#Fluffy angst

[natswife-marvelicious]

Adopted

Plot: You're the adoptive child of Scarlett Johansson. When you're getting older Scarlett gets a baby naturally and treats you differently. You start to feel neglected and as if Scarlett doesn't want you anymore now that she has "a real baby". After asking her about it, you get into a heated argument, which turns into you running away at night.

Warnings: argument, feeling neglected, running away

Word count: 1,5k

Masterlist

You grew up in a home filled with love, laughter, and the warm glow of Scarlett Johansson’s presence. She had fought through years of disappointment, believing she would never have a child of her own, before finally deciding to adopt. The moment she found you in that small orphanage, she knew you were meant to be her child. From that day on, you were her everything.

As a child, you experienced a world that was rich with imagination and adventure, shaped by Scarlett's creative spirit. She took you on trips, introduced you to art, and shared her life with you in a way that made you feel cherished. She would read to you at night, her soothing voice wrapping around you like a warm blanket, making you feel safe and loved. You were the light of her life, the joy she had longed for.

However, as you entered your teenage years, everything began to change. The whispers of your mother’s past heartaches grew quieter, replaced by the sound of something new. Scarlett, after much thought and deliberation, discovered she was pregnant. It was a surprise, a joyful one, but also one that changed everything.

When the baby arrived, the house became a flurry of activity. Suddenly, you found yourself in the shadows of a new life that seemed to take precedence over your own. Scarlett's attention, which once felt infinite, became scattered. She was often exhausted, focused on the needs of the newborn, and your pleas for time together were met with tired smiles and half-hearted promises.

You watched as Scarlett glowed with excitement, sharing the news of the baby with everyone, her friends showering her with gifts and compliments. You felt a mix of happiness for her and a deepening sense of neglect. She would often spend hours with the baby, cooing and comforting her, while you sat on the sidelines, feeling more like an intruder in your own home.

Weeks turned into months, and the more you watched Scarlett dote on her new baby, the more invisible you felt. The love that had once enveloped you felt distant, and you began to convince yourself that Scarlett no longer wanted you, that you were no longer her real child. The words “You have a real baby now” echoed in your mind, each repetition deepening your feelings of neglect and heartbreak.

One evening, after another frustrating day, you decided to confront Scarlett. As you watched her hold the baby in her arms, the joy on her face felt like a dagger to your heart. “Can we talk?” you asked softly, trying to mask the hurt in your voice.

Scarlett looked up, distracted by the baby’s soft coos. “Not right now, honey. I really need to take care of your sister.”

Your heart sank, frustration bubbling over. “It’s always about her! I’m right here, and you don’t even notice me anymore!”

Scarlett turned, surprise written across her face. “That’s not fair, y/n! I’m trying to manage everything, and it’s a lot. I still love you, but things are different now!”

“Different? You mean you’ve replaced me!” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. “I’m not even your real child anymore, am I?”

Scarlett’s face hardened at your accusation, anger flaring. “Don’t say that! You’re my daughter! But you have to understand that having a baby is a big change. It’s not easy for me, either.”

You felt your heart shatter, and in that moment, everything you had held inside exploded. “You don’t get it! I feel like I’m invisible to you now! I just want my mom back!”

The argument escalated, both of you lashing out in hurt and anger, words exchanged that cut deeper than either of you intended. In a moment of frustration, Scarlett said something she would soon regret. “Sometimes I wish things could go back to the way they were before!”

Those words struck like a lightning bolt, and in that instant, you felt utterly shattered. The fight had gone too far, and feeling completely defeated, you turned and ran. You stormed out of the house into the dark night, the cool air biting against your skin as you fled from the pain.

You ran through the streets, your heart racing, not knowing where to go. All you could feel was the sting of betrayal and the overwhelming weight of rejection. After wandering for what felt like hours, you found a small park and collapsed onto a bench, sobs wracking your body. You hugged your knees to your chest, feeling utterly alone, the weight of your mother’s words heavy on your heart.

Meanwhile, back at home, Scarlett was left in shock. Realizing what had just happened, her heart dropped as panic set in. She rushed to your room, her stomach twisting with dread when she found it empty. The realization that you were gone hit her like a wave, and she desperately began searching every corner of the house, calling out your name.

“Y/n! Where are you?” she yelled, her voice echoing in the empty halls. The sound of the baby’s cries barely registered as she rushed outside, searching the yard and the surrounding neighborhood.

Scarlett’s heart raced with fear, imagining all the things that could go wrong. What if you were hurt? What if you were lost? Every moment stretched into an eternity, filled with regret for the hurtful things she had said. She wished she could take back those words, but the damage was done.

As the hours passed and the sun began to set, the air grew colder, and panic gripped her heart. She searched every nearby park, every friend’s house, and even called the police for help, but there was no sign of you. The weight of guilt pressed down on her chest, and she felt like she was losing the most precious part of her life.

Just as despair threatened to overwhelm her, her phone buzzed with a message from a friend who lived nearby, offering to help look for you. But before she could respond, she heard a soft knock at the door. Hope ignited in her chest, and she rushed to answer it.

There you stood, disheveled and teary-eyed, the fight still evident on your face but softened by the vulnerability of the moment. Scarlett’s heart sank as she took in your expression, realizing just how hurt you truly were.

“Oh, y/n,” she breathed, kneeling down to meet your gaze. “I was so worried. I’m so sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean it. I love you. You’re my daughter, always. Please, come inside.”

You hesitated for a moment, the memories of the argument still fresh in your mind, but the sight of your mother’s anguish softened your heart. “You really mean it?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Scarlett nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. “You are my first baby. Nothing will ever change that. I’m so sorry for making you feel unloved. It was never about you. I was just scared and overwhelmed.”

As the weight of her words washed over you, the tension in your chest began to ease. You stepped forward, collapsing into her arms, the warmth of her embrace reminding you of the love you once felt. “I’m sorry for running away,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

“I’m just glad you’re home,” Scarlett replied, holding you tightly. “Let’s talk about everything, and I promise to do better. You’ll always be my first love.”

As you stood together in the doorway, the night air cool against your skin, you could feel the heaviness begin to lift. With each word exchanged, you slowly rebuilt the bridge that had momentarily crumbled. It wasn’t just about being a sister now; it was about embracing the love that had always been there, even when it felt hidden beneath the surface.

In the days that followed, Scarlett made a conscious effort to balance her time. Sunday became your sacred day, a time filled with laughter, stories, and love. You painted together, watched movies, and even built forts in the living room. Slowly, you began to feel whole again, the bond you shared rekindling.

Scarlett learned to include you in the little things that mattered, inviting you to help with the baby. You would sit beside her as she fed your sister, feeling a sense of pride in your new role. With time, you discovered that having a sibling wasn’t about losing Scarlett’s love but expanding your family in a way you had never imagined.

Through the darkness, you found your way back into the light, proving that even in the toughest times, love could triumph. Scarlett and you became stronger together, the bond between mother and daughter deepening. You realized that love was not a finite resource; it could grow and adapt, wrapping around you both in a warm embrace.

In the end, you learned that while change could be difficult, it also brought new beginnings. The relationship with Scarlett blossomed, filled with open communication, understanding, and an unbreakable bond that would carry you both through whatever life threw your way. Together, you embraced the chaos of family life, finding joy in the laughter and love that surrounded you, proving that no matter the trials, you were always meant to be together.

Second Scarly Oneshot. This is a little shorter than the others.. hope you like it as well tho. Seeee yaaa

[arminsumi]

♡ 𝐃𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐤 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 : you and Suguru were too confused to realize that you liked each other back then, and now look at you two; short-lived romances litter your lives and drunk confessions dissolve the next day. It's all a mess. Add to that the fact that Suguru broke you and Satoru up behind the scenes; it's a drama written by the number one drama queens; Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru.

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : fem reader / Geto Suguru / Gojo Satoru / college au

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 : 🔞 Minors do not interact / 18+ / smut, plot, angst, miscommunication, mutual pining, breakups, Drama (with a capital D), alcohol/drunkenness, drunk s*x, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, dirty talk

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 : i found a drunk!suguru confession post in my drafts and rolled with it 🙈

playing it off. playing it cool. he's suguru geto. everyone likes him and he likes pretending like he's oblivious to that, but it makes his ego swell.

you think; oh every girl in my friend group likes him so why should i bother? he's going to overlook me. he's overlooking me right now.

he thinks; oh she's not into me. she must think she's too pretty for me. if i try to lure her in will she think i'm showing off? fuck it i don't care i'm showing off to her.

you think; oh he's a show-off but he does it so well. why do i have to like the ones who don't like me back?

he thinks; oh is she playing blind? or did she not see me at all. what do i have to do? make her jealous?

you think; oh he's got a girlfriend now? of course he does. yeah, of course he does... i feel sick.

he thinks; why is she looking at me so bitterly? am i fucking things up? maybe she used to like me back then.

you think; if he's dating someone, then i'm dating someone, too. i can't be alone and without him. this was manageable when he was single, not now.

*****

suguru geto comes up to you in the corridor with a confrontational tone of voice;

"why the fuck are you sleeping with my best friend?"

and he thinks you have some audacity to just shrug in response. he presses, but you avoid answering until he locks in on you in the corner of a classroom now, moving out of the corridor for some privacy. yes, much needed privacy.

"i'm gonna ask you again, nicely—"

"it's not really your business. i mean, i don't pry into your life, do i?"

your reply slaps him across the face and he just stays silent, then storms off.

*****

gojo satoru broke up with you a week after dating. figures. he was a playboy after all, and you knew it, so why are you crying?

"really, get it together. there is more to life than this nonsense. come on, get yourself out there again. buy yourself an expensive red dress. get your nails and hair and makeup done. and go strutting like the world is yours."

"... thanks mom." you reply in a sarcastic gurgle, eyes crusty from crying.

shoko is rubbing your feet, you're watching a soapie together because she claims it makes her feel better after dreadfully long shifts at the hospital.

"you know, i warned you about satoru, didn't i?"

"... yes, you did." you hang your head.

"why'd you chase after satoru then?" shoko asked seriously.

"dick."

"... be serious."

"... i really like suguru."

"oh. well. the plot thickens." shoko looks at the tv, then at you. "trying to go the roundabout way to meet him?"

"yeah. he's got a girl now, you know."

"... are you sure?" shoko looks at you suspiciously, "it sounds like you haven't stalked his socials in a hot minute..."

"what, why?" you perk your ears up like a bunny.

"uh, 'cause like... his "girl" just deleted all the pictures of him and her together and he did the same. sooo..."

*****

you do buy yourself a good, wine-red dress and although you selected it purely because you daydreamed of suguru geto romantically lifting it off of you, that never happened that night because everything went wrong and ended in a drunk mess.

avoiding satoru was not easy when you looked so good and he was so horny and lonely, so you let him heatedly mark you up with his lips in the bathroom and put his hands all over you. the way he squeezed and massaged your body made you think for a split second that he really did like you. and the way he kissed you? he kissed you like a romantic — yeah, horny. of course horny. but a romantic over that.

"... why do you look so good tonight..." he said, as if it was unfair.

"uh-huh." you reply. "that's thirty minutes up, playboy."

"daaamn i'm not a playboy, stop calling me that." satoru groaned, and like a sexy playboy.

"you sound like one every time you open your mouth."

"then silence me." he replied with a wink.

"... i'm going to go find shoko."

he made a whiny noise.

"but—"

"—no, satoru."

"okay."

satoru looked like he was holding back a lot, but you couldn't understand what he was holding back. did he just want sex? was that it? no, not with that look in his eyes. he didn't look at you like a wolf, he looked at you like the breakup was a robbery for him, and you were stolen.

stolen by who? who knows. i don't know. do you know? hm. maybe you can guess.

*****

i hate drinking, suguru thinks as he stumbles around the party bleary-eyed and swaying, leaning, into any wall that could care to hug him right now.

i hate it here, too.

he looks disgustedly at everyone, then goes into the quiet backyard where there's no life but the crickets in the grass.

why can't she like me as much as i like her?

he's mean and drunk. he's hurt.

that's why when the two of you encounter each other, an argument froths up.

"damn what's your problem tonight?" you asked after he made some passive aggressive comment.

"you."

"me? the fuck did i do?" you look at him.

"you ruined my life..." he slurs romantically.

"... what?"

he kisses you so softly. you tense up, far too confused to enjoy it even though his kiss is something you've wanted for a while now.

when he pulls back and sees your facial expression, he feels guilty.

did they lie? it seems like i'm not as good of a kisser as they said.

"... i love you." he says against your face.

"you're drunk."

"no, i'm in love." he says drunkenly.

"let's get you sober..."

"i mean it!"

"then say it when you're sober. i think you think you love me right now, but tomorrow you won't make eye contact with me. in fact, i know you'll pretend this never happened."

he sniffles, starting to cry.

"shit, don't cry. i don't know what to do if you cry."

"... just hold me... i'm cold." he says.

it's summer, but i'm cold and lonely and in need a warm touch.

you hold him.

for a while, he just stays there with his head on your upper chest. his nose gets stuffy as he keeps crying. unable to tell whether it's the alcohol or you that's making him cry right now.

"can i come home with you?" he asks.

and he asks it in such a soft, pathetic voice that you can't say no.

"alright. but no funny business..."

"yeah, of course."

i'm too drunk and sad, even if you'd want that i couldn't.

so you take the train home with him at 2 AM. the train handles sway overhead. there's a lot of empty seats. the lighting is stark. you're cuddled together like awkward lovers after an argument. suguru almost falls asleep from your body warmth.

*****

you herd a drunk suguru into your bedroom and turn the lights on.

"lay down." you tell him. "i'll get you water."

"i love you."

"okay." you reply flippantly, but his words struck you and they'd settle in your mind for days to come.

"just 'okay'?" he lifts his head sadly from the pillow.

"i don't know what to do with your "i love you". it's just too much right now. you've given me mixed signals for months and now you hit me with this?" you shake your head at him.

he pouts to himself, still incredibly drunk. all he can really hear and feel and need is you.

"... cuddles?" he asks.

"okay..."

so you lay with him and he's so overjoyed he blatantly smiles about it, soaking up your warmth and the softness of the bed. your bed. he's in your bed, cuddling you, just like he knew he would one day. even if it's under a strange circumstance. even if everything was confusing and messed up, in your bed everything made sense.

but you're laying there wondering, is he going to pretend this never happened once he's sober tomorrow? is he going to pretend the two of you didn't lay together, talking about your lives in hushed voices, sharing childhood memories with laughter — is all of this going to dissolve the next day just like the alcohol dissolves from him?

you don't know.

suguru's needy squeezing and soft breathing in your ear make you feel loved, even if it's just drunken love. and somewhere in the cave of his mind, he's hoping that by the morning his courage won't have evaporated and he won't become a coward and damn just love you.

"kiss me." he mumbles against your cheek.

"what, right now?"

"of course right now."

you don't know where his sudden need to kiss came from, but you sympathize with the drunkard — they need a kiss to warm up and feel alright. but you also shake, just a little, because this is what you want, too.

one kiss doesn't satisfy him, he gets greedy. and greedier after each kiss, until his tongue is slithering into your mouth and he's leaning on you with his weight, pressing a boner into your lower half.

"suguru... don't. you're gonna regret it in the morning, probably."

"... how could i regret you?"

the shift in his voice told you that some of the alcohol had worn off, albeit not too much.

his fingertips press into your skin and it sends him to heaven. you're sighing under his touch, trying to practice self-restraint, because this drama keeps getting more dramatic and you didn't want to contribute to it more by fucking with the best friend of the guy you dated — er, whom you dated to get back at said guy for dating someone else.

suguru kisses your neck tenderly, and that's when you snap and give in completely.

"... i want you."

"then have me."

******

a shuddery moan escapes suguru when he slides inside you. he spreads your legs a little wider, snuggling his waist between them like he's found his home.

"kinda romantic, aren't you?" you tease. "i could practically see your pupils dilating there."

he hums at the sensation of your wet walls gripping him.

"yeah, romantic — i'm sure you noticed that about satoru, too, huh?"

"someone's jealous..."

he bottoms out in you so slowly that it's easier to take. he's not unbearably big, not unbearably thick, just perfectly filling you.

"... of course i'm jealous, why'd you think i told him to break up with you."

"huh?"

you don't have time to question this crazy revelation because he's driving into you back and forth hard all of a sudden, knocking you into a near-orgasm with how perfectly he angles into your g-spot.

"fuck, baby!" he whines into your shoulder, "you feel so good!"

"s-suguru..."

"yeah, say my name." he commands breathlessly, "say it over and over until i cum."

he sounds nearly pathetic, like he hasn't pleasured his cock in forever. he's nearly drooling. just going crazy for you but at the same time trying to maintain his cool "i'm geto suguru" — which slips completely when he cums prematurely.

"i love you, oh my god i love you so fucking much, will you have my baby?"

"y—y–yeah! i'll — fuck! — i'll have your baby, suguru!" you reply.

"oh, good girl." he moans, "get pregnant for me."

he's so whipped by your reply that even though his cock is overstimulated and sensitive from cumming, he still drives into you until you reach your orgasm. he even snuggles his fingers into your clit and rubs it frantically, practically forcing your orgasm to arrive. he just loves to see it wrack your body and make you curl in.

"fuck... you're so beautiful." he says as he watches you cum all over his cock.

"s—suguru!" you pant, totally incoherent for a few seconds because of how strong your orgasm came over you.

he's slowly sliding his softening cock in and out, until he slides it out your stretched-out hole and you can hear him slide out — practically hear how thick his cum is as it dribbles out of you.

"creampies are pretty romantic, huh?" he jokes, smirking down at you as you pant.

"... you're crazy."

"i'm crazy for you."

"... me too."

he cuddles you for the rest of the night as if that's all he ever needed to hear. and what consequences would come for fucking you when he knew satoru genuinely likes you?

© arminsumi

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

[sweetbearbakery]

clingy panther/wolf hybrid bf that gets lost at target while you shop??

Losing your wolf hybrid bf at target♡

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•Wolf hybrid! Bf is very affectionate and clingy, always pawing at you or nibbling/licking your face.

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•Wolf hybrid! Bf who started to cry when he got home from the store one night and couldn't find you, not thinking to check the bathroom. Then you coming out of the bathroom, finding him in a pile of blankets and your clothes on the rug in the living room. Curled up into himself as he whined.

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"Baby, why are you crying?" His head immediately shot up, pouncing onto you as he nuzzled his face into the crook ofyour neck. Hiccuping as he cried, his nose cold on your skin. "I thought y-you left while I w- *Hic* was gone!" He would cry into you neck, clinging onto you like a lifeline. You would settle down into his pile as you let him snuggle up in your lap. "No sweetheart, I was just in the bathroom. I would never leave you like that."

He'd sniffle as he looked up at you gently, nuzzling his face into the front of your shoulder whilst looking up at you with doe eyes full of love and worry. "P.....Promise?..." Looking down at him with a loving smile as you gently moved some hair out of his face. "Yes baby, I promise."

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•So just imagine the panic that sets in when you realize that you had left him in one of the isles of target.

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Hearing a small howl from the cleaning supplies isle, you rushed over. Frantically looking around until you saw a fluffy tail sticking out from the toilet paper.

Sighing in relief as you gently moved some of the toilet paper packages from the wall he had built. Finding him curled up and shaking like a leaf in the middle of the the toilet paper. Curled up into a ball, his hands holding onto his ears a bit. The cartilage bending in his firsts, not enough to hurt him. His breathing was a bit heavy, you could see some of his face. Feeling your heart sink as you caught a glimpse of his quivering lips and tear stained cheeks.

Stepping a bit closer, you gently tapped his shoulder. Expecting him to just turn his head and look at you with a scared look. Turns out he had noticed your touch, and apparently, even in public like this, he pounced onto you. Not that you minded.

Knowing his need of comfort and consolation in the moment, you wrap your arms around him immediately. Squeezing him tight enough to let him know that you were actually there with him. Letting him be there in the moment for a bit before speaking up.

"It's alright sweetheart, I'm right here. I'm so sorry, so, so sorry, Honey...." You whispered softly as you started to rub soft circles onto his back. Feeling some of his shaking and quivering go away. Gently tilting his chin to look up at you. Sitting silent as you waited for his words. "I....I thought.....you left me h...here all alone.....that y...you didn't love me a....anymore...I.....I was s....so scared...."

Sighing softly as you started to softly pet the top of his head. "I know baby, I'm so sorry. But I promised I would never leave you." You coo out in a gentle whisper. "And I'm right here, aren't I?" He sniffled, nodding as he looked at you. "Y.....yes..."

Smiling as you took one of his hands into yours. Placing your forehead onto his. Mumbling a small 'it's okay.' Before picking up your head and bringing your free hand to his cheek, gently caressing it. "Just breathe, sweetheart. Can you tell me five things you can see?"

He looked at you, a bit confused as he sniffled but nodding. Looking around before looking to you and clinging back onto you. "I can see you, t-the wall, um...the shelves, my h....hands, and.....cleaning supplies..." He smiled as you nodded in approval, placing your forehead back on his.

"Good, now closing you eyes. Take some more breaths and name four things you can feel. Okay?" You feel him nod against your forehead. Taking a big, deep breath before he closed his eyes, squeezing your hand softly. "I can feel....you hand in mine, your pants, the floor, and.....my own hand."

You let out a soft hum, letting go of his hand. Both of you opening your eyes. "Close your eyes and ball your hands into gentle fist." He listened, closing his eyes once again and gently balling up his hands. "Now, three things you can hear?"

You look at him as he focused, finding him adorable. His ears stood up gently, listening around for noises. "Your breathing, shopping carts, and other people." He opened his eyes, smiling softly as he looked at you.

Opening your arms, welcoming him into your embrace. He immediately hugged you tightly, nuzzling into you. Smiling as you started to pet the top of his head once again. "Two things you can smell?" You whispered to him softly.

"You and me..." He mumbled in response before looking up at you. Taking his chin carefully and gently kissing him. The kiss full of love and comfort. Pulling away a couple seconds later with the same smile as you asked. "And one thing you can taste?"

He looked at you, blushed softly as he clung onto you again and buried his face into his chest. Mumbling a small "you..." into your chest. Laughing softly as you gave him a soft squeeze, kissing the top of his head. "Good boy." You praised softly, looking at his wagging tail.

Helping him stand up, wrapping your arm around him despite how he was taller then you when standing. Pulling him close and keeping him a your side. "We can come back another time, let's just go out to the car. M'kay?" You asked as you looked up at him.

He nodded, looking down at you before looking around and sniffling a bit. "Okay....and.... thank you..." He whispered as you both walked to the exit. "Of course, Honey. Like I said, I'll never leave you. I love you, so much.

A soft smile appearing on his lips as your two walked out the doors, wrapping his arms around your waist in return. Somehow pulling you closer as you both walked to the car. Stopping before going into the parking lot, bending down to kiss you softly, after the kiss, mumbling a small but meaningful " Well..... I love you more...."

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A/N: Thank you for the request and I hope you like it! Please boot this post and feel free to send in more request, like, and reblog/repost.

XOXO, Bee♡

[eliorabunny]

deny me

angstyyyyyy!!!!! bestfriend!chris x fem!reader, unrequited luvvvv

𐀔⋆ ིྀ₊𖧧 “i get this twisted and sickening feeling i’m gonna marry you” 🂱*𖦹°‧ ༘

𖦹 genre: fluffy angst, no happy ending (unless i decide to do an alternate version) ✄༝𑁤

𖦹 word count: 547 𖧧

𖦹 a/n: first thing i’ve written on here yippie🧚🏻‍♀️ also do i tell my friend/producer i’m using their song for plot inspiration. stream grace gardner everyone they fucking rock

i’m feeling moody so now y’all are too ᵕ̈ ̤̮

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

it felt painfully safe to lie in his arms.

any moment with him, really, made her heart plummet deep into her gut. her rosy thoughts of him felt wrung out like a towel every time they were together. each minute gnawed at the fragile bones of a fading daydream. for once, she actually wished her best friend liked her more than that.

unfortunately, he was respectful.

they’d known each other since childhood, always seeing movies together at the local theatre and getting ice cream across the street afterwards. she knew which monopoly piece he’d choose (the terrier) and he knew which ice cream truck character she’d pick (spider-man). only those who have surpassed love and found themselves in a deeper bond could remember details like that.

which is why it hurt so much more once she realized she was falling. honestly, it felt more like repeatedly tumbling over exposed roots and snarled branches in a cliffside nosedive. she chuckled bitterly to herself at the cartoonish image, eliciting a raspy “hmmm?” from the sleepy arms around her.

“oh.. was that out loud?” she mumbled bashfully, as reality yanked her back from imagination. she turned to look up at the boy sitting next to her on the couch, who nodded slowly. his half-lidded but steady eye contact would have made her collapse if she wasn’t already curled up against him. a vague redness crept towards her face, and she struggled to ignore the corners of his mouth twitching towards an amused smile.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked softly, laying a gentle finger on the skin between her eyebrows. she tried to disregard the idea that superheroes ever had the ability to read minds. her eyes wandered to the collar of his hoodie, which had slipped enough to let his collarbone taunt her, dare her, to move closer.

and if the lights were dimmer, she wouldn’t have seen it.

a violet, blooming there on his chest. a mark of someone else’s teeth and lust. a tear begged to be set free, pricking the corner of her eye. she prayed her mascara would remain faithful and squeezed her eyes shut.

“hey,” he whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. she melted against his neck, idly chewing on the sleeve of her sweatshirt as her focus dissolved. this particular sleeve had a heart-shaped patch sewn onto it, a playful gift from her best friend. it felt ironic now, knowing her feelings would only cause trouble if she let them show.

the warmth of his lips just inches from her forehead was devastating. her skin ached for contact, and she mindlessly tilted her head upwards. her gaze met azure, caged by enviably long lashes. the delicate beauty of his features overwhelmed her, and she quickly glanced down to the offensive blossom on his neck.

she contemplated bringing it up, knowing every response would shatter her. the sight was torturous, and she felt her tether to paradise disintegrating as she pointed. her mouth opened slightly, and she felt the pressure behind her eyes threatening to betray her.

his eyes followed the line of her finger and felt his heart wilt. they shared an understanding, silent moment, and he pretended not to notice the tear that traced an apologetic line down his shoulder.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[sparklefics]

Losing you

Bucky & avenger!reader

WC: 1,185

Summary: a near death experience puts things in perspective.

Warnings: near death experience (not detailed tho), mentions of injury and blood. Language!

I wrote a thing!! It’s been months since I’ve been inspired/ had time to write. Here’s a little angsty fluff.

Gif not mine.

[Masterlist]

Since you joined the team you’ve gotten along with everyone. Missions are successful at least 90 percent of the time.

For the last nine months you’ve been partnering up with Bucky. He’s damn good at his job and you get along just fine, at least when you’re on the field.

Off the field is an entirely different story.

It’s not so much that you don’t get along, it’s just you don’t hang out outside of work. The only time you ‘hang out’ is during training.

You wouldn’t consider him a friend— at least not like Sam is. Bucky is merely your teammate, your partner.

Normally Bucky is cool, calm and collected until the day you get hurt in the field.

“Star, come in.” Bucky speaks through the comms but is only met with silence so he tries again. “Agent Star, come in!”

Star is the code name Sam gave you when you joined his crusade as Captain America. He liked to joke around about his Stars and Stripes and the Sentinel of Liberty, respectively you, Joaquin and Bucky.

Bucky turns back to the last checkpoint and his body goes rigid as he takes in the scene before him. There you are laying on a puddle of blood—yours, he realizes.

He doesn’t take the time to over analyze what went down, all he cares about right now is getting you to safety.

—————

It’s scary to put so much on someone. To let them be your everything, he hadn’t realized that was what had happened. To him you were just his partner.

Until he almost lost you.

That’s when he realized what’s really at stake here. Not only your life, but his happiness.

—————

Three days, that’s how long it takes for you to wake up.

“Ow. That hurt.” You groan and hear Sam chuckle, when you bat your eyes open you see Bucky storming out of the room.

“That’s not funny, Star.” Sam says. “You scared us. How come you didn’t call for backup?”

“How long was I out?”

“Three days. And yes, he was here the whole time, barely got him to eat and shower.”

“Where’s Stripes?” You deflect and ask about Joaquin.

“Coffee run.” Sam stares towards the doorway and sighs. “Buck was the one that found you.”

“Hmm. I think he might be mad at me— you know for almost dying.”

“He’s entitled to that, you’re his partner after all.”

—————

Bucky never comes back to the med bay. In fact you don’t see him for weeks, until you’ve been given the all clear to go back out on the field.

You approach him silently at the gym while he’s pummeling a punching bag. Three bags already discarded after he ripped them open.

“Hey Liberty!”

“Don’t call me that. You know I fucking hate it.”

“Are you still mad at me?”

“Who said I was?” He turns around and you’re not ready for that tender look he gives you. A mixture of guilt that you almost died on his watch and something else you can’t pinpoint and it almost makes you think that he might actually care.

As scary as it was, almost dying put so much in perspective for you. First thing’s first, before you passed out on the field your very last thought was Bucky’s smile. That was strange…yes, he’s your partner but you were about to die and your last thought was of him not begging for help just one last smile of Bucky’s.

Secondly, it felt so off and hurtful seeing him walk out as soon as you woke up. You didn’t know why it hurt but the fact that it did meant that you wanted him there when you woke up. Or at least you expected him to be there, he is your partner after all.

You almost lost everything.

You almost lost him.

It’s infuriating how he managed to become something more than just your partner without you even realizing it. Though all your anger dissipates with the look he gives you. None of it matters when he’s looking at you and touching you so delicately.

Bucky traces a finger ever so delicately over the still fading bruise on your cheek bone.

You hadn’t realized he’d been standing so close to you. Or why the disheveled look he’s got going on looks so good on him. Has he ever looked better? Yes, but today he looks kinda hot and vulnerable, in a way that you just wanna comfort him, run your hands through his hair, cuddle the shit out of him.

Out of nowhere you grab his face and kiss him— on the lips!

“You can’t blame me for that. I almost died.”

You murmured against his lips. And to your surprise he doesn’t pull back, instead he deepens the kiss.

“Shut up, I'm still mad at you.” He mumbles against your lips.

“Ha!” You pull back just enough to slap a hand on his chest. “I knew it! You are mad at me!”

Bucky pulls you right back to his arms and rests his forehead on yours. “I’m just…I can’t lose anyone else. Do you understand?”

You nod.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m mad at myself. You got hurt out there, I should’ve—”

You pull back to look him in the eyes, “James Buchanan Barnes it is not your fault I got hurt. I should’ve called for backup, it’s not your responsibility to keep me safe.”

“Yes it is. You’re my partner.”

“You say that like it means something else. What are you really trying to say, Sarge?”

As if the kiss you two shared hadn’t made it clear this certainly would.

“Star, you are everything to me.”

And your anger makes an appearance again, you pull away from him. “I’m finding that a little hard to believe, cause since I woke up all you’ve done is avoid me.”

“I’m just— seeing you there in a puddle of blood it fucked me up.”

“Waking up and seeing my partner walking out on me fucked me up. You were the last thing on my mind before I passed out. I was trying to call for— I was going to call for you when I blacked out. Then I wake up and see you walk out the door and never come back.”

This isn’t how Bucky pictured this moment. It should’ve gone like in the movies. You both admit your feelings, kiss and voila: happy ending. Not you angry at him, with unshed tears in your eyes.

“I’m sorry I’m an idiot that can’t handle his own feelings. But I love you. I need you to know that. I love you.” He squeezes your hands.

“That’s the thing Bubba, I love you too. So don’t you dare walk out on me ever again.”

You pull him in for a hug and you climb on him like a koala, arms around his shoulders and legs around his torso. He tells you he loves you again and assures you that he’s not going anywhere without you. “Well then, take me to my room. You owe me three weeks worth of cuddles.”

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Question for the previous on König and highschool sweetheart ask— Would König consider trying to treat her more gently on a round 2 to make up for her first time? Or he’d just act like it’s not a big deal and think that she can take it?

Unrelated one— If his sweetheart is ever caught being upset or sobbing with full on tears over something like work or a crappy coworker, would König ever try to comfort her in his own way or just leave her be?

Oh for sure he’d be more gentle. I think his remorse would override even the silly need to be some ultimate gentleman when it comes to virgins.

König is a little crazy with these revenge fantasies but at the same time, he can’t stand to see his sweetheart hurt. He wants to make her yearn for him (bro what do you think she has done for the past +10 years??) but he would never abuse her, cheat or anything like that. The thing is he doesn’t quite know what to do with her. He can’t live with her, and he can’t live without her!

Highschool sweetheart actually wanting him to be rough is so confusing to him. She seems to love it that he plays this confident distant jerk, and König can’t stand it, appears she never loved him when he was kind, shy and weird?? At the same time she's star-eyed on the 2nd round because “oh you’re making love to me now? how cute!” and it's making König’s brain hurt – all he ever wanted was to treat her right! Now it’s too late! And besides what does this girl even want?! And how can he (not) give it to her? He needs to make her pay! Not today... But some day. He will. Yes…

Her crying and sobbing would instantly make his chest hurt, and he knows what it means – of course he fucking loves her still because he’s cursed or something – and the need to run to console her is greater than the goddamn gravity but he takes a feeew extra seconds before strolling to ask if everything’s alright. Fights the urge to pull her into his lap, but she climbs there herself, sobbing and sniffling, and his heart just hurts hurts hurts until he can’t take it anymore, he has to caress and console her. Now then, who was mean to you…? :|

(He’s going to kill whoever made her cry… And then he’s going to come back and make her pay. Some day! Not today, because she’s crying. But some day.)

[brittscafe]

hiii! i really really really like REALLY loved your content, especially jjk ones bcs it helps me A LOT with my sadness while watching S2 lolll

can i request a fic?? nanami x fem!reader - reader starts overthinking about their relay with nanami that seemed distant rn bcs nanami always comes back home late with his constant overtime BUT nanami doesn't notice about it. so, one night there's just an argument about this and nanami accidentally slips off 'i never ask you to stay with me' in which hurts reader A LOT - eventually leads nanami to his realization and they finally make up when they're about to sleep (nanami saying sorry while hugging from behind and asking reader to snuggle with him)

i'm sorry if there's too much angst 😭 and i'm sorry if there are grammatical errors since eng isn't my first language 🙏🏻 but i really hope you will take this into consideration hehe

Hi! Thank you!!! <3 Really missing Nanami rn 😩 Sorry, this literally took me forever to writeeee

Nanami Kento is the hardest worker you know. He's always staying late at work and doing overtime. He doesn't seem to notice how it effects you though.

The endless nights you stay awake, sitting at the counter and your foot repeatedly tapping the ground below your, your right leg shaking rapidly.

The nervous build up in your stomach that makes you nauseous and your head spin. Of course, Nanami always comes home to you, but he's distant and you can't hide the way you feel any longer.

The front door clicks open and Nanami's tall figure walks inside, a deadpan expression on his face.

"Hey Nanami...can we talk?" you speak up quietly. Nanami's eyes meet yours for a split second and his breath hitches in his throat.

"Sure," he nods his head, setting his suitcase down. You shift your weight in the chair that you're sitting in and clear your throat.

"I have to be honest, I'm a little upset with you. You constantly work overtime and I stay up all night waiting up for you," you sigh out and Nanami cocks an eyebrow.

"You don't have to wait up for me. I've told you that multiple times, y/n. You know that I work late," Nanami explains with a firm voice that brings you little to no comfort.

"I know, but I feel like I'm being treated unfairly. I wish you would spend more time with me after work, especially since I spend most of mine time here alone. It's not fair," you explain, a frown tugging on your face.

Nanami shifts his weight and crosses his arms over his chest.

"I never asked you to stay with me." his words are cruel and cut into your feelings like a sharp knife. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes open.

Wow.

You stare at Nanami in disbelief and the tears start to well up in your eyes. You tear your gaze away from Nanami and lower your head down, trying to swallow your hurt.

"Ok," you mumble out underneath your breath, walking off and into your bedroom.

Nanami blinks with confusion and clears his throat, shaking it off as he sits down on the couch. His mind ponders on what he did wrong as he chews on his bottom lip.

A heavy sigh falls from his lips and he runs his fingers through his hair with frustration.

An hour or so passes and it's bedtime. The door clicks open to your shared bedroom and Nanami's eyes lock onto you in your pjs. You glance over at him over your shoulder as you pull back the comforter.

The room is silent and Nanami clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

"Y/n," he calls out, his voice barely above a whisper. You easily hear his voice, but ignores it. Nanami steps closer to you, clearing his throat.

"Y/n," he speaks again, this time his voice louder and clearer. You glance over at him, curling the comforter up in your fists and letting out an annoyed sigh.

"What?" you mumble out.

"I didn't mean what I said earlier. It just slipped out," Nanami speaks calmly and you chew on your bottom lip.

"I thought you didn't want me to stay with you," you scoff quietly, scowling back at him. Nanami face drops and he shakes his head, wrapping his arms around your waist.

He pulls your back into your chest and nuzzles his head onto your shoulder. You can feel his warm breath on your neck and it sends a chill down your spine.

"I'm sorry, my dear. I do want you to stay with me. I promise," he speaks softly, his voice comforting you. You release the tight grip that you have on the comforter and grab onto Nanami's forearms.

"Ok," you nod your head.

"Do you forgive me? Please? You know I can't go to bed without you," Nanami begs you, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. You giggle as his lips tickle your skin and the sound of your laughter makes Nanami's lips curl up into a tiny grin.

"Yes, I forgive you, Kento. Come here," you whisper, spinning around and gathering him in your arms. Nanami's arms wrap around your back and flatten against them.

You run your fingers through his blonde hair, massaging his scalp as you two fall back into the bed. Nanami's legs are spread out across the bed as he lays on top of you, his head resting on your chest.

He listens to the rhythm of your steady heartbeat as you warm hands running up and down his back make his eyelids heavy.

He's so thankful for you and that you spend so much time with you and staying up late.

Nanami asks you to move in with him a few days later...

[saintsir4n]

CALM DOWN

in which brian gets mad!

___

“Hey! Hey! Back off — Vince outside, put down the vase, you’re not breakin’ shit in my house. Brian go upstairs, Summer you go with him, clean those bruised hands,” Dom’s voice carried through the living room that was practically turned on its head. One small conversation turned into a big argument and then it eventually got physical. “What did I say? No fighting on Sundays. It’s a day for family and you two do the exact opposite, so now everyone cool off until dinner's ready.”

Vince scoffed, his glare never left Brian’s retreating figure until Leon and Jesse pushed him outside. Letty followed Dom, deciding to help him with the rest of the food prep, whilst Mia and KeKe helped pick up anything broken to toss in the trash.

Carson rolled her eyes as she joined Brian in the upstairs bathroom. Her dress would’ve gotten ruined if she hadn’t moved away from her boyfriend who had tussled with Vince until Dom got involved and pulled them apart with Jesse and Leon’s help.

Brian was against the sink, watching as she pulled out the first aid kit in silence, brows pinching together when she didn’t say anything to him, and just sighed to herself.

“You’re gonna give me the silent treatment, really?” He exacerbated, as she pulled out bandaids, cotton pads and hydrogen peroxide.

“Just stop movin’,” she muttered when she got him to wash his hands.

“He insults us and I get the cold shoulder? I don’t believe this, you’re supposed to be on my side.”

She frowned, “There are no sides Brian, and drop that base from your voice, I’m not the problem here.”

He laughed in disbelief, “Oh, and I am?”

“I never said that," she sighed, trying to wipe the cuts as he winced at the pain.

“You’re not denying it," Brian stressed, annoyed that she didn't have a problem with it.

“You didn’t have to react," Carson hated violence and her boyfriend seemed to be constantly around it.

He scoffed, “So I’m just supposed to take his shit.”

“I never said that either," she retorted, "Hold still." Brian cursed when the hydrogen peroxide coursed over his open wounds, "Sorry."

“Then what are you sayin’? ‘Cause to me it just sounds like you think I’m in the wrong," he gritted out, body digging into the sink as he felt some pain. "That I’m the issue, and I should just sit back and let guys like Vince walk all over me.”

She rose a brow, “Guys like Vince?”

He rolled his eyes, “Here we go.”

“Here we go what?” She looked at him, seeing how heated he was getting about this.

“You’re focusin’ on that, really?”

“He’s my family so watch how you talk about him," she exclaimed.

“I’m your boyfriend and you’re actin’ like that don’t mean nothin’”

“You know that’s not true," her shoulders slumped. "You mean so much to me. Brian, you know that.”

“Do I?”

“You know you do.” She paused, pulling out a large bandage and cut it in half, “It’s just…”

“It’s just what?”

“You didn’t have to punch him," she stressed, applying some cream before wrapping his wounds.

“Yes, I did," he groaned, as she took a step back, “We hold hands and it’s a problem, we smile at each other it’s a problem, You sit on my lap and we kiss suddenly he can’t take it anymore and makes digs. If it’s at me I get it, he hates me, but the second he calls you naive, or an idiot, I'm not gonna sit back and do nothin'."

"Well I can see that," Carson gestured to his sore hands, "and I'm not some pushover, I can handle Vince, I'm just tired of the drama."

"He's the drama," he said, calmer.

"Says the guy with bloody fists," she teased, putting away the first aid kit and coming to stand between his legs.

"Well, they match his busted lip."

She couldn't help but laugh, "I appreciate you defending me, I do."

"I'll always defend you, you know that," Brian wouldn't let any harm come to her, even if it was just stupid words.

"But you need to keep that temper under control, you could've ripped my dress."

"Let me see," he cooed, trailing his hand down to the hem, "Sorry baby."

"Yeah I know, it's fine just calm down sometimes," she pleaded, with a pout.

"I'll calm down when he learns that I can kiss you whenever I want," Brian said, sternly, snaking his arms around her waist, "touch you, take you out and he can't do a damn thing because we're together alright? or I'll start thinkin' he's actin' more like a jealous ex and less like a brother."

"Alright, alright, you’re all cleaned up," she gently patted his chest, "lets go."

"Wait, wait, wait, let me kiss you, before we go down stairs, couldn't wanna get interrupted again would we?"

Carson laughed into the kiss.

—

[chishiyasleftnut]

Hi everyone ＼(٥⁀▽⁀ )／This is another fic I wrote in the middle of the night, but I couldn't get the scenario out of my head haha. It's not smutty at all, but I want to experiment a bit with different genres. I hope you'll all like it! (ღ˘⌣˘ღ)

2+1

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Genre: Fluff w/ mild angst. Warnings: Minor existential dread, mentioning of abortions. Pairing: Dad!Chishiya x fem!reader.

Plot: After a long day at work, dad!Chishiya contemplates about his new role as a father. Is he even cut out for the job?

1140 words. 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

Chishiya had never seen himself as the father type. Perhaps it was the subconscious fear of becoming like his own father - distant and uncaring - that kept him from wilfully pursuing that path. However, despite his best efforts to prevent it, you had managed to accidentally become pregnant and he had had to come to terms with the scary reality of fatherhood. 

It wasn’t as bad as he thought. Sure, the little creature was awfully noisy and smelly at times, but he had to admit that she was also kinda cute. Did the positives outweigh the negatives? He wasn’t sure. But he knew he didn’t completely hate being a parent as much as he originally feared.

Luckily, Chishiya was earning enough money to secure you a long maternity leave, allowing you to bond well with your baby in a way Chishiya never would. He had accepted that and somewhat found peace with the fact that he wasn’t expected to be as close to the tiny being as you were. It was easier to handle having to accept that he was the secondary caregiver and not the primary.

Another benefit of his job were the long hours, which gave him a much-needed break from dealing with home life. He had always used his work as a coping mechanism to deal with every small, negative thing life threw at him, but it was only after becoming a dad that he realised that that’s what his own father did too. It scared him to admit that he shared more than just blood with the man who had been so distant his entire childhood. However, he tried to shake the feeling and convinced himself that he was taking extra shifts to afford your maternity leave. Mh, yes. That was 100% why.

Despite desperately seeking a sanction from the reality of his newfound status as a dad, a part of him was always looking forward to coming home. And so he did this night, stepping into your shared apartment, which was only lit up by the moon shining luminously through the big and modern windows. The apartment, which long ago had been only sparsely decorated (just as he liked it), was now covered in proof of your child’s existence; no matter where he looked, he saw baby toys, neatly folded onesies, and an array of pacifiers in every colour possible.

Trying his best to ignore the way his once tidy apartment had changed, he walked with tired steps through the apartment until he got to the master bedroom. Slowly, he opened the door, mindful of the way it creaked so as not to disturb you or the little human sleeping safely in her comfortable crib next to your bed.

For a while, he stood still in the doorway, examining the way you and your baby’s breathing were synchronised, as if you had become one with one another. Although he would never admit it, he envied you - envied the way you so easily let this helpless child into your heart and how you so naturally took care of her every need in a way that Chishiya couldn’t make sense of.

It was those quiet moments that assured him that you made the right choice in keeping the child. Of course you had discussed the possibility of getting an abortion, but now that your daughter was in front of you - living, breathing, feeling - neither of you would want it any other way. How silly of you two to even consider any other option, he thought with a small smile creeping up on his lips.

With gentle steps, he walked into the bedroom, carefully closing the door behind him before approaching the bed. Despite how silent he was attempting to be, you regrettably woke up. He hated when he woke you up after a night shift - now more than ever. As a doctor, he was well aware of how desperately a new mother needed rest, and he hated taking that away from you for even a moment.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered while climbing into bed next to you, still dressed in his hospital scrubs. “It’s just me.”

By instinct, you turned around to examine the small child, unable to fall back to sleep yourself until you had assured her that she was safely asleep. Luckily, she was, her chest rising and falling at just the right speed. He admired your natural dedication to ensuring your offspring’s safety and comfort. It always looked like second nature to you; like you were never, not even when asleep, not aware of how your daughter was doing.

Chishiya moved to embrace you, hugging you from behind and burrowing his face into your neck, taking in your scent. And that’s when he realised that work wasn’t his sanctuary; this was. It wouldn’t be easy for him to rearrange his mindset, but he knew he had to try. While you had never complained, he was well aware of how much being the prime caretaker of a newborn was taking a toll on you. You never got a full night’s rest anymore, surviving on napping throughout the day whenever the baby miraculously fell asleep.

That would have to change, and he knew it. No, he not only knew it; he wanted it to change. He wanted to be a better father and partner than his own dad was, and that started with reducing his work hours.

“I’m taking next week off,” he mumbled into the small hairs on your neck, unsure if you were even awake and listening to him. If he was honest, he wasn’t even sure if the comment was directed at you or if he just needed to say it aloud to believe it himself.

To his surprise, you hummed and scooted even closer to him, gently affirming to him that you were listening. Perhaps tomorrow, when he inevitably has to repeat the very same sentence, he will get a more enthusiastic response.

He could only hope that you were just as excited about the new change as he was. Still, he hoped you were without the deep fear that was echoing through his entire being - the fear of failure, of not being good enough for the sweet, innocent baby that was laying just half a metre away from the two of you.

In the last seconds before he slipped into unconsciousness, Chishiya, for the first time, found peace in his new role as a father, coming to terms with the fear of not being enough for the almost doll-like little girl that lay peacefully so close to him.

After all, very few great things were accomplished without fear and worry, and there was no doubt in his mind that this truly was a great thing. He could and would change. The two of you had turned into three, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[icycoldninja]

Hey! How are you... it's mother's day in India today. And my mother and my relationship strained, though she doesn't know about it.😂

Anyway, not trauma dumping. But can I request lots of angst, followed by lots of love. Basically Dante and fem!reader (his wife) has a cute five year old daughter, she and Dante plans mother's day something for her. As far as trying to make no-bake cake (cause seriously, Dante can't bake for his life and baby is baby.)

I just want it to be followed by the reader questioning after the celebration at night, if she is even a good mother that one day she is turn controlling and obsessive like her mother, when she is alone with Dante. And the baby was awake walking through the hall and overheads. She and Dante make sure the Reader knows she is doing great as a mother. Dante goes as far as saying she is as good a mother as Eva.

Yes, Instagram is giving me a baby fever.

Aww, I'm so sorry to hear that. 💜 And yeah, I get it, when you see how happy other moms are, you kinda wanna be a mom yourself. Here you go, I hope you enjoy and have a great day.

Am I a Good Mother? (Dante x Fem!Reader)

"OK, what's the next step?" Dante asked, bending over your little daughter's shoulder to read the recipe.

"It says...add milk and stir." Said your daughter, standing up on her tiptoes to peer at the recipe sheet taped to the kitchen cabinet.

"OK, I'll get on that," Dante said, patting your daughter's head. "While I do that, go check on your mom and see if she's still watching TV. Do it quietly, though, don't get caught."

Nodding, your daughter scampered off to spy on you, returning a few seconds later with a smile on her face.

"Yup, Daddy, she's still watching TV," She announced, proudly. "And she didn't see me."

"Great job," Dante chuckled, giving the cake batter a good stir.

Today was Mother's Day, and like any loving family, Dante and your lovely 5 year old daughter were fixing up a surprise for you. Earlier, Dante sat you on the couch and turned on your favorite show, ordering you to relax and just enjoy the afternoon. You'd taken the bait and were now absorbed in the aforementioned show while Dante and your daughter made a cake for you, destroying your kitchen in the process.

"OK, now what do we do?" Dante asked, pouring the cake mixture into a glass dish.

"It says chill it." Replied your daughter, walking over and opening the fridge. Dante, slid the dish of cake mixture into the fridge, set the timer, and sighed.

"Great job, Princess," He said, playfully missing up her hair. "Now, go wash your hands and you can go play, I'll keep an eye on the cake."

"OK, Daddy," Said your daughter, grinning.

Several hours later, the cake was ready to be served. You, Dante, and your daughter especially, enjoyed it. After all the food had been eaten and your daughter had been pu to bed, you and Dante had a quiet moment to yourselves, where your dark worries came out.

Dante knew that you and your mother had a rather strained, uncomfortable relationship due to her controlling and obsessive, tiger-mom behavior in the past, and knew that unlike him, you never had the joy of feeling safe around your mother. You always had to put on an act to appease her, never being able to be yourself around her. He never brought this topic up in conversation because he didn't want to upset you, so the matter went largely undiscussed.

Tonight, however, was a different story. Tonight, you started tearfully divulging your fears to Dante, as you lay in his lap.

"I'm just...just worried that someday I'm gonna become like my mom," You told him, tears welling up in your eyes. "You know the saying, like mother like daughter. I don't want our little girl to go through that...I don't want her to have to deal with that pressure, I don't want her to put on an act when I'm around her. I don't want to be like that."

Dante let out a small sigh, running his fingers through your hair.

"Baby, don't talk like that, you're not gonna grow up to be like that old bitch--"

"But you don't know that!" You cried, burying your face in his lap, soaking his pants with tears. "You don't know that. I don't know that. I-"

You were cut off when a sleepy little voice called from the hallway, startling you.

"Mommy?" Called your daughter, stumbling forwards in her pajamas, one chubby fist rubbing her eye. "Are you sad?"

Both you and Dante were speechless for a moment; all you two could do was watch as she continued padding forwards, a concerned little pout on her face.

"Daddy, why is Mommy sad?" She asked. You immediately sat up, straightening your clothes and hair, though you were unable to hide your red, puffy, teary eyes.

"Mommy's not sad," Dante said slowly, trying to figure out a way to hide the truth from your little girl. "She's just..uhh...tired. Yeah, just like you when you get tired, Mommy cries."

"Really?" Your daughter asked, wide eyed. "Grown ups do that too?"

"Yup," Dante nodded, relieved his lie had worked. "I'd better put both of you to bed now, it's getting really late."

You chuckled as the man stood up, lifted your daughter into his arms, and carried her to the bedroom, with you following behind.

"Hey, Daddy?" Your daughter asked, as you neared her room. "Do you cry when you get tired too?"

You and Dante exchanged a brief glance before he answered,

"Yes, I do."

"Does Uncle Vergil cry when he's sleepy too?" Your daughter inquired, now very intrigued.

"Yes, he does," Dante affirmed, laughing. "Now shush, it's time for bed." With that, your daughter's curiosity was sated, and after being tucked in bed, looked ready to fall asleep.

"Night baby," You said, kissing her forehead.

"Night-night Mommy," She whispered, yawning. "I love you. You'e a great mommy."

Dante gave her a kiss and a tickle, and afterwards, he guided you back to the living room, glad to see a smile return to your face.

"See, babe? She seems to think you're a great mom."

"I...guess...yeah," You admitted, shrugging.

"And she ain't the only one," Dante told you. "I think you're an excellent mom too. Hell, you're just as good as my mom was."

"You really think so?" You asked, blushing slightly.

"I know so," Dante chuckled, leaning forwards and kissing you. "Now come on, let's get you to bed before you get too tired and crying again." You laughed at that, the small smile on your face widening into a big, happy grin.

"Thanks, Dante," You said, resting your head on your husband's chest as he scooped you into his arms and carted you off to the bedroom. "I love you...and thank you for...well...telling me what I needed to hear."

"I love you too, babe, and don't think it's just something you needed to hear," Dante said, patting your shoulder as he walked. "It's also the truth."

[xxlady-lunaxx]

Don't leave | {SaneGiyuu}

Theme: Angst/Fluff/Angst

Note: I think SaneGiyuu's turning into my comfort ship again ;-;

Why do Sanemi's ears looks like elf ears 💀

×××

"Don't do this to me," Sanemi whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. Tears threatened to pour over and his hands trembled as he held Giyuu's limp body in his arms. "Don't leave, I swear to God, please... I'll do anything but please, please don't leave me alone."

Giyuu's body remained cold, unmoving. Lifeless. He was gone, and that was that. Blood stained his mouth, his usually plush, pink lips splattered with inky red, a cruel contrast to his pale complexion. A single tear dropped onto his cheek. Not from his own eyes, however. He had lost the capability to cry. To smile, to breathe, to live.

"Giyuu..." Sanemi mumbled, his breaths shaky. "Giyuu, Giyuu, oh, Giyuu, please, PLEASE!!"

His pleading was fruitless, simply dispersing into the cold, February air. He sobbed over the body of his lover, snowy hair swinging forwards as he bent down, clutching Giyuu tightly.

The sudden image of Giyuu, alive and happy, flashed before his mind.

"You should pin your hair back, it keeps covering your eyes," he said, laughing. He had cut his hair, had been unable to continue tying it back once he'd lost an arm.

"Hell no. I'll look stupid like that," Sanemi retorted, rolling his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows, glancing over at his boyfriend who lay next to him, buried under a pile of blankets.

Giyuu smiled over at him, reaching forward and brushing Sanemi's bangs from his eyes. His hand was rough from a decade of fighting, calloused and hardened. Yet his touch was gentle, soothing in a way. His fingers brushed over Sanemi's jaw and he sat up, scooting closer.

Sanemi looked up, a sense of tranquility befalling over him at the sight of Giyuu, an easy smile wavering on his lips.

Giyuu bent down, placing a kiss on Sanemi's forehead, brushing against one of the many scars written into his skin.

"I love you, you know that, right?" Giyuu said, tugging Sanemi onto his lap. Sanemi rested his head on Giyuu's thigh, turning his body to look up at him. Their gazes met and, for a moment, Sanemi lost himself in the beautiful, deep blue eyes of his boyfriend's a small smile curving his mouth.

"You tell me every day," Sanemi murmured, a burst of laughter escaping his lips.

"It's because I love you so much," Giyuu declared, pressing fleeting kiss on Sanemi's smile.

"You're cute, did you know that?" Sanemi asked, sitting up. He turned, pulling Giyuu onto his own lap this time, hand brushing Giyuu's neck, grazing his jaw.

"No, I didn't," Giyuu said. "Am I?" A teasing smile betrayed him.

They had played this before. As low as either of their self-esteem's were, both adored to be praised. To be seen as something other than what they saw themself as.

"Very," Sanemi agreed matter-of-factly, tangling his hand in Giyuu's short, raven-black hair and pulling his head towards him. He kissed him slowly, tongue skimming over Giyuu's bottom lip. 

Giyuu pulled away, breath caught in his throat. "Really?" he asked, eyes flickering over Sanemi's face, searching for any hint of a lie.

"Truly," Sanemi assured him, bending down slightly and, tugging on Giyuu's kimono, pressed a kiss on his lover's collarbone. "You're lovely, too. So, so pretty. Most handsomest of the land. Girls, boys, even demons. They're all falling for my boyfriend." 

Giyuu laughed gently, though he sounded breathless as kisses were peppered up his neck, trailing to his jaw. "You're being ridiculous now," he said, leaning against Sanemi.

"Never."

"Be reasonable, Sanemi," Giyuu ordered, a mock frown playing on his lips.

"Can't, I'm overwhelmed by my love for you," Sanemi teased, grinning. 

"I hate you," Giyuu huffed, rejecting kisses that tried to follow, though his cheeks were tinted pink. 

"I thought you loved me?" Sanemi said, faux gloom flooding his expression. 

Giyuu turned back to him, horrified. "I do!" 

Then Sanemi broke character, a smile spreading on his lips, and Giyuu stammered, stumbling over himself for a response. When he couldn't think of one, he settled for a frown, drawing his features for his previously-normal expression, eyes disinterested and ignorant.

Sanemi kissed him anyhow, changing their position to pin Giyuu to the futon, kneeling above him. 

Giyuu went back to his flustered state, weakly trying to push Sanemi back before submitting to the kisses, his eyes fluttering shut. 

"God, I love you so fucking much..." Sanemi murmured into his boyfriend's lips, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against Giyuu's.

"How much?" Giyuu whispered.

Sanemi opened his eyes and sat up—or, sat on Giyuu's lap—surveying the breathless mess of his lover. He slipped back onto the futon, picking Giyuu up and cradling him in his arms. He smiled at the pleasant expression that took over Giyuu's face, soothing his features. He dipped his head down for a kiss then pulled away by a breath, their lips brushing against each other as he spoke.

"Too much," Sanemi said, gaze focused on Giyuu's blue-bell eyes. "More than I could contain." 

He held him in his arms still, whole attention purely on Giyuu. Only it wasn't

Giyuu. He wasn't... He just wasn't anymore. He was gone, had sucked in a harsh and shaky breath but never let it out.

He couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that once, only months ago, he had held Giyuu in this exact position, but Giyuu had been well. Had been smiling, had been content, had been... alive. That he was no longer, eyes half-lidded, glazed over, skin paler than snow. His body was cold and limp, useless. He had died there, in Sanemi's arms.

Yet his lips held the ghost of a smile. How could he smile? How could he be happy when he knew that he would be leaving everyone behind, be leaving Sanemi.

Then it caught up to him. Everything.

"I love you, Sanemi," Giyuu had said, barely able to form words. But he had said this to him with the last of his strength. He had smiled, then, hadn't he? 

"Your smile isn't half-bad. You're overreaction, it makes you look young. I guess you are young. But still," Sanemi said, rolling his eyes. "You shouldn't be so nervous."

"...Kocho said it was unsightly. She said she'd rather be devoured by a demon then see me smile," Giyuu mumbled.

"Kocho spews a lot of shit," Sanemi said simply. "Smile, won't you? Do it more. Maybe people will befriend you then."

"If you say so," Giyuu assented, though not without slight perplexity.

Giyuu had done it for Sanemi's sake. He had loved him so dearly, had shown his feelings through actions day after night after day, no matter what. To his very end, his affection didn't crumble for a second.

This realization only enveloped Sanemi with grief all over again, feeling the unconditional love towards him too great. He didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to have met someone so devoted, so perfect like Giyuu sitting in his memories. But he would cherish it all. He would recount each day he'd had with Giyuu over and over until the day he could be laid to rest beside his lover. Giyuu was everything to him. He would never let himself forget that. 

×××

« Word count: 1181 »

goshh i love them too much

[kybercrystals94]

Congrats on 333 followers!

If you’re still taking requests, how about something from Omega’s angsty teen years post-Tantiss?

THANK YOU! ☺️

And thanks for the prompt, Anon! I went for a more bittersweet, “our little girl is growing up” vibe…but I hope it still carries that angsty, teen undertone you requested!

Here’s your 333 word story!!

Little Shadow

Read here on AO3!

Rated: G

I still have 2 slots available for the 333 Followers Prompt celebration!

A week ago, Shep had asked the Batch to go on a supply run. They are leaving in an hour, and Omega isn’t packed yet. Not that she needs much, but typically, she’s the one ready to go the night before.

“Omega,” Hunter says, rapping his knuckles on the door frame of her bedroom. “About ready?”

Sprawled across her bed, his sister, freshly sixteen, looks up from her data pad and heaves an exaggerated sigh. “Do I have to go?” Her tone is on the verge of a whine.

Hunter gapes, surprised by…well, all of it. “What?”

Omega drops the data pad in her lap, her head falling back against the wall with a soft thunk. “I wanna stay home, have the house to myself.”

“I thought you liked getting off-world.”

Omega side eyes him, a pout on her lips. “I do…just…not this time.”

A few years ago, Omega would have fought tooth and nail not to be left behind.

“So, you’d rather stay here by yourself?” Hunter clarifies, still put off.

“Batcher will be here.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll keep up on my chores,” Omega assures him first. “I’ll hang out with Lyana. She can spend the night; we can watch one of those girly holos you boys don’t like. Oh, and I can finish reading my book.”

Hunter doesn’t know why this is bothering him so much. Omega wanting to stay on Pabu alone isn’t dangerous – far from it. She’ll be safe and – apparently – happy.

By herself.

Without them.

What happened to his little shadow?

“Okay, Omega, if you don’t want to come, that’s fine,” Hunter tells her reluctantly.

She grins at him. “Thanks, Hunter! I promise I’ll check in. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’ll always worry about you,” Hunter mutters.

Omega groans. “I know.”

“At least come out to see us off?” Hunter asks.

“I will,” Omega says, as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

A glimpse of his little shadow remains.

Let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list!

Tag List: @followthepurrgil @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @groguandthebadbatch @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @baddest-batchers @laughhardrunfastbekindsblog @omegafett99 @heidnspeak @fionas-frenzy @dreamsight73 @royallykt @blackseafoam @illogicaalbraindump

[cyxnidx]

SCARE !

req.:

a/n: omg hihihi😭apologies if this took a while, i haven't been checking my inbox at all. but i adore this idea!! tysm ♡. original post here.

character pairing: pantalone x gn!reader

genre: kinda angsty fluff hehe.

two weeks.

thats how long you've been gone for a commission. longer than usual, but pantalone has known you for long enough to know you're fine.

however, your little girl hasn't quite yet gained that pleasure of conscious.

"daddy.." the small girl whines, curling up in a ball against her fathers chest again.

she's been crying and whining about you all evening.

and while it wasn't out of the ordinary for the little girl to know that yes, you'd leave for "work" occasionally, she always got to have contact with you.

whether you end up sending a letter, calling, or sending some sort of souvenir, she always got something to remind her of her other support system.

but the extended time you've been gone paired with no gifts or contact whatsoever is overwhelming for the poor thing.

"i know, dear." pantalone says solemnly. it's the only thing he can tell her, other than the constant affirmation that you're fine.

but, of course she wants proof. its a warrant she's worthy of. but he just can't provide that for her.

its breaking him, from the inside out.

the small girl gets out from her fathers hold, eyes watering as she stomps over to her play shoes at the door. "daddy.. daddy, let's.. go!" she whines, wiping her own tears as she slips them on, and pantalone feels the last bit of his heart rip.

"where are we going, dear?" he asks, humoring the little girl.

"to go.. to go find.." she gets choked up on her own words, struggling to finish her sentence.

and back to her roots, she's a sobbing mess once again. mumbling your name like it's the only word she knows, pantalone can only kiss her forehead and tell her it's alright.

and even now, he's wondering if it's alright.

he takes the girl back to the couch, rocking her until she eventually quiets down from the constant crying she's been doing.

for once, pantalone feels useful in a situation like this. he's a smart man - he can do a lot, he knows a lot. but calming his little one while you're gone with no contact is something that nothing could've prepared him for. no book, no lesson, no prophecy, nothing.

just as he's beginning to relax on the couch, he hears the door knob twist and push open, revealing the same figure he and his little girl has missed for so long.

by the tensing of his body, your girl wakes up, looking around, still upset. until she meets your eyes.

and there she goes. crying, sobbing, a mess as she runs toward you, scolding you while also telling you she's missed you for what seems like a decade.

you kiss her forehead. "i know, i know, i'm sorry." you apologize, walking her over to pantalone.

he wraps his arms around you, his hedonistic smile crossing his face, though how he feels at the moment is anything but. his eyes say it all:

he's hurt. hurt, worried, upset, scared, and confused.

he pulls your figure in tight, as if he's afraid that if he lets go, you'll trickle into dust. nothingness. his head rests on your shoulder, his breathing choppy. "please don't worry me like that again." he mumbles.

[the-pale-goddess]

Vices & Virtues - Ethan Ramsey x MC

Dr. Ramsey's weaknesses don’t disturb his everyday life often, but when they do, a certain intern happens to always be involved.

Book: Open Heart, Intern Year (between Chapters 5 & 6)

Warnings: language, my rusty writing, a truckload of pining

Rating/Category: Teen+ / fluffy angst

Author’s note: [insert the ‘surprise, bitch’ & 'it's been 84 years' reaction GIFs]

I’m eternally grateful for the very few angels still waiting for new E&T content—this one’s for you 🫶🏻 Hope you’ll find a moment to read my word vomit and enjoy the mess (aka my writing). I appreciate every comment and like more than words can convey!

Edenbrook is indigestible on Mondays. Though Ethan Ramsey doesn’t believe in whatever ‘curse’ humankind attributed to an absolutely random day, he cannot deny the madness that usually ensues upon the beginning of each week. An inexplicable air of post-weekend malaise does tend to envelop the globe, and Boston is no lucky exception.

“Mondays suck!”

Striding across the hustly-bustly pediatric ward, Doctor Ramsey overhears an agitated boy explicitly expressing his annoyance.

Ethan’s Monday has been a doozy of a day as well, but he’d rather keep his troubles six feet under, preferably in concrete. Nevertheless, a drop of sympathy implores him to stop near the patient’s room and watch the scene unfold at a safe distance.

The child blows a raspberry at the nurse preparing him for a corridor-long wheelchair ride, clearly upset about the surgery he’s being taken to.

A heavy sigh followed by the unmistakable giggle of a certain copper-haired radiologist interrupts Ethan’s first break during today’s demanding shift.

“It’s not Monday, kid. It’s just your life.” Doctor Herbert whispers into Ethan’s ear, a large cup of raspberry tea in her hand. “But at least it’s going to be all rainbows and candy again in three weeks.”

Meanwhile, the situation has escalated quickly: a river of tears streams down the young Monday-hater's cheeks now, his concerned mother shooting pleading looks between her shuddering offspring and the strict nurse trying to efficiently finish the task so she could move on with her hectic schedule.

A pang of dejection pierces Ethan all of a sudden when a long-forgotten fragment of the past he buried flashes through his mind. Before its splinters reopen old wounds, he swiftly pushes the unwanted memory back to the unexplored depths of his psyche.

“I don’t think he’s heard you.”

“Gee, Doctor Ramsey, share some of that cheerful attitude with the rest of us!” Liz nudges his side, almost spilling her hot beverage on his foot. She mouths an apology, but his unimpressed gaze falls elsewhere.

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with it.”

“Thank God your interns still haven’t caught that grumpiness you’re suffering from.”

“No need to worry, it’s not contagious.” He gives a dismissive wave of his hand, partially to announce his departure, then continues the journey to his primary destination: the harmonious sanctuary of his private office.

As soon as the elevator door closes behind Ethan, the confined space becomes his temporary resort. He takes a deep breath, rubbing his sunken, aweary eyes to relieve the tension—an aching remnant of the sleepless night. The exhaustion begins to mess with his senses, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary; permanent fatigue has been his steadfast companion for more than a decade of his career as a doctor.

There’s a crack in that orderly, borderline clinical life of his, as big as a closed fist, and he’s slowly beginning to realize its detrimental consequences.

But none of that matters now.

What matters is that his desperate efforts to bend Naveen’s stubbornness weren’t in vain; there’s still hope—a notion Ethan isn’t exactly on board with, but he puts his trust in science, and beyond any doubt science will point him in the right direction. As long as there’s time, he’ll do whatever it takes to save his mentor, his friend. He’s confident he can do it, he’s capable of diagnosing and curing whichever mysterious illness keeps Naveen captive.

He’s the only one who can do it.

A double shot of deep roasted espresso shall help this cause. Or, at the very least, make his Monday slightly more endurable.

Loud metallic thud followed by a streak of bright fluorescent lighting annunciates the arrival. Empty, windowless corridor welcomes his nostrils with the odious mixture of staleness and antiseptic, typical of the office wing on the sixth floor. He operates on autopilot, mindlessly trudging ahead, marginally consoled by the aura of eerie quietude. Blissfully oblivious to what the so-called Manic Monday has prepared for him next.

All his rational thought and peerless logic evaporate into thin air the second his drowsy gaze zooms in on the old waiting room under renovation currently withheld by the recent budget cuts. Within its hoary walls, a familiar sylphlike figure catches his eye, unwittingly staking her claim to his undivided attention.

Ethan’s dire need of coffee has vanished as well; he’s wide awake now.

Smiling to herself, a sense of pride evident in the alluring dimples carved into her cheeks, Doctor Addams arranges a stack of papers atop a massive couch protected by thin plastic sheet.

Ethan acknowledges that he must ignore the tempest raging inside his chest, but he’s unable to focus on anything else other than the energy she exudes, luring him in like a siren’s song.

This isn’t the first time the infamous Doctor Terminator is utterly powerless in the face of her—the most intriguing mystery he’s tempted to unravel for some godforsaken, unfathomable reason.

Everything he knows about Tiffany Addams has been collateral damage from their close proximity and the isolating nature of their work. Against better judgment, Ethan has stored every single crumb of information thrown at him, like it’s a treasure guarded in the vault of his mind, acquiring new pieces and adding them to this clandestine collection.

With certainty, there’s a new element behind that glass wall, ready to be studied in secret.

As though pulled by a magnet, his feet carry him towards the room while Ethan shuffles through a myriad of excuses plausible enough to start a conversation. A good excuse, however, requires an elaborate background story, supported by a carefully planned follow-up—both of which clearly out of his reach at the moment.

Fully aware of the possible disaster awaiting inside, Ethan steps into the room quietly, leaning against the doorframe with arms crossed over his chest. A sophisticated scent of sultry vanilla wrapped with notes of luminous lavender pervades the space, handily smothering the musty odor of the old hospital furniture stored here for at least a year.

Heedless of his presence, Tiffany remains locked in her own bubble. She’s seated on the couch, browsing through a large leather bag with a lot of noise.

Long onyx locks neatly tamed in a sleek bun reveal the exquisitely sculpted contour of her features, its sharp edges so far removed from the overpowering warmth hiding in her sparkling emeralds and tenacious kindness dripping from the corners of her full mouth.

That stark contrast surely must be a part of her allure, he reckons. Not that there’s any evidence at his disposal—he’s her boss, for fuck’s sake. But the set of cardinal rules applying to the situation doesn’t stop him from looking, nor does it dilute the poison seeping from that singular contaminated thought…

Loud, treacherous voice snarls inside his mind like a beast at the gates of his sanity.

This isn’t staring, this is a comprehensive risk assessment.

Regardless of the pretext, watching her feels almost perverse, but he’s too transfixed to listen to his voice of reason hopelessly trying to redirect him to the path of impeccable propriety.

He can’t look away. Can’t move either. She'll notice him…Eventually.

Is that all he’s become? A disappointment, a fraud. One of the best diagnosticians of the generation, the esteemed Dr. Ethan Ramsey is consistently failing to do his job. His own mind appalls him—once the most treasured asset, his pride and joy, now compromised, useless, struggling to cut through the veil of his inappropriate longing.

Perhaps instead of triggering a spiral of destruction, he should address a more pressing matter: why is there a splotch of purple paint on her cheek?

Better late than never, his focus switches from Tiffany to the negligible surroundings. On her left, spread across the polythene-covered couch, lie a couple of ridiculously abstract drawings, colorful and confusing, each of them made with the skill and precision equal to a six-year-old if he has to guess.

Suddenly, it all clicks.

Along with his tongue.

The short clack doesn’t make her flinch, though she straightens immediately, a glimmer of surprise shining in her riveting eyes when she looks up at the intruder and deems him worthy of a smile. Her lush, rosy lips curl up generously, greeting him with a beam so dazzling his body heats up like bare skin kissed by the blazing midday sun in the middle of summer.

The older doctor doesn’t return the cordial gesture—he has a reputation to uphold and his bruised dignity to save. He quickly takes refuge in the shadow of his perfect decorum, dexterously covering the unjustifiable act of treason committed by his very own carnality.

Tiffany, however, is undeterred in her mission to melt his callous indifference with the disarming sincerity of her vivacious spirit.

“Before you drop your sarcastic grenades on me: no, I have not found my true calling elsewhere. I have not been slacking up either. These aren’t even mine, so insulting someone else’s artistic skills would be totally inappropriate.” Her hand waves over the drawings.

“I wouldn’t dare to insult a respected artist and credit you with their art.” He retorts flatly, then spills the aforementioned sarcasm like the Lord intended. “Early Pollock must cost a fortune or two. How come such rare artworks ended up in your possession?”

His comment inspires a peal of infectious laughter; the powerful melody of Tiffany’s unadulterated amusement conquers the room, all but obliterating the chronic sternness of Ethan’s face.

He cannot help but bask in the glory of this unexpected outcome: he’s the reason behind the glorious, velvety sound; she’s laughing because of him.

“You made a pretty solid assumption, Doctor Ramsey, but I have to disappoint you: early Pollock had an affair with surrealism and his style was way more compositional than this.” She points at the glittery mess splashed in the center of one of the pieces, not so subtly suppressing another wave of laughter.

Miss Addams and her irreplaceable wit painfully remind him of the golden rule he often pretends doesn’t concern his giant ego: do not speak on the topics your knowledge of is insufficient.

Lustrous vivid-green eyes fixed on him and the urgency he’s facing at the moment leave him no choice but to quickly shake off the embarrassment and adapt his reaction accordingly.

Reluctantly, Ethan clings to brutal honesty. “I’m not an art connoisseur, so I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.”

“Oh, trust me, you would.”

A smudge of amethyst retrieves the diagnostician’s attention for one split second, demanding a seamless change of topic.

“I presume you spent your lunch break on the pediatric ward again, trying to start a new art movement.”

Doctor Addams gasps theatrically and presses her slender fingers to her mouth, lowering her head slightly. “What gave me away?”

Ethan considers revealing the truth through another shot of bluntly delivered sarcasm (something he would have done in any other case), but his body betrays him, subconsciously drawing near Tiffany.

“Apart from the excited chatter on the second floor? Nothing.” He replies, straining to keep his impeccable composure just as she bites into her lower lip tantalizingly in what appears to be keen anticipation.

A few risky steps later she’s at his arm’s length, and he decides to measure that dangerously short distance; akin to an audience member of some ludicrous soap opera, the diagnostician observes his hand move towards the intern’s face in slow motion, as if that bloody limb wasn’t his and the falsely innocent intention swarming inside his incisive, virtuous mind filled him with repulsion.

Except he wants this. He needs to feel her.

Even though the mere ghost of an idea may bring his demise, he cannot break free, imprisoned by the torturous vision of her vanilla-scented skin gliding smoothly against his.

Much to his bewilderment, her breath quickens just as much as his; the evergreen forest in her eyes bursts into flames when their gazes meet, burning his hesitation down.

She wants this too.

Nothing could convince him to refrain from acting on this forbidden desire now, not a single reasonable thought seems to be charged with a cogent argument.

So he lets his thumb brush down her right cheek, down the lick of wet paint smeared across her warm skin, taking most of the dark purple off the silken canvas along the way.

The sky didn’t tear in half, there was no divine retribution exacted upon a sinner like him, no sign of punishment fit for his appalling misdeed.

“Nothing. At. All.”

Nothing but the silky smoothness of her face, rapid rise and fall of her shapely chest, and fiery heat searing through his veins…

Inevitably, the unbearable tension crackling between them dissipates in a flash when Tiffany snorts at the sight of his acrylic-stained thumb, a soundless ‘fuck’ escapes her mouth as she sprints to find a prompt solution for the paintmergency, stripping him of time to ponder on what the living hell just happened.

He takes advantage of the moment, immediately scolding himself, forcing his thoughts to flee from the crime scene concocted by his newly depraved brain.

“Must be your enviable instinct of an outstanding diagnostician then.” Cheeky as ever, she casts a playful eye over Ethan while rummaging through the drawers, summoning him to focus on her.

Within a long minute, she scuttles back to him, stretched arm offering one of the two pieces of paper towel sprayed with hand sanitizer. They use it to rub the paint off their skin. As soon as they’re done, Ethan quips back. Sort of.

“The balance between mockery and flattery is a bit too delicate to be used in a professional environment, don’t you agree, Addams?”

Unintimidated by the tricky question, Tiffany lifts her shoulder in a half shrug. “It all depends on the intelligence of the person you’re speaking with. You’re ultrawealthy in that department, so I assumed you wouldn’t mind some harmless friendly banter.”

“We’re not friends.” The speed with which he retaliates might have just sealed his fate. Deep down, he doesn’t quite believe those words himself, but there are rules to be followed unconditionally, rules that cannot be broken under any circumstances.

Dark, noble brows accentuating the breadth of her radiance crease together in sheer bewilderment. He can almost hear the scoff she’s choking back when she sees right through the cone-shaped hole in the thick wall separating them.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

“We’re getting there.” She nods vigorously, openly mocking his well-meaning mendacity with lips pursed into a thin line and narrowed eyes surveying him diligently.

„An attending befriending his intern? I can’t see that happening.”

A winning grin lights Tiffany’s features up. „It’s already happening, whether you like it or not.”

The more she pushes forward, infuriatingly so, the more he resists, fortifying his helpless defense.

„Would you be kind enough to explain why on Earth would I let it happen?”

“It’s beyond your control.” She shakes her head. „There’s nothing you can do now.”

He frowns at her, takes her fierce expression in, feigning utter disinterest in the mesmerizing spatter of freckles adorning her glowy skin.

Is the intensity of his glare too revealing? Can there be a flash of ardent curiosity swimming in his eyes and acting up against him?

„You’re awfully confident about all the wrong things, Rookie.”

She mimics the military salute, right hand raised sharply, touching her forehead, fingers and thumb extended and joined, palm facing down. „The colossal pain in your ass reporting for duty, sir.”

This display of her goofiness, derived from the smidgeon of irreverence he’s found himself covertly fond of, successfully penetrates his ruptured facade.

At last, Doctor Terminator’s perpetually grim face blooms with an ear-to-ear smile, so wide and genuine that Tiffany blinks once, twice, most probably questioning whether the exceptionally unusual scene in front of her is real.

The way she gapes at his mouth almost drills a hole in him—she’s that awestruck, like a pious believer who stumbled upon irrefutable evidence confirming the foundation of her faith.

“You should smile more. You…” Her plush lips part when she trails off, then sucks in a breath, as if to stop the profanation of their professional relationship jumping on the tip of her tongue from slipping out recklessly.

She wants this too.

“It suits you.”

Ethan’s cheeks erupt with disgraceful heat, resembling an awkward teenager attracting his crush’s attention for the very first time—the feeling almost as mortifying and inexcusable as the unprecedented lack of any snarky response.

As if the worst was yet to come, Tiffany keeps on staring at him with such exhilarating wonder and sureness he doesn’t quite know how to proceed with such abundance of emotion meddling with his stoic approach.

She wants this too.

For a fleeting moment, the abyss of his solitude shrinks significantly, purple paint filling the crack on the illusory contentment with the life he’s chosen, just as her piercing gaze invites him further into the impossible fantasy.

Then, a jolt of sobering guilt runs along his spine in a rude awakening, at the same time when Tiffany realizes the gravity of her daring statement and its perilous implications.

“I, erm…”

“Uhm, my…”

Ethan smashes the uncharacteristic uneasiness descending on them, a benign half-smile and barely perceptible nod encourage her to continue. “Go on.”

Her gaze flickers towards the hall, a tinge of crimson reddening freckled porcelain. “My break is almost over. I should head back to the ER.”

Hell must have frozen over: his fearless protégée, strong-willed and sharp-tongued at all times, befuddles him with this uncommonly demure armor plate she has put on. The most challenging obstacles and cases fail to break her down, stress and pressure never threaten her admirable strength, and yet there she is—bleeding from her own sword.

This supremely fascinating token of hidden vulnerability sheds new light on the beguiling collection of contradictions making her whole.

He examines the younger doctor pacing around the room as she gathers her belongings up, stuffing her capacious bag with them. Half-way, she spins to address him directly and points at her cheek.

“Am I…Still…?”

“No, you’re alright. The paint is gone.”

“Splendid.”

As she goes forward, assembling her patients’ drawings into a neat pile, and—rather intentionally—ignoring Ethan, he readjusts his tie and dives headfirst into the pool of her discomfort.

“Addams?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to dedicate such a vast portion of your free time to helping others.”

She freezes, visibly offended, but still intent on avoiding his gaze. “I know. I want to.”

“What I meant...Is that you need to add yourself to the equation, Tiffany.”

“I’m doing just fine, thank you.” She scoffs, the barely noticeable defensive undertone reverberating in her firm answer not entirely convincing for the diagnostics virtuoso.

His evaluation is disrupted by the abominably loud beeping of Tiffany’s pager. Their eyes finally clash for a brief shootout with no winner before she shuts the damn thing up.

“Well then. See you later, Doctor Ramsey.” She blurts out hastily without giving him a second glance and turns round to rush out of the room, but stops in her tracks near the door.

Something sparks inside that brilliant mind of hers, reigniting her boldness. Dense curtain of long lashes flutters at him over her shoulder, inky-black and luxurious akin to the finest lace, the signature magnetic smile dancing on her lips again—this time infused with genuine concern. She inspects his countenance for a still moment, inch by inch, crease by crease, until her head falls to the side like she has just uncovered his biggest secret.

“Consider locking the door in your office and getting some rest.”

“Giving me advice isn’t included in your job description.” He sneers, the unnecessarily harsh huff of his disapproval concealing the alien sentiment spilling inside his chest.

Somehow it’s still not enough to antagonize her.

Her eyes bore into his audaciously; the gentleness gleaming from elusive emerald green, reminiscent of safety, offers shelter he despairingly seeks, but cannot take. “But it’s nice to have someone watching out for you, isn’t it?”

Somehow they might have more in common than one would think.

Careful not to expose the motley collection of feelings stirring his blood, Ethan draws in a long breath and slips his hands into the pockets of pristine white coat, perfecting his posture, with tense body standing even taller, as though to appear completely unaffected by her undeniable appeal, more unrelenting.

He’s been looked at countless times, yes, but this must be the first instance where he feels truly seen.

It is indeed nice.

The attending doesn’t say a word, for he would have to agree with the intern. She smirks triumphantly, accepting the tacit disbelief etched on his face as conclusive proof of her diagnosis.

Instead of claiming victory through verbal manifestation of her sass, Doctor Addams attacks him using a different weapon: a provocative wink. “Just think about it.”

With a graceful twirl indicating goodbye, his Rookie struts out, leaving a dizzying mist of her divine scent behind.

Wasting no time, Ethan scoots to the exact place where she stood prior to this moment, soaking up the delicious cloud of fragrance, unable to resist sniffing the air like some sort of disgustingly pathetic creep.

Thankfully, there are no witnesses to this particularly revolting descent into madness.

No witnesses to the beginning of his fall.

Mind over heart has never sounded more delusional than now, that his hard-won empire of spotless reason stands on the verge of crumbling. But he’s not giving up—he can’t give up. There’s too much at stake.

Beyond dispute, Ethan Ramsey is not an easy man to defeat. The King of Quiet Desperation wears his broken crown with arrogance, each burnished gem representing his sins, though the ultimate one hasn’t brought him down yet.

Having put the mask of nonchalance back on, Doctor Ramsey turns off the lights and stomps into the empty corridor—his hand still carrying the heavenly softness of Tiffany’s skin like a fingerprint, like a sin, shaky fingers curling at the very thought of the contact—then begins a seemingly casual stroll to his office.

He doesn’t have many vices—she is all of them.

_____

A/N2: Hope you enjoyed this bad boy ❤️ Sorry (not sorry) if it's too long and repetitive...I literally can't shut up when it comes to these two fsksjdkfjs Plus it felt really good to find my writing mojo after such a long time!

PS. If there are any typos and/or mistakes...No, there aren't lol I'm fighting COVID at the moment, so my brain's a little foggy. I had this fic sitting in my drafts and decided to just go with the flow while I'm feverish and can't see any faults sjfskfkjf I'll get back to everyone waiting for a reply when I'm more coherent. Stay safe, lovelies!

[shyamanuensis]

Distractions - Sebastian Sallow x f!MC

Drabbled as I get myself reacquainted with writing. Feedback appreciated. Enjoy the fluffy drabble of Sebastian Sallow and f!MC xoxo

Divination class was just meant to be a waste of a free period...

You had become distracted. Again. A hot flush of desperation coloured the apples of your cheeks almost art like. Your gaze had been fixated for a little while too long at the red head boy who had, like time and time again, caught your attention from the opposite side of the divination classroom. Between the two of you, there was a coy, ambivalent smile shared which you’d photographed into your memory. A keepsake. Breathing in deeply the scent of freshly brewed tea and ink drawn quills, a helpless sigh slipped from between your lips. It was a puppy like lust that you could feel pulsing through your veins like an unexpected tsunami. Unfortunately, a hoarse clearing of a dry throat came from the seat beside you which snapped you back into reality.

“Could you stop doing that Y/N.”

It wasn’t quite a question or an insistent request. Just words dryly spoken by a friend which caused your brows to twitch softly as you turned to look at them. Sebastian, unlike yourself, had been focused on actual coursework. Divination was just a subject that two of you had taken on Thursday afternoons. To waste a free period. Resting your elbow lazily upon the desk you both shared, your palm caught your falling head, and your lips tightened – corners puling along with your eyes into an irritable scowl.

“Stop what?”, you whispered, noting that Professor Onai was nearing as she did her lap of the classroom which better resembled a cross between your grandparent’s attic back in London and an old-fashioned tea shop. In a hasty attempt to make it seem like you were involved in the coursework, you shuffled your seat across a little closer to where Sebastian sat and peered over his shoulder at the teacup, you’d earlier drunken out of that he was examining, firmly clutched between his hands.

“You know exactly what”, Sebastian replied, tilting the tea cup from side to side as he attempted to read the dried dregs and stumble across any patterns or shapes he could find. “Your ridiculous ogling at Garreth Weasley.” The name of your Gryffindor classmate left Sebastian’s tongue barely audibly, but heavy with annoyance.

“Firstly, I don’t ogle”, you started an explanation off; the four words causing Sebastian to roll his eyes unconsciously, but you had indeed noticed. “And secondly”, you continued, sweeping some loose hair behind your ear, “may I add that Garreth Weasley is just… so… so… dreamy. I’m sure that I’m not the only girl in history to have ever glanced his way.”

Fingertips gingerly reaching out to pick up the teacup that Sebastian had drank from draining away on the dainty saucer in front of you; you peered in past the rim, hoping to move forward from the conversation you were both having. Tessomancy annoyed you. Palmistry frustrated you. Crystal-gazing you were utterly unenthusiastic about. But taking divination meant that one – you could spend more time with your friends, two – lust quietly over Garreth Weasley and three – continue to be a thorn in Sebastian Sallow’s side which it seemed you quite enjoyed.

“Stars…”, you muttered, “I see stars.” You had to squint, twist your head and move the cup around in any and every angle imaginable but you were certain, to an extent, in what you saw. “Luck, I believe”, you recalled the symbolism from earlier in class when you’d been paying attention. Anyone who was looking at you was sure to see that the expression you wore matched the cogs turning inside your head. “…and a heart”, you continued as you came across a blob of dry dreg which loosely resembled the scribbles you’d drawn all over your parchment with your quill.

“SEBASTIAN… ARE YOU IN LOVE?”

The question was meant only to be for discussion between the two of you however not realizing how quiet the classroom was or how loud your tone had become, it seemed that everyone – Professor Onai, Sebastian, classroom of students included, had heard you and were staring. Snickers, smirks, mocks and hushed whispers began to lively fill the room, and you looked around, eyes laced with concern. Eventually, you glanced in Sebastian’s direction, ready to apologise however you were met earlier than you could speak with words you weren’t expecting.

“I have better, more important things to waste my time on.”

Harsh. Sebastian knew how you felt about love. You’d discussed it with him many a times as you felt it was one of the most important feelings in the world. Something that should be nurtured – delicately – that would paint the skies in hues of warmth and hope and illuminate the darkest of souls with a bright burning passion.

“Like?”, you barely managed. It was as if Sebastian had pressed a mute button on your voice only allowing you to utter a few syllables.

“Research..”, he trailed off. You noticed his shoulders tense before dropping. “..conversations which actually amount to something and don’t have the entirety of a classroom now chattering about me because of something ridiculous you’ve said. I don’t believe in love. Or lust. Or whatever fuzzy description of the term you plan on giving me.”

“Perhaps that’s just because you’ve never felt it”, you suggested with a small smile, placing the teacup down. The patterned fine China had done enough damage for today. “All I’m saying is that if you opened your horizons to the possibility that it could exist then maybe….”

You were cut off by Sebastian placing a finger across your lips. For that single second it took you to realise what was happening – everything slowed down; silenced. You had always romanticised blue and green eyes; but upon reflection into Sebastian’s own, you noted how his brown eyes were deeper and darker than woods you’d wandered in the Forbidden Forrest. A shade which held a mystery of unfathomable anguish and a warm promise of tenderness - that complimented the freckles which drew eloquently across his face. Although you’d been surrounded by it a hundred times before, his sweet boyish scent suddenly threw your head into a spin. You suddenly had no further thoughts. No further distractions. Sebastian’s lips curled into a sheepish smirk.

“Do you ever stop talking?”

As Sebastian pulled his finger away, you couldn’t bring yourself to shake your head or create some kind of smart retort and response to his question. Professor Onai wrapped up the lesson with homework you didn’t bother paying attention to the instructions of and you still hadn’t managed to move. Garreth Weasley was definitely dreamy… but Sebastian Sallow?

Perhaps he could be just a little dreamy distraction too.

[friend-lover-traitor-narrator]

My sequel to We've got tonight (link to ao3) is slowly taking shape. It's already got a name- as you can see: The Bad News & The Good

I have chapter 1 already written (and a couple more chapters drafted out) but I will only start posting when I've actually written more- so bear with me! If you wanna get tagged on writing updates for this fic let me know!

In the meantime, here is a little bit from chapter 1 for all you fluffy angst enjoyers 💙

(tw: vomiting)

At some point, he feels okay enough to open his eyes and watch Mav handing him a glass of water. Ice grasps the glass but it takes him a moment to pull up the courage to actually drink. He takes a deep breath and sips a bit of water into his mouth.

He tries to swallow but his whole body decides against it. He clings to the toilet bowl once again, throwing up nothing but stomach acid this time. His mouth and throat ache even more than before. Mav's hand is on his back again, rubbing it soothingly. “You know, if you don't like to wake up to sweet cuddles and soft kisses, you could've just said so. No need to empty your stomach into the toilet right away,” Mav chuckles in a well-meant attempt to lift the mood. Ice, however, wells up again. He returns to sit against the wall, knees bent up to his chest, his face hiding behind his hands. He feels like there is no strength whatsoever left inside his body and he gives in to sobbing. Mav slides down next to him, pats his knee and leans his head against Ice's shoulder. Ice knows that he's just trying to comfort him but he just can't handle it right now. He jerks his knee and shakes his shoulder to make Mav move away from him. “Hey, you know I didn't mean it like that, don't you?” Mav asks gently, still touching his knee. “You're nervous and that's okay.” “Don't tell me how I feel! You have no idea!” He spats with more heat than he thought he could bring up. He jerks his knee away once more.