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gay-dorito-dust · 21 days

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Batboys with reader who has a silly collection of stickers and puts them over their faces, their suits or their weapons (most of them with silly encouraging phrases to cheer them up lol)

Dick

He bought you a set of stickers once and ever since it’s been his ultimate downfall but in the most humorous way possible.

Dick has a sense of humour, he didn’t mind a couple of stickers here and there, even going so far as to keep the cute cartoon mushroom stickers that you’ve left on his escrema sticks as your personal touch on his belongings.

He even once woke up to a face full of them and when he asked your reasoning as to why, you only shrugged your shoulders and said ‘I thought it’d be funny to see how many stickers I can put on your face without waking you up.’

Dick takes the whole thing in stride and in good faith and loves the fact that you went out of your way to cheer him up through your cute but inspirational stickers. It was almost as though you knew that he needed a little pick me up that day and did so tenfold by coating his hands in stickers that reminded him of your deep care for him and his mental health.

So nowadays Dick doesn’t mind waking up just to see his face covered in stickers and instead smiles and goes about his daily routine as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

Jason removed his red helmet from his hand and could only stare at the stickers that littered across the sides and back either a blank stare as Roy practically pissed himself with laughter.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, how did I not see this?’ Jason muttered under his breath, scratching at sticker of a cartoon Robin holding a stick in its beak.

‘Oh there’s nothing to be ashamed of in a little self expression Jason,’ Roy snickered, ‘but I didn’t peg you as the type to collect stickers and cute ones at that.’ He then points to a particular sticker on his helmet of a cat hanging from a branch followed by the saying; just hang in there.

‘piss off.’ Jason told him. He knew something was a miss but didn’t know what it was and now that he knew, everything was starting to make a bit more sense. For starters you didn’t kiss his helmet like you usually did before he left of patrol, almost as though you didn’t want to ruin something on his helmet that he didn’t see, at least not at that point in time.

He should’ve known because you’ve pulled this stint with his guns before in the past but what you didn’t know was that he kept a few that were now a little worn and faded. So while he appear a little peeved that you have took it upon yourself to decorate his helmet, he was a sentimental guy deep down who loved anything and everything you’ve given him and treasures it with his entire heart.

Jason’s a secret sap when it comes to you and knows that he’ll come to laugh at all this at a later date as he recalls all of it to you when he comes home, already envisioning your reaction when he’d inevitably calls you out on it, knowing that he could never stay mad at you for very long. He physically couldn’t and refuses to when all you were trying to do was lift his spirits.

You were too sweet for him but he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Damian

Wants you to take them off at first, how was he meant to be taken seriously if he was covered head to toe in stickers, ridiculous.

He thinks them childish unfortunately

However when you do stop putting your stickers across every one of his belongings for a brief stint, he begins to realise the true intended purpose behind them, and would begin to leave subtle hints that he wanted you to go back to coating everything he owned in stickers in his own way of apologising.

He’s stubborn but he cares for you and what you meant to him and if planting stickers on the sheath of his sword on the premise to uplift his spirits, then who was he to stop you from doing so. He wasn’t use to someone going out of their way to try and cheer him up and was more use to isolating himself from everyone in his room and just draw out his innermost feelings.

So you covering his face, suit and or weapons with stickers with cute and uplifting words was something he needed time to get use to, but once he does he tries to keep the stickers that had long served their purpose within the pages of his sketch pad as a keepsake of your thoughtfulness towards him.

This portion of his sketch pad is kept under a lot of secrecy on his part but you find it eventually because of course you do.

Damian wasn’t use to someone caring about him as much as you did and in a more unique way than littering the hilt of his sword in stickers made to make his day just that a little better. Damian, much like Jason, keeps a sticker or two on his weapons but in places where it would be harder for others to spot and would run his thumb over it whenever he felt that he needed your presence.

Tim doesn’t mind you putting stickers on his stuff, he’s pretty much unbothered by it and would just accept the fact that this was your way of saying that you’re thinking of him and his well-being. Tim knew you well enough to understand what you were trying to say through your stickers from the stickers you used consistently.

However due to his egregious sleep schedule lead to many instances where he would wake up to his face covered entirely in stickers, and at first he thought it was the lack of sleep that was making him see things but soon realised that his face was indeed covered in stickers, and would silently stare at you through the mirror as you tried hard not to laugh.

He threatens to plaster your face with stickers next time, he does follow up on his promise but that’s a story for another time.

To Tim it was almost as if you had just made up an entirely new way of communication through stickers, he’s even got them categorised based on their subliminal messages and what you were trying to tell him through them.

He appreciates the stickers and would even find himself smiling at them on the odd occasion and run his fingers over them gingerly as to not accidentally peel one of them off. He loved your unique way of cheering him up and would get a little sad when he sees that someone them were starting to fade or become worn, only to feel a warmth spread throughout his chest when he saw new stickers next to the places of the old ones.

Each and every sticker had it’s sentimental significance to him and if Tim were to ever find out that you didn’t have anymore stickers to spare, he would buy you more sets and act like he didn’t have any part in this despite the parcel having his name on it.

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notjustjavierpena · 10 months

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The Making of Ellie - Part I

A/N: This DILF!Joel piece has rotted my brain for 24 hours straight. I have had absolutely no break from thinking about this, and it’s never been easier to write something.

Summary: A look into how you and Joel’s relationship is going two years in. Joel’s POV on his never-ending love for you and his extreme baby fever.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader/You (No y/n)

Tags: +18 Smut (MDNI!), Joel’s POV, domesticated Joel Miller, Sarah makes an appearance!!!, tooth-rotting love and fluff, they’re crazy about each other, talk about birth control and ovulation, pussy eating (joel is a cunning linguist), fingering, bit of praise kink, dirty talk, bit of body worship, breeding kink, daddy kink (if you squint real hard), slow and sensual piv sex, intense orgasms, creampie, God they are in love

Word count: 4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49183051

Song inspiration(!!!): Too Lost In You by Sugababes

Baby-Making

Joel comes home from work around the same time each day now — and it’s never after dinner time. He has made it his mission to make time for Sarah and you, cut down work since you moved in, because two working adults living in the house means that he can slow things down.

His health has improved, his mood too, his fatigue has practically gone and Sarah has had more time to just be a kid, started playing soccer again, and has even taken up coaching the little league team now that she’s 16. It’s good for him. You are good for him. For both of them.

He loves it. He takes the afternoon post-work ritual very seriously. Always texts if he should pick something up from the grocery store. Sometimes brings you flowers too, remembering that one time you’d said that you didn’t actually mind the cheap cellophane-wrapped bouquets.

It’s interesting to him how natural it feels for him to slip right into domestic bliss with you because he never thought that he would get there again after Sarah’s mother. On top of it, he never considered himself a gentle thing, but after you, it’s like you kiss the calluses of him away. He is nothing but gentle now, even in his roughness.

He throws the keys onto the side table by the front door after arriving home, shrugs off his jacket, and bends down to take off his boots. The sound makes you appear in the doorway. Joel notices that you’ve changed into gray sweatpants and a tank top with a strawberry on it since arriving home, basically removed anything from you that is professional and uncomfortable. Joel loves you like this because he is the only one who gets to enjoy you like this; relaxed and beautiful, hair in a messy bun on top of your head and fuzzy socks on your always-cold feet. He smiles at your radiance, then pads across the floor to kiss you hello.

There’s something in your eyes; a flicker of mischief as you grab his wrist to look at his watch. With a grin that nearly sets his heart into overdrive, you hold his hand up so he can look at the time too.

“It’s five minutes past,” you tut.

“Right, but I got ya something,” he says, reluctantly turning away from you to rummage through his jacket pocket. He fishes out a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup and you immediately snatch it from his hands, holding it close to your chest.

“Gremlin,” he teases and you stick out your tongue at him, “No needa hide it. ‘S too sweet for me anyway.”

“I shall save it for later then,” you walk to the kitchen and open the top cabinet that holds the mugs. You stand on your toes to reach into the very back, shirt riding up just a little, and stash the chocolate cup for later consumption.

“Hidden from Sa-rah, the candy thief,” you purposely pronounce her name wrong for dramatic purposes. Then you lower yourself onto the soles of your feet again, not bothering to pull your top down again. Joel watches the slight reveal of the dimples on your back.

“Right,” he chuckles.

Dear Lord, he loves you so much that it is ridiculous. In a way that makes the future look better than it ever has because it’s no longer filled with uncertainty. He knows what’s going to happen; he’ll build a house for the three of you, he’ll marry you in the Texan spring and he’ll give you as many babies as you want. He’d do it all today if he could.

“How was work?” You interrupt his thoughts by wrapping your soft hands around the nape of his neck, resting them there. You have rosy cheeks, feel warm against his skin, with love radiating from your fingertips.

“Good, told Tommy to handle the next few clients. Some hotshot guy comin’ into the office tomorrow,” Joel tells you, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. He thinks that you don’t actually care about any of this, but there’s no indication of boredom on your face.

“He building a castle or something?” You ask.

“Somethin’ like that. Guy’s filthy rich but not from his own doin’, looking at blueprints at the end of the week. Should be interesting,” he continues, “Not that you care about that.”

“I do actually like hearing about your job,” you kiss him on the lips, peck them repeatedly until he cannot help himself and lifts you up to hug you tight. His arms rest along your back and his hands on your sides, fingers sprawled out underneath where your bra had been in the morning. You must’ve taken it off too. He loves you comfortable.

“You just love my hands,” he retorts, nose against your cheek, “Don’t deny it. I see right through ya.”

“It’s definitely not completely wrong,” you admit when he sets you down again.

You walk back to the kitchen, too tempted by the knowledge of what is in your kitchen cabinet. You only take half, proclaiming some bullshit that you have to watch out for your blood sugar since one can never know when it’s going to get you.

Joel rolls his eyes, following you, “I can give ya some sugar.”

“Joel Miller!” You pretend to look shocked. He tastes the peanut butter in your mouth, pushes you against the counter.

“Gross,” a teenage girl’s voice says.

“Oh right, Sarah’s home,” you announce sheepishly.

Joel pulls away to look at his daughter, “Hey kiddo. How was school?”

“You don’t care about that,” she smirks, “But if you must know, it was fine. No homework.”

“That don’t sound like Mrs. uhhh…”

“Green, it’s Ms. Green, Dad,” Sarah says dramatically as she moves across the floor to put on shoes. Her tone turns taunting, “Go ahead and make out with your girlfriend. I’m going to soccer practice.”

“Have fun, Sarah! We’ll have dinner ready,” you chime in.

“See ya, honey.”

The door closes behind her. The house grows quiet for a moment, but then the mischief is back in your eyes, “She’s seeing a boy.”

Joel nearly gets whiplash, not sure why his pulse spikes. He trusts his daughter to make good decisions and has taught her how since she was just a baby, “Nah, she ain’t. Just said she’s going to soccer practice.”

“Joel,” you sigh loudly, “It’s Tuesday.”

“So?”

“She has practice on Thursdays.”

“Christ,” he runs a hand over his stubble, tries to keep his composure, and ignores the urge to send her a text.

“But you know what?” You’re back in his personal space, tugging at his arms to make him hold you close again, “Such a fun coincidence. I’m also seeing a boy.”

Joel can feel the tension seeping out of him in an instant.

“Really? ‘Cause I’m seein’ a girl. She’s real pretty,” he wishes that he could show his past self how tooth-rottingly sweet he is being with you because he’d hate it. Though if past-Joel found out who he was treating like this, he’d instantly become a goner just like present-Joel is now.

“‘S her sweet tooth, unhinged behavior that I love the most though,” he continues.

You whine in his arms, lean your head back and it earns you a kiss on your neck, “Don’t be like that. Not when I’m ovulating. I’ll climb you like a tree.”

Oh.

It may seem innocent but Joel knows this is how you play dirty. It suddenly explains a lot. The sweatpants, the rosy cheeks, the way you glow, no bra, the cravings, why Joel wants you so bad.

Joel wouldn’t say that he is controlled by biology, and he hates the men trying to argue their way out of acting like cavemen. But looking at you right now in your stupid strawberry tank top, knowing that you’re horny and ready because your body wants to make him a daddy... Joel’s head swims.

Something shifts in the air. You can see it on him, but Joel assumes that you wait for him to act on whatever is bubbling up in his chest and below his belt.

And act, he does. He distracts you with deep, long kisses until he can snatch you up from the ground and carry you upstairs. You squeak out a giggle but don’t fight back, enjoying the freedom of being alone with him.

“That’s why you’re so fucking sexy,” Joel says after placing you on your shared bed. He is already shedding himself of his shirt, undressing hurriedly to get close to your skin with his own as quickly as possible.

You crawl back on the bed, untying the strings of your sweatpants and yanking them down your legs. You match his urgency, but still decide to tease him, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Shut your mouth,” he yanks the rest of your pants off as soon as he is naked in front of you. He throws them in the pile of his own clothes, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, dirty girl.”

You’re just about to take your top off before Joel stops you with a hand curled around the hem. He knows you’re sensitive at this point in your cycle, but it’s not why he wants to keep it on, “I love how cute you are in this shirt. Keep it on like this.”

He crawls properly onto the bed to demonstrate and tugs the shirt up over your tits so he can still see the stupid animated fruit on the front. Afterward, he tugs your panties down your legs and off your feet. He will swear to a higher power that he can even smell it on you, sweet like strawberries and honey between your legs and it makes him feel like an animal.

He has had baby fever for a while now, even told you his plans on giving you a whole bunch of babies and you’ve merely giggled at him, especially when he told you that twins don’t run in his family, but he is sure that nature will give him a whole litter with you.

“Want me to eat you out?” He asks to which you whimper and nod. He doesn’t give you what you want right then and there, instead climbs up to cradle your head in his hands and gives you a long, slow kiss. He sucks on your tongue, hums into your mouth, and gets you worked up and wet before he’ll treat you right.

“Tell me,” he says when he breaks the kiss, nosing along the bunched-up fabric of his new favorite top of yours. He sucks at the skin between your breasts, places open-mouthed kisses along the swell of the left whilst cupping the right.

“I want you to eat my pussy,” you moan softly, running a hand over his hair as he licks a nipple. You slide your fingers into it, but you don’t tug at it unless you feel like you need to hold onto it for dear life.

“God, you’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he growls before going further down your body, his spit leaving a shine where his mouth has been, “Can’t believe I own these tits.”

He goes further down, lets out a satisfied noise when he can see between your legs, “—and this pussy.”

“Yes, it’s yours, fuck, baby,” you sound delirious already, happy and eager to be touched, on the verge of a giggle even, “Joel, need your mou—“

You gasp loudly into the quiet bedroom. Joel has covered you with his mouth, eyes almost rolling back into his skull at the taste of your ripe cunt. He is too lost in you, a complete idiot with how head over heels he is for you, and he shows it by devouring you like he is starved.

“Baby!” You cry out, sensitive, “Fuuuck— just like that!”

He watches your thighs twitch in his peripheral, holds you down by placing a strong hand just below your belly button, and uses his thumb on said hand to pull the hood of your clit back. He sucks the little now-hard nub into his mouth, sending you into a state where he is unsure if you can even sense the sheets underneath you. If you had superpowers, he surely would’ve made you lift off the bed as if you were possessed.

He bobs his head a little, probably looking obscene as he hums against your clit and wiggles his head too. He looks up at you through his lashes, sees the red flush on your chest, and knows that you are close. Christ, he hasn’t been this into someone before.

“I’m gonna— you’re gonna make me—“ you say like always, announcing your departure from reality. He keeps going, feeling your stomach jump in a stuttering manner underneath his palm with how uneven your breathing has become.

“Fuck, I’m coming!” You sob with a yank of Joel’s hair and suddenly your thighs are shaking violently without your control. Joel can feel you coming before you announce it, your cunt clenching rapidly against his lips and your clit pulsing in his mouth as he sucks your folds into his mouth. You taste so good as a gush on slick smears his lips and chin even more. He laps it up.

You push him away when he gets too much, and he turns his head to kiss your inner thigh. You finally release the giggle that you’ve been suppressing, drunk on dopamine and Joel falls in love with you a bit more.

“You’re fucking incredible,” you say. The hand in his hair slides down so you can affectionately run your knuckles over his cheek. He responds by gently rubbing your thighs, soothing you on top of putting such strain on your heart and your breath. You hum, “I love you so much.”

Without warning, he smacks your thigh and you sit up straight. He grins, “Love ya too, sweetheart. Think you can give me one more before I fuck ya?”

“Jesus, what’s gotten into you?” You ask genuinely as you lower onto your back again.

“Wanna fuck a baby into you,” he replies, voice an octave lower than normal. He senses your shiver without having to look at your face, “Please. Wanna get her red and puffy so it fucking sticks.”

You let out an involuntary moan at the idea. You want this as much as him, he hopes, and he slides two fingers into your neglected pussy whilst he waits for the green light to fill you up. He crooks them upwards, fingers the spongy spot that only seems to have been discovered by him, “Lemme in. Lemme come in you.”

You’ve been off the pill for a while with the reasoning that it wasn’t doing any good for your body. Joel had stocked up on condoms since then, actually filled the top drawer of his nightstand to the brim because honey, we’re young and healthy, red-blooded Americans. But it had planted the idea in his mind that he could potentially knock you up, and suddenly the stash of condoms was being used rapidly.

“Okay,” you say with a half-moan, “Fuck, okay.”

Joel immediately sits up on his knees, still fucking you open on his hand. You squirm underneath his touch, trying to get a hold of your breathing this time, holding eye contact with him as he drags another orgasm from you.

It is much less hurried and a lot more intense, muscles clamping down on his digits rhythmically as you bite your lip and close your eyes with a soft gasp. He can’t decide if he finds this more sexy.

“Did you mean it?” He asks as he trails kisses up your belly. He kneels between your legs and places an elbow on either side of your chest so he can hold both your breasts in his hands. He squeezes them together, sucks on a nipple until you sigh deeply, and then watches them bounce back into place.

“Yes,” you say and your voice doesn’t sound unsure at all, “Fuck yes, I want your babies. Wanted them since I saw you. Want you to make me a mommy.”

“The prettiest momma out there,” he says, euphoria evident on his face. He slides his arms underneath you, rests his head on your breasts, and hugs you close to his chest, “Wanna fuck ya.”

“Please,” you say softly, spreading your legs open for him but he has other plans. He releases you from his arms to sit up again, spreading his knees a little. His hands wrap around your ankles to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your feet behind his ears. He leans over you afterward and bends your flexible legs backward until the front of his thighs are against the back of yours. He can go deep like this, fill you up with his come how he has wanted to for months.

He takes hold of his cock, eases it inside of your spent and warm cunt inch by inch. You feel incredible around his dick without a piece of rubber separating the two of you. He can feel the head of his dick nudge at your cervix, moaning quietly as he is engulfed by your wet, pulsating heat.

“How are you still so fucking tight?” He groans, resting his forehead against your calf as he gives you a moment to adjust to the stretch. He knows he is big, gets a thrill out of how well you take him each time as if you were made specifically for him. There had been one time where he’d called you a trooper, and you had laughed so hard with his dick inside you that it had made him come.

“You feel so big like this,” you say as you look down between the two of you, already sounding out of breath. Joel kisses your calf repeatedly and softly, trying to soothe your overwhelmed body.

“Goddamn. You’re so sexy,” he praises, placing both hands on the sides of your head so he is hovering above you. He finds your hazy eyes, “Look at you.”

He gives an experimental roll of his hips that makes you whimper, both hands reaching for the backs of his knees. You hold onto him, staring up into his eyes with that siren-like look in them, and then you moan softly.

Joel starts fucking you desperately at that. He doesn’t hurry though, keeps his hips’ movements slow and sensual to have you moaning and gasping ever so slightly at the intensity. He knows he could just give in and fuck you rough and fast, but the heavy-lidded gaze that you are giving him with your mouth hanging open is too good to spoil.

“Joel,” you cry but it’s barely audible compared to what he sometimes drags from you. He can feel your nails dig into the flexing muscles of his thighs, creating half-moon shapes in the flesh. He switches to a rocking motion, and it sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You moan with your bottom lip between your teeth, “Mhm—“

“I know, baby, let it out,” he can see your pulse jumping wildly underneath the sensitive skin of your neck, feeling the heat of his orgasm pool at the base of his spine. He needs to be closer to you.

“Lift your legs down to the sides,” he tells you gently, thrusts coming to a halt and him realizing that you’ve heard absolutely nothing. He repeats himself, waits for you to follow his instructions, and then hooks his arms underneath your knees.

Joel gets closer to you by resting his weight on his elbows, his own body on top of your slightly contorted one. You reach for him, grabby hands in the air until he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss. You cradle his face, make him feel safe in your arms.

“I love you, baby,” he breathes deeply. The new position gives him an opportunity to reach deeper inside of you, and it’s accompanied by each upward snap of his pelvis causing his cockhead to push into your g-spot. It makes it difficult for you to continue kissing him, eventually simply breathing into his mouth as he has you speared on his dick. Never once do you let go of his face, thumbs on his cheekbones, and tip of your nose against his.

“I love you,” you whisper, unable to catch your breath. Joel can feel your walls flutter around his dick, threatening to pull his own climax from him too soon. You pant, eyes burning, “You— baby, shit… you’re gonna make me come.”

“Yeah?” He speeds up a little, carding a hand through your hair and gently tugging on the bun. He coaxes you, “Gonna milk my cock into you? Make me a daddy?”

“Yeah,” you whimper wantonly, tightening your legs into his sides as you try moving with him, “Yeah, baby. Gonna make you a daddy! Fuckfuckfuck. Ah— I’m, I—“

Joel doesn’t know if he’s ever made you come like this; without all the muscle and rough touches, without the fast-paced snaps of his hips and the foul taunting from his mouth of how dirty you are. But come you do, with your brows furrowed, gaze on his and a controlled breathing that suddenly becomes erratic and uneven after you let out a high-pitched cry.

“That’s it,” he admires you, “So good f’me.”

You clamp down on his cock so hard that he sees stars, fucks you through each convulsion of your cunt. His mouth drips with filth as he works himself toward his own pleasure, “You make me so fucking horny, baby. Wanna knock— ngh, wanna knock this pretty pussy up all the time. Give ya a whole fuckin’ litter.”

He tips over the edge not long after, heart pounding in his chest and the sensation in his balls tightening. He releases with a groan, settles deep inside of you to make sure he doesn’t waste a single drop. His orgasm pulses through his cock, swirls in his belly, and warms the small of his back.

“Fuuuck,” he pants. He carefully removes his arms from underneath your legs before he collapses, allowing you to stretch out underneath him. You look completely fucked out, gasping feebly as he teasingly gives you another thrust before pulling out.

You wrap your arms around him as he falls onto you, nose against the shell of his ear. He can barely lift his head when you speak, humming into your neck that vibrates as you talk, “You think other people have sex this good?”

“Nah, ‘s why everyone is so fuckin’ miserable, why they gotta build mansions with their parents’ money,” he murmurs.

“Stop thinking about the hotshot client in bed,” you tease as you cradle his head in your arms, lifting your legs to wrap them around his waist. It seems you cannot get close enough, “You should only think about sticky, sweaty me.”

Joel finds that he doesn’t care about sticky, sweaty skin and you feeling like a furnace after three orgasms. He lays with you like this for a while, sure that you’ve drifted off to sleep at one point, until you push at his shoulder, voice back to your normal pitch as the post-orgasmic bliss has faded slowly, “Gotta pee.”

“Sure,” he rolls off of you. The sight of your waddle to the bathroom makes him smile, eyes following the way the fleshiest part of your ass and thighs jiggle with each step.

When you’ve closed the door behind you, Joel finds the strength to rid the bed of the dirty sheets and start dressing again. He’ll have a shower before bed, he decides, ignoring the sensitivity of sliding on boxers and jeans again.

Hurriedly, he bounces down the stairs to the kitchen. He gets the rest of your peanut butter cup, places it on the nightstand with your clothes right beside it.

He checks the time. There’s no point in trying to cook something up for dinner if Sarah is home from ‘practice’ soon, so he goes down into the kitchen to order pizza, heart thrumming in his chest as he hears you shout a thank you from upstairs at the discovery of the other half of your favorite snack. He is happy. So so happy.

Especially as he writes ‘pregnancy test’ into his Notes app shopping list.

@elissaaa @queerponcho @casa-boiardi @gracieispunk @hiddenbabynyc @hopelessromantic727 @livingdeadmaria @its-nebuleuse @milly-louise @cool-iguana @pawnshopbluess222 @joeldjarin @queenbrownie18 @scarletsloveletter @ladyburberry @swiftsgirlfriend @walkintotheriveranddisappear @sunnywithachanceofjavi @strang3lov3 @hellishjoel @toxicanonymity

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fairuzfan · 27 days

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Sorry one more thing I wasn't going to talk about but if you had asked me about the binational state/land thing maybe... in 2016, I might have given a somewhat positive answer but I think that since then, Israeli society has become exponentially more racist and anti-Palestinian. Since then we had the Abraham Accords, Sheikh Jarrah, Massafir Yatta, the highest child martyr count in years, and now finally a full blown genocide. Many Palestinians who previously advocated for equality in a single state look at all this, especially in recent months and think "how can I live side by side with these people?"

The vast majority of Israeli society is not against war for the sake of the Palestinians, they're against war for their own safety. They say as much. Hell, look at standing together. The founder guy says "our security is tied in with the Palestinians'". So if it wasn't tied with the Palestinians', you wouldn't care? And I get sometimes you need to introduce people to ideas gently, but their entire organization language emphasizes "shared pain" when there is an oppressor/oppressed dynamic they aren't even hinting at. How can anyone achieve safety if you won't even admit you have power over your Palestinian org members?

Even Brothers in Arms claims to want to "strengthen democracy" but they completely ignore Palestinians have never experienced democracy in "Israel". So what's the point strengthening your own standing when the most disadvantaged still are at rock bottom?? Plus your whole group represents the IOF reservists/members, you have no intention of helping Palestinians when you are the primary oppressors. And this is not an insignificant group in israel!

Not many Israelis are willing to put themselves on the line to protect or even advocate for Palestinians. I mean 7+ months into a genocide and what did israeli society do other than protest *netanyahu*? Hold up flour bags during the flour massacre??? The people serving in the idf are your friends and family and community. Tel Aviv is an hour away from Gaza. Surely you can do *something* physical!! They had people at their Gaza borders starving Palestinians on purpose and people just... watched it happen. Not to mention the IOF, which many Israelis are a part of, participates in the genocide and has been lauded for their "heroism". I look at that and I think "how can I expect you to seriously consider my rights as a person? How do I know you won't miss your old status and reclaim it?"

We've seen Israelis *celebrate* and *ridicule* our martyrs and people. So like where us the good faith in all this? Where can we work with some of these people and think "Yeah I believe they'll respect my inherent dignity as a person"?

Which binationalism relies on this. You need to have good faith between communities for this to actually happen. But when one community won't even acknowledge it's status as an oppressor at the height of oppression? Then what?

Israel as a country has never faced any retribution for its actions for 75 years. No one is holding them accountable. The country teaches propaganda in its schools about the Nakba. There is not serious consideration for Palestinian rights in Israeli society. Why would they suddenly decide to participate in a project that puts Palestinians as equal to Israelis when they learned all their lives that Palestinians are ruthless, unreasonable people who can't be reasoned with, and Israelis are logical, poor victims who are actually the ones who need protection from the Palestinians!

It just is mind boggling because I see people constantly complain about the way they hear things from Palestinians these days like "all Israelis need to leave". And they go on to say "why would you be so hateful/why would you say that" and don't think for a minute they're experiencing a televised genocide of their people (which they could have ended up in their shoes! People forget that Gaza has multiple refugee camps! Any one of us could have lived there!) And conversely are looking to Israeli society for them to do anything and they see nothing. At least think for a moment why they would say these things given the context of the situation. There's a genocide going on! And you're worried about what the people who are experiencing their people's genocide are saying because you're worried for the society conducting said genocide?? Let's deal with the matter at hand first!!!!!!

#palestine #palestine discussion

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radiant-reid · 1 year

Text

Truth

Summary: Reader knows there’s something going on between JJ and Spencer but she trusts him that that’s just the way they are... until he goes to LA

i cannot find the request for this, ugh !!!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Angst)

Word Count: 3.7k

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Y/n had let it go after that night.

"You're not seriously upset about this, are you?" Spencer asks incredulously once the apartment door clicks shut.

It had been an incredibly awkward car ride together, twenty minutes home in complete silence. He hates when it gets cold and distant between them, even though he usually causes it by neglecting to discuss his feelings, but this time, he's fired up. Y/n can't read if he's dumbfounded or shaken.

Although often synonymous, there's a difference here. If Spencer's dumbfounded, he thinks her suggestion is ridiculous and totally, 100% wrong. It would be offensive wording but best for the preservation of their relationship. If he's shaken, then she's correct, and he's coming to terms with the significance of that discovery himself.

Y/n sighs as she spins around to face him, her plan of making a beeline to the bedroom falling through. "That was flirting. She was flirting with you, Spencer." She tells him firmly.

Spencer shakes his head, stunned by the allegation she's choosing to repeat. "She was- are you okay?"

"Don't make it about me." She instructs.

"It's about you when you're talking..." Crazy is the word he stops himself short of saying- they both know it. He breathes deeply to calm himself. "She wasn't flirting with me." He maintains. "We're friends."

Y/n shakes her head. She knows he needs it explained to him, simplified to an extent, but upholding his position so staunchly doesn't make her want to do that. "You don't have to best track record for knowing when people are flirting with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" He asks, his eyes narrowing.

There's a specific incident she's referring to, but there's been more than a few annoying instances when she's left standing at his side fuming. She's aware he doesn't do it on purpose. Spencer's not an asshole purposefully trying to make his girlfriend jealous by accepting flirtatious behavior from other women, but he's handsome. And unfortunately, not immediately rejecting advances makes it seem like he's interested.

"Spencer." She had told him when she finally pulled him off to a slightly quieter corner of the bar the team was in. "Her asking you what you're doing this weekend isn't her having an interest in your Korean film festival."

Spencer had been much better at getting it since then. He profiles a bit more cynically, purposefully looking for indicators that someone's interested in him.

Not tonight.

It was Michael's first birthday which, of course, meant it was a big celebration- BAU style. Spencer attended like the proud godfather he was, making sure every single one of JJ and Will's friends knew their son's achievements.

What should have been a lovely day would have turned into a discussion about them having their own kids when Y/n expressed how attractive Spencer looked while he held Michael's hands so the boy could practice walking.

But no.

Instead, they're standing on different ends of the kitchen island, both uncompromising in their views because of more than a few moments at the party between JJ and Spencer.

"She was flirting with you, Spencer." Y/n holds firm. "Touching your arm, giggling at your jokes, whispering stuff to you." She lists the frequently used tactics that she witnessed. She's become accustomed to them working on Spencer, but he has always admitted, upon later reflection, that the motive was more than friendly.

He can't believe it this time, and he quickly gets defensive. "Just because you don't think I'm funny doesn't mean everyone doesn't."

Y/n scoffs, irritated he would twist it so spitefully to play the victim. "Seriously?" She deadpans, waiting for him to react better.

"It was an inside joke." Spencer tries a different tactic that only has her eyebrows raised again. He sighs dramatically, gripping the edge of the bench.

"This is ridiculous." She states.

"I'm glad you see that too." He argues. "JJ was not flirting with me."

His insolence further fuels her anger. "Even Will looked uncomfortable." Y/n hits back.

"She's my friend." He repeats. "We are their friends. JJ and Will have been married for years. They've lived together and raised a son for even longer. I'm their sons' godfather. She's been my friend for more than a decade. There's nothing malicious going on."

It didn't feel like that. And that was likely because Y/n had only gotten to know them years following their friendship's establishment.

Maybe he's right. It's feasible that Y/n just hasn't found her place in the dynamic. "Are you sure?"

Spencer senses her walls coming down, and he steps closer to her in a few tense strides, cupping her cheeks in a way that makes her melt. His eyes soften until there's no anger remaining. "Yes, my love. I promise there is nothing romantic between JJ and I." He assures her.

It's so sincere. Spencer has always been a persuasive talker, and it's gotten him out of dangerous situations.

Maybe the deep gut feeling she has is off. There's no way to know what happens behind closed doors, but JJ and Will appear to be happily married. Her life seems completely fulfilling. It makes no sense for her to have a crush on Spencer.

So she's determined to shake it off- for Spencer, her own sanity, and their relationship. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have jumped to such a drastic accusation."

"No, no. Hey, I will always listen to your feelings." Spencer reminds her softly. "I'm sorry I didn't immediately hear you out. It was just unexpected. I would hate for you to stop talking to me about your emotions if you think I'll shut you down."

"Thank you, and I'm sorry," Y/n replies.

His words are massively relieving, and her negative thoughts aren't weighty. "I love you, Y/n."

She smiles softly. "I love you too."

"Can I kiss you now? I've been wanting to for hours." He begs, thumbs stroking over her cheekbones. He's elaborating a little but for good reason.

"Please." She agrees.

His fingers curl around her head while he leans down to kiss her, not breaking it until they're both out of air. Everything's okay.

And so Y/n had let it go after that night.

She was with him through everything. Dealing with his mom, Mexico, prison, and the long recovery after that. She was with him through thick and thin, even when Spencer had given up on himself. He'll never understand what he did to deserve her love, but it means everything to him. She's the calm presence in amongst his chaos.

No issue in their relationship has been too hard to tackle when they worked together through Spencer's personal problems so well. Nothing between them seemed insurmountable since Spencer's life was so tumultuous.

When he gets home from his case in LA, she's in the bedroom, checking his suit for Rossi's wedding the next day is in perfect condition. The ironing is crisp, not a single wrinkle on the fabric.

He usually calls out when he enters the apartment door, both so she'll reply, and he'll know what room to navigate to, and so she doesn't freak out about hearing footsteps on the floorboards.

This time, he doesn't.

It's like his brain got torn out and is still sitting on the floor of a little jewelry store in downtown LA. His thoughts remain entirely occupied by the previous day's events. Even though the jet home was long, he didn't sleep for a second. It's 7 am East Coast Time now, but it feels like just a second ago, his world got rocked.

"You're back!" Y/n grins, still unaware of the grave news he's bearing. She searches through her jewelry box for a piece to complement her dress. Her final moments of blissful ignorance. "Okay, so I was thinking you might need to nap before the wedding since it'll probably go late- I mean, you know Rossi."

"Y/n." Spencer whispers, trying to stop her from spreading joy and being the life in his life. He absolutely does not deserve that, as he lies by omission. He speaks weakly on purpose, wanting to listen to her excited ramble despite knowing he needs to be honest and say something that will crush her.

She doesn't hear him, and hasn't looked at him hard enough to see his devastation. "But your suit is good to go. I've got some other stuff to do, so have a nap, and I'll have lunch ready when you're up."

"Y/n!" He snaps much too loud.

Her eyes flick to his, and she knows something drastic has changed. Her stomach drops in dread as the air in the room turns stale.

"What?" She asks cautiously, voice wavering. Her heart thumps in her chest. "What is it, Spencer?"

"JJ said..." Spencer trails off, looking straight past his girlfriend. He's not brave enough to look at her directly.

No more explanation is needed for it to click.

Her whole world gets shattered instantly, everything she built with Spencer, every dream and hope she had with him, is destroyed in a second.

Her stomach stays dropped so low it feels like it's weighing her down and that she could be physically sick. She feels paralyzed until tears start streaming down her cheeks.

"Oh." She whispers, although it's as loud as a jet engine in the silent room. "Wow. Okay."

Spencer wanted more than that. He wants her to scream at him, telling him he should have stopped thinking he knew everything and listened when she was suspicious. Spencer would take any range of passionate emotions over the silence she's giving him as she processes it. He begs with his eyes for her to tell him what she's feeling.

It's to no avail.

He thinks he's getting somewhere when she stands up, that maybe she'll hug him or enquire about the cut on his hand.

"What happens now?" Y/n asks, ignoring her own tears and his. She always cups his cheeks and wipes them up gently because seeing him in pain pains her. That's how love works.

"Y/n..." She needs him to say more that time. Her soft-spoken name leaving his lips is bad news.

She forces herself to nod and swallow down her distraught tears. "It's okay. I know." It would hurt to hear him admit it, but she might think he's not a coward.

Now Spencer's paralyzed, watching his nightmare play out in front of him, and he's incapable of preventing it, of making her stay.

Her delicate, shaking fingers unclasp her necklace, and the 18k gold chain with an 'S' pendant burns a hole in her hand before she thrusts it into his.

It's warm against his cold hands, a sign it's not where it should be. It's supposed to be daintily sitting on Y/n's chest, near her heart, for the rest of forever.

"No." He finally says, gasping a breath out. "What are you-"

She cuts him off before he talks for too long and causes her to remain so in love with him that she can overlook a massive problem. "You love her." She voices what they've been dancing around. It's an ugly, hurtful truth. "You might be in love with me, but you love JJ more than you should."

Spencer shakes his head, frantically denying the claim they both know is factual. As awful as it is, he's thought about a future with JJ on more than one occasion and during a long-term relationship. It's not that he wants to be with her- which would be a complicated mess and break everyone involved hearts- but something between them remains unresolved. All because of two tickets to see the Redskins.

Y/n speaks before he can, tilting her head upward as she tries to brush back some of her tears. "Don't lie to me, Spence. Please don't."

He figures he owes her that much. Nothing he could say would fix the torpedo that ripped through their relationship. So he doesn't protest or fight for their relationship as she readies to leave him.

"I'll go now and get some stuff once you've gone out." She decides.

Her stuff which means she's planning on separating everything, and he'll never see her things again. Never mind the possessions- he might never see her again.

There's no point in making a case for her to come to Krystall and Dave's wedding when she only knows them through him, but Spencer isn't sure how he'll be able to sit through a ceremony and speeches and dinner and drinking and dancing- where everyone's feeling the love- when all he would have been thinking about is how it should be his turn next. It sounds like torture.

Spencer stands there, horrified and helpless, as she slips past him. "Goodbye, Spence."

And just like that, she's gone.

It's surreal.

Surely- surely- the love of his life hadn't just walked out the door and left him. That can't have happened.

He doesn't even feel overly tired, but he must be so sleep-deprived that he's imagining things. Having visions is a less scary thought than Y/n leaving.

The surreal feeling and eerie silence deepen, and he quickly collapses on the couch from overwhelming fatigue, hoping the past hours have been a terrible nightmare.

When he wakes and calls out for Y/n, quickly realizing she's not there and his worst fear has come true, Spencer sobs. He cries so much through getting ready for the wedding that his cheeks are blotchy, and his eyes blood shocked as he looks at himself in the mirror. He looks terrible, but he feels so much worse. It's emptiness. His eyes look dull, his hair scruffy, and his heart aches.

Her dress is still there- dark blue that compliments his suit, but it's matchy-and it hangs in the wardrobe on a coat hanger from the dry cleaner, taunting him. Spencer's hand comes to cup his mouth as panic and nausea rock his stomach. Y/n should be wearing the dress and beside him the whole afternoon while they celebrate love. Something's amiss, and he hopes no one calls him on it because he will, without a doubt, break down in sobs.

Germs feel permanently on him, and he's guilt-ridden. Sure, JJ's words in LA weren't his fault, but- fuck- he should have said something to stop the love of his life from walking out under the wrong impression that he loved someone else.

He makes a beeline for Penelope at the bar to avoid being around JJ and get some alcohol in his system so that maybe everything will hurt less.

She looks pretty, but Will gazes at her like she hung the moon, and Spencer quickly realizes he could never feel that way. Her glances across the room at him piss him off, whereas Y/n's would make him blush.

"No Y/n?" Penelope asks, looking disappointed when he walks over alone.

That's the reaction his amazing potentially-ex-girlfriend inspires in his friends. People love her for her warmth and humor, and Spencer's sure the team is grateful someone's making him smile.

"Unfortunately not." Spencer grimaces as he gets the lie out. "She's sick." Or, more likely, bawling her eyes out at her friends because her boyfriend is a jerk, Spencer figures. He would feel worse for lying if it were possible.

"Oh damn, I have heard there's a bad flu." Penelope easily believes the lie.

"What are you making?" Spencer asks, redirecting the conversation to the cocktails she's expertly whipping up.

The wedding is small, which Spencer's sure is appropriate for a fourth or third round 2. It feels wrong to be there without Y/n. If he's eventually going to have one of these with her, surely he should be looking at the flower arrangements while she notices hair options. Not judging, just getting ideas.

It would be nothing like JJ and Will's wedding. Y/n would hate a surprise wedding with no choice in decor or food, even though it's romantic in theory.

He could never marry someone like JJ. He could never marry JJ.

She's a real person. That seems to be a fact he keeps forgetting when he thinks about a future with her. She can't be the idealized version of her from his 24-year-old self's fantasy, and with her sitting no more than 20 feet from him, he's positive she's not who he's compatible with.

It's worse at the speeches. Emily stands with perfectly crafted words, and Spencer's almost in tears when the story verges from being Dave-and-Krystall specific.

"...that this was fate." His running thoughts halt at Emily's words. "...that their marriage was in the stars."

That's him and Y/n. They lived a block from each other in DC but had to travel three and a half thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean to meet. That's fate. He recalls her laughter when he joked that the universe got sick of them not finding each other and forced them together. And the subsequent, love-filled conversation where they decided soulmates, and twin flames, must be real because they are the embodiment of the term.

Rossi is always a high-roller at Vegas casinos. There was no doubt he'd meet a blackjack dealer. It's not fate the way he and Y/n are fate.

He's always been sure she's the one, but this is the ultimate determining tool.

They have to be together. Spencer and JJ had bottled up their crushes without voicing them for more than a decade, and that's why it messed with his brain so much. Emily talking about confessions taking time to work out is not about them.

His fingers play with the tablecloth as he drafts a speech of his own, one that will set things right. He's too antsy to enjoy the rest of dinner or dessert. All he's thinking about is how soon he can leave- of course, after wishing the happy couple well.

Spencer knows where she is. The doorbell camera already notified him when she had arrived at their apartment, which might now be an invasion of privacy.

It's a bit of a drive to get home, and he's thankful he stopped at one cocktail so he wouldn't do something stupid, like yell at JJ in front of their friends. As mean as it sounds, he doesn't have emotion to waste on her. It's all poured into love for Y/n.

He doesn't have time to wait for the elevator, taking the stairs three at a time.

"Y/n!" He calls out as soon as he swings open the door. His heart pounds in his chest thanks to his poor athleticism, but mostly because this is the most important thing he'll ever do in his life.

"Yeah?" She replies, her voice coming from the bedroom as she steps out

She looks heartbroken seeing him, destroyed by the damage he caused over the last ten hours, and there's no way this can be how he leaves her, that this can be the last time he sees her.

"Don't say something that hurts." Spencer can tell Y/n's trying to be firm, but she's begging. There is no way he can ever hurt her.

"I won't." He swears. It's tense, and he feels award standing there. "Y/n, I-"

"I told you." She reminds him, referencing one conversation he's been thinking about. She was so good at dropping it after he offered her unknowingly untrue reassurance. Her plan to let him do the talking flies out the window, and she can't help releasing the brewing emotions. "I knew she loved you and hoped you didn't love her back. And now everything is fucking mess, and I just didn't think that you would do that."

"I don't love her that way." Spencer declares, and he doesn't feel guilty because he's not lying.

Y/n rolls her eyes. "You owe me the truth."

He tentatively steps closer, and she doesn't stop him. "I don't look at JJ and see my future. She's not the person I think about when I see an old couple walking down the street. I don't know the songs she listens to when she's sad or the correct amount of syrup she likes on her pancakes. I don't know the number of her childhood home or favorite piece of art in the Met. I'm not sure if she sings in the shower or if she ties her shoes with two loops. And I don't want to know any of that. You're the only person I ever want to know that personally. I don't love her the way romantic love works. But I didn't know that until I met you, and the very first day, I realized it was different. I know you said that, and I am so sorry I convinced you not to listen to your gut."

Y/n's crying by the end of his beautiful, naturally spoken words. He rushed to get it out, and she processes it for a minute. "Okay." She decides, accompanied by a choked sob.

Spencer frowns because he can't read her properly. "Okay?" He repeats softly.

She steps forward, which has to be a good sign. "I need you to kiss me now."

Spencer's crying too slightly as he closes the gap between them, cradling her face like he might shatter her in his palms. "Okay." He whispers, closing the distance between their lips without wasting another second. It's heavier than usual, holding a thousand unspoken words, but it feels like a resolution.

He holds her long after they've run out of air, finally feeling like he can breathe now that he's home.

"I am so in love with you." He tells her. "There is no one else I could ever be with."

She smiles softly back at him. "I'm in love with you too." She replies. "And this suit... you look very handsome."

He smiles widely. "You're the most gorgeous girl in the world." She doesn't bother reminding him that she's been crying and looks washed out. Spencer will forever insist that she is perfect. "Can I take you to dinner? Because I have missed you."

She nods. "I'd love that. And I have the perfect dress."

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saintsenara · 8 months

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Thoughts on Ron and Hermione as a ship?

thank you very much for the ask, @thesilverstarling!

i’ll state my position straight away: book ron and hermione are the best of the canon couples.

they will have a long and extremely happy marriage made rich by great and stalwart love, lust, fun, and faithfulness, rather than held together by duty and couples’ therapy like so many readers and authors (including jkr, who seems to have decided to spend the years since the conclusion of the series failing to understand anything about her own characters) tend to think.

i will state another position straight away: lest i seem like i’m just a fan with blinkers on, i think this even though hermione is, by far, my least favourite member of the trio. if she were real i would detest her, and i dislike how she is treated by the narrative as always justified in her negative characteristics. i like fanon hermione - perfect and preternaturally good - even less.

as a result, i think that it’s ridiculous that jkr has said that she thought ron needed to ‘become worthy’ of hermione. they belong together as equals - which is what they’re set up in the narrative as being from the off - and i hate seeing that undermined.

because ronald weasley? he’s an icon. and he doesn’t get anywhere near the respect he deserves in fandom.

there are multiple reasons for this - ron’s narrative purpose is to be the everyman sidekick, and so he is able to be less special than harry or hermione (the helper-figure); the amount of aristocracy wank in this fandom means that the weasleys’ ordinariness is less appealing to writers than making harry have twenty different lordships and call himself hadrian; the narrative interrogates ron’s flaws - especially his capacity for jealousy - much more intensively than it interrogates either hermione’s (cruel, inflexible, meddling) or harry’s (reckless, self-absorbed, judgemental) - but one i feel is particularly significant is that ron is such a british character that many of his traits are not understood as intended by non-british readers.

in particular - as is outlined in this excellent meta by @whinlatter - ron’s sense of humour isn’t indicative of immaturity or a lack of seriousness, but is, in fact, evidence that he’s the most emotionally aware of the trio.

ron is shown throughout the series to understand how both harry and hermione need to have their emotions approached - and i think there is no piece of writing which says this better than crocodile heart by @floreatcastellumposts:

That was what she liked most about Ron, she thought vaguely. He was very good at being suitably outraged on your behalf. For Harry, for her, for Neville. That sort of thing mattered, when you were hurt or embarrassed or wronged in some way. You needed to have someone else on your side, to be as emotional as you felt, maybe even more so, so that you might feel a bit more normal. It was very decent of him, and she was not sure he realised he did it.

ron’s inherent emotional awareness is an enormous source of comfort to other people. he does the work which isn’t flashy or special - he makes tea and tells jokes and is just there - but which is needed in healthy human relationships far more frequently than a willingness to fight to the death for the other person.

[as an aside, this normality - even though i think it is assumed rather than justified by the text - is also what ginny provides for harry. if you believe that hinny are a good couple but romione aren’t… i can’t help you.]

but let’s look at some specific reasons why ron and hermione belong together:

their communication styles mesh perfectly. ron is the only person hermione knows who feeds her love of being challenged and debated, and who is able to engage in this way of communicating without becoming irate when she refuses to back down. ron is good at picking his battles, but he’s also good at recognising that hermione’s tendency to argue isn’t intended to be confrontational a lot of the time - it’s just the way she works through feelings and problems. he’s far more easy-going about her tendency to nag, interrupt, try to provoke arguments, or speak condescendingly than he’s given credit for - and hermione evidently respects this, since when he does tell her not to push a situation (above all, when she’s trying to needle harry into talking about sirius), she listens to him.

that ron and hermione’s tendency to bicker is taken by fans to be a bad thing is because it’s something harry - from whose perspective the narrative is written - doesn’t understand. harry is extremely conflict-avoidant - he tends to take being pushed on views and opinions he has to be insulting; and he has a tendency to assume that he is right which is just as profound as hermione’s. he and ginny communicate not by debating, but by ginny having no time for his rigidity and refusing to indulge it - but ron and hermione bickering about everything is not a negative thing within their specific emotional dynamic.

[as another aside, this glaring chasm in communication styles is why harry and hermione would be a disaster as a couple.]

they each provide validation the other needs. it’s clear - reading between the lines - that hermione is a tremendously lonely person. the friendlessness of her initial few weeks at hogwarts seems to be a continuation of her experience as a child, and - outside of ron and harry - that friendlessness endures through her schooldays. i’m always struck, for example, by the fact that, when she falls out with ron in prisoner of azkaban, she has no-one else to spend time with, and that this is only avoided in half-blood prince because harry decides not to freeze her out. i don’t think her friendship with ginny is anywhere near as close as fanon seems to imply (ginny has no interest in being nagged either), nor do i think that she’s anywhere near as close to neville (not least because she is so condescending to him) as she’s often written to be.

and this loneliness seems to stretch beyond hogwarts. the absence of hermione’s parents’ from the narrative is - in a doylist sense - clearly just a device to maximise time with the trio all together, but the watsonian reading is that she doesn’t have a particularly good relationship with them. hermione’s obviously upper-middle-class background - the name! the skiing! the holidays in the south of france! - can be presumed, i think, to come with a series of expectations from her parents which she feels constantly that she’s not entirely meeting, particularly expectations attached to academic success.

[for example, the grangers - were she a muggle child - would undoubtedly have ambitions for her to attend an elite university and then go into a prestigious career. tertiary education of the type that they’re familiar with doesn’t seem to exist in the wizarding world - most careers seem to be taught by apprenticeship - and this, alongside all the other divides between the magical and muggle worlds which contribute to the distance between them, would be one very obvious area in which she felt the need to prove herself to them.]

ron, too, has quite a difficult relationship with his position in the family - voldemort’s locket is not wrong to point out that he seems to receive considerably less of his mother’s emotional attention than ginny or the rest of his brothers - and he too is constrained by expectations which he doesn’t know how to explain he has no interest in - above all, molly’s desire for her sons to achieve top grades and go into the ministry.

he also suffers while at hogwarts from being ‘harry potter’s best friend’, something which harry never appreciates. but hermione does. she recognises ron’s jealousy and never allows harry to minimise it (and she and ron are very much aligned on having no respect for harry’s saviour and martyr complexes). she appreciates ron’s strengths - above all his kindness and his sense of humour - and makes him feel as though he’s achieved things with them. and ron does the same for her; he is hugely observant when it comes to her, and he challenges and defends her.

the two of them clearly spend a lot of time together one-on-one while harry’s involved in his various shenanigans (including outside of school - hermione has often arrived at the burrow days or even weeks before harry, and they seem to write to each other frequently when apart). they do this within a relationship which is fundamentally equal. one issue with hinny is that, post-war, harry is going to have to get used to seeing ginny as a peer, rather than as someone he has to protect. but ron and hermione never have that issue - equality is baked into their relationship from the off.

because, to be quite frank, fandom overstates the role that jealousy plays in their relationship. it’s true that ron certainly doesn’t acquit himself brilliantly when it comes to hermione’s relationship with viktor krum (it’s because he’s bi and doesn’t know it yet), and a tendency to externalise his insecurity into trying to make others also feel insecure is one of his primary negative traits (hermione does this too, via her patented lofty voice when she’s trying to condescend to people). but this is often taken as the initial red flag for how the relationship would crash and burn, and ron’s toxic jealousy is often used in fan-fiction as the trigger for emotional and physical violence towards hermione which, frequently, seems to drive her into the arms of either draco malfoy or severus snape… who are, of course, the first people we think of when we hear the words ‘not prone to jealousy’...

but i think it’s important to point out several things in defence of ron’s jealousy over krum. firstly, hermione evidently regards his jealousy as ridiculous - she’s upset by it, yes, but her upset must be understood as being caused by the fact that she wanted him to ask her out. she doesn’t think he’s being possessive, she thinks he’s being stupid. secondly, hermione is equally as jealous over ron’s crush on fleur delacour and relationship with lavender brown. she behaves just as cruelly when it comes to lavender as ron does when it comes to krum - and the narrative only treats her actions as more sympathetic or justified both because harry dislikes lavender too, and because, by that point in the series, jkr has dispensed with any inclination to ever criticise her.

but, outside of this teenage pettiness, ron is never jealous of hermione over things which matter. he is never jealous of her intelligence or competence or ambition or success (indeed, he defends her constantly from attacks designed to undermine her in these areas). for someone who struggles with being overshadowed by harry, he is never upset at being overshadowed by her. he is clearly going to be happy to support her in any of the career ambitions she can be written as having post-war.

and, on this point, i think it’s worth interrogating why so many readers still seem to feel uncomfortable with the idea of ron and hermione having a dynamic where she is the more ‘powerful’ one. [it’s always a bit trite to say ‘but what if the genders were reversed?’, but actually that’s not irrelevant here]. if hermione ends up taking the ministry by storm and ron becomes a stay-at-home father or has a job which is just to pay the bills, what, precisely, is wrong with that? why, precisely, should hermione regard ron making that choice for himself as a negative thing? hermione so often seems to leave ron in fan-fiction because of a lack of ambition - something which seems to be particularly common in dramione - but, in canon, she is shown to not particularly care if ron and harry do the bare minimum when it comes to studying etc. she nags them to do their work so they don’t get in trouble. she doesn’t nag them to do it to the same standard that she would.

and, actually, i think that ron being less ambitious than hermione is something which is key to how well they work. because ron provides not only emotional support, but emotional clarity.

hermione is shown throughout canon to - just as harry does - have a tendency to become obsessive to the detriment of her own health. she is also often - as harry is - emotionally or intellectually inflexible, and finds it hard to move on when what she feels or believes is proven to be wrong. both she and harry are micro-thinkers, who lean towards knee-jerk assumptions and stubborn convictions (and, indeed, hermione has a remarkably hagrid-ish tendency towards blind loyalty).

ron is none of these things. ron is a big-picture thinker (it’s why he’s so good at chess). he’s a pragmatist. he’s the least righteous of the three. he understands that faith and loyalty are choices, and that sometimes these choices will lead to outcomes which are bad or hard. he is the one of the three most willing to own up to having made mistakes. he is the one least likely to act on gut instinct (and, therefore, the hardest to fool - i think it’s worth emphasising that he clocks that tom riddle is tricking harry immediately, the only one of the trio to do so). he understands that things are a marathon, not a sprint. he is the least obsessive.

and these traits contribute to aspects of his character which are underappreciated. ron worries about hermione making herself ill during exams, or when she is using the time-turner, and makes an effort to get her to set healthy boundaries and redirect her anxiety. ron stands on a broken leg in front of sirius or goes into the forest to fight aragog not out of righteousness, but out of choice. ron takes over the burden of preparing buckbeak’s defence when it is clear that hermione is approaching burnout. ron is completely right that harry hasn’t done any long-term planning for the horcrux hunt, and his anger does force harry to tighten up after he leaves the trio. ron has a clear head in the middle of battle. ron makes harry and hermione laugh. ron is unafraid of human emotion. ron arrests harry’s tendency to brood over the little things by looking at the bigger picture. ron will always come back.

ron is bringing his politician wife regular cups of tea and making sure she doesn’t work all night. he is helping his lawyer wife to feel less upset over losing one case by reminding her that she’s won ten others. he is noticing stress creeping in and whirling her off for a dirty weekend, or even just a takeaway on the sofa. he is teaching his daughter to be proud of her ambition and his son to treat women as equals and both of his children that all you can do when you fuck up is apologise and try to do better. he is making hermione smile on the worst days of her life. he is helping her strategise her long-term goals when she gets stuck on the short-term ones. he is telling her straight when she needs to get it together. he is seeing a misogynistic head of department call hermione a ‘silly little girl’ and choosing to tell him exactly what he thinks of that.

ron is the ultimate wife guy. hermione is a very, very lucky lady.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #romione #ron weasley #hermione granger #ron is a wife guy #also may i be clear #ron is evidently unbelievably hot #the text says he looks like bill #who is so fit that harry can barely see when in his company #hermione you lucky thing

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messiahzzz · 7 months

Text

i’d briefly like to talk about the “it was fine” dialogue option that happens the morning after gale’s Last Night Alive scene in act ii and about the fandom's general reaction to it.

gale is a character who evidently enjoys the occasional teasing. taking the piss out of your partner every once in a while can certainly be a way of showing affection. however, it is important to consider the context of the situation: what is at stake for him and his current emotional state, as well as what exactly had transpired between the two of them prior to said conversation.

gale: forgive me. these were already trying times before elminster delivered his missive. now, for me at least, they are potentially end times.

after he and tav had spent the night together and confessed their love to each other, gale is once again showing himself utterly vulnerable and is carefully asking them for reassurance.

gale: [..] i hope that night meant as much to you as it did to me.

gale: but you - you led me away from the edge.

gale: without your words, your touch... i fear i would have sought purpose and solace in that void. you reminded me what living can feel like.

he wants to check in with them, after both of them have shared something tender and very intimate, something he might even consider life-altering.

gale: we didn't just make love. we bonded, body and soul. i got lost in you.

it’s not even about gale “not being able to read social cues” and “not recognizing the fact that it was meant in jest.” in fact, i’d argue it is a rather tone-deaf, inconsiderate response and just genuinely a REALLY BAD TIME to joke at your partner's expense when they are actively baring their feelings to you and are asking you for reassurance.

i have seen people write off his reaction as “unwarranted” or “overtly dramatic” but in my humble opinion, it is pretty understandable given the nature of their conversation and what he is asking of them. it's also sad how there seems to be a general pattern of gale's emotions and boundaries getting played off as a joke, while other companions get shown the courtesy of thorough analysis/understanding. he is proud of his skill as a lover and the fact that he was able to bring them pleasure, yet his inquiry is less about him wanting tav to stroke his ego and more about him, once again, asking if you indeed share the same feelings for each other… after the emotional high has now passed.

gale has an ever-present need for clarity in his relationships, very likely due to the fact that this was something he couldn’t request of mystra. he might appear more sensitive in that regard compared to the other companions. he doesn’t want to take himself too seriously, but this still often clashes with his general feeling of inadequacy. where he is able to take criticism as long as it isn’t related to his performance, overall prowess and usefulness.

yes, his response is passive-aggressive and yes, he IS obviously hurt by what tav said. yet merely repeating “it was fine” in response to a heartfelt, genuine question could’ve as well been interpreted in that manner. if tav does clarify that they have only been joking, he apologizes to them instead. otherwise his dialogue remains the same, albeit said in a more embarrassed & awkward tone.

gale is a character who is dealing with deep-rooted self-worth issues and yet that doesn’t mean that he wants to be handled with kid gloves, far from it. he craves a relationship in which his emotional needs are recognized, respected and cared for, where he can be unabashedly open and vulnerable without facing ridicule nor pity for it. and he is more than willing to give the same in return.

also y’know — there is a time and a place.

#“briefly” they said (sorry can't shut up once i've started. you'll have to bear with me)#this has been bothering me for a while now #by all means roast your wizard to your hearts content #but maybe opt for his shortcomings that aren’t genuinely hurtful/rooted in his self-hatred #that only serve to further reinforce his belief that he is not worthy enough #when he is still very much dealing with the inevitability of his own untimely death and sacrifice #today’s lesson in empathy lmao #aka me once again getting emotionally invested in tragic pixel men #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #bg3 meta #bg3 spoilers #datamined dialogue

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sky-is-the-limit · 8 months

Text

"Mine."

Bi!Reader x Abby Anderson

Summary: Your friend, Abby, has issues with who you decided to share your first queer experience with and she decides to take matters into her own hands.

CW: Afab!Reader, Porn with little plot, NFSW content, Oral sex (receiving), Suggestive language.

Song recommendation: Slow Down - Chase Atlantic

WC: 3,223 words.

''Abby, stop! Can't you walk a little slower?!'' Short of breath, you gathered whatever energy was left in you, after what was probably the most embarrassing moment you had to endure so far in your lifetime, trying to catch up with Abby's long strides down the cold corridor.

One thing for sure, she was purposely making it a challenge for you to keep up with her.

''With Nora? Seriously Y/N?!'' Finally, she turned slightly the side of her face around for a second, her piercing blue eyes now a shade darker as she shot you a look of disbelief at that, letting out a dry laugh before shaking her head, scoffing.

Unbeknownst to you, your fate was sealed the moment you decided to be brave enough to experience something your soul had been longing for since you were old enough to understand what romance was and why it only seemed to be limited between a man and a woman.

It wasn't meant to happen. Neither you kissing Nora after her blatant advances in the gym's locker room nor Abby walking in as though your life was a badly written comedy and the entire scene was scripted perfectly to humiliate you.

''I'll explain if you stop running away from me!" Your heart pounded in it’s cage, rattling the bars that were your ribs as her pace was only rapidly increasing with each second, her soaked in sweat sleeveless tee stuck on her like a second skin.

''No need. What I walked in on was pretty self-explanatory.'' Her tone was more bitter than expected, a hint of jealousy behind every word she so acerbically punctuated at you.

Your initial thought, that her anger was due to you hiding such a significant part of your identity from her, vanished entirely. It was abnormal, how a person so close to you who happened to be so openly comfortable with her sexuality, was treating you in such manner.

The last two years allowed to you get to know a woman so kind and gentle in contrast of her intimidating physique, who immediately welcomed you and only gave you unconditional support and care in return of your friendship. It scared you that your intuition was screaming that there was more to this than she led on.

''I didn't mean for you to find out this way, I was-'' Your attempt to explain was cut short as she finally stopped outside her room, leading you to bump your front into her defined back, your fingertips lingering a bit longer on her shoulder blades.

''I just don't fucking get it.'' It wasn't frequent for Abby to behave so irritably, her milky freckled skin reddening with frustration, losing her calm composure for something that could easily be solved, if she would just let you explain.

Her fingers shuffled with her keys, agitatedly trying to find the right one so she can unlock the door. Every passing second was driving the both of you to insanity, for different reasons.

''That I happen to also like women? A bit rich coming from you, Abs.'' This was getting ridiculous and you made sure the tone of your voice conveyed that, spitting out every word with sarcasm and intent.

She finally unlocked the door, pushing it with such force that it guarantied to leave spots on the white wall of her bedroom before eventually turning her body around to face you.

''That you like her.'' Abby's tone dripped with scorn as she responded to your remark, her words carrying an edge sharper than a knife. Her eyes narrowed, a vertical wrinkle appearing between her eyebrows, lips pursed slightly with her arms crossed over her chest.

Her eyes seemed to pull you in, a gravitational force that you couldn’t resist and so unable to maintain eye contact, you drifted your gaze to the floor.

''It's not that, I- fucking hell.'' The words tumbled out of your mouth in a fast-paced torrent, echoing the racing thoughts within your mind.

Seeing that you weren’t going to get her to spit out the truth and leave her stubbornness aside, you sighed deeply, tugging her arm, beckoning her to follow you into her room without waiting for an invitation.

''I just wanted to.. I don't know, confirm my suspicions. That I might like women too and Nora.. was just there." You admitted, closing the door behind you. Her brows knitted together in a mixture of confusion and curiosity

''You never told me about.. your 'suspicions'.'' Abby frowned, tilting her head clearly awaiting for you to say more.

''I wanted to make sure first, you know.'' You watched her eyes study you for what seemed like an eternity. It raged through your veins, a wildfire you were ill-equipped to temper, let alone control.

''And?'' She muttered, her breath almost visibly lodged in her throat. You couldn't help but tore your eyes from hers, feeling your face heat up considerably.

''And my suspicions were correct, I guess.'' You mumbled, cheeks hot under her scrutiny. Abby's response to that was expressed under her breath, almost unintelligible but definitely annoyed.

''Stop with the fucking mumbling, Abby! If you have something to say to me then just say it.'' You finally snapped, every fiber of your being screaming with frustration.

''And it had to be her? You barely even know her, Y/N!'' She was seething now, eyes narrowed in a vicious glare as she slowly edged dangerously closer to your form. Her tone, like a bass drum, resonated in your chest, leaving you with a strange fluttering sensation.

''I don't understand why it's such a big fucking deal to you, Abs!'' At this, you glowered, craning slightly to get in her face before snarling,

''It was merely just a kiss! But yeah, don't worry, when I decide to finally have sex with a woman, I'll make sure to ask of your approval first.'' You huffed, chuckling at her audacity. The words came as a snarl, low and menacing with a knot tightened in your throat, fighting to hold in the urge to ask of her transparent jealousy.

''I just think you should've had your first with someone you know, someone you trust.'' And finally she, too, seemed to realize she had gone too far with this. She hesitated at the fire in your eyes, her expression softening a fraction as she mumbled the words.

''Yeah because there's a bunch of women in my life, waiting for me to say the word.'' A second, two, three passed without any motion or words exchanged. No response from her as the air grew thick with tension. The question hanged in the air, heavy and intoxicating.

''There's at least one, that's for sure.'' The words hit you with the power of a thousand crushing waves. Overwhelmed, your entire body became impossibly still and you just stood there frozen, unblinking, lips slightly parted.

Pending, whether to breathe or scream. It was doubtful whether you were meant to hear that or not yet judging from Abby's indecipherable expression, she was not fixed on an answer either.

''What?'' Even if you weren’t thoroughly sure of what exactly had been transpiring between the two of you since your group moved to the WLF base two years ago, you knew how to recognize a botched confession when it was staring you in the face.

Eventually, you two ran out of things to say, exhaling heavily as you fall silent.

Abby ultimately decided to take matters into her own hands, her boots clicking on the ground with every step she took towards you, approaching you so painfully slow that your heart almost stopped at the anticipation she brought into your bones.

By the time she was merely inches away from you, you exhaled the breath you had been holding deep in your throat, focused only on backing instinctively away as slowly as she was approaching, until your lower back hit the edge of the desk near her bed.

That’s when it fully registered just how close you two were. Enough that you could feel her hot breath against your neck. Lifting your eyes up to look at her properly, you shuddered at her gaze, hardened eyes smoldering with burning intensity, making you mildly uneasy to this new sensation taking over your body.

''God, you're so fucking thick sometimes.'' She launched herself at you, descending her mouth onto yours, trying to take possession of lips that she had only tasted in her dreams.

Her kiss was hypnotic, so insistent, pressing the tip of her tongue to your shut lips until they surrendered to her and then pulled you the rest of the way against her, your face pushed into hers in a smothering kiss in which you hardly participated in, letting her dominate it in any way she saw fit and it was unparalleled.

One hand was in your hair, tugging it gently and the other at the base of your neck keeping you close to her as though wind was to drift you away from her embrace. Her fingertips slipped beneath your collar to tease at the skin just underneath your clothing and you found yourself melting into it, eager for what would follow.

''I always knew that one day I'd have you like this'.' Gently, she trailed her fingertips up to your jaw, turning your head to the side before attaching her lips to the soft skin, planting wet kisses all over it.

If someone asked you whether this might be a record for how quickly arousal had overtaken your senses, you may have lied. Of course not, you'd say. No way did it take just one nip on your neck to get you this fucking soaked. It started a fire within you no one else could ever ignite.

''You think I haven't noticed how you look at me?'' She latched onto that perfect meeting point between your jaw and throat where she could feel your hammering pulse against her lips and tongue while she marked you with her mouth.

''Fucking hell-'' You gasped as she found that spot that unlocked your entire body, making you squirm and whimper as she increased the intensity of her coordinated attack on it, biting and soothing, until you were a keening mess.

''I always thought that it was gonna be me but you're so god damn impatient.'' Goosebumps slithered down your spine as darted her lips up to your ear, her lips gently caressing your lobe and your hips bucking slightly, longing for her touch.

Her hands trailed down the dips and curves of your body before grasping your arse in both hands, hoisting you upward with ease. You responded, wrapping your legs around her eagerly as she guided you both backwards towards the bed.

Feeling her shins come into contact with the edge of her mattress, she sat down with you straddling her lap, her lips caressing your neck softly.

''She won't get to have this. Not with you.'' She murmured, pulling your bra cups down so your breasts were on full view over the fabric of your shirt, making you squeak, blinking owlishly at the sudden development.

A rush of excitement washed over you, feeling a near-instant reaction between your thighs. You couldn't help but quiver as she dragged her fingertip across your bare nipple, your breasts heaving with each fast breath.

''So beautiful.'' Her breathless whisper set your skin ablaze, gawking at you as though you were the finest masterpiece in a gallery.

''Abby, please-'' Your nails dragged down her defined forearms, creating red lines impatiently. You weren't sure what you were begging for but the slight smirk that formed onto her lips showed you that she understood anyway.

What was certain, was that you were a proper mess under her mercy. Suddenly, the cool temperature of the room turned into unbearable heat, skin on fire contradicting the cold sweat slipping down your spine.

A whine escaped you as she took your nipple in her mouth, latching onto the very tip with her teeth. She held your stare as she swirled her tongue around the peaked bud, the lace just thick enough to keep her from touching you, but only just.

You could still feel her lips curl around it and the heat of her mouth blazing your skin, leading you to grind against her broad thigh, desperate to rid yourself of the ache between your legs.

Driven by the heat settling in your lower half, you found yourself subconsciously grinding down into her lap, eager for any kind of friction to help soothe your ache. It wasn't enough.

Growing frustrated, you planted your hands on her broad shoulders, supporting yourself as you gently started pressing your hips against hers, subconsciously griding them up and down . Sensing your desperation, she chuckled to herself.

''Not like this. I want to taste you.'' There was nothing she’d love more but to go down on you, feel your thighs quiver and press against her, have you pulse around her tongue until you’re a sobbing mess, begging him to stop and begin, a never ending cycle of pleasure.

With a swift movement of her hands, you found yourself against the soft cottoned sheets of her bed and Abby barely just below your waist, looking up at you with a gaze full of desire.

The hunger in her eyes as she easily removed your jeans from your legs was striking, mesmerising every nerve in your body to stay still under her touch.

Your panties were almost transparent when she reached down, and she wasted no time to zoom in on them. You were practically creaming her fingers once she moved them past the flimsy material, slipping it down to your ankles and then tossing it aside.

She turned her undivided attention to your drenched cunt, folds gleaming with your overflowing slick. Without hesitation, she pressed her lips against your slit, licking excruciatingly slow your arousal and groaning at the taste of you.

In that moment, she felt drunk, gliding her tongue through your wetness, soft sighs escaping her lips whilst taking your scent in. She licked a path up your slit to your throbbing clit before sucking it into her mouth, her pointed tongue tracing circles around it.

It was intoxicating and she was hooked from the first tantalizing taste. Her tongue dug deeper as she sought more, burying her face into the apex of your thighs.

Only if she knew how many sleepless nights you spent dreaming of her with your hand in between your thighs, wishing it was her instead.

''Abby-'' You moan her name like a desperate prayer, voice feeble and croaky to her touch. Her tongue was painfully, awfully delicate and torturously slow as it circled your sweet spot. In need to feel more pressure, you tried to lift your hips into the pleasure with her grasp tightening on your thighs, promising blue-shaded marks to appear so to hold you into place.

You were too enthralled by her mouth to notice that one of her hands had left your thighs as soft lips rested against your clit, sucking it with need before two fingers slid inside of you with ease, curling upwards to hit your spot instantly.

Her fingers fucked into you slowly, agonizing, matching the pace of her tongue flickering every inch of you. You jolted as if you’d been electrocuted, tense and shirking as you gripped the sheets so tight, it felt as if you'd rip them to shreds.

''My girl.'' Her voice sounded so broken and wrecked, showing you exactly how bad she craved this, craved you. Your fingers tugged at her soft hair desperately for something to keep yourself grounded.

The sound that escaped her lips was so feral, almost like a growl matching her brutal pace, and your eyes blurred with stars as she hit the deepest parts inside of you with her long fingers over and over.

The orgasm building inside of you with each thrust was overwhelming, threatening to leave you shaking and breathless in a way no other person could ever quite manage, even if they were the most experienced on the planet. No one mattered but her, neither to your heart or trembling body.

''Mine. Aren't you?'' She whispered breathlessly before licking you again, slower and more deliberately than before.

The action drew a sharp cry from your lips which was quickly stifled as you bit down on them, squirming under the flickers of sensation. It felt as though you were connected, quickening her pace, working in broad strokes, sliding against the sides of your labia.

You felt your face flush to her question, whether it was from the raspy, assertive tone of her words, or the return of her searing gaze on you, perhaps a combination of both, you didn't know. Not trusting yourself to speak, you settled for a shaky nod and a barely audible 'yes' that came out mostly as a whimper.

You arched your back, your hips jerking in his grasp as the pleasure made your body burn from the inside out. You moaned with complete abandon, your grip on your sheets almost tearing holes in the fabric.

The noises coming between your legs were obscene. The slurping and sucking that reached your ears drenched your body with a hot flush and you threw your head back with a long whine. Your body was aching for relief, a way to release the tension that had been building up from the past couple of days of sexual frustration.

Pleasure twisted deep in your belly, and the release was nearly excruciating when you were finally pushed over the edge.

Without being able to control the moans and whimpers lodging in your throat any longer, you finally yelped in pleasure as she lapped at your cunt, white dots in your vision as the orgasm hit you hard, your whole body shaking with the sudden release of tension.

The pressure, the heat led you to scream, tears forming in the corners of your eyes from the intensity, but her mouth refused to leave your throbbing core. She slid her tongue inside your hole, grinning at the rush of your fluids on her chin.

It was not deep, not even close, yet the stretch was enough to curl your toes from being overstimulated. Enough for you to croak out her name as your back pressed against the bed, kittenish and feeble.

Nothing else mattered but the feel of her tongue, as she drew your folds aside and ruthlessly drank mouthfuls of your release, as eagerly as someone stuck in the desert for far too long coming across an oasis, glistening slick dripping down her face in the process.

You held your palms across your mouth attempting to stifle your cries while bucking your hips against her greedy mouth.

When she was satisfied enough, she pressed her head gently against your thigh, planting a soft kiss there before darting her gaze up to your face, taking in the mess that she made of you with a beaming smile.

''That was- fuck.'' There were no words to describe the euphoria you just experienced and so you just stared at the beautiful woman resting so comfortably against your skin, with half lidded eyes, stretched open, and ever so pleased.

Speechless, your hand reached down to her angel carved face, tracing the outline of it softly with your fingertips.

''Oh, we are not done yet.'' Yeah, you might have to thank Nora after all.

#abby anderson #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #abby anderson x you #abby tlou #abby the last of us #abby x reader #tlou2 #the last of us #ellie williams smut

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biceratops7 · 2 years

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Hmm, any one notice this?

So a while ago I wrote a meta about how Stede isn’t actually oblivious to his feelings towards Ed, but I was really thinking about it at work today and honestly… Ed kind of is.

I know the running joke of Stede effortlessly being the most objectively romantic human on planet earth by sheer accident is hilarious. But did you ever notice that when Stede is actually trying to be loving on purpose, Ed Doesn’t Get it?

We can assume Stede started the ritual of them eating breakfast together cause it’s his quarters, and the intimacy of that clearly went right over Ed’s head cause he let Jack invade it without a second thought. Like Ed, honey, did the implications of a man wanting to eat breakfast with you and only you every single day seriously never register to you??

Stede plans a whole day together “treasure hunting” when he wants Ed to stay. The whole “you wear fine things well” business was pure oblivion on Stede’s part, this is him flirting. And he’s trying so hilariously hard to make this ridiculous idea work, but Ed still doesn’t get the gist. Luckily Lucius I-need-a-fucking-raise- Spriggs is here to save the day and clue Ed in to what at least this particular situation means.

…Which makes the gears clearly turning in Ed’s head during this moment absolutely precious and hilarious. Now he knows what’s going on. He sees that Stede’s excited to spend time with him in particular just like Saint Augustine, I mean a bunch more people will be also there this time, but still! And I’m sorry but the brief look of pure “Ed Exe has stopped working” when apparently the first thing Stede could think of was swimming is criminally underrated.

And look at that fond little smile it turns into, Ed knows full well that man has some cute little swim costume squirreled away somewhere ready to go after pulling an entire safari outfit out of his ass last episode 😂

Ok ok enough teasing Ed, back to the point.

We know Ed’s love language is physical touch. Stede’s is less talked about but I firmly believe his is quality time. Just like Ed is touch starved, Stede is shown to desperately want someone to spend time with. But that’s not just the way he receives love, it’s how he gives love too.

His way of saying I love you is to say “That’s me.” He’s the one who breaks the lock on his own bathroom door. He’ll be the one to show up at Ed’s restaurant and look at all the little Knick knacks in his gift shop on a slow day. Stede wants to be the one who’s there, who makes sure Ed doesn’t have to cry by himself, or feel silly about something he loves and put a lot of work into. He doesn’t ever want someone so deeply precious to him feeling as unwanted and isolated as he did back in Barabados.

And Ed ends up missing so many of these intentional gestures. Which isn’t a BAD thing, I just love all the little intricacies of two people with completely different love languages somehow making it work anyway. I think that’s part of why the bathtub scene felt so profoundly intimate, because their love languages work seamlessly together and they end up emotionally on the same page.

#ofmd #our flag means death #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #Edward teach #Blackbeard #Stede bonnet #love languages #Stede’s love language #ramblings #meta #analysis #my meta #1x07 #1x08 #1x06 #biceratops

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blasphemecel · 4 months

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Michael Kaiser, Alexis Ness — Wardrobe Malfunction

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader/Alexis Ness WORD COUNT: 1.6k TYPE: Humor, Clothes Swap NOTE(S): For the purposes of this situation, reader is on the shorter side, and also because I feel like they have the evil of a short person in their soul. Also, same Y/n character as Dog Walking, but you don't need to read that to read this at all!

Despite whatever airs you put on, you like wearing your Bastard München uniform. Mostly because it makes you feel like a big shot professional, which appeals to your sense of self-importance.

You don’t think much of it when you slip on your shirt, but soon enough it becomes apparent to you that something is off. It feels wrong, too loose. And it’s falling down way lower than what you’re used to. You take a few seconds to scrutinize it in between owlish blinks, although the emboldened logo on the front doesn’t aid you in figuring out this mystery.

The easy way to check comes to you soon enough, and you lift your leg to see a traitorous ten in the corner of the shorts instead of your number. A look of horror takes over your face… No… You’re going to get Kaiser’s cooties. He is contaminating you with his germs.

You can already feel them loosening after the movement, and once you put your foot back down, they immediately slide off. With a huff, you grab them from the floor and resolve to strut up to the crux of your dilemma.

When you approach, Kaiser has his back on you, and you immediately notice the big eight, and the wrong name accompanying it. Ness is struggling to fit into the shirt he got, and while his jersey isn’t too ill-fitting on Kaiser, it’s too short, leaving him to fumble with the hem to try and hide the exposed part of his waist.

“It’s just like the pants, I can’t put it on,” Ness cries.

“What do you mean, you can’t put it on?” Kaiser asks before taking a handful of fabric and yanking down with too much force. “See, you can put it on just fine.”

“I can barely move! This is ridiculous-”

Oh, you see how it is now. Are they stupid, though? How have they been talking for so long without pinpointing the problem? You sneak behind Kaiser and reel in your arm before smacking him on the back with the shorts, exerting all of your might.

He lets out a grunt of pain you believe is overdramatized since it can’t have hurt that much, shoulders jerking up. “Whoever did that, I will fucking curb stomp y-” and then, after he whips around and sees you, the threat dies down on his tongue.

“Your dirty pants, sir,” you say in a fake fancy voice before throwing them at his face.

Kaiser flings them away on the bench, narrowing his eyes at you with this weird mix between taunting and adoring. “What the fuck? What the fuck is wrong with you. You’re so cute right now. Let me see.”

With this new positioning, Ness seems to finally realize what happened, too, because he says, “Wait, Kaiser, that’s… m-mine.”

Ignoring him, Kaiser steps around to examine you, and his ugly grin that you can’t stand grows even wider somehow when he reads his name. His name that’s on you because you’re wearing his jersey. “Holy shit.”

“You look like an imp.”

He disregards you with ease, too — you have to admit he’s good at this ‘only hearing what he wants to hear’ stuff — and opens his locker to rummage through it. Ness says, “You’re- you’re wearing Kaiser’s? That’s so unfair.”

“Yeah, and you’re wearing mine. Stand proud. You’re blessed. Millions would kill to be in your place. Everyone’s gonna wear this merch in the future, but you get the real thing.”

“You seriously live in la-la-land, it’s unbelievable.”

You spin your finger in the air, seeming way too pleased with yourself. “Do a little twirl for me, I wanna see how it looks on you all around.”

“I will NOT be doing that,” Ness denies with a huff. He’s so uptight when it comes to anyone who’s not Kaiser. Someone would’ve thought you have gangrene or that you asked him to clean roadkill off the street or something with the way he’s acting.

What Kaiser was searching for in such a rush turns out to have been his phone, you come to find out when he starts taking pictures of you without even a modicum of shame. Multiple of them, if the repetitive pressing he’s doing is indicative of anything.

“Don’t point your phone at me, you sick fuck,” you say, reaching out to cover the lens.

Your efforts go in vain, since he just lifts it up high where you can’t reach and continues. “No way. You’re just way too cute right now. I mean, shit.”

Mocking you aside, there’s this thinly-veiled wonder on his face, and it’s making you want to vomit because of course he’d be the type to get a kick out of stupid shit like this. He’s so fucking lucky, too, it’s pissing you off. Among the three of you, he’s the only one who’s kind of in presentable condition.

Once you come close to swatting the device out of his grasp with a jump, Kaiser presses his palm to your face and shoves you away, keeping you at an arm’s length. Then he diverts his attention to Ness, snapping photos of him now and laughing. “You look stupid as hell.”

“Nooo, Kaiser, don’t! Stop!” Ness says, red-faced, to absolutely no avail.

He even takes a few steps back and does a bad job of covering his stomach with his hands while inching towards the bench, which… he makes a genuine attempt at ducking under. This doesn’t deter Kaiser from continuing his paparazzi session or whatever it is that he’s doing, nor does it conceal Ness from view.

You detach your cheek from Kaiser’s hold and announce, “Don’t worry, Ness, I’m gonna save you from the vile pig,” before you take an unnecessary leap and stick your fingers where the shirt is riding up, tickling his sides.

This startles him enough to let go of his phone (the apparatus of evil), sending it flying. You at least have enough decency to catch it, since you’re not really above letting it shatter either. Then you start scrolling through it with the intention of deleting the photos.

It doesn’t take Kaiser long to recover from your attack, and when he does, he reaches out to you. You assume he’s just trying to get his phone, so you kind of twist around to try and prevent him from doing so, but what he does is much worse.

He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you into him before collapsing his stupid ass on the bench (which, at this point, has witnessed many horrors), leaving you to sit on his lap. Then — as if this isn’t offensive enough already — he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“God, you’re such a touch-starved freak, it’s actually appalling.”

“You probably won’t look this good in your life ever again.” You roll your eyes at the stupid comment, and he starts tapping the screen along with you, and he even has the nerve to snicker. “I needed to be opportunistic.”

“Whatever, man.”

The weird battle results in a lot of random apps opening and closing, until eventually the gallery comes up on accident. With a feeling of triumph, you slap his hand away, so he won’t get in your way anymore. There you see the long string of pictures depicting Ness’s progression towards hiding under the bench, which, in your opinion, would make a great slideshow. Next are the images featuring you, where you’re looking up at him and struggling to even graze the phone, swiping your fists at thin air. Wow, you never thought you’d see your Great and Almighty Self from such a… pitiful perspective.

Before you can mope about how vertically challenged you are, however, something else catches your eye, and you burst out laughing, borderline dry-heaving from the acuteness of it. “What-”

Kaiser flusters and snatches his phone out of your fingers before pushing you up and away from him. This, for better or for worse, doesn’t wipe your memory or make you unsee the comically large amount of shirtless mirror selfies he has accumulated.

Despite your stumbling, you don’t fall. “How did you always manage to make the exact same pose and exact same expression in every single one of them?! Seriously. That’s spine-chilling.” You pretend to wipe a tear, even if it’s not that funny.

Kaiser doesn’t respond and turns around to toss his phone back to wherever he got it from. Ness — whose presence you kind of forgot about — deems it safe enough to stand up and reemerge. He asks, “What? What did you see?”

“His shrine of himself,” you say. “By the way, I think he’s a stripper.”

“I’m not a stripper,” argues Kaiser as if there was a possibility Ness might believe you.

For the first time, it’s Ness who is pretending Kaiser didn’t say anything. “Did you delete them?”

“No.”

He slumps, disheartened.

You make your way behind him. “Alright, let’s switch back,” you say, rolling up the material of your jersey. Surprisingly Ness accepts the help without any complaints and just accommodates you with a high raise of his hands.

You’re nearing the biggest problem area — his shoulders — when Kaiser deems it fit to intervene. “Ness, bend over. You’re taking too long.”

He does as told and Kaiser, for some godforsaken, idiotic reason, hooks his fingers inside of the collar. But you don’t see that since you’re trying to focus on your part, so instead you just comment on his willingness, “Slutty.”

“S-Shut up- Oh my god, don’t pull like that, what if it tears?!”

“It’s not going to tear.”

This exchange alarms you somewhat, so you shift your gaze to Kaiser, and what greets you is the sight of him tugging on the collar, trying to hoist it over Ness’s head. Your eye twitches. “If you damage mine, I’m gonna make good use of yours. Naturally what I mean by this is that I’ll use it as toilet paper.”

“It’s not going to tear,” repeats Kaiser, yanking harder. Apparently your collective lack of faith in him is vexing him.

… You hear a rip.

___

Happy valentine's day (I wrote this yesterday i was with my boyfriend today lol. He's american so he thinks valentine's day is a real holiday)

#bllk x reader #michael kaiser x reader #kaiser x reader #alexis ness x reader #ness x reader #blue lock x reader #blue lock x you

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idy-ll-ique · 11 months

Text

IOU.

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x f!reader

genre: angsty angst with happy ending

warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of hospitals, mentions of panic attacks, and also bills. they're scary.

requested: nope

word count: ~4.5k

summary: y/n thinks she owes the ruthless, unforgiving mafia man money. no she does not.

author's note: hiya peeps! till i can muster enough courage to post that part 2... thought i'd post this in the meanwhile. enjoy!

masterlist

"New place?"

"Yeah. Really, really, really fucking good coffee. Lady knows what she's doing, for real." Bucky scratched his chin, regarding his friend with his usual cold gaze. "Hm. Fine, I'll try it. For now, go do what I told you to." Bucky sent him off, grabbing his sunglasses off the table. Then he left the room as well and walked out of the mansion, heading to his car. Getting in, he put in the address of the coffee place in his GPS and started the drive there.

But upon reaching, he was immediately greeted by a long line that took up nearly half of the sidewalk. He raised an eyebrow and approached the front of the line. The moment the people in the front saw him, they gasped and moved back, terrified. A loud chatter had already broken out in the crowd as everyone talked about his presence there. Ignoring them all, Bucky opened the door to the coffee place but just as he did, someone grabbed his arm from inside the shop, startling him. It was a woman.

"Sir, the place isn't open yet! You need to wait outside!" she told him sweetly, giving him a smile so precious the mafia boss froze on his spot. "Hey, don't talk to him like that," someone from behind him warned her, "And let go of his arm! Before you get hurt!" Did they really think he would hurt her? Assholes. He watched how her brows furrowed. She let go of his arm, gulping. "Uh, sorry, if you… if I may have overstepped… but we're not open yet! Uh… do you want… to wait inside… maybe?" the lady stammered, glancing at the crowd behind him.

Bucky coolly adjusted his sunglasses. "I don't mind waiting outside. I'll be the first customer." Just as he said it, someone yelled from inside the shop, "Y/N, you can open the door, we're ready!" Bucky unconsciously laughed. Y/N gave him an awkward smile and opened the door, allowing him to follow her to the counter. "So, which coffee would you like to have today?"

"Black coffee."

"Sugar?"

"No."

"Okay… your name, sir?"

"James."

"James… uh, that will be $7."

Bucky took out a 10 dollar bill from his pocket and handed it to her. She returned his change and gave him another sweet smile. "You may sit, sir, I'll be right with you with your order!" He put the $3 in the tip jar on the counter, making Y/N smile wider. More people walked into the shop as Bucky went to sit. He purposely chose a table that allowed him a clear view of Y/N; instead of looking down at his phone like he always did at places, this time his phone was placed screen-down on the table, his electric blue eyes trained on her. She was taking a couple’s order.

All of a sudden, a different employee called out his name. “Black coffee for James?” the man bellowed, keeping a cup on the counter. When his name was called Y/N and Bucky’s eyes met. She looked away almost immediately, a shy smile on her face as she turned to the next customer. Bucky smiled to himself as well and went to get his coffee. “Uh, man, can I… tell you something?” The mafia boss looked at the guy. “What?” The employee looked at Y/N and chewed his lip. “She’s, uh… she’s—”

“Married? Engaged? Has a boyfriend?”

“No, no, she’s… too naive. Listen, I’m just saying it to warn you, and maybe even her… she’s ridiculously innocent, seriously. I don’t think she has ever had a boyfriend, or even a fling or something. Probably still a, you know, maiden. So… I wouldn’t think you’d want to go for her.” Had he been that obvious? Bucky listened to the man’s nonsense patiently, a cool smile on his face.

“And what, suddenly you know every thought that has ever occurred in my mind? You think you know me enough to tell me about my likes and dislikes?”

“I’m just saying, bro, me personally—”

“I don’t wanna know.”

With that, he turned around to walk out of the coffee shop. On his way out, he glanced at Y/N again, but she was too busy talking to customers to notice him. He sighed loudly and left. But his sigh caught her attention; she turned to the door but was too late— he was already gone. Her lips pursed. Would he ever visit again? James, he’d said his name was. She had no idea about him, about the fact that he was someone she should steer clear of. Y/N made up her mind; the next time he came to the shop, she was going to talk to him.

“You sure you’ll clean up?”

“Yeah. Go.”

“Okay.”

The manager left and Y/N sighed in the empty place, picking up the rag cloth that was hanging on the oven door. But in the quiet store, as she cleaned the counter top, she suddenly heard what sounded like a gunshot. She stood up straight, alert. Her hands were frozen in their place, her ears demanding confirmation. Was it actually a gunshot? When she heard another one, her hair stood on end. Was she going to die?!

Shaking, she rushed to the door and locked it, pulling on it to make sure. Through the glass doors, she looked outside; there was no one there, but she was 100% sure she’d heard gunshots. Her lower lip wobbled. Y/N walked back to the counter and began working at twice the speed; she still had to sweep the floor, and only then could she go home. “Come on, Y/N,” she muttered as she hurriedly finished wiping the countertop. But just as she was about to run to fetch the broom, three consecutive gunshots happened.

Y/N fell to her knees, terrified. This time, she could clearly hear shouting, as well as the screeching of car tyres along with the gunshots. What was going on?! Gang violence?! Scrambling upright, Y/N watched, horrified, as the headlights of a car shone on the glass doors. Oh shit, they’re right outside! Scared beyond words, she rushed towards the backdoors and threw them open. But then they closed with a loud bang, which scared her even more. What if they came inside now?

Her eyes darted around the place and she noticed the broom closet. My only chance. Y/N ran to the broom closet and opened the door, somehow managing to fit inside. Then she closed the door. Pitch black. Y/N took out her phone and dimmed the brightness, her hands clammy. Opening her chat with her manager, she texted him about what was going on. Her heart was pounding in her chest; what if she actually died that night?!

Just when she thought things couldn’t get any worse, she heard the front door breaking. The sound of glass breaking rang in her ears, and she clutched her head when she got a splitting headache. Y/N was fully panicking by then. More gunshots echoed around the place, this time much closer and much louder than before and Y/N realized that the coffee shop was being used as a place to fight.

She dared not to make a sound, even going so far as to hold her breath with short intervals in between. 15 minutes would pass before everything went silent; Y/N was very close to passing out now, but she held herself up, waiting until help arrived. After that, she told herself, she could sleep for as long as she wanted. One hand holding her phone, one hand clamped over her mouth, sweat dripping down her whole body, she waited.

When it all went quiet she thought of getting out of the broom closet. But it was as if her legs were rooted on spot, frozen in cement. She couldn’t move an inch of herself. Her eyesight had become poor because of the darkness in the closet, and her headache was steadily bringing her on the verge of fainting. Her ears were buzzing; in the end, she couldn’t even hear the police sirens outside. Slowly, she sank down on her knees and rested her head against the wall behind her, closing her eyes.

“There’s someone else here,” Steve spoke, poking his cheek with his tongue. Bucky looked up from where he was getting a bandage tied on his forearm. “An employee?” Y/N? “Yeah. I mean, the lights were on, and look at this cloth. It’s still wet, and looks like someone was using it. Did they flee the scene or are they still here?” Bucky bit his lip. If it turned out to be Y/N… he was going to burn down the entire world.

“Go check.”

Steve nodded and opened the doors to the backroom, looking around. There was no one there, but Steve did see another door— the broom closet. Just to be sure, he curiously walked up to the door and opened it. “Fuck!” he involuntarily screamed when Y/N’s unconscious body slumped out of the closet, falling on the floor. “Barnes! The employee is still here!” Steve knelt next to the woman, taking note of the way her phone was clasped in her hand.

A couple seconds later, Bucky and Sam ran into the room and Bucky froze when he saw Y/N’s body on the floor. And then, every curse word he knew from every language he spoke fell from his lips, rather loudly. Pushing Steve away, Bucky tearfully sat her up, hissing. “Look at her, she’s sweating so much, probably so scared… My poor darling…” He turned to Steve. “Pick her up. I’m taking her home.” Steve and Sam glanced at each other. Even still, Steve did as he was told, picking Y/N up bridal style.

“Sam, call a doctor, pronto.”

Once near their car, Steve opened the door to the backseat and put her in. Sam sat in the passenger seat, talking to a doctor. Bucky sat next to Y/N, allowing her body to rest against his good arm. Steve then got into the driver’s seat and swiftly drove to Bucky’s mansion.

Bang. Bang. Bang!

Startled, Y/N gasped in her sleep and jerked. But as she sank down on the mattress, her headache returned and a faint moan escaped past her lips, her brows furrowing. What was going on? There was a mattress underneath her, very soft might she add— was she laying down on a bed? Wait. Was it a hospital bed?! The previous night’s memories replayed in her mind, its load weighing heavier on Y/N’s already feeble mind.

All of a sudden, the bed dipped on her left, as if someone had just taken a seat. “Y/N?” That was her name. “Mm?” she hummed tiredly, without opening her eyes. “Are you feeling better?” She teared up. “No, I’m scared, I don’t know what’s going on,” she cried, the tears leaking out of her closed eyes as she sobbed, covering her face. Someone’s large hand then went under her head, their other arm around her waist. She was pulled up by the guy and was placed against something; a chest, that man’s chest.

He was holding her. Y/N slumped into him, still crying. Bucky, meanwhile, smiled sadly and held her close, rubbing her back. “Shh, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re unharmed, I guarantee you— hiding in that closet was a good idea. I’m so proud of you. Come on now, baby…” Y/N’s sobs died down, and she finally opened her eyes. She tried pulling away from him but he wouldn’t let go. “I wanna lay down.” He lowered her immediately, and when he sat back up, Y/N gasped, finally seeing his face.

“James?!” Bucky chuckled, caressing her face under the excuse of wiping off her tears. “It’s me. You scared me shitless, Y/N, do you know how long it has been since you passed out?! 48 hours! I mean, please don’t give an old man a heart attack like that again!” Y/N smiled weakly. “Old? How old are you?”

“3 days old.”

This time, she laughed. “How are you only 3 days old?” Bucky smiled, besotted with her. “Because I met you 3 days ago.” Y/N cutely knitted her brows in confusion, until realization dawned on her. Then she blushed furiously, covering her face. “You are so cheesy!” she accused him, pouting. Bucky couldn’t believe she’d made him fall for her in less than a week. “Just for you,” he winked and she groaned.

In the end, she took a deep breath and pushed the blanket off of herself, seeing that she was still dressed in her 3-day-old clothes. “I stink, don’t I?” she wrinkled her nose, sending a sorry smile towards the brunet man. “I mean, kinda,” he played along, snorting when she, very frailly, smacked his arm. He stood up, taking her hand. He helped her stand up. “You can take a bath over there.”

Bucky pointed to the bathroom door. “I’ll leave some clothes outside for you. Once you’re dressed, just open the bedroom door, and I’ll be waiting right outside, okay?” Y/N nodded obediently. Bucky took her to the bathroom, explained all the functions of the bathtub and kept the towel where she could easily access it. “I’ll go now.” He left the room. Y/N discarded her clothes and sat down in the tub, moaning in pleasure. The water was of the perfect temperature.

She took a lengthy bath, and only stepped out half an hour later, a towel wrapped around her. Y/N put on her own undergarments and then the clothes Bucky had provided for her; a black t-shirt and a pair of gray sweats. Once she made sure she was presentable, she moved towards the door but paused when she heard Bucky outside. Her jaw dropped and her hand gripped the doorknob. He was talking to someone outside. “The bill? Ah, yeah, from the hospital. How much was it?” Hospital bill?

Surely that was for… her. She was the one who had been unconscious for 3 days, that meant that a doctor and medicines were required for her. Y/N dreaded the amount— she almost did not want to hear it but she also knew that it would be wrong. How could she let him bear all the expenses for something that was her liability? “$5k? Hm.” Y/N almost fainted for a second time.

“5000 dollars?” she whispered to herself, terrified. But she shook her head, standing up straight. It was her duty to pay him back. Definitely. Taking a deep breath, Y/N opened the door and sent Bucky a smile. He smiled back at her. “Come, have breakfast and then I’ll have someone drop you home.” She wordlessly nodded and followed him downstairs to the dining room. On their way there, Y/N looked around his mansion. It was a piece of art; Bucky was rich? So that meant…

No, no, absolutely not! You have to take responsibility!

They sat at the dining table, breakfast was served and 30 minutes passed. There were a few of his friends eating with them, but Y/N could very quickly make out that they weren’t his friends, more like, they were his subordinates. Working under him. He didn’t say one word to her until the 45 minute mark; then, once all his friends left, he finally looked at her, smiling.

She almost expected him to talk about the hospital bill. “Is it good?” he instead asked, nodding his head towards her plate. Y/N hummed, giving him a small smile. “Y-Yeah, it’s nice.” Breakfast ended. Y/N watched with anticipation as their plates were taken away and Bucky stood up. She followed suit. “I cleared my schedule enough to drop you home, should we leave?” Y/N looked down at her clothes. “Uh, let me just change—” He stopped her. “No, please, don’t wear those stinky clothes again. Carry them with you.” Just then, one of his housekeeping staff entered the dining room holding a bag.

Bucky took the bag and handed it to Y/N. “Here. All your stuff is in here, including your phone.” Y/N peeked into the bag. “I, uh, send me your address so, um, I can return your clothes… I’ll have them washed…” Bucky scoffed, walking around the table to stand in front of her. “Baby, please, stop saying stuff like that. Keep them, it will mean a lot to me. Promise.” Sighing a little, Y/N chuckled. “Fine, I’ll keep them. They are comfortable, you know.” He laughed along.

The two of them walked out of the house. As Bucky drove to her house, Y/N glanced at him. “Um, James, about the… uh…” He glanced at her as well. “Yes, sweetheart? Is something bothering you?” She felt weird asking him about it herself. I’ll just send him the money directly, why have this uncomfortable conversation at all? “Nothing, it’s fine.” Bucky figured something was off but he didn’t push. Soon, they reached Y/N’s apartment building, she bid him farewell and they each went their own ways.

“Good morning, sir— James! Hi, you…” Y/N gasped when she saw the man in front of her. He smiled at her, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “3 weeks. How are you, sweetheart? All better?” Y/N nodded, blinking. 5000 dollars was a huge amount of money; so far, she had only garnered around $1500. Immediately, she began feeling a little… guilty. His smile didn’t waiver at all, though, so that meant he wasn’t mad at her. Right? What if he was here right now to talk about the money? Y/N gulped, lowering her gaze. “What would you like, sir?” Sir? Bucky’s face dropped. Why was she calling him sir all of a sudden? “Um, are you okay—”

“You’re holding up the line, sir.”

“Black coffee and a blueberry muffin.”

$12.”

He handed her $15 and like he had the previous time, put the extra 3 dollars in the tip jar. When Y/N still avoided his gaze, Bucky was completely sure there was something off. “Can you deliver it to my table instead of calling out my name?” Y/N hummed. “I’ll do that.”

He went to sit in the furthest corner. 10 minutes later, Y/N approached his table and placed his order on the table, turning to leave. But before she could, he grabbed her hand and tugged on it, making her turn towards him. “Mr—” “Absolutely not. James. What’s wrong? What happened? What did I do?” You’re still silent. “I— I need some more time,” she blurted out, “Please, give me, like, another month or so, I beg.” Bucky’s brows furrowed in utter confusion. “Time for what? Honey, time for what?” Y/N angrily glared at him, tears stringing her eyes.

She was never the one to lose her temper so quickly, but to repay Bucky, she had been taking up extra shifts at the coffee shop, which was making her tired and frustrated, and by extension, temperamental. “Just because you’re not asking doesn’t mean— I know you want it back, so don’t play stupid. I’m telling you, another month. Please let go of my hand.” Without even waiting for him, she yanked her arm away and wiped her tears off, storming towards the front of the shop. Bucky was too perplexed to even notice.

Want it back? Want what back? His clothes? Didn’t he already tell her that she could keep them? But then… Why would she require a month to give back a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants? She could have easily done that the next day… It wasn’t his clothes she was talking about. But for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything else that she owed him. Money was absolutely the last thing on his mind. Sighing despondently, he finished his coffee and muffin and left the shop, without so much as a glance at her.

But Y/N was staring at him as he left. Unconsciously, tears pricked her eyes but she sniffed them away, looking at the customer in front of her. “What would you like?” Her voice was a little watery, which the customer picked up on. “Wasn’t that James Barnes that just left the shop? Don’t tell me he comes after innocent people such as yourself! What did he do to you?!” the customer demanded protectively, which made Y/N confused. If he was excluded from the innocent people category…

“Wh-What do you mean… who is he?”

“Girl, you don’t know James Barnes?! He has been in the news so many times! He’s a mafia man, a mobster boss! Most ruthless, most feared leader of the underworld! How come you don’t know?” What?! “A mafia don?! Are you serious?!” The customer scoffed. “For sure I am! Even the police are scared of him, that’s why he roams the streets freely. To be honest, he only ever goes after the other bad guys, I have never heard him go after, you know, ordinary citizens. But you? What did you do to him?”

“I… I need to pay him back, $5000.” The customer covered his mouth, shocked. “That much?! Girl, do it as fast as you can— is that why he visits the shop frequently? I have seen him a couple times before… wow…” Y/N’s blood ran cold. She owed a mafia leader money. A mafia leader who was known to be ruthless and unforgiving. What if she couldn’t collect enough money? What if he sent one of his friends after her to kill her? After her shift ended, Y/N was once again alone at the shop, cleaning up. But as she sweeped behind the counter, the bell above the door rang, signaling someone’s arrival.

She looked up and froze when she saw Bucky. “16 hours. For 16 hours I have been thinking about what you owe me, and I haven’t got one clue. Baby, you need to tell me yourself what you think you owe me. Come on. Help me out here.” But as he continued taking steps towards her, she backed herself up against the wall, heart pounding in her chest, fear visible in her eyes. “Please, please don’t— you know— you’re playing dumb!” Bucky froze as well at her look of pure terror.

“Are you scared of me?”

Tears began flowing down her cheeks. “I told you, give me another month, I’ll pay you back, I promise! I have $1500 ready if you’re willing to take installments— but by the end of 30 days I will have the remaining $3500 ready, trust me!” Bucky closed the distance between them. His eyes… showed betrayal. “So… $5k? You’re saying you owe me 5000 fucking dollars?” he whispered. His hands reached up to wipe her tears off, his own starting to fall down his face. “Why do you think that? Have I, even once, asked you about the money myself?”

Slowly, Y/N shook her head. “Then why do you break my heart like this?!” he screamed in her face, startling her. She cried harder. “Because I know now who you are! Surely you want the money back?” He snarled, banging his fist on the wall next to her head. “But why would I want something back from you that you don’t even owe me?! What $5000 are you talking about?!” Y/N sniffled, lowering her gaze. “The hospital bill.” Bucky paused. “Hospital bill? Honey, that wasn’t for you.”

She looked up, confused. “You don’t know what happened that night, do you?” Y/N shook her head again. Bucky sighed, taking a step away from her. “Come with me. Let’s sit.” He took her hand and led them to a table, sitting down. “I… I always assumed you were just passing by and were kind enough to… you know… take care of me.” He wiped his tears off, chuckling.

Usually, Bucky had a firm handle on his emotions but hearing the woman he loved accuse him of such a heinous thing was enough to make him break down. “No. Now that you know who I really am… that night, the gunfire and the violence that happened involved me, my men, and a rival leader and his men. You were already passed out when the fight ended— I was injured. Look at this.” He shrugged off the right side of his jacket, revealing his forearm that had a faint scar on it.

Y/N gasped softly upon seeing it, her mind filling with worry for his well-being. “Are you okay, now?” He took her hand. “Yes, I’m completely healed. Some of my men got injured as well, and it’s my duty to look after their medical bills as they got injured on my command. It was our hospital bill, sweetheart, not yours. We didn’t call a doctor for you— all you needed was to lay down and wake up comfortably.” Y/N suddenly felt extremely hollow. “I took up extra shifts.”

Bucky came to sit next to her and hugged her close. “You didn’t even think about confirming it with me, first? Angel, when someone owes me money, I make it very clear to them, okay? The fact that I didn’t ask you for a single penny means you don’t owe me shit.” Y/N burrowed closer to him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered into his chest. “I just felt… weird bringing it up. I thought I could just directly send the money over once I had enough.” Bucky hummed. “And even if we had reached that stage, I would have just sent the money back. Thank goodness we nipped it in the bud.”

“Yeah.”

Y/N pulled away from him, rubbing her eyes. Then she looked at Bucky, who was looking at her with a fond expression on his face. “What?” she chuckled. But she was completely caught off-guard when Bucky gently held her chin and leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. “Even if we had called the doctors for you,” he whispered, “Even if the hospital bill was yours, you wouldn’t have owed me anything. Why? Because the love of my life will never owe me even a single dollar.” Y/N blinked dumbfoundedly. And then, a deep blush graced her face and she squealed, burying herself back in Bucky’s arms.

“James, don’t say that!”

“Bucky, my dear, call me Bucky. And was what I said wrong in any way? Wasn’t it completely true?”

“Yeah but you don’t have to say it out loud!”

“And forgo seeing this cute little blush on your cheeks? Never.”

“Stop it…”

“Nope. My cute little angel can get into as many accidents as she wants and she still wouldn’t owe—”

“I’m gonna go clean up!”

a/n: eeeeee screaming!! thanks for reading, leave a like if you enjoyed!