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enchanteleclerc · 9 months

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reckless feeling 🂱 cl16

genre: 18+, literally pwp, canon compliant, fem!reader who is max’s gf (oops i do not condone cheating tho!)

word count: 2k

You don’t know how it happened but somehow you find yourself sneaking off to the bathroom with Charles while your boyfriend receives his championship trophy.

a/n … hihi! my first fic hence why its so shit so would love feedback LMAO this is literally my first time fully writing something since school so bare w me pls. anyways enjoy ig :))

warnings … penetrative sex, cheating, public sex, dirty talk (degradation and praise), unprotected sex, rough ish sex? idk

After just over a year absorbed into the lifestyle of a ‘Formula 1 driver wag’, it was at this point you truly began to wonder what it was you were doing here. The annual FIA prize-giving ceremony was happening around you, and despite the number of glasses of champagne you had downed as ‘liquid courage’, you couldn’t feign interest beyond a few tight-lipped smiles and absentmindedly clapping whenever the crowd did so. Not that anyone noticed, of course. Your boyfriend had just won his second championship. You should be over the moon. But it didn’t seem as if Max even cared for it. Sitting beside you, his attention was divided equally between whispered conversations with Christian Horner and something on his phone. To anyone else, you may as well have been a stranger assigned to the seat beside him, but his hand on your thigh brought you some comfort, you supposed. Minimally affectionate and hidden. Exactly how Max liked it.

“What’s so funny?” attempting to include yourself in the seemingly hilarious conversation between Max and Christian, earning you blank gazes from both parties. “Nothing, babe. You wouldn’t get it. racing stuff, you know?” Yeah. Got it. Thanks a lot, babe. The scoff that left your lips, punctuated with a roll of your eyes, was lost on the two men, and so was the way your eyes landed naturally on the man seated directly in front of you. Green eyes stared back at you with a knowing smirk that, if you had not been seated, would probably cause your legs to give out. His brown hair was neatly combed for this occasion, accentuating his crisp suit featuring a Ferrari emblem. You’d pretended to pay enough attention to Max’s conversations tonight to assume the man undressing you with his eyes in front of you was Charles Leclerc, runner-up in the championship. If you knew Formula 1 drivers looked like that, you’d have paid much more attention to the season.

Realising you’d been staring and subconsciously checking him out, Charles sent a wink in your direction. Cheeks burning and your throat suddenly dry, you reached for your champagne glass before noticing it was empty. Chuckling at your attempt to play it cool, Charles pushes his full champagne glass across the table towards you, which you happily accept, brushing your finger against his in this exchange. A large sip of champagne was needed to distract you from the way your thighs clenched at the feeling of Charles’ skin on yours right next to your boyfriend. Max had never caused you to feel like this, especially not from such a small interaction.

”You alright?” Geri caught your attention with her hushed whispers. Your fingers clenched around the base of the champagne glass to quell the dizziness in your head. “Yeah, um, thanks. I just need to go to the bathroom.” Nodding back at Geri, you place the champagne glass back on the table before excusing yourself to the bathroom. “Be quick. Max will be on soon.” She offers you a smile as you walk behind her, but her words don’t seem to reach you as your eyes connect with Charles again. Seeing him follow you with his eyes and place his glass down as you had done before made your heart race beyond belief.

Walking into the bathroom much faster than you had anticipated in these heels, you sigh in relief at the empty bathroom as everyone was in the main hall watching the awards presentation. And yet, the sound of the bathroom door opening and closing didn’t alarm you, neither did the feel of someone turning you around and crashing their lips on you. Lips kissed yours beyond any kiss shared between you and Max. Your arms wrapped around his neck, allowing your fingers to thread through his hair as his own wrapped around your waist. The feel of his cold rings on the heat of your open back caused a gasp to fall from your lips, a gasp that Charles took advantage of by deepening the kiss and leading you backwards towards the sink. His hands wandered from your lower back to your ass before giving it a light squeeze, inviting you to wrap your legs around his torso as he placed you on the sink, him standing between your legs.

His lips moved to a place on your neck that had you throwing your head back for more. Eyes fluttering, you catch a view of the pair of you in the mirror, but the moment Charles’ hands ran up your thighs, scrunching the material of your dress and pulling your red lacy panties down with it, your undivided attention was on this man. If you could form any coherent thoughts, you would laugh at the irony of wearing red lingerie, but you couldn’t at this moment. He did everything confidently and did not care if someone walked in and saw. He wasn’t ashamed. Not even when his hands crept up higher up your thigh, where you needed him the most. The way he watched your reaction to everything he did through half-lidded eyes was enough to bring you over the edge, but once his fingers attached to your clit, you knew this boy would be the death of you.

”Please, Charles”, you whimper, causing him to chuckle at your desperation. “Aw, baby. Max not pleasing you enough?” he mocks. You bite your lip and shake your head. He could ask you simply who Max was, and you wouldn’t even be able to answer it the way Charles touched you like this; there were no thoughts beyond how he was making you feel. The moan that fell from your lips when he inserted a finger into you was almost pornographic. Charles had to stifle a groan of his own, feeling the tightening pressure in his pants becoming close to unbearable.

”Good girl”, he rumbled lowly as your hips grind towards his fingers, clearly desperate for more the way your slick was dripping out and making a mess of the counter. He inserts another finger inside of you, and the way you clench around his fingers has him clenching his jaw to maintain the little composure he has left. The thrusting of his fingers and the musical quelch they make in this bathroom turn you on beyond belief. The thought of someone— let alone Max— catching you like this, on the verge of an orgasm from the skilful fingers of his rival, sent you into a mind-numbing orgasm, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his fingers as lewd noises left your mouth.

Before you even had a moment to return to reality, Charles dragged you off the counter, turning you around and bending you over it. “Fuck. been thinking about this pussy all night.” The distinct sound of a belt unclasping and a zipper being pulled down had your back arching on the counter. The coldness of the counter biting into your hips perfectly contrasted with the fire burning within you, sending your emotions on overdrive. He drags the tip of his cock along your slit, coating it in your slick before pushing it inside you without any warning. His eyes flit from where your bodies are connected to the reflection of your face in the mirror. Your eyes fluttered closed, and your lips sealed together to conceal the symphony of moans threatening to leave your mouth. Charles was drunk on the view of seeing you take his cock like you were made for him. All tight and wrapped around him like a present on Christmas day.

He pulls out and thrusts back in again, his hand firmly gripping your hips, which you will surely be bruised by this and the way your body sways forwards from every thrust. You struggle to adjust to his size, larger and girthier than Max by a large margin. The way he’s stretching you out so perfectly has you throwing your hips back to meet his thrusts. One of his hands leaves your hips and goes to rub your clit in small circles, causing a moan from you that was much louder than you expected. Immediately you brought your hand to your mouth to muffle the moans, but Charles gripped your hair and pulled you up, letting your arms fall down to the counter to support you.

”Nuh uh. Don’t hide your moans. I want Max to hear what it sounds like to actually please you” his hand wrapped around your throat, adding slight pressure to it while speeding up his thrusts. The volume of your moans increased exponentially, thankful for the loud crowd on the other side of the bathroom door. He holds your neck so your faces are so close as he drops some of his spit into your mouth and tells you to swallow. You do as he says and stick your tongue out to show him after, to which he chuckles. Charles could tell you to do anything at this moment, and you would comply with absolutely no hesitation.

”You’re such a good girl for me, hmm. Letting me fuck you in the bathroom while Max is getting his award. I bet you want him to walk in, huh?” your head shook, but you couldn’t deny the way your pussy clenched around him at the thought of Max walking in on you in this compromising position. He pushes even deeper inside of you, your legs trembling from how sensitive you were from your last orgasm.

”Fuck Charles—” you say, leaning your head back on his shoulder, not missing the way he groaned and sped up his pace when you moaned his name. “I’m gonna cum. Please, Charles,” you plead, but he already knew you were close by the way you tightened around him.

”Cum for me, baby” Almost on cue, your body trembles and shakes around him. His grip on your body tightens to hold you up; you’d be a puddle on the floor without it. He doesn’t cease his movements, however. Your finishing moan is disrupted by his vigorous thrusts that seem to be speeding up, if possible, yet shallower. You can tell he is close too. The way he pants out your name and beads of sweat fall from his gorgeous face.

”Inside me, please”, you beg, seeing the way his grip on your hips tightens and his eyes darken in the reflection of the mirror. He paints your insides with his cum, continuing his thrusts, pumping you full of his cum. You sigh at the feeling of it warm inside you and shiver at the loss of contact when he pulls out of you.

”Please put your hands together for your 2022 Formula 1 world champion, Max Verstappen” The presenter’s words echoed through the bathroom walls as the gravity of the situation dawned on you and Charles.

—

Sitting back at the table as inconspicuously as possible, Max sent you a glare beyond words but still placed his hand on your thigh affectionately before his head snapped to Charles, taking his seat on the other side of the table. His hair and suit were messy and crumpled. A stark contrast to the perfectly polished Charles merely a few minutes ago. Doing nothing to subdue his messy state, he slumps in his seat with his legs spread out and reaches for a new glass of champagne that must have been placed in front of Charles’ seat when we were gone. Sipping the champagne, he maintains eye contact with Max and me, sporting a cocky smirk. If Max didn’t notice you leaving right before Charles or both of your absences when he received his award, he definitely notices now. Max wasn’t an idiot. He knew. He didn’t know all the details, of course— he didn’t know that you were full of his rival’s cum to the point where it could be dripping out of you, soaking into your dress and into the seat. He didn’t know Charles had your panties stuffed into his suit pocket. And he didn’t know that this was the most interest you’d shown in anything regarding this sport. But he knew enough.

#f1 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

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bachiras-toaster · 25 days

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arcade date with chigiri?! pls i love him so much HSJSJ maybe the rest of the bllk boys even catch him at the arcade and tease him ????

arcade games and cat plushies : ̗̀➛

HYOUMA CHIGIRI x reader

wc. 3.1k

content. literally just tooth rotting fluff :3

Because of Blue Lock, you and your boyfriend weren’t able to hang out as often as you could before. Which is why on the days that he was actually allowed a to leave, he would always visit you and take you on dates. Today was the same, and this time, he brought you to an arcade.

You and Chigiri had been circling the arcade for perhaps an hour or two now, yet it didn’t seem that either of your energies were beginning to quell. In fact, it seemed that the longer that the two of you remained in each other’s presence, the richer your hearts became; this fact grew more obvious when you even began repeating machines and games, returning to certain areas maybe two or three times.

The both of your pockets were overflowing with tickets, to the point where you had even began to drape the large streams of winnings you had across your shoulders like a scarf. As for Chigiri, he would scrunch the papers up and just carry them around like a ball, only dropping them to his feet when he needed to use his hands in a game. The two of you had stayed in the arcade much longer than anyone else had, so it was no wonder why the both of you had accumulated the most successes.

Soon, the both of you reached the air-hockey board once more, and he dashed around to slot another coin into the game.

“Ready for another rematch?” Chigiri grinned widely, reaching for one of the mallets.

“Oh, you’re on.” A wide smile of determination crew on your face as you watched him drop his tickets to the floor and even begin gathering his hair to tie it back. “We’re getting serious now, are we?” You giggled as he pulled a hair tie from his wrist to wrap it around a clump of his hair.

Chigiri smirked, before he then took hold of the mallet once more. “You know I always get serious,” he said, not even missing a beat as he was already smacking the puck at the other end of the board, his eyes intently following his move throughout the entire duration. “Don’t be surprised if you lose again.” He said with a confident snicker.

“You better put a cap on that confidence, because I’m making my comeback!” You cackled, whacking the puck back to his side of the table. “I hope the king’s been practising his kneeling, because I’ve got this one set.”

“Oh is that so…” Chigiri responded with nothing of his usual snicker, instead taking a more calm approach to this match, as if his confidence was at stake from the threat your words were currently attempting to impose upon his. He then began to make several quick passes back and forth, as his eyes remained trained upon the puck the entire time. “I’m looking forward to witnessing your ego crumble, you know.” He responded with a smile.

“Well, sorry to disappoint, but this game is mine!” You announced proudly, sending back the puck that he hit towards you with all of your strength, watching as the flat cylinder was making a line straight to his goal. Your eyes widened with anticipation as it neared the entrance, your irises gleaming with premature excitement.

You were sure you would have screamed your own victory if it hadn’t been for Chigiri intercepting your connection with winning and returning the puck to you. You had been so keen on your brush with the trophy that you hadn’t even considered him hitting it back. So when it was back in your court, you were caught completely off-guard when it ricocheted off the wall and landed in your goal.

“Damn it!” You yelled out

He snickered, his grin widening as he then brought the mallet back with a firm grip on the handle as he returned the puck back to your side of the board.

“Oh, so cocky,” Chigiri spoke, seeming to have thoroughly enjoyed the exchange. However, despite the teasing remark, his tone stayed calm, not even having a hint of hostility or teasing in it. “Seems like your efforts are futile.” he asked, as though expecting a challenge, or some new comeback from you.

“It was a lucky shot.” You told him sourly as you picked the puck back up and threw it against the table to prepare for a second round. “Watch now, I’m locking in and you’re not gonna score any more goals! Your football tactics won’t work here!”

And well, they didn’t, but he won nevertheless, and you watched with shattered disappointment as more tickets began spewing from the slots of the machine, indicating his landslide victory.

“You know, every game has its own little rule set,” Chigiri said, his tone holding a slight sense of satisfaction, although it wasn’t exactly gloating- more so just a friendly jab. As the tickets began to slowly pour out from the machine, Chigiri took notice- his eyes widening as he stared at the steady stream in shock once more. “Wow.” he muttered.

Your eyes remained on him with a wide smile as he began to gather up all of the tickets that he had accumulated into his arms once more. It was irritating that he seemed to be so good at every game in the arcade that the two of you went on, but it didn’t particularly matter at the end of the day as all you knew was that you were having fun. Chigiri saw in your eyes how simply content you were to be in his presence, despite him dominating every single machine, but the fact was that every single one of his tickets was going to be spent on you anyway.

“You ready to exchange our tickets now?” You grinned as he finally picked up the paper hall.

“Of course.” Chigiri responded, although with another smirk on his face as he stared at you, seemingly to have caught on to the fact that the entire time, the way that your eyes had remained trained on him was to no doubt simply that you were satisfied.

When the two of you had put all of your tickets into the exchange machine and were left with the card that displayed your shared winning counter, Chigiri handed the card solely for you to take as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder to pull you into a cute hug while you walked to the desk. You stared down at rhe slip of paper rhat held both of your victories with a wide smile, your thumb tracing over the text lightly.

“What do you plan on spending the tickets on?” He asked.

“I don’t know… We could get anything here!” You told him as you peered at the selection of prizes, the open range of what was available to the two of you being a reminder of how long the two of you hand spent in the arcade.

“Well…” he thought for a moment, staring at the vast array of items as well, before his mind instantly went to the only things that mattered to him in this moment. “How about we get plushies?” He suggested, pointing towards the arsenal of stuffed toys on the shelf. He figured that if anything, you’d find the idea adorable.

“Oh my god, yes!” Your eyes lit up with excitement as you desperately clutched his arm to gesture towards a particular pair that had caught your eye.

“Let’s get those two! The two cat ones!” You squealed, drawing your attentions directly to two plushies that were leaning against each other on the display. Your mind couldn’t help but buzz about how those plushies reminded you of the two of you, and your heart fluttered with the idea of actually getting your hands on the fuzzy cuties.

Chigiri had no qualms with the suggestions, instead following your excited gestures towards the two plushies. “The cats, right?” he turned back for reassurance before approaching the desk, and when you nodded, he made his request to the person by the register.

Once the stuffed animals were taken off display, Chigiri used up the rest of his remaining points to spend it on candy that the two of you could share. He loaded his pockets with lollipops and liquorish before reaching for the plushies, carrying them in his arms back to you as though they were real cats.

Your arms were already out to joyfully take the one cat that you knew was going to be yours, and you squeezed it with all of your might once he handed it to you. Your cheek pressed against the warm fluff of the fuzzy toy, and you cradled the cat like it was your firstborn child.

“So cute.” He whispered when he saw the glow of your smile; he couldn't help but grin as well.

“I love them! They’re so adorable!” You quipped, holding your cat up beside his so you could lay your gazes on the commemoration of this memory.

“Right?” Chigiri agreed, leaning in towards you with his own cat in hand and then moving both toys closer together so that their faces would be side-by-side, their little arms reaching so that they almost looked as if they were trying to touch the other.

He seemed to enjoy the look of having both plushies side-by-side so that they looked like they were cuddling. The two toy cats were left standing beside one another, their tails interlocked as though they were performing the act of holding hands themselves. Chigiri’s eyes remained locked with yours while a smile spread across his face, although he wasn’t sure if it was from finding the cats adorable or from simply staring into your eyes.

“What are you gonna name yours?” He then asked, the corners of his mouth curving up slightly as he leaned against you once more.

“Hm… Akane is very fitting. So whenever I see it, I think of you.” You grinned, holding the cat up to his face.

Although the cat wasn’t actually a deep red like the name suggested, you wanted a title that reflected the nickname given to your boyfriend on the field. The world knew him as ‘the red panther’, so your plushie would mirror just that. It brought him joy thinking about how the plushie had actually been given a name that matched his football title, although he wondered if that would ever cause the toy to be mistaken for him by passer-bys.

"Akane. That's a cute name," Chigiri smiled, looking down at the plushie as you held it up as if it was in fact a cat and not a lifeless toy. “So, what's my cat's name then?" He asked, his voice holding a playful hint as he wondered what name you had chosen to give his plushie.

“It’s yours, you have to choose a name!” You told him sternly, lowering your plushie again to hug it.

“Uh…” Chigiri pondered for a moment, glancing down at the cat toy as he tried to find a suitable enough name. He really did want the name to match his presence or resemble it in some way, as he felt as though this little gesture would be something that he would truly enjoy. “Hm…” Chigiri thought about it, taking a quick glance down at the cat as he shifted his position so that he could wrap his free arm around your shoulders.

“What if I called mine (Y/n) … Would you be offended?” He asked with a smirk.

Your entire face heated up with blush when his arm slinked around your shoulders to hug you, pressing your plushies together with a grin.

“Only if you don’t replace me with that cat.” You commented teasingly.

Chigiri smirked, the side of his head pressing against your own. "No promises." he joked.

The two toy cats remained pressed against one another, the pair of them as if they were a set that had been purchased together.

"I suppose I'll have to take the real version of you over a plushie," he muttered after staring at the prize long enough, his words seeming to carry more than just the playful teasing of earlier, “you’re a lot cuter." He added, his words bringing about a teasing tone once more, but his grip around you was still strong and his cheek still pressed against you.

“So cheesy…” You giggled.

"I may be cheesy, but at least I know I’m a lot more tastier than the alternatives." Chigiri playfully responded, still keeping the joking tone in his voice before adding on another cheeky remark. "Plus, I’m pretty sure plushies don’t cuddle back."

“Well, when you take this plushie back to Blue Lock, you can hug it when you sleep as if I’m there.” You teased.

"Yeah? Will the plushie also complain to me about its back pain? Will it also take up the majority of the bed during nights and leave little space for me?" Chigiri asked, jokingly listing off some of the things you would do when you slept, things that he was already quite used to anyways. "And will the plushie make me have to go to sleep early as well?" He asked just before cracking a grin.

Your jaw dropped before you let out a giggle. “Well, maybe your plushie is just concerned about you getting a full night’s rest before a game!”

"Or, maybe the plushie is just trying to deprive me from the joys of life by trying to force me to take more than six hours of sleep before every match, hmm?" Chigiri suggested, seeming to enjoy this back-and-forth of teasing, although he knew that it was his way of flirting with you.

“Well maybe you could do with a little extra hours of sleep!”

Chigiri rolled his eyes in jest of the comment, making a face as if he was offended as he then leaned his head against yours once more. “And what do you know about sleep?” He asked, the playful, teasing tone clearly prominent in his voice.

“Well, I’ve slept with you a couple of times, so I would say I’m pretty skilled.” You grinned at the suggestive comment. He couldn’t help but snicker as you had made that response, although it took him a few seconds to compose himself as he seemed to be taken aback by the flirty nature of your words. Even though you had slept together several times already, he still was never able to get used to hearing you make such remarks that were clearly intended to embarrass him.

"Well, you do have a point," Chigiri responded after letting out a final breath from his laughs, returning the suggestive comment with one of his own. "Are you implying I keep you awake too often?"

“Not enough.” You shrugged with a smirk.

Chigiri's grin widened as he then leaned in closer to you as though to whisper in your ear, "Is that a challenge then?" he asked, the teasing tone still prevalent in his voice as he tried to match the same nature of the moment, as though he was trying to see just what would happen if it was taken further. “(Y/n)?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, are you talking to me or the plushie?” You replied, shattering the dark and flirtatious turn that the conversation had taken to return to the friendly teasing, a choice which was received with a chuckle.

"I think I'm speaking to the real (Y/n) and not the toy," he then responded with his own joking comment, his tone remaining playful, but with just the slightest amount of flirtatiousness in it. "Unless... Are you saying you're no different than the plushie?"

“I’m totally different! That plushie can’t give you forehead kisses.”

"That's true, only the real you can do that," Chigiri responded confidently, reaching up to brush back your hair away from your face before tilting his lips closer to your head. "May I?" he asked, leaning only an inch or so away from your forehead.

“You may.” You smiled brightly at your boyfriend, your heart fluttering with compassion.

With your permission, Chigiri planted a soft peck onto your forehead before looking down at you again with so much love in his eyes you could swear he was looking at his world. The distance between the two of you had closed so much that your plushies were pressed between your stomachs as you continued to smile at one another, the atmosphere of each other’s presence filling you with so much desire.

However, right before your boyfriend was able to lean down to kiss your lips instead after staring at you for so long, you two were suddenly interrupted by the sound of excited buzzing as you were approached by a duo that you did not personally recognise.

“Chigiri?!” A voice called out, and your attention was diverted towards a man with black hair and large blue eyes that led the crowd of friends.

“Is this the titular girlfriend you speak so much about?” Another man of the same height appeared behind the one who had previously spoken, this time having a bob cut with a bleached underside.

You watched as the pair approached your boyfriend with wide smiles, eager to find their best friend with what seemed to be his partner.

“What are you guys doing here—?” Chigiri’s eyes widened, holding your hand with one palm as he cradled his plushie with the other, involuntarily shifting you to hide behind him— as if the other two hadn’t already seen you.

“We were also let out of Blue Lock, you know! You think we wouldn’t wonder where you were?” Isagi exclaimed. “We wanted to hang out!”

“Why haven’t you ever introduced us to your girlfriend before?” Bachira swiftly found himself peeping behind Chigiri’s hip to stare at you, giving you a wide and cheese smile— Which you awkwardly reciprocated. “She’s very pretty!”

“You guys…” Chigiri’s entire face had been painted with blush, still keeping you behind him.

You couldn’t help but smile sweetly at the gesture, watching as your boyfriend’s flushed face attempted to hide his flustered embarrassment. So he had been too nervous to tell his teammates about you, huh?

“Don’t just stand there nervously, Hyouma!” You giggled, shifting from behind him to present yourself in a more friendly manner to both Bachira and Isagi. “Introduce me to your friends!”

#blue lock x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x reader #blue lock #bllk x y/n #bllk fluff #bllk imagines #bllk x you #bllk x reader #bllk #bllk chigiri #chigiri hyoma #chigiri x reader #blue lock chigiri #chigiri fluff #hyouma chigiri

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rae-gar-targaryen · 1 year

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mi media naranja [holiday!AU - mickey "fanboy" garcia x fem!reader, aka "cielo"]

A/N: For Fanboy’s fangirls - a holiday celebration with Fanboy y Cielo. Lots of callbacks to my original Fanboy HCs – so if you’ve been following their journey thus far, there will be lots in here for you. Bonus points if you get the references!

Pairing: Mickey ‘Fanboy’ Garcia x fem!civilian!reader (aka “Cielo;” as always no use of y/n – my readers are written ambiguous, but with a latina!reader in mind.)

Warnings: my writing is its own warning, smut, so 18+ ONLY – p in v sex, unprotected sex, v mild breeding kink, references to oral sex

Word Count: 5.8k of the warmth of a holiday spent together with your beloved, of chestnuts roasting on an open fire, of the cinnamon-orange passion of sharing half of yourself with someone else.

Summary: You spend your holidays with your sweet boyfriend. Mickey takes you home to visit his family, but of course, you make sure to indulge in the magic of the holiday, just the two of you [part of the Fanboy y Cielo ‘verse].

(moodboard courtesy of lovely @ouralcohol)

Divided holidays were a challenge.

You and Mickey had opted to spend the few days preceding Christmas with his mother and his sisters, which meant, of course, holiday travel.

You'd left your beachside home in San Diego, packing gifts and luggage alike to make the trek to Mickey’s hometown. Artoo was set up with your friend for the few days you’d be gone. And it wasn’t as though you weren’t coming back in just a few days to celebrate Christmas with Mickey, just the two of you. It would go by in a flash. So why were you nervous?

You had met his family before. And, of course, they’d never indicated anything other than that they’d liked you … Still, you’d felt the perpetual need to impress. To ensure that they still liked you, as though their opinion would have changed in the six months since you had seen them for the family’s summer beach weekend.

And the drive was pleasant enough, Mickey expressing to you ad nauseam that he was glad you were coming,

“You don’t understand, cielo,” he urged. “Every time I talk to my tía it’s like – ‘¿Y tu novia? ¿Y tu novia?’” he parroted. “I swear, it’s like she’s convinced you don’t exist, even though my mom has literally met you.”

You patted his arm in comfort, offering him your coffee cup, which he eyed warily – all too familiar with your penchant for bitter brew. Politely shaking his head in refusal as he turned his eyes back to the road.

You shrugged.

“Oh, I’m familiar,” you assuaged. “My auntie is nosy, too, she does the same. Ever since I was in high school, always asking me where my boyfriend was, judging me if I didn’t bring anyone.”

“And?” Mickey’s eyes darted to you, drumming his hands on the steering wheel in time with the radio (and not at all nervously himself).

You chuckled, quirking an eyebrow at your boyfriend’s a-little-too-curious tone.

“¿Estás celoso o algo así?” Are you jealous, or something? “Don’t worry, M, I don’t bring anyone around unless I think they’re worthwhile.”

You popped across the console on your elbows, enough to press a kiss to your boyfriend’s cheek, pleased at the blooming flush making its way across his finely-peaked, mole-dotted cheekbones. At his happy realization that you had brought him home to meet your family for nearly every Thanksgiving since you’d gotten together.

That you had deemed him worthy.

And though Mickey had assured you that it would be a relatively quiet few days, a few meals and a gift exchange with his mom and his sisters, you couldn’t help but wonder – had Mickey deemed you worthy? Had the women in his life?

So, yeah, you couldn’t help the little prickle of nerves that tingled their way through you as your playlist wound down, the dulcet tones of Sam Cooke’s “Any Day Now,” fading as Mickey turned into his driveway, his mother and sisters waiting to greet you with waving hands and identically-beaming faces. Their smiles were all-to familiar to you – a virtual carbon-copy of the one that regularly greeted you on the face of your beloved.

And it was foolish to worry, really, you thought, as you were crushed with hugs and ushered inside by Mickey’s mother and his three shrieking, giggling sisters, all wearing variations of the same, slightly threadbare sweater (no doubt handmade and worn annually). Leaving Mickey to carry your bags and gifts into the home while his trio of sisters fawned over you,

“She looks gorgeous, no?” Said the eldest, Luci.

“I told you, she’s got that glow,” from Eiza, the youngest.

And it was foolish to worry – when they had shoved a glass of ponche navideño in your hands and began filling you in on all the chisme as your boyfriend huffed his way up to his childhood bedroom, laden with bags.

Hours later, you were packed into the hearth-warm kitchen, virtually up to your elbows in masa as you continued to knead, by hand, the sticky dough for enough tamales to feed an army under the approving (but ever-watchful eye) of your general – Mrs. Garcia. The way her lips had split into a smile when you’d refused the stand-mixer and opted to go manual was something you’d burn into your brain for eternity.

Maybe approval wasn’t so far off.

“Bien, mija,” she appraised, as Mickey sipped his punch from the corner he had been relegated to in the the kitchen, watching with honeymelt eyes as the women who shaped his past, his present, and – his eyes lingered over you – hopefully, his future, all worked in tandem to make homemade tamales. Gossipping away and giggling with each other as though you had been their friend for decades.

“Ma,” Mickey piped up, “you’ve got her making all of this by hand? She’ll cramp up. She’ll have witch's hands by the time we leave. She’s an artist, you know, it’s how she makes her living. How many tamales do you need, anyway?”

Mrs. Garcia whipped the dish towel that was draped over her shoulder at the back of her son’s head, effectively silencing him.

“Miguelito,” she hissed, “Tradicion. And your cousin Shawn says he’ll eat at least forty, and you know they’ll be here til New Year’s.”

“Yeah? Well, cousin Shawn is full of shit.”

Mickey’s sisters rolled their eyes at their brother’s antics, the middle sister, Olivia, bumping her hips against yours, her eyes full of playful mirth as she finished stirring the filling.

And you could make out the living room through its swinging door to the kitchen, Vicente Fernández warbling away on the record player in the corner, as Eiza finished decorating their tree with a few of the ornaments that you and Mickey had brought – one, an orb with a photo of the two of you and Artoo on your couch at home, she displayed prominently at the center of the tree next to some that were clearly school projects from the kids’ elementary school years.

It was nice, you thought – to be in a home that felt like a home for the holidays. To see these little pieces of your love’s life that had preceded you and that had shaped him. To let the magic of the season wash over your lives.

After dinner, you helped Mickey’s sisters store the tamales for the long haul (and the arrival of the cousins) while Mickey did the dishes.

Sliding on stockinged feet over the linoleum in their kitchen, you sheepishly produced a pink box tied in twine, with a tag that had a roughly-hewn, hand-drawn likeness of the Garcia household that you had seen in photographs, offering it to Mickey’s mother – a box stuffed full of pan dulce and Christmas cookies.

“Mija, you made these?” She asked, hand hovering over the open flap, debating which to choose. “They all look so perfect.”

“You should, like, have a baking insta,” Eiza agreed, words muffled by a mouth full of fluffy pink pan dulce.

“They aren’t alla that,” you huffed, waving your hand as though to wave away the compliments.

“She’s modest,” Mickey assured, taking the box from your hands and setting it on the oaken kitchen table before lacing your fingers with his. “She loves to bake. She makes cookies for everyone in the squad for Christmas and birthdays.”

“Really?” Mrs. Garcia appraised. “What did you make this year?”

Rooster was positively gleeful at the sight of the red tin bedecked with snowflakes.

“Are those what I think they are?” He bent down to kiss your cheek as you pressed the box into his hands. “Our Marigold’s famous Christmas gifts?”

You had come down to the base to deliver the baked goods in person, on a day the squad had all agreed to meet for a holiday lunch. A cardboard box full of tins, each with their own personalized tag, awaited each of the Daggers. Javy had taken his – with its tag featuring a little drawing of a howling coyote – and absconded with it, thanking you through a sprinkling mouthful of crumbs and peppermint icing.

Bradley’s, with its tag adorned with a strutting cartoon rooster with its tail feathers made of flames, was full of iced shortbread. Something he had confided to you that his mother had made on holidays past. You hoped he’d like them, not that the recipe you had found online could ever touch Carole Bradshaw's.

Mav had winked, thanking you for the classic chocolate chip, chuckling at the cartoonish aviator sunglasses on the tag.

Chocolate-chili cookies for Phoenix. Peanut butter for Jake. Cinnamon swirl for Bob. Lemon-lavender for Halo. Sweet mochi cookies for Reuben… and so on.

“If he doesn’t marry you, Marigold,” Rooster not-so-quietly announced, gesturing at Mickey with a cookie in his hand, “I will.”

It was then that Mickey had swooped in, looping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your cheek, waving Rooster away with a,

“Yeah, yeah… she’ll definitely call you, buddy." Waving at the squad as he spun you and made to take your leave. "Merry Christmas, ya filthy animals.”

–

Mickey's childhood room was, like the rest of his family home, like the man himself, warm. Belying a coziness you cherished in all spaces, replete with a checkered quilt on the bed that you were certain his mother had made. Posters bedecked the walls, shining with the grins of baseball and soccer players whose names you'd recognized from the backs of jerseys hanging in Mickey's side of your shared closet. Star Trek DVD sets on the bookshelf, nestled next to Tom Clancy novels. Model planes, jets, and Lego sets were intact and displayed – proudly, you were sure – on the desk. It was all so overwhelmingly Mickey, you were certain you were falling in love all over again, more pieces of himself falling into place in your heart. The nature of him, ensconced by his childhood, filling the gaps in your heart.

"It's, ehhh," Mickey scrubbed the back of his neck, placing your bag at the foot of the bed on the side he knew you'd preferred af home. "A little geeky, I know. Ma insists on not changing it."

"She shouldn't," you clarified. "It's perfect. It's you."

Mickey beamed at that, coming to your side and surveying the room from your perspective before shrugging his shoulders.

"It's more perfect seeing you here. Honestly, a pretty girl in my room? My sisters never thought they'd see the day," he chuckled, sweeping an arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder before gazing up at you through his lashes. "And I gotta say, cielo, it's doing a number on me, you being in here."

You batted your lashes at your beloved before patting his cheek,

“Easy tiger,” you breathed. “I’m not trying to disrespect your mother, or anything. We can wait til we're back home.”

"Yeah, about that," Mickey said, extricating himself from you and readying himself for bed. "My mom is probably still laughing at you for offering to sleep on the couch. They know we've been together for a while, babe. It's fine."

"Still," you hissed, shimmying out of your jeans and into your joggers, sliding beneath the covers. "It's… awkward, no? To be in your boyfriend's house, them thinking we’re like … hooking up in here?"

"If you feel that strongly about it," Mickey slid in beside you, leveling you with his best serious gaze, "you really should make more of an effort to keep your hands off me. Like, damn. Let a man sleep in peace."

You swatted his arm with the back of your hand, scoffing at him as he turned to turn out the bedside light.

"You're unbelievable."

"Tell me something I don't know, baby."

And it had to be some kind of record, really. How quickly you’d gone back on your own word.

As soon as you and Mickey had turned the lights out, he had wrapped his arms around you, and pressed a goodnight kiss to your lips, you were a goner. The rustle of sheets met your ears through the blanket of darkness that had fallen in Mickey’s room, his fingertips meeting the skin of your waist where your t-shirt had ridden up, his lips meeting yours in kind – a clandestine, weighted feeling that you often felt yourself lost in.

Mickey would often tell you that he felt a sort of gravitational pull near you – when you kissed him. That he was helpless to your gravitational pull, like the crashing tides. No choice but to worship you.

It was utter bullshit.

Utter nonsense. Because there was no way he could feel that way about you, when it was exactly how you felt about him, as he trailed his lips along the skin of your neck, feeling his way across your skin, through you, over you, the very heart of you. Rendering you slavish, devoted, insane. No choice but to heed to his beck and call, like the routine surrounding the permanence of a rising and setting sun.

At the breaking little whine shattering its way through your throat, Mickey smiles against your skin, knowing he’s won. His mouth is warm, kisses like rich cocoa against your silken skin as he slips his way down your body, a trail of teasing touches and toying temptations – leading with lips and tongue.

He presses his way down your body, pleased at the heavy sigh that pours from your throat like water in the desert as he slides the soft fabric of your t-shirt up your torso, allowing his lips to chase the mapping progress of his fingers – a path he’s travelled many times, but never feels the same, and never renders the exact same reaction from you.

“Fuck, cielo,” Mickey murmurs in reverence, his tongue swirling your nipple, the heat of his mouth and honey of his lips following. His hands slipping down your waist as he peppers kisses to the ridges of your ribs, the softness of your stomach. Shucking the quilt down to the foot of the bed as he makes his way between your now-parted legs.

His palms skated the skin of your thighs, your calves, your ankles, mumbling muffled endearments against your skin as his lips traversed to your hips, inching closer, closer, closer to your center. Your chest heaved with ragged breaths, with honeyed sighs, lashes fluttering and fingers lacing through Mickey’s curls as you acquiesced, always, to the pull of him, the swelling ocean tide sure to wash you away into the depths of him.

“You should feel how warm you are, amor,” Mickey’s lips were wistful and wanton, cruel yet comforting, as he pressed open-mouthed kisses heating the insides of your thighs. A perpetual tease, as tongue followed. “I bet you’re sweet, too.”

Mickey’s eyes met yours as he glanced up at you from between your thighs, glimmering with the dance of mischief and amorous intent. Pleased at the hitch of your breath evident in your chest, the fluttering of your lashes, the part of your lips.

God, you were well on your way to looking as wrecked as he felt.

Mickey smiled then, a splitting peal of glimmering happiness, before he endeavoured to shatter you – cheeky as he inclined his head to lick a firm stripe along the seam of you, through the dampened cotton of your underwear.

You yelped at the feeling, slapping your hand over your mouth to muffle the too-loud noise that had shattered the relative silence of the room (save for your collectively heavy breaths), eyes wide at the sound that had spilled from you.

You tugged Mickey’s curls, beckoning him up as you hurried to close your legs – the moment shattering as you realized that once again, you had lost sense of yourself. And under his mother’s roof, no less.

“M!” you hissed, shuffling to readjust your clothing as you gently swatted at his pec, the small thwacking sound vindicating to your own traitorous ears as you attempted to recover from the embarrassment flooding through your body, heating your chest and cheeks. “Y-you … I can’t believe you. Zorro. Baboso.”

“H-hey,” Mickey was cupping his own pec where you had swatted at it, eyeing your fluster and bluster with barely-concealed mirth. “You wound me, baby. I was just trying to kiss you goodnight. I just wanted you to know I love you.”

“Sneaky little good-for-nothing,” you hissed, no malice in your voice as it spilled from lips that were trying, against your better senses, to tug into a smile. Shaking your head. “What would Ken Griffey Jr. think?” You tugged your shirt down, beckoning with pointed finger to the larger-than-life splashed likeness on the poster of the hall of fame ballplayer, staring down at the both of you, frozen smile ever-affixed. Not judgmental, but not-not judgmental.

“He’d high-five me for a home run?” Mickey shrugged.

“You’re shameless, you know?” You readjusted yourself under the covers, making a show of pulling them up to your chin, obscuring your body from his view.

“Well, what do you suggest we do instead,” Mickey queried.

“Um, sleep?”

“Baby,” Mickey’s voice was low, lilting – a slip of a tease in the wintery-darkness of his room. “I don’t, uhhh, think I can go to sleep right now.”

You arched an eyebrow at him, “I want to go on record as saying that this is a self-created problem, but because I love you …” you sat up, allowing the covers to fall to your waist, bending forward and cupping Mickey’s jaw, urging him to you to press a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Lie on your stomach,” you eased. “Let’s play the word game.”

The word game. Something you had invented with your siblings when you were little. When you were too hyper to sleep, filled with the sugar from Christmas cookies and hot cocoa, waiting for Santa Claus, urging the morning to come … you’d come up with the game to pass the time. A game you had passed on to friends at sleepovers, graduating to giggling wine-drunk iterations in college. And now to your beloved.

One of you would lie on your stomach, while the person that was “it” would pick a word or phrase, drawing each letter on the expanse of the other’s back. If the guesser chose the letter correctly, you would move on to the next letter, until they’ve spelled the word and identified it. Then you would switch

Now, with the twinkling of stars outside of Mickey’s window and the luminescent glow of the moon to light your way, you rubbed your palms along the smooth skin of his muscled back, perusing your mental catalog for your word. Mickey groaned beneath you, pleased at the feeling of your hands working their way along his skin, his contended exhalations leaving his lips like a purr.

“Ah,” you began, “I’ve got one. Okay.”

You traced an “R,” the curving bow of the letter causing a shiver to wrack through Mickey at the featherlight touch of your fingertip, the gentle scrape of your nail.

“Cielo, this is supposed to relax me, not turn me on,” he turned his head to the side, allowing it to rest on his arms so he could glare, balefully, at you through cocoa-swirled eyes.

“I can’t be breaking the rules if everything I do turns you on. Control yourself,” you replied primly, easing the sting of your jest with a sweet kiss pressed to his tanned shoulder. “I’ll draw again.”

“It’s an ‘R,’” he supplied, huffing. “Stupid, sexy ‘R.’”

You beamed, nodding so that he could see, before drawing the next. E.

As Mickey guessed each letter, you proceeded. Giggling at some of his mistakes, signaling wrong answers with a wiping, swirling motion along his spine, not unlike the sweeping shake of your head, until –

“Regalo,” Mickey guessed. Present.

“Bien,” you smiled. Rewarding your beloved with a sweet kiss to his lips, breezy and sweet like honeysuckle in spring.

“And what present did you get me, my love?”

“You’ll have to wait to find out,” you eased down next to him, cuddling into his side. “Or maybe my presence is the present. Either way, you’ll have to be good, or you get nothing.”

“Always,” Mickey murmured, the facile lovingness of your touch, the game, having lulled him some, easing into the routine of relaxing by your side.

Whether he was referring to you always being a gift, or that he was always good, you weren’t sure. And you didn’t ask, his evening-breathing suggesting that he was well on his way to drifting off – one step closer to dancing dreams of swirling ardor.

–

As you sat around in the morning with Mickey’s sisters in their matching sweaters, waiting to exchange gifts, they eyed you with something like mischief. A look you were all too used to seeing in their brother’s eyes.

Mickey was in the kitchen, chipperly helping his mother plate the pan dulce you had baked and pouring coffee. The sunshiney nature of early-birdedness seemed to be a Garcia family trait, you thought, as Mickey’s mother greeted you with a million-watt smile and a kiss to your cheek before ushering you to be comfortable by the tree.

“I heard the strangest thing last night,” Luci began, her lips curling into a grin. “Did you hear it, Oli?” She looked to the middle sister.

“Oh, yeah,” Olivia continued, knowingly. “Some noise coming from down the hall, like a strangled little cat. Very strange.”

“We don’t have a cat,” Eiza piped up, helpfully-unhelpful.

And if your face didn’t bely your embarrassment at Mickey’s sisters clearly having heard your little yelp from down the hall, you were sure that the heat rushing through your body might melt you, like a shameful wave of lava, bent on your destruction.

“Ehm,” you began, plucking intently at the very apparent little loose thread at the hem of your joggers…

“We’re teasing you,” Luci appeased. “Don’t worry. Quite honestly, the fact that you’d choose to be with that little nerd is astounding –”

“You’re too cool for him,” Eiza finished from her end of the couch.

“He’s, uhm,” you smiled weakly at each of his sisters, still recovering from the mortifying ordeal of having been put on the spot. “He’s pretty great.”

“Yeah,” Olivia rolled her eyes. “If you think Star Trek Christmas sweaters and talking about jets and G’s is cool.”

You shrugged. “I do.”

Mrs. Garcia and Mickey entered, then, distributing the steaming cups of coffee and reheated sweet breads. Your beloved pressing his lips to your temple as he pressed the warm mug into your hands.

“Buenas días, mija,” Mrs. Garcia greeted you, easing next to you on the couch.

“Good morning, señora.”

She knocked her shoulder gently into yours, smiling between you and Mickey, as he began to distribute gifts.

“Oh, M, give out mine first, please?” You urged, the little prickle of nerves from yesterday tickling at your throat (or maybe that was just the warm swallow of bitterly-strong coffee, just the way you liked it) as you were eagerly-anxious to see if his family liked your gifts.

Mickey nodded, passing soft wrapped packages to each sister – their names calligraphed on each tag in elegant, looping letters. Urging each sister to tear into the paper, an extra smile for Eiza as he passed her a firmer, square box.

Luci cooed over the hand-knitted scarf and hoop earrings, assuring you they were just the pair she wanted.

Olivia had beamed at the hand-painted mug, admiring the white oleander blooms you had painted. Thanking you for the book of poems.

Eiza shrieked at the pink gamer headset as she unwrapped it, looking up at you with awestruck, eager eyes.

“Now you can join M, Reuben and me on our Call of Duty nights,” you smiled. “You’ll need some face masks, though. We multitask our self-care.” You nodded at the box, urging her to check as she pulled out a pack of Korean sheet masks (the same that you had separately gifted Reuben). She swept you in a hug, promising to set up a time to play with you.

Mickey passed his mother a large, flat package, urging her to tear into the paper.

She ripped away the shining green, revealing a canvas with a watercolored likeness of your beachside home. The cerulean of the swirling ocean and the grapefruit-pink of the sunset stippled into in the background.

“She painted it, mama,” Mickey gestured to you, eyes swimming as he took in the pleased smile on his mother’s face.

“I just wanted you to have something, a piece of our home in yours, until you can come visit us,” you eased. “I hope you like it.”

Mrs. Garcia nodded, reaching to clasp your hand in hers. “It’s beautiful, my darling girl.”

Mickey’s sisters had gifted you with a stocking full of puppy goodies for Artoo. A set of bath bombs and a new sketchpad for you. Gifting Mickey with some games he had his eye on.

Senora eased her way up from the couch, pulling a small wooden box from beneath the tree and handing it to you.

You admired the hewn wood, popping the lid on the box to find a handful of recipe cards in what you recognized form letters and cards to be Mrs. Garcia’s handwriting.

“Just a few recipes for you – so the two of you can have them for your home. And start some of your own traditions.”

You thanked her, with teary eyes and a warm hug, all vestiges of worry set aside as you enmeshed yourself into the warm welcome of the Garcia home.

"You make him better, no?" Mrs. Garcia was sitting with you as Mickey packed up the car, his sisters twittering around him about taking leftovers (seriously, Shawn did not need that many tamales) and promising to FaceTime them after you and Mickey opened the rest of your gifts. The snippets of their conversations meeting your ears as you visited with his mother.

“-- I swear, Miguelito, you better marry her,” Luci’s voice caused your heart to lurch a little.

You turned your attention back to Mrs. Garcia,

"He makes me my best."

–

Artoo was overjoyed at your reunion. He leapt at your feet before you’d even had the chance to exit the car, his tail moving a mile a minute as he bowled over Mickey, licking at his face and his ears.

The two of you had settled into a lazy morning together, Artoo contentedly tearing into the stocking of gifts from Mickey’s sisters from his perch on the couch as you gifted Mickey with a plate of cheesy scrambled eggs – a Christmas morning breakfast tradition in your home.

“I like the shirt,” you acknowledged, beaming at the Mickey Mouse shirt that had been your birthday gift to him the prior year – a tradition of his own making, to wear the shirts you’d gifted him on Christmas. Each year a surprise as to which one he’d pick.

This year’s – a grinning Mickey hugging Pluto – a splash of color adorning Mickey’s torso. A welcome sight painting the picture of your holiday backdrop while you made chili-spiced hot cocoa as your father had taught you, the sweet tickle playing on your lips as you grinned at your boyfriend.

And it was a cosmic, karmic collision – something in the stars, you think. Watching him play with Artoo, watching him eat his breakfast, watching him pluck packages from beneath the tree, ready to give to you. And maybe it was the magic of the holidays – that tinges everything in evergreen romance, warm and sweet and cinnamon. But you think, perhaps, that it will always feel this way with Mickey – as though he was the sunshine in your wintery sky, iridescent and luminous.

“Here,” you passed a package to your beloved, waiting with bated breath and eager eyes as he set his cocoa cup aside and ripped into the paper, marveling at the bound graphic novel in his hands –

A full, illustrated edition of “The Adventures of Fanboy and Payback,” their space-exploration adventures that you had invented and drawn now captured fully, rather than in the piecemeal etchings you would stick into care packages when Mickey was away.

“Baby,” Mickey breathed, “you did all of this?”

“Well,” you worried your lower lip between your teeth. “The binding isn’t the best, but I tried. Do you like it?”

“Ah-mor,” he swept you off the couch and into his arms, his lips meeting yours, full and flush. “You literally made me a sci-fi hero. This is the best ever.”

“I’m so glad,” you murmured, wrapping your arms around his tapered waist and squeezing. “You’re definitely my hero, M. Callsign: Romeo.”

Mickey chuckled, disentangling himself from you and pressing another kiss to your lips. Assuring you he loved it as he gently set aside the book as though it were made of glass, turning to pick up your gift.

Mickey gazed at you expectantly as you held the small, unexpectedly dense box in your palm, searching his face for any hint as to what could be in the box,

“Don’t –” Mickey started, trailing off as you gently shook the box, “shake it… Fine.”

You smirked, peeling the paper off the box and peering into it, met with the fiery hue of —

“An orange?” You query, lifting the small fruit from the box, its stippled rind leaving the pleasing, citrusy smell on your fingertips as you examined it. The blazing blue sticker on the side of the rind boasting the phrase, “Sweet Valencia.”

“Por supuesto, cielo.” Of course.

“Well, you know I love oranges,” you smiled at him. “Thank you, my love.”

“Cieloooo,” he snickered. “If we were to share it. To peel it in half, what do you have?” He pressed you.

You gazed at him, glancing between the orange in your hand and your beloved’s shimmering eyes, dark and luminescent as the night sky.

“A half of an orange. Is this a riddle? What am I missing?”

“Si, cielo, my brilliant, beautiful girl.” Mickey kneeled before you know, cradling your hand that held the orange in his palms. “An orange half. Mi media naranja.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

And it was one of your favorite things about the Spanish language, your favorite endearment. Embodied by the gift your boyfriend was handing to you now, the fiery-hued orb in your palms, perfect. The sweet smell of citrus tickling your nose.

Mi media naranja. His soulmate. Literally translated, mi media naranja – “my orange half,” in reference to you.

Mickey dropped your hand, turning to pick up the box you had gently set aside, plucking something from the bottom of the box before picking up one of your hands.

The coolness of metal slid along the ring finger of your right hand.

You tore your gaze down in time to see the coppery rosiness of a simple rose-gold band against the skin of your hand.

“I’m going to marry you one day, mi naranjita,” Mickey assured, looking between the ring on your hand and your starshine eyes. “Until then, consider this my promise to you.”

With your artist's eyes, you can appreciate the watercolor brushstrokes of the moment, the way in which you saw the world, textured and swirling. Rosy and perpetually-perfect as your lips met Mickey’s, tugging him toward you with a finger crooked in his silly shirt.

“You’re perfect, M,” you murmured into his mouth. “Impetuous … but perfect.”

You dragged Mickey down the hall, toward your bedroom, your lips fused to his as you made to peel the cartoonish shirt from his torso as you went, reveling in the firm feel of him beneath your fingertips.

When had the script flipped? You were beneath Mickey now, him rolling his hips into you, the sweet, heavy drag of him inside of you sinfully sweet as you tipped your head back to watch your beloved watching you. The tight heat of you squeezing around him, causing him to roll his eyes back, bucking his hips into you harder.

“Baby,” Mickey groaned, “you're so pretty it hurts.” He dragged his teeth over the column of your throat, soothing the stinging scrape of teeth with a pretty little brushstroke of his lips over the canvas of your neck. "I'll give it all to you – give you more, more, more …" he murmured into your skin as his thrusts became sloppy.

And watching you come apart, to shatter in his embrace, was the gift you kept on giving. One he’d never tire of as he spilled inside of you as you urged him to, “Please, baby, come inside me,” urging, urging. “I want it.”

He never stood a chance.

You draw your finger repeatedly along the curve of his nose, pressing kisses into his neck and begging him not to move from inside of you as Mickey rests his head on your shoulder, puffing exhalations evening into the deep, easy breathing of the satisfied.

And as you glanced down at the rose gold band on your hand – the simple little gift that held so much weight, you drifted to the afternoon you had spent with Mickey before leaving his mother’s home. The tour he’d given you around town, narrating the lives of the ghosts of his hometown as you drove past the movie theater where he’d had his first date; the park where he and some friends had gotten drunk as teens. Stopping to climb to the roof of the school building, to watch the late-afternoon wintery sunset.

"I wish you knew what it feels like," you sighed, carding your fingers through Mickey's curls, his head in your lap as the two of you watched the blaze of orange sunset turn purple like tufted cotton candy.

"What what feels like?" He asked tilting his chin to allow his eyes to prove your form, appreciating the fiery hues of the sky splashed against your skin.

"To love you," you glanced down, meeting your beloved's eyes with a smile.

Mickey's million-watt grin beamed back in response.

And perhaps that's the reason for the setting sun, you thought. It has no choice but to retreat in the face of something so radiant as your beloved's smile, a second fiddle at its own game.

"Oh, I have a pretty good idea, cielito" Mickey sat up, warm hands coming to cradle either side of your face, to appreciate the curve of your jaw as you smile at him -- little reminders how every part of you, delights in every part of him.

At your arching eyebrow, he continued, "After all, I know what it feels like to love you."

His lips met yours, the feel of his kiss like night-blooming jasmine, like petals against your wistful mouth -- eternal against the evening dusk of his hometown's little skyline.

Perhaps traveling for the holidays wasn't so bad.

some tags for my usual suspects: @joaquinwhorres @withahappyrefrain @clints-lucky-arrow @inklore @phoenixhalliwell @ohmagawd-life @levylovegood @thatredheadwriter @zombieaurora @shadeds-library @writercole @ijustwantedplums @justalonelyslytherin @gretagerwigsmuse @fanboysfangirl @siriusfahey @the-navistar-carol @jadore-andor @fanboygarcia @lavenderluna10 @thedaredevilsgirl @fluffyprettykitty @mickeyluvs @mothdruid @maxmayfield @eagerforthesky @callmemantha @mxgyver @andrewrussgarfield @bioodforbiood @the-purity-pen @luxuryberzatto @liz-allyn @moonlight-prose @thegirlwhowritesfics @phoebe-danvers @jadore-andor @marvelousmermaid @spidervee @t-nd-rfoot

#mickey fanboy garcia x reader #mickey garcia x reader #fanboy garcia x reader #fanboy x reader #fanboy x cielo #mickey 'fanboy' garcia x reader #holiday fic #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fic #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley 'rooster' bradshaw #tgm fic #my writing #mickey fanboy garcia #Mickey 'fanboy' Garcia #danny ramirez

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5uwabbit · 2 months

Text

"Testing testing..The mic seems well! What a nice morning to greet everyone, Welcome to Altru inc!"

“What are you looking at? Did you finish loitering around? We have a mission to do."

“That’s Kellie??”

Kincaid background is unknown (secret) but he actually have some sort of educational background. He’s still has a skill in spotting talents out of the ordinary. The first time he met Kat she was just a troublesome kid breaking a vending machine. What impresses him more was how her parents didn’t give her an output for this? This is wasting talent!! Anyways.. when her parents were giving her a lecture for doing unforeseen robotics, he told them she would be a genius in tech. By chance, Kat was already in the best school in the area, where Kincaid is in. He now actively sponsors her. (Then they all moved to Almia in via student exchange)

Of course, given that it is an exchange program Kincaid has to keep her in check. Unfortunately, Kat is the “well now I’m not doing it now that you told me type”. So she’s giving him trouble.

Kellie was also from Fiore. He’s the son of a very popular whatever.. just think they have big influence here. He was already in Kincaid class and of course.. Kincaid is trying to get him on board with this plan. However the biggest struggle is literally convincing the boy since he’s Very. Very. unmotivated. He’s a natural social genius yet doesn’t like any interaction that doesn’t interest him.

Kellie only followed Kincaid when he mentioned they’re taking him to ranger school. Kincaid here actually works as a supervisor because Kellie has actual work in Altru including and they know Kincaid from the inside, putting trust on him. He always lived a carefree lived and his motivation is way too vague to tell. (Kincaid thinks he’s actually more at risk of drifting away from their group than Kat is)

Both Kat and Kellie were separate project. He didn’t plan for them to meet. They first began interacting in Almia Ranger School. Kat actually wonders why Kincaid needed Kellie because of course “Kincaid doesn’t really need anyone else doesn’t he?” (This leads to her investigating the organization as a whole, realizing that it’s much bigger than just robotics privileges). However instead of breaking away this strenghtened both of the two bonds.

Kat: I know your evil plans old blondie

Kincaid: what (oh sh-)

Kat: I agree

Kincaid: (huh?)

After this the two have full transparency. Anyways.. Kat realized Kellie’s background and was more like okay we’re coworkers. “I guess Kellie does play a good role in the plan..” Although…. it was kind of unexpected given Kellie were more of the “carefree type”. They got closer later on. Kat thinks Kellie should rebel more because why aren’t you extorting Kincaid more. We in this together dude!

Dear god please do not. Inspire Kellie to be like you.

-Kincaid

Also Kat suspected Kellie had relation to Kincaid at first because “He isn’t the troublesome type but still here anyway”. (Referring to some sorta detention)

Kellie knew right of the bat that Kat and Kincaid were actually allies to each other by sheer observation alone. Even when both the Professor and Kat literally seems like they only got beef with each other (This is why Isa doesn’t suspect that Kat and Kincaid is in the same faction). There will be more children dramas between R!Rhythmi, R!Keith, R!Ponte and Isa but that’s a topic for another stuff..

(Note: I put name differences for easy filtering, it also provides nice detail)

TAGGING

If I said R!Kate that means it’s Kat, R!Kate=Kat

Kate -> Kat

Kellyn -> Kellie

Isaac -> Isa

Mr. Kincaid -> Prof. Kinz (Still spelled Kincaid but again, easy filtering)

I have yet to make name diff for some :p I would love if you try to hyperanalyses who is swapped with who whether in personality or jobs. Who mirrors who designs LOL.

My take in Reverse Universe is like

Sometimes they are completely opposing themselves. Sometimes two characters swaps personality or/and jobs. Sometimes they remain the same as ever but something is off.

#pokemon ranger #reverse au #kat #kellie #Prof. Kinz #lore 😳#shadows of almia

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vyncentevelyn · 1 year

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Eddie knows magic. Ok, so not like El - not the superhero or Upside Down shit. No, Eddie knows parlor tricks, street magic. Before literal hell surfaced in Hawkins, he had a whole trick planned out for when he FINALLY graduated. But, as things are for Eddie, that didn’t quite happen. He got his degree, just no walk across the stuffy gym floor. No moment on the makeshift stage for him to blow the school’s mind one more time. No, instead he received his diploma in an envelope delivered by none other than Hopper. It was better this way, a quiet graduation for the Freak who some still believed was a Satanic murder come to ruin the town. And so, with the revelation of not being allowed to attend his own high school graduation, along with all of the Upside Down escapades, Eddie kind of gave up on the magic.

But one day while the party hangs out at Steve’s house, Eddie pulls out all the stops.

Eddie is stir crazy. It’s raining. The pizza is nowhere near cooked and Argyle, despite all of his chill, will not allow the group to eat raw dough.

Argyle grabs Eddie’s wrist to stop him from eating a ball of leftover dough, blinks his pink tinted eyes, and sternly says, “Dude. That is like totally against health code.”

“It’s not going to hurt me. I have honestly put worse in my mouth.” Eddie chides.

“Nope. No can do. If you can’t follow health code, you gotta vamoose my man.” Argyle shakes his head.

Eddie bites his lip and then snags a smaller piece of dough, quickly popping it in his mouth. He chews a closed mouth smile on his lips as he looks at Argyle.

“Dude. I tried to warn you.” Argyle looks at Eddie. “You are now banned from the kitchen.”

Argyle pushes Eddie, a little harder than Eddie was prepared for, towards the living room. Eddie kind of trips but styles it out into a twirl as he backs away from Argyle.

“My apologies.” Eddie says.

Argyle points to the living room. “You can come back when it’s ready.”

Jonathan laughs. Arms crossed as he watches with equally pink eyes, leaning up against the counter. He smiles warmly but offers no assistance to Eddie.

Will shoots Eddie a look as he walks by the island, it’s the kind of look that says his hands are tied, that he’s sorry. Eddie rolls his eyes back in response.

Mike barely registers the exchange as he focuses on something he and Will were working on, just nods at Eddie as if it was Eddie’s choice to leave the kitchen.

Max and Lucas are too busy canoodling at the dining room table to acknowledge anyone else. Eddie sticks his tongue out at them as he passes. They are too lost in each other to even notice that.

Defeated, Eddie sulks into Steve’s living room. He flops onto the ridiculously white, plush carpet in front of the couch. Some movie plays on the tv but Eddie cannot focus on the screen long enough to even figure out what it is. He opens drawer after drawer in the strange “apothecary” coffee table. Finally, he finds something. He jumps up clutching his prize to his chest.

He smirks down at the couch. Robin, Steve, El, Nancy, and Dustin stare back. They are now his captive audience.

Steve blinks his maple syrup eyes, “Whatcha got there Munson?”

Eddie just smiles. He steps up onto the coffee table, ignoring Nancy’s chiding, and turns to bow at the couch.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and ghouls. It is a pleasure to have you all here tonight.” Eddie bows, swooping his arms out wide.

“Is it though?” Dustin asks, pushing the pause button on the tv remote.

“Oh, but it is my dear lad. For tonight, you are joined by Eddie the Freak who will perform tricks no mortal has seen.”

“Tricks?” El’s voice sounds disapproving. “Friends don’t lie Eddie.”

Eddie blinks at the young girl, tilts his head and smiles, “Magic, my dear girl. Not lies – I assure you.” He places his hand on his heart to emphasize his honesty.

Her eyes grow wide, “Magic?”

It only takes El’s awestruck expression to get Eddie to up his game. But when he sees Steve’s own eyes expand in wonder, Eddie can’t help but fully step into the role as magician.

As if to answer El’s question, Eddie shows the deck of cards he had been hiding in his hand. El smiles but he can see the speculation in her eyes.

He opens the deck of cards, haphazardly tossing the cardboard box to the floor, and passes them to Steve, “Darlin, you mind giving these cards a shuffle?”

Steve blushes but takes the cards. He shuffles the cards and then hands them back to Eddie.

Eddie fans the cards out in front of El, “I want you to take one card out. Don’t let me see it but show it to everyone on the couch.”

El beams at Eddie before carefully picking a card from the fanned deck. Eddie collapses the deck and turns away from the couch as she shows each of the couch’s occupants the card she had chosen. Eddie peeks from his peripheral and asks, “Did everyone get a good look?”

“Yes.” El’s voice is stern but dripping in happiness.

Eddie turns back and stoops down on the coffee table to be level with El. He holds the deck in one hand out to El, “Now my dear, place the card back anywhere in the deck.”

“Back in the deck?” El muses. She studies the deck and then slips her card back in the stack.

Eddie begins to shuffle the deck, “I want you all to watch very carefully.” He looks at each of them as he moves the cards through one another. “I am going to make your card leave.”

“Leave?” El asks, turning to look at Steve and Robin for an explanation.

Steve shrugs before looking right back at Eddie. Robin raises her eyebrows and nods. El furrows her brow at Robin before turning to Nancy. Nancy smiles softly and points a manicured finger back to Eddie. El glances at Dustin who is too focused on Eddie’s hands to even register El. Sighing, she looks back at Eddie and tilts her head.

“I am going to get your card to leave the deck, to vanish.” Eddie explains, flipping through the cards. The soft sputtering of cardstock filling the silence. “Watch.” He flips over the first card to reveal the 5 of Clubs. “This is not your card, right?”

El smirks, “That is not my card.”

“Watch, El.” Eddie flips the card back over before snapping the card, the reverberation making a soft hum. “But this is your card.” Eddie smiles, flipping the card over again.

This time the Ace of Spades is face up.

El’s eyes grow wide.

Dustin shakes his head in disbelief.

Nancy makes a small chuckle.

Robin softly mutters, “Wow...”

“Holy shit.” Steve swears.

“Ah, ah.” Eddie coos, “We’re not quite down yet.” He smirks at each one, holding eye contact just a little longer with Steve who is openly gaping at him. Eddie feels a sense of pride slip over each vertebra in his spine. He looks back at El, “Now, I told you I would get this card to leave, right?”

“Yes.” El replies.

“Here it goes.” Eddie turns the card over and places it back in the stack. “Watch, I’m going to shake it.” He moves the whole deck and his hand to the side before bringing it back to center with El. “Do you think it’s gone?”

El shakes her head. Eddie flicks his eyes over the rest of his audience. Each one is staring at the deck, and each one looks like they know what is about to happen.

He flips the first card back over, again revealing the 5 of Clubs, “It’s gone.”

El’s eyes narrow. “I do not believe you.”

“It’s gotta still be in the deck.” Dustin argues.

El nods in agreement.

Eddie smirks. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” Dustin and El say in unison.

“Do me a favor El, ask Steve to check his back pocket.”

The whole couch turns to look at Steve. Steve stares back, with wide eyes, “I am in no way involved in this.”

“You didn’t feel me touch you, right? Not your hair, not your clothes. Nothing?” Eddie asks.

“No…?” Steve’s voice is wary, the pink returning to his cheeks and ears.

El looks at Steve, “Stand up.”

Steve stands from the couch and Eddie rises to full height with him. He smiles down at them from his coffee table stage as Steve reaches into his back pocket. Steve freezes. His hand still in his back right pocket.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “Fucking no.”

“What is it, Stevie?” Eddie pulls a strand of his hair across his mouth.

“No.” Steve says again as he pulls the card out of his back pocket.

He flips the card over.

The Ace of Spades sits proudly in his hand.

Dustin laughs, “What the hell!”

Robin shakes her head, “That is insane.”

Nancy smiles, eyes bright and for a second she looks years younger. She claps her hands together in applause.

“NO!” Steve yells.

El bursts into laughter. Her eyes shine as she stares up at Eddie, “You are magic.”

Steve is running with the card into the kitchen, “Max! Jonathan! Argyle! Lucas! Will! Mike! He’s…Eddie! He’s magic!”

Eddie smiles at where Steve disappeared into the kitchen. He can hear Steve gush to the group gathered in the kitchen. His heart beating fast with excitement and pride as Steve’s voice raises with wonder during his retelling. And he thinks for his next performance he will have an audience of one. He thinks he’ll bring his handcuffs over to Steve’s house and show him a different kind of magic trick…

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velvet4510 · 9 months

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Omg. there are so many little moments in Books 1 and 2 where we see Frodo’s developing feelings for Sam clear as day, and I’m so emotional over it. Before they set off alone together, the seeds are planted so well for the connection between them that will only blossom as they head into Mordor.

1) “Do you like Elves still, now that you have had a closer view?” THE RESPECT. Sam isn’t just a servant in Frodo’s eyes; he is a PERSON with opinions that MATTER. Frodo wants to know what Sam is thinking! He remembers how much Sam wanted to see Elves and reaches out to find out how Sam feels about it… he CARES!

2) “It did not sound like the voice of the old Sam Gamgee that he thought he knew.” Frodo notices the change in Sam that occurs when Sam steps out of his comfort zone, literally and figuratively, for the first time. I think this is the moment he starts to develop deeper feelings for Sam, as he is beginning to gain more insight into Sam as a person.

(bonus side note: THE TEAMWORK between the two of them when trying to save Merry and Pippin from the willow, exchanging ideas of what to do, collaborating to build the fire, helping each other get Tom Bombadil’s attention… It’s incredible. We see for the first time just how well they naturally work together. They’re totally in sync.)

3) “I am learning a lot about Sam Gamgee on this journey. First he was a conspirator, now he’s a jester. He’ll end up by becoming a wizard — or a warrior!” This line … this line is everything. Frodo always was fond of Sam before, but now he sees new sides of Sam that he never saw before, and he likes what he sees. He is now getting to know Sam in full, and his immediate response is total admiration.

4) Frodo asks Gandalf upon waking up in Rivendell, “Where’s Sam? And are the others alright?” Meaning 1) he thinks of Sam before anyone else and 2) Sam is separate in his mind from his cousins and new friends; there’s the others and then there’s SAM! Sam is exclusive. Sam has carved his own place in Frodo’s mind.

5) in Rivendell, Frodo looks around and notices that Sam is sitting away from him at a different table. He doesn’t wonder where “the others” are sitting. He wonders where Sam is sitting!!

6) Frodo hesitates to let Bill the pony go outside Moria because he knows how much Sam cares for Bill and how hurt he will be to lose Bill.

7) “What do you think of Elves now, Sam?” MORE RESPECT. Frodo asked Sam about this before, and is still curious about Sam’s feelings on the matter. Because Sam’s opinions are important to Frodo.

8) Sam is the ONLY person to whom Frodo recites his poem about Gandalf.

9) he lets Sam tell him about his “dream” and then confides in him that he’s seen Gollum following them … OMG THE TRUST. Sam is the FIRST person who Frodo tells about their mysterious pursuer. He hasn’t told anybody else! But he knows he can confide in Sam and he does!

10) “Those I can trust are too dear to me: poor old Sam, and Merry and Pippin.” The fact that Merry and Pippin are his cousins, his blood family and lifelong best friends, but when listing those who are dear to him in his mind, Sam comes first. Sam is the FIRST of ‘those too dear to him’ that he thinks of, before he thinks of his two cousins!!!

11) “It would be the death of you to come with me, and I could not have borne that.” This is the first time he openly admits to Sam that he is important to him. He confesses that he literally wouldn’t be able to go on if he brought Sam to his death!!

Look at how many times Frodo shows that he cares about Sam, prioritizes him in his thoughts, and respects his opinions. And this is all before he and Sam go off alone together to Mordor and grow even closer.

If this isn’t a hobbit who is falling deeply in love, I don’t know what is.

#samfro #sam x frodo #frodo x sam #lotr books #romance #relationship goals #frodo baggins #samwise gamgee #jrr tolkien

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craftlands · 2 months

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solar's rev19 ocs fun facts!

(confused about these characters? click here for an overview post!)

Lived in Los Angeles in the 1990s before the Storm specifically so I could make it feasible for it to have read House of Leaves before the book came to print in early 2000.

When it's not being a complete and total menace to every single power structure within sight, it likes to cook. It's pretty good at cooking but is still trying to figure out baking -- K's used to improvising on the fly and isn't good at following exact directions.

Its Udimo is a California condor -- a vulture.

Its distaste for chess isn't just part of the card shark theming. It really, genuinely does not care for the game, especially not the weird superiority complexes people get about being good at it.

Both its basic incantations and its Inheritance are named after solitaire variants :)

Would have a visual novel style event sidestory with multiple endings, similar to Jessica's but with no dice rolls and a heavier focus on doing multiple paths to unlock different possibilities.

PINION

Is engineered to regenerate or heal from lost body matter incredibly efficiently while also serving as a universal donor. Has hypertrophic (raised) scarring in a few places where they... "donate" from... particularly frequently.

Has silver eyes. One is missing in their Insight 2 garment. I wonder why that is…

Can't fly or glide with their wings, as they're not fully developed, but can launch themself into the air pretty high if they channel arcanum through them. This tends to cause them to shed feathers.

Does charcoal and pencil sketches to work on their fine motor skills, as their joints tend to jolt a little bit in movement sometimes. Likes doing botanical illustrations. No plant has ever harmed them.

Genuinely does like Lock despite showing this by antagonizing him constantly. Is probably more loyal to him than they are to pretty much anyone else, including K.

LOCK

Knows his own soul number -- it's 451, an incredibly mundane number with no particularly interesting qualities to speak of (sarcasm). Even its digital root is simply a default 1.

Has brown-black eyes. One is silver in his Insight 2 garment. I wonder why that is...

Social chameleon that can be a totally unmemorable guy in whatever situation you put him in. When he isn't intentionally staying low-profile, he's rather blunt and deadpan.

Relatively adept with any given weapon he picks up thanks to a deal he has with Eyes.

Doesn't have an Udimo. If he's set as an assist unit, the suitcase will be empty, and if swapped in he literally just walks onto the battlefield from offscreen.

Would have a grid puzzle event sidestory very similar to Melania's but with more focus on taking out specific targets, kind of like a very simplified Invisible Inc.

EYES

Has possession of Lock's full name. Doesn't use it very often but will occasionally withhold it on request so that people straight-up forget what it is.

K and Pinion are incredibly unnerved by him -- Pinion because of his ominous politeness reminding them of the scientists that made them, and K because it has no idea how to read or predict him. For his part, Eyes thinks this is hilarious. He also quite likes K in general and thinks it's just fascinating to observe.

Actually just friends with Lock, who isn't even remotely intimidated by them. The two exchange information a lot, and Eyes is a big help to Lock when it comes to picking targets.

Can quite literally see through the eyes of the people they've made deals with. Doing this will cause the person's eyes to glow white slightly, but the person in question won't innately be aware someone is watching. Could possess people, but chooses not to -- that's boring.

Is allergic to silver and cold iron. It's not quite the mythological deterrent fairytales hype it up to be -- he'll just get a really nasty rash if it touches his bare skin.

#reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 oc #rev19 oc #reverse1999 oc #reverse1999 #rev19 #rev1999

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dramioneasks · 1 year

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Christmas Fics 2022 (Part 1)

(un)seasonably numb by sodamnrad - M, one-shot - Every day of winter break was just another day with Malfoy, away from the rest of the world, from calendar dates or appointed festivities. Simply a cold, winter day spent on top of the world.

Good Cheer by lyrawinter - T, WIP - A feel-good Draco/Hermione fic. Each chapter will use a Christmas prompt.

Auld Lang Syne by wit_beyondmeasure - E, WIP - Five years after the war, everything and everyone in Hermione Granger's seemed focused on who she had yet to become, leaving very little space for her to just…be. When she spontaneously ditches her holiday plans in favor of spending Christmas alone in an enchanted bookshop, she unexpectedly finds herself reconnecting with someone from her past...and questioning everything she thought she wanted for her future.

Crash into Christmas by scullymurphy - M, one-shot - ‘What the fuck are you doing?’ Hermione mouthed from behind Roger’s beefy shoulder. But Malfoy just smiled brilliantly and slid off his stool, clapping Roger on the back and gathering their coats. Hermione heard him say something about the airport and a cab ride. Roger turned toward a small corridor, gesturing at them to follow. Malfoy went quickly, but Hermione hung back. What the bloody hell was he playing at? Did he really mean to crash somebody’s Christmas party?

Gruß vom Krampus by Onyx_and_Elm - M, one-shot - Do not, under any circumstances, touch the gooseberry tarts.

Castle in the Air by dolphin_ring - G, one-shot - Hermione runs into Draco on Christmas Eve. Literally.

Naughty or Nice by morriganmercy - E, one-shot - A potion reveals that Hermione isn't the only one who has made some changes during their first year away from Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy seems to have a very high opinion of himself, and she can't resist finding out why.

Sweeter the Second Time Around by RoseHarperMaxwell - M, one-shot - Draco did not buy Honeydukes for the sole purpose of becoming reacquainted with Hermione Granger. He did not. Written for D/Hr Advent 2022 🎄

The Holiday by embersofapril - M, 8 chapters - Dearest Hermione,I hope you are well and aren’t working yourself into a tizzy this close to the Holidays. Remember how we joked last month about swapping flats sometime? I think we should do it.I know this is last minute, but I would love to come and stay in London over the Holidays, for a change of pace, you know? Don’t tell anyone, but I do miss England.You can come and stay here, my home is yours. I think you will love Christmas in Paris.You should be on Holiday leave this coming week anyways, but I purposefully left his letter until the last minute, so you wouldn’t have enough time to come up with an excuse. It will be good for you, Mione, to get away for a bit.I can arrive tomorrow morning, I already acquired an International Portkey for you, so you really have no reason not to.Send Gizmo back as soon as possible!Theo xx

The Second Yule Ball by scullyvasan - T, one-shot - Second time's the charm. Maybe. Christmas fluff featuring Draco in glasses, Draco on ice, and a couple other surprises to be unwrapped. A personal favorite from Fictober 2022 that I've been waiting to post for December. Russian translation by Vart_ on the way.

The Dance Card by Astrangefan - not rated, 4 chapters - Ginny is mischievous and jealous of Bill's special friend. She plans a big prank at the Malfoy Christmas Eve Ball. Things don't go as planned and Hermione sacrifices her happiness. Well almost.A typical romantic historical story with a bit of a twist.

One Year & A Mistletoe by MissusB - E, one-shot - It's the most wonderful time of the year... If only Molly Weasley would stop setting her surrogate daughter, Hermione Granger, on everlasting and ever-failing blind dates. It is for this particular reason, she has decided to go solo to this year's large Christmas Gala. Only someone else shows up as well. And Hermione suspects Molley just couldn't help herself.

Draco Malfoy and the Secret Santa Gift Exchange by GreenInk_RedLetters - T, one-shot - "Whatever abominable being invented the secret Santa gift exchange most assuredly deserved the Kiss."AKA, a lighthearted one-shot featuring your favorite snarky blonde forced to be at an office holiday party with -oh joy- a gift exchange. But maybe, just maybe, with the help of one bushy haired golden girl, it might just end a tad bit better. And what was that about the cookies...? Light fluff, maximum cute.

Christmas Past by Katkatkittymeow - E, one-shot - A look at Draco and Hermione's Christmases together.

A Tale of Two Christmases by Meiri - G, one-shot - Christmas 2005 was great, until it wasn't. So far, Christmas 2006 was shaping up to be even more unusual.

The Advent Calendar by DramioneDreaming - G, one-shot - A little bit of Advent calendar themed snarky Dramione banter. Hermione introduces Draco to a muggle tradition; Draco is less than impressed. Written for the Hermione's Nook fest - A Very Potter Advent Calendar

#christmas #dramione

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paluding · 4 months

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Hey there! I've been testing some stuff for the Restaurant mod I was doing. So far so good! I'm pretty sure I'm almost ready to share it :D

However, I noticed yet another possible mistake by Eaxis, I think? I'm not sure, but I tried replicating the issue without any mods and it still happens. So I have the Ultimate collection and, for some reason, the vending machine food from Apartment Life shows up in the menu when I use the Plan Menu interaction on the restaurant podium. They don't have any preview pics, which is already weird, but the worst thing is actually serving it. The waiter serves literally nothing, like serving invisible food, no money is exchanged, and the customer just stays there sitting indefinitely, which is not good at all for the business lol.

I tried googling looking for a fix or something but all I could find is this Mod the Sims thread where they also seem to have this issue.

Has anyone else had this issue with the vending machine food appearing on their menu? Preferably someone with the Ultimate collection. The list of food is as follows:

-Chocolate Clusters -Cola -Krinkle Cut Chips -Lemon-Lime Soda -Macadamia Nut Cookies -Orange Soda -Root Beer -White Cheddar Crackers

So if anyone wants to test this for me and finds them in their menu, or even better if someone knows a mod that fixes this, please let me know! I'm kinda freaking out a bit wondering if I have something messed up in my game now 😓

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nocturne-pisces · 2 years

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Longing Glances from Across the Dance Floor

Eddie Munson x Reader

w/c: 900-ish

Warnings: mention of sexual themes.

series masterlist

“You guys could be less boring and pick on literally anyone else.”

Everyone’s head whips in your direction, your arms folded over your chest holding your prized copy of Pride and Prejudice. Jason rounds on you, his brows lifted in amusement.

“You finally pull your nose out of that book long enough to notice the world around you, worm?”

Jason turns back to his friends, a couple of them chuckling. Eddie watches the exchange with rapt attention. His savior, Athena in a wool sweater, you didn’t look like you had so much fight in you.

“I did, and-- quick question, did it hurt when Chrissy forcefully removed you from her ass?” You spit back.

You found it, the magic button to make Jason shut the fuck up. He falters, fucking flounders, his mouth trying to make words his brain isn’t fast enough to formulate.

A bean pole of a freshman kid pipes up from the table. “Look, the methane inhalation from sniffing Chrissy's farts has finally rendered him brain dead!”

The cafeteria erupts in laughter, your own smile tugging at the corners of your lips as Jason’s mouth shuts, his jaw locking in rage. There's a stare down, the unmistakable heat of embarrassment creeping up his neck and into his cheeks, turning them a near neon shade of pink. He shoves past you, his entourage following, and the applause that you get from Eddie’s table makes your own face feel warm.

Of course, Eddie’s mouth is too dry to thank you, his eyes glued to the way your skirt stretches over your hips. He follows the curves upward, until his eyes meet yours and he looks away- chastising himself internally for getting caught.

You duck your head once the roar dies down, will yourself back into being wallflower, and make for a deserted table. The brown bag lunch you pull out of your backpack picked over while your well loved book fits your nose right back between its pages.

You don’t see the way Eddie watches you across the room, don’t hear him kicking himself for not being able to talk to you, don’t hear the pudgy freshman poking fun at him for getting all doe eyed about being stood up for and the subsequent choking noises. Elizabeth Bennet has just refused Mr. Darcy’s engagement proposal and even though you know all the words and their placement on the page, you can’t help but get wrapped back up by Jane Austen’s comforting cadence.

On the other side of the cafeteria Eddie is picking at his school lunch, so nauseous he swears there are bats flying around in his stomach, tearing up the lining and trying to claw their way up his throat.

He feels like that all throughout fifth and sixth period, headway on his studying for finals stalled as thoughts of you invaded his mind. His fingers itched to find out what that sweater felt like as he slid it up your torso, what you might be hiding under it.

It wasn’t until after eighth period and right before the final bell that he managed to find you at your locker and work up the courage to speak to you. He leans a shoulder against the cold metal, the leather of his jacket squeaking against it and he swears he’s under a bright spotlight the minute your eyes focus on him.

“Hey, I just uh- wanted to say thank you for sticking up for me at lunch. It was uh- really cool of you.”

That soft smile he likes so much returns to your face, your book tucked protectively under your arms as they cross back over your chest. He wonders if you’re using it to protect yourself, protect your heart.

“I just– I don’t get why it has to be you.”

He doesn’t understand, the pinch of his eyebrows tells you as much and you can feel the words jumbling together in your mouth.

“I just mean that I don’t understand why, out of like– everyone, they have to pick on you.”

He’s touched, his gaze falling to his sneakers.

“It’s the way I look,” he mutters, but you catch them before his words hit the ground.

“That doesn’t make sense either. Just because you look all tough and handsome with your leather and cool denim vest and not all stuck up with their stupid lettermans jackets and stupid quaffed hair, they have to prove some kind of male alpha bravado bullshit? I hate it. I hate highschool.”

“You think I’m handsome?” His chest puffs just the smallest bit, his bitten fingers pushing a few curls behind his ear.

You have to mentally shuffle back through your words to figure out that, “Yeah, I guess I do.”

His own arms cross over his chest, mirroring your own as he stands up to his full height. His palms have started sweating and he has to hide them or you’ll find out that your compliment has done something to him. He smiles down at you, sucking his plush bottom lip between his teeth as he takes you in from the bottom up.

“Well, then I guess thank you.”

“Eddie, lets go!” One of the guys from his lunch table calls for him.

The corner of his mouth fights the curl upward, trying to suppress a smile as you try to stamp down your own. He takes step after step backward, jerking his thumb in the direction of his friends.

“I gotta go, but maybe you could sit with us tomorrow at lunch? Might be better than a table by yourself.”

He nearly trips over a sophomore, righting himself before he falls, that I can get away with anything smile cracking wide against his cheeks.

“I’ll think about it,” you coyly call after him.

He gives you a nod, giving you a small wave before he’s engulfed by the Hellfire Club, a couple of them sending glances your way.

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #stranger things season four #stranger things s4 #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine

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river-ocean · 1 year

Note

F1 fanfic recommendations for the sleepover !

I LOVE THIS. thank you anon. i need to make an actual fic rec list someday soon but for now, here is a list of some of the fics that live in my head rent free. i’ll include links to all of them of course <3 these are mostly fluff, and all happy endings because i am soft and that’s what i like.

i’m going to start off by surprising absolutely no one and recommend literally everything written by @wolfiemcwolferson, (tiredtiredsharl on ao3) because they are my favorite and i love them, but specifically, i think you should read the leave this blue neighbourhood series because it has actually changed my life.

clearly i am very strongly a piarles girly (gn) so i recommend following along with the piarles winter fic exchange. i literally recommend and endorse every single writer in the exchange server because they are all so talented and wonderful. i mean that genuinely - i feel so lucky to be part of such an incredibly talented group of people. i mean this from the bottom of my heart and i would be here for hours if i recommended each one of them individually.

specific piarles recommendations:

e forse il mare è dentro di lui by DuquesaDeMiel (@duquesademiel here on tumblr as well) - possibly my favorite work of sol’s, a fantasy fest fic that captures all of the beauty and power and strength of the sea.

whatever our souls are made of (his and mine are the same) by empireoffclouds - when i say that i think about this fic every day i am not kidding. when i first read this fic, i cried 95% of the time (all of the emotions, but i promise there is a happy ending). when it was over i sat in my bed and stared at the wall for a solid twenty minutes. i will never have the words to express the beauty of this fic.

baby bi bi bi by dm3rv ( @leclerctops ) , inkredible_calamars ( @redyellowstupid ) , ohmygasly (singsweetmelodies) ( @singsweetmelodies ) - this series is so fun. co-written by 3 of the incredible mods for the PWFE!!!

Whispers Can Echo by welightitup (@welightitup) - this is the fic that got me absolutely hooked on piarles and i haven’t looked back since. coincidentally, this was written by the 4th lovely PWFE mod and 10000% why i joined the exchange.

ok, i promise i don’t only read piarles. just...mostly. logan is 95% of the reason i read anything other than piarles so i don’t have a ton of recommendations for other pairings. if anyone has more galex, carlando, maxiel, or sewis recommendations please slide into my DMs thank you very much.

so with that, here are my (limited)

other pairing recommendations:

carlando

¡Revolución! by hibivrooms - a beautiful, beautiful AU with incredible world building and political strife and angst and happiness and love and family and just so wonderful. and we love a revolution.

Glitter and Be Gay by Phebes - so so so soft. an AU where lando is a teacher and carlos is the dad of one of his students and it is just, wonderful.

sewis

Let's try something else by 12romy - fake dating, destroying homophobia in f1, what more could you want!!!

maxiel

let the bells ring by anonymous - this is a response to a kinkmeme prompt, but it is SFW and really cute. implied past lestappen necessary for the plot.

#fic recs #asks

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kdj-225 · 2 years

Note

oh yay you're on tumblr now!! i've been following and enjoying your joongdok stuff on twitter for awhile now so thank you♡ saw you were looking at fic requests, so... maybe some joongdok high school au shenanigans, where everyone thinks they're pining but they've actually been together for awhile? you don't actually have to write anything of course lol i just appreciate all your hard work on your stories!!

[ I'm happy to know that you enjoy my joongdok content on twitter, thank you so much!!! 💕🥰💕 I hope you like this short fic fill for your prompt!! ]

※DO NOT REPOST / HOST MY WORK ON OTHER APPS OR SITES

“You keep staring at him like that, you may as well just ask him out.”

Kim Dokja sighs. The few times Joonghyuk isn’t looking over and squinting at him, someone else (in this case, Jung Heewon) has to come over and disturb him. He really can’t eat his visual fill in peace no matter the circumstances, it seems.

“Yoo Joonghyuk,” he calls out.

He gives a little wave when the other student looks over with furrowed brows. Again, Dokja is hit with the temptation to smooth those wrinkles over with his fingers.

So young, yet so grumpy.

“Go out with me,” he mouths quietly. He grins when Joonghyuk blinks narrowed eyes in disbelief at him, and laughs when the other dares to flip a finger in response to his words.

He flips a finger back, just because he can.

“What was that?” Heewon asks. Her face, when it enters his view, is twisted in confusion at the odd and random exchange that just occurred before her. “What’d you tell him?”

“To go out with me.”

She laughs. “That’s why he flipped a finger at you?”

He nods. “That’s why he flipped a finger at me, yes.”

“I meant to ask him out seriously. Not as a joke, Dokja-yah. It’s no wonder he’d be so mad…”

He hums, resting his cheek on his chin. Again, he returns his gaze to Joonghyuk’s profile—sharp jaw despite his youth, a cat-like gaze, thick brows that highlight his eyes well, and a sharp nose with a line that naturally led one’s gaze to his kissable lips. His is a face that was awkward in his earlier years with his ears and brows and nose too large on his small face, but now, it was just unfair how attractive he’s grown up to be.

Who could blame him for staring, anyway? Anyone else would, he’s sure.

“Oh, he’d be mad regardless,” he says, smiling in amusement as he finds Joonghyuk’s gaze softening as it flickers over to him.

“But he’s cute like that.”

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

“You may as well make it official and stake your claim, you know.”

Yoo Joonghyuk struggles very hard not to throttle Han Sooyoung in full view of the student populace. He’d only been in the middle of unwrapping the food he’d prepared for himself and Kim Dokja on a desk in the courtyard; he doesn’t see why that’s worthy of her accosting him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Making his lunch? You are either his mother or his lover, and yet, you are neither of those things.”

He huffs out a breath. “You can meddle elsewhere. Or are you dissatisfied with him eating a proper lunch?”

“We’re literally provided meals at school every day.”

“Not enough protein for him. You also know how picky he is.”

“You’re really—” Sooyoung scoffs. “I’m not saying you should stop anyway, you punk. I’m saying that you should make things clear so he doesn’t get the wrong idea.”

“What wrong ideas can anyone get from being provided with food?”

“That you’re just doing this for your entertainment until you get bored of him. That you’re thinking of him as a charity case.”

“Kim Dokja has never been a charity case. And if he were, how would I be any different?”

Sooyoung makes a face—not at him, but at herself. It’s as if she’d forgotten just who it is that she’s talking to, which wouldn’t be a surprise to him. Of course she’d forget the fact that he’s an orphan in favor of Kim Dokja, who has to live with only his mother after his old man passed away in the way that he did.

He likes it better this way, even if the miserable look on her face seems to have her believing otherwise.

“Don’t look like that,” he says, frowning at the wary look she sends his way. “I prefer it, that you forget what I am. And Dokja is not enough of a fool to think of himself in that way around me.”

“But—”

“Ah, Joonghyuk-ah! Did you make my favorite today?”

Dokja’s voice cuts through whatever Sooyoung’s complaints might be, making the both of them look back at him. He’s got his phone in hand, as is the usual, and the way he jogs over to them reminds Joonghyuk that he really should get Dokja to exercise more. He’s heaving for breath when he finds his way to their table in such a short distance…his stamina really is abysmal.

“No,” he says. He ignores the pout that Dokja gives him in response. “You can’t eat omurice every day, you fool.”

“But your omurice is so good?”

“I don’t care. Mia wanted white meat today.”

“Ah, so is it fish or chicken?”

“Fish.”

“...you two may as well get married,” Sooyoung grumbles.

Dokja blinks at her as he takes a seat beside Joonghyuk. “What was that?”

“Nothing, idiot.”

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

When Heewon sighs for the umpteenth time, Hyunsung can’t help it.

He finally voices the question he’s been wanting to ask ever since the start of group outing, the question that’s rested on the tip of his tongue ever since he saw the determined expressions on Sooyoung and Heewon’s faces.

To everyone at their table, he asks, “Is there something wrong..?”

Yoo Sangah quietly sips from her glass of juice, then smiles at him. Lee Seolhwa, in a similar way, shares a placid smile that has Hyunsung fidgeting in confusion. Those looks explain absolutely nothing, and only make him sweat nervously at what it is he must be missing.

Sooyoung, on the other hand, nods her head over to the distant counter where Joonghyuk and Dokja are still lined up to get their own orders. She says, “It’s them.”

He blinks. “Joonghyuk and Dokja? What about them?”

“We’re staging an intervention,” Heewon says. Again, that answers nothing. “They need our help, pronto. I can’t deal with this anymore.”

He smiles awkwardly. Somehow, he feels like he’s back in class when he nervously raises a hand to get their attention. “Um, what’s “this”?”

“This—”

“I’ve succeeded in corrupting our Joonghyukie!”

Hyunsung looks up at the sound of Dokja’s voice, and finds his pale classmate grinning while pulling a scowling Joonghyuk down to sit beside him. “Corrupt?” he asks.

“You know how he doesn’t like to eat food that he didn’t cook? I got him to get a burger today,” Dokja explains. Joonghyuk quietly slides the tray he’d brought over to Dokja’s side of the table, which Dokja takes as a sign to grab his own burger. “So, what were you talking about before we came back? It looked serious.”

“Oh,” Seolhwa begins to say, picking up some fries with one hand, “we were just talking about our plans for the future. What about you two, Dokja-yah, Joonghyuk-ah?”

“The future? Hm, I haven’t thought that far,” Dokja hums. It’s easy, the way he leans into Joonghyuk’s side as he thinks, that Hyunsung can’t help from wondering just what the others believe they need an intervention on. They seem to be happy enough as is, right? Or was there something he just didn’t know? If so, what was it?

“Liar,” Joonghyuk huffs. He unwraps his own burger, makes a face down at it, before taking a hesitant bite.

The grimace on his face deepens as he chews. Dokja laughs and laughs, and Hyunsung can’t help from laughing a little too—though, he does end up stopping when Joonghyuk squints at him.

Joonghyuk, for all his visual dismay at his food, still keeps eating. Hyunsung wonders why; it’s not like he’s the type to keep doing anything he doesn’t like. Maybe Dokja dared him into it? He’s usually only terrible at rejecting dares when Dokja is involved, from what he remembers.

Dokja asks, “Why am I a liar, Joonghyuk-ah?”

“We already have plans.”

“Living together isn’t much of a plan,” Dokja says. “They were probably talking about the jobs we’ll do. You’re going to keep going as a pro-gamer, right? As for me, I’m not really sure yet.”

“Wait.”

Dokja looks over, as does Hyunsung. Sooyoung’s tone is unnaturally urgent, so of course they’d end up looking at her. She says, “What do you mean, live together?”

“Exactly what it means? We’ll be living together. Sharing an apartment, or something along those lines. Maybe if Joonghyukie gets rich enough we can buy a house…”

Hyunsung finds himself growing more and more confused, the more that Dokja’s innocent smile grows deeper and deeper in its slyness. Like he knows something they don’t, somehow.

Sooyoung cries out, “You..!”

“If you have something to say,” Joonghyuk says bluntly, “just spit it out instead of mumbling nonsense.”

Heewon smacks both of her hands to the table with enough force that it shakes. Hyunsung has to set his own hands on the other end of the table to make sure it doesn’t fall over. She says, “Are you two dating?!”

“Yes.”

“That’s right.”

A chorus of screams resound from their table, catching the attention of servers and customers alike. Hyunsung finds himself shrinking in his seat, though Sangah and Seolhwa are remarkably calm as they continue to drink and eat their fill.

“You bastard!?” Sooyoung grabs Dokja by the collar and shakes him from across the table, gaze wild with fury while Dokja laughs in her face. “How dare you! We’ve been trying to set you both up, and you couldn’t even say that you were already together?!”

“It was funny watching you struggle, though,” Dokja says. He’s wheezing with laughter even as Joonghyuk pries Sooyoung’s hands off of him. As he curls into Joonghyuk’s side, one hand resting on the other student’s shoulder for support, he says, “And it’s not like we’re that subtle. Sangah and Seolhwa knew without either of us saying anything.”

“Sangah!”

“Seolhwa-yah, are you serious?”

The two of them, in response to the accusatory words, give a shrug and a smile. Sangah says, “It was their secret to tell, so…sorry?”

Seolhwa adds, “You’d have noticed it if you looked at them while they’re alone together. They usually only put on a show when they think someone’s looking.”

“I can’t believe you two!”

“You guys are terrible…”

“What about Hyunsung? Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Ah. Ah,” he sputters, holding both hands up in surrender as he smiles at the accusatory glares being thrown his way. “I didn’t know either? I didn’t think there was even an issue in the first place, I just thought that Dokja and Joonghyuk are fine as they are…”

“Of course they’re fine as they are, when they’ve already been dating under our noses,” Sooyoung scoffs. “How long has it even been?”

“One year, three months?” Dokja says, looking over to Joonghyuk.

Joonghyuk nods.

“ONE YEAR?”

“You bastards?!”

Hyunsung is the one who ends up sighing this time. Quietly, shoulders curled in on themselves, he eats his burger—all while the others argue on the secrets that have been hidden from them after all this time.

He’d lied, just a bit. It wasn’t like he had confirmed knowledge on Joonghyuk and Dokja’s relationship, but…

It wasn’t like it was that difficult to see, just from how they smiled at each other whenever they were together. In those moments when they thought no one was around and they were alone, it was far too easy to see just how gentle Dokja could get, and how warm Joonghyuk could look.

Hyunsung hides a smile behind his mouthful of food.

It’ll be fine eventually.

They’re friends, after all.

#joongdok #orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #fanfic #my writing #request

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generalfoolish · 2 years

Text

Volume One: The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter

Chapter One: Take Your Soma

You're a senior at Hawkins High, and you utilize Eddie Munson as most do, for weed. On a whim, you offer to tutor him. In exchange, Eddie gives you free weed, and without meaning too you both find yourself in deeper than you originally meant.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Warnings: *All of my works are M for mature so 18+ please; language, language, language, canon typical violence, sexual themes, drug references/drug use, reader is 18+ and you should be too

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I have Eddie Munson rot, and it is fatal, guys. I literally couldn't stop thinking about a line Eddie says in ep. 7, so I made an entire story out of it. Hope you enjoy it! First time writing for Eddie, so let me know how that is. Also! I added him to my tag list thing, so if you want to be tagged in this/future one shots send me a message or whatever :) Also! Thanks @firefly-graphics for the sick page dividers that fit our boy perfectly <3

Master List | Tag List Form | Eddie Munson Master List | Chapter Two

You had fallen in love with Eddie Munson completely by accident.

Not that anyone ever meant to fall in love, and especially not with the bad boy of their small town. It had started innocently enough, you had agreed to tutor him, in exchange for heavily discounted baggies of weed. And since he was already repeating his senior year and once again failing two or three subjects, it had been an easy sell.

Everything else came easily, almost too easily. He charmed you so thoroughly that you hadn't realized how completely and utterly fucked you were until it was too late.

Eddie had told you to meet him at the usual spot, a picnic table out behind the school, on a well-beaten, yet somehow forgotten, path. You'd cut your English class to meet him, knowing he was missing the same class, and you had opened the encounter with a quote from the book that was currently assigned: Brave New World.

"If one's different, one's bound to be lonely." You declared as you approached the table. Eddie was already sitting on the bench, black lunchbox in front of him, tearing apart a leaf. At your introduction, his eyes flit over to you, eyebrows pulled up in confusion, dark eyes amused.

You realized too late that you were a massive, fucking dork. You had just quoted your assigned reading to your fucking dealer. The silence that had followed had nearly consumed you, and you were about to turn heel and run–just sprint back to the safety of the high school when he finally spoke.

"But I don't want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger." He quoted back, standing from his seat, and closing the short distance between you. His boots crunched the pine needles as he approached, and your mouth dried as his voice dropped the closer he got. "I want freedom, I want goodness…I want sin." He came to a stop right in front of you, so close you could smell him, the smoke and musk that was all Eddie, and he cocked his head to the side, dark eyes raking over your face and then further still.

You felt self-conscious, heat rising up your neck, while simultaneously sinking lower in your gut. You wondered if he noticed the band t-shirt you'd thrown in this morning was the same one you had worn a few days before, or if he noticed that your flannel was fraying in places. You had a laundry list of flaws, working your way down them quickly, before you noticed he was speaking again.

"What?" You managed, literally shaking your head to clear the unwanted thoughts swirling there. Eddie merely smiled, his dark eyes softening as he searched your face.

"I asked how you liked the book. You know, for Ms. Stevenson's." The smile he gave you nearly knocked you out; the bright, white spectacle splitting his face in two and bringing such incomprehensible warmth to his dark eyes.

"Huxley is a genius. Are you kidding? How did I like it? I checked out 1984 and Fahrenheit 451 at the library. I'm obsessed with this sort of apocalyptic, dystopian future world. I mean, if you think for even one second that this isn't possible, that the government couldn't effectively stag–oh gosh, sorry." You apologized quickly, cutting yourself off immediately. Your mother had warned you that you would turn off everyone if you kept rambling anytime anyone asked you about something you liked.

You sheepishly met Eddie's eyes, expecting him to look annoyed or confused, but you were met with excitement, his eyes visibly darkened and a knowing smirk dancing on his lips.

"Why would you apologize? Or stop? I was right there with you, Savage." His smirk is contagious. You bit your lip at the nickname, plucked from the mind of Huxley. You were excited to have found a common point of interest between yourself and Eddie, beyond the weed.

"I didn't think you'd be interested." You deflect, heading to the picnic table, to put some distance between you and Eddie, who was looking better and better the longer you chatted. You reprimanded yourself, knowing it would be unwise to get involved with him. His reputation was all bullshit conjured up by whatever sports team, heartthrob was popular at the moment; but there was a dangerous undercurrent with Eddie. He may not have been sacrificing virgins, but you knew enough to know that a man who looked like that certainly had seen his share of action.

Normally, your deals were quick. In the middle of the day, between classes, underhanded passes in the hall. Today, you had too much time to admire the curls that tangled around his face, the soft pink of his lips that were curling up into a soft smile. Today, you had too much time to think about what he’d look like smiling down at you while murmuring in your ear.

"I always read the sci-fi ones, Savage. It's everything else that I'm shit with." Eddie mused, perching on the opposite side of the table; either gracious enough to ignore your internal battle, or oblivious enough not to notice.

"Oh, come on, Eddie. You can't expect me to believe that you're just naturally so bad." You argued, the words coming out braver than you felt. You were swept up by the confidence of them, trying to ignore how they tore from you, as if each syllable was barbed.

"What? Am I supposed to believe that you're naturally so good?" He countered easily, an eyebrow glancing upwards to prove his point. With his head cocked to the side, his hair swept off his neck, and you wanted to lurch forward and take the skin for yourself. The unforgiving heat of early afternoon had sweat beading on your forehead.

You considered it for a moment. You didn't have to study, but you weren't inherently good.

You weren't on track to be Valedictorian or anything, but you were a decent student. You rarely needed to study on your own, since you usually had a good grasp on most of the topics. But you had never considered tutoring to be within your wheelhouse.

That's if he was talking about your academic prowess, though you had your doubts. You felt it was more likely he was alluding to morality. Were you really such a “good girl?” You were buying drugs from him, afterall. It was hard to read him, though. His defenses were too high to breach in one sitting. But you could see the beginnings of cracks, the places where you could slip in, and find yourself behind Eddie "the Freak" Munson's cold exterior.

Before your mind had caught up, before you even realized what you were saying the words floated into the space between you and Eddie, simmering in the hot September air, drying up as they reached the planks of the picnic table.

"I could just teach you."

Eddie cut his eyes at you quickly, tracing the contours of your face with his sharp glare. If he liked what he saw, it wasn't reflected in his dark stare.

"Why?"

"Why not? You clearly could use a little extra help."

"What's that supposed to fucking mean?"

"You really wanna go for a three-peat of your senior year?"

"No. But why would you help me? What's in it for you?"

"I don't know…uhm…" You glanced around the small table, hoping for inspiration, when your eyes landed on his black, metal lunchbox. "Discounted weed?" You licked your lips in thought, figured that would be an even enough trade. You worked part time as a carhop, and you blew through your tips every week restocking from Eddie.

He hummed for a moment, the noise dying in the back of his throat, somewhere between a groan and a snorted laugh.

You could almost see the gears turning in his mind, spinning out scenario after scenario of how this could be a trap, or how it could go wrong. You were thinking about your own worst-case scenarios, wondering how closely they matched with his. He barked out a dry laugh, drawing your attention once again.

He ran his fingers through his hair, and winced when his rings caught the knots, before bringing a few strands to his mouth–another nervous tic of his, you supposed.

“Fuck, fine!” He finally spits out, the exclamation closer to a question than a statement. He turns away from you, and slugs the closest tree. His fist is just shy of the bark when he relaxes, barely grazing his knuckles across the surface. He shakes his shoulders as he repeats the motion with his other arm.

“Fine.” You answer, not moving from your spot at the table. As long as you’ve known Eddie, he struggled to sit still, but you’d never seen him so worked up–so anxious.

“Fine.” He mutters again, still punching the tree.

“We can start this afternoon, I’m off for once.” You begin, standing. You’d been out here too long, and you couldn’t afford to miss your next section. Neither could Eddie.

“Meet me in the parking lot, after the last period.” He grunts out, finally facing you. His eyes are dark again, flitting over every detail of you, like he’s trying to etch this moment in his mind.

“Yep.” You agree, knowing he could drive you both, saving you the trouble of walking. You walked a few steps away from the clearing, away from him, when you thought better of it. “Oh and Eddie?” You called, looking over your shoulder. His eyes flicked up to your face, and you almost lost your confidence, knowing he had been checking out your ass.

“Hmm?” He mused, raising an eyebrow at you, before his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip.

“Don’t skip any more classes.” You urged, before turning on your heel and leaving for good. Heat engulfed your chest and neck, and when you sat down in your next class, you could still feel Eddie’s dark gaze on you.

You sat your tray down at your usual table, and slipped into the seat. Meeting Eddie during the second period had been a mistake, you’d barely been able to concentrate during your third period, and you’d grabbed your lunch in a complete daze. If you could make it through the last two periods of the day, it’d be a miracle. You were engulfed with thoughts of Eddie, consumed by how his brown eyes had easily shifted into something darker. You couldn’t stop imagining your own hands carded through his brown curls, delighting in what sounds you could draw from him when you tugged through the knots.

It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about Eddie in compromising situations. It was, however, the first time you’d considered those thoughts outside of the safety of your room, late at night.

“Earth to Space Cadet.” Robin greeted, snapping her fingers in front of your face, after putting her own tray down. You startled and offered her a weak smile, and picked at your nails.

“How’s Scoops?” You asked, deflecting her curious eyes with your own question.

“Eh, same as usual. How about Parker’s?” You shrugged, taking a bite of the questionable pizza you had grabbed for lunch.

“Tips are good enough. If only you skated, we could work together.” You teased, batting your eyelashes at her.

“We wouldn’t get anything done, dork.” She mumbled, rolling her eyes. You settled in an easy quiet while you ate, until a large commotion drew both of your attention to the other side of the cafeteria.

“Just The Freak, I think.” Robin muttered, eyes landing back on her meal. You were even more concerned now, trying to see through the wall of people. “Are you worried about Eddie?” Robin asked, narrowing her eyes at you. You blinked, searching for a non-incriminating answer. Of course, she saw through you.

“You don’t!” You frowned, and looked back at the crowd.

“Well, he’s no Tammy Thompson, that’s for sure.” You murmur, trying to deflect, but Robin’s quicker than you are.

“Dude! You’re into Eddie Munson? Isn’t he like 30?” She laughed behind her milk carton, and you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up.” You grumbled. “It’s only his second senior year.”

“Only?” She laughed, and you pressed your face in your hands.

“It’s not like that, Robin.” You groaned, the words weak even to your ears. “I just agreed to tutor him, that’s all. It’s for a discount on weed.” You admit, hoping that she’ll ease up with that information. She hummed, but didn’t push any further. This conversation was far from over, you could tell.

“What do you think that’s about anyway?” You asked, biting into the now cold slice. She shrugged.

“There was a new kid, your class. Maybe he’s making himself a name?” You shrugged back, wiping your mouth with a napkin, and standing.

“I gotta swing by the library before my next class. See you tomorrow?” She nodded and you headed off, swinging your backpack onto your shoulder and training your eyes ahead of you. You wouldn’t look at the crowd, and you wouldn’t look for anyone in particular.

You threw the remains of your lunch away before stacking your tray at the counter, and headed out of the cafeteria. You looked down at your shoe, noticing that the knot had begun to loosen and decided to fix it quickly.

In the second that it took you to look down and back up again, you managed to crash into someone, and knock their stack of papers out of their hands.

“God! Could you watch where you’re going?” Nancy cried, throwing her hands up defensively.

“Sorry!” You apologized quickly, kneeling to help pick up the scattered papers. She relaxed when she noticed you.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize it was you. Are you okay?” She asked, a sheepish smile on her face. You nodded.

“Fine, you?” She nodded, before sighing loudly.

“It’s not a problem. I’m just stressed, I have this party tomorrow with Steve.” She told you, chuckling nervously.

“Oh, for Halloween?” You asked, feeling a twinge of jealousy. Nancy Wheeler was your cousin, and your mom never let you forget how perfect she was. Modest, beautiful, smart, and tenacious–all the things you aren’t. Of course, Steve Harrington would love her. Who wouldn’t?

“Yeah, I’m just nervous I think.” She whispered to the ground, and you swallowed the heavy feeling in your chest.

“You’ll be fine, Nance.” You assured her, bumping her shoulder with your fist. She smiled in return.

“You’re right. Thanks for the help. Are you coming over soon?” She asked, standing up and taking the stack of papers back from you.

“My mom hasn’t been feeling the best, but maybe I’ll stop by alone.” You explained, hoping she wouldn’t press for details. She didn’t.

“That’d be great. Bye!” You waved back, and bit your lip.

Perfect Nancy was worried about her perfect relationship, what a joke, you thought bitterly. You sank to your knee and retied your shoe, before continuing your journey to the library.

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #Eddie Munson x female reader #Eddie Munson x f!reader #Eddie munson #stranger things

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thefandomcassandra · 1 year

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Champion (6/20): Having Made It Through the Night

cham·pi·on — /ˈCHampēən/

(n) - a person who fights or argues for a cause or on behalf of someone else

(v) - support the cause of; defend — "I don't want these powers. They're too much."

Reigen said he would bear any burden too big for Mob.

He doesn't have psychic powers any more.

He won't hurt anyone any more.

Those thoughts kept spinning around and around in Mob's head as he helped Reigen pick up the mess in his office. Knowing why he felt the way he did—lighter and more free, happier even—was exhilarating. He felt...wonderful. He felt—

"Shishou?" Reigen looked up from where he was gathering pens off the ground by hand. "Will I still be working?"

"What do you mean?" Reigen went a little pale and a lot sweaty. Mob felt a wave of fuzzy pressure roll over him. His mouth tasted like cigarette smoke and hurt like he smiled too wide for too long.

"What I mean is: I don't have my powers anymore. Will I still be working here, with you?" The thought of not working alongside his shishou hadn't occurred to Mob until literally just then, but it was worrying. He was worried.

He could feel worried without it becoming a horrible feedback loop that caused an explosion.

He felt giddy because he could feel worried.

"Well, yeah?" Reigen seemed affronted he had even asked. "In what world would I abandon you just because you couldn't help with exorcisms or curse removal? It'd be like throwing away your computer just because the battery died. You get me?"

No, but he trusted Reigen. If he said he didn't have to stop, that was enough. "What would I do, though?"

"Work the desk, like you always do." It seemed like the simplest answer in the whole world. It was breathtaking, how easy it was for his shishou to come to conclusions quickly and stick to his conviction. "I'm not going to put you in danger. You keep smiling at our clients and running the till and I'll do all the heavy lifting, okay?"

"Okay."

Behind Mob, Ritsu made some kind of harsh noise. Hanazawa laughed, once, and Ritsu hissed at him. All of this was just low enough that Mob couldn't tell what they were actually saying but, if his little brother was exchanging LINE with Hanazawa, then good for him. He deserved more intelligent esper role models in his life, even if he didn't like shishou all that much.

"A-ny-way!" Reigen gestured about, a few objects levitating near him. He noticed and snatched them out of the air before continuing his thought. "I'm kinda attached. Aren't I your shishou?"

"Yes."

"Then know I won't ever abandon you! Powers or not, you're my student, Mob, and I'll always be here for you!"

That's what he wanted to be when he grew up. He wanted to be as confident and kind and in-control as Reigen. He wanted to be able to say things and mean them immediately. He wanted to never worry about hurting anyone accidentally. He wanted to help people too.

Reigen took his awed silence as an answer and clapped him on the shoulder. "Alright! Now all of you, get out! I need to clean up and maybe take a mallet to this cabinet. See if I can smack out the dent...can't afford a new one."

"See you tomorrow!" Mob didn't want to leave without saying goodbye, even if Ritsu and Hanazawa were already on their way out. Ritsu, thankfully, was waiting by the door for him.

"No, not tomorrow. Gonna close down for the day. Doctor's appointment." Reigen waved a hand from where he was rearranging the items on his desk.

Mob frowned. Wouldn't he have scheduled the appointment on a day Spirits and Such wasn't open? Unless this was a last-minute thing to do with the Seventh Division thing?

"Yeah, yeah," Ritsu cut in. "Goodbye!"

Reigen waved one hand at them again, still bent over working on his desk. Mob raised his own hand in an unseen farewell, then followed his brother and Hanazawa out the door and down to the sidewalk outside the building.

Read the Rest on AO3

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #mob psycho #champion #the sheepy writes fic #sorry for the spam #(<-is lying)#im visible im gonna spam a bit for now #but youve only got four more chapters #gonna queue the rest i think

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simpingwriter · 9 months

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Jerome Valeska

Faith Wayne/Phoenix

'All you need is

a bit of Faith'

pt.7

___________________

...but in exchange, I got TWO chapters done! Wooo yeah baby~ 😎

First time of the family in the story, MediNait Blackout Fest, then hitting up the ginger the next morning as Phoenix.

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 3.410 Words

___________________

When you park your motorcycle in front of the garage, you can already see the light coming from the living room and kitchen windows of the Manor, and it wasn't weird for the time of day either, it's 7PM by now and that usually meant it's time for dinner.

Unfortunately you were absolutely out of spare clothes in your backpack, so you had to literally decide between driving home dressed like an escapee from Arkham or go through the exhausting troubles of getting into your Phoenix-costume until back home.

Dad and his reputation can thank you for having enough cells in your body left that know what shame is and what it feels like to a certain extent which in the end practically forced you into the tight costume.

Add to that that you were absolutely losing your literal mind with the cold clogging up near all holes available to your airways, you were grateful that you could drive home relatively safely in the first place. "God I hope I got some MediNait left in my first aid cabinet, that no one raided it…again, while I was gone." You mumble to yourself while turning the main house key in the lock, though before you can finish turning it, the door gets pulled inwards, close to dragging you along had you not some sense of balance left in your limbs.

On the other side, the culprit of opening the door was none other than Jason, brows pulled up when he looked you up and down, "You look like you died and came back as well." Probably because you're starting to feel exactly like that, more and more by the hour too. "...Cool. Now let me in, Jay…" Pushing past him, you rip your Mask off first, then your gloves, then your boots. The worst things first.

Then you lie down with a groan, feeling the tiled foyer floor cool down your skin, wondering how there wasn't steam rising from you by now already. "The hell happened to you??" your older "brother" asks, poking your side with one socked foot before crouching down next to you at the height of your head. "Gotham River… that's what happened." You cough out, rolling onto your back just in time to see the rest fill into the Foyer. "The cat brought in a dead firebird?" Damian jokes, doing the same thing Jason did, poking you with his foot. This family was mostly not by blood, that didn't mean that you all didn't copy or learn stupid shit from each other, this being one of the many examples.

"How is the River the reason you look this shi- bad? Dad informed us that you're doing undercover work for the Commissioner in Arkham." Well, the river is right next to that shithole. "Does that really matter now, Master Jason? Clearly Lady Faith is not in the condition to argue with you as usual."

You were, you just didn't want to. Too tired and exhausted…okay…maybe you weren't in the condition, point taken.

"You're getting a cold, aren't you, Lady Faith?" Full course into one, yes. "Alfred, how do you know it's a cold?" At that, Dick needs to laugh, pointing down at Damian now, "Damian is sick too, since this morning, that's how." Of course it's always the siblings connected by blood that end up sick at the same fucking time, it's somehow always like that, but never Damian first. He just follows up and immediately everyone goes: "Faith, since when have you been carrying that shit around without asking for help?" You refuse to ask anyone but Alfred for help, because everyone else is absolutely helpless in these situations. So why ask in the first place if you know you only end up getting half buried alive again like last time??

A shiver runs down your spine, incidentally so did Damian shake, glaring at you, "You're a curse, sister." "And you're a brat…that refuses his Jacket even in a blizzard, obviously a…a damn skill issue." More coughing later, Alfred and Bruce are done watching this miserable scene, one of them helping you back to your feet while the other escorts everyone back to the Dining room. And the sight would almost bring tears to your face: Hot, steaming Chicken Noodle Soup, most definitely cooked by Alfred, taking it from the way it looks basically perfect. "Since young Master Damian had a cold, I thought it was best to make one not just for him but for everyone. A type of prevention for the rest of us. Plus, I got a kind of feeling it would've hit you too."

After Alfred explained, he hurried back into the kitchen to ready a bowl for you as well while you sink into your chair. It was just a week, but it felt like an eternity to not have felt the nice cushions on these chairs, or the generally inviting interior of the Manor. It was quite literally worlds that differentiate this all from Arkham. And something inside you wished you could've taken Jerome here as well instead of just the apartment.

But you knew how your family ticks and what makes them tick specifically, bringing Jerome here? All hell would break loose. You won't even mention him and you meeting if they ask you about this Undercover Mission, and they will definitely ask, it would be weird for them to not be interested. Even Jason and Damian usually wanted to know what happened on the missions or Patrols of the others. You talk and think about the two like they are your least favorite siblings of them all, but if anything it was the polar opposite: You had the closest connection to Jason of them all. And Damian? Even though he avoided it at first, and so did you, you both quickly realized you have quite a lot in common due to your shared father, so you often train and hang out together despite the age difference.

But it was only natural, the closer siblings were, the more brutal the teasing and "insults" would become.

"The damn cold, I'm freezing like hell…" It makes Bruce hum, looking outside, "It's mid-autumn already, it's getting much colder, much quicker again. So I wouldn't just push it onto your cold alone. I will start the fireplace in the living room with Alfred after dinner. If you're still cold after, maybe we should start the one in your's and Damian's rooms as well..." Damian, sitting across from you, grunts out in disapproval at that, partially stopped by a cough, "I'm not cold! I'm not as weak as her!" Shut up, you shivering too, Garden Gnome. He shook just as much as you, it just didn't show as much through him already wearing some thicker, warmer clothes than you. After all, your Costume is uninsulated unlike the Cold-Weather one you usually started using towards the end of Autumn Season. Perhaps you should switch them out sooner this year…

When dinner was finished, along with some Pudding for dessert and you all started to migrate to the living room after helping to clean up the mess, well, excluding you and Damian in your clumsy conditions, Bruce clears his throat, crouching over the right side of the fireplace, placing some dry wood pieces in. Right. Here it comes, he will ask about the mission now-

"So. The undercover mission. I take it as having ended positively if you're back already?" Already is not the word you would've chosen. One week was already more than enough for your probably relatively short lifespan – in comparison to other People – as Phoenix. The others settled into the couch cushions as well, getting much more comfy than you, as you didn't plan on dozing off on it at all. You need to be fit again till tomorrow afternoon at least, if not earlier.

"More or less, the day I caught the suspect for Gordon was also the day I took a bath into that dank river. And they ended up tossing me right back into those freezing cells, not even bothering to think about a new set of clothes for me..." They could imagine for themselves how that would feel, when you feel the cold of the walls bite at your skin and bones already and then you add a dripping layer of dirty River canal water to the mixture. "In that case I am pleasantly surprised that you got away with just a cold, Lady Faith." Alfred was right about that, you could have as well gotten the flu or worse…pneumonia.

Had that once and never again. Mostly because you dragged Damian into that mess as well, as expected. And you hated having a second person sick in the Manor, why? Obvious reasons: Just you sick, Alfred can pay enough attention to your sick ass so you don't waste away in your own used tissues for weeks, just a few days maybe. But TWO? It's going to be WEEKS of two Robins completely taken out of the equation and Patrols. Mostly because despite his intelligence, and stupid "gEnEtIc AdVaNtAgEs"...he is still a stubborn little brat that refuses to take the bitter medicine when needed.

"How did you even end up in the river, darling?" Bruce asks worriedly, pulling his hand away quickly before the fire got to it when he threw more lumber into it. Feed it and it wants to bite you for it, ...feral Fire, ha ha. Stop it, Faith.

"...saw the suspect...and...climbed over the Courtyard fence?" Your siblings first stare then laugh, probably a mental image of you basically throwing yourself like a this time legitimate madman over the barbed wire at the top. "You broke out of Arkham…because it was an inconvenience to you, you're basically saying?" Basically, yeah. Had you known that the fucker would just return to sender (the crime scene) like that, you wouldn't have done all this shit and would've just posted up nearby, preferably in a car that has heating installed.

But you of course wouldn't have met and talked to Jerome that way. He would've still been…there. Wasting and rotting away more and more mentally, until not even the world's best therapist and psychologist could shake sense back into him.

Just like his very unfortunate origin of blood, his father the Joker, there would probably be nothing left to do but put him in a straight jacket and hope he doesn't accidentally kill himself while trying to escape that certain "clothing" article.

Who knows…three more months? Would Jerome have gained some unhealthy confidence through someone or something else and broke out? Killed people on the same day, caused havoc? Who would you be to not stop that from happening AND save a boy from becoming someone he doesn't even want to be at this point of time?

"Still with us?" "Huh? Y-yeah, just sunken in thoughts. Not so important though." "If you say so. I asked how you want to continue with what you have thanks to seeing the suspect? Did you give Gordon's men the description of the man?" You shake your head, already having set aside a plan for Phoenix to follow once you feel at least a slight bit better. "Well, Lady Faith, if i'm correct and you're going to do this yourself, you need to be fit again. I recommend drinking a lot of water, even more than usual. Preferably the same Electrolyte Water you and your siblings use during training sessions." Alfred notes loudly from the kitchen, placing two two liter bottles of said water onto the counter, the heaviness of them underlined by the sound they made, a deep thump.

Heavier than Jason's self-loath.

All that in ONE night?? You’re never getting out of the bathroom at that point…

But Alfred usually was right when it came to any of you getting sick, so you didn't have much of a choice than to trust him. "O-okay. Guess I should start then, and go to bed to be rested for tomorrow…" grabbing the bottles, one in each hand, you trotted back out to the living room, giving your Dad a hug and wishing everyone a unified goodnight before slipping away fully for the night.

Once in your room, you steer into the bathroom and before you hit the hay, you grab the rest of the MediNait left from last time. You had thrown away the instructions when you unpacked it a few months ago, so you don't remember what the right dosag- eh. fuck it, down the hatch!

The green liquid burned like medicinal honey, smooth yet disgusting as it moved down your throat, many big gulps of Electrolyte Water getting sent right after to clean your pallet of the nasty green magic liquid. While it tastes absolutely awful and at least half of your family doesn't feel better through it either way, it was half a miracle potion when used on you.

So it wasn't far off for you to believe that if you both downed half that left-over bottle – already sitting on your bed while doing so, knowing it's side effects of making everyone and everything sleepy with just the fumes it creared – and followed Alfred's advice for the Wat-

When you wake again, you are in a different spot on your bed than before, you also weren't in the confines of your Costume anymore, the main part of it thrown haphazardly over the chair of your desk, your underwear missing entirely and the water bottles both empty…

Did you mentally blackout the last hours yesterday? If yes, congrats to yourself for drinking all that water and not just yet wetting your bed…but it was just about as your struggle out from your bed. The very bed that you missed so badly while in Arkham. You don't even remember what bed and mattress you had in the safe house that Jerome is using right now, but you hoped it was something similarly comfortable. And if it was, you wanted to imagine him lying in it, too comfortable and lazy to move even one muscle once he lies in it. You doubted that the bed in his old trailer from the Circus was all that comfy either, so if past-you was as smart as today – oh...she definitely wasn't – and it's the same mattress as here, this might be a welcome change to his back.

Standing up, you're quick to notice the missing dizziness and the ease on your lung trying to breath in Air once more. Fuck, you love MediNait.

Knocks you out, like your allergy meds, and does the rest while the lights are out.

After quickly using the bathroom in your room to take care of the mess you left behind on yourself, you went to pick up your strewn about Suit, first putting on fresh underwear and immediately throwing yourself back into your Costume. There is never a day you don't have to wear it for some reason or another, so you need to remember to switch out for one of your spare ones on washing day…

You barely had found your way into garage when you felt something akin to a tension or stress headache forming all around your head, great so the medic-

"Where are you going so early in the morning?" Never fucking mind, the headache is just Damian…

"Good morning to you too, head- i mean, Damian… If it matters to you, I need to finish the promise I gave to Gordon and catch his suspect." The boy squints and shakes his head with a sigh, "Do you even know where to start with that? I thought you only got his description." Yes, you do only have that, but that alone can give you enough hints to at least shrink the search radius for him. "That's why I'm leaving now already. And you get back to bed, unlike me you still sound like death molested you…" Even when he scoffs at your actually serious recommendation, himself not done with you, you grab your helmet from the rack at the wall and get onto motocycle that Phoenix used, it was black and Grey with orange and yellow accents unlike the dark purple sportbike you yourself used as Faith. This one was similar in design to the Batcycle and drove just like it.

"I wasn't done talking!" "I was! See you and the rest for dinner! And take your cold medicine!" Damian was smart enough to not jump in front of the motorcycleas you started it, clearly it wasn't that important to him anyways as he rather chose to childishly pout at you while you started the bike and drove off towards the city, your cape flying behind you.

It was a ten minute drive usually, in your case six as you had luck and the highway you and the rest used to get into the city was still relatively empty, the morning rush not yet having started and giving you the thrill of speed to wake you fully now.

On the way, you still had to decide whether to drive to the Station and Gordon, to your safe house and Jerome or to just investigate on your own for now. But unfortunately your curiosity got the best of you, drawing you in like a magnet in front of the building your safe house, or "Faith's Apartment" is located at, hiding the motorcycle with its invisibility cloak setting. At first, you wanted to use the second set of keys you had of them, luckily the only other set, otherwise who knows who of your family would suddenly decide to check in your apartment only to find a stranger living in it. And then you remember that you're here as Phoenix, not Faith. Phoenix doesn't own this apartment, in Jerome's eyes.

Slightly disgruntled at that, you throw the keys back into the small satchel on your tool belt before getting your gloves to good use, unsheathing the metal claws hidden inside the mechanism on top. With them, you quickly could scale most walls around Gotham, if that didn't work, you still could use the grappling gun everyone of you had. Within half a minute, you slipped onto the balcony in front of the living room window of the Safe House.

You couldn't fight it as quickly as it came, the smile once you saw the redhead walking around in…oh dear. Still wearing the dirty Prison Uniform. Did Jim not give him at least one different set of clothes??

You really need to change that, but you don't know if you're going to have the time for such "miscellaneous" deviations today. Plus, Phoenix isn't exactly the kinda person to suddenly go shopping with someone and walk among the rest of the Gothamites like a normal person, she's a brutal, often feared, Vigilante for God's sake! That's a job for Faith!

Well, at least it looked like he took a shower, a fulfilling one at that, his hair did look much nicer than you expected when not coated and crusted with his own blood and the cement dust of the cells.

You can't help but chuckle at the little jump going through his whole body once you knocked at the window, feeling the smile growing into a smirk when his eyes widen, seeing you at the window, unable to react at first.

"Could you let me in please?" You knock again to throw him back to his senses, a quick nod followed by him almost falling over his feet to get to the window and open it, watching you as you leaned against the windowsill with your forearms. "It's…it's really you…you're Phoenix!"

"In the blood, yeah. First of all, good morning, Jerome, second of all, Faith asked me to check up on you, since she couldn't stay all that long after getting you to the Precinct." Climbing in through and into the living room, you stretch out a bit from the climb up the wall, still keeping your eyes on Jerome either way. He looked not as well rested as you expected.

"...I'm guessing you didn't sleep that well, so we can take that one off the list of 'Yeah, doing good', huh?" He averted his dark green eyes, something in the mix of shame and annoyance in them, nodding, "You could say so…i.I…had a nightmare. But that's nothing new to me."

Nightmares?

You doubt they are of Arkham, as he knew them to be nothing new to him. And from what he had told you, you could believe that opinion. You had a pretty good idea where these nightmares actually come from and why he has them anyways: His mother and the abuse he got from her, his twin and from the rest of the people working at the Circus. Maybe even of the Circus itself if his trauma constantly was fed and built in that very place. Or perhaps even of the day he killed her?

No, you doubt that. While he seemed spooked about quite literally anything that moved too quickly or he didn't know, you were very certain that Jerome…that he didn't exactly regret what he did. Maybe someday he will see that his abuse could've been ended in different, legal ways, but regret will probably never come to his mind, and if, not for very long.

But: No matter what the cause is, you, both Faith and Phoenix, will attempt to get this out of his mind as well.

You knew all too well how nightmares could mess with one's head, the repeated memory of Jason's death back then, the funeral, being an example...

#jerome valeska x oc #Jerome Valeska x batsis!Oc #jerome valeska x batsis #dc x oc #jerome valeska x batsis!oc #batfam x oc #batfam x batsis #Innocent Jerome Valeska

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