#it wasn’t even real cookie dough

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

cookie dough made and consumed. I guess that means it’s time to write (derogatory).

[amirasainz]

Hey can you make one where Lewis and Readers mom are in a relationship and Reader kind of grows up with Lewis ad her stepdad. Over time she stops calling him Lewis and instead calls him Dad.

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

-xoxo babygirl 💜

The greatest title of them all

The sound of laughter echoed through the house as Marry stood in the kitchen, stirring a pot of soup. It was a cozy Saturday afternoon, with the warm sun casting a soft glow through the windows. In the living room, a ballet video played on the TV. It was a recording of Yn’s recent performance, and even though it wasn’t perfect in her eyes, she loved watching herself dance, especially with her mom and Lew nearby.

“Mom, can we watch it again?” Yn’s voice, small and tentative, broke through the quiet.

Marry looked up with a warm smile. “Of course, sweetie. Go ahead.” She set down the spoon and wiped her hands on a dish towel.

Lewis, who had been sitting on the couch, looked over at Yn. His heart swelled with affection every time she called him by his name—‘Lew’—a title he hadn’t even dreamed of when they first met. It wasn’t always this way. In the beginning, Yn was shy, cautious of him, unsure of his place in their home. But now, as she was snuggled up with him on the couch, her tiny frame leaning into his side, Lewis felt like the luckiest man in the world.

“Are you sure about the soup? You don’t need any help?” he asked, his voice gentle, watching her stir the pot. He didn’t want to pull her away from her task, but he also wanted her to know he was there if she needed him.

She chuckled softly. “I’m good, honey. Just enjoy your time with Yn. I’ll be right here.”

And he did enjoy it. Every single moment. Because Yn had become his little girl in so many ways, and he had become the father figure she never thought she needed.

---

Two years ago, when he first started dating Marry, things had been complicated. Yn was only five at the time, and she didn’t know how to process the idea of another man being in the house. Her dad had left when she was three, and for the past two years, her only family was her mom.

At first, she had called him “Lewis.” It had been strange for her, especially when he would show up to spend time with Marry. But over time, he began to do little things for Yn, making sure she felt included, loved, and heard.

Lewis had been there for her first ballet recital, sitting proudly in the front row with a bouquet of flowers, cheering her on just like a real dad would. He didn’t need to be asked—he wanted to be there.

“Good job, sweetheart!” he had shouted excitedly when she took her final bow.

Yn had smiled shyly, but the connection between them had deepened after that day. It wasn’t just that he showed up—it was that he cared. When she wanted to go to the waterpark for her birthday, Lewis had taken her. He had watched her face light up as she slid down the water slides and played in the wave pool.

At night, when they sat down to watch movies, he’d let her pick the movie—even if it was a Barbie movie she watched for the hundredth time. It didn’t matter to him. What mattered was the smile on her face.

“Let’s have a picnic, just the three of us!” Lewis had suggested one Saturday afternoon. He laid out a blanket in the living room, and they ate sandwiches, laughing as Roscoe tried to steal a piece of ham.

But more than the big moments, it was the small ones that cemented his place in Yn’s heart.

The nights he spent waiting for her to fall asleep on the couch so they could decorate her room together.

Or when they baked cookies in the kitchen, and Lewis taught her how to mix the dough just right, making a mess and laughing the entire time.

That's when 'Lewis' turned into 'Lew'.

Sometimes, it was the quiet moments that meant the most and change everything. Like the night Yn came to him after a bad dream.

---

The night had been quiet, the house wrapped in a blanket of calm. Marry was asleep beside Lewis, but a small sound stirred him from his slumber. He heard it again—soft, a hesitant knock.

“Mom?” Yn’s voice was faint.

Lewis heart leaped in his chest. He turned toward her voice. “Hey, Yn, you okay?”

Yn’s small figure appeared in the doorway, her face tight with worry. Her eyes, wide with fear, met his. “Lew… I had a bad dream,” she said, her voice cracking slightly.

Marry stirred in bed but didn’t fully wake up. Lew gently pulled back the covers, his heart aching at the sight of Yn standing there, so small and vulnerable.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he whispered, patting the empty spot beside him.

Yn climbed into the bed, curling up next to him. Her head rested on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her protectively.

“You’re safe here, okay?” Lewis whispered, his fingers running through her soft hair. “Bad dreams don’t stand a chance when you’re with me. I’ll keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Lew,” she mumbled, already beginning to relax in his arms.

He smiled down at her. And then, in that moment, something he never expected to hear passed her lips. “Dad?”

Lew’s heart skipped a beat. He held his breath, unsure of whether he had heard her right.

“I’m here, baby,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m right here.”

It didn’t take long for Yn to fall back asleep, her hand still gripping his, but from that night on, everything had changed. The way Yn looked at him, the way she started calling him Dad instead of Lew, felt like the most sacred gift he could ever receive. It wasn’t just a title. It was the confirmation of the bond they had formed together.

He had been there for her, in every way a father could be—attending her recitals, helping her with homework, making her laugh, teaching her how to ride a bike, taking care of her when she was sick. But it wasn’t until that night, when she whispered ‘Dad’ into the quiet of the night, that he knew he had become something much more than just her mom’s boyfriend.

---

As the days passed, the bond between Lew and Yn deepened. They were inseparable—Yn seeking comfort in him when the world felt a little too big and scary. When her dad stopped picking up the phone calls, when she felt abandoned, Lewis was there. He was her constant, her rock.

One evening, as they sat down to dinner, Yn hesitated, her little hands resting on the table, fiddling nervously with her napkin. She looked up at Lewis, her eyes big with a question she wasn’t sure how to ask.

Lew met her gaze with a smile, noticing her uncertainty. “What’s on your mind, kiddo?”

Yn bit her lip, then asked softly, “Do you think my papa will ever come back?”

The question hit Lewis hard, but he knew better than to lie to her. “I don’t know, sweetheart,” he said quietly. “But what I do know is that I’m here for you. Always.”

Yn nodded, her shoulders relaxing a little as she reached out and took his hand. “I’m glad you’re here, Dad.”

That was all Lewis needed to hear. He squeezed her hand, his heart full.

“I’ll always be here, baby,” he promised, leaning in to kiss the top of her head. “And no matter what happens, you’ll never be alone.”

Yn smiled, her trust in him unwavering. For her, Lewis was more than just a stepdad. He was her dad, the man who loved her, protected her, and gave her a sense of security that she had never known.

And for Lewis, there was no greater joy than knowing he had earned that place in her heart. He would always cherish the title of ‘Dad’—because it meant more than anything he could have ever imagined.

As they sat there, together at the dinner table, the sound of Marry’s laughter filled the room. And in that moment, Lewis knew that this—this family—was exactly where he belonged.

[feenoire]

Thorned Innocence

dark!joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

rating: explicit 18+ minors dni

word count: 4.1k

warnings: DDDNE, non-consensual rough sex, coercion, virginity loss, cunnilingus, substance use and drugging, age difference (19/50).

summary: on christmas eve, everything takes a dark turn when your sister has to leave, leaving you alone with her husband.

a/n: i never planned to write this, but the idea has been stuck in my mind. as a reminder, this is purely fictional, and i do not condone nor romanticize anything like this in real life. if this story is bothering you in any way, please take care of yourself. your well-being is the most important thing <𝟑. this is my first time writing smut btw and i tried my best :) also, im sorry for being inactive lately, everything keeps falling apart. ive been feeling overwhelmed and tired, but im trying to focus on writing because it helps me cope when everything feels out of control. i appreciate your support and patience, it means the world to me. thank you 𐙚

dividers by @strangergraphics

The snow falls softly outside the window, blanketing the ground in a soft, powdery white. It’s Christmas night, and the kitchen is filled with the comfortable glow of warm, dim light. The scent of freshly baked cookies fills the air as you carefully shape the dough into little deer for your sister, Ana, and her husband, Joel.

The cozy crackle of the fire in the living room adds to the peaceful atmosphere. Your heart is full of love and excitement as you can’t wait to share the little deer-shaped cookies with them.

You’ve been living under their roof for a month now, ever since your dad passed away. Your sister insists on it, not wanting you to be alone in your parents’ house, even though you’re nineteen and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. She can’t bear the thought of you being all alone, even if you’re an adult.

She’s almost like a mother to you, despite the twenty-year age gap. Since you were a baby, she’s been there, always taking care of you to help your dad. Filling the void left by your mother, who passed away giving birth to you. That was until Joel married her when you were ten, and then she left.

Sometimes, it feels like it’s your fault that your mother isn’t here, and as a child, you would wake up in the middle of the night, crying, overwhelmed with guilt. But your sister was always there to calm you, wrapping you in her arm, and reassuring you that it wasn’t your fault. She would remind you that your mother’s love was an act of sacrifice and that you were never to blame. Her soothing words always helped lift the weight from your heart.

You love your sister deeply, and you often feel that the least you can do is show your gratitude in small, meaningful ways. Baking those cookies for her and Joel is your way of expressing how thankful you are for everything they’ve done for you.

“What are you doing, doll?” Ana asks, stepping into the kitchen with a warm smile.

You don’t hear her footsteps, and it’s almost as if she’s purposely creeping up behind you. Startled, you quickly turn around and hide the baked cookies behind your back. “Nothing,” you say, trying to act casual.

“It’s not nothing. I can smell it from upstairs. Move!” she says with a playful laugh, gently nudging you aside to peek behind you.

“No!”

Her eyes light up as she spots the deer-shaped cookies. “Oh my god, this is so cute!”

“You’re not supposed to see it now,” you say, a hint of disappointment in your voice as you cross your arms, a small pout forming on your lips.

“Well, I already saw it. Can I try one?” she asks with a teasing smile, reaching for a cookie.

“It was supposed to be a surprise, and now it’s ruined,” you reply, trying to hide a smile.

“Wait… you made this for me?”

You bow your head, trying to hide your rosy cheeks, and bite your lip before speaking softly, “Yeah… I made this for you and Joel.” Your voice is quiet, almost shy.

“You’re too sweet,” she says, her voice filled with affection. She looks at you with an expression full of love. “You didn’t have to do this, but it means so much.”

“I wanted to,” you say softly. “It’s the least I can do… for everything you’ve done for me.”

She smiles warmly and pulls you into a hug. You always love the feeling of being wrapped in her arms—it’s a warmth that feels like coming home.

“I love you, doll.”

You smile, your voice barely above a whisper as you try not to get too emotional, “I love you, too.”

“For god’s sake, just try the cookies,” you say with a playful laugh as you gently push her away, your cheeks still warm.

“Fine,” she says, grabbing one of the warm cookies and taking a bite, then she grins. “This is amazing! You really outdid yourself.”

“Really? Thanks,” your cheeks turning a little pink under her praise.

Too caught up in the moment, you don’t realize Joel has been standing in the kitchen doorway, watching the two of you all this time. It isn’t until he coughs that you notice him, his brown eyes fixed on you.

“Honey, come over here and try the cookie she made!” Ana says excitedly. “She baked these just for us.”

“Really? Reckon it’s alright if I try one, sweetheart?” Joel asks you, his voice deep with a slow southern drawl.

“Yeah, actually they’re for both of you,” you say, smiling shyly.

Joel steps closer, his hand reaching for a cookie, the other gently resting on your waist as he stands behind you a little too long. The touch lingers for a moment before he pulls back, but you remain lost in the warmth of the moment with your sister, not noticing.

Joel looks at you and speaks, “You really know how to make somethin’ special.”

You look up at him, unaware that there’s more behind his words, something unspoken. “Thanks, Joel. It’s supposed to be eaten with cold milk to taste even better.”

You cannot help but miss your dad so much. But as you stand there, surrounded by your sister’s laughter, and Joel’s quiet presence, you find comfort. It feels like the warmth of family, a sense of belonging that you’ve longed for.

The sound of the phone ringing fills the room, breaking the peaceful moment. Ana reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone, glancing at the screen before answering. “Hello?”

Her facial expression shifts, her smile fading into something more urgent. Eyes widening slightly, eyebrows furrowing with concern.

“What is it?” Joel asks.

You kneel on the couch in the quiet living room, your chin resting on your crossed arms which you fold over the backrest. Watching your sister’s car grow smaller in the distance until it finally vanishes behind the thin lace curtains.

Meanwhile, Joel watches quietly from behind, secretly enjoying the sight of you at that moment, a twisted smirk slowly forming on his lips. His thoughts drifts, imagining the feel of the silken skin of your back and waist beneath his touch, savoring the vulnerability of your posture on the couch.

“Sweetheart,” he calls for you.

You turn around and sit down, looking up at him. He can see the tears shimmer in your eyes, threatening to fall, while your soft lips slightly pouty.

“She’ll probably be back ‘fore you even wake up,” Joel says gently as he tries to soothe you.

“I know, but it’s Christmas Eve,” you speak softly. “Why couldn’t they have called another doctor instead of her?”

“Most of ‘em are probably outta town now.”

Ana suddenly had to rush to the hospital after hearing about a car accident in the local town. Joel wanted to drive her, but she firmly urged him to stay behind, telling him that she didn’t want you to be left alone on such a night. As the door closed behind her, Joel couldn’t help but feel a dark sense of satisfaction being alone with you.

“You don’t have to be sad, I’m here, little girl,” he whispers softly. Joel slides his hand gently along your soft thigh as he kneels before you. You’re so beautiful up close, like a delicate porcelain doll—fragile, with a vision of innocence.

You smile softly, sadness in your eyes. “Thank you, Joel,” you whisper, and wrap your arms around him.

The feeling of your body pressed against his sends a shiver down his spine and stirs undeniable arousal within him. His pulse quickens and he aches for more, so he holds you tighter.

It’s not just desire—it’s a need, dark, and uncontrollable.

Joel had always seen you as his wife’s little sister. He’d watched you grow up from a distance, never once thinking of you in any way other than family, you were just a kid in his eyes—until you moved in with them.

You’ve grown up and blossomed into a lovely young woman. You’re beautiful in a way that feels dangerous, almost too much to bear, and it unsettles him. You’re still shy, still that quiet little girl, but there’s something new there, something he can’t look away from.

You’ve been consuming his thoughts for the last four weeks, invading his mind, even in his sleep. To him, you are both salvation and damnation.

Joel takes a deep breath, reluctantly pulling away. His big hands gently cradle your warm cheeks as he looks into your eyes. “How ‘bout we watch somethin’ you love? Got a go-to Christmas movie?”

“Edward Scissorhands?”

He chuckles, shaking his head with a playful grin. “That ain’t a Christmas movie, sweetheart.”

“Yes, it is!”

“I don’t know ‘bout that,” he says. “But if you wanna watch it, I’m all for it.”

The rosy smile returns to your face as you nod. “Okay.”

“Alright, c’mon.”

“I’m gonna put all the cookies in the jar first. Wait for me?”

Joel sits on the couch, remote in hand, pretending to focus on the screen, but his eyes dart to the doorway every few seconds. He hears your footsteps before he sees you, and his heart flutters. You walk in, holding a small bowl of the deer-shaped cookies.

His eyes trace every inch of you, and you’re utterly unaware of it. He loves the way your lips curve, the innocent tilt of your head, your eyes blinking, like a shy little creature who doesn’t even know how dangerous it is to be this close to him.

You place the bowl on the coffee table, and you settle beside him, close enough that he can feel the warmth of your body.

As time passes, Joel’s attention drifts away from the movie. Instead, it’s entirely on you. The way your smile lights up as you watch Kim dancing in the snowfall while Edward carves an angelic ice sculpture of her. The lace-trimmed strap of your top slips from your shoulders, revealing the gentle curve of your collar bones, which move rhythmically with each breath. Your leg brushes against his, sending a wave of heat through him.

Joel shifts uncomfortably. His hand moves, adjusting the growing tension in his jeans, and he pretends to cough.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he mutters. “Wait here.”

He leaves the room without looking at you, and all he hears is the faint sound of your soft voice saying, “Okay.”

Instead of heading to the bathroom, Joel makes his way to the kitchen. He takes a bottle of whiskey from the cabinet, and takes a long swig straight from the bottle, savoring the burn.

Convincing himself that this is something he must do, he steadies his breath. There you are, oblivious, sitting innocently on the couch. Tonight, he has you all to himself, and he’s not about to let this opportunity slip through his fingers.

Joel makes two cups of hot cocoa, the steam rising from the mugs. Then, he reaches into his back pocket, pulls out a bottle of Rohypnol, and crushes a pill between his fingers. He stirs the powder into your Peter Rabbit mug.

Again, he adjusts the growing tent in his jeans, the dark thrill of what he plans to do with you tonight coursing through him. A low groan escapes his lips at the sensation. He takes a deep breath, steadying himself before he grabs the mugs and heads back to the living room.

“Here, sweetheart, drink this.”

You happily take the mug from him, unaware of the danger hidden within. “Thanks, Joel!” You take a sip of the warm drink.

He returns to your side, his hand squeezes your thigh lightly. “Do you like it?” he asks with a hint of a smirk.

“Hmm, let’s try it with the cookie,” you say cheerfully, grabbing one for yourself and one for Joel, you smile innocent and unaware.

In twenty minutes’ time, he sees your eyes blinking slowly, the sleepiness overtaking you. The mug is empty in your hands.

A cruel smirk forms on his lips as he watches you in your vulnerable state. “C’mon, little girl, let’s go to your room.”

With unsettling calmness, he gently lifts your weak body, cradling you in his arms. He walks down the hall to your bedroom in the stillness of the cold night.

Your room feels dreamy and cozy, with its dim, soft, and golden light. There’s a bed with ruffled bedding, an antique wooden mirror, some pretty flowers on the dresser, and a porcelain doll sitting on your bed.

The chamber is delicate, reflecting you, Joel thinks.

He lays you down on your bed. His gaze, dark and predatory, moves over your smaller body, taking in every detail, memorizing the way you look beneath him—so beautiful and perfect.

Joel never wanted anything the way he wants you. You’ve awakened something within him—something dark and primal—that he never knew existed. It’s like a hunger that cannot be ignored, a need that must be fulfilled, or he’ll die.

He leans in, your breath warm against his skin.

“Joel,” you whisper, your drooping eyes locking with his.

Joel slowly but firmly crushes his lips against yours. He groans as he tastes the sweetness of your lips for the first time.

You begin to move beneath him in an attempt to get away, but it’s no use. He observes you struggling weakly, darkly pleased.

His kiss loses its tenderness and becomes rough and desperate. A soft whimper escapes your lips, and God, he loves that sound.

With merciless force, he pushes his tongue past your delicate lips, tasting and exploring while leaving a trail of moisture behind. The taste of you drives him wild, his grip tightens on your body.

“No…”

“It’s alright, little girl. It’s just me,” he says, his voice deep and strained with arousal.

Joel trails his lips down your neck. When he reaches the fluttering pulse at your throat, his teeth graze your flesh before he bites down, but not enough to leave a mark. Then, his tongue moves slowly, wetly, tasting your skin.

After a while, his hands move with deliberate care as he begins to undress you from your sleepwear.

Joel’s breath catches in his throat. You’re exquisite, every inch of you more perfect than he imagines. His eyes roam over your naked form, drinking in every detail. The curve of your soft breasts rises and falls with each breath.

“So pretty.”

He squeezes your breasts with his large hands and roughly sucks on your nipples, as though trying to coax something out. All the while, he ruts his hard cock against you.

The weak pressure of your hands against his shoulders and your soft whimpers, makes him groan. He can feel his cock throbbing painfully hard, pulsing beneath his jeans at the sensation.

“Joel… please.”

He leans back, pulling your nipple with him before releasing it with a soft pop, leaving trails of drool behind.

“You want more? Is that why you’re cryin’?”

He gently pushes your hair away from your tear-streaked face and he presses his lips against your damp cheeks, tasting the salt of your tears.

Then, he slowly removes your white ruched lace panties, noticing the dampness at the center. He laughs as he runs his fingers over the fabric before slipping them into his pocket.

You weakly try to close your knees, but Joel presses his fingers sharply into your skin, forcing them open. The pain makes you cry out, tears falling from your eyes.

“Pathetic,” he mutters under his breath.

Joel lets out a low groan at the sight of your little pussy. It’s glistening and swollen, and he knows that when he thrusts his massive cock inside, it will be searingly hot and impossibly tight.

“Well, look at that, such a pretty pussy, little girl,” he murmurs, his voice filled with disbelief and hunger. “And you’ve been keepin’ this from me?”

He uses his fingers to spread your folds, admiring the swollen little clit hidden beneath. It’s pulsing and gleaming in the dim light, soaking his finger.

Joel starts rubbing your swollen clit, and it doesn’t take long for you to become more wet and needy. Your tight hole clenches rhythmically around nothing as he rubs you faster, he savors the sight of it and your helpless cries.

“Jesus, baby, you’re soaking wet,” he chuckles darkly. “Ain’t nobody ever touched this sweet little pussy before, huh? So fuckin’ needy.”

“Stop,” you say breathlessly.

“Need to get my mouth on you.”

Captivated by the sight of your little cunt drooling all over your thighs, he pulls his finger away. You gasp and wail as he starts using his mouth and noisily slurping at your wet cunt.

It’s rare that he gets the chance to taste such a beautiful, untouched little pussy. And he’s going to savor every second of it.

He greedily laps at your wetness, pushing his tongue into your slit before assaulting your clit with hard and relentless strokes. Then, he lowers his face, pressing his nose into your clit as his tongue delves deeply into your core, forcing you open. His movements are wild, drilling through your cunt and pushing against your walls as his fingers painfully sink into your thighs.

He groans against you, swallowing all the sweet juice pouring from you, like a fountain of youth. “How the hell you taste this good, little girl?” he growls.

After a while, you’re trembling in his grip. Your sobs and pleas fill his ears as you weakly kick your feet against his back, your hands unable to move, futilely tugging at his salt-and-pepper hair as you cum. Your juices flooded his mouth and soaking the sheets beneath you.

“That’s my good girl.”

He feels the wetness of his precum staining his jeans, a growl escaping him as he quickly undoes his belt and takes off his pants to free his aching cock, desperate for release.

He retrieves his phone from his jeans pocket, presses record, and sets it on your bedside table, carefully angling it to capture every raw detail of the two of you before he begins.

Joel knows it’s going to hurt—his cock is massive, thick veins throbbing beneath the thin skin.

He ruts his hips against yours, his bulbous tip gathering your slickness along his hard cock. A soft whimper escapes your lips each time he brushes against your clit.

“So sensitive.”

Joel wraps the base of his girthy cock with one hand, the other finding your hip, holding you still as he lines his cock with your tiny hole and split you in half.

You whimper as you struggle with the overwhelming stretch of just the tip pressing past your entrance and start squirming. “Hurts!”

An animalistic groan escapes his lips as your pussy swallows his angry, red tip with a wet squelch and a tense pulse, stretching you open.

“You’re so goddamn tight, little girl. Fuckin’ made for me,” he grits his teeth, barely holding back.

“Hurts… stop.”

Your pretty face is flushed and streaked with tears as he watches you, lips red and swollen, whimpering in pain. He enjoys the way your face is contorted. “Be quiet, little girl.”

Joel inches his cock deeper, the earlier strokes of his tongue doing little to ease the intense stretch of your cunt around him. Patience wearing thin, he roughly forces his cock inside you in one go, nudging against your cervix, making you moan in pain.

Desire clouds his mind, blinding him to your well-being.

Your moan turns into a broken hiccup, followed by a soft sob as Joel starts to pound into your tight hole with a ruthless, brutal force.

“Joel, hurts,” you cry, your hands desperately clawing at his chest, muscles weak and useless.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, little girl,” he moans from the pleasure, his grip on your hips tightening. “Takin’ all of my cock so well. Such a good girl.”

Joel is in heaven. His eyes are closed as he focuses on the sensation of your hot, wet cunt wrapping tightly around his massive cock, his lips muttering incoherent praises for how perfect you feel. He moves faster and rougher, slamming into your little pussy with pure force, like a man possessed. “Perfect little cunt, all fuckin’ mine.”

“No, please, s-stop…”

Ignoring your pain and cries for him to stop, he continues to pound into you relentlessly, pushing you further beyond your limits. “I’m sorry, baby… it feels too good to stop.”

His darkened eyes trace every inch of you, your skin slick with sweat despite the cold weather. Your breasts bounce with each brutal trust, and his gaze locks on his cock buried deep in your swollen, red lips. The slick, blood-coated friction as he slides in and out of you fills the room with a sickening, lewd squelch, sending a shiver through him as his eyes flutter shut in dark pleasure, he lets out a low snarl.

“Look at that, little girl, we were made for each other,” his voice low and strained.

Your breath grows ragged, choking on sobs and moans, yet your back arches and hips lift, instinctively chasing his cock, your body betraying every shred of resistance.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Joel grins with dark satisfaction at the reaction he’s coaxed out of you. “Look at her, baby, drippin’ like a faucet, can’t even control herself.”

He bites back a groan, his hand sliding to your lower stomach, feeling the thick bulge of his cock pressing against his calloused palm with every deep, punishing thrust, each one slamming into your cervix with merciless force.

A warmth builds in your stomach. He grunts and curses under his breath, feeling your pussy clamping down on him, the tightness driving him wild as your body trembling as you near the edge.

“My little girl wanna cum?” he whispers in your ear, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek. “C’mon, baby, cum for me.”

“Joel,” you cry.

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

Your body quivers, eyes half-lidded as they lock with his, mouth falls open, letting out a choked moan. He relentlessly pounds into your cunt, you squeeze tightly around him, your clit twitching and pulsing. He drives you to the edge, forcing you to squirt. The hot, slick release splashed against his abdomen and thighs.

“God damn!” he growls. “Oh, that’s it, baby… good girl.”

Joel kisses you deeply. A sense of pride and bliss fills him, knowing he’s able to make you squirt on your first time.

Still rock-hard, he keeps thrusting into you after your orgasm fades, consumed by the insatiable spell you have on him. Your pussy is like a drug to him, better than anyone Joel’s ever had.

You become a crying, trembling mess beneath him, overstimulated and shaking uncontrollably, unable to endure the overwhelming thrusts.

“T-too much.”

“I ain’t fuckin’ done with you yet,” he growls into your mouth. “You’ll take every damn second I give ya, and you’ll be beggin’ before I even think ‘bout stoppin’.”

Joel pulls out sharply, slapping your swollen pussy hard, making you squeak and whimper. He manhandles you, spinning your body around and pushing your face into the pillow. He grunts loudly as he enters you again, sliding deep before his grip tightens around your waist, each thrust more brutal and faster, chasing his own release.

His chest is flush to your back. He breathes in the floral scent of your skin, his nose grazing your neck as his thrusts lose their rhythm, becoming messy and desperate.

Your walls pulse and squeeze around him once more, desperately trying to milk him dry. “Don’t worry, little girl. Gonna pump you full of my cum.”

He feels lightheaded, chest heaving with each breath, sweat glazing his skin.

The sound of your muffled moans makes his cock twitch deep inside, pushing him closer to the edge. His body quivers as the pressure inside him peaks. With a final, punishing trust, a deep, guttural whimper escapes his throat as he cums deep inside you, painting your walls with a creamy, thick white, filling you to the brim.

Your nails faintly claw at his arm, your body quivering beneath him, as your orgasm washes over you for the third time, leaving you whimpering. His heat and wetness blend with yours as he holds you close.

“You’re all mine now, baby,” he growls softly. “I’ll make sure you feel every inch of me again.”

The pill he gave you will leave you with no memory of what he does. He honestly cannot wait to collect his own personal porn collection of you next time his wife leaves the house again.

[retrosabers]

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫.

FICMAS DAY 2: BAKING

steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: when steve comes over to help you make christmas cookies, things end a lot sweeter than you expect.

contains: ooey gooey fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, steve being a flirty klutz, kissing, a tinge of angst if you squint

word count: 2k

a/n: welcome to another installment of “i’m incapable of writing something short and sweet 🧍‍♀️ this is what happens when i revisit writing for my favorite pretty boy

!! divider by @strangergraphics !!

FICMAS MASTERLIST

“steve?”

“yeah?”

“you’re supposed to be decorating the cookies, not eating them.”

steve’s tone is nothing short of soft and shy when he breathes out an “oh,” between bites of chocolate chip infused dough. when you recruited him to assist in baking cookies for the holiday potluck tomorrow, you didn’t expect it to end with half of them being consumed before they even got a chance to be decorated.

“sorry,” the brunette squeaks, wiping sugar-dusted fingers over the expanse of his very favorite pair of levi jeans.

it’s hard to stay mad at steve. not when he looks so cute, with a tinge of pink in his cheeks and his normally styled hair slightly askew. not when he so generously offered to help you out, and not when he was standing so close.

no, you can’t stay mad at steve harrington, because it’s impossible to stay mad at the person you’ve had a crush on for years.

momentarily distracted, your hands wrapped around the handles of a rolling pin halt in their ministrations, and steve worries that he’s screwed up big time.

but your frozen position isn’t from the slight wrench in your plans. it’s him and those stupid, pretty, big brown eyes, that always find a way to short circuit your brain. even more so when they’re pleading for forgiveness.

it takes another second to remember that you still have things that need to be done. that you promised robin and nancy you’d supply the gathering with your renowned baked goods. with a shake of your head, you’re back in business, waving steve off with a quick flick of the wrist.

“don’t worry about it,” you reassure him, despite the fact that your anxiety was kicking at the thought of having to prepare an extra batch. “just try not to eat the sugar cookies when they’re done, yeah?”

steve’s expression shifts from panic and embarrassment to something sweeter, sheepish almost. when he nods in reply, that rogue strand that always rests against his forehead bounces in a way that almost makes you roll the cookie dough off the counter completely.

this is just because you’re stressed. you tell yourself. you’re off your game today because you’re in a time crunch.

lucky for you, steve doesn’t notice the slight quiver in your motions, instead opting to shift the conversation in another direction.

“when did you even learn to bake like this anyways?”

you perk up a bit at that, a faint smile on your lips.

“every christmas eve when i was a kid,” you begin while simultaneously cutting out little gingerbread men using cookie cutters. “my mom and i used to make cookies for santa.”

there’s a nostalgic kind of warmth that blankets the room while you retell stories of your childhood to steve, who surprisingly keeps his hands off the treats and his attention completely focused on you. on how your nose wrinkles when you mention the year you accidentally added too much cinnamon, the gleam in your eyes that comes when you talk about making them by yourself for the first time.

it causes a slew of butterflies in steve’s stomach, a gallant whoosh that he’s been trying his damndest to ignore ever since he opened the door to your apartment and found you clad in a flour covered apron and with a red ribbon tied in your hair.

it's very hard to pay attention to anything when he’s confined to a cramped kitchen with the very adorable girl he’s had a crush on for as long as he can remember.

“obviously i figured out at some point that santa wasn’t real,” you joke, transferring the cutouts onto a baking tray. it snaps steve back to reality, away from the ooey-gooey ness in his heart that had nothing to do with the residual taste of melted chocolate chips. “but we still do it every year as a tradition.”

steve hopes he’s not smiling like an idiot, but it’s hard not to when you look so happy, so content. “it sounds nice.”

it's absent minded when he says it, and you know it. but that doesn't make the quiet muttering of “wish my folks were like that” under his breath sting any less. you had a general idea that steve’s parents weren’t the greatest, but it was never something he outright said, not to you anyways. this little glimmer of vulnerability he displays, whether intentional or not, only adds a spark in the torch you carry for him.

the oven timer beeping pulls him from mourning what he could’ve had. any falter in his smile is quickly reconstructed as he moves to grab the oven mitts on the counter. something that only makes your sympathy grow.

“i got it honey,” he murmurs while slipping past you, his hand brushing against the small of your back for a fleeting moment.

honey.

it sends an electric shock up your spine that makes you straighten out comically, unsure of any other way to react to his touch that doesn’t involve squealing like a schoolgirl. thankfully, your face is obscured from view while he very carefully pulls out the piping hot baking tray, your cheeks free to turn as crimson as they please.

honey, honey, honey. how he managed to make that word sound even more saccharine you’ll never know.

steve catches you in his peripheral, face redder than your hair ribbon. i’ve still got it, he mentally pats himself on the back. though his suaveness only lasts for a second when he remembers he’s got something scorching in his hand. the brunette drops the sugar cookies onto the counter rather ungracefully, huffing out a curse that makes you giggle.

you think you prefer when he's a little dorky over the pretty boy charm.

as much as steve wants to obey your request to not dive into the sugar cookies, he’s having a painfully hard time restraining himself. that heavenly smell of vanilla is overpowering all self control, an enticing and comforting aroma he’d never had the joy of experiencing until now.

the childlike wonder in steve’s eyes melts away any stress or frustration.

against your better judgement, you walk over to where he’s standing, resting your chin on the edge of his shoulder. if steve is surprised by the act, he doesn’t show it. this time though, the thrum of his heart is hard to miss, noticeable even through the layers of fabric separating you.

“you can have one,” you speak lowly into the cashmere material. “and you have to wait until they’ve cooled down. i’m not taking you to the emergency room because you burnt your tongue.”

steve chuckles at the memory from earlier in the year, when eddie’s impatience got the best of him and he burnt the roof of his mouth trying to get a taste of your baking. he remembers watching that interaction from afar, how you doted over the metalhead when he hurt himself, and it made a vile little twinge of jealousy move within him. though steve always tries to ignore that last part, simply focusing on your kindness. like he was right now.

“i still can’t believe munson managed to do that,” steve replies through his laughter.

the feeling of your own giggles vibrating against him is something he never thought would happen. in that moment, those butterflies in his stomach valiantly escape their cage, a flurry he’s not sure he wants to contain.

all he can hear in his head is robin’s voice screeching, “for the love of god dingus, you need to stop staring like an idiot and just make a move.”

when you suddenly pull away from him, he’s afraid that opportunity is gone. steve’s rather confused when he catches a glimpse of your face before you round the other side of the kitchen island. there’s a shyness in you that he’s not used to seeing. if he’s learned one thing in getting to know you better these past few months, it’s that you hardly ever got timid. only when you were uncomfortable, or scared, and he prays it’s not either of those things.

it’s not looking very good when you turn your body completely away from him.

“y’know,” you begin shyly, toying with the strings of your apron. “you’re more than welcome to come over again next year.”

oh.

steve’s lips part slightly, eyes widening in surprise. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, nerves taking over while you busy yourself with the frosting. you’re not really doing much of anything, just mindless fiddling with the bag and adjusting the parchment paper on the cookie sheet. everything but looking at steve.

“just think you deserve to be a part of a christmas tradition,” you say so softly he almost doesn’t catch it. the wholehearted sincerity in your voice, despite its low volume, makes him feel dizzy.

as he stands there, dumbfounded and mulling over your words, he knows he can’t chicken out any longer. not when you were offering a place for him in your holiday traditions. something steve knew you held very near and dear to your heart.

“that is, of course,” you add hurriedly, turning around to make sure you haven’t made him feel pressured. “only if you want to.”

oh boy does he.

steve crosses the room in long, slow strides. partly to test the waters and partly to watch the way you get a little squirmy. your hands struggle to find something sensible to do, but everything is a jumbled mess and you eventually drop them at your sides by the time steve glides into your peripheral vision.

your eyes squeeze shut in preparation for his polite rejection. that he’s going to let you down easy, and leave you to finish all this by yourself.

but you should’ve known steve better than that.

a tender hand wraps around your wrist, the scent of his cologne enveloping your personal space, and the syrupy sweet murmur of that damned word finds your ears again. he was consuming all your senses, an act of reverse psychology that makes you open up instead of run away.

when his hand travels further south, experimentally brushing your fingers together, you can’t hide anymore. there’s nothing you could possibly do to ignore the jolt of electricity that travels through you from head to toe. as your eyes slowly peek open, you find steve leaning against the counter beside you, a boyish little grin on his face. barely a feet of space between your bodies, yet you were buzzing with anticipation.

“i want to,” he says matter of factly despite the airiness of his voice. “i really, really want to.”

a hint of nervousness dances across his features when he utters, “but only if you’ll let me.”

there’s a double entendre to his proclamation that’s undeniable. steve leans closer, enough that you can see just how long his lashes are, how those stupid pretty eyes have flecks of gold in them, how his cupid bow is so perfect, so kissable. enough that you can’t mistake the way his gaze keeps flicking down to your lips. an unspoken permission you happily grant with the slightest nod of the head.

kissing steve is exactly how you dreamed it would be. those perfectly plump lips were just as soft as you hoped, as skilled as the girls back in high school used to whisper about. there’s a confidence behind the way he kisses you, though it’s still incredibly languid and gentle. his hand migrates from your wrist up to your jaw, gently caressing and cradling it with a care no one else has ever shown you before.

you’re not sure how long you stand there for. it could’ve been minutes, or hours; either way you didnt care. the cookies were long forgotten in your mind, having found a new craving that could only be satiated so long as steve held you close and his lips remained on yours.

a laugh bubbles in your throat at the faint flavor of chocolate on your tongue. you discover a new fact about steve that you don’t plan on sharing with anyone else as long as he’ll have you.

he tastes sweeter than sugar.

thanks for reading! <3

!! if you would like to be tagged in the rest of the ficmas blurbs, please send me an inbox message or leave a comment !!

[odoraful]

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄.ᐟ (𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐞𝐭)

zayne is known for enjoying desserts, but there’s a sweet he hasn’t tried yet that he’s been craving.

⟡ content: zayne x gn!reader; early stage of the established relationship; first kiss; very sweet (both literally and figuratively); reader being flustered and zayne being bold; you basically live in zayne's mind 24/7; sfw; 1.6k

⟡ a/n: i was listening to day 6's song chocolate and inspiration struck me (>\\<) like "i often imagine when i kiss you, i'm curious about how it would feel... i can't control my heart, i think there's another me inside me" WAAH i thought it was fitting for zayne!

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It wasn’t typical of Zayne to be indulgent. Everything was done with careful moderation and consideration, from purchasing clothing to committing to exercise. However, when it came to desserts, all the rules he set up were scrubbed from his memory. No one suspected that the cardiac surgeon had such a strong sweet tooth. That was until his co-workers saw him at the bakery near the hospital one day, contemplating seriously about which new flavour of cake to get. To everyone’s surprise, he had ended up buying a slice of each one.

Anything sweet had a way of bypassing his self-control, which, naturally, meant you as well.

Taking a moment to himself in his office between appointments, Zayne reached for the cellophane bag of cookies sitting by his computer. The red string around the bag also held a tag with careful handwriting. It read:

Roses are red, jasmines are white, I made these with love, I hope you’ll take a bite.

Beneath the message was a cutely drawn face of you winking. Even though he had read this about 20 times since you dropped it off to him before you went to work, he still breathed a small laugh and shook his head. He unravelled the string, putting the tag safely in his pocket. The cookies inside were shaped like snowflakes and frosted blue and and white. He admired the design for a moment before taking a bite.

Imagining you preparing this made him smile. You had probably woken up earlier than usual to bake them fresh, putting on your apron with a determined look on your face. Each ingredient would be carefully measured, and as much as you would want eat the raw dough, his voice of caution would pop into your head about the dangers of uncooked eggs and flour. Once they were baking, you would finish by making the icing, dying it blue. He could imagine how you’d dip your finger into the bowl, bringing the mixture to your mouth. The blue would be a contrast against your rosy lips as you licked them to savour the taste.

That image of you stayed in Zayne’s head for longer than he intended.

He finished off a second cookie. It had a satisfying texture, the icing sugary and smooth.

Would your lips taste as sweet as this?

The thought came so naturally that he didn’t think anything unusual of its presence. There would probably still be some icing left on your lips, and he would simply lean in to—

Zayne cleared his throat.

The sound broke the silence of his office and banished the trespassing thought.

Only two weeks into this relationship, and he was fantasising like a high school boy at his work. You always had been a permanent fixture in his thoughts, but now it all felt so real. He no longer thought of you as his partner in hypotheticals. Being able to kiss you, and taste the sweetness on your lips wasn’t a dream anymore. Now, the real concern was the appropriate when and where.

He tied the bag closed, saving the rest to bring home. His break was over, and he had to continue on with work. Though he had finished his dessert long ago, the taste of vanilla icing lingered on his tongue for the rest of the day.

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”Earth to Zayne~ can you hear me?”

Zayne turned to you. Your head was titled to the side, an expectant look on your face.

Though it was a weekend morning, both of you were on the sofa completing the remaining piece of your respective work—him finishing his recommendations for a patient, and you filling out a case report for your recent hunter excursion.

“Yes, I can hear you,” he replied, matter-of-factly.

You narrowed your eyes in playful suspicion. “Hm, and what about the past two times I called you?”

Zayne adjusted his glasses. “I must have been focused on my report.”

His reason would have been convincing enough, if not for your keen senses. Despite his unchanging expression, you weren’t mistaken seeing the tips of his ears turn red.

You sorted your documents back into the folder, and placed it to the side.

“You stopped typing on your laptop and sort of stared into your screen for a minute. It was very un-Zayne like I must say,” you remarked as a half-joke.

Seeing just how observant you were towards him filled him with inexplicable pride.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, tone softening.

He paused for a moment, considering his next words. Closing the window to his document and shutting his laptop, he gave his full attention to you.

“Actually, something has been on my mind.”

With a concerned frown, you crossed your legs together, sitting in a more comfortable position to listen to him. Though, you could have never predicted what your boyfriend would say next.

”I was thinking about moving our relationship to the next stage.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Stuttered sounds came out of your mouth. When you realised you could form no words, you covered your face with your hands. What could he possibly mean by that!? Suddenly, you felt quite conscious about where you were seated. If Zayne reached out to his left, he could easily wrap his arm around your waist. And, you knew the purple loungewear you had on wasn’t the most alluring clothing you had.

“The next stage?” you repeated in a much higher pitch than you intended.

He nodded, giving no apparent indication that he noticed the fluster you were in. He seemed too calm. Perhaps you were drawing the wrong conclusion too quickly.

“If it’s alright with you, I”��Zayne stopped his sentence short. “Could you… close your eyes for me?”

You blinked at him.

“Ohh,” you sounded with understanding, “is this some kind of surprise? Are you giving me a present?”

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “One might call it that.”

Even though his reply to your question was quite ambiguous, you happily closed your eyes. You heard a small sound to the side, guessing that he had placed something on the table. Of course, it was natural for couples to give gifts that signified the seriousness of the relationship. Maybe he bought some jewellery or a precious keepsake, you innocently pondered.

Zayne took a last look at your awaiting face. Eyes closed, lips glossy from the balm you just applied.

The sofa shifted. The weight of his body dipped the cushion beneath you. His close presence made your senses prickle. The jasmine and mint scent of his cologne now enveloped you.

When is he going to let me open my eyes?

“Zayne.”

You breathed out his name before you felt warmth against your lips.

Your eyes shot open.

Zayne had taken off his glasses (which you now realised was what that previous sound had been) and he was kissing you. Kissing you for the very first time.

Your brain and body were at odds with each other.

Your muscles froze, but you also didn’t want to pull away. Not when he initiated something you had spent so long daydreaming about, but never had the courage to do. Noticing this, Zayne raised his hand to your face. His thumb gently caressed your cheek. A silent signal that communicated a message of reassurance. It’s alright, you can relax, you seemed to hear his smooth voice in your head. Tension melted away. In exchange, your heartrate picked up. Closing your eyes once again, you let the sensation wash over you.

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Time seemed to stand still and move too fast all at once.

Zayne slid his hand down to rest at the base of your neck. Your skin felt hot against his cool fingertips.

Admittedly, he was out of practice, and the worry of doing this wrong flashed in his mind. But, when you eased into his touch, lips parting to invite more of him in, everything fell into place.

Vanilla frosting… I was right, he thought.

You were sweeter than any dessert he had tried in his life. One taste would not be enough after this. You had become a dangerous craving to him now.

Zayne withdrew, staying close to your face. Your eyes fluttered open, blinking slowly as if waking from a stupor. You were greeted with his green and amber gaze, his clear satisfaction illuminated by the morning sun pouring through the curtains behind you. Before you was a version of him you had never seen.

“Y-you’re too bold, Zayne,” you murmured.

The breath you had held during the kiss caught up to you. Your exhales lightly brushed against his skin as he stared at your lips—flushed like the colour of raspberry sorbet. He scanned every part of your expression, desperately needing to memorise your face in this moment. Everything about you was utterly perfect.

“I’m sorry for catching you off guard.”

You shook your head, the bangs of his hair brushing against your forehead. Only Zayne could blindside you with such a storybook kiss, and then apologise for it.

“You occupy my thoughts all the time,” he continued, a rasp in his voice as he whispered. “It’s unfathomable and quite distracting.”

You chuckled, the sound melodious to his ears. “I didn’t know a chief surgeon could be so easily distracted.”

Zayne smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

“When the surgeon has someone he likes a lot,” he closed the distance, leaning his forehead against yours, “he often wonders how sweet they would taste.”

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[zepskies]

Down to the Crust

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve set out on a very specific mission for Dean. The problem is, you now have ulterior motives for your (formerly) pure love of baking.

Request: Since reading your imagine, "Dean Gives You an Impossible Choice," I have not been able to shake it, one point specifically. I was wondering if I could request a fic where the reader is learning to bake pies for Dean. She's best friends with the boys, but she and Dean have undisclosed feelings for each other…

AN: You guys know I love baking shenanigans lol. This one is set at a particular time during season 14…

Song Inspo: “Joy” by Blackstreet

Word Count: 2.6K

Tags/Warnings: Flangst, hurt/comfort, hint of spice~

No, no, no, no, NO!

You did your best to scoop out the salt you’d just poured into the flour.

You can’t really be this dumb, you berated yourself. How could you confuse one white powdery thing for another? Salt vs. sugar—it wasn’t that hard!

You shook your head in simmering frustration. You decided to just dump the whole contents of the bowl, salty flour and all, into the garbage. You’d have to start again…for the third time now. 

Frankly, this was getting ridiculous. You could make cookies, brownies, even cupcakes (with homemade buttercream).

How hard could a pie really be?

Maybe it was the telltale tremble of nerves in your hands.

Maybe it was because you had an ulterior motive for doing this, besides your formerly pure love of baking.

Maybe because this promised dessert was for one pie-loving glutton who was set to come upstairs from the garage any minute. Or at least, whenever Dean’s stomach finally called him back to the kitchen.

Though recently, he hadn’t been all that hungry. He’d denied your friendly offer of a snack earlier (since when did he turn down taquitos?), and he’d barely touched the pizza you guys had for dinner yesterday. (One slice? The man could eat half a pizza in one sitting. To your knowledge, there wasn’t a pie he didn’t like.)

Dean hid it well, but he wasn’t on his game. You knew why, of course, but…

You sighed and measured out the last of your flour for a fresh try. If you messed this one up, you’d literally have to wash your hands of this mission. And yes, it had become mission fucking impossible, as far as you were concerned.

Once the flour was safely mixed with a cup of sugar, you cut up some chilled butter to create the pastry dough. You followed the instructions in the recipe even more carefully this time, from your open laptop on the kitchen counter. The keyboard was dusted with flour at this point, along with your hands and arms. You even felt it under your nails and in your hair, but you didn’t care.

You were going to make this damn pie if it killed you.

You’d even bought real cherries, not the canned filling. It meant more work for you in removing all the pits inside them, but this was worth the extra labor.

However, as it just occurred to you, you’d left them simmering with some sugar, lemon juice, and cornstarch in a pan, around the time of your second attempt at pastry dough.

“No!” you gasped, hastening to open the lid and checking the saucepan.

Oh, thank God, you thought, seeing that the cherry filling wasn’t bubbling over. It actually looked like the proper thickened consistency and smelled delicious. You just needed to do some more stirring.

An hour or so later, you had successfully shaped the dough, chilled and poured in the filling, and covered it with the (embarrassingly uneven) lattice work on top.

“Whatever. The man still believes in the Five-Second Rule. He’ll eat this,” you muttered as you slid the pie in. You even remembered to do an egg wash on top. You admired it for a moment in its raw pastry form, then closed the lid to the oven with a nod of satisfaction.

You wore a wide smile, feeling accomplished, until you turned around and saw the disaster you’d made of the kitchen. Flour was dusted across the counters, a pile of dishes in the sink, cherry remnants in the pan and dripping across the stove, and so much more. You winced at the sight.

“What the hell is this?” came a gruff voice.

Your gaze drew to the doorway with a sharp intake of breath. Dean was standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a bewildered expression on his face.

The man had a thing about people in “his kitchen.” You got ready to placate him with your hands raised as you took a step towards him, but then you gasped.

“Shit!” you yelped, slipping in some egg that had dropped on the floor. Your hand accidentally banged the oven on the way down, but your head also hit the corner of the wall.   

You ended up sprawled on your side across the dirty floor, dazed and winded. Dean hurried to your side with one of those frowns that always made you want to smooth the wrinkle between his brows.

He braced your shoulder, almost but not quite touching your hip with his free hand.

“Damn. You okay? This ain’t a slip n’ slide,” he said.

Your lips twitched at a smile, but you sighed. “I’m okay.”

“You hit your head?” he asked, beginning to help you up slowly.

“A little,” you admitted. “Nothing the old bag of frozen carrots in the freezer won’t cure.”

Dean grimaced, but after he made sure you were settled on your feet, he checked the back of your head. You tried not to blush (and revel) at the feeling of his fingers slipping into your hair, even if he was trying to feel for a knot back there.

He was close enough that you could almost feel his body heat through the black shirt he wore, for once without the outer layer of plaid. He smelled like grease and sweat; likely he’d been working on Baby.

Were you weird for kind of liking that smell?

“Well, I don’t feel any goose eggs, so you’re probably fine,” he remarked.

“Thanks, House. Is that your final prognosis?” you asked, beginning to smirk.

Dean’s gaze met yours in amusement.

“Tell you what,” he said, “If you get a headache, I give you full permission to take one of the fun little pills I’ve got in my dresser.”

You laughed. “If it’s not Vicodin, I don’t want it.”

House M.D. was one of those shows you and Dean liked to watch together, along with Game of Thrones, and even Smallville, on occasion.

Dean smiled slightly. But even that was a small feat, and something you hadn’t seen from him in weeks. Not a real smile, anyway. Before today, nothing you’d tried had been working to brighten his mood.

Not pizza Fridays. Not letting him listen to the same damn Zeppelin album without complaint for that eight-hour ride on the last hunt. Not trying to gouge his level of broodiness and offering to hang out, to be a listening ear if he needed it.

He still hadn’t taken you up on the last one. While that hurt, you also understood it. You understood how Dean dealt with things he didn’t want to think about, let alone talk about, even to his own brother.  

Dean now looked down on you knowingly, gesturing at the rest of the kitchen.

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing in here?” he asked.

You crossed your arms and raised your chin, a smile playing on your lips.

“What, can’t handle somebody else in your kitchen? What’re you, Gordon Ramsey?” you teased.

Dean’s brows kicked up, his lips twitching.

“You’ve made a mess of my kitchen any number of times, but I ain’t ever smelled sweet, sweet cherry coming out of that oven,” he said. “You’re finally making me pie?”

You had to laugh. Inside, you were pleased that he now looked excited, his green eyes dancing. You clapped your hands over his arms.

“Yes, I’m making you your damn pie. Only took me fifteen tries, but it’s happening,” you said. You turned to check on it, but the second you opened the oven, black smoke billowed out.

Your eyes widened in horror and your mouth fell open on reflex, but harsh coughs tore from your throat as you waved your hand against the smoke. Dean quickly handed you the oven mitts, and you shoved them on before taking out the steaming dessert.

The entire top crust was scorched black. Cherry filling oozed out, and not in a good way. You slammed the oven shut with your hip, and you had to toss the pan onto the counter for how hot it was.

Inside that pan was a dreadful excuse for a pie.

Dean had an arm crossed under his elbow, while a hand came up to cover his mouth as he took in the state of it. He then looked over at you.

He saw the shock, settling into pursed lips and tight shoulders. You turned in slow movements.

You saw that the oven had been switched to “Broil” on the highest setting. You’d probably messed that up when you fell and hit the dial with your hand. But Christ, was that a powerful oven.

Those old white guys really didn't mess around when they built this damn bunker, you thought sourly.

Dean took another look at the steaming pie and grimaced, despite his amusement.

“Well, she won’t be entering any beauty pageants, that’s for sure,” he teased.

His playful smirk fell, however, the moment you turned around. He saw the way you were biting your lip, and the tears brimming in your eyes.

He softened, and he went to you.

“Aww, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he chuckled, and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “‘S probably better than I could do.”

You rested your head against his chest and sniffled. You blinked to try to stem off your tears. 

“It’s not about the damn pie! I mean, not really. It’s just…” you trailed.

You quieted, realizing you were about to say things you’d rather not.

Dean noticed though. Because of course he did.

“Then what’s it about?” he asked.

You avoided his gaze at first, though he was too perceptive not to notice. He jostled you a little against his side.

“Huh? You wanna answer me?” he asked. His lips curved at the way you were fighting a smile yourself. Your tears won out though.

You turned under his arm and leaned up on your toes, so you could hug him. Your arms twined around his neck and you held him tight.

To say it surprised Dean would be an understatement, his eyes widening a fraction. He still held you back, almost on reflex.

“I couldn’t do anything else,” you said, through tears. “Not for you, or Sam…or for Mary.”

Dean’s confusion descended into grim understanding. A weight fell deep in his gut, clenching painfully the way it always did, when he thought about his mom.

The fact that Jack didn’t have his soul didn’t make a difference, no matter what Sam said. Not in Dean’s mind, anyway.

Jack had killed their mom.

She was gone, had been taken from them. And that second loss had torn a new chasm in Dean’s heart, deeper than the last one. He held you a bit tighter without realizing it.

“I’m sorry,” you said, rubbing his back. “I know you don’t want to talk about it. I just wanted to…to do something for you.”

Slowly, Dean pulled away a little. His hands moved to your waist as he looked down on you with a heaviness in his eyes. For a moment, he just took in the contours of your face, your eyes shining with tears that clung to your lashes. You were looking up at him like all you wanted to do was fix it. And fix him.

Well, you had to know that was a lost fucking cause. But it just didn’t stop you from staying here with him and Sam, living with them, hunting with them, being one of the last friends they had, after all these years.

It didn’t stop Dean from loving you for it, either.

He let out a breath, and he couldn’t help but raise a hand to get some of the flour off your cheek. He smoothed the back of his hand against your skin, along your jaw, and finally brushed his thumb across your lower lip, where you had worried it with your teeth.

“You’re too damn much, you know that?” he murmured.

You were blushing hot at his touch, but you frowned at his words. Until you noticed the fond glint in his eyes…and for the first time, something more. Something he was finally allowing you to see.

When he bent down and claimed your lips, your thoughts stuttered to a halt. You gripped the front of his shirt instinctively. He framed your face with his hands; they were calloused and smelled like motor oil, but you didn’t give a shit. Not one iota. Because it meant something, and your heart swelled with a warmer, brighter feeling.

You gripped his shirt tighter and leaned up to meet his second kiss. His hand moved to your lower back, pulling you flush against him. You grabbed onto his shoulders and let him invade your mouth with his warm tongue slipping against yours. You moaned, the sound echoing between you both and shooting right to his dick.

His brows furrowing, Dean’s fingers slipped into your hair again, but this time, to tangle in the strands. He walked you back until your ass hit the counter, where he grabbed hold of your thighs and hefted you on top of it, regardless of whatever stains covered its surface.

He moved in between your jean-clad thighs and encouraged you wordlessly to wrap them around his hips. You didn’t need much encouragement.

“Dean,” you whispered, between heated kisses, hands wandering down your body, exploring soft curves and warmth over clothing.

“Hmm?” he said, into your mouth. It was distracting, but you found the strength to slow things down, gently taking his face into your hands.

You both caught your breath for a moment. It allowed Dean to see the thread of uncertainty in your gaze, even though you caressed his stubble-covered cheeks.

“I just…do you…is this…” you tried, but your brain seemed to be on a short fuse. You blamed his sinful lips entirely.

Said lips drew into a smirk. Dean’s hands moved up your thighs and held your waist less gripping, more comforting (and claiming).

“I really do, and damn straight it is,” he said, slightly teasing. He did lean back in to press a gentler kiss to your lips.

“Trust me,” he said, as he became more serious. “If you want more from this…”

At that, your uncertainty melted into warmth. You released his face, holding onto his shoulders instead.

“Yeah, Dean,” you nodded. “More than anything, yes.”

He read your sincerity, and it warmed him too. Again, he gave into the urge to brush his thumb against your blushing cheek.

“I uh…I had a feeling it was always gonna be you,” he said.

You raised a brow at that, even though your smile threatened to unravel him further.

“Oh, yeah? How long?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think.

“Since that first batch of oatmeal cream pies,” he said, with a cheeky grin. “Pretty sure I was marked from there on out.”

And not just because he’d been imagining what you’d be like to taste, ever since.

You giggled, though you gestured with your eyes at the charred pan next to you on the counter.

“Guess I should try again on that pie. Wonder what that’ll get me,” you hedged, letting your thumb graze his neck. Dean smirked.

“All right, sure. Remind me to pick up a new fire extinguisher,” he said.

You guffawed and hit his shoulder, but he just laughed and pulled you in for another kiss.

It was sweet enough on its own.

AN: I know, I know. I'm a sap. 😂 Let me know what you thought of this pie-filled episode! 🥧 💕

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean Winchester One-Shots

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms

@foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma

@iprobablyshipit91 @melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy

@wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons

@anticxrrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk

@midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19 @agalliasi @venicesem

@chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @deansbbyx

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester

@chernayawidow @mimaria420 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @waynes-multiverse

[ellemarianne555]

(Pumpkin) Spice

Summary: cozy fall vibes incoming, Aegon is a cute house husband baking cookies and you just want to spoil him a little. Modern AU.

Content warnings: mdni, swearing, blowjobs, implied ass play, hint of pegging/rimming. Minor mentions of alcoholism, very subby Aegon.

Word Count: 1k ish

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🍁๋࣭ ⭑🍂༘⋆

After a long day at work, you slid your keys into the front door only to be greeted by the sweet smell of cinnamon and brown sugar. You smiled to yourself, your boyfriend must be baking again.

Placing your keys in the bowl by the door, you slowly crept into the kitchen where you could see Aegon singing along to the radio as he shaped little balls of cookie dough. Leaning back on the counter, you smiled to yourself. He was just so sweet. When you had first met Aegon, he was just out of rehab, you had seen him coming into your building looking so sad you just couldn’t help but talk to him. Pretty boys shouldn’t be so upset. You learned that he had just moved into the building in order to escape the strict rules laid out by his parent’s trust fund, that had driven him to his unhealthy dependency on alcohol.

Over time, Aegon would come over to your apartment with baked goods. Explaining that he had no real job and wanted to do something useful with his time. His pumpkin cinnamon rolls were out of this world, and it wasn’t long before you two were together and he slowly moved his few things into your home.

“Hey, Sunfyre.” You said as the small fluffy blond dog ran up to you and expectantly dropped his bone at your foot. Aegon still hadn’t noticed your entrance, he was too busy dancing to some radio hit by his new favourite artist about that movie, was it Juno?

You came behind your boyfriend, and slotted your body behind his, kissing and nipping his neck softly. He froze before smiling happily as you kissed him sweetly.

“How was your day at work?” He asked thoughtfully.

“The absolute worst.” You moaned as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. “But a lot better now that I’m here.” He grinned and turned around, wiping his hands on the apron decorated with pumpkins you had bought him. He was wearing a white cream jumper, several sizes too big with a sausage dog embroidered on it. With his pale skin and white blond hair, he looked like an angel. One you wanted to ruin.

He grinned again, mischievously this time, as he deepened the kiss between you and grabbed at your blouse so as to pull it off. Cursing at the small buttons, you giggled and helped him to take it off. His face seemed to light up as he saw all of you, and you knew you would never get used to how much he adored you.

Sinking to your knees, you untied his apron and impatiently tugged down his sweatpants. His half-hard cock fell out and you laughed. “No underwear?”

He squirmed before smiling shyly, “I was hoping you’d be home soon”. You responded by taking his cock into your mouth. He groaned, so devastatingly, you were sorry that your mouth was occupied and you couldn’t tell him to be a good boy and keep quiet.

Aegon didn’t necessarily have a big dick, but you were perfectly content with the four and a half inches he did have. It stretched you out perfectly and left you wanting more, that he was happily able to provide with his tongue and clever hands. Sucking on his fat cock, you hollowed your cheeks as he sunk back onto the counter and tried to cover his face with his hands. You paused and reached up, swatting his hand away.

“I want to see you come undone for me.”

You hollowed out your cheeks and ignored the ache in the back of your throat as you took him down deeper. Using your spit as lube, you took what was left of him into your hands and tugged slowly.

“M-more. P-please” he whined as you smiled around his cock. The pace become fast and unforgiving as his sharp, high cries filled the room. He squirmed furiously as he choked out “I’m coming. I’m coming. Please!”

You started sucking him even harder as your wrist nearly cramped with the pace. Finally, he groaned, deep and content as he spilled his load into your mouth.

You rose up and kissed him, letting the remnants of his cone flow back into his mouth as you held his chin. “Swallow.” his eyes were teary and red as he nodded and gulped before he leant in to kiss you again.

The kiss was sweet and tender as you both sought to get back your breath. He broke off the kiss and leaned back in the counter.

“You know. The cookies aren’t the only surprise I have for you.” He turned back around towards the sink and you could see a gleaming pink jewel nestled between his cheeks. You swore low and filthily, as the fire alarm went off and Aegon lunged to pull his burnt cookies out of the oven.

You really couldn’t care less about eating them, not when your boyfriend had prepared a whole different kind of treat for you.

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🍁๋࣭ ⭑🍂༘⋆

Author’s Note: I hope you enjoyed! Let me know if you want a part two, I know pegging isn’t everyone’s cup of tea so then you really wouldn’t want to know what Aegon has stashed in the pantry. Love you all xxx

[ebbaskitchen]

Suguru Geto x Reader

Text in bold italics are his thoughts 🤍

Summary: Geto comes back to you after his difficult missions looking for comfort.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Excorising, absorbing.

I kept repeating these tasks.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

No one knows...

the taste of Cursed Spirits.

It's like swallowing a cloth

that has wiped vomit.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

Continuously, unbeknownst of anyone around me.

Then, why am I lying here…

In your arms…

Small hands, warm and tender hands, run through his raven colored hair. Hands that somehow… just somehow, knew how to bring him comfort. Hands that knew where he was hurting — as the fingers trace the gentle crease of his hairline. Hands that he came back to every so often.

Your hands…

As your fingers waltzed with the strands of his dark hair, Suguru couldn’t help but ease into their touch …into your touch.

It always took him a bit to relax— starting from tensed muscles like those experienced in moments of shock or fear; but as he learned more about your touch by coming back to you so frequently, he began to relax in the feeling of them.

As your thumb gently swipes the tip of his nose to remove a fallen eyelash, he catches the lingering scent of cookie dough on your fingertips.

How did you know? I’ll never know…

But you knew the moment you asked me…

“Suguru, what do curses taste like?” You asked me with such gentle concern, I almost questioned if it was real or not. Was it a joke— was the world teasing me— or did you notice…?

I never got to answer your question… and still you knew.

If Suguru was to look up from his place on your chest, he knew exactly how you would look at him. Eyes that held nothing but adoration, concern, and gentleness. Eyes that glittered whenever they made contact with his dull orbs.

Knowing this, Suguru decides to look up, catching the way your pupils dilate when his stare meets yours— his natural strand of bangs falling into their rightful place.

You looked at me that way then too…

Studying your gaze, Suguru is reminded of a moment in his distant memory.

A few weeks after having met you, Suguru was assigned a mission on his own. He came back hurt, devastated — a look so dead in his eyes… but no one would notice that.

Subconsciously, he was looking for you when he had come back from that mission, but you were nowhere to be found. You had befriended him and he had taken a liking to you, your presence was comforting to him, even though he never expected anything from you. Giving up on the idea of finding you, he went to his dormitory, only to find the door was partially opened.

I thought it was a curse… I couldn’t bear to swallow one more that day.

I opened it hastily, wanting it to be over quickly but then I saw you…

And I smelled—- cookies??

He could never explain to you the way his heart fell to his stomach that day. And he could never explain to you the way his breath hitched in his throat when you said…

“To help with the aftertaste…” you whispered so softly

I couldn’t tell if the guilty look in your eyes was for being in my dorm when I wasn’t

or for making those cookies for me. Did you pity me…?

Though the first time he barely acknowledged the cookies due to fear that your concern for him wasn’t real, the second, third, fourth, and many other times you did make them, he was convinced it was more than just concern.

It soon became a ritual, whenever he went on a mission, he’d expect you in his dorm making cookies when he came back. And every time you’d say something along the lines of getting rid of the aftertaste from the curses he had to consume that day. And, on the more difficult missions, he would hesitantly lay in your arms. He knew you didn’t have his power, nor did you ever have to bear the feeling of eating or tasting a curse, but you did this for him as if you understood exactly what it felt like.

Now, in present time, looking back into your loving eyes, he swallowed something that, for the first time, wasn’t a curse.

I love you.

”Suguru,” your voice tickled his ear with warmth, “is something on your mind..?”

And he swallowed again.

I love you.

Your palm came to cup his cheek, the touch of you so magnetic, he slowly began to lean into it. And for a moment, no words are exchanged between the two of you, just audible breathing and even more audible heartbeats.

You began to lean your face closer to his, he didn’t notice how close you were until he could feel your breath on his skin. He held his breath the way he did when he first caught you in his dorm.

Your lips made contact with his skin. The press of them is so gentle against his forehead as if you could break him if you kissed any harder.

Lingering your single kiss there for a moment, Suguru couldn’t help but close his eyes under your affectionate lips. Pulling away from his forehead, he could see your brightly-dusted, pink cheeks that rose as you smiled so beautifully at him.

“I love you,” you’d be the first to say.

Excorising, absorbing

I kept repeating these tasks.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

No one knows...

the taste of Cursed Spirits.

It's like swallowing a cloth

that has wiped vomit.

Exorcising.

Absorbing.

“I love you too,” he would answer in a barely heard whisper. But you heard it. You always heard him.

But somehow you knew…

And I knew

As long as I come back to you…

I’ll be okay…

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Ebba’s Note

I hope you enjoyed it.

I used some of the script from the show but the rest is my original work.

Thank you 😊🤍

[plussizefantasia]

CozyTober Day 7: Fresh Baked Goods

Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

wc: 0.9k

warnings: anxiety induced baking

an: this was one of my favorites and now I have a few more ideas of what I should bake this month hehe. Reblog if you enjoyed, I'll see you tomorrow for Day 8!

Since you were old enough to use the stove unsupervised baking has been your main way to get rid of stress. The way that it captured all your focus and kept your hands busy made it the prime choice for distraction in moments of chaos. 

When finals week would roll around you would be drowning in all sorts of breads, cookies, muffins, and pastries. You had resorted to donating them to a local soup kitchen whenever you could, or forcing them off on your friends, teachers whoever would take them really.

The habit had not broken in adulthood, though you were now more mindful about other ways to cope, when the stress got to be a little too much you resorted to finding a new recipe and firing up the oven. 

And your husband going on two week-long missions where he wasn’t allowed to contact you was a great example of the stress becoming too much. Currently, the little kitchen in the townhome the two of you had bought together last year was absolutely covered in all kinds of goodies. You had some pumpkin rolls, several batches of apple cinnamon muffins, caramel apple cookies, apple turnovers, and some pumpkin and chocolate chip loaf. 

You were rolling out the four sheets of pie dough you had prepared for the various flavors of filling that are currently cooling in your fridge. Suffice to say that you had overdone it but you really had nothing else to do. 

You had finished all the cleaning there was to do the first week he had been gone, and you didn’t want to mindlessly watch the shows on your list because you promised Bucky you wouldn’t watch them without him. You had gone through your entire closet and pulled out things you could donate, you had asked for more tasks from work and then promptly finished all of those too. 

You had nothing to distract yourself, so you resorted to baking. You knew the treats would get eaten, either by your husband’s team or the people at your own work if they were left in the breakroom. But you’re not really sure how much longer this can go on before it’s considered an actual problem.

Luckily and unbeknownst to you, you wouldn’t have anything to be worried about in a few hours, because your husband would walk through your front door. 

Bucky hated blackout missions, not only did he think the whole concept was paranoid and that was a lot coming from him, but he had people to miss now. He had ties to the real world, ones he didn’t feel entirely comfortable abandoning for two weeks even if you’d talked about it before he left.

He worked hard to get the job done as soon as possible and told Ross to shove it when the general had asked him to stick around for one more day so he could complete the mission debrief. That was Sam’s job anyway, the type of bureaucratic responsibility that came along with the stars and stripes plastered across his chest. 

So he shed himself off his mission gear, changed into his civvies, and hopped on his motorcycle. He didn't wait a second before revving it up and coming home to you. 

He did not expect however to open the door and be assaulted with the smell of cinnamon, nutmeg, and clove. He sighed and shook his head with a smile, mentally preparing himself for the sight of his kitchen being turned into a bakery.

You didn’t hear the door open, too busy humming along to the Fred Astaire record spinning on the table in the corner. You didn’t notice Bucky slipping off his boots or hanging up his jacket. You didn’t hear the padding of his feet as he made his way to the kitchen and you didn’t notice when he propped himself up against the door frame and took in the sight of your baking breakdown.

You did however hear his slightly teasing lilt of “Honey, I’m home.” 

You spin to face the voice and let out an undignified squeal. You spin around looking for a place where you can set the hot pan in your hand and give up, practically throwing it back into the oven before taking a running start and launching yourself at him

His deep chuckle blesses your ears and you dig your nose into his chest taking a big breath of something that can only be described as Bucky. 

“You’re home!” yelled muffled by his chest.

He ran a hand down the back of your head over his hand, “You baked.”

You pull back and look sheepishly at him, hoping that the kisses you scatter across his face will distract him from the abundance of carbs behind you.

It doesn’t work. The two of you eat muffins for breakfast every day for the next two weeks, Bucky takes some of the treats to the base with him and says the trainees are grateful but that the sugar makes them annoying. You bring some of what’s left to your own work and are met with a bunch of thank you e-mails and even a thank you coffee from the nice older woman who sits three desks away from you. The rest you bring to the children’s hospital the next time the two of you visit, sweets are always a hit there.

Bucky does ban you from the kitchen for three weeks after though, afraid you’ll get the urge again and he’ll have to add a few more hours of gym time to his routine to burn off all the carbs he’s been eating.

[naturesapphic]

can i request a scarlett johansson x younger platonic reader who gets cast in a marvel film and they are both so happy to be working together? maybe with some fluffy stories of them on set? thank you!

Casted Together

Scarlett Johansson x young!fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings: fluff :)

You and Scarlett have been friends for years. Being together in movies and seeing each other outside of work is what keeps the bond together, so you were pretty excited to be coming back to marvel as Natasha’s friend in the new black widow movie.

You’ve been in almost every marvel movie that’s been out, even if it’s just a mention of your name, a cameo, or you actually being in the movie. You were pretty big and well known for your role and got really close to Scarlett when y’all first got introduced in Iron Man 2. Ever since then y’all have been inseparable.

So when you got casted in the black widow movie you were ecstatic and you knew Scarlett was too. So when y’all got on set you immediately looked for her and when you did you ran up to her, taking her into your arms, hugging her tight. “Scarlett! Ahhh im so excited!” You exclaimed and she beamed down at you. “I’m excited too love! It’s so great to be working with you again.” Scarlett said.

You agreed and that’s when the adventures began. The first day was a real hoot. That’s when you met all the cast and crew. You got along with everyone, especially Scarlett and Florence. The three of y’all were troublemakers. There was a scene y’all did with the big pole in Budapest trying to get away from one of the widows and y’all were eating cookie dough. Y’all had chocolate all over your mouths and y’alls hands were greasy.

Another funny moment was when the three of you were doing the helicopter scene and you got your phone out while a five minute break was taking place. You went in front of Scarlett and Florence, putting funny filters on them and laughing your ass off. Scarlett went over to you and started laughing her ass off as you had a horrific filter on Florence. Florence wasn’t bothered by it at all and started doing different poses on purpose.

There was another funny moment when Scarlett had the white suit on and before rolling she was doing a little dance. You popped into view behind her and started dancing without her knowing. When she realized you were behind her the two of you started dancing stupidly together which made everyone laugh. This is what you and Scarlett used to do on the other marvel movies, where the two of you would be dancing randomly when there would be little breaks in between.

Another fun time on set was when she brought her daughter rose to set from time to time. You and rose always got along, forming a close bond between you two. Whenever Scarlett had big scenes to film you would volunteer to look after rose while she filmed. Scarlett was so incredibly grateful for that and said that she didn’t know what she would do without you. You kept telling her it’s no problem and that you loved rose. Rose and you would always cause mischief too. Doing little pranks here and there on the crew and sometimes even on Scarlett which made it ten times better. All in all, being casted with Scarlett was always a blast and you absolutely loved being in black widow with her and the other incredible actors as well.

A/n: thank you anon for the request and I hope you liked it. sorry this was so short but I tried to come up with different fluff little things with them on set but my brain isn’t completely working. There’s a hurricane happening right now so that’s fun- Fall/kinktober requests are open for all characters i write! Remember to stay hydrated and to rest! Take care of yourselves. I love y’all! :)

[starsofang]

Call of Duty || Coraline AU || Part 4

Running away to start a new chapter and escape the troubles of your past, you find yourself in a darker predicament than you had hoped for.

Coraline with a twist. And COD men. Obviously.

PT.1 / PT.2 / PT.3 / PT.5

You pinched the skin of your arm. Still, the warped version of your mother stood before you. You pinched again, harder, so hard you could feel the slight swell of blood vessels rush to the surface. And yet she wouldn’t disappear.

This wasn’t a dream, nor was it even a nightmare. It was reality hanging in front of you, dangling on a string, swaying, taunting. Everything inside of your stomach turned, and the only thing keeping you grounded was Si perched steady between your feet.

“I was wondering when you’d show up, dear,” your mother – other mother – chirped. “Oh! And you brought a friend.”

The last word seemed almost spiteful, a slight dose of venom leaking through. You nearly missed it, the way it dripped off of her tongue, but you noticed it. Too stunned to let it sink in, you opted to simply stare while Si seemed to have similar ideas.

“Don’t just stand there! I’m making your favorite – chocolate chip cookies. Always a simple girl, aren’t you?”

She knew your favorite cookies. She was standing in the warmly lit kitchen, smiling and whisking away at a mix of ingredients in a bowl. Even the kitchen was strange to see – clean, not a single speck of dust in sight. The colors seemed much more vibrant than the dull ones of your home beyond the door in the wall, but it didn’t help with the unease. If anything, the new lens being placed in front of your eyes to peer through felt like a trick.

“How did you know that?” you asked carefully, eyes flickering between her thin fingers wrapped around the handle of the whisk, to her perfectly straightened hair, not a single strand out of place. Her skin was a ghostly white, much like your real mother’s but her smile wasn’t crooked like hers always was. Her teeth were too straight and bright to be your real mother’s, too.

“I’m your mother, of course I know that! Silly girl.” She threw another radiant smile your way, and for a moment, it caused your chest to tighten. Despite the button eyes and perfectly straight lips, she looked just like your real mother. She was giving you a glimpse into a world of what life might’ve been like, had your mother been a loving and doting woman.

“You’re not my mother,” you corrected with a frown of disapproval.

“Right. I’m your better mother. After all, I’d never hit you.”

The statement was a slap in the face.

“Go on, sit down. I’ll pop these in the oven and we’ll talk! Oh, I really have been waiting for you!”

Your eyes glanced over at the dining room table. Chairs perfectly arranged, a fancy tablecloth lining the top of the table, intricate details sewed in to create a beautiful piece of fabric. It looked as if she had made it herself.

It felt as if you had no choice but to sit down, so you complied. Taking a cautious seat, remaining on the edge in case you had reason to bolt out of there and back in the security of your real home, you watched as she hummed to herself, placing a baking tray full of cookie dough into the oven.

Observing the kitchen a bit more, you noticed that there was no tickling of fur itching at your ankles. Peering down, Si was nowhere to be found, and the slightest bit of panic welled inside of your chest. It was as if somebody had grabbed hold of your heart and squeezed it, harder and harder until breathing proved to be a task.

Your dread was interrupted by the sound of a chair being pulled beside you, and when you looked up, you were greeted with a smiling face. It sent shivers down your spine, the way it seemed so… emotionless. The button eyes were unsettling to look at. It was like looking into a black hole, peering into nothingness.

Realistically, it was nothingness. It was empty and desolate, despite the way she smiled, how her cheeks puffed up from the curl of her lips, how her chest rose and fell as if she were breathing. You wondered what she was. You hadn’t a clue, and Si certainly couldn’t tell you. God, it was silly to even wish for a cat to be able to talk.

“I’m so happy you’re here, sweetheart. I’ve been preparing for a long time, and now that you’re here, we can finally catch up on lost time.”

Red alarms went off inside your mind, yet for a reason unknown to you, you found no purpose in wanting to run yet. You hated your mother, truly, but seeing her in a form that was caring and attentive had your inner child reeling for that affection. She never spoke to you this way. Her voice was never so smooth and soft, like a string of melodious chords playing in perfect symphonies.

“Catch up…” you repeated, eyebrows furrowing in deep thought. “What are we catching up on? I don’t understand. I don’t understand any of this.”

“Oh, dear, don’t worry about understanding. There’s no need. Just know that you’re safe here, and that I’m so pleased to have you. Everything will be okay here,” she assured, but it didn’t feel all that comforting.

Something nagged in your chest, desperate to tell you how wrong this was. All of the warning signs were right in front of you, yet your shattered heart only wanted the pieces to be glued back together with this act of unadulterated love.

How long had it been since somebody had spoken to you like this? You couldn’t even recall a single time, when you really thought about it. Your real mother was always so cruel. She was a broken woman, so destroyed over her own life that she had taken you down with it.

“Well…” You swallowed the lump in your throat. “What would you like to know?”

You lost track of the time spent with your other mother. Over the course of your conversation, you had felt a weight lifted off of your shoulders for the first time in your forlorn excuse of a life. She listened and cared for what you had to say, button eyes staring into your own with that toothy smile gracing her thin lips. Everything about her felt safe in your heart, despite your mind telling you otherwise.

You told her about your real mother, about your escape, about how lonely you had been until that point. She told you everything you ever wanted to hear, feeding you bits of security. She soothed over the open wounds with a bandaid of love you had never received, and you fell into that pool of comfort like a warm blanket, waiting to engulf you whole.

The shadows of your mind overpowered the logical side, all too eager to step into a realm where for once, you could be a person again. Your other mother was the key in stitching up the holes in your heart, mending them with nimble hands and stuffing them with light so blinding, you dove right into it.

By the time you returned home, making your way through that lovely, little tunnel and back into the sorrows of your own dreadful sight of a home, the sun had risen just barely from the pane of your windows. The living room was quiet when you stepped into it, and you felt a hint of bitterness fill your mouth at the remembrance.

You were alone, in a world that was much too cruel to you. Your scars were still open and bleeding out, urgently needing to be tended and cared for. Lucky you, you had a newfound mother figure who wanted to give you just that.

“Good morning, Caroline,” John greeted you as you stepped out of your door hours later. “Heard quite a ruckus in your place last night. I do hope that you were alright.”

You took in the sight of John, whose kind smile looked more like a grimace the more you stared at it. Gaz was standing behind him, but offered no smile like John had. Instead, his eyes were hardened as they looked at you, shifting up and down your body like you had just said something to offend his entire family.

Confusion bubbled inside of you. Had you done something to offend them? Surely, you couldn’t have been so loud last night that they had heard you from their apartment down beneath your home.

“I’m alright, thank you. I apologize for any noise. I was doing some spontaneous cleaning around the house,” you lied with a forced smile, shrinking under Gaz’s gaze as his nose flared in what appeared to be annoyance.

“That so?” John hummed, eyes boring into yours for a moment too long. It felt like he knew you were lying, but how would he have known?

It felt like all three neighbors had eyes on you at all times, yet you couldn’t figure out how.

“That’s right,” you confirmed with a nod, attempting to appear more confident in your answer so as not to raise suspicion.

John said nothing and instead stared at you for a beat longer, before musking up another one of his bright smiles that was near hidden behind his facial hair.

“Alright then. Let us know if you need anything, yes, Caroline? Anything at all.”

Weird.

“Actually,” you spoke up before they could walk away. John raised his eyebrows at you, and Gaz glanced over at John then back to you. “I was wondering… you mentioned there might be something wrong with this house. We didn’t get to talk about it before, but I’m quite the curious person, you see.”

“…I see.”

“Right.” His stare was anything but amused. “Well, I found a door in the wall. It’s all bricked up, but I was a bit nervous about it.”

From behind him, Gaz tensed, shoulders tightening up. If it were even possible, his glare seemed to become more cold.

“Mm. And why’s that, if it’s all bricked up?”

Fuck, you had to come up with a lie. All you wanted was answers, but you knew John wouldn’t give them to you if you told him what you saw. He might’ve even thought you were a mad woman.

“You don’t think, um, rats or anything can get through it, do you?” you opted to ask. You could see his eyes glimpse over to Gaz so quickly, you nearly missed it.

He went silent for a moment, before letting out a thoughtful grunt.

“Don’t think anything can get in and out of that thing. It’d be best to keep the door locked. Don’t go meddling around in it if you don’t want unwanted guests, hm?” he asked. His tone was a bit off, that much you could tell, and it was clear that his words held a certain firmness that showed he definitely knew more than he let on.

You gave him another firm nod, flashing him a smile in hopes of easing the tension, though it crumbled a bit when Gaz sniffed and looked away from you, hands shoved into the jacket of his hoodie.

You bid your farewells to them, even when Gaz made no effort to look at you anymore, and once they were out of sight, you began your trek around the side of the house.

You hadn’t seen Si since he disappeared on you last night, but when you began passing by the stairs that lead upstairs to Soap’s apartment, you felt a pair of familiar eyes piercing into you. Halting in your steps, you bent your neck up to see Si sitting along the railings that Soap was leaning against during your last encounter. He was peering down at you, and just as always, studying you.

“Hello, Si,” you greeted politely. He blinked at you, eyes slightly narrowed into judgmental little slits.

Before you could continue your journey around the house, the door of the apartment flew open and out came the obnoxiously loud Scotsman. His grin was even wider than it was when you had first met him, and he joined Si in staring down at you from where you stood on the ground.

“Miss Caroline!” he exclaimed joyfully. “Lovely to see you made it out this morning!”

The smile you offered him dropped and was replaced with an uncomfortable frown. Si’s tail flicked lazily behind him, like always, and he didn’t tear his gaze away from you once.

“Why wouldn’t I?” you questioned, tilting your head at him.

“It seems somebody didn’t keep their promise. Ain’t that right, Miss Caroline?”

How did he–

“Si tells me everything, sweetheart. He’s a talkative, little thing, y’know.” Soap lifted a hand to affectionately swipe a large hand over Si’s head, causing him to purr. His fuzzy, little head nudged further into Soap’s hand, egging him on, to which Soap granted him scratches behind the pointed ears.

“Cats don’t talk,” you deadpanned, wondering if Soap was crazy or maybe hallucinating.

No. Definitely crazy.

“Si does,” he corrected with that signature grin. “Ratted you out like a little minx. Ain’t that right, SI?”

Si meowed in response, and you stared in bewilderment at how Si was so at ease in Soap’s presence.

“Is he yours?” you asked.

“He’s nobody’s.”

“That doesn’t make sense. He has a collar with his name on it. Surely, he’s your cat.”

“Wrong, love. He’s his own person.”

What the hell did that mean? This dude was definitely insane.

“Right.” You let out a sigh through your nose, shoulders deflating in defeat. Clearly, you weren’t going to get an answer on how Soap knew you broke your promise and went through the little door he warned you about. He would simply tell you that the cat talked.

“Suppose since you broke your promise, I’ll break mine. I’m going to blast my music a bit louder now,” he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he peered at you.

You glanced back up at him with a frown. Si shifted his gaze to look at you, and there it was again – that look of disapproval.

“Why do you play that silly music anyway? You have a secret circus in that place of yours?”

Your question caused him to roar with laughter. It was a heart laugh, one that came right from his gut, and it filled the dreariness in the air with a bit of light. Regardless of how infectious it was, you didn’t know what was so funny.

“No, lass, not at all. Si wouldn’t like it if I had a little circus army of rats in my place,” he mused once the laughter settled. You thought he said Si wasn’t his cat. “She doesn’t like it.”

This stumped you. “Who doesn’t like it?”

Soap’s hand trailed from Si’s head and down his back, causing the cat to arch into the touch. He offered you a knowing smile, but for what you still weren’t sure. These neighbors of yours sure loved to play a game of mystery, entangling you in webs of confusion and offering you no resolution in the end.

“You’ll learn to like it, lass,” he stated instead, picking Si up and cradling him to his chest. “Believe me.”

With that said, he turned his back to you and stepped back into his apartment, shutting the door and successfully cutting off any hopes of you getting answers.

[thatgirlstrawberry]

Sick Surprise pt 3 - Bed Time

In which it’s Y/N and Spencer’s first time having sex and they have to try to be quiet so they don’t get caught by Eloise

Warnings: Smuttt! Protected penetrative sex, oral sex(f rec), giggly sex, kitchen sex cuz they’re stupid, HANDS 🥴, fluff, kissing, cussing, it’s kinda awkward but just cuz it’s their first time lol

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Y/N let out a sigh of relief when she walked out of Eloise’s room quietly. “Okay, I got her down. Hopefully she sleeps through the night.” She whispered, sitting on the couch next to Spencer.

Spencer had insisted on going over to Y/N’s house for date nights so she didn’t have to find and pay a sitter to keep her. They hadn’t been to Spencer’s apartment yet because Y/N didn’t want it to be too much for Eloise.

She didn’t even know what a boyfriend was yet.

So, Spencer wrapped his arm around his girlfriend and kissed her softly. She pulled away reluctantly. “I have to clean the kitchen.” She nodded. “I really should not have let Eloisey help make those cookies…” She shook her head, getting up.

She felt Spencer’s eyes on her body as she moved into the kitchen. She hoped he’d follow her.

Her kitchen was a real mess. There was cookie dough on the floor, a broken egg on the counter and just— yeah. Life with a three year old.

Spencer got up from the couch and followed her into the kitchen. “I wasn’t done kissing you…” He trailed off, grabbing her by the shoulders gently. He turned her around and pressed his lips against hers.

She giggled against his mouth, standing on her tippy toes and wrapping her arms around his neck.

With his body pressed against hers, it was hard to want to stop. She licked his bottom lip and he smiled into their kiss. “Sorry we haven’t had much alone time.” She spoke in between kisses, leaning into him more.

Spencer backed up, pushing her towards the kitchen counter. “It’s okay. I like hanging out with you and Eloise.” He stopped talking when her tongue slid against his and he groaned into her mouth.

Her lower back pressed against the counter and his hands were placed on her hips. She pulled away for a second. “Hi.” She smiled, her lips swollen and red.

“Hi.” He nodded. He tried leaning back in for a kiss but she giggled and pressed her hand over his mouth.

“So, sex.” She whispered. “Is that w-what we’re doing here or…?”

His eyes were wide and she forgot that her hand was over his mouth so he couldn’t really speak. He kissed her palm and she let out an ‘oh’ and took her hand down.

“I— if you want to.” He nodded. She quirked an eyebrow.

“But do you want to?” She asked, her teeth grazing her bottom lip.

Spencer nodded. “I want to. Do you?”

She kissed his lips once. “Oh, I definitely want to.” Her mouth met his again for a long kiss. Her voice broke through every time there was a little break. “But, I just want-“ *kiss* “To warn you that I haven’t— holy fuck your mouth is like magic— I haven’t-“ *kiss* “I haven’t had sex since I got pregnant with Eloise.”

He stopped kissing her when her body tensed. He pulled away and looked at her red cheeks. She looked embarrassed. “I just— I’ve been afraid that I’d get pregnant again. Then— then I’d get left and I would be alone still but this time with two kids.” She let out a small breath and looked up at him finally.

His thumbs caressed her cheek bones. “If you don’t want to do this, we won’t.” He spoke. “I want you to fee comfortable and safe, Y/N.”

She tilted her head to the side and she smiled. “Thank you, Spence. Really. But I want to do this with you. You make me feel like— so safe and comfortable.” She nodded.

Their smiles seemed to last forever as they looked at each other. “Spence?” She whispered.

“Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

He did and she hopped up on the counter with his help, his hands landing on the sides of her ass. Her hands were in his hair, pulling gently and smiling as she elicited groans from him.

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he stood between them. His lip pulled from her mouth and kissed along her jawline. She giggled feeling his stubble against her cheek.

Her legs pulled him in closer and she reached for the bottom of his shirt, untucking it from his pants. “I need you to invest in a t-shirt or two.” She laughed quietly, trying to focus on the way his lips continued to kiss her skin.

Spencer chuckled as he kissed down her neck. Her fingers undid the buttons on his shirt and she tore it off of him, his hands leaving her butt for just a moment before they were glued back on.

“Oh my God, Spencer take off my shirt.” She groaned when his teeth hit her neck gently. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he pulled away from her, grabbing the hem of her shirt and pulling it over her head.

He stared down at her chest that was supported by a pink lacy bra for a few moments before her hand lifted his chin up to gain back eye contact.

“God, I love women.” He shook his head as he leaned back in, one of his hands sliding from her as to the top of her thigh. She giggled as he kissed her and she reached for his belt, unbuckling it with one hand while the other gripped his bicep.

She pulled the belt from the loops and Spencer pulled away with a surprised look on her face. “Ha! I still got it.” She gushed, throwing his belt aside.

He groaned and shook his head, pulling her hips forward to set her at the edge of the countertop. She gasped in surprise when his fingers worked the buttons of her jeans quickly. He pulled them off of her and threw them somewhere. Y/N giggle as she watched one of the week ant legs land in the pot of mashed potatoes.

“Oops. Sorry.” He shrugged with a chuckle. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him to her. His lips met hers but his hands had other ideas.

He smirked against her mouth as he felt her jolt a bit when his thumb made contact with her clit. She moaned and subconsciously grabbed his wrist.

Spencer quickly pulled away. “What’s wrong? Do you not want me to touch you there, I won’t. I promise Y/N, if you don’t want me to do—“

She kissed him. “It’s just been a while since someone other than myself has touched me there.” She blushed. “Sorry. Keep going. I’m okay, I swear.”

Spencer looked into her eyes and began to rub again slowly. Her eyes fluttered shut and her mouth fell open. “Fuck.” She let out breathlessly.

His lips parted a bit as he felt her getting even more wet than what she was when he had started touching her. He get the need to taste what he was feeling.

He slowly sunk down to his knees, looking up at her as she looked at him. His eyes were asking, pleading. She nodded, her lips parted and her eyes needy.

He softly grabbed the sides of her underwear and pulled them down teasingly slow. He could’ve busted right then and there at just the sight of her.

He kept eye contact with her until her was close enough to lick her slowly. His eyes shut and so did hers. Her hand flew to the top of his head, gripping his hair. “Oh my fuck—“ She whispered.

Spencer groaned at the taste of her, flattening his tongue out and bobbing his head up and down.

Y/N whimpered and went to grab the edge of the counter. As she did, she hand knocked a glass cup off and it shattered on the floor next to Spencer.

He kept going nonetheless as she laughed quietly. Her fingers reluctantly pulled at his hair. He pulled away from her, looking up. His lips and chin were glistening with her wetness. “Fuck, wait a second. I thought I heard Eloise.” She whispered.

They both froze in place for a few moments, listening to hear Eloise’s cries. But thankfully, there was no noise other than Y/N and Spencer’s heavy breaths.

Y/N looked down at him, closing her legs unconsciously. “Okay, I think she’s still sleeping.” She nodded.

Spencer smiled. “Good, can I make you come now?” He asked, catching her completely by surprise.

“Oh my God, please?” She nodded. He chuckled and dove back in, spreading her legs back open again and circling his tongue around her clit.

“You taste amazing by the way.” He spoke, pulling away for a moment before going back to tease her entrance with his tongue.

As she panted and moaned, she smiled. “Appreciate it.” She nodded, gently pulling his hair causing him to groan into her.

Exactly 67 seconds of quite skillful mouth work, Y/N came all of his tongue. She was tugging on his hair, whimpering his name all while he was helping her ride out her first male induced orgasm in a while.

When she was calm, she kept her eyes closed, trying to slow her heavy breathing. Spencer stood back up, pressing his lips to hers. She kissed him back in a haze, her brain foggy. “Holy shit.” She chuckled breathlessly when he pulled away. “Where the fuck did you learn to do that.” She asked, patting his cheek.

He shrugged and kissed her again.

She hummed and pushed him away a bit. “Look, I’m all for like— your dick or whatever but I can’t do it next to a block of knives—“ She said glancing at the wooden block. “Or my kid’s sippy cup.” She said, shrugging.

Spencer shook his head and rolled his eyes with a smile. “Your room?” He asked, kissing her neck.

Y/N nodded. “Yes, but we have to be so so quiet. The walls in the building are thin and El and I share a wall.” She said, leaning her head back.

Spencer elicited a gasp from her when he pulled her off the counter and wrapped her legs around his waist. “Then we’ll be quiet.”

When they entered the room, he laid her down on the bed. He started kissing her again, trying to get her worked up.

After a few moments of heavy kissing, she pulled away feeling his hardness on her thigh. “Can you… Um… can you…” She closed her eyes.

“What do you need, baby?” He asked softly.

She bit her lip and opened her eyes. “Can you wear a c-condom?” She asked. Her eyes got wide. “But i-if you don’t want to you d-don’t have to—“

“Of course I will.” He smiled, interrupting her nervous tangent she was about to go on. “Anything you ever need me to do when we’re together like this, I will always do.”

She smiled, her heart was melting. “Th-thank you.” She pecked his lips. “They’re in there.” She said, nodding towards her bedside table.

He reached over her and pulled the drawer open. The box had been untouched, unopened. He carefully ripped the cardboard seal and took a shiny gold wrapper out. He set it next to her head on the pillow and pulled his pants off. Her eyes betrayed her and she stared at the tent in his boxers.

Her mouth fucking watered.

Her hands grabbed the waistband of his boxers and she tugged on it. “Please take them off and fuck me.” She almost whined. Spencer groaned and did as she said, pulling his boxers off and watching her tongue glide across her lips. “Oh my God, you’re gonna kill me.” She rolled her eyes and let her head fall back against the pillow.

He chuckled and grabbed the condom from the pillow, opening it and sliding over his length. She put her feet flat against the bed, bending her knees. She bit her lip, looking at him, her eyes begging. “Please Spencer. I literally can’t wait anymore.” She whispered.

He crawled over her again, leaning down and pressing his dick against her clit. Her mouth fell open and she let out a breathy moan. “Spencer, Spencer…” She mumbled.

He ran the head up and down through her folds before stopping at her entrance. “Are you ready?” He asked.

She nodded, gulping. He leaned down to kiss her, capturing her moan as he pushed in slowly. Her body tensed as it felt the tiniest bit of pain.

Spencer grabbed one of her hands, rubbing his thumb over the back of it as she whimpered into his mouth. “Fuck.” She whispered when he pulled away.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

She nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “P-please move.” She whispered. He pressed a kiss to her jaw and started to rock his hips slowly into hers.

She gasped and moaned quietly. “Holy fuck… holy fuck…” She repeated.

Spencer kissed her neck, his head falling between her neck and shoulder. “Oh my— you feel so good, baby.” He groaned in her ear.

Her teeth but her lip so hard she might have drawn blood. “Fuck, Spencer, faster.” She mumbled.

His hips moved faster, teeth grazing the skin in her neck. Her breathy, whiny moans were like music to his ears. The way her nails dragged down his back, no doubt tearing skin, got him closer and closer as she clenched around him.

“Faster— holy shit, go faster.” She mumbled, her legs wrapping around his hips.

“Fuck, Y/N!” He moaned. She giggled and shushed him, kissing the part of his head that was closest to her mouth.

Her legs squeezed his hips. “I’m gonna come, Spence— fuck, right there!”

Spencer groaned into her neck as she made a squeaky noise. “I’m there, baby. At the same time.”

“Oh, fuck Spence—“

“Y/N—“

They were both cut off by their own moans. Their bodies squeezed each other’s and they froze as muscles spasmed and legs shook.

After a moment of silence and heavy breathing, Spencer pulled his face from between her neck and shoulder and sat up a little, looking at her. Her eyes were closed, her lips were parted and her chest was heaving.

“I…” She swallowed. “I didn’t know a guy could make me feel like that…” She shook her head.

Spencer pulled out of her earning a little whine from her. “I hope that was good for you ‘cause it was fucking amazing for me.” He laid by her side.

She raised her finger in the air. “Same here, partner.”

He chuckled and kissed her jaw. “Okay, you gotta get up.”

“Oh yeah.” She whispered. “We’re supposed to pee after sex, huh?”

Spencer nodded. “Yep.”

The two were about to get up but they heard Eloise whining from the other room. “Peeing after sex needs to wait.” She sighed. “Also, don’t come out.”

“Why?” He asked, tilting his head.

“I had to tell Eloise you were leaving to get her to go to sleep.”

———————————/-

YESSSSS THANK YOU TO WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS BECAUSE I AM SO EXCITED TO KEEP THESE COMING (wink wink)

IM IN LOVE WITH THEM SO YEAH

Also I hope this was as jaw clenching, sheet gripping good as it was for me

Love ya ❤️

[magics-neptunes-things]

Christmas Cooking

Hi guys!

Here is one with this sweet cutie pie that is Lia :)

This one is shorter but please enjoy it!

TW : None

Your girlfriend is, in your humble opinion, the most lovely and cute person in the world. Before you even found the courage to propose her a date, you always had this soft spot for her. The way her eyes shine when you accept one of her demands or the falsehoods digging in her cheeks make you simply unable to refuse her anything.

And God knows how much your teammates tease you about it. But over time you’ve made a point and accepted your destiny. You're so wiped about your girlfriend.

So, when Lia asks you with a baby pout if you can make Christmas cookies this afternoon, she doesn’t need to use all her persuasion to make you agree. You both live in London a few hundred meters from each other, but Lia took you in her suitcase when she returned to Switzerland to her family.

After a visit to the Swiss supermarkets, Chocolat's paradise, you gathered the necessary ingredients and found yourself wearing an apron and a dispenser to prepare the dough.

The kitchen is quite a mess to be honest. There is floor everywhere, an impressive number of plates and utensils in the shrink. You somehow lose the scissors and you can't remember why your shirt is wet.

"Baby stop eating the dough" Lia laughs, clapping your hand away.

"Wasn’t me" you answer, mouth full of said dough.

Lia laughs again before focusing again on the recipe book. She must still be one of the only people to follow a recipe on a book, but it is also for this kind of singularity that you fell in love with her.

"Sugar" she asks you, reaching out without leaving the book with her eyes.

You hesitate to tease her once again, before deciding to be wise and to give her the bowl of sugar that you weighed carefully earlier. Lia saw things big, wanting to prepare three different kinds of dough. But she seems to be having a good time and you’re having a lot of fun too, to be fair.

"Milk, Pretty, please"

Once again, Lia reaches out and this time you don't resist. With a big smile, you press your face on her hand.

"You’re unbearable" Lia laughs, putting a tender kiss on your lips.

"You love me" you answer maliciously, holding out the milk.

"That I do"

A few dozen minutes later, several cookie are in front of you and have cooled enough for you to decorate them. You spend a long time preparing your trees, adding green dye and Smarties as Christmas balls. Lia is more adventurous and you are amazed by her talents as a cookie decorator.

When you are done, you clean the worktop before washing your hands and try to get rid of the green dye that has invaded your hands. You’ll soon be able to play the Grinch. When you are done, your eyes are once again drawn to your girlfriend who is always focused on her cookies.

She has red dye on her cheek and hair that escapes from the ponytail that she made so as not to be disturbed while cooking. She is focused on her work, tongue pulled to the side. You don't resist the urge to put yourself behind her, passing your arms around her waist to put a tender kiss on her cheek.

"You’re so cute" you whisper in her ear, smiling as she shivers.

You just have to put a kiss behind her ear to distract her and make her look at you.

"You are a real inconvenience"

Her harsh fake tone doesn't work and you laugh maliciously and squeeze her against you. Lia soon smiles in turn, turning entirely in your arms to steal a kiss before returning to work. You remove the red stain from her cheek with your fingers, staying still to let her finish. You’re actually almost mesmerized by the way she decorated her cookies.

If one of you gets hurt too badly to continue football, you can always switch back to it.

********

YourInstagram and Liawaelti

Liked by leah.williamsonn, alessiarusso99, ana_crnogorcevic and 20 882 others people.

YourInstagram Preparing my (hopefully distant) future profesionnal conversion

See the 218 comments

jbeattie91 Save me some! ↳ YourInstagram Sure! ↳ liawaelti She already eat all of them ↳ YourInstagram Traitor

[crazyunsexycool]

Henry feels weird about Santa. He can't wrap his head around the fact that people let in a random old man into the house just to eat cookies and give gifts?

He's like - why does he know where we stay? What if he steals something from our house? What if he's a creep who wants to stalk us ?🤔🤔

He's all protective and scared about it!

Who the hell is Santa?

A/N: I think of this as an au of the Christmas one shot I did for MLL last year…

You and Bucky had been explaining Christmas to the kids. The gifts, parties, decorations, giving back to others. The list went on and on. But it was at the mention of Santa Claus that Henry wrinkled his nose and furrowed his eyebrows in disapproval.

“So people just let him in?” He asked both curious and unsure.

“Yes, he comes down the chimney and leaves gifts for you.” Bucky explains.

“But isn’t that a security risk? And how does he get into houses that don’t have a chimney?”

“Well he uses magic.”

“Oh.” Henry says but doesn’t seem satisfied with the answer.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“But how does he even know which kid lives in which house?”

“He has a list, bubs.”

“How did he get the list?” Henry isn't liking what he's hearing. A strange man with the names of all the kids in the world? It gave him the creeps.

“Well kids send Santa a letter with all the things they want for Christmas.”

"Are you sure he doesn't work with the bad men?" He asks after a moment of silence.

Bucky look up from the files he had been working on, confused as to why he would ask that. "Bubs why would you think he works with the bad men?"

"Well he has way too much intel on people. He has access to every house. Couldn't he just like take the kids from home while they sleep?"

“Santa wouldn’t do that, bubs.” Bucky explain, trying to calm his nerves.

“I still don’t like him.” Henry mutters under his breath.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t see why we have to bake Santa cookies.” Henry complained. “Why does he get a reward for committing a crime?”

It had been days of Henry complaining about Santa Claus. You and Bucky were so close to telling him the truth it hurt. But you didn’t want to ruin the magic of Christmas for him either. As you scooped up cookie dough and placed it on a baking sheet the idea came to you.

“Henry, uncle Tony did a background check on Santa. Do you really think we would let someone like that anywhere near you and your sister if we didn’t know everything about him?”

He turned to look at you, head tilted as he thought it through.

“Oh.” He murmurs. “I guess I didn’t think of that.”

“Your family make up the Avengers, we’ll always protect you.”

“I know.” Henry turns back to his own cookie dough.

The two of you work in silence and you do a little mental victory dance at having stopped the Santa questions.

“So is Santa Claus his real name? Or is like a superhero name? Like uncle Steve is Captain America and auntie Nat is black widow.”

“Santa’s real name is Kris Kringle.”

“Do you think uncle Tony would let me look at his file?”

“I won’t let you look at his file.” You stopped what you were doing and turned your full attention to him.

“Why not?”

“Because we are monitoring Santa. You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Fine.” Henry sighed. “Daddy said that kids can send him letters with what they want for Christmas, is that true?”

“Yes it is.” You smile. “Do you want me to help you write one?”

“Yeah.”

“What are you going to ask him for?”

“I’m going to ask him to not come into our house or I’m going to have to kick his butt.”

It took everything in you to not burst out laughing.

“That will get you on the naughty list.”

Henry shrugs. “I don’t care. He just better stay away from baby.”

You chuckle and shake your head. Maybe believing in Santa wasn’t Henry’s thing and that was ok. He was just being cautious. You couldn’t help but wonder what his reaction would be when he found out Santa wasn’t real.

[updownlately]

'cause you used to be a part of me (now you're only somebody)

| alessia russo x reader | angst | 1.0k | a/n: it's the angst i so desperately wanted to write. i don't know what it is about spotify but it kept playing sad songs this morning and then it played 'worse for me' by tyler shaw and i had no other option but to write this throughout my class. enjoy! also i wrote this as the backstory to this blurb

~~~

“It’s done.” 

“Oh great! Okay, so the instructions say to take the dough out of the fridge and-” You begin, as you wipe your hands on the towel near you.

“No, not the timer for the cookies…the negotiations.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Alessia round the corner of the island, her phone making the distinct locking noise before it’s gently sliding on the countertop, coming to rest between you two, almost mocking you.

“The nego- oh…”

Taking a deep sigh, you mentally prepared yourself. Putting the towel down, you turned to face her. Letting yourself lean against the counter, you tried to look nonchalant even though you were everything but.

“So what’s the verdict? I’m going to assume that United matched?”

Alessia nodded, closing the gap between you two. Stopping a few feet away, she timidly reached out her hands, a wince on her face, nervousness clear with the way she was bouncing from foot to foot. 

The silent question in her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by you. You reached your own hand out, intertwining your fingers, pulling her ever so slightly closer, the space between you two noticeably smaller.

“I love you.”

“I feel like there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that sentence.”

When the blonde took a deep sigh in response, you knew you were right.

“London right?” You could feel your own heartbreak at your words, well aware that this was how it was going to end, and yet it didn’t make the sting hurt any less. 

“We both know I can’t stay at United.” 

“City?” “I might leave my childhood club, but I won’t do them like that.” Her words had you shrugging in acceptance.

“So….Arsenal?”

“Yeah.”

You thought you had held it together pretty well up until this point. You had at least, until this moment. You don’t know what it was, but the final confirmation, the singular word being uttered just made it more real. It made your nightmares a reality.

Alessia could see you physically breaking in front of her, the first few tears falling down your face. The way you leant your head back, the wordless prayer falling from your lips, straight onto the ground where it shattered into pieces.

“Please say something.” Alessia knew she sounded desperate. Your opinion technically wouldn’t make a difference at this point- it hadn’t before, what good would it do now that everything else in the way was sorted and official.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” the defeat in your voice clear from the way it broke in the midst of the sentence.

“Something? Anything? What do you think?” By now, Alessia had matching tears rolling down her face. 

“I’m happy for you.” The statement contradicted your quiet sniffles and tears, them only getting worse.

“Are you though?” This wasn’t what happy looked like, Alessia knew that much. 

“I am. This is going to be good for you.”

Voicing her concerns, Alessia took a chance. “You don’t look happy for me.”

“Alessia…” You trailed off, wiping your tears and pinching the bridge of your nose.

The striker couldn’t tell what hurt more, the fact that you couldn’t even look her in the eyes anymore or that you used her full name, something you haven’t used since the pair of you made things official.

“You need to realize that what’s the best for you is probably- no scratch that, it is the worst for me.”

Take a deep breath in to calm yourself, you continued. “I’m happy for you. I really am, I swear. But you leaving? That too a three hour drive away? That’s going to break me. Not being able to see you ever day? It’s like my worst nightmare come true.”

As your voice trailed off, echoing through the apartment that was already feeling a little less like home, you looked up at your girlfriend.

The way Alessia didn’t meet your eyes this time, spoke volumes. 

“Alessia, no…”

This time, it was Alessia’s turn to raise her gaze through the roof, unshed tears threatening to fall at the slightest interaction.

“Don’t you dare Alessia. Please. Genuinely, I’m begging you, don’t do what I think you’re about to.”

“I’m sorry…” This time, the tears fell, the pair of you openly crying. “Know that I don’t want to do this bu”-

“Then don’t” you interrupted, naively hoping that even though she didn’t listen to you before, maybe she just might this time. 

“I need to. With you still here, I-”. Her own shaky inhale cutting her off this time, hands coming up to furiously wipe at her face. “I can’t do it. I need you there, and I can’t have that. I just can’t. I can’t do it.”

“Please,” you pleaded. “We can at least give it a shot? You won’t even have to drive down, you know I love driving, I can always make the trip…”

The next two words had your shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry.” 

Swallowing hard, a deep sigh leaving your lips, you let your heart break into smithereens on the ground between you. 

“When do you leave?” your voice a whisper, too afraid of being loud, lest something else besides your heart cracks too.

“Just before I head to camp.”

“A little over two weeks from now?” you double-checked, not wanting to believe it could be so soon. 

Nodding, Alessia timidly met your eyes, aware that she was the cause of your pain right now. 

It’s why your next words took her by surprise, cueing another round of tears.

“Let’s make the most of it yeah?”

Tears streaming down your faces, you let out a pained smile. “These cookies better turn out great…after all that we just went through. I don’t think I could handle it if they don’t.”

Pushing yourself off the counter that you were using for support, you closed the distance between yourself and Alessia. Pulling her in for a hug, the taller girl practically smothered your body with her own, small tremors wracking her frame.

You knew that heartbreak was inevitable, the both of you needing to leave for world cup prep soon. Regardless, you couldn’t find it in yourself to let her go just yet, wanting to savour as many last bittersweet days that you could. So you let yourself hold her for as long as you could, aware that the clock was ticking, that she wasn't yours for much longer. You couldn't even be upset at her. This was, after all, the best thing for her future, for her.

It just so happened that it was also the worst for you.

[not-rascal-artz]

Prune Juice in Wonderland

- Chapter 1 -

Several hours have passed, and nothing else was happening. Perhaps Prune Juice Cookie’s elixir was a success after all! Well… except for the sudden feeling of falling. Prune Juice Cookie slowly opened his eyes for a brief moment to see if he was free-falling, and it turns out that he was; but everything inside the hole looked upside down, and surprisingly enough, he wasn’t screaming for his own life like if this was real and was feeling rather more confused than concerned.

“I wonder how long I’ve been falling for?” Prune Juice Cookie thought. He began to develop a strange feeling that he was going to eventually end up plummeting down to the center of Earthbread, but he quickly shook it off, realizing that foolish idea of his wasn’t even close to being possible. So Prune Juice Cookie, while having nothing else better to do other than continuing to fall down to who knows where at the moment, started thinking about even more unusual scenarios in his mind of where the effects of that dream elixir of his will make him end up in…

When suddenly.. “GAH!” THUD. 

Despite the landing being a tad bit too rough for the frail cookie, he luckily managed to land on a massive bundle of old scrolls and books. “Ugh...! That landing almost crumbled.. me..” Prune Juice Cookie achingly muttered under his breath. He painfully groaned as he slowly tried to get out of the pile and dusted himself off before getting a glimpse of the young familiar alumna; appearing to be a lot more out of the ordinary, hurrying down a long, dimly lit hallway right in front of him. 

Judging from the party-themed attire and the odd rabbit ears attached to her head, Prune Juice Cookie almost couldn’t tell who that was before he heard her say anxiously, “The professors will be furious if I keep them all waiting!” 

That’s when he unsurprisingly found out that was Cream Puff Cookie, although he didn’t even care about chasing after her since his dough gets exhausted while running. 

Before he began to walk down the dim hallway, Prune Juice Cookie needed to find one of his potions to soothe the cramping after landing roughly on a pile of scrolls and books, but— wait a minute… he immediately began to notice that something wasn’t feeling right the moment he started looking for a healing potion. 

“Huh? Where are my potions!?” Prune Juice Cookie felt quite uneasy about his potions suddenly disappearing. He was always thinking ahead of time and was very prepared for any situation with his beloved potions, but not this time, unfortunately, which was unusual for him.

In any case, Prune Juice Cookie can’t just stay and pace around in the same spot; his only option was to start walking in that dim hallway if he wanted to get somewhere closer to his potions. “Sigh… Don’t tell me that I fell down here just so that I can get myself involved in some stupid…scavenger hunt.” Prune Juice Cookie muttered to himself. 

The moment he turned the corner, a fragment of light was seen shining through a slightly opened door at the end of the hallway. “They’ve gotta be in there,” said Prune Juice Cookie as he opened the door, but unfortunately he was wrong. He stepped inside and found himself in a long, bright room filled with nothing but locked doors. 

“Oh great…” was the only thing that Prune Juice Cookie could mumble under his breath. He tried to open some of the locked doors in the room, but he quickly gave up since he didn’t want to waste his time dealing with the ludicrous situation he was in right now. 

Prune Juice Cookie was just about to leave the room for good, but he came upon a very small door that was already unlocked. “What the? How could anyone fit through there??” He thought. Prune Juice Cookie knelt down and carefully opened the door to see a surprising, yet familiar sight of The Parfaedia Institute. 

“Parfaedia!? No, this doesn’t make any sense!” He said while closing the small door, “My potions can’t be in there, and I don’t have a solution that could shut me up like a telescope because every single potion I have disap—“ Prune Juice Cookie paused the moment he turned around. 

He found a three-legged table made of solid glass in the middle of the room with nothing on it except for a potion with a liquid gradient of pink and blue swirling inside, and round the neck of the bottle was a label that said “Drink Me.”

“Hmph. What a very trustworthy and unsuspicious refreshment!” Prune Juice Cookie remarked with heavy sarcasm. Knowing Prune Juice Cookie as the best potion maker known to cookies, of course he wouldn’t just take a swig of some random concoction that just appeared out of thin air without any specific details of what it does; he obviously knows way better than that. The potion didn’t look like it was brewed by him as well, which raised his suspicion towards this unfamiliar and possibly toxic substance even more since he always preferred to use his own potions more than somebody else’s.

After some time of examining the “Drink Me” potion, Prune Juice Cookie’s one and only choice that he has is to actually drink it if he wants to get out of this weird room, so he took off the cork and wafted the air towards his face for any odor, but to his surprise, the bottle didn’t smell like anything at all! 

So Prune Juice Cookie ventured to taste it, finding it to be so spicy at first that he immediately noticed himself starting to shrink. “Gah! What’s happening?!” He cried; he also began to notice that the potion changed flavor when it suddenly turned sour…and then salty…and then to his bitter flavor preference… and then to finish things off, it turned sweet.

Prune Juice Cookie was quite flabbergasted from the potion’s effects, but at least he’s at a good enough height to escape the place and to go through the small door to find his potions. “Heh heh. Whoever made that potion, I must know how you managed to make it so weirdly incredible.” He commented while walking to the door.

But unfortunately, once he tried to open the door, it was locked. “What? I don’t get it! The door was already unlocked just moments ago!” Prune Juice Cookie complained. He walked back to the table and saw a golden key brightly gleaming through the glass. “Tch. And that key wasn’t there before as well.” Prune Juice Cookie leaned on one of the legs of the table and thought about what he should do to retrieve that key. The only way that seemed possible for him was to just climb up there, but since he’s fragile, it’ll never work. One slip-up and he could easily crumble. 

Soon he noticed a small bag of star jellies next to him with another label that said “Eat Them” wrapped around the bag. “I suppose the way things work around here is to eat or drink something to become either tall or small, right?” Prune Juice Cookie thought, “Because if that's the case, then these jellies should make me grow back to normal so that I can get that key and leave this place with my potions for good.” 

Prune Juice Cookie opened the bag and ate one of the star jellies from the bag. Then he waited a little bit to see if anything would happen to him, but nothing happened yet, and he was still the same size. “*sigh* I don’t have time for this nonsense,” said Prune Juice Cookie as he took another star jelly out of the bag.

“Perhaps one more star jelly wouldn’t hurt me, right?” He thought to himself.

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