#metal menu cover

[monster-disaster]

maybe a short story on a human reader being taken by an orc army/camp and just absolutely used as their personal toy???

When I read your request, I couldn't help but hear, "Looks like meat's back on the menu, boys!" from Lotr.

But let's be serious: I hope you will enjoy it. :)

Orcs x Reader Warnings: filth, nothing but filth

The air is thick with smoke, mingling with the musky odor of sweat and leather. The scent of blood and violence still hangs heavy, fueling the heat and tension around the tents made of rough animal hides. The crackling flames of the campfire cast dancing shadows across the rugged faces of the warriors. Feral hunger glints in their eyes as they come closer. It feels like the ground rumbles and shakes under their steps. Their muscular, battle-scarred bodies pulsate with anticipation. The sounds of their gruff voices fill your ears, making you deaf to everything else. Your gaze jumps from orc to orc. The chieftain's large hand is heavy and warm on your shoulder as he pushes you deeper into the center of the camp.

The bounds around your legs and wrists make it hard for you to move, but it doesn't stop the warriors from closing around you. Their heat and raw desire surround you, making you shake and sweat under their primal gazes. Adrenalin fuels the fire in your bloodstream and thrums through your body until you almost buckle because of the throb between your legs.

The chieftain behind you reaches for the clasps and buckles that hold your armor together. The metal piece is dirty and beaten. His calloused fingers trace the edges of your armor before letting it fall to the ground. In other circumstances, you would feel relieved without its weight. Your undershirt sticks to your chest because of the sweat that still glistens in your heated skin, revealing the curve of your breasts. Another orc steps closer, barely smaller than his leader behind you. You remember him. One of his eyes is milky-white with a long scar from his eyebrow to his nose. He rips off your shirt, dropping the useless fabric before reaching for the buckles of your pants. You can't even feel the cold night air between the orcs towering over you.

The warriors move in sync. Their hands work in unison to strip away the layers covering your body. They reveal the soft swells of your curves and the hard cords of your muscles. Your skin is decorated with old and fresh scars, injuries, and bruises. The others get louder and louder with each glimpse they get of your naked body. The clear signs that you are a warrior, a fierce opponent, fuel their desire.

Soon, you stand exposed among the orcs, ready to be ravaged by them. Your limbs are not tied together anymore, but it changes nothing. You can't make yourself to move. It would be futile anyway. You can't fight against them, and they would enjoy chasing after you too much.

The orc in front of you wastes no time. His rough hands eagerly reach out to grope and caress every inch of your body. His dark green fingers dig into the flesh of your breast, squeezing and kneading, pinching your nipple until you mewl and try to get away from him, falling into the arms of the chieftain behind you. The leader grabs your hip, making you grind down on his leather-covered erection. His unyielding grip leaves red imprints on your skin. The cold of his rings digs into the flesh of your hips.

One hand slips between your legs. Rough fingers slide over your slickness and prod at your entrance. Your stomach jumps with fear and excitement. "Look at this juicy cunt, boys! She's all wet and ready for us!" The orc in front of you announces loudly to everyone around you to hear. The camp gets even louder with feral growls and words that make your heart beat faster in your ribcage. Whatever you want to say, to tell him to stop or to go deeper, dies on your tongue. The only thing keeping you standing is the chieftain behind you, still grinding his cock against your ass while his man explores your wetness. He smears it all over your mound and inner thighs before turning his attention back to your entrance. "I knew the moment I saw her on the battlefield that she would be a good prize to fight for," he grunts, forcing each digit of his thick finger into your pussy. Your walls clench down around him, to keep him out or to force him deeper, you don't know. "You like that, don't you?" The chief grunts next to your ear. His question fans over the curve of your neck. "I can smell your pussy, girl." "We all smell her." Someone says from the circle of orcs surrounding you. Their eyes are heavy on your body as they watch you. You steal a few glances at them. A lot of them are already naked, tugging at their cocks hanging heavy between their thick thighs.

The male in front of you continues to bully your cunt with his finger, going deeper and deeper while his other hand reaches up to grip your hair. He pulls back your head, making you arch your body. "You're ours now, human," he snarles. "But do not fret. I saw you fighting, I'm sure you can handle a few orc cocks too." A rumble of laughter waves through the air, and your pussy tightens at the thought. "Oh, look at that!" He laughs, pushing another finger into your wet hole. A groan gets stuck in your throat at the feeling of your walls stretching around him. "She likes the thought." "She does," the chief grunts, pulling his own cock out of his pants to force your hand around it. Your fingers curl around his thick rod automatically. If you could focus on anything, you would be surprised at its weight on your palm. "She doesn't look like someone who backs out of a challenge." His words are followed by laughter again while you bend and turn the way they want you.

Before you know it, you are on your knees with their leader still behind you, shoving his cock into your pussy while his warrior is busy with your mouth. He taps the head of his erection against your lips, and you open without a second thought. At this point, your mind is too hazy, and your senses are full of their musky scent to do or think anything. You feel like a raw nerve under their pushes and pulls. They thrust in and out of you with a relentless rhythm while you moan and drool around their cocks. You slip in and out of your orgasms, getting more and more drunk on their relentless assault. They push your boundaries, both physically and mentally, until you are nothing but a warm body they can use as they want.

You don't even notice when they come inside you. Their warm seed seeps out of your abused holes, and you almost choke on the orc's cock when he pushes himself deeper into your throat.

The ground is dirty and hard under your weak body as you let yourself collapse. Your muscles shake and twitch while your pussy clenches around nothing. Your chest heaves with every breath you take as you try to clear your mind.

But they are not done yet.

"It's your turn, boys," one of them says, stepping away from you to give enough space for the others. "Keep those sweet holes full tonight."

The air crackles with anticipation and feral need. One by one, the orc warriors step forward, their rough hands exploring every inch of your body. Their calloused fingers trace the swell of your breasts, teasing and pinching your nipples until you cry and wiggle. Your pussy pulsates between your legs while their fingers explore your folds and both of your holes. They feast upon your bare curves, their desires ignited by the sight of your vulnerable state.

The first orc doesn't waste his time. His massive frame towers over you, keeping his body up with his trunk-like arms next to your head while taking you fiercely, his thick length plunges deep into your wet and eager pussy. His heavy balls slap against your skin. Your walls grip him tightly even though you are sensitive, and the feeling of him pounding into you makes you tear up. A thumb smears your tears all over your face before pushing into your mouth. Your tongue laps at the digit.

When the orc between your legs reaches his peak, fucking you full of his cum, another one steps forward, hungry and ready for his turn. He turns you onto your stomach easily, positioning himself behind you when you force your knees to not give up under your weight. His hands are gripping your hips as he shoves his cock into your cunt. Ecstasy trembles through your body while someone else grabs a good chunk of your hair and forces your mouth down his hard length. More tears escape from the corner of your eyes as you gulp and suck around the orc's cock.

The orcs continue to take turns, their primal instincts driving them deeper and deeper into you. You become a mess of drool and cum until there is no part on your heated, sweaty skin that they didn't touch or use. They ravage your body with a ferocity that matches the intensity of the battle they had just fought while you scream and moan underneath them.

[sashaisready]

Starting Over: Chapter 1.5 - Before

Mob!Bucky x Female Reader

Series Masterlist

When Bucky throws you out of the house for a betrayal and won't listen to your side of the story, you know the only way out is through - it's time to start over. Maybe this was never going to be your happy ending. (Standalone series - not related to any other of my stories/characters)

Hello! I know I said this would be a 2 part series but this part of chapter 2 felt like it's own section, so I've created a mini chapter to bridge the two parts and keep us fed - this is a flashback. Part 2 still to come! Thank you all for the love and engagement you've given this story, as always reblogs and comments are appreciated!

💔

Around 18 months earlier…

This was the shift from Hell.

You must’ve accidentally cursed yourself; it was the only explanation for the non-stop chaos the day had wrought. Apologies to any magical being you may have offended.

The kitchen were somehow out of both maple syrup and hash browns. Roscoe must’ve messed up the inventory order again. The customers affected by this egregious error were certainly making themselves known when you broke the news, while Roscoe sheepishly hid back at the grill. You understood their anger, what kind of diner doesn’t have hash browns or maple syrup?! Sure, you shared their pain – but throwing a spoon at your head seemed unnecessary.

The soda machine had leaked all over your arm an hour into your shift and you couldn’t shake the sticky, goopy feeling no matter how many times you had washed your hands. Your shoe broke, the sole flapping against the floor with every step. A table who had spent their entire two hours there demanding an array of elaborate substitutions and ‘softer napkins’ stiffed you on the tip, despite you bending over backwards to help them out. You found yourself counting the minutes until you could clock out, go back to your shoebox apartment, and bury yourself in bed. Not long to go.

“Hon’, sorry…” Lou called out to you, in that tone he always used when he was breaking bad news, “I know you’re swamped – but can you take care of the gentleman in the corner booth? Marcy just went on break and I gotta cover her other tables and whip that jack-off in the kitchen into shape…”

You sighed wearily, you were due to clock off soon and were closing out your section. But you took a deep breath and nodded over at him, “alright, Lou, but only cos it’s you…”

“Thank-you Hon’,” he beamed at you gratefully, disappearing into the kitchen to go yell at Roscoe.

You wandered over to the corner booth Lou had pointed to, swallowing your frustration and fatigue. There was a man sitting by himself, his face obscured by the menu he held up to read. His fingers curled over the sides of the paper, littered with gold rings and scars. One of his hands seemed to be…metal? A strange glove, perhaps? You could see from the sleeves alone that the dark suit he wore was expensive. Not to mention what appeared to be diamond encrusted cufflinks…

Huh. You at least hoped you’d get a good tip out of him.

“Good afternoon, Sir, I’ll be taking care of you today,” you said sunnily as you pulled your notepad and pen from your apron. “What can I get you started with? Some coffee maybe?”

The man didn’t move. The menu remained upright. He was so still it wasn’t almost eerie. You briefly had a crazy thought that he may have died and nobody had noticed, then dismissing your silliness as quickly as it arrived. Besides, dealing with a corpse in the diner was the last thing you needed today.

A few beats passed, but he still didn’t respond. You cleared your throat and tapped your foot to alert him to your presence. Still nothing. You frowned, maybe he didn’t hear you. Maybe he had airbuds in or something.

“Sir…? Would you like to order?” you asked again, your tone a little more strained this time.

Silence. But you saw one of his fingers twitch so you knew he was still alive, at least.

You were used to rude customers, the ones who were outright hostile towards you, and the ones who treated you as if you weren’t there. This was nothing new. But the stress of your shift with the combined fuckery of everything that had gone wrong meant you were hanging on by a thread. Your usual hardiness and thick skin were weakened, and your customer service mask slipped.

“Look buddy…it’s incredibly rude to just ignore your waitress you know…” you snarkily told the hovering menu, “are you gonna order or what?”

You realised what you’d said too late, clapping your hand over your mouth as an amused chuckle came from behind the menu shield. Just as you went to apologise, the paper dropped to the table, revealing the mystery man behind it.

You blinked, a little stunned at the sight of him.

His chestnut brown hair was slicked back into a perfect bun, complimenting the light dusting of stubble on his cut-glass jawline. Pouty pink lips curled into a smirk as his large, bulky frame manoeuvred in the booth to get a better look at you. But you were most struck by his eyes, so blue and piercing that you could drown in them. Better women than you probably had.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I-” you flustered.

“Don’t be,” replied the man commandingly, his voice low but soft, “you were right. That was rude of me, I’m very sorry. I was lost in my own world there for a moment. I hope you can accept my apology”.

You gawped at him, surprised at his reaction. You felt your face flush with embarrassment. “Uh…yeah. Sure. Sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped at you; it’s just been a long day…” you admitted sheepishly.

He nodded and studied you carefully, his gaze sweeping you from tip to toe. It felt exposing to be looked at like that, but you couldn’t deny the hint of a thrill it gave you too.

“Well, I’m sorry to have added to it,” he smiled at you.

And what a smile. A knee-weakening smile. All white teeth and warmth. And maybe something…darker?

“My name is Bucky. Bucky Barnes…” he extended a hand towards you to shake, his smile dangerous yet enticing, “Doll, I’d love to hear yours…”

💔

[heartfullofleeches]

What if darling orders from a different restaurant and brie coincidentally arrives right when the actual delivery person does? I feel like he'd be jealous af

Yan "Pizza Boy" + Reader

-

Who is that-

Arriving at your street, tires screech to a hault as your home rolls into view. The driver takes a second look. Then a third - knuckles white as fingers clench around the steering wheel.

A car he's never seen before sits in the little parking spot outside your house. His parking spot. Some old, beat up hatchback painted the ugliest shade of blue he'd ever seen - tape covering its left tail light and bumper held on by zip ties. By now, the delivery boy has made enough visits to your home to recognize cars of your friends and loved ones. Who is this? The flickering sign atop the rusting hunk of metal lifted some of the weight from his shoulders - only to crush him with a new fear as the other driver casual steps out of his vehicle, carrying bag strapped to his shoulder.

"Oh, hell no-"

Brie curses under his breath - pulling into your neighbor's driveway with one hand on the wheel as he reaches into the passenger seat with the other. He quickly gathers his things, kicking the driver's side door open as he goes to exit - hissing in frustration as his seat belt digs into the flesh of his neck. He unbuckles himself, shutting the door behind him with the heel of his sneaker as he races across your neighbor's yard. He slows down to carefully step over their hedges right as the other delivery person reaches your porch. Brie curses again-

"Oh my God! There's someone hiding in the back of that blue car with the dirty windows!"

The delivery person runs off back to their car. With little time to celebrate his victory, Brie marches up to your front door and rings the doorbell. You looked surprised - yet oddly happy to see him. His heart flutters.

"You?"

Brie beans from ear to ear "Yup! It's me! Got another pizza for you here. Same as the last."

"Thank you, but I already ordered from someplace else. Couldn't find anywhere nearby with alfredo sauce pizza so I had to settle for the usual."

You were looking for him?.... The place he works for that is. Brie shoves the box against your chest, biting down the scream ready to escape. "Don't worry, this one's on the house too. We're still experimenting with the recipe so it isn't available on our menu yet. I'm sure my boss will be happy to hear you enjoyed it."

"Well... Since it's free I guess it wouldn't hurt to take it off your hands. Won't have to order out for a week at this rate. Do you have a number I can reach you at?"

Multiple issues could arise from giving you his personal number - Brie was too excited to dwell on future problems when he had your attention now.

"Sure! Do you have a pen and paper?"

In the time it takes you to retrieve said items the other delivery person returns. He looks at Brie, a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he inspects his face.

"Hey... Aren't you-"

"Their boyfriend attacked a guy once."

The delivery driver looks taken aback. "What did you say?"

"I had a friend who worked at this one other pizza place. He had a black eye the last time we met. Said the person with the exact address had a scary looking boyfriend who thought he was flirting with them. He moved last we and I think I know why."

Brie's smile widen as the wobble in the other man's voice. "Hey, man... It's not cool to joke like that. If you're trying to scare me off you'll have to try harder than that."

"If that's what you want-"

Brie drops the conversation there. No point in wasting any more of his precious time - not with you standing there, pen and a small notepad in hand.

"Thank you~" Brie scribbles down his number, tearing off a page of paper beneath the one he wrote on as he hands the notepad back to you - pen still in his possession. With other matters to attend to, asking for it back was the last thing on your mind as you then turn to properly greet the other driver. Brie turns on his heels and makes his way down your driveway, checking over his shoulder as he drops the pen off the sidewalk - watching it roll by the rear bumper of the car.

"Whoops- Looks l dropped my pen."

Brie crotches down to grab the pen, eyes scanning the dented license plate as his fingers graze the pen. He picks it up, jotting down the license plate on the scrap of paper as he stands and walks off in the direction of his car.

One light broken is bad enough. He wonders how that other driver's boss would feel with all four smashed.

[jobean12-blog]

The Best First Date

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 638

Summary: You're on your first official first date with Bucky and he has you flustered in the best way.

Author's Note: This is just a little somethin' because I've missed writing this past week with all the Holiday insanity. Also. I LOVE HANDS and hand holding and smiles. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff

Bucky reaches down and grabs your hand, pulling you forward. It isn’t a simple grab. One where he wraps his fingers around yours and simply tugs. Instead, he intertwines your fingers with his and smiles back at you.

His eyes crinkle at the corners and the bright blue color sparkles.

Your heart beats wildly against your chest.

When you reach the table and he takes his hand from yours to pull out your chair, it literally makes you ache.

You scoot your chair in and wait until he sits then your eyes drop down to his hand…the one that just held yours.

“What doll?” he asks.

His question pulls you from your trance and you meet his eyes. His head is tilted to the side and he stares intently.

“What?” you ask in return, feigning ignorance.

He leans back and folds his arms across his broad chest. His biceps bulge under the restricting material of his Henley and you can’t help but stare back.

“I was just wondering what you were thinkin.’ You were looking at my hands like you wanted to cut them off.”

His metal fingers twitch along his flexing bicep muscle and you lick your lips.

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks but you keep your chin up.

“I was just thinking…” you reply.

“That’s what I said,” he teases. “But I wanna know what you were thinkin’ about.”

“I didn’t realize you were this nosy.”

He smiles again. “Well when it comes to the safety of my limbs…” and he wiggles his metal fingers at you playfully, “yeah. I am.”

You giggle, pressing your hands against your thighs to stop yourself from reaching across the table and for his hand again…right or left.

“Well, I definitely wasn’t thinking I wanted to cut off any body parts…if that makes you feel any better.”

He continues to study you. “Tell me doll face.”

“Someone is pushy,” you fire back before picking up the menu and holding it in front of your face.

His long and thick fingers slide over the top of the menu and he pulls it down.

You sigh dramatically.

His eyes narrow and he leans forward, dancing his fingers closer.

“Should I not have held your hand doll? Did it bother you?”

“It definitely didn’t bother me,” you answer far too quickly.

You pull your gaze away and pick up the menu again.

You can still feel his fingers laced with yours, the rough skin of his palm and fingertips pressed against yours. The tingle that started in your hand has now covered every inch of you and your entire body trembles.

“Fine then. Don’t tell.”

He shoots you a smile that’s on the verge of seductive. Maybe even a little smug.

You catch yourself staring at his lips for a second too long and his smile widens.

“Don’t smile at me like that,” you huff.

“So no smiling and no holding hands?” he asks with raised brows. “That doesn’t sound like a very good first date.”

You purse your lips and take a deep breath.

“I like it way too much when you hold my hand and smile at me,” you say quietly but with a frustrated tone.

Your eyes drop back to the menu and you scream internally, his silence making you want to slide under the table and disappear.

The scrape of his chair along the floor makes your gaze fly up as you see him moving around the table until he’s closer to you.

His hand reaches out for yours and he entangles your fingers with his, softly brushing his thumb across your knuckles.

He smiles.

Your heart stops.

“I’d sit right next to ya doll but then I wouldn’t be able to see your face so well and you’re way too gorgeous not to look at.”  

@randomfandompenguin @hiddles-rose @goldylions @kmc1989 @blackwidownat2814 @buckysdollforlife @lizette50

[bunny-jpeg]

hello bunny! i love your bimbo reader so much for the bakery could i request bimbo reader with s’more with a side of chocolate milk and champagne served by any of the cod men 💗

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order! then got to the menu to see what we're serving up at the bunny bakery! we're happy to take your order! as for this order, the sugar daddy au plus such tenderness. AND the free choice of which call of duty man! be still my heart! while i would've loved to do price, i have so many price prompts (always feel free to send more!), i thought our lovely ghost would fit the bill too. <3

s'more ("The accent gets to you, doesn't it?") + chocolate milk (tenderness) + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by simon "ghost" riley (call of duty)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, sugar daddy!simon, gentle sex, size kink (duh), mask kink (duh), bimbo!reader (but sweet!), daddy kink (duh), fingering

you covered your face with your hands and kicked out your feet when you got the notification from amazon that an order had been placed. it was a large hello kitty plush that you had your eyes on for a few weeks now.

simon had ordered it from you after he texted you that he was coming home from deployment. you curled up in bed, excitement fueled you due to thoughts of your beloved daddy and your new plush to your collection!

when you stirred from your sleep, you almost jumped out of your skin. there stood your hulking mass of a sugar daddy, with the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up and that scary mask still on his face.

you almost burst into tears, but he made quick work to get to you. he shushed you as you shivered from the fear that crossed you. you held onto his shirt and whined, "you scared me, daddy!!!"

"i'm sorry, love." he said in his soft rumble of a voice, "didn't mean to scare, ya." he kissed the top of your head, those strong arms were like a security blanket around you. you rubbed up against him, your nose in his neck as you inhaled the scent of metal and body wash. he sighed contently, "done cryin'?"

you nodded, "yes daddy." then pulled away and wiped your tears, "i thought someone got through all the security and it was scary." you pouted at him.

he chuckled and rubbed your back, "no one can get through that, that isn't me or you. you're safe, love." he kissed the top of your head through his mask and felt a comfort swirl in his gut.

he was home.

but even in the safety of home, his fingers still lingered across your body. even when you were kissing his mask, feeling the material of the thing under your lips.

"i missed ya every day." he said, "i thought about you makin' me my mornin' cup of tea." his voice was comforting, "i thought about those pretty thighs and prettier cunt." he got a handful of your shorts and pulled them down past your thighs. and you kicked them off.

"please, daddy. why is your voice so hot?" you murmured against him. your core felt hot as you did all over. you were painfully turned on.

"The accent gets to you, doesn't it?" he asked, his lustful voice pooled into your gut like a shot of alcohol. he grazed his fingers across your achy cunt, "been missin' me, huh?" he chuckled, "were ya a good girl and finger-fucked yourself to thoughts of me?"

you couldn't deny him, even if there was no money involved. you never felt pressured to have sex with him, even if he did get you a little fright when he lumbered back into your shared flat.

you replied, "of course, i couldn't get enough of you. i thought about you all the time, daddy!" you rubbed your slippery cunt up against his digits, enticing him to finger you. you wanted to feel good and you knew he felt good when he was making you feel good. it was cute, even if the rest of him was big and scary.

you leaned to kiss his mask once more and he took it off with his other hand as he plunged his fingers into your slick pussy. you yelped in response, but calmed down when he pulled you in for a proper kiss.

you loved the mask, but to see your daddy's handsome face was nice as well. you heart leapt when you pulled away and admired his features in the low light of the room.

you held onto his shoulders while he pumped his fingers inside of you. you felt heat crawl up your face and it made you warm all over as a result.

"please, daddy. i missed you. it sucks going to uni and not having you at home!" you squirmed against him.

his pace was soft, he didn't want to hurt his sweet girl. despite being such a big man, he was rather gentle with you. when you asked him about it once, he said, "you wouldn't break the leg of a rabbit would you?" in reference to you being so delicate to him. so easy to harm.

he kissed at your face, peppering it with wet marks. he continued to lazily pump his fingers, he felt your smaller hands on his wrist as he fingered you.

he remained close to you however, letting himself feel close in your warmth as he played with your slit. his thumb up against your clit and made a shiver run through your body.

"daddy."

"i know, love. you're doing so good for me. i know you're little fingers are nothing compared to mine. you love the stretch it all brings. how full i make you." he knew tomorrow he'd be filling you up once more, this time with his heavy cock.

he kissed at your neck, which was ticklish but the pleasure still flowed through you. you loved the feeling of him beside you. that weight that was on top of you felt familiar. it was like a piece of home that made you yearn for more of him.

"it's not the same." you said, "you always know how to do it right." you wiggled against him and felt pleasure spread in your body. it wasn't going to be long before you finished.

"i always take care of what is mine." he said in a low tone, it reverberated in the back of your head. and it made you warm all over. simon was unlike any lover you ever had.

you whined against his shoulder, his lips up in your hair now.

"cum for me, love. cum for daddy." he said in a soft tone, that sent you over the edge.

you came and dug your nails into his shoulders. you almost left scratched across them as you felt your heart race. you relaxed against him and let him slip his fingers out and lick the slick off of them before he wrapped his arms around you.

he snuggled you close like the protector he was. he loved feeling his heartbeat against his chest. oh, he loved you so.

"was my girl on his best behaviour?" he asked quietly.

you nodded, "of course, daddy." you wiggled against him and beamed up at him. he leaned forward and kissed you soft on the lips.

he said softly, "perfect. such a lovely girl for me." he felt the pull of pleasure in his gut as he admired you. even though his body yearned for you, he at that moment wanted to admire you.

even though he gave you a hefty allowance, he cared for you deeply. and it was nice for him to be home. when you mumbled something against his chest, he pretended to hear, i love you. <3

[wizard-on-whales]

I Can't Quit You, Babe

NSFW - Minors do NOT interact

Warnings: Smut, oral f receiving, praising, James being a sweaty mess, P in V, Unprotected sex Link to the song so you can listen while you read

-----------------------------

Your husband, James, had been in the garage working on one of his cars all day while you had been sitting out by the pool sunbathing. You noticed your stomach grumble, so you grabbed your phone to check the time before deciding it was late enough for you to start dinner. You decided to get up and find James to ask him what he wanted. In the garage, he was bent under the hood of his Camaro, his arm and back muscles flexing with each turn of the wrench on his hand. In the back he had his stereo playing the familiar music the both of you loved. You stopped to admire the site in front of you, watching as he wiped away the sweat that fell down his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you standing near him and set the wrench down on the cart next to him with a smile. His eyes took in your tanned body draped in a bikini that hardly covered anything. Without taking his eyes off of you, he closed the hood and gestured for you to step closer to him.

“Hi, handsome,” you said with a smile, wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders and leaning up to kiss him. His hands made their way to your waist, squeezing slightly as he returned the kiss.

“Hey, beautiful,” He looked you over again, his eyes lingering on the bead of sweat trailing down your collarbones and between the valley of your breasts, “You know you really can't come in here lookin’ like this… you're very distracting.”

“I was gonna ask what you wanted for dinner.” You smiled as he dipped his head to your neck and started biting the sensitive skin. You let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes.

“Can I say you?” He looked back up, a smirk on his face. Your eyes fluttered back open as you brought your hand into his hair, playing with the small white curls that rested on the nape of his neck. You thought about your answer for a second before placing a kiss under his ear.

“It can be added to the menu,” You whispered in his ear, already feeling the goosebumps rising on his arms. You leaned back to take a look at him again, his bright blue eyes now engulfed by his pupils. He leaned down to kiss you again, his tongue making its way into your mouth. You let out a soft moan causing him to grip you tighter and shift your bodies until your back hit the cold metal of a vehicle. He pinned you against it, making sure you could feel his prominent boner press against you. You slipped a few of your fingers into the waistband of his jeans, trying to pull him closer. James moved his hands from your waist and gripped your ass before hoisting you up onto the hood of his Camaro. His mouth left yours, bringing a strand of saliva along with it before he pushed you to lay down. The song playing in the back changed from his typical motorhead to Led Zepplin. He stopped for a second, recognizing the song before looking back at you with a stupid grin on his face. Now playing throw his Stereo system was “I can't quit you babe”. James pulled your bikini bottom off, making sure to kiss your stomach as he did. He hooked your legs over his shoulders before he mouthed the words “I can't quit you, babe” along to the song before his head dipped down between your thighs, his mouth instantly lapping at your juices. Your hands found their way into his silver hair, tugging on it slightly as he drug his tongue up your slit. Your back arched against the cold hood as you let out a moan.

“Oohh, James,” You could feel him smile against your cunt as you moan his name. He pulls back for a second to make eye contact with you before spitting on your pussy and diving back in.

“God you taste so good, angel,” His words muffled as he made out with your lower lips. His nose nudged against your clit as his tongue fucked your tight hole. The mixture of his spit and your slick coated his face and dripped down your ass. You let out another moan, each one higher than the last as he eats you out. You couldn't care less over the fact that his oil stained hands were leaving dark impressions all over your thighs as he tries to tug you even closer. You moan again, his name rolling off of your tongue like it's the last thing you'd ever say. The song continues to play in the back adding to the ecstacy of the scene unfolding in the garage. The coil in your stomach tightens, threatening to release as his mouth continues its magic against your weeping cunt. James could feel you getting close, working his mouth even faster, trying to push his face deeper causing your legs to shake. Your hands gripped his hair even tighter as you arched your back, one last squeal falling out of your mouth before you pushed his face away, the sensitivity too much. James slowly stands from his knees, his face glistening in the light as he smiles at you, his frenzied look heightened by the sounds of your orgasm and the taste of you on his tongue.

He doesn't bother wiping his face off before he leans over you and kisses you eagerly. You can taste yourself on him, causing you to let out a soft moan into his mouth. He returns it as he pushes his arm under your waist, pulling you off the car hood slightly and flush against his chest. His other hand haphazardly unbuckles his belt and pushes his jeans down just enough for his throbbing cock to pop out against his stomach. He removes his mouth from yours, looking down between your bodies as he lines himself up with your entrance, wasting no time to plunge himself deep inside you. He lets out a groan, connecting his mouth with your neck as you throw your head back in pleasure. The song in the background had changed by now but neither of you noticed, too preoccupied in each other's songs instead. His pace was almost brutal as he pinned you tightly between the car and his body. He brought his hand up, pulling your bikini top down, allowing your breasts to spill out. With each hard thrust he gave, they bounced, almost hypnotizing him. You grabbed the back of his neck, pushing his face into them, holding in there as you bit back your noises. The filthy squelching between your legs and James groaning in your ears brought you closer and closer to your second orgasm. James could feel your walls clenching around him as he nipped at your sensitive buds, leaving marks behind. He could feel his own orgasm bubbling in his stomach as you continued to whine underneath him.

“C'mon baby, cum with me,” he grunted against you, his voice scratchy and heavy with lust. Unable to speak, you just nodded your head in response, your fingernails desperately clawing into his neck and back. With one last deep, hard thrust you felt James hot seed coat your walls. Your own coil released around him, your body tensing before fully relaxing under his touch. His chest heaved with each breath he took, his face still buried in your breasts. You picked his head up, looking him in the eyes. He leaned forward, giving you another kiss. This one was gentle, filled with love and adoration. He gave you a small peck on the cheek before standing up fully, observing the mess he made of you. Oil from his hands was smeared all over your skin and his seed was dripping out of you. The sight of you made him bite back a moan. He gripped your waist, pulling your back off the hood and against him again.

“Let's go get you cleaned up,” He whispered, a smirk on his face. You smiled, only guessing where the shower would lead.

--------------------

[veeluvss]

Hey I really love your stuff abt jj having an autistic child. Could you please post more of that it’s amazing

Hii! Sorry this took so long, I was struggling for inspo but here you are! Just under 2k words. I've left CJ's age up for interpretation as it makes it more universal to insert yourself if you wanted. I hope you all enjoy !

Little Brother

“Good morning, sunshine,” JJ said softly as CJ, her daughter, came down the stairs. CJ stopped mid-step and examined the room. It was past 9 am which meant Mom was meant to be at work. “Come on, kiddo. It’s just Mom,” Will said from behind her. CJ took a quick look up the stairs at her dad and then skipped down the rest of the stairs to get out of his way. However, she refused to enter the kitchen. Why was Mom in there?

“Don’t you want breakfast? Come on, slow coach,” JJ said. CJ examined the pancakes on the table. Pancakes were her favourite but it was Wednesday and that was cereal day. CJ looked up at the menu on the side of the wall and JJ followed her gaze. Sure enough, Wednesdays were cereal days. “Do you want me to make your cereal?” JJ asked and CJ instantly nodded, coming into the kitchen. JJ smiled and began making it. CJ explored the messy kitchen with her eyes. There were piles of clothes everywhere, and bowls of food for breakfast. There were also baby bottles all over the place for the new baby. CJ was unsure about the new addition to the family. He was going to change things. He already had changed things. Mom was meant to be at work. But instead she was here messing up her morning routine. “Sit down, sweetheart,” JJ said. She had the bowl of cereal in her hand. CJ looked at her chair and saw a baby’s car seat on it and huffed, crossing her arms. The mess was overwhelming and the whole morning was going wrong. Will noticed quickly and moved the car seat to another seat so CJ could sit down. CJ slid into her seat and didn’t say anything.  JJ set the cereal in front of her and kissed her head. CJ leaned her head back so JJ could kiss her nose and lips. JJ smiled at their little routine and kissed her nose and lips one after the other. “Eat up.” 

After breakfast, CJ went to her bedroom to do school work. Being the way she was, CJ didn’t fit in well at mainstream public school. JJ and Will had tried private school but CJ struggled there too. Instead, they settled on homeschooling. It meant CJ could work at her own pace, in her own routine without it being messed up by too many outside factors. She was busy working on algebra when she heard the baby cry for the fifth time that hour. How was she expected to concentrate in such a noisy environment? She covered her ears and screeched angrily. She kicked out her legs in frustration and waited for the crying to subside. It didn’t. Getting more and more frustrated with the incessant screaming, CJ marched from her bedroom and down the hall to the baby’s nursery. She hadn’t even been in the room yet, unsure about the new baby. She hated all the change. Although her parents had warned her and she had nine months to prepare, everyone knew she’d never be ready. 

CJ approached the bedroom door and hesitated as she touched the handle. The metal was cold under her hand but she pushed open the door nonetheless. Inside, JJ was sitting in the rocking chair with Henry in her lap. He was crying and it was louder now and CJ resisted covering her ears with her hands. She didn’t want to seem unbrave in front of her mum. Instead, she stood there motionless, in the doorway watching the screeching baby and struggling mum. It didn’t take long for JJ to notice her daughter in the doorway though. 

“Hey, baby. Can you do me a favour?” JJ asked, smiling slightly. CJ didn’t respond, only looked up from Henry to her mum. “Downstairs in the fridge, there’s two bottles. Can you grab the left one and bring it up to me? He’s not feeding and I’m sore.” “Why?” CJ asked, not moving from the doorway. “I’ll answer when you come back with the bottle. Please, Cee.” JJ was desperate. She’d been trying to get Henry to breastfeed for half an hour and he was only getting more hungry and JJ was getting more stressed and now Will had gone to work, it was even more stressful alone because she couldn’t just get up and go get the bottle from the fridge because she was in too much pain from the birth. Walking hurt, especially the stairs. 

Henry cried out louder and CJ covered her ears and stepped back. Why did she have to get a bottle? “It’ll make him be quiet, baby,” JJ explained. That made sense. Stick a bottle in his mouth and he’d stop crying. CJ sped down the stairs and to the fridge. She picked up the left one and took it up to her brother’s nursery but she stopped at the door. It wasn’t her bedroom to enter, she didn’t have permission, plus it smelt bad - like babies. “Bring it here, please, I can’t walk well,” JJ said. CJ shook her head and set the bottle on the floor. “CJ, I need you to hand it to me. You can come in, it’s okay,” JJ sighed. She didn’t want to get frustrated at her daughter but the crying was giving her a headache and it shouldn’t be this hard to have a baby. CJ looked around the room nervously. It was a light cream colour with a safari animal themed banner around it. The bottom of the room was light blue, like the blanket wrapped around the baby. JJ sighed again. “CJ, now, please,” JJ said, holding out her hand. CJ picked up the bottle, scurried across the room, handed it to her mum and ran back out again. She stood in the doorway with her hands over her ears. 

JJ thanked her daughter quickly and put the bottle in her son’s mouth. The crying subsided and the sobs turned to quick gurgles of milk. JJ sighed in relief and looked up at CJ who was still in the doorway. Her hands were at her sides, curled into angry fists. It had been three days since JJ had brought the baby home and CJ hadn’t interacted with him once. JJ knew it was going to take time but hoped it’d be quicker than this. 

“You want to come say hello?” JJ asked, trying to keep her voice calm. CJ shook her head quickly and ran back down the hallway to finish her homework now it was quiet. 

Soon after, Henry was fast asleep. JJ leaned over, wincing quietly in pain, and put him in his basket before heading to her daughter’s room. She knew she’d have to talk to her after the stress of the morning. She didn’t like the change herself. She went from being there for her daughter 24/7 to having to put her daughter aside for her newborn. Usually, understanding CJ’s needs, she was patient and if CJ expressed that she didn’t want to do something, for whatever reason, she was never forced. But the bottle was needed and she knew she couldn’t walk from one side of the room to pick it up off the floor to then walk and sit back down. She hated that Will had gone back to work and she hated that she wasn’t yet feeling her best. She wanted to help CJ but she knew CJ didn’t appreciate her being home at all. It messed with her routine, as had everything recently. She could understand how out of sorts CJ was feeling.

She knocked on her daughter’s door three times, their little code, before CJ granted her entry. “Come in,” came the small voice. “Hi, baby,” JJ replied. “Hi,” CJ said. She was playing on her nintendo switch, curled in her sensory corner. After the whole bottle and crying incident, she couldn’t focus on her work so packed it up, deciding to unwind with her game instead. JJ smiled at the cute sight and headed further into the room, she curled up beside her daughter, being careful of her stitches and watched CJ racing. The corner was JJ’s favourite part of their house. It had two beenbagds, lots of blankets and stuffies, a big teddy bear as well as books, sensory toys and fairy lights. Around it was a sheer canopy with more twinkly lights on. It was CJ’s unwind space but JJ often used it herself to unwind after a case. If it was bad, she’d sneak in after her daughter was asleep and just lay on the beanbags for ten or so minutes before heading to bed with Will or even sometimes sneaking in with CJ. “I’m sorry for snapping at you, baby,” JJ whispered and rested her head on CJ’s. Their blonde hair weaved together to make a seamless bundle. CJ shrugged. She was never very good with apologies. But JJ knew that was an acceptance. A shake of the head was a no but a shrug was a yes and she was grateful her daughter didn’t take it to heart. “You want to come see Henry now he’s sleeping?” JJ suggested. CJ looked up at her mum. She was interested in the tiny human occupying her home and her space but she also was weirded out by it. “He’s just asleep so we’d have to be quiet,” JJ smiled and ran her fingers through CJ’s hair. Not like CJ was ever particularly loud anyway. She was partially nonverbal and never spoke around strangers and rarely around family or friends. Only on really good days could her parents get good conversation out of her. CJ nodded and turned off her game, shocking JJ. She was expecting a no. “Come on, then,” JJ muttered and stood up slowly, using the bed as support. CJ watched her injured mum and sighed, she didn’t like that the baby had hurt her. She didn’t like seeing her mum hurt. “I’m okay, baby,” JJ reassured CJ and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Together, they walked down the hallway. 

CJ peered over the side of the basket, just about tall enough to see in. He was small, tiny even. He had a little button nose and long, blonde eyelashes. CJ looked up at her mum and then down at the baby boy. He looked a little like the dolls people used to buy her. She never played with them, she never understood how to play make believe. She used to just stare at them or shove them as far down her toy box as she could because she hated the noises they would make. No one bought her toys anymore. “What do you think, sunshine?” JJ asked. CJ thought for a moment, what did she think? “Pretty,” she muttered. “He is pretty. He’s your little brother.” CJ nodded, understanding. A brother. She still didn’t like the noises he made or the way he moved and wriggled or the way he smelt but maybe, just maybe, she could get used to the way he slept, silently and still. Maybe a new brother wasn’t so bad.

[writingrock]

thorns of healing

pairing: izuku midoriya x reader (gender neutral) summary: you've gotten over bakugou right? Yet why does the ache in your chest still hurt?

notes: angst, healing process, difficult emotions, confrontation, unresolved, hanahaki disease, mentions of blood, college! katsuki bakugou, college! izuku midoriya

word count: 6.3k

a/n: This is a continuation of "petals of longing" , this took a while to write but there will be another part to this ~~

Getting over Bakugou took everything. Countless nights of blood, sweat, and tears. Pools of red tulips littered the floor of your dorm, a grim bouquet of the love that choked you from the inside out. You’d spend hours hunched over, hacking up petals that tore at your throat, each one stained with the metallic tang of blood. It had taken days to scrub the dried stains from the wooden floor, your knees bruised and raw from the relentless scrubbing, but the memories lingered like a shadow. You could barely recall the blurred hours of pain, the way your body writhed on the cold ground, struggling to breathe through the cascade of petals that bloomed from the agony of unrequited love.

Ironic, isn’t it? That something so beautiful— those delicate tulips, symbols of affection— could hurt so deeply. Love had been the poison, and your heart, the willing victim.

A voice pulls you back, tearing you away from the grim reverie. You blink, suddenly aware of the familiar hum of the coffee shop around you— the hiss of the espresso machine, the chatter of students, the faint whiff of coffee beans. Right. You’re working right now. This isn’t the place to drown in memories. Especially ones best left buried.

Shaking your head slightly, you focus on the customer standing at the counter, waiting patiently with a warm smile. Izuku Midoriya. Or as you know him, Deku. His eyes, bright and kind as always, meet yours. You’ve always found comfort in the way he looks at you. 

“Hey,” you greet him, a small smile tugging at your lips as you straighten your posture. You realise your hands are trembling slightly, and you quickly steady them as you hover over the register, willing yourself to stay in the present.

Midoriya’s face lights up, softening into that easy grin he always wears. “Hey there. You okay? You looked a little… lost for a second.” He’s always been sharp hasn’t he. Noticing every detail about you. 

“Yeah, just… spacing out,” you say, brushing it off with a casual shrug, though the words don’t quite cover the depth of what you were feeling. “It’s been a long day.”

Midoriya nods, his expression thoughtful but gentle, like he’s piecing something together in that mind of his. “I get it. Those days can really sneak up on you.” He pauses, eyes flicking to the menu before meeting yours again. “Could I get my usual?”

You nod, punching in his order with familiarity, though your mind is still half-stuck in the past, grappling with the remnants of pain you thought you’d buried. “One iced coffee, extra shot, light on the ice.” Your voice comes out steady, familiar with the rhythm of work. For a moment, the routine grounds you, pulling you away from the memories of red-stained petals and unrelenting nights.

As you prepare Midoriya’s drink, you catch glimpses of him watching you from the corner of your eye, like he’s assessing if you’re really okay. Midoriya’s kindness always had a way of sneaking past your defences, and today, it’s no different. 

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the drink, his fingers brushing yours for a fleeting second. “And, hey… if you ever need to talk, I’m around, you know?”

You force a brighter smile for him. “Yeah, I know. Thanks, Deku.” 

He nods, lingering just a moment longer before stepping aside, giving you a small wave as he heads to his usual seat. You watch him go, feeling the weight of the past still clinging to your chest but softened by his quiet presence. The scars of what you went through with Bakugou haven’t disappeared, but here, in this moment, you feel just a little lighter. 

It’s not perfect. It’s not easy. But it’s something. And for now, that’s enough.

Working part-time at the campus coffee shop keeps you busy, and most days blur into a cycle of orders, steaming milk, and ringing up the register. But in the lulls between rushes, when the crowd thins and the hum of conversation fades into a soft murmur, you find a rare peace. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the faint traces of vanilla and cinnamon, wrapping around you like a comforting blanket. The ambient sound of clinking cups and soft jazz playing overhead fills the space, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe. Your thoughts drifting like the steam from an untouched latte.

Your eyes wander the room, finally landing on Midoriya. He’s tucked away in one of the quieter corners, where the light filters in just right. A gentle glow illuminating his focused expression. His laptop is open, charger snaking across the floor. Papers scattered messily around him in that endearing, organised chaos that always follows him. He’s tapping away at the keyboard, brow furrowed in concentration, completely absorbed in whatever project has captured his attention today. Always working hard, always pushing forward. You’ve come to expect nothing less from him.

You look at him a moment longer, feeling the faintest tug of warmth at the sight. Midoriya’s been spending more time with you lately, and you’ve welcomed his presence with quiet gratitude. You’re grateful for him but still can’t help but feel hesitant. 

Ever since that night when you and Bakugou severed all connections. You’d felt like you were floating, unanchored in the familiar spaces that once felt safe. Not even a passing greeting between you and Bakugou, not a single glance exchanged. There’s a silent understanding between you both to avoid each other at all costs. Even here, at the coffee shop, it’s a delicate dance of avoidance. If he comes in, you discreetly ask your coworker to take his order, slipping away to the back to busy yourself with anything else. If you’re stationed at the register, he hesitates at the door, sometimes waiting for you to disappear or turning on his heel to leave without a word. 

The cold severance stings less than it did at first, but the emptiness remains, a faint echo of what once was. Midoriya’s been your constant through it all. A quiet, steadfast presence that doesn’t demand anything from you but offers more than you knew you needed. It started in the library one evening when he quietly took the seat next to you, his notes splayed out as he wordlessly joined your study session. No questions, no awkwardness— just the familiar rustle of pages and the comforting rhythm of his pen scratching against paper. 

From there, your meetings became a quiet habit. Study sessions turned into lunch breaks, and lunch breaks morphed into spontaneous hangouts. Mornings became something you looked forward to. Not because of the work, but because of the soft ritual that began each day. Midoriya would always come by for coffee, and you’d be the one to serve him, exchanging small smiles and bits of conversation that felt as warm and inviting as the drinks you made.

You watch him now, his head tilted slightly as he rereads whatever’s on his screen, lips moving as he murmurs to himself, lost in thought. He’s always been that way— kind, focused, and so genuinely himself that it’s impossible not to feel at ease around him. His presence is a balm, soothing in a way that doesn’t demand anything of you, just quiet understanding. 

Your thoughts flicker back to Bakugou, unbidden but persistent. You remember the storm of emotions, the raw edges of hurt and frustration that cut so deeply. But you also remember the steady fade of those feelings, like the slow, deliberate scrubbing of bloodstains from the floor. Painful, but necessary. You no longer carry the weight of unspoken confessions and suffocating silence. The tulips are gone, wilted and forgotten, but the scars remain. 

Midoriya glances up from his screen, catching your eye, and offers you a small, encouraging smile. It’s like a beam of sunlight breaking through a clouded sky— soft, warm, and undeniably genuine. You smile back, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease. He doesn’t pry into the wounds you’re still mending, and you’re grateful for that. Instead, he simply exists beside you, as if to say, without words, that you’re not alone.

You haven’t told Midoriya about what happened between you and Bakugou. You haven’t told anyone, really. And Bakugou— well, he’s not the type to spill personal matters, either. It’s like the two of you have signed a silent contract to keep it buried, never spoken of, never acknowledged. A fracture that no one sees, hidden beneath the surface where it festers quietly. 

Sometimes, when Midoriya looks at you with that gentle, knowing expression, you think about telling him. The words almost make it to the tip of your tongue, heavy and aching, but then they crumble and die there, unspoken. You’re not ready yet. Not ready to expose those wounds, not ready to relieve the pain that clings to every memory of Bakugou like a stubborn stain.

But maybe one day, when the scars don’t feel so fresh, when the mere thought of Bakugou doesn’t twist something inside you, you’ll find the courage to let someone in on the mess of it all. Maybe then, you’ll finally be able to say it out loud— to make sense of the jagged pieces you’ve been holding onto. Midoriya’s been wonderful, patient in a way that you didn’t know you needed. He’s been a steady presence when everything else felt like it was slipping through your fingers, and you don’t take that lightly. 

Yet, as much as you appreciate his warmth, you’ve built up walls around your heart that weren’t there before, ones you’ve reinforced with every passing day. You’ve become more guarded, your smiles just a little more reserved, your laughter quieter, as if holding back something fragile that you’re afraid will break. Love— it’s not something you can give into anymore. Not after the hurt you’ve been through, not after feeling your heart splinter piece by piece under the weight of petals and unspoken emotions.

You remember what it felt like to be so consumed by love that it physically tore you apart, the relentless ache that lodged itself in your chest and wouldn’t let go. The sickness that manifested in your body, turning your feelings into something that could kill you. It’s a pain you wouldn’t wish on anyone, and it’s a pain you refuse to let yourself feel again. Not if you can help it.

There’s a part of you that’s still healing, still picking up the pieces of what Bakugou left behind. You’ve sworn to yourself that you won’t be vulnerable like that again, that you won’t let your heart be so recklessly given away. Love is no longer the light and airy thing it once was— it’s heavy, daunting, something to be wary of. So, you keep your distance, even from those who mean well, like Midoriya. You keep your heart locked away, safe behind the barriers you’ve carefully constructed. Because loving Bakugou taught you the hard way that the deeper you fall, the harder it is to crawl back out.

So you focus on what you can control: the coffee shop, your studies, the steady routines that keep you moving forward. And Midoriya, with his unwavering kindness, stands on the outside of those walls, close but not too close. You’re grateful for his presence, for the way he’s helped you piece together a sense of normalcy. But you can’t let yourself hope for anything more. Not again. You refuse to let anyone see the parts of you that still hurt. 

You refuse to let your heart be vulnerable, not after the petals, not after the blood. Not after him.

You’re not sure how long you’ll keep this resolve, how long you’ll manage to guard yourself against the possibility of loving again. For now, it’s the only way you know how to protect yourself. But it’s hard— so damn hard— to protect yourself when Midoriya looks at you the way he does, soft and attentive, eyes bright with an unspoken kindness. 

Tonight, you both are away from the crowded chaos of the party, where bass-heavy music thrums through the walls, pulsing in time with the flickering neon lights that cast erratic shadows across dancing bodies. Inside, the room is packed with laughter and shouts, a mess of spilled drinks, the air thick with the mingled scents of cheap cologne, sweat, and… something burning… in the kitchen? A typical college party, wild and loud, with people pressed together in tight clusters, their voices raised to compete with the music blaring from the speakers.

You escaped to the balcony with Midoriya, drawn by the need to breathe fresh air that didn’t taste like alcohol and desperation. Out here, it’s quieter, the noise of the party muffled by the closed glass door, reduced to a distant hum that barely intrudes on your thoughts. The cool night breeze brushes against your skin, soothing against the faint heat that lingers from the crowded room, and you find yourself savouring this stolen moment of calm.

Midoriya stands next to you, leaning against the railing with an ease that seems so natural. He holds a cold can of soda in one hand, condensation dripping down his fingers, his grip relaxed. The soft glow of the moon bathes him in silver light, highlighting the lines of his jaw, the delicate freckles dusting his cheeks, and the way his green eyes catch the dim light and reflect it back, vivid and alive. He’s dressed simply— denim jeans, a fitted white shirt that clings just enough to hint at the lean muscle underneath, the faintest hint of cologne lingering in the air between you. But it’s the little things that catch your attention: the tousled mess of his hair that moves gently in the breeze, the slight flush on his cheeks from the drinks and the warmth of the night, and the way his lips curl into a faint, thoughtful smile as he stares out into the city.

God, he looks handsome. 

Handsome in a way that makes your heart stutter in your chest, like it’s forgotten how to beat properly. There’s something effortless about him tonight, a quiet confidence that radiates without demanding attention. His presence is magnetic, pulling you in with a force you don’t quite know how to resist. You want to resist so badly. You’re not ready for this. Shaking your head, you turn to your drink.

You take a sip from your own can, the fizz of the beer tingling on your tongue, but it’s not enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in your mind. It’s dangerous. How easy it is to be around him like this. Your eyes trace the lines of his profile— the strong set of his shoulders, the slight quirk of his brow as he glances at you, and the way his lips part slightly, like he’s on the verge of saying something. 

He catches you staring, and instead of teasing, his gaze softens, something warm and unspoken passing between you. “It’s nice out here,” he says quietly, his voice barely audible over the muffled thump of the music inside. “Quieter.”

“Yeah,” you reply, your voice softer than you intended. You turn your head slightly, pretending to focus on the distant city lights, but you’re painfully aware of the way his presence wraps around you, gentle and reassuring. “It’s… better out here.”

Midoriya chuckles, a low, genuine sound that rumbles softly in his chest. “You looked like you needed a break,” he says, glancing sideways at you, his eyes reflecting a mix of concern and something else— something that makes you feel seen in a way you’re not sure you’re ready for.

You smile, though it’s laced with a bittersweet edge. “Yeah, maybe I did.” The words come out light, but your heart feels heavy, burdened by the silent promise you’ve made to yourself. To stay guarded, to not let anyone too close. But right now, with the cool night air, the faint buzz of your drink, and Midoriya standing beside you looking like he was pulled straight from a daydream, it’s hard to remember why you built those walls in the first place.

It’s hard not to want more when he’s right there, so close you could reach out and touch him. But you don’t. You won’t. Because you’ve been here before, standing on the edge of something that could break you all over again. And no matter how handsome he looks under the glow of the moon, no matter how safe his presence makes you feel, you can’t let yourself fall. Not now, not again. You’re about to continue the conversation when the balcony door slides open with a harsh scrape.

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. You’d recognize that heavy, impatient presence anywhere. 

Bakugou steps out onto the balcony, his brows knitted together in a permanent scowl as he glances around, clearly annoyed. His entrance disrupts the calm, the air around him charged with a familiar tension that you thought you’d left behind. He’s dressed in his usual style—ripped jeans, black shirt clinging to his muscular frame, looking every bit the rebellious force of nature that he is. The faint scent of smoke and something distinctly Bakugou lingers around him, a mix of cologne and the ever-present burn of his quirk. Has he ever smelled so bitter?

He stops short when he sees the two of you, red eyes narrowing as they flick between you and Midoriya. There’s a beat of heavy silence, charged and awkward, as you all stand there, frozen in place. Bakugou’s gaze settles on you for the briefest of moments before sliding away, his expression unreadable but unmistakably guarded.

“Didn’t think you’d be out here,” Bakugou mutters, his tone low and edged with something you can’t quite place— frustration, maybe, or something softer, buried beneath layers of stubborn pride. He turns his attention to the view, his posture rigid as he leans against the railing a few feet away, refusing to acknowledge either of you further.

Midoriya shifts beside you, the easy atmosphere from moments ago gone, replaced by a thick, stifling tension. He glances at you, concern flickering in his eyes. But he doesn’t say anything, sensing the undercurrent between you and Bakugou. You swallow hard. Suddenly the familiar sting of old wounds returns. The weight of everything unspoken hangs heavy in the cool night air.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice coming out sharper than intended. It’s not just about Bakugou’s presence. it’s the sudden reminder of all the things you’ve been trying so hard to move past. The nights spent coughing up petals, the choking, suffocating feeling of being so in love with someone who couldn’t— or wouldn’t— love you back.

Bakugou snorts, the sound dismissive but lacking its usual bite. “It’s too damn loud in there.” He gestures vaguely towards the party inside, the rowdy noise leaking out through the slightly ajar door. “Needed some air.”

You nod stiffly, keeping your eyes fixed on the skyline. You don’t trust yourself to look at him— not now, not when everything you’ve buried feels like it’s clawing its way back to the surface. You’re painfully aware of Midoriya standing next to you, his concern palpable but restrained. He knows better than to push. Whilst he doesn’t know what happened between the two of you, he knows that whatever it is between you and Bakugou isn’t something easily solved.

The silence stretches, uncomfortable and thick, punctuated only by the faint sounds of the party inside. Bakugou stares out at the city, his jaw clenched tight, and you wonder what he’s thinking— if he feels any of the tension, if he’s even affected by this at all. You steal a glance at him, just for a second, and catch the brief flicker of something in his eyes, something raw and unresolved.

But then it’s gone, masked by the familiar stubbornness that defines him. He takes a long swig from his drink, eyes fixed forward, refusing to meet yours. It’s like there’s a wall between you both, built from everything you never said to each other. And standing here now, with Midoriya beside you and Bakugou so close yet so distant, you’re not sure if that wall will ever come down.

Midoriya breaks the silence first, his voice gentle but firm. “It’s a nice night,” he says, trying to ease the tension. “Better than being stuck inside all night, right?” As always, he had to say something. 

Bakugou grunts in response, but it’s not angry— just resigned. “Yeah. Better.”

You swallow, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on you. There’s so much that you wish you could resolve but don’t know how. And for now, all you can do is stand there, caught between the past you’ve tried so hard to leave behind and the uncertain future that waits ahead.

The balcony, once a refuge, now feels too small, the distance between you and Bakugou both achingly vast and impossibly close. And as the night stretches on, you can’t help but wonder if there will ever be a way to bridge that gap—or if some things are meant to stay broken.

The weight of the moment settles heavily on your shoulders, a quiet, invisible burden that neither Midoriya nor Bakugou seems to know how to lift. The city sprawls out before you, a sea of twinkling lights and distant sounds, yet even the vastness of the night sky feels suffocating. You wish you could say something—anything—to shatter the uncomfortable silence, but the words are caught in your throat, tangled up in all the pain you’ve kept buried.

Midoriya shifts beside you, his presence a steady anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to pull you under. You glance at him, and he offers a small, reassuring smile that feels like a lifeline, a gentle reminder that you’re not alone. But even his quiet comfort can’t drown out the electric tension crackling between you and Bakugou. It’s like standing at the edge of a cliff, knowing one wrong move could send you tumbling into the abyss of old wounds and unresolved feelings.

Bakugou is silent, his gaze fixed stubbornly on the horizon. His posture is tense, shoulders hunched slightly as if he’s holding something back. You wonder, just for a moment, if he’s feeling it too—the weight of everything that went wrong, the hurt that neither of you ever put into words. It’s maddening, the way he stands there, so close you can feel the faint heat radiating from him, yet so distant it’s like there’s a chasm between you both that neither of you can cross.

He finally breaks the silence, his voice rough and low. “This really your scene?” he asks, his tone edged with a familiar bite, though softer, like he’s trying to sound indifferent but not quite managing it. “Didn’t think you were into this kind of crap.”

You stiffen, instinctively bristling at the comment, but there’s no real malice in it—just the awkward fumbling of someone who doesn’t know how to talk about anything real. “Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “Didn’t think you were the type for parties.”

Bakugou’s eyes flick to you, just for a second, and you catch the flash of something raw and unguarded before he looks away, jaw clenched tight. “Still not,” he mutters, but it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

Midoriya clears his throat, stepping in with his usual gentle tact, trying to ease the tension. “It’s just… nice to see you both,” he says, and you can hear the careful neutrality in his voice, the way he’s trying to keep things from escalating. “I didn’t expect to run into you, Kacchan.”

Bakugou scoffs, a sound that’s more habit than actual irritation. “Didn’t come here for you, Deku,” he snaps, but there’s no real bite to it. He shifts, adjusting his grip on his can, and for a fleeting moment, he looks almost… tired. The bravado slips, just a little, and you catch a glimpse of the boy beneath the storm— the one who’s carrying his own unspoken burdens.

The sight of him like this, vulnerable in a way he’d never admit, tugs at something deep inside you, something you thought you’d locked away for good. But you can’t afford to go down that road, not again. You’ve come too far, built up too many walls to let one glance unravel it all. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself, and force your gaze back to the city lights, willing your heart to stay calm.

“You know,” Midoriya says, his voice cutting through the thick silence like a gentle breeze, “we don’t have to do this. We don’t have to pretend it’s all fine when it’s not.” He looks between you and Bakugou, his expression sincere, filled with that unshakeable optimism that defines him. “It’s okay to talk about it. Whatever it is.” Is it really worth it for him to play peacemaker now?

Bakugou’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening as he stares out into the distance. For a moment, you think he might lash out, that familiar anger bubbling to the surface, but instead, he just exhales, a slow, measured breath that seems to deflate some of the tension in his shoulders.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says finally, voice low and edged with resignation. “What’s done is done.”

But you know, as well as he does, that it’s not that simple. The silence between you says everything you’re too afraid to voice: the pain, the regret, the lingering threads of something that once meant more than either of you could handle. You glance at Midoriya, his eyes wide with quiet encouragement, and you wonder if there’s still a chance to make sense of the wreckage Bakugou left behind.

But not tonight. Tonight, the wounds are still too raw, the distance too great. So you swallow your words, burying them beneath the thrum of the city and the noise of the party that rages on behind you. You shift closer to Midoriya, finding solace in the steady warmth of his presence, and hope that, in time, the pieces will fall into place. 

For now, all you can do is stand on this balcony, caught between what was and what might be, and try to remember how to breathe.

It’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but it’s enough to make Bakugou’s eyes flicker with something sharp and unmistakable—annoyance, anger, something deeper you can’t quite name. The brief brush of your shoulder against Midoriya’s is nothing more than a silent plea for support, but to Bakugou, it’s something else entirely. You can feel his gaze boring into you, hot and intense, and when you finally glance up, the look on his face is anything but neutral. The match is lit when Deku puts an arm around you. 

He looks like he’s barely holding it together, a storm of emotions swirling behind those crimson eyes, and for a moment, you see the frustration simmering just beneath his carefully controlled exterior. He clenches his jaw, the muscles in his neck tightening.

“You really think that’s gonna fix anything?” Bakugou snaps, his tone biting and dismissive. His voice is cold— colder than you’ve ever heard it. He doesn’t bother to hide the venom in his words, his eyes fixed on where you and Midoriya are standing a little too close. “Cuddling up to Deku like he’s gonna make all your problems go away? That's how it works now?”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, sharp and deliberate, meant to wound. You flinch, taken aback by the sudden hostility. It’s not just anger— it’s hurt, twisted into something cruel, something meant to push you away before you can get too close. You’ve seen Bakugou angry before, but this feels different. It’s not the explosive rage you’re used to; it’s controlled, cold, and far more dangerous because of it.

“Bakugou—” Midoriya starts, his voice gentle but firm, trying to defuse the situation before it spirals out of control. But Bakugou cuts him off with a glare, the kind that would make anyone else shrink back.

“Shut it, Deku,” he snaps, eyes flashing with a warning. “This isn’t about you.”

You feel your own temper flare, a mix of hurt and anger bubbling up inside you. It’s infuriating. The way he can still get under your skin, the way he lashes out without ever acknowledging his own part in all of this. “What’s your problem, Bakugou?” you bite back, trying to keep your voice steady even as it wavers with emotion. “Why do you care what I do?”

Bakugou’s eyes meet yours, hard and unyielding, but there’s something else there too— something that almost looks like pain. “I don’t,” he spits, but it sounds like a lie, brittle and unconvincing. “You can do whatever the hell you want. Just don’t act like it’s gonna fix anything. Running to him isn’t gonna change shit.”

Midoriya steps closer, his presence a solid, reassuring warmth beside you. He’s steady and unwavering. “Kacchan,” he says quietly, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and quiet disappointment. “You don’t have to do this. Leave them alone. They’re just figuring things out.”

Bakugou scoffs, but it’s a hollow sound, devoid of its usual bravado. “Yeah, well, good luck with that,” he mutters, turning his back to you both. His shoulders are tense, his posture stiff, like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will. “I’m done with all that crap.”

He takes a step towards the door, every movement radiating frustration, and for a split second, you think he’s going to leave without another word. But he pauses, his hand gripping the handle tightly, knuckles white from the strain. He doesn’t look back, but his voice cuts through the night air, low and bitter. “Don’t waste your time, alright? Not on someone like me. And not on whatever the hell you think this is.”

Then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a harsh finality that echoes through the night. The party noise floods back in, loud and overwhelming, but it feels distant, muted by the lingering sting of Bakugou’s words. You stand there, staring at the closed door, feeling the ache of everything left unsaid weighing heavy in your chest.

Midoriya sighs, his expression pained as he watches Bakugou disappear into the crowd. He turns back to you, concern etched across his face. “Are you okay?” he asks softly, and the sincerity in his voice almost undoes you.

You nod, but it’s a lie, thin and fragile. “Yeah,” you whisper, though your throat feels tight, choked with emotions you can’t quite name. “I’m fine.” 

But as you stare at the spot where Bakugou stood, his words replaying in your mind, you know it’s not true. You’re not fine. Not by a long shot. And as much as you want to move on, to let go of the hurt and the history, Bakugou’s outburst makes it painfully clear: some wounds don’t heal so easily, and some things, no matter how hard you try, are never truly over.

Midoriya stands beside you, his expression soft with concern, eyes searching yours for some sign that you’re really okay. He’s always been like that—kind, perceptive, and never one to let things go unsaid if it meant helping someone. He watches the tension still lingering on your face, the way your fingers curl tightly around the can in your hand, knuckles turning white. 

“You don’t have to pretend,” he says gently, his voice cutting through the muffled noise of the party behind you. There’s no pressure in his tone, just the quiet patience that he always seems to carry. “I know that wasn’t easy. You can talk to me… if you want.”

You swallow hard, staring down at the drink in your hand, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions that Bakugou’s outburst stirred up. Part of you wants to brush it off, to change the subject and pretend none of this bothers you—but you’re so tired of carrying it all alone. Midoriya’s kindness, his unwavering support, feels like a lifeline you didn’t realise you needed. You want to lean on him. Can you lean on him?

“It’s… it’s a lot,” you begin, your voice shaky as you glance up at Midoriya. He nods, giving you the space to find your words, and it’s his quiet, undemanding presence that gives you the courage to continue. “Bakugou and I… it wasn’t just some stupid argument or anything like that. It’s complicated. Messy.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the old, familiar ache tighten in your chest as you start to piece together the story you’ve kept buried. “I liked him,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. You loved him. “I really, really liked him. For a long time. But he… he didn’t feel the same. Not even close.”

Midoriya’s eyes widen slightly, but he doesn’t interrupt, just listens, the concern on his face deepening. You can see the way he’s connecting the dots, the way his expression shifts as he starts to understand the weight of what you’re saying.

“I thought I could handle it,” you continue, your grip tightening on the can as you fight to keep your voice steady. “I thought I could just… get over it. But it got bad. Really bad.” You hesitate, the memories rushing back in vivid, painful flashes—nights spent coughing up petals, the sharp sting of blood, the suffocating feeling of being trapped in your own body. “I got sick.”

Midoriya’s breath catches, and you see the shock flicker across his face. “You…?” He doesn’t finish the question, and doesn't need to. The realisation is enough, and the concern in his eyes deepens, mingling with a quiet sadness.

“Yeah,” you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I was… I was in love with him, and he didn’t love me back. The flowers— those fucking flowers— they just kept coming. I’d cough them up all the time, each one worse than the last. I felt like I was drowning in my own feelings, and it got to the point where I could hardly breathe.” You pause, your voice trembling as the memories overwhelm you. “It was hell.”

Midoriya steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours. There’s no judgement in his expression, only understanding that makes you feel just a little less alone. He’s listening to you. “How did you…?” he begins, his voice gentle, careful. “How did you get through it?”

You let out a shaky breath, blinking back the sting of tears that threaten to spill. “I had to let go. I had to force myself to stop feeling anything for him. I don’t even remember how many nights I spent on the floor, just… fighting it. Fighting every stupid feeling I had. I scrubbed blood and petals off the floor until my knees were raw, just trying to get rid of it all.”

Midoriya listens in silence, his face a mix of empathy and quiet pain. He looks at you like he’s trying to share the burden, like he’s wishing he could have been there to help you through it, even if it’s too late now.

“I managed to get better,” you continue, your voice softer now, resigned. “I moved on, or at least I thought I did. I stopped coughing up flowers. I stopped feeling like I was dying every time I saw him. But the wounds… they still hurt. Even now, when I see him, it’s like it all comes rushing back. Not the love, not anymore. Just… the hurt.”

You look away, your gaze drifting back to the city lights in the distance. It feels strange to say it out loud, to put words to something that’s been clawing at you for so long. “I don’t want to feel this way, Midoriya. I don’t want to care what he thinks or how he looks at me. I just want to be free of it all. But every time he’s around, it’s like… it’s like the scars are ripped open all over again.”

Midoriya’s quiet for a moment, processing everything you’ve said. When he finally speaks, his voice is soft, careful, filled with the kind of empathy that’s so uniquely him. “I’m so sorry,” he says, and you can feel the sincerity in every word. “I can’t imagine how hard that must have been. And it’s okay that it still hurts. It’s okay to feel like you’re still picking up the pieces.”

He reaches out, just a small gesture, his hand hovering near yours—not quite touching, but close enough to offer comfort. “You don’t have to go through this alone,” he says, his voice gentle but firm. “You’ve got people who care about you, and you don’t have to carry this by yourself.”

You nod, the tight knot in your chest loosening just a little. It’s not a solution, not a fix, but it’s something— someone who knows, who understands, who doesn’t expect you to be anything but yourself, broken parts and all. 

“Thanks, Midoriya,” you whisper, managing a small, grateful smile. It’s not much, but it’s honest, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re finally allowed to be. 

Standing there, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, with Midoriya by your side, you think that maybe, just maybe, the hurt won’t always feel so heavy. Maybe the petals will stay gone. Maybe one day, the wounds will be nothing but faded scars. And maybe, with time, you’ll find a way to let someone in again— someone who won’t make you bleed just to prove that you loved them.

a/n: the next part will probably be you and deku getting together. Sorry this took so long to write, I wanted this to be good. I hope its good lol @des-todoroki @kukikoooo

border credits: @/enchanthings & @/adornedwithlight

© writingrock 2024 do not copy, translate or repost.

[neomel]

Alrighty fellow insane sonic fans i have something very cool for you today: a WORLDBUILDING theory!! this is something that's been kicking around in my head for so long that i forget it isn't something I've shared with many others yet lol

[ This post primarily covers stuff from Sonic Adventure, Sonic Adventure 2 and Sonic Advance, and ignores Sonic Chronicles and Sonic Pocket Adventure as they have been struck from canon (see: Encyclo-speed-ia) ]

[ It should also be noted that this theory is built on the idea that "the world" as depicted in Sonic Forces is not accurately depicting the entire globe, but rather depicting Eggman's takeover of just the island archipelago where the animal cast lives (South Island, West Side Island, Mirage Island, Northstar Islands, Angel Island) as to explain its geography and lack of human characters ]

Right! So, a big theme in the environmental design of the original Sonic Adventure was having the Sonic cast sort of "cross over" into the human world more - the wording on this was initially nebulous, but with updated translations and clearer official word recently, we now know that it means that the "human world" is moreso like a mainland populated by humans that exists separately from the animal-inhabited island archipelago of Sonic 1, 2, CD, 3&K and Superstars (see: Sonic Origins). My immediate first point of comparison - of all things - is something like the first Madagascar movie, where the lemurs are able to be a fully functioning society in a region completely isolated from humans.

Except it's not quite like that movie, is it? We see in Sonic Adventure (and further in Unleashed, 06) that animal characters like Sonic and c.o are able to exist just fine within the human world, to where Amy has flat-out moved into Station Square. Big and Tails, too, have settled down by the Mystic Ruins close to where Angel Island (sometimes) crashes down by, Rouge owns a club in Sonic Battle - you get the gist. Animal characters, the majority population of the islands as we see in Forces and the IDW series, are able to migrate into the "mainland" human societies, but it appears to still be a rarity, likely not even something everyone has the opportunity to do (Big might've been born on Angel Island, Tails and/or Sonic can fly any of Sonic's friends to wherever they want to go, etc.). The most contact humans have with the animal world is through the Mystic Ruins site, or Eggman using his excessive wealth to fly in and try and effectively colonize the islands as we see in Sonic 1, 2, Superstars, CD, 4.1 and 4.2 (for note: CD, 4.1 and 4.2 take place on the same island of Mirage Island)

Sonic Adventure 2's level select is obviously to be taken with a grain of salt as a stylized take on a world map, but it seems to infer the same thing that Origins' main menu and Angel Island's close proximity to the Mystic Ruins both corroborate - the island archipelago inhabited by the animal characters seems to be quite close to the mainland "United Nations" landmass, most evidently close to Rouge's Route 280 level. And given how often Eggman lays his sights on the islands as a primary target for his schemes (Heroes may well also be taking place on the islands, as Seaside Hill is confirmed to be near/on South Island), it would make sense from the United Nations' POV to try and make access to the islands more accessible. For example, to enable easier import and export of goods, help citizens evacuate from possible disaster (eg. how the Metal Virus in IDW described how it was impossible to evacuate to anywhere else but Angel Island), and so on - a way to connect the two societies more smoothly only makes sense.

With ALL that context and preamble out of the way, this is my theory, and where Sonic Advance finally comes into the picture:

Radical Highway in Sonic Adventure 2, and later Neo Green Hill Zone from Sonic Advance, were together depicting a brief attempt to connect South Island to the United Nations mainland.

You may think this is a bit of a nutty conclusion to draw given how little of a story Sonic Advance actually has, but I think there's a lot we can glean from just the environmental design of Neo Green Hill Zone alone. Compared to the original Green Hill Zone, and most of the levels in the Classic Sonic games that aren't just flat-out urban cities/facilities seemingly built under Eggman's control (Star Light, Spring Yard, Chemical Plant), Neo Green Hill Zone's touches of human infrastructure are far more...friendly, for a lack of a better word. There's parasols and wooden scaffolding, a grind rail or two along paved sidewalks, yet the natural beauty of the area is left entirely in tact. Nothing about it appears like Eggman's work, yet it is quite evidently structured for human interests, for tourism and walking/biking rather than all the funky ways in which Sonic's animal cast are comfortable moving around. Then there's of course the name: NEO Green Hill Zone, as if it's reinvigorating the idea for a fresh new facelift, re-marketing it!

But how does all that connect to Radical Highway?

Radical Highway (and Mission Street by extension) have a quirk unique to them when compared to almost all other urban city levels in the series - as you can see in the image above, they're themed around still being under construction. Compared to a level like Lethal Highway from Shadow the Hedgehog (or the aforementioned Route 280 from SA2) the holes and gaps in Radical Highway are presented as being specifically because the winding roads are still under construction. You can see this on the level map above too - Route 280 and Route 101 appear to be part of a long, linear, already-finished stretch of road, wheras the area of Radical Highway and Mission Street is filled with gaps, inlets and breaks in the road. Route 101/Route 280 already appear to fill the function of letting people cross between the two city areas depicted on Adventure 2's world map...so then, what exactly is the construction and general wobblyness of Radical Highway for?

Well, let's look at Sonic Advance again: Specifically, the end of the Neo Green Hill Zone stage, and the way the game progresses immediately thereafter:

The natural beach environment of Neo Green Hill Zone Act 2 suddenly bows out before the Eggman boss fight to give way to something quite interesting: A red bridge extending out from the island's coast. The bridge's architecture doesn't quite match that of Radical Highway, most notably using tall suspension wires hooked up to some off-screen upper portion of the construction, but I think the idea alone is fascinating enough: This is drastically more modern architecture compared to the rickety wooden bridges otherwise seen in Green Hill Zone. We're still a bit unsure of if Advance 1 takes place before or after Sonic Adventure 2, but if it's before - it may also be possible that the work on this bridge began on the South Island end of things *before* the mainland Radical Highway-end were finished with their work, with the idea of joining the two bridges somewhere in the middle.

Let's again also consider where this bridge takes our characters in Advance - to Secret Base Zone, a shockingly urban facility which we still don't really know the location of. Sonic and c.o need to zip-line into its entrance, with a background that only features light and buildings far off into the distance - is it possible that the Secret Base exists sort of like an oil rig in the middle of the ocean, inbetween South Island and the mainland, as some sort of production facility for the UN? Regardless, it serves as a pit-stop in the Advance campaign - after it, we can pretty cleanly chart a roadmap for where the cast travels. Casino Paradise's ocean background seemingly depicts it as being part of the coastline (bottom left of the SA2 map), Ice Mountain is pretty clearly meant to be another area of Ice Cap Zone given how it leads to the Angel Island Zone - which is, in reality, a dilapidated Sky Sanctuary. Effectively, the campaign seems to go from South Island, to the bridge connecting South Island to the mainland, to a coastside Vegas-like casino wonderland built by Eggman, which is near the Mystic Ruins and thus near Angel Island by extension (it may be connected to Night Carnival from Sonic Rush?). And all of it connected thanks to the works of a bridge, seemingly set up in Adventure 2 with Radical Highway being under construction, possibly with the goals to connect the two core parts of Sonic's world.

Whew! That's pretty much all the words I have, and I've now reached the max cap of images per posts. I truly don't know how many Sonic fans care about these granular details and concepts about the environment of Sonics world in games from 20+ years ago, but I hope it got some gears turning - and if there is some merit to this, it may further get you wondering as to why the path connecting the two was seemingly cut off in the end? Given the cityscapes we see in Forces and IDW, it's possible that this mutual relation between the two worlds lasted for a fair while - what could've possibly led to that bond being broken? Maybe Unleashed breaking the world apart had something to do with it...

Thanks for reading this far if you did - and feel free to add your own ideas or things I might've missed in all of this!

[neonovember]

Okay hear me out, how would carmen react to someone he's dating being a "picky eater" that has a VERY limited diet due to sensory issues👀

This is totally not self-indulgent /s

Eeeee

enjoy some bear fam ribbing and carmen carmen carmen

honestly I think he’d be interested if anything! His mind is constantly on overdrive thinking of recipes and foods and the combinations of flavours, and how to change this and tweak that. He could run on fumes, just a jar of tums and his notebook and spend the night brainstorming dishes. We’ve all seen it, it might be a way for him to distract from the hellish that is his social life outside the Bear, by bringing it home too. So when he meets his girl, who’s got a palate that is entirely different to anything he’s seen before he takes it as almost a challenge to push himself to produce something amazing, creative and yours.

You’re his girl, he has this carnal need to take care of you, and can you imagine if you were nervous or worried about what he might think??? No he’d run his thumb along your thigh, while you're on either side of him wrapped in the covers that were warm from the morning sun and just raise his eyebrows and snicker in that way he does. And it hit him that your exes were dipshits and never listened to you and he’d gather you in his arms and murmur how you could watch him cook for you every day if you wanted to.

And he held true to that, he’d sit you down on the counter after hours in the Bear later that night. You’d sneak in, when you’re craving for something that the places around you can’t offer and Carmen is just fucking itching to serve you food and show off his fucking Michelin talent.

It would be a ritual, you watching and him making. He’d serve it to you all pretty and clean, leaving his serving to be eaten from the pan. And he watches every expression on your face, every quirk and flick of your eyebrow and he’d know, god he’d know what you were thinking in that moment. If you liked it or not, if it triggered one of your senses into overdrive and had you trying to hide the way your teeth scraping against a certain component left you shivering in disgust.

He’d know and he’d rush to give you water and make you spit it out despite your protests. And you shake your head in anger at the things you can’t control and Carmen will sit with you on the floor of the Bear and he’d smile in that way he does, as he’d ask about every part and force it out of you until he’d be changing the meal entirely. 

Showing you the things you can control which was making your boyfriend who cooked for a living, cook.

He’d be protective over you I feel like, after you tell him bad experiences that had ruined your relationship with food. Making sure no one gave you shit about it, always on guard, eyes in slits and voice gravelly when waiters double check your order or look anywhere but their fucking notepad.

The team is a whole other situation… I imagine it to be a whole team involved in a sit down investigation, an entire intervention by them because they are just so confused and scared (which is actually hilarious) that you were barred from eating certain foods or something.

-- -

“Okay, okay, how about pasta alla vodka” Tina muses, a grin pulling at her jaw as she leans back against the cheap plastic chairs that were reserved for the house.

“Nop, don’t like those bits of tomato they leave in the sauce” You shrug, chewing on your straw as you watch the way the rest of the team rears back in dismay.

Tina’s face drops, stubbornly pulling out a dollar bill and slapping it into Richie's grinning face.

“I thought I had it dammit” Tina groans, muttering about losing to a fake Italian divorcee who skimped her out of a chocolate bar.

You're all scattered in the back of the Bear, popcorn and peanuts are littered amongst half emptied bottles of beers on the large metal table that spans across the room. The Bear had been closed today, some sort of team building attempt at brainstorming new ideas for the menu and the Bear itself. 

Much to the annoyance of the rest of the crew, who had to make the commute in a freezing Chicago winter on a day that was supposed to be a break, somewhere along the fights that erupted at every suggestion and the stubbornness that remained in each of the team it did feel a little like family bonding.

At least it felt like it now, as they all collectively came together to study you.

That's where you found yourself, being pulled into the never calm-always-catastrophic environment of the Bear thanks to Carmen. You had protested at first, thinking you would be out of place in the sea of decorated chefs but as your phone dinged with messages from Syd and Richie, the latter earring on a very thinly veiled threat to ‘be there or i'll come and get you’ you found yourself throwing on a too thin jacket and knocking against on the Bear’s ‘closed’ sign after your shift.

You were greeted with the warmth of the Bear, breathing it in deeply before you realised that the smoky heat of the restaurant was as much fueled by the temperamental crew screaming out obscenities in the back as much as the radiator Fak had somehow fixed for the 15th time.

You didn't quite understand how you got here, you in the middle, and the team surrounding you firing out questions about your less than conventional palate. 

Carmen's disgruntled protest against the team channeling some sort of crud rip off of True Detective did little as the team went around listing dishes from escargot to cheese on bread to get your opinion. 

It was downright ironic, you know this. You are someone who couldn't stand the texture and smell of certain foods to the point of having them struck from your diet with a man whose entire life was surrounded by, and birthed from the complexities of texture and taste.

“It’s one of the stables of Italy!’ Richie barks, stuffing the dollar bill into his pocket hile shaking his head. 

The beer he had opened had gone cold in his hand since the beginning of the conversation. He couldn't stop his mouth from remaining hung open after every shake of your head and shrug of your shoulders towards the meals they loved.

You wondered if chefs have the same value systems as other..tightly knit organisations. One where disrespect leads to your swift removal…off the face of the earth. You don’t let yourself forget that they are skilled in the goddamn wielding of knives no matter their friendly chiding, you might be one shake of your head away from being prepared in all the ways you hate your food to be.

Carmen looked at you, his eyes straining across your body to check if you felt uncomfortable. He knew your tells almost as well as you know, and he'd be quick to shut it down and take you back home if need be. But as your eyes meet his, and the squint of a smile reaches them he shakes his head, mouths a “goddamn idiots”, and rolls his eyes at his families curiosity.

“Listen, I get that, I don't like bits of bone in my meat. But surely, for a dish that you know I know you know tastes like the fucking gates of heaven, you can make an exception” Syd blinks, her face filled with expectation, like she thought it was obvious.

You’re giggling at Sydney words, “Is this reassurance for me or for you”

“Me. It’s for me” Syd gulps, blinking as she registers the truth

“I just can’t eat food, no matter how good you guys tell me it is, that fucks up my sensory issues-”

“Alright, yeah, sensory issues, darling I bet if i could bring you to ONE dinner, one of our dinners at Carmen's Ma's we could easily persuade you-”

“Jesus fucking Christ-”

“No, no look Carmen. This is your woman ain't she? How can you let her walk around without letting her taste the delicate crossroads that produce Chicago- Italian cuisine? I mean you're seriously failing-”

“Fuck you”

“Goddamn fake”

The irony of it all was, you and Carmen had both met at a farmers market. Surrounded by food you wouldn't eat, at a place you didn't frequent, all for one particular food you did eat. And somehow, despite passing by 95% of vendors without even a swipe of your eye against their delicate colors and shapes, Carmen had bumped into you.

And he had apologies and you had crouched down to collect the runaway potatoes and fruits that tried to escape through his pouch, and your fingers had collided when you looked up to see the man who had interrupted your 15 minute venture.

Through the blurted out line of apologies, Carmen had stopped and looked at you and tried to reopen his hanging mouth. And you sat there half amused and half worried he was having a stroke.

“I know this is forward and you can tell me to go to hell, but could I take you out sometime?”

You had caught the last of the disobedient root vegetables when you raised your eyebrows in surprise, and let yourself be shocked again as you said yes.

Carmen had nodded and smiled when you told him you weren't exactly experimental with your diet, wanting to get it out of the way when you found out he was a chef and your sensory issues had been a problem for people who didn't make food for a living.

You expected the same ritual, the same dance of having to explain your diet to people and wait for them to actually understand that your pickiness wasn't just the usual ‘dislike’, but a very real thing that impacted how you eat everyday. You had no choice in it, that's what you told them every time and they had rolled their eyes and thrown your words in your face as they compared you to a petulant child that didn't want to eat their vegetables. You sighed and they did too, as they watched you flip every menu to the page for children and you cringed as the waiter looked around for your child and realised it was you.

Carmen was different though, of course he was. He didn't let his surprise go hidden, as he asked about every food you disliked and everyone you did. Noone before asked, they simply resolved to assume your diet was constricted in the small section of the kids meal. But Carmen asked, he did all night when you had brought it up after he asked to cook for you. Sitting on your couch, talking about you, and your diet, and your sensory issues for hours until he knew everything about them.

Until he simply nodded, and wrote something in his notebook and asked if you were still free on Thursday.

Of course the family was teasing, and of course they’d all tweak any dishes you were craving so that they weren't overloading your senses in any way. You’ve got a reserved seat at the Bear, and all your favourite dishes on standby if you ever wanted to come in to find something that didn't set you off and leave you anxious and sensitive.

It gets to an alarming rate of you coming in nearly every other day, in which Richie, Carm Syd and every other person in the Bear constructed some under the table deals with dea by restaurants to accommodate your sensitivities. They all like to feign ignorance when you walk in the next day all smiles, showing off your little takeaway box from the Portuguese spot you had so desperately to try before the stark textures and flavours of the menu you perused dashed the thought away.

Carmen hated seeing that excitement turn into defeated acknowledgement of the barriers you had around food. But also, in the same breath, Carmen knows how certain textures and tastes can trigger you into getting over-stimulated, leading to becoming frazzled and irritated. Which is exactly why he would never let you push yourself too far, supporting you if you ever wanted to try it out but immediately taking the dish away from you when he realised your heart was racing too quick and you were getting stiff..

“Baby, easy. Need you to go slow, yeah?”

“Alright, that’s enough. You did good sweetheart, I’m proud of you. Lemme make you something for tonight though yeah? Something you like?”

The truth was there were going to be some days where both Carmen's creativity, and your sensory issues outdo him. You were okay with that though, you were still catching up to reality that someone loved you enough to fit their life around yours.

And then Carmen copied your meals for a week when you told him this, until the Bear was relying on his memory of taste and you finally agreed that yes, there was no fitting needed.

[elizabethsnuts]

Request: winterwidow baby have a daddy-daughter day with her papa🥺, and when they coming home yn js just so excited to tell her mama all the things she did with bucky

Daddy-Daughter Day

Winterwidow x daughter!reader

Summary: Bucky takes his little daughter out on a daddy-daughter day.

———

Bucky woke up to the sound of giggles and the soft padding of little feet. He smiled as he saw his 2-year-old daughter, Y/N, standing at the edge of the bed, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Today was their special day - a daddy-daughter day, just the two of them.

After a quick breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup, Bucky bundled you up in a cozy jacket and scarf. He couldn't help but adore how small you looked in your winter attire. Holding your tiny hand in his metal one, you two ventured out into the crisp winter morning.

The first destination: the local ice skating rink. Bucky had secretly been practising his skating skills just for this day. As you arrived, the rink was adorned with twinkling lights, and the air was filled with laughter and the scraping sound of blades against the ice.

Bucky crouched down to your eye level, your wide blue eyes fixed on the glistening ice. "Are you ready to go skating, baby doll?" he asked, earning an enthusiastic nod from you.

“Yes! we go on the ice!” you giggled and held Bucky's hand tighter.

With your skates laced up, Bucky took your hand again and slowly stepped onto the ice. It was your first time, and Bucky was determined to make it memorable. The initial wobbles turned into laughter as Bucky guided you across the ice, your little feet making hesitant but determined strides.

The two of you circled the rink, Bucky spinning you around occasionally, your laughter echoing through the frosty air. The joy on your face was priceless, and Bucky couldn't help but feel a warmth in his heart as you glided together.

"Daddy, this the best day ever!" you exclaimed, your cheeks rosy from both the cold and excitement.

Bucky grinned, ruffling your hair. "Glad you think so, baby doll. But we still have more to do!"

The more skating the two of you did, the more confidence you gained. Bucky skated backward, holding your little hands, and laughed as you twirled together.

As you left the ice with rosy cheeks, Bucky scooped you into his arms and headed away from the ice skating rink to your next destination.

Bucky strolled through the snow-covered streets with your little hand clutching his until a cozy little cafe came into view. The warm aroma of freshly brewed coffee greeted you as you entered.

Bucky guided the two of you to a small table by the window, where you could watch the snowflakes gently fall outside. The little cafe was adorned with twinkling lights, creating a warm and cozy atmosphere. Bucky helped you out of your winter gear, settling you into a cushioned chair.

"I think it's time for a treat, don't you think, sweetheart?" Bucky grinned, glancing at the menu.

Your eyes widened with anticipation. "Treat, Daddy!"

Bucky chuckled and looked over the menu. "How about a hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream for you?" he suggested, pointing to the various options.

Your face lit up. "Yes, please, Daddy!"

Bucky signalled the waiter, placing the order for your special hot chocolate. As they waited, Bucky couldn't help but smile at the joy sparkling in your blue eyes. The cafe's ambience, combined with the lingering excitement from ice skating, made the moment feel magical.

The drinks arrived, and your hot chocolate looked like a work of art, topped with a mountain of marshmallows and a swirl of whipped cream. Bucky smiled as he handed the hot drink to you, you couldn't contain the excitement.

"Daddy, it's so tasty!" you exclaimed, your eyes wide with amazement.

Bucky chuckled. "Well, you deserve nothing but the best, baby doll."

While you happily sipped your hot chocolate giving yourself a little milk moustache, Bucky enjoyed the rich aroma of his coffee. You chatted about your favourite moments on the ice, your favourite animal, and what you saw on your daily walks with Natasha. Bucky listened attentively, savouring the simple joy of these father-daughter conversations.

As drinks were finished, Bucky glanced at the clock. "Well, baby doll, it's time to head home. But we'll have more special days like this, I promise."

You nodded, your eyes filled with contentment. Bucky paid the bill and helped you back into your winter gear. The two of you left the cafe hand in hand, the warmth of your hot drinks lingering as you both stepped back into the chilly air outside.

As Bucky and you returned to the compound, the snowfall had intensified outside, a white blanket of snow coated the outside. Bucky marvelled at the beauty, holding your hand tightly. The warmth of the cafe lingered as you stepped inside, greeted by the familiar surroundings of your home.

"Alright, sweetheart, let's get you out of those snowy clothes," Bucky said, guiding you towards the living area. You excitedly kicked off your pink boots and wriggled out of your winter coat, your face still flushed with the remnants of the day's adventures.

Once comfortably settled back into warm clothes, you couldn't contain your excitement. "Daddy, I wanna tell Mama about our day!"

Bucky chuckled, nodding in agreement. "Sounds like a plan. Let's find Mama."

The both of you made your way to the communal area where Natasha was engrossed in a book. Hearing the footsteps, she looked up, a warm smile playing on her lips.

"Well, look who's back! How was your day, you two?" Natasha asked.

You practically bounced on your toes, eager to share. "Mama, Daddy and I go ice skating! And then we went to a cafe, and I had hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream!"

Natasha's eyes met Bucky's, and she raised an eyebrow teasingly. "Sounds like quite the adventure, the two of you had."

Natasha chuckled, closing her book. "I'm glad to hear that. Maybe next time I'll join you for some ice skating. But for now, how about we get ready for dinner?"

As they headed to the dining area, you couldn't stop talking about every detail of the day, from the first step on the ice to the last sip of your hot chocolate.

[ghostheartfelt]

*:･｡☆ tags: cafe cuteness (fr), regular customer au, sunshine reader, grown attachments, pervert!venom, fem!reader, first introduction, no use of y/n, she/her prns used

〔☆〕 desc: you meet eddie during morning rush hour, vv understanding man who admires your connection with your customers and dedication towards your job. eddie's hungry for chocolate (n you), you pique interest in the host and his symbiote. very calm and soft start<3 u get both povs basically cause the way i write can b confusing :)

.. ☆ next part | masterlist (tbe)

—✩ RUSH HOUR P. ⅰ ✩—

word count — 1.7k

a/n: u get both povs basically cause the way i write can b confusing :)

Rush hour, you thought.

Your coworkers were racing in and out of the kitchen holding platters of fresh baked muffins and pitchers of orange juice.

In the evenings, the café is quieter and calmer - in the mornings, not so much.

You turned as someone called your name and nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Can you get the back left corner table napkins and jelly packets, please? That old woman is just about ready to throw her handbag at me,” your coworker, Becc (short for Becca), had asked you while balancing dirty plates going down both of her forearms.

“Yes, yes, I can—“ you nodded, waving her off as you rushed to the check-in desk, grabbing at a few jelly packs; orange marmalade, grape, and strawberry, as well as a new pack of napkins.

You did as Becc asked, bringing the items to the old woman who indeed was clutching her blue leather snakeskin handbag. “Sorry, ma’am, we’re a bit busy this morning.”

With no reply, she snagged an orange marmalade jelly packet from your hand as you were placing them on the table, causing you to flinch at the sudden action.

You as well unpackaged the napkins and placed them in the metal stand, then fixed your apron and walked back to the front desk as the welcoming bell’s ringing filled your ears.

A male in an olive green jacket and denim jeans, a gray undershirt, and black converse made his way towards the dine-in counter where you stood behind.

He had a scruffy yet handsome face, his hair slightly unkempt but in a way that you admired him. Your cheeks slightly flushed.

“Good morning,” he nodded at you respectfully.

“Good morning,” you replied, “just a table for one?”

You picked up a menu, clutching it to your chest as your fingers trace along the plastic cover.

“Yeah,” his eyes nervously dragged around though you let it go and took it in as some sort of social anxiety.

“Right this way, sir,” you lead the way, your head turning over your shoulder to make sure he hadn’t zoned out, turning it once again at the sight of him trailing behind.

“Will this booth work for you?” you placed the menu down and he slid it over with his thumb and pointer finger.

“Oh, yeah, nice cushioning,” he laughed nervously.

“Perfect - any drinks to start you off? Perhaps an O.J, or a coffee?” you straighten your posture, your shoulders slouched awkwardly.

“Coffee sounds great, side of cream of sugar, if that’s okay?” he looked up at you.

You were a nervous wreck, and he could tell - they could tell.

“I’ll have that right out for you,” you turned and took a step, though he put his hand on your shoulder.

“Shit, sorry, just uh—can I get a chocolate muffin as soon as possible?” his lips overlapped one another as he let go, though you blinked and smiled.

“Of course, I’m sorry, I should’ve asked if you’d like anything on the side.” You bit your bottom lip with embarrassment.

The man was rather distracting, your eyes dragging over and analyzing every feature his face held. He had blue eyes with soft bags, tiresome dark circles and a muscular build. You had an oddly specific type.

“Oh, no, don’t apologize,” he scoffed with a small smile.

You smiled back and turned on the heels of your white sneakers and headed to the kitchen.

“SHE SMELT DELICIOUS,” a deep and grim voice echoed in the brunette’s mind.

“Quit smelling random people like some pervert, V,” the man whispered to himself.

“NOT RANDOM, JUST HER,”

“Well, we can’t eat her,” he bit the flesh on the inside of his cheek as he looked outside the window, his forehead in the palm of his hand.

“WE WILL NOT,” the voice snarled deeply. “GET TIRED OF CHICKENS.”

“I know, V, but you can’t just go around the city beheading random people, so for right now we need to deal with chickens.” He grunted.

“BUT THEY ARE BAD, BAD PEOPLE SHOULD SUFFER AND DIE,” the voice grew louder, irritated by his response. “WE KILL, WE SAVE!”

“Yeah, well, we kill, we also risk our lives, V.”

“SHE IS COMING,” it snarked, evading his head.

The brunette turned his head to watch you walk over to his booth, a muffin and a cup of coffee on a large round tray that you balanced on your open palm, waving at frequent customers with a tug at both corners of your lips.

“I’m sorry for the wait, sir,” you grab the plate and set it on the table along with the mug of java.

“Just call me Eddie,” he nodded as thanks, taking a bite out of the muffin.

You introduced yourself, drumming your fingers on your server book before opening it. “Did you want anything else this morning, Eddie?” You clicked your fuzzy purple pen as you spoke with a bubbly voice.

“WE LIKED THAT,” the voice boomed through his head again causing Eddie to swallow thickly.

“I think we—I’m okay,” he stammered slightly, a nervous smirk curving one corner of his mouth upward.

He was cute, your hip dropped to the side slightly. You bit your lip to suppress a smile, instead giving a small laugh.

“Just wave at me when you’re ready for your bill, okay?” you close the book and turn once again to assist another table.

“HUNGRY,”

“Alright, V, just hold on a second,” Eddie peeled back the cover on the small creamer packet, then poured it into the coffee along with two packets of sugar.

Your fingers dig into the pocket of your apron to take out a few crayons wrapped in plastic and place them on the table along with a kids menu. A small ravenette boy with curly locks and smooth dark skin smiled at you brightly as he took out the green crayon and coloured in the small dinosaurs sprinkled across the kids menu.

“Thank you,” his mother sipped her cup of hot tea, her french-tip nails clicking against the glass as she loops her finger through the handle.

“Of course, what can I start you two off with this morning?” you leaned on your toes, then met back with the ground.

“For him, I think just a small pancake—“ she gently tapped the boy’s knuckles with her thumb, then began signing in what you assumed was American sign language.

You observed closely, watching in awe as he signed back to his mother, an exciting smile never leaving his face as he signed a “thank you,” to you.

You knew a bit of signing from your highschool years, so you replied with “you’re welcome,” enthusiastically, hugging yourself to gesture an air hug.

“A pancake is fine for him, some fruit on the side?” she smiled. “Is pot roast on the menu right now, dear?”

“Yes, there’s about ten more minutes until it’s done, if that is alright with you?” you wrote down the mention of extra fruit in your book.

“As long as it’s fresh, am I right?” she let out a heartwarming laugh, earning a small giggle from you as well. “Oh, and three cornbread biscuits.”

“That’s when it’s best, and sounds great - any juice for the little one?” your eyes dragged over to him craning his neck to sip out of the plastic cup of water that was given to his mother with her tea. Your heart fluttered with baby fever.

She caught his attention once more, signing with her fingers.

“Sprite, thank you,” the mother rejoiced.

You toyed with the hem of your apron. “I’ll have it right out for you two,” you scrambled toward the kitchen.

“WHERE DID SHE GO?”

“She’s helping others,” Eddie swirled the little bit of cold coffee in the bottom of his cup, slowly adjusting himself as he watched you set down a small plastic cup with a yellow lid in front of a child, then a bowl in front of his mother.

You place a straw on the table, then walk back to the brunette who had introduced himself as “Eddie”, which you admired. It fit his face well.

“I’m so sorry for the wait, Eddie,” you smile nervously with your eyebrows pinched together as you hand him his bill and a pen.

“Hey, it’s no problem, seriously.” He took it from your hands, scanning it over. “Thank you,”

“Of course,” you quipped. “Tell me if you need anything, I’ll be back,”

“LITTLE MORSEL,” the voice purred. “WILL WE COME BACK, EDDIE?”

Yeah - yeah, we will, V. Eddie watched you leave to assist another group of people walking into the small café as he took out his wallet, setting down two twenty dollar bills for a tip and his credit card for the rest.

“WANT TO MEET HER,” it grunted.

No, we might never even see her again.

“YOU ARE A LOSER.”

You sped back over, exhaling heavily. “It’s getting busier and busier, I’m sorry for the delay of getting you out the door,”

“No need for all the apologies, seriously,” he scoffed.

“Right, sorry—“ you blinked. “The tip, Eddie, that’s so much,”

“THAT SOUNDS—“

Knock it off, perv.

“I was a journalist, that’s nothing to me,”

Your cheeks flushed, but you thanked him again and guided him to the front desk.

“Any chance you’ll be here tomorrow?”

“YES!” it boomed.

“Actually, I won’t,” you hum sadly.

“NO—“ it snarled.

“But I work every Wednesday through Saturday,” you smiled.

“Okay, good to know,”

Your heart thumped in your chest, you were frozen in place in fear of him actually having the ability to hear, which Eddie himself couldn’t - but he could.

“SHE IS NERVOUS, EDDIE,”

Of us?

“OF YOU,”

Did Eddie want to get to know you more? Or possibly were you just that good of a waitress? God, now you were really overthinking things - is that why he tipped you so much? Did he not actually pique interest in you?

“Are you alright?”

You were so captivated in thought you hadn’t even realized you were still holding the brunette’s credit card in the machine; blinking for you to take it out - you felt your ear tips heat up.

“Sorry, I space out sometimes,” you gently pulled out his credit card and handed it to him, which he grabbed with two fingers.

“Not a problem,” there was a genuine tone on his tongue that delivered you some comfort.

“Have a great day, Eddie,” you waved to him as he left the building which he warmly returned; your heart feeling a sudden loneliness as he escaped your peripheral view.

[betterthanyalls]

Happy Valentines day!!! This is a gift for my platonic valentine!!! Love u pookie

Fake Proposals

Words: 1.5K

Published: 2-14-2024

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is such a bad idea.”

"Oh, c'mon, Peach! It’s free food!”

“If it works, which it probably won’t,” Y/n explained to her boyfriend, "plus, aren’t you a demon? Can you not just disguise yourself and steal the food?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Have some faith, Peaches!” Wukong encouraged, wrapping his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder. He held Y/n tight and guided her into the high-class restaurant that stood tall in front of them. Wukong let go of Y/n, to his dismay, so he could hold the door open for her. He may be an egotistical demon, but he knows how to treat the love of his immortal life.

Y/n smiled at her partner’s kind gesture, “Thank you, love,” and entered the small entrance of the restaurant. When Wukong entered, his hand instantly found its way to Y/n’s, holding her in a tight yet gentle grip. The couple stood near the host stand, waiting for a server to come to seat them. They stood there for around five minutes until Wukong started getting impatient. His foot was tapping rapidly on the ground, and his tail was swaying, brushing Y/n’s leg every few passes. Noticing this, Y/n lightly squeezed his hand in a few pulses. Her eyes watched as Wukong’s tail slowed its sways and his foot stopped tapping.

Smiling softly, the young woman cast a glance at her boyfriend. She saw how he was looking around, trying to spot any servers standing around. Eventually, someone who looked like a hostess walked up to them.

“I am so sorry for making you wait! I was told someone would cover me when I’m on break, but I guess not,” the girl, who looked the same age as Y/n, spoke quickly. Y/n observed how the girl kept taking glances at Wukong, each one longer than the last. Normally, Y/n wouldn’t mind people looking at her boyfriend; he was a demon after all, but this girl had a different emotion in her expression. Y/n read the girl’s name tag and couldn’t help but notice how much the girl looked like Y/n. ‘Analise’, was the name carved into the metal tag. “That’s ok, my boyfriend and I would just like a couple table. Please,” Y/n spoke through a strained smile, moving closer to Wukong.

Wukong, somehow, didn’t take notice of the way Analise stared at him or how Y/n moved closer. “Right away,” Analise glared at Y/n before turning and guiding them to a nearby table made for two. As they walked, Y/n gripped Wukong’s hand tighter. She could see from her peripheral view when her boyfriend looked down at their hands and looked at her face. Y/n looked at him when he mouthed a question, ‘You okay?’. Now that Wukong knew she saw him, Y/n couldn’t ignore the question. Looking at Analise, who was still walking in front of the two, Y/n let out a sigh and shook her head, ‘No’. Wukong’s eyes held hers, filled with sympathy and understanding, and simply nodded. It didn’t take long for them to reach a two-person table in the center of the restaurant. Y/n smiled when she saw the mischievous grin spread across her lover’s lips.

“Here you are, sir... and ma’am,” Analise finished her sentence with resentment. Hearing this, Y/n gave the worker a tight, sour smile before sitting down across from her partner. Analise left the couple to view their menus and choose the food. Scanning the options, Y/n paused when she felt a foot tapping hers. Looking up, she was met with Wukong’s iconic smirk. “So, my dear Y/n was jealous of some random girl?” His tone was laced with tease as he smiled at her. Y/n rolled her eyes and softly kicked her demon lover, a small smile forming on her lips as she looked away to hide it. “Shut up, just stick to the plan, ok?” The young woman spoke through her embarrassment, still not meeting Wukong’s eyes.

Y/n heard his chuckle and the shuffling of fabric. Looking up, she watched as her boyfriend pulled a small black box from his pocket and set it on the table with a mischievous grin. The two looked around, trying to see if any staff was nearby to see the plan in action. “I think that’s the manager right there,” Y/n discreetly pointed to a man standing about a table or two away. Looking back to her partner, Y/n nodded to him with him doing the same in response. Clearing his throat to gain nearby attention, Wukong stood up and took the box. Walking over to Y/n, he knelt in front of her. She could see a glimmer in his eyes as emotions danced like lightning on his expression.

“Y/n M/n L/n, we have been through thick and thin together. I can’t even fathom how you could survive with someone like me and yet you do it anyways. You have always meant the most to me; the flame to my candle, the moon to my sun, the rainbow to my cloud. I can’t explain in words how much you mean to me, it’s simply impossible. You deserve everything in this whole messed-up universe and I will make it my goal to deliver it all to you. Anything you want, it’s yours. I’m lost without you, Peach. I want to be your crutch, your support; the one you rely on when you can’t even rely on yourself. I may not understand everything but I will do anything to let you show me. I am willing to change anything just for you to glance at me. The longing I get when you have to leave from a date or when I can’t look at you for even a moment. Your eyes, your hair, your cheeks, your nose, your arms, your everything. I love every little detail about yourself. All your flaws are gone, you never had any to begin with. I know you might not be able to see yourself the way I see you but I want to let you even get at least a glimpse of how I see you. You are so perfect to me that even the stars moon and sun envy you. You shine your light of kindness and care to anyone, proving anyone can be themself around you. I feel so safe with you and I want you to feel that around me. Y/n M/n L/n, I want to spend the rest of my life with you and I will do anything to make you mine. So, what do you say?”

Shock and embarrassment overwhelmed Y/n. She had expected some cheesy speech, but the way he said it and the way his eyes glowed. Y/n knew he meant every single word and it left her speechless. Her mouth opened slightly, trying to say something but no words or sounds came out. Wukong held an expectant look like he didn’t think this whole spiel would catch you off guard. The whole restaurant was looking at the two of you. The suspense was thick in the air and even the blind could see the anticipation. Finally, Y/n found her voice.

“Yes,” She whispered before making her voice audible, “yes! 100 times yes!” Wukong stood up and brought her up with him before picking Y/n up and spinning her around. Laughter echoed from them as the restaurant erupted into cheers and applause. A huge smile graced both the couple's faces when Wukong slid the ring onto Y/n's ring finger. The duo hugged tightly before feeling a hand on both their shoulders, it was the manager. At first, they thought their plan had been a success until the manager pointed to an extremely small sign across the room that read, ‘NO ROMANCE ON PREMISE!’. “Well, that’s ironic.”

Now walking hand in hand down the dark street, Y/n and Wukong just talked. “I wanted that free food,” Y/n complained. “I know Peach, but I can just steal some food from Pizza Hut or something if you would like,” her boyfriend shrugged. Pausing in her steps, Y/n looked at Wukong with an ‘Are you serious?’ expression. “What?” “Why didn’t you just do that earlier before we got kicked out?!” Y/n exclaimed to her clueless boyfriend. “I…uhhh….” Wukong stumbled on his words, trying to find a reason before Y/n found the truth. “Wait a second,” Y/n spoke, a smirk forming on her face and turning to her lover, “did you just do all this so you could propose to me but not officially?” Wukong was looking everywhere but his girlfriend now and not answering her question. Y/n smiled softly at her flustered partner before taking his face in her palms and giving Wukong a soft kiss on the cheek, ruffling the fur atop his head when she leaned back. Y/n chuckled a little before she turned and kept walking, leaving a stunned Monkey King behind her.

[cheynovak]

Spikes

Summary: Y/N, a 16-year-old punk-loving girl, rushes to the Beach City Grill every day after school to see Priestly, the edgy and cool guy with a spiky mohawk and piercings, whom she's secretly in love with.

Warning: None, Priestly is just a nice guy to a love sick teenage puppy.

English isn't my first language

Please do not copy my work. Likes/Share/Comments are appreciated.

Y/N hated her school uniform. Every morning felt like a betrayal, pulling on the pleated skirt and stiff blazer that made her feel like a cookie-cutter version of everyone else. She missed her ripped jeans, band tees, and spiked accessories that were as much a part of her as her love for punk and metal.

As soon as the final bell rang each day, she was free—well, not totally. The uniform stayed on, but it didn’t matter. Y/N would ditch the blazer, roll up her sleeves, and sprint across town to the Beach City Grill. It wasn’t just for the sandwiches.

It was Priestly

Priestly was a walking work of art. His hair, styled into a spiky mohawk with streaks of bright red and electric blue, stood out as sharp as his personality. His face was pierced—nose ring, lip ring, and a few studs along his ears. He had these intense green eyes that seemed to look right through people, but his easy smile softened the edge. His sideburns connected to a perfectly sculpted goatee, and he always rocked some version of graphic shirt like he wore today.

Priestly wasn’t just some regular hot guy. He was cool unapologetically himself, and completely untouchable. Older, maybe by a few years, but Y/N didn’t care. She had it bad.

Every day, she’d walk in, heart racing, pretending like she wasn’t already imagining what his voice would sound like saying her name. She’d order the same thing—a soda or a milkshake if she was feeling daring—and linger by the counter, just long enough to catch his eye.

Today was no different. As she pushed through the door, the bell above jingling, she spotted Priestly leaning against the counter, fiddling with one of his bracelets. Her stomach did a weird flip-flop.

“Hey, Priestly,” she greeted, trying to sound casual.

“Y/N!” He gave her a grin that made her insides feel like melted vinyl. “Right on time, as always.”

She leaned against the counter, pretending to look at the menu even though she had it memorized. “Yeah, uh, can’t stay away from this place.”

She wasn’t sure if she meant the grill or him, but Priestly didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

She look at his wrist noticing the new jewellery. “that bracelet’s awesome."

Priestly glanced down and chuckled. “Yeah, thanks. I’ve had this one forever."

Y/N felt her pulse quicken. “I love it. Way cooler than this stupid uniform I’m stuck in every day.” She glanced down at the school-issued shirt in disgust. Then, without thinking, she reached up to finger her necklace—a black choker covered in metal spikes, one of the few remnants of her true style that hadn’t been completely stripped away by the school’s dress code.

Priestly’s eyes followed the movement, and his lips quirked into an appreciative smile. “Your necklace is badass, though. Spikes are killer.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. He liked it! Without thinking, she tugged the choker off and handed it to him. “You can have it,” she said quickly. “The principal’s been threatening to confiscate it if I wear it one more time. Might as well give it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

Priestly blinked, taken aback, then grinned as he took the necklace from her. “Thanks, Y/N. Seriously. This is rad.” He looked at her like she was more than just the kid who showed up every day at his counter. “Here, let’s swap.”

Before she could protest, he unclasped his leather band and held it out. “I don’t think they can say anything about this at school, right?”

Her heart hammered in her chest as she reached out to take the bracelet. “I—uh—thanks.” She slid it onto her wrist, feeling the worn leather warm against her skin. It was a perfect fit. She was sure her face was burning, but she didn’t care. She had something of his now. Something real.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, comfortable but thick with something unsaid. Then Priestly tilted his head, his eyes studying her face more closely than they ever had before. “Y’know, Y/N, you come in here every day after school. Don’t you have, like, a club or friends to hang out with?”

Y/N swallowed hard, her face flushing even redder. “Uh, I just like the food here. And, um, you guys are just awesome to hang out with.”

Priestly raised an eyebrow, clearly amused but not in a mean way. “Just the food, huh?” He leaned forward on the counter, closer than usual, his voice gentle but knowing. “You’re a sweet girl, Y/N. But... I’ve gotta ask—why do you really come in every day?”

Her throat tightened. Oh, God. He knew. She fumbled for words, her heart pounding, but nothing coherent came out. All she managed was, “I, um... you... I'm s-sorry.”

Priestly smiled, and it wasn’t teasing. It was soft, almost apologetic. “Hey, it’s cool. I think you’re awesome, really. But... you’re still kinda young, y’know?”

Y/N’s face burned with embarrassment, but she nodded quickly, unable to meet his eyes. She knew. Of course, she knew. She was sixteen, still stuck in high school, and Priestly was already in his late twenties. There was no way he’d ever see her like that.

Still, her heart sank as Priestly gently patted her hand. “Maybe in a few years, yeah?” he said with a wink, trying to lighten the mood. “Who knows?”

Y/N couldn’t help the tiny smile that crept across her face. “Yeah... maybe.”

With the leather band secure on her wrist, she knew she’d remember this moment forever. At least Priestly didn't saw her as a freak like all those highschool boys.

--

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[chelseasdagger]

Behind the Red in My Eyes

Mikey Berzatto x Reader

Summary: Mikey comes home, yet again, exhausted after a long shift at The Beef. You offer him some encouraging words and his favorite touch to unwind.

Warnings: cursing

Author's Note: This is my first entry for @bernthirst-events's Beardthal Bash! I had this idea for a while, but I ended up writing way more plot than was needed oops! I still hope there was enough mention of the beard to count!

Word Count: 2.9k+

Mikey Berzatto took pride in his work. It may not be the most glamorous job, but he put countless hours into the family restaurant that he tries so hard to keep afloat. It’s one of your favorite things about him—how much heart he puts into everything he does.

The only downside is how often you’re stuck missing him while the apartment grows too quiet as the hours pass. You have the schedule of The Beef’s hours ingrained in your mind, tacking on the extra time it takes to close up at night. But all the counting does little to stop the frequent checking of the clock on your phone’s lockscreen.

You were thankful when he worked up the deal with Carmy to split some of the necessary management time at the sandwich shop—if you could call it management time. It would be more truthful to call it “babysitting”, taking into consideration the hotheadedness of the staff. And let's be honest, leaving the restaurant in the hands of Richie Jerimovich? Absolutely not.

But, as much as the Berzatto brothers meant well, this plan didn’t last. It worked for a while, Mikey taking the mornings and helping with opening the store so that around the time that the menu changed, Carmy could come in and work until close. They figured it would be the best way to not overwork themselves but still put a healthy amount of time into their family business.

And then one day it was too busy for Mike to come home. Since then, there hasn’t really been a fix to the original plan. You miss him a lot and definitely wish you could see him more, but you feel so much pride swelling in your chest each time you think of how hard he works for that little brick building. No amount of missing him could outweigh that feeling—or how your face feels as if it might split in two when you sneak into the restaurant and see how happy he is to be there.

Nine times out of ten, you walk in and see his smile brightening the whole room as his infectious laugh fills the air. His eyes would be squinted into thin lines as his head falls back and he clutches his chest for a breath. He always cared about the people and wanted everyone to feel welcome there no matter their background or history. You loved seeing him like this and kept these memories at the front of your mind whenever it got harder to be patient on the long nights alone.

Your phone is in your hand before you can even register it. A habit I need to break, you remind yourself, but your screen shows the time anyway. Quarter after midnight. You place the phone down on the coffee table with a sigh, exchanging it for the book that your friend swore you had to read.

Tucking your finger between the pages and your bookmark, you open up the book and scan the printed words until you can jog your memory of the last thing you read. Once you find your place, you tuck your legs to your chest and lazily tug the blanket down from the back of the couch to cover yourself. It doesn’t take long before your surroundings begin to fade and the words paint a picture in your mind.

You look up from your book at the sound of keys jingling inside the metal deadbolt on your apartment door. What time is it? A second later the door is opening and there stands Mikey. He sighs as he holds onto the doorframe before pressing the toes of one foot to the heel of the other, taking his shoes off before bending down to place them beside the entrance.

When he stands back up you finally get a good look at him in the lamplight. His shoulders are slouched, his whole body a portrait of exhaustion. He’s rubbing his knuckles sleepily at his eyes, setting the keys down on the small table beside him.

“Hey, sweetheart,” you call to him as his footsteps gently sound out on the wooden floors. He finally glances over to the couch once he notices you and the smile that stretches over his face is tired, yet genuine.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers back to you. His voice is hoarse, mostly likely due to all the yelling in the chaotic kitchen he’s spent the whole day inside of. It’s almost as if his words are caught in his chest, sounding out deep and warm when he speaks. He makes his way to the couch, leaning over the back of it, and placing a quick peck of his lips on your forehead.

As soon as you feel it, he’s gone, making his way to the kitchen in the next room over. You can immediately tell something is off; Mikey gets quiet after a long day of being the loudest guy in the room, but he’s not usually reserved in his affection towards you.

The blanket you were wrapped up in slowly slides down your chest and onto your lap as you sit up against the arm of the couch. You question whether you should push it, but something in your gut wouldn’t leave it be.

“Mikey? You okay?” you call out towards the kitchen. The sound of him closing cupboards echoes through the space next. He makes his way to the fridge, opening it before leaning inside and scanning the leftovers from the meals you make while he’s out.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds monotonously, pulling away with a glass container in his hand. The slightly blue lighting shines across his face, illuminating his features in a cold hue. It looks almost intentional, as if to reflect his mood. “What is this?”

“Baked ziti from last night. I’m here for you, Bear, you know that right?” You don’t miss a beat, purposefully choosing not to fall for his distraction of mentioning the food. You watch as he pauses for a moment, setting the food down on the counter and closing the fridge before walking back towards you. You never want to push him or demand he open up to you, but you also want him to know he can lean on you if need be.

A heavy sigh leaves him as he sinks down onto the cushion beside you, one arm resting along the length of the couch, the other propping his head up in his palm. You can see all the evidence of his tiring day of work now that he’s closer to you: the dark grease stains along the bottom of his blue shirt, the marks under his eyes indicating he didn’t sleep enough, the new bandage wrapped around his thumb. All signs point to a draining, most likely not rewarding, day.

Gently reaching out for his wrist, you pull his larger hand into yours. “What happened here?” He moves with you, turning his palm face up as you let your index finger gently trace over his skin. The bandage is uneven, and you can see the faint maroon marking under the tan color.

“Was a uh,” he begins, sighing as he rubs at his eyes with the knuckles of his free hand. “Was an accident. Cousin called me while I was choppin’ onions and, well,” he gestures to his injured thumb. You feel your features change as he speaks, the words painting a clear picture in your head of him in the kitchen as he gets hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” you whisper in the small space between the two of you. Your own fingers drag down the inside of his arm, trailing over scars from accidental fryer burns and playing rough outside with Carmy when he was younger. All the little markings on his skin have little stories behind them, and you cherish the boisterous laughter that comes from him when he tells the tales.

“S’alright, baby, happens all the time,” he attempts to reassure you. The tone surrounding his words falls flat and leaves you with the same weariness in your mind. Glancing up at his face, you see the tired lines under his eyes and the way he stares out at nothing while his mind wanders.

Curling your fingers around him tighter, you bring his hand up to your face and place a gentle kiss right under the bandage. It takes him another moment to react due to the other thoughts trailing around in his mind. When he finally glances over, his eyes are fixed on your lips pressing against him, the small peck sending a wave of warmth through him. You continue staring up at him from under your eyelashes; the sigh that leaves him makes his chest deflate when his gaze locks with yours.

“Thank you,” he murmurs softly, a sad smile on his face.

“Is there anything else I can do to help?” you ask, wanting to try and improve his mood. He twists his back and adjusts himself against the couch.

“Nah, nah, baby, it’s okay. It’ll heal up,” he answers dismissively. It’s clear he didn’t pick up on the other meaning of your question, so you try wording it another way.

“No I didn’t mean the cut, Mikey.” His eyebrows pull together, confusion painted all over his features. “I can see how tired you are,” you continue, watching him sigh again and prepare to defend himself. “I just want to take some of the weight off your shoulders, is all. I’m not gonna say to cut your hours back, I know you can’t do that but…” you find your words trailing off when he reaches up to drag his palm down his face.

“You have to at least take care of yourself,” you whisper the final words as his hand drops to his lap. There’s a silence that lingers over the room and you’re worried you’ve overstepped in suggesting the restaurant being the source of a good portion of his stress.

“You’re right,” he speaks up, and you feel the tension leaving your body almost instantly. “You’re right, I just don’t… think about it?” his tone rises at the end, twisting the sentence into more of a question. His eyes find yours again and you give him a slight nod, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.

“It just… It’s always been the restaurant first, y’know? Like if that goes under then I’ve got nothing left. And then all the things everybody says about me are true.” He finishes the last sentences with an exasperated breath. Your heart sinks at his words, especially after spending one too many family dinners at his mother’s house and hearing how they treat him and his impulsivity. You want to defend him, but choose not to interrupt his venting.

“And nobody in my family knows how to slow down. I mean, shit, look at Carm,” he chuckles dryly as he shakes his head. “Nearly fuckin’ killed himself out in New York. Mom doesn’t have her head screwed on straight, doesn’t know what’s going on half the fuckin’ time. It just—.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low in his hands.

There’s a quick sniffle before he’s raking his fingers through his hair roughly. He sits up and stares down at his fingers, anxiously picking at the skin around his nails. Every fiber in your being screams to reach out to him and comfort him, and this time you listen to your instincts.

“Mikey,” you start, gently placing your hand on his forearm and pulling him towards you. His body falls and you feel his weight instantly pressing into your shoulder. Slumped against you like this, his body heat instantly warms up your side and you melt in turn.

“I know you might not know how to take those breaks, but we can work through it together,” you attempt to calm him. “It might not be easy at first but we can just take it one day at a time, yeah?” You glance down at your shoulder to see him staring up at you with half closed eyes. He slowly blinks before finally registering that you asked him a question.

“I like that plan,” he says eventually. His lips part as a yawn takes over and you smile as his eyes scrunch up while his jaw drops open.

“Oh, poor baby…” you chuckle under your breath. His face rests back in his natural position, but his eyes remain shut. He looks so peaceful like this that it makes your heart warm. Admittedly, it’s been too long since you’ve seen him truly relaxed like this. The last few times must’ve been when you were waking up in the night and happened to catch him asleep.

Stolen glances in the middle of the night aren’t enough, you decide. Adjusting your body on the couch, you angle yourself so your back is against the arm of the couch and your legs extend down the length of the cushions. You pull his body between your legs, guiding his head down to rest on your chest.

“You know none of that shit they say is true… right?” you ask softly as you let your fingers trail down his neck and smoothe down his back. He may not look like it, but Mike is one of the biggest suckers for physical touch—specifically cuddling.

He only hums in response, but still you continue. “The restaurant wasn’t a bad idea, baby. I think it’s sweet you kept something in the family name.” You drag your nails down his broad back softly and feel him sigh deeply, the leftover tension finally leaving his body.

“‘M pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” he mumbles out, not bothering to lift his head from you. 

“I swear to god the next time Uncle Lee, or whoever, opens their god damn mouth I’m gonna be the one to throw a fork.” The next thing you feel is Mikey’s laughter shaking you, his rumbly chuckle sounding out in the quiet room. You let yourself smile at the pleasant sound, pressing your fingers into the junction where his neck meets his shoulders. With each push of your fingertips, you try to get rid of those pesky knots of stress that his body is unconsciously clinging on to.

“Seriously though,” you start again, wrapping your arms around his head this time, “we’ll figure it all out. I just want you to rest for now.” You tilt your head down and press your lips to the top of his head. You shut your eyes and try to focus on this moment: the feeling of his body weighing on your torso, his hot breath gently fanning over your arm, his scent relaxing you with each inhale you take.

You let your fingers wander, scratching your nails around his scalp under his hair. There’s a raspy groan that leaves him next and the sound has butterflies​​ suddenly coming to life in your stomach. A giggle slips out from between your lips as you ask, “Feels that good?”

Something bumps the side of your palm as you continue to play with his hair and you reach for it blindly. You try your hardest not to let disappointment wash over you as you stare at the cigarette between your fingers.

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Mikey bear,” you speak in a whisper. A little less than a week ago, Mike decided to stop smoking and using drugs. You knew he could do it but you also knew how big of a step he was taking, so you tried giving as much support as you could offer. He tilts his head up at your voice and looks at you with confusedly. He glances down at the tightly rolled paper in your grasp before shaking his head gently.

“That’s from this morning, baby. Cousin offered it when he clocked in and I didn’t want to say no and have him asking a bunch of fuckin’ questions,” he explains exasperatedly. “But no, I-I didn’t smoke today.” His words are bathed with sincerity even through the tired rasp of his tone.

Your face lights up instantly, pride swelling in your chest once you realize that he kept his promise to you—his promise to himself. You can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to cut everything out like that, but you know he’s going to feel better in the long run because of it.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” you whisper as your fingers brush down his sideburns and begin to smooth out over his beard. “You’re doing so much and I see it.” You worry your words fall flat, but you also know how sometimes all you want is for someone to say that they notice the work you’re doing.

“Thank you.” You believe for a second that you imagined the words due to the barely audible breath that surrounds them. He reaches up to hold your wrist before turning his head to kiss the back of your hand. Sweet moments like this make your heart melt for him and how gentle he can be. There’s not much else to say so the both of you sit in silence, comforted by the presence of the other.

Your nails drag along the short hair that decorates his jaw and you watch his eyes flutter close for the last time. As you wrap your other arm across his chest and pull him closer, you smile at the sound of his soft snores filling the air. The ends of his facial hair tickle your fingertips but you continue gently scratching, wanting to give him a comforting touch to fall into an even deeper sleep.

“Rest up, baby boy,” you whisper as you kiss his head one final time.