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waitimcomingtoo · 6 months

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Lead Me To The Garden

pairing: Peeta Mellark x best friend!reader

Synopsis: Peeta kisses you before going into the Games but then has an onscreen romance with another girl

“Who do you think it’ll be this year?”

Peeta didn’t look up from the dough he was kneading as he thought about your question. Reaping day always brought a lot of anxiety for the two of you and Peeta typically distracted himself by baking. In a similar fashion, you liked to distract yourself by hanging around the bakery and watching Peeta.

“I don’t know. Maybe one of my brothers.” He said finally.

“Don’t even joke. I better never hear “Mellark” out of that crazy sparkly lady’s mouth.”

“I told you, she’s not crazy. That’s just how people dress in the Capital.” Peeta chuckled and held his hand out. You put some flour into his hand and he slapped in onto his dough.

“I don’t care how much money you have. Nobody should dress like that. How does she even sit in those dresses?” You wondered and took a bite of one of the muffins he had made. You hopped up on the counter top and let your legs swing as you watched him put his bread into the oven.

“What would you wear? If you had Capital money?” He asked as he wiped his hands on his apron.

“A yellow sweater.” You said with a sheepish smile.

“What? That’s it?” Peeta chuckled and leaned on the counter that you were sitting on, boxing you between his arms.

“Don’t laugh.” You gasped playfully. “You can dye cloth but not wool. At least not in this district. And you definitely can’t get any color as yellow as the dandelions that grow behind my house. So I would buy a nice, warm, yellow sweater. The kind with the fancy pattern that looks like a braid. It would be the first thing I own that’s pretty. And that’s new. I would be the first person to wear it.”

“If I had any money, I’d buy you one.” Peeta said with a soft smile.

“Really? You wouldn’t spend your money on yeast or milk?” You teased him.

“Baking isn’t my whole life, you know. I like other things too.” He said and leaned in a little. You inhaled his scent and could smell the baked goods he’d been baking all day on his skin. It was mixed with the scent that was just distinctly Peeta, a scent you had grown to associate with home.

“Like what?” You asked as you leaned in as well. Peeta’s eyes dropped to your lips for a second before he reminded himself that best friends weren’t supposed to think about each other that way.

“Stealing food from you.” He said to cover up his fondness and took the muffin from you hand. He held eye contact with you as he took a bite of the muffin which made you laugh and smack his arm.

“You’re really good at it.” You humored him.

“Thank you. I try to be.” He said and hopped up on the counter beside you. He handed the muffin back to you and you mouthed “thank you” before taking another bite.

“So what would you really buy?” You asked once you swallowed.

“I’d buy a house.” He said without having to think about it.

“Really? But you have a house.”

“I know. But I want my own house. With a nice oven and a book shelf for your books for when you come over. And it would be nice and quiet inside. And I’d have a garden so I never had to go to the market if I found a new recipe I wanted to try.” Peeta said as he traced the outline of a carnation on your leg. You slipped your arm through his and ran your fingers up and down it in the way he once told you his mom did when he was a little boy.

“That sounds really nice.” You said quietly. He looked into your eyes and smiled softly.

“You could live there too.” He told you.

“Why? So I could take care of the garden for you?” You teased.

“So we could be together everyday.” He said, making your laughter stop. You didn’t realize he was being serious and felt guilty for making a joke. You rested your head on his shoulder and continued to run your fingernails up and down his arm.

“That would be nice.” You agreed. “We could get a little house by the meadow. We could decorate it the way we wanted, like with your drawings and paintings. And there would never be shouting because we’d always talk to each other with love.”

“I think we’d be really happy there.” Peeta said as he lifted his head off of yours to look at you. You kept your head on his shoulder and stared straight ahead.

“But what if they call my name later?” You said quietly.

“They won’t. There’s dozens of girls in the district. They won’t call you.”

“What if they call you?”

“Theres even more boys in the district. And if they did call me, one of my brothers would probably volunteer.” Peeta shrugged but you could tell he didn’t believe himself.

You sat in silence for a little longer until his bread was ready. He took it out and brought it outside while you grabbed a blanket. You ate out on the grass in comfortably silence as you stared out at the mountains. A horn soon sounded in the air, signaling that it was time to go. You walked to town together and saw girls and boys getting into their respective lines.

“See you after?” You asked him with a nervous smile. Peeta nodded and pulled you into a tight hug. He kissed the side of your head before joining the rest of the boys. You got your finger pricked and joined the girls in a massive group that faced that stage. A younger girl from distract was called first and her sister immediately volunteered to go in for her. Your heart was finally started to calm down when you heard the worst two words you could possibly imagine being said into the microphone.

“Peeta Mellark.” Effie said with a poised smile. You’d never know she was giving s death sentence by the tone in her voice.

You froze as the crowd was swept with shocked murmurs and people looking at you. Your head was stiff as your eyes slowly followed Peeta emerging from the crowd and walking on stage. He was just as catatonic as you were on that stage and kept his eyes low. He shook hands with the girl who had been picked and was led backstage which was when you started screaming. You pushed through the crowd and ran towards the stage but were caught by two Peacekeepers. You thought you were about to be executed but they actually brought into the back to where Peeta had gone. You passed his brothers and parents in the hallway before getting shoved into a room. Peeta was inside with red eyes and a pale face.

“Peeta.” You choked out and threw your arms around him. Peeta hugged you as tight as he could without hurting you and buried his face in your shoulder. You stroked his hair and whispered comforting words in his ear until he calmed down.

“I’m so sorry.” You said into his ear.

“It’s okay.” He sniffled and pulled out of the hug. You stared into his teary eyes for a second before grabbing his hands.

“We can run. We can sneak out of here and head to the woods and just run.” You whispered.

“We can’t. They’ll catch me and kill you first trying.” He shook his head sadly.

“But we have to do something. They can’t do this to you. They can’t take you away.” You urged. Peeta put a hand on your face and wiped your tear with his thumb.

“There’s nothing we can do.” He whispered. You nodded your head and knew there was no use spending the little time you had left trying to come up with a plan that would never work.

“I guess you’re right. So I’ll see you when you come back, okay?” You said and cupped his face.

“Oh, honey.” He smiled sadly. “I’m not coming home.”

“Shh.” You covered his mouth. “Yes you are. You’re gonna come home to me and we’re gonna build the house with the garden like we said we would.”

“There’s never going to be a garden. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta choked up so you pulled him back into a hug.

“No you’re not. You’re not gonna die. I won’t let you.” You promised him as you stroked his hair to calm him down.

“Our district can barely afford to feed themselves. We have no money for sponsorships. And I have no skills outside of the bakery. I can’t hunt or protect myself. I’ve never even killed an animal. I’m gonna die in there.” Peeta cried into your shoulder.

“Shhh. Don’t say that. You can still win. Maybe a miracle will happen.” You said but even you didn’t believe it. A Peacekeeper then pounded on the door to signal that your time was almost up. You froze in Peeta’s arms before gripping him tighter. Peeta pulled away suddenly and cupped your face in his hands.

“I need to tell you something.” He said hastily.

“What is it?” You worried when you saw the panic in his eyes.

“I’m in love with you. I always have been. Since we were kids.”

“Peeta, what?“ You whispered and wrapped your hands around his wrists.

“I have always loved you. I’m sorry it took me until now to tell you. I wish I told you when I first felt it. But I needed you to know before I left.” He said as he stared into your eyes. You were speechless as you stared back but before you could say anything, a Peacekeeper burst in the door. He grabbed your arm to pull you out of the room but you just yanked your arm away. You threw your arms around Peeta and kissed him for as long as you could before you were pulled away by the Peacekeeper.

“Now you have to come home.” You said to him as you struggled against the Peacekeeper trying to pull you out of the room. Peeta grabbed your hand and held it as long as he could until the Peacekeeper picked you up.

“I love you!” Peeta shouted after you with his hand still outstretched.

“I’ll wait for you!” You shouted back as you were carried out of the room.

You watched the broadcast everyday with your eyes peeled for any glimpse of Peeta. You were shocked to see him on fire in the tribute parade and even more surprised at the sight of him in a suit for his interview with Cesar Flickerman. You’d only ever seen Peeta in colorless, wrinkled, cotton clothes from your district which was a sharp contrast to the shiny black suit adorned with sparkly red flames on the sleeve. You smiled shyly as if he were right in front of you and tried to touch the projection of the broadcast but your fingers just went through. Peeta was surprisingly charming in his interview and it made your heart yearn for your best friend. You missed spending the day with him and him making you laugh in person so this was a nice substitution.

“Is there anyone special at home?” Cesar asked Peeta. Peeta smiled shyly and looked into the camera, making you feel like he was looking directly at you.

“Actually, yes. There is a special girl from home that I’ve loved for what feels like my entire life.” Peeta said with a bashful smile. You grinned and clasped your hands under your chin as you watched him talk about you.

“Well that’s great. If you win the games, she’ll have to go out with you.” Cesar said and patted his shoulder.

“Unfortunately winning the games isn’t going to help me.” Peeta said with a sad smile.

“Oh no? Why not?” Cesar asked him.

“Because she came here with me.” Peeta answered.

Your stomach dropped. Your jaw dropped. Your felt like you were going to be sick. He wasn’t talking about you. He was talking about the girl he got reaped with. You turned away from the broadcast and held yourself in your arms as you ran to your room. You slammed your door before throwing yourself on your bed. You cried yourself to sleep and when you woke up, you realized you had missed the start of the games. You lingered around areas that were broadcasting the games to keep an eye on Peeta. Your anxiety was at an all time high day in and day out as you prayed he’d live to see another day. It was a few days in that he got cut with a sword by one of the boys from district one. You cried yourself to sleep again that night since Peeta wasn’t shown on camera for a while after that. Finally, you heard from a girl in town that Peeta had been found by the lake by the girl from your district. You ran home as fast as you could and turned on the broadcast right in time to see him kissing Katniss. You let out a shocked squeak and quickly turned the games off. You did your best to avoid any information about the games after that but the romance between Katniss and Peeta was all anyone in your district could talk about. It was rare that people from your district lasted this long in the games, let alone two of them, so you couldn’t blame people for talking about it. To add to that, the romance was something that had never been seen in the games before and made for very entertaining television for every single person in your district besides you. You were rooting for Peeta, of course, but you could not bear to watch him cuddling with another girl as he fought for his life.

Finally, the last day came. You watched Peeta and Katniss win after nearly killing themselves in front of the world so that they didn’t have to kill each other. You felt your anxiety deplete for the first time in weeks when Peeta put down the berries. You didn’t even care that he was hugging another girl after nearly killing himself so that he didn’t have to lose her because it meant that he was coming home. He was finally coming home.

On the day the winners were set to return home, you waited in the crowd beside Gale Hawthorn, a boy from your district, and Katniss’s little sister. You and Gale were eyeing each other curiously and had no idea that you were in the same boat. Peeta and Katniss were brought out on stage and you felt tears come to your eyes the second you saw Peeta. You clapped for him like everyone else in the crowd but froze when you noticed that he was holding her hand. Peeta was scanning the crowd for you and when he finally spotted you, he dropped Katniss’s hand and waved to you. You weakly waved back but couldn’t shake the mixed emotions brewing inside you. You were beyond relieved and grateful that he was home safe. But that didn’t mean it didn’t deeply hurt you to watch him with another girl after he told you that he loved you. You and Peeta stared at each other from your places on the stage and the crowd and both began to cry without relaxing it. You wiped your face and put on a smile for him despite the pain you were feeling inside.

After Peeta and Katniss gave their speeches, the crowd dispersed and you followed Peeta’s brothers back to his house. You bounced your leg as you sat at their kitchen table and waited for Peeta to come home. Finally, the door opened and he walked inside. He was dressed in fancy Capital clothing but had the same old smile that you knew so well. You watched him hug his mother first, then father. His brothers hugged him all at once and patted his back or rubbed his hair, touching him in any way they could.

Then, he looked at you.

Peeta looked startled to see you at first but his eyes immediately softened. You stood up from your seat and your legs felt like jelly as you slowly walked towards him. His eyes were brimmed with tears and he could not believe you had come to see him after what he made you watch him do in the games. You were hurt and confused by his actions but you put on a brave face for him now that he was home.

“You’re here?” He asked in a voice that was barely above a whisper.

“Of course I’m here. You’re here.”

“I thought you’d be mad.” He said in a weak voice. He was looking at you as if he was expecting a lecture or a blow out fight, but that’s not what you came for.

“I still had to see you.” You said simply.

Peeta gulped when you didn’t deny that you were mad but nodded his head.

“So where’s Katniss?” You asked him with fake politeness.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He shrugged. “With her family, probably.”

“Oh.” You nodded and an awkward silence fell between you. His family exchanged looks and Peeta was fully aware of it.

“Do you think we could talk? Just the two of us?” He asked hopefully. You nodded your head and he lead you to his bedroom and shut the door behind him. A black box on his dresser caught your eye as you sat down on his bed. He noticed it too and went over to it to open it up. When he turned around, he had a soft yellow knit sweater in his hands that made your jaw drop.

“I, uh, I brought you this from the Capital.” Peeta said as a shy blush covered his face.

“You found a yellow sweater?” You gasped and touched the sweater with gentle hands as if you were afraid your damage it. You’d never seen clothes that color in person before and it was even better than you imagined.

“I tried to but I never found one like the one you described. So I asked them to make it for me. They made four of them, actually. They can just do that there. They know nothing about want.” Peeta laughed shortly but neither of you found it funny.

“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” You smiled gratefully and took the sweater. The fact that he had remembered the sweater you told him about despite everything he had just gone through. You felt guilty for being mad at him now that he had given you the sweater and realized you hadn’t even hugged him yet. You folded the sweater and left it on his bed before standing up. Peeta tensed up and wasn’t sure what you were about to do. You stepped towards him and wrapped your arms around him, to which he immediately responded to and hugged you back. He instantly broke down and cried in your arms just like he did the day of the Reaping. You stroked his hair and cooed in his ear until he calmed down enough to talk.

“I didn’t think you were ever gonna talk to me again.” He sniffled. You pressed your cheek against his blonde hair and took in his scent for the first time in weeks. Underneath the expensive cologne the Capital had dawned him in, you could still smell Peeta.

“Of course I’ll still talk to you. I’m sorry I was so cold to you. I’m just confused.” You admitted as you pulled out of the hug.

“I know.” Peeta nodded. “And you have every reason to be. I told you I loved you and then I professed my love to another girl with the whole world watching. If the roles were reversed, I’d be devastated. But you have to understand, that wasn’t what it looked like. It was all an act.”

“An act?”

“Yeah. We pretended to be a couple so people would send us food and medicine. I had no way to tell you that it wasn’t real and I’m so sorry about that. You don’t know how badly I wished I could tell you.” Peeta professed as he cupped your face in his hands.

“You were just pretending?” You smiled in surprise.

“Of course I was. What did you think? That it was real?” He laughed softly.

“Well, yeah. That’s what it looked like. I thought guys fell for each other during training and your love got you through the games.”

“Our acting got us through.” He corrected. “Haymitch told us to do it the day we met him. You really thought I fell for another girl that quickly?”

You didn’t share in his smile and shook your head instead. Peeta’s eyes softened and he rubbed his thumb on your cheek.

“I’m sorry, honey. I can’t imagine how confusing that must have been to watch after how we said goodbye.” Peeta said with a sympathetic pout. Your anger towards him melted away as you wrapped your hand around his wrists.

“So you don’t love her?”

“No. I never did. I’ve only ever loved you.” He answered with a soft smile. A smile tugged on your lips as well so you rested your forehead against his. Peeta let go of your face and wrapped his arms around your waist to keep you flushed against him.

“You know, the thought of coming home to you was the only thing that kept me going. I thought about the way you kissed me every night.” Peeta said as he stared into your eye.

“You did?” You smiled shyly at the memory.

“I did.” He nodded. “It was the only thing keeping me warm.”

You stared back into his eyes before tilting your head to the side and connecting his lips in a kiss. He kissed you back slowly and tightened his grip with one hand while moving the other up and down your back. All your anger and confusion melted away into the kiss now that he was yours again. When you pulled away, you stayed in comfortable silence in each others arms.

“Will you come live with me in Victors Village? We can plant our garden like we said.” Peeta asked you.

And so you did. You moved in with him and hung his paintings on the wall to decorate the place. You planted the garden in the backyard and put you in change of the vegetables while Peeta tended the flowers.

But you didn’t feel at home when you walked through the door each day. It was only when Peeta got home everyday with a fresh loaf of bread that the house became home.

#peeta mellark whump #peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark fluff #peeta mellark fanfic #peeta mellark angst #peeta mellark x you #peeta mellark fanfiction #peeta x reader

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messylustt · 1 year

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obsessed ( believe me ) — ethan landry + reader ( scream ) : scream after ethan revealed himself as ghostface to you, you try to tell the group, hoping they’ll believe you…but ethan has other plans.

contents : surprisingly nothing sexual. a kiss. this is mainly the repercussions + plot after ethan’s reveal. wc 2.1k.

pt one pt two pt three

you had locked your door tight every night whenever you’d be home. you couldn’t let a ghostface get in, you couldn’t let…ethan get in. god, the concept that he’s a killer now confuses and scares you at the same time. if ethan can kill then christ, everyone should be wary of everyone.

you aggressively mix the cupcake batter. you had grown guilty and…well…confused. you hadn’t told the group. though you haven’t had the time—you haven’t seen them since the party. so, it’s not entirely your fault. you need to tell them. they could die if you don’t.

with a final whisk you begin to pour the batter into the cupcake tins. there’s no harm in giving them something tasty as you drop the charming bomb. You place the tin in the oven, already preheated. clicking the timer you pause. what if they don’t believe you?

the carpenter sisters and martin-meeks twins have known you the same length as they have ethan. shit, you should have gotten proof, something that would show your not just pointing the finger. you rest against the counter, watching as the cupcakes begin to bake.

you can feel your heart pick a pace at the thought of ethans words. he kissed you, he wanted to kiss you. what were you thinking letting him? no, you think to yourself. you didn’t have a choice…but it’s not like you absolutely hated the idea. shit.

what if you saw ethan in class? how the fuck should you act? you run your hands down your face, growing agitated and fidgety.

;;

“y/n!” mindy called from across campus. your carrying a box full of your cupcakes, as you take a heavy breath. it’s okay.

you wander over to her, smiling, only to falter when you see chad and ethan reach her side too.

you catch ethan’s gaze and freeze. ethan tilts his head, acting like an innocent shit. you gulp as you notice a ghost of a smirk on his face.

“mindy, can I talk to you for a moment?” if anyone’s gonna believe you about ethan, it’s mindy. she already thinks ghostface is him.

“uh, sure. is it real private?” she seems confused, since this group barely kept anything from each other. you clutch your cupcake box a little tighter, and that’s when chad notices.

“hey! are those cupcakes?”

you smile, offering them to him. “yo, thanks y/n.” he opens the box as you turn back to mindy.

“it’s girls sorta stuff.”

“oh.” she smiles, grabbing your elbow. “we’ll catch up with you later!” she calls back to ethan and chad, as she brings you farther away.

as you stop by a tree, you can't help but glance back at the two boys. chad is stuffing one of your cupcakes in his mouth. you hate the shiver that racks your spine, as you watch ethan take a bite, keeping his gaze on you. he tilts his head down in thanks, and you can spot the mischievous glint in his eyes. he knew they were bribe cupcakes for your point on him being the killer, to make it sound more appealing. but he only finishes the cupcake with a hum.

you whip your gaze to mindy, your expression desperate. “mindy, you know how you're always saying that ethan is ghostface?”

mindy scowls, glancing at him. “yeah, i swear it's him.” She narrows her eyes, before shifting her gaze back to you. “why—do you think the same?”

“i don't think, i know.” you stare at her earnestly. “i saw him. he attacked at my apartment. there was this other ghostface there, who tried to first, and then…” you weren’t going to mention that Ethan kissed you. it was irrelevant. “then he took off his mask.”

mindy is staring at you as your words spill out in a rush. “wait, you're saying ethan attacked you in your apartment, and then revealed himself?” she hisses.

“well, no, he didn’t attack me. he attacked the other ghostface—”

“wait, what?!”

you shush her, glancing around. ethan and chad weren’t there anymore and you were relieved.

mindy stares at you. “why would he attack the other ghostface?”

“i don’t know!” you exasperate.

mindy spins in surprise. “what the fuck?!”

you grab her arm. “but you believe me, right?”

“i believe ethan could be ghostface, but…attacking his fellow ghostie, and then what— revealing himself to you?” she sighs. “it's a little hard to make that make sense.”

“i know, i know. but i swear. that’s what happened.” you're growing desperate, especially as you see hesitance flash across mindy’s face.

“mindy, i wouldn’t make this up.”

she sighs. “but if ethan—as ghostface—went to your apartment not to hurt you, then why was he there?”

you pause. he couldn’t have just been there to…kiss you, right? that doesn’t make sense. you go to explain more about him attacking the other ghostface when you stay silent. ethan saved you from getting killed. would Mindy interpret that as you being on the same side. no. if you’d tell her that, then she’d know you weren’t one of them.

“y/n?”

you meet mindy’s gaze, as her eyes have grown wary. you shake your head. “i don't know why ethan was at my apartment dressed as ghostface. all I know is that he is one of them.”

“i– look i want to believe you, y/n. i like you! but it's just—” she cuts herself off, breathing. “you could be lying because your…ghostface.”

your shoulders slump. this is what you were scared might happen. “mindy, i swear.” you go to grab her arm, but she steps back.

“ethan is still on the top of my list, but…let me just think.” rhen she leaves.

shit. this was supposed to go so much better.

“you should have given her the cupcakes.”

you jump, and whip around to see ethan standing with an almost smug expression. you gulp, stepping to the side. “get out of my way.”

ethan just chuckles. “didn’t work?”

your silence makes him grin. “she already thinks i’m Ghostface, but like you, has no real evidence.”

“i–” you cut yourself off, because he’s right. you have nothing on him. and it turns out your word isn’t enough. “just leave me alone.”

“so cold.” he comments. “we’re in the same lesson.”

your whole body is tense. “come on.” ethan turns, heading to the large building of blackmore.

you both make it to the hallway, bustling with students heading to their respective classes. you stay a decent way behind ethan. you will not be seen with him. that would only contradict everything you said to mindy.

then just as you're about to squeeze past the students to get inside the lecture hall, a hand tightens around your wrist, yanking you to the right. you gasp as you get dragged into a small broom cupboard.

“ethan, what the fuck?” you spin to face him. he stands his back to the now shut door of the cupboard, trapping you in.

“i was kinda hoping you wouldn’t go and be a tattle tale.” he steps closer and you immediately step back, your hand out in warning. “but your cupcakes were very good, so, i guess that’s a plus.”

“ethan. let me out.” you were growing worried, the hairs on the back of your neck spiked.

“and i know i said i’ll leave you alone and all. but, wouldn’t it seem strange if we ignore each other.”

“if you wanna act normal in front of them—fine.” you were scared, and ethan could tell. “but there's no reason for us to see each other alone.” you gesture around the closet.

“that kinda hurts, y/n.” ethan says. “i mean i’m not too much of a fan of PDA, but if you're into that, I’ll settle.”

“what?”

ethan steps closer, and your grip finds a broom. “i like kissing you. and if you don't want to do it alone, then we can do it in front of our friends.”

you gulp, holding your pathetic excuse of a weapon out in front of you. “i’ll keep your secret, they don’t believe me anyway. so, please. there’s no need to kill me.”

“kill you? gave you listened to a word i've said?” wthan brushes his hand across the brustels of the broom. “i’d rather kiss you then, then kill you.” he steps closer. “and the broom’s cute.” he’s trying not to laugh.

“ethan, seriously.”

“i’m being dead serious, y/n.” he says, tapping down the broom as you shake his fingers off. then he backs away. “i’ll see you in class.” then he’s out of the closet, leaving you standing there, breathing hard and even more confused.

;;

you’re standing, talking to tara, as you wait for the rest of the group to be done with classes. mindy and chad come out first. slowly followed by ethan. you stay close to chad, as he tells you about this dick in his lesson.

ethan notices your “subtle” move to be “safe”. chad couldn’t protect you. and not from getting hurt, ethan’s already been clear that that's the last thing he wants to happen. just from him in general. he likes you. he thought it was obvious, but he guesses you're still reeling from him being ghostface.

you all talk and walk, until you’ve reached the carpenter sister’s apartment. ethan then digs in his pocket to retrieve a ring he stole from you in the closet. tara, Sam, and quinn are heading to their apartment.

“uh, y/n?” ethan calls to you, making you glance behind your shoulder. “i have something of yours.” he holds up the ring, as you hesitantly step closer, your hand out. you think you must have dropped it on your walk.

but ethan strides over, passing your hand and grabbing your chin. before you can say a word ethan is pressing his lips to yours, you stumble slightly back, along the gravel. chad is watching, mouth hanging open. “holy shit,” you catch tara say, as ethan pulls back, with a grin.

you're staring at him agape, as you hear a few hollers from chad. if only he knew. ethan then whispers in your ear. “i’ll call you.”

;;

you're staring at your phone in your apartment, scared for it to ring. and when it does, you hesitate grabbing it.

when you do, you take a reassessing breath. you had to end whatever this was. “hello, y/n.”

ethan’s using the ghostface modulator. prick. “ethan, you don’t have to use that. i know it's you.”

“and where’s the fun in that?” the deep voice breathes a chuckle.

“stop playing games, ethan. stop all of this. i’m not interested.”

“in me?” he inquired.

you hate the fact that you falter. you shouldn’t be fucking faltering! “yes.”

“you're a very unconvincing liar.” ghostface speaks mockingly.

“and you can’t take a hint.”

“tell me y/n,” ghostface speaks, as you pace your living room. “what's your favourite scary movie?” he jokes.

you scoff. “i said no more games ethan.”

“just one.” ghostface half begs. “i promise.”

“you gonna make me another deal?”

“i can.” ghostface shuffles on the other end. “if you play this game with me and win…i’ll reveal myself to our friends.”

you pause your pacing. “what?”

“doesn’t that sound fair?” ghostface probes.

you gulp. would he really? you wouldn’t look like a fool to mindy, and worse a betraying ghostface. you lick your lips. “what’s the game?”

“that’s my girl.” ghostface praises breathlessly. you stand a little straighter, ignoring the butterflies swarming your stomach.

“we’re going to play a simple simon says.” ghostface breathes through the phone.

“simon says?” you repeat.

“mhm.” ghostface hums.

you run your hand through your hair, gathering your thoughts, and a seeable decision. fuck it. all you had to win was simon says. easy. “deal.”

you can almost hear the grin forming on ghostface—ethan’s—face. “let’s get started, then.”

#. ( psychos )#the ethan effect #ethan landry x reader #ethan x reader #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x y/n #ethan landry x you #ethan landry oneshot #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #scream smut #scream #jack champion x y/n

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risuola · 8 months

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MUG CAKE CRISIS — F. READER x GOJO SATORU

Every household has to face a crisis once in a while. Yours came at 2:48am and you had to sweeten your husband's way into peace again.

cw: good old fluff — 0,9k words

Every household has to face some kind of crisis once in a while. Some deal with children – the tantrums or cries that keep the parents awake and as they are forced out of their dreams and expected to face whatever it is that makes their little ones so sad, all of the monsters underneath the beds, the nightmares and fears, they simply take it head on. That’s what makes parents the heroes of their children life’s. Other people deal with partners or the opposite, the loneliness. Sometimes the walls hear things no one else shouldn’t. Arguments, screams and sounds of heated intimacy. There are different types of crises and your house is no foreign to that concept.

You woke up to the soft thuds coming from somewhere in the apartment. The whiney sounds following the, what you figured out to be, furniture noises gave you enough reason to get up from the bed. There was a crisis in your house happening right now, at 2:48am and you couldn’t just let it be, so you wrapped yourself in a blanket, too sleepy to put on clothes on your bare body, slipped into your slippers and padded to the kitchen.

The view that met your eyes was endearing in a way. Gojo Satoru, your husband and a man you love to the extent of infinity, was in the kitchen, wearing only boxers that he probably put on in a rush, because they were turned to the left side, with seams and tag on show. He was frantically ramming through every cabinet, every drawer, every little basket and bowl that could possibly hide something. There was a mess around him, boxes laying around gutted and empty, some doors half-open and most of the things on the countertop moved from their original place creating the overwhelming sense of disorder. But that was a problem for tomorrow, now you had to take care of the man-child strongest sorcerer.

“Satoru, baby,” you called him, but he was too focused on his hunt to even look at you.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he mumbled and you yawned onto the plushy fabric of your blanket. You approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling your face to his bare back.

“No sweets?”, you cooed, knowing perfectly how the one and only addiction of your husband can wake him at night. Satoru doesn’t drink, he doesn’t smoke and he only occasionally takes a sip from your coffee, but one thing he’s unable to give up, is sugar. He consumes so much of it, you’re in awe that he still has all of his teeth and in great health as well, and all of his blood tests normal, because you were sure that if you were the one who ate so much caramel, chocolate and whipped cream, you’d probably be dead before your teeth start to rot.

“Can you believe it?” he whined, audibly trying to force his voice to sound soft and calm, but you knew him better than that. He was tensed, soo annoyed, his heart was beating fast as if he was slowly falling into the state of panic, and you exhaled against his skin, hand smoothing over his stomach as you pressed your lips to his spine.

“Told you we need to go get groceries yesterday.”

“You’re not helping, y/n.”

“Oh, my poor husband. Sit down, I’ll make you something, how does it sound?”

He hummed in defeat, desperate to have anything sweet and so he sat down on the chair, as you quickly combined flour, cocoa, sugar and the one almost dying banana that had been laying there for a little too long. Some milk, vanilla extract and baking powder got mixed into the batter as well, and when the concoction was ready, you put it in the microwave.

Mug cakes became your saving grace for hard times like this one, when your husband would wake up in the middle of the night craving something sweet. Some might say, he’s a grown adult, he can manage without eating chocolate in the middle of the night. Well, no. Satoru is a baby trapped inside the 6’3 tall, muscular body, and he’d definitely throw a tantrum if his needs won’t be fulfilled. There was a time he almost teared up when the realization of his stashes being empty hit him.

Over the hot, steaming cake you scooped the last bits of vanilla ice cream that hid in the back of the freezer, away from his sweet tooth because you kept it for the time your period comes and you even managed to squeeze out a little bit of toffee sauce from the lonely bottle in the fridge. Yawning once again, you presented the masterpiece to your beloved man-child, with a spoon and he gathered you to sit on his lap, making sure you are tucked tightly into the blanket.

“I love you, you know that,” he mumbled against your forehead, before pressing his lips there.

“Love you too,” you smiled and lowered your head to rest it on his shoulder, while he began devouring the dessert you made him. You felt his body relaxing as the sugar saturated his bloodstream and you relaxed too, melting against his warm form and knowing that he’s once again happy.

“’m sorry I woke you up at that hour,” he whispered, when after catering his cravings, he carried you back to the bed.

You smiled, cuddling to his chest just few moments later. Oh, how much you love that man. So much, you were okay with getting up at nearly 3 am only to make him a mug cake.

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dragonnarrative-writes · 4 months

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@charliemwrites infected me with Charmed!Slasher!Ghost. The dialogue is directly from part 4 of their series.

No content warnings for this installment. Please let me know if you need me to add or tag any.

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Not everyone appreciates optimism. Seeing the best in people, you’ve been told on multiple occasions, is naive at best and dangerous at worst. Someone could take advantage of you. People have taken advantage of you. You’re going to get yourself hurt!

The thing is, you’re not naive. You’re old enough to have experienced the casual cruelty of the world. But being cruel yourself doesn’t help anything. Kindness costs very little, and you’re happy to pay a little toward your karma every day. And when people think you’re an easy, bubbly target, they tend to let their guard down.

No one expects you to be observant.

Your new neighbor doesn’t expect you to be observant.

When you almost run into him the day he moves in, it doesn't take long for you to recognize him as the guy who brought you home from the bar. For one, he’s huge and doesn’t bother to hide it. Secondly, his eyes are this flat, empty, piercing blue until you apologize. And then he smiles, and and his eyes go from lifeless tundra to sort-of-welcomingly-frigid, and you know, you know, that this guy is dangerous.

And then he informs you that he’s moving just next door. You probe a bit, and he tells you he’s not worried about your noise, even as he asks about neighbors. You give him a little vulnerability, see how still he goes when you mention that you’re a bit introverted.

“Anyway!” You chirp, slipping back into the bubbly persona before the last test. “Do you need any help moving things in?”

And your new neighbor’s pupils dilate, ever so slightly, even as all the life in them drains away.

“Thank you, luv," he says in that deep voice, "but I’m almost finished. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”

You feel your whole body flush as your nervous system screams predator-danger-RUN. You look down and away, try not to fidget.

“Well, lemme know if you need anything! I always forget something important when I move,” you say, and hope he doesn’t take your nervousness as an invitation to attack. “I’m the one on the left.”

He says “call me Riley,” so you do. Don’t bother to give him a fake name back, because if he wants to, he can look at the packages on your doormat and get your full name anyway.

You spend the rest of the afternoon chewing on your bottom lip, thinking. People at the grocery store probably think you’re daydreaming, or really worried about getting the right box mix for dessert. A kindly older woman picks out her favorite brownie mix and tells you its her husband’s favorite, just add a few caramel candies. You thank her, genuinely, and add the box to your basket.

Back at home, waiting for the brownies to finish baking, you let the anxiety simmer. Riley is a predator, yes, and you’re potential prey. But he already lives next door. And the neighbor before him was also dangerous, the way all men are dangerous. Admittedly, that feels like comparing a goldfish to a volcano, but it’s true. So you’ll bring him a welcome-to-the-building gift and endear yourself to him.

Being kind doesn’t cost anything. And if he likes you, he probably won’t kill you.

#dragonnarrativewrites fanfiction #cod #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #dark fic #simon riley x you #slasher handler #reader is in over their head #so am i #manic pixie dream ghost

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janitorhutcherson · 5 months

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finnick odair who was never in the games but instead is your average man who lives in a coastal city in california. he’s rough around the edges still, gruff, sarcastic, and cocky, but he is happy and free. he’s more soft spoken and his guard is let down more, but only around specific people. mostly only around you.

finnick odair who owns a fishing company called ‘odair fisheries.’ he spends most of his time out on a little sailboat he’s made up. he’ll spend hours out in the ocean, just him, a cooler, and his fishing rod. his golden tan skin is sunburnt in some areas from long exposure and lack of sunscreen, something you’d gotten onto him about ten times too many. his body is covered in little tattoos of seashells, sea turtles, boat anchors, small outlines of fish. a seashell necklace sits around his neck, homemade from your delicate and loving hands.

finnick odair who’d practically BEG for you to come fishing with him. you weren’t the biggest fan. something about sitting out in the searing heat all day on a rocking surface didn’t seem all that appealing to you, but when finnick would look at you with his big blue puppy dog eyes, his bottom lip sticking out, you couldn’t resist. if you were determined to deny his suggestions, he’d go even further, throwing in a desperate, “please, sweetheart, you know i hate being without you as is.” as always, you’d give in, not particularly loving the sweat dripping off of your forehead but loving admiring your partner in front of you. you loved the way his face scrunched up in focus as he cast the line, his eyes perched on a particular spot. you loved the way his muscles tensed as he reeled the line in, or the way he huddled over you when attempting to teach you how to fish for the hundredth time (once again unsuccessful, though you know he’d try again tomorrow).

finnick odair who also taught children to fish as a part of his company. on weekend mornings, he’d have different classes that would last about 30 minutes. at the beginning, he’d take a group of kids out to a dock near his boat and he would teach the basics. by the end of the block of classes, he’d have even kids as little as 5 out fishing on his boat with him. he loved the kids like his own, growing attached to each and every one of them. you loved watching him teach, seeing how he’d sweetly hug the little boy gripping onto his leg back or how he’d soothe the crying little girl who fell and scraped your knee. he’d get you involved in helping to wrangle the kids, too, watching you intently as you’d braid a little girl’s hair for her or cradle one of the youngest ones on your hip. finnick wanted kids more than anything and he wanted them with you, his mind going crazy, desperate for a little family with you every time he saw you with children. it’s safe to say finnick’s baby fever is crazy.

finnick odair who spends rainy sunday mornings with nothing else to do playing guitar hero and other various video games. as rain would pelt down heavily on the roof of the house, the waves rocking the boat a little too much for him to even dare to attempt the seas (although he had in unsafe weather one too many times for your liking), you’d be awoken far too early in the morning to the smell of freshly baked muffins (from a box) and the sound of some rock song on the tv mixed with plastic clanking. you’d trudge into the living room, fuzzy blanket wrapped around your cold shoulders, and plop down onto the couch where a muffin already awaited you with some warm coffee on the side table. you couldn’t help but laugh as you nestled into your corner on the couch, turning yourself into a nest of blanket. finnick would be going crazy with the guitar strapped around his neck, resting at his somewhat bare torso. he’d be jamming out in his underwear, hair tussled, eyes still puffy with sleep. his nimble fingers would click through the red, blue, green, yellow pieces as his piercing blue eyes focused on the screen. you couldn’t help but fall more in love with him as you begin to doze back off in your corner.

finnick odair who loves intimacy. it was something that didn’t come easy to him. although things were much simpler for finnick odair in this life than in the hunger games, he still had his guard up. you’d taught him how to be intimate, how to love and to feel love, how to share his feelings with more than just ‘i love you.’ at night, he would spoon you to sleep, hand always resting on your stomach from behind, nuzzled up as close as he could get. if he was holding you the other direction, he’d hold you close into his chest, resting his nose in your hair, taking in your scent. “you are my entire ocean, the sea breeze that makes the waves move, the crystal blue water, all the way up to the glisten in the sea, sweet girl,” he’d mutter into your ear. even when you were fast asleep, he’d still whisper sweet nothings into your ear. when you’d take showers, he’d carefully sneak in and slip in behind you, almost always causing you to fall, but he’d be prepared and catch you. he’d then tenderly wash through your hair for you, pressing little kisses to your shoulders. finnick loved and adored you and he’d do anything possible to show that.

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onmyyan · 2 years

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A/N: First Yandere OC he’s a big baby n i love him❤ TWs: Yandere shenanigans, Smut, reader has a coochie, word pussy used to describe genitalia, cis fem reader, ”Good Girl”, breeding kink, feeding kink, cum eating (reader doesn't know) oral (f receiving), shower sex, cursing

Lemme know what you guys think!!

Caspian Delmont HC's

25 year old beefcake

The biggest guy in the room no matter where he is. Absolutely massive individual, standing proud at 6'4 a wall of muscle shaped like a man, definition of scary dog privilege

Smells like cinnamon and warm chocolate

Likes to take Sunday drives in his granddads 67 Chevy Impala, oldies blaring through the speakers he'd put in himself(the only thing he changed about the car)

Old fashioned in the way where he'd lay a man out flat in the street for disrespecting you, then take you to dinner as an apology for having to deal with that crap.

He has an accent, a thick Bronx twang that comes out heavy on certain words, bilingual, speaks fluent Spanish and English, he's mixed with Filipino and Puerto Rican, has a huge family so he wants one with you. If you don't however he'll settle for a small army of animals.

Drinks his respect women juice like water, sees you as his equal and at the same time holds you on this goddess like pedestal high above him.

Boxes in his free time to release pent up aggression, and he's good at it.

Early on in the relationship he is quite hesitant to show you this side as he's insecure about how you view him.

Everyone has always had some ulterior motive when it came to him, he's used to people befriending him out of fear or to use his intimidating stature to their advantage, so when you don't he's both incredibly warmed and confused.

You're genuineness only draws him in further, as tough an act he puts on our boy falls fast and hard.

First time he saw you he was a goner, you were elbow deep in some toffee cookie dough, the tip of your tongue poking through your plush lips in the cutest form of concentration he'd ever bore witness to.

His brain worked a mile a minute as he sped walked his way to the desk next to you, shoulder checking the smaller man who was previously beside you. You looked up at the sound of his body meeting the desk in his scurry out the way of Caspian’s impending mass.

His red eyes widened as they met yours, the smile you gave him was real, he saw it in the way it reached your eyes. The small 'hi' you said as you went back to your work had butterflies erupting in his chest the entire hour of class.

Not one to shy away from his wants he quickly comes up to you after the lesson eager to help you clean up as his own station was miraculously cleared in moments.

He lays on the charm thick, all the while making sure not to come off as too pushy, he visibly lit up when he got you to laugh that first time.

Wants to ask you out immediately but knows he loves a lot harder than most and the last thing he wanted was to scare you away. Forces himself to hold back even though he knew you were the one after about one and a half classes.

Remembers everything you share about yourself, down to the most minute detail about how you like to stay home when it rains because it always makes you sleepy, or how you like when your partner can protect you because people in the past have failed to.

Absolute sweetheart to you, treats you like you deserve to be, 100% worshiped.

Can and has knocked some teeth out to protect your honor, if someone made the fatal mistake of making you cry?

Oh he's calling his sketchy cousin who owns a junkyard on the edge of town and having him leave the gates unlocked for him where your offender may or may not be tied up in the trunk of their car, he doesn't give em' a speech or tell them why he's doing what he is, in his mind they should know. Their muffled screams would be drowned out by the metal jaws and teeth of the compactor his cousin let him use from time to time, he'd have to bake him some macaroons as a thank you- ooh he could ask you to join him! It be such a cute date.

Major sweet tooth, loooooves hand feeding you especially if it's something he himself made it's a physical representation of his love!!

Calls you sugar, pumpkin, honeyy(specifically drawing out the y at the end so its more like a whine) babycakes, muffin, basically any food you can call your s/o he's doing it

He wakes up an hour or so before you so he can stare lovingly without you getting all flustered and hiding from him.

His favorite days are spent waking up late with you on top of him, his big arms holding you securely to his chest, neither of you have work or classes, you'd wake up to him humming some unnamed tune, the timber in his voice lulling you gently awake, he won't leave the bed without at least one kiss, first words you hear are usually something like "Mornin' sugar" followed by the kinda toe curling kiss that shakes all the sleep from your system, I'm talking he only pulls away to breathe kinda kiss, "I'm the luckiest bastard in the world gettin' to wake up with a woman like you warming my sheets." If you two don't immediately go at it like rabbits he'll twirl you both into the kitchen where you'll cook breakfast together, the radio softly filling the morning air, makes you sit in his lap while you eat, he'd be so focused on watching you eat he'd forget to do it himself so naturally you take the time to feed him as well, cue his heart exploding and him getting so excited he all but tosses you on the table, hand cradling your head because he'd never hurt you, eventually you'd be able to keep your paws off each other long enough to get ready, although if he's in the room it will take twice as long.

Nsfw under here❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗❗

Doesn't matter your height or weight this man is throwin you around in the bedroom

His hands are surprisingly soft for how rugged he looks, he's obsessed with trailing them along your body, stares at you like you're artwork.

On one hand he wants to take his time, start at the bottom work his way up your body, kissing, licking and biting everywhere he could. He wants to tease you, taste you get drunk off your sent until you tug him away from your sex, then he'd slide his way up the sweet smile on his face not matching the debauchery he was about to commit.

On the other hand he wants to lay on the bed and have you sink onto his face so he can eat like the starved beast he is, any fears or insecurities about the ordeal fly out the window when you look down to see this titan of a man with tears beading his lashline, begging to eat your pussy, whining to just do it already and he could take it if you'd pleeeease just give it to em'

Feeder kink on max, it all starts when one day your hands are full and you innocently asked him to feed you, all was well and good until his finger lingered in your mouth a second too long, your tongue teasingly flicked the appendage as it retreated, now every time you're eating all he can think about is sitting you in his lap and feeding you. If he could he'd spend every meal with you cockwarming him and his fingers in your mouth.

Service Top? Service Top.

Can and will eat you out until you're a whining, blubbering, mess. More often than not you have to pull him by his hair to catch your breath, of course the light sting from your yanks would only spur him on,

"One more honey? C'mon good girl give it to me. I know you can baby- that's right ride my face." Absolute menace

Shower sex that leaves you feeling dirtier than when you went in

Definitely the type to talk you through it.

"There we go- that's it honey jus' let go f'me." He loves to moan in your ear and see the pretty way your face twists up, loud as hell too, it's a good thing he has a house cuz the man is a screamer.

Always makes you cum more than once, competitive bastard makes it a game between himself to see how many times you can unravel before you tap out.

Can you say Pussy drunk? He wants it as sloppy and messy as he can get. Eats you like its his last chance, i'm talking moaning into your skin, pulling your hips down to get you as close as possible, grinding himself against the bed while he thanks you for letting him have his favorite meal.

He's definitely came in your food before sorry

It's just so romantic to him!! The idea of being inside of you-even just a small piece, quells the possessive monster he keeps leashed. For now

Is willing to try anything you want in bed except hurting you, some choking? Sure, impact play? If you asked him real nicely, but anything like degradation he just can't make himself be mean to his baby!!

You could be mean to him though, there's a small genuine part of him that likes when you get a little rougher, he thinks he doesn't deserve you- any of you, so dig your nails in his skin, mark him with your teeth, show him who he belongs to.

Breeding kink breeding kink breeding kink- you get the picture.

If you indulge him once he'll never wanna cum anywhere else.

"Please baby-fuck, please lemme' cum inside please please fuck me fuck me yes- oh god m'gonna fill this pretty pussy so deep yes, yes- oh god baby girl feels. So. Fuckin. Good." He'd thrust as hard as he could at the end, his face scrunching up in the most blissful fucked out expression. Absolutely cried because of how good it felt.

All in all you give him an inch he'll give you eight

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere male #yandere male x reader #yandere oc #caspian oc #yandere oc x reader #oc x reader #yandere hcs #yandere smut #caspian delmont

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literaila · 11 months

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still here

tasm!peter x reader

summary: there’s an ache in me, put there by the ache in you

(for @elysian-chaos)

warnings: angst, fluff, feeling unworthy, feeling useless, you know, seperation

a/n: ‘tis the damn season is the best song ever. dont argue

there's this little thing called stress baking.

typically, stress baking is referred to as coping by making something delicious to scavenge on, instead of dwelling on the feelings scavenging you. and typically, it's done with a certain type of elegance--one that is made up of chaos. completely insane, yet completely in control. it's a messy dance, but perfectly choreographed.

stress baking is a very reviving task. filling up the house with muffins and pies is not only good for distracting yourself, but also for making friends when you run out of room. or smiling at the cashier every time you have to go to the store for ingredients.

it's something you've practiced for years. something you've become somewhat addicted to.

but then there's baking while stressed. which, you swear, hadn't been your intention.

brownies from a box were supposed to be easy. they were notoriously easy. a couple of eggs, some oil, and some water. the hardest part of your job was mixing, but you'd done it so many times that you zoned out while doing all of it.

box brownies were supposed to be non-stress and quick. but when you burn the brownies and batter rises over the top of your glass pan, and the oven is dirty, and the apartment smells like burnt batter and oven cleaner--well, you have to reread the directions.

you're a good baker. you've been making cookies and cakes for parties for years. you pride yourself on not needing measuring cups because you can eye a recipe by the gram.

not that these brownies would agree.

and it's already five-forty-five. peter is going to be home in the next fifteen minutes and this was supposed to be a treat. something good.

"surprise! i ruined our oven, and now we're going to have to spend the next few nights at your aunt's house in your twin-sized bed until the smell of death goes away!" doesn't typically bring out any smiles.

and peter's been stressed lately, and you've been stressed about him.

and now you're making brownies from scratch without butter--because you used it all on the last batch, oops--and the number of candles you've lit is a sure fire hazard.

but if peter would just smile at you, pull you in by your waist and laugh while he kissed you with a chocolate mouth, it would all be fine.

if there wasn't so much riding on this one (two) pan(s) of brownies. like being able to sleep comfortably tonight.

you turned the oven down, found a new pan--threw the other one out because it was nothing but a source of disappointment--and cleaned the oven just enough to not draw any suspicions. but you could still feel the failure lurking.

peter was going to come home to a chaotic house, and it was your fault.

so you scrubbed at the counters. fixed the stack of bills on the table so that you couldn't see any of the stamps, folded the blankets, and even swept the kitchen floor.

still, you knew peter would know. because he always knows. and maybe that was why he was acting so weird lately--maybe that's why you were acting so weird.

the door opened when the timer on the oven went off.

you'd wanted to watch peter walk through the door--so you could gauge how tired he was, how miserable--but maybe it was better not to know. to let him put on a mask while your back was still turned.

"hey, baby," he said, as you were pulling the brownies out of the oven, setting his house keys on the counter and sighing. "i'm home."

you peeked over your shoulder, giving him a hint of a smile--the same type he was giving you. "hey, honey," you said back, "you're home."

peter walked around the island to stand right behind you, kissing the back of your head and stealing a look over to the stovetop. he clears his throat. "brownies?"

you shrug. "thought you might like something sweet when you got home."

you take off the oven mitt, not really wanting to look at him--maybe because you're scared of what you'll see, or maybe just because you can already feel his eyes tearing down your skin.

but you can feel his breath on your neck as he chuckles. his exhaustion as he leans into your back.

"i've already got you, though," he whispers one peck at the edge of your jaw, another by your ear.

you snort and pull away, turning so you can look at him. and then you pretend to throw up.

he laughs and pokes your forehead.

you're not looking at him and he's not looking at you.

you turn back to the brownies.

"did you drop something in the oven?" peter asks, leaning his chin on your shoulder.

"no," you answer, a bit too defensive.

"sure?"

"am i sure that i didn't burn something in the oven, peter? yes."

there's a beat. "...cause it smells like it."

you headbutt him. "you smell like it. go shower. you can't eat these yet."

"yes, ma'am," peter takes a step back, and you look at him again. you can see the question in his eyes, and see your own reflecting the same question.

what are you hiding?

"we have some ice cream, too."

peter moans, his head back. you roll your eyes at him.

and you start cutting the brownies, worries, and chocolate chips sticking to the knife, listening to peter's footsteps, feeling his presence sticking to you like sugar, sticky and rich, his eyes keeping you on edge.

you know you shouldn't feel stupid--peter doesn't actually know what happened, or care--but you do. because he knows, and because even from the split second you looked at him, you could see the strain on his skin, the pressure weighing him down, dragging his feet across the floor.

you feel stupid just because you don't know what to do. so before he can close the door, you turn around. choosing reaction instead of pretending.

"peter?"

he pauses, his head whipping towards you. his eyes are as soft and loving as they always are--his attention remains the same, even when his energy doesn't. like he's wasting himself away just to take care of you.

he swallows. "yeah?"

"are you--" you blink, look away, try not to taste burnt brownies. "are you okay? you seem tired. was work… alright?

peter smiles, shaking his head. "just the usual, bub. work and... work. i think i'll go to bed early tonight?"

you raise a brow.

peter clears his throat. "i mean, i think i'll take a nap tonight before i go out."

you nod. "okay."

you both stare at each other for a moment. he's far enough away that it's easier. you don't have to feel his emotions as he processes them. don't have to see them from up close.

you hate yourself for being afraid of him. for being afraid for him.

“d’ya want to join me?” peter asks, whisper slipping from his mouth, smile taunting from his lips. “we can cuddle and eat brownies.”

you lick your lips, shaky smile enough. “you sure? i’ve heard i can be a bit distracting…”

peter’s laugh makes his shoulders shake. “you heard correctly,” he says eyes crinkled, “but i don’t mind.”

you nod. you’re grateful for his ease. the careful reveal of his true face, the peeling of a mask. the admittance that not everything is perfect, no matter how small.

“go shower. i’ll get the sugar.”

peter kisses you on the cheek before he goes.

and at least you got a couple of smiles out of him. at least you can feel his kiss lingering on your skin.

it's not that serious. honestly.

you hardly even think about it. you're not thinking about it.

you're not dwelling on the smell of soft skin and the feeling of calloused hands running up and down your back, the tickle of a breath against your neck.

you're not thinking about it at all.

and if it's been a week--or a week and a half, or two, or three--since you last spoke, or shared the same space with peter, then it's fine.

this is something you've grown used to. something you're supposed to be used to.

peter has obligations.

he has things he needs to fulfill--not just for himself, but for others, for the guilt that you can see rocking his bones all of the time, the shame in his eyes when he comes home a bit too early. he has places that he needs to be, if only because he won't be able to live with himself if he's not there.

but then again, you're not sure how to live when he's not here. especially when the sink breaks.

still, as long as you can feel him pull you into his chest every night, imagine him kissing your forehead before falling asleep, then it's fine.

you're not thinking about any of it because it's fine.

but you miss him. if only momentarily.

he'll come back--you repeat this like a promise, like it's his voice whispering it to you--because he always does.

space is good for the heart, some part of you swears. though you don't think you could think of peter any fonder than you already do.

he comes in too late at night and is already gone when you wake up. he texts you updates--because you've talked about communication before--and tells you that he loves you through sweet little notes he sends during the day.

if the thing he wishes to share about his life is the worm he found in his apple, then you're perfectly happy to listen (read).

it's normal to miss the person you love most in the world.

and it's normal for your boyfriend to disappear for fourteen hours each day, just barely cuddling with you for three hours before he's gone again.

it's normal for you, at least

he’ll come back.

and so, instead of thinking about peter, and wondering when he might notice the frayed edges of your relationship, you make sure that he doesn't have to worry about anything.

you clean up after the two of you, running the dishwasher and cleaning the bathroom, and packing him lunch on days you know he'll be gone for the office. making sure there's always something he can eat in the fridge when he gets home late at night, and texting him to know what he wants from the store.

you make the bed and wash his clothes and hope that maybe it'll keep him from burning out.

you hope that maybe it will keep you distracted enough to not ask him for anything. like love or support or a five-minute conversation.

if taking care of him is the only way to keep him going--the only way to keep yourself going--then you'll do it. peter takes care of you enough.

but even if you're not thinking about it, it's there.

because you've just fallen asleep--which is extremely rare recently, mostly because you like to wait until you hear the window and then slow your breathing until you feel peter crawl into bed with you--and just woke up.

woke up with sweaty skin and a headache. it's night ten and you're getting nightmares again.

it's ridiculous that you can't even last two weeks without peter there. without him kissing you to sleep.

and when you burst out of bed, you almost fall into him--almost scream because you're sharing the bed with someone else.

tears are running down your face. your heart feels split open--like your dreams have revealed something inside it.

but you look over to peter and he's there; he's still here.

so you take a deep breath--chest caving in, body following--and you rest your head in your hands.

if there's anything you want right now, it's for peter to wake up.

it's for him to know all of this.

you want him to appear next to you, leaning over your back like he's going to shelter from the world if that's what you need. rubbing your back and whispering in your ear. you want him in your house and laughing when you break the shower rod again.

you want him to cuddle with you before he leaves, and cross his heart when you scold him while he crawls out the window.

you want him in more than just your memory.

but peter is snoring next to you, and so you sit there in silence until the tears begin to ease.

peter's not supposed to be home.

he works until five, and then takes the subway home--and you're not expecting to see him anyway. he's been shoving his suit into the bottom of his backpack right as you pull it out of the hamper.

so it's not that unusual for you to be laying in bed, shoes and socks kicked across the floor, hands gripping for some stability, and eyes puffy and red.

and it's not that unusual for you to squeak when the window opens, and spider-man's head peeks into your room.

you can feel peter's wide eyes behind the mask.

you're quick to wipe your face, throw on a clumsy smile. "peter," you say, exhaling. "what're you doing here?"

a body crawls into the window, dirt and grime on clothes finger-tips reaching out to you. "what's wrong?" he asks, voice only slightly muffled.

but you take a step back, moving away from him when he lands on the floor, leaving spots for you to vacuum up later.

"what're you doing here?" you repeat, voice a bit harsher, a bit faded.

"i need--" he reaches his hand out toward you again, retreating when you do. "i needed some more web fluid. i don't--" he shakes his head. "what happened?"

"i, um," you wipe traitorous tears away again. "i think there's some more in the closet. i keep moving it when i'm cleaning, sorry."

"you're crying," peter scolds. like you're being ridiculous. like you're not trying to save him the effort it's going to take to fix this irrational piece of you, these lonely broken bits.

you bite your lip and look away.

because although you can't even see his eyes--they are still scolding. they are quick and cruel reminders that you haven't talked to peter in two weeks.

you turn towards your bedside table, pretending to organize the contents on top.

you can hear peter moving.

"what's going on, bub?" he says, soft enough for the words to crawl under your skin. he's taken the mask off. his voice is clear.

"oh, nothing, you know," you pause, shrugging. "just the usual sad movie type of cry..." peter's hand reaches your back and you flip around, almost knocking over your lamp.

"c'mon," he whispers to you, far closer than you'd been expecting.

you try and take a step back, only meeting a dead-end. he's cornered you. "you should go, peter. you were just--"

"this is more important."

you laugh. "some silly tears are more important than a collapsing building?"

"you're more important," peter swears, his eyes so focused on yours, "to me."

you blink and shake your head. gesture back towards the window. "go and save some people. you don't have to help me too."

peter swallows, brows furrowed. "will you tell me what's wrong?"

"i can take care of myself, peter. you don't need to worry about it."

"well, i'm going to."

you roll your eyes. and then you break free of his hold, moving away from the table, from the cage he's built around you. "move along, spider-man."

peter doesn't move any closer, but his limbs are tense. his face is concerned and hurt--you try and shield that out.

"i'm not leaving you when you're crying."

"i'm not crying anymore."

peter scowls. "stop deflecting."

you take a deep breath, throat dry and aching. "i'm not--" you clear your throat, shaking your head and looking away from him. "i'm fine, peter. but some people actually need you. go and save the day," you tell him. "i'll still be here when you come back."

and you are.

you're sitting on the couch, staring at photos peter took on the wall, wondering how to explain any of it.

how to explain yourself without digging the two of you any further in this hole.

you've been trying to prove just how little you need peter--just how useful you could be--and by doing so, you've put yourself in this situation.

because you do need him. you just hadn't wanted peter to know that.

so you're sitting on the couch, trying not to flinch every time the air conditioning comes on, or there's a footstep from the apartment above you. you're waiting for peter to climb in through the window, waiting to see how exhausted he is before he has to deal with you.

and you've bitten your lip raw. completely eliminated any evidence of fingernails you once had.

your heart stutters with every minute that comes by.

and when you finally hear peter hop in from the fire escape, your heart stops completely.

you wonder if he's going to change before he comes and finds you. before the inevitable happens, and you give him another reason to work so late.

your restlessness must be audible because it only takes peter forty seconds before walking into the living room. he's wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt.

he's wearing a frown like a well-tailored suit. known and made for him.

you're trying not to frown back.

"hey," you say, putting on a smile, voice flighty and an octave too high. "everything okay?"

"no one got hurt," peter says, the antonym to your tone.

"good."

apparently, your tight-lipped smile isn't enough to ease the tension in the room.

"are you ready to talk?" peter asks, slowly stepping toward you, just barely meeting your eyes.

you'd scrubbed your face after he left. sobbed in the shower as you washed away any of the shame you hadn't meant for him to see. you'd made sure that your eyes weren't puffy, and your eyelashes were dry before he'd got home.

so when peter scans your face--as he's doing now--he shouldn't notice anything unusual.

besides the facade you're putting on.

you clear your throat, eyebrows lifted like you're unconcerned. "there's not much to talk about."

peter's sullen face doesn't move an inch. "why were you crying?"

"i already told you. i watched a sad movie," you wave a hand, "you just came in at the wrong time."

peter sighs. he sits down on the couch next to you, keeping his distance. "don't lie."

you frown. "i'm not lying."

"you've got some pretty obvious tells, you know," peter whispers, giving you a hint of a bittersweet smile. "you don't have to talk to me. but i'd like it if you did. i just want to make sure that you're... okay."

"i'm fine, peter."

he looks away. "and if you're not then we'll figure it out. i just want to know."

"well, you do."

peter opens his mouth, then closes it, shaking his head.

he's sitting three feet away from you, but his hands are clasped together, his legs are opposite of yours, and he can't even look at you.

you can feel it, as you push him away. as you try so desperately to hold him close without touching him.

"okay," peter says, eyes meeting yours again. "i don't want to push you."

no, but he should pull you off of this ledge. should keep you from falling any further than you already have.

you shake your head, laughing. it's not funny.

"what?"

you close your eyes. count to ten. forget how to breathe, or how to speak to the person you love most in this world.

"what?" peter repeats, but softer.

you open your eyes.

and then it all crumbles.

you scoff. "can you stop looking at me like that?" you plead, breaking away, physically distancing yourself from him.

"like what?"

it's his fault, really, for coming home so early in the day.

"like you can't deal with this. like this is exhausting."

the tears sneak up on you, knocking you out before you even notice that they're there.

peter's eyes are wide as he stares at you. "you're not--" he swallows, frantically reaching towards you. "this isn't exhausting--i'm not--" a moment, tears beginning to fall. "what do you--"

you sigh, shaking your head. "you're always gone, and you come home exhausted every night after you think i've fallen asleep, and you only talk to me through text, and even now you just--" you stop, voice breaking. "if you can't do this," you say, softly, "then you should just tell me."

peter is closer than he was a moment ago. "what?"

"i know this is a lot of work, okay? and i know that you're already pushing yourself, so it's fine if i'm too much. if--if loving me is too much."

there's a moment of silence, and you're almost sure that peter has already left.

but then there's a thumb wiping a tear from your cheek. you can't open your eyes, can't face the reality you've been desperately holding off.

"you're not too much."

peter moves closer to you, his leg touching yours, his hands moving so that he can hold you closer.

you couldn't push him away if you tried.

"you're not too much," he repeats, the words sinking into your skin, his breath meeting yours. "i can't believe you would think that."

you half laugh, half sob. peter wipes away those tears too.

"you're the only thing keeping me going," he tells you, kissing your forehead. "i'm sorry i haven't been there. i didn't realize..." he shakes his head.

"you shouldn't have to take care of me as much as you do," you whisper.

peter nudges his head against yours. "hey. you take care of me way more than i take care of you. you clean up after me and stay up with me when i can't sleep. you help fix my suits, and do all of the laundry. and you never complain. you're practically my guardian angel."

"that's all easy."

"not for me," peter says, voice lighter than before.

you shrug.

"but you do all of that cause you love me," he adds, kissing your forehead again. "or, i hope that's why."

"it's the sex."

peter laughs, nuzzling his head into you. "well, at least you're honest. but, it's the same reason that i take care of you. you shouldn't feel... guilty because of that. you're no burden on me."

"no?"

"absolutely not."

you bite your lip. try and believe peter. but honestly, you're most lovesick from how close he's holding you. how you can feel his skin and listen to him speak somewhere that isn't your bed. you're not quite sure that this isn't a dream.

"hey," peter moves his head so you're looking at him. "we suck."

you laugh, leaning your forehead against his.

"i'm sorry it's been so long since we've... anything. it's been a rough couple of weeks."

"for me too. it's not your fault."

"you have to tell me if it's not enough, okay? i don't want you to suffer through it by yourself. if you need to talk to me--even for ten minutes--then you have to let me know."

"okay."

"do you promise?"

you nod against him, nose brushing his cheek. "i promise, peter."

peter smiles, satisfied. he groans, pulling you even closer to him. "i love you, bug. so much."

you can barely hear him because of how tight he's hugging you. it sort of hurts, but mostly heals.

"i know," you say back. but peter probably can't hear you, because you say it right into his shirt.

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon @moo-b1tch @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff @hollandweather @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan @valvlry @imthatcoolmom @spideysimpossiblegirl invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @sharkswaters @rowniebow @anaislfbv @take-my-hand-time-boy @mileyc111 @starsval @ratsys

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allywthsr · 5 months

Text

CHRISTMAS MOVIES | (l.norris)

summary: you and Lando watch Christmas movies

wordcount: 1k words

pairing: landonorris x fem!reader

warnings: none!

notes: what are we thinking?

advent calendar

”Lando, come on!“

You were sitting on the couch, waiting for Lando to come and join you. You planned a Christmas movie marathon for tonight, Lando finally had less stuff to do for McLaren and could relax from the stress he had over the year.

The day had been eventful with buying presents and getting ready for Christmas, you counted down the minutes until the evening would start and Lando and you would sit on the couch.

”I‘m coming babe, you can start Netflix already.“

So you did just that, grabbing the remote control and starting the TV, opening Netflix. Clicking through the different movies that Netflix had to offer, you wanted something romantic but funny and knew you had to make it sound cool or Lando wouldn’t watch it.

He came into the room with two mugs in his hands, he made cacao for the both of you, and he even added little marshmallows. You took the mug from his hand and took a small sip after blowing on it, so it would cool down a little.

”The aftertaste is different, it’s fucking good, what did you do with it?“

Now he sat down next to you and clinked your mugs together, putting his hand on your thigh and stroking it softly.

”I added some of your candy canes, I hope that’s okay I stole some.“

”Of course! It tastes tucking delicious.“

”Have you found something to watch yet?“

”No, I’m torn between this film and that one. What do you think?“

”I like the first one better, I know you love that film.“

You looked at him and pouted.

”Why, what’s wrong?“

”You’re so cute!“

You put your mug on the table and grabbed Lando’s mug from his hands to also set it on the table, now you threw yourself at him and hugged him tightly.

”You’re the best boyfriend ever.“

”Because I said we can watch a film that you love?“, his slight chuckle made you smile.

”No, you’re always the sweetest, and look at you, making me hot chocolate because I’m freezing.“

”You’re always freezing, so obviously I want you to be warm.“

”Whatever reason, I love you.“

”I love you too.“

Now you two lay on the couch and no one moved to press start on the movie.

”Y/N, will you get up and press play?“

”But I‘m so cozy right now.“

”Then we’re not going to watch the film.“

”Ugh, fine.“

You moved off of him and pressed play, drinking another sip of your drink, and laid back down on Lando. He put his hand on your back under your hoodie and started to slightly scratch the skin, while your hands found themselves in his hair to pull lightly on his strands. You both needed an evening with cuddles and movies, needing to be close to each other.

The wintery scene on the TV looked beautiful, you couldn’t wait for the weekend in the snow you had planned soon.

The hot chocolate on the table was now empty, and you were craving for more, you kindly asked Lando to make you a new one, because you could never make it as good as he could.

You paused the film and he got up to walk to the kitchen, while he was prepping another round of cocoa, you opened the metal box with the self-baked cookies and placed some cookies on a plate to take with you to the couch. If you placed the box on the the table, it would be empty before the movie was finished, and Lando and you would have stomach pain for the rest of the night.

While you two waited for the milk to warm up, you sat on the counter and he stood in between your legs, rubbing his hands over your thigh. You enjoyed the silence, and before you could say anything, the milk was ready and Lando was mixing cocoa powder and a half candy cane into the mugs, not forgetting little marshmallows.

Together you walked back to the couch where you resumed in your old position, on top of each other and with the hands somewhere on the body of the other. Your hands were on his neck now, you loved gripping and caressing it, the strong muscles moving underneath your grip.

The movie was playing, and you knew Lando wasn’t that into it, but he was content just holding you, he told you that multiple times when you caught him staring at your face. When the romantic kiss came, Lando pulled on your chin and pressed a kiss to your lips, starting to move them carefully against your lips. Quickly the kiss got more heated and Lando sat up, pulling you on his lap, you could feel him getting excited, he was squeezing your ass, grinding your lower half against his. You had to stop this.

”I‘m sorry baby, my period is due soon and I’m already leaking some weird liquid.“

”It’s extra lube.“

You slapped his chest playfully and kissed his cheek.

”I‘m not in the mood, I’m sorry.“

”That’s nothing you have to apologize for, my love. I was just joking.“

”Do you want me to help you?“

”I‘m good, it’ll go down in a second, you know how excited I get while kissing you.“

You smiled against his lips and pecked them quickly.

”You want to watch another movie? You can choose. Are you okay by the way? Do you need any pain meds or a hot water bottle?“

”I just need you to hold me, I can endure it for now.“

You pressed another kiss to his lips and he settled back on the couch, laying you next to him, so he could put a hand on your lower belly, caressing the skin slowly.

You took the remote control and chose the next film, another Christmas romance, but it was what you craved right now, and Lando would never deny your requests, as long as he got to spend time together.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #formula 1 #lando norris x you #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris x y/n #lando x reader #lando norris one shot #lando imagine #christmas #movies

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sluts4matt · 16 days

Text

HIGHER (420 special)

pairing: bsf!nate x mixed reader

summary: you've celebrated 4/20 every year since you were sixteen with a group of your friends, this year you were bringing one of your good friends nate to the get together. what happens when things take a turn between you two

warnings: SMUT, p in v, semi-public, swearing, making out, use of weed, pet names (use of ma), praising, use of y/n

word count: 2316

authors note: this was supposed to be out last week i'm ngl, i've just been busy and did in fact celebrate 4/20 so i fell asleep before i really got any work in on it.

view my master list here

april twentieth had to be your favorite day. the day your people got together to celebrate a plant helping them with the cruel world. this year you were happy to say your best friend nate would be joining you and your friends.

you pulled the tank top over your head, looking at yourself in the mirror before grabbing your watermelon flavored lip balm that your friend nick gave you.

you opened the tube, twisting the product up some before smearing it on your lips and smacking them together.

you slid on a pair of shoes, grabbing your pink bag containing pre-rolls and dabs, grabbing your keys and exiting your house. you locked the door and climbed in the driver's seat of your car, pulling away from your house.

you pulled up to the dispensary, walking into the shop. the bell above the door jingled when you pushed it open. "my favorite - shouldn't be here - customer," a girl with curly black hair and tattoos covering her arms smiles.

"hellooo whitney," you smile, walking up to the older woman. "need a new cartridge?"

"i mean... i didn't, i came in here for more dab, i'll be out by the end of the night. but do you have the blueberry kush west coast cure cartridge since i'm here?"

whitney nodded her head, you had come in a while back looking for one, but they didn't have any in stock. "you're in luck, we just got our inventory for the month last week."

you followed the woman to the back, not that you were supposed to be there since it was employees only. "hey, y/n," a guy with a backwards hat and gages greeted.

"hey axel," you greet, stopping behind whitney as she digs through boxes. "how are the babies?"

axel grins, his eyes crinkling up at the corners. "good, my girlfriend took the week off work so she could stay with them."

"ohhh that's so nice," you say. you had seen the twins a few times, even being blessed enough to babysit for a few hours while him and his girlfriend had date night.

whitney let out a small shout of success. "here it is, now, you're going to want to start low and then work your way up. you're a light weight compared to most of our customers."

you roll your eyes at her, "i am not," you huff. "that's not what i saw last time i did your nails," the lady grinned. whitney had been your go to for nails, having practiced while she was in high school.

"whatever," you roll your eyes, following her to the front. she rung up the dab, already knowing what her favorite customer liked and a cartridge. she stopped you before you swiped your card.

you watched as she scanned her badge, giving you a 30% discount. "i'll forever be grateful," you tell her.

"you know it. enjoy, have fun," she winked.

you walked back to your car, placing the white bag in the back before backing out of the parking space. you turned your left blinker on, turning out of the driveway.

the drive to nates house wasn't long, a whopping ten minutes. you pulled up to the curb, not even having time to pull up his contact before he was walking out the door.

you unlocked the doors, nate sliding in the passenger seat. "i hope you're ready to get baked out of your mind," you joke. he let out a small chuckle, taking the grey hood he wore off of his head, leaving him in his pink beanie.

"nice beanie," you muse, pulling away from his house and towards the park.

"thanks," he mumbled. "i'm glad to be going with you, it'll be fun," he smiles. "mhm," you hum, pulling up to the park fifteen minutes later. you turned your blinker on, turning into the parking lot before taking a parking space next to your friend sadies jeep.

"ready?"

"yep," nate replied, climbing out of the car.

you pulled your bag from the back, slinging it over your shoulder and grabbing the white bag before shutting the door. "heyyy," sadie and her girlfriend, emma, greeted getting out of her jeep.

"hey hey," you grinned, the two girls hugging you. "we were waiting for you guys," sadie informed. you nodded your head, starting the small walk towards the group of people.

you had met sadie a few years ago, her girlfriend emma being a family friend of yours. nate had joined the group some months back, the two of you running into each other at dunkin and immediately hit it off.

"hey guys," you greet, everyone saying their hellos. "well let's get the party started then," a girl with dyed red hair stated, pulling a lighter from her bra as she lit up the blunt she had held between her fingers.

a few hours into the gathering, you were happily baked.

you sat between nate and sadie, nates hand wrapped around your waist in order to provide some form of heat for you as you ate the watermelon popsicles someone had brought.

you sucked the tip of it into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. nate coughed next to you, you pulled the tip out with a pop, looking at him as he took a deep breath.

"are you okay?" you question, handing him the popsicle. he grabbed it, nodding his head. "i'm good," he choked out.

"alrighty then," you laugh, reaching up and grabbing his beanie, putting it on your own head. you stood, stretching and cracking your joints as you did so. you held your hand out to nate, "wanna take a walk?"

he grabbed your hand, allowing you to help him stand. you turned to your friends, letting them know where the two of you were going, emma and sadie wiggling their eyebrows.

you grabbed your bag, throwing it over your shoulder as the two of you started walking, nates hand still holding yours.

"i'm glad you came with me today," you admit, leaning against him.

"so am i," he agrees. the two of you walk in silence, enjoying each others company. you reach a large tree, nate letting go of your hand to climb up it.

"actually?" you giggle, watching the boy jump to wrap his arms around a branch. he looked down at you, a small grin on his face. "come on."

you set your bag on the ground, grabbing a hold of the branch and jumping. nate caught your ankle, helping you climb into the tree. "what are we doing in a tree," you question, leaning against him.

he took the beanie off of your head, putting it on his own. "because i like trees," he shrugs. "oh yeah," you giggle, resting your head on his shoulder. you sit in a comfortable silence, the air around the two of you growing tense.

nate leaned his head against yours, turning his head some so his lips were closer to your ear. "i'm really glad we became friends," he admitted, nudging the side of your neck with his nose.

"me too," you sigh, smiling.

he pressed a small kiss to the side of your neck, making your smile grow. "i'm glad to hear," he mumbled, placing another kiss.

you felt a small amount of heat pool in the pit of your stomach. "we should probably get down," you mumbled, pushing the feeling down.

"probably," he mumbled. you both stood, nate dropping from the tree first. he held his arms up, his hands wrapping around your calves, sliding up as you slid down.

your legs wrapped around his torso as you slid, in hopes to stabilize yourself more as you slid.

the two of you fell back onto the ground, nates hand coming to rest on your back as you laid on top of him. you let out a small gasp, nate's breath fanning your face as the two of you laughed.

"are you okay?" you giggle, lifting your head up some to look down at the boy. "never better," he grins, his eyes flickering from yours to your lips.

he lifted his head up some, pressing his lips to yours quickly before he could talk himself out of it.

you kissed back, his hand moving to grip the back of your neck. his thumb rubbed soothing circles, the kiss not being rushed. you pulled back, looking at him. "can we go to your house?"

"please."

you pushed yourself off of him, helping him up. you grabbed your bag, taking his hand and guiding him back to the party. "hey guys," you smile, catching the attention of the group.

"hey," a few greeted. "hey, um, we're going to head out," nate stated.

"ooohh," sadie grinned, a smirk on her face. "die," you point, earning a giggle from her. "i love youuuu," she yells as you walk away. "i love you too," you yell back, laughing.

the walk to your car was quiet, the two of you walking slowly. you stopped at the passenger side door, opening it for him. "such a gentlewoman," he grins, you rolling your eyes.

you slid into the drivers seat, buckling and starting the car. you pulled away from the park, nate resting his hand on your thigh. his thumb running circles on your thigh.

the air in the car was thick with sexual tension, your breathing a little heavy. nate slid his hand further up, his fingertips grazing your core.

"this okay?" he asked, noticing you let out a shakey breath. "yeah," you breathed, gripping the steering wheel harder.

his finger ran down your core, a small groan escaping his throat. "fuck," he muttered.

"what?" you questioned, glancing at him.

"you're soaking."

you let out a small whine, biting your lip. "pull over," he groaned.

"wha- why," you stutter. "because i don't think i can wait until we get to my house," he mumbles. you bite your lip, pulling off into a hidden part of the road.

"turn the car off," he mumbles, pulling his seatbelt off and sliding his seat as far back as it would go. you turn the car off, undoing your seatbelt and shifting to straddle his lap.

you leaned forward, attaching your lips to his. his hands gripped your waist, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "fuck, can't wait to be inside you," he groaned, kissing along your jaw.

you ground down against him, the two of you moaning in unison. nate slid his hand between the two of you, pushing your skirt up as he undid his pants.

he pulled his member out, stroking it a few times before pushing your underwear to the side. he groaned, your slick coating the head. "fuck, so wet," he groaned.

"all for you," you whispered, nipping his earlobe. he pushed you down, the head pushing into your entrance. "fuck," you squeaked shoving your face into his neck.

"oh shit," he moaned, your walls hugging him. he pulled your shirt and bra cup down, his mouth connecting to one of your nipples.

"fuck, nate," you whined, pulling his beanie off and grabbing his hair. his tongue flicked your nipple, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub.

he thrust his hips up, a cry escaping your mouth. "i'm sorry," he muttered, not stopping the shallow thrusts.

"fuck," you cried, the coil in the pit of your stomach tightening. "m'close," you moan. "already?" he grinned cockily, a moan escaping his own lips as you tightened around him.

you nodded your head, biting your lip and looking away from him. his hand grabbed your chin, pulling your head to face him. "let me hear that pretty voice," he cooed, thrusting up into you.

your hands rested on his shoulders, his thrusts speeding up. "fuck nate," you moaned. "right there," you cry, throwing your head back.

nate grinned, "right there ma?" he teased, his teeth connecting to your exposed neck. he thrusted into the spot, your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

"fuck," you moaned, the coil in your stomach snapping. your orgasm hit, your body shaking in his grasp.

"that's it," he encouraged. he kissed along your jaw, his hips working you through your orgasm.

"wait, shit," you moaned, his thrusts not faltering.

"why," he questioned, a small frown on his face. "cause... i'll cum again," you stutter. "okay, and?" he teased, biting his lip and smirking.

"oh," you moaned, leaning against him. he grabbed your ass, bouncing you in his lap. you leaned forward, connecting your lips to his.

he squeezed your ass, your walls clenching around him. "gonna make me cum," he breathed, his hips speeding up. you bounced with him, your breasts in his face. he kissed the tops of them, his lips moving across the skin.

"nate, oh my god," you moaned, throwing your head back. "so pretty," he breathed, his lips sucking a hickey into the skin above your nipple. "nate," you warned, your second orgasm approaching.

"cum for me," he ordered, his fingers digging into your waist.

you clenched around him, your second orgasm hitting. his hips stuttered, the coil in his stomach snapping as he shot his seed into you. the two of you panted, trying to catch your breaths.

he pressed his lips to yours, his hand roughly tangling in your hair. "so pretty," he murmured, pulling away and kissing along your neck. "such a pretty girl," he breathed, kissing your jaw.

"oh god," you breathed, your heart rate speeding up. nate smiled against your neck, pulling away and pressing his lips to yours. "so pretty," he breathed.

you bit your lip, sliding off his lap and adjusting your bra and skirt. nate tucked himself back in his pants, a blush on his cheeks. "wanna go to your place," you questioned, a shy smile on your face.

"absolutely," he grins. you start the car, buckling and backing out.

tag list:

@hysteria-things @tillies33ssss @soimightlikeoldmen69 @sturniolossss @freshsturns @etvar12 @sstvrnioloo @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloa @chrryclouds @sturniolhoe @sturniolowhore @imwetforyourmom @novasturniolo03 @spencerstits @junovrsmp4 @breeloveschris @skyslondon @stars4chratt @monkeyscientist22 @sophssturn @hearts4chriss @l5ka @sturnlovr @blahbel668 @sturncakez @livvy4realll @raysmayhem-72 @jnkvivi

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strnilolo · 8 months

Text

oops

summary: the blind, deaf, and mute baking challenge is put on pause when you accidentally injure yourself.

word count: 883

warnings: cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of injury, mentions of knives, mentions of hospital visit, use of y/n, she/her pronouns, only proofread twice, lowercase intentional.

an; thank you guys so much for the love on my last two posts! please send in requests, i would love to hear what ideas you guys have.

||navigation||

driving to the emergency room instead of filming a vlog with the triplets was not how you imagined your night going. everything was perfectly fine when you started filming, you and nick weren’t allowed to hear, matt wasn’t allowed to see, and chris wasn’t allowed to speak. all was well, until you needed to cut open the bag of cake mix for the boys to use.

before the chaos..

“okay we need to get a bowl” you loudly explain the first step to the boys, unaware of your volume. chris grabs your shoulders and ushers you to lower your voice, to which you attempt.

“matt don’t move, i’ll get it” you hastily run over to matt before he can get to the cabinet containing the glass bowls.

“n/n hush, we can hear you” matt laughs standing back as you get the bowl yourself.

“what??” again, as loud as you can be without physically yelling.

“he means shut the fuck up” nick shouts grabbing your head, forcing you to look at him. you laugh, almost falling over in the process. chris grabs the box, reading the instructions to hopefully get the actual baking started, when you grab the knife needed to cut open the bag of cake mix.

“here let me cut it open” you grab the bag from chris, taking it and the knife to the trashcan so you don’t make a mess. holding the bag in one hand, you bring the knife to the side you were holding, your first mistake. slicing the plastic open, you immediately are hit with a stinging pain in your finger.

“oh fuck” you drop the bag onto the counter, taking your headphones off.

“guys i cut my finger open, holy shit” you begin to panic, holding the wound on your finger as blood drips at a rapid pace down your hands, onto the floor.

“what?” matt rips off the blindfold that was once over his eyes. chris and matt rush to you, leaving a confused nick, still jamming out to his music.

“what happened” nick shouts, now also rushing over to your aid.

“ i was trying to cut open the bag for chris and i cut my finger” you try to explain as calmly as possible, failing as a tear makes its way down your face.

“let me see it” matt grabs your hand, but you jerk back instinctively.

“y/n i have to see how bad it is, i need to know if you need to go to the hospital” anxiety on high, matt snaps at you, grabbing your hand once more. nick places a hand on your shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

“okay, this is going to need stitches, let’s go. chris turn off the camera, and get in the car” matt rushes you all to the car, grabbing paper towels on the way out to stop the bleeding.

now all three of you sit in the car, you in the passenger seat so that matt can see you, while chris and nick are in the back seat, leaning forward to make sure you’re alright.

“did i ever tell you guys i hate blood” you laugh tearfully, squeezing the napkins over your finger.

“y/n you worked at a hospital when you were younger, how do you hate blood?” chris leans over your shoulder, watching your bleeding hand cautiously.

“an ANIMAL hospital, chris, it’s completely different” you correct him, closing your eyes to stop yourself from thinking about your injury.

“we’re almost there, as long as i don’t get pulled over you’ll be fine” matt grabs a few paper towels from his lap, urging you to change out the ones that are around your finger.

“matt do not get pulled over for this, im fine. stop speeding” you hand the paper towels to nick and shove your hand into his lap.

“i don’t want to do it, i’ll throw up”

rolling his eyes, nick begins to unwrap the paper towels from your index finger, revealing the severity of your injury, or lack there of.

“it’s not too terrible, it’s deep but not long. you should only need a few stitches” nick finishes wrapping your finger, and rubs your arm to comfort you.

arriving at the emergency room, you are immediately seen, as you’re actively bleeding, and the doctor tells you and the boys that you got lucky. the cut will only need to be glued shut, and bandaged.

finishing your wound, the doctor tells you to stay away from knives and to be more careful.

“how did you cut yourself, you weren’t even blindfolded?” matt laces his fingers with yours, the hand that you didn’t cut, of course, and leads you to the car.

“very carefully”

“well now we know, don’t trust y/n with knives, or sharpe objects, or around blood, even though she worked at an ‘ANIMAL’ hospital” chris mocks your emphasis on the word animal, lightly shoving you towards the car.

“HEY! she’s clumsy she could have tripped over that branch and DIED” nick dramatically places an arm out to stop you from ‘falling’.

“i’ll never live this down will i?�� you roll your eyes, stepping aside so matt can open your car door.

“nope” matt smiles, making sure you’re fully in the car before shutting the door.

|| likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

🏷️ @bananabread-nana ||

#matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #sturniolo edit #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #madi filipowicz #sturniolo triplets fanfic #imagine #blurb #alice writes #pls reblog

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360iris · 1 year

Text

For me, the vibe drastically shifts when I think of the moon knight system individually—

Like there’s Steven, who’s very sweet and accommodating. He’s easy going but just the right amount of snarky that never fails to make you snort with laughter.

He’s the kind of person I’d want to go to Starbucks with and order a large refresher only to walk around Target for a good two hours like it’s the mall or a farmer’s market.

Steven is Tuesday nights spent sprawled out on a modest sized couch, the two of you wrapped under a large blanket and trying to be respectful of each other’s space as you’re both self conscious of how much space you’re taking up.

But eventually, your calves are touching and ankles are interlocked as you’re leaning over him to get something off the end table.

It’s him standing at the bathroom sink, brushing his teeth and intently listening as you rambunctiously complain about obnoxious coworkers and customers over the noise of the shower running, shampoo being massaged into your scalp and rinsed from your hair.

He’s the partner you spent your adolescence daydreaming about.

And then there’s reserved, calculated and partially measured Marc. He’s quiet in an attentive sort of way, the type of big, semi-permanently grumpy guy who’ll take mental notes of literally everything that has to concern with you.

For example, he’ll pinpoint the exact pieces in your wardrobe you’re more inclined to pull out and wear before anything else in your closet— and he’ll always be sure to have washed, folded and returned them to their drawers so that they’re ready for you to pull on again at the end of the day.

It’s the kind of act of service that’s so subtle, you don’t realize he’s been doing it for months.

This man will fully memorize your go-to restaurant orders and act like it’s simply a coincidence when the waiter arrives and he’s just finished flawlessly reciting what you want, for you.

He knows what things you tend to somehow always forget to pack in your purse for work and will neatly line them up on the kitchen bar so that you couldn’t possibly miss them (you still forget to take them though… and after a while, he just starts packing your work bag for you. It doesn’t take long and he finds it’s nice that it gives him something to do.)

Marc is Sunday mornings spent baking cupcakes, lining the counters with different flavored box mixes, eggs and large ceramic bowls. Splashes of vanilla extract, tins smeared with butter and coated in flour for easy removal. The smell of sweet chocolate icing filling the air.

The two of you taking turns alternating from dish duty to prep. Pressing indulgent kisses in between his shoulder blades as he whisks eggs into oil and water like the yellowy yolks owe him money.

The way you serenely clean up behind him— a little spilt cake mix here, or broken eggshells there— doesn’t go unnoticed or unappreciated. The small gestures really go miles for him.

Marc wordlessly gives out tender pecks, against your temple or at the nape of your neck just because. He’s comfortable silences and fingers warmly intertwined.

He’s the man you find yourself stealing glances at when you think he’s not looking, wondering how you got so lucky.

And last, but never least, there’s Jake who’s hardy, spartan and disciplined. A true product of his environment and circumstances. Someone who learned from their oppressors and surpassed them in their capacity for brutality. The thing about Jake however, is that he has a great proclivity for gentleness as well.

Jake is Wednesday nights, the two of you undressing layer by layer, garments piling into a neat stack to later be placed into the laundry hamper. Jake resting his chin over your right shoulder, his arms wrapped around your middle as you fold your pants and his shirt.

He’s knelt alongside the white garden tub, his hand under the running water from the facet, adjusting the temperature as needed. Eucalyptus scented suds and bubbles fill the space around you as your back rests against his chest.

With his hands brought around your front, he peels one of the set of three clementines you’d brought from the kitchen. Hand feeding you segmented pieces to be lazily gnawed at, soft sloshes and splashes sounding at your feet as you wiggle your toes in the comfortable silence. The two of you exchanging hushed mumbles.

He’s cold nights with chill air slashing your cheeks, a steady chocolate stare he fixes you with as you shuffle in place in front of him. His neck craning as he leans forward, a gloved hand encasing your hands clasped at your mouth and moving them aside— his lips pressing against yours wordlessly.

He’s the protector you only ever heard about in passing stories.

#moon knight #moon knight blurb #moon knight headcanon #moon knight system #moon knight system x reader #jake lockley #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #oscar issac

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jo-harrington · 5 months

Text

You don't have time for Christmas.

Work and home and this friend in a crisis.

Work and home and, let's be honest, probably work again.

And before you know it, it's December 20th and you don't even have any decorations up. Barely anyone does. The neighborhoods that are usually lit up with lights and figurines enough to rival the Griswolds are noticably dark this year.

What holiday? What festivity? It's wake up and hustle and lay in bed in a dreamless sleep. Then wake up to do it all again.

You are a cog in a machine.

You don't know how to voice these things, your displeasure, the secret yearning for the pomp and circumstance and childhood whimsy for the holiday season that's tucked somewhere deep inside your weary body. You can't bring yourself to indulge in it.

You're tired.

You glance down the card aisle at the grocery store but don't stop to grab any for friends. You pick up a bag of peanut butter bells for your candy jar at work but then second guess it at the checkout. Gifts are bought with as much care as you could, but you can't even bother to wrap them as prettily as you usually would.

You can try again for Valentine's. Chocolate hearts with the crispy rice inside and roses for your coworkers. Something.

But this year, you don't have time for Christmas.

And he notices.

It starts with cookies.

He likes to bake--started with boxed cake mix and then you bought him a handheld torch one year so he could try his hand at creme brûlée after he watched a little too much Jacques Pepin on PBS--so it's not anything suspicious. No ulterior motives detected.

Only he's dug up the little handwritten notebook full of your grandma's favorite recipes. Grandpa's handwriting because he wrote it while she dictated. Cookies he's never tasted before himself but seemed to have nailed exactly the way she made them. The love he poured into the treats matched hers exactly.

He brings you a plate and a cup of cocoa when you come home and collapse on the couch.

You cry when you eat them. And he lets you.

Then he digs out the tree from the garage.

The one-car garage that you pay extra for doesn't fit either of your vehicles but fits all your crap. You both vow to clean up at some point and never do. He slogs through the boxes of old band tees that don't fit him and kitchen crap that you don't miss or really need, to get to the plastic 6 ft tree that used to have stickers to note which bough went in what slot but those are long gone.

He spends hours figuring it out and decorating it, and imagine your surprise when you come home to an otherwise-dark apartment illuminated by the fat, colorful incandescent bulbs that you're sure he spent a significant amount of time untangling. You'd both given up last year and went without lights. But there they are.

"What?" you drop your bag by the door. "What is this?"

"I dunno," he grins proudly. "Thought it would be nice. Get in the Christmas spirit. Saved the star for you to put on top if you want."

And you did. You wanted it so bad. Ever since you were a kid, you were the one to put the star on top of the tree.

After it's up, you marvel at the special care he's taken with the important ornaments. Fragile little wooden ones from your grandma, popsicle stick frames with baby pictures of both of you, a macaroni snowman that he gave his mom once-upon-a-time that his uncle had stashed away, and then a fancy hallmark one you got the year you moved in together.

They all have special places on the tree and tell a story of your lives, separate and then together.

You both lay under the tree that night, staring up at the glittering lights as you hold hands.

Finally it's Christmas Eve. Which to him really meant nothing, but to you meant the world. Christmas Days were spent with individual families but Christmas Eves of old meant a big dinner and time spent with your cousins and It's a Wonderful Life on the TV.

It's a tradition that got put to the wayside as everyone got too old and too tired. As you started getting scheduled to work, like this year. And it's almost worse this year, as you've done a stretch of you-can't-remember-how-many days, that you even turned down an invitation for the two of you from your mom for a small dinner with her.

You're exhausted by the time you get home and, more than anything, you're looking forward to the day off tomorrow.

Not the holiday. The day off.

Still, you remember to bring in the handful of gifts from their hiding place in your trunk. You don't really do gifts between the two of you anymore. Nothing big at least. Just a cheesy little thing. Something fun, not something serious. But you did a little more this year than you usually would--all of the OT you'd clocked for one, and too many things you saw that you knew would make him smile for another.

You try to tip toe into the house as quietly as possible so you can throw the boxes under the tree and shower but he's vigilant. He's been at the stove cooking for a while, and he greets you at the door as you shut it behind you.

"I thought we said no big gifts," he admonishes you and snatches the boxes from your hands. The wrapping paper isn't festive--just brown craft paper you stole borrowed from work since you wrapped on your lunch--but you managed to slap on some red and green bows from the drugstore that you grabbed the other day.

"They're not big," you explained. "I promise."

"Well neither are mine," he winked.

You slap a hand against his chest and then give him a kiss in greeting and thanks.

"One better be the RC racer I wanted when I was nine," he mutters against your lips.

"Hmmm, you're just gonna have to wait," you tell him. "And no shaking the boxes.

You're almost a little ticked off'; one of them is the RC racer.

You kick off your shoes as the smell finally hits you.

Dinner.

Thick and savory and fragrant.

Some kind of fish and roasted potatoes and the starchiness of a pasta and the tang of its sauce.

Recipes, again, taken from your grandma's little notebook. They stir something deep inside of you. That yearning you never voiced.

The weariness that's been slowly building within you finally comes to a head when you make it to the kitchen and see the pots and pans and two plates already portioned out.

An ice cold beer for him, and a Shirley temple, extra cherries, for you.

"Remember when you told me," he comes up behind you and his arms snake around your midsection, "that you and your cousins would sneak extra maraschino cherries from the fridge when your gram wasn't looking. And then she went to go get them for the pistachio salad and they were gone."

Your knees shake and you practically collapse against him.

"Speaking of which, there is a pistachio salad in the fridge for dessert."

"Why?" you sniff.

"Because that's actually my favorite, so sorry to your grandma's tiramisu." He pecks a kiss to the side of your head and rocks you back and forth. "But if you want to make that for New Year's Eve, I won't say no."

"No," you let out a watery laugh. "Why are you so good to me, why did you do all of this?"

"Because I know it's been a hard few weeks. Few months." You can feel him shrug. "Fuck, it's been hard for me too but...I know this is one of your favorite parts of the year and you just...haven't been in the spirit for it. So whatever I could do to make it happen for you..."

You turn in his arms and bury your face in his shoulder, in his neck, so he doesn't see your tears. Again. Worse this time as you begin to shake from your sobs. He shushes you, runs a hand over your back, and leaves kiss after kiss against your head.

"Baby, I'll do anything for you," he tells you, voice thick with emotion. "I just want you to be happy."

"I am happy," you whine against his skin. "I'm so...so happy."

"Good."

"Thank you," you repeat it over and over again until it feels like you're empty of all the void and indifference that have filled you for the past few months are gone. In their place just...love and gratitude for him.

"Merry Christmas baby. I love you."

"I love you too, Merry Christmas."

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson fic #it honestly could be anyone but it's him #christmas fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #stranger things fic

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the-californicationist · 3 months

Text

Good Fences (Fluffuary #14)

FEB14: Cooking Together

“C’mon, love. We’ve gotta get this cake ready for tomorrow or Garrick is going to pout,” John reminded you, shaking a box of cake mix at you as he stood in the kitchen.

You had promised to bake Kyle a cake for his birthday, complete with homemade icing and candles, and he had been practically glowing with excitement. He’d begged for funfetti,

“I’ve never had it, and it looks fuckin’ grand. You’d be makin’ my birthday wish come true, babes.”

“Alright, alright. Cake-in-a-box, coming right up,” you laughed, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

That’s how you found yourself dragging your mixer out of the cabinet and following John’s orders as he read them off of the box.

“It says two eggs, love. Why’d you add the third yolk?” He warned, peering menacingly over your shoulder.

“Makes it a little richer. Just mind your business, sir,” you winked, elbowing him as you scraped the sides of the huge metal bowl, “What’s the next step?”

The batter came together in your mixer and you watched as the suspiciously-bright rainbow sprinkles dotted the inside of the pale cream, dancing in circles around the beater. John held the bowl while you filled each greased tin, making sure to leave some room.

“Alright, chef,” he smiled, “Thirty minutes at three-fifty in your ridiculous Fahrenheit.”

John was wearing your oven mitts on his hands, using them to pull out the hot racks so he could place the cakes inside. They were shaped like fish, and their mouths were the hands.

“What icing for the birthday boy, do you think?” You opened your fridge and stared at some of the ingredients you’d purchased.

You were planning on strawberry vanilla buttercream, but you could manage chocolate if you needed to.

John pulled off the mitts and shut the oven door. He wrapped you in his arms and stared into the fridge with you,

“Mmm. I know he’s a vanilla fan. Tha’s your safest bet, love.”

“Is he still planning on borrowing your car? He said he had something in town, but he didn’t elaborate,” you asked, wondering why you had to plan a birthday party in the middle of the day instead of around dinner time.

“Said he has a hot date…” John raised his eyebrows at you and helped you find a clean bowl to make the icing.

“Oh, God. Cana,” you realized, laughing as you started to prepare the buttercream, combining the ingredients manually rather than going through the trouble of washing the stand mixer.

“Yep,” John smiled, stealing an unused strawberry from the bowl he’d pulled from the icebox.

The juice ran down the corner of his mouth and you caught it with your finger, licking it up and handing him a napkin.

“There,” you said, folding in the vanilla extract, “Give this a try.”

You held up the bowl of icing for him to taste, and he wiped some from the side of the bowl, painting it onto his finger and sucking it into his mouth.

He groaned, low and deep,

“Mmm. It’s good, love.”

Then, he stuck his finger back in for a second taste, and you pulled the bowl away, giggling at him,

“Hey! Save it for the cake…”

He grabbed you around the waist and held you to him so you couldn’t escape. Using his finger filled with icing, he pointed it toward your nose, threatening to wipe it on you.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he chuckled, letting you writhe against him, giggling and trying to get away.

“John! No! Oh, my God. I’m gonna pinch you,” you threatened.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Careful. I kinda like it when you pinch me, love.”

You gasped, and he took advantage of your shock, smearing the icing on the tip of your nose. He grabbed your face, smiling and laughing with you, sticking his tongue out to lick it off.

“John Price!” You screeched, craning your neck away from his wet tongue.

“Mm. Just a taste. C’mere…”

John covered you in icing, kisses, and his lustful caresses until the oven timer beeped loudly in the kitchen, nearly forgotten.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

#the californicationist does fluff #fluffuary 2024 #fluffuary #john price fluff #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #cod fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii

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purinfelix · 5 months

Note

joao fluff where him and the reader decorate their house for christmas together and then bake cookies + watch christmas movies + cuddle afterwards! it’s okay if yoy don’t celebrate christmas, i could request a diff prompt :) I LOVE UR WORK AND UR USER AS WELL 💗

love actually, is all around ₊˚⊹♡

pairing: joao felix x reader (established relationship) summary: just some good old christmas-themed fluff !! warnings: none w/c: 1k

a/n: like i said with the Gavi one, i had completely misunderstood how soon christmas actually was so i'm so so sorry for how long this took and how late it is (but also the joao Christmas tree decorating vid lowk came out at a perfect time)... still anon tysm ily and thank u for being patient !!! hope you enjoy and have a good christmas !! <3

“No, look here Joao,” you sigh, squinting at the back of the empty cookie-mix box, “it says to put the eggs in after the butter.”

“Now why on earth would I do that,” he sighs, already grabbing two eggs from the carton and cracking them both in before you can stop him. If you weren’t so focused on the fact he cracked them both with one hand with such ease, you probably would’ve been more upset about the fact he was sabotaging the gingerbread cookies you two were attempting to make.

But even if he did, you were in no mood to be upset today - in fact, it was virtually impossible to be anything but utterly content at the scene you two had set out for yourself. You and your boyfriend had spent the better part of the afternoon decorating your apartment in time for the holiday season. And several fights with tangled Christmas lights, uncooperative sticky tape and broken baubles later, you had managed to make your shared space festive enough. Even from the kitchen you could spot the tree, who’s soft glow gave your living room an ambience and your heart a warmth that made all your efforts worth it.

You had even managed to talk your boyfriend into dressing the part, the two of you were wearing matching plaid pyjama bottoms. Meanwhile, Floki pattered around in a tiny reindeer outfit Joao had bought for him on a whim and seemed way too excited to see him in. And you couldn’t help but share his beaming smile once he finally wrestled the dog into the suit.

Watching Floki jump around your feet had distracted you from the issue at hand until you heard the sound of wet batter slapping onto itself, causing you to whip your head up to where your boyfriend stood tightly gripping a wooden spoon.

“Should it be this,” he paused, eyebrows furrowed as he searched for the right word, “wet?”

“I don’t think so …”

You leant in a little closer, worry growing in you as you looked at the concerningly runny batter. However your boyfriend was determined to go on, simply shrugging as he dumped it out onto the floured counter with a small huff. Before you could stop him he was already hands deep in the brown mush, face twisted into an almost adorably focused expression complete with a bottom lip jutted out just enough to form a pout. You found yourself resigned to just watching him as he worked through the dough, an endeared smile spread across your face - at least until he turned to you, hands covered with sticky residue and a look that had morphed from focus to frustration, and you decided you would lend a hand.

Once your gingerbread cookies, or at least your attempt at gingerbread cookies, were in the oven and the two of you had cleaned the stubborn remnants of the dough off of your hands you found yourself curled up on the couch beside your boyfriend. The combination of the pyjama pants and Christmas sweater he had insisted on wearing made Joao the embodiment of a heat pack, and the perfect thing to snuggle up to given the cold weather outside - even if he was more concerned with picking the perfect movie for the two of you to watch than reciprocating your hugs.

Still, you let out a soft hum of happiness once he finally picked one after what seemed like an eternity of searching and could set down the remote to wrap an arm around you and pull you even closer - which you had thought was physically impossible given how you kept shuffling up next to him. As the movie opening played, you felt his hand come up to catch on a strand of your hair, wrapping it around his finger to twirl it. It was a half-thought out action and a habit he had developed in quiet moments like these the two of you spent alone, a silent way of expressing his love.

“This is nice,” you heard him say softly, not needing to raise his voice anymore above a whisper given how close the two of you were. It was an obvious enough statement, but said in a way that conveyed a second message - one that said “This is nice, and I’m glad I get to experience it with you.”

“It is,” you mumbled in response, feeling the temptation of fatigue tugging your eyelids closed. Joao noticed this, and only let out an amused chuckle as he pushed your hair away from your face and offered more of his shoulder for you to lean on.

“I hope we get to have many more Christmases together,” he breathed, watching you try to fight your urge to sleep with nothing but love in his eyes.

“We will,” you said in response, which, even through your haze of sleepiness, sounded as definite as a sure fact.

You recognised the familiar feeling of Joao’s lips gently pecking your forehead as you drifted off to sleep, curled up next to him. You could just make out faintly the smell of ginger, cinammon and all the other spices you had used in your cookie batter still clinging to him. You could hear Floki pattering around in the background, the bells on his reindeer costume jingling softly, as well as the steady beat of Joao’s heart. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt so content, so at peace, so calm, and the last thought that graced your mind was about how you would give anything to make sure you could relive this moment a thousand times again.

At least, it would’ve been - if you hadn’t been woken up rudely by the loud beeping of your kitchen timer, the distinct smell of something burning, and Joao cursing under his breath as thick clouds of smoke squeezed their way out of your oven from your gingerbread cookies, or at least what remained of them.

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