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toxicanonymity · 4 months

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being bad and looking good.

2.8k, raider!Joel (dark) x f!reader | Raider Master SUMMARY: You look hot but get punished for acting up. WARNINGS: I8+ dubcon unsafe P in V, possessive Joel, creampie, manhandling, angst, joel makes you cry, rough, spanking, choking. He's a bad guy, not a kink practitioner: no rules. He cares, and you enjoy the dique, but you're captive. A/N: HYPOTHETICAL because I didn't want to figure out where to place it in the timeline. Set vaguely in the past. This is for a lingerie ask as well as readers who have requested feral/mad Joel or sweet pea being bad. @javier-penas-wifexx420 @arcanefox207 IMMERSABILITY: Reader has hair that can be held/pulled. Joel can lift reader. Reader has no height/size, so fill in the blanks for whether he has to bend his knees to enter you, etc.

Joel lets it slip how close the abandoned mall is, and you can't stop thinking about going there. You want to get something for him. He always brings you things and you never have anything to give him other than food you've foraged and flowers for the trailer. One day, you insist it would be fine with Joel if you go to the mall. You make it sound like you've discussed it. Carter is skeptical, but he feels bad for you. He finally breaks down and agrees to take you.

When you're there, you're walking through the mall and notice Carter's head turn all the way toward a particular storefront as you walk by. You wouldn't have noticed it otherwise. He keeps the same stride, but you slow down to look.

It's a lingerie store. Most of the mannequins are bare or have clothes hanging off them, but there are huge, fading posters with women of all shapes and sizes sporting lace teddies, babydolls, bralettes, strappy garters, and the floor is littered with them.

Carter sighs when he realizes you've stopped at the store.

As he slowly walks back to you, scratching the back of his neck, you ask, “Do you think Joel would like it if I had something from here?” The question feels almost rhetorical, but there's that bit of insecurity, too.

“Uh, I dunno. Sure, I guess.” Carter doesn't seem comfortable. He agrees to let you go in for just a minute to see if you find something, but you have to stay in view. And you think you do. It's a two piece with a sheer, strappy top. The bottom is more modest than a thong, but it has a slit in the crotch that makes you clench your thighs together thinking about Joel.

—-

When you get home, you put it on in the bathroom so you can look at yourself in the mirror. You think it looks good, but it's not a full-length view. And you're not quite sure if it's fitting right. How much tit is supposed to be showing? How tight should it be? You put the flannel back on, but leave it open when you come out. You feel a little more covered than you are, since the nature of the fabric shows a lot.

Carter's sitting at the kitchen table casually shuffling a deck of cards. He looks at you for only a split second before his face hardens, and he abruptly looks away. “Jesus,” he drops the cards on the table, and the chair groans against the floor as he stands up. “The hell are ya doin’?” he awkwardly turns around, pulling up on his pants a little.

“I just wanna know if it looks-”

“--'m sure it looks great,” Carter runs his hands through his hair in distress as he looks out the window. Then, he tightly crosses his arms, and they stretch his sleeves even more. “Now get outta here,” he tells you. He rocks forward onto his toes, then back, waiting for you to leave.

Is he mad? You step further into the kitchen and try to meet his eyes in the reflection.

His voice is stern. “Go put some goddamn clothes on.”

“Sorry, I wasn't–”

“Now.” He means it. You stand there stunned for a moment with your lip quivering. He's never been angry at you before.

“NOW.” He points toward Joel's room, veins bulging on his hand and arm. He doesn't turn around to look at you, but you see the flush from his cheeks creeping onto his neck and ears.

You go to your room and sniffle as you button the flannel. Then you put on a pair of shorts, curl up on the bed, and cry.

–

After a few minutes, there's a soft knock on the bedroom door. “Ya’okay?”

You only sniffle, “I'm sorry,” in response.

Carter sighs. “I shouldn'ta snapped at ya, darlin’. But ya just – can't do that, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Shit, you're a pretty girl, okay? But it ain't my business how ya look. . .in somethin’ like that.”

“. . .I know, I wasn't thinking.”

“Now, if you're dressed and wanna play rummy, I’ll deal. . .”

You smile to yourself through your tears.

—--

You dry your eyes and come out to the kitchen, but something in the air is different as you pull out a chair and sit down.

“Carter, please forget it,” you plead and try to get him to look at you. It feels like you broke something.

He finally makes eye contact and forces a little smile. Then he concentrates on the cards as he deals. “Two, two, three, three,” he counts the cards out loud for each of you as he deals. He finishes, and while you're studying the hand you’re dealt, it's quiet. In the corner of your eye, Carter's gaze falls to your now fully-covered chest, but he quickly pulls his eyes away and looks straight down, fidgeting with his cards. You feel awful. What if he can’t look at you the same? It was stupid to try to show him. Of course it would look good to Joel, he likes everything on (and off) you.

______

When Joel gets home, you're in the bedroom alone, sitting on the bed in the lingerie and flannel. As he enters through the kitchen, his boots are heavy on the linoleum. Your heart races with a moment of doubt - how are you going to explain this? But he bursts in the room grumbling, “goddamn Harold, tryin’ to get us all killed.” He takes his shirt off over his back, tosses it to the laundry, and looks at you. He pauses and devours the view for a few seconds before he slowly approaches, chest heaving.

He looms over you as you sit on the bed. He uses both hands to nudge the flannel off your shoulders, and it pools behind you. You take your arms out of it. He grabs a tit and rests his other hand on the nape of your neck, thumb brushing the curve of your skull. His chest lets out a low growl as he feels you. Then his fingers trail up the strap on one shoulder. He plucks it and it snaps against your skin.

Joel’s face darkens as he asks, “Where’d it come from?” When you don’t answer fast enough, his hand traces up your throat. A chill spreads across your chest. His thumb brushes the side of your neck, then slides over to lift your chin and make you look at him. “Where.”

“I wanted to do something you’d like.”

“Where,” he repeats, then clenches his jaw, waiting.

“You said the mall wasn’t far, so–”

He raises his voice. “You went to the mall? Where was Carter?”

“It’s okay, he was there, even found a part for the van in the parking lot.”

Joel’s nostrils flare, and he grips your jaw. “Carter took you to the mall.”

Your eyes water with panic. “No, it wasn’t his idea--”

“To buy somethin’ like this.”

“I wanted to get you something. I didn’t know they had this stuff —”

“He's got no business takin’ ya anywhere. And sure as hell not somewhere sexy.”

You're worried for Carter and grateful he’s not around. “I swore the mall was okay, that you wouldn’t mind. I didn’t know there was somewhere sexy,” your voice trails off.

Joel shakes his head, nostrils flaring. “You don't say what's okay. You don't KNOW what's okay. Get up.”

He forces you to your feet then turns you around.

“I thought you'd like it,” you sniffle. “You always do things for me.”

“He grabs your ass, lifting your butt cheek and lets it drop. He clicks his tongue. “well, I sure don't like how ya got it.”

“I'm sorry”

“Think ya need a reminder who's in charge here.”

“I know,” you sniffle in agreement, sensing what's coming. He sits down on the bed and manhandles you into lying face down over his knees. You feel a twinge of arousal even before he shifts your position and your hip brushes the hard shape in his jeans.

You hold your breath as he brings his hand back, then it lands with a sting and you yelp at the force. You bury your mouth in your arm as he brings his hand back again. He repeats it on the other cheek and you let out a muffled whimper that sounds more aroused than you should be.

“Like bein’ bad?” He asks, then spanks you again.

“No.”

His hand lands with a sting one more time and stays on your skin to grab the plush of your burning skin. “Ya like this?”

“. . .I dunno,” you whimper, unsure of the right answer.

He feels between your legs, his thick finger finding a damp slit in the cotton crotch of the lacy underwear. He slips a finger inside the garment, giving you a shock of need when his knuckle nudges your dripping hole. “Ya do, don't ya? Get up.” He grabs your arm and stands up, forcing you to your feet. He holds your hair and stares you down sternly. “This ain't for fun, baby, it's your safety” He lets go of your hair and looms closer. “Understand?”

You nod and reflexively back up. Something tells you it's not just about your safety.

“AND Carter's. You tryin' to make me hurt’m?” He asks. Joel gets closer and you keep backing up toward the wall.

“No,” you sob. “Please don't. He’s good, so good, he wouldn't even look at me. He respects you so much”

A new rage flashes across Joel's face and he lowers his voice. “He wouldn't . . .even . . .look at ya,” he mutters too calmly for your comfort. He takes a deep breath, looks you up and down again, puts his hand on your chest, fingers spread wide, and walks you harshly into the wall. His bare chest heaves. ”But ya gave him the chance, didn't ya,” Joel nods. You've dug your hole so much deeper.

“I was only thinking about–” Joel’s hand comes to your neck as you croak out, “--you.” You don't know what you were thinking. Joel doesn't either. He slowly shakes his head, nostrils flaring.

He pins you with his hips, and his hard cock digs into your front, making you gush.

“Forget who ya belong to?”

“No,” you whimper. “I’m yours.”

He pulls his hips back and quickly unfastens his pants. You bite your lip to keep from moaning at the sight of his cock. It nudges under the bottom hem of the lingerie top to reach your body. You feel his skin hit your lower belly, and it makes you weak with desire. “Only wanna be yours.”

He kicks your feet apart to spread your legs, and he brings his lips to your hair. “Then ya do what I say. Understand?”

“Yes sir,” you whisper, then he shoves his hand between your legs, using two fingers to spread the slit in the fabric of the crotch.

“‘s’for your own good,” he adds.

He nudges the slit with his cockhead. The fabric doesn’t open wide enough, so he rips the slit more, then you feel his tip at your wet little hole. He holds his cock in line, then grabs your ass and shoves up into you all at once, bottoming out. The force makes your back and shoulders drag up the wall. With your feet now off the ground, your knees bend, cradling his hips. He holds you by your ass, adjusts your weight, and your back is against the wall. You balance your arms around his neck. His thick cock retreats then punches into you again.

He's so thick, each time he pushes in, it feels like he’s taking up your whole body. He’s not looking at you; he’s looking past you. The grip of his fingers hurts enough to feel good, to feel his desperation, how much he has to have you–for him and only him.

He grunts and growls and breathes heavily, stomach heaving against you. “You're mine, sweet pea.”

“I am,” you agree.

“No one else can have ya.” His words get broken with the force of his thrusts. “No one else can see ya.”

“I know.”

You moan as he buries his length in you roughly, and he mutters “goddamn,” tightening his grip on your ass. You’re overwhelmed by the fullness of his cock, his skin against yours, his breath in your hair, his body pinning you there. All of it makes your insides swell with mounting pleasure.

“I love being yours,” you pant.

He fucks you in relative silence for about two minutes, the room filled only with the sounds of his brutish grunts and unbridled sighs, your little moans and whimpers, and the squelch of his stiff cock pumping in and out of your dripping cunt.

He adjusts your weight and looks down at your body from time to time, letting your upper back rest against the wall as he rails into you. You’re reassured that he likes the fit, at least. Your legs wrap loosely around him.

The pressure in your lower belly builds with each grunt, each thrust of his cock. Soon, his breath becomes shaky and the drag of his cock quickens. Then he bottoms out sharply with a groan, drawing a sigh from you as he begins to pulse. He thrusts into you slower, more controlled, and you rock slowly against the wall. The rhythmic swell of his shaft within your walls and the warm seed spilling from his tip make you clench around him. You moan his name, tighten your legs, and he sighs as your cunt chokes his cock.

When his balls are empty, he slides out, and the fabric pulls with his cock as he withdraws and lets you down to the floor.

—-

Joel sighs, crams his wet cock into his pants, and fastens them again.

“You okay?” He asks, catching his breath.

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Where are you going?”

“Gonna pay Carter a visit, down at the house.”

“Please, Joel, it was all my fault,” you beg. “Don’t do it.”

“Ain’t gonna kill’m. This time.” You still don’t like the look on his face.

You follow him across the room, reach for his arm, and your fingers land lightly on his inner elbow. He pauses, still without his shirt on, and looks down at your hand on his elbow. He turns around, reads your face, then goes over to the bed without a word. He sits and manspreads. “I was desperate to make you happy,” you plead, fidgeting with the hem of your top.

Joel scrunches his face. “Ya do make me happy, sweet pea.”

“He didn't even wanna take me,” you insist.

“Then he’s gotta learn to say no.”

You hesitantly come closer, unsure if he’ll turn you away, but he lets you between his legs, then you sit on his thigh and keep fidgeting with the hem of your top.

“He says no all the time,” you assure Joel.

“Does he,” Joel mutters skeptically.

“I made it like he would've been saying no to you.”

Joel shakes his head, looking at your mouth. “That ain't right, but he knows better, baby.”

“He yelled at me,” you offer, hoping it doesn't make things worse.

Joel's brow furrows and his tone sharpens. “Ya gotta stop lyin’, now. It's pissin’ me off.”

“I'm not! He was mad.”

“Oh yeah? What'd he yell?”

“Told me to go away and put on some clothes.”

Joel’s chin lifts to look at the ceiling and he takes a deep breath, then looks at you. “What the hell got into ya, huh?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Feel like I'm going crazy, stuck here all day.” Joel looks at you. “But you take good care of me,” you clarify, “and I love it here.”

But that’s not what Joel’s thinking about.

“Wanna fuck him? Suck his dick?”

“No!” You're on the verge of tears again. “God, Joel, please don't talk like that.” Your face is scrunched up in pain.

“Then don't act like it.”

“I was–okay, I get it.”

Joel is quiet for a few seconds, then asks, “What if I told ya to suck his dick?”

“No!”

“You'd say no to me?”

“I’d ask if I really have to.”

Joel's face slowly softens, like you found the only acceptable answer. “And why’s that?”

“Cause I only want yours.”

“Hm,” Joel nods.

“Please, Joel. Stay here, don't go to him. . .you can talk to him tomorrow.”

You put your arms around Joel's neck and study his pensive face. Then you bury your head in his neck and whisper “Sorry.” His hand slowly comes to your back. You dip your head and lightly brush your lips against his collar bone, then return your face under his jaw, and he nestles his head over yours. Your wet lashes blink against his skin, and his hand slowly slides on your back. Somehow, it feels like more comfort than you deserve.

“Ok, baby,” he whispers and wraps both arms around you.

----------

if you wanna know whether Carter sees sweet pea that way, check out he's only human.

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Their present-day story will continue, but I don't have an ETA, sorry. Unless the next one gets split up, it'll have fluff, two moods of smut, angst.

I appreciate all your comments that let me know what you enjoy and what curiosities you have. Thank you so much for reading, and thanks for your support. Love you all.

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#dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #cw dubcon #raider!joel miller #joel miller smut #raider!carter #toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!joel #pedro pascal characters #possessive!joel miller

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websterss · 1 year

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𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝟏/𝟐 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: I have a really good fic idea! would u mind taking mine? If you have watched the Netflix series “you” then this request might seem familiar. Basically Ethan is about to stab Y/n but she quickly says she is pregnant then you can do whatever you want to.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, mentions of dying, mentions of pregnancy,

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1,655

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it love! I never fully watched the whole series, but I’ve definitely have seen that particular scene. I love Victoria Pedretti with my whole heart! lol

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐: (𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆) 𝐨𝐫 (𝐒𝐀𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆)

Fear struck every part of your body as you ran for your life. The old shrine of Ghostface trinkets and souvenirs like knives and wardrobes mocked you as you ran by the mannequins and display cases. You wouldn’t have imagined you’d be right where you were on this unlucky day. What should have been a fresh start after being almost butchered by Amber and Sam’s boyfriend Richie, well you didn’t expect to fight for your life once again, especially while at college.

You wanted a new year, a chance to leave all that was, behind you and move forward with your head held high. You wanted to fall in love…which you had. Now even that was ruined as you ran from the one person you let in. Someone you let love and cherish you in any way possible. Let him put you back together only to break you in pieces all over again. It just didn’t seem fair.

You yell out, panicking as you felt him grab you. You squirmed and wiggled in his grasp, kicking your feet out in the air as he lifted you up slightly then slammed you harshly on the ground. You gasp for air as you grow winded from the impact your back endured. You shake your head as the man you once knew became a stranger to you in mere seconds. You were scared as he stares down at you with a crazed look.

“No!” You scream as you push against his chest. “Ethan no, please!” You rasp out. Tears blind sight you, causing your vision to be blurry.

He smirks lifting a knife above you. “Remember this?” He asks. “My dad got a hold of your file you know. I knew the second I read about you that I wanted to get to know you.” He reached down and brushed some stray hairs away from your hot and sweaty forehead. Your chest rises and falls rapidly. “You were stabbed right here…” He lifts the hem of your shirt, tapping against the scar you received. “With a blade, three times might I add. God the picture they took looked nasty, but boy am I a sucker for recreations.” He chuckles darkly. “What’s three more times huh?” He goes to move the knife closer to your side.

You start to panic again as he moves his right arm to the side, getting ready to drive it past your first layer of skin. You cry holding your hands out, hoping that would be enough to stop him from hurting you physically. You were emotionally damaged by this point. “Ethan stop! Stop, stop! Stop!”

“This is for Richie, for your bitch of friend Sam for killing him! For ruining our lives!” He exclaims harshly at you. You wince, then immediately blurt out the one thing you have been excited to tell him, yet scared to do. Now it just made this whole situation worse.

“Ethan-“ You cry out.

“I should have killed you-“

“I’m pregnant!” You yell out. Your head thumping back against the hard floor. Your hands gravitate towards your stomach holding it protectively. Your face was scrunched with how hard you cried. It hurt, everything just hurt. Ethan's hands freeze in midair. Dumbfounded by your confession. “Stop, stop, stop. I-I’m pregnant!”

“You’re fucking lying!” He accuses you.

“I-I’m not…I’m not I promise!” You shake your head. “Please! Please I’m pregnant!” One hand remains on your stomach while your left hand tiredly falls limp to your side. You relax back onto the floor, waiting for the inevitable to come. Waiting to meet your end at the hands of the man you grew to love with your whole heart.

“Look at me,” Ethan instructs you to do. Your eyes open up slowly. The life drained from them as you stare up at him. The fight in you was gone. You didn’t wanna keep doing this anymore. “No, I–“ He shakes his head. He can’t wrap his head around it. His brows burrow in confusion. “Y-You’re lying!” He tears up.

“I promise you…” Another tear slips down your cheek. “I promise. I wanted to tell you…but everything turned to shit. I didn’t think you’d be one of them…” You sniffle. “It was a little over two weeks before we attended the Halloween party. You took us to your dorm.” You watch his face relax as he remembers. “I-I didn’t get my period at the time of the party when I should have…so I took a test. Three actually. All positive….” You begin to whimper as you look at the knife he’s lost his grip on. “You can go ahead and kill me if that’s what you want, I won’t be mad at you.” You offer a sad smile. “But I would’ve really liked the idea of us raising a kid together. I wanted a future you with you. I still do surprisingly.” You nod sure of yourself. “I-I won’t be mad. I’m at peace with my thoughts of you Ethan.” Ethan watched as your right hand slid down to your side this time. “M-My life rests in your hands now…”

The faint scream of the rest of the party echoed throughout the theater. He lifts his head looks around then drags you up into a sitting position with him.

“I’m gonna hide you.” He says more to himself than you as he helps you to your feet. It doesn’t take him long until he’s dragging you past the display cases. Pushing past the large screen protector sheet. You stumble over your feet trying to keep up with his pace.

“Ethan, what are you doing?” You ask him. Your head falls past your shoulder to glance behind you. You look forward again and collide into his back, you huff then feel yourself being dragged into a dark supply closet.

“Hiding you!” Ethan shuts the door behind you. The two of you are enveloped by darkness. The only light coming from the bottom of the door. Your breath hitches as a shadow moves past the door. You remain still as Ethan slowly reaches out for you. You still have your fingers looking around his own as you shift closer to each other.

You swallow your salvia down nervously as his hands shift up your arms to hold the sides of your face. Your breath shudders feeling him caress your skin slowly with his thumbs. You close your eyes as you lean into his touch. You open them back up, seeing a very faint outline of his face but the room was too dark, and turning on the light would be too risky. You had to rely on your sense of touch for now.

“Stay…” You quietly plead. “Just stay. Don’t go back out there.” You slide your hands up his arms now.

“I can’t…My dad, Quinn, they’ll know somethings up.” Ethan shakes his head even though you can’t see him do so. He leans forward and presses his head against yours. “I need you to stay in here okay? Don’t come out no matter what.”

“No–“ You begin to reject the idea.

“You need to stay.”

“No, you need to stay. Just stay.” You do your best to muffle your cries. “I have this feeling. I just feel it, okay! Once you step out the door, you won’t come back. I need you! Don’t leave me!” You breathe out harshly. “Please…” You whimper as he presses his lips to yours. You instantly move yours against his. Wanting to savor the touch of him, the feel of his skin against your fingertips, the way his hands held you with such care. You wanted it all to last, but when did anything good in your life ever truly last? The harsh reality was that it didn’t. Everything was always too good to be true. “Ethan no…” You pull away, crying out quietly. You wrap your hands around his neck, bringing his head down to touch yours.

“I’ll be back.”

“No, you won’t.” You try to control your heavy breathing.

“I will. You wanna know how I know I will.” You nod an answer. “Cause you given me something to want to stay alive for.” You feel his hands slide over your stomach. “I’m gonna be right back.” He whispers sweetly to you.

“They’re gonna kill you.” You voice your thoughts.

“Not unless I help Sam kill my dad.”

“She’ll still kill you. You stabbed Chad.” You remind him.

“Not anywhere serious. I didn’t hit any arteries or veins. He’s gonna be fine.” He brushed the thought off.

“You– You knew where to stab him?” Your voice goes quiet but sounds incredulous.

“I knew how to make you unconscious at the apartment…S’not important.” He winces, regretting opening his mouth.

“What the fuck Ethan!” You slap him over his shoulder. Your heart weighed down heavily. “God Anika…She didn’t deserve-“ You choke up, cutting yourself off. “What the fuck Ethan.”

“Nothing will fix what I’ve done okay? But I can make things right by saving them. It’s the least I can do now.” He sighs. “Just stay here. Do not come out!” He says firmly.

“If you don’t come back I’m gonna kill you…” Your empty threat makes him chuckle solemnly.

“See you in a bit okay.”

“Ethan.” Your voice trembles.

“I’ll be back. Promise.” He leans in after feeling for your cheek again with his hands and leaves a kiss on your skin sweetly. He slowly opens the door. The faint light entered through, casting a yellow highlight on his face. You catch his warm eyes for a second. He drinks in all the little details and characteristics that make you who you are. That makes him love you wholeheartedly. “I love you.” He offers a sad smile then slips past the open gap. The soft click of the door closing behind him felt like a gunshot to the chest. You just knew. You knew…he wouldn’t be coming back.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x fem!reader #scream x reader #scream vi #my gif #writings by juls

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mariacallous · 4 months

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On Boxing Day pro-Palestine demonstrators met customers at the Zara sale in the Westfield shopping centre, in Stratford, east London. They were not there to wish them the compliments of the season.

‘Bombs are dropping while you’re shopping,’ they chanted, as police stood by to make sure the protests did not turn violent. ‘Zara is enabling genocide,’ their placards read.

Quite what they wanted bargain hunters to do about the Israeli forces bombing the Gaza Strip, they never said. Lobby their MPs? Politicians are on their Christmas holidays. Join the Palestinian armed struggle? It was unclear whether the shopping centre had a Hamas recruitment office.

But on one point the demonstrators were certain: no one should be buying from Zara. Even though the fashion chain has not encouraged Israel’s war against Hamas, earned income from it, or supported Israel in any material way, it was nevertheless “exploiting a genocide and commodifying Palestine's pain for profit”.

Zara, in short, has become the object of a paranoid fantasy: a QAnon conspiracy theory for the postcolonial left.

The Zara conspiracy is an entirely modern phenomenon. It has no original author. Antisemitic Russians sat down and wrote the Protocols of the Elders of Zion in the early 20th century. There was an actual “Q” behind the QAnon conspiracy: a far-right activist who first appeared on 4chan message boards in 2017 to claim that a cabal of child abusers was conspiring against Donald Trump.

The Zara conspiracy was mass produced by social media users: an example of the madness of crowds rather than their supposed wisdom. The cause of the descent into hysteria was bizarre.

In early December Zara launched an advertising campaign featuring the model Kristen McMenamy wearing its latest collection in a sculptor’s studio. It clearly was a studio, by the way, and not a war zone in southern Israel or Gaza. McMenamy carried a mannequin wrapped in white fabric. The cry went up that the Spanish company was exploiting the suffering of Palestinians and that the mannequin was meant to represent a victim of Israeli aggression wrapped in a shroud.

The accusation was insane. No one in the photo shoot resembled a soldier or a casualty of war. Anyone who thought for 30 seconds before resorting to social media would have known that global brands plan their advertising campaigns months in advance.

Zara said the campaign presented “a series of images of unfinished sculptures in a sculptor’s studio and was created with the sole purpose of showcasing craft-made garments in an artistic context”. The idea for the studio setting was conceived in July. The photo shoot was in September, weeks before the Hamas assault on Israel on 7 October.

No one cared. Melanie Elturk, the CEO of fashion brand Haute Hijab, said of the campaign, ‘this is sick. What kind of sick, twisted, and sadistic images am I looking at?’ #BoycottZara trended on Twitter, as users said that Zara was ‘utterly shameful and disgraceful”’.

To justify their condemnations, activists developed ever-weirder theories. A piece of cardboard in the photoshoot was meant to be a map of Israel/Palestine turned upside down. Because a Zara executive had once invited an extreme right-wing Israeli politician to a meeting, the whole company was damned.

Astonishingly, or maybe not so astonishingly to anyone who follows online manias, the fake accusations worked. Zara stores in Glasgow, Toronto. Hanover, Melbourne and Amsterdam were targeted.

What on earth could Zara do? PR specialists normally say that the worst type of apology is the non-apology apology, when a public figure or institution shows no remorse, but instead says that they are sorry that people are offended. Yet Zara had not sought to trivialize or profit from the war so what else could it do but offer a non-apology apology? The company duly said it was sorry that people were upset.

“Unfortunately, some customers felt offended by these images, which have now been removed, and saw in them something far from what was intended when they were created,” it said on 13 December, and pulled the advertising campaign

That was two-weeks ago and yet still the protests in Zara stores continue. On 23 December activists targeted Zara on Oxford Street chanting , 'Zara, Zara, you can't hide, stop supporting genocide', even though Zara was not, in fact, supporting genocide. On Boxing Day, they were at the Stratford shopping centre.

Zara has apologised for an offence it did not commit. There is no way that any serious person can believe the charges against it. And yet believe them the protestors do. Or at the very least they pretend to believe for the sake of keeping in with their allies.

Maybe nothing will come of the protests. One could have argued in 2017, after all, that QAnon was essentially simple-minded people living out their fantasies online. Certainly, every sane American knew that there was no clique of paedophiles running the Democrat party, but where was the harm in the conspiracy theory?

Then QAnon supporters stormed the US capitol in January 2021. Will the same story play out from the Gaza protests? As far as I can tell, no one on the left is challenging the paranoia. I have yet to see the fact-checkers of the BBC and Channel 4 warning about the fake news on the left with anything like the gusto with which they treat its counterparts on the right.

To be fair, the scale of disinformation around the Gaza war is off the charts, and it is impossible to chase down every lie. But when fake news goes from online fantasies to real world protests, from 4chan to the Capitol, from Twitter to the Westfield shopping centre, it’s worth taking notice.

Sensible supporters of a Palestinian state ought to be the most concerned. No one apart from fascists, Islamists and far leftists believes that Israel should not defend itself. And yet the scale of its military action in Gaza is outraging world opinion. Mainstream politicians, who might one day put pressure on Israel, remain very wary about reflecting the anger on the streets.

They look at the insane conspiracy theories on the western left and see them as no different from the insane conspiracy theories that motivate Hamas, and they back away.

The Palestinians need many things: an end to the Netanyahu government, and an end to Hamas. But they could also use allies in the West who do not discredit their cause with dark, gibbering fantasies.

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kaylinlmfao · 5 months

Text

i hate you! but oh how i love you

type of piece: imagine, drabble, oneshot, series

type(s) of writing: smut, fluff, angst, dark, suggestive

warning(s): mentions of sexual stuff but no actual smut in this part, teasing,, murder, violence, gore, this is mostly just plot

pairings(s): dark!dom!ethan landry x sub!fem!reader

A/N: here is a special, dark fic for a treat for me and for you guys. keep the requesting coming! I love this request, more like this one please! thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy! this is part 1 (no smut just plot)

if i wrote an ethan x fem fanfiction and kinda combined the elements of my oneshots and put them into an actual book would y'all read it? (on wattpad)

just a couple of different things from the movie in this fic. sam, tara, kirby, and chad all die. so do quinn and bailey. all killed by ethan. ethan survives and we'll see where it goes from there.

"ok, ew. get a room you two." you say to tara and chad, accidentally walking in on them kissing. "how about you get a room? we already have one. this room." tara tells you, laughing. she knows you're excited for her. she's liked chad for as long as you can remember. your smile fades as you look behind her. "TARA MOVE!" you shout as the masked killer drives a knife into tara's back. she lets out a cry of pain as chad begins dodging and fighting the killer. "oh my god, tara." you run over to help her up off the floor. "it's ok. it's ok" you try to reassure yourself. you lift tara off the floor, slinging her arm over your shoulder as you try to get her to the door.

"chad! come on" you shout as he kicks the ghostface hard, then rushing over to help you with tara. you swing open the door. "oh my god!" tara shouts. you scream as you see sam barrel through the door. she looks at the three of you in shock before chad starts rushing us to go. "come on, go go go." he ushers us through the door as i glance back at the figure, struggling to get up from their place on the ground. "it's kirby! she's the killer!" sam exclaims as you all are running through the theater. "no shit!" chad runs over to the door you came in before being stopped. "it's locked. come on." "so we're trapped?" you ask, full of fear. this isn't your first rodeo with ghostface, oh no, but you always feel a huge wave of fear when seeing the mask. whether you see a person wearing the mask on the street, or seeing an actual killer wearing it, it brings back bad memories of your ex girlfriend.,

"kirby made this whole theater a kill box. for us." sam voices. tara spins and points upwards. "hey, what about that? there's an exit door. maybe it leads to the roof or something?" she asks, breathless. "there's only one way to find out. let's go." chad orders, grabbing tara's hand. i grip sam's hand as we turn to run. suddenly, another masked ghostface comes out from behind the curtain, swinging their knife. with an extra hard swing, one of the mannequin heads goes flying. "beheadings!" chad shouts, tackling the killer. "chad!" you shout, pointing to the camera behind him as sam rushes to help tara. "smile for the camera motherfucker" chad exclaims, swinging the camera, the figure on the floor flying back from the force of the blow

you push the movie curtain past you quickly, running through. "over there!' tara points as ghostface comes barreling from somewhere behind you. you take the lead, running down the narrow hallway, just trying to get away. another masked killer appears on the opposite end of the hall. now, you're all blocked in from both sides. before chad turns and throws the camera he's still holding at the pursuer behind you. "get fucked!" he shouts. you run into the room you began in, chad pulling the popcorn machine down in front of the figure rushing after you all. the killer swings his knife at chad, aiming to slice and dice. sam and tara each grab one of it's arms, pulling the person back. you subtlety turn, looking for the metal baseball bat you brought for protection. bingo. you grab it from where you leaned it against the wall while talking to chad and tara.

you take the bat in your hands, shout a loud battle cry, and swing at the masked figure, hard. they go flying to the floor with a loud cry of pain. it's a female. now more proof that it's kirby. tara pulls her foot back, crying out from the strain on her wound, and kicks the masked person on the floor, hard. "holy shit tara. brutal" you say, grabbing her and sam, backing up as chad picks up a glass machine off of the counter. "you hit them with a baseball bat" sam counters as chad fixes to throw the glass on the ghostface writhing in pain on the floor. you chuckle with pride. "i know." you see something behind chad that makes you scream in fear. "chad!" you cry, trying to warn him. you're too late, and you watch as the killer drives their knife into you're best friend's side. "no!" you and tara shout in unison. sam holds tara back, gripping your arm at the same time.

the other killer stands and they begin stabbing chad, over and over. you're on the verge of breaking down, again. deja vu. and your boyfriend ethan and mindy still haven't shown yet. you hope and pray that everyone survives this as you turn, unable to watch the scene in front of you, but knowing that there is nothing you can do to help chad. "run" he mouths to you, smiling sadly, blood flowing freely from his mouth and the other wounds on his torso. his body falls to the floor, and the two masked killers wipe their knifes in one swift motion. you run with tara and sam, vision blinded by tears. you cry out in surprise as another ghostface emerges from behind the curtain. the masked killer from before appears on the other side, shaking and waving their knife at you.

sam reaches down and picks up three bricks, handing one to tara and offering one to you. with a shake of your head, you decline. "i've got this" you say, readying your bat to begin swinging. you, tara, and sam form a triangle, tara and yourself gripping hands, sobbing. "ready?" sam asks as tara lets out a cry. "i need you both to be ready? ready?" she repeats. you nod, reaching for her hand, closing the circle. your holding onto sam and tara's hands for dear life, watching as the two sisters reach for the others hand. "deja vu" you whisper. "look at me" sam orders you and tara. "ready?" you glance at sam, then at tara. you may not be blood, but these are your sisters. "im ready" tara tells her. they both look at you. "ready as ill ever be" you say with a smirk, slinging your bat over your shoulder. "come on motherfucker!" tara screams, baiting the masked figure behind you.

suddenly, a loud gunshot sounds from behind you and you see kirby emerge from behind the movie curtain. "it's ok." she attempts to calm the three of you. "stay the fuck back!" sam shouts. "we know it's you kirby." tara tells her. "no! one of them knocked me out." she says, breathless and panting. "kirby stop! get away from the girls" detective bailey orders, pointing his gun at her. kirby mirrors his motions, pointing her gun at him too. "what are you doing?" kirby questions. "did you kill quinn? did you kill my daughter?!" bailey asks, distraught. "jesus christ! whatever he's been saying to you, don't listen to him. he's probably the killer." a ghostface appears behind the detective. "behind you!" kirby shouts, trying to warn him. two gunshots are fired and kirby falls to the ground. "holy shit." you say, shocked. "great job" bailey praises the ghostface standing behind him. "oh fuck this fucking shit. you cheap fuck!" you scream, staring at kirby's body in shock.

another ghostface emerges from behind detective bailey. "both of you" "you?" tara asks, still in shock. "yeah, of course me. frankly, i expected more from the two of you after what you did to us." "what do you mean us?" the one on bailey's left pulls her mask off. "quinn?" (i know i changed the order but it fits my idea better) sam asks in shock. "hey roomies. you didn't see that one coming did you?" "yeah, because you died!" "kinda didn't though. it was a good way to get off the suspect list. stab gale weathers, stab mindy on the train, that sort of thing." "yeah, and i just made sure i was first on the scene so i could switch her body out with a fresh one. little fake blood, a prosthetic. you'd be surprised with what a grieving father can get away with" you jump a little, pumping your fist. "i fucking knew it! i knew it! i told you guys that she wasn't dead, but you didn't believe me! i told you, i said she wasn't dead. the blood on her walls was fake. I FUCKING KNEW IT!" "so who's the other one?" "mindy?" you ask, breath caught in your throat.

the mask was pulled off and your legs buckled at seeing your beloved boyfriend, ethan. you fell to your knees, feeling the rush of emotions that you felt a year ago come back to you. ethan looks at you with a deranged look in his eyes. "mindy was right. it was easy to juke the roommate lottery. all i had to meet you was room with a conceited, condescending alpha, literally named chad. fuck, it felt good to kill him!" ethan continued speaking but you tuned him out. you couldn't stand to hear his voice or look at his face. you couldn't do this again. you just couldn't. the emotions were flooding you, the feelings overwhelming. you stared down at the floor, tears dripping onto the floor. feelings of hopelessness, sadness, betrayal all coursed through your veins. but soon they were all covered with a thick blanket of rage. red hot rage.

you stood, reminding yourself to stay strong. staring at the ground, tears still slipping down your cheeks. "i got stu macher's mask. he was my favorite." quinn says. "nice. that's number three, and that's number two." he pulls a ghostface mask from within his jacket. "which leaves, your sister's" he says pointing at you. "who's your sister?" tara whispers. "jill roberts" you whisper, still looking at the floor in shame. "this is what we've been counting down to, y/n. i'm gonna need you to put it on." bailey looks at you, holding the mask out to you. so broken. "fuck you!" you hear sam yell on behalf of you. ethan swings and slices open sam's upper arm. "ok! ok! im taking it, jesus. you psychopath" you glare at the boy you once thought you loved. you take the mask in your hands and stare down ashamed at it. you feel someone slip behind you to come stand in front of you. you know it's ethan. you know. he grips your chin, pulling your chin up to point your gaze at him. "oh princess. there's nothing to be ashamed of." he stares deep into your eyes, noticing how cold they are. you've never looked at him like this before.

but it's ok. he has a plan. and eventually, you'll get over it and understand. and you'll be his, though you have been since the day he saw you for the first time. he backs up to stand next to his father and sister. you were still staring at the mask that you held. suddenly, you heard commotion from behind you and saw the fight begin. but you couldn't. you couldn't fight. you didn't have it in you. quinn and bailey vs sam and tara. it wasn't a fair fight, that's for sure. sam and tara didn't have any weapons. you could help them a little bit but then you needed to find a way out of this stupid theater. you ran over to kirby and saw that she was still conscious, but barely. "i'm gonna need this. ill go get help. i promise" you whisper softly. kirby looks at you hard for a moment, and you share a moment of understanding before she slipped into unconsciousness.

you turn, feeling eyes on you. ethan. he isn't helping his father or sister. it's as though his only focus is you. his stare is scaring you, and though you'd never admit it, causing a heat to rush down to your core. damn him. you hate him. you do. but, oh. how you love him. (see what i did there lol?) you walk towards tara and sam, crying out when you feel someone coming up behind you, grabbing you by your throat and yanking you against their upper body. "fuck you, ethan!" you yell, drawing the attention from both your family and his. "but sweetheart, we already did that. i love to to do it again though." he whispers, kissing your neck softly. you bring your elbow forward and elbowing him hard, taking ethan by surprise and giving you just enough to to slip out of his grasp. "sam!" you shout, getting her attention from quinn advancing on her.

"catch" you bring your hand back and throw kirby's gun. for a split second, you think she won't catch it. it will slip from her grasp and everything will go downhill from there. and so it does. the gun slips and falls down to the ground, where you try to grab it. but a tall, 6'2 figure stands in your way. you're on your knees and he's standing in front of you. you're eye level with his bulge. you remember this position all too well. and judging by the smirk on ethan's face, he remembers it pretty well too. he opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something that will infuriate you further. "oh just shut up! oh my god, you bent, twisted motherfucker!" you yell, standing quickly.

your breath catches in your throat as you realize how close you are to ethan. the height difference between the two of you was causing you to be eye level with his chest. you could see his muscles in his chest as he took a deep breath. you feel his fingers lifting your chin, so gentle, like you were glass and ethan was afraid to put the slightest crack on you. your eyes meet ethan's and you almost whimper. ethan's gaze on you is nothing like he's ever looked at you like before. full of lust, looking at you like he was going to devour you. "ethan" you breathe, so quiet, so soft. you quickly snapped out of the trance he had you in and dove, grabbing the gun off the ground and pointing it at ethan.

ethan began slowly walking towards you. "put the gun down princess." he says it as he normally would, but you feel mocked and teased. "you better back the fuck up unless you want a bullet in between your eyes, princess." you mock him, quickly walking backwards until your back is met with a hard surface. ethan continues walking towards you until there is only a enough space to put the gun against his chest in between the two of you. he glances down at it and then back at you as he speaks. "oh? don't talk like that. we both know you wouldn't be able to pull the trigger, sweet girl" you blush at the nickname and you know he sees.

"go ahead, pull the trigger." you freeze up as he move closer to the point where you have to move the gun, the butt pressing painfully against your chest. you hear the commotion going on in the background, but with the way ethan is standing above you with a bloody hands, it's making you dizzy and you feel like you're gonna pass out. you feel your head empty just as he somehow always caused it to do. it takes an extreme amount effort to get your head straight, telling yourself that this isn't ethan. it isn't the ethan you fell in love with, at least.

you swallow. "fuck you." you whisper, feeling the burning tension between the both of you. ethan chuckles as his expression turns to one of even deeper lust. you feel his hot breath on your face as you get angrier at the slick forming in your panties. "fuck you." "i hate you so much. i hate you for doing this to me and for breaking my fucking heart. i wish–" you stop at as ethan begins to speak. "what do you want, sweetheart? keep fucking talking, slut. keep trying to convince me you hate me." his gaze drifts to your lips. "i hate you" you sob. you're interrupted by the feeling of your mouths crashing together in a rough, lustfilled kiss. and, to your own surprise, you don't fight it. you can't bring yourself to shove him away. the sexual tension between the two of you had gone to the point of being unbearable, and the harsh way his lips move against yours and the way his tongue probes into your mouth makes you light headed.

ethan pulls away and looks at your lust filled, scared expression. "that's what i thought. you still want me, even i killed all your friends." you shake your head with a whimper, tears running down your cheeks. "i don't want you." you whisper. "oh my pretty girl. so confused, aren't you? don't you remember you cockdrunk and sobbing after i fucked you just last night?" he brings his lips to your ears, whispering. "when you couldn't say anything at all? all you could do was cry and beg me to stop touching your sensitive cunt and your puffy little clit? and i know you want to do it again. dirty little whore. my dirty little whore."

'i don't want you" you say, more trying to convince yourself than trying to convince ethan. he laughs, glancing down at your tear streaked face and big doe eyes. "ok, little one. ok" you wiped your tears quickly and shoved him off of you, turning and running down the nearest hallway. "you don't have to run, you know. I'm gonna catch you no matter how fast you are." you hear. ethan’s voice is cold and irritated as he stalks towards the hallway you just turned into. you're distracted as you trip over a gap in the hardwood floor and come crashing to the floor, and then, the sound of his steps hurrying up to meet you fill your heart with even more fear. your heart is already racing from the adrenaline of trying to escape the psychopath that you once called your boyfriend. The bloody tip of his knife rounds the corner before he does, and it's enough to fuel your desire to get up and stumble around the nearest corner, into a bathroom.

you slam the door behind you with the force of your body against it, and attempt to fumble with the lock for a split second before running to grab the nearest object, a marble vase to try and buy you a few seconds. It's not even seconds until he's turning the knob, trying to get in. the door rattling the entire room suddenly and your heart hitting the floor as he speaks. "open the door, my love. i won't hurt you as long as you behave." you're not allowed even a second opportunity to look for a way out, to even consider the option of jumping out the second story window on to the concrete below, or just hide and pray for mercy. Because three loud, earth-shattering crashes of his shoulder meeting the hardwood door splinters it almost immediately after the third hit, and you're so close to the door that one of those shards flies and slices open the heel of your hand–and now, instead of using those few precious moments to come up with a plan to get away, you're crying and grabbing your wrist in pain, blood gushing from the wound and splattering all over the white tile floor.

the pain derails your whole train of thought, your vision blurring with tears as you fall back and shake with shock, leaving a trail of crimson blood on the tile behind that leads straight to you. one more crash of ethan's shoulder against the door does the trick, and ethan has successfully crushed a hole in the bathroom door, his arm reaching through to unlock it so it only takes a quick kick to open. "man, you made me break the door. this is probably pretty valuable" his eyes turn to you, bright and brown and angry. "and you cut your wrist." ethan reaches out for you, and doesn't stop when you flinch away from him. you have nowhere else to go, no way out, what are you gonna do? you're aren't a threat to anyone but yourself. you're a helpless little thing, and when ethan does grab you, he's gripping your wrists so hard you're already begging him to stop and let go. "why don't you beg me not to kill you, princess?" he whispers, brushing your hair out of your face, behind your ear to whisper it directly into your ear–his voice makes you shiver, like it's a cold breeze in the across your neck. "i'm kinda considering it. you're pissing me off. you won't stop running away from me"

"what now? why are you looking at me like that?" he moves away from you to meet your eyes, but the fear is clear in yours–you watched him help murder your best friends, your family. what does he think you are? happy? no, you're petrified. "i'm so scared…" "scared? I'm scaring you?" You nod your head in the most pathetic fashion, with a quivering lip to top it off. ethan isn't just scary. A horror movie is scary, a bump in the night is scary. ethan, he's utterly terrifying.

"Then why are you soaking wet?" His question stops your mind in it's tracks, confusion etched on your face, but your stuttering and stammering stops short when you feel his big hand brush your thigh. you jerk away from him on instinct, but his harsh grip on your hurt arm keeps you flush against him, and you're forced to stand and shiver as his fingers fly under your skirt and they come to cup your pussy over your panties. he rubs a teasing thumb into what should be a random spot, but he knows where your clit is from past experience and knows how to press so firmly and hard to make you squeal. even your body is betraying you right now, and that strip of soft fabric between your legs is completely soaked for him to enjoy to the fullest. "you want this. you want me, huh? so bad that you're soaked" you shake your head no violently, too wound up to open your mouth because you know the words won't come out the way you want them to.

"yeah, that's it. you want me to fuck your brains out. you just want my attention. that's why you're running from me. you want me to catch you." "No!" you sob, trying to push him away again. ethan ignores your outburst and the shove you try to give him to get him off, ethan yanks you harder against him for you to feel how hard he is beneath the ghostface costume he's wearing, and for his fingers to prod you even rougher as he blindly searches for a way into your panties. "I don't want you ethan!" "You do!" He barks back, the growl of his voice sending an unwanted cold shiver up your spine. now he's found a way in, his fingertips brushing your folds before losing any gentle or tenderness they might have had and pushing their way inside. He's big, brutal, fingers working in to spread you out and shucking all that wet slick into his palm. his lips meet your cheek, hot and soft, and he has you hooked. nothing but him

you feel his breath hot and shaky on your ear. He doesn't seem to care you're up on your tiptoes, gasps of pain and pleasure dying in your throat, because he's got his fingers so fucking deep. ethan is preoccupied, you know as much by the absent strokes against your clit with his thumb, moving in no specific direction. "so pretty like this. blood on your face, crying for me." ethan pulls away suddenly, cheek still sticky with blood you wish was fake. it's on you too, smeared down your jaw like a smudge of scarlet paint, and his hands are covered in it too, that he's rubbing it into you for his own pride and sick pleasure. while he looks you in the eyes, he doesn't move his fingers from inside you, nor shows any expression aside from a deep, dark lust over his brown eyes that betrays the terror that a true psychopath could bestow.

"Your body is mine. this pretty pussy is mine. You're all mine." He mutters below his breath, spreading his fingers inside you to watch you gasp and your eyelids flutter as they fill with tears. you let out a loud cry as you coat ethan's fingers with your cum. as you come down from your high, you think about how wrong this is. your friends, they would want you to get out. they would want you to get to the hospital and tell mindy and gale before ethan got there first. "get away from me" you say, shoving ethan away hard. "but i don't want to. i want you to ride me and milk my cock until you're crying" he says it so innocently, it infuriates you to no end. "shut the fuck up!" he opens his mouth again to probably say something even dirtier, but you don't let him. maybe it's time to take a different approach. "you really want my pussy to clench around you? to milk you dry while i cry and scream your name? you want me to jump on your fucking dick until i can't think?" you ask him in a sultry tone.

he groans loudly. "fuck yeah, princess. i do. and i fucking will every single thing you just said right here, in every damn room in this fucking theater. you'll be so fucked out and overstimulated you'll be begging me to stop." "oh?" you tilt your head, looking at him. this is it. he moves towards you slowly, away from the destroyed door. "well ethan. let's do it then." you feel his big hand on the back of your neck as he slams your lips onto his. you quickly bring your knee straight up, nailing him in the dick. "well, you can't do any of those things if i cut your fucking dick off, can you?" your mood changed so fast you couldn't even regulate it. it was like you had an alternate, darker personality. just like ethan. you look at him, a deranged and feral look in your eyes. ethan wasn't scared. he was turned on. and now, he was pissed as fuck and in pain. he wanted to pound you until you cried, remind you who could make you feel so small so quickly. you stomp hard on ethan's foot as he cried out in pain. "you wanna know my secret? it wasn't sam who sliced up your brother. it was me. after he fucking groomed my girlfriend." that part was not true either. it was also not true when people said you were just like your sister. but he doesn't need to know that. ethan almost came in his pants. you were so hot when you were feral, though it was acting and he knew it.

you turned and ran out the door while he was distracted. you needed to get help. some of your friends could be alive. "man, i should get an oscar. that was some amazing acting if i do say so myself" but before you could find an exit, someone pulled you back. it wasn't ethan, it was kirby. she was still on the floor, barely conscious. she grabbed your ankle and you leaned down slowly. "im going to get help. it's ok." you attempt to reassure her. "get out of here. there is an exit behind the back hallway. there's a room behind there. it's soundproof, it's what they used for filming and editing. there is door that leads outside. go" she struggled to finish speaking before she passed out again. you followed her instructions, turning past chad and bolting towards the door. you're running fast, and you speed around a corner. next thing you know, you run into a hard chest and you're sprawled out on your back. sharp curses leave your mouth as you stare up at ethan. "fuck me" you curse. ethan smirks. "that's the plan, princess."

send in requests I beg

#ethan landry smut #ethan landry #ethan landry fanfiction #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x you #scream 6 #ethan landry drabble #dark ethan landry #yandere ethan landry #dom ethan landry

290 notes · View notes

sunny44 · 8 months

Text

Model

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x girlfriend!reader

Warning: none

Summary: Y/n is studying to be a fashion designer and for her final college project she has to design a collection of clothes, but after designing and making all the clothes she thinks it's not good enough so Charles does everything he can to make her believe that her work is wonderful.

I was very nervous.

It was my last semester at college and I was doing my final project, which I thought would be easy since I only had to create a collection of clothes but it was harder than I thought.

I'd never had a problem finding my work beautiful and good but it seemed that nothing I was doing lately was good but after a while I got to the point where if I didn't start making the clothes I wouldn't be able to deliver them on time.

Luckily I have a wonderful boyfriend who as well is letting me use his body measures and didn't mind that the living room of his apartment was completely messed up with bits of thread and fabric lying all over the floor.

When I started this project, the first thing that came to mind was a collection of women's clothes as most of my class would do since it was the safest option, but since I like to take risks I ended up opting for men's clothes.

"Love, are you all right?" he asked after seeing me almost biting my finger off.

"Yeah, it's just that I don't think this is good enough."

"Y/n, you need to believe in yourself more. Your work is incredible and I'm really looking forward to seeing it."

I looked at him almost crying with happiness at having him on my side.

"Thank you, Charlie. I just want this collection to be perfect."

"There's no such thing as perfect, Y/n." he replied in a calm tone. "It's not because your collection doesn't suit one person that someone else won't like it too, there are different perspectives."

"I know, it's just that I'm very nervous." He sits down next to me on the floor and hugs me.

"I know and it's going to be okay, now show me how it's going."

I showed him the pieces and made a point of explaining the creative process and the inspiration behind each of the outfits.

"Babe, this is wonderful." Charles finally said. "I'm impressed and honored that I am your muse ."

"Are you really? Don't lie to me."

"And when have I ever lied to you?"

"Never."

"Then trust me when I say it's wonderful."

I snuggled closer into his embrace and we sat there in the living room together while I hoped my project was as good as Charles says it is.

...

I walked into the college with the portfolio in my hand and Joris was pushing a trolley with four mannequins where the clothes were fitted.

"Oh my God." I turned desperately to him. "I forgot the photos of you wearing the clothes."

"No you didn't, they're with me." I breathed a sigh of relief and we went to the room where the presentations would take place.

"Well, the next work to be presented is Miss Y/n Y/L/N's." I got up on the small stage and positioned the mannequins.

"Good morning everyone, my name is Y/n and the inspiration behind my clothes is my boyfriend." They analyzed the clothes. "In case you didn't know, he's a driver and I used him as my inspiration because in the last two years of college he was the person who supported me the most, especially in this last project."

"I was inspired by Ferrari, which is the team he races for in F1 so I was inspired by that to create the collection." I said as the teacher leafed through the portfolio. "Well here are some pictures of the clothes on the model."

I clicked to show the pictures and sure enough they weren't the ones I was expecting, Charles was the model wearing all the clothes I had made.

"Nice model." My teacher says.

"Well, that wasn't the one I had chosen, but thank you." She smiles. "Well, these were the four final pieces I decided to make."

My colleagues stood up and walked over to the mannequins and began to analyze them.

"Well, I have to admit that in all the years I've been teaching I've never had someone who impressed me so much and who also got an A+."

"I got an A+?" She agreed and I heard applause coming from the classroom door and Charles was standing there smiling.

"Looks like we've got a visit from your model."

"That's my boyfriend actually."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." He says and my girl colleagues almost drool over him.

"No problem darling, make yourself at home." She says and continues with the introductions while I go over to him.

"You didn't tell me you were going to model the clothes, I thought Joris was going to do that."

"I asked him not to tell you because I wanted to surprise you and also show you that I believe in you and that I will always support you the same way you support me." I smiled and kissed him.

"Let's watch the other works and then we can go out for lunch."

"Great." We sat and watched the rest of the presentations and I could finally breathe a sigh of relief after knowing that I had made it.

Bonus scene!

Charlesleclerc instagram post

Liked by @pierregasly, @yourusername, @pescaleleclerc and others 6273027

Charlesleclerc this is a few photos of the clothing collection that my girlfriend made for her final project in college. She is the most talented person I know and I’m so proud of her.

I love you babe and I can’t wait for you to dress me up again.

Tagged: Yourusername

Yourusername I love you so much baby and thank you for being the best boyfriend ever

Pierregasly wow, she make you look good

Charlesleclerc I always look good

Yourusername true

Scuderiaferrari I think we all agree that y/n needs to make the next year overall

Yourusername yesss please, let me do it

User08 I love them so much

User29 I need to know where I can buy her clothes

Yourusername instagram stories

This is my beautiful and hot boyfriend using the clothes that I’ve made inspired by him and his amazing team.

I just wanted to thank him for supporting and believing in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.

I love you so much Charlie ❤️

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cmncisspnandmore · 4 months

Note

Can I ask for a Simon Riley x female reader but she's self conscious about her body (things like stretch marks, acne, unconventional body type) but he doesn't give a damn and loves her anyway lol

Here ya go love, sorry it took so long. <3

Pairing: Simon RIley X Reader

Warnings: Reader has body issues? Simon being sweet.

~~~~~

You stare at your reflection i n the mirror, smoothing your dress down for the hundredth time. A small frown on your lips as you tugged the tight fabric, trying to pull it away from your body. You felt like you were a sausage, stuffed tight in its casing. The black dress you bought was meant to be flattering. It was meant to make you feel beautiful. But instead you feel like everyone is staring at the pudge on your stomach. You feel like everyone can see the stretch marks on your arms and legs from growing too quickly.

With a sigh you reach for the hem of the dress, ripping it up over your head and tossing it to the ground. There was nothing in your closet you felt like wearing. Everything was too tight, or too revealing. It was too flashy and drew attention. Or you were afraid it would be too plain and Simon would feel it wasn’t dressy enough for your date.

Tears burn in your eyes, you wish you were skinnier. You wish you didn't have stretch marks that tiger striped your skin. But you had tried every diet, every lotion, every solution to make yourself feel better about yourself but nothing worked. At this point you weren't even sure why Simon stuck around. He was gorgeous, he could have any girl he wanted yet he was still here with you. Maybe it was pity? Maybe it was convenient? Maybe he didn't feel like trying to date?

Whatever his reason was you sure as hell didn't feel like you deserved him. You wanted to be beautiful, you wanted to look in the mirror and be happy. You didn't want to stand in front of the mirror trying on every item in your closet only to end up wearing the same things you felt safe in. You wanted to dress up for a date night with Simon and love the way you looked… But instead you sit on the bed and cry.

You hate the way you look. You hate the person who stares back at you. You hate the way your thighs touch and how your hair is never shiny enough. How you didn't fill out dresses the way they did on the mannequins. You wanted to wear dresses and thigh highs, you wanted to wear short sleeves. You wanted to wake up one day and not feel like you had to run 2 miles to eat breakfast. You didn't want to sit down for a meal and wonder if it was worth eating.

You scrub your hand over your face, the tears slide down your cheeks. A harsh breath rushing past your lips as you sit on the edge of the bed. With a sigh you pull on your hoodie and sweatpants, moving to sit back against the headboard. You stare blankly at the clothes thrown about the room. A reminder of all the outfits you tried on and hated. Why couldn't you just be like the other girls? Be like Soap and Gaz’s girlfriends who seemed to wake up and put on anything they wanted.

You swore they could wear a plastic bag and make it designer. But you? If it didn't hide every curve, every stretch mark and scar on your body you wouldn't even think twice about wearing it. It was an automatic no. There were a few things you felt comfortable wearing, your go to was a hoodie and sweatpants when at home. When did you leave the house? A pair of jeans and an oversized shirt. You hated that when you sat down on the couch your automatic response was to hold a pillow on your lap to try and cover your stomach. You hated how you would suck in subconsciously to try and make yourself smaller.

You put your head down on your knees, your arms wrapped around your legs as you cry softly. When would you feel worth it? When would you be happy with your body?

Simon’s gut tells him something is wrong, you told him you would be out once you were dressed. You were supposed to be going out to the pub with Soap and Gaz tonight. But it had been awhile since you disappeared into the bedroom.

He makes his way towards your shared room, the door getting stuck slightly as he pushes it open. The clothes on the floor get caught under it and cause resistance. The first thing Simon notices is the entirety of your closet all over the room, the scattered hangers around the room. His brown eyes land on you, your head on your knees, shoulders shaking slightly as you cry. His heart breaks, Simon hated to see you upset, and it was simple for him to piece the puzzle together. Clearly trying to find something to wear didn't go well.

“Love?” Simon calls softly, as he comes to sit on the edge of the bed. It dips slightly from his weight, and his large hand closes over your wrist. He tugs gently and manages to get you to look up from your knees. A frown coming across his face as he takes in the makeup running down your cheeks.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly, hishand coming to brush your mascara tears away.

“I just want to be pretty,..’” you whisper hoarsely.

“You are pretty, baby, why do you think you’re not?” Simon's voice is soft as he moves closer to you. His hands come to rest on the tops of your knees, he gives them a small squeeze.

“I’m not like them…”

“Like who Love?”

“Like the other girls… They’re so pretty, they have perfect hair, perfect skin… They can wear whatever they want and look beautiful.. I wear something remotely skin tight and I look like someone overfilled a sausage casing,” You start to sob, hot fat tears rolling down your cheeks again.

Simon knew you had some underlying issues with how you looked. You would often mention that you wish you could wear something. Or when you would look at one of your magazines he would see your shoulder slump slightly when you got to the ads. The longing look in your eyes as you looked at the girls that littered the pages. But he didn't care that you didn't look like stick thin overly made up barbies. He loved you for who you were.

He loved your curves, and the way your body fit against his. He didn't find the girls in the magazines attractive, they looked almost sick to Simon. He had always favored women that had some meat on their bones. The ones who didn't look like one slightly strong wind could blow them over. But most importantly he loved you.

“Baby, I promise that you’re the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. I love every part of you. Your curves. Your stretch marks. The scar on your left shoulder. To the way you crinkle your nose when i say something you find funny but aren't allowed to laugh. I love the way your body fits against mine. I love every part of you, and if I have to tell you every day for the rest of your life just how much I love the parts that you don't , I will.” Simon’s fingers grasp your chin as he leans in, his forehead against yours as he whispers to you.

“You promise?” You whisper, slowly opening your eyes as he pulls back.

“I promise,” He whispers, leaning in and capturing your lips in a soft kiss. “Now how about we stay in tonight, yeah?” He whispers against your lips as his lips ghost along your cheek towards your neck.

#simon x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon #simon riley x you #Riley #cod mw3 #call of duty #comfort #call of duty modern warfare 3 #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare 2 #body image #Fluff

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gabessquishytum · 5 months

Note

Ive been lurking for a long time just eating other peoples ideas but i cant get over sleazy pickup artist hob having this religious pussy experience from this weird goth he met at a bar just standing there silently like a mannequin. I would love it if dream was only this unearthly beauty to HOB. Literally NOBODY ELSE gets why this crying wet cat bewitched him body and soul... hob is a total conman on the internet manosphere bc he looks like Alpha Male and he just says some bullshit he makes up on the fly and starts pyramid schemes. He stumbles out of that hookup dazed and confused but feeling like he needs to buy a ring and perhaps commission a golden statue. Hes Different after. Like his accounts drop off activity for a good long while as he tries so desperately to find this Weird Fucking Guy hes not quite sure was human at this point and when people start noticing what hes doing hes an absolute laughing stock but hes too busy pulling all nighters red strings on the corkboard to care hes like an obsessed mad scientist in a monster movie. He goes to that bar EVERY NIGHT. For 100 days. Then his magnificent stranger walks back in and orders a glass of milk at the bar and hob is ready to simp for the rest of his fucking LIFE. Morpheus is this guys Actual Name and hob realizes he could have just like,, looked him up online if he believed morpheus when he told him the next morning then left while hob was in the shower. But dream shares that he doesn't have social media. Or a computer. Or a phone. He pulls out this ancient flip phone held together with scotch tape and willpower so hob can enter his number. He types with one index finger on hobs screen to enter his own. Hob is gifted his presence for another night of insane sex where he almost dies like twice and comes more times in a row than he has in his life. Dream is completely unaffected by literally any media attention and No One Gets The Appeal. Hes like a cryptid and everyone knows who HOB is seemingly BUT dream and he really doesnt care about any of the questions he gets. Usually just responds with some shit like "you could be learning a new hobby right now. Try oil painting, perhaps the clarinet." Its not even beer goggles bc hob is following after this freak like a puppy in the middle of the afternoon wearing all black and a long jacket in August while he picks out the specific peanuts from a big barrel he would like to feed the birds at the park today.

-🔪

Yeah I absolutely love the idea that Dream is a weird skinny gremlin to EVERYONE. Except for Hob. Hob thinks he's an angel, a beautiful ethereal creature, Dream has literally saved Hob’s soul from the torments of cringey redpill internet content. Hob walks around with heart eyes 24/7, basically waits on Dream hand and foot. He doesn't give a shit if he gets ripped on online - he doesn't go online anymore, he's way too busy staring at the way the light filters into Dream’s eyes.

He's so down bad for Dream’s pussy it's almost comedic. He'll get on his knees and bed to be allowed just a sniff, just a moment with his nose between Dream’s legs. He'd buy Dream’s bath water but he's so lucky he doesn't even have to!!! He gets it for free!!!

All this to say: they're both freaks, no body gets why they're Like That but true love finds a way!

#🔪 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

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tempestuous-lush · 8 months

Text

The Resolution || Carmy Berzatto x Sunny

the resolution - jack's mannequin

warnings: mentions of suicide, abusive family, anxiety (hinted at), heavy feelings, carmy being an ass at first, carmy with some well directed anger, and fluff.

misc: This is a very personal piece for me. When watching the bear, I absolutely fell in love with the character of Carmy and found similarities in the strangest and most depressing of ways. I put a lot of effort into this and I hope it is enjoyed.

As always, the music influences the story. So I encourage listening. ♡

Also as this is very different for me, let me know what you think? I would greatly appreciate it.

summary: You're a server at the new restaurant, The Bear. One night, your home life catches up to you and clashes with Carmy, who is still dealing with the emotional fallout of how he left things with Claire.

banner courtesy of @firefly-graphics

There was a loud crash and you could feel your heart stuttering.

Carmy didn’t turn around.

You watched as his shoulders tightened beneath that chef’s coat as he continued making what he was already on. Sydney’s knuckles tightened around the podium where she was keeping track of orders. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until you released it to answer Carmy’s pissed off voice, “The FUCK was that?”

Everything tensed in your body and instead of explaining, you calmly stated, “I need two more seven fishes, chef, on the fly, along with a T bone.”

You felt a panic well up inside of you as you saw Carmy slam his hand down on the counter, open palmed and angry. Quickly, you were going to walk away. After last night you couldn’t handle another person yelling at you. Yet, you couldn’t walk away.

Fear raced through you.

Instead of fleeing, you stayed rooted to the spot and watched as he spun around and got in your face, those blue eyes boring into you as he raised his hand. Thanks to his anger in the moment, he missed the flinch that escaped you at the gesture, However, Syd didn’t. He didn’t bother making eye contact with you he pointed at the wall and door that was shared with the dining room, “Slow the fuck down on your way out and maybe, just FUCKING maybe, you’d see someone approaching through the god damn glass wall, yeah?”

“It was an a- an...an accident. Chef.”

God, you hated how weak you sounded in this moment. It was all you ever did. Last night, with your dad, you just stood there and took the abuse. As he berated you with his drunken words you silently wept. The only sounds you made were ones where you would apologize and ask for forgiveness.

And Carmy? Yeah, he had a temper but it was never like this. In fact, it stunned you into submission. It reminded you of everything else in your life and god, you were so thankful this uniform hid the bruising on your arm. It would just make you look even weaker.

Carmy flexed his fist and just, “We can’t afford accidents like that. Open your fucking eyes, yeah?”

Everything felt as though it was echoing in your head.

You could nearly smell the cheap whiskey on your dad’s breath as he continued berating you, “Open your fucking eyes, Princess. Only thing a girl like you is good for is spreading your legs and getting paid for it. Fucking useless. Just like your god damned mother.” Your mother, the one that was buried in the ground. The one who blew her brains out in front of Buckingham Fountain because she couldn’t take her life anymore. The woman who was a saint, until your dad found out she had been seeing someone else. Planning to leave with you. That had turned her into a whore. His fingers wrapped around your arm and tightened until you were crying out from the pain-

Carmy took it too far. He realized that as you mentally left the conversation.

Physically you were there, but he saw the light leave your eyes and the tears begin to replace them. Fuck. He was an idiot. He let this shit that happened with Claire consume him and piss him off to the point where anything broke him. He winced and thought to himself how lame of a fucking excuse that was. However, when he tried to pull you back to the present, his fingers wrapped around your arm in the same place you’d been hurt so recently. Suddenly, you pulled out of whatever hell you were caught in and a scream escaped you as your free hand flew across his face, the sound of the slap echoing through the now silent kitchen as you sobbed, “Don’t fucking touch me!”

You came alive in that moment and everything inside of you felt like it was about to snap if you held in your hurt for any longer than you needed to. Suddenly, you slapped him again and the words spilled out of you as you landed weak fist after weak fist in his chest before pushing him back, “You’re a fucking coward and a bully, and I don’t want anything to do with you. I hate you! You don’t get to touch me!”

Except those words weren’t meant for Carmy and neither were the tears freely flowing down your face. A look of shock mixed with embarrassment washed over your features. Carmy took a step towards you and you backed away. Those blue eyes of his were searing. You saw the way his glance fell to your arm where he had just grabbed before they came back to your eyes.

His eyes held sympathy. Understanding. And a look you hated. Pity.

Slowly, you untied your apron and took the server book out holding cash and dropped it on the ground. Carmy could see the way your legs tensed and he knew, he knew you were about to run. He held his hands up and looked at you softer, “Listen, sunny”- god you hated that nickname -”it’ll be alright, yeah? Just…just go sit down in the office. We can talk about this after work?”

That was when you bolted. You ran straight out the backdoor into the Chicago winter, the chill stinging your lungs and the snow immediately soaking into your shoes. Fuck. Your stuff was inside and you couldn’t bear to go back in there just to get it. So, instead, you took off running and Carmen was left standing in the kitchen, looking at the spot you had just been standing in. Part of him wanted to go after you. Actually, an overwhelming force inside of him wanted to go after you. However, he’d find you after dinner was finished. He turned around and looked at his kitchen and snapped, “We need two more seven fishes and a T bone on the fly, now!”

“Yes, chef!” The entirety of the kitchen answered unanimously, afraid to piss him off anymore.

You didn’t have your phone, or your wallet, or your god damned boots or jacket to deal with all of this fucking snow! You threw your hands up and swung at the nearest thing. Your hand collided with brick and you had a sharp inhale of pain followed by a loud scream, “FUCK!”

Hours passed and Carmy walked outside and lit his cigarette, Sugar already getting your address on file for him. Sydney slipped through the door as he lit it. She cleared her throat from nerves and asked calmly, “Have you tried calling her yet, Carm?”

“Yeah, huh, turns out”- Carmy took a drag and a bit of a bitter laugh escaped him - “sunny is the only damn server that keeps her phone in her fucking locker, in her bag.”

Sydney shook her head, “Fuck. Of course she is.”

“She’s uh…the way she looked at me, or didn’t. Um. I don’t know. S-something else outside of here is, uh, is going on Syd.” Carmy ran his hand over his face and looked at Sydney, who was clearly thinking of something. Carmy felt a sigh escape him before asking, “Why are you looking like that, Syd?”

“Nothing, just, you didn’t see it, Carm. When you raised your hand she flinched. She obviously thought, even if only for a second, that you were gonna”-

“Yeah, I kind of gathered that from the rest of the interaction, Syd.”

Sydney sighed.

Carmy’s eyes looked up and he focused on her, “What is it, Sydney?”

She stood up and looked around, before blurting out, “Just, you can’t let this shit that happened with Claire keep fucking with you. Especially at work. It’s not fucking fair to anyone. Especially your employees.” Before Carmy could even respond, Sydney was back inside.

Sugar stuck her head out and offered a slip of paper with your address on it only moments later. Carmy muttered a thanks and tucked it into his jacket pocket before standing up and finishing his cigarette, “Thanks Sug, I’ll uh, let you know how it pans out, yeah?”

Meanwhile, you had no idea what to do. Or where to go. Eventually, you found yourself standing in front of the Buckingham Fountain. It shouldn’t shock you. You always ended up here when you were aimless. You stood exactly where they found her. The ground was so pristine in its fresh snow. The white of it was a stark contrast to the blood that must have flowed, endless. A sob racked your body.

Except you weren’t sad.

You were angry, day in and day out, because she was a coward and left you here. Alone. So alone. A hard shiver chased your sob and you huddled into yourself for warmth. Except warmth didn’t come.

Carmy knocked on the door of a run down house. He went to knock again when the door opened and Carmy was greeted by a man in his fifties, wearing stained sweatpants and an old cubs shirt. A beer was in his hand. The man looked at Carmy and huffed, “Whatever ya sellin’ man, don’t want it.”

Carmy froze for a second. Was this the one that hurt you? His fist already flexed at the thought. The man went to shut the door and Carmy’s hand held the door open. Carm held up his right hand while nodding. It was as if to silently say give me a second. Those blue eyes peered up at your father and after a moment Carmy asked, “Yeah, I’m looking for someone. Works for me at The Bear?” He dropped your name.

“You talking ‘bout my daughter?”

Carmy looked at this man and tried to find your face in his, and it wasn’t there. You must look like your mom. An exhale escaped Carmy, “Yeah, yeah. She bolted mid shift and I’m trying to figure out if she’s oka”-

“Yeah, she’s a bit of an unreliable bitch. Gets it from her fucking ma’. No fucking drive. Needs a strong hand just to push her in the right direction. And even then, a fucking idiot.”

Carmy’s eyes glazed over with anger as he listened to your dad. It contrasted with everything he knew about you. You were kind and always had a smile. You made friends with everyone. Literally. You’d been one of the last hires for the restaurant, and everyone already adored you. You walked into a room and everyone lit up. Hell, even when he interviewed you, he had to bite back a smile. And it was the day after soft open, when Claire had broken up with the night before and he was a fucking mess.

You didn’t need a strong hand. You didn’t need drive. You were the fucking sun and everyone else was simply pulled along by your gravity. His fist flexed again when he thought of your reaction to his hand on your arm. Your dad’s words played back through his brain. A strong hand. Something in Carmy snapped, “A strong hand, huh? Tell me, uh…that strong hand you talked about, you lay a fucking strong hand on her asshole?”

“Oh fuck you. She’s my damn daughter! What? What…she say I lay a hand on her? Fine then. Yeah. I have a drink, I get relaxed, and she has to go and piss me off with her fucking bullshit so yeah, I fucking put her in her place. Fucking bitch really is just like her mother. She’s lucky I didn’t break her god damned arm last night to prove a fucking point.” Carmy’s knuckles were white as he held the door open. Your dad kept fucking going, “But anyway man you’re letting in the fucking cold and as you can see the useless little bitch isn’t ev”-

You dad never got to say anything else. Carmy’s fist finally flew and landed on his jaw, Carmy’s body weight behind it and knocking your dad onto the ground. The first punch shut him up.

The second? Carmy felt his nose crunch beneath his knuckles. Blood flowed freely.

The third? Well, Carmy was already pissed. His anger at everything? He reached the tipping point with what this piece of shit said about you. That first punch, though?

It also broke the dam that was holding everything in. It felt so good for his anger to unleash. As he looked down at your father’s face, bloody and already swelling, he thought of the look in your eyes as his fingers had wrapped around your arm and Carmy let out a yell as his fist crashed into your father’s face one final time.

Pushing himself up, Carmy stood and flexed his hands again, the sting already settling into the busted knuckles. He ran a hand through his hair, his curls wild from his exertion. Those large blue eyes closed as Carmy sighed, “Fucking shit. Fuck.”

Your dad let out a groan of pain and Carmy’s eyes shot open, and he looked down at the damage he caused, whispering, “You’re lucky I didn’t break your god damned arm to prove a fucking point, jackass.”

He left and walked down the overgrown path back out to the street and got in the rundown car he drove to head back to the restaurant. Maybe you’d come back. He wasn’t sure. He let out deep breaths. An ache was settling in his chest as the same hurt look on your face kept appearing every time he so much as blinked. His hand immediately began to rub into his chest. Carmy needed you to show up at the restaurant. If you left like that, and he never spoke to you again, he wasn’t sure he could ever ease this sense of guilt settling.

By the time he pulled up at the restaurant, the lights were all off and the place was closed. A fresh sheet of powdered snow was starting to fall. God, Carmy hoped you were somewhere warm. The guilt increased as he thought about your locker, your bag, boots, and winter coat tucked away inside. He walked down the alley. Instinctively, Carmy pulled a cigarette from his pack with his lips. Putting the pack back in his jacket pocket, he came to a stop. That cigarette fell from his mouth and hit the ground as he spotted a huddled up figure by the back door. He was next to you in a minute and your eyes looked up at him, a shaky laugh coming from you, “It’s, uh….it’s fuckin’ c-cold out here, ch-chef.”

“Fuck”- Carmy’s jacket immediately came off and enveloped you as you sat on the ground, the snow seeping into your pants as it melted. The warmth was welcomed.

He fumbled with his keys to hurry and open the door. As soon as he got it opened, he scooped you up in his arms and hurriedly stepped inside. He walked to the office and dropped you down on the chair in front of Natalie’s desk. You looked so small burrowed into his jacket. Carmy was trying so hard to ignore the blue tinge on your lips. He turned to the thermostat for the office and cranked up the heat, shutting the door with the two of you in there.

Next, he pulled up the second chair and sat in front of you. He reached beneath the jacket to find your hands. They were freezing. As he began to rub his warm, rough hands over yours you closed your eyes and fought back tears. Embarrassment always made you cry. The two of you stayed like this for a while, until Carmy’s brow was dripping with sweat and the color finally returned to your lips. As he withdrew his hands, you grabbed hold of them. His blue eyes met your own large, doe eyes. A few more moments of silence stretched between you. His thumb stroked the back of your palm where it landed, imploring you to say something as he continued looking at you with that gaze. So, you said the first words that came to your mouth, “I’m s-sorry.”

A huff of air escaped him as he looked at you with the softest hint of a smile, “For what, sunny?”

“The things I said to you, they weren’t”- a sniffle escaped you. Fuck. The embarrassment. Your eyes glossed over with tears as he looked at you and the second you blinked, they spilled over. Your first instinct though wasn’t to pull your hands away to wipe your tears. Instead, you buried your face in the warmth of his coat. A sob racked your body and you Carmy didn’t interrupt. Even if he wanted to, he wasn’t sure what to say. And then finally, muffled by his jacket, you spoke up, “They weren’t intended for you.”

“Yeah”- he shook off the visual of your dad’s bloodied face -“I kind of figured, sunny. Is there, uh, heh, a reason you aren’t looking up at me though? It’d be easier to understand you without my jacket in the way.”

You just shook your head no into the jacket. Carmy sighed and pulled his hands away. He looked around and used his shirt to wipe his sweat from his face before commenting, “I’m gonna go into the kitchen. If you want to head out there when you’re more comfortable, warmed up…that’d work, yeah?”

After a moment, you nodded into the jacket.

Carmy walked out and headed to the cooler immediately. The only thing he knew to do, truly, when someone was upset? He pulled out a chicken and fresh vegetables. As he carried them to the counter, he realized how bad his knuckles were. Carmy ran them under the handwashing sink. A wince crossed his face at the initial contact. He quickly cleaned his hands, dried them, and pulled on gloves just to be safe and began prepping food.

Eventually, you got too warm in the office and stood up, leaving his jacket on the chair and shrugging out of your button up, happy to have less to trap the suddenly overwhelming heat you felt in this office. You were left in your work pants and a thin three quarter sleeve black shirt. Taking a deep breath, you wiped your eyes and headed out. As you did, you saw Carmy poured over the stove and fryer. You cleared your throat, “What’re you up to over there, Chef?”

You didn’t know what to call him. He was still your boss. All things considered though, you felt like Chef might be too formal right now. He must have too. He called out over his shoulder, barely glancing at you, “Carmy.”

“Sorry?”

“You can call me Carmy, yeah sunny?” He pulled something out of the fryer before turning back to the stove. You spotted a stool that he had pulled up to the other side of the plating table. You took a seat and watched him work. He wasn’t in his chef coat. Instead, he was wearing a white t-shirt that was typical of him and his chef pants. You thought of something your mother used to say. When someone loves what they do, you can see it in how they move. It becomes an art. Watching him cook, relaxed like this, it felt like watching an art.

Looking down at your hands, you wondered to yourself if you’d ever find something like that. There had been times when you thought you had found the thing you’d been meant for but you were always told how much of a waste of time it was, or how you were stupid for thinking you could make something out of ‘shit’.

You blinked furiously, trying to keep the tears from welling over. What pulled you from crying was the sound of a plate being placed before you. It was beautiful, and smelled delicious. Chicken with fried brussel sprouts and some sort of sauce drizzled over the meat. Carmy looked on as you took a tentative bite, you unsure of why he was being so kind to you. As you closed your mouth around the food you let out a whimper. The hot food chased a shiver from your spine you didn’t know was trapped there and you muttered with a full mouth, “Fuck me.”

Carmy let out a breath and followed by a soft laugh, “Yeah, so it’s good?”

“Oh don’t do that. You know it is.” A smile graced your face, eyes crinkled in the corners as you cut another bite. There it was. Carmy missed that smile for the brief time it was gone. His smile faded as he felt his breath catch in his throat looking at you.

He watched you take another bite and cleared his throat, “What’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten?”

After you finished your bite you paused, “Are you sure? I don’t want to insult a Michelin star retaining chef.”

Carmy worked through keeping the smile from his lips. You’d heard him and Sydney going back and forth yet again over it just to retort with it. He kept quiet though. Instead, he gave you a little nod as if to say proceed. You put your knife and fork down and with a shy smile, you answered, “The wolf burger from Bad Wolf Tavern.”

“Well damn I gotta say”- he held back a laugh but his smile was contagious -“I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Mhm”, you took another bite of what he prepared for you. Holy fuck it was so good. But you were going to stand by your guns, and mouth full, “This is wonderful chef, but”-

“Carmy.” His eyes stared at you as he corrected you.

You swallowed your bite, “Carmy, but there’s nothing more comforting than beef, cheese and bread on a bun with salty fried potatoes and I will stand by that. And food should be that. Comfort.”

He rapped his knuckles on the counter as he spoke up again, “Couldn’t agree more, sunny. It’s why I made you that. It’s my mom’s old chicken recipe. She used to make it on especially cold days when we were kids. Warm us up. Figured you could use a little bit of that. Minus the haggis. Figured you might rather brussels.”

A heated blush settled on your cheeks as you tried to maintain your line of sight with him.

However, you looked down after a few moments, muttering your thank you. He’d made you something his mother would make him. You thought of your own mother buried beneath the frozen ground. Your eyes were watering as you took another bite. Carmy, not knowing the truth, couldn’t stop thinking about your mother. If you were receiving this treatment, was she okay? He asked, uncertain, “Your mom, is she…is she okay?”

“As great as you can be buried underground. She put a bullet in her head in front of Buckingham Fountain about twelve years ago, so. Yeah.” Carmy closed his eyes in disbelief as you took another bite to try and finish a suddenly uncomfortable meal.

Fucking hell. He ran his hand over his face and then through his wild curls. Feeling like nothing he could say would help, he left you to eat in silence as he cleaned up the evidence he left behind in the kitchen. By the time he was done you were carrying your plate to the dish pit. Carmy silently took everything from your hands and washed them quickly before heading to the office to bump the thermostat back down so Sug wouldn’t have a fit. When he came out, you were bundled up in the appropriate clothes and you smiled at him. He felt his heart stutter at the sight, and he quickly looked away.

His fingers ran through his mess of hair again. You didn’t know him well enough to know that it was a nervous habit. A blush spread on your face at the sight, though. Carmy looked back up at you and saw the blush, putting it on the fact that you were warm and bundled. The warmth was flushing your skin.

Carmy stuttered to get out the words, “Wh-where, um…w-where are you uh, where are you gonna be going tonight?”

“I gotta go home, Carmy. I’ll be fine. Promise.” The promise sounded weak on your lips. In all honesty, you weren’t sure. But your dad was your only family left. You couldn’t just leave him. Could you?

Meanwhile, Carmy thought of how he left your dad. The idea of you going back over there…it couldn’t go well. His heart started pounding more and more. His hand reached up to rub over his heart until the noise faded. He looked at you. The way you looked at him across the room with concern, like you weren’t the one who needed to be taken care of in this scenario. His breathing leveled out as his thoughts circled around the same solution, over and over, until he finally mentioned, “You could, um, you could stay with”- his eyes met yours, grounding him -“you could stay with me.”

Your emotions immediately began conflicting as his words registered, your teeth finding your thumb nail as you looked at him, “Carmy, I couldn’t.”

“No, you could. I- I promise. It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“Carmy, I’d be intruding.”

Those blue eyes leveled with your gaze, and he said in an absolute, “Not to me.”

You pulled your bag over your shoulder and shook your head, “I can’t, Carmy. I gotta go home. My dad, he’s the only family I have left and…I know, he doesn’t mean it. He doesn’t. He- he couldn’t. I gotta get going. Thank you, for the meal, and for uh, warming me back up.” His eyes tracked you as you walked to the door, “So, do I still have a job to come to, tomorrow?”

Carmy’s head was spinning, thinking of ways to keep you from leaving, from going back home. He couldn’t think of a single damn one though. Except that he didn’t want to let you go. But that was too much to say. His eyes fluttered shut as he tried to chase away images of Claire. Everything was conflicting. He flexed his hand, the sting of his broken skin waking him back up to the present, “Yes, sunny, y-you still have a job tomorrow. But, be safe, yeah?”

“Of course, Carmy.” You opened the door and breathed in the cold air, hesitant to take a step until finally you looked over your shoulder at him, “See you at 3:30, chef.”

Carmy couldn’t sleep, tossing and turning and waking up soaked with sweat. All of his usual mental energy was devoted to you. Part of him wondered if he should go there to check on you. Instead, he texted. It was a brief comfort when you texted back.

I am good. Get some sleep.

He’d managed to get a few hours of sleep before he showed up at The Bear the next morning. Sydney had told him again that they needed to go over a few things. Ever since he’d promised her that he’d be there for her as partners in this, he couldn’t afford to let her down. The first thing she’d asked though was the one thing he’d been wondering, “Hey! Sunny alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. She said she’d be here at, um, at 3:30.”

Sydney smiled before nodding, “Yeah? Good. Well, come on. Been figuring out ways that I think we can improve efficiency in the kitchen. I think you might like some of my ideas.”

Carmy was prepping food to try and give his mind focus after he and Syd were done. He needed 3:30 to get here, needed to see you. As he broke down the chicken, his mind circled back around to last night. A small smile appeared on his face as he remembered you saying what your favorite meal was. His thoughts were circling again.

He looked up at the clock. 3:24. The rest of the servers for dinner service flowed in, talking and laughing, headed to the lockers to get ready. But not you.

His hands grew shaky, so he placed the knife down. Carmy washed his hands, scrubbing them clean, before drying them and looking back up at the clock. 3:27.

He paced back and forth, his eyes constantly glancing up at the clock. His fingers ran through his hair, hand rubbing over his chest. Reaching for his back pocket, Carmy felt his pack of cigarettes and headed outside to smoke to take his mind off the time. One last glance before he walked out the door and he wished he hadn’t. 3:33.

He squatted by the back door and lit a cigarette before pulling out his phone and texting you again. You still coming in for 3:30 Sunny? Cause I hate to say it. You’re late.

He took a drag of his cigarette as he waited to see a reply. Carmy burned through the entire thing. 3:48. He put out his butt in the snow and stood up. After a few seconds of worry coursed through him, Carmy opened up the door and called out for Sydney. She came from around the corner and he asked, “Do you think you can handle the first leg of service, chef?”

Sydney looked to make sure the rest of the kitchen staff was there before turning to him, “Yeah, absolutely. Think you can be back by around 8? That’s when it gets busy.”

“I’ll be back before 8:00.”

And that’s how he ended up here, once again. Steeling himself, Carmy banged on the front door and called out your name. There wasn’t an answer. Again he called out. And again, no answer. He was about to try calling you again when he heard your voice come from the other side of the door, “Carmy, please leave. I don’t want you here when he comes back. It’ll just make it ugly.”

He placed his palms on the door, leaning his weight against it, not knowing you were doing the same thing on the other side, though your head was hanging low in defeat and shame. Your fingers found their way to your mouth, nails already chewed until your fingers were bleeding. You thought of the way he looked at you last night. How he wanted you to go to his place, sleep there for the night. God, you’d been so stupid.

Carmy huffed and shook his head, “Yeah, I uh, I can’t do that, sunny. Not till I see you. You know? Something feels wrong. Not right. Please? Open up?”

You weighed your options, not that there were many, and took a deep breath before opening the door. You smiled despite your appearance in a feeble attempt to placate Carmy. The smile looked incredibly out of place though and when Camry’s blue eyes landed on you his breath caught before his hands took a delicate hold on your face, “Holy shit. Are- are you okay? That’s a stupid question.”

“Carmy I- I’m fine.” But you weren’t. And the way he was holding your face, so gentle and so kind, it had you about to break. You blinked furiously in an attempt to hold the tears at bay. You looked anywhere but at him. The look on his face was a mix of worry and anger, but not anger at you. You weren’t okay. You weren’t fine. None of this was right.

Meanwhile, Carmy busied himself with running his fingertips softly along the bruise forming on your jaw, willing it to disappear even though he knew it didn’t work like that. Not to mention the split lip you had that was angry, purple, and swollen. Or the way the bridge of your nose fell way to two black eyes. He finally managed to clear his throat of any emotion before he softly spoke, “Go get a change of clothes. I’m getting you out of here. Now, sunny. Yeah?”

Eventually you nodded and Carmy’s caught breath released as he watched you disappear inside. He lit another cigarette as he kept looking over his shoulder for the asshole known as your dad to pull in and make a scene. But you were quick and soon you were back at the door, bundled into that coat with a bag over your shoulder. Instinctively, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as he led you to the car and you felt yourself relax beneath his touch.

He opened the door for you and you clumsily climbed in, the car smelling of cigarette and him.

You felt yourself breathe out, body shuddering slightly as Carmy climbed in the driver’s side and started the vehicle. Your eyes fell on the house you lived in all your life as he pulled away from the curb. In that moment, all you could think to say was a weak “thank you”.

Carmy kept his eyes on the road. He wanted to get you to his place. Let you take a shower, get you settled in, order you some food and head back to work. That was when he thought of something. He pulled out his phone and dialed Sugar’s cell. She answered with a smile he could hear, “Hey, bear.”

“Hey, sug. Listen, I’ll be over there in just a bit but”- he spared a glance at you -“if someone comes around looking for sunny, just, um, t-tell him that she doesn’t work there anymore and that you haven’t seen her since last night when she walked out, yeah? And if he hangs around past that, call the cops, yeah? Everything’s fine, just, covering bases ya know?”

Even though he said that last part to Sugar, you knew those words were meant for you. You burrowed more into your coat and pulled your legs up to your chest. You hated that this was all because of you. It made you feel like such a bother. As Carmy hung up the phone, you spoke up, “Just bring me to a motel, Carmy. I can just…disappear.”

“No.” His eyes were still steady on the road. When you didn’t say anything, he realized he should elaborate, “It’s my fault, that you’re all marked up. Th-that he hurt you. I’ma take real good care of you, and then when you feel better I will take you wherever you wanna go.”

You worked your thumbnail with your teeth, and when you couldn’t get anything, you began picking at your cuticles. You huffed, before nodding softly to yourself, “I’m not used to, you know, people caring. It, um”- you laughed slightly -“feels good.” Your voice cracked and from his view, Carmy saw you wiping at your face. To try and give you a bit of privacy, he leaned over and turned up the radio, music playing and he readjusted to keep you in the corner of his eye, but not in easy view.

He pulled up and parked outside of an older apartment building. Looking over, he huffed when he realized you fell asleep. Your features were soft and he took a moment to examine the damage. He ran his fingers through his hair and flexed his hands into fists as he noticed the purple feathering around your neck and the same purple ringing around your right eye. And fuck, you looked so peaceful, he was scared to wake you up. Considering his options, he opted to get out of the car and walk around.

As he reached across you to unbuckle your seatbelt, he caught the smell of you. Floral and warm, spices he couldn’t figure out. His eyes fluttered shut as he lost himself momentarily in it before scooping you up and holding you to his chest.

You stirred for just a moment before settling against him and Carmy felt a piece of his heart stutter at the sight. When he got inside, he walked towards his bedroom and put you down on his bed before pulling the covers up and over you. Your eyes fluttered open and before you could protest, “Nah, go back to sleep. You need it, and you’ll be safe here.”

Even as you decided to settle under the blankets and adjust, you smiled weakly and nodded into the pillow as your eyes closed again. Carmy reached out for you and brushed your hair back before he could stop himself. You barely registered him saying, “Gonna go back to work. It’s a Friday, so it’ll be a late night. But there’s some food in the fridge.”

On his way out of the bedroom, Carmy stopped to look back at you. A shy smile crept on his face as you pulled blankets to your chest and snuggled them. He ran a hand through his hair before walking out and making sure to lock the door as he left the apartment. He looked at his phone. Sydney would be happy. He was gonna be back for 6:00.

By the time you woke up, it was right after 10. You pushed back the covers and looked around, realizing after a moment your bag was at the foot of the bed. Carmy must have brought it in before he left. Opening the bag, you pulled out your phone and checked it. You had 14 missed calls, 9 voicemails, and 32 text messages you didn’t want to open. Instead your attention turned to your stomach letting out a loud sound of protest. You hadn’t eaten since last night when Carmy had cooked for you.

“There’s some food in the fridge.”

His words came back to you, as did the way he brushed your hair from your face, a deep blush creeping onto your face.

Shaking it off, you threw your phone down on the bed and headed towards the small kitchen to open the fridge and see what food there was. You spotted some ground meat, some vegetables, chicken, and a few other things. Including lamb. All needing to be cooked. It didn’t bother you though.

Your eyes looked at the clock. 10:28. He’d be leaving in maybe an hour or so. You grabbed the lamb and began to work, raiding his spice cabinet as you went.

Meanwhile, at The Bear, Carmy looked at the clock. 10:28. They were closing in two minutes. Dining room was still packed. He would be here for a while. He was itching to be home though. He’d called twice. You hadn’t answered. Maybe you were still asleep?

His fingers gripped the stainless steel prep table as he called out, “Cousin?”

Richie appeared very fast, “Yeah, Carm?”

“I need you to go to the Bad Wolf Tavern and pick up a Wolf burger, yeah.” He thought about how you described their fries, “And an extra order of fries, okay?”

Richie nodded slowly before speaking up, “Is this for sunny? Is she at your place right now?”

Carmy swore under his breath. He’d managed to dodge questions about you all night. And then the rush came and it got dropped. Running his hand over mouth, he exhaled before looking at Richie, “Yeah, cousin. Some bad shit at her place with her dad. Got her out. Wanting to get her some food. Is that alright with you?”

Richie stared at him, scrutinizing. They were still a bit rocky after what happened with Claire and their fallout after. Carmy stared back with a tired expression before Richie nodded, “Yeah, yeah that’s fine. Helping her out was uh, it was a good call. I’ll be back in a bit.”

“Hey”- Carmy called out as Richie turned to leave. Richie looked back at home and Carmy just - “keep this between us, yeah cousin? It’s not your life to talk about.”

“I wouldn’t do that to sunny, cousin. Now, I will be right back. Unless there’s something else?” Richie looked at Carmy with frustration. Carmy hated this feeling between the two of them. He rubbed at his chest.

Richie turned to leave and Carmy snapped his head up, “I’m sorry, Richie.” Richie stopped and listened as Carmy struggled with the words, “I was…I was upset. And- and an ass. I said things I…I didn’t mean. And god”- Carmy’s laughter sounded strained as he thought of what to say -“I actually hate that you barely say three words to me in a night unless I drag it out of you.”

“Yeah”- Richie looked incredibly serious as he leveled his gaze with Carmy -“you are absolutely an ass, cousin.”

Richie let out a laugh as Carmy bit back a smile.

Carmy chucked the rag on the table at Richie, “You were waiting for me to say that shit weren’t you, cousin?”

“Absofuckinglutely asshole.” The two of them shared a laugh before Richie slipped out the back and went to get your food for Carmy to bring home.

By the time he got back, and the kitchen was clean and the building was empty save for Syd and Richie, Carmy glanced at the time. 11:42. It wasn’t so late. He picked up your to-go order and left, driving home and heading up the stairs. He got to his door and saw the glow of light from underneath. Carmy slipped his key in the lock when he heard a clatter of dishes against dishes. He turned the key and opened the door and stepping into his small space, he caught sight of you.

Your hair was pulled back, the ponytail falling to your lower back. Carmy’s breath caught as he saw the signs of bruising on your exposed neck, another bruise on your arm where he grabbed yesterday. That was when he realized you were wearing a loose and faded black t-shirt. He couldn’t see the front to know that it was a led zeppelin shirt. Suddenly, as his eyes traveled, he couldn’t will himself to simply swallow his spit. You were wearing a pair of his pants. Grey flannel pants. You must have gotten cold and didn’t want to put the heater too high. Or at least, that’s what Carmy told himself. A soft smile appeared on his face though as he spotted the way his pants bunched up around your feet because of the height difference.

That was when he realized how good it smelled. What were you making? He cleared his throat and wanted to immediately apologize when you nearly jumped out of your skin finally hearing him over the music. However, a laugh erupted and you turned down the music, “Sorry, I saw the radio and figured I’d listen while I worked on the food.”

Carmy couldn’t help but smile at you. It was soft, but the way he looked at you made your smile stay on your face, “I made you some food. Figured you’d do the usual of eating nothing before you leave and everything you had really had to be cooked. And I don’t mind. It’s uh...lamb barbacoa, something my mom used to make for special things. Made some tortillas. Did some peppers and uh”-

-”wait, um, you cooked lamb? And uh, made tortillas?” Carmy looked at you with confusion. Where the hell did you learn that? Your mom? Even though she'd been gone for so long. He felt that ache in his chest dissipate as the meaning of the gesture washed over him. He had made something of his mothers for you, and you were returning the gesture. Fuck.

His eyes lowered to those gray flannel pants. The way your hips softly flared out kept catching his attention.

You were about to answer him when suddenly you realized he was looking at your clothes you were wearing. Shit. You shuffled, “Sorry, I uh, your apartment insulation is shit. And I got cold. The clothes I packed weren’t really enough.”

“No, it’s uh, it’s fine, sunny.” That was when he remembered he had food for you in hand as well. A huff and, “I didn’t know you’d be doing all of this. I got you a wolf burger with extra f”-

“Well fucking hell the barbacoa is all you.” You moved so fast towards him, it took him off guard when you slammed into him with a hug and your scent engulfed him. He felt a moment of quiet as you rubbed your hand on his back before pulling away and taking the bag from him. Even on your way to his small couch you had already managed to get fries out and shoved a handful into your mouth. You let out a groan of appreciation as you opened up your togo box immediately after sitting and saw the burger.

Meanwhile, in his kitchen, Carmy eyed the barbacoa. It looked as good as it smelled. He took a small bite and muttered to himself, “Jesus fuck that’s fire.”

You were having more or less the same reaction after your first bite.

Carmy sat next to you, your legs pressed together. On his plate were two tortillas loaded with barbacoa and peppers. He picked it up and took a bite. A groan escaped him. You smiled, “Is it good?”

You took another bite waiting for your answer and as Carmy swallowed his bite, he was quick to admit, “I’m starting to think I hired you for the wrong job, sunny. Sure you don’t want to work in the back?”

The two of you passed the time like that, speaking to each other in between bites until you were done. It was easy to talk to him. You were a bit surprised. He was always so intense in the kitchen. And Carmy? Carmy wasn’t the least bit surprised how easy you were to talk to. Of course you were. You were the same bright spot you normally were soon enough. It was like the shit with your dad didn’t happen. But he knew it did. Just like you did. And eventually, you stood to throw away your trash but Carmy stood and took it from you, “I got it, sunny. Relax.”

You nodded, before headed to his bedroom to finally face the thing you’d been dreading. You picked up your phone from his bed and unlocked it, the text messages flooding through. You didn’t bother going through the earlier ones. The last one let you know exactly where you stood with your dad. You scanned over the words continuously. You ungrateful fucking bitch. Think you can just leave? If you ever show up back at this house you’ll know just how much I can make your life a living hell. Won’t fucking see the light of day. Maybe join your fucking mother where you belong.

What you didn’t hear or see was Carmy coming to stand in front of you. That meant you couldn’t register the look of concern on his face as he studied you. Your shoulders tense, your breathing shallow, eyes wide and fixated, your teeth working on your thumbnail that was currently bleeding as you held the phone with your other hand.

Carmy wrapped his hand around your wrist and at his touch you relaxed, and he guided your thumb from your mouth. With his other hand he took your phone and left, walking into the kitchen with your trailing behind him. He looked over the text message that you were fixated on, committing the number to memory before dropping your phone into the half full sink.

He looked over his shoulder at you, “Looks like you need a new one. T’me it looks like you could even look into a new number, yeah?”

You looked down at the ground to try and hide your sudden smile. God he wished you wouldn’t hide it from him. His blue eyes roamed over you and when you looked up at him, that smile still on your face, a sudden surge of happiness from making you smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

In the midst of your comfortable silence with Carmy, a yawn escaped you and you sheepishly covered your face, peeking out at him from behind a crack in your fingers. Carmy laughed and, “Alright, let’s get you back into the bed huh? Don’t worry, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

He followed behind you for some inexplicable reason. Maybe a part of him liked the way you looked burrowed into his bed? Maybe he wanted to see you safely asleep? He wasn’t sure. But when you crawled into his bed and pulled the covers up over yourself, a pang shot through him at the memory of Claire doing the same. Still so recent. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Then, with a small smile, he rubbed at his chest for a brief moment before reaching over you to grab his spare pillow.

As he did you smelled that distinct smell he had, the one that comforted you earlier. Without thinking, you whispered so faint he barely heard it, “Will you stay here? With…with me?”

Carmy could feel something inside of him breaking at how small you seemed, how scared. He found himself nodding slowly, “Yeah, yeah sunny. I’ma just, uh, take a shower and make sure it’s all locked up. Is that alright?”

You let out a yawn before nodding into the pillow and resettling. Carmy moved fast and your eyes were growing heavier by the time he walked back in, his curls damp and a smile formed on your face as you deliriously thought of how that would dry in his sleep. You felt the bed dip as he climbed over you. His weight against you, if only briefly, made you flush slightly. He lay there staring at the ceiling, occasionally glancing at you, until your voice drifted to him, “Good night, Carm…and thank you.”

“Night, sunny, see ya in the morning, yeah?”

Carmy continued staring at the ceiling until he heard the sound of your gentle, deep breathing. A few moments later everything in him froze as you rolled over and burrowed into his side, your arm falling across him. A breath shuddered from him and when he inhaled, it was all you, the warmth of the room amplifying that scent that already seemed so familiar and comfortable to him. His arm wrapped around you and pulled you closer. His hand played with your hair splayed out. His breathing slowed to match yours until finally, he also drifted into sleep.

And for the first time in a long time, not even occurring with Claire, his dreams weren’t haunted with visions of his past, nor anxiety about his future. And everything? Everything was tinged with the scent of delicate florals and warm spices.

Everything, as he slept, was slowly taken over by you.

#carmy berzatto #carmy x reader #carmy x you #carmy x sunny #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x reader #the bear fic

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