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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months

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Injured V

Alexia Putellas x Child!Reader

Summary: The next day

The day that Alba takes you is the worst day of Alexia's life which says a lot.

For a long time, the worst day of her life was tearing her ACL, the time before that was when her father died but even those moments have been taken over by Alba taking you away from her.

Alexia slept outside your bedroom door that night, adamant that you would open it when you thought everyone was in bed. She didn't have much of a plan after that apart from grabbing you before you noticed her and not letting you go ever again.

But you don't open your door until Alba arrives early the next day.

You shrug off Alexia when she tries to reach for you, whining and crying until Alba picks you up. You're still in yesterday's clothes and no matter how much Alexia begs, you don't even acknowledge that she's speaking to you.

Alba doesn't talk to her either and both sisters are caught in a standoff that forces Olga to pack your bag.

No word is spoken by either you or Alba even as Alexia rants and raves and begs until the front door swings shut behind you.

That's when she really breaks down, crumbling to the floor as she sobs.

Your bedroom door is left open and Alexia can peer inside, clearly seeing where you've destroyed things last night.

Your trains are knocked over. Your ballet pumps are strewn around the room. Your bedsheets and pillows are bundled up in your wardrobe like you slept in there last night rather than your bed.

There was a picture of you and Alexia that lived on your bedside table. You're a newborn in it, lying on Alexia's chest. The labour had been gruelling - thirteen long hours - and Alexia's face is all red. You're red too but completely content. The picture's lived there for as long as Alexia can remember until now.

It lies on the floor, the frame completely broken and unsalvageable. The picture is ruined too, a big rip right down the middle until one half features just Alexia and the other half features you.

"Ale," Olga says softly," I'm...I'm going to call you in sick, okay?"

Alexia shakes her head, wiping away her tears. "No," She insists," I'm going in to train."

"Ale-"

"No."

The radio doesn't get turned on when Alexia drives to her recovery session. She drives in silence, stewing about it all as she pulls into the car park.

It's clear to everyone that she's in a mood which is a little strange seeing as they won the Copa De La Reina last night. No one seems to want to approach.

No one except Mapi, despite Ingrid's hushed warnings.

"So, which one did she choose?"

The words shock Alexia, who nearly drops her shirt. "What?"

Mapi frowns. "Did you not let her choose this time? That's so mean, Ale. Did she at least like the one you got her?"

"Mapi, what are you talking about?"

Mapi rolls her eyes. "The train? You always let y/n choose a new train when we win a trophy. Which one was it this time? Last time I saw her she talked about wanting this fancy red one that you could take the top off to put little people in the cars. Was it stupidly expensive? Is that why you didn't let her choose?"

Alexia clenches her fist at the reminder. She can't think of the last time she bought you a new train. She used to buy one every week. Its all you ever ask for but she can't remember the last one she gave you.

Was it the green one at Christmas or the black one at new years?

No, it can't have been then because she got you a big train set before Jaume was born, wrapped up and placed in the cupboard to give to you the day of Jaume's birth.

But...

Alexia can't remember seeing it in your room this morning.

When recovery is over, she nearly tears the cupboard door off its hinges.

The present is still there, a thick layer of dust covering the pristine packaging and Alexia sobs all over again.

She's in her car before she knows and is banging on Alba's door before she can stop herself.

"Go away!" Her sister snarls.

"Let me in!"

"No! Go away!"

"I want to see her!"

"Fuck off, Alexia! And get lost! You're not coming anywhere near that little girl!"

"She's my daughter! You've kidnapped her! Move!"

Alba looks ready to throw hands again but so is Alexia. She knows that she's got a long way to go but she's got the present from Jaume's birth in the backseat and the train you told Mapi you wanted.

"Kidnapped," Alba scoffs," That's rich. You've been neglecting her! You're lucky I didn't call the police on you!"

"Watch it," Alexia snaps," This is what you wanted, wasn't it? For me to take notice? Job done! I've noticed! Give me Bambi!"

"Over my-"

Alba breaks off as the pitter-patter of little feet sound behind her. She turns, blocking Alexia from your view as you come running towards her.

"Tia! Tia!"

"Hey, bambi. What have you got there?"

"Me and you! I painted it!"

Alba smiles, gently cupping your cheeks as she presses a soft kiss to your forehead. She keeps her body between you and Alexia, desperate to make sure you don't notice.

"It's so beautiful. Why don't you go and put away your paints and then we can put it up on the fridge?"

"Okay."

You run off again and Alba goes to shut the door.

Alexia wedges her foot between it and the frame.

"I'm not leaving," She insists," Not without Bambi."

"Go back to your precious son," Alba hisses," You're not going anywhere near her."

Alexia doesn't exactly have a plan. All she wants is to grab you and take you home. She'll give you your new trains and not let you out of her sight for the rest of your life.

"Alexia Putellas Segura!"

She turns slowly to see her mother walking up the driveway, a face like thunder.

"Mama-"

"No!"

She falls silent.

"Go."

"Alba-"

"Alexia, I will not ask again. Go home to Olga and Jaume. Your presence will do Bambi no good."

Tears water in her eyes. "Mama, I'm trying. I will be better, I promise. Please."

"Alexia." Her mother's voice softens ever so slightly but it's clear she's not going to budge. "This will not be good for Bambi. Go home, reflect and we will sort out a day where you can see her again."

"I want to see her now." Her voice cracks. "Please, Mama, she's only little."

"Go home, Alexia," Eli says," Hold your son but go home and do not come back until you are invited. This is hard on you, yes, but it is much harder on your daughter. Something like this does not happen overnight."

"Mama, I will do anything. Just, please, I need to see her."

"I have already made my decision. You will not be seeing Bambi until I have been told what has happened from her mouth. You will go home and think about your actions. If I don't think your presence will help then you will not see her."

"She's a baby, Mama," Alexia sobs with no shame," I..."

"I know," Eli says," I know, Alexia but we need to start doing what is right for her, not just what is right for you. So, go home while I talk to Bambi and we will see where this goes."

Alexia sniffles and wipes her tears. "I...I have trains for her, in my car..."

"I'll give them to her."

You're sitting in front of a train set when Eli walks in.

She didn't really want to believe it when Alba called this morning, telling her that Alexia had been neglecting you. She hadn't wanted to believe it when Alba said that she had taken you away but seeing Alexia a few minutes ago had made this all clear.

"Do you have room for more trains?"

You look up. "Abuela!"

"Hola, Bambi." She sits down next to you. "I've missed you."

The look on your face is heartbreaking. You look so excited, like you can't quite believe that someone has missed you.

"Really?"

"Of course. I always miss my favourite little girl."

Your face clouds with something that Eli can't quite work out and you say softly," Mami used to call me that."

Eli's heart cracks completely at your words and she has to resist the urge to cry herself. "I hear that you are staying with your tia for a few days."

Alba hovers uncertainly nearby, shifting on her feet even though her eyes are still glued to the windows looking out on the driveway. Eli doesn't have to look to know that Alexia hasn't driven away yet.

She knows that she won't be coming in but leaving and driving back home makes it certain. Eli isn't sure that Alexia wants to admit that just yet.

You nod, looking back down at your trains. The set-up isn't as elaborate as the one you have at home but it's still quite big. You make little chugging noises with your mouth before speaking," Tia Alba says we can go to the beach tomorrow and that I don't have to go to nursery!" Your face goes cloudy again. and you mood drops "I got forgot at nursery yesterday."

Eli hums. "And how did that make you feel?"

Your bottom lip wobbles and Eli doesn't want to push but she needs to know so she can fix this. She wants this to be salvageable. She doesn't want to give Alexia hope that this can be fixed if it can't be. She doesn't want to force you to reconcile if it'll cause more harm than good.

"Mami loves Jaume," You say, face scrunching up," And Miss Olga. They're her family."

Tears spill down your cheeks.

"Your Mami loves you too," Eli promises, feeling her chest go tight," Even if she forgets."

"No, she doesn't," You shake your head," I..." You like around wildly like you're scared. "I...I love Mami but she doesn't love me."

"She does," Eli insists," You are so loved, Bambi. Your Mami is having a bit of a stumble but she does love you."

It's clear that you don't believe her.

"Mami wanted Jaume. She didn't want me."

Eli chokes out a breath. "Who told you that?! Bambi, who said that to you?!"

Your conception was always a difficult subject to breach. Alexia had gotten drunk, slept with someone and woke up with no memory of the experience. She ended up pregnant though, with you.

It wasn't something that they ever told you. All you had ever been told was that you were loved. No one ever wanted to label you as a mistake or unwanted.

It was one of Alexia's deepest shames. She'd always told you that she chose your daddy, that she spent hours and hours choosing the perfect one. She had never wanted to tell you that you were an accident no matter how many times Eli had told her you would find out one day.

To you, you were chosen. Alexia chose to have you, to make you a part of her life. To you, you and Jaume have the same daddy because Alexia chose yours.

Eli should have known this would come out eventually, no matter what Alexia had told her.

More tears flow down your cheeks.

"Was an accident," You sniffle," Didn't mean to listen in. Was meant to be sleeping. Mami was talking to her friends-"

"What did Alexia say, bambi?" Alba's voice is harsh and Eli could never imagine this is what her family would come to.

Two sisters on warring sides and one little girl used as the rope in this tug of war.

"Said that Jaume was planned. Does that mean I wasn't? That I wasn't wanted like him?"

"I'm going to kill her," Alba declares. If she squints, she can just make out Alexia sobbing into her steering wheel. "I'm going to kill her."

"Alba," Eli says," Calm down. Go and make some snacks but do not attack your sister."

"Abuela? Does that mean Mami didn't want me?"

Eli doesn't want to have this conversation. She's never wanted to have this conversation, to have you question your position in this family. She wants to tell you that just because you weren't planned doesn't mean that you weren't wanted. She wants to tell you that you were so wanted by everyone in this room the moment they found out about you.

But, somehow, she doesn't think that will help.

What you want is assurance from Alexia but Eli doesn't trust her eldest daughter with you right now.

It's a horrible thing to admit but it's so easy to see that Alexia adores Jaume. It has always been a little harder to see Alexia's love for you.

Eli doesn't trust Alexia with you in the slightest and she hates that. She hates how splintered her family has become. She can hear Alba pacing in the kitchen and she can make out Alexia still in the driveway, sobbing.

"Your Mami..." She sighs. "I wanted you and your Tia Alba wanted you. You are so loved and so wanted by everyone in the family, Bambi. Do you trust me?"

You nod.

"I'm going to be staying with you and your Tia for a few days and I'm going to make everything better."

"Is Mami and Miss Olga and baby Jaume coming over?"

"Do you want them to?"

"No."

"Then they won't. Your Mami did give me something to give to you, though. They're presents from her."

"Why?"

Eli doesn't want to think about this. She doesn't want to think about why you're even questioning Alexia giving you presents. Every weekend at the end of Alexia's matches, she used to take you to the model train store near your house.

Eli used to be forced to go too and Alexia would let you pick out a new train simply as a present, a gift for being her favourite girl in the entire world.

You were singlehandedly keeping that store in business and the old man that ran it even kept it open late if the match ran over. It used to be your favourite time of the week.

If you're asking her why you're getting presents all of a sudden, Eli doesn't want to think about how long it's been since you must have set foot in that store.

Her voice cracks. "Because you're her favourite girl in the entire world."

She pushes them both towards you.

One of them is covered in wrapping paper so Eli can't tell what it is but she recognises the second one.

It's a red train that you'd been eyeing up since the last time Eli went to the train store with you and your Mami almost a whole year ago. It's big and comes with its own train track and little people.

It's based on those fancy trains that serve afternoon tea and cakes because each of the train cars can have their roofs taken off to place the little people figures inside to enjoy their lunches.

It's stupidly expensive, seven-hundred euros and Eli remembers you telling her that Alexia had promised it to you for your birthday. But your birthday came and went a month ago so to see it now means you didn't get it then.

You don't reach out to tear off the wrapping paper of the first present but you do tentatively touch the front of the box of the train you've been begging for.

More tears then Eli thought possible drops down your cheeks.

"I don't want it," You say eventually," I don't want them, Abuela. I don't!"

"Okay, okay," Eli hushes you softly," I'll take them away, Bambi."

You climb into her lap and sob and Eli wants nothing more than to heal all your pain and stop this but even that sounds too difficult to do. She'd hoped that this was all some big understanding but it's clear that this runs deep, that this isn't something that can be fixed quite so easily.

It's clear that Alba has made the right choice though, to take you away from Alexia and the mess of your home.

Eli had been worried when Alexia had named her as your godmother but it was clearly the right decision. She doesn't want to think about what could have happened if you had been left there any longer.

"Abuela?" You say and the next words out of your mouth are the worst things Eli has ever heard," Do you think Mami would be happier if she didn't have me?"

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #woso community #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso

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loveisanimaginarydagger3000 · 6 months

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Kinkmas (10)- Let It Snow

Natasha X Reader 18+

Summary: When a mission on Christmas Eve goes wrong and leaves you and Natasha stranded in a random cabin in the woods, you can’t help but be disappointed at the way you were going to spend your first Christmas together. Natasha, however, shows you that it’s not so bad being stuck together.

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of Missions, Brief Angst(?), Fluff, Teasing, Smut, Dom Reader/Sub Natasha, Soft Smut, Fingering, Oral Sex, Begging

Kinkmas Masterlist

Your gaze was firmly locked on the fire that crackled in front of you, eyes taking in every little flame that flickered and wavered, the orange hue illuminating the abandoned cabin the two of you had found, the warmth desperately needed.

Your body was pressed up against the redhead’s, front flush against her back in an attempt to keep her warm, your clothes draped over old furniture near the fireplace in hopes of drying it off, the fabric soaked as you trudged through the blizzard that occurred outside as you seeked refuge in the abandoned cabin. The two of you immediately searched for sheets to wrap up in, needing to take off the wet clothing and make a fire to prevent hypothermia, the two of you luckily trained to adapt in these situations.

So here you were, the two of you locked in an embrace in front of a fire, bodies wrapped up in old cotton sheets as your arms snaked around her middle, head resting atop of hers as you felt her shiver slightly, your eyes still transfixed on the fire in front of you both, lost in thought.

“Detka?” Natasha hummed softly, trying her best to read your body language and lack of communication as you sat silently behind her, your arms a little tense around her waist, legs seemingly unable to remain still as you bounced one of them slightly, nerves and discomfort evident in your features. She tilts her head back slightly, causing yours to move from her silky locks, eyes blinking as you look away from the fire to her mesmerising green, snapping yourself back to reality.

“Are you alright?” you ask as she looks at you curiously, gaze wandering over your features as she takes in your slightly red cheeks, the tip of your nose also red from the cold weather you’d previously endured, gaze lifting to the subtle way you scrunch your eyebrows, worry and confusion creeping onto your face.

“I’m fine,” she whispers back, honesty lacing her tone making your brows furrow a little more, confused as to why she was looking at you in that way, her fingers trailing down your forearms and down to your fingers, interlocking them softly, intimately, as she made sure you were alright, not used to seeing you like this after a mission. “Are you alright?” she asked cautiously, not quite sure as to what had caused this unusual mood from you, your gaze flickering away from hers nervously, the action not being missed by the spy. Something was definitely wrong.

“I’m fine, love,” you murmur back, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head, listening to the whistling wind outside and for anything or anyone else, your body still on edge from the mission, adrenaline still flowing throughout your body as you tried to remain calm and collected, pushing your slight paranoia to the side.

“You’re an awful liar, Detka,” she teases softly to lighten the mood, turning around in your arms and prompting you to let her hands go, your eyes naturally drifting down to the exposed skin that you could see before snapping back up to her eyes, the small smirk toying at the corner of her lips indicating she saw your gaze, cheeks tinting a darker shade. “What’s wrong?” she asks, fingers moving to play with the baby strands at the back of your neck as she straddled your lap, your mind trying to remember how to function with her sat on top of you like that, the dark spiral of thoughts about the mission seeming to fade from your mind.

“I…” you start but the raise of her brow and the look in her eyes has you pausing in your lie, a sigh of defeat leaving you as you snake your arms around her once again, wanting to pull her impossibly closer. “I don’t want to be here,” you mutter as your head rests against her shoulder, her fingers sliding up into your hair and scratching at your scalp, lulling you into a more relaxed state, body still a little tense though.

“Surely I’m not that bad as company,” she whispers once again with a slight teasing tone, your lips naturally pulling into a smile at her actions and words, her ability to calm you something you’ve always appreciated. “Why don’t you want to be here?” she asks, her tone soft and curious, waiting for you to answer and help her solve the mystery of your current mood.

“Because it’s Christmas Eve Nat,” you say, a little annoyance in your tone that wasn’t directed at her, more the Hydra agents that ruined your mission and made you miss your ticket out of the snowy terrain. Her green softened at your tone, her mouth parting a little, having thought you didn’t want to do anything special for Christmas. “I just- I just want to be home, with the team, with you,” you explain, feeling rather stupid for ranting, the secret plans you had going to waste, “Instead, I’m here, in this freezing cabin not knowing when we’re going to leave, if we’re safe. What if one of the Hydra agents followed us? What if-”

“Hey,” she says, cold fingertips cupping your cheeks and guiding you to look up into her green, her fingers brushing over your warm skin softly. “Don’t go down the spiral of what ifs,” she murmurs gently, knowing it was the worst thing to do after a mission, your eyes trained on hers, letting the emerald soothe you. “We’re safe and we’re together, just focus on that for the moment Detka,” her voice was wrapped in a comforting tone, your lips forming a small smile at the tender one she offers you, lips titling to briefly meet hers.

“I know but,” you trail off, a hint of doubt still gnawing at the back of your mind, “I think I’m going to check outside once more,” you say, letting out a heavy sigh as you go to move, her body on top of yours preventing you, her hands moving to your shoulders, firmly keeping you still.

“You’re not going outside to check Detka, we’re safe, I promise you,” her words are slow and laced with confidence and care, trying to emphasise to you her point, wanting you to stop worrying. “Plus, the weather outside is frightful, and the fire is so delightful,” she sings softly, a huff of laughter escaping you as you cast your gaze back up into her alluring green, unable to stop the small smile creeping onto your lips as you shake your head at her antics.

“Nat,” you whined a little, her simply chuckling softly, fingers trailing along your bare shoulders, dipping lower behind your back to lift the sheet back over you.

“You’re the one who mentioned Christmas,” she teases, lips pecking yours intimately as you melt against her body, arms wrapping back around her body and caressing her perfectly sculpted curves. “Promise me you’ll stop worrying, Detka,” she whispers as her forehead leans against yours, your eyes fluttering shut as you try your best to forget about the haunting mission, your mind focussing on her and only her.

“Ok,” you murmur back, tilting your head to catch her lips, claiming them briefly and further allowing you to delve into the thoughts about her.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted Christmas to be special,” she murmurs after a comfortable silence, your head pulling back from hers to look into her apologetic green, noticing each and every swirl of emerald overflowing with love. The two of you had never mentioned anything about the festive season so Natasha naturally assumed you weren’t a massive fan of it, your immediate response to shut anything down about it her biggest indicator.

“It’s ok,” you mumble but Natasha gathers that you don’t truly mean it, “It just means my surprise plan can’t fail because it can’t happen,” you joke, trying to make yourself feel a little better as the last few weeks of planning a surprise without her, the infamous Black Widow, figuring it out was difficult and involved a lot of effort on your behalf.

“You planned something?” she asks, her head tilting curiously making you smile sheepishly, an excitement and flood of warmth filling her at your thoughtfulness.

“Maybe,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders innocently to tease her, knowing you were going to spill everything to her as you’d been waiting ages to see her reaction to it, it just sadly wasn’t going to be the way you wanted it to be.

“Tell me all about it, Detka,” she encourages, fingers returning to the back of your neck, her eyes slowly drifting across your features as you both admire one another, your thoughts successfully straying away from the mission entirely.

“The first step was to bring you breakfast in bed,” you explain, watching how her eyes soften as you continue, “I persuaded Wanda into helping me learn how to make syrniki,” the dish a traditional Russian cheese pancake you overheard Nat talking about once, saying how she hadn’t had them for years and craved them. Natasha’s heart was unable to process the overwhelming feeling of love bubbling in her chest, warmth enveloping her entirely as she can’t help but gaze at your wide smile, excitement replacing the worry in your eyes.

“Syrniki,” she corrects softly, your pronunciation a little off making you blush a little, remembering Wanda’s teasing comments on your pronunciation as you somehow kept adding syllables.

“Syrniki,” you try again, her smile growing a little wider as you say it correctly, your fingers trailing higher up on her back and tracing over the various muscles that twitched under your slightly cold fingertips, your mind thinking through rest of the plan, deciding on what to tell her. “I’d bring you those and traditional Russian tea before we go into the living area for a surprise,” your tone growing more excited, her brow raising expectantly at your words.

“Surprise?” She asks amused, a hint of curiosity lacing her tone as your genuine smile makes her ponder what it could be, the spy usually able to figure out what you were hiding. “I assume you’re not going to tell me then,” she whispers, leaning down briefly to let her lips ghost yours as you scrunch your nose cutely at her antics, knowing how she was going to try and trick you into giving her what she wanted.

“Nope,” you say while popping the ‘p’, claiming her lips cheekily as she can’t help but roll her eyes at you playfully, “You can interrogate me all you want, I’m not spoiling this one,” you murmur against her lips as she brushes hers over yours once again, her gentle breath caressing your mouth.

“Even if I use my very specific skill set on you?” she teases, tone dropping an octave as you merely chuckle at her seductive words, not wanting to give in despite the warmth pooling between your thighs.

“Nope,” you repeat, popping the ‘p’ once again to further torment her, her huffing a laugh out against you before melting further against your body, arching her back slightly to press further into your toned and warm body. “And then after the surprise,” you say, exaggerating the word to tease her even more, the surprise being a visit from Yelena as Natasha had struggled to locate her sister after the two of them met to save the Widows from the Red Room, having mentioned it to you multiple times how she wished to see the blonde again. “It’s present time,” you say, grin somehow growing as you think about the domestic scene of the whole team just spending time together, trying to be normal instead of heroes of the world for a moment and relax with one another. After that it was going to be the plan Natasha already knew with Tony and Clint bringing their children around, everyone in charge of helping out with the various bundles of joy and dinner Wanda was in charge of, the redhead excited to spend time with the mini Bartons as always. “Then, later on after dinner and the children have gone to bed, I was hoping to give you another present,” you murmur, a hint of suggestiveness underlying your words as her smile turns into a sultry smirk, her brow raising a little once again as you sit up straighter, letting your lips brush over hers again while your arm wraps around her waist, Natasha welcoming your subtle advances.

“Another present huh?” she sighs out as you lift her off your lap and flip the two of you around, gently laying her down on the old bear rug, the sheet sprawling behind her and accommodating the red locks that cascade down onto the cream material. “What does this present entail?” she softly murmurs as her fingers guide your head down to meet her lips, claiming them softly as her legs wrap around your waist, encouraging you to press your body into hers, one of your hands bracing you above her body and the other cupping her cheek, deepening the soft kiss.

“It involves me showing my girlfriend how much I love her,” you rasp out into a kiss, tongue effortlessly sliding into her mouth, the two of you fighting a little for dominance as the kiss gradually grows more intense and messy, the redhead eventually caving and giving in to your wet and wanting mouth, a small moan leaving her. Your lips tug into a smirk as she lets you take control, your mind fogging with desire as you pull back from the passionate kiss, panting for breath as a string of saliva connects your lips, her tilting her head back up to crash her lips back to yours, a sudden intensity and lust taking over you as your bare bodies press into each other, her nails scratching down your back satisfyingly. “How much I love her beauty,” you husk out, trailing your kisses along her sharp jawline, nipping occasionally to watch the creamy skin tint red momentarily, soft gasps leaving her at every teasing touch, her head lolling back and encouraging you to go lower. “How much I love her moans,” you whisper, mouth at the shell of her ear, a small groan leaving her as your hand drifts lower, nail scratching down her abdomen, feeling her muscles twitch and tense under your sinful touch, the pad of your finger resting at her hip bone, tracing idle patterns to make her head spin with arousal. “The taste of her on my tongue,” your tone sultry as you swipe your finger through her folds teasingly, coating your digit in the arousal that’s pooling between her thighs, Natasha’s heart pounding against her ribcage as arousal has consumed her sane thoughts, her eyes meeting yours and overwhelmed by the sheer amount of love in them, your enamoured gaze going straight to her core.

“Detka,” she sensually sighs out, your lips finding hers once again, pouring all your emotions into it as her back arches off the sheet slightly, giving you the space to slide your hand more comfortably between your bodies, your finger brushing over her clit and earning a soft moan in response, the sound causing a throb between your thighs. You drag your finger through her slick, spreading it around her wet sex as she moans once again, your head spinning with the thought of her as you work her up slowly, your lips a contrast to your steady pace as the two of you refuse to part, a mischievous idea entering your mind, your teeth gently dragging her lower lip down before releasing it, casting your gaze to her eyes, enticing her emerald to stay trained on you.

“It’s just a shame it’s not Christmas yet,” you murmur teasingly against her lips, pulling away from her body as far as you can before her legs instinctively wrap back around your body, her strong thighs effortlessly pulling you back into her.

“It’s Christmas somewhere in the world right now,” she reasons while pulling you by your shoulders back down, a chuckle leaving you as you return your hand to between her thighs, her teeth warningly nipping your lower lip at your playful actions. “Please,” she whispers against your lips and you can’t help but smile smugly at the pleading tone to her voice, her hand wrapping around your wrist and silently requesting you to give her what she desperately wants.

You move your finger back through the abundance of arousal that’s pooled between her thighs, sliding your finger to her clit and slowly circling it to begin with, your mouth claiming her lips once again, addicted to her soft, plump ones while her hands bury themselves into your hair, keeping you as close as possible. As you touch grows more confident and firmer, moans spilling from her lips and her hips rolling against your hand, you sigh into her welcoming mouth, the kiss that was feverish and teasingly full of tongue breaking off as she struggles to reciprocate it, your mouth descending down her jaw and the column of her throat, teeth scraping against the warm skin tauntingly.

You can feel the vibrations of her muffling a moan when you slide your finger down to her entrance, teasingly thrusting it in before sliding it out, coaxing her to chase your finger with her hips as she bucks against you, the redhead able to feel you smirking against her skin.

“I want to hear you,” you mumble against her neck as you continue in your journey down her body, a desperate sigh leaving her as you enjoy watching her give you control, the power going a little to your head. “You’ve got to tell me if you want something,” you tease, lips meeting the burning skin of her shoulder, your touch driving her delirious with desire as you toy with her body in all the right ways, every brief touch sending heat between her thighs, your finger coated in her arousal.

“Detka,” she groans, a little reluctant to beg just yet, your smirk growing wider as her body shows her desperation, your mind savouring this side of her as it was rare she’d let you be so in control of her body. “I…” She trails off as your mouth ghosts over her sensitive chest, tongue flicking over her nipple tauntingly, revelling in how she arches her back into your touch, fingers tightening their grip in your hair.

“You what, love? You need to use your words for me,” your words and dominant tone makes Natasha’s composure crack, an unrestricted moan leaving her lips as she gives in to submission, your lips pressing a gentle kiss to each of her breasts, your finger continuing to tease her entrance, waiting for her to tell you what she wants.

“I need you,” she whimpers out ever so quietly, eyes squeezed shut as she focuses on the way your mouth kisses everywhere but where she wants you at her chest, lips peppering hot, open-mouthed kisses along her soft skin. “Fuck me…Please,” she pleads, your head leaving her chest and claiming her lips passionately, your finger finally sliding into her earning a broken moan, pleasure jolting through her body.

“That’s it,” you praise as she moans into your eager mouth before you part from her mouth once again, letting the room fill with the sinful sounds that spill from her lips and the wet sound of your finger sliding into her dripping core at a torturous pace.

“Please Detka, Fuck,” she groans when you kiss lower down her body, teeth nipping at her hip bone as you slide your finger back in slowly, purposely taking your time with her as you intended to drive her mad with your touch, her eyes fluttering open and casting down to where you were, meeting your enamoured gaze as you curl your digit inside her, the redhead’s mouth parting at the feeling. “Shit, just like that, please do that again,” she practically begged as you thrust your finger back in, hitting her sweet spot perfectly while heat floods through you at the sound of her desperate voice.

“Do you need more, love?” You mumble against her skin as your mouth hovers over her intoxicating core, wanting to hear how desperate she is for you, your finger persisting with your deliberately slow pace, gradually building the pleasure within her as her hips gently rock against your hand, pleasure building at the pit of her stomach.

“Please,” is all she moans back in response, your resolve crumbling, unable to resist her anymore as your mouth licks a stripe up her core, moans escaping you both at the feeling.

Your wet and warm mouth sparks pleasure and delirium within her, her hips bucking up against you as you nuzzle your face closer, desperate to get a better taste of her heavenly arousal on your tongue, intending to show her exactly how much you love her.

The sound of her lewd moans and the taste of her on your tongue makes you lightheaded with the thought of her, addicted and constantly craving more of her as your tongue swipes through her folds, pleasure flooding through her body as you thrust your fingers into her faster, forgoing with anymore teasing as you couldn’t handle anymore, never mind her.

Her fingers tighten once again in your hair, nails scratching your scalp to create a dull pain while your hands wrap around her thighs, pulling her impossibly closer as you get lost within her, lips wrapping around her clit and sucking firmly as you focussed on every little reaction she offered you. You longed to forever remember the desperate moan that was ripped from the back of her throat at the way your finger curled and mouth sucked on her at the same time, the hitch of her breath as your tongue swirled around her clit, the way her body twitched as pleasure took over her, swiftly pushing her towards her release. You needed to remember it all.

Her hips soon started to roll against your mouth, coating your chin in her slick as your tongue lapped at her clit, alternating between sucking firmly and swirling your tongue around her, sinful sounds spilling from her lips as her body started to tremble in your grasp, her moans growing louder at you slide in another finger, stretching her out beautifully.

“Detka, I- Please,” are the only words that she can manage as one of her hands shoot down to grip the sheet beneath her, knuckles bleeding white whilst her other one persists in keeping your head between her thighs, needing you to push her over the edge. “Please don’t stop,” she groans as you curl both of your fingers against her sweet spot, her vision almost blurring at the overwhelming feeling of love and pleasure coursing through her body, your body desperate to watch her fall apart at your touch.

“Look at me,” you rasp out against her core, the vibrations from your words causing her hips to buck against you harder, a whimper leaving her at your tone. When her eyes stay squeezed shut due to the euphoria flooding through her, you ask her again, your tone dropping an octave to gain her attention, “Look at me, Love,” you repeat, lust and desire swirling in your eyes at you peer up at her between her legs, her body waiting for you to let it experience the wave of pleasure. When her emerald caught yours, it was like time froze for a moment, the way each swirl of green that were laced with desperation stared at you had you forgetting about everything else in the world but her. Natasha Romanoff, the Black Widow, needed you to make her come, to fall apart in your arms. Fuck you don’t think you’d ever be able to get the sight out of your mind.

“Detka,” she moaned and you were gone at her pleading tone, a moan spilling from your lips as you curled your fingers perfectly inside her, tongue still lapping at her clit.

“Come for me,” you murmur against her, keeping your eyes on hers as you watch them roll to the back of her head momentarily, her head lolling back and showing off her defined jawline as her hips stutter against your face, body tensing. A broken moan escapes her at the amount of pleasure that floods through her, her fingers almost tearing through the sheet as she lifts it to her mouth, trying to muffle the small scream of your name as her release crashes through her.

Your lips pepper soft kisses against her inner thighs as she attempts to recover, your fingers tracing random patterns against her skin as you wait for her to look back down at you, your eyes admiring her, in awe of her beauty as she lays beneath you, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Soft pants spill from her lips as she moves her fingers in your hair, pulling you back up so you were hovering over her body, hand quickly wiping the remnants of her arousal off your lower face before kissing her softly, her arms wrapping around your body, wanting to keep you as close as possible, her red locks tickling your cheek as you press another kiss to her forehead, a soft chuckle leaving her.

“God you’re incredible,” she mutters, speaking her thoughts involuntary making you laugh as you roll onto your side, pulling her naked body into yours, wrapping the sheet back around the two of you as the fire crackles in the background, the warmth a gentle reminder of your situation, not that you minded anymore. You were with her, that’s all that mattered.

Upon feeling you smile smugly against the top of her head she moves so she’s hiding her face at the crook of your neck, rolling her eyes at your antics as she can picture the look on your face right now.

“Don’t even,” she mumbles, your body shaking a little as you try to stifle your laugh, unable to express the amount of joy that you were feeling.

“I won’t,” you whisper back, giving in this once as you didn’t want to ruin the tranquil atmosphere, her fingers travelling up and down your back soothingly, her gentle breath tickling your skin. “Thank you for distracting me earlier,” you murmur, truly grateful for her always being able to care for you, the simple act of asking you about your Christmas plans easing the worry that built inside you. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you say whilst pressing a kiss to her silky locks, her smile growing at your soft words, a hint of mischief appearing on her face.

“You'd probably still be staring at that fire,” she mutters playfully, another laugh escaping you as your heart melts in your chest, your nose pressing against her hair further and relishing in the smell of her shampoo, losing yourself in the domestic moment with her.

“Shush,” you mutter out in faux annoyance, the redhead smiling against your skin and nuzzling closer to your warmth, a relaxed sigh escaping her. “Merry Christmas Nat,” you murmur after a while, the comfortable silence lulling the both of you to sleep, your arms securely wrapped around her middle, the two of you locked in a tender embrace.

“Merry Christmas Detka,” she murmurs back, kissing your skin softly, unable to comprehend the love she has for you as the snow outside continues to fall gracefully from the sky, showing no signs of stopping.

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periprose · 11 months

Text

Fly Away

Michael Berzatto x Reader

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

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

Word count: 11k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish you could be there for him too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How have you–”

“How’s law sch–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Business administration specialist.”

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

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

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

“Acquaintances.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hubris.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You might never stand out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.

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

“Yeah, Birdie?”

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, Birdie–”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Were you too much for him? Maybe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael throws the third fork.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hope next Christmas will be better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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rakurairagnarok · 6 months

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I dedicate this story to my good friend and writing buddy @idesofrevolution. Merry Christmas buddy and please PLEASE Enjoy. Happy holidays to everyone and Happy TF's.

A Green Christmas

`What!!`

Ryan screamed at the news.

You sighed.

´I have no choice, my family has to move, and I have to go as well, I don´t have any accommodation here.´

Ryan grumbled. `Bro... you can´t leave me man... you´re my best bud.´

You grimaced. Your friend had been acting weird lately. You used to be super close, and you honestly still are, but your interests had began to shift. You used to play games, watch cartoons and study together, but lately Ryan had become absent from you life. He had been ´busy´ with other things but his grades had been plummeting and he had picked up smoking. Ryan had no idea you knew this, but you had seen the pictures from your classmates. His wardrobe had changed too. Before he would wear shirts and khakis, now its oversized shirts and hoodies. He started wearing contacts as well, which, to be honest, was a great look for him, he looked very handsome without glasses. His lingo had switched as well. No more academic jargon. Just simple sentences, which almost always had at least one bro in them.

`Look Ryan, I really am sorry, but I just can´t make this work´

Your family was moving, and while you were a college student, who by all accounts should have received some form of scholarship due to your amazing grades, you never did. The truth however, was that you wanted to move. The alienating feeling you got from your former best friend broke something in you, and you had to put some distance between eachother. You could easily apply for the on-campus dormitories but you just couldn`t bear staying near the now almost stranger.

`Look you´d better go, I want to be home before Christmas and I still have a lot of packing to do.'

Ryan sighed and left. After closing the door behind him, You let out a grunt.

"Why does it have to be this way! What happend to him?"

Reluctantly you began packing. Your father would come and get you and your things on Christmas eve, so you had your work cut out for you. You were currently staying Ryan, but this had always been a temporary solution. Ryan's landlord didn't want two friends staying together only couples or families. Ryan had become quite open to you about his sexuality. He had told you he was bisexual and that he could always tell the landlord the two of you were dating, but you had declined. You had a hard enough time not getting picked on. If word would get out that you two were dating, you would not be able to survive. What Ryan didn't know is that you were in fact also bisexual. You really liked girls but men really were where you got your satisfaction. From porn that is, because you were still a virgin. You grew up in a strict Christian household, with a Father from the south. Your parents would never approve and they were the reason you didn't have to work, so coming out was never an option.

A loud knock shook you from your deep train of thought. You opened the door and Ryan was standing right there, smiling.

"Steven, can we talk bro?"

"Ryan, I told you. I need to pack for..."

"Please, just for a little while."

"...Fine..."

Ryan walked in and sat down on your bed.

"Look man... I've been thinking... I need to be honest with you about something."

You looked at your former best friend with confusion. He had been so dominant and confident these last few weeks, and all of a sudden he looked shy and insecure.

"I... I picked up smoking... and... not just cigarettes. Weed too"

You sighed.

"I know Ryan, I have seen you. Don't worry, it's whatever... Your body, your choice."

Ryan smiled.

"Yeah for reallll broo but, I wanted to ask you a favor."

"What is it?" You asked, slightly impatient.

"Come sit down first" Ryan had this shit eating grin on his face, his perfect white teeth on display. Wait that doesn't sound right. he had braces right?

Because you took so long, Ryan grabbed your arm and pulled you onto the bed, right next to him.

"What the hell man!" You exclaimed.

He quickly wraps an arm around your shoulders, his musky scent drilling into your nose, and holds something up to your face.

"I really, really want to smoke this with you man. Like dying wish and shit."

You look down and see a blunt in between his fingers.

"I don't smoke Ryan, you know this" You point out.

" Just one hit bro, that's all, I won't tell anyone, you don't have to smoke any more, just humor me with this man."

You took a deep breath and wanted to decline, but then something clicked.

"You know what. Sure."

Ryan's grin widened. 'Let's fucking go bro!!!" He quickly grabbed a lighter, and lit the blunt.

He took the first hit, blowing the smoke right into your face, the fumes invading your nose and throat, leaving you gasping for air.

"Sorry there bro, just wanted to give you a little taste."

"I'm only taking one hit bro... fuck" Your eyes widen not only did you just curse, something which you rarely do, you also just used bro in your sentence. Hoping he didn't notice you hold out your hand to take the blunt.

Ryan, who's grinning from ear to ear, hands you the blunt, and you quickly take a hit. You deeply inhale, feeling the smoke fill your lungs and the weed invade your brain. A single hit, and you can almost feel your brain stopping.

"W...whaaat the fuuuuuck" You mumble. Your jaw slacks a bit as the smoke escapes from your lips.

"You gonna take that hit or not bro?" Ryan asked with a sly grin on his face.

"Huh didn't I just?'' You asked confused.

"Bro are you already tripping? I just blew some smoke in your face man, thats all. Now come on bro, you promised."

You took a hit, taking a deep breath, feeling the smoke fill your lungs, and your whole body. Slowly blowing out you feel constricted. You look down to see your buttoned up shirt bulging. You tug on it a bit, and it flies open, revealing a chiseled abdomen and two meaty pecs.

"Brooo wat the fahk' You mumble. "My chest is so big... what the hell"

"Yeah bro I know right. I love that strain. Made me who I am today" Ryan smirks as he takes off his hoodie showing his massive arms and chest.

You look in awe as he stretches a bit, his smooth torso , and bulging muscles on display. He drops his sweats, showing off a massive bulge in his white briefs as he looks at you and smirks.

"Wanna take another hit bro?"

Before he even finished his sentence the blunt was back in your mouth, filling you up with even more smoke. You look down and begin to giggle as you bounce your growing pecs.

"Huhuhu broo they are so bigg... what the shit..." You say as a familiar musk begins radiating from your growing body.

Ryan smiles back.

"Yeah bro you're getting so fuckin huge. You're so hot"

You look at him with a flushed face.

"What... did you say?"

"You're hot. You look amazing."

"Thanks..." You can't help but blush, seeing as he himself is a fucking model.

"You're really hot yourself" You say with a beetred face

Ryan stops smiling and looks at you. He sits down and looks you in the eyes.

"I don't want you to go Stevey. I love you..."

Your eyes widen at the words, and before you know it, his lips get pressed against yours. Before you can react he pushes his tongue into your mouth, and a torrent of smoke follows suit. It's almost as if hes blowing you up, and it feels that way too, Your muscles getting bigger, your mind hazier, and your dick... well...

You manage to push away and look at him.

"Ry... I ... "

"yeah?"

"I think... no ... I know... I love you too man"

Ryan signature shit eating grin flies back onto his face.

"Fuck yeah bro!!"

A sheepish smile creeps onto your face as you grab the blunt from his fingers, taking a massive hit before grabbing his neck and blowing the smoke into his mouth.

"You're so sexy." You say as he blows the smoke back into your face.

"What about you then, such a fucking cute stud you are"

The two of you continue laughing, finishing the blunt before crawling into each others arms.

You text your dad that he doesn't have to come get you anymore, as you will be staying with your boyfriend, and promptly block him afterwards.

You nuzzled up to your boyfriends pit and took a deep breath. It smelled amazing and it bricked you up knowing you smell the same.

This will be a pretty special Christmas.

__________________________________________________________

Happy Holidays Everyone!!!! Feel free to send in some asks or order something at Rakurai Inc.!!!

#transformation #male muscle growth #rakurai #gay tf #male transformation #dumbing down #blunt #stoner #gift #bisexual #coming out #musk

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prythianpages · 6 months

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Witch! Reader x Azriel | headcanons

Merry Christmas Eve and Happy Holidays! Here are just some headcanons of witch reader and Az🥰 It's my first time making one of these.

this is based off of my dandelion series. you can find the masterlist for it [here]

warnings: fluff, implied smut

Azriel shows up to your apartment to take you out on your first date and he's extremely nervous because he never thought he would get this far and he doesn't want to mess up.

You find it entirely endearing because you can sense that he's not the type to be nervous, even more so when you notice his hand is slightly sweaty in yours. You don't mind at all.

Azriel spends every night at your place and realizes he no longer needs your sleep potion. He only needs you in his arms.

The only time he doesn't stay over is when he's out on a mission.

He slowly starts to leave things here and there until he's completely moved in.

Your cat, which is named Binx hocus pocus referencelol, is excited to have a another living being in your home besides the big spider that lives in the corner of your sitting room that you were too nice to rehome when you first spotted it.

Az is at first startled by it but then you're telling him the spider's name is Pearl and the way you speak of it with such affection makes him smile and he accepts it wholeheartedly, even though he finds it slightly creepy, because he loves you

Binx loves Azriel and his shadows. A little bit too much because he initially mistakes the dark tendrils as a toy and accidentally scratches your mate's back in the process of chasing them.

It's all okay because it's nothing a little calendula and chamomile can't help fix. It also gives for the perfect excuse to have the feel of his mate's hands brushing and rubbing against his back

Despite your deep attraction for one another, you decide to wait to be intimate with one another until you're ready to accept the bond.

Even though Azriel makes it really hard for you when he takes you training with him and all you can do is watch as his sweat makes his bare chest glisten deliciously while he duels with Cassian.

He tries to teach you some self defense moves but you're often too distracted to listen, which makes Nesta laugh.

As the two of you get to know one another more, you find yourself falling more and more in love with Azriel.

He's sitting on your couch, sharpening his knives and you're seated on the floor in front of your coffee table immersed into your spell book.

Your hand glows as you beckon your magic to find a particular spell and as your eyes take in the words on the book, you find yourself turning to Azriel with a smile.

"I'm ready," you tell him and let out a squeal as he drops what he's doing to pull you into his arms and kiss you. He's too engrossed in the way your lips feel against his to notice the way you use your magic to bookmark the page you were on before closing it shut.

Azriel doesn't care what you make for him but you do. You want it to be special and when you suggest a midnight picnic in that field of dandelions on the night of a full moon which is strangely specific but he's too happy to question it, he grants you your wish

"Wait," you tell him before he's about to take a bite of the food you made just for him. "I have something for you."

You're holding out a gemstone to him. It's a rich tapestry of green that dances with life, releasing a radiance of emerald enchantment. It reminds him of the green glow of your magic.

but it's not just an emerald. It's a talisman. It's your heart and when you tell him, you can't help but giggle at the mix of emotions expressed on his face.

you explain to him that it's not your literal heart but it may as well be because that emerald is tethered to your heart and if he accepts it, your heart will be bound to him forever and some of your magic may transfer over to him.

A witch's heart is a precious and powerful thing. Azriel knows this because he's heard Amren mention it once.

Some men have died seeking for it, some men have even gone to war for it and you've heard the horrors of your fellow sisters losing their magic and in the worst cases dying because they were tricked into giving their hearts to undeserving men.

But you trust Azriel.

The mating bond that will bind you together was more than enough for him but there you are, willing to give your heart wholeheartedly to him and he accepts it, promising to keep it safe.

He only takes a couple of bites before he's prancing on you and you're protesting--"Hey! I spent all morning make that--oh!"

your protest dies at your throat and a moan slips out as you feel his heated touch on your skin and lips against your neck.

"I promise I'll make up for it," he breathes against your neck and he does.

He makes love to you in that field of dandelions under the full moon, binding the spell that tethers your heart to him and claiming you as his and only his.

Accepting the mating bond send you two into a frenzy, where you are overcome with an insatiable thirst for one another. Let's just say your apothecary shops remains closed for the following week and the inner circle knows to keep their distance (:

Azriel keeps the emerald you gave him in the chest pocket of his leathers because he wants to have you with him at all times.

When he's away on a mission and has to spend the night away from you, he'll pull it out. It glows under his touch, humming with your magic that tells him that you're thinking of him just as much as he's thinking of you.

Your first outing as a mated couple with the inner circle is at Rita's. Azriel doesn't want to go but you're so excited to spend time with Feyre and the others and he can't say no to you. you can read about that here

On your first anniversary, he brings you a bouquet of dandelions from the meadow and makes it a point to gift you one every year.

He happily joins you on your walks with natures, smiling as he listens to you go on and on about the beauty of it all. But he thinks the true beauty is you.

Even when your eyes darken as you call upon your magic, leaving no trace of white or color. it scares the crap out of Cas and Elain but Az is just always mesmerized by you and he'd be lying if he said it didn't turn him on sometimes.

When you're upset or frustrated, usually because you're stressed over a spell or a letter from one of the witch covens, Azriel is there to make your day better. "Oh, my sweet little wildflower." He kisses your worries away.

You do the same for him when he comes back from a hard mission and the exhaustion of being the Night Court's spymaster catches up to him, taking a toll on him.

His tense body always relaxes at your touch and when he asks if you could give him anything to help with his body aches, you mindlessly point to one of the vials on your kitchen counter.

You don't notice when he picks up the wrong one and when you finally do and realize that he accidentally took a drink from the aphrodisiac Nesta had requested from you, it's already too late.

Needless to say, it's probably the best mistake you've ever made (;

#azriel headcanons #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel x you #azriel x witch!reader #azriel imagines #azriel fluff #az!dandelions

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heartss4val · 6 months

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hellooo! i was just binge reading all your works and immediately followed, and saw that you were taking requests soo i wanted to request a lil something!

it’s a percy x f!reader where they stay up late to wait for christmas together! scenario could preferably be on top of their apartment rooftop or smth, but i wouldn’t mind any other choices you’d like! thank youuu, once again i love your workkkk <3

𐑺 ˖ ࣪ ࿐ྂ MEET ME AT THE ROOFTOP | percy jackson x gn!reader [wc: 924] thank u anon for ur kind words, ur the sweetest!!

you had a couple ideas of where you'd be on christmas eve. tucked under the covers of the bed you and percy were sharing while you were over for the holidays, wrapping up last-minute presents, staying up late due to the surge of adrenaline, maybe?

you were pretty wrong about all of those.

"'just hope this year isn't as hectic as last," percy's voice cuts through your thoughts as he tosses rocks off the rooftop of the apartment complex, trying to hit a nearby tree.

you nod absently, hands fiddling with the red and green macaroni necklace that estelle had thrust into your hands the moment you stepped foot into the jackson household. the frigid wind bites at your skin, but you don't complain. percy, however, smushes your face into his shoulder, covering the remaining exposed part of your cheek with his hand.

as you nuzzle further into his warmth, percy glances at the blue, glowing watch that he'd picked up from a cornerstore years ago. it was old and looked like it had been through a war, but it still worked. "only three more minutes," he murmurs, holding up his wrist so you could see the neon blue numbers reading '11:57'. against the blackness of the night, the color was almost garish, but it was softened by the warm glow of christmas lights that adorned percy's neighborhood.

you smile, your lips dry and cracked from the cold. percy had brought you up here solely to be the first to give you your gift on christmas day. he and estelle had a running competition, and he couldn't present it to you in the house without her popping up from seemingly nowhere. the rooftop was the only place of privacy. it was technically cheating, but estelle had won for the past two years and percy was petty. the small gift box next to the boy didn't go unnoticed by you.

"you wanna try?" percy asks, handing you the rock he'd been about to throw. he still hasn't hit his target. you muttered a quiet 'yeah,' took a deep breath, and hurled the rock off the roof.

it hit the tree square on.

percy looked genuinely flabbergasted. mind-boggled, if you will. "you're sick," he says at last. "why would you do this to me?"

"you can defeat the god of war at the age of twelve but you can't hit a tree that's like, thirty feet away?" you retort, breath visible in the frigid air.

"take that back!" percy laughs, his knit beanie tumbling off his head as he tackles you to the rooftop ground, holding your face in his hands.

percy could be intimidating when he wanted to be, but up here, with a smile lighting up his face and his eyes sparkling with mischief, he was anything but.

"i'm gonna make you sorry," he warns.

"sorry for what?" you quip, breathless from the effort of holding him off when he wants to reach you this badly. "that all those years of sword training couldn't build up your muscles enough to hit a tree that close to you?"

he ignored your taunt, his fingers squeezing yours as he ducks down into your space. you laugh, squirming away, pushing your hand (with his still twined into it) against his face.

"you suck at this," you tease. "and you won't win!"

"oh, yeah?" he says, his smile wide and gleaming. two of his teeth are a little sharp at the corners, reminding you of a shark. fitting.

percy's lips part, ready to speak, but just then the alarm on his watch, the old and crusty one that he showed you earlier, went off, the sound piercing through the quiet night air. you glanced at the time.

midnight exactly.

percy releases you, thankfully. your arms were starting to strain. you lied about the muscle thing, he was pretty strong.

"c'mere," he says, picking up the box that he wrapped, the paper crinkling in the spots where his fingers were touching it. you sit next to him, feet dangling off the rooftop. he puts the box in your hands and you eagerly tear off the wrapping paper.

inside was a stunning multi-colored bracelet, with multiple chains and twists and turns that caught the light. you looked up at percy, who was already watching you. "i've been saving up," he says, his eyes downcast. "what do you think?"

you had to take a moment before responding. "i love it perce, really." you slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, admiring the way it glinted in the christmas lights. he even got it in your favorite color. "thank you."

he let out a sigh of relief, pulling up the sleeve of his jacket to reveal a matching bracelet on his own wrist, but in blue. "good," he breathes, a small smile playing at his lips. "'cause if you didn't, then you'd have to see it everytime i held your hand, anyway."

you gape at him, then grin. you like the idea of having a piece of him with you, even when he was away. you reached up to cup his face and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "was this just an excuse for you to buy yourself a cool bracelet?" you tease.

percy shook his head, his smile growing. he leaned in to press a kiss to your temple, then took your hand in his, holding it up to the sky. the christmas lights around you seemed to glow brighter, illuminating the two of you. "one for me, one for you," he says, his voice low and warm.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x you #heroes of olympus #percy jackson x y/n #heroes of olympus x reader #hoo #hoo x reader #pjo x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson x yn #percy jackson fluff #pjo imagine #riordanverse x reader

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whorekneecentral · 6 months

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Ho Ho Hoe

Christian Pulisic x Fem!Reader

Warnings: last minute packing, some friendly teasing, christmas related underwear, cheesy pick up lines sorta, oliver takes the blame, christian is just as cheesy, oral (m!receiving and f!receiving),dom!chris for a second, face sitting, praise kink from chris's end.

Word Count: 2,033

Author's Note: when I was plotting these out, pookie said this one suited chris and I couldn't agree more. he's so dorky, it fits him to a t lmao

merry smutmas series

You find a pair of Christmas boxers in Christian’s suitcase and decide to tease him about it.

The Pulisic family had been celebrating the holidays in Florida every year and this year you'd be joining them.

You are an instant shoo in from the moment you began dating Christian five years ago. Both his sister and his mother saw how quickly you adapted to their family and to their traditions, which is something that they really, truly loved about you. Along the way, you sprinkled in a few of your old little traditions that you did with your family.

Last year, you and Christian had spent the holidays with your family. The two of you rotate every year between the holidays, that way the families don't feel you're picking one over the other.

You were on the floor of your bedroom as you tried to re-pack the suitcase that Christian had 'packed', but really just tossed everything into. You'd be flying from Milan to Florida in 3 days so you were trying to get as much as you could done.

He was on his way home from training, his phone in the little holder as he called you.

"You're the fucking worst at packing," you start the moment you answer the phone. Christian laughs, "hello to you too, sweetheart. Why am I getting yelled at?"

You huff, the phone was on speaker and rested on your thigh as you refolded the clothes. "I have to repack the suitcase, not like you even packed it to begin with."

"I did too! I put everything in!"

"Yeah, just tossed it in. How are you meant to find anything or even fit everything in like this?"

You can already tell he's rolling his eyes. "Anyways," he starts, "did you eat? shall I pick up dinner?"

"Yeah, please." You smiled, folding the boxers you found and put them in a nice pile. You listened to your boyfriend rattle on the diner options when you fished out the bright green boxers with candy canes on it from the suitcase.

It struck you as odd, Christian wasn't one for bright colours; he stuck to the usual colours of navy blue, black and grey.

"Yeah sure, pasta's fine." You tell him, setting the boxers to the side. "See you in a bit."

You continue to repack the suitcase, folding the clothes neatly and tightly to fit as much as you can into the suitcase. It was maybe half an hour later when the front door opens and you hear your boyfriend shouting for you.

"In the bedroom!" You shouted back.

Christian smiles at you when he finds you, "hi beautiful."

"Hello you, how was training?"

"Good, tiring." He says, sitting on the edge of the bed, looking down at you on the floor. "How's the packing going?"

"Good, tiring." You tell him, "I didn't know you were a fan of bright colours though."

Christian raises an eyebrow, looking at you a bit confused. "What are you talking about?"

You hold up the bright green boxers with candy canes on it, "where'd you get these?" You asked, giggling. Christian's face goes bright red, his cheeks and the tips of his ears as red as a McIntosh apple.

"I.. I bought them as a joke. Oliver said he bought a pair last year and his wife loved them."

"So now you're getting sex advice from Oliver?"

"What?! No!"

You laughed, your boyfriend's face still as red as it was before, maybe never more. "Well, they made me laugh."

Chris smiles, "did you see what they say?"

You looked closer at the boxers, between the candy canes says 'suck me like a candy cane.' You think you laughed so hard you snorted, Christian smiles at your reaction.

"You're so unserious." You tossed the boxers at him, making him laugh. Christian kisses the top of your head, dropping the boxers on the bed. "Dinner's on the table, I'm gonna take a shower."

Holding onto Christian's legs, you pull yourself up. "You're not hungry?"

"I'll eat later, go on before it gets cold." Your boyfriend kisses you softly and lets you go.

Dinner was eaten quietly, christian taking his sweet time into the shower before joining you nearly an hour later, shirtless and sweatpants handing off his hips.

Thumb pushing against your teeth, you hummed as you watched him plop himself down on the couch next to you.

"What?" He asks, arm stretched over the backrest of the couch.

"Nothing," you smiled, scooting closer to your boyfriend.

Your head rested on his chest, the two of you watching the cheesy holiday movie you had put on. An arm stretched over his abs, fingers delicately tracing over the indented lines along his skin, moving over to his forearm. His tiger tattoo has always been one of your favourites, your nail pressing into the ink as you moved from one detail to the other.

Christian notices your hand, not thinking much of it; this was a normal thing for you two, your hands were always on him. It wasn't until he felt your hand move from his arm to his hip, fingers creeping closer to the hem of his sweatpants that he stopped you.

"Don't even think about it." His hand catches you, hand wrapped around your wrist.

You huffed. "Why not?"

"I'm trying to watch the movie."

"They all end the same way, a kiss in the snow." You tell him and Christian rolls his eyes, "way to ruin it for me."

You press your lips together, biting back a laugh. Christian lets go to your hand, letting it rest over his lap. That was his mistake. Your hands wander, as they always do, rubbing along his thigh and up to the bulge in his pants.

As much as he tries to ignore you, he can't. Christian's head tips back into the couch, a soft groan slipping past his lips.

"What happened to don't even think about it?" You teased, moving to sit between his legs. Christian rolls his eyes, dropping a pillow onto the floor for you.

He mumbles, telling you to shut up as you reach for the waistband of his sweats, pulling them down. The last thing you were expecting to come face to face with was bright green boxers with candy canes on them.

"You're fucking joking," you laughed, looking up at him. "They were already on the bed, babe. What was I supposed to do?"

"Get a pair from the drawer?" You suggested, laughing at him. "I cannot take you seriously."

Christian takes matters into his own hands, taking them off and tossing it behind him somewhere. "Okay gone now, c'mon."

"You're so demanding," you laughed.

He nods, giving you a tight lipped smile watching as you lean forward with your mouth open, tongue out and Christian bites back a groan; doesn’t matter how many times he sees you like that, you look perfect every time.

No matter how much he tries, he can’t pull his eyes away from you. His head tilting back at the feeling of your mouth on him, your hand wrapped around what can’t fit.

Your tongue swirled around the tip, hand slowing up and down the length of his cock in the meantime.

Chris's hand tangles in your hair, holding it away from your face as you take all of him in your mouth. He sighs, a string of explicits slipping past his lips.

You glance up at him through your lashes and that was enough to make him cum but he held off, because he knew you’d tease him if he did even if you did tell him it was okay.

“Made just for me, weren't you?” He mumbles, his hand rests on your jaw. His hand turns over and you feel his knuckles brush along your cheek. “Like being on your knees for me, hm? Good girl.”

The praise hits you straight in the core, only making you go faster.

Your cheeks hollow as you bob your head up and down. Christian's hips buck, your nose brushing against him.

He tugs on your hair a little, taking control of your movements before pushing you down all the way, only stopping until he hears you gag slightly. His head falls back against the cushions, your name along with a few other words tumble out as you glance up at your boyfriend once more.

You can feel his cum on your tongue before you pull off of him with a pop.

Still on your knees, your eyes are on the man as he takes a few breaths. His hand caresses your jaw for a few moments before he pulls you up and onto his lap.

"I love you, you know that?" He whispers, nose pressed into your temple. You hum, "you've gotta get rid of those."

"What?" He asks, looking at you.

You point to the green boxers that were on the floor. Christian laughs, "yeah okay, babe. Whatever you say."

Your boyfriend falls flat against the couch, laying down and you look at him a bit confused, "was it that good? Got you exhausted now?"

Christian rolls his eyes playfully, pulling you to lay flat against him. He looks at you, there's a glint in his eyes, something you only saw when he was up to something.

"What?"

"Sit on my face."

Your eyes widen, sitting up on his lap. "What?"

His brows furrow, propping himself up on his elbows to look at you as he's unsure what the confusion was about. "Did you not hear me?" He asks, "I said sit on my face."

"What? Why ?"

"I'm returning the favour, now come on."

Christian lays back and you’re still on his lap. “Come on then,” he smacks the back of your thigh lightly. “Come sit.”

You find yourself wiggling out of your shorts as you move back to sit on his face. Thighs on either side of his head, you weren't fully on his face but his hands grip the back of your thighs, pulling you further down.

“I told you sit so fucking sit.” He mumbles from under you.

His large hands rested on the back of your thigh, pulling you down flat against his face, his tongue pressed against your slit.

Your body rocks, leaning forwards and your fingers tangle in his short, curly hair.

Christian's tongue curled upwards, brushing against your clit and you tug on his hair, something incoherent meets his ears - partly because he was focused on what he was doing but also because your thighs were squishing his face.

"Chris," you mumbled, your chest heaving while you tug on his hair to get him to do that again. "Do that- yeah fuck."

His tongue doing figure eights over your clit.

The grip on your thighs would leave marks as would the stubble coming on along his jaw that was scratching at the inside of your thighs. He rocked you a bit, his nose brushing against your clit, his tongue moving down to lap over your cunt.

He glances up, his eyes fixed on your hand on your tit, head tossed back and mouth open. His name slips past your lips like a prayer.

“You're so beautiful,” he mumbles against you, nose brushing at your clit as you grind down on his face again.

Your legs shake for a moment, your grinding halts as you cum on his tongue. Christian's hands hold you in place, his tongue still lapping over your clit and his lips replace them a moment later.

He lets you shift off his face in your own time, laying down on his chest. Your chin rests on his chest as you look up at him, your fingers dragging across his lips. He smiles, letting you slip your finger into his mouth, biting it softly before you pull it away.

His hand resting on your lower back as you reach up to kiss him.

You can taste yourself on his lips and your hand on his jaw, rubbing along the stubble in his jaw. "See if I had bought these boxers, you wouldn't have gotten all that."

"Untrue, you can't keep your hands off of me." You reminded him, the man's cheeks now red and he laughs. "Yeah, you're right." He whispers, kissing you.

---

taglist: @nosugarallspice @evieepepi08 @mimithepooh @koufaxx @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @topguncultleader @molliemoo3 @aisharmi @mamako23 @ac3may @lewislcver @miahgonzalez16 @books-and-netflix-pls @wibi96 @bwddermilch @pedrisgatorade @clarasenchant @sainzluvrr // @trentsfav @trentsmyfave @noturbabe22

#merry smutmas xoxo #christian pulisic #christian pulisic smut #christian pulisic x reader #football x reader #football x you #football x y/n #football smut

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orange-peony · 8 months

Text

Written for @flufftober with the prompt "fireplace".

A little wolfstar raising Harry, rated T.

“He’s so irritating.”

“Tell me about it,” Sirius says. “He’s my cousin Cissa’s son.”

“And he’s so bloody posh!”

“Language,” Remus chides gently from the kitchen, busy with Christmas preparations.

“The b word is not swearing,” Harry declares with a frown, then softly, to Sirius, “is it, Pads?”

“Nah,” Sirius says, waving his hand in dismissal. “Tell me more about that obnoxious Malfoy kid.”

* ~ *

“And he’s so fucking annoying with his pointy face and his white-blond hair,” Harry says, scratching his arm where another mosquito bite is swelling up.

“Language!” Remus says, even though Sirius can’t even see him. His husband seems to have a special radar for swear words.

“Sorry,” Harry says, looking much less concerned than he probably should. Sirius feels a little guilty because he’s always swearing in front of Harry, but brushes it off as teenagers being teenagers. “And he’s just—so tall and so smart and so…”

“So?” Sirius asks with a frown.

“So irritatingly fit!”

“Wait, what?”

* ~ *

“Do you think they’re going to spend much longer snogging on the train platform?” Sirius asks with a resigned sigh.

Remus chuckles and wraps his arms around Sirius’s waist, pulling him closer.

“Summer is long when you’re seventeen,” Remus says calmly.

“But they’re going to see each other in a couple of days!” Sirius protests. “We’re dragging the brat to France with us on holiday.”

“If I recall correctly,” Remus starts, his voice like a caress on Sirius’s cheek. “The first time we parted for a couple of days, you cried and begged me to come and visit you at James’s house.”

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius replies grumpily.

He thinks a kiss is in order, at least to distract him from his godson being snogged within an inch of his life by a Malfoy.

* ~ *

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Sirius groans, covering his face with his hands and making Draco squeal in embarrassment.

He supposes it’s kind of his fault. He should have probably sent his Patronus to Harry before Flooing straight to his kitchen. But Harry is his son. And he’s been living on his own for only a week, so Sirius was worried and wanted to check on him.

He wasn’t expecting to find Draco Malfoy making himself tea in Harry’s kitchen, wearing only Harry’s oversized hoodie and a pair of boxers.

Sirius covers his eyes and makes a disgruntled sound.

“I’m going to go grab my pyjama bottoms,” Draco says. “I’ve made enough tea for an army. Help yourself, Sirius.”

“It’s Mr Black-Lupin for you,” Sirius grumbles.

“Oh, stop being impossible, Pads,” Harry croaks, appearing by the kitchen door wearing just a pair of pants and a collection of love bites. “Morning, love. Thanks for making tea.”

* ~ *

The fireplace roars to life as a green flame appears and Draco’s blond head pokes through.

“May I come in?” he asks, looking extremely nervous.

“Of course,” Remus says, uncrossing his legs and sitting up.

And Sirius should have known. He should have fucking known, because Draco sendt an official request to speak to him and Remus, written on the fanciest parchment Sirius has ever seen (and he grew up with a bunch of pure bloods). Draco is wearing the most dazzling formal robes, and he has a small, blue box clutched in his shaking hands. He looks like he’s about to be sick. He looks even paler than usual.

“I—I know you have your reservations about me, and rightfully so,” Draco starts, and Sirius is about to say well, of course, you little Harry-thief, but Remus places a hand on his thigh, and Sirius just exhales and listens. “But I love Harry with all my heart. I’ve never loved anyone the way I love him, and I promise I will spend the rest of my life trying to make him the happiest man on earth. So, please, I know I’m asking you an awful lot, but…”

“Can we say no?” Sirius asks, but Remus pokes him in the ribs.

“Of course, you can marry Harry,” Remus says with a warm smile, and Draco starts crying straight away, looking at Sirius, waiting for his approval.

Sirius sighs.

He should have seen this coming.

He really should have.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “But I reserve the right to tease you both mercilessly and to swear in front of your kids.”

“Deal,” Draco says with the brightest grin.

#my writing #my fics update #flufftober #drarry fic #drarry drabble #wolfstar #drarry #wolfstar raising harry

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the-duchess-of-domination · 7 months

Text

Thanksgiving

here is a Thanksgiving fantasy to put you all in the mood.

your boyfriend is a people pleaser who has a hard time saying no. he fears disappointing people, and because of that you’ve got quite the line-up of Thanksgiving dinner invites: Friendsgiving with your mutual friends, Thanksgiving with his folks, Thanksgiving at your parent’s, a Thanksgiving dinner at his work. it’s a week long affair, and you’ve even got multiple dinners in one day with little time to recover. you slave away in the kitchen, making a new dish to bring to each dinner. your boyfriend, of course, is your taste tester.

the first dinner at your parent’s house is uneventful. this is his first holiday with your family, so he wants to make a good impression. he fervently eats anything that is put in front of him, and even though he doesn’t have room left for your mother’s sweet potato pie, he eats two slices.

the next day his work is having a Thanksgiving dinner. he brings you to meet his coworkers, and he wants to schmooze and charm them so much he takes a helping of Tanya’s mash potatoes, Carl’s filling, Genevieve’s green bean casserole. Not wanting to offend anyone, he fills a flimsy paper plate with so much food that it begins to bend. against all odds, every bite ends up in his rapidly tightening belly.

now it’s Thanksgiving Day, and you’ve got his family’s Thanksgiving in the early afternoon and your mutual Friendsgiving in the evening. your boyfriend’s mother gives him hearty scoops. that’s her little boy, after all. your boyfriend is noticeably petering out, but he doesn’t want to make his mother worry. he finishes his plate with an achingly full stomach, trained from the days of when he was a kid and wasn’t allowed to leave the dinner table without finishing his supper.

when it’s time for you to head to your Friendsgiving, you drive, and he sits in the passenger seat with his head against the headrest, wincing and cringing at every pothole you hit.

“you okay?” you ask him. “you’ve been awfully quiet.”

“yeah. just tired.” he lies.

at Friendsgiving, he listlessly plays with his turkey, pushing it around his plate with a fork, an elbow on the table and a hand supporting his head. while he doesn’t empty the plate, he hardly has anything to scrape into the trash.

when everyone retires to the living room, your boyfriend disappears. you search your friend’s house and see the bathroom door is closed. you knock.

“honey?” you say.

“hm?” your boyfriend replies.

“can i come in?”

“one sec.”

when you enter your boyfriend is sitting on the edge of the tub. he stands up quickly.

“what are you doing in here?” you ask.

“i just needed a minute.”

you look down to see a sliver of his white underwear. he zips up his fly, and sucks in his distended stomach to button his pants.

“are you okay?”

“yeah. it’s nothing. i just have a stomachache.”

you find this adorable. in an effort to get on everyone’s good side, to flatter them by eating their food, your boyfriend has given himself a terrible bellyache.

while your friends laugh over a card game at the coffee table, your boyfriend is distracted on the sofa, rubbing his stomach through the pocket of his hoodie. you put your hand in the pocket and start rubbing his belly, touching his cold hand with your warm one. his poor belly is hard and tight from everything he’s eaten in the past four days.

“does it hurt bad?” you whisper, and when he nods you say “do you want to leave early?”

he shakes his head. “we’re supposed to be having fun with our friends. i don’t want us to leave on my account.”

a mutual friend brings over a slice of pumpkin pie topped with whip cream. she offers it to your boyfriend. in horror you watch your boyfriend beam a fake smile and then graciously take the plate from her. the fork goes in his mouth. you feel his body shudder and his stomach growl angrily against your hand

what will Christmas bring?

#tummy ache #belly gurgling #belly ache #feedee feeder #feedee boy #feeding kink #male feedism #bloating kink #bhm weight gain #ffa bhm #stuffed feedee #your boyfriend #sickfic #fantasies from the duchess 👑

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zylev-blog · 3 months

Text

Masterpost

This is the masterpost for everything that I have posted, not reblogged or added on from someone else.

DCU Only

The Batkids hide in Batman's cloak: here

DP Only

Ghosts as a separate species: here

DpxDc

Danny-centric

Young Danny: here

Danny really hates Christmas: here

Failed Ghost Danny: here

The Purge: here

Secret Arms dealer: here

Danny is Jon Kent: here

Martian Danny: here

Danny's being followed: here

Danny is Bruce Wayne: here

Danny is the clone of Barry and Hal: here AO3 link: here

Danny is Ace the bathound: here @bloggerspam wrote a beautiful fic for this!

Danny goes back in time to kill villain Tim: here

Danny is Diana's daughter: here

Danny arrives during DCeased: here

Danny is Alfred's son: here

Danny is centries old: here

"My name is Danny Fenton, and this is Jackass.": here

Danny is the son of Clark Kent and Lana Lang: here

Danny is convinced Batman is a vampire: here

Danny is Deadshot: here

Danny infiltrates the Light: here

Danny is Jason Todd: here

Danny pays Diana a visit: here

Dan-centric

Dan meets Jason Todd: here

Red Lantern Dan: here

Dan raises Kal-El: here

Jazz-centric

Jazz gets drunk: here

Halfa Jazz: here

Jazz is Lex Luthor's daughter: here

Tucker-centric

Tucker is Amity Park's protector: here

Dani-centric

Dani wants to get arrested: here

Dani is from the future: here

Dani is the clone of Bruce and Danny: here

When Dani destabilizes, Superman stabilizes her dna. She doesn't appreciate this: here

Danny is Clockwork's assistant

Clockwork's assistant au: here

Apprentice of time au: here

Green Lantern Danny

Adult GL Danny: here

GL Danny in Justice League: here

GL Danny helps arrest his parents: here

Danny and others:

Danny and Jazz go to a gala: here

Danny and Dick talk during a stakeout: here

Damian's rant: here

Cujo steals Jason's gun: here

Danny haunts Batman: here

Wally crosses into the DP universe: here

Bruce trains with Phantom: here

The Phantom siblings like to throw things: here

Gotham is on fire: here

Danny and Sam make a bet: here

Flash, Batman, and Joker accidentally cross into the DP universe: here

Danny and Bart are from the future: here

Dani and Dani decide to crash Bruce's interview: here

Mind-controlled Superman crashes Danny and Sam's date: here

Damian and Danny are best friends: here

Danny haunts Batman: here

Dick and Danny talk: here

Dick and Danny are childhood friends: here

Danny rescues Bruce in 1732: here

Jason and Danny kill the Joker: here

Deaged Danny

Danny escapes CADMUS: here

Danny and Dani are adopted by Aquaman: here

Oliver adopts Danny: here

Clark adopts Danny: here

Barry adopts Danny: here

Teen/Adult dad Danny

Ellie and Damian's forced friendship: here

Single Dad and toddler Ellie meet Single mom Kara and baby Kal: here AO3 link: here

Danny is Klarion and Nabu's Dad: here

Danny is Zeus, and Diana's father: here

Other:

Dick throws a party for his 30th birthday: here

The Batfam discover the GIW's warehouse by accident: here

Freakshow and Joker are brothers: here

Tim accidentally creates a portal to Amity Park: here

Dick accidentally saves Danny instead of Tim: here

Danny becomes backup Red Robin: here

Deaged Dick: here

Jazz, Harley, and Bruce are in medschool together: here

Halfa Tim Drake: here

Villain Fentons au: here

Valerie doesn't want to be on a hero team: here

Dick and Damian are ducks: here

Kryptonian Jack Fenton: here

Amity Park is its own nation: here

Villian Fentons: here

A Turkey ghost sends the Fentons on a country-wide chase: here

Little Baby Man Danny: here

Conner is Phantom and Superman's clone: here

Kryptonian Danny: here

Ships:

Dash/Danny: here

Tim/Danny: here

Tim/Danny gods of Krypton: here

Damian is Jazz and Bruce's son: here

Valerie/Danny raise Dani: here

GL Jazz/Bruce: here

FBI Agent Jazz Fenton(Nightingale): here AO3 link: here

Stephanie/Danny: here

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undercoverpena · 6 months

Text

no need for mistletoe

frankie morales x f!reader | masterlist

summary: all of that led to this. The now. Eyes staring at him as he stands in front of you in a moss-green shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, curls not buried by a hat. “Hi.” “Hi,” you reply, before he’s ushering you in.

warnings: fluff, soft!frankie, first kisses, christmas vibes, lil’ flirting. brief mention of Frankie being a dad. wordcount: 2.6k

to @nothoughtsjustmeds - merry christmas from me, to you. you gave such amazing prompts, i tried to include as many as i could, and here it is. i hope you love this as much as i heart you.

When the cab comes to a stop, you find yourself outside of a very nice house, on a very quiet street.

Dropping your gaze down to the address on your phone, swallowing. Your nerves suddenly begin doing their thing to your gut again. Working. Gnawing at your insides as you flick your gaze back up to the number on the mailbox.

That’s when you take in the little ‘Santa Stop Here’ sign stuck into the perfectly maintained grass, the faux snow footprints which lead up to the porch and the array of twinkling lights that set this one out against all the others.

And, honestly, it’s just what you imagined from his home.

Not that it stopped the nerves from swirling, doubling up inside you—apprehension having begun to mount itself on top of worry.

Taking a deep breath, you pull out some notes, paying with a smile, before stepping out with a keep the change—and a Merry Christmas—and a slam of the cab door.

It takes everything within you not to yank the door open and get back inside. Even more not to turn and look at the driver, to not show how nervous you were.

Instead, you stare ahead. Steadying yourself as tyres crunched gravel, silence washed itself over you.

And then you were alone. No way of turning back—not without a phone call and another long wait.

Glancing around, you hover your eyes over the homes on either side of the one you’re standing outside of. Noticing the differences in how they’re dressed, how subtly was more one style and perfectionism the other.

This house looked entirely different. And, even if your fingers shook as you clutched your phone, a smile still managed to cut through. Your mind concocting images of the boys all banding together to hang lights, orders being flung—reminiscent of when they’re all attempting to train Benny (all at fucking once).

Biting down on your lip, you blow out a nervous breath—because you’re here now. No point in dwelling. You just need to walk up, rap your knuckles on the door and say hello. Simple. Easy.

Yet, it takes another minute to place one foot in front of the other. Hand stuffing your phone into your pocket as you—the heels of your boots catching on the stone path, cautious not to smudge the prints that lead the way to his front door.

It had Benny who had told you the more the merrier. But would more mean you?

You who barely knew much about them. Outside the version of them you see at the gym.

The one you had inherited, been given, had handed to you—it’s what your dad would have wanted being said when the keys—all heavy and scary—were placed in your palm. No business knowledge, just given the tip to be good to the regulars—the regulars mainly being Benny, his brother and his friend.

It had begun with letting him in at odd hours. Then you’d gotten Will’s number, for when he was in town, for when he needed access to the gym to help his brother train.

Then, when their visits became more routine, that’s when you began staying later to do “admin”—code for wanting to be around just in case.

The just-in-case is the reason half your wardrobe is dumped on your bed and your nerves are frantic from the cab ride over.

Teeth nipping at your lip, you second-guess the bottle in your hand—the little paper bag of treats you’d managed to grab before the store closed. You begin to re-question your outfit, whether you were over or underdressed, whether he’d be mad that his friend just invited you—

A flurry of thoughts, all rushing around like snow in a storm. All landing, thickening at your feet, burying you deeper and deeper in doubts and worries until you’re shrouded in light.

It’s warm, almost pearlescent as it illuminates the wooden porch you’re standing on.

It was cliche, very romance-novel the way the two of you met. Him having stepped through the gym door, lit up by sunlight, hands stuffing his t-shirt into the back of his jeans. All broad, loose curls and dark features—and a shy smile that only slowly broke out across his face.

From there it was little waves. Your eyes linger on his fingers, the length, the way they appear worn, weathered—and sometimes accompanied by a band-aid, sometimes close to skin colour and others with cartoons on.

It’s a while until names are shared and exchanged. Until you can put together an idea of the man who always wears a sun-scorched hat and clothing from a colour palette you’ve named him.

Then, you learn little things. That he likes listening to vinyls, that he has a son, that he likes the idea of working out but prefers to keep fit by building things.

What kind of things? Anything. Anything? Anything.

It’s how the conversation first began when he’d offered to build you a bookcase. A small one—easily tucked away behind the counter you’re often perched at and he’s often leaning against. Pointing out that he always sees you with a book, and that you must have a pile of them at your feet.

That’s when you learned he was astute, too.

All of that led to this. The now.

Eyes staring at him as he stands in front of you in a moss-green shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, curls not buried by a hat.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, before he’s ushering you in.

You hear the laughter from another room before the door is closed. Frankie hovers, taking the wine and the paper bag as you slide off your coat. His face flushed, eyes staring at you before you watch him swallow, mouth opening, but you beat him to it—

“Thank you… for not minding that Benny invited me over.”

Nodding, he smiles. “Well. I asked him to invite you.”

“Oh?”

Looking at his feet, he smiles—soft, more sly. “M’really glad you could make it.”

"Well, Merry Christmas Eve?"

Licking his lips, he seems to swallow. "Merry Christmas Eve."

There’s something intimate about photographs, especially in frames dotted around a home.

A sea of memories displayed, the stories there, but not quite heard. Not until someone is willing to share them, to animate the frame and allow it to make sense.

Your fingers trace the air close to them, lingering on unworried smiles, spotting the beginning signs of the lines you’ve come to admire.

In your wildest fantasies, you never thought you’d be here. Not as the hours ticked on, not even when the brothers bid their goodbyes, and you suggested going with them.

You don’t have to. No? No.

So you didn’t. Hovering in the living room as Frankie bids them goodbye. You hear the sounds of claps on the back, and boisterous goodbyes quickly hushed before they exchange plans for tomorrow. You’re distantly aware the door closes, and that there are approaching footsteps, but you don’t drag your eyes from the set of photos on the shelves.

“I’m sorry for… them.”

Grinning, you sip from your glass. “You don’t have to. I like them.”

Nodding, Frankie folds his arms, leaning in the doorway, your fingers still ever so close to one of the photo frames—one of five men, him in the middle, three out of the five recognised, the other two a mystery.

“Your son is adorable,” you say, glancing up at him, finding his eyes creasing as a grin adorns his face. “He has your smile.”

Letting the words wash over him, you take another sip, letting the taste coat your tongue, and smother over your bottom lip—all the while holding his gaze. The one unmoving, all unwilling to tear itself away from yours. It charges the air, and makes it vibrate. Forces the hairs on the back of your neck to stand up, and knots something in your stomach. All as heat blooms across the rest of you, up your neck, smearing itself across your chest.

Because he’s given you this stare a few times. But, never for this long.

Not this constantly, either.

It hasn’t ever made your throat feel this dry, not able to quench it even as you pour more liquid down it; it hasn’t ever quite made your ears burn, always just cheeks.

“You want to see my garden?” Narrowing your eyes, you watch him walk backwards, heading to his coat hook. “Heard you can see a lot of stars tonight.”

Smiling, you nod. Simple, fucking easily. Taking the jumper outstretched to you—fingers brushing over his, just lightly, a spark of something streaming up your wrist as his lips part.

A part of you, one full of longing and need, hopes he felt it too—wishing for it. More so, as you pull his jumper over your head, trying not to noticeably inhale as the warmth settles on your skin, and finds a home in your bones. You’re coated in him, both physically in his clothing and his scent. The one which lingers when he leaves your desk and you have always wished to bottle.

“C’mon,” he whispers, a twinge of nervousness to his tone.

So you do follow. Jacket under his arm as he grabs two bottles from the side—your hand placing your glass down, twirling the ends of his jumper around your fingers, letting him lead the way out, his foot propping open the door so you can head out first.

And he’s not wrong.

The sky is littered with them, soft twinkles thousands of miles away, looking down on the two of you as your warm breath makes spirals appear in front of you—slow wisps of steam that carry themselves to the few clouds floating past.

“You doing much tomorrow?”

You don’t know why you ask it, cringing inwardly. Because tomorrow is the twenty-fifth, and it’s obvious, even more so the more you think about it, that he’ll have his son. Likely to be somewhere for dinner from the conversation overheard.

Frankie steps closer, shoulder practically close to yours, recalling what you’d overheard, layering more information—sharing how he’ll pick his son up at lunchtime, bring him back to open presents, and then they’ll be off to Benny’s. He goes overboard, surprise, surprise.

Your laugh fills the air, somehow unsurprised until Frankie asks you what you’re doing.

“Um, well. I’m usually alone for Christmas—well, except for the other gym goers who also hate the holidays.”

Snorting, Frankie slides the jacket in his hand around your shoulders. Your eyes glance from the swings and slide to meet his gaze.

Iit’s warm when you do. All warm cocoa, digging into you, soaking you in something you’re trying to translate. Whatever it is, it makes your heart flutter in your chest, forces heat to rise up your neck again—kissing your cheeks, your ears.

“You should…” his hand rises, rubbing the back of his neck as he sighs. “Shouldn’t be alone.”

Rolling your lips, you gaze back over his garden—the small space you imagine only looks this good because of him. A small paradise, perfectly painted. Lit up by more strung lights and little lanterns plunged into different flowerbeds.

You smile at the swingset—the one made from mismatched wood. Your thoughts concoct an image of him building it, brushing his curls back from his forehead.

“You look really pretty,” he whispers.

And the words make your head turn, tentative, wary.

“Wish there was mistletoe.”

Your heart pounds and it distils the nerves. You don’t have to force it, it bleeds naturally over your lips—a smile which smudges over your face, and makes your hand place your bottle down on the ledge.

It’s quiet—oh, so quiet—as you turn to face him fully. Body turned, heart thundering in your chest, all suddenly empowered, awake, bold.

The thrum of one chance dancing with the blood in your veins.

“You don’t… you don’t need mistletoe, Frankie.”

“No?”

Shaking your head, you let out a breath.

Letting it fog the air, swirling itself out into the night as you clutch his jacket around your shoulders, watching him move.

It’s breathless the way he says okay. It’s swallowed by the soft slant of his mouth over yours. It’s instant, the way warmth spreads out through you. Made all the more powerful by accompanying fairy-light touches to your skin, allowing your body to curl into him.

Then, it deepens, your lips finding his with more purpose, more intention. His palms cup your cheeks, and like his gaze, his mouth is like fire. It rushes into your mouth, filling your chest and fanning its way out to your outer edges. It’s dizzying, magical—almost worthy of a foot rising off the ground or floating away into the clouds.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, balling it in your fingers as it turns messy, needy—all heated and desperate.

Then, you both part. Barely a slither of space between both your faces, his eyes opening, smothering you in something which makes a tangled coil of need tighten inside of you.

“Wanted to do that for a while,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing against yours.

“I’ve wanted you to do that for a while.”

His fingers lightly skate over your cheek, thumb drawing light circles on your chin.

“You got any plans for the 27th?”

Shaking your head, you smile. “Just the gym.”

“Okay. I’m taking you out on our second date.”

Frowning, you begin to grin. “Second?”

Dropping his hand from your face, Frankie places a chaste kiss on your lips. One that makes you want to chase him for more, but the growing gap following it prevents you.

“Yeah, the first is me going inside, grabbing us a plate with some pizza on, and sitting under the stars. If… if that sounds okay?”

Biting your lip, you nod. “It sounds perfect.”

He grins, hand brushing over his chin as he takes a step back. Your hand digging for your phone, the screen illuminating, as you hear him pull open the back door of his place.

“Oh, and Frankie?” His eyes look over at you, wide, beautiful—a mixture of sudden worry and dread filling them. “Merry Christmas.”

Turning to flash him your phone, the minute just passing midnight, you smile—removing the fear in his eyes, making them widen, and grow.

He thinks. Ponders.

Can see it in the way his eyes narrow and a line appears between his brows. Then, the door in his hand meets the frame, and the soles of his boots hammer on the decking, before he closes the gap to you within four strides, your face in his hands, lips pressed to yours.

“A kiss from you is the best gift I could have ever have gotten,” he whispers, between stealing your breath.

Swallowing, you roll your lips—tasting the beer from his lips on your own. “And a date with you is all I wished for.”

an: i really want a pizza under the stars with frankie now

#space sisters secret santa 2023 #frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x you #triple frontier x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #francisco morales fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #frankie morales fluff #triple frontier fluff #Pedrostories

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hqbaby · 10 months

Text

four — not not serious

fuck ur instincts — suna x reader & atsumu x reader

you and suna are just fooling around—so why does he care so much when you start falling in love with someone else?

previous — masterlist — next

word count. 1.6k content. swearing, just a bunch of fluff

“I don’t get it,” Osamu says, face pulled into a frown. “Ya haven’t slept with ‘er yet?”

Atsumu kicks his brother in the stomach, eyes trained on the screen as he pulls the lead in Mario Kart. “Fuck yeah!” he cheers. “And, yeah, ya pig. Not everythin’s about sex y’know.”

“Ya fuckin’ cheated! That doesn’t count!”

“Yer just a sore loser.” It’s Atsumu’s turn to receive an elbow to the ribs. “Asshole!” he hisses, throwing the controller to the side when he still somehow finishes first. “Serves ya right.”

The twins both lean back into the couch, the adrenaline washing away. Atsumu adds another notch under his name on the tally they’ve been keeping of their wins and losses. The score so far is 3-12 in Osamu’s favor (but Atsumu swears he’ll beat him over the summer).

“Ya serious ‘bout the girl?”

Atsumu groans. His brother has been trying to know more about you for whatever nosy reason and he finds it nothing short of annoying. “What does it matter to ya, scrub?”

“Just wanna know if I’m gonna have t’make more food at Christmas, s’all,” Osamu says in faux innocence. “So? Is it serious?”

The golden-haired twin wrinkles his nose, the face he always makes when he’s in deep thought. “It’s not serious,” he says eventually, then adds, “But it’s not not serious.”

“Oh?”

“It’s… nice. She’s nice.”

Osamu snickers at the look on his brother’s face. He’s clearly more interested in this “nice” girl than he lets on. He already figured as much when his brother started being all quiet about it, because if there’s one thing he knows about Atsumu, it’s that he’s never quiet. So there’s bound to be something going on.

“When am I gonna get to meet her?”

“Fuck off."

“You look nice,” Kiyoko says, leaning against the door of your room. A smile plays on her lips as she watches you fix your hair in the mirror. “That dress in particular is really pretty. Where’d you get it?”

You give her a sheepish look, glancing down at the green ensemble that is definitely not yours. You wonder if she’s noticed the shoes yet. “All my clothes are dirty.”

She rolls her eyes fondly and makes her way over to her dresser. Opening a drawer, she produces a pair of earrings with a dainty flower motif and hands it to you. “Here,” she says. “It goes with the dress. And the shoes.”

You take the earrings and launch yourself at her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “Thank you, thank you, I love you!”

“Sure, sure, whatever.” She chuckles. “Where’s your laundry? I can throw it in with mine.”

“I will marry you and have your children and serve you every day of my life.”

She ponders for a moment then says, “I’ll settle for cake.”

You nod earnestly, holding her hands in yours. “Whatever you say, my lord and savior.”

Your roommate helps you finish getting ready. She does your hair when you get stuck not knowing whether to put it up or down and tries to clear some of the mess you’ve made in your room. You swear she’s a saint. Why else would she be this great?

“What’s with all the date jitters?” she asks eventually as the two of you sort through the pile of clothes on her bed. At this point, you can barely tell who owns what.

“What do you mean?”

She gestures at you, drawing your attention to your appearance. “You never put this much effort into dates.”

Your mouth drops into an “O” as you shrug. “I don’t know,” you say. “‘Tsumu said he had something fun planned and to dress a little fancy. So here we are.”

“‘Tsumu, huh?” Kiyoko gives you a teasing look. “That’s been going on for a while.”

“Just three weeks,” you say. “Not even a month yet.”

“Yeah, but that’s like a lifetime for you,” she points out. “When was the last time you dated someone for that long?”

You frown. “I’ve been with Rin for like a year now.”

“That’s different though, isn’t it?”

You never thought about it really. You never thought of Suna as anything like a boyfriend, but you knew he wasn’t exactly just a friend either. It wasn’t even that you fooled around with him. There was always something more there, something deeper. A genuine care for one another at the very least.

You wonder if he thinks that too.

“Text,” Kiyoko says, passing your phone to you when it buzzes.

tsumu: am outside :D

“He’s here,” you tell her, putting your phone in your purse. You stand up and strike a ridiculous pose, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your hip, lips pouting. “How do I look?”

“So fuckable.”

“Thanks.” You grin, opening the door. “Love you! See you later!”

You find Atsumu at the entrance and he… looks nice. He’s ditched his usual clothes for a crisp white button-up and nice pants. Even his hair is styled a little better. Not that you ever thought that he looked bad, but he clearly made an effort today.

You realize you’ve been staring at him for so long that you haven’t even noticed that he’s been looking at you too. His eyes are wide as he gapes at your figure.

“Ya look…” He let out a little chuckle. “Yer beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks heat up as you look down at Kiyoko’s stolen shoes, unable to look him straight in the eye. Something inside you erupts. Well, that’s new, you think to yourself. What even is that?

“Thank you.” You smile at him. “You look great too, you know.”

Now it’s his turn to get all embarrassed. “Thanks.” He takes your hand in his and gently leads you closer to him. “Ready to go?”

You squeeze his hand. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

The two of you make your way through the courtyard. It’s a nice summer day and people are out and about, talk and laughter filling the air around you. Some students have gone home to visit their families so it isn’t as crowded as usual, but more than a few of you are still on campus for the summer semester. Everything is warm and bright and perfect, like it can stay this way forever.

Atsumu leads you past the benches and the trees, taking a turn before you reach the parking lot.

“Where are we going?” you ask, expecting him to lead you to his car like he usually does and wondering why you went the other way.

He turns to you with a grin. “It’s a surprise.”

You end up walking into one of the buildings near your residence hall, the science building. It’s empty save for a few members of the maintenance staff mopping the floors and airing out the rooms. They don’t even look your way as Atsumu leads you up the stairs, all the way to the top of the building on the third floor.

Your brows furrow as he lets go of your hand and goes to push the door to the rooftop open. It’s usually locked (you know this because you and Oikawa once tried to sneak up there when you were wasted), but this time, it opens and Atsumu nods his head for you to step outside.

When you walk through the door, you’re met with the vast concrete expanse of the rooftop. Except it isn’t as empty as you expected it to be. In the middle of it, there’s a screen and a projector and a blanket and a bunch of pillows. You notice a basket lying nearby beside a cooler that looks like it’s been through a lot.

“What is this?” you ask, eyes fixed on the scene before you.

Atsumu shrugs, that boyish charm of his seeping through. “I wanted to do something nice.”

You peel your gaze away from the little theater on the rooftop and turn to look at him. “Something nice?”

His eyes go big, panic taking over him. Is it too much? Do you not like it? This probably wasn’t what you expected at all. He should’ve just taken you to a nice restaurant. He didn’t have to do all of this.

“Fuck, I’m sorry I didn’t tell ya ‘bout it. If ya don’t like it, we can just—”

Before he even realizes it, your lips are on his. He’s still gawking when you kiss him softly, deeply. It takes him a moment, but soon he’s kissing you back, his hands going to your waist and yours wrapping around his neck.

You pull back and he finds you smiling at him, all toothy and giddy like a kid in a candy store.

“I love it,” you tell him, pulling him into a hug. “Thank you.”

He leans down and kisses you again. “Don’t even mention it.”

When you separate, you’re still clinging to his hand as he shows you the whole set-up. In the basket, he reveals pizza from the place you kept telling him about, some popcorn, and a bunch of sweets. There’s a few cans of your favorite soda in the cooler and a tiny tub of ice cream (he tells you that he was supposed to get wine but his brother blew through their allowance for the week). You sit down on the blankets while you pick which food to eat first while he goes to set up the movie: Pulp Fiction, because you once swore he had to see it.

He sits down beside you and you give him that smile again, curling into his side. You turn to watch the movie as the sun sets around you, and Atsumu finds he can’t look away from your face. He notices the curve of your nose, the shape of your lips, the way your hair falls just right. He decides he could look at you forever and he’d never get bored, he’d always find something new and beautiful about you.

It’s not serious, he tells himself. But it’s not not serious either.

notes. and so it begins ;)

#hqbaby.fyi #hqbaby #haikyuu #suna rintarou #suna #suna rintarou x reader #suna x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna rintarou fic #suna fic #miya atsumu fic #atsumu fic #haikyuu fic

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vecnuthy · 5 months

Text

new

Late entry for @steddiemicrofic December prompt: pine, and for @steddieholidaydrabbles December 31 prompt: New Year's Eve/Resolution | wc: 508 | G | pre-steddie |

Eddie looked around him and took a deep breath.

Another year had come and gone, and he'd made it.

There in the woods, scattered around a fire among the people that mattered the most to Eddie, it really hit him. All at once. That warmth in his chest, the sting behind his eyes, the pull of the corners of his mouth. He was relieved - happy, he thought, gripping his beer can too tightly. The pop made him jump, which made Jeff jump and yelp beside him.

"Scared the shit out of me, man!"

Eddie laughed.

Jeff nodded toward the cabin's porch where Eddie saw Robin and Steve making sloppy light designs with sparklers, wiping tears from their eyes because they were laughing so hard.

"I never would've thought that he was such a...." Jeff stopped, getting caught on the right word.

"Lame dork with a heart of gold?" Eddie supplied.

Jeff's eyebrows shot up. "Yeah, sure. Robin had it right: he's a dingus. He just genuinely doesn't care, does he?"

Eddie shook his head, eyes glued to the Steve and Robin goofing around. He caught Steve's eye and they smiled at each other.

"You know," Jeff's voice softer. "I know somebody else who doesn't care," he said with a nudge.

Eddie's smile lingered a little longer, then faded as he cast his eyes down and played with the tab on his can. "I care."

"I know," Jeff conceded, understanding, then grinned to himself when he saw Steve look over at Eddie again. Robin disappeared inside the cabin. "New year, new possibilities. You should get a sparkler. You're starting to give this tree over here a run for its money."

Eddie snapped his head up, confused. "What?"

"Pine. It's a pine tree, and you're pining. You know, identify theft is not a jo-"

"Jesus Christ, stop," Eddie shoved him with a laugh. "Fine."

Nineteen steps brought him to the porch, under the glow of the strung Christmas lights and a grinning Steve, who said. "Hi."

"Hi," Eddie breathed out.

The sparklers had made the air smokey, filling it with color from the shining Christmas lights. Red, yellow, green, and blue bloomed and swirled in the smoke, bathing Steve in color and light, and Eddie lost every train of thought he'd ever had.

"Can I use your light?" Steve asked after a few moments, his face kind.

"Yeah," Eddie said after a beat, patting his pockets, then reached up behind Steve's ear, conjuring up the lighter.

Steve's eyes went wide, and he barked a laugh. "Did you just do a magic trick?"

Eddie blushed hard. "No," he lied. Why would he do that? "Why would I do that?"

Steve laughed, bright and colorful in a way that had nothing to do with the lights. "I'm not complaining. I already thought you were magic, but...." Steve shrugged with a smile that Eddie couldn't help but mirror, Christmas lights dancing in their eyes. "...proof."

For Eddie, 1987 started within a cloud of color-soaked smoke, with a boy that would become his. Soon.

#steddiemicroficdecember #steddieholidaydrabbles #steddie #steddie microfic #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

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fireflyinks · 10 months

Text

needy ☆

draco malfoy x reader angst/smut

a/n : OMG IM SO PROUD OF THIS. i hope y’all like it as much as i do because i loved writing it.

contains : p in v, fingering, use of y/n (literally just once), draco’s kind of a death eater idk if this counts though, praise, cursing

summary : makeup sex 🫡

Mature Content 18+

He wants to get a reaction out of me.

Draco Malfoy was known for his cruelty. Mean was his middle name. His scowls and arrogance proved this time and time again, and yet he seemed to be a different person around me. A kind, gentle, loving person. Until I make him angry.

Sitting on the common room couch, I watched as Draco felt up some slutty Slytherin girl, who wore a green dress two sizes too small.

The common room was decorated beautifully. Christmas was days away, and the scenery showed it. Holly was placed on almost every surface, along with a ginormous tree in the corner of the room. And yet, all I could seem to look at was Draco.

At first, I wanted to be angry. But that was just the reaction he wanted. I felt tears begin to form at my waterline, but that would’ve also given him satisfaction.

So I sat, and I watched. Ever so often, Draco would make eye contact with me, and smirk. God, I’ve never seen such an evil smirk in all of my days. He was enjoying this, Draco enjoyed making me miserable.

I stood up from the couch, smoothed my silky ivory colored dress with my hands, and went up to my dorm gracefully.

—

As my mother kissed me goodbye, I dreaded stepping onto the Hogwarts Express. I dreaded seeing him.

Draco and I hadn’t spoken in two weeks, the longest we’d ever gone without eachother. I couldn’t believe that he hadn’t reached out to me. Looking back, our argument before the party wasn’t even my fault. All I asked was why he had been skipping classes, and he went berserk. ‘That’s what you get when you worry about someone’ I thought.

I sat with a couple of friends on the train, trying my best to avoid Draco. Luckily, Pansy’s story about the boy she met at a dinner party she’d attended was interesting enough to distract me.

The first few days were casual, I manage to not come into close contact with Draco at all. But like clockwork, we were assigned a potions project together.

I pleaded with Snape, begging him to reconsider, but he refused.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. I had too much on my mind. Sneaking down to the common room, I froze when I saw Draco, sitting on the couch while reading.

I began to quickly leave, until I heard his voice call out to me.

“Wait, don’t go.”

Sighing, I turned to face him. His expression was one I’d never seen on him before.

Needy.

“What do you want, Draco?” I asked, annoyed.

He got up from his place on the couch, walking over to me.

“I need to talk to you. And I need you to listen.”

I thought for a moment. Why should I? He made it very clear what he thought about me and our relationship.

“Why don’t you go talk to that girl you were feeling up?” I couldn’t help it, I had the right to at least one snarking comment.

Draco shook his head, “I don’t even remember her name.”

I rolled my eyes, “What do you want to talk about.”

He gulped, beginning to roll his sleeve up slowly. My eyes almost bulged out of my head when I saw it.

“What the fuck?”

The dark mark.

It felt as if I couldn’t breath. How could he throw everything away like this?

“Draco, why?” I sobbed out, tears running down my cheeks.

“It wasn’t my choice, n/n. I had to.”

Not thinking, I threw my arms around him. All of the pent up anger I felt towards him was gone.

“I’m sorry about that night. I was so hurt and stressed out, I wasn’t thinking. That’s not a good excuse though.”

I shook my head, “Don’t worry about it, that’s the least of my concerns at the moment.” I looked up into his eyes, tracing the death mark on his arm with my finger. “What’s going to happen?”

“I don’t know. But I want to enjoy the little freedom I have left. I want to enjoy it with you.”

Before I knew it, Draco’s lips were on mine.

He mouthed moved slower than usual, which surprised me. Draco was not the type to take it slow. No, he was the opposite. And yet here we were, our mouths moving dangerously slow.

“Dray-“ I spoke through the kiss, earning a ‘hm?’ from him.

“I need you.” I said shakily. He placed a hand on the back of my neck, pushing me closer to him.

“Then have me.”

We made our way over to the couch, and Draco sat as I straddled his lap. We continued to kiss, though it got more sloppy as time went on.

“God, I miss this.” Draco said as he removed my shirt. “Nobody has ever been as good to me as you are.”

I blushed, feeling his hands on my chest. He massaged my tits, until he eventually attached his mouth to one of them. I moaned, throwing my head back.

“You like that?” He asked, earning an eager nod from my head.

His hands found my waist band, pulling off the sweats I’d been wearing. He rubbed my core through my panties, causing me to buck my hips.

“You’re so needy for me, princess.”

Pushing my panties to the side, he slipped one finger in, stroking my walls again and again.

“Fuck~ Draco, I need your cock.”

The smirk on his face said it all. “Hm? What was that? What did you say?”

“I need your cock!” I said a bit louder.

Draco shook his head. “There she is. There’s my dirty girl.”

Pulling his trousers down, Draco crawled on top of me. He kissed my neck as he grinded his bulge onto my heat.

Satisfied with my responsive whines, he released his cock and slowly pushed inside of me.

My eyes rolled back as he filled me to the brim, quickly beginning to thrust in and out of me.

“Draco~ God you fill me up so good.”

He groaned, placing a kiss on my forehead. “If you keep talking like that, princess, I won’t be able to last much longer.”

His pace became ruthless quickly. Sounds of slaps skin filled the room and I’m sure someone could probably hear us. But did I care? Fuck no.

There was something about the way he looked at me in these moments. So lustfully. I could see in his eyes that he was scared. Scared of losing me, scared of losing himself. I had to be there for him, whether I liked it or not.

“I’m so close, Dray.” I moaned breathlessly.

Draco nodded, “Me too, love. Go ahead, come on my cock.”

With my newfound permission, a coil seemed to snap inside of me, and I released as he continued to thrust inside of me. The feeling was devine.

His lips found mine and he came inside of me not long after. His thrusts continued, though they were shaky and sloppy.

“I love you so so so much Y/n.”

I panted, digging my nails into his back, “I love you too.”

Afterwards, he took me up to his dorm, and gave me one of his shirts to wear to sleep. We washed up, before cuddling. I tried my best to get some sleep, though I couldn’t help but stare at the dark mark on his forearm for hours.

#draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy smut #fanfiction #harry potter #hogwarts #harry potter fanfiction #smut #angst #draco malfoy angst #harry potter angst

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greenorangevioletgrass · 5 months

Text

fever pitch (b.b.) - part two

previous part | series masterlist

soundtrack: lavender haze - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and Bradley go on a date. they say the wrong things --or right things-- and surprise each other as they get to know each other better. warnings: language, so much unresolved tension, mentions of character deaths, fluffy heartfelt stuff, but also like sexy stuff 👀 notes: i had so much fun writing this! special shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse who had to deal with my annoying thots at all hours. comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated as always. happy reading! <3

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Subject: Guest Attendance Confirmation From: [email protected]

Dear Madam,

Thank you for confirming your information regarding your upcoming visit to Annabel’s.

It is our pleasure to host you for your dinner reservation on the 23rd of March, 2023, as a guest of our member Mr. Bradley Bradshaw. We hope that you have a wonderful experience dining and entertaining at the Club with us.

In order to ensure your positive and memorable experience with us, we kindly ask all members and guests to be aware of a few key rules of the Club:

DRESS CODE. We encourage individuality and style in your smart attire. After 6PM, gentlemen are required to wear jackets. Read the full dress code guidelines here.

PHONE & PHOTOGRAPHY. As a Private Members’ Club, we kindly ask Members and Guests to refrain from taking photographs within the Club’s premises. Posting content to your social media from your visit to the Club is not permitted. Phones must be kept on silent at all times and are only permitted for use in limited areas of the Club.

For guidance, read the Rules & Bylaws of the Club here.

If you require further information or assistance, please do not hesitate to reach out through this email address or by phone at +44 20 7946 0011.

Thank you and see you soon.

Best wishes, Maude Adams Floor Manager.

***

You’re not sure why you’re bracing for something to go wrong.

The restaurant is rife with opulence, with rich chartreuse and bronze walls and Japanese-style paintings over classic British architecture. Bradley booked a little corner booth just off the fireplace, the privacy still granting a nice view of the grandiose bar across the room. He pulled up your chair and told you that you look beautiful—a good three or four times, and it feels just as genuine as the first. With your show and his training the next day, you both had to pass on the booze and settle with some green tea to go with your food. Conversation flows effortlessly, exploring easy topics like your shared love of old movies, the Venn diagram of your music tastes, the novelty of the sport that he plays…

“Okay, but how did you get into soccer—I mean, football?” You smile sheepishly as you correct yourself. “Sorry. Wouldn’t wanna get maimed to death by the locals.”

He laughs. “Don’t worry. You’re safe with me.” And then he takes a deep breath as his finger toys with the condensation on the side of his glass. “It’s… uh, my dad, actually. He bought me a soccer ball for Christmas when I was like 2 and… it’s most of the memories I had with him, playing kickabout in the backyard.”

“Oh?”

He smiles—diplomatically, all things considered. “He died when I was 4.”

Your face falls. Fuck. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry…”

“Nah, don’t be. It was a long time ago. And I feel like he’s with me every time I step on the pitch.” Bradley nods, ever so reassuring. He’s had enough ‘I’m sorry’s’ for every time his dad comes up in conversation, and he doesn’t want you to feel obliged to do the same.

“But hey, I think it’s wonderful… that he’s right there in spirit with you every game.” You smile back, trying to save this slip-up in conversation. “And I bet your mom’s really proud of you, right?”

To his own surprise, he chuckles. It really is true that tragedy plus time equals comedy. “I mean, I like to think so.” He notices your questioning look, and realizes he needs to let you in on the joke too. “My mom died when I was 17. Cancer. I moved out here and lived with my godfather. Got scouted for Arsenal.”

And there it is.

You’ve been so worried about all the external factors going wrong, that you didn’t consider that the faulty one might be you.

The clinks of plates and cutleries suddenly become so loud. The subtle piano playing over the speakers sound garbled, like you’re underwater. And the salmon sashimi in your mouth tastes like lead now. How the fuck does lightning manage to strike twice?!

“I’m sorry, I…” and now you can’t even muster up a proper apology, because what do you even say?! The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a lame excuse, “I… thought it was a good idea not to Google you.”

His heart catches at the sight of you, all wide-eyed and dumbstruck. You wouldn’t believe it if he told you, but he thinks he might have just fallen in love with you there. Foot in mouth and all.

But you… you think you must’ve looked so stupid right now. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No, no, no. It’s alright!” Bradley quickly interjects, that twinkle of amusement in his eyes still lingers. “I appreciate it, actually. I’ll take awkward moments with you over anything else you can Google about me.”

“Really?”

He nods. “Of course. I mean… it’s not like you killed them, did you?”

There’s a split second of silence, when you meet his playful gaze, and his mouth pulls into a grin over your petrified look, and then… the tension simply melts away in a sigh of tentative laughs. The garbled underwater music has come up to the surface, the dining noises dissipates, and everything turns back to normal… ish.

“Anyway, what about yourself? How did you get into… all of this?”

“Oh, it’s all I’ve ever known, really. Pretty sure I sang before I knew how to talk. I was always pestering my mom about ballet and piano lessons and living room concerts… I was that kid, you know?”

The image makes him smile, and it sends butterflies to your stomach. “Your mom must’ve been thrilled.”

“Eh.” You shrug flippantly, and that non-answer is enough of an answer for Bradley. “But she knew I was stubborn as hell, and she’s better off letting me tire myself out than trying to stop me, so…”

“But you didn’t.”

You shake your head. “By 5, I was on Broadway—”

His jaw falls open, and he looks at you like grew a new head. “I’m sorry. Five years old?”

You raise your hand in defense, not wanting to oversell yourself. “To be fair, though, it was mostly luck. My mom was working in the theater company and they needed a kid, so I volunteered to stand in—I mean, naturally,” you roll your eyes at yourself, “And they liked me. So they put me on. But I didn’t have to do anything but pretend to be asleep while the adult cast carried me around.”

“Still. That’s more than most people can say. You continued doing it afterwards, right?”

“Mm-hm. Stage, commercials, TV, the occasional movies… anything I could get my hands on.”

Bradley studies you with this look of awe—not an unusual reaction, he’s sure; it’s a pretty impressive feat. But he also catches a lost sense of melancholy in the way you say it, and he can’t help but ask, “Did you have a childhood at all?”

And your heart catches. That’s something nobody ever asked you before… “What do you mean?”

He pauses, realizing he may have inadvertently touched on a sensitive subject with this line of questioning. So he tries again more carefully. “I just meant… you’ve been working most of your life. Did you ever just get to be a kid?”

“I…” you trail off, considering your answer. You want to say yes, of course you did, but the little sting in your throat makes you question yourself: did you?

And with the soft look in his eyes, you know he knows the real answer to that. Both of you do.

It’s alarming how disarming he can be, and you would hate it… except you don’t. At least not enough to make you run off. “I guess, being in that kind of environment, I didn’t really know how to be a kid…? If that makes any sense.”

Bradley nods, understanding. He’s not entirely sure how to respond, but he wants to be empathetic.

“I went to school and made friends for a while, but…” Normally this would be an uphill point in your story, but tonight… this part is tinged with distant sorrow. “I got a record deal when I was 15, and suddenly I was living in LA and working in the studio or going on tours and… I just wasn’t a kid anymore.”

It breaks his heart, the thought of a childhood lost on you like that. “Wow. You really have lived a life, haven’t you?” He can’t resist but reaches out for your hand.

The touch makes your heart catch, and it feels overwhelming. It feels like you’re gonna burst, so you chicken out with a lame joke. “Haven’t slept in 22 years.”

Bradley can’t help but smile at that, squeezing your hand three times in comfort. And just like that, the bubble bursts and the world continues on its axis once again. He finishes his last slice of tuna tataki and washes it down with his konacha.

“You know, for how much you’ve done since you started out, I thought you’d be more… Hollywood.”

You raise an eyebrow in amusement. “Hollywood?”

“Okay, that came out wrong,” he admits bashfully. “I just… you’re very down-to-earth. And real. I guess I expected more, like, an attitude?”

“Oh? I can have an attitude…” you smirk coyly over your tea, “...if you can handle it.”

Fuck. You’re gonna be the death of him. It’s insane how easily you switch from being sweet and vulnerable, to flirty and borderline devilish. But he wasn’t born yesterday, and he knows he’s well-equipped to handle this back-and-forth.

“I think you’d be surprised by what I can handle.”

Oh, here comes the fun part. “Is that right?”

He nods, leaning into you a little bit from across the table. “I think you’d find a lot about me surprising.”

If the whiff of his Tom Ford Black Orchid catches you off-guard, you don’t show it. Instead, you mirror his body language, propping your chin on your knuckles for good measure. “Like what?”

God, he really wants to kiss you… but it’s way too soon, and he doesn’t know how you feel about public displays of affection. “Like… I’m a pretty decent cook. And I like reading.”

“An athlete who can read? My, my…” you smirk teasingly.

Bradley laughs. He walked right into that one. But he’s not ready to admit defeat yet. Instead, he makes use of that bedroom voice girls like so much to push the point further. “That’s right. I know how to use the washing machine, too.”

You bite your lower lip and sigh, shuddering a little from his low rasp but definitely playing up the dramatics. “You do? Mmh…”

Jesus. If that’s you faking it, he can’t wait to make you all wet and needy for real. “And you wanna know the best part?”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, the lustful tension is real. “Yeah?”

He leans in just a little closer, head tilting as if he’s moving in for a kiss. Maybe if he throws it out there… “I can put together Ikea furniture.”

You throw your head back and feigns a quiet but dramatic moan for your one-man audience. “Oh my gosh, I think I just came in my pants a little.”

Fuck. He really wants to make you come now. With his fingers, his tongue, his cock—

Your gaze drops to his mouth, the stupid 80’s pornstache you’ve never been into before this, the soft inviting lips underneath. The ball is in your court now, and you know he would kiss you earnestly if you close the distance…

But you burst out laughing instead. Bradley releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding, although your bright laughter doesn’t deter him from thinking dirty thoughts about you. If anything, it just makes you ten times hotter in his eyes.

“Well played. That was a good one,” Bradley concedes, his face turning just a little bit pink.

“We should probably stop before the staff kicks us out for having too much fun,” you lean back into your seat, looking around the restaurant, making sure no one is listening. Squeezing his hand three times as the next course arrives… not entirely putting the kiss off of the table either.

Bradley recommends the vanilla mille crepe to close the meal, and you come up with the idea of sharing a slice. The dessert arrives, a lush little golden brown thing with thin layers of cream in between, so simple and so intricate at the same time. He lets you take the first bite—insists upon it, actually. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.

That, and he wants to watch your face twist in pleasure again. Eyes fluttering closed, chest falling in a sigh, lips parted ever so slightly... God, he can’t wait to be the one responsible for it.

“Amazing, right?” He beams at you, very pleased with himself.

“Mm, it truly is,” you hum in agreement, watching him take a bite. It gives you a naughty idea… “It’s so amazing, I might just hijack this whole thing.” You jokingly pull the plate a little closer to you.

Bradley playfully holds the plate back, looking faux offended. “Hey! Come on. You know I’m a little bit stronger than you, right?”

“Please. That’s never stopped me before.”

“Really?”

“I have my ways…” your finger reaches out just enough to touch his, just slightly.

Between that and your eyes darkening in mischief, Bradley fights hard not to turn into goo under your slightest touch. He bites the inside of his cheek to contain himself. “You’re really making me earn this, aren’t you?”

“Why? Girls never gave you a hard time before, Mr. Big Time Football Man?”

He laughs. “No. But you’re probably the only one giving me this hard a time for a bite of dessert.”

“Is that all we’re playing for? A bite of dessert?” you smirk, egging him on.

“What else do you think we’re playing for here?” He takes a second bite, maintaining eye contact as he does so.

You take another bite and lick the cream off of your fork. “I don’t know. A bite of… something else?”

Ah. So we are interested. Bradley is unfazed as he gently warns you, “Careful. I might take you up on that.”

“Good. I was hoping you would.”

The tension rises as reality sinks in. You both want to fuck, and looking at the trajectory of the evening, there’s a good chance you will. And it sobers you the hell up, pulling you both straighter in your seats. Sharing the slice of cake in quiet civility. Keeping a completely respectable distance, as if worried you don’t trust yourself not to climb over the table and kiss him senseless.

But the game… oh, the game is on.

“I don’t know about you, but… I was thinking maybe a few bites, though.”

“Oh?”

“Oh, yeah. I intend to explore every part of this… dessert.”

You stop chewing for a moment. There’s something so hot about how he says it so casually. “That’s… very optimistic of you.”

“Not optimistic enough to decide if kissing you out here was a good idea,” he admits sheepishly.

“Why is that?”

Bradley shrugs. “Just a hunch.”

He’s right, of course. He didn’t choose an ultra-exclusive, members-only establishment with a no-phone policy just for kicks. He sees the security detail that follows you around, lurking at a safe distance—from back at the club. And tonight, you’re traveling light with just two bodyguards, each strategically posted near you and the exit, but it’s still more than he’s ever encountered. There’s no way you would risk a first kiss in public, no matter how discreet the place is. No matter how much you like him.

And you like him a whole lot.

“Tell you what…” you put the fork down as quietly as you can. This is the moment of truth. “I’ll let you kiss me all you want back at my hotel, hm?”

Bradley’s eyes light up instantly. He takes a moment, not so much to consider his options, but to process what’s about to happen. “I would like that very much, yes.”

“Alright, then. Shall we?” you smile brightly, flagging the waiter for the check.

“Uh, yeah. Totally. We shall,” he stammers a little, recovering fast enough to snatch the check and slips his credit card in the tab. Barely addressing the waiter as they walk back to the till.

It all happens so fast, and you whine in complaint. “Oh, come on!”

“What, was I supposed to let you pay or something?”

“You were supposed to let me pretend to fight for it, at least…” you huff.

He smiles in amusement. You are so adorable, it makes his heart fucking swell. “Okay. Next time I’ll let you pretend. I’ll even give you a little pushback for good measure, how about that?”

“Perfect.”

“Now, let’s go back to your hotel and… I don’t know, pretend you have to try really hard to resist my charms.”

“Yeah, okay.” You chuckle in agreement. This is really happening. Wow. And just as the excitement sets in, another point of concern pops up in your head, like a really annoying notification. “Did you drive here or…?”

He nods. “You wanna take my car?”

“No, I got a car waiting for me…” you smile apologetically, glancing at her bodyguard. There’s no way they’re gonna let you jump into some guy’s car. “And there’s gonna be paps out front…” Here comes the tricky part. “Would you… mind if we… go separately and meet up at my hotel?”

Oh. Bradley’s face falls a little upon realizing that he can’t just walk out the door with you. He sees how this works. You don’t want the media to jump on this first date, and it’s actually a smart move. Besides, what’s a few more minutes to a whole night of complete privacy? “Sure, no problem.”

You nod tentatively. Well, that was surprisingly easy… “And just to be clear, this has nothing to do with you. It’s just… this whole thing can be a circus, and I don’t want you to deal with anything you didn’t sign up for.”

He smiles at you. Bless you for being so thoughtful, but it does make him wonder if other people have had trouble with it. But maybe that’s a question for another time. “Hey, I totally understand. We’ll just meet up at the hotel and leave it at that.”

“I’ll text you, okay?”

You squeeze his hand gently before you get up, making your way out of the restaurant. Powering through the camera flashes as soon as you walk out of the front door. Giddy because you know something these vultures don’t.

Meanwhile, Bradley sits. Waits. For one minute, and two, and three. Looking at people walking in and out, wondering how inconspicuous he would be if he walks out now.

And then…

His phone buzzes.

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