#feeling quite Insane this christmas | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toji-bunny-girl · 5 months

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𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐓✩’𝐒 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓

CHARACTERS— Santa!Gojo Satoru x pretty sexy gorgeous fem!reader SUMMARY— Supposedly another Christmas night being lonely and horny, you’re suddenly woken up by Santa coming to claim you your Christmas gift. WORD COUNT— 3k+ CONTENT WARNING— slight angst, swearing, smut, porn with plot, virginity lost, fingering, clit sucking, oral sex, no protection A/N— Merry Christmas, my fellow bitchless angels 😔 Ya’ll better not let this shit flop or else I’m going insane. btw guys God literally told me face-to-face that my dog is cuter than your pet 😨 it’s true tho

“So,” your co-worker, Mina started as she haled the roll-up gate down, flipping her long extensions behind her shoulder before grabbing the lock from your extended hand, “got any plans this Christmas?”

“I don’t know…I’ll probably go out with my friends to the new cat cafe. You?” you watched as her fingers worked deftly to lock the gate before trying to pull it open in an attempt to make sure she got it locked.

“Kai wants to visit Ginzan Onsen, said it’ll be the best place to ‘make love’ or something. I mean, long story short he thinks it’s a cute place to fuck,” Mina apprised, always a little bit too forward with her wordings—her bold personality and style amolous from yours.

Albeit she’s amiable and kind, you still couldn’t quite get used to her blatant forwardness despite working with her for the past 5 months. And Mina loved teasing you about how sensitive you are; already blushing from the mere word ‘fuck’.

“Look at how cute you are, (Y/N). Your face is starting to get red!” she giggled, pointing as you hit her arm, feeling your cheeks warming against the cold winter air. “You know, they say the shy-est are usually the kinkiest…”

“Just leave me alone, Mina!” you embarrassingly whined, slapping a palm over her glossed lips before pushing her away. She lets out a few satisfied laughs before raising her hands up in capitulation, already knowing when to stop before you get irritated at her.

“Alright, I’m sorry, ‘kay baby?” she cooed, plump lower lips jutting out into a pout as she wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You keep teasing me,” you frowned and pushed her stubborn hands off of you before you began walking towards the train station.

“Cuz’ you’re so cute. You’re always acting like such a virgin,” her arm hung over your shoulders and your body sunk forward at the sudden weight.

“Now, is there a problem with that…” you spoke lowly, flickering your sight towards her, wary of her reaction.

“You cannot be shitting me?!” Mina widened her eyes, two elder couples turning their attention on her egregious tone, “I mean like, look at you! You’re so pretty and such a good girl. Who wouldn’t want you?! I want you!”

“I don’t know…I just haven’t met the one.”

“There’s tons of guys who want you, (Y/N)! You gotta be a little bold, get out of your shell if you wanna meet ‘your one’.”

“Man…I just wish someone perfect for me who isn’t a creep would come to me,” you sighed, your hand holding onto Mina’s dangling one over your neck. Nearing the station, you could see Kai, her boyfriend already waiting by the entrance for her—probably heading to dinner together later on.

“You’ll find one for sure,” she glanced at you, a bright reassuring smile on her face, and you returned her one before feeling the weight on your shoulders lifted when she pulled her arm away, then waved at Kai.

“So, how was work today?” the male strode over, his two hands reaching out to hold Mina’s from the pockets of his coat before turning to greet you.

“It’s fine, lots of couples today,” she replied, following as you passed the ticket gate and rode the escalator up to the platform. “And as usual, we got a few single lads asking for our pretty girl’s Line today.”

“Yeah, and you forgot to add that they’re either delinquents or high school boys,” the two couples chortled as you sighed, tired of how you’re always attracting guys who are definitely not your type.

“We’re gonna have to get security for our candy shop because of our (Y/N), huh?” Mina joked, nudging Kai’s side with her shoulder as you rolled your eyes.

Within seconds, the bells signaling the coming arrival of the train started, the train announcer apprising the next destination as Shinjuku-sanchōme—20 minutes until you reach your home station.

“Sorry, (Y/N). Kai and I are gonna ride another train to Shinbashi so we can’t go in with you,” the train had arrived and the doors slid open as workmen and women surged in like sea waves.

“No, no! It’s fine. Happy holidays, guys,” you smiled as you began to follow the crowd into the half-packed train.

“Merry Christmas, (Y/N)!” the two bid, Mina waving all the while.

“Enjoy your trip to Ginzan, you two!” you giggled, slightly waving back before jumping onto the train just as its doors began to slide close. The smell of heater and sweat filled your nose and as you swiftly scanned your sight around, you saw most smiling at their phones, probably texting their loved ones, and a few couples giggling in their seats.

Another lonely Christmas, you thought.

Your stomach was growling as you prowled the streets for the nearest convenience store. The sky was already blanketed with darkness and you thought visiting any restaurant would only mount your forlornness, so you figured a quick meal from the store would do for your hunger.

The luminously salient sign of your local convenience store caught your eyes from a distance away, and you hurriedly scorched towards the store. Entering, the cashier greeted you when the automated door slid open with a ding to announce your presence, and you nodded your head with a smile before trodding your way to the back where packed bentos were.

Your eyes raked over the bentos, looking for your favourite Katsudon to find it absent from the display. A surge of annoyance rose in you as your brow knitted into a frown, ‘Can’t even have my Katsudon, huh?’. Grabbing the nearest bento instead, you made your way to the cashier while rummaging through your bag for your wallet.

“Do you want your bento heated up, miss?” the male mooted, a serviceable smile on his face. He caught your affirmative hum before setting the food in the microwave, and silence then transpired between the two of you.

The smell of the heating fried rice pervaded through the air in the wake of the anticipated ‘ding’. The cashier took out the bento and wrapped it in a plastic bag before handing you both the plastic and a card, “Thank you for your purchase, and Merry Christmas!”

You thanked the male and claimed your things before heading out of the store with another ‘ding’, throwing the card into the plastic bag and burying your hands deep in the warmth of your pockets.

What seemed to be your wontedly peaceful route back home suddenly became a path of silent lonesomeness. At that moment, you must be colder than anyone else in Japan. While they have the love and heat of a lover to warm them up—you had no one but yourself.

The walk home was longer than usual and you immediately turned on the heater when you entered your apartment, feeling your limbs beginning to numb. Taking out a few beer cans from the fridge, you set them on the small chabudai along with your cooling packed dinner—ready to scarf down your meal.

It took you an empty bento box and two beer cans to notice the Christmas card the cashier gave you on the wooden floor, probably dropped when you took the packaged meal out of the plastic bag. You could feel yourself getting tipsy as the alcohol set in your veins, rushing to your brain and making it all light and woozy.

“Christmas…Wish?” you read the bold, cursive title aloud, eyes absorbing the contents on the card.

Write a wish on this card and Santa shall grant what you seek!

Aren’t these for kids or something? Why would the cashier give you something like this? It’s obviously fake, but for you to think of a wish…you would love to be a millionaire. Or a billionaire. Or have a pet cat. Or…

Heading to your bedroom to get your pen, you trodded back to the chabudai where the card was, taking your time to ruminate on what to write just for the fun of it. Perhaps it was the alcohol thumping in your pulse, absorbing whatever sense you have in your head as it passed your bloodstream—you found yourself injudiciously scribbling something you normally wouldn’t.

Lose my virginity.

Fire popped beneath the skin of your cheeks as you stared at the piece of card with your writing on it. “I must have gotten insane…” you sighed, rubbing your eyebrows.

Maybe a wash would clear your head, you thought. The beer was making you drowsy and you’d better have an early night. You don’t take long with your shower and you were quick to set your things aside and take out the trash.

It was only 10 but you’ve already settled yourself in your bed, sleepiness blanketing over your head. Your eyelids began to shut, sending you to an abyss of peace and dream.

Then, there was shuffling. And mumbles.

Your consciousness drew back to reality and through your dazed state—you tried to make sense of the noises. Until you began to sober up, there was no one but you in your apartment. No pets nor roommates to be making up all these sounds.

“Who’s there?” you panicked, straining your eyes through the dark, to find a tall silhouette in your room. A sense of aghast rumbled through your being and a shriek ripped itself out of your throat.

You fumbled for something from your bedside table to act as a weapon, and the most threatening object there was was your lamp. At least you could smash it against the intruder and bolt out of your apartment for help.

And as you tried to rip the lamp’s cord out of the socket, its light turned on—revealing the stranger to be…Santa?

“(Y/N), is it?” the male chuckled, rubbing his nape.

“Who are you?!” you screamed, pointing the lamp at him. “Get out of my house, please!”

“Just relax, man. I’m Santa, here to grant you your Christmas wish!”

“Look, I’m just a broke college student! I-I don’t have anything with me. Just leave and I won’t call the cops,” you tried to reason, already starting to break down into hiccups and tears

“Well, I'm sorry. It’s my policy to not leave a house unless I’ve successfully fulfilled one’s desires. So, I won’t be leaving anytime soon!”

“W-What…?” you were beyond dumbfounded, trying to make sense of the random lunatic standing in your room.

“This,” he pointed at the card from the convenience store. “Here, your wish says…to lose your virginity,” the male cladded in his Santa suit bemusedly read aloud.

“No…! I wrote that as a joke!”

“Well, I don’t take Christmas wishes as a joke,” he lifted an eyebrow, resting his hands on his hips.

“Just cut it out, Santa isn’t real,” you retorted, tightening your grip on the handle of the lamp.

“But I am real,” his voice suddenly became closer, and more lucid, his frame had disappeared from your sight—as if he was suddenly gone and had dissipated into space. Whipping your head behind, you found him just there and a scream cracked out of your lungs as you tumbled out of your bed.

“H-How…Wha—“

“I can teleport, y’know?” he smiled, reaching out a hand to pull you up from the floor. “And I can make anything out of thin air,” his other hand rose to have a random Dior bag in his grasp as you stared, shocked and finding it hard to register the scene in front of you.

“So, you’re really…Santa Claus?”

“Yes, and my real name’s Gojo Satoru—at your service,” he slurred, and you found his voice smooth like freshly woven silk. You were silent and still, eyes widening at the white-haired male in front of you. “Speaking of your Christmas wish…”

Your face burst into florid red as you awkwardly laughed, “Could you please just forget about that?”

“Now, if you’ve read carefully; no changing or refusing of wishes once you’ve written ‘em down,” he pointed at the small text at the bottom of the card, “You must’ve missed it just now.”

Thinking over the situation, something in you cracked as you realised—you were going to lose your virginity to Santa Claus. Your eyelids twitched as you nervously chuckled. This gotta be a heck of a joke.

“Hey, don’t underestimate me!” Gojo had caught your expression, and as if he was reading your thoughts, his eyebrows knitted into a frown.

“T-Then what are we supposed to do now?” you asked, switching your gaze away and feeling hot embarrassment tickling your skin.

“No need to worry,” Gojo gave a reassuring smirk, “just trust me.”

Alright, trust.

You felt the bed shift with his weight, and he was hovering over you—face mere inches away. His eyes seemed to sparkle like those of a diamond; blue stars orbiting in his orbs, and you note the plump shape of his lips, so visually kissable.

For the second time, as if he had caught your thoughts, he let his lips mould into yours. He felt soft and plump like peach, and he smelled like a merge of snow and warmth.

Your lips danced in the dark, and your body leaned forward towards him as he fell back, something about the kiss was unbreakable. It felt so soft, it felt so good.

You let his hands wander around your curves from underneath your pyjamas, meet the shape of your hips and dips of your waist, then the roundness of your breasts. You let him study your body with the cold tips of his fingers and slip your clothes off when he wanted to.

A soft moan slipped out of your tongue when the cold December air hit your nipples, and Gojo took no time to let his tongue play with your buds. His hands continued to roam around your body, pressing a finger against the wet spot through your pants.

“You fine with this?” he pointed at the way his fingers slid over your clothed core. You wordlessly nodded, drifting your sight away before you felt yourself benignly pushed onto your back, your pants slowly slipping off of your legs along with your panties.

You were bare, in front of a man you’ve met tonight. But at the same time, you felt oddly safe with him. This was only a wish come true and nothing more, you affirmed.

His long fingers began to reach deep inside, and your nerves tingled at where they caressed your walls. His pace switched after a few pumps and his fingers were dextrously pistoning in and out of your cunt. You could hear your erotic slick coating his digits as it follows his rhythm, and your cheeks burn hot in shyness.

His face lowered to your pussy, and his tongue began playing with your clit. A sharp mewl escaped from your lips as his cheeks hallowed from sucking on your nub and his fingers paced up over the gummy spot deep inside.

Pleasure began amassing in your nerves and you could feel yourself brimming over the edge of lucidity. Gojo didn’t stop and instead, fastened his digits in and out of you, the sound of sex was loud through your state of delirium and he was coaxing all the pleasure there was in you.

Then, you spilled. Your thighs tightened around his head, fingers gripping onto his white locks as you’re sent to a world of blank bliss. Gojo peeks up at you as you pause with your lips parted, edges of eyebrows sewn to the stars, and half a wail stayed choked in your throat.

“You alright?” he chuckled, raising his upper body to your blushed face. You didn't say a word and drove your tongue into his mouth, arms locking him closer to you. The shared heat between your two bodies warmed the air around you, and you thought maybe that’s what it feels like to have a lover.

“Yeah,” you breathed, still ever so shy yet for once, a daring timbre crawled through your tone. “I think I’m ready…”

“If princess wants it,” his lips crack into a smile against yours, pants pulled down and hand pumping his length, fat tip lined against your entrance. Peeking down, regret almost settled into your being when you saw his size. Would it fit?

Then, he saw you and reassured you that he would go slow. No need to worry and to trust. So, you did. Bashfully spreading your thighs open for him.

Your muscles squeezed when he first entered, and he let out a long groan with a pause to his hips. It took a few seconds until he began to move, this time with a thumb rolling your clit to loosen your grip. Every inch of his cock stretched into your cunt made you go almost insane—the pain that first came was soon replaced with a delicate buzz of pleasure.

His hips were slow to thrust at first, gentle and soft until your walls had adjusted to his girth. Your little moans began to fill the chilly air when he slowly started to quicken up, and the bed began to squeak along with his rhythm.

“You look so pretty, y’know?” like silk, slinking through the hot air and into your ears. Every time his curved tip kisses your G-spot, you feel blank—blank of pleasure and stimulation. He could see it in your face, always able to read your features so well.

“Mmhp—” you let out a moan when he pulled your hips closer to him, fucking deep into your squelching cunt. Your back arched from the way his cock rubbed against your walls, hands over your mouth to muffle your whines.

“I wanna hear your pretty moans, (Y/N),” Gojo teased, softly leading your hands into his before fucking himself harder, deeper inside of you.

“Nngh! Feels s-so good—haa!” your hips began to move with his, legs hugging him closer to you and the world seemed to be on vertigo. Pleasure pervaded through every single cell in your body and your blood was pumping loud in your ears. “Please, I wanna cum!”

“Whatever princess says,” you could hear the smirk in his quivering tone, and with a few deep thrusts, the coil inside of your womb snapped—and your essence wet his thighs; your shaky moans high-pitched and sharp. “Yeah, pretty girl. Just like that.”

Static shot through your nerves, and your clit throbs against the hot air. Gojo let a thumb circle your nub, rubbing it through your climax as your nails sink into the skin of his arm. You could feel the warm mix of cum slipping out of your lips, running down your skin and into the bedsheet.

Once again, you felt the bed shift, and the warmth that held you lifted away. Through your hazy sight, you saw his figure rising, “Merry Christmas, pretty.”

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ellemj · 5 months

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That Wasn't Quiet: 12 Days of Smut #5

Bucky Barnes x Reader One-Shot

Fully inspired by this tiktok from @the.stark.internship: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8u74sXe/

Summary: You've been on the run for two months and now that the team has found you, they don't trust you to be alone. Of course, Bucky is one of the ones assigned to keep an eye on you through the night, even though you two have a bit of a history.

Warnings: profanity, teasing, oral sex (female receiving), slight exhibitionism (someone overhears), fingering, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires any other warnings.

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: This one isn't Christmas-themed because truthfully, I forgot about that. It takes place sometime after Captain America: Civil War but before TFATWS, not that that matters much for a one-shot. Also can everyone go look at @littlemiss-yeehaw's fckin INSANE SKETCH OF A HAIR-PULLING BUCKY BARNES BECAUSE I'M STILL NOT OVER IT THANKS.

“How’re we doing, boys?” Nat asks the question immediately upon entering the surveillance room of the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre in Berlin. She’s the last to arrive. She glances around the room, letting her eyes scan over the expressions of Steve, Sam, and Bucky. They all look quite done with the situation at hand.

“She’s not talking.” Steve answers. He’s standing with his back against the far wall, with his arms crossed over his chest and a slightly defeated look on his face. Bucky, however, looks more determined than defeated.

“She’s about to.” Bucky’s tone is so calm and certain that it draws all eyes to him as he pushes himself off of the table he was sitting on. Nat looks at him, her interest clearly piqued, before glancing back over at Steve, wondering if she should be concerned. Steve gives Bucky a hard stare, while Sam turns his head to watch as the man with the metal arm and perpetual bad attitude heads straight for the door. No one makes a move to stop him. Instead, as the door shuts behind Bucky, everyone turns their attention to the surveillance screen that shows you. You’re locked in a secure glass chamber, with your arms and legs immobilized by metal restraints, and even your shoulders are held in place by something similar. The only movements that you’re free to make are within the normal range of motion of your head. Everyone watches as Bucky steps into the secure holding area and stops a few feet away from the glass that separates you and him.

“Bucky Barnes.” You say his name with amusement. You find it amusing that he’s the team’s last resort. First, Steve tried to get through to you. Steve is just too nice, he was never going to get anything out of you. Then, Sam tried to rationalize his way into your mind. Of course, that was about as effective as Steve’s good cop approach. Next, they sent in Agent Everett Ross. You have to admit, Ross was good. If you were going to tell any of them anything, it probably would’ve been him. He has that whole I’m-on-your-side-and-I-can-help-you thing down pat. But you were waiting to see if Bucky would take a shot at you. You wanted to see him. Now he stands before you, wearing one of his signature Henley tees and hiding that irresistible silver arm from you. “You just couldn’t stay away, could you?” You tease.

“I could, but where’s the fun in that?” He plays along, but he’s actively denying himself the pleasure of looking at you. He’s keeping his eyes down on his hands, where he’s using a small cloth to clean the crevices of his metal knuckles. You imagine he probably scuffed it up a bit during the scuffle earlier today. It took the entire GSG 9 team along with Steve, Bucky, and Sam to capture you and bring you here. You never were one to go down without a fight.

“Why don’t you go ahead and ask your questions? Get them out of the way so we can get to the good part of all of this.” Your eyes are tracking every move he makes with his hands. You’re mesmerized but trying your best to focus on your goal.

“And what’s the good part of all of this, sweetheart?” Fuck. He hasn’t called you a name like that since… Images of the last time you were together start flooding through your mind. Your memory is a blur of his hands on your hips, his lips against your ear as you sink down on his cock, and that stupid name rolling off of his tongue: sweetheart. As you’re lost in thought, Bucky’s taking the chance to look at you. You look just like you did the last time he saw you, barely two months ago. The only thing that’s different about your appearance now is the bruise over your left eye and the cut over your cheekbone. He finds himself wanting to severely injure whichever GSG 9 agent it was that laid hands on you hard enough to cause even those minor wounds, but he can’t think about that right now. He needs answers.

“The good part will be the moment you realize you still need me, in about three minutes, give or take a few.” You say smugly, tilting your head to one side since it’s really the only move you can currently make. Bucky tsks, tucking the small cloth in the back pocket of his dark jeans before looking you dead in the eyes.

“Why are you in Berlin?” He asks plainly. Wow, right to business then. You expected him to at least question what you meant when you said that he still needed you.

“I needed to speak with an inmate at the Berlin Correctional Facility.” You answer honestly. He’s already gotten more info out of you than anyone else has today, but that’s all part of your plan.

“Zemo.” Bucky says coolly. You nod slowly, awaiting Bucky’s next question. “What information does Zemo have that you’re interested in?”

“He knows someone that has the ability to reverse the effects of the super soldier serum.”

Your words send a blanket of silence throughout the surveillance room, as well as sending a new wave of realization rushing through Bucky’s mind. This is why you disappeared two months ago. All of those times you talked about wishing you’d never been injected with the serum, all of those hours that Bucky knew you spent researching and experimenting on your own blood samples looking for a way to reverse the effects, Bucky should’ve known. He should’ve known the day you disappeared from New York that you were simply continuing your efforts to get yourself back to normal. But, he never put two and two together. Instead, he believed it when he was told that you’d been compromised, that you’d gone dark and that the serum had likely brought the worst parts of you into the limelight. All of this time, everyone assumed you’d been working against SHIELD and the Avengers as a rogue agent. They were all dead wrong.

“This is the part where you realize you need me.” You say with a smirk. “You need me because I’m the only one that’s ever wanted to reverse the effects of this serum, I’m the only one with the research and the leads that I have now. There are other super soldiers out there besides the three of us in here, and a lot of them do way more harm than good. If I can get to this guy that Zemo knows, we’ll have a chance at righting a few wrongs.”

“Why should we trust you now? You’ve been gone for two months and you’ve left a trail of dead bodies and destruction everywhere that you’ve been.” Bucky’s eyes are narrowed at you now, analyzing every face you make and every word that leaves your lips.

“I said you needed me. I didn’t say you had to trust me.”

---

It’s a long three hours later when you’re finally set free from the uncomfortable glass chamber. Agent Ross insisted they keep you in magnetic handcuffs, though you think it’s more for his peace of mind than anything, because with a little effort and determination you think you could pretty easily get out of them. You sit in the backseat of a car with Steve on your left and Bucky on your right, his cold metal arm pressing against your side due to the lack of space the two giant men leave you. Agent Ross is driving while Nat sits in the passenger seat. Sam chose to fly ahead and scope out the safehouse you’re being taken to for the night. Since you’re still not trusted, they’ll be leaving you, Steve, and Bucky there overnight. They figured you wouldn’t be able to fight two super soldiers on your own, and even if you did manage to take them both down, there wouldn’t be anyone else around for you to possibly severely injure or leave dead on your way out.

You fight the urge to be an annoying little shit for the duration of the car ride, and instead remain silent. You can be an annoying little shit once you’re locked in the safehouse for the night. The plan is to head over to the Berlin Correctional Facility first thing in the morning to meet with Zemo and find out what he knows. Until then, you’re going to be kept under the watchful eyes of Steve and Bucky. Steve isn’t feeling great about the plan at all. He’s the only one that knows you and Bucky have a bit of a past. He doesn’t even know what exactly that past is, but he’s always been able to sense the tension between you two. He sees the way Bucky looks at you like he’s both angry that you’d leave and angry that you didn’t invite him to run away with you. It almost makes him wonder if having Bucky here with you tonight is going to be more trouble than it’s worth. Maybe they should’ve had Nat stay instead.

---

The safehouse is small as shit. There are exactly two bedrooms, not a single window in the whole place, and even the couch in the living room is only a two-seater. You’ve decided Berlin sucks. You had to fight Steve and Bucky just to be allowed to have a shower, with the two men only giving in if you agreed to leave the door open while they sat out of sight in the living room.

As you’re in the shower, rinsing the soapy suds off of your skin, Bucky’s sitting next to Steve on the couch, actively trying not to think about how naked you are just down the hallway. He can’t seem to shake a specific memory that’s playing behind his eyelids every time he blinks. He had your front pressed up against one of the gym shower walls, fucking into you so slowly and silently that no one ever would’ve realized you were about to cum on his cock for the second time that day. God, you were always so pliant for him, so ready for his touch at any given time. He has to wonder if you’d still be that way after two months without him. Have you thought about him while you’ve been away?

“Maybe you should go check on her.” Steve says to Bucky, tilting his head in the direction of the open bathroom door. You’ve been in there for almost twenty minutes now, when they originally gave you a ten-minute limit. There isn’t any way you could possibly escape through the bathroom walls, but they still don’t trust you to be alone and out of their sight for that long.

“Why me?” Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

“You know why.” Steve chuckles, hinting to Bucky that he knows there’s been something between you and him. Bucky shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he stands up and treks down the short hallway. You can hear his footsteps before he ever has a chance to say anything, and you quickly cut the running water off.

“You’re really taking your time in here.” Bucky points out, stopping right outside of the bathroom door. He can see the reflection of the shower curtain in the bathroom mirror from where he’s standing. He only has a second to notice the way your towel is folded up on the bathroom sink, a good two steps away from the shower, before you pull the curtain open confidently. His eyes freeze on your naked reflection in the fogged up mirror and all of the blood in his veins reroutes straight to his cock. “What the hell are you doing?” He asks harshly, quickly stepping into the bathroom and throwing the door shut behind him. He sure as hell isn’t going to let Steve see you like this.

“You said I had to leave the door open, I was just following orders. I can’t reach my towel from here.” You say innocently, pushing out your bottom lip in a fake pout. Bucky isn’t even facing you, he’s standing facing the bathroom sink and mirror, with his eyes shut tightly.

“You’re so damn manipulative.” Bucky spits the words out through clenched teeth before grasping the towel in his right hand and tossing it over his shoulder to you. You towel yourself dry quickly before wrapping it around your figure and stepping out of the shower. The bathroom is so small that you have no choice other than to brush against Bucky’s back as you pull the curtain closed. He tenses up as soon as he feels how close you are to him.

“Tell me something, Bucky.” You whisper. You let your fingers trail down his back lightly, surprised that he hasn’t turned around and shoved you away yet. “You’ve missed me, haven’t you?”

“Get dressed.” He says flatly, opening his eyes for a moment to verify that your clothes are still sitting on the other side of the bathroom sink.

“No.” Your answer is defiant. You let your hand fall away from his back but you keep your eyes focused on his frame, on the way his shoulders are moving up and down with each heavy breath he takes. He’s trying to keep himself calm and composed. Knowing how easy it was to get him riled up back when the two of you messed around only makes this whole situation laughable. He already wants to fuck, and you’ve barely done anything.

“Why are you making this so hard?” He questions, boldly turning around to face you in your towel-clad state.

“What’s so hard?” The teasing lilt in your tone is driving him insane. He watches as you stand three inches in front of him, letting your eyes travel down his body to land right over his hard-on. His jeans can only do so much to hide it. “Oh, I see.” You laugh lightly, noting his boner. Bucky feels enraged. Enraged that you left two months ago, enraged that you never once tried to reach out to him or ask him for help with your little side mission, and especially enraged that you’re standing here right now teasing him, like you haven’t also been reliving your past sexual trysts with him. You want him as much as he wants you right now, and he can prove it. He will prove it.

In one swift move, Bucky grabs your waist and spins you to the side, pinning your back against the bathroom door before sliding down to his knees in front of you. In another second, he’s tugging on the bottom of your towel, forcing it to unwrap from your figure and fall to the floor around your feet. When he has you fully naked for him, he looks up at you with his lust-blown eyes.

“You’re going to be quiet for me.” There’s no hint of a question in his voice, and you can only nod in response. “Good girl.”

Bucky nudges your knees apart with his hand before hitching your left leg up and over his shoulder. Shit. Is he really going to eat you out right here, with his best friend only a few feet away from the thin wooden door that your back is pressed against right now? You look down as Bucky leans forward and captures your clit in his mouth, licking and sucking on it with enough passion to make your head spin. Your back arches off of the door as your fingers card through his hair, pulling his face impossibly closer to your cunt. Any other time, Bucky probably would’ve pulled back and told you to be patient. But this time, he’s feeling every bit as impatient as you. So, he continues to work on your clit, circling the tip of his tongue around it just like he used to do when he wanted to drive you crazy in bed. His metal hand is gripping your ass while his flesh hand moves to join his mouth between your legs. He teases your entrance with a fingertip for a moment, and just as you’re about to beg for more, he plunges it into you up to the first joint. The moan that sneaks past your lips is a good bit louder than you expected it to be and Bucky pulls back abruptly, giving you a stern look and squeezing your ass with his metal hand.

“What did I say?”

“I’ll be quiet.” You promise, in a hushed tone. Bucky eyes you coldly for a second before nodding and putting his mouth right back where it belongs. He steals a look up at you to find you covering your mouth with one hand while the other hand is firmly rooted in his hair. You’re doing so fucking good for him. As a reward, he adds a second finger inside of you, alternating between thrusting them in as deep as they can go and then curling them against your walls.

What you don’t expect is a third finger. When he adds a third finger inside of you, the stretch is a little too much to bear and you moan out louder than before. You expect him to stop, you expect him to pull back and tell you to shut the fuck up, but no. Even though Steve is now fully aware of what’s going on behind the closed bathroom door, Bucky doesn’t stop. Your moan and the fact that Steve knows you’re getting off right now spurs Bucky on so much so that he starts sucking on your clit like it’ll take him right back to two months ago when everything was perfect. He increases the pace of his fingers fucking in and out of your tight, wet cunt, absolutely loving the sounds your body is making. He’s committing those sounds to memory right there on the bathroom floor. A few seconds later, he feels the way your hips are bucking against his face and the way the walls of your pussy are repeatedly clenching around his fingers and he knows.

“Bucky, I’m gonna cum.” You moan out. You’ve stopped caring that Steve can probably hear every bit of what’s happening right now. All you care about is your looming orgasm that’s being held hostage by the man between your legs. Bucky continues doing exactly what he’s doing, working your cunt just right until you finally tip over the edge, falling into perfect bliss over his mouth and fingers. He continues curling his fingers softly inside you and pressing his tongue against your clit as you lightly grind against it. When you finally still above him, he pulls back and sucks the taste of you off of his fingers.

“That wasn’t quiet.” Bucky laughs, looking up at you with a mischievous smile painted across his features.

“No, it wasn’t.” Steve’s slightly unsettled voice echoes from the living room down the hall.

Oops.

TAG LIST:

@charmedbysarge @gyokujyn @mrsjoequinn @thealloveru2 @nixxaswrld @ordelixx @sweettae02 @frombkjar @hellfirebabe @edelweissbarnes @claireelizabeth85 @fandomsfeminismandme @sunnyhummingbee @jenniferpendragon @siciliano13 @crist1216 @twlkdead

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #the winter soldier #bucky barnes x you #mcu #marvel #winter soldier #12 days of smut

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transmascaraa · 5 months

Text

gaming headcannons!

he's liked you for a while now...

crush!gaming x gn!reader

author's note: sorry this took a while lmao i was too lazy to write anything. it might be ooc but oh well i js really like him and he's so skrunkly omgshhfhs and i wanna do a gf furina x reader FANFIC for a christmas special or smthn😍 i'm too insecure abt my writing skills like for fanfics but i hope it comes out good🤷 anyways, enjoy👍

"so you see, i've been dealing with a strange feeling ever since we've met..."

-he would be all over you already at the first eye contact you two made

-he was really energetic when he met you

-oversharing about himself, talking constantly and giving you a compliment every now and then

-you kinda fell for him too, but didn't think much of his actions(you were a little blind)

-he tried flirting a couple of times and it made you blush but again, you were a pessimist.

-but he had high hopes on you loving him just by the look you gave him

-so after a while of knowing eachother, you guys met at the lantern rite, a small place near a little lantern shop

-"hey y/n!" he waved and smiled brightly at you

-"oh, hey gaming!" you replied, walking towards him and smiling in return

-he was head over heels for you, trust me.

-not like you weren't for him.

-the two of you chit-chatted for a little bit, just enough for him to get comfortable in the conversation.

-"hey, also, i see the people getting prepared for launching the lanterns, do you have yours?"

-"yup, let's go!" you exclaimed as you unconsciously grabbed his hand, making him blush a bit

-getting to a place with not too many people there, you finally started lighting up your lanterns, whispering your wishes to them and slowly allowing them to fly high up in the sky, making your wishes come true.

-the sky was covered in lanterns.

-little lights.

-little yellow dots.

-until they couldn't be seen anymore.

-while you were looking at them, he was looking at you.

-your eyes shining in such adoration as you looked at them.

-his shined too, but not for the lanterns.

-for you.

-finally, you looked back at him.

-"wow, that was so beautiful..." you softly said to him.

-he only had a few seconds to think before replying.

-now or never.

-"but not more beautiful than the person standing right in front of me."

-one could say that there was a smile on his face.

-but a Mona Lisa type of smile.

-you blushed and hid your face.

-"w-what?..." you were too shy for this.

-no way he actually said that.

-you were dreaming.

-"i'm being serious... i've..."

-*sigh*

-"i've liked you for quite a long time now..." he shyly said.

-"but it's up to you if you wanna try..."

-he was so insecure.

-he was looking down the whole time, not even realizing that you were ready to look him in the eyes and answer

-"gaming..." you said, voice barely above a whisper.

-"h-huh?" he looked up, his eyes meeting your eyes.

-eye contact.

-he trusts you.

-you trust him.

-"i like you too..." you put your hand on his cheek and gently caressed it with your thumb.

-he was left speechless.

-his face was burning.

-his heart going 1000 miles per hour.

-"y-you do?"

-"yes, gaming, i'd like to try this. only with you." you were looking at him with a hopeful look.

-"thank you, my dear..." and before you could say anything else, he had his forehead pressed against yours.

-so... close.

-"i love you..." he whispered, blushing so hard.

-"i love you too..." and with that, your lips met in a soft, true, kiss.

-your wishes came true.

-now you surely know what to wish for next year...

~~~~~

this won the poll and when i have the motivation i'll do this similar confession but with dahlia. BUT FURINA FOR CHRISTMAS FIRST.

TYSM GUYS FOR SO MANY LIKES ON MY RECENT POSTS I'M GOING INSANE.

ily all sm also this gaming guy is adorable omfg

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frannyzooey · 9 months

Text

Short Days, Long Nights: 13

Joel Miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist

Rating: E (pregnancy sex, lactation, grief)

A/N: Thank you endlessly for being so patient with me while I've been on hiatus ❤ I'm gonna stay off for another couple weeks, but I didn't want to leave you hanging for too long. I appreciate every single person that has stuck with me on this! Thank you to @the-ginger-hedge-witch and @the-scandalorian for helping me with this one - you both are the biggest brains and the most wonderful writers and I am insanely lucky to have you on my team. Enjoy! ❤

Jackson.

The image of the map is burned into Joel’s mind, always present.

More concerned with your safety than anything, he knows you should leave, but as the weeks slip by, what picks at him more is that he didn’t have an answer to your question that day.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He should be one step ahead. He should be on top of the potential outcomes. He should have a plan, since that’s always been his role. Stepped up with one when he had Sarah, took care of Tommy before the Outbreak, and after, led their way in the QZ. After Tommy left, he still did it, even if he was going through the motions more than anything. Doing it has always been second nature, a means to survive.

You’d let his lack of answer drop because he knew you didn’t want to leave, and of course, he knew you shouldn’t. Not right now. But still - still - he should have had a plan for something he knew was bound to happen sometime. Blinded by the light of your fierce optimism and wanting so badly to believe in it, he simply…didn’t think about it. The first time that’s happened in decades.

You’re depending on him, and for the first time in a long time, he didn’t have an answer ready.

“Where are we gonna go?”

He doesn’t fucking know.

Wood dust floats to settle on the floorboards around his boots, and he runs a piece of sandpaper over the beam of rough lumber that rests across his lap. The rhythmic sweeps soothe his nerves, and he tries to focus on how good it feels to do something useful with wood again. Something familiar, the dry grain sliding against his palms. A task done because he wants to, instead of as a means to get by like so much else in his life.

This…this was for him, and for you.

The late afternoon sun streams through the window in the shed, not quite enough to dissipate the chill. Crisp air breezes in through the open door, the sweet smell of damp leaves blending with the wood and the tips of his fingers are cold enough to stop, but he doesn’t. He has to make the most of your nap times if he wants to get this done before next week.

Before Christmas - or the closest approximation to the date anyway, using your rudimentary calendar. Celebrating the holiday had been your idea, and like every other time when it came to something you asked for, he couldn’t say no. He said yes when you asked him to cut you a tree, nodded when you pointed to the one you wanted after a trek through the woods, helped you rip strips of red, moth bitten flannel that was worthless for clothing just to watch you tie bows to the end of the branches, as a means to decorate it.

He was impressed by your constant resourcefulness and ingenuity when it came to the things you’d been given, and at night, when the lantern shone on it and bathed the living room in a cozy glow, it almost did feel like Christmas time. The closest thing to it that he’s felt in years, anyway.

Placing the sandpaper on the floor and picking up a knife, his mind follows the trail marked on the map. Winding through woods and across open swathes of land, it passes right through your area and he knows it’s only a matter of time before someone else follows the first. He knows that man can’t have been the only one with a map.

He frowns, gouging the wood a little more forcibly as he works through a knot, and he pictures the curve of your cheek, the delicate line of your neck, the bright happiness in your eyes here. That Christmas tree, in the front room. Torn between the idea of the unknown being just as unsafe as being a sitting duck at the cabin, he is restless with the need to move. The urge to keep you tucked away and protected from the world spreads beneath his skin and grows stronger every day, along with your stomach.

It’s large enough that it strains against the shirts you’ve borrowed from him, and though you’ve started choosing large sweatshirts instead, it’s begun to push against those too. You’ve begun to sway when you stand in place, an unconscious rock as a means to relieve pressure on your lower back, and he pictures you doing the same with a baby in your arms as you stand next to the cradle that he’s been building.

When he thinks about leaving it behind only to gather dust as he drags you somewhere else, the image eats at him, reminding him too much of another room, left behind to rot.

Another life, upended by abrupt violence.

Guilt has always gnawed at him for so many things, and following the mental image of you holding a baby, he adds to the growing list: the idea of another child replacing the one he had.

He fixates on all the things he couldn’t do for her on that last day but also the things time has robbed from him: the image of her face, the sound of her laugh. The books she liked, the order in which she lost her teeth, the weight of her infant body in his arms. How much of that time he spent without her while trying to provide for her, and how here, he’s got all the time in the world for this new child. His new child.

More feelings; the knife gouging deeper. Looking forward to a holiday that can’t include her, nervously anticipating holding a baby that belongs to him, looking at you and what you’ve built together and being so fucking happy he missed his mark on that bleak day ten years ago.

Is it betrayal to feel joy?

He’s not replacing her. He knows that. He knows, and yet the guilt never stops and so neither do his hands nor his mind, both working on fixing other problems that can be fixed.

Jackson.

A bed for the baby.

–

“I know it would be cold, but I think I’d rather have snow.”

You look out at the sodden garden, the neat, large borders that surround it blending in with the damp landscape. The fence that Joel built the only visual marker of where it’s at, it’s prepped for winter, buried in a dense layer of leaves and compost. You absentmindedly finger the leaf of a plant you brought inside with you, sheets of rain sliding down the window.

“Not me,” he says. “Might look pretty, but it would be a whole lot more dangerous.”

The blurred, muted mash of colors outside all blend together, the world a canvas of dingy brown and bleak gray. Everything soggy and limp, everything saturated with wetness: at this very moment, you’d take danger over another day of this.

Turning away from the depressing sight, you watch him sort through a pile of loose screws and nails on the coffee table. His head bent in his task, his shirt pulls tight across his shoulders as he hunches over and nudges each piece of metal with the tip of his finger, sorting them. Listening to the pleasant clink of them being dropped into glass jars, you go back to watering the plants.

After a process that had you pouring over the gardening book for days, you left what you could in the garden in order to have a good base for the spring, but took the rest inside, to see if you could keep growing anything through the winter.

Mismatched buckets and pots, an amalgamation of anything that would hold enough soil to plant a seed in, it was an experiment for sure. Enough was stored in the pantry to get you through the winter if you stayed lean enough about rations, and Joel had been pushing his portions upon you like there was no tomorrow, constantly assuring you that he had plenty.

“What is this?”

Stopping to stretch his back with a groan, he’s picked up a loose, shapeless scrap of fabric off the couch.

“Wait –” you protest, setting the watering can down.

He frowns at it, turning it in his hands, and when you make a hasty grab for it, he keeps it out of your reach with a chuckle.

“This my present, honey?” His facial expression still puzzled, he tries to work out what it is.

“It’s for the baby,” you explain. Coming to stand next to him, you turn it upright. “See? This is the neckhole, and the arms go here.”

“.......And the legs?”

“I’m not that good at sewing, okay?” you defend yourself with a laugh. “I thought maybe their legs could just hang out in this little…sack area.”

You make a self deprecating face, looking to him for a reaction, and he fingers the bottom of it.

“That ain’t bad. You should see if you can tie up the bottom, you know, for a draft or somethin’.”

“I used all the spare laces on the pants. I tried to make some, but of course I don’t have elastic and I don’t know how big to make them around the waist for a button, so I thought I could just cut two holes and make like, a little belt so that it would grow with the baby and...”

Your words taper off when you realize he’s staring up at you with an amused expression and you let your shoulders drop in defeat. “This kid is gonna look like they’re from the eighteen hundreds, aren’t they.”

“I guess you would know, with the books you’re always readin’,” he says with a grin, and the stack of historical fiction next to your side of the bed comes to mind.

“Oh God,” you moan quietly to yourself.

Standing with a soft grunt, he bends to press a kiss to the crown of your hair.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” he murmurs. “You about ready for bed? I’m gonna go do a final lap.”

Checking the perimeter of the cabin while you bank the wood stove for the night, he eventually joins you in the bedroom, bringing in the smell of cool night air with him. Already in bed, you’re propped against the headboard with your book in hand, and you admire him as he gets ready for bed himself: the edges of his curling locks catching the light in a glowing chestnut, the warmth held in his tanned skin as he peels off his shirt, the soft give of his still trim stomach as he pads over to bed. He climbs in, adjusting the covers around the two of you.

“What about Mae?” you ask absentmindedly, skimming the book in front of you.

He shrugs. “Not bad.”

You make a face at the reception. “What about….Lauren?”

Stretching out on his side to face you, he rests his hand on your bump, smoothing the fabric of your sleep shirt down. A small movement nudges underneath his palm, and the corner of his mouth lifts. An intimate, quiet moment, you keep reading while he chases the constant movements with his touch, his fingers splayed wide, searching.

“Always so squirrely at night,” he says, the words rounded with softness.

“Tell me about it,” you sigh.

You set your book to the side and slide down next to him as he reaches to turn off the lantern, and the two of you lay facing each other, your belly between the length of your bodies. His hand finds your stomach again, and you let yours rest over it, guiding his touch lower. Lower, until the tips of his fingers brush against the band of your underwear and also right where a set of feet (or hands) slide underneath your skin. The taut skin shifts with rapid movement, a sensation that never fails to mesmerize you, but it’s something else when he’s the one who gets to see it. Watching him experiencing it is your favorite.

“What about Margaret? I’ve always liked that name.”

He makes a face, telling you all you need to know. “What makes you so sure it’s gonna be a girl?”

You shrug, lifting the hem of your shirt so you can feel his skin on yours, and his hand slides right back into place.

“Have you thought of any names?” you ask quietly.

“I, uh…I was sorta thinkin’ about June.” His dark eyes flit up to yours. “After June Carter Cash. Or Pearl, after –”

“You wanna name my baby after Pearl Jam?” your eyebrows raise. You’ve heard him humming “Future Days” while working outside, you know the band is a favorite of his.

He grins at your reaction. “That a no?”

“I should have guessed it would be music related,” you tease with a smile, scooting closer. “I like June. It’s pretty.”

The gentle exploration of his touch soothes you, and you close your eyes to savor it.

“What about boy names?” you ask. “I can’t really think of any. It’s actually what makes me think it’s a girl, like she’s trying to tell me something.”

“I haven’t thought of too many either. Thomas, for my brother, maybe?”

“That’s a good one.” You yawn, and sleep softly rounds the edges of your words. “Are you ready for next week?”

The preparation of his gift has your hands aching and grasping one with the other, you rub the tender knuckles, working some of the soreness out. Wordlessly, he reaches for your hand and takes it into his own, kneading the joints.

“I think so. S’kinda nice, havin’ a Christmas.” His touch lingers on the tips of your fingers, warming them. “Too cold in here? I can put another log on if you want.”

“No, it’s just…they ache. They're so swollen they get stiff sometimes. I don’t think the damp is helping.”

You hear it now, peppering the window in the dark. The steady drum of rain on the window, the sound makes the room all the more inviting: warm and safe, his body heat radiating underneath the quilt. He keeps rubbing your fingers, his own larger hands cradling your smaller one, and akin to someone rubbing your back to sleep, the touch lulls you, your eyes fluttering shut.

“This good?” His mouth brushes lightly against your knuckles, his lips pressing against your fingers before he breathes warm air on them.

“Mmmm, yea.” Silent for a moment, you speak. “Joel?”

He hums in acknowledgement of his name, and you voice the nightly request you started asking him weeks ago.

“Tell me what you know.”

A prompt he’s seemingly ready for, he shifts to get comfortable, letting out a sigh. The motion similar to someone getting ready to tell a bedtime story, your reaction to curl tight next to him is the same.

The first time you asked him this, he barely remembered anything. Other memories taking their place, the finer details of pregnancy and birth were buried deep, most of them forgotten. He remembered the doctor's visits but not the frequency. The general concept of birth but not the stages. The pain, but as someone who didn’t go through it, he couldn’t tell you what labor actually felt like.

All guesses and long ago recollections, you took them because they were better than nothing. Tonight, he tells you about the night feedings.

“Babies, they uh…” he begins in his gravely, lowered voice, trying to speak softly in the darkness. “You know they eat every couple of hours or so for a while after they’re born. Weeks of it.”

You nod against his shoulder, listening to his deep drawl.

“I don’t remember much because when you don’t get a lot of sleep it all tends to blur together, y’know? But I do remember some of them. Peaceful, sometimes. Everything is so quiet and still, and there ain’t nothin’ but you and them, sittin’ together.”

He stops, and you reach up to brush your fingers along the edge of his jaw, just enough to let him know you’re listening. He sighs, a heavy, contemplative thing.

“They are so small in your hands. So small it’s scary. I remember bein’ so careful, always feelin’ like I was gonna accidentally hurt her, or –” his breath hitches, and he swallows hard. He’s silent for a moment, and your breath slows and evens out. “Anyway, they don’t let you get any sleep, not for a few months, but sometimes….sometimes, you don’t mind.”

Your body loose and relaxed next to his, you’re on the edge of sleep when the words tumble softly out of your mouth.

“Joel?”

“Yea?”

“I’m scared.” The confession is whispered into his bare skin, and you breathe in his comforting, familiar smell, the steady drum of his heart beating underneath your cheek. His hand is a weighty drag down the line of your spine, the feeling of it steadying you.

The wind blows outside, rain pelting the glass.

“I know, honey,” he answers. “Me too.”

–

Long after you’ve fallen asleep, he stays awake, his mind lost in a memory.

Her tiny body rigid with deceiving strength, he struggles to force her arm into a small sleeve. His hand is huge compared to her fragile arm, her skin downy soft under his palm, and moonlight shines through the window in her bedroom just enough to light the features of her scrunched, upset face. A small wail pierces the darkness, and succeeding in dressing her, he lifts her up.

One hand cupping her entire bottom with the other covering her back, he makes low shushing sounds with his mouth to soothe her, inhaling the milky sweet smell that clings to her skin.

“Hey baby girl, shhh. I got you. I got you.”

Her tiny face burrows into his chest, her body squirming until she gets comfortable, and he keeps soothing with low hums, his hand rubbing a slow circle over her purple pajamas as she settles.

Moving slowly so as not to disturb her, he sits down in the rocking chair and continues to hold her; the carpet plush under his bare foot that gently pushes off the floor. His sleep blurred eyes focus on the small turn of a glass butterfly that hangs from her window, the rounded curves catching the moonlight as she sleeps on his chest.

He lets the unearthed, vivid memory wash over him as his chest constricts, the pain suffocating. Finding himself in this position more and more since you started asking him about what he remembers, he closes his eyes and succumbs to the pain: worth it, to see her face again. To remember things he’d thought he’d forgotten.

The edges of the memory blur and crumble, his mind losing its focus on that purple room and on the cusp of sleep, he tries to grasp and hold on tight to the details until they fade away.

–

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Wasn’t much to wrap with.”

Anticipation thrums through you, your features lax with fondness as you wait patiently on the living room floor with your eyes closed. A fire crackles in the wood stove next to you, shadows pooled in the corners of the living room where the light doesn’t reach, and you scoot a little closer to absorb more heat.

Never one to linger in bed, he’s been up since dawn, and when you awoke alone, there was a weighted, peaceful stillness in the air—a significance to the day that was at best, a guess. Still, you felt it all the same: through drinking tea with him on the back porch this morning, through reading on the couch this afternoon, through helping him prep the small feast you allowed yourselves for dinner.

You hear and feel a shift in the air when he comes to sit in front of you, setting your present at your feet.

“Okay, you can open ‘em.”

Laughter bubbles bright and loud when you see what it is.

“Joel Miller, you shouldn’t have.” Picking up the bottle of vinegar, you tilt it in the light to see how much is left: about half, which is a find indeed. “How long have you been hiding this?”

He shrugs, looking pleased with your reaction. “Not too long. I found it when I went to check out that last cabin. I know it’s not a lot, but I thought it would be useful.”

Vinegar means pickling, means cleaning, means acid for the soil of your plants that you moved inside for the winter, and even though the label is half peeled off and the contents might not be as potent as they once were, you have never been so happy to see a bottle of the stuff in your life.

“Thank you,” you say softly, leaning forward as much as you can, presenting your lips for a kiss. He gives you one, and you pull back, your mouth twisted in an apologetic pout. “This is a way better gift than what I got you.”

“That’s not true,” he argues. “You fixed my favorite jacket. Feels brand new.”

After snagging it on a tree branch while hunting, he had been so disappointed when he inspected the size of the rip when he came home. Handing it to you, he had declared it no good anymore and told you to use it for something else, but knowing it was his favorite, you’d been mending it in secret while he went out for the day. Textiles being a scarcity aside, that jacket was also your favorite: it’s the one he’s been wearing since you first started out; the sight of it comforting to you.

“I actually got you somethin’ else, but you’ll have to close your eyes again.”

You automatically squeeze your eyes shut, your hands playfully grabbing the air as you squirm on the floor, and the sound of his low chuckle makes you smile wider. Hearing the front door open and then close, you frown when the object he places at your feet sounds heavy.

“Okay, open em’ up.”

It’s immediate, the way your expression drops from delight into something more reverential. Your breath frozen in your lungs, you reach out and touch the smooth edges of the cradle. Tracing the perfectly fit together corners, you take in how small it is – so small - but perfect.

Your eyes lift to meet his, tears blurring your vision. “Did you make this?”

“Yea,” he replies softly. “I kept in the shed, workin’ on it when you were napping. I knew we needed somewhere to put her, so I thought –”

“Her?” Your fingers brushing along the neat edges, you look up at him with a small, watery smile, and he matches it with a soft one of his own.

“Sure, why not. You’ve convinced me.” Affection is open and obvious on his face, the lines that normally crease his forehead softened as he watches you look it over.

“This is…so much, Joel. It’s beautiful. I don’t even know how…I was thinking we’d have to put her in a dresser drawer or something, and I –” Overwhelmed with his thoughtfulness, you’re at a loss for words. “Thank you,” you eventually settle on, hoping the sincereness in your words expresses everything you feel.

“You look so surprised,” he says, teasing laced in his tone. “Did you really think I would get you just a half bottle of vinegar for Christmas?”

“I don’t know!” you laugh, a hitch in your breathing as you settle your emotions. “We can’t exactly go Christmas shopping, so I figured you did the best you could.”

He reaches to swipe a tear from the round of your cheek, and you chase the heat of his palm, leaning into it. “It’s been so long since I gave anyone a Christmas present. Glad I’m not totally out of practice.”

Gently sliding the cradle out of the way, you rise to your knees to give him a kiss.

“I love it.”

You kiss him again, his lips tinted red from the wine at dinner, and the bitterness sweeps through your mouth when he gifts you a slow slide of his tongue. The tentative heat held in his response passes to you, and swallowing his hunger, it spreads through your limbs to pool between your legs. Pressing forward, your hand reaches out for his shirt, and you deepen the kiss.

You hope it conveys everything you want to put into words but can’t: appreciation, love, gratitude. Keeping your mouth on his, you slip your hand around the back of his neck and threading your fingers up through his locks, you hold him in place, his hand grasping your elbow to steady you as a soft sound rumbles from his throat.

“I guess you really liked it.”

You just nod, pulling him in for another kiss, his familiar taste and scent filling your senses as he presses himself closer, and when you let out the catch of a moan in your throat, he pulls back just far enough for you to see hooded want in his eyes.

“We done with the gift exchange?” He presses a kiss to your your throat, his lips warm and delicate over the skin he finds and you nod, letting him taste.

“Here,” he asks, his mouth moving just below your ear, “or in the bedroom?”

“Here,” you breathe, cupping his whiskered cheeks to pull his mouth back to yours. Your hand slips between his thighs, finding him half hard under his jeans, and groaning into your mouth, he shifts on the floor to kneel in front of you. Your fingers work the buttons of his flannel open, pushing it from his shoulders at the same time he grabs the hem of your shirt to work it over your head and off. Undoing your bra, you fling it onto the floor as his hand reaches back to tug his t-shirt off in a smooth, overhand motion, and your hands drop to his belt buckle, tugging it open.

The back of your knuckles swipe through the line of coarse hair that leads under the waistband of his jeans, a slight shakiness to your movements betraying the need you feel, and it’s something he sees and rewards with another consuming kiss.

The rest of your clothes tugged off in a rush, he rests his back against the couch and guides you onto his lap, the soft inside of your thighs straddling the outside of his firmer ones. One of the only comfortable positions you’ve got left, it’s been your favorite because it gives him unfettered access to your breasts and when he palms them in appreciation, anticipation sends a warm thrill up your spine.

Using both his hands, he cups the sides of your jaw to draw you in, holding you in place while he opens your mouth with his, his tongue sliding smoothly against yours. His fingertips dig into the nape of your neck, one hand dropping to palm the plush weight of your breast, and you kiss him back even harder while he delicately teases your nipple with his thumb.

The calloused pad skims over the top of it, the contrast between the tender touch and the fierceness of his kisses making your head swim with arousal, and pulling back, he takes in your kiss-swollen mouth only for a moment before bending his attention to your breast.

Using the cradle of his hold, he pushes it up to draw the peak of it into his mouth, and your head tips back, a broken cry coming from your throat.

“Please. Please.”

He would give you anything – anything – you ask for, and this is no different. He laves his tongue over the peaked bud, dragging firm pressure over it as he draws it into his mouth, and when you dig your fingers into his hair and pull with a moan of pleasure, his hand cups the underside of your breast to push more in. Frenzied, rough, desperate for more, a deep groan slides out of his throat at the same moment you feel a strange, tingling sensation on your nipple.

Surprise shows in his brown eyes when they flick up to yours, and pulling back, you both stop.

“Was that –” you ask, and he looks down at your breast, his thumb dragging delicately along the peak.

“Yea, I think it was,” he answers, slightly mesmerized.

A drop of milky liquid hangs from the tip of your breast, and he wipes it away, smearing it on your soft skin. Another one takes its place, and his eyes flicker with interest.

“Holy shit.”

The words slip out faster than you can stop them, and the corresponding lift of his eyebrows makes you laugh, his own deeper chuckle joining your lighter one. He pulls you in for a kiss right as you’re leaning down for one, and you find there was no hunger lost while the moment was broken; instead it comes back even stronger as you wrap your arms around his shoulders and he holds onto your back with a splayed grip so fierce it makes you squirm.

Unsure of when you started grinding your hips against his, you work them slightly faster. Spread and wet on his lap, you’re so achingly empty right over where you can feel the heft of him pressing between your bodies, and fire lights under your skin with how much you want him to just take.

He’s been so careful with you, so considerate in his handling of your body these last few weeks. Always taking care of every need that you have, he’s done so with no less attentiveness, but you can tell that he’s been holding back—a telling rigidness to his muscles when he moves above you, a tightness to his strokes every time he fucks you as if he’s keeping his body in check to make sure he doesn’t lose himself. Missing the sharp edges to his love, you kiss him harder, and he groans as if in pain, his tongue sliding deep into your mouth. His beard rubs your chin raw, the pressure of his response forcing your body to tip back slightly in his hold.

“Fuck me,” you whine, the words breathless against his lips, and he groans again, breaking your kiss.

“Christ, honey, turn around.”

Desperate to follow anything he tells you to do, you grip his shoulder to steady yourself as you turn yourself around, your back to his front. His mouth is an immediate brush against the nape of your neck, a heady sensation that has you melting back into him, and his hands travel up your sides to cup your breasts, pulling at the peaks.

Your ass grinds in his lap, the thick, stiff line of his cock trapped between your bodies, and when you arch your back and lean forward in a silent invitation, he reaches down to line himself up. Easing yourself back down, the stretch is delicious but so tight it’s almost unbearable.

“Goddamn,” he groans over your breathless whine.

Wrapping your smaller hands around his thick wrists for purchase, you pull at your bottom lip with your teeth as you sink all the way down to the base, and when he’s fully seated inside you, he bands his arms just under your breasts in a tight hold, keeping you in place. You can feel how hard he’s breathing between your shoulder blades, his beard rubbing against your skin, and squirming in his lap with a soft sound, you start to roll your hips.

He’s so deep this way, so much deeper than he’s been in weeks, and taking a moment to get used to it with a couple of slick strokes down, you chase the thick, filling stretch of his cock. Leaning forward, you brace your hands on his knees, and the deep groan you hear from behind you makes you wetter; your body physically reacting to his wordless praise.

“You feel so fucking good, honey. So good.”

His hands traverse your back—one splayed wide to drag heavily down your spine, the other curled around your hip to guide your movements–and when you bend forward as much as your stomach allows, his hand drops to your ass, spreading you from behind.

“I wish you could see how wet my cock is. I want you to see how you’re soakin’ it.”

“I can feel it,” you moan, your hips working faster.

You can: every down stroke is smooth and audible, the tight walls of your cunt stretching around him to take him perfect and fluid every single time, and when you start to pull him deeper, he sits forward with a cinch, pulling you back towards his body. The solid, warm wall of his chest cages you in, his arm looping around your hip so his hand can reach your clit, and when he finds it, everything spreads warm and thick from your center outwards, your head tipping back to rest against his shoulder.

“There’s my girl,” he smiles when your body drapes pliant and loose against his, your hips chasing the pressure of his fingers. Forward into his touch and backwards onto his cock, you can hear him breathing heavy and low into your ear and your hands find his forearms to hold on tight, your nails digging into the thick muscles as you work yourself faster.

He rubs your clit in quicker, more precise circles, just right with the firm slip of two calloused fingers, and your thighs tighten in their tremble, your release a bright, shining edge that beckons.

When it happens, it breaks you – clamping tight around him as you’re suspended in a state of strained rapture, his hand comes up to cradle the base of your throat in a possessive hold while his other hand keeps working, and a second wave takes you by surprise, washing over your skin as you cry out. You can feel the wetness that soaks his fingers when he reaches down to feel where you’re stretched around him, letting out a groan against your skin.

His hand smears damply across your hip as he lifts you from his lap, slipping out as he guides you on to your hands and knees, and loose and pliant, you let him position you anyway he wants.

“Just a little more, honey. Just a little longer,” he coaxes.

Resting your cheek on the floor, you arch your back to put yourself on display for him as you catch your breath, but it’s stolen just as quickly when he gives you a rough, open mouthed kiss to your cunt. He eats you like a man starved, the wet muscle of his tongue flattening against you as he keeps you open with his hands splayed on your ass, and a deep rumbled groan is felt against the inside of your thighs when you reach back to tug on his hair.

His tongue dips deep inside you for a taste, and just when he pulls back, he goes in for more, like he’s changed his mind because he can’t get enough. Harder this time, more forceful, the action pushing your hips forward, and when you cry out, he’s dragging himself back, pulling away to position himself.

The heat of his body radiates along the back of your thighs, the thick tip of his cock notched against the slick dip of your entrance only for the barest of moments before he pushes himself in with a stroke of his hips, and you hear a hiss behind you, one you almost don’t catch over the low moan that spills out of your mouth.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groans, his hips fitting neatly along your ass. He slides out and then back in, giving you time to adjust to his size. “I want – Christ – I want…can you take it harder for me?”

“Yes. God yes. Please.”

He answers with a rougher slide in, an audible muted pound of his hips against your skin. “You tell me if it’s too much, honey, okay?”

After turning your head and nodding so he can see you, he gives you another rough, smooth stroke in and then another one, each one filling you until the air feels like it’s being pushed from your lungs, and then he picks up his pace, letting out a low, heavy breath for every thrust. It sounds obscene: his rumbled, low groans and grunts, but you can barely focus on it for how sensitive you are to his thickness. Everything tighter, the fit is a snug, slick slide in every time, and you squeeze around him, earning you another hiss of appreciation.

“This pussy is gonna kill me,” he groans and then holds nothing back: his hips snapping against you with his hand resting flat on your tailbone, every jolt rocking your body forward.

Exactly what you asked for and what you’ve been missing, you let him know.

“It feels…it feels so good. God I’ve missed this.”

“Yea?” The word is a breathless growl, and you clench down on him again. “What about this? Did you miss this too?”

His hands wrapping around the inside of your elbows, he tugs you back and up until your back is arched with your ass in his lap and then he’s pounding into you.

“Joel!”

Faster and harder, his hips work ceaselessly behind you for a dozen strokes and when he comes, his fingers dig tight into your skin, your arms aching as he holds you in place to take every last drop. Panting behind you, his strokes slow into a rhythmic grind and sliding out, he eases you gently down onto the floor where you slump, your cheek resting on the fold of your arms.

Dazed and loose, with a content smile on your lips, you lay down on your side and he joins you, dropping to the floor. His arm slung over his eyes, you watch his pulse pound in his neck as he tries to catch his breath.

“So…was that also a Christmas present, or….?” you tease, the question coming out slow and saturated with contentment, and he laughs, a breathless thing that’s carefree and deep.

“Sure,” he answers, rolling onto his side. “Merry Christmas.”

The light of the flames dancing across your bare body, shadows slide over his tanned skin and the bluntness of his reply makes you laugh.

The two of you look at each other for a moment, his hand coming up to brush away an errant lock of hair from your temple. His hand glides down the length of your torso, coming to rest on the swell of your stomach and leaning in, his mouth meets yours.

Still smiling, you cup his cheek and with a slick slide leaking between your thighs, pull him closer to deepen the kiss.

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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wcbblife · 1 month

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could you do paige with either a black gf or a volleyball player gf hcs??

Paige x Volleyball player!gf HCs

a/n: I've had this idea in the drafts for quite a bit of time. So glad you sparked my mind to finally finish it

Bit of background about you two ig:

What first stood out to Paige about you was the ability to absolutely spike the ball with an insane amount of power. The first time she saw you play she was with KK because they were both oh so bored on their free day. Next thing she knew you were elevating off the floor and slamming your palm against the ball with an insane amount of strength. They both let out a synched “DAMN” as the ball quickly made its way down to the floor with a resounding bang. One after the other, she was literally left with her jaw on the floor at how good you were and how you were able to carry the team to a flawless victory.

She definitely went home and searched all of your highlights, slowly being more and more captivated by how high you could jump and how fast you could react to get some saves. After that, she would literally make up the stupidest excuses to just see you absolutely dominate on the court.

Noticing her growing attendance, fans began to joke around on the internet (with pics and vids). You take notice of this. Especially on how she cheered extra hard whenever you helped on scoring a point.

Funny enough I think you two would meet in the library. She would pass you and the look on her face is hilarious (something between a mix of amazement, shock, and something else). She tries to stop the absolute sound of excitement that she wants to let out.

"Dude, you’re an awesome player.” She says, smiling super bright.

"Well if it isn’t my biggest fan” You tease. “But are you serious? You’re the cool one here.”

You both continue to absolutely geek out about one another and compliment the other's play style. It’s then that you find out that she absolutely loves when you spike.

You both get closer after one particular game where your famous strong spikes literally sealed the deal for the team to win. After a particularly impressive spike she literally jumped while screaming as loud as she could and you couldn't even deny that trying to ignore a tall blonde jumping erratically up and down was getting harder after each game. So you just turned towards her and pointed to mess with her. It worked though cuz Paige went absolutely crazy.

After that, you two started talking some more and you even started showing your face to some of her basketball games. And she asked you out after one of her hard games, caught up in the high of the game. You two immediately become the school's hottest topic after it.

Some actually normal HCs:

She absolutely is your biggest fan. No one ever cheers louder for you than Paige Bueckers.

Is eager to learn how to set for you so that she can help you with your spikes. Like seeing it first hand because it makes her feel so starstruck seeing it first hand.

Absolutely loves to play beach volleyball with you. Idk why she just seems like it.

Lovesssss to see you in your uniform. Especially with those shorts. Makes her go crazy.

Goes nuts when you react fast and save the ball. "YEAH BABY! YOU SHOW EM HOW ITS DONE!"

Will 100% challenge you to a 1v1 but immediately regret it as she watches you jump to slam the ball. “Chill! You're gonna kill me if you do that.”

She loves to learn and break down each set with you. Especially if you tell her it helps you better your game. And vise versa. You love to watch her games and hear her break down her own playing.

Outside of sports and school, Paige will literally show you off to everyone (like imagine a family Christmas party and she's literally holding someone hostage while showing them you play. “Isn't she awesome? I mean just look at her!").

Acts like a concerned mother whenever you fall one too many times in a game while diving to save the ball from touching the ground.

Loves it when you wink or smile in her direction while you're playing. It actually drives her a little crazy.

#wcbb #women's basketball #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader

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cvpiddszn · 6 months

Text

𝐫𝐮𝐝𝐨𝐥𝐩𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 | 𝐥.𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

a/n: not edited, i'm too lazy. maybe ill go back later

summary: nyx asks luke to go on a walk with her to search for a christmas tree and when they get back she begins to notice how bright red luke’s nose is. nyx can’t help but laugh at how adorable he is, her own little rudolph.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, sexual innuedos

word count: 0.9k

nyx & luke masterlist

"What do you think about this one, Lukey?” I pointed out, my boyfriend silent from behind me. His hand clutched onto mine, squeezing every once in a while. So at least I knew that he wasn’t dead from the cold. Although, I did warn him that there was a cool breeze blowing in.

When I turned around, Luke had his free hand pulled up to his mouth breathing warm air onto his hand and shoving it in his jacket pocket. My brows furrowed, “I told you to bring mitts, and you refused to listen to me.” I scolded, taking my gloves off and handing them to him.

Luke groaned in protest, “Angel, no. I don’t want your gloves. You keep them.” His hand pushed away the gloves offered in my hands, I sighed rolling my eyes before pulling them onto my hands, while he leaned down to kiss my cheek. I shivered at the chill of his lips.

“Fine, but it might help if you put them in my pockets, they’re warmer than yours,” I argued, grabbing onto his hands and turning around before stuffing his hands into my pockets. My boyfriend was leaned down quite a bit just to rest his body against my back, stuffing his head into the open spot between my neck and shoulder. His long legs dragged behind me, sort of like a penguin.

I could smell his cologne which made my heart practically melt, the same expensive shit that he always bought. I had some strange obsession with Luke and his expensive cologne. Maybe it was the fact that he had never changed it since we were fifteen. He had never been so happy to be able to tell me that his parents bought his first expensive cologne and he hadn't changed it since.

We continued to walk through the trees until I settled on one that seemed to catch my eye. I stopped abruptly, causing Luke to stumble into my body but his hold was enough to keep me upright. I eyed the tree curiously, waiting to see if it was going to speak to me.

“Babe, you know that you look fucking crazy looking at that tree as if it’s going to grow legs and start walking and spill all of its secrets.” The brunette pointed out, and I swung my hand back to slap his shoulder gently.

“Luke, don’t be a Grinch. You don’t pick out the tree, the tree picks you.” I spoke, causing Luke to laugh at me. I grinned back at him for a moment before he caught me off guard, pressing his cold lips to mine. His left hand removed itself from my jacket, spinning me around to face him fully, both his hands coming up to my cheeks.

I pulled back from me, breathless and cheeks aflame. “So this is the tree?” I looked up at my boyfriend who grinned at me as if he didn’t just take my breath away. It was insane to so many when I told them that Luke was such a romantic, but he just didn’t like public displays of romance. Sure, his hand always found mine, rubbing small circles or his arm around my shoulders or waist but that was as far as we would go in front of others, but now it was just us and millions of pine trees.

“Whatever you want, angel.” He replied, kissing my cheek before grabbing onto my glove-covered hands and pulling me to one of the employees. My mind spaced out as I watched him admirably, feeling his hands squeezing mine every so often. As if it was a reminder than he knew that I was there.

My stomach filled with butterflies as I couldn’t help the smile on my face. As soon as the employee left to grab the tree, his brows furrowed in confusion as he studied me. “What are you grinning at?”

“You,” I replied immediately.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Luke and I were cuddled on the couch, a blanket covering the both of us. Hot chocolate in our hands, warming them through the mug. It would be a surprise if neither of us caught a cold by the end of the week.

My boyfriend set his warm drink down, and it wasn’t until that moment that I truly looked at him. I nearly burst out laughing seeing his rosy cheeks but even better was his bright red nose. Instead of laughing, I settled for a smile but Luke paused, narrowing his eyes at me accusingly.

“Why are you giving me that look?” His hand reached under the blanket placing themselves under his sweater that I wore. I shivered at the chill that went down my spine.

“Baby,” I spoke softly, bringing my finger up to poke at his nose, “you look like Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” I teased quietly, finding it adorable that his nose was so red. I placed my hands on either side of his face, and he enjoyed the heat of it, eyes closing as he chased the warmth from my fingers. My thumbs rubbed soothingly at his face, hoping to warm him up.

Luke groaned, diving his body into mine before his head sunk between my shoulder and neck, dragging his nose from side to side of my neck as I shivered. “Lukey, you’re so cold,” I mumbled as his hands gripped onto my bare waist, his hands freezing.

“Just trying to warm up, angel.” He said softly lips pressing at the side of my neck affectionately. “Stay nice and still, have the perfect way to warm up.” Chills covered my body from head to toe, his hands travelled right to my stomach creating patterns as my breath caught in my throat.

His hand lightly pushed against my leggings, pulling them forward to create space as his cold hands travelled further and further down, right to my throbbing heat and right before he dove in, his mouth crashed against mine, silencing any future pleas and moans.

Luke might be cold but I would always be his warmth.

#luke hughes imagine #luke hughes x reader #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #jack hughes imagines #jack hughes x reader #hughes brothers #nhl hockey #quinn hughes imagine

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Baby formula was expensive, and Eddie knew the fact that half of the container being spilled on the counter would probably cause Steve to have a heart attack.

It was an accident, obviously. He didn’t just decide to dump half of the powdered gold that fed their newborn daughter on the kitchen counter.

And Steve wouldn’t be mad about it. He didn’t get mad about accidents.

But he would definitely spiral about how that was two days’ worth of bottles for Ella and how they had a budget.

Eddie told him many times they were fine. He had more than enough money in savings from the band’s success, and he knew Steve had his own trust fund that he’d guilted his parents into letting him keep as a way to apologize for never being around in his childhood.

Money wasn’t really an issue for them.

But Steve was still careful with it, and Eddie loved that about him.

Other than their house, they’d never made major purchases, and stuck to necessities only with occasional extra spending for birthdays and Christmas for their loved ones.

But after they adopted Ella, Steve turned into a penny pincher. He stocked up on everything from diapers to formula to baby soap any time there was a sale, and refused to buy the “fancy” brand that had the same ingredients and vitamins as the generic store brand.

Eddie loved him.

But he was very worried about Steve finding out about this.

Maybe if he just cleaned it up and then pretended Ella had had a few extra bottles?

No, then he’d panic that her food intake was abnormal and he’d call the pediatrician and Eddie would have to backtrack and then Steve would be mad.

He pulled the trash can in front of the counter, swiping his hand across quickly to get most of it into the trash.

As he moved the trash can back to its usual spot, Steve came around the corner with Ella in his arms, cooing at her.

God, he was born to do this. Eddie was gonna do everything he could to give him the six nuggets he wanted so he could watch him in his element for as long as possible.

“Say hi to Daddy, Ella,” Steve said before looking up at Eddie, who was wiping down the counter furiously.

Not fast enough if Steve’s face was any indication.

“What are you doing?”

Dammit.

“Just cleaning.”

“You’re wiping the counter.”

“Yes.”

“You never do that.”

“I just finished the dishes so I thought I should.”

“You do the dishes all the time and never do that.”

He was so suspicious. Rightfully so.

Eddie knew he was found out, or if he wasn’t quite yet, he would be as soon as Steve saw the trash.

He sighed, letting his head fall down and his chin hit his chest.

“Eds, what is it?”

Steve was walking behind the counter, concern on his face. Concern for Eddie. Concern he didn’t deserve.

“I spilled something, it’s not a big deal.”

“Okay. But you’re being weird about it so it makes me think it is a big deal.”

And then he saw it. He must have, because Eddie watched him freeze in his tracks and stare down at where the trash is.

“Stevie, it’s not a big deal. I’ll go get another can to make up for it.”

“What happened?”

“I was measuring out her nighttime bottle and knocked the can over.”

“That’s a lot of formula.”

“I know.”

And then Steve started laughing.

It startled Ella in his arms and she let out a whimper like she was about to start crying.

Steve handed her to Eddie so he could lean over, hands on his knees, and laugh louder.

“Ella, your dad’s lost it.”

“Sorry,” Steve said as he tried to gasp for air between hysterical laughter. “Just- you were so serious. Why didn’t you just say that?”

Eddie knew he wasn’t seriously asking that.

“Sweetheart, you’re kind of insane about this stuff. In a good way! I love you because you’re a little crazy! But like, that was a lot of formula and it’s wasteful and costs a lot to replace.”

Steve’s face went serious.

“Baby, you don’t think I’d be mad about an accidental spill, do you?”

Oh no, he was hurt.

Eddie hurt his feelings.

“No! No. It’s not that. It’s just you’re so serious about the budget and this would mess it up.”

“It’s just a little. And it’s not like we actually have to live so tight.”

That was suspicious. What the hell did that mean?

Steve wasn’t changing his mind on the budget, was he?

He must’ve done something.

“Oh my god. What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Oh yes you did. Your face is bright red and you look like you committed a felony. I would know what that looks like since we’ve committed at least two together.”

Steve somehow blushed harder.

“It wasn’t a felony.”

“Aha! But it was something!”

The tables turned awful quickly. Eddie didn’t know how, but he’d take it. Anything to get the focus off of him.

Ella was gurgling in his arms, eyes flitting between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match.

“Well, you know how we talked about getting an RV, right? Since we had Ella now and might try to adopt again? Since it’s one of the things I want more than anything?”

“You bought an RV.”

Eddie was smirking at Steve, who probably expected him to be upset, but Eddie was thrilled.

Not only would they be able to travel the way Steve wanted to, Steve had thrown their budget right out the fucking window.

“I put a down payment on an RV. I told them I had to talk to you first.”

“This is gold.”

“We did technically talk about it already.”

“We did.” Eddie bounced Ella in his arms and looked down at her. “Wanna go on a road trip, angel?”

“So you’re not mad?”

“Sweetheart, I’ve been waiting for you to spend my money for years. This is the third best day of my life.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Eddie walked up to him and kissed the corner of his mouth, then his nose, and finally his lips.

“I love you and your crazy budget.”

“I love you and your ignorance of how money works.”

“That’s why I have you, sweetheart.”

Steve rolled his eyes but nodded.

“We can pick up the RV tomorrow if you want.”

“Did you plan our first trip yet?”

“No.”

Eddie raised a brow at him.

“Yes.”

Eddie jumped up once, making Ella giggle.

“Where are we going?”

“I figured you’d wanna take Wayne to the Smoky Mountains.”

Of course he did. Of course he thought about what Eddie would want and what would make Wayne happy and what he could do to make it happen.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then I guess we better make a stop at Wayne’s house tomorrow with the RV.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #tumblr drabbles #stranger things #dad steve harrington #dad eddie munson #domestic fluff

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nariism · 9 months

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gojo satoru believes that all good things come in twos.

he was the second half of his best friend, after all— part of a wandering soul somewhere else in japan spouting some bullshit about retribution. he hasn't quite been the same since 2009.

it wasn't always this way. never before had he been so endeared, so enchanted by the prospect of keeping things together just for the sake of it.

he remembers clearly the day this hyperfixation started, actually: a warm summer sunday in sagae with you dragging him along through the local fruit market. you picked out a bag of cherries, holding up a twin pair of them and dangling them in his face.

"they're sweeter here," you told him with such a fascinated expression, completely enamoured by the ruby jewels held between your fingers. and he savoured that moment, as mundane as it was, because your eyes were shining in adoration at such a perfect pair of cherries.

(also, when you ate them your lips stained a pretty shade of red that made him salivate.)

he realized that things felt more whole in pairs: two hands cupping his face, two charms dangling from your neck, two cherries infinitely sweeter than one. two hearts, two souls, two people who both belong and don't belong in such a wicked world cradling each other with a shared breath.

gojo felt lonely without another— in the time between geto's defection and your reunion, he missed the feeling of being the other half of a duo. nanami buried himself into work. shoko fared no better. he was utterly, shamefully alone.

he was a new person when you returned to him. a lot of things had changed. but despite the distance and the slow untwining of your lives over the years, you knew gojo to be stubborn more than anything.

"two dogs are better than one," he argued when megumi was first learning how to control his cursed technique.

"he's just a kid. making him responsible for one, let alone two, is crazy!"

"i'm telling you, megumi is no pushover! you'll see."

he was right. sometimes (and only sometimes) he does know better. two was better than one.

you could see it in megumi's face when both dogs pounced on him, licking him and wagging their tails. in fact, it was probably the first time you'd ever seen the kid smile at all.

so you went along with gojo, indulged him whenever he reached for two things instead of one: two boxes of juice from the convenience store fridge, two fingers locked together while you walk, two earbuds split between you so you can sing together. two hearts, two souls, two blue eyes fluttering shut when he leans in to kiss you.

when he asked you to move in with him, you weren't surprised in the least. you were also not surprised to see how he set things up around the house, nothing lonely and everything in a pair. gojo feels like you think he's insane. he might be.

being with you made him feel as normal as gojo satoru could ever feel in this life— breathing no longer hurt like water filling his lungs. it was as natural as you basking in the rising sun every morning. living didn't need to be justified anymore. he wasn't obligated to be the strongest. he just needed to exist in your warmth.

things make sense in twos. the world is less gloomy with you by his side.

it's unspoken between you, but you oblige to his strange fixation anyways: two slices of peanut butter on toast in the morning, two stars atop a christmas tree, two picture frames on every side table. two hearts, two souls, two people being each other's reason to keep pushing.

he thinks he loves you a foolish amount. knows he shouldn't be putting all his eggs into one basket. he might be untouchable, but you aren't.

it's inevitable. one day, gojo satoru will be alone again.

and it's a fair exchange for power; a curse he wishes he was never born with. if he had the choice, he would have picked you over limitless power without a moment's pause.

he doesn't have the choice. unlucky.

all he can really do is let you cup his face. feed him cherries. argue over how to raise megumi and tsumiki and live in your little fantasy of pretending to be a family. all he can do is cherish the time you have left together, regardless of how long. all he can do is hope you'll say yes.

two hearts, two souls, two matching rings (one white, one black; he was poetic that way). one meant for him, and the other meant for you— a promise to keep and to break.

he doesn’t care. you and him make the best pair he can think of, no matter how fleeting.

#— whispers in the wind ✧#if you recognize this as what was supposed to be the sae fic i changed my mind #it fits gojo better #gojo satoru #gojou satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jjk x y/n

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ronintales · 24 days

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❝ So When I Die ❞ — Gojo Satoru

𝐒𝐘𝐏𝐍𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐒 | following gojo satoru’s death, his ex wife is in charge of taking care of his funeral service and everything else that comes with it.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 | 4,676 words

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | character death, possible spoilers, funeral, angst, mentions of not eating, and not proofread ;p

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 | I did NAWT want this to be my first work on here but due to certain circumstances…. AHEM his DEATH!!!! I felt it was necessary because laik… grief LOL. I wrote this a while back tho. Enjoy.

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ♡ ༘° 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒓, gojo satoru …

Your ex-husband is dead, and in his line of work, yes, you know that he has a higher risk of dying than the average person, but still, death never comes expected, does it? Even if he always says—oh wait… used to, you suppose, say that he was crazy strong and no one could ever take him down. Well, he was wrong in the end like a bunch of other things. Like how well he took care of you, how he’d give you six kids, how—you won’t ramble, noting he’s dead now and there’s no point, but also because it’s quite rude of you to talk down on someone who is dead and can’t defend themselves. Whatever.

You just… don’t expect it. Yes, you understood he was hard headed and insanely cocky, but in a way… you always believed that he would always come home alive and, even if he did get hurt, he would be okay eventually as he heals. You don’t forget it, he’s only human, you know because of the many mistakes he’s made, but still… he’s… he’s gone?

You hesitated when you heard that. Gojo Satoru, the so-called love of your life from two years ago, is dead? Impossible, you think. Gojo Satoru found death embarrassing, with all the things he said. He said that he would be okay. He was always okay. What are you supposed to say to that?

When you get the call, you wonder why you, of all the people in his life, were the one they called to inform about his status. Why did you have to go to his place and clean out all his things? Take all his belongings with you? At first, your instinct was to say “throw it all away,” because what does Gojo Satoru mean to you now? You’re not his wife! He neglected you for years and filled your days and nights with sorrows. He broke your heart. But still, he didn’t mean nothing to you at the same time.

Those precious years of being his acquaintance in middle school. When you had shorter hair and he didn’t know much about you other than you were in his class and he had bought you cute white socks for your class gift exchange on Christmas that year. The long years that Gojo Satoru pined for you after you both attended the same high school. The hard and dark times he went through losing Suguru and shutting you out, though he loved you for so long. When you turned twenty, and Satoru had gotten better, to the point where he felt he was ready to move on and continue with his pursuit for you. When you turned twenty-three, and got married to him on a spur. When you moved in and shared a bed, until the marriage got cold and most nights you spent alone.

You couldn’t say for the past fourteen years, Gojo Satoru was nothing at all to you. The news was shocking, and knowing he was dead… did you have to be careful about how you felt about him, or how you thought of him? Well, now that he is dead, should you be so ruthless and hostile toward the man who broke your heart? You don’t know, so naturally, and it really just slips out, you agree to take care of the process of his passing.

For the most part, you’re calm. You don’t actually know how to feel, and you don’t know how to be. You’re not his wife, you have no obligations to take care of him, or anything that he cared about. Yet, you’re here. In his lonely apartment that doesn’t even smell like him. He probably never even spent much time in this place, even so, he still had a lot of belongings. Pictures of you in frames surprisingly. He did take them all when you got divorced and he moved out of the house, you just didn’t expect that he’d put them up on display. He probably didn’t get many visitors to question him about the lady in his pictures. You were sure that would get annoying.

Anyway, you don’t know if you’re supposed to cry or even feel sad. You don’t know if it’s strange to feel that way or not. You can’t quite make out how you feel, being surrounded by Gojo Satoru’s personality and things. You don’t think too much about the things inside the apartment because you don’t want to be too reminded of what you used to be. What you felt about the man once upon a time. If there was still love in your heart for him.

Gojo Satoru wasn’t a slob, but he wasn’t clean either by any means. Given he probably didn’t stay here much, it made sense that you didn’t need to clean a whole lot of the apartment. You get there and you take it all in. Satoru’s little apartment, because he didn’t want to pay for such a luxurious place he wouldn’t even stay in. Maybe that kind of place made him feel more alone too. Thoughts you should not be thinking start to trickle into your brain, but you stop yourself. You shouldn’t feel bad for leaving, nor should you want to go back. You made a decision to leave and you should honor it. It was the right thing to do for yourself (hopefully).

Do you even want his things? No, not really. But you have a keep, donate, and a throw away bin anyway. Most of it keeps going to the keep bin and donation box. Somehow the feeling of someone else getting Gojo Satoru’s things is unsettling to you, but it’s even worse to think that all these things will just go to a landfill where things that were once valued are forgotten and it’s all going to be considered “trash.” Maybe that’s because you know why every item is there and the story behind that certain mug or decor piece. You don’t know it, but you’re trying your best not to care.

You sigh, the thought that this is all so strange, bothering and pestering you like an annoying fly. You tell yourself you know that already, so stop thinking about it. Maybe you’re in denial that Gojo Satoru is actually gone. You can feel him. He’s still there, you know it. That or you’re just surrounded by his belongings and that’s why his presence is here.

In your hand, you hold a big black garbage bag as you make your way to his bedroom to clear out his closet. This is a room of his that you haven’t been to, strange right? You wondered if another woman spent time here. Jealous much? You’re supposed to be clearing out your ex-husband’s apartment, not pondering about what he was up to after you two had split. The man is dead for one, what are you going to do about it? Confront his dead body? You shouldn’t be thinking about things like that, so that thought is one you shake off and ignore too.

You sigh because you’re tired from cleaning all day and clearing his things out and you’re probably only a quarter’s way done with the place. It’s not even that big, it’s just been uncomfortably hard for you to bring yourself here with your mixed and strange feelings about this whole situation. Isn’t there anyone else who cares about Gojo Satoru? How come you’re stepping up to the plate when this is how you feel—confused and unsure? What are you even going to do for the funeral? You took the task up because Gojo Satoru would probably turn in his grave knowing the higher ups organized his funeral. So while it is strange for you to do all of this, you’ve rationalized the lot of this situation that you put yourself in. Once upon a time, he loved you right? So surely he would prefer you over—you’re so silly, thinking all these things when Gojo Satoru is your dead ex-husband.

You plop on the bed with a small groan as you turn over. This is a bit inappropriate, to be laying on your ex husband’s unmade bed. It’s left in the state that it was the last time he woke up. That’s a little precious you think, freely, not even denying it. Are you ruining this precious thing here? Well, in all honesty, you’re kind of cherishing it, because this is a small piece of Satoru that is really still here in the present times. He always liked soft things and this blanket is soft. The sheets still smell like your ex-husband. The light musk of his skin and his soap is there. The thought of this bed being his is comfortable enough. Like you miss his warmth and touch, you curl up on the mattress, hugging yourself to the scent of him surrounding, and you can almost imagine that he’s holding you right now, like he used to. His detergent is faintly there too, well actually, it’s the same as yours. He asked when you two had split and he was settling into his own place all the household items you used. You supposed that it was all he knew.

You offered to go shop for household things with him and it was probably the last time you two had exchanged any kind of affection. You let him put his hand on your thigh as he drove you two to the supermarket. He let you link your arm with his, sides flush together like you two didn’t just get divorced. It was a silent message of “I miss you,” because it was and—quite frankly, still is—hard to get over someone you loved for so long. Even if he left the marriage long before you did, emotionally and physically. This was something you wanted while you married, for Satoru to present, and in your arms. For him to show you that he cared and loved you. You were even a little upset that was the only time he was doing all of that for you, but you chose not to ruin the moment for the both of you.

Funny how all these memories and things between the two of you are flooding in constantly. It makes you feel kind of sick. Nauseous and unable to breathe. You open your eyes in realization of what you’re doing right now. You sit up immediately, flustered and embarrassed as if Satoru would open the door right now and have that annoying smug grin on his face with his arms crossed, just to say as he leans on the door frame, “I knew you missed me.” Following with your name because he liked your name the best. He always said your name was pretty and he wouldn’t give you a pet name because nothing will ever be as great as calling you by your name. A nice little reminder that Satoru loved your name makes you smile a bit. Weird how all of these just keep piling up. One thought triggers another and it almost makes you itch and feel bad for the way things ended between the two of you. You almost have regrets about—

Whatever, you have a deadline to clean this place up you remind yourself. You spread your palms out on the sheets once more, feeling every thread that Satoru once laid his body on. You should take these for your bed, you think. They’re not so bad, just a plain white sheet, but it reminds you of Satoru’s hair and it would be waste.You lift yourself from the bed and open his closet, not even noticing how you keep having to make excuses for yourself to keep some of his things.

Already feeling overwhelmed because you keep holding back, opening the closet makes you feel like you’re cracking. You let out a suppressed sound. You can’t even register what it sounds like. A squeak or something? But looking at all his clothes almost makes everything so real for you. All his uniform? All his coats and sweaters? Ah, the one from high school. And then you can see all the ones you bought him. Damn, does that really test your strength.

Lined up neatly and nicely put away, it’s almost a shame to you to give these away. Your hand shakes as you hesitantly reach for one of his favorite button ups. Your skin meets the soft fabric and you only lightly touch it because you don’t want to wrinkle it. You remember when you used to iron Satoru’s clothes early in the morning before he woke up. Even until the end of your marriage, you still ironed them.

You look up, reaching for his work uniform. This is what he wore most often, you know that. So you let yourself crumble. Carefully taking off the hanger and sitting on his bed as you hold the shirt close to you. You bring it to your nose, just to smell it. You wish it smelled like Satoru more, but even so, it makes you break down.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes as you take another sniff. The thought that Satoru really isn’t here anymore makes your heartbreak. It comes crashing down on you. You really miss him, and you regret that you didn’t spend as much time as you would have liked to with him. You wish you could have had the courage to tell him how much you still cared and loved him. Yes, it might not have been the same kind of love you had for him before, but you did still love him.

You let out a little sob. In frustration and despair, tears flow out as you hold his clothes close to you. The walls of your bruised heart collapses as you hold his clothes so tight as if he was still in them. Well, you really do wish he was. You’re desperate to feel him in your arms physically. Just a moment with him so you could say your last sentiments. Just a moment to see him again. Just a moment to love him.

You’re helpless as your tears flow endlessly onto his shirt. You feel silly, but you just can’t stop. You really miss Satoru, and you have been for so many months now. You stroke the shirt as you would his body, wallowing in the grief you’re supposed to feel, even if the dead man is your ex-husband. You spent so many years loving him, how could you just not feel anything to hear news of his death? How could you not feel any regret or remorse for how messy you left things with him? There’s so many things you want to say to him, and it kills you to know you will never get to say any of it to him.

You wonder if Satoru was still around, would he wrap his arms around you and tell you not to cry? Would he kiss your temple like he always did when you were down? You wish he would just do all of it. You wish you two could have tried harder. Your love for him never burned out, you know that much. It’s the reason why you’re here, alone in his room crying as you hold his clothes dearly to you. And even if you hate to say it, even if you don’t want to admit it, Satoru loved you until the very end too.

“I’m still in love with you y’know…”

“Shut up,” You mutter as you slide the eggs off the pan for the hungry man at the table.

It was the dead hours of the night when he returned from a mission, knocking on your door, telling you that he was hungry and needed a place to crash.You slammed the door on him of course, but he wedged his foot in the gap of the door (no, it didn’t hurt, he’s got magical powers that prevent him from actually getting hurt like damn maniac) and used his own strength against you to push his upper body through the door to beg you to let him stay. It was a mistake on your part, but it actually wasn’t all that terrible that night. You were just bitter.

“My bad,” Satoru said dramatically as he took a bite. “Just thought you missed me. That’s the reason you let me in, right?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, not in the mood for any of his games. His smug grin made everything even worse, because he was right. “Gojo Satoru, wipe that grin off your face.”

“Must have hit a nerve,” He teased like it was still appropriate to do so.

You actually don’t even remember what you said then after that, but you just know… Gojo Satoru has you all figured out yet… he never said anything about it to you. And that was just him. He knew well enough not to break your heart one more time, but he was selfish enough to constantly flirt with you any time he could. If he passed by, or was coming home late from a mission and knocking on your door to remind you that he existed. Not anymore.

After cleaning his apartment, it’s all empty now. Which is a little strange. You’ve never even been to his place until after he died, and yet… it makes your stomach turn and feel upset after realizing that this place is no longer where your ex-lover resides. You understand that he’s no longer occupying it. There’s no point in keeping it for him. But maybe because you don’t think it through while you’re still in the grieving process. You don’t think about Gojo Satoru being dead because you don’t want to. It makes your heart squeeze and your breath stop. You can’t face the fact that he no longer exists and you can no longer see him anymore. You just can’t, so you wonder: where will his home be? Who's going to take care of him? Where is he going to go to shelter himself from the rain or snow? Where is he going to sleep? Where can he feel safe and secure?

You sigh, rubbing your eyes. You really need to get some proper rest. You feel yourself withering in the bitter feelings you still have toward Satoru, but also the dangerous sorrow that’s sinking your whole body down. You can’t believe that you really miss Gojo Satoru after all this time hating him and wishing you two had never met when he was here and alive, waiting for you to just cave into what your heart wanted. Truth is though, you never would. You were too strong for that.

Finally, you pack up the final things, leaving absolutely nothing behind. Satoru isn’t here anymore, and it looks exactly like that. This little corner of the world isn’t his anymore, and you’d like to say that it never was because he didn’t spend much of his time in this place. It’s just sad to see it all gone, stripped to the bare white box it actually is without the fun of your late ex-husband. You shut the door, leaving this place behind and bringing this part of Satoru with you, maybe the only part of Satoru that is still worldly and able for you to have in your grasp. You leave the key to his apartment on the landlord’s desk and leave with the rest of Satoru’s things in your arms, all thrown in the cardboard box labeled “Satoru” in your handwriting with a permanent marker. Silly of you to not even realize it, Gojo Satoru’s home is not a place, it’s you.

The end of it was the funeral process. Which was much more work than cleaning his apartment. You wish somebody was worried about your well-being, but that somebody, the most likely candidate, was dead. Satoru would have told you to chill out a bit and ask you to wind down with him, but this is his funeral, he can’t really do that now, can he? But you don’t want to seem like you’re so reliant on him. You’ve done plenty of things without him, and this will be no exception. He just… sort of made the process easier and bearable. You’re on your 10th phone call with the carpenters of the coffin when you really wish you didn’t take on the task of carrying out Satoru’s dying wishes. He didn’t even have many, because he was so sure he wasn’t going to die so soon.

Through it all, you hold yourself together quite elegantly. Even through the eulogy. No one would even guess the mental strain you put yourself through to make this all happen. All the floral arrangements are beautiful, Satoru’s corpse is dressed nicely—though you grace him with a closed casket funeral because you were sure that he did not want anyone to see him so vulnerably lifeless and you simply could not handle the sight of his stale and unresponsive body. But everyone could indeed tell, Gojo Satoru was loved. They could understand your love for the man. You wouldn’t have done it if you didn’t love him. But you just deny it.

His guest list was quite large. Some people you didn't even know, and you were sure he did not want that. But the higher ups had their own agenda too, and you had to make compromises though you stood your ground quite well for the sake of your late ex-husband's well being in the afterlife. You wonder, would Satoru love you for eternity for loving and caring for him unconditionally and so thoroughly? When you eventually join him, will he thank you for so meticulously planning and giving him a proper send off? You hope so. You hope that he will continue to love you in the next lifetime, and in that lifetime, you two will be happily together. Not miserably apart like you are now.

Maybe the only time anyone can see you break is when the casket is lowered and this is the last time that you’ll ever see Satoru’s face again, except you don’t. His casket is closed and covered with all the flowers you bought to send him off beautifully. There’s a complex look on your face, and no one could quite read it, but it was clear that there was a storm going on inside of you, stirring and rumbling. Your eyebrows knitted together and your eyes glossy with a down turn of your lips. You’re just keeping yourself together for Satoru. You need to.

The only time you get to break down about it is when you get home from the long day. Crumbling down your door, as you miserably sob. How could the world be so possibly cruel that you had to bury the last man you loved for the past ten years? It never gave you time to move on. You weren’t ready to let go just yet and be content with the distance. Sure, you asked for it when he was still tangible, but now he was untouchable, not existing, and it felt so painful. You curl up in a ball, on the bed you used to share with him. The bed you two used to gossip on and the bed where you simply just held him to sleep on your good days. The bed that you laid alone for most nights wishing he’d come to hold you and not be too tired for you. All the bad and good memories come to make you think of one thing; you wish Satoru was here right now.

You lay there, contemplating if you just want to stay there for the whole week or get up and cook yourself something. You haven’t been eating with how hectic it’s been to take care of Satoru’s send off. You sigh, closing your eyes. Sleep sounds like the best thing to you at the moment. You were drained and exhausted from preserving the life of Gojo Satoru as well as commemorating it. You needed that rest.

When you drift into sleep, you kind of hope that Satoru is there for you, waiting in a field of beautiful flowers like he came to visit you in a dream. Even if it’s just your imagination. You’d like to think that he cared enough that he left you alone to deal with all of the things he left behind. He doesn’t though, because you don’t dream. You just black out and you wonder if you’ll ever dream again. But maybe you’re just being dramatic because you miss your ex-husband so much. You blink the tears out from your eyes, wiping them before getting up and pulling yourself together. You can be sad, but not miserable. You were never the type to just crumble, however, even this shook you down to the very ground and yes, it is hard to get back up. But everything with Satoru was hard, and this was no different. You should have been used to this.

Eventually, you do get yourself together. Sad, but you’re functioning. You go back to work and you continue with your daily life. Satoru’s never really been a part of your daily routine after the 3rd year of being married to him. It was no different not seeing him at all, but it was just the fact that he truly wasn't there anymore. If you were to call his cell, it would just ring on your dresser in your room and go to voicemail. Sometimes, you wait for the voicemail just to hear his voice, but most times you stay away from his contact. You’re recovering, just slowly.

People at work send their condolences, just like they did when they found out you divorced Gojo Satoru. They give you a pitiful look and tell you to be strong, but when they think you’re not listening they bash Satoru for passing and still putting the responsibility of carrying his will out on his ex wife—you. You don’t defend him nor does what they say settle well with you. They’re right, of course. Gojo Satoru has always been selfish, up until his last breath, but you just can’t seem to feel validated when you’re the one who buried Gojo Satoru. He was once your whole world, how could you just completely numb yourself to the pain of losing your connection with him, absolutely and completely?

Apparently, you’re the only person on his will too. You inherit everything of his one day, and it’s kind of overwhelming. All of his money is transferred to your bank account, all his belongings, everything is yours. You don’t even know what to do with most of it. You don’t even want to look and use anything of his. So you store most of his things in a box and label it “Satoru,” along with the other things that you took from his apartment, and you make an account to store all his money in, for what? You don’t know, just something.

When you're older, you’ll come to realize that you made Satoru a loved person until the very end, and that you were perhaps the only person that he still had love for, even if you weren’t his wife anymore. This is why Satoru loved you so much, and yes, he got very lucky with you, you will give yourself that. But you also won’t feel so bitter about having to be the person to handle his departure because you made sure to do just the way he wanted it, by you. for now, you’ll miss him lots and bring him flowers whenever the time comes. You won’t call him your ex-husband, but your late-husband. You keep some of his clothes to wear like you used to. You still sleep on your side of the bed, leaving the space Satoru used to fill empty for him. Life goes on the way it used to.

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plutoccult · 6 months

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BRINGING THEM TO THANKSGIVING (PART TWO)

characters: reiner braun, bertholdt hoover, levi ackerman, erwin smith, and hange zoe (gender neutral pronouns for hange!)

description: headcanons on taking your favorite aot characters home to your family for thanksgiving.

read part one here

author’s note: hello! thank you for all the love on the first part of these headcanons. from my love all mine blowing up to also part one of the thanksgiving headcanons, i’m over the moon. i hope these headcanons are just as good, and happy (early) thanksgiving to those who celebrate! maybe i’ll do something christmas related in the future? in the meantime, i’m working on the next part of my haikyuu x the office au, and i hope more people will check it out! <3

REINER BRAUN:

— listen, i love this man, but he’s a mess. he wants to impress your family so bad! it’s so bad that he’s so in his head that he can’t even focus on having a good time. it’s not until you have a little talk with him in private and insist he let loose and try to have fun that he evades his overthinking head.

— despite his mess of a brain, he’s a total catch in the eyes of your grandmother and aunties. they think he’s a total HOTTIE! they can’t believe you bagged him, but at the same time are so impressed. you can’t help but roll your eyes at such comments while reiner has a hard time believing he’s that attractive.

— even if he’s not as tall as bertholdt, he’s still so tall, but has a better time navigating his stature as compared to his much taller best friend. your little cousins are quite amazed by his build, and he basically puts all the men in your family to shame in terms of muscle. good for you, honestly.

— at dinnertime, he feels more at ease and not as nervous when it came to making a good impression. he already left a positive mark on thanksgiving, and that mark continued throughout the rest of the night. everyone sure had no problem making sure that big boy was fed and was thrilled how much he loved everything. all in all, a success.

BERTHOLDT HOOVER:

— bertholdt is such a shy man!! my god!! he’s worse than reiner in terms of nervousness! no wonder they make such a great pair, they’re both wrecks. but bertholdt is sweaty, beet red mess when he walks through the door, and he can only pray no one notices and you don’t scold him for it (which you never would, but he can’t help but think you’ll do it anyway).

— he’s immediately overwhelmed by everyone greeting him all at once, a million words overlapping on another, and you have to tell everybody to call down and not scare him off right off the bat. bertholdt wouldn’t know what he’d do without you, really.

— honestly, take a shot every time someone mentions how tall bertholdt is. you’d be dead from alcohol poisoning before dinnertime, so don’t even try it. but seriously, everyone is so in awe of his height, it’s insane. you’re sometimes tempted to joke he’s not done yet growing just to make everyone sweat a little, but you don’t want to make your man even more flustered than he already is.

— unfortunately, bertholdt is too ridden with anxiety to properly eat his dinner, even if the small bites he ate were absolutely delicious. luckily for both of you, you get to take leftover plates home! the next day, he devoured his leftovers and ended up eating your plate too, but you weren’t mad. at least he enjoyed your family’s cooking in a place where he felt comfortable; at home with you.

LEVI ACKERMAN:

— you almost didn’t want to bring levi to thanksgiving. not because you didn’t want him to meet your family, but because he seemed so iffy on the subject of thanksgiving in the past. but, when you decided to take a chance and ask him about it, he was—much to your surprise—far more than willing to come along with you and even suggested the two of you bring a dish for the occasion (secretly because it was the one thing he could trust to eat).

— the two of you arrive, and you swore levi’s resting serial killer face would be the ultimate death of the holiday. your mother almost jumped when she opened the door and met levi’s piercing gaze, but was thankfully put at ease when he politely handed her the casserole he made with a soft smile. he was even nice enough to give her reheating instructions too. what a king.

— levi shockingly has a soft spot for children. you didn’t know that about him until now when you saw him cradling your baby niece in his arms with ease while she napped peacefully. the sight almost brought you to tears, seriously.

— even if levi didn’t have much of a family growing up, he could find solace in yours, secretly in his mind hoping he could always have things be this way. you were happy to see him happy, even if he had his own quirky ways of showing it, and you were so glad to have taken the leap to invite him to thanksgiving this year.

ERWIN SMITH:

— YOUR HONOR. i’m about to get oddly passionate about this for some reason, but hear me OUT. erwin is literally THEE man you want to bring home to meet your family. so serious. he’s every parent’s dream son-in-law. a father can only hope their child brings home someone like him, and luckily, you did!

— he’s such a charmer, oh my god. he just exudes bde, i’m not sorry (this is crazy coming from me, who was never a huge fan of erwin). he instantly wins over your family. you can’t even be shocked because he does this with every single person he meets, even you, who was swooned upon first meeting.

— he’s good with all the kids, just showing how more perfect he truly is, if that’s even humanly possible. everyone can’t stop talking about how awesome your man is, and you actually are proud of yourself for that. it’s about time you bagged an absolute 10 out of 10.

— when all is said and done, nobody wants him to go, they want him to stay forever! but don’t worry, he’ll come around for christmas, new year’s, and every other holiday after that.

HANGE ZOE:

— ah, my precious hange. they have their quirks, but that’s what makes them so wonderful, and that’s also why you fell for them in the first place. you can only hope your family falls for hange just like you did.

— honestly, hange just lights up the room. their presence has an instant effect on everyone, and some would argue the holiday for better once you two walked in together.

— i imagine hange talks about their inventions to your parents, showing examples of their previous work. it’s all impressive, really. you’ve got a real smarty pants on your hands, and your parents sure are happy about it! they’re just glad you’re not with someone who’s boring.

— they’re a total child at heart, not in a bad way. hange will play with the little ones as if they’re a kid themselves. they’ll even give out piggyback rides but with a little twist. the twist? bouncing around whilst a child is on their shoulders. thankfully, no one throws up.

— during dinner, hange probably thinks of good thanksgiving themed inventions and politely asks to write their ideas down on their phone since there’s a strict no phone rule at the dinner table. thankfully, your family can make an exception… as long as they’re mentioned in hange’s success story.

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gummydummy19 · 5 months

Text

A White Christmas

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Male Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Steve have the tower to yourself this Christmas :))

Content Warnings: Smut (handjob, use of toys, cum eating, anal, top M reader, bottom Steve Rogers, slight degradation, daddy kink...), fluff, horrible Christmas puns :))

A/N: @sozombiearcade thank you so much for this lovely Christmas request and for being so patient with me <3, I hope you enjoy it. Merry Christmas everyone!!xxx

Word Count: 1860+

The streets of New York were packed. People desperately scattered around trying to find a last-minute Christmas present. It was absolutely freezing, or at least that's what it looked like. You were nice and warm up in Stark Tower, with a book on your lap.

You smiled to yourself as you glanced over to the big, beautiful Christmas tree, the neatly wrapped present you bought your boyfriend immediately catching your eye.

The Tower is quiet, aside from your Christmas playlist you have on repeat. Thor and Loki went back to Asgard, Nat and Bruce went over to Clint and his family during the Holidays, Sam invited Bucky to join him and his sister for Christmas dinner and Tony took Pepper skiing in Aspen. Leaving you and your boyfriend Steve alone in the Tower, which you had decorated excessively.

The smell of gingerbread slowly invades your senses and you hear Steve hum along with "Jingle Bells" from the kitchen. Sadly, his happy humming stops and gets replaced by an upset whine and a naughty word or two.

'Language!', you yell with a grin, but when you don't hear a reply, you decide to put your book aside and make your way to the kitchen.

'Stevie, everything okay?' you ask as you stick your head through the doorframe. Steve is looking down at his tray of freshly baked cookies with a defeated look.

"What's wrong, honey? They look great!" you ask as you walk closer.

"I forgot to buy icing." The look on his face breaks your heart, but admittedly the little pout on his face is quite adorable. Truth be told, he has been looking insanely good all day.

Steve is not only an attractive man, he also cares a lot about hygiene. Back in the 40s he didn't have all the luxuries he has today, and when he goes on missions he sometimes can't shower or shave for weeks. So when he's home, he showers and shaves every single morning after his run. He hates body hair, so he was always perfectly sleek...everywhere.

"Oh Stevie, that's okay...they still look good without the icing," you reassure him, looking down at the gingerbread men.

"They look naked." he points out with a frown on his face.

You grin, pulling Steve closer and pressing a sweet kiss on his neck. "I do love my men naked..." you mumble as you nibble on his ear, hoping to cheer him up a little.

Unfortunately, the defeated look on Steve's face didn't go away that easily. "Aw, Stevie..." you cooed, wrapping your arms around him, "you know I hate to see you sad," your lips found his neck again while your arms squeezed him tighter to your chest.

Steve's breath hitched when you found his sweet spot, nibbling on it while your hands gently grabbed his hips, pulling his ass flush against your hardening cock. His hands grabbed the counter for balance as he whined, feeling your bulge grind against his ass.

"I'm sure we can figure something out...let me turn that frown upside down, baby, hmm?"

"Yes, daddy", Steve moaned obediently.

"Wanna touch daddy's cock? Hmm? Would that make you happy? Wanna jerk me off, baby?", you teased.

"Yes, daddy..." he whined.

"Ask daddy nicely, baby,"

"Please, daddy, please," he bucked his hips forward.

"Please, what?" you taunted.

"Please can I touch you, daddy, can I jerk you off, please..." he begged.

"Good boy...of course baby, c'mere," you packed up a little, allowing Steve to turn around. He immediately dropped to his knees and pulled down your sweats, noticing that you were already rock-hard.

"What a slutty boy..." you groaned, spitting in your hand before reaching down to stroke your hard cock.

You groaned at the feeling, letting your eyes fall shut for a second until you heard Steve whine impatiently.

You looked down at him, "Touch daddy's cock, Stevie", you commanded and he immediately did as he was told, squeezing your dick tightly as he stroked it up and down before twisting his first over your tip.

As you felt yourself creep closer to the edge, the tray of cookies caught your eye. You reached over, pulling it closer while Steve sped up his movements around your throbbing cock.

"That's it, baby...be a good boy and make daddy cum."

It only took a couple more strokes until you fell over the edge with a loud groan. Your body shook a little as you tried your best to aim for the platter, covering the gingerbread men with your sticky, white cum.

"Fuck, Steve...", you couldn't help but groan, "good fucking boy..."

You pulled him up against you, fumbling to pull your sweatpants up in the meantime. You let him drop his head on your shoulder as you did the same. Your mouth found the pulse point on his neck, feeling his rapid heartbeat against your lips.

You looked at the counter, observing the wonderful mess you had made. "Look at that, Stevie...your gingerbread men aren't so naked anymore", you grinned, picking up one of the cookies that was covered in cum and bringing it to his mouth. He took a large bite, savoring your familiar taste.

"Delicious...", he hummed, looking at you in adoration. You couldn't help but pull him in for a passionate kiss, tasting the sweetness of his cookies and the saltiness of your...icing.

"I think you deserve to open one of your Christmas presents early, what do you think?"

"Yeah?", he blushed and you nodded, taking his hand and pulling him to the living room.

"Say, Stevie, have you been naughty or nice this year?" you smirked and you pushed your boyfriend back on the couch.

"Is that a trick question?" he grinned, making you smile.

"Hmm," you couldn't help but kiss him again before getting up and grabbing a neatly wrapped box from under the tree.

"Naughty and/or nice, you've definitely been my good boy this year", you praised.

Steve gently ripped open the packaging, his cheeks tinting red again as he saw what you had gifted him. It was a navy blue, vibrating stroker.

"Do you like it?", you asked, grinning when Steve nodded franticly.

"Wanna try it?", you asked, trying to contain the twinkle in your eyes.

He nodded again, this time a bit more shy.

"You want uh...do you wanna...or...you want me to...uhm...", he stuttered, making you chuckle before leaning in closer.

"I wanna use it on you, Stevie, if that's okay?"

"Y-yeah, yes, absolutely."

His enthusiasm alone made your cock stir again.

"That's my good boy," you mumbled against his lips, "take off your pants and play with yourself while I go get the lube,"

Steve's pants hit the floor before you even made it out of the living room. When you got back, merely a couple seconds later, you found him panting on the couch with his cock in his hand.

"Merry Christmas indeed," you stated, dropping down next to him. Your hand quickly took over from his, pumping him a couple times until he was a moaning mess.

"Turn around", you commanded and he obeyed immediately, giving you a clear view of his shaven asshole.

"Fuck, you know, I hate it when they call this America's ass. This is my ass, all mine," you grumbled, giving his cheek a good squeeze followed by a light smack.

"Ah...yes, daddy, all yours, please touch me, daddy", he pleaded.

"Yeah? Want me to touch you? Want daddy to fill your stocking, hm?"

Steve couldn't help but giggle a little at your awful pun, earning him another spank.

"Shut up," you chuckled, before reaching to grab the lube and applying a good amount on his bare hole and your fingers.

Steve moaned loudly as you slid a finger inside, prepping him for your hardening cock. You slowly worked him open, adding another finger while your other hand gently traced his skin.

"Ready for my cock, Stevie?" you questioned after a couple minutes, noticing he was getting harder and more desperate.

"Yes, please...please"

You used some more lube to cover your cock, stroking it a few times before pressing it to Steve's hole. Slowly but steadily you slid inside him. Both of you let out a string of whines and groans, your hands holding onto his hips as you fucked him slowly from behind.

You gave him some time to adjust before you grabbed the toy, adding a little bit of lube to that as well.

"C'mere, Stevie, lean up a bit...like this", you gently grabbed his shoulder, making him lean his back against your chest so you had easier access to his smoothly-shaven cock. The toy slid over him with ease.

"Oh shit, daddy!" he moaned when you turned up the vibrations, stroking the toy while starting to fuck into him again.

"Fuck, baby, doing so good, my good boy", you praised as you picked up the pace, positively destroying his asshole.

Your free hand roamed over his strong, hairless chest, pinching his nipple in the process.

"Ah, f-fuck..." he stuttered, his head lulling back against your shoulder.

you chuckled, "You like it when I play with your nipples, hmm? Such a desperate little slut...look at you, I've only just started and your cock is already leaking", you taunted, feeling the sticky drops land on your fingers.

"Please, daddy...fuck, that feels so good..."

That was your cue to turn up the vibrations, making Steve keen in pleasure. His hands for your arms, trying to keep himself grounded.

You angled your hips up a little, hitting his spot perfectly.

"Fuuucckk, daddy, right there! Please please please can I cum? Can I cum please m'so close...", he begged, tears welling in his eyes.

"Cum for me you fucking slut, cum for me while I fuck your ass."

And he did. Hard.

Steve's cum shot out of his dick in thick ropes, covering his own stomach and chest.

You fucked him roughly through his high, before discarding the toy and pulling out of him.

"Turn around!" you roared, as you jerked yourself off at a fast pace, ready to tumble over the edge.

Steve clumsily dropped to his knees, just in time to catch the hot spurts of cum all over his face.

You yelled out his name, screwing your eyes shut as pleasure consumed you.

"Fucking hell..." you huffed out. Your eyes fluttered open and you were met with an absolutely ruined Steve, leaning exhausted against the couch, covered in both your and his own cum.

You dropped down beside him, pulling him close. "You did so good for me, you're so hot, so perfect...", you mumbled, trying to bring him back down to earth with sweet words and gentle kisses.

"You okay?", you asked, taking in his fucked out look.

"Hmm", was all he could muster, looking at you with a dopey grin plastered all over his face.

"Looks like you got a white Christmas this year, huh?", you grinned.

"Oh, shut up", he chuckled, playfully hitting your shoulder.

The two of you cuddled for a while after that, before taking a nice hot shower together. Though in hindsight, that might have been a bit pointless, since Steve still had to give you his gift too....

Taglist;

@metalbuckaroo @princessayveke @montsepliego @scxrletrecsmarvel @hopelesslyrogers @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @tfandtws @vicmc624 @ahahafudge @enchantedbarnes @wickedravyn @pono-pura-vida @amayaraestyles @matchat3a @fictional-hooman @sebastianexplicit @peaches1958 @avengersfan25 @jamneuromain @tryingtoliveonmywishes @mrsevans90 @daybreak96 @tiredqueen73 @fallingforunrealisticromance @identity2212 @randomweirdoss @ragamuffin285 @juliaorpll78 @geralts-yenn @imjusthereforliam @bangtanstoeart @squeezyvalkyrie @enchantedbytomandhenry @superduckmilkshake @kingliam2019 @bascmve01 @missgaygurl @foxyjwls007 @mollymal @urmomsgirlfriend1 @luxeydior

#steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers smut #captain america smut #captain america #steve rogers #smut #fluff #Christmas

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writerslittlelibrary · 5 months

Text

I'm your mother now, chapter 8

masterlist series masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

summary: you’ve finally accepted Natasha as your mother, and because of that she has decided to have a nice Christmas with your new family

pairing: Dark!Natasha x teen reader, Dark!Yelena x teen reader, Dark!Melina x teen reader, Dark!Alexei x teen reader

warnings: dark themes, kinda evil Natasha, translated Russian, Stockholm syndrome

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2168

a/n: well guys, here it is, the final chapter of the ‘I’m your mother now’ series. I hope you enjoy:) (I apologise for the delay. like I mentioned before, I’m sick) thank you all for the messages I got, I appreciate all of you ��

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

|——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You didn’t know what changed, but Natasha was so much more comfortable to be around. You weren’t sure if something changed about you, or something changed about her, but you knew something did.

She was more flexible. Less strict with following routines and more caring. You were having the time of your life, and when Natasha asked you to join her with going to town, you didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

You had no clue what date or month it was, but when you got to the town, there were Christmas decorations everywhere.

Lights were hung up in every tree, and the stores were filled with trees, ornaments and lights.

Natasha smiled as she pulled you over to the trees, telling you you could pick one. You smiled and held Natasha’s hand tightly as you weaved through the many Christmas trees, looking for the best one.

“You can pick one as large as you like, Malyshka,” Natasha told you as you stared at the bigger trees.

You gave her another large smile and nodded, dragging her to the larger trees.

“What about that one?” you asked as you pointed at a large, full tree. It was absolutely beautiful, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile from the excitement on your face.

“Of course we can get that one,” she told you, signalling to a worker that was there to pack the Christmas trees.

“We’d like this one,” Natasha said as she motioned to the tree.

The worked nodded, putting a number on it and asking for an address. You should’ve known it would be delivered. There’s no way any Christmas tree would fit in that expensive car that Natasha owned.

After giving the man an address, he nodded and wrote it down.

You weren’t particularly sure Natasha gave a real address though. She had done so well with hiding your location, picking out a house far into the woods. You were certain Natasha would never give away that location, but you didn’t really find it in yourself to care, or even to really think about it. You trusted Natasha, and you were sure she knew what she was doing.

“You picked a nice one,” the worker suddenly said, pulling you from your thoughts.

He had a strong Russian accent, yet his English was flawless and very understandable. You nodded, giving him a small smile as he gave Natasha a card, probably confirmation of buying the tree.

Natasha thanked him before dragging you towards the mall, claiming you two needed to get Christmas decorations, as Natasha didn’t have any of those in the house yet.

Of course, your shopping spree ended with ice-cream. No matter how cold or snowy the weather got, Natasha claimed ice-cream was always appropriate, and who were you to disagree?

After coming home, Natasha told you to help her put out all the Christmas decorations. The tree would be coming tomorrow, so now you could just help her put some decorations up around the house.

Natasha had bought an insane amount of nice lights, hanging them up everywhere, giving the room and pleasant and cosy feeling.

That day was over pretty fast, and because you still weren’t quite over the whole police ordeal, you still requested Natasha to stay in your room every night.

Of course, Natasha happy obliged each time, being more than happy that you finally admitted you needed her. You were absolutely drained from the day, so you slept in, and to your surprise, Natasha didn’t come to wake you. You slept peacefully until your clock had more than two numbers before the dots.

It was about 10.30 when Natasha came to wake you up, and you groaned and stretched as she pulled you out of bed, trying to get you exited with the idea that the tree was coming today.

You were out of bed in no time when you remembered that, happy to follow Natasha’s whole morning routine as you played with the bubbles in the bath.

You were happy, content. Why had you resisted so much when you first arrived?

You loved Natasha, and she loved you. She took care of you, taught you how to take proper care of yourself, too. She bathed you, made you food, helped you get ready for bed and helped you with everything you could ever need or want help with.

Natasha loved you, right?

Yes. Yes she did. Natasha loved you.

It was about three in the afternoon when the doorbell rang. Natasha went to open it while you happily ate your lunch.

When the door opened, you heard a familiar voice entering the house, and it didn’t take long before you jumped up, running to the front door and greeting the person.

It was auntie Yelena, and she had brought the Christmas tree.

Yelena was here! Was she gonna celebrate Christmas with you as well?

Yelena smiled as she opened her arms, allowing you to hug her tightly. Natasha smiled lovingly at the sight, happy you two got along so well. After a few second, Yelena let go, saying she needed some help unloading the Christmas tree.

You nodded, and turned to Natasha to silently ask for permission.

When Natasha gave you a nod, you smiled widely, grabbing Yelena’s hand as she led you to her much larger car. The tree could easily fit in it, and you figured Natasha must’ve had it delivered to Yelena’s place.

After helping Yelena get the tree inside, Natasha walked in with the big box you bought yesterday. It had all the decorations you’d need for a Christmas tree.

You were more than happy when you, Yelena, and Natasha decorated the tree. They mostly let you decided where what would go, wanting the tree to look perfect in your vision. They wanted Christmas to be perfect for you, knowing you never had a proper one.

And so, Natasha and Yelena followed your every command as you told them where and how to put the ornaments, smiling and laughing at your little bossy attitude.

Natasha playfully scolded you for it, and when she noticed you didn’t even flinch, but rather just laughed with her and joked about it, she looked at Yelena, eyes filled with hope.

You were happy. You were home.

Yelena stayed with you that entire week, and on Christmas Eve, the doorbell rung again. You and Yelena stayed at the table, playing a board game you found in the closet as Natasha went to open the door.

You heard two voices coming from the hallway, and you heard multiple greetings in Russian.

One voice was heavy and sounded like it belonged to a man, while the other was a little softer, yet still sounded a bit stern.

You had no idea who these two people could possible be, yet when they walked into the house, seeing you sitting at the kitchen counter with Yelena, the woman walked over to you, engulfing you in a tight hug.

You were surprised, to say the least, but you didn’t hesitate or pull away.

When the woman finally pulled away, she cupped your cheeks in her hands, studying your face.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Malyshka,” the woman spoke with a heavy Russian accent. You figured these must be Natasha and Yelena’s parents.

The woman smiled as she gently rubbed her slightly rough thumbs across your cheek. “You are so beautiful,” she said as she placed a kiss on your forehead. You smiled slightly at her, still rather confused about the sudden presence of the two new people.

“Mama, dayte yey nemnogo mesta,” (mama, give her some space) Yelena spoke, and the woman let her hands drops from your face.

“I apologise. I am Melina,” the woman introduced herself, and you smiled as you raised your hand for her to shake. “I’m y/n,” you told her as she chuckled, shaking your hand firmly.

“And I am Alexei,” a voice from behind Melina boomed.

Alexei stepped forward, giving you a pleasant smile. “I too, am very happy to meet you. You look even prettier than pictures,” he stated, and you frowned slightly before you let the train of thought go, not wanting to concern yourself with such things any longer.

You smiled at him, and invited both of them to sit down and play the game with you.

The smiled and agreed, and soon all five of you were playing the game. When it was about ten o'clock, Natasha stated you should go to bed, as you had an exciting day tomorrow.

You frowned at that, not sure what would be so exciting about tomorrow, yet you didn’t protest when Natasha grabbed your hand, making you say goodnight to everyone before leading you up to your room.

After you were all done and settled in bed, you looked at Natasha with the best puppy dog eyes you could possible muster.

“Will you still stay with me tonight, mama?” you asked her innocently, and she smiled as she sat down on the bed. She stroked your hair, letting her hand follow it all the way to your back before she started at the top of your head again.

You were sleepy, it was undeniable, and the way you clutched your stuffed animals was melting Natasha’s heart.

“How about this,” Natasha started, leaning a bit closer. “I will stay with you until you fall asleep, and then I’ll go downstairs to talk with the other for a while, and when we’ll all go to bed, I’ll come and sleep here, okay?” Natasha suggested, and you nodded as you closed your eyes.

“Nighty night, Malyshka. Sweet dreams,” she told you, giving you a kiss on your forehead, continuing to stroke your back until you were fully asleep.

Natasha kept her promise, and when she went to bed herself, she joined you in your bed, revelling in the fact you unconsciously reached out for her to cuddle.

On Christmas morning, Natasha gently woke you up, placing kisses all over your face until your groaned and opened your eyes. Natasha smiled sweetly at you as she saw you wake up, placing some more kisses on your face until you were giggling, pushing her head away to get away from the tickly sensation.

Natasha smiled and gave you a moment to fully wake up, before she helped you out of bed, and as always, bathed you and helped you brush your teeth.

Once your were clean and dressed, Natasha took you downstairs, where Yelena, Melina, and Alexei were already sitting at the kitchen counter. You smiled at them, returning their good mornings as you went to sit down.

Natasha smirked slightly and gave Yelena a small nudge, who understood the hint and spoke up.

“Don’t you wanna look at the Christmas tree, Malysh?” Yelena asked, and you looked at her a bit confused.

“Why? Did something change?” you asked her with confusion, while the others just smiled at you. “Just go and look,” Natasha then stated, making you stand up from you chair and walk into the living room.

It took only mere seconds before you noticed the countless present under the Christmas tree.

“Presents!?” you exclaimed, and you swear you could hear Natasha chuckle at your surprise. “Why are there so many presents?!” you asked in excitement, and Natasha smiled as she walked up to you.

“It’s Christmas, Malyshla,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone gets presents during Christmas,” she explained.

“I’ve never had presents on Christmas!” you exclaimed excitedly, turning to Natasha, seeing the amused look she carried on her face. “You do now,” she simply stated, wiping some stray hairs from your face.

“Do you want to go open some?” she asked, and you nodded happily, walking over to the tree and sitting on the ground, close to the presents.

Apparently, Melina, Alexei, Yelena, and Natasha had all bought you presents, making the tree overflow. Of course, there were presents for them as well, probably bought by eachother, but most of the presents were for you.

You happily opened present after present, appreciating and thanking everyone for each and every gift.

The others sat on the couch, leaving the present dealing all up to you. You could decided who would get what present and when.

You had the best time ever, and after all the presents were opened, you didn’t even hesitate to drag everyone to play a board game you got as one of your presents. Everyone was happy, and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely.

All your previous thoughts and concerns were gone. All you knew was Natasha. All you wanted to know was Natasha. You were happy, you were safe, and you would never have to worry about anything ever again.

You were happy.

It kept repeating in your head, but it wasn’t an uncertainty as it had been all those weeks ago.

You were safe.

Nothing was uncertain anymore. Everything was clear. Natasha saved you. Natasha loved you, and you loved her.

Forever.

(phew, that was it. that was the whole series. I hope you guys enjoyed and I hope you were happy with the ending I wrote! hopefully I’ll see you in future fics!:))

tag list: @carol-romanoff @natsxwife @simp-erformarvelwomen @clintsbigtoe @olsenmyolsen @leenasayeed @naslt @dvrkhcld @nova-kyle @wandanatsbaby @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid @cherlenovix @mrsromanovaa @wandanatsgirl @screechcat @a-spes @xanthreee

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @slut4johansson

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matcha-flavored-cake · 10 months

Text

୧ ‧₊˚ 🥐 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐄!𝟒𝟐 𝐇𝐂𝐒.

. warnings: mentions of death (Jefferson) and grief, grammar erros (english is not my first language).

. featuring: Miles Morales (e!42)

. wc: 1.4k

.a/n: if you see grammatical errors, or me saying something in Spanish wrong, please feel free to correct me. My Spanish is rusty as fuck

hcs for miles 1610 here

He listens to a lot of reggaeton, afrobeat, and R&B. C'mon guys, look at my face and say to me he doesn't, also he prob like old school rap too, thanks to uncle Aaron and his dad, Jefferson probably showed his some jazz

I feel like Mama Rio and Abuelita Gloria showed him some old Puerto Rican singers and he listens old songs from time to time, specially when his nana is visiting

This man knows mechanics. Period. Help his mom to fix things around the house, shower, the lights etc. Bet his 'son and dad' time involved something with fixing things around the house and Jefferson 'passing the knowledge ' to Miles

"Listen Miles, you're the man in the house when I'm not around got it?"

"'kay dad"

"When I'm not around you're responsible for your mom deal? Gotta make sure she's in good hands when I'm not around"

"I gotchu dad, don't worry"

Ok listen, I'm kicking my feet thinking about Miles tuning his uncle's Ducati (and prob Aaron has a Ducati Scrambler. I do not take criticism), while listening music I'm just *giggling like a schoolgirl*

Btw I feel like if Miles ever had a motorcycle for his personal use and not for Prowler activities, it would be a Kawasaki Ninja or a Yamaha XSR 900. For Prowler activity honestly, he would have a Hayabusa bc it's fast as fuck, with purple neon lights like his Prowler suit. you cannot argue with me. I feel like it was a way of him and his uncle spend time together before his dad died

Miles prob is always tinkering with the titanium claws and his paraphernalia. (I love this word btw)

So yeah prob hes always with his uncle doing shit on the motorcycle or his suit while listening music or sum, or practicing boxing together.

And I bet his mom slapped them two when she once arrived and saw Aaron teaching Miles how to pilot a bike

"What you're doing with my son Aaron!" *that one meme of a man slapping the player on the shoulder*

"Ouch ouch! I'm just teachin' the kid how to pilot Rio, I surrender I surrender!"

"¿Y tú? ¿Qué diablos está en tu mente, Miles? ¡Montando una motocicleta! What am I going to do with you Miles Gonzalo Morales?!"

"¡Cálmate mamá! Uncle Aaron was just teachin' me, no es gran cos- ouch! Mom that hurts!"

Speaking of which, Mama Rio has insane strength on her arms (being a nurse demand a lot of strength to carry patients, changing their clothes, helping them bathe and all), that being said, when Mama Rio get ✨la chancla✨ oh boy, run, no kidding, run

(Everytime my mom grabbed her havaianas I runned more than Usain Bolt. I still do honestly)

I have a feeling that Miles knows how to cook, like he always knew. Arroz con pollo? Bet, does it with eyes closed. Fancy meals? Oh boy he's probably the only guy that the women of the family let inside the kitchen to help with Christmas banquet.

He eat his veggies, hates wasting food, it's not a picky eater but don't put pickles on his burger for the love of God.

Bet his nana tried to give him a bit of coquito without his mom seeing. (I hc his nana is one of those old lady that are a menace to society)

"Take a sip don't worry, No one is watching"

"No nana I'm all good"

"¡Mamá! Take this away from Miles."

Since his dad passed away he understood quite early that now he is the man in the house, that now he's the one to take care of his mom. So he started paying more attention to the chores. His mom is on duty? He's putting some music and cleaning the house, changing the blankets of his mom's bed, and probably making something for her to eat when she come back.

Prob has his mom schedule on his phone to make sure he knows where she is so it wouldn't risk her seeing his as the Prowler and he can watch out from the buildings while Rio walks to her work

Sunday family lunch was usual at Miles' house, his dad 'helping' his mom with the food (he just looked and passed her the ingredients), while Miles set the table. Music on the radio, enjoying the day before Miles need to go back to Brooklyn Visions.

Prefer more salty foods than sweets. Likes eating steak, it doesn't matter if it's BBQ or carne assada, he likes meat. For sweets, he's obsessed with the way his mom does Tembleque (sorry Abuelita Gloria)

We know his room is quite similar to 1610 Miles, but I feel like he doesn't have as many toys as 1610 Miles does. He sold some and used the money to help his mom somehow, he just doesn't want to be a burden for her.

I feel like he doesn't give his mom the money, he straight up pays the bill, or does groceries, so there's no way his mom can deny it. That or he gives the money to his uncle and they pretend that it is Aaron helping them.

It's confirmed by the artbook that Miles Prowler is a vigilante. That being said I think he decided to be the Prowler to help his place somehow, maybe even to make his dad proud, and to make his mom's life easier (just imagine the amount of people that get in the hospital because of how dangerous is the city now my god).

His mom is the priority in his life, he loves his family, his neighborhood and his friends. He's a kind soul with a shattered heart.

Miles is a quite good student. Not the '🤓☝️ actually that's happened at 09:12 in 1786…' type of smart, but the fast thinking kind of smart student. If he doesn't remember the formula he uses logical thinking. Prob takes classes ahead of his years and since he's always tinkering with his uncle his grades in calculus related stuff are pretty high.

Very good with Spanish by the way. Since his dad passed away he started learning more and more to speak with his mom in her native language to make her feel more 'at home' somehow.

I feel like in the first week after his dad passed away he slept in his house for some time and not in Brooklyn Visions dorms, he wished to be with his mom. He did not want her to be alone on her bed, mourning hi dad's death. Abuelita Gloria stayed some months with them too to help her daughter and to help Miles

Miles do his best to be organized, make his bed everyday after waking up, his cabinet is always organized, his Jordans are clean and probably have a collection of them on a shelf in his room. The only messy place on his room is his desk

Has a vinyl collection, don't argue with me. There's literally a bunch of vinyls in his room, guys.

Has some old Puerto Rican singers vinyls on his room thanks to Abuelita Gloria

Miles sings a bit, and have quite a melodic baritone voice. For my synesthetic friends, his voice sounds like honey, Miles is most of times humming when he's making upgrades on his claws

He's more athletic than 1610 Miles. Parkour, boxing and playing basketball with his neighbors and uncle

Started parkour because of his prowler activities to keep up with his uncle, same with boxing, after all he needed to defend himself and his mom. I don't doubt he knows krav maga too and I also don't doubt he taught his mom self defense.

Bought his mom a self defense kit

Uncle Aaron teached him forbidden movements in jiu jitsu, I take zero criticism on that one

Miles has a hard time sleeping sometimes, doesn't shift much when sleeping and has a knife under his pillow or something both in his house room and in Brooklyn Visions.

Loves, love, loves kids, as i said he's a kind soul with a shattered heart, and I think he's quite good with kids, and scares the shit of some at the same time.

I feel 'angry painter' vibes from him. He sketches and all but I feel like he's more of a painter and graffiti kind of guy. I do think he knows how to play bass or piano btw

Would get piercings on his ear and tongue, yes. But since he's the Prowler it would be troublesome because of the time that takes to heal

The old ladies of the neighborhood love him, he's kind to them, and always scare away weird looking guys

Is the crush nextdoor of almost every girl on the neighborhood

One time he scared the shit out of a creep on his neighborhood. Punched the guy so bad that dislocate the man's jaw. Since then he need to hide himself on valentine day, the good part about it is that he got a lot of chocolate to eat.

Seems like a bad boy all the time but he's an introvert. Miles do his best to don't get attached to people bc he doesn't want to drag them into his world or risk people he loves

He just don't want see people dying anymore, that's why he does what he does, to make the world a little bit safe, even if it's just a bit

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onceuponaoneshotfanfic · 11 months

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Hey, I was wondering if you'd do a Roy Kent x reader series (maybe) where she asks him to pretend they're boyfriend/girlfriend because her ex-boyfriend is marrying her somewhat younger sister. Kinda like The Wedding Date (if you've seen it). Ends up happily ever after?

Ahh, I was going to originally try to do this in one go, but decided to do this in a few small parts so I can get some fluff breaks while working on my longer fic. Here's part one!

Playing Pretend (Part 1)

Roy Kent x Reader

1.9k words

Warnings: Language, references to possible cheating, mutual pining, major rom-com vibes

Summary: The reader has a huge favor to ask Roy Kent- a guy who can never say no to her.

Series Masterlist

“What the fuck d’you want me to do?”

“Be my boyfriend,” you explained slowly. “At the wedding.”

Roy wrinkled his nose. “There’s really no one else you can ask?”

You let out a giant sigh and tapped the side of your beer bottle. “I mean, sure, maybe. But you’re Roy fucking Kent. You’d be kind of perfect.”

His eyes bore into yours. Roy Kent had known you quite literally your whole life; he could still remember when his very pregnant mother took him to the hospital to meet you, his sister’s future best friend. Your families were ridiculously close. Up until you were about sixteen, he thought of you as an annoying little bonus sister; then, one Christmas, he came home and suddenly felt decidedly un-brotherly towards you. The way you smiled at him, the way you wore that pink dress, the way you kissed his cheek before you left at the end of the party, all of it made something snap in his brain. For years after that, the very sight of you burned his chest. But there was no way he could tell you; his little sister’s best friend? Cliché.

But those cliché feelings meant he couldn’t say no to you. Not when you’d called him late at night needing to escape from skeevy dates. Not when you’d begged him for an autograph from Jamie Tartt. Not when you’d demanded to know where he got the kebabs he brought to his sister’s parties. And definitely not now, when your heart was in a million pieces as you watched your baby sister get ready to marry your ex-boyfriend.

The idea was insane, you freely admitted that. But the situation you found yourself was equally insane, if you were being honest.

You had dated Jim for years. And Roy fucking hated him. The guy was everything Roy wasn’t: friendly, outgoing, affable, posh, clever. And you loved him. Your parents loved him. Everyone loved him.

When Jim ended things out of the blue three years ago, everyone was shocked. He hadn’t proposed, per se, but it was expected. Things were implied. You’d started looking at rings and thinking about venues. So, when he suddenly broke up with you, you were devastated. You’d spent more than a few nights curled up on the couch at Roy’s sister’s house, with Roy taking Phoebe out of the house so you could mourn with your best friend in peace.

Just when you thought you were pretty much over things, your baby sister Lauren came home with big news. And a ring on her finger. And Jim.

You’d quietly excused yourself from the party she’d chosen to announce her engagement at, walked into a bathroom and vomited, and called Roy. He’d picked you up and drove you to his sister’s, where he watched you drink whiskey straight from a bottle and cry in his sister’s arms.

Now you sat next to him at a bar, where you’d asked him to meet you so you could ask him a huge favor. He’d expected tickets to a match, or help moving to a new flat, or asking him to donate a fucking kidney, literally anything but this. A weekend at some posh estate where your whole family would be celebrating your sister and fucking Jim, watching your heart break all over again sounded like absolute shit to Roy.

But you looked at him with those stupid pleading eyes. “Please, Roy,” you begged. “You’re the only guy I trust enough for this. You’ll protect me. You always protect me.”

There it was. It wasn’t just having the big football star on your arm to show off to everyone; it was having someone you felt safe with. Someone who wouldn’t mock you. Someone who understood. And Roy was always determined to be that person.

“Fine. I’ll fucking do it.”

His cheek burned like fire where you kissed him in gratitude. “Thanks a million Roy! This is why you’re my favorite fella.

Favorite fella. You’d called him that for years. Your mother was the first person to say it after seeing the way you toddled after him all the time once you’d learned to walk. Through the boyfriends you had, through the models he dated, you assured him time and time again that he’d always be your favorite fella.

Roy ignored the warmth in his chest and sipped his beer. “Doesn’t it feel a bit like you’re stealing your sister’s thunder? Bringing a professional footballer as your date?” he mused, anxious to move the conversation along and distract himself from how fucking pretty you looked.

The shrug you gave held a coldness he didn’t know someone as kind as you could muster. “Well, she did steal my boyfriend.”

The smirk that Roy gave made your heart flutter, reminding you of all the pining you’d done for him over the years. “Fair enough.” He looked thoughtful. “You don’t have to answer but… did he… and she…?” He nodded emphatically, not sure how to finish that sentence.

Another shrug. “Who fucking knows? I don’t need to know. They didn’t have the decency to tell me they’d started shagging, that’s all I need to know.”

Roy’s heart was sad to see the hurt in your eyes. He quickly changed his tone. “Can’t believe my sister isn’t invited. Figured you’d wrangle her into keeping you company all weekend.”

You snorted, one of Roy’s favorite sounds. “Oh, she was,” you corrected him. “She’s protesting because she hates Jim and my sister.” You raised your bottle to Roy appreciatively. “Yet another reason to invite you- I need at least one Kent there. And Phoebe couldn’t do shots with me or carry me back to our room when I’m sloshed.”

That was a job Roy wouldn’t mind doing. “Bit surprised I didn’t get an invite. Only known Lauren since she was fucking born.”

“Oh, there was no way you were getting invited. Jim hates you.” Your tone was so matter of fact it took Roy off guard.

“Excuse me?” Roy’d had no idea the disdain was mutual.

You nodded, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Yeah, when we were dating, he did not like me hanging out with a dishy footballer. Hates your guts.” Your face lit up playfully. “Yet another reason you’re the perfect wedding date.”

Another smirk crossed his bearded face. “Dishy? Is that his word or yours?”

With a laugh, you shoved him, slipping into that familiar old comfort, the one that made you forget he was Roy Kent. “Don’t go getting a big head, otherwise you won’t fit in the car.”

Two weeks later, Roy felt his grip on the steering wheel tighten as he pulled into the drive of the estate the two of you would be spending the weekend at. Of course Jim’s family had gone all out for the wedding. Wanker.

Your leg shook almost violently as your eyes darted around. Instinctively, Roy reached out and took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Three days,” he reminded you. “That’s all we’ve gotta get through. Rehearsal dinner tomorrow, wedding Saturday, stupid brunch on Sunday.”

Looking down at your intertwined fingers, you nodded. “Maybe we can skip brunch?” you joked.

Deciding he should start playing the doting boyfriend now, he lifted your hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the back of your hand. “We can abso-fucking-lutely skip brunch.”

And you knew he meant it. Roy always meant it. It was one of the million things that made him your absolute life-long unattainable crush that you thrust into the back of your mind. You always felt like a dumb little kid around him, as if you never quite outgrew the childhood you’d shared, but part of you hoped this weekend together would maybe help him see you in a different light. Besides, Roy’s sister was right when she suggested that Roy would really get under Jim’s skin.

As if summoned, Jim came bounding out of the house, waving at the familiar sight of your car. You felt your breath catch as you gazed at him. Jim. Your Jim. At least, what used to be your Jim.

You got out of the car and waved back. “Hey there!” you called, as if you hadn’t spent the last nine months avoiding him at every family gathering he and Lauren attended.

His smile faded when Roy got out of the car, wearing that signature scowl of his. “Roy!” Jim shouted, quickly recovering. “Didn’t know you were coming.” Now in front of you, he leaned closer. “Thought you were bringing that mystery boyfriend of yours,” he whispered, ignoring the fact that Roy could hear him.

Alright. Here we go. Time to sell it.

“I did,” you chirped brightly. You waved Roy over and wrapped an arm around his waist, while he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Surprise!”

For all the years you’d spent with Jim, you’d never seen him so red in the face. “Oh! Wow! That’s great!”

Roy smiled, a smug grin that felt so fucking good on his face. “It is great, isn’t it? Me and this one, finally getting together.”

Jim cleared his throat, squirming like a worm. “Right. Well, when did this-”

“Sister!”

Lauren came sprinting out of the house, squealing as if you were her favorite person in the world. She wrapped you in a hug and planted multiple kisses on your cheek. When she pulled back, she finally noticed Roy.

“Oh. Roy. What’re you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, Lauren,” he muttered through his teeth.

Your sister turned to you. “What happened to mystery boyfriend? I was so looking forward to meeting him,” she pouted.

You laid a hand on Roy’s stomach, pulling him close, pretending as if you did this all the time and not just in your dreams. “Well, I’m not sure introductions are necessary, considering you’ve known him forever,” you joked, hoping your tone was light.

Lauren looked as if she was doing a difficult maths problem. “I’m sorry, Roy? Your mystery boyfriend is Roy? As in, known him our whole lives, football phenomenon, used to chase you around the backyard with spiders Roy? That Roy?” Her eyes darted to Jim, who looked just as confused. “Are you joking?”

“Absolutely not,” you lied. “You said I could bring a date. I told you I’d bring my boyfriend.” You nodded towards Roy. “There he is. Is there problem or can we grab our things?”

That superior smile your youngest sister often wore appeared. “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” She judged Jim. “Love, could you send someone to grab their things?”

Roy rolled his eyes with one of his familiar groans. “Just tell me where the fucking room is. I can carry my own shit.” After a quick look from you, he cleared his throat. “Sorry, just a bit tired from the drive. And, if we’re being candid, kind of want to get this one alone for a bit before dinner, you know?” A kiss landed on the top of your head, painting your face a deep red.

The bride and groom both gawked at you, as if waiting for one of you to shout that you were kidding, that you were pathetically alone and that Roy was leaving. When neither of you did, Lauren cleared her throat. “Right. Um, when you go inside the housekeeper can show you where to go.” She turned to Jim. “We should go, er, check on that thing, right darling?”

Jim nodded, his eyes on you. “Right, right.” He offered a small wave. “We’ll see you later then.”

As soon as they were out of sight, Roy looked down at you, eyebrow quirked. “Well. This’ll be a fun weekend, hmm?”

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