#its so chaotic and ridiculous and i love it

[moon-child-goddess]

Charming

James Potter X Gryffindor reader

Kind of Enemies to start with.  This one is just a collection of scenes.

Summary: Reader hates James, and James keeps showing up to annoy her.

Warnings: Language, reader loves to flip James off, Lily is not a bad person in this, mentions of injuries,

I once again don't know how to keep things short like is over 8k words so its a long one.

Potter was at it again, bothering Lily that is.  Which was no surprise at all, his life’s purpose was to bother Lily and pull obnoxious pranks. He was perched against the black tabletop, arms crossed, and that stupid charming smirk of his was present. He was spewing out nonsense, about what their first date would look like.  

“Imagine it, Evans,” his tone dripped with mock sincerity. “Fireworks across the sky, a romantic broom ride under the stars, and—of course—a picnic with the finest butterbeer Hogwarts can offer.”

I rolled my eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t get stuck. Of course, Potters’ idea of romance would include the most cliché theatrics. He probably thought he was charming too.  

Suppressing the urge to gag at his words, I refocused on the simmering potion before me, carefully stirring the thick, bubbling liquid in clockwise motions. The aroma was faintly herbal, with a sharp tang, it was my only indication I was on the right track.

 “James,” Lily said, her voice was sweet but firm like a scolding mother. “I need to help my partner. She can’t do all the work alone.”  

Her words pulled his attention my way for the first time their entire conversation. He turned, and for a fleeting second, something softened in his brown eyes. But his trademark grin returned, and whatever glimmer of humanity I’d spotted was gone.

“Oh, I see. Don’t worry, Lily, I’m sure she’s perfectly capable of stirring a pot without supervision. Isn’t that, right?” His tone was light, but there was a condescending edge that made my grip on the spoon tighten.

I shot him a cold glare before flipping him off without a word.

“Charming,” he quipped, that maddening smirk of his only widening. “aren’t you just a little ray of sunshine”

I was tempted to lob the wooden spoon at his head. Infuriating—That’s what Potter was. Every word out of his mouth made me want to throttle him.

Lily let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. “James really?”

Muttering the word ‘asshole’ under my breath, I skirted around him to retrieve a forgotten ingredient from the shelf at the back of the classroom. I glanced back at our table and Lily was smacking him on the arm, hissing something to him. By the time I returned to our workstation, he’d finally slunk back to his seat beside Sirius, whose shoulders were shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Lily offered me an apologetic smile. “Sorry, he’s just…James”

“He is arrogant and full of himself.” I replied, dumping in a measure of powdered moonstone into the cauldron. “I can see why you always tell him to booger off.”

“He is cute,” She admitted with a small shrug. “But he has eyes for someone else.”

I almost dropped the spoon. Of all the ridiculous things she could say that had to top them all.  Everyone in the castle knew Potter was utterly infatuated with her. It was the topic of every whispered bet in the corridors.

“Right.” I muttered in disbelief under my breath.

Before I could say anymore there was a loud hiss and crackle coming from behind us. My head snapped up just in time to see a plume of green smoke erupting out of Potters and Sirus’s cauldron. Whatever they had brewed smelled noxious.

“Everyone, step back!” Professor Slughorn’s voice boomed as he waved his wand to contain the smoke.  

But before I could move, the cauldron gave a final, violent pop. A spray of scalding liquid flew in all directions. I let out a small squeak closing my eyes and bracing for the inevitable burn. Amongst the chaotic noise I swear I heard someone yell out my name.

The pain never came.

A firm grip caught my arm, yanking me back. When I opened my eyes again there was a sizzling green goop right where I was standing. I was met with Potters concerned eyes when I looked up. His signature grin was gone, replaced by an intensity I had never seen before.

“Are you okay?” He asked, voice unusually quiet.

Potter looked me over inspecting for any sort of injury. Both his hands were on my shoulder’s steading my shaking form.

I blinked once, twice, three times, before responding. “Uh… Yeah.”

His hands lingered on me a moment longer before taking a step back, running a hand through his hair. Sirus behind me was laughing so hard he was nearly in tears.

“James, mate that was brilliant!” Sirus wheezed, wiping his eyes.

Potter shot him a frosty look. It was an expression I didn’t know he could conjure; he was always smiling and carefree.

“Brilliant? You nearly got her killed.” He bit out shoving me behind him.

Sirus froze, his laughter dying. “Oh, come on it wasn’t that bad.”

But James wasn’t listening. He turned his attention back to me, his expression softer. “Are you really, okay?”  

I nodded mutely, still trying to process what was happening. The boy who annoyed me every waking moment was being… Kind to me?

Potter nodded back before walking out of the room. His shoulders tense.

Lily leaned over, whispering, “See? He’s not all bad.”

I didn’t reply. For once, I was at a loss for words.

The courtyard was peaceful despite the bustling of students crossing through. I sat in a shady patch of grass with an old, but well-loved book.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Potter’s voice rang out, breaking my solitude like a shattering glass.

I let out a groan. He had an uncanny knack for ruining perfectly good days. I didn’t bother looking up, pretending to focus on the words in front of me.

“What do you want, Potter?” I muttered, my tone sharp.

He plopped down on the grass right beside me, stretching out like he owned the place.

“Just enjoying the great outdoors, same as you. Sans the book. I think you read more than Remus.”

I finally looked up; my scowl sharp enough to peel paint. “There’s an entire courtyard for you to ‘enjoy.’ Go find a different patch of grass.”

“But this is the best spot,” he said cheerfully, completely ignoring my attempt to banish him. “Nice shade, quiet atmosphere, good company—”

“You’re impossible,” I cut him off, snapping my book shut. “Do you ever get tired of being... you?”

“Nope,” he replied, popping the P. “And you don’t seem tired of it either.”

I blinked at him, stunned by the audacity. “I literally just told you to leave. What part of that makes you think I like you?”

“Yet you haven’t left.” He leaned in slightly, the smell of sandalwood and vanilla coming from him. “I think you secretly like having me around.”

Potters eyes were twinkling.

“I think you are delusional,” I countered, but my voice cracked slightly. His smile deepened like he’d caught me in some grand confession.  

“Delusional, huh? Interesting diagnosis, sunshine”

My head snaped back to him so fast I nearly got whiplash. “What did you- What did you just call me?”

“Sunshine.” He repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Fits, doesn’t it?”

He really was delusional.

“No, it doesn’t,” I bit out through gritted teeth. “don’t call me that.”  

“Why not? It’s perfectly you. You are so warm and radiant”

My hand clenched around the edge of my book, and for a split second, I considered using it as a weapon.

I stared at him in disbelief. My jaw tightening. “I hate you.”  

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sunshine.” his smirk now verging on insufferable. “Deep down, I think you actually like me.”

I stood up so fast he flinched slightly.

“Listen, Potter. I don’t know what twisted game you’re playing, but I’m not interested. Call me that again, and I swear—”

“What? You’ll hex me?” he interrupted, clearly unbothered by any threat I could make. “Go ahead. I’m dying to see what you’d come up with.”

The nerve of this boy.

Instead of dignifying his challenge with a response, I glared harder before turning on my heel and storming off. Behind me, I could hear his laughter following me like an annoying echo.

“See you around, Sunshine!” he called after me, his voice ringing with triumph.

I flipped him off without turning around, my blood boiling.

Sunshine? What an absolutely ridiculous, infuriating nickname. And yet, as I stalked back to the castle, I couldn’t stop replaying the way he’d said it—like it was a joke only he understood.  

I hated him. I really, really hated him.

I had managed to keep the Potter interactions to a minimum. I avoided him by ducking behind statues whenever I caught sight of his messy hair or hiding behind Lily when in class. For a moment, I thought I’d finally regained my background character peace.

The Sunshine nickname had stuck much to my dismay. Every time he said it in class, I swear my blood pressure spiked.

Which is why, when the library’s familiar quiet atmosphere enveloped me one late evening, I let myself relax for the fist time in days. This was my slice of heaven. The dim candlelight and the faint scent of parchment was soothing, a perfect backdrop for tackling the mountain of notes piled before me.

“Well, well if it isn’t my favorite ray of sunshine, hiding in the shadows.” Potters voice drawled breaking the silence like a Bludger through a window.

My quill stilled mid-sentence, and I groaned internally.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” I pursed my lips pretending to think. “Like Lily perhaps?”

Instead of taking the hint, he pulled out the chair in front of me and plopped down.  This took my attention away from the papers in front of me. Potters grin was so smug it could rival the Cheshire Cat’s. How could one person be so obnoxious?

“Lily’s got enough admirers for one day. Besides,” he said, leaning back slinging a toned arm over the chair next to him. “you’re far more interesting.”

“Watch it. Lily is my friend,” I shot back, folding my arms across my chest. “What do you want, Potter?”

“Nothing much,” as he spoke, as he leaned his chair on its back legs.  “Just thought you could use some company.”

Company? What about me in a dark corner with books scattered about screams I need company. Potter was an idiot.

A special kind of idiot.

“I don’t need company” I snapped turning back to my notes.

“You sure?” He was leaning forward now. “You seem awfully tense maybe I could help.”

I arched an eyebrow at him unimpressed with his antics. The only person in his group I would accept help from was Remus. He spent more time on schoolwork then I did.

“Unless you have suddenly become an expert in transfiguration theory, I seriously doubt you can help”  

Potter hummed before picking up my book.

“Transfiguration, huh?” He tilted his head to the side like a curious dog. The candles reflected off his glasses creating a glare.

“Nope can’t help with that. But I am an excellent distraction from stress.”

“Clearly.” I mumbled, yanking my book back.

He chuckled, a warm sound that I refused to acknowledge as pleasant.

“You don’t have to be so prickly sunshine.”

“Maybe I am prickly because you are insufferable.” I shot back.

I wanted to throw something at him, but the detention was not worth it.

“But I think you mean I am insufferably charming.” He countered.

“As charming as a toad.”

That earned me a loud laugh from him, he was genuinely amused. “Sunshine has jokes, I like this side of you.”  

I didn’t say anything just flipped him off. Potter laughed again, the sound carrying through the now empty library.

“Prongs!” Sirius voice rang out from somewhere near the entrance. “Come on, we’ve got rounds.”

James stood up, still looking at me. “Guess I’ll leave you to it, Sunshine.” He winked as he walked away, leaving me wondering what the hell had just happened.

It was about a week later before he spoke to me again. I was on an evening stroll around the grounds enjoying the crisp evening air.

Potter was at the lake skipping stones with his group. They were all laughing and making fun of something. I was to far away to hear. Sirus noticed me first nudging James in the arm pointing in my direction. I narrowed my eyes.

“Sunshine!” He called out. As if were the greatest of pals.

I kept walking, acting like I didn’t hear him. He jogged up the hill quickly falling into step with me.

“What has you in such a hurry?”

“Trying to avoid you and your gaggle of friends.” I was blunt not bothering to soften the blow.

“Harsh,” He clutched his chest dramatically. “You wound me.”

“You will survive, especially if you know, just leave me alone.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You know you could just admit you like me”

I halted my steps and blinked turning mid step. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“Because everyone likes me!” I half expected him to spin with his arms out, but he just shrugged.

The confidence of him. His parents raised an irritatingly confident secure personality.  

I rolled my eyes, “That is impossible Potter, because I really don’t like you.”  

“Oh, I will grow on you, I promise.” There was a playfulness to his tone.

“Like a fungus, maybe.” I scoffed.

James burst out laughing, the sound wasn’t entirely unpleasant. My lips twitched fighting a smile. He was kind of cute in that moment. The way the setting sun caught in his hair and how he absentmindedly adjusted his glasses made him look... well, charming.

Shaking the thought away, I did what came naturally and flipped him off continuing my walk. This time, though, the gesture was almost playful.

Before I got far, I glanced back and spotted Sirius patting James on the back with a mischievous grin. My stomach sank. They were up to something, and I was undoubtedly their next target.

I steeled myself, pulling my walls higher than ever. I wouldn’t fall victim to whatever scheme they were concocting.

Not this time.

Avoiding Potter from that point on had become a fulltime task. No matter where I went, he showed up with a cheesy pick-up line. Somehow, he was everywhere. Like he had some sort of magical tracker. Which was why I had taken refuge under the shade of a secluded oak tree on the furthest side of the castle grounds. A book clutched in my hands like it was my lifeline of sanity. Lily had recommended it to me. It was a fun muggle mystery. She had called it a classic.

“I think about it a lot you know. What our first date would look like.”  Potters annoying voice spoke from above me.

And yet, there he was, like a persistent weed sprouting through the cracks. Of course, the obnoxious boy would find this well-hidden tree. How was he always finding me?

“Umm what?” I sputtered not quite believing what I heard.

“You heard me sunshine.” that damn confidence was back, as if he was going to get what he wanted out of this conversation.

The sun made it difficult to see him, its light blasting directly into my eyes from behind his head, forming a blinding halo around him.

“Stop lying, it’s not cute.”  I muttered.

Potter moved to the side; my eyes followed.  He was unfazed by my dismissiveness. I closed my book with a snap, no longer able to tolerate being in the same space as him.

“I promise you, I’m not,” his voice still dripping with that unshakeable confidence.

He was up to something, and I had no idea what it was—but I sure wasn’t going to stick around to find out.  

“I will believe that hmm… let’s see- never.” I stood up, almost headbutting Potter.  

“Sunshine, even if you don’t believe me now, I am good at proving people wrong.”

Before taking my leave, I flipped him off aggressively. The gesture sharp and final, I wanted him to get the message to leave me alone. Usually when someone flips another person off, they get a clue.  

But he laughed.

On my way back to the castle I passed by a Sirus Black hiding behind a statue. He was clearly trying (and failing) to stifle a laugh. That confirmed it—they were definitely up to something, and I had no intention of being the butt of their joke.

Potter had taken Lilys seat in potions class. She sent me an apologetic look when I entered. Slughorn wouldn’t be bothered. He just cared that everyone sat and paid attention.

“Guess I am your partner today, Sunshine.” He greeted.

I ignored him, dumping my books on the table with a thud. Ignoring him was not working for me but it was the only thing keeping me from harming him.  Potter was like a dog with a bone—relentless.

“Did you know you’re my favorite lab partner?” he added, his voice light, teasing.

“No, and I don’t care,” I muttered, flipping through my notes.

Slughorn us gave us instructions to brew the potion we talked about earlier in the week. I opened my notebook to the vigorous notes I had taken.  I got up collecting everything we needed and started the process without a word.

Halfway through and Potter hadn’t moved. He was supposed to be actually helping brew. But he was utterly useless, just sitting there staring at me with his head propped up on his fist.  

It was infuriating.

“Merlin! Potter, you need to help me,” I snapped, thrusting the spoon in his direction. The frustration in my voice was impossible to miss.

His only response was a stupid dopy grin, He didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink at the spoon an inch from his nose. Instead, that ridiculous grin widened.

"You know, sunshine, if I could brew a potion to make you smile, I would." He winked, and I resisted the urge to hex him.

He was impossible. No wonder Lily always said no—these were the kind of lines you’d expect from a child. What did I do to earn his attention?

“Do these lines actually work for you?” I frowned.

“I don’t know,” he said, his amber eyes twinkling now. “Are they?”

There it was again—his infuriating ability to twist every interaction into a game. I wasn’t playing.

There was no way he was insinuating anything with me. Everyone knew he only had eyes for the redhead—Lily—who just happened to be my actual potions partner. Just a few weeks ago he was at our table bothering her.

“I meant, do they work on Lily?” I clarified, my voice flat.

James tilted his head, feigning confusion, though the mischievous glint in his eyes gave him away. “Why would I care about that?”

For the millionth time since I’d met the boy, I rolled my eyes again.

“For the love of Merlin, just stir,” I hissed, shoving the spoon into his hand.

To my surprise, he actually complied, though he made a dramatic show of it, swirling the liquid as though he were crafting some grand masterpiece.

“See? I’m not completely useless, “his tone insufferably self-satisfied.

I ignored him, turning my attention back to the notes. Sirius let out a snort of laughter, only to be smacked on the back of the head by Remus.

“Get back to work,” Remus muttered, though his lips twitched with suppressed amusement.

It was impossible to ignore the lingering sense that Potter was up to something—and I was the target.

James Potter took it upon himself to sit at my usual dining table. My quiet, little secluded corner—the one that no one really bothered with except Lily and her close circle of friends. He slid into the seat across from me his tie undone.

I raised an eyebrow at him, fork halfway to my mouth. What does he want now?

“Are you made of stardust?” I looked heavenward; his tone was teasing but had a softness. “Because every time I look at you, the world seems to disappear."

I set my fork down, sending him a flat look. “You seriously think I am going to fall for one of your cheesy lines while eating?”

He was persistent to pull of whatever prank they were up to. If only he applied that persistence’s to his schoolwork.

Potter shrugged, but this time there was no playful retort. Instead, his grin faded slightly, replaced by something almost... serious. "Maybe I’m just hoping one will finally catch your attention."

The tone change caught me off guard. I almost believed him. He has been playful and flirty the last few weeks. There was movement a couple feet away that caught my attention. Sirus was leaning against the wall just within earshot.

He looked like he was barely containing a laugh, as though James was the star player in some elaborate joke they’d cooked up.

They were too obvious. My frown deepened.

"Potter, your games won’t work on me,” my voice sharper than I intended. "You’re wasting your time."

His gaze softened further, and for once the playfulness was gone. "Maybe I like wasting my time... if it means I get to spend it with you."

The sincerity in his voice made my stomach twist, and I hated it. Hated how, for a fleeting second, I felt something crack in my resolve. But before I could dwell on it, Sirius snorted loudly from his perch, his shoulders shaking with laughter.

Another pick-up line? Another game? Another performance for his friends?

Potter just didn’t seem to know when enough was enough. My appetite was officially gone, and I had no intention of sticking around to entertain whatever nonsense they were plotting.

 “You really don’t get it, do you?” I said slinging my bag over my shoulder.  “I’m not just some joke to you and your friends.”

“Wait—” James started, his hand reaching out like he might stop me.

But I didn’t give him the chance. Before he could say another word, I flipped him off and stalked out of the dining hall, not bothering to look back.

The moment I stepped into the corridor, the tension in my chest eased slightly, though my thoughts still churned. It was bad enough that James had inserted himself into nearly every aspect of my day. Classes, hallways, even the library. He was everywhere.

I didn’t know what he and his friends were planning.

And yet, as I made my way through the castle, a new thought began to gnaw at the edges of my frustration. Was this all part of some elaborate ploy to make Lily jealous? A way to grab her attention by pretending to care about someone else?

The idea stung more than I wanted to admit.

Of course, I told myself firmly. That has to be it. Why else would someone like James Potter be wasting his time with me?

Pushing the thought aside, I tightened my grip on my bag and headed for the common room. I wasn’t going to let him—or his stupid, infuriating grin—take up any more space in my head.

Lily my saving grace was in her spot when I entered the potions classroom. Relief flooded through me, and for the first time in days I felt lighter. There she was my red headed angel. With a smile, I dropped into my seat next to her, savoring the normalcy.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be so happy to see your face," I whispered to Lily.

She laughed softly. "James is persistent, isn’t he? I got to class early to make sure I got my spot.”

As if on cue, the door to the classroom opened, and Potter’s messy head of hair appeared. His eyes dulled when he noticed Lily sitting next to me. For a moment, his usual smile faltered, the realization that his plan had been thwarted clearly hitting him. He glanced at me, then back at Lily, shaking his head. I stuck my tongue out at him in playful defiance.

James gave me a half-smile, and made his way to the table behind us.

Lily leaned in closer, her side brushing against mine as she whispered, ““Do you need help getting James to leave you alone?”   

I shook my head. “No, he will lose interest eventually.”

She gave me a look before responding. “I doubt that. He has always had his eyes on you.”

I shot her sideways glance. “He was always flirting with you and begging you to date him.”

Her lips curled into a small knowing smile. “Only when I am around you. Which is why I always said no.”  

My eyes widened in disbelief, and I almost laughed. “You’re crazy,”

my voice was just above a whisper now.

But as I took in her words, something shifted inside me. We all knew James potter had been in love with Lily for years- He had practically made a sport out of trying to win her over. But hearing her admit that his attention had only intensified when I was around... it felt strange.

I couldn’t help the flicker of discomfort that passed through me at the thought. Why would he suddenly change tactics? I was still convinced he was playing a prank.

Lily nudged me gently, “You’re not as oblivious as you pretend to be, you know.”

I sighed, trying to ignore the strange, fluttering feeling in my stomach. “I’m not oblivious. I just don’t want to deal with it.”

She chuckled softly, her voice full of affection. “You don’t have to deal with it alone. Just know I’m here for you, alright?”

I gave her a grateful smile, leaning in to whisper back, “Thanks, Lil I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her smile softened, and she gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze.

The Gryffindor common room was warm and bustling with activity, the fire crackling in the hearth and casting flickering shadows across the walls. Groups of students gathered in clusters, laughing and chatting, while others bent over homework or played games. I had tucked myself away in a corner near the window, the happy buzzing fading into background noise as I doodled in my notebook.

I glanced up when I heard Potters voice, a playful lilt as he joked with Sirius on their way in. My heart sank. My shoulders stiffened, and I hunched further over my parchment, praying he’d move along. Surely, he wouldn’t notice me here.

He made eye contact with me immediately, as if he knew I was there.

The room seemed to hush around me, or perhaps it was just my nerves heightening as his footsteps grew closer.

“I need to talk to you,” he said, stopping beside my chair. There was a resolve in his eyes. Potter was determined right now.

I didn’t make eye contact. “Whatever it is, I’m not interested.”

But he didn’t move. Instead, he crouched slightly to meet my gaze, his usual grin replaced by a more serious expression. “I mean it. Can we talk?”

My patience snapped. My chair scraped against the stone floor as I stood up. “I’m not sure what you and your group are up to,” I said, my voice low.

“But stay away from me. I am not something to play with and laugh at.”

“That’s not what—”

I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. It was probably all lies anyway.

“Save it, Potter,” I cut him off, crossing my arms tightly over my heart.

The usual noise of the common room seemed to fade entirely. I just wanted to be left alone, to return to the peace of being forgotten by most. I was here to get an education, to keep my head down, and leave this castle behind.

His expression faltered, just for a second, before he squared his shoulders. “It’s not a joke. I’m not—”

“I don’t care, I just want to be left alone.”

He sighed, dragging a hand through his messy hair, a nervous tic I’d seen countless times now. “You think I’d go through all this trouble for a joke? You think I’d—”

Potter stopped talking when my eyes flicked to Sirius, who was lounging on one of the sofas, smirking like he found the entire situation hilarious. A look of understanding crossed James’s features.

“Please, Sunshine” his voice softer now, almost pleading. His hand reached out, grasping my wrist as I turned to walk away his fingers brushing against my pulse. “Listen to me.”

I froze, my pulse quickening, but not from fear. No not from fear.

“We aren’t playing some joke. Sirus is always around as moral support. He is a shitty wingman.”

Sirus let out an offended noise.

“Let me go,” I hissed, narrowing my eyes at him. “I don’t trust you.”

When he didn’t release my wrist, I glared and flipped him off with my free hand. His lips twitched, almost into a smile, but the determination in his gaze didn’t waver.

“Go ahead and flip me off, love,” his voice tinged with quiet resolve. “I’ll prove to you that I’m serious.”

The words hung between us like a dare, his amber eyes searching mine for some crack in the wall I’d so carefully built. I was stunned into silence. This wasn’t the James Potter I’d come to expect—the grinning troublemaker who lived for attention and pranks. This was different.

“Prove what?” I said flatly, more a statement than a question.  

“That I really really like you,” he replied, his grip on my wrist loosening but not quite letting go. “I’m not playing games. I know I’ve been... annoying.”

An understatement.

“But I need you to know that I’m not doing this to mess with you.”

I snorted, though the sound lacked conviction. “You’re always messing with someone, Potter.”

“Not you,” he said softly.

That stopped me cold. There was no smirk, no teasing edge, just the quiet insistence of his words and the weight of his gaze.

I shook my head, pulling my hand free.

“You don’t have to believe me now,” he said as I stepped back. “But I’ll prove it to you.”

I paused, my heart inexplicably skipping a beat. Then, without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving him standing there.

Things weren’t like before when James Potter was just an annoyance— a loud self-assured presence that demanded attention. Whether you wanted to give it to him or not. No, something was different now, and I was having a hard time making sense of it.

He stopped pestering me in class. There was no interrupting my study sessions or tossing out cheesy pickup lines. Instead, he was actually helping me in class, gave me space when I asked for it, and didn’t push my buttons just for the fun of it.

I couldn’t remember the last time I had flipped him off, and strangely I did miss it.

Part of me hated the change. It felt like losing an old habit. But the other half of me was enjoying the calm side of him. The side of James that was almost thoughtful. Maybe he really wasn’t doing it all for attention or laughs.

I was hidden between bookshelves, shelving the books I no longer needed when I caught the unmistakable sound of Sirus’s voice. It was loud and drifting from a nearby table.

Eavesdropping was bad. I knew that. But my curiosity was piqued and so I took small slow steps, careful to not make a sound.

“She is a lost cause” Sirus was saying, his tone almost sarcastic.

Who is she? Was the ‘she’ me?

“I mean it, James. She always flipping you off and has a permanent scowl. Its hopeless mate.”

Ahh so the she was definitely me. My heart twinged in a way I didn’t expect. I did flip Potter off a lot, but hearing Sirus dismiss me so easily stung.

“Sirus.” James’s tone came out as a warning. “You don’t know her, and you are crossing a line.”

Sirius paused, his grin faltering as he looked at James with a raised hand. “Alright, alright, no need to get all protective. I was just making a point.”

James didn’t respond, his jaw set as he turned back to his parchment, the tension in his shoulders lingered as his quill scratched along the paper.

I ducked back behind the shelf, my heart racing for reasons I did not want to admit. James had defended me to his best friend. Made it clear I wasn’t someone he could get a laugh at.

James wasn’t as bad as I thought he was. There was more to him then the playful antics and relentless charm. And I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.

James had gotten hurt during quidditch practice last night. Lily had casually mentioned he was being kept in the hospital wing for observation. Apparently, they were worried that his head injury was worse than it seemed. 

I hated to admit it, but I was worried about him. An annoying flutter in my chest came at the thought of him laying there injured and alone. But how could I just go visit him? Just showing up out of nowhere would seem odd. Especially after I spent so much energy convincing myself, and everyone else, that I couldn’t stand him.

When my notes tumbled out of my bag I had tossed to the side, I found my excuse.

I will make copies of my notes.

 Its practical.

Thoughtful.

Not suspicious.

It wasn’t long before I found myself standing in the doorway of the hospital wing, clutching the freshly copied notes nervously. I should leave. This was stupid. Remus would have notes for him when he was released. He didn’t need me.

Before I could back out the door he saw me. His eyes lit up and lips curved upwards into a smile despite the cut on his lip.

“Sunshine, you came to visit.” His voice was warm.

 “Don’t flatter yourself,” I shot back, waving the notes at him. “McGonagall asked me to bring these.”

He smirked seeing right through my lie.

“Did she?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. He winced at the motion, and before I could think I was at his bedside.

“Stop moving, you are going to make things worse.” I scolded.

James raised his hands up in mock surrender. “Yes ma’am.”

Rolling my eyes I hesitated for a moment before sitting on the edge of the bed. Up close the injury looked worse. A dark bruise was peeking out over the top of the bandage. A quick pang of sympathy ran through me.

James must have noticed my expression, because his pupils softened.

“You know,” he said a teasing lilt to his tone, but nothing over the top. “I’d get hurt more often if it meant you’d visit me like this.”

Without warning I reached out, brushing his stray curls away from his forehead. They were softer than I had expected.

“Don’t be stupid,” I muttered, handing him the notes.

As he reached out to take them, his fingers brushed against mine. The contact was brief, but it sent a jolt through me. I pulled my hand back immediately, pretending to adjust the hem of my sleeve.

“You’re ridiculous,” my words lacked their usual bite.

“Ridiculously happy to see you.” he countered, grinning in that familiar, infuriating way.

Groaning, I shifted to stand up, but his hand caught mine, gently pulling me back down. This time, I didn’t pull away. I let his fingers curl around mine.  

“Thanks for coming,” His thumb brushed lightly against the back of my hand, a gesture so simple and tender that it caught me off guard.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry.

“It’s just notes.”

“It’s more than that,” he replied, his eyes holding mine. “It means something.”

I didn’t know how to respond, so I let the silence stretch between us. When I finally pulled my hand away so he could rest, I missed the warmth of his touch.

“Well,” I said, standing. “Don’t get used to it.”

“We’ll see about that.” He winked.

“Get some rest Potter.”

“What will it take for you to call me James?”  

I paused at the foot of his bed, glancing back at him with a smirk.

 “We will just have to see,” I quipped.

Something had shifted, and there was no going back.

The biting cold of the Forbidden Forest seeped through my robes as I stumbled over a twisted root. I barley caught myself before face planting into the dirt. My wand was clenched into a death grip, the dim glow of Lumos casting a little more then a pale circle of light. Shadows stretched in every direction, distorting the trees into looming specters. It was an endless sea of black.

Shit, shit, shit.

“Brilliant,” I grumbled to myself attempting to lighten my mood with sarcasm. “Absolutely brilliant.”

Class had ended ages ago. The castle was surely alive with the hum of dinner, but I was lost, hungry and beyond exhausted. My arm throbbed where I had scraped it against a jagged branch, and panic began to set in. Now would be a great time for James to magically appear like he always did.

A sudden rustle nearby caused me to freeze in place. My heart was beating against my ribs rapidly. I slowly moved the light in the direction the sound came from.

There was a low growl from somewhere in the darkness. My breath caught in my throat. I was going to die here.

And I ran.

I didn’t know where I was going, but staying felt like an early invite to my grave. Twigs snapped under my feet; the cold air stung my face.

A bright white beam of light pierced through the trees, and a frantic voice followed.

“Sunshine, where are you?”

Relief flooded through the me my knees buckled.

“I’m here!” I called out my voice trembling. I was going to cry.

The growling stopped abruptly, and there was hurried footsteps making their way to me.

James burst into view, his wand raised high, and his hair was a mess more so then usual. His white button up was disheveled and stained, as if he had plowed through every branch in his path to get to me. His wild eyes locked on mine, and his entire body sagged with visible relief.

But only for a moment.

In a heartbeat, his hands were gripping my shoulders, his gaze scanning me from head to toe.

“Are you hurt?”  he demanded, his tone rough with worry.

Before I could answer his hands moved to my face, gently pushing back stray strands of hair. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the icy air. A shiver ran through me, though I wasn’t sure if it was from the cold or something else.

I shook my head, trying to find my voice.

“I’m fine.” I whispered.

“Merlin’s beard,” he muttered, pulling me into a tight, impulsive hug.

The sudden contact startled me. James Potter, the boy who loved a good laugh at my expense, was hugging me like his life depended on it. His arms were strong and steady, and for a moment, the situation didn’t feel so terrifying.

I didn’t pull away. Instead, I let myself sink into the warmth of him. My hands found their way to his back, clutching the fabric of his shirt as I breathed in the scent of sandalwood and vanilla.

“You scared the hell out of me.”  He mumbled into my hair.

James was the first to pull away, his hands lingering on my arms looking me over again. Like he was checking for hidden injuries.

“You have a cut.”

The way he said it was so soft I almost missed it.

I’d forgotten about it until he mentioned it. Glancing at my arm, I saw the dried blood and torn sleeve. “It’s nothing,” I said quickly, not wanting to make a fuss. “I just need to clean it.”

James frowned, clearly not satisfied with my answer. He stepped closer, holding his wand up to examine it. The warmth of him was back, his presence grounding me.

“What are you even doing out here alone?” he demanded, exasperation creeping into his tone.  

“I—I got lost,” My cheeks burned at my admission. “I was late for class, and I thought I found a shortcut.”

He stared at me like I’d grown a second head. “A shortcut? Through the Forbidden Forest?” His voice rose slightly, incredulous. “Do you have any idea how dangerous—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his already messy hair yanking on it a bit.

“I didn’t mean to cause a panic,” I said quickly. “Or waste your time.”

James froze, his jaw tightening. For a moment, he said nothing, his wand hand trembling slightly as he lowered it. “Waste my time?” he repeated, his voice low, almost bewildered.

I winced.  

“Waste my time?” he said again, his words sharper this time. He stepped closer, his eyes locking onto mine with a fire I hadn’t seen before.

“Sorry.” I squeaked out. 

The way he was acting caught me off guard. I looked over his shoulder and into the dark, the weight of his concern was overwhelming.

I figured the only person who would notice me missing was Lily.

“Don’t you get it?” His hands found my face again, his thumbs brushing over my cheeks. “I know you don’t believe it, but I care about you. You stubborn, brilliant, infuriating woman. That’s why I came running the second I heard you were missing.”

My breath hitched, the weight of his words crashing into me like a wave. His touch was gentle, grounding, but his gaze was unrelenting, raw, and unguarded.

After a long moment, he pulled back slightly and extended a hand. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here before you catch your death.”

I hesitated, my eyes lingering on his outstretched hand before placing mine in his. His grip was firm, steady, and when his fingers curled around mine, they held on like he was afraid I might disappear.

As we walked through the trees, his thumb brushed lightly against the back of my hand—a quiet reassurance that made my chest ache in a way I wasn’t ready to examine.

For the first time, James Potter didn’t feel like an annoyance. He felt like a lifeline.

Gryffindor won the quidditch game. Our common room was alive with the hum of celebration. Streamers of crimson and gold were lazily thrown up around the space. Cheers erupted from everyone when the team entered the crowded dance area.

I stood off to the side, cradling an empty cup, at the edge of the room away from the crowd. Lily, was perched in the chair beside me. She laughed at a first-year attempting to smuggle an oversized barrel of butterbeer across the room. A sixth-year intercepted it with a laugh, stowing it out of reach.

It was enough to distract me from the figure weaving through the crowd.

James.

He towered over most of the cluster of people, his curly hair unmistakable, still damp from the post-match shower. His Quidditch jersey clung to his frame, the number on his back catching the light. He looked every bit the victorious captain, and the sight of him sent an uninvited warmth through my chest.

“What’s with the brooding? We just won! You should be grinning like that prat over there.” Lily asked shoving a full glass in my hand. She pointed to James who was laughing with his gaggle of friends.

“I’m not brooding,” I replied, taking a sip. “Just enjoying the chaos from a safe distance.”

“If that’s what you want to believe.” She winked, already dancing away toward the center of the room.

James appeared in front of me, his grin widening when our eyes met.

“There you are, Sunshine. Thought you’d gone into hiding.”

That warm, teasing lilt had become as familiar as the sound of my own heartbeat.

“Someone has to make sure you lot doesn’t burn our living space down.”

He chuckled.

“But, not hiding,” I replied, glancing over his shoulder. “Just... thinking.”

He leaned casually against the wall beside me his foot brushing mine, but there was something softer in his expression tonight. His warm brown eyes held a warmth that sent a flutter through my chest.

“Care to share what’s on your mind?” his tone curious.

I hesitated, swirling the liquid in my glass. “It’s just... a lot to take in. Everything’s been so—different.”

James tilted his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Different how?”

I turned to face him fully, “You. Us. Everything. Just three months ago, I couldn’t stand you.”

“And now?” he asked, his voice quieter, the teasing edge gone.

I bit my lip, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Now... I’m not sure I ever did.”

His grin widened, but it wasn’t cocky or self-assured like the ones he used to flash at me in the past. This one was softer, filled with something that made my heart ache in the best way.

“I’d say that’s progress,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered, against my skin.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. “You’re not going to make a big speech about how you knew I’d come around eventually, are you?”

He chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Not tonight.”

“Good.”

We stayed there for a moment, neither of us speaking. His eyes brighter then usual.

“Enjoying the celebration?” he asked trying to act casual about my confession.

“It’s... lively,” I said, unable to hide a small smile.

He raised an eyebrow, feigning offense. “We just crushed Slytherin, I think it’s more than lively.”

I shrugged, taking a sip of my butterbeer. “It was a decent match.”

I couldn’t help but tease him.

“Decent?” He leaned forward, his knees pressing more firmly against mine. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I can’t make things to easy for you Potter.”  

His grin softened, and for a moment, the noise of the room seemed to fade. “You never do.”

James moved back a half step. “Take a walk with me?”

“Ok.”  

He didn’t ask just grabbed my hand navigating us through the crowd. We didn’t stop walking till we were outside strolling through a field of grass.  The stars were bright and beautiful tonight.  It was almost romantic.

“You know,” he began, his tone light, “I was thinking.”

“Dangerous territory,” I teased, the corners of my mouth lifting.

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Maybe. But I was wondering what it might take for you to stop calling me Potter.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What will it take for you to stop calling me Sunshine?”

He grinned, pulling me closer. “Never. That’s non-negotiable.”

“Then I guess you’re stuck with ‘Potter.’”

He hummed thoughtfully, lacing our fingers together. The simple gesture sent a comforting sensation coursing through me that no spell could replicate.

“What makes you think you’ve earned us being on a first name basis?”

“Scoring the winning goal isn’t enough?” he asked, mock-offended.

“Not even close.”

He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make my stomach flutter. “Then what if I told you I’d do whatever it takes?”

“You are persistent.” I laughed.

“Only for you.”

 James usual playful retorts absent in his tone.

I looked up at him, my breath catching at the way his eyes searched mine.

“Maybe just maybe I don’t mind that anymore.” I added, just loud enough for him to hear.

His grin returned, but this time it was softer, almost shy. “Does that mean I can finally take you on that first date?”

I hummed tapping my chin, pretending to think about it. “Maybe.”

I had the teasing tone now.

He laughed, his thumb brushing against my hand. The world seemed to still as he leaned in, stopping just short of my lips. The question in his eyes was unmistakable. I nodded, barely visible.

When his lips met mine, it was like every piece of the puzzle I hadn’t known was missing finally clicked into place. His hand came up to cradle my cheek, the kiss warm and steady, filled with a kind of tenderness I hadn’t realized he was capable of.

When we pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, and I felt his smile against my skin.

“Finally,” he whispered, his breath tickling my nose.

I giggled shaking my head. “Don’t ruin the moment, Potter.”

“James,” he corrected.

“James,” I echoed, and it felt right in a way I couldn’t explain.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t hide my smile. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never.” He placed a quick kiss on my lips. 

[couldnt-think-of-a-funny-name]

random percy headcanons:

wants to be the photographer friend SO bad and he technically is but like 70% of the pics come out blurry or weird bc there was a monster attack in the middle of them. his instagram is truly so chaotic looking.

literally always has seashells on him someone will ask him for a pencil or spare change and he has to empty all his pockets of shells to find it. drops his backpack and a bunch of shells fall out. kicks his shoes off and sand and shells fly out and his mortal friends are like percy What the Fuck

his eyes glow underwater!! bioluminescent king. no one told him though and he didn't find out until he joined his school's swim team and terrified everyone (he managed to convince them his contacts were having a weird reaction to chlorine lmao)

he really likes art!! he doesn't just pretend to for rachel's sake he genuinely enjoys painting with her. he likes splatter paint, collages and pop art styles the best. one day after splitting some edibles they realized percy could manipulate water colors and went CRAZY with it

will ask to be excused during class and comes back like an hour later with scorch marks all over his face bleeding from one of his ears covered in dust missing three fingernails rips in his jeans and a fat lip and the teacher is like percy what the actual hell were you doing in the bathroom all this time and he's just like uhhhhhh I have ibs

the brand from camp jupiter did unfortunately (for sally) Unlock something in him lmfao he keeps getting shitty little tattoos. usually stick-n-poke but someone's friends cousin's girlfriend's brother has a gun that gets brought to parties every now and then. most of them are sloppy but you can tell what they are HOWEVER he has one that was supposed to be a seal that came out looking like one of those shitty ms paint crying memes. annabeth laughed at him for ten minutes straight when she saw it.

he wanted to dye his hair blue but he was too chicken to bleach his entire head so he just did the tips. his hair is curly though so it looks absolutely ridiculous but he loves it

percy and annabeth get a crusty little yappy white dog in college and he carries it around like a baby lmao

back to his chaotic instagram, he's got so many pics of him like, relaxing at the bottom of the mariana trench or hugging a giant squid or riding on a whale shark and his mortal friends all think he's just really good at photoshop and this is a very specific bit he decided to commit to. they're always like lol percy where do you even FIND these pictures are you subscribed to like scientific journals for the laughs? but no he just took them all on his shell phone

has an ongoing prank war with annabeth's little brothers bobby and matthew but like it's Unhinged. they're playing 5D chess and she has no idea whats going on

weird tshirts!!! he loves them! like

shit like this or those 'women want me fish fear me' shirts, anything with a funny or incomprehensible slogan is going in his closet right along with his band tees lmfao

bought estelle a panda pillow pet when she was born 🥺

can NOT bring himself to eat seafood no matter how many times poseidon has told him its fine. he's like NO these are my FRIENDS JONATHAN WAS TELLING ME ABOUT HIS GRANDDAUGHTERS WEDDING LITERALLY YESTERDAY WHY IS HE ON A PLATTER DAD. they had to give up and just start eating normal land food at the palace every time he comes to visit lmfao

gets into horsegirl antics with hazel she NEEDS to know everything the horses have to say. they spend hours gossiping in the stables.

movie nights in the poseidon cabin were 10000% a thing and when he was missing annabeth and thalia and grover (and a few others) would still sleep in there every now and then and talk about how much they miss him :(

percy and beckendorf had the worlds most elaborate handshake

he DOES impulse buy stuff just because they're ocean-themed. stuffed animals, home decor, school supplies, clothes, you name it he bought it if theres like a fish on it

has more scars from crashing off his skateboard than he does from monster attacks

grover is somehow the only person who's ever noticed percy is severely claustrophobic

has a deep passion for adele. I can't explain this one I just feel and know it to be true.

he and annabeth both proposed to each other at the same time and they were SO mad about it they kept yelling over each other's speeches lmao

he can SING but he doesn't know it. sally keeps trying to record him singing to himself but something always happens to the camera and she loses the evidence

called chiron a brony one time and mr d thought it was so funny he was nice to percy for an entire week

the camp keeps trying to convince him to teach sword fighting lessons to the younger kids but he can NOT bring himself to swing a sword at a 9 year old so he keeps getting injured

has the most complicated iced coffee order in the world his go-to local coffee shop finally just put the damn drink on the menu and named it after him

he IS the quiet kid in the back of your math class that always has his hood up to try and hide his headphones and eats increasingly elaborate meals out of his backpack when the teacher isn't looking. one time someone caught him with a rotisserie chicken in the middle of a geometry final.

he argued that he DID have enough to share with the class

currently obsessed with the image of him knocking back a container of sea salt as if it was a shot and his mortal friends being like hey! what the actual fuck! and he's just like uhhhhh anemia kills!

its his birthday<3

[killerlookz]

heyyy💋 so could i request a fic where reader is an eurovision contestant and basically her & joost are attached to the hip. they are seen being all cuddly with each other, flirting, sitting as close to each other as possible, the cameras catching your non so secret glances.. generally acting like a couple. but when the press asks you about this whole situation, you both deny that you have something going on between you two, but deep down you know that those gestures are not so “innocent” at all🤭🤭

a/n: ooooh i love a cheeky little secret romance!! thank you for the request anon <3

Just Friends | Joost Klein

content: gn! reader, very brief allusion to sex, joost and reader are so down bad for each other its a little pathetic, mostly fluff, some angst if you look at it under a microscope. this fic contains rpf and has been tagged as such, do not continue if that makes you uncomfortable, and please block the rpf tag

word count: 2128

You sit on the edge of your hotel bed, you smile, your cheeks grow hot, letting out a small breath from your nose, replacing a genuine laugh.

Your phone sits in your lap, opened to a message

Joost Klein: When were you planning to tell me that I'm your secret lover 😓

What followed was a screenshot from some European tabloid sight, headed by: Eurovision Contestants Spotted Getting Cozy: Secret Lovers Revealed?!

Below were two grainy photos of you and Joost, taken just moments apart from each other. Taken from behind, they showed the two of you walking side by side, just outside the hotel you were staying in. It would have looked more like a friendly exchange if your hands hadn't been locked together.

You knew you'd have to explain everything eventually, that was the third headline this week that had come out about you and Joost. Another showed the two of you sharing a hug that looked a little too close for it to be friendly, in another you had a hand planted on his chest, and your head tilted back mid-laugh.

It all seemed a little ridiculous. You knew Eurovision was one of the largest events in all of Europe- but still, you couldn't have imagined how interested people would be in your personal life off the stage.

It was nothing too scandalous anyway, you and Joost had known each other prior to Eurovision. And sure, you were more casual friends, despite being from different countries, the two of you had run in similar circles with music and all. You had spent the last few years admiring each other's music, usually from afar, the times the two of you had genuinely hung out before all this were few and far between. Your conversations were usually reserved for more chaotic moments, either backstage at the end of a show or in the crowd for a musician friend the two of you had in common.

You couldn't exactly explain away all of the touchy-touchy stuff, but you never expected that you would have to, it had just always been like that, ever since you first met. Truthfully, the two of you were closer than the tabloid photos led on. But they didn't have to know that.

Hasty fingers tap at your phone screen

apparently it's so secret that i didn't know it either!

You send your response to Joost before closing your phone and tossing it somewhere on the bed. You lay back, landing on the firm mattress with a small bounce.

Your eyelids are lowered, trying your best to keep focus on the woman in front of you through heavy lids- though it seems impossible with the crisp white LEDs shining in your face.

"So, have you made any connections with any other contestants since you've been here in Malmö?" The woman asks, a curious eyebrow-raising as she guides the microphone in her hands in front of your face.

You know exactly what she wants to hear from you, the hunger is evident in her eyes, she licks her lips in desperation for a scoop, before her mouth pulls into a sly smile, it all feels so predatory. You swallow thickly, shifting a quick gaze toward the cameraman before flicking your eyes back to the reporter, who has an equally as hungry look on his face, and you realize, you are their prey.

"Yeah, absolutely," You nod, your face lights up, "I've honestly really connected with Bambi Thug, they're really bringing such a new and innovative sound to Eurovision, I really admire them for that, and don't let the makeup and costumes fool you they are an absolute sweetheart!" It wasn't a lie, Joost was not the only person you had talked to since the competition started. You did make friends while you'd been here.

The journalist loses her grin, her face now twisted with dissatisfaction.

"Anyone else?" She asks, nearly cutting you off, her microphone still stuck in your face.

"Marina has been an absolute joy too," Your smile lingers on your lips, "And Nemo- they're great too!"

"Well," The journalist starts, facing the microphone back to her, "I think we've all been hearing the rumors about some sparks flying between you and the Dutch representative, Joost Klein, is there any truth to them?"

You're a little taken back by her forwardness to just outright ask the question,

"I wasn't aware of any rumors," You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head in vehement denial, "But Joost is great too, we've known each other for a few years now, and I've been a big fan of his music, and he's a great friend." You breathe out, silently hoping the answer is satisfactory for the journalist to cease probing any further.

"No potential for anything more than a friendship?"

"Oh no," You shake your head, nearly scoffing as the words choke out of your mouth, and you hope you're as good of an actress as you are a singer, "Again, Joost is great, but he's just my friend."

"Alright," She nods her head slowly, unsatisfied. The way the journalist's eyes linger on you makes it clear she doesn't quite believe you- but it would be inappropriate of her to ask you any more questions on the matter.

"Would you like to talk about my music now?"

"I just don't know why they're acting like we had a sex tape leak- do these people not hug their friends?" You throw your hands up, frustrated. The last two days had been nothing but interviews, but it seemed none of the interviewers were as interested in your actual Eurovision performance as they were in potentially getting the first scoop on what was "going on" between you and Joost.

"I mean that would give them something to talk about," Joost chuckles, standing at the foot of your hotel bed, he's clad in nothing but a white tank top and his underwear. The tight fabric of what little he's wearing clings to his body, leaving just about nothing to the imagination. He ruffles a hand through his already messy hair. You'd wondered what the tabloids would say if they got a whiff of this, "All press is good press"

"Are you suggesting something, Mr. Klein?" You flash a look at him, your eyes piercing his. Your words come out much harsher than you had intended them to, you couldn't help it, your frustration was evident.

Joost placed a hand behind his neck, rubbing anxiously, throwing a sheepish look in your direction as to insinuate he had been suggesting something. You knew he was only joking, but the thought of actually doing such a thing made your face hot. A light pink blush burned on your face as you stared up at him.

"You're filthy," You giggle, and your hands latch on to a pillow that sits next to you, and you fling it in Joost's direction.

He takes a step back as the pillow hits him square in the stomach, a loud thump can be heard in the room as contact between his body and the stuffed object is made. He choked out a breath of surprise, and his face winced as he grabbed his stomach in feigned agony,

"How could you," He shakes his head, "I think you broke every single one of my ribs."

"Shush," You scoff, "C'mon, get over here." You pat the bed next to you, shifting yourself over to one side.

In typical Joost fashion, he practically jumps onto the bed. He adjusts himself in such a way that his shoulder is brushing up against yours. He's warm, and you want nothing more than to crawl into his arms. It was almost pitiful the way you wanted him, completely desperate. And yet, you don't dare to act- not right now.

The room falls silent as the both of you hesitate to say anything. The room is thick with a humid tension, and words left unsaid. Your reccolection of the last few days seemed non-existent yet ever-present at the same time. Everything had left you wondering the same exact questions as every journalist who had talked to you today, what was going on between you and Joost?

"I can feel the stress radiating off of you," Joost finally speaks, "Are you okay?"

You furrow your eyebrows, looking down into your lap where your fingers are not fidgeting and intertwined. Your face twitches.

"Are you really so upset about those interviews? Do you want to stop this, I can lea-"

"No," you cut him off all too quickly, "No stay. Please." Your voice had shriveled down to nothing but a pathetic whisper. As confusing as your feelings had been, the confusion seemed to be better than not having them at all. It was hard being away from home and feeling like you were bracing the weight of the world or at least of Europe against your shoulders. Joost, at least, was a source of comfort, something to come back to.

"Okay," He nods, his head moving up and down slowly.

You'd be lying if you said you hadn't felt some sort of way about Joost before all of this. His affectionate nature with you seemed to cross all of the wires in your brain. He had always been affectionate with his close friends, not afraid to spare a hug or an arm around the shoulder when he felt like it, but with you it seemed different, especially taking into account neither of you would exactly consider the other as a "best friend."

Besides, even if you were, best friends don't usually stay up all night, lying on top of each other in some state of undress, lips hungrily pressed against one another. This whole situation had left you feeling like you were a teen again, the prickling feeling in your chest of excitement and anxiety of sneaking around to see a boy you liked. It was addicting, the adrenaline that flooded each and every inch of your body, as the two of you snuck off from the afterparties where your appearances were all but mandatory. You'd be lying if you said it didn't at least help a little to take the edge off of all the stress of the competition.

An arm snakes around your shoulder, and immediately Joost is clicking his tongue disapprovingly

"So tense," He mumbles, "Lay down, will you?" His voice is quiet, nearly pleading, and much more timid than you're used to. You feel compelled to oblige, spellbound, his soft words are like hypnosis.

Joost's arm slips from where it sits around your shoulder as you sink into the pillows below. You allow your body to relax into the support of the mattress.

A hand grazes your thigh, trailing down to your knee, Joost gives you a couple gentle taps, "Put your legs up, I'll pull down the blanket for you."

You oblige, bending your knees to pull them inward, and Joost hops off the bed for a moment, grabbing the thick white comforter in his hands from its neatly made position. You shift as he pulls it from under your body, allowing the blanket to slip down to your feet.

The bed dips as Joost crawls back to his position next to you. He reaches out to the foot of the bed, pulling the comforter up to cover the two of you.

"So," You start, rolling on your side, facing away from Joost, "Did they ask you about me?"

The blanket above you shifts as Joost adjusts himself to lie down next to you. He places a gentle hand against your hip, rubbing careful circles against the fabric that separates your skin from his. His chin rests upon your shoulder, and almost instinctively you nuzzle your cheek against his.

"Mhmm," His gentle hum vibrates against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"What did you say?" You ask and your teeth clench, your eyes shut tight, waiting with anticipation for his response, hoping for it to line up with yours. You could only imagine the suspicion that would arise if the two of you were to have given entirely different answers to the same question.

"I told them we're friends, just friends."

Your jaw slacks at the relief, and you let out a sigh, eyes fluttering open. But something about those words coming from his mouth, just friends, as his words graze your ears your relief is coupled with a stinging feeling in your chest, a sharp reminder of the peculiar position you had found yourself in.

"And are we," You pause, "Just friends?"

Joost picks his head up from where it rests on your shoulder, ghosting the exposed flesh of your arm with a kiss.

"Not if you don't want us to be."

a/n: i added a pt. II to this, read it here!

[lucysarah-c]

"Those are my fries, and those are yours,"

"Come on! Does it really make a difference if I take just one?" You retorted.

"Settled accounts keep old friends," he mumbled, mouth half full of food.

You giggled as he took off the top bun from his burger, piled on a bunch of fries, and took a huge bite. The scene was downright chaotic, and you burst out laughing. Levi, who normally cared about appearances, was wolfing down the McDonald's meal with an intensity that didn’t quite match the polished image he’d shown earlier, even though that suit probably cost a fortune.

Ketchup stuck to the corner of his mouth as he raised an eyebrow, silently questioning what was so funny. Once he'd swallowed, he muttered, "Eat before the fries get cold. They taste horrible like that."

You couldn't help but reflect on how the night had gone. The House of CB dress you'd bought and saved for a special occasion, the hair you had done at the salon, the makeup you practiced to mimic the subtle but lovely glam of the latest Bridgerton season—none of that had been planned for you to end up in your boyfriend's car, surrounded by a ridiculous amount of fast food from a drive-thru at 11 p.m.

The empty parking lot outside, with snow accumulating, could have been eerie if you weren’t sitting next to Levi. Fries slathered in extra cheddar sauce were scattered everywhere, and Levi shoveled them into his mouth without a care. No lights, no music, but it didn't matter—you felt safe with him, though neither of you was keen on tempting fate by keeping the car lights on in the middle of nowhere.

Taking a bite of your own burger, you chuckled again. "I don't think I've ever seen you this hungry."

Levi paused mid-chew to take a swig of his Coke. "Tch, those posh assholes. They dragged me around for hours—hours! Examples of this, representation of that, and handshakes with whoever. From 3 p.m.! They didn’t even let me grab a sandwich at the reception. Finally, they serve dinner at 10—TEN!" he grumbled, the delay clearly having been the final straw. "And what did they serve? One shrimp, a tiny cube of cheese, and some grass they picked from outside and called a gourmet dinner."

"Rich people don’t eat much; that’s why," you teased. "It’s fancy to have tiny portions on huge plates."

"That’s because they’re all on Ozempic, buying up medicine that people actually need. Fuck them," he muttered.

On any other occasion, Levi would’ve cursed you for eating in his car, but tonight he made an exception. "How are my ice creams?"

Levi glanced outside where the ice creams were stored in the cold air to keep from melting. Processing your words, he turned back to you. "My ice creams? You mean ours."

"Oh, Levi, aren’t you going to gift me one? What kind of gentleman are you?" you teased.

"Right now, I’d bite your arm off if it weren’t for the fact that McDonald’s is still open," he replied with a smirk.

You laughed again. It had been the government holiday party, and you’d been so excited to attend, ready to rub elbows with high society. One of the older women had even told you, "You should've asked for a brand to sponsor your dress, coming as Levi’s plus-one!" Erwin had insisted that Levi attend as a representative of the Ackerman family, much to your boyfriend's dismay. Uri had agreed, probably because any option was better than Kenny for a formal event.

"Erwin will kill you when he finds out," you said, remembering how Levi had messaged you to sneak out. You’d never imagined he’d drag you through a bathroom window, across the estate grounds, and into his car for a McDonald’s run. "What about Uri? I ran into him during dinner. He was so nice!"

Levi hummed in approval, acknowledging that the old man had always been a saint in his eyes. The only one capable of dealing with Kenny for so many years.

Suddenly, Levi's phone lit up, its ringtone breaking the quiet. "Fuck!" you panicked.

"Don’t answer. If we do, they’ll know I’m reachable," Levi said, ignoring the calls.

Message after message flooded his phone—texts from Uri, Traute, and Erwin: Where are you? Levi, answer the phone ASAP. Come back here this instant.

The calls came in one after another.

"They won’t stop," you muttered. "Maybe we should just tell them—"

"No. They’d send the national guard to drag me back to that snob-filled hell," Levi spat. Despite not picking up, both of you whispered as if the unanswered calls could somehow hear.

At some point, the whole situation became hilarious. You found yourself resting your head on his shoulder, chuckling as the phone buzzed incessantly. Levi kept refusing to answer, and in the midst of it all, you shared sloppy kisses in the darkened car.

"I’ve got an idea…" you said, a mischievous glint in your eye. Levi looked at you, confused, the noise from the phone distracting from the moment you were building.

Casually, you swiped up on the screen and answered. "Levi? Where are—"

With a fake gasp and an exaggerated tone, you moaned, "Ah, Lev—Yes!"

Levi had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing as he realized what you were doing. "Play along," you whispered. And before you knew it, he began thumping the side door, mimicking the sound of… well, thrusts.

"Harder!" you managed between giggles before the call abruptly ended, leaving both of you in hysterics.

"Well, they’re definitely not calling anymore," Levi shook his head, still grinning, knowing full well this prank wouldn’t go unpunished.

"You can always say we were busy working on the Ackerman heir they keep asking for," you teased.

Levi grimaced, entertained by the thought. "I mean…" His hand slid up your thigh, the mood shifting as his touch grew more insistent. "We could actually be doing that."

Your hips began to move slightly over his lap. A quick glance at the clock—the only light inside the car—showed 12:05 a.m. Finally past midnight. "Whatever the birthday boy wants," you purred.

—

"He picked up? What did he say, sir?" Traute asked irritably in the event staff area, where they were waiting to bring out the enormous, decorated cake for the final part of the evening.

Uri chuckled, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "I think he’s already celebrating. Let’s just carry on."

(No idea what this is, the idea just pop up in my mind)

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-12345 @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[pucksandpower]

Leave My Mark

Day 4 → Bruise Marking 💋 Lando Norris

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

Lando’s eyes flicker with something that’s not quite anger, not quite fear, but somewhere in the middle — a dark, consuming tension that sends a shiver down your spine. The hotel room is dimly lit, just a sliver of moonlight filtering through the curtains. He’s pacing now, his movements sharp, precise, a contrast to the chaotic mess of emotions wrestling within him.

“You know what it looked like, right?” His voice is low, almost too calm, like the quiet before a storm. He stops and looks at you, eyes narrowing as if he’s trying to read something off your face, something he doesn’t want to find. “The way you were laughing with him … the way you touched his arm.”

You fold your arms, trying to keep your voice steady. “Lando, it was nothing. Oscar needed someone to talk to, and I was just being there for him. As a friend.”

“A friend?” The words leave his mouth like they’re poisoned, like they burn his tongue. “Friends don’t look at each other like that. They don’t touch each other like that.”

You blink, surprised at the venom in his tone. “Like what?”

His jaw clenches, and he takes a step closer, the space between you evaporating. “Like you’re more than just friends. Like he could be something more to you.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” He’s closer now, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body, can see the way his chest rises and falls in a rhythm that’s too fast, too irregular. “Because all I see is you smiling at him, touching him, and I can’t stand it.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You swallow hard, trying to push back the rising tide of frustration and disbelief. “Lando, this is crazy. I’m with you. Only you.”

He stares at you, his expression unreadable, his eyes dark and stormy. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something — something sharp, something cruel — but instead, he reaches out, his hand brushing your neck. His touch is firm, almost possessive, and your breath catches as his fingers wrap around your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but tight enough to make you aware of how easily he could.

“You’re mine,” he says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “You know that, right? You’re mine, and I won’t let anyone take you away from me.”

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, a mix of fear and something else, something you can’t quite name. “Lando …”

His grip tightens just slightly, and your pulse quickens. “Say it.”

“What?”

“Say you’re mine.” His voice is low, almost dangerous, like a predator cornering its prey. “Say it, and mean it.”

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his hand, the intensity of his stare. “I’m yours, Lando. Only yours.”

Something flickers in his eyes — satisfaction, maybe, or relief — and his grip loosens, just a fraction. “Good.” He’s breathing hard, his forehead nearly touching yours. “Because I won’t share you. Not with him, not with anyone.”

You place your hands on his chest, feeling the rapid thud of his heart under your fingertips. “Lando, I love you. I wouldn’t … I couldn’t … Oscar’s just a friend. I was only trying to help him.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, as if he’s trying to calm himself down. When he opens them again, there’s something softer there, something more vulnerable. “I know. I know that, deep down. But when I see you with him, it drives me crazy. I can’t help it.”

You lean into him, resting your head against his chest. “You don’t have to be jealous. I’m here with you. I chose you.”

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you closer, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. “I just … I hate the thought of you being close to someone else. I can’t stand it.”

You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes searching his. “Then don’t think about it. Think about us, right now. I’m here, with you. That’s all that matters.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like he’s trying to memorize every detail of your face. Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that’s both tender and desperate, like he’s trying to prove something to himself, to you.

You kiss him back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders, pulling him closer. The tension between you dissolves into something else, something warm and intense and consuming. His hands move to your waist, pulling you even closer, until there’s no space left between you.

When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his eyes dark with something you can’t quite name. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “Likewise.”

He laughs softly, but there’s still that edge in his voice, that undercurrent of possessiveness that hasn’t quite gone away. “But you’re mine, right? Only mine?”

You nod, your heart swelling with something warm and fierce. “Only yours.”

He presses his forehead against yours, his hands sliding up to cup your face. “I love you. God, I love you so much it scares me.”

You smile, leaning into his touch. “I love you too, Lando. More than anything.”

For a moment, there’s only the sound of your breathing, the warmth of his body against yours, the steady beat of his heart. Then he pulls you into another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent, like he’s trying to claim you, to make sure you understand just how much you mean to him.

His hands move to your throat again, fingers wrapping around your neck, and this time, there’s no mistaking the intent behind his touch. He’s claiming you, marking you as his, and you don’t resist, don’t pull away, because you want it, need it just as much as he does.

“You’re mine,” he whispers against your lips, his grip tightening just enough to make your breath hitch. “Say it.”

Your voice is barely a whisper, your heart pounding in your chest. “I’m yours.”

His grip tightens further, and for a moment, you can’t breathe, can’t think, can only feel the intensity of his gaze, the heat of his body pressed against yours. Then he releases you, just enough to let you breathe again, and you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

“You’re mine,” he says again, his voice rough, desperate. “And I’m yours.”

You nod, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “Yes.”

His lips crash against yours, and this time, the kiss is hungry, almost savage, as if he’s trying to devour you, to consume every part of you. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, deeper.

When he pulls back, you’re both breathing hard, your foreheads pressed together, your bodies entwined. He looks at you, his eyes burning with something primal, something fierce. “I won’t let anyone take you away from me,” he murmurs, his voice raw, broken.

You shake your head, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. “No one could.”

He closes his eyes, his breath shuddering as he pulls you into his arms, holding you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. “Stay with me. Always.”

You press a kiss to his shoulder, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something unbreakable. “Always.”

For a while, you just hold each other, the storm that raged between you slowly calming into something quieter, more peaceful. But there’s still that undercurrent of tension, that edge that hasn’t quite faded, and you know it’s going to take time — time for him to fully trust, to fully believe that you’re his and only his.

But for now, this is enough. The two of you, together, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside forgotten, irrelevant. And in this moment, you know that no matter what happens, no matter what obstacles you face, you’ll face them together, as long as you both hold on, as long as you both remember that this, right here, is what matters most.

And with Lando’s arms around you, his breath warm against your skin, you know that you will.

***

Morning light filters through the hotel curtains, casting a soft, golden glow across the room. Lando wakes first, his eyes slowly adjusting to the light as he shifts under the covers.

The first thing he notices is the warmth of your body curled up beside him, your hair splayed across the pillow, your breathing steady and calm. For a moment, he just watches you, a small smile tugging at his lips as he remembers the night before, the intensity of it, the way you gave yourself to him so completely.

But then, as his eyes trail down your neck, his smile fades. There, on the pale skin of your throat, are faint bruises, the marks of his hands, a reminder of how fiercely he held you, how desperately he wanted to claim you as his. A pang of guilt twists in his chest, and he reaches out, his fingers brushing gently over the bruises, as if he can erase them with a touch.

You stir at the contact, blinking sleepily as you wake up, your eyes meeting his. “Morning,” you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

“Morning,” he replies, but his voice is quieter, more subdued, as his fingers continue to trace the marks on your neck. “Did I … did I hurt you?”

You frown slightly, still half-asleep, not quite understanding. “What do you mean?”

He swallows, his gaze fixed on the bruises. “Your neck … I didn’t mean to leave these.”

You reach up, your fingers grazing the marks, and then you understand. “Oh.” Your voice is soft, a little uncertain, as you glance at him. “It’s okay, Lando. They don’t hurt.”

But he’s already moving, sitting up and reaching for something on the nightstand. “I should’ve been more careful. Let me … let me put something on them.” He finds a small tube of ointment in his bag and unscrews the cap, squeezing a bit onto his fingers before turning back to you.

“Lando, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Please.”

You nod, sitting up and letting the blanket fall away from your shoulders, exposing the marks on your neck fully. He leans in closer, his expression concentrated, almost tender, as he carefully dabs the ointment onto the bruises, his fingers warm against your skin. His touch is so gentle, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of hurting you further.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough with guilt. He presses a soft kiss to one of the bruises, his lips lingering there for a moment. “I didn’t mean to …”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your fingers brushing against his cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you didn’t mean to.”

He moves to another bruise, rubbing the ointment in slowly, methodically, before kissing the spot again. “I got carried away.”

You bite your lip, hesitating for a moment before you finally speak. “I … I liked it.”

He stops, his hand frozen against your skin as he looks up at you, his eyes searching yours. “You did?”

You nod, feeling a blush rise to your cheeks. “Yeah. I liked how … how you took control. How you made me feel like I was completely yours.”

Something in his eyes softens, the guilt slowly ebbing away, replaced by something else — something darker, more intense. “You liked it?” he repeats, his voice quieter, almost disbelieving.

“Yes,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “It … it turned me on, Lando.”

His eyes darken, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “You liked how I made you mine?”

A shiver runs down your spine, and you nod, your breath catching in your throat. “Yes.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes locked onto yours, his hand moving to cup your face. “Say it again.”

You swallow, your heart pounding as you meet his gaze. “I liked it. I liked how you took control.”

His thumb brushes over your lower lip, and he watches you intently, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur. “Tell me what you liked.”

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you can’t find the words, too overwhelmed by the intensity in his eyes, the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters in the world. But then, slowly, you find your voice. “I liked how you held me … how you made me feel like I was completely yours. I liked how … how strong you were, how you didn’t let go.”

His eyes darken further, and he leans in, capturing your lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. His hands move to your waist, pulling you closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off his body, the way his muscles tense under your touch. When he pulls back, his breathing is ragged, his forehead resting against yours.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmurs, his voice thick with desire. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you whisper back, your hands sliding up to his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He kisses you again, softer this time, but no less intense, and when he pulls back, his hands move to your throat, his fingers tracing the bruises with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “You liked how I took control,” he says quietly, more to himself than to you, as if he’s trying to wrap his head around it.

“Yes,” you reply, your voice trembling with anticipation, with the need to feel that control again, to lose yourself in him.

He looks at you, his gaze piercing, and then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes you back onto the bed, his body hovering over yours. His hands find your wrists, pinning them above your head, and you gasp, your pulse quickening as you feel the weight of him against you, the way his body presses you into the mattress.

“Do you trust me?” He asks, his voice low, rough.

“Of course,” you breathe, your eyes wide, your heart pounding.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your neck, against the bruises he left, and you feel a thrill of excitement, of anticipation, as he kisses each one, his lips warm and soft against your skin. “I want to make you feel good,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “I want to make you fall apart.”

You swallow hard, your breath catching in your throat as his words sink in, as his hands move down your body, trailing fire in their wake. “Lando …”

He looks up at you, his eyes dark with desire, with something deeper, something more intense than you’ve ever seen before. “Tell me what you want,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear, making you shiver.

“I want you,” you reply, your voice trembling with need, with the overwhelming desire that’s building inside you. “I want you to take control.”

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart skip a beat, and then he’s kissing you again, hard and demanding, his hands moving to your hips, pulling you against him. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding himself back, the way he’s trying to keep himself in check, and it only makes you want him more.

“Please,” you whisper against his lips, your voice barely audible, but you know he hears it, because he groans softly, his hands tightening on your hips.

“You don’t have to ask,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost dangerous. “I’m going to give you everything you want.”

And he does. His hands are everywhere, touching, caressing, claiming, as he makes you feel things you didn’t know you could feel, as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, until you’re gasping, trembling, completely at his mercy.

He’s relentless, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your body, as he takes you apart piece by piece, until there’s nothing left but the feel of him, the sound of his voice, the overwhelming need that consumes you.

“Lando,” you gasp, your hands clutching at the sheets, your body arching against his, desperate for more, for everything.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers, his voice rough, raw, as he pushes you closer, closer, until you can’t take it anymore, until you’re falling, shattering, completely undone.

When it’s over, when you’re lying there in his arms, your heart still racing, your breath still coming in uneven gasps, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, your eyes meeting his. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando. You made me feel … amazing. I’ve never felt like that before.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he leans down to kiss you, soft and slow, his lips lingering on yours. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice full of emotion, full of something deep and unbreakable. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you reply, your heart swelling with love, with something even deeper, something that goes beyond words. “So much.”

For a while, you just lie there together, your bodies entwined, breathing slowly coming back to normal. Lando’s hand absentmindedly caresses your side, his fingers tracing soft circles on your skin. The quiet in the room feels like a protective cocoon, safe and warm, where nothing exists but the two of you.

Then, after a long silence, Lando shifts slightly, his hand moving up to your neck again, his fingers brushing lightly over the bruises he left. You feel him smile against your hair, and his voice is low, almost a purr as he murmurs, “You bruise so prettily, you know that?”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of something dark and thrilling running through you. He doesn’t stop, his fingers trailing over each mark with an almost possessive reverence. “I love seeing these on you,” he continues, his voice a soft, dangerous whisper. “Knowing that I put them there. That you’re mine.”

You can feel the intensity in his words, the way they’re weighted with a fierce, undeniable possessiveness, and it sends a pulse of heat through you, a mix of fear and excitement that makes your heart race. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s talking to you.

He shifts, hovering over you, his gaze dark and hungry as he takes in your flushed cheeks, your parted lips. “I want to mark you up even more,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire. “I want everyone to see these bruises and know exactly who you belong to.”

Your breath catches in your throat, your pulse quickening at the thought of it, at the idea of wearing his marks, of being claimed by him in such a visible, undeniable way. “You want that?” You ask, your voice shaky, filled with anticipation.

His eyes meet yours, and there’s something fierce and possessive in his gaze as he leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. “I want to leave my mark on you,” he murmurs, his voice low, dangerous. “I want to bruise every inch of your skin until there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re mine.”

You shiver at his words, a thrill of excitement running through you, and you nod, unable to form words as the intensity of his desire, of his need, crashes over you. “Please,” you manage to whisper, your voice trembling, your body already responding to the promise in his words.

He smiles, a slow, wicked smile that makes your heart race, and then his hands are on you again, his fingers tracing your skin, finding every bruise he left, pressing down just enough to make you gasp, to remind you of the intensity of the night before. “You like this, don’t you?” He asks, his voice a dark, teasing whisper. “You like knowing that I’ve marked you, that everyone can see how much I want you.”

“Yes,” you breathe, your voice barely audible, your body arching under his touch, desperate for more.

He leans down, pressing soft kisses to your neck, to the bruises he left, his lips warm against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with a dark, possessive hunger. “So perfect. I can’t wait to mark you up even more.”

His words send a shiver down your spine, and you feel your breath quicken, your body already responding to the promise in his voice, to the way he’s touching you, the way he’s claiming you. “Lando …”

He smirks against your skin, his teeth grazing your neck, just enough to make you gasp, to send a sharp thrill of pleasure-pain through you. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice rough, dangerous. “And I’m going to make sure everyone knows it.”

Before you can respond, his hands move lower, one hand pinning your wrists above your head, the other trailing down your body, teasing, exploring. His touch is slow, deliberate, as if he’s savoring the moment, as if he’s taking his time to appreciate every reaction, every shiver, every gasp that escapes your lips.

Then, without warning, his hand slides between your legs, finding your clit, and he pinches down, cruel and relentless. You cry out, your body arching against him, the sudden intensity of it sending a shockwave of pleasure-pain through you, unraveling you completely.

“Lando!” You gasp, your voice trembling, your body quaking under his touch.

He doesn’t relent, his fingers moving with a ruthless precision, his other hand still holding your wrists tightly above your head, keeping you pinned, keeping you at his mercy. “You like this, don’t you?” He whispers, his voice dark and teasing, as he continues to torment you, to push you further and further over the edge.

“Yes!” You cry out, unable to control the sounds escaping you, the intensity of it too much, too overwhelming.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and heavy as he whispers, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours!” You gasp, your voice breaking, your body shaking with the force of the pleasure coursing through you.

His fingers pinch down harder, and you cry out again, your body completely out of control, completely at his mercy. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice rough, filled with a dark, possessive hunger.

“I’m yours, Lando!” You cry, your voice trembling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you fall apart completely, your body shattering under his touch.

He watches you, his eyes dark and hungry, his hand relentless as he pushes you over the edge again and again, until you’re nothing but a trembling, gasping mess beneath him. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough, as he watches you unravel. “You’re mine. All mine.”

Finally, when you think you can’t take it anymore, when your body is trembling and shaking with the force of the pleasure-pain, he slows, his touch becoming gentler, more tender. He releases your wrists, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that have escaped down your cheeks.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe, with something deep and unbreakable. “So perfect.”

You’re still gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all, but you manage to meet his gaze, your eyes filled with a mix of love, desire, and something deeper, something that goes beyond words. “Lando …” you breathe, your voice shaky, your heart pounding in your chest.

He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, his hand still cupping your face, his touch gentle, tender. “I love you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love, all the desire you feel for him.

He pulls you into his arms, holding you close, his body warm and comforting against yours. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his voice soft, filled with regret. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his chest, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the warmth of his skin. “You didn’t hurt me, Lando,” you whisper back, your voice soft, filled with love. “You made me feel … everything.”

He smiles, a small, relieved smile, and he presses another kiss to your forehead, his arms wrapping around you, holding you close. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice a soft, possessive murmur. “And I’m never letting you go.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love, with something deeper, something that goes beyond words, and you snuggle closer to him, feeling the warmth, the safety of his embrace. “I’m yours,” you whisper back, your voice filled with all the emotion, all the love you feel for him. “Always.”

[lilylovestowrite]

Could I request Dr Ratio with a lover who makes plushies? Reader makes plushies to sell and secretly made plushie versions of him to cuddle. Poor Ratio gets a little jealous because he loves cuddling them.

WHY NOT ME? ୨♡୧

PAIRING ୨♡୧ Veritas Ratio x Gn! Reader

WARNINGS ୨♡୧None

SYNOPSIS ୨♡୧ Veritas loves your hobby of making plushies, but you need to stop cuddling them when he’s literally right there. 

WORD COUNT ୨♡୧ 1.9k

A/N ୨♡୧ Thank you for the request! I actually make a few plushies myself! I’m a huge crochet girlie. Might post more on the crochet later <3

I thought it would be a rather funny part two to this fanfic! 

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Ah, yes. Just Dr. Veritas Ratio, his loving partner, and their six foot tall elongated cat plushie.

The dead, beady eyes stare back at him as you slumber in complete peace. The rise and fall of your body from your deep breaths irritates him: how can you be so cuddly and vulnerable with that thing rather than your boyfriend. He could try and pry it from your hands, but the death grip on the cat and your stubbornness are of equal strength. A terrifying feat, if he does say so himself. 

Veritas tries to be rational: you’ve been living alone for a while. Of course you have your habits that don’t really unstick. After your house was broken into, as your colleague, it was only natural that you move in with him since you can commute from the same place. It’s not like anything was going on. Well perhaps the tension between you two has always been more than tense, and there were a few makeout sessions in the faculty room. But your dating life truly began when moving in. 

You’ve been dating for three months now. He’s never really sought the domestic lifestyle of making breakfast together, getting ready, coming back and spending time together. Veritas has always been chasing knowledge, and love has been placed on the back burner. But seeing your drive to teach students and revive the dead Sigonian language, he can’t picture a future without the two of you debating on meaningless quantum physics theories, or historical interpretations of ancient text. It’s not logical: if the two of you drive each other to improve,  test each other’s knowledge, and most importantly love each other, doesn’t it make sense for you to be together? 

Ergo, doesn’t it make even more sense for you to be cuddling him? 

Veritas likes to think he runs purely on logic, but tonight, his pettiness gets to him. He rises from his place in your large four-poster bed and points at the cat plushie. “You bastard.” He hisses, and dives face-first into the silk pillows for some sleep. 

A little childish, sure. But wouldn’t you be if your rival in love is a six foot tall elongated CAT? 

Such a creature doesn’t exist. How ridiculous. He has to address this tomorrow.

“You’re getting upstaged by a cat, Doc?” 

Perhaps Veritas should not have called Aventurine for advice on this manner. The way you and him think are extremely similar: disorganised, chaotic, yet strangely fascinating. So naturally, he’ll get advice from someone similar to you, right?

Well now he thinks he’s messed up. He frowns and runs his hand through his hair whilst hearing Aventurine let out the most ugly laugh he’s ever heard in his life. “You know what they say, two’s a company, three’s a crowd!” He squeals with laughter.

“I don’t know why I took advice from you. You don’t even have a love life.” He snaps, and Aventurine wheezes even louder, descending into silent laughter. Veritas hangs up and buries his face in his hands. He wants to tell you to stop cuddling that cat, but you’re its creator. Is it a motherly instinct to protect your craft? He does understand it to an extent, his own hobbies such as making sculptures, and he will wipe them down wherever he sees the chance. Perhaps, to get the message across, he should cuddle a statue? He shakes his head.

‘Ridiculous idea, Veritas. Zero points.’ The man scolds himself before returning to the blackboard to lecture his class. 

You may or may not have a secret. Every night, you sleep with what seems like a six foot cat plushie, but right beside it, is a little plushie of your boyfriend: Veritas Ratio. It’s got his hair felted on, the lovely golden hairpiece he wears daily, and a lovely white wedding suit. Making plushies has become more of a hobby rather than a stress relief from your life as a Stellaron Academy Senior Professor, in fact, you’ve managed to make an online store and have sold some plushies to your colleagues. It’s a great hobby to have, the practicality and the feeling of satisfaction from completing a new project. But this one is… Slightly embarrassing. First of all, you’re not sure how he’ll feel about you making a doll of him. Will he think it’s like a voodoo doll, or think it’s creepy? Second of all, even though you’ve shoved your tongues down each other’s throats and lapped at each other like wild cats, for some stupid reason, you’re too shy to ask him to cuddle with you. Is Veritas Ratio a man who likes cuddles? Is he big spoon, little spoon, or too above showing affection? Will he stop sharing a bed with you right after? What if you snore in his face - then what? You’re not sure. You could ask, but even the idea of asking him makes you feel so weird, like, who asks if they want to cuddle? Are you a needy child? No. So you settle for a mini Veritas in hopes of not changing the dynamic between you two. Tonight, you settle in your bed, Claire de Lune playing faintly from Veritas’ phone as he reads to sleep. However, when you kiss his cheek goodnight, he glares at the cat plushie in your arms. It sends you into a mild panic: did he see mini Veritas hidden behind the cat? Worse, is he judging you for cuddling something to sleep? These thoughts plague your mind until you fall asleep, giving into your stress-induced fatigue. 

“Gambler, they kissed my cheek and dove straight under the covers. Like they were allergic to me. You are all about public relations, so riddle me this.” Ratio sighs over the phone, toned bicep leaning on his mahogany desk at work. “And be serious this time, or I will religiously remind you of your single status.” 

“Ouch, Doctor.” Aventurine’s buttery voice crackles from the phone. “Well, in order to know what people want, you sort them into what type of person they are. Sadly, you don’t work for the IPC, so you don’t get a file on your pretty little lover. But you’re not on a mission, just ask them what they want. No need to beat around the bush.” 

“What if they think I’m too clingy? Or that I disrespect their work.” 

“First of all, you’d be too clingy if they said ‘no’ and you still pestered them. Second of all, just tell them you love their plushies. You have them displayed all over your classroom, for Aeon’s sake. I think they know you love their handiwork.” 

Veritas nods: “For once, Gambler, you have given me sufficient advice. Thank you.” 

Now, he devises a plan. 

“Love.” Veritas’ voice pulls you out of your crocheting trance. You’re making a bunny plushie with black yarn, sitting next to Veritas in the lounge, who marks his student’s papers. The evening sunlight pools in the hollows of his exposed collarbones, white fluffy robe lined with golden embroidery flowers (your addition) adorns his body. 

“Yes, Veri?” You reply, looking up at him. You’re dressed in the same robe, and Veritas adores how much better white looks on you. Perhaps in the future, he would like to see you in a similar colour. 

‘Stupid, get to the point.’ He hisses at himself silently.  “About our sleeping arrangements…” 

You look up at him, going completely pale. Has he found your Veritas plushie? Oh shit, shit shit- 

“I was wondering if you would rather, well…” Veritas Ratio is a man of perhaps too many words, but for once, he seems to be tripping on his words. “...Cuddle me instead?”

You practically bounce out of your chair and corner him against the couch, “Really?” 

That visceral reaction earns a rather strangled “Yes” from him, and you sigh in relief. His amber eyes scan your face meticulously, trying to read what you’re thinking. 

“You know, I slept with a plushie of you instead, I was so nervous of asking-” You clap your hands over your mouth. You blabbed, like an idiot. And now he’s staring at you as if you were a fool. “Sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“A plushie of me?” He asks, pointing a finger to himself, his baritone voice suddenly rising in pitch. “I thought you slept with that cat?” 

“I-It was behind the cat,” you feel heat rise up to your cheeks, “sorry, it’s really creepy. I can get rid of it-” 

“No, don’t.” He gently rests his hand on yours, unable to resist the grin. “You wanted to sleep with a copy of me? Why not ask me directly?” 

“I didn’t know if you were into cuddling, so I just assumed…” Your voice trails off, and you suddenly realise just how ridiculous you sound. “I was shy, I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologise, love. Now, show me this plushie, and let’s cuddle.” He chimes. Suddenly, a gust of wind lifts a student’s test paper from his desk and it lands on his face. “Perhaps after I finish marking this blasted test.” 

“Would you like me to mark the multiple choice papers?” His eyes glimmer, handing you a pen. 

“The answer key is in the first drawer, help yourself.”

“Damn, not even the slightest bit of hesitation.” You grin. “Must be really desperate for those to be marked, huh?” 

“Oh, hush.” He scolds you gently, tapping the tip of your nose with his red pen. 

Claire de Lune permeates throughout the room, Veritas leading you in with his hand in yours. The night lamps on either side of your bedside tables emit a warm, golden glow that illuminates the lines of his jaw and accentuates the length of his lashes. He cannot contain the wide smile from spreading onto his face when he cradles the little Veritas doll in his hands: “Am I in wedding attire, love?” 

Too shy to answer the question, you throw a pillow at him and he giggles. “He’s so cute. You should make a matching one of yourself, like a couple’s item.” He suggests, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you closer. You entertain the idea, wrapping your own arms around him and resting both of your hands on his back, the blades of his shoulders emitting warmth. It’s not too bad at all, Veritas thinks, the smile unable to be wiped from his face when he sees how easily you melt into his arms. Even like this, intimacy seems more natural than your little routine of hugging plushie Veritas. The toy doesn’t breathe like him, isn’t warm, and doesn’t vibrate every time he speaks when you rest your face on his chest. Both of your heartbeats seem to slow to a normal rate as you speak about your day in more depth. Eventually, however, the scent of pinewood and light cologne mix to form a homely aroma, lulling the both of you to sleep halfway through a conversation about ancient history. 

A few mornings later, you find your Veritas plushie on his working desk at home. Right next to it is a small statue of the same height, but it’s of you in wedding attire too. “Veri? Did you make this?” You call out to him, and he emerges from the kitchen. Although a blush paints his cheeks, he raises a glass of coffee to the two plushies.  

“I just wanted to have a reference for when it happens in reality. It’s only logical, right?” 

[dinodaweeb]

Living with a gangster

Mafia man x Gn!Reader

Summary: moments in your life when your weirdo of a boyfriend gets you both in the most randomness possible scenarios. You love him though

a/n: ummm ummm writing for now bc my Apple Pencil broke so yeah!!

You’re on the couch, unwinding after a long day. The soft hum of the TV fills the room as you kick your feet up, enjoying a rare moment of peace. That peace shatters the moment your boyfriend walks through the door, looking like he’s been through hell and back.

There’s even stains on his white pants. Gross.

Bruised, bloodied, and entirely too proud of himself, he barges in with a grin plastered on his face. “I brought you something,” he says, and there’s a certain cockiness in his voice that you’ve come to expect from him.

You turn to look, already knowing whatever he’s holding will be ridiculous. “What is it?”

You ask, trying to suppress the exhaustion from your voice.

With a flourish, he reveals a ragged, battered stuffed bear. Its fur is matted, and there’s a stain that could be blood—or maybe it’s just the bear’s battle scars. One of its eyes is hanging by a single thread.

“A battle bear,” he announces proudly.

You stare at it for a beat. “A what?”

“A battle bear. I had to fight a bunch of idiots to get it. It was a whole ordeal, but I thought you’d want it.”

You blink, deadpan. “So you got into a fight for a stuffed animal?”

“Yup,” he says, a little too smug for someone who just looked like they were hit by a bus. “It’s yours now. For protection, obviously. You’ll be safe with this thing. Like a bodyguard, but fluffier.”

You glance from him to the bear. “This thing looks like it’s seen better days. What kind of fight were you in?”

“It’s fine. Just a little blood. Nothing serious,” he assures, his grin widening. “So? Do you love it?”

You pause, still eyeing the mangled bear. “Sure, I guess. I don’t know if it’ll protect me, though. It looks like it’s seen as much action as you.”

He flops onto the couch next to you, snatching up the bear. “It’s a symbol of my dedication. Don’t downplay it.”

“You could do anything with it cry with it, cuddle, feed it, maybe even tell it about how much you love!”

“Nice try.” It’s just a thought but you are thinking he’s going to be the one to do those things.

It’s been a long day, and you were hoping for some peace. You’ve barely sat down on the couch when your boyfriend bursts in, completely out of nowhere, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I missed you!” he exclaims, then immediately starts some unholy combination of spinning, hopping, and awkward flailing. His hips are nowhere near Shakira’s level of shaking.

He’s rattling like a broken supermarket cart.

You stare at him, eyebrows raised. “What in the world are you doing?”

“This is my I missed you dance,” he says, spinning once again like he’s in some bizarre action movie. “It’s a tradition now. Every time I come home, I perform it to show my appreciation for you.”

You blink. “A dance?”

He nods, still twisting around, his limbs making chaotic, out-of-rhythm movements. “Yup! It’s a way of showing how much I care about you.”

“Yeah, I can tell,” you say dryly, eyes narrowing as you watch him crash into the coffee table, almost toppling over the lamp. You can’t help but let out a sigh. “Are you done yet?”

He doesn’t answer, too busy still trying to perfect whatever this is. His leg kicks too high and knocks into the side of the bookshelf. He spins again, only to hit his elbow on the doorframe.

“You’re really not helping your case here,” you mutter, leaning back. “How exactly am I supposed to take you seriously when you’re like this?”

With a grunt, he halts his movements, standing tall like he just finished a perfect performance. “I’m a dangerous man, babe. Nobody could top this move.”

You stare at him, deadpan. “You’re a mess.”

He grins like he won the lottery. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You walk through the door after running a simple errand. But as soon as you step inside, you’re met with your boyfriend standing in the living room, hands on his hips, wearing a look of complete panic.

“Where have you been?” he demands, voice high and tight with concern. “I’ve been worried as shit.. Do you know how long it’s been? What if something happened to you? Like if a Mario cosplayer asked for your number? Or if my boss figures out we make passionate love in ghost face costumes?”

You stop dead in your tracks, surprised by the sudden wave of intensity. “I was gone for two hours. I was grocery shopping,” you say, already regretting not texting him sooner.

His expression doesn’t change. “Two hours? That’s two hours I had no idea where you were! You could’ve gotten hurt! Kidnapped! I could have sent the team after you!”

You blink, trying to process his frantic words. “It was just the store. I’m fine. I didn’t even leave the neighborhood.”

“But what if something happened?” He’s pacing now, completely ignoring the fact that you’ve been walking around the block for the last hour. “You could have been in danger, and I wouldn’t have even known! What if the old man that looks like Santa Claus down the steep seduced you?”

“What—“

“And was successful. Who am I to Santa? Nothing but a little elf whore…”

“Um.”

“Actually fuck Santa. He ain’t shit.”

“Okay.”

“Anyways, Do you want me to hire bodyguards?”

“I’m not a delicate flower,” you say, trying to stay calm. “You don’t have to act like I’m going to break if I leave for an hour.”

He stops pacing, suddenly pulling you into a tight hug, his arms firm but careful. “I know, I know. You once broke my back when we were roleplaying WWE. And in be—“

“Oi.”

“Besides! You’re my responsibility. I need you safe.”

You sigh, your annoyance melting away as his possessiveness becomes more endearing than aggravating. “You’re a freak, you know that?”

He smiles into your shoulder, his tone softened. “And you match it~”

You couldn’t deny that.

You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when you hear the front door open. Your boyfriend walks in, holding two absurdly oversized leather jackets with a grin that suggests he’s up to no good.

“Guess what I got!” he announces.

You glance at him, already sensing where this is going. “What now?”

“Matching jackets,” he says, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just spent way too much money on something totally unnecessary.

You look at the jackets, confused. “Those things are huge. They’ll swallow me whole.”

“Nonsense!” He’s practically bouncing with excitement. “It’s part of the look. Look how badass we’ll look together. We’ll be like this power couple!”

You pull the jacket on, and it nearly engulfs you. You feel like you’re drowning in leather, and you can barely move your arms.

You glance at him. “This is a terrible idea. I can’t even lift my arms.”

He looks at you with a deadpan stare. “Exactly. That’s the point. We’re untouchable.”

You sigh, crossing your arms, trying not to let the ridiculousness of the situation break your composure. “You realize we’re going to look like two absolute try-hards?”

“Nope.”

He shrugs, unfazed. “I look hot. You look hot. Who cares about looking normal when you look cool?”

You snort, rolling your eyes. “We look like walking couches.”

It happens when you’re having an absolutely normal movie night. Popcorn, blankets, a chilled drink. Everything’s perfect. And then, in the middle of a dramatic scene, your boyfriend suddenly turns to you with a completely straight face.

“I killed someone today,” he says, his voice holding the same tone if he just did a wet fart. “45 years old. Kids. Pretty tragic, actually. But he had it coming. I mean he did—”

You freeze, popcorn halfway to your mouth. “Wait. What?”

He shrugs, clearly uninterested in your reaction. “Yeah, I mean, he was a threat. Had to be dealt with. He won’t be a problem anymore.”

“Are you… are you serious?” You blink rapidly, your mind struggling to catch up with what you just heard.

“Yeah, well, that’s gang life for you.” He leans back, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth like he’s just told you about his day at the office. “It’s not all fun and games, y’know.”

You can’t form a coherent response, too shocked by the casual way he talks about murder. “You just… killed someone. And then sat down to watch a movie?”

He glances at you, unphased. “Yeah, and? We were supposed to watch this, right? Can we watch breaking bad next? Bald Walter is spank bank material.”

“Um ew.”

“Just don’t sweat the small stuff, babe.”

You stare at him in silence for a moment, the absurdity of the situation slowly sinking in. “You are the weirdest person I’ve ever met.”

“Thanks. I try.” He says it so casually, then immediately falls asleep like it’s just another day.

What the hell.

[urdreamydoodles]

Bat-Villains x Reader

They realize they love you after a nightmare about you dying

Characters: Joker, Harley Quinn, Poison Ivy, Bane, Scarecrow, Two-Face, The Riddler & The Penguin

The Joker

- The Joker had always laughed at the idea of love. It was messy, inconvenient, and far too human for someone as “elevated” as him. So, when the nightmare came—your lifeless body crumpled beneath the rubble of some grim Gotham alley—it caught him off guard. His cackles turned to hollow echoes as he screamed your name, the vibrant color of his world bleeding into dull gray.

- He jolted awake with a gasp, his face covered in a rare sheen of sweat. His usual smirk was absent as his wild eyes darted around the room, landing on your sleeping form beside him. You were alive, breathing softly, your face peaceful in slumber. The sight of you alive was a jolt to his twisted heart.

- For the first time in a long while, he didn’t laugh. He sat there, his thoughts in chaos, a war between his denial and the crushing realization that he couldn’t imagine a world without you. It scared him more than Batman ever could. He clenched his fists, trying to suppress the emotions bubbling to the surface.

- “This is ridiculous,” he muttered, his voice shaking. But his hand moved on its own, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. You stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent, and he froze, a flicker of vulnerability flashing in his usually unhinged eyes.

- He stayed awake for hours, staring at you, convincing himself that this was just some fleeting weakness. But the image of your death lingered, gnawing at him, turning his denial into reluctant acceptance. “You’ve done it, haven’t you?” he whispered bitterly. “You’ve made the Clown Prince of Crime care.”

- The next morning, his usual theatrics were toned down. He stayed unusually close to you, his hand lingering on yours longer than normal. You raised an eyebrow at his behavior, and he waved it off with a manic laugh, but deep inside, he knew he’d never let you out of his sight again.

- That night, he held you a little tighter than usual, his arms wrapped around you as if to shield you from the world. “You’re mine,” he whispered into the darkness, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “And no one will take you from me. Not even death.”

Harleen Quinzel aka. Harley Quinn

- Harley’s dreams were usually chaotic, filled with explosions, bright colors, and nonsensical antics. But this one was different. It was dark, quiet, and horrifying. She saw you, broken and bleeding, calling out to her with your last breath. No amount of laughter or jokes could save you.

- She woke with a start, her heart pounding and tears streaming down her cheeks. “Puddin’?!” she gasped instinctively, but then her eyes landed on you. You were there, next to her, your chest rising and falling steadily. Relief washed over her, and she let out a shaky laugh.

- Harley wasn’t one to dwell on emotions—she usually masked them with jokes and a bubbly exterior. But this dream? It shook her to her core. She sat up, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch your face, as if reassuring herself you were real.

- “What’s goin’ on with me?” she whispered to herself. She knew the answer deep down but wasn’t ready to admit it. The thought of losing you had torn her apart in the dream, and the intensity of her feelings scared her.

- For the rest of the night, she stayed awake, her mind racing. She replayed every moment with you, every smile, every laugh, and every time you’d stood by her side. “Guess I’m hooked,” she murmured with a small, bittersweet smile.

- The next day, she was more clingy than usual, following you around and cracking even more jokes than normal. You noticed her odd behavior, but she brushed it off with a wink and a kiss on the cheek. “Just feelin’ extra lovey-dovey today, sugar!”

- That night, as you lay in her arms, she finally whispered the words she’d been too scared to say aloud. “I love ya, ya know? Like… the real kinda love, not the crazy kinda love. Well, maybe a lil’ crazy, but still real.” She kissed your forehead, her heart lighter than it had been in years.

Pamela Isley aka. Poison Ivy

- Pamela’s dreams were rarely nightmares. But this one? It was a haunting vision of you lying lifeless among her beloved plants, your blood staining the green foliage. The image was so vivid, so horrifying, that it shattered her usual composure.

- She woke with a sharp inhale, her breath catching in her throat. Her eyes darted to your side of the bed, relief flooding her as she saw you curled up peacefully. The nightmare lingered, though, its dark tendrils wrapping around her thoughts.

- Ivy wasn’t one to let emotions control her. She prided herself on being logical, detached. But this dream forced her to confront the truth she’d been avoiding. She cared for you—deeply, irrevocably—and the thought of losing you was unbearable.

- She reached out, her fingers lightly tracing the curve of your cheek. Her touch was soft, almost reverent, as if she feared you might disappear if she pressed too hard. “You’ve rooted yourself in my life, haven’t you?” she whispered.

- For hours, she stayed by your side, watching you sleep, her mind racing with plans to ensure your safety. She’d protect you, no matter the cost. “No one will harm you,” she vowed quietly. “Not while I still breathe.”

- The next day, her demeanor was gentler than usual. She handed you a cup of tea, her green eyes soft as they met yours. “Drink this,” she said. “It’ll keep you healthy. And stay close to me today, alright?” Her protective side was in full bloom.

- That night, as you lay in her arms, surrounded by the soft glow of her plants, she finally let herself be vulnerable. “You’re the one thing I can’t afford to lose,” she admitted. “I’ve spent my life fighting for the earth, but you? You’ve become my world.”

Bane

- Bane’s dreams were typically filled with battles and conquests, but this one was different. He saw you, broken and defeated, your life slipping away because he hadn’t been strong enough to protect you. The sight of your lifeless form was a blow worse than any he’d taken in the ring.

- He woke with a start, his chest heaving as if he’d run a marathon. His eyes immediately sought you out, relief washing over him when he saw you safe and sound, curled up beside him. But the dream lingered, the pain and helplessness gnawing at him.

- Bane wasn’t used to feeling weak, but that nightmare had shaken him. He sat up, his massive frame tense as he stared down at you. “You are my strength,” he murmured, the words foreign on his tongue but no less true.

- For hours, he sat there, replaying the nightmare in his mind. He realized then just how much you meant to him, how deeply you’d carved yourself into his life. “I cannot lose you,” he vowed, his voice low and resolute.

- The next morning, his protective instincts were in overdrive. He insisted on accompanying you everywhere, his large hand resting possessively on your shoulder. When you questioned his sudden behavior, he simply replied, “You are important to me. That is reason enough.”

- That night, as you lay in his arms, he finally let his walls down. “I have fought many battles,” he said quietly. “But the thought of losing you? That is a battle I cannot win.” His voice was thick with emotion, his vulnerability laid bare for you to see.

- Bane’s love was fierce and unwavering, and from that moment on, he made it his mission to keep you safe. “You are my heart,” he admitted softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “And I will protect you with every ounce of strength I possess.”

Jonathan Crane aka. Scarecrow

- Jonathan’s dreams were often macabre reflections of his own fears twisted into nightmarish landscapes. But this time, it wasn’t about him. The nightmare was about you—your lifeless body crumpled in a dark alley, surrounded by shadows, your voice calling his name in desperation before falling silent forever.

- He woke abruptly, his breath shallow and ragged, the echo of your scream still ringing in his ears. For a moment, he sat frozen, his hands trembling slightly. Then his eyes darted to the bed, where you lay peacefully, your chest rising and falling in soft rhythm.

- Jonathan wasn’t one to embrace vulnerability, yet this dream left him shaken. He stared at you, his mind racing with an uncomfortable realization: he cared for you far more than he’d ever allowed himself to admit. Losing you, even in a nightmare, felt like losing a part of himself.

- He leaned closer, his hand hovering over your cheek but not quite touching, as if afraid to disturb the calm you radiated. “You’re more dangerous than fear itself,” he murmured quietly, his voice tinged with a rare warmth. “Because you’ve made me weak.”

- The following day, Jonathan was quieter than usual, his sharp words softened when directed at you. He lingered in your presence, finding excuses to stay close, though he masked his concern with his usual intellectual aloofness.

- That night, as you stirred beside him, Jonathan finally let his guard down. “You don’t realize it, do you?” he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’ve made me care… and that terrifies me.” His fingers brushed against yours, a silent vow to keep you safe.

- From that moment on, he became even more meticulous in his plans, ensuring no one could ever harm you. Jonathan Crane, the master of fear, had found something he feared more than anything: a world without you in it.

Harvey Dent aka. Two-Face

- Harvey’s nightmares were like a coin flip—sometimes they reflected his inner turmoil, other times they felt like cruel twists of fate. This time, it was the latter. He saw you, the one person who made him feel whole, bleeding out in his arms as he screamed for help that never came.

- He jolted awake, his hands clutching the sheets tightly as he gasped for air. His scarred side twitched involuntarily, but his eyes sought you immediately. Relief washed over him as he saw you sleeping soundly beside him, completely unaware of his inner torment.

- Harvey sat up, running a hand down his face. The nightmare had been too vivid, too real. He couldn’t shake the image of your lifeless body, the way your eyes had stared at him, full of trust even as the light faded from them.

- “You’re my anchor,” he whispered, his dual voice cracking slightly. “You make me believe there’s still something good in me.” The thought of losing you wasn’t just painful; it felt like losing the last shred of humanity he had left.

- The next day, Harvey was unusually protective, his coin flipping idly between his fingers as he shadowed your every move. When you teased him about being overly cautious, he brushed it off with a half-smile. “Can’t be too careful,” he muttered, though his eyes betrayed his deeper worry.

- That night, as you curled up beside him, Harvey wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. “You’re the one thing in my life that doesn’t need a coin flip,” he admitted softly. “I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

- From then on, his duality softened slightly when it came to you. Both sides of Harvey Dent—man and monster—agreed on one thing: you were worth everything. And he wouldn’t let anyone take you from him.

Edward Nygma aka. The Riddler

- Edward’s nightmares weren’t random; they were puzzles of his subconscious, riddled with hidden meanings and twisted scenarios. But this time, the riddle was cruelly simple: you were dead, taken from him in a moment of chaos he couldn’t control or predict. The answer to the nightmare was devastatingly clear—he couldn’t solve it.

- He woke in a cold sweat, his mind racing as if trying to piece together clues to prove the dream wasn’t real. When his eyes landed on you, still peacefully asleep beside him, he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding his system.

- For once, Edward was at a loss for words. The nightmare had shaken him in a way few things could. He prided himself on his intellect, his ability to plan for every contingency, yet the thought of losing you felt like an unsolvable equation.

- “You’ve become my greatest mystery,” he murmured, brushing a hand through his hair as he watched you sleep. “How did you manage to make me feel this way?” His voice was tinged with frustration, but beneath it was an undeniable warmth.

- The next day, Edward was more attentive than usual, his riddles and taunts aimed at others rather than you. He stuck close, his sharp eyes scanning for any potential threat, though he masked his concern behind his usual arrogance.

- That night, as you curled up against him, Edward allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. “You’re the only thing in my life that doesn’t need a riddle to explain,” he admitted softly, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin. “And I’ll make sure no one ever takes you from me.”

- From that point on, Edward’s plans always included you at the center, his mind working tirelessly to ensure your safety. For a man obsessed with answers, you had become the only certainty in his life.

Oswald Cobblepot aka. The Penguin

- Oswald’s nightmares were usually filled with power struggles and betrayal, but this one was personal. He saw you, his constant companion and solace, gunned down in a rival’s crossfire. The sight of your blood pooling beneath you was enough to send a chill through even his cold heart.

- He woke with a start, his usual composure shattered as he sat up, his breath heavy. His sharp eyes immediately sought you out, relief flooding him as he saw you beside him, alive and unharmed. But the nightmare had left its mark.

- Oswald prided himself on his control, yet the dream had revealed a vulnerability he couldn’t ignore. He sat in silence, his mind replaying the nightmare over and over, each iteration driving home just how much you meant to him.

- “You’re more valuable than all the riches in Gotham,” he muttered, his voice low and gruff. He reached out, his gloved hand brushing against yours, the gesture unusually tender for a man like him.

- The following day, Oswald’s protective instincts were in overdrive. He doubled your security, barking orders at his henchmen to ensure your safety. When you questioned his sudden behavior, he simply replied, “You’re too important to risk.”

- That night, as you rested your head on his shoulder, Oswald finally let his walls down. “You’ve done the impossible,” he admitted quietly. “You’ve made the Penguin care about something other than power. And I won’t let anyone take that away from me.”

- From then on, his love for you was evident in every action. For a man who thrived in Gotham’s cold, dark underworld, you were his one source of light—and he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe.

[kaiyunsim]

snowed in —

pairing : bf!jake x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

summary : mini-party at jake's place turns into a sleepover due to some weather troubles.

warnings : fluff, maybe some crack, established relationship, features jungwon, riki, jay

a/n : merry christmas to anyone who celebrates ! little gift to my og bias <3

queueing : doughnut - twice, the christmas waltz - laufey, r.e.m - kiss of life

— not proof read — wc : 1.4k —

the snow has been falling for hours now, a steady, quiet blanket of white wrapping the world outside. jake’s house is always cozy, but tonight, with the storm in full swing, it feels like a true sanctuary.

you’re curled up on the couch with jake, his arm draped lazily over your shoulders. your head rests against his chest, and the familiar thrum of his heartbeat is your favorite kind of background noise.

“okay, but hear me out,” riki says from the floor, his legs stretched out as he balances a mug of hot chocolate on his knee. “if we really are snowed in, we should do, like, survival drills or something. build a fort. prepare for the worst.”

jungwon rolls his eyes. “you mean prepare for bedtime? it’s not like we’re stranded in the wilderness.”

“i’m just saying—”

“you’re just being dramatic,” jay interrupts, shooting riki a look before turning back to the christmas movie playing on the tv.

jake chuckles softly beside you. “we’re literally trapped in here because of a snowstorm, and he’s still trying to find a way to make it chaotic.”

“it’s his thing,” you reply, glancing up at him with a smile. his hand brushes along your arm absentmindedly, warm and soothing.

the night starts out simple enough—a little christmas gathering with your closest friends. there are snacks, cheesy holiday music, and plenty of laughter. but when the snowstorm hits harder than expected, it becomes clear that no one is going home tonight.

“you doing okay?” jake asks quietly, his voice low so the others don’t overhear.

you nod, your fingers toying with the edge of his sweater. “more than okay. this is nice.”

his lips curve into a smile, his gaze soft as he looks at you. “yeah, it is.”

hours later, after the group finally decides to call it a night, you and jake find yourselves alone in the living room. jungwon, riki, and jay claim the guest rooms, and the house grows quiet except for the faint crackling of the fireplace.

jake stretches, his sweater riding up slightly to reveal a sliver of skin, and you try not to get distracted. “so,” he says, turning to you with that boyish grin you love so much, “we’re officially snowed in together. how does it feel?”

you laugh, leaning back against the couch, no longer holding back from the distraction as you place a hand on his waist, “honestly? it feels kind of perfect.”

“perfect, huh?” he teases, flopping down beside you. “what makes it perfect? me?”

“obviously.” you roll your eyes, but your smile betrays you.

“i knew it,” he says, leaning closer. his arm finds its way back around your shoulders, and he pulls you in. “you can’t resist my charm.”

“i literally see you trip over your own feet at least twice a week. what charm?”

he gasps, pretending to be offended. “wow, the betrayal. after everything i’ve done for you.”

“what have you done for me?”

“um, i made you hot chocolate earlier. that’s, like, boyfriend of the year behavior.”

you shake your head, laughing softly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“but you love me anyway,” he says, his voice dropping slightly. his teasing expression softens as he looks at you, and you feel your heart do that familiar flutter it always does around him.

“yeah,” you say quietly, “i do.”

his smile is small but genuine, and he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

later, jake suggests going outside. “just for a little bit,” he says, tugging on his coat. “the snow looks too good to waste.”

you hesitate, glancing at the frost-covered windows. “it’s freezing out there.”

“i’ll keep you warm,” he promises, holding out his hand.

you roll your eyes but let him help you into your coat. moments later, you’re stepping out into the snow, the cold biting at your cheeks.

“see?” jake says, turning to you with a grin. “totally worth it.”

the yard is quiet and untouched, the snow shimmering under the soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the fence. jake crouches down to scoop up a handful of snow, packing it into a loose ball.

“don’t you dare,” you warn, backing away.

he laughs, tossing the snowball aside. “relax. i wouldn’t risk my life like that.”

“good choice,” you say, crossing your arms to fight the chill.

jake steps closer, his breath visible in the cold air. “you’re cold,” he says matter-of-factly, reaching out to tuck your scarf tighter around your neck.

“you think?”

he ignores your sarcasm, his hands lingering on your shoulders. “come here,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms.

you don’t protest, letting him wrap you up in his warmth. his chin rests on the top of your head, and for a moment, the world feels impossibly still.

“you know,” he says after a while, his voice soft, “i don’t think i’ve ever loved winter as much as i do right now.”

you tilt your head to look up at him. “is that so?”

“yeah.” he smiles, brushing a snowflake from your hair. “it’s definitely my favorite season now.”

“because of the snow?”

“because of you.”

his words hang in the air, simple but heartfelt. your cheeks warm despite the cold, and you lean up to kiss him. his lips are warm against yours, the kiss soft and unhurried.

when you pull back, jake is smiling, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah,” he says quietly, “definitely my favorite season.”

—

you wake the next morning feeling groggy and unusually warm. your throat is scratchy, and your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton. groaning softly, you roll over on the couch, only to find jake sitting beside you, his expression already filled with concern.

“morning,” he says, reaching out to brush your hair back. “how’re you feeling?”

“not great,” you admit, your voice hoarse.

before jake can respond, jungwon wanders into the room, still half-asleep. “why does it sound like someone’s dying in here?”

“y/n’s sick,” jake explains, handing you a glass of water he must have prepared earlier.

“what? how?” riki appears next, rubbing his eyes. “we were all fine yesterday.”

“maybe it was the snowball fight,” jay suggests as he joins the group. “too much exposure to the cold.”

you shake your head, though even that small movement makes you wince. “i was fine last night…”

but jake doesn’t say anything. he just gives you a look—one that’s equal parts fond and apologetic, giving a small chuckle after.

“wait,” jungwon says, narrowing his eyes. “what aren’t you telling us?”

jay crosses his arms, clearly intrigued. “yeah, spill.”

jake sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “we… uh… went outside again. after everyone else went to bed.”

“you what?” jungwon looks horrified.

“it was his idea,” you croak, pointing a weak finger at jake.

“hey!” he protests, though his grin gives him away. “you didn’t have to come with me.”

riki shakes his head, looking more amused than anything. “you’re both ridiculous.”

“yeah, but it was worth it,” jake says, his gaze soft as he looks at you.

you roll your eyes but can’t help smiling. even with a sore throat and a pounding headache, you can’t stay mad at him.

“just so we’re clear,” jay says, “you’re both banned from making decisions for the rest of the day.”

jake laughs, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “deal.”

“but seriously,” jungwon says, his tone more serious now, “you need to rest.”

“yes, mom,” you mumble, rolling your eyes, earning a chuckle from everyone.

as the group disperses, jake stays by your side, fussing over you like a mother hen. and despite how awful you feel, there’s something comforting about his presence—about the way he tucks the blanket tighter around you and makes sure you always have tea or water within reach. full of golden retriever energy.

“you know,” he says later, once the others are busy with their own things, “i feel kinda bad.”

“you should,” you tease weakly, leaning against him.

he presses a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. “but i’d do it all over again if it meant getting to spend more time with you.”

you sigh, smiling despite yourself. “you’re lucky i love you. and merry christmas, jake.”

“i know,” he says, his grin unmistakable. “merry christmas, baby.”

[elizaleclerc]

Hi Max request here

He comes home to the reader flooding the apartment with bubbles from the washing machine and he looks at her like what the fuck.

Thanksss

this idea was so adorable i’m screaming!!! ty anon <3

bubbles ✦

max verstappen x reader

summary: max comes home to gf!reader and the mess she made

song: margaret by lana del rey

author’s note: really really short blurb to get me out a little slump and i simply loved this request so i had to!!

word count: 500

Panic set in as you frantically scrubbed at the frothy bubbles clinging to your arms and legs. A sea of creamy suds overflowed from the washing machine, spilling onto the floor and creating a slippery mess. The air was thick with the sweet, heady aroma of lavender, adding to the chaotic scene. You couldn't recall how it had happened, but now the laundry room resembled a sudsy sea of chaos, engulfing everything in its path.

In the midst of your frantic cleaning, the sound of keys jingling by the front door caused your heart to drop. Your hopes to finish cleaning everything in time were dashed as you heard Max's familiar voice calling out, "Where's my beautiful girl?" The clinking of his keys was like a siren warning of his impending arrival.

“The laundry room!” You replied, “Don’t come in though!”

You heard his laugh that you had come to adore, “Why not?” You struggled to give him a proper reasoning, and soon his persistence got the best of him. His figure appeared in the doorway, pausing at the sight before him. You stood still, scanning his expressions for anger. His eyes seemed emotionless, seeming to try and piece together the scene he had walked in on. You felt like you could start crying, as you thought you had ruined Max’s luxurious apartment with the mess of the suds around you.

But then, Max started laughing. You stared at him in awe as he laughed so hard you thought he was struggling to breathe. Your composure relaxed, and soon you found the humor in it all. How ridiculous you must look right now, covered in foamy soap in the laundry room, surrounded by the results of your mistake. You began giggling too, no longer wholly embarrassed with yourself.

You giggled as you flung a mass of bubbles at Max, watching as he tried to swat them away with a smile on his face. He sighed and his gaze traveled back to meet yours, his eyes full of adoration.

"Even covered in bubbles, you're beautiful." he said, placing his hands on his hips and making your face flush with color.

"I'm surprised you're still willing to put up with me," you sighed, taking in the messy scene around you.

"There's nothing I love more than 'putting up' with you, my dear," he replied, grinning at you and sending warmth flooding through your heart. No matter how chaotic or untidy things got, he never got mad or held it against you; his love was unconditional and unwavering. “Now, let’s actually get to cleaning this up.”

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about. 

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve. 

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer. 

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too. 

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes. 

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.  

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement. 

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug. 

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

[soulofapatrick]

Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Don't Mess With The Doctor's Wife 💘 | Carlisle Cullen Snippet

Twilight Masterlist Part 1

Characters & Pairings: Carlisle Cullen x female!vampire!reader (romantic), Bella Swan x Edward Cullen, Edward Cullen x reader (platonic)

Content warnings: fluff, light angst, suggestive themes right at the end | female reader (she/her) | wc: 1.4k

Premise: Just some good ole fluff of a married vampire couple of a few dumbass teen immortals.

Note: So many people loved 'The Doctor's Wife' and asked if I could continue it! not sure if I'll make it long imagines but I definitely plan on making small snippets like this that is good ole fluff of the golden couple of the Cullens dealing with their chaotic teenage immortal children. Enjoy and thank you so much for the positive reception on my work!

--------------

“Honey….,” Carlisle leaned against the door of their bedroom, treading carefully on water he knew better than to cross. But their whole family dynamic was at stake and as the patriarch--and coven leader--he needed to fix it. 

Without any bloodshed.

Her glare, however, spoke against his hopes for peace. “Don’t honey me, Carlisle Cullen.” Clothes flung everywhere, the room in utter disarray contrary to its usually unkempt nature. “He is being ridiculous and you know it.” Tossing a pair of Manolo Blahnik pumps into the suitcase she gave him another look, “And yes, I know he can hear me.” Carlisle had opened his mouth, but closed it, his wife not having to the mind reader in the family to know what he was about to say. 

“You have every right to be upset. I’m not happy about the situation either, but we have to do what’s best for our family.”

Carlisle came over to where she was, beginning to pack his clothes into his own suitcase. Brushing away the stray hairs that fell from her hair scarf, Y/n’s eyes turned serious, “What happened was unfortunate--and it is a shame Bella got hurt. He’s been beating himself over it the entire weekend and I understand that, Carlisle. But what I don’t appreciate is him uprooting us and using you as the excuse.”

Following Bella’s birthday party gone wrong, Edward didn’t waste a second in making the executive decision to the family that they had to leave Forks. Saying they were a danger to Bella and to ensure her safety and no more harm comes to her as a result of his doing, they needed to remove themselves from the picture. And Edward’s genius move was to tell Bella it was because the staff at the hospital were starting to notice Carlisle’s lack of aging. 

“His concern is valid. We’ve been here four years now. It was bound to happen.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve heard people talk at the hospital?” She challenged.

“I don’t need to hear them say it aloud, Y/n,” he tells her with a knowing look. “Their stares are enough confirmation. I had one nurse ask me last week if I had a skincare routine.” His attempt at a joke doesn't work. She doesn’t so much as crack a smile, but he tries again. “Soon they’ll be asking what botox doctor I go to.”

Y/n knew Carlisle had a point. It always happened wherever they moved. They settled down, spent maybe five or six years until all the kids graduated from high school for the hundredth time, then did it all over again. If it wasn’t nosy hospital workers, it was teachers. If it wasn’t the bakery owner she frequented asking how she managed to look 27 after seven years, then it was the engineer she was collaborating with on a project. 

“It’s not fair,” she goes on, carefully folding her dress shirts, skirts, and pants. Not looking forward to having to pack up her art studio. All the supplies, artwork, and projects she was working on. “And I feel so awful for her,” her frown made his own appear, “You see the way she looks at him. It’s utter devotion, as though he was a sentient being sent from the heavens. And Edward,” her voice drops to a whisper, “he worships the ground she walks on. And this decision not only punishes her, it punishes him.”

The pair fall into a silence when the front door opens and slams shut. Edward’s lingering scent disapparating, causing Y/n to groan and place her head in her hands. The anger and not caring if her adoptive son heard her rant suddenly vanished. Replaced with shame. 

Carlisle sighs, setting down the pile of towels he folded to walk over to her. Gently grabbing her shoulders, he brings Y/n into a comforting embrace, letting his hands fall to her waist, allowing her to sink into his arms with a content hum. 

“Listen to me,” she closes her eyes, not wanting to meet his gaze where she’ll find judgement. “I sound ridiculous--and I’m being unfair to him and his feelings on the matter.”

“You care for him dearly,” Carlisle strokes her hair, “he understands that. And I think deep down he knows you’re right, but won’t admit to it because he believes he’s doing the right thing for Bella.” Carlisle leans back to look into her eyes, “Remember, he was turned at a young age--and has never experienced this type of love before. He’s learning all this for the first time.”

“I know,” she mumbles, deflated but understanding. They stayed in their embrace for a few minutes before separating to continue packing up. Edward returned later that night with brighter eyes, indicating he had fed to which resolved some of the tension between the two when they finally sat down to have the conversion they’d been dreading. Him apologizing for uprooting the family suddenly, and for the harm he was to cause Bella. And Y/n apologizing for the words she spoke before he left. They hugged it out, neither able to stay mad at the other, and Edward helped her pack the art room throughout the remainder of the night. 

The time away from Forks was odd but somewhat comforting. Carlisle and Y/n decided to spend their time on the island they owned just off the coast of Brazil. Rosalie and Emmett traveled to New York, Alice and Jasper in Mississippi and Edward in Rio de Janeiro. They spoke on the phone frequently, sent letters and postcards, or emailed. Edward would spend a night or two on the island to hunt, Y/n painted canvas after canvas, and Carlisle worked on a medical textbook he was in the process of writing.

“You hear that?” She asked one night when they were cuddling on the couch. A random movie playing on the TV.

“What?”

“It’s quiet,” she whispered, a grin spreading on her lips. “No kids. No animals. No workers. Absolute silence.” Carlisle mirrored her smile. 

“You’re right. We haven’t had complete silence in ages.”

“More like eighty years--give or take,” she snorted. 

When the shit hit the fan in Italy, Y/n nearly killed Edward herself. Not just for the danger he put himself in but for the whole family. Alice and Rosalie also met her wrath--Rosalie for not explaining clearly to Edward the vision, and Alice for dragging Bella to Italy. 

Yeah, none of them wanted the smoke. 

The sight of the three siblings sitting on the couch with their heads down and twiddling their thumbs while Y/n paced in front of them while shouting a motherly tangent had Emmett straining to hold back his laughter. Carlisle didn’t dare intervene. 

Back in Forks the family settled back into their routines. Carlisle in the hospital and Y/n working on projects. The kids in school and planning for the summer. 

Then shit hit the fan again.

This time in the form of a newborn vampire army created by the red-headed lover of the tracker they disposed of the year prior. Victoria. And she was out for revenge against Edward and Bella. 

Y/n was not the fighting type, but that didn’t mean she did not know how to throw down. She could get her hands dirty if she desired. Emmett and Jasper taught her the ropes, Edward taught her how to anticipate opponents moves. 

“C’mon old man!” she dodged Carlisle’s attack, giggling as she pivoted to kick lightly at his chest. “Don’t be getting sleepy on me now. That’s not like you.” Carlisle smirked, catching her off guard by grabbing her waist and flipping her onto the ground.

“I’d watch who you call old, sweetheart,” he mocked right as Jasper yelled, “Never turn your back on your enemy!” 

Let’s just say…they did more than spar that night once the sun went down. 

[hotvintagepoll]

Danny Kaye (The Court Jester, The Inspector General)—Danny Kaye, idol of my childhood, maker of the weirdest faces! This man SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE and then puts himself out in a bucket in a movie based on a Gogol short story. In the same movie (Inspector General), he flirts by playing a carrot as a musical instrument. In Wonder Man, he's brilliant but struggles with things like riding buses. I have been envious of his fake Italian/French/German/Spanish monologues in The Court Jester for the past three decades. As Walter Mitty, he is SUPREMELY SILLY yet also somehow manages to be a comic foil for none other than Boris Karloff. All this is to say nothing of The William Tell Song (TV, thus not linked, but great.) I adore him.

Burgess Meredith (Of Mice and Men, That Uncertain Feeling, Second Chorus)—I first saw him in Idiot's Delight. He was standing next to Clark Gable on a balcony. I didn't even notice Gable was there, Meredith's scrungle game was too strong. -5'5 1/2 (1.66m) -He is THE weirdest little freak in That Uncertain Feeling, Merle Oberon picks him up in a psychiatrist's lobby. He's a concert pianist but he hates that people pay to hear him play, he can't stand them watching him. Vases offend him. He sees himself in an abstract painting. He's an absolutely chaotic gremlin and I love him SO much -He plays PENGUIN in the old Batman series!! What's scrunglier than that?! -"Was fascinated by the subject of non-human intelligence, particularly dolphins. He once believed that a dolphin somehow called to him for help in the middle of the night while he was staying at a friend's home on the beach. He ran out and found the dolphin, caught in a net under a dock down the beach, although there was no way he should have been able to know it was there. He released it, saving its life. He believed it had made some sort of connection with him, perhaps telepathic, to call for help." [IMDb] -He will forever be my favourite portrayal of George from Of Mice and Men, his speech about "seeds" and dreaming about a farm of his own wrecked me -In Tom, Dick and Harry, he's one of three suitors courting Ginger Rogers. It's zany and ridiculous, an absolute rollercoaster. He teachers to bowl with his sleeves rolled up. He drives a 3-wheeled motorcycle -He's in a MUSICAL with FRED ASTAIRE they're romantic rivals for PAULETTE GODDARD. He also wears a bucket hat. (Second Chorus) -His hair is VERY floofy in his early roles, I think that should be taken into consideration 4:54: [link to whole movie, editor has not watched it + can't vet but confirmed his hair is fluffy for the minute she did watch]

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here. Reminder that this is a movie poll, not a TV poll, in case any of you were flocking to any bird-brained ideas.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Danny Kaye:

He's so stupid. I love him.

Burgess Meredith:

Look at his face! He looks like a little field mouse, and a field mouse is scrungly. Admittedly I know him more from the Twilight Zone, in which he reached levels of peak scrungle, but I believe he deserves a place on this list.

[fandomsandfeminism]

The Boy and the Heron- thoughts

So, I've talked about how I feel like one of the big themes is impermanence, that change is inevitable, and that change includes loss.

I'm trying to work out how the ideas of harm interplay with that. This idea that harm too is inevitable.

The place this feels the most obvious is the pelicans. They eat the warawara, but they must. They are starving. Due to circumstance, they must do harm to survive and Mahito gives the pelican a proper burial. (There's a connection here to the war, I think. That the situation is awful, but the actors in it are not evil?)

Hime saves the warawara but must burn some of them to save any of them. The harm serves a greater good. (A connection again, perhaps, to the war?)

Mahito attacks the Heron, again and again. And the heron in return ridicules and antagonizes Mahito, yet they learn to work together. To be friends. Even when they are still taking shots at each other. (I love when Mahito makes the plug for his beak, the Heron is immediately an asshole again....but then the plug is bothering him, so Mahito fixes it.)

Kiriko has to kill and gut the giant fish, but does so to feed the warawara and the phantoms. The phantoms cannot kill, cannot harm, and so cannot feed themselves.

Mahito comes across as a very stoic young man a lot, especially early in the movie. Still, its clear that he's unhappy with his father marrying his aunt; it harms him. (The scene where he waits on the stairs for his father to come home and sees them kissing? Oof my heart.) Yet he still tries to be respectful to Natsuko, to save her, and eventually to accept her. (Even when she, in her own pain and grief, lashes out and tells Mahito that she hates him. He doesn't hold it against her. They hurt each other, but still become a family.)

Mahito harms *himself*- (self harm for losing the fight at school? A way to bring his fathers attention back on him? His motivations are never entirely clear, I think. He may not even know himself. Grief can be like that.) he externalizes the chaos and the pain he feels against himself, but the scar it leaves behind isn't a sign of shame.

The Tower Master has tried to make a world without conflict or malice, but has failed. The world changed from his intent, of course all things change, and Mahito tells him that he would rather live in the real, chaotic, harmful world than try in vain to create a world without harm or malice. Avoiding all harm is not a realistic or honorable pursuit.

Harm, like loss, like change, is inevitable. Sometimes it is done with malice, sometimes it is done out of necessity, sometimes by accident. But the harm is ALSO impermanent, something that can pass, not inherently an evil, but part of being in the world.

[nolita-fairytale]

j is for james beard... and for jealousy | carmen 'carmy' berzatto x fem!reader

pairing: jealous boyfriend!carmy x female!reader 

word count: 7.4k

summary: after sydney takes home a big win at the james beard awards, you and your boyfriend carmy run into an old rival for a fiery, chaotic, and surprisingly sexy night. companion piece to 'make my heart surrender' but can be read as a standalone oneshot.

warnings: 18+ chapter, minors dni: lots of swearing, p*rn with a plot, smut, p in v unprotected sex (reader is using hormonal birth control in monogamous relationship), praise kink, rough jealousy sex

a/n: how dare I drag poor james beard into this hetero nonsense?! anywayssss surprise i'm back because i keep having ideas for these two. maybe one day i'll just write a carmy x reader piece that doesn't include this character but for now... please enjoy this literal porn with a plot. also: let's all agree that toxic jealousy is a red flag in relationships, however, i wanted to work with a scenario where carmy would perhaps be more sexually assertive.

“I look ridiculous,” Carmy had grumbled earlier that day, at his reflection in the mirror. 

He had never felt like himself while wearing a suit. Sure, he would spend time, effort, and money into finding the perfect vintage denim jacket, but a suit? He’d much rather be behind the scenes, in his chef whites, instead of this. 

“You look…” you’d countered him, emphasizing the word ‘look’. “...hot, Carmen.”

He’d given you somewhat of a half smile in response – flattered by your comment, and also unconvinced you hadn’t just said in an attempt to get him out of the house. 

Or out of obligation. 

Because he’s your boyfriend. Because you’ll say anything to get him out for Syd’s big night. Because you love him. 

Carmy had never gotten used to the whole celebrity aspect of the food world – especially his own. These award ceremonies were always an uncomfortable reminder that he never quite felt like he fit in. 

“Do you think Syd would kill me if-?” Carmy had asked, shifting uncomfortably. 

“Baby, Sydney is counting on us… and she and I will both kick your ass if you don’t get in the car,” you’d cut him off, because there was no way in hell he was getting out of this. With a scowl on his face, you’d dragged him down the stairs and into your Uber. 

And that’s how he ended up here, at the James Beard award ceremony on a Sunday night, as you all wait anxiously for the announcement. While the restaurant hadn’t been open long enough to be nominated and was actively in a state of ‘working out the kinks,’ Carmy’s celebrity in the food world had brought in a lot of press. Ever since Sydney and Carmy had become partners in the reopen, he had been more than happy to let her take center stage. When the nominations were announced, and Sydney was on the list, he was ecstatic for her. Truthfully, it was a relief that she seemed to do much better with all the stuff he wasn’t crazy about: press, interviews, the spotlight. 

“Wake me up when this snoozefest is over,” Richie mumbles trying his best to pretend he’s not having a good time. You snort, shooting Richie a look, because you know it’s one of the most exciting nights he’s had in a while. 

Besides Carmy, who wouldn’t want to get all dressed up to go to a fancy party and celebrate Sydney?

You’ve somehow managed to corral the core staff of The Bear here this evening. The entire restaurant had been abuzz when the nominations were announced, and talks of who would get stuck at the restaurant the night of the award ceremony had already begun. It was an easy decision to close the restaurant for that night, so that everyone who wanted to could attend. 

Your life here is better than you ever imagined it could be. Working your ass off in a kitchen that you love has been invigorating. It’s helping you fall in love with the process all over again. You suspect that your time in fine dining had, perhaps, run its course even before you quit your last job. Back then, here is what you’d longed for on the days you felt your most lost. You love being a teacher; you love mentoring Marcus. He’s got a desire to learn that never quits, and it inspires you day in and day out. But most importantly, you’re head over heels in love. You’re so deeply in love with Carmy that sometimes, you wonder what took the two of you so long to pull the trigger.

Tonight is no different. You’re surrounded by people you adore more than anything  – people you’ve been in the trenches with during a dinner service from hell, people you’ve laughed your ass off with after a round of drinks outside of the restaurant – and you’re all here to celebrate someone who’s become a close friend of yours. It’s just another reminder – another sign from the universe – that you made the right decision.

And you’re sure Sydney is going to win. 

You’re not sure how you know. 

You can just feel it. 

Sydney sits between Carmy and Marcus, and you’re seated in between Carmy and Richie. You notice Carmy’s leg is bouncing up and down impatiently as he anticipates the next category of awards. Even though you know these big social events put Carmy on edge, you know he’s really just nervous for her. 

“And the winner… for the James Beard Rising Star award of 2023…” the announcer, esteemed chef Mashama Bailey begins, grabbing the attention of the entire room. 

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and Carmy continues to fidget nervously. You reach across Carmy’s lap, grabbing Sydney’s hand and giving it a squeeze of reassurance. Sydney holds on to you, and while you’re sure she might cut off your circulation from squeezing so tightly, you don’t mind. You’re all on the edges of your seat. 

“Sydney Adamu of The Bear!”

You and Carmy are cheering as loudly as you can, while Richie jumps to his feet letting out a loud ‘whoop.’ A chorus of ‘that’s right,’ ‘she won!’ and ‘c’mon syd’ echoes through Tina, Gary, and Ebra and Manny, while Angel is already on his feet taking a video of the crowd. Everyone is cheering so boisterously you’re not sure it’ll ever stop. 

“You won, Syd!” you yell over the loud claps and cheers, giving her hand one more squeeze. She rises, letting go of your hand, you and Carmy both following to give her some space to walk through the aisle. 

“Let’s go, Syd! That’s right. That’s right,” Marcus calls out loudly, jumping to his feet with Richie and earning a few looks from the people sitting to the right and left. 

“Congratulations, chef,” Carmy whispers, as she passes him by. You watch as Marcus ushers her over to the aisle so that she can go up to the stage while Angel films the whole thing on his iPhone. Carmy has the proudest look on his face, the tip of his nose the lightest blush pink, and you’re beaming as you watch your friend make her way towards the stage of the opera house. 

“Remember when this was you?” you whisper to Carmy, catching his attention. 

“Tonight everything changes for her,” Carmy replies, grinning from ear to ear. 

“For the both of you,” you add. “For all of us.”

The night he won the rising star award put him on the map. While you hadn’t known Carmy at the time, you’d heard about him in those early days of both of your careers. Carmy had risen so quickly through the ranks that by the time you met him, he was only a few weeks away from his promotion to CDC at the old restaurant. Not only did this put Sydney on the map, but it was better press for The Bear than anyone could ask for. 

“Congratulations, baby,” you say, kissing him on the cheek. He just shoots you a look, the pride evident in his eyes, before wrapping his arm around you and holding you close. 

~

“I just wanna say,” Richie begins, having garnered the attention of your group. You’re all huddled in a circle at the reception, champagne flutes in everyone’s hands. 

“I know we don’t always see eye to eye…” Richie toasts, earning a few looks and side comments from your team. “And don’t forget about that time you stabbed me… but even if this brings a bunch of fuckin’ strokes to the restaurant, we’re so fuckin’ proud of you.” 

“To Sydney, who’s… what does Carmy say… changed the chemistry and who is the heart of this restaurant,” Ebra adds on. 

Tina smiles proudly, raising her glass to Sydney. It brings a smile to your face to see her all dressed up too. 

“Syd, I don’t know where the hell we’d be without you,” Carmy continues, raising his glass. 

“Cheers to you, Sydney!” you say, clinking champagne glasses, before taking your first celebratory drink as a team. 

It doesn’t take long for your group to break off into smaller ones – making comments about how out of place you all feel at this fancy of an event. Richie’s wrapping an arm around Carmy’s shoulder, ushering him to a side conversation – something about ‘lizards this’, and ‘the working class that.’ 

“So how do you feel?” you ask, turning towards Sydney, taking a moment to quietly congratulate your friend. 

“I think I’m still in shock,” she sighs in relief, earning a chuckle from you. 

“Well, I’ll cheers to that. You know. To calm the nerves,” you joke, raising your glass once more. 

“To liquid courage,” she agrees, clinking glasses with you again, as you both decide just to finish off your flutes of champagne. 

“Can I get you another drink?” you offer, placing your now empty champagne 

“Oooo can you get me one of those fancy themed cocktails I saw at the bar earlier?” Sydney replies, excitedly. 

“Anything for you,” you say back. 

“And when you’re back, I think I saw Carla Hall has a tasting table here so we should make our rounds,” Sydney mentions, because there’s no way either of you are missing out on the fact that the best chefs in the world are cooking in this room right now. 

You nod in agreement, heading to the bar to get both you and Sydney a new round of drinks. 

“What can I getcha?” the bartender asks. 

You glance at the menu, deciding on your go-to, a gin and tonic, and then one of the featured cocktails of the evening that Sydney mentioned, knowing she’s a tequila drinker. You wait at the bar for your drinks, knowing the fancy mezcal cocktail you just ordered for Sydney will take a little bit of a time to make. 

“I was wondering when I’d run into you,” you hear a voice say, grabbing your attention. It’s a familiar voice that you were really hoping you’d never have to hear again. 

“Funny, because I was hoping to avoid you,” you quip back, turning to the man who’s just joined you at the bar. His bravado alone is enough to earn an eye roll from you and you can feel your guard going up. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask, unable to hide the disdain in your voice. 

“You haven’t heard?” he asks, a cocky smirk on his face that you just want to slap off of it. 

“I don’t make it my business to keep up with you, Walker,” you shoot back, using his last name as a formality, completely unamused by his question.

“God, I love it when you talk dirty,” he croons, a flirtatious low chuckle rumbling out of his chest. 

You ignore him, rolling your eyes for the second time in the last two minutes, as you thank the bartender who’s just come back with your gin and tonic. You raise the glass to your lips, getting a head start since now, you definitely need this drink. 

“Moved to LA. Took a CDC position out there. Besides, after you left… New York was… getting boring,” he explains, playing it cool. He drops the name of the well-respected LA restaurant that he’s running now in an attempt to impress you, which only seems to piss you off further. 

You scoff in response. If you weren’t waiting on Sydney’s drink, you’d be long gone by now, but as you watch the bartender burn a sugar cube, you wonder how damn long it takes for a fucking mezcal drink to be made. 

Maybe if I’ll just ignore him, he’ll fuck off, you think to yourself.

“You know, I was surprised to hear you moved to Chicago. Left without saying goodbye. Then again, should’ve known…” he provokes, continuing his very one sided conversation. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Nate?” you snap, turning your head to him, instantly regretting giving him the attention he’s so desperately seeking.

He raises an eyebrow, before nodding towards Carmy as a reply. Your gaze follows, and you can tell that Carmy’s noticed who you’re talking to at the bar. 

“It’s a small world. Word gets around. People talk.”

But you’re not listening to him, your eyes fixed on Carmy. Carmy sends a look of concern your way, but you nod back to him as if to say ‘all good.’ You can hold your own here. Nate watches carefully, noticing the look you share with Carmy across the room. He was always a detail oriented son of a bitch. 

“Classic golden boy,” Nate sighs, the envy in his voice giving him away. 

“Don’t you think your little one sided rivalry with Carmy is getting a little old?” you laugh dryly. 

“One sided?” Nate asks back, taking a step towards you. 

“Yeah, one sided,” you repeat, standing your ground. Now way in hell you’re going to let this asshole back you up. “Because if I recall correctly, he never indulged you in your silly little games.”

Nate laughs again, taking another step towards you that makes you increasingly more uncomfortable. 

“If that’s how you remember it.”

“Oh grow up.”

“Not when golden boy gets everything I want.”

“You’re so full of shit!” you exclaim, finally taking a step back. “Carmy’s had to work for everything he’s achieved. You and I both know that.”

“How do you think he’d feel,” Nate starts, and you’re not sure if he’s trying to sound seductive or intimidating – neither of which are working on you. “... if he knew about what happened between us? After he left New york? It was… what? A week, maybe two, before you jumped into bed with me?”

“Carmy knows I’m not a thing to be had, Nate,” you seethe, glaring at him. 

The bartender returns with your second drink finally. 

“You sure about that?” Nate smirks, reaching out to touch you. 

What a fucking asshole. 

“You’re disgusting,” you seethe, jerking your arm away from him. You take both of your drinks, and you can’t get out of there fast enough. 

“It was great catching up,” he calls after you, cockily. 

“Can’t say the same,” you say, not even turning to look back at him. 

You return to your group, holding in your fury. It’s Sydney’s big night and you’d much rather focus on that than the asshole of an old coworker you can’t fucking stand. You try to shake off the interaction, deciding it’s not even worth expending energy on. 

“What the hell was that all about?” Sydney asks, having witnessed your tenuous interaction with the man you called Nate. She thanks you as you hand her her new drink. 

“Absolute trashcan of a human. We used to work with him. In New York,” you said, letting out a puff of flustered air. 

“Okay but… that was weird right?” Sydney questions, seeing that this guy’s clearly gotten under your skin.

“Totally. He’s a piece of shit. He and Carmy always had this weird rivalry but it was mostly on his end. I… also may or may not have made the dumbest mistake ever once upon a time and slept with him… like… over a year ago,” you confess, feeling just a little bit guilty about it. 

“Noooo,” she replies, her eyes widening. “You slept with that guy?”

“Yeah,” you answer, regretfully. “Not one of my finest moments. Long story short: right after Carmy left New York to come back here, I got a little too drunk with some coworkers. I was really sad and it was stupid, and uh, he was… let’s just say more than happy to play the part of a good listener.”

“Can’t imagine that guy being good, or a listener, let alone both at once,” Sydney replies, seeing the negative effect he’s had on you in one conversation.

“Yeah, It was a stupid fucking mistake and I regretted it the next morning. If you can believe it, he got even more insufferable when he realized it would never happen again,” you tell her, shaking off the bad taste in your mouth the conversation left you with. 

“Yo,” Carmy says, hesitantly. He can tell that you’re pissed after your conversation at the bar. “Everything good?”

“Yeah,” you answer, honestly. “Just Nate Walker being a fuckin’ asshole. But what’s new?”

“Hey Syd! Let’s go grab a bite,” Marcus calls to her. 

“You guys mind?” she asks, looking from you to Carmy. 

You shake your heads ‘no’, and honestly, you’re glad it gives you a little time alone with your boyfriend. You watch as Sydney leaves with Marcus to make the rounds, leaving you and Carmy alone. 

“Haven’t heard that name in a while,” Carmy starts, bringing Nate up again. He can feel his face beginning to heat up as he asks you about it. 

“Yeah.”

“Biggest jackoff in New York City.”

“Well, apparently he’s LA’s problem now.”

“Fucko,” Carmy says, shaking his head at the memory of his pain in the ass sous. He can’t figure out why seeing Nate talk to you near-sent him into a blind rage, but you’d reassured him that you were good so, he let you hold your own. 

“Seems like he had a lot to say to you.”

“Yeah, lucky me,” you reply dryly. 

“After that I think I need a shower. Or a bath of bleach.”

Carmy lets out a small laugh, releasing some of the tension he, unknowingly, was holding in his body. 

“Listen, I don’t want to talk about Nate,” you say, changing the subject. 

It’s not that you feel weird about it – that you’d feel weird telling Carmy about what happened between the two of you – but it just feels so small and insignificant in the face of the love that you have with Carmy. 

“Good, me either,” Carmy exhales. 

Another release in pressure. 

He wonders if he’d been this tense all night, or if seeing you with Nate had managed to piss him off this much. 

“You wanna dance?” you ask him, a mischievous smile on his face. You offer a hand out to him. 

“Baby, you know I don’t dance,” he states, matter of factly. 

“I know. But I do,” you say, with a wiggle of your eyebrows. 

“One dance,” he warns, earning a triumphant smile from you.

He takes your hand, prompting you to put your drink down on the table where you’re all posted up at. Carmy shakes his head, surprised that you’ve coaxed him this far out of his comfort zone. As he pulls you into his arms, you giggle, wrapping yours around his neck and sway to the loud music in the background. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” he asks you with such genuine love in those beautiful blue eyes of his. 

He thinks you look like a goddess – could be the dress, but he’s pretty sure it’s you. Your hair is shorter now than it was a few months ago and lays in the softest, most gentle waves, parted perfectly down the middle. He hasn’t stopped staring at cherry red-painted lips all night, and every time he gets a peek of your legs through the high slit in the dress you’re wearing, he swears he short circuits. 

Not to mention the low neckline. He’d watched you tie the top of the dress into a plunging neckline, and had to hold back his ask for you to cover up. It’s not that he cared about what you wore. But if he hadn’t been going to therapy over the last few months, he might feel some kind of way about anyone else getting to see any part of your breasts – anyone but him. 

“A couple of times… but I won’t be mad about hearing it a few more, Bear,” you grin, leaning into him. 

He smiles at your use of his childhood nickname. Back in New York, he’d kept it from you. It was just a reminder of what he’d left behind: his psycho mom, a nightmare of pain from his psycho-fucked-up family, how much it hurt when Mikey cut him out. But now, he loves the way it sounds coming from your lips, your voice the sweetest thing he’s ever heard. While he knows it’s taken him a long time to let you in, he’s glad he has. Whether it be at the restaurant or at the home you share together, you’ve become one of the most consistent things in his life. 

The rest of the night is almost perfect. It’s filled with dancing, catching up with coworkers and friends in the culinary world, and most importantly, a celebration with your chosen family. That is, until you hear Sydney swear halfway across the room, catching the attention of you and Carmy both. 

Carmy’s looking past you to where Nate is towering over Sydney at the bar. If looks could kill, he’s pretty sure Nate would be dead by now. 

“Is that Nate again?” Carmy asks, his face pink as he feels a rush of blood flow throw him. 

You can see that Sydney is practically in the same place you were an hour ago. You watch as he steps in front of her, practically blocking her in between him and the bar. 

“I don’t like this. We should go over there,” you say with a sense of urgency. 

Carmy agrees, and Richie and Marcus, who you’re currently conversing with, follow close behind. 

“Okay. You need,” Sydney warns, her voice deliberate, like a rattlesnake giving one last warning before it strikes. “... to back… the fuck up.” 

His response is even worse, causing a fire to burn in your belly as you overhear what he says to Sydney. 

“Oh come on,” he coos, forcing himself closer to her. “I’m just trying to have a little fun.”

Sydney takes another step to the side, trying her best to escape him and holding her hands up as a barrier while you charge at him. Your sudden movement attracts his attention, giving Sydney the out that she needs. You put both of your hands on his chest, shoving him away from her as you shout. 

“She said ‘no.’ What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Nate’s got such a smug, satisfied smirk on his face that, if you weren’t in a room filled with the best chefs in the world, you’d actually punch it right off of him. Carmy follows you, protectively standing behind you. 

“Jealous?” he asks, amused. His eyes flicker over to Carmy, whose face is beginning to heat up, turning a brighter shade of red by the moment.  

“In your dreams, asshat,” you spit back. 

“Yeah, you’re right about that,” he says, completely satisfied as Carmy’s fist clenches. He’s clearly enjoying just how much he’s getting under his old boss’ skin. 

You feel Carmy step towards him, but you turn to him, placing a hand on his abdomen to stop him, “Bear, it’s not worth it.”

“Did you tell him?” Nate asks you, with the intention of stirring the pot. 

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, shaking your head in absolute disbelief. 

“Tell me what?” Carmy asks you softly. 

“How does it feel, golden boy? To know that the one thing you always wanted… I got to first,” Nate sneers, a threatening sound in his voice. He looks from you to Carmy, assessing the damage. 

Before Carmy can say anything, it’s you who lurches towards NAte, and Carmy’s wrapping his arms around you to hold you back. You can feel the tension in his arms as he holds you against his chest protectively. 

“Okay this motherfucker is just asking for it,” Richie seethes, charging towards Nate. 

“Richie, don’t!” Sydney shouts, shooting him a ‘please don’t make a scene’ look. 

It takes all of Richie’s self control to stop himself. He nods to her, holding up his hands as a surrender. He begins to take a few steps back as your uncomfortably public standoff continues. 

Sydney has retreated back so that she stands side by side with Marcus, while Carmy’s loosened his grip on your waist. 

By the look on Nate’s face, you can tell he thinks he’s gotten away with it all, as he looks around at all of you one last time. 

“You all have a goodnight,” he smirks, before taking his drink and slithering away. 

You could care less where to. You’re just glad he’s gone. 

You watch as he goes before checking in with Sydney, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, shaking her head. Marcus is by her side in an instant and you can see Carmy’s jaw twitching with anger. “Can’t believe you used to work with that guy. Fuck that guy.”

“Yeah, fuck that guy,” Richie agrees under his breath. 

“C’mon. Let’s just…” Marcus encourages quietly, nodding to your table. 

Richie, Marcus, and Sydney all make their way back to your group as you stay with Carmy. His face is red and you can see it on his face that he’s still processing what just happened – what Nate said. You can see the gears turning in his head, and he’s staring at the floor, his face still cherry tomato-red.

“Carmy,” you say, ripping him from his thoughts. 

He looks up at you, his face softening the minute you make eye contact. 

“Can we go somewhere? Talk?” he asks, trying not to look like he’s going to burn the fuckin’ place down. 

You agree with a nod, taking his hand and leading him elsewhere. 

The further away from the reception you go, the quieter the party gets, and the louder your thoughts get. Would he be mad? You were furious with Nate for trying to use what happened to get under Carmy’s skin, but you also wonder if he’s mad at you too. For sleeping with Nate? For not telling him? But was it something you were supposed to tell him? It’s not like you expected him to tell you about every person he’d ever slept with. 

Carmy finally stops, leading you into a quieter room, far away from the party. As you flick the lights on, it looks like a single dressing room for the plays performed here. The silence between the two of you is deafening, and it’s not just because it’s the first quiet moment you’ve had together since you arrived. 

“I’m not mad… about Nate… about what he said,” Carmy says, breaking the silence between the two of you. 

He’s trying his best to sound convincing, reassuring even, but he’s sure he’s doing a shit job. 

You’re surprised, so you just take him in, searching his face for any clue that he’s telling that truth. His face is red, and you can see a tightness running across his chest as he’s looking for the courage to ask:

“But why didn’t you tell me?” 

You sigh, unsure of what to say. 

“Because…” you begin, hoping that if you just start talking, you’ll find the right words to explain. “I-, I didn’t think I had to. It happened once and it was a stupid mistake with… a lot of tequila involved.”

“You had just left New York and I was lonely. I didn’t say anything because… it didn’t mean anything to me, Bear.”

He listens, taking your explanation in, his eyes fixed on the floor again. He’s not mad at you, but he can’t seem to shake this feeling of anger – this tension that has him wanting to punch a hole through the wall. 

“I don’t like what he fuckin’ said to you,” he finally blurts out. 

“That- that he thinks he can just say whatever the fuck he wants. That he forced himself on Syd like that, like he can-.”

Carmy looks down at the floor again, his words trailing off. 

He’s pissed. 

You can tell he’s pissed. 

But you have a nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach that says something else is going on. 

Is Carmy… jealous?

“Carmy, I’m sorry you had to find out like this,” you apologize softly. “He shouldn’t have-, I mean he really is the worst fucking person to ever walk-.”

“I’m not upset about-,” he interrupts, firmly. He holds your gaze, trying to give you the most reassuring look he can. “I don’t care about-. I just… I don’t like the way he talked to you.”

You wait as he stews on his thoughts, his anger simmering as he sorts through his feelings. It’s like watching a hot pot of water come to a boil. 

“I didn’t like seeing him touch you earlier like-.”

Let it rip.

“Like he can just put his hands on anyone he-. On you! I–.”

And then finally he explodes with, “I just fuckin’ hate that guy!”

It’s as if the pressure valve has been released as he lets out a big puff of air. While you can see it’s given him some relief, you’re still not sure what you’re supposed to offer at this moment. 

“Carmy, what can I- hmmph?” you begin to ask, before being cut off by his lips on yours. 

Well this isn’t what you were expecting.

Your head is spinning as your boyfriend kisses you with such passion, fervor, and urgency. He’s crashing his lips against yours at a desperate pace, and it’s all tongues and teeth and his hands are grabbing the back of your head, tangling into your hair. You’re not sure how you’ve gone from trying your best to hold space for your boyfriend’s feelings, to him pressing you up against the dressing room counter.

You gasp as he hoists you up onto the counter, pushing his body into yours. 

“Carmy, are you-?” you ask, feeling the tent that’s already formed in his pants as you wrap your legs around him. 

There’s a confident assertiveness he moves with, and as much as you hate to admit it, this is all turning you on.

“Hate that fuckin’ guy,” Carmy murmurs into your skin, as he begins to leave kisses down your jawline. 

His mouth moves urgently down your neck, to your shoulders, to the exposed skin the plunging neckline of your dress reveals. His teeth leave light pink and purple marks in their wake, and you’re gasping, moaning, grabbing at any part of him you can hold on to. Little love bites begin to appear, but when he’s making you feel this good, you could care less. 

He’s confident in the way he sucks little marks into your skin, biting down then immediately soothing the pain with his tongue. As he works his mouth over you, he looks up at you, his eyes wide, pupils blown out in pure desire, and it takes your fucking breath away. 

Pain and pleasure.

Just to show the whole world that you’re his. 

 “Thinks he can fuckin’ look at you. Put his fuckin’ hands on you,” he mumbles against your skin. His mouth has reached the lowest point of your plunging neckline as he stands up, pushing himself against you between your legs. 

“Baby,” you breathe out. You make a mental note to unpack why his sudden possessiveness has you so hot and bothered with your therapist next week. 

“I really, really don’t want to talk about him right now.”

Carmy drops to his knees, stripping off his suit jacket and throwing it elsewhere. The sight has you absolutely drenched and you think you may cum just from looking at him. 

“You’re mine,” is all he says, eliciting another moan from you as he sinks his teeth into the soft supple skin of your calf. You slide a heel-covered foot over his shoulder, as his lips begin trail up your calf, to your knee, to your inner thighs…

“Yes. I’m yours,” you breathe out, exasperated by Carmy’s sudden forwardness. You lean back, your head hitting the mirror with a thud. “All yours.”

He works his way up your thighs, leaving soft kisses on your inner thighs while his hands disappear underneath the skirt of your dress, frantically searching for your panties. 

“Carmy, I don’t know if we have time for-,” you gasp, as he pulls away for a moment. 

His curls are unruly from running your fingers through them, his lips swollen from the passionate makeout you started only moments ago. You feel his fingers hook underneath the top of your panties and he looks at you like he can see right through you. Holding your gaze, it’s impossible to not get lost into his ocean blue eyes you’ve fallen so deeply in love with. He takes his sweet time, teasing you, refusing to break eye contact, as he pulls your panties down your legs at an unbearable slow pace. 

You don’t look away. 

You don’t dare look away. 

Finally, finally, he breaks eye contact, sliding your panties over your feet, and putting them into his pocket as you brace yourself for what comes next. 

“We should-,” you start, your words ceasing instantly as he spreads your legs, licking a stripe up your dripping wet core. You cry out loudly, panicking almost instantly, because you don’t remember locking the damn door. 

We should stop. 

Do this elsewhere. 

Lock the door. 

Keep quiet. 

But you can’t seem to get the words out, as you let out another loud moan, and Carmy doesn’t have the heart to stop you. Something primal inside of him wants nothing more than for the whole party mere hallways away to hear you crying out his name. 

“Fuck, baby,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue through your folds. “Already so wet for me and I’ve barely even put my mouth on you.”

He wonders if there’s an award for this. 

Lifetime Loser Award.

2023’s Most Jealous Boyfriend

Chef Most Likely to Fuck His Girlfriend During the James Beard Reception Because He’s a Sad, Jealous Fuck.

“Carmy, please,” you beg, scooting your hips off the counter and pulling him up from the ground. Your demand rips him from his own self deprecating thoughts. 

“I need you inside of me. Now.” 

You need him.

“Turn around,” is all he says. 

He’s not sure where he gets the confidence for such a demand and it has you clenching around nothing. 

You’re more than happy to oblige as you whisper out a ‘yes,’ and turn yourself around to face the mirror. You can hear the sound of him unzipping his pants, then he’s hiking up the skirt of your dress once more. He puts his hands on your hips to steady you – maybe even to steady himself – and you can feel the head of his cock running through your folds. 

Just when you think you may die if you don’t get what you want, you let out the loudest cry you think has ever come out of your mouth as he pushes inside of you. You gasp, your fingers gripping the edge of the counter as you feel him shudder against your back. Your head hangs low, just focusing on memorizing how every single inch of him feels inside of you.

Carmy’s thrusts are slow at first, deep and deliberate thrusts burying himself all the way to the hilt. The sight of his cock disappearing inside of you is really testing his patience here as he thinks he may go insane. 

Back out. 

Then back in. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet. So fuckin’ perfect for me. God, I love being inside of you,” he groans, enjoying his last few slow and deep thrusts. 

He’s got one hand on your hips and the other, wrapped around your waist. As he begins to speed up the pace of his thrusts, the hand around your waist goes to the counter too, to brace himself. 

“Carmen,” you moan his name, as he starts to go faster. “Yes. Perfect for you. Only you.”

Only you. 

Your words cause him to smirk, and the sounds you’re making only encourage him to keep fucking into you like he means it. 

“Look at yourself, baby,” he says, his words causing you to squeeze around him. He groans, his eyes rolling back, before he returns his gaze to the mirror. 

When you lock eyes, it’s like you’ve been set on fire. Your skin feels hot, and the prolonged eye contact has you squeezing around him as you start to grind against him. You feel lightheaded, breathless, purely at his mercy. 

Carmy holds your gaze through the mirror and you want to commit this photo to memory. You watch your reflections in the mirror, seeing your face change as he speeds up again. His hands are everywhere: in your hair, grabbing you breasts, tracing over the little marks he’s left all over your chest.

 “This how I make you feel? Tell me. Tell me how good I make you feel,” he asks, and you think this is the most vocal he’s been during sex.

“So good, Car,” you’re panting. He grabs a handful of your hair, guiding your head to the side so that he can kiss you. You manage to continue your praise in between wet, sloppy, and desperate kisses, and desperate thrusts between the both of you.

“So fuckin’ good. So high. Like I’ll never come back down.”

He’s satisfied with your answer, feeling more and more confident with each thrust. You can tell he likes it, so you decided, why the hell not?

“You feel incredible inside of me, baby,” you continue, wanting nothing more than to appease him. 

He’s swallowing your moans in his mouth, as he continues to fuck you, your pushing your ass back against him, your hands bracing against the mirror. You see stars as he hits that spot inside of you – the one that makes you let out a sob – and he’s bending you over the counter so that he can find that spot again and again. Carmy presses his forehead against your shoulder as his hands move underneath your skirt once again, rubbing fierce circles around your clit, trying to take you there with him. He knows he won’t last long when you’re moaning his name like that. He looks up for a moment, enjoying the reflection in the mirror a little too much, before sinking his teeth into your shoulder, feeling himself get closer… closer…

You can feel he’s close too, so you say something, something you know will bring him over the edge. 

“Want you to cum inside of me.”

“That what you want? Want me to fill you up? Have me dripping down your legs when any other fucko tries to talk to you tonight. Tries to even fuckin’ look at you…” he asks, his breath ragged and sentences becoming increasingly choppy. 

He's leaving little kisses and bite marks all over your upper back as he continues to fuck you.

“Yes,” you pant, moaning his full name once again. 

“Fffffffuck, baby. That’s so hot,” he stutters, his thrusts becoming more erratic. He grabs a handful of your ass, chasing his high with you. 

You’re squeezing your eyes shut so hard you see stars when he finds that spot again, and you remember that he wanted you to watch. You blink open your eyes, breathless as you take in the image of your boyfriend fucking you from behind. He’s got his forehead resting on your shoulder. You feel the delicious contradiction of pain and pleasure once again, as he sinks his teeth into the soft skin of your shoulder, in the same place from before.

So close. And you're already so tender.

“Carmen. Yes. Right there. Please, baby. Fuck. Don’t stop,” you’re crying out as you as your walls clamp down around him. It’s like an explosion erupts inside of you and you feel that you perhaps are on another fuckin’ plane of existence from the way he makes you feel. 

Your eyes close again as he fucks you through your orgasm, taking you higher and higher. The way your walls are squeezing around him have him on edge and he gives you one, two, and then a third thrust before painting your walls with his release too.

He stops, resting his head on your back again, still buried all the way inside of you.

Both of your heavy pants fill the room, before you interrupt the status quo with a laugh. 

“Holy shit, babe,” you finally say, exasperated and completely fucked out.

He pulls out of you, and you have to put a hand down on the counter he just bent you over, for balance as you stand up straight. You can hear Carmen pulling his pants back up and you’re adjusting your dress as you turn to look at him. His eyes are fixed on the button of his trouser pants, as you grab his face for another long, lust-filled kiss. 

“What do you say… to getting out of here? Maybe continuing this at home?” you propose, your voice hoarse from what you’ve just done. Your forehead is still pressed to his and you want nothing more for him to say ‘yes.’ 

“Fuck yes. Please,” he practically groans, wondering how it’s possible for him to be hard again already. 

“I’ll order a car,” you agree, reaching for where you left your phone on the dressing room counter. 

“Surge rates, babe” he sighs, the disappointment evident in his voice as he issues the little reminder.

You shoot him a look that says ‘you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?’

“I will pay all the surge rates in the world, if I get to have you again, as soon as possible,” you state, and he’s not sure he’s going to be able to wait till you get home.

You glance back down to your phone, your fingers moving quickly through the right buttons to get a car on the way. As soon as you see the confirmation, your swiping out of the app, and over to an unread message:

Sydney: So that was weird. Where did you guys go?

You: Out for some air. Sorry, we’ll be right back in. 

Sydney: Angel wants pizza and a few of us are gonna go. Wanna come with?

You: Think we’re gonna head home. Breakfast tomorrow? My treat. 

Sydney: 100%

You: Congratulations again, friend. Love you. 

“What’s going on?” Carmy asks, as he sees you fiercely texting away. 

“Nothin’,” you answer, seeing the Uber notification popping up on your phone. “Just telling everyone we’re gonna head home.”

You turn your back to the mirror to examine the damage, immediately spotting Carmy’s bite mark on your shoulder. 

“Carmen,” you sigh, fingertips running over the huge bite mark on your shoulder – the one he left when he made while cumming inside of you.

Carmy takes a look, a small smirk on his lips as he sees what you’re referring to. He has to admit that he’s almost… proud of himself as he leans over, leaving a soft kiss against one of the rapidly forming purple bite marks left on the back of your shoulder. 

As much as he’d like to show the entire culinary world that you’re his, he removes the suit jacket he just put back on, and hands it to you. 

“Here. You can wear this.”

You giggle, taking it and appreciating Carmen’s act of chivalry. 

“As much as I’d love to do a walk of shame through a room full of the world’s best chefs… think I’ll keep this one between me and the one that just fucked me,” you joke playfully, as you kiss him as a ‘thank you.’

You check your reflection in the mirror as you drape the coat strategically over your shoulders, making sure you both look somewhat presentable enough to flee the scene with dignity. 

“Carm?” you ask. 

“Before we leave. I just-, I want you to-,” you stammer, uncertain if you’re doing the right thing by telling him. You’d hate to play into Nate’s little game – even if you both won after what just happened. 

“Hmm?”

“Just… you know… for the sake of factual accuracy and not that we’re playing Nate’s game at all but... you and I hooked up first. Nate just doesn’t know that.”

He nods in response, trying not to make it seem like a big deal. 

But it certainly makes him feel better.

“Well, if we’re being factually accurate…” he offers up in response. “I know you always thought our whole rivalry thing was one sided… but it wasn’t.”

“No?”

“Rode that guy as hard as I could, every chance I got,” he confesses, in reference to your old, very toxic work environment. 

“Because he deserved it?” 

“Because I hated how much he flirted with you.”

You shake your head with a small smile. Your phone is buzzing in your hand, letting you know that your Uber has arrived. 

“Let’s get the fuck out of here, Bear.”