#i actually had this one pre drawn

[ickadori]

++ 𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐔𝐌𝐄/𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

[summary] uraume doesn’t like you, but sukuna has taken an interest in you, and there isn’t a thing in this world that they wouldn’t tolerate for lot sukuna, even if it is you.

[cws] fem reader. uraume hates you! they want to cook you, and mention it quite a lot -> mentions of cannibalism, but no one is actually eaten…yet. true form sukuna for the win. uraume very much has the hots for sukuna. team effort oral -> sukuna receiving. fingering -> reader receiving. threesome.

[an] inspired by this -> link. sosososososos happy this was planted in my head m going insane actually.

Uraume hates you, indubitably.

You were a human, a sturdy one to be able to withstand Sukuna’s affection, but a human nonetheless. While their views on humans weren’t as grandiose as the likes of Geto, they still deemed them as beneath them, and anyone beneath Uraume had no business being in the presence of Sukuna, and yet you had been kept around.

They hadn’t known what Sukuna wanted with you at first — they had originally intended to cook you into a meal fitting for their king. You had plenty meat on you, and the king was often… hoggish when it came to his appetite, so you would have done a good job in being a filling meal, the only things humans were good for in Uraume’s eyes.

Sukuna had nearly beheaded them the moment a knife had been pointed in your direction. For whatever reason, you were special. It baffled them, entirely, completely, it still does. They had spent so much time watching you, observing all the things you did; the way you walked, the way your eyes nervously flitted about, never venturing past someone’s collar bones, the way you brushed your hair, the way fed yourself, how your fingers held the fork and knife (quite clumsily, may they add. You were clearly due for a lesson in etiquette.), how you tried and failed to properly tie your kimono, forcing them to fix it for you lest you both be on the receiving end of Sukuna’s wrath. Appearance is everything, didn’t you know that?

Speaking of appearances… you were pleasant enough to look at, but Sukuna had an endless sea of pleasant faces to pick from, ones that came with a bit of training, so what had drawn him to you specifically?

They couldn’t put their finger on it, and they guessed that it ultimately didn’t matter. You made their master happy, and they could tolerate you until you inevitably landed in his bad graces, and then they’d serve you up to him on a silver platter.

On the day that Sukuna had angrily called for them, they had thought you had finally done it, and had quickly come to his call with a pep in their step and a glint in their eye.

Uraume didn’t find extreme amounts of pleasure in killing others, it was simply a part of their job, but they can’t deny that the thought of being rid of you elicited a response similar to ones they got whenever Sukuna bestowed his praise unto them, something that hadn’t happened since you had wormed your way into their kingdom.

Yes, as humans say, Uraume was jealous. They were envious of the attention Sukuna gave you—and you were so greedy. You took it all and held onto it with an iron fist, scared out of your wits that he’d grow bored of you if you loosened your grip even the slightest bit, because then you’d be up for the pickings.

When Uraume finally made it to Sukuna’s quarters, the sight they were greeted with wasn’t a foreign one. He was sat on the bed, kimono pooled around him, while you kneeled between his legs, your own clothing nowhere in sight. His cocks were hard and twitching, fat dollops of pre-cum sliding down the shafts, coupled with the remnants of your saliva, or perhaps your slick.

So you had failed to please him, as many often did. One cock of that size was too much for most to handle, let alone two, and you were human, after all.

“Lord Sukuna.” Uraume drops into a deep bow, their head touching the cool floor and staying until they’re given permission to stand. “How can I assist you?” Would Sukuna have them dice you up and turn you into a nice stew? Or perhaps he’d like something a little more raw… Human meat and muscle tended to be tough and dry, if not properly prepared, but Uraume had done this for centuries, and was kept around for a reason.

They’d make you into a meal worthy of being consumed by—

“Train her on how to take me.”

Pardon?

“You.. don’t wish for me to dispose of her?” That fiery flame flickers in his eyes, and Uraume rushes out a thousand apologies, hand placed over their heart as they lower their gaze. “Forgive me for speaking out of turn, my Lord. I shall do as you ask.”

This task has never before been requested of them, and they find themself at a momentary loss as they lower themself to kneel beside you, eyes scrutinizing you while you avoid their gaze. They quickly gain their bearings.

“Do I have permission to touch her, my Lord?”

“You do.”

“Open your mouth.” You look to Sukuna for confirmation, and Uraume bristles. As if you’re so high above them that you don’t immediately do as they say, tuh. With a nod from Sukuna, you’re hesitantly opening your mouth, and they insert two fingers, the pads of them pressing down on your tongue. They ignore the way that you gag and tears spring to your eyes, your clenched fists shaking on your bare thighs.

They push their fingers in deeper, making you violently gag as your throat constricts and you quickly jerk your head back. “I see what the problem is.” Their fingers are slick with your saliva, and they just barely resist the urge to wipe it clean on their clothing, figuring that Sukuna would take it as an insult. “You’re not relaxing your throat and jaw when you take him - allow me to demonstrate.”

Uraume turns to Sukuna, a flutter in their stomach as they direct a question his way. “Permission to pleasure you, my Lord?”

“Do as you please.”

They fall into habit easily enough - hands bracing against the thick meat of his thighs, tongue swiping out to wet their lips before moving to trail up the underside of his cock before placing a wet, gentle kiss on the head, quickly giving the other the same treatment. His scent is heady, strong, and Uraume breathes him in deep before their lips are wrapping around the dark, uncut tip, jaw and throat relaxing as they take him all the way in, nose pushed into a set of wiry curls.

Uraume cuts their eyes at you, lips stretched wide around the cock in their mouth, and find that you’re watching with apt interest, thighs not so subtly rubbing together as rock back onto your heel that’s positioned underneath you.

Greedy — putting your own pleasure before Sukuna’s. It’s unacceptable, and they rectify it with a swift snatch of your hair. You’re pushed towards his neglected cock, and you’re given a moment to prepare before it’s pushed into your mouth, Uraume’s hand on the back of your neck forcing you to take him all in.

You choke and gag, the action bringing forth a deep, guttural groan from Sukuna, and Uraume watches as he brings a hand down to grip your hair at the roots, his other holding the side of your face. Uraume’s nails bite into your skin before they can stop it, and you cry out as best you can, hands pushing at Sukuna’s stomach as your tears flow freely.

You’re flailing now, and Uraume has half a mind to let you fail again, not caring if they’re on the chopping block as well, but Sukuna comes before everyone else, first and foremost.

They pull their mouth off of his cock with a wet sound, strings of saliva and pre-cum stretching from their lips to the dribbling tip, and quickly lick it away as they place their hand around your throat, right where they can see the bulge formed. “You have to calm down.” Their thumb gently rubs against your skin, voice low and as soothing as it can get as their free hand smooths down the expanse of your back and over the curve of your ass. “Breathe through your nose - yes, just like that.”

Their fingers find your cunt, wet and plump, and two easily slip inside, walls eagerly sucking them in. “Move your tongue against him, he likes it.” You make a noise of complaint, and they tighten the hand around your throat. “You now live to please him, so please him. Move your tongue or I’ll—” A violent shiver wracks their body as Sukuna’s energy spikes, and Uraume softens their voice again, fingers twisting and rubbing as they search for that special spot that always renders the most skittish, stiff women into malleable, pliant dolls.

You finally do as they say, judging by Sukuna’s reaction, and Uraume keeps up their ministrations on your cunt, fingers plunging in and out, resulting in a lewd squelch, the sound barely audible over the way you occasionally gag and moan. Their gaze trails over to Sukuna’s neglected cock, and deciding that you’re doing a decent enough job now, they move to take him back into their mouth, fingers still moving inside you.

With your previous resistance gone, Sukuna takes it upon himself to move you back and forth on his cock, veins on the back of his hand bulging as he ruts into your mouth. Uraume does well enough on their own to be exempt from the treatment, head bobbing and hand fondling at heavy, full sacs as they suck, tongue gliding along the underside of his shaft, even occasionally mushing against his tip and pushing into the slit there.

Knowing him as well as they do, Uraume knows that Sukuna will come soon, and they suck in earnest, messily slurping and swallowing as his thighs tense under their touch. You suddenly tighten around their fingers, and a glance to the side shows your lashes fluttering, your jaw slack as Sukuna pulls out of your mouth, only to push right back in and bury himself to the hilt. Uraume does the same, welcoming the spurts of cum that trail down their throat as they eagerly swallow.

Your name is on Sukuna’s tongue as he pulls out of your mouth, and Uraume watches in distaste as you cough and splutter, wasting the cum that he had so graciously shared with you, and they find themselves leaning forward before they can help themself.

Their lips collide with yours, tongue licking into your mouth as they collect the remnants of cum inside, and they ignore the way you arch into them and grab ahold of their haori, fully focused on getting every drop they can. With a gentle suck of your tongue they finally pull away, and they blink at the way you follow them, eyes lidded and hazy as you try to go for another kiss.

They let you, not wanting to incur Sukuna’s anger for denying you, and you messily kiss them, although it’s more of a mash of lips and teeth as you moan against them and pant into their mouth.

Sukuna laughs, and a warmth spreads throughout Uraume when one of four hands comes to rest atop their head. “It seems as though you’ve gained her affection - you should be honored.” Hardly.

Sukuna hauls you up into his lap, and Uraume thinks their presence is no longer needed and begins to stand, only for the hand on their head to tangle in their hair and force them to their feet. “You’re not done yet.”

Confusion swims in their eyes, but it’s quickly sated when they see that Sukuna is ready to go again, one of his cocks nestled between your folds as you pathetically hump against it, hands grasping at his shoulders as you tip your head back, moans and cries bouncing off the walls. “As you can see, she’s quite greedy.” His hand roughly gropes at your ass, and he lifts you with little effort before placing you back down on his cock. He only gets the tip in before you’re gasping and clawing at his shoulders, head fruitlessly shaking back and forth as you babble out nonsensical words. “And inexperienced. I trust that you can fix this.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

[moonstruckme]

i am so BUMMED when i realized ive read all of your polymarauders works. can i get more of them please? especially the one like the 'casual dominance' fic omgg. that one made me feel THINGS. btw!!! congrats on reaching the 1k mark. totally deserved <33

-🥀

Wow babe, that's a lot! I'm really glad you're enjoying them! I know I've written a few since you sent this in, but I decided to treat this as a request for specifically casual dom!marauders because I'm weak for them too :*

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.1k words

Your teeth chatter as you step out of the fastest shower of your life, barely drying yourself off before starting on your makeup. You’re so dumb. You’re so, so dumb. Of course it’d be the night before your presentation that you’d accidentally set your alarm for PM instead of AM. How many times had you stirred, thought about getting up, and decided to wait until your alarm went off? It had only been when you’d woken to an empty bed, sunlight coming in through the window, that you’d realized. 

You’re still running on the adrenaline of that waking jolt, now mixed with the extra edginess from your frigid shower since you couldn’t afford to wait for the water to warm. You probably won’t be late, but you’re definitely going to be late by pre-presentation standards. You’d planned to get there a half hour in advance to set up and mentally prepare. Now you’re going to have ten minutes at best, and that’s only if you can get out the door in the next few. You finish with your makeup—your hair’s just going to have to dry on the way—and turn to where you’d hung your pre-selected and Sirius-vetted presentation outfit the night before. The hangers sit empty. 

You go into the bedroom, hoping one of the boys had laid them out on the bed while you’d been in the shower. Nothing. Just your socks and shoes where you’d left them by the bedroom door. 

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, pulling the socks on because you can do that, at least. “Shit shit shit!” 

You take off down the stairs, relieved to see Sirius on his way up. “Hey! Do you know where—” your foot hits too close to the edge of one step, slipping down to the next. It seems inclined to keep going, but Sirius’ hands catch you around the waist. 

“Jesus, baby.” He looks down at your feet as you get them under you again, eyebrows drawn together. “Running down the stairs is already a punishable offense, but with socks on?” 

“Do you know where my presentation outfit went?” you ask in a rush. 

Sirius blinks. “No. It’s not where you left it?” You shake your head and decide this conversation is no longer a productive use of your time, moving past him. “Don’t run,” he says after you, and you slow to a slight hustle down the remaining steps. 

You practically skid into the kitchen, where Remus is just about to sit down at the table with his cup of coffee and James is running the blender. You raise your voice to be heard over it. “Do either of you know where my presentation outfit went?” 

James stops the blender. “Morning to you too, sweetheart. Everything okay?” 

You feel like you could burst into tears, but that would just waste more time. Why is no one cooperating with your need for efficiency?

“I’m going to be late!” you stress to James, turning around to survey the kitchen, the living room, like they’ll just be hanging in some random corner where you somehow forgot them. “I need my clothes, have you seen them?”

“Dove.” Remus takes you by the shoulders. “Breathe. You’ve got time.” 

You exhale, trying not to twitch as your skin crawls with urgency, or to lecture him on how little time you actually have. Remus watches you patiently. His hands slide up to either side of your face once you no longer seem like a flight risk, thumb stroking your cheek. 

“Your outfit’s in the dryer,” he says in a soothing voice, still holding you as if to keep you from running off. “I was warming it up while you were in the shower.” 

Your next inhale scrapes on the way in, a grateful pressure building behind your eyes. “Rem, that’s so sweet,” you say. “Thank you.” 

Remus gives you a smile and a little shrug, more casual than the faint pinkness of his cheeks would suggest. He lets his hands skim back down your neck, giving your upper arms a light squeeze. “Why don’t you let it finish running while you have your breakfast, yeah? That way there’s no risk of spilling on it.” 

You shake your head, aware this won’t go over well but too anxious to worry much about it. “I don’t have time for breakfast,” you tell him. “I need to catch the bus in, like—” Your eyes search for a moment before landing on the microwave clock. “—five minutes.” 

“I’ll drive you,” Sirius says, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he comes back downstairs.

You glance at the microwave clock again in case you read it wrong the first time. “You can’t,” you say. “You’ll be late.” 

Sirius shrugs. “I don’t have a presentation. They’ll deal with it.” 

You look to Remus, expecting him to object to Sirius’ proposed tardiness, but he only nods, sitting down with his coffee. 

“Are…are you sure?” you ask Sirius, trying to adjust to the sudden non-urgency of your situation. 

“It’s no problem,” he promises you. “Stop looking so upset, honey, just eat your breakfast.” 

“Drink your breakfast, is more like it,” James says proudly, coming in from the kitchen to pass you a glass of whatever he’d been concocting in the blender. It’s a murky brown-green, and you try not to wrinkle your nose for James’ sake. 

“Thanks.” You take it from him tentatively. “It’s…it’s a smoothie?” 

James laughs at your expression, and you think you hear Remus snort into his coffee. “Yes, it’s a smoothie. The color’s because of the chocolate protein powder and the spinach, but it’s got fruit, too, don’t worry.” 

You swirl the glass a bit, assessing the color. “Why so much spinach?”

James sets a hand on your shoulder, encouraging you into your chair as he joins the three of you at the table with a smoothie of his own. “Iron, sweetheart.” He casts a pointed glance at your legs, spotted here and there with purple-and-yellow blotches of skin. “Seems like need it. You’re bruising like a peach lately.” 

Remus hums in agreement as you take a tentative sip of the smoothie. It’s not bad, though you can feel little bits of spinach sticking to your teeth. You make a mental note to have Sirius check your smile before you get out of the car later.

“And I saw that look in your eyes when you stood up too quick from the couch yesterday,” Remus says, quirking an eyebrow when you look at him in surprise. “You’re not as subtle as you think, dove.” 

You bring the glass to your lips again to avoid making a response. Sirius laughs, and when you smile sheepishly, his grin turns goofy. “Hold it there,” he says, taking your jaw in hand. You keep your smile in place as his eyes narrow. “Front tooth on the left. My left.” You lick at the piece of spinach, and he nods, dropping his hand. 

“Knew I could count on you,” you tell him. “Thanks, Siri.” 

Sirius pecks you on the cheek. “S’what I’m here for, gorgeous.”

[meowmeowriley]

I've had this idea for a while that I don't really know what to do with, but imagine that pre-141 Ghost and Soap don't know one another, except they do. They've been internet friends for years. They have a group, like 6 or 7 people that they play games with, they're constantly in discord calls together. But they're not Ghost and Soap online. Soap's username is Sealtits_9 (a play on Seal Team 6) and everyone knows he's a Sergeant in the army. They call him Sealtits, or just Tits most of the time. Ghost, or Left-sock-toehole as his friends know him, is Discord mom. He reminds everyone to eat and drink, corrals them towards their objective in game, gently parents them through arguments and sometimes real life problems. No one knows what he does or what he looks like. When they ask him how tall he is he gives a different answer every time. If someone asks about dick size he answers something along the lines of "miniscule" or "I don't have one, lost it in the war" just random unhinged shit. He's also constantly commissioning Soap for random shit. Any time he sees Soap has his commissions open he snatches up a slot and sends him some random ass thing to be drawn. Every time Soap is like "DAMMIT TOEHOLE I WILL DRAW FOR YOU FOR FREE STOP TAKING UP MY COMMISSION SLOTS" And every time Ghost replies "easy there Tits, I already paid you, please draw me Lady Dimitrescue as a rubber ducky." And yeah... idk I just like the idea of Ghost having online friends that don't know he's actually a really terrifying motherfucker. And of course he and Soap flirt all the time too.

[navybrat817]

Focus

Pairing: Motocross!Steve Rogers x Motocross!Female Reader Summary: You have a crush on Steve Rogers, but you don't think you're his type. Word Count: Over 1k Warnings: Crush, longing, slight insecurities, swearing, nicknames, Curtis is a good friend, Motocross!Steve Rogers (he's a warning, okay?) A/N: Finally an intro for Champ and Daisy in our Dialed In AU! Took me how long, @yenzys-lucky-charm ? Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated! ❤️

A 450 rider like Bucky with a lot of wins under his belt, Natasha was serious when she said Steve was one of the best riders in his class.

It was one of the reasons people called him “Champ”, a nickname he wasn’t overly fond of since some of the guys liked to tease him after races where he didn’t place first. It also gave him flashbacks of when he was younger and smaller, virtually ignored or told he wouldn’t excel in anything physically.

With a lot of heart and a late growth spurt, he proved them wrong.

Bucky said once that his nickname should be “Adonis” because of his now statuesque looks and the pit lizards fawning over him or “Golden Boy” because of his success and admiration.

Steve never let any of that get to his head and refused to let the pit lizards distract him. He worked hard to get where he was and continued to give it his all on and off the track every single time.

His determination was one of the many reasons you found yourself drawn to him. He was the kind of rider and person many aspired to be.

Your crush only grew the day you two actually met.

A rider yourself, you earned the nickname “Daisy” thanks to the flowers on your helmet and general sweet demeanor.

The helmet was the very thing Steve complimented you on when he walked by you at your first pro race.

You hadn’t meant to stare when he walked by, but his reputation preceeds him. Clad in red, white, and blue like a patriotic God, his blonde hair sparkled in the sunlight and his eyes looked like the sky on a cloudless day.

The sheer size of him almost made you whimper when he got closer. How a man was able to walk with such confidence and dominance yet still had an air about that said he was humble was a gift.

He even stopped to speak to a few kids who were eager to meet him and you couldn’t stop smiling when one little boy wrapped his arms around his legs in a tight hug.

Who wouldn’t fall for him?

You were certain you still had a dopey smile on your face when he looked your way.

“Beautiful.” The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down your spine when you realized he was speaking to you, which you tried to blame on pre-race jitters. “Your helmet. It’s beautiful,” he said when you didn’t reply.

You deflated slightly because of course he didn’t think you were beautiful. You were just a rider and not like the girls who flocked to him.

“Oh, thanks,” you croaked, clearing your throat immediately to try and save face. “I like daisies,” you added, mentally kicking yourself for stating the obvious. Why else would they be on your helmet?

The lopsided grin he gave you brought your smile back to your face. “You’re Daisy. Heard good things about you.”

Biting your lip and glancing away briefly, you didn’t catch his gaze following the movement. “You have?” You asked, slightly surprised that your name made the rounds.

“Yeah.” He nodded toward the track. “And I’m eager to see what you do out there.”

Your stomach did a somersault, but you held your head high. “I’ll try not to disappoint.”

“I doubt you could disappoint anyone,” he quietly spoke, looking over his shoulder when Bucky called out to him. “Gotta go. Good luck out there, Daisy.”

“Thanks, Champ,” you said, shifting back and forth on your feet when he stood up straight and flexed his gloved fingers. Maybe you shouldn’t have used his nickname. “I mean, Steve.”

You couldn’t read his expression, but you felt better when he gave you one more lopsided smile. “Champ sounds nice coming from you,” he said before he walked away.

You tried not to swoon or check out his ass when he went on his way, but Curtis clocked you immediately.

“You might wanna wipe that drool off your chin before your race,” he said, nudging you with his shoulder when you glanced at the ground. “Nervous? Don't be. You’re gonna kick ass out there.”

“Not nervous,” you said, biting your lip again. “He said he heard about me.”

“Yeah. Riders talk, you know that. And the guys saw you practice, so they know you have skills,” he said, sighing when you lifted your head and longingly stared after Steve. “Look, don’t let him distract you.”

“I’m not letting him distract me,” you argued, moving your helmet between your hands. “It’s just nice to get a compliment from such a skilled rider,” you said, especially since a lot of guys had a tendency to ignore you once they knew you loved to race.

Curtis narrowed his eyes. “I’m a skilled rider and I compliment you. I don’t see you walking around with hearts in your eyes and having a little crush on me.”

Your cheeks flamed before you hit his arm. “More like you bust my nonexistent balls. That’s not the same thing,” you said.

He didn’t move an inch when you hit him, the wall of muscle that he was. “Perk of being my friend,” he deadpanned, looking in the direction that Steve went, too. “I’m not one for gossip, but Champ is single.”

You put your helmet on so your friend couldn’t see your face. “Good to know, but I doubt I’m his type,” you said.

Because why would he like you?

“Rogers is a fucking idiot if he doesn’t want a girl like you,” he said sincerely before he hit your helmet with the palm of his hand, the familiar grumpy stare back on his face. “But enough of that shit. Get out there and win your fucking race.”

Which you did.

Steve's heart skipped a beat when you removed your helmet and smiled.

Because the truth was, you were exactly his type.

And he’d sweep you off your feet if you let him.

They're sweet, okay? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Steve Rogers Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[remusluvr]

sweet escape | lip gallagher

summary: Neither you nor Lip can focus on anything else except each other. content: jealously, established relationship, f oral (insinuated m oral), unedited

He can't but watch you as you talk with your friends. You're wearing the dress he had hoped you'd wear. Every time he sees you in it, there's just no way his focus can be on anything else.

"If you're gonna keep eye-fucking your girlfriend, Lip, then I'm gonna go find Trevor," Ian says, eyes rolling simultaneously and it snaps Lip back into his actual being.

"Sorry, man. What were you saying?" he stammered, hand rubbing at the back of his head. Ian just walks off and leaves him standing there. He isn't completely opposed to it. Now he can focus all his attention on you without interruptions.

And he does just that. He finds a good spot on a couch near you, close enough for you to notice him without being close enough to draw you over just yet. You look over and smile at him, he nods at you, legs spreading out on the couch. The action makes your mouth dry and you quickly look away, suddenly flustered.

He laughs to himself as he watches you regain your train of thought and rejoin the conversation. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as you look over at him again. Your bottom lip is immediately drawn into your mouth and it takes everything in himself to not go over to you right now. He's having fun making you really want him.

He slightly waves at you, barely lifting his hand and his nonchalance is making you want him more than ever. You see the girl before he does. A pretty blonde girl in a tight dress stopping to stand right in his line of sight, blocking him from your view and you from his view.

"Hi! I'm Caroline," she introduces herself, her hand moving out to shake his. He does and gives her a tight-lipped smile.

"Uh, Lip," he greets. She beams, giggling slightly.

"That's a different name, I like it," she smiles, taking the empty spot beside him. Her thighs touch his and Lip isn't sure how your burning stare doesn't set her on fire. He gets an idea, a way to really make you come over to him.

He doesn't stop the way Caroline starts sliding her foot up his shin and it makes you furious. He's your Lip and he's not doing to show this random girl that he's yours. You decide to play just as dirty, excusing yourself from your friends and finding a lonesome guy even closer to where Lip is sitting.

You flutter your lashes and poke out your chest a little more than usual. Lip wants to kill the guy that has a perfect view down your top. He cracks when he watches you lean in to whisper something in his ear and the random boy's hands move to your waist.

He's stomping over, hand stretching over your back to guide you out of this house party. You don't speak as you walk to the car.

The tension is thick as both of your car doors shut loudly. He doesn't move to start the car, idly sitting there staring out the windshield as you look over at him. You want to apologize, and as soon as you open your mouth he's throwing himself at you, lips pressing onto yours.

You moan into his mouth, hands grasping at his hair. He sighs into yours, hands feeling over any inch of your body he can get.

"Never do that again," he grumbles.

"Wouldn't have done it if you weren't letting that girl flirt with you," you huff back, pulling away from him. He knows he shouldn't have but he loved seeing you riled up. It was just unfortunate that you got him back this time.

"Never again," he agrees, starting the car. His hand reaches out, landing on your thigh. The car ride is just as quiet as your walk as he massages at the bare skin. You're glad he doesn't live far, you need him now.

Both of you are immediately stripping each other of your clothes as soon as you step into the house. No one is home as he pushes you up the stairs to his room.

"Fuck, you can't wear that dress ever again," he teases, teeth nibbling at your ear as his hands run down your sides. Your back is pressed against his front and you're completely intoxicated with him. "You look gorgeous in it, baby."

"Thank you," you giggle as his lips move down to your neck. He presses firm kisses onto the delicate skin, hands traveling up to cup at your braless breasts. "Lip, need you."

He obliges, turning you in his grip and helping you out of your panties. Another one of his favorite items on you, a cute black, lacy pair that you had bought for him on your anniversary. He pushes you onto your back on the bed as he rids himself of the rest of his clothes.

Your eyes are trained on him as he undresses. He smirks at you as he takes off his boxers. The way your breathing increases and your thighs press together has his head filling with fog. Yours is practically a cloud with how foggy you are by the time he's crawling up the bed to hover you, hand brushing a stray hair out of your face.

He's slow with the way he kisses you. It's delicate like he's savoring every little bit of it. His tongue explores your mouth messily, saliva sloppily covering your lips. You lick at his lips desperately when he pulls away, just wanting him back.

Lip doesn't say anything as he moves down the bed, kissing down your body as he goes. He stops at your core as he presses kisses onto your inner thighs, hands grabbing at the skin to hold them apart. You think you could pass away when he finally licks up your pussy, tongue briefly dipping inside of you.

"Oh, Lip," you moan out, hands tangled in his hair as he continues. No man should ever be could ever be as good at eating pussy as Lip is. He knows just how to have your back arching off the bed, hands pulling at his hair, and his name falling out of your mouth.

He's messy with it too, lapping noisily at you. His lips suction around your clit as he teases your hole with two of his fingers. You squirm underneath him and his grip tightens on your hip. He has you pressed so firmly into the bed it makes your head dizzy.

"L-oh, fuck! Holy shit," you whine, tears brimming your eyes as he looks up at you. This is his favorite view in the entire world. You falling apart simply because of his mouth. His ego is huge as you choke on your words. All he has to do is look up at you with those wide eyes, big hands holding you down and it throws you over the edge.

You moan out his name as he licks at you. He's not ready to stop when you finally push at his head. He kisses your thighs as your breathing evens out.

"Good?" he smirks, moving up to lie beside you. You turn into his body, resting your head on his chest. You huff, squinting your eyes to look at him.

"Shut up." You kiss him, being able to faintly taste yourself on him. You reach down and he huffs pulling away to rest his head on your shoulder. "What's wrong? Why aren't you hard?"

"Uh, I- I, holy fuck this is embarrassing, I came when I was eating you out." He expects you to laugh at him, but your eyes somehow glaze over even more.

"Well, can I help you out?" you ask, moving down the bed. His hand subconsciously moves the hair out of your face as he takes a breath. He's already getting hard again.

"Course, baby. Go for it."

[rowanswriting]

Mr. Munson (part one)

older!eddie x fem!reader smut

word-count: 689

minors please do not read! @eddiemunsons-missingnipple thank you for letting me use your older!eddie edit for the header! DO NOT READ UNLESS YOU’RE 18 OR ABOVE! Thank you for all your support! Reblogs/interaction are very much appreciated I hope you guys enjoyed this!

Being spread out and vulnerable for your older neighbor wasn’t something you would’ve ever expected to happen, yet here you were. The older man above you smirked as you squirmed beneath him, moaning softly as he ran his rough hands over your body. 

He had a bit of a reputation from years ago, apparently he was a suspect in a murder, although he didn’t actually do it. The town still hated him, but you were drawn to him. He was mysterious and possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen. 

Right now, he looked like he wanted to eat you alive, leaning down to suck a dark spot onto your neck, grinding his hips down against yours, causing the roughness of his jeans to rub right against your bare clit. You shivered from all the sensations running through your body. “Feel good baby?” He whispers into your ear softly, his words contradicting his rough actions. 

You nod softly, letting him spread your legs for you, the wetness from you pooling down onto the bed beneath your ass. He sits up, staring down at where you needed him the most, with a dark look in his eyes. “Such a pretty pussy, it’s all for me yeah? Just for me?” You moaned loudly, his pointer finger circling against your clit, rubbing faster and faster as he awaited your response.

“I-it’s all yours Eddie! Fuck, please need you.” He laughed watching you struggle to lift your hips up, searching for something more than just his finger. He pulls you up by your neck, making you sit up on your elbows to look up at him. “That’s a good girl, I’m glad you know who owns you. Now, you’re gonna behave and watch me take my cock out, and if you don’t, you’ll get to watch me get off while you get nothing. Understand?” 

You swallow, pouting up at him, you wanted to retaliate but you knew he was serious. “Yes sir.” You whispered, watching him sliding his belt off through the loops. You’ve never seen him before but just the bulge that had been hiding away for the past hour was enough to tell you that he’s big. He pulls off his pants and boxers in one swift motion, watching as you look down at him and bite your lip. 

He was perfect, long enough that you knew you’d be feeling him all the way in your guts. There was no doubt in your mind that for at least the next week you wouldn’t be able to walk. “Beg me for it.” He growls out, pumping himself in front of your face. Your mouth watering as pre-cum slides down the head of his cock. “P-please Mr. Munson.” You whine, jutting your lip out and batting your eyelashes at him the best you could. 

Suddenly Eddie stopped stroking himself, pulling back and looking down at you confused. “Where are you at?” He says, you sit up confused and look around. “W-what are you talking about Eddie?” Suddenly, a hand is waving in front of your face, snapping you out of whatever trance you were in. “Sweetheart? You okay?” Your face falls as you look at Eddie, standing in front of you at your front door fully clothed.

“You don’t look so great, maybe you should lay down.” He says, a knowing smirk breaking out over his face. The wrinkles by his eyes crinkling. You nervously look away from him, realizing that none of it had even happened at all, Eddie had been standing here for the past few minutes watching you daydream about fucking him. You’d never be able to show your face to him again.

He goes to walk down the stairs of your porch before turning back around looking up at you, “Oh and sweetheart, you talk when you zone out.” Your eyes widen even more as you go to shut the door quickly, but not before you hear him mock you in a high pitched voice, “Please, Mr. Munson.” He laughed, walking back to his own house with a hard on, and a smirk plastered on his beautiful face. 

[paper-daisy]

Like many of us I'm doing a TWD rewatch, looking for all those pre-relationship moments, and a great little one in 4x01 is after Michonne arrives back at the prison -- there's a moment where Daryl tells her "Glad to see you're in one piece." HOWEVER, when he says that he turns to look directly at Rick. Who in turn quickly looks away, almost bashful.

You can just imagine what Daryl had to put up with, with Rick in those early days. So I had to fic it.

Rick never said the words aloud. He never outright said, "I'm worried about Michonne. I hope she's okay. I hope she comes back." He was never that obvious. But to someone like Daryl, a man naturally of few words himself, it was clear as day that their fearless leader was never fully relaxed whenever that smartass/badass - who was more than capable of taking care of herself - wasn't safely tucked away behind their walls.

But what Rick would say when she was gone was - "There was a herd moving south, right?" Where Michonne had last gone hung unspoken between them. And when Daryl answered Yeah, Rick would just place his hands on his hips and nod, jaw tight, as he scanned the perimeter of the compound as if waiting for someone to magically appear.

He would say - "There's a lot more bandits out there, roaming in packs. Isn't that what you said?" A grunt and a shrug from Daryl, and Rick would nod like they'd just had a conversation and go back to his farming, digging the shovel into the dirt with a bit more force than necessary, making a point to not look at the fence. They hadn't heard from Michonne in two weeks.

He would say - "Nights are getting cold," while standing outside at the communal kitchen, plate in hand, his gaze always drawn to the barely visable fence line. Daryl had hummed in agreement, fighting the urge to tell him that Michonne should be fine as she had pilfered his poncho, something Rick already knew.

And on one strange occasion he said, "Do you think we should get some more ... art? In here?"

This had stopped Daryl in his tracks. "What?"

Rick shrugged, perhaps a little sheepishly, but continued. "We have a library, potted flowers, even some toys and things for the kids. This is our home now. Thought ... maybe it could use a bit of ... brightening?"

Daryl just starred blankly. "You want me to, what? Bring back pictures?"

For a moment it looked as if Rick was about to finally say what was actually on his mind, before he instead gave a rueful smile and waved his hand in the air as if to dispel the conversation. "Nah, nah, never mind. It was just a thought."

He walked away, leaving an utterly perplexed Daryl behind who simply shrugged and went on his own way. It was only later that day as he passed by Michonne's empty cell did his eyes fall upon that weird colourful cat thing, the one that looked like it was about to start a fight. It was such a stupid, useless thing but Daryl remembered how Michonne had presented it to him with an air of triumph, as if it was the most gorgeous thing in the world. He didn't get it.

Did Rick really think that if he made the place more art-filled, Michonne might want to hang around longer? he wondered, then immediately dismissed the idea. Well, clearly not because he gave up before he started. Like with other things.

Only once had Daryl said the unsaid thing.

Almost everyone was asleep. Well, Carl was hid under his blankets reading comics and there were low conversational sounds coming from some darkened cell, but for the most part things were quiet.

And they were kept quiet by an exhausted Rick, pacing back and forth with a fussy Judith, bouncing her non-stop so her cries wouldn't awaken the entire community. He'd nodded to Daryl, who in turn took a moment to ask if he needed help putting Judith to sleep tonight.

"No, thankyou" said Rick tiredly. "I think she's pretty much worn herself out by now. Should be sound asleep soon."

"You too."

Rick sighed. "Yeah. I just ..." He shifted Judith a little, "Even when I do get to bed, I can't seem to stop thinking. Thinking of plans for the future, for the people we have in here. The people we bring in. How to protect everyone inside these walls. Keep our people safe despite ... well, despite everything." Rick looked at Daryl as if he might have the answers to those questions he hadn't quite asked.

All he could do was shrug. "We just try. Trust that we all know what we're doing. Lookout for everyone here. Not much more we can do, is there? Future don't care about anyone's plans."

Rick didn't look totally reassured, but he still smiled slightly as Daryl's efforts. "Yeah. I just worry, is all."

"I know." And as Daryl passed by he gripped Rick's shoulder and muttered, "Shouldn't worry so much. Michonne'll be back, all in one piece. You'll see."

And the man had the audacity to look confused, stuttering out, "Yeah, I know that, but - but I wasn't talking about Michonne, specifically. I'm not worried about her. She can take care of herself, I know that, and she always comes back, it's just ... with everything ..."

As he trailed off Daryl eyed Rick critically for a moment. He really thinks he's selling it, he thought, before giving a soft grunt that was akin to laughter and wandering off to bed, leaving a somewhat disconcerted Rick behind, gently bouncing a sleeping Judith.

And the very next day who should come riding through the gates but one Michonne, smiling, baring gifts and all in one piece, as Daryl made sure to point out to Rick, who's ears suddenly went bright red as if Michonne might somehow be able to figure out that they'd been taking about her just that night before.

But she didn't notice. She was too caught up in her almost obsessive search for the Governor and already planning her next venture out, unaware of Rick's barely suppressed disappointment or of the sigh that Daryl kept clenched behind his teeth as he tried to subtly talk her out of another long run. It wasn't her who was stuck with Rick and his wordless pining.

Because it was pining, even if he never said nothing. If they were in school Daryl might've suggested he pass her a note.

When she had quickly offered to go back out again with the rest of the scavenging party - even though, as Carl had said wistfully, she'd just got back - and Daryl could do nothing more than give Rick a comforting pat, grimacing slightly as the man's expression said exactly the same thing his son had vocalised.

God, this was going to wear thin soon.

Ah well. Wasn't like they had TV anymore.

[britcision]

GUESS WHAT FRIENDS I HAVE BEEN DOING MATH AGAIN no one is going to be happy about it 🥳

1) by the time Delgal reached the surface (6 years pre series), Senshi had been living in the dungeon for 44 years.

He coulda visited on the way up, and probably passed the veggie-golems

2) Thistle kept his dungeon at level 1 (per the canaries’ dungeon guide) for almost 1000 years

Mithrun’s entire span as a dungeon lord was over in 5

Now, Thistle’s did also progress pretty fast from level 2 to 5… but it still took 6 years

This is actually a super similar timeline, especially because we know Mithrun’s dungeon never hit 5… and we don’t actually know what level it got to, since it all depends on when he became a monsterfucker

(His lover’s snake half is referenced here around level 2 - see the gold scrapers

We know that’s the lover because they are always drawn with the unique shirt and hair and the lover is never depicted with legs, which is wild

However, it’s still possible this is a chimera rather than a lamia or naga, which is a level 4 problem… which is when the Canaries usually come dungeon busting anyway)

Of course, the Winged Lion was boxed for the entire span of the dungeon’s rapid development and the Goat wasn’t, which might account for a difference in speed… if Thistle’s dungeon grew much slower

Mithrun, with a fully active demon, didn’t hit the same goal in damn near the same timeframe, so we can infer:

- approximately a 5-6 year turnover on dungeons coming from level 2 to level 4-5 (sooooo that’s a lotta dungeon lords, especially if a change of lord usually forces a reset - Marcille and Laios sure didn’t tho)

- the demon is all one entity, so the cumulative effect from other dungeons around the world may have been used to strengthen the Island’s dungeon

- sinking the continent around your dungeon is a damn good way to keep it contained

- Mithrun was a mid-tier dungeon lord at best, “I wish I never took this job” is a weak ass desire especially when compared to Thistle and Marcille’s desires to Defeat Death and probably why he got spit out - his desire to fuck the demon up seems to be a lot more powerful than a moment of weakness in front of a mirror

(The demon even said it didn’t want to finish Thistle right away and save some for later; it ate the last scrap by accident because it was too dang good so we do know it can choose to leave someone behind… for A Reason:)

- the demon fucking angler-fished Mithrun’s ass by spitting him out, leaving behind only the desire to come back and find the demon again, and letting that build for 40 years. He didn’t reach Thistle levels of maturation but oh boy that’s an intentionally cultivated snack - so how many more of the dungeon lords in the group meeting had the same path

[piratefishmama]

Nest | Part 6

Steve expected the crowd outside of the door. He expected the Alphas, four of them, intermingled with a small team of Betas for pheromone control. He didn’t expect the rise in aggression that spiked in him at the sight of them all, but he had enough self-control to shut it down as quick as it spiked.

They were there to protect Eddie, they weren’t there to hurt Eddie. They were there to protect him from Steve if need be, even at the risk of their own safety. They were doing their jobs.

“I’m okay.” He held up his hands in a bid to relax the crowd “I’m under control.”

“Very nearly weren’t, though, were you, Steve?” He also didn’t expect him. Although he should have. It wasn’t like Owens wasn’t around. It wasn’t like Owens wasn’t liable if things went sideways in the clinic, if one of his Alphas on staff assaulted someone. Sam Owens, Beta, good with the younger patients. Always had lollies in his coat pocket for the scared or nervous ones. “What’s everyone still doing here? Go on, off you go, crisis averted! Crowd disperse!” Looks were shared, before the small team dispersed back to their original stations, back to their actual jobs. “Steve, you come with me.”

“I can’t be away from him for long, I—”

“You won’t be, now come with me.” No room for argument, no matter how friendly the betas tone was, no matter how neutral he sounded. Owens was the boss. He was the one with all the degrees, the qualifications, the experience. Steve followed, he followed all the way down the main hallway and to the left, right to the end of that one, and through the door at the end, directors office, where he watched Owens take a seat behind his desk, only taking the one in front of it when it was offered. “Would you like a drink?”

“No, I’m okay.”

“Have a drink.” Owens stood and retrieved a soda can from a mini fridge he kept in his office, placing it on the desk for him before sitting back down. “You’re not in trouble Steve. It’s okay.”

“But I broke—”

“Nothing. You broke nothing. You kept yourself completely under control, and while yes it looked bad from the angle of the cameras, security were right in raising a response unit, you kept yourself in check, that shows an incredible amount of self-control, you broke nothing. You can relax.” It took him a moment, but he let the tension drain, it was okay, he wasn’t in trouble, he could have that drink, and everything would be fine. Owens even waited for him to finish his first swig of the refreshing liquid before he spoke again “What happened, from your perspective, Steve? Tell me everything from the moment you met him to… that.”

“In detail?”

“Condense it for me. Mr. Munson won’t be asleep forever, he’ll likely need you when he wakes so I don’t want to keep you here too long.” He could go back. He was allowed back. That last bit of tension draining away. It’d be okay.

“Right… uhm… well, I know him. We went to school together.”

“You’ve known a few Omegas who’ve been treated here, Mr. Emerson attends Hawkins Highschool as well, I’m sure you must have met him before, yet this wasn’t an issue in that assignment, what makes Mr. Munson different?”

“I don’t know, it’s like… it feels… right? Like—like I belong with him I—I don’t—I’ve never reacted like that to an Omega’s pre-heat scent before, it’s… I don’t know—” confusing, baffling, overwhelming, he wanted… god he wanted so badly but he didn’t know why.

“Like he’s yours?” It wasn’t an accusation, although a defensive alpha might have seen it as one, Steve kept his defences low. Sam Owens was not a threat. He’d already said Steve wasn’t in trouble.

“No… like… like I’m his” Owens nodded “like… like I was always supposed to be his” everything just clicking into place piece by piece, why he’d never been able to find the right person to settle down with, why his eyes had always been drawn to Eddie, sure he thought it was because Eddie just naturally drew the attention to himself, but—maybe it wasn’t that simple for him, maybe it wasn’t just Eddie’s ability to be the loudest person in a room that had Steve’s eyes drawn to him so often. “does that make sense?”

He'd just never gotten close enough to the Omega assume anything different.

“Unfortunately quite a bit. Yes.” Owens stood back up, and rounded his chair to the book case, where he perused for a moment before settling on a thin book bound in red leather, a notebook. “There’ve been a fair few cases of this kind of thing cropping up in clinics across the globe for as long as clinics like Nest have existed. Alphas and Omegas in close proximity during heats, it happens. Fanciful folk like to add romanticized labels to the whole thing, soulmates, fated mates, true mates. I’ve never been a fan of that terminology, they remove the essence of choice in it all. Of our own autonomy. When in reality, all it is, is that you both give off each other’s ideal scent, as in there's nothing in the subtle notes of it to put you off, and Eddie is just giving off a lot of his right now without anything to mask it.” That pre-heat scent doing its job too well. "The working term among the clinics is actually 'Scent Mates.'"

“…Excuse me?”

“We all have our individual scents, Steve, outside of things we can control like our cologne, perfume, the food and drink we’ve consumed, the fabric of the clothes we wear, we all give off our own individual unique scent underneath all of that. And we all have an ideal scent that makes us feel safe, comforted, that makes us feel all those good things we crave in life. We can settle in those scents, surrounded by them, they make us feel at home. Like we belong there.”

He belonged… like he belonged… he felt that. He felt so strongly that he belonged with Eddie, that everything was right with Eddie in his arms. “That’s—that’s what I felt like, like… I belonged there, like it was right… and when he asked me to—y’know, I barely managed to stop myself.” It felt right to be with him.

It felt wrong to pull away.

“Although I can't speak for him, or make any assumptions as to how he’ll feel after his heat because sometimes it is one sided when the dust settles, he must feel very drawn by your scent too, to be so comfortable around you, to be so responsive, especially so early in his heat, maybe yours might even be his ideal, making you both one of the many ‘scent mates’ who’ve found each other through these clinics. I wouldn’t blame him for being drawn to it though, who doesn’t enjoy a walk past a bakery in the morning?” It was meant as a joke, and maybe if he hadn’t said the first part Steve would have laughed… but he did say the first part.

“…He might not though?”

“It’s possible, just like physical attraction between primary genders, sometimes it’s one sided, with just the Omega’s heat temporarily pushing that attraction on their side to fulfil their instinct to be bred. But you and I both know, Omega’s don’t crave the touch of an Alpha during the first stage of their heat… his response to you is indicative of those going into the third stage, quite the advance given he’s been here only a day.” It wasn’t common.

Owens was right, Steve had tended to many Omega’s in his time at Nest, they all had variety, different behaviours, different traits, but the one thing that stayed the same was… heats progressed as they normally would.

Pre-heat, carb load, insatiable, then recovery.

Each stage had its own kind of behaviours exhibited. Omega’s didn’t want sex during pre-heat, they wanted to prepare, to build a nest, to get comfortable, to feel safe, and in the clinic... to get to know the alpha who'd be helping them.

Eddie just had to be different, didn’t he?

Owens was still talking “—sure, while we were already keeping him under close watch due to his history of violence, for safety reasons we’re going to have to be very careful with you as his assigned Alpha. Be honest with me, Steve… can you handle this?”

“I can handle it. I won’t hurt him.”

“I know you won’t, there's never been a recorded incident between scent mates that makes me think you would. Head to the cafeteria before you make your way back to him, I’m sure he’ll appreciate food when he wakes up.”

“…You’re really letting me stay with him?” With increased security, likely a door guard or two, but still.

“Would any other alpha be safe in there with him?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Exactly. Off you go.”

Part 8

[dixons-sunshine]

Scooby Snacks with your Whiskey | Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine*

Summary: One night when you couldn't sleep, you decided to join Daryl in the guard tower and keep him company. During a game of truth or drink, Daryl unknowingly insulted your favourite childhood cartoon, which resulted in playful arguments, accidentally shattered whiskey bottles and confessions.

Genre: Fluff

Era: Prison, post season 3, pre season 4

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol, sexual innuendos but nothing major.

Word count: 3.7k

A/n: This is based off of what Daryl told Beth in s4 episode 12 right before they set the cabin on fire. He was talking about a cartoon about a talking dog, and my mind instantly went to Scooby Doo, and so this fic was born. It's not really good, since I'm still trying to get into the writing momentum, but I hope you enjoy!

Also, my requests are open for any TWD requests if y'all wanna send any!

—

"Hey. Would you mind some company?"

At the sound of your voice, Daryl turned around. He hummed and nodded for you to come closer, to which you complied. You stood beside him in silence, quietly observing the walkers at the fences. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl was stealing glances at you, his hands fidgeting with his crossbow string.

His heart fluttered at the sight of you, a regular thing that happened whenever he was in your general area. You looked up at him with that smile that always made butterflies fly around in his stomach and your eyes always seemed to sparkle brighter than the stars in the night sky, and although Daryl liked the quiet away from everyone, you were one of his only exceptions.

Daryl loved hearing you talk. He loved listening to you talk about your life before and although he wouldn't admit it, he was always captivated by the bedtime stories you told little Judith. The way you changed your voice to match the emotion of the part you were telling, even though Judith didn't understand anyway and would react the same regardless, was enchanting to him. He would listen to you talk for hours if he could.

And above all, he loved your caring yet badass nature. The way you would take down walkers with a skilled ease, and then in the same breath turn to him and check him for any injuries with a concerned look on your face made him feel drawn to you. You actually cared about him, in a way nobody ever had. Daryl didn't believe that anything was perfect, but you were the closest thing to perfect there was.

It also didn't help that you were absolutely breathtaking to him. From the beautiful colour of your eyes to your perfectly plump lips that he's wanted to kiss on more occasions than one. Daryl couldn't define how he felt about you because he never felt this way about anyone before, but he knew his feelings for you ran deeper than what could be described as platonic. And that fact scared him.

A soft sigh from you snapped Daryl from his thoughts. He looked over at you and noticed that you seemed to be deep in thought, a small frown on your face as you kept your eyes trailed on the ground below.

"Penny for yer thoughts?" Daryl prompted, instantly gaining your attention. Your eyes trailed over to him and his heart skipped a beat at the smile you gave him.

"Just thinking," you responded nonchalantly, shaking your head in dismissal. You pushed away from the railing you were leaning over and turned your body fully to look at Daryl.

Daryl hummed softly, his eyes trailing over you before shifting back to look at the fences. "Ya wanna talk 'bout it?" He questioned.

"It's stupid."

"Ain't stupid if it's botherin' ya," he retorted, turning his body to fully face you as well.

You sighed before shaking your head. "It's just... I'm thinking about my mom. The last thing we did before all of this was fight over something stupid and now..." You trailed off, suddenly feeling awkward under the archer's stare.

"Ya think she didn't make it?" He finished for you, giving you a knowing look.

"I know she didn't make it. She was diagnosed with cancer about two weeks before all of this started, and there aren't exactly doctors around who could've helped her," you responded, awkwardly fidgeting with your fingers.

"'M sorry to hear tha'. This world jus' ain't meant for people with sicknesses like tha'," Daryl said, and mentally kicked himself for saying that. There you were, confiding in him over something serious and that's the best he could come up with? He felt like a perfect fool.

However, instead of being angry at him, you looked at him with a small smile, much to his surprise. "Yeah," you started. "I just hope that she didn't suffer. She was a good woman."

"Were ya close?" Daryl asked, his blue eyes meeting your beautiful ones. He hoped that he wasn't prying, but he wanted to know more about you, the woman who haunted his thoughts 24/7.

You nodded. "We were."

"Ya make a lot of good memories with her?"

You laughed lightly, surprising the archer. "What is this, 20 questions?"

Daryl frowned. "What?"

"20 questions," you repeated, noting that your repetition didn't spark recognition in the archer's eyes. "It's a game you play with your friends at parties, sleepovers, you name it. You all take turns asking each other any questions you want."

"Never heard of it," Daryl said, shrugging his shoulders. He felt awkward under your intense stare, your eyes widened with surprise.

You softly gasped in surprise. Then, an idea struck you. "Wait here."

"It's my shift," he stated matter-of-factly. "Ain't goin' nowhere until dawn."

"Perfect."

With one last look at Daryl, you climbed down from the guard tower, excitedly rushing into the cellblock and into your cell. You bent down in front of your bed and retrieved what you were looking for; a bottle of whiskey you found on a run. With a renewed excitement, you gripped the bottle tightly and headed back up to the guard tower, finding Daryl waiting patiently.

Daryl glanced at the bottle in your hand and looked at you questioningly. "Where'd ya find tha'?" He asked, watching you approach with a slight smile on his face. He could practically see your excitement, the big smile on your face infectious.

"On a run a couple of weeks ago. I've been waiting for the right moment to open it, and the right moment has now presented itself," you said, sitting cross-legged on the floor and motioning for Daryl to do the same.

"How so?" He questioned, following your lead by sitting down on the ground in front of you. He kept his eyes trailed on you, watching your every move.

"Well, I was gonna suggest we play 20 questions, but I don't wanna force you into answering a question you don't want to, so we're gonna play truth or drink instead. We ask questions back and forth, and if we don't wanna answer the question that was asked, we drink. It's as simple as that."

"And I dun' got any say in if I wanna play or not?" Daryl asked, a small, teasing smile on his face. His smile turned into something more genuine when you let out a light laugh.

"Nope!" You laughed, opening the bottle and placing it in between the two of you. "You wanna start?"

Daryl hesitated, pursing his lips. "I dun' know wha' to ask."

"Anything. There are no wrong questions," you reassured him, leaning back on the palm of your hands.

"Alrigh'," he drawled, unsure of himself. "Wha' was yer favourite movie before all of this?"

"There you go," you praised him with a smile, making Daryl duck his head as heat flushed his face. "To be honest, I don't really know. I watched a lot of movies, so I don't think I can narrow it down to one. But I have a couple of favourites. The Breakfast Club and Back to the Future are two of them."

Daryl nodded, absentmindedly chewing on his thumbnail. "Now 's yer turn, righ'?" He questioned.

"Yeah," you confirmed. After a couple of beats of silence, you voiced your question. "Who was your first kiss?"

Daryl shifted awkwardly, embarrassment filling his body. "I honestly dun' remember her name. It was some girl in a dive bar Merle used to drag me to. She was drunk and I was helpin' her to her car when she turned around and kissed me."

"How old were you?" You asked, genuinely interested. Daryl rarely talked about his past, so when he did, you ingrained every piece of what he said into your mind.

"Nah, 's my turn to ask the questions. Wait yer turn," he joked, eliciting a laugh from you.

"Touché, Dixon, touché. Ask away."

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip, a habit you noticed he unknowingly did whenever he was thinking. You found it absolutely endearing, but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that you found most things about the archer endearing. The way he fiddled with his bolts whenever he was bored, the way he flicked his hair out of his face with the shake of his head, his small smile—you could go on a rant about his smile, and you have before. Michonne happened to be the victim who was forced to listen to your lovesick rambling in the car on your way back from the same run you'd gotten the whiskey from.

Begrudgingly snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you patiently waited for Daryl to continue the game. Feeling your stare on him, he asked the first thing that popped to mind, and instantly wished he didn't.

"Who was yer first sex partner?"

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you, heat creeping up your cheeks at a rapid pace. Daryl felt his own face flush, feeling stupid for asking the question.

"Sorry. Ya dun' have to answer tha'," he apologised, his eyes darting to the floor.

"No, it's okay. Like I said, no wrong questions. Besides, if I don't answer, I have to drink," you said, trying to compose yourself. You took a deep breath. Of all the things you thought you'd be doing tonight, you didn't think you'd be discussing who your first intimate partner was with the guy you had feelings for. "My highschool boyfriend, senior year."

Daryl nodded and left it at that. He leaned back on his hands, watching you carefully. He was surprised that you'd actually answered the question, given the personal privacy boundaries he pushed. He silently promised himself that whatever personal question you asked him, he would answer.

"What's the most petty fight you've ever gotten into because of Merle?" you questioned, looking at him expectantly.

Daryl stayed quiet for a few moments, thinking hard about his answer. "It was with this one guy. He was Merle's dealer. He was a small, janky white guy. We were over at his house one day, jus' loungin' around and watchin' TV, some stupid kids show playin'. It was barely noon, we were all wasted and Merle was high. Merle decided to take a piss outta the show, and when he started, he wouldn't let up. He never could when he was high."

Daryl stopped for a moment, collecting his thoughts while your gaze remained fixated on him. You seemed genuinely interested in the story, your eyes sparkling with wonder. Your lips were slightly parted and it took everything in Daryl not to act on his urge to kiss your pretty lips.

"It turns out, the cartoon was the guy's favourite show, and he got hella pissed 'bout it. 'M pretty sure Merle didn't know it was the guy's favourite show. I mean, he never saw the guy except when he needed somethin', but tha' didn't matter. The guy punched Merle in the face, and tha's when I got into the fight. 'M on this guy and 'm punchin' him as hard as I can, but then the guy pulls a gun on me, sticks it righ' against my head and threatens to shoot me."

"Oh, god," you murmured, slightly horrified.

"Yeah," Daryl nodded, seemingly unfazed at your reaction. "Tha's when Merle pulls out his gun and points it at the guy. At this point, everyone's yellin', I'm yellin'... I thought I was gonna die tha' day."

"How'd you get out of it?" You asked, bringing your knees up to rest your head on them.

"I didn't. The guy ended up punchin' me in the gut and I puked on the floor. They both started laughin' at me and everythin' was magically over," Daryl said, shaking his head at the memory. "And to think that happened over some dumbass cartoon about a talkin' dog."

You visibly stiffened, and this caught Daryl's attention. "Wha'? Wha's wrong?"

"Talking dog..." You trailed off, your eyebrows furrowing. "Did the dog happen to be a Great Dane? And his owner was this guy in a green shirt and brown pants with messy hair?"

Daryl pursed his lips, thinking for a moment before nodding. "Yeah. There were other people, too. Two women and a guy with an ascot."

"Scooby Doo," you stated plainly, giving the archer a playful glare.

"Wha'?" He asked, confusion evident on his face.

"Scooby Doo," you repeated, waving your hand nonchalantly. "That's the cartoon you were talking about. The cartoon you called dumb."

"Yeah, 's 'cus it was. Can't believe anybody actually liked tha' crap."

"Daryl Dixon, how dare you?" You laughed, your eyes widened in surprise. "Scooby Doo is a national treasure! He was part of my childhood and now you're insulting him? I don't think we can be friends anymore."

Daryl chuckled at you, rolling his eyes at your theatrics. "From wha' I saw, the dog and his owner were cowards. Runnin' away, screamin', from fake ghosts after how many years of encounterin' them and knowin' tha' ghosts aren't real but they still think they are? It's stupid as shit, and I ain't apologising for thinkin' tha'."

"You're a disgrace!" You laughed, trying to sound angry but miserably failing. "You're telling me that, real or not, if a ghost was chasing you that you wouldn't run away?"

"Tha's righ'," he nodded, before gesturing to the walkers down at the fence. "I dun' run away from tha' shit, so I sure as hell wouldn't be runnin' away from fake ass ghosts."

"I can't believe you," you said, shaking your head in mock disappointment. "This is the worst betrayal ever. I don't think I'll ever be able to forget this. We won't be able to go back to being friends because of this. This is terrible."

"Stop," he laughed quietly, his eyes twinkling with a rare occurrence of merriment. "It ain't tha' deep. I jus' dun' like it."

"Clearly you don't like it because you have bad taste," you retorted playfully.

"Well, I like ya, so do I still have bad taste?"

Silence. It was so silent, you could hear a pin drop. Any trace of the former reverie between the two of you disappeared and was instead replaced with an invisible current of electricity between you. Your breath caught in your throat at the sudden revelation from the man, and your heart sped up in your chest. The logical part of your brain told you that he meant it platonically, that he liked you the way he liked Rick or Glenn, but the optimistic part convinced you that he didn't, that your feelings weren't one-sided. That the archer might like you too.

"Probably," you finally responded, feeling your face ablaze with the heat that spread across it.

"Nah, my taste is immaculate," he replied, looking at you carefully, closely monitoring your reactions. Daryl knew that was a risky response, and he was nervous about your reaction, but he hoped for the best.

You gulped nervously. Daryl's response made your stomach do somersaults and your heart pound at the speed of light.

"Yeah? I still think your taste is shit," you finally managed to respond, your mouth suddenly feeling dry. Sometimes you wondered if Daryl knew what effect he had on you. If he knew how many nights dreams of him plagued your mind.

Daryl's chuckle broke the tension between you, and you felt like you could breathe again.

"Whatever ya say." Daryl took the bottle from the middle and took the first swig since the game started. Your eyes drifted to the trickle of whiskey that spilt from the bottle and trickled down his lips and chin, and you had the sudden urge to lean forward and kiss the spill away.

"You don't like Scooby Doo. That automatically means that you have shitty taste," you retorted, your breathing slightly heavier than before.

You leaned forward to take the bottle from him, but he held it out of your reach. You looked at him in confusion but he simply smirked at you, getting up from his position on the ground to stand tall over you.

"Daryl," you warned, laughing as you got up as well. "It's my whiskey. Give it back."

"Nah, I think Imma hold on to it," he said playfully, holding the bottle above his head. He laughed at you when you jumped to try and grab it from his hands.

"Daryl!" You exclaimed with a laugh, trying everything to retrieve the bottle, but to no avail. "Come on, don't be so mean!"

"Ya said I had terrible taste. Well, I like this whiskey, so tha' means it must be terrible as well, since I like it, so ya probably won't like it," he responded playfully, his eyes alight with mischief.

One final jump to grab it proved to be the wrong move. You accidentally slipped when your feet hit the ground, sending you falling onto Daryl. The archer reacted swiftly, dropping the bottle to to catch you with both hands. The bottle shattered on the ground instantly while you and Daryl toppled onto the floor, the force from your fall catching him off guard. Daryl layed flat on his back with you on top of him, his hands still on your waist from when he tried to steady you before you fell.

You looked into Daryl's ocean coloured eyes and felt your heart speed up. Daryl's eyes darted to your lips for a second before going back to your eyes, but you had caught him. In a sudden burst of confidence, you lowered your face and crashed your lips onto his, catching him off guard for the second time that night.

Daryl stiffened for a moment, surprised at the unexpected action from you, but soon relaxed and slowly kissed you back. He brought one of his hands to the back of your head and drew you closer, his lips slowly moving against yours. His other hand hesitantly trailed from your waist to the small of your back, gently moving over the exposed skin from the ride up of your shirt.

The kiss ended too prematurely for your taste, but oxygen was still a necessity. You slowly pulled back, looking into his eyes with surprise and delight. Daryl looked back at you in adoration.

"Wha' was tha' fer?" He whispered breathlessly, his chest heaving slightly.

"Just because," you replied honestly, still baffled at the fact that you had just kissed Daryl, surprised that you had mustered up the courage to do so in a matter of seconds.

"Well, if ya think tha's gonna prove to me tha' my taste is shit, then yer gonna need to try somethin' different. Tha' didn't work. If anythin', it jus' proved to me tha' my taste is amazin'."

You laughed and shook your head. "You talking about me or Scooby Doo?"

Daryl started sitting up, making you slide down his stomach to sit in his lap. "Definitely ya," he responded, wrapping his arms around you.

"So, you like like me, huh, Dixon?" You teased, linking your arms around his neck.

Daryl hummed and gave you a small smirk. "Mhm," he hummed, giving you a soft peck on the lips. "Wish I'd known tha' talkin' shit 'bout some cartoon dog would make this happen. Woulda done it a lot sooner."

"Don't you ever talk shit about that dog in my presence ever again," you warned with a playful glare, eliciting a chuckle from the archer.

"Jus' to be sure, this means somethin', righ'?" He asked, his tone turning serious. A look of doubt spread across his face. "This wasn't jus' a heat of the moment thing for ya?"

You shook your head, bringing one of your hands to cup his cheek. "Did you mean it? That you like me? And I don't mean in a platonic way."

"I did," he confirmed, leaning into your touch.

"That's good," you said with a small, shy smile. "Because I like you too. Even if you have crappy taste."

Daryl's eyes filled with relief and he let out a small laugh before leaning in to kiss you again. The kiss was brief, but it was sweet and tender. When he pulled away, he brought a hand up to push your hair out of your face.

"Never thought this would happen. I thought ya dun' like me like tha'."

You leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "No more of that. I don't plan on letting you go now that I have you, Daryl Dixon. You're stuck with me."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah, 'm stuck." With that, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours in a feverish kiss. He flipped you over so that you were on your back, making you giggle against his lips.

You were definitely thankful for Scooby Doo and that whiskey bottle right now.

[nolita-fairytale]

make my heart surrender (carmy berzatto x fem!reader) | chapter two: wednesday

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

warnings: lots of swearing, lots of angst in this one, use of she/her pronouns, allusions to sex, eventual smut, smoking (plz remember smoking is injurious to your health, ppl), avoidance tactics, mentions of al-anon, no use of y/n, second person pov, mentions of death/mikey's suicide

word count: 3.3k

summary: while you get to know the kitchen staff of the bear a little better, you and carmy finally acknowledge the elephant in the room.

a/n: the song 'about you' by the 1975 makes me think of these two and is where the title comes from. also, i totally made up the pete has an airbnb thing but i just feel like he'd be in real estate or something with his little patagonia vests lol. anyways, happy valentine's day babes & enjoy!

read: part one | masterlist

Wednesday 

“Okay, this is some next level shit,” Marcus concludes, in between chews as he tries the brioche donuts you let rise overnight. “It’s got everything I like about the yeast donut but the flavor is so much more pronounced.”

“Carmy said you knew how to throw down but.”

Sydney nods, taking another bite of hers, and you watch as Fak holds the donut up to his ear, letting out a wild, “Wow.”

“Oh fuck,” Sydney practically groans, the salty-sweet flavors of the caramel hitting her taste buds.

Last night, pre-dinner shift, you were introduced to the colorful cast of characters that filled up this kitchen. There was Richie, Carmy’s not-biological-cousin cousin, and Tina, who’d been working in this kitchen since before any of you were born. And Neil the handyman, who somehow actively chose to go back his last name, Fak, which puzzled you. Then there was Ebrahim, who seemed to serve as the meat prep cook and the onsite first-aid guy. And Sydney, the brilliant sous who’d worked in fine dining kitchens till she came here, eager to learn from Carmy. 

It was a far cry from the kitchens you and Carmy used to work in but this kitchen there were similarities… things every kitchen has. Everyone has their own little quirks, preferences, styles…. 

They’re just a little more, well, allowed to be themselves and while overwhelming, you find it refreshing as well.

Fak smells the donut next, followed by another ‘wow,’ and your eyes widen as Fak begins licking just the icing. 

“Wow,” Fak repeats, carrying on his more-than-peculiar behavior. 

“Is he-?” you start, sharing a look with Sydney next. 

…alright? Is this normal? Is he okay?

“Yeah, sometimes we just let him–,” Sydney tries to explain, but she’s not quite sure how to explain Neil Fak to anyone outside of their ecosystem. 

“Okay.”

“Anyways, so this is just a personal preference and perhaps a symptom of too much time spent in fine dining, but I like to fuck around with weird flavors,” you continue to explain, in reference to the salty miso caramel creme pat you’ve filled the donut with. 

“I’m not much for too sweet-of-sweets,” you announce, earning a laugh from Marcus and Sydney. “... which yes, is a very odd thing to say for a pastry chef. So I like to find combinations that cut the sweetness of anything and give the taste buds another experience at the same time.”

“Which isn’t the direction you have to take your pastries, chef.”

Marcus shakes his head, “No, this is… super cool. And I like it a lot.”

“I apologize in advance if I sound like a total loser,” Sydney starts, placing her donut down on the paper towel. “But when I was at the CIA, I actually had your lemongrass creme brulee.

“With the black sesame ice cream?”

“And the sesame crumble.”

“Oh my god!” you exclaim. What a blast from the past. “Yeah, I had to fight hard to get some of those ingredients on the menu. You know. Before everyone thought it was cool to do shit like that.”

Sydney smiles in agreement, going back for more of her donut. 

“So what’re we workin’ on next, chef?” Marcus asks. He has his notebook out and has a few renderings drawn up with ideas he had last night. 

“Well now that we’ve built a great brioche together, I’d love to keep practicing your piping technique and-,” you begin, stopping mid sentence as Carmy joins the three of you. 

“Mornin’, chef! Hey, try this,” Marcus greets, ecstatic about the results of just a day of working with you, as he hands Carmy a donut. 

He takes it, immediately taking a bite. You can practically see the gears turning in his head as he processes and dissects every single flavor note he experiences. You’re all quiet as you wait for his response. 

And honestly, you’re still pretty pissed off about him leaving you hanging the day before. After you and Marcus finished up your prep, you had made your way back to your airbnb – the one he set you up in when he asked you to come here. 

You had tried your best not to feel like a total loser as you hoped he'd reach out with an explanation. No call, no text, no nothing, wondering why he asked you to come in the first place. 

Carmy takes his time savoring his first bite. 

“I almost forgot how good you are at this,” he compliments, his tone neutral as if it’s just a fact. 

“Thank you, chef,” is all you say back to him. You clear your throat, avoiding his gaze, and continuing to go over today’s bake with Marcus. 

You don’t mean to ignore Carmy, but you’re not sure how to act around him either. One minute he’s ignoring you, and the next he’s making you breakfast. And then he’s standing you up, leaving in the hands of his brash cousin? Maybe, you think to yourself, it’s best to keep things professional between the two of you. 

*

You work with Marcus till an hour or so into the lunch shift. You both agreed to start your days early, since you’re only here for a week, so that you could cram as much knowledge in as possible.

Marcus asks if he can take point on flavor pairings for tomorrow’s donuts, and you agree, before parting ways till later this evening. You’ve got to come back later today from one more late night prep. 

You haven’t spoken much to Carmy at all since he came in. As much as you’ve tried to focus all of your attention on working with Marcus, Carmy has a commanding presence as he expedites. He’s got something most chefs don’t – true leadership – and it seems like his skills have only improved since he left New York. You gather up your things, preparing to take the subway home for a midday nap, heading out the back door. 

“Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were… out here,” you gasp. You're surprised to find Carmy sitting behind the shop, sitting a few stacked crates and smoking a cigarette.

Well, that part isn’t surprising – the smoking part. You contemplate taking a seat next to him and asking him for one, but you’re really trying to cut back these days.

“It’s-, you’re good,” he says, taking another drag. He exhales smoke and the eery feeling of deja vu overtakes you.

Instead of leaving, and continuing this game of avoidance, you stand your ground.

“Are you avoiding me?” you finally muster up the courage to ask. You try your best not to sound as angry with him as you are, to no avail, as more words begin tumbling out of your mouth. “Because, if I recall correctly, Carmy, you asked me to come out here.”

Carmy waits a beat, avoiding your gaze, and it only infuriates you further. You watch as he takes another hit off of the cigarette as you continue, your rage boiling up within you.

“I don’t get it!” you exclaim, shaking your head in pure disbelief. You’re trying your best not to shout. “You ask me to come out here, and make it as easy as possible for me to be here by putting me up in this airbnb, you make me breakfast, and then… what? It’s like-, it’s like I don’t exist?” 

He doesn’t answer.

“It’s always been like this with you. One step forward and five steps back.” 

You wait before saying the next thing. 

You’re not trying to be mean, but you’re hurt, and this whole experience has all been so confusing. 

“I guess I was fucking idiot to believe that you-, that you wanted me out here or something.”

“That’s not true,” Carmy denies, finally breaking his silence. Finally looking at you, even if just for a moment. His eyes return to the concrete pavement below him as he says, “I just-.”

You don’t want to scare him away now that he’s finally talking to you, but you also want answers. And there’s an elephant in the room that maybe, if you both just acknowledged it, could go away. He puts his cigarette out on the cement beneath his feat, tossing it away onto the concrete.

You lower your voice before speaking again. 

“Are you… do you still feel weird about what happened between us?” you ask cautiously, eager to fix whatever the hell it is between the two of you. “Because I didn’t think we’d have to talk about it since, well-, I just thought we said we’d just forget it. I mean, I’m not-, I don’t-, I just don’t want things to be this weird between us, Carm." 

In some ways, you don’t blame him. You had seen him at his absolute lowest: the day Mikey died. You wonder if he felt too ashamed of how vulnerable he had been. You wondered if he still felt weird about what had happened next….

You had argued with him that day – practically demanded that he not go in for dinner service that night. You knew he had wanted a distraction, but after the phone call, after learning what Mikey had done, you knew he was wrecked – even if he wouldn’t admit it. That level of denial couldn’t be healthy, but he'd snapped at you and you didn't think there was much you could do about it. It didn’t take long for him to blow up at a line cook mid-shift, and you had quickly ushered him into the walk-in. 

“Hey! You can’t do this shit. Not here. These people look up to you!” you had chastised him. “Listen, I’m going to give you five minutes to fuckin’ lose it in here, and then you’ve gotta pull it together and finish dinner service, okay?” 

Carmy had grabbed at his chest, and you knew he was having one of his breathing episodes. 

“Carmy, are you o-?"

He’d held out his hand, as if to stop you from coming any closer, so reluctantly, you’d left him to it, closing the door behind you. The sound of empty storage containers being thrown across the walk-in filled your ears, reinforcing your exact reasons why you hadn't thought it was a good idea for him to come in that night.

That night, you had made sure he got home okay, and he’d practically begged you to stay with him. It hadn’t been the first time you’d slept in the same bed, and you knew he was at his lowest point, in need of company. It hadn’t been until he started crying – sobbing really – that he finally broke.

“Carm,” you had whispered, unsure if he wanted you to acknowledge it or not. 

“Carmy.” 

He had turned to you so tenderly, practically folding himself into your body. You had never seen him like that as he’d buried his face into your chest, his body shaking against yours. 

“I’m so sorry, Carm. I’m so sorry,” you had whispered, over and over again. You stroked his hair, wanting nothing more than to ease the pain of your best friend, but you knew there wasn’t much you could do. You’d let him cry, continuing to run your fingers along his scalp and through his delicate curls, desperate to give him any kind of comfort your could.

When he finally looked up, all he could think to do was to kiss you. You had been taken aback -- caught off guard as you'd pulled away from him.

“Carmy, stop it. You’re not-, you’re not okay right now,” you had said, pushing him away. 

At that moment, his eyes were swollen, his face red, and he looked like you had just kicked his puppy. He had leaned his head against your chest again with a sigh, letting out another sob, and you’d felt that he’d put you in an impossible position. 

You’d have been lying if you said you hadn’t wanted it – hadn’t thought about it before – but Carmy had never given you any inkling that he was even interested in dating anyone. You had been perfectly fine being ‘just friends’ with him despite the whispers between the kitchen staff when no one thought you were listening. And now? You knew he wouldn’t be in the right headspace. It wouldn't be fair to either of you.

“I’m sorry, Carm,” you’d apologized softly. “I just feel like-, well I’d feel like I'd be taking advantage. I don’t think we should.”

His silence had only made you more nervous, beginning to over explain yourself.

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I-, I do. I just… I don’t want you to regret it because… because you’re upset right now and cause you more-.”

“Please,” was all he'd said, breaking his silence and looking up at you with those sad, swollen blue eyes. He leans in to kiss you once more. 

“Please.”

In between kisses you’d managed to ask, “Are you- are you sure? Is this really what you-?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve wanted this for so long. Just-, please,” he whispered, murmuring your name into the soft kisses he had left on your skin. “Just wanna feel good.”

“Just wanna feel good.”

It was then that you’d realized what absolute fucking idiots the two of you had been for the past few years by ignoring this thing between the two of you. 

The truth was that you were fully, wholly, and stupidly in love with each other. 

“Yes,” you’d repeated, finally giving into him.

Even though it should’ve been a beginning, it felt like an end, but for one night, you’d indulged the both of you. 

“I know,” he says, his voice pulling you back into the present. His eyes are fixated on the pieces of gravel that sat between his feet. Even though you both agreed to it, he hadn’t forgotten about what happened between the two of you and he’s not sure if he should tell you that too. 

But that’s not what’s wrong. It’s not why he’s avoiding you. Or maybe it’s part of it. He hadn’t expected seeing you to be this hard. That it would bring it all back – wanting you – so much so that those incredibly big feelings had sent him running to a meeting. 

He just needed a place to be unapologetically fucked up. 

He’s not sure what he thought would happen – like you’d just fall into the same old rhythm of your friendship without a care in the world. 

He’d called Sydney yesterday and he could barely breathe. Sydney had told him to take the night off – that it wouldn’t help to come back to the kitchen that night – and that he had a whole week of you to prepare for. To figure this shit out. 

“I um,” he starts. He’s not sure why it’s so hard to get these words out; why it feels so difficult to tell you. “I’ve kinda been going to these al-anon meetings…ever since, well you know… since I got home.”

“Oh.”

Well that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. You’re not sure what you were expecting him to say. That he hates you? That he couldn’t stand being in the same kitchen with you and yesterday brought it all back? That it was a mistake reaching out to you?

You sit down on the curb, next to Carmy, leaving plenty of space between the two of you. 

“My sister nagged me to go. Thought it was bullshit but… I don’t know why I kept going back. I still go three times a week.” 

You stare at the ground, not sure what to say next. All that comes out is:

“Well I feel like an asshole.”

He scoffs, moreso to himself, “No, you’re not. I-, I’m sorry. I should’ve-.”

You can tell he’s frustrated as he huffs, “I don’t know why this is so hard for me to tell you.”

You sigh, scooting a hair closer to your old friend. 

“I don’t know either, Carm. I-, we used to tell each other everything.”

“I know.” 

You catch his gaze, your eyes meeting with his, and it feels like you can’t breathe for a moment. 

“I should’ve called. Should’ve kept in touch. Guess I just feel like-, I don’t know,” Carmy admits, regretfully. “I know I’ve been….”

“Uh huh. You’ve been….” you trail off. 

“But I do. Want you here.”

And that’s the problem, he thinks to himself.

“I know I’ve been a dick. I shouldn't have-.”

You take a breath, processing all of it. 

“Can we… not have this conversation again?” you ask, taking a lighter tone this time. “I mean, we sorta had a very similar conversation to this yesterday… and now today… like… are you gonna stop being such a fuckin’ weirdo or what?”

He lets out a small laugh, “Yeah. Yeah I-, I’m gonna stop, well, you know.”

You chuckle in response, continuing to tease him, “Good because… you know usually when your friend comes to town you hang out a little, catch up, say hey hello how are you? I mean, maybe I’m totally out of pocket for this, but sometimes, you know… they even hug. Yeah, Carm, like, normal people.”

“Oh fuck you,” he mutters, jokingly. 

It’s quiet between the two of you, but for the first time in the last 48 hours, it's not weird. It’s a familiar quiet intimacy – something that reminds you of the before times. 

Before Mikey died.

Before you hooked up. 

“Hey, Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to be here too,” you reassure in response to what he said earlier, bumping your shoulder up against his, playfully, earning the slightest smile from him. 

“How’s the place?”

“Surprisingly, very nice,” you answer, a mischievous tone in your voice like you know it’s going to start something. 

“What? You think I’d put you up in a shit place?” Carmy asks, feigning offense. 

“I’ve been in your New York apartment, Berzatto. Which is mostly why we spent most of our days off at mine,” you continue. 

He laughs dryly in response. 

“My brother-in-law manages a few airbnbs so… it’s the least I could do for… you know… you comin’ out here,” he explains. 

“Well thanks. It’s-, it’s great.” 

*

“I gotta get out of here early, and pick up the kid. Have a goodnight, sweetheart,” Richie says to you, about to head out of the restaurant. 

“Richie, what the fuck did I fuckin’ tell you about saying shit like that!” Carmen shouts back at his cousin, with an eye roll. 

“So sorry,” Richie says sarcastically, emphasizing your name after. “Gotta woke-ify everything in front of Carmen. Just a little baby.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Carmy yells across the kitchen, moving quickly through the closing shift chores. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Richie brushes off Carmy’s comment with an eye roll. 

“See you fucks tomorrow.”

“This look good, chef?” Marcus asks you, motioning for you to come over and take a look at the mixer. 

You reach down into the mixer, checking the dough for texture. 

“Yeah, looks good. Go ahead and grab a few sheet pans so we can shape these and we’ll cover ‘em so they can proof overnight,” you order, Marcus nodding in response. 

“Thank you, chef.” 

As Marcus disappears, in search of a few sheet pans, Carmy’s wiping down one of the prep stations. 

“Hey, you,” you say, a smile on your face as soon as you see him. 

After your talk this afternoon, things feel lighter. He feels lighter. 

“Hey,” he says, finishing up with his cleaning duty before making his way over to you. Carmy checks to see that Marcus hasn’t come back yet, and you notice.

“Great dinner service, huh?” you congratulate. 

“We’re gettin’ there,” he replies. “Smoothest it’s been so far. Since the reopen.”

Ah yes. The reopen. You’re still waiting to hear that story. 

“I was thinkin’, maybe we could do that catch up thing? Over a drink?” Carmy proposes, changing the subject, and you think to yourself that it’s the most confident you’ve ever seen him. 

“I-,” you start, as Marcus makes his way back towards the pastry area. “We’ve got one more late night prep tonight. Maybe tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” he smiles, spotting Marcus as well. “Tomorrow’s good.” 

“Goodnight, Carmy.”

“Goodnight.”

read: part three

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[thepunkmuppet]

I have spent so much time thinking about the miss holloway musical WHICH THEY HAVE ALREADY WRITTEN and I need to spill my thoughts about it

there is no point or end to this it’s just a brain fart of all the thoughts I’ve been having so enjoy I guess lmfao

“backstory”. it will be about her backstory. was she an 80’s music star who sold her mortal life for fame in a deal that backfired on her?? or was she a woman with the gift about to be hanged by the hatchet men who saved herself by making that same deal?? HOW FAR BACK DOES THIS GO IS WHAT IM ASKING WE KNOW FUCK ALL ABOUT THIS WOMAN

if it’s the former, I would love to maybe have mariah as casey (the girl with the gift in the witchwood who asked for her autograph) be an actual character who holloway maybe tries to help. also kim singing 80’s songs fuck yeah

and if it’s the latter then,,, oh wow. some heavy musical numbers, a shitload of hatchetmen / church of the starry children lore, and maybe another form of the lords in black (maybe the creepy hooded figures that we see drawn in the black book???)

also sorry EDIT I just looked at this picture again and the middle one (probably wiggly) is holding a knife. there’s no fucking way that’s not the black blade this is absolutely miss holloway guys omggggg

I would love to see this scene on stage with kim!!!! this would make 5 different forms of the LIB that we’ve seen / heard about (dolls, teens / humans, their true forms, wiggly in made in america, and whatever this is). I’m just imagining you see these black hooded figures, and then in the pro-shot you get a good look inside their hoods… and their faces are NOT human. like just imagine a massive purple eye staring out of one of those hoods, maybe even moving and blinking, a cool animatronic thing. SO CREEPY!! I also love the idea of switching up the actors again - I love jon so much as wiggly and I don’t think they would change him bc of his voice, but with the rest of them I think any actor can play a LIB which opens up so many possibilities…

I also would love to know how miss holloway met duke, and potentially even how many times they have met and then he had to forget her. considering the fact that we now have weird lore about his dad in 2005, did she know duke when he was younger?? did she help him out when he was a teenager, or help his dad?? is it a family thing, like she’s vowed to watch over the keane family or something??

duke’s dad is a big part of this tbh, because what a random insane lore / backstory drop, like WHAT? I genuinely have no idea what douglas keane sr’s murder could be about, except that it ties in to duke and to wilbur. and shows that 2005 is SO DAMN IMPORTANT

2005 was the year hannah was born, the year the portal to the black and white was created, the year wilbur cross went insane and became a disciple of the LIB, the year miss holloway took on the mantle of “miss holloway”, and (very likely) the year miss holloway and wilbur fought. so i think it’s safe to say that the musical itself will be set in 2005, which to me means macnamara and wilbur backstory alongside holloway and duke, which is very very fun

I like the idea that wilbur and macnamara were canonically together, and I really want to see pre-LIB wilbur. I also love the idea of macnamara and holloway working together or even becoming friends - despite being set a decade and a half before nightmare time, it would feel like the culmination of the two hanging plot threads / overarching arcs to me. also the idea that it was holloway who introduced macnamara to the paranormal and therefore essentially set up PEIP and doomed wiley is some juicy stuff that I would LOVE to see, especially if either macnamara or wiley lived in hatchetfield as kids and miss holloway helped them, inspiring whichever one of them to set up PEIP

ok so leading off of that I have a clear vision of a potential final scene that is driving me insane, and that’s the main reason why I patched together this post.

the final scene is the fight between miss holloway and wilbur, the one that happens in every single timeline.

and the basic idea is that we see both fights at once. there’s a song, and the stage is like black friday and spies are forever, with a level above the stage the actors can walk up to and stand on. joey and kim sing, and do their bit on the stage, but above the stage there are either doubles or a projection, mirroring the choreography. only in the pro-shot version, they would splice in joey and kim playing both pairs, which I just think would turn out looking really awesome despite being tricky to pull off live.

and yeah basically at the exact same time, one wilbur stabs holloway, and the other holloway stabs wilbur, creating a gorgeous visual representation of the newly splintered timelines.

either that or they do a trail to oregon and just do a different ending each night, and then splice them together in the pro-shot like I was saying. but I personally prefer the first one, if they’re able to pull it off and make it look good

and duke shows up just after that, having followed miss holloway throughout the story so far. and in the universe where wilbur’s dead, miss holloway makes him forget it all, hence this being the year that she takes on the new name and the fact that we know he has forgotten about her / her true past before. and then in the universe where holloway is dead, he holds her as she dies in his arms. bonus points if we get dying holloway saying “please don’t forget me” and living holloway saying “you have to forget me”. oh and just to be cruel, both dukes saying “I could never forget you” at the same time :) stew on that for a bit. yeah. fuck you I guess lol I woke up and chose violence today apparently

the idea of the two of them finding each other again after that in some timelines is just gorgeous to me, especially given the fact that NMT3 seems to suggest them finding each other AGAIN after she needs to make him forget. truly star crossed lovers they are so insane for this

in summary I guess what I’m trying to say is I think it will include miss holloway’s full backstory and then be mostly set in 2005, and centre around the opening of the black and white portal (macnamara and wilbur), miss holloway meeting duke (wilbur murdering duke’s dad, possibly something with lex and hannah if duke was already a social worker) and eventually the big fight between holloway and wilbur, ending in the audience seeing both potential endings. also obviously a reference to hannah’s birth because that seemed to be some kind of catalyst. thank you for coming to my utterly deranged ted talk goodbye

[leclerced]

during angels innocent beginning (pre sex with lando or oscar) maybe they are in the making out shirtless part of a relationship before you actually have sex?? and it’s just her and lan she gets a little bold and is still exploring but she pushes lando back onto the bed and licks a line from the base of his abs up to his neck and he is just like “baby you gotta stop , we have to wait for oscar” because he knows oscar is gonna want to be here for this. but he is all out of breath and feeling borderline subby and he knows she can’t handle being in control the first time and he is PRAYINF oscar walks through the door any second because my man is about to lose it .

-🪼

im sorry it took me hours to respond i was sleepy n needed to wake up from my nap n i smoked n i am ready. jelly this is incredible i love it so much. hope u like this bby sorry its messy 🫶🏻

angel’s getting more and more touchy with every day that passes and they’re lavishing in the feel of her lips and skin on theirs, even if it’s just making out, she’s taking their shirts off, or more importantly her own considering they both sleep shirtless half the time. it’s like they’re teenagers seeing boobs for the first time when they see hers and ask if they can touch them. i can imagine oscar went to the store to get something and angel wakes up from a nap and calls out for them because she had a… dream.

when she hears oscar’s gone, she gets a diabolical plan to mess with the little competition they seem to have going. she sits up, the blanket slipping away from her and revealing the snug little tank top and panties. they immediately catch lando’s attention, his gaze is drawn down to her body then back up in a flash as she kicks the covers away fully then coos, “i guess he’ll miss out on the fun this time.” she pats the spot next to her on the bed and lando wordlessly joins her, sitting on the edge of bed. her hands are on him before he can think, first on his shoulders to turn him towards her, then cupping his cheeks to draw him in for a kiss.

the fact that she’s taking control, even if it’s just the tiniest bit, sends lando reeling. it starts off slow, her soft hands cup his jaw as her softer lips move against his. one of her hands curls around his neck and teasingly tugs the hair on the back of his back so he sighs into her mouth. lando feels more control slipping when she nips at his lower lip, then she’s sucking on his tongue while she pulls his hair a little harder and he’s putty in her hands. everything she does gets a reaction out of him, the way his lips stutter against hers when she scratches his scalp and he sighs when she gives his hair a tug.

he doesn’t think it can get better or maybe worse for him until she’s breaking the kiss and pushing him back on the bed so she can redirect her lips to his neck. he tries to squirm away from her, clumsily climbing up into the pillows, but she just follows him and fits herself between his legs and looks down at him for a moment. he doesn’t know what she’s thinking as she worries her lower lip between her teeth, and he doesn’t have long to debate it before she’s tugging on the hem of his tshirt and he’s removing it.

lando doesn’t know what she’s doing but he can’t stop her, he needs to see how this will play out, but he’s not in the frame of mind to tell her how to do anything like she’ll want if she wants to go further, not when her lips immediately find the newly exposed skin and she begins licking and sucking at his lower abdomen. plus oscar isn’t there. he’s trying to form a thought other than please, more, because it’s all he wants, needs. but not without oscar. angel’s drunk on the reaction she’s getting out of lando, his skin is hot under her lips on his stomach, under her fingers as she rests her hands on his large thighs on either side of her. when she looks up at him, his chest is rapidly rising and falling and he’s got his gaze locked on her, eyes glazed over and lips parted dumbly, like he’s confused over something.

angel pulls back for a moment and he drops his head back with a sigh, thinking she’s done teasing, but she grins to herself before leaning back down and kitten licking at his v-line hesitantly. his hips almost jerk up, but he catches himself and grits his teeth, praying oscar is driving down the street or even better, about to walk in the door. he looks back down just in time to see her trail her lips to his belly button and then lick a stripe up his chest. he can’t fight his hips jerking up when her lips meet his after the erotic action, and he barely finds the resolve in him to mumble into the kiss, “baby, oscar- he’s not here, we can’t- we have to wait.” angel ignores him, she knows that they can’t do anything without oscar, but she concedes a little and resigns to kissing him until oscar gets home.

neither of them hear him entering their home or notice him entering the bedroom, until he’s climbing onto the bed and they feel the weight shift. angel practically vanishes from lando in the rush to get to oscar, eager to pull him in for a kiss. lando’s a hot mess and oscar gets the briefest glimpse at him and the sight goes straight to his cock. he knows angel is getting more confident in herself, can tell in the way she’s wearing almost nothing and is crawling into his lap. when she pulls away from the kiss, she skips hello and goes straight to asking, “have you ever licked lando’s chest? i think he likes it.” the casualness at which she asks the question stuns him, and he looks to his teammate, who kind of looks horrified, because that isn’t something either of them would have thought of? he tells her so and she grins like a kid showing off her new toy, then shifts back over to lando. he closes his eyes this time, unable to look oscar in the eye as she licks his stomach, a low moan erupting from his lips as she finishes by nipping at his collar bone, then draws back and looks to oscar for praise, “see?”

[leletha-jann]

Went outside to pull velcro plant out of the yard, which let me tell you does not take brain cells, so also spent the time thinking about the "WTF, Bill Heterodyne, why trust Lucrezia and not the Jägermonsters" dilemma.

And what I settled on was the concept of - indeed, the allure of - redemption.

Long post under the cut...

Bill Heterodyne, after all, could have inherently been a Thing of Evil (as he saw it; I'll put the more pulp black-and-white concepts in capitals), but instead was Redeemed by the Love of his mother Theodora, who stood between her children and their objectively monstrous father. Bill's entire life story, which he would have profoundly internalized, is that he would have been something else, something dangerous, if he and the people around him hadn't worked - constantly! - to make him a Force for Good instead.

And indeed, he and Barry went out and performed this redemption narrative in their role as the Heterodyne Boys. They were famously active, visible, persistent Heroes, trying to rewrite the story the rest of the world (after a thousand years of "Heterodyne" meaning something quite different) wanted to put them into. And it worked!

In that light, we have two separate case studies:

Lucrezia's story, at this point, parallels Bill's in ways that he would have been drawn to. (We are, of course, not looking at everything that's happened to Lucrezia since then. We're in pre-canon Lucrezia territory.) Young Lucrezia Mongfish comes from a similar background - a powerful Spark from a family of Deep Evil. But in flashback, we see her choosing - performatively or not, however sincerely or not - a different path by choosing to become one of the Good Guys and marry Bill. (These things seem to have gone together, which is a whole different story.) This is an active choice. This, I argue, is what Bill was attracted to: the idea that you, no matter who you are, can choose your nature and your fate. You can become Good - but it is a choice.

That was, after all, the story Bill was telling himself. Lucrezia's choice validated his - and his mother's choices too. The choices Theodora had died for. The Path of Righteousness could be chosen - indeed, had to be. And it's that element of choice that makes the difference here.

It's a very tempting narrative, for someone raised to despise and fear the more infamous side of his family - and indeed himself.

The Jägermonsters, on the other hand, take orders from the Heterodynes, and always have. Are famous for it, actually. Bill could have told them to be Good Guys now, and they would have listened! Dimo tells Agatha that it sounded like fun, and they wanted to try! If Bill had only enlisted them in this fine new game. But it would have had to come as an order from the Heterodyne. It wasn't their idea, and they wouldn't have done it on their own. Do you see the Horde sitting down and considering their ways and having a mass - or even individual - change of heart? No, me neither, and neither did Bill. Receiving and obeying an order to "be good guys now", to Bill, wouldn't count. Not with centuries of destruction apiece behind them. That wouldn't be a true change of heart, it would just be another order.

If just one or two Jägers had gone to Bill, individually, and said, (in the appropriate accent) "Master, we understand, we want to Be Good and do better, can you show us how?", would Bill have believed them? Welcomed them as converts? Could things have been different? I don't know, but I think yes.

Redemption is active. Redemption is a thing you do. It's a thing you work at. That's what Bill was drawn to. Not Evil itself, but the refutation of it.

Forgiveness, by comparison, is passive. Forgiveness is a thing you receive, sometimes whether you work for it or not.

(We're also into pretty solid Catholic guilt territory here, by the way, rarely to be overlooked with creators with Italian surnames. I could cite Bible verses if I really wanted to take the time, but I DO NOT.)

...I don't know if this is coherent, or new, or relevant, but those weeds were really boring, so this is what you get when I have to do yardwork.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#22: He Needs You (S4E11)

Rick and Michonne are two highly competent individuals and yet they still have this beautiful need for each other. In every sense. It was clear early in their relationship when Michonne told Rick, "Either way you need me" during the season 3 msf. It was clear in No Way Out, the iconic episode just before Richonne became canon, when Michonne saw Rick walk out into that horde and urgently said he needs my help. And it was made especially clear that Rick and Michonne need each other in this season 4 moment right here...

In those two s3 and s6 examples, it was Michonne being aware that Rick needs her, but in this beautiful scene in the great episode that is Claimed, it’s Rick revealing he too is aware of how much he needs Michonne.

And he needs her in the most vulnerable and important way because, even as early as season 4, Rick knew he needed Michonne when it came to his most cherished connection in the world - his son. 

Now, this scene holds a lot of personal significance to me in my own journey of falling in love with Richonne because when I finally emerged from the sunken place and realized Rick and Michonne had actually been falling in love for seasons, this was the first pre-canon scene I went back and rewatched post-canon. And truly my eyes were just wide open to the fact that this romantic relationship was a long time coming. 

All I had to do was see this scene to be a believer that Richonne was in the works early and that these two didn’t just love and respect each other but also were very clearly physically attracted to each other and drawn to each other in a special way.

This moment is so important because it’s Rick and Michonne acknowledging their need for each other and essentially agreeing to parent together from here on out. 

So I already love seeing the scene beforehand with Carl and Michonne bonding at the table and laughing over stories of soy milk. And then seeing them both saddened by the mention of Judith is heartbreaking. But I’m so glad Michonne and Carl had each other to relate to and process with, as they do so movingly throughout this entire episode. 

And I’m not the only one glad Michonne and Carl have each other - cuz in the next scene, Rick expresses exactly that. 

Michonne enters the kitchen where Rick is going through drawers, and one thing that lovely man is always going to do is thank Michonne so the first thing he says is "thank you." I love that Rick is so willing to express gratitude for Michonne’s presence in his and Carl's life.

After Rick and Carl’s hard times in the After episode, it was feeling like those boys might need divine intervention to truly heal…cue the ever-so-divine Michonne reentering their lives. 😌

Rick is such a good dad for real, and I love that he’s thanking her for getting Carl to laugh and then gets vulnerable that he almost forgot what that sounded like. It's one of those early ways of Rick letting Michonne see a more human side of himself. And truly to be able to give a kid joy in that world - I know Rick feels like Michonne is invaluable for many reasons, but for that especially. 

Also it's sad seeing how absolutely bruised and battered Rick is after that brawl with the Governor. And the crazy thing is he'd be looking worse than this or straight up dead had Michonne not saved his life and killed the Governor. That's another reason why it's fitting for the first thing Rick says to Michonne post-prison to be "thank you." In a lot of ways, he's still here because of her. And the way Rick and Carl bring Michonne back to herself, she's still here because of them too. 🥰

Also watching this back…the way Michonne is reacting as she listens to him tho. 🤭 I just have to note again - Sis likes him, y’all. Like this is truly the crush era for both of them cuz her energy in this scene is giving “he gives me butterflies” a bit idk. Like she’s always composed of course, but Rick brings out a different subtle nervous energy to her. And she brings out the same in him, and I love to see it in this phase of their relationship. 

Rick continues to be very honest with Michonne when he tells her that he can’t be Carl's father and best friend. And then the best part is Rick outright telling Michonne, "He needs you." Carl needs Michonne. 🥹 It's true tho. And Carl's dad, who knows his son best, knows this to be true.

This moment already was so moving but packs an even bigger punch now that we know Carl will so sincerely tell Michonne that she’s his best friend on his deathbed. And she'll confirm that he's hers too. 😭

And I love that, even here in season 4, just one season after meeting her - Rick knows not just that Carl enjoys Michonne but really needs Michonne. It’s another huge moment of one being vulnerable with her and also entrusting her with this knowledge that she’s super important both to Carl and to him. Because really if Carl needs her, then Rick absolutely knows he himself needs her too, and I love that he didn’t shy away from telling her this.

It’s cool that this time last season they were strangers, and now here Rick and Michonne are in this house looking like a whole family and talking about needing each other. And it’s also great how this is the two of them talking in the early stages of parenting their kids when they will later go on to have a baby too. What a journey. 🥰

I love that Michonne gets to tap back into her mother side with Carl back in her life. She tried to shut that part of herself off after losing little Andre but it’s still so clearly in her, and it’s beautiful the way Carl (and Judith in that moving scene when Michonne cries holding baby Judith in the prison) brought that out of her again.

It’s also really sweet that Rick acknowledges that’s a lot to throw at her. Rick was thrown into being a single dad so suddenly in season 3, and while going through his own trauma and pain, he still tries so hard to be a good dad to Carl. And even knowing he needs Michonne in Carl's life, he still doesn’t want to overwhelm her with it, especially cuz he knows she’s the independent go-out-on-my-own-to-hunt-down-crazy-governors type.

I noticed that even early pre-canon Rick seemed to be mindful of what Michonne wanted and needed, especially because deep down he didn’t want to lose her.  And I love that as Rick and Michonne's love story continued to unfold, he'd learn he never has to worry about losing her because she's with him always. 😊

So Rick says, "if you ever feel like you need a break..." but Michonne makes it clear that she’s here to stay when she speaks for the first time in the scene and assuredly says, "I’m done taking breaks."

I love how even tho Michonne didn’t talk a ton in the early seasons whenever she did speak it was just powerful and impactful. And you know she means it when she says this. She loves these Grimes boys and she’s not leaving them anymore.

This really is the season they become family and parents together without ever looking back. I love that Michonne gets this confirmation that she’s needed and valued and gets to give Rick this confirmation that so is he, and she's in it with them for the long haul.

Rick nods and then they have those signature lingering looks. Then Michonne asks what the plan is and if this place is home. That’s always very telling to me because it shows she’d be willing to establish a long-term home with them. #family.

I really feel like if both of them had found different members of tf they might be thinking more urgently about finding others, but when the three of them found each other, they found who they most needed and who they could really stop and build a fulfilling life with if they wanted.

Rick says, "Let’s just stay here while we figure it out," and then they have this quiet long moment of just staring at each other again. That clear sexual tension makes them fidgety a little bit. 😋 And like, why are these stares between them always so long? 🤭 #HereForIt.

I love this era where Rick and Michonne so clearly make each other feel a type of way in a way no one else could and they think they're being subtle about it when they're not lol. Like I know the direct quote from both their minds in this house is, “You’re about as fine as can be and now I’m really out here in an apocalypse catching feelings.” Lol, they just be mesmerized with each other and can’t help it.

Tell me both their expressions in this scene aren't a little bit or a lotta bit giving...

And also I think Rick knows that he’s suggesting he wants her to stay put with them for an indefinite amount of time and is a little nervous about if Michonne would be willing to do that with them, hence his expression. 

Michonne shows she is willing to settle in here with them when she nods and says she’ll get the supplies they need with Carl, and Rick quickly offers to go. You know these Get Things Done Grimes are always willing to go get things done. Rick and Michonne have always had that in common.

But they’ve also always had it in common to look out for the other, and so Michonne reminds Rick that he was unconscious the other day, which 😢. Like hearing that made me think dang Rick was really fighting for his life with these injuries and still trying to be a good dad and thoughtful toward Michonne while even in and out of consciousness. Real one.

Rick says, "I'm awake today" as if being full unconscious the day before is old news lol. He's like...

But Michonne then expresses her and Carl's need for Rick when she says, "We need you strong." Again I love that they need each other, and they know it and voice it.

And I especially love that Michonne so soothingly tells him to "Just rest. One more day." Cuz truly resting is a rare luxury in that world, but Michonne really can give Rick that luxury.

As much as Rick and Michonne are go-getters, they’ve also shown they're good at reminding the other to take a break, and that’s so refreshing, needed, and important. We got us a balanced couple, y'all. 👌🏽

Michonne speaks to Rick so compassionately, it reminds me of how she speaks and looks at him when she tells him he gets a few more days in their honeymoon ep Say Yes. (Also, this s4 scene shows they’ve been giving each other the heart eyes for the longest.) And you know Rick is going to listen and agree after she tells him to rest.

Michonne walks out of the kitchen, and seeing Rick turn and watch her go...that was my first moment of realizing oh he’s been checking her out for seasons. It’s great. (and it made his hand placement at the end of their canon ep make a lot of sense lol)

Lingering on this shot of him watching her walk gives such an indicator of attraction to me. Cuz yes Rick has an overall appreciation for her, of course, but he could’ve been appreciative while continuing to look out the window like he just was lol. That turn around and attentively watching her go was cuz Rick likes what he’s seeing. Always has. 😌

And I bet Michonne's walk would be on the list of things Rick loves about her, just like Rick’s walk is on the list of things she loves about him. 

Both of their energy in this season 4 scene just screams that whatever they have between them is not just platonic. And they’re just such parents in this ep. I love that the next scene is Rick again sending Carl out on a run alone with Michonne. He seriously trusts her to have done this twice now so early in their relationship, both in this ep and in Clear.

And when Rick says, "follow her lead" to Carl, and Michonne winks at Rick, letting him know she’ll make sure their kid is taken care of and gets something to eat on their run - issa whole mom and dad. 🤗

Rick, Michonne, and Carl really did find their truest home within each other, and in this ep, you can see how true that is. So I love this episode for really establishing Richonne as parents together and solidifying the lovely Grimes 2.0.

And it's great how Rick and Michonne’s deep need for each other so beautifully evolved into deep romantic love for each other too, as their family tree grew even more with the adorable addition of RJ. 🤗

Richonne's journey from Rick telling Michonne their son Carl needs her in season 4 to them having a son of their own in season 9, just goes to show we stan a ship with an abundance of riches. Boundlessly blessed, y'all. 😌