#if it gets bad please reach out to loved ones or professionals and take care of each other

[army-loves-eachother]

Today's news about Moonbin is absolutely heartbreaking. I honestly just found out about it and my mind doesn't want to believe it's even real. I've been a Aroha since their debut and even though I don't personally know Binnie its always been obvious to me that he was such a genuinely kind and caring person. The way he interacted with his members, talked about his family, his fans, and his dedication to his work/hobbies you can see how much he genuinely loved the people around him and his passions. You can never know what someone is going through even if they smile and laugh everyday. I can't imagine the pain that his family, Astro, and friends are going through. I just hope that they can get the privacy and all the love during this time. Binnie you joined the stars too early but I hope your living in a galaxy filled with the enormous amount of love and comfort you have given to everyone else. Thank you Moonbin our lovely star in the sky. 💜

[lilacs-stars]

sweet like you

pairing: bridget x fem!reader (requested) (note: reader is charming's sister) SUMMARY: you and your pink-haired best friend have your own ways of showing affection. but what will happen if you take things to the next level? GENRE: tooth-rotting fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining CW: nothing really, reader is down bad, thoughts of loneliness and worries she's not good enough, mouth-watering descriptions of food WC: 7k

A/N: this one was heavily based off of the five love languages! I personally think that bridget shows love by gift giving and quality time (although I am willing to hear people out on this), and reader is words of affirmation and physical touch, with maybe a dash of acts of service. hope you guys enjoy, and thank you to the anon who requested this! please give me feedback and suggestions, I’d love to know your thoughts!

You fidget nervously, skittishly glancing up at the girl in front of you.

You were so afraid to do it, to maybe ruin what you two already have.

But if you don’t, you’ll be trapped in a life overshadowed by regret, yearning for a love that will forever linger in your heart like a forgotten memory just out of reach, a devotion that has taken root in you so deep you know it is impossible to abandon or ignore.

And with that thought, you gently lean in towards her soft, pink lips.

“So? How is it?”

The pink-haired girl in front of you stands with her arms hugged to her chest, hands curled in fists that sit right below her chin. She looks at you with an anticipation so potent it's practically overflowing, rocking back and forth in a way that makes you think she’ll combust at any second. Her kind eyes are stretched wide open, staring down your every move as she eagerly awaits your answer.

You take a bite into the freshly baked fruit tart in your hand, the perfectly golden crust and masterful arrangement of strawberries, blueberries, and kiwi slices on top making it look almost too good to eat.

As soon as the flavors make contact with your tongue, you practically melt away at the sweet, delicious taste that graces your tastebuds. The pastry base is like a crisp and delightfully buttery embrace that unifies all the elements, a shell that cradles the flavors with care. The fruits on top are delectable and juicy, the natural sweetness and burst of tang adding a refreshing balance to the sugary taste of the pastry, like little fireworks on your tongue.

Your favorite part, however, is the heavenly vanilla custard filling. It’s smooth and decadent, like diving into a saccharine river of vanilla that glides across your tongue. It’s as if the very essence of pure bliss itself was captured and transformed into a rich, sweet nectar. The cool, silky filling and fresh fruits are delightful in how they contrast the warm, flaky crust, all the ingredients coming together in a harmonious composition of textures and flavors.

Your eyes, which had fluttered closed in sheer ecstasy, open again to see a Bridget that is buzzing with excitement.

Your mouth, still stuffed and chewing, manages to mumble out, “It-it’s incredible," as you cover it with your spare hand—proper etiquette being second nature to you by now—trying to get out the partially coherent words.

Bridget still looks at you with a zealous sparkle in her eyes, expression unchanged and expectant, relentlessly teetering on the balls of her feet like a hummingbird rapidly flapping its wings as it hovers by a flower. Most people would have stopped at the compliment, but you, being a near-professional taste tester from the number of Bridget’s creations that you’ve tried since you met her, have a full evaluation prepared as you swallow.

“The crust is very buttery and just the right amount of crispiness, perfectly balancing out the smooth creaminess of the custard. The fruits add a bit of tartness and a fresh, juicy taste that evens out the sweetness of the rest of the pastry, that could be a bit overwhelming otherwise. As for aesthetics”—you shift around slightly from your position on the edge of her bed, the fluffy pink comforter beneath you practically swallowing you whole—“your placement is very well-done. I would recommend adding a glaze to the fruits, both to make them glossy and to enrich the taste.”

Bridget nods her head fervently, absorbing your every word like your suggestions are an indisputable truth. “I feel like the crust is a bit soggy, too,” she adds, face wrinkled in a frown as she stares at the dessert in your hand.

You look down at your half-bitten treat—its original, untouched beauty now destroyed—in a scrutinizing consideration. “Did you wait for the crust to cool down before adding the filling?” Bridget tilts her head upwards, eyes deep in thought as she looks to the ceiling. “Hmm, now that you mention it, I don’t think I did.”

"That must be the cause." You are certainly no baker yourself, but you’ve had lots of practice critiquing Bridget’s creations to the point where you are highly knowledgeable in the theory of baking. “Still, it is unbelievably delicious.” As if hearing those words for the first time, Bridget’s face lights up, her features all but radiating a brilliant glow as she beams. She clasps her hands together, crying, “Aww, thanks!”

You can’t help but laugh a little—Bridget’s limitless joy is truly contagious. At times like this, when you're staring up at her, gaze swirled with pure adoration and awe as if she's an angel that descended from the heavens in front of your eyes, you start to think just how lucky you are. For once in your life, the strings of fate finally pulled in your favor, crossing your paths with the girl clad in a bright pink dress facing you.

Fate is often cruel to you, like an unrelenting winter wind blowing in your face and biting at your skin, like nature laughing at you as you shiver in raw misery, coldness seeping deep into your bones. A cruel trickster that seems to follow you with malevolent intentions, a vicious smirk painted on its face as it sends every misfortune barreling your way.

You might have been born a royal, a princess that has an unfathomable number of gowns stacked in her closet and an equal number of suitors lined up for her hand. But you aren’t like your brother; you don’t approach groups of strangers and introduce yourself with a wink and an alluring demeanor. He is Prince Charming, after all, which causes you to often ruminate over how accurately your parents named him.

Instead of flashing a winsome smile to every guest at a ball, or every visitor invited to your house, and strike up a conversation with them, you often seek refuge in the quiet expanse of your own room. When required to make an appearance, you prefer to loiter around in the shadows or pass by unseen, like a ghost. This has made you quite the anomaly in the royal world; everyone always whispers behind covered hands and in hushed voices, spreading rumors and wildly speculating about why the princess of such a gregarious family never makes a presence of herself publicly.

And it’s the same at school. Bridget, like your brother, will approach absolutely anyone with a smile gracing her features and kind eyes crinkled in the corners, oftentimes with a home-baked treat in hand. She has countless friends, many random people she mentions or smiles at in the hallways that you’ve never even seen before. She’s never had to worry about finding a partner in class, never avoided eye contact in a crowd of people she didn’t know, never sat watching other people’s carefree conversations with the weight of being an outsider, always looking in through the glass of isolation keeping you from them. 

Which is why, to this day, in moments like these, you question whether fate has made a mistake of some sort—maybe jumbled up different karmic ties or gotten confused with names when it came time to draw people’s futures. Or, your biggest fear, is that this is all some elaborate plan, a puzzle piece in destiny’s plan to make your life as ill-fortuned as possible.

In times like this one, you peer up at Bridget and wonder, why in the world, out of her multitude of friends, did she decide to spend the most time with you? To dub you her “best friend”, if you will. 

Bridget had noticed your solitary manners a long time ago—like a magnet, she’s drawn to the people who are most in need of a friend, the most ostracized of the outcasts. And so, she had patiently sat with you every day, struck up a conversation even when you gave her the shortest answers possible that were still deemed polite, and attempted to make plans with you, although you always tried to cover up your outlandish excuses with gracious thank-yous. 

Over time, the girl with the bright eyes and unfaltering smile finally wore you down, until you began sitting next to her yourself, began looking forward to your idle conversations, and even sought to spend as much time with her as possible. In fact, you spend more time at her dorm than you do yours; neither of you have roommates, so the only time you go back to your room is to get into bed. Besides that, you spend every waking moment basking in Bridget’s cheery presence, so much so that half your belongings are scattered on her floor (your doing), or neatly tucked away in a drawer (her tidying up after you leave).

Your relationship grew to a point where you began to know Bridget well enough that you couldn't keep denying the way she seemed to know everyone, and on a rather personal basis as well. How she had a party or event she was invited to every weekend, or how she had an entire roster of people willing to help her at the smallest of notices anytime she needed a favor. Sure, she may not seem like the “popular” sort, which had definitely deceived you as well when you first met her, but she was definitely well-known and especially well-liked. 

So you found yourself many a night sitting on her bed—as you are now—looking at the stack of pretentious letters and notes, carefully placed in ostentatious envelopes with cloyingly ornate lettering, wondering what about you made Bridget seek you out. And that’s when you first thought of it. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t actually like you.

And once that thought popped in your mind, once it was planted and dug its roots in your brain, it grew rapidly, spreading uncontrollably like a weed that was left unchecked for a bit too long. Bridget probably only talked to you in the beginning just to be nice, the intrusive, unwanted voice hissed in your mind. She didn’t really like you. And now you keep on leeching onto her, and she’s way too nice to say she finds you annoying.

Fueled by your disbelief that anyone, especially someone with as many options as Bridget, would actively want to spend their time with you, you started to believe that Bridget was only entertaining you out of required courtesy. And so, you tried spending less time with her after that, building up your walls again and shutting her out; suddenly, you didn’t approach her in the hallways anymore, were always too busy “studying” to hang out in her room, and your long rants about various, trivial topics were reduced to simple, curt responses.

But Bridget persisted, always choosing you amidst a myriad of familiar faces beckoning her over. She still wanted to make plans with you, still left you treats outside your door to taste test. And so, with a hesitant uncertainty, only brought out by your crippling fear and burning shame at the possibility of even coming close to hurting Bridget’s feelings from your cold actions, you decided that she might actually want to be with you, of her own free will. 

That night, you had thanked her for being such a good friend to you. She replied as sweetly and modestly as ever (“Oh, it’s nothing! Don’t even mention it.”). When you brought up how you wouldn’t have any friends if not for her choosing to persistently break down your walls, as you are undeniably terrible at making friends, she had simply told you that your style of befriending people was to wait for them to approach you first, whilst her style was to approach them first.

She had pointed out, with a compassionate wrinkle in her brow, that with your way, at least you could be certain that whoever cared enough about you to initiate something and work towards befriending you probably had genuine intentions, which was a drawback of becoming friends with just anyone, like she did—you never who truly likes you, and who’s plotting to stab you in the back. You kept your mouth shut that night, but you really couldn’t help but think if that were true, then did that mean that the only person with genuine intentions towards you in the entire school was Bridget herself?

Fate, you decided, is certainly an interesting character.

“Maybe I should make another batch.” Bridget’s musings draw you back to the present, where she now stands with a bitten fruit tart in her hand and two unoccupied cavities in the tray she had baked them in. “I was thinking of handing these out to my History of World Magic class tomorrow, but they aren’t very good…” She frowns again as she looks down at her pastry, as if furrowing her brow and staring intensely at it can miraculously fix it, or at least give her some insight into discerning what to improve.

“Bridget.” You push up off the bed, taking a step towards her and placing a firm hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to make another batch. These ones are already great.”

Abruptly, you swoop in towards her opposite hand, stealing a bite from her already partially eaten dessert. You chew with a smile on your face as you look at Bridget’s slightly startled expression, commenting, “See? This one is just as good as the other one.”

Bridget remains frozen for a moment, her forehead still puckered, before she relents into a soft grin. “Alright, then. If you say so. I guess they are alright.”

“That’s the spirit.” You let go of her shoulder, now leisurely strolling around the room, eyeing the various objects neatly placed on her furniture. Eyes scanning over each item, your hand subconsciously reaches out, fingertips languidly brushing along her possessions as if soaking up her essence. “About History, I’m so unprepared for that test we have coming up. Ugh, who even assigns that much work? Especially since Mr. Poirier already grades so harshly. Like, last test, he marked me down because I only gave three examples of goblin strikes in the past century out of the five he taught. I mean, you can’t mark someone down if you never said how many examples to give! He’s so unfai—”

Your voice cuts off as your eyes snag on a collection of objects on Bridget's desk that weren’t there before, an assortment of various tools and materials that when combined appear to belong to a crafting set: multicolored beads, tubes of sparkly glitter, delicate metal chains, a set of pliers, and a bright pink vial of glue.

“What are these?” you ask curiously, leaning in closer with a furrowed brow as you inspect the items on the desk, trying to make out what they are, or rather, what they are going to be made into.

“Ah! It’s nothing!” Bridget squeals, rushing over and throwing a spare blanket over the desk before you can take a closer look.

You spin around to face her, a frown etched into your features. “If it’s nothing, then why are you hiding it?”

“It’s not important!”

“You know you’re only making me want to know even more.”

“It’s really nothing! Just don’t think about it.”

You lift your hand, inching it closer to the draped cloth. “I’m thinking about it,” you tease, playfully moving your arm at a gradual, yet deliberate, pace towards the desk. “Still thinking about it. I’m getting closer, closer, closer…”

Just as your fingers are about to make contact with the blanket to pull it off, Bridget lurches forward, taking your troublesome hand in hers as she leads you away, towards the other side of the room with a nervous giggle.

“Come on!” you exclaim with a huff. “What’s so bad about what you’re doing that you don’t want to show me?”

“It’s not bad!” Bridget counters. “It’s just…look, you’ll find out what it is soon. Just give me some time, okay?”

“Hmm…” you hum, glancing upwards with faux consideration. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to wait that long.” A small, cheeky grin dances on your face as you try to conceal it with a feigned pout.

Bridget shoots you a look, a small smile finally spreading across her lips. “What were we talking about again? That’s right, History of World Magic. So, what were you saying?”

You notice the sudden—and rather forced—attempt to change the subject, but ultimately decide to brush it off. “Yeah, I was saying how Mr. Poirier is so unfair when it comes to grading! And his tests are always so hard. Like, seriously, he makes up test questions that he never even talked about during class. He just expects us to memorize the whole textbook or something.”

Bridget gives a small, rueful shrug. “Well, I guess he just wants us to learn the information well.” You shoot her a sharp look, one that screams "Seriously? You’re defending him?"

“Hey, I have an idea!" Bridget exclaims, eyes lighting up again. "How about tomorrow, after school, we go to the library and study for the test? With both our minds put together, we’re a lot less likely to miss something. After all, two heads are better than one. You aren’t busy or anything, right?”

You shake your head no, although it does pass your mind how Bridget must already know that you never have any plans besides the ones she makes with you. “‘Kay, study session tomorrow sounds good. Although we’re probably going to be there till midnight. I mean, seriously, who assigns one test on four different chapters?”

Just as you launch into yet another rant about your insensitive teacher whom you practically despise at this point, a deep, low horn sounds from somewhere out in the hallway, reverberating against the walls.

Both you and Bridget glance up at the clock on her wall, which is custom-made in the shape of a pink heart surrounded by a white rim, now with its glittery hands pointing at ten and twelve.

“How is it curfew already?” you groan, rolling your eyes. “Guess I have to head back to my room.” Many times, you’ve contemplated requesting to move in with Bridget, so you two can officially be roommates. After all, you practically are, with the way that people always knock on Bridget’s door first when asking for you (although that seldom happens, and the few rare times it has, it’s always been on a teacher’s behest). But every time you start to consider it, your mind plummets back into that dark place, the belief rooted deep into your consciousness whispering that you’d just burden Bridget with your inescapable presence and occupied space. 

“Aw, well, I’ll see you tomorrow in class! And at the library!” Bridget says as she walks you to the door, her constant smiling shining through once again.

You both bid each other goodnight, and as you walk the familiar solitary path back to your room, the absence of Bridget’s cheerful and bright energy is achingly present. It’s as if a piece of you was stripped away, torn from your very being and leaving you numb and hollow, merely a void of fleeting emotions just out of your grasp. Like the sun disappearing during an eclipse, leaving everyone shrouded in darkness as they await its return, you feel as though your very liveliness is missing from you. You glide down the hallways soundlessly like a ghost, your body nothing more than a shell of the exuberance brought out by the girl who’s constantly emanating pure, unbridled positivity.

Despite your feelings of emptiness, a soft ray of warmth settles onto your soul as memories of the evening, and every other moment you spent in Bridget’s company, replay in your mind. You still hear her melodious laugh, still see the bright sparkle in her eyes only displayed in someone who has not yet been dulled by the merciless, unsparing nature of the world.

Even though she’s not there, you still feel as though she is, carrying a piece of her deep in your heart while you reminisce over your memories, as you always do when you’re in the quiet loneliness of your own company. Even though she’s not there, your heart races at the mere thought of her: her gaze as she listens intently to what you have to say, the way her arms wrap around your torso and how her hair tickles your neck as she gives you a tight, enthusiastic hug.

Even though she’s not there, a shadow of her presence forever lingers in your heart and mind, leaving you yearning to bask in her warm glow again.

You step into the library the next day, after the final bell dismisses you from your last lesson. The library is one of your favorite places in the entire school—aside from Bridget’s room, of course. The peaceful retreat of the rows of dusty shelves and worn, rickety tables is unmatched. The tranquility of the gentle silence that always covers the area like a blanket, the smell of weathered books holding untold quantities of knowledge soothing you with the smallest whiff. Whenever you step across that threshold, it’s like being taken into a different dimension, one with fewer heavy burdens weighing down your shoulders and more blissful ease, a feeling one only reaches when in an untroubled state of mind.

No one looks at you as you walk in, not even sparing a single glance or the slightest movement that acknowledges your arrival. Not that that’s an unusual feeling for you.

You make your way down the aisles of books to your usual table, where you and Bridget always sit, standing in a secluded corner. The book bag slung over your shoulder is weighed down with all the books and notes stuffed into it, causing your arm to ache with strain. Grimacing as the hemp strap painfully digs into your shoulder, certainly leaving a mark that you’ll discover later, you mentally hurl a few obscenities at your teacher for his absurd teaching methods that make your bag so heavy.

However, as you move towards the table, you can see that there’s already some foreign object placed on top of it. A shocked, annoyed anger sizzles inside of you, vexation pumping through your veins at the thought of someone stealing your table. Sure, it doesn’t actually belong to you, and everyone has an equal right to choose any seat they desire, but it’s still your preferred spot and any other one would feel disconcerting and out of place.

As you near, now silently directing your colorful words towards the table thief, you begin to notice that no one else is around; nor do you see any materials on the table besides the peculiar item, which appears to be a small plastic container.

You approach the box, noticing that there’s a small, fuchsia-colored note stuck to the top as you get closer. Instantly, you recognize the handwriting, the half-cursive swirls and loops paired with the little hearts topping all the i’s instead of dots engraved into your brain.

“Dear Y/N,

I’m so so sooo sorry, but someone had an emergency and I had to go help them! I feel really bad for leaving you, and I promise I’ll make it up to you! 

For now, I made you some treats as an apology (and to help make studying a little more bearable). Sorry again! I hope you enjoy them! 

Love always,

Bridget

You smile at the little heart drawn next to her name, a staple of her signature. Opening the lid of the container, you see that sure enough, it’s stocked with plenty of macarons, a multitude of colors and flavors beckoning at you to try them.

You sigh as you grab a chair to sit in, the small wave of relief that washes over you soon overshadowed by the returning feeling of loneliness, rekindling inside of you like a greeting from an old friend you haven’t seen in a while. You reside in its arms with a comfort brought not by the warmth of a tender hug that soothes your pain and fills the hollow void residing in you, but instead by the ease of familiarity, the peace obtained when the outcome is a cruel one, yet one you foresaw. The security granted by basking in the solace of numbing arms wrapped around you, the feeling of being all alone and undesired, unwanted, something you’ve grown all too accustomed to.

Once again, you’re given a painful reminder of how popular Bridget is, how many other friends she has. How at the end of the day, you're simply an option, a choice she chooses to make. One that she can always change in the blink of an eye.

But you know that you can’t really be disappointed or feel so rejected because of this. After all, it's not like you can expect her to not have a life outside of you—ignoring the fact that you don’t really have a life outside of her. It would be selfish of you to want her to yourself all the time, right? 

Readjusting your chair closer to the table, you remind yourself that it’s nice enough of her to even remember your plans, much less take the time to stop by here and leave you a note explaining her absence, in addition to a sweet—both figuratively and literally—gift. She could have just forsaken you with no note, no warning. But then again, that’s simply not the type of person Bridget is. If she knew just how much her presence affects you, how she fills your days with a joy, a happiness so pure and unparalleled by everything and everyone else, you’re almost certain she’d never leave your side again.

To her, you’re just another friend, someone she enjoys seeing. To you, she’s your sun, the very being you revolve around and depend on to survive.

She truly is your everything.

The mouthwatering macarons eyeing you through the clear plastic invite you to take a bite, and you indulge yourself as you rip off the lid and relish in the soft crunch of the outer layers and the smooth flavors bursting within, reminding you of something akin to a dessert sandwich.

After munching on quite a few of them—you simply couldn’t help yourself, they were absolutely delicious—you begrudgingly heave your bag onto the table, pulling out the materials you so diligently packed.

You crack open your textbook to the first chapter, then your notebook to the first blank page. Ripping a sheet out from the spine, you place it down next to your notes. Every time you write something in your notebook, you copy it down on the empty page.

After all, you couldn’t let Bridget’s kindhearted nature get in the way of her good grades. Even if it did mean more grueling work on your part.

For her, you are willing to do anything. Just to see her beam at you again with those rosy lips, the sparkle in her eyes twinkling brightly at you. Reminding you that you’re the cause behind her happiness.

No matter the cost for you.

The sea of faces and bodies in front of you is slightly overwhelming, blurred flashes passing you as you struggle to find your way through the crowd. But then, your eyes snatch on a head of pink curls bouncing up and down animatedly, and instantly, you’re washed over with a wave of relief. Slipping through the cracks between the meandering crowd, you make your way over to the table Bridget is sitting at today in the Dining Hall.

“Hey,” you say gingerly, placing a hand on her shoulder to get her attention as you approach her from behind.

Bridget twists her head back, face visibly lighting up at the sight of you. “Y/N!” she exclaims, scooting over and excitedly patting the space next to her.

You take your seat, turning to face her. “Uh, so, about yesterday…” 

Your plan was to thank her for the macarons and the thoughtful note, but before you get the chance, her eyes widen at your words as her face erupts in a look of deep penitence. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Fay was trying a new spell and accidentally burned half her hair off…” Her face contorts to a look of serious shock and concern, probably reimagining the scene.

“I know that’s no excuse though! I felt so bad for bailing on you, that I stayed up all last night just to finish this…”

She turns around and bends over her seat, reaching into her bag on the floor. She grabs something, then twists back around to you, clutching the mysterious object tightly in her hand.

“Close your eyes and hold out your hands!” she instructs, vibrant with pulsating enthusiasm. A bit tentatively, you do as she says, putting your cupped palm out in front of you as you shut your eyes.

You feel a small, very solid object get placed in your hands (So not a new dessert to try, you think with only the slightest tinge of disappointment). But that all dissipates as soon as Bridget exclaims, “You can open them now!”

Your eyes flutter open, gaze pointed downwards towards your palms. Immediately, a tender surge of awe floods your heart, making its pace quicken as it beats rapidly. Your heart throbs with such a profound gratitude you worry it’s going to burst any second from how touched you feel.

You pick up the chain placed in your cupped hands, an elated smile breaking through as you take in the bracelet Bridget gave you. Decorated with numerous charms, you take the time to study all of them carefully, running your fingers over the meticulous hand-crafted details as you realize the significance of each one.

They’re not random designs chosen simply for aesthetic purposes; no, each one resembles something, either about you or your relationship with Bridget. A clear-cut gemstone of your favorite color placed next to a small depiction of your favorite animal both hang off the chain. Then there’s a metallic red apple symbolizing the one time you two went apple picking at an orchard; a little set of playing cards with the same design at the deck she used when she first taught you how to play; a small face of a gray kitten with white whiskers, resembling the one you two saved from an incredibly high and strangely twisted tree the first time you visited Wonderland. 

Nevertheless, the finest of them all is the pink, glittery heart that sits right in the middle. Embellished on its surface is a fancy cursive B next to your first initial, conjoined with a small plus sign. 

An everlasting symbol of your intimate bond.

Your mouth is fully agape, eyes round as saucers and eyebrows arched in a mix of nearly tangible astonishment and disbelief as you turn the bracelet around in your hands over and over, examining each charm with a sharp, precise eye. Bridget sits in quiet anticipation, holding her breath as she awaits any kind of reaction that can give her even a glimmer of an idea as to how you feel.

“Remember when you were asking me about the stuff on my desk the other day and I said I'd show you soon?” she asks, breaking the thick silence that has grown to be unbearable for her. “Well, I was working on this as a surprise for you. And, I mean, I felt so bad for leaving you yesterday that I wanted to give it to you today as a little apology.”

Your gaze finally breaks away from the bracelet, meeting Bridget’s jittery eyes. Before she can even process what’s happening, the next thing she knows you’ve lurched forward, arms wrapping so tightly around her body that she struggles to even breathe.

After she gets over the initial wave of shock, Bridget’s wide eyes melt into a compassionate smile, returning the embrace. You hug her firmly, getting lost in the moment and not letting go until you hear a little, “I can’t breathe,” paired with a soft tap on your back, drawing you out of your daze as you realize you’re practically smothering her.

“Oh! I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim, drawing back quickly and examining her figure with knitted brows, making sure she’s alright. “I just…I love it so much! It’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever given me!”

Bridget gives a bubbly laugh, eyes matching her grin as she says, “Oh, it really was nothing. I mean, you’re a princess. I’m sure you’ve gotten much nicer things.”

Smiling, you don’t mention how even the most lavish of luxuries, the most exorbitant of material goods only the finest money can buy, all pale into nonexistence when compared to her gift. The thought, the care, the hours of painstaking work and dedicated moments spent carefully crafting, all for you, is simply unfathomable and impossible to match. You may be holding a small bracelet worth not even a tenth of the simplest of rings you normally get gifted by your family, but to you, it’s worth more than every mansion and diamond in the whole world.

You shake your head left and right, tears of joy brimming and threatening to spill as you lean into Bridget for yet another hug (this time making sure not to squeeze her quite so hard). You know that later, you’ll probably lie in bed and wince at your brashness in this moment, hands covering your flustered face as you toss and turn in embarrassment—but for right now, you’re too swept up in your emotions to care.

“Oh! I almost forgot,” you exclaim, pulling away once again to reach into your bag this time. Retrieving a stack of papers neatly stapled, with lines and lines of orderly notes written in meticulous handwriting, you hand them to Bridget. “I figured since you probably wouldn’t have the time to take notes for the test, I took them for you.”

This time, it’s Bridget’s turn to be flustered from your benevolent gesture. “You really didn’t have to!” she cries, a stunned expression painted on her face as she flips through the numerous pages of detailed notes. She peers back up to meet your gaze with a swirl of shock and delight, her gently creased eyes and the lines on her forehead displaying her inner thoughts. Bridget often wears her emotions on her sleeve, and from sharing countless hours with her, you’ve learned to interpret her facial expressions so well you can practically read her mind. And through her gaze, you can see how she’s in disbelief at the thought that, despite your hatred for the subject and assignment—which you made very well-known—you still spent twice the time you had to on it, just for her.

“Well, I guess we’re even now,” you casually add, saving Bridget from having to formulate a response—you can clearly tell she’s having difficulty putting her emotions into words.

She shakes her head ardently from side to side, her springy curls bouncing vibrantly. “No, we still lost the time we were supposed to spend together! And I did promise I’d make it up to you.”

Before you can open your mouth to tell her that she’d made it up plenty, her head swivels to the side. You follow her gaze to a wide window a few meters away, the bright rays of sun poking out through the clouds and casting golden stripes on the table in front of you. 

Her head snaps back towards you, the light in her eyes burning bright as she enthusiastically suggests, “I heard the weather is really nice this weekend! How about we go on a picnic?”

“A picnic?” you repeat inquisitively. You don’t know what you were expecting, but this certainly surprised you. 

“Yeah!” Bridget’s talking quickens, the glimmer in her eyes shining brighter as she continues while the vague idea solidifies in her mind. “It’ll be a lot more fun than another study session. I can make the food and you can bring the stuff! The fields just south of here are a popular spot. It’s going to be so much fun!” 

She squeals as she claps her hands together. You match her smile, her enthusiasm once again infecting you. “Picnic it is, then,” you reply, grinning as she beams at your approval. 

A subtle sigh slips past your lips, unnoticed by Bridget. The same way you always wish she didn’t miss how you look at her, pure adoration and devotion mirrored in your gaze, staring at her as if she created the skies and stars with her own two hands. Which she really did—at least in your universe. 

A soft breeze blows against your face, tenderly caressing your cheeks as leaves rustle overhead, whispering to the wind of secrets unheard. The sky is a clear, vibrant blue, all but a few clouds lazily drifting by. Sunshine filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns of light over the checkered blanket beneath you. Birds somewhere in the treetops chatter and sing their pleasing songs, weaving a tapestry of notes that paint the horizon with harmonious brushstrokes. The grass sways gently, mirroring the serene breathing of the landscape.

Everything is tranquil, from the fluttering of butterfly wings to the laughter that sounds from pink lips, like the most melodious of music to your ears. The conversation isn’t that important to you; trivial, inconsequential topics that you really couldn’t care less for. But what truly matters is the way her eyes fill with the purest of sparkles, the way she doubles over as she giggles, the breeze brushing her captivatingly gorgeous curls out of her face.

There’s nothing in the world you would trade for this moment, this sliver in time where you are completely at peace. Where not a single care or worry can reach you, not when the only thing on your mind is how much your heart swells with pure affection, how simply perfect the girl in front of you is.

After she manages to catch her breath from laughing, Bridget meets your gaze—one that is directed at her, but isn’t really looking at her. Your eyes are distant, the unwavering smile on your speaking volumes of emotions.

“Those sandwiches were really good, weren’t they?” she asks you, referring to the special-made lunch that you two had just finished.

You nod, still grinning at her with a persistent gaze. “They were great, Bridget. Nothing that you make could ever taste anything less than delicious.”

She blushes, swatting at your arm playfully. “Hey, that’s not true!”

You laugh, sitting up from how you were previously lying on your back. Catching Bridget’s hand in midair, you reply, “Well, it is, because I don’t lie.”

“Oh? Since when?” she asks, mirth dancing on her features.

“Since always.” You feign annoyance at her accusations, your smile still shining through.

“Ah! Speaking of food, I have something special for you.”

You hum in surprise, watching as Bridget reaches over to your woven picnic basket. She shuffles closer to you, to the point where her knees almost brush against your thigh, with how she’s sitting cross-legged and you with your legs outstretched whilst leaning on one arm.

Opening the lid, her hand disappears inside for a moment before reemerging with a singular cupcake, topped with a swirly pastel pink frosting and decorated with small sprinkles in shades of white and red. 

“This is a new recipe,” she explains, holding the treat out to you. “I made it with this super rare flower essence, shipped straight from Wonderland. Let’s just say I gave the batter a lick, and I think it’s my best creation yet.”

“You haven’t tried it yet?” you ask, moving to sit in a position similar to Bridget’s as you accept the dessert. 

“Nope! I wanted you to have the first bite.”

Your smile only grows wider, now stretching from ear to ear, an undeniable sense of glee emanating from you. You’d normally argue with her, telling her that she really didn’t need to do something like this. But from all those failed attempts you’ve only learned that Bridget never listens, always putting you first time and time again. So, this time, you simply take a bite, nearly melting away again as the flavors hit.

The frosting has a sugary, saccharine taste, the sprinkles adding a delightfully contrasting texture to the creamy richness of the pink swirl. The cake below it is soft and moist, as if eating a fluffy cloud. The vanilla flavor is smooth, an undercurrent that balances out the sweetness. There’s a slight twinge from a distinct flavor as well, something you’ve never tasted and can’t quite put your finger on. The same way that coffee elevates the taste of chocolate, this special ingredient brings out the sweetness of the vanilla, balancing out the sugar of the frosting. Every mouthful is incredibly light and absolutely delectable, making each moment it graces your taste buds feel like an indulgent bite of heaven.

“So? How is it?” Bridget asks as your eyes swiftly open. Her anticipation lingers in the air, along with your awaited response.

But you barely hear her words, too focused on how the color of the frosting perfectly matches her delicate, roseate lips. They’re so gentle, yet lush, almost forming the most endearing of pouts.

Eyes darting from her eyes, to her lips, back up to her wide, doe eyes again, you throw caution to the wind and spring forward. Your hands move in front of you, supporting your weight as you lean in.

Your lips make contact with her velvety ones, which are even smoother than you imagined. A stolen kiss, lasting but a moment, yet enwrapped by the tender caress of your mouth, the purest of affections seeping in as you hold her lips between yours, then draw back for the briefest pause.

Eyes locked with her wide, expressive ones as you linger a mere inch away from her face, you respond to her earlier question.

“Delicious and incredibly sweet. Just like you.”

end x

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[libingan]

not the most original idea, but yk… i think this is pretty hot. i need him so bad yall its craaazy i love graves

male reader bc why not

you step off the helicopter, the whirring blades kicking up dust and debris around you. your gear is caked in dirt, your face smeared with grime and blood—some of it your own, most of it not. you’re an imposing figure, standing head and shoulders above the average soldier. at an imposing six-foot-seven and built like a tank, you’re known for your intimidating presence and brutal efficiency. the other soldiers give you a wide berth, their eyes darting away from your muscular frame and the cold, cruel demeanor that accompanies it. you are a true war machine.

as you walk through the base, you catch snippets of hushed conversations and wary glances. no one dares approach you; they know better. you head straight for graves' private quarters, knowing that he will want a report. the moment you step inside, you see him standing there, arms crossed, waiting for you.

“come in,” he says, his voice steady and commanding. “shut the door behind you.”

you do as he says, the heavy door closing with a solid thud. graves’ eyes scan you from head to toe, taking in your disheveled appearance and the minor wounds that adorn your broad, heavily muscled body.

“how’d the mission go?” he asks, his tone all business.

“objective secured. minimal resistance,” you respond, your voice flat and professional. “took a few hits, but nothing serious.”

graves nods, satisfied with your report. he takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “good work. you always get the job done, don’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you reply, standing at attention, your massive frame towering over him.

a slow smile spreads across his face as he closes the distance between you. “pup,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. “you’re like a dog with a bone. so loyal, so obedient. always coming back to me, no matter what.”

your heart skips a beat at the sound of his voice, the way he calls you “pup” with such affection. it’s a stark contrast to the cold, cruel persona you show the rest of the world. with him, you can let your guard down, even if just a little.

graves reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over a cut just below your eye. “you did well out there,” he says softly. “but you’re hurt. let me take care of you.”

you nod, unable to find your voice. the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, makes you feel things you can’t quite explain. it’s like a switch flips inside you, and all the hardness, all the cruelty, melts away in his presence.

graves guides you to his bed, the sheets neatly made, a stark contrast to your filthy state. “sit,” he orders, pointing to the edge of the bed.

you obey without hesitation, your heart racing as he steps behind you. his hands rest on your shoulders, his touch firm yet gentle. “you’re always so tense,” he murmurs, his fingers working to knead the knots out of your muscles. “relax for me, pup.”

you let out a shaky breath, leaning into his touch. the tension slowly begins to ebb away, replaced by a sense of calm and safety. graves' hands move lower, tracing the contours of your broad chest, your ripped abs. his touch is electric, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

“look at you,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “so strong, so fierce. but here, with me, you’re just my needy little puppy, aren’t you?”

“yes, sir,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. you can feel the heat rising in your cheeks, a mix of embarrassment and desire.

graves chuckles softly, his hands continuing their slow, deliberate exploration. “that’s right. my obedient pup. always ready to please me.”

he moves in front of you, his eyes locked onto yours. with a swift motion, he begins to remove your gear, piece by piece, the clinking of metal and rustling of fabric the only sounds in the room. you stand still, letting him undress you, his hands efficient yet careful.

first, your vest and holsters, then your gloves and boots. he unbuckles your belt and slides your pants down, leaving you in just your undershirt and boxers. finally, he pulls your shirt over your head, revealing your impressive, chiseled physique. the cool air prickles your skin, contrasting with the heat of his gaze.

“wait here,” graves orders, his voice a low rumble that sends a shiver down your spine. he strides into the bathroom, returning moments later with a damp washcloth and a first aid kit. he kneels in front of you, his eyes never leaving yours, and begins to clean your face with a tenderness that almost brings tears to your eyes.

“just relax,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “let me take care of you.”

he continues his work, cleaning your neck and shoulders, then moving down to your chest and arms. he tends to your wounds with a deft touch, cleaning and bandaging each one with care. his hands are steady, his touch gentle, and you feel yourself relaxing more with each passing moment.

when he's done with your upper body, graves moves lower, wiping down your legs and finally your feet. the attention he gives you is almost reverent, and you can't help but feel a surge of emotion. no one else sees this side of him, this side of you.

graves stands up and looks at you with a small smile. “there,” he says, “almost done. just need to clean one more thing.”

his hand slips into your boxers, and you gasp at the sudden contact. “have to clean this too,” he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. he pulls your boxers down, freeing your hardening cock, and wraps the washcloth around you, gently wiping away the grime.

the sensation is both soothing and arousing, and you bite back a moan. graves’ hand moves with deliberate slowness, his touch firm yet tender. he takes his time, making sure every inch of you is clean. when he's done, he tosses the cloth aside and wraps his hand around you, his grip firm and possessive.

“you’re always so good for me,” he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. “always my loyal, obedient pup.”

he begins to stroke you, his movements slow and deliberate, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through your body. you can’t hold back the moans now, each one escaping your lips as graves’ hand works its magic on your dick.

“fuck, you’re so hard,” graves mutters, his hand moving faster. “you like that, don’t you? being taken care of by your master?”

“yes, sir,” you moan, your hips bucking into his hand. the pleasure is almost too much to bear, your body quivering with the intensity of it.

graves watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, his hand never faltering. “such a good boy,” he murmurs. “my perfect, obedient pup.”

he teases you further, his hand cupping your balls, rolling them gently in his palm. the sensation is overwhelming, and you can’t help but thrust into his touch. his other hand plays with the tip of your length, his thumb rubbing slow circles over the sensitive head, spreading the pre-cum leaking from you.

“please,” you gasp, the word falling from your lips before you can stop it. “please, sir.”

“you want to cum, don’t you?” graves asks, his voice a low, seductive growl. “you want me to make you cum?”

“yes, sir,” you moan, your hips bucking into his hand. the pleasure is almost too much to bear, your body quivering with the intensity of it.

graves watches you with a predatory gleam in his eyes, his hand never faltering. “come for me, pup,” he orders, his voice low and commanding. “show me how much you need me.”

with a strangled cry, you do as he says, your release crashing over you in waves. graves’ hand continues to stroke you through it, drawing out every last drop of pleasure. when it’s over, you collapse back onto the bed, your body spent and trembling.

graves leans down, his lips brushing against your ear. “good boy,” he whispers. “always so good for me.”

you close your eyes, basking in the warmth of his praise, the feeling of being taken care of. in this moment, you’re not the cold, cruel war machine the world sees. you’re just graves’ loyal, obedient pup, and nothing has ever felt more right.

[bessiejoan]

Astrology: How trauma affects communication via Mercury

Warning - Content may be triggering. Reach out to those who love you and medical professionals when you need.

Aries Mercury - They grew up in a loud atmosphere, with lots of yelling. Possibly had one “leader” or “dictator” in their childhood home that they felt they had to obey. They grow up believing that they need to communicate quickly and loudly or else they risk never being heard. For people who felt they were not allowed to play loudly as children, play is healing later in life.

Taurus Mercury - Someone else always came before them. They had to learn to be patient and wait for their turn to speak. Their survival was determined by your ability to cooperate and choose the right alliances. They saw that trusting the wrong person could be detrimental to their wellbeing. Keeping their language neutral and friendly was most palatable for their parents. Music, singing, and healing the throat chakra is healing for these people.

Gemini Mercury - If they were smart enough, they would be praised. When things got too much, they learnt that they could throw themselves in books and mysterious. Their parents or the adults around them had different communication styles, so they had to learn to pick up different styles of communication in order to get their needs met. They also learnt that looking good and pleasing to the eye would help them relate better to others. At its worst, Gemini mercury learnt to use information in exchange for power or leverage, such as gossiping and rumour spreading. Humour is healing for these people.

Cancer Mercury - It’s hard for them to process and move on from what happened, so speaking about it can feel very real and present in their body. It’s often on the mind, and as a result, they limit their communication. When they do speak, they can overwhelm others with the amount that comes out. Learning to be ok with their own voice and narrative above what others say is healing. Also , drink water.

Leo Mercury - As a child, the communication around them was excessive and over the top. They learnt that to avoid punishments or drama, it is best to take control of the situation and shut it down quickly. Others couldn’t always be there to care for them, so they had to become hyper self-sufficient. You had to learn things by themselves, and as a result, they don’t do well in group settings such as class rooms, unless they’re in charge. They’re better at grasping attention from men than women or gender diverse people. They may have strived for their fathers attention from a very young age. Letting their fire out via creativity is healing.

Virgo Mercury - Every move they made was criticised and resulted in punishments. To survive, they needed to absorb this style of thinking for themselves and those they love. They think that if they’re hyper aware, they can prevent anything bad from ever happening again. There are a lot of thoughts and concerns directed at their body. Healing their mind and their body simultaneously is paramount. This is why the physical work required with animals can be so healing for them. Also - eat well.

Libra Pisces - Criticised for making mistakes or not appearing as others thought they should, they learnt to cover up their mistakes and insecurities by pretending everything is fine. They’ll do better than fine, they’ll speak a whole PR performance about how fine everything is... Allow them space to be imperfect. Finding the beauty in their mistakes is healing.

Scorpio Mercury - Defiant and secretive, the trauma is in the eyes. They can not take back all that they have seen, but they’ve also been taught to hide it. They may avoid eye contact in an attempt to avoid an argument. Their eye contact is intense when they want others to hear their pain. They didn’t have strong parental figures, so they learnt to be independent and in control of themselves. Growing up, people around them weren’t always truthful or honest. This has left them with a feeling of always seeking the truth. They were led to believe that their emotions were too much for others. However, these intense emotions never leave them, they just learn to hide or redirect intense thoughts in secretive ways. Self compassion is the key to healing.

Sagittarius Mercury - Naturally intelligent, they received more attention and praise at school than at home. They aim big and far away as a way to avoid addressing the present situation. As a result they don’t address the repressed hurt that pushed them to run away or towards that thing so far away. The more they heal from the past, the bigger the future truly becomes.

Capricorn Mercury - Their parents were practical and analytical. They were put to work at a young age, either around the house or in a family business. Their parents weren’t emotionally open or affectionate, as a result their tone of voice is blunt and controlled. Ruled by Saturn, the planet of fear, there was a sense of fear at a primary age when they were first learning to speak. Working in what they love is healing and where they find joy. Also - move them bones.

Aquarius Mercury - Their language can somethings sounds strange or unusual, such as a lisp, a stutter, mumbling, or jumbles words. They detached from their voice when they detached from their body as a way to survive. Now they swing between detachment via humour and avoidance, and to re-experiencing the emotions in a flash. The more they analyse everything outside of them the better, it avoids turning the analysing inwards on themselves. Escaping into nature is healing and helps to quieten the mind, in order for the bigger issues to be healed.

Pisces Mercury - The dissociation struggle is real. Difficulty listening and following along with others that are speaking. Due to fearing that they may say the wrong thing, they learnt that it’s better to give vague, indirect responses. They learnt that it was better to be able to back peddle than say something blunt that can’t be taken back. The freedom to experience self expression is healing. The more that comes out of them, the more internal space to absorb new information and communication clearly.

*Consider Pluto/Saturn in Air Houses or Pluto/Saturn aspecting Mercury and/or Air houses.

[mouseymilkovich]

I Hate You, I Love You | Carmy x Reader | One Shot

Summary: After the loss of Mikey Berzatto, you and your childhood best friend, Carmy Berzatto, are both back in Chicago. You hate him since you'd lost contact, but somewhere deep down... maybe you still loved him, too. | Carmy Berzatto x fem reader

Content Tags: Mostly just angst and fluff! Claire warning ig 😭, mentions of Mikey's death, funeral, smoking bro this is the fuckin bear, Richie uses the R word, mentions of virginity loss

Word Count: 2.3k

The ask behind the fic

It'd been a couple years since you lived in Chicago— you'd grown up there, across the street from your childhood best friend, Carmen Berzatto, and his whole family.

Your whole life, you'd been basically in love with Carmy— not that you ever would've admitted to that. Always seeing Claire after him back in high school had made you jealous— mostly because you thought he definitely liked her back, nothing to do with her personally. That held you back further from ever telling him, though.

After Carmy left town for Paris, you slowly lost contact. By the time he was in New York, you basically never heard from him. It angered you, it felt like he just didn't care about you anymore. He didn't even try to reach out whenever he'd come home for holidays.

Mikey and Sugar were like family to you too, of course. They'd always taken care of you and looked out for you like one of their own. So, when you heard about Mikey's passing, you were on the first flight home. You knew he'd gotten bad over the years, but you never thought it'd get to the point of him taking his own life.

The whole funeral, you kept an eye out to find Carmy. You knew how much Carmy loved his brother— surely this must've been crushing him. But, you were shocked, and a little disappointed to find that he hadn't shown up at all. That was probably the moment you realized, the Carmen Berzatto you knew growing up, the Carmen Berzatto you were in love with, was long gone.

"This whole runnin' The Beef thing has been makin' me nuts, sweetheart." Richie sighed to you while you shared a cigarette outside.

You frowned a little, squeezing his shoulder gently. "I'm sure, cousin. I'm really sorry."

"Hey, you worked at The Beef for a while when you were 16, til college, right?" He asked, perking up a little. "Would you come back? Please, we could really use the help."

You thought about it for a moment. You remembered Carmy was furious when Mikey had let you work at The Beef and not him. Maybe that was the start of the downfall of your friendship back then...

"I'd love to."

It was only about two weeks later you all found out that Carmy had been left the restaurant in Mikey's will. You didn't even see Carmy at the funeral; that made you angry. He could come take over the damn restaurant but not lay his own brother to rest?

"Do you know what day he's actually coming to take over?" You asked Richie as you smoked in the alley before work.

Before Richie could answer you, a car pulled up, and there stepped out the man himself. Carmen Berzatto.

"Today." Richie grunted before stomping out his cigarette butt.

"Hey, cousin—" He started to greet Richie before he noticed you. Those crystal blue eyes bored into you, staring into your soul. "Um... hey."

"Hi." You muttered bitterly. "C'mon, cousin, let's get to it before Mr. New York tries to show us up."

Richie couldn't hold back a laugh as he followed you inside. You heard Carmy let out an exasperated sigh from behind the door. It was a moment before he came inside as well, you assumed he must've been having a cigarette.

"I was running this damn place fine without him..." Richie muttered under his breath.

You sighed, gently rubbing Richie's arm. "You've been doing the best you can, we all know that... look, to play the devil's advocate, maybe this could be good. He does have very professional restaurant experience."

"Whoop-dee-fuckin' doo!" Richie snorted.

"Nice to see you too, cousin." Carmy sighed.

You laughed spitefully, rolling your eyes. Not nice to see you though, right?

"And, uh, you too." Carmy muttered to you upon hearing your reaction.

"Sure!" You nodded with a big, sarcastic smile. "Fuck you."

He looked a bit taken aback by that. He obviously couldn't understand why you were so angry, which somehow didn't surprise you.

"It's a shame someone so smart is just so oblivious." You commented, then turned to go back to what you were doing as more of The Beef staff piled in to start the day.

┈

It was very obvious that The Beef staff was having none of Carmy being in charge. It was different when Richie brought you in— even if some of them didn't know you, they knew you worked here before, so it was no surprise that you were far more well adjusted to the way Mikey had done things than the way Carmy was turning things around.

"The fuck is staging, cousin? Sounds retarded." Richie snorted.

"You can't fuckin' say that!" Carmy groaned, grabbing the bridge of his nose. "It's basically an unpaid internship for chefs."

"Richie, we gotta work on your language, man. Gotta get with the times." You muttered with a little laugh. "But, I agree, sounds fuckin' stupid."

"Would you two stop ganging up on me, for fuck's sake?!" Carmy snapped.

Ever since you were kids, you'd always enjoyed teasing him. It still seemed fun now, to piss him off and push his buttons.

The unfortunate thing about having Carmy back in your life, was that as much as you were so pissed off at him, as much as you swore you fucking hated him... your crush, your absolute head over heels, wanna be pretty and girly, stupid in love, crush— it'd returned tenfold. Obviously, Carmy was different now, but at the same time, he was still the shy, awkward, ball of anxiety that you'd fallin in love with as a little girl. And you absolutely loathed yourself for it.

You stood outside, smoking a cigarette, Carmy appeared beside you suddenly, lighting up one of his own. You felt your whole body tense, the silence hung in the air and surrounded you. But you didn't know what you'd even say— ever since he became head honcho at The Beef, you'd done nothing but sass him and yell at him.

"You been workin' here this whole time?" He broke the silence, glancing at you between drags of his cigarette.

You looked back at him, arms crossing while you flicked the butt of yours. "No, Carm. I haven't been here the whole time." You huffed, rolling your eyes. "I went to college, I was living out of state. I came back for the funeral and Richie told me The Beef needed extra hands. So I decided to move back here and help him out."

"Oh... um, s-sorry..." Carmy muttered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm... just trying to make small talk, okay?"

"There's no need." You muttered bitterly.

Carmy sighed, running his fingers through his curls as he went back to occupying his mouth with the nicotine between his fingers.

You knew you this wasn't the time or place to snap on him, but it was bubbling inside you like a fucking volcano close to eruption. As much as you were telling yourself not to do this right now—

"You never called." You muttered, looking over at Carmy again.

"What?"

"After Paris. You stopped calling me. Stopped messaging me. Stopped... everything." You said quietly. "Even when I tried, you wouldn't respond. So I... stopped trying. You forgot about me."

"I... I never forgot about you, I just... got busy..." Carmy stammered, turning his body fully to face you. "I... New York was really intense..."

"You don't have to lie to me, Carmy. You got huge, you got excellent, and suddenly some people didn't matter to you anymore." Your tone held so much bitterness.

"That's not true—"

"Shut up." You cut him off, feeling the anger starting to bubble over more with each passing second. "You promised me we'd never lose touch. We did almost everything together until the end of high school. We fucking skipped prom together and borrowed Mikey's car—"

"Is that what this is about?" Carmy asked. "That night in Mikey's car?"

┈

You and Carmy had skipped prom and borrowed Mikey's car to go hang out elsewhere. It wasn't unlike you guys to do that— you guys actually did that a lot, borrow Mikey's car, get ice cream or see a movie, or just park somewhere and hang out.

Something different hung in the air tonight though. You both knew prom was typically a night where certain... memories were made. It was funny, you'd expected him to ask and go with Claire— but he was quick to skip with you instead. Maybe his crush on Claire was just an illusion, you didn't know for sure, maybe you'd just been jealous.

"Wanna cuddle in the back seat? Turn on some music?" You suggested.

"Oh, um, sure." Carmy agreed with a nod.

You put on a mix CD that you'd made for your various drives with your best friend, and then climbed into the back seat where Carmy waited for you. You settled against his side, resting against his shoulder.

"You think they crowned prom king and queen already?" Carmy asked as he lit a cigarette.

You laughed a little, stealing the cigarette from his hand and taking a quick drag before you gave it back to him. "No clue. Who gives a shit anyway?"

Carmy shrugged with a little smile, then looked down at you. "You would've looked nice in a prom dress, though."

His comment took you by surprise. "Yeah?"

"Yeah..." He muttered softly.

Silence. Just you two looking at each other for a moment. You found yourself unable to hold yourself back from what you were about to do— and you kissed him.

That night changed something between you two, maybe everything. But you never spoke about it again.

Not a soul knew you'd lost your virginity to Carmen Berzatto in the back seat of his older brother’s car.

┈

"No— well, sort of! But, it's more about the fact that you fucking abandoned me!" You practically yelled.

"Look, I-I'm sorry, but it's not like it wasn't hard for me too!" Carmy frowned.

"Bullshit! You got what you wanted, then you ran away to Paris, kept in touch for a little while, then never again!" You were nearly screaming by this point.

"That's not true!" His tone held some frustration. He chucked his cigarette onto the ground, then trapped you between his arms against the wall. "Do you even hear yourself? Since when was I ever fucking like that?! You were my first time too!"

Your face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and frustration. He was getting on your last nerve. "Then why did you stop talking to me?"

"I... this fucking... prick of an asshole... David Fields. He's the coldest, most heartless..." Carmy started, his voice began to shake slightly. "When you work for him, you let go of everything. Everybody. It wasn't just you... and... I'm sorry."

You looked into Carmy's eyes, seeing the held sincerity. You sighed, gently reaching out to touch Carmy's cheek. "I would've come to see you if I knew that."

"Nobody knew. Everybody thought the same thing you did." He frowned. "That I abandoned them."

"I... I'm sorry, Carmy. Really." You muttered softly. "I... guess I let the emotions get the better of me. I know you better than that..."

"Trust me, I can... see how it must've looked." He muttered, finally dropping his arms that had just had you trapped.

"Still... I could've just... asked." You muttered. "But I just assumed."

"Yeah... you were always good at that." Carmy teased slightly, giving you a little smile.

You rolled your eyes, but smiled too. "Shut the fuck up."

There was a brief moment of silence as you finished off your cigarette finally. Carmy was the one to break it.

"So... are we okay?" He asked softly.

You nodded a little, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "We're okay."

A weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

┈

The following days at The Beef were significantly less awkward and painful as they had been— at least, for you. None of the other staff were loving Carmy being in charge, try as you might to convince them.

Still, you were happy that things between you and Carmy were settled— or, mostly settled. There was still one thing between you two that you hadn't yet addressed, partially because you weren't sure when or how, but also because you refused to admit it to yourself.

After all these years, after hating him for a little while, you still had feelings for him. You hated it, you hated that they just wouldn't go away. There was no way Carmy felt the same way about you, right? Surely he had met some interesting people from Paris, Copenhagen, New York, and everywhere in between.

But, oh, how wrong you were— which you were about to find out tonight.

The Beef closed down for the night, Carmy had asked you, only you, to stay behind to help him out with something. You didn't question it— you had no reason to question it.

Carmy had you doing some mundane task, you had no idea where he was. Until he called you into the dining room where the staff usually ate for family.

As you walked closer, you noticed the slight glow of candlelight through the door. It piqued your curiosity, and as you grew closer, a delicious smell filled your nostrils. You entered the dining room, and saw Carmy standing next to a table. The table had a candle lit in the middle, two plates of beef wellington which you'd been him working on earlier in the day— he'd insisted he was practicing making it.

"Carm..." You muttered with a little smile. "This... are you fucking with me?"

"No, uh... here, come sit down." Carmy smiled slightly, waving you over.

He pulled out a chair for you, you sat down, and he sat across from you. He'd made this all for you...

"To make up for lost time." He said softly, giving you another slight smile. "And... hopefully we don't lose any more."

"We won't." You reassured, reaching over and grabbing Carmy's hand. "If you promise, I promise."

"I promise."

[dfortrafalgar]

HII

for requests, can you do law taking care of sick reader, hurt/comfort kind of thing that ends with fluff????

THAT'S IT AND DON'T FORGET TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!

Hi anon, thank you so much for your request!!!! a few months ago, i actually started this fic when i was ill with a pretty bad sinus infection, but then i just never finished what i wrote, so your request was actually the perfect thing to get me to finally finish that and share it with the world! i hope you enjoy it, thought it might not be as hurt/comfort as expected, so i hope that's alright <3

Doting

Law x Fem Reader

A nasty illness inflicting you brings out the warmth in Law.

Warnings: fairly detailed descriptions of gross sinus infection symptoms (cus i initially wrote this while actively dealing with one so its kinda visceral lol)

A light sleet gently tapped against the glass porthole as you weakly rolled your body over under the warm blankets that firmly surrounded you.  The sound was enough to quickly lull you back into the comfort of slumber, but your mind was already starting to run.  There would be no more falling asleep now.  A cold spot lay beside you, no surprise that Law got up before you did.  As you slowly entered the conscious world, your body was wracked with a cold shiver, a sensation deep within your marrow that seemed to bounce off of every cell.  You became acutely aware of a hard stone in the back of your throat that made swallowing a heavy burden.  Inhaling through your nose was met with nothing but a clogged nasal cavity, the crackling of mucus that wouldn’t move bouncing around your weary skull.  You attempted to push yourself up on your hands, but your muscles trembled feebly and you collapsed back down into the plush mattress with a tired groan.

No doubt about it, you were sick.

You angled your head to look toward the small wooden bedside table that Law used for his analogue alarm clock.  Your blinking eyes, slowly adjusting to the dreary gray light of the cold, snowy day outside, focused on a small piece of notebook paper placed on the table, under a paper cup of water and two pills.  You reached an arm over, carefully pushing the cup and the pills out of the way so you could grab the paper.  You shifted slightly on your side for a better reading view, cringing uncomfortably as you felt the pressure in your sinuses move around with every adjustment.

Good morning, love. You were breathing strange when I woke up so I did a scan on you- you have an acute sinus infection.  I left you a pain killer and a vitamin C capsule, please take them as soon as you wake up.  We docked at an island for a supply run, so I will be back around noon to take care of you.  If you need anything, Bepo stayed behind on the ship.  I love you. – Law

Your illness had no bearing on the way your heart fluttered with boundless affection for your boyfriend.  His note was analytical, but you couldn’t help but appreciate his professional physician side as well as his tender, intimate personality you saw behind closed doors.  It was just like him to notice something as minimal as your breathing while you slept, it gave you a sense of security you didn’t think you needed, but were beyond happy you had.

You once again attempted to push yourself up on your arms, just enough to reach over for the two pills, throwing them into your mouth and swallowing a gulp of the room-temperature water from the paper cup.  Your throat convulsed from the pain of swallowing, and you needed to force your esophagus to move the pills where they needed to go, but once they were down you laid your head back onto your pillow, closing your eyes tightly as the pressure within your sinuses began to ebb its way into your attention with your waking body.  You had felt fine when you went to sleep the night before, but now you were wracked with aches, chills, and pain in your face.  Just your luck, truly.

At least it was a cold, snowy day.  You didn’t feel like you would be missing out on anything too important.

You slowly shuffled upwards on the bed, now sitting up against the metal bedframe and holding the bed sheets against your frigid shoulders.  You had a tendency to sleep in tank tops and shorts due to the heavy insulation the metal walls of the Polar Tang provided, but that made very little difference in your feverish state.  Even the thought of the blankets revealing any centimeter of bare skin made your teeth chatter, but you knew you had to get up.  You felt gross, the back of your mouth coated with a foul-tasting funk from your blocked head, and you craved nothing more than the refreshing taste of the mint toothpaste you shared with Law.

Though, if you were ill, it might be best to open a different bottle… and use a different toothbrush.

You gazed around the small bedroom that you shared with Law, a comparatively tiny room aboard the submarine, composed of very little except for his bed, a tiny desk (much smaller than the one in his medical ward), a small bookshelf, and a wardrobe.  Law’s outlandish, feathery coats took up a lot of room, but they were comfortable and outrageously warm.  Your eyes formed the most efficient path you could take to don yourself in warmer attire as quickly as possible.  Taking a deep inhale through your mouth, which scratched your sore throat enough to make you suppress a heavy cough, you pushed the blankets off of you, swung your bare feet over the side of the bed, and plopped across the steel-panel floor towards the wardrobe.

The soles of your feet sent shivers up your entire body as you pulled out a ratty pair of sweatpants, one of Law’s oversized sweatshirts, and one of his feather coats.  You yanked on the clothing as quickly as your shaking limbs would allow before finally offering your feet relief from the cold floor by sliding them into a pair of fur-lined slippers.  Your trembling fingers pulled the coat tighter around your body as the relentless, feverish chills endlessly consumed your entire body.  You weakly pushed open the heavy metal door into one of the narrow labyrinthian halls of the Polar Tang before following a familiar route towards the galley.

Rounding a corner, you spotted Hakugan on the floor in front of an open electrical panel, a small box of tools by his side.  His mask was pushed upward, revealing his face so he could better focus on his work, but when he heard you enter the vicinity he made quick work of pulling the white plastic back over his face.  He fully turned his head to look at you through the black slots of his mask as you meekly approached.

“Good morning, yeesh you look terrible,” he muttered.

“‘Morning… I feel terrible.”  Your voice left your larynx with an airy, hoarse crackle that left a stinging sensation in its wake.  “Law said I have a sinus infection.”

Hakugan hummed, a sound slightly muffled by the barrier in front of his face, and turned his head forward to continue whatever he was previously occupied with on the floor.  “We have some apple juice in the fridge, that’ll fix you up in no time!”

You chuckled at the statement, which wasn’t much of a laugh and was more of a congested, donkey-like groan.  “Thanks, Hakun, I appreciate it.”  Your friendly nickname for your crewmate made the man smile, judging only by the slight way his jaw moved under his mask.  You continued down the hallway towards the galley, pushing open the door to the sight of Uni and Bepo swabbing the floors, counters, dining table, and every other surface with regular hand contact.

Uni looked up towards you from his diligent hand-washing of the surface of the dining table before groaning.  “Now we’re gonna have to wash everything again ‘cuz you’re sick!”

You frowned.  “You want me to starve?”

Bepo quickly stepped between you two, putting his thick paw on your shoulder and ushering you towards the fridge.  “Feed a cold, starve a fever,” he quoted.  “That’s what my mama used to say when I’d get sick.”

“I guess I should starve then,” you responded bluntly, feeling the hairs of your arms rise with goosebumps as another chill waved through you.

“Nonsense, you need strength to get better!” Bepo had immediately assumed his comforting, caring demeanor and pulled over a folding chair for you to sit on.  “Do you want anything for breakfast?  I can make you some eggs and toast, or some oatmeal, or some fresh fruit!”

You smiled warmly towards the bear, finding solace in his uplifting personality.  “Some fruit sounds nice.”

“You stay right there, I’ll make you a bowl.”  The mink turned his back to you and began rummaging around for a cutting board and a knife to prepare you a small bowl of fruit to take back to your room.  

Uni had left his washcloth on the table and paced over to where you sat, keeping his distance but still leaning forward to talk.  “How are you feeling?”

You flashed a smile in his direction, followed by a hearty and mucusy sniff.  “Sick.”

The much taller man chuckled beneath the cloth that covered his mouth.  “Yeah, no surprise there.”

“What does Law normally do when one of you gets sick?”

Uni’s long fingers drummed against the countertop.  “He lets us suffer, really.  If he used his devil fruit to keep everyone healthy all the time, then our immune systems wouldn’t develop.  At least, that’s what he tells us.”

You gazed at the floor.  “I guess that makes sense.”

“He’s got plenty of remedies to make the symptoms easier, though.  Did he give you one of those vitamin C pills?”

You nodded.  “He left one on the nightstand when I woke up.”

Uni also nodded affirmatively.  “Those things work like magic, I’m convinced.”

Behind your conversation, Bepo was laser-focused on creating the healthiest fruit salad for your consumption, rife with healthy vitamins to kickstart your immune system faster than a pill could do.  He turned in your direction with a bowl in his hands, a shiny metal fork sticking out of it for you to use.  “Ta-da~!” he cheered.

You carefully took the bowl into your shaking hands.  “Thank you, Bepo!”

“Of course, anything for you!”  You could almost see prideful sparkles floating around the mink’s head.  “There’s tangerines, some strawberries, blueberries, some diced watermelon, grapes, and some chopped peaches.  The tangerines are from the Straw Hats actually, they’re super delicious!”

Holding the bowl firmly in your grasp, you stood from your chair and carefully pulled Law’s coat higher on your shoulders.  “I’m already feeling better, thank you guys.”

The two crewmates waved you off as you began your fatigued trek back to the captain’s cabin.  You passed by Hakugan once again, who uttered a tired-sounding, “Get better soon,” in your direction, which you happily thanked him for.

Twisting the hatch of the cabin door, you heaved the barrier open and stepped inside, closing it behind you.  You placed the bowl of fruit onto the small desk to free your hands, allowing you to shrug off the feathered jacket and drape it carefully off the wooden desk chair.  You faced the small bookshelf, eyes picking between Law’s assortment of extra medical texts, personal journals, and comic books, before finally pulling out a novel you had started some months prior.  Book in hand, you grabbed your bowl of fruit, kicked off your slippers, and scampered back into bed, pulling the covers up to your shoulders and once again enveloping your shivering form in a barrier of serene warmth.  Your shaky hand grabbed the handle of the metal fork, stabbing into a piece of watermelon and placing the fruit into your sore mouth.  You flipped through the book, tired eyes barely absorbing any of the words as you focused solely on chewing each bite of fruit you took.  You very quickly began to nod off yet again, finally subdued by the subtle hum of the submarine’s engines, the tapping weather outside, and the words of your novel.

You placed the bowl of fruit, now half eaten, on the bed stand and let your book fall to the ground as you rolled over onto your side and let yourself fall back into the clutches of slumber, at least until your beloved returned aboard.

—

A harsh, wet sneeze jostled you violently from your slumber.  You sat up with a jolt, one hand covering your face to contain your snot, which made you cringe at the sensation.  You glanced over toward the clock on the nightstand which read 11:30 AM.  You groaned.  How long had you been out?  It couldn’t have been longer than an hour and a half at the most.  You swung your legs over the side of the bed and shuffled into your slippers once again, making your way to the submarine’s bathroom.  You felt unbelievably gross, between the hand on your face holding your dripping mucus in your nose, your feverish cold sweats, and your overall malaise.  You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this sick.

You knocked on the door to the bathroom, per routine.  There was only one shower stall and bathtub, so every Heart Pirate kept to a strict bathing routine.  To have you slip in for a quick, steamy shower at this hour was outside of that norm, but with many of the crew gone on the supply run, you didn’t think you’d run into any issues.  You entered the bathroom, locking the door behind you and making your way towards the metal sink bowl, running warm water and washing off your hand.  You grabbed a paper towel which you used to wipe your face (and subsequently blew your nose once again) before you began to disrobe from your smelly, sweaty clothes.  The steam from the shower would hopefully loosen the compacted mucus in your sinuses, so you turned on the shower faucet and stuck your hand under the tap to make sure it was warming up to your liking.  You grabbed a towel from the nearby bathroom linen closet, placing it on the sink so you could grab it easily when you were done.

The hot water immediately soothed your cold sweats, and the steam entering your lungs felt euphoric compared to your congestion.  You stood under the stream of water letting the drops run down your body, taking in as much of the warmth as you could.  You idly reached for the bottle of body wash that was kept on the edge of the tub, squeezing some of the soap into your hand and washing the parts of your body that felt the worst.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you stepped into the bath, but you started to feel strange under the flow of hot water and clouds of steam surrounding your head.  Your eyes began to blur, your vision swaying back and forth in repetitive motions.  Your fingertips felt tingly and numb, and a nauseous sensation filled your abdomen and reverberated into the back of your throat where it left a cold, sour taste.  Without thinking, and without turning the water off, you sat down under the running faucet and leaned your head on the side of the bath, closing your eyes.

—

A cold towel was placed against the back of your neck, once again making you jolt upward.  What time was it?  What day was it?  Why were you naked in the bathtub?  Did you turn the water off?

“Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes darted from the shower tap to the porcelain tub wall to the hand that waved three fingers in front of your face and gestured for your attention.  You lazily gazed forward, your weary expression meeting steely golden eyes that were narrowed with profound concern.  His other hand was pressed against the back of your neck, where a cold washcloth was pressed against your damp skin.

“You had a hot flash.”

“Huh?”

Law shook his head, but not out of disappointment.  Rather, he was incredibly worried.  With pursed lips, he carefully helped you to your feet and out of the tub.  Once your feet met the cold metal floor, you sank to your knees with a weary groan.  Law grabbed the towel you had placed on the sink and threw it around your shoulders, beginning to dry you off as best he could without disturbing you too much.  You hung your head limply, letting your boyfriend work the water off of you without protest.  The cold compress on your neck began to warm with your body heat, and you felt it slide down a tad toward your shoulder blades before falling to the floor with a wet plop.

“Look at me,” Law said once more, voice firm and asserting, yet calm.  Your eyes flicked up toward him.  “I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

You simply nodded your head, barely a thought to make any move otherwise.  Law’s hands wrapped the towel around your body under your arms, carefully holding it in place in the front by your breasts.  His arms snaked under yours, hoisting you up like a heavy toddler, before he awkwardly bent down and placed his forearm under your knees, hauling you off your feet and against his chest.  Your head fell into his pectoral, taking as much of a deep, snotty inhale as you could, feeling your eyes close at the comforting sensation of his shirt against your face.  A faint ‘Shambles’ was heard, along with the weak magnetic sensation that you felt every time you were teleported with Law’s ability, and you were suddenly met with the comfort of your bed for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

Your towel slipped slightly, and Law quickly put it back into place before walking to the wardrobe and picking out new, clean clothes for you to wear.  He worked quickly, dressing you, wrapping your hair, wiping your face, and applying another cold compress onto the back of your neck while helping you sit upright.

The deepest part of your nasal cavity tickled uncomfortably.  You let out a gargantuan sneeze while Law’s back was turned, making him jump and turn back toward you.

A large blob of snot dangled from your nose.  You made zero attempt to do anything about it this time.  One might compare your current state to that of a sad, wet dog.

“You’re more sick now than you were this morning.”  Law used a tissue to wipe your face.  If you had any piece of mind, you would be humiliated at your juvenile state.  “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

You were slowly coming to your senses after your hot flash in the shower, just in time for your boyfriend to ease an oral thermometer under your tongue.  He held your mouth closed with his fingers, muttering a quiet, “Hold it there,” then retreated across the bedroom to dispose of the tissue in his hands.  He squeezed a generous helping of sanitizing soap onto his hands, rubbing it as far up as his forearms.  He turned back to you right when the thermometer came back with its final reading.  Gently pulling the device from your mouth, he held it to his eyes which grimaced at the sight.

“What’s it say?” you asked, feebly.

“102.2.  You’re definitely fighting off a bacterial infection.  I’m assuming bacterial rhinosinusitis, caused by Streptococcus pneumoniae, judging by the color of your mucus.”

You hung your head.  “That’s so fucking gross, Law.”

He chuckled, placing the thermometer on a paper towel on the desk to be cleaned later.  He sat at the edge of the bed, reaching a hand over to gently rub the top of your head.  “I’m sorry, it’s the doctor in me coming out.”

You couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto your face.  “It’s okay.  I just don’t like sneezing out hurricanes worth of boogers.”

“I don’t blame you, it’s not fun.”  His hand trailed from the crest of your head down toward your cheek, gently stroking beneath your eye with his tattooed thumb.

“Is there anything at all you can do?  Uni told me you just make everyone suffer to build their immune systems.”  Your voice was groggy, but you were pretty much completely lucid once again.  Your eyes darted toward the nightstand.  Your bowl of fruit was gone, replaced with two glasses, one with water and one with apple juice.  Alongside the drinks were three bottles of medication and your book which you had neglected after falling asleep earlier.

Law hummed under his breath.  “Well, I do prefer that everyone work through illness on their own with the help of standard medication, yes.  It’s how I make sure everyones’ immune systems are working as they should.  Any more sick than an average fever, then I intervene.”

You attempted to inhale through your nose, pulling up snot deeper into your sinuses and exhaling a congested breath.  “Can you intervene with me?”  You tried your best to give your man the puppy eyes you knew he couldn’t refuse.  This time, however, he stifled a chuckle at your expression.  Puffy, scorching hot cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a nose rubbed raw from constant sniffing.  Your lips were beginning to become chapped with all the mouth breathing you had to do.

Law turned away from you, bringing a hand to his mouth with a badly covered snort.

“Lawwww,” you whined.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry my love,” he turned back toward you, a mischievous smile on his face, though his eyebrows were angled with sympathy.  “I really do wish there was something I could do to alleviate your symptoms quicker, but I’d rather not get invasive.  Simple remedies can make you more comfortable, but the antibiotics will be doing most of the work.”

You hunched your shoulders and leaned back against your pillows, sniffling once more with a pout on your lips.  “I guess I understand…”

Law replied to your weary tone by pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.  “Because you’re not contagious, however, I can spend the rest of the day with you… if you want.”

Your eyes, albeit puffy, lit up like fireworks at his suggestion.  “Really?  You can?  You don’t have, like, any work to do or anything?”

“Well, I do…” he muttered, scratching his cheek with one of his fingers.  “But I’ve come to learn recently that I can put off working when someone who I care about needs me.”

You could hardly respond to his fond words, instead choosing to drop your heavy, congested head onto his shoulder as he moved over the mattress and pulled you into his chest.

“Just tell me to move if you get too hot or uncomfortable,” your beloved whispered, stroking the back of your head with his inked hand.

A soft, weary hum of acknowledgement was the only sound you could muster as the feeling of his warmth circling your cold, feverish body brought you the first sense of true serenity you had experienced since first waking up.  While you couldn’t smell him due to your blocked sinuses, his lingering presence alone was enough to lull you into yet another much-needed slumber.

—

Law exceeded the definition of ‘pampering’ when it came to caring for your ill state.  When it was revealed to you that he very rarely treated the rest of the crew with the same level of domestic, loving care, you tossed your lover a pointed, disapproving gaze.  He simply did what he had to do as a doctor and a captain, but you were special to him, far more than just a regular crew mate.  (If that wasn’t obvious already, with the way his kisses always seemed to burn your skin and his hands knew every part of your body.)

But in the days following your first onset of symptoms, Law hadn’t left your side, even after the Polar Tang submerged yet again deep below the dark blue ocean, cruising to its next destination.  Law moved some of his work materials from the medical room to the floor and small desk of your bedroom, half of his brain focused on his studies while the other half kept a close watch on your slumbering form in the bed next to him.  The antibiotics were quick to shut down the illness, and although they did come with a few less-than-pleasant side effects, you were thankful for how rapidly the regimen of pills slowly loosened the mucus in your nose, the pounding in your head, and the tightness in your chest and throat.

Perhaps he might have been a bit too attentive.  Shachi and Penguin tossed lighthearted jeers in their friend’s direction as he followed you into the shower for the third day in a row, keen on making sure you didn’t faint under a stream of too-hot water again.  While you found it humorous that he wouldn’t leave your side, you were also beyond thankful to have someone so focused and dedicated to ensuring your wellbeing.  Law was truly one of a kind.

And when your first 24 hours without symptoms passed and you were deemed officially in the clear after a long week of recovery, you were rewarded with a long-overdue kiss on the lips from your doting man.

You, as well as the entire crew, were given strict instructions to incorporate Vitamin C capsules in your daily food intake to prevent more severe infections from cropping up, but with the way you were taken care of by your bespeckled boyfriend, a small part of you wouldn’t mind getting sick again.

[mocca-and-stars]

Roomies

Hwang Yeji x Male Reader

Yeji it's a weird kind of roomie... She isn't a bad company, but most of the time it's like she isn't there, you don't hear her walk, or eat, or anything, she usually gets in his room and you don't hear anything about her, you don't have a idea of what she can be doing, and also, she is a good girl... But for the little things you knows, it's your dream girl, you are usually the one who cook's, and you have no problem with it, you always make sure to make food for her, and you knew that she alway eat, because in the morning nothing lefts.

Your life usually is University-Home, you don't go so much to parties and celebrations, but you usually go out to rest in parks, you have a favorite one.

One day you planned an outing to the park, and you go to Yeji's room to advice her that you going out.

You opened his door, and you get surprised, she was crying, so bad, you didn't know what to do, she looked at you, lost, but she didn't seem disgusted or upset, so you tried sitting on her bed.

—Hey— you tried softly —what's happening princess—, "that sounded stupid" you thinked for yourself, she didn't response at all, but she changed his look, like she felt... Aroused? But know she smiles a little, you did something good.

She take his time, but she responded —I'm tired, I'm in this shitty situation, training and giving everything of me, but still not being enough for the people around me— you thinked your response, but after a deep breath, you finally close your eyes and tell her —i see, you have fear of deception, and reject, but instead of that, maybe you should get round by people who really appreciate who you are— her eyes are glowing, you can see it clearly.

You helped her to get up —Let's go, i will take you to a special place— she nodded, of course, you don't know what are you doing, your friends will kill you, but who cares? You are about to taking in a date a sexy girl who was your roomie for like three years and you barely talked to each other.

You get to a "secret" cafeteria, usually there are only 2 o 3 guys, and you bring her there, because there is where you go when the world is consuming you.

You two asked for a coffee and talked for HOURS all the time you didn't talked in the shared place you talked there, now you are sure that she is your dream girl.

How could you complain if she looks like that? You two go back to the shared place, everything felt better, like always has to be like that, you two were taking hands, you feel incredible, for the first time in years you were with a women, and THE women, before you two entered to the house she stopped you.

—Thank you— she said —but now we aren't roomies anymore— you didn't understand what she mean, but she responded your doubt with the best thing you could ever imagine, she is kissing you, right now, in this moment, your roomie is kissing you and it felt so right, you loved her, that's for sure.

For a moment you think maybe it's too soon to think about sleep with her, but in the next moment she was on top of you, on his bed.

She took out his white sweater, that was crazy enough to block any thought in your mind, you taked out your t-shirt, response, she was professionally mounting you, his hips were devouring devouring your hardened she, you desired her, but not only in the sexual way, you wanted to make her yours, and also to belong to her, so you grabbed his hips, to catch his lips in a passionate kiss, finally decided to remove his pants.

When both of you are only in underwear, the things were heating up even more, you reach her breasts without the need of asking, in the moment that she doesn't hesitate, you knew that she was trusting in you, you played with her breasts until she almost beg you to stop —Please...— was the only plea you need to hear to remove her bra, and look to her hardened nipples, she blushed a little, but your were too sure to stop, your mouth taked the pace, she taste so good, and her cute moans wasn't helping at all.

While you were eating her nipples, she was touching herself, you felt a little bit angry, and taked her wrist to pin her against the bed, she was in love with your form of dominance, of course if you will restrain her self pleasure, you will have to take care of that, you slide through his panties, you just looked at her, waiting for confirmation, after a nod, you got that pretty girl naked for you, that dream girl was begging for you, for your touch, for your love.

You slide between her legs, you eated her so well, his pussy was so perfect, it tasted so good that only motivated even more to make a better job, see her moaning and happy was the only thing you needed.

When she felt confident enough she regained control to take out your underwear, and suddenly start to suck your cock, maybe you wasn't THAT big, but she look happy, and that's was everything, enough for both of you.

Then you take her to get in missionary, everything it's ready, it's the perfect moment.

Slowly you get inside of her, she hugged you from the neck, moan and squirms made you go slowly, until you filled her, completely, she was so relieved and relaxed, pounding her slowly she started to moan, as you move, you start to play with her clit, after some messy minutes, both of you finally came, ending your rommie relationship ship to get a lover, a couple and everything that you needed.

[jakes3resin]

I know I promised Blonde Bucky soon, but can I interest anyone in Hallucination Bucky instead?

It's the jacket.

Bucky loved that stupid, awful, never clean monstrosity. Once it had be a pale cream, Gale's sure. Time and Bucky's usual ability to take care of himself and his things had quickly seen that the cream yellowed.

Buck had hated it. Gale still hates it.

"C'mon Buck," A familiar voice. "It's not that bad. You just have no eye for style."

Gale twitches towards the voice before he can stop himself. It's old habit, one that refuses to die.

"Jack took good care of it, don't you think? Even managed to get the worst of the staining out." Hands stretch out into Gale's line of sight reaching for his own. A flash of a sleeve. Gale turns his head. A sigh into his left ear. "Buck, please I'm sorry, okay? I know its hard, but I'm trying."

Gale shakes his head. He keeps his eyes on the horizon. Ken's leading his boys through a few repairs. Beyond him, pilots run training flights. Beyond them, Gale can't see but imagines a world holding it's breath. But perhaps he's just projecting.

"I should have been with you." The voice is mournful this time, a contrast to its usual vibrancy but one Gale has heard frequently the last few months. "Buck, please."

Gale turns a page in his book. He's heard this pleading before. There's nothing to forgive. He was never left behind.

"Buck, I'm sorry. Please, I shouldn't have gone to London. Forgive me?"

"Major Cleven?" A lieutenant Gale doesn't recognize walks up to him, not that Gale recognizes most of the men on base nowadays. They're all so new, and none of them let him forget the people they replaced. He stands just enough to Gale's left that he has to turn his head back. He keeps his eyes on the lieutenant.

"Apologies for interupting. I was sent to bring you to a briefing with Kidd."

"Not interupting a thing." Gale can hear the huff from the other, knows that if he turned his head just a degree he'd see hands on hips and rolled eyes. A yellow jacket that he hates. He slowly shuts his book not caring enough to mark the page. He hadn't read a word of it anyway.

"Not a problem," Gale lets the lieutenant guide him as if it was he that was new to Thorpe Abbotts. "Is this about the ceasefire?"

"I'm not sure, sir." The lieutenant won't meet his eye.

"It's gotta be!" Gale pretends the stutter in his step is the uneven gravel under his feet not the voice in his ear. "Jack better let you back in the air, I'm not missing this!"

"Here you are Major," The lieutenant's farewell is professional and respectful, Gale's is lackluster.

Jack's waiting for him. Gale can't look at him without remembering.

"Bucky would want you to have this."

The memory hits him like punch to the gut. He breathes out, air rattling around in a harsh burst he refuses to call a grunt. Jack doesn't notice, or if he does, he's good enough to not mention it.

"I've got you scheduled for a couple training flights starting tomorrow." Jack picks up a few different documents glancing through each before replacing them. He lists of a few times that Gale quietly memorizes. Jack won't meet Gale’s eye.

"Any word on the Germans?" Gale sees a hand reach out to tug a discarded document closer. A familiar sleeve comes into view, sheepskin ragged and dirty. He rips his eyes away.

"Not yet," Jack finally looks at Gale. "Smokey said you're good to go."

It's not a question, but Gale answers like it is.

"He did."

"Fit as a fiddle, though I still think he needs to gain a few more pounds."

Gale leans over the table too used to this chatter now. The documents Jack had been looking over are supply lists. The one tugged to the edge of the desk lists incoming flights from Paris.

"When would we go up?" Gale shudders as a familiar weight settles next to him intently reading the lists as well. Gale inches away.

"As soon as we get everyone trained up." Jack pulls out a map for Gale to look at. "Waiting for a few more shipments from the ports as well, but they'll be here before you're in the air tomorrow. All goes well, we'll be ready in a few days."

"Good," Gale pulls away. The voice to his side stays silent, but Gale doesn't look. It'll only makes things worse he's learned.

"That's all. Rosie will grab you tomorrow, so don't worry about anything else."

Gale nods taking the unspoken dismissal. Turning, his eyes jump to his left unbidden as someone drops something, instincts screaming at him to find the threat. An old yellow jacket fills his vision.

"How about some dinner Buck?" A bright grin graces familiar lips. "I'm sure the chow here will beat anything the Germans can make."

The idea of food turns his stomach, but he knows he needs to eat. Others will notice if he skips dinner, and he doesn't want his health called into question. He looks away.

"See you at dinner?" Gale turns back to Jack. The other's eyes watch him.

"Sure Buck," Jack puts down his papers. "Let's walk over now. You wouldn't believe the lines these days."

"That a fact?"

Jack falls into step at his right side Gale notices. A hand grips his left shoulder.

"Good job Buck." The touch fades away. A weight settles over his chest.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Rosie and Crosby join them, but no one seems to be in a jovial or talking mood. They're all so tired that a quiet farewell is the most any of them talk.

It's the silence Gale hates most, after that jacket, of course. He darts a look to his left, but he finds only Rosie, who meets his gaze with a small smile that Gale tries to return. He's not sure how he manages.

Gale avoids his bunk after dinner. Night has finally grabbed hold of the base, but he keeps away from his bed, from his trunk. From the trunk not his own under his bed gathering dust. He thinks of the jacket locked away there, unable to be returned to its rightful owner. He knows what awaits him there and turns away when the others head towards their quarters. He'll sleep another time.

The hardstands are quiet. No one's out wandering like him. The crews have been working all day to get the planes ready, and Gale's sure they're all glad to be prepping these planes for mercy rather than war.

Still, the silence unnerves him.

"Buck," A faint whisper in his ear. A hand clutching at his left shoulder. The sleeve of a jacket he knows in his peripheries. Gale shudders out his next breathe as tears prick at his eyes.

It's not John. He knows that. He's spent days telling himself to look away, to pretend he can't hear anything. Because he knows John is still somewhere in Germany. John is with the men. John is fine.

He's held tight to that mantra these last few days. Whispered it to himself at night when he can't sleep, in the morning when he wakes from nightmares, and the moments in between. John is with the men. John is fine. John isn't next to him, Gale knows this. John isn't kneeling down gently taking Gale's cold hands in his warm ones.

Because he knows that John wouldn't smile at him the way he is now. Gale wouldn't deserve it.

He can't remember slumping to the ground, but he'll remember the sad smile he receives forever. Blue eyes pinched but still so clear as they stare at him. Full cheeks so different from the ones Gale last saw. Tears fall down his own cheeks as he remembers how John started to fade away during those long winter months. His frame thinner each day, but here there's no trace of hunger. It's just him. Just a familiar smile and an old jacket Gale used to hate. An old jacket he can't bear to look at.

"I don't blame you." The words fall into his ears even as Gale shakes his head. They won't stop. "I wanted you out of there more than I wanted to get out. I swear it Buck."

"I can't." Gale sobs out. He tries to breathe, but his tears take precedence. "You should be here. Not me."

"No!"

Hands reach up wiping away his tears. Gale wonders how something so warm could exist when he's so cold, as if the sun had burrowed into one man's very being as winter burrowed into his.

"You deserve it Buck!" Gale shakes his head, but the voice repeats, firmer this time. "You deserve it Buck. If you can't believe it, I'll believe enough for both of us."

"I should have made you go first." Gale says. Tears slip from his eyes. The dam he's been holding back for so long finally broken. "I should have chosen a better time. If I'd just-!"

"You can't control everything Buck." Said with such a sad smile, Gale wants to scream.

"I could have been shot by that guard. Or I could have been the one killed in those woods." The words shock Gale to his core. "If you let me go ahead of you or you changed the order, anything could have happened. None of it in your control."

Calloused hands wipe away his tears. Gale shudders out his next breathe.

"I forgive you Gale."

"No," Gale rasps out. This wasn't what he wanted. This wasn't right. He doesn't deserve this. "You can't."

"I forgive you for going before me." Another tear wiped away.

"I forgive you for not looking back." A hand cups his cheek.

"I forgive you for making it out of there." A kiss placed on his cheek just on his scar.

"I forgive you for leaving me behind." A forehead pressed against his own.

"I forgive you Gale Winston Cleven."

Gale sobs. An old off cream jacket settles over his shoulders. He swears he can still feel the warmth of its owner. He hates it.

"I forgive you."

[ifimdreaming]

Can we go now?

Luke Hughes x Reader || angst, some fluff

summary: Luke brings you to a dinner party filled with misogynistic men and bad booze, and feels really bad about.

author’s note: this is very rushed but i hope you enjoy it anyway! love you

word count: 1.0k

-

“how much longer lukey?..” you grab onto his arm and lean into him, quietly asking into his ear. “I know… i'm sorry, it’s only been a couple hours babe..but we can leave if you really need” He replies kindly, knowing how much you both hate dinner parties like this. 

It wasn’t often that your boyfriend invited you to these events so you just nod in response, knowing he needs to be here for work and, also, not wanting to be the one to make him leave early.

Normally it isn’t too terrible, and there are moments for you two to sneak away from crowds and quietly sit together at a table and just enjoy the night. But tonight was different, it was non stop talking and mingling, Luke trying to be as professional as possible around borderline rude men making bad jokes and slightly misogynistic comments, not caring that you are standing right there.

 And for the most part you were doing your best fake smiles and laughs, but the comments just kept getting worse and worse as the conversations progressed.

 After having dinner and moving outside for watered down cocktails, you go to refill your drink, needing an escape, and leaving Luke with a group of mostly strangers for a moment. Looking over at him from the bar, you can just tell from his face that he is getting tired and probably more and more irritable as the time passes. 

A moment later you feel a small brush against your back as you’re sitting at the bar and a hand rests against your thigh. “Ok i’ll have a drink and then we’re out of here” Luke sighs out as he takes a seat beside you. He rests his head in his hand, closing his eyes for a moment and you reach up to comb your fingers through the hair on the back of his head.

“Ok…just please promise me you won’t get sucked into another endless conversation about the playoffs again?” 

“trust me, i wanted out of that conversation just as much as you did” he retorts back defeatedly. You both knew your moods were worsening when you started to get nippy and sarcastic with each other. 

You sit in silence for a moment while Luke is finishing his drink and you start to swirl the ice in your empty glass, needing to finish your drink even if it was the worst cocktail you’ve ever had in your life.

“Im really sorry i dragged you here, i just hate coming to these things…thought it would be at least a little more bearable with you around…” he looks down, “i didn't know it would be this…shitty” he begins to rub his thumb over your thigh slowly and you can tell by his tone that he truly feels bad about tonight and how everyone was treating you, knowing there are so many other things you two would rather be doing on a friday night.

“luke im just thankful we get to spend time together tonight” you start, “i'm glad you asked me to come with you” you say reassuringly. 

You look up at him with a small smile and place a gentle kiss on his lips, he leans in and brings a hand up to your face, cupping your jaw. You pull away and press a few soft kisses on his cheek, making him crack his first smile all night.

Just as Luke finishes his drink, you see two men walking towards the both of you sitting at the bar and you nudge Luke’s arm to warn him, not wanting to get trapped in conversation again. 

Luke quickly swivels on his seat and goes to stand up, grabbing your arm to help you down from your stool. He places some cash on the bar beside your empty glasses and you start towards the door, opposite the people walking your way.

“Luke Hughes! If it isn’t the newest new jersey devil!” a man in a dark grey suit and receding hairline creeps up behind Luke, “How bout’ we have a drink outside!” he says almost demandingly. 

“Sorry we’re actually heading out-” you try to interrupt, getting tired of staying quiet all night.  “Oh it will just be a minute” the man insists as he steps forward placing a hand on Luke’s back to nudge him towards the patio outside where more people were. This causes your hand to disconnect from Luke’s as the man begins speaking to Luke, completely ignoring you. 

“Actually she said we’re leaving” Luke defends, grabbing your hand and moving past the man. 

“Nice meeting you” he says sarcastically as we start to walk away and you swear you hear the man cursing under his breath at you as Luke pulls you by the hand, angrily marching towards the exit. 

“yeah this fucking sucked. no one’s treating you like that ever again.” he says as you make your way to the parking garage. “hey ..lukey…” you say and he turns around to face you as you’re both standing by the passenger side of his car “i'm so sorry about them” he says and crashes his lips on yours, his hands on both sides of your hips as he walks backwards, your back leaning on the side of his car as he makes out with you. 

You reach your hand up and run it along his chest and he leans down to place kisses across your neck. He places his hands on either side of your face and looks at you, “promise ill m-make it up to you..” he says remorsefully, hoping this night hasn’t upset you too much.

 “-Baby! Its ok! Its not your fault” you reassure through giggles and his eyebrows relax after seeing that your mood has lifted. 

“Honestly i’m just glad we’re finally leaving” his hands are still on your face and you grab his wrists, bringing them down, “Can we go now?” you say smiling at your sweet boyfriend as he looks back at you with loving eyes. 

“Of course”

-

-

[jebewonmorelike]

Charisma Boss Employee

wc: 3.5k (oh no guys, i'm only getting worse) pronouns: none used; n/a warnings: some angst; some fluff! this is a powerful one. some swears, mention of an ill mother, ricky's dad is mean :( but it's just a story! i'm sure ricky's real dad is very nice lol summary: when richboy!ricky crashes his car, his dad takes away his credit card and forces him to get a part time job at the diner-- and reader is the unlucky employee tasked with training him ~masterlist~ ♡ ~kofi (no pressure at all)~ CELEBRATORY FIC FOR RICKY TOP 9! This is an epic you guys. I think you'll really love it! For some reason, Ricky inspires some great plot lines for me. And I just love richboy!Ricky he's such a doll.

Ricky was not having a good day. In fact, Ricky was having a no good, very bad day and he was not about to be pleasant to the worker training him to make a vanilla milkshake.

“So you’ll pour the milk in with the ice, screw the lid on and shake the container,” you explain, handing the tall blonde boy next to you the carton of milk.

He takes it reluctantly, measuring the 10 oz. without much care and screwing the lid on.

“Make sure that it’s—,” you start to warn, but he’s already shaking the container…

And it’s contents has already flown out from the loose lid and drenched the both of you.

He winces, an exhale of an embarrassed laugh escaping his lips.

“Maybe if you took the sunglasses off, you would’ve been able to see that you hadn’t tightened the lid all the way,” you say annoyedly.

He shakes his head quickly. “I can’t take them off.”

But being covered in a mess that this stupid rich kid made has not positively impacted your level of patience for his ridiculousness, so you reach up and snatch the sunglasses off of his face.

“Hey! Give them back!” He protests as you run around to the other side of the counter with them, quickly closing the bar top on the counter so he can’t follow you. You watch as he attempts to open the passageway in the counter, but lucky for you he wasn't paying attention when you had shown him where the latch is.

"Please," he begs now, looking around frantically as he places his large hand above his eyes to seemingly block the view of his face. "Please, I don't want anyone to see me here."

You snort. "People see me here every day and I have yet to die of embarrassment."

"Yeah, well, I'm not like you," Ricky remarks snidely, sinking down below the counter to hide from customers.

How had this happened to you? You clocked in this afternoon with a pretty good attitude: this was the eighth-to-last shift you'd have to work before finally having saved enough money to buy the little red Kia Rio from the used car dealership down the road.

But that good attitude was suddenly shattered when you saw your boss standing in the kitchen with an older, professional-looking man in a suit and a tall, blonde boy wearing Prada sunglasses indoors. You weren't quite sure what was happening yet, but you felt a sinking feeling in your gut nevertheless.

"(Y/N), you're late," your boss said as you walked towards the little gathering in the kitchen.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What? No, I'm not; my shift doesn't start until--."

"This is the building owner, Mr. Shen," your boss introduced, cutting you off. "And this is his son, Ricky."

Your eyes widened, nodding out of respect and smiling politely at Mr. Shen. "It's nice to meet you."

"Sure," Mr. Shen replied flippantly. "Quanrui, say hello."

"Hello," Ricky greeted reluctantly, looking back down at his phone screen. You studied him for a moment, taking note of the dyed blonde hair, the Rolex on his lithe wrist, and the thin, delicate tattoo running down his neck behind one ear. The best way you could think to describe him was... punchable.

"You're going to be training Mr. Shen's son for the next few days," your boss announced. "Like I told you about last week."

"What!? You didn't tell me that--."

Mr. Shen cut you off abruptly. "As Tom here probably told you--."

"It's Tim," your boss corrected quietly.

"My son crashed his car last week on a midnight joyride around the city," Mr. Shen continued, glaring at Ricky, whose eyes were still glued to his phone. "So, as punishment, I've taken away all his credit cards and I've asked Tom if he could give him a little job here for a bit until he's learned his lesson."

"It's actually...," your boss laughed much too cheerily before he continued, "It's actually Tim, sir, but whatever you prefer is fine. Our shift manager, (Y/N) here, is so grateful to get the opportunity to train your very capable, and might I add handsome, son. Isn't that right, (Y/N)?"

"Well--."

"Exactly! Go grab an apron and a pair of ears for Ricky," Tim ordered you, as you ran to the corner of the room to grab the supplies.

"Ears?" Ricky asked suddenly, finally looking up from his phone.

"Oh... Yes, ears! The Hungry Dog Diner-- all of the waitstaff wear dog-eared headbands," Tim explained enthusiastically as you walked back over and handed Ricky the uniform pieces.

"Why did I invest in this business again?" Mr. Shen asked in an alarmingly genuine tone.

You watched as Ricky flipped the ears over in his hands, horrified. "Dad, do I really have to wear this?"

"Son... You are a terrible student, you can't take direction, and you have no work ethic. I'm not sure if you possess any skills at all," Mr. Shen announced harshly. "No other business is going to hire you except the ones that I own, so just make it easy on us all and put the ears on, Quanrui."

You had to work quite hard to keep your eyes from widening at Mr. Shen's rather stiff criticism of his son, especially in front of strangers. You couldn't help but wonder what he said when no one else was present. Ricky solemnly placed the dog ears over his perfectly-coiffed blonde hair, the loop of the apron finding its way around his neck.

In that moment, if he wasn't so positively punchable-looking, you might've almost felt sorry for him.

"Excellent!" Tim exclaimed, clapping his hands together in the midst of the looming awkward silence. "(Y/N), why don't you show Ricky the milkshake machine? That would be a great spot for that handsome face to be seen by customers!"

Ricky audibly groaned as you led him out of the kitchen to the front countertop area.

~

And now, here you are. Covered in ice and milk, holding Ricky's sunglasses and allowing the implications of the sentence, "Well, I'm not like you," to sink in.

"Bastard," you say.

Ricky's wide eyes appear from behind the counter as he sits up on his knees to peak out at you. "What did you just say?"

"You rat bastard," you repeat, staring him directly in the eye. "You're not like me? Then why are we both wearing this stupid apron and these ridiculous dog ears, huh? Why are we both working this annoying ass part-time job? Why are we both covered in milkshake ingredients?"

You're surprised when Ricky doesn't retaliate, just stares back at you in shock.

"I actually think we have a lot in common right now. The only difference being that, for the next six hours, I'm in charge. So you're gonna take off these sunglasses and make every flavor of milkshake absolutely perfectly, or I am going to fire you!"

Ricky blinks, tilting his head to one side curiously. "Would you really fire me?"

You stare back at him wordlessly, confused by his lack of anger.

"Even though my dad would probably sue you or frame you for some petty crime or something?"

Ricky stands up from behind the counter, nodding appreciatively. "That's kind of badass."

He takes your apparent inability to speak or move as an opportunity to grab his sunglasses from your hand. "I'm gonna get all of this milk off of me. I'll be right back-- and I'll put these away in my bag."

After another moment of temporary paralysis, you run to the customers' bathrooms and clean yourself up. When you make your way back to the counter, you watch as Ricky very diligently measures 10 oz. of milk into the shaker cup.

~

"Okay! Time to head out, Ricky," you call from the kitchen, panicking slightly when you're met with silence. "Ricky?"

You run from the kitchen to the countertop area quickly, just in time to see Ricky holding all of the quarters from the cash register in his hand and counting them with his fingers (and then recounting them when he loses track of the total).

You have to admit... He looks pretty cute like this.

Ricky had been a pretty decent employee for the rest of the day. He mastered a few milkshake flavors, he seated customers in booths, and you'd even let him close the register after proper demonstration. Quite honestly, he was nowhere near as incompetent as his father had made him out to be.

Not only that, but you'd found he was fairly easy to get along with when he wasn't being a spoiled brat.

Tip-toeing your way over to him, you lightly smack his upper arm. "Boo!"

"NO!" He shouts in defeat. "I ALMOST HAD IT THAT TIME!"

You can't help but laugh, holding out your hand for him to pour the quarters into. You count them in less than ten seconds and drop them back in the drawer.

"Whoah," Ricky says, shaking his head as you finish counting the rest of the coins. "I really don't have any skills, do I?"

"Stop that," you say, entering the final totals into the register and closing it down. "It's not easy. You'll get better with practice. Besides, I watched you do a bunch of things today that I would say required skills."

"Oh," he replies, clearly not expecting your kindness. "Thanks."

You smile. "Same time tomorrow?"

"TOMORROW!?" He exclaims, hanging his head sadly. "But we were just here today."

You chuckle. "Welcome to the working world, Ricky."

~

"Here you go, one strawberry and one cookie dough milkshake for the two runway models on lunch break," Ricky says, placing the drinks on the counter. The two girls giggle, cheersing and placing the paper straws in their mouths.

This week had gone quite differently than you'd expected. It seemed as if word had gotten out that a rich, handsome young man had started working the counter at Hungry Dog's and groups of girls had flocked to the diner the past few days to get a milkshake from Ricky.

Though very wary of being seen on his first day, Ricky was now eating up the positive attention. He didn't even seem to mind wearing the dog ears. He conversed easily with the customers, tastefully flirting even with the regular group of elderly women that came in for lunch every Thursday. He was a natural.

And you hate to admit it, but... it's irking you a bit. You'd been Ricky's go-to pal the first few days and you enjoyed joking back and forth with him. He'd shared a lot about his life with you, in the way that coworkers often do. He'd talked about school, his friends, and even his dad and you liked having these conversations with him. Everyone else that worked here before him had been so boring. But now every girl in the city was coming to the diner for a milkshake and vying for his attention.

Maybe you should have let him keep his sunglasses on after all...

"(Y/N)!" He calls, grinning. You put your rag down on the table you're cleaning and make your way over to the counter. "I'm sorry, I don't remember the recipe for the peanut butter chocolate milkshake."

"That's okay," you say, grabbing a glass and opening the cooler. You point to the peanut butter sauce, chocolate chips, and the peanut butter cups. "Three tablespoons of this, a quarter cup of these, and a good handful of these, too."

"He has such big hands though," the girl at the counter admires.

"Uh..." You look down at Ricky's hands by his sides. "Yeah, I guess. I hope you really like peanut butter cups."

He frowns when you meet his gaze. You start to walk back to the table you were cleaning when you hear Ricky again. "(Y/N)?"

You turn to face him, noticing he still looks kind of upset.

"Chocolate ice cream?" He asks quietly.

"Chocolate ice cream," you confirm, giving him a half-hearted smile as you resume your buswork.

~

"What is the meaning of this?"

Your eyes dart to find the origin of the sound, spotting Mr. Shen standing angrily in the doorway with your boss on his heels. "Quanrui, what on Earth is going on?"

Ricky blinks back anxiously at his father. "I'm--... I'm working?"

"No you're not! You're surrounded by girls," Mr. Shen replies, walking towards his son.

"Well, they are paying customers," Tim responds softly, scurrying behind Mr. Shen as the girls on the barstools at the counter get up and leave hurriedly. You walk over to the countertop area cautiously.

"This is supposed to be a punishment. Where is that worker who trained you?" Ricky's father demands.

You clear your throat and step out from behind him. "I'm here."

"What exactly have you been doing? He's supposed to be miserable! I mean, for god's sake, he's making a milkshake and he's smiling. Smiling!" Mr. Shen exclaims, a stern finger pointing at you. "That's not right."

You swallow, maintaining an even temper. "Is a frown more suited for milkshake-making?"

From the corner of your eye, you see Ricky's eyes widen a concerned amount.

"On Sunday, you said Ricky had no skills. You basically called him useless in front of people he'd never met before. And I thought, at first, that maybe you were right; an irresponsible rich kid cruising through life and he'd be a pain in my ass. But, honestly... He's been great. He can take direction, follow a recipe, clean a table-- hell, he can almost count change!"

"Well, I can count change, I just--."

"And his most notable skill: charisma. I mean, we haven't made money like this in years! There's been people flying in and out of here all week just to look at Ricky. I've overheard him talking to customers for the past few days and he's just really great with people," you say, not backing down.

"That doesn't make any sense! He barely says two words to me," Mr. Shen rebuts.

You want to hold your tongue, but, with everything going on in your life... you just can't. "Maybe you should think about why that is."

If people could explode from anger, Mr. Shen would be in pieces by now. "Is this true, Ricky?"

You look up at Ricky, hoping that maybe he could find it in him to stand up for himself-- especially after you'd just done the heavy-lifting for him.

But he's not looking at you. He's not looking at anyone. He's just staring at the floor.

Mr. Shen is frightening now as his voice comes out so coolly, "Tom, fire this worker at once."

Tim looks at you uncertainly. You're his best employee. But you know the chances of Tim sticking up for you are slim to none. You've fought this battle alone-- and for what?

"Just go," Tim says, mouthing an I'm sorry after.

So you go. You're running back into the kitchen, taking off your apron and throwing your stupid dog ears onto the floor. You're so upset that you don't hear footsteps approaching behind you as you walk towards the back door.

"(Y/N)!" Ricky calls, hand finding your shoulder. You turn around on your heels to face him.

"What?" You spit. "What could you possibly want? Huh?"

"I--... I wanted to see if you're okay."

"Okay? I just lost my job... for defending you, of all people! I must be crazy," you say, shaking your head in disbelief at your own actions.

Ricky's brows furrow in defense, his eyes a bit sad like they had been earlier. "Well, it's not like I made you do that."

"No, you didn't," you say, nodding as you understand the error in judgment you've made. "So, I guess I'll just get going."

"Oh, come on!" Ricky exclaims, not letting go of your shoulder. "You're telling me you liked working here all this time? You're way smarter than me-- shouldn't you be trying to go back to school?"

"My mom is sick." The words escape your mouth before you can swallow them back down as you watch the shock contort Ricky's face. "I was working here to save up money for a car so I could stay at the hospital even after the buses stop running."

He stares back at you; the silence, deafening.

"Good luck, Ricky," you say finally, pushing the back door open and stepping out into the warm, afternoon air.

~

Come to the diner, I need you to calculate our expenses for the month

You fired me.

I knowwwwww. I said I was sorry! But I really need your help. And I know you'd hate for this diner you've spent so many pathetic years of your life working at to close down :(

You are not helping your case.

I'm sorry, please just come as soon as you can

Fine.

So, here you are again thanks to Tim's text. Walking through the back door of Hungry Dog's Diner like you do every day. But something's off when you step inside. When you realize you can't hear any noise, you look around concernedly for a body-- any body would do to ease your anxiety.

Just then, Ricky walks into the kitchen. He smiles timidly.

"Hi," he greets, a little awkward wave accompanying the word.

"Hi," you return, unamusedly.

"Tim's out here," he says, walking out of the kitchen as you reluctantly follow. You walk past the counter and out towards the booths, Tim waving at you from one in the back.

But as you walk past the glass doors, you see something in the parking lot that has you frozen in your tracks.

There, in the parking lot of Hungry Dog's Diner, is the little red Kia Rio from the used car dealership down the road.

"Go look at it," Ricky says behind you, gently pushing you forward.

You run out through the doors and stare at it in awe before remembering who brought you out here to see it in the first place.

Turning around slowly, your eyes meet Ricky's. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he chews it in nervous anticipation. You step up to him, silent before smacking his chest with your hand, hard.

"Ow!" He yelps, rubbing the spot that you hit.

"What's wrong with you?"

"You hit me," he complains with a pout.

"Your dad gave you your credit card back, huh? You think you can just buy something for me and your dad can pay it off and all will be forgiven?" You accuse, tears quickly welling up in your eyes from frustration.

“No! No, no, it’s—… it’s not like that! I swear,” he claims, sincere eyes boring into yours. “I bought it with my own savings. It was... It was almost everything I had.”

You stare back at him wide-eyed for a few moments and then hit him again. “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?”

“OW!” He yelps louder, rubbing his chest once more.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” you say, a mixture of emotions now flooding your senses. “That’s—… It’s—… You didn’t have to do that.”

It hits you now— a wave of immense, conflicting gratitude and embarrassment. You’re suddenly wailing quite cartoonishly, tears running out of you so quickly you’re afraid you might form a puddle.

"I'm just really sorry. I should have defended you... and I should've stood up for myself, too. You've been really nice to me this whole week and I can't imagine I was always particularly easy to deal with," Ricky apologizes, swallowing hard before continuing. "You really need this and it's my fault you weren't able to get it on your own. I was actually gonna by myself a new car with the money, but... what would I have been using it for?"

"How did you know this is the one I wanted?"

He laughs. "Tim said you showed everyone that walked through the doors a picture of it at least once."

You smile sheepishly, before uncertainty causes you to sigh. "Still, Ricky, this--."

"Maybe you can just drive me to work from now on," he suggests, a shy smile now gracing his lips. "And we'll call it even."

"To work?" You ask, tilting your head.

He smiles. "Yeah. You're rehired. Duh. I, uh... I finally talked to my dad about everything. And I told him I would be really lost at Hungry Dog's Diner without you."

You smile, a blush creeping onto your cheeks. "I'll repay you for this. I promise."

"Go ahead, get in!" Ricky says with a laugh, reaching in his back pocket and tossing you the key. You run to the driver's side and fling open the door, hopping inside and turning on the car. Ricky gets in the passenger side and looks around appreciatively.

"Not a McLaren, but it's got charm," he says, nodding.

"I love it," you reply, grinning at him. "I really love it. Thank you."

"You know, I might need a ride other places once in a while, too, like... out to dinner?"

"Why would I drive you to go out to dinner?" You ask, obliviously.

He blinks back at you, waiting for you to comprehend.

"Oh!" You gasp, ears burning as you bask in the heat of his gaze. "Oh, um... I guess, yeah. Yeah, I could probably... I could probably drive you to dinner. And then eat dinner with you."

"Good," he says happily, grinning at you as he leans back in the car seat, flipping his sunglasses down over his eyes. "But since I'm actually broke now, you're paying."

[korn-dogz]

Idk if youve done sid sfw and nsfw before but could you please? Id love to see what you’ll come up with!

YES!! Sid is super cute and I love him so much

Just wanted to add the extra pictures 😉

Summary: nsfw and sfw hcs for Sid Wilson

WARNING: smut, fluff

Sfw

-he’s a big baby, he will lay on your chest and nag for your attention

-he loves playing with your hair when you lay your head on his lap, he will braid it (he doesn’t know how to but he’s trying his best)

-he will flex his muscles to you all the time

-“hey babe, check these bad boys out” and pretend like he’s a professional body builder

-he’d be the type of mf to bite you, regardless of what the occasion is

-he won’t leave your ass alone (literally) he will smack is, he doesn’t care who’s watching

-he’s the funniest person to drink with, he’d be like “I bet you won’t dare me to drink this whole bottle” doesn’t matter what you say he will drink the whole thing

-but when he’s drunk; he’s all over you, he will accidentally hurt you but you know he never means to do it

-he’s a fun guy to be around, he always makes dirty jokes and does the most random shit

-he cared for you lots tho, if he accidentally hurts you when he’s not drunk he will never forgive himself, even if you keep reassuring him that you’re fine

-he loves to go on nature walks with you, he will pick a flower (dead or alive) an hand it to you like your royalty

-buys you everything, like you mentioned you wished you had a tea cup and the next day he bought you the nicest tea cup ever

-he’ll use you as a model for his masks when he has to come up with a new one

-he loves cuddling with you in bed after a long day in the studio, it helps him blow off steam

Nsfw

-he’s definitely into some kinky shit, like having you in a collar or calling you “my little pet”

-he loves foreplay, the build up turns him on

-he gets turned on by anything really

-he loves making sex tapes with you, or taking polaroid photos of you naked

-he can go for quite a while, so far he can make it to 3 rounds

-he’s definitely a dirty talker, saying shit like “fuckin whore” “fuck yeah” “fuck, you’re so tight” “such a fuckin slut for me” or “fuck, I’m gonna fill you up good”

-his favourite position is doggy or cowgirl, even in doggy he loves seeing your ass bounce on him during doggy

-he’s an animal during sex, thrusting into you rapidly and moaning loudly

-he’s more of a groaner then a moaner, but when he’s treated good sometimes he will whimper

-he loves fingering you, the crys you let out when he reaches the right spot drives him crazy

-his favourite thing to do is have you sit on his face, and grind your hips into his mouth

-hell do it anywhere, he has determination to get the job done no matter where you guys are

-the risk of getting caught turns him on more

-he doesn’t care if someone walks in he will still be pounding into you

-he’s 100% into roleplay, he loves it when your the doctor and he’s the patient (stupid scenario but yiu get my point) 

-he likes having sex with you when he’s drunk, his stamina increases 10 folds when he’s drunk



[gyll-yee-haw]

This can either be Jake or Donnie, but can you write something where they help the reader through a depression episode?

Yes, baby <3

I went with Donnie, because we're having an overdose of him here :)

I know this is a very very sensitive topic, but that's why we have to talk about it. And I'm here for it, as a survivor. But please, extra attention to the warnings on this one!

Warnings: depression, mention of suicidal thoughts, bad description of what I remember from therapy lol, bad parents, Donnie being a sweet perfect bf.

Like 1.2k words.

---

Donnie stroked your hair as you rested your head on his lap, tears staining his jeans. He hated this. Hated seeing you like this. You were so sweet and caring and you didn't deserve this. If he could, he would take your place at any minute.

But he couldn't. And he searched his mind for anything he could possibly do to help. That's when the idea came to his mind.

---

Sitting in front of his therapist, he had the most determined face she had ever seen. There was something different about him that day.

"I need to help someone, but I don't know how." He started, very seriously.

"Someone?" She asked curiously.

"It's my girlfriend." He explained. He didn't want to waste time with those details. He just had to know what to do. "She's been going through a lot..."

"I see." She sat comfortably on her chair. "And how do you think you could help?"

"I don't know." He sighed, playing anxiously with his fingers.

He told her about the way you've been acting and the things you had been saying about yourself. About how hopeless you were, how you just couldn't get out of bed these last days, not going to school or doing the things you liked... the things that made you you.

She paid attention to everything, taking notes when he said something that reminded her of him. It was intriguing how he chased your cure more than he ever seemed to care about his own.

"It's very nice that you want to help her, Donnie. She will need help of everyone she loves." The therapist told him. "But looks like a very serious case. One that may require professional help."

"I know, but her parents just won't pay for it." He explained, annoyed at that thought. "They think she's overreacting, they don't believe her."

"I see." She sighed. Donnie didn't always believe in the effectiveness of therapy as well. But the fact that he was asking for her help, meant he was starting to trust it a bit more. Maybe helping his girlfriend would help him more than he knew. "Remember when we talked about the waves?"

"The feelings are like waves." He repeated it from memory. "The good and the bad ones. They always pass... they reach their peak and then they fade, even when it doesn't look like they will."

"That's very good, Donnie." She smiled. "You should tell her that."

"I will!" He nodded. "What else should I say?"

___

He couldn't get to your house fast enough after he left the therapist's office. And when he did, he found you laying in bed, curled in a ball. Didn't look like you had cried recently, but didn't look like you had gotten any sleep either. You were just holding on.

"Hi, baby." He greeted you sweetly.

"Hey." You spoke weakly, not having used your voice since the last time he was there. "How was therapy?"

"It was nice." He told you, removing his shoes and laying down beside you on the bed. "We actually... talked about you today."

"Me?" You frowned. Oh no. You knew the state you were in was upsetting him, you just didn't know you had become a problem he needed to solve at therapy.

"Yeah." He brought you close, wrapping his arms around you and placing a kiss on the top of your head.

"I'm sorry. I know it sucks being around me right now." You answered. He could feel you were tense, didn't melt in his embrace like you usually did. That's how he knew you misunderstood him.

"It doesn't. It never will." He reassured you. "It's not about me, baby. What I did today was ask for ways to help you."

"You can't help me." You shook your head. "No one can."

"I will. I will help you, no matter what I have to do." He held you just a little tighter, emphasizing his words. There was a moment of silence before he admitted: "I'm fucking terrified of losing you."

Your heart stopped. The fact that Donnie knew what you were thinking without you saying a word was a mixed blessing. It helped when you couldn't physically speak, like these last days. But at the same time, you couldn't hide anything from him. Those thoughts weren't frequent... but you couldn't deny that sometimes you wished you could just disappear. You didn't want to die, you just didn't want to be there sometimes. And those ideas terrified you way too much to be said out loud.

"Promise you'll let me try." He begged.

"Okay." Was all you could say. You didn't feel strong enough to do this, but you wouldn't forgive yourself for breaking his heart.

"Right." There was a little sparkle of hope in his voice. "There's one thing we could try, okay? Not now, but... when the time comes."

He felt you finally relax in his arms, and took that as a sign to continue. "Whenever you feel like saying something bad about yourself... or even think about it... you have to know that it's not true, it's your brain making it up, because it's sick."

"Donnie..." you sighed.

"I know, I know." He interrupted you. "How can you know if your brain is lying? There's this technique... called, hm... best friend technique? Fuck it, I don't remember. You can just use me. It's called Donnie technique now. When you have a bad thought, imagine it's me saying that about myself. Think about how you'd act... if you'd let me say that about me. If the answer is no, then you shouldn't be saying it about you either."

"Donnie technique." You chuckled.

"That's right." His heart filled with joy after hearing you chuckle. "Promise me you will try?"

"I promise." You snuggled closer to his chest. "I'm not sure if it will work, but I'll try."

"That's my girl. My brave girl." He stroked your hair, both of you feeling so peaceful. "There are many things we can try. And we will try them all if we have to. I'll be here with you, okay?"

"Thank you, Don." You rested your forehead against his heartbeat. You felt so safe. The hope he felt earlier was starting to spread towards you. "I love you so much."

"I love you too. You don't have to thank me, you just have to try, okay?"

Your promise was made and you intended to keep it.

[themultifandomgal]

hi! can i please send in a request for a severide imagines where the reader is jay and wills sister and her and severide have been dating and the reader is a firefighter and gets stuck im a building. Thanks

Yes of course!

Kelly Severide- Stuck

Most people would think that our parents would be proud. Having one child as a doctor, one a police officer and one a firefighter, but no. Our mom died while I was young. Our dad, well we didn't have the best relationship and then he passed away. My brothers Will and Jay are my rocks and I love them so much, so telling them I am dating Lieutenant Kelly Severide was very nerve racking, especially because Kelly and Jay are such good friends. However when I did tell them they just had the usual 'you hurt her and I'll hurt you' kinda talk.

We’ve just had a call about a house fire, possibly arson so Jay and some of the other at intelligence will be there.

When we arrive I see my Jay and Erin waiting for us

“What have we got?” I ask walking over to them

“We think at least 2 people are inside. Just need your guys to do their thing so we can go inside to look” I nod my head at Erin

“Ok” I turn around

“Hey YN” Jay calls my name

“Hmm?”

“Be careful, we don’t know if the arsonist is inside. Could be armed”

“Well if you hear me scream then you know we have a problem” I say

“Don’t even joke about that” Jay scolds. I give him a quick hug and run back over to truck

“Halstead your with me” Matt says putting his helmet on. I nod getting mine. Kelly then takes my hand in his and gives it a little squeeze. Some thing we do when one of us is going on a job and we still need to be professional. I followed Matt and we both walk into the burning building

“Fire department call out!” I shout scouting the room. I follow behind Matt up the stairs. We open one of the doors to check in

“Fire department call out!” Matt shouts. I then notice a woman on the floor

“Casey” I say walking over to her. I feel for a pulse. It’s faint but it’s there. I take off my oxygen mask

“What the hell are you doing!”

“She will die if…”

“YN, Matt you need to get out, buildings unstable”

“We can’t leave her” I cough feeling the smoke starting to get to me

“Ok” Matt starts to drag the woman out while I hold her feet. Suddenly the floor under me collapses

“Halstead! You good?” Matt shouts

“I think so”

“Damn it” my alarm starts going off “Boden Halsteads gone down, permission for squad”

“Permission granted” that’s when my arm feels stuck

“Casey?” I call

“Yeah?”

“I think my arms stuck under the wood” I cough out

“Ok hang in there. Squad are coming in now”

Within a few minutes Kelly is hanging over the hole in the ground. I can’t stop coughing as I keep inhaling the smoke

“How you doing down there”

“Struggling to breathe” I chock out “arm hurts”

“Ok let’s get you out of here. Can you grab my hand?” I reach up but can’t get to Kelly “ok I’m coming down. Cruz get the rope and a spare mask” it’s getting even harder to breathe “just stay with me ok?” I give a little nod. Kelly drops down with a mask and places it around my face

“This is probably going to hurt like hell, but I need you to pull your arm out when I say”

“Ok” I breath out. Kelly lifts up the wood trapping my arm. The pain is excruciating as I pull my arm out and that’s when it all goes dark.

I wake up the the sound of beeping machines. Great I’m in the hospital. Slowly I open my eyes. My arm feels heavily. I look down and see it in a cast. Kelly immediately stands up gaining my attention

“The woman?” I croak. Kelly chuckles as he helps me take a sip of water

“Always putting people above yourself. She’s fine. Just smoke inhalation” I give Kelly a nod “your brothers are here. Want me to send them in?”

“Yeah” in walks Jay and Will

“How you feeling?” Jay asks walking over to me looking worried

“Like I’ve got some sort of throat infection”

“You’ll have a bad throat for a day or two” Will tells me

“I know the drill. Remember this isn’t the first time I’ve inhaled smoke”

“That’s not a sentence any of us want to hear” Will says sitting at the end of bed

“When can I go home?”

“Well since you have such a loving caring brother who’s also a doctor..” I give Will a kick with my foot “ok ok. Tomorrow, just have to watch you overnight. Now I need to get back to work. I’ll see you later” Will kisses my forehead before leaving me

“You both need to go back to work as well” I tell Jay and Kelly

“You going to be ok on your own?”

“Kel I’ll be fine. Seriously it’s just a broken arm and sore throat and anyway I’m sure April and Maggie will pop in to see me. Go”

“Ok. Love you”

“Love you too” Kelly bends down and kisses my lips

“Alright move away before I throw up” Jay pulls Kelly back making us chuckle “see you later” he also kisses my forehead. Jay then pushes Kelly out the door

“Love you!” I shout to my brother and Kelly trying not to laugh. I’m so lucky they all get on, I don’t know what I would do if they didn’t.

[sw33t-d1vine]

How about a fic where William's baking a cake for reader's birthday but he accidentally uses salt instead of sugar??

“ Always Forever ”

W. Afton x GN!reader

———

It’s your birthday and William wants to do something special for you, so he bakes you a cake. Too bad he put in the wrong ingredient.

-

( A/N ) I absolutely adored writing this omg !!! tysm for requesting this !!!🤍 and happy bday to whoevers bday it is and reading this :3

Baking wasn’t exactly Williams specialty, oh no. He honestly much preferred to cook than bake, but here he was, making a cake just for you, because today was your birthday.

You were currently out at the moment with your family, celebrating your birthday with them. As much as William wanted to come, he wanted you to come back to something special. You didn’t mind that he didn’t want to come, even if he did make you a little sad, but you understood. William wasn’t great with others either. Plus, you could come home and enjoy the rest of the day with him.

Your cake was almost done. William just needed to add the frosting and decorate. He already decorated the house, putting up streamers and a sign that wrote “Happy Birthday!”. It wasn’t much, but it wasn’t like you were gonna have a party at home.

Finishing off the final touches, William pulled back, grinning down at his work. He let out a content hum, pleased with what he made. It wasn’t the worst cake in the world.. but it wasn’t exactly the prettiest. He didn’t care though, it’s the thought that counts.

Tilting his head to look down at the watch on his wrist, he nodded to himself. Just a few more minutes and you’d be back. He looked down at the cake, carefully picking it up and moving it over to the dinner table.

As the clock ticked, William heard your car pull up, making him perk up from his spot and get up. He stood at the front door, ready to greet you.

He listened as you fumbled with your keys, placing them into the keyhole and twisting it, unlocking the door and opening it. Before you could even say anything, William swooped you off your feet, making you yelp and grasp onto your boyfriends shirt. “William!” You laughed.

William held you close, leaning down and giving you a kiss. “Happy birthday, dove.” He smiled, placing you back down on your feet. “Apologies, I was excited to see you.”

“I could tell.” You chuckled, looking around. “You decorated?” You looked back at him, and he nodded his head. “I did. It’s not much, but it isn’t like we’re gonna have a party, hm?”

You hummed in response, nodding in agreement as you slid your shoes off and walked into your house. You smiled at the cake on the table, turning to look at William. “A cake too?”

William hummed, nodding and walking over. “Of course. It isn’t the best, but I’m no professional.” He shrugged, making you chuckle and nod. “Thats fair enough. Never thought of you as a baker anyway.” You teased, sitting in front of the cake.

The cake was covered in white frosting and sprinkles, the words “Happy Birthday!” with your name under it was written in sloppy cursive. It was hard writing with frosting, so it wasn’t so bad.

William held out a lighter, lighting the candles. “As much as I love you, I will not be singing happy birthday.” He sat down next to you. You only rolled your eyes and smiled, before closing them and making a wish, before blowing the candles out.

“What’d you wish for?” William asked. You leaned over, “I can’t tell you. birthday rules.” You joked, making him huff and smile.

William reached for the knife he had put on the table, standing and cutting two slices for the both of you. He put the first one on your plate, and then one on his. Right as he sat down, you dug in, taking a bite out of the piece of cake.

At first, you didn’t really taste anything, but after a few seconds, a salty taste hit your tastebuds, making you grab a napkin and spit out the chewed up cake. “Why is it so..salty?” You raised an eyebrow.

William blinked, taking a bite of his own piece. His eyes went wide, and he spat his piece into a napkin. He shuffled out of his seat, going into the kitchen to check what he had used. Instead of grabbing the jar of sugar, he grabbed salt.

“Bloody hell.. Who puts a jar of sugar next to salt?!” He hissed, groaning and running a hand through his hair.

You made your way into the kitchen, giggling and shaking your head. “Its okay, Will. We can go out and buy a cake instead?” You suggested, making the other grunt and sigh. “Okay.”

You reached up and cupped Williams face, “Hey, don’t get your panties in a twist. You can make me a cake another time, okay?” You smiled, giving him a kiss before pulling away and grabbing his hand. “Lets go now, yeah?”

William smiled as you pulled him away and to the front. You both put your shoes on and went out to get a cake.

William promised himself he would make a better cake for you soon. He even thought about watching baking videos just so the cake would be so much better.

Just for you.

[one-of-tankhuns-neurons]

WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN PIT BABE IS ABO

How did I walk into UNTAGGED ABO IRL this hAs to be a first for me.

I mean, I understand they might've not wanted to market it like that to start a drama, or mAybe I'm just plain stupid and this was public knowledge but anyway here are my thOughts

Imma quote my favorite BL of all time and say "It cOuld be Extraordinary" I mean, it really could.

I believe the first episode was just to set the scene for the show, but let's address specific points

I WANNA MAKE IT CLEAR THAT I DIDN'T READ THE SOURCE MATERIAL THANK YOU

1. The ABO

Let's get this out of the way we knOw it's a difficult topic, and my main concern with it was that they would adapt some random ass manga/manhwa just to establish a bullshit dominant vs submissive horny dynamic that ended up in a very polemic mpreg.

But I encountered either a 'hot omega' - 'dorky alpha dynamic' where both have issues with their second sex traits (specially pheromones) or an alpha-alpha relationship with the same issues, which could lead to a bUnch of social commentary using the ABO social hierarchy.

Apart from that, I believe using those resources for the first big ABO production might have been a good call to ease the general public into it and not dwelling on the full nesting-marking-knotting and whatnot. I mean, it probably might never reach the full power of the genre, but if it works it might crack the door open for this.

2. The story itself

I had this discussion with my best friend (who has recommended me most of the ABO I've read) and we came to the conclusion that this feels like watching something straight out of AO3 fanfiction where the characters are clearly already established (bc the characters come pre built as they're based on ActUaL people) so the point is just telling this story full of made up violence, mafia, infatuation, possessiveness and desire. I kind of love it??? I am obviously not judging it as an ordinary BL, but for what it presented on the first episode it really could be great. I love how we have been introduced to a character like Charlie that will not just be this helpless boy that gets thrown around, he has more agency than we thought.

3 Production and stuff

Oh I love cars and stuff that goes fAst and slicked back hair and blue vs red and ALL the cliches, and I feel like it's done well. We could hate on kinnporsche for many things but it rOse the standards for commercial production. It also has really good actors whose previous work I've seen and liked very much. I also really applaud them for taking this shit seriously, bc many people half ass their acting in strange situation and that shows professionalism.

4. the more I think about it the more I'm excited for the show, and that's bAd because I'm building expectations and that nOt good so here are some point that require attention.

The ABO. This will be an issue until the lAst second of the show, because the way that it is portrayed will be perceived as a direct representation of the whole genre, so they ought to be careful.

The ABO agAin.. what parts are they gonna portray and hOw, because the main couple is not the only one, so I want to know how they will present an (explicitly confirmed) omega and how it will play into the social hierarchy . They already introduced scent and pheromones, and they did it tastefully, so kudos on that.

The ABO.. I'm kidding.

The story, this story might play into some kind of toxic and violent stuff that is becoming a bit problematic for certain audiences, and as I say.. problematic shows and up in problematic situations, so how I want to see how it plays out. But the fact that Charlie is giving 'morally gray that could end up falling' vibes and that gives me hOpe.

The discourse it might start. Oh this world can be a hot mEss and people could start a whole ass battle as this genre that usually was counterculture territory is now brought into this context.

Shit I'm way to nervous about this show... PLEASE IF YOU KNOW MORE let me know, I want to discuss and have a better opinion on it. If you need to call me an idiot in the process I'll take it.

[lady-de-mon-coeur]

Velvet Touch

AO3

Rated G. Words: 749. Language: English.

Summary: What usually happens when a charming prince kisses one (1) deeply infatuated ladybug?

A/N: as I told @asukiess the other day, I suddenly felt like writing these two kissing. I'd prefer it to be a little longer, but anyway, I love how it turned out.

"You care so much about everyone, Ladybug," the new cat hero's voice rang so softly in her ears. "Now it's my turn to take care of you."

Ladybug felt her cheeks grow warmer and warmer, and her heart swelled until it filled her whole rib cage.

She looked up at him in pleased disbelief and saw an extended hand.

She was deeply moved. She didn't expect so much softness and kindness from the part of a total stranger she met tonight for the first time, although she's just embarrassed herself by having a mental breakdown in front of him.

She felt her breath become uneven. She extended a trembling hand to meet his.

He helped her up to her feet.

She didn't feel like letting go of his hand.

His princely posture, his refined manners, and his extraordinary name made her weak in her knees.

Everything about this catboy was made of velvet.

He wore a royal outfit made of grey and black velvet that suited him oh so well, and a black velvet mask with a golden border.

His skin looked so velvety that she wanted to take his face in her hands and caress his cheeks until he started purring (though purring might not be exactly something to maintain his royal dignity).

The look of his cat eyes was as soft as green velvet.

Even his voice was made of the most precious sort of velvet, making her heart melt.

His lips must be velvety to touch, too.

And this hair tied up in a ponytail—God knows how much she longed to undo it and bury her fingers in these emerald green locks.

Oh la la, Marinette, you're really down bad for this boy!

Things didn't get any better as the battle played out.

Quite the opposite: the more the night moved on, the thirstier Ladybug was getting.

She couldn't keep her hands off her new partner, disguising her desire to get closer to him as purely professional gestures necessary to save the day.

But when she unexpectedly ended up in his arms, she couldn't help it and flinched, like from an electric shock.

She couldn't focus on solving her lucky charm while being constantly distracted by the prince charming in front of her.

At one point, she found herself staring at him, her gaze lovesick and unfocused, her cheeks dusted with a cherry pink blush, absolutely unable to look away.

Ugh, it was so embarrassing. But there was nothing Ladybug could do. She suddenly found herself under some sort of spell.

He noticed her staring and cocked an eyebrow.

"Ladybug? Are you sure you're alright?"

He put his hands on her shoulders.

Ladybug didn't respond. His touch made her tremble. The feverish shiver started from her feet, quickly spreading up to the top of her head. She felt unexpected tears welling up in her eyes, blurring her vision.

She hated herself for being suddenly attracted so much to this beautiful boy who called himself Patte de velours, but she couldn't help it.

She knew she was a goner.

She knew that if he'd try to make a move on her right now, he'd meet no resistance.

She looked up at him through the veil of tears in a silent surrender.

And he seemed to somehow see the white flag as clearly as if Ladybug were waving it above her head.

So when he leaned in tentatively to see if she'd let him, she just tilted her head and opened her mouth slightly to give him better access to her lips, this sanctuary of love Chat Noir has been trying to reach unsuccessfully, begging him silently to finally kiss her.

She was meek, with her legs wobbling like cooked spaghetti, so he just took her in his arms bridal style and lifted her easily, as if she were a feather, and pressed her gently to his chest, and she placed her hands on his chest, fidgeting with the golden paw-shaped buttons of his suit.

***

Ladybug knew from fairy tales that when a princess kisses a frog, it usually turns into a beautiful prince.

But what usually happens when a prince kisses one (1) deeply infatuated ladybug?

She then turns into a trembling goo, a deeply infatuated Ladybug somehow managed to think before butterflies in her stomach turned off her brain, causing a total and complete blackout.

The only thing that didn't cease to exist was the intoxicating taste of His Highness's velvety lips on hers.