#But the fact that it didn't get resolved with time and in fact seems worse just pulled it out of me all at once

[haphazardcorvid]

There's something sort of distorted with how grief is currently being seen and dealt with on the island + Qsmp.

I've been thinking about this for a while during the missing egg arc, but Bagi implying that Foolish wasn't that attached to Leo has finally pushed me into putting the thoughts into words.

I really don't like how several of the islanders - especially the new ones - view grief and expressions of grief. It's like they expect all grief to be big and loud and performative, and otherwise, it isn't as significant, or as important. Like how Bagi's expectations for sadness seem to be shaped by Bbh's very visual, obvious deterioration, and disregards that MAYBE, just MAYBE, not everyone is going to shove their feelings in your face when they barely know you? That some people may break down privately, where you are not privy to their thoughts, and you are not entitled to a public performance of that grief in order to verify that they do, in fact, care?

It's not just islanders who haven't spent much time with the eggs either - Forever himself said he thought that, ASIDE FROM BAGHERA AND BBH, everyone was simply moving on and living life without the eggs. Funnily enough, these are both players with skins that specifically denote emotional turmoil :). Does grief have to expressly visualised for people to acknowledge that it's there? That was particularly jarring as a Philza main, who's character was and is currently going through a drealisation and mental deterioration arc after going to suspicious coordinates (the birdcage) FOR THE SAKE OF HIS EGGS.

Most annoyingly it also bleeds into the fandom sometimes, despite the fact we have the benefit of meta awareness. I've seen posts or comments about how 'oh, bbh is the only one truly miserable about the eggs' 'other islanders aren't suffering about the kids like ___".

It's just striking having watched Fit, a person whom canonically struggles with outward expressions of vulnerable emotion due to his background but clearly deeply misses Ramon, who would fall into this 'unaffected' category because he's not giving showy public displays or monologues about his feelings. Or Phil, who to members of the island who haven't reached out to him on those topics, seems largely still like a strong rock to lean on because he plunged himself into propping up other islanders the moment he returned - but behind closed doors fell apart at Tallulah's letter and is clearly rapidly deteriorating as a character. Or Foolish, who maintains an upbeat character, retains his capacity to carry on moving, and lives as brightly as he can while SIMULTANEOUSLY being completely broken up internally about his daughter. You can see it in the way they talk about their kids, how they rush to collect any clues whenever they pop up, how many of them seem to be living in limbo, incapable of new changes and beginnings.

And alright. So that's not explicit to those other characters. But it should not have to be visually explicit for them to not degrade their grief. The assumption should not be that grief is either public or nonexistent. You are not entitled to flashy displays of feeling. Forthright and in your face emotion is not the baseline requirement for distress. Demeaning someone's attachment to their child because they aren't grieving in the RIGHT way for YOU, one that isn't visible enough to YOU, isn't excusable because 'oh I can't really see how that person is feeling though'. It's basic social understanding.

And of course they are aware of the mental and emotional states of their friends - who are also very visual with their grieving - above others, because those people are ALSO the ones that those like Bagi and Forever consistently interact with for prolonged periods of time. Have they actually really, deeply talked with all the other islanders about their internal state? No, of course not, they don't spend that much time with them and aren't that close. That's not bad or anything, that's life and relationships and very normal. But then what grounds do those assumptions of 'oh, there are parents who don't care' actually have? They themselves should be capable of acknowledging that they don't actually have insight into these other people, and they should not be using the expressions of grief from say Baghera and Bbh as a cudgel to cheapen and diminish that of others.

#Sorry that's a lot #It was all adding up slowly - just an awareness of a general disregard some people had for how others were processing the disappearance #But the fact that it didn't get resolved with time and in fact seems worse just pulled it out of me all at once #The Foolish and Bagi thing mainly #Just how being subtle in your distress leads particular people to brush it off or pretend you feel quite the opposite is frustrating #And soz kinda personal lmao #as a person who has struggled heavily mentally but has had it devalued using how others outwardly react to their own issues #It kinda resonated #Foosh you are valid and a brilliant father to me #qsmp #qsmp foolish #qsmp baghera #qsmp forever #qsmp bagi #qsmp eggs #qsmp philza #qsmp fitmc #qsmp badboyhalo #Edit - just to note this is about the characters and their interactions only #It would be stupid to be saying this about actual ccs lmao

[wolfmoonmusic]

hiiii! could u write a james potter x reader fic where james chooses lily over reader and she’s not like heartbroken because she understands where he’s coming from but james can’t get over the fact that he’s gonna lose her so he’s sobbing and breaking down and reader is just understanding and cuddling him telling him he’s okay and that she knows he’ll be ok <3

Slipping Away:

A/N: This made me cryyyyy

Pairing: James Potter x reader

w/c: 1500+

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST. That's it lol.

Masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<3

He was supposed to be happy. 

The redhead in front of him was all he could think about for so many years.

And she’d finally, finally decided to give him a chance. 

So then why did he feel so terrified?

Maybe it was because of the way that you were looking at him. As if he was your entire world and it had just come crashing down. You noticed him staring and gave him a proud smile, and a double thumbs up.

But eyes don’t lie.

Lily was standing there right in front of him, ready to call him hers, after years of constant pining. And yet all he could think about was the way Sirius’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, and the dejected look in your eyes.

He expected the heavy weight to blow over by dinner.

But it didn't.

He sat there, watching you laugh with the others, like your normal self. He knew you wouldn’t show any emotions that you were feeling, and that made him feel worse. He wishes you’d just slap him instead of acting like whatever happened didn’t affect you in the slightest.

He knew. 

He knew what you felt for him, and he’d be lying if he said that there wasn’t a part of him that felt the same.

But he’d always love Lily more.

And you were his best friend. The fear of messing things up with you at some point and then losing you, terrified him.

However, something told him that he’d lost you already.

He couldn’t sleep at night.

He stayed up,  constantly thinking about you and your expression that day.

And the haunting fear stayed.

He felt like he was drowning and usually he’d go to you. But he couldn’t. Not this time. Not when you were probably in the same situation, a little farther down, struggling to swim up with your own weight tied to your feet.

He lay there, counting the hours, until he decided he couldn’t anymore, and walked down to the common room.

And he instantly wished he hadn’t.

You were sitting there, a blank look on your face as you stared off into nothingness. 

He felt you slipping away from his fingers then. Because at times like this, he’d be the first you called.

But of course, he’d never been the reason for this before.

He stood, frozen, unsure what to do, and maybe he should’ve decided sooner, because you seemed to realize you weren’t alone, and turned to face him.

“Hey James.” You’re surprised, he can tell, but he doesn’t move, still scared to make any decision. The last time he had to make a tough choice is what led to this in the first place, and now he was too scared to move.

You pat the seat next you, and he thinks that maybe it’s the right thing to do. Maybe this will fix everything. Maybe you’re not as affected by it as he thought.

But as he sits down, he knows he’s wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

You’re wearing Sirius’s oversized sweater.

He gave it to you because he didn’t like how loose it was, and you’d started wearing it when you were in a bad mood. You said that it provided comfort to you, and that whenever you wrapped your arms around yourself, the extra cloth would bunch up, making you feel like you were being hugged.

The second he saw it, James’s resolve broke.

The tears flowed freely, a sob wracking his body.

He felt so stupid for crying when clearly you were hurting more.

You didn’t react immediately, watching him as he continued to sob into his hands. And James thought that it was for the best. He didn’t want you to comfort him. He wanted you to cry as well, cursing him for ever deciding to choose Lily over you.

But of course, you’d never do that.

You wrapped your arms around his body, resting your cheek against his shoulder. 

“It’s okay,” you whispered.

“No, no it’s not,” James replied, still crying. Why wouldn’t you just yell at him? Why couldn’t you call him out for how unfair he was being?

You shush him, gently rubbing his hand.

“This is it isn’t it? I-I’m gonna lose you,” He muttered, and he felt you freeze. He was right. Of course he was. Who would stay with him after what he’d just done?

But you didn’t let go.

You pulled him towards you, so that his head was resting on your chest, arms wrapped around his shoulders.

“You’re not gonna lose me Jamie. At least, not forever,” you mutter, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

He didn’t know what you meant. But it only made the pain in his chest double. Usually being your arms released the building pressure, but this time, it only amplified.

He couldn’t even imagine how you felt.

“Please yell at me. Curse me, do something but please please don’t sit here and hug me after everything I’ve done,” he voice was pleading. He needed you to do that so that he didn’t have to see you upset tomorrow. Or watch you laugh, knowing the truth of how much this had affected you.

But your arms only tightened around him.

“No,” You whisper, your voice shaky. 

You’re crying.

“I get it. She’s the love of your life. I’m not mad. I’m not upset,” you pause, your hands gently rubbing his back, “not upset with you at least,” you mutter.

James knows what you mean. You’d always compared yourself with Lily. She was the only person who you deemed worthy enough to be your competition, for many things. You two were friends and you’d never let that get compromised. Not even now. But you’d always felt insecure when it came to her.

And James had only fueled it.

He couldn’t tell you to not compare yourself with her, after he’d literally chosen her over you.

But you were both different people and he wanted you to know that.

He pulled away, looking at your tear stained face. “Please don’t compare yourself,” he muttered. Ashamed that he was even in a situation like this in the first place.

You smiled sadly, sniffling, “Kinda hard not to. It’s okay. I just need…time,” you say nodding your head.

You took your hands in his, and internally, James begged for another try. He wanted a chance to go back in time, to fix things.

But he knew that would be wrong.

Because it was the truth. He loved Lily more. He always had, and he always would.

Yet the crushing feeling of losing you overpowered that love right now.

“I’m gonna need time,” you avoided his gaze, looking down at your intertwined hands, tears falling onto them.

“What do you mean?” he asked, knowing full well what you were going to say next, and it crushed him.

“I need some time away from you. You’re not losing me but-” Your voice cracked and you trailed off, unable to finish your sentence.

It hurt way more hearing you say it.

His grip on your hands tightened. “No. No please. For how long? I need you.”

You let out a small laugh, and for the first time since James had met you, he felt the bitter touch. “That’s not fair James,” you said, shaking your head. “I’ll come back, just give me some time.”

You were slipping away. Fast. 

And there was nothing he could do about it.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whispered, running your thumb over his knuckles. “You’re gonna be okay. You don’t need me. You have Lily, you have the boys and if something really bad happens I’m always right here. I just…I just need some time,” you muttered, looking at him.

James felt like he was being torn apart. He watched your hurt eyes, contradicting the soft smile on your face. He didn’t want to hurt you. He never had. But he couldn’t deny his strong feelings for the redhead. He knew you’d only be even more hurt if he’d chosen you while loving the other girl more.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sniffling, as the tears continued to fall. 

“I know James. It’s okay,” you mutter.

You pat his hands before pulling away, bending over to press your lips against his forehead.

You stay like that for a moment and James feels like dying.

You always care so much. No matter how much someone hurts you, you always care. You shouldn’t be comforting him right now. Not when you’re probably hurting more. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” you say once more as you move away, standing up.

Then you’re walking away from him and up to the dorms and with each step James feels you slip away.

Until he can no longer see you, and he knows you’re gone.

Maybe not permanently. But you both will never be the same again. Because you’ll no longer look at him like he’s the most amazing person you’ve ever met. And he’ll never be able to forgive himself for hurting you like this.

But you’re gone now and all he can do is pray that you’ll come back.

-------

Taglist: @pinchofhoney @targaryenmoony @padfootagain

#x reader #x you #angst #marauders era #james potter x you #james potter x yn #james potter x reader #james potter #sirius black #remus lupin #marauders #the marauders #james potter angst #heavy angst #one shot #james potter x reader angst

[neonovember]

Coming in HOT with some ANGST and FLUFF, having SUCH an intense emotional fight with Carmen one night. Maybe you’re both arguing about the opening of The Bear or finances or even just with communication in your relationship, Carmen just snaps about how you weren’t always this hostile. Just losing it on him and in tears crying out “YOU LEFT!! YOU LEFT ME CARMEN!! I understand what happened with you and your brother, but you just fucking left and didn’t even say goodbye!! You know how AWFUL that made me feel?! Like all of a sudden after everything we’d been through! It was like suddenly I was another face you just cut out and forgot about. It took me MONTHS to stop even just thinking about you. And then when you came back? It was as if nothing happened, but I was SO happy you were back….and now you always act like I’m some inconvenience that’s always in the way!!!! So what do you WANT Carmen?! Do you want me to stay or is this another New York situation?”. You can see Carmen’s heart shattering in his face as he just crumbles at the end begging for forgiveness 🥲. It ends maybe with the both of you holding each other in the kitchen “I’m so sorry” “No no….it’s okay….I shouldn’t have taken it out on you like that…”

All for you

this request was so good! your brain anon..😍 i hope i did it justice, this is part one of two because i always seem to be extending things that should be a one shot! i'm thinking part two should be from carm's pov? what do you guys think??

warnings: shouting, self deprecation, angst to the tenth power, no happy endings, carmen is so so so bad at communicating, unresolved tension/anger, new york carmy!

Loving Carmen was a lot of things. 

It was the smoulder of colours brushed onto a canvas, it was the crash of waves in the middle of the pacific, fighting and thrashing against each other until it took you under and below. It was the spoonful of honey that eased the bitterness, it was beyond your control. A love so smouldering and bright that you didn't quite know if your heart could fit it all.

But it was also difficult, like dragging a 50 pound steel anchor every way you went. You were forever grateful to have Carmen in your life, again at least, but it wasn’t exactly like the things that he had struggled with before he wasn't struggling with even more now. 

You were patient, you tried to be at least. When he wouldn’t pick up your calls for hours, when he was so caught up with work he forgot to eat, when he was so caught up with work all the last of his energy was spent on you and not himself.

You loved Carmen too hard to let him destroy himself for his work, even if he hated you for it, you couldn't watch him crumble and break from the stress of the restaurant and the overwhelming pressure he put on himself. 

Especially when you saw him begin to unravel before you, melting hot wax crackling and setting form. He had begun to throw back bottles of pepto like it was water, crunching on tums like popcorn any chance he got, and it wasn't like the restaurant was doing bad, in fact it was doing amazing. Yet, it was that fact alone that made Carmen get worse, made him slip into the sinking black hole that told him one moment away from the shop, one glance off of his work and it would crumble into ash.

You had seen this in New York, where he would call you during the depths of the night, the sound of his stuttered sobs breaking any resolve you had left. You had raced to throw on a jacket and bring a pot of soup to his place even when he protested. You fed him whilst he shook against you, you whispered stories until he fell asleep, you kissed his curls.

You wondered if he knew.

You find yourself doing the same thing now, like an endless dance you both are bound to, every rational part of you wants to hate it but you can't deny the way your heart shimmers in want. Your mind moves with the familiarity of it, chasing after him like a game of cat and mouse.

Only this time you live with Carmen and not in a dingy shoebox in New York holding back every ounce of love you wanted to pour into him. 

Carmen’s mind was forever connected to food, it was something so automatic it fell unconscious under his skin. You found amusement in the way he’d stand in the middle of your apartment living room in quick critic over the late night cooking shows that you would turn on whilst waiting for him to come home, or the coffee around the corner he swears isn’t actual beans. 

But your soup, and anything else you made was something he had always reserved with a certain adoration. He’d whisper into the anonymity of your neck under the covers, recounting how your food was akin to a warm hug, coming home to the smell of cookies and a house of laughter and light he wished he had growing up.  

You hoped he had actually eaten something today, but it was that belief that evaded your mind as quickly as it came when you reminded yourself who Carmen was. It was push and pull, and you would be damned if he didn't finish your food and then some.

Your job allowed you to work from home, and you don’t know if it was your laziness or intelligence that enabled you to make it so that you only had to work a couple hours in the day. It was sometimes strange to Carmen, how you could be able to find love and creation in something without putting everything into it.

Carmen was always watching you, he found peace in it, the moves and motions of you all over the apartment, the scent of your body wash, you toothbrush next to his, you were a movie right in front of him and he would watch you for eternity if he could.

You turn into the back of the Bear, parking between the faded white lines before turning off the engine and staying in the car for a moment. You hated the cold, and your breath had already begun to blow out misty clouds every time you exhaled. Collecting the warm container of soup and a sandwich you quickly jog towards the restaurant, taking the back door when you notice Manny leaving.

“Hey Hun, how ya doing” Manny nods towards you with a warm smile

“Hey Manny, just coming to get Carmen to eat something other than tums” 

“Chef is definitely wound tight, mix up on a new delivery of some kind of fruit? Forgot the name.. It's spiky and smells like when we moved out those ovens and found those burnt onions and stock stuck to the floor” Manny replies with a wince as you both recall the devastating smell that hadn’t left your nostrils in weeks during the renovation.

“Uh, Durian?” You reply and Manny clicks his fingers at your reply.

“That's it. That mind of yours is really something. He hasn’t taken a break since the morning, but you always have a way with him” Manny raises his eyebrows and you shake your head with a laugh

You only remember that particular fruit because Carmen had been obsessing over a new menu item that included it as its main component. He had spent sleepless nights perfecting it, despite it being utterly magnificent the first try. You couldn’t shake him from his work, it could consume him for months if he let it, and you feared he was at the precipice of falling into that hole once again.

You walk through the back hallway leading up to the main kitchen, passing by the tired hunches of the shoulder dressed down in crisp white shirts and aprons. The Bear had a late start today, Sydney suggested opening a little later for a full dinner menu rather than lunch as well and the turn out had shocked you all.

It also meant Carmen came home even later than he already did during those nights, you’ve had to damn near carry him to the bath to get him to not drop dead the second he came home. You didn’t mind however, you couldn't deny the faint thrum of your heart content as you washed Carmen’s hair whilst he lay against you half asleep. 

You spot Sydney at her station, and you quickly walk over to see her prepping for dinner, the swoop of her knife cutting into red meat in a kind of curve you knew she had perfected over the years.

“Hey Syd, early start?” You say, once your side by side with her

“Oh don’t remind me, can you believe the L got backed up from all the ice last night? Added a whole 45 minutes to my commute” Sydney groans out, shaking her head as she turns to you. Grateful to have a reprieve from her repetitive cutting.

“Goddam Chicago, if it makes you feel any better, I’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it in my fridge and it is dying to be opened and shared by two very, very tired women” You reply, smiling at the way Sydney raises her eyebrows gleefully at the thought.

“I am holding you to that, as soon as we get through today. God, this new dish Carmen has thought up is kicking my ass” Sydney replies, and your ears chirp at the mention of the man you’ve been looking for.

“Speaking of Carmen, have you seen him?” 

“Yeah, I think he’s still in the office, been on call with one of our vendors cause of the mix up with the--”

“Durian, yeah. Thanks Syd” You reply, giving her a nod before making your way to the hallway leading into the office.

You hear Carmen before you see him, the sound of his loud voice seeping through the cracks of the door. His voice rises as he gets more and more agitated, and you don’t miss the sound of a cup being thrown against the wall as the phone call continues, not waiting a moment before firing back muffled words you can hardly make out except

“Unprofessional” “waste of my time” “fuckin’ dick”

So yeah, you thought it was definitely a good time to walk in and get your extremely agitated boyfriend to eat your soup.

Just as you walk through the door, you see Carmen slam the phone back onto the receiver, shouting out obscenities at the object as he throws his chair back onto the floor. Years working together has made you unfazed by his outbursts of anger, though you have been sly in trying to get him to go to therapy so that he doesn't get an aneurysm over the phone with the Wifi company or something hilariously trivial.

“Hey Carm” You say, whilst closing the door, and Carmen look up at you in surprise, his features sobering, as his eyes relax into a comforting gaze.

“Ah shit, sorry bout that, just some stubborn, pig headed vendors who don’t want to fix a problem they fucking caused” Carmen replies, his chest rising rapidly as he takes sharp inhales of oxygen. 

He turns to face you and you take in the sunken look of his cheeks, the skin a little discoloured like he was sick, and his hair dishevelled and falling flat against his face like he's run his hand through it too many times.

“Jesus Carmen, have you gotten any sleep?” You reply, instantly as you make your way over to him, pressing a hand on his shoulder.

Carmen shudders against your touch, shaking his head as he leans back and away from you. You stumble as you look down at your hand now inches away from his shoulder in confusion. Carmen never turned you away from him, in fact during those unforgiving times of anxiety and anguish, when he felt the entire sky falling, you would be his anchor to bring him back.

The fact that he had visibly shuddered when you touched him made your heart ache, and it hurts even more when Carmen notices, the guilt spilling into him.

“Just been so busy” Carmen replies, his eyes darting everywhere but you, as you nod with a tight smile, backing away from him.

You reach for the soup you've left on the edge, placing it on the desk and you nod to it

“Have you eaten today?” You reply and Carmen stops watching you, blinking slowly as he tries to remember the last time he's actually consumed something, before coming up empty and shaking his head up at you with a groan.

“I thought so, you need to eat Carmen, how can you expect to function let alone run a restaurant if you aren't at your optimal level” You reason, leaning against the table, with your arms crossed against your chest.

“It’s fine, I was just gonna grab something small” Carmen waves you off

“Actually, I brought you food right now so I think it would be a perfect time-

“Is that why you came? To micromanage me like some toddler” Carmen suddenly replies, his eyes narrowing as he looks at you through half lidded eyes.

“I- what? I didn’t-”

“I can run my restaurant blindfolded with my arms tied behind my back, alright? I don’t need you to come and patronise me like you know every goddamn thing” Carmen spits out, and you can't help the way your blood runs hot, the rhythmic beat of anger pounding through you like a hammer.

How fucking dare he

“Excuse me? I came here for you Carmen, not some self-righteous moment to say I'm better than you. God damnit, is that what you think? I came here to make sure you didn't faint and fall into a pot of boiling hot water” You spit out, Carmen looks up at you, hes blues swimming in ire as he lets a humour-less laugh rumble through his chest.

You felt all the things you had kept a lid on begin to tumble out of your mouth, and soon you’re anger morphed into a building current. The flashes of everything that had gone wrong, the lack of communication, the coming home late, it all has begun to accumulate rapidly and you let it consume you in its entirety. 

“Sure, of course,” Carmen sings. “I’m not your fucking child alright? You are my goddamn mother so stop treating me like you need to make sure I eat 3 times a day and have my nightly bath. I’m a grown man-”

“Then ACT LIKE IT!”

Carmen looks up at you in surprise, his brows knitting as his head swivels back from your outburst. You had never screamed at him, in fact, Carmen can’t remember a time where you had screamed at anyone like you did now as you stare him down deviantly. Eyes burning with a fiery anger that begged to be stoked. Carmen knows this, your hands shake in tight fists like your seconds away from swiping him, and he resorts back to his usual self destruction of turning back and running away. 

“Yeah, yeah that's right, walk away, walk away like you always do. Carmen, soon enough you're going to have to face it you know? You’re gonna have to face your fucking issues before it destroys us both” You scream, and Carmen pauses, causing you to stumble. Carmen turns around to face you in the middle of the hallway, the rush of anger present on his cheeks, causing the veins to bulge out on his neck and he looms over you

“Issues, I have fucking issues? You’re screaming at me because of goddamn soup”

“It’s more than fucking SOUP!” The screech of your voice bounced across the thin walls of the restaurant hallway, your throat begins to burn as you begin to swallow down the emotion bubbling within you. You want to reach into him and rattle his neck, force him to see the destructive path he was taking, force him to do anything but turn away and shut you out.

A quiet trepidation falls over the entire kitchen as they watch you both fight, it was unheard of, an anomaly that seemed wrong, like someone had gotten a couple from the street and put your faces on it.

Watching you both fight was like watching a performance. The way you both leaned into each other menacingly, neither of you backing down, there was an indefinite energy that bubbled between you both, you were seconds away from shocking each other or making out. 

“What is it then huh? Why are you acting like this? You expect me to read your goddamn mind? You’ve changed alright? Everyone can see it, I can't even recognise the person in front of me half the time” Carmen sneers, his neck turning a crimson red as he clenches his jaw painfully. He’s holding himself back, his body shakes with it, the tight clenches of his fist stopping him from putting a hole in the wall or smashing a chair.

“I’ve changed? Me?” You cut yourself off with a chuckle, Carmen shifted his gaze as his eyebrows knot in confusion, and when you catch a glimpse of his face you can’t help the booming sound from crawling up your throat, keening over as the sick sound of laughter rocks through your body.

The rest of the team now watches on in horror, you were laughing, why are you fucking laughing?

You try and gulp down the uncontrollable fit of laughter, you can practically feel your body shift down into the jagged memories from all those years ago. From a place and time you had shuffled into a no named cabinet and thrown into the deepest depths of the ocean. 

You didn’t want to remember, you begged your mind to forget, but as your laughter slips into sharp inhales, you already can taste the wetness streaming down your cheeks, and slithering down the slope of your neck.

Your sob’s rack through you, winding you until you hunched over, reaching out onto the wall to steady yourself and trying to find footing as the ground caves beneath you.

Carmen recognises it in an instant, taking a tentative step forward, raising his arms before dropping them in a second, like he was approaching a volatile animal.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I-” Carmen starts, but you’ve already raised yourself from your hunched position, the tears dripping into the linoleum floors and splashing onto your combat boots.

You didn’t want to face that time in your life again, but Carmen has practically forced you too, and there's no way in hell you weren’t going to drag him down into that bordered off well. Fuck being the bigger person.

“No no, you spoke, this is my fucking turn now” You grunt out, the rippling grief leaving your body in a flash as you sneer over him.

Carmen gulps back a retort, his mind re-circuiting, trying to figure out your polar behaviour. Carmen knew better to interrupt you now, in fact the restaurants was a pin drop quiet, safe for the whooshing sound of the central air corn, and the sound of Carmen's stuttering inhales.

“YOU listen to me” You spit, pointing a finger, pressing it into Carmen's chest so hard he stumbles back

“You fucking left me Carmen. You! You- just, you dropped everything we had, everything we ever built in New York and you disappeared. And it was Mickey, and you needed to be there and I got that, I get that, but you- you just left me there.” You grunt, biting back the swell of emotion that erupted when you thought about those years ago. 

“You became a ghost, and god,- you could have told me, after everything I thought we had- you could've told me! But then you didn't. And I was left to pick up the pieces, wondering if you had ever loved me, wondering if I should have given half of myself to you whilst you couldn't even call me back” You stutter out, shocking back the onslaught of tears as you swallow around the lump in your throat.

Carmen’s face pales as he registers those years ago in New York, the immediate look of guilt and anguish twisting his features as he leans onto the wall for support.

Even after all these years, all this time, you still felt it like it was yesterday. All your work had become undone, the thin veil of healing had been stripped back to bare bones in an instant, and you hate it, you hate it so much. Why couldn’t you have packed up and moved on? Why did you have to fold back into yourself at those memories? You don't know what you're seeking now, vengeance, restitution, it all becomes blurred in the heat of it, and god have you wanted to strip your skin and wake up restored since that night.

“You ruined me for a year Carmen. I was a shell of myself because of you. And then you called me that afternoon and you know what? I wanted to throw my phone into the fucking Hudson. I wanted to rip my hair out and scream and hurt you like you hurt me because the truth was I already forgiven you before you even apologised. And you never did. And I still wanted to come back to Chicago for you.” 

“Honey-” Carmen's strained voice shudders at your words, and you can make out the red of his eyelids, the tears collecting at his lids.

You hold up a hand, stopping Carmen from speaking, tears begin to form at your waterline, threatening to break, your vision blurs, the features of Carmen’s tormented face becoming wobbly and undefined. 

You were so sick of crying, you were so sick of it.

“And I won’t ever make you keep paying for a mistake for the rest of your life, I let go of that anger because you needed my help and in some way, I fell in love with you all over again, I was able to make peace with it.” 

“But you don't think I know you Carmen? When you overwork yourself to death you can barely eat? When you get bad again at calling me? When you were good, you were the best person in my entire world, but when you're like this?” You shake your head into the empty space between you, hands waving in front of you. 

Carmen looks torn apart, his hair falling flat against his forehead, his hands in tight fists as he shakes his head against your words. Begging, on his knees, begging for you to stop, to stop saying those things that came from your mouth that were not true. His body shakes with it, the gushing feeling of guilt, it washes over him in waves.

His mind is going a mile a minute, every thought of work, of that mismatched order he had to deal with, of the vendor who refused to deliver, it all went out the window the second your face contorted in that heart aching way. He can't lose you, every fiber in his being yearned for you, he lived for you. And here he was losing you, like a brush of paint across a canvas.

You were slipping from him every second you stood there with tears dripping down your cheeks like a stream.

“You’re the one that's changed. You're the one who's always changing. Don’t throw it back at me just because you can’t see it” You mutter with a shake of your head. Your voice carries a finality with it, and you jerk from Carmen when he takes a step towards you. You can't breathe in here, and you pass by the concerned gases of the rest of the Bear, shaking your head and moving away from Sydney, before dipping back into the busy streets of Chicago. You bite your tongue the entire way until the taste of copper fills your mouth.

Folding yourself into the huddled waves of mundanity, leaving your soup and the last bit of your aching heart on the bench of Carmen's office.

#neonovember #carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fx #carmen berzatto x fem!reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy the bear #carmy berzatto x angst #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto x angst #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x fem!reader #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto ansgt #carmen berzatto fic #neo’s asks #neowrites #carmen berzatto masterlist #the bear season 2 #carmy #carmy ansgt #carmen berzatto x y/n #the bear hulu

[carmyboobear]

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets. 

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful. 

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low. 

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume. 

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked. 

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore. 

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop. 

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger. 

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead. 

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on. 

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though. 

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing. 

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back. 

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question. 

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.                                                                                                                    

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign. 

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in. 

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think. 

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest. 

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence. 

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie. 

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front. 

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out. 

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you. 

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway. 

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them. 

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong. 

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture. 

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to. 

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide. 

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container. 

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter. 

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh.  He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour. 

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off. 

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list. 

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift. 

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline. 

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice. 

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself. 

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there. 

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep. 

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something. 

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her. 

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break. 

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen. 

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth. 

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.” 

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles. 

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments. 

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm. 

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you. 

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 

You don't really care, though. 

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

~

@zorrasucia

#carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #carmy berzatto smut #carmen berzatto smut #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #the bear fanfiction #my fics #my smut #YEAHHHH LETS GOOO im so excited to release this!! even had my friend proofread this LOL #which was helpful. i couldn't stop writing and then BAM. 7.3k #i really wanted the chapters to be shorter than alexithymia bc its a lot of words to proofread but. oh well. #we'll see if the other chs are shorter. cant wait to hear yalls thoughts!! its gonna get worse for carmy and reader from here #blood orange #🩸🍊

[zzprompto]

☆ he loves me, he loves me not [part two]

gojo satoru x male reader [he / him]

sypnosis: you love gojo as more than a friend, but he loves geto - not you, and its almost as if he rubs it in your face all the time. (meant to be viewed as unrequited love.)

the lowercase is intentional !

- minor jujutsu kaisen spoilers under the cut !

[part one]

a few days later, you saw gojo and geto. they were together, as always. but today was different. something about how they were together was different.

then, gojo spots you and waves at you, gesturing for you to come over. reluctantly, you walk over to him, dragging your feet across the floor of the school. "[name]! it's good to see you." gojo smiled and geto nodded along with him.

"i just wanted to say.. thanks for your advice!" gojo blushed, slightly embarrassed by what he was saying. "me and suguru.. are an item now. we're boyfriends!" gojo looked at geto, an even wider, brighter smile on his face. gojo's smile could light up a whole room, you thought.

your heart shattered into a million pieces, but you had to hide the hurt you were feeling. you had to be happy for gojo, even if that meant he wasn't happy with you, but with geto. "oh.. congrats you two." you hum, nodding at the two of them. you bite your lip back to try and stop the tears from flowing.

for the first time, you felt jealous. that was the other emotion you felt whenever gojo talked about geto. jealousy. you wished you were geto so bad. you wanted to be in his place. you wanted to be gojo's boyfriend. but you wanted gojo to be happy.. even if that meant he wasn't with you.

"i'll be going, i just.. realised one of my friends wanted to hang out with me." you smile awkwardly before rushing off. you had no other friends, it was only gojo for you. you never needed anybody else.

neither gojo or geto could say anything before you rushed off. the two of them walked off too, doing whatever gay, teenage couples would do. the fact that they acted so couple-y, even if they didn't really, made you sick to the stomach. it filled you with jealousy. it filled you with the thought of what could've been. sometimes you feel like both of them knew you liked gojo and they were showing off in spite. in reality, that was your mind altering things.

you weren't angry at geto though, you couldn't be. it was so obvious gojo liked geto from the start. you were just so blinded by your own feelings to realise their secret romance. all the signs were there, but you were so naive. so caught up in your own world thinking gojo will like you back.

and then, a year later, the worst thing could've happened. geto went out of his way and massacred a village of non sorcerers.

gojo was devistated. the one he loved, the one who was his best friend, his one and only, had went ahead and betrayed the jujutsu society. gojo couldn't understand why. he thought everything was okay, he tried to make sure everything was okay with geto. but it seemed like him trying wasn't enough. nobody could change geto's mind now, not even gojo.

gojo was devistated. why hadn't geto talked to him about it? why didn't they figure a way to resolve this? why did geto do such a thing? the questions stuck in gojo's mind, they flooded and swarmed his thoughts, never leaving.

and of course, one thing led to another and the two of them broke up. it was no longer a soppy, teen romance movie. it was the harsh reality of living as a jujutsu sorcerer. gojo couldn't change reality, no matter how strong he was. he was stuck, alone, without his one and only, living in a bleak and empty world.

you wanted to help gojo, but you couldn't. you didn't want to meddle with his affairs when your own feelings would come into play. your feelings would get the better of you, you thought, which was probably the truth too. you'd rather watch gojo heal himself, or not, from the sidelines rather than stick yourself into his business and make your relationship with him worse than it already was.

you always knew gojo wouldn't like you. you weren't geto. you weren't the one who was always by his side whenever he needed someone for comfort. you weren't the one who made him laugh, or smile, or feel loved. you were just [name]. a friend, or even worse, just an acquaintance to gojo. someone who helped him get with the actual boy he loved, only for that boy to shatter his heart into millions of pieces.

you finally accepted that it was never meant to be between you and gojo. it was geto that was his soulmate, not you. and it was never meant to be you. that's what pained you the most.

yes, you could try fighting for gojo, but you knew he wasn't in the right state of mind for it. his heart was broken, torn in two over and over again until there were no pieces left. it would be like taking advantage, so you kept quiet. you let gojo be. you let him be the strongest on his own, facing his own feelings.

you finally accepted yourself that he will never love you. you were not geto, and your love with gojo was never meant to be.

☆ author's note: this took me ages to write because i had no idea what to write as a second part.. i only had 1 part in mind so this is for all of the people that asked for a 2nd part to be fair. i hope you guys like it and it doesn't seem rushed.

☆ request ▪︎ masterlist

#gojo satoru x male reader #gojo x male reader #gojo satoru #gojo #jujutsu kaisen x male reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #foryou #male reader #x male reader #gay #gojo x reader #x reader #satosugu

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Awkward ~ B.B.

A/n: No idea if this is out of character or not but I had fun keeping it short and sweet for once so i hope yall enjoy!

Request: “Bellamy Blake x Male reader, him and Bellamy already having a relationship but breaking up a little bit before they were sent down and reader being cold and not his happy self” by anon

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

Bellamy counted himself lucky to have met his boyfriend.

Even if they were going to end like this.

It was one of those familiar loves. The kind that take forever to build, and then last forever. The kind that took parts of you and changed them, rearranged them, and left you irrevocably changed. The kind that made a home in the center of your soul, carving the shape of a person that could never be filled by any other person ever again. The kind of love that redefined home. It was a slow burn, but strong. Inevitable.

And then it was over.

Bellamy knew that he would have stayed on this ship with his boyfriend if Y/n had asked... and he couldn't chance that. It was better anyway to leave Y/n hating him so that when he disappeared, his now ex boyfriend wouldn't worry about him or wonder if he was okay. This way, it was better for everyone. And Bellamy kept that resolve as he laid out his plan to get onto the ship with Octavia and all the way down to Earth where they could all be free and happy. If he had to leave his boyfriend, he would. For his sister. She was what mattered.

And then Y/n showed up on the ship anyway.

Bellamy almost didn't recognize him. It hadn't been long, no matter how it had felt like ages, but Y/n was completely different. His style choice had changed, his demeanor, the way he impacted the world around him - all of it was wrong. Once Y/n had been a blazing fire, a bright light. He had been a breath of fresh air, coloring the world with pink and yellow and giving Bellamy a sliver of positivity and comfort in a world Bellamy had for so long thought was too cold and broken to give up anything good anymore. Now...

Y/n was distant, quiet. He faded into the background. He didn't make eye contact with anyone, and if he did then they were quick to scatter and give him room. He was intimidating. Scary. The only reason Bellamy even clocked him was because Y/n had stepped up to side with Clarke as she and Bellamy began to butt heads for who would be in charge. It would have been surprising, if not for their history. And the fact that Bellamy had been sleeping around every moment he had since he'd gotten to Earth,

The problem was that Bellamy had made a promise to himself. Earth wouldn't just be an escape from prison - it would be an escape from life on that god forsaken ship. He came here to be free - really free. Liberated. He wanted people to see all the things this place had to offer and how amazing it was to not have any of the adults to drag them down. He needed to spend every minute convincing people they wanted and even needed to be on Earth by themselves. Completely separate from society.

He didn't want to sleep with these women. He didn't want to lead. He wanted to be alone with his sister and be free and happy, and more than anything he wanted to fall into Y/n's arms and break into tears and tell him everything and get that smile back on his face. Where it belonged.

But he stuck to plan anyway.

Predictably, that decision made everything so much worse.

Bellamy knew he'd maybe gone a little too far, being too protective of Octavia, when she shoved him one day and told him to fuck himself. The next time Bellamy saw her, she was with Y/n and they were talking in gentle, low voices. Y/n had always been better with Octavia than Bellamy was, and now it showed. Even as this darker, more reserved version of himself he still managed to make Octavia smile. She seemed to make him ease in return, but that smile that was so often on his face before coming to Earth still didn't make an appearance. 

As things started to go wrong, it was becoming very quickly more and more obvious that Clarke was the better leader - especially with Y/n as her second. It had happened mostly on accident; there just wasn't anyone Clarke trusted with responsibility... or really trusted at all. Y/n proved himself again and again, encouraging Clarke to trust him more and more - so as she rose, so did he. There was something about Y/n trusting her that seemed to convince everyone to at least listen. Y/n joked that he was big and scary and had scary dog privileges and the fact that she'd 'tamed him' was why everyone was keen on listening to her. Clarke always rolled her eyes at that.

Bellamy didn't find it funny, but Octavia did, and she took every chance to tease Clarke and Y/n for being a match made in Heaven. A perfect duo. The leader of the masses and her loyal guard dog. Y/n and Clarke found it amusing enough so they never discouraged her.

It bothered Bellamy even more.

Tensions began to rapidly build. Y/n and Bellamy were more often chest to chest, nose to nose, staring each other down with malice in their eyes, and only Clarke and Octavia were able to rip the two boys apart. The sheer amount of energy between them delivered some kind of message, and the impression began to grow that there was something between them. Octavia knew, but she wasn't about to out her brother, who had never wanted to come out, or throw Y/n under the bus for getting his heart absolutely shattered by Bellamy.

Unfortunately there was only so much avoiding each other that could happen when a poisonous fog rolled through the forest, horribly killing anyone who got caught in it. In the chaos to scramble, Y/n got shoved and fell. If not for Bellamy stopping and pulling him into a close by little cove, Y/n would have died. It maybe should have prevented the hostility from being as high as it was, as quickly as it was... alas...

Y/n and Bellamy were arguing after about ten minutes. Both of them had forgotten what had started it in another ten minutes, because it wasn't soon before the real issue came out. With no one there to stop them, their back and forth devolved until the source of it all came to the surface.

"I'm sure you'll be overjoyed when this whole thing ends and you can go back to your girlfriend," Bellamy shot at his ex.

Y/n sneered, lips pulling back over bared teeth. This is always what drove Octavia and Clarke to pull them apart: the two boys looks like they were about to kill each other. They'd never fought before, let alone like this, but even now... they wouldn't hurt each other, and that's what even Octavia was missing. At least with their fists. Y/n didn't pull back now as he spat back, "Are you talking about Clarke? God, how old are you? She's not my girlfriend."

"You look pretty friendly." Bellamy rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Because we're friends!" Y/n's voice bounced off the walls as it rose into a scream, the increased volume only setting Bellamy more on edge.

"Then why are you constantly following her around like a lost puppy? Did you lose your self respect after we broke up?"

Y/n finally snapped. "I LOST EVERYTHING WHEN WE BROKE UP!" There was a ringing silence after those words. They seemed to hang in the air, and Bellamy's eyes widened as he realized there were tears streaming down Y/n's face. He couldn't move, couldn't even breathe, not knowing he had made Y/n cry. Y/n was the first one to find his voice. "I lost everything when you broke up with me. And I had to take everything I was suddenly missing completely and make something new of hollow, broken pieces. I only chose Clarke because I refused to choose you. Not again - never again. You did this. You don't get to be mad about it."

Bellamy scoffed. "I'm not mad about it." Y/n sucked in a breath to start arguing again but Bellamy had had enough. "I'm jealous."

Y/n produced a sound that was half a scoff and half a laugh. "Please. What do you have to be jealous of?"

Suddenly exhausted, all Bellamy had left was the truth. "I knew I had to get on this ship and come to Earth with Octavia. I knew I had to be free, even if it was toxic down here. Even if it killed me. I couldn't be alive in a world where I would always be the one who got to live. Not when she was killed for being born after me. I... couldn't." Y/n's words never came. He just sighed, leaning against the wall with an irritated thud. He had heard the rant before. He knew where this was going. Or, so he thought. Bellamy's next words caught him off guard. "I could never ask you to make that sacrifice. But, if you knew, you'd have agreed. Even if it would kill you. And I also couldn't let my trauma be the death of you either. Not when it was already the end of me and my sister."

Eyes wide, Y/n looked at him. There was something else in his face than that empty gloominess. Something... akin to hope. "You can't do this to me. Not now."

Bellamy closed his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"No-" Y/n pushed off the wall, shaking his head. "You don't get my forgiveness now. Not after everything! It's not fair!"

Bellamy's eyes filled with tears. "I'm sorry."

"NO!" Y/n yelled, grabbing his shirt by the collar. Bellamy's lips parted to apologize and Y/n slammed him against the cave wall, face twisted with rage. "Don't. Say. It. Again."

For a moment, it seemed like he wouldn't. Then, ever so softly, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Immediately Y/n's face crumbled. He searched Bellamy's face, demanding to see anything other than what he was seeing. Regret. Sincerity. And love.

There was only one way to know for sure.

Y/n kissed Bellamy. He was immediately hit with how eagerly Bellamy kissed back. It was like, despite everything, anything that could have ruined this moment didn't matter. People had died, they were losing numbers, going hungry. This place was so much harder than they thought and everything was out to kill them. People they knew nothing about, couldn't even see, or a landscape that crept slowly and attacked when you least expected it. Time and space and heartbreak -

And in this moment it was just them.

When Y/n leaned back, he was smiling. Really smiling. "You're an idiot. I can't believe I love you."

Bellamy melted in relief. He pulled Y/n close and even with how impossible it had all seemed, it had worked out. "I am an idiot," he agreed. Y/n chuckled and Bellamy closed his eyes to hear the sound. The sound he never thought he'd be blessed enough to hear ever again. Maybe if Y/n could still smile and laugh, and Bellamy could still get the boy, anything could happen. Maybe there was still a chance in this ruined world. Even as dire as it seemed... maybe hope could be allowed.

Just a little. Just enough.

#Bellamy Blake #the 100 #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake imagine #Bellamy Blake x male reader #the 100 imagine #the 100 x reader #the 100 x male reader

[gepardling]

what about a shy!reader confessing to gepard and him being so surprised he’s at a lost for words

unspoken heart w/ gepard.

desc. : dis is 1 day overdue bc i was 2 busy playing league w/ friends :(( aphelios has my whole heart... but here it is <3 i erm hope i did dis 1 some justice, my mind ran away w/ me when i started writing o.o i feel like every1 has their own perception of shyness, and as some1 who considers themselves pretty shy in a romantic aspect, i had 2 lay it bare... ( wc : 1.3k )

tags / cw : sfw, just fluff, gn!reader, reader is a shopkeeper, not proofread

The Captain of the Silvermane Guards wasn't one for frivolous pursuits. That being said, they never seemed to come his way either. It was a double-edged sword – And yes, it did hurt. To put it simply, Gepard wanted to have his cake and eat it too. Yet, as long as he never expressed genuine interest in a person (vice versa), he wouldn't budge.

There was, of course, one individual in particular who had grasped the attention of the Captain. It was nothing major, really, just another shopkeeper around Belobog. At most, he found himself stealing glances at you every now and again when he passed by your shop, whether on patrol or off duty. But staying 100% "cool" was something you couldn't quite manage.

The first few times it happened, you thought you were under investigation for tax evasion or something equally crazy. The moment you caught his eye, he would turn away and continue walking, and it was weird. Yeah, he was pretty weird. But he was also just... pretty. It was kind of embarrassing to think how easily you had fallen for the quiet silvermane guard. Each time those intrusive thoughts wandered into your mind, you had to savagely fight off the crimson blush that crept up your neck.

It only made matters worse when he started visiting your shop, actually entering and purchasing an item. You nearly jumped out of your skin when the little bell by the door chimed, revealing the looming silhouette of Captain Gepard himself. His aura was intimidating up close, his steeled gaze seemingly piercing straight through you. It made a lump rise to your throat each time you had to greet him...

Normally, you'd never have a problem working with customers. You would greet them, help them with their orders, take their payment, and thank them. You didn't really need to have any social skills for that; it was just standard workplace protocol. But for some reason, Gepard made it increasingly difficult for you to just be natural at work. You would stutter when you greeted him, almost drop the Shield he gave you as payment, and hide behind the counter for a quick moment to compose yourself every time he left.

It was frustrating, almost infuriating, how your emotions got the better of you whenever he was around. In fact, one day you were beyond embarrassed when he actually tried to have a conversation with you. It didn't help that midway through, he asked if you were feeling unwell because of how red your face was becoming, even encouraging you to go home and get well soon. He was none the wiser about your true feelings, of course, which made you feel both relieved and anxious.

Over time, you came to realize that you must be attracted to him, which didn't do your mental state any good. It completely shattered your resolve each time you saw him from that point onwards. Your hands would shake ever so slightly, and you could barely conceal the tremble in your voice whenever you spoke to him. Though you appreciated the lingering conversations that grew longer with time. It was safe to say that you had grown accustomed to seeing the Captain’s face every day.

Yet, while you were comfortable with the way things are now, people tend to stagnate if they keep doing the same things all the time. The worry that Gepard would grow distant again before you even had the guts to tell him how you felt gnawed at your heart, and the whole situation made you feel anxious, to say the least. The feeling only worsened when he started visiting less and less, and the confidence you'd somehow managed to build up in your comfort zone dissipated before you. 

The rollercoaster of emotions had you feeling a little silly about your seemingly one-sided infatuation with him, and your own reluctance to confront him with your feelings merely heightened your awkwardness. The harder you fell, the more absentminded you seemed to become as a coping mechanism for the crippling shyness that threatened to envelop your being. But your own absentmindedness was about to bite you on the arse the very next time you met with Gepard at the shopfront. 

While you were ringing up his goods, Gepard started a light conversation. It was nothing serious, just some basic how-are-you banter between acquaintances. He told you a bit about the situation on the frontlines and how busy it had gotten lately with a spike in fragmentum activity.

"You know," your voice trailed off, gaze fixated on the Shield you were counting in your palm. "You should take care of yourself out there, I miss seeing you here." As soon as the words left your mouth, you froze up entirely. The heat in your cheeks rose exponentially fast once you realized Gepard’s own wide-eyed expression. Overwhelmed by the accidental confession that slipped past your lips, you found yourself stumbling over your words, desperately trying to salvage the situation. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, a torrent of thoughts racing through your mind. 

How could you have been so careless? The fear of rejection loomed over you, and you wished for nothing more than to disappear into thin air. Gepard's stunned expression mirrored your own internal turmoil. His usually composed demeanor faltered for a moment as he searched for a response. The silence hung heavy in the air, and the weight of your confession seemed to press down upon you, suffocating any semblance of composure you had left.

As you fumbled to correct yourself, the words tumbled out in a jumble of awkward phrases and incoherent ramblings. Your mind raced, desperately trying to find an escape from the overwhelming embarrassment that had engulfed you. But there was no way to take back what had been said, no way to erase the vulnerability you had just laid bare. Gepard's silence wasn't doing you any good either, and you were just about to excuse yourself before you melted into a puddle on the ground.

Gepard's eyes softened, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His hand reached out, lightly brushing against yours as he accepted the change you had hastily pushed into his palm. The simple touch sent a jolt of electricity through your veins, momentarily distracting you from your own embarrassment.

"It's alright," he said, his voice a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. "I appreciate your concern, and I've missed seeing you too." His words were laced with a tenderness that sent your heart aflutter, a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos of the moment. You stood behind the counter, heart still racing as you attempted to come to terms with what just happened. You blinked several times, but Gepard remained standing in front of you, confirming that he was in fact not a hallucination.

"I- uhm… I mean- No, err… Thank you for supporting us!" you rambled on, "Our shop, I mean, not us like, people, that would be silly…" All the while your eyes desperately searched the room. Your nervous laughter chimed through the shop, and by this point you've caught quite a few people's attention. Gepard's chuckle joined yours, and the tension in the air slowly dissipated. His easy smile and the twinkle in his eyes reassured you that the momentary awkwardness was nothing more than a shared experience, a humorous twist.

"Don't worry, I understand what you meant," he said, his voice warm and gentle. "And I appreciate your gratitude." His gaze swept across the shop, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you, realizing that your accidental confession had not gone unnoticed by the other patrons. 

Blushing furiously, you offered a sheepish smile to those around you, feeling their curious gazes upon you. This truly was a spectacle to behold, and you were sure to answer some questions regarding your behavior later. Suffice to say, this sudden turn of events was enough to leave you red faced for days on end…

#gepard fluff #gepard x reader #gepard x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #gepard hsr #gepard landau #♥︎ | milky writes #♥︎ | request

[queenshelby]

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART 44: ASSAULT

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Lots of Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Extreme Smut

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

Jumping up from where you were seated with Cillian, you went to open the door and were shocked to see Nina standing there. Blood dripped slowly down the side of her face as she looked back at you, clearly shaken and confused.

Your heart dropped into your stomach as fear raced through your veins. "Oh my god Nina. What happened?" you asked, panicking, just as Cillian came racing towards Nina as well, seeing her blood covered face from miles away.

Together, you helped Nina inside and sat her gently onto one of the plush couches. As soon as her body met the soft leather, she slumped against it, closing her eyes briefly, seemingly unable to hold herself upright anymore. Your concern grew more intense, as did Cillian's beside you. "What happened, Nina?" he demanded urgently, trying to make sense of the situation while you fetched a clean towel. 

Nina opened her eyes but remained silent for a moment, gathering strength to explain. Finally, she spoke, words trembling slightly due to fear and trauma.

"I... I went to Kit's house today," she began hesitantly, telling you and Cillian why she was covered in blood. The three of you listened attentively, horror growing upon hearing the events that transpired. Apparently, after confronting Kit and demanding answers about her behaviour, things turned ugly fast – resulting in the violent altercation that left poor Nina battered and bruised.

"Why didn't you call me?" Cillian questioned with worry, reaching out to touch her injured cheek tenderly before snarling.

"Fuck, I am going to deal with this woman!" he said, grabbing his keys impatiently as you tended to her wounds. 

Seeing Cillian's protectiveness made you feel reassured despite the intensity of the situation. But then, a thought struck you - would taking action right now really help Nina?

"Cillian, we need to get Nina to hospital. She needs stitches and medical attention. Dealing with Kit can wait," you suggested calmly, hoping to ease some of the tension in the room. 

Reluctantly, Cillian nodded, knowing deep down that him confronting Kit in the heat of the moment wouldn't solve anything. In fact, it could even make things worse as he may be acting unreasonably after seeing Nina hurt like this.

"You should call Danielle. Tell her to meet us at the ER," you suggested to Cillian, thinking logically under pressure before grabbing some things from Nina's bedroom for her.

"Are you okay to walk to the car with us, sweetheart?" Cillian asked his daughter gently, concerned about how much pain she might be in.

With a brave smile, Nina agreed, trying hard to appear stronger than she felt internally. Reaching out for support, she grasped both yours and Cillian's hands firmly, showing resilience amidst adversity.

The three of you made your way to the elevator with a heavy silence hanging between you all, as the lift descended towards ground level. Each step towards resolving this nightmare seemed harder than the last. 

Once inside the underground parking facilities, you carefully escorted a pale-faced Nina to Cillian's car, opening the doors for her comfort. She climbed inside obediently, allowing you to place a pillow behind her neck to alleviate some discomfort.

As Cillian walked around to join you in the driver's seat, he glanced lovingly at Nina who sat nervously in the back.

With gentle determination, he started the engine and drove off, navigating through the bustling streets of the city. 

During the drive, Cillian held tightly onto the steering wheel, visibly upset by the entire scenario playing out before him.

With a mixture of anger and despair coursing through his veins, he couldn't fathom how someone close to him had caused such harm to his daughter. Nina, still recovering from the recent attack, found solace in your familiar presence during these difficult times. Sitting quietly in the backseat, she closed her eyes intermittently, attempting to process the harrowing memories of her fight with Kit and the resulting injuries.

Despite the physical pain, the mental anguish continued to consume her consciousness, leaving her feeling fragile and vulnerable. Meanwhile, Cillian's knuckles whitened ever so slightly with rage as he sped through the traffic, his muscles tensing beneath his clothing.  

"I can't believe she did this," Cillian growled under his breath, referring to Kit's manipulative ways. "I should have realised how bad-shit crazy this woman is..." His voice cracked as regret filled his heart once again. He knew full well that his dalliance with Kit was a mistake, but little did he know how far the consequences would reach.

In the backseat, Nina tried desperately to distract herself from the lingering images of the violence laid upon her and the video of her very own father engaging in intimacy with this vile woman.  Every time the memory played out in her mind, fresh waves of nausea swept over her. 

"I am sorry. I shouldn't have confronted her. I just wanted this to stop. My friends have all seen this goddamn video she shared and I wanted her to apologise to you. I wanted her to apologise publicly," Nina explained, tears brimming in her eyes as they approached the hospital entrance. With a mix of sadness and defiance, she recounted the sequence of events leading up to the assault, painting a chilling picture of betrayal and retribution. Her usually bright and confident demeanour dimmed somewhat, replaced instead by feelings of helplessness and frustration at having been physically violated. 

"Nina, none of this is your fault. I shouldn't let it have come to this," Cillian admitted guiltily, turning to look at her through the rearview mirror. "Kit has gone too far." The pain in his voice resonated deeply with everyone present in the vehicle.

Slowly and steadily, the hospital came into view as they pulled into the busy emergency department. Danielle, waiting there already, looking visibly worried, rushed forward to see her daughter as they parked, relieved that they arrived safely. Grabbing the necessary items from the trunk, Cillian followed suit.

"Oh my god sweetheart," Danielle said, taking Nina into her arms when she saw the extent of her injury before turning towards Cillian.

"This is your fucking fault, Cillian! This never would have happened if you hadn't slept with that slut," she shouted angrily, pointing her finger accusingly towards her ex.

But Cillian only sighed heavily, feeling immense guilt as the reality of his actions finally hit home. How could he not see the consequences earlier? Why wasn't he able to prevent this? These questions tormented him as they entered the building.

"Now is not the time and place," you cautioned Danielle who was rageful towards Cillian.

"You are right Y/N, but once Nina is stitched up, I will be dealing with this woman myself. Fuck Cillian, I told you years ago that she is vile, but no, you didn't listen, did you?" Danielle yelled, venting her frustrations on Cillian as they reached the emergency reception area. She pointed a furiously accusatory finger towards him, adding fuel to the fire. It wasn't fair to blame him entirely for what had occurred, yet the weight of responsibility lay heavily on his shoulders. He could almost hear the echoes of countless arguments with Danielle ringing in his ears as they walked along the corridors, carrying Nina's medical files.

"Danielle, please. Not now!" you reminded her again, recognising the importance of focusing on getting Nina treated first. Your tone conveyed a sense of authority, indicating that cooler heads were needed to handle this volatile situation. Despite the turmoil enveloping them, you attempted to bring peace to the chaotic atmosphere.

Once inside the examination room, doctors quickly attended to Nina, checking her vitals, assessing her condition, and preparing the required medicines and equipment. While her mother stood anxiously nearby, Cillian paced outside, consumed by guilt and fear.

All he could think about was how he let everything spiral out of control because of one terrible decision. He kept asking himself, 'How could I have done something so stupid?' and wishing he could take it all back. His mind swirled with regrets and self-loathing, casting a dark shadow over any hope of reconciliation between him and his family.

Meanwhile, Nina remained strong throughout the procedure, determined not to break down in front of others.

She had twelve stitches on her forehead due to the cut inflicted by Kit and multiple smaller lacerations elsewhere. It was quite a sight – a stark contrast to her typically elegant appearance. Yet somehow, this only served to reinforce her resolve to stand tall against adversity.

After hours of treatment, and with a bandaged face, Nina left the Emergency Room accompanied by Danielle, who insisted that Cillian take her home while she would seek out Kit.

"I think it is better for me to address this Cillian! The last thing we want is you being involved in more scandals directly that could make Nina upset," Danielle argued, clearly angry with Cillian. Her concern for her daughter was evident, though her methods sometimes bordered on extreme.

Feeling cornered and guilty beyond measure, Cillian nodded silently, accepting Danielle's verdict without protest.

"This matter should be referred to the police Danielle. You shouldn't be handling this yourself," you voiced concerns, recalling that escalating matters further may lead to dire consequences. But Danielle refused to budge. As she stormed away in search of vengeance, Cillian looked lost and conflicted, grappling with feelings of guilt and powerlessness and, even though he wanted to follow Danielle, he knew that Nina needed him right now.

When Danielle arrived at Kit's home however, Kit was nowhere to be found and this prompted Danielle to file a police report instead that very same night. 

The officer took her statement seriously, promising swift action on the matter. All he needed was for Nina to come in the following day to make a statement as well and then Kit could be dealt with and face legal actions for assault. 

Back at Cillian's penthouse, Nina spent the evening recuperating in bed while Cillian made arrangements for counseling sessions for her. Taking care of her wounds and ensuring she received adequate rest, he offered emotional support whenever needed, knowing he owed her so much after putting her through such trauma. Their bond strengthened considerably amidst these trying circumstances.

"I probably shouldn't go to the US now. I will tell Chris that I can't go..." he stammered, seeing that, in two days, his promotional schedule for Oppenheimer was set to begin in Los Angeles, California next week. But the thought of abandoning his family during this crisis felt unforgiving, considering the depth of emotional turbulence experienced recently. Even though he was tired and drained mentally, deep down, he longed to stay close to those whom he cared most about. It seemed like fate itself was testing his resolve, pulling him in opposite directions - his career versus familial bonds.

"Nice try dad," Nina chuckled, the codeine she took having taken effect.

In spite of her injuries, she managed a small smile at her father's attempt to get out of any press commitments. 

"Yes, Cillian. Nice try!" you laughed before reassuring him that you would be looking after Nina while he was away.

"You have to do this promotional stuff, if you like it or not," Nina continued, playfully mocking him. "Despite, in a week, I will be fine. These painkillers are ace and, no doubt, mum and Y/N will look after me," she added cheerfully, attempting to lift his spirits despite her recent injuries. Feeling slightly reassured, Cillian agreed with a slight laughter, understanding that leaving was unavoidable.

"Okay, yes..." Cillian gave a slight nod, appreciating her determination to push through despite the recent incident. Glancing around the spacious living room adorned with comfortable armchairs and antique wooden tables, he couldn't help but feel grateful for the haven provided by his penthouse apartment. Its plush interior design combined with spectacular city views lent an air of tranquility, offering a welcome respite from the drama surrounding them.

As Nina drifted off to sleep under the warm blankets, she whispered softly to herself, praying for everything to return to normalcy soon but, at least for you and Cillian, normalcy was not something you were meant to experience any time soon as, again, a bound of nausea hit you.

"See, I don't just worry about Nina. I worry about you as well," Cillian confided, revealing vulnerability beneath his stoic exterior seeing that, for the past few weeks, you had been nauseous frequently. 

"I am fine Cillian," you insisted, dismissing his concerns lightly. However, internally, your heart raced with apprehension. What if there's something wrong with you? Is it because of all the stress or...? 

His eyes held concern and love in equal measures, mirroring yours. Reaching out gingerly, he brushed his fingers across your cheek, sending shivers down your spine.

"I will take you to the doctor tomorrow and we will get this checked out. You being sick all the time is not normal Y/N,"

he expressed genuine concern for your health. With his words, warmth radiated into your soul as he placed his hand tenderly upon yours, making sure that his intentions came from a loving place rather than worry and desperation. This display of affection comforted you somewhat, although a lingering sense of unease still persisted.

In response, you smiled weakly, hoping that your partner understood your discomfort. "Thank you, Cillian, but maybe it’s just my body reacting strangely due to everything happening.

Maybe my system is simply adjusting." You tried to convince yourself, but also recognized that Cillian's presence gave you a level of comfort. It allowed you to express your worries freely without feeling judged or burdening anyone else.

He leaned closer, listening attentively, placing a gentle kiss on your temple. “Well, whatever it is, I promise you we will figure it out together," he said before pulling up some pillows behind you.

He snuggled close, letting his arms wrap protectively around you. His embrace warmed your entire body as you nestled deeper into his hold and, in this moment, nothing else mattered.

Tags:

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#cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic

[cinnamon-galaxies]

A Padawan's Confession

Pairings: Obi-Wan x padawan!reader

Warnings/Tags: drama, hurt/comfort, age difference, no (further) romantic interaction

Summary: G/N reader! You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, rest by a campfire overnight during a mission. As your thoughts get heavier each second he senses your trouble and you take the opportunity to announce your decision to leave the order. Because feelings far beyond the boundaries of the Jedi slowly turn you insane as your heart craves for the man who's both the furthest and closest to you....

Words: 1.7k

A/n: This short story is inspired by a one shot I've written many years ago. I hope you like it! Also English isn't my first language so there might be spelling and grammar mistakes in this story!

~~~~~~

The quiet camp fire marked tonight's resting place from your stressful mission. You and your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, sat on broken trunks, your cloaks pulled around you tightly to keep the warmth of the fire around your bodies. But as quiet as the night seemed to be, your mind was the exact opposite. Hundreds of thoughts raced around and kept your pulse high and your tension at a maximum. It was at the time you eventually should be honest with your master and talk to him about your decision to leave the order. Your thoughts have been resolving around this topic for months now and with each day passing you felt more certain to pervade your decision, as the pressure and pain got worse and became almost unbearable.

While you tried to think about the best way to tell him, your master sensed your inner tension. "You seem troubled, Y/N," he observed. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

You hesitated for a brief moment before you nodded. "Yes. Kinda..."

"What's wrong?" Obi-Wan asked, his neutral facial expression slowly turning into concern. He didn't want you to feel bad. He in fact despised it when you were sad or troubled and that is why he always wanted to be there for you, support you and help you through bad times. Of course it was also his responsibility to care for you but through all the year's you've been his Padawan you grew to be so much more for him, something similar to the daughter he never had. And that is a fact he never actually said out loud but it was a silent truth between the both of you.

You let out a deep sigh but it didn't release any of the heavy pressure pushing down on you. To leave the order was a life-changing decision that couldn't be undone. It could be a big mistake—or the best decision you'll ever make. But after all it hurt a lot to even think about saying goodbye.

"I-" you started but a heavy lump in your throat interrupted you. "I can no longer do this." You automatically lowered your voice and turned your face towards the darkness behind the trees to avoid his glance. You felt tears form in your eyes, so you closed your lids and held your breath. There was almost nothing else as awkward as crying in front of your master, a Jedi in accordance with the code. 'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force,' you quoted in your mind realizing you've broken at least half of the five key principles. What a shame it would be if you'd shown your master how much you were guided by your emotions. "I'm sorry master," you said.

Obi-Wan frowned in both confusion and concern. "You're sorry? For what? What is it you can no longer do?" he asked with a calm voice. He was trying hard to hide how much he worried about you right now.

"All of this," you replied. "I made the decision to leave the Jedi order." Out of a sudden, relief flooded your veins as the heavy weight of those words left your soul with every syllable spoken.

Obi-Wan paused. He didn't even realize he forgot to beathe while the shock of your announcement washed over him. "Y/N," he finally managed to press through his lips. "Leaving the Jedi order is a significant decision."

"I know," you replied.

"May I ask why you've come to this conclusion?"

You hesitated. It made you uncomfortable to talk about the reasons. Then again, informing him was the least you could do. You still didn't manage to make eye contact. "I've broken the Jedi principles. Or, to put it better, it gets harder for me to follow them everyday. I can't no longer distract myself from my emotions and act as if I don't feel any affection. My mind starts to think in ways the doctrines of the Jedi dismiss and I'm afraid I'll and up in demise." The tears lingering in your eyes got more but you still managed to hold them back. It was obvious that your master could feel the bunch of emotions cracking through all of these walls you've built up since the beginning of your training. But there was one you could still hide. One particular emotion you hid so well from the outside and the force sensing abilities of the Jedi that you were sure, no matter how many your master could sense, that one particular emotion wasn't one of them.

"Affection, you say?" Your master responded and you nodded. "May I ask what kind of affection troubles you?"

You wish you could say that it was only a deep friendship that guided you to paths different from the force. But it was more. Something way deeper. "It's love," you said.

"Love," Obi-Wan repeated. As he turned his gaze towards the camp fire, you dared to look at him. He was obviously lost in thought. Maybe he was searching for the best response or he was thinking about you, wondering who the person might be that made you struggle this hard you considered to leave the order. "The Force guides us all on unique journeys," he then said. "And there are many that aren't consistent with the Jedi ways. You're correct, affection—especially love—is a bond that leads you on a path in-between dark and light. What could be a strength might at the same time become a weakness. Where love blooms, passion lingers. And where passion lingers, darkness awaits."

You listened to his words. It was the same doctrine you had internalized for years but the way your master chose his words made it sound different this time. You suspected that he hasn't finished his monologue yet so you stood quite, examining his side profile while his attention seemed to be caught be the dancing flames. He in fact hasn't finished yet. "As you should know I won't judge you. It's not your decision if you fall for someone. It's your decision how you deal with it. And if your feelings affect you in a way they could harm you and the Jedi order this might no longer be your journey. So don't be ashamed."

You took a deep breath and turned your gaze to the fire as well. "Thank you," you said and a tear finally released itself from your strong hold and rolled down your cheek.

"For what?"

"For your understanding."

Your master chuckled. "Let me tell you a secret. When I was your age I've been in love as well. Twice. So I know your struggle. But it was my decision to lock those feelings up and stay in the order."

You blinked in shock. Your master, Obi-Wan Kenobi, has once been in love? Well, that was something you would've never expected. But at least he's managed to keep his mind straight. And with that thought you replied: "I don't think I'll ever be able to do the same. It's so hard and the person I'm into is almost always around me." You hesitated, afraid you've said too much. But in the end, it wouldn't matter what you've said the day you announced your decision.

Obi-Wan turned his head to look at you. His blue eyes shimmered in the light of the dancing fire that made his gaze seem even warmer than it already was. "Is it your friend Anakin?" he asked in curiosity and you took a deep breath before you shook your head.

"No. It's not Anakin." And with the words spoken out loud you've finally let the last of all the walls you've built to hide your emotions break into pieces. A warm wave of the force rushed over both of you and the campfire, making it dance uncontrollably fast for a brief moment. You noticed Obi-Wan shift but couldn't certainly say what exactly changed as you allowed him to find out about your feelings for him. Your cheeks immediately turned red and you felt shame rush over you. The emotion behind that wall was the exact reason you wanted to leave. Love for your master, the one who would—and should—never return your feelings. The one who was supposed to care for you, to train you, and who played great value on the Jedi principles. He wasn't even just your master, he was a Jedi master and a member of the high council as well.

Obi-Wan didn't turn his gaze away, his blue eyes now filled with a harsh realization.

Another tear ran down your cheek but you tried your hardest to not look away and keep the eye contact. In the perfect world of your fantasy Obi-Wan would've leaned towards you and captured your lips in a passionate kiss. But this wasn't your fantasy, it was reality. And in reality all he did was sit right in front of you, obviously shocked and speechless—but at the same time comprehending many details of your (probably strange) behaviour in the past. Your stares, the way you laughed particularly often in his presence, you distancing yourself from him after you made a mistake... The ways you've tried to impress him when fighting in battles....

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Obi-Wan finally said with a low voice. He was obviously still speechless.

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... You tried m to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'd never see it again....

You shook your head. "No. Please don't say that as if it was your fault. It's mine. And I'm gonna leave as soon as our mission's over."

"It is your decision how you want to spend your life. But I can't offer you what you want."

"I know," you replied with a cracking voice. You still watched his face, his expression, the small wrinkles on his skin that were a subtile proof for the big age difference between you and him. You studied his blue eyes that still kept all of the warmth he's met you with during this conversation. His beard, the neatly cut hair... Everything inside of you screamed for his affection, his love, his heart. You wanted him to touch you, pull you to his chest and kiss you gently. Obi-Wan was everything you've ever wanted and the one thing you'll never get. So you tried to memorize his face as best as you could because soon you'll never see it again....

#obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan x y/n #obi wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x y/n #obi-wan kenobi x oc #star wars x reader #obi-wan x you #obi-wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi #obi wan x yn #obi wan x oc #obi wan x you #star wars oneshot #star wars fanfic #star wars os #star wars fanfiction #obi wan fanfiction #obi wan star wars #obi wan kenobi x oc #obi wan kenobi x y/n #obi wan kenobi x yn #gn reader #star wars x you #star wars x y/n #star wars x oc #padawan reader #star wars

[pascaloverx]

Rewrite The Stars

Summary: One photo changes your whole life, when you accidentally bump into a celebrity and the world starts to believe that you are a couple.

AO3 LINK next chapter

PREVIEW

Work to achieve your dreams, they say. But what they don't tell you is that even if you work hard, some dreams won't come true. But for tonight, you will believe that your dreams will come true.

"Table six has been ordering the dish for half an hour. You know how these rich people are. If you don't want to lose your job, learn to walk faster." Your supervisor speaks almost shouting at you. It even seems like you're the only one who is a waitress in this restaurant. Five stars, my ass. Obviously at the moment, you can't respond back saying that the service is terrible because half the staff is busy waiting for the big celebrity who is coming to dinner here tonight.

"Yes, chef. I'll walk faster." You rush back with the last two orders you were in charge of taking. You were supposed to be dismissed almost two hours ago but we can't leave until the big star of the night comes. Pedro Pascal.

The man of the moment. Probably the face you've seen the most all year. They're coming to dinner at the restaurant where you work that night, they made a reservation for four. Everyone is speculating that he will bring some romantic interest.

Your manager has simply spent the last three hours warning you that any mistakes today will be resolved with a dismissal. You just can't imagine a worse time.

You almost trip when you're finishing serving the couple who ordered duck in white sauce. The restaurant is in chaos and thanks to that, your manager didn't fire you. You then decide to go outside to get some air, which might help you stay on your feet for the next few hours.

You're breathing chaotically, without any rhythm. You want to escape from this almost claustrophobic restaurant. In your haste, you don't see anything in front of you. You just feel that you bumped into another person's body. Your body was almost thrown to the ground with the impact. And when you looked up, you saw him.

"Mr. Pascal, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." You say it as soon as you realize what you did. An interesting fact is that Mr. Pascal held you tight with his arms so that you don't fall to the ground. If anyone saw from a distance they would think you were hugging each other. You immediately walk away, thinking that if your boss sees this, you're fucked up.

"Are you well? Your forehead is bleeding." He asks, touching his forehead lightly as if he were more worried about that than hiding. I bet he came through the back to avoid commotion.

"That was nothing, Mr. Pascal. You can follow me and I'll take you to your table calmly." You say, ignoring the burning in your head. What's a hurt next to losing this opportunity.

"Are you sure?" Pedro Pascal himself talks to you almost as if you were an alien because you don't allow your pain to show.

"Yes, sir. You don't need to worry about that, worse things have happened to me." You try to improve your expression so that Mr. Pascal can finally enter the restaurant. That's when you notice that you are being watched, by noises from what you imagine are paparazzi. You then take an unprofessional action. You push Mr. Pascal into the restaurant using his body as a shield so that the paparazzi cannot identify him.

"Is this how you treat your customers?" Pascal speaks as you lock the back door. Embarrassed, you turn to face Mr. Pascal after pushing him.

"Mr. Pascal, I'm terribly sorry. But I suspect there are photographers out there. I'm really sorry for the inconvenience." You say almost as if asking for mercy.

"Alright, miss. If you'll take me to my table, I promise to forget about this pushing." Mr. Pascal speaks as he watches you. You feel awkward, but you nod your head positively and lead him to his table.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #unrequited love #fan meets celebrity #Spotify

[zoeykallus]

Hi there! I love your headcanons and I was wondering if I could make a personal request. Let me know if this is a no-go.

I have PMDD, premenstrual dysphoric disorder, basically PMS [premenstrual syndrome] but 20x worse. It usually resolves upon the onset of the crimson wave. But not all the time.

I have been struggling really badly with the deep depression, insomnia, and self-image issues brought on by my disorder.

Do you think we can see how the Batch handles their fem reader S/O struggling with this disorder specifically? And maybe, if it's not too much, a part 2 with some of our favorite regs?

Thank you so much!

Aloha my dear!

Oh, this is a heavy hitter, I know where you are coming from. So many people out there have no idea how freaking much this can affect someone's life. PMS is already a hard thing to deal with, but PMDD brings it to yet another really shitty level. Don't worry, I got you 😊

The Bad Batch x Afab!Reader HCs - Struggling With PMDD

Warnings: Mention of PMDD (premenstrual dysphoric disorder) and its symptoms /Hurt/Comfort/Fluff

_______

AC: I'm using Techs Part first to introduce PMDD and its symptoms to those who might not know what it is. So don't be surprised about Tech's Part being longer than the others, there is a lot of information in there. So please read Tech's part, to understand what this is all about 😊

_______

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

_______

Tech

The first experiences he has with you in this context are frightening for him. Apart from the fact that you suddenly seem like a completely different person to him, he is really worried about you. But Tech wouldn't be Tech if he didn't get to the bottom of this.

It takes him a little while to find the right material.

Premenstrual dysphoric disorder (PMDD) is a much more severe form of premenstrual syndrome (PMS). It may affect women of childbearing age. It’s a severe and chronic medical condition that needs attention and treatment. Lifestyle changes and sometimes medicines can help manage symptoms.

The exact cause of PMDD is not known. It may be an abnormal reaction to normal hormone changes that happen with each menstrual cycle. The hormone changes can cause a serotonin deficiency. Serotonin is a substance found naturally in the brain and intestines that narrows blood vessels and can affect mood and cause physical symptoms.

What are the risk factors for PMDD?

While any woman can develop PMDD, the following may be at increased risk:

Women with a family history of PMS or PMDD  

Women with a personal or family history of depression, postpartum depression, or other mood disorders

Other possible risk factors include lower education and cigarette smoking

Talk with your healthcare provider for more information.

"Healthcare provider?" he mumbles softly between reading, "As if any of us have such a thing"

Symptoms of PMDD appear during the week before menstruation and end within a few days after your period starts. These symptoms disrupt daily living tasks. Symptoms of PMDD are so severe that women have trouble functioning at home, at work, and in relationships during this time. This is markedly different than other times during the month.

There is a chart with symptoms and he worriedly starts to read it.

The following are the most common symptoms of PMDD:

Psychological symptoms

Irritability

Nervousness

Lack of control

Agitation

Anger

Insomnia

Difficulty in concentrating

Depression

Severe fatigue

Anxiety

Confusion

Forgetfulness

Poor self-image

Paranoia

Emotional sensitivity

Crying spells

Moodiness

Trouble sleeping

Fluid retention

Swelling of the ankles, hands, and feet

Periodic weight gain

Diminished urine output

Breast fullness and pain

Respiratory problems

Allergies

Infections

Eye complaints

Vision changes

Eye infection

Gastrointestinal symptoms

Abdominal cramps

Bloating

Constipation

Nausea

Vomiting

Pelvic heaviness or pressure

Backache

Skin problems

Acne

Skin inflammation with itching

Aggravation of other skin disorders, including cold sores

Neurologic and vascular symptoms

Headache

Dizziness

Fainting

Numbness, prickling, tingling, or heightened sensitivity of arms and/or legs

Easy bruising

Heart palpitations

Muscle spasms

Other

Decreased coordination

Painful menstruation

Diminished sex drive

Appetite changes

Food cravings

Hot flashes

His brows are drawn together critically. With a heavy sigh, he says quietly to himself, "Oh boy…"

Tech makes it his business to see that you are examined by a proper doctor, given appropriate medication, and change your diet. He sometimes seems stern and matter-of-fact, but only when he notices you neglecting yourself. Tech also pampers you to counteract the psychological symptoms, with picnics, massages and the like.

Don't worry too much, Tech's got your back. He won't give up on you.

Hunter

His senses already tell him what connections exist with your condition. But of course he is not a doctor and therefore informs himself accordingly without your knowledge, Tech helps him. What he learns frightens him, Hunter is really worried, and he makes it his mission to make this time, these symptoms, easier for you. Apart from making sure you always have the medication you need at hand, he is also much more attentive and caring than usual during this time.

You can let yourself go and not have to worry about anything, Hunter takes everything in hand and has it under control. He is especially gentle and forgiving with you during this time. You mean a lot to him, and he does his absolute best to help you.

He doesn't argue with you when you get your moods, if you want to be alone he respects that, but keeps an eye on you from a safe distance, just in case.

Echo

This sweet man really throws himself into the task of helping you. Whether it's getting your medications, preparing food, massages, and running relaxing baths, Echo has it all covered.

With him by your side, you will want for nothing during this difficult time. He is also not easily scared away, he is as patient as he is stubborn. You don't have to go to the doctor alone, Echo will accompany you.

He organizes your medication, your diet and everything else you need, if you want. If you don't, you must tell him clearly, because Echo will automatically see his task in taking care of everything.

Wrecker

He is warm, and lively. Contrary to the expectations of most, he is also very sensitive and attentive. Of course, he does not miss the fact that something is wrong with you. Of course, he is worried and wants to help.

Talk to him honestly, try not to withdraw, and you will have a steadfast supporter and caretaker in Wrecker. He likes to spoil you, make sure you are taken care of and have your medication.

Wrecker is happy to adapt to you, you just need to communicate with him and let him know what you need. Taking care of you is very easy for him, he likes to do that. Knowing that he can make things easier for you is also good for him in this situation. So confide in him, there is absolutely no reason to pretend in front of him.

Crosshair

He is a bit more complicated at first. Of course, you are incredibly important to him, and he also has a certain empathy, but he often stands in his own way when it comes to emotional, interpersonal things.

At first, he can't really deal with it at all and is looking for some distance at this time. But in a small conversation between brothers, in which Hunter makes it clear to him that his behavior sooner or later can seriously damage your relationship, Crosshair first informs himself more precisely about the existing problem. Finally, he approaches you with the knowledge he has gathered and tries to discuss with you what you can do together as a couple, what he can do as your partner to make the whole thing easier for you.

You talk about medications, doctor visits, relaxation techniques, and home remedies to combat some symptoms. It doesn't take long for the two of you to work out a certain routine that you can both manage and that he can use to help you get through this time okay.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

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@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

#star wars #tbb #the bad batch #clone force 99 #sw tbb #tech #tbb tech #crosshair #bad batch tech #hunter #wrecker #echo #hunter x afab reader #echo x reader #wrecker x reader #tech x reader #crosshair bad batch #bad batch crosshair #echo x you #echo x female reader #hunter x reader #star wars the bad batch #star wars: the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb headcanons

[heich0e]

samu wearing glasses

note: damn... so true.

Osamu starts noticing that by the end of the night, after he's locked up the restaurant, sent the staff home, and sequestered himself away in his office to deal with the admin work that he loathes, that he has a funny pain behind his eyes. He ignores it for a while, blaming long hours and how much he hates bookkeeping (he really ought to hire someone else to do it, he's just been so busy), but after a couple of months it becomes too difficult to ignore.

His doctor tells him the news like it's no big deal. Like a simple eye exam didn't prove to be the first time in Osamu's life that some part of his body failed him; had started to show wear with age (if you ignore the grey hairs he's been strategically plucking every few weeks since the restaurant opened). He's only twenty-eight! Less than three decades old and his doctor is telling him he needs glasses.

He refuses to wear them at first, but the headaches just keep getting worse--starting earlier in the day, and lasting later--and finally he has no choice but to start putting on the little pair of frames he keeps tucked in the back of one of his desk drawers (lest Tsumu ever be snooping and uncover them, and Osamu subsequently never live it down.)

He gets used to them after a while, and doesn't feel quite the same degree of resentment each time he finds himself slipping them on, but he's still resolved never to let anyone know he needs them.

"Miya-san do you have--"

Osamu's head snaps up towards his office door, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose at the sudden movement. You falter where you stand in his doorway, fist raised like it was poised to knock, and tilt your head curiously.

"--glasses?"

Both of you blink at each other in surprise.

Quickly, Osamu pulls his glasses off his face, tossing them aside haplessly on his messy desk as heat creeps up his neck. He didn't realize anyone was still here, certain that everyone had gone home, but yet here you are.

You of all people.

Just his luck.

You clear your throat.

"Uh, sorry, I meant... I just came looking to see if... You have glasses?" you seem to abandon whatever you'd been trying to ask of him after two unsuccessful attempts, shaking your head a little after you finally pose the question that is evidently at the forefront of your mind.

Osamu sucks a little breath of air in through his teeth, contemplates lying, and then nods.

"Yep."

"Since when?" you ask him, still fidgeting in his doorway. You've got your coat on and your bag over your shoulder, meaning you had either been on your way out for the night or had come back to see him for some reason. Osamu wills himself not to focus on how distracting it is when you nibble on the inside of your cheek nervously.

You're his employee. And a damn good one at that. You haven't been serving at Onigiri Miya for very long (three months, two weeks, and nine days--not that Osamu is counting) but you're bright and personable, quick on your feet, don't take shit from snotty customers, and don't completely hate him when he begs you to work a split because someone called off.

The fact that he's very attracted to you is something Osamu has vowed never to act on; valuing what you bring to the restaurant more than the carnal voice in the back of his mind that threatens to lead him into the territory of unprofessionalism. He's your boss, and regardless of how cute you look in the Onigiri Miya uniform, he's willing to leave it at that.

Osamu huffs out a little laugh, scratching behind his ear. "Five months 'er so."

You gape.

"How have I never seen you wearing them?" you ask him, bewildered. "Do you normally wear contacts?"

"Nah." Osamu shakes his head, realizing belatedly he'd taken off his ball-cap and likely had some god-awful hat hair on full display. He quickly ruffles a hand through the short dark strands in hopes it helps. "Just don't wear 'em much."

"That's bad for your eyes, y'know," you say, scuffing the toe of your shoe against the floor. "Can actually make your eyesight worse if you're not wearing them when you need them."

Osamu blinks.

"Really?" he asks, half-skeptical and half in fear.

You nod. "My uncle is an optometrist."

He groans, realizing he's probably been doing more harm than good by not wearing his glasses save for in the privacy of his office.

"Well, thanks fer the info," he says with a little laugh, reaching for his discarded glasses and slipping them back onto his face. He looks up at you from his desk chair, cradling his cheek in his palm as he leans his elbow on his arm rest. "Is there any other reason ya came to my office at eleven o'clock at night? Or just to share the good news about my failin' eyes?"

You laugh a little bit yourself, your nose scrunching up. "I actually came back to ask for a copy of my timesheet from last week. I meant to do it before I left, but I knew you'd probably still be here so..."

Osamu looks around the mess of papers on his desk, shuffling some stuff around until he finds what he's looking for. He holds it out to you, and you take it with an appreciative dip of your head.

"I also figured it'd be good to come back and tell you to try not to stay so late," you say, eyes flickering around the chaos on his work surface (he really, really hates bookkeeping.) "But judging by the scene in front of you I'd say you're gonna be here for a while."

"You'd be right," Osamu laughs, though he does recognize it's at his own expense.

"Well..."--you take a little step back towards his doorway, having shifted closer to him at some point that Osamu can't recall--"...I guess I should head home."

"One of us oughta get a good night's sleep," he agrees, waving you off.

"The couch down in the staff room is surprisingly good for napping," you offer, hitching your bag a little further up your shoulder.

Osamu knows that, actually. He sleeps there at least one night per week. He didn't know you knew that though, and the thought that the two of you had been sleeping in the same spot makes another wave of heat rush up to his face.

"Thanks," he says, dipping his head.

"G'night, Miya-san."

"I told ya to call me Samu. Osamu if ya really can't stomach being familiar with me," he urges you, for what must be the thousandth time since you started working for him.

"Okay," you concede with a smile. "Goodnight, Osamu-san."

It's not exactly what he had in mind, but it works for now.

He offers you a little wave as you step through the doorway, ready to turn his attention back to his mortal nemesis (i.e. the papers on his desk), when you pause.

"Don't feel embarassed about them," you say, your voice soft.

He looks at you curiously, and you point up towards your own face--twirling your finger in a circle around your eye.

"The glasses," you explain, noticing his perplexed expression, "they look good on you."

Osamu feels a palpable knock of his heart against his ribs at the genuine smile you offer him, waving one last time before you slip away down the hall out of sight.

It takes him a full five minutes to collect his thoughts after you leave--his fingers shoved up under the frames of his glasses to press against his aching eyes.

He slumps back in his seat once he finally manages to calm the racing beat of his heart, and slides the bridge of his glasses back up his nose from where he'd knocked them askew.

Maybe glasses weren't so bad after all.

#osamu x reader #osamu x you #miya osamu x you #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu #osamu #hq drabble #hq writing #writing #liv got mail

[dreamcubed]

death by a thousand cuts | fred weasley x reader

song; death by a thousand cuts [taylor swift] pairing; fred weasley x ravenclaw!gender neutral!reader genre; mild angst, fluff, ex2l word count; 3k timeline; prisoner of azkaban warnings; implied insecurities, mentions of relationship neglect summary; past relationships were meant to stay in the past, hence the name. however, it soon became clear that fred weasley wanted you back, and was willing to do whatever it took to fight for your love

masterlist

"i look through the windows of this love even though we boarded them up."

——————————————

Potions was already a bad subject as it was taught by Severus Snape.

The fact that you sat next to your ex-boyfriend only made it worse: it's not like moving was an option, as Snape would simply tell you to get over your petty personal conflicts if you asked. You weren't even on particularly bad terms either, it was simply awkward, although he acted like it wasn't. After all, he was Fred Weasley, one of the infamously confident and extroverted Weasley twins.

You often wished that the relationship hadn't ended, actually, despite the fact you were the one that broke up with him. In your defence, you hadn't done it out of nowhere, as he had neglected your relationship in the favour of pranks one too many times. It sucks when one of the things that made you fall in love with a person is the same thing that ruins your relationship.

He greeted you with a warm smile, like always, when you entered potions for the millionth time in your school career. You gave him a polite smile in return as you took your seat and pulled out your books, processing the awkward atmosphere that really seemed to only be on your end.

"How are you, love?" he asked, like usual.

"Fine, thanks, Weasley. You?"

A streak of hurt flashed across his eyes at your use of his last name, but you weren't looking so you didn't notice. He quickly brightened up again, though, and replied, "Good, actually. Not as good as I was with you, of course."

You graced him with a judgemental glance, "Really? Seems like the best times you had when we were together was when I wasn't there."

"You make it sound like I cheated."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Fred placed his hand on your arm to get you to look at him properly. After you obliged, he spoke, "I'm really sorry I didn't spend enough time with you, Y/N, it wasn't intentional."

"I know, Fred," you sighed, "But I also know that George and your pranks will always be the only things that matter in your life - and that's fine - it just means I can't date you."

"Bu-"

"Alright, silence, everybody," Snape's drawling voice resounded, catching the attention of the class with ease.

You turned away from Fred to get your equipment in order and face Professor Snape, as the last thing you needed at that moment was a house point deduction. Fred didn't try to keep your attention, but he did bring his lip between his teeth in apparent thought.

He had to resolve the situation between the two of you.

***

The following Sunday, you were more than surprised to see Fred in the library - and without George, for that matter. He was perusing the shelves of the charms section; on a normal basis you would have assumed he was looking for aide on pranks, but George would likely have been with him if that was the case. Curiosity got the better of you, so you got up from your study table and walked over to him.

"Fred, what are you doing?"

His eyes were lit up when he turned around to look at you, "Oh, nothing. Just a charms assignment."

You immediately frowned, "Since when do you do assignments?"

"Since you broke up with me and I needed an excuse to be around you."

Rolling your eyes, you pointed at a book called Charms: Gravity's Tricks, and said, "If you're in the same class as Owens, that book'll help you a lot."

He took it off the shelf and beamed at you, "Thanks, love."

Even though he admitted he was really only in the library for you, you were still taken by surprise when he followed you over to your table. He didn't say anything to you, however, and simply took out parchment, a quill, and ink, and began flipping through the book you had graced him with. You had always had a knack for reading upside down, so you were truly surprised to see that when he started writing, he was in fact doing the same essay that your friend Elma Owens had written the day prior.

After watching him write for a couple minutes, you finally turned your focus back to your own essay for muggle studies, but the bewilderment never left you.

His behaviour only got weirder during the next week.

Being a studious Ravenclaw, you were often spending your free time in the bookworm haven of Hogwarts' library: and apparently now Fred was too. It wasn't every day, sure, but about every other day he would join you at your table in almost complete silence. Then he would walk with you to the dining hall and sit next to you on the Ravenclaw table.

Everyone had assumed you were back together, and, to be honest, you weren't entirely sure where you currently stood with him.

***

"How can you tell the twins apart?" Elma asked you, sat next to you on the Ravenclaw table. It was lunchtime, and the Weasley twins were nowhere in sight - most likely up to mischief.

"What d'you mean?" you replied absently, chewing on your chicken drumstick.

"I swear you're one of the only people in this school who just immediately knows if it's Fred or George."

"I dated Fred, El, I had to learn who my boyfriend was."

She rolled her eyes, "But what about them is different?"

You remained quiet for a few seconds, pondering the topic. "They have small differences in their face if you look closely - and George is ever so slightly taller... but the biggest different is how they look at me."

Elma gave you a look that pressed you to continue.

"George just looks at me like a friend - you can see it in his eyes. He obviously cares for me, but there's no spark or adoration there like with Fred."

"Fred looks at you like he loves you?"

You pursed your lips. In your time with Fred, the I love you exchange never occurred, even though you had definitely been ready to say it - at least on your end.

"I don't know," you finally spoke, "Who knows what that boy's thinking?"

"George, probably."

You had to agree.

***

A prank hadn't been pulled in a suspiciously long time, meaning every student of every house - and even a lot of the professors - were on edge. Everyone nervously anticipated being the next victim, as even though the Weasley twins didn't know every person by name, a lot of their pranks were set up as a matter of chance in who came along that corridor next. A little known fact about the red-headed menaces was that they never forgot a victim.

You used to be someone that they would ask for advice on pranks from, as being a Ravenclaw you knew all too much about the ins and outs of the potions and charms that the twins could exploit. Those days ended when you parted with Fred, but for some reason, they appeared to be starting up again. Which made it all that more confusing as to why no pranks had been happening.

"Why is pink such a difficult colour to dye?" Fred asked with a huff, sitting across the table from you in the library, like usual, "This charm works fine with red but I want pink as well."

"That's because pink is a tertiary colour."

He looked at you confused.

"Red is a primary colour, as are blue and yellow, so they're the easiest to dye. With pink you have to simultaneously use the charm for the different colours that make it."

"How do you know that?"

"It's simple colour theory, Fred, you never seen a colour wheel?"

He shook his head.

You sighed, "Don't worry about it."

You watched as Fred continued to work, knowing all too well that it wasn't an assignment, but in fact a prank.

"What do you plan to do with that? Traumatise a first year by permanently dyeing their hair?"

He laughed, "No. Overdone. Amateurish."

"Don't think I haven't noticed the lack of pranks, by the way. Got something big planned?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the reminding jab of hurt in your chest. One of the things that had made you feel so distant from Fred in your relationship was that he refused to tell you about any pranks he was planning. It was his and George's thing, you knew that, you just wanted to be let in on the odd prank here and there - especially as you helped so much with the technical side of them.

Fred sensed your withdrawal and looked at you curiously, as if he was piecing something together in his head. The cogs in his mind were whirring back in time, like he was re-living all the times you looked at him like that and recognising the pattern. Guilt consumed him, and multiplied when he faced the knowledge that this plan in particular he couldn't tell you about - as much as he wanted to make up for that repetitive mistake he made.

He would eventually be able to make up for it - once the plan came to fruition.

***

A major problem with Fred hanging out with you so much was that your body's instincts were reverting back to your habits when you were together. You had to stop yourself from going to his table and greeting him at breakfast, from reaching out to hold his hand when walking down the corridor, and from calling him pet names. You were also struggling to move on from your feelings for him, which left you with only one option.

"Fred, can you please go somewhere else?"

The boy frowned at you, pausing in his movements of sitting down opposite you on the library table. "Why?"

"Because. I can't spend this much time with you."

"It's just as friends, lo-"

"I can't move on from you if you're always here, okay? I need time apart before we can hang out as just friends."

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but decided against it and clamped his lips together, before moving away from the table and into a different part of the library. You watched as he went, feeling guilty for pushing him away like that, but you knew that temporarily it was how it had to be.

***

"Don't feel bad, babe, you need to heal," Elma said to you during lunch, "He may not have been an ideal boyfriend, but he's not the type to take things to heart."

"I know," you sighed, "I just feel guilty."

"He's the one that should feel guilty."

"I think he does, El. That's why he's been spending so much time with me," you stared at your sandwich, "Him choosing George and pranks over me all the time was why I broke up with him, and now I'm pushing him away when he's prioritising me."

"Yeah, but he should've done that from the get-go. He's had his chance, you don't owe him forgiveness or a second one."

"I mean, yeah, but- like- I think he genuinely wants to make up for it and change for the better."

Elma shook her head, "Nope. He keeps up this amazing boyfriend façade until you take him back, and the second you do he reverts back to his old self. It's the classic cycle."

"That just doesn't seem like Fred."

"Face it, babe, your magical love story with him is over."

"Then why am I still writing pages?"

Elma deadpanned you for a few moments before you both burst out laughing.

"Now that was cringey," she said between laughs.

"I struggled to say it with a straight face. Just wanted to lighten the mood."

She nodded understandingly, "What say we steal some fire whiskey from the kitchens for tonight? It's Friday."

"Sounds like a plan."

***

Like any other morning, you walked down to the Great Hall sleepy and cold from crawling out your bedsheets. However, unlike every other morning, the people headed the opposite direction had their eyes glued on you. The closer you got to the hall, the more people were watching you, so after checking your reflection in a window and seeing it was normal, you concluded these people had seen something at your destination.

Your hypothesis turned out to be correct when you entered the place of eating.

Each and every head of hair sat along the benches was coloured a shade of pink or red: all eyes were on you. You turned around, as if in some desperate attempt to see if someone else was the subject of everyone's attention, only to notice how even the eyes of the people behind you were on you. You also noticed that the second a person stepped out of the hall, their hair resumed its usual colour.

Was your hair pink or red?

You pulled a lock of your hair into your peripheral, to see it remained its natural colour. Maybe that was why people were staring - no, it couldn't be, people had been staring since you left the Ravenclaw tower, and why would you be the one person that the charm didn't work on? As much as you didn't want it to be, this situation was obviously centred around you.

Scanning the hall thoroughly for the first time, you noticed Fred in all his red-haired glory sat on the steps leading up to the professor's table. Except, it wasn't his usual red-haired glory: it was the actual colour red, rosy and prominent when contrasted with the grey stone background behind him. You took the side of your mouth within your teeth and began chewing in anticipation of what was to come.

"Y/N, love," he greeted you as you walked towards him.

"What is all this, Fred?"

"An attempt to truly get your attention," he replied, "And a way of apologising and making new promises with hundreds of witnesses that can hold me to them."

You frowned, mindful of the silence within the Great Hall.

Realising you weren't going to say anything, he continued, "Y/N, I'm sorry that I neglected you too much when we were together. I didn't mean to choose pranks over you - and if I'd back then realised that I was head over heels in love with you, I probably wouldn't have. They do say that you don't know what you have until it's gone - and also that distance makes the heart grow fonder. I can't pretend it's okay when it's not."

You processed his words, and waited for him to say more.

"I know that asking for a second chance is already being selfish, but since I do now know how much I love you and how much I want to be with you, I figured I'd regret it for the rest of my life if I didn't at least try. I don't want you to be the one that got away."

"Fred, I-"

"And I don't want you to take this hall of witnesses as peer pressure to take me back, I'm fine being publicly humiliated, I just wanted them here as reassurance that I have full intentions to stick to my word and make you my number one priority. Seriously, if you take me back and I neglect you again, everyone in here has full permission to bully me and I won't retaliate."

Your expression was unreadable to him, which led him to say a concluding sentence.

"So, Y/N, my love, can I? Can I be your boyfriend again?"

Letting out a sigh, you met his eyes firmly and began speaking, "Fred, I never wanted to be your number one priority - even from the get-go it was obvious that your dream career and your unbreakable twin bond with George would be your main focus. It would have been selfish of me to demand a higher rank - I just wanted some time when I was all you looked at, all you cared about - Rowena, even just one day a week where I had you all to myself was what I wanted. And to maybe be let in on the odd prank here and there." You took a breath. "It just sucked to feel like I loved you but you didn't love me."

The sincerity in Fred's warm eyes as you talked was making you fold.

"I never stopped wanting to be with you. I never stopped loving you. The hurt just got too much... So, if I take you back, that's all I ask for. One day a week just for us, and an invite every now and then to do a prank with you and George. But, I can't say that we'll be alright, because I don't know - I can't be sure that you won't treat me the same as you did before."

"Love, I intend to give you so much more than that."

You smiled, finally noticing the tears pricking in your eyes: how your voice had remained so stable, you had no idea. "Then okay."

Fred's face lit up in the shiniest grin you had ever seen bestowed upon him. He was then rushing forward to pull you into an embrace, crashing his lips on yours in the process, as the hall burst into roaring cheers. When you separated from the kiss, you looked past Fred to see McGonagall, Dumbledore and Hagrid all sat at the professors' table with smiles on their faces, which embarrassed you more than the student audience did.

"I never thought I'd see McGonagall with pink hair," you said to Fred, still basking in his warmth.

"I think the only reason she hasn't told me off is because I've been driving her up the wall since the break up."

You hummed, "Someone has to keep you in line."

"And I'm so glad it's you, love."

———————————————

masterlist

written; 02/07/2022 —> 20/07/2022 published; 20/07/2022 edited; —/—/——

#fred weasley #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley fic #hp fanfic #hp #hp oneshot #hp oneshots #harry potter #harry potter fic #ravenclaw reader

[overshelter]

REVIEW: The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System

WARNING: Contains numerous SPOILERS, so CAUTION!

Okay. What can I say about this baby? I am simply OBSESSED and FOURTEEN for Luo Binghe. He is without a doubt my protégé, my precious, my everything! I would give my soul, my ass, my dog... EVERYTHING FOR HIM AND NEVER SORRY!

You may think I'm exaggerating, but I'm not. He's just a baby who needs a lot of love and a few therapy sessions. And, okay, maybe a few Love Yourself lessons with Kim Namjoon... I'm getting off track, but AGAIN...! Obviously, he's not my only favorite thing about this story. I love Shen Qingqiu. Like, SO MUCH! He has an extremely fun, attractive and captivating personality. Even if that personality is represented more internally, and externally, he's just trying to keep a poker face. Yet he's still that protagonist who will make you laugh at REALLY dubious moments – Mountain Maigu, I'm looking at you! – and make you question your own sanity because of it. But that's precisely why you simply can't help wanting to continue. Nor can you forget the fact that SV is very gripping when you realize how deep it goes into the characters' emotions. Especially, for me, when we see one in particular. Luo Binghe has a psychological journey that is the equivalent of a rollercoaster ride. He's broken, he's breaking and then getting back on his feet, only to fall a little further. It was really painful to get to the final chapters and see how clearly destroyed he was. How hurt, lonely and desperate he was. There were moments when I really just wanted to pick him up and smack that dear author. But, well... there wasn't much I could do. At least she didn't trick me and it was a happy ending. Well, I've already talked about the main couple – more about Binghe, but what can I do if I just love him so much? –, now I'm going to bring up another topic that I loved. The fact that SV is a great satire on novels with studly protagonists with a harem, where everything can be summed up and solved with sex. Mo Xiang Tong Xiu hit all the right notes here, bringing situations where it was possible to feel the criticism with an almost cruel veracity. The Maigu Mountain scene was undoubtedly the highlight of this satire. Because in it we have a Binghe completely fucked up emotionally and psychologically, without any conscience, with a fucked-up sword controlling him and a Shen Qingqiu who thinks that the whole situation can be solved with sex. Just because that's "common sense" in this kind of novel. And what really resolved everything in the end was the dialog. Something very simple, right? Simple, but difficult to execute. Even more so when you've had an eternity of misunderstandings between you and the other person. And that's precisely the situation BingQiu finds himself in almost from the start of the novel. And, of course, with a little extra help from the system that seemed obsessed with making everything worse. Honestly? I'm shocked at how smoothly and well things turned out. It could have been worse, believe me. Well, apart from that, another thing that stuck with me was the writing. God, I could drown in this shit and I'd still be begging for more! MXTX has a writing style that is really extremely captivating and that doesn't let you go once it's got you! Even more so thanks to the fact that you can REALLY feel the development and growth of the relationships between the characters. Both with the main characters and the secondary ones. Some may not get much attention, but you'll definitely still feel captivated by them at some point. The comedy here is also pure gold! I remember losing my breath and choking up several times while reading... So, to sum up... Read it. READ SV AND JOIN ME IN THE CIRCLE OF PROTECTION FOR LUO BINGHE!!!

#luo binghe #svsss #shen qingqiu #mxtx novels #mxtx #mo xiang tong xiu #the scum villain's self saving system #novel #bingqiu #novel review #novel recommendation #danmei #gay #book review #book recommendations #scum villain #mxtx svsss #yaoi #yaoi bl #shen yuan #luo bingmei

[lionheartedmusings]

still on my theory bullshit, but for all we (and the ccs) joke that the code likes to show up when phil is around… what if that's on purpose?

from what i gather, phil was the first player to get illegal items like netherite tools and enchanted diamond armor (please correct me if i'm wrong) and that's when the code came after him. it tried to kill him multiple times… but it never asked for the items back. we can speculate that that's what it wanted, but why?

what if it was never about the items? as fit tweeted, everyone is on the island for a reason, and phil came from a world where he was an active anarchist. he had the balls to climb up to a dungeon and loot illegal items — he showed initiative, bravery, and a big fuck you to the rules — what if the code wasn't trying to kill him so much as test his nerve? we know the code wants people off the island, what if it saw in phil someone who was ballsy enough to stand up to the federation.

mind you, it attacked phil, fit, and threatened ramon but it could've done a lot worse than it did. it tested them, and tested them, and pushed until it seemed satisfied enough to provide them with the coords to luzu's computer.

imagine if the computer is in fact the way to get them off the island somehow like i theorised before, and the code handed them the answer on a platter on day 2 and then… nothing. it took a leap of faith and assumed this would resolve quickly, and then its very clear (to it) message is ultimately ignored. people get stagnant, resigned, attached to the eggs and from its perspective, no one's listening to it… so it gets aggressive. it pushes.

it attacks phil and the eggs near luzu's computer because he stayed behind, didn't join the group. maybe, in one way or another, it's trying to punish phil for not listening.

#qsmp #qsmp theory #q!philza #q!fit

[lewishamil10n]

46 …out of envy or jealousy + wincest

For the kiss ask game?

46. out of envy or jealousy

It's not everyday that Dean finds people that are even taller than Sam. It's rarer still that he finds them in a group, instead of one at a time.

And finding them surrounding Sam? That has not happened before.

They're not a threat. This much Dean has deduced the moment he set eyes on them. They're huge, yes — big bulky men in racing leathers and long pulled back hair and handlebar mustaches, biceps bulging with faded tattoos stretched onto them. They would look menacing, if Dean hadn't seen worse. The leather and metal studs look is not exactly friendly, though, even to hunters.

The strangest part is this — they are all sitting in a circle around Sam at the bar, while he holds on to his drink, his face pink. He's smiling, a little awkward but not uncomfortable, and Dean can tell that while the attention is unexpected, he's not entirely averse to it.

He pastes a smile to his face as he approaches, clearing his throat when he's close enough to the group. As intended, it makes Sam notice him. Dean takes a moment to feel warm at the way Sam's face lights up, his smile growing as he sees him.

"Dean!"

"Heya, Sammy." He smiles back. "Made some new friends?"

Sam blushes again. "Yeah," he says. "Um. Dean, this is..."

"We're the local biking club," says one of them, the one sitting closest to Sam. He also happens to be the biggest.

"Right," says Sam. "And this is Dean," he adds.

"You two are new here, ain't ya?" asks another one, to the other side of Sam. There's no space for Dean to sit, a fact which irks him.

"It's been a couple years," Dean answers.

"Campbells, right?"

Sam nods.

"Have we met before?" Dean asks, with the nicest smile he can muster up.

"Nah," says the first guy, shaking his head. "Heard about y'all from Linda at the bakery. She didn't mention how cute this one is, though." He elbows Sam, who almost falls off the barstool.

"Sorry," says the second one, catching Sam. "Bill over there don't know his own strength."

Dean doesn't know about that, but he's pretty sure if this keeps up he'll find out about Dean's strength. He hopes it doesn't come to that; he could take them, probably, but he wouldn't escape unscathed. Still, if it has to be done for Sam's honor... he will. Without hesitation.

"Sorry," Bill echoes.

"'S fine," Sam says. He's blushing again. If this is what a tiny compliment does to him, Dean really should get in on that action. He's got to immunize Sam so that this doesn't happen again. He resolves to shower Sam in compliments from here on out, and hopes it won't make Sam check him for possession.

The idea gets pushed to the back of his mind fairly quickly, however, when Bill leans in again. "So, as I was sayin' before," he says, and Dean gets the sense he's interrupted a conversation. Good, he thinks smugly.

"Um, were you?" Sam asks. Bill isn't in his personal space, so he doesn't look very put off, but he does look awkward again. Dean notes that while the group is nearby, it's only Bill and his friend who are talking to Sam. They've seemingly taken care not to pen him in or force themselves into his personal space, and none of them are touching him. It seems to be just talking, for now, and Dean's glad they're respecting Sam.

Then Bill says "Would you be interested in dinner? I make a mean meatloaf."

"Dinner?" Sam repeats.

Bill nods. "Doesn't have to be at my place. Could be anywhere." He looks nervous.

Sam opens his mouth to respond, but Dean, all his goodwill having vanished, gets there before him. "He's spoken for," he says loudly.

"Wait, really?" asks the second guy. Bill's wingman, guesses Dean.

"Yeah," says Dean, still loud.

"Are you?" Bill asks Sam.

"Uh, yeah," Sam says after a moment. "Guess so," he adds, turning to give Dean a look.

"By?" asks Bill's wingman.

"Relax, Jim," Bill says. "He doesn't have to tell us. Sorry, Sam," he adds. "I didn't know."

"No, it's fine," Sam begins. "I didn't really find the chance to say—"

"And it's fine, Jim can ask," Dean cuts in. He's just had an idea, something even better than compliments and with less chances of having holy water splashed in his face. "'S me, Jimbo."

Jim looks confused. "What?"

"He's spoken for by me," Dean clarifies, and makes eye contact with Sam. This okay?

Sam gives him the minutest of nods.

Dean goes for it.

He leans in, tilting his head down to kiss Sam, who's still seated. It's not something he would have considered doing in public, before — but now, with Sam's mouth on his, he thinks he definitely needs to step his game up.

Someone in the back wolf-whistles. Nearby, someone mutters, "I thought they were brothers?"

"Nah, married, I think," replies someone else. "'S why they got the same last name."

"Why not both?" murmurs Dean against Sam's mouth, and can't help but grin at the way it makes Sam laugh, soft and bright.

#asks #fandom hoarder #ask game #my writing #wincest #supernatural #thank u so much for the prompt !! i had fun with it omg