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thedevilssinner · 7 months

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I wanna share something because I don't want to suffer alone with my thoughts 😅

It's one of the scenarios where Tav knew Astarion before he was turned, but I've never read anything where it played out like this.

I apologize if something is wrong, English is not my native language.

Imagine that Tav is an elf and Astarion's lover before he was turned.

They're devastated when they finds out that Astarion has been killed. Mourning his death for a very long time and even moving away from Baldur's gate because everything reminds them too much of Astarion.

They know that all their happiness and love are gone. No one can fill the void that Astarion's death has brought them.

And now, two hundred years later, they stand on the beach, the sun beating down on their head, the burning Nautiloid at their back and before them... Astarion?

Only it's all wrong, his eyes are red and he's pale... paler than he's ever been.

Anger rises up in Tav. How dare some shapeshifter even take on Astarion's form after their beloved has been dead for 200 years?

And do a bad job at it!

Before the pale creature could even call for help again, Tav lunged at him with an angry cry, surprising the imitation and truckling it to the ground, dagger pressed to it's throat while they straddled his body. "How dare you?! How dare you to take his form?! Show me who you really are... now!" They command, surprising even themselves with their actions. But they couldn't stop... not when someone is using Astarion's face for gods knows what.

"Darling, there seems to have been a little misunderstanding. I don't know what you're talking about, and I'd appreciate it if you'd remove the dagger from my neck." The shapeshifter replies, his voice smooth and flirtatious and so unmistakably Astarion's that it hurts, and Tav presses the dagger a little harder against his neck.

"Shut up, shapeshifter!" Tav shouts at him, gaze anchored on that so familiar yet different face. "Where did you even get his face?! His voice?!" They ask angrily, the hand holding the dagger starting to shake. "You have no rights to pretend you're Astarion when he's... when he's gone. And to do it badly!" They continue, still angry but deep seated sadness linger behind.

The shapeshifter's eyes widen, opening his mouth as if he wants to say something, Tav noticing the fangs there and even worse idea that him being a shapeshifter, starts to creep into their mind.

"Tav?" Fake Astarion finally speaks, saying their name as if he were saying it for the first time in a long time, tasting it on his lips. The previous flirting gone. Instead he looked confused and as if just now he remembered something that was hidden in his mind. "You are them, aren't you? Gods, how could I forget... so beautiful." His red eyes glide along Tav's face, his voice nothing than a whisper. He's clearly lost in his head and Tav swallows thickly, realisation slowly grasping their mind but they fight against it.

"No, stop! Stop it! You can't be him. You can't... he's dead and your eyes are wrong. You're wrong." Tav says, their body starting to shake all over, threatening to cut him by mistake with the dagger still against his neck.

But now it's easy for 'the shapeshifter' to take Tav's wrist and move their hand away from his neck, easily wrenching the dagger from their fingers and tossing it aside. His lips stretch into a sad smile.

"That's what vampirism do to you, my love." Astarion says ever so softly, the deepest pain and sadness etched in his voice and Tav knows, feels it in their soul, that he is telling the truth.

So that's how Tav meets Astarion again, this encounter more painful and bittersweet than anything else.

They stay on the beach for a little while, Tav crying their heart out and Astarion trying to hold back his own tears. Both of them not expecting something like this to happen.

(Sorry if Astarion seems ooc.)

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion x gn tav #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x gn reader #baldur's gate tav #baldur's gate astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #tav bg3 #bg3 astarion #bg3 writing #bg3

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in-a-nook-with-a-notebook · 10 months

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Use Your Words

Franchise: Marvel (Spider-Man: Across The Spider-Verse)

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x male reader (reader's pronouns are he/him/his)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: smut, sub!Miguel, dom!reader, office sex, door unlocked, loud Miguel, breeding kink, Miguel has a praise kink, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, anal fingering, reader referred to as sir, Miguel's claws, Miguel's fangs, minor degradation, minor angst (reader's been worried about Miguel), fluffy aftercare

Summary: Miguel had been teasing you all day, the little shit. You knew that he knew damn well what he was doing. And he knew exactly what would happen when you caught him alone that night.

A/N: Requested by an irl of mine @sixatrocities ! This is my first smut that I'm actually posting so bear with me (is it still considered a one shot when it's over 3k words??) also I myself do NOT speak Spanish (English, French and a bit of Italian but not Spanish) so most of what Miguel says is directly from Google Translate and I'm so sorry if I messed up - this was also written as though Miguel’s suit is like a physical one as opposed to what I assume is nanotech somehow in the movie

You’re in a meeting with various other members of the Spider Society. This includes Jessica, Hobie, Pavitr, Gwen, Peter and Mayday. And of course, you, Miguel and Lyla. You lean back in your chair at one end of the long table, farthest from where Miguel is at the other end. He’s mostly stopped his teasing, other than shooting you mischievous looks from across the table when no one’s paying attention.

“Any questions?” Miguel says finally, having finished his explanation about the next mission. You know he can feel your gaze burning into him, but he pointedly ignores it. No one says anything, clearly satisfied with the information given.

“Class dismissed,” you say sarcastically. Everyone begins to leave without a word. You turn your eyes on Miguel’s AI. “Lyla, take the night off,” you say. “I need to… discuss some things with Miguel. One on one.”

As Lyla blips out, Miguel swallows hard, finally looking up at you.

“You guys alright?” Peter asks on his way out.

“We’re fine, Pete,” you say, your gaze trained on Miguel’s. His eyes are dilated so much you can’t discern the black of his pupils from the brown of his irises as he scans your face. “Don’t worry about it. Have a goodnight, man, say hi to MJ for me.”

“…Alright,” he replies, though he sounds slightly unsure. “Say bye, Mayday.”

You turn to look at the young redhead, a sweet smile crossing your face as you wave to her. You nod to Peter as he slips out the door.

And then there were two.

“Y/N-”

“Miguel,” you say, your voice bordering on a warning. You slowly cross the room to where he’s standing at the wall. He begins to back away when you get too close, backing up so far that he ends up pressed between you and the wall. You place your palm flat on his broad chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your fingertips.

“What was that?”

“What, er, what was what?” He asks in a tight voice. His eyes flicker from your eyes to your lips and back again.

“You know exactly what you were doing, O’Hara.”

Miguel’s breath hitches in his throat. “I’m-”

“We’ve talked about this, haven’t we?”

Miguel nods quickly. “Mhm.”

“So you know what comes next, then, hm?”

He nods again. “Mhm.”

“Your office,” you state. “Now.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

————————

You follow close behind Miguel as the two of you walk back to Miguel’s office. You say hello in passing to some of the people you pass, like Ben and Margo, prolonging how long Miguel has to wait for the consequences of his actions.

When you reach the office, Miguel moves to lock the door behind the two of you. You catch his wrist before he can touch the doorknob.

“No,” you say.

“But-”

“Miguel.”

“…Yes, sir.”

You gesture for him to go to his desk and you notice him shift his suit a little. You follow him to the desk. He turns around to say something, but you pin him between you and the desk before he can get a word out, his hands bracing himself on the edge of the surface. The proximity gives you both some friction between your respective suits. Miguel sucks in a breath when you grind against him, chewing on his bottom lip. You can see his sharp fangs outlined against his soft pink lip while he watches you carefully.

“You can’t be a tease in the middle of a meeting, baby,” you say in a low voice.

“I’m sorry,” Miguel says breathlessly.

“No you aren’t,” you murmur. “That was bad, Miguel.”

“I’ll be good,” he says desperately. “Por favor, señor, I’ll be good for you.”

You raise an eyebrow in challenge and feel him practically melt underneath you. “Take the suit off, sweetheart.” You step back to allow him to free himself from the confines of his suit. He’s soon left in his boxers, watching you for his next instructions.

“So handsome…” you whisper. You step towards him again, ghosting your fingers over his warm bare skin. He shivers under your touch. “Just begging to be fucked, aren’t you?” You hook a finger under the waistband of his underwear. A whine escapes his lips before he can stop it. “Use your words, baby boy.”

“Please,” he whimpers.

“Please what, Miguel?”

He squirms a little under your hand. “Please fuck me, I need you inside me…”

You guide him back to the desk, framing his body as he leans against it. You can feel his hard, clothed cock against your covered crotch. He tries to grind against you, desperate for a little more friction, but you gain bruising grip on his hips, holding him in place.

“I didn’t say you could move.”

“Por favor, señor, necesito tu polla dentro de mí,” Miguel begs.

“Patience, darling,” you say. You reach around Miguel’s broad frame and push everything off his desk. He looks like he’s about to object, his mouth opening to say something, but the look you give him tells him to keep it to himself. “We’ll fix it later,” you assure him quickly. His tense body relaxes a little.

In mere moments, you rid yourself of your own suit, reaching for the secret compartment of one of the drawers of Miguel’s desk. The two of you have fucked in his office on more than one occasion, so he keeps some condoms around just in case. As you move to withdraw one, Miguel’s thick fingers curl around your wrist. You look back at him.

“Miguel?” You say in a teasingly questioning tone.

“Just your cock,” he whispers. You drop the condom and close the drawer without looking away from him.

“You want me to breed you,” you say. Miguel chews on his lip nervously but he nods.

“Yes, fuck, please.”

“You love the idea of that, don’t you?” You mutter, leaning close to his face. “The thought of being fucked full of my cum to have my kids? Is that what you want?”

Miguel whimpers as you press yourself against him. “Y-Yes, sir…”

A smirk crosses your face. “Good boy.” Your hand moves upwards to thread your fingers into Miguel’s hair. You tug his head back and a gasp tumbles from his lips. Your lips attack his neck, sucking hickeys from the bottom of his jaw down to his collarbone. As you move further down, your lips attach to one of his nipples. A sharp whine escapes him, his body arching into you. He grips your shoulders.

“Fuck,” he whimpers.

One of your hands, the one that had been hooked under his waistband, slips into his boxers, gently grabbing his hard cock while your mouth stays on his chest.

“Ay, dios mío,” he moans. “Please, sir, fuck me, I need your cock so bad, please…!”

You tug his boxers down around his ankles, letting his dick spring free of its confines. Miguel kicks them away as you shed yours too. You stick three fingers in Miguel’s mouth.

“Suck,” you order. That skillful tongue of his swirls around your digits, watching you in desperation. You stroke your cock a few times while you watch Miguel. “Such a good boy for me, baby. So obedient.” You take your fingers away. “Lay back on the desk,” you tell him.

He shifts to sit on the edge of the desk, wincing at the feeling of the cold surface under his bare ass, then lays down on his back, his legs spreading automatically for you. You run one of your wet fingers around his puckered hole and he shivers. You push one finger into his entrance and Miguel moans loudly at the feeling, gripping the edge of the desk above his head.

“So tight for me, darling, so perfect,” you murmur. You pump your finger in and out of his hole, soon adding the second one. Miguel’s mouth falls open, his moans getting more and more high-pitched with your every move. You curl and scissor your fingers inside him and soon his legs are trembling on either side of you. “Can’t wait to breed this tight hole of yours, fuck…” You add your third finger and Miguel already looks like he could cum.

“You think you’re ready?” You ask him.

“Yes, fuck, yes.”

“Use your words, baby boy. Please what?”

Miguel whines as you withdraw your fingers. “Please breed me, I need it!”

You quickly grab a little bottle of lube from the desk drawer, coating your dick in the cold substance. You toss the bottle to the side when you’re finished with it. You place one of Miguel’s legs over your shoulder, lining your shaft up with his entrance.

You push in slowly, watching Miguel for any signs of discomfort. His sharp claws dig into your back. His eyes roll back and his lips part, letting out one of the most beautiful moans you’ve ever heard.

“Good boy, such a good boy, taking me so well,” you say, making sure every inch of you is inside his hole.

“Oh, fuck, you’re so big…”

“You can take it, I know you can,” you say as you bottom out. Miguel whimpers. You stay still for a few moments to let him adjust. When he looks up at you with red-tinted, lust filled eyes, you watch him.

“Move,” he whispers. “Please.”

“As you wish.”

You thrusts start slow, but once you start to see your dick bulging in his stomach, you increase your speed. Miguel’s loud moans fill the air, mixing with the sound of skin slapping on skin while you fuck into him. You rest your hand over his stomach bulge. “This what you wanted?” You ask. “Wanted me to fuck you like a needy little whore to be bred?” You thrust into him particularly roughly, eliciting another moan from him.

“S-Sí, señor- ah, fuck…!”

“You just wanna be filled up with my cum, don’t you? Wanna have my kids, huh?”

“Please, please, please,” Miguel begs breathlessly.

“This tight little ass of yours is gonna be my personal cum dump,” you state with a sharp snap of your hips. You can tell from the moan he releases and the way he grips your shoulders that you hit his prostate. “That feel good? You like it when I say I’m gonna fill you up?”

He almost looks like he’s in a haze as he reaches towards his cock. You slap his hand away. “No touching,” you growl, hitting his prostate again.

“P-Please, sir, I’m- I’m so close!”

“Oh yeah?” You taunt. “Gonna cum without your dick touched?” You emphasize each word with a sharp thrust.

“Señor, por favor, es demasiado!”

“Take it, you little slut,” you growl, gripping his hips in a way that’ll leave bruises. “Gonna fuck you so full of my cum, baby boy.”

“Please, please, I need to cum…!”

“Cum for me, Miguel,” you order, moving one of your hands to wrap around his cock.

It takes only one stroke from you and he’s screaming your name, cumming all over his chest and your hand. The feeling of his hole clenching around your cock almost sends you over the edge, but not yet. You work him through his orgasm, stroking his shaft as you milk him. Your hand doesn’t cease its movements after he’s finished. He begins to squirm underneath you.

“Señor,” he whines. “Es demasiado, I can’t take anymore!”

“You can and you will,” you state, once again increasing the speed of your thrusts. You can feel the coil in your stomach begin to tighten.

“Señ- oh, mi maldito dios!” He exclaims when you swipe your thumb over the sensitive tip of his cock. “Santa mierda!”

“I’m close, baby, you’re doing so well for me,” you say in a low voice, fucking him with everything you’ve got. “You’re gonna take it all and you’re not gonna spill a drop, got that?”

“Sí, sí, sí- oh mierda… jodidamente arruinarme…!”

All you have left in you to say is growling out curses as you get yourself off with Miguel’s hole. Your hand is no longer on his cock, but bending his legs so his knees are up to his chest, giving you an even better angle at his prostate.

“Y/N, sir, please!” Miguel shouts. “Please, cum inside me, please…!”

With your hand on his stomach again, you feel the coil in your stomach snap. Your thrusts falter. “Fuck, Miguel!” You yell, burying your cock to the hilt in his ass, cumming harder than you have in a while. You can feel Miguel squirming underneath you, his hole clenching around you as he cums again suddenly. He’s trembling beneath you. Your balls drain, your cum painting his insides white. You see a bulge in his stomach where your cum is and feel a sense of satisfaction. You stay inside him for a moment, revelling in the feeling of having bred him.

“Good boy,” you say in a low tone. “Gonna keep that all inside, sweet boy?”

“Yes, sir,” Miguel murmurs, looking thoroughly fucked out. His claws retract and his hands drop to his sides. Your shoulders burn where his claws had dug into your skin, but you’ve always loved getting to see the marks he leaves behind.

“Good boy, Miguel, so good for me.”

You lean down and press a deep kiss to his soft lips. Your tongue pokes into his mouth, feeling his fangs. You grin into the kiss. When you pull away, he takes your hand that had been jacking him off and licks off the excess cum that had been left when he had climaxed, and damn if it wasn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen.

“Let’s go home and get you cleaned up, babe,” you say gently.

You carefully help Miguel to his feet, finding his boxers on the floor. You have to help him back into them, considering he can barely move or walk properly. You help him out his suit back on as well. He hisses at the feeling of his oversensitive cock rubbing against the fabric of his underwear. You tug on your boxers and your suit as well. You know you’ll have to wash or replace both of your suits, considering there’s likely cum all over the inside of Miguel’s now, but how else were the two of you supposed to talk back to your apartment? Naked?

As tempting as it is to show everyone that Miguel isn’t so scary under the right circumstances, you wouldn’t do that to him. Plus, you’d like to keep that sight for yourself.

You have to support Miguel as the two of you walk, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Anyone who questions his stiff movements look to you for an answer. “Rough mission,” you reply with a smirk.

————————

Miguel leans against the wall next the door to your shared apartment, waiting for you to dig out your key. You do about 75% of the Macarena to locate it, jamming it in the keyhole and letting the two of you in. You lock the door behind you when you’re both inside.

“How you feeling, hot stuff?” You tease gently, giving Miguel a once-over.

“Sticky,” he admits quietly.

You grimace. “Sorry. Shower?”

“Can’t stand properly,” he says, a tone of humour in his voice even though you can tell he’s still feeling pretty stiff.

“Bath?” You suggest. He nods tiredly.

Miguel uses the wall to hold himself up as the two of you make your way to the bathroom. You walk more quickly so as to get the water running. While the tap is on, the water warming up, you move to help Miguel get rid of his suit again. You set it by the door so you can remember to wash it later. You do the same with your own. As you help Miguel out of his boxers, he sucks in a breath through his teeth; his cock is still sensitive and you’d just accidentally brushed it with your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, cupping his cheek with your hand.

“’S’alright,” he mumbles. He turns his head, pressing a gentle kiss to the heel of your hand. You smile at him, then finish helping him undress. You set his underwear aside with his suit, again doing the same with your own.

You lean forward and softly connect your lips with Miguel’s in a loving kiss.

“I love you,” you murmur.

“I love you too, mi vida.”

“In all seriousness, though, are you alright?”

“Soy perfecto, querido,” he says assuringly. “A little achy, maybe, but I’m alright.”

“If I ever go to far-”

“I’ll tell you. Promise.” He kisses you again.

The two of you slip into the warm water, Miguel resting between your legs and leaning his back against your chest. You press a kiss to the back of his ear and he hums contentedly.

“Comfortable?” You ask. Miguel nods.

You help him clean up the mess you’d both made, happy to feel him relax under your touch. He’s been tense all the time. Any moment of comfort and rest you can bring him, you’ll do it. As much as you love him, he’s been off for a while now, always tense and grumpy. Nothing you couldn’t handle, but it still worried you. He wasn’t always like this.

You had your suspicions as to why - or, rather, who - was making him feel like this, but you knew you shouldn’t mention her. She’d deny it a thousand times over, and you weren’t sure Miguel would believe you either.

“You’re safe, my love,” you say quietly, wrapping your arms around him.

“Thank you.” He pauses for a moment, then he tenses. “Oh, shit, my desk-”

“We’ll go back, it’s okay,” you answer quickly. You reach one hand up and run your fingers through his hair. His posture softens, leaning comfortably against your chest again. “We’ll clean up that mess after we’re done with this one. Okay?”

He nods slowly. “Okay.” His eyes close a little; he’s tired, and you know it. He’s been tired for a long time.

“Tell you what,” you say. “I’d say we’re pretty much cleaned up, so how about we dry off and you curl up in bed, and I’ll go back and fix your desk.”

“But-”

“I know how you organize it,” you reassure him. “And I’ll swing there and back, so I won’t be gone long. Is that okay?” Miguel hesitates. “Baby, you need rest,” you remind him, gently rubbing his arm.

He sighs tiredly but he nods. You kiss the nape of his neck. He leans his head back to rest on your shoulder, looking at you with exhausted brown eyes.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you tease softly. He grins lazily.

“Hi.”

#miguel o'hara #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara x male reader #miguel o'hara smut #x male reader #x male top reader #sub!miguel o’hara #spider man #across the spiderverse #spider man 2099

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neil-gaiman · 5 months

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Hello mister Gaiman, I hope you're having a nice day

I've been debating for a while on wether or not I should send an ask and I've come to the conclusion that I might as well do it since the chances of getting an answer are pretty low

So I made my family watch good omens with me when I decided to watch it for the third time (I have a garbage perception of time but since we're in December I think we watched it a couple of months ago) and as we were talking I told my mum I could send an ask on tumblr and she immediately told me to send something on her behalf (clearly I'm late but let's not dwell on that)

So we watched it, I helped my mum with some of the vocabulary since she doesn't speak English as well as my brother and I, and came the end and my mum and brother cried

So from my mum : "tell him this is one of the best ending to a series I've ever seen"

Thank you from France, we loved it and will wait for season 3 impatiently while pretending to be patient

Also if I may add two questions that you don't need to answer :

Will we have more historical flashbacks in season 3 ? I absolutely adore the costuming, I think it's just so well done and so pretty and I just want to see more (I especially love the 1827 costumes, I'm on a quest to make both Crowley and Aziraphale's outfit for myself)

And while talking to my brother I mentioned the stuff that was cut and he mentioned doing a director's cut

So my second question would be, would there ever be a director's cut where some or everything that was cut would be added or would it change the story you've already told too much ?

Thank you for your time and have a nice day

Our cuts of Season 1 and 2 are the director's cut. He was very happy with them.

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petrichorium · 1 year

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the merman is back.

it’s a little weird how used to him you’ve gotten. he’d only shown up for the first time a few months ago, but when you’re largely alone out on the boat or in your oceanfront lab there’s no shortage of ways for him to visit with nobody around.

he’s yet to tell you a name, but after the first few weeks of silence he suddenly revealed a passable understanding of english; when he speaks it's rudimentary, but he clearly understands everything you say, even if he doesn’t listen half the time.

you haven’t gotten the nerve to get in the water with him. in fact, you haven’t gotten in the water at all since he arrived, even when your colleagues are around and he’s notably not. he’s massive, his tail alone being well over two meters long and possessing the torso of a man who would tower over you on dry land (a handsome man, you're begrudged to admit, with those broad shoulders and blood red eyes and that ash blond hair that somehow looks good immediately coming out of the water). he’s assured you in his blunt, curt way that of course he doesn’t want to eat you but you still have anxieties about getting out into the open water you’ve always loved and being pulled under by a fucking sea monster.

he’s getting bolder, though. when you take the boat out today, he follows it, like the dolphins used to back when you operated out of the keys; that sleek black body would be terrifying just from the size, like seeing a fully grown orca bump up against the hull.

and when you weigh anchor, almost immediately, the boat keels aftward when he pulls himself onto the deck.

you shriek and he immediately pins you with a steely glare. he’s never done that before. it’s fucking terrifying, though he’s not managed to drag his whole body up and you’re a little comforted by that. it’s just his arms—two massive, heavily muscled things that are flexed and crossed in front of him, holding his head, shoulders, and much of his human-like torso up out of the water with ease. that enormous tail trails behind him and it’s still terrifying to see, your heart skipping a beat every time the shimmering orange markings catch your eye.

you don’t know what you’ll do if he decides to come all the way onto the boat. he wouldn’t be able to maneuver that well, but where the fuck would you go? into the damn water?

“fucking christ!” you yelp. “don’t just do that, motherfucker!”

“calm,” he snaps as he rolls his eyes.

the urge to flip him the bird is overshadowed by the knowledge that he wouldn’t understand, and you’re too frazzled to explain what go fuck yourself means. instead, you turn back around to clean up the cabin that he’s managed to mess up.

“oi, human, come.”

you huff, shouting your name at him and pointedly refusing to turn away from your task. he’s clearly annoyed at that, and you belatedly realize that perhaps if you’re really that terrified of him coming onto the boat you shouldn’t provoke him. luckily, rather than heaving himself up, he jerks the entire hull.

it’s a smooth motion for him, gripping the stern and rolling his tail so that the boat moves with him. it’s like being out in a storm, and though you’re well aware that it’s just your needy visitor, your sea-hardened stomach still lurches at the familiar feeling.

you stumble out of the cabin, careful not to be thrown over the edge. “i’m out! holy shit, i have a damn job you know, i can’t spend all my time catering to your whims.”

he stops as soon as you get back on deck. “calm,” he tells you again, and you're really starting to hate the word, “too loud.”

“who’s fucking fault is that? don’t rock my damn ship.”

“sit,” he demands rather than apologizing.

there are a plethora of reasons not to. you won’t be able to get away quickly if you need to, you shouldn’t be encouraging his demands by obliging immediately, you really do have a job to do instead of… whatever this is—instead of listening to any one of those reasons, you ease yourself down with your legs crossed a little ways away from where he’s holding himself.

he snarls, baring a mouthful of sharp teeth. “closer.”

“no,” you snap. “not if you’re threatening me.”

his mouth shuts immediately, brow furrowed and lips pouting in an expression that’s less pleading or apologetic and more contemplative.

“not a threat,” he seems to settle on saying.

you roll your own eyes. “yeah. okay.”

“come here.”

“why?”

“wanna feel you.”

that throws you for a loop. what could he mean by that? you realize that perhaps he’s as fascinated by you as you are by him.

you’ve caught him staring at your body in the past. he’s never reacted like you’d expect—if you’d caught a human looking at you like that and then turning away when you caught his eye, he’d have been checking you out. but when it’s an apex predator of a different species, there’s an entirely different context, one you’re even less enthused about.

you’re standing before you’ve fully thought it through, fully freaked and ready for him to go. you barely get to uncross your legs, however, before he lunges.

it’s far faster than your not-normally-hunted-because-you’re-a-modern-person mind can follow. a cold, clawed hand snaps out to latch around your ankle and yanks you downward, slamming your back into the boat’s coarse deck and then dragging you towards the edge. there’s not even time for you to shriek.

this is it, you think. he’s going to eat you now; he’ll drag you under and rip you apart, or maybe he’ll drown you first as a mercy. you hope he doesn’t want to play with you further, drag you into the water and let go to make you swim because he wants a chase.

the moment your ankle hits the water he stops.

you’re breathing heavily, free leg still braced on the deck, arms finding purchase on a pole nearby. his whole body is underwater aside from his eyes and the very top of his head, but you can still see that massive dark shadow—only little flashes of that pretty orange-gold patterning visible as his scales glint beneath the sun—and it sends a thrill through you. he’s so ungodly enormous.

that hand is still around your ankle, but it’s looser now. his mouth is beneath the waves so he doesn’t speak, but his eyes are soft and almost regretful as he regards you.

“okay…” you move slowly, getting to a better position. it pulls your captive ankle from the water and the movement causes his grip to tighten as if he’s reluctant to remove it—he doesn’t stop you, but he doesn’t let you go. you’re forced to sit on the edge of the deck with your feet dangling over the side.

“let me feel you,” he tries again, as if he’s giving you a choice.

“ask,” you decide upon demanding. his words have made you realize, with a burst of shame and a promise to never tell anyone in the future, that you’re not entirely opposed to the strange rude merman feeling you.

you’re gifted a growl, not unlike the snarl from before but lacking the teeth. he’s learning, you realize, not only in not baring those terrifying weapons at you but also in removing his hand from your ankle.

“can i… touch you,” he spits out, like the words and your request are insulting.

and again you think there are far too many reasons to give in just like that. you’ve been around enough children to know that rewarding problematic behavior is hardly the way forward, but there’s a certain part of your brain that’s in control right now and it’s not particularly interested in breaking him of his demanding attitude (quite the contrary, to your chagrin, this very annoying part of your brain is enjoying it).

“are you sure you’re not going to eat me?”

“no eating.” he huffs, wrinkling his nose.

“what, i smell bad or something.”

he regards you, approaching a little closer, and you resist the urge to pull your legs up to hold your knees to your chest.

“smell good,” he says, “not like food.”

all right.

“fine, then. if you’re not going to take a bite out of my calf, then… sure. feel me, i guess.”

he’s just as fast as before, not even waiting for you to finish your sentence before he’s lashing out and grabbing your leg again. this time, he’s not looking at your face; he’s focused entirely on your feet, those big hands inspecting them thoroughly.

it’s rough, and you’re a little glad because if he’d been gentle it would have likely been too ticklish. he’s still careful with his massive claws; you’re sure they’re sharp enough to pierce your skin with ease, and he’s clearly skilled enough to avoid it. you’re more than thankful, because you’ve seen how he hunts with them (he’s dropped disemboweled fish in front of you before as strange gifts) and you don’t want your legs to end up like his prey even if he doesn’t eat you.

he moves on from your feet, both hands latching onto one calf and almost massaging it in reverence. his face is even closer now; you really ought to be more worried by the proximity of those teeth to your skin, but the fascination on his face is so enthralling.

by the time he reaches the back of your knee, you're tensing. while before he’d been mostly in the water, he’s very nearly at your height now, holding himself up by his grip on you and an awkward hold on the deck with his spare hand.

and then he’s at your thigh, and your breath is heavy.

because he’s basically laid out on your lap, one arm wrapped entirely around your upper leg such that his large palm rests flush, fingers spread, against the plush flesh of your inner thigh. and he’s no less fascinated, expression no less sincere, as he pulls further up to get closer.

“warm,” he says, more to himself than you. he blinks, as if shaking away a daze, and his eyes jump up from your thighs to look at your stomach. “soft…”

his head drops. you jump, caught up in the strange haze he's brought with him but snapping out of it as he lays his head on your lap. your heart thumps erratically, your breath long bated. he’s not looking at your thigh anymore, and not your face either—he’s locked on your stomach, your loose t-shirt having ridden up slightly to reveal more bare skin.

you ought to see it coming, really, but when that big, cold hand moves from your thigh to your torso, sliding smoothly beneath your shirt and running up your bare stomach, you yelp and jolt back.

he startles, and then he’s gone, slipping back off you and disappearing down into the murky water. you’re left panting, with nothing but a very wet body and the ghost of his touch on your legs…

and the heat of your face at the knowledge that, while you’d been surprised, you kind of wanted him to go further.

#bnha x reader #bakugo x reader #mine.🌧#char.🌧 bakugou #that one beach episode #just a lil merbaku 👉👈#for the soul #w a spitfire reader bc im me JHSBDF #this is reposted!!! i wrote it like two yrs ago for jotato kujo lmfaoooooo but rewrote it for bakugo who tbh i think it works for even bett #but the og is still up on my ao3 so

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celluloidbroomcloset · 4 months

Text

"The atmosphere on this ship is fucked. Everyone knows why."

"I don't. Enlighten me."

"Your feelings for Stede—"

This scene has been picked over a lot, but this is the first time I noted the speed with which it happens, including how clearly Ed himself knows what Izzy will say, and has from the moment he walks on deck. It's the culmination of an emotional violence that has been there since the start of Season 1 and that focuses on how and where Ed is allowed to express his feelings.

It's Ed who decides to make the discussion public, and Ed who challenges Izzy to say, out loud, in front of the crew, exactly why Izzy thinks the atmosphere is fucked.

Ed's acting unhinged a moment before, but as soon as Izzy speaks, he's very present—because he's been pushing for this to happen. The tone of voice he uses when he says, "Enlighten me," is similar to the sarcasm in his voice back in "Discomfort," when he says, "Sounds stressful, Izzy." He's not daring Izzy to say it's about his feelings; he's waiting for him to.

Izzy barely even gets Stede's name out before Ed is nodding and pulling the trigger. It's not at all what Izzy later says—"He took my leg because I dared to mention your fucking name." The exact words are "your feelings for Stede."

In Season 1, Izzy has insisted that his words to Ed about Stede be spoken in private. He never discusses it with anyone in the crew. The only time other people are present for those discussions is when Izzy insists that Ed send Stede to "doggy heaven," and then Fang has an emotional breakdown (and for a good bit of Season 1, Izzy treats Ivan and Fang as an extension of himself). The crew know that Ed is in love with Stede, but Izzy does not speak about that in front of them. Izzy's verbal violence about Stede, and his attacks on Ed about Ed's feelings for Stede, are always out of sight and hearing of the crew.

But he does speak to Stede's enemies about it, and Ed knows it. Izzy has told Calico Jack that Ed is "shacking up" with Stede. Spanish Jackie also knows, and so do the English, because that's how and why Izzy sold Stede out. Ed is aware, from the moment that Jack uses the term "shacking up," that Izzy has been speaking publicly about Ed's relationship with Stede.

Ed himself does not talk about his romantic or sexual relationships. Other people do—Calico Jack, Anne and Mary, Izzy—but Ed is not public with that information, even saying that “our private lives are our private lives” (echoing Stede’s statement to Jack: “Ed’s past is Ed’s business and I respect that.”). The times when Ed makes his feelings toward Stede known, even implicitly, are private—the “fine things” scene, the kiss on the beach, even the stabbing scene, all are between Ed and Stede. No one else is meant to witness those. After Stede has left him, Ed’s grief and the reasons behind it are clear, but he still conceals it with a song “about someone else.”

Ed keeps his softer emotions hidden and private, or tries to, because he’s been conditioned to believe that they’re dangerous to have. And they are—Jack makes them the subject of derision, and Ed is explicitly threatened when he makes his love for Stede too publicly visible. Izzy invades his private spaces (his cabin, his personal space) to berate and expose his emotions, mockingly calling Stede Ed’s boyfriend. The discussion of emotions that Ed tries to keep private are always initiated by Izzy, and the discussions are always violent and derisive.

The crew themselves do not know what has led to Ed shooting Izzy. They haven’t seen the escalation of violence and violation, going from emotional violence to physical—and the initial toe-cutting scene is very much Ed invading Izzy’s safe space to enact violence on him, just as Izzy did to him. They haven’t been witness to the threats and the danger that Ed has increasingly experienced and that in part led him to putting on Kraken in the first place.

The shift that happens in “Impossible Birds” is Izzy once again invading Ed’s space, where he’s caressing and then concealing the groom figurine, to prompt the discussion of emotions. What Izzy thinks is a result of him speaking Stede's name and ethos is actually a result of him invoking, again, Ed's emotions about Stede as a way of manipulating him. But this time, Ed is going to make him do it in front of the crew.

It is, in a sense, an expansion of "the love that dare not speak its name.” If “everyone knows why,” then Izzy is going to have to say it. So the moment on deck is Ed forcing Izzy to publicly expose the things that have been concealed: Ed's private emotions that Izzy has broadcast to his enemies but never to his friends, and the violence that has been attached to those emotions. They're going to "talk it through," but Izzy has made talking it through violent and unsafe. Now what had been private violence is going to be public.

#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta #edward teach #izzy hands #stede bonnet #gif #ofmd season 2 #tw: abuse #i keep thinking i'm done with this dynamic and then something else comes up #the violation BUILDS over two seasons #but to the crew it appears almost random #long post #i'm also really happy for any discussions or disagreements #as long as they're polite

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hoony2k · 3 months

Text

FAN BEHAVIOUR

Heeseung gets a call from cupid at a fan sign.

PAIRING: heeseung x latina! reader

GENRE: fluff, delusional hee

WARNINGS: despacito mention its heeseung what can i do

WORD COUNT: 1018

NOTE: I'm kind of ? about this like this was supposed to be a paragraph or two, I wasn't exactly sure how to represent mc as latina because generalising an entire ethnicity is strange and I didn't want to give reader a certain body type/hair type. But I do hope you enjoy!

requested masterlist

There is a certain system in each fan sign that Heeseung has committed to memory. Around 60 seconds per fan- give or take. If he thinks about it logically then he's bound to encounter fans that don't bias him, small talk and a cheesy smile while teasing them about their bias works unless they have a Heeseung-centric request.

When he meets his fans, he embodies confidence. Slips his fingers into theirs, with permission of course, waves their hands and asks if they've eaten, what song they loved, and gives a genuine compliment. Apart from saying whatever he feels at the moment, he keeps a list of what fans like the most. And no, he does not memorise fan comments like a syllabus-he only scrolls through them.

But for the first time, when you take the seat before him, Heeseung gets tongue-tied. Momentarily, his brain refuses to respond and all he can do is stare at you and the way your eyes crinkle as an exciting "hi!" escapes you.

Mouth dry and tongue no longer functioning, Heeseung prays you can speak Korean. Except your accent declares don't and suddenly he forgets every English lesson he's had with patient teacher Jake. You stare at him expectantly and the slow crease in your brow snaps him back into character.

"Hello," it's far too enthusiastic, to the point where it makes him want to wince externally but your smile is pleased, shoulders no longer tense and Heeseung pats himself on the back for doing a good job.

You hold out your hand sideways, anticipating a brief handshake but Heeseung turns your palm to rest into his larger hand. A small laugh escapes you and then you bring your poster forward for a signature.

His free hand uncaps the marker in a swift motion, he glances at the poster and on purpose signs a bit too close to Jay's hair. On the table, where your hand rests inside him, Heeseung notices the dark blue coating your nails and realises how good blue looks on him.

"Who's your bias?", he attempts to make small talk. His voice doesn't shake this time. Meeting pretty fans isn't new, but meeting pretty fans that make his knees wobble? Not often but Heeseung can't get off the adrenaline rush that occurs when it does.

When you don't answer after a beat, he looks up from the small note he's not too discreetly writing. Your gaze doesn't leave his and the playful tint in your eyes makes him feel things that he shouldn't because as the seconds go by his confidence is diminishing. Heeseung has never been the best at talking to pretty girls.

"Guess", you tease. You lift your palm (and his) and begin to wave it around. Heeseung's ears flush and before he can stutter, he shuts his mouth. It has to be him…right?

"Me?", he bites the bullet, marker tip pointed at himself. You reply with another smile, smaller but much more meaningful, mirthful.

A hand pushed the poster to the side to reveal a small Heeseung posing. Did you have his photocard?

You nod at his question, a bit shy, too subtle but Heeseung notices because he's been staring very closely, trying to memorise this moment with you and him before the staff tells you to move.

Drawing a heart on the back of his photocard and your expectant smile is all he needs to regain his confidence. He needs to make the most out of this experience, especially if he'll never see you again. He gazes back at you, shakes your arm and musters the most charming smile he can, "I'm your bias, Gracias".

He wonders if he should wink or if that would be an overkill. You laugh and squeeze his hand, clearly amused and entertained. A staff taps him on the shoulder, telling him to wrap it up and it pains him to imagine you leave so he continues, speaks far too quickly and jumbles over his words.

"No, no, you're good," you remind him, "I'm attending the concert soon!" He giggles like a school girl and you begin to stack your things as the girl next to you stands from her seat.

Next to his signature on the poster, a note catches your eye.

"You're my star <3" The writing is titled and rushed but still, you bit your lip to protect your heart from jumping out of your chest. Heeseung hasn't stopped admiring you, but he can't seem to meet your eyes as he observes how you quickly tuck a lock behind your ear after reading his note. It was a spontaneous action, who can blame him for falling for a pretty person?

The staff member returns and taps Heeseung on the shoulder, smiles at you and slowly you get up. Unwillingly, Heeseung allows you to pull your fingers out of his grip and he's already missing you. He doesn't need to, but he piles your merch and hands it to you. Another smile is sent his way, fingers intentionally brushing as you take your merch from him.

In those final seconds of the fan sign system, Heeseung commits to something he usually avoids. Commitments are promises, promises that can be fulfilled but their fulfilment is always uncertain. Sometimes things are just out of his control, yet he can't help himself, his body betraying his mind.

"The next time I sing Despacito, it's going to be for you".

His expectant gaze and promise staggers you for a moment, pausing you in the moment. Heeseung waits to hear your voice one more time, a wish to see you again dies on his lips when a large smile breaks on your face.

"I'll remember it", you make another promise and despite not knowing you personally he knows you will never break it.

In the final moments, Heeseung isn't sure if he'll ever see you in the crowd next time, lost in the sea of people. He's not sure if you'll attend another fan sign, if you'll still bias him in a few months but the small secret shared between you two makes him believe that you felt the connection as much as him.

Thank you for reading!

Please do not copy/translate/edit.

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taasgirl · 2 months

Text

say something pt 1.

summary: although playing for the same club, pedri and y/n cannot stand the thought of being around each other. enemies to lovers for all my girlies out there - i got u

a/n: not proofread and all in english + more installments coming soon!!

"I told you I can't go out." Salma hadn't stopped bothering me about some party with the men's team. I had so much school to catch up on.

"Come on don't be a party pooper. You study every night and train every day." I spun my chair to face my laptop. "Seriously Y/N, it's only one night." Rolling my eyes, I continued writing my paper.

I had been at university for the past year or so, while simultaneously playing football. For Barcelona. I know, pinch me moment. But I was so determined to graduate high school, and get a degree. I wasn't going to let anything stop me.

Even if it was my dream profession.

The coaches and staff at Barcelona were very understanding, however they weren't too happy when I had to leave training early for lectures.

But I guess I make up for it, I'm the league's top goal scorer, currently on 21 in 9 games. A feat slightly unbelievable to my lecturers and classmates - they think it's insane that someone 'famous' would even bother with university, but I love journalism. Something about writing is so me. Especially topics that I love.

"Don't be a bum Y/N." Truth is, I really wanted to go, but I had already agreed to help one of my classmates with some work.

"I'm supposed to be studying with Alex." Salma instantly spun me around. "The hot one?" I didn't respond.

Alex and I had our fair share of flirty kisses and almost intimate moments, with Salma being our first and only 'fan'. Seriously her words not mine.

"Well bring him then. You two should loosen up. Literally everyone will be bringing a plus one." Now that would actually be a good idea, but he seemed like he really needed my help, and lucky for me, he didn't want to bother me so it would all be through facetime. I could study in the comfort of my bed, in my pyjamas.

"Sorry Sal, you have fun but I'm staying back." She scoffed, this happened a lot, she'd invite me, I'd reject, and then say, "You look really hot though."

"Wait so what did you write about?" I would be lying if I said this wasn't awkward. We had hooked up a few times, and yet each time we spoke to each other it was just as awkward as the last. The term 'friends with benefits' was definitely not applicable to us.

"Umm, mine's just about some of my teammates. You know, sports injuries and that sort of stuff." He smiled when I spoke.

"It's so cool knowing you." Awkward silence soon followed. "Hey uh, I'd really like to take you out. To dinner maybe? You know, when you're not busy being a professional and all that." Well I can't really reject the guy who's made me orgasm multiple times.

"Yeah sure. I'm sure we could go out after class one day." Yeah I was not going to go out with him.

After a few hours of studying with Alex I got a call from Salma. "Hey Alex, I'm getting a call, I'll message you later." Hanging up our facetime, answered Salma's call.

"How's hot boy? Have you fucked yet." She was slurring her words. Definitely off her face drunk. "Hey is this Y/N?" I replied to the voice, one of a man's. "Listen we need you to come pick Salma up, she's drunk." The boy on the other side of the phone said it almost annoyed.

"Who is this?" Immediately he replied, "Pedri. Now can you hurry? I'm sending over the address." The notification popped up on my phone, she was at a club downtown.

"I can't." Pedri didn't speak. I knew him from our minimal media interactions, but other than that, he had a reputation as a dickhead fuck boy. "What do you mean you can't?" Because I was so preoccupied with school and work, I never had the time to get my license.

"I can't drive, I don't have a license." I could almost hear him roll his eyes.

"Are you serious? How do you expect her to get home?" He was clearly pissed off. "Maybe be a gentleman and drive her home?" He groaned, obviously unwilling to do so.

"Don't put her in a cab. Drive her home, here I'm sending you the address." As soon as he received my message through Sal's phone he hung up. What a dickhead.

After about fifteen minutes, I heard loud banging at my door. Rushing over, Salma practically fell in my arms. "Y/N you won't believe the night I had." She needed to sleep, we needed to be at training by 6 tomorrow for fitness testing. I have no idea why she'd pick tonight as the time to get wasted.

"Thank you Pedri, I'll see you tomorrow." As I went to shut the door, he stuck his foot in, pushing the door wide.

"So I leave a party with beautiful women to drop your lightweight friend off, and you don't even offer me a glass of water?" His tone was condescending, as he followed me through our apartment.

"Yeah well, sorry for ruining your night." As I helped Salma into her bed, he leaned on her doorframe. "You know usually when I take a girl home it doesn't end like this." He smiled, that kind of dickhead-fuckboy smile. I didn't respond, walking under his arm as I made my way to the front door. I opened my wallet and handed him €10. "For the petrol, now please leave." I pushed the money against his chest as he scoffed. "I don't need your money." He looked me up and down. "See you later Y/N."

Salma and I successfully made our way to the Barcelona grounds, a round of water and plenty of bread slowly sobered her up.

"So how was your date with sexy classmate." I smacked her lightly. "Awkward as fuck. You'd think that someone who's seen me naked plenty of times would know how to talk to me, but I guess not." We walked past the front desk. "Morning. And it wasn't a date, just a study session."

Making our way to the changerooms, I made eye contact with a certain somebody. That certain somebody came over to us. "What do you want?" He looked at me puzzled, in a dismissive way. "Oh I'm not here to talk to you." He diverted his gaze to Salma. "You were quite the partier last night." She smiled at him, I have no idea how.

"We gotta go. Bye Pedri." I pulled Salma away from him. "You're literally gay stop making eyes at him." She looked at me as we sped walked through the hallway. "Doesn't mean a girl can't look." I rolled my eyes. I can't take this girl seriously sometimes.

By the time we had made it out to the field, everyone could tell that Sal was hungover. She wasn't hitting anywhere near her top speed and was very slow at our reaction training games.

Jonatan pulled her aside, and soon enough, she was escorted inside by our assistant coach. "Bring it in girls." I stood next to Lucy as Jonatan began a speech.

"It has come to my attention that there was a party last night." The girls began looking around at each other. "And I understand that you are young and want to have fun, but when alcohol or even drugs are involved, it becomes a problem for the club." Lucy looked down at me.

"I need you to all be aware of what you're doing. You are professional footballers, and now is not the time to be partying let alone drinking." The girls started to whisper to each other.

"And I especially need you to look after the kids here. They're young and vulnerable. If you see them in a less than ideal situation, you need to help them out." Jonatan didn't raise his voice, one of the reasons why he has been my favourite coach. "Now get back out there."

Training was tense, and by the time we had arrived inside Salma was lying on one of the physio beds fast asleep. "Sal are you alright?" She groaned, covering her face. "Lucy said she'd drive you home, but I really need to get to class." I gave her a quick hug before I headed for the showers and prepared myself before class.

It's hard being a student-athlete, or an athlete-student depending on how you look at it. As I left the building I saw Gavi standing outside.

"Hey Pablo." He turned around, immediately hugging me. Gavi was my first friend here in Barca when I joined the academy, and although we haven't kept in contact as much, I still consider him one of my best friends.

"Looking good Y/N. You off to school?" I nodded, signalling to my laptop bag clutched in my hand. "You're seriously the hardest worker I know." After a short conversation a car pulled up to the kerb. A short honk alerted us.

"Get in Gavi. Y/N." Hey, at least he didn't dismiss me. "Can Y/N come, we just need to drop her off at the uni. It's down the road." Before I could reject Gavi's idea, Pedri spoke up. "Yeah no. Come Pablo." Gavi didn't get in the car.

"Seriously Pepi, let her come with us. It'll be a short trip." Soon enough, Pedri agreed, unlocking the back door for me.

Pedri didn't speak the entire ride, and even though it was short, I felt completely unwelcomed. By the time we had arrived on campus, Pedri drove right to the communications building. I thanked him, and stepped out of the car.

As I began to walk away from the car a familiar voice called out to me. "Y/N wait up!" Alex ran up to me, and immediately pulled me in for a hug. I could feel Pedri and Gavi's eyes on me, the car hadn't moved.

"Thanks for the help last night." We walked into the building together and found our seats.

After a boring three hour lecture, I quickly made my way down to the exit. "Y/N wait up." I spun around, facing Alex. "Is now an alright time to ask you to lunch?" I could help but blush. Now normally I would've politely declined, but I am so unbelievably hungry, so I agreed.

"As long as you're driving I'm up." He smiled and brought me to his car.

"I told you that class boy was your guy!" Sal yelled at me after being dropped home by Alex. "When you aren't preoccupied by the dick-"

"Yuck don't say that Sal!"

"It's true, see he's a good guy. Hot too."

I pushed a pillow to her face. She was really too much sometimes. We were sat on the couch, relaxing until it was time to sleep. She was telling me about this incredible girl from last night when I heard a knock on the door. I got up and answered it. To my surprise Pedri was standing there.

"Uh, um you left this in my car." He handed me over an unfamiliar plastic bag, but after a quick look inside, I could tell that it was my sports bra and socks from training.

"Oh yeah, um thanks." We stood there awkwardly in the frame of the door until Salma came up. "Left them in his car huh?"

Pedri immediately tried to speak but his mumbles were cut off by Salma. "Leaving your clothes in one guys car and then going out with a different guy the same day is truly boss energy." Pedri looked at me concerned.

"He and Gavi drove me to class ok, so let's get inside. Thank you Pedri, I really appre-" "Come in Pepi! Take a seat." Salma cut me off and ushered him in. Looking down at me, he made his way to my seat on the couch.

"You know what guys, I'm actually gonna head to bed." Salma pouted at me. "Come on, it's only for a few minutes." I shook my head and went into my room, grabbing my clothes so I could take a quick shower.

By the time I finished my shower, I could still hear Pedri and Salma talking. I wrapped a towel around myself and made my way to my room. That was of course, until I bumped into him.

"Maybe look where you're going next time." He said to me, a look of disgust plastered on his face. "Get the fuck out of my house." He laughed.

"Yeah cause this two room apartment is a house. You seriously need to get a life." I pushed past him, opening my door. "Oh and maybe you should try and be welcoming for once. God knows it'll do you a world of good." I slammed the door after hearing his comment. I have no idea why I even gave him the time of day.

He's such a piece of shit. I'm literally a university student who also happens to be a footballer - a women's one at that. I have no choice but to live in a shitty apartment with my teammate. I don't have the type of money he has.

pls let me know if you like this! i'll update as often as possible and pls give me some requests! i'll write about anyone (m+f)!! thank you!

part two!

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pumpk1n-writes · 1 year

Text

Tell Me All About The Dark Places You Hide

➥ in which the reader figures out that their best friends are the infamous Woodsboro Killers and decides to help them rather than turn them in. {ft. stalking, in-depth descriptions of how the reader would murder someone, Billy uses “princess”, reader is a bit insane}

Part Two | Word Count ~ 720 (sorry, this one’s pretty short. The next few parts will be longer — this is more of an intro than an actual part and I was rushing to finish it)

The media you consume is your own responsibility and I will not be held accountable for your choices. I’m not going to block minors from this account, but proceed with caution anyway.

Taglist ~ @wasawattpadkid

It was a normal Friday night for you, some old black and white horror movie on, parents gone, and homework lying forgotten about on the kitchen counter.

The phone behind you rang and you groaned, leaving it for a few moments before getting up to answer. “Who’s this?”

Somebody on the other end — clearly using a voice changer — began speaking. “Do you like scary movies?”

“Eh. I enjoy them but the suspension of disbelief needed for most of them is too much.”

“Oh? What do you mean by that?”

“Well, for one, the way that the killers in a lot of them actually do it is disappointing. They hardly toy with their victims and just straight up kill them. There’s hardly any fear, it’s just a single moment of blood and gore before it’s over.”

Billy grinned underneath his Ghostface mask. “You’re an interesting girl, what’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know that right now. What’s your favorite color?”

Without thinking Billy answered. “Red.”

“Like blood?”

“Sure, princess. Like blood.”

“Princess?”

Billy smirked again. “Well if you’re not going to tell me your name I have to find something to call you. You got a boyfriend?”

“Oh god no. They’re all toxic little shits that don’t know how to act. Besides, it’s too messy to clean up their blood.”

A beat of silence then; “For legal reasons, that was a joke.”

And all of a sudden, you were a much more fascinating person than Billy had ever imagined you would be to him. He wanted to know everything about you, all your strange little habits and personality traits that made you the way you are, your daily schedule, what your blood looked like spilled over his blade and hands.

“Hello?”

“Don’t worry, princess, I’m still here. And I have more questions for you.”

“Well I’m getting kind of sleepy so hurry it up.”

Billy smiled to himself, using his binoculars to glance around your room. You sat up on your bed, playing with something he couldn’t see. You also — he noticed, blood pooling southward — were only wearing an oversized t-shirt.

“What would you do differently as the killer in those movies?” That wasn’t the question you’d expected. Maybe your favorite band or your least favorite food. Maybe your name again. But not how you would commit murder.

You thought for a moment, humming under your breath. “For one thing, I wouldn’t make it so obvious it was me. In a lot of those movies the audience is guessing who it is in the first five minutes. That wouldn’t be me. I’m pretty outgoing and bubbly around my friends anyway, so I wouldn’t really be a suspect. Plus, my friends say I’m wicked smart but no one can tell when they first meet me.”

Billy nodded to himself. That much was true. He would never have expected you, one of his classmates who sits next to him in English, to go so in depth on how not to get caught murdering people.

You kept going. “So I would play that up. Cry at any mention of my dead classmates, but not too much or it’ll get suspicious. I’d keep up the facade of ‘perfect student’ and act disgusted when anyone brings up how I killed them. That alone would help.”

Billy laughed. “You sound like you’ve thought about this a lot.” But secretly he was taking notes.

“Sorry, I get really bored sometimes, and this is just what my mind strays to.”

Really? This is what your sick, twisted mind thought up in your free time? He wondered how many times he’d glanced over at you in English and you were plotting his death, spaced out with a happy smile on your face.

“Keep going, princess.”

“Well that’s just how I wouldn’t get caught. The actual murders themselves I would make as grisly and gory as I could think of so people would think a sweet, innocent, ‘perfect’ girl could never commit them. I would maybe draw satanic symbols on the wall in their blood or something to throw off police. I would only kill crackheads or past criminals so that the police wouldn’t really care very much to solve it. And I would only kill weeks apart so that they don’t feel immediately threatened.”

“Jesus Christ,” Billy was mostly thinking to himself, but still. He was impressed.

He also thought he might be falling in love with you a little bit.

#poly!ghostface #poly!ghostface smut #angst #billy loomis #fluff #scream #scream 1996 #smut #series #fic #scream 1996 smut #billy loomis scream #stu matcher x reader #stu macher

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onesidedradiostatic · 2 months

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Do you ever think about the shifts and changes of terminology and meaning of words in the context of the denizens of Hell? An obvious example would be like, havin a gay old time. Since Alastor doesn’t really keep up with the times but Vox very much does, there could easily have been a moment where Vox mistakenly thinks Alastor is coming out as gay but Al was actually just using the old meaning. This is all made even worse when you keep in mind that television has sped up the process of language shift and the internet sped it up even faster. Their friendship ended early on clearly, but how many miscommunications happened because of this plus how many more would’ve been inevitable if for some reason they were still friends?

I guess the Vees are all inclined to keep up so when they find out a word changed its meaning they update accordingly. Still, there’s that initial moment of someone saying the thing.

This gets worse when Zestial gets involved; you know how people read Shakespeare in school and then later find out that most of his works are full of sexual innuendo that goes over a modern reader’s head? There’s also the Terry Pratchett quote, “the Elizabethans had so many words for the female genitals that it is quite hard to speak a sentence of modern English without inadvertently mentioning at least three of them.” I’m choosing to believe that Zestial has silently died inside so many times listening to the other overlords accidentally making innuendos that there’s nothing left in him to die. Maybe he and Alastor have bonded a bit over everyone saying words and phrases that definitely meant something other than what they know it to mean.

hm!

considering vox died in the 1950s, low-key this checks out LMAOOOO. alastor: "feeling quite gay today :)" (vox: !??!?!?!? I have a chance??? "GHHSJKME TOO")

while zestial and alastor COULD bond over that keep in mind zestial is YEEEEEARS older than alastor and alastor's terminology is probably closer to the newer sinners atp so there's a chance zestial would just run into the same problems with alastor.

#ask #osrs.txt #radiostatic #staticradio #sorry lucifer commission fans taking a break from the saga for a bit #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor #hazbin zestial #hazbin hotel zestial #zestial

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hopelesslyromanticshark · 2 months

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Hey! Could u do an english major gf x math or engineering major trope with leo valdez? I see so many of ur fics where leo complains ab Shakespeare and think that dynamic would be fun in the sense that they both recognize eachother’s intelligence while still shitting on eachother’s majors 😭😭😭

✮⋆˙ you can’t read and i can’t add; leo valdez x reader blurb

content: leo valdez x reader blurb warning: none!!! just loveable fluff author's note: as someone who struggles in math and (clearly) accels in english, this came from deep in my soul. and yes, i did have to google the answers to those math questions, what about it??? leave me alone guys i struggle with the maths okay i just wasn't built like that fr fr i just need a math boy, is that too much to ask for???

for someone with dyslexia as bad as you have it, you had a strange love of reading. like, yes it's a pain in my ass, but also so worth the fight. your boyfriend, leo, would tend to disagree. but it's alright, because you'd rather swallow a grand piano then do your math homework, leo's personal favorite. which is why you guys always saved up your english and math homework until the end of the work, in which you would hang out and slave over it together, having an expert in your corner for when you needed help. leo'd always brought coffee and then once you guys finally freed yourselves from the library, you'd buy lunch.

"hey, hypothetically speaking, if i wanted to describe shakespeare tone in stanza 3 using four words, what words would you suggest? totally hypothetical, of course," leo asked with a smirk, leaning over to you. you scribbled something down in your math binder before smiling up at him.

"well, since we're speaking hypothetically, i'd probably start with 'lovelorn' then crack a thesaurus open from there," you mused, watching as leo quickly got to typing on his laptop, "but, of course, it's all hypothetical, right?"

"of course, of course," leo winked back before returning his gaze to his english homework. the work made him want to drop out and join the circus, but you made it tolerable. almost likeable, but that might be because he's starting to associate you with his english work and with how much he loved you, he wouldn't be surprised if it started oozing onto his dreaded homework.

"twleve times six?" you asked, squeezing your eyes shut as you tried to do it mentally.

"seventy-two," leo spit out, instantly, without even stopping his typing or really even thinking about it. you hummed in response, instantly writing it down.

"you're like my own personal calculator," you joked, glancing up at him with a soft smile. leo pulled his eyes from his computer, looking at you with a look that you'd only ever seen be described in your beloved romance books.

"and you're my walking thesaurus. my very cute thesaurus!"

"you're an idiot!"

"or a fool, nimwit, moron, bonehead, simpleton-"

"we get it."

"are you sure? cause i can keep going-"

"wait, wait. what's five plus seven?"

"...are you kidding?"

"i wish."

"it's twelve. baby, it's twelve."

#postcards from covey ౨ৎ #all my love ౨ৎ #pjo #hoo #heroes of olympus x reader #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez

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xrenjunniesx · 5 months

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Can I request nct dream being jealous of member for being too close with reader?

when they are jealous of another member for being too close to you

bf!nct dream

mark

he really didn’t want to be jealous since he knew your relationship with his members was just platonic, but seeing you and chenle being so close, laughing at jokes together and even whispering to each other had mark feeling things he didn’t think he would be feeling. he kept glaring at chenle whenever he saw chenle going over to you. mark feels a bit silly for thinking badly about the two of you, so whenever you two are giggling together he just joins into the conversation until his feelings are at ease again.

 renjun

when you and haechan discovered you both played the same game, you two got really close. renjun didn’t mind at first, until he found out you two called each other and played games together. he brings it up to you, telling you that he felt a bit uncomfortable with you talking to haechan so much. he will even message haechan how he feels as well, just to make sure you both knew he wasn’t happy with it. haechan told renjun to join them when they play a game. after that renjun wasn’t too jealous, and you and haechan didn’t call much anymore, only calling when you two were versing each other in the game.

 jeno

jeno felt bad when he realised he was jealous of you and jisung. you were just being kind and helping jisung learn how to cook a simple meal. jeno didn’t do anything about his jealously, he just sulked to himself and waited for you to be done. when you came back to him, you noticed his sad mood. he tells you how he was feeling and you only laugh. “don’t worry, I like men that know how to follow a recipe.“ You say and he smiles at you. he might still feel a bit jealous for a while, but with a few kisses in front of judging jisung, it goes away.

 haechan

you and jaemin both had an interest in photography, and while haechan did as well, you and jaemin seemed to really bond over this. the both of you talked separately to the group about this hobby one evening. haechan felt jealous so he places a hand on your thigh, reminding you that he was there. you look at him with an eyebrow raise but he just smiled at you. when you talk with jaemin again, haechan just gives jaemin a dirty look. jaemin notices and laughs, ending the conversation and points out how haechan was glaring at him.

jaemin

he wasn’t jealous the first few times you and mark spoke in english together, he could understand what you spoke about most of the time. but one time, you and mark were speaking so fast to each other, both excitedly talking about a movie that you both had seen. he doesn’t do anything in the moment, but when you and jaemin were alone he asks about what you two spoke about. as you tell him, jaemin is playing with your hands, just touching you to comfort himself. you realise his actions and question him, “are you jealous?” “whaaat? noo.” he looks at your face, breaking into a smile. “maybe..”

chenle

you and jeno had never been close before, so when you two decided to get to know each other so that it wouldn’t be awkward in group settings, you didn’t think chenle would get jealous. but to be fair, neither did chenle. he was fine with the idea until you and jeno had been speaking for almost two hours. he didn’t know what to do, so he joins you on the couch and grabs your hand, holding it while he scrolled on his phone in his other hand. eventually you and jeno stop talking and all is good again once you begin paying attention to chenle.

jisung

it was early on in the relationship, so he didn’t know how to feel when you and renjun were having your own conversations and laughing hard together. he tried to ignore it but he couldn’t. he knows you two aren’t trying to cause any problems, but he feels so jealous that you aren’t laughing with him right now. he goes to another member to try and keep his mind off it but he couldn’t. “go over there, you’re clearly jealous.” haechan said, already distracting himself on his phone. quickly forgets his jealously once you hold his hand and bring him into the conversation.

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nolita-fairytale · 10 months

Text

burn your life down | chef luca x fem!reader | chapter four

summary: you and luca go to the ballet, bringing up a very important question: is this, and could it be, a date?

warnings: fluff, eventual smut, eventual angst not use of y/n, conversations about divorce, second person pov, swearing, danish inaccuracies, very little connection to the world of the bear.

word count: 3.3k

a/n: this chapter is all about things left unsaid, the pining TM and yearning TM. shoutout to @arctvrvs who recommended onegin, as the ballet they go to see. thank you again for all the shares, reblogs, comments! let me know if you'd like to be added or removed from the taglist!

part three | masterlist | part five

You: I have your book. Devoured it over the weekend.

Luca: Glad you liked it.

You did like it?

You: No, I clearly hate-read it one weekend.

I’m kidding.

Of course I liked it!

Luca: You’re hilarious 🙄

You: I can return it to you later today.

If you have a free minute.

Luca: For you? Always.

Come by the restaurant?

You: Done. See you later.

Text exchanges like this have become more and more regular between you and Luca and it makes you question why you’d ever been so hesitant to tell him about your ex husband in the first place. You know part of the answer: you’d been afraid – afraid of what he’d say, afraid it’d be too much for him, afraid it’d scare him away – and yet, your admission seems to have only brought you closer.

Which is a fact that makes you feel incredibly seen and also scares the shit out of you.

But, with Luca’s copy of A Work In Progress: A Journal tucked underneath your arm, you decide you’ll conquer one mountain at a time as you come in through the doors of the closed restaurant.

“Oi!” one of Luca’s pastry chefs, a burlier man with deep brown eyes and a beard that only facial hair enthusiasts could dream of hollers, in an attempt to grab Luca’s attention when you enter the pastry room. The man follows up his exclamation with something muttered in Danish – something that almost sounds like a cat call directed towards the head pastry chef.

Hey, loverboy. Come get your girlfriend.

You and Luca lock eyes from across the room, and you watch as his face simultaneously lights up as he sees you, while glowering in his coworkers direction. Luca shouts a ‘shut it, mate’ in return before approaching you,

“Did he just-?” you ask him, with a small laugh.

“Call you my girlfriend? Yes,” Luca admits, a blush running across his cheeks as he looks down, embarrassedly.

Brown-eyed-bearded-burly-chef exchanges glances with another chef, focused on weighing dough on a food scale, before asking you with an intrigued hint in his voice:

“You speak Danish?”

“Barely,” you answer, an apologetic half smile on your face.

He exchanges a knowing look with the other pastry chef in response, then snickers, because he really is only trying to be a good wingman here.

“I don’t know what the hold up is… but I see it,” he says in English this time, his Danish accent thick as he wags his finger towards the both of you, earning another glare from Luca.

“Okay, let’s step outside,” Luca hurries, ushering you out of the kitchen and into the empty dining room with a hand on your upper back.

Your laugh echoes in the barren dining room, since pastry prep starts so damn early in the morning, and the physical restaurant doesn’t open for service till evening.

“Again, I’m terribly sorry about him,” Luca apologizes, a little more flustered than you expected him to be.

“No, it’s okay,” you reassure him with a warm smile. “If anything, you at least now know you’ve got a great wingman when you need one.”

You watch a brief flash of, well you’re not sure what, flash across Luca’s face as he wonders if that’s what you’re hoping for. Instead of overthinking it, wondering why you’d want his coworker to act as his wingman in the first place, he pushes it to the back of his mind, moving forward with what he’d planned on bringing up with you anyways.

“Your book, sir,” you say, handing Luca his copy of the book.

“I’m glad you liked it,” he grins.

“Yeah, thanks for lending it to me. Took me a few weekends to carve out the time but… once I started, I couldn’t put it down,” you inform him, gushing over the borrowed book.

“I have something for you,” Luca states, as he pulls out a white envelope from one of his apron pockets. “In return.”

“Awww. Don’t tell me you went through all this trouble to get me a bookmark and when I’ve already finished it,” you banter with him, playfully.

“They’re not bookmarks,” he smirks, as he looks at you with those electrifyingly blue eyes.

“Ah, tell me more,” you encourage him, curiously.

“They’re tickets,” he answers, handing you the envelope.

“Oh.”

Before you can wonder whether Luca went out of his way to purchase you tickets to the ballet, he continues with his explanation.

“Yeah we’ve got this regular diner. Always entertaining, bringing in investors, board members, the likes... Turns out he’s the Artistic Director of The Royal Danish Ballet. Hooks us up with tickets all the time,” Luca says.

“Couldn’t make it opening night so but what do you say… to a performance of Onegin Thursday night?” he continues. “That is if you can – if you want – to take the night off.”

“With you?” you ask, a glimmer of hope in your eyes.

“Yeah, if you’d like,” Luca answers. “Figured I owed you after you purchased the Jazz Fest tickets.” Taking a more playful approach, almost as if he’s testing you as he adds: “Unless there’s something other bloke you wanna take instead of-.”

“No!” you protest, quick to correct him. “I mean, yes. I want to go. With you. Let me see what I can do scheduling wise.”

Was this a date? You wonder to yourself.

For whatever reason, this proposal feels much more like a date than anything else you’ve done with him so far. Bike rides to bakeries, walks through the park, even asking Luca to join you for Jazz Fest with tickets you purchased almost a year ago, still haven't felt this monumental.

But a night at the ballet?

A night of getting dressed up and taking off work to spend time with each other?

This feels much more like a date.

And you might even be excited about the prospect of having one with him, with Luca specifically, something you haven’t felt for anyone in a long time.

“Just let me know,” Luca says, coolly, followed by his oh-so-charming-crooked smile.

By the time you take this… proposition – taking off a night at the restaurant for a maybe-a-date-with-Luca – Mathilde and Jesper are practically pushing you out of the restaurant swearing that if you don’t go, they’ll write you out of the business partnership, and that Mathilde is more than happy to run the kitchen all by herself that night.

While you appreciate the support, it feels like it add pressure – expectations, really – to Thursday night.

You push the thought from your head, choosing to charge forward despite your nerves, before sending Luca your official yes via text message.

So… what does one wear to the ballet?

-------------------------------

You settle on a silky white slip dress with thin straps, a sweetheart neckline, and a slit in the skirt that travels up the leg in a way that’s revealing yet still appropriate. You’ve draped a blazer across your shoulders because you can’t be bothered to properly put it on during the warmest month of the year but you know you’ll want it when you’re inside of the Opera House. You slip on a black kitten heel to match your bag, then pull your hair back into a loose ponytail, allowing the stray pieces of hair that fall out of it to frame your face.

It’s not until Luca shows up at your flat with a text that he’s here, do you make your way outside. Your head is buried in your bag, taking a last minute inventory, ensuring you have what you need for the night: phone, keys, ID, extra lip gloss…

“Hi,” he says on an exhale, as soon as he sees you.

There’s something in his voice that sounds different, you note, as you lift your head to look at him.

Holy. Shit…

Fuck me, you think to yourself, as soon as you see him. He’s dressed in black slacks with a blazer to match, layered over a white button down worn without a tie, and pristine white trainers that you can’t help but notice.

It’s classic – classy – with a little bit of swag from the trainers that feels… pleasantly unexpected. You look like one of those hip couples that decided to stick it to tradition and get married at the courthouse with a dope photoshoot instead.

“Hi,” is all that comes out of your mouth, your eyes wide as the two of you stare each other down.

Yeah, this really feels like a date now.

“Hi,” he says in return before exhaling. “You look great.”

He’s grinning from ear to ear now, and the man cannot take his eyes off of you.

“I-,” you start, as you gather your words, reminding yourself that you do in fact know the English language. As your words come back to you, you take a more playful approach instead, making up for lost wit as you say:

“You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Luca smirks, a twinkle in his eye that tells you he’s pretty damn enchanted by you right now. The two of you share a look – one that feels very not-friendly, emphasizing just how much more date-like this seems to be.

“Shall we?” he asks you, offering out his arm for you to take.

“Let’s,” you answer, taking it as he escorts you to the metro.

You and Luca look wildly out of place while waiting for the metro, then on the metro as you make your way to the Royal Danish Opera House in your dressier-than-normal apparel. You share small talk while you wait on the platform, ramblings over your day and then his while finding a place to sit, then nervous giggles and flirtatious stolen glances while seated next to each other on your journey.

It’s nice to be reminded that you haven’t entirely forgotten how to flirt.

From its shoreside location to its sparkling interior, the Royal Danish Opera House is awe inspiring. You take it all in as you and Luca settle into your seats and a comfortable quiet intimacy as you look over your programs, just before the show begins.

Onegin, you come to find as the show begins, is a story of unrequited love, missed changes, and ‘too little, too late.’ Its relevance is not lost on you as you watch as the young country girl falls in love with the worldly Count. She is young, naive, a hopeless romantic, perhaps the character you would’ve related to when you were younger – before your marriage ended. A younger version of you might laugh at the fact that you somehow find yourself relating more to the Count. He’s cold, jaded, a pessimist even, only to be rejected when he realizes he missed his chance at love so many years ago.

You steal a glance in Luca’s direction, his eyes fixed to the tragedy that plays out on the stage in front of you.

He really is stunning, you think to yourself, as you carefully examine the near-perfect symmetry of his face, before returning your focus back to the performance.

To say that you haven’t noticed the way Luca looks at you would be a lie. And you can’t help but notice how eager you’ve been lately to find any excuse to spend extra time with him too.

But you can’t help wondering about just how ready you are – how and when you might know when you’ll be ready:

Ready to date. Ready to open yourself up to someone. Ready to fall in love again.

Would you know when it was time? And was this a sign – meeting Luca – that it’s time for a new beginning now?

But what if it weren’t? What if you weren’t ready now? Then what?

It’s not like you’d expect for Luca to wait for you or anything, but the idea of a new beginning, of falling in love again, of possibly getting your heart broken again instills the kind of terror in you that shakes you to your very core.

But what if this was your only chance?

You can’t imagine Luca would be single for much longer – the fact that he even is now completely perplexes you – and you’re sure that he has an entire roster of women lining up, ready to take your place. Not that you feel like it’s your place now, though you’re not sure where he’d have the time to entertain an entire roster of women with how much time you’ve been spending together lately.

You push the thoughts from your mind, trying your best to focus on the dancers, even though it’s the thing that’s got you pensive in the first place.

And it’s almost as if, right on cue, the minute you turn your attention away from Luca, his eyes are on you, admiring the way that you marvel at the story unfolding in front of you.

Luca smiles to himself, in pure disbelief that the same woman who brought him much needed inspiration could also be the same woman he’s begun to have feelings for. He finds you extraordinary: you’re funny, you’re incredibly talented, and you make his heart skip a beat every single time you walk into a room. He doesn’t know which deities to thank for meeting you, but he’s sure he must’ve done something right in a past life for it to bring you to him in this one.

He’s glad you told him – about your ex husband, about the divorce – and while it’s filled in some blanks for him, it’s also brought up more questions. Questions like:

Were you even interested in dating? Were you ready to start dating because he couldn’t blame you if you weren’t? And if you were, would you be interested in dating him?

These last few months of getting to know each other have been wonderful – and he’s thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you as friends – but Luca wants more. He wants to hold your hand while walking along the Nyhavn waterfront. He wants to press a kiss to your lips when you stop by the restaurant as he’s getting off shift, before heading into your own. He wants to wrap you up in his arms, curl his body around yours as you settle in with him on your shared couch after a long night at the restaurant, going on about your new special, or your recently hired line-cook-in-training.

Luca wants to call you his, and he wants nothing more than for you to call him yours. He yearns for the quiet domesticity he thinks he could have with you – one he knows he could have with you.

He doesn’t want to miss his chance. It’s why he asked you that question when you told him about your ex husband – are you still in love with him? – because Luca can’t bear the thought of falling in love with a woman already in love with another man.

He replays the answer in his head – no, I’m not in love with him – almost as if he’s reassuring himself.

Luca knows what he needs to do. He just needs to talk to you and tonight feels like as good of a time as any to do so, considering you’re practically on a date. Luca makes up his mind about it – that he’ll bring it up after the performance, maybe even ask you on a proper date.

As the performance ends, the two of you applaud with the rest of the theatre before exiting the performance space. You and Luca linger outside of the theatre, watching the other patrons walk by, arrange rides for themselves, head out for a night cap. He’s working up the nerve to bring up the conversation, watching your lips carefully as you go on about the performance, a brilliance in your eyes that he notices you get whenever you talk about something you��re passionate about.

You’re in the middle of dissecting the end of Act Two as he Luca abruptly blurts out:

“You hungry?”

You pause as your mouth hangs agape, noticing that’s something different, that’s something’s shifted between the two of you.

“Uh… no. Don’t you have to be up early tomorrow?” you ask back, hesitantly.

“Ehm. Yes, I do. But eh, I don’t know. I’d ehm, I’d be up for a bite. If you are,” Luca manages to explain because he’s not ready for the night to end.

You can feel it – the tension between the two of you hangs thickly in the air – and you know this isn’t just a ‘let’s go out for a bite’ kind of ask.

You wondered how you’d feel when this moment came, and instead of being ecstatic, instead of wanting to jump at the chance, the panic sets in, filling your belly with the urge to jump into harbour instead.

You wish you felt differently – you want to feel differently – but you don’t.

So instead, you stammer out a:

“I think I’m just ready to head home, but you should go. If you want to. I think I’m just going to walk home or-.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll take you home,” Luca offers.

You hesitate before agreeing, “Uh… yeah. Okay. As long as you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Luca says as he places a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you in the direction of home. “I’d rather know you got home safe.”

You nod, instantly filled with guilt as Luca’s demeanor changes, his facial expression moving from somewhat-confused-and-disappointed to one of concern, kindness, and genuine care.

What the hell is wrong with you? You think to yourself.

But you know you can’t push it – you can’t push yourself to be ready, to open up – regardless of how perfect Luca is.

As Luca walks you home, there’s a palpable shift in the dynamic between the two of you. He seems cautious, almost as if he’s tiptoeing around you, uncertain about where the two of you stand. And truthfully, he is uncertain. He’s worried that he scared you off, if he came on too strong, if his ask changes something between the two of you. Luca realizes tonight is perhaps not the night, but he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to wait – be able to keep the way he feels about you to himself.

“Thank you… for walking me home,” you say, as you arrive at the door to your apartment building.

“‘S no problem. Had to get you back to your flat safely,” Luca reassures you with a smile on his face.

You stand across from him, mere inches away. You could do it – close the gap between the two of you because you really do feel like an asshole for earlier – but it feels like something’s stopping you. You wait too long, letting your impulse move too thoroughly through your body, until it’s too late and the impulse is gone.

You’re at an impasse: Luca opens his mouth to say something before pausing and you’re not sure what to say either, the two of you standing across from one another, frozen in a moment in time.

Instead of speaking, he simply steps forward, wrapping his arms around you in a warm embrace as he inhales.

It feels too good.

This feels too good: the way he smells, the way it feels to be pressed up against him, his hands running smooth patterns across your back.

“Luca,” you begin as you pull away from the hug, your eyes locked with his.

He waits, but as you open your mouth to say something else, nothing comes out.

You’re not sure if it’s a look of disappointment, regret, or something else that flashes across his face, before he gives you a half smile. Luca takes a few steps backwards, almost as if he needs to create space between you and him, his voice a low deep rumble as he says:

“Goodnight, love.”

-------------------------------

a/n: and now we're getting somewhere. i PROMISE we are getting somewhere. just wait ;)

#chef luca #will poulter #luca the bear #the bear season 2 #the bear headcanon #luca x reader #the bear hulu #the bear fx #the bear fanfiction #chef luca x reader #pastry chef luca #burn your life down

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