#Claire x oc

[the-ozzie]

modern Millie!!!

I was feeling better so I finished this up!!! I hope you guys like this lmao. Millie is a skater girl… would you guys be interested in me drawing modern cheerleader Millie? Maybe football seb?

[thecapricunt1616]

Allspice (c.b oneshot)

𝐵𝓁𝓊𝓇𝒷 (𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝒯𝒞): You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly.  Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh.  “Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

♡ O.S Inspo: Forever & Always - Fearless (TV) ; "Was I out of line, did I say something way too honest, made you run and hide like a scared little boy?" ♡ Pairing : CarmyxAFAB Reader as little physical description possible | She/Her pronouns used, NO use of Y/N :) ♡ Summary: You have a very successful Culinary Review blog, the social media manager of one of your new hometown restaurants 'The Bear' has been dying to get you out to try their food. But since the EC is a bit of an overzealous competitor, you end up having to go back for round 2- you end up having a delicious dinner, and a free show.

♡ W/C: 4,381

♡ Posted Date: 03/18/24

♡ A/N: FIRST THING: I am HORRIDDDD at writing Claire- I'm much better at writing Carmy cause were alot more similar- so this Claire isn't gonna be CRAZY canon, but I think she got the job done. Anyway- EEEEEP!!! Here is my VERY FIRST ONE SHOT EVER!! Inspired by my amazing, wonderful, PRECIOUS FLOWER @daysofyellowroses that can be found here :) AAAAA!!! My precious Rose I hope you enjoy this, It could ABSOLUTELY have a part 2 if y'all like it. I ended it here cause I'm sooo wordy and I didn't want it to turn in to a multi-chap. fic by mistake...but ofc if y'all want more just tell me and ill get RIGHT TO WORK!!! I really hope this comes off how I saw it in my head. There's no smut/sexy stuff, just mutual pining and flirty teasing, I hope thats ok!! aaa here we goooo!!! Enjoy <3

♡ Warnings for BTC: Swearing, Drinking alcohol (Literally it LOL)

➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡

Being a Food Critic wasn’t an easy gig, as much as people wanted to believe it’s simply going to famous restaurants, trying their most popular dishes- and giving your opinion, it was much more then that. 

Each and every aspect of the restaurant was under your review, from the second you walked in the door, you were judging everything. From the atmosphere, to the music, to the decor, to the comfortability of the furniture all of it, was to meet your expectations if the owner of the establishment wanted a good review.

Today was finally the day you'd review one of the restaurants that had sent 3 requests for you to feature a review of them on your blog. 

The Bear. Interesting name, you thought.

With the rugged name- you’d assumed a more millennial hipster-New American vibe. But when you’d arrived- you were quite…impressed? That instead of leaning into that all too common aesthetic, it was more of a classy, comfortable vibe. 

They’d not even had bear art, anything of the sort. It was pure comfort, mixed with subtle class. The kind that spoke to the cost of the dishes- but wasn’t in your face obnoxious. The only ‘Bear’ was the little golden bear embossed into the leather menu you’d been handed when seated at the table. 

The way you did your reviews was…a tad unusual - some chefs in the industry called it ‘unfair’ but you called it…the fairest things could be. Instead of telling them when you’d be swinging by for a review since where’s the fun in that you’d call, make a reservation under some random name, and they’d know you’d accepted their offer when the review had been posted on your blog. 

It felt most honest and fair because you were one of the most renowned food critics in the country right now. If they knew you were coming- any EC with a brain would spend the night before your arrival, prepping the entire restaurant and staff - assuring they’d be on their best behavior to try and squeeze a higher grade out of you.

 But you were just a reader once upon a time, years ago- when you realized in culinary school that the making of the art didn’t interest you, it was the observing. Food wasn’t just about taste, but rather the whole experience. And if every famous food critic you’d taken interest in back in the day- never got a true experience due to their notability? You’d never have gotten into this field. So, you were most keen on keeping things fair. 

A woman with mousey brown hair comes up to your table, dressed in the typical waitress slacks and black button up shirt. “Hello! Welcome to The Bear. My name is Sam, have you dined with us before?” she asks. 

You sit up in your chair, peeling your eyes from the menu. You give her a small kind smile “I haven’t” you replied, urging her to continue her script. 

“Well welcome in, we're so happy you chose to spend your evening with us. So for our menu” she opens it in front of you. “Here” she points “are our wine options, fabulous selection this month. Then we have draft beers right next to it. On the following page” she points “all of our craft cocktails, then this,” she points in the bottom corner. 

“Our house cocktail - Just called The Bear. It’s wonderful, if you like old fashions you’ll love this - made with Bearface Triple Oak Whiskey.” She said and you nod. 

 “That please. That’s what I’ll start with” you said and she nodded. 

“I’ll get that right in. But quickly, just so you’re aware” she flipped the page and pointed. 

“These - are the dishes of the month. Each crafted by one of our two head chefs, they change monthly so if something calls to you I recommend you try- because it won’t be back” she said. You raised your eyebrows a bit in surprise and nod. 

“Thank you” you said and she gives a nod before heading off to the bar to put in your drink order before heading off to tend to other tables in your section. 

Having an alternating menu intrigued you, for such a high end establishment- one with a Michelin star at that- implementing such a menu would consistently have their star at risk. One dish, one app, one drink- that was not up to par and it would be revoked. You guessed the owners of this place liked living on the edge, as if being in this industry wasn’t already being constantly on edge. 

You gaze over the menu, the Chilean Seabass sounded like a fair assessment. Seafood was quite difficult to get right, especially in the springtime before peak season, and you’d be able to judge the consistency of the chopping and such because there was a fresh tomato corn salad that came with it. That was your rule when you came to judge restaurants, one main course, and one dessert.  

You’d felt like the main courses were the true stars of the show anyhow, and it would be unfair to muck up your palate with an app that was usually something easy to get right (since they were usually fried, covered in cheese, or some kind of carb). And the dessert usually showed the restaurant's creativity, which you loved to see, so 2 dishes was your max. 

The waitress returns with the cocktail, setting it down with a napkin under it. “Here you are, now- have you decided on a starter?” She questioned and you shook your head. 

“Straight to the good stuff, I’d like the Chilean Sea Bass please. And for dessert,” you flick the page and your eyes settle on the words savory cannoli - hmm, imaginative indeed. “And uh- The Michael Cannoli?” You said, shutting the menu and handing it to her. 

She nods with a smile, jotting down the order into her notepad before taking the menu and holding it to her chest. “That will be out soon as possible. Enjoy your drink” she said and headed back to the kitchen. 

You sit back sipping the cocktail and humming. She was right, much like an old fashioned, but floral notes. Almost…chamomile? Yes! That was it. Very interesting.

You slipped your iPad out of your bag, opening up your journaling app and grabbing the pencil out of the little sleeve. You quickly snapped a picture with your phone of the drink, airdropping it to yourself and adding it into the entry and writing;

‘To start; ‘The Bear’ house cocktail- initial thoughts ; not too sweet, strong (but not overpowering), chamomile? Some kind of herbal tea flower’ 

You take another sip, letting the flavors sit on your tongue a moment before swallowing. “Mmm!” You hum to yourself, finally realizing where the herby taste beneath the chamomile was coming from that gave it that oaky piney taste. 

‘Angostura bitters- will confirm!!’ You wrote just as someone approaches your table. You look up to see a man, short brown hair, stubble. He was smiling, holding a plate. 

“Hello! Here we have Arancini with our house-made pesto, courtesy of Executive Chef Carmen” he placed the dish in front of you next to your iPad. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly, looking up at him, scarcel confused. 

“Wrong table” you murmured, thumbing the dish back in his direction lightly. He cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Nope- ah, he- he said this table.” He replied. It did smell fantastic, and any other day you’d never deny delicious, deep fried balls of risotto dipped in smooth, decedent pesto- but you’re working right now and it’s not fair. 

“Well, you can tell him” you lifted the dish, offering it back. “I have a system. And I’m unsure how he realized that I’m coming here, tonight, but I dislike cheaters. And he should know if he’s read my blog- I don’t muck up my palate with grease before I try the main course.” The plate was so close to him now it was nearly digging into his chest.

He nodded quickly, taking the plate without another word and briskly walking back to the kitchen. You sat back in your seat with a slight scoff. 

He thinks he can win you over just like that? How did he even know you would be here?

You picked up your pencil once again, adding a note. 

For the chef; Arancini smelt delicious. Didn’t order it, so I didn’t taste it . Presentation wise; 7/10. Pesto looked like it was spooned in the dish a tad bit messy to me. 

You smiled to yourself, you knew he’d read the final review once it was posted. And since he wanted to be a little cheater and get a overall higher score since he was trying to weasel you into trying extra dishes- you’d kick his ego down a few extra pegs for fun. 

You sat, nursing your drink, adding extra little notes here and there, as well as editing a blog post about Ghost Kitchens you’d been working on and how they were ruining the mobile order industry on the side. You were so engrossed in the work, that you hadn’t even realized someone had approached your table until they cleared their throat awkwardly. 

Your gaze slowly travels up, seeing a blue apron covering a white shirt, tattooed hands holding- your meal? Your eyes flicker up to his piercing blue ones. “Chilean Sea Bass” he sets it in front of you. You snort a laugh. 

“Hm.” You look around before back at him “These people” you motion to the restaurant. “Other patrons. Which meals of theirs did you bring out- Chef?” You accentuate the last word, it was all too uncommon for a chef to personally bring a meal out to a table. 

You swore even in the ambient lighting, his cheeks flushed slightly. “You- uh- you declined, my Arancini. Why?” He asked, holding his hands behind his back, the position making his already toned and tattooed arms appear more muscular. It makes him all the more impressive he has all these tattoos and still made it in this industry. I can only imagine the shit he got for them. 

You raise your eyebrows in surprise at his boldness. “Because that’s Cheating. Mr.Berzatto. I’d assume you know my work well. Considering you know what I look like, so- why try to cheat? You know how I feel about appetizers. It’s a scapegoat.” You shrugged, locking your iPad when you realized he’d been peeking at the notes. 

“Messy” his eyes narrow. He scoffs a bit, alluding to the note you’d written a short while prior “Messy?” He asks again, you laugh a bit.  

“Mmhmm! Oh, was it you chef? Wow…I mean- now that I think about it” you shook your head, now just messing with him since you see how much he was dying to impress you. “I could’ve sworn- the pesto it just..was too loose. Overblended maybe? That’s why it was impossible to plate without making a mess.” You shrugged, cutting up your fish carefully and spreading the vegetables with your knife to observe the cohesivity of the cuts. 

He scoffs, “too- too loose?! W-y’know what. No. No. It- you’re gonna try it.” He demands and you look up at him, nearly laughing at the seriousness of his tone. 

“That depends. Bring me a pesto worth trying and I’ll think about it. Now” you wave him off casually “I can’t work with the chef over my shoulder. So- Shoo chef don’t bother me” you teased and he shook his head. 

“Game on.” He muttered, heading back to the kitchen.  

You smiled to yourself, the Arancini absolutely isn’t going into the review. But you’ll humor his ego by trying it.

You cut the fish thoroughly, checking the texture and the evenness of the seasonings slathered on the skin, writing little notes as you go along. The cuts of the vegetables were pristine. Nearly perfect. The only misshapen pieces were clearly cosmetic defects of the vegetable. The chef that cut these was immaculate with a knife. 

When you took your first bite, you nearly moaned. The fish was buttery, the skin was crispy, slightly spicy, tangy, the flesh melted in your mouth. The risotto was so cheesy and buttery and wonderful. You could eat this meal every night for the rest of your life and never get sick of it. It was the best Sea bass you’d ever tasted. 

You opened your iPad again, jotting down notes about the flavors, the mouth feel, all the usual points you hit in your review. 

This meal is a 9.2 out of 10. 

You write at the bottom. Very fair score, you never had rated something as a 10. Something being a 10 would be- you don’t even know what it would be. But it would be what the score says, perfection. And while this dish was wonderful, and very very good- it was not perfect. At least to your heavily trained palate. 

You finished what you wanted out of the meal, pushing the plate to the side and not soon after, Carmen was back at your table. He placed the plate in front of you, 3 perfectly circular Arancini discs were placed equal distance on the plate, and truly beautiful pesto, sat in the dish alongside it. It frankly was immaculately plated. 

“Unbroken pesto. Sorry again, about the last one.” He said, watching you carefully. You hum as you grab your fork, splitting one of the discs and digging out some of the risotto. 

“Could be firmer.” You said, eyes flicking to his. He nods, clearing his throat a bit. 

“It’s not- uh- it’s” 

“Fresh” you finished for him, raising your brows and he nods. “So- since you’re frying it. You cook it for about..a minute- maybe forty seconds less than you usually would.” You said, daintily taking the bite off your fork. 

“Heard..” he nodded, waiting for your reaction. You hummed a bit. 

“Great balance of parm and butter though. I’ll give you that. Neither overpowers the other, that’s hard to do considering the notes” you added, cutting up the crust and tasting it. 

“Mm-“ you scrunch your nose and his face visibly drops. “Mm-mm…no- not peanut oil…why would you do that? It totally overpowers the breadcrumb with this like…cheapy taste. I’d say it would be way better if you fried it in sunflower oil” you added, digging out more of the risotto and dipping it in the pesto before having a bite and humming. 

“This though” you point at the little dish of green sauce with your fork. “This is great.” You add and he nods. 

“Ok-yeah…ok…” he nods, rubbing his hand over his chin. “Thank y’for trying it.” He said and you nod. 

“I’ll be back for a fair assessment. I think I’ll pass on the cannoli tonight, and just get the bill. Thank you” you slipped your pencil in the case before putting your iPad in your bag and holding your hands on the table in front of you. 

“Y-y’re coming back” he said, sounding slightly surprised. 

You shrugged “well- you clearly want a full review based on your behavior tonight, Chef. So I’ll humor you. I won’t tell you when of course, so just pray that it’s a day like today-“ you paused, looking around. “Where things seem to be running…alright.” You sat back in your chair casually with a small smile. 

“I look forward to your review.” He gave a nod and headed back to the kitchen. 

It was 3 weeks before you’d decided to return back to The Bear spring had quickly turned to early summer, and you thought you’d given enough time for your little conversation with the head chef to slip his mind. 

It was 9:20, 40 minutes before closing. You did promise to come back at a random time, and no time is more random then a Friday night less than an hour before the kitchen closed. 

You pulled open the door, stepped in and headed up to the host stand where the same man that originally offered you the Arancini stood. “The picky critic returns.” He said, tapping his pen against the reservation book absentmindedly. 

“She does” you smiled a bit. 

“Well lucky f’you cousin said you get a table any time, right this way” he leads you to a booth near the back, where you had a perfect view of the restaurant. Much cozier then before, right next to the doors of the kitchen where you could hear the back of house crew buzzing about. 

“Same cocktail as last time?” He asked and you raised your brows in slight surprise as you sit. 

“No waitress?” You asked, getting comfortable and setting your iPad down next to the empty plate. 

“She’ll be over, just figured a friendly offer couldn’t hurt” he said with a small smirk. 

You roll your eyes playfully. “House cocktail please, and thank you. But don’t count on kindness boosting your hospitality score-“ you stop, realizing he never gave you his name. 

“Richie” he said, sticking his hand out to shake. 

“Richie.” You repeat, giving him your firm professional shake. 

“House cocktail comin’ up” he said and headed back to the bar. You mulled over the menu, lemon chicken picatta, that sounded like a perfect dish to judge this time around. 

A few minutes later, Richie returns, setting the glass down in front of you. “Waitress should be by momentarily, enjoy your meal” he said, heading back to the host stand. 

A bit after the waitress came to take your order, the restaurant had begun to die down. You were going to be the last person served tonight it looked like, since in 5 minutes they would stop seating people. 

You added additional notes to your section about the cocktail, getting a better photo of it for your blog when you hear a bit of commotion up front.

You look up, to see a woman with curled brown hair in navy blue scrubs, her hands on her hips, talking with Richie with a frustrated look. There were tears in her eyes, you couldn’t help but tune in to their conversation. 

“Richie, please let me see him- he- he hasn’t said anything and I…I just need to hear him say it to my face. Please!” She begs, tears were streaming down her face now. 

Richie looks around nervously, tugging her to the side so they weren’t standing right in front of the host stand. You lean over just a bit- not so much it would be noticeable, but enough your nosy ears could continue to pick up what was being said.

“Claire. You shouldn’t be here…I’m sorry- he told me-he said that..that you can’t come here anymore. It’s too much and he will apologize when he can find the words. But he can’t. So please before he sees you. Leave” he said softly, attempting to soothingly rub her arm and she jerks away like his touch burned her skin. 

“Fuck you, Richie. Get him. Now. I’m not working on his time anymore. This is my time now. I’ve waited around enough for him. I’m done waiting. Either get him yourself? Or I swear to god I’ll go in that kitchen and embarrass the fucking shit out of him” she hissed. 

Your eyebrows raised, shit. Whoever fucked her over should at least be warned. 

He snorts, clearly amused before stepping back and raising his arms in defeat. “Have at it ClaireBear.” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You think he’s gonna take kindly to you startin’ w’him in his house? Be my guest.” He shrugged, going back over to the host stand. 

And then it clicked. She’s here for Carmen.  

She laughed dryly, sarcastically, like a woman who’d had it. “You think I’m scared? Richie? You think I’m scared of little Carmy who couldn’t even check out a library book by himself? mm?” She goads him, arms crossed, chest heaving with rage. 

His head snaps back to look at her, brows raised in shock. “Kid- I really think you should go calm the fuck down, because Y’re not gonna like the way that this conversation ends w’him- at all.” 

And with that, she shoves open the kitchen door. You couldn’t just sit there and not watch- this was the juiciest drama you’d ever been privy to in person, and this means he’s single. You slightly curse yourself for being so giddy that this means the sexy chef would likely be on the market. 

Your foot catches the door before it closes, leaning against the frame. She storms in, eyes frantically darting over the kitchen. 

“Carmen.” She barks, the entire kitchen stops moving and looks at her, as if they were in shock and awe someone would ever raise their voice to him in such a way. 

He rounds the corner, holding a pan of focaccia dough that he nearly drops at the sight of her. He blinks a few times, squeezing his eyes shut as if she’d disappear when he opened them again. 

“The fuck are you-“ his eyes meet yours, his face going pale quickly, he looked white as a sheet. “Leave.” He orders her, slamming the dough down on the counter. 

“Leave?!” She laughs coldly, “you’re gonna tell me to leave?! You’re a fucking pussy Carmen. A pussy. Y’know- it was charity giving you a chance. Pity work.” She spits and you blink a few times, taken aback by such harsh words. 

Is she serious? She thinks anyone could believe dating a super hot, ripped, talented, chef prodigy - that was charity work in any sense of the word?

He scoffs, “Charity?” He chuckled dryly. “Claire- you begged me to fuckin’ be with you! You-you-y’re a fuckin gnat! Claire! You- all you do is-is fuckin’-” he runs his hand through his hair, his chest heaving in anger, “You dont know me, Claire! Alright? There- And I-I-I don’t want you i’m-i’m sorry-” 

She laughed, shaking her head, tears streaming down her face. “You-” she whispered, her chest shaking with a sob. “You- fucker- I- I gave you a chance…” she whispered and gripped her wrist sadly. “I- I was there for you, Carmen- when no one else could fucking stand you.” she croaked.

“And I never asked for you too- please- just…leave me alone-” he shook his head. “Leave. Please…just-pretend we never happened, it was a mistake, Claire.” he breathed, clearly utterly defeated, and It sounded like he’d told this girl these same words multiple times. 

“M-Mikey would be sick- Carmy, he’d- he’d hate who you’ve become…” she said meekly, and with that- something behind his eyes snapped.

“Claire I’m not DOING THIS I SAID GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY FUCKIN’ RESTAURANT. WERE OVER. YOU ARE NOTHING TO ME! YOU MEAN NOTHING CLAIRE!” He roars, the veins in his neck popping out, angrily and aggressively pointing to the door. “OUT. get the fuck out. G-get out, b-before I-I-I fuckin- holy fuck” he finds his composure once more, even though his breath was still ragged from his outburst, flicking his hand next to him his entire body trembling with panic. 

She looks to her left and right, she’s not that- 

Your thoughts were quickly proven wrong, when you see she was stupid enough to grab a pan off the stove to whip at him. 

“Aht!” the spanish woman standing a few paces to the right said, quickly grabbing the arm with the pan and twisting it behind her back. “Drop it.” she hissed. 

Carmen looks between the two of them, utterly in shock. “Y-y’were gonna hit me?” He asked her, face twisting in rage. “Fuck you. Fuck you Claire.” He seethed, taking the pan from his employees grasp and tossing it in the sink with a loud clatter. 

“Get the fuck out” you told her, grabbing her from the handle of the woman who’d stopped the assault, shoving her towards the kitchen door and into the front of the restaurant. “Y’re a fuckin crazy bitch.” You laughed dryly, giving her a hard shove for good measure. 

“Oh and who are you” she straightened herself out, pushing her bag up on her shoulder. “Doesn’t matter. Glad to see that Carmy still needs someone to protect him. I’ll gladly give up that spot.” she said, causing you to laugh. 

“Oh my god- you are pathetic. He just spelt it clear as day sweetheart- you are over. O-v-e-r. He doesn’t want you babe! And no, he doesn’t need my protection- I was enjoying dinner and apparently a show until you went batshit bitch.” You snip, plopping back down at your booth. 

She scoffed “he doesn’t want anyone. The only thing he wants - is to remain miserable. Good fucking luck, whoever you are.” She said before stomping out. 

“Yo she was really gonna throw somethin?” Richie asked as he walked over. Thankfully, it was just you, him, and the bartender in the front of the restaurant.

You nod “thankfully she didn’t realize I was there- Carmen would have had a nasty burn, and a concussion.” You said, taking a large sip of your drink. 

Carmen comes out, eyes meeting yours immediately. “Fuck- I- don’t worry y’re meal is comped and don’t…don’t worry about a review, i’m sorry- I-I guess it wasn't in the cards f’r us to be featured on y’r blog... I’m really so sorry… Shes- ah..” he rubs his arm nervously, trying to find the words. 

“A woman scorned” You teased, and he snorts a laugh, nodding a bit.

“Hell hath no fury, right?” He joked, sighing a bit. “It’s uh…it’s my fault I guess…I uh- I should’ve dealt with that…I've been putting it off” he said and you nod a bit.

“You off the clock?” you looked at your phone for the time, 10:07. 

“Shit- fuck- sorry- I’m so sorry- give me like- I was making y’r food…and then-” you shook your head, stopping him.

“No- No…I was uh-Asking to see if you maybe wanted to..have a drink with me? Not-not like…professionally…” you shrugged, stirring your half full cocktail with the bar straw that floated in it. 

“Sure- uh…sure- I’d like that lemme..lemme go change, i’ll be right out” he nodded, heading back into the kitchen.

[shyravenns]

Got a cod x oc (Claire) commission done by the wonderful @/roselump over on twitter, and I am just so overjoyed at how it looks 🥺

Pls go check out their stuff, but do keep in mind that it is a NSFW account!

[swordmaid]

and when you go to the sea, i will be waiting for you at the shore.

[haliet0]

A silly pet hc i have for resident evil characters (Sorry if is blurry tiktok sucks😭😭)

[strawberrysnoopy]

ACT ONE: The Photoshoot, Part Three of Four

prologue, part one, part two. warnings: tobacco, smoking, alcohol use, briefest mention of using alcohol as a coping mechanism, mentions of infidelity (as always), ada slander at times (sorry), texting for a while, leon's a bit of a perv,

author's note: btw I left the husband without a name so there's no overlap on you and your husband having the same name and you live in new york due to the modeling thing. I also try my hardest to keep the reader ambiguous because I realize that skinny, quirky, white girls aren't the only ones that read this series: if there's anything you'd like to recommend or change in the writing to be more reader-friendly, drop in my inbox and let me know! :) thank you guys so much for all the reblogs and 100 FOLLOWERS AHHH!! thank you thank you thank you!

The warmth of your fingers working against his cool and paled skin had him melting like a runny ice cream cone in your hands. His hand was on your hip, rubbing loving circles like he was trying to commit the warm feel of your flesh into his memory. This was the type of life he envisioned when he was younger: married to someone he loved deeply with every crevice of his being. He thought Ada was the person for him, but that was such a costly and emotionally unbalanced guess. "Thank you, honey." You nod in response, applying the rest of the stitching to his busted lip. His hands dare to move a little higher on your hips, squeezing your waist and getting some sick pleasure out of the way your breath stopped in embarrassment. The scene was perfect, just a good ol’ friend taking care of her busted up pal. Leon hated that he couldn’t find you earlier, sooner, before he could even lay eyes on Ada Wong. She had her charms, sure, but there was something about the soft lull of your presence, how gentle you were, how caring you could be with others that had his heart fluttering in his chest. He still can't believe out of all the places he could've met you, it was at a store while you were buying a bottle of wine for yourself and your husband. "Met" would have to be an overrated word in his dictionary. The truth was that Leon had first laid eyes upon you in a magazine. They had released their February shoot that show-cased entrepreneurial photographers on the rise, climbing their way to the top without a care in the world who they scratched on their way there. You happened to be the diamond in the rough, making everyone else's cliche photographs of "lust" or "revenge" or "innocence" themes seem drab. Your theme? Limerence. Beautiful, simmering, and chilling limerence. Your hair was pieced together lazily but curled neatly, wearing simple yet cryptic tops and little boy shorts that lovingly cradled your ass. The rookie photographer that snapped your photos had done a stellar job at making it seem like you were one of those once in a lifetime girls you met in college. He still had the magazine of course, stashed away in the depths of his closet: kept in pristine condition like a filthy little secret he loved to indulge in. "So..." He muses. He feels the little pause in your work, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "How long have you known? About your husband's infidelity?" You've always known. The first? A college girl in the first year of your "official" relationship Bubbly and vibrant and a fucking joy to be around. The kind of girl you see on ABC's 20/20 or some other type of true crime prime-time film. Your husband claimed it was a drunk hook-up. And the first time, you believed him. The second? A school teacher that looked, acted, and talked exactly like you. Maybe she was your long lost twin or some weird rip in the fabric of time and she happened to pop out. He claimed he was mad at you for the way you did laundry. You forgave him a second time, but you'd surely have a knife to his throat the third time.

"A while. It's just like some weird fact I live with, I guess. Like you have some chronic disease and it's something you deal with from time to time." He nodded, bringing your hand up to his mouth and pressing a soft kiss to your palm. He knows you don't deserve that. Nobody deserves that. Yet, he always wondered why you stayed. Your husband was an asshole, although that shouldn't be a term that leaves his lips due to the fact he's supposedly your husband's best bud, but for the sake of doing the holy honor of defending you: he was a cheating dick that didn't deserve to be maritally bound to a woman such as yourself. "Wouldn't you get a divorce? I don't mean to be like...rude or anything but I would've thought that you're the type of woman to leave his ass once he cheats." And you were. Headstrong, confident, and self-assured—he's never seen an insecure model before, or maybe that's some weird stereotype he's made in his head unconsciously. "It's a tough situation." And that's all you have to say about your marriage. He nodded, understanding your reluctance to speak on the subject. He can't say he's any different from you either considering his marriage to Ada, the very reason he can't be with you. Especially so intimately. It’s hard. The safety of it all. Having someone next to you at all times despite the shitty relationship. He knew.

Now the bathroom is silent. You’re still doctoring up his wounds while he sits up on the marble counter-top. He really wants to say something until you step in for him.

“I can’t believe you fucked my husband up like that.” You say, pulling your hands away from his face to find some more antibiotic cream. He hates that he feels his head moving forward to get your hands back on him. Pathetic. He feels pathetic, especially considering he beat the dog shit out of your husband when you graciously invited him into your home.

“I’m sorry—“ He begins, you stop him once more.

“No. Don’t apologize. I was thanking you.” He nods again, finding the motion of moving his head back and forth too repetitive. “So, thank you.”

He boldly takes your hand in his own, squeezing it and kissing the palm—feeling like he’s turning into a crazy man when your fingertips brush against his lower eyelids and cheeks.

“You’re welcome.” He releases your hand from his own, feeling guilty for not saying more to you. He feels as if you deserve more than silence, and to be honest, with everything you've gone through this week, you definitely do. "I know I said it already but I'm sorry for saying that I wanted to—" He pauses, not wanting to be so crude with his wording but throwing caution to the wind as he had already fucked everything up so far. "Said that I wanted to fuck you, that's not fair to you nor your husband."

"It's okay if you do." His heart pulses in his chest at those words. He had expected you to ignore it, maybe slap him if you were really pissed. But you agreed? What the fuck, it's like he's living in a fucking alternate universe. "It's not a crime to find someone else attractive. The only thing wrong is if you act on it." That was true, but it never took from how much he dreamed about you. The times he's jerked himself off while thinking of your gorgeous body on his mind had grown to a disgusting amount. Hell, it's gotten to a point where he doesn't even fight it anymore and Ada being in the house used to stop him, but not anymore. He'll just go up to the bathroom and rub one out with your magazine in hand. "Then I guess I'm attracted to you." Your cheeks flush red at the admission, flaring a brighter color when his hand grips your hip once more. And tighter, too. Jesus Christ, the way this whole situation had been playing out like a steamy porno. First, your husband was gone in the hospital. Second, Leon was brought into your home. Alone. Third, he admitted he wants to fuck you. No, he has to resist. You were right. It's not wrong to be attracted to someone other than your spouse but you had him wanting to act. Wanting to drag you down to the marital bed you share with your husband and fuck you senseless. "So, do you want to stay the night tonight? Considering your car is broken down and everything." You ask, your tone beautiful and raspy like it always is.

Oh, God. He's gonna fuck you.

tags:@heylesamis, @sweetserial, @iloveyousomuch1989, @galactict3a, @m1sery-busin3ss, @ssulfurr, @julia13123, @nic-stars, @stillhavingdaddyissues, @greywardensaywhat, @ressespearlz, @xqlenkdy, @g0rep1ty, @nomorekerkanymor,

[theeio]

ToA commissions I did! Thank you so much for your support🥺🥰🥰

@everlastingfable

@capsulect

@muku-gc

@draxrg7

@bluheaven-adw

[chesue00]

RE OCs debute!?!?

In a middle of a sleepover these trio college students suddenly got transported from the real world to the world of resident evil😭😔

Will be dropping more of their lore and art as time goes by >:D

[recreationalfanfics]

NO BECAUSE CONSIDER A YANDERE! FEMME FATALE.

Would be in the same universe as my Yandere! Adventurer but idk, I really love women right now.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose job is to seduce and kill, when she gets hired to take you out however; she can't do it. You're too sweet and earnest, not to mention absolutely adorable with how flustered you get when she flirts with you.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who breaks into your room at night when you're asleep, admiring you peacefully and cupping your face gently as she sighs lovingly. She's never felt romance, only lust and bloodlust, but something about you makes her feel so soft and free. When you wake up, you wonder why there's a lipstick mark on your cheek or your neck.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who, unlike the Yandere Adventurer, won't have to rely on kidnapping. She's spent years perfecting her art of acting, of being the ideal woman her target wants her to be, and she can easily do that with you♡

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose so pretty that it lulls you into a false sense of security. After all, she's got such a sweet smile and such pretty eyes that you can't help but feel squirmy and small under her gaze.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose just a lovesick puppy around you. Clinging to your arm, sitting a bit too close for comfort at times, loving to play with your hair and letting you rest your head on her chest.

- Yandere Femme Fatale catches everyone's eyes but hers are glued on you. Who is stopped by men and women when she's trying to stalk you, trying to ask her put on a date, so she just subtly poisons them and catching them, pretending they randomly fainted and letting other people take care of it. Dammit! That idiot made her lose you!

- Yandere Femme Fatale who has a brief romantic history with Yandere Adventurer, who is VERY shocked when his ex is starting to hang around his darling but quickly gets all bitter and mad. He pulls her aside to threaten her but she just smiles gleefully at him, after all, she didn't know he had his sights set on you but now, you're somehow even more enticing than before.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who worries about what you think of her and her passionate history. Whose worried that no matter how pretty she looks, you won't be able to get passed that. She'll track them all down and kill them all if it bothers you so much! They don't mean anything to her now that she has you! She just didn't know you were her soulmate back then!

- Yandere Femme Fatale who loves to buy you outfits and dress you up♡ Sometimes the outfits are a bit of a tight squeeze but she assures you that it's supposed to be like that. Who suggests a little fashion show so she can see you wearing all the outfits she thought would look AMAZING on you.

- Yandere Femme Fatale who'd briefly team up with Yandere Adventurer if it was for your best interest, after all, she wouldn't want anything to happen to you! But, just like always, she backstabs him. The way she fantasizes about comforting you, holding you in her arms and loving you til you forgot about him...only for her mood to be dulled when he survives because OF COURSE HE WOULD.

- Yandere Femme Fatale whose always been a selfish lover but not to you, whatever you need she will give it! Her soul, her heart, her body, her blood! Anything you could ever possibly want, just tell her and she'll give it to you!♡ And if you ever want anyone dead, don't even HESITAITE to ask!

[ofallthingsnasty]

Bill gives off “will fuck you minutes before you have to go meet up your friends so he can get out of it AND have you embarrassed” energy so I’ll love it if you can write that scenario 👉👈

Nothing but facts here 🤭💕 He's such a smarmy asshole haha @flameshadowwolf 😘

fic referenced - please give it a read before you jump into this one, you'll probably need the context.

tags: yandere, heavy dubcon, Bill being condescending as always, breeding mentioned, talk of future knotting, past noncon + forced impregnation + forced marriage, chubby reader, f!reader, werewolf/human, minors dni word count: 3k

You haven’t done your makeup in forever. It’s been at least two months, you think, as you try to remember which of the colors in your little eyeshadow palette is the best for a monochrome look. You don’t really have the time to duke it out with a more complex style right now, especially with your rusty skills - there is barely an hour left until you're supposed to meet Ellie, car ride not included. Your mind sings at the prospect of a quiet evening, with friendly chatter and good food - and you not having to do anything. No needy toddler, no sticky little hands and pouty mouth to rob you of every last ounce of patience and energy, just adults-only conversations and friendly faces. Ellie and her husband Francis are the only members of the pack that are making an effort to include you and you like them all the better for it. You buff out the eyeshadow a little closer to your brows while you try to keep your bitterness down.

That fateful night three years ago had been your D-Day, and everything that followed was just punch after punch to your face - including being shunned by the very community that you had unwillingly become a part of. Of course, the whole pack knows what happened. Three years might have passed, but they still stick their necks together and whisper about it as though it all happened yesterday, avoiding your presence like you’re some bad omen, the hangman’s bride herself. Only Hugh and the Evett couple are cordial, the rest act as though you’re the black sheep of the family. It’s a small relief but at least they treat your daughter fairly well. It might change once her peers reach a mature enough age to be included in the gossip but for now your little toddler girl doesn’t have to play alone on the playgrounds and is invited to birthday parties only her father can take her to.

You rummage through your little makeup bag, searching for your brow powder. It’s probably too old to use safely, but you don’t care as you smudge it into the hairs. It’s not like you have the time to buy a new one.

Out of the whole pack, only your life is ruled by some archaic tradition. You had asked Ellie once about her and Francis and when she answered that they were high school sweethearts, you had quickly ducked into your coffee, ashamed of your own fate. 

Of course, she knows. You’re close enough in age - she’s a few years younger and still bright-faced, probably taking a giant heap of pity in your circumstances. It doesn’t matter to you, you’re just glad that someone who knows about this whole supernatural business is friendly with you - your old, blissfully unaware friends have long since grown tired of your bitter rants about your husband, not understanding why you’re still with him.

Oh, if only they knew. Their not-so-subtle nudges to get you to go to therapy (or to ditch Bill) get nothing but a grim laugh out of you now. No therapist could get you out of this mess, no stupid self-help book could give you the courage (with a sparkle and fire emoji, of course) to just leave. Just leave. God, it’s so stupid it makes you grimace.

Your life simply isn't your own anymore - right down to your name. Now you're just Mrs. Timmons, with a small golden band and his goddamn scent all over you (marking you as his possession). He had dragged you to the altar kicking and screaming, breaking plates and ripping up that gaudy number he had proposed as your wedding dress, but in the end, he had succeeded.

You had threatened to leave once, when Claire had been so very little, to pack her up and go - to the other side of the country, out of the country, across continents - just to get away from him. It had all been hot air, said in a dark moment of despair, of fear.

The solemn truth is that there is no way out of this. No matter how much you screech and fight - you’re not up against a regular man. Behind that grubby smile and dark eyes lies a creature that can track you down with deadly precision and has claimed you as its own, until the day it dies.

It sure is easy to forget when he throws his dirty shoes down onto the couch table or when he smokes when Claire is in the room, when he doesn’t do shit around the house and you get to stew in your anger, ruminate on the abysmal hand fate had dealt you. Then he’s just a regular piece of shit, just another good-for-nothing husband you get to nag and scream at and fume around. But when he fucks you - that’s when he’s back to the snarling beast he had been in that shed. The way he holds you down, even as a mere man, his grip like iron, his eyes feral and wide - even thinking about it makes you shudder.

It doesn’t matter right now, you think. You’ll be safe from his wandering hands and salacious comments in a matter of minutes, able to be yourself and not the always-scowling fury you have been turned into.

Just a swipe of mascara and your purse- 

A soft knock on the door frame interrupts you.

The sound of Bill’s heavy footsteps save you the glance over your shoulder to confirm it’s really him. “Wow, look at you”, he whistles, a freshly lit cigarette in his right hand. “Did I forget something? Date night? Our wedding day? My birthday?”

He laughs at his own joke as he takes a drag and you can already feel the annoyance starting to boil in your stomach. “I kid, I kid. You’re gonna meet with the Everett girl tonight, right? Girl’s night, eh?”

 “Yeah. Francis will join us later, though”, you say, clipped, brushing your mascara wand over the lower lashes of your left eye.

  “That so?”, you can hear him sucking in another lungful, sounding almost pensive. “Sounds awfully nice, princess.” You hum, finally done with your look. “I did invite you to come. If you remember.” A husky laugh behind you makes your brows furrow. “Jesus, woman, what did I do to you now?” You bite your tongue. Oh, you know. You just forcefully impregnated me three years ago and maybe I still haven’t worked through that. No biggie, though. “Be nice to your old man, yeah?”

He takes the cigarette into his left hand and presses a kiss to your temple, then drags his lips down to your ear. His stubble scratches the thin skin that is stretched over the cartilage of your helix and you can’t suppress the shudder. The right hand that lands on your shoulder is heavy and warm as it rubs and presses the fat over the joint, thoughtful but firm. “I have been nothing but kind, haven’t I? If you had ended up with that little freak, you wouldn’t have seen the sun ever again.” Crinkling, dark eyes meet yours in the mirror. 

Evan. You still think about him sometimes, but he moved just shortly after you started showing, too distraught that it had been Bill's kid and not his. You'd pity him if he hadn't done the unthinkable to you, just like Bill did.

“You do know that, don’t you?” Despite yourself, you nod - suddenly hot and cold at the same time. “I keep you fed, I keep a roof over your head, I let you run free, I let you tear up my shit when you’re mad, I let you go to your uppity little bitch you like so much- I think I’m doing way more than necessary, darling.” He mouths at your ear again, suddenly licking and biting the shell, only stopping when you visibly cringe. “I even think I deserve a little something for that, hm? And if it’s not gratitude, it might just be something else.”

He presses out the cigarette before you can even answer, right on top of your eyeshadow palette. Rough hands glide over the nape of your neck, down to your shoulders and settle right underneath your tits where he pushes them up and catches your eyes in the mirror again. “Just look at you, baby. I wish I could ruin all that makeup with my cum but we can’t have you be late for your little wine dinner, hm?” You see your own face twist in shock at his crude words and he watches in amusement, hands already working the soft flesh of your chest. He pinches and prods through the sturdy fabric that cups your tits, rubbing the material between his fingers to appraise it. “Aw, you’re wearing only a t-shirt bra today, aren’t you? Not my favorite lace number?”, he says and squeezes over your clothed nipples roughly, making you yelp in pain. “Or maybe I should be glad you aren’t. Else I’d think you’re dressing up for the Everett boy.” “But you’d never do that, would you?”, his tone drips with something dark. “You’d never betray me, hm?” Your breath stutters. It’s not a question. It’s a threat. “Why, I-”, you gasp, the words enough to shake you out of your stupor. “Why would you think that?”

“Dunno, babe”, he almost croons. “Just wanted to put it out there. In case you got into your little head again.” His hands wander down to your stomach and grab your fat roughly, a deep growl ending the conversation. He buries his fingers deep into you, so deep it stings and you subconsciously stretch upwards, granting him easier access to your neck. He promptly uses it to nip the skin of your pulse point.

“Soft as ever. Makes me want to bite and devour you whole”, Bill laughs. “But I’ll settle for putting another baby in you.” The nails digging through the cotton of your shirt turn sharp and long - he chuckles as you yelp, as you try to wiggle out of the chair in front of your vanity. “Too late, honeypie.” The man who stares back at you through the mirror is no longer a man - he is a wolf again, the same one that sounded the bell for the end of the life you once knew. “Don’t give me those pitiful eyes. Where’s all that fire, huh?”, he snickers, grotesque notes strung together by a deeper voice, by bigger lungs. “Your snippy little attitude. You do know I love to fuck it out of you, again and again.” Your head is pushed down into the wood and it sends your mascara and brushes flying to the floor. He simply drags your face over the vanity until the crown of your head touches the cool glass of the mirror, your legs slowly rising with the stretch. 

You have a hunch of what will follow. “Ass up, sweetheart”, he bites out and kicks the chair underneath you to the side with so much force you can hear it splinter. You’re left to stand on shaky legs, the cartilage of your nose pressed into the furniture. “Good girl.”

You only whimper in response, too weak to struggle against him, even as his hands leave your head.

He shows little regard for your clothes, as little as he had for his in the moment he turned - sharp claws dig into your nicest pair of jeans with little care, thick hands pull them down by force - over your belly, then over your ass. They're left just above your knees as he targets the next layer, a simple pair of cotton briefs. He slices through them and groans at the sight of you - fully exposed, bent over, vulnerable and oh-so-soft.

 "The baby did you good, sweetheart", he laughs and spanks your ass so hard it echoes through the room. "Made you even better. Maybe another one will make that ass even fatter."

  You're mortified at his crude words - but any indignant squawk of protest gets stuck in your throat as he presses his whole muzzle into your cunt.

He licks and pushes and sucks - eats you out so messily that his spit drips down your thighs and you can't contain your voice any longer.

You're rewarded with a chuckle and even more fervor. 

It's too much and yet not enough - his tongue only brushes your clit but he fucks your hole with it so well it makes your legs shake. You don't even register the way his claws dig into your ass, the pain barely noticeable over the mess he's making in between your thighs.

It’s not enough to make you cum but you feel yourself loosening up, growing pliant under his touch. Maybe he can feel it too because just a few precious minutes later he stops, licking his maw loudly. “Could eat you out all day, princess”, he chuckles behind you. “But you got a little girl’s night to go to, don’t you?” You manage nothing but a teary-eyed nod, throwing him a look over your shoulder, that terrifying creature staring right back at you, the man within it clearly getting drunk with the power he has over you when he is like this. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it quick.” He pushes himself into you slowly, but firmly - his saliva mixed with your own arousal making the most obscene squelch. It’s almost a relief to feel him in you after he fucked you on his tongue and you close your eyes, savoring the feeling of him working you open.

“You take me so well-”, he grits out and you moan in response. You should be ashamed of how much you long for his cock, how the years have made you compliant, even needy for him, even though you’re thoroughly terrified of him - but you can’t find it in you to care right now. The shame will come later, when you’re alone with your thoughts again but for now you just want to him to fuck you so well you’ll forget about everything. He starts out slow but it doesn’t last long - it never does. Just a few thrusts in and he’s found a rather harsh pace that has him fist the neck of your blouse to steady himself, claws puncturing the fabric. “God, I just wanna knot you, sweetheart”, he groans and you believe every word of it. “Bet you want it too- Always such a slut for my knot-” You clench around him both in arousal and shock - taking Bill’s knot is such a messy experience, one that would make you late for sure, with everyone able to smell just why you’re an hour behind schedule. “Ah, tomorrow- I’ll fucking knot you tomorrow.”

Your body is dragged over the wood with every thrust, the crown of your head bumps into the mirror every time he bottoms out - you feel like nothing more than toy with the way you’re rattled around. He seems a little extra desperate, probably trying to empty himself into you as fast as possible.

“Right now I’m- I’m- gonna make you stink with my scent, gonna mark you so that they all know how well I fuck you.” How embarrassing for you. Of course Francis will immediately smell it the moment he walks into the door and you’ll have to duck your head behind your wine glass - wolf that he is, claims like this won’t go unnoticed. “So you can’t run away from me-”, he gasps, out of breath with effort. “And no one can take you, either-” Even through your fucked-out haze, something clicks. He’s insecure. That’s why he’s in this form, why he’s so intent on filling you up before you sit yourself down with friends. Why he just won’t come with you eludes you - but that is Bill, ever so possessive, ever so puzzling.

You’d laugh at him if you weren’t currently getting mounted by a two meter tall humanoid monster, if you weren’t so literally fucked right now.  A groan pulls your attention back to the creature you call your husband. “Oh fuck, babe-”, Bill moans behind you, his pace getting even faster. It grates your insides, your body trying to keep you lubricated as he pounds you. Spittle flies through sharp teeth and lands on your ass as he unabashedly lets his maw hang open, too blissed out to care.

“I’m gonna cum, oh shit- Shit-”, he says and loses himself in a string of curses, trying to fuck you as you deeply as he can, rutting into you with so much force you’re scared the mirror is going to break off the vanity. “Fucking take it-”

The snarl he lets out isn’t human anymore, as are the claws slicing into your scalp, the sudden grip keeping you in place. He shudders violently as he pumps you full of his load, hot and wet. The feeling is enough to wring a throaty moan out of you - not enough to make you cum, but enough to make your legs shake and clench around him. “Damn…” Bill wheezes into the silence that follows, hands still iron on your skin. You slump into the wood beneath you, sweat-slicked and high-strung. He laughs as he hears the thump of your forehead against the vanity. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me go before my time with that pussy.” You don’t answer, already irritated with him again. “Well-”, he coughs and takes his hands off you, sounding much more composed. “Looks like you need to start over with your little look.” His words make you gasp and paw at your face, the sticky smudge of mascara palpable on your cheeks. You don’t need to turn your head up to the mirror to tell that you’re back to square one, that you’ll be late, with a dripping cunt and hastily scrawled on makeup. Your arousal is gone in an instant, replaced by hot rage burning its way through your stomach for good. A pat on the head and a content sigh behind you make it boil over, make you clench so hard you actually push him out of you. It’s laughed away, either mistaken for the wrong emotion or simply ignored. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, your old man will make it up to you tomorrow.”

[jazziejax]

Some of you guys didn’t care about platonic relationships between men and woman until Syd and Carmy. And I wonder why?

Who’s gonna tell the white people that they’re starting to sound like the homophobes when people ship two males?

[moonstrider9904]

Sing Me Like a Folk Song

Crosshair x Female OC (Clair)

Summary: During a calm night at their cottage, Crosshair and his wife have some time to kill while a cake bakes in the oven.

Word count: 2.4k

Tags: Explicit, Smut, 18+ adults only. Domesticity, TBB canon divergent universe, established relationship and marriage, baking and handling of food, soft smut, PIV sex, creampie, oral sex.

This work is part of the Moonlight universe. If you want to read how Crosshair and Clair got together, you should totally check out that story too!!

Main Masterlist | One-shot Masterlist | Crossposted to AO3

Crosshair stepped forward silently, his former sniper instincts creeping into his movements, and he leaned forward for his head to be at the level of his wife’s. His ever-watchful gaze looked over her shoulder as she poured the batter into the sheet and used an offset spatula to even it out, and then, she added the layer of almond-coffee cream on top of the luscious, white cream cheese filling, smoothing that out too. That was his favorite part to watch when she prepared the cake that had quickly become his favorite.

Like music filling his senses, Clair chuckled as she reached for the cake batter to repeat another layer.

“I can feel you there, Cross,” she mused.

Crosshair smiled, and he set his hands gently on her waist, snaking them around her figure, feeling the fabric of her flower-printed dress and the pale pink apron she wore under his touch. He pressed his tall figure onto her small one and delicately kissed her temple, and he took a deep breath that allowed him to get a whiff of the sugar and butter and coffee and almond. Whenever his wife worked her magic in the kitchen, he felt like he was in heaven, but then again, his entire home, their cottage, their little town, and their planet, would qualify as paradise to anyone.

“Good,” Crosshair replied to Clair’s remark.

She laughed softly again. “I kind of need a full range of motion in my arms for this, Berry Pie.”

“You’re the expert baker, that shouldn’t stop you,” Crosshair tightened his grip around her.

Clair giggled. “That’s what I get for making your favorite cake.”

Crosshair peppered kisses around the side of Clair’s face, with gratitude sprinkled over each one of them, and he smirked into her skin when he felt her cheek becoming plump resulting from her own smile. Clair could ask for nothing more—she already had the two things she loved most in the universe, and when they would be together in one calm night in her cottage, baking a delicious cake as she was held by her beloved husband… it let her know life was good, but it wasn’t as if she ever doubted.

Clair had no reason to doubt since she met Crosshair, smirking at her and devouring her with his gaze that day at the Allium café. And he had been a tough nut to crack, but he’d cracked nonetheless, and the snarky, war-driven sniper now clung to her from behind, eagerly watching as she placed raw batter into a pan all because he’d expressed a craving for something sweet, something other than his beautiful wife.

Like an artist brushing paint over a canvas, Clair swirled the offset spatula and smoothed off the last of the batter, evening it out so that it would bake perfectly in the oven. There was just one more detail left, and from a nearby container, Clair grabbed the lumps of butter, flour, and sugar that she’d made before assembling the cake, and she began to sprinkle them over the top of the raw batter.

Crosshair watched her delicate fingers sprinkling the lumps that would result in an exquisite crumble topping, one of the best parts of the cake beside the creamy, sugary almond filling between the layers of bread, and he felt his mouth watering already. Crosshair then removed one of his hands from Clair’s waist and he reached for the glass container where the rest of the raw crumble topping was, and he took a piece from the container into his mouth, not giving a damn if the flour was raw. A little bit wouldn’t do him any harm, as Clair told him each time she baked something. Clair smiled brightly at what Crosshair had just done, and when she saw his hand reaching for another chunk, she playfully swatted it away with the softest of touches.

“You’ll get a bellyache, love,” she said.

Crosshair chuckled, the sound deep and purring into the curve of Clair’s neck, and he let his lips dance around her skin once more and travel up until they were at the level of hers. Clair turned her head and faced him, and she kissed his lips with a passion not unlike the one shared during their first kiss ever. The seconds they spent kissing felt like one delightful eternity, and when Crosshair broke the kiss to look into her deep brown eyes, he let his inner softness emerge as he smiled at his beloved wife.

“I love you so much,” Crosshair whispered before leaning in again, resuming their kiss. He circled his arms around her waist once more and pulled her closer, and Clair giggled into the kiss, causing his chest to flutter. He loved that sound, and he could listen to it forever. It meant that she was happy and that she felt loved, and that was Crosshair’s single duty for the rest of his life.

At least, until it shared priority with a little one who came into the family.

Clair broke the kiss, giggling breathlessly, and Crosshair smirked at how he was still able to leave her dazed and flustered. Shyly, Clair tucked a strand of her black, silky hair behind her ear, and she reached out to get her oven mittens to then clutch the pan with the raw cake.

“Time to put this in the oven,” she cooed.

“Let me,” Crosshair reached for her hands.

But Clair shook her head in return, always proud of her duty as a baker. “Nope. I got it.”

Crosshair leaned on the counter as he watched Clair moving around the kitchen, from the way she opened the oven to how she took the cake and placed it inside, closing the oven door again and setting the timer down on the counter next to the oven. Crosshair’s gaze scanned every curve of Clair’s body when she bent over to put the cake in and when she straightened back up again, and his heart swole with affection at the intimacy of the sight, suddenly overcome with the need to have his arms around her again. With delicate movements, Clair had removed her oven mittens and cast them aside, and her big brown eyes were on him again as she directed a soft smile his way.

“Now we wait,” Clair said.

Crosshair tilted his head and raised his brows as he smirked, pacing over at Clair and reaching out to hold her waist again. “How long do we have to wait?”

“70 minutes,” Clair replied. “This one’s a slow cooker.”

“Oh,” Crosshair moaned softly, pulling Clair closer and feigning wonder. “70 minutes… What can we do in 70 minutes?”

Clair giggled and blushed at his flirting. “I don’t know. Enlighten me.”

Crosshair let out another soft moan that became a chuckle as he bent down, wrapping his arms firmly below Clair’s behind. When he straightened his figure, Crosshair lifted Clair directly up, reveling in her delighted laugh as she kissed him. Then, he slowly set her back down, but their kiss didn’t stop. As he felt Clair’s hands slide up his chest and find their rest at the back of his neck, Crosshair let his own hands travel to the curve of her back where the pale pink apron was tied. With an intricate touch, Crosshair undid the knot behind her back, and then he did the same with the straps that tied around the back of Clair’s neck until the apron was free for him to cast it aside, letting it rest over a chair. Clair whimpered softly into his lips, and the sound set Crosshair ablaze.

He’d waste no more time, and he’d make the most out of those 70 minutes. He bent over and picked Clair up once more, carrying her towards the living room the way he had done through the threshold when she became his bride. Crosshair set her figure delicately over the couch to then hover over her and cage her to it. Their kisses grew in passion and the heat built up between them, and Crosshair slid his hands up the smooth skin of Clair’s legs, slowly snaking under her skirt and up her thighs until they reached the fabric of her lace panties. Crosshair smirked upon feeling the lace at his fingertips, and he wrapped his hands around the rims to pull them down and cast them aside too as he quickly scurried downwards.

Peppering kisses up Clair’s legs, Crosshair slid himself under Clair’s skirt and let the flower-printed fabric drape over his head, shielding each other from their view. Clair looked down at Crosshair under the skirt of her dress and shuddered briefly in excitement, and a velvety moan escaped her when she felt Crosshair brushing his tongue over her sensitive folds. Her hips instantly bucked forward, seeking more of that friction, but she knew her husband well enough to know she didn’t have to ask for it. Crosshair pressed himself more onto Clair’s skin and made love to her folds long enough to bring her climax close, and then he shifted his approach, using his fingers to lift the hood of her clit and grant his tongue better access to the swollen, sensitive pearl.

He flicked his tongue in quick, repetitive motions over the bud and heard Clair’s breath quicken, with her moans and whimpers increasing in pace and in pitch. It wasn’t long before Clair’s thighs were clenching around Crosshair and her moaning filled the entire cottage, with her hips rutting against him to heighten her already breathtaking waves of pleasure. When Crosshair moaned into her clit, Clair threw her head back in ecstasy, as it was the last detail that crowned her orgasm, rendering it one of the best Crosshair had gifted to her. He continued to moan and grunt into Clair’s cunt, adding more and more to her pleasure until she was just at the edge of not being able to withstand such intensity any longer, and Crosshair emerged from beneath her skirt, granting her a moment to catch her breath as he scurried onto the couch next to her.

When Clair regained herself, she climbed onto Crosshair and straddled him. Hungrily, Clair kissed his lips, devouring him as she could taste herself on him, and she trailed her kisses downwards to suck and nibble on the flesh on Crosshair’s neck. Nipping at every one of his sweetest spots, Clair was able to draw moans, and even a few well-placed whimpers, from her otherwise stoic and composed husband. And as she continued, her hands traveled down to undo his trousers, to which Crosshair immediately obliged.

Clair lifted herself from him to get the pants off him with her mouth watering, and she was about to bend over to suck on his large erection when Crosshair gently clenched her cheeks and turned her face to look at him.

“There’ll be time for that later, darlin’,” Crosshair uttered. “I want to be inside you now.”

Clair cooed and giggled as she adopted her previous position, lifting her skirt so that she could position her thighs around Crosshair’s hips, and she sat down on him, moaning at the stretch of his cock inside her walls. Crosshair muttered silent praises at her, and he wrapped his arms around Clair’s waist, holding her so close that her body somehow felt smaller in his grip. She bounced softly on his cock, the pace slow and without any hurry, so tender and delicious, letting the couple feel everything.

Clair looked deep into his eyes as he helped her move up and down his shaft, and Crosshair became immersed in the pleasure flooding his body. His wife gazed down at him sweetly, smiling at him, and even when she muttered loving declarations or tender praise, he didn’t have the headspace to process it. It was enough just to look at her as her figure bounced delicately, and the closer Crosshair got to his release, the more often he shuddered and grunted, part of him wanting to extend the moment to wait for her.

But Clair rested her forehead on his, smiling. “You can cum, love… I want to see you.”

Crosshair moaned and let his head fall back for a moment. If Clair kept speaking like that, he’d take her up on it, and it seemed as if his wife could read his mind at that moment. She whispered sweet words of encouragement, pulling him closer over the edge until all that was left for him was to fall, and Crosshair’s body trembled when the pleasure unleashed itself within him. During the last few moments before his release, Crosshair found it in himself to open his eyes and gaze into Clair’s, and the only thought that could run through his mind was how much he loved that woman, how he worshiped the ground she walked on. Finally, with Clair invading every corner of his mind and his body, Crosshair released inside of her and spilled hot white ropes inside her walls, filling her up so deliciously that she moaned at the sweet tightness inside.

With a bright smile, Clair slipped outside of Crosshair and sat down next to him on the couch, curling up beside him. Her hand rested softly on his chest over the fabric of his shirt, feeling as Crosshair’s pecs rose and fell, with the pace slowly coming back to normal. The two remained there, silent, full of intention to continue gracing one another with wave after wave of pleasure, though only finding it in themselves to bask in the other’s presence. There was nothing else they needed at the moment.

Crosshair looked at Clair and softly leaned in to kiss her forehead. As his lips were in contact with the warmth of her skin, he felt a wave of the sweet, warm scent of the cake baking in the oven—he’d forgotten about that for a moment—and a smile curved his lips as he took a deep inhale and filled his senses with it.

Clair took notice and chuckled. “Does that smell nice?”

“Mm-hmm,” Crosshair agreed, his eyes closing and body relaxing on the couch.

Clair clenched her fist around his shirt and kissed his chest softly before looking up at him. “Do you wanna go stare at the oven?”

Crosshair laughed softly and opened his eyes to kiss his wife’s forehead again. “Yes.”

With an amount of energy that astonished Crosshair for a moment, Clair got up and tugged on Crosshair’s hand, helping him up to standing, and the two made their way into the kitchen once more.

Thank you so much for reading! If you like this, please consider reblogging too to support me!

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[the1975attheirverybest]

Real Life – Chapter 2: The First Date

I AM VERY VERY RUSTY AND THIS IS MESS BUT WE GOTTA START SOMEWHERE.

Read chapter 1 here

See character list here

more tidbits under the tag #real life fic or #matty x claire

Matty’s bloodshot eyes caught his own reflection in the glass display of the store in front of him. He turned around to face away from it, recoiling from the truth of his appearance. The silence in the air was deafening. It pained him to walk around his old haunts and see “for sale” signs where booming businesses once existed. Luckily, the pounding headache brought on by his hangover prevented him from dwelling too long on the grim reality. He flinched when he felt a drop of water against his neck, slapping it, annoyed. Moments later, he felt another drop, this time straight to his head. 

“Fucks sakes.” He glanced up, realizing that rainfall was imminent. The news of rain wasn’t as bad as its consequence: he now had to face the choice that he’d been putting off all afternoon. He needed to decide whether to go home, or to find a place to kill a few more hours in; a cafe perhaps, or someplace to at least buy an umbrella. 

Groaning, he lifted the collar of his jacket to shelter under it and rushed into the first open business that he could spot out of the corner of his eye.

“Good afternoon, hello!” A young person, with bright blue hair and a nose piercing greeted Matty from behind the register. Their name tag read “Shay.”  He was at a bookstore.

Matty nodded, awkwardly, giving Shay an obligatory wave as he stumbled his way in. 

“Can I help you find anything?” Shay asked. 

“Erm….this is quite….is it offensive to come into a bookstore and ask for non-book related items?” He shrugged "feels sort of...offensive."

“Pardon?”

“Looking for an umbrella.” Matty cleared his throat. “If….that’s alright.”

“Oh! Not a problem. Our merchandise is right over there.”

Shay had pointed him in the right direction, but Matty had already gotten distracted by a clever book title and wandered off. 

“No, sir! To your left." there was no use in calling after him, he’d already trailed off, gravitating towards a sign by the stairs, and, eventually, descending the stairs into the special events area.

Shay dreaded having to let him walk right into an author's reading.

***

A woman stood behind a lectern, looking down at the book in front of her, reading aloud. 

The next time he sees her is the last time. She’s standing across the room with a bunch of important men in suits, a lipstick-stained cigarette between her fingers. He can't help but notice how the men hang on her every word. He thinks about going up to her but chooses not to. Maybe if he'd chosen differently that night, his final memory of her could've been different. Maybe he would've remembered a different woman than the one who had flashed into his mind upon reading of her death, but for better or for worse, he blinks, and she's gone.

"Thank you," Claire smiled, graceful, at her captive audience.

Matty recognized her smile as the same one she gave her audience that night at the charity event, right after her speech, moments before she'd disappeared into the ether. Quietly, he found a seat in the back row of the packed room and shuffled into it.

"That was...wow." the host, a critic of some sort, whose name Matty had clocked on the sign upstairs but had already forgotten, motioned, breathlessly, for Claire to come back to her seat. "Thank you for sharing that with us....So, I'm glad you chose to read the ending because it has sparked quite the conversation among readers." The host glanced at her notes, "I wanted to ask you, did you always know you were going to end the book this way?"

****

Matty could see her more clearly now that attendees began to empty their seats and form a line for the signing. I remained in his chair, watching her, wondering if he should go up to her. What would he even say? 'hi, remember me? you invited me to your event and i as rude to you.'

He walked around the edges of the room, scanning the shelves, absorbing the conversations around him, and eying her book. He picked up, leafing through it, and eventually settling into a corner to read.

When he finally looked up from the book again, the crowd had mostly thinned out. It was still raining outside and he was still without an umbrella. across the room, he saw Claire leave the signing table.

“Claire!” Jazmyn squeezed her elbow to get her attention, pulling her towards a woman with a press badge. “This is Raven Burner.”  Jazmyn offered a preemptively apologetic smile. "Raven, this is Claire."

“Hi! I’m with People Magazine. I was wondering if you had time for just a few quick questions? Big fan of your-“

“People Magazine?!” Claire’s voice revealed a little too much of her feelings towards the publication. She hadn’t intended to be so rude, but she knew that they were after more than just her writing process, or details about her next project. Her eyes darted around the room in avoidance, looking for an escape plan. Among the sea of faces, stacks of books, her eyes locked on someone else’s. Big, brown eyes, that pierced through her. 

Matty stepped forward. “Erm, Claire? S-sorry to interrupt but…our reservations.”

“Reservations?” she echoed him faintly.

Jazmyn eyed them, suspiciously. 

“Yes!” Matty insisted. “For our date. That we’re going on. right now.” He made a show of checking the time. “We really should get going. If we don’t want to be late. I know how much you love their dessert.”

“Oh.” Claire sighed, “oh! Right! Yes, of- of course. Our- date.”

He offered her his arm and she accepted. “Excuse us. Thanks.”

***

"Thank you." Claire unhooked her arm from his once they were outside. "You didn't have to do that."

Matty smiled, "felt like I owed it to you." he unwrapped his brand new umbrella. "I'm-"

"Matt Healy, I know."

His brows scrunched.

"Or, as I like to call you, Robin Hood."

Matty rolled his eyes. "You remember me then?"

"Rich guy who hates rich people. I tend to remember people who talk shit about me at my own events." she giggled

"It's Matty, by the way, if we're being accurate." He opened the umbrella. "And, I'm sorry about the Robin Hood thing. I...had no idea who you were, and....I tried to find you after the- umm...anyway, I'm sorry."

"Relax, you look like you're gonna sweat through your coat. I'm just messing. It's all good. I have buckets of money what do I care, right?" The blank expression on his face made her laugh harder. "oh, unclench your ass, it's just a joke."

She inched closer to shelter under his umbrella as they stood on the sidewalk. He lit a cigarette and she asked to bum one off him. She was a firm believer that cigs tasted better in the rain somehow.

“It’s quite good.” Matty said as he squashed the end of his cigarette on the concrete. “Your book, I mean. I’m only a few pages in, but I like it so far. 

“You sound surprised.”

“Not surprised….just….” 

She made him nervous and he hated it.

She crossed her arms over her chest, the cold beginning to get to her. "Anyway, thanks for the cig. Oh, and, thanks for umm...." she nodded in the direction of the bookstore. "these vultures, they won't stop prying about my...." she seemed to get lost in her thoughts as she watched the journalists, inside, surround her publicist. She snapped out of it, turning her attention back to Matty. "Anyway, nice to see you again, Matty."

"Erm...no, wait!" he blurted out as she turned to walk away. "Our date! we have reservations"

she furrowed. "They're not real. I thought...."

"They can be. I know a place not too far from here. You like Italian?"

[swordmaid]

silence of love.

[pierrot-dokki]

Modern AU

Biker Gwyn escaping home to a new town with her bike, making new friends, and possibly falling in love with a certain bartender?

The bartender is in love too but he needs to get past her new friends first 🫢

Millie belongs to @the-ozzie

Calypso belongs to @dwightschrute11

—————————————————————

my god i have been away for so long but i am back!! i have had this biker gwyn idea in my head for a while now and i finally drew it ㅜㅜ i miss you all so much

bonus: blud thinks he’s the only competition

[assassin-artist]

the first sketch i did of Solar Flare, before I figured out her final uniform