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milla984 · 11 months

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It's the Great Pumpkin, Spencer Reid

Summary: Spencer and Reader get to spend some quality time together on Halloween

Pairing: virgin!Spencer Reid x fem!reader, virgin!Spencer Reid x plus size Reader

Category: smut (NSFW, 18+, MDNI)

TW/CW: heavy kissing, handjob, fingering, brief mention of an anxiety attack, body image insecurities (both parts)

Word Count: 5.4k

This work is part of the series Spencer Reid, my beloved

“I am officially traumatized,” Penelope blurted out when the end credits rolled on the screen, “remind me to never watch another Halloween movie with you, guys!!”

You could almost hear Spencer squeak in disbelief. “What?! This is a classic!”

She stood up to adjust her skirt, the one with jack-o’-lanterns and spiderwebs arranged in a casual pattern all over the dark fabric, and the bats standing on top of her fuzzy headband wiggled in different directions.

“Uh–uh, La Dolce Vita is a classic. This is what goes on in the twisted mind of someone who desperately needed a hug and a large cup of hot cocoa with a ton of whipped cream and sprinkles as a child.”

You smiled as you finished loading the dishwasher, amused by the discussion unfolding in your living room; in your heart you were the greatest admirer of Spencer’s ability to conjure up any kind of random information on the spot but the exact moment you saw him open his mouth you knew he was about to make the situation worse.

“In fact, Barker’s grandmother had a fascination with the macabre. She would often tell gruesome stories which she presented as true tales so he grew up with the fear of being murdered in his own house.”

Garcia gawked and raised a hand in his direction, simultaneously turning your way. “See?! Forgive me if I don’t think that having my entire body ripped apart by giant hooks is the ultimate frontier of pleasure!”

“And I’ll never look at a puzzle box the same way! What if it’s a brain teaser from Hell and there’s one of those chattering monsters inside?” she added and you had to hold back your laughter because Spencer’s perplexed frown was probably one of the cutest and funniest things in the whole world.

The mustache glued to his upper lip and the cravat he wore over a white shirt and black vest were only adding to it so you forced yourself to remain serious. “I’m sorry… pizza and a movie from my dvd collection were all I had to offer on such short notice,” you said, to which she replied by shaking her long, wavy hair.

“Oh no, sweet pea! You did great, I’m just too attached to the illusion that life is a rainbow to be into the traditional Halloween gore,” she sighed and wrapped herself in a colorful poncho. “Hey, Raven Man! Ready to leave?”

Spencer squirmed: an IQ of 187 and still he was unable to come up with a semi-plausible lie when it came to hiding the truth from his friends. Feeling the weight of her curious stare he swallowed nervously.

“I was kind of considering the possibility of going to the midnight screening of Nosferatu, at the Silver Theatre. It’s the 100th anniversary so the Silent Orchestra will play the entire score live, have you ever heard of them? They use contemporary musical idioms to convey the art of pre-talkies films to modern audiences, they’ve been widely acclaimed for their work.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow. “Midnight screening, huh?! Which means you don’t need a ride home… what a coincidence,” she teased, leaning forward to squeeze you in a passionate hug. “I knew it! I saw it the minute I walked in!”

This time was your turn to shrug with a puzzled expression: Reid and Garcia should have been on the opposite side of D.C. for a relaxed dinner at the Morgans’ after a thorough raid of all the neighborhood porches. However, Derek had called just as they were getting in the car to inform them that Hank got unexpectedly sick and forty-five minutes later All Hallows’ Eve enthusiast Reid (dressed up as Edgar Allan Poe) plus a very concerned Penelope had showed up at your apartment, making you wonder why on earth wasn’t she already busy baking since she kept repeating chickenpox called for the best pumpkin pie ever.

“Well, there goes our plan to keep a low profile,” you groaned as you closed the door behind her, and Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise.

“How…?! Is this what they call ‘female intuition’?”

“Call it whatever you want but I’m glad she’s not mad we didn’t tell her right away,” you replied, proceeding to wrap your arms around his shoulders, “and I can think of another person who’s probably very happy for you, now.”

Spencer got rid of the fake mustache with a pensive stare. When it finally dawned on him that Garcia’s phone buzzing during your impromptu horror-themed movie night had in fact started out as live updates on their godson’s health and most likely turned into a gossip session about you two as a couple he squinted.

“I almost bailed on going trick-or-treating with them. I didn’t because I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but I also wanted to see you. It’s our first Halloween.”

You nodded. “Maybe we can still get tickets for Nosferatu. You’re a terrible liar, so I’m sure there really is a midnight screening at the Silver Theatre.”

Spencer stared at you, entranced, then pulled you closer and in a heartbeat your lips met his - a sweet caress, tender and soft, your breaths entwined and your noses rubbing against each other in delicate strokes. You gave him a gentle push and he plopped down on the couch as you placed one knee on either side of his legs to straddle him; one of his hands sneaked behind you, exploring you as if he was trying to blindly map your whole back.

You felt his other hand on your waist, hesitant.

Three months had passed since the day you both came to the conclusion you were not “just friends” - three months made of late night phone calls from six different States, of handwritten silly notes you hid in his leather bag each time you drove him to the airport to catch a flight for Houston, three months of you hoping things would eventually move past the PG rated phase.

Three months of your self-consciousness sowing the seed of doubt in your heart, encouraged by the notion of whom he got to share his workspace with: you were no Emily or JJ and even if Spencer wasn’t the type to pay attention to details he frequently referred to as ‘trivial’ you were growing less and less confident.

“It’s fine, you can touch me,” you whispered, guiding his palm to cup your breast. They were pretty difficult to ignore, nevertheless he always seemed to steer away from them as much as he could.

You ran your fingers through his hair until you grabbed a small chunk of his curls; Spencer gasped for air and you brushed your tongue over his lower lip, letting out a muffled moan when the heat between your legs became almost unbearable. You started grinding on his lap to adjust tightly against his body.

“Wait…” he whined, squirming under you.

A second moan escaped from your throat while the pressure of his stiff cock hit your thigh but he shoved you away to free himself and spring to his feet, shaking heavily as if he was experiencing a full blown anxiety attack.

His cheeks were flustered and his hair stuck to his dampened forehead so that he couldn’t even look at you straight - which gave him the perfect excuse to avoid doing it altogether. “I– I’m sorry…”

“No, no, I am…” you muttered, because the guilt building up in your chest felt so heavy you find it difficult to breathe.

Spencer was standing there, fumbling nervously with the cravat around his neck; his body language was screaming discomfort and he was clearly thinking of an excuse to remove himself from the situation. It was then that the hidden and irrational side of you, the one that desperately feared he would have disappeared forever if you’d let him go, kicked in and a rush of adrenaline came running down your spine.

“Please…” you continued, placing a hand over his, “it’s okay, really… there’s no way to control it, you should know better than anyone—”

“Why? Because I’m a man and men are supposed to have zero impulse regulation?!”

The embarrassment and shame in his voice broke you: you had sworn a thousand times in your mind to do your best to be his solace, yet now it seemed you were hurting him like no-one had ever done before.

“No,” you replied, “because you’re the genius, here, and you should know it’s a perfectly healthy and natural reaction.”

He huffed, visibly irritated at what he must have perceived as a patronizing tone. A different sort of emotion crawled under your skin, sparked by the amount of tension stagnating in the air.

You offered him a cushion and glanced at him with your usual no-nonsense attitude. “Sit down, so we can have a proper conversation? You know, like… functioning adults.”

Spencer pouted for a second, evaluating numbers and statistics about two years and a half’s worth of interactions. The truth was, intellectual affinity was such a familiar concept for the two of you that talking your way through an issue was indeed a synonym for a positive outcome.

He grabbed the cushion and held it onto his stomach to shield himself from your gaze, though it was purposely focused on his face; you thought it was best to put some distance between your bodies when he sat on the couch again so you folded your legs underneath you, shivering like a cold draft had found its way inside the room.

“Listen, we can both agree this is not your regular, everyday casual topic of conversation… which is why we’ve never discussed premarital sex—”

“I’m not against it,” Spencer rushed to declare, “I’ve assumed it was the same for—”

“Sure, no! Ditto,” you confirmed.

His furrowed brows relaxed while his mouth curved in a timid smile. “Did you know that every person’s intimate relationships follow a script that has been written according to their own individual attitude towards all –uhm, sexual experiences?”

“I did not,” you admitted, and Spencer’s hands started dancing to the sound of his own words.

“There are sets of guidelines for appropriate behavior, each partner in consensual encounters acts as if they are an actor following a script rather than acting on impulse alone. Researches indicate that women are more likely to initiate contact in well established relationships, negotiating sexual activity in developing relationships can be difficult 'cause both parts have multiple goals to deal with, such as providing relational definitions or following specific standards or morals.”

“Yeah, speaking about relationships… I think we’ve been in one since Christmas, we were just too dumb to say it out loud. And to each other,” you explained. “Sounds like a well-established to me but what’s your take on us?”

He curled into himself. “Every time we’re together I know there’s no other place I’d rather be. I’ve never even imagined it could be possible, I want to feel you even closer… and I’m so afraid I’m forcing this on you—”

“You’re not, I want it too,” you reassured him, “but to be honest I was starting to worry you were not into… me.”

Spencer’s beautiful eyes roamed over you and what you could see was all but repulsion. “Actually it’s the complete opposite.”

“So, what if my script says I’m ready to take things further?” you inquired, inching towards him to tug at the cravat of his costume.

Spencer cupped your face and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “Mine is on the same page,” he whispered.

Your fingers immediately went to the vest he was wearing and trailed the line of buttons in a slow movement; you undid them one by one, the hems eventually coming apart to reveal the white shirt underneath.

“Tell me if anything doesn’t feel good,” you purred while you loosened the cravat to uncover his Adam’s apple. The way his muscles tensed as it bobbed up and down drove you crazy, so you teased him with the tip of your tongue - your lips grazing over the short stubble.

Damn him and his impeccable bone structure: the scruffy look suited him so well it always sparked in you the urge to pin him to a wall and sink your teeth into his tender flesh. You loved how he could sport a smooth, professional style when the situation required it still wasn’t concerned with shaving each morning, almost as if it was an impractical activity which took energy away from whatever he considered to be a priority at that moment.

You heard something flop on the floor and stopped your ministrations: the cushion he’d been holding over his stomach wasn’t there anymore, meaning you got to notice his trousers were becoming increasingly tight.

You squeezed his knee to make sure he was prepared for a more intimate contact then you slid it even further on his leg, giving him a couple of minutes to adjust to your gentle strokes before you felt confident enough to move the action to his inner thigh.

Spencer gasped, surprised rather than shocked or disturbed by how close you were now to where he was aching, and he leaned back to ease the pressure of the fabric but kept his eyes on you.

He gave a silent nod in response to your interrogative stare, so you finally traced the outline of his hard cock between your thumb and index.

He jolted this time and muttered under his breath, a deep rasp in his voice you didn’t expect: you were unprepared to hear your name spoken as it was the quintessence of pure desire and you quivered, the throbbing in your ears rolling to your core.

You kissed his temple as you pointed at the waistband of his trousers. “Can I…?”

“Y– yes…” he muttered.

His clothes didn’t have any space left to accommodate his bulge. You palmed over it and felt an impatient twitch, which nearly had Spencer cursing; it was becoming torture for him so you reached for the zipper.

For a split second the historical inaccuracy of a Victorian era costume featuring a device first introduced years after Edgar Allan Poe’s death hit you - a remark Reid himself would have been very appreciative of, which showed how much you could relate to the way his brain worked. Then you shook out of it and peeled his slacks open.

You crumpled the shirt over his stomach and marveled at the sight of his soft belly, the flawless navel, the dark fuzz pointing directly to his raging erection. With a cautious approach you freed it from any restraint, chewing on your lower lip as you often did when you were entirely focused on a challenging task.

You couldn’t exactly say you had many options in your mind to compare him to but you had done a lot of fantasizing: now that he was in front of you, undressed and defenseless, you were downright mesmerized by—

“What’s wrong?!” Spencer screeched, interrupting your train of thought. “Is it odd? Does it look odd?!”

You shook your head, taken aback. “... odd?! No, why?!” you asked. “It’s just…” you petted the roundness to demonstrate, “I like your tummy so much.”

The way it pressed against his belt whenever he sat next to you on your couch or his was overly inviting and in the past weeks you had to fight the temptation to sneak a hand inside his shirt to squish it, because you didn’t know how he would’ve reacted.

“Really?!” he marveled, confirming he wasn’t even aware you had a thing for soft tummies. His soft tummy, to be specific.

You smiled and leaned forward to rest your forehead against his. “Are you okay with me doing this?”

Spencer nodded, his eyelids half-closed, so you let your fingertips follow the trail of hair below his belly button; his hardness twitched again when you got near, then you wrapped your hand around it.

You both moaned in unison, a harmony of pleasure that filled the silence of your living room. You moved along his entire length, feeling the satiny skin sliding over the shaft, and he threw his hair back in a movement that left his jugular exposed: his neck was too inviting and you sucked on it, the groans vibrating in his throat reverberating on your lips.

You gripped tighter when he got used to your caresses. As soon as his muffled whimpers seemed to increase in frequency you circled your thumb over the tip, spreading his leaking precum over the sensitive head. Spencer was at loss for words, a good indication that he was definitely enjoying the moment.

You were enjoying it too; you started to rub your legs together, your imagination running wild and picturing all sorts of scenarios. The mere thought of having him inside of you made you want to touch yourself but you resisted: Spencer was undoubtedly new to this and deserved someone in his life to love him and shower him with attention, so you decided to put his release before your own.

When you twisted your hand at the base of his cock he jumped, missing the bridge of your nose by a few inches.

“Too much?!” you cooed, and he seemed to come out of a sort of drunken stupor.

“No, no… it’s good, I like it…”

You sighed. “Spence, you have to tell me if—”

“It’s really good,” he replied, the urgency sensible in his tone. “Don’t stop,” he pleaded, low-key ashamed of how needy he’d sounded.

You pecked him on the nose as a reassurance you accepted and cherished this version of him: he wasn’t the kind of man to be interested in the crude physical aspect of sex, he’d made it clear. He wasn’t desperate for just anyone to satisfy him - he trusted you to do it, because he knew you were safe in each other’s arms.

You shifted to adjust at his side and returned to your previous occupation; you let your other hand wander over his thigh as a forewarning, then you sheepishly cupped his balls so you could provide additional stimulation and send him over the edge.

He bucked his hips, a loud “Oh, God!!!” escaping from his mouth before he grasped a fistful of your hair. He was hungry for you, his tongue sliding lustfully against yours and his breathing so ragged you were sure he was getting close.

Kissing him was your drug of choice but you also wanted to watch him come undone, thanks to you, so you turned your head while he tensed: he arched his back and bucked his hips once more, nipping at your earlobe. He became harder as he spilled himself over your fingers, wrist and his own stomach with a feral growl.

You didn’t let go of him, not even when his whole body finally slumped down.

The well-defined jaw and unruly curls falling on his face, now so serene, made him appear like a Botticellian masterpiece. Botticelli would have never painted one of his subjects in such a disheveled state, for sure, but the contrast between his angelic aura and the fact he was sprawled on the couch with his trousers unzipped and his softening cock still in your hand was a vision to behold.

“Hey,” you hummed as he re-opened his eyes and found you looking at him, “you’re too cute to be real, you know that?!”

Embarrassed - yet adorably proud - Spencer lowered his gaze, only to grimace at the stickiness on his belly. And on you. “I made a mess, I’m s—”

“We made a mess. Besides, it’s nothing a towel can’t fix, don’t be sorry,” you said, patting his tummy.

You were almost tempted to ask him how long he’d been saving it for, in a clumsy attempt to remind him you’d fallen so head over heels for him you were not at all grossed out; at the last moment you ruled the joke out, though, stretching your legs to get up instead. “Give me a couple of minutes.”

He flashed you the most awkward smile and you forced your feet to move towards the bathroom.

You washed your hands under the hot running water and silently watched a part of Spencer swirling down the drain; the floral scent of the soap was now in the air but you could still feel his - coffee and cologne, accentuated by the faint traces of sweat on his skin.

You had just discovered something new: Spencer was often oblivious of how good he looked (despite the dark circles under his eyes) and that was no mystery, but the idea he might have been insecure about different parts of his body was something you’d never taken into account. If being a couple was the natural consequence of the emotional bond between you - rather than a result of some physical infatuation alone - why was he so preoccupied with your reaction to his half-naked self?

Your brain was going in severe overdrive.

You inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, your fingers gripping on the honed marble of the countertop, then you dried your hands with a towel, grabbed a fresh one and returned to the living room; the instant you approached your couch you realized Spencer had been doing a lot of thinking of his own, and your heart sank into your stomach.

“Wunderkind, are you alright?” you questioned as you offered him the towel so that he could clean himself up. “What’s going on in here?” you added, tapping lightly on his temple.

He shrugged and proceeded to meticulously remove any trace of his seed from his belly and clothes before tucking the shirt into the waistband of his trousers. “Nothing special.”

His left eyebrow raised, due to an involuntary movement of his facial muscles: it was a flash, a glimpse, the undeniable proof he was hiding something. The sound of your intrusive thoughts and fears got so loud you wanted to scream to cover their noise.

“Your microexpressions say otherwise,” you retorted.

Spencer lifted his head to meet your eyes, mouth agape, and you couldn’t decipher the meaning of such a bewildered reaction. You had always been able to recognize his lying frown, his anxious smile, the suspicious squint and a hundred more variations: you were not a member of the BAU but you were an expert on detecting and classifying his emotions, yet you’d never seen that one before.

“It’s… uhm, I’m wondering if it was good for you.”

Your heart leaped and bounced back where it belonged. His job required him to be the one calling people out on their behavior, not the other way round; your presence in his life forced him to face a situation in which his skills as a profiler couldn’t shield him from his own vulnerability, so he was in serious need of some consolation.

You bent over to whisper in his ear. “It was.”

“But you didn’t...” he nervously licked his lips, “and I want you to. Just tell me how.”

In the back of your mind you were 100% sure it would have been the right moment to confess you’d been harboring a few insecurities of your own but your fight-flight-freeze response was already answering on your behalf, making you freeze on the spot.

“Spencer…”

“You don’t think I can?!” he inquired, still convinced his lack of experience was the motivation behind any episode of miscommunication.

“NO! It’s not about you,” you responded in a hurry, hugging him as he was still seated on the couch. “Or maybe it is… ” you gestured to your whole figure, “I guess I’m a bit worried this isn’t what—”

Spencer wrapped you in an equally sweet hug, his chin dimple pressed on your abdomen. “This is soft,” his hands ran to the back of your knees, trailing up, “it’s so soft I’ve got only one thing in mind every time you hug me and I have to stop myself…”

He stopped talking mid-sentence when you guided his palms over your chest and he finally laughed, fascinated by the feeling of your breasts through the shirt.

If he was so happy at the idea you were starving for his touch and was clearly eager to reciprocate it was time to consider the strong possibility he wasn’t just settling for less. “Do you really—”

“Yes!” he replied, enthusiastically. “But I could use a few hints, you know.”

You knew. “May I sit on your lap, kind sir?”

The ‘are you even serious?’ pout on his face deserved an award; now you were both allowed to act silly without the slightest concern one of you was making fun of the other, high on the intoxicating concept of true intimacy.

You positioned yourself so that you were seated on his groin, your back flat on his chest and your head nestled in the crook of his neck, thanking Mother Nature for the existence of refractory periods. Not that it was necessary, but Spencer hooked his left forearm around your waist to secure you as his tongue glided over the soft skin behind your ear. “How do I start?”

“Step one: make some space,” you tipped him.

He gulped loudly and began to caress your knee, ghosting his fingers along the thigh-bone. You shivered in anticipation and when he tried to reach for your inner thigh you spread your legs apart; he flattened his palm, gripping on your muscles and rubbing back and forth - still keeping some distance from your most delicate spots.

You turned to offer him your lips. “Tease me… up and down, light touches.”

He did as he was told. When he ran the back of his hand over your mound you whimpered, the oversensitivity being too much to bear combined with the mind-blowing taste of his mouth over yours.

“Isn’t it frustrating for you?” he managed to articulate in between kisses and you rocked your hips against him.

You could already feel the familiar and insistent throbbing, accentuated by the fact that delayed gratification was a real pain; you were dying for him to placate the fire his hard cock had sparked in you, so you grabbed his wrist and guided it over your stomach, down the front of your panties.

He gasped at the feeling of your tender flesh, the curly hair, the dampness - too many sensory inputs to process all at once. “You’re so… warm?”

“Core body temperature is higher than the temperature of the skin,” you reminded him.

“So warm,” he kept repeating, basic biology facts lost on him because his brain seemed to have switched off.

His palm grazed over your folds and your legs fell further open to give him better access; you stroked his left forearm and tilted your head back. “Only two fingers now, Spence… up and down. But don’t go straight for—”

You tensed when his fingertips danced on your clit and he gripped you even tighter. “Sorry,” he mumbled, but the sensation was so good you could only smile.

“If you plan to go there it’s left and right. And draw a few circles around, big and small...” you explained before words turned into muffled moans as he put your suggestions into actions.

You were still grinding on his lap, your back glued to his chest, and he took advantage of the proximity to trap your earlobe between his teeth, sucking lightly at each change of the pattern he was tracing.

You squeezed his wrist when the flame inside of you grew fiercer. “You can slip your finger in if you want.”

Spencer let go of your earlobe and paused. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been thinking about it for weeks,” you admitted, the weight of your secret vanishing in the air like a puff of smoke.

He sighed and shifted underneath you; just as you were ready to tell him he didn’t have to if he wasn’t comfortable with the idea he slid his middle finger past your entrance and you shuddered in his embrace. His hands were elegant, veiny, and his slender digits made for playing piano or reaching your hidden crevices - you had no doubts about it, but judging by how he was sitting still he had more than one question regarding what to do with them.

“How do I feel? Spence...?”

Even if you couldn’t really see his face, you knew he had a confused-slash-excited look on. “Hot… and wet, I never thought—”

“You like it?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?!” he asked in the cutest high-pitched tone and you laughed, making you both wince at the sudden movement.

All the words in any existent language put together couldn’t describe the amount of affection you had for him. “I like it, Spence,” you hummed, “and it would be even better if you tried curling your fin— FUCK!”

Spencer wasn’t one to waste time once he was given a specific instruction.

He pushed his finger forward and curled it as you said, gliding in and out to slowly familiarize himself with the different textures of your inner walls. He adopted a very empirical approach, experimenting several techniques based on what he’d learned not so long before, while you whimpered and moaned his name; he was moaning, too, and so prettily you couldn’t control yourself.

“Spence, I need more…”

He nipped at your jaw, his long hair tickling your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t, I promise”, you panted, almost out of breath.

When he slipped a second finger in you realized that his arm wrapped around your waist was the only thing still keeping you in place: your legs were giving up on you, your hips swayed to let Spencer’s fingers plunge deeper as your back arched and your fists closed around his clothes. He was pumping relentlessly, overwhelmed by your wetness and the way you were taking him inside like he was a missing part of your own body; he tried to reach for your mouth and you turned to grasp the nape of his neck.

“Your hands are perfect,” you whined, “you are perfect…”

He huffed, his heart pounding fast. “Are you…?”

“Please... make me come, Spence,” you begged him in a whisper.

He pressed his thumb on your clit and started alternating between rough circling motions and the upward movement of his fingers, as you bucked your hips at a frantic pace; your thighs muscles contracted, you clenched around him and you ears plugged as you climaxed - something that had never happened to you before.

You tugged at his hair and screamed his name, before settling against his body once the tension faded.

He kept his fingers inside and he cuddled you throughout the aftermath of your orgasm, planting butterfly kisses wherever his mouth could reach and cradling you like his only mission in life was making you feel safe and protected.

Your self-consciousness awoke first, despite the rush of feel-good hormones flowing in your bloodstream.

“Am I crushing you…?” you mumbled, and he grunted as you wriggled free to lean forward and pick up the towel from the floor.

He stared at his wet fingers with a pensive frown, then he wiped them clean and turned to face you - now seated on the couch with your legs across his and your forearm rested on his shoulder, so that you could play with his curls.

“Doctor, you deserve a gold star for your performance.”

He smiled and lowered his gaze for a second. “I’m very good at following instructions.”

“You’re not bad at improvising, either,” you pointed out, “the thing you did with your thumb…?”

“I figured it was only a matter of combining the exact pressure and the right angle. Technically speaking—”

“Spencer?!” you cut him off, before he could lose himself in his own rambling. “Thank you,” you added, kissing him lightly on his lips before you stood up to fix your panties and trousers. “You can tell me all about the mechanics behind one of the best orgasms of my life on our way.”

“Nosferatu. First Halloween together…?” you elaborated when he looked at you in total confusion. “You’ve changed your mind.”

He shifted on the couch, his hazel eyes fixed on you. “Is that okay?”

This time you looked at him with your best ‘is ice cream cold?’ frown: you wanted to spend eternity with him, not just an hour or two more. You climbed into his lap and tangled your fingers in his hair while he cupped your breasts.

“What if I get…? I mean... again?!”

“Well, it’s not going to happen right now, Professor!!" you snorted, and his giggle sounded like celestial music. "But don’t worry, we’ve got the whole night."

NB: I'm not using my regular taglist for Spencer Reid smut fics but I'm obviously tagging only the users who sent a request. If you wish to be added you can send me an ask or leave a comment below with the request to be added.

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canineluvz · 28 days

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you f/o lives for you. sure there are plenty of things theyd do for you, but more than anything they live for you. in any moment where they have doubts or difficulties, they live for you. they what you to do the same for them. when you dont think you can go on, they want you to live for them, just like theyre doing for you.

#thinking about sol #my sunshine #☀️#♡ canineluvz positivity #self ship #selfship #self shipping #f/o #fictional other #self ship positivity #proship selfship #proselfship #proship friendly

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mstigeress37-blog · 1 year

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whipped

Eddie.M x Sunshine!Cheerleader!Reader

Desc: Eddie never knew why you hung out with the cheerleaders. They were terrible people.

OR, Eddie’s whipped for a cheerleader.

-----

Eddie seemed to know every person in his grade, especially the cheerleaders. He knew them from when they begged for weed, begged for a fuck (since their jock boyfriends couldn't satisfy them), or flat-out just bullied him. Not everyone knew Eddie, nor did they need to, but Eddie knew everyone.

So when he didn't know you, he just assumed you were a new student that the cheerleaders and jocks adopted - you seemed too sweet to be friends with people like them, but for some reason, you were genuinely happy with them.

He sat in front of you for English class. Sometimes, he'd wonder if you ever stared at the back of his head, so suddenly his hair was just a little bit neater than it is on days when he doesn't have English class. You've talked to him once, and Eddie will forever kick himself over the fact that he practically fumbled the bag.

---

If it wasn’t for you, Eddie could be sleeping with his head on the desk right now. But he wants to behave nice for you, so he’ll prop his elbow on his table, resting his jawline in his hand (and maybe pretend he’s paying attention and actually sleep since you’d never know from your angle).

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced to his left, then his right, before concluding that it was *you* who wanted his attention.

“Eddie?” You said after he didn’t turn back. Maybe he didn’t feel you? As you panicked about whether or not he heard you, Eddie’s thoughts were going 1000 miles per hour. Hearing his name come from your lips made him freeze - his name suddenly sounded appealing to him.

As you were about to retreat and just ask Jason behind you, Eddie finally turns around with a facial expression that you could never describe: his face was blank, or was he trying to smoulder?

You give him a smile. “Sorry, my pen ran out of ink. Do you have a spare pen?” You softly spoke, tilting your head to the side slightly.

Eddie didn’t even have a pen for himself, never mind for someone else! Tongue down his throat, he just shook his head.

“It’s okay, no worries!” You said before slumping back and whispering to someone else, probably Jason. Eddie turns around, what the hell was that?

He admired her, sure. He thought she was cute, sure. He thought she’d make a good girlfriend, sure. But when she makes him that nervous, something is obviously wrong. Aside from her hanging out with awful people, of course.

---

Eddie was meeting up with one of cheerleaders right before a game for a deal under the bleachers - apparently she can only do the deal during a cheer rehearsal break - otherwise he wouldn't be here.

He watched from under the bleachers through the seats as they did their pyramids and their tumbles, yadda yadda yadda. He didn’t care until a familiar face showed up.

You.

“Sorry I’m late!” He could hear you yell. You were in a cheerleader’s uniform and you were walking in as you did you hair into a messy ponytail. A few of the cheerleaders greeted you with a smile and a hug, telling you to stretch before you joined them.

Eddie didn’t know how to feel. Was the cheerleader’s uniform always so hot? Was a rushed ponytail always so sexy? Should he buy some basketball tickets now? Shit, now he cant’ say that all cheerleaders are bitches now, especially since they seemed to treat you well.

He had to turn away as she stretched, he’d be no better than Jason and Andy then.

Soon enough, his buyer found him.

“Thank God. I’m about to die.” She complained, handing him the money. Eddie checked through it before giving her the bag.

“Thanks, freak. [Name]’s gonna love this!” She said as she turned to walk away. Eddie felt himself go wide eyed.

“No.”

She turned around. “Huh?”

Eddie didn’t know how to react again. He smokes weed, he smokes cigarettes. He knows he’s a hypocrite by trying to stop you from doing what he does, but so be it.

“That’s just enough for one person. You want someone else to try weed, you send them to me. I only sell 1 gram.”

She starts walking back to him in a slight rage. “Listen, fucker. Market your shit somewhere else. How’re you gonna know if I share this shit or not?” She cackles in his face, but he refuses to back up.

“Fine. Ask Chance if he’s fine with the bag I gave him the next time you fuck and sniff some of the white stuff, yeah? Or maybe I should ask his girlfriend instead.” Eddie smirks, tilting his head to the side innocently like how you did. Her face drops and she backs up.

“Cunt,” is all she says before walking away, walking backwards to hold eye contact and shoot daggers at his smirk before turning around and walking away.

---

Entering the cafeteria the day after a basketball game felt like hell. Somehow everyone loved the players enough to go into the cafeteria instead of their normal lunch space just to congratulate them. He finds his table and makes his way over to it before seeing you sit at his table, Dustin bombarding you.

You sat in his chair.

Good.

When Dustin notices him, he seems to panic. “Hey, you wanna sit next to me, [Name]?”

“It’s fine, she can stay there.” He smiles at you. He fucked up last time, he won’t now.

“Thanks!” You give him another warm smile. Never mind, maybe he’ll fuck up again.

Everyone moves down for Eddie to sit at least close to the top except for Dustin, to which Eddie has to clear his throat and slap his arm a bit before Dustin did so.

“So you were saying?” Dustin ushered.

“Oh yeah! So, I hurt my ankle, but at the time, it didn't feel as bad, guess it was the adrenaline, but the moment we finished and I sat down, I felt it and, guys, I can’t even describe the pain- Hey! Like, I’ve never sprained my ankle before, pulled a muscle sure, but- yeah, I’ll be there in a sec! But it was awful!” You ramble, people greeting you as they walked past the table.

Eddie caught himself whipped for you, taking in every word of her rant. She hurt herself? Shit, let him take care of you. You wanna know when she’s coming to your table? Listen to her, she said she’ll be there in a second so give her a second. She’s popular? Who wouldn’t like her?

The group talked for a bit until the bell rang.

“Oh, shit! Um, I wanted to ask if I could join your DnD games if you needed someone? I already have a character and everything if that helps!” You said.

Yep. He’s whipped.

#eddie munson #stranger things #sunshine reader #cheerleader reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fluff

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hiort · 6 months

Text

nice andsweet guy who did nothing wrong

#fear and hunger #enki ankarian #my art #genuin attempt at a semi realistic painting portrait. thing #loved doing it cause i loves enki a lots #hugs #happiness and sunshine #f&h enki #fear and hunger enki #fear and hunger fanart #me making a f&h1 drawing every blue moon

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starry-eyesanddaydreams · 3 months

Text

NSFW Alphabet - Sinclair Bryant

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Sweet and gentle. He’ll hold you as you come down from your high, running his fingers through your hair and giving you gentle kisses. Later, you’ll cuddle up against his side with his arm around your shoulder as he reads. If you ask him he’ll read out loud for you and you fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He’s not actually given it much thought for himself before. Maybe his hair? For you though, he loves your waist. His hands always find their way to your waist, his hands resting against your hip or arms wrapped around your middle.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's a pretty clean person in that regard, he likes to come deep inside you. He dreams about having a baby with you one day too, which only makes him want to be inside you more.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’d love to see you do a strip tease for him, but he doesn’t know how to ask you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's decently experienced. But he's not had many partners before and is more on the vanilla side.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Side by side, facing each other. He likes being wrapped up with you, being able to look in your eyes and have as much skin contact as he can.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

You can make each other laugh very easily. Something like fumbling with clothes or stumbling into something while making out or trying to get undressed will start you both with a fit of the giggles.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his personal grooming, but he's not overly concerned with it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He's a very romantic person. Making love with you is something special and wonderful to him.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

If he's been apart from you for a while, he will. Or if you ask him to while you're in bed so you can watch him.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Two words - Food kink. From kissing you at breakfast to taste the jam on your lips, to in bed licking chocolate sauce off your breasts, you are his favourite desert.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In bed, on the couch, in the shower. The most adventurous place was under a willow tree by the river.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you're just at home being comfortably domestic, like cooking dinner or curled up reading a book. It makes him so happy, and part of him was afraid he'd never be so happy, he wants to just lavish you with all the love he feels. Also, how you listen when he starts rambling about something. He knows he waffles on and is used to people tuning him out, but you actually listen, you find him interesting, and it makes him want to actually stop talking and kiss every inch of you.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

He'd never share you with anyone else (not that you'd want too anyway). And nothing public either.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn't mind receiving, but he really likes giving.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Slow and sensual, all the way.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers being able to take his time and be comfortable, but you've indulged in quickies a few times. Usually in the shower before he goes to work.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He's up for a bit of experimentation. His curiosity will have him trying something at least once.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually once is enough to satisfy you both, but you can go two or three times if you're both in the mood.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

You've played around with vibrators sometimes. Either he would use it on you, or you'd use it on yourself while he watched.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He's not really a teaser, not deliberately anyway. When he's taking his time with kisses and touches, it can feel like teasing to you, but he's just enjoying the intimacy of the moment.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He's not really loud. Gasps and moans.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's got some sub tendencies, and he turns to putty in your hands when you get playfully commanding. One time you told him to "get on your knees and put your pretty mouth to good use" and he almost tripped over a coffee table to get to you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Like, 7in and decently thick.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Pretty medium. Like, thoughts of sex don't occupy his mind constantly, and sometimes he's happy with just kissing and holding you. But when he's in the mood he can be very eager.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Usually, it takes him a little while to fall asleep afterwards, unless you've really worn him out.

#sinclair bryant x reader #sinclair bryant #alan rickman #n s f w alphabet #Some sexy time with our favourite ray of sunshine who deserves the world

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rookthorne · 11 months

Note

Heyyy! Thanks for always replying to my reblogs and for adding the cutest Bucky pics 💓 it makes me happy to comment on your amazing works and I’m glad it’s a way of connecting!

Also it means that I got sent a cute Bucky pic on my Birthday, which is a gift itself 🙃

HAPPY BLOODY BIRTHDAY, SWEETHEART! I hope you enjoy this present, and I hope you're having the best day! 🥰

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐒𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞

Like hell would your friends let you celebrate your special day alone.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ✿ Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ✿ 585

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✿ Tooth rotting fluff, rushed writing

𝐈𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐒𝐮𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Today was the big day – your birthday had approached faster than you could process, the days ticked by faster than you could blink, and if Bucky’s reaction (not to mention the whole group’s), today was not going to pass by without a fuss.

You had been ordered, via text, to arrive at the shop at seven o’clock sharp – which was after the doors closed and the shop would be empty.

Which it was. Quite literally.

The windows were dark, lights long turned off, and there wasn’t a car in sight.

“The fuck?” You mumbled, stepping out from your car with a slight frown, the slight breeze kissing your skin and making an array of goosebumps to rise. It was a little disheartening, if you were honest – arriving on the dot to see no one there? Nerves simmered in your stomach.

Swallowing the sudden lump in your throat, you stepped up on the sidewalk and crossed to the door – only, there was a piece of paper taped to the door.

‘To our Sunshine, our Sunny – the love of our lives and the light of our days, open the door, and come inside.’

“That’s not creepy at all,” you whispered, chuckling. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

The door opened with a quiet squeak, but the lights didn’t turn on once you stepped over the threshold. Seconds ticked by as you stood in the darkened shop, and your apprehension only grew – what the hell was going on? “Guys–Buck? Hello?”

A lot of things happened, all at once.

The lights flickered on to reveal streamers and banners, balloons and confetti, covering the entirety of the shop – music suddenly blasted from the speakers along the ceiling, and there, right in front of you, stood everyone.

Smiles blinding, eyes bright, and arms wide. “Happy fucking birthday, Sunshine!”

“Oh my god!” You yelled, your hands flying to your open mouth. Shock rooted you in place and you watched, awestruck, while Bucky rushed forward with the others following close behind. “Guys! I thought–”

“We would never forget about our Sunny,” Steve laughed, pulling you into a bear hug. Your arms wrapped around him just before he was pulled away by Nat.

“Like we ever would,” she chimed in, pulling you into her side, wide smirk on her blood red lips.

Peter rushed forward next, a grin of childish glee on his face. “Hell no, Sunshine! C’mere.” You were pulled into a crushing hug, and you laughed, hugging him back with just as much enthusiasm.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” Bucky called, pulling Peter off you. “I would like to wish my girl a happy birthday, can the lot of you fuck off?”

Everyone cleared out to the back room with orders to not take forever, and you were left alone with Bucky who didn’t waste a second on pulling you close. “Today’s the day, huh, baby?”

“Mhm.” You nodded into his chest, revelling in his tight embrace. “It is.”

“That means I gotta say happy birthday then,” Bucky said lowly, pulling you back. You grinned and met him halfway for a deep kiss, pouring all of your gratitude and love into it.

When Bucky finally pulled back, he rested his forehead on yours, and he smiled softly as he gently swayed the both of you side to side. “Happy birthday, sweetheart–there aren’t any words that even cover just how lucky a fella like me is, to have you.”

“You big sap,” you replied, and Bucky laughed, shaking his head.

“But you love it.”

And you did.

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑 ⠄⠂⠁

⠈⠂⠄ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ⠄⠂⠁

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes drabble #bucky barnes fluff #rookthorne's works #rookthorne responds #Sunshine #Manny 💜

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threadsun · 1 year

Note

Hello! So, this may be a kinky one so feel free to skip if you don’t like it!

But uh, can I request for some headcanons about the sdj boys doing oral for their fem.S/O,,,? Please !

As someone who has been active in my local bdsm scene for years, it's so funny to me that you thought this might be too kinky for me 😂

But yeah, of course!!

Content: oral sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, begging, praise, edging

Jack:

Oh is he generous~

He could spend hours between your thighs, tongue on your clit, fingers pumping slowly in and out of you as he draws orgasm after orgasm from your body

Tangle your fingers in his hair. If you want a little more control, you can use it to push him where you want him to go. And if you don't... well, it's a good idea to have something to hold onto anyway

He won't stop until you tap out. He'll find your limit and keep pushing it until you use your safeword

Seriously, however long you can go for, he can match. He doesn't need to breathe either, so his mouth will be on you for as long as you can stand it

He's especially fond of going down on you when you're stressed. He wants to be the one to drive all the thoughts from your brain and replace them with the feeling of his tongue deep inside of you

He's a tease. He likes to make you beg for him. He always starts by teasing you over your panties, hot breath on your thighs and tongue pressing flat against the front of them until you're begging him to eat you out

If you try to muffle your sounds with your hand, he'll pin both of your wrists to the bed while he goes down on you. He wants to hear exactly how good he's making you feel

Ian:

When you first start dating, he doesn't really know what he's doing

He's eager! He's got the enthusiasm! He just needs a little guidance from you about what you like best

But that's not a bad thing! It means you can train him to eat you out exactly how you like it. Once he learns, he'll be perfect for you, he'll know exactly how to make you squirm for him

He loves to kneel between your legs when he eats you out. You, sitting on the edge of the bed, or on the couch, or on the kitchen counter. And him, kneeling between your legs, looking up at you like you're his god

The best way to describe him generally is desperate, and this includes eating you out. He eats you out like a man starved. Rest your legs on his shoulders and he'll make out with your cunt like it's the only thing he lives for

And oh god does he get hard from it. The taste of you is enough to get him horny. Hell, even the smell of your pretty pussy makes him moan

The best way to tease him and get him to beg for you is spreading your legs and telling him you'll let him eat you out if he's a very good boy for you

Seriously, he can't get enough of you. He's absolutely pussywhipped and he'd do anything to get between your legs again

Shaun:

This man is a tease

Seriously, he's mean. He wants to hear you beg for him, cry for him, absolutely desperate for him before he so much as touches you

Before his tongue is put to work, he uses it to whisper the filthiest things you've ever heard, lips brushing your ear as he feels you shiver against him

And when he finally gets between your thighs, he'll give you a cheshire cat grin before licking a stripe right over your pussy. He loves the way your toes curl as the tip of his tongue flicks against your clit

He loves watching you ride his face. Peeking up from between your legs as you bounce on his tongue. Something about that angle is just so perfect~

He'll hold your thighs, pulling you back onto his tongue when you try to pull away because you're overstimulated. He's mean and he likes to make you whine and squirm

His favourite sounds from you are when you're begging. Whether it's for more or for mercy, he's not picky.

He just loves to experiment and see what reactions he can draw out of you by doing different things! He studies you very carefully to figure out exactly what you like

Nick:

The only time his mouth is away from your pussy when he's eating you out is to praise you

He'll tonguefuck you through your orgasm and only pull away long enough to rasp out "good girl" before lapping up your cum with a moan

He's vocal when he eats you out. Moaning, humming, growling if you try to pull your hips away before he's done with you. You can tell exactly how he's feeling

His fingers dig into your thighs, keeping them around his head so he can get his tongue deeper into you. He can never seem to get close enough, deep enough, he's always trying harder

He loves to edge you. Bringing you to the brink of orgasm over and over and over, only to pull away and warm your clit with his mouth while he waits for your orgasm to subside so he can build it up again

You have to earn every orgasm you have. If you don't reward him with moans, thighs clenching around him, fingers tugging at his hair... well, then you don't get to cum!

He's patient. He can spend hours and hours teasing you with his tongue, rolling his tongue stud over your clit and fingering you. And you won't get to cum until he's decided you've earned it

But once he's decided you've earned it? He'll make you cum over and over until you're a shaking mess on the bed

Joseph:

He's a very generous lover

His favourite way to eat you out starts with him pushing you up against the wall to make out

And once you're moaning against his lips, grinding against him, needy... Then he sinks to his knees and pulls one of your legs over his shoulder

His tongue is talented. He knows how to get you squirming while he sucks your clit, flicks it, laps at it... And when he brings his fingers into the mix... oh you're fucked

Seriously, when his tongue and fingers work together, he'll have you seeing stars. And once your knees are too weak to keep holding yourself up, well he'll just pull your legs over his shoulders and carry you to the bedroom, still eating you out all the while

He'll throw you onto the bed, getting between your legs and going back to eating you out. He's not going to be done until you're soaked for him. Until you've cum so many times you're numb

His face is drenched by the time you're done, soaked in your cum. And he couldn't be happier about it, licking his lips clean and going on and on about how amazing you taste

And if you'd rather take charge and pull his hair while you ride his face? Well, he'll just be a good boy for you and take it!

Jean:

He takes his time

He starts slow, with hot kisses pressed to your hips, your thighs, the little bit of tummy right above your pussy. He might leave the occasional hickey here and there too

He likes to use his tongue when he's teasing. He'll lick over every mark he leaves, he'll run his tongue along the lines where your hips meet your thighs, he'll lap at your folds teasingly

When he finally gets around to your pussy, he explores every inch of it with his tongue. He starts by lapping at your slit, teasing at your hole, running it around your clit

And then he finally pushes it into you. He tonguefucks you nice and slow, trying to reach every inch of you he can. He can't get enough of you!

He likes to keep you talking while he eats you out. He'll pull away to ask a question, just so he can hear the way your voice shakes and your words get muddled when his tongue presses back into you

He also likes to hold your hands when he eats you out. The only time he'll accept them not being in his hands is if they're tangled in his hair. In that case, give it a tug and he'll moan for you

Seriously though, he'll take hours to build you up and edge you until he finally lets you cum. And then he won't stop

#swwsdj #something's wrong with sunny day jack #sdj jack #sdj ian #sdj shaun #sdj nick #sdj joseph #sdj jean #sunny day jack x reader #ian duff x reader #shaun durand cofer x reader #nick herraras x reader #joseph haberdae x reader #jean laurent x reader #f!reader #sdj headcanons #18+ only #sunshine

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anonymityisfunwriter · 6 days

Text

Every Part of You

Pairing - Grumpy!Bucky Barnes x Sunshine!Reader A.N. - Alright, I've been asked to write about Bucky and Sunshine's first time many, many times. And the thing is, like sure, I could write that, but also I want us to take a moment to consider trying to build up to that. There's so many firsts buried in there that I think need to be navigated through before they even get there. This is one of those firsts. Like the first time you see Bucky's shoulder.

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Grumpy Sunshine Series

"You're just- " You stop speaking, searching for his lips again. Though you're breathless, you can't bring yourself to pull away from him, "You're so pretty."

You shudder as you feel his hand slip under your sweater. The occasional graze of the cool metal on your skin enough to send shivers down your spine.

His lips trail down, nipping at your jaw, "I'm not pretty."

Your hands, winded in the hair at the nape of his neck, glide down his neck, to clutch the fabric of his henley. The moment he feels your fingers toy with the collar of his shirt, his heart hammers against his ribcage. Not in the sort of way that he usually feels in these moments with you. He feels a sense of dread, of panic. It wraps around his spine like a python. It feels like he can't breathe.

"You're so -"

He wrenches away from you, his chest heaving, "Stop, stop, stop."

You freeze, immediately dropping your hands. Panic starts creeping up your throat, coating your words. "Did I - did I do something wrong?"

He gulps, silently shaking his head. It takes him a moment to regain his composure, to regain the ability to speak clearly, "No, no, you're - you're perfect."

Guilt starts to eat at him. He can see you doing your very best to keep your own feelings off your face. He can see the sting of his rejection in the way your lips press together in a tight line. The embarrassment in the pallor of your once flushed cheeks.

You two have worked so hard to overcome your own personal issues and traumas, to build trust in each other, moments like these hadn't come easy. And he so callously pushed you away, it makes him feel worse. And what makes his heart ache even more, he sees nothing but concern for him shining in your eyes. You just look so worried for him.

Your hands rest in your lap. You twist and untwist your fingers. "If you don't want to, we don't - we don't have to do anything. I'm really sorry -"

"No, no, please don't be sorry." He reaches for you, gently squeezing your hand. It soothes him as much as it does you. "I want to. You don't know how much I want to."

"But?"

His eyes squeeze shut. He can't bring himself to meet your eyes. "You haven't seen it before - my arm, my shoulder."

"Oh."

He drops your hand. That feeling takes over him again. It feels like there's not enough air in the room. He slides away from you, closer to the edge of the tiny couch in your apartment. "It's - I am not pretty."

It breaks your heart, watching him pull away from you. You can only imagine how many people have turned away from him before. "James..."

He fervently shakes his head, refusing to open his eyes, "No, no, I know what you're gonna say, but it's bad. A lot worse than you're thinking."

"How do you know what I'm thinking?"

"It's bad," he insists. "I see it every day and I can barely - it's just bad, okay?"

You take his hand, squeezing it tightly. "It's okay if you don't want me to see it. I understand."

He finally opens his eyes again as his eyebrows pull together. He still doesn't meet your eye. "No, no, I want to - I trust you with this, I do. I just - I want you to be prepared."

In that moment, you realize that it's not really about preparing you. Not at all.

He thinks you're going to react badly. He thinks that this will make you turn away from him for the first time ever. He's worried that the love and adoration in your eyes will turn to disgust and repulsion.

It's less about preparing you for the scarred flesh, and more about warning you that he couldn't take a bad reaction. He's not sure he could take it if you turned away from him too.

"I love you," you promise him. "There's nothing that you could show me that would change that. I hope you know that."

There is no response to that. And you know that he won't believe it until he sees it. It takes him a moment. His hand toys with the hem of his shirt. His hand grips the hem, only to let it go.

"I love you," you remind him.

He takes a large gulp of air, pulling off his shirt with one quick movement.

You weren't really sure what you were expecting. You knew the story. You knew how Bucky lost his arm. He even confided the bits and pieces he remembered from getting his vibranium arm.

Your eyes trail over his skin. The shoulder is scarred, scars jut in every direction. Each scar is etched into his skin. It's clear it was a painful, violent experience for him. The metal plate protrudes from the scar tissue in a way that you're sure was painful when first placed. You look on with curiosity, you're not really sure how this, a sign of survival, a badge of resilience, could ever make anyone turn away from him.

He's as breathtaking as you could ever imagine.

Your eyes flicker up at him. He looks at the blank wall of your apartment, scared to watch your facial expressions as you take it in. "Can I?"

He nods, barely able to look you in the eyes. He sucks in a breath when your fingers make contact with the scar tissue surrounding the metal plate.

You immediately pull your fingers back, worried you've accidentally hurt him. "Does it hurt?"

"No," he answers reflexively.

You know he's lying. "I've seen you holding your shoulder before - holding it like it hurts."

"Sometimes," he amends. "The doctor said there's a lot of nerve damage. Things they can't fix."

"Does it hurt now?"

"No."

You run your hand over the plate, over his scars, down to his shoulder blade.

"Still think I'm pretty?" he sarcastically remarks.

You press a gentle kiss to his bare shoulder. "I'll always think you're pretty. Every part of you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a@weallhaveadestiny@mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064@michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73@withyoutilltheendoftheline@the-photo-hoe @rae-nna@sarachabeans1 @double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep

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miguelswifey04 · 9 months

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Hi! Could you do a protective Miguel story with a sunshine f! reader? she's smart and makes friends easily and she assumes the best in people but doesn't always know when someone doesn't mean her well.

hi hi thanks for requesting!! yea of course love 💕

protective! miguel x sunshine f! reader

~fluff (for sure!)

in the bustling city of Nueva York, you, a vibrant and intelligent young woman, navigated through life with a bright smile and an optimistic outlook. your sunny personality and natural charm made it easy for you to make friends wherever you went, and you embraced each new connection with open arms.

miguell, drawn to your infectious sunshine and kind-hearted nature, couldn't help but be captivated by you. he admired your ability to see the best in people, but also recognized your vulnerability when it came to discerning those who might take advantage.

protective by nature, miguel made it his mission to keep you safe, even if it meant shielding you from the harsh realities the world sometimes held. he watched over you, always ready to step in and protect you from those who wished to do you harm, both physically and emotionally.

one day, you befriended a charming stranger you met at a local coffee shop. the two of you hit it off instantly, and he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you better. seeing your excitement, miguel maintained a cautious eye. he couldn't help but feel a lingering sense of doubt about this newcomer.

as your friendship with the stranger grew, miguel decided to investigate further, ensuring your well-being was protected. with his vast intellect and technological prowess, he dug into the stranger's background, uncovering unsettling information that indicated he was not as kindhearted as he appeared.

knowing he couldn't keep you in the dark any longer, miguel approached you gently, expressing his concerns. he revealed the truth about the stranger's true intentions, emphasizing the need to prioritize your safety and happiness.

although you were initially taken aback, miguel’s genuine concern and unwavering support allowed you to see the truth. grateful for his protection and love, you trusted in his judgment and made the difficult decision to distance yourself from the stranger, recognizing the potential harm he could have caused.

with miguel by your side, you continued to radiate your positive energy, but now with an added layer of awareness. you learned to strike a balance between your trusting nature and the need to protect yourself, trusting miguel’s instincts and guidance when it came to assessing the intentions of others.

together, you and miguel forged a bond that couldn't be broken, a partnership where he fiercely protected you from the darkness that lurked in the world. with miguel’s loving presence, you were able to shine even brighter, knowing that you always had someone who would guard your heart and ensure your happiness.

tags 🏷️: @kairiscorner @emiemiemiii @sabcandoit @meeom

#spiderman atsv #spider man: across the spider verse #miguel o'hara #atsv x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #🌱 lin writes #miguel spiderman #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider person #spidersona #♡´･ᴗ･`♡ lin answers #lin’s asks #protective!miguel x sunshine! f! reader #protective!miguel #miguel o’hara x female reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara fluff

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barbiesmuse · 24 days

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୨୧ TOLERATE IT.

ִֶָ 𓂃⊹ ִֶָsimon riley + fem!reader

summary: in which you decide to meet up with simon, and to your dismay things happen between the two of you. but in the end, he still left. link to part one!

tags: angst, talk of parental issues, arguing-ish, slight fluff, delena puts some sense into simon, and reader is a pushover!!

head barbies announcements: hi barbie!! this is a lot more angsty and slightly sexual so minors dni! there will be one more part of this, but other than that enjoy!! do something kind today! peace and love!

“I miss you, love.” He missed you? You scoffed and ran a hand down your face. You wanted to ignore it, act like you never saw it. You had a new life. Simon wasn't a part of that new life. You promised yourself a long time ago that it would stay that way. You didn't want to know why he left. You want to forget him completely. But you couldn't. You knew that there would always be a part of you tied to him. Simon squeezed Delena's hand, she wasn't one to be impatient. She was gentle with Simon. She had seen the aftermath of what his father had done to him. It was rough. “Del, what if she doesn't respond,” Simon says, his eyes squeezed shut. He tries to ignore the feeling in his stomach. He felt like a nervous schoolboy texting his crush. Delena simply doesn't respond. She loved her godson to pieces but, she didn't tolerate incompetence. Simon looked up at her, waiting for an answer. Instead of answering, she shot him a tight-lipped grin.

You didn't want to respond, but there was a small part of you that felt like you should. He brought out something good in you. You always saw yourself as deeply flawed, not good enough, too hostile. Simon saw you as a phoenix. Constantly getting back up again, rising from the ashes. Your hands trembled as you picked your phone up, you had made up your mind. You were going to respond. Simon's eyes went from soft to offended in a matter of seconds. He knew what Delena was thinking, and he didn't like it one bit. Simon scoffed and took a sip of the large bottle of Disaronno that sat by his side. Delena grunted in disapproval and snatched the bottle from his hand. Simon wasn't himself anymore when Delena looked into his eyes she saw his father. That was her biggest fear. “Simon. If she doesn't respond you have no right to be angry with her. You left without any explanation. That girl deserved the world, and you could've given it to her. Yet you decided to let your trauma get in the way of something great, for the both of you.” Delena says, she stands up the bottle of alcohol still in her hand. Simon's eyes turn to his cracked phone, his lips curling into a soft smile. He picks up his phone and studies the text. It was simple, too simple for him. He wanted more, but he was never satisfied. Simon Riley could have the entire world in his hands and still be unsatisfied. He lifted his phone and showed Delena, he made sure the shards of glass didn't cut her hand. No matter how angry he was, he was gentle with the people he cared most about.

“I'll always miss you, Si.” You responded. It was simple, but it held weight. You would've done anything for him. The two of you were toxic and the both of you knew it. The toxicity was like a drug. Once you're addicted, you can't stop. No matter how long you're clean, a part of you will always long for that drug. There was a point in time when Simon angered you severely. You had held onto it like a grudge. He would make fun of you in front of his friends and leave you to do all the work around the house, but what hurt the most? He acted as if your love for him was simply a burden. Yet you tolerated it. Delena forced a smile. Thankfully, Simon couldn't see the hidden displeasure on her face. She had no problem with you. However, she did have a problem with Simon hurting you. “She misses me, Del,” Simon said with a genuine smile. His heart was beating again, he was slowly becoming the man he was. Delena's hands tightened around the bottle of alcohol, her sharp red nails digging into her palm. “You two should talk, maybe meet up. Then you can apologize.” Delena says with a smile. Yet it fades as he shakes his head. “She can't know why I left Delena, she'll think I'm a coward,” Simon says as he stands up. He needed to see you. He needs to make things right, you were his everything. Without you, he was an empty shell of a man. Delena simply shakes her head and walks away. She was getting a headache and did not have time for him. Simon grabs his broken phone in his hands and sighs. His breathing was slow and heavy, almost as if he didn't want to. Simon.

“Meet me at the café, please baby.”

Simon was one thing for sure, a master manipulator. He knew the buttons to push and when to push them. He knew you were vulnerable right now. He knew you craved his touch. The smell of cigarettes and amaretto still lingered in your house. His side of the bed still smelled like his forest body wash. He lingered. You hated it.

“Yes. Be there at six.”

talia talks: this was kinda a filler i guess? the second half of this fic will be out tomorrow morning if uni doesn't kick my ass!

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yumimak · 11 months

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Fourth Times the Charm - Prolouge

Hey guys! So I had this idea for an angsty Neteyam story that was a mix of like ‘one sided’ enemies to lovers but also grumpy/sunshine without making Neteyam a total butthole. I think this prologue gives a good idea of how I am going to do that, I really hope you enjoy!

Please read the A/N at the end if you are intrested!!

Neteyam

Finding a mate was something most Na’vi looked forward to. Traditionally, it was the first step that was taken after passing the rites of passage. That special bond was desired and sought out by almost everybody.

I, for one, was never really one of these people.

I was one of the youngest people to pass their Iknimaya and was the youngest to become a warrior in our clan. My father was Olo’eyktan and some day I would be too.

Knowing this, the idea of finding a mate never really interested me past the age of 10. From a young age I’ve been very aware of the possible threats posed against our clan. So from that age I decided that I would put all my energy towards being the best warrior and future leader I could be.

I believe it was a good choice on my part. After all those years I’d become the esteemed warrior I’d always wanted to be. Through it all my clan stayed safe and I’ve always had my family by my side.

What more could I ever want or need? What more fulfillment would a woman give that I had not given myself?

Sadly, my logic did not align with the tradition of being a future leader. Because where there was an Olo’eyktan there would always be a Tsahik. So although I was okay with not finding a mate, the lack of having a future Tsahik was starting to concern much of the clan, especially my parents.

My mother and my father had one of the best love stories I have ever heard in my life. They knew how great the right bond could be and it was evident they wanted me to find my mate so I could be as happy as they are. They saw how hard I worked to be the warrior I am today, there was no doubting my skills or capability of being Olo’eyktan someday. So now all they wanted was for me to settle down and find my Tsahik.

They never forced me though, only making a few comments here and there. They tried to be understanding, telling themselves I was just taking my own path and would eventually find a woman in the clan that I’d want to be with. But on the other hand, it was traditional to be mated by the age of 21 so when I had yet to show interest in finding a mate of my own at 18, they began arranging women for me to court.

I know that it was their last resort, they had never really liked the idea of forcing mates together since they knew first hand how powerful a bond was when you truly loved the other. I think that’s why they never forced me to actually bond with any of the women permanently. I think the plan was to encourage the idea of how great having a mate could be.

Their plan failed.

In one year I went through three arranged courtships, each possible mate worse than the one before.

There was Tallulah, Lì'ee, and Aìyana.

Tallulah was picked from our clan and our courtship lasted a mere three weeks. She was a year younger than me but I had known her my entire life seeing as she was a good friend of Kiri’s. She was intelligent, beautiful, and a talented forager. They were great traits for a Tsahik to have which is why I think my parents picked her. Although I admired her for all of those things, I could not for the life of me see her as more than my little sister’s friend.

Luckily Tallulah didn’t take me ending the courtship too roughly. She understood and simply hoped the two of us could still stay cordial. There were no hard feelings; her and Kiri remained friends, and Tallulah and I never had any animosity towards each other.

I wish I could say the next two ended the same.

Lì'ee was a young woman from a nearby clan in the forest. She was the oldest child of the Olo’eyktan, and although whoever she mated with would become the next Olo’eyktan, she couldn’t seem to find a mate.

That should have been an instant red flag to my parents.

Lì'ee and I’s courtship lasted three months and it started off great. She was very sweet and caring, raised to be an amazing Tsahik. I could see myself building a future with her, until we hit the three month mark. By then I began to understand why nobody had wanted to court her.

She was atrociously needy and practically demanded all my attention. It didn’t matter if I was with my family or friends, or even out on a hunt. If I was not by her side 24/7 I would come back to her upset or even crying. I had tried to comply with her needs, reducing my personal and even family time to be with her, but it was never enough.

On top of all of that she had absolutely no backbone. Yes, she was sweet as could be and it was lovely, but that was all she was. She couldn’t stand up for herself at all whether in a social setting or out in the wild. I swear Tuk was mentally stronger than Lì'ee even at her young age.

Yet, I put up with all of these flaws hoping one day I would get used to it or she would grow the fuck up. That never happened, and somehow it got worse.

I was never intimate with Lì'ee. Maybe a kiss on the cheek or the back of the hand but that was all. It never felt right to do anything more with her but she could not respect that. She constantly begged for more, to be intimate even when I stated I had not wanted to be. My last straw was when I overheard her speaking to a group of girls about our ‘amazing sex life’ that never was.

I never desired to be rude to the girl at any point, and I in no way wanted to ruin her pure reputation by telling her lies. So I kept her actions a secret from all, even my parents asked why I ended our courtship. To them I was just being picky.

Lastly, and worst of all, there was Aìyana.

When choosing my next possible mate they decided to look further than our clan and other forest clans all together. Aìyana was the daughter of Öyatx, an Olo’eyktan of one of the Ash clans.

The ash people were located high in the mountains where the forest ended far from the Omaticaya. They were mighty, composed of the strongest warriors of Pandora. An impenetrable force for any enemy who even thought of going against them.

Though they were so strong, they were also some of the most peaceful Na’vi to walk our land. They never exerted their strength unless absolutely necessary. When I met Aìyana it had been decades since their clan had seen a war.

My parents knew this which is why I think they were so quick to introduce us and begin our courtship, because if we mated our clan would be forever connected to the ash people. I would find my mate and the clan would have the fiercest warriors of Pandora backing us.

What could go wrong?

Me not liking her.. that’s what I thought could go wrong. There was no way I could reject the daughter of Öyatx without there being major consequences for our people.

Luckily, not liking her was nearly impossible.

I was star-struck the moment Aìyana stepped foot in our clan. Yes, all the women before were beautiful, but nothing compared to her beauty. Her skin was dark blue, closer to a shade of gray than the more vibrant blue I was used to seeing. Her hair, long and soft, was pure white complimenting her glowing freckles beautifully. And then there were her eyes, a shade deep red that I thought I could never get tired of gazing into.

Her physical beauty only scratched the surface of the many layers of Aìyana. We instantly connected in our first conversation. She was oh so funny, with a beautiful smile that could brighten even the gloomiest of days.

She was the first woman I genuinely desired a courtship with.

As time progressed I never lost feelings for her, they only seemed to grow far past the capacity I believed feelings for people could grow. She was the strong warrior I expected her to be considering where she was from, but she was also so sweet and caring. She knew how to be soft and open up about her emotions, but she also knew how to listen when you spoke. She was one of the most understanding people I thought I could ever meet.

I never opened up about my emotions, as I grew up I only ever felt that it was a burden for whoever I decided to tell. But with Aìyana, it was different. She’d insist on me opening up to her when I was obviously obsessed, ensuring I knew I didn’t have to but also promising it was okay for me to open up to her.

I was so nervous the first time I opened up to her, fidgeting with my hands until she took it upon herself to hold them. Talking to her was like nothing I had ever felt before. She didn’t make fun when I spoke of my hurts, nor did she laugh when a few tears embarrassingly fell from my eyes. It was so relieving that I almost didn’t know what to do with that empty space where my burdens would normally sit. But when she held me that night, I decided to devote that space to her.

She was the first person I felt truly saw me, the first person I was ever truly intimate with, and the only person I wanted by my side for the rest of my life. I was totally and irrevocably in love with her.

We courted for six months before we decided we wanted to finally mate with one another. It was traditional in arranged courtships for the soon-to-be mated pair to visit the others clan for a celebration of the clans union before having another celebration in the clan they planned on residing in.

In respect of this tradition, Aìyana, my parents, and I all flew to her clan up in the mountains. It was dark there but very beautiful. Aìyana was quick to show me around and introduce me to all her friends. I was nervous that they would not like me, but they were inviting and I felt as if I fit right in.

A certain part of me was anxious that something would go wrong, but I knew that it was just my nature and that after six months with Aìyana nothing could go wrong.

And nothing did for the first few days, but looking back, I wish I had listened to my gut because things can always go wrong.

- Two years ago -

The night here is so much different than at home. There are much less trees and far more caves up here, it would be much harder to navigate if it wasn’t for the white glow of the moon right now.

Today Aìyana and I did not spend as much time together as usual. It was more of a quality time day for her to be with her family and friends alone before our celebration tomorrow night.

I spent the day with my family, which was fun, but now since night had fallen I was on my way to Aìyana’s hut where we planned on meeting.

When I arrive though she isn’t there. I brushed it off though, I was early and she hasn’t seen her friends in six months, she wasn’t obliged to rush back to me when after tomorrow she’d be leaving her home to officially become Omaticaya.

Uncomfortable with staying in her hut while she wasn’t there, I decided to take a little walk. Maybe she’d be home by the time I got back.

My walk is peaceful, by this time most have retired to their huts for the night. I venture into a small bout of trees similar to the forest, exploring more of this foreign area when a laugh catches my attention. It’s a beautiful harmony that I recognize as none other than my Aìyana’s.

I smile, glad to hear she is enjoying her time with her friends, before deciding to continue my walk in the opposing direction. As I turn through another woman's voice stops me in my tracks. “He cried?” she laughs.

“Like a little baby,” Aìyana responds.

My heart sinks, she couldn’t possibly be talking about me.

Another woman speaks next, “So much for mating with a ‘mighty warrior.’ Who would’ve thought Toruk Makto’s son was so soft.”

“Why are you even staying with him?” another asks.

“Well, it would benefit both of our clans. And my dad plans on mating me with someone else anyway, so why not just get it over with instead of wasting a bunch of time picking suitors.”

“Okay but you’ve got to tell us.. how’s he in bed?”

Aìyana sighs deeply, “Amazing in theory, sometimes I’m just not mentally there, it’s whatever. Anyways, speaking of ‘being in bed’ I’ve got to be somewhere before a certain someone comes crying at my doorstep.”

The group laughs bidding Aìyana goodbye, but I can’t help the pang of hurt that I feel in my chest. Especially when one of the girls yells after her, ‘Tell Tavo we said hi!!!’

My heart sinks impossibly deeper in my chest, who the hell was Tavo?

I decided to extend my walk, trying to convince myself that I was making all of this up. But how could I when I’d heard it all with my own two ears.

After prolonging my return to Aìyana’s tent, I decide to finally make my way back. I needed to speak to her about what I had heard. Despite it breaking my heart, another completely delusional part of me believed that we could work past this.

As I arrive at her tent all hope drains from my body though. The sounds from inside the tent burn their way into my ears. The mix of moans between the woman I love and a man that was not me fills me with dread, betrayal, and anger.

A part of me wanted to barge in, embarrass the two and unleash my anger in a way suitable for the Toruk Makto’s son. In a way that would prove to her that I was way too mighty to just sit back and take this.

But the reasonable part of me tells me it’s not worth it. It tells me that although I love her to the moon and back, the extent of her love hardly reached the forest.

- Present -

That night I went straight to my family hut, holding back the tears that threatened to pour from my eyes as I told my family we were leaving. My parents attempted to argue it but I was persistent so, despite their wishes, we left.

I spent the entirety of the next week sulking alone in my hut. Seeing as nobody had a clue as to why I ended things with Aìyana, everyone was concerned. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it yet.

But when Aìyana’s father became infuriated with my impulsive decision to leave and not mate with his daughter, the threat of war knocked at our clan's door. I could tell my father blamed me for this, he was mad that I had ended things and even more upset that I wouldn’t tell anyone why.

That next week Kiri came to my hut in the night. She’d brought me dinner and sat with me as I ate. She didn’t try to force me to speak or anything, she just wanted to know that was okay and that meant the world to me.

That night when she left she gave me a big hug, my first hug since Aìyana. I did the one thing I’d been trying to do at that moment, I broke down like the crybaby I am.

It was humiliating, crying in my little sister's embrace, but I knew that if I could trust anyone it would be my dearest sister Kiri. So when she pulled away and asked me to talk to her, I did. I told her every event of that wretched night, leaving her stunned and angry.

Before leaving that night Kiri promised she wouldn’t tell a soul of what happened. She did ask me to at least tell our father that Aìyana was unfaithful, she promised he would understand.

Trusting Kiri, I told my dad that I had overheard Aìyana’s betrayal and that’s why I had decided to leave her. To my surprise my father more than understood, he was infuriated. I asked my father not to expose her though because although she had hurt me, I still felt a deep love for the woman.

He agreed but still with two furious Olo’eyktan’s butting heads, war was inevitable.

The almost two year fight was rough and draining for the clan, but when it did finally end, the Omaticaya came out on top.

Grieving my love for Aìyana was rough, but throughout the first year of the war I learned not to crave her, I learned to be alone again, and I had come to love it once more.

By the end of the war I was completely over the woman and what she’d done to me. I was myself again, strong and mighty all around. In pure spite, I gave up on keeping what Aìyana did a secret.

With the humiliation of a cheating daughter, and having a war that could have been completely avoided if it wasn’t for her. The ash clan, that I am proud to have no more connections with, surrendered.

Now it had been a little over two years since the war had begun, and six months since it had ended.

Everything had been back to normal these past six months and I couldn’t have been happier.

Well, until today when I was told of my fourth arranged courtship.

I thought that I was past this shit, and that Aìyana was the perfect example that nothing good would come from this and that I was better off by myself.

That didn’t matter though because in one week I will be thrown down the rabbit hole again, but luckily this time I know what to expect. And I’d be damned before I got hurt all over again.

- - -

A/N:

Hi guys!! Okay so the reader will be intorduced in the next part! I really hope you are enjoying my story idea so far, I've been absolutly obsessing over the plot in my head. I really wanted to write more angst than my other story Anomaly (which I am still working on promise!) To all my current Anomaly readers, I have tagged you from my taglist from that story here so that you would know about the new story, but if you aren't intrested in being tagged on this one just tell me. :)) Okay okay, it's like three am, i'm going to sleep now. Much love to you all!!- Mak

Taglist:

@cleverzonkwombatsludge @peachycrime @jackiehollanderr @fanboyluvr @killua2dot0 @neteyamsbabymomma @lovedbychoi @aihimitsu @ken-zah @ghostmadeofglass @alfie2401 @awow-2

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holy-puckslibrary · 4 months

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━ 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟

˗ˏˋ𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 —grumpy!erik johnson x sunshine!nanny!reader 𝐰𝐜 — 1.1k 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 — in erik's absence, his nanny takes over staging the family's elf on the shelf in order to keep the magic alive for his children. results are... questionable.

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 — i'm unhealthily attached to this made-up family send help

˗ˏˋ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ˗

JOSIE JOHNSON is thoroughly unimpressed by her Elf.

“Snow angels? In sprinkles? Groundbreaking.”

Dissatisfaction narrows her gray-blue eyes as she stands in front of the kitchen island.

Bernard, the Johnson family’s special scout from the North Pole, is lying limp against the marble countertop in a pool of red and green. The sugary spillage is low-effort at best, especially compared to his iPad drive-in movie yesterday and the miniature golf course the day before that.

Dumping a container of cheap sprinkles—and not even the expensive variety with confetti shapes and edible glitter—wasn’t going to cut it.

Someone was going to have to do better.

“Uh-oh! Looks like Bernard had a wild night,” Erik Johnson, her father, announces as he pads in from the dining room.

If he thinks he’s being subtle, he’s doing a terrible job. His daughter can see straight through him; his voice goes all sorts of wonky when he has a secret.

And his dye-stained fingertips aren’t doing him any favors, either.

“Wild for who? A first grader?”

Josie was in second grade now. She is far too smart to fall for his poor acting and, evidently, much too cool to bother with humoring him.

Erik cocks his head to the side. His kid could be snarky, but she typically postponed doling out remarks until the afternoon. Or until he’s had his second helping of caffeine.

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed today, he thinks to himself.

Aloud, though, he opts for a simple joke. “Well, I think it was wild. Do I look like a first grader to you?”

He sets his coffee mug beside the espresso machine and puffs out his chest like a peacock. Erik’s already 6’4 without trying, so when he raises both hands and lefts onto his tip-toes for emphasis, his head nearly brushes the ceiling. He’s grinning, wide and bright.

He expects his daughter to giggle at his antics like she did when she was younger or, at the very least, crack a reluctant smile out of second-hand embarrassment.

She does neither.

Rather than pearly teeth, Erik’s met with the whites of her eyes. If Josie had rolled them any harder, they'd have gotten stuck facing the wrong way. That’s what her older brother, Reese, told her whenever she did it.

The irony of the repeated red-lettered phrase "Be Nice!" on the white background of her Grinch-themed pajamas isn’t lost on him.

“Josephine Johnson, I thought I made myself clear the last time we talked about this; you do not roll your eyes at me. Or anyone, for that matter. It’s very rude,” he reprimands sternly. “What’s gotten into you?”

Josie crosses her arms, unphased, and fixes him with an unwavering glare. She could do this all day if need be.

“What’d she do this time?” Reese asks through a yawn as he strolls into the kitchen.

You, the family’s live-in nanny, are not far behind. You’re rubbing the sleep from the corners of your tired eyes when Josie darts to your side.

She looks up at you expectantly, eyes wide and pleading. Silently, they beg for you to agree to whatever she’s planning to say next.

“Can you be in charge of it again? Please, please, please?” she asks, so sweetly she might give herself a cavity.

Josie tugs on your arm to drive home her adolescent anguish when you aren’t instantly compliant.

Panic fizzles in your chest. There was no way she knew, right?

She couldn’t. No way. You were still a few years off from the dicey reveal. No one in her grade had spilled the beans yet, and the adults in her life were content to keep up the ruse.

Surely, she meant as the Elf’s supervisor or an assistant.

Wrong.

“Bernard looks so much cooler whenever Dad lets you set up his pranks instead of doing it himself. See? Look how lazy he was this time,” Josie explains while tugging you over to the scene of the crime. “All he did was spill my sprinkles all over the counter and set my Elf on top of the mess. Like, could it get any lamer than that? He’s probably all sticky now, and he’ll have to stay that way because he’d drown in the washing machine!”

“No, I didn’t,” Erik says a little too quickly, tone noticeably defensive. “Bernard—who is perfectly fine and not sticky at all, for the record—must’ve been way too tired when he got back from visiting Santa last night to do anything else. He didn’t even bother making it hard for you to find him this morning. I’d do something “lame” too if I spent the entire night flying home from far, far away.”

Bernard wasn't the only member of their household who spent the night up in the inky sky; Erik had been in an entirely different country only four hours ago. And, instead of going straight to bed like his body urged him, he spent an hour arranging the stupid little Elf into what he thought was a fun scenario for his daughter to find the following morning.

Now, he wishes he had just left Bernard on the mantle.

He blames you. They wouldn’t be in this mess if you hadn’t introduced her to the concept. Fuck your quirky childhood tradition. All it'd caused were problems.

“I’m not a baby anymore. I know Bernard isn’t actually one of Santa’s elves!” Josie shouts, growing angry.

Reese mumbles something to the effect of “Could’ve fooled me…” under his breath, and Josie’s face pinches with frustration.

Like the miniature teenager she’s rapidly morphing into, the youngest Johnson massages the fold between her eyebrows. Then, her outburst matures into an accusation. “I know you’ve been hiding him this whole time.”

Erik balks at the allegation.

Irritated, she continues, “I’ve been sneaking down to watch you do it since I was, like, five years old. It's not my fault you aren't very observant. Or that your footsteps sound like an elephant’s. But I don’t care about that. I don't care that I know, but I do care how much effort you put into it.”

Josie clutches your hand in hers and smiles. She could get away with murder with the deep dimples indented on either side of her mouth —and she knows it, too.

She also knows flattery can get her wherever she wants. “Which is why I want you to take over again. You did such a good job while he was away. The goldfish in the paper pond was super cute, and you even made sure he was watching my favorite movie at the drive-in!"

“Fine, you know what? You’re right,” Erik confesses, conceding to his eight-year-old with a toss of his hands. “And if it really matters that much, I’ll never touch the Elf again. Okay? I give up full control and responsibility.”

Josie positively beams. She always got her way eventually.

“So, how did you even figure it out, anyway?” Reese asks.

The question is garbled; he couldn’t wait until his mouth wasn’t full of Lucky Charms to make his inquiry.

“How could I not?” Josie retorts. Her facial expression is equal parts annoyance and ridicule. Reese’s eyes loop. His little sister clarifies with a huff, “Obviously, he isn’t a real elf, Reese. Santa needs all the help he can get to make sure everyone on the Nice List gets exactly what they asked for every year. Why would he send an actual elf, who should be building a bike or sewing a teddy bear, to spy on me for weeks?”

Fair point, you think to yourself.

“Wait a minute... If you knew he wasn’t real the entire time, why did you let us keep hiding him?” Erik asks, a quizzical dent in his forehead.

Josie perks up, apparently thrilled to clue them in on the motivation behind her feigned ignorance. “Mrs. Thornton says even adults need a creative outlet because it makes them happier. Especially when they’re grouchy. Clearly, you’re the exception, Daddy.”

Reese honks, sending milk across the room from his nostrils.

Your sudden amusement is muffled by your free hand.

If it were humanly possible, there would be steam billowing from Erik’s crimson ears.

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