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#fluffy fic
oh-my-damn · 2 months
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Sleepy Orange
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Pairing: Astarion x Female!Tav/reader
Summary: You come back from a fight exhausted beyond belief. Astarion does his best to take care of you. Part of that includes peeling your orange.
Wordcount: 1300
Warnings: None. Pure, unadulterated fluff. A happy, sappy, in love Astarion (just as he deserves to always be)
Masterlist
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You huffed as your tired body plopped down on the bed in your tent, a groan spilling out when you land on the many pillows adorning it.
Your head lolls back as your eyes droop closed, every muscle in your body aching from your escapades today.
It had been a long one. A long and rough one. It felt like you'd been fighting for days when you finally came out victorious, but the price of winning meant that you'd been covered in blood and bruises.
One long bath later, you were finally back in your tent, lit candles scattered about, jewel-shade pillows in velvety fabrics adorning the space.
Your living accommodations had certainly become more colorful and frivolous ever since you and Astarion had decided to shack up together.
It had been an accident, at first. Your relationship had it's ups and downs, but after defeating Cazador, he finally told you how he felt. He laid himself bare for you, not just his body but his soul as well, and your heart soared at the idea that the man you fell for so recklessly finally loved you back. Even with everything the two of you had gone through.
Eventually, it came to a point where the two of you would spend every night in each others arms, either in your own tent or his. So naturally, you came to the conclusion that it would be easier if you just shared one tent. Together.
It had taken a period of adjustment, at first, but it didn't take long for both of you to find a home in your newly shared accommodations. For Astarion, an important part of his living space was that it be elegant, and comfortable – at least whatever comfortable meant to his standards. For you, it felt more lavish than anything, but after a while you started to find your own comfort in merely the thought that he loved the space. You found comfort in the thought that he felt at home, considering it had been so long since he'd felt that way.
You and Astarion aside, however, your work was still cut out for you on the fighting front. Defeating Cazador was nowhere near the end for you, even despite of Astarion now being a free – albeit still spawn – vampire, your main quest remained the same, and you were still fighting day to day to make it happen. Which is why you're currently camped out on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, planning your next move.
Unfortunately for you and your companions, your presence in Baldur's Gate didn't exactly please everyone, which is why a group of mercenaries had cornered you earlier, prepared for a fight. They got one, but victory didn't come easily, which is why you're now achingly sore to the point of almost crying.
Your bones ache, so do your muscles, and your stomach feels empty beyond what could possibly be deemed healthy, but you're simply too tired to make any food.
You almost manage to drift off right there, in just your casual outfit on top of piles of velvet pillows, when you hear soft steps approaching, entering your tent.
You already know who it is just by the sound of his steps, how silent they are; you can tell that the only reason there's a sound at all is for your benefit, to alert you of his presence.
When he speaks, his voice is soft, laced with worry, a gentle whisper that caresses your mind, lulling you gently.
"Darling. Please tell me you're not dead."
A tired smile works its way onto your face, but your eyes remain closed as you murmur, "I'm alive."
"Thank the gods," Astarion responds, and you can just imagine the characteristic smirk on his face as he speaks, "Because if you were, I'm sure our companions wouldn't hesitate to suspect it be my doing."
You can hear him ruffling about faintly, closing the flaps to your tent to grant the two of you privacy, but your mind is already desperately slipping towards dream-state, only urged on by your body.
A beat passes before he speaks again, more quietly this time, but his voice is clearer than before despite it, which indicates he's moved closer to you.
"Have you eaten anything yet?"
You mumble something inaudible, but you manage to shake your head slowly, your eyes staying closed as you remain too tired to offer him a proper response.
He let's out a sigh, one that's steeped in worry rather than disappointment, and then you feel something cold gently brush over your cheek. His fingers.
"You need to eat, my darling. I know you're tired, but you haven't eaten all day. What can I get you?"
Your brows furrow as you shift slightly on the bed, tilting your cheek into his embrace. He cups it carefully, his cold touch soothing on your skin when his thumb caresses it.
"Mh, dunno.." Your response is barely there, but Astarion doesn't move away, his voice determined.
"I cannot in good consciousness let you sleep before you eat at least a little bit. How about fruit? An apple, perhaps?"
You grunt, your brows furrowing as your head shakes.
Astarion tuts gently at your antics, his fingers brushing over your forehead in a soothing manner, "Okay, my sweet, point taken. No apples. An orange then, would that entice you?"
You hesitate. An orange does sound absolutely perfect right now.
But then you let out a whine, "Too tired to peel it."
Astarion chuckles softly, his fingers gently sliding down the bridge of your nose as he whispers, "Don't fret, my dear."
The bed shifts again, his cool touch leaving your face, but it doesn't take long before your mind steals you away again, luring you into your dream state.
You're almost there when you feel movement again, your brows furrowing slightly as your tongue darts out to wet your dry lips.
Astarion gently slides a hand down your arm, his voice quiet, "I'm back, my love. I've got something for you, won't you indulge me in having a few bites?"
You stir at his words, settling against the pillows again, and then you feel something prod at your lips as he speaks again, "Open up for me, darling."
Your lips part, and he gently feeds you an orange slice, the taste making you hum when you bite down on it.
Astarion smiles at the tired look on your face, further peeling the orange to get more slices when you chew them.
"There we go. Tastes good, yes?"
You nod sleepily, blinking owlishly to look up at him through tired eyes. His smile widens when your eyes meet his, his adept fingers expertly peeling the orange without issue, "There she is. My little warrior."
You let out a tired chuckle at his words, parting your lips when he offers you another orange slice.
"Just a few more, darling. Then I'll let you rest."
You nod, your eyes fluttering closed again, but it doesn't deter him from feeding you the remaining orange slices as he speaks to you quietly to keep you awake.
"You were a sight for sore eyes today. I bet Gale is jealous you're not halfway to passed out in his bed right now."
You let out a snort at his words, shaking your head which makes him chuckle, "Now now, stay still, you little vixen. Eat the last of your orange."
You comply, chewing the last few bites and swallowing with a satisfied hum once you finish. His cool fingers gently caress your face, first your cheek and then down to your jaw, before you feel him lean closer. You feel his lips brush a kiss to your forehead, and then another on the tip of your nose before he whispers, "Thank you for eating. You may sleep now, my treasure."
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writernerd23 · 9 months
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Baby Dust
A/N: My triumphant return to writing fanfic is here!
Summary: You and Spencer Reid are ready for the next step in your relationship, but you keep getting discouraged. It takes a little help from Penelope Garcia for you two to get what you want.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Pregnant person reader (she/her pronouns used)
Word count: 2,339 words
Content warning: obviously pregnancy, if that’s something you aren’t interested in, please don’t hate me. Don’t send me hate, just scroll on.
Taglist: @reniescarlett, @mggsprettygirl, @reidsnose
If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please send me a message and let me know! The more, the merrier!
     You and Spencer had been trying for a long time to get pregnant, but every time you thought that you were, every test came back negative. You tried to hold your head up, but it was hard to. You didn’t want him to be disappointed if it didn’t happen soon, but you were getting disappointed every time you saw a negative result, you felt yourself die a little inside.
     You decided to take a pregnancy test one day while Spencer was getting ready for work, and when it came out negative, you burst into tears.
     Spencer heard you crying and walked into the bathroom with you. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” he asked you, placing his hand on your face and tilting your chin up to him.
     You sniffled. “It’s negative again.”
     Spencer sighed. “It’s not your fault,” he said. He knelt to where you were and kissed your forehead, then pulled you against him. “It’s just not time for us yet.”
     “I know,” you sobbed. “But I’m ready.”
     Spencer stood up with you and held onto you tightly. “I know you are, my love.” He kissed the top of your head. “I know you are.”
     He held onto you until you stopped crying, then he left for work. Before he left, he kissed you with as much love and tenderness as he could muster, told you he would be back soon and left.
     You were out with Penelope on a girl’s night the next night to distract yourself from what was happening but it wasn’t working.
     “How are things with you and Reid?” Penelope asked you politely, a smile on her face.
     You sighed, your face falling a little bit. “Things are great, Pen.”
     Penelope’s smile fell. “What’s wrong, Y/N?” she stood up and walked over to your side of the table, pulling you into her arms and holding you tightly.
     Tears started to slide down your face. “I want to have a baby with him and I can’t get pregnant.” you wiped your eyes with your hands and took a deep, shaky breath. “Every time I suspect I’m pregnant, I take a test and it comes back negative.” you took another breath. “I don’t want to let him down, but…”
     Penelope held you tightly. “As your best friend, Y/N, you can’t beat yourself up about it.” she started to rub your shoulder carefully. “I know it’s hard right now, but you’ll get pregnant soon. Just watch.” She gently kissed the top of your head. “You and Reid are two of the strongest people I’ve ever met. You’re going to be okay.” Penelope rubbed your arm again, then walked over to her purse and pulled something out.
     “What are you doing?” you asked, wiping your eyes.
     “Looking for this!” Penelope said. She pulled out a small tube of glitter, then returned to your side and gently sprinkled some on the top of your head. “There. Your fairy godmother has blessed you with baby dust.”
     You looked up at Penelope. “Baby dust isn’t real, you know,” you said, a small smile coming to your lips.
     “Shh!” Penelope said, placing one of her fingers onto your lips. “It’s real. And don’t forget to thank me when it works.”
     You thought it was a little strange, but you went along with it and didn’t say anything for the rest of the night.
     The next morning, Penelope was walking through the office when she ran into Spencer.
     “Dr. Reid,” she greeted him. Then she stopped and grabbed his elbow. “I need you to come with me right away.”
     Spencer went along with her, a tiny bit surprised. He was immediately alerted to whatever she needed.
     Penelope pulled him into a private room and closed the door.
     “What’s going on? Is everything okay?” Spencer asked, thoughts immediately going to you.
     Penelope looked confused for a second, then shook her head. “Everything’s fine, Spencer.” she dug into her purse and pulled out the tube of glitter again. “But, as your fairy godmother, I need to bless you with something.”
     “Fairy godmothers aren’t real,” Spencer started when Penelope shut him up.
     “Hush!” she commanded. Then she took the tube and gently sprinkled it on the top of Spencer’s head. “There. I’ve just bestowed baby dust upon you.”
     Now it was Spencer’s turn to be confused. “Baby dust?” he said. Then he understood. “You talked to Y/N last night.”
     Penelope nodded. “She really wants a baby, Spencer. I thought I would do my part and help her believe in something. Just to cheer her up.”
     Spencer nodded. “I understand.”
     Penelope smiled. “Then my work as a fairy godmother is done.” she started to walk away, then stopped and turned back to him. “But I’m serious, the second you find out you’re having a baby, I am that baby’s fairy godmother.”
     Spencer chuckled. “Of course.”
     Later that night, when Spencer came home from work, he looked around the small apartment and saw that the candles were lit, making the apartment cozy. He looked and saw you sitting on the sofa, facing him.
     “Hey,” he said. He set his keys down on the table and placed his bag next to the table. “Is everything okay?”
     You stood up, then walked over to him, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him. You buried your face in his chest and took a deep breath. “I missed you today.”
     He held you tightly. “I missed you, too.”
     You pulled away from him, then noticed a shimmer in his hair. “What in the world?” you asked. You tugged his shirt so his head was level with your eyesight. “Glitter?”
     “Actually,” Spencer said, straightening. “Penelope called it ‘baby dust’.”
     You giggled. “You’ve been fairy godmothered too?”
     Spencer laughed. “I guess so.”
     You smiled at him. You absolutely loved him more than anything in the entire world. You stopped smiling and said very seriously, “Spencer, I want to try one more time.”
     Spencer nodded. “I know you do, my love.” he squeezed you tightly. “I do too.”
     You smiled. “I really feel like tonight is the night,” you said. “I really think so.”
     Spencer smiled at you. “I think so, too.”
     You looked up at him, then pulled his face down to you and kissed him, running your fingers through his hair. His hands came up to your back as he gently dipped you backward, deepening the kiss. You pulled away from him, took a deep breath, then returned to kissing him.
     He started to sit down on the couch, pulling you with him. He set you on his lap and started kissing you even more, each kiss getting passionate and hot.
     You pressed a trail of kisses from his lips to his collarbone, then you unbuttoned the top button and started kissing his chest.
     Spencer wrapped his arms around you and lifted you off of his lap, your legs straddling him. He held you against him as he carried you from the living room into your bedroom, gently placing you on the bed and taking a deep breath.
     “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes unfocused.
     “I’m sure,” you replied.
     He grinned at you, then closed the door.
~~~~~~~~~~~
     A month later, something felt off about you. You were in tune with your body, but this was something that evaded you entirely. Something foreign was happening within you and you didn’t know what it was.
     Spencer was away on a case, so you couldn’t lean on him. But you decided that today was the day. It had been a while since you had taken a pregnancy test.
     You ran down to the corner store and bought three pregnancy tests. You took them back to the apartment and went to the bathroom, locking the door even though it was just you in the apartment.
     You followed the instructions on the boxes, did the tests, then sat on the edge of the shower and waited.
     You had a second, so you called Penelope.
     “Offices of Penelope Garcia, the queen herself speaking,” you heard Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line.
     You giggled. “Hi, Penelope.”
     Penelope gasped. “Y/N! How are you doing, sweetie? I’m sorry I haven’t checked in with you lately!”
     You took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Penelope. I’m actually waiting for some results.”
     Penelope stopped talking for a second, trying to place what it was you said, and then when she figured it out, she squealed. “Oh, my god!” she squealed. “Do you think-?”
     “I have a suspicion,” you replied. “Just want some confirmation.”
     Penelope started to squeal again when you heard a beep on her end. “Oh, sweetie, I have to go, I just got some information I need to tell the team.”
     You sighed. “Okay,” you said. “Tell Spencer I miss him.”
     “I absolutely will,” she replied.
     You sat up straight. “Penelope don’t hang up yet!” you cried. “You can’t tell him anything!”
     Penelope’s voice came from the other end of the line. “I won’t! I promise!”
     You said your goodbyes, then you hung up the phone. Right after the phone call ended, the timer started beeping.
     This was it.
     You looked down at your hands and saw them shaking, your palms were sweating.
     You wiped your palms on your jeans, then very carefully picked up the first test. You took a deep breath, then turned it over.
     Tears sprung to your eyes immediately, then you turned over the second and third tests with the same results. You started crying, that feeling coming back to you.
     You needed to leave your apartment to get some air. You needed to do something.
~~~~~~~~~
     Spencer came home later that night after being away for three days. He walked in and saw you standing right by the door, your shoes and jacket on.
     “Oh, hi, Y/N,” Spencer said. He reached over to you and pulled you close to him, kissing you gently.
     “Can we go for a walk?” you asked.
     Spencer gave you a funny look. You almost never wanted to go for a walk when he got home, but he shrugged and agreed, as soon as he changed his clothes.
     You waited impatiently as he went into your shared bedroom and changed his clothes quickly, then when he joined you out in your living room, he took your hand and led you out of your apartment.
     You had been walking for a few minutes when you tugged his hand into a different area, towards the stores you frequently visited together.
     “What are we doing here?” he asked curiously.
     “I need to pick up an order,” you replied. You looked at him, who was still looking at you curiously. “Just trust me.” you brought his hand up to your lips and kissed it, then turned and picked up your order. Then you walked back home.
     Spencer was very lost. What in the world did you have up your sleeve?
     When you got back to the apartment, you went into the bedroom. Spencer was still very curious, but he decided to leave you alone. He went into the living room and sat on the couch. He started to read a magazine sitting nearby when you cleared your throat.
     He looked up at you and noticed you changed into a different outfit. It wasn’t one you wore frequently, but he liked the way it looked on you.
     “What do you think?” you asked him.
     “I like this a lot,” he replied. He stood off the couch, then pulled you close to him. He wrapped your arms around him and held you close. “You should wear it more often.”
     Your cheeks warmed. “Well, you’ll see it a lot more often,” you said. “Do you know what kind of shirt this is?”
     Spencer shook his head. “No, what is it?”
     “It’s a maternity shirt, Spence.”
     Spencer nodded, then pulled your face towards him and kissed you. “I think it looks really good on you.”
     You giggled. “Did you hear what I said, Spence?”
     “Yeah, you said it was a maternity shirt.” he held onto you, then noticed you biting your lower lip with a smile on your face. That’s when he gasped and looked at you with his eyes wide.
     “Did you hear what I said?” you repeated, your ears burning.
     “You mean-” he started, but stopped when he saw you nodding furiously. “We’re gonna be-” he started again but was interrupted by your happy tears flowing down your face.
     “I’m pregnant, Spence,” you said, your voice wobbly. “We’re going to be parents, and I’m so happy to tell you that.”
     Spencer buried his face in your shoulder and started to cry. “We’re going to be parents!” he cried.
     You pulled away from him, laying your hand against his cheek. “Spence, the baby dust worked,” you said. “It worked!”
     Spencer laughed. “It did work.” he wiped his eyes, then wiped your eyes. “Oh, I’m so happy.”
     “I’m happy, too,” you replied. Your smile was wet with tears, and so was Spencer’s, but the two of you couldn’t have been more in love with each other.
~~~~~~~~~~~
     When Penelope Garcia got to work two months later, she saw her desk was covered in glitter and a small gift bag placed on top.
     She walked over and opened the gift bag and pulled out a tiny baby onesie that read “Will you be my fairy godmother?”
     Penelope gasped, then turned around and saw you and Spencer standing in the doorway.
     “The baby dust worked?” she squealed.
     You nodded. “It worked.”
     Penelope screeched, then raced towards you both, throwing her arms around the two of you and squeezing you into a tight hug.
     “Absolutely I will be your baby genius’ fairy godmother!” she cried.
     You smiled and held her tightly.
     You knew that this was the moment you were going to tell your child about in the future: the time when Auntie Penelope believed in you both so much she shared a little bit of fairy dust to help that sweet child find you both.
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curi0us-gh0st · 25 days
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Lovesick (Miyawaki Sakura)
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pairings: miyawaki sakura x fem! reader.
word count: 1,2k
genre: fluffy , angst (?)
summary: The world where people have a life count, and you in your first life discover a new feeling for someone who is in the last life.
warnings: wlw, romance, reader is innocent/naive, reader is younger than sakura, happy ending maybe? [no review]
a/n: I had been thinking about writing this for a long time, but I had forgotten, so when I saw the inspiration video, I ran to write it!
For decades, with the evolution of the world, technology and human life, in order to avoid social problems and catastrophic events that affect existing society, people have obtained a number of lives to live, each with the amount they deserved. The older ones, who had more lives, were wise, they knew about every occurrence of their past lives and helped the younger ones, while the younger ones, like their first life, were silly and curious, eager to discover what each thing did and happened; Cases in which older and younger people came together to talk, sharing emotions and adventures already lived, until the last moments, at the end of the last designated life, the person would die forever.
This was the case of Y/N and Sakura, two young women who were in a group living their longed-for dreams, along with Yunjin, Chaewon, Kazuha and Eunchae. The youngest, Eunchae and Y/N in their first lives, while Yunjin and Kazuha were between their eighteenth and twenty-second lives, although the older ones were in the range of their thirtieth to fortieth lives, they lived together without conflict unlike many others. groups that mixed.
Sakura was the oldest among all the girls, even though Chaewon was the leader, they all saw Sakura as a mother behind Chaewon. Sakura always fought for what she wanted, that's why she was where she is, being an idol and living her dream of being a singer, time taught her with hard lessons how important every moment is and that always touched Sakura, even meeting other people in her life. range of lives and newer. One of the youngest that caught attention was Eunchae, Le Sserafim's little baby, she was about a few months old, the girl had barely known the rain, but the moment the drops fell, she pulled everyone outside to play. Sakura treated her like a little sister and Eunchae treated her like an older sister.
The only person she tried to understand was Y/N, so young but so reserved, little did she know that she made the girl's little heart skip a beat when she asked if she was okay or touched her to fix something in her outfit.
Y/N was as confused as she was, her heart racing and her sweaty hands made her confused, not knowing why, she even thought she was sick, maybe she was? It was the confusing and unfamiliar feeling she liked to feel, always staying close to Sakura and smiling when her stomach seemed to bubble, whenever Sakura praised her her cheeks would catch fire, like she had a fever, when Sakura handed her some handmade gift. and she would like to spend days holding it.
How foolish, she thought.
The girls were recording a new video, the other girls had already recorded their parts, leaving Sakura and Y/N alone. Sakura in the small room, in front of the microphone as she struggled to get the desired tone right, her face frowning with exhaustion, an annoying feeling making her think that she is incapable of that, when the youngest girl's voice was heard.
“Unnie, relax… You can take a break and drink some water.” Receiving a negative wave from Sakura. “It’s okay, you can do it, I know.” The girl behind the glass encouraging her oldest member, after a few attempts getting it right and making the girl celebrate, jumping on Sakura when she left the room. "I knew! You’re the best, unnie.” Sakura's strong hug made the older girl laugh at the younger girl's cute behavior, thanking her and asking her to leave.
Little did Sakura know that after leaving the room, she left a little girl jumping with happiness for just letting her hug her, Y/N ran to catch up with the older girl only to intertwine their hands.
Her most confusing day was when Sakura was lying on the floor after practice, the youngest lying next to the girl and looking into her beautiful eyes as she talked to the other girls, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, her mouth half open as her eyes glowed. of admiration, the collapse was when Sakura caught her looking at her and smiled, sitting down and giving her a kiss on her forehead as she got up to leave, Y/N was stuck on the floor, scaring the remaining limbs with her emotional scream coming out of your mouth.
Upon arriving at the dormitory, the girl ran to the leader's room, holding her own heart, her rapid breathing leaving the leader worried.
“What happened Y/N? All good? You are sick?" Chaewon quickly got up to help the youngest.
“Unnie, I don’t know…”
"What are you feeling? Tell me and I’ll help you, let’s go little one.” The leader held the youngest's shoulders, making her sit on the floor.
"My heart…"
“Does it hurt?”
“No, it doesn’t hurt.”
"What then?"
“Every time I'm with Sakura unnie, he... He speeds up and hits very hard, I think I'm sick of Sakura unnie, but unnie is the person I admire most, I can't stay away!” She complained to the leader, her lips forming a pout. “My palms sweat, my stomach bubbles, my heart beats so hard and my cheeks burn, what will unnie think? That I'm allergic to it? No, no, do you have medicine for that?” The girl anxiously waits for a response from the leader only to receive a laugh. “Why are you laughing, unnie? What if I'm sick? Even maybe dying?”
“You’re so naive, Y/N!” Chaewon sits in front of the girl, trying to calm down. “You are so mature that I forget that this is your first life…”
“Unnie!”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Chaewon surrenders. “You’re in love, Y/N.”
"Passionate? Is this serious? Will I have to stay away from Sakura unnie? If so, I'd rather die! Is there a cure? Or medicine?” The girl asked desperately.
“Hey, calm down.” The leader laughed. “This is not a disease or anything like that. It is a feeling related to love, passion and desire.”
“Oh, what is this?”
“Seriously you don’t know?” The girl shakes her head. “Okay... When you find someone special who you want to spend the rest of your life with, it's called love, you feel your heart burn for them, you feel the desire to spend every minute with them, you want to do everything possible and the impossible for them is smiling , that’s what you’re in love with.” Chaewon explains.
“Have you ever been in love, unnie?”
“Maybe so, maybe not… But this is about you and Sakura, you should tell her how you feel.”
“What if she’s not in love with me?”
“Well, at least you’ll know what it’s like to fall in love with someone, you can still love each other.”
That night, Y/N left Chaewon's room confidently, creating expectations and scenarios to tell Sakura how she felt the next day. The next day came, and the day after it came, and the day after it came, she couldn't confess to Sakura and she couldn't even get close to her without panicking.
Days passed, as well as weeks, the group was traveling to Japan, Sakura and Kazuha's homeland, it was night while Sakura and Y/N walked through the cold streets of Japan on a random night, their thoughts were messed up, mainly because of recent information that I learned while talking in a group.
“What life is this, unnie?” Kazuha asked Sakura.
“This is my last one.” Sakura smiled sadly, her smile so painfully beautiful as she tried to get the others to accept the fact.
Y/N's heart was heavy, for some reason sad and afraid, so immense in her thoughts that she didn't even hear what the older woman was saying.
“Knock, knock… Terra called Y/N. “ Sakura snapped her fingers in front of Y/N.
“H-hi.” The girl paid attention to the Japanese woman.
“I'm asking you if these snacks are enough for us, Yunjin said she was hungry, I'm afraid it won't satisfy her…” Sakura rambles while looking at the bags.
"Me me…"
"You?"
“Sakura unnie, I’m sick!”
"Eh? You are sick? From what?” Sakura was surprised.
"Love Sick! For you! My heart beats so hard in my chest when I'm with you that I fear it will leave me, my breathing quickens like I'm running a marathon, my stomach bubbles like I'm boiling hot water on the stove, and my cheeks are always burning like I'm underneath. Sun, I don't know if you have the medicine for this because Chaewon unnie said I should talk to you but if you're not sick like me, could you give it to me? Please unnie, be in love with me! I know you have little time, and I have so much, but please, can I stay with you until the last and make you better? I promise to do everything possible and impossible to make you laugh, I want to spend every minute with you, unnie!” You spoke in a loud tone, declaring everything you felt, leaving Sakura so confused with the request.
“Y/N, you’re so cute!” Sakura declared, laughing softly. “You didn’t understand what Chaewon unnie said, you’re not sick, darling…” her stomach dropped.
“It happened again, my stomach!”
“Hey, it’s okay, I’ll explain but we have to go back to the hotel.” Sakura held her hand, making her palms sweat.
“See, yes I am sick!”
"No, it's not." The Japanese woman held Y/N's cheeks, which took on a reddish color.
“Yes I am…” The girl pouted.
Sakura shook her head, pressing your lips together gently in a sweet, soft kiss, taking her time to pull away as she was pushed away by you, only to take her hand and place it on her chest, her heart beating furiously.
“Unnie, what is this?” Her eyes threatened to spill tears.
“You’re in love, just like me.”
Her eyes sparkled at the older woman's words, the feeling of joy exploding inside you as you connected things, how could you be so silly!
“Unnie, you…”
“Do you really want to spend every minute with me? And do you want to know what you’re feeling?”
"Yes please."
“I’ll show you, little one.”
The walk was extended due to a long conversation about love, passion and desire, reaching the only consensus, they would be together until the end of their lives or until the end of their illnesses, called love.
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makooo0stuff · 9 months
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hi!! i was wondering if you could write a miles X male! Reader.. where the reader has a feminine name ( I have an oc named clementine.. that’s a guy as an example) and whenever he talks about him; everyone thinks they’re hearing him wrong until the day comes where miles introduces his boyfriend to the group of spiders he hangs around & his parents
Absolutely! That's honestly so adorable me and my boyfriend love this req
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Pretty Boy 💛
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Pairing: Miles Morales x Male! Reader
Fandom: Across the Spiderverse
CW: Y/N is used, reader has social anxiety, pet names. (Mi vida, My boy.)
A/N: Set towards the beginning of astv at Miles' dad's party (but things go well)
Give this song a listen if you'd like!
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Today was the day you were finally going to meet Miles' parents, although the two of you had been together for several months you never necessarily met either his mother or father.
You sat inside your bedroom staring up anxiously at the ceiling, you brought your hands to your chest, squeezing them gently. You closed your eyes and let out a soft sigh. "It's gonna be fine Y/N, It'll be perfectly fine..." You muttered to yourself, you brought your hands up to your face and sighed.
Your phone buzzed next to you, laying face down on the matress. You picked it up and glanced at the screen, the blue light illuminated on your face. Miles' contact name and pictures popped up. 'My boy <3' You smiled and unlocked your phone; eagerly reading the text from him.
'Hola, mi chico guapo <3 My parents are still hosting the party tonight, you still coming?' Miles' text showed up, You couldn't help but smile a bit.
'Yeah, I'll see you tonight at the party.' You quickly texted back. You couldn't help but smile, Miles made you feel so loved.
You got ready putting on something nice but comfortable; nothing too overdressed either. You decided on something nice looking and then headed over to Miles'. Once you arrived the party was lively, people eating and talking to each other. You stood off to the side looking down anxiously, no idea where your boyfriend was.
Finally after standing off to the side you spotted your boyfriend walk through the door, He carried two big cake boxes and bee-lined straight to you. "Mi vida.." Miles said pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "C'mon Mi novio let's go say hi to my parents.." He took a quick breath and set the cakes down, the two of you looked for his parents before they found you.
"Mijo, Who is this? Is this that girl you've told us about, Y/N?" Rio questioned, her arm interlocked with Jeff's.
"Mami no, esto es mi novio Y/N." Miles corrected his mother as you stood next to him anxiously.
You waved at Jeff and Rio before gaining the courage to speak up. "Hello Mr and Mrs. Morales, It's so nice to finally meet you." You spoke, giving them a small smile.
Rio smiled back at you "Y/N right? When Miles told us about you the first time we thought he was speaking loco, But it's very nice to meet you. Welcome to the Morales familia." She smiled at you, she understood you had the best intentions with Miles.
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Here are all the español translations!
Mijo - My son
Mi vida - My life
Mi novio -My boyfriend
Hola, mi chico guapo - Hi my pretty/handsome boy
Mami no, esto es mi novio - Mom no, this is my boyfriend
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©️ makooo0stuff, do not copy my work or alter in anyway without my permission .
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jasmines-library · 3 months
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‘Tis the Season
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Summary: It’s Christmas time, and after a long time apart, you and your brothers are finally together to celebrate, even if it is inside a motel room.
Warnings: tooth rotting fluff.
Note: Merry Christmas!
⛤ SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST ⛤
The Winchesters have never been big with celebrations. Especially since Mary passed away and hunting became the only thing on John’s agenda.This meant that you had never really experienced a proper Christmas before and neither had either of your brothers. Sure they remember snippets of Christmas from when they were younger and your mum was still around but it was never the same after that. John was never there and the three of you were often left to mill around in a shitty motel. The three of you would celebrate in your own little way. You would exchange gifts which, in Dean’s case, were often stolen or given to you by Bobby, and despite their efforts to make Christmas as normal as possible for you it was never quite how you had pictured it. Never how Sam and Dean remembered it. It didn’t help that John had told you when you were heartbreakingly young that there was no Santa Claus.
But this year, something was different. The Winchesters were celebrating.
You strolled down the road, your arm hooked around Sam’s as you admired the lights that had been strung up like bunting between the rows of buildings and hung from lampposts in the street. You wore your thickest jacket: an old blue hand-me-down from Dean, that you were pretty sure Sam might have even owned at one point before he grew taller than your older brother, and hand bundled yourself up with a scarf to shelter yourself from the frosty air.
The streets were quiet besides a few odd couples that greeted you and Sammy with a warm smile or a gentle nod. Most people were at home, celebrating the Christmas holiday.
The frost that blanketed the ground crunched under your feet and made your feet feel like small ice cubes despite the fact that you were wearing two pairs of socks. You and your brother walked quickly back to the motel where Dean was hovering over the stove tucked away in the corner of the motel. The moment you opened the door and were greeted with the warmth of the room and the smell of the food, you couldn’t help but smile up at Sam, as well as chuckle at the sight of your eldest brother. He had donned a red Santa hat and was singing along to the song he had turned up too loud on the radio between taking swigs from beer. He wrapped you up between his arms when the two of you returned with the last of the ingredients he needed before you made your way into the room.
On the nightstand between the two beds, replacing the lamp that had been shoved aside, sat a tree. It was measly and far from extravagant, sure, but you thought it was a nice touch. Dean had spotted it on the way back from a hunt and had insisted on buying it for the motel room. You spent the rest of the day hanging old car air fresheners from the branches as if they were baubles. It was makeshift; but somehow that made it seem even more special and you beamed brightly. You placed the brown paper bag you had been clutching beneath it, making sure to roll over the top to make sure that the contents were hidden.
“Alrighty.” Dean announced “Grubs up.”
The three of you squeezed around the table and began to tuck into the food that Dean placed in front of you on the table. Dean was far from the best chef that much was true but at a time like this you were grateful that he had made such an effort to cook. As the three of you ate between bouts of conversation and fits of laughter, it made you realise how much you missed spending time with your brothers. This was the first time you had truly sat down together in…well forever. Times had been kind of hectic with Sam returning from Stanford and everything with Dad and Dean, you were glad that for a few sweet moments, the three of you could just be a family. For once there was no worrying about monsters. No worrying about who was going to vanish next. It was just the three of you enjoying the little things in life.
Dinner, by far the best one you have had in a while, was followed up with gift giving and the three of you bundled on to the beds, sipping glasses of cold eggnog.
“Okay Sammy,” Dean said as he produced his first gift from his duffel. It seemed the three of you all had the same idea because it too was wrapped in a brown paper bag. “This one is for you.”
Sam unwrapped it eagerly, producing a dark glass bottle of his favourite beer.
“Thank you.” He laughed, producing a bag of his own. “It seems great minds think alike.”
Dean chuckled and he tore open the paper to reveal his favourite drink secured inside a porno magazine by an elastic band.
“Ok. This is for De.” You pulled out a small bag and handed it to him. Inside lay a small keychain in the shape of a pie that you had spotted on a rotating rack inside the gas station which you couldn’t resist buying, alongside a couple of packets of beef jerky that Dean always seemed to keep stashed away in his glovebox.
“Thanks kiddo” He laughed as he hooked the keychain onto his keys.
“And this is for you, Sammy.” You produced another bag and handed it to him, watching keenly as he unwrapped it, pulling out the clear plastic and producing a pair of wired headphones.
“It’s to stop you complaining about Dean’s music in the car.” You prompted.
“Hey!” Dean said with mock hurt. “I think you’ll find I have great taste in music.”
You raised your hands nonchalantly “tell that to him not me.”
“I’m just saying Dean, there are things out there besides mullet rock. You should try updating your cassettes some time. Seriously, dude.”
“You know the rules, Sammy.” Dean shook his head. “Driver picks the music-“
“Shotgun shuts his cakehole. Yeah. I know.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Anyway, enough. This is for you, Y/N.”
Sam rummaged around in his bag for a small white box before handing it to you. You took it gently. It was light in your hand.
“It's from both of us.” Dean added.
You peeled open the box slowly to reveal the insides which almost made you tear up. Inside the box sat a dainty necklace in the shape of a heart. It seemed familiar somehow, but you couldn’t place where you had seen it before. When you picked it up and turned it over in your palm to admire the delicacy of it, you noticed the small hinges on the side so decided to open it.
Inside was a small cut out of an image. The three of you were much younger here. Sammy was still smaller than Dean and you barely reached his hip. The three of you were grinning from ear to ear as you gripped onto each of your brothers hands as they swung you through the air at the moment the image was captured.
“It’s beautiful.” You sighed, looking up at your two brothers. “Where did you-“
“It was moms.” Dean said. It then hit you that you had seen her wearing it in pictures.
“Bobby found it while sorting through some of Dads old stuff that was left around his. We thought you should have it.”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” You smiled. “Help me put it on?”
“Of course.”
Dean moved closer to you, moving your hair aside so he could clasp the end of the good chain together.
“It looks like it’s always belonged there.” Sam told you when Dean let go of it so it could hang around your neck, settling on the centre of your chest.
“It’s perfect.” Dean told you.
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
“Merry, Christmas, Boys.”
Although being hauled up in a motel may not have seemed like the ideal way to celebrate Christmas for the average person, just being able to spend time with your brothers was enough for you. You cared not for an extravagant meal and bucket loads of expensive gifts. You were happy to settle with what you had and the fact that the three of you had celebrated like this meant so much to you as it did to them. The three of you may not have much, but you have each other, and that’s worth far more than anything else.
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vapidwritersblog · 3 months
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GOJO CLAUS
Description: a fluffy, silly Christmas fic where you and Gojo get the house ready for Christmas morning! Gojo turns into a pile of mush when it comes to your four-year-old son, and you have two babies to take care of - 1k
CW: slightly suggestive in one part
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You were shuffling around your living room, dumping fake snow onto the floor, when you saw your 6’3 husband slinking down the hallway like a burglar. He was head to toe in black, stepping tentatively across the hardwood on his tip-toes, and looking over his shoulder as if he was expecting someone to attack him in his own home. You may have been concerned there was a threat looming had you not known how neurotic Gojo got on Christmas.
“Gojo, what are you doing?” You asked once you’d had enough fun observing him.
“Tip-toeing!” Gojo whisper-screamed.
“Why?” You asked in the same tone.
“Because, I don’t want to wake up Akira!”
“Why didn’t you just teleport?” You asked, stifling a giggle.
You watched your husband pause and cock his head to the side. “Huh,” he said. “Honestly, I didn’t think of that.”
You rolled your eyes and tossed him a second bag of fluffy fake snow. “Akira said he wanted a white Christmas, and daddy promised Santa would deliver, so get to work.”
Gojo caught the bag with a grin. “I think daddy should wrap this up quickly, then. I can think of a few other things on the to-do list for him tonight,” he teased. “Akira’s been perfect all year long, but someone else in this house has been very naughty.”
You felt your face grow warm at his words. After all this time, he still had such an effect on you. Had someone told you when you were sixteen years old that fifteen years later you’d be playing Santa Claus with Gojo Satoru while your four-year-old slept soundly down the hall, you would’ve called them crazy. Now, there was no one in the world you’d rather share these moments with.
“If I’ve been naughty, I’d be happy to accept my punishment,” you teased back with a wink. “But first, I need you to play Santa Claus and help me with the presents.”
Gojo tossed his now empty bag to the side and picked you up, making you shriek.
“Shh! You don’t want to wake Akira up, baby,” he whispered as he nipped your ear before capturing your lips with his. “That would be very naughty,” he chastised you as he placed you back down with a pat to your behind. “What’s left to do?” He asked.
You gestured to the ridiculously large pile of presents you’d hauled out of the bedroom. “Well, since you insisted on buying Akira every single thing he asked for, I’ll trust you to set those out around the tree while I handle the stockings.” Gojo nodded and started picking up piles of wrapped play sets, toys and clothes.
“You know,” you murmured as you paced around your apartment. “There’s nothing wrong with teaching Akira that we can’t get everything we want in life. You didn’t have to buy him this much.”
Gojo practically squawked in response. A sound only he could make sexy, but that could’ve just been the lasting effects of his earlier teasing. 
“Akira is an angel, I can’t believe you would deprive him of the perfect Christmas morning to teach him some stupid lesson,” Gojo responded, not a hint of humor in his tone.
“He’s going to end up spoiled, Satoru,” you chastised him as you moved towards the empty stockings on the mantle.
You paused your stocking stuffing when you heard sniffling from behind you. You spun around, terrified that your son had woken up while you and your husband were playing Santa Claus, only to be greeted by your oversized baby sniffling dramatically as he stared at your Christmas tree as if it had cursed him.
“Satoru, are you crying?” You asked him as you began wading through the fake snow you’d just scattered across the floor.
“I’m just so sad,” he whined out as he continued sniffling. This was strange behavior for the man you loved, and you were officially concerned. You’d spoken about his less than ideal childhood before, maybe he was having some sort of flashback?
“What’s wrong baby?” You asked as you rubbed soothing circles on his back, drawing him into a hug.
“It’s just - “ Gojo choked on a wail, and you held him tighter. 
“It’s okay, baby. Focus on breathing and tell me when you’re ready,” you assured him with a kiss to his cheek.
Several sniffles later and after your shirt had become significantly damp with his tears, he finally nuzzled into your shoulder and whined, “It’s just that I can’t believe Akira is going to think all these toys are from Santa and not know daddy bought them!”
“Oh my god!” You flinched when you realized how loud you’d been, not wanting to wake up the four-year-old sleeping soundly down the hall. “You are such a child, Satoru.”
You pulled away from him with a huff. “Akira will still open plenty of presents from us, and it’s not about the credit. He’s a four-year-old, we just want him to be happy.” You turned around to finish setting up the rest of the gifts under the tree, far too busy to deal with this meltdown at the moment. Gojo got like this sometimes, and while usually you found it adorable, you’d have a four-year-old jumping into your bed in a few hours anxious to unwrap his presents from Santa. He must have calmed himself down quickly, because in less than a minute the sniffling and dramatic sighing had stopped. You felt kind of guilty. Gojo was a baby, but he was your baby. You turned around, intending to apologize for snapping at him, and to lead him into the bedroom so he could get a view of the new red lacy set you were wearing underneath your clothes.
You expected some sulking, maybe even further whining once he saw he’d gotten your attention again. Instead, what you saw was your husband holding an empty plate as he licked his fingers.
“Gojo, did you already eat all the cookies Akira left out for Santa? There were TWELVE!”
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rippersz · 2 months
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𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐃𝐨𝐠𝐬
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Fem!Named!Reader x Larissa Weems; (Fluffy, romantic, ships in the night, angst) (8K word count)
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Why are you here?
Why are you here if you’re so tired? So exhausted? So bored?
Why are you looking for meaning in a foreign country? And why can’t you find it? Don’t you know passion isn’t found in the street? Don’t you know it doesn’t just exist beneath the light rain and cold wind? Your shaking body won’t get you anywhere but across the cobblestone bridge - and even then, you must trudge. Wade through the distinct desire to fall asleep.
Why are you trying so hard to stay awake?
You have come here for a reason - for an escape - and yet, you are plagued with the same thing that haunted you back home. It is inescapable, this distinct feeling of emotional helplessness. You feel too much or you feel too little. You explode with desire, with sadness, with anger, or you are cool and detached. You cannot find an in between. You cannot find a warm, soothing balance. You walk the line of extremes and get upset when the grey areas cease to exist.
So you run away to France and think that you can find yourself in what? Hm? In the Eiffel? In the lights? In the love? Please. You have not felt love. You have not felt real love. You have not felt anything beyond passion and lust, and even then those feelings were artificial. Forced, almost. You have looked at men and you have seen their shoulders and you have witnessed the bobbing of their throats and the easy fluff of their hair and you have been thoroughly unimpressed. For what exists for you there? What is in their strong arms? What is in their DNA? What lies in them that cannot be discovered elsewhere? Why are you expected to view them and want them?
Why are you expected to love?
So many questions, not many answers. They swirl around inside like the milkiness of an oatmeal bath, opaque and bottomless. They swirl and you watch. Utterly mesmerized. Hypnotized until you feel the distinct desire to fall asleep. Constantly tired, you are. Always so exhausted, dragging your feet along the pavement. Blindly clutching the collar of the black coat that covers your arms and back. Its hood leaves your face bare for the elements. Wind sweeps and rain smacks and you are certain you’ll get sick from walking out so late at night in the cold.
What on Earth came over you? Who could ever be so stupid?
Shivers run the length of your body. You feel like a wet dog thrown out in the street, proving far too difficult for the family to continue dealing with. Too loud and too needy and too caked with mud everytime you walked into the house, so they had no choice but to discard you. It is better, after all, than having a defective animal. No one wants a dog who cannot love. No one wants a dog who cannot be understood. No one wants a stray. And no one-no one-wants a shivering pup walking slowly on unsteady legs. No one wants that. No one wants you.
Except for the sign in the distance, blurry and far away - past the stoplight and across the street. A golden light flickers brightly above an evergreen background, and you can just barely make out, through squinted eyes, the bold gold lettering. ‘Madame: A 1920’s Brasserie’. You can’t help but think that it’s a rather silly name. Madame. Can’t get more French than that. And, it appears, can’t get more authentic. The restaurant stands out in a way that borders on tacky. It is all dark mahogany, golden accents, and small details of matte red and green. The sconces on the walls glow like mini-fires, and you find yourself… drawn. Intrigued. It is inviting and it is late. The windows are dark; the world inside is its own. And you need an escape. A proper one. None of this wandering shit that leads you to nowhere but a random spot with aching feet and the distinct feeling of dissatisfaction. None of this waiting around emptiness.
You are cold and it looks warm and you are just an abandoned dog. How can they expect you to deny yourself some peace?
The very moment your boot slides over the threshold, tapping down lightly on a dark wooden floor, your body is changed. A veil of something different flows over your shoulders, draping behind you, and suddenly you feel as though you’ve stepped into another world.
Have you? Or were you just hit by a car in the middle of the road and slipped into the Afterlife?
If that had happened, and you were indeed dead, then the Afterlife was an absolute treat. It seems like a small speakeasy, with a stage at the very back of the restaurant - lit up by a few spotlights and otherwise empty aside from a single microphone stand and a piano. In the dark corner beside it, there’s a cello, a trumpet case, and a deconstructed set of drums. The lights are dimmed so intensely that only the flickers of tabletop candlelight and a few burning wicks by the bar help you squint through hazy darkness. It feels like a dream as smoky hands curl into the air and caress your lungs as you breathe, creating something intoxicating when paired with the heady scent of mixed perfumes. Mixed perfumes that all seem to belong to women. Only women. It’s not crowded but a few souls linger. Couples leaning into each other at their booths, their pupils melting into hearts. Friends sitting lazily at one of the center tables, toasting to something you can’t hear. A group of flirts. A lonely soul or two nursing martinis by the stage. A woman at the bar. The bartender. One server drawing in a notebook, tucked away from the rest of the world. All women. All… dated. Old fashioned. It feels like you’ve stepped into the 1950’s - or something like that. You’ve never been very good with time. But they are different. Wearing dresses with pulled in waists, collars, square necklines, bateau necklines, coats and hats and heels and gloves. Not a phone in sight. Some are in suits, too. Marlene Dietrich type suits. Tipping The Velvet type suits. Very dapper. Very clean. You’re overwhelmed.
Distantly, somewhere, the gentle keys of piano jazz fill the buzzing room - and you feel lightheaded. Dizzy with warmth. The rain purrs against the windows, blowing with the wind trying to get to you. But you have reached safety. Nirvana. And you find yourself itching to shrug out of your coat and disappear into a glass of something tangy and sweet.
“Amaretto sour,” you murmur to the lady behind the bar, sluggishly pushing back the hood from your head.
“Choose somethin’ else, sweetheart.”
The response is immediate. And annoying. You pause, halfway out of your coat, and look from the polished mahogany of the bar’s surface to the amused glint in the bartender’s eyes. There’s a cloth thrown over her shoulder and a dark loose vest sitting tight against her button up. White. Sleeves scrunched by the elbows. A smirk on her lips. Your gaze melts into a glare.
Stop looking at me like that. I’m just a dog. I don’t want whatever smiles you have to offer.
“I don’t know,” you growl, tugging the coat from your body so harshly it nearly tears your arms off.
But she doesn’t seem to mind your irritation, and better yet, she doesn’t really seem to care. Her eyes only track the way you throw your coat over the back of your chair and push yourself onto the high-top stool. You reason your anger is probably out of place in such a dreamy world, just like your choice of alcohol, but you’re too tired and cold to bother giving her a smile. And being kind has proven to be more and more exhausting as the days go by. It’s not like she deserves it anyway, being so casual with you. Standing so tall, with such confidence, not even the slightest bit weary or weathered from the long day. You don’t even know what time it is - only that it’s late. Past the twinkling stars kind of late. Way past sunset kind of late. So late that you think the restaurant may be closing but you’re not even sure. No one has left. The women are still happy, buzzed and delighted by the concoctions in their glasses. Still all lonely by the stage. Still knee-deep in the quiet place of Madame.
Still a silly fucking name.
“Bailey’s Colada then,” you drawl, running a hand through your messy curls. “And an extra shot of pineapple juice. I dunno.” You shrug, leaning into your hands as your elbows press into the wood of the bar. They’re cold, covering your eyes. Damp. Tense with the chill from the rain you just escaped. And eager to feel something grounding.
Too bad the bartender is still a bitch.
“I’ll give you one more try.” She thinks she’s so clever, smiling at you like that. She thinks she’s so charming.
You want to rip her happy eyes out.
You want to sleep.
“Just. Get. Me. A. Fucking. Drink.” Your gaze shoots daggers, piercing her right through the heart between the gaps of your fingers.
If you were any more aware of your surroundings, instead of just appreciative, then you’d notice that the only liquor they serve is the kind produced during the 1950’s. The popular drinks back in the day. True to the time. Devoted to the piece. Overall very good with details. But details are not something you have the energy to notice. And there’s not a damn thing on Earth that can tear you away from the drugged feeling of your eyes slowly drooping. Growing hazy with fatigue. Vision blurring. Body shivering, still dripping small beads of water from your coattails onto the floor. Distantly, you hear the bartender speak.
“Hey- are you okay?”
No, you want to say. No, fucker. Can’t you see I’m not okay? Just get me a damn drink and-
“If you don’t mind my interrupting,” a voice - deep, English, breaks through your haze. “I suggest a Tom Collins.”
Great. And I suggest you shut the Hell up.
“That work for you, princess?”
You want to reach across the bar and strangle her so bad that your cold fingers twitch, but something stops you. No- someone stops you.
“She’s exhausted, Leslie. Leave her be.”
Yeah. Finally a person who has a fucking clue.
You want to speak, and perhaps tell the person to go away, or throw your hands up in the air and yell ‘Halle-fucking-lujah!’, but before you can open your mouth, the seat next to you squeaks. It spins around, dragged lightly by a white-gloved hand, before it moves to accompany a figure. A figure with a lot of misplaced confidence and a lot of audacity. A lot of self importance and a lot of gall. A lot of… oh.
You swallow.
A lot of height, as well. A lot of height and a lot of elegance. She slips into the chair with practiced ease, placing her hands in the right places and her heels on the right rungs, tugging the chair to spin around and face- you. You. Of course you. You, who are the odd one out. You, who waltzed in from 2024. You, who are not one of them. You, an abandoned dog and you, who are cosplaying as a content human. Of course the stranger turns to face you. And of course she is beautiful. All pale skin and shining blue eyes and snowy curls pinned extravagantly atop her head. A jawline that is softer than fresh downy pillows and could cut glass if it grows tense. Long arms. Long legs. Red lips. A scar-so faint you have to squint-but a scar nonetheless. You wonder where she got it from. You wonder why you wonder.
“It’s palatable,” the stranger speaks. The tip of her nose moves with her words. It’s cute. She has a very distinct face. Sharp features. Eyes not too hooded but not too wide. They don’t look at you directly, and instead focus on a spot near your hand. On the mahogany, where it’s (thank god) clean.
The bartender turns her back to make the drink and you take that moment, away from her bastard prying eyes, to speak.
“I hope so.” It’s ruder than intended, but doesn’t seem to offend. Those red lips quirk into a smile, and she looks at you- finally- from beneath dark lashes. Her makeup is fresh. Her skin looks warm.
“The Amaretto Sour and Bailey’s Irish Cream only rose to fame in the 1970’s,” her covered fingers run along the smooth wood, “The Mai Tai, Tom Collins, and Sloe Gin Fiz, on the other hand…” She tilts her head, shrugs one shoulder, and flicks her eyes from you to the bar. It’s endearing, annoyingly enough. And you’re sure that for a second, the blush on her cheekbones is a figment of your imagination.
For some reason, you shoot her a wry smile.
“Lemme guess… popular in the 50’s?”
An auburn eyebrow ticks up, splashing feigned surprise across that pretty face.
“How did you know?” Her tone is pitched a bit too high as she gasps. A bit too hysterical. It makes you roll your eyes and look away, taking a moment to glance at the dark floor beneath your feet. You shake your head.
Maybe it’s her beauty. Maybe it’s her humor. Maybe it’s the fact that she understands you’re so tired you could fall asleep right there where you sit.
“Tom Collins,” the bartender steals your attention. The glass is full, sliding across the bar at top speed, and you can barely hope to reach out and catch it before the stranger’s white glove is stopping it from tipping right over the edge. Only a splash of the sweet drink spills onto clean leather. You watch. You get the distinct urge to lean over and lick it clean.
Just like any other mutt. Eager to lap up the scraps. Even when they’re not yours.
“Shouldn’t you be finishing up, Leslie? I thought the bar was closed.” Leathered fingers curl around the tall glass, squeaking lightly beneath the strength of her pressure.
“And why would you think that, Larissa?”
Larissa. Name fit for a dream.
The bartender doesn’t look too happy. There’s something acrid in her expression, something that pulls at her lips in a way most unpleasant. She looks sour. Jealous. Of her? No. No, not of her.
Of you?
Yes. Absolutely of you. You can see it in the way her green eyes shift- running from your face to Larissa’s and back again. Upset. Betrayed. Let down. It makes you want to smile. Larissa seems kind. The bitch behind the bar isn’t, you’ve decided. Not fucking kind at all. And you’re happy when Larissa’s pretty red lips stretch into a bright smile. The very lingerings of derision hide in the sweet lines beside her mouth.
“It’s a quarter after midnight, Leslie. And you close at-”
“11:30, yeah I know. Whatever.” And with that shit attitude, Leslie tugs the cloth from her shoulder and walks away; leaving you to your precious company.
Your precious company who takes the glass from the bar and holds it out to you, completely unphased by the cold condensation wetting her glove. It’s later than you thought it was, but you don’t have anywhere to be, do you? No. No, you don’t. So you hide your surprise and stare into Larissa’s eyes instead.
“A peace offering?”
Her smile, this time, is genuine. Wide and perfect, showing off those white teeth and the delightful little scrunch of her nose.
“Yes,” and the warmest chuckle rumbles up from her pale throat, “a peace offering.”
You nod and take the glass. It’s very cold, but you don’t feel it. Not when she’s looking at you like that. Watching you raise it in a silent toast and a quiet thanks. Her eyes follow you when you bring it to your lips, when you drink, and when you allow your expression to scrunch up only the tiniest bit. She lets out a loud laugh at the sight of that, and brings a large palm up to cover her open mouth, probably finding her exquisite joy to be too unladylike. You almost tell her to take it away, to allow herself to cackle freely, but it’s not your place. You’re just a dog. And you’re too busy swigging down more ‘zesty lemonade’ to pause and perhaps mention that her bright laugh is something to be marveled at. To be joined in.
You’ve never felt this way.
This way… what is this way? Amusement? No. You’ve felt that before. Happiness? No, because it’s not that. You’ve felt that - a long time ago. Contentment? No. You don’t feel safe. You don’t feel like you want to stay forever. In fact, you kind of want to leave. It suddenly feels too stifling. Too… romantic. Ah. That’s it. Romantic. Looking into those twinkling blue eyes and finding genuine intrigue there. Interest. She is beautiful and you want more. More conversation. More of her voice. Because there she sits, waltzing over to your spot, making your eyes widen, and giving you a drink. One that isn’t too bad either - after getting over the initial tartness that sort of stings your tongue. And she just sort of expects you to be okay with it? To not want more? And more? And more? You are a dog and you want to tell her that.
I am a dog, Larissa. I have learned to be desperate. I have known what it is to want for more. Can you give me more? Just another smile for a sweet stranger?
“I don’t mean to laugh,” her voice is gentle, becoming clearer once she takes her hand away from her mouth, “but your face was- it was…”
“What?” You lick your lips, tilting your head. “What was it like?” And you can’t help but pull another face, exaggerating it, crossing your eyes and frowning, smoldering, and sneering all at the same time. Thank goodness it seems to do the trick as in the next moment, you hear a surprised stuttering laugh fill the air. It makes for the most beautiful harmony with Madame’s soft piano music; lilting and light and gorgeous. A silver lining. A golden undertone. You follow in her beautiful steps and join her in laughing.
“Was it like that?” You grin, taking another sip. “Just like that?”
“Yes,” Larissa gasps and nods, pressing a hand to her chest, “Precisely.”
Your combined chuckles eventually fade and silence falls like the rain outside. Softer, now. A light brush against the windows - like the storm decided to calm as soon as Larissa sat down beside you. But that’s a silly thought. Storms don’t bend to the actions of women.
Except, you ponder, watching Larissa pick invisible fuzzies off of her beige coat, they may make exceptions.
“Where are you from?” You say it so quickly you don’t even realize it comes from your own mouth. Just your luck that your inner thoughts betray you.
But Larissa only looks charmed, and possibly grateful for a conversation starter. She straightens up in her spot, giving you her full attention. It is excruciating. It kills the shivering you’ve been indulging in since your outside excursion - and fills you with something just short of… giddy.
“The United Kingdom originally, but Vermont is where I stay now,” she responds, resting her palms along the bar’s edge.
Vermont? Odd.
You raise an eyebrow.
“Long way from Vermont, aren’t you?”
Those red lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. True, you think she says in her head. Very true.
“Indeed,” blue eyes sparkle, “I figured I needed a holiday.” She tilts her head and you know the question is coming. “Are you a long way from home as well?” It’s a wonderful question. A good question. A perfect question, truly. You want to tell her yes but you’re not sure if that’s the truth.
“I-” Well. Abandoned dogs don’t have homes, Larissa. Can’t you see that in me? Can’t you recognize it? Don’t you know?
Apparently not. Her beautiful face is still open and inviting, unshaded by judgment. Unperturbed by your unfamiliarity. You don’t know how to react to that. How to respond to her kindness. Her patience. She is unknowingly opening a can of worms and you are knowingly staring at her, mouth flapping open and closed, trying to conjure up words that don’t sound like I have no home.
“Please don’t feel obligated to answer,” Larissa waves her hand in the air, “I understand it’s quite personal.”
Oh. How sweet you are to a stray.
“No, I just… I’m a little lost right now,” you admit with a sigh, tipping the glass back until you can swallow the rest of the liquor in one smooth gulp. Something shifts in Larissa’s expression while you lose yourself in the feeling of alcohol sitting in your throat. It’s a miniscule difference when you look at her again, but you spot it anyway. Sadness. Melancholy. Understanding. Pity. All scuttling around in the depths of her eyes and the furrow of her brows and the downturn of her lips.
Normally you hate pity. Normally you despise it. Normally you figure it isn’t for you. You don’t deserve it. You’re just a person with no wind and no destination and no path. You’re just a dog overdue. So why do you need pity? Why do you have it? Why do you get so angry at anyone who wants to give it to you? And why is Larissa any different? She’s still a stranger. Just one with a pretty face. And beautiful hair. And the most gorgeous voice…
“Doing a bit of soul searching then?” Her tone is intentionally light.
“Yeah,” the glass makes a small ‘clink’ against the bartop, “I guess so.”
Kind of. Sort of. Yes? And no. Whose soul are you searching for? Which life do you want? Why are you so lost, when they say that everyone has a place on Earth? Where is your place?
Do you have one?
“Why France?”
“Good question,” you shrug, not really knowing the answer yourself. “City of lights, I suppose.”
“Hmm,” Larissa nods, drumming her fingers against the wood. “City of love, as well. In case you haven’t heard.”
Yes. She’s right. Very right. You lick your lips and nod along. City of love, indeed. City of love with the way that dress looks on her, for sure. City of love with the way she looks at you, too. City of love with the way she smells. Like vanilla and jasmine. Strong, intense, a cologne that probably costs a million dollars - for a woman that looks like a million dollars. City of love. It’s written in the piano that fills your silences. In the air that breathes between your bodies. In the bubble of privacy that lives on when Leslie disappears from behind the bar with a heavy clang of its trapped door. She throws the cloth onto the wood, shoots one last glare at the two of you from over her shoulder, and fucks off into the dark of the stage area. Probably to pick up some other sad woman that’s just as lost as you.
On any other night, I may be the person she takes home. But right now I’m with Larissa. And that’s where I’m gonna stay.
“Not for her,” you snark, watching Leslie retreat before turning back to your company.
Larissa hums, but her eyes don’t follow the bartender like yours did. Instead, they stay on you. Glued to the side of your face, then to the full of your features when you give her a small disgusted expression. You’re rewarded with a light chuckle. “Yes, except for her,” she clears her throat. “Unfortunately, Leslie has always been…”
“Rude?” You start, putting an elbow on the bar and leaning on your palm, “Annoying? Flirty? Shitty? To name a few,” you roll your eyes, flipping your hand in the air.
Larissa only closes her eyes and snorts. “She has always been… eager? I guess that’s the right word. Eager.”
You don’t like the sound of that. Eager people are desperate people. Desperate people are loose cannons. They’d do anything for- well- anything. And Larissa is not an ‘anything’. Larissa is not a reward. And you are not a desperate, eager person. You are not a loose cannon. You’re just a lost one. A rusted lost contraption that was thrown off of the side of a pirate ship. Silly loose cannon, searching for land. No reward.
“For you?” The disapproval that colors your tone does not seem to surprise Larissa. In fact, it only makes her nod.
“Yes, I’m afraid. Though I can’t imagine why,” those broad shoulders of hers shrug, “I’m not nearly as fascinating as half of the women that grace this bar.”
That’s what you think.
“I beg to differ.” It comes out so confidently you kind of want to punch yourself in the mouth. What the fuck do you mean you beg to differ? What would you like to follow that up with? What would you like to say? Oh no, Larissa. You are WAY more fascinating than the people that ‘grace this bar’. You are WAY more intriguing. Leslie has good taste, sure, but a shit attitude about it. I can imagine why she fancies you. I can imagine why anyone would. Yeah right. You can’t say that. But you’re still curious, so instead of giving her a moment to register and respond, you ask the burning question. “How long have you been on holiday if you’re so sure?” But really the question is: How often do you come here?
The pink in porcelain cheeks has deepened. You’re sure it’s from your comment, but you refuse to allow the buzzing of your heart get any worse. It’s already filling your ears, drowning out the piano, and you yearn for the safety of contentment. The same contentment you didn’t feel before. Is this still romance? Or was this never romance at all?
“About three weeks. An extended stay. Though I must admit, I’m nervous about returning to work. I fear I’ve left it too long,” she frowns, twisting her lips in a way that says ‘But what can you do?’.
“Three weeks! What do you do for work?” If there were some more drink in your mouth, you probably would’ve spat it out by accident. Three weeks? Sort of a long time. A long time to be away from work and a long time to be alone.
Unless she isn’t alone… to which you’d actually like to leave right now if that’s the case.
There's hesitance in her eyes. "I'm... a school principal," she says slowly, looking away. “But I needed it. Prolonged stress isn’t good for me. Or for anyone, really.” Her voice softens, carried away by the music as she glances down at her hands. You get the strange desire to hold them. It pops up first as a soft urge in your mind before barrelling forward and pressing hard against the front wall of your thoughts. Reach out and hold them. Hold them. They are soft. They are the kind of hands that reach out and pet the strays. Feed the strays.
But you’re too scared you’ll bite.
“Preach,” you murmur, unsure of how to continue. What are the duties of a school principal? “But- ya know. Good for you I guess. Are you returning to Vermont soon?”
“My flight leaves at seven tomorrow. I’ll get back at approximately half past five in the morning if I’m lucky.”
“Hm. And if you’re unlucky?”
Another small smile.
“Then I’ll never get back.”
You find that to be quite interesting. She’s not worried about her job in a way that speaks to severe anxiety, but in a way that speaks to nervousness regarding her passion. Regarding the children she has to look after. The parents she has to (no doubt) reassure. The world that she is important in. The oil that runs through the machine. She keeps them going - and she has been gone for three weeks. You’re rather curious about the aftermath, and about the scene she will return to upon arrival, but it’s hopeless and misplaced. You will not see what happens. You will not spot the relief on her face. You will not know how life continues for her. Because she is leaving, this beautiful stranger, and she has a home. And you are a stray dog. Abandoned. Hungry. More, more, more. She does not want. She is satiated. Larissa has lived out her dream here, her relaxation, and now it is time to turn around and face the music. Return home. And be part of the family again.
How does that feel? Family?
“How long do you plan on staying?” She asks, looking just as curious as you feel.
A sigh rattles your bones as you lean your head back and push out your chest, relishing in the pops that run down your spine. Exhaustion is creeping again. You didn’t even notice it was gone.
“Probably… forever?” It’s not the truth.
“That can’t be true.”
“No,” you groan, “it’s not. So I don’t know. Maybe forever. Maybe I’ll leave tomorrow, too. We’ll see, I guess.”
That pretty gaze burns into the side of your face. It is full of questions, even when you’re not meeting it, and you’re suddenly sort of scared to look at her again. Scared that she’ll know everything. Scared that she’ll realize what you really are. Not just lost, but hopeless. No way of being found. Because what will you do and where will you go? Nothing and nothing. That seems to be the answer these days. Nothing.
“Do you have any family you’re traveling with?”
Her voice is soft again. Colored with feeling. What is she feeling? Is it still pity? You glance at her, out of the corner of your eye, just to check. No. Yes? No. Maybe. Could be. Or it could be something else. Could be hope. Could be sadness. Could be something better. You can’t clock it, so you return with a question of your own. It stings you to say it- embarrasses you to wonder- but you can’t help yourself. You’re just a dog. You need more.
“Do you have anyone that will be waiting for you at 5 in the morning?”
Her eyebrows twitch for the smallest shade of a second. It’s barely there, but you see it anyway. You see how she frowns and recovers. Maybe that was too far. Maybe that was too blunt. Maybe you should just hold your fucking tongue and stop digging into other people’s business-
“Honestly? No. I’ll probably have to grab a taxi from the airport.”
Oh.
For some reason that’s worse. Worse than if she said yes. Worse than if she started to go on a tirade about a lover waiting for her. Worse than if she mentioned a gaggle of friends or even a coworker. How can she just have- that? That? A taxi? You can’t hide the way your face falls. You just can’t. And you can’t contain the way your heart breaks a little. Crackling like a burning fire, pounding away behind the frailness of your chest. Dropping pieces all over the floor of your innards as you see Larissa get lost staring into space. Probably looking over the different types of liquor bottles as she figures out how best to get a cab from the airport with the least amount of trouble. You kind of want to reach over and shake her shoulders. Take her out of her own head. Insist that it’ll be okay. But of course it’ll be okay - she never said it wouldn’t. She never made any indication that being alone was something she didn’t like.
However, she did walk over to you, didn’t she? And she did sit down next to you. And she was alone at the bar. So maybe the isolation is getting to her. Maybe she needs to go back home. Maybe you need to go with her.
Maybe you need to shut the fuck up.
“I don’t have any family,” you respond, figuring it’s only fair. “So it’s just me.”
Larissa gives you a distracted hum before she takes her eyes away from a place over your shoulder and moves them to your face. To your eyelashes and your eyebrows and your cheeks and your nose. You don’t know what she sees. Hopefully not a dog.
“And no prior commitments? No one waiting for you either?” She seems hesitant to ask, but you know it’s just because she doesn’t want to be impolite.
Oh, Larissa. You can’t offend dogs, Larissa. Others can but not you.
“No. No roots, if that’s what you mean.”
She nods. “I see.”
“Do you?”
A long leg goes sliding up to cross over the other and for a second, you’re lost in the smooth length of them. Her calves and thighs are gorgeous. The hem of her dress falls below the knee. A little restricting but classy. She is very beautiful. And slowly, as the night progresses, you’re beginning to fear what will happen when she leaves. Which is silly, because she’s still a stranger. She doesn’t even know your name. And she has a home to return to and you’re doomed for the rest of your life.
“I believe I do, yes.” And that’s enough of an answer for you.
From that sweet point on, you fall into silence.
The ambience of Madame hasn’t shifted in the slightest. The earlier smoke only renewed itself once certain cigarettes ran out - and the piano looped into another song. Probably playing over a speaker system you couldn’t see or a record player somewhere in the dark. No one takes center stage. No one leaves. It’s still empty drinks, empty hearts, empty heads, and full laughter. Easy chatter. Women getting closer. Women holding hands. Women with their palms on each other’s thighs. Women with lipstick marks on their cheeks. Women with perfectly pinned hair, like Larissa’s, are left with loose curls and messy ends - easily destroyed by a wandering hand or a particularly heavy kiss. You refuse to blush at the sight of that when you turn around and make eye contact with a woman at a booth, but your body doesn’t listen. Your body finds it scandalous. Your body finds it exciting.
There are no threats. There are no men. No shouts, no loud drinking, no busy football games, no beer-stained tables and hugs that hit a bit too hard. There’s no gag-worthy cologne and no clumsy feet stepping on the toes of ladies and no drunken asks for a number or company home. There’s only peace. Sweet and fragile, not even broken by the wind and rain that beats and floats against the windows. You wonder when the place closes if it’s already so late.
You wonder why there’s so many women.
“There was no um-” your throat grows hoarse before you clear it, putting a hand up to your mouth while you look at Larissa. She’s waiting patiently for you to continue. “There was no… advertisement? I guess? That said this place was- is it like… a lesbian… bar? Or something?” You sound more and more childish the higher your voice goes but Larissa’s smile is gentle.
“There’s no advertisement needed. Everyone knows Madame in Paris is a place of community acceptance. However, it’s apparently more popular in the Spring. Tourist season and all that.”
“Oh.” Oh.
Larissa’s brows furrow. “Something wrong?”
Well, yes. Sort of. Kind of. Uh…
“No I just- it’s not Spring now?” You frown, lifting your elbow from the bartop and putting your arm in your lap. What does she mean?
“No,” Larissa shakes her head slowly, stopping the light drum of her fingers. “It’s Autumn. November, actually.”
November? But…
“Huh,” you blink, “must be more lost than I thought. Weird.”
The very beginnings of a frown pull at those red lips, giving away her worry; and for some reason, you’re hasty to reassure her.
“But it’s probably just the exhaustion or something,” you huff out a self-deprecating smile, “No biggie. Maybe I’m like- too buzzed to comprehend. Or too hungry. I don’t know,” you gesture to your head, waving off the concern that she was going to show you.
But it doesn’t work.
“Perhaps you need dinner then,” Larissa tilts her head, looking at you from beneath her eyelashes.
In that moment, she’s perhaps the most glorious thing you’ve ever seen. Lit by low candle light. Shadowed by her own form of mystery. You kind of want to lean over and kiss her - which is weird, because her lips are just like any other person’s lips, and you’ve never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. But dogs change sometimes, don’t they? Just like any other creature. Dogs change. And instead of wanting for more, they want for something different.
“Yeah. Perhaps I do.”
Your company takes a moment to look behind you, running her gaze over the interior of the restaurant. You see her blue eyes flit from couple to couple and group to group and crying woman to the next crying woman. You see her nose wrinkle when she spots all of the cigarettes and you see the twitch in her kitten-heeled foot before she’s uncrossing her legs and moving to stand. Every nerve in your body jumps to stand with her. To follow her lead and let her whisk you away. But you don’t know if that’s what she wants - and you don’t want to assume just to be let down. You don’t want her to look at you like ‘What the fuck are you standing up for?’ so you stay in your seat and watch her fix up her coat, straighten her gloves, and grasp the purse on the back of her chair. Everything about her is so elegant. Smooth. Maybe you’re hallucinating and she’s only a dream.
“I know a place nearby. Do you want to join me?”
You look from her hands to her face, caught frozen by the timber of her voice. Do you want to join me?
“Is- are you sure?” Your heart is screaming.
“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” Larissa gives you a small confused smile.
You lick your lips. “You don’t even know my name.”
“Alright. Do you want to tell me on the way?”
No one ever asks. Everyone stopped a long time ago. There’s no need to wonder, to know, when everyone understands that you’ll just disappear sooner or later. Abandoned dog with an abandoned mind. But here she is asking - and it would be rude to ignore her.
“Sure.”
The weather is still brisk when you step outside. The rain is not as harsh and the wind not as bad, but the chill is just as strong. It seeps through your coat rather quickly and you have to shove your hands in your pockets to hide the way they shake. Larissa seems to be faring much better, walking along at a steady pace and adding to the clicks your boots leave behind on the pavement. Despite the dreary weather and the dark sky, threatening to break with another downpour at any moment, the streetlamps are beautiful. Guiding you both through the midnight haze and the swiftly settling fog. You feel like a ghost, floating along there by your company’s side, trying to keep yourself from staring up at her. The bar’s seating apparently did her no favors as when she stood up and led the way outside, you nearly tripped over yourself upon noticing the height difference. She is… she is something extraordinary. You wonder why you’re the one there beside her. Maybe Leslie had a better chance. Maybe you’re just a placeholder until she leaves.
“Are you going to make me guess?” She says eventually, pausing mid-stride to look down at you.
There’s only a few inches difference. Maybe a near foot. You’re not sure. You haven’t asked. But you want to. Curious dog.
“Sure,” you shrug, amused by the way she sighs and continues forward. “It’s not that hard.”
“Elizabeth,” she starts.
Cute.
“No.”
“Emily.”
“No.”
“…Erin?”
“No. What’s with all the ‘E’ names?”
“Would you prefer I start at ‘A’?”
“Might make it easier.”
“Nothing will make this easier.”
The walk feels like it goes on for ages the more she speaks. One name after the other after the other. You smile at the ones that are close and snort at the ones that could never suit you. Larissa only rolls her eyes and tries again. It’s silly and fun and lighthearted and you feel something inside you lighten. Though maybe it’s the Tom Collins, finally kicking in after a day of no food and one boozy drink. Larissa doesn’t seem to mind your occasional giggles and huffs - she even joins you, especially when you almost trip over your feet walking along the curb and she has to reach out and tug you back from the street and the ground. Her coat is cold but her body feels warm. There’s a small droplet of rain that hangs off of a strand of white hair behind her ear and you’re desperate to brush it away, but you don’t. You can’t. Can’t gather the energy to reach out. Can’t gather the energy to get your hopes up. So you move away and the game continues.
Down the street, along this turn and that, through rights and lefts and around lamp posts and street lights and intersections and parks. Far far away and all over the place. You walk for so long your legs begin to twinge - and then she says it.
“Jasmine?”
“Nope.”
“Lilith.”
“No.”
You’re waiting for a stoplight to turn red, but Larissa breezes past you. Head held high. Strides long. Back straight. The world does bend for her. And so do you.
As soon as you reach her side, she takes a steadying breath.
“Iris.”
Why your heart decides to take that moment and skip multiple beats is something you’ll never understand. Maybe it’s just the way she says it. The way it tumbles off of her tongue and slides from between her teeth and disappears into the ether. Maybe it’s the look she gives you and the way she stops when you’re a bit too quiet for too long and the corners of your mouth can’t help but quirk up. You’re not proud of her - that would be silly - but she certainly looks proud of herself. If that slowly spreading grin is anything to go by.
“Iris. Is that it?”
You nod and watch as her nose scrunches up with joy and her gloved hands make little muted claps in excitement. You think you can get used to the way she says it. Like it’s something to be cherished - something delicate and soft. Iris. Eye-riss. Iris. Slow and measured. Careful. She wants to take as much caution as she can when she says it. And when she finally goes to resume your walk, she lets out a little hum and glances down at you from the corners of her eyes.
“It’s a lovely name.”
Oh, Larissa. You’re killing me here.
“Larissa is nice, too. Very… elegant,” you respond, trying desperately to take the attention off of you. It’s been so long since you last heard a compliment like that, you’re unsure how to react. How to be normal about it. How to stop yourself from circling her body and pulling her close and pushing your head against her chest to listen to her heart. To see if she’s real. Because only fake people pay attention to strays - and she’s too wonderful to be anything aside from a figment of your dear imagination.
“That’s very kind of you, Iris.” Oh say it again. Please god, say it again.
But she doesn’t. And you don’t push it. And you don’t look at her for fear of bursting into flames. And you continue your walk until you come across a park bench and you sit down - drawing her attention and luring her back over to stand while you rest your legs.
“Feels like we’ve been walking forever! Where are you taking me?” You glare at her, all playful looks and pouts.
“To my lair. Are you scared yet?” She shifts on her white heels and you can’t help but give her a small chuckle.
“Me? Scared of you? Yeah, right. In your dreams, blondie.”
“Oh you haven’t seen anything yet. I can be quite terrifying when I want to be,” Larissa defends, crossing her arms and cocking out a hip.
“Yeah. To school children maybe,” you grin, spreading your arms out over the back of the bench to sit comfortably. “But not to me.”
“Hm. Not yet, anyway,” her tone is airy, making you blow air out of your nose with amusement.
“Uh huh.” You pause, close your eyes to bask in the chill that bites at your skin, and then open one to look at her. “How tall are you, anyway?”
She towers over you there - standing beside the wrought-iron arm of the bench while you sit and crane your head back. Outlined in the soft glow of the park lamps, you begin to wonder if Larissa is not an imaginary friend or a ghost but instead an angel. She certainly looks the part. You really wouldn’t be that surprised if huge ivory wings sprout from the defined lines of her shoulder blades.
“How long have you been wanting to ask that?” Oh, she’s teasing me now. You roll your eyes.
“Since you first stood up.” The truth is always best. And it makes her smile softly.
“Six foot, three.”
Your lips part, falling open before you catch yourself. Six feet and three inches?! Jesus, woman. You swallow around your delighted shock and push yourself off of the bench - bringing yourself to your full height on the backs of your heeled boots.
“There’s no way,” you snark, crossing your arms.
“Oh really?” Those red lips grow into a smirk and never in your life have you wanted to feel something more. Never.
“Yeah. Really.”
And of course that’s how you sign your heart away - for a split second later, there she stands. So close you can smell the old wine on her breath and see the individual lines in her face. It’s only half lit by golden light, but that doesn’t matter. You’re beginning to think your eyes were made for seeing her. And you’re beginning to think your body was made for standing so close. She smells like the rain now. Like the rain and the stars, which twinkle brightly behind her head as you resist the urge to step back and look at her. There is no backing down from this. There is only matching her height head-on, even though that’s impossible. But that’s the joke. So you move to stand on the tips of your toes and get into her personal space and only when you do, do you realize your mistake. She’s even closer. And her blue eyes have gone wide. You see a deep black abyss take over the oceans of her irises and suddenly, you think your name is very inadequate in comparison to the gorgeous cerulean of her gaze. To the way it envelopes you and electrifies you and warms you all at once. She is a vision. She is everything you want to look upon. And her eyes dart between your own, carrying shock and admiration with them. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what’s happening. This doesn’t feel like romance anymore. This isn’t contentment. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know why you want to lean into her and fall.
And you don’t know why she decides to pull away.
“I’m sorry,” she says so quickly, so quietly, you think it’s just a whisper of the wind. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
Her eyes are still wide, but they’ve been captured by something terrible. Something sad. You open your mouth - to say what? - you don’t know. But she’s taking a few steps back and you close it. Her hair is still perfect, but there’s one strand loose. It flits wildly in front of her ear. A sign of her loss of control, perhaps. A sign that someone got through. She’s not a guarded woman and yet she is. She’s not private and yet she is. You didn’t have the deepest talk of all time and yet you did. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what to say to get her to stay. So you just say her name.
“Larissa-”
“It’s been very nice to meet you, Iris,” she murmurs, interrupts, clears her throat, and adjusts the purse on her shoulder. Those blue eyes glance around madly, like she’s scared of being caught. “But I’m afraid I have to go now. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Your flight leaves at seven.” You don’t know why that’s the thing you say. You don’t know what that’s going to do - but before you can even hope to say anything else, she nods and looks at you again. With unwavering strength. With a hint of an apology.
“Yes. It does.” Her lips press together firmly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
And with that whisper, softer than the distant break of your heart, she’s turning around and walking off into the rain.
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Lazily waves my hand around before walking away. - Rip x
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TAGS (please keep in mind Tumblr won't allow me to tag certain accounts): @oddball21 @kaymariesworld @bloommushroom @readingtheentrails @thegoddamnfeels @theonefairygodmother @theflashesoflove @sweetderacine @opalthefrog @gwensfreak @shyladyfan @erablaise-blog @bellatrixsbrat @sunnyanon @emilynissangtr @lex13cm @sugipla @hasthebaconinhispants @deongocrazy @nocteangelus15 @eveymay @one-pining-queer @azu-zu @niceminipotato @hopelessly-sapphic @barbarasstar @enchantressb @syrenacrainn @im-a-carnivorous-plant @willowshadenox @aemilia19 @ladylarissaweems @scarlettssub @ladysdraga @willisnotmental @gela123 @h-doodles @zillahofviolets-bayolet @weemssapphic @the-bearr @amateurwritescm
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dianneking · 6 months
Text
Nightmares (Larissa x Reader comfortfic)
What??? A comfort fluffy fic from the Angst Fairy themselves? Well, what can I say. I like to try things out. Also I love a challenge. Also, it felt right to write this fic today and so I did (who am I to argue with the Muses?). All of that aside, I hope you enjoy!
Tags: Fluff, Comfort, Nightmares, Established Relationship, Second-Person POV, Teacher!Reader, Ungendered Reader, Lots of Cuddling. Wordcount: 1.719 words. AO3 link in title below!
This fic is dedicated to all the people who have offered me comfort. There's many out there, and you all know who you are and are all precious to me, but in particular I want to mention Cat and Cal @tenderheartgrumpymind, @scream-queenlover, @bigolgay, and @heidsworld. I am grateful for all of you.
Nightmares (Larissa/Reader)
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You looked at her silhouette in the darkness. She was by your side, the faint light from the stars filtering through the window just to glide on her chiseled cheekbones, kissing her forehead, for once relaxed in the deep embrace of sleep, where no worries could reach her and no decisions had to be taken.  Her breath came out in slow, rhythmic puffs, so soft that you could only hear them thanks to the total tranquility of the night around you. Usually that would be enough. You’d wake up in the night, and just fall asleep after a little while, allowing yourself in the meantime to bask in her beauty, in how lucky you were to see this side of Larissa Weems. The side that had shed her armor, the signs of her power. The side with her hair rolled up and held in place by a silken scarf. It had taken so long to get to this point. For your relationship to progress far enough for her to trust you with the whole of herself.
She had been cautious at the start. You could see she was holding back, giving you her whole attention but not her whole heart. You could understand why. The both of you were not at your first relationship, you both had been hurt, you both had been burned. You knew that sometimes it’s easy to get caught up in the excitement of something new, of a new special connection with someone, just to discover that that that person was not at all how you had imagined them to be, or maybe they were, but still for all the affection held for one another, you simply weren’t compatible.
And so people came and go, and you both had found yourself older, and less trusting towards potential partners. Always expecting something to go wrong, because it had always done so. You could see the same reticence in Larissa and – maybe paradoxically – you had been reassured by that.
And as time had proven, it had not been a flash in the pan. While the physical attraction was there and undeniable (how could it not? It was Larissa Weems you were talking about! The closest thing to a goddess that the earth was blessed with!), it was not and had never been just sex between you two, there had always been hope to see it become something else, something more – and the determination to try your best to make it so.
Date after date, evening in front of the fire after evening in front of the fire, you had slowly grown to know Larissa. She had opened up to you as you had to her – the good, the bad, the ugly. She had slowly let the “perfect principal” mask fall, and had shown you her flaws, she had candidly told you how she was aware of many of them, how she still was working on them, trying to get better at them.
“I had given up, you know?” she had confided in you once, as you were sipping wine staring at the flames dancing in the fireplace “I thought, well, I thought I was too old. What’s the point of trying to change after 40? I am already too set in my ways. Ha. Ironic, isn’t it? A shapeshifter who can’t change.” She had snorted at that. A loud, inelegant sound that was perfect precisely because it wasn’t perfect. It was real. “But then I saw you. You came to Nevermore and you took each day as a personal challenge. You brought so much good to the academy, to the students, to the staff itself! You fixed things that I hadn’t even realized were broken. And suddenly, I felt like I wanted to change as well. I still do. I want to be better. If Nevermore, that has been stagnant for centuries can be changed for the better, why can’t I?”
The question had hung in the air, and you had understood the unsaid things hidden between the lines. Somehow, in your self-appointed crusade to make the academy a better place, you had given her hope. Hope for herself. Hope she hadn’t allowed herself to have.
That night was the night you had realized how in love you were with Larissa Weems.
Maybe, it was the night she fell in love with you, too.
Even if you were both living on campus, it had taken two full years before you had decided to move in together. Well, it was more of you going to live in Larissa’s large, luxurious principal quarters. That had come well after you two had officially announced your relationship status, first to the board, then to the staff, and finally to both students and parents.
That had been petrifying. You had been afraid and so had Larissa, even if she showed it less than you, used as she was to have her mask always firmly in place. If it came down between choosing between your relationship and Nevermore, you both knew what her first choice would be. You had explicitly talked about it. You had pulled numbers. You had checked the rulebook. You had prepared as much as possible, hoping that it wouldn’t have to come to giving up your work to stay with her.
You would have done it.
You both knew it, as much as you knew that Larissa would never give up hers.
But luck had been on your side. You had only been showered with positivity and kindness and heartfelt well-wishes. There had been no difficulties, not mutterings, nothing. The only awkward moment had been when the Addams family had expressed their felicitations by sending about a dozen severed heads “To bring horrid prosperity to the new couple”. But even that had made a wry smile come to Larissa’s face, and she had just shaken her head and had the severed ones brought to the biology lab (“Well they’re here already, might as well use them for science”).
It felt like yesterday and yet it had been seven years ago. Your tenth-year anniversary was drawing closer and closer. By now you knew each other like the back of your hand. You knew what made each other tick, you knew what brought comfort. You enjoyed simply spending time together, each immersed in their own activity, and yet able to lift your eyes and bask in each other’s company.
Which brought you to your current predicament.
She knew you suffered from nightmares, and she had told you over and over again to wake her up if you ever needed comfort after one of them. You knew that. And you knew you wouldn’t mind if the positions were reversed. Sleep be damned, if Larissa needed you, you’d stay awake for days on end.
You stretched your hand over, letting it hover in the air above her shoulder. Was this okay? Were you really allowed to? No matter how many years passed, it felt like you were back to being Larissa’s employee, waiting outside of her study, hand just about to knock on her door, wondering if you weren’t just about to waste her precious time.
You could picture her, shaking her head at you, “Don’t be silly, darling! You never disturb me.” And smile at you that precious smile, the smile she reserved for you and you alone, the smile that made her eyes light up and dance. Even just imagining – remembering – that smile gave you strength. You brought you hand down softly on her shoulder, a gentle caress, a tender touch.
“Love?” You tried to keep the pleading out of your voice. She was immediately awake, used to being on call for any emergency in the school.
“What’s it, darling? Everything alright?” Her British accent was even thicker when her voice was still wrapped in sleep. It was adorable.
“Nightmare. Could…Could you hold me?” You hated how little your voice sounded. How it had broken halfway through. You hadn’t even realized how close to tears you had been before you had woken her up, but you could feel them filling your eyes now, making her lovely silhouette wobbly in the darkness.
“Oh darling, of course. Come here.” She turned towards you, opening her arms. You lost no time diving into them, hiding your face in the crook of her neck, the soft fabric of the scarf pleasant against your forehead. “Oh darling, that bad?” You nodded against her neck. You had put up a brave face, not even realizing yourself how much the images and the sensations from your dream had shaken you.
She hummed and you could feel the vibrations against your own body. “Do you want to talk about it?” You shook your head. It was going away anyways, the dark, cold tendrils of it being chased away by the warmth of the embrace Larissa was wrapping you in.
“Very well. Then you can just relax. I am here. I have you. You are safe.” You could feel your legs entwining together, skin against skin. She had always been so warm. You nuzzled her neck further, breathing in her scent. Patchouli and black pepper and something else, something comforting and relaxing, something utterly and completely Larissa. You felt her wrap her hands around your back, pulling you tight against her soft body. You felt her lips press a tender kiss to the top of your head.
You were enveloped in a cocoon of comfort, with the world so far away, with all its burden of sadness and hatred and worries. There was nothing of that that could reach you here, in the safe nest of your lover’s arms.
One of her hands started moving up and down your back, rubbing it lightly, soothingly, hypnotically. You focused all of your attention on that, on that single, simple movement. You didn’t know how long you were there, soaking up her affection, her care, her love. Slowly, you felt your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, your breathing slowing down, until finally you fell asleep in Larissa’s arms.
You couldn’t see the small, tender smile that graced her face when she looked down at your sleeping form, nor the second, even more loving kiss she pressed on your hair.
“Sleep well, love.” She whispered in the darkness of night.
And you did.  
Liked it? You can find more of my fics in my fanfiction masterlist or in my AO3 profile page!
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littlemissmanga · 5 months
Note
Good Morning! I’m making some rounds asking for some of this beautiful fluff with a touch of giggle in this prompt list.
So if you would give this prompt a go- "well i guess that answers my question." With Rex saying it?
Have a wonderful day!
Hello dearie!! Oh, I will always put forth an effort for our dear captain! I am making my way slowly through these but thrilled to say I have finally finished this one.
I hope you enjoy!
A Little Something Sweet for Breakfast
Pairing: Rex x short!Reader
Warnings: None, pure fluff
W/C: 1,218
Dividers by @saradika
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It was quiet in the mess hall and Rex considered that nothing short of a miracle. The 501st was on shore leave and it seemed the boys had their fill of fun the night before considering it was already 0700 and not one of them so much as stirred from the barracks.
Rex strode across the room, datapad in hand and ready to use this rare peace to finally have a quiet, relaxing meal. But as he made his way to grab a ration pack, a shuffle in the next room caught his attention.
The boys rarely went into the kitchens on base. There was never a need. So, as the shuffle grew into a clattering, Rex prepared himself for the inevitable chaos and made his way over. Opening the door, he took in a breath, ready to use his “Captain” voice to startle whichever shiny was making the ruckus … only to choke on his tongue.
“Oh, Captain! I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone else was awake.”
You were … well, he honestly wasn’t sure what you were trying to accomplish with one knee on the counter, pulling your body higher so your other leg dangled beneath you, arms out to hold onto the sides of the cabinet. Metal cutlery and plates littered the counter and floor around you.
“I .. you …” It was far too early for these shenanigans, and Rex was thoroughly at a loss to find you at the center of it this time. As a civilian non-combat operative, you weren’t as disciplined as his boys on the field, but you were generally respectful and kept yourself out of trouble … despite the efforts of some of his vode to corral you into their latest shenanigans.
Certainly a respectable feat, at least in Rex’s book. And that’s all he would attribute the swoop in his stomach to anytime he’d see you. Respect.
If that swoop were accompanied by a heat in his cheeks at the sight of your smile — particularly if directed at him — or the racing of his heart at the sound of your laughter — even faster if he caused it — Rex never let himself do more than acknowledge it.
He was your superior officer, after all. Anything else would be unbecoming of his station.
“What are you doing?” he tried again, trying not to sound as confused as he was.
“Making breakfast.” You turned, bringing up your other leg so your entire body was balanced on the narrow ledge as you dug further.
“Huh.” Stepping closer, Rex slid his datapad onto the counter next to your leg and stood just behind you. Unsure arms kept rising to shadow your back before returning to his side as he grew ever more uneasy by the precarious balance you’d achieved. “Didn’t realize cooking required gymnastics.”
Impressively, much of your torso disappeared into the void of the cabinet when you replied, your voice echoing slightly in the confined space. “It does when everything on this ship is built for giants. Here-”
Rex’s reflexes kicked in, catching the item before he could even register that what you had tossed over your shoulder was a half-finished bread roll. But before he could form his next question — and honestly, he had so many he really didn’t even know where to start — you slipped smoothly down from your perch. Unfortunately, for him, Rex misjudged his own spacing, standing too close to give you enough room. As you moved to the floor, the curve of your rear brushed tantalizingly lightly against his stomach before finally gaining a more respectable distance.
The rush of blood pounding in his ears blocked out most of your own next question. Actually, he couldn’t hear you at all. The movement of your lips as you turned to face him was the only clue he could decipher indicating you’d said anything at all.
“Huh?”
Your lips curled. Maker, he really did like it when you smiled. It wasn’t just with your lips, though their plush, gentle curve was sweet. No, your smile radiated from your eyes, and he knew if he looked too long, he’d be lost.
“I asked if you wanted some, too. I don’t mind making a second helping for you.”
Rex wasn’t a stupid man. He could hear the tease of your tone. The light-hearted nature of your banter along with the sweet offer was a flirtation even he could pick up on. He would never abuse his station and hit on a subordinate. And like a divine solution, here you were, offering him a way forward.
But in that moment, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how to get himself to reply with even an ounce of charm he regularly sees his brothers wield.
Never one without a plan of action, Rex was stuck in limbo, struggling to respond with an ounce of the charm he routinely saw his brothers deploy … when he felt his stomach gurgle, the sound radiating out from him to fill the room.
Heat immediately flooded his face, but before he could apologize, your choked laughter rang out.
“I guess that answers my question.”
Stepping into his space again, you took the bread roll from him. But instead of stepping past him, you stayed.
You’d never been that close to him before. So close he could count the lines and imperfections on your face. And he did. He wanted to memorize everything about you.
He was so focused on those details, he missed entirely that you had been closing the distance, standing on your toes to press closer, until your lips pressed lightly against his cheek.
They were cold and chapped and so karking perfect on him. Your warm breath against his skin flooded any remaining rational thought away.
When you pulled back, your eyes didn’t meet his despite Rex being sure you could feel the intensity of his stare. Instead, you looked past him as you fell back onto your heels, a hand coming to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear as you repositioned to move away.
“Right, well, breakfast will be ready in just a —”
He didn’t let you finish. Before you could step away, Rex’s hand slid to gently hold the curve of your jaw, keeping you in place as he tilted your face up to his. You blinked owlishly up at him.
“You missed,” he said, finally getting his brain back online. “I think you should try that again.”
To Rex’ delight, your smile returned as you leaned back in. Only this time, he met you halfway, biting back a satisfied moan at the press of your lips against his. Taking a half step forward, he invaded your space as you had his, encircling you in his arms as he lost himself in the moment.
After what was probably too long, Rex finally let you go. Your eyes stayed closed for a heartbeat more, even as you moved back, shifting your weight to rest more against his hold on you, and Rex greedily took the chance to appreciate everything about your contented expression in the moment, satisfaction coiling inside him knowing he put that look on your face.
When you did open your eyes, there was a twinkle of mischief in them you usually kept well hidden. “Better?” you asked.
He pressed his forehead to yours. “Much.”
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666herescared · 9 months
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My papa showed me this post on Twitter:
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And I was like, "Not Wukong, but Shadow dad?"
So I drew this adorable thing instead of going to bed.
Have fun and happy scrolling, everyone!
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heartbreak-sandwich · 8 months
Text
Billy knows better than to side eye you when you talk to Steve. The two of you have been friends since he and Robin worked at Scoops Ahoy together, and though Billy knows you have no interest in Steve, he can't help but satisfy the need to bite the inside of his cheek every time he sees you two talking alone. With one hand in his pocket, he walked with purpose as he approached the table where you two were enjoying smoothies.
"Thought I might find you two here." You heard Billy's voice ring out over the bustling echoes of the mall courtyard. You couldn't be totally sure, but you thought you detected some edge to his words.
"Exactly where we said we'd be?" Steve asked, raising his eyebrows. Billy subtly jutted his chin upwards and let his eyes bore into Steve's. Now you knew he was obviously bothered, but Steve was still staring back in total confusion.
"Right on time" you chimed in, rising to your feet and meeting Billy where he stood. He slung an arm around you and pulled you in by your waist a bit tighter than you expected, all the while never breaking his stare at Steve. Billy was challenging him, and Steve obviously didn't understand what was happening. He looked to the left, to the right, and back to Billy again.
"Is there a problem, Harrington?" Billy asked, venom rising with every word he spoke. Steve shrugged awkwardly in his seat, looked around again, and finally responded.
"Why would there be a problem?" Billy pushed an audible breath from his nose as his grip around your waist grew even tighter, but he didn't say another word.
"I guess we'd better get going," you piped up, longing to break the tension before Billy got too heated. The new mall had just opened, and the last thing you wanted was to be involved in it making headlines again, citing your overprotective boyfriend being arrested all because you and Steve decided to have a smoothie on a Friday afternoon.
You said goodbye to Steve who gave you an awkward half wave, still looking puzzled as ever as you and Billy made your way toward the mall's exit.
"What was that about?" you asked him in a hushed but stern tone.
"What was what about?" It wasn't like Billy to play dumb about his aggression, but the two of you had talked many times about his behavior toward Steve. It was starting to soften, but Billy still had his moments, and he knew it really affected you. You weren't letting it go this time.
"I thought we talked about Steve." Once in the parking lot, your voice was at full volume. You had been patient for so long, but now you were starting to feel annoyed that Billy couldn't just let things go. "We talked all about your fears, your jealousy, and the reasons why you hated Steve - none of which were valid, by the way - and you're still staring him down like prey every time you see him. I don't get it."
"I'm trying, okay?" Billy looked away from you and pulled out a cigarette, opening the door of his Camaro. He really thought you were going to let this go.
"Try harder," you countered, pushing his driver's side door shut mid swing.
"Hey--" Billy threw his arms up in frustration. You knew he was heated now, and so were you. Deciding that you needed the upper hand in this situation, you knew exactly what to say.
"Don't you trust me, Billy?" His arms fell to his sides. He turned around and took a deep breath.
"Babe," he said, turning back to you. "Come on. That's not fair -"
"You know what's not fair?! The fact that my boyfriend and my best friends can't get along because he can't let. Things. Go. You talk about wanting to grow and change, but you don't do it. Where is that going to leave us?" Your eyes stung as they welled up with tears. Billy looked as if you had knocked the wind out of him. The pain of losing you would always be too much for him to bear, and he knew he had gone too far today.
"I'm sorry," he said, reaching his hand out to you. "Please just listen." You took a step toward him. He took your hand in his and pulled you close to him so he could look directly into your eyes. "You know it's because I'm always afraid. I'm always afraid of losing the things I love. El showed me the truth, and you know that. It's just taking me some time, and I'm sorry you're suffering for it."
"I'm trying to be patient," you sniffled, tears spilling over and running down your cheeks. "But it's so hard when all I want to feel is happiness, warmth, comfort. After everything that has happened here in Hawkins, I just want home to feel like home again, and this makes it seem impossible." Billy knew this wasn't just about him and Steve. This was deeper. You were missing the comfortable life you knew before just like everyone else in The Party. He wiped your tears away with his thumbs, his hands cupping your face as he continued to stare into your eyes.
"I'll make home feel like home again. No matter what I have to do, I promise you I will do it for you." He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead and embraced you, swaying you gently as your crying calmed down. You knew he meant it, and you knew he was more than capable of doing so. Billy never, ever broke his promises.
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mymelodymia · 5 months
Note
Hey bby how r u? I got a request cause my emotions have been wonky asf can you write where Mike has a younger sis like 13-14 basically going through a lot and is getting bullied at school for not being the "prettiest" being teased and picked on constantly for being the "weird" one, shy, mostly to themselves hard to make friends etc. Iv gone through that and it sucks :(
Uhh fluffy lots of comfort mike lowkey beats the shot outta them. Anyways ty 😊 have a good one hun 🩷
Bullys // Mike Schmidt x sister!reader
**not a ship**
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Summary: you're being bullied and don't say anything,
Warnings: bullying, bruises, Mike beating the shit out of some middle-schoolers,
Age: 13
A/N: hi baby! I'm doing good, I hope you like the way this came out 🥰
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You had been being bullied for a while now. You kept it a secret for a while, most nights you cried yourself to sleep. What did you do to them? You hadn't done anything to them, they just did it to be little pains in the ass.
You tried to make friends but no one liked you and you didn't know why. You got good grades, you helped people in class, and you were literally the sweetest person in the world.
One day you couldn't take it anymore, you were riding home on your bike when you were suddenly hit the ground. Some kids had pushed you, (assholes) you skined your knees on the road, and Injured your palms from catching yourself.
They all took turns kicking you, before an old man walked out in a robe, yelling at them to get off his lawn (sorry)
You were badly injured from the force of the kicks. You could barely stand back up. You had been able to cover up most of your bruises with hoodies and sweaters, but you couldn't take it anymore
You broke down crying on your bike, sobbing loudly. You somehow had the strength to slowly peddle the bike and got home two hours after your curfew. It was now sundown, the street lights had turned on not long ago.
Mike was extremely worried about you. You had been very distant and quiet over the past few months. You spent most of your time in your room. And you oddly always left food on your plate. He didn't know why, he assumed it was connected to puberty in a way.
But when he saw you biking down the street, he let out a sigh of relief, but soon turned angry.
"Where have you been!? Do you know how late it i-" he yelled, pausing when he saw your tear-stained cheeks and puffy red eyes. "What happened? W-who did.....whats wrong?" He asked holding one of your shoulders
You slowly took of the jacket you were using to hide the cuts and bruises all along your body. He gasped and gently caressed a few down your arm.
You sniffed and he hugged you. Wrapping his strong arms around you securely. "Who did this to you?" He asked as you sobbed into him. "Y/n...please tell me who it was, i need names." He said in a soft tone.
You slowly whispered every single person who ever hurt you. And that took a while since practically everyone in the school was bullying you.
He listened carefully, remembering everything you said. He carried you inside, sitting on the couch, he allowed you to crawl into his lap and cling to him.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, he held you to his chest. He couldn't belive someone would hurt his baby sister. This disbelief quickly turned into anger.
Filled with rage, he slowly set you down and took his car keys and put on his coat. You didn't have the strength to follow him, so you curled up into a ball and sat there for a good hour.
Mike returned with a small bruise on his cheek, just under his eye. Let's just say that he took care of them 😈
He picked you up like a baby, cradling you in his arms. He walked you over to his room and plopped you down, forgetting about your injuries.
When you winced in pain he immediately apologized, "oh im so sorry, i forgot, im sorry baby.." he said taking you his arms again, kissing the top of your head.
He walked out for a moment and returned with a tube of something, he applied a small amount to his cheek in a mirror, before coming over to you.
He rubbed it gently into your skin, being sure not to hurt you.
You thanked him when he was finished, he set the tube down on his night table, he climbed into bed and wrapped his arms around you gently. You rested your head on his chest softly.
"Mike."
"Hmm" he responded, waiting Patiently for you to continue. "They have been doing this for a few months now, they'd call me fat and ugly all the time and whenever i would laugh they'd say its ugly." You kept going on and on about what they did to you for a few more minutes.
"Y/n, baby, you are not fat, and your laugh is one of my favorite things to hear, dont let that stuff get to you okay? I love you, and since i haven't heard you laugh in so long i would definitely tickle you right now, but i might hurt you so, just wait until your bruises are gone" he said with an evil smirk on his face. You whimpered, giggling at the same time, you snuggled into his chest.
He ran his fingers through your dark curly locks, rocking you back and forth, he sung you a lullaby to lull you to sleep. This was one of the only nights were he didn't dream abt Garrett.
This was a good excuse.
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Tags
None :((((((
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Text
Eucalyptus
Pairing: Bucky x reader
Warnings: fluff, cursing, innuendos
Summary: gardening, and someone showed Bucky tik tok
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You loved gardening, your boyfriend on the other hand…he definitely did not have a green thumb, that’s for sure. You once left him in charge of your plants while you were on a mission and he killed them all, even the cactus, you were only gone for 3 days.
You had gone to the nursery (plant store) to look around and find a new plant for your garden in the back of the compound. Your garden was enjoyed by everyone, they all loved being able to go out and sit on the bench you had in there, and relax, let all their past bad experiences melt away. It was like the team’s own secret hideout from the world. You came back from the store super excited to show the team your new finds.
“Honey! Can you please come help me get the plants out of the car,” you asked your boyfriend, Bucky. “Of course doll, let me go grab Steve and he can help us too.” After bringing all the plants to the garden the team had come out to see what would be added to the special hideaway.
Natasha, believe it or not, was one of the most excited about the new additions, especially when she saw one specific plant. “Is that, Dagestanian Spleenwort?” She was wide eyed and almost tearing up. “Bless you…?” Tony answered, confused at the long, hard to pronounce name. “Dagestanian Spleenwort,” you responded, “a fern usually only found in Russia but they had one at the store I went to and I thought it would look nice.” Nat smiled softly and went to touch the fern. “Back in the Red Room they had a bunch of these outside in the outdoor training area, I would spend the little free time I had hiding in the plants, they gave me a feeling of comfort.” You set a hand on your friend’s shoulder, “I’ll be sure to take extra care of it, and you can help me if you’d like.” Natasha nodded and you went through more of the plants you had bought.
“I also got a lemon tree for that bare space in the corner,” you continued. “We can make lemonade!” Thor shouted excitingly, it was one of his favorite Midgardian drinks. Everyone chuckled and you agreed that yes, you could make lemonade. After you had finished saying all the stuff you’d gotten everyone went back to what they were doing beforehand, leaving you to plant your new plants. Bucky stayed back a minute to say goodbye, but was surprised when you told him to wait for a minute.
You ran out to your car and grabbed one final, secret plant you had gotten. “What is that doll?” Bucky was very curious at the bushel of green you held in your hand. “I found some Eucalyptus at the store for only $2!” “Eucalyptus dick,” Bucky shouted. You just stared at him in shock. “Eucalyptus dick!” He doubled down on the joke. “Honey, who showed you tik tok?” You asked with a slight smirk at the idea of your 107 year old boyfriend on tik tok. “Peter showed it to me when he saw a funny captain America video,” he admitted. You shook your head and set the eucalyptus down. “What am I gonna do with you,” you pondered as you gave him a kiss. “Love me eternally?” He responded like a cute puppy, enjoying his kiss. “I suppose,” you said, smiling up at him, as he pulled you in for another kiss.
You spent the rest of the day with Bucky out in the garden. He had brought out his favorite book and was reading while you worked with your plants. After you had finished you sat next to him, your head leaning on his shoulder. “All done doll?” You nodded, leading him to the new plants. “Looks beautiful doll, just like you.” You blushed at the compliment, elbowing him softly for his cheesy statement. “I love you, you dork,” you teased. “Good, cause I love you too, my little garden fairy.” You both laughed, walking hand in hand back inside, just in time to join the team for dinner.
Steve had made some chicken recipe he found, he loved to make food for the team, it was his way of showing he cared. He had a book with all the team’s likes, dislikes, allergies, etc. You and Bucky sat down in your usual spots, greeting the rest of the team. “So, how did planting go?” Clint asked. “It was great planting the eucalyptus..” Bucky smirked at you as you said eucalyptus and at the same time, him, Sam, and Tony all yelled “eucalyptus dick,” and burst out laughing. You just raised your eyebrows at your boyfriend as he looked at you, pretending innocence, “love you doll,” he tried. “Sometimes I question how we ever ended up together,” you sighed, kissing his nose, making him blush. The conversation then moved on to how Tony blew up part of his lab…again.
After dinner, you and Bucky volunteered to clean the dishes. You put on your shared playlist and got to work on the mountain of dishes. After the dishes were done, you still had water on your hands so you decided to start a fight, you flicked the water at your boyfriend who immediately turned to you, “oh doll, you don’t know what you just got yourself into…” he took the faucet and sprayed you quickly with the water. Laughing, and soaked, you moved and gave Bucky a huge hug, getting him soaked in the process. While hugging, you grabbed the faucet and sprayed Bucky’s back. You then started running towards your shared bedroom, but against a super soldier, you had no chance. He caught up to you, wrapped you in his arms and dipped you, giving you a kiss in the process. “Really thought you could run away doll? You started this fight,” he smirked. “Yeah and I was gonna finish this in the shower, but if you don’t want to join me then…” Bucky’s face lit up, “no, yeah, let’s go shower, gotta get off all the dirt from the day ya know.” And with that you both showered and got ready for bed. Some nice, warm cuddles in your boyfriend’s arms was just what this day needed to end perfectly.
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chronicbeans · 6 months
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I need more fluffy Simon Petrikov x Reader angst turn fluffy comfort fics NOW or else I will do it myself.
This is a threat because I am not confident in my ability to write fluff.
But I will if I must lol
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gorey-maiden · 1 year
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Cuddle bug - Jeff the killer
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The sun slipped in through the cracks of the broken blinds with a bright warm glow, the beams hit your face your eyes opened winching slightly, you felt a soft weight on your chest, you cran your neck down a bit seeing your adorable boyfriend Jeff cuddle up on you with a blanket draped over both of you the sun shined off of his pale almost snow like skin making him look angelic ironically, you used one you your hands brushing through his dark locks slowly trying not to hit any knots, you used your other hand to rub his back in a comforting manner, you adored these moments since they didn't happen often because its always chaotic around the mansion, the man in your arms stirs slightly groaning he raises his hand taking off the lace sleeping mask you had bought for his last birthday as a joke but he now begrudgingly uses it since Jane burnt his last one "good morning lovely" he says in his morning voice you loved so much "good morning darling" you kiss his forehead, he buries his face into your neck as he begins to blush it being obvious from the pink that dusts his ears, you smile softly as you wrap your arms around hims, you wish this moment would never end.
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theprett1eststar · 1 year
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Abed x Gender Neutral!Reader (Community)
Reader uses they/them pronouns and is autistic
y/n is new to Greendale, and so the Dean thinks the best way to get them acclimated is by introducing them to THE study group (aka, The Greendale 7). Y/n is very overwhelmed from all the attention. They don’t want to mess up because and make a bad impression by doing the wrong thing social wise, so they opt for being mostly nonverbal (aside from the occasional vocal stims) on their first interaction with the study group.
Most of the group is a little confused by why y/n is acting this way, but Abed connects the dots and realizes y/n is similar to himself, and (in his own way) tries to get y/n to open up.
Can be romantic or platonic pairing (or left up for interpretation)
(Note: I know I sent this request in your other blog, I just wanted to put it in this request box since this blog was specifically for sitcoms, but I discovered you had it /after/ I sent in the request already. Sorry! Hope you’re doing well!)
No worries my love! And ofc sorry this took so long!
Notes App
Abed Nadir x Autistic!Reader
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Warnings: really bad description of overloaded/overwhelming feelings
A/N: No Pierce. Ever. He’s gone.
Your hands were tapping at the straps of your bag as you followed the Dean along the corridors of the large school, you attempted to take in every detail of the school but the bright colours had begun to hurt your eyes so instead you moved your gaze to the carpeted floor beneath your feet, “since it’s your first day here and you’re going to need someone to help you around I think I have the perfect group of people to help you out!” Dean Pelton smiled with a clap of his hands as he guided you towards a room with rather large glass doors, you looked up taking in the setting before entering, “speak of the devil, how does he do that!” One of the people sat at the table said as the two of you entered the room. An amused smile came across The Dean’s face before he began to speak, “Everyone this is the new student I mentioned earlier! I thought I’d leave them with you to mingle and make friends! Have fun!” He smiled before leaving the room.
You waved slightly looking around the room you were in, “don’t be afraid you can sit down!” The brunette girl smiled, you took a seat at the end of the table, you looked around the table all eyes on you - except that man at the end, his eyes were glued to his phone. “Hello” you spoke softly nerves taking over, you gently introduced yourself awaiting a response from the others at the table, they all looked amongst themselves before the boy next to you spoke, “I’m Troy, this is Abed, That’s Britta, Jeff, Annie and Shirley” he said pointing to everyone as he named them, you tried to follow him but he seemed to be speaking quicker than you could process. Your fingers began to gently tap at the table careful not to make to much noise incase it irritated anyone.
You could feel everyone’s eyes on you- most likely awaiting an answer from you, you went to speak but closed your mouth realising you couldn’t form the words, there was so many new people, so many colours in the room, the chairs had a weird texture you’d only just began to feel and slowly these things were all building up. The group went back to talking among themselves the boy next to you talking to his friend, the two stood up swapping seats, that had only begun to freak you out more. His friend dragged over his bag taking a seat next to you, the noise in the room increased as he turned to talk to you, he stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Abed, you don’t have to shake my hand if you don’t want to.” He smiled, you gently shook your head, he retracted his hand and continued to speak, “are you alright? You seem overwhelmed, I have noise cancelling headphones in my bag if you want to use them, I have a red pair and a yellow pair” he offered, you hesitated for a moment. You slowly nodded, Abed smiled unzipping his backpack, “Red or yellow?” He asked, as he asked he held up a finger, 1 got red, 2 for yellow.
Gently holding up two of your fingers, he nodded handing you the headphones, you gently slipped them on immediately feeling a lot better than before, “can you still hear me?” Abed asked exaggerating the way he spoke just in case. You nodded with a small laugh, “okay good, I know everyone can be a little in your face sometimes and your new so that clearly isn’t helping but I get it. I have loads of stuff in here you can borrow if you need to ground yourself” He smiled. Your face lit up, “I understand how you feel, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to but I’d like to know a little more about you- if that’s okay with you of course if not I’ll back off and I can swap seats with Troy again” he offered.
You thought for a moment about how you could answer him, then it hit you. You pulled out your phone opening the notes app your phone beginning to type. Abed watched you intently studying your movements, he smiled a little, you placed the phone on the table as he read the text on the screen, “I don’t mind you asking questions :)” Abed looked up at you smiling as he began to ask you about yourself, interests, what you’re studying, how you ended up at Greendale and such. You began hum in delight to with every positive reaction you got from him, “what’s that? Like the noise what is that?” He asked you tilting his head momentarily, you drew back slightly. You’d been communicating with Abed for about two hours now, it was just the two of you. You opened your mouth contemplating if you should attempt to speak.
He patiently waited for your response, “it’s uh, it’s a vocal stim” you mumble nervously hoping he wouldn’t find it strange, he thought for a moment, “I’ve never heard anyone stim like that, pretty cool” he smiled, you sighed in relief, “How are you feeling now?” Abed asked you, “better, thank you Abed, you really know what your doing when it comes to this stuff” you smiled gently sliding the headphones off and handing them to him. He gently tucked them back into his bag, he smiled proudly at the compliment, “you seem really cool, we should hang out sometime if you want. Watch a movie or just sit together again, only if you want to” he suggested as the two of you grabbed your stuff, “I’d love that”
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