#merry christmas as i blink one at a time from one eye to the other

[jaemongus]

merry crisis

#merry christmas as i blink one at a time from one eye to the other #i feel fossilized after sitting and working on this 15 hours++ #sorry violin players #my babies #op #one piece #fanart #art #digital art #monkey d. luffy #zoro #nami #usopp #black leg sanji #tony tony chopper #nico robin #franky #jinbei #jaemongusart

[kerrslvr]

reward // mary earps

summary; in which, after she wins SPOTY, you give mary a reward like no other.

warnings; dom!mary, sub!reader, cocky mary, cunninlingus, fingering, mary loves to manipulate reader into saying i love you, strap-ons, grind pads, reverse cowgirl, spanking, daddy kink (blink and you'll miss it), nipple stimulation, fluff at the end. probably missed some warnings and probably made typos, sorry. also… take this as a christmas present. merry christmas u filthy lesbians x

pairing(s): romantic mary earps x scott!reader, platonic jill scott x sister!reader (r is about 24/25 in this… mary & jill are their current ages at the time of writing - 30 & 36 respectively)

based on this request x

"this is live on the BBC and you're wearing a dress with a slit that deep?"

the frown in jill's voice was clear as you stepped out of the taxi and into the chill of the manchester air, the immediate swarm of camera flashes turned your way.

"can tell you're getting old," you replied as you adjusted the skirt of your dress, "you're starting to sound like mum."

your oldest sister was not amused by her likening to your mother. shelly couldn't make it to the spoty ceremony, and seeing as most of jill's friends were going anyway, she'd invited you. originally, you'd been invited by the company you work for, but being a sports journalist in-training, they'd found someone more qualified than you to do the job; and jill didn't like that.

"just make sure your dress doesn't malfunction and cause headlines tomorrow," she said, waiting patiently for you to catch up as you scurried along beside her, "otherwise mam'll have a breakdown."

you shrugged your shoulders at your sisters worry, you weren't wearing the dress for her, or the cameras. there was only one person you were wearing it for, and you could see her in your peripheral vision, stepping out of her vehicle, dressed to the nines in what can only be described as a revenge dress on you.

she spotted you instantly, your pretty hair and your not-so-innocent eyes and the way they twinkled as they met hers across the carpet. your dresses almost matched, the gaping neckline, the peeks of skin through the lacy mesh, the long black skirt.

you had to fight your jaw so it didn't drop to the floor, and it seemed like everyone else around you also had to fight their urges. people screamed mary's name and you struggled to keep your composure as you and jill eagerly waltzed over to see her.

"i'm so proud of you," jill sqeaked eagerly as she wrapped her arms around mary's shoulders. the look she gave you when your sister wasn't looking almost let your knees give way. "and you look lovely."

"very similar to your sister, come to think of it, jill," mary pointed at your dress and scanned you up and down, "minus the obscenely high split."

you cursed mary with a knowing look before jill turned to compare. if she found out you and mary were frequent flyers in each others beds she would probably wring you out herself, let alone your mother.

"i was just about to compliment you, earps," you shrugged off her devilish eyes and knowing smirk, "but i think i'll just keep my mouth closed."

the two of them did press for a little while, and you watched from the sidelines, admiring mary's demeanor. you couldn't remember how long ago everything started between you and mary, although the euro's final was the first night you spent entangled between her sheets. you didn't even know you were into girls - let alone mary - when you first started sleeping together, and at first, that's all it was, until it wasn't.

she started picking you up from the station, inviting you to games, date night after date night, after date night. one morning things changed and you both realised there were painfully strong feelings of love underlying, but she was thirty and you were twenty five, and she was your sisters best friend, and you were a sports journalist. you both knew how bad it looked.

but, the feelings of love outweighed the feelings of lust, and that was the worst part.

"don't you fancy asking me some questions then, love?"

mary's voice lulled you from your daydream, and she met you in a less crowded corner of the carpet. you could see jill mingling with leah and jen, the three of them chatting politely while they waited for mary to finish up with her interviews - at least, thats what she told them.

"surely you've had enough of questions, mary."

she tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and let her hand rest on your shoulder. the heat from her skin on yours sent burning flashbacks rushing through your brain.

"maybe i have," she leaned down and tilted up your chin with her fingers. even without her heels on she towered over you, but with her heels on she was even taller, nearing six foot, and it made you squirm. "but i've not had a single question from the person i want to speak to."

you couldn't help but let a smile come to your face, and mary admired your fluttering eyelids, "and who might that be, earps?"

mary's thumb traced your lip, and you couldn't help but pucker your lips. "i think you know exactly who it is, princess," she laughed, and for a moment, she thought about kissing you, but she wanted to have her fun tonight, "you can unpucker those lips and ask me your first question."

you sighed and looked at her with soft eyes - of course she was in one of those moods tonight. mary got off on you when she put you in these situations, it drove her absolutely insane. "don't you want to kiss me in public?"

mary rolled her eyes and leaned in, her lips pressing against yours softly as the breeze of manchester air blew across the two of your bodies. a storm was coming, and the chill sent goosebumps across your skin, mary's too, but she was much better at composing herself.

you wanted to deepen the kiss, to outstretch your arms and pull her closer, to guide her hand up into the slit of your dress, but you knew better than to draw attention to your escapades.

mary was first to pull away, and the pink hue of your lipgloss had tainted her light brown. it was a sight to behold.

"better?"

"hm," you shrugged, "what do you plan on doing if you win the award tonight?"

"finally a question i can answer without lying," mary hummed, "if i win tonight i'm going to be taking my girlfriend back to my hotel room, and doing many, many inappropriate things with her."

you shivered at her words, and had to fight the urges running rife inside your bloodstream.

"oh, really?" you questioned, a raised eyebrow. jill noticed you two were standing together in a quiet corner, "and what do you plan on doing if you don't win?"

"oh, well, lets see," mary faked a thought, and you spotted jill walking towards you both with an excited grin, "oh, yes, i'll be taking my girlfriend back to my hotel room and doing many, many appropriate things with her."

you couldn't help but blush, and you opened your mouth to reply but jill stood in your way. "ceremony's gonna start soon, we really should think about going in, Y/N," she gave you a questioning look, silently asking if you were okay, and you nodded. "they want you for a few more pictures, mary, we'll see you in there."

jill was quiet as the two of you walked behind leah and esme, and you were petrified she would bring up the question and ask you what's going on between you and her best friend, and you didn't have an answer.

"she's your type," she said after a while, nudging you with her shoulder, "mary, i mean, not the girl you were telling me about in the car earlier. mary's the best, hilarious, good with her hands -"

"okay, jilly, thanks," you hit her on the shoulder, "i don't need you to play matchmaker, especially not with mary earps, now c'mon, my heels are killing me."

*

mary couldn't quite believe she'd won the award, and as the night lingered on, her body consistently kept gravitating towards yours. you didn't mind, it seemed everybody in the room kept themselves occupied, if they weren't pulling mary away for five minutes, they were mingling with each other.

jill noticed you and mary spending more time with one another than what she thought acceptable as two people who don't know one another all that well, and she knew she ought to bring it up, but when you began to say your goodbyes approximately ten minutes after mary did at almost midnight, her intuition kicked in.

"leaving already?" she asked, coming up to you before you could show up in front of her, "you and leah are almost always the last two on the dancefloor singing shania twain, or... do you have something better to do?"

you knew that look, the look she was giving you. it was the look she always gave you when she was disappointed you didn't tell her things, like when you failed your driving test and told her you'd passed just so she'd let you drive her new car, or when she'd swung open your bedroom door when you were nineteen to find you in bed with your first boyfriend, much to her disgust.

"if you're galivanting off to sleep with mary, i don't mind," she said, brushing the hair out of your face, "i've watched the way she's looked at you all evening, i noticed the brush of her hand on your thigh and the way you look up at her. i don't mind, y/n, really, i don't."

you knew mary would be on her way to the hotel by now, if not, already there, waiting for your arrival. as much as you wanted to spill your two and a half years worth of secrets to jill, you couldn't bring yourself to do it in this moment.

"then why do you sound so disappointed?"

"i'm not disappointed, i just wish you'd tell me," she ruffled your hair and kissed your cheek, "i'll see you at the buffet for breakfast, and please, for the love of god, stick a do not disturb sign on mary's door."

you slipped into a taxi, and within fifteen minutes you were knocking at mary's hotel room door, and the time it took her to answer the door felt like forever. she swung it open, only so you could see her from the neck up, but you could tell by the angle in which she was standing that she was hiding something.

"took you long enough, love."

"i could say the same for you," you replied, watching mary as her eyes trailed right down to your exposed leg, the slit higher than she remembered, "what're you doing in there?"

she smirked, simply allowing the door to swing open, and when it did your knees almost buckled again. your eyes weren't really sure where to look, it seemed the lace top of her dress was detachable from the long black skirt, and there she stood before you in a lacy bodysuit which made your mind reel.

this was far from the mary you knew, usually with her hair in a messy pony, more often than not, a face with faint green stains of grass, and the familiar smell of either the pitch or the training room, her dominance unrelenting.

although she was in a lacy black bodysuit, the latter statement about her dominance still stayed the same.

"are you just going to stand there gawking, or are you going to come in and let me get my reward?"

you stuttered, struggling to get the words to travel from your brain to your mouth. it was too late for you to answer, though. mary had lost her patience, and she pulled you in and - for lack of a better word - you slammed into the nearest wall.

mary kicked the door and her lips devoured you as if she hadn't kissed you for months, her hands struggling to find a place to rest. your hands settled on resting around her shoulders, your heels giving you just enough of a height boost to be able to stand in that position comfortably, your lips moving together in perfect harmony.

mary's hands found a place to rest on your hips, but she wasted no time in parting the split in your dress and letting her hand explore. a blush crept its way onto your cheeks when she clocked that you weren't wearing underwear.

"oh, sweetheart, really?" she pulled her lips away from yours and gave you that look, the one that accompanied the 'you're not smart, so don't act like it' talk, and you gave her your best innocent eyes, "no underwear, sweetheart, why's that?"

"because you told me not to," your voice was shaking as you spoke, "last week, you told me i couldn't, y-you told me if i did that you wouldn't be very happy."

mary pushed the split in the dress apart and the fresh air touched your cold pussy, sending goosebumps across your skin. it was even worse for you when she knelt down, the heat from her breath juxtaposing the goosebumps and sending your skin into overdrive.

"have i ever told you how pretty of a pussy you have, darling?"

"once or twice," you pushed the hair from her face so it didn't tickle your skin and push the goosebumps further, "but you can tell me again if you - oh."

mary couldn't help herself, her eager tongue needed to taste you. she licked along your slit as you spoke, and reduced your words to a slur of moans. she parted your legs further and scooted closer to your body until you were practically sitting on top of her face, her tongue slipping further and further into your folds.

"i should be the one d-doing this to you, surely," you hummed, hoisting your dress across your hips and allowing her much easier access to your pussy, "you have just won the best award in your career to date."

mary pulled away and you could see her chin glistening with your wetness, causing her makeup to go patchy. her fingers traced the space that her tongue had just been, circling your hole teasingly in only the way she could.

"yes, i have, and you can keep stroking my ego by telling me that again as you take off your dress," she raised an eyebrow, halting the movements of her finger until you did as she asked, "but, your pussy is my reward and i expect to get as much of a reward as possible this evening, do i make myself clear?"

"y-yes," you nodded, allowing your dress to slip straight down your frame until it pooled at your ankles, showing your naked frame to the woman kneeling before you, "i understand."

mary's finger slipped inside of you, albeit ridiculously slow and with nowhere near enough friction to make you cum, but it felt great nonetheless.

"you're such a good little girl for me, aren't you, y/n?" she asked, stretching you out with another finger and curling her fingers in an excruciatingly slow come hither motion, "leaving the afterparty like i asked you to, following me back to my hotel room so i could look at this pretty pussy and hear those innocent little moans all night," she kissed your clit softly and it sent a fluttery feeling scattering through your stomach, "anyone would think you love me, darling."

you opened your mouth to speak, and right as a word began do leave it, mary added a third finger. the stretch was painful, but delicious at the same time and you bunched a hand in her hair, fighting all your urges to cum all over her fingers. she smirked, "cat got your tongue, sweetie?"

"oh, fuck," you hissed, "fuck mary your fingers feel unbelievable."

"that's not what i was looking for you to say, angel, but i'll take it."

she smirked again, this time her lips pursing around your clit and causing a long, breathy moan to tumble from your mouth. the feeling bubbling away in your stomach grew with each flick of her tongue, each curl of her fingers, and it left you a wriggling mess.

you knew what she was waiting for you to say, her body was practically fizzing with the anticipation of hearing you tell her you loved her. it was her new favourite sound of yours to get off to, and she had plenty; but something about your voice was so soft, so subtle.

neither of you ever anticipated it would turn into this, loving each other, you weren't even sure how to love somebody. you both thought that hiding the relationship would be much harder, but it was significantly easier than you realised, less pressure, less worry. and mary didn't ever want you to stop saying it.

"you know you're not allowed to cum until you say it, darling, so you might as well get it over with."

"i love you, mary," every single time you said it, the words slipped out of your mouth easier than any other words ever did, and you hated how much it affected you both. "i love you, now, please - f-fuck - make me cum."

the smirk on mary's lips was unfathomable, and her fingers stretched you out deliciously as she continued to fuck you with them, desperate to stretch you out so she could slide her cock inside you. she stood up, her free hand wrapping itself around your neck instinctively, temporarily halting the bloodflow to your lungs as she squeezed in rhythm to her thrusting fingers.

"you really wanna cum that badly, huh?" she asked, lips scraping your ear with every word, "said you loved me twice in one sentence."

you were unsure whether mary was in a mood nice enough to let you cum now, and while you craved it desperately, you were there for her pleasure this evening, not the other way around.

"god, m-mary, please just let me cum, p-please," you choked, "i-i know you're gonna want my pussy nice 'nd wet, so p-please let me cum."

the noise mary made was akin to a growl, and she sped up the movement of her fingers, moving the angle so her thumb was rubbing your clit frantically. your legs threatened to buckle and you locked your hands around mary's neck, a moan tumbling from your mouth as a trail of her spit lingered on your bottom lip.

"god, not so fuckin' innocent now, are you? can't believe i found myself such a naughty little girl," her teeth nipped at your earlobe and she noticed the bead of sweat trickling down your forehead. "are you going to stand there moaning or are you going to cum for me, little one?"

the use of your favourite petname sent your head spiralling, and with that, your legs shook and your entire core tensed as your orgasm peaked. mary's name fell from your lips and she couldn't help but groan as your wetness flooded her fingers, trickling down her knuckles and the palm of her hand, and the sound of your release was music to her ears.

as mary pulled her fingers out of you, she gave you time to breathe, despite the look of disapproval on your face now that you weren't full. you watched her tongue slide across the skin of her palm and it made you feel dizzy.

"look at those little puppy eyes, my love," she held her fingers out in front of your mouth and let you suck them clean, "how could i ever say no to that face?"

your eyelids fluttered as you tasted yourself on mary's fingers, and when you licked them clean they pulled out of your mouth with a pop. she slipped her arms out of her bodysuit and you watched with eager, desperate eyes as it fell down her hips and to the floor. your eyes almost bulged out of your head at the sight of mary naked, it never felt real.

"what do you want, sweetheart?"

"hmm?"

"i know that look, it's the look you give me when you want to ask a question," she gave you the smirk again, "so, ask me the question."

"i, uh," you straightened yourself up, "i thought as your reward you could let me ride you."

mary leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, "oh, my darling girl, you can't ever be without my dick inside you, can you?"

you shook your head sheepishly, and mary said nothing as she walked to the bed around the corner of the room. there, on the corner of the bed, lay mary's favourite toys. a strap and its harness, lube and her grind pad, which was a lifesaver when she fucked you. it meant she could feel every sensation, and cum when you did.

"why don't you get my pussy nice 'n wet, darling, hm?" she tucked a curl of hair behind your ear, "and then we'll think about letting you ride my cock, okay?"

nodding, you sunk to your knees and steadied yourself between her legs. she was already preparing the strap harness, fiddling with the grind pad and waiting in anticipation for you to taste her.

she shivered when your tongue made contact with her clit, allowing herself to soak up the feeling by pausing her movements and letting a hand rest on your head.

you did exactly as you were told, getting her pussy nice and wet by smearing your spit all across her clit. she pulled you off, your enjoyment of eating her out short lived, but mary knew if she let you carry on a minute longer she would cave to her instincts and let you eat her.

"if i don't fuck you within the next five minutes, i think i'm going to die," mary hummed, "so please, my love, wait patiently for my cock."

as you sat and waited, you reached down to take off your stiletto's, but mary stopped you.

"don't you dare," she stood up, tightening the loops on her harness and leaning down, "you know how much i love fucking you in heels."

she sat back down on the bed, pulling you down - not completely, just so you were leaning over her frame with your hands on her thighs - and pulling you in for a kiss. it was hot, searing, and your hand instinctively pumped at the lube until you got enough to stroke the strap up and down, soaking it in the liquid so your descent would be easier.

mary groaned as if she could feel the friction through the strap-on, and it made you whimper.

"do you want me to face front or back?" you asked, pulling away for air. the answer was clear when mary's hand came down hard on your arse, the sting brutal but desperately needed. she rubbed the spot she slapped before repeating the action sequence multiple times.

"as much as i love looking at your pretty face, and that insane rack," mary chuckled, "you know i'm an arse girl, love."

you hummed, shifting your body and allowing her to get into position on her back. a whimper left your mouth when you saw her pumping the cock with her hand. she patted her upper thighs, a silent signal for you to lower yourself down, and as you got into a comfortable position, you threw your head over your shoulder and gripped the base of her cock with one hand.

the noises you made as you sunk yourself down on her cock were like music to mary's ears. the grind pad gave her the perfect friction, and as she grunted while you rocked to get comfortable, it felt as if the whole notion of you riding her dick were real.

"c'mon love," she pinched your hip, "don't have all night to waste rockin' back and forth on my cock, you know what i wanna see you doing."

"mhm," you slowly began to pull your hips up from the base of her cock, "yes daddy."

your reply earned you a slap to the bum as you sunk back down, and a sharp moan left your lips. "say it again, love, just once."

"y-yes, daddy."

slap.

"one more time," she stroked the reddening cheek with the palm of her hand, "for daddy's sake."

"yes, daddy."

slap.

mary let out a deep grunt, throwing her head back as you began to bounce up and down to a solidified rhythm, your knees already beginning to ache but this was your reward for mary, and she was not going to take over unless you collapsed from an orgasm; but with her grind pad in use, it was only a matter of time until mary's orgasm crept up on her anyway.

with every bounce of your hips, the pad stroked at mary's clit with a perfect amount of pressure, and a perfect angle, that everytime you pulled up she would whimper, or draw a sigh of relief that her orgasm hadn't hit her yet.

"fuckin' hell, love," she slapped the other cheek this time, "you really do have the most perfect arse, don't you?"

she couldn't help herself, her fingernails digging into the skin of your hips as she began to raise her own off of the bed, fucking up into you and watching your arse ripple with each thrust of her hips. your moans grew louder, unable to control your noise as you gripped onto mary's ankles.

she bent her legs at the knee to help take the weight off of your legs, allowing you to rest on her thighs a bit more. the change in angle of mary's legs changed the deepness of her cock, and it was so deep inside you now it almost made you feel sick.

she reached her hand around your waist so her fingertips brushed your stomach, "can you feel my cock in your stomach, baby? hm?" she waited for you to nod, and her fingers lowered to your clit, "want you to make yourself cum all over my cock, darlin', can you do that for me?"

"not gonna last much longer, mary?" you questioned with the little sarcasm you had left in you. a loud smack echoed the bedroom, and you immediately regretted your question.

"say something stupid like that again and you won't cum at all tonight," she pinched your stinging bum, "understood?"

"yes, mary."

she sat herself up now, so your back was pressed flush against her stomach, and instinctively you wrapped your arms around her neck. the angle of her legs changed again, spread out ever so slightly on the bed so she could hold her balance within her core.

with this angle, mary's fingers were able to pinch at your nipples, and you were so caught up in the feeling of rocking back and forth, and the sound of mary's moaning that you completely forgot you were supposed to be rubbing your clit.

"don't see much going on with your fingers, love," she teased, "please don't make me pull out of this tight little cunt now, and just do as i say, hm?"

you nodded, your index and middle fingers immediately circling the bud of nerves that had you whimpering immediately. mary's lips traced your neck, and without even giving you time to complain, her teeth sunk into the skin and softly nibbled. mary's tongue soothed the burn of her teeth on your neck right as she dragged her fingers under your nipples, making you yearn for an orgasm.

you could tell she was close, her core was beginning to become lose and her legs were beginning to twitch, and your orgasm was on the cusp.

"m-mary-"

"-wait," she breathed, her lips trailing back up to your ear, "wait for me, love, 'nd we'll cum together."

"i-i don't know if i can hold -"

"-you can, and you will," she pinched your nipples, "i'm close, but the longer you talk, the longer this will take."

you nodded, biting down on your lip to fight the urges of begging. a few more rocks of your hips and mary would be toppling over the edge.

"oh, fuck, Y/N," she hissed, "ready to cum all over my cock?"

you nodded aggressively, a feeble 'yes' tumbling from your mouth in a desperate attempt to cum. mary stilled when her orgasm arrived, allowing your hips to do the friction work against her clit, your name falling from her mouth in a desperate groan.

her noises triggered your orgasm, and as much as you tried to ride your way through it, your hips stilled and your fingers on your clit carried you the rest of the way through. you didn't even clock that mary had moved her hands to your hips so she could steady you, and her lips kissed soft lines along your shoulders.

"i'm never going to get over that sound," she said, her hands moving from your hips to around your waist, hugging your body close to her, "i can't believe you're mine."

you managed to wriggle from her grip and lay down against the pillows, with mary following suite. her body cocooned you from the cold air, and her hands resumed their position across your waist.

"i can't believe you're mine," you repeated her words, and turned your neck to the side so you could kiss her nose, "but, i, uh, i think jill knows about us."

the look on mary's face didn't change. in fact, she was relieved she didn't have to hide you anymore. she wanted to show you off, and she was thankful it was almost out in the open now.

"i don't care," she hummed, "maybe it's a good idea for us to get it out in the open now, we've been doing it long enough."

"i like that idea," you spun your whole body around in her embrace at this point, and the smile on your face told her all she needed to know. "i'm so proud of you, maz, nobody deserved to win tonight more than you, i love you."

a heartwarming smile came to mary's face, and you relished in the way you still made her cheeks blush.

"i love you too, darling," she kissed your nose and nuzzled her head into your neck.

"now please, lets get under the covers because i'm freezing my tits off."

#mary earps #mary earps smut #mary earps x reader #mary earps fluff #mary earps fic #mary earps fanfic #woso fanfic #woso fic #woso community #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #woso smut #woso blurbs #woso x reader #woso #engwnt

[snowsinterlude]

kissing leaf. - c.s

(coriolanus snow x reader)

summary: due to pressure over your poor doll heart, being under the kissing leaf with coriolanus snow felt like the end of the world. even worse when your colleagues started cheering you both to kiss.

c.w: enemies to lovers (they're in denial lol), kissing, fluff, just a light hearted way to say merry christmas to you guys, bpth under pressure

celebrating christmas on the academy felt like a fever dream to you. seriously, who would want to spend such a special time inside an academy instead of your house, with your loved ones?

well, it seemed like the entire academy did.

you were helping with all the ornaments, putting the star on top of the tree woth the help of sejanus and festus, never once stopping to talk to the platinum blonde boy that already collided on you three times. you didn't even stop on your tracks to tell him to look where he's going, you didn’t want to ruin your christmas with cat fights with him.

"snow!" you heard clementia call, and he turned to look at her, making your face meet his chest and almost fall, haven't it been his desperate hold on your waist. you could see clementia and the others smiling as they saw your hands holding his shoulders, which only made you get away from him. "no no, y.n. stay there." and you obeyed, like a pathetic dog.

"what are you doing?" you asked, looking at her devilish smile.

"a prank." she chuckled, pointing at the top of your heads. coriolanus was the first to see, but he kept himself calm, you, on the other hand, panicked as you tried to go away, which didn't work as everyone was surrounding you and pulling you back to under the kissing leaf.

"that's childish. i'm not gonna kiss her." he said, not bothering to look at him. you didn't know that he was as desperate as you. "there's not a single reason for you guys to do that with us."

"ah, there is, actually." arachne pronounced herself, arms crossed and a big smile on her lips. "we're tired of your cat fights. there's nothing better to restart between you both than with a kiss."

"no, i don't- we don't wanna do that." you said. he turned to you, brow arched.

"you don't?" he asked.

"ooh, so he does want it!" festus teased.

"no i don't!" he said, looking at him. you felt anxious once everybody started to scream, cheering you both to kiss. you panicked even more, pulling him by the new tie he wore and slamming your lips against his, for his surprise. and for yours, he kissed you back.

🎀.

"hey" he called, finding you on the library. you felt absolutely humiliated, god, what have you done? you just gave everybody a reason to joke with your face and say you were actually in love with him.

"what do you want?..." you asked, not looking at him even if he sat by your side. "haven't we been humiliated enough? do you want to give them more reasons?"

"god, stop being so dumb." he said, rolling his eyes and sighing

"what do you mean by that? i'm not dumb. i am second place to you on classes but-" he shut you up, his hands grabbing your shoulders when you finally looked at him and you spend at least 5 seconds blinking during the kiss he gave you, shutting them close when the kiss deepened.

oh. that's what he meant when he called you dumb. you didn't notice how he was always laughing when you both would debate- it wasn't a way to call you dumb. but more as in-

"i like you." he said, finally.

oh.

"i..." you blinked rapidly. wasn't it too quick? ah, it wasn't. you both spent three years on this already. "i like you too."

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #young president snow #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #x reader #fluff

[cupidzgf]

CHRISTMAS MORNING | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: satoru wakes you up on christmas morning to open presents. its 7 am and you want to sleep.

cw: mentions of sexual activity, non sorcerer au, rich!gojo, no pronouns, no smut, fluff, all of it is fluff. w/c: 1.8k a/n: my first post in a long time. ahh kinda nervous I hope you like it! merry christmas eve!

christmas was an occasion that satoru always went above and beyond to make special.

whether it was for his sake or yours, he made sure there was no way to get out of decorating his place, baking cookies, or matching christmas pajamas. not that you mind. you savored the time away from work to bask in each other's presence uninterrupted and entirely devoted to the holiday, but what perhaps made it even more so was the slow wake of your lover beside you.

his hands, warm from where they were pressed against your midsection during slumber, trace the curve of your spine. his fingers dip between the knobs of your vertebrae gently as if trying to rouse you as well. it works because your mind slips from your unconscious state into consciousness with the kisses he presses at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. sensing the shift in your stirring frame, his kisses grow in numbers as they rise up the column of your throat, lips brushing and pressing with varying pressure on previous faded marks.

you lay on your side, facing away from him, and satoru practically climbs on top of you just as your eyes flutter open to get your attention to fall solely on him.

in the blink of an eye, you're met with an infinite void of vivid, azure irises peering at you with an expression you can only describe as childlike.

"it's christmas." a dimpled grin beams from his too-wide smile, devouring your lips in one fell swoop before you can protest. satoru vibrates with excitement, and he pours every ounce into the kiss, holding your face with a giddy glee. "merry christmas."

a sleepy grin of your own curls at your lips as you try to regain your breath from the overwhelmingly passionate kiss you just received before speaking softly in an admiration-filled voice. "merry christmas, toru."

you lay there, admiring your boyfriend, as he practically jumps off the bed and pulls your arm. "c'mon, we have to open presents! pleaseeee," he whines impatiently, tugging at your hand like a small child. you groan, still exhausted from the long night at suguru's house, and attempt to roll over.

suguru's christmas eve party the night before had left both of you exhausted, though the way satoru acts, you would never have guessed. your friend was never one to skimp out on these rare get-togethers with your friend group, formed from years enrolled at the same college. the holiday atmosphere and the rich decor lulled you into christmas cheer, which always made for great nights of booze, food, and rekindling. dripping in wealth satoru insists on buying for you, the two of you made it back in the early hours of the morning, drunk and worn out from socializing.

this, however, did not stop satoru from fucking you into the bed like he had been deprived of your touch (he had clung to you the entire night), where you both passed out after a single round.

now you're paying the price for the long night as his eyes widen comically when you avoid him. he rushes to stop you by throwing himself over you and, despite your protesting, makes you face him.

"nah, uh, where do you think you're going? it's christmas! we have presents from santa–"

"--he's not real, baby. let me sleep a couple more minutes." you chime back, and his expression drops with a huff.

"you don't know that! and we only will when we look under the tree," he states jokingly, refocusing his abundance of energy on getting you up.

you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "yeah, like you would be on the nice list."

satoru gasps, loud and dramatic, falling to his knees in front of your bed with a cry.

"how could you say such a thing? i'm the kindest, nicest person you know!" he exclaims, a hand hovering over his heart to further the theatrics, and you can't help but roll your eyes at his exaggeration.

"you weren't very nice last night."

his eyes shift, darkening by a shadow passing over his irises as they gain a mischievous gleam. satoru leans over you despite kneeling on the floor. "oh yeah? well, you didn't seem to mind when i fucked your pretty pussy so hard she was crying and screaming my name–"

"ok, time to get up!" you interrupt, mortified by the vivid personification he used to describe last night, your cheeks set aflame by his teasing. you hide from his cocky chuckle and self-satisfied smirk, embarrassment churning in your gut as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i thought, sweetheart." cocky bastard.

you rummage the floor for a shirt, the blanket covering your lower half as you throw his santa hat off the first one you can find, which coincidentally is his.

satoru whines sadly when his shirt covers your bare breasts, a frown pulling his lips down as your once naked body, decorated in hickeys, is covered. "what's the point of my hard work if you're just going to cover it?" he gestures to the bruises, pouting with the familiar solum look he uses when he wants something.

"i'm not going out there naked, toru." slipping on slippers, you stand, craning your neck to look him in the eye. your exasperation does not go unnoticed by the white-haired male.

"there's no reason you can't," he suggests, tugging you in front of him and letting his hands settle on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "it could be like a christmas present…to me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "i thought you wanted to open gifts?"

his face brightens as he remembers his original goal, his one-track mind making his hand tug you to the door without a second thought and newfound eagerness.

your living room is the same as you left it last night, with your cocktail dress strewn across the back of the sofa and satoru's shoes scattered across the hardwood, but what's different is the snow swirling in slow flakes outside the massive windows. it lands on the window sill, and the rest slowly descends to the world outside satoru gojo's penthouse. the bleak grey does nothing to discourage the sight of the luminescent christmas tree taking up your living room and glittering with a rainbow of lights against the grey sky in the ray of morning light.

a christmas morning crafted from a hallmark movie.

an array of presents ranging in various sizes and shapes overflows from under the tree you decorated weeks ago, and before you know it, you throw yourself into your lover's arms. a teasing remark sits at the tip of his tongue, maybe to poke fun at your elation, but he hesitates, fingers twitching at his side. in a moment so delicate it could be shattered like glass, he frames every second of the scene into memory, holding the warm and achy feeling in his chest close.

arms circle your body pressed tightly into satoru's, butterflies erupting from your stomach when you glance upwards and find him already staring.

"thank you," you muster every ounce of sincerity into your voice, swallowing the lump forming in your throat when he returns your gentle smile with his own.

"don't thank me yet. you haven't even seen what i got you!" effortlessly, he turns your attention away from the raw and achy emotions being pulled to the surface and onto you, where your eyes sparkle with eagerness.

the both of you find a seat on the floor and begin the seemingly endless presents and discarded wrapping paper; the laughter and joy that can only come from christmas morning echo off the walls you call home. and when the gifts are opened, and the faint tune of falling snow is all that's left, you are sure it can't get any better.

even as satoru nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, his lips parting to whisper the words on your skin that have never been uttered in a moment of complete clarity. "i love you."

it somehow becomes perfect.

bonus:

staring at your mountain of gifts, ranging from designer to everything under the sun you mentioned wanting during the year, piles around you, and the thrill of being spoiled by your filthy rich boyfriend quickly wears off into guilt.

was his presents thoughtful? yes. overwhelming? also yes. especially since neither the price nor the quantity of gifts you'd given him come close to what you have. so the shame of being spoiled and unable to provide the same, in turn, quiets you into an insecure ball of nerves.

"do you like it?" your heavy gaze lifts to find him, and he squirms where he sits, uncharacteristically nervous. he waits for your reaction with uncertain eyes, wringing his hands together to calm his apprehension. "i tried to get everything you wanted, but i know how you feel when i overdo things…"

"satoru," you breathe, looking over the gifts once more. the following words come in a gentle coo he's come to recognize are used to let him down easily. "i do love everything, but it is a lot. you didn't have to spend so much."

frowning, your gaze flickers to him, and his eyes dip, avoiding yours. "ah, okay. i didn't mean to upset you," he murmurs in a quiet, saddened voice, and you quickly shake your head, realizing he took it the wrong way. shuffling on your knees to where he sits, you fall into his chest. solid and well-defined arms circle your body without a word, and you hear the distinct sound of his breath hitching at the contact.

"never. you're too good to me and treat me so well, baby, but you don't have to spend all your money on me."

"trust me, i didn't," he teases, attempting to regain the lighthearted atmosphere, before adding in a more hopeful tone, "but i'm glad you like your gifts."

"oh yes, the lingerie set was especially thoughtful," you joke, and he cracks a smile at that. only your expression falls a moment later when you clear your throat. "i just hope what i got is okay. i know you've been asking for a new watch and those glasses, but it's hard to find gifts for someone who has everything. i'm sorry i didn't get you more."

the sad murmur and downcast expression made satoru's heart crack, remorse twisting his stomach into knots. "no, no, no baby, i love what you got me. i couldn't be happier with all of your thoughtful gifts." he kisses the top of your head, resting his head on yours for a quiet moment of admittance that makes you fall in love with him all over again. "but everything i want is right here with you, sweet thing."

#merry christmas #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satorugojo

[chronically-ghosted]

i crawl home to her

rating: 18+ explicit

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 8.2K

summary: you bring dieter home to meet your family over the holidays.

warnings/tags: discussions of food, mentions of weight gain, brief biphobia, bad family dynamics, hiding parts of yourself to make yourself more palatable, dom!Dieter when his type-A girlfriend needs him to, smut in places it shouldn’t be, a family can be two people, bad jokes, mentions of marriage and kids, one light booty smack, peep the super obvious bob's burgers reference, minimal edited, you can pry the image of dieter in ugg's from my cold dead hands

a/n: i've caved and finally added to the evergrowing pile of "Pedro boy fucks you in your childhood home". @sp00kymulderr i told you i'd get it out today -- it might be tomorrow for you, but it's not yet midnight! i present to you part 2 of merry thanksgiving nonsense2023!

🤍Masterlist

You nearly miss the exit off the gray-slushy highway because you’re trying to remember Aunt Gayle’s food allergies. 

And Uncle Rick’s preferred way of taking his coffee in the morning.

And the right detergent to use when washing your niece’s clothes, or else your sister will come after you with a hatchet. 

“Baby, you’re gnawing your fingernails bloody.” 

You blink, surprised to find your hand anywhere near your mouth, the other white-knuckling the steering wheel, and to your enormous embarrassment, he was right – you’d pulled up several hangnails, leaving tiny pink gouges, right under your immaculate holiday nails you got for the express purpose of looking presentable in all the inevitable Insta photos your sister demands every year. 

“Fuck,” you mutter and curl your fingers into your fist as if to hide temptation. From the passenger’s seat, Dieter frowns.

“Twizzler to make it better?” He spins the red, bendy candy enticingly. Your mind suddenly flashes back to the time you both got way too high on his new bong and he made the exact same motions with his dick. You had never laughed so hard in your life. 

The red candy whipping around in a circle, you groan into the steering wheel. 

“I’m turning around. This was a terrible idea.”

“What are you so nervous about?” Dieter half-way laughs. He pulls his Ugg-stuffed feet off the dashboard and sits up. Crumbs from the Starbucks Christmas sugar cookie spill off his “Kris Kingle My Jingle” sweater and onto the seat, but it’s those fucking earnest, curious eyes that always seem to rock your world. You occasionally don’t like to be touched when you’re stressed, so out of the corner of your eye, you see his hand waver before falling back in his lap. “It’s just dinner.” 

“Yeah, but it’s holiday dinner with my family. They’re all so judgy and mean and every time I come home for more than twenty-four hours, I’m reminded exactly why I fucked off to California.”

“Maybe they’re jealous you’re a hot shot director,” Dieter suggests. “Or that you have a ruggedly handsome movie star boyfriend.” Eyebrow raised, he twirls the Twizzler again and manages to bite it out of the air. You half-way expected it to smack him in the face. “They know I’m coming, right?”

You bite your lip, the last phone call with your mother still achingly heavy in your chest.

“You know what she asked when I told her I was bringing home the one and only Dieter Bravo as my boyfriend to meet my family?” You don’t need to look at him to see the furrow in his brow, the slight curve in his shoulders. You prop your elbow up against the window, rubbing your forehead with your fingers. “She asked if it was a career move. If I was dating you to get ahead in the industry . . . like I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.”

There’s a fraught silence. You listen to the wheels churn dirty black snow so you don’t have to look at him. 

“Then why in the world would you start with my dumb ass?”

Despite yourself and despite what’s coming, you smile. But you fight it, wrapping your lip up between your teeth. So he continues:

“If you really want to make it big, you gotta date someone at least forty years older than you. So, what? We’re talking seventy. But, wow, think of the money. Bet he has his dick dripped in gold just to keep it hard–,”

“Dieter!” You swat at him, smile too big to contain, and he grins, grabbing you by the wrist. “That’s terrible!”

“But I made you laugh, didn’t I?”

You smirk. “Barely. More like ha ha than a big chuckle.” 

He nips your palm, the rough hair on his chin scraping the soft skin. 

By some minor miracle and a forcible act of God, your mother is allowing you two to share a bedroom. Not out of respect for your relationship, of course, but there is simply not enough room to spare. You watch those perfect lips imprint themselves in the cup of your hand and you’ve never been more thrilled to have to share a double bed. God, you cannot be this wet before you have to look your mother in the eye. You retract your hand with a breathy exhale. 

“We don’t have to stay long,” Dieter says, a weight to his gaze that proves he hasn’t completely blown off your concern. He twists his body in the seat and crosses his arms, his shoulder pressed into the seat. He watches you with his head against the headrest. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I’m already on thin ice because we’re just staying two days.” You shake your head. “My sister and her family have already been there since Monday and plan to stay the rest of the week.” You inhale, hold, and exhale until you can feel your shoulders drop. “It’s just . . . I’ve worked so hard to make something of my life, to be someone I can be proud of, and it just doesn’t matter to them. They want me to marry a banker or something, and quit my job to do cutesy family blogging on Instagram. They’ve never, ever liked the real me.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see something come over Dieter’s face. Not annoyance, or irritation, but as if someone kick started his brain. But it passes and he brushes the back of your hand resting over the gearshift with his fingers. 

“I like the real you,” he says quietly. “In fact, I really, really, really like the real you. I gotta keep you around. Who else is gonna remember the name of the best Chinese food place when I’m high?” 

Dieter is sweet, knows the wonders his smile can accomplish, with a twinkle in his eyes. A bit crude, a little distractible, but ultimately, well-meaning. However, he seemed physically incapable of maintaining sincerity. Which in the beginning, was also cute, but now, in a moment of crisis, it was boyish in a way that made you worried. A little scared. Like too much pressure and he’d break.

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

History says no. 

So, maybe you’d just carry everything. 

You smile at him and return your hand to the steering wheel.

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

The car squeals as it stops in the driveway, wheels crunching the cold ice. You look up at your childhood home with the same unease and trepidation that’s been there since childhood.

“Go let ‘em know we’re here,” Dieter says as he unbuckles his belt. There’s still crumbs in the knit of his sweater. At least his sweatpants are clean. But there’s nothing you can do about those Uggs right now– 

His hand squeezes yours, centering the universe that’s spinning like the inside of a martini shaker. You can feel the weight of his gaze press into your chest – heavy, warm, forgiving. He smiles, then slides into a smirk.

“Chillax, bro. Your vibes are not gnarly.”

You huff, trying to offer a smile that’s not a grimace. This was such a bad idea. Maybe it’s not too late to go pay for one of those mail-order boyfriends and keep Dieter in his nice California, hippie plastic wrap. 

You hear your name being called from the porch and that smile fully plummets into a grimace. Gathering from that reserve of confidence that makes you look at male writers, directors, and (yes) actors and tell them they’re idiots and get the fuck off your set, you open the door and head around the corner to the front of the house. 

Yeah, in the face of your mother, that reserve is basically a trickle.

She’s waiting for you on the porch, red dish towel in hand. 

“I thought that might be you, darling! I’d recognize that squeak from that rust bucket anywhere.” She smiles, arms wide, as you bend down to give her a hug. You've had to bend down to hug your mother for years now and you still feel about two feet tall. “How are you? You’ve been good? You look pale, but you’ve definitely been eating, haven’t you?”

She pinches your cheek as if to show you all the extra fat you have on your face. 

“Where’s Dad?” You try not to look like you’re tearing your face out of her grip and glance into the surprisingly quiet house over her shoulder. “Aren’t Emma and Dan supposed to be here?”

“Your father is out finishing his latest woodworking piece. He’s been at it for days, no matter how much I beg him to help with the food or the house. It’s all on me again to save the holidays.” 

As it is every year.

“Your sister and her family went out to get more sweet potatoes. They eat sweet potatoes in California, don’t they?”

Here it comes.

“Yes, Mom, they eat sweet potatoes.”

“Oh good, I thought it’d be considered a carb.” She frowns, hands on her hips as if you’re about to get a proper scolding. “Now you told me you’re going to be bringing your fancy actor boyfriend. Damian Bravado, right? I cooked for exactly seven people, darling, a single empty chair will throw the whole thing off!”

“Yes, Mom, my boyfriend, Dieter Bravo, is here. He’s just in the–,”

Someone, distinctly not your boyfriend, or at least not the boyfriend you left in the car, waltzes up the front steps.

Rings gone.

Earring gone.

Gloves that would make Ryan Gosling seethe with envy covering the tattoo on his hand.

His hair slicked back and curling deliciously around his ears, his dark jeans cover the laces of maroon Timberland boots. His black turtleneck clings to his wide chest, the leather jacket broken in enough to be soft, but not so used there’s tears in the seams. And, to top it all off, his cream-colored scarf curled around his throat looks like it came out of a Hallmark movie.

Maybe you are in a Hallmark movie. Maybe on the way up the porch, you slipped and banged your head and all of this is a bizarre, weirdly-erotic dream. Maybe someone actually did call in a mail-order boyfriend who looks exactly like Dieter and the real one is hog-tied in the trunk of your car. Maybe – 

You’d heard of quick costume changes, but this is ridiculous.

“Debbie!” He calls out, like they’ve been best friends for twenty years. He flourishes a wrapped bouquet of flowers, bright red against the white snow, and hands them to her after bouncing up the steps. His cheeks are tinged pink, as if he’d run the block, but without a drip of sweat on him, he’s simply glowing with what could be presumed as the holiday spirit. 

To your never-ending and horrific surprise, your mother squeals as she takes the flowers. 

“Poinsettias! My –,”

“Favorite, I know.” You stumble out of the way when he leans down and kisses her on her cheek. “And they’re fake, so you can reuse them next year. But you’d never know it at $300 a pop.”

Okay, yes, this is a clone of your boyfriend, a walking holiday Ken doll – Dieter never, ever brags about money. 

“I’m not a banker or anything, but I like to spoil my girls.” 

The bastard winks at you. 

Your mother has turned to gooey, drippy putty in his hands. She’s redder than the hand towel and the poinsettias combined. She flounces, flutters, eyes springing back and forth between the ruby-red flowers in her hands and Dieter’s achingly handsome face – one that hasn’t dimmed that thousand gigawatt smile since he first arrived. 

“Oh, oh my goodness – well, this is just lovely – it’s so nice to finally meet you – I can’t believe she’s been hiding you from us all this time – please, please come in, you must be freezing!”

She backs into the house, still staring at the flowers, then as if she hadn’t been living here for the past fifteen years of her life, she bounces towards the dining room, then on a quick turn, heads for the kitchen, then turns again to the hallway closet. 

“Oh gracious – where did I put – it must be – come in and shut the door behind you – you know where your room is, darling, I’ll be back in just a second, I just have to – ah, these are spectacular –”

A door down the hallway finally swings shut and muffles your mother’s insane rambling. 

So dazed, you don’t see him move until he’s pressed you up against the glass etching of the door, his hand palming your hip and the other diving to cup the back of your neck. He tugs you down into his mouth before you have time to blink.

Jesus Christ, mint? His breath smells like mint??

God, he even fucking kisses like a Hallmark Prince. His mouth pulls you into him and your brain whites out – careless of the little whimper you make, careless of the fact that literally any one of your family members could walk in right now, careless that you’re teetering into him as if on string. Your breath flutters down his throat and he huffs through his nose. The tips of his fingers are chilly enough that you shiver at his touch.

He edges the bottom of your lip with his tongue before pulling back and tightening his grip in your hair. 

And there’s that Dieter smirk you are all too intimately familiar with. 

“How’m I doing?” He mutters. His gaze flickers between your eyes, your nose, and your kissed-pink lips. “I’d say I got Mama Bear on my side.”

Maybe it’s a good thing he isn’t always like this. Between the fresh breath scent in his mouth, the fragrance of his much-too expensive cologne permeating your senses, and his thick thigh shoved under your groin, you are embarrassingly boneless in his arms. You pluck your fingers over the soft leather collar at the back of his neck, just as much to inspect the jacket, as much as to release more of that delicious smell. 

“Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?” You mutter, smirking, as you wind your fingers into his curls. “Spoil my girls, what the fuck was that?”

“Ah, ha, ha, ha,” he gloats as he lowers his head to your neck. You expect a warm kiss in the length of skin you’ve exposed to him, but instead his teeth lightly tease your throat above your pulse point and you feel your knees buckle as your face warms. “I can be very charming when I want to be.” He squeezes your ass as if to make a point. 

You hold back a moan, flattening it to a shudder in your chest. You can feel his grin in your neck and he shifts you, pulls you closer and compresses you deeper into the wooden door. You can feel your conscious thought melting through your fingers so you blink, lick your lips, try to wiggle out from under his teeth.

“This isn’t a Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner. This is Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” You gasp his name into the foyer of your childhood home when he licks you from the curve of your shoulder up under the soft place below your ear. Your hips jerk unconsciously, baser instincts seeking out the friction of his jeans, and you push against his biceps. “Dieter, she’ll be back any minute. She can’t – can’t see us like this.”

You’ve never heard him chuckle like the way he does, so darkly pleased with himself.

“Once I’m done schmoozing her, your father, your sister and her – what did you call him – cardboard husband, we’ll fuck in front of them and they won’t say a word.”

“Dieter!” You shove him just as your mother returns from the kitchen.

She frowns and you feel the scolding coming, the scent of Dieter so obviously entangled in you. You might as well be wearing a sign that reads, hi, yes, I’ve been recently groped why do you ask?

“Did you forget where your room is? Honestly, what would you do without me? Now, follow me and I’ll remind you.”

Schmooze he did. 

From the same magical bag of weirdly specific and perfect gifts, Dieter presents a bottle of Buffalo Trace bourbon and two very illegal, but very Cuban cigars. Your father forgets to scowl in the face of some of the most expensive bourbon in the world. 

For your sister, he somehow senses that material objects won’t go as far, so he endears himself to your niece first. Asking her questions about her doll, about her school, what she likes to play with her friends and how crazy it is that hopscotch is his favorite game too. 

In twenty minutes, he’s on his hands and knees, black sleeves pulled up over his immaculate forearms, and etching out a hopscotch board with pink chalk. He nods and interjects while your niece runs around him, demanding a dragon in the corner, or a crown in another, and suddenly your biological clock starts blaring like an air-raid siren. 

“He’s so good with kids,” your sister mutters to you from the door to the garage. A single glance tells you she’s under the same effect of watching a hot man play with a child. You’re so aroused and confused you can’t even eye her with jealousy. 

“Mhmm hmm.” 

“When are you going to have some of your own?” 

And you’re back inside before you can see the look on his face as he lifts his head.

It would be insulting to call it eerie. 

It’s not like he’s physically incapable of smelling clean, or dressing nice, or even combing his hair. You’ve seen him do it time and time again for galas and interviews. Hell, that time he took you on a date to get sushi in the tallest building in Toronto, he didn’t look that much different from how he does right now . . . and yet . . .

You feel your face scrunch in suspicion when he remembers your aunt’s food allergies, how your Uncle Rick likes his after-dinner coffee. 

Dieter might forget to put on pants, but he’s never forgotten the important dates of your relationship. He remembers what you were wearing the first night you kissed, but can’t remember to take out the pizza before it burns in the oven. 

This, this Dieter, feels wrong. 

You watch him laugh with your father and uncle by the fireplace with brandy in his hands as you work with your mother and sister to unwrap a dozen saran-wrapped pies. He comes by later and takes the stack of plates from your mother’s hands and assures her he’ll do the dishes, as thanks for such a wonderful meal.

This Dieter Bravo needs a smoking jacket and uses words like “wonderful meal”. 

Initial surprise at his near magical transformation from the car this morning long gone, you sit with this uncomfortable feeling, as everyone around you eats pie and laughs and looks all the part of a fucking Hallmark card for “joyful festivities”, long enough to finally understand it for what it is:

Anger. 

Shame. Guilt. 

Hot embarrassment. 

You look at the man who’s invaded your boyfriend’s body as he charms the pants off your mother and father, and ugly, heavy embarrassment boils over in your chest. Washing the knife in your throat down with your fourth glass of wine all night, you excuse yourself with the last bit of breath in your lungs before ducking upstairs, then stumbling to your childhood bathroom you once shared, and share again, with your sister. 

You lock the door forcefully in lieu of slamming it shut and sit down on the tile, your head against your knees. Rationally, there’s a part of you that knows this shouldn’t affect you like it is. Women would kill for a boyfriend like this – your sister very nearly jumped him in the garage. 

But that’s just the thing – this isn’t your boyfriend. This isn’t the man you spend your days and nights with and this isn’t the man you fell in love with. This isn’t the Dieter you want to show the world. 

A soft knock comes from the other side of the door and it breaks you out of your self-deprecating spiral. 

“Just a second,” you call out as you stand. You flush the empty toilet (this night is filled with ruses after all) and twitch the faucet on for two seconds. But when you open the door, you’re immediately cowed back in. 

“Dieter, what are you–,”

“Are you okay?” Beneath the veneer of the Million Dollar Man, his eyes are soft, coaxing the anxiety out of you. “You looked pale when you left.��� He tucks an escaped strand of hair over your ear, watching how his fingers brush up against your skin. He gently tangles his fingers in your hair as he pulls back. He smirks. “Mom’s dressing wasn’t that bad.” 

White-hot shame blooms again and you turn your head from him, tugging your hair out of his reach. You catch his hurt expression out of the corner of your eye. 

“I’m fine. Just needed some air.” 

“You’re not a good liar. I’ve told you that.” His voice is clipped. Not irritated, but not interested in lengthy bouts of misdirection either.

“Well, I don’t feel like bearing my problems to Mr. Perfect.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He crosses his arms, shoulders swelling in the space of the tiny bathroom, and he leans on the sink. 

“It means you’re a better liar than me so I guess you’ll have to do it for the both of us.” 

You know it’s ridiculous to try and move around him – but maybe this Dieter wouldn’t care if you left angry. Even sober, he could manhandle you without a second thought, but between the heat of the drink in your throat and he’s blurred at the edges, you know you’re fighting a losing battle.

“Dieter, please, just –,”

He stands his ground, effectively blocking the door, and you huff, pushing up against his waist with your hands, your teeth bared behind your lips. He steps back, you think you’ve won a mile, but then his hands grasp so firmly around your elbows, your entire consciousness is pulled into where his fingers curl against your skin.

He gently, but seriously, shakes you slightly.

“Stop fighting me. You tell me what I did wrong and we’ll talk about this.”

The past two weeks of dread, and fear, and worry, and shame – shame that this is your family, this is how you go to pieces around them, this is all you can offer him – slam into your chest and your breathing hitches. The fingers at his chest dig into his shirt. The fourth glass of wine makes your eyes hot and tight.

“This isn’t you.” 

You grimace in the bright light of the bathroom and your confession. But beyond your closed eyes, his demeanor hasn’t changed. 

“What’s not me?”

A tear slips out the moment you open your mouth, your throat closing and gagging on your words. You swallow and try again, eyes peeling open to stare at the curve of his shoulder. 

“You’re Dieter Bravo. You dry-clean your favorite pajamas to preserve the material. You do astrology charts of people who piss you off to find out how to best get back at them. You paint until four in the morning and sleep in our bed until I wake you up–,”

Your heart thrusts its way into your airways and cuts off your ability to speak. You know you’re not making a lot of sense, but all you can think of right now is how much you want to peel this fucking black, Steve Jobs-esque, goddamn ugly-ass turtleneck apart with your bare hands. Like freeing a mermaid from a net. He squeezes your waist, his broad palm settled in the curve of your lower back. 

“Darling, I don’t see why this has you so sad –,”

“They won’t fall in love with you like I did.” You lift your watery gaze to him, unable to stop the spilling of tears. You always got teary when you drank a bit too much, but fuck, if you didn’t love him so much, you wouldn’t be so mad . . . at yourself. “I hate that you feel like you have to do this to be accepted by my family. I hate that they can’t see what makes you so special to me. I hate . . . I hate that they don’t see the real you.” 

And out of nowhere, he smiles. 

Never one to shy away from bodily fluids, Dieter kisses your tear-soaked cheeks, his hands rising up your back, taking their time to press into the curve of your hips, the bones of your ribs, the high arch of your spine, before settling on your cheeks. He kisses your wet mouth, thumbs against the corners of your lips like a soft leather bridle. He holds you, just like that, until your heart eases, stops racing in your chest, and you lean more into the kiss, chasing instead of hiding. You wrap your fingers around his wrists as he pulls away.

“With all due respect, this is just another gig for me.” His gentle smile hides no bitterness, no anger. No disgust. “I know what people like this are like, how they think, what they want. What they value.” He smears away the cold tears from your skin with his thumbs. “It’s fun, in a way, to infiltrate their little circles. It’s all fake, it’s all bullshit, and fortunately I’m fantastic at bullshit.”

You let out a watery laugh and he reaches behind you for some toilet paper to dry your tears. He blots your eyes for you before you can even take the tissue. 

“You’re not forcing me to do anything, baby,” he murmurs. “My family was exactly the same way, so I know how the game is played.”

“Yeah, and you don’t talk to them anymore. I just wish I had your bravery to cut them out of my life like you did.” 

Dieter’s mouth twitches. “Well, that had more to do with the fact that I like to occasionally make out with boys, than dysfunctional family dynamics.”

You squeeze his forearm as he continues to clean your face, trying to catch his eyes but they’d gone hard where a moment ago they were soft. He thinks, using the silence to carefully fix your make up with his thick thumb under your eyelashes to lift off the smeared mascara. 

He didn’t talk much about his life before Hollywood, but when he did, you understood why he was so closed off about it.

“Let’s put it this way: they did the cutting off, not me. And even if we have to be completely different people, your family still talks to you. I’m not saying that to guilt you, or compare trauma scars, but . . . most times we can’t pick who we love, but sometimes we have to.” 

You nod, a sense of ease washing over you. His small, I don’t know if I should say this but I’m gonna smile widens across his mouth. 

“It’s okay if they don’t see the real me, because I know you do.” He finally pulls away the tissue, his mouth pulled up in sweet earnest. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

A physical string connected between your ribs and his could not have tugged you faster. Tripping into his wide, warm chest, you drop your head onto his collarbone as you wrap your arms around his torso tighter than his own rib cage.

“Just . . .”

His bulky arms pull you into his chest, the bristles of his beard scratching at your temple. It’s not until you sink away from your own thoughts, into the silence in the bathroom, that you realize your breathing is synced with his. 

That realization hits you particularly hard, that without trying, without meaning to, you become one with him – you turn and bury your face into the pulse of his neck. If you can get to his heartbeat, maybe that’ll calm you too. Dig through the crust of the earth and end up in China. You shift in his arms, and he does too. Dieter cups the back of your head, thumb rubbing the arch of your skull. His entire arm circles your back. 

“What do you need, hm, baby? What can I give you, huh?”

You know he doesn’t mean it like that, but the girth, the weight of his voice has your toes curling in your shoes. His rasp is so often used to light that first spark. 

“Dieter –,” the moment shifts and so do you. You squirm, itching for his face in your hands, his mouth over yours, but he holds you steady. Holds you firm. So firm, you can feel he’s half-hard in his jeans. 

Oh. 

Maybe he did mean it like that. 

You press your tongue against his pulse point, your fingers splayed across the back of his rib cage, and he shudders. You’re about to bite down, when his hands peel your fingers from his back and pinch your wrists in one single, meaty grip. Heart suddenly thundering in your chest, he steps back to allow for just enough room to turn you – barely any at all – and pushes you face down on the sink counter, your wrists clasped over your ass behind you.

Cold marble pressing up against your tits, your face turned towards the window and the towel bar where you used to hang your Barbie swimsuits when you were seven, you feel his other massive palm dip under your sweater and press flat against the ridges of your spine. He hums when you let out a small whine. Flexes his fingers when you wiggle your ass against him. You seek out the marble with your cheek, heat rising under your skin, arousal suddenly burning hot in your low belly. 

“This is what you need, hm, baby? Need me to touch you? To feel you?” He murmurs. Dieter always did like playing with his food. You nod helplessly, cheek sticky against the marble. He shifts his hips into the crack of your ass, with just enough pressure to have you bucking back against him, but not enough to find relief from the stirring between your legs. 

He strokes your hair away from your neck, fingers brushing over your collarbone, gaze languid and slow. Like he can see where he needs to pluck to unravel you. 

“Why is my baby so tense?” He muses quietly, patronizing. His hand maps your spine in a single palm, edging slowly up your back until, with two fingers, he pinches your bra open. You feel the snap of the release and you rub your nose against the edge of the counter, whimpering. “Don’t I take care of you?”

You gulp. “Y-y-yes, you treat– treat me so good. I want it.” 

He has you pressed too tightly against the counter to slip his hand down your front, the edge pinching your hips. So, instead, with your hands still pinned against your tailbone, he palms your ass and rubs a thick finger down between your legs and up over the seam of your jeans. The whine building in your throat breaks into an open moan when he presses your zipper teeth into your clit.  

“Want what? Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” 

“F-fingers – tongue – fuck – y-your cock. Anything inside me.” 

The surprised, breathless chuckle that reverberates down to the button of his jeans seared against your ass has you bending, stretching, just for a glimpse of his face in the mirror. 

His mouth open, tongue curling back and forth over his bottom lip, he’s hungry. Wants so much. Can’t satiate this need without something between his teeth. Grinning around a mouthful of incisors. Patience has never been Dieter’s strong suit. 

With a firm jerk around your wrists, your back arches up off the counter, shoulders pinched, hands caught low near his groin. You know he wants you to watch him touch you in the mirror – he’s stopped before when you close your eyes – but it’s hard to look at the woman reflected back at you, with her bleary eyes, mussed hair, heaving chest, and exposed belly button where his hand hovers between the waistband and a green sweater, and recognize yourself. 

  “No one can take you from me. Do you understand?” He dips his head, arched nose dragging up the curve of your neck, breathing hot through his teeth against the lines where your hair and your skin meet. You can’t help but arch up into his waiting mouth. “Not your family. Not mine. You’re so greedy for me – who else is gonna make you feel this good?” 

“N-no one, Dieter, no one can.”

His hand rising under your sweater, thumb first at your belly button, then up between the spread of your ribs, and finally, it catches under the wire of your bra and he tugs it down. The material rubs against your sensitive nipples – it almost stings, your body pulled taught like a bowstring – the straps falling low off your shoulders, but your sweater keeps it from falling off completely and he goes no further. You whine, eager for something other than the scratch of the bra – something warmer – and push your sensitive tits into his soft hands, but his hand drops, fingering the waistline of your jeans instead. He ignores what you want to show you what you need. 

This is a thing he did. He watched you wind yourself up with deadlines and scheduling and meetings and arguments on set and and doubt and worry and fear and then he took it upon himself to tire you out enough that all of it shattered – crashed and consumed under the white noise in your head. Dieter liked to play however you needed it.

You can feel the seam of his jeans hover just beyond your fingertips, as though his hips swing unconsciously forward while he nips and sucks on your neck. God, you’d give anything to have the weight of him between your palms. 

When he speaks again, you realize at some point you squeezed your eyes shut, forgoing sight to chase the sensation that sparks across your skin every time he touched a new bare patch of skin on you. He pulls his head up from fixating a tender purple blush just below where your sweater covers your shoulder to catch your gaze in the mirror. Panthers do not watch with such hungry eyes. 

“Arms up.” It’s not a command, a request, but the words drip from his mouth, rich and sweet. He lets go of your wrists and your arms flutter above you, his fingers already rolling up the edge of your sweater. He drags it up, snagging your loose bra with it, and peeling them both off you. The immediate heat of his chest on your bare back is so hot, it burns cold. 

“Dieter,” you cry, nipples hardening in the cold air, goosebumps spiraling out along your skin. He’s there for you in an instant. 

He bites the soft, invisible hairs at your jaw, thick paws coming up to clutch your breasts, the sudden swap in temperature making your head swim. He pulls you against his chest, a new outer skin that breathes and moans and gasps, one that has a steady heartbeat your own has synced to. 

With his eyes fixated on you in the mirror, he molds your breast to his palm, rounding your nipples with his thumbs before sliding down between the curves of them. He licks the back of your neck. 

“Face down, baby,” he says. 

“But it’s cold,” you huff, pouting. You smooth your hands over his, his angular wrists, his broad thick forearms entombed in long back sleeves, then settle with your fingers in his hair. His height over you has your torso stretched, your tits bare and ripe, and he palms your stomach to the top of your ribs in two hands. He grunts when you twist his curls, keeping his head still so every bruise and wet spot on your shoulders and throat are all too visible. “Don’t you want to see all your good work?”

He blinks, slow and purposeful, his eyelids heavy, mouth parting. You can’t be sure of his decision, of what he wants, what he’s going to give, when his hands arch up the cradle of your arms, soft enough to tickle below your elbows, then around your wrists. He’s done this enough for you to know he wants you to let go.

You do. 

Fast as venom moves from fangs to flesh, he plants your hands on the counter, forcibly gripping the edge. This is how you hold on. 

He steps up against you again, iron-hot cock pressing without hesitancy between your ass cheeks, and unbuckles your pants without preamble.

“I’d rather just show you.” 

Broad hand bending your shoulders forward, fingers pressed flat over your shoulder, you gasp when your tits make contact with the cold counter, and an instant later, he’s filling your open mouth with his fingers. He wets them against the slip of your tongue and grabs your jaw. 

Your mind fracturing like cracking ice, you don’t hear the zip of his jeans, the groan as he takes himself out – barely feel the rub along your wet slit, the arranging of his fingers around your bare hip, the widening of your stance with his ankle. 

But you do feel it when he’s suddenly hilt-deep inside of you. 

You lurch forward with the weight of it, whining as though scalded at the sudden blinding pressure of pleasure and pain, and you slap a palm against the mirror to keep yourself from shattering through it. Behind you, Dieter looks like someone dislocated his kneecaps. 

“You good, baby?” He pants, drawing his hand out of your mouth, wet spit between his fingers as he cups your hanging breast. The sensation bleeds hot, then cold. Unable to help himself, he nuzzles your shoulder blades. 

You nod, eyes shut, the magnetic north sense of you spinning wildly off-kilter as you try to gulp in as much air as you can. You know you’re about to lose it anyway. He stands upright, not so much as inching out of you, when he plants his feet and nestles your ass against his hip bones, hands wiggling you further down his cock. 

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” 

It’s said with such wonder, a breathless reverence, that you think he might not have realized he said it out loud. You glance over your shoulder, turning your head instead of finding him in the mirror. 

The facade of the Brooklyn banker is gone. Your Dieter stares, awe-struck, at the body he’s got impaled on his cock like it’s the first time he’s seen a naked woman. Soft, pliant, eager to please, your Dieter lets you collar him, peg him, and give it to you exactly as you ask.

“How do you want it?” The phrase is so familiar, so intimate when spoken from his pink lips, you shudder, a Pavlovian response that’s got you drooling somewhere else than your mouth. He lifts his gaze and finds you staring. 

There is no one else in that moment. Not a single living soul besides you and him in this white-tiled bathroom. You can almost hear the absence of people ringing in your ears. His open, hot mouth draws your eyes away from his and you want every bit of him as stuffed up inside you as you can handle. Twisted around, you lick his bottom lip over your shoulder before offering your tongue for him to suck.

He groans, and you breathe in intimacy you’ve never experienced before. A flushed ache rises from your chest, a precursor to the aches he’ll leave you with by morning. 

You tip your head back and thumb the bristly skin against his chin.

“Hard, baby. Please.”

For all his faults, for all his forgetting, Dieter switches brain waves as fast as you do, tethered together like the gravitational spin of space rocks in the wake of a gleaming comet.

“Okay.”

He distracts you from the pain of that first rough thrust by biting down on your shoulder.

His motions are short, targeted, and right up into the cradle of your cervix, the pace driven, unrelenting and hard. You shake with the force of them, as fragile as silverware on a table near the drop of an atom bomb. 

“Oh – fuck, Dieter–,” 

He pins your arm that had touched his chin to your chest, then his chest to your back, sealing your damp skin to his shirt. The curl of that wretched black turtleneck scratches deliciously against your low back. 

Grunting in low, short bursts, Dieter sabotages his own breathing by crushing you so tight to his chest. He sucks on your neck as if to draw the oxygen straight from your blood. The fingers on your hip steady you, just for his cock wrecks your insides. 

“You wan-na – ngh – you wanna know why it doesn’t bother me?” 

Each word is spat out from between his teeth. He’s giving you your requested punishment as much as he is sprinting after his own release.

“Tell me. Tell me please.” Your voice is scraped raw, breathless and gooey at the same time. 

“Because when you’re my wife, they won’t be able to do a fucking thing about it.” 

Around him, your cunt squeezes, his words sending shocks through your nerves. You whine as if he’d smacked your ass. 

“I fucking felt that. You like that. You want that. You want my fucking cock every day.”

Again, he plants your hands on the cold counter. 

“Push back against me, baby.” You anchor yourself, ass out, elbows and knees locked. “That’s it, that’s my fucking good girl.”

He lifts his body up right, off your sweaty neck and back, and with both hands pinching your waist, he yanks you up and down on his cock in long, rough thrusts, knees bending with enough force to send you onto your toes.  

“Gonna have to take it. Just – fucking – take – it –,”

His leaking cock drives up against that spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll back and body tense again and again, but yanks back before that hot feeling swells. It’s so close you’re dizzy from it. 

You want to fuck yourself on his cock but you can’t time your aching hips right, so you stop trying and bend forward more, exposing more of your cunt to him. 

“Dieter, please –,” 

“Baby, you gotta be quiet. I know you feel good, but you can’t let them hear us.”

The words are out of your mouth, breaking through the thick, drowning fog and through the hindbrain barrier.

“Fuck them. Let them hear.” 

Dieter’s hips slow, punch not as deeply, as if he’s curious what you’re going to say next.

“Take off your shirt. I wanna feel your skin.” 

He listens immediately, a very good boy at heart, and the first press of his soft chest against you nearly has you coming then. 

“Harder again, please.” 

Again, without a second’s hesitation, he kisses your ear before grappling your shoulder with one hand and your hip with the other and he takes up his position as owner and keeper of your sloppy cunt. 

You cry out, high and wrecked, some semblance of sanity knowing you’re being far too loud, and he bucks the words out of you.

“I wanna suck on your earring, Dieter.” He grunts as he doubles over as if trying to yank back an unrestrained and early release. He rubs his damp forehead in the patch of soft skin by your shoulder blade. 

“Say it again.” 

With every rock of his hips, you swing up higher, and higher, your thighs tensing, nails scraping the counter. 

“Wanna put it between my lips and suck until you’re cherry red. I wanna choke on your rings. So far down my throat I gag. Wanna – wanna – lick your tattoos – all of them – ‘til the ink blurs from my spit. I –,”

The noise he makes is pained, weak, a man at the end of his rope.

He pops your ass. “Shut up. You’re gonna come now.” 

His sweaty palms slip against the soft skin of your hips, and he keeps slipping with no leverage. 

“Stand on your toes.” You do and for an absurd second, you think he’s going to pick you up in a bear hug. He wraps his arms around your rib cage, his face nestled into the hot, sticky curve of your neck, in the flipped image of when he takes you after your legs get sore from riding him. Your tits spilling over his forearms, he keeps the ludicrous bend in your spine as well as the short, rough pace. You reach your fingers around the back of his head and hold on for dear life. 

The change in angle has stars blowing across your eyes, has you whimpering strings of pleas, veneration, and curses all threaded together. His own thighs shaking, he rubs the pads of three of his fingers across your clit and you’re over the edge. 

“Oh – oh, shit –,”

The electrical storm that’s been building one wiry shock at a time finally bursts and you go rigid from head to toe, turning to marble, to steel, bright and sharp. You can feel your own release dribble down your thigh, Dieter stuttering behind you.

“Wait – fuck,”

He tries to speed up, or press harder, but he’s coming so hard you feel it expand your cunt and ends up just making a leaking mess. The sensation shivers you through another minor wave. The crest goes high, then crashes, and you slump forward, cold nips be damned, and he follows you down a second later. 

The heated weight at your back and hard, cool marble squishing your tits is too much for your dazed brain to handle. Any looser and you might slip off the edge of the earth. 

Dieter seems to be in a similar state. He not so much pulls out of you as he goes weak-kneed to the floor. A single tug on your hip has you stumbling down with him.

Despite the garland around the stairs, despite the smell of cranberries in the air, despite the veneer of perfect holiday wholesomeness, it’s the slick layer of sweat, grime, and cum over your skin that has you finally smiling. 

You recognize you have been gone far too long – there’s not enough spiked hot cider in the world to ignore two missing bodies and a locked door. Dieter puts his barefoot preemptively up against the door frame and you giggle into his shoulder. 

“Oh, there’s the sound I’ve been missing!” He nuzzles you, a blissful smile breaking open his face, sunlight over storm clouds. He wiggles beneath you, trying to tug you on top of him, but with your jeans constricting your thighs, and his barely below his hips, all it really accomplishes is the two of you rolling around on the bathroom floor.

In a heap of limbs, slick skin, his knee catching the button of your jeans, you bump your nose against his chin, there’s something bright building in your chest – it’s twisting your mouth, pinching your cheeks – his fingers grab your elbow, his eyes lock into yours – 

And you’re laughing. 

You’re laughing too loud, all pretense gone. You can’t honestly care what they’re thinking downstairs.

He manages to get you under him, his damp hair clinging to his temples and tangling down in frizzy strands. 

“I’m gonna say this and I need you to actually hear me.” 

You nod, grinning up at him and lightly tracing his clavicle. 

He swats at your hand and holds it to your chest. 

“Don’t wait until it’s that bad, okay?” You chuckle and he bites the tip of your nose. “Listen to me, you little goblin, I’m trying to be serious for a second.”

You settle under him, fingers intertwining with his over your chest. Sincere Dieter is a beautiful thing to look at. 

“This holiday bullshit can be a lot. Spent a lot of them either in coke up to my eyeballs, or in the bathroom the next day. It fucking sucks that these are the people we can from, but we can’t change that. What’s important is the family we build right now–,”

Your mouth drops open, his words suddenly illuminating a future that had always seemed so blurry and distant. 

“Dieter, I –,”

“I’m gonna marry you someday, so let’s start with us.” He kisses the back of your hand. “We carry each other, okay?” 

You nod, the white light of that future searing a hole in your chest, exposing your heart to the open air, and bringing tears to your eyes. You nod, more assured, before kissing him on his bottom lip.

“Okay.” 

The next few minutes play out just like they would if you were at home: cleaning each other up, trying on clothes only to realize he grabbed your sweater instead, and bumping affectionate kisses wherever they could reach. 

At the top of the stairs, you don’t know what awaits you in the living room. What exactly you’ll be returning to. Who will catch you and who won’t.

But it doesn’t matter. His hand is around yours and he’s grinning petulantly against all the world. 

Is Dieter Bravo someone you could rely on? 

Your heart says yes. 

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x oc #pedro pascal character #pedro pascal character fanfic #the bubble fanfic #the bubble #pedro pascal #merry thanksgiving nonsense 2023

[writing-intheundercroft]

The Perfect Gift - O. Gaunt

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x F!MC

Word Count: 4,129

Rating: T

Summary: Ominis overhears the girls talking about some singer, and decides to write MC a song for Christmas. Sebastian can't help but be his wingman.

A/N: @darch7995 sent me a song and I had to write something fluffy and happy for Ominis! Listen to the audio HERE. Merry Christmas!

Ominis Gaunt was rarely stopped in his tracks, but once he’d heard the low warbling coming from the gramophone, he halted, holding his hands to his ears. He hated the insinuation that his blindness enhanced his other senses, but he did have impeccable hearing, and the song emitting from the sun room next to the Charms classroom had his ears ringing.

“Isn’t he just so dreamy?” Poppy sighed.

“Clarence Warbeck is my favorite singer of all time.” Leonora Everleigh declared. “I would listen to him all day if I could.”

Ominis rolled his milky blue eyes, ready to walk into the warm, sunlit room to say something snarky, until he heard her voice.

“I think he’s quite the romantic,” she said. His dear friend had a lilt in her voice towards the end of her sentence, as if she hadn’t finished her thought.  

“You mean easy on the eyes?” Leonora teased.

She let out a laugh that had Ominis shivering, stumbling behind the column to avoid them seeing him. 

“I just think music is quite lovely.” she mused. “And a song?  I think that’s the sweetest gift a person could ever give.”

Ominis bit his bottom lip as he blushed.  That was valuable information, he thought, especially with the holidays approaching.  The wheels started spinning in his mind as he imagined a song, especially one about her–

“Oh, hi Ominis!”

He blinked, turning towards the voice.  His friend had seen him, and now he had nowhere to hide.

“Hello, ladies.” Ominis said smoothly.

“Come to take a nap in the light?” Poppy said kindly.  He blushed again; clearly his napping habits were quite public knowledge at this point.  

“Come over,” his friend beckoned him closer. “We can sit on the cushions, if you’d like.”

“If you insist,” he stuttered.

Ominis awkwardly scampered over to the sound of her voice, settling down on the various plush cushions that were set on the floor.  He felt her sit down next to him, tucking her feet under herself as he splayed out on the floor.  One of the many cats that lived in the DADA tower slid against the two of them, purring.

“Comfortable?” she asked softly, the sound of the music dulled by her voice.

“Very,” Ominis hummed.  He settled onto the cushions, his head falling into her lap.  She continued her conversation with the girls as he drifted into a light sleep, the crooning of Clarence Warbeck filling the background noise.

Ominis and Sebastian sat at the Slytherin table in the great hall; with the holidays quickly approaching, most students were busy packing their trunks for the journey home. The Hogwarts Express was departing Hogsmeade station for the holidays the next morning, but per usual, Ominis and Sebastian were spending the holiday at the castle. As Professor Ronen decorated the Christmas tree, the boys sat at the table, loitering before dinner.

“And honestly, I took that quite personally.  So I don’t think I should have gotten a detention for setting Leander on fire, he was the one who was in my way…Ominis, are you paying any attention to me?” Sebastian asked, eyebrows quirked. 

Ominis rolled his unseeing eyes, waving off his best friend. “Yes, yes, something about nearly giving Leander Prewett third degree burns because he looked at you funny in potions again.” he said lazily, waving his wand again.  His eyebrows were furrowed as he waved his wand again.  His dictation quill scratched out a few words on the parchment in front of him.

“What are you doing?” Sebastian asked, narrowing his eyes at the many pages in front of his friend.

“Nothing,” Ominis said hastily, snatching his pages together before Sebastian could get his grubby hands on them. 

“Why so secretive?” Sebastian asked, clearly intrigued by the change in Ominis’s attitude.

“It’s none of your business,” Ominis sniffed. “Back off.”

From the blond’s biting tone, Sebastian knew it was in his best interests not to press.  However, his best interests were rarely ever actually on his mind.  Lurching forward, Sebastian snatched a piece of parchment from Ominis’s hands, taking glee in how the blond panicked.

“Each year I ask for many different things–”

“Sebastian stop,” Ominis panted. “It’s not funny.”

“But now I know what my heart–”

“Sebastian!” Ominis screeched, nearly ripping the parchment from his best friend’s hands. “Stop it, I’m begging you.”

“What in Merlin’s name are you writing?” Sebastian laughed, watching as his normally impenetrable friend reddened, pushing the wrinkled parchment into his bookbag. “Is that a poem?”

Ominis’s face was bright red. “It’s a song, if you want to know so bad.” he scowled.

Sebastian’s face softened. “I didn’t know you were back at the old piano again.”

It wasn’t common knowledge that Ominis was an accomplished pianist.  Mrs. Gaunt had insisted every child in the Gaunt family mastered an instrument, and he’d spent most of his childhood dreading piano lessons. Despite his initial disdain, Ominis had taken quite well to the instrument, and it became a hobby. Once he was at Hogwarts, he’d slip into the music room every now and then, practicing his rusty skills whenever he was under duress.

“It’s for a gift,” Ominis mumbled. 

“Pardon?” Sebastian asked, now grinning.  He had an idea of Ominis’s motivation, but wanted to hear the words from the boy himself.

“It is a Christmas gift,” Ominis hissed. “For her.  Are you happy, Sebastian?”

“Blissful.” Sebastian leaned into the table, tucking his chin in hand. “This is rich–you’re writing a song for a girl.” he crooned. “How sweet, Omi.  What gave you the idea?”

Ominis gave him a rude hand gesture, sparking laughter from the brunette. “I overheard her talking with Poppy and Leonora about that singer–Clarence Warbeck–and how they loved his songs.”

“Right, the prat who sings all those cheesy love songs the girls are obsessed with.” Sebastian noted. “Isn’t he doing a show in London over the holiday break?”

Ominis gave him a dry look. “Precisely.  His lyrics are…uninspired, to say the least.  And I was already thinking of what to give her for the holidays–you know she’s impossible to shop for.  The girl has every piece of clothing known to mankind, every potion, book, broom at her disposal.  I thought to myself, she deserves a song. You know, something actually personalized to her.” he said sheepishly.

“Well, I think it’s very kindhearted of you.” Sebastian said smugly. “Are you admitting it then?”

“Admitting what?” Ominis feigned indifference.

“Your crush on her.”

“Could you be any louder, Sebastian?” Ominis hissed. His hands flew to his temples as his best friend chortled next to him. “I just–”

“Just writing her a lovely, romantic song for the holidays.” Sebastian snorted. “Oh come on, I’m just teasing you.  I think it’s great; you never play the piano, so it must mean something special.”

Ominis felt his face flush; despite his disdain for Sebastian in the moment, his best friend was right.  Ominis had minimal experience with the fairer sex.  The concept of romance was lost on the Gaunts, choosing to pair their children in arranged matches to bring honor to the bloodline.  He’d never even imagined the idea of dating someone until she’d arrived at Hogwarts. Their friendship had gotten off to a rocky start, thanks to the freckled heathen sitting next to him, but the events of their fifth year had only drawn them closer to one another.  What had started as an admiration for her bravery turned into a funny twist in his stomach whenever he heard her laughing.  As of late, it had gotten so unbearable, Ominis had turned into a blushing mess whenever she sat next to him in class.  

“Speak of the devil–she’s coming in.” Sebastian murmured. “Hide your sheets, then.”

Ominis heard her footsteps draw closer and closer as he hurriedly shoved his parchment back into his school bag.  

“Hello you two,” she said sweetly, standing next to them.  Ominis could smell her perfume wafting towards him, still smelling like the sweet scent of strawberries in the dead of winter. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” both boys said in unison.

Despite his blindness, Ominis could almost sense the arch of her brow. “Alright, weirdos.”  she chuckled. “I have good and bad news.”

“Do tell,” Sebastian said.

“Good news, Leonora’s mother surprised us with tickets to Clarence Warbeck’s show in London!” she said gleefully.  “I was going to stay in the castle for the holidays, but Leonora’s parents decided to surprise her early so she could bring friends, and she invited me to join!”

“O-oh.” Ominis said, feeling his heart crack in half. “So you’ll be gone, then?”

“Yes, well that’s the bad news, you see. I know it’s such late notice, but I hope the two of you won’t be cross with me,” she said wistfully. “It’s just such a good opportunity, and I’ve never been to a real show before–”

“Of course we’re not mad,” Ominis interjected. “If it makes you happy, we’ll be happy for you.”

“Oh, I’m so glad you understand,” she sighed in relief. “I am going to miss you over the holidays, I hope you know that.”

Ominis pursed his lips. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sebastian chuckled. “I’m positively bereft you’re leaving us.”

Despite his inner turmoil, Ominis knew she was excited for the opportunity to visit London.  It was silly of him to write the song, he thought; he was no great wordsmith, nor half the performer that Clarence Warbeck was.  He felt a pit of jealousy in his stomach as he pictured her singing and cheering for him in a crowd, waiting for his autograph at the side door to the theater–

He was broken out of his thoughts at the feeling of her kissing his cheek.  

“Don’t miss me too much, Ominis.” she said kindly. 

“I’ll be counting down the days until you’re back,” he said softly. Realizing just how lovesick he sounded, he quickly covered with a cough. “Can’t forgive you for leaving me with this one,” he elbowed Sebastian, who yelped in return.

She gave a sparkling laugh, which brought warmth to his cheeks once more. “I’ll try to see you before I leave tomorrow.” she promised, her voice getting further and further away as he heard her walk towards the door. 

The boys were silent until they heard the door properly shut.

“Lots of talk, use of the word we,” Sebastian noted. “When you’re the one supposedly preparing a love song for her.”

“Shove off,” Ominis mumbled. “I knew it was a stupid idea.”

“Don’t say that,” Sebastian assured him. “You can give it to her when she’s back.”

Ominis knew he was right, but he was rather hoping to give her his song over the holidays.  He’d already spent so much time planning his confession, and her leaving for the holiday was a major setback.  Ominis wasn’t sure he could muster up the confidence to play his music for her again, let alone with a castle full of other students who might walk in on them.

“Whatever,” Ominis sighed. 

It had been a few days since the train had departed for London, taking her to London and far, far away from Hogwarts for the holidays.  Ominis had since retreated to the music room nearly every night, wishing to be alone. It was late, and Ominis was seated at the piano again.  His long, lithe fingers softly danced across the keys, playing the tune he’d written for her song.  Under his breath, he mumbled the lyrics; deep down, he didn’t really want to be alone, but she had been the only company he’d desired. He imagined her, standing at the Clarence Warbeck show, swaying to the lame lyrics with her girlfriends, and it made his piano strokes a bit heavier and angrier than he’d wanted them to be.

He was so lost in thought, he hardly noticed the sound of skittering feet approaching the music room.  It wasn’t until the door burst open that he stumbled over the keys, lifting his wand to identify the intruder.

“Sebastian?  What in Merlin’s name are you doing?” Ominis barked.

“She’s–Ominis, they–show got canceled–she’s here,” Sebastian rambled, panting for air.

“What are you even talking about?”

Sebastian took a big gulp of air. “The Clarence Warbeck show got canceled,” he breathed. “She caught the train back to Hogsmeade instead.”

Ominis blinked at his best friend. “She’s here?” he said, voice strained.

“Do you have your song written?” Sebastian demanded.

“Er, yes–I was just finishing the melody.” Ominis admitted.

“That settles it–you have a song to deliver then, Ominis.” Sebastian said proudly. “I can grab her, if you like–”

“Are you insane?” Ominis gaped. “It’s not–I’m not ready!” he panicked. 

Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “There’s a piano, you have your lyrics, what aren’t you ready for?” he asked.

Ominis began wringing his hands. “But it has to be romantic,” he wheezed. “And this isn’t romantic at all.  For Merlin’s sake, I’m wearing pajamas!”

Sebastian was quiet for a few moments; Ominis could tell the cogs were moving in his best friend’s head. The brunette snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it!” he said gleefully. “The perfect idea.”  He could hear Sebastian’s boots scuffling around him, muttering under his breath.

“What are you doing?” Ominis asked curiously.

“Candles.” Sebastian said simply, muttering a conjuration charm. “You’ll need a lot of candles, girls love them.”

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that,” Ominis scowled, standing up and raising his wand.  He could sense Sebastian conjuring dozens candles, setting them around the piano. 

“And you–you should change into something a little nicer.” Sebastian tutted. “Not that your pajamas aren’t cute and all, but you’ll want to look your best.”

“I know that,” Ominis rolled his eyes.  However, he couldn’t contain the flutter of excitement in his stomach. “Are you suggesting I change now?”

“Run down to the dungeons, I’ll take care of the room.” Sebastian assured him. “Ambiance, by Sebastian Sallow.” he joked.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Ominis said earnestly.

“Get fewer girls, that’s for sure.” The brunette snorted.

“Don’t start.” Ominis warned him, backing up towards the door.

“Is that any way to treat your personal elf?” He didn’t need sight to know there was a smug grin stretched across Sebastian’s face. “Go on, get prettied up.  I’ll be here, getting everything prepared.”

“I know you can’t see yourself, but you look quite dashing.” Sebastian hummed.  He adjusted Ominis’s tie, the blonde slapping his hands away in return.  “Don’t be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” Ominis lied.  “What’s to be nervous about?”

“I dunno–the fact that it’s nearly midnight and you’re about to host your first solo concert to the girl you’re in love with.” Sebastian hummed. “I know I had some mistletoe around here somewhere…”

“Hello?” A feminine voice called out. “Is anyone there?”

Ominis slapped Sebastian’s arm. “She’s here!” He hissed. “Get out!”

Sebastian yelped in response; Ominis straightened his waistcoat as he heard his best friend stumble across the music room, his boots clacking against the stairs.  

“Ominis, are you in there?” Her voice sounded nearer, about to turn the corner into the room.

He gulped, twirling his wand rather anxiously at his side. “I am,” he choked out.  “Do come in.”

He could hear her delicate footsteps as she walked into the music room; first quickly, and then stopping in her tracks.  It felt like eons before her feet picked up again, taking slow deliberate steps towards him in the corner, next to the piano.

“Sebastian sent me an owl, saying it was rather time-sensitive.” she said hesitantly. “That it was an emergency.”

“That twat,” Ominis grumbled. “It’s not an emergency, per say, but I did want you to meet me here.”

“So no one is dying, gravely wounded, or in need of protection?”

“Did he say that was the issue?” Ominis choked.

She snorted. “Rather implied it was a life or death matter.”

Ominis scolded Sebastian in his head, rolling his eyes.  He’d have to set him straight later on.

“I wanted to ask you to come meet me here,” Ominis chewed on his lower lip. “Because I knew you were quite disappointed when the Clarence Warbeck show was canceled.”

“Oh, right.” she said quickly. “Yeah, Leonora was a bit upset over it, and I didn’t really have any other reason to be in London, so I caught the train home.”

“Well, with that being the case, I thought this was a good time to give you your Christmas present.” Ominis swallowed thickly. 

“Omi, I thought we weren’t doing presents,” she said, her voice slightly panicked. “I haven’t gotten you anything–”

“This,” Ominis interjected, pointing his wand towards the piano. “This is the present.”

She paused, clearly confused. “The piano?  The one that’s always here in the music room? I mean, thanks Ominis, but I doubt we can steal the school piano–”

“No,” Ominis groaned. He tugged her hand towards the bench, gesturing for her to sit next to him. “This is the present. Me–er, rather, a song for you.”

There was a pregnant pause as she slowly slid into the bench next to him.  Her shoulder bumped into his, and he could feel the ends of her braid tickling his skin.  They’d never sat so closely before–not under the pretense of anything other than a friendly afternoon nap in the corridor. 

“You wrote a song for me?” she asked, her voice suddenly small and subdued. “Ominis, I didn’t even know that you could play the piano.”

Ominis set his wand down on the piano’s ledge with shaky hands. “I did–I do play the piano.  I learned when I was younger,” he admitted, his fingers finding the ivory keys. “I’m actually quite good, if I do say so myself.  Sebastian tells me I am too.”

“You’ve played for Sebastian, but not me?” she scoffed, a playful tone returning to her voice. 

Ominis began playing the tune he’d written, the one he’d memorized in a matter of days just for her. “I only share this with people I love,” he said softly.  Realizing what he’d just said, he coughed quickly to cover his blunder. “Like my friends.  Anne, Sebastian, and now you.”

She rested her chin on Ominis’s shoulder. “Well, go on then.  Let me hear it.”

“And you won’t make fun of me if I’m a lousy singer?” Ominis asked, feeling the back of his neck heating up.

“I would never,” she reassured him.

Ominis began singing; he could hear her breath catch as his voice echoed in the room.  The words tumbled out of his mouth as his fingers danced across the keys.  Despite not having his wand in hand, he started to feel more confident as his tune went on, his voice only cracking slightly when he felt her soft hand on his leg.  

So just please fall in love with me, this Christmas

There’s nothing else that I would need, this Christmas

Won’t be wrapped under a tree, I wish that this would last forever,

So kiss me on this cold December night;

They call it the season of giving; I’m here, yours for the taking

I’m here, I’m yours

The notes trailed off, Ominis’s fingers lifting from the keys.  He wasn’t sure what to do with his hands; in his nervousness, he clenched his fists in his lap.

“I tried to copy Warbeck’s style,” he gulped. “Since you like him so much.  I overheard you talking with the girls last week, that you thought a song was the sweetest gift a person could give.”

“You listened to me,” she murmured.

Ominis squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to articulate his feelings. “I…I’m always listening to you.  I want to make you happy.” he wrung his hands together.

“Ominis, this is…the song…” she trailed off.

“Do you hate it?” he asked nervously. 

She threw her arms around him; he yelped as she squeezed him tight.

“How could one hate a song so beautiful? This is my favorite Christmas gift I’ve ever received, the most perfect gift.” she gasped. “No one has ever written me a song before.”

Ominis sighed in relief, blushing as he found the courage to wrap his arms around her waist, hugging her in return. “I’m glad you liked it.” he murmured into her shoulder.

She pulled away, pressing her small, warm hands against his cheeks. “Liked it?  Ominis, I loved it!” she exclaimed.  “I never knew you had such talent.  You need to play more often for me.”

Ominis smiled as he pressed her forehead against hers. “Well, now that you know, I’d be happy to play for you whenever you’d like.”

Her warm hands left his cheeks, falling to hold his hands.  There was a brief pause; he could tell she was chewing on her lower lip.

“The lyrics,” she murmured. “You…you mean them, right?  They’re not just lyrics?”

Ominis took in a sharp breath as her fingers entwined with his. “Well, Mr. Warbeck is quite forward with his feelings in all of his songs, so I thought I should do the same.” he whispered. “I wanted it to be romantic, and all I could think of wanting this Christmas was you.” he confessed.

“I thought so,” she mused. “So you would like me to kiss you?”

Ominis blinked rapidly, his cheeks burning hot. “Only if–” he started to say, quickly cut off by her lips pressing against his. 

She smiled against his lips, and Ominis melted into her touch.  His hands cradled her face while she held onto his forearms, keeping him close.  He whined softly as she pulled away, pressing a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Only what?” she asked.

“If you mean it, truly.” Ominis fought the smile that tugged on the corner of his lips. “I hope you do. Or I guess in this case, did.”

She laughed; the melodic sound of her giggles rivaled even the sweetest of songs. Her chin dropped to his shoulder again, and she nuzzled closer. 

“You didn’t need to write a song to capture my heart, Ominis.” she breathed. “It’s been yours for a while now.”

Ominis went slack jawed. “What?”

“Why do you think I caught the first train back to Hogwarts?” she nudged him with her nose. “I wanted to be back here, to spend Christmas with you, Ominis.”  

“But the show–Clarence Warbeck–”

“He’s a good singer,” she laughed. “But he’s not you.” 

Ominis surged forward, and she yelped when he pressed his lips against her face, slightly missing her lips.  No matter; she chuckled again, angling her face to meet him perfectly.  One of Ominis’s hands tugged her closer at the waist, the other trailing up to her soft, strawberry scented hair.  

“I love you,” he admitted, rubbing the tip of his nose against hers.

Just as she was about to open her mouth in response, the two heard a cough from the rafters.  They jolted apart, Ominis nearly falling off the bench to maintain a proper distance from her in case it was a professor.

It wasn’t–he could hear a familiar voice huffing at them.

“Can I come down now?”

Ominis furrowed his eyebrows. “Sebastian, what the bloody hell are you still doing here?” he gasped.

“Well you didn’t give me much time to get down from the rafters,” Sebastian complained. “I was trying to hang the mistletoe for you two.”

“Get out!” Ominis groaned, while she laughed next to him on the piano bench.

Ominis could hear Sebastian’s snickering, and the familiar beat of his steps as he ran out of the music room.  He groaned, his head falling against her shoulder.

“So embarrassing.” he muttered into the fabric of her shirt. “I can’t believe he heard the song.”

“Not at all,” she cooed. “Wouldn’t quite be a moment between us without Sebastian interrupting, would it?” she pressed a soft kiss against his hair. “Play the song for me again?”

“Only if I get to kiss you more.” Ominis whispered.

“That can be arranged,” she said coyly, tilting his chin up towards her. She adoringly pressed kisses against his forehead, his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and then finally his lips again.  Pulling away, she leaned her head on his shoulder once more, sighing happily as his fingers started dancing across the keys again. 

“Happy Christmas, Ominis.  I love you too.”

Those four words were music to Ominis’s ears.  He played the song for her over and over again, his voice more confident every time he repeated the lyrics. The fourth time he repeated, she stopped him, kissing him breathless.  

“Saw the mistletoe,” she whispered against his lips, slithering her arms around his waist. “He managed to hang it after all.”

Grinning into her kiss once more, Ominis reminded himself to thank Sebastian. 

#ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt fan fiction #pianist ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x oc #had to do a happy ominis piece somehow

[blue-jisungs]

Helloo first of all merry christmas and happy early new year (or whatever holidays you celebrate)!!!! I don't know if your OPLA requests are still open, but i would absolutely LOVE a stabilished relationship sanji x (gn) reader where reader is kind of an ambivert who tends to be embarassed to speak their mind when they're uncomfy or when they need something, so sanji always keeps an eye on them to check if they're okay. Sort of like a couple who has their own language that no one else understands, just reallyyyy fluffy stuff

If you don't feel like writing it it's totally okay!!! Have a nice day<3

code

author's note. hi anonnie!! sorry for such a late reply <\3 i don’t celebrate but thank u hehe i hope u had a nice time too ^^ to be honest i’m not really happy with how this turned out but i couldn’t think of anything else :( either way, i hope you enjoy it even a little bit :D

it was no secret that you have the tendency to get shy, especially when asking for something. it’s been always a struggle of yours, more often than not ending up in a position you didn’t want to find yourself in simply because you failed to ask for something… or deny.

which you were fine with, technically. sure, no one enjoys being in uncomfortable situations but you got used to it.

however, dating sanji was a turning point in your life. previously, your family and strangers would ignore your needs or just assume that if you didn’t deny anything, you were fine with it. this bad habit of yours took sanji a while to crack.

just like when you turned in the baratie for the first time with a friend of yours.

“anything else, pretty?” the handsome (your future to be boyfriend, not like you knew) blonde man asked with a charming smile. your friend shook jer head while you blinked. sanji used this opportunity to persuade you into ordering more “may i offer something?”

you were absolutely full, no more space in your stomach whatsoever. it was sure you wouldn’t fit more but–

“maybe dessert? such a sweet person deserves a tiramisu to end their day” sanji’s pearly whites glinted in a warm smile. and you nodded shyly, almost awkwardly.

he didn’t pay attention to it then but at the end of the day, laying down before sleep… his memory recalled the resistance in your eyes but a fake smile of acceptance.

since you dined at baratie quite often (yes, he was one of the reasons) sanji started to recognize your habits. that you ordered even if you were full or didn’t like a certain dish… and how you sometimes even forced yourself to eat it because you didn’t want him or the cooks to feel bad.

which made his heart clench – both with worry and because of how cute you are.

with him being your boyfriend and lots of free time on the going merry, which you joined because you two couldn’t stand the possibility of being far away from each other and luffy not minding at all (“the more the merrier”, he said), sanji promised himself to work on it. for your own good because he hated the fact that some people could get advantage of you.

like usopp.

“hiyaaaa y/n! would you mind cleaning the crow’s nest for me?” usopp asked, the usual wide grin adorning his face. you blinked, embarrassed to deny yet…

“wh… um…” you started and the great captain put the broom in your hands, patting your arm

“thanks! i’m sooo tired, you know?” he stretched dramatically, eyes closing. you had plans – you were supposed to help sanji in making dinner… but now…

“they’re not cleaning anything, usppp”

the boy’s eyes shot open and he jolted upon hearing sanji’s voice. the cook didn’t look so friendly – arms crossed, cold look in his ocean eyes.

“oh yeah, right! no problem… it was a joke you see!” usopp chuckled nervously and took the broom back.

“joke my ass. do not use them like that or next time the broom is getting shoved–”

“woah, woah, woah… i got the message” usopp squeaked and ran away to the crow’s nest. you pouted.

“sorry…” a sigh escaped your lips and sanji stepped closer, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“no, no. don’t apologize, there’s no need. but we need to work on that, darling” he smiled tenderly and pecked your forehead.

one day after telling sanji that you’re just too embarrassed to say no or speak your mind, he came up with an idea – that you have a secret code. obviously if you were too shy, you’d just tap him or wink twice. at first, you thought it was silly. but sooner than you imagined, you came to a conclusion that it’s a pretty brilliant idea.

additionally, even if you didn’t know about that, your boyfriend always kept his eye on you. scanning your face and reactions so he could barge in anytime; as creepy as it sounded because of that sanji knew you like the back of your hand and sometimes even without using words, he knew that you were uncomfortable.

“so, so, so! we should head out! there’s no time to lose!” luffy announced on a random monday morning, almost jumping off the walls “we’re going to y/n’s family island!”

your eyes widened as you watched the captain terrified, sanji instantly tensing.

“w… what? why?” you stuttered and luffy stopped in his tracks.

“it’s famous for its sewing arts, right? we need new clothes… and it’s gonna be fun! we’ll meet your family!” luffy grinned.

you felt sanji’s hand on yours, tapping your thumb twice. “are you okay?”, that’s what the gesture meant. you looked at him, hesitantly shaking your head.

“d-…” you didn’t even manage to choke out, puffing your cheeks.

“do we have to? we can get clothes everywhere” the blonde asked, moving his thumb in a soothing motion. sanji asked exactly what you wanted to. maintaining eye contact, he nodded. “i’ve got this”

“but y/n’s family…” luffy whined, pouting.

“y/n should speak for herself on this matter, luffy. maybe she doesn’t want to see them?” sanji hummed.

luffy has a golden heart and pure soul but sometimes could get a bit too much… and doesn’t understand some human reactions. and it’s not like you hated your family – you just left in a hurry, a tense atmosphere in the household. and you just weren’t ready to return.

“so?” luffy asked, rising his eyebrows. sanji squeezed your hand, encouraging you.

“i don’t really want to… see them. right now.” you mumbled shyly “sorr–”

“no, no. don’t say sorry, i just… wanted to surprise you” luffy smiled, his eyes twinkling. he came up to you and patted your head “we’ll go there once you’re ready. just tell me!”

nodding shyly, you watched luffy leave. sanji grinned and cupped your face.

“what? was it bad?” you asked, blinking.

“no, darling. you were very brave” he cooed and placed a soft kiss on your lips “i’m proud”

then sanji moved his hand to your back and drummed a melody, signalling that usopp is coming. you snickered and pecked his cheek, being met with a loud whine coming from the boy who just entered the room.

masterlist <3

taglist. @eternalgyu ,, @haecien

#vinsmoke sanji #sanji #sanji x reader #one piece sanji #sanji opla #opla sanji x reader #opla sanji x you #opla sanji x y/n #sanji fluff #sanji imagine #opla sanji #opla x reader #one piece netflix #live action one piece #one piece live action #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #opla sanji fluff #opla fluff #opla x you #opla x y/n #opla imagine #sanji vinsmoke #blue jisungs's requests

[stevesjockstrap]

Butter Him Up

🎁 Merry Christmas to @eddiethehunted who asked for nasty feral linecook!Eddie smut - props to you for answering smut questions in front of your grandma

Steve/Eddie • rated: E • vague timeline, no UD, inappropriate use of a staff bathroom, come and Steve’s uniform tie 🫠 now on ao3

When he’d applied for the job at the restaurant, he assumed it would be like working at Scoops or the movie theater, people order food and he gave it to them. He could handle that. Steve wasn’t a stranger to an embarrassing outfit, either. This one wasn’t even embarrassing, really. He actually liked the button down and tie, the half apron with big pockets.

The real issue was Eddie. The line cook.

Eddie made him feel like he was doing everything wrong, always asking him questions about his tickets or confusing him about sides and substitutions. He leered at him and made comments about his uniform like every other server wasn’t wearing the same exact thing. It made him crazy.

But when he walked into the kitchen, Eddie wasn’t there.

“Hey Jon, where’s Eddie tonight?” He asked, trying to keep his voice casual as he punched in.

“Their band had a gig, out in Indy, I think Gareth said. You’re going to have to make do with the rest of us tonight,” he sent him a wry smile.

Steve huffed, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jon threw a towel over his shoulder and came closer to the counter, still giving him a sly smile. “We all see you two dancing around each other, man. It’s entertaining. Be careful there, he’s not known for his, uh, tenderness,” he chuckled.

Steve blinked. “Um. Okay? I’m not interested in anything with Eddie, alright?”

“Sure, Steve, whatever you say.”

It wasn’t until a few hours later that it hit him.

He did like it. Liked Eddie ‘dancing around him,’ like Jonathan said. He’d always been sort of an attention whore and tonight he felt off, unsteady without Eddie infuriating him with his comments and constantly feeling his eyes on him. On his ass.

“Fuck,” he said under his breath as he filled up water cups. What was he going to do about this?

“Heard you missed me yesterday, big boy,” Eddie jeered at him.

He took a moment to really look at him, a wild smile all teeth and tongue, metal shining from his lips and eyebrow and nose, tattoos across his throat and down his forearms where his own white button down was rolled up. Steve wanted to yank his hair out of the pile on top of his head. Oh.

“Sure did, Eds,” he replied with a quick wink.

He watched with satisfaction as a shock wave went though Eddie’s features, not expecting the pushback.

It didn’t seem to stop the comments or all the eye fucking, which Steve was now expecting and then maybe encouraging.

“Doll face, if they have an egg allergy they can’t have the Caesar dressing. Go see what they want.”

“Hey sweet cheeks, this appetizer for table 23 has been here longer than you’ve worked here, can you go take it to them?”

Steve put a swing to his hips as he took the plate with a smile and headed back to the front. He thought maybe there was a crash behind him as the door swung shut. He smirked to himself.

After the big dinner rush, he punched in his own shift meal and stood watching as Eddie got the ticket.

“You going on break, babydoll?”

“Yeah, you gunna come?”

There was a cut off sound and Gareth snickered next to him at the line.

By the time he was shoved into the staff bathroom, Eddie seemed to have recovered his attitude.

Big hands grabbed at his ass, and Eddie groaned into his ear. “Shit, Stevie. You’ve been teasing me with this ridiculous ass of yours forever.”

“Uh huh,” he gasped as he was pulled forward roughly and their hard lengths rubbed against each other, a hot mouth finding his neck. Eddie already had him wound so tight and he felt like he was going to explode. “Please-“

“I know, sweets. You’re already so desperate, huh?”

Steve whined as his apron was untied and thrown, his shirt rucked out of his pants so hands could work their way down the back of them to grab a handful.

Then he was quickly pushed away as Eddie ordered, “Down on your knees, I think, darlin’. There’s a good boy. Need those lips around me. Shut you up good, huh?”

Steve was quick to comply, just as ready to sink down onto his knees for him. They both fumbled with his belt and zipper, Eddie finally slapping his hands away and yanking his boxers under his balls.

Eddie’s dick was big, and already so hard, precome beading at the head. His mouth watered and he immediately opened it and stuck his tongue out.

“Such a cock slut, aren’t you, pretty? Yeah, you need it so bad, don’t you?”

He nodded, tongue still out as Eddie held his cock just out of reach for another moment before tapping it onto his tongue. Steve went up on his knees, trying to push further down on his length and received a few inches for his trouble. Hands came around the back of his head to rake through his hair and he moaned around him. Suddenly the hands pulled him roughly up, shoving his length down his throat. He gagged and tears sprung to his eyes.

“That’s it, shit, the mouth on you. Ah-”

Steve tried to suck in breaths through his nose as Eddie pulled him back and forth, licking around the head and keeping his teeth out of the way while his throat was fucked open on his gorgeous cock.

Suddenly he needed something else. He slid back and looked up, gasping out, “Fuck me, Eddie, please-“

“Jesus Christ, Stevie. Of course. Get up here.”

Eddie yanked him to his feet and pushed him against the sink. He made quick work of his fly, letting his pants slide down his legs.

“So wet for me already, pretty. Turn around. That’s it.”

When he found himself bent over the sink, some small semblance of sense sparked in his brain. “Lube,” he gasped. He couldn’t string a sentence together to save his life right now. “I-“ he shook his head.

“Got it, sweets. Been carrying it around since your second day here. I’ve fantasized about you spreading your legs for me every day since then.”

“Fuck,” he breathed. Why was that hot?

“Yeah, dreamed about bending you over the bar and letting the whole place watch.” Eddie grabbed handfuls of his ass again quickly before yanking his underwear down. They both groaned when he pulled his cheeks apart and spit directly onto him.

“Oh, holy shit,” he whined as fingers rubbed the wetness around his rim. “C’mon, Ed-“

“You gunna let me in this tight little hole?” Eddie taunted. He must’ve added some lube before he pushed a finger in roughly, Steve raising up on his toes with a squeak. “That’s it, gotta stretch you out for this big cock.”

“Oh my god.”

“Just Eddie works, sweetheart,” he chuckled darkly.

Steve shuddered, the condescending tone sending him further to the stratosphere. He arched his back as he added another finger. “You are- ah- such a dick!” He said between clenched teeth.

“Sure am, baby. And you love it. Think I’m gunna come all over this ass. Rub it in and let you walk around with me all over you as you finish your shift. How’s that sound, my little slut?”

He, naturally, decided then to press solidly against his prostate and Steve lost the plot of the conversation again, only able to gasp and groan as another finger was introduced to his entrance. He pushed back against it, trying to hurry him up. For someone ‘not known for their tenderness’ he sure was taking his time in his preparation.

“Such a little slut, Stevie. I know, I know, we’re getting there. Hold your horses.”

Finally, there was a blunt wet head pushing against his rim and he moaned as it popped in.

“Mmm, you gunna be loud for me, baby? Let the whole place know you’re getting what’s coming to you?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn’t ideal for his job or reputation, but the rest of him thought that was a great plan. Nodding and whining since he couldn’t get any words to come out, Eddie chuckling at him.

Now he realized the prep he’d thought was excessive was necessary and almost cursory, as Eddie continued to press forward and his dick stretched him impossibly. He whimpered and gasped, Eddie pulling him upright and he got to watch them in the mirror as he finally bottomed out inside of him.

“Holy fuck,” Steve breathed. Thankfully Eddie took pity on him and gave him a moment to adjust, mouthing down his neck to his collar.

With a smirk, he pulled out, looking pointedly down between them, probably knowing Steve was watching in the mirror.

“Your greedy little hole is sucking me right back in, darlin’- oh fuck- so fucking tight,” Eddie rambled.

He shoved back in and rubbed over his prostate, making Steve shake and arch his back for more. His head dropped forward and he heard a tsk from behind him.

With a grin, Eddie grabbed the tie around his neck, spinning it around and wrapping it around his fist, using it to keep him from falling forward. The threat and the tightness around his throat made his dick twitch and he automatically wrapped a hand around himself.

His arms were suddenly pulled back and Eddie held onto his wrists in the small of his back.

“Uh uh, greedy. You’re gunna wait. Think you can come just from my cock? Huh?”

Steve wailed as the angle changed and his prostate was nailed again and again, pulled around like a rag doll as Eddie held onto his wrists and his hip. He didn’t know how he was even still standing, his legs shaking under him.

“Christ, I knew your ass would be magnificent, doll face,” Eddie huffed into his ear. “Look at you, so drunk on my cock you don’t even know which way is up, poor baby.”

Steve cracked an eye open and tried to make sense of what he was seeing in the mirror, his own flushed cheeks, mouth open, tear tracks and drool making a mess of his face. His hair was stuck to his sweaty forehead and sticking up where Eddie had raked his hands through it. He looked completely fucked.

The heat in his belly coiled tighter and he gasped out, “Cl-close, Eds!”

“Me too, sweetheart. C’mon, come for me and I’ll decorate this perfect ass of yours.”

Something must’ve shown on his face or Eddie just instinctively knew what he needed but he watched as the tattooed arm left his hip and his hand wrapped around his neck, pressing just right on the sides.

His eyes rolled back and he may have screamed as his orgasm shot through him, his hips rolling forward and back through the aftershocks. Eddie growled in his ear as he continued fucking him through it as he clenched around him.

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he hissed before pulling out roughly.

His wrists were released and he miraculously caught himself as he dropped forward onto the sink, able to see just Eddie’s face as he jerked himself off above him.

“Oh fuck, can’t wait to see you shaking this ass around for everyone, knowing it’s covered in me, ah- all mine.” He grunted lowly and Steve gasped again as he felt the hot splashes against his back and down his cheeks. Big hands immediately started rubbing it in, making sure to cover every inch and down his crack.

“Pull your pants up, slut,” he growled.

After barely making it through the rest of his shift, he wasn’t surprised when Eddie met him at the back door. “Your place or mine, baby cakes?”

Gareth ran to Jonathan’s car as he pulled in for his shift the next afternoon, “You owe me fifty bucks!” He held out his hand with a wide smile.

“Fuck!”

#steddie #steddie smut #line cook!Eddie Munson #eddie munson #Steve Harrington #stranger things #stranger things smut #mine #steve/eddie

[bradshawssugarbaby]

Merry Christmas, Darlin' - Bob Floyd x Reader

A/N: A little Christmas morning fluff for our favourite WSO 🎄 This is my first of three entries for @sailor-aviator's Christmas Writing Challenge to celebrate the holidays with our favourite aviators.

pairing:  Bob Floyd x reader

warnings/content: sickeningly sweet Bob fluff. pregnancy. Bob as a dad.

word count: 1.5k

“Mommy! Daddy!” 

The sound of little voices filled the bedroom as your twin daughters, Lucy and Clara jumped onto the bed. You grumbled as your eyelashes fluttered open, a loud grunt coming from your husband as one of the girls inevitably dive bombed on top of his body.  You rolled over in bed, turning to face your husband, who was lifting up Clara and pulling her into bed with you, him and Lucy. Bob blindly stuck his arm out to the right, feeling around on the nightstand for his glasses. He put them on and blinked a couple of times to allow his eyes to adjust before laughing softly and kissing both Lucy and Clara on the forehead, playing softly with their hair as he held his girls close.

“Daddy, guess what!” The girls voices rang out in unison as they spoke excitedly. Lucy’s blonde curls bounced around her little face as she jumped up and down on the bed between you and Bob, her cherubic cheeks rosy and pink as she beamed at him.

“What is it, my little sweet peas?” Bob chuckled as he smiled at them both, leaning in to listen intently to what they had to say.

“Santa came to visit!” Clara exclaimed as Lucy squealed in delight.

Both girls nodded their heads quickly, giggling in perfect harmony with each other as they bounced on the bed, trying to wake you and Bob from your half-asleep states, enticing you to come downstairs and see what Santa had brought for them. Bob shook his head as he feigned surprise for the girls, his mouth agape in mock disbelief.

“No way, Santa came here?! You mean, the cookies we baked are all gone?”

The girls nodded and giggled again, before Lucy piped up and pointed towards the hallway.

“He left presents too! Our stockings are full. He left stuff for me and Clara and Mommy and you too, Daddy!”

“Mommy and me too?” Bob shook his head as he beamed at the girls, “Tell you two what, if you guys go head downstairs and give Mommy and I five minutes to get up and brush our teeth, we’ll come right downstairs and open those presents, sound good?”

The twins nodded in unison before scrambling off the bed. They hurried out of the room, the sound of little feet hammering down the wooden flooring in the hallway before padding down the carpeted stairs to the living room. Bob shook his head, laughing before turning to you and smiling, his deep blue eyes meeting yours as he placed his hand lovingly on your cheek. 

“Well, I bought us five minutes. Give or take, neither of the girls can tell time yet, thankfully.”

“What exactly are you planning on doing in those five minutes, Lieutenant Floyd?” You smirked as you turned on your side, leaning your head into your palm as you looked at him, his hand stroking your cheek as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Well…” Bob playfully taps his chin as he thinks and laughs softly, “I’m sure I could give you an early Christmas gift in five minutes, but I’m not sure how enjoyable it’d be for you. I’d certainly enjoy it though, m’am” 

A wide smirk forms on Bob’s lips, grinning at you as he leaned in, pressing his soft lips against yours. His nose brushed against yours as your tongues tangled together. A low grunt escaped from Bob’s mouth, falling against your lips with a vibration, his hand dragging down your side, snaking its way up the side of your pajama shirt, stroking your soft skin. He placed his hand on your back, pulling your body in as close to his as possible, his lips trailing slowly from your mouth to your jaw, before making their way down your neck. You drew in a sharp breath as his lips found your exposed collarbone. Your eyes darted over to the alarm clock on the nightstand before landing back on Bob, whose lips were now sucking and nibbling at your skin.

“Bobby, you have two minutes left, and we still have to actually leave the bed,” you laughed and shook your head slightly, almost regretting that Bob didn’t tell the kids to go back to sleep for another hour.

“Mhmm, I can’t help it, you’re irresistible, darlin’,” He smirked as he ran his finger along your jawline, tilting your head up before pressing his lips to yours again. 

“Robert Floyd, you promised two four year old girls that we’d be downstairs in five minutes and all we were doing was getting up and brushing our teeth. We’ve done neither of those things in the last,” you frowned as you looked at the alarm clock again, “six minutes. You’re now late.”

“Alright, alright, I’m getting up,” He laughed softly, shaking his head as he threw the covers off of his long, lean body before swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. He looked to you and watched as you got yourself up, his lips curling up into another cheeky smirk as he took in your figure. 

“God, you’re incredible. I hope my Christmas present is you later tonight,” He grinned before strolling towards the ensuite bathroom. You chucked a pillow his way as you rolled your eyes at him.

“Behave yourself, Lieutenant. We have all of Christmas Day to get through first.” 

Bob shrugged his shoulders as he stood in the doorway to face you, brushing his teeth. He leaned over to spit in the sink before rinsing it down and wiping his mouth with his facecloth from the side of the sink. 

“Well, guess I better get downstairs and tame those two before they start unwrapping their presents without us,”

Bob’s hand found its way to your behind as you switched places with him in the bathroom, his deep blue eyes flashing a mischievous grin to you as he whispered in your ear. 

“You know, darlin’, I wouldn’t mind if we had another one. I mean, I love our girls, but think of how cute they’d be with a little brother or sister.”

You rolled your eyes as you put the toothpaste on your toothbrush before turning towards your husband with a grin. 

“You know, it’s funny you say that,” You began, before being interrupted by the sound of two little voices ringing out from the bottom of the stairs.

“Mommy, Daddy, hurry up!” The girls whined, their voices growing impatient as they waited for you and Bob to get moving.

Bob sighed and shook his head before kissing your cheek gently, He headed off downstairs while you finished brushing your teeth. You stepped into your slippers and pulled on one of Bob’s old sweatshirts before heading downstairs to join your family, where Bob was waiting with a cup of coffee for you, your daughters happily eating some cereal at the table, their blue eyes gazing longingly at the presents under the tree. You took the mug from your husband, a smile on your lips as you sipped the warm liquid carefully. As the girls finished eating, Bob cleared their dishes away before returning to his spot in the comfortable lazy boy chair in the living room. He watched as the girls began tearing open their stockings, shaking his head as he smiled to himself.

“Hey, don’t forget Santa left you a stocking too, Bobby,” you nodded, passing him the fabric stocking. You watched as Bob started opening it, the usual gifts you’d get for his stocking every year being stacked neatly on the table as he went through everything you’d gotten him. He stopped as he pulled out the last item, his blonde eyebrows arching slightly as he looked at it, turning it over in his hands. His eyes looked at you curiously, and his voice was reduced to a soft whisper as his cheeks flushed a soft pink hue.

“Darlin’...are you?” His sapphire blue eyes were full of hope and excitement as he looked at you, as if he was praying his guess about the little plastic stick in his stocking was right.

“I am,” you nod your head in confirmation as Bob gets up and wraps his arms around you tightly, his lips pressing to your forehead gently. 

“You’re serious? We’re having another baby?” he whispered, unsure if he should say it too loudly, in case the twins got their hopes up about a new sibling.

“We sure are, darlin’”, you smirked, imitating Bob’s signature pet name for you. 

Bob pulled you in tightly for a hug, his lips pressed to your cheek in a gentle, loving kiss. He whispered softly into your ear, his breath making the hairs on your neck stand on end as he spoke. 

"Honey, you've made this the best Christmas morning I could have ever dreamed of."

#bob floyd x reader #robert bob floyd x reader #bob x reader #robert bob floyd fic #bob floyd fic #bob top gun fic #bob floyd fluff #fluff #robert bob floyd fluff #robert bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd #robert bob floyd x you #robert floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #bob floyd x you

[rookthorne]

⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ 𝐎𝐡, 𝐋𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥

The love that Bucky and you shared was unparalleled, unlike anything you had ever felt before. It was a joy to witness and be a part of the tender side of the otherwise ruthless and effective Mafia King. And on that day, it was no different — playing your cherished role had never been so fulfilling.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒑𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 ♕ Alpha!Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Omega!F!Reader

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 ♕ 1.3k

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ♕ Tooth rotting fluff, mention of collaring, scenting

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆 ♕ I think this is one of my most favourite moodboards I have ever made.

჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻ 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕 ♕ @rookthorne's Merry Buckmas — Masterlist

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐭 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Snow had blanketed the whole of New York city in the blink of an eye. 

The change had been swift. Flakes and flurries landed in heaps along the sills of Bucky’s penthouse windows, and you watched them dance in the morning sun while cupping a warm drink in your hands.

Cushions enveloped you on your favourite egg chair, each one fluffier than the one next to it. A shawl was wrapped around your shoulders, the row upon row of knitted squares filling you with an immense sense of warmth and contentment.

Another blanket, the one Bucky handed you before he left to make breakfast, lay over your lap. The softness of it brushed against the skin of your thighs, and you moved to hold your mug with one hand to brush the palm of your other over the plush material. 

It was your favourite colour; a present from Bucky in the beginning of your relationship for when you missed his warmth during the long nights in his absence. 

Quiet footsteps sounded just out of the doorway to the bedroom, and you looked up from the blanket and over your shoulder. Bucky was leaning against the doorframe, dressed in his favourite set of loungewear in no other colour than his trademark: black. 

“Hey there; my Bunny, my honey baby,” he purred, walking close. He held a steaming mug in his right hand, while his left stroked over your hair and down your shoulder, over the fabric. “How are you feeling, little one?”

You sighed happily and watched as he took the couch opposite you. “Good—feeling good, if only a little cold. How ‘bout you?”

Bucky grinned. “Doing good, baby.” He sipped at the steaming liquid, and settled back against the back of his own chair. “What did you want to do today? I only have a little bit of work to do,” he explained, gesturing towards his laptop that sat on his bedside drawers. “But I can do that in the study.”

“Why don’t we stay in today?” you asked, tilting your head. “I miss you.”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky cooed, and he sat forward. “We can stay in, ‘mega. Actually–” His long, dark hair fell forwards over his shoulders as he reached out towards the underside of the coffee table between your seats. “Where is it– Ah.”

“What are–”

“Hang on, patience, little one,” he teased, and he sat up with a grunt. “I got this for you—here.” A pale pink package, wrapped in a pearl sheen ribbon, was held outstretched in his steady hand. 

“What is it?” you asked, shuffling forward to grab the package from his hands. “It’s not Christmas yet…”

“I know.” The cushions of the seat he settled on shuffled as he scooted back to sit comfortably, and he watched you with a soft, tender smile on his lips. His eyes were bright in the yellow morning sun; sparkling with adoration. “I just wanted to treat my Bunny.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You always treat me; treat me like a princess. I am just interested in what you could have thought of this time.”

A deep chuckle shook Bucky’s chest, and he put down his mug in favour of running his hands through his hair. 

Unable to wait in suspense any longer, you placed your own mug down on the table and put the package on your lap. It was not the biggest you had ever seen, nor been given by Bucky, but it felt solid — the contents weighty rather than light. 

“Open it, honey,” Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “You’re adorable when you try to work things out, but just open it so you can see.”

“Fine, fine,” you huffed, reaching for the ribbon. The scratchy material came away with a small tug, and the shine of the pearlescent white glowed prettily in the morning light. “I love this.”

“I’ll get you a collar with that same colour then, baby,” Bucky offered, and you glanced up at him sharply, disbelieving. “What? I want to treat you.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, blinking slowly. “I love it, but–”

“But nothing,” he interrupted. “You will learn eventually that I will give you everything your heart desires and wants, no matter the price tag. It’s the perk of being the head of the Mafia, honey.”

“Yeah, well,” you mumbled, furrowing your brows. “I’m still getting used to that.”

Bucky didn’t respond to that statement, so you gently lifted the lid of the package to reveal a layer of pink tissue paper. It crinkled as you ran your fingers over it, fascinated by the swirls of darker pigments, and with a hitch of breath, you pulled the paper back to reveal the contents. The hitch in your chest turned into a choked gasp. “What–!”

Pale pink fabric was folded neatly in the box, and you spied the collar of what you thought was a sweater. A headband, with fluffy, pink bunny ears sewn onto the top of it, was placed at the bottom of the box; the one singular folded ear giving it a playful, cheeky characteristic. 

“I thought– Well, I thought you would love having another soft thing to sleep in, or just be comfortable in,” Bucky explained needlessly, his voice just above a whisper. “I know you love soft things, honey baby. I saw that and I knew it was perfect for you.”

Excited beyond restraint, you flew to your feet and a soft gasp fell from your lips as you pulled the sweater over your head; the softness of the woollen cable was unlike anything you had ever felt before. There was a thin, embossed pattern of a bunny on the front of the sweater, and it wore a small Santa hat on top of its head — the fluffiness of its fur was obvious even in the flawless stitching. 

“Fuckin’ adorable, Bunny,” Bucky said, awestruck. “That was worth the wait. My God, you’re beautiful.”

Instinct took over, and you rushed forward, barely giving Bucky a second's notice before you landed in his lap, straddling it as you threw your arms around his neck. “Oof– Fuck! Honey, bit’a warnin’ next time?”

“Sorry, sorry,” you whispered, pushing your forehead into the side of Bucky’s neck. “Jus’ wanted to say thank you, alpha.”

A rumbling purr started in Bucky’s chest at your words, and he wrapped his arms around your waist and shoulders, cupping the back of your head with one hand to force you closer to his neck. “It’s okay, it’s okay, baby. Jus’ stay there, stay close to me.” His cheek settled on the crown of your head just as he started to rub up and down your back. “Fuck, you’re so cute like this. Hang on, sit up for me.”

You sat back on his thighs, though you longed to be tucked up to his neck again. “What is it?”

“Wait,” he said quietly, and he reached past you to something that had fallen onto the floor. “You’re missin’ something. Here.” The ears, pale pink and cute as a button, appeared in Bucky’s hands. He reached up and placed the headband over your head, and he fiddled with your hair to make sure it was comfortable. “There you go, honey baby.”

Soft giggles fell from your lips as you reached up to touch the soft ears yourself, and Bucky’s hands came to a rest on your hip and thigh respectively. “They are perfect,” you breathed, staring into his bright eyes. “Thank you.”

“A’course, ‘mega.” Heat crept up your neck as Bucky continued to stare at you, his eyes greedily drinking in every last detail of your face and new sweater. “I can call you my little snow Bunny now, huh? All fluffy, soft, an’ cute.”

“You are such a sap,” you murmured, tucking your chin to your chest in the sudden surge of shyness. 

“If you’re gonna call me a sap for lovin’ on my girl, then yeah,” Bucky said, leaning forward and reaching up with his index finger to guide your chin back up, so he could look into your eyes once more; his stare was intense and overwhelming. “I’m the biggest fuckin’ sap that ever lived, my little snow Bunny.”

⠈⠂⠄ 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 oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fluff #MB #rookthorne's works

[proxima-writes]

title: a very furby christmas

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: t

word count: 3.6k

joel miller masterlist | all masterlists

summary:

it’s christmas eve 1998 and joel miller thinks everything is perfect.

well, until his brother admits he didn’t get sarah the one present she wanted - the furby. now, joel has to go out on christmas eve to find the year’s hottest toy that’s been sold out for months.

turns out, you’re on the same mission. and you’ve both found the last furby in town.

author’s note:

this is just a silly lil feel good holiday fic that’s been plaguing my brain. if you are too young to have experience the furby craze, i implore you to look it up. however, if you do remember, i hope this gives you a happy dose of nostalgia. gingerbread dividers by @saradika-graphics

tags/warnings:

pre-outbreak, no use of y/n, holiday/christmas fic, the last toy trope, no smut, age gap - not explicitly specified but joel is 31 and reader is mid-20s, the great miller gingerbread construction competition, operation get sarah miller a furby, some kissing.

“Dad! Wake up!” Sarah shouts, bursting into Joel’s room. She leaps onto the bed, bouncing on her knees and jostling him around on the mattress as he groans.

“Sarah, baby, it’s too damn early,” he says, pulling the quilt over his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“But it’s Christmas Eve!” The bouncing stops as she lays beside him, tugging the quilt down. “It’s time to make cinnamon rolls. And we gotta make cookies for Santa.”

Joel blinks, his daughter’s face coming into focus, bright brown eyes and a gap toothed smile filling his vision. Her hair is a wild mess from sleep and her unicorn pajama shirt is stained with toothpaste. At eight years old, she’s starting to lean out, her cheeks no longer as round and her limbs at that stage of awkward adolescent lankiness. He wants to sleep, wants a few more hours of rest after a jam packed holiday season of repairs and deadlines and supply issues, but looking at her smiling face and remembering that she’s getting older…

Well, that gets him moving.

“Alright. Let’s get downstairs and make Santa the best cookies he’s ever had.”

She squeals, scrambling off the bed and racing out of the room, light footsteps descending the stairs as he rubs the sleep from his eyes and gets up to find a t-shirt in the pile of laundry he’s neglected to put away, opting to dig through its wrinkled contents for what he needs each day instead.

He makes his way downstairs and to find his daughter rummaging through the fridge and pulling out eggs and milk for their customary Christmas Eve cinnamon rolls and the jangle of keys in the doorknob lets him know that Tommy has arrived.

“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas, Millers!” His younger brother announces. “Sarah! It don’t smell like cinnamon in here!”

“Dad woke up late,” she shouts back. Tommy grins at Joel as he passes, slapping a hand on his shoulder.

“‘Course he did,” he says with a wink. Joel rolls his eyes as he gets the electric mixer from the top cabinet for Sarah and preheats the oven for her.

“Y’know, Santa can take all those presents he’s got ready for you and leave them at other houses for nicer kids,” he says. Sarah’s eyes go wide.

“He wouldn’t!” She yelps. “I’ve been good all year!”

“Don’t listen to your daddy, sweetheart. He’s just bein’ a sensitive Sally,” Tommy says. She breathes a sigh of relief, her attention returning to her task of cracking eggs.

“I just really hope Santa brings me a Furby,” she says wistfully. “I want one of ‘em so bad. Chrissy got one when they came out in October and they’re so cool!”

“I’m sure Santa will come through,” Joel says, catching Tommy’s eye and winking. Tommy’s brows pinch together as he mouths, “What?”

Joel widens his eyes at him, a look that screams, “What do you mean, what?!”

Tommy continues to look confused and Joel squeezes his eyes shut, turning back to his daughter to help her with rolling out the dough she’s mixed up. She continues to chat about her excitement for tomorrow, especially because her big sister has agreed to stop by in the morning.

“You didn’t forget that she’s coming, right?” Sarah asks.

“‘Course not, sweetie,” Joel replies distractedly. The hours Joel works aren’t always conducive to a prompt after school pick up, so most days Sarah spends time with a volunteer from the Empowered Girls program that she calls her “big sister”. He always forgets her name, but he knows she’s a student working on her master’s degree in elementary education at University of Texas. Did he forget she was coming? Yeah, maybe, but he’s got bigger problems right now.

Like the fact that Tommy is acting like he has no clue he was supposed to get Sarah that damn Furby for Christmas.

Once the cinnamon rolls are in the oven and Sarah returns to her room to get dressed for the day, Joel smacks Tommy on the back of the head.

“Ow! The fuck?” He asks, rubbing the sore spot. “What was that for?”

“Tell me you didn’t forget that perfect little girl’s goddamn talkin’ demon toy or I’ll do it again,” Joel warns, already raising his hand. Tommy scrambles from his seat, hands held up defensively as he backs himself up against the counter to get away from his brother’s assault.

“You didn’t tell me to get one!” He insists. Joel stares at him incredulously.

“I sure as hell did! I gave you fifty bucks three weeks ago and asked you to get one because I’d be workin’ OT until Christmas Eve and it would be too late by then!”

“I thought the fifty was for me. Like an early gift or somethin’.”

Joel closes his eyes and attempts to take a deep breath. When he opens his eyes, he feels no more calm as he looks at his brother.

“Great. Now I’m gonna have to go to the goddamn toy store on Christmas Eve to find one of these things.”

“I’ll go for you,” Tommy offers. Joel hits him with a look.

“No. I ain’t makin’ that mistake again. You’re stayin’ here with Sarah and I’ll go get the Furball.”

“It’s Furby,” Tommy corrects. Joel reaches out and smacks his head again before he can protect himself.

Sarah returns to the kitchen, dressed in her Rudolph t-shirt and jeans and smiling brightly as she says, “I’m ready to make cookies!”

Joel smiles apologetically. “Bad news, sweetheart. I gotta run down to a job site and check in on somethin’. Looks like a plumbin’ emergency.”

“On Christmas Eve?” She asks, smile dropping from her face. “But we have to make the cookies!”

“I know, I know, but Uncle Tommy will stay and help you. Ain’t that right, Tommy?”

“Yep. And we’ll make cookies better than any your daddy has ever made, too.”

Joel’s teeth grind together at the dig but he keeps smiling at his daughter. “Right. See? I shouldn’t be gone too long.”

“I guess,” she says forlornly. Her arms wrap around Joel’s legs and squeeze tightly. Joel smooths a hand over her wild hair, glaring at Tommy.

“Sorry, sweetie. But the sooner I head out, the sooner I can get back, okay?”

“Okay,” she mumbles against his thigh. “I’ll make sure Uncle Tommy doesn’t eat all the dough before we bake it.

“That’s my girl,” Joel says.

________

You knew you shouldn’t have waited this long to go shopping for your little sister’s Christmas gift, but you’d picked up extra shifts at your part time job since you weren’t flying home for the holiday break and time just slipped away from you. Now you’re entering your fourth store on a desperate hunt for the one toy she hasn’t stopped talking about since it came out in October.

“It’s called a Furby and the more you talk to it, the more it learns,” she told you, showing you the fluffy toy in a catalog one day. “Isn’t it so cute?!”

“It’s…something,” you replied, staring at its dead eyes. “And that’s what you want for Christmas?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if Santa will bring it for me. I told dad about it, but he’s been really busy with work and I don’t know if he remembered to tell Santa.”

You wander around the store, looking for the garish pink and blue sign that lorded over the toy display. You finally spot it, crossing your fingers as you quickly approach what looks like a mostly barren shelf. There’s something on the bottom row, but your experience in other stores has showed you that often people abandon their unwanted items in the Furby display, leading to false hope.

“Please, please, please,” You mumble, moving quickly now. You’re trying not to break into a run in the middle of the store but after so many disappointments, you can’t be blamed for your steps turning into a light jog.

A pair of unseeing mechanical blue eyes stare back at you from the bottom shelf as you get closer. Pristine white fur, pointed ears, and a little yellow beak encased in plastic.

The last Furby.

You’re so close to success you can taste it.

You reach for the toy, ready to scoop it into your arms and take a victory march to the lone cashier left working, when a tan hand emerges from your left, landing on the box just as you touch it.

“‘Scuse me,” a deep voice says, southern drawl blanketing the words. You look up, gaze meeting the warm brown eyes of a handsome man, tall and broad with messy dark curls. He smiles, all smooth charm as he says, “I’m goin’ to need this toy.”

You stand firm. “I think I was here first, sir.”

The charming smile drops. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Look, I need this toy for my daughter. I’ve been lookin’ for one all over town.”

You place your free hand on your hip. “I need it for my little sister and I’ve also been all over town today. If you needed it so bad, why didn’t you get it sooner?”

“Pot, meet kettle,” he replies. You roll your eyes. “Come on, please? Ain’t there somethin’ else your little sister is dyin’ to have?”

“She’s talked about this toy for months,” you tell him. “And she’s worried Santa isn’t going to bring it, so I wanted to make sure I got her one.”

He smiles softly. “Sounds like my daughter. She handed me no less than five letters to Santa to mail off askin’ for one.”

“So why didn’t you get one before tonight?” You ask curiously.

“My dumbass brother,” he says. “I‘ve been workin’ overtime for the last few months, so I told him to go out and get one. He didn’t listen.”

“That sucks.”

“What about you? What made you wait so long?”

It should probably feel weird, having a full conversation with a stranger while you’re in a stand off over a Furby, but the man’s smile has your stomach twisting, wanting to know more about him and oddly thrilled that he wants to know more about you, too.

“I picked up a lot of extra shifts since I’m on break. I go to UT,” you tell him. “Time just got away from me.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with the feelin’.”

A crackle sounds over the store speakers, a bored voice announcing, “Attention Toys R’ Us shoppers. The store will be closing in five minutes. Please make your way to the front of the store to complete your purchases.”

The man’s expression grows panicked. You sigh, taking your hand from the box.

“Get it for your daughter,” you tell him. “Keep that Santa magic going for a bit longer.”

“Are you sure?” He asks. “What’ll you get for your sister?”

You look around the store, spotting a sporting gear display. You take off in its direction.

“I’ll figure something out!”

________

“It’s a Furby!” Sarah shouts, shaking the box in her excitement. “Look, dad! Santa got me a Furby!”

“Is that so?” Joel says, sipping from his mug of coffee with a splash of Bailey’s, his own personal Christmas tradition. “See? I told ya I sent out all those letters you wrote.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She chants, running around the family room in her red plaid pajamas. Tommy, still barely awake, nods as Sarah shows him the list of features on the back.

It’s close to 9 a.m. but the Miller brothers had a late night of wrapping presents and drinking whiskey in order to have the tidy pile of brightly colored boxes ready beneath the tree for Sarah in the morning. Joel had also gotten her a new journal and a pack of Jelly pens, a few bottles of nail polish, and two new Beanie Babies for her collection. Tommy had sprung for a set of shin guards for when she starts soccer in March, something she was excited for ever since the girl she’d been paired with in her big sister after school program had played with her a few times.

It’s not much, but it’s what he could manage. Sarah is happy, her eyes lighting up with each gift she unwraps, and that’s all that matters to Joel.

A knock sounds at the door and Sarah races down the hall, Joel trailing after her trying to remind her not to open the door to strangers. The young girl doesn’t listen, instead throwing open the door and launching herself into the arms of someone surprisingly familiar.

You look up, eyes going wide in surprise he’s sure mirrors his own. Sarah drags you in by the hand, excitedly introducing you, giving Joel a name for the pretty face he’d been thinking about all last night.

“Hi, I’m Joel,” he says, holding a hand out to you. You slip your palm against his, warm and smooth, shaking his hand. The smile on your face is mischievous, the secret the two of you share dancing in your eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you tell him. “Hope I’m not too early, Sarah said you open presents around eight and to come after that.”

“No, no, ‘course it ain’t too early,” he assures you. He realizes he’s still holding your hand, even as silence settles between you. With a laugh, he draws back, running his hand through his hair nervously. “You want coffee?”

“Sure.”

Joel leads you to the kitchen where Tommy is pulling a fresh tray of cinnamon rolls from the oven under Sarah’s careful supervision. He whacks her hand with a dish towel when she tries to reach for the steaming hot dessert and she pouts pitifully. She spots the gift bag in your hand and her eyes light up.

“Is that a present for me?” She asks.

“Sarah Elizabeth Miller,” Joel chastises. You laugh, handing the bag over to her. She rips the tissue paper from the top, reaching in for her gift with a wide smile.

“A soccer ball!” She exclaims. “Dad, you can help me practice in the backyard now!”

You share a look with Joel, one where his gaze is filled with gratitude and yours reflects understanding. The moment is made brief by Sarah trying to bounce the ball on her knee, knocking it onto a counter and subsequently being told to go put it away for now.

You introduce yourself to Tommy while Joel pulls you a mug of coffee. Sarah brings her now unboxed Furby into the kitchen, setting it in a place of honor on the dining table.

“Dad, can you put batteries in Snowball?” Sarah asks. She turns to you. “That’s his name.”

“Oh. Hello, Snowball,” you say, voice serious as you regard the toy. Joel laughs while he digs around the junk drawer for the rogue batteries that hide beneath bills and takeout menus.

As breakfast is served and toys are turned on, conversation flows between everyone easily. It’s a wonder, Joel thinks. You fit right in with his little family, like you were meant to be there all along. Maybe it’s the Bailey’s in his coffee, or maybe it’s the spirit of Christmas, but he can’t help the warmth in his chest as he watches you help Sarah with the Furby that started it all.

________

You’ve been at the Miller house since early that morning, through all three meals of the day, many rounds of coffee, a screening of Home Alone and A Christmas Story, and painting your nails with Sarah. Not once does anyone make you feel like you’ve overstayed your welcome. In fact, as the day wears on, you can’t help but think that Joel, like you, doesn’t want the day to end. You keep catching his eye and the crooked smile he gives you leaves you feeling giddy.

After dinner, Joel and Tommy start gathering what looks like cookie decorating supplies. Sarah sighs and you turn to her with concern.

“It’s time for the gingerbread competition,” she says, more solemn than an eight year old ought to be. Joel leaves the room and returns with a caulking gun.

“Why does he have that?” You ask, watching as he loads a saran wrapped bag of icing into the chamber.

“They take this…very seriously.”

Tommy and Joel set up decorating stations on either end of the dining table, shooing you out of your seat. Sarah grabs a cookie from a platter on the counter and settles onto a barstool while you stand by, confused and maybe a little scared.

“Are you ready?” Sarah asks. Both men nod. “Start your construction!”

Joel and Tommy rip into the cardboard gingerbread house kits, determination in every move. Joel uses the caulking gun to lay a foundation for the floor of his house, followed by the sides and the roof in quick succession. While Joel is going for a well built structure, Tommy takes a more avant garde approach, using a combination of licorice and frosting to hold his house together.

“Are they always like this?” You ask, fascinated as you watch them.

“Sometimes they’re worse.”

Tommy chucks a peppermint at Joel’s head, the candy bouncing off his forehead and landing on his gingerbread shingles. He counters with a gumdrop that manages to hit Tommy square in the eye, angry curses falling from the younger Miller brother’s lips as he tries to recover and continue the construction of his mid-century cookie home.

“Quit fightin’ dirty,” Joel says when Tommy whines about him being unfair. “I‘ll only fight dirtier.”

You know that the words aren’t meant to be suggestive but you can feel your cheeks go warm nonetheless. The Furby in Sarah’s arms coos, a string of indecipherable words coming from its little yellow beak.

“What did it say?” You ask.

“I’m not sure. It’s still speaking Furbish,” she says.

“It said,” Joel chimes in, setting down his frosting gun, “that I’m the gingerbread construction champ.”

Joel’s little gingerbread house looks like it’s straight from a magazine. Perfectly built, structurally sound, and classically decorated with candy and sugar. You and Sarah both applaud as Tommy groans. His little house lists to the side and a glob of icing drips to the table.

“Don’t worry, Uncle Tommy,” Sarah says to her dejected uncle, patting him on the shoulder. “There’s always next year.”

“Alright, it’s time to start closin’ up shop. To bed with you,” Joel announces, steering Sarah for the stairs.

“Can’t I stay up later?” She complains. The Furby echoes her tone convincingly.

“I already fell for that last night. You’re not gettin’ away with it twice. Bed, and brush your teeth,” he replies, kissing her on the head. “Tell everyone goodnight.”

She hugs you and Tommy before heading upstairs, the Furby chirping as she goes. Tommy punches Joel lightly on the shoulder.

“You know I let you win, right?” He asks. Joel scoffs.

“The proof is in the cookie,” he says.

Tommy rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. I’m headin’ home,” he says, hugging his brother. To your surprise, his arms wrap around you in a quick squeeze as well. “It was nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger,” he tells you with a wink.

When the front door clicks shut, it’s just you and Joel in the kitchen. You’re inexplicably nervous now, despite spending the whole day with the man, and you busy yourself by loading the dishwasher with mugs stained by hot chocolate and coffee.

“You don’t have to do that,” Joel says, gently grasping your wrist. He removes the mug from your hand and sets it on the counter. He pulls you close, your chest brushing his as you take in a surprised breath. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. Up close, you can see the stubble that’s grown along his jaw, the slight creases in the corners of his eyes, and that his nose is just the slightest bit crooked. A heavy palm rests on your lower back, the heat of him palpable even through your t-shirt.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, voice dropped low in the quiet room.

You nod, unable to form words, but that’s okay. His hand cups your cheek and his lips press to yours and your eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping you as you lean into him. It’s soft at first, experimental. A tentative exploration of a broken boundary.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding tight as he parts your lips and his tongue tangles with yours. He tastes like sugar - peppermints and hot chocolate and cookies that he’s eaten throughout the day sweetening his kiss. When he pulls back for a breath, he dips his forehead against yours, smoothing his thumb across your cheek.

“Been wantin’ to do that all day,” he tells you. He kisses you once, twice, and is about to go in for a third when a voice from upstairs interrupts him.

“Dad?” Sarah calls. Joel steps back from you, leaning past the kitchen doorway to yell back a, “Yeah?”

“Snowball won’t stop talking,” she replies. Footsteps sound on the stairs and Joel breaks away from you as Sarah enters the kitchen, Furby in hand.

“Take the batteries out,” Joel suggests.

“I did.”

She turns the toy over, showing the empty battery compartment. Joel rubs the back of his neck as he thinks.

“Tell you what,” he says, holding his hands out for the toy, “Why don’t we stick it in the hall closet for the night?”

“Won’t he be scared?”

“It’s…it’s a toy, baby.” You stifle a laugh as he shoves the talking Furby beneath some towels in the linen closet and shuts the door. “There, now you can both get some sleep. You can play with Snowball again in the mornin’.”

Sarah yawns, nodding. Joel kisses her head before urging her back to bed. When he returns, his shoulders shake with silent laughter.

“What a weird toy,” you tell him, eyeing the closet suspiciously.

“Yeah, but it’s what got us here,” he says, pulling you into his arms once more.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel tlou #no use of y/n #joel x reader #no smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel fic #joel the last of us #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character

[ughgoaway]

White Christmas

Content warnings; blowjobs, face fucking, facials/cumming on face, degrading, dumbification, swearing, bad writing and cumplay.

a/n; hey y’all… apparently we are feeling horny this Christmas, so I decided to write some (mediocre) smut! This was all inspired by @abiiors making a joke about a “white Christmas” so you all have her to blame. This is basically an expansion of the letters O and K from my nsfw alphabet the other day because they were some of my favourite bits!! Anyway, merry Christmas, I hope you enjoy??

p.s; im not sure if this will stay up long, ik I say that most times, but honestly, this time, I really don't know if this will be here long lmaoooo

word count; 2.2k ish (pretty short one today bc i wrote it so last minute lol)

✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿✿❀✿

“We’re off now! See you both in a few hours!” Denise yelled back as she and Annie walked out the front door. Mayhem was pulling at the lead with so much strength that she was sure he could pull her arm out of her socket. 

“Alright, see you both later!” You say waving them off. Denise and Annie had decided to take mayhem for a long Christmas walk around the lake and then planned on popping into the only cafe open on Christmas for a couple of hot chocolates, leaving you and Matty to relax on your own for a few hours.

You come into the front room and perch on the sofa next to Matty as he shoves the remaining wrapping paper in a bin bag. He was in full dad-at-Christmas mode, grabbing the paper off people before they'd even finished opening their presents.

He finally settled back on the sofa with a sigh, looking at you with love-filled eyes and a soft smile on his lips, it was then you decided it was the perfect time to show Matty his final gift.

“Okay, I've got one more present for you handsome” You smirk at Matty and stand from the sofa, hurrying towards your bedroom, brimming with anticipation. 

“Baby, we said only one gift each!” Matty shouts after you. He tries to sound stern, but he can't help the smile that sneaks on his face as he speaks, and it's clear as day in his voice. 

“You’ll like it, I promise” You peek your head around the corner and wink at Matty before scurrying off again, leaving him confused but certainly curious. 

5 minutes later, Matty hears you coming down the stairs and turns his head to see you, but snaps it right back when he hears you shout, “Okay, keep your eyes closed!!” he giggles to himself but follows your instructions, shutting his eyes tight. 

“Okay sweetheart, all closed” Matty yells back. He listens for you coming in and has to fight the urge to open them as soon as he feels your presence. 

Matty is pretty sure he could pick you out of a lineup blindfolded, from the first moment he met you he had memorised how you feel around him. He took note of the lingering jasmine that followed you wherever you went and the feeling of warmth that surrounded you.

“Open,” you say shyly. 

As Matty blinked open his eyes, and immediately his face scrunched in confusion. He was expecting you to be standing in front of him with a box in your arms, but there was no sign of you.

Or he thought there wasn't, until he felt a warm hand on his thigh and flicked his eyes downwards. 

“Fuck.” he grunted, staring down at you in awe. 

You were on your knees between his legs, dressed in only bright red lacy lingerie. Delicate bows sat at the top of the straps, in the centre of your chest, and at the waistband of your panties, with thin straps trailing over your collarbones. The lace was transparent, highlighting your pebbled nipples and weepy cunt. Matty could see the darker maroon lace of your panties and could feel himself salivating at the sight.

His stance widened instinctively, and you slid closer to him, already tracing his thigh with a featherlight touch. Red gloves cover your hands to match, the satin shining from the fairy lights spread around the room.

Also coordinating was your makeup. Matty watched your cherry-red glossy lips part as you palmed over his trousers, moaning obnoxiously at the feeling.

“What do you think, babe?” you ask sweetly, smiling at Matty and fluttering your mascara-coated eyelashes at him. Your hands unzip his trousers and fight to pull them down. Matty lifts his hips thoughtlessly, helping you tug down his slacks. He sits watching you with his jaw dropped, his hands itching to touch you.

But he stayed frozen, not wanting to take over your little surprise just yet.

Your sticky burgundy lips leave marks in your wake as you press kisses to his thigh, the gloss sticking to his leg with each peck. The tip of your tongue teases against his skin, running between the smears of red you left behind. 

With a pout, you sit back, pulling a frustrated groan from deep within Matty’s chest.

That was the final straw for him. You coming out dressed like that, all pretty and ready for him already had him fighting the instinct to throw you on this sofa and fuck you until you're sobbing.

But you teasing him with wet, barely-there kisses? He couldn't fucking cope.

He can't keep his hands to himself anymore, one shooting to your hair and gripping it firmly. The tug on your scalp causes a hiss to escape your scarlet lips, followed by a needy moan.

Matty had recently admitted to you that he had discovered a new kink, dumbificiation. also known as; you playing innocent and stupid as he fucked you ruthlessly and called you a cock-drunk slut. so you decide to play it up for him, indulge him in his fantasy.

“Will you show me how to suck you off? Please, sir, I need some help.” You whimper desperately, pleading eyes staring up at Matty. 

You both know you're lying, but somehow, that makes it even hotter for Matty, and he can feel his boxers tightening further.

“Oh is that right, angel?” Matty says with a chuckle, pulling at your hair harshly and forcing another whimper out of your kiss-bitten lips.

“Well I guess I’ll just have to tell you what to do. can you do that, baby? Listen to my instructions?” Matty looks down at you with faux sympathy, even pouting at you teasingly.

He moves his hand to paw at your chest, twisting a nipple cruelly, awaiting your response. 

Any chance at you forming a coherent sentence was gone as soon as you dropped to your knees. Seeing Matty's eyes go black and his breath beginning to quicken made your mind blank, the only thought left was his name over and over.

Matty's other hand moved to your face, caressing your cheek carefully and watching the pink bloom across them. You settle into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as you do. 

But a harsh slap makes you snap them right back open, the red print of his hand leaving a welt on your face. Tears brim in your eyes, and a needy whimper escapes you, involuntarily clenching your thighs at the feeling. 

“F-fuck” you splutter, already feeling tears fall down your cheek. Matty brings his hand back, and you flinch, sucking in a harsh breath, preparing for the impact. 

But nothing comes. 

Just the warmth of his palm against your flushed cheeks, you quiver at the contact. A sly smile takes over his features before his face settles back into a pout.

“Sorry baby, but you have to keep your eyes on me. How else are you gonna learn, hmm?” Matty teases cruelly, smirking at your fast, needy nods. His mind was spinning at the sight in front of him, his girlfriend so ready and needy for him.

“Oh baby, you can't even speak, huh? Well, if you can't do that, then you are definitely too dumb to understand any instructions, aren't you?” Matty asks, smiling at the pathetic cry that leaves your lips at his questions, embarrassed at the pool that is forming between your legs with each word he utters. 

“That's what I thought baby, let me look after you. I’m gonna fuck your mouth instead, okay? fuck you stupid yeah? Or, more stupid I should say.” He snickers at your face, admiring the hazy look in your eyes. Already slipping into subspace without even really touching him. 

You nod rapidly at him, already eagerly opening your mouth. Matty pulls himself out of his boxers, and you have to fight the ragged groan that threatens to escape you at the sight. 

Hot beads of precum dribble down his shaft, his tip red and angry. You can feel the saliva pooling on your tongue. Matty groans as he grabs his cock and brings it to your lips, but he manages fights the urge to push into your throat for a few more seconds. Determined to torture you a little more.

Matty taunts you by tapping his tip against your bottom lip, smirking at the stings of gloss that come between you, watching the streams of red fall down your chin. A breathless moan from you has Matty grinning before slipping into your greedy throat. 

He grunts at the warm and wet feeling that surrounds him, starting slowly as he ruts into you.

Soon enough, his hips start to snap harshly, increasing in pace as he throws his head back with a wrecked groan. Each plunge into your throat happened faster than the last, and Matty chuckled darkly at the feeling of you drooling around him already.

the sensation drove matty insane. He used to dream of you like this for him, and seeing it in reality was something he would never get used to. all those nights of him fucking his first and whimpering your name were a distant memory as discordant moans left his bitten lips.

“That's it. Fucking take it." demanded Matty, pounding your throat mercilessly. He watches the spit bubble at the corner of your mouth and dribble down your chin onto your chest, wetting your tits as it falls. 

With a hash thrust, Matty forces himself all the way down your throat and holds himself there, gripping the back of your head brutally. He feels you constricting around him, choking on his cock as you fight for air. 

His grip tightens, and he pulls you forward even further, beaming to himself as you cough and sputter around him. You feel drunk from arousal, loving the way Matty is using you like a fuck toy, only considering his own pleasure.

You feel fingers weave in your hair, and he pulls you off harshly, laughing sadistically at the hurried breaths you suck in.

“Not my fault you don't know how to suck me off, if you're too fucking brainless to know what to do then I’ll do what I want.” He forces himself back in your waiting mouth, thrusting frantically and grunting.

Obscene noises fill the air around you, wet and sticky as he fills your throat. But you swallow around him obediently, like you can't get enough of his cock. Drooling around his dick was where you were meant to be, being the submissive slut he always dreamt of.

Matty stares down at you like you were a mirage, what the fuck did he do to get this lucky?

Your lips were stretched and swollen around him, your cheeks hollowed. Each time you hum around Matty he feels his hips stutter, the vibration almost sending him over the edge. 

Streams of black mascara roll down your cheeks, and Matty moves his hand to wipe at them, marvelling at the dark streaks they leave behind. A red ring sat at the base of his dick from your lipstick. His unrelenting force meant all around your mouth was stained red. 

Any lipstick that was on your lips was smudged over the lower half of your face. It matched the hand-shaped mark Matty left on your cheek perfectly. 

He worked at a punishing pace, and with each thrust in your mouth, Matty felt himself teetering on the edge of bliss. But when your hand came up to play with his balls, pulling at them gently and massaging them with your warm hands, Matty was done for. 

“I'm gonna cum. Fuck- can I cum on your pretty face baby? I want to finish off your beautiful makeup.” a garbled yes from you was all the permission Matty needed, pulling out of your mouth and stroking his dick furiously.

You keep your mouth wide open, panting and holding eye contact with Matty, practically begging him to cum. His muscles tense as shockwaves grip his body, stars dancing across his vision.

Hot spurts of white cum fall over your face, painting your cheeks and lips. Streams fill your mouth, and you moan greedily as they do. Streaks of cum fall over your eyelashes, weighing them down as you stare up at Matty hungrily. 

His chest heaves as he looks down at you like an artist stares at their masterpiece, his cum painting your face was akin to looking at the mona lisa for Matty. He threw his head back against the cushions and fought to catch his breath.

Matty's body was limp as you crawled onto his lap, bracketing his hips with thighs and kissing him furiously. Smearing his face with his cum.

He has the fleeting thought that this might be the filthiest blow job he's ever received, smiling into the kiss at the idea.

a slurp fills with air as he sucks on your tongue, tasking the distinctly musky taste that always lingers. You both pull away, panting with Cheshire-cat-like grins on your face.

With a huff, you collapse next to Matty, who is already wiping your face with tissues carefully, staring at you with adoration as he does. 

Balled-up tissues get thrown on the table as you snuggle into Matty's side. He sucks in a shaky breath before speaking.

“Well that was definitely a white Christmas, wasn't it, baby?” he laughs at the groan you let out, burrowing your face into his neck as your cheeks burn.

“Fucking hell. I can't believe I just let you fuck my face, and you say that afterwards." you mumble into his neck, pressing kisses to the collum of his throat.

“Mmm you love me” he teases, pinching at your side playfully.

“You’re lucky I do” you say, pulling back with a smile.

#matty healy smut #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy x reader #matty healy fanfic #the 1975 smut #merry Christmas i guess!!!! #this counts as festive... right... #teacher au! #(kind of but also just general smut lol) #matty healy fic

[lis-likes-fics]

Would You Mind?

Pairings: Blue Jones x Reader Word Count: 7.5k words Kink: Begging Warnings: NSFW, dubcon elements, overstimulation, oral (m!receiving, brief f!receiving), face fucking, fingering, begging kink, praise kink, degradation kink, name calling, insinuated prostitution, dom/sub elements, dirty talk, spanking (briefly), very brief breeding kink (blink and you'll miss it), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dacryphilia... A/N: I've been trying to write a Blue fic for a while so this was fun. The song featured in this fic is Would You Mind by Janet Jackson. I hope you enjoy and thank you so much! Merry Christmas!

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?”

Blue stares at the stage with a hard look etched into the features of his face. He flexes his hands at his sides, stuffing them in his pockets as he watches. The oiled up bodies of his girls twirl and grind against one another, a frivolous act put together by Madam Gorski, full of glitz and glam and leather and lace.

The fabric, the darkest blue and shiniest silver sticking to your body, is tight. Blue is sure it'll leave imprints in your skin, the lacey patterns of feathers and flowers in your stockings, the waistband of your tiny, tiny skirt, the lines of your tiny brassiere. You dance in too high heels like it's nothing, and he wants to take you in his hands and crush you with the weight of his desire for you.

“You're making me quiver and, baby, would you mind undressing me?”

You look right at him when you sing that, your melodies standing out against the harmonies of your backups currently surrounding you in their crouched levels. The feathers of your headdress fall over some of your face, huge and fluffy and adding to the seduction of your smooth, addictive voice. Your eyes flick away from him, as though you never even saw him.

His eyes never tear away from you. He's drunk on your song, as he always is when you open your pretty little mouth and become his own personal little songbird.

He watches intently as the girls pick you and hold you over their heads, turning you in a circle as though you were flying. They support you through your steady, hypnotic vocalizations, like you're sounding a mating call in an attempt to have every man in the theatre flock to you like vultures circling their prey.

They set you down as a few men enter the stage, some taking partners as a couple of them come to your sides. Their bodies flush against yours, standing firmly there as you lean against one and caress a hand down his chest, his hands coming to touch you as the other does the same.

Blue feels his heart battering against his ribs, the anger building inside of you at the way the men touched you. He watches your eyes flutter as your breath hitches and you continue to sing.

“I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you…”

Your hooded eyes meet him again, and he knows that you know what you're doing.

You sink to your knees, your back against one of the men as he watches you descend. You turn, placing your free hand on his thigh and making your way back up as you tuck your nose underneath his chin. His hand smooths along your side until he's dipping down to grab your thigh. He hosts you up and maneuvers you like you've practiced a million times before until you are hanging upside down, your legs on his shoulders and the back of your head resting against his lower stomach.

And you're so skilled, your voice is level and controlled as you continue.

“I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you feel you, make you cum too.”

The man's lips caress the inside of your leg carefully, the other man coming up too close so you're trapped between them. He dips down to hold you under your shoulders, slowly bringing you back up so you're balanced on the other man's shoulders with your crotch in his face as his strong arms hold you up.

Blue watches your fingers intertwine with his hair and clenches his jaw so tight, he feels like he may pop a vein. You move your hips in a rhythmic grind, though you never make contact with the man's face. It's all an act, Blue knows, but the thought of it alone makes his blood boil.

“Baby, would you mind kissing me all over my body?”

Blue is interrupted from his thoughts when someone's hand claps him on the back. He turns around, readjusting his posture.

“P, sweetheart, how've you been?” a man says jovially, a cigar between his thick fingers.

“Pleasant,” he corrects quickly. “I've been fine, Mr. Benny. How about yourself?” He fights the urge to clench his jaw. Benny comes at least once every week to get a look at the songbird. Every week he asks for a night with her, and every week he is denied. Blue really isn't in the mood to argue over the specifics of her ownership with this man, and he feels like heads might roll if he's forced to endure a moment of it tonight.

“Listen, I've been great,” he chuckles heartily. “I just came by to check up on you, see how you're doing.” He massages Blue's shoulder as he speaks, trying to coerce him as he does routinely. “See if your mind’s changed at all, because the price has.”

He sighs internally. “Has it now?”

“It has,” he hummed.

Blue’s irritation is getting the best of him. He's missing his favorite show.

“Look, Mr. Benny. If we could talk after this act, I would love i–”

“I'll give you 15 thousand for her.”

Blue almost chokes—and not just because you're on your knees again singing into one of your partners’ crotches about sucking and tasting him.

The price has tripled since last time. Fifteen thousand dollars, just for a night with you? You are certainly worth it, Blue would have to admit, but, Christ, was it a big jump.

“Fifteen thousand? One-five?” he clarifies, turning his body to face one of his clients.

“One-five. If that's still not enough, I'll give you 20. Call it a Christmas gift.” Blue nearly chokes again. “Just one night, Pleasant, that's all I'm asking.” Benny sighed, letting go of Blue in favor of snapping his fingers to get one of his bodyguards at his side with a suitcase. “I know she's exclusive to a very special client but you can't put her up on stage like that and expect the dogs to heel.”

God, the urge to say yes was stronger than anything he could ever imagine. Twenty thousand is a lot of fucking money. The things he could do with twenty thousand dollars…

His eyes looked back onstage, and your gazes met in the middle of you laying on the floor in between a man's legs, your back arched off the polished wood as your lips formed your wishes and desires for his body. At least, he assumes it's for his body. You belong to no one else.

Twenty thousand dollars was a lot of fucking money…

“Mr. Benny,” he begins, turning to face him again as he clasps his hands. Rubbing them together, he signals one of his own guards and smiles nicely. “It's a pleasure doing business with you. My friend here will help you work out the details of this negotiation.”

Benny smiles, a big smile that flashed one of his gold teeth. He claps Blue on the back, a hearty laugh coming out of him as he takes the briefcase in his hand. “Oh, Mr. P, I'm so glad you could come around!”

Blue smiles back and conceals his annoyance at the stupid nickname Benny had insisted on calling him, nodding at his guard and watching them both leave, a hand on Benny's wide back with the other braced over the gun hidden in the guard’s coat. Blue turns back to the stage, where both men are touching you too closely, knelt in front of you like your personal servants as you sigh and moan into the microphone. Your head is raised to the ceiling and you brace yourself on their shoulders as they touch you on either side of your body, closing you in and feeling you all over.

“Oh, yeah, baby, ooh. Just like that, ooh yeah.”

You belong to him.

~

You push open the door to one of the many bedrooms lining the Pleasure Hall, flicking on the light, which casts a golden glow over the room. Shutting the door behind you, you quickly shed the top layer of your performance clothes from your skin and fold them nicely on one of two chairs.

You’d worn a special pair of lingerie tonight. You’d just had them bought special with your allowance money from Blue, and you were more than excited to show him the spoils of his good nature toward you. Still waiting, you situate yourself in front of the golden pole on its little platform, leaning your back against it with your arms crossed over your head and your fingers gingerly stroking the metal rod.

As if on cue, the door opens to reveal your wonderful sponsor.

“There’s my favorite girl,” he smiles, closing the door behind him. “How are you, Birdy?”

You smile wide, shrugging a shoulder and keeping position. “I’m doing good. Enjoy the show?”

Blue wipes a hand down his face, remembering briefly the show you put on tonight and the offer that was presented to him for you, along with the hefty donation he suddenly received in support of Lennox by an…anonymous donor.

“Your show…was fantastic. So good, in fact,” he sits back in the other chair, crossing his legs as spreading his arms over the back, “I would like my private show.”

You smile, “Whenever you’re ready then, Mr. Blue.”

You and Blue had a routine.

Ever since you joined Lennox, Blue has taken a special interest in you. Every girl he owns has a special little talent he uses to seduce men out of their money to put in his pocket. When you came to him—or, rather, when you were given to him in the hopes of putting you to good use—he was quick to discover your gift of song. He’d put you on stage for the first time, and it was the biggest kick in his business he’d gotten in years.

But Blue is selfish, and he wants you all to himself.

So after your shows, you come here, in what has now become Blue’s reserved room, and perform it once more for him and only him. He loves to hear you sing to him, to seduce him with your smooth voice and then remind you who you belong to. It fills him with such light to know he has you in his pocket whenever he wants you.

The music begins to play through the room’s speaker, and your eyes close as you feel it, swaying gently as you sink into your routine.

“Baby, would you mind touching me ever so slowly?” you whisper, letting the music fill in the spots where your stage partners no longer existed.

Blue watches you, a primal look glittering in his eyes as he grip the arms of the chair so hard, he wouldn’t be surprised if he’d left imprints in the fabric.

“Cause I'm gonna bathe you, play with you, rub you, caress you.”

You come up to him, placing your hands on his thighs and leaning into his face, your lips inches from his. “I just wanna touch you, tease you, lick you, please you, love you, hold you, make love to you.” You sink to your knees in front of him, stroking your hands along his thighs and whispering dangerously close to the bulge in his pants as he watches you, enchanted by your voice. “And I'm gonna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you deep inside me, boo.”

“Oh, Birdy,” he rasps under his breath, his hands moving to cover yours as you stand once again, your ass in the air and your lips hovering over his own.

When you turn and make your way back to your pole, he has to catch his breath again as you sway your hips to the rhythm of the music.

The things you do to the pole could make him cry. He needs you so badly, he needs your little body to rub against his. You manage to hoist yourself up on the pole as you’d done with the boys on stage, supporting your weight upside down as your legs wrap around the top end of it. “Baby, would you mind tasting me? It's making me all juicy, feeling your lips on mine.”

Blue is so hard in his pants, he thinks he might burst just looking at you. You grind on the pole, and he knows he saw you make contact when your eyes flutter and your voice wavers just a bit, blending with the moaning lyrics of your song.

You keep teasing him, giving the pole everything he’s wanting from you, telling him everything you want to do to him but keeping your hands off of him all the while.

Blue raises his hand and curls his fingers to get you to step closer. And you do, making your way toward him too slowly to wrap your hands around his thighs once more. You lean forward and whisper in his ear, “I just wanna kiss you, suck you, taste you, ride you, feel you, make you cum too.”

A shudder runs down his spine as he pulls you back to look at you, a hand hooking around your inner thigh as your breath hitches a little. The music begins to go wherever it wants as you divulge into the ending, breathy moans and whispers and pleas for him to keep going when all he’s doing is putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it.

“Just like that, ooh yeah,” you breathe. “Shit, oh, oh, my, yes, oh, oh.”

Your face contorts with an imagined pleasure, your O-shaped lips and clenched shut eyes illustrating how you would look if he gave in to the song already. You’ll give him this—he lasted a lot longer than you thought he would.

The music finishes off, and you’re still unsatisfied. Blue’s face lingers away from yours, watching the pleasure in your face sink away as you look at him. His knuckle strokes your jaw, dipping behind your ear and easing down the side of your neck before hooking underneath the strap of your lacey bra.

“This is new,” he rasps.

You nod. “Mhm,” your voice is breathy. “Bought it just a couple days ago. Do you like it?”

He moves you to stand to your full height, towering over him in his seated position as he keeps his hands at your waist and turns you around to get the full view. It’s blue, all lace and no support, hiding nothing from him so he can see what you’re working with. The color is perfect with your skin, and the size is one too small so that it hugs tight to every inch it “covers”.

“I love it, babygirl,” he says, losing breath.

You preen under the brief praise, turning around again. “I’m glad.”

He pulls you close, digging his nose into your hip to smell you. His eyes close as he holds you still. “Mr. Benny came to visit you again.”

You frown. “I don’t like Mr. Benny. He’s pushy, and he smells like gas.”

“I know you don’t, baby bird,” he sighs, looking up at you again as you set your hands on his shoulders. “But I have a little gift for you.”

“What is it?” you ask, your eyes glittering at the prospect of a gift.

“Mr. Benny won’t be coming around anymore,” he smiles. “And he left us alone with a nice, big donation.”

You bite your lip, hiding your tiny grin. Good. You hate that scumbag. Whenever he managed to get close, he’d grab your arm or your thigh and touch you however he could. He was sticky and smelled like gasoline and was too warm.

“What’d you do to him?” you wonder briefly.

His thumbs rub circles into your sides. “Don’t you worry about that, little bird. He’s gone, I’m raising your allowance, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile wide. “Okay, Blue.”

“Now, what does my Birdy want tonight?” he asks.

You pretend to think, conjuring your song in your mind as you bent down to his lips. “I just wanna…touch you, and tease you, and lick you, and please you, and love you, and hold you, and make love to you.”

“Is that all?” he chuckles. “What else?”

“I wanna,” your voice is softer, breathier as you whisper in his ear and let your noses bump one another as you speak, “kiss you, and suck you, and taste you, and ride you, feel you…make you cum too.”

He shudders. “Yeah?” You nod, humming in his ear. He opens his fluttering eyes to look at you, his smile going sour as a new look takes his face. Primal and dangerous and the same look he gave you when you were on stage, rubbing your body against those boys while you looked directly into his eyes. “You’re gonna have to beg for that, baby bird.”

“Please?” you mutter. “Please, can I have it?”

He shakes his head, holding your elbows in his hands and caressing the length of your arms. “No… No, you can do better than that, can’t you? Beg me.”

You step closer between his legs. “Please, Blue, can I kiss you?”

He shakes his head. Letting go of you, he sighs. “You know, I don’t think you’re really wanting me, are you?”

You nearly whimper, sinking to your knees quickly as you kneel between his thighs, your hands on his knees as you set your cheek against the inside of his leg and look up at him.

“Please, Blue, please can you kiss me? I want you so bad, please.”

He considers for a moment, but he’s weak when you’re kneeling all pretty between his legs. He takes your chin in his hand and pulls you forward until his lips can crash against yours in a bruising kiss. You immediately sink into it, humming against his lips and becoming putty in his hands as you kiss him back.

Your hands find the buckle of his belt, and he stops you. “No, no, no. You gotta beg for that, too, baby. You gotta ask for the things you want. Isn’t that right?” he teases, though he’s completely serious as he stares you down.

“Please, Blue–”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he interrupts. “I let it slip the first time, but you’ve gotta do it properly.”

“Please, sir,” you correct immediately. “Please, can I suck your cock? Please?” You sound like you’ll cry. You’re probably aching with need right now, he can smell it off you…

“Well, how are you going to suck my cock if my cock is in my pants?” He casts you a dark grin, leaning back and shrugging his shoulders. “I think you skipped a few steps, Birdy.”

“Can I please take off your belt?” you ask, the frustration reaching your eyes.

He smiles slyly. “Yes, you may.”

You do, forcing open the buckle and ripping the belt from its loops to be rid of it. The heady scent of his cologne is sinking into your senses and driving you crazy. “Please, sir,” you whisper. “Please can I pull your cock out?”

“Go ahead, baby,” he relents, watching you with hooded eyes as your hand disappears into his underwear and comes back with his cock in your hand. He almost moans at the sight, his hard erection leaking precum already in the grasp of your little hand. Your thumb begins to stroke the length of him and his hips jerk slightly as he reprimands you.

“Have—fuck.” He takes a moment. “Have you asked for that yet?”

It takes everything in your power not to groan and roll your eyes at his insistence. “Sorry, sir,” you whisper. “Can I suck your cock now?”

“Please?” “Please?”

“Please who?”

“Please, sir.”

“Now put it all together.”

You’re going to lose it, and he can tell. He loves teasing you like this, he loves how impatient you get and how much more impatient he can make you still. The gentle squeeze of his cock drives him insane as he fights not to let it show.

“Please, sir, can I please suck your cock? I wanna make you cum so bad. I wanna be your good girl. Please?” you whimper. His head spins at your little rant, imagining every little detail your pretty lips wrapped around his cock.

God, the things you do to this man.

“Well, since you want it so bad,” he sighs. “Go on, baby bird. Get what you want.”

You immediately begin stroking his cock, encouraging the precum pooling at his tip as you lean forward on your knees and take the head of his cock between your lips, swirling your tongue over the slit and licking up the pearly white drops gathered there. His muscles tense at the feeling of your warm mouth on him.

His hands grasp either side of your head, tangling in your hair as one adjusts itself around the back. You tease his tip, licking and suckling and driving him as insane as he’d driven you.

“Good girl,” he moans, relishing the dip of your head halfway down his length. You grip his thighs and stroke them slowly as you wrap your hands around his hips.

“Look up at me, baby, look,” he says, shifting his hand in your hair to lift your head. You stay where you are, turning your eyes up at him as you suckle around his tip. His breath shudders.

His cock slowly fills your mouth as you take him farther down, taking your time to ease him into your throat. Your nose brushes his pelvis, and he chokes when he looks down at you through lidded eyes.

Your eyes prick with tears, clouding your vision. When you go to hum around his girth, you gag a little. The constriction pulls a grunt from his throat, and he opens his eyes once again to look at you with a devious grin.

“Good girl,” he huffs again. He draws out the word just as he draws your head back a little to pull himself out of your throat. You whimper lightly, a high-pitched and breathy sound that makes him bite his lip.

His hand flattens on your head as he cards his fingers through your hair. When he grips it, pulling on the hair at the base of your skull, you feel like you'll go limp as your mouth falls open a little more.

You breathe a moan and flatten your tongue along the underside of him. Humming again, you wrap your lips around him and start to bob your head again. He guides you, tightening his grip in an attempt to get control of himself.

You listen to him, to his grunts, the way he moans like he's going to blow any second. One of your hands shifts from his thigh, cupping his heavy balls in your palm and sighing at the precum spilling over your tongue.

“Oh, fuck, Birdy,” he huffs, his hips jerking up into you as he teeters on the edge. Just as you feel him getting ready to unload, he pulls you away and leans his head back.

You sigh and catch your breath, your tongue hanging out from your mouth as the tears welling in your eyes spill down your cheeks. Your jaw aches as you move it around to massage.

Blue huffs as he looks at you and your tear-stained face. He smiles a little. “You look so pretty like that, baby bird.”

“Thank you, sir,” you smile slightly.

He lightly smacks your cheek, and you move to stand. You turn toward the bed, crawling on top of it to stand on your hands and knees, waiting for him.

Blue comes up behind you, his hand smacking your side again and pulling you back by your leg. You turn to look at him, but he just picks you up and puts you back on the floor. You look up at him, obediently awaiting his next move until he's shucking off the rest of his pants and underwear and moving to be rid of his shirt as well.

You watch him undo each button as he stares at you with his dark eyes, burning into you with a glaring dominance. “Get on your knees.”

You do, shifting your legs underneath you and rubbing your palms into your thighs. When he's naked, he steps forward.

“Beg me,” he says.

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “What do you want me to beg you for, sir?”

He shakes his head, “Just do it. I wanna hear you beg for me.”

He towers over you, looking down his nose at you as his hard cock stands stiff in your face. You bite your lip, “Please do what you want with me, sir. I want to feel you, wanna be yours.” His face doesn't shift, unconvinced. “Please, sir, please use me. Wanna be your good girl, please.”

It feels out of place, begging him for something without knowing what it is, but you obey. When he's standing over you like this, intimidating you with his height alone, you can do nothing but obey and hope he's kind enough to give you what you want.

He sighs, “Such a sweet girl.” He sets a hand on your cheek, the other moving to your neck as he takes another step closer. “Open your mouth.”

You do, and he lines his cock with your lips before slipping himself back into the warmth of them. His cock hits the back of your throat, and it makes you gag again when he does it again. His grip on the side of your neck tightens, and he's almost guiding you again as he slowly fucks into your mouth, his eyes focused on you and his lips parted at the sight of you so undone.

More tears begin their descent down your cheeks, your mascara running as it does. Your lipstick has begun to smudge, red lining the base of his cock and smearing over the corners of your lips.

He shudders. “The things this mouth can do is magical. It's fucking perfect, baby.”

After a rough thrust into your mouth, your hands find his hips as you pull him back a little. You gasp, catching your breath as a cough rattles your chest. He only gives you a moment to adjust before his cock is in your mouth again.

He listens to you, the sound of your hums in the back of your throat being interrupted by the tip of his cock rubbing against it. He curses under his breath, holding you by your head and keeping you still as he continues to rock his hips into your mouth.

It's when you can't breathe once more that you tap your hand against his side quickly, pushing him back when he doesn't listen. You gasp, coughing again and keeping your hand at his waist to keep him back. You wipe at your eyes to clear them, looking at him once you've calmed and watching him stare at you like a predator would a hunk of meat.

“Sorry, sir,” you mutter, stroking your hands on his thighs again to appease him. He just smiles, running a hand through your hair.

“That's okay, Birdy,” he says. “Get on the bed.”

You stand on trembling legs, crawling back onto the bed for the second time on your hands and knees. Once you're comfortable, you lean forward to press your face against the plush, red pillows on the bed.

He sighs appreciatively, fingering the waistband of your lingerie. He unhooks them from your stockings and pulls them down your thighs, revealing your sticky, wet pussy. With a hum, he rips them up to toss the fabric away. Your breath hitches.

Blue stares at your pussy, watches you clench around nothing, watching your arousal seep from your folds. He rubs his thumb through your slit, coating it in your slick as your hips jerk in response. He licks his thumb, closing his eyes and humming at the taste of you.

His hands grope your ass, smacking you a couple times. You feel the bed dip behind you, and moan when you feel his hot mouth against your cunt. His tongue flattens against your dripping folds, collecting your arousal on his tongue as he hums roughly against you. His tongue digs insistently between your folds, and you feel him suckle around your clit.

“Blue,” you sigh. “Oh, please don't stop.”

He grunts into you like a crazed beast, groping your flesh and eating you up. When he pulls away from you, you whimper and feel your body tensing uncomfortably.

He shoves two thick fingers inside of you, pressing them as far as they'll go and stroking them roughly. You bite your lip to stifle your moans, fisting the sheets as you struggle to keep still.

“Fuck, you're still so tight,” Blue sighs. “You'd think I'd break you in by now.”

You wiggle your hips slightly, not entirely of your own volition as the thought of his cock inside of you excites your rushing blood. “Please,” you begin again, almost sounding whiny with how needy you are.

“Please what?” he asks. “What do you want, huh? You want me to fuck this little hole, Birdy? Is that what you want?”

You nod quickly. “Yes, sir, please! Want you to fuck me so bad, Blue, please.”

His hands massage your hips, “You want me to use you?”

“Yes!”

“You want me to ruin you?”

“Yes, sir!”

Without warning, he shoves his cock inside of you, thrusting all the way in with one slap of his hips. You moan out, gripping the sheet tight as you feel the glorious stretch of his girth.

He bends down over you, hooking an arm around your neck and pulling you up to support yourself on your hands. He pushes his fingers past your parted lips, making you suck your arousal off his fingers as he pushes your tongue down to the bottom of your mouth.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Love this tight little pussy.” He grips your waist, pulling out of you just to smack his hips into you once again. You let out a loud, breathy moan as he does. Feeding off your validation, his pace picks up as he begins thrusting into you at a punishing force.

You clench around him, your weak arms shaking as you try to keep yourself up. “Ah, please don't stop.” Your voice is teetering on the edge of a sob as he continues to fuck you like he's been starved of you for years. “Fuck, Blue, yes!”

“Yeah?” he grunts. “You like when I fuck you like this? Nice and rough?” His voice is low and gravely, depraved. “Does this little whore cunt like being fucked?”

You nod, letting your head fall forward. “Yes, sir!”

“I know it does.” A rough thrust comes with a low growl from him. “My cock hungry little slut needed this, didn't she?”

You nod again, clenching the sheets until your fingers start to tingle. The slap of skin on skin is loud and sharp, a rhythmic beat of slk! slk! slk! as you soak his cock in your arousal.

He pulls out of you suddenly. You whimper at the loss of his thick length, but you're interrupted when he shoves you onto your side. He lifts your leg, spreading you out as he sets it over his shoulder. His tip presses between your folds and he's thrusting again, bottoming out as the whole of him is sheathed in your warmth.

Your reaction is immediately, high-pitched moans worthy of a professional porn actress and clenching walls that squeeze his cock and make him twitch. “Fuck, look at you,” he huffs as he fucks into you. “Greedy little slut takin’ my cock. You my greedy whore? Hm?”

“Mhmm,” you moan, turning your head into the bed to stifle your moan.

“Nah-ah, talk to me, baby. Lemme hear it. You're my little fucktoy, aren't you?” He pulls your body closer to the edge of the bed, grunting.

“Yes, sir,” you huff. “‘M your little fucktoy. All yours!”

“Good girl,” he urges, shifting your legs again to close them to thrust into a tighter pussy. He curses again, you can feel each little movement of his cock inside of you and you whine as he thrusts into you, a steady in-and-out rhythm that drags along your walls and makes you light-headed.

“Fuck, sir, please. More, I need more,” you moan, giving him what he wants. His thrusts become rougher still, relishing in the delicious feeling of your pussy so tight around him. “Please can I come?” you cry. “Please, I needa cum, Blue. Please, please, please.”

He scoffs. “I don’t care, baby bird. Cum for me.”

Your finger finds your clit now that you have the permission to touch yourself in your hands. You rub tight, fast circles, ignoring the ache in your arm that quickly builds at the exertion. Your cunt tightens more and more around his pistoning cock as you get closer and closer to your own sweet release. The pleasure is so intoxicating, it melts your brain as you succumb to the pleasure.

He can feel you beginning to quiver, steeling his jaw as you do. “You gonna cum for me, Birdy?” he grunts. “I know you are. I’ve got you whining and moaning like a little bitch. Listen to yourself, so fucking pathetic.”

His words make you rub faster at your clit, building the pleasure as you balance on the edge, ready to jump off. “You wanna cum, baby? Do it. Do it for me. Cum for me, little bird.”

The coil in your belly snaps as you go flying off the edge, your release crashing down around you like a mighty wave. You cry out, moaning loudly, whining like a little bitch. “Ah—Blue! Fuck, yes, yes, yes! Fuck, I’m cumming.”

He fucks you through it, his pace quickening and his cock twitching as you clench around him, gripping like a vice. His breaths are growing louder, his control slipping piece by piece.

As you come down from your high, the sensitivity kicks in and the tingling of your release turns into a dull burn. Your clench for a different reason, reaching toward his abdomen to push him back, to no avail.

“Blue, sir,” you mumble, stuttering slightly. “Fuck, slow down.” He doesn’t listen. “Blue, please, slow down. I—Ah—I need a second.”

He keeps thrusting away inside of you, his hips not stopping for a moment as he continues to use your little hole like you’d begged him to moments before. “Blue–”

“Shh, just shut up,” he breathes, impatient. “Shut up and take it, little bird. I know you can do it. You were made for this, yeah?”

You try again. “Bl–”

He pulls out of you quickly, spreading your legs wide and turning you on your back just so he can shove his cock back into your sensitive cunt. When you whine, he slaps a hand over your mouth to silence you. His face, inches from yours, is marked with lust and impatience and something far more primal as he stares at you. “Shh,” he eases, his punishing pace immediately as he ruts into you, an unsentimental beast. “The only thing I wanna hear coming out of you are those little moans when I fuck you dumb, you understand me?”

You can’t answer, he’s got his hand clasped tight over your lips. His cock keeps pounding into you, his other hand gripping your thigh so tight, his dull nails dig into your flesh and leave little crescent marks. He’s usually not this insistent.

It takes a moment, but the sensitivity washes away into another wave of arousal as his hips keep slamming into you. You wade into the pleasure, letting it take you as you moan against his palm. He removes his hand, clasping it over your throat instead just to hold you as he thrusts. “Such a good girl, listening to me, moaning for more. You wanted it bad, didn’t you? That’s why you were on stage letting all those boys touch you like that, grinding on them like the little whore you are, huh?”

You nod, “Yes, sir.”

“You just wanted a nice fuck,” he scoffs. “You can come as much as you want, Birdy.” He punctuates his words with a finger to your clit, and your hips jerk at the feeling, not yet recovering from the sensitivity there. You try to wiggle your hips away, but he doesn’t let you as he starts with a cruel pace, playing with your clit like making you cum is a punishment.

Your moans are loud as he pleasures you, for better or worse. You clench his cock and moan his name and beg him for nothing in particular. “Blue, please. Fuck, please.”

He answers you by making his thrusts just a little harder, almost bruising with the way he slams his hips against yours. You’re light-headed as the pleasure rattles in your skull, in your bones. You feel tears pricking at your eyes as the pleasure builds, a blinding pleasure that warns another release. When you cum a second time, it’s with a whining sigh as the sensitivity carries on through his continued assault on your clit.

You’re out of breath, your voice barely above a whisper as you try to convince him. “Slow down. Ahh, fuck, Blue, please.” But he’s not convinced—or he doesn’t care. He keeps fucking you like he’ll never touch you again.

His thrusts start to become sloppy, and you know he’ll cum soon. The faster he does, the faster you get a moment to recover from your consecutive orgasms and let your body rest. You clench around him, grinding your hips to meet his thrusts as you coax him closer to his own release.

Blue’s cock twitches and he groans. Just as you’re expecting him to cum inside of you, he pulls out with a heavy sigh. He grips the base of his cock, staving off his release. He leans over you again and kisses you roughly, a hand wrapping around the back of your neck to pull you up enough to sit. You close your legs, but he forces them open once more as he continues to kiss you.

His hand massages the inside of your thigh, and when his hand finds your clit again, your legs jerk. He keeps them open. You gasp when his hand rubs at your clit, fast and rough and making your head spin with how wonderful and how aching it feels. Your hips jerk up to meet his hand, but you also try to move away from him as your still-fresh release hangs over your head.

With the way he touches you, you’ll come again in no time, regardless of how fast it was. “Blue, please, ‘s too much. I can’t.” He just shushes you, rubbing a little faster.

You cry out when he pulls another orgasm from you, a sharp, aching one that fills you with so much ecstasy for a few seconds and quickly falls back into a stinging pain. And just as you suspected, he doesn’t let up.

The tears fall down your cheeks, the pleasure and the pain mixing together too much for you to handle. He smiles at the sight of it, watching it roll down your face with a terrible grin. “So fucking beautiful when you cry for me.”

“Blue–”

“Shh…” His brutal pace on your clit continues on for as long as it needs to in order to bring another release from you. You cry when he does, a mix of a moan and a sob as your body trembles.

He finally steps away from you, giving you a moment to breathe as you lay slack on the bed with shuddering thighs. But he only gives you a moment.

Blue takes you in his arms and rolls you over onto your stomach. You gasp lightly, collecting your thoughts as he lifts your hips up to present you again. You whine insistently when he hooks his thumb inside of you, and you shudder when his cock follows.

“Ah, Blue!” His hands find your waist and use them to guide you on his cock, building his pace once again. You grip the bedsheets and mewl under him, your body arching into the bed when he pushes you down roughly.

He fucks you from behind hard and rough, punishing you for an unknown crime as your sensitive pussy flutters around him. It aches with a dull pain and with a mind-numbing pleasure. You’re conflicted by all the sensations, but the sense is slowly slipping away as he does what he said he was going to do: fuck you dumb.

You can’t think straight, not with the way his cock pistons inside of you. Your moans and sighs huff out of you as they wish, your pussy quivers with each rough thrust, your legs tremble as the slap of his hips make it harder to hold yourself up.

“You like this, baby? You’ve been fucking needing it.” A harsher thrust has you crying out. “Take my fucking cock like the fucking whore you are. Fuck, take it, Birdy. Just like that. Good girl. Good girl.”

The praise and the degradation mixes in your mind. You can do nothing but moan, doing as he says and taking what he gives you as you whine and moan. With the pleasure so hot in your body, the pain has numbed and left a tingly feeling that resides in your fingers, in your toes, in the tip of your tongue.

“Mmm, f-fuck, sir,” you mumble incoherently. “S’good. Feels so good.”

“Yeah? You like being fucked like this,” he says, grunting as he feels himself reaching his own limit.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Yes, Blue.”

“You’re out of your little mind.” He punctuates his sentence with a harsh thrust. His hand snakes around your waist to play with your abused clit again. You mewl and wiggle your hips and do nothing more. He builds you up quickly, and you shudder as your release nears again. You don’t know how many times you’ve come.

“Fuck, Birdy, I’m gonna cum inside this perfect little pussy.” You moan at his words. “You want that? You want me to fuck my cum into your belly? Make you nice and round, perfect fucking belly for a baby.” His hips are getting sloppy, his measured thrusts not as rhythmic and his thrusts more shallow as he grinds inside you. A rough groan scratches his throat as he pushes in deeper and grips you harder. “You’re gonna make me cum, baby. Ah, fuck!”

He spills inside of you, hot and molten and filling you up to the brim as he shoves his cock as far as he’ll go. You shudder, a sobbing moan rising from your sore throat as you reach your own release, fluttering around him and encouraging him.

“Fucking take it,” he grunts, his voice low and gravely. “Take my—mmm—fucking cum like a—hah—a good girl.” Shallow, rough thrusts fuck his cum deep inside of you, and you whine at the sore pleasure it brings.

Blue’s breaths ease very slowly, the pleasure fading off until he can catch his breath and clear his mind. He stays sheathed inside of you, relishing in the warmth of your cunt for a little longer. He bends down, kissing the back of your neck and your cheek. He turns your head so he can reach your mouth, licking your bottom lip as he pulls you into a gentler kiss than the rough ones he’d given before.

When he pulls away, he takes your lip with him before releasing it with a dull slap back against your teeth. His hands push down on your back as he pulls out of you, sighing heavily. “Fuck,” he curses.

He lets you go, and you allow yourself to fall off the bed, your body heavy and limp. He stands, moving you over to lay on your back. He leans over your body, kissing your lips again and gently rubbing his knuckles along your cheek. You manage to look at him, offering what you can of a gentle smile as you try to stay awake, though the fatigue pulls at you.

He runs a hand along your face. “Would you mind singing for me again, little bird?”

Oscar Isaac taglist: @loki-hargreeves @hb8301 @tessarqctt @fanreader @alexxavicry @gublur @katsukis1wife @hatterripper31 @papichulo120627 @anotherblackreader @kmc1989 @the-nerdy-goddess @minigirl87 @woahhajime @notzammm Tag yourself here...

#blue jones #blue jones x reader #blue jones x you #blue jones smut #blue jones x reader smut #blue jones fanfic #blue jones fanfiction #sucker punch #sucker punch fanfic #sucker punch fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #fanfic #fanfiction #10 days of smutmas

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Merry Little Christmas

Druig x Reader

Fandom: MCU

Prompt: @the-sunflower-room “can’t stop thinking about druig and have yourself a merry little christmas- so cozy 😭🙏🏻”

Note: This was actually requested last year, I believe, but I’ve always wanted to write it. I’m sorry it took me so long to get around to it, but I hope you like it! Happy Holidays, everyone <3

Warnings: None! Just cozy Christmas celebrations <3

Word Count: 1.6k words

Reader Is: Gender Neutral!

Druig was never one for holidays. He wasn’t a scrooge, per se, but, as an Eternal, the seasons came and went so quickly. Years were mere blinks to a being who was thousands of years old. However, the look on your face as you put the ornaments on the tree made something stir around his heart, he had to admit.

He was sipping cocoa from a mug with a snowman on it, one from your vast collection. Kingo was in the kitchen, mixing up beverages, which was why he sensed a bit of liquor in the chocolatey beverage. It was still good, obviously, but he definitely blamed that for the rosy hue his cheeks had taken on.

Definitely not the cute little reindeer antlers you were wearing. Definitely not the way your laughter sounded from across the room.

All of the Eternals were there. A rare feat, but with the danger defeated, for now at least, it was cause for celebration, a time to be with family. It was your house you were all celebrating in, a large place tucked away in Northern Michigan, which, at this time of year, was absolutely covered in a thick layer of snow, more and more fluffy flakes coming down as the moments passed.

You spent your time as a writer. One of the most prolific of your time, the reviews said. But then again, you did have a thousand year head start on the rest of them.

Druig would never admit to it, but he had read them. All of them, every single one. He’d borrow them from libraries, read excerpts in bookstores, but Makkari had a collection of them, too. She was your most loyal beta reader. Therefore, when one went missing, she always had a pretty decent suspicion of who the culprit was.

And he wasn’t positive, but he was pretty sure most of your love interests shared a certain resemblance with…well, him. He didn’t like the way it stirred around in his chest, the way it made him feel so warm and…hopeful. But then again, he’d never asked you what you felt.

“(Y/N), where are your Christmas records?” Phastos asked, standing over with his husband, Ben, as they dug through a crate of records.

“Oh! I forgot to bring them down, I think. I’ll go grab them. I needed to get the topper anyway.” You stepped down from your stepladder and handed the ornament in your hand to Sprite, who was sitting on the floor under the tree, shaking gifts. Typical.

Druig watched as you left, eyes glued to you. Which was why he didn’t notice when Sersi had joined him, standing right beside him.

He gasped, mug rattled, but not to the point that he spilled any on his sweater. He cursed and looked over at her. “What?”

“You look rather festive, Druig. I thought you didn’t care for holidays.”

“I thought so too…” He muttered into his mug, taking a long sip.

“Right. Well, I think I saw some mistletoe in that box of decorations. I can put it up if you’d like?” She asked, that glimmer in her eyes that she got when she wanted to meddle.

Druig thought on it, as he heard your footsteps coming back down the stairs. He met her eyes and that was all that was needed. She nodded and set across the room, plucking it out of the box, along with a length of fishing line.

“I found it! The Muppets and John Denver!” You said excitedly, presenting another crate of records, this one all Christmas. “And some other stuff.”

“May I?” Phastos asked.

“Yeah, of course.” You handed them over and walked back over to the tub of ornaments, searching for a very special one. It was a large mug of cocoa with eleven marshmallows in it, each one etched with the name of an Eternal. You smiled softly and tucked it into the branches of your artificial tree, curling the fake pine to support its weight.

“Where did you find one with so many slots?” Druig found himself asking as he crossed the room to stand behind you.

“Had it custom made.” You replied, turning to face him.

“It’s beautiful, (Y/N).” Ajak complimented warmly from her seat by the fire.

“Thanks. Thought we needed something like that.”

“What are these?” Sprite asked, digging through the other box and pulling out a stocking with Thena’s name embroidered on it.

“Stockings.”

“You had those made, too?” Ajak asked, getting up to see for herself.

“Well, I did them. The embroidery, at least.” You admitted with a shrug, motioning to the hooks under the mantle. “We can put them up, if you want.”

Makkari nodded and grabbed the stockings, putting them all in one clean row in a blur of red and green. She stood next to Druig, elbowing him and tilting her head towards his stocking, which she’d put on the end.

Right next to yours.

He nearly choked on his cocoa. So did everyone know, then? Sersi, Makkari, who else? Kingo, no doubt.

“You alright there, Druig? Looking flushed.” Ikaris jabbed, that wicked gleam in his eyes.

Alright, then, yeah, it was everyone. Everyone but you, it seemed.

It was as if a stormcloud manifested above his head. He shook his head and stalked off towards the kitchen. He didn’t know much, but he did know a cookie would make him feel better. Snacks always seemed to. And there was no shortage of them, especially now, when you and Gilgamesh had baked nearly twelve dozen batches of them. Gingerbread, snickerdoodle, sugar cookies shaped like trees, chocolate chip, oatmeal no-bakes.

He reached for a sprinkle-covered tree and bit off the tip of it, the frosting sweet. The oven started beeping and you rushed in, arming yourself with an oven mitt before reaching in for what he assumed must be one of the last trays. Oatmeal raisin, it looked like.

“Do you need any help?” He asked, staring as you straightened up and brushed the hair out of your face.

“Oh! Thank you, Druig. I’m all set, though. Are they good?”

“Are what—” He looked down at the half-eaten tree in his hand. “Oh, yeah. They’re great.”

“Awesome.” You grinned. “New frosting recipe.”

“Well it’s perfect, whatever it is.” He leaned against the counter, that boyish smirk on his face. He wasn’t sure what came over him, then, but he had to get it out. “It’s great, by the way. That new book of yours.”

“You read it?”

“I read all of your books.” He confessed. “I think this one’s your best.”

Your heart raced as you met his eyes. Surely he knew, right? He had to. That you’d been writing about him for centuries. When he’d left all those years ago, hundreds of years ago, he’d taken a piece of your heart with him, a piece you’d only found in fiction, it seemed.

“Thank you. It…it means a lot to hear you say that.”

“Can’t wait for your next one.” He winked, plucking up a second cookie and leaving the kitchen before his tongue got him in any more trouble than it already had.

***

Later in the night, when almost everyone had gone to sleep, you were up, wrapping presents in front of the fireplace, folding the paper neatly, complete with name tags and perfect little bows.

You’d switched records. It was an older one, the Rat Pack.

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…Let your heart be light…

The words were smooth, glided right out of the speaker. Snow was still coming down in droves. It was good you had nowhere to go, otherwise you’d be snowed in. Well, if your family didn’t have every superpower known to man, you would be anyway. You were glad they were there.

You were glad they were home.

“Can’t sleep?” Druig’s voice startled you from your reverie and you turned around, grateful his present was already wrapped and under the tree.

“Not until I get these wrapped.” You told him.

“Christ, you really do go all out, don’t you?” He chuckled, crossing the room and sitting on the floor beside you, yet another cookie in his hand.

“I think I’d lose my mind if I didn’t. Keeps me…in synch. The routine of a year, you know?”

“Mmm.” He hummed, nodding, face alight in the warm oranges of the flames. “I didn’t see it that way until…recently.”

“Until right now?”

“Yeah, something like that.” He chuckled, watching as you carefully wrapped the last one, taping every edge perfectly and putting a tag on top, printing Sprite’s name with a pen. “What’d you get her?”

“You’ll have to find out tomorrow morning.” You told him, shifting to slide it under the tree with the others. “What did you get her?”

“It’s a surprise.” He grinned as you settled in next to him.

“Is it a surprise to you, too?”

He gasped, offended. “I got presents for everyone!”

“I believe you.”

“Sure you do.” He shook his head, laughing softly. “Say, ehm, (Y/N), I’ve been wondering…”

“Mistletoe!” You gasped, staring straight up at the ceiling where, sure enough, a string of mistletoe hung, glittering in the low light. “Who put that up?”

“Well I’ll be…” He breathed, staring up at it, too, heart racing faster than it had in any battle. “What…do you suppose we do about that?”

“I have a few ideas.” You slowly brought your gaze down, meeting his eyes.

He may have been the telepath, but you could tell the only thing on his mind was you as he leaned in, thick eyelashes fluttering shut as his lips met yours, pink and plush and warm. You kissed back, not leaving a single doubt in his mind that you wanted this, wanted him. Your hand rose to his flushed cheek, holding him close as his arm wound around your waist.

The grandfather clock struck midnight, and he pulled away to rest his forehead on yours, noses flush, eyes on you, glimmering with a million words unspoken. He did have a few, though. “Merry Christmas, (Y/N).”

“Merry Christmas, Druig.”

#druig #druig x reader #druig imagine #marvel #barry keoghan #christmas #fluff #eternals #eternals imagine #marvel imagine

[garoujo]

・✶ ｡ﾟ you’ve gotten used to your christmas’ with gojo.

♱ warnings — sfw! family!au [you have a daughter], tiny bit of suggestiveness, a little christmas drabble since it’s the season >_< / note. hewo ! i wanted 2 a little thing 4 christmas since i looove it so i hope u guys enjoy it 4 our beloved gojo < 3

it’s dim in the living room of your home apart from the warm hue of the lights on the tree, and your chest warm as you watch gojo clumsily place his foot around the presents you both have scattered along the floor. his tongue peeking out from between his lips as he concentrates on sliding the presents for your daughter you’re handing him under the tree.

and he looks at you, his hand outstretched to take the next one and he shoots you a more handsome, lazy grin when he realises you were already looking at him.

“oh, didn’t expect santa to be this handsome, sweet thing? don’t worry he’s got somethin’ special f’ you.” gojo whispers, teasing before he’s snorting to himself when you roll your eyes and hand him the next one. but you feel a smile tug at the corners of your lips when his hand lingers over yours a little longer, because this was truly the good part of life.

“hm, our princess ‘s gonna love this.” gojo breathes as he pushes the next present under the tree and you watch him soften before he smiles this time.

his crystalline eyes are shinier when they look at you, and you feel your heart melt because you know he’s always felt a little more than everyone else despite the way he tried to hide it.

he sighs, but it’s a content sort of sound, leaning over to pull you in his arms without actually checking whats at his feet, before he almost slips on wrapping paper that you’d told him to clean up too many times for you to count.

except you both freeze when gojo yelps after, slapping his hand over his mouth with wide eyes as he watches you internally panic at the loud sound—your daughter.

the good part of life, you think again, looks so much like this.

it looks like you and your 190cm husband of five years trying to quietly sprint down the hallway of the house you both made a home, trying to hold in your laughter as gojo drags you along behind him because you don’t want to ruin santa for your kid.

until you’re both scrambling into your bedroom and he’s pulling you against his chest to hide his laugh in the crook of your neck, and your heart blooms when you feel his lips stretch against your skin before he follows it with a purposely, obnoxiously loud kiss.

“merry christmas, sweet thing.” gojo murmurs still a little breathlessly, pulling back with a dopey smile before he nods towards the 12:05am displayed on the digital clock in your room, and you squeeze your arms tighter around him because you feel so loved. “merry christmas, ‘toru.”

and he blinks at you again, the palm of his hand warm when it rests against your cheek and you notice his smile is stretching even wider than before.

“is it too early to unwrap my gift?” gojo teases, raising his brow as he deliberately lets his hands graze underneath your shirt and despite the way he watches you roll your eyes and slap him away, he knows that life truly won’t get any better than this.

moments like this make gojo satoru want to live forever and he’s aware that he’s just leaning against the door of your shared bedroom with his eyes on you just past 12am, before he murmurs a quick i love you.

but with you, he feels like he’s finally made it.

© 2022 garoujo. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

#݁ . ࿓ : sealed #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo fluff #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x you

[xiao-come-home]

Can't stop thinking about Neuvillette not liking christmas at first and you finally warming him up to it & realizing whats important :(

A/N: next day update lmao as soon as i posted it i saw official Christmas fontaine art skull emoji there might be some mistakes bc i was very focused on writing the original idea i had in my mind. i really hope it makes sense in the end bc at this point i kinda fried my brain. merry Christmas!

Christmas time is surely a time that is treasured by many people. For Neuvillette though? A time when people pass him by so many times and greet him so much, that the judge has a hard time keeping track of how many heard him saying them back.

Green, red, blue, orange - the bright colors used to give the poor, young dragon a headache, when he first appeared on this world. The jarring sound of bells rang in his head many hours later, in the dead of night. Furina’s Christmas-loving attitude certainly made it more challenging, as „the Christmas spirit,” like she always called it, had to be present every year.

The young dragon yelped slightly when his hair got tangled in some Christmas ornament; Neuvillette can’t say how much time has passed until he finally got that damned thing out of his long hair. Once stepping past the familiar door of his home, the judge plopped on his bed heavily, letting out a defeated sigh. The moonlight from the tall window kissed his face gently, making him stare at the mountains far, far away.

„Just what is this holiday about?” Little did Neuvillette know, but this question was about to remain unanswered for a very long time.

Years, if not centuries have passed, having now the chief of justice has fully accustomed to the human tradition. He passes shop windows and stalls decorated with colorful Christmas lights, and now they don’t seem that hurtful to his eyes. „It is simply a human tradition,” is what occupied his mind every year during the gift-giving period.

Neuvillette sat by his desk, his orchid eyes concentrated on the paper in front of him; the pen in his hand danced between his index and middle finger.

Christmas lights - check. Ornaments - check. Christmas carols that lady Furina loves singing - check. Christmas gifts - check. Sweet pastries for lady Furina (decorated accordingly to the holiday) - check. Additional clothing provided for the patrolling melusines - check.

For Neuvillette, this is what holidays were for a long time. Nothing changed, nothing appeared new or grew old. And for some reason, despite everything staying the same, gave people the same amount of joy every year.

Neuvillette expected it to go the same way as before. Well, mostly - because now, he’s spending his holidays with you, therefore making the tradition a little bit easier to understand. The smell of the finest Fontaine dishes was the most distinctive for his nose whenever he entered his home, the blinking lights could be seen from the other side of the street. He knew you wanted to decorate the house like you always used to, but this year kept you extraordinarily busy compared to the last one, so Neuvillette offered his help with the matter; your joy was more than convincing, giving the dragon’s heart a lovely squeeze in his chest.

He didn’t know that he owned so many ornaments until that day. He examined various pieces with caution, the way they glittered in different angles, and truly experienced how much of it stayed on his hands later on instead. He more than often paid attention to you rather than decorating, noting to himself that your eyes shine even more vividly than any other plastic sprinkled with glitter. He discovered how much your smile grew even more heavenly whenever you found a good spot for your wooden reindeer.

It would be a lie if Neuvillette said he didn’t enjoy preparing for this year’s upcoming celebration.

Now that he was the one ruling the nation of Fontaine, it was going to be his first Christmas without Furina and Focalors’ active presence.

And the day has finally come.

The fireplace kept crackling gently, hugging you two with comforting warmth. Neuvillette watches you rummage through your gifts, smiling to himself when you gasp blissfully, exclaiming that none of it was necessary, but it’s clear you’re enjoying it more than he ever could... except it's a lie.

Your eyes are absolutely mesmerizing with the shining lights around the room. Green, red, blue, orange - every color accents something else, that he yearns to watch over and over again. The bells that hung on most of his doors ring every time you move, causing his head to turn to the direction the sound came from - it means you’re nearby. Although he got better at avoiding his hair getting tangled in wintery trinkets, nowadays a laugh can be heard, before your hands swiftly take it out and place it on a table nearby. An unwise thought appeared in his mind, to clutter his hair with some other accessories, if it meant to hear you laugh once again. Instead, his hand travelled to one of his gifts - a thematically accurate hair clips - that held his hair nicely and allowed him to come home with fewer unwanted bibelots.

Earlier that day, Neuvillette’s eyes softened at the sight of melusines’ fluffy clothes embracing their tiny bodies. Some of them waved their gloved hands at the Chief of Justice during his walk to provide Furina with her favorite cakes, some of them scolded him for not wearing a scarf, while offering their woolen hats - to which Neuvillette politely declined. He kept thinking of Furina possibly overdoing her sweet tooth - so made a mental note to remind her to eat sensibly and not to open her gifts right after he leaves.

It takes him a while to truly realize in what state he’s in.

He did not need to have any list this year, no - it seemed to come naturally.

And it no longer felt like a chore.

„What’s got you smiling so much, hmm?” Your playful tone is evident in your voice, and the feeling of your elbow nudging his side is present right after. Neuvillette embraces you tightly, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, and lets out a relieving sigh.

„I suppose this is what the holidays are truly about. Merry Christmas, ma chérie.”

As simple as it sounds, the kindness and small things matter more than anything when you have someone’s best interest at heart.

#is this bearable to read?????? does it make sense #please say yes #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #.blurb