#why are you pouring time and effort into making posts about it

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

I miss Yves so much. I was reading the Best of Both Worlds lately (ngl when I first saw the title I was expecting a Hannah Montana Yandere 🤧), I love the part when his darling is sick and he just sensually rubs their back, hugs them, kisses them, strokes their arms and just whisper things in their ears. Even though they ended up cumming (understandable cause I would too).

I just finished an exam and it was so difficult, why isn’t Yves here to help me pass it change my grades. 😭😭 Just feeling so stressed rn, why is it this hard to get a degree. 😓

If you can could you please do an exam comfort with Yves, or another sensual time with him similar to the Best of Both Worlds (with the aim of making the darling cum). Or both 🤧

Sorry if this is too long, or if I’m asking for too much or the tmi, and the ranting. That exam got me fucked up. 😞

Anyway have a nice day! 😊 I really enjoy all that you write! (Especially you cussing out Cyprus is fun)

[Here another post about yves helping you before your exam]

You sat at your table, staring into nothing in particular as the hoard rushes out of the exam hall, not wanting to spend another second in a place so stuffy, so cold and so stressful.

The invigilators have collected all the sheets, they're recounting it at the very front as the students pour out of the two doors. You're not in a hurry to get back home, it's not like you could slide out unscathed anyways. Might as well wait until most of them had left so you could have a smooth exit without bumping shoulders.

The exam no doubt, sucked. It was hard, the worst thing you have ever taken. Perhaps you didn't have time to study, or perhaps you did. And that hurts even more to know your best wasn't enough. You also have to have luck by your side.

You were absolutely drained, you didn't feel like moving a muscle even though the hall is nearly empty. Save for the invigilators and a few others who found themselves staring into space at how horrible that paper was.

You sat there with your body slumping against the chair. It really is devastating to you.

Then, you feel a large, soft hand slowly and soothingly rub your shoulder. You didn't need to turn around to know who it was, who else would touch you so tenderly like that, other than Yves?

His touch left you as he moved closer to you and crouched down, wanting to have a good look at your downcast face. Even when he lowered himself, he is at eye level with you.

He softly called you by your name. But you're too upset to even look at him. So, Yves stroked under your chin to direct your attention to him, it was ticklish and flustering, temporarily distracting you from the hurt you feel.

"It's time for you to leave the hall, dear." His voice was barely above a whisper despite the area being devoid of ears. You're the only one left.

You stared at him without saying or doing anything. Yves's beautiful green eyes softened and he tilted his head to the side, silently expressing sympathy for you.

He brought both hands to your face and cupped your cheeks, lovingly caressing them with his thumbs and palm.

"You did well." He praised, giving you a comforting kiss on the forehead. "It was difficult, but it is over now."

Yves smiled, wiping a stray tear that fell from your eye. He sees how your lower lip trembles and your eyebrows knitting together.

"I am so proud of you."

That was the last straw, you burst into tears and began sobbing noisily. Dampening his hands with your tears and snot, yet he made no effort to pull away. Instead, he engulfed you into a warm hug, allowing you to bury your head in his chest. A hand went on to softly pet your hair, while the other rubbed your back up and down.

His signature fragrance filled your lungs, the silkiness of his hair brushed against your skin and your fingers are tightly gripping onto his turtleneck, giving it deep wrinkles. You know that it's going to be okay with Yves here, he makes everything alright. He just does.

Yves quietly hushes you as he pecks at the crown of your head numerous times.

Yves let's you cry as loud as you need, he didn't mind staying still and holding you in his arms for a while. Eventually though, you calmed down enough to remove your grip on him. Opting to use your hand on your teary face instead, trying your best to flick the sorrow away.

Yves slowly parted himself away from you, momentarily frowning at the chilliness biting at him. But, he immediately went to work, gathering all your stationery and neatly organizing them back into your pencil case. He zipped it up and kept it into his handbag, fishing out a packet of facial tissues at the same time.

"Shh... All is well. There is no need to cry, my love." He gently pried your hands away from your face and went on to wipe all the mess away with a piece of tissue.

He went on for a few more minutes, consoling you in the middle of an empty examination hall. Your sniffles and hiccups echoed through the vast space, making you self conscious. But Yves never once paid attention to anything other than you; anything else is secondary.

Only when you're mostly silent and you have expended all your energy, Yves slung your arms around his neck and tucked his under your legs and back.

You hid your face between his neck and hair out of embarrassment as Yves carried you out of your chair, but you knew that you wouldn't have enough energy to get out on your own anyways.

He began walking away from your desk, getting further and further from the place you dread. Closer and closer to the exit.

Before he could leave past the door, you told him you wanted to walk on your own. He paused for a few seconds before honoring your request, gently setting you down on your feet.

He fixed your clothes, adjusting them and smoothing any wrinkles out. Fixing your collar and brushing your hair with his manicured nails. You stood there and let him take care of you like that as he seemed to be enjoying it as much as you do.

He finished off with a sweet and chaste kiss on your lips. Yves chuckled as your cheeks heat up a bit, tickling you by tracing a finger along your jaw.

"Come." He offered his hand for you to hold. "It's time to go home."

You accepted it, letting him wrap his digits around your much smaller hand.

He had also collected your bag earlier, Yves wouldn't allow you to carry anything as the two of you walked to the parking lot.

Yves knew how to make everything better. He told you that he baked your favourite cake to celebrate the end of your exams and that there is a delicious feast waiting for you at home, served fresh and hot.

With him by your side, you knew that everything will be okay.

#yandere #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere concept #oc yves #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #male yandere oc x reader #rip to ur exams uni sucks #hope u get at least a pass tho

[eijiroukiriot]

in case you haven’t seen him today - now you have!

#look at him....look at the BOY!!! #i feel like honestly every time i go to post kirishima pics lately it'll be bc i'm thinking abt him mildly #and i'm like aw yeah i'll go find a kirishima to post to express that i love him #and then i go thru my folder of kirishima pics and by the time i actually find one it's escalated enough that i'm like OKAY HERE HE IS LOOK #AT HIM LOOK AT THE BOY #seriously if i let myself keep going on in these tags for too long it'll just be a long series of wooooow wow i love that boy #looking at him and looking at his hair and then my hair and going like oh yeah. it's red because of him #among other things. but still. him......... #god i love the boy #ik it's kinda my fault for submitting work literally on the last day possible #but my digital studies prof like...didn't grade anything of ours almost all semester...and then graded a bunch of stuff right at the end #with no feedback #like -_- idk. all the work for that class were very intensive creative projects #like the thesis of the class was very much 'pour your genuine soul into something and like let loose no cringe just make things' #so all the work took a lot of effort and energy and idk if you're not gonna be able to give Any feedback on your students' fanfiction #then maybe you should make the deadline earlier #actually i'm gonna. go see if course evaluations are still open #because the feedback they gave on my earlier work was really nice but if i submitted an essay in february and you knew everyone would be #submitting a ton of work at the end of the semester why wouldn't you read the essay until the end of april? #this is all to say that i submitted a little 5+1 about kirishima and i really wish i'd gotten their feedback on it :/ #like instead of just a completion grade #BUT that's ALSO to say that i have a 5+1 about kirishima ready #once i edit it that is #very close to being ready. but more boy content to come #happy thursday everyone :^) we love the boy #thoughts #eijirou loving hours

[faintedlcve]

False Fronts II

part 2 of 4

pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

warnings: kissing, pda, swearing, fake dating, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

there will probably be a part 3 (if im feeling nice).

summary: Being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. You, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to Theodore Nott.

the lovely lovely dividers have been created by @cafekitsune. here is the post with these exact dividers!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4: fluff angst

Theodore's departing silhouette dissolved into the Hogwarts corridor, leaving you with conflicting emotions. A grin tugged at your lips—Theo had asked you to team up in this wild charade! But there was also this weird flutter in your stomach. Fake dating Theo? This was something straight out of a fanfic plot. (i wonder why?)

The agreed time rolled around, and you headed to the spot Theodore suggested—a tucked-away alcove away from the Hogwarts chaos. Your heart raced a little faster as you spotted him already waiting, a mix of uncertainty and determination in his expression.

"Hey," you said, aiming for a casual tone despite the bundle of nerves inside.

Theodore turned, a faint smile on his lips as he nodded. "Hey, thanks for showing up."

There was this strange tension between you, the weight of the plan hanging in the air. It was like the beginning of an unknown adventure, the kind that either makes you or breaks you.

Sitting down, you both seemed at a loss for where to start.

"So," you ventured, breaking the silence, "how are we playing this out?"

Theodore leaned in, lowering his voice. "Let's keep it simple. Act like we're together, maybe hold hands when people are around. Just enough to sell it to Jess."

A jolt of nerves mixed with a weird kind of excitement surged within you. Pretending to be Theo's other half felt like stepping into a storybook—exciting but also a tad scary.

"Sure," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "We'll make it work."

Theodore nodded a grateful glint in his eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I owe you for this."

And so it began. There were these subtle gestures—his hand grazing yours, the occasional kiss on your cheek—but it never ventured beyond that. Just enough to plant a seed of jealousy in Jess.

Yet, it ignited a storm of butterflies within you. You knew it was all a mistake, falling for him in this make-believe charade. You knew it was a terrible idea. You knew it. Yet, each touch, each gentle kiss left you breathless, wanting more.

You reminded yourself it was all a facade, a performance meant to fool others. But for some reason, it felt real. You wished it were genuine. The line between what was fake and what you craved to be real blurred with every tender moment, making you yearn for something that was never meant to be. It all felt real. You wanted it to be real.

The question was, did he?

You knew diving into a conversation about his actual feelings wasn't on the table. He'd made it pretty clear: this was all part of the fake dating deal. Plus, the last thing you wanted was to weird him out by dropping the "Do you like me for real?" bomb.

If he caught wind of you wanting something more than acting, he might bail and rope someone else into this mess, leaving all the effort you'd poured into getting close to Theo in the dust. And you weren't about to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

Days turned into weeks, and the fake dating charade continued. You and Theodore fell into a rhythm, a seamless blend of staged affection and genuine camaraderie. It was a delicate dance, playing the part of an infatuated couple while maintaining the facade for Jess's benefit.

But amidst the pretense, something unexpected happened—the lines between what was feigned and what felt real started to blur. The stolen glances, the shared laughs, the moments when the act seemed to dissolve into something unscripted—all of it stirred a confusing mix of emotions within you.

Theodore's touches became less rehearsed, more natural, and each time he'd take your hand or wrap his arm around you, it felt oddly comforting. There was a warmth in his gestures that made them seem genuine.

Thing is, as much as you reminded yourself it was all a big show, there were moments when it felt too genuine, too sincere to be just an act. Those brief touches and the laughter that felt more genuine than staged—it all made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something brewing beyond the act you'd both signed up for.

Theodore escorted you towards your dorm, the air heavy with an unspoken tension that lingered between you two. The quiet stroll through the Hogwarts corridors felt different tonight—moments of comfortable silence interjected by furtive glances and lingering touches.

As the entrance to your dorm loomed closer, you felt the weight of an impending confession pressing against your chest. This might be the moment—the perfect opportunity to spill everything you'd been holding back.

"Theo, I have to tell you something" You blurted out.

"Hm?" He questioned.

"I- I lik-" You began.

"Stop right there bitch. Get the fuck away from MY boyfriend." a voice shouted.

It was Jess.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hello! finished reading this? read part 3 next!

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #theodore nott #theodore nott fluff #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott fanfiction #theo nott x reader #theo nott fic #theo nott #theodore nott x you #slytherin boys #theodore nott fic #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x y/n #theo nott x you #theo nott fluff #fake dating #theodore nott fake dating #theodore nott angst #lorenzo zurzolo #niccolo govender #baby #daddy uh i mean theodore #luce posts 💌

[thatstonedwriter]

⋆｡˚ 「 Domesticity 」 ⋆｡˚

◉ Sinopsis; Stolas and his s/o spend a romantic morning together

◉ A/n- stay tuned for a little scenario at the bottom of this post. First time I'm combining headcanons and a short scenario, hope y'all enjoy <3

── ˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘ ──

The sky brightens, light wafting through the curtains like a gentle wake up call. Beside you, Stolas stirs in his sleep, cooing and turning over. As wonderful as it would be to sleep in, its time to get ready for the day.

Stolas isn't a morning person. Unless he has appointment or meetings, he'll sleep in until the late morning. I mean- He's an owl demon, he's gonna prefer nighttime. Fortunately, you make mornings much more bearable.

If you're the type to stay in bed, Stolas takes full advantage. Half-awake, he'll leave light kisses on your cheek, neck, and arms, mumbling a small "good morning, darling"

He's also the type to playfully groan about having to get up. He pulls the blankets closer, damn near hiding under them, holding you close and making very persuasive points as to why you should just stay in bed with him.

If you prefer to get up and get an early start on the day, Stolas appreciates that too. He'll still whine about how he wants you to stay in bed, but won't keep you from doing your thing. He'll even make an effort to get up with you to maximize quality time together

It's been said Stolas doesn't know how to cook. And it's true, that's why people say it. If you also can't cook, y'all will settle for a simple breakfast- maybe going to a cafe or staying home with a bowl of cereal or a plate of pancakes

Ngl, I think Stolas would listen to podcasts or audio books in the morning. Listen; y'all are in the kitchen or bathroom, getting ready for the day, making your food- all while listening to a mystery novel or an astronomy podcast.

As small as the moments are, Stolas cherishes just standing in the bathroom getting ready for the day, consulting with you on what outfits y'all should wear, and taking turns in the shower. He's finally able to call this house a home because he gets to share it with you.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

The bubbling sounds of the coffee maker and the sizzle of cooking pancakes fill the kitchen. Stolas walks in, groggily rubbing his eyes and padding over to you.

"Good morning, my love," he whispers, kissing the top of your head. Stolas rests his head atop yours, watching the pancake batter bubble on the pan. "The food smells delicious."

"Thanks," you chuckle, leaving th pancakes for a moment to pour a cup of coffee. "Careful, it's hot," you say, passing the mug to him. Stolas nods, kissing you once more and sipping the coffee.

"You can go ahead and sit down, the pancakes will be done soon."

Stolas smiles, leaning against the counter. "I can stay here. After all, why would I go all the way over there when you're right here?"

"Whatever you say, birdy," you laugh, turning your attention back to the pancakes.

The rest of the time passes in comfortable silence. Stolas watches you lovingly, thinking of how grateful he is to share these moments with you. This is the love he's has been waiting for.

── ˙•˚∘✮ 🔭๋࣭ᯓ🌙˙•˚∘ ──

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss headcanon #request #stolas helluva boss #stolas x reader #romantic headcanons #domestic headcanons #stolas goetia #helluva boss goetia #ars goetia #helluva boss fluff #writings.onthe.wall

[jaylaxies]

KINKTOBER DAY 24 — DACRYPHILIA

PAIRING: jaemin x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, unprotected sex, manipulation, toxic relationship, ex!jaemin, usage of nicknames.

WC: 1.2k words

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, angels! i am so excited to post this one aaa i hope you like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated! iloveyou all <33

✎ kinktober masterlist

“I regret it—please take me back.”

Maybe breaking up with your ever so loving boyfriend was not your best move, yet it wasn’t your fault that he was too controlling, filled with possessiveness through and through. 

You wanted out, and you got it, albeit you were alarmed to see just how calm and collected he was, when in reality, you had expected him to break a vase or two in frustration. 

He let you go easily, which kept you up at night because that’s not what Jaemin would do and deep inside, you started second guessing your choice, wondering if leaving the guy who only ever wanted to love you, though his means were unconventional at times, he meant well. 

It all came crashing down when you actually saw him in the club, talking to a girl that was definitely not you. You couldn’t bear well with the fact that he was so nonchalant about it, not contacting you once since the breakup happened. 

Maybe it was the reverse psychology playing its trick, but you couldn’t deny it was working. After all, who would ever love you like Jaemin? Would anyone ever be obsessed to the point they’d hate seeing you with others? To the point they’d want to be involved in every single aspect of your life?

You didn’t have any answer for that, rather, you only knew that Jaemin would do it for you, he always had been doing so, which would be the initial reason for the breakup, and now—the reason why you wanted to get back to him. 

Which brings you to his place. He let you inside gently, as if he wasn’t surprised to see you. His calm demeanour had your mind turning into a fiasco. 

“Do you not care about me anymore?” You asked, voice breaking pathetically as you held back a sob. 

He looked at you normally, “you’re the one who wanted to break up,” he shrugged. 

And it hurt. It hurt to see him being so unbothered about the situation. The fault was yours, you’d agree but it would have been better had he been mad at you instead. 

You felt tears pricking your eyes, bottom lip trembling as you took a step towards him, “do you really not want me anymore?” You asked, embarrassed for being a hypocrite. 

“You left me, baby,” he said, heart fluttering when you called you the term of endearment. 

He had a frown on his face now. 

“How would I have any say in that, hm?” He asked, stepping closer and you rushed to pull him into a hug. 

“Please, take me back,” your voice came out muffled as you buried your face into his neck, completely missing the smirk which settled on his face. 

This was his plan all along. 

His monotonous look returned right when you leaned back, and lord he swore you looked beautiful with crystalline tear drops cascading down your cheeks. 

He hadn’t even touched you and here you were, wasting your precious tears on him, not knowing that he’s all yours, he’ll always be yours. 

“Please?” You whimper, pulling him closer by his nape in an attempt to kiss him, and he lets you. 

He lets you pour all your feelings into the kiss, tasting the saltiness of your tears as he doesn’t do much to reciprocate it, despite loving every second of it, which only makes you kiss him harder. 

He groans into your mouth, “now you realize it, huh?” He mumbles against your lips, hand gripping your cheeks now, which makes you mewl, “I’ve been treating you so well, baby, and you do what? Break up with me?” He clicks his tongue, “doesn’t sound fair to me now, does it?”

It doesn’t take him any effort as he picks you up, carrying you to the bed as your heart starts racing that maybe, just maybe, he was gonna let you back into his life, even if it means you’d be punished for acting out. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again, which was not acknowledged by Jaemin at all as he threw you on the bed, a soft oof leaving your mouth at the impact. 

“Why should I take you back, hm? Did you go off to other men while I wasn’t with you?” He asked, fuming with anger when he knew that you didn’t do it. 

He kept a check on you after all. 

“N—no, I wouldn’t do that,” your lip trembled, excitement coursing through your body as he got on top of you after getting rid of his T-shirt. 

“How can I be so sure?” He asked, wrapping his fingers around your neck, applying the best amount of pressure, another drop of tear leaving the corner of your eye, “oh, baby. You can’t make mistakes and expect me to forget them just by crying now,” he shook his head, lips so close to yours. 

“I—I really didn’t go t—to anyone else,” you hiccuped and he chuckled, loving every second of watching you break down. 

The sight was beautiful, his cock was harder than ever and he hadn’t even touched you, “yeah?” He asked in a whisper, and you nodded, feeling small under his predatory gaze. 

“Guess I’ll have to claim your body as mine again,” he mumbled, your eyes widening as he shoved his hand down your pants, only to find you wet, the damp underwear sticking to your cunt uncomfortably, “that desperate to have me back, princess?” He chuckled deeply. 

You could feel your body vibrating with his, all his muscles on display and guilt clear on your face as you took him in. 

You couldn’t understand why you left him, and you couldn’t understand how he was ready to take you back so easily, the thought making you cry all over again as you nodded, “want you, want us.” 

“Prove it, cry for it, baby,” he whispered, taking your pants off along with your panties, the cold air hitting your core making you hiss. 

You wanted to cry, you really did, and it was hard to stop your tears which unbeknownst to you, turned Jaemin on even further, he stared at your pretty face while pumping his cock, which was harder than ever. 

“Beg for me to take you back, beg for me to claim you again,” he mumbled against your neck, biting and sucking harshly, your pain inflicting pleasure on him. 

He doesn’t give you a second to prepare yourself as his dick head prodded at your entrance, pushing himself in with the intent of bottoming out, which was easy given how wet you were, yet the stretch was too much for you to take in. 

You were blabbering nonsense at this point, begging and letting your tears fall freely as he marked you up, to make sure that you never leave him again, to make sure his marks stay on you for a long time, “so pretty when you cry,” he chuckles, thrusting harder by second to hit the deepest spots in you.  

Your breathing grows heavier and you could sense your orgasm approaching, your eyes rolling back to your head as your back arches, bliss beginning to form in your lower abdomen, “I’m sorry!” You cried, holding him close as he fucked you through your orgasm. 

But, he didn’t stop there, continuing to fuck you, laughing as he saw how disoriented you looked when this was just the start. 

It was supposed to be your punishment after all. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

permanent taglist: @jaeminvore @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @jaysbiceps @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @ikeuizm @woniebae

@lalalalawon @blessedcursd @skzenhalove @heesuncore @seuomo @kyurizeu @haechan-nahceah @tobiosbbyghorl @jezzebear @jaehoonii @itsgivingitalian @bunhoons @hyacandoit @luvswonyoung @ma-riiii

kinktober taglist: @glitterssim @kaykay11sworld @sfsrm-blog @certifiedmoa @luvkpopp @lanawyi @heerinnie @ablackbtsstan @mesopret @electrobutterfly @cupidsmoons @erehkinnie30 @mulit05ho3st4n

bold ones couldn’t be tagged!

taglist open! send an ask or comment to be added!

© jaylaxies | tumblr

#🎫 — kinktober! #jaemin smut #nct smut #nct dream smut #nct fanfic #kpop smut #nct hard hours #jaemin hard hours #jaemin x reader #na jaemin #nct #nct dream #nct scenarios #nct imagines

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 43

part 1 | part 42 | ao3

cw: references to sex, post-coital sad boy feelings but it’s comforting i hope, once again swirling the religious drain

“You look like you just saw God,” Eddie says fondly as he pulls his fingers out.

“Pretty sure I am God,” Steve mumbles, winded and floating, watching the stars in his vision skitter across the ceiling in pretty popping swirls of white. His ass still feels full, phantom ache of Eddie's fingers. They live there now. “Or maybe you are, I don’t know.”

Eddie leans down to plant a firm kiss on his lips, sure and steady, overflowing with affection.

Steve’s heart is gonna pump so hard it bursts.

“Well,” Eddie murmurs into the kiss. “Amen to that.”

Later, after Eddie adds his own mess to Steve's skin, after he kisses him all over and cleans him up and lays them down on their sides, face to face like they were that first night — in the morning; if you still mean it, ask me then — Steve dares to break the silence. Murmurs "hey" so quietly he's not sure Eddie will hear.

"Hmm?" Eddie props his head up on his hand, giving Steve the full attention of those big, dark eyes.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say thanks."

Eddie's brows waggle suggestively.

“Oh, my god.” Steve gives him a weak shove, tapping lightly at his shoulder, and Eddie flops onto his back like he's been struck; groans like he’s dying and then rolls back up with a gentle laugh. “Well,” Steve rolls his eyes like he isn't smiling, too, "for that, too, I guess."

"He guesses.”

"Shut up. I'm trying to be sincere."

Eddie twists an invisible lock; seals his smiling lips shut and throws away the key.

"I just..."

He can do this.

He can. If Eddie hasn't judged him yet, then...

"I like that you. Y'know. You ask me. About stuff." Eddie hums in question, so Steve clarifies: "You pry." Shit. That was rude. "Not that it's prying if I want you to! That's not— that's not even really the word I'm thinking of. Or maybe it is, but, like, not the right conno- commo—"

Jesus.

Why can't his mouth ever just cooperate?

Eddie strokes a soothing hand down his side, letting it settle in the dip of his waist. Silent, steady encouragement. Patient and warm; always so gentle with him.

When Steve speaks again he stares directly at Eddie's chin, lets the words spill out on a muted mumble, like if he says them low and soft and fast enough then maybe god won't hear. "I just mean that you- you actually listen. I know I'm not the most, like, open about talking about my feelings and shit, but most people in my life are— well, I mean, most of them are kids, so that's probably part of it, but…”

He takes a deep breath; feels it rattle behind his ribs. “It’s like I say 'I'm fine' and they hear 'Steve's fine.' Like, 'Oh, Steve? Yeah, he's fine; he's totally fine. He got hit in the head again, but he's fucking fine.'"

There’s salt in his throat.

He swallows around the angry lump swelling there — a wasp nest in his soft tissues and he's swinging blindly with a bat — but he can’t stop now, the confession already pouring from between his trembling lips. "It just makes me wonder, like, am I that good of an actor? Or do they all just hear what the want to hear? You know? Like- like maybe I'm not worth the effort; maybe no one wants to lift the lid to clean the mold growing under it, or..."

He sniffs pitifully, can hardly see for the fresh tears. "I don't know. I don’t know."

“Baby.” Eddie's eyes are heartbreaking; Steve looks away again.

"I just like that you see me,” he confesses to Eddie’s shirt. “You listen. You care."

Eddie’s arms tighten around him; draw him in against his chest. “For as long as you want me to, baby, I swear.”

—

It’s easier, after that. Feels lighter; feels right when he spends his free time at Eddie’s side, laughing and smoking and fucking around; playing passenger princess as he goes to make his deals. Take on Me’s playing on the radio, and Steve looks over and sees him subtly bobbing his head to the beat.

“A-ha!” he says, pointing a Cheeto at him in triumph. “It’s catchy; admit it.”

Eddie rolls his eyes like he isn’t actively drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Only because it’s designed to be, you little preppy pop prince fucker.”

“Hey!” Steve throws the Cheeto at his hair and laughs, “Fuck you!”

“Careful there, tiger,” Eddie answers with an easy grin, leaning over to squeeze Steve’s leg suggestively. Bearing down on the scratch marks he left there last night. “Might get what you ask for.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve quips. “Gonna fuck yourself for me?”

It’s bratty. Steve knows it; resists the urge to stick out his tongue.

A muscle ticks in Eddie’s jaw. “Gonna fuckin’ fuck something,” he mutters darkly to the windshield, and Steve laughs and sings along to the next verse.

—

part 44

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

[donquixotehomura]

Valentine's Day with One Piece Boys

Master List

W.C:3295    so uhhhhh my hand slipped oops... I took some assumptions here and I changed some things that are common about these characters in Fanfic writing, my brain couldn’t come up with a lot for Law I’m sorry about that, Crocodile and Doffy can be read as pre or post becoming Warlords, some might be OOC but IDK I wrote this in about a day lol (my eyes fingers and back hurt I need to correct my posture lol) sorry if I didn't write for your favorites, have fun and lemme know what you think I love feed back It took two and a half fucking hours to put the gifs in, cause the line thingy where you add stuff only showed at the very bottom so I had to keep editing and dragging shit around, I'm sure I'm doing something wrong, also I had to look up all the gifs here even tho I have tons cause for some reason "something goofed" .... end my suffering also I wrote this on word and then brought it here so if formatting gets weird that's why, even tho I spent hours on making sure everything is good shout out to my inspo who also encouraged me to write it @cinnbar-bun

 

Dracule Mihawk, Roronoa Zoro, Portgas D. Ace, Donquixote Doflamingo, Eustass "Captain" Kid, Charlotte Katakuri, Massacre Soldier Killer, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar Law.

Dracule Mihawk:

Mihawk and Y/N prefer intimate celebrations for Valentine's Day. They often opt for a quiet evening together at their secluded castle, away from the hustle and bustle of the outside world. 

Despite their stoic exteriors, Mihawk and Y/N are surprisingly sentimental when it comes to expressing their feelings. They exchange handwritten letters on Valentine's Day, pouring their hearts out on paper in a way that words spoken aloud cannot convey. 

Instead of extravagant gestures, Mihawk and Y/N prefer to exchange gifts that hold sentimental value. Mihawk might gift Y/N a rare book on something she likes, while Y/N might give Mihawk a custom-made piece of simple jewelry like a small bracelet she personally crafted for him. 

On Valentine's Day, Mihawk surprises Y/N by offering to cook dinner together. Despite her lack of culinary skills, Y/N appreciates the bonding activity and enjoys spending quality time with him in the kitchen, even if it results in a few culinary mishaps. 

After dinner, Mihawk and Y/N venture out into the castle's courtyard to stargaze. They lie side by side on a blanket, Y/N pointing out constellations and sharing stories about their significance, reveling in the peaceful solitude of the night, Mihawk just listens to her with a small fond smile. 

Throughout the day, Mihawk and Y/N take time to reflect on their journey together, reminiscing about cherished memories and shared experiences that have strengthened their bond over the years. 

As a romantic gesture, Mihawk and Y/N share a midnight dance in the castle's grand ballroom. Lit only by candlelight, they move together in a graceful waltz, lost in the magic of the moment and the timeless beauty of their love.    Going To Sleep Cuddling: Mihawk and Y/N will go to sleep in the end of the day holding each other, Y/N would curl up into his arms, burying her face into his chest while he wraps his arms around her his hand going into her hair to play with the soft strands.  

As Valentine's Day draws to a close, Mihawk and Y/N exchange a few hushed words as they cuddle, reaffirming their commitment to each other and the promise of a future filled with love, laughter, and endless adventures together. 

Roronoa Zoro:

Despite his tough exterior, Zoro secretly spends weeks planning the perfect Valentine's Day surprise for Y/N. He meticulously selects a secluded spot on the island they're docked on, where they can enjoy each other's company away from the hustle and bustle of the crew. 

Y/N, appreciative of Zoro's efforts, prepares a special gift for him on Valentine's Day. Knowing his love for swords, she surprises him with a beautifully crafted sheath for one of his blades, personalized with intricate designs that reflect their shared journey together. 

Zoro and Y/N spend Valentine's Day evening taking a leisurely stroll along the shores of the island. With the sound of waves lapping against the shore and the moonlight casting a soft glow, they share quiet moments of intimacy, lost in each other's company. 

During their stroll, Zoro and Y/N encounter a group of wild creatures roaming the island. With their swords drawn, they effortlessly dispatch the beasts, their synchronized movements a testament to their unwavering bond as swordsmen and lovers. 

As the night progresses, Zoro and Y/N build a campfire on the beach, the crackling flames casting flickering shadows around them. They share stories of their past adventures and dreams for the future, their laughter mingling with the sound of the ocean. 

Under the starlit sky, Zoro finally opens up to Y/N, expressing his gratitude for her presence in his life. He admits that he's not good at expressing his feelings, but Y/N's unwavering support and love have changed him for the better. 

Moved by Zoro's vulnerability, Y/N wraps her arms around him, offering him comfort and reassurance. She assures him that their love is enough, and she wouldn't have their Valentine's Day any other way. 

As the night comes to an end, Zoro and Y/N make a promise to each other to continue facing life's challenges together, hand in hand. They vow to cherish every moment and celebrate their love not just on Valentine's Day, but every day. 

As they watch the sun rise on the horizon, Zoro leans in to press a gentle kiss to Y/N's lips, sealing their promise with a silent vow of devotion. In that moment, amidst the beauty of the dawn, they find solace in the certainty of their love for each other. 

As they return to the ship, hand in hand, Zoro and Y/N share a knowing smile, their hearts full of love and gratitude for each other. Though their Valentine's Day was unconventional and filled with unexpected adventures, it was a testament to the strength of their bond and the depth of their love. 

Portgas D. Ace:

Y/N wakes up early on Valentine's Day to prepare a special breakfast for Ace. She arranges heart-shaped pancakes and fruit on a tray, leaving a note with a playful message for him to wake up to.  Ace spends weeks leading up to Valentine's Day working on a handmade gift for Y/N. He creates a personalized necklace with a small pendant in the shape of a flame, symbolizing their fiery love and passion. 

Y/N organizes a scavenger hunt around the Moby Dick for Ace. Each clue leads him to a different part of the ship, where he discovers small gifts and love notes hidden by Y/N. 

Ace surprises Y/N with a romantic beach picnic at a secluded cove. They enjoy a delicious meal together as they watch the sunset, the sound of the waves providing a serene backdrop to their intimate celebration. 

As the night falls, Ace and Y/N gather with their friends for a bonfire on the beach. They roast marshmallows, share stories, and cuddle close under a blanket, basking in the warmth of their love and the crackling fire. 

Y/N sets up a telescope on the deck of the Moby Dick, and she and Ace spend the evening stargazing together. They point out constellations, make wishes on shooting stars, and share dreams for their future, Y/N certainly tries to find constellations that match Ace’s freckles.  Ace surprises Y/N with a makeshift dance floor on the deck of the ship. He puts on her favorite song, and they dance together under the moonlight, lost in each other's arms. 

Y/N leaves little love notes for Ace to find throughout the day. Each note expresses her affection and gratitude for having him in her life, reminding him of the depth of her love. 

Ace and Y/N spend the afternoon cooking a special Valentine's Day dinner together in the kitchen. They laugh, tease each other, and steal kisses amidst the preparation, enjoying the simple pleasure of being together. (Marco is on standby with a fire extinguisher) 

As the day comes to a close, Ace and Y/N exchange heartfelt declarations of love. They express their gratitude for each other, promising to cherish and support one another for all the days to come, both of them yelling it at the top of their lungs of the railing of the ship and the crew is so done with them lol 

Donquixote Doflamingo:

Doflamingo, despite his intimidating persona, secretly enjoys the sentimentality of Valentine's Day. He's known for surprising Y/N with extravagant gifts, ranging from rare treasures he's acquired during their travels to personalized items he's commissioned just for her. Y/N, in turn, cherishes each gift as a symbol of Doflamingo's affection, even if she's not one for material possessions.  On Valentine's Day, Doflamingo arranges a private, candlelit dinner on the deck of their ship or a secluded spot on the island they're currently exploring. He spares no expense in ensuring the evening is perfect, with gourmet cuisine prepared by their crew's skilled chefs. Y/N appreciates the effort he puts into creating these intimate moments and enjoys the opportunity to spend quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. 

Instead of focusing solely on lavish gifts and grand gestures, Doflamingo and Y/N often reminisce about their shared adventures and memorable moments throughout the years. They spend Valentine's Day reflecting on the challenges they've overcome together, the laughter they've shared, the tears they’ve shed and the unbreakable bond that has formed between them. 

Despite their often intense and tumultuous journey as pirates, Doflamingo and Y/N also value quiet moments of affection. They may spend Valentine's Day simply enjoying each other's company, whether it's lounging on the deck, stargazing, or taking a leisurely stroll on the beach hand in hand. It's in these peaceful moments that they feel most connected. 

Doflamingo and Y/N have a deep understanding of each other, and Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unspoken bond they share. They may not always verbalize their feelings, but their actions speak volumes. Whether it's a knowing glance, a comforting touch, or a gentle smile exchanged between them, they both know that their love is unwavering.

Eustass "Captain" Kid:

Despite her tough exterior, Y/N secretly enjoys the romantic gestures she receives on Valentine's Day. Kid, though he may not admit it openly, takes great pleasure in surprising Y/N with small gifts and tokens of affection, leaving them anonymously for her to find.  Kid's idea of a Valentine's Day gift may not be traditional, but it's always heartfelt. He might present Y/N with a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and tailored to her unique fighting style, or a rare treasure he stumbled upon during their travels, symbolizing the adventures they've shared together. 

Y/N, with her artistic flair, expresses her love for Kid through her creations. She might spend weeks crafting a personalized piece of jewelry for him, incorporating elements of his Jolly Roger or symbols that hold significance to their relationship, showcasing her devotion in a tangible form. 

Amidst the chaos of their pirate life, Y/N and Kid cherish the quiet moments they steal away together on Valentine's Day. They might escape to a secluded spot-on deck, watching the stars and sharing stories, finding solace in each other's company amidst the vastness of the sea. 

For Y/N and Kid, Valentine's Day is not just about romantic gestures, but also about embarking on new adventures together. They might set sail to explore uncharted islands, face formidable foes, or discover hidden treasures, strengthening their bond through shared experiences and thrilling escapades. 

Despite their differences, Y/N and Kid's relationship is built on mutual respect and understanding. They may not always see eye to eye, but they know how to support and uplift each other, especially on Valentine's Day, when they take the time to appreciate the unique qualities that make their bond so special. 

Y/N and Kid's Valentine's Day celebrations may not be conventional, but they're uniquely theirs. They might indulge in a feast of their favorite foods, engage in friendly competitions and challenges, or simply enjoy each other's presence, knowing that their love transcends traditional expectations. 

As they spend Valentine's Day together, Y/N and Kid exchange promises for the future. They may vow to stand by each other through thick and thin, to continue exploring the world and facing its challenges together, and to cherish the love they share, knowing that their bond is unbreakable.

Charlotte Katakuri:

Despite their tough exteriors, Y/N and Katakuri secretly enjoy showering each other with romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N surprises Katakuri with handcrafted doughnuts with many flavours, each one meticulously made with love and care. In return, Katakuri presents Y/N with a beautifully crafted box of her favorite sweets, a testament to his thoughtfulness and affection. On Valentine's evening, Y/N and Katakuri escape the chaos of Totto Land for a private dinner date on a secluded beach. They indulge in a feast of their favorite dishes, sharing laughter and intimate conversation under the twinkling stars. As the night deepens, they dance together in the moonlight, their hearts beating in perfect harmony. 

In the days leading up to Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri exchange heartfelt love letters, expressing their deepest emotions and gratitude for each other. Y/N's letters are filled with poetic prose and declarations of undying love, while Katakuri's letters are eloquent and sincere, revealing the depths of his affection for Y/N. 

As a special Valentine's Day surprise, Katakuri whisks Y/N away on a romantic getaway to a secluded island paradise. They spend their days exploring pristine beaches, indulging in couples' massages, and savoring gourmet meals prepared by a private chef. It's a blissful escape from their duties and responsibilities, allowing them to focus solely on each other. 

On Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri reminisce about their favorite moments together, flipping through photo albums filled with snapshots of their adventures. They laugh at candid shots of themselves and smile fondly at pictures of special milestones they've shared. It's a heartwarming reminder of the bond they've built and the memories they've created together, a few of them are pictures taken by Y/N of Katakuri throughout the day, in some of them his scarf is hiding a smile or a blush a reason as to why she took the picture (yes she walks around with a Visual Den Den Mushi.. At least that’s what I think the picture taking ones are called)    Y/N has been joining Katakuri during his Meriendas for years now and same as rumors spread about him meditating and talking to gods of battle during them rumors spread about her as well (I read a fic about this before where Y/N was considered his oracle and it’s an amazing one I’m trying to find it again) what they don’t know is that these two are being very sappy idiots, cuddling sharing kisses and laughs and stealing each other's sweets, especially on this day, the others just think that they’re doing some sort of ritual about devotion to Gods of Battle only lol. 

As the night falls on Valentine's Day, Y/N and Katakuri retreat to a secluded hilltop, where they lay beneath a blanket of stars, hand in hand. They share stories of their hopes and dreams, tracing constellations with their fingers and basking in the quiet beauty of the   night sky. It's a moment of perfect serenity, a reminder of the infinite possibilities that lie ahead for their love.

Massacre Soldier Killer:

Despite their tough exteriors, Killer and Y/N secretly enjoy surprising each other with small romantic gestures on Valentine's Day. Y/N might leave a heartfelt note tucked into Killer's pocket, while Killer might craft a makeshift bouquet of flowers from materials he finds on their travels. Valentine's Day is a rare opportunity for Killer and Y/N to spend some quality time together away from the chaos of pirate life. They might steal away to a secluded spot on the ship or find a quiet beach where they can enjoy each other's company without interruptions. 

Killer and Y/N reminisce about their favorite moments together, cherishing the memories they've created during their time as partners in crime. They might exchange stories about their most memorable adventures or laugh about the mishaps they've encountered along the way. 

Despite their limited resources as pirates, Killer and Y/N find creative ways to exchange gifts on Valentine's Day. Y/N might fashion a piece of jewelry from shells she finds on the beach, while Killer might carve a wooden trinket with his expert craftsmanship. 

Killer surprises Y/N with a romantic candlelit dinner, showcasing his culinary skills with a delicious meal cooked from scratch. Y/N, in turn, appreciates the effort and thoughtfulness behind the gesture, and they enjoy a quiet evening together under the stars. While they may not always express their emotions openly, Killer and Y/N show their love and affection for each other in subtle ways. A gentle touch, a lingering glance, or a reassuring smile speaks volumes in the language of their relationship. 

Valentine's Day serves as a reminder of the unbreakable bond between Killer and Y/N. They reaffirm their commitment to each other, promising to stand by each other's side through thick and thin, no matter what challenges may come their way. 

As they bask in the warmth of each other's love on Valentine's Day, Killer and Y/N discuss their hopes and dreams for the future. They envision a life together filled with adventure, laughter, and unwavering support, knowing that as long as they have each other, anything is possible. 

Overall, Valentine's Day is a special occasion for Killer and Y/N to celebrate their love and appreciation for each other, strengthening the bond that binds them together as partners in both love and piracy.

Sir Crocodile:

Crocodile and Y/N aren't ones for grand gestures, so their Valentine's Day celebration tends to be understated. They prefer spending quality time together rather than getting caught up in the commercial aspects of the holiday.  Crocodile surprises Y/N by preparing a simple but delicious meal for them to share. Despite his gruff exterior, Crocodile has a surprisingly deft hand in the kitchen, and Y/N is touched by the effort he puts into making the evening special. 

Instead of extravagant gifts, Crocodile and Y/N exchange meaningful tokens of their affection. Y/N gives Crocodile a handmade leather-bound journal, knowing how much he values knowledge and planning. In return, Crocodile presents Y/N with a rare seashell he found during one of their adventures, a symbol of their shared experiences. 

After dinner, Crocodile and Y/N enjoy a quiet evening together, lounging on the deck of their ship and gazing up at the stars. They talk about their hopes and dreams for the future, reveling in the simplicity of each other's company. 

Despite their tough exteriors, Crocodile and Y/N share a passion for Planning and Conquest. They spend the evening poring over maps and planning their next expedition, excited about the possibilities that lie ahead.  While they may not be overly demonstrative, Crocodile and Y/N show their love for each other in small, subtle ways. A gentle touch, a knowing glance, or a shared smile speaks volumes about the depth of their bond.   As the night draws to a close, Crocodile and Y/N express their gratitude for each other, acknowledging the strength and support they provide in each other's lives. They may not say "I love you" in so many words, but their actions speak louder than any declaration of affection ever could.

Trafalgar Law:

Y/N is bubbling with excitement as Valentine's Day approaches, eager to celebrate the occasion with Law despite his usual reservations about the holiday. She takes the lead in planning the day, organizing a romantic dinner aboard the Polar Tang complete with candles, rose petals, and Law's favorite dishes. Law, although initially hesitant about the festivities, appreciates Y/N's enthusiasm and decides to go along with her plans, wanting to make her happy. He surprises Y/N with small but meaningful gifts throughout the day, such as a locket containing a picture of the two of them together or a handwritten note expressing his love and gratitude. Y/N showers Law with affection, peppering him with kisses and hugs as they spend quality time together, enjoying each other's company in the privacy of their quarters. They share stories and reminisce about their favorite memories together, laughing and smiling as they bask in the warmth of their love. Law surprises Y/N with a heartfelt gesture, such as letting her cuddle with him instead of working or giving her a massage to help her relax and unwind. They exchange promises of love and commitment, reaffirming their bond and promising to stand by each other through thick and thin. As the day comes to a close, Law and Y/N cuddle up together under a blanket, content in each other's arms and grateful for the love they share. 

#one piece #one piece fluff #one piece x reader #Dracule Mihawk #Roronoa Zoro #Portgas D. Ace #Donquixote Doflamingo #Eustass Kid #Charlotte Katakuri #Massacre Soldier Killer #Sir Crocodile #Trafalgar Law #dracule mihawk x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #portgas d. ace x reader #donquixote doflamingo x reader #eustass kid x reader #charlotte katakuri x reader #killer x reader #sir crocodile x reader #trafalgar law x reader

[lightseoul]

all too much (i'm sorry)

synopsis. the last person you want to see is Bakugou Katsuki. the one person you need to see is Bakugou Katsuki.

cw. depression, suicidal thoughts, depressed!reader, gn!reader, college!reader, prohero!katsuki, aged-up (~21 years old), hurt/comfort

word count. 1.7k words

Your eyes shoot open, and the first word that pops into your head is a curse. Fucking great, you think, I’m still alive.

Weakly propping yourself up on your elbow, you reach for your phone to check the time.

5:37 PM. You napped for one and a half hours. You frown, then shake your head in resignation. Better than being awake for an extra one and a half hours, really.

You wince at the feeling of your parched throat, and you contemplate whether or not you should get up and start getting your shit together. Motivation’s been getting difficult to come by these days, though, and your eyes start shutting closed again, but you startle awake when your phone chimes with a new text message.

Patrol’s over in 30. Same time?

Fuck—you forgot. You and Bakugou have agreed to spend Friday nights together to catch up and prevent growing distant. Maintaining your friendship has been a lot of work, but both of you put in the effort, and as a result, your bond has only gotten stronger in spite of the busyness that came with his becoming a Pro Hero and your entering college three years ago.

Your fingers hover over your screen—maybe you should call it off. You’re not in the mood to see anyone, even Bakugou Katsuki. Not to mention you look and feel like shit. Having your best friend and just recently, crush (because apparently, the heavens wanted to fuck you up even more) see you in this state will indubitably be embarrassing.

After a few more minutes of tired contemplation, you finally type out a response.

I’ll have to take a rain check, Kats. I’m studying for an exam this Monday.

Sighing in relief and exhaustion once you pressed send, you drag yourself out into the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water.

The ice-cold liquid burns your throat and your head throbs in response, but at least you feel a bit more awake and alive now.

You’re seated on your couch, mindlessly scrolling through your Netflix recommendations on the TV when a loud knocking breaks you out of your post-nap stupor.

You don’t have the time to feel annoyance or panic over who could this person showing up unannounced at the most inconvenient time possibly be because the incessant knocking doesn’t let up. You rush to open the door and find yourself face-to-face with an annoyed Bakugou, still decked out in his hero costume.

He eyes you suspiciously, “I thought you were studying.”

You try to feign nonchalance, but you end up gulping before you can even think about it. “I was.”

Normally, at this point, you’d step aside for Bakugou to come in and make himself at home, though usually, he’d be in civilian clothes after having gone to his own apartment to clean up and prepare, but today’s not normal. He’s decorated with a few dirt marks from patrol, and that omnipresent scowl he wears is still there, albeit less prominent.

“What, you’re not even gonna let me in?”

You toe at your house slippers nervously, “I really have to study now, Kats. I just woke up from a nap to take a break.”

He frowns, “That why you look like shit?”

Normally, you’d hit his arm in fake offense before bursting out laughing anyway. But again, today’s not normal. His comment is wounding when it’s usually meant to break the ice.

“I…” you start, but resort to shaking your head in defeat. You don’t have the energy for this. “Just go home, Katsuki.”

With that, you turn your back to him and beeline to your bedroom. You end up closing the door far harder than you intended, and it shuts with a slam. You wince at the sound, feeling a sudden pang of guilt shoot you in the chest. He didn’t deserve that, you think to yourself. It doesn’t matter, a second thought follows immediately after.

Sighing for the nth time that evening, you plop on the bed and close your eyes, willing yourself to go back to sleep and hopefully, maybe, not wake up again.

Your eyes flicker open at the soft clanging noises outside your bedroom, and you immediately shoot up upon realizing that you forgot to lock the door before walking out on Bakugou.

In spite of yourself and the raging headache that’s been plaguing you on and off for quite some time now, you hurriedly climb out of bed and grab the nearest makeshift weapon in your room.

A blow dryer. Good enough.

Quietly, you tiptoe towards the door and, slowly, open it while thinking prayers for it not to creak. You didn’t even notice your shoulders were tensed up until you lock eyes with Bakugou through the crevice, the sight of whom immediately soothes your nerves despite yourself.

You stand upright, toss your blow dryer onto your bed, and step out of the room reluctantly. Under the white light of the kitchen, you can now see what he’s doing. Donning your yellow apron over the lounge clothes he keeps in your apartment, he’s chopping up green onions and other vegetables for what seems like a soup dish.

It smells heavenly, and your stomach grumbles in agreement.

“And here I was thinking you were gonna sleep through the entire night already.”

A whirlwind of emotions rushes through your body—relief, fondness, longing, embarrassment, guilt—but the one emotion you can bear to focus on, and is the most familiar, is anger. And you don’t fight it from taking over.

“I thought I told you to go home.”

The sentence comes out in a low tone, and somewhat clipped, though you didn’t mean it to sound like that. In spite of himself, you know Bakugou worries, and he definitely won’t be heading back now if he knows something’s off.

True enough, he visibly stiffens at the sound of your voice, and it hurts to see him uncomfortable around you. Another wave of guilt washes over you. Though it gets masked, yet again, with a familiar sense of apathy.

“I heard you,” he shifts on his feet, “but you sure as hell weren’t gonna cook yourself a decent meal, so I stayed to make sure you ate.”

You expected him to respond with some anger himself, but he’s uncharacteristically calm. It’s making you feel even more ashamed of how you’re acting. It’s infuriating. He’s infuriating.

“Well,” you croak as you shift your eyes away from his face, “I didn’t ask for your help, so you can go home now.”

Silence settles between the two of you. It’s unnerving.

You force yourself to look back at Bakugou, who’s now frowning. “I’m sure you had a long day,” you finished.

Unable to hold eye contact any longer, you turn to head back to your bedroom when Bakugou reaches out and grabs for your wrist.

You turn to face him, ready to spit some venom you probably don’t even mean, but the words get stuck in your throat when you see tears rimming his eyes.

You hurt him.

Yet, he proceeds in a calm, but stern, voice: “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Overwhelmed with conflicting emotions, you finally lose it.

“I don’t fucking know, okay?!” you shout, ripping yourself from his grip, “Quit pressing!”

Bakugou doesn’t flinch, nor does he step back from you. He just keeps his ground.

You took his silence as a sign to continue. “I think I’m depressed. I don’t know. I just feel like a fucking corpse every day and I hate the fact that I have to wake up and go to school and talk to people and take care of myself as if the pain isn’t there!” you cry, “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Has this been,” he clears his throat, “has this been going on for a while now?” He remains calm, though you hear the shake in his voice when he asks.

You sigh, shaking your head. Shouting drained the last bit of energy you had left in you, “I guess. I don’t know—I just wait it out until I start feeling better and functioning like a normal person again. And when I do, I start wondering if I just imagined all that shit.”

The weight of the situation and your admission finally dawns on you in the silence.

You clench your eyes shut, bringing your hands up to cover your face in shame, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about, Y/N.”

You brace yourself for some harsh, reprimanding words but they never come. Instead, your breath hitches when you feel a hand fall softly on your head, and an arm pulling you into a hug.

You can’t believe it—you half expected Bakugou to recoil, or even leave, in shock and disappointment, but he’s hugging you. He’s hugging you.

You can’t help it—you burst into tears. Bakugou’s quick to rub soothing circles on your back as you cry into his shoulder. You’re quickly forming a wet patch on his shirt, but you don’t pay it any mind in the meantime. You didn’t realize how much you’ve been suppressing your pain until now. It’s liberating, yet at the same time, the all-too-familiar feeling of shame is creeping in at the back of your head.

Shame over your situation. Shave over having let yourself go to this extent. Shame over breaking down. Shame over not being able to clean after your own mess. Shame over hurting the one person you love the most.

You clench your fist against Bakugou’s chest. It’s all too much.

His voice is low and gentle when he speaks up, “We’ll get you help.”

The mention of seeking help is enough to make you tense up.

“I don’t know, Katsuki,” you shake your head. “I’m scared. Of it not working out. I can’t afford treatment not working out. I don’t know what else I would do.”

You feel him press his lips to your forehead, fleeting, “It will. We’ll find a way. And I’ll be right here with you.”

At a loss for anything else to say, you mumble a quiet apology.

Bakugou scoffs, but you can hear the smile in his voice when he says, “Stop saying sorry, dumbass. I want to do this for you.”

#bakugou x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou imagines #bnha imagines #mha imagines #bnha scenarios #mha scenarios #bakugou fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #mha x reader #mehehee #this basically wrote itself #pls mind the warnings!!! #bakugou hurt/comfort

[cheezbites]

Dating Ghost

✎: I wrote this very late at night (4:38 am) or very early in the morning - when I was motivated by the sheer amount of notifications from my inbox, ty all sm for the love and support💕!!

♡Summary: Head cannons of dating Ghost <3

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Bf!Ghost has always been a black tea person, either he drank it alongside his breakfast or to calm him down on a rainy day. You were a coffee girl, you would go all out making them - milk, hazelnut syrups, whipped creams… You name it. And from this, another one of your childish inside jokes was born. You were conveniently in the kitchen at the same time as him, making your morning beverages.

“Hm,” you silently thought to yourself, contemplating if your idea was rational enough to act through with.

“Hmmmmm,” he jokingly imitated you, wondering what was on your mind.

You got a separate cup and mixed some of his tea with your coffee. You took the first sip and scorned your face at the unfamiliar yet vaguely distinguishable taste.

Soon he followed, not seeming to be too fond of it at first yet still drinking every last bit.

“Not too bad,” he silently muttered.

And every time you guys were in the kitchen making your daily beverages, the ‘CoTea’ (Coffee and Tea) inside joke was repeatedly brought up.

Bf!Ghost heard a sudden shriek from your bedroom, causing his heart to sink. His thoughts raced faster than the speed of how fast he was approaching your room, desperate to know what it was. What if it was an invader? He wouldn’t be able to live knowing that he wasn’t fast enough to save you from a serious threat, he’d hate himself and feel guilty every single day.

His breathing pattern returned to normal as he sighed in relief when he realised that it was just a spider on your bedroom wall.

“Shit,”

“It’s going to kill me!” You sputtered inattentively as you backed away as far as possible from the ‘murderous pest.’

He stacked a mount of tissues in his hand and effortlessly scooped it up, crushed it into remains of spider limbs and a brown fluid before tossing it in the bin. Shooting you a look that you swore said: ‘Seriously? All that commotion over that?”

“My saviour,” you quipped as you ran up to him and braced him in a tight hug.

Bf!Ghost was used to receiving the “Your eyelashes are so long!” ‘compliment’ from people, mainly from you. It always confused him as to why you pointed it out - maybe it was just a ‘girl thing’ he didn’t understand.

Bf!Ghost was sleep-deprived, sick and unwillingly glued to his bed after days of working, so you took care of him. (At night, when he was complaining about being too cold, you snuggled up next to him and fell asleep in his arms. Maybe he was faking it as an excuse to cuddle you, maybe…) You knew he had an energy drink addiction and some bad eating habits. Since quality meals require time, you poured that time into cooking for him. His gratitude toward you was beyond words, appreciating the care and effort you put into taking care of him. Your cooking not only filled his stomach but also warmed his heart, making every bite a taste of your love.

Bf!Ghost worked out often; so did you. You enjoyed each other's company at the gym, immersing yourselves in the shared playlist and the post-workout rush. His concern for you couldn't be contained. During some weekly sessions, he taught you self-defence techniques, a thoughtful gesture for times he couldn't be by your side.

Bf!Ghost loved making you say ‘please’, even after the smallest of favours. You tried to open your water bottle, but the lid seemed super glued on, you tried repeatedly but your attempts were in vain. You asked him to help you, forgetting one thing:

“Want me to feed you the water as well?” He sarcastically quipped with a shit-eating grin.

“Oh come on babe,”

“And what’s the magic word?” He asked expectedly.

“Please,” you stretched out your ‘please’ jokingly for the sole purpose of teasing him.

He seamlessly removed the lid which astonished you before handing you your water bottle. After all that effort and failed attempts, he made it look so easy.

Bf!Ghost Loathed being away from you; and you felt the exact same way. When he needed to leave or when you were gone, he would try to do things that reminded him of you. When you were teaching him how to cook your signature meals in the kitchen, he was picking up rapidly, improving and learning - soon enough he surpassed you in culinary skills. He remade your recipes to remind himself of you when you weren’t there, and you ‘borrowed’ a few of his hoodies, which were pleasantly engulfed in his scent.

Bf!Ghost Noticed you fell asleep during the horror movie you watched, the last thing he wanted to do was startle you or wake you up. He turned off the TV before heading to your room and placing your favourite blanket over you. He kissed your cheek gently and muttered a silent, “I love you.” Before calling it a night.

Bf!Ghost left wholesome notes for you to discover around the house; the messages were cheesy in the cutest way possible. Either him making you food after a long day of work and leaving it for you in the fridge with a brief note next to it, or a corny compliment stuck on the bathroom mirror for only you to see. It would be something along the lines of:

“Start your day off with a smile love, like the one you never fail to give me♡” (And I feel like this dude would have very messy handwriting, but when writing these notes he tried his best).

Bf!Ghost made most of the decisions in the relationship, you were very indecisive. This is probably the only thing he mildly dislikes about you - you were going through the trials and tribulations of a lifetime over picking between KFC and McDonald’s, you were persistent about what to order too, so he recommended stuff to you or sometimes ordered for you.

(I just know if you both got drinks, he specifically requested only one straw so you guys could share it).

Bf!Ghost was the “‘Scuse me, she asked for no pickles,” boyfriend, who would secure you a refund and a newly made burger, (mainly due to how intimating he gets at times).

You thoroughly enjoyed him looking out for you, though, knowing that he cared that much about you made your heart flutter only from thinking about it.

PART TWO IS OUT!!! <3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥—————————

König Version

Price Version

Gaz Version

Soap Version

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥—————————

Masterlist

#ghost #ghost cod #cod #smut #fluff #angst #headcanon #ghost headcanons #boyfriend #x reader #x you #x yn #yn #self insert #konig #konig smut #master list #gaz #keegan #price #john price #pink #call of duty #konig call of duty #ghost call of duty #cod ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost x reader #smexy

[majorbaby]

it takes a conscious effort to break your patterns of consumption and unlearn the notion beauty, interiority, diverse ways of existence aren't exclusive to whiteness or maleness. part of that isn't your fault. certain music is played on the radio, certain shows survive cancellation no matter what, certain people seem to be able to commit the worst possible acts against other human beings and are excused on account of their creative genius. others are selectively punished, with good reason sure, but still, selectively.

now more than ever it's easier to immerse yourself in art made by people outside of the mainstream. reading lists, free resources, playlists... all this stuff is more accessible than ever, but you've got to make an effort to give it a try. it's black history month, the recs are pouring in, go have a look. or take a chance on something absolutely no one has recommended anywhere and if you find something you like, rec it to someone else because the likelihood is they haven't heard of it.

tracy chapman's "fast car" is one of eleven songs that appears on her self-titled debut album. can you name the second hit single from it? if you're american and you fell anywhere left of center as of the 2016 election, it should be on the tip of your tongue if you were engaged in your country's politics at the time, regardless of your level of actual investment in the system. if not, the next time you're doing a task you need both hands with, washing the dishes, having dinner, doing your makeup, put that album on.

there's a post with over 100K notes on here that i see all the time of bruce springsteen and clarence clemons kissing. there's a part of that that is immediately meaningful to many if you're lgbtq, and a part that is harder for non-black lgbtq people to feel the weight of. but it is worth trying to do and was part of the reason why they kissed so often in the first place. clarence clemons was from norfolk, virginia. he released multiple albums outside of his work with the e street band. they may not be for you, but give them a try.

give enough music, or movies, or books that aren't a part of the approved canon a try, and there's no way you won't find something you don't feel as passionate about as you do about springsteen, siken, the beatles, what have you.

james baldwin was a prolific artist. see if you can't find something of his you like more than giovanni's room.

immerse yourself in ringo sheena, who mitski cites as one of her influences.

if you have difficulty paying attention to music you don't recognize, (i get it) make a playlist that alternates tracks you know and love with brand new tracks. start small. 5 faves of all time, 5 you're going to try out. you won't like everything, but you might find yourself looking forward to 6 songs instead of 5 eventually.

for movies, pick an actor whose performance you loved in something and explore their work. last year i picked whoopi goldberg, also a prolific artist, with a vast body of work that's pretty accessible as a result of her constant, intentional effort.

if you're an artist yourself, you can only stand to improve by getting to know your fellow artists better. so expand your notion of what art is. you can do it for free in lots of cases, and you're spending that time listening to music or reading or watching movies or series anyway, what have you got to lose?

anti-racism sometimes means engaging in real-world narratives of pain endured by brown and black people. that pain permeates much of our art, but we're just as three-dimensional as everybody else, and every aspect of our experiences come through in our work. you know that already, because what else is happening when you indulge in various genres. for everything you love or enjoy, there's a brown or black person who's doing something along those lines, in many cases, those genres wouldn't exist in their current form without the influence of our communities, some more than others, depending on where you're from. you can actually keep one foot inside your comfort zone and dip your toe into something else. that choice is both a joy and a luxury.

#im saying this with generosity #the best time to start was ten years ago the next best time is today #hope i don't regret this. lol.

[milfjuulpod]

Good Girl II.

Summary: a continuation of Good Girl, read it here! aka the dinner date

warnings: NSFW, minors DNI!

A/N: i’ve never rly written smut before which is why this took me so long to post so…if you like pls lmk!! feed back is both greatly appreciated and helps motivate me. ok love u mwah

<3

It was nearly seven, and you waited anxiously on your couch for Melissa to arrive. She had texted you after school to tell you she would pick you up, so you sat dressed and awaited her arrival. Out of nerves, you began playing with the edge of your dress, it was casual enough but still, made you look your best for her.

Although you were happy to finally have a date with Melissa, your mind was full to the brim with thoughts. Number one, she never told you where dinner was. Melissa just sent you a text that read, I’ll pick you up at seven, wear whatever makes you feel your best 😘, keeping the dinner plans to herself. Secondly, the events that led you to this very moment. Melissa’s pet name, everybody hearing it, and the kiss. Her kiss. She kissed you with so much care and want, you could only hope you would get to feel that again tonight.

Before you could drive yourself any crazier, there was a knock at your door. Straightening yourself out one last time for good luck, you opened the door and felt speechless. “Cat got your tongue?” Melissa teased you, bringing you back down to earth. “Sorry, you look…wow. Incredible,” you sheepishly replied, giving her another look over. Her fiery hair was full of waves, falling across her bare shoulders. All of her curves were accented perfectly by her black pantsuit, practically making you drool.

Once you met her eyes again, you realized she was eyeing you just as much, if not more. You felt your face heat up at the attention, feeling a sudden warmth in your stomach. “You don’t look too bad yourself babe. You ready?” Melissa finally spoke, offering her arm to you. She walked you to her car and opened your door for you. “Feeling chivalrous, are we?” You asked her with a smile. “I know how to treat my good girl,” Melissa said to you, but instead of a smile, she had a smirk across her face. Unfortunately, (or, perhaps fortunately), for you, Melissa somehow already knew all of your buttons to push. You silently wondered how long you would last through this date before becoming a needy puddle right in front of her.

“So, where are we going exactly?” You asked once on the road. Melissa took one of her hands off the wheel and rested it on your thigh, “Don’t worry about it kid.”

Before you knew it, you pulled up to a familiar driveway. “Did you forget something?” You asked, wondering why the two of you ended up back at Melissa’s. “No hon, we’re here.” She wasn’t taking you to dinner, she was making you dinner. Of course she was, honestly you should’ve expected it.

“Now, since you’re here, anything you see stays here, alright?” Melissa asked, stopping at her front door. You realized you had seen the outside of her house a few times, but never the inside. Nonetheless, you nodded your head in agreement and were led inside.

Immediately, you noticed all of the photos on her wall, but what took your attention was the dining room. Not only was it decorated so homey, but she had put in the effort to set the table, complete with flowers and candles.

“Mel, did you do all this for me?” You asked, turning to face her. She chose not to answer, instead giving you a small smile and looking back down at her feet. For the first time since you’ve met her, you saw Melissa nervous. You took her hand in yours and pulled her close to you, giving her a quick kiss to show your appreciation.

Without letting go of your hand, she led you to her kitchen, “Come sit in the kitchen while I cook, keep me entertained.” You do as she asked, pouring each of you a glass of wine and sitting yourself on her countertop. You watched Melissa meticulously, watching her dance around the kitchen getting ready to start dinner. You could tell this was her happy place, and you felt honored to be part of it.

“Can I taste the sauce you’re making?” You asked, finishing off your glass of wine. Melissa nodded and walked over to you with her spoon, blowing on it oh so gently. You reached out to take it from her, but she pulled back. Melissa used her free hand to gently open your legs to allow herself to be as close as possible, offering to feed you. “Good girl, always let me feed you,” she said as you closed your mouth around the spoon. “You have got to stop calling me that, Mel,” you said to her quietly. Of course, both of you knew you didn’t actually want her to stop. “You sure hon? Because the way your cheeks get red and you lose your words makes me think you like being called that,” Melissa said, pulling you by the hips so her front was flesh with your core. You were positive she could feel the throbbing coming from between your legs. She was warm against you, her hands squeezing just tight enough on your hips. This close, you got lost in her beautiful green eyes, getting a shade or two darker as she met your gaze.

“Hon?” Melissa’s voice interrupted your thoughts. Her hands pushed the edge of your dress up, rubbing circles on your inner thighs with her thumbs. “I’m sorry, am I distracting you?” She asked again, giving you the biggest smirk you’ve seen yet. “You know you are, Schemmenti. You’re quite good at that, y’know,” Melissa lightly laughed at your comment, “I’m quite good at a lot of things,” she replied, inching her fingers farther and farther up your thighs. “Oh yeah? Show me,” You told her, pulling her in to a deep kiss. The feeling of her fingers finding their way closer between your legs made you moan into Melissa’s mouth.

Melissa used her middle finger to gently rub between your folds, groaning at the wetness she could already feel. “All this for me, huh baby?” She teased you. Your hips bucked towards her, begging for more. “Melissa, please,” you begged between kisses.

She trailed wet kisses from your lips down your jaw, whispering in your ear, “use your words baby.” Melissa pulled the fabric of your underwear to the side and slowly ran her fingers between you. “God Mel, fuck me. Please fuck me.” You didn’t care how pathetic you sounded, you couldn’t care when Melissa was touching you this way. “Attagirl,” She said, gently pushing a finger inside you. She was fast to add another, quickening her pace and making you come completely undone right on her kitchen counter.

“Melissa I-“ You tried to speak, “I’m so close baby.” You felt her curl her fingers harder, move them faster. “Let go hon, I’ve got you,” Her breath was hot against your neck, her lips even hotter. When she nipped at your pulse point you were done for, clenching around her fingers and arms wrapped around her for dear life. “Such a good girl you are, my good girl,” Melissa cooed, giving you gentle kisses as you caught your breath.

“We should’ve done this sooner,” you smiled at her, still panting from earlier. “Yeah, a lot sooner,” Melissa said. Her smile was even bigger than yours as she gently picked you up off the counter and pulled you back to cook with her.

#abbott elementary fics #abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #reader fic #wlw #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti

[tinycozycomfort]

rest in the cup of my palms (part three)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter three: compromise

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or  you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: joel helps you work through your doubts.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn / (for this chapter) -> sad thoughts about fatherhood, idolization!!, oral sex (f receiving), edging

word count: 5k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: thank you for your patience and thank you as always for reading! and special thank you to @pascalisbaby for bearing with me as i cried my way through this i love u

read on ao3 / main masterlist

“For the first time, I could clearly perceive the nature of feelings and emotions—I physically felt their consistency… the surge of a wave, the crumbling of a cliff… I understood the necessity of comparisons and metaphors using water and fire.”

Annie Ernaux, Simple Passion

───────

Minutes go by, but sluggishly, painfully—a dull crawl that mimics the cinematic use of slow-motion. The fracturing feels pre-climactic and almost momentous, too-long strides of seconds that pave the way for something grand. 

In reality, you’re just waiting; in this barely-lit, one shot hallway, aptly partnered by a life-sized amount of discomfort. You feel like a piece of something sprouted up from cement, forced into a mold not made with you in mind—love and like and candy-sweet, feverish feelings—unable to be removed now that you’ve grown in over the lip. Reaching for the sun. And he’s beautiful above you, radiant enough to burn behind closed eyelids—the image that shines there a carefully chosen snapshot that only adds height to where he hangs in the sky.

You’ve become so tired already, from the work-up and the frustration and the effort to stop it—like being outside all day with no reprieve until sunset; he’s that strong. It’s been restraint, followed by actions that negate it, followed by reinstating restraint, and still it doesn’t stop daylight from happening. Morning and high noon and six-o-clock oranges will never stop happening, so why not free yourself of the excessive rumination and the fighting? You’d much rather try to brave him—sunscreen and shade and a flat hand above your brow. Trying is good, easy, uncomplicated. Tonight, you can try. This is a good idea.

He’ll be here soon to prove it, too—on his way to come collect you, confirmed by the oblong rectangle of text on the brick clutched in your fist.

You move enough that it wakes up again, ’Fifteen minutes.’ flashing across its face, burning under the pad of your thumb. The thing is overheating now, somehow having absorbed some of the furious twisting of your excitement, and you shove it deep into your bag to let it cool—too honest of a mirror.  

You will your body to restart, moving back out onto the yard in search of Ian, to warn him of your exit—the only courtesy you have enough patience to give—frantic to get to the good part. 

You find him out by the flame, one foot resting on the brick-lined ledge of the pit, a still-full beer bottle tight in his grip. It’s tepid, too, if the lack of condensation is any indication. You curl your nose and he tips the top towards you, a waft of sour citrus pouring out. 

“What happened? My friend came back very upset that you were gone,” he teases, cocking a smile and rolling his neck over in question, languid and unserious.

“I’m leaving, actually. Didn’t want to go without saying.” You knock the bottle with the back of your hand until it threatens to spill over in the other direction. It’s unoffending, really, a nervous reaction, but it has him visibly questioning what ten minutes out of view had done to make you so taut.

He straightens up minutely at your unrest, only enough to reel back his exaggerated demeanor without drawing looks, “Are you good to drive? I haven’t had any of this yet—I can take you home.” 

“I’m not driving. I’ve got a ride.” 

“With?”

“Joel’s going to come get me.” 

His eyes widen, mouth spreading with what you’re sure are five too many questions, so you stop him before he can continue—afraid to mar his night with what you imagine would be too much to navigate right now, “I’ll explain tomorrow. Text me when you get home. I love you. I’m fine.” 

Part of you—a part that has no say right now—feels guilty for doing this to him a second time, for putting your friend through another half-witnessed, poorly justified fit of emotional anguish. He was the one who brought you here, to get away from this very thing, but somewhere in your bag there’s a faint stir, hard vibration jostling the contents, and you fail to think Ian through, again.

He’s barely even started to nod before you turn, slipping through the side gate and out onto the lawn. 

It only takes another handful of stretched-out moments—time lost completely on you now—before opaque beams cast across the curve of the street from the top of the cul-de-sac. They drop off into low-lights once the driver registers your presence and you push forward on shaky legs, knees locking—blood having gathered in your chest from anticipation, sloshing around your heart and cutting off circulation to your limbs. 

The vehicle—a truck—passes you, hitting the end of the block and returning up the drive, passenger door addressing you when it stops, your reflection warped in its convex surface. The window rolls down with a whir, and Joel’s face appears in the slit, eyes tired and hair flattened unintentionally—you absolutely woke him up. 

You let yourself in, hiking up a static-logged leg to settle in the seat before he pulls off back onto the street. It’s silent for too long, and you’re returning to a familiar feeling of acceptance, just like all the nights in your past where you’d admitted to yourself that you were going home with someone, driven by fuzzy feelings of instant connection and promise. It makes him easier to grasp—more human-like.

“You were asleep,” you mumble sheepishly, acknowledging his unpreparedness in an attempt to forgive your own. 

“‘Wasn’t supposed to be. I was waiting up for Ellie. I—uh, I thought you were her when you called.” 

He sounds just as level as he had on the phone, fingers rapping rhythmically on the steering wheel, “She texted a few hours ago to let me know she was out for the night. I fell asleep before I could see it.” 

Joel tucks the corner of his elbow in the window, laying his cheek on curled knuckles, and you chance a real glance at him for the first time. 

His dark blue t-shirt is wrinkled where it had been bunched at the torso, hanging limply now over a pair of rumpled jeans. Creases of sofa or pillow-case run up like tendrils on the skin of his arm, pressed in at various degrees of depth—restless enough to continue to pivot, even in repose. 

He looks homey, spun out of flesh-colored wool thread and plush, unlike the fatigue you’d seen on him in the classroom, or the buzz of anxious tension on the side of the school a few days ago. Here he’s just Joel, free of the idea of him or his actions; just-awake Joel with nothing to say except the truth. Pressure sits weighted on your shoulders, lingering guilt from choosing to savor, even if within the safety of emotional distance. It’s okay to look, isn’t it? Although looking isn’t all you had in mind.

“Can we go to your house?” 

“Did you drink?” 

Joel peers over his shoulder at you, and he looks meek but not small, like the question itself isn’t embarrassing but the act of asking it is. Oh. You remember your last encounter, how you’d blamed your exit on the wine, and your heart constricts at the idea that he’s asking because he’s afraid you’ll leave again. In all honesty, you wish you could leave, be strong-willed enough to have him let you out a block from your front door, never to be seen again. But you’re weak, at the mercy of your need to test your limits, your brain dipping into its reserve while your body fights to feign presence, hands rolling into fists in your lap.

“No. I haven't gone out much since the break started. Decided against getting fucked up.” 

He hums, satisfied, eyes falling ahead. The tires grind under you, lulling you into another tense quiet until he’s pulling up to the front of a well-kept, stone-faced home at the end of a short street. You lean forward to see more of it beyond the curve of the windshield, lined in copper trim with fender-shaped dents bruising the cover of the garage. It’s a call-back to grade school—what limited experience you had traversing the suburbs as a child—visiting friends in large, traditional houses with pretty concrete fountains and security-alarm signs forced into panels of fresh grass. 

Joel steps out and comes around the car to open your door before you have the chance to do it yourself, popping open the handle and stilling for a second before just stepping out of your way, perhaps in the sake of not being overly cliche. You try to appear unaffected by the notion, climbing down with a smile and sealing the door behind you, but you inwardly relish in his considered movements—he’s taming himself for you.

He leads you into the house—as quaint as it seemed to be—smelling warm and peppery like heat-soaked wood. It’s very much lived in, riddled with evidence of use—scuff marks at the threshold and smudged fingerprints in the dark paint on the walls where boots were taken off with the assistance of a grip. A side table brackets one side of the entrance, littered with bobbles and keys and a few other store-bought treasures. At its closest foot are several pairs of little sneakers, piled tall and wide on a wedge of rug, too narrow to be Joel’s. 

Ellie. 

There are signs of her everywhere, this faceless extension of him, her name scribbled on a few papers on the table and in the corners of framed drawings in the hallway; gorgeous hand, she has—all of the figures looking as true to life as they could, even when confined to paper cages. She lines the edges of their domicile, a path of lovingly curated representations of her, right down to a monogrammed leather sketchbook that sits on the dining table. 

And everywhere she is, he follows. Parts of him loom over her place-holders—guitar picks marked J in a dish with a box of charcoal nubs, a rolled up wad of button-up laid over a dark green backpack, a men’s watch sharing space on the counter with two tiny drops of backed silver. He watches over her within the borders of every container, open and solidly present behind her like a tough-knit net—ready to catch.

You step out of your shoes and he walks further in the house with haste, knocking around in what you assume is the kitchen when he returns with a glass of water.

“For you,” as he passes it, “Just in case.” 

“Thank you.” 

He curls a thumb into a belt loop at his waist, body teetering awkwardly as he watches you drink. You note the more-than-safe distance he’s put between you, the same kind he had implemented last week between his heart-wrenching confession and the point where this entanglement had escalated.

“Okay, so. I’m going to change. Do you want something too?” 

You can’t help but smile, a nervous laugh held tight in your throat, “Yes, we can go to your room.” 

Even in the dark, you don’t miss the flush of red along his jaw, the same shade he’d worn in the gallery, wine-soaked and unpracticed. 

You flinch inwardly. How is it that you are remembering so much about him when he’s existed in your world for less time than should be notable? Only two interactions, now three, but they’ve earned their slot in your fondest of memories; nothing substantial provided still, and he casts your sunrises and warms your earth. You fear what touching him again will do to you.

Joel smiles something shy back, walking past you and motioning for you to do the same. He leads you back through the display, minding the little shoes as he climbs up the steps. 

There are photos lining the staircase, less symbolic than the downstairs decorations, but just as revealing. A few of Joel and another man, similar in stature with a full smile and thick, slicked back hair, clasping shoulders or standing pin-straight side by side at different ages in mall-kiosk, christmas card style. Another of a young girl, all teeth and sparse freckles and pale cheeks. She’s wearing a cap and gown, shiny polyester catching in the flash, edges hazy with blur. 

That’s her. His daughter. You’ve seen her, you realize, from a few modeling sessions you’d done when you offered to cover for the younger students. You already knew her, too, floating around more than a few hellos on the days you’d sat for her like a silent idol. It feels odd to be in her home now, the two of you connected in a way she hasn’t come to partake in quite yet. She’s been at the head of your conversations with Joel until now—in this moment when she’s here but not here—and you wonder how much he’s considered her place in all this. You should at least thank her, you suppose; nod at her picture in prayer or cross your fingers that you might actually get to meet her—see her again, rather—and get to say it to her face.

Joel walks ahead of you as you linger, unbothered by your interest. You’re glad he does when you reach the last row. 

A larger frame bookends the slideshow, standing alone in its unique appearance. It’s hand-made, a thin string of painted ferns on the edges, the wings of something like a butterfly or moth wrapping over the right-hand corner, precise and niche enough to be nothing other than a gift. The picture inside is of the two of them together, happy and puffy-cheeked with their arms wrapped around each other, back-lit in front of some kind of museum display. 

Pure joy. His comfort. 

A swell of pain lodges in your ribs, eyes drawing wet. He’s losing her, you think, in a way he hasn’t even begun to realize. He's missed so much of her life—at no fault of their own—and will pursue her future as a bystander. You long to give him some kind of relief in that, maybe out of pity or maybe out of need. You wanted to be on your own, you wanted to be separated from everyone else out of spite for letting your family and your ex tower over you, heavy-handing their influence in false gestures of kindness. Not loving. Never loving—only present in best interests and helpful advice. Things that gave you purpose and points. Who was tallying? What have you to show for it now? 

You only ever wanted acceptance from them, to be recognized as a person instead of as a student or a daughter or a girlfriend—to be able to transcend role and become an active participant. 

It’s too perfect, this thing you each individually lack; what comes of someone who cares and someone who needs caring? 

“Hey.” Joel calls from the end of the room, pulling you out of your dissection of his life, voice soft like he’s seeing an apparition he’s unsure is there. 

“Hi.” You whisper, walking towards him, ignoring his tentative boundary, “You know, I did everything in my power to not call you.” There’s no point in keeping secrets now, from him or yourself. 

He crowds you in the doorway, body slumping on the line of his spine so he can entrap you more securely, u-shaped shoulders and outward facing palms, “Why did you call?”

“I couldn’t help it,” and before he can interrupt, “Joel, I need you to know that this isn’t going to end well.” 

“End? Have we started?” 

“We were doing this before we both knew it, I think. That’s what you were talking about, right—like we’ve met before?” 

“That’s right.” He’s breathing shallowly, unable to hide his desire for proximity now that you’ve allowed him more than he started with, chest moving back and forth like the breeze of the heater is enough to push his tide, “And I meant it.”

“So did I.” 

“Then what are you so scared of? If it’s familiar?” His knee knocks into the slice of thigh above yours. He’s getting closer. 

“Just because I want you now doesn’t mean I should have you.”

“What if I want you to have me?”

“Even worse.” The heat of his face leaks out onto yours and you open yourself to it—the hot sun in July, the boiling rain of mid-summer, all encompassing and working hard to bring you up to temperature so you can burn along with it. Setting you ablaze. 

You lean up, the tip of your nose catching on the stubble lining his jaw, careful to not break eye contact for longer than the briefest moment, nudging him in short taps. 

“I do, though, honey. I think you know I do.” His knee pushes between yours, digging into the joint of your leg to unfold you, the rough denim over his zipper dragging across the knob of your hip.

You curl a hand around the fabric covering his stomach, wrinkling it past the point of correction as it folds under the damp of your fist. He’s far from at length now, both nothing of what you intended and exactly what you wanted. He’s thrilled about it too, seemingly—the muscle under his torso fluttering when your nails drag against him. 

He’s everything again, everywhere, soft tanned skin and jeans he came up here to ‘change out of’, the invisible halo around him swallowing you, coaxing you into his orbit. You want all of it, piece by piece and for all he’s worth. 

“I don’t want to waste you,” you murmur, and there’s that unashamed boldness again, honesty rushing out like an unsupervised beast. Joel wraps his thick fingers around the side of your neck, thumb pushing into soft cheek, between rows of teeth and over skin, pushing them apart. 

His eyes are glossy, like he’s just gotten up from a long sleep, gauzy and sloppy and sticky. His mouth hangs open to mimic yours as he speaks, “You couldn’t. I have an endless amount to give,” and then he’s licking the outline of your open lips, slipping his tongue in to press along the roof of your mouth and up up up to the back of your teeth. He’s puffing hard out of his nose, dipping in and out of your split, licking even the pad of his thumb where it pokes through the hollow, touching himself inside you. 

His free hand grips the top of your ribs, leading you backwards towards the bed until you’re seated at the edge of it, his back curved harshly to continue to taste you. 

You’re kissing him back, you know that, but your thoughts float up to cloud your pleasure and you’re getting ahead of yourself all over again. What does he want? Why does he want it? Would he be upset to learn you’re trying to give him less? You flip the hem of his shirt between your forefinger and thumb, toes curling against the carpet—walking that line of self-doubt. 

He breaks away, so careful again even with no clear need to be, “What’s wrong?” 

“I’m just nervous.” 

“About now? Or about me?”

“Both.”

“Just talk to me, then. Tell me why we shouldn’t—we can work through it together. Let me take some of that worry off of you.”

Joel braces a knee on the corner of the mattress to hold himself steady, gripping you under the joints of your shoulders and pulling you towards the center of the bed. He deposits your body like nothing, kneeling at the apex of your thighs. 

Your voice shakes, “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He works at the buttons on your shirt with long fingers, drawing it over the hills of your shoulders until your collar rolls in on itself from the force, falling away. Joel wraps the layer over the panel of your jacket and pulls, undressing you like he has to memorize how to be able to put you back together. He does the same with your bra, achingly slow, but you can feel tiny tremors in his wrist as it runs against your back. 

You just watch for a minute, unable to link what he’s doing to reality, arms feeling weak like the dull ache of a full-body cold, akin to sickness. 

“Go on, honey. Only gonna keep going as long as you do.”

“I— I feel connected to you. I don’t want to.” 

He closes his eyes and bobs his head, I understand, and your body starts to feel numb at your core, pulsing so violently it prompts you to roll your ankle to make sure you haven’t left it behind. 

“More,” he pants, running fully-spread hands over every piece of bare skin, your nipples pulling tight as the motions move from gentle to greedy, passing to tugging. 

“I can’t do this again. I have a hard time letting go. What if you want me for the wrong reason and I can’t hate you for it?” 

He pops the button of your pants, lifting you up off the bed to take the garment down and off, dipping his fingers into the rim of each of your socks on the way to remove them at the same time.

You push your forefingers into the band of your underwear, but Joel meets your hand as you start, winding a finger around the lace and pulling opposite so they catch—leave these on. 

You comply, but you know you’re already wet through them, know that he can see it, and you can’t decide if you want him to know his effect on you, legs buckling in no clear direction; but he feels so good, and he’s almost where you want him, and he’s waiting for you to keep talking, so you lean into the heat. You spread.

“It’s easy to tell myself you’re different once I’m in it. But it never works out right. I get too attached.” 

Joel settles in, shouldering the left side of his body under your thigh to bring you open further, wrapping his arm around it and letting a hand situate against your belly. He turns his right palm away from himself, flattening it like a warning sign before he pushes it against the crease of your cunt, rubbing in slow circles with the curve of his fingers, right under the points. You thrash, trying to force him just an inch up to where you’re throbbing, but he doesn’t budge—he’s making you earn it.

“What if you just want me because you think you need someone to take care of? What if you find out you feel better alone?”

He dips two fingers into your cunt through the film of your underwear, shallow but firm—more than just curious. You feel like you might just come from this, from just the suggestion of him. 

He uses his forearm to butt against the underside of your thigh, prompting you to lift it towards your chest, and he leans down to cup your clit into his mouth, fabric and all. His mouth is searing with the aid of the material, a tight suction that insulates the heat he’s expelling. 

You’re heaving now, light-headed and loose as broad strokes of his tongue soak the already tainted cloth, the extra stimulation from its drag enough to make your head spin. You’re sure that if you breathe any harder your chest will cave in.

“Hm?” He asks against you, demanding, the vibration of it setting your skin alight, and you force your nails into the dip of your hand to keep your mind in the room. You’re stuttering, but it’s not enough of a response, so he leans back—cruel and merciless. 

“What did I say?” he coos, left hand pinching into the swell of flesh at your side.

It stings but you gasp, eager to take, even if the attention so so far away from where it should be, and you have to count your breaths out in groups of five to come back into focus. 

“What if I’m willing to take what you give me? Does that ruin the safety I’ve built for myself?” you whisper, and finally he peels back the curtain of fabric, only enough to present your entrance, rough fingers greeting your opening with no resistance, twisting and hooking them so just the tips are fixed inside. He positions himself above his hand, spitting onto your still-covered clit, watching it slide down and gather where you join. It’s unnecessary, with how much slick you know is pooled there, trailing down onto the sheets under you, but you chalk it up to just having another piece of him inside of you—you’ll gladly accept it.

You’re so very close, and he can tell, maybe from the shake in your hoisted leg or the lack of time in between airy cries, and he just slides in, right to the first knuckle. No room to be ready.

The sound of blood rushing in your ears is so loud you don’t hear yourself when you start begging. You writhe under the hold he has on you, relieved and overwhelmed and a few inches from your soul pouring right out of your body.

And then he’s not moving again, lessening the recovery time he’s willing to allow you, and you try to dig through the fog of arousal to find real words, but your mind can only conjure up a single-syllable sentence as you beg him to relent. 

He frees himself from the clutch of your leg, shimmying out so he can use his unsodden hand to cradle your head, the weight of your skull limp in his palm, “You can do it. Get it all off your chest.”

Joel presses his thumb up under your cheek, pulling at the crease of your lips like he can will you to speak with force alone. 

“I can’t. Please. Just finish.”

“You have something else you want to say. I don’t take kindly to giving up. C’mon.”

He gives you a half-step, reminding you part of him is still within you, fingers curling up against the soft muscle and you skip over a hard inhale. 

“How am I supposed to know what I’m up against if you won’t tell me?” He says it like it’s obvious, like this is some very common step in relationship-building—finger-fucking you as a reward for confessing your skepticism. 

You’re tense, holding the whole of your body in one, tiny scrap of you and it feels like you’ve entered some kind of limbo, suspended in the place between tension and relief, so close to falling that you’re not sure you want either of them. 

He angles himself again, pushing his entire heft into your hip with a wide hand so he can fit himself flat against the bed, mouth hovering over your cunt again. He exhales hard over you, the fingers still tucked in your cunt moving as he adjusts. 

“Please?” He begs sweetly, high enough on the end that you know he’s mocking you, “You can do better than please.”

You huff hard, swallowing thickly—trying again, “What if you—What if—,” you manage, and the lead-up must be convincing enough because he bows again, body fully flat so he can latch on to your clit with his mouth, lips closing tight around the bud through cotton and sucking hard, the hand inside you stirring to life, his twisted positive reinforcement serving you well.

“Fuck, Joel. Fuck—What if you make me love you, just to leave me?” 

Your ankle drifts down to find purchase against his waist, and you can feel him moving, working himself into the mattress. In the chaos, you’d forgotten about his want, and being reminded of his ability to take makes your sweat run cold. He could fuck you now, and instead he’s fucking the bed thinking about you—even bringing you to completion is enough to make him chase release. You lean your head back behind your shoulders, your orgasm overtaking you one harsh wave at a time, stomach filling with thick, hot syrup. You push your teeth so deep into your lip there has to be blood but you can’t taste it, all of your senses honed onto where he’s unraveling you, shrinking in on itself in preparation to violently burst.

He weighs in, now that you’re already cresting, “I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Not now that I know what you need.” 

His admission, his promise, is enough to make you see white, pushing your peak into overstimulation far too soon, and you have to be crying or begging or something because he immediately slows, winding you down in an organic way—taking his time leading you past bliss. 

He pulls his hand free of you, sliding his grip over the damp, half-mounted fabric and peeling it away, hand circling your calf to maneuver you gently.

You’re fully naked now, and when he rolls over to stand at the foot of the bed, you remember he’s still clothed. There he is, above you again like he brings the dawn, bent shirt and uneven waistband and shiny slip over his lips.

It looks different from your memory though, here he looks inexplicably pained, face wrinkled, and then settles another reminder—he hadn’t come.

“Wait, Joel.” 

He doesn’t answer, just recedes to another part of the room you can’t see over your heap of arms and legs. 

You’re still swallowing ragged mouthfuls of air, not quite normal, when he reappears, the feeling of hot cloth against your still fragile cunt makes you writhe.

“Joel.” 

“Yes?” 

“You didn’t get to… finish,” you mutter, and how you’re too embarrassed to address his arousal even after what just transpired is beyond you. 

“No need to rush anything. I can take care of myself for now, plenty of time to get to that point.”

“What now, then?” 

“Sleep with me. I can take you home if you want, or to your car, but I would much rather if you stayed.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

[holybibly]

Hello everyone, bunnies or not (due to recent events). Today we're going to talk about serious things.

Over the past few weeks I've been getting more and more negative messages in my inbox. To be honest, I didn't really care at first, but the last few days have become a real test of my patience.

Even today. I just posted my first response to the Unholy Hour in the last two weeks, and a ton of negativity, disrespect, criticism and just plain rude behaviour poured in in response. So I want to make a few things clear.

I have created this blog as a safe and free space for everyone. It's a place you can come back to and not feel like you don't "fit in". There are no bans, restrictions, judgements, criticism or rudeness here. This is a place where everyone can find themselves and be who they want to be, not who society tells them to be. Damn, if someone wants to be a cat or a bunny, what the hell do you care, look after yourself, find a hobby, leave people alone. I will not tolerate people on my blog who tell other people what to do and label them. If you find me strange, unpleasant, rude, please unfollow me or even block me so that my messages do not appear in your feed. It will be much better than receiving all the crap you write to me anonymously.

Tagged question: Am I giving enough warnings? Am I using enough banners? Do I give enough indication that this is NSFW content? If you are confused by my work, you don't have to read it! You can stop at the beginning, but please that we are all adults here. Seriously, are you having sex, watching porn, discussing these topics with friends and not getting enough warning? Again, this blog is a safe and free place without judgement or negativity. Someone even mentioned rape in my work, and I'm not completely stupid for not mentioning it in my warnings. All my work involves "absolute consent". I do this absolutely freely and voluntarily, I like writing, I love it, but the more negative messages I get, the more I lose the desire to do it. I love myself very much and I don't want to waste my emotions with endless negativity, it's easier for me to close the blog and live my life.

Feedback. Bunnies (I'm still hoping), when I ask for your opinion, PLEASE give feedback in the comments. You may not "like" the post, but I need to hear from you. Writers need to know what to do. I don't want to waste hours of my time on something you're not going to be interested in. Every work I do is a huge effort. I don't have beta readers, English is not my first language, so imagine how much time I spend proofreading my work, checking grammar, punctuation, style. That is why I need to communicate with you. I know this is an uncomfortable conversation. I'm not a drama queen, I just want respect and understanding. This whole situation has also caused my activity to decrease.

Listen, if for some reason you feel uncomfortable, the atmosphere on the blog is unpleasant, or my works are not suitable for you due to the large amount of graphic sexual content, please stop following me and reading my ffs. There are many other authors with great work that can satisfy your need for content.

I don't want to get hate that I don't deserve. First of all, it is your own choice, I have never forced anyone to do anything. Respect the authors, be grateful for the effort they put into entertaining you.

I hope I have given you my thoughts.

And on a lighter note, the Unholy Hours are on tomorrow. I hope everyone has a good day/night.

#sugar and sin #bunny questions #18+ blog

[deadricslover]

second time's a charm

here's my masterlist!

a/n: ^^^that's a gif btw idk why it's not playing for me. can u see it?

summary: your younger sister called recently to tell you she had found a boyfriend and she wanted you all as a family to meet him.

warnings: again, like the last post. the focus isn't on Bruce being your partner in this one...

pairings: fem!reader x bale!Bruce Wayne

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

Two weeks ago your younger sister, Anna called you up and told you that she got a boyfriend and wanted you to meet him. Of course you said yes, as big sister duty and to see who has your baby sister's heart. She knew when she asked that you would want to meet him, but why she really wanted you two to meet was because she needed your opinion and approval. As silly as it sounded, she wouldn't want to be with him if you didn't like him or thought she could do better as she valued your opinion ever so much, like any little sister would-- even though she's not so young anymore. You needed to be there though for different reasons, yes, you wanted to support Anna, but you also wanted to make sure things ran as smoothly as possible and not like when Bruce met your family. To be fair, then, it was uncharted waters and you didn't know what to expect. You want to prevent the invasive mother questions and protective dad mode from arising. Sure, a couple embarrassing stories would be fun, but as long as things didn't go overboard, you were good. You hadn't heard much about this boy only the things that Anna was willing to share when she called you late at night rambling about how their first date went and you could practically see her twirling her hair as if she was in a film.

"Is there a dress code for this sort of thing? Meeting your fiance's sister's boyfriend" Bruce asks from your shared bed while you root through the closet like a racoon in a bin trying to find the perfect fit for Bruce to wear. You felt like a mom picking out clothes for her child. You eventually find what you're looking for and throw it at him while replying

"Yes, not pyjamas. Now get changed"

"Yes, Mom" he says smiling looking for a reaction out of you

"Would you rather pick out an outfit for yourself?" you question, spinning back around to see him now standing up taking off his shirt

"no, you just always do such a good job"

"do you want me to change you too?" you ask, now bickering like an old couple

"you know, I wouldn't mind-" he starts

"tough, you're a grown man that should be able to change AND pick out his own clothes" you say cracking a little smile, despite your efforts to not let it show. You close the door before he had a chance to say something else and also so he didn't she the grin creeping up on your face. You go straight to the kitchen and pour yourself a glass of water because who knew finding clothes for Bruce to wear would be so hard. Not like you hadn't done it hundred times.

Time passes and you two leave to go to your childhood home. It was safe to say you were probably in for a stressful night, constantly listening to make sure your parents don't drift in to a conversation tat would make Anna or her boyfriend uncomfortable. You and Bruce both knew that. The drive to the house was normal, but Bruce could sense that you were slightly worried at the possibilities.

"there's no need to worry, my love. Anna and the new boy should be the nervous ones" He comforts rubbing your hand as much as he could while driving while driving.

"if I don't like him, it will really effect how Anna sees this guy. I just want it to go well. Of course I want to like him and even if I don't, I'm not sure whether to mention it to Anna or to keep it a secret, if I keep it to myself then I feel like she might ignore all the red flags and I don't want her to get hurt but if I do tell her then I will feel like the bad person and that she can't make her own decisions an-" Bruce cuts you off

"you're rambling. I understand you're worried but everything will be fine, I promise" he reassures you sweetly, glancing over to you sitting in the passenger seat. He takes your hand in his and brings it up to his mouth to place it a little kiss into the back of it.

You step out of the car grabbing the last minute things that your dad asked you to pick up on the way here. Bruce meets you at your side and you walk to the door together, entering the house after a quick knock. You are met by your younger brother running up to the door grabbing onto you squeezing the life out his older sister.

You squat down to give him a proper embrace. "hi, big boy! you've grown so much"

"everyone's so excited to see you and mom is shouting at dad a lot" he innocently tells you. bless him for not knowing better.

"and we're here to fix that" you reply to your younger brother, max while getting up to say hi to everyone else. as you're walking away max runs up to Bruce and Bruce picks him up and they exchange greetings. Max looks up to Bruce so much, it's honestly so adorable.

someone that you do not yet recognise catches your attention and you soon realise that it must be the boy of the night, Anna's boyfriend who you still do not know the name of.

"hi, I'm Anna's older sister" you say to him offering your name also. He sticks out his hand for you to shake which catches you off guard but you accept the gesture no less.

"I'm Claude. I am with your sister" he says, a slight French accent flowing it's way to your ears.

"ooh where's that accent from" you inquire not 100% sure if that's an ok question to ask, but you did it anyways.

"my parents are french, my older siblings and I were all born in France and lived there until about eight years ago." he responds with a smile sending proud of his roots

"me and my fiance-- who is somewhere-- were hoping to go next year. any recommendations as to where is nice?" you ask trying to make conversation

he gives you multiple lovely places, explaining each is heaps of detail. you take each into account and make a mental note to check them out later on.

you spot your parents in the kitchen but more specifically, your mother hanging over your father's shoulder bickering with him, telling him that he is cutting the food wrong.

"mom, I don't think you can cut potatoes wrong." you call out catching her attention. she spins around and notices you and visibly sighs in relief.

"thank God you're here" she wraps you in an embrace while telling you how happy she is that you're here.

"everything will be fine. don't worry" you reassure her even though you aren't thinking the same thing at all.

"Anna is upstairs. she wanted me to send you up when you arrived. Where's Bruce?" she inquires looking around.

"with his shadow. I'll go up to her now" you say leaving. passing Bruce and Max on the way, telling him where you're going. You knock on her door and walk in when she says it's good for you to enter. she is sitting at her desk with a mirror propped against the wall touching up her hair. She glances at you in the mirror, puts down the tool and jumps up to run to you.

"I missed you." she tells you into your neck

"I missed you more. sorry I couldn't see you sooner." you answer, pulling back and sitting on her bed.

she sits down next to you and you start to ask her about the boy and teasing her about it and she gets all red and shy but it's so sweet. you've never been in this position before as you only have two younger siblings and Anna is the older of the pair. you remember when she was obsessing over the peeta from the hunger games when she was younger and now look at her. she is graduating soon and you are simply not ready for that. yes, you're not her mother but still, it's strange seeing her like this. You two talk for a little while more before you decide to finish off her hair for her while listening to some nostalgic music from your childhood together.

"he's downstairs. I feel bad leaving him but I need to look good and I'm kinda nervous" she says fiddling with her eyelashes.

"you do look good. And he is definitely not just dating you for your amazing looks, there's no need to worry" you inform her telling the utter truth

There is a knock on the door interrupting you two.

"sorry to interrupt, your mom sent me up. Claude and your family are waiting downstairs because dinner is ready" Bruce says popping in the door.

"oh sorry, we're on our way. just need to make sure Anna is feeling her best" you reply smiling at her in the mirror.

"he seems great, I was talking to him downstairs when max went away to get his new firetruck, that's the only time I got a word in with someone else" Bruce says showing how obsessed your brother is with your boyfriend.

"yeah I think so too. unless he comes out with some major criminal record" you tell her honestly but also glancing to Bruce to see his reaction, as batman doesn't have the best reputation with the cops.

"trust me, he doesn't. he's a good guy" Anna replies giggling a little bit.

"when I introduced myself first, he seemed so starstruck and he was stuttering and getting shy, it was really funny. but to be fair, if I saw George Clooney I would too" Bruce follows up with which makes you laugh and so does anna.

"yeah except, you're not George Clooney" you reply smiling a little bit.

"just hope we turn out like you two. I really like him" she follows up with.

"you want to get engaged or you really like him? they are two different things"

"you can't have both" Bruce replies with still standing in the doorframe.

a look of horror paints it's way onto her face and you quickly have to reassure her you were kidding. you turn off the curler wand start walking down the stairs, encouraging Anna to go first but she didn't want to.

you felt a little bad for Claude waiting by himself downstairs, especially because he doesn't know anyone. Bruce is different, he knows your family and max would keep him occupied anyways. Bruce sits down pulling out a chair for you next to him as he does so. Anna sits down next to Claude also and you all begin eating as everyone is super hungry. During the dinner you kept glancing to Claude to find him glancing at Bruce still starstruck and also did exactly as you said you would, you kept Anna from getting too embarrassed to the point where she wanted to leave and was actually annoyed with your parents. Although, a couple funny childhood stories would be ok but you wanted to stand up for your baby sister when things might get a bit too much.

"so" your father starts talking

"Claude, how do you plan to treat my daughter?" he continues with

"Dad" you warn looking at him trying to prevent exactly what you were afraid of

"I'm kidding. It was a joke. Calm down, care bear. If your mom's dad asked me that at seventeen I would have started sweating and crying in front of him" he admits and the table starts laughing. max too just because everyone else is-- in particular, Bruce. maybe if you weren't so tense you would have noticed it was a joke. God, you needed wine

"wine anyone?" you ask the table getting up and grabbing the bottle of wine you brought. your mom accepts and Bruce denies as he is driving and your dad jut doesn't drink. Hopefully this will help you calm down

questions are thrown at Claude to try and get to know him and he kindly answers. You soon come to the conclusion that you were worrying for no reason at all and didn't need to be so uptight. When you thought you were out of the spotlight your mom brings up an old embarrassing story of you that she promised to never tell anyone. Bruce didn't even know this.

"she went out drinking with some of her friends one time and I knew that they were drinking but she legally was allowed to so I couldn't stop her. But I think we both wish she did listen to me. I waited up for her to make sure she was ok when she came home but nobody walked through the front door, so I went to bed. Maybe she was staying at a friends house and forgot to text or she could sill be out. I don't know. I get waken up by my phone ringing at five am and guess who it is" she says pointing to you at the last part as if the whole table didn't know.

"she was whispering 'mom, can you open the front door please.' thought nothing of it besides the fact it was five am. I opened the door and she wasn't there, so I called her back and asked where she was. she told me she was waiting outside. long story short, she wasn't at our house but a completely different neighbourhood knocking on some innocent families door with some strange woman that I didn't recognise when i picked her up. she told me 'mom, this is angelina' she comes over to me and whispers 'it's angelina jolie. be nice' she thought this random woman was angelina jolie and this poor woman was just following her around because they had been talking all night."

you drop your head in shame as she finishes off the story and embarrassment, Bruce glancing over to you multiple times because he could never imagine you getting that drunk.

"to be fair, I was new to drinking, didn't know my limits and wanted to have fun. Anna, do not ever do anything like that, it was the worst i has ever been it's not worth it"

"Wait, we were together then? You were at least twenty one then" Bruce comments

"yeah, I didn't call you back for like three days." you reply

" I called your parents to make sure you were ok. do you even remember this?" he asks

"no. so this could be completely made up" you admit knowing damn well it was real because of the terrible hangover you had

"oh it was real alright" your dad pipes in

"ok, can we drop it this is embarrassing." you ask ashamed

because of this simple ask, your parents do not in fact drop it and the night ends up being all about you instead of Claude and Anna which was a bit unfair but I guess it was better than embarrassing Anna.

The night ends when Claude's parents ask him to come home. You and Bruce set off then too saying goodbye to Anna, Max and your parents sarcastically thanking them for everything they said.

As you and Bruce drive home and get ready for bed, he won't drop the subject of you getting obliterated drunk.

"I can't wait until I see Alfred next. I'm going to ask him about all the times that you got drunk beyond your limits"

and with that he was quiet and dropped the topic.

"honestly, I think Claude had the hots for you more than Anna. he was staring at you the whole dinner" you say to him

"stop, he just met THE Bruce Wayne. of course he's gonna be starstruck" he replies

"you're so full of it"

and that's how the night you were scared about ended. you were slightly embarrassed to be honest because as you knew deep down in your brain, there was nothing to worry about.

#dc #deadricslover #batman #bruce wayne #christian bale x reader #batman begins #bruce wayne x reader #christian bale #the dark knight #the batman

[madameminor]

Fox Fire - Commander Fox x f!reader - Chapter 1

Summary: In an effort to forget your on-again-off-again, you head out with your friends - and they're determined for you to meet one Commander Fox. After all, the quickest way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

Commander Fox x f!reader

Tags: Smutty mcsmutterson. 18+. NSFW. "Basically, all the good stuff."

Warnings: Nothing this round. Just build up.

Notes: Ok hi! Dunno why I wanted to do this, but I did. I'm excited for the story. Post-war, everyone's ok, that sort of thing. Thank you so much to @dumfanting and @rains-on-kamino for beta-ing and keeping my creative juices flowing. I've tagged all the people on my IMWTO list, JIC you're interested in following this story too. If you are, comment. If you don't, I'll remove you for next chapter. Thank yoooou. Let's get this party started!

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

You have to hand it to Chrisa. If her significant other didn’t work here, you would never have thought of coming to the Clone Bar for your night out - but it is PERFECT for what you need.

All the clones made it easy to clock strangers.

The entire vibe of the place is all about coming in and forgetting the world outside.

None of your or Marco’s mutuals would EVER just happen to be here.

AND

You have a bartender on your side, so if anyone gets too handsy or in your face - insta-boot.

The anger from earlier has simmered into resolve, and any excess is going to be worked out on the dance floor. You’d had enough to drink before coming out to loosen you up, but not to spiral you down. You. Look. FAN-TASTIC. Nothing pumps you up like looking your absolute best - and knowing it.

Damn right. It was time to have some fucking fun.

Your gaggle stride up to the front doors, Chrisa flashing the front doorman a smile and a kiss on the cheek before sliding on in. The thick togruta grins as he waves you all in, the lively music thrumming up through your shoes. OOooooo YES! Here we GO!

Lights, bass, people, ALL of it. You’ve missed it. Your spirits lift at the beautiful sight of fun.

Chrisa leads you past the first few bars, piled up with people, making her way towards a third bar closer to the back. You all follow, chatting away excitedly and looking out over the writhing sea of people. Your smile is genuine. You missed this. You missed them. 

“Baaaaaabyyyyy!” your friend croons, leaning over the somewhat busy bar to kiss the bartender. The rest of you sidle up to the 3 empty seats between two groups of clones, offering your hellos.

“Well, look at this attractive group coming up to my bar,” the bartender, Ceese, says with a grin. Their eyes land on you. “Heard we’re celebrating tonight,” they say with a wink. “So let’s get you all started off on the right foot.”

Your girls cheer and you grin as Ceese sets out 6 double shots, filling them to the brim with your favorite alcohol. You laugh as each of your friends and Ceese all take a shot glass, gathering in close around you. 

“To taking out ta poodoo!” Lehla toasts, holding out her shot.

“KRIFF TA POODOO!” Five clinks as you all cheers and down your shots. The liquid comfort slithers through your body, and you breathe a bit easier. THIS is fun. You’re safe here. You slink your arms around Freen and Sizie and hug them close. They smile and hold you tight while Ceese pours out your drinks.

“There you are, drinks are up, get out there!”

You all cheer and grab your drinks, Chrisa leaning up to kiss them thanks for all of you as your crew saunters off to the dance floor. 

Lehla dives right into the center, turning to all of you, and, holding up her drink, proclaims with the gravity of a general headed into battle “Behbies, lets DANCE!!”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pulsing, beating, swaying, living. You laugh and twirl and thoroughly lose yourself in the pleasure of being out with your friends. This was amazing. This was life as it ought to be. 

Only exhaustion and the need for another drink eventually pulls you off the floor, plunking you and your friends down into an open booth.

“More drinks, more drinks!” Sizie chants.

“Oh gods I can’t MOVE,” Freen whines as she leans back. She makes begging eyes at Lehla. Well, the Rodian equivalent. “Lehlaaaaa…”

Lehla good naturedly rolls her eyes. “ALright, alright. Chrisa, that's you and me. Lets go get the goods.” 

Chrisa laughs and loops arms with hers, the two heading back to the bar.

You fan yourself, glancing over your two friends as they gab away with each other, taking a second to get your bearings. The anger is burning off now, leaving just the sadness, the hurt… but its nice to remember everything you gain by… well, by things changing. Change is good. You take a deep breath, letting the comfort settle back in.

“Why do they keep looking over here?” Sizie’s voice cuts through, curious.

You look over towards the bar and see Chrisa and Lehla chatting with Ceese and a few troopers - commanders by their pauldrons. Of course Chrisa knew the regulars, probably catching up. And, uh, they all keep looking over. At you. Specifically at you.

Uh oh. “Oh Mother, what are they up to…”

Freen laughs. “Knowing them, something AMAZING.”

Chrisa and Lehla hurry over, both with a mysterious glint in their eye. Chrisa plops down next to you while Lehla leans in with a smirk, hand on the table.

“Soooooo,” Chris says with a sly grin, “do you think that clones are attractive?”

You side-eye her suspiciously. “Why?”

“Weeeeell,” Chrisa tilts her head to the side, letting you see past her, “one of my ‘friends’ over there happens to be Commander Fox of the Coruscant Guard.”

Your stomach tightens with regret.

You sigh, your forehead in your hand. “Chris, you know I don’t-”

She waves her hand at you. “-get on with law enforcement, I know I know. BUT,” she grins, holding a finger up to halt interruptions, “that’s long term. Fox is usually super busy, so he doesn’t really have much time for women in his life. Like, EVER.” She smirks with a small eye roll. “His team almost has to blackmail him to go out with them and relax - and that almost NEVER involves a woman. But that doesn't mean he hasn’t had off-ers,” she says in a sing-song voice. The others giggle as they glance off towards where the Commander sits.

Chris continues. “SO. It wouldn’t be for long- a fling, a jaunt, a roll in the hay, something cas-u-al-and-FUN!” She emphasizes each syllable to get her point across. “You need this. Something different to show you that you can actually be HAPPY in bed, with someone who actually CARES.” 

You raise an eyebrow. “How the heck do you know he ‘cares’?”

She grins again. “I’ve known him for a loooong time. And on the rare occasion that he’s drunk enough to loosen up and actually go home with someone, they ALWAYS come in again talking about how GOOD he is.”

You blink in surprise, and a little shock. “People talk about that?

She shrugs good-naturedly. “Bunker bunnies do. No judgement, they just like to try ‘all the clone flavors’.” She winks. “And I love to hear the gos about the regulars.”

You smirk as the others laugh. Trust Chrisa to be the bar gossip gatherer.

“So, what, you want me to hope he gets drunk, present myself to him and say ‘hi, my ex is an ass and I broke up with him today. Wanna fuck?’”

“Oh NO,” Chrisa pulls a face, “I wouldn’t suggest it if it was that impersonal. See, apparently…” she leans her cheek on one hand, grin glistening with mischief. “He’s been looking over at you all night.”

You blink. You try to sneak a look over to the bar to try and catch a glimpse of this Commander Fox. Two of the red and white clad clones start waving and pointing excitedly between them at the seated one beside them, facing away with what looks like his forehead in his hand. You’re sad you can’t see his face, but you can’t help but smile to yourself. You kind of know how he feels.

“And he’s… cute?” You say hesitantly.

Chrisa perks up and grins. “Oh YEAH. I’ve definitely glanced at him a time or two, don’t tell Ceese.”

“And… safe?” 

“YES,” Chris almost huffs a whine in exasperation. “Who do you think I am??”

Well…

It’s not what you normally do…

…but you ARE trying to do things differently this time…

Just one conversation? You didn’t even have to say yes…

He could be cute…

You look around at your friends' faces. Are any of them unsure about this? Would any advise you that this wasn’t a good idea?

Nope. All of their eyes are excited, almost pleading.

“...ok. I’ll at least talk to him.”

You friends all burst out with a “YES!” You smirk and shake your head. Jeez, you didn’t think you needed it THAT bad.

Chrisa stands and gives a thumbs up to the two clones waiting at the bar. They both pump fists in the air before leaning down to talk to the hunched Commander- who simply punches one of them in the arm without looking over at him. You laugh to yourself. Yeah, you definitely know THAT feeling. The poor guy.

Whatever they say to him, it apparently seems to work. He begrudgingly turns around on his stool and stands, grabbing his helmet. One of his men claps him on the shoulder, which he pushes off angrily before taking a deep breath, turning, and starting his way over to where you and your friends sit. 

You feel your breath catch a bit in your chest, something your girls notice with a smirk. He’s GORGEOUS. His hair isn’t standard clone cut - its a bit longer on top and down the back, the sides cropped short. You can see whisps of gray at the side of his temples, almost looking like highlights, making him seem more mature. He has a scar across one cheekbone adding to an authoritative air - but not oppressive or dismissive. His eyes are a beautiful amber brown, serious, but not cynical. And, you notice with a small smile, right now he looks just a little bit… sheepish. 

A man like this has been watching you? A trooper who doesn’t normally take girls home had seen you and not been able to disguise it from his overeager companions? You feel yourself preen internally as he finishes making his way over. 

“Commander Fox, meet the rest of my besties - Freen (she waves), Sizie (a nod and smile), and of course, The-woman-you’ve-been-staring-at-all-night.”

He glances at her with annoyance as your friends laugh. You extend a hand out to shake his hand with your introduction.

“Its… very nice to meet you.” He nods, resigning to the awkwardness of being caught.

“Well, we’ll get out of your hair so you two can get acquainted,” Chrisa simpers. You give her a ‘stop that’ look as she and the girls all file out with winks and excited grins. Sizie even seems to shake little pom poms, mouthing “go, girl, go!”

You play a bit with one earring as you look back at him.

“Sorry about them,” you smile. “Teasing is their love language.”

He snorts with a glance back at them, relaxing a bit. “I know the feeling.”

You chuckle despite yourself. He seems to relax a bit, a smirk playing on his authoritative features.

“Would you care to step into my office, Mr. Fox?” 

He chuckles this time, giving you a quick appreciative glance before sitting down across from you, placing his helmet by his side.

“Excuse me.” A service droid waddles up with two drinks - one your usual, the other looks like a whisky neat for him. You look at it, confused, while it sets them on the table.

“Compliments of the bartender, with the accompanying message-” says the matter of fact tinny voice. “‘-Make out already-’.”  You look up to the crowd of onlookers from the bar giving you both a thumbs up. 

You show them a different finger. 

They all burst out laughing, but get the hint and go back to each other.

You turn back, catching an impressed smirk while he gazes at you.

“You sure showed them.”

 You chuckle while you take a sip of your drink.

“So,” you smile, “come here often?”

He snorts an appreciative chuckle before shaking his head and indicating the two Corries at the bar. “Enough. Though not as much as my men would like.”

You chuckle, glancing over at the excited huddle. “I didn’t know the men of the Coruscant guard were so invested in their Commander’s R&R.”

A sigh and an eye roll, another sip of his drink. “Apparently getting away from work is ‘necessary’ for a healthy, ungrumpy lifestyle.” You nod sagely, indicating you see the sarcasm. “Just my luck to have the subordinates that actually care about my work-life balance.”

“Luck seldom has anything to do with things like that,” you smile, leaning your cheek on your hand. You know what garners unerring loyalty and hard work. You know the kind of leader it takes to make men march into danger- just to drag that S.O. to the bar afterwards - the kind who men take care of, because he took care of his men. “You must be a great commander if they worry about you so much.” And smart, and firm, but kind under it all, and… hoo, slow down honey. 

For some reason, looking at him, knowing what it takes to be a leader, to be someone who watches out for others, you feel compelled to say something you’ve never said before.

“Thank you. For your service.”

His head quirks to the side, eyes interested as they take you in. “I can’t really take much credit for that… it wasn’t entirely my choice, you know.”

You chuckle. “Perhaps not. But I’ve heard of clones who have sought other lives now that the war is over and your rights have been won - can’t blame them at all. I understand not wanting to do what you’re ‘born for’.” You unconsciously watch the bubbles in your drink for a moment before realizing your thoughts are straying, looking back into his intrigued eyes. “So you did have a choice. And you chose to help the people of Coruscant.” You smile, and shrug.  “So, for whatever it's worth, thank you.”

“Hm.” He smiles thoughtfully, regarding you for a moment while he takes a sip of his drink. “Actually, coming from you, it means a lot more,” his eyes take you in again, admiring, intrigued, inviting.

It sends a happy warmth through your insides.

He sets his drink down again, folding his arms and leaning in on his elbows. “So. Born for, huh? Tell me, what were you ‘born for’?”

You smirk, waving a hand in dismissal. Definitely a cop. “Nothing that I’m doing. But I’m an event planner.” You shrug, knowing it doesn’t sound like much to someone who regularly risks their life.

“Hm,” he answers, intrigued. Like actually intrigued. “Can’t say I’ve ever met someone in that field before. What’s your favorite part of the job?”

Hm. You can’t help your smile. No one ever really cares to hear about this part. “Well,” you think, having a genuine look at your chosen profession, “I meet a fair amount of different, interesting people. I'm more active and involved than other jobs, I get to create something, after a fashion, get to create beauty and harmony for people to celebrate or commemorate something.” And you do it well, you know you do. You’re proud of the work you do. “Its satisfying. Like I’m doing good in my own way.”

He smiles at that. 

“‘Interesting people’, huh? Have any good stories?”

“Hah,” you chuckle. “Oh do I.” You perk up, leaning in conspiratorially. “And in your line of work, you probably know some of the main antagonists.” 

His eyes definitely light up with interest. 

Pulling no punches, you dive into tales about Senators, big wigs, their staff, their relatives, the drama before, during, and after. His laughter is all the more hearty knowing who you're talking about. He even thanks you once for making him laugh so hard he cries about a particular Senator from Naboo and a Jedi getting told off for inappropriate use of an ice sculpture.

Knowing you know the main players, he pays you back 10 fold with his own stories- ridiculous requests, entitled children put in their place, the shenanigans his men pull when they think he isn't aware. You swap stories back and forth, relaxing in each others company, unwittingly moving closer together.

He’s nice, you keep thinking. He’s cute. He’s serious, but can laugh. You wonder… what he’s like when he’s alone, in the dark, laying in his own bed...

You only realize how long its been when you take a sip of your drink only to find the cold, watery dregs of melted ice. As you glance into your glass, with a small curse, you hear him say quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself:

“How anyone could do something stupid enough to lose a woman like you is beyond me.” He says quietly, almost to himself. You duck your head, a bit bashful, but keep your eyes up. So he’s feeling it too. He still wants you. He… he likes you. 

Maybe its knowing that, or maybe its the drinks. Or both. But suddenly you feel… sexier.

You look up at him through your eye lashes. 

“Is it alright if I… get more comfortable?”

His eyes spark with excitement and intrigue. “Of course,” he says quietly.

You close the small distance and slide into his lap, your back to the (you are totally sure) excited onlookers. 

You feel your heart pounding at the closeness, skin electric at your own daring.

“Is this alright?”

“Yes.” His voice is much deeper than it was. “More than alright.”

“Good,” you smile, one hand tracing behind his neck, lightly trailing through his curls. He gently places his hand on your leg, his coarse gloves ticking along your thigh, bewitched eyes starting to turn ravenous. 

‘You are absolutely stunning,” he breathes, voice low and serious.

You smile bashfully. “Thank you, its true.”

He lifts his hand and cups your neck, thumb tracing the length of your throat.

“I definitely, definitely want to kiss you right now.”

You place a finger against his lips. He smirks, slowly opening his mouth to lightly bite your fingertip. You breath catches at the small, sensual gesture. His eyes darken at the sound, his teeth releasing you.

“Kriff, mesh’la. I’m going to take such good care of you tonight.”

He kisses you. 

It's like a fire has started in your blood, burning away anything that isn’t this moment right here. You want him. You want him so badly, with his locks between your fingers and his teeth on your throat and his cock in your-

And you can. Because there is absolutely nothing holding you back.

You pull away just enough that your words ghost against his lips. “Do you want to get out of here… Commander?

His kiss is more insistent this time, ending with a small bite pulling your lower lip.

“More than anything.”

You slide off of him before taking him by the hand. He barely looks away from you as he grabs his helmet and dutifully follows you out of the club.

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

Just-this-once taglist:

@ladykatakuri @ben-is-a-hoe @klay97 @kaitou2417 @dumfanting @kuromisheart @koifish08 @echo-is-worth-more-than-2000 @badbatch-simp24 @pointy-sharp @rainytears2 @gabile18 @nedxwynert @chopper-witch @nexxxxxxxxx @nightscissor @corona-one @babypandasugar22 @pumpkinkpatch @oohyesplease @princessclaire2 @just-a-shit-ton-of-trama @badbatch-simp24 @foreverhockeytrash @unholy-t-rin-ity @reeny26 @smurderous @xxeiraxx @discarded-beskar @just-an-anxious-ball-of-flesh @mybigfatspoonielife @whore4rex @andyoufollowyourheart @lokigirlszendaya @captain-splock-you @darkangel4121

@gluwu @stormweather99 @redpool @mysanityleaving @alwayssnivellus @chickentenderx @scioness-7 @moniicarlo @nekotaetae @cjoftheriver @ladykagewaki @charlie-boo @aconstructofamind @pb-jellybeans @burningfieldof-clover @thegirlwholovedblackholes

#madame writes #commander fox x reader #commander fox x you #f!reader #the clone wars smut #commander fox smut #Fox fire #tcw fox fire

[portraitofariel]

I came across this brilliant post and it reminded me of a dream I had a while ago about the show’s future. In my dream, Carmy eventually got back together with Claire out of loneliness and a last ditch effort to make it work because he’s too broken to go after Sydney but the relationship falls apart again. The Grand Opening is a success but not enough to generate long term interest that covers overhead, and by the end of the year, The Bear runs out of money. Cicero reluctantly calls it quits, as he can’t keep loaning them money, and there’s also internal problems. The death of Marcus’ mother is so devastating that he steps down to be with his family, Nat has a difficult birth which leaves her out of commission and motherhood is exhausting.

Carmy and Sydney don’t resolve their issues but the flame within keeps going, yet they both run from their feelings even after The Bear closes. In desperate need of a life change, Carm applies to some art schools and actually gets accepted to one in Florence, Italy. Alone and more broken than ever before, he quickly starts a new life in a foreign county—mirroring his choice to leave home for Denmark. The one exception being he doesn’t tell anyone where he is; he occasionally checks in with Sugar but only tells her he’s “somewhere safe” and “not to worry about him”.

Sydney finds herself at a crossroads. She poured everything she had into The Bear and now that’s gone, she goes through a bout of depression. She still loves to cook but her drive wains, leaving her to question what’s next for her. She considers her other passions: writing, sewing, textiles, management—and after a few months of going through the motions, she thinks about maybe stepping away from cooking as well. Emmanuel supports this idea as well and encourages her to try something new, even if it’s just for a little while. He also reiterates that she didn’t fail at The Bear and that she created something truly special, even if only for a while.

Months go by and still not a word from Carmy. She talks to Nat often, even spends time with the baby, but she stopped asking about Carm months ago. She tries to pretend his disappearance doesn’t hurt but she misses him more each day. Why, she doesn’t care to know anymore. He made his choice and now she needs to make her own.

One night while having dinner with Nat and Pete, they talk about plans for the future. Nat tells Syd she remembers that navy sweater with the hand stitched embroidery at the collar and on the sleeve (2x02 ‘SYD’ sweater with green stitching). Syd mentions her love of patterns and fabrics, and she tells them she’s been hand-sewing since middle school. She always liked bespoke items and she wishes she would’ve done more with that particular skill. This segues into a conversation about how Carmy was the one who wasn’t afraid to follow his dreams when he went to Copenhagen and Nat wagers that’s probably where he is now, or back in New York.

Syd shrugs and changes the subject to travel, stating she thought about going back to New York but says it’s not far enough (Sug’s comment about Carmy possibly being there discourages her from going). Nat lightens the mood with a joke, “I don’t think a single Berzatto has been to Italy. Pete and I have always wanted to but with Benny (Benicio—their infant son), its not gonna happen any time soon”. Syd tells she went to Paris once with her dad for her 21st birthday, but always wishes they would’ve taken the train to Milan. The culture, food, fashion, and architecture resonate with her and she always wanted to experience it firsthand. Pete chimes in “You know, there’s a fashion school there: Polimoda. My brother and his girlfriend, Louisa—they live in Florence and she goes there. I can talk to Chris (his brother) and have him email you or something. He’s a nice guy.”

Syd rebuffs the idea at first, thanking him but telling him she’s not sure she’s the “fashionista type” (air-quoting with her fingers). Then Nat interjects “Oh please! Syd, you such a unique style and perspective. You might be surprised just how much you enioy stepping away from the kitchen for a while.”

“Let’s say I entertain the idea. Nat, how would I even pay for this? I mean, yeah I’ve saved up here and there but come on, Florence? I don’t see how I could afford classes and what about housing? It’s a fever dream if I’ve ever heard one.”

“Maybe you could stay with Chris and Louisa. They have a gorgeous house, they send us pictures all the time. Look-” Pete jumps up to get his laptop and shows her the photos.

Now Sydney knows she’s lost, or is drunk, if she’s considering living with strangers in a foreign country. As the night goes on, Pete reaches out to his brother and Syd finds herself dreaming of Italy after they take her home.

Two days later she gets an email from Chris and she can’t believe he contacted her. Over the next week they Skype and discuss how this would work and if she’s a good fit. Chris and Louisa say they heard amazing things about her and her work at The Bear, and they’d love to have her. She’s overwhelmed with emotion that she’s really thinking about going and after she talks to her dad, he’s cautious but amendable. He tells her she has to decide for herself what’s best and that he trusts her to make good choices, especially after her short success at The Bear. But he also tells her not to rush or pour everything into yet another venture.

But truthfully she wants to get away, and forget about how the restaurant for a while. And so after much deliberation, she decides to do it. She figures she’ll get a job cooking part-time to supplement her expenses but focus on being more than a chef. She wants to enjoy herself for once; to live for more than trying to make everything a thing.

A month later she lands in Florence and some time later while out to dinner with Louisa, she nearly passes out when she and Carmy spot each other that night.

#charged and sexy #platonic and messy #carmy x sydney #chefs kiss #syd adamu #sydcarmy #the bear #the bear hulu #you with the dark curls #you with the watercolor eyes #wet hot and sweet #carmy the bear #syd x carmy #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #the bear fx #sydney adamu