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dollfacefantasy · 21 hours

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hiii i’m not sure if you particularly like writing hybrid!reader but can i pls request something with leon where he tries to feel out his bunny/dog hybrid gf’s kinks by seeing how her tail moves in response to them. like something she really likes she’ll wag her tail real fast and he finds it adorable

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!puppy-hybrid!reader

summary: leon plays with his precious puppy girl by watching her tail

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, humping his boot, daddy kink, praise kink, breeding kink, scent kink, dacryphilia, and size kink

word count: 2.6k

a/n: no because i love this idea so much. it's been in my head since i got it. i hope i did it justice because i think it's so cute. thank you for sending it and i hope you enjoy <3

Leon’s eyes rested upon his favorite sight in the whole world. His precious puppy girl kneeling at his feet. If he had to guess, he’d say it was your favorite place to be too. All signs pointed to that conclusion. Your eyes were wide and locked onto his face. Your body vibrated and squirmed with the urge to jump into his lap. And of course, the way your tail wagged back and forth.

Swish. Swish. Swish.

The fluffy appendage moves in a lazy rhythm right now. You were excited Leon was home and wanted to play, but you weren’t thrilled enough for it to turn to a blur. He chuckles and reaches a hand forward to rub your head. That gets it to speed up a little bit.

“You have a good day, pup?” he asks.

You scoot the slightest bit closer while nodding. You tilt your head to the side, squishing the flesh of your cheek against his knee.

“Yeah? What’d you do today?” he says.

“Took a nap. Watched the tv,” you answer, “You look tired, daddy.”

He smiles at your observation and scratches at the base of one of your ears. Those ears, which were perked up at the moment, were so sensitive to everything. The wind knocking something over outside, his car pulling up on the driveway, and of course, small changes in his inflection.

Though he sometimes wondered if that’s all it was. He sees the way your tail picks up a notch when his lips curl upwards with that smile. He wondered, if not hoped, that it was something more than just your heightened physical capabilities. If maybe, there was something within you, something deeper, some instinctive emotional connection that bound you to him. That was probably wishful thinking. Someone who understood him implicitly. Still that was how he felt sometimes, and it was always lingering in the back of his mind when he watched your cute little ass wiggle back and forth with the movement of your tail.

“A little. Had a long day at work,” he tells you, continuing the conversation.

“Oh. Was it boring?” you inquire.

“You could say that,” he says.

“I get bored sometimes when you’re not here too,” you say.

The short, curt way you speak drives him up the wall. His hand on top of your head trails down to your cheek and gives it a little pinch before his thumb lands on your lips. Your tongue darts out to give the pad a small lick.

“Cute,” he murmurs as his fingers descend to your jawline and then your throat, “Why were you so bored, puppy? You have the whole house to yourself. You have enough toys to fill a room.”

“But I was missing my favorite toy,” you say, nuzzling against his leg.

“Oh, your favorite toy, huh?” he says.

His fingers tease the edge of the smooth material that was wrapped around your neck. In place of a collar, you wore a pink satin ribbon. It bunched around to the front of your neck where it was tied in a pretty bow. Leon’s own handiwork. He never saw a reason to collar you. You were the most loyal little thing on the face of this Earth. Even if he kicked you out, you’d probably just take up residence on the mat at the front door. He’d rather you look like the spoiled princess that you were and dress you in the pink ribbon to match the other pink items you wore, your camisole and panties.

You nod at the question he asked, the ends of your bow swaying with your motion.

“Yeah? Well, tell daddy. What’s your favorite toy?” he prompts you.

Your hand snakes up to the front of his jeans and paws at the area where you would soon feel the outline of his hardening dick.

“That’s your favorite?” he asks, feigning ignorance, “Wow. If I'd known that, I wouldn’t have bought you all those stuffies. Coulda saved me a ton of money. Just let you sit on my cock most of the time, and you’d be satisfied.”

You shrug, not caring to roll that proposition around in your head for actual consideration. Sure you loved your toys, but they didn’t come close to one tucked away inside daddy’s jeans.

He grins not only because you’re so fucking cute, but also because he can see your tail starting to go faster. As much as he wants to pull you onto his lap and breed you till you’re a mess of drool and tears, he wants more tonight. You were nothing if not eager, and while he loved that, it meant that it didn’t take much effort from you to get him to cum in minutes. You’d just get so tight, you never suppressed any of your moans or whines, your face always scrunched up into needy expressions of euphoria…

Anyways. He just wanted to tease it out tonight.

“You have been a good girl today. I think you deserve some time with your favorite toy,” he says, watching the specific twitch when he said the two words of praise, “You wanna play with it right now?”

You nod almost as quickly as your tail wags. A sonorous laugh echoes from him. His eyes hold that glint that lets you know there’s more.

“What’s your favorite way to play with it, baby? You like bouncing on it?” he asks, his voice gaining an amused lilt.

You don’t respond with words. He knows your nodding, but his focus is on your backside where he’s getting the only response he needs.

Swish.

“Maybe you like taking it face down, whining into the pillow?” he continues.

Swish Swish.

“Or maybe you like being on your back, legs over daddy’s shoulders?”

Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish Swish.

“I think that’s the winner,” he chuckles, “Why is that your favorite, pup?”

“It gets deeper,” you say. He watches as you try to be subtle about scooching closer. He wasn’t going to stop you though.

“Oh I see,” he says, nodding his head in mock realization, “You want it as deep as possible, right? And to do that, I have to pin you down, keep you underneath me where I can just fill that pussy up over and over. You like being helpless, princess?”

As his tone becomes more husky, you take your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Your hips fight the urge to squirm, but your tail can’t stop flinging itself back and forth. A tingling flame had been lit inside your belly, one you desperately wanted him to put out.

“Yeah. You love when I’m in charge. You love when all you have to do is take it like a good girl, and you can just let that little brain melt away,” he taunts. With each swish of your tail, it’s like he can hear a game show buzzer ringing in his points.

You wrap your arms around his leg that was nearest to you and pathetically whimper out “daddy.”

“What is it, puppy?” he coos.

You look up at him and give him the definition of puppy eyes. “I want it. No more teasing,” you whine. Despite your demanding words, you stay put. You were a good girl after all, and good girls wait for permission.

“What? You want it?” he mocks, “What’s the rush, baby? You don’t like daddy’s voice anymore? You sure were liking it last night when you were all sleepy. Just whining and clinging onto me, begging me not to pull out.”

The movements of your tail start to become blurry as you remember the previous night. He’d fucked you so good and talked you through it the whole time. The main difference between now and then was that then you had his cock stuffed inside you while he spoke.

“I do like it,” you defend with a pout, “But I just want it, daddy. Please. Wanna be full of you.”

“Full,” he repeats, “Does daddy stretch you out? Make you feel like there’s no room for anything else?”

You nod again, but you can’t take it anymore. You scoot forward more so your knees rest on either side of his boot. His knee kisses the space beneath your chin while the rest of his leg is flush up against your tummy, going straight between your breasts. He knows what you’re about to do, but he’s fine with it. Tilting the tip of his boot upwards, he gives you silent permission to start rocking your hips.

That was all you needed to close the gap between the top of his shoe and your clothed cunt. Lowering yourself slightly, your puffy clit brushes the leather. You let out a tiny mewl. Your face was already starting to scrunch up into a cute little look from such a simple touch.

“That feel good, sweetheart?” he teases.

��Yeah, daddy. Thank you,” you whimper.

Your hips move back and forth as if on a pendulum. The rhythm is consistent like the pacing of your tail. Back and forth, back and forth.

“I think you soaked through your panties, pretty baby. You gonna get daddy’s shoe all nice and shiny? Make it smell like you?” he says with a smug grin.

“Uh huh,” you mumble.

But when Leon mentions scenting his boot, your tail starts going crazy. Absolutely buck wild. He wouldn’t be shocked if you sprained something from how hard it was moving. God, he was getting hard. A solid tent had formed in the center of his lap from watching you. So precious, so adorable. Those pants and whines of pure lust. The way your fingers were digging into the leg you held onto like you needed it to survive. The nonstop rutting of your hips matching up with the wag of your tail.

“Woah woah. Think my girl might be a little possessive,” he says as he watches you. He keeps his tone light. He wanted this to play out before he let himself have any. To stave off his desires, he palms himself over the rough denim.

Your eyes catch that, and it’s almost comical how you nearly drool. “I just want everyone to know you’re mine. You're my daddy. They can’t have you,” you say, nestling your face against his legs.

Your own pleasure builds in the pit of your belly. You’d found the perfect amount of pressure on his boot. You just had to keep grinding your aching cunt into the leather.

“Poor baby. No one’s gonna take me from you,” he croons and strokes your head. His hand moves so much slower than any of your body parts and the contrast intensifies the pleasure further.

“Good,” you say.

“Mhm. Trust me, you keep my hands full as is,” he jokes.

He watches as you keep whining and humping his boot. Your hips move like you’re on the clock. He can feel drool starting to drip on his jeans and dampen the fabric. If only he could see your eyes. He knows they’re getting glossy, hazy with the bliss coming from between your legs. Lucky for him, a particular jolt of ecstasy pulls your head back and ends with your face looking up at him.

“You’re getting to daddy’s favorite part, honey. Keep going, Keep being a good girl,” he says. Again, your tail jerks when it registers the magic words. You snap your hips with renewed fervor, chasing the elusive high. His fingers press down harder against his cock as he sees the gleam of saliva coating your chin and lips.

“When do we get to my favorite part?” you babble. Your voice was starting to give as the warmth of carnal pleasure encroaches on your mind.

“And what is your favorite part?” he asks, knowing what your answer would be.

“The part when I actually get your cock,” you whimper.

He shakes his head. “Look at you. Trying to be smart while you’re going dumb,” he teases, “Quit complaining. You’re still getting to feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same,” you whine instantly.

“Oh really? It looks pretty similar to me,” he says.

You make a small sound that’s halfway between a whine and a growl. Even with your frustration though, your hips don’t stop.

“I’m just teasing you, pup,” he says, stroking your jaw with his free hand, “I guess it is different. I don’t see you crying like you do when I’m buried inside. I don’t get to see those pretty eyelashes all wet from tears.”

Your eyes roll back at the mention of being so fucked out you cry. It was one of your favorites, and Leon knew it. Being reduced to a crumpled mess of sobs against the heat of his chest got you like almost nothing else.

The reactions etched across your facial features are cute, but he can’t tear his focus away from your ass moving against its will through the force of your tail.

“But that’s not the big difference, is it?” he continues, “No. The real reason you want my cock is cause you want daddy to breed you, huh?”

As soon as it leaves his mouth, it’s like his mental buzzer is letting him know he’s won the grand prize. Everything about you goes haywire. You lock around his leg while your hips rut like you’re in heat. Your tail whips around so fast he thinks it could create a breeze.

“Uh huh, daddy- ah! Mm… just wanna be bred. Need it,” you ramble.

He feels his cock twitching in his pants. He’s sure when he actually does get it in you, he’s not gonna last too long. It’s straining against the zipper as is, and he can’t stop rubbing it. He’s almost as bad as you on the boot.

“I know you do. Silly little puppy. That’s always what you need,” he coos, “Just need to be pumped full of cum. My sweet girl.”

Your tongue is half lolled out of your mouth by this point. You’re past going dumb. Your head is swimming around in absolute thoughtlessness. Not a care in the world besides getting yourself to cum all over daddy’s boot.

He nearly groans out loud from the sight of it. He can feel the warmth of your pussy all over his shoe, the plush of your thighs clamped near the sides.

“You’re doing perfect, baby,” he mutters, “You’re gonna get your treat, I promise. Just let daddy watch you cum, and I’ll make sure you get your fill.”

You want to whimper “ok, daddy,” but your mind is too far gone for words. All that comes out is a strangled amalgamation of sounds accompanied by your head wobbling up and down. And the whole time swish swish swish.

Your swollen little clit had more than enough stimulation to get you to burst. Pants turn to gasps and fluid movements sharpen. You mumble against his leg, your lips squishing all over his pants and wetting them even more with your spit.

“That’s my good girl,” he purrs, which is enough to get another loud moan out of you. He chuckles and continues watching with his half-lidded, lustful eyes.

As the movement of your hips slow, your tail’s swings weaken. He still strokes your head as you catch your breath. Your chest puffs in and out while you feel your skin cooling down. It was hard not to get sleepy after you came, but before you have to worry about falling asleep at his feet, Leon scoops you up and holds you on his lap.

Rubbing your back, he presses some kisses to your forehead and temple. “There’s my girl. How’re you feeling, baby?”

“Good, daddy,” you mutter against his shirt.

“Yeah? You think you’re up for daddy breeding you for real now?” he whispers.

And suddenly, you’re not so sleepy. You sit up straight in time with your ears perking up. You nod and give him a lazy smile. He can’t see it, but he can feel that tail already starting to wag again.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil smut #resident evil imagines #resident evil x you

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wasteddmoondust · 3 days

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pineapple || james potter

pairing: james potter x reader 1,219 words, teacher and james go on their first date! what could go wrong? a/n: can you tell i am horrible at titling my fics... somehow i just need it to relate to what happens. so uh. enjoy!

prev. chapter

You feel your heart going absolutely crazy. You know it's first-date jitters, but somehow it feels worse this time. It's nothing special, really. You try to tell yourself. Just another first date. Just like other first dates (that has turned to nothing...) And now this first date is the father of one of the children you teach. Yeah, nothing special.

After several attempts to make yourself busy by looking at your phone, you hear your name. It's James and he's walking up to you.

"First name basis already?" you ask smugly.

He chuckles, "What? Sorry, I guess I'll just call you-"

"Please don't, I hate being called that outside of work."

"Got it."

The two of you walk together and he leads you to a quaint coffee shop, James swears by the coffee made here. When the orders are made you find a seat and sit down.

"It's been a while since I've been on a date," he says, hands fidgeting with the receipt.

"Same here," you admit.

He stops playing with the receipt and furrows his brows. "Really? But I'm the parent."

"And I'm the one taking care of your kid for a whole day, 20 kids, actually."

"Huh... and you don't even meet people in the industry?"

You snort. "Unfortunately no, a lot of them are older and married with kids. There's no one to date there. Trust me, even the older teachers try to make me get on dating apps. If anything, you're doing them a favour."

He grins that grin that makes your heart do a little flip. Oh god, it's happening, huh?

"I'm happy to do that."

You continue your conversation, keeping it light with small talk. Then, a waiter comes by to give you your meal and you both thank him. James' phone dings, he checks the message and he replies to it while you patiently wait for him.

He looks back up at you and keeps his phone. "Sorry, my best friend is taking care of Harry today, he was just sending an update."

"That's alright. Is he doing okay?"

"Harry?" he asks, looking a little nervous. His arms are resting crossed on the table. "Uh- yeah. He's fine. Not so sure about Sirius. He just said he's letting Harry use his tattoos as a colouring book."

You laugh. "Yeah, I can see that. He does love to colour. Have you always wanted to be a father?"

James looks stunned, but laughs it off. "Not a normal question for the first date, is it?"

"Well since you already are one," you shrug.

James thinks for a while before answering. "Yeah... I've always wanted kids... Well I'm sure you've seen from the documents I sent to the school when Harry enrolled. I'm widowed..."

You nod, you do in fact know this, you had read through those documents for every child. Understanding their family structure and dynamics can be a big help in understanding the child and improving their development in school and at home.

"She uh- had complications at birth and didn't make it." He let out a sigh and shrugged. "So now it's just me and Harry. And I wouldn't trade him for the world.

"You really love him, don't you?"

"I do."

"You know you can talk about him, right?"

James looks down and purses his lips. "It's just that... other people I've dated weren't really... keen on the fact that I have a kid. You know, another person's child and all."

You tilt your head down to try and make eye contact with him. Somehow, your hand reaches out to his. "You know that doesn't matter to me, right? I already knew you had a son, hell, I even taught him for a whole year, and I still accepted your date."

His mouth forms a small frown, but his hand grabs yours anyway. "I just didn't want to seem weird."

"You're not. Promise," you give his hand a squeeze.

"Is it too early to want to kiss you?"

You both stare at each other for a second before you burst out laughing, making him laugh too.

James starts to tell you about Harry, and visibly gets more comfortable the more he does it. He tells stories from his first words to potty fails. He shows videos and pictures. From there, the both of you fall into an easy rhythm of branching from topic to topic in your conversation. You exchange bites of your food. Before you know it, you're laughing while your meal is long done and you're both on your second cup of coffee.

For some reason, you feel an itch in your throat.

Nonchalantly, you ask, "Did your pasta have pineapple?"

"Yes, why?"

"Firstly, who the hell puts pineapple in pasta? Secondly, I think I'm having an allergic reaction."

James sits up in a panic. "Oh god- I'm so sorry-"

You cough into your first. "It's fine, it usually doesn't react as bad as it used to but I like to stay away from pineapples anyway. I'm not gonna die. Can you get me some cold water, please?"

He immediately stands up and gets you a glass from the counter. You down the glass in seconds and you feel better.

"I'm so sorry that was embarrassing-"

"You're sorry? I gave you a bite!"

"I forgot to ask, it's my fault."

He gently places a hand on your shoulder. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you"

"James, trust me, it's fine-"

"I'll bring you on a second date."

You furrow your brows. "You just saw me cough my lungs out from an allergic reaction and you still want to bring me out?" you can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness.

"I mean... I still find you attractive after all that so if you find me attractive after I rambled about my own child to you though you have taught him for this past year I don't see why not."

At this point, you're pretty sure your cheeks hurt from all the smiling you've been doing the entire time.

Despite your protests, James insists on driving you home. When you reach the entrance to your apartment building, he tells you to wait before rushing out of the car to open the door to the passenger's side. You giggle and take the hand he holds out to you as you step out of his car.

He tugs the hand that is holding yours to make you face him. He's so close, you're desperately hoping your cheeks don't show how flushed you are.

"So... same time next week?" you suggest.

He nods. "No pineapples this time, guaranteed."

"And you're allowed to talk about Harry."

He beams at that, looking down and letting out a sigh before looking back at you. "Is it still too early to kiss you?"

"Yes, but for now I'll give you this," you press a kiss to his cheek. You slowly walk towards your building, your arms stretching until you gently let go when you're too far away. "I'll see you next week!"

And like that, you disappear into the building. James is left standing there, still in disbelief of the entire day.

He lets out a sigh, smiling, and gets into his car. He 's so excited to tell Sirius when he gets home.

a/n: if i'm being so honest i have zero idea how most allergies work so please don't get technical with me... also!!!! thank you so much for the love on part one eek i am on a roll i'm so happy to be writing this series.

taglist: @willows-lane @celosiastarr @nsr-15

#marauders x reader #marauders imagine #zee writes #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter x you

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lowkeyren · 1 day

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iridescent engravings!

in which — during the annual ball that was held with the sole purpose of finding a suitable candidate to be sunday’s future spouse, you (reluctantly) attended with no intention of winning his heart yet you were the only one he laid his eyes on the whole night.

pairing — sunday x gn!reader

༊*·˚✧.* — wc: 1k, unestablished relationship, love at first sight is real guys, idk why this took so long for me to write but it's finally here!!! likes and reblogs r appreciated, please enjoy <3

elegant crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling; with a hesitant sigh, you stepped on the polished marble floors, making your way into the ballroom. having received an invitation from the family around a week ago, and though you had initially baulked at the invitation, the prospect of declining without causing offense had left you with little choice but to attend.

it's just for a few hours, right… i'll be fine.

the sounds of violins accompanied by pianos filled the air as guests engaged in light conversations with each other. there was an obvious crowd surrounding the main star of the night. sunday was dressed in a refined and elegant suit, exuding effortless grace that seemed to radiate from every movement. you glanced at him, poor guy you think, he's surrounded by endless hordes of guests trying to make a good impression, seemingly never getting a moment to himself, he barely even has space to breathe!

you were too busy staring and you almost dropped your glass of wine as he happened to look over and lock eyes with you.

those mesmerizing eyes of his.

you quickly regained your composure and took a sip of your wine, silently praying that the night would end quicker. yet throughout the whole night, you couldn't help but feel eyes boring into your back, it felt like someone was watching you, but when you looked around, everyone was minding their own business. perhaps you’re just getting self-conscious here.

you kept to yourself mostly, except for a few occasions where some of your acquaintances had come up to you, you guys chatted for a bit and they left as quickly as they came. but still, you can't shake off that ominous feeling, it felt unsettling.

as the night wore on, you walked through the crowd, twirling the wine glass in your hands, the liquid swaying around, threatening to spill out. scanning the area, you spotted sunday across the room, seemed like this time you caught him staring instead. though neither of you broke eye contact, the weight of sunday's gaze bore down on you as you navigated through the crowd, the silent exchange of glances speaking volumes without a single word being uttered.

he thinks you’re lovely, truly. the most gorgeous one he ever laid his eyes on, and frankly, he ever will. he never wants to take his eyes off of you, not even for a moment.

despite the distance between you, the intensity of his stare drew you in like a magnet. the tension in the air seemed to thicken, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of nerves dancing in your stomach, his eyes pierced through the air and stayed firmly locked onto yours.

with each step he took, the distance between you shrunk, until finally, he stood before you, his sole presence left you breathless. (he is the most handsome man in penacony after all) his voice, smooth and angelic, broke through the silence as he greeted you with a charming smile, his words washed over you like a gentle breeze on a warm summer's night.

you tried your best to maintain your composure, subconsciously smoothing out your attire, you could feel the warmth rising to your cheeks. you could particularly smell the jealousy from the people around you. but none of that mattered. you allowed yourself to be swept away by sunday’s hypnotising eyes and alluring words.

“may i?”, he extends his hand, and a surge of anticipation courses through you. before you could fully comprehend the implications, your instinctive response slips past your lips.

"of course," the words escaping before your brain could catch up with your heart. you place your hand in his. with a gentle squeeze of your hand, you think he's going to lead you to the dance floor, what you didn't expect was for him to deftly slide a ring onto your index finger. a gasp escapes your lips and many others too. the delicate ring adorns your finger, it seems like it was made just for you, fitting perfectly.

the soft strains of music enveloping you like a warm embrace as he gently leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss onto your fingers. around you, the murmurs of the other guests fade into the background, leaving only the two of you suspended in time, lost in the moment.

“mr sunday, a moment please… it's urgent!”, the interruption jolts you back to reality, sunday's gaze flickers briefly in the direction of the voice, the servant shrinks in fear as he gives you an apologetic smile. prominent annoyance crossing sunday’s features before he turns his attention back to you, his expression softening once more.

"stay here, wait for me." he whispers, his voice tingling with regret as he reluctantly releases your hand. with one last glance, he stepped away, leaving you standing alone amidst the murmurs of the other guests, the sensation of his touch still raw on your skin.

you touch the ring on your finger, feeling your heart thump loudly. this wasn't how you had envisioned the night unfolding—your intention had never been to win his heart, yet somehow, he had given it to you anyway.

sunday wasn’t paying attention to whatever the servant was saying, his focus was solely fixed on you, admiring you, captivated by how adorable you looked as you inspected the ring with faint blush painting your cheeks. sunday's eyes trace the curve of your lips, with you standing there amidst the grandeur of the ballroom, he thinks you look far more majestic than any shall ever compare.

a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his chest swelling with a warmth that he hadn’t felt in ages. an infatuation that seems to grow stronger with each passing heartbeat. and the ring, a promise of something more to come, you just need to wait for him.

masterlist

#hsr x reader #sunday x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai starrail x reader #star rail x reader #hsr x you #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr fanfic #hsr fluff #honkai star rail x you #hsr imagines #sunday hsr #sunday x you #sunday fanfic #sunday honkai star rail

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gucciwins · 7 hours

Text

harry brings his girlfriend home to meet his family but it does not go as planned

word count: 5896

a/n: enjoy this story inspired by a lovely anon. happy reading, my sweet friends 💜

Y/N was nervous.

She squeezed Harry’s hand, trying to ground herself, but it seemed to transport her to the first time they met at the diner down the street from her apartment.

Going to university in Los Angeles wasn’t glamorous, not when she had endless bills to pay to keep a roof over her head. She had gone to Martha’s Cakes, a small diner ten minutes from her apartment that served the best hot chocolate. The food was good too but the hot chocolate is what she ordered each visit without fail. It’s a place she’d eat when Y/N had a bit of extra to spend on herself. Instead of buying herself new shoes, or another jelly cat bag charm (Otto, the sausage dog, went everywhere with her) she decided on eating a good meal that didn’t consist of ramen or buttered noodles. She came here when she needed a pick me up or simply wanted to have a nice conversation. It was a late Tuesday in the Spring. Where the sun took longer to come down, allowing her extra time at the bar to do assignments and chat with Antonio about the best produce sales. Y/N had her head down working on an essay due two weeks from now. It was based on one of Los Angeles buildings; it could be based on the oldest church to the Dodger Stadium. Y/N decided on the Avila Adobe residence. Known as the oldest standing residence in the City of Los Angeles. Olvera St. was a famous street and was filled with history. It was one of her favorite places to walk through.

As she was looking through photos, taking notes of significant dates, a patron sat next to her. Y/N didn’t bother seeing who it was, simply scooting her scattered papers closer to her, tucking a few under her laptop.

“It’s not bothering me.” A man spoke.

It startled Y/N only because he had a deep British voice. It felt odd to be hearing in such an unknown area.

“Darla would throw coffee on it if she saw I was bothering a customer.”

“I said it’s okay.”

Y/N laughs. “She would say it wasn’t.”

It seems the man lets it drop as he has nothing to reply. Y/N keeps up with updating her notes as she hears the man order a stack of the lemon poppy pancakes. Those were her favorite, Y/N would get them when she was having a bad day because it would without a fail make her smile. Y/N worked in silence over the next half hour when she felt the need to step to the restroom. Y/N did not want to pack up. Usually she asks a staff member to watch her items, but the diner seemed to be a bit busier. She looked around and her eyes landed on the pancake guy who had his headphones on. She hated bothering people, but he looked kind enough.

Y/N tapped next to his plate to get his attention. It worked because in seconds he slipped off his headphones and had turned his whole body to look at her. It gave her the chance to look at him fully for the first time. He had a buzz cut, and it looked really good. He had slight stubble, but what captured her attention were his bright jade eyes. It felt like he was staring deep into her soul.

“Do–uh–Would you please watch my stuff? I have to use the ladies’ room.”

“Course. Guard it with my life.”

Y/N thanked him and hurried away. When she came back, the man had slightly shifted over, his eyes staring intently at the dark screen of her laptop.

“Thank you,” she shot him a smile. Waking up her screen and getting back to her assignment, except she couldn’t get the man out of her head.

The dimples were something she focused on when he smiled, telling her it was no problem. Then his green eyes were so beautiful she felt she had seen them before. Though she could swear she had never met him before. She did have a weird feeling she had seen him before. Once it hit eight o’clock, Y/N knew it was time to call it. Y/N had her rough draft ready and could continue tomorrow. For now, she’d walk home and take a bath to wash away today’s day.

Y/N was packing up and could see the green-eyed gentleman was too. She would hate herself if she didn’t ask him where she knew him from, if she knew him. Y/N had her bag strapped on her shoulder and turned to him for the last time.

“Excuse me, sir?”

He turned, as if he was waiting to hear from her. “Yes?”

“How do I know you?”

The man’s smile dropped. He looked confused, so she didn’t know him.

“Don’t think we’ve met, until today, Y/N.”

Y/N’s frown deepens. “I didn’t tell you my name.”

He pointed to her bag. She looks down at the red stitching displaying her name. Well, now she looked dumb. Of course, he could read. “You look familiar to me. Sorry if that’s weird.”

The guy clears his throat, shaking his head. “I get that a lot.”

That’s odd, Y/N thought.

“I feel like I know you,” she tried one last time.

“Promise we don’t know each other. I would remember someone as beautiful as you.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped (not literally), but her face felt warm. Fuck, she was not expecting this turn of event. “Ha, uh. I want to say me too, but uh, there’s something familiar about you.”

Harry chuckles as if he knows something she doesn’t.

“Can I walk you out?” He asks.

She nods. He leaves a large tip and follows her to the exit. Y/N ways to Sonia, who shoots her thumbs up, but Y/N has no idea why. Y/N and the man linger outside the door, waiting to see who makes the first move.

“Well, uh, can I have your Instagram?” Y/N asks, not knowing if asking for his number was too forward. At least this way she could stalk him for a bit.

“Oh, I don’t use that. I can give you my number,” he counters.

Y/N perks up. “That works.” She hands him her phone where she watches his hands type in his phone number into her contacts. He hands her back her phone, and she looks at the newly added contact.

Harry S.

It seemed that’s all she needed for her to connect the dots. She lifts her head up and Harry has a flushed face. He didn’t look away from her, almost waiting to see what she’d say.

Y/N not sure how to break the silence. “Harry Sanchez?”

Harry laughs, and it’s all the confirmation Y/N needs. “More like Styles.”

“Oh.”

Did she fuck up her chances? She feels like she didn’t. She got his number.

“What can I use your number for?” She asks, wanting to double check. He still wants her to have it.

“Hopefully for us to plan a date.”

“Even after this,” she points between them as if to explain what they know just happened.

“I’d like to see where it could go.”

“Shit, uh. Well–I’m free Thursday.” Harry smirks, making her want to crawl in a hole because now she feels desperate. “I’m going to leave.”

Harry stops her by grabbing her hand. “I think Thursday is perfect. Are you up for a sunset dinner by the beach?”

“Sounds perfect,” she promised him.

“Good. Thursday it is.”

Now she is standing in front of his childhood home, about to meet his mother and older sister. Y/N had spoken to his mother, Anne, on the phone a few times, but his sister was always busy when Harry tried to pass her the phone. Harry promised her it would go well, but she feared the worst. Their story was genuine but to others could sound fabricated but come on, no one knows Martha’s cakes, it’s not even on Yelp. It’s a place once stumbled upon and then shares the magic with people in their life.

Harry said he felt like coffee and walked for a while until he saw people walk out. The smell of coffee is what drew him in, but the pretty girl he sat next to had him stay for hours. It’s something he shared months down the line. Y/N and Harry had now been together for nine months. Because of her Master’s Y/N had no time to travel. Harry visited home often, but Y/N couldn’t drop everything she was doing to go with him. He understood, but she felt his family wouldn’t. Harry met her dad and twin brothers six months into dating because they lived down in San Diego, only a two-hour drive from them. While Harry’s family lived an ocean away and she refused for him to pay for her flight to London. On top of that, she had classes and exams to worry about that did not allow her to hop on a flight for a week. Thankfully, she made it through the winter semester and had a few weeks off from her internship before going back for her last semester. Y/N knew graduation was just around the corner, and thankfully, had little debt to pay off.

Harry held her tight as he led her up the steps. Y/N was walking slower, trying to prolong the introduction. In her mind, she hoped she was simply psyching herself out and that things actually went well with Harry’s family. That they accepted her because they could see how much she loved him.

“You ready, Lovie?” Harry flashed her a dimpled grin.

Truthfully, she wanted to say no, but Y/N couldn’t do that to him. Not when he was bouncing with excitement. “Ready.” She confirmed.

Harry gave two loud knocks and then opened the front door. Y/N stood behind him as he rushed to embrace his mother. Anne was a sweet woman, much shorter than Harry, but by the tight embrace she held Harry, Y/N could tell she was strong.

Anne gave Harry two big kisses, one on each cheek, before turning her attention to Y/N.

“Y/N!” Anne cheered. She said it with so much delight, it surprised Y/N.

In a matter of seconds, someone tightly wrapped Y/N in a hug, which she quickly reciprocated. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mrs. Twist.”

Anne waved her off. “Call me Anne, my dear.”

“Anne,” Y/N repeated.

“Now come in and tell me all about the trip. Did he trick you into going to that fancy lounge where you get free food?” Y/N giggled because Harry indeed took her to a fancy lounge when he said he was taking her to get a smoothie.

Y/N spared a smile at Harry, but it was quick to fall when Y/N met another pair of eyes in the kitchen, looking at her with an intense stare. It dropped quickly because her attention shifted to Harry. Y/N focused back on Anne, trying to brush off the moment as something she imagined.

Y/N tried her best to ignore the pit forming in her stomach. There was no need to worry. Harry talked about wonderful things about his family. She was in safe hands. At least that’s what she kept reminding herself.

Y/N didn’t feel welcome. Anne was a gem, but Gemma was cold and looked bored whenever Y/N said a word. Y/N wondered if Harry picked up on it. He hadn’t said a word. Harry was home and had no time to deal with Y/N’s insecurities. She had to be reading into Gemma, not liking her. Harry spoke the world of his older sister. He said she was his best friend, someone whose opinion he valued. Fear struck her. If Gemma didn’t like her after this visit, she knew that as soon as she got on that plane to go home, Harry would be breaking up with her. At least she’d had several hours to cry about on the plane pathetically.

“There’s no way she didn’t know who you were,” Gemma scoffed, unbelieving of their story.

Harry brushed off her comment as if she said nothing. “Gem, I was bald.”

“Your face didn’t change.”

Harry sighs, “no, but you did a double take when I showed up to your doorstep to show you.”

Gemma frowns, knowing he was right. “Whatever, you were all over twitter.”

Harry is beginning to pick up on his sister’s defense and knows to drop it but will be picking it up with her later. “Anyway. Sitting next to each other, she asked me to watch her stuff when she had to use the restroom.”

“To look you up,” Gemma coughs.

Y/N fidgets in her chair, wanting to be anywhere but here. Harry continues with his story. “She thanked me and went back to her work. Before she left, Y/N asked if we knew each other, but I told her we didn’t. I wouldn’t forget someone as beautiful as her.”

“Charming,” Anne gloats. “My charming boy.”

Harry finished the story, stating it was meant to be. He had loved spending the time in Los Angeles getting to see the city through Y/N’s eyes. It’s a city she’s been living in for a couple of years. There was a lot for her to share with him. Harry had taken a liking to her favorite coffee shop. It had a design resembling a greenhouse and filled with plants, mainly featuring dried lavender. Truthfully, he spent a lot of time there because it was Y/N’s preferred place to study because it never got busy. Y/N called it her hidden gem.

“I’ve never been happier,” Harry shares. Y/N beams at his words but can’t help glancing at Gemma, who can’t help but look sick to her stomach at hearing this news.

Dinner passed dreadfully slowly. Y/N comments when she needs to but honestly hopes to disappear for the night soon, no longer wanting to burden Gemma with her presence. While Anne showed Y/N where she could freshen up, Harry stayed downstairs to share a nightcap with his sister.

Anne comes back to join them, but Gemma bites her tongue until their mother bids them goodnight. Harry gives his mother a tight embrace, commenting on how much he missed her. Gemma was happy her younger brother was home.

“Are you happy, Harry?” Gemma breaks the silence that had fallen between them.

Harry sighs, “never been happier.”

Gemma frowns, because she believes him. “I-I-nevermind.”

Harry frowns because Gemma is never someone to stop herself from saying what’s on her mind. “Hey,” he places his hand on top of hers. “It’s me. Your annoying younger brother, you can tell me anything.”

She removes her hand from under his and places them on her lap. “I don’t think she’s right for you.”

Harry sits back, surprised. “Sorry?”

“It’s clear she’s after something.”

He’s having a hard time believing his sister. “Like what?”

“Your money.”

“Is that all I’m good for?” He asks, baffled.

“No. That’s why I’m telling you. She’s after one thing.”

“How would you know?”

“Come on,” Gemma scoffs. “She goes to a prestigious school with a cost that no one could afford. It’s clear she wants you to pay for it.”

“Gemma, I met her during her last year.”

“Debt doesn’t go away overnight,” she fights back. “She’ll get you to pay off her loans and leave you.”

Harry’s anger is overwhelming him.

“You don’t even know her. Yet you say bad things about her.” It shuts Gemma up, and he uses that to his advantage and walks away.

“We saw the donation you made,” Gemma comments before he can make it up the stairs.

He turns back, trying his best to swallow down his anger. “If you would have asked me, you would know it’s for the music program. I did that for several universities if you would have taken the time to do a bit more research. It grants them a scholarship, plus pays for room and board.”

Gemma has no response. Harry is now standing in front of her and Gemma is nervous. She had never seen her brother this upset.

“What I do with my money is my problem. If she wanted me to send her money for a new car, I would. If she wanted me to buy her a piece of land, I would do it in a blink of an eye. If Y/N asked me to give her every last dime in my account, I would do it without a second thought because I love her. I love her and she loves me. You know, five minutes is not enough to judge her. I do not have to tell you of her financial issues, but I will so you can go home tonight and sleep knowing how upset I am with you. Y/N received the presidential scholarship covering her tuition for the three years she was there. Y/N has applied to hundreds of scholarships to cover her book fees, and has to take on an unpaid internship while working 40 hours a week to cover her rent. Y/N has not accepted a single dime from me for her school because she has gotten this far without me. Y/N only lets me pay for her seven dollar coffee every other day. Y/N would rather give every last dollar to me if I needed it instead of keeping it for herself. Y/N still sends money to her twin brothers for new shoes, or new backpacks, because she loves her family.”

Harry is near tears but keeps going. “I love Y/N. You might not, maybe you never will, but that girl has been the best thing to happen to me. I’ve never been more cared for and loved since she entered my life. So please, don’t bother coming back tomorrow or the rest of the week unless you have an apology for her.”

Y/N is grateful Harry’s room connects to the bathroom because, while she finished getting ready, she thought she would ask Harry for a cup of water and instead stumbled upon a conversation she shouldn’t have. Y/N tries her best to swallow her tears, but it’s no use. They’re more powerful than her. They stream down and Y/N decides to lie in bed, hoping by the time Harry comes in, she’s fast asleep. Y/N isn’t sure how much time has passed, but her tears have dried up and she’s as still as a rock when she hears Harry come in. She wants to tell him that she’s not worth defending if it means he’s messing up his relationship with his sister.

She hears him get ready for bed. Y/N knows he’s folding his clothes and placing them on the chair. He’s meticulous about his night-time routine. He crawls into bed next to her. Y/N tries her best to steal her breathing to make it seem like she’s sleeping, but Harry knows her too well. He scoots right behind her, his hand sliding over her hips and settling on her stomach, right by the scar she got on her eight birthday when she fell off her bike. Harry rubs the lifted skin, where she got four stitches.

Y/N lets out a deep breath, working up the courage to say something, but her throat is closed. She relaxes against him. All her tears dried up. She is beginning to feel better now that she’s with him. A kiss to her temple has her heart slowing down. This is what it is to be protected.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N croaks out when she feels like enough time has passed.

Harry pulls her tight against him. It fills her with ease. “How much did you hear?”

Y/N shakes her head. “I don’t want you to argue with your family.”

“It’s only my sister,” he defends.

“She’s an important person in your life. You’ve always specified that.”

Harry sighs. He leaves a kiss behind Y/N’s ear. “You are important to me, too.”

“You don’t need to be fighting. It’s not necessary.”

“It is when she needs a wack to her head.”

“Harry,” Y/N drags out. “I don’t want you burning bridges.”

Harry understood where she was coming from, but Y/N was not seeing how it affected him as well. “We’ll be fine. She’s my sister. We’ll talk in a few days. All this will be in the past.”

Y/N freezes, feeling as if someone dropped a cold bucket of water on her. If Harry believes everything will be alright with his sister, that means he sees himself forgiving her for what she said but also means he would be getting rid of the problem. Her.

Harry was going to be breaking up with her. This started her tears to fall again, only this time she couldn’t keep quiet. They were pouring out of her at a quick rate. He was quick to sit up bringing Y/N with him.

“Hey, hey,” Harry cooed. “What happened? What did I do?”

“Y-y-you,” she stuttered. Nothing was coming out.

He would not rush her. Instead, he shifted her to straddle his lap. Y/N tucked her head into his neck. Hary felt his neck dampen with tears. He pressed soft kisses to her hair, whispering “I love you,” hoping it would be enough to calm her. He snaked a hand under her night shirt softly running his nails up and down her back. Y/N curled in closer at the action. His sweet girl was feeling overwhelmed, and he felt awful because he wasn’t being helpful.

Y/N pulled away. Her eyes were puffy and tears streaming down her cheeks. Harry still thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her hands moved from her side up to his neck, she settled them on his cheek. She caressed his face, calming him down. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he was, but it’s clear Y/N could see what he needed even in her moments of sadness.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N voiced. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry frowned. No one had said anything about him leaving. He would never dream of walking away from her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“But Gemma–”

He cuts her off. “Gemma doesn’t know you like I do. She is looking out for me and I know she meant no harm, but she went about all this wrong. She decided to judge us, judge you before getting to know you.”

Y/N did no wrong. She was nothing Gemma accused her of. Y/N knew that, of course she did, but Y/N hoped to impress his family, not make them upset.

“I know you, Lovie. My mum knows you. Mostly, you know yourself. Your character speaks for you and it has never been anything but kind and loving.”

Harry’s words slowly begin to mend her heart.

“I love you, Harry.”

He connects his lips with hers in a loving kiss. “I love you so much.”

Y/N falls asleep to Harry’s voice as he sings her to sleep. It’s a lullaby he says his mum would sing when he had a nightmare. While Y/N didn’t know how tomorrow would go, she was happy to have Harry at her side.

The morning passed slowly between the three of them. They shared stories with Anne, Harry, catching her up on his upcoming plans. Y/N talked about her looming graduation and told Anne about her thesis project. Anne promised to make the trip for her graduation, something Harry couldn’t stop gloating about how she was top of her class on her way to graduate summa cum laude. Y/N had stepped outside wanting to enjoy all the open land Anne had. The cats happily roamed around Y/N as she settled in the grass. Y/N thought of her dad at home and what he’d have to say about the situation. He’d probably tell her to run while she could, but Y/N knew Harry was her person. Y/N laid down, closed her eyes and took in all the surrounding noise. She heard birds chirping, a purring in the distance and the rush of the wind hitting the wind chimes. It was perfect.

There was a loud band that had Y/N sitting up in a hurry. She looked back and realized it was the back door. Anne had stepped out, Y/N could see Harry in the kitchen, hands moving rapidly, and she knew he wasn’t alone. Anne sat not to Y/N, neither of them saying a word.

“My daughter owes you an apology.”

“Anne–”

She stops Y/N. “No, I raised her better than that. I’m not sure when she got so protective, but it’s clearly not for the best. Harry is nearing 30 he doesn’t need his sister looking out for him. While I’m glad they have each other, this was unnecessary. It caused a lot of hurt that should have never existed.”

“Thank you.”

“You don’t have to talk to her if you’re not comfortable.”

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. She dreaded talking to Gemma, but Y/N knew she’d feel worse if she went home and never talked this out with her. “I’m willing. I-I might need time to forgive her.”

Anne squeezed Y/N’s hand. “That’s perfectly alright. Now tell me about these brothers of yours.”

Y/N spent the rest of the evening with Anne, forgetting about her problems. It isn’t until Harry called them both in for dinner that they realized they spent hours outside.

Harry greeted her with a kiss.

Dinner went off without a hitch, the three of them sharing all kinds of stories. Mostly Harry interrupting Anne to tell her a new story about Y/N he remembered. Harry that night promised he was alright with Gemma. He was feeling hurt. Assured her he loved her, but needed time to move past it.

Y/N woke up early the next morning and decided to go on a walk along the river. Harry told her it felt never ending. They had walked it once every day, but today she went alone, letting Harry sleep in but also have that extra time with Anne. As Y/N walked, she thought of her brothers and how they would love to be throwing rocks in the river. Y/N was sure one of them would even fall in on accident. The weather would pique her dad’s interest. He was a sunshine man. She was sure the gloomy weather would be too much for him to handle.

Two hours later, Y/N came back and was taken aback by Gemma’s presence on the front steps of the house, holding a thermal mug.

“Hi,” Y/N greeted.

“Morning, nice walk?” Gemma asked.

Small talk. It was safe. “Mhm, Harry showed me the trail he liked to walk on.”

“Mmm…coffee?” Gemma offered.

“Uh, I’m okay,” Y/N rejected.

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.”

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words.

“I’m sorry” are Gemma’s first words. “I’m sorry talking about you behind your back, even more sorry that you overheard.” Gemma looks sincere, and Y/N nods for her to continue. “I love Harry. He’s the best brother, and a person in general. He cares so much that I fear he’s gotten screwed over so much in life because he trusts with his heart and not his head.”

Y/N frowns, because that’s one of the things she loves most about Harry. How welcoming he is with his kind nature and how much love he spreads every day whether it’s through his music or holding the door open for a stranger. It all adds up to show that he’s a person full of love.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her.

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.”

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready.

“I love Harry. I think we have a wonderful relationship.” Y/N knows Gemma might not want to hear this, but it is important he does. “Harry loves communication. I swear we’ve never had an argument that didn’t end in us making up. He gives me my space but makes sure to be near. I’m reminded of his love every second of every day, whether he’s with me or not. I’m not sure if I make him feel loved every minute, but I do my best to remind him in my actions and words. I’m big on writing notes. He’s received a few love letters. I’m sure he’d show you if you asked.” Gemma tries her best to hide her surprise, but it’s written all over her face. “I’ve only heard wonderful stories about you, Gemma. I’m sure they’re all true, but I know Harry thought we might become friends.” Y/N pauses. “Even if that doesn’t happen, I do want you to know I respect you. For however long I’m around, I know that I respect you, even if it might take some time for me to trust you.”

Gemma has tears running down her face. “I’m sorry. I never provided you with an opportunity. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I am really sorry. Meeting the family is always hard, and I fucking ruined it.”

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.”

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully.

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.”

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.”

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, pretty girl.”

Gemma looked dejected, but continued on. “Do-Is it okay if we talk?”

Y/N nodded. “Sure.”

Y/N approached Gemma sitting on the opposite end of the same step. She wouldn’t be the first to talk, but it looked like Gemma was figuring out her words.

“Those are his mistakes to make. His own hurt to go through. Life isn’t all sunshine.” Y/N tells her.

Gemma sighs heavily. “I know. Sometimes I feel like he’s still the same kid who cried when I would go out without him.”

“That hasn’t been him for a long time.”

“I know.”

It’s clear Gemma has something deeper than she has to figure out and talk with Harry about, but it seems that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she is ready.

“It’s not okay, but we’ll give it time. Time heals.”

“Thank you for hearing me out.” Gemma tells her gratefully.

Y/N smiles. “Are you joining us for breakfast? Harry promised to make lemon ricotta pancakes.”

“I’d like that. I’ll head in soon. I want to finish my coffee.”

Y/N heads inside, where she finds Harry at the stove wearing an apron. She wraps her arms around his waist, resting her head between his shoulder blades.

“Morning, pretty girl.”

“Hi, Harry. I love you.”

Y/N knows he’s grinning. “I love you too. Even if you left me alone this morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” she defends. “You always told me a morning walk here cleared your head.”

“And did it?”

“Mmm…like magic.”

“Are you okay, Lovie?” Harry turns off the stove. He turns around, setting his hands on Y/N’s waist. His hair makes her laugh as she sees it sticking in different directions.

“We talked. She apologized. Promise I’m okay. It still hurts, but I’ll try my best to forgive her for you.”

Harry tuts his tongue. “No, honey.” Y/N tilts her head, confused. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“But she’s your–”

“She’s my sister, but that doesn’t mean you have to change how you feel about me. I promise I am with you. She made a mistake, and I’ll forgive her but at my own time. You take your time as well.”

Y/N feels overwhelmed all over again because she really did get lucky with Harry. “I love you so much.”

“I love you more, my love. So much more.”

Harry gives her a kiss. A promise that everything will be alright.

thank you for reading my beautiful friends! let me know your favorite parts

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles angst #harry styles story #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n #harry styles angst story #harry styles fic rec #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction

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killerlookz · 10 hours

Note

Hello my fellow Criminal Minds fan! 😊

May I please request headcanons for Spencer falling for a female agent who’s cynical about love and relationships due to being hurt in the past?

a/n: thank you sm for the request! i'd be happy to write this for you! :-)

Falling in Love Again | Spencer Reid Headcannons

pairing: spencer reid x f!reader

content: mentions of reader having been cheated on in the past, uhhhh that's really it haha

word count: 1,478 (sorry she's so long)

Spencer Reid had always been excited about falling in love, the thought of being so close to another person- to share so much with someone was such a wonderful thing to him.

Especially after watching his mom and dad growing up, and the way his father treated her-Spencer was dead set on never becoming anything like him, he looked forward to treating a woman right and spending the rest of his life with her.

But, for as excited as he was he was probably 20 times more nervous about the whole falling in love thing.

So when you came around, and he started to experience that warm, creeping feeling in his chest- he felt a little bit like his world was going to end.

Spencer had never made a move on anyone before, sure he did make out with Lila Archer that one time but he didn't exactly initiate it.

Spencer decided just to channel all of his romantic interest in becoming friends with you, at least he got to spend time with you, that's what really mattered to him. Maybe one day it would turn into something more.

Well.. he hoped until he couldn't help but overhear...

"I went on my first date in months last night, and all this guy did was talk about himself the entire time- didn't let me get a word out, I mean, can you believe it?" Emily says, exasperated

You look up at her as she stands in front of your desk, "Oh, trust me Emily, I can believe it." You shake your head

"I mean," She throws her hands up, "What is it with men? What's wrong with them."

"Everything," You smirk, "They're men. I can't remember I had a good experience with one of them- never maybe?" You laugh. "I've given up on dating."

Your words sunk into Spencer's brain, leaving him with a heavy feeling all around he felt awful- not just about the fact that his chances with you seemed to reduce to zero right there in that moment, but because of how upset you seemed under your sarcastic exterior, he could tell you'd really been hurt before.

A few weeks later you're out for drinks with Emily, Penelope, Morgan, Spencer, and JJ. Amidst the loud, drunken conversations and music at the bar- you can hear the faint chiming sounds of your ring tone, Who would be calling this late?

As you take your phone from your pocket, your stomach drops when you see the number flashing on the screen. The mere sight of those 10 digits making you want to throw your phone to the ground and stomp on it until nothing remains.

"Ooooh, who's that calling." Morgan smirks

You look him dead in the eyes and respond flatly, "My ex."

Morgan's smile doesn't fade instead his smirk seems to deepen, "You two got a little thang goin on?"

"No," You shove your phone back in your pocket, "More like he's trying to get back in my pants after cheating on me- twice."

"Ooh!" Morgan responds, wincing, "So he's a dog."

"A pig is more like it." You scoff, "Who does he think he is. I can't even imagine giving my time to another man again, and even if I could- what makes him so confident I'd give him the time of day."

That familiar heavy pain hits Spencer again.

He's staring at you, and it's like the rest of the bar doesn't even exist. Only you, as you bite your lip, trying to hide any emotion in your face.

Spencer has become good at reading your emotions, maybe it's because he spends so much time with you- maybe it's because of how often he finds himself staring at your face. As much as you try to seem nonchalant, he could tell how upset you are.

Spencer would spend more time than he wanted to admit fantasizing about treating you well, about giving you the love you never seemed to have.

Every time you made a snarky comment about love, or how men had treated you in the past Spencer would want so desperately bad to just tell you about how well he would treat you, how he would never ever hurt you, how he would spend his entire life taking care of you.

The words were practically scratching up his throat, begging to be let out. But still, he would just swallow them down, and give you a sympathetic look, he couldn't muster up being able to do anything more.

At the very least, Spencer's plan of becoming friends with you was working.

The two of you would become very good friends.

Spencer would learn everything he could about you, he would want to know as much as possible.

Not in a weird creepy way- but in a he just thinks you're so amazing he can't get enough of you sort of way.

Every time you and Spencer hung out he wouldn't be able to ignore that nagging feeling, the thought of putting an arm around you and pulling you close, of holding your hand in his, or placing a delicate kiss on your cheek.

The thoughts would eat away at Spencer, and he would only fall more, and more in love with you.

Still, he would lose more hope every time you divulged information about your prior encounters with love. He couldn't blame you for feeling so cynical it, not after what you'd been through.

Spencer would think about his mom, about all the wives Rossi had been through, about Hotch and Hailey, about you- he would wonder why love had to be so painful for some people. He was sure he would never hurt somebody he loved.

One day you're over Spencer's apartment, watching a rom-com, and you make a snide remark, "Oh, real love isn't like that." You scoff and roll your eyes.

Spencer doesn't know what it is, but something in him makes him respond, "It could be." He says meekly

You look up at him, caught off guard at his disagreement, "Hm?" you hum

Spencer wasn't able to take it any more, he hated hearing your cynical nature. He would need you to know how you deserved the entire world.

"Love- It can be like the movies." He affirms his stance.

"Not in my experience."

"I would give you love like that." Spencer would tremble as he makes his confession, so unsure of what would happen next.

He would be terrified of your reaction, scared he was about to mess everything up, ruin any future the two of you had together, and even worse, lose your friendship.

"W-what do you mean, Spence."

"I mean, you always talk about how you've been hurt before, and it just-" He takes a deep breath in, contemplating what he's going to say next, "I love you, y/n," He looks down at his lap, then back up at you, "I would never hurt you."

Despite the obvious passion in Spencer's voice, you were still hesitant about it, but everything inside of you told you to give Spencer a chance.

Spencer would insist on taking things slow, you were his first real relationship and he wouldn't want to rush things, for both his and yours sake. He wouldn't pressure you to put a label on things, or even say you're "dating"- those would come on your own time.

Spencer was determined to make you believe in love again, and he would do everything in his power to make sure you knew without a doubt how he felt about you.

Spencer would often get to work before you to surprise you with coffee and a breakfast sandwich, or a donut on your desk in the mornings.

He would insist on having a date night at least once a week, even if the two of you were on a case, ordering room service or finding a local pizza restaurant way late at night was sufficient, as long as the two of you got to spend time together.

Spencer would be hesitant about PDA or really moving too quickly into being too affectionate, still, he would frequently hold your hand, squeezing it tight when he could tell you were stressed or upset- either by a case or by life in general, he just wanted to give you that extra reassurance that he was there for you.

Spencer would really put the work in, he'd exert more effort than you had ever seen from any past relationship into even the tiniest things.

Spencer wouldn't mind though, anything he could do to reassure you that he loves and cares about you, he would do it.

Every little act of love and gratitude would be worth it to him.

He would savor and cherish every hug, every shared glance, every peck on the forehead, on the cheek, on the lips.

It was all worth it to him, every second of it- all he wanted to do was make you smile, to make you fall in love again.

#spencer reid #spencer reid headcannons #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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yuuuhiii · 3 days

Note

omg hi if you’re still doing matchups i wanted to request a jjk one please! mmm readers pretty soft spoken, and very quiet. def a listener rather than a talker. a little bit dry honestly and pretty much relies on others to keep the conversation going😭 what else let me think…mm idk really likes cats? pretty girly i suppose but doesn’t like being called out on it☝️ omg super shy and hesitant in relationships but craves attention anyways. i think that’s it, thank you!!

i match you with YUUJI ITADORI ᥫ᭡

Yuuji is infatuated.

For the umpteenth time he’s out with Nobara. And this time he’s silently thanking her for forcing him to come because he would have never seen you. You’re so gorgeous, he thinks. He’s moving before he can even think but he’s not against it.

“Hey.” He says and you tense.

He’s tall, big, and attractive. You smell a faint perfume on him, and he has big eyes that remind you of a puppy. You’re sure if he has a tail, it’d be wagging.

“Uh! This probably really weird. But you’re so beautiful I was wondering if I could get to know you.”

You’re taken aback by his words and boldness. You were going to politely decline yet those damn eyes and smile held you from doing so.

That was the first day Yuuji had talked to you and now you guys were dating.

It had taken quite sometime for Yuuji to get you comfortable and to open up around him. However he did accept that that’s also just how you were as a person.

You were a woman of few words and he had no problem with it. He’d love to ramble about anything and everything as you hummed and looked pretty.

Although when it came to you coming by a cat, he swears he’d die of cuteness overload. The way you just naturally attract them and the smile you adorn has him wanting to kiss your face off.

Cuteness aggression was definitely his thing.

Especially when you’d get shy over his compliments. The first time he kisses you and pulled away, he whispered against your lips.

“You’re so perfect.” He could feel the exact moment you turned red and he smiled big.

Every moment after that he’d call you pet names, never failing to let you know how beautiful you were inside and out. One thing Yuuji did notice about you though was how shy you were to initiate affection. He’s still not used to it, when you crave his attention and actually act on it.

Like the one time you knocked on his door, evening hours.

“Oh? Hi cutes.” He smiles and you flush. You don’t say anything but you hug him and he freezes. His arms quickly cage you in against him.

“You okay?” He asks, voice laced with concern.

You hum, “I just missed you.” He immediately smiles, kissing the crown of your head he pulls you in his room.

Or the time you were once again in his room as he played video games. The whole time he could feel your staring and he’d noticed the way you’d fidget with your hands. Eyes still on the tv, he speaks.

“Are you okay, pretty?” He sees you jump, eyes moving quickly.

You then stand up and as he’s about to tell you to kindly move but you kiss him. His controller falls to the floor, making you jump away.

“N-No!” He squeaks out, his eyes lidded and a pretty blush on his face.

“Kiss me again.” He says mindlessly and with the both of you red as a tomato, you do as he says.

You don’t have to use your words, you don’t have to lift your finger because Yuuji knows you. He knows what you like and what you hate. It’s easy for him to give you just what you want without you asking him.

In this case, cuddling. He scoop you in his arms, laying you against him as your breath would even against him.

Yuuji loves how reserved and soft you are, you ground him and keep him sane.

What would he do without you.

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wittlesissyb4by · 6 hours

Text

Normalcy

"I'm so sorry! This…this never happens!!”

She drew her lips in a line and nodded, like she’d heard it a thousand times before, then went back to smacking her gum as she balled up the soggy diaper with practiced precision.

“No! I’m serious! I’m a grown man!! It’s not like I walk around pissing myself all the time!”

She scoffed, then shrugged. “Well you weren’t doing much walking—first of all—more like waddling. But you mean to tell me you never wet yourself? You’ve never wet a diaper before?”

“No…i…”

She inclined her head to the corner of the room, where a big sack of loaded diapers sat in a blue see-through bag.

“Okay…fine, I do. But only after a very long time period!! You don’t understand! My wife will leave me in them for the whole day!”

“I’ve only been here for an hour…”

“Yes but…” i wanted to tell her that was because my wife had made me drink three entire baby bottles of nasty fluids before she left. I tried to hold it. I really did. I didn’t want her little ‘babysitter’ to see me in a soggy diaper. In hindsight, i should have just let it all out with my wife and begged her to change me before she went off with that other dude. “It’s not a regular thing!”

“She told me you wet the bed.” The girl said, hardly even blinking as she taped my plump padding into a ball.

It was hard to explain that one away. Sure, there were several drunken nights where I’d blacked out and woken up with wet sheets in our marital bed. My wife was none too happy, but somehow those incidents kept happening even when I was sober, until she finally grew sick of it.

“So how long have you been in diapers?” The girl asked, setting my old one to the side and grabbing a fresh pamper. She asked it so casually, like it was a common point of conversation.

“3 months…” I said, unable to deny it anymore. “For the last two weeks it’s been 24/7. She…threw out all my underwear.”

The girl nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary, tapping my thighs, apparently signaling for me to lift. I did so without incident, allowing her to slide the new diaper underneath.

“Do you make poo poo’s in them too?”

“No!” I said instinctively, but again she looked at me like a rugrat attempting an obvious lie.

“So if I go put your head in that bag, you won’t suffocate under a cloud of your own shit?”

Her words were cold, I had a feeling she’d do it too.

“Okay…fine. I do…”

“Do what?”

“P-poop…”

“Poop where?” She grinned, still smacking her gum, “I want you to tell me.”

I scrunched up my nose, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I poop in the diapers.”

But she wasn’t satisfied, “now tell me wike a baybee!”

She couldn’t be serious, but when her face turned stern with impatience, it told me that she probably wasn’t someone I should cross.

“Uh…i…” I felt my voice growing smaller, higher, “I make poo poo’s in my pampies!!”

She smiled wide at that. “How do you poop?”

“I…what?” I asked, voice returning to normal.

“How do you do it? Do you crouch? Get down on hour haunches and make a pushy? Or have you learned to go in any position already? All the men I babysit have a different method. It’s adorable. One of them even has to sit on the potty in order to go!“

“I just…do it…I guess. I dunno?” Usually squatting, it came out surprisingly easy that way, but I didn’t want to tell her that, and she didn’t press further, just seemed intent on making me blush.

“Well…I don’t feel like changing a poopy diaper today. So you’re going to get the plug, okay?”

P-plug?

She reached into her diaper bag that she brought herself, and pulled out a rather large silicon buttplug.

“Oh…i dunno…” I said, squirming on top of the diaper splayed out beneath me. “My wife and I don’t really do butt stuff…”

But she just smiled and squirted some lube on it, painting the glob over it with her fingers. “It’s cute that you think you have a say in the matter.” She giggled, “legs up!”

Before I knew it, my ankles were in the air. It was like she had some sort of power over me that I couldn’t resist.

I winced as she pressed the plug to my hole, gently working it in and out, in and out. I had to bite my lip to keep the squeals (and moans?) in. It felt…surprisingly good.

By the time she’d worked it all the way in, there was a little puddle leaking out of my chastity cage. It had spread onto my belly button while my legs were in the air.

“Sorry…” I said as she grabbed a baby wipe to clean up the sticky mess I’d made.

"Don't worry about it.” She smiled, amused. “It's...normal..."

“Is it?” I asked, feeling a sense of relief.

“Sure.” She shrugged, but it came off sarcastic. “Well…not normal to be a grown man in diapers. To poop said diapers. Not normal to have your wife go off and hire a babysitter to change your diapers. And definitely not normal to have another man fuck your wife. But leaking a little cum through your chastity cage while getting a plug shoved up your ass?” She tossed the sticky wipe down into my open diaper, lifting the front so she could tape it on, “yea, I guess that’s pretty ‘normal’…”

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losersiren · 3 days

Text

Yandere! Vault Dweller

N: I just finished the Fallout show, went on YouTube and fell down a rabbit hole of lore about the game. I decided Vault 11 shall be sacrificed (hehe). Everything I put in this fic is from the videos I've watched and the fan wiki, so it's like semi-accurate… Cw: talks about suicide, suicide (not the reader), violence, yandere tendencies, gore(?), death, manipulation, coercion, talks of death, should be gn! reader safe.... if not, put me in the chamber WC: 2.2k

Quiet. It was quiet. The silence is deafening, yet the ringing in your ear grows louder and louder, each second feeling as if eons had passed. The automated computer voice repeats in your head like a catchy song you’ll hear on those dusty records, the ones Mama used to play and dance to.

“Congratulations, citizens of Vault 11! You have made the decision not to sacrifice one of your own. You can walk with your head held high, knowing that your commitment to human life is a shining example to us all. And to make that feeling of pride even sweeter, I have some exciting news. Despite what you were led to believe, the population of Vault 11 is not going to be exterminated for its disobedience. Instead, the mechanism to open the main vault door has now been enabled, and you can come and go at your leisure. But not so fast! Be sure to check with your overseer to find out if it's safe to leave. Here at Vault-Tec, your safety is our number one priority.”

You were young when your parents escaped the bombs to the vault you're situated in right now; you grew up believing that damned computer about sacrifices and watched your fellow vault mates get killed one by one. You waited for the time it would be you in that same chamber. Now, with this information surfaced…they died for what? An experiment? What would have happened if you had been voted overseer…

The lump in your throat grows heavier, and the arguments and yelling in the background become more and more apparent that you can't ignore them anymore. Your eyes drift to the man standing tall and proud beside you, Charli, his hair still somehow slick back; he still looks perfect even after the maddening chaos of events that transpired these past few days. His blue jumpsuit was as crisp as an ironed suit that the actors would wear from the moving pictures on television before the vault. His expression is as vacant as his blue eyes, his soft lips decorated with a barely visible smile. As he watches the other three vault survivors argue, Your brows furrow.

Why isn’t he affected by the news like everyone else? This information is soul-crushing and life-changing!

Then again, you reason with yourself that maybe this is his way of coping; who are you to judge and microanalysis him like some psycho? Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep or the sense of safety ripped out of your hand like candy stolen from a baby. Heavens, you might nearly flip your lid entirely if something else happens. You sigh. To believe you almost were insinuating that Charli would even be a drop suspicious, and of what, exactly? He saved and shielded you from the massacre that only left the five of you remaining; he was your childhood best friend..how could you? You reprimand yourself.

His eyes finally meet yours, and the sympathy and worry you sought appeared when the blonde saw how distressed you were. “Are you alright?” his soft voice fills your head–drowning out the talks of whether the group should commit suicide in honour of your dead vault men or venture into the outside world to educate others on how your vault was misled. You were somewhat dissociated from the whole conversation. Reasonably so.

His hands, soft yet calloused, turn your head side to side to check for any visible injuries he might’ve missed, which he shouldn’t have—knitted eyebrows and razor-sharp eyes search frantically for anything.

Charles or… As you’ll call him later in your relationship, Charlie, has always been like this. When you met him, he was a reserved kid, a trait that would carry on from his pubescent to adolescent years.

When other kids grew out of their shyness and worrisome attitude and eventually adapted to the vault, he was pushed aside. Well, that wouldn’t be the only reason. His father was the first overseer of Vault 11, the same overseer who thought the best course of action was not to tell the vault residents about the sacrificial system they were now to live with. That same choice he made was the reason for his death, and he was the first to test the new system. He wasn’t a good man. He was greedy, a neglectful father and husband, and so on. A family now ruined by one man’s ill-considered decision; Charles's mom wasn’t much better, the textbook definition of a hypocrite. Bad-mouthing her dead husband, the same one she defended when said husband would push his son away.

Most would fear having no one at the end of the world, but it became Charles's life; while everyone adapted to vault life, Charles adapted to the misfortune of the consequences of his old man’s actions. You decided one day to talk to him while others stood clear. It was a simple conversation; others would just brush it off…which he did initially. But after that day, you would constantly seek him out, and with that, you wore a genuine smile and interest every time you talked to him. His walls crumbled into dust for you and only you. You were like a shooting star he wished for. His reputation grew because of you and, with that, his feelings for you sored. You became his way of life. In his teen years, he decided to become the best match for you– He would participate in every extracurricular activity the vault would provide to make him an unstoppable force of a man. The perfect golden boy was made..for you.

He had the “perfect body,” perfect sperm count, unmatched intelligence, and charisma—he perfected them (even if you were the only one he talked to for long periods)—strength, agility, endurance—all of it. He will be everything you need and more. With that, he made sure no one would vote you as overseer…

He was so soft on you that it would rival feathers. Do you need help lifting that? He's already there. Do you need help with your pre-war history? He’ll just sit you down and study with you for hours. Are you bleeding from an accidental cut? Don’t worry he just finished his first aid training. He already had a plan for you both for everything that would happen.

Everything

“I’m fine…” You grab both of his hands gently. “...Well, not fine, fine, but I'm not hurt.” You smile weakly up at him. “It’s okay. You and I will get through this,” He coos, pushing strands of your hair away from your face and behind your ear. His touch is warm and tender, yet the words you hear next aren’t.

“Fuck..I..I can’t do this I’m sorry.” A man, short in stature, starts backing away, gun in hand, clearly distressed. Your eyes move away from Charli’s to your fellow survivor; unknowingly to you, Charli rolls his eyes at the man's “dramatics.” “We don’t deserve to leave...That thing called us a shiny example..f..f.fucked! Thats fucked! I..I can’t live with that!” Another man says, “Anyone would’ve done what we did.” A woman comments, “You ask me? That's exactly the problem. Now, let’s get on with this.”

“Wait,” you say, stunned, as if he had predicted this would happen. Charles moves his hands to cover your eyes. The short man is first, putting his gun on the roof of his mouth and pulling the trigger, not sparing any more time; the woman is next, the second gunshot. Then, with a sigh and short prayer, the last man repeats the action done by the others. Each lifeless body hits the floor one by one, and then there is silence.

What the hell.

You try to understand the situation, but your brain has yet to catch up…it’s all too much. Charli whispers calming phrases while he shields your eyes with one hand and rubs patterns along your back with the other. Tears start rolling down your face…and you sob. Hard. His hand moves to pet your hair, soothing you while you let it all out of your system.

He moves his body to shield you from the gruesome events that have just taken place; he moves both of his hands and cradles your face. You try looking behind him out of curiosity, but he stops you before you can.”Hey! Look at me with those gorgeous eyes,” He mummers, and of course, you comply. “There we go. You listen to me so well,” he whispers lovingly. “Here’s what we’re going to do. We’ll both go back to my vault room. I have enough supplies for the both of us to survive outside for a while, okay?” He asks you, and you nod, agreeing to whatever he says.

“I need to hear you say it..”

“…yes, of course, whatever you think is best.” He smiles at you, thumb caressing your cheek. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” He takes your hand and leads you through the halls. It's quiet… you don't like it. Your eyes are trained on his back, Charli…he’s your lifebuoy in the angry sea, the only thing keeping you afloat; if it wasn’t for him…you might’ve met your end with the others. As if sensing your inner turmoil, he squeezes your hand, comforting you…and you squeeze back. Your world just fell apart, yet…it doesn’t seem entirely gone with Charli by your side.

It's only a short time till you reach his vault. You’ve been here so many times it's basically your room by now. The tall blonde turns to look at you. “I’m going to let you go, just for a second, okay..? I just need to get the supplies.” He holds your one hand with both of his– you reply with a soft okay, and with your permission, he starts to move. He moves towards his small desk to grab a small, flat-headed screwdriver, walks to a particular spot, and pops the floor title beneath him, revealing a hidden compartment. It's filled with two modular military backpacks, filled to the bream with necessities for outside the vault.

He was prepared for all of this…

Then he starts talking about what he has in mind for the two of you, settling on the surface of living together and everything. Charles gets lost when talking to you; he can speak his mind about almost anything, and rambling is second nature with you. The hermit turned a social butterfly in your presence.

“You know that computer may have been our downfall, but god did bless me with more information than I could handle…good thing, huh, glad I went through all that code…Vault-tec tried to make it secure, but I found a way...We could go somewhere called New Vegas…” He keeps talking.

But you stand there, still, as a statue, looking down at him as he gathers everything…What did he just say?

You think back to the start when killing between the blocs started..he was right there, ready to protect you, when you and the other surviving tested out if the chamber would kill all of you…he almost seemed to be too assured nothing bad would happen to any of you, almost like…no…no. You’re overthinking, right? But the more you listen…

“You knew…” you shakingly exclaim out loud, cutting him off. “Hmm?” He looks up at you as he puts the tile back…” You knew we didn’t need sacrifices…you knew it would play out like this…” you say louder and more confidently. Those once-homey blue eyes become cold and distant… analyzing you.

You both stare at each other.

You turn and run.

But your efforts are in vain; you don’t even leave the room before two muscular arms wrap around behind you, overtaking you, holding your arms down around your waist, dragging you back. You scream and kick with no success. You end up with his arms around you while he sits down, his back against the wall, and you in front of him with his head in your neck while you let it all out. “When?” you croak out, “When we were fifteen, I didn’t want you to become overseer…I didn’t want you to die..so I wondered if it was the computer that sent signals to kill whoever was sent in that chamber and wondered if I could stop it from killing you specifically; that's when I found out .” He answers swiftly and truthfully, “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” You question, “I didn’t care, honestly, the only thing that matters is you…If everyone died in the process, it would be less work for me…I wanted it to be us from the beginning, anyway. I want you to need me as much as I need you…and now you finally do.”

You feel weak and sick to your stomach… All your peers would’ve ended up dead either way. “I want to leave.” he hums, not mocking you but in acknowledgment. “And do what? You don’t know how to defend yourself; you have no supplies prepared, barely any survival instincts, and you don’t even know any information on the surface above. You can leave, but you’ll die…I can’t let that happen, sorry.” Charles buries himself more into you.

“I hate you,” You whisper.

“That’s okay…all that matters is that you're here…with me and only me… I’ll keep you safe and sound.”

N: This was a long one, whew! I had to think about how I could make a Yandere fic with Fallout, and I had tons of concepts, but this one stood out the most. I hope my execution was good enough....Anyway, my next fic will most likely be a jealous fic about my Yandere lord, so stay tuned! Till then! see you soon my little guppies (´꒳`)♡ extra note: Throughout writing this, I thought "My Way of Life by Frank Sinatra" would fit Charli perfectly.

#fallout #let me cook #yandere oc #yandere drabble #yandere blog #yandere male x reader #male yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere oc x reader #yandere x darling #yandere imagines #yandere thoughts #x reader #yandere concept #oc x reader #yandere x y/n

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stagefoureddiediaz · 1 day

Text

I'm having a lot of thoughts and feelings about Eddie and clothing and being in the closet.

Because Eddie being shirtless is a thing - a thing that happens when he's in a spiral - and its always been a thing - right from his introduction. (and it kind of ties in with the black singlet - emotional vulnerability thing he has going on too)

Eddies introduction - him putting on a shirt - going from shirtless - to clothed - Eddie has upped his and CHristophers whole life an dmoved them to LA - he's been questioning if hes done the right thing - the shirt being put on - covering him up - is showing that it is the right thing - that the uniform is a safe space for him.

Then we have the Shannon of it all - they fall back into bed - and shirtless Eddie is spiralling out - not wanting to actually have the conversation about what they are doing (Shannon has to come to the firehouse to get that conversation to happen) he puts a tee back on so he can step back into dad mode.

Eddies fight club era - is a massive and obvious spiral that he is in - dealing with the death of Shannon and all his feelings around the fact she'd asked for a divorce, plus the fact that he could've lost his son in the tsunami, but Buck saved him and Eddie has complicated feelings developing there that he's not in a position to either recognise or deal with. We never see him put a shirt on here - just a zip front hoodie - that he doesn't zip up - symbolic of not actually dealing with anything - just sort of hiding it.

We also have a flashback scene in Eddie begins where he is shirtless in the militrary hospital - once more it is Eddie vulnerable and exposed and dealing with a traumatic event.

Then we have Eddie after leaving the 118 to work at dispatch - we see him start shirtless - essentially when he's at his most vulnerable and then as he finds a way to build up some new walls for himself we see the black singlet appear and then we move on to various tee his spiral happen - we never see him put a shirt on here - he does get into uniform, but its always cut to rather than watching him actually get dressed. He hasn't dealt with his issues at this point and the implication is the walls he's built up - that are letting him pretend to be fine are flimsy - then a bit later we get his breakdown

We get no shirtless Eddie in season 6 - its a season about him dealing with and healing from a large portion of his trauma.

In season 7 we've had him shirtless several times already. Firstly in the locker room - Eddie is shirtless whilst talking about first dates but then we get Eddie putting on his shirt - its denim - much more robust than anything we've seen him put on in this way before as soon as Buck reveals he's single.

Then when Marisol was moving in - not going to go into the parallels with Shannon here - and Eddie starts to spiral. We've already had the closet conversation by this point, so the fact that we have him shirtless essentially in the aftermath of that conversation is an interesting choice, we also don't see him putting on a shirt here! instead we are left with a visual representaion of a part of Eddie he had tried to keep locked up newly exposed.

And now we have this bachelor party - where it seems to be that Eddie is losing his shirt bit by bit (cannot wait to get the context for this!)and ending up in just the collar.

He wakes up in the bathtub in just the collar before he puts the suit jacket back on, in much the same way as he put the hoodie on back in season 3. Its an indicator that while he's covering things up, he isn't actually hiding them - that they are still visible for people to see if they go looking. And while I'm on that subject - the fact the collar is the thing he's left wearing - literally playing into the religious theming of Eddies vulnerability because it is screaming dog collar!

The show making such a clear visual indicator that connects to the last time we saw Eddie shirtless is very telling - its indicating to those looking, that Eddie might've asked Marisol not to move in and taken a step towards dealing with his catholic guilt, but the reality is that he hasn't dealt with it at all and that it is still very much a part of his story - his arc.

THere seems to be something in the soft underbelly of who Eddie Diaz is, that reveals its self for these brief moments, only to be covered up and hidden once more - with varying degrees of sucess. This season its especially loud and telling.

If we look at this season more closely - all of them are interesting moments, and all of them are connected to closets or defacto closets. The locker room - Eddie's locker is open while he is shirtless - he stands in front of it - a locker is a form of closet - its for storing his clothing etc while he's at work - a place where he stores is civvies - his real self. He only moves away from the locker and puts a shirt on, when the conversation moves from him onto to Buck - Bucks vulnerability is not Eddies and so he doesn't need to be shirtless - in fact he needs to not be - to shield himself from Bucks vulnerability.

Then we have the bedroom - which while not technically a closet, is Eddies safe space - a place where he can be his full self (in theory) and shirtless Eddie has one of his biggest vulnerabilities revealed in that scene - its so big that he cannot cover it up and hide it - his catholic guilt. This is the first time we're seeing Eddie's room since Buck was in there at the end of season 5 helping patch the holes in the walls. It makes sense that Eddie having a moment where his catholic guilt is revealed becasue even if it isn't directly a closet it - indirectly because he was going to start putting things in his closet - was going to let Marisol into his closet.

The implications of him not being able to let Marisol into his closet are pretty telling in my opinion. Even the fact that she was coming with her own armoire is in and of itself speaks volumes

And now we have bachelor party Eddie - kicking in metaphorical closet doors (whilst kicking in actual closed doors) and falling asleep in bath tubs whilst wearing pink!

The pink in combination with this idea that Eddie is vulnerable and heading towards dealing with his catholic guilt in the same way that he was heading towards dealing with his other trauma before. Pink - as I've talked about in the season 7 costume meta's is the colour of naivety or innocence. yes there is the idea that Eddie (and probably by extension, Buck) will be innocent in whatever ends up happening with Chimney.

But there is also the idea that this innocence and naivety plays into the fact we're seeing a lot of Eddie shirtless and the play into his vulnerability as well as Eddies catholic guilt and all the closet references. This idea that Eddies naively trying to ignore his catholic guilt, ignore his vulnerablity as well as the fact that his catholic guilt stems back to his childhood - when he was effectively an innocent.

yeah I have a lot of thoughts on all of it

#shirtless Eddie meta #the show is always so intentional with when they show them shirtless - that goes for Buck and Chimney etc as well #Eddies queer journey is getting under way #I didn't put this under a cut becasue who doesn't want shirtless Eddie gifs filling their dash!!!#eddie diaz #911 spoilers #911 abc #911 costume meta #sort of!

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acourtofthought · 1 day

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@starsreminisce posted these comments on their blog:

And the last paragraph really stood out to me.

Something I've seen said by a certain side of the fandom is that a bonus chapter should not change the trajectory of what is in the actual book. I disagree with that because I look at the bonus chapters as a sneak peek of what's to come in future books (with this particular bonus following the pattern talked about in a post yesterday, with the resolution to the small story pointing us in the direction of Gwynriel), things that Sarah will at a later point expound on within the actual series even if they weren't initially clear to us without having read the bonus.

But say that's the truth, say the bonus chapters are only in line with that which we already know (which still works for Gwynriel because though the bonus hinted at Gwyn having a curiosity towards Az and him possibly having a bond with her, we do see bits of that in the actual book as well, there are scenes with her staring in his direction and scenes where he's staring in hers, where he shows admiration for her, where she's teasing him, where Nesta calls Az her new ribbon).

One of the big arguments is that it's extremely clear that Elain has no interest in Lucien, that it's been the case for multiple books. It's said Elain does not owe Lucien an explanation, that she does not owe him her time or attention.

So why not write an Elain bonus chapter in SF where she and Lucien have a conversation discussing how they don't want to explore their bond? According to E/riels there's no need for it in the first place since she's made herself clear but they have also claimed that she won't break the bond until we have her POV. Then wouldn't a bonus in Elain's POV before her book be the perfect place for something that's so obvious so that when she starts her own book "with Az", there's nothing standing in their way and the focus can be on their romance and the plot and not the emotional toll that her severing her bond with Lucien would take? If the Elucien bond is as much of a non issue as some claim it be be, then why not deal with it in an Elain Bonus Chapter? When her book starts, Sarah could even recap the events of the bonus for those who had missed it.

Elain thought back to that conversation she and Lucien shared shortly after Solstice. Where after Azriel's rejection, which had cut her deeply, she realized there was no place in her heart for anyone but Az even if she wasn't sure he still wanted her.

That would have actually be a perfect way for SJM to move us past the Elucien bond with very little in the way of feeling devastated on Lucien's behalf, where his heart is not being broken in real time within her romantic arc.

But the author didn't do that. She gave Az and FEYRE a POV. Feyre who already had 3 books and a novella and Elain with a total of 0.

We know Az doesn't think Lucien is good enough for Elain but we don't know if Elain agrees with that.

We know Az questioned the Cauldron because of his brothers and her sisters, that he hadn't thought of being with Elain beyond his sexual fantasies but we don't know where Elain stands on the whole "just wants one taste / why wasn't Az made my mate" debate.

We know Az thought of Elain as too trusting and hopeful but we've no clue whether Elain was really thinking anything of the sort.

We've got Feyre thinking back on how she made sure to keep her mouth shut on Elain not wearing Lucien's gloves, how had she put them on she would have never been pierced in the first place but we still don't know whether Elain's actions with the gloves actually line up with her thoughts.

If Sarah wanted to continue on with what is apparently so evident in the four books of buildup for E/riel there was nothing preventing her from finally giving us Elain's POV in SF and having her tell Lucien that there's no reason for him to hold out hope any longer.

The more likely explanation for why Elain wasn't given a bonus is because everything that E/riels and Az claim that is so very obvious regarding Elain's character might actually not be as obvious as they think.

If she's so happy in the NC, then why hide her thoughts?

If she's so in love with Az, that it's clear as day, then why hide her thoughts?

If she's so disinterested in Lucien, then why hide her thoughts?

If we're supposed to believe that Elain's choice is Az, that there is no competition and that it should not be a mystery to anyone at this point, then why has she been so reticent to put us into Elain's head?

#elain archeron #pro elucien #elucien #lucien vanserra #pro lucien vanserra

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reduxulousoctopus · 2 days

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X-Men '97, Post-Episode 7, ~2500 words Morpherine established relationship, missing scene (unless the show actually does explore what happened during that fight, in which case boy is there egg on my face).

I follow established show canon by referring to Morph as he/him in diegetic works (fanfic and fan art) and they/them in non-diegetic works (my episode analyses and reblogs), because that's the stupidest option and, like Morph, I am also an enby with a terrible sense of humor.

Now come watch me struggle to write two whole lines of dialogue for one of my favorite characters in the series, Beast, because Me Too Stupid to Write Smart Talk Good.

“You wanna explain what the hell happened back there?”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the question, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan glaring back at him with an expression as hard as the adamantium underneath it. Although it’s a look he’s seen plenty of times before as an innocent bystander, Morph has only been the target of that glare on a handful of occasions. Usually when he’s severely fucked something up. Or when Logan is completely out-of-his-mind, cuckoo-bananas worried about him.

Morph suspects that this time, it’s a little Column A, a little Column B.

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph smirks and asks, “What, the Summers Family Reunion? Well, you see, when a man and the clone of his wife love each other very much…” Morph chuckles. “By the way, this might be a bit creepy to say as one of his honorary uncles, but Baby Nathan grew up to be a serious hottie—emphasis on serious.”

No laugh. Okay, maybe that wasn’t his best material, but not even a lip twitch? Logan must be pissed.

Morph sighs and slouches in his seat. God, he doesn’t want to talk about this right now. Or maybe ever. He can feel his throat literally closing up to stop the words from coming out.

When enough time has passed that what little patience Logan had left in the tap completely runs dry, he goes right for the jugular: “I thought you were dead. Again.”

Morph winces.

“I saw that… ‘Trask Sentinel’ blow your goddamn head off. Then, next thing I know, you’re up and walkin’ around like nothing happened.”

“Not that you’re complaining, right?” Morph asks with a weak attempt at a laugh. “You know what they say about gift horses. Although, you’d think the lesson from the Trojan War would be that you should look gift horses in the mouth.”

From the seat behind him, Morph hears: “Although it’s a common misconception, that phrase actually has nothing to do with the Trojan Horse. The proverbial ‘gift horse’ is a literal, living horse, and to look it in the mouth—”

“With all those books you read,” Logan grumbles, “I thought at least one of them would've taught you it's rude to eavesdrop.”

“It would be difficult not to overhear, given the two of you are speaking quite loudly in a confined space while surrounded by people,” Beast points out. “Have you considered that this perhaps isn’t the best venue for a private conversation?”

“He is a super-genius. We’d better listen to him,” Morph tells Logan. “We’ll talk later, okay big guy?”

The stubborn set of that heavy jaw says Logan knows damn well ‘later’ means ‘never,’ and he isn’t gonna let Morph weasel out of this that easy. “If you ever want me to let you off this plane, you’ll talk now.”

“Let me?” Morph scoffs. He transforms into Quicksilver, puts on his best smug speedster grin, and says, “Just try and stop me, slowpoke.”

To his shock, Logan actually flinches. It’s a subtle thing, Morph might not have even noticed if he didn’t know Logan so well. The cause eludes him, however—until Morph remembers that he looked like Maximoff when the Thrask Sentinel… when everything went dark and quiet for a few seconds.

Funny. There was a time when Morph, blinded by youthful naivety and hero-worship, would have insisted Wolverine wasn’t afraid of anything.

Returning to his default form, Morph mutters out an apology. He tries to imagine what it would be like to see Logan die, only for him to get up a few seconds later and act like nothing happened. With that healing factor of his, they’ve gotten damned close to that exact scenario more than a few times.

How much worse would it feel, if Logan had kept his quick-healing abilities secret and Morph had to find out the hard way?

Morph takes a breath, looks out the window at the black clouds rushing by, and starts from the beginning.

“You know how most of us don’t know we’re mutants until we hit puberty, and our powers manifest? Well… I didn’t have to wait that long. Problem is, since I was just a baby, I had no idea how to control my powers—no more than a normal baby is born knowing how to walk or talk.

He holds out his hands with his palms cupped together to form a shallow, makeshift bowl.

“When I was born, I looked like a wriggling lump of white clay, about yay-big. No arms or legs, no face, no ears, no eyes. Just a mouth that would appear somewhere on my body whenever I was hungry or wanted to cry.”

Whatever Logan was expecting to hear, from the look on his face, it clearly wasn’t that.

“But even at that tender age, someone clearly recognized my star potential. I was only two days old when I made my media debut: Severely Deformed MUTANT Born In Pittsburgh Hospital.” Morph shrugs. “Not the most positive review, I’ll admit, but you know what they say: all publicity is good publicity. After all, that’s how the professor found me.”

Logan’s frown returns, more confused than angry. “You told me you didn’t meet Xavier until you were thirteen—after your mom passed.”

“That’s when I moved to the Institute. Turns out we actually met quite a lot earlier than I remembered, which is pretty embarrassing. Ideally, you don’t want to meet your future high school principal, college instructor, mentor, and world famous civil rights leader while wearing a diaper. Even worse, I was wearing a diaper, too—and I told him, mister, one of us is going to have to go home and change his outfit and it sure isn’t going to be me.”

That gets him a smile and a huff of a laugh, which would be an encouraging sign if he didn’t know how the story ends.

“So Xavier talked to my parents, explained the whole ‘mutant thing.’ Dad wasn’t happy. Then again, I’m not sure he ever was. He would have been disappointed to have a girl—a sentient lump of polymorphic biomass was right out. Thankfully, Xavier was able to use his telepathy to coach me through my very first transformation. He showed me how to turn into a normal baby boy, who would eventually grow up to look like this.”

Morph transforms into his old default, the one he still uses whenever he wants to pass: pale (although not that pale) skin, brown eyes, brown hair, hooked nose, pointed chin, gaunt cheeks, arched brows. Not exactly Fabio, but it’s the face Logan used to know him by—the face he sometimes worries Logan might secretly still prefer.

“Then he put some psychic blocks in place to limit my powers to something a bit more… manageable. Don’t give me that look. It sounds shady, but the professor messing with my head was the only reason I got to have a normal, happy childhood with my parents. God only knows what would have happened otherwise—if I’d even be alive now.”

The worry and suspicion that appeared on Logan’s face at the mention of psychic tampering grudgingly fade away. “When did you find out?” he asks instead.

“A couple months after the professor… y’know,” Morph sighs. “I hacked his personal files. Since he wouldn’t be around anymore to help you recover your memories, I hoped that maybe I could find something small he overlooked, some clue that might give us an idea where to look next.”

Logan’s eyes widen and his mouth goes slightly slack. “Morph…”

“I didn’t find anything, before you get excited. Not about you, anyway. Sure found out a lot about myself, though—a lot more than I was bargaining for.”

“That’s when your default form changed,” Logan realizes.

“Yeah. It was kind of hard to think of this,” Morph replies, gesturing at the face of his human-passing form, “as my ‘real’ face after that. Not that my new look is any more real, of course.”

“Who else knows?”

“Other than our friends listening to this conversation right now?” Morph asks pointedly, causing an entire plane full of X-Men to each make their best attempt at looking busy. Nightcrawler’s method of peering thoughtfully at the radio controls with one hand on his chin is particularly masterful—Logan mentioned he used to perform in a circus, so it’s no wonder he’s got such a good instinct for stage-business. “I told Hank and Moira not long after I found out. Seemed like a bad idea to keep that information from my doctors. Especially when one of them is also my therapist.”

At receiving a glare from Logan, Beast develops a sudden and convenient fascination with the view through the Blackbird’s window.

“But you didn’t want anyone else to know.” Logan could accept that, even if he doesn’t like it. Nothing personal. A man’s business is man's business, after all—even for a not-quite-man like Morph.

Too bad it wouldn’t be the truth; no more ‘real’ than any face that Morph wears.

“I didn’t want you to know.”

Morph can handle Logan’s anger, no problem. That’s almost charming, after all these years. But it’s the flicker of hurt, just like that little flinch earlier, that really cuts him to the quick.

“Not because I don’t trust you, or want to keep things from you or anything, it’s just… I didn’t—I couldn’t—”

He sighs and looks away again. He transforms back into his new default: smooth white skin, mask-like face. Obviously inhuman.

Still a lot more human than he looked when he was born, though.

“So, yeah. That’s why I’ve apparently gained the ability to survive having my head blown off. It sure would have been handy to know that my organs were optional the last time a Sentinel put me down. Now, instead of being out of commission for two years I’ll never get back, I can just squish myself back together and keep on keepin’ on.”

Logan doesn’t respond, and slowly, the mutter of other conversations step in to fill the void. Morph stares at nothing, sick with nerves. It’s deeply unfair that he can still feel nauseous even though he doesn’t have a stomach anymore.

He would say it’s all in his head, but if he can survive without one, maybe he doesn’t have a brain, either.

Badum-tch.

Good line. Hopefully he’ll remember it after the existential horror wears off, in the brief window when things will be funny again before the heartbreak sinks in.

Because there’s dropping a bombshell on a relationship—then there’s dropping a fucking nuke.

Oh God. There isn’t going to be a window, is there?

“Morph. Look at me.”

Although he considers pretending he didn’t hear the command, Morph reluctantly glances across the center aisle of the Blackbird to see Logan looking back at him with an expression as soft as the heart he usually tries to hide.

“No matter what you look like, there’s one thing you’ve never been able to change,” Logan tells him. “That’s real enough for me.”

A wiser person might realize they were in a hole and stop digging; Morph can’t stop himself from opening his big stupid mouth. No wonder that was the one feature even Baby Morph knew to give himself. “There are more blocks Xavier left behind that I haven’t pushed through, yet. Maybe I’ll even figure out how to change my scent, someday.”

From the look on his face, Logan clearly hadn’t considered that possibility. Morph immediately wishes he could take it back, feeling like he’s just tarnished something sacred.

It’s always been strangely intimate, the way Logan can recognize him by scent alone. Even from the beginning, when Morph decided to pull a prank on the grumpy new recruit, only for Wolverine to sniff him out mere seconds into his planned routine—it was as if, like the Emperor’s New Clothes, he suddenly realized he had been naked the entire time.

Another, smarter shapeshifter might have avoided Logan after that; Morph couldn’t get enough.

One-sided pestering turned into an unlikely friendship, turned into friends-with-benefits, turned into… whatever they have now. That which dares not speak its name.

The thought of losing that connection, the idea that someday he may be able to change himself so thoroughly that even Logan won’t be able to recognize him anymore… It’s too awful. Cursed knowledge. Like learning about the solar cycle when he was a kid, and suddenly having the horrible realization: if even the sun is going to die someday, what makes him so sure Mom will get better?

Out of the corner of his eye, Morph sees Logan’s hand start to move, stop, then start again, reaching across the aisle towards him. For a insane, terrifying moment, he thinks Logan’s about to hold his hand, outing them in front of God, the other X-Men, and everybody—but of course, that enormous, rough mitt lands on his shoulder instead. Perfectly platonic, approved for all audiences by S&P.

Though they’re shooting through the air at supersonic speed, under the heavy weight of that hand, Morph feels rooted to stable ground. He closes his eyes and takes a few slow breaths he doesn’t actually need, with lungs he only has when he remembers to make himself some.

If there are any people left when the sun finally burns out in a few billion years, they’ll still be telling each other jokes as they go into that endless good night. Just think of the money we’ll save on sunscreen. Maybe, but you know the light-bulb companies are gonna take us to the cleaners. Ha ha, freeze frame, theme song, end credits.

Even as her body slowly wasted away under the combined onslaught of cancer and chemo, Mom always laughed at his jokes, no matter how many times she heard the one about the chicken who crossed the road. His most appreciative audience, to the very last curtain call.

The world is pretty fucking scary right now, and only getting scarier. Sinister. Genosha. Losing Gambit. Sentinels again, in all new and even more monstrous forms. Even worse: total war between humans and mutants looming over the horizon, shaking the ground with each step, getting closer and more inevitable every time someone mentions it, like a demon whose power grows every time you says its name.

But just because things are scary doesn’t mean the world's turning into a horror movie, and just because things are sad doesn’t make it a tragedy. Everyone gets to choose the genre of their life story—and Morph will always pick comedy.

He gives the hand on his shoulder a friendly pat, and uses the motion to disguise a slightly more-than-friendly squeeze. “I’m alright, just a little airsick. I think it’s making me maudlin.”

As he pulls his hand back, Logan frowns a little in confusion—he knows Morph is experienced enough in the air that he shouldn’t be getting nauseous over what are, for the Blackbird, barely above pleasure-cruise speeds.

“How unfair is that, by the way?” Morph asks. “I don’t even have a stomach right now.”

Logan chuckles. Nah, baby, don’t give it up for me that easy, Morph thinks, fighting a grin. You gotta make me work for it a little…

He needn’t have worried, though. When he does make it to the punchline, Logan laughs so hard that he snorts, the laugh-lines Morph has personally carved into that seemingly indestructible face creasing and growing deeper still. And as their friends who Definitely Weren’t Eavesdropping join in—even Rogue, so teary and congested that her laughs would sound like sobs if she wasn’t smiling—Morph knows all their attempts to hide their relationship have been for nothing, because there’s no way that all the love he feels for Logan in that moment isn’t writ large all over whichever face he's wearing right now.

That’s real enough for him.

#x men 97 #x men #morph #wolverine #morpherine #my stuff #wait what this actually ended up good #have I actually been a good writer this whole time and just too depressed to notice?#what the fuck that's not fair

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obstinaterixatrix · 2 days

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I recently got my first office job where I am interacting with my coworkers regularly. do you have any evil conversation skills that you think i should learn first

1. Figure out the easiest/most comfortable ways to say the whole spectrum of soft no’s to hard no’s from a scale of ‘genuine regret (invites future attempts if scheduling allows)’ to ‘polite deferral (respectful and evasive, somewhat firm)’ to ‘stone-cold shut down (professional Fuck You)’; you gotta know them all and you gotta be able to deploy them as needed. or at the very least, you gotta know how to give yourself time so you don’t automatically say ‘yes’ when you don’t want to.

2. The easiest way to make a good impression on people is to balance being useful and making others feel useful, which means offering some of the specific knowledge/insight you have and also asking for/acknowledging the knowledge/insight of others. offering/asking can be a weird balance, sometimes for some people in some contexts it comes pretty naturally, other times I find myself parsing out one (1) resource bit by bit to gauge whether someone’s actually looking for it or if it’s received in a lukewarm way. If ‘useful’ can’t really be a selling point at the moment (e.g. starting with zero experience rather than having an established knowledge base in a new environment) then you can always swap out ‘useful’ for ‘interesting’. know a charm point you have that can hook other people’s interest, know how to find and highlight other people’s charm points. If you want a mutual relationship it’s better to make an effort to share equally (for some people that means intentionally holding back, for other people that means intentionally speaking more), but if you’re just trying to coast it’s usually easiest to keep turning the conversation back on them and track topics the other person can get chatty about (pets, kids, shows, how they’re doing, etc).

hang on those are too reasonable and not evil but I’ve typed it all out so I’m not deleting. so, there’s a bunch of worksheets about ‘rules for fighting fair’ and if you ever meet a coworker you fucking hate then you wanna take those rules and do the opposite of all of them in order to have an on-purpose bad faith conversation and to make it as miserable for everyone as possible

1. If the coworker you hate is trying to talk about one specific problem, disagree with whatever their definition is and refuse to compromise

2. Bring in as many stupid tangential asides as possible so their original point gets buried

3. If you want to be legit evil, always imply or directly state that whatever they’re going through is a personal problem and a Skill Issue

4. Always find a way to vaguely disagree with your coworker. If they have a good point, say ‘Well, no, it’s actually like [basically rephrasing their point]’; you can either be subtle about this (negging) or blatant about this (The Mansplainer)

5. There’s a limit to how disrespectful anyone can be as a new employee. Find that limit and keep just short of it.

6. Always deflect and blame someone else, or if there isn’t someone to blame, have different excuses at the ready for anything that anyone might take issue with.

to some, evil communication skills is to win. but I think the most successful (insufferable) application is when the point is to make everyone as miserable as possible. I’m not trapped here with you, You’re Trapped Here With Me. also I wouldn’t actually recommend doing many of these things if you want functional working relationships. but it’s good to keep in mind if you’re ready to go nuclear! but more seriously, I do think these are important evil communication skills to learn because if you recognize someone using them against you, it gives you the chance to make strategies based on their behavior. 1. If someone is disagreeing with you any time you try to express a problem, shut down the conversation and reengage with a mediator that will be fair to you; 2. if stupid tangents keep showing up, it’s up to you to be the terrier with its teeth sunk into the mailman’s leg; etc. anyway this has gone too long and someone else should probably be giving more legit advice

#ask #anonymous #whoops this got long #oh almost forgot #congrats and good luck! hope you don’t have to use the evil skills!

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m3r1m4r5u333 · 1 day

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One very queer post to remind my fellow buddie truthers that patience is virtue...

Never forget that the show clearly called us clowns and crows...

And neither of those is an insult.

If you haven't, I recommend you read up on the history of clowns. Do you know where they evolved from?

Fools... What are fools, in story-telling?

They have always been the breakers of taboos, the ones who dare speak up and illuminate the truth.

That's repeatedly been the role of the "fool" in literature and theatre.

And remember the scene with these modern versions of fools, clowns, in 4x06? Bobby tells Eddie and Buck to be professionals!

...Much like when he has to cut off Buck from flirting with the tapework guy... In season one. The tapeworm guy? It's basically a scene of Buck being blatantly bisexual, totally flirting with a man... And Bobby going: Be a professional Buck, finish this conversation later!

And then that clown scene later on... There's a clown trapped under some (obviously quite phallic) helium tanks, and Bobby yelling about needing to "release the pressure"?

It's a parallel. Go rewatch Eddie's and Buck's first emergency together. They need to release the pressure to save that patient.

And the name of that first episode Eddie appears in? Under pressure. That's also in the season 2 promo, the first season with Eddie. And the songs in those promos... Under pressure by the Queen and David Bowie. And a version of Nowhere to run by Martha Reeves and The Vandellas. It's a love song, about a persistent, devastating love. Fitting for a slow-burn.

Also...

Eddie: "You're a badass under pressure, brother.

Buck: Me?

Eddie: Hell yeah. You can have my back any day.

Buck: "Yeah. Or you know... You could... You could have mine.

....

Then that emergency with the grenade when they first meet...

Everyone originally assumes it's not live. Oh but turns out, it very much is a live grenade, isn't it? We see it exploding. What's a grenade, going off?

Well, it's basically deathly amounts of pressure. Grenades injure and kill from a distance, the blast, the pressure is so powerful.

So the clowns watch that scene, watch Bobby urging Buck and Eddie to release the pressure... They look at Buck and Eddie working together...

And the clowns make their opinion known.

A clown starts choking, and coughs up rainbow colored string. That's the unsaid truth which this fool says out loud to the audience.

"This story is queer. I'm telling you, there are rainbows. I'm choking on them here!"

The combination of clowns, pressure, grenades... Again... Makes me think of the Batman movie Dark Knight, especially the clever bank robbery heist which

Joker - A famous fool type character, also related to fools and clowns... plans.

Btw, some of you may have noticed that I keep rambling about the Joker, and Dark Knight. Why? Because THAT MOVIE IS A CAPRICORN OF QUEERNESS!!!

And there's that clown theme which obviously comes up in 9-1-1, too. The clowns are the queer audience, it's quite clear. That clown scene was written as commentary, to us, freaking out about the queerness of buddie.

In The Dark Knight... Remember that whole conflict of the two freaks, a Batman and a Joker?

It's a battle against conformity. Diverting from the norm. Joker spends the entire movie trying to make Batman see and own his freakiness.

Honestly I think that we queers should worship that movie, it's a tale of us, the outcasts, the freaks, us against the world.

Because we are the clowns, the fools, the freaks that people fear. Who are always told to shut up, and hide. The ones who have always been the outlaws running from the police, still are. Who nobody believes, when we see our kind.

That bank heist in that movie, which the ultimate clown, fool, Joker, organizes?

They enter the bank dressed up as clowns. The Joker is among them, a twofold fool, a jester wearing a clown mask, his true identity unknown to the other clowns.

The bank robbery heist btw includes lots of stuff which make me go "is this intertextuality?, was 9-1-1 inspired by this?", because they remind me of memorable buddie scenes. A failed phone-call ("I couldn't even call you to bail me out of jail!"),

the bank vault with electricity ("What more proof do you need, Eddie! We are trapped in a death box, thousands of volts of electricity...")

the clowns, the queers, hiding from detection, from the gunfire,

then clowns, destroying each other, one by one.

A clown getting hurt because he's an idiot who cannot really count (Buck, Eddie, the embarrassing struggle to get to "bi"?),

This one clown who thinks it's his time to spring out of the box and stop waiting. This shotgun has no ammo...

and the Joker nods, which convinces the dumb math challenged clown that the bank manager's shotgun has no more bullets...

Here's another deathly nod from our favorite fool...

This backfires quickly, the math challenged clown who thinks the gun wasn't "live"... Dies.

A fool just fooled a fool. A third fool cries out in dismay.

In the end... it's the patient fool here who ends up outsmarting the manager, and winning the battle.

Clowns are clever. We see under the surface, we voice the truth, but also, sometimes we lie to save ourself. That's what being an outlaw, an outcast is.

The Joker bides his time, is smart about it, and when the right moment arrives... he does not hesitate. He robs that bank, proves himself to be the smart one. The ultimate fool. The cleverest clown.

So remember the history of us clowns. We are silly, scary, strange, queer, the annoying ones who won't shut up.

And we are the fools. And fools are the truth seers. Tellers. We aren't dumb, we are clever.

That's how the story goes. Ultimately the fools always realise and tell the truth. We clowns, like the Joker... We saw the potential for "aggressive expansion" in buddie. We were there from the start, we looked at that lurking grenade, and thought... I'm seeing something here. And they will keep laughing at us clowns... But they'll learn when it goes off. I do think it's a live one, darlings.

So, how does the heist and the movie end?

Joker survives the danger, ducks the gunfire... And leaves the manager alive.

He also leaves an impression that will forever change that survivor. The Joker sticks a grenade in his mouth. It doesn't kill him, but that grenade is live, it releases a strange, queer gas.

The Joker gently tells the manager that whatever doesn't kill you... Makes you stranger.

Then... The way the Joker spends the entire movie urging Batman to hit him, to kill him... He challenges Batman to make him realise that they are really the same. That they are both freaks, outsiders... Birds of a feather. Batman needs to stop pretending that he isn't a freak.

It's like Buck and Eddie. Take a swing at me.

Wanna go for the title?

And in the end, they both survive this (really quite queer-coded) stand-off. They prove each other wrong.

Joker finds that he's wrong, that Batman cannot bear to kill him. And Batman admits defeat.

He becomes an outlaw, too. He takes the blame for the chaos, falls out of favor. The bat signal is smashed. Batman knows he'll be hunted... but he can take it.

"...Because sometimes... the truth isn't good enough, sometimes people deserve more. Sometimes people deserve to have their faith rewarded..."

And that's why Buck and Eddie, "Buddie" has really never been a tale of two buddies.

The "truth" is a lie. The fools have always seen it.

And so the Joker, the fool, the clown, actually... wins this battle. He is captured but creates another freak by turning Harvey Dent into the Two-Face.

He makes Batman realise who he really is, an outcast. Batman goes into hiding. But Batman creates another freak, Robin.

It's a lesson. Some of us freaks argue for chaos, some will argue for order. But to others we are still the strange ones. Outsiders, outlaws. Queers. Listen to the fool and realize it, own it. See that we are the same.

And they will hunt us, but the circus grows stronger. Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stranger.

Oh, and the crows I mentioned in the beginning? Well, they called the crows buddies, and told the audience that the crows always remember their tormentors, didn't they.

Do you think they're waiting for these boys to come out, the show asks?

Of course we were, are. And we've got one now. Waiting for another.

After all, sometimes the fool needs to wait and have patience to see the vision materialize. Doesn't mean the fool was wrong. In the end, the crows will feast.

Crows are smart. And the clowns see the hidden truth.

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