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#pretend she's wearing socks

luveline · 1 month

Note

also didn’t realise that amanda was their little baby but here’s an idea if ur up for it. amanda inherits like spencer’s smartness i guess and so when she starts spewing facts about the random-est stuff spencer’s overjoyed and then bombshells just staring at them with adoration in her eyes?? idk something really fluffy

“Shoes?” Amanda asks.

“Yeah, babe.”

“No thanks.”

You hold Amanda’s socked feet in your hands. “You need shoes to keep your feet warm.”

“I’ll have socks.”

You look past her tiny face to her father for some assistance. Spencer scratches his neck, looking absolutely exhausted, though he’s dressed sharply. You’d spent a few minutes finger curling his hair this morning before it dried, and he’s brushed them out gently, giving him a windblown look. You pretend to take a photo of him. He rolls his eyes.

“Amy,” he says lovingly, baby-voice in play as he leans over the back of the couch, “you know why you have to wear shoes?”

“Why?”

“Because growing up, your feet are very small, and very fragile. They need time to grow in proper structures, and they can’t do that if you don’t wear shoes when you’re walking a lot.” He gives her shoulder a rub. “Don’t you wanna match me and mommy?”

“You wear shoes… different. Mom has heels,” she insists.

“What if I wear flats?” you ask, eager to leave the house before afternoon.

She shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest with a Spencer style pout.

Spencer sits down next to her with a sigh. You’re both aware of how smart she is for her age, and while it can be interesting, it’s also made some stuff so, so hard. Like explaining shoes. “I’m not want to wear them. It’s good for my skin to breathe.” All her r’s sound soft, like w’s.

You rub your eyes. Spencer sucks in an excited breath. “Yes! Skin can’t really breathe, but it’s good to have it uncovered sometimes to help your circulation and your pores.”

“‘Xactly,” Amy says.

“And, you know, shoes that don’t fit right force your feet into narrow positions, which can cause a whole bunch of problems.”

“No shoes,” Amy says.

“But…” Spencer backtracks, thumbing under her eyelashes gently. “If you don’t wear your shoes, we can’t go out to the store for groceries and we can’t go to the bakery on the way home. Which means you won’t get your sugar donuts, mommy won’t get her slice of cake, and that’s gonna make me so sad.”

“Why?”

“Because I love when your mom is happy. It makes me happy when she’s happy. She doesn’t look very happy now, does she?”

In all honesty, you’re much too pretty to be sitting on the floor, tights to the carpeting and your cute black dress bunching up your thighs. You refuse to close yourself into the ‘mom’ box some may expect of you, dressing as you had before you became a mom, but you’ve allowed Amanda the opportunity to choose your necklace; a gold pendant ring with green and pink sapphires. It’s gorgeous, colourful, and doesn’t even slightly go with your outfit. Spencer reaches for it now, tugging it straight carefully against your neck.

You frown deeply, pulling your widest, softest doe eyes. “Please, lovely girl, put your shoes on. Or I’m gonna have to be strict, and I hate being strict.”

“Don’t fw-own, mommy,” she says, listing into Spencer’s side, “you’ll get wrinkles. Worse wrinkles, ‘cos your muscles remember.”

And again, all her r’s are w’s, her pronunciation lispy and sweet despite her amazing expertise. Spencer laughs and takes her face into two hands, kissing “Wow, smarty pants,” into her crown. “You’re so smart! I can’t believe it!”

You feel your annoyance softening. Fine, she’s a smarty pants, and you secretly love it so so much. You’ll just have to carry her to the car. Or her genius dad can carry her. Actually, that could be great, Spencer’s never looked so handsome as he does carrying around your little baby, especially now he’s started working out every now and then.

“Better role your sleeves up, Spence,” you say, standing up off of your knees. “I’m keeping my heels on. Daddy’s gonna carry you, and you’re gonna get wonky feet.”

“That’s fine,” Spencer says to her in a whisper, “I’ll carry you forever if you want me to, even if you do get all wonky, bubby.”

Amy preens as she wraps her arms around him and he picks her up. He takes her shoes from your hand without her seeing.

“Isn’t she amazing?” he mouths, and he means it, his eyes wide with it.

“She’s gonna protest socks, next, Spencer Reid, and then what are you gonna do?” you ask. You aren’t half as concerned as you’re pretending to be. Amy’s a baby. She’ll learn how important shoes are soon enough.

“I’m gonna hold her in my coat, like this,” he says, pulling his coat over her legs.

“Like that,” you say to yourself, grinning. “Okay, you two do what you want. Can we go now? We really need to get some groceries.”

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

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celeryb1tch · 9 months

Text

innocent!reader x experienced!pervert!abby is rotting my brain tonight!!!

18+!! this is lesbian smut!

you sit at a table in the mess hall, abby’s arm wrapped around your shoulders and her friends all enjoying their dinner. casual conversation is thrown around the table, until manny’s new fling is brought up.

“-and i mean, SOAKED the sheets. i couldn’t believe my eyes,” he recounts proudly.

everyone is laughing along or rolling their eyes, but abby notices your hesitance. she leans down toward you with a concerned look. “something wrong?”

you shake your head lightly, looking up at her. “jus’ don’t get it,” you reply.

abby feels her stomach twist. she had known there wasn’t great sex ed on the WLF base, but she and her friends had grown up around doctors like her dad and she realizes she hadn’t know the full extent of just how ignorant you were. and admittedly, it made her excited.

“she squirted when she came,” she tries to explain gently. but you still look utterly confused, even as she goes on.

“…come? and she didn’t pee?” you seem so utterly lost. abby wonders if it makes her a bad person to expose you to these ideas, but you’re both already adults. still, that knot is twisting inside her deriving a sick pleasure from all of this. you had always looked up to abby, and she wondered how wrong it would be to corrupt that relationship with talk of sex- or even a demonstration?

that night, you’re laying in bed thinking about what abby said earlier. with all the training and violence you’d grown up around, you hardly had time to pay attention to the ache between your legs, or how it would usually occur when abby was around. but as you recount that conversation in your mind, it appears once more. you think of her arm wrapping around you, pressing you into her hard front. how she was still warm and sweaty from the gym, and how her flyaways stuck to the sides of her forehead because of that. something inside of you is saying you should be embarrassed, and you don’t know exactly why- but a louder, much louder, part is telling you to confide in your best friend. she would never judge you, right?

you shuffle down a few hallways in your fluffy socks until you reach one of the bigger accommodations: abby’s room. and with a bit of hesitance in your knock, you step back as the door opens immediately.

abby is clearly groggy, and must have also been getting ready for bed. she’s wearing nothing but boxer shorts and the usual black sports bra she has on during patrols and workouts. her hair is tied in her signature braid, with more wispy pieces that have come out throughout the day. “hey, you. everything okay?”

you nod and push past abby inside as was usual. she joins you on her bed, your bare thighs touching as you both sit. her eyes are on you and you can feel it again- that heat. you pull away slightly, squeezing your legs together as it’s the only thing you know eases the feeling.

abby pretends not to notice, just like she does any other time you blatantly stare at her muscles or blush when she touches your waist. she doesn’t want to scare you off, especially when she thinks she can tell what you’re going to ask about.

“you remember earlier at dinner?” you say, biting your lip slightly as unease turns in your tummy. and abby just nods, still looking right at you. “how manny said he made a girl, uh…”

“squirt?” abby offers. she says it so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. like she’s never in a million years thought about fucking you until you do. like she wasn’t hoping this would happen every second after dinner.

“yeah, well, i realized there’s probably a lot of sex stuff i don’t know, and since you… y’know…”

poor baby, she thinks. how will she ever work up the courage. and abby thinks of all the times she’s teased you about all the women she’s fucked. called you jealous that you had to split quality time with her one night stands. seen you pout about her missing games night because someone asked her on a date in front of you. surely you were going to ask for her expertise- for her to help you out, to show you?

“since your dad was a doctor.”

oh. that was it? you wanted a little anatomy lesson. then what was all the embarrassment for? were you that ashamed of asking for a little bit of guidance?

abby gives you a soft smile and an assurance that she can help. and your body floods with relief. this is normal. you can tell her what you’re feeling and she won’t act weird. she can help you.

you stand up and strip off your pyjama bottoms and big shirt you had likely stolen from abby so long ago you don’t remember whose it was in the first place. and she just watches, small smile still on her face as she looks you over.

“okay, so right here? boobs, obviously.” she points to your chest, and you roll your eyes.

“i know that, stupid. show me the more advanced stuff.”

“you’ll have to take your underwear off then.” so you do.

abby instinctively reaches for it, stroking her fingers between your puffy, wet lips. her eyes are shining with admiration and her cheeks are hot.

you pull away slightly at the bolt of pleasure that spikes through you at her touch. “is it… supposed to look like this? i think there’s something wrong.”

she shakes her head fervently, eyes never leaving your pussy. “you’re just wet, that’s all. did something turn you on?” and at your confusion at the term- “get you excited? when girls see something attractive, they get wet.”

oh no. you can feel dread flooding your senses as you try to scramble for an explanation. that it just happens sometimes. that’s normal, right?

after a pause, and a look at your face, abby knows exactly what happened. “oh. you got wet from me, huh?”

you want to run away and disappear. you swallow a sob, but strangely, you feel that pulsing sensation again. all of this attention from abby isn’t working in your favour.

but she isn’t grimacing in disgust, or even asking you to leave. in fact, abby has a shit-eating grin on her face as she watches you cower in front of her.

“you’re not… mad?” you ask sheepishly.

abby reaches out to you, pulling you onto her lap. “no, baby, of course not. it’s cute.”

relief washes over you, but before you can really relax you feel abby’s hand once again on your folds.

“so wet for me, baby. how long has this been happening?”

a finger skims against a particularly sensitive spot, and you choke on your words, succumbing to the blissful feeling. “s-so long, abs. like forever.”

“poor girl. so pent up, so needy. and too embarrassed to tell me.”

“yeah…” you whine. you’re clinging to abby like a lifeline, overwhelmed by the building tension. it’s unlike anything you’ve experienced before. so intense, so all-consuming.

abby’s fingers are expertly caressing your pussy, steadily adding more pressure so as not to overstimulate you. “this is the clit,” she murmurs, and you feel that electric spark again as she glides over one specific spot at the top.

“it’s too much,” you cry out, wriggling under her grasp.

“that means you’re cumming soon,” she explains with a chuckle. “feels so good, trust me. just ride it out.”

and you trust abby with every ounce of your being, so you try to relax your muscles as much as possible while you feel that climbing feeling come to a boil. and she was so right. you’re huffing tiny sobs into her chest as you come down, her strokes easing as you’re finally able to catch your breath again.

abby cradles you into her, clean hand running through your hair. you can feel the puddle between your thighs dripping down her own and onto the sheets, and you’re so exhausted.

“that was so hot, baby. did such a good job for me.”

“abs, that was… wow.”

she’s smiling down at you, admiring your sweat- wicked face. “bet you wish you’d asked me sooner, huh?”

#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson smut #molly’s abby recs!#molly’s!

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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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“Why are you wearing cologne?” Dustin asks after barely one second in the van.

“I’m not,” Eddie says, and promptly wants to die at how unconvincing that was. It’s not even technically a lie…

He makes it out of the school parking lot with Dustin saying jackshit, so for a little while, he thinks he’s gotten away with it.

More fool him.

Dustin abruptly lunges to the side, all up in his face like the world’s most dedicated sniffer dog.

“Ew, gross! Get off, man, I’m gonna crash,” Eddie says, even though they’ve been at a stop light for the past minute.

“Okay, correction,” Dustin says, drawing back. “Why are you wearing Steve’s cologne?”

Eddie stares into the middle distance, prays for The Upside Down to come and swallow him up.

An agonising silence.

“Oh my god,” Dustin whisper-screams. “Oh my god.”

“Look, just—”

“Oh my god!”

And yup, ow, that’s definitely become a full blown scream now, and double ow, Dustin has just socked him one in the arm.

“Hey!”

“What the fuck, Eddie?! How could you not—”

“Jesus! Take a damn chill pill, Henderson, I swear to—”

“Since when you do you say shit like—oh my God, Steve says shit like that. You can’t let him get to you like this, Eddie, you’re too young to die.”

“What does that even mean?”

Dustin keeps jiggling Eddie by the arm as he pulls up to Dustin’s house. Even when his stomach is jangling with nerves, he can’t fight a smile at the kid’s antics.

“Holy shit, this is big,” Dustin says with wide eyes, and it bothers Eddie that he can’t get a hold of what sort of expression is on his face. “This is huge.”

And all of a sudden, it doesn’t seem all that funny anymore.

“It’s not,” Eddie says quietly. “It’s really not. It doesn’t have to be, like… look, Dustin, can we just—if it bothers you, just drop it, and we can pretend like—”

“Wait, what? No.” And now Eddie can read the remorse on his face. “Shit, sorry. Eddie, I didn’t mean, like… big in a bad way, I swear.”

And goddamn it, Eddie trusts him. Of course he does.

“Okay.” He lets out a long sigh, tipping his head back in his seat. “Okay.”

“I just meant… like, you know The Royal Family? In England.”

…What.

“Oh, please, run with this analogy,” Eddie says, a mixture of curious and hysterical, “I’m dying to see where it goes.”

“You know, when they have news, they put it outside the… Palace? Like, on a stand. So people know.”

“Are you fucking implying that you are the public to our… wow, I’m so sorry, Henderson.” Eddie can’t take it anymore; he wheezes with laughter, can’t hide how relieved he sounds. “Next time I’ll ruin your front lawn and put a huge fucking sign there, then you’ll know that—”

“I didn’t mean it literally, asshole. I just…” Dustin shrugs. “Just meant if you wanted to, like… mention it. It would be cool. It is cool.”

“Cool,” Eddie echoes faintly.

“Cool,” Dustin repeats, emphatic.

Jesus Christ, I love you so much.

“Aw, Henderson,” Eddie says, “were you gonna make us a card or something?”

“Do you want a card?” Dustin says dryly.

And yeah, he’s being a little shit about it, but there’s also a note of sincerity hiding in there that has Eddie fighting a lump in his throat. He chuckles through it, flicks Dustin’s forehead.

“C’mon, get out before your mom thinks I’ve kidnapped you.”

“She thinks you’re an angel now, and you know it. It’s horrifying.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m a Saint.”

Eddie waits until Dustin’s at his front door before reversing, watches him with silent fondness as he greets his cat.

He says through the side window, “Hey, Dustin?”

Dustin turns back. “Yeah?”

“We’d have told you first anyway. We were gonna, I swear.” Eddie scoffs. Smiles. “Not our fault you’re Sherlock Holmes, man.”

Dustin smirks, but his eyes are soft. “It was pretty elementary.”

#this is so silly. they are so silly. & i love them so #eddie and dustin #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #dustin henderson #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #henderfam

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vampire-kiing · 23 days

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Huskerdust Headcanons!!

Husk likes his coffee black (or with whiskey depending on the day) and Angel likes it with lots of cream and suger

Angel's chest fluff is kinda like Mary Poppins bag, Husk once found a bag of coke well cuddling

Husk knocks Angel's cups of makeup brushs off this vanity (cuz cat) and but feels bad because he has no idea what goes where

Angel has bought them so many matching shirts with dirty jokes on them (Husk only wears them to make him happy)

Husk runs baths for Angel after a bad day, if Angel wants him to stay he helps with whatever he needs (he turns away when Angel takes the boots off)

They both love old romance moives, but they both pretend there stupid

Whenever there around eachother when getting dressed they tie eachother's bowties

Husk send one long text and Angel send 12 short ones

Angel was down for sex on the first day, but taking off his boots or socks that took more time being a big boundary of his (Husk never pushed his boundaries)

Kissed infront of Charlie once on accident, she almost exploded from happiness (She may have made there ship name)

When Val and Alastor are being well overlords, Husk and Angel try to help eachother the best two broken losers can. But most of the time they just end up laying next to eachother, just being together

#hazbin hotel #angel dust #angel dust hazbin hotel #angel husk #husker hazbin hotel #husker x angel dust #huskerdust #angelhusk #huskerdust headcanons #alastor #valentino

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tlouwhore · 4 months

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modern!ellie headcanons

notes/warnings: pet names used (baby), sfw, loser!ellie a little (i cant help it), no race specific information, androgynous reader

★ she has an insane mug collection thats so strange, when you go to hers for the first time its such a weird thing

"you want something to drink?"

"sure"

and you'll go back to messing with her stuff that she left sprawled across her coffee table until you hear her clomp over and extend her arm, she'll be holding an inconveniently built mug out to you casually

"els, what the fuck is that?"

she tilts her head and furrows her brow, confused at your comment as if its unreasonable to ask why shes handing you a horrifically constructed alien mug thats bound to spill all over you

★ speaking of these mugs, she refuses to get rid of *any* of them. when you guys move in together you're begging her to just get rid of one but she refuses

"els, please. we dont have enough shelves for these, we need normal drinking glasses."

you sigh as the mugs sit across the kitchen counter, shes on one side staring at them while youre on the other side staring at her.

"i cant, i use them all"

she doesn't. she drinks out of one and she only ever drinks water from it. you go back and forth for merely minutes before you throw in the towel and just let her do her thing, if shes happy you dgaf about the normal water glasses.

★ shes a loud ass walker, you will hear her before you see her. you genuinely start to think she's doing it on purpose.

★ she has one belt and its one wrong move from completing snapping in two pieces, there is a literal half inch of material holding it together

★ needs to pet street cats every time she sees them, whenever you point out that they're probably diseased she scoffs

★ tries to pretend shes good at fixing things but has no clue what shes doing—the toilet isnt flushing properly and so she stands about 3 feet from it and stares at it with her weight shifted to one side. she'll have on a tank top on and slacked down carhartt pants engulfing her legs as she nods. she really likes to take care of you so she'll refuse to admit she has no idea what shes doing and when you walk away she looks up "toilet not flushing reddit"

★ she fucks with the twilight franchise but pretends to hate it because it doesn't "look cool"

★ she cant drive, she failed her permit test 3 times and pretends like every other driver on the road is the problem (shes the issue every time)

★ she drives a beat up car or truck, it smells a little funny and the radio gets three stations so you have to rummage through her mass cd collection to find something to listen to. half the cds wont even be in their case but instead haphazardly chucked around her car in random spots. the only ones she keeps in order are your cds, which have a specific bag so you don't have to scurry about in her car to find them.

★ 3 pairs of socks and they all have holes in them, she'll complain that the floor is cold all the time

"god the floor is so cold in here"

"can you just put some socks on?"

"i'm wearing socks right now"

"oh really?"

and she'll point as her feet, half her toes are out and her heel is fully exposed. its about the same as just wearing no socks at some point. you'll just stare in disbelief for a moment before scoffing.

"what'd you do that for?"

that small crease between her brows finding its way to her face as it always does.

"you're barely wearing socks"

"oh whatever"

★ has to physically restrain herself from telling you the gift she bought you for any holiday or event, shes tweaking out and cant function until she gives it to you

★ she loves to just be in your presence, she'll observe your routines. she enjoys perching next to you as you get ready, no matter how short or long or a routine she will be by your side

★ she can cook a crazy burger but that's literally all she can make

★ shes a blushing mess for you but she loves to get cocky and pretend she isn't when texting you

★ needy and will message you thirst trap ass photos in an attempt to get you to leave work early and be with her (it works)

#ellie williams #the last of us #ellie williams x reader smut #loser!ellie #tlou2 #tlou #tlou ellie #ellie x reader fluff #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #ellie fluff #ellie williams imagine #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou #ellie x reader #ellie hcs #ellie headcanons #modern ellie #modern au

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ellabsbb · 7 months

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cocky loser stoner modern ellie hc’s

• such a job hopper. fast food, retail, random places like menards, the zoo

• her car is so shitty and it’s kinda stinky from the weed and maybe a bit dirty.. but she’d so clean it for you and put some air fresheners in the vents <3

• in the not so distant future she totally becomes one of those rich famous streamers and buys joel a house but shh that’s in the future so for now

• also her seat in her car is leaned back so far and so low there’s no possible way that’s comfortable right??

• sorry idk why i keep thinking about the car but also she has snacks in there always! but they’re like. opened, old, stale, half gone.. yeah

• a player, community strap if you will, but like come on can you blame her it’s not her fault she gets bitches (her words not mines)

• will smoke you out and take you to mcdonald’s what more could a girl ask for

• and she’ll pay even though she’s broke 90% of the time

• always texting joel memes he doesn’t understand in the slightest

• tells him about girls she’s been with just to embarrass him LOL

“joel you have to see this girl she had the most juicy-”

“alright that’s enough, i know i didn’t raise you to talk like that.”

• sometimes (most times) she’ll just wake up and throw on whatever she first puts her hands on. and doesn’t even care enough to pretend to be embarrassed when you see her in public in baggy pants with one leg rolled up, the most wrinkled shirt ever, and socks that aren’t even the same length

• refuses to wear any other shoes than her beat up busted up converse. they have several holes. you can see her socks. the shoelaces are torn. come on

• says stuff like she’ll buy you the most expensive gifts when she “makes it”

• you have to force her to put chapstick on and she’s so one of those people that only uses the original one with no fun flavors

• basketball shorts or boxers to sleep kind of girl

• always so warm omg (i am putting my cold feet on her idc)

• in conclusion i need her 🫡

#it’s been a while…#sorry <3 #feel free to give me attention now #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #tlou ellie #tlou ellie williams #ellie williams x you #ೀbunsdreams

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c-nstantine · 15 days

Note

Random thought that I want to share. Okay here goes. While Bruce loves seeing Batmom in lingerie and lace he absolutely loves seeing her in her comfortable underwear, no bra oversized T-shirt and natural hair in a pineapple. It just turns him on even more

Warnings: There's not smut but it's a little steamy

Word Count: 0.7k

"Bruce, are you listening to me?" The answer was no. He was not listening. He couldn't even pretend to be listening. How could he when his wife sat in the middle of their bed in nothing but a pair of underwear and one of his old Wayne Tech t-shirts? This in combination with her tight coils being put up into a pile on top of her head was a dangerous combination for Bruce.

"Would you believe me if I said yes?" He asked, sitting at the foot of the bed. He felt Y/N crawl behind him before wrapping her arms around his neck.

"No," She said, placing a kiss on his stubbled cheek. He smiled softly and leaned into her touch. Something about her relaxed him and he was forever grateful for her.

"Okay, I wasn't. What's happened today?" He asked with sincerity in his tone. She hummed in approval of her husband paying attention to her. She started explaining to him how she checked on the various charities they ran before spending the rest of the day with Thomas, Martha, and Alfred.

"Your kids gave me a run for your money. I thought the twins teasing phase was bad, but now, I'm constantly running behind them," She admitted. It was true, the twins were little terrors except with Damian. For some reason, he was the only one that could keep them in line.

"I'm sorry. They'll grow out of it. We can always ask one of the boys to come in town for a week to help out," Bruce offered, tilting his head slightly so that he could look his wife in her face. Every day he was reminded how lucky he was to have her.

"I know but I don't want them to feel like they have to help. Bruce?" Y/N noticed her husband had a dreamy look in his eye. It was rare and reserved just for moments with them. His eyes always softened looking at her, it was like he had forgotten how cruel the world had been to him.

"Hmm?" He hummed, his steel blue eyes never once drifted from her face.

"Nope, I know that look. Uh-uh, you aren't putting another one of your big-headed babies in me," She spoke with certainty as she released her husband from her grasp. She slid back towards the headboard of their bed and crossed her arms. To Bruce, this only highlighted the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. Good to know, he thought to himself.

"First of all, why are they always my kids? And what look?" He knew exactly what she was referring to. He began to make his way to her until he could lay with his head on her thighs. She ran a hand through his damp hair, raking her nails against his scalp.

"That look is how we ended up with Martha and Alfred in the first place." She reminded him.

"No, that was my Gotham University shirt, the knee-high socks, and the goddess braids," Of course, Bruce remembered her exact outfit when their twins were conceived. What kind of husband would he be if he didn't?

"Bruce!" She jokingly hit his shoulder. Memories flooded back from that night so many years ago. If she remembered correctly, the two of them had discovered a new position.

"What? I'm being honest. Now let me take care of my wife, please," He rolled over to his stomach and placed himself between her legs before pressing a small kiss to the center of her underwear.

"Bruce?" She shifted her hips lower to put her pussy directly in front of him. He nipped at her panties and pulled them down her thighs, nearly throwing them out of the room. He grinned as she spread her legs a bit more.

"I'll pull out," Lie. He'd simply make it so she'd be begging for him to finish inside of her. The only thing that was more exciting to him than her in his clothing was the thought of her being pregnant with his child.

Taglist: @flyestvenustrap@megamindsecretlair@blxckdesire@prettyvintageafternoon@lilbanas@certifiedloverwoman@melissa-ashe @hoyoooo

#x black!reader #black!reader #x black reader #black reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x black!reader #bruce wayne x reader #black!batmom #black batmom #x black batmom #bruce x black!batmom #bruce x black!reader #bruce x black reader #bruce x black batmom #bruce wayne smut

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reminiscingtonight · 28 days

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Pretending (Pt. 2)

Aitana Bonmatí x Reader

Word Count: 986

Part One

[WOSO Masterlist]

“Do you want to get married?”

You’re soaking in the sun, a welcome change from the cloudy skies of Manchester when Aitana pops the question.

You crack open an eye. “Are you talking to me?”

“Who else would I be talking to?”

She says it with the most serious face that you start questioning if you’re the crazy one here.

“Are you asking me what my thoughts are about marriage in general or marriage between us?”

Aitana doesn’t have to say anything, she only gives you a look.

You sigh, propping yourself up on an arm so you can face Aitana when having this conversation. “We’re not even dating.”

Aitana shrugs. “If it matters that much to you we can give it a day.”

It’s such a ridiculous proposition that you can’t do anything but laugh. “So what? We can tell our children we dated for a day before we got married?”

This time she grins, finger drifting to hook around your own. “Time doesn’t matter. We both know whatever this is, whatever we are, it’s been going on far longer than a day.”

You’ve been back in Barcelona for close to a year now. The two of you picked up right where you left off, spending almost all of your waking moments with one another. Even when night comes round, it’s rare to find you sleeping apart.

Ona calls you both codependent idiots, Ingrid calls it something sweet, all you know is that it works for the two of you and although you’re not dating, it’s a life you can find yourself getting used to.

When the break came around and Ona announced she was going somewhere tropical with Lucy, Aitana was quick to make some plans for just the two of you.

You didn’t question it much, happy to just spend time with the girl you’ve been pining after for years.

At first everything was normal. Sure, Aitana’s been a bit more sentimental than usual, opting to reminisce about your childhood adventures or bring up the unofficial first dates of yours from all those years ago. But you don’t think too much about it, choosing instead to focus on not ogling all of the skin on display as Aitana’s primary activity these past couple days have consisted of nothing but sunbathing.

It’s not like you haven’t caught Aitana eyeing you up and down a couple of times too, but it’s different between the two of you. You’re still patiently waiting for Aitana to drop the pretense that you’re anything more than just friends, hence the respect you’ve been giving (though if she continues wearing two-pieces and hanging off your arm all day every day you might have to catch an early flight home before you combust). Aitana on the other hand… well you’re not really sure what she’s doing.

Though you can probably conclude that she’s not pretending anything anymore if she’s asking for your hand in marriage.

“I love you.”

Though her words fill you with warmth, you can’t help but frown at her sudden change in demeanor. Just three days ago when you were still surrounded by your teammates in Barcelona, Aitana cracked a joke about loving you when hell froze over --- though you probably deserved that comment after you let Mapi convince you to dunk her socks in the ice bucket. Although she’s affectionate with you, she’s never this affectionate.

“Aita, what’s going on?” you sit up, taking care to scoop Aitana’s hand into yours.

The smile slips off her face as her eyes drop, fingers nervously tapping by her side.

It’s automatic, the way your free hand rises, rubbing at the furrow between her brows.

Aitana melts into your touch, face leaning forward until your hand has no choice but to cup her cheek.

“It’s just me. Nothing to be afraid of,” you murmur, trying to prompt Aitana to speak her mind.

Aitana looks lost in thought for a moment. She bites at her lip before letting out the longest sigh known to man. “Aren’t you ever going to get tired waiting for me?”

You’re not able to stop the laugh that bubbles past your lips. “If that’s what you’re afraid of, you have nothing to worry about. I’m in this for the long run, even if that means waiting for you until we’re gray and old. I’m happy with what we are right now as long as you’re happy too.”

“But what if I’m ready now?”

You blink, not expecting the sureness behind her voice. There’s a slight fire in Aitana’s eyes, the midfielder looking like she’d move mountains just for you to understand how serious she is.

“I know I’ve always put football first but you have always been the one thing I’ve wanted to commit to. You’ve been so patient with me, loving me when I never gave you a reason to. You bring me up when I’m sad, give me reasons to smile when I just want to cry, you’re what I love falling asleep to every night, and seeing your face when I wake up just fills me up with joy.”

Your eyes flutter shut when she leans forward to press her head against yours. You can feel her breath running hot against your lips and it takes everything in you to not bridge the gap.

“I love the way you know me and I love the way you’re you.”

When your lips finally meet there’s no other way to describe the kiss than perfect. It’s short and sweet but it’s everything you’ve been waiting for.

“I love you. So much.”

Aitana’s giving you a teary grin when you open your eyes, and you can’t do anything but smile right back at her.

“So will you marry me?”

---

Ona’s eyes nearly fall out of her head when she sees the matching bands on your fingers when you stroll into the locker room a week later.

#aitana bonmati x reader #aitana bonmati imagine #woso x reader #woso imagine #Ace writes

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literaila · 1 month

Text

worth

gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: the past comes back to haunt you, as it usually does.

warnings: angst, allusions to disassociation, hurt/comfort, mama is sad

last part | next part

year five.

"wait for me," satoru tells megumi, as soon as he starts walking away.

you're watching as megumi hangs his head, looking like he'd failed at his one objective--escaping--and turns around, glaring at satoru.

you've all been out shopping for the past two hours. getting the kids new clothes, shoes, whatever else satoru swears they need...

honestly, he's kind of cute running around like a maniac from store to store. showing tsumiki a cute dress she could wear, or teasing megumi into trying on a sweatshirt that matches his.

it's quite possibly the only reason you haven't complained.

or pointed out that both of the kids are on the verge of whining all the way home. or that he doesn't need to spend 100,000 yen to make them happy.

"hurry up," megumi tells the man, basically growling at him.

satoru grins and ruffles his hair, resting a hand on his back as the two of them begin to navigate through the crowd. mostly likely, neither of them knows where they're going.

you're not even sure where a bathroom is in this district.

"we'll wait here," you call out, nudging tsumiki. satoru turns briefly to give you a little peace sign, a little grin, and then he murmurs something to megumi you can't hear and they're both gone.

you're a little worried about them being alone together in this state but you ignore it.

"guess it's just you and me, miki," you say to the little girl at your side. she beams up at you, nodding. "do you want to sit down? how do the shoes feel?"

"mmm," she looks down, blinking at the sparkly shoes satoru insisted were perfect for her. "they're rubbing at my ankles a little."

"we can get some new socks, too. that should help. c'mon, i think there's a bench over there."

she grabs your hand as you begin towards the bench, humming something under her breath.

you look down to smile at her and don't notice the person walking by, accidentally bumping into them. "oh, i'm sorry, excuse us--" you turn and your entire body lurches away from you.

for a brief moment, you're not yourself. your conscious moves in an instant, ready to defend itself from everything, anything. you're not yourself, but someone else. someone you used to know very well.

"i--" you breathe, freezing at the person in front of you.

tsumiki pulls on your hand a little, confused when you stop suddenly. she looks to the woman standing in front of you, with a bizarre look on her face, and then tsumiki's brown eyes go back to you, her face riddled with curiosity.

"y/n?"

i don't remember a lot about her but i remember hugging her when she got home from work, and the way she said my name--

you want to forget it all.

it's clear now, several years later, that you would rather forget everything about her--about this woman standing in front of you, basically a reflection of yourself--than have to do this all over again. then have to face the memories of what she did to you. then put that child through any of it.

"hi--hey," you say because you have to.

here's the thing about seeing your mom for the first time in a decade: you can't just pretend you didn't.

you'd like to turn right around and walk away. you'd like to pretend that you've grown sometime in the past nine years, that you've turned into someone who doesn't need to stay and talk to her. you'd like to think that you're someone who can cut her right out of your life and feel all of the better for it.

but you're not.

you can't run away from your mother. you can't apologize for bumping into her and turn around with tsumiki's hand in yours and forget about it. actually, you can't even move right now.

because there's still this girl inside of you.

there's still this child, a teenager who tried so desperately to earn the approval of this woman and never got it. who tried so hard to be everything that this woman wanted, but could never try enough.

and she's clinging to your chest right now, breathing into your skin like a toxin, digging her nails into your heart and begging you to try again. telling you that you've got another shot, a chance she couldn't have--

so you can't leave now. not when you owe it to her, to yourself to try, to trick yourself into believing that it was just a fault of your own, that your childhood memories are only the result of some flaws you've already fixed.

you can't walk away when your mind is stuck on her, her, and--tsumiki.

your broken eyes turn to her.

your little girl who is standing right beside you, waiting for your next move. if you told her to run, she would. if you told her to stay by your side and say nothing, to hide behind you, she would. she wouldn't even ask you what was going on.

but for no reason at all, you can't tell tsumiki anything. you can't whisper to her that it's fine, that everything is fine. you can't introduce her or drag her away.

you can't do anything and it's never felt worse.

"i thought that was you," your mother says, tilting her head at you. she's staring like this is just a casual bump in. like you're colleagues who haven't seen each other since she went on vacation. "you look... grown."

you feel naive. there's nothing you can say to this woman to prove to her that you're better than you were. that you're far too good for her.

"thanks," you whisper, even though you know it's not a compliment. it's an instinct to appeal to her. to be polite and perfect.

your mom clasps her hands together. if you were looking at her--which you're not, you wouldn't dare--you might be able to tell that she's uncomfortable with you being there. almost surprised.

maybe she just assumed that you'd die as soon as you left the comfort of your childhood home. maybe she thought that they would've kicked you out of jujutsu high a day after you arrived, leaving you to starve on the street just like she did.

"well, how are you?"

you swallow. "i'm good."

she nods, and then she looks to your side and finally notices tsumiki there.

tsumiki, with her precious face, her beautiful brown eyes, and carefully organized hair.

you're not sure what your mother sees when she looks at her.

you wish more than anything that you could hide her. you don't want your mom's--you don't want this woman's eyes on her. you don't want her to say a single word to your daughter.

"and who's this?"

but you can't just send her away. you have no idea where satoru went, and tsumiki can't walk around on her own. not right now, not when you're so preoccupied.

you just can't walk away.

tsumiki holds her hand out, just like you taught her. "i'm tsumiki fushiguro."

"it's nice to meet you," your mother answers, shaking her hand warily like she's certain that she might get an infection from tsumiki's skin. and then she looks at you, not daring to ask what she wants to.

you clench your jaw, wanting to slap her hand away from tsumiki.

you should've put up a barrier a minute ago. the only possible block between you and a woman who doesn't deserve the pleasure of meeting tsumiki. who deserves no explanations from you.

but your cursed energy is frozen in place, and you know that if you shut yourself in, you'll never get back out.

"my daughter," you add, a bit louder now.

your mom's eyebrows raise immediately and she pauses, looking between the two of you, searching for some useless resemblance. like it isn't obvious that you share a bond, just from the way your hands are intertwined. like it's not obvious that you braided tsumiki's hair, or helped her pick out the shoes she's wearing.

like it might not be true.

still, she asks tsumiki, "how old are you?"

"twelve."

and you know where her mind goes immediately. thinking that it can't be possible. she knew you when you were twelve, and you certainly weren't pregnant with the little girl standing beside you. you certainly weren't developing any maternal skills locked away in your room, with only the curse that liked to hide in the walls to teach you.

it brings that resentment to the surface of your core, threatening to burst through your skin. you feel suddenly so angry you can't bear it.

and you're not that girl anymore, you realize. you haven't been since you met nanami and haibara and satoru.

since you learned that you were only a child and not a trophy that needed to live up to its name.

"well," your mom sighs, shaking her head. "i can't say this is what i expected."

"excuse me?"

"really, what do you know about children, y/n? don't you think you're a little young?"

tsumiki looks up at you with a frown, about to ask what she means when you stop her.

you squeeze her hand and look away, into the eyes of the woman who created you--who has that string of biology she just judged you and tsumiki for lacking--and still didn't care.

she is nothing if not the proof that dna means absolutely nothing.

"what do you know about children, mom?" you repeat, rhetorically. "at least i know that a ten-year-old shouldn't spend every hour of the day locked in their room, waiting for someone to come let them out."

"i'm shocked that you--"

"at least i know that a child is a gift and not a toy to hide away when you get bored of it."

your mom scoffs. "i can't believe this--"

"neither can i," you say and look to your daughter, who's got wide brown eyes and a confused sort of fear on her face. she doesn't need to hear anything else you have to say to this woman. you smile at her, soft as ever. "go look for dad, okay? he shouldn't be far."

it's been five minutes, and satoru's probably right around the corner, you rationalize. he's going to come pick up tsumiki and rescue you any second now.

tsumiki nods immediately, letting go of your hand. she turns to go do what you said, but before she can there's a strong hand on your shoulder, a body right beside yours, and you almost gasp in relief.

"found him," tsumiki tells you, softly.

you turn to satoru, wanting to beg him to carry you away from her, to get you away from her--but the words won't come. you're too struck by the view of his face, and the knowledge that when you finally escape from this, he's going to be right there.

satoru was there the first time, and he'll linger for the second.

his shaded eyes look back at you, observing for a second, reading your mind, and then he turns.

megumi is trailing at his side, holding a shopping bag. he looks between this stranger and you, a cautious look on his face.

tsumiki is telling him something without any words.

"hello," satoru says, smoothly, breaking the silence. "i don't believe we've met. do you know y/n?"

your mother frowns, scoffing. "i'm her mother."

you can see it when satoru reels back, looking between the two of you for a moment, an intense realization on his face.

maybe he can see the resemblance. the face that might be your own in just a few years.

or maybe, finally, he can feel the horrors of being raised by her. all of the things you've never dared to tell him.

you're pleading satoru for something with your eyes but you're not even sure what.

"there's another one?" your mom asks, almost disgusted, as satoru processes. "how old are you?"

megumi frowns. he walks over to tsumiki, who's already picked up your hand, and asks you: "this is your mom?"

you nod at him, relieved more than anything that he's there, with the rest of you. and that if you can't explain, satoru will handle it.

megumi considers it for a second. "are you sure?"

and you want to laugh so abruptly that it shocks you. you want to grab him by the face and kiss all across his cheeks.

tsumiki is already smiling at you like she knows this. her grip is strong against yours.

satoru smiles at your mom, a vicious ugly thing. "did you need something from her?"

"i--no, we just ran into each other," she tells him, seemingly confused by his entire presence. she looks at you. "who is he? another child of yours?"

satoru licks his lips. "not quite."

you're about to answer when he grabs your empty hand, shaking his head. "i don't think there's anything y/n needs to say to you," he tells her, coldly. then he looks at you. "is there?"

"no," you whisper, coveting the feeling of his hand in yours. the two children at your side, who know what it's like to be loved. megumi and tsumiki, who will never feel unwanted, as long as you have a say in it.

satoru nods, guffly, and turns. "it was a pleasure to meet you," he says, and he moves all of you away. you can almost feel it when he shields the three of you from the rest of the world.

with his hand in yours, the other in tsumiki's, and megumi on the other side of her, satoru leads you all away from her.

and you let him. because the three of them are more of a family--a better, safer one--than that woman ever was.

you can't thank them all for being there, being yours, in this moment, but you will.

at least you know that.

satoru has been watching you for hours.

since you all got home and the kids' questions began.

that was your mom?

yes.

why haven't we met her before?

i haven't seen her in a long time.

was she upset?

yes.

why?

because i'm happier than she thought i'd be, you said, i have a better family.

are we going to see her again?

absolutely not.

after that, the two of them quieted. satoru could tell that they had more questions, that megumi was curious and tsumiki was worried--but neither of them continued.

it was almost unspoken that you couldn't take much more. that you needed a break from it, even if you wouldn't say. so they both moved on, resuming their usual antics and talking about the clothes they got, when and where they'd wear them.

well, mostly tsumiki. but megumi entertained her thoughts for a while at least.

satoru just watched you. the tiny break within your eyes, the gap between you and the rest of the world. you've remained all the same since you got home. cursed energy small, unchanging. your face in one position like it'll kill you to move it.

satoru can't stand it, but he doesn't want to intrude. he doesn't want you to push him away too.

so he only sat there, trying to fill your role (which was impossible) at the dinner table.

and several hours later, after dinner, after space, satoru still hasn't brought it up.

but he doesn't get the chance to. because as soon as you've put both of them to bed--insisting on tucking them in and talking to them both separately tonight, like you're making up for something--you're sneaking into satoru's room.

and he's waiting like he always is. his arms are wide open when you walk into the room, and there's not a moment of hesitation before you fall into them. you don't blink or breathe before you're right against him, keeping yourself up with nothing more than blood and bone.

satoru hugs you close to him, trying to let everything he feels go, just for you.

(because he's just angry.

he's angry that she showed up and ruined your day. he's angry that he wasn't there to keep it from happening. he's angry that when he walked over he could tell there was something wrong because you were frozen--because you were almost barren. no cursed energy, no expression. nothing to draw him to you like usual.

and he's so angry that he can't do anything to fix it.

so angry that being the strongest sorcerer of the modern age means nothing when he really needs it to.

satoru isn't a person who hates. he never hated the people who attempted to tie him down as a kid so he couldn't escape observation. he didn't hate toji when he cut him through the throat. he didn't hate suguru for leaving, or yaga for asking why he didn't stop him.

he doesn't hate.

but he hates her.

for taking your face and twisting it around. for stealing your childhood and pretending like she didn't. for holding your precious heart in her hands and acting like it was nothing of value.

he hates her.)

you both sit there, rocking back and forth, sinking together for a moment.

and then you sniff, and satoru closes his eyes against your head, not sure what to say to make it all better.

what he can do to erase this feeling from your body. what he can do to prove to you that you're worth so much more.

"do you think i'm a good mom?" you whisper to him, as he moves back and forth.

his heart pauses, needing a moment to consider this. to not feel a fire in his soul at the very suggestion.

satoru pulls back, frowning. and he makes sure that your eyes are on his when he says, "there's not a person in the world who could take better care of them than you do," he swears, feeling like it's the most honest thing he's ever said.

he wants to brand the words into your skin just so you never ask such a ridiculous question again.

"thank you," you say, voice breaking, and satoru wipes the tears falling down your cheeks away. each one a different memory, a terrible moment where someone showed you that you didn't matter.

and when they continue to fall, satoru continues to wipe them away.

"do you want to talk about it?" he asks, almost hesitating. he's not sure that he can handle hearing about it--but he would if you needed him to.

"not tonight," you whisper and fall against him again.

satoru holds you close.

and he swears, to whoever is listening, that he'll love you enough to make up for that woman. he'll love you enough to make up for everything.

he loves you enough to be sure of it.

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xoxotria · 17 days

Text

starcrossed | hjs

pairing: professor!hong joshua x student!reader

themes: professorxstudent relationship, flirting in public, smut

warnings: none

tick. tock. tick. tock.

time was moving painfully slow today. normally you’d find dr. hong's class interesting but today you just couldn't seem to focus for some reason.

well—you couldve been focusing on the lesson if it weren’t for your stupidly hot professor teaching, his attire slightly different from his usual because the first few buttons of his shirt was unbuttoned whilst his tie hung looser than it normally would around his neck.

it was as if the world was plotting against you to actually do well this semester because of the temptation speaking to the entire class infront of you.

you shouldn’t be having these kinds of thoughts for your professor (he wasn’t that much older, just your senior of 2 years as he had graduated early) but goddamn was he fine. you just couldn’t help but think of him that way—his perfect head of hair that is perfectly messy and perfectly wavy on days he doesn’t gel in place. he's tall and buff. some people describe him as somewhat on the thinner side but i can tell he has more than some hidden muscles under his suit. his big brown eyes are hypnotizing; and his pink plump lips—fucking perfect.

don't even get me started on his hands. hands that i've imagined on my body in the most inappropriate ways—gripping, spanking, rubbing, choking.

he's a profiler so he's probably picked up on the fact that you were attracted to him. and you no profiler but you think he's attracted to you some way too. he looks at you when he thinks you don't notice (but you do). and they're not just any kind of looks; they're long looks, looks that start at your legs and end at your eyes. like that one time you just so happened to wear a short skirt and thigh high socks. walking in late and stopped him mid sentence as he watched you take a seat on the front row. he quite literally choked on his words. and in that moment you felt such a boost of confidence to be able to get that sort of reaction out of him. seeing what you did to him turned you on enough to be miserable for the rest class.

today you were not wearing a short skirt and you were bored. you wanted to get his attention somehow. it's wrong—so wrong.

but this couldn't hurt right?

you remembered you were wearing a tight fitting tank top under your sweater. you decided to discreetly pull down your top and take off your sweater then lean forward and pretend to be engulfed in the subject he's discussing, showing quite a bit of cleavage just enough to get his attention.

he usually paces from one side to the other when he discusses to check if the class was still listening. and you happen to be sitting towards the right side of the room and he's walking towards the left so you wait patiently for him to turn around.

he's walking. walking. walking. and turn.

"what i find interesting is the part where jane says that a lady's imagination jumps from admiration to love, from love to matrimony in a moment. what do you think she—" he stopped dead in his tracks; he spotted you.

you smile innocently as you feign to be listening intently to the discussion.

"uhh, ahem" he clears this throat nervously.

"miss, what do you think she meant by this?" he improvised, catching you off guard.

people started to turn their heads in you direction so you instinctively leaned back and slightly pulled up your tank.

shit, he got me there.

you could see a small smirk form on his face as he waited for your answer.

"well..." you start hesitantly, "that women are used to being disillusioned."

"that's your take?" he cocks his head and raises an eyebrow.

"yes. that's how i interpret it. how would you sir?" you both start to engage in a back and forth. your gazes locked on each other.

"i believe she refers to women's ability to develop deep feelings for someone when they respect them," he walks a few steps forward with both hands in his pockets. you nod your head slowly in agreement.

"i suppose you're not wrong. but the two don't necessarily contradict each other." you add, feeling more confident now with your answer.

"mmm you're right miss. I can always count on you to give me good answers."

you had laid low for the rest of the class, periodically answering some questions for recitation. he had avoided lingering too much on your side of the room probably to remove suspicion on his side from his flustered outburst.

"that's all for today, class. have a good weekend."

slightly embarrassed from what happened earlier in class you try to leave swiftly, passing by the professor's desk avoiding eye contact.

"miss, may i speak to you for a second?" he called out behind me as you curse under your breath for not getting out faster.

you turned around hesitantly and saw him sitting at his desk, looking at papers; almost as if he hadn't called you over. you walk back to his desk as the last few students leave the classroom, leaving us alone.

you start to get nervous as your brain imagines all the things he could say to me.

could he be mad about what you had said in class? is he gonna call you out for your flirting? is he gonna kick me out of his class? fuck—that can’t happen. this was a prerequisite for another class you have next semester.

"the last paper i assigned was due yesterday, you haven't turned it in" he looks up at you as he props his arms up in front of him and interlocks his fingers, resting his chin on his hands.

you had let go of a breath you hadn't realized you were holding—a late paper you could handle but him calling me out or worse dropping you from his class? another story.

"i'm sorry professor, i haven't finished it yet" you make slight puppy dog eyes in the hopes he'll be the tinest bit forgiving. normally he hates it when students turn in their work late and you did not want be one of them that he mentally puts a label on for being tardy.

"can you have it done by tomorrow? i'll be in my office at around 9pm, you can drop it off then. normally i wouldn't open office hours on weekends but i can make the exception; just this once."

"i can do that. i'll have it done by then sir."

"good. you're a bright student, i wouldn't wanna see your grades suffer due to tardiness." he leaned back on his chain and places his hands on his lap.

your eyes had drifted towards his lap—it almost looked like an invitation but you knew better than that.

"thank you dr. hong i greatly appreciate it." you say with all sincerity as you watch a small smirk form on his lips.

does he like it when i call him that?

"i'll see you tomorrow at 9pm sharp, miss."

well, fuck. no escaping him now.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you've finished your paper as soon as you got home and now your mind is being filled with tempting ideas you should not be entertaining.

what if i wore a short skirt again? no. it'll be too obvious what you trying to do.

but wouldn't that be the point though? what point was i making anyways? am i really considering trying to get my professor to sleep with me? you groaned as you jumped into your bed.

the thought kept looming over my head the next morning, during the day, in the afternoon—the entire time i was awake and before i knew it it was time for me to get ready. it's settled—you want him and you wanted him bad.

⋆˚🐾˖°

you walked into the campus surprised that the main buildings are even open at 9pm on a saturday. the halls were so dimly lit, you almost couldn't find his office if you didn’t know the way to the room like the back of your hand.

you were late but that was on purpose. you were hoping it'll get a rise out of him. you decided to put on the same skirt and knee high socks as the last time, except your skirt is slightly more hiked up and you were wearing a very form fitting cropped sweater.

once you reached the door with his name on it you stop for a moment to muster up courage. you loved his name, it really did suit him.

you knock on the door and hear a faint, "come in."

you open the door to reveal a room that looks like any typical college professor’s office; but in a good way. it's lit up by a few lamps and candles, there's books on shelves and on the floor all opened as if dr. hong rummaged through it for research, there's a small couch with throw pillows and a blanket and his desk is facing the door—it was homey. you liked it.

it's not until the click of the door closing that he looks up from whatever he's doing. he does a quick double take and gulps and from where you were you could see him shift in his chair slightly.

"you're ten minutes late," he leans back on his chair and intertwines his hands together on top of his lap.

"there was traffic leaving my house i'm sorry." you lied.

"do you have the paper i asked for?"

"yes," you reached into you bag and dug out a folder with your essay neatly tucked inside and walked over to his desk and handed him the folder.

"i wanna read it over and give you your grade before you leave. please, make yourself comfortable."

you obliged, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of his desk and dropping your bag in the other.

he began reading my essay while you observed him. it was evident he was trying extra hard to focus. as he read and turned the pages you were entranced by the way his fingers moved and caressed the paper softly as if it was fragile.

at this point you were starting to imagine his hands on you again, creating a wetness between your thighs in probably the sluttiest panties you owned and if you had been a bit more entranced you wouldn't have noticed all the times he snuck glances at you while he read the paper he seemed to be approving, which was another relief.

finished he dropped the folder and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"it's a great essay, A+." he finally spoke.

you let out a breath you didn't notice you were holding.

"thank you dr. hong.”

"you're a great writer," he complimented, "but you really need to work on the tardiness."

"yes, you're totally right. i will work on that sir."

silence filled the room and all that raced through your mind was that you had to make your move.

now or never.

you stood up slowly and walked around the desk, your finger tracing the smooth wooden surface. you don't say a word and can tell he's trying to decipher what the hell you doing. once you were all the way around you sit on the desk, right in between his legs.

"what are you—"

"do you like having me as your student, dr. hong?"

he gulps and shifts in his seat, "yes."

you hooked your foot under his chair and pull him closer watching as his eyes drift towards your lips then up to your eyes again.

“what’s your favorite thing about me being your student?”

"uh, well, you're very smart and—"

"are you sure it's not staring at my ass and legs when i wear skirts like this?" you cut him off, leaning forward slightly.

he exhaled through his nose, looking deep into your eyes and you see he's giving in. concern flashes in his eyes for keeping things professional as it fades into lust and desire.

"i do like it when you wear skirts like that," his voice was no longer hesitant. he knew you wanted him just as much as he wanted you—and that was all he needed not to be nervous.

"mmm, why?" both of you were inching closer to each other. you could smell the perfume he wears to class that always seemed to get your attention in more ways than one.

god, did he smell divine.

"because i can imagine lifting it up to fuck you bent over my desk." his hand began sliding up your leg feeling you up as he did.

your breath got caught your throat when you heard him say it.

"that's what you're gonna do to me?"

"mhm, maybe that'll teach you a lesson on being tardy all the time." he stood up slowly, towering over you with both his hands are now caressing your thighs—his thumbs getting dangerously close to your soaking core.

"then teach me, doctor."

a smirk grew on his face as it did on your own as you challenged him. he tilted your chin up with his finger and leaned down slowly—painfully slowly. your lips graze each others as he avoided kissing you fully.

"can i kiss you?" he asked, your lips nearly touching.

"you can fuck me." you said impatiently breathing getting heavier.

"but can i kiss you?"

it confused you that he wanted to be a gentleman now after explicitly telling you he wanted to fuck you bent over his desk but then you realized he was just teasing you some more.

"yes." you breathed out before pulling him in by the back of his neck and practically going in tongue first.

he immediately pressed his body against yours, and you pulled him even closer by his cardigan. once you was clutching it you thought: why does he still have this on?

you quickly started to unbutton his cardigan as if your life depended on it whilst he slid his hand in your hair pulling on it by the roots.

"you're greedy huh? i bet you're already soaking wet."

"why don't you see for yourself?"

how you even got to utter that sentence was past you. you just needed him and you needed him now.

he grinned before attaching his lips to yours again and slithering his hand under your skirt and into your panties. you moaned softly into his mouth at the feeling of his fingers sliding in your folds and brushing against your bundle of nerves with the fingers you fantasized so much about.

"i hadn't even touched you and you were already this wet for me? all this for me?" he slid his hand out and put his fingers in his mouth and sucked—your mouth hung open in both shock and desire.

that was fucking hot.

"i wanna taste more of you, babygirl." he said looking at you through half hooded eyes.

he got down on his knees and scooted you forward to align himself with your entrance as he then began peppering kisses up ypur thighs as he hiked the skirt up more and more.

once you were exposed he kissed your clit through your underwear—at this point you couldn't help but groan as you grew heavy with anticipation. he hooked a finger on your underwear and tugged them off before he kissed your clit again. this time his lips made direct contact with your skin and a louder moan escaped your lips—you swore you could see your juices coating his soft pink lips.

he started licking softly and slowly. your hips beggining to rocking against his face almost as if they had a mind of their own. he picked up the speed just a little bit and then he stayed in that pace.

fuck this man is driving me insane. i want him like this—all day and everyday, always.

like waves your pleasure kept rolling in as he fucked you with his tongue. you could feel the familiar knot building up in you as began panting and moaning like crazy as his tongue danced slowly on your clit in circles. that's when he inserted a single finger and hooked it upwards hitting that one spot that makes you cry out in pleasure.

"oh fuck!" you cried out pulling his face deeper with your thighs as you crossed them behind his head as you heard him moan in response. your hand was tangled in his beautiful head of hair and you tugged on it slightly.

you couldn't believe it. he's moving ever so softly but you can feel so much pressure building up and then it crashed down on you—hard. body began shaking uncontrollably as your thighs clenched together locking him in but he didn't stop what he was doing.

it wasn't until you had come down from your high that he detached himself from you. this man really had you seeing stars for a moment.

he got up and kissed me again tasting yourself on him—his lips felt so nice on mine that i could kiss him forever.

"get up." he commanded softly as you followed.

he pushed his chair to the side and turned you around kissing your neck as he ran his hands all over your body with you becoming a moaning mess again.

"say my name." his hands grabbed my breasts as you felt your eyes roll to the back of your head from the way he played with your nipples with his fingers.

"joshua." you moaned out.

he groaned into your ear and quickly bent you over pressing his hard dick against your ass.

"you see what you do to me? every time i see you in class you're teasing me. coming into my class late in a short skirt like a slut."

he lifted your skirt and gave your ass a slap, making you jolt and moan at the same time from the sting it left.

"are you gonna keep being a bad girl? or are you gonna take my dick like the good girl you know you are?" he whispered into your ear as he spanked you.

"why can't I be both?"

"i knew you were greedy from the start." he chuckled lightly before pulling back to unbuckle his pants and get rid of his underwear.

he lined himself behind you grabbing unto your hips for support.

“do i need to use a condom?” he asked.

i shook my head no.

“i’m on the pill.”

you heard him say a quick fuck under his breath when he realized that he could cum inside you without worries.

"fuck!" he cursed as he inserted his dick in you.

"you're so big," you breathed out as you felt as if your voice had left your throat for a moment.

"you can take it."

once he was fully in he thrusted in slowly so you could adjust to the pleasurable pain.

you gave him the signal and he started to thrust faster. small moans and whimpers can be heard from both of you along with the rattling of his desk.

he took a handful of your hair and pulled, making you moan louder and even though the building was pretty empty both of us could still be heard by guards so he grabbed your panties and stuffed them in your mouth to muffle your loud moans.

"that's my good girl." he said in between pants as he lifted your leg and placed it on top of the desk to get a better angle.

"touch yourself." he whispered into your ear as your fingers found your clit feeling him thrust in and out of you.

you were getting over stimulated feeling both your fingers and his dick sliding in and out of you at a fast pace.

you could tell he was trying to holding back moans as he panted out.

“you look so pretty taking my dick like that. it looks so much better than i even imagined in my head.”

all you could do was moan and cry into your panties. you couldn't really tell him you were so close, but he could tell by the way your walls clenched around his dick.

"cum for me my sweet girl."

you felt the knot in your stomach dissolve as your orgasm crashed over you. you swore you came so hard you squirted and blacked out for a moment.

“fuck joshua!” you cursed as he still thrusted in and out of you, chasing his own high.

he quickly turned you around feeling his high and pushed you on your knees to cum in your mouth. his mouth hung open in an O shape as his hips buckled into your mouth. you swallowed every last drop and stared at each other for a moment—both out of breath.

"quite the mess i made." you said looking up at him, slightly embarrassed after catching your breath.

"was that the first time you squirted?" he asked as you nodded.

he took your hands and helped your stand. your legs we shaking like a baby deer's as he helped you to your feet and pushed your hair out of my face.

"don't be embarrassed. it was very sexy. and i'll take care of the mess."

he chuckled as you nodded and smiled back at him.

"did you learn your lesson about being late?" he placed his hands on your waist and you rested yours on his shoulders.

"if this is what i get for being late then i'm gonna be late everyday for the rest of the semester."

and the sound of his laugh filled the room as you smiled at him.

"fine," he replied, "as long as you wear outfits like this more often."

you had placed a soft kiss on his lips before pulling away.

“deal.”

so tell me, how can something so wrong feel so good?

#seventeen #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeenfanfic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #joshua hong #joshua hong smut #joshua hong fanfic #joshua hong x reader #joshua hong fanfiction #joshua hong scenarios

384 notes · View notes

coryosbaby · 9 months

Text

｡.｡♡ Dark! Ethan Landry Headcannons ｡.｡♡

(With bimbo! Reader)

Fandom: “ Scream vi ”

Pairing: Ethan Landry x fem! Reader

Cw: ghost face! Ethan, murder & gore, toxic relationships, nsfw ! dubcon

A/n: I’m back with my Ethan fics 💞 I’m excited

— ♡ —

Dark! Ethan who’s eyes find yours in Econ class; it’s immediate, the way your face floods with heat and so does his. It’s an attraction the both of you can’t control.

Dark! Ethan who’s mind is occupied with you for the next week; when you ask him to tutor you, he’s completely ecstatic.

Dark! Ethan who helps you with your Econ work five days a week — you tell him he doesn’t have to do that, that one or two days is just enough, but he suggests that you deserve the best lessons possible.

Dark! Ethan who loves to pretend like you’re getting a few questions wrong so he can stay with you longer. He finds the way you bite on the end of your pink pen in frustration and nervously jiggle your sock clad thigh absolutely adorable.

Dark! Ethan who brings his head close whenever you want to know how to do a problem; his breath right up against your neck, a soft tone bubbling out of him as he says “yeah, just like that. There’s my good girl.”

Your head spins every time and your face flushes a deep pink.

Dark! Ethan who kills any guy you happen to become friends with; you should be with him and only him :((

Dark! Ethan who fucks you for the first time after months of pent up sexual arousal; you bend over and beg him to fuck your ass because you don’t want him to take your virginity just yet— Condoms never become a thing between the two of you, so he fills up your ass with his cum and pushes your panties back up after he’s had his fill.

Dark! Ethan who becomes your boyfriend; he’s gentle towards you. He buys you gifts and lets you sit in his lap a lot. He becomes your roommate/partner after a few months.

Dark! Ethan who loves when you scream out his name; whether it be from pleasure or the harsh cuts he carves into you, so be it.

Dark! Ethan who tortures and murders the first person to disrespect you; he lies and says the blood on him is just fake blood that him and his friends were pranking someone with. you help him clean up afterwards. You don’t want it to stain the shirt he’s wearing because it’s you’re favorite :(

Dark! Ethan who has you drenching his cock while his fingers are shoved down your throat; you beg him to stick them in, beg him to let you get choked and gag and drool all around him. He loves it.

“God, look at that. Little cum baby is drooling all over the place, isn’t she?”

You don’t know if he’s talking about your mouth or your cunt.

Dark! Ethan who loves to call you in full ghostface mode; you have no idea it’s him— how incredibly dumb you are! He calls you, with that sickeningly grating voice, and says that he can see you. You’re scared…

Dark! Ethan who approaches your room; clad in full ghostface attire, with a knife held in his grip.

Dark! Ethan who watches your shocked and terrified face… he makes degrading remarks at your stupidity, but his cock is so fucking hard that he almost can’t breathe under the plastic mask. Soon he tells you that if you don’t strip and fuck yourself on your bed while he watches, that you’ll be in big trouble. You don’t know it’s him still, and you feel so guilty — but not as much as you are wet.

Dark! Ethan who begins to stroke his cock in his hand as you peel off your pink nightgown. And when your fingers slip inside your aching little hole, he begins to speak with that same evil voice.

“Dirty whore. What would Ethan think?”

And when he says that, it shouldn’t get you so hot and bothered, but it does. Your clit throbs as more juices trail out of you. He laughs almost manically when you begin to fuck yourself with more force.

Dark! Ethan who watches you cum over and over. All while taunting you.

“Your little boyfriend would love to see this. You might be doing this for me, but you know you’re all his, right?”

You’re too dumb with pleasure to figure out it’s him.

Dark! Ethan who unmasks himself to you afterwards. Your tear stained face contorts into shock, and you begin to cry. You tell him that it was mean, that it wasn’t a funny joke. But he just smiles, and kisses away at your blushy cheeks.

“Baby, it’s okay. I’m really sorry… didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“cmon, I’ll buy you a pretty new outfit. And then I’ll fuck you nice and good.”

You can’t not forgive him with that offer. And after he buys you a new dress and a new lingerie set, he makes sure to take you in the alleyway behind the Victoria’s Secret store and pound you senseless.

Masterlist

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem! reader #ethan landry smut #Ethan Landry x bimbo! reader #jack champion #scream 6 #scream iv #scream vi #scream

2K notes · View notes

periprose · 10 months

Text

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.

Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)

Word count: 11k

There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.

Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.

“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”

“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet.

“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.

“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”

There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.

“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.

Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.

You wish you could be there for him too.

It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.

You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.

Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.

Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.

“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.

He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.

“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.

“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”

“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”

You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”

“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”

The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself.

You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad.

“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.

“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”

“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.

“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember.

He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.

Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.

“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”

“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”

“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that.

“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”

Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.

Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.

Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing.

Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age.

“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”

“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”

“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”

“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”

Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”

“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”

Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.

You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it.

He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.

“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”

“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.

“What?”

“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.

“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”

“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.

“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”

“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”

“Business administration specialist.”

“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”

“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”

Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”

“Acquaintances.”

“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”

“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”

You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”

“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”

Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.

Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry.

You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.

“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.

“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.

“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”

Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.

“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.

Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.

“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”

“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”

She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.

“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.

Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.

There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.

“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.

“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”

“Hubris.”

“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”

“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”

“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”

You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.

“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.

“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”

“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”

“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”

“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.

You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.

You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”

Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too.

Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.

You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.

But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?

Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.

You might never stand out.

You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick.

They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice.

You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.

It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.

You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.

Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.

“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”

“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.

“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.

He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.

“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”

“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.”

“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.

Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.

“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included.

“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”

“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”

“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.

“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”

She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.

You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?

You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.

Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”

Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.

Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”

“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.

“What?”

Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient.

Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”

“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.

“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”

“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.

Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.

“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.

“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”

“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”

“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.

“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”

Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone.

“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”

“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”

“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late.

He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt.

Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.

When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear.

“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.

“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.

“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.

You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.

You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all.

You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.

Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.

You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.

He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.

“Birdie?”

You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees.

“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”

“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.

“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”

“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”

“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.

Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort.

He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.

He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust.

“Yeah, Birdie?”

“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."

“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”

“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”

“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”

Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.

Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.

He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you.

"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again.

"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are.

“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”

“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said.

You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.

But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.

“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”

“Wait, Birdie–”

“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”

“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”

He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.

“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.

“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”

Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.

“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”

“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off.

“Yeah.”

“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”

In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.

“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”

You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.

“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”

“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.

“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod.

“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something.

Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb.

Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.

He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.

Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?

Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.

He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.

Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours.

You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security.

Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.

Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far.

“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”

You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.

“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.

“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”

His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.

“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”

“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”

Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”

“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”

You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.

“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”

“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you.

Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that.

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.

Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this.

For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough.

You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.

He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.

That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too.

When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.

“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance.

You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?

You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.

The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often.

Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.

Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.

“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.

Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.

Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.

You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.

You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too.

Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.

Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.

“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.

Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.

"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”

Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.

“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.

“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.

“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.

“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.

But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him.

"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”

"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"

He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better.

“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about.

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.

"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?”

You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.

“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.

Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”

You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.

Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.

Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.

You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.

Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.

Michael throws the third fork.

It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other.

Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.

Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.

Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.

Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.

Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do.

You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.

Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.

Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.

You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.

You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.

You hope next Christmas will be better.

Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.

Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.

He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.

Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.

He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further.

Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.

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