recognized the dress. His eyes blatantly proceeded to check her out.

Y/N flushed as he studied her; however, the moment his eyes drifted to his best friend, Y/N’s blood ran cold. “Are you two,” he pointed between Y/N and Steve. His voice was unable to fully ask the question he wanted to.

Steve slung his arm over Y/N’s shoulder. It was meant to be a joke, but Y/N saw the blaze in Bucky’s eyes. She didn’t know if it was directed at Steve or herself.

“I wish,” Steve beamed down at her. “I have a conference with Fury in an hour. I was hoping to get there early.”

Y/N sent Steve a soft smile. Steve and Bucky were best friends. If anyone knew what transpired between the two on their last mission, it would be Steve. His reaction proved otherwise. She was confident Steve didn’t know about her past with Bucky or he wouldn’t have unknowingly taunted Bucky.

Evangelina ran her hand along Bucky’s back affectionately. “What about you, Y/N? That dress looks amazing on you. I’m almost jealous I didn’t borrow that one.”

Untangling herself from Steve’s hold, Y/N focused on responding to her new friend rather than Bucky. Puffing out her chest, Y/N said, “Thanks, Lina. I have a date.”

Evangelina grinned, “You should join us.” She directed her attention to Bucky, slapping the center of his chest. “They should join us.”

Y/N’s eyes bulged at the prospect of a double date with Bucky. Absolutely not.

“Could be fun,” Bucky added, but his voice lacked emotion.

She officially lost her mind. There was no way Bucky was actually on board with this idea. The man spent most of his time avoiding her. The second she attempts to move on, he tries to interfere. No. No. No.

Y/N shook her head, lying through her teeth, “It’s still new. I’m not ready to introduce him to anyone I know yet.”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on Y/N’s figure for a moment. “That’s not exactly a new relationship kind of dress.” His eyes narrowed in a challenge.

Y/N pursed her lips. “It is for the kind of relationship he and I have.”

Bucky and Y/N’s first assignment together was a disaster. Bucky wasn't prepared to return to the field, but he insisted he was fine. The mission was successful, but only after Bucky hesitated and Y/N was stabbed. The knife was meant for Bucky, and he took her sacrifice for his mistake poorly. They argued even while Y/N was getting stitched up. At the time, they couldn’t stand one another, but looking back on it, it was the tipping point from enemies to friends.

Tony pressured the two to get along for everyone's sake. He suggested going out for a drink and hashing it out. It was the typical outing for a man of Tony’s status with enemies. Bucky had been the first to yield, offering to buy Y/N a drink. As long as it meant they could move forward, he didn’t care. Y/N declined. Bucky scowled in frustration.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but ever since the whole enhanced superpower thing, alcohol is like poison to me.”

Bucky’s face softened. Alcohol had been an issue for him and Steve as well. He detested that he couldn’t get drunk, especially with the unwanted memories that plagued his head frequently. It paled in comparison to her side effects. At least he could still consume the liquid and pretend.

“How about dinner then?” Bucky proposed.

Y/N nodded. “Dinner would be great.”

After that, the pair functioned well together. At least until Y/N witnessed Bucky’s nightmares or when he pulled away from everyone after a challenging mission. That was when Y/N began comforting Bucky. While it wasn’t a problem before, it was now.

“Stop staring at me,” Bucky grumbled.

Y/N couldn’t tear her eyes away from the super-soldier. It was their first mission together since he began dating Evangelina. The two of them were trapped in a safe house on the other side of the world. It wasn’t the first time they had stayed in this particular safe house. It was the exact safe house they inhabited on their last mission.

“You’re hurt,” Y/N observed. Bucky naturally had a sway in his gate. Today, it was heavier, as if he had been lugging extra weight around for hours.

“I’m fine,” Bucky rasped, keeping his back to Y/N. He kept his focus on igniting the fire in the fireplace before them.

Y/N frowned. “I don't mean physically.” Bucky remained silent. “Maybe you should call Evangelina,” she proposed. It was the practical thing to suggest, but it seemed to have the opposite effect on Bucky than she intended.

Bucky whirled around; the fire blazed behind him. “I said I’m fine,” he barked. His dark eyes pinned her to her spot on the worn couch.

Y/N chewed her bottom lip. If he was going to get angry with her for caring, then she’d get furious right back. “If you’re so fine, then why have you been avoiding me?”

Bucky grumbled something under his breath, running his hand through his hair. “I already told you, I haven’t-”

“Bullshit.” Y/N rose from her seat. “You fucked me after that HYDRA mission and discarded me like garbage,” she fumed. “I gave you space. I’m gone not even an entire month and suddenly you have a girlfriend. Fuck you, James.”

Bucky stormed the room until he was standing in front of her. His nostrils flared as he ran his tongue along his teeth before baring his teeth. Y/N tipped her head back, daring him to put his hands on her. Bucky studied her face momentarily, their faces hairsbreadths from one another as he hissed, “Fuck. You. Y/N.” From this distance, she could see the muscles in his face twist. She knew he was pissed. Bucky pulled away. “You think you know everything. You have no idea what it's like to have someone fuck with your head.”

Y/N shoved his chest hard. Bucky didn’t even flinch. “You! You’ve been driving me insane with your games!” Her hands moved to shove him again, but he caught both of her wrists.

“Don’t,” he growled.

Y/N ripped herself free from his hold. His grip wasn't tight enough to hurt, still she rubbed her wrist anyway, trying to rid her body of his touch.

“Go back to your boyfriend, Y/N,” he commanded.

Y/N squinted at the man in front of her. This version of him was a stranger. “I heard you,” she voiced softly. “That night,” she pointed to the bedroom down the hall, “when you thought I was asleep, you said you love me.”

If she wasn’t an Avenger, she wouldn’t have detected the way his eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Bucky no longer had to wear a mask from HYDRA, but it seemed everyone except Bucky got the memo. His voice matched the stone-cold expression he wore. “I lied.”

It was the lack of sympathy in his voice that slammed the casket closed. With two little words, Bucky Barnes had buried her in the same place he made love to her.

Bucky returned to the tower after dropping Evangelina off when he stumbled across Natasha with a glass of wine in hand. She was snuggled under a blanket on the couch, watching a true crime show. Since he was unsure where everyone else had gone, he settled on the spot beside Natasha.

“Long night?” Natasha questioned, side-eying the brunette.

Bucky moaned, running his hands down his face. “Long week.”

Natasha swirled her glass of wine. “There is still a bit of wine left. It won't get you drunk but it might help you relax.”

Bucky pursed his lips. “I don’t think that will help.”

Natasha shrugged. “There’s some liquor Y/N’s boyfriend left on the counter over there.” She pointed to the nearly empty bottle across the room. “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind sharing.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, “He’s here?”

The red head nodded. “They just got back from dinner. She said they were going upstairs to watch a movie, but after the amount of alcohol they had, I’m sure they are doing more than that.” She wiggled her eyebrows.

Bucky stiffened. “They were both drinking?”

“Yeah. The boyfriend came down a couple times to make mixed drinks. He offered me one the last time he was down here, but,” she raised her wine glass.

Before Natasha could continue, Bucky was out of the room, taking the stairs three at a time. He didn’t expect Natasha to understand. People didn’t go around broadcasting their weaknesses. Y/N told him hers, despite them not being friends. It wasn’t his position to share the information. He regretted it now.

Bucky pounded his fist on the wooden door of Y/N's bedroom with a force that made the hinges creak. “Y/N, you in there? Open up,” he pleaded, his voice laced with concern. When he tried the handle and found it locked, his heart sank. “Y/N,” his voice grew more desperate. He could hear shuffling on the other side of the door and leaned in, straining to hear anything that might give him an indication of what was transpiring inside. Despite his repeated requests, the door remained sealed shut, and Bucky's impatience and frustration mounted with each passing second. His voice grew louder, his fists clenched tightly, as he roared for Y/N to open the goddamn door. But there was no response. Finally, Bucky stepped back, his eyes flashing with rage, preparing to kick the door down.

The door opened the second Bucky lifted his boot. A man Bucky had never seen before pushed past him, flying down the hallway. “I didn’t do anything,” he cried as he stepped onto the elevator.

Whiplash hit Bucky hard. His head twisted between the man on the elevator and Y/N’s open bedroom door. The second he caught sight of the man's face, he filed it away preparing to deal with him later. Bucky ran into Y/N’s room. His heartbeat drummed loudly, drowning out the sound of the TV playing in the background. He called her name, but there was no response. He scanned the entire room, finding it empty. His boot kicked a glass, the brown liquid staining the carpet. With a lump in his throat, Bucky knocked on the bathroom door and waited for half a heartbeat before he jerked the door wide open.

There she was, sprawled out on the bathroom floor. Bucky crouched down beside her. His flesh hand shook her shoulder as he called her name. No response. He rolled her onto her back, his fingers searching for the pulse on her neck. Bucky almost missed the faint thrum of her pulse beneath his fingers. His own body was shaking. He called her name once again but was met with silence.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. send the medical unit to Y/N’s room,” his voice quivered as he addressed Tony’s artificial intelligence.

He stepped over her to turn the shower on. Leaving the sliding glass door open, he enveloped her torso in his arms, dragging her bodying into the shower. Crumbling to the floor behind her, he cradled her body under the spray of the cold water.

“Come on, Y/N. Wake up,” he pleaded. He tapped her face repeatedly. “Come on. Not like this,” his voice began shattering. Her head lulled into his chest. Bucky’s fist clenched, mindful not to crush her, as a loud sob tore through his chest. Bucky held her tighter than the clothes adhering to their skin beneath the water. He swayed her slowly as tears gushed down his face. “Come on Y/N. Come back to me,” he croaked. “Tell me to go fuck myself. Anything,” he begged, praying for a reaction. It was futile. Bucky smashed his lips onto the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open with a groan. Her body was sore on the brink of death. One look around the room confirmed she nearly died. She visited the medical wing frequently between missions. The injuries she had endured on the missions were nothing in comparison to what she was experiencing now.

A pressure landing on the back of her hand had her head snapping to her side. Bucky sat with his forehead pressed to the back of her hand, a prayer escaping his lips. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows searching for her last memory of Bucky.

The brunette lifted his head, running his fingers through her hair. “You scared me,” his voice was shaky, his eyes never left her face.

“Where’s-”

Bucky snarled, “Your boyfriend? Don’t worry about him, he’s an asshole.”

Y/N flinched. “He didn’t know.”

“That’s not why he’s an asshole. He ran and left you on the bathroom floor to die.” Bucky watched as Y/N processed the new information. The lack of surprise concerned him. He didn’t want to ask, but he needed to know. “Did you know there was alcohol in your drink?”

Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “Of course, I didn’t, Bucky. You’re an asshole for leaving me too. I’m pissed at you. I’m not suicidal. You did your good deed. I’m alive. Now you can go back to your Angel.” She spat the last words, parodying his words from the safe house.

Bucky sat back in his seat, rubbing his chin. He hadn’t meant to hurt her. He just wanted to push her away. He pushed too far. He almost lost her. He couldn’t avoid her any longer, she deserved an explanation.

“It wasn’t a lie,” he mumbled. Part of him didn’t want her to hear it, still wanting to starve off the conversation.

“What?”

He took a deep breath, leaning forward. His elbows rested on his knees with his hands clasped in front of him. His face turned serious. “I love you.” Y/N’s heart skipped a beat while her face turned sour. “But I can't be with you.”

A tear rolled down her cheek. “Why are you doing this? Why now?”

Bucky winced at the hurt in her voice. It hurt him too. That’s why he avoided the conversation for so long. “I’m too vulnerable around you. I fall back into my head way too easily. I don’t want to be reminded of my past. Then I met Ang- Evangelina and suddenly, I’m not thinking about all of the people I’ve killed, or the way HYDRA tortured me. With her, I’m living in the present.”

Y/N sat up harshly, the tears had stopped flowing a few sentences ago. “Because you won’t open up to her! You’re running from your problems and the second she’s gone, you’re gonna be stuck in your head again. Alone this time. Sorry, I was only a distraction long enough for you to fuck me. You don’t love her. You love the idea of normalcy with me!” She insisted, jabbing her finger into her chest.

Bucky closed his eyes, his head in his hands.

“For fucks sake, Bucky. She looks like me. This isn’t reality. This isn’t you. You're playing a role in some cheesy romcom. You’re letting her emulate me to fill a spot. She’s my understudy and you know it.”

Bucky ran his hands through his hair before looking up at her. Teary-eyed, he confessed, “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who I am anymore. I just want to be normal again.” His head rested on his bent arms, leaning against the bed. His back jolted with each sob.

Y/N rubbed between his shoulder blades. “We’re not normal Bucky. None of the Avengers are, but we’re real.” She ran her hand through his hair comfortingly. “You and me, we’re real.”

He wiped his tears, shaking his head, “She’s out looking for a dog for us to adopt.”

Y/N scrunched her nose. They were taking the next step. Before she knows it, they'll be moving in together, getting married, and have a kid on the way.

“I don’t even want a dog. I couldn’t take care of it with my lifestyle. It just seemed like the normal thing to do. Most families have dogs.”

Y/N hated the idea of Bucky considering a family with Evangelina. She knew him better though. “I always took you for a cat person.”

Bucky smiled at her. “Yeah? What about you? Are you a cat person?”

She nodded. “Less work to train. More realistic in our lifestyle.”

Bucky hummed. The idea of them sharing anything both scared and delighted Bucky. “What kind of cat would we get?”

The corner of Y/N’s lips turned upward. Playing along, she didn’t need to think about her answer, she had already thought about it before. “It doesn’t matter, but he’d have to be white so I could see him against all of your black clothes. Although, cat hairs might be a pain before missions.”

Bucky nodded, his elbow on the bed, propped his head up in his hand. His other hand held Y/N’s as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of her hand as she talked. With a raised eyebrow, Bucky asked, “He?”

Y/N nodded, offended he would suggest otherwise. “You know, so I can come home to my boys. Plus, you need more friends. You two can have a guy's night while I’m away.”

“What if I want to come home to my girls?” Bucky argued.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’ll let fate decide. Whichever we find first.”

He nodded, agreeing to the compromise. “Alpine.”

“Huh?”

Bucky sighed dreamily, “The name.” It was too easy talking with Y/N about adopting a cat as if they were discussing children. It hadn’t crossed Y/N’s mind yet, but Bucky was aware that he wasn’t thinking of the past. He was thinking of the future. A future with Y/N.

Y/N snorted. It wasn’t the name she would have picked but Bucky liked it. She got to pick the color; it was only fair Bucky got to pick the name. “Alpine it is.”

Three weeks later, Bucky and Y/N welcomed Alpine to their shared room at Avengers Tower. The team melted when they met the feline. Even Evangelina. Despite the breakup, Y/N and Evangelina remained friends. The women were filled with too much grace and poise, not to. A trait Bucky had admired in both of them. It should have unsettled Bucky for them to remain friends, but Bucky knew where he belonged now. He might not know who he was or who he is now, but he was certain his future was Y/N.

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wonijinjin · 6 months

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seventeen’s hiphop unit when their s/o falls asleep on them

author’s note: was feeling tired, wrote it quickly hehe. let me know if you guys want the other unit versions aswell! the vocal unit version of the fic is available here.

synopsis: what the title says

word count: 0.7k | genre: pure fluffiest fluff | pairings: hiphop unit x gn! reader | warnings: mention of food in wonwoo’s

you were laying in bed with cheol, pillowtalk being the routine of most of your nights, just casually discussing how you spent your day. “then i had to scold mingyu because he wasn’t listening and we couldn’t make progress regarding the lyrics.” he explained, voice low and quiet, waiting for your usual giggles about his members being silly as always, but silence was your only reply. he looked down at you on his chest, seeing your eyes closed, mouth slightly open, a bit of drool coming out of it, right onto his shirt. “seriously? man, my shirt is gonna get soaked.” he sulked jokingly, knowing fully well you couldn’t hear him, otherwise it would’ve earned a betrayed whine from you. “you are lucky you’re cute, i will let it slide this time.” he giggled while trying his best to keep his voice down as much a possible. he rubbed your back while looking head over heels at you, easing you to dreamland even more so, whispering. “good night my love, see you in the morning. i love you.”

wonwoo knew you were tired the moment he saw you when he arrived at home, so he figured that it would be a matter of time when you were gonna stop fighting sleep and let your eyelids get heavy. he was editing the photos he took on his walk earlier, you snuggled up into his side, watching him do his magic in different editing softvers on his laptop. “these pictures are so pretty wonwoo.” you said sleepily. he smiled softly while looking into your eyes. “thank you sweetheart, but you are way prettier.” his cheesy line normally would’ve made you burst out laughing, but as he expected you were already half asleep, eyes closing for longer amounts of time every minute. a moment later he sensed how your head felt heavier on his torso; he kissed your forehead and patted the crown of your hair, smiling sheepishly to himself seeing you rest at last. “my sweet baby.” he said while shutting his laptop down, holding you closer to him.

“wow, the special effects are amazing!” you commented to which mingyu hummed in agreement. you and mingyu were watching a movie, your head in his lap. you were invested in the plot, but it was a bit late in the evening. in fact it was so late that mingyu had actually kind of dozed off for a few minutes, resting his eyes after hours of work with woozi in his studio, the screen’s hue taking a turn on his optic nerves. when he opened his eyes he did not expect to find you asleep, especially since you chose the movie; it was one of your favourite director’s new films. he took a moment to just stare at your face shamelessly, feeling like he was falling in love all over again; your cheeks were squished into his thigh, nose scrunching up from time to time thanks to a few strands of hair tickling it. you were just so adorable in his eyes. he brushed the hair out of your face, stroking your cheeks gently. “i am so lucky to have you. i will always protect you, my darling.” he muttered, draping a blanket that was resting on the couch next to him over your slumbering form.

you were in the practice room with vernon since he had to work overtime with their newest comeback approaching, you offering to stay until the end so the two of you could go home together. he knew you were exhausted from all the exams you had to take, and even tried to talk you out of staying, but you insisted, getting into a comfortable position on the floor, head resting against the wall. he sat down next to you, drinking a bottle of water while you put your head on his shoulder. “i should’ve urged you to go home. look at you, so tired and in an uncomfortable room!” he whined, feeling extremely guilty about the situation. you didn’t reply to which he raised his head a little, upon doing so seeing your relaxed face, soft snores and breaths escaping your mouth. he slowly lowered your head into his lap, but not before putting his hoodie on it, making up for the lack of a soft pillow. “i should take a break anyways. sweet dreams, babe.” he smiled, gently kissing your lips.

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vintagexherry · 5 months

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"I saw mommy kissing santa!"

Miguel O' Hara x Wife!Reader

//Mentions of kissing, Suggestive, fluff, OC sibling of Gabriella

A/N: This is just to let out some stress, Might make a Nathan Bateman version of this if i feel like it

■■■

Miguel was in the living room, sitting on the couch tapping on the hologram screens, checking any report emails from the other spiders. Thankfully, the villains in other dimensions were probably in the christmas spirit since all the reports he gets are broken buildings or affirmations that a villain got sent back to its rightful dimension.

Curtains are drawn back to let the view of snow fall over and pile against the glass. The snow wasn't that heavy today since the next-door neighbour christmas lights are visible enough, although that doesn't mean he probably needs to shovel the driveway the next day.

"All things sorted Miguel, no anomaly in sight for the last one hour."

Miguel heard Lyla pop up and talk next to his shoulder.

"Alright, that's for today Lyla."

"Aight! Merry Christmas, Miguel!" With that cheery tone, she disappears in a flash. And with that, Miguel also turned off the screens and laid back on the couch with a heavy yet relaxed sigh.

Honestly, he doesn't remember the last time he actually enjoyed a holiday without getting called for action. The warmth of the fireplace with its crackling noises could even put him to sleep.

That is until he hears an echo of small feet trying (and failing) to be quiet and sneak up to him, not to mention the hushed giggles and whispers along with it.

He decides to entertain them, cus why not.

After a few seconds, two gremlins children tackle him from behind the couch, a pair of hands covering his eyes, and one tries to wrestle his arm as if it had a life of its own.

"Gahh! You got me!" Miguel exclaimed.

His children laugh and giggle as Miguel try to pry them by grabbing their pajamas as if there unruly kittens.

After a minute of wrestling, the kids' laughter died down to huffs for breath, and Miguel couldn't help but chuckle.

"Alright, you two, what got you so energetic today? You didn't drink any coffee, did you?" He swear, the last time the two had coffee, you and Miguel had to chase them around the house. As much as athletic Miguel is, he got his limits.

"Ew! Too bitter, " Gabriella says as she cuddles next to her dad.

"Psh as if you didn't drink some yesterday" Mateo accusingly points at Gabriella

"Your just jealous I drank more than you did!" Gabriella fights back

Miguel huffs a laugh, and as much he finds the fight funny, he's more curious what got the kids all energetic. Usually, they would be eager to help their mom, who is by now preparing dinner in the kitchen.

"Alright, alright, break it up, you too. Santa already wrote you on the nice list. Don't make him change it."

With that, the kids succesfully stopped well.

Maybe too well...

Miguel looked down at them and saw them giving looks to each other as if their talking telepathically.

Weird.

"Something wrong?"

Mateo and Gabriella glanced up to Miguel and back at each other as if urging at least one of them to speak up.

Whatever they got going on telepathically, it seems like Gabriella won since Mateo gave a defeated sigh and looked at Miguel.

"Papa. You better not tell mama I told you this..."

"Alright...?"

Mateo looked at him and to Gabriella who gave an encouraging nod.

"Mama kissed santa last night."

What.

Wait...

Miguel tried holding his laugh, but before he could, he was already choking on his saliva and only choked and raspy laughs came out.

Mateo and Gabriella seemed confused at first but quickly faded to anger and determination.

"C'mon Papa, we really saw Mama kissing him while he was putting gifts under the tree!" Mateo exclaimed, determined to state and conclude his point.

"And I thought Santa only stopped for the cookies and milk." Gabriella added

And with it, Miguel snorted and laughed more. His stomach clenching from his laughter and his children unimpressed.

Oh kids....

If you only knew.

"Ok, ok...." Miguel said when he finally caught his breath.

He looked at Gabi and Mateo, who only looked at him in disappointing looks. (Which he tried not to laugh again)

Before he could speak again, the three of them heard your voice coming from the kitchen.

"Mat, Gabi! Dinner's ready, call your dad to come too!"

Gracias a Dios.

You were always there to save him perfectly.

He looked at the kids again and gave them a final look.

"Look, Your papa is gonna look at the cctv later at night and I'll see if mama really kissed santa."

And with that, the kids agreed to have mercy on him at least this night and headed straight to the dining room, excited for dinner.

□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■□■

"Amor, you can't believe what the kids told me today."

"Hm?" You were on the bed reading a book, and you looked up to Miguel, wearing a towel around his waist as he picked sweatpants to sleep.

"Is it something funny? I swore I heard you laugh just before dinner." You recalled the sound of his laughter filling the space as you cook.

"Well, that's because the kids accussed you of something, Mrs. O'Hara."

"Oh?" Your interest is now piqued, and you bookmarked your book and put it on the nightstand.

"Now tell me Mrs. O' Hara..."

Miguel slipped next to you, laying on his side, his head resting on his hand.

"... Is it true that at 11:42 pm. on Christmas Eve, you had gone out of your bedroom to kiss the one and only Santa Claus?" He smirked at your confused face.

What.

Wait....

You bit your lips to stifle your laughter.

Miguel smiled wider at your reaction, even chuckling along.

After gaining your breath and steadying your thoughts you speak up.

"Well, Mr. O'Hara, I can assure you that I would never do that and that Santa only stopped to drop presents and eat cookies and milk."

"Cookies and milk hm? What if..."

Suddenly, you felt his other hand slipping beneath your night dress.

Oh, now you see where this is going.

"What If...?" You inquired, making eye contact with him.

Miguel smiled

"What if.... Santa decided to stop by to taste something.... Sweeter? Hm?"

His hands were now playing at the hem of your underwear.

"Sweeter? If that's what Santa wants, I'll be glad to give him a taste." You smiled, feeling Miguel's fingers tug down your underwear.

"Don't mind if I do." Miguel smirked, and with that, he lifted himself up and took your underwear off fully, throwing it away randomly on the floor, you could even see the print of his dick just pressing agaist his sweatpants.

Safe to say, Miguel had to do breakfast tomorrow morning for the kids.

The End

#atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel x you #spiderman 2099 #across the spiderverse #christmas #miguel fluff #suggestive

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jinkicake · 1 year

Text

After A Long Night...

He returns home to you.

Diluc, Kaeya, Ayato, Xiao x Reader

A/N: I originally wrote this for my beloved Kaeya and then i did the same for Xiao and then Diluc and surprise, Ayato. Anyway,,,, i need fluff and all things sweet. forgive me! this might be my fav fluff... i think im getting better at it!

WC - 2.2k

~~~

Diluc R.

When it comes to his everyday life, Diluc doesn’t regret it very much. The young tycoon owner knows exactly what role he has to play and what needs to get done.

Despite his strong resolve and fortitude, it still physically pains his sensitive heart to be away from you.

Diluc knows how lucky he is to have you, he’s aware of the fact all too well. He cherishes you and loves you day in and day out, spoiling you rotten in the hopes that his actions will convey his own intimate feelings for you. Somedays he worries that his double life will be too much for your kind soul to handle.

If you were to disappear from his life, the winery owner fears he would never see light in his own dark world again.

He tries his best to return from his nightly missions at a reasonable time, just when the moon is descending from its peak position. There is nothing more Diluc looks forward to than you asleep in his bed. Knowing that he gets to hold you in his arms and rest is what gets the man through each day.

Although he can’t stand the teasing from his brother, Diluc is a sap for you and everyone knows it. He’s not ashamed of it.

His love for you is what carries him quietly through the house once he locks the main doors of the large home. Diluc checks to make sure all doors and windows are locked before quietly taking off his external accessories, hanging them by the door to his office, and then finally making his way to your shared bedroom.

At the sight of you asleep in his bed, messily splayed out (because you can never get comfortable without him), Diluc sighs. He tugs at the loose ponytail holding his hair up and lets his fiery strands run freely against his back. Most nights, he would brush his hair and maybe apply some oil to the ends but all Diluc can focus on now is you.

He happily sneaks under the covers and carefully presses his body into yours. The way you melt into his embrace is almost instant. Diluc softly kisses your temple before moving his arm to wrap around your waist. Gently, he squeezes you in his hold and runs his nose along your jaw.

“My love,” He can’t help but murmur against your skin, sometimes it becomes too hard to fight the hold you have over him. However, the moment you begin to stir, Diluc freezes. There’s nothing he hates more than waking you up, knowing how highly you value your sleep. It’s as if an internal alarm is ringing in his mind and Diluc all but holds his breath as your fingers tighten against his hold.

“Diluc?” Your sleepy tone melts into a whine as you shift and turn on your side to press your face into his chest. “When did you get back?”

The large man couldn’t pretend to be asleep even if he tried.

Diluc kisses your temple again.

“Not too long ago,” His comforting voice, deep and kind nearly lulls you back to sleep. It’s hard fighting fatigue when you’re in his arms. “go back to bed.” When you look up at him and Diluc sees the pout on your face, he doesn’t hesitate to kiss it off.

“We can talk in the morning, dearest. I promise.”

Kaeya A.

Most nights, Kaeya prefers a drink. He often works late and into the evening so one of the only things that provide him with a sense of pleasure is the tart fruity taste of wine on his tongue.

Every night before he sets out in search of a bar, he finds his way back home to you. Regardless of his alcoholic desires, there’s something special about sharing extra time with you in the evening. Sometimes, the captain finds himself skipping the drinks and staying inside to enjoy your loving embrace.

Tonight is no different than his other nights. Kaeya is caught up in work, having to check through documents and give them a seal of approval, and he finishes his tasks late. It’s nearly so late that the bars are almost closed and the moon is high up in the night sky.

For once, closed bars are not a concern to Kaeya because when he is most exhausted he always searches for you. He always returns to you.

“Oh, my love,” Kaeya’s quiet coo does not reach your ears from where he stands in the doorway to your apartment. The cavalry captain is extremely careful as he maneuvers the space and makes sure to be extremely quiet as he shuts and locks the door. He slips off his shoes and places his keys on a hook against the wall before making his way over to you.

Kaeya loves to watch you sleep. You’re completely angelic and the sight always makes him feel as if he has been punched in the gut, he’s absolutely winded by your beauty every single time. He can’t help but reach out and brush his cold knuckles against your soft cheek.

In the morning, he’ll have to chide you for falling asleep at the table but he knows this wouldn’t have happened if he came home earlier. It’s more his fault than it is yours, he can never find a flaw in you. In his eyes, you can do no wrong.

Keeping his touch light and soft, Kaeya cups your shoulders before leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips turn incredibly warm at the feeling of your skin and Kaeya attempts to fight off the flush he is feeling. You aren’t even awake and you’re still making the man flustered.

When you lightly begin to stir in your sleep, Kaeya only places more kisses along your face. He pecks your cheek and then your nose before gracing your forehead again.

“Hello, angel,” He whispers against your temple before leaving his lips glued to the spot. You grumble at him, just as he expected, before trying to rub the sleep from your eyes.

“Kaeya,” Your quiet whisper makes his heart skip a beat and any fatigue he was feeling earlier in the night is nearly washed away by your voice. The way your eyes flicker over his features, darting from his eye to his lips makes the captain burn up inside. You’ve always been so shy with him. “how was work?”

“Dull, boring, slow.” He answers as he gently tugs on your wrist, pulling you up from your chair. There is no fight in you as Kaeya leads you toward your bedroom. “However, I did hear new speculations about Donna’s love life. Lisa spoils me whenever I drop off a book on time, would you like to hear about it?”

By the knowing smile on your face, as you fall into bed with Kaeya in hot pursuit, it’s going to be another evening where you both talk through the night.

K. Ayato

Ayato hates being away from you. He detests impending work and having to be locked away in his office for days on end, running on little sleep, just to see that deadlines are met. The thought of you alone in your shared room with your lone futon spread on the floor makes his heart ache.

For the last couple of days, Ayato has been in a time crunch. He has to get some official documents between two clans under wraps before their political marriage or the entire relationship will be in shambles. The task itself is not hard but, it is incredibly tedious.

When all Ayato wants to do is spend some time with his beloved, small pesky tasks become the bane of his existence.

“Would you like some tea, my lord?” Thoma’s gentle knock on the sliding door reminds Ayato to stay focused, that he still has work to finish.

“There is no need for that, Thoma. I’m almost finished up, please get some rest.”

As Thoma excuses himself for the evening, the head of the Kamisato clan smiles knowing that he can continue working at night knowing he has such formidable people beside him. Ayato thumbs through the documents again and mulls over the agreements two more times. He ensures that each of the bargains balances out the other before stacking the papers in a neat pile.

One more time, he will go over each and make sure that they’re in proper order and format.

When the mind-numbing task is complete, Ayato places the documents in the bin on his desk for it to be carried out in the morning. He stands tall from his low workstation and stretches until a satisfying pop reaches his ears.

It’s now early in the morning with the sun sure to rise in just another few hours. Ayato wastes no time in making a quick trip to your bedroom. He is silent in his steps as he presses against the hardwood of the floors and slides open your door.

He could almost sigh at the sight of you curled up and deep in sleep. Ayato makes quick work of closing the door and then kneels beside you, he lifts your hands up to his face so that he can kiss the inside of your wrist. In his own way, it’s like a silent apology for making you spend the last few nights alone.

Ayato doesn’t even bother himself with getting into his own futon, neatly made and laid out since earlier in the night. He settles in right beside you and squeezes into the tight space. With his long arms, he wraps them around your torso before tracing your hip.

Kiss after kiss, he places soft pecks of his lips underneath your ear. He doesn’t mean to wake you and he certainly doesn’t want to but, he just can’t keep his hands off of you.

Luckily for him, you are a heavy sleeper.

Fatigue finds the commissioner easily and he shuts his eyes to try and catch a break from the feeling. In your touch, Ayato finds himself at ease. Relaxation is of second nature to him and it is all because of you.

“Thank you, darling,” He sweetly kisses your ear before melting into the sheets, slumber is sure to find him just as it had found you.

Xiao

Xiao doesn’t often feel fatigued. There are some nights when he almost wishes something new would happen in his monotonous battle of protecting Liyue but, he doesn’t get tired of it.

Well, in the past, Xiao did not get burned out so easily.

The adeptus thinks you’re partly to blame if he could ever find a fault in your character. You’ve got him in some sort of routine.

In the past, Xiao would stay out until the sun came up patrolling one area before moving on to another. It was a cycle that he would consistently keep up with day in and day out.

The schedule he has now is a little different. Instead of clashing with hostile creatures throughout the night, he finds himself before your door once the moon peaks past the highest point in the starry sky. Xiao is still adamant about protecting Liyue but, he also prides himself on making you happy too.

He doesn’t understand why his heart tugs in his chest at a certain point during the night every single day. It’s a tug that demands him to return home, to find his spot in your bed and hold you in his arms until you stir awake and kiss his fingers.

Xiao melts whenever you pamper him, it makes him feel less alone.

Like most nights since your entry into his life, tonight is not so different. Xiao finishes his duties once the moon reaches high into the sky and when his heart starts to become impatient, he finds himself outside of your window with simple teleportation.

The adeptus tries to remember that he has a key and walks around to your door to quietly unlock your apartment. He places his staff beside your coat rack and takes off his shoes, dropping his mask on the nearby table, after he locks the door and ensures that it is shut. Your apartment is small and cozy and Xiao focused his eyes on you as soon as he walks into your bedroom.

It’s not a surprise that you’re asleep, but Xiao softly gasps when he reaches the foot of your bed. Whenever he is in your presence the eternal ache that he feels starts to dull. The sharp pain in the ends of his fingertips and the tips of his ears become numb. For a mortal, Xiao considers you to be quite special.

He doesn’t say anything as he softly gets into your bed and gently lifts up the covers to get beside you. The adeptus can’t help himself from touching you as soon as you are within his reach. Almost immediately, Xiao wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into his chest. He remains quiet as he buries his face into your neck but, his heart leaps at the feeling of your stirring awake.

The man hates to wake you, he truly does, but the feeling of your hand reaching for his own is something Xiao will never get tired of.

“Welcome home,” Your sleepy tone and sweet whisper keep him grounded and alive each day. The way you kiss his knuckles soothes all the aches the adeptus has ever felt. “I missed you.”

#diluc ragnvindr x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #Kamisato Ayato x reader #xiao x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fluff #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #ayato x reader #xiao x you #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #diluc fluff #kaeya fluff #Ayato fluff #xiao fluff

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tripleyeeet · 6 months

Text

EASY DAYS AHEAD

SUMMARY: Astarion's not used to feeling cared for. Luckily though, you're as caring as they come.

PAIRING: Astarion & Gender Neutral Reader

WORD COUNT: 1,925

WARNINGS: Astarion's POV, 18+ sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), body worship if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, consent is incredibly sexy. That's all I gotta say. Also that I'm pretty sure I was possessed by something because I wrote this in literally an hour and a half???

MASTERLIST

Astarion doesn’t deserve the care that goes into loving him. With nothing more to offer than a broken mind wrapped in precious, tainted silk, it’s hard to wrap his head around the tenderness. Specifically the feeling of your skin, trailing patterns down his spine —painting fresh images over the scars that line his back as you praise him for his efforts.

Your voice sounds wrong in his ears. Every word distorting. All the syllables jumbling up in ways that make him narrow his eyes, staring through the darkness of the tent at nothing in particular.

“You okay?” you ask, and even now, weeks after your first night spent together, he has to muster up everything he’s got not to break down in front of you.

“I’m fine, darling.”

His lips always pull in that liar’s grin, ripping through his face like knives. Slicing the inside of his cheeks each time his fangs bite down on the wet flesh inside.

He has to force himself to look at you. To stare at the exhausted smile that slowly shifts to a frown, showcasing your insight. How you know he’s lying before he can even elaborate on why he’s fine or how you shouldn’t worry about him —he’s a creature of the night after all.

Pressing fully against him, he hears you click your tongue and shake your head as if scolding him. “What do you need?”

Each time you pose that same question he feels like dying. Despite the fact his heart no longer works like yours —despite the act of breathing being nothing more than a habit he’s carried over from his deathbed— there’s a dread that coats his chest. Like oil, thick and slick, it completely drowns his organs. Suffocating his body while his mind and soul fight over what comes next.

As the internal argument grows, his eyes always dart back and forth. One moment they’re locked onto your face, obsessively viewing each section and the next they’re anywhere but. In the forest, on the battlefield, back home tucked tightly inside the palm of his master’s hand —each night he travels everywhere, lingering in certain places while speeding through others, praying to all the Gods that never listened that he’ll make his way back to you. That just this once, instead of drifting off to sea, they’ll grant him the anchor he so desperately craves. The one that’s tethered to you and the solid ground beneath.

“You still there, handsome?”

He is —sort of— depending on the moment, but instead of saying that he merely hums. Offering the bare minimum to the only person he’s ever met deserving of more.

“Tired?”

“Incredibly.”

You push your chest against his back and grip his shoulder, allowing your fingers to tighten around as you maneuver your lips to his cheek. “You should rest then,” you tell him afterward, but like always the words get pushed together. Morphing into something else entirely, causing him to narrow his eyes.

“You’re one to talk, aren’t you?” he teases, watching you roll your eyes —feeling your nails tentatively dig into his flesh as a warning.

“Shush. Don’t make me shove a sleeping potion down your throat.”

In response, he lets out a humorous huff. Then, his hands move to snake around your waist, pulling you on top of him. “Go ahead. I’m sure Gale would thoroughly enjoy such misuse of his wares.”

“My wares,” you correct, pressing an annoyed kiss to his chest, making sure to catch his skin between your teeth in the process as a warning. “I bought them from him fair and square.”

Immediately, he grabs your chin and raises his brow. “Why the hells would you need a potion of sleep anyway? You already sleep like a corpse.”

You merely look away with a smile. All while rolling your eyes in that way that makes him feel like he’s young again. Freshly born into a world that hadn’t yet chewed and spat him out. One where the veins beneath his skin are full of warm blood, pumping through his system, fuelling the desire he knows he should have now that you’re lying against him, flesh against flesh. Beating heart against—

Your lips press against his sternum and he swears they’re the most tender things he’s ever felt. Next to the way your fingers always seem to lace in his when you’re sitting by the campfire, they’re softer than any touch he’s ever experienced. Hungry yet restrained for his benefit, knowing it’s hard to feel like this. To experience the kindness of a pair of lips, worshipping a slab of skin so undeserving of such care.

Each time your mouth makes contact, your eyes are always on him, asking for permission. Begging for consent. He’s never told you this but it’s the most selfless thing he’s ever experienced. Despite it’s obvious subtly, that look you give each time your mouth can’t help itself or your hands grow a bit too greedy, means more to him than life itself. More than power or revenge. More than freedom. Because that look requires worth. Value. An offering of submission he’s long since memorized.

Each time it’s given to him, he has to compose himself. Otherwise, he might just shatter entirely —fall to the floor in a hundred tiny pieces not even you may be willing to put in the effort to fix.

Swallowing hard, he has to stare intently at your face, taking in the way you look up at him through your lashes. How you arch your brow just slightly upward, asking for forgiveness. Atoning for your sins in the form of restraint until he eventually nods, hearing your voice.

You always ask out loud to make sure. An act that only further fuels his desire to feel you wrapped around him. To experience the warmth of your flesh tenderly pressing against the iciness of his.

“Go ahead, darling,” he tells you, and for once, he means it. Truly.

Instead of pretending like he wants this for the sake of a game, he accepts you in full. Watching you genuinely grin as you lean up to capture his lips, savouring the taste of his approval. Consuming the sound that absentmindedly passes through his lips as your hand lingers down, drifting past his chest and stomach until you’re pulling away to breathe.

He can feel his mouth swell with need. The rest of his body following suit as you begin to descend, touching and kissing and biting —putting him through every sensation he’s gifted so many others.

Leaning up to watch you work, he can see the excitement in your face each time he accidentally twitches beneath you. How the edges of your eyes crinkle with anticipation the moment you find yourself tucked between his legs, looming over him with heavy hands and breaths.

“You’re beautiful,” you tell him then, and for once it means something.

“You’re beautiful,” he repeats back, and for once it isn’t a lie. In fact, it’s the most honest he’s ever been, and secretly that scares him. So much so that he has to look down to see if you’re still there.

Hoping that the sudden sincerity in his voice hasn’t scared you away, he can’t help but focus on the curve of your spine. How it starts low; your chest slightly leaning against one of his inner thighs.

Somehow despite the precarious position, you look perfect. Like a piece of art so carefully made, he can’t help but reach down and touch, revelling in the way you shudder beneath him. Sighing at the sudden desperation that erupts when you pull at the fabric against his waist.

“Greedy, are we?” he jokes.

Shooting him an embarrassed look, your hands continue to work his underwear down his legs —ignoring the way they catch at his knees and ankles. “I just really want to make you feel good.”

The way you speak sends him over the precipice of ruin. Even before you discard the cloth and wrap your hand around the head of his cock, he’s already done for. Lost to the feeling of your digits. Fully enraptured by the heat of your breath as you lean forward and take him between your lips, coating him in spit. He has to close his eyes despite wanting nothing more than to look at you. Feeling the way your cheeks hollow out against him, he can already imagine the expressions of your efforts. All the time and care put in as you stroke him gently, maintaining the slowest pace he’s sure he’s ever experienced.

It drives him mad with need. Bucking upwards each time your tongue drags across the tip, he instantly feels you push back. With a firm hand, you grip his hip and dig the pads into his flesh as yet another warning, telling him to behave. To just sit back and savour the pleasures he’s deserved rather than rushing through.

He isn’t used to enjoying this. More often than not feeling like nothing more than a body designated for others enjoyment, he isn’t entirely sure how to properly relish your efforts. Or at least, in a way that doesn’t feel forced. Because he could do what you’re supposed to in this situation: touch you, moan for you, utter sweet nothings in your ear to further spur you on. He could do one of them or all of them, perhaps a mixture of two and still, it wouldn’t be enough to fully showcase the weight that fills his chest each time your mouth bobs up and down. How, as you begin to push him further and further into your mouth until he’s grazing the back of your throat, everything you do feels like the greatest gift he’s ever received. How maddening it is to feel loved like this even when he’s at his most unloveable.

Because that’s what you do to him. With the simplest of touches, you make him feel like him again. Like his mind hasn’t been shattered by the repeated slams of a sinner’s hand. As if his skin, etched by the knife of that same bastard, isn’t scarred. That instead it’s merely just skin. A grouping of muscle and tissue wrapping around his bones —a simple casing of flesh meant to be licked and sucked and pumped for all it’s worth until he’s gasping for air and uncontrollably shaking.

And sometimes he feels like he’s earned it. During the easy days when he’s able to forget about his past and instead focus on the beauty that’s pressed against his leg, continuing to suck the come from his orgasm, it’s as if he’s on top of the world. Standing on a pillar of his past self’s hopes and dreams, he can easily look down at you with pride. Reaching down to touch your temple, he can feel the haze of your affections in full. The tremors of your possessive lips slowly slipping off, granting him a slick-coated smile that makes him almost faint.

During those days he can smile back and pull you up into his chest, ignoring the ache between his thighs in your absence. Opting to hold you close.

“Was that okay?” he hears you ask, and despite the question seeming almost juvenile, all he does is kiss your face. Starting at your forehead before moving to your nose and cheeks —eventually ending on your lips, he answers the question the only way he can. By showing you that, thanks to the care you foolishly offer, the days really are getting easier.

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(tags continued in comments)

#easy days ahead #astarion x gender neutral reader #astarion x reader #summer writes

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reiderwriter · 7 months

Text

Baby, If You Only Knew

Pairing: Spencer Reid x female Reader

Part Two of this fic, inspired by Taylor Swift's I Can See You

Summary: On the edge of a break, you and Spencer find ways to claim each other that get everyone's attention.

Warnings: Day 17 of Kinktober - make-up sex, possessive Spencer, marking, biting, love bites/ hickeys, penetrative sex, creampie, breeding kink.

A/N: Day 17 is finally here! I once again wrote this on my phone, but at least it was my nice, new, functioning phone. I hope you like it!

Sneaking back out of the closet wasn't easy when you were so pissed at Spencer. He wasn't able to control his impulses, and now it was your problem. So yes, it was hard to storm out of a closet in the middle of an argument without drawing the attention of all your team members.

They each sent you strange looks as you walked back to your temporary desk and finished up your work, not talking to anyone until the days work had ended and you could escape back to your motel room for some much needed peace.

Spencer didn't feel so strongly about your need to be alone. Catching a hand around the door before you shut it, he let himself in and closed it behind himself as you hugged and threw your bags down.

"I don't want to fight again, Spencer, I'm tired."

"Then don't fight, but you need to listen."

"Oh, do I? Couldn't imagine what else I'll be able to do in my room when you pushed your way in here."

"Don't be unreasonable." He said wrapping a hand around your waist and pulling you up into him once again.

"You know, for someone whose such a stickler for our no public dating rule, you sure have been risky today. Pushing me into that closet, following me into my private room." Your words were angry, but they were softened by the feeling of him against you.

"I told you, if they were good at their jobs they'd have realised how I feel about you by now."

"Sometimes people need words, Spencer to make things very clear," his head fell to your neck then, inhaling your scent before pressing his lips lightly against your skin.

"What people would that be? You? Detective Dreamy?" He pressed another kiss to your skin, distracting you momentarily. Your next words came out in a stutter, and you almost cursed how weak you were being now.

"That's not fair and you know it."

"Let's test that theory, shall we?" He bit down on your neck then, lifting your legs and wrapping them around his centre as he began rubbing up against your core, head not lifting from the spot on your neck he'd evidently taken a liking to.

"Spencer, fuck.." Your moans were breathy, held back by your anger and the knowledge that you were surrounded on both sides by FBI agents trying to get some sleep.

"So pretty for me, just a little longer, I swear." You had no clue what he was talking about, and you weren't sure you cared, letting him suck and kiss and lick in anyway he wanted, just as long as he didn't stop. You could feel his dick in his pants, could feel it poking up against you as his hips shifted up and down, trying to give the both of you some release.

He pulled away sharply after a few minutes, grinning boastfully at the blooming mark on your neck.

"There," he said, wiping his lips carefully, setting you back down. "Is that enough of a public announcement for you?" You clapped a hand over your neck and ran to the bathroom to check your suspicions.

Sure enough, there was a ferocious red mark that you were sure would swiftly discolour to purple.

"Get out. Now, Spencer." He didn't stick around for long after that, evidently just as angry as you, but wearing that stupid smug look on his face still. He left you alone in your room and you wanted to scream and cry and make him come back and finish.

You climbed into bed and let sleep take you.

The next morning, you searched long and hard for an item of clothing that would cover his territorial marking. But your go bag had limited items in it, a fact that he'd known and exploited, placing the mark just high enough to poke over all the tops you out on.

If he was going to play petty, you would, too. Pulling out your lowest cut top, you wrapped your hair up into a bun and decided to forego makeup entirely. He wanted the world to see what he'd done, and you were going to let them.

Just as you'd suspected, Spencer's plan didn't work as he'd hoped. Instead of the team settling quietly and connecting the dots between the two of you quietly, they were almost more curious about what had happened.

"Wooo, mama, getting up too close and personal with the locals are we? Good for you." Morgan had cheered at you S soon as you'd walked into the precinct that morning.

You had similar, careful questions from JJ and Hotchner as well, and Emily had slapped you on the back and laughed maniacally as she asked you if you'd had a good lay. The best part was Spencer got to watch all of it happen, he got to watch himself get proved wrong right in front of his eyes and his stupid ego wouldn't let him say a word either way.

You gave him a wink as you sat next to him, ready to continue reading up on files that'd help you nail the criminal. You had a suspect, now you just needed irrefutable evidence and possibly a confession to be able to return home.

Your local admirer had followed you into the room, however, and you weren't expecting to have such a direct confrontation with the man who'd until this point had been nothing but polite.

"You know, if you weren't interested, you could've said so in a less slutty way. Now you're parading around this precinct like a cheap whore. Not a good look." He said it so nonchalantly, you didn't even realise he was talking to you at first, only really tuning in when Spencer stiffened up beside you.

"Excuse me?" You blinked at him again, wondering if you'd truly misheard him.

"You heard what I said, you look like a who-"

"Finish your sentence and I promise you, I'll have your badge, gun and pension by the end of the day." Spencer growled the words from your side, forcing the man to meet his eyes.

"Come on, you're a smart man, Doctor Reid, surely you know what a little slut she's being, trying to play hard to get." You have to grab Spencer by the arm to stop him from reaching over the table and hitting the man. He responds by pulling you into his chest, effectively lifting you from your chair into his lap.

"My girlfriend is not a whore just because she doesn't want your tiny dick. I'd say that actually makes her quite sensible." Your heart thumps at the confrontation, but choking on the tense atmosphere in the room, you're unable to say anything until Emily bursts into the room, breaking whatever spell had trapped you there in that pissing match.

"Y/N– oh. We, uh, we need you in interrogation." Spencer grabbed your hips and stood you up, but he didn't let his hands leave you as he held his angry gaze with the detective. Spinning you around he bought your lips down to his, smothering you for a good minute before releasing you to Emily. You stumbled slightly, but made your way over, silently reeling at your boyfriends actions.

It was possessive, and shitty, and territorial, and so goddammit funking arousing. The growl in his voice had sent a spark through you that made you want to press your legs together until it stopped. So when the time comes for you to clock off that night, suspect safely behind bars, you practically skip all the way to your motel room.

Once again, you found yourself with an alien object in the door, blocking you from closing it completely. This time, it was Spencer's satchel.

"You trying to shut me out again?" He asks, a small smile grazing his lips.

"That depends, are you going to make me mount you in the office again tomorrow?"

"I was thinking the jet, actually. Join the club, you know?" He dropped his bags by the door and pulled you in for a kiss, letting you moan softly against his skin.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away and walking you back to the bed until it hit the backs of your legs and you let them buckle beneath you. "He wouldn't have talked to you like that if I hadn't marker you up like that."

His words were an apology, but the fire in his eyes said he didn't really regret a thing. In fact, you were sure that'd he'd do it all again in an instant, but this time he wouldn't stop short on the violence.

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not. He shouldn't have talked to you, but I did enjoy watching him realise whose good little whore you are." You gasp at the words as he pushes you down fully on the bed, lips meeting yours again in a furious clash.

"Fuck, Spencer," You gasped, as he ripped apart the tights you were wearing, desperate for access to your body.

"I enjoyed it so much, I think I'm going to do it again. That's what you want, right baby?" He kissed his way down your neck while spreading your neck. It was more gentle than the previous night, more tender, but you knew you'd be waking up just as sore, so what did that matter now.

Nails digging into your skin as he pushed the tights away from your core, you gasped at the contact, opening your chest and neck up further for him as you reacted to the sensations plaguing your body.

You moved your hands up to unbutton his shirt, certain that anything he was going to do you were going to repay tenfold. Undressing became a war between the two of you as you rolled around, mouths still connected, desperate to see each other completely undone first.

Spencer had the advantage of not caring about how much of a wreck your clothes were, and in almost an instant, you were bare to him.

He kissed up and down your neck, over your breasts and down your stomach, leaving a trail of happy red marks to match his previous artwork. Installing each one took time, but you willingly gave him the freedom to bite, suck and sooth your skin, knowing you'd be on display for him for the rest of your life. He was still trapped inside his boxers, cock sufficiently hard and distracting against your core. When he finally pulled away to admire his work, you took the opportunity to push up, rolling the two of you over so you could grind into his large member as you gave reciprocated his kisses.

He stoked a soothing hand down your back as you writhed on top of him, leaving a trail of small love bites from collar bone to collar bone, pressing a few higher just so you knew they'd be seen in the morning.

"That's it baby, you belong to me. Let's show everyone." When he decided you'd done enough, he flipped your position again, finally letting his cock free and shoving it into you with little warning, leaving you crying out his name as you finally received what you'd been begging for.

"Yes, Spencer, right there, right fucking there." Your voice was loud, desperate and raspy, like you wanted to hear what a desperate slut you were. He reciprocated in kind, playing into the pleasure of the moment.

"Oh you like that? You like my cock inside of you? Tell me who that pussy belongs to."

"Spencer! It belongs to you, it belongs to Spencer." His fingers fell to his clit as he pulled his dick out of you for a second. Flipping you over onto all fours, he thrust in again, picking up a rougher pace as you listened to the creak of the bed, the wet slap of his balls against your ass.

"That's right, my little slut, Y/N. My little slutty girlfriend." His arms wrapped around your torso as he began thrusting like a dog in heat, using your warm wet holes to get off, as a place to dump his load.

"Gonna fill your fucking pushy so everyone knows who you belong to. Gonna knock you up and keep you filled so you remember, too." He pulled your head up by your hair as he said the words, and in an instant you were Cummings on his cock, screaming his name as he somehow found the energy to increase his speed.

The hand in your hair was the only thing keeping you from collapsing into the bed, your face covered in the tangle of hair and the drool dropping from your open mouth.

"Did you hear me, Y/N? I'm gonna breed you. You want that?" You loudly moaned another barely coherent 'yes' and then you were away in the clouds, letting your eyes roll back in your head as the first rope of cum shot into you.

He kept his hips flush with yours as he released into you, loving the feeling of your walls milking him for all he's got. He didn't pull out until he was certain that not a drop would fall out.

He make a start to move towards the bathroom when the room phone rang, practically jumping off it's receiver. Picking yp the phone, Spencer greeted the reception clerk, knowing you were still such a panting mess, you'd never be able to carry out such a mundane conversation.

But mundane it was not as you watched your boyfriend flush in front of your eyes.

"We got a noise complaint." He told you shyly, and you greeted him with a fit of giggles, breaking into crying laughter after about 10 seconds of looking at his bewildered face.

"Where from?"

"Room 127. It's the one on this side." He said gesturing to the left. That only set you off into more laughter, frustrating him ever so slightly.

"What? What's so funny?"

"Spencer, that's Morgan's room. I guess if he didn't know from his brilliant profiling skills before he will now."

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid kinktober #criminal minds kinktober #kinktober 23 #Spotify

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stargirlrchive · 1 year

Text

late night talking ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: soon to be dad!jake sully x female!reader, talks of pregnancy and discomfort but its so minimal, literally pure fluff babes i need to carry his babies fr

word count: 718 - short and sweet

syulang (n) - flower

comments: i hate this title w/ a passion, i feel like the vibe does not match? but whtvr, we are pushing through! <3 anyways i was in a silly goofy mood when i wrote this, like yall are gonna see what i mean lol but this can be like a prequel to this other jake fic but can also just be a standalone, kk bye! ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Jake woke to the sound of your discomfort, feeling you move around in his arms as you tried to find a comfortable position. The task was proving to be impossible. You let out a long sigh, realizing there was no way you were going to be lulled to sleep again.

“What’s wrong, Syulang?”

Your eyes flew to your mates, unaware you had woken him up, “Nothing, he is just kicking so much tonight.”

Jake's hand instantly went out to sooth your belly, the bump growing beautifully everyday. He began to rub small shapes into your skin, hoping to calm his child down and ease your discomfort.

He whispered quietly to you, as if it was his biggest secret, “I wish we were Seahorses.”

Your mouth dropped in shock, that was not at all what you thought was going to leave your mates mouth. The confusion clear in your eyes, “What for?”

“Well I don’t know how true it is, but once on earth I read that male Seahorses carry the babies. I would do that for you.”

You wanted to laugh, it was fighting its way up your throat, but Jake was looking at you so seriously that you could not dare poke fun at him. His hands had made their way to your back, soothing the knots that had begun to form. “You would not last a day, JakeSully.”

You pressed a kiss to the widest part of his nose, “Besides, I should get used to it. I want more.”

“Is that so?”

He pressed a kiss to your temple, his hands trying to massage any area of exposed skin he could find, your body relaxing into his with each swipe of his hand. “Mhm, I want three more after. He needs siblings.”

Your hand rubbed gently along your own stomach, feeling a small thump from within. “Two girls and two boys.”

“Now wouldn't that be perfect.”

He was teasing you, trying not to smile as you shuffled closer to his body. Neither of you spoke for a while, your eyes were beginning to feel heavy, begging to sleep. “You keep referring to the baby as a boy?”

You nodded absentmindedly, practically melting under his fingers. “Because he is, I can feel it.”

Jake's nose scrunched up, “Has Eywa given you a sign?”

He was teasing you again, pure amusement dancing in his eyes as you looked up at him. His hand had fallen back to your stomach, fingers treading over you with a featherlight touch. “She has actually.” You huffed in his direction, noticing his eyes dilated at the new information. “Tell me Syulang.” He was pleading, softly tapping against your belly.

Jake had already adored you beyond belief, swore the sun rose when you smiled, but when he learned you were carrying his child, he practically worshiped the floor you walked on. “Please.”

You decided to end his suffering, laying your hand above his so they both rested on your stomach. “Well-this was only a few days ago, Ma’Jake, but I had gone to the Tree of Souls, I wanted to see my mother.”

Your shoulders caved in a little, pressing yourself impossibly closer to Jake, “There were so many ancestors trying to speak to me that day, but I could not make anything out. There were too many of them.”

Your face pinched together as you recalled the events, “Then, out of nowhere I heard something so clear, only one word. It was a name.”

You nervously played with the beads that fell on Jake’s braid, “What was it, Syulang?.”

“Neteyam.”

Jake blinked rapidly, ears twitching gently. It was perfect. “Do you like it?”

He nodded, unable to form words, suddenly struck with an overwhelming amount of adoration for you. He had to blink back the happy tears that threatened to leak from his eyes.

Silence fell between the both of you, Jake’s hands only stopped moving when he heard your breath even out. “Neteyam.”

He liked the way the name rolled off his tongue, he felt a soft thud from your stomach. Letting him know his son liked it too. His eyes instantly jumped to your face, wanting to make sure you had not woken up.

You remained peacefully sleeping, not even waking as Jake shifted to lay his arm under your head.

#jake sully x reader #jake sully #avatar jake sully x reader #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #neteyam sully #loak sully #kiri sully #avatar #atwow #atwow x reader #neytiri #avatar 2009 #avatar 2022 #avatar 1 #avatar 2 #Jake Sully fluff #Jake Sully angst

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cactuswaterscactusfields · 1 year

Text

Him.

I wrote this instead of sleeping. I have no regrets. Reader is femme coded and 18+.

When you find yourself accidentally walking in your Master, Anakin Skywalker, you're affected more than you think. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, so was he.

Warnings: Smut, Fluff (just the tiniest bit tho), this is filthy, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Bathroom Sex, dirty thoughts, Force Mind Reading, Breaking the Jedi Code (fuck the Jedi code), Hand and Finger King (squint and you'll see it), Sex Pollen, Muscles, and an Alien planet.

crossposted here on ao3

Thank you to Rio and Cilantro for inspiring this and also being there as I wrote it. You guys are the best!

All you can think about is him. Him. With those water beads running down that sinfully muscular bare chest, that tiny white towel covering his waist, just barely disguising the girth of his member, those muscular legs that could crush you in bed..maker, what is wrong with you? You quickly turn to leave the fresher, of course, you didn’t mean to walk in on him. You’re just his padawan, you’re just his student. You’re nothing more. You can’t have feelings, you’re a Jedi. What would the other padawans think? What would they think of you, having these thoughts about your master, the Anakin Skywalker, about the man supposed to be training you? You look around as you push the door of the fresher open, the pink sky of some alien planet other than Coruscant gleaming above. You pause.

Sweet. Like flowers. Like warmth, straight to your core, you can feel your heartbeat in your center, pounding away. God, your panties are so slick they’re borderline soaked. There’s some kind of pollen in the air, and you lift your hand towards it. The gentle green grains settle on your palm, bright against the sky, vibrant against your skin. Is this some plant’s pollen? Your inner academic calls to you, ask your master! He’d know–

That’s right. Your naked master, with his massive muscles, bare less than ten feet from you, you could turn at any moment and see him again, surely it wouldn’t hurt, right? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him fresh out of a hot, steamy shower, drying that delicious sandy blonde hair of his, removing that towel from his waist to change, that rippling scar against his perfect face, surely it wouldn’t…

No.

You’re a jedi. You’re soon to be a knight. Your whole life, you have studied and prepared, prepared to fight for the Republic, prepared to die for the cause you were born with. You cannot lose your way. The code is life. No attachments, the code reads out, clearer than a Nabooian summer day. No attachments. Not to your master, not to your life, not to the things you find..so deliciously attractive.

You shake your head, trying to clear it again, and continue walking..before a warm, strong, perfectly tanned hand wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards, further, further, and you’re suddenly in the fresher, the door sliding shut silently in front of you, and you’re pressed into the wall, steel and ice cold against your cheek, and the hand around your middle begins to fiddle with the wraps holding your robe together. “You should really keep your thoughts to yourself, padawan.” His voice is so perfectly baritone, so perfectly deep against your ear, the hot breath of his voice whispering past your ear and sending earthquakes to your core. You can see out of the corner of your eye, more of that strange green pollen filtering in through the air vents, and his other hand presses your face further into the wall, icey and so, so hot, the perfect juxtaposition that rocks your mind.

“Fuck the code.” He finally finishes pulling the straps of your robes apart, sliding them down your shoulders, revealing more and more of your skin until all that is left is your chest wrap and underwear. His hand slides up from pinning your head, and it coils itself into your hair before twisting and gripping and pulling. Maker, his blue eyes burn themselves into your retinas, filled with a fire you’ve never seen before, filled with a light that you never imagined you’d be able to experience. It’s feral. Inhuman, with darkness and desire in his eyes, with those slightly pointed canines of his glinting in the light, as he runs his tongue across his lips.

“Maker, you’re gorgeous. You have no kriffing idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He runs his hand up your chest, before running his thumb along your bottom lip and pushing. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, and you immediately begin to wet them with your tongue. They taste like warmth, gunsmoke, like a thousand memories left unsaid, like a thousand salty tears caught. Maker, he tastes absolutely divine.

He pulls them out, a slight string of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips, and he looks down before growling at the sight of your still-covered core. He flicks his hand, and the underwear rips to shreds.

The back of your mind laments at the loss of a nice pair of undergarments, but it’s quickly replaced with a blazing hot need as he lowers his fingers, closer, closer, Maker they’re right there, and..he stops.

“Padawan..we shouldn’t do this.” His voice, no longer animal and rumbling, less a tsunami and more a gentle entering tide, moves away from your ear.

“Master, I…” Your voice, reduced to the tiniest little whine, sounds strangely far from your ears.

“It’s the pollen. My master, Obi-Wan, had told me about pollens on certain planets that could negatively affect how a soldier performs, and even affect us Jedi, but...I didn’t know this would be what he meant.” His hands start to slide away from you, but before you think, your hands secure themselves around his, keeping him pressed against you, wrapped around you.

“P-please. Don’t-don’t..don’t let go..” You whimper out, and he growls, deep in his chest and throat. You can see that green pollen swirling in the air again, and it flows into your nose, down your throat, into your lungs before you can even think. Maker, you’re so hot. You’re burning up, like someone tossed you into a volcano and the only escape is your master absolutely ruining you. It doesn’t look like it’s affecting him any less, you can feel something absolutely rock hard pressing into your back, right into the triangle bone below your spine, just above your ass.

“P-Padawan. We-we really..fuck…oh, fuck the code..” He snarls into your ear, re-coiling his hand into your hair, pulling back, and his fingers quickly find your entrance before pushing.

Oh maker, you’re so full. The stretch of his thick fingers is almost painful, and he pushes further, further, you’re so full, you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, oh maker. And then he begins to rub, his thumb pressing right on your clit.

You feel like you’re out of the galaxy. His fingers are pressing right against the spot that makes you cry, that makes you sob with need, that makes you moan his name as if it’s a prayer to the only maker you’ve ever needed to believe in. Maker, his fingers are too big, there’s no way they’re going to fit, you feel so tight.

And then it spreads. The tingling, flickering like fire all over your body, down to the tips of your fingers, up your hands, up your arms, closer and closer to your core, you feel like you’re running toward a cliff edge, sprinting closer, closer, closer, the band in your stomach tightening, tightening, and then you jump.

Maker, it’s like you’re flying, for a moment, and then you explode.

Like electricity soaring out from an arc tower, like a volcano erupting across a massive landscape, fusion at the seismic level, the white-hot pleasure races through your body, crackling and rushing, like a massive hurricane smashing into the dams and barriers of your Jedi core. Falling, falling, falling for what feels like an eternity, as wave after wave after wave breaks through you, crushing you, shockwaves out across the room, the base, the planet, the whole universe. You’re alive. Like the whole of the force flows through you, you’re alive. So, so, beautifully present, like the whole of the Jedi Council could burst in at any moment and it wouldn’t affect how happy you are. The pleasure is indescribable, spreading from his fingers through you, to the whole world. Your heart beats to the drum of your shocks, loving and so, so aware yet unaware. His fingers slow, you can tell from somewhere, and the volcano finally starts to cool.

You finally feel yourself starting to return to your body, your whole body cooling, breathing, maker, you’ve never felt so alive.

“That was gorgeous. You have no idea how beautiful your force signature was, Padawan.” He purrs into your ear, and you feel your cheeks redden impossibly further. He removes his fingers, and they’re covered in your clear, salty juices. He brings them up to his lips, before licking. He licks his fingers clean, before smiling and pulling you back from the wall, twisting you to face him, and finally releasing you

Jellylegged, you collapse into the wall, sliding down, and you look up at him. Maker, he’s so perfect. Rock hard, his member is huge. He crouches down to eye level, before running his thumb softly across your cheek.

“My padawan. Meet me tonight in the bunks. Don’t be seen.” He smiles that fanged smile, sending another shock to your blissfully used core.

“Y-y..yes, master.” You giggle out, and he shakes his head chuckling.

“Just one orgasm, and you’re already reduced to a blubbering mess? What will I ever do with you, beautiful?” He presses his lips to your forehead, and for the first time in decades, you feel loved.

He starts to pull your robes back around you, affixing them and tying their straps, before helping you slowly stand. He runs his hand through his hand, and aside from the occasional green pollenite specks, he looks..normal. He pulls his robes and armor on, already back to the honorable and powerful Jedi Knight that padawans and separatists alike fear.

You, on the other hand, are nowhere near that. Your hair is everywhere, your face flushed, your clothes still messy and lopsided, and your eyes are…so glassy.

“Clean yourself up, Padawan. I need to go make sure Jesse hasn’t killed someone yet.” He turns to leave, before looking back at you one last time, those gorgeous blue eyes leaving you so, so hungry for more.

#anakin fanfiction #anakin smut #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker smut #fanfiction #star wars fanfiction #smut #star wars smut #star wars x reader #star wars fanfic #sw fanfic #star wars #the clone wars #star wars clone wars

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judeswhore · 11 months

Note

breaking up with jude and having to take all his things back to him

omg wait i actually wrote something abt this for a fic i was gna write and then scrapped so u can have it here, it’s not the best but

"y'know you could've just asked me to drop these off for you. then you wouldn't have to see him." katie riffled around in the bottom of her bag in search for something, her tone light despite her words and she only glanced at you briefly while waiting for a reply. tearing your gaze from the house across the road you shook your head, wiped your sweaty palms across the material of your trousers.

"i want to see him."

"you want to see him?"

"yeah. no. i don't know, kinda? i don't want him to think i've taken the break up badly."

him being jude. after almost three years of dating he'd brought the relationship to an end, a decision he promised you he hadn't made lightly. for you it was out of the blue, you hadn't been fighting and there'd been no signs, sure you hadn't seen each other much with uni and his career but that was something you'd grown used to. for him it had been building. he said he couldn't handle the distance anymore, that it was getting too much to love someone who was never around. you got it, sort of, but that didn't make it hurt less. this conversation had happened two weeks ago, you'd only just found the motivation to peel yourself out of bed to return a bunch of his things.

from across the car, katie threw you skeptical look.

"you've cried every day since and consumed like half of england's ice cream supply. you have taken it badly." you huffed and leaned into the back seat to grab the box, careful not to let anything tumble out when you pulled it into your lap.

"he doesn't need to know that." you best friends mouth opened, a disapproving retort on her tongue but you beat her to it, pushing the car door open. "i'm okay now. i want to do this in person." you stumbled out with the box, turning to close the door behind you but katie had leant across, her face soft, eyes just a little sad.

"hey, he doesn't deserve you, remember? this was his loss."

at his front door you simply stared for a few moments, unable to lift to your hand and knock. returning the things he'd left at your place made the break up seem much more real, like giving him his hoodies back meant it was a done deal. you were handing over a piece of your heart with the box of his belongings, because no matter what, that would always belong to him too. a dog barked a few houses down and forced you into action, your fist coming down three times on the white door.

there was a few seconds of silence, the click of the lock and then the door swung open, revealing a freshly showered jude. the first glimpse of him in two weeks tugged at your chest, made your tummy dip and it was difficult pushing back the overwhelming urge to press against him. your body told you to kiss him, habits didn't die easily, your mind trying to catch up with the slight difference in his appearance. he'd grown his beard a little longer and his hair hadn't been cut in the time you'd been apart. his bottom lip was cut.

"hi." his voice cracked and he made a face, sent you a half sheepish smile before clearing his throat. "hey."

"i brought your stuff." straight to it. you weren't sure you could stand here and exchange small talk with him without breaking down. there was the smallest bit of comfort in the fact that he looked as bad as you felt. there were dark circles under his eyes, he obviously hadn't been sleeping, and the grey joggers he was wearing had a multitude of different stains down them. something tugged again at your chest and you swallowed thickly, thrust the box not so gracefully towards him. "i think i packed everything, i can- if i forgot anything i'll get katie to drop it off."

like you should have gotten katie to do today because looking at him hurt so much you felt like your heart was breaking all over again. the air around you was tense and awkward, jude kept shuffling from one foot to the other and you couldn't stop your palms from sweating. it was strange how someone who used to make you feel so safe and loved suddenly made you want to disappear inside yourself. jude took the box with careful hands, palms flat against the bottom to avoid brushing your fingers. the second he had hold of it you tucked your hands into the pocket of your hoodie. you didn't want him to see them shaking.

"you didn't have to drop them off, i could've come by." he could have but you knew deep down he wouldn't have. something told you he would've avoided you at all costs until he went back to germany. "but thanks. d'you wanna come in?" your gaze snapped up to his from where you'd previously been focused on his shoulder. "to get your things. i packed them up when you text earlier."

"oh. yeah, sure." you nodded and followed him into the familiar living room, the pain in your chest doubling when the scent of his aftershave washed over you. there was a box of your things on his sofa, your clothes and make up, small things you'd left behind, things you never thought you'd have to take back. placed at the very top of the box was one of jude's england shirts, one of the first ones he'd warn for the senior team, the one you always wore around his house. nausea rolled over you at the fact he was giving you it.

"i don't need that." jude followed your gaze and you watched his throat bob on a swallow as he dropped his own box down beside yours. his fingers brushed the material.

"it's basically yours, it doesn't fit me anymore so i don't need to keep it. i thought you'd want it." you only shook your head, you couldn't wear that shirt knowing that it was connected to a part of your life that didn't exist anymore. jude always made comments about how he liked seeing his girl in his shirt, he'd always pull you close and smother you in kisses and tell you how pretty you looked. you couldn't wear the shirt knowing you weren't his girl anymore, knowing one day someone else would wear that shirt. that he'd find another girl. you tried to talk around the lump that had settled in your throat.

"i don't want it, jude."

"right. no, of course not." again he cleared his throat and you needed to leave, needed air before the tears started and you collapsed in his living room. jude took the shirt and held it between both hands. for a few moments you were both quiet, watching each other, unsure what to say and before you could blurt something you'd regret, you reached for the box.

"i should-"

"i am sorry, y'know. i didn't- i never wanted to hurt you."

"but you did."

"i know and it's killing me. i should've told you how i was feeling instead of letting it drag out and leaving you in the dark. you didn't deserve that." his words were rough and you'd known him long enough to know he was fighting back tears. you also knew if you watched him cry, you'd also cry and you'd promised yourself you wouldn't do that in front of him. you wouldn't let him see you vulnerable like that again.

"no, i didn't."

"baby-" the endearment slipped from his lips from habit and you froze on your turn to the door, stomach dropping and that ache building even more in your chest. jude shook his head a little and rubbed the back of his neck, his bicep straining against the soft cotton of his shirt. "i'm sorry."

"i know you are but that doesn't make me feel any better. i don't- i can't have this conversation again, i can't hear you say you don't love me anymore, jude." pain and regret twisted his features and he shook his head. he made to reach for you but thought better of it, pressed his hands to his sides.

"i didn't stop loving you."

"stop it." your bottom lip wobbled and you had to stare straight at his chest to avoid the look in his eyes. "you can't- i don't want you to lie to me. you broke up with me, you don't do that if you love someone."

"that's not fair."

"life isn't really fair, is it?" without thinking, your fingers raised to tug at the necklace around your throat, a nervous habit you'd picked up years ago. it was only then that you even realised you were still wearing it, the silver "j" suddenly feeling hot and heavy against your skin. "oh, i forgot.."

setting the box down again, you fiddled with the clasp, awkwardly unclipped it before letting the piece of jewellery drop into jude's palm. he stared at it for a few seconds before shaking his head, trying to push it back towards you but you'd already picked the box back up.

"no, this is yours, you don't need to give me it back."

"i'm not gonna keep wearing it, jude. why would i?"

"because-"

"i'm not yours anymore, remember? i'm not gonna wear a necklace that says i am. i don't want it." your tone was harsh, harsher than necessary and it made him flinch, his brows drawing in. "wearing that let me pretend that this wasn't real, that it wasn't actually happening but it is and i can't keep lying to myself. everything reminds me of you and it hurts. i don't want it to keep hurting."

jude dropped his gaze, let his eyes instead focus on your hands. you were both quiet for a few seconds, neither knowing what to say. you'd gotten everything out of your systems the day of the break up, there was nothing else to say other than goodbye. you cleared your throat and nodded a little awkwardly towards the door.

"katie's waiting for me."

for the second time in as many weeks, jude let you walk away without another word.

#hey jude :)#jude bellingham #leigh’s baby blurbs #sinclaiirs baby blurbs #jude bellingham fluff #jude bellingham fic #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham smut #jude bellingham one shot #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb

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little-x-wolf · 5 months

Text

| cardigan — the salvatores x reader |

there was a superstition that if you kissed your soulmate in the maze, you'd be bonded for life.

warnings: angst, guiseppe is a terrible father, a barrel full of tears, mentions of violence, lil bit of katherine slander!

merry christmas everyone!

“Vintage tee, brand new phone

High heels on cobblestones

When you are young, they assume you know nothing”

You remember those days like yesterday. The three of you laying underneath the old willow, basking in the warmth of the Virginian sun at the Veritas. Some days you played hide and seek amidst the Salvatore maze. You'd place a peck on both of their cheeks for good luck. There was a superstition that if you kissed your soulmate in the maze, you'd be bonded for life.

They kept telling you — the elders — that one day life was going to overtake your friendship. Soulmates would turn to friends, friends to acquaintances and one day, Salvatore would be a name you used to know. The three musketeers would exist in just memories, to never meet again. But those were just farces, right?

You knew your bond was unbreakable.

“Sequin smile, black lipstick

Sensual politics

When you are young, they assume you know nothing”

Lily Salvatore died in 1858. Their fathers' beatings had become frequent to the point they couldn't even hide it from you. An occasional pat on the back would have Damon hissing. He seldom lied to Giuseppe to save Stefan from trouble. You would patch him up at night, listening the best you could.

The nightmares in the deep pits of his mind had come to fruition. His mother was dead; His brother hiding in the closet from his drunkard of a father. Sometimes, their maid, Betsy would hum his mother's lullaby to help him sleep. Before long, Giuseppe had her released of her duties. You took over the role, your fingers caressing his raven locks — you helped him sleep.

“But I knew you, Dancin' in your Levi's

Drunk under a streetlight, I knew you

Hand under my sweatshirt

Baby, kiss it better, I

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite”

Damon was sent to fight for the confederacy. Stefan was to be engaged to Rosalyn Cartwright, and you were to be married off to a wealthy Englishman. Your little games had stopped for a while now, but the older Salvatore wrote whenever he could. You'd write back, of course, waiting eagerly for his return. You feared he'd come too late; You'd be gone in a month or two.

Stefan would sneak you out sometimes, take you riding on Mezzanotte, his favourite horse. One time, he stole a bottle of rum from his father's collection to accompany the two of you on your getaway. He watched as you guzzled it down greedily, slurred disappointments tumbling from your lips in no time. Lord, you wished you'd never grown up. And when you started to sob, he held you tightly against his chest, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

He wished it too. He wished it too.

A friend to all is a friend to none

Chase two girls, lose the one

When you are young, they assume you know nothin'

Then one day, a storm racked through your garden. One damsel by the name of Katherine Pierce, swiping them off their feet, boys who once had been yours. Rosalyn Cartwright was found mauled by an animal underneath the old willow, wide eyes staring upwards. They held a secret that couldn't be whispered anymore.

Her body was barely in the ground when you found Stefan emerging from the damsel's chambers. You were disappointed; He didn't care. Fights between the Salvatores had become frequent. They had become thirsty for the others blood, constantly fighting over her affections. Your despised the girl, maintaing as much distance from her as possible. They were well aware. Soon, they stopped bringing her up in your presence and eventually, visits to your house became scarce.

Stefan accompanied Katherine to the ball; Damon took you (because Katherine had chosen his brother). You smelt the whiskey on his breath, pushing him away when he kissed you in the darkness of your room. You were no rebound. You were no second choice. It stung your heart to think he thought otherwise. If you could have been, though, life would've turned out differently.

“But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss

I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

The smell of smoke would hang around this long

'Cause I knew everything when I was young”

The Salvatores were dead. Giuseppe had a statement released saying that they died while trying to capture vampires. But you knew better. At last, you knew the secret Rosalyn was trying to tell you. Katherine was a vampire and they died trying to save her.

You couldn't even remember the last time the three of you spoke. You weren't even allowed to be there when they were buried. You couldn't peck their cheeks or sing them a lullaby. And when you broke down finally, it was in the isolation of your room. Giuseppe died shortly afterwards and the house burnt down. You left for London, visiting the manor sometimes with your husband whenever you were around.

You'd sit underneath the spot where the old willow used to be and think of them. Your boys. The lake dried up with and so did your tears. Your children would ask about the Veritas and you'd realize, when all your words were littered with past tenses, that Salvatore was a name you used to know.

“I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

Chasin' shadows in the grocery line

I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired

And you'd be standin' in my front porch light”

Sometimes, on a particularly despondent day, you could see them in the dark alleyways, tiptoeing out of your memories and onto the corner of your eyes. In grocery lines, the cinemas, you swore you saw them on your porch in London once. And oh, you'd curse them. The sadness had turned into fury over the years and white hot it was. They didn't even care to say goodbye. Why should you spend the rest of your life thinking about them then?

They chose to let you go. You didn't.

“And I knew you'd come back to me

You'd come back to me

And you'd come back to me

And you'd come back”

Your husband succumbed to the flu a few years later and in 1917, you decided to move your family back to Mystic Falls. One day, someone showed up at your door, asking for directions to the Boarding House. It was Damon and Stefan. They had barely aged at all while you were a 70-something lady with wrinkles and a barely functioning eyesight.

"The most beautiful I've seen you," Stefan murmured as he clung onto you, concious of not hugging you too tightly. He didn't want to hurt you.

Damon couldn't meet your eyes for a few minutes. The last time he did was before he kissed you. The kiss had been devoid of every good thing he felt about you, reduced to the anger at his brother and desperation after getting rejected. He hadn't been able to forgive himself.

It took you all a little time to settle into your new reality. You were happy to have them back in your life. You were a frail old lady now, there wasn't much you could do physically. But on slow days, you'd find yourself with a cup of tea in the parlour of your house, settled admist your two boys. You loved to hear about all their adventures—the good and the bad ones.

You kept Stefan from going off the rails.

“And when I felt like I was an old cardigan

Under someone's bed

You put me on and said I was your favorite”

The Salvatores had a home till October 5, 1934, the last sunrise you'd ever see. Stefan clasped your head and Damon hummed you a lullaby, holding in the tears as you dozed off. The next time you met Stefan was about a century later and Damon followed soon.

And the three musketeers were reunited, never to part again.

#stefan salvatore x reader #damon salvatore x reader #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #the vampire diaries #cardigan #tvd #tvdu #christmas #fluff #angst with a happy ending #Spotify

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inklore · 2 years

Text

crimson and clover.

part one | next part | series masterlist

premise: maybe you shouldn’t get high with eddie again but you can’t get him off of your mind, and his lips are too inviting to fight the growing addiction you’re succumbing to from the things he can do with them.

pairing: eddie munson x richgirl!reader

word count: 7k

warnings: eighteen+ content, porn with plot, f receiving oral, fingering, a touch of voyeurism, weed smoking, virgin!eddie, teasing and banter, soft dirty talk, alluded blowjob, jealousy mention, cheesy fluff, shitty parentals.

etc: i’m literally obsessed with these two to the point of insanity!! like i’m not usually that much of a plot heavy girly but buckle up besties we in deep <3.

i do not give anyone permission to translate or repost my work, please be respectful — if you enjoyed please comment or reblog!

It’s quite embarrassing, excruciatingly taxing, vexing and every other big word that you could remember and barely comprehend—but now are having a grave first-hand experience with—from those Jane Austen books you had to read in class.

Every ten sellable verb, feeling, pretext; all of them describing the exact state of your mind right now, and how superficial it made you feel. Aforementioned: excruciating, embarrassing.

A week has gone by since the night you spent with Eddie, and it’s all you find yourself thinking about.

Your mind plays a constant loop reel of everything that happened; the giggles, the kiss, the…other thing. At night when you want to sleep your mind is too busy thinking about whether or not Eddie’s thinking about it too, what happened. Or if he’s out bragging to his friends—something you have your doubts about. The two of you hadn’t discussed if this was an under-wraps kind of thing, it was probably common knowledge you wouldn't want it to be spread all over town. Which it would be, like wildfire.

None of your friends have called you to belittle you yet, so you doubt he’s told anyone.

But was it plaguing his mind as pathetically as it was yours? Or were you just so starved for decent human interaction that your mind was holding onto this one night like it was an aphrodisiac?

Maybe if you had received a call from him you wouldn’t be acting so…mortifyingly in your feelings for god knows why.

"Will we be graced with your presence across the tracks again, princess?" He had asked when he pulled up a block down from your house, not trusting his loud engine to not wake up your parents—or at the very least a neighbor who would see and then go running to your parents about the strange man they saw you with. It wasn’t a mess you wanted to deal with.

"Don't call me that." You had groaned, undoing your seatbelt and hiding your smile by biting the inside of your cheek. You hadn’t thought past this night, were still too busy rolling off that high from smoking and having Eddie against your mouth…inside of your mouth.

And maybe it was his smile, his thumb tapping on the steering wheel, eyes flashing to your mouth and back up like he didn’t know if he was allowed to kiss you again, or if he should.

But you reached across the dash and grabbed the pen randomly rested atop of it, leaned over to pull his hand from the wheel, and wrote your number on top of it.

"Don't call before six or after midnight.” You let your smile spread, threw the pen back on the dash, and opened the passenger door hopping out. “See you around, Munson.”

That was seven days ago and counting.

Never-ending counting.

It’s not like you expected him to call. You figured he probably wouldn’t, the two of you were not about to become best friends just because he cleaned your shoes, or let you smoke his weed, or because he came in your mouth. You didn’t—shouldn’t—have any expectations from Munson and you were sure he had none from you.

History didn’t make you friends. Sharing weed or an incredible kiss didn’t either.

So it wasn’t a big deal he hadn’t called.

And yet as you sit at one of the pristine white table cloth tables of the Country Club, your parents on either side of you, your fingers playing with the straw of your drink; you’re wondering if he’s called.

You’re so hyper-focused on that thought, of the thought of that stupid smile that you can’t shut your eyes without seeing—that you don’t hear your mother speaking to you until the words “I heard you two broke up” are spat through the air.

Reality crashes down on you, and you can’t help the grimace that flashes across your lips. Word really does spread like wildfire in this town. You hadn’t expected your parents to find out until at least a few weeks—or never, a girl could dream. Enough time for you to come up with an excuse at least, anything but the truth. Which would be nothing but unacceptably unrealistic to them.

“He’s not a good-”

“I didn’t ask for your feelings on the matter.” Your mother interrupts. Scowls down at the martini glass in her hand. “Fix it. You’re both going to the same college, a college your father called in many favors just to get you in. Since you couldn’t do it on your own.” Her last words are mumbled, snappy, and hurtful as always. “His parents run in the same social circle as us and could do wonders for your father's business. Don’t ruin this for yourself over girlish feelings.”

Your throat feels tight, constricted, suffocated. Your fingers have dropped from your straw to grip the end of your white pleated skirt under the table. You know even if you told your mother the full story, how you truly felt, how you’ve been with him since sophomore year and neither of you have even muttered the words ‘I love you’. And don’t think you ever will. Would.

Or how last year over spring break the two of you broke up for a month and you had felt more rejuvenated than any hundred-dollar spa treatment ever could. As if you had peeled off a deadweight and could finally feel something other than the caked-on layers of presser that were endlessly put onto you by him, by them.

Then he came back and said the same thing your mother did “don’t ruin this for us” when he had been the one to leave you. And you’d done the stupid thing and said yes. As the two of you kissed and made up your mind searched for the why, the how, the what-the-fuck-were-you doing.

And now with your mother's words as fresh as a reopened wound reminding you of the memory, you know you said yes because of her. Your father. Their need to seem so disgustingly perfect on the outside, to hide how ugly they were on the inside.

Were you as ugly as them?

The question makes your knee bounce, knuckles straining from the grip on your skirt.

Your mothers already moved on from you, talking to the friend at her side. Smiling, keeping that perfect crown in place. Turning towards your father you hope to see a sympathetic look, some wise words—wasn’t that what fathers were supposed to do? Wise words and comfort? But he’s not even looking at you, too busy laughing at something the man beside him has said.

You need to get out of here. Go home and scream into your pillow or something.

Standing from the table, a little too quickly. The legs of your chair screeching against the hardwood, your father finally looks at you.

“Everything alright?” A monologue of how everything is the farthest thing from being alright in the back of your throat and ready to be screamed. But then you can feel your mother's eyes on you, don’t have to turn to see her look of impassiveness to know it’s there.

“Yeah,” you give them both your best performed smile. “Just going to do what mom said, fix it.”

Your lie only gets you a hum from said woman and then she’s done with you and turning her head. Your dad gives you the weakest of smiles and asks if you need any money—for no reason at all. Shaking your head you quickly bid them goodbye and do your best walk-sprint out of the building.

The hot summer night air a welcome humidity from the suffocation you felt in there.

You have your parent's driver take you home. Screw your ex and screw your parents.

If your mother wanted him to be in your family so bad maybe she should drop her Pilates instructor and have him instead. It would take a hefty price—that you were sure your parents would gladly pay to get you to shut up and listen to them—to ever bring yourself to his front door and beg for him back.

You didn’t beg. For anyone. Over anything.

You asked. You got. Demanded. Sometimes you didn’t even need to ask. You were just given to. Your bank account and school career showed as much.

Fuck, maybe you were the Princess of Hawkins after all.

You start in a small sprint up the stairs to your room, your throat still feeling as if it’s being squeezed by your mother's words, indifference towards you, demands. Even with her not around you feel like you’re being suffocated by her.

You really shouldn’t have come back home.

Not for the summer. Not anytime. Should have just stuck to the one call a month and check in the mail. Life was more peaceful that way. At least you could breathe.

It was going to be one hell of a long, torturous summer.

“Someone called for you!”

You hear just as your foot lands on the last step. Your heart leaping in your chest as you turn and yell down, “who?”

“They didn’t say.” Your family housekeeper appears at the bottom of the stairs, a small smile on her face. “But they did leave their number and said to call them if you needed help on biology or something like that.” She shakes her head, “could barely understand them. There was loud music in the background.”

Eddie.

The grin that spreads across your lips is demeaning to your social status. Same with the way your heart feels like it’s pumping from your stomach now as you run back down the stairs and take the number from her, only to run back up them and to your room; dialing the number into the pink phone beside your bed, pacing the floor as you wait, hope, shamefully pray that he answers.

On the fifth ring he answers and when his voice floods through the phone when you hear the “shit-hold on” as he turns down the music blaring in the background, you feel like you can finally breathe again. No more tight throat. Suffocating. The only thing you feel now is that familiar giddy ache in your cheeks.

“Biology huh?”

You can hear the puff of air Eddie lets out from realizing it’s you, from the smile that you can tell is on his face when he speaks through the receiver, “I thought telling her I was ‘the weed guy’ would be worse, town freak was my second option.”

"Munson, it's summer no one's doing biology!"

“Incorrect. Summer school is a prison sentence I have had the displeasure of being sentenced to.” Of course, he has. You can’t help the laugh that comes out, one he joins in on.

There’s a silence that spreads where you can hear him fiddling with something on the other line.

And then he’s saying, “is the Princess busy or can she step away from the castle, and grace us, peasants, with her presence?"

You’re smiling again, fuck.

“She could, but I don't know, she might need payment." You say in your best uppity voice, flopping back on your bed. Your fingers coiling and uncoiling the cord hanging from the phone.

"Drats! Right when I’m out of gold doubloons too."

“Oooh, and I only take gold, looks like the peasants must go un-graced today.”

"Would thy majesty take my humble payment of the best weed in the county instead?" He puts on his best historically accurate voice that has you snorting.

“That’s very presumptuous of you to say it's the best."

"Did I say the best? Sorry, I meant the greatest.”

God, you despised how nice this felt. How the muscles in your cheeks were already sore and you hadn’t even been talking to him for more than five minutes. How you can’t remember someone calling you and it being like this, no gossip, no hounding questions or accusations.

Oh, how the normal half lives.

"I'll meet you where you dropped me off the other night, okay?"

"Your chariot will be waiting, princess."

When Eddie picks you up and the two of you fly across town, sharing silent smiles, the town passing in the rear view, heavy metal blaring throughout the speakers—that he doesn’t turn down until his van comes to a stop through a wooded clearing, in front of a familiar lake.

Lovers Lake.

"Really, Munson? Trying to get lucky again?" You tease, a cheeky grin covered up by him laughing behind the hair that moves in his face as he undoes his seatbelt and moves to the back of the van.

You follow him into the back, sitting on the van floor. Eddie on the sofa, much like the last night the two of you were together. Except now you’re sitting with your legs crossed out in front of you, back against one of the walls of the van.

You let him do his thing of pulling out the metal box and rifling through it while he finds what he needs. Occupying your time with looking at the newly added amps and wires that weren’t there the other night.

"What's your band called again?"

"Corroded Coffin.”

You smile remembering him telling you that when you were partnered together. Remember how he drummed his fingers on the desk and air guitared you a silent piece to emphasize how good he swore he could play, how good the band was.

"You should come see us play sometime. If you're into that.” He looks up at you through his bangs, his fingers moving in his lap as he rolls the joint.

You give the tiniest smirk as you say, “like a date?”

His shoulders are shrugging, ringed fingers scratching his cheek. “If a grimy bar and drunk geezers falling off their barstools is your ideal date then yes. Absolutely.” You share a smile and then he’s going back to his task at hand.

When he’s finished rolling, and after you’re done eyeballing him: watching how his fingers work along the rolling papers, those damn rings distracting you, and finding yourself at a loss for words when you watch him bring it to his lips and run his tongue along the seam to close it.

You were here to get away. To kill time. To smoke. Nothing else.

What happened the other night should stay a one time thing. With how your insides keep acting up from the mere thought of it. This was dangerous territory already.

"Your payment, princess." Eddie holds out the freshly rolled joint, doing a little bowing motion as he does. Making you laugh and playfully snatch it from his fingers.

Bringing it to your lips, he pulls out a lighter from the front pocket of his jeans. Leaning forward he flicks it and holds it to the other end, lighting it for you. His eyes on yours as you forget to inhale for half a second, too busy staring back at him. The thick smoke almost making you choke after you’ve come to and inhale; an intensity holding between your gazes.

He’s so close, if you were to remove the joint you could lean in and….

Nope. Not happening. Not tonight.

You quickly move back over to your spot and take a few puffs, praying that it chills whatever tempestuous feelings were burning in your lower belly right now.

The two of you fall into an easy rotation, puffing, passing, Eddie making a joke and you losing it. A peaceful cycle that soon has you forgetting about the earlier events of the day and how you had felt; your nerves now lax, body feeling good. And not just because of the weed, but because of the boy sitting in front of you.

A fact you let yourself feel.

The only thing you allow yourself to feel.

You’re tapping your foot mindless against the bottom of the couch to the metal playing through the van, ignoring the friction it causes against the pant leg of Eddie’s jeans; his leg pressed against yours as the two of you have your limbs spread out.

Your fingers are flipping through a random magazine you’ve found in one of the many piles of junk on the floor. “Who sings this?”

"Corroded Coffin.”

Your head snaps up a little too fast giving you whiplash, as you look up at him—he’s already staring back, how long has he been watching? And have your cheeks always been this warm, or is the thought that he had possibly been watching you for god knows how long that’s making you feel overheated right now?

“This is your band?!”

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I don't see any blood coming from your ears so I take it your majesty approves?"

You make a face, shrugging. "I was swallowing down my vomit actually, was trying to hide it with being nice."

“Mmm.” He replies, his hair covering his smile as he fiddles with the chain connected to his jeans.

It’s an effort to pull your eyes away from him and go back to flipping through the magazine—as if you were doing anything other than looking at the pictures. Your high mind having very little comprehension of the words printed across the flimsy papers.

That comfortable silence spreads between the two of you again, your foot going back to its tapping. Your head doing a little bob along with the beat.

“Was that a jive I just saw?”

Your movements stop, “a jive?” The snort of laughter that comes deep from within your throat should be embarrassing. If it were anyone else in front of you you know you’d do everything in your power to cover it up.

“Who says that?”

“I know many people who say it.”

“Are they 80 and over?”

Eddie shakes his head, his laugh dying down. “You like it, the music?”

“I’ve heard worse.” You shrug nonchalantly. Close the magazine and toss it back in its pile of junk.

“I’ll take it!” His fist pumping in the air in triumph.

Shaking your head you send an eye roll his way. Your heart doing a little leap in your just at how cute you think he looks right now. Your mind working overtime to hone in on the little things that light up his features when he smiles or laughs—and then the little things that don’t matter at all: like how this is your second time here and the first he had scurried around and tried to move his random messes out of the way, to clean it up. But this time around he didn’t even bother, as if a comfortability has already grown between the two of you. You hadn’t run for the hills, already knew what he was about, that this van was a second home to him by the looks—and he knew you wouldn’t care what it looked like. Hadn’t made a fuss the first time so why not let you see him more in his realm?

It makes a weird affection burn in your gut and has you toying with the bottom of your skirt to distract yourself from it.

Just listen to the music. The band. It’s pretty good.

Which isn’t shocking to you in the slightest. It only took you all your school career, and give or take a few years, to realize that Eddie Munson was a lot of things but mediocre was not one of them.

But your mind is racing a mile a minute, unlike the first time, you smoked Eddie’s stash. Which meant that you were the problem, the issue causing your mind to run from the blissful high into difficult feelings and misunderstandings of said feelings.

Go figure.

Your legs are still touching each other. You can feel the bare minimum of his heat against your legs, but it’s enough to add flashbacks of the other night into the mix of your mind. How you could feel the heat from other parts of his body; under you, beside you, against you, inside your mouth.

The tender skin of your bottom lip quickly becomes raw from your teeth, as the memories bombard you. As you grow warmer and warmer. And make the mistake of looking up at him, watching him, staring at him—and then he’s catching you doing just that and you have the urge to ask him if he’s thought about you sense that night, or why he hadn’t called sooner.

Questions with obvious answers.

But your mind is working against you here.

And the last thing you want him to think is that you’re just sitting at home waiting for him to call. Like you’re desperate for it, begging for it. Something you do not do. And was not about to start for Eddie Munson.

“Did you have plans later?” He asks.

Making your brows come together, a confused look on your face as you wonder if you’ve missed something. If he spoke before this and you just didn’t hear because of your internal war.

“The outfit,” he points with a finger, “it’s chic.” A lopsided grin pulls up the corners of his mouth just as you laugh.

“Chic?” You shake your head, “I was at the Country Club with my parents.”

“And you let me steal you away from such fun with the other royals? Honored." His hand splays over his chest.

You make a face, “my mother thinks I’m crawling on my hands and knees back to lover boy." You drop the same nickname Eddie had the other night for your ex, seeing his expression change from it. His smile faltering, fingers brushing at a few loose strands of hair in his face.

“Are you?”

“If I was, would I be here with you?"

"Maybe you needed some devil induced bravery to help you crawl."

"I wouldn't waste a good high on him,” you scoff.

Eddie’s silent for a second too long for your sanity and then he’s saying, “instead you're here wasting it on me."

"It's not a waste.” The words slip out. Come out so naturally that you don’t realize how sentimental of a meaning they have until you see Eddie’s expression. See the softness of it, and how you cannot bear the way your insides feel right now.

What’s the worst thing that can happen from you hooking up with Munson again?

“At least it doesn't have to be.." you’re pulling at your skirt again, can’t bring your eyes up to his as the words hang in the air—an invitation.

"Hitting on me now, princess?” His leg pushes into yours playfully, “who knew you could be so flattering. So charitable.” He teases.

You only look up to scowl at him, because you were not hitting on him—maybe, not really, you didn’t hit on people, you were hit on. But like many things around Munson it had changed, morphing itself into something you don't recognize; something better. You are going to tell him as much, flaunt your Princess status tenfold. But can’t stop looking into his big brown eyes, can’t stop the burning in your stomach going lower lower until it turns into that same lust you felt for him the other night.

And fuck it.

You’ve already dipped your toe over that line once, mine as well put your whole foot in.

"Shut up, Munson.” Your retort is less ice than it is fire, a breathy huff that you mean to sound playful but miss the mark. “Come here,” you hesitate. "Please.”

The beam that spreads across his face is anything but subtle or shy, promptly dropping down to his knees and crawling the short distance to you. A position he stays in even as he brings his lips to yours.

The kiss, his lips, his fingertips at the side of your neck just as heart stopping and pulsating-ly devastating to your insides as last time. A pang of jealousy shoots through your belly at the thought of how many girls he has kissed before you, he’s had to have kissed a couple, a handful maybe, you weren’t this good at kissing if you hadn’t. Kisses didn’t just feel like this, normally. Right?

Or maybe you just weren’t kissing the right people. Person.

It doesn’t take long for the kiss to move into the realm of breathless pants and tongues against each other, teeth biting into lips. And unlike last time Eddie doesn’t need an invitation to touch you; his hands go from your neck to your cheeks, your jaw, chin, the back of your skull, and into your hair. The tips of his fingers making a road map of every sensitive spot above your collarbone.

Eventually, thanks to some maneuvering and awkward giggles the two of you are laid on the floor of the van—you on your back, Eddie on his side with his front pressed flush against you. His lips have veered from yours, leaving a path of kisses and nips along your jaw, under it, to your neck where he runs his tongue along a sensitive spot of skin, his lips wrapping around it to suck softly and then sink his teeth into.

A breathy gasp strangled out of you, your hips moving against the air. An imprint of Eddie smirking against your skin from the noise, left behind when he kisses just below the area. Fuck.

“How many–” you swallow, lick your lips, breathless, “how many girls have you kissed like this?”

It’s probably not the right thing to ask right now, but your mind keeps going back to it. That jealousy making your stomach sink as you anticipate his answer, as you dread and wish your body and brain were working together instead of on separate plains of pain and pleasure.

“Uh, a dozen obviously.” He laughs softly against you when you dig your nails into his arm playfully, in replace of the scowl you’d shoot him down with if you could turn your head—or if you wanted him to stop the knee shaking presses of his lips right now, which you’re delirious but not that delirious to stop him. “Only you, princess.”

The information shouldn’t have you soaring any more than you already are, shouldn’t make those jealousy twists get snuffed out by a belly full of butterflies, and flutters that go all the way down to your throbbing clit. But it does and you’re reeling at the sentiment that you’re probably Eddie’s first everything in this sense. In this realm.

It’s not triumph you feel, it’s something softer and dangerously close to affection and attachment that has no business filling your chest with warmth right now.

And instead of feeling the aforementioned feelings, distracting yourself with giving him pleasure—and to hear those beautiful noises from the other night—your hand is moving from his arm to the bulge pressing to your hip.

Your fingers and palm run up his clothed length and pull those delicious breathy grunts from him. No man should sound this good, no sound should have you feeling like you’re melting into the floor.

Your mouth finding Eddie’s in a hungry kiss, a need to swallow down his noises like a drug, needing sedation. You could get addicted to this if you’re not careful.

Your fingers drag themselves up to his belt, try to blindly pull the leather through its buckle, the loops. And just like a repeat of the night before, his hand is there to stop you.

“Gotten shy on me?” You ask with a coyness that makes him give you a ‘not in this lifetime’ look.

“I just want to make it crystal clear that I didn’t bring you here for this.” His tone only holds gentleness, his hand bringing yours up to his mouth to brush a few kisses across your knuckles.

“Even if you did,” your fingers twist a strand of his hair, “I wouldn’t be upset.”

And you mean that. If Eddie had only brought you here for a replay of the other night or something further than that, you know—even if it was against your better judgment—you wouldn’t be too upset about it, or at all. It was hard to be upset with lips like his pulling out smiles and whimpers from you.

But it also means that Eddie had called you because he wanted to see you, to hang out…which is harder for you to grasp than the prospect of only casual hookups between the two to you.

Those Jane Austen feelings back with a vengeance in your chest cavity.

Your answer makes a chuckle echo in his chest. “But,” he’s looking at you with all seriousness within those doe eyes. “Now that we’re–” he motions to your current positions with his hand, “here. I want to return the favor. For the other night.”

Oh?

Oh.

Pressing your lips together, you do your best to hide the excitement that shoots up your spine, nodding in a super-casual-not-too-fast way. “Yeah, okay, yes, totally.”

“Totally?” He mocks you, smirking.

“Totally.”

Then his lips are on yours again without needing further confirmation. The kiss slower this time compared to the last lip lock that made your bottom lip feel like it was inflamed from his teeth. Your mouths move in perfect sync, and if you could figure out a way you know you could get off by just his kiss alone. He moves your hand back to his crotch, giving you back access to his hardness as his hand begins its travel down your chest. Palming your boobs over your white polo, his thumb moving across your nipple, making you whimper. Your chest pushing up into him.

The closer he gets—the further his fingers move along the fabric of your clothes—the anticipation of where you want him, where he wants to be, makes your legs pull together. Thighs in a tight lock, your attempted relief of the pressure on your clit only makes the throbbing worse. You can feel how soaked you are through the cotton of your panties, know that once you feel his fingers slip inside of you it’s going to be game over.

There's a whoosh of air against your thighs from Eddie pushing up the top of your skirt, putting your clothed pussy on display for him. His mouth pulling from yours as he looks down at you and takes you in. The hunger in his eyes turning the brown hues in them black. You’re about to ask him if he wants you to take your underwear off, his fingers slipping past the elastic of them stopping you. His palm warm against your mound.

Eddie runs his middle finger through your folds, voice low and gravelly when he says. “You’re so wet.” All you can do is mewl, bite your already raw lip as you try to keep your hips still, try to hold yourself back from fucking his hand the way you want to. His fingers explore you for a bit, misstepping your throbbing clit each time the tips of his fingers come close to it. Even as you finally let yourself move your hips a fraction of an inch up, he’s still not touching the spot you really need, instead, he’s moving every place you don’t need him. Until he slips a finger inside of you too aggressively, making an “ahh” hiss out of you.

Your face scrunched when he turns to look down at you, halting his actions. Body tense, “did I hurt you?”

He’s never done this before, it’s not new knowledge and yet thanks to your hormone filled haze—and the need to come—you were expecting him to know all the places to touch. To not be as aggressively pushy right from the get-go.

“No,” you sigh, laughing softly. “Sort of, just…can I show you?” You’re nervous he’s going to take it the wrong way. That this is where it’s going to end because it'll be awkward and he’ll be embarrassed or mad or something.

But there you go thinking Eddie is one thing when he’s the exact opposite. The endless surprise of this boy never ceasing to show you why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover—or by its fellow shitty townspeople.

Eddie nods, eyes soft and tentatively looking at you in the same way an excited student looks thrilled to learn from a teacher.

Wasting no time you loop your fingers into the elastic of the cotton covering your pussy, pulling the garment down your legs and tossing it to the side. Moving comfortably back into your lying position, skirt still pushed up, completely showcasing yourself to him. A flutter sinking low into your belly when you watch Eddie’s throat bob from a tight swallow as he looks down at your wet cunt.

And while he watches, stares at you, you’re staring up at him. Watching the hunger and desire to learn—to be taught—displaying itself across his face; your hand moves between your legs, the pad of your index finger putting the lightest of pressers on your clit. The moan you let out has Eddie’s hair falling in your face for half a second as his eyes snap to your face. As he watches your mouth part, brows come together, breaths shaky and weak as you touch yourself. Rubbing slow circles against your throbbing clit, where you wanted, needed to feel him. Where you’ve been throbbing and aching for what felt like hours—days—for him.

His fingers dig into your thigh as he spreads your legs wider, holding it up and against him below your knee so you’re completely open for him. So he can see you run your fingers down between your folds to catch the gathering arousal at your entrance and pull it back up to coat your clit.

You should be talking right now, should be directing him with your words, but you can’t. Have never touched yourself in front of anyone before, never had to, or wanted to. The act of touching yourself strictly permitted for when you were alone in your room at night. Never like this. But you’ve been convinced. Turned over a new leaf in the things you like, enjoy; the way Eddie is watching your fingers, the way he brings his gaze back up so fucking slow to look at your face. To hold eye contact with you as you moan and tremble. That mounting pressure already starting, so fast, so good.

Eddie leans into the small distance of space between your mouths to swallow down one of your moans that comes out at the same time his lips press to yours. “You’re so pretty.” He whispers between kisses. “How many guys have you let watch you like this?”

You whimper, breath hot on his mouth, “none. Only you.”

He’s grinning against your mouth, “you do this at night when you’re alone in your bed?”

“Yes.” Humming, you feel breathless, can feel your hips gyrating against your hand, legs trembling. Know you’re so close. But don’t want to make yourself come. Want Eddie to be the one to make you come, want his fingers to be inside of you when your walls constrict and carry you through that euphoric high.

“Who knew you were such a dirty girl, princess.” His head lifts back up to look back down at your pussy, the wet sounds of your arousal against your finger and clit filthy.

Have you ever been this wet before? This turned on? Fuck, Eddie Munson.

Without thinking—reeling off of your own need—you grab his hand that's still holding your leg to him. “Put your hand over mine.” Following directions eagerly Eddie does so, places his searing palm atop yours, his index finger resting perfectly against yours; moving along as you go back to stroking your clit. “Like this, slow–ahh–circles.” The last syllables of your words choked out over a moan. Your skin feels like it’s on fire, know you’re probably making a mess on the makeshift carpeting below you.

He copies your movements for one, three, six circles and then you’re snaking your hand away and it’s his finger on your clit. The change in feeling is instantaneous and has your hips stuttering, whines coming out weaker. Your hand gripping the material of his shirt, needing to ground yourself. To remind you that yes, this is reality and not some crazy out of body wet dream.

“Like that?” Eddie asks against your cheek.

“Yes.” You don’t think your moans have ever sounded this wailing, this intense to the point where you’re almost embarrassed at how good you feel right now. How your body is shaking and mewling and reaching out for him for pleasure. In need of it.

This time when he slips a finger into you it’s slow, so good and gentle as he pumps it inside of you, that amplifies the squelching of your wetness. “This okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

He fucks you like that, his middle finger fucking up into you, his thumb brushing against your clit at just the right angle that has you on the verge of seeing stars. You’re so so close, know that if he keeps doing that you’re going to be a goner–

“Wait, what are you doing?” Your brows pull up in confusion as you watch him detach himself from your side, removing his hand from between your thighs. Settling himself between your legs on his knees.

You expect him to start undoing his belt, figure he’s ready to take it further, aren't mad at the thought—but he’s surprising you again. “You got to taste, it’s only fair, princess.” Eddie smirks, situates himself in a comfortable hunching position, and then you’re gasping as he runs the tip of his tongue along your clit. Any rebuttal you could have thought to reply with dead in the water.

“Fuck, Eddie,” there are no missteps like the first time he was down there with his hand. Mimicking the movements you showed him with your fingers with his tongue, with a few added experimental licks and sucks that have your breath caught in your throat. “Ohmygod, and you’ve never done this before?” You curse, feel a breathy laugh fall across your clit. One, then another, finger slipping into you moving in tandem with his tongue.

Only one other guy has gone down on you and it was not as nearly intense or agonizing pleasurable as this—to the point where your thighs are closing in around his head, hands in his hair. Back arching. You feel like a woman crazed, like you had no idea you could feel this searing, pleasure this good.

You mean to say something, to warn him, to say any words that you can dredge up from the crevice of your dysfunctional brain; but all you can do is scream as you come against his mouth, as your pussy convulses around his fingers. Your hips rolling up into him, thighs shaking, body spasming as his name falls from your lips like a sinful prayer.

“Munson,” you whine, pulling at his chin once you’ve come down enough to function. Once you can finally see something other than the white bursts of light across your vision. Eddie’s tongue still running along your sensitive clit to the point of oversensitivity, that you have to pull him up.

His chin and cheeks are damp, bangs pressed to his forehead. Find yourself laughing at his tousled hair—no thanks to your fingers. There’s a cheshire grin stretched across his face as he runs the back of his hand over his mouth. Crawling up your body to hover over you and kiss you, a whimper coming from your throat as you taste yourself on his tongue.

“Wow.” You breathe, smile over at him as he rolls back to his side beside you. A palm resting over where your heart is still beating a mile a minute.

“I’ll take it.” Your laughs are in unison as a look of triumph flashes in those big eyes.

“If only you were that much of an eager learner in school, might have graduated, joined me on the road to success.” You pick.

“Not even seconds after I make her come and she’s already wounding me.” His chuckle muffled by the press of another kiss to your lips. “Better than lover boy?” Eddie teases.

“Can’t compare something that never happened.”

He makes a disgusted noise from the back of his throat, “no wonder you left him for the steerage.”

You hum nodding, turning your head to the side to press a kiss to his throat. Would it be too sentimental of you to tell him that he’s better than anyone you’ve been with? That no one has ever made you come that hard, not even yourself. That you can feel your wetness rolling down your ass cheeks and inner thighs from how wet he made you.

It could be a mood killer, sentiment isn't even your thing.

Plus it’s his turn now. Fair’s fair right?

There’s no complaint from Eddie as you move on top of him, roll your hips against his hardness, the seam of his jeans making you shudder from still feeling over-sensitive, as you move down the length of his body to rid him of his jeans and take him into your mouth.

“Here.” There’s a cassette tape gripped in his hand, the back of his head resting on the headrest of the driver's seat. You’re parked in the same spot he picked you up earlier, a block from your house. “Since you liked it so much,” he smiles.

Sentiment. Fuck.

Your smile is too cheesy and girlish for you to wrap any logistics into your head about it just being a tape, as you take it from and see his band name in black marker at the top. Your stomach fluttering. A simple gift that's not a big deal. You have to remind yourself as you try not to lean over and kiss him on that beautiful mouth of his.

“Here,” you say as you pull off your underwear and drop them into his lap. “A gift for a gift.”

You don’t let yourself stick around to see the heart-palpating look in his eyes as he grips the fabric in his hand and laughs, shouting “gold doubloons could never compare!” out of the open window. Making you press a finger to your lips, shooting daggers at him through the windshield as you pick up the pace towards your house. Trying to quiet your giggles and wipe the big girlish grin on your face.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #heavy metal love !

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sleepinthrumyalarms · 1 year

Text

— good little girl

pairing: wednesday addams x fem!oni!reader

request: anonymous

warnings: angsty with fluffy ending

summary: a small (lovers') quarrel between you and wednesday leaves you sour for the whole day, but you just can't stay away from her for too long

word count: 2.2k

A grunt came from Enid’s left where the blonde was sitting at her usual place in the back of the herbology class, and the werewolf turned to look at her desk neighbor, expecting to see Yoko with her usual morning person frown. There was a frown, but instead of her vampire friend it grazed the face of (Y/n). Her demon friend.

Her brows were furrowed, and, without sparing a single glance at the blonde, she took her books out, throwing her bag down at her feet before folding her hands on her chest with a huff. Enid could swear a small puff of smoke escaped the fuming oni’s nose.

“Good... morning?” The blonde girl tested with a nervous smile, leaning back in her seat to take a look around the class. Her gaze landed on the back of the head of a small ravenette sitting next to Xavier, her posture perfectly straight as she wrote something down in her textbook, completely ignoring the artist’s poor attempts at striking a conversation with her.

(Y/n) never sat with anyone but Wednesday. Ever.

“Mhm,” the demon hummed in reply, putting her elbow on the desk to support her chin by her clawed palm, “Better for some than others.”

“Did... something happen between you two?”

“We had a fight,” (Y/n) mumbled grumpily, her top lip rising over her tusks as she spoke with distaste and resentment, obviously angry.

“A fight? With Wednesday? How are you still alive and in one piece then, huh?” Enid joked, quickly ducking her head into her shoulders at the piercing glare the oni girl sent her way, “Okay, yeah, too soon,” she gulped, watching (Y/n) roll her eyes and turn her head away to stare at the board, then scooched closer to bump her shoulder against the other girl’s, “C’mon. No wrath – wallowing, remember? Talk to me. What was it about?”

There was grumpy reluctance on the (h/c) – haired demon’s face, but she knew better than to resist Enid’s best intentions, “She missed our movie night yesterday. Was out in the forest, as I later found out. Alone,” she growled under her breath, “I was worried. But she told me there was no need to be because she could ‘fend for herself’, and that I was being too overprotective. I keep telling her she doesn’t have to do shit alone, but her stubbornness has me losing sleep.”

Enid nodded, watching as (Y/n)’s downcast gaze shifted from irritation to dejection, “We should’ve talked it out, but I got very angry. I know I shouldn’t have, but I can’t control it,” she turned to Enid, voice suddenly quiet, “Am I too obsessive? Too violent?”

“No, dummy, you aren’t. You’ve got your own screws lose, as we all do, and you’re working on them,” the werewolf assured softly, looping her arm over (Y/n)’s free elbow to comfort the sad demon, “It’s okay to fight. It’s healthy. And, well, you know Wednesday – most social constructs are lost on her. It’ll be fine. You just need to cool off.”

The oni girl sighed, picking a pencil to twirl it with her clawed hand absent – mindedly, not in the mood to keep the conversation up anymore.

Enid was hoping the situation would get better a few classes in. But it didn’t.

The blonde sighed as she watched Wednesday take a sit next to her at lunch, silently placing her tray on the table. Taking a single glance over the small ravenette’s shoulder, Enid groaned – the oni demon was sitting a few tables away, head hung as she sulked over her meal, angrily picking at it with her fork.

“God, you two are still not over this?” The werewolf girl spoke through the chunk of steak she was chomping on, exasperated, turning to watch Wednesday cut her stuffed sweet potato and put a piece in her mouth, not saying a word, “Wednesday.”

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.” The girl deadpanned, her attention still fully focused on her food.

“I can’t believe it. You are, like, constantly inseparable! How can you let such a petty argument get in the way?” Enid exclaimed, swallowing the meat, “Wednesday. You love (Y/n). You can’t just keep ignoring her, it’s extremely childish.”

Wednesday’s back straightened at the accusation, “It’s what she herself chose to do, too.”

“(Y/n)’s a hot – headed dumbass. I bet she’s afraid she’d lash out at you again, too. You really need to talk. You balance each other out perfectly, there’s no way you won’t figure things out.”

Wednesday didn’t answer, making Enid’s shoulders sag, and the blonde turned back to her plate.

“Have you ever been smacked upside the head to unconsciousness, (Y/n)?” Enid asked, a fake tight – lipped smile on her face.

Narrowing her eyes, the demon looked the suspiciously cheery werewolf over, “...No?” She answered, uncertain of where such a question was coming from.

“Would you like me to be the first?”

(Y/n) shuddered, raising her palms in surrender, a water bottle in one of her hands, “Not really.”

“Then why the hell are the two of you still apart?” The blonde girl exclaimed, pointing at Wednesday who was sitting at the bench on the other side of the football field, gaze empty as she watched the rest of her fellow classmates run laps around the perimeter.

The oni’s eyes followed Enid’s hand, then she scoffed, unscrewing the cap and taking a few big, unnecessarily aggressive gulps of the liquid, some droplets trickling down her throat and wetting her jersey shirt, before tossing the bottle to the werewolf, “Because Addams never does anything wrong.”

“Stop being so salty,” Enid rolled her eyes, taking a sip and screwing the cap back on, “You know how Wednesday is. Better than anyone else, actually. And don’t think I can’t see you moping, I know you miss her.”

(Y/n) sighed, her gaze landing back on the small ravenette. She watched as the girl read, a pale hand turning the pages of the book in her lap, and a nauseating feeling of longing washed over the demon.

She did miss Wednesday. She missed her engrossed murderous rants, her critiquing comments and the small gentle displays of affection that were so seldom but oh so welcome: entwining her pinky with the oni’s, sitting closer to each other in class so their shoulders would subtly touch, dozing off with (Y/n)’s head on Wednesday’s lap during breaks.

But did Wednesday miss her? She couldn't really tell - there was the usual small frown on her dark lips, and (Y/n) could see her brows knit under her fringe, but nothing out of ordinary grazed the face of the black - haired girl.

The more (Y/n) stared at Wednesday, the more she realised how badly she wanted to be close to her.

The ravenette looked up suddenly, her grey eyes meeting the demon’s, and (Y/n) turned her head away.

“Think I’m gonna do some more extra laps.” The demon murmured lowly, raising her hands to tighten her ponytail before standing up from the bench, starting off and away from her annoyed werewolf friend.

But she knew she couldn’t run from the heaviness in her chest anymore.

It was late in the evening as (Y/n) walked up the stairs of Ophelia Hall, her steps echoing around the building – most of the Nevermore students were already resting in their rooms, providing silence and tranquility to the usually busy school. But the demon felt far from calm, anxiety pooling inside her heart like water in a boiling whistling kettle.

It wasn’t about resentment, anger or her precious fragile pride anymore – she needed to make up with Wednesday. Neither did she care who was in the right, or what the argument was even about. She missed the girl terribly.

She could only hope she won't be turned away.

Coming up to stand in front of the door, the demon took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for the confrontation she was so desperately trying to avoid the whole day. Finally gathering up all her courage, she raised her fist – delivering three loud knocks to the wooden surface, the girl listened. But no sound came from the other side. Feeling bold, (Y/n) turned the handle, surprisingly finding the door open, and let herself in.

The lights in the room were dimly lit, the only lamp working being on Wednesday’s side, as the other resident of the dorm was absent. It smelt very pleasantly inside – an incense stick was burning on the ravenette’s desk, perched on a skull – shaped glass stand, letting the fragrance of sandalwood float around in thin trails of smoke.

The gloomy girl herself stood in front of her closet, sorting and putting clean clothes and laundry in neat piles. She was wearing a black oversized hoodie, big over her shoulders and covering the middle of her thighs, and her feet were clad in matching fuzzy socks. (Y/n) could feel her heart melt – the small ravenette looked so warm and cozy, the demon wanted nothing more than to embrace her tightly and never let go.

But it could wait. She needed to make things right first.

Wednesday didn’t turn at the sound of the creaking door, nor did she turn to acknowledge whoever came inside, fully dedicated to her aim of ignoring the (h/c) – haired oni. She knew it was her coming, of course – she learned the way her footsteps sounded in the halls, their heaviness, the pattern of her knocking. (Y/n)’s presence was unlike any other, too.

“Hey. The door was unlocked.”

Unsurprisingly, Wednesday didn’t reply, and (Y/n) sighed, but chose to keep talking.

“Look, about yesterday... I’m sorry. The way I acted was... not what you deserve. No matter the reason. I’m sorry I got angry. It’s something I’m working on.”

No reply came. The ravenette continued rummaging around her closet, completely ignoring the other girl.

The demon huffed, walking up to Wednesday whose back was still turned to her, and in a slow, slightly unsure movement, she snaked her arms around her waist. Wednesday gave a barely noticeable start, but ultimately didn’t resist, and the oni took it as a green light, locking her hands around the ravenette’s hoodie – clad middle and giving a gentle loving squeeze.

A small grin made its way onto the demon’s toothy mouth. Lightly clearing her throat, she leaned into Wednesday’s shoulder, bending over to settle her chin on top of it snuggly.

“Good little girl,” she started to sing in a voice barely above a whisper, her breath tickling Wednesday’s neck, “Always picking a fight with me. You know that I’m bad,” (Y/n) couldn’t stop a soft chuckle in-between the lyrics, “But you’re spending the night with me...”

Wednesday turned around in the oni’s hold, gently, without breaking it, her eyes trailing up to (Y/n)’s slitted ones as the demon girl’s voice gently drifted through the otherwise silent room.

“What do you want from my world? You’re a good little girl...”

Wednesday’s gaze was unreadable – she watched the other girl’s face silently, prompting her to continue.

“Don't you know I'm a villain? Every night I'm out killing, sending everyone running like children,” (Y/n) murmured with a tusked grin, making Wednesday roll her eyes, “I know why you're mad at me. I've got demon eyes, and they're looking right through your anatomy,” adoration glinted in the (e/c) cat – like irises, “Into your deepest fears, baby.”

The smaller girl moved her hands up (Y/n)'s shoulders, and the demon rested her own on Wednesday’s waist, pulling her closer.

“I'm not from here. I'm from the Nightosphere. To me, you're clear,” she leaned closer to Wednesday, pressing her forehead against the other girl’s as she murmured in a mockingly conspiratorial tone, “transparent. You got a thing for me, girl, it's apparent.”

The ravenette huffed a soft laugh through her nose, a small smile finally appearing on her face, the girl unable to resist the demon’s charm.

“You’re so corny.” She scolded half – heartedly.

The grin on (Y/n)’s face turned cocky, “You know you love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

The two young women swayed for a while, enjoying each other’s presence, finally content.

“I have to apologize, too. For... disregarding your concern for me and taking it for granted. I’m sorry.” Wednesday said, pulling away to look at her demon lover.

“I forgive you. I know I can’t expect you to suddenly get used to certain changes I brought into your life. That’s what I’m here for. To guide you. There are some things the great Wednesday Addams doesn’t understand completely yet, as super intelligent as she is.” The oni girl noted jokingly, making Wednesday purse her lips in a half – hearted frown.

“I can’t tell if this is bullying or you trying to make a compliment,” she said, her palms reaching up to (Y/n)’s face, thumbs tracing her cheekbones gently – she was surprised at how much she had missed the demon’s features, “Also, good little girl? Is that really how you see me?”

“No, ma’am, not at all,” (Y/n) shook her head with a quiet giggle, mischievousness shining in her slitted eyes, “Little, maybe, but– “

“Stop talking.”

#wednesday addams #wednesday addams x reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday netflix

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