#not going into any detail but just to be sure

[luna-azzurra]

How To Write A Chase Scene

Before anyone takes off running, the reader needs to know why this matters. The chase can’t just be about two people running, it’s gotta have a reason. Is your hero sprinting for their life because the villain has a knife? Or maybe they’re chasing someone who just stole something valuable, and if they don’t catch them, it’s game over for everyone. Whatever the reason, make it clear early on. The higher the stakes, the more the reader will care about how this chase plays out. They’ll feel that surge of panic, knowing what’s on the line.

Sure, a chase scene is fast, people are running, dodging, maybe even falling. But not every second needs to be at full speed. If it’s too frantic from start to finish, the reader might get numb to the action. Instead, throw in some rhythm. Use quick, sharp sentences when things get intense, like someone stumbling or almost getting caught. But then slow it down for a second. Maybe they hit a dead end or pause to look around. Those brief moments of slow-down add suspense because they feel like the calm before the storm kicks up again.

Don’t let the setting just be a backdrop. The world around them should become a part of the chase. Maybe they’re tearing through a marketplace, dodging carts and knocking over tables, or sprinting down alleyways with trash cans crashing behind them. If they’re running through the woods, you’ve got low-hanging branches, roots, slippery mud, and the constant threat of tripping. Describing the environment makes the scene more vivid, but it also adds layers of tension. It’s not just two people running in a straight line, it’s two people trying to navigate through chaos.

Running isn’t easy, especially when you’re running for your life. This isn’t some smooth, graceful sprint where they look cool the whole time. Your character’s lungs should be burning, their legs aching, maybe their side starts to cramp. They’re gasping for air, barely holding it together. These details will remind the reader that this chase is taking a real toll. And the harder it gets for your character to keep going, the more the tension ramps up because the reader will wonder if they’ll actually make it.

Don’t make it too easy. The villain should almost catch your hero or the hero should almost grab the villain. But something happens last second to change the outcome. Maybe the villain’s fingers brush the hero’s coat as they sprint around a corner, but they manage to slip out of reach just in time. Or maybe your hero almost gets close enough to tackle the villain, but slips on some gravel, losing precious seconds.

And Don’t let the chase end in a way that feels too predictable. Whether your character gets away or is caught, it should be because of something clever. Maybe they spot a hiding place that’s almost impossible to notice, or they use their surroundings to mislead their pursuer. Or, the person chasing them pulls a fast one, Laying a trap, cutting off their escape route, or sending the hero down the wrong path. You want the end to feel earned, like it took quick thinking and ingenuity, not just dumb luck or fate.

if you have any questions or feedback on writing materials, please send me an email at Luna-azzurra@outlook.com ✍🏻

[aritany]

I'm sorry your writing strategy is WHAT?? I'm going to need a thorough explanation of this because I'm FASCINATED

[brian murphy voice] I DIDNT SAY ANYTHING WEIRD!!!

okay i did. but also! if it ain’t broke…

here’s how this crumbles cookie-wise. sometimes (as is currently the case) i feel like i am trying to hold onto a whole novel in my brain at once. this does not feel particularly good because the novel doesn’t belong in my brain it belongs Out There. so i make a very detailed outline and then i start at chapter 1, and i write to 100 words (give or take a few). then i move on to chapter 2 and write to 100 words. then to chapter 3 and so on until i have at least 100 words in each chapter. then once i’ve run through the whole book, i go back to the beginning and make sure each chapter is up to 200. then i’m usually in the Meat of each scene so i’ll get everything up to 500, then 1000, then 1500 and then usually i clock out of chapters around or just under the 2k mark.

this appeases the hyperactive part of my brain by making sure i’m never bored, and helps the project manager in my brain so i can keep track of many moving parts in the novel and also ensures that scenes at the end speak to scenes at the beginning since i’m (sort of) writing the whole book at once.

NOTE: sometimes i get lost in the sauce and write way past 100 or wherever im at, and that’s fine. it just means i probably skip that chapter during my next pass since it’ll be past my goal wc for each chapter of the run.

that is all. try it, if you want. i honestly don’t know how to write books any other way

[dcxdpdabbles]

I wanted you to know that I love your stories, all of them, and I'm really curious about Jason in Freelance Inventor — he didn't die, but is he still a vigilant? If so, who is he? Is he still Red Hood, even if Joker didn't get him? Or is he going to college know that he's not Robin for some time?

Jason Todd reads over his essay one last time, double-checking for any spelling or grammar issues. He's reasonably confident that there are none, but with last night's Riddle fiasco, he had yet to get much-needed sleep before typing it out.

The last time he turned in an assignment with that much lost sleep, he had somehow written lyrics to the music he was listening to while researching.

He leans back in his chair, cracking his knuckles once he verifies everything is in order. After a quick stretch, he reaches for his mouse and clicks open his online class platform.

Three clicks later, this week's work is uploaded into the submission box, waiting for his professor to review it. He lingers on the page long enough for it to flash the confirmation and clicks the tab towards his email, making sure the same notice arrives there before closing everything down.

He's exhausted, more so than usual for a college student, but if he wanted the weekend open to having that fishing trip with Danny, he needed to get his ass in gear.

Jason sighs, reaching for the textbook of his female authors in history class next. His eyes drop as he flips through the chapters to the most current one.

Norally, Jason would adore reading, but trying to force himself after being awake for who knows how many hours just causes the words to blur before his eyes.

A knock at his doorway jolts him from the third re-read passage.

Danny is standing there with a tray that contains a steaming warm mug, a plate of cookies, and another plate of his famous grilled triple-cheese sandwiches.

"Hey, Kid," He says, that same nickname that he had used since Jason first arrived at Wayne Manor still curls with the same equal amount of warmth and care. "Brought you something to eat."

"Thanks Danny" Jason smiles, accepting the food without much fuss. He isn't quick enough to hide his yawn, causing his pseudo- step father to frown.

"How much sleep did you have last night?" He asks in that same disapproving voice since Jason told him about his new job.

"Enough. I just got to finish these assigments then I'll take a nap" He promises.

Danny's eyes narrow further before he sighs. If there is one thing he adores about talking to Danny is that he almost never argues with the kids. He makes his displeasure known, puts in his two cents more often then not, but he is also willing to hear them out.

Even if he disagrees with a job mainly involving graveyard shifts at university. As far as Danny knows, Jason got a job within Wayne Enterprise as one of the emergency hotlines for troubled youths.

They anonymously helped provide kids a safe space to sleep for the night, no questions asked. Jason had help develop the program back durning his break from the vigilanete sceen as a teen.

After Sheila and Ethiopia, he was too injured to go out into the field, forcing him to take a break. While on the break, he realized that Bruce was right. Jason had far too much empathy, crushed by all the darkness he saw on the streets, turning to this side of unnecessary rough when dealing with criminals.

Robin had always been magic to him, but it was losing its shine by harsh reality. The break helped clear his mind and made Jason realize he no longer wanted to be Robin. He wanted to be Jason Todd, kept around not because of how useful he was but because of how beloved he was.

To this day, he is forever grateful that he had built a strong enough bond to call Danny, just in case Bruce disowns him as he feared back then. Danny had been shockingly close by, forcing Jason to promise not to get too close to Sheila without him- as he had brought up the critical detail that Sheila had given up custody rights with a side note of possible danger to baby Jason in her file- and Jason had listened.

Danny was a mere six hours away, but by the third hour, he couldn't wait any longer. He had gone to meet Sheila, choosing to not reveal his Robin persona just because Danny wasn't in the know yet.

He only told her when he followed her to the warehouse to try to convince her that he could save her from the Joker. She had maybe three seconds to process his claim before the Joker busted in, eager to torment a child, vigilante or not.

Joker didn't know he was attacking Robin. He just liked bringing misery.

She stood back and did nothing while Joker bounded him and beat the tar out of him with a crowbar.

Jason was honestly thinking he was going to die until the Fenton Ghost Assault Vehicle rammed through the metal doors, ripping them like paper, and slammed not only Sheila but the Joker. Crashing them under the wheels of his large RV with gusto. It was surprising that neither passed away from the collision.

Danny had fung himself from the passenger seat like a warth, dragging the wounded Jason to safety. The bomb Joker planned to set off was never started, left to be discovered by a team of investigators who would remove the clown's political immunity once his crimes in the county were found, as the clown and his little assistant were left unconscious on the ground.

He would later be joined at one of the only Ethiopian hospitals by a hysterical Batman who didn't have an excuse for why he knew and was worried about Jason Todd.

The whole thing was a reality check that Jason and Bruce needed separately. Danny had ripped each of them a new one once everyone realized Jason would recover. It was during this lecture that Jason had let it slip that he knew Dick was the only real son, as Bruce had offered him adoption once he found the paperwork but not the street rat.

Danny had dragged Bruce by the ear to Jason's new hospital room in Gotham, making sure the man was carrying the adoption forms Bruce had applied for one week after taking in Jason. No one had ever wanted Jason.

But Bruce did even if Danny had to stand guard at the doorway, glaring at them both until they spoke about their emotions. Then, to even further shock Jason, Danny had shown him a new invention. It was a emergency tracker that would show where the older man was at any given time in the world.

It came with a messaging concept (back before phones had the texting option) and a promise that Jason could always reach Danny regardless of the day or time to talk.

Jason had busted into tears, the first time he was brave enough to message I think I want to go to college

The replay came a mere seconds later. I know you can do it, Kid; let's get you to college.

He gave up the mask and the cap, choosing only to remind computer support to his father and brother- then later little Tim, who Danny brought home- and continue his education.

His mother—the one who had cared for him and loved him like her own—his real one—would have been so proud of Jason as he walked across the stage to receive his diploma. Catherine would have been one of the loudest cheering, but the Fentons- who had all showed up after Danny sent out the word- more than made up for it.

The Waynes were loud, but nothing could be the hollering Jack, Dani, and Danny Fenton made when Jason gave his valedictorian speech for his high school graduation. Maddie and Jazz had clapped loudly, too, grinning ear to to ear as Jason waved at them.

He was accepted into Gotham University that fall, hoping to work his way to an English diploma. He kept up with his training dispite only being on communications and information for the Bats but the itch to get back into the feild was growing.

Maybe Robin had not made it out of Ethiopia, but Jason Todd did, and Jason thinks that Crime Alley needed a hero. Someone who could curl the violence there because they grew and knew the violence like the back of his hand.

Maybe the crime alley needed a Pheonix to watch over it.

Just after Phoniex finishes this one last assigment.

"Don't stay up too late. Get some sleep!" Danny demands as Jason munches on his food and opens a new blank Word document. This one is for a poerty elective he choosen and he had the perfect theme for his.

He types out Found Family in the title.

[arc-misadventures]

I don't know why, but I'm enjoying the thought of Coco and Jaune being bros.

99% Lesbian

Blake: Coco!

Yang: Hey, Coco!

Coco: Yes?

Blake: We need your help

Coco: My help? Well, first off: Stop wearing all black. Add more colour to you apparel; I recommend purples, golds, and perhaps some deep blues. I think those colours would really make you 'pop!' Otherwise you look like a poorly dressed goth girl hipster. And no, you do not look like a goth girl the way you are dressed, and most certainly a sexy goth girl.

Blake: That's not 1hat...

Yang: No. No, take notes you could use a make over.

Blake: Hey!

Yang: But, no this isn't fashion related!

Coco: It isn't? Then what the hell do you two want help with me, you utter fashion slobs!

Blake: Hey!

Yang: I know it's true that, Blake dresses like a slob!

Blake: Hey?!

Yang: But, does that include me too?

Coco: Only two people in this entire school have any sense of woman's fashion, and neither of them are you.

Yang: Who?!

Blake: Yeah, who?!

Coco: Jaune Arc.

Blake: Jaune?

Yang: Him, really?

Coco: He has seven sisters, he knows plenty about woman's fashion.

Blake: So you say...

Yang: Who's the other person?

Coco: Glynda Goodwitch.

BY: ...

Blake: I'm not going to argue against that.

Yang: She's drop dead gorgeous, what else do we need to say?

Coco: So, what do you need help with?

Yang: We need to help settle a bet.

Coco: A bet?

Yang: Yeah, Ruby said you weren't gay, and that you were in fact, bisexual. We called bullshit, she said it was true, so we made a bet on whether or, not you are actually gay.

Blake: So, are you bisexual?

Coco: No I'm not bisexual.

Blake: Ha!

Yang: I knew it!

Coco: But, I'm not... 100% a lesbian.

Blake: Eh?

Yang: Beg pardon?

Coco: I'm 99% lesbian, but I am 1%... straight...

Blake: You're 1% straight...?

Yang: So... you are bisexual?

Coco: No... I love woman 99% of the time. But, 1% of the time... I'm straight... exclusively for, Jaune...

BY: For, Jaune?!

Coco: For, Jaune.

Yang: How are you attracted to, Jaune? He's... he's...

Blake: He's, Jaune!

Yang: I was going to say a guy, but that's true.

Coco: Gods, does everyone have to pick on my, 'If I had to pick a dude?' He's a great guy, a bit of a goofball sure, and a dunce. But, he is a really nice guy once you get to know him.

Blake: And, because you know, Jaune so well he becomes the 1%?

Coco: Well, there's also the fact that he is the only person I can discuss fashion with; he has great taste, and has even convinced me to wear a helmet as part of my fashion assemble. I just started to enjoy being around with him. So the intrusive thought of us... 'mingling' just popped up. So, I'm 99% a lesbian, and 1% straight for, Jaune.

Blake: Oh, that makes sense. Somehow...?

Yang: So... did we win the bet?

Blake: We didn't bet anything, so we could call it a draw if we wanted to. Right?

Coco: I'd call it a dra...

Jaune: Coco!

Coco: Hey, Bunny Boy, what's up?

Blake: Bunny boy?

Jaune: I found another helmet you could wear! Only this time if completely covers your head, which of course would make it that it doesn't go with your current outfits design. But, that does mean you have to choreograph an entire wardrobe to fit the helmet. Of which, honestly sounds fun to do on it's on.

Coco: Oh-ho-ho~! Really now? Okay, show me this helmet you're so confident about?

Jaune: Tada~!

Coco: ...

Coco: Holy shit...

Jaune: You like it?

Coco: This is a old helmet, so I would have a more detailed lion head, and mane. The colours would definitely involve more gold, maroon, and crimsons.

Jaune: Red, and caramel browns, with complementary cream whites?

Coco: Oh that sounds perfect! Colours aside, what would this outfit entail?

Jaune: Boot's that are at least knee height...

Coco: High heels?

Jaune: Oh, but of course. Next should... Hmmm... Oh no...

Coco: What is it?

Jaune: Nora pulled a, Nora again. I'm sorry I gotta go. Shall we continued this discussion later?

Coco: No problem, Love. Have fun~!

Jaune: See you later, Mocha!

Coco: Hmmm... Should the face mask be a copy of my face, or should it be a generic face?

BY: ...

Coco: ...

Coco: What?

Yang: 'No problem, Love?'

Blake: You sure it's just 1%?

Coco: ...

Coco: Maybe... 10%...?

Yang: Coco's bisexual, but only for, Jaune.

Blake: Agreed.

Coco: ...

Coco: That's fair...

[mapis-putellas]

𝑨 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕

Pairing: Alexia Putellas x reader

Words: 5.5k

Warnings: Mentions of throwing up. Panic attacks. I think that’s it.

Summary: Your time at Barça comes to an end.

Notes: I tried to add a little more detail to my writing, so I hope it turned out somewhat decent <3

[prompt list]

A lot of people have told her what it was like to truly be in love. To feel that spark, that infatuation and instant connection that has you feeling weak at the knees. But Alexia hadn't truly known what love was until she'd met you. Like, true, fulfilling, genuine love that was both so exciting and terrifying it felt like falling off a cliff with no idea how high it is or what was at the bottom.

You came into her life unexpectedly, a ray of sunshine; always shining bright and radiating both warmth and happiness wherever you went. You make everyone around you feel good without even trying, a trait most people in this world lacked due to no fault of their own. Wherever she turned, you were there, the smile on your face so genuine it was hard not to smile back.

She doesn’t quite know how to put into words just how much she loves you, but if she has to try, it was like being on the brink of something extraordinary every single waking moment. You make her feel adored and valued on the days where she can't even stand herself. You make her feel cherished, important, like the ground beneath her wouldn't cave in at any second.

It was like a rollercoaster ride all of the time. Some days were both thrilling and exciting, and some days it was both dizzying and terrifying. Sometimes it was so overwhelming she doesn’t quite know what to do with herself. What was was sure of though is she wouldn't want to do any of it by herself. You were her everything, and she was yours, and she wasn't going to let anyone or anything get in the way of that. Including the fact you were moving half way across the country to join Arsenal.

It had been on the first of the month that you'd told her. You had been quiet and withdrawn for the entirety of the day, only responding to her futile attempts at conversation with quiet hums and one word answers.

Alexia hadn't quite known what to do when you'd exited the car with a quiet request for some space. You barely even give her a chance to respond, grabbing your things from the trunk before disappearing into the apartment building. Alexia had waited what she'd thought was a good amount of time before making her way inside too, footsteps hesitant and a deep sense of unease filling her stomach. The apartment door was closed, just as she'd thought it would be, and she does everything possible to swallow back the inevitable tightness in her throat as she unlocks the door and makes her way inside.

As she sets down her things, she realises everything was so unnervingly quiet she could hear the sound of her own breath. It was loud, quick, so clearly full of anticipation she pauses for a second to get herself together. It wasn't like her to be so unsure of herself, not when she was around you. Not in the comfort of her own home where it had taken months for her to fully accept the fact that no matter what mood she was in or how bad her day had gone you'd always welcome her inside with open arms.

Even when you'd had a bad day you were always willing to be around her. Your smile, whilst a little sad, still so genuine it made her thank whoever was above for bringing you into her life. Not only were you always willing to put everybody above yourself, you did so without consideration of your own feelings.

Perhaps that was why the sense of impending dread was unlike nothing she'd ever felt before, because not once in this relationship had you ever pushed her away. Been so quiet and so unwilling to talk.

Accepting your need for space, she walks past the closed bedroom door and makes her way through to the kitchen. She stands in the middle of the room for a few unsure seconds before deciding to make a start on dinner. If you won’t talk to her, the least she could do was feed you. You always love her cooking no matter what she makes, and she hopes the comfort of a home cooked meal would help ease whatever upset you were feeling.

In the bedroom, you were laid on Alexia's side of the bed, your body curled up small and your head buried into her pillow. It was soaked with tears, the material uncomfortably sticking to the skin of your cheek.

You didn’t think the word pain quite gives the way you were feeling justice. Oh no. It quite literally felt like someone had ripped your heart out of your chest before trampling all over it and shoving it back in. You were leaving Barcelona. Leaving Alexia. The word pain couldn't even begin to describe just how absolutely devastated you felt.

The second you had found out they weren't signing you for another season, it was as though everything around you had turned fuzzy, almost like the feeling you get when your leg falls asleep. An emptiness had suddenly filled you and it was so profound it made your chest physically ache. You hadn't heard a single world Jona after the fact. It was as though your world had stopped and in a way, it had. Your life in Barca, with Alexia, was no longer, and you only had your self to blame.

You should have been better. Scored more. Not gotten so many yellow cards. Done something, anything, so they would like you better and want you to stay. And maybe had they told you before the transfer window had closed, you could have at least tried to change their minds. But they hadn't. They'd kept it to themselves until the last possible second and because of that, there was now absolutely nothing you could do to change it.

You were leaving, and you had no idea just how you were going to tell Alexia without tearing your heart completely in two. You could hear her, if you really focused. The sound of ceramic dishes hitting the table and the soft thuds of her feet as she walks. She was cooking dinner, just as she does most nights after you get home from training if you don't opt to order in.

Most nights, you'd been in the kitchen with her. Sometimes sat on the counter and sometimes stood behind her holding her body to your own. You'd steal small morsels of food of whatever she'd decided to make that day and you'd pout playfully when she'd scold you for doing so. You could only imagine just how clueless she feels in there by herself, not knowing what was wrong or how to help. It makes a part of you want to go sit with her, just for the company, but the thought of seeing that beautiful, oblivious face, so unaware of the news you held simply made you want to crawl into a hole and die.

You can’t face her. Not yet. Not ever if given the choice but that simply wasn't an option. Telling her was inevitable, and you just had to accept the fact she might hate you for it despite it being completely out of your control.

You have no idea just how long you end up laying here for before you hear the sound of two gentle knocks against your bedroom door. They were barely audible, and you take that as an almost cruel opportunity to pretend you hadn't heard them. The door opens anyway, the sound of it creaking a deathly loud noise in comparison to the quietness of the room.

"Amor?" Her voice was a quiet, tentative whisper sounding so unsure it has you screwing your eyes so tightly shut in a futile effort to prevent anymore tears from falling. "Amor," the same soft footsteps you'd heard earlier make their way closer to the bed. "I made you dinner."

Silence.

Alexia softly clears her throat. "It is Pasta. Your favourite." She trails off hopefully, and it takes everything in you to remain still. You can’t face her. Not yet. You weren't ready.

Alexia wrings her hands nervously as she takes another small step closer to the bed. "I..." she hesitates, scratching the inside of her wrist. "I do not know what happened. Will you please talk to me?"

More silence, and you'd never hated yourself more.

"I do not know what to do" Her voice audibly trembles making the tightness in your throat physically impossible to swallow back. You could feel your resolve wavering. Just because you couldn't tell her what was wrong right this second didn't mean you can't let her sooth you, right?

"Bebé?"

With a deep, shuddering breath, you use every ounce of strength within you to sit yourself up and face her. She was standing just a few feet away from the bed, toes scrunching and un-scrunching anxiously against the carpet. Her hands were clasped tightly around her shirt, wrinkling the material as she squeezes and twists.

But what breaks your heart the most was the wetness staining her cheeks. She was crying. Crying because of you. Because you were too much of a wimp to simply tell her what was wrong. The guilt you were already feeling amplifies by a thousand, and you were forced look away from her before you well and truly broke.

"Amor?" She whispers unsurely, and you sniffle softly as you wipe your sweaty hands on your pants before taking a deep breath. It was a futile effort at composing yourself, but you simply had nothing else left in you.

"Will you-"

"I don't want to talk about it. Not yet. I can't." you cut her off, and Alexia swallows heavily before nodding her head. The overwhelming sense of dread that had once faded makes an abrupt reappearance at your words, but she tries desperately not to let it show. If she pushed, you'd push back harder, and she'd never figure out what was going on.

"Okay." She accepts in a quiet whisper, unwilling to do anything that might upset you further.

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. "Okay?"

She nods.

"Okay." You whisper with a quiet breath of relief.

"Will you come eat?" She asks hopefully after a few seconds of silence. "I made your favourite."

The thought of food alone made you feel so incredibly nauseous you were forced to swallow back a different kind of tightness in the back of your throat. It pains you to reject her again, but you just couldn't do it. Not without ending this already horrible day with your head stuck in the toilet.

You shake your head. "Ale, I'm not-”

"Just a few bites?" She pleads quietly, hesitantly. "For me?" She holds out her hand.

You look up at her. You take in her wet cheeks, the unsure body language and the trembling fingers. You'd put her through the wringer tonight without even trying, and it was clear to see she was desperate for some sort of normality. Despite everything in you screaming to say no, you find yourself standing up and taking her hand. You were barely on your feet for two seconds before she envelopes you completely in her arms, her chest flush against your own as your feet hang from the floor.

Your bottom lip wobbles as she buries her head against your neck, your head dropping to rest heavily against her shoulder. It takes you a few moments, but your arms do eventually find themselves wrapping securely around her shoulders. At the feeling of you returning the embrace, she drops an arm from around your waist and hooks it beneath your behind, bouncing you up slightly so your legs cold wrap around her waist.

"I am sorry." She whispers, the words taking a few moments to fully register in your grief ridden mind. The second they do, you lift your head off of her shoulder and reach your trembling hands up to coax her face away from your neck. You were glad to see she wasn't crying again, but you could tell by the shininess in her eyes that it was taking everything in her to hold the tears back.

"No," you shake your head, cupping her cheeks and wiping the pads of your thumbs to rid them of their wetness. Alexia blinks, and you catch the first tear that escapes before it could fall. "No," you repeat. "You don't have to be sorry. You've done absolutely nothing wrong. Nothing at all."

Alexia swallows.

"It's..." the tears you'd been trying to desperately to hold back break free, and you make no effort to wipe them away. "I'm not ready to talk yet, and I'm so, so sorry that means you're being kept in the dark. I just need...a few hours. Just a few hours to process and then we'll talk, okay? I promise."

Alexia looks even more terrified as her grip loosens just slightly. "Are you...are you bre-"

"No." You're aware of how panicked you sound, but you needed the message to get through to her before she could fully mistake her assumptions for the truth. "No. I'm not. Not now. Not ever. I could never...no."

Her grip tightens around you again, and you let out a relieved sounding sob as you fall limp against her. You feel one of her hands lift to rest against the back of your head, and for a second, you allow to yourself to break; for her to comfort you, because after hearing what you had to say, it could be the last time she ever does so.

Alexia doesn't think she's ever felt more useless in her entire life as she holds you close, her throat burning, threatening the onslaught of tears. Something serious was going on. There has to be. She's never seen you this upset before, not even when you'd done your acl just a few months after she'd done hers. You'd been upset then sure, but you'd never shed more than a single tear in the year it had taken to get back on the pitch, and that year had been hell for both of you.

Tightening her grip around you, she turns in place and makes her way through to the kitchen. The two plates of pasta were just as she'd left them, though she suspected they'd long gone cold now. Knowing you wouldn't be able to eat despite saying that you would try and not particularly caring about her own meal, she passes the kitchen table and makes her way over to one of the free spaces left on the countertop.

She purposely ignores the burning in her arms as she eases you down and settles herself between your legs, feeling the way your crossed feet settle against her backside as her arms secure themselves tightly around your back. You were still in her arms, thankfully no longer crying if the lack of tears against her neck was anything to go by. It allows Alexia to relax momentarily for she knows things would sure turn south once you reveal what was making you so upset.

You pull away a few moments later, sniffling softly as Alexia tenderly cups your cheeks to wipe away the wetness staining them. You lean into her touch, eyes fluttering shut when she leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

"I love you." She murmurs against the warm skin, and you're forced to once again swallow back your emotions as you take her wrists and press a soft kiss to the inside of them both.

"I love you." The unsteadiness of your voice was obvious, and you're grateful when Alexia makes no attempt at pointing it out. She leans in and kisses you, tasting the saltiness of your tears, and your hands desperately cup her face, not allowing her to pull away. Alexia's hands grasp your sides as she deepens the kiss just slightly, feeling the soft exhale you breath out through your nose against her skin. When you pull away, your eyes were closed, and Alexia takes this as her chance to really take you in.

Your expression gives absolutely nothing away. Nothing at all. Her gaze was still on you when your eyes finally open, brown irises full of an emotion you couldn't quite decipher. You tilt your head to the side, a silent question to which she nods in response to. Seconds later, the look in her eyes changes. Now, they were light, hopeful, willing for you to open up and trust her and god did you so badly want to.

"I am going to make you a smoothie." She breaks the silence, her hands giving your thighs a soothing squeeze as she steps out of your hold and makes her way over to your refrigerator. You watch her retreating figure as you let out a soft sigh. You still didn’t think you could stomach anything, but the thought of a smoothie was admittedly more appetising than cold pasta. You felt a little bad that the meal she’d cooked you had gone to waste, but seeing as though Alexia doesn't mind, you try not to either.

Alexia's eyes skim the contents for a few moments before she pulls out a few different fruits she knew were your favourite. She sets them down onto the counter next to you before heading to the sink and thoroughly washing her hands, allowing the water to run a little hotter than appropriate in a futile effort at feeling something other than complete and utter dread.

It doesn't work, and as she dries her hands, she wonders just how much longer she would be able to last before she inevitably breaks and begs for you to tell her what was going on. When she'd torn her acl, the fear she'd felt about not being able to play the sport she loved more than anything else in this world pained her more than she could even begin to explain. But the fear of losing you was a tenfold to that. Because yes, football was her world, but you were her entire universe so feeling this dread, this uncertainty and uneasiness was so, so much worse.

Softly clearing her throat, she forces a smile into her face and makes her way back over to you. You were in the exact same position, though now you were staring at her with pity. It makes her bristle just slightly, but she forces herself not to react as she grabs the blender out of the cupboard and plugs it into the wall.

The process of making both smoothies was done in silence. Alexia doesn't say a word, and neither do you. Soon, Alexia was back between your legs, a small glass in her hand that held the contents of your smoothie. You don't let yourself hesitate as you gently take it from her, bringing it to your lips for cautious sip. When it doesn't seem as though your stomach would reject it, you allow yourself a proper mouthful, a hum of content falling from your lips as you swallow.

"Good?" Alexia murmurs as her hands retake their place on each of your thighs, squeezing the flesh softly before her palms begin tracing gentle circles against the soft skin. You nod your head, holding the glass up to her lips despite the fact she had her own smoothie just next to you. The blonde smiles as she allows you to feed her, swallowing with a hum of content similar to your own.

You take turns in sipping both the smoothies until they were gone, Alexia setting the glasses into the sink to be washed later before scooping you back up into her arms. You welcome the closeness by allowing her to carry you through to the living room without complaint, her larger frame beneath your own as she settles comfortably on the couch. She says nothing as she slips her hands beneath your shirt to rest on the small of your back, the tips of her pinkies tracing over the dimples at the bottom of your spine, but you can tell by the look in her eyes alone that there was so much she wants to say.

It had barely even been an hour since she'd brought you out of your room, and whilst you still weren't ready to talk, you knew leaving her in the dark for any longer would be unnecessarily cruel. Unsure on whether or not she'd even want you near her when you found the courage to reveal the news, you slip off of her lap and perch on the edge of the coffee table instead, making a futile effort at avoiding eye contact as you wipe your suddenly sweaty hands off on your shorts.

You hear Alexia shift forward slightly until her knees brush against your own, her hands reaching forward to rest on either of your thighs. Your own hands circle her wrists, feeling the steady, consistent pounding of her pulse beneath the tips of your fingers. She doesn't force you to talk. She simply sits and waits, her presence alone a major comfort in a moment so anxiety inducing you felt as though you were only seconds away from throwing up.

A single drop of grief wells up in the corner of your eye as you swallow heavily, the small droplet of salty water streaming down your cheek leaving a tickling sensation in its wake. The blonde opposite you remains silent, but her hands slip down to the skin behind your knees, tugging them a little firmer against her own. Knowing it was now or never, you force yourself to make eye contact.

"I'm leaving Barça." Your voice was emotionless.

Alexia blinks as her hands freeze mid stroke against your thighs. "Qué?”

You swallow. "They didn't resign me for another season. I'm moving to Arsenal." The words felt like vomit on your tongue.

Alexia could do no more than stare as she feels the room begin to tilt around her, every sound becoming no more than a muffled echo. Her heart feels as though it had gotten stuck, each beat a sharp jab against her chest. Her mouth parts, but no words seem to be able to escape. She simply sits. Frozen. Like her entire body had forgotten how to move.

Your hands tighten around her wrists as the world around you blurs with the onslaught of tears. "I'm sorry," you choke out. "They only told me today and I...I don't want to go. I don't want to leave you." Panic gnaws at the edges of your mind when Alexia remains silent. "Say something. Please." The desperation in your voice was evident.

Alexia shakes her head as if trying to shake off the reality that was suddenly crashing down around her, her hands lifting off of your thighs and visibly trembling. She clenches them into tight fists, a futile effort for control as her gaze darts unsteadily around the room.

"I..." she has no idea what to say.

“Alexia?” You plead.

Nothing.

You feel an overwhelming urge to flee beginning to fester in the back of your mind as your hands tightly clutch the material of your sweater. Alexia's knees were still pinned on either side of your own, halting your inevitable escape. You were trapped by her, both physically and emotionally, and the longer she remains silent, the more your panic begins to build.

Your leg begins to bounce on its own accord; your heart races and it feels as though you weren't getting enough air into your lungs. A spiral of panicked thoughts keep repeating themselves, becoming more and more insistent as the minutes pass. Alexia hates you. Alexia was going to leave you. Oh god. Nausea swirls in your gut. You can't breath. Are you dying? You're dying. You have to be dying. Why can't you breath? Panicked eyes search the room for an exit. The front door. The back door. Which was closer? You didn't know. But you had to get out. You had to go.

A gentle, unsteady hand cupping your cheek startles you, and your head whips round so quickly you almost give yourself whiplash. Alexia was staring at you, eyes wide in alarm. Her lips were moving. But you couldn't hear her voice. Couldn't make out what she was saying. Why couldn't you hear what she was saying?

You feel your body move, steady hands beneath your armpits. They support the entirety of your weight as you were lifted slightly into the air. Strong, familiar thighs were soon beneath your own, your heaving chest pressed flush against Alexia's. She wraps her arms so tightly around your midsection you have no choice but to mimic her breaths. They were steady, consistent. You choke out a pathetic sounding sob as your heart continues to pound, your body unintentionally fighting her own.

But her grasp was tight. So tight you could feel nothing but her. She begins to rock. Back and forth. Back and forth. The motion was steady. Repetitive. You feel your chest loosen. Just slightly. Enough for you to breath. To get some much needed air into your lungs. The white noise in your ears begins to fade. You could hear again. Alexia was talking. In Spanish. You couldn't really understand what she was saying. But her tone was soft. Soothing. Warm. The pounding in your heart slows, and you can breath again.

You no longer felt like you were dying. Everything was quiet. Calm.

Alexia's body stills as your desperate grasp around her shirt loosens, your head falling heavily against her shoulder. Her lips press against your neck, dotting gentle kisses over the soft expanse of warm skin. You shudder a little at the sensation as you hunch your shoulders up to your ears, hearing Alexia huff out a quiet sound of amusement as she halts her affectionate attack. You feel her hands rest on each of your hips, squeezing softly before easing you away from her. When your eyes meet her own, you could clearly tell she'd been crying.

And Alexia had been.

It had taken a little while to gather her thoughts -and to get over the curveball that had been thrown her way- but eventually, Alexia had come to the quite obvious realisation that just because you wouldn’t be in the same country anymore didn’t mean your relationship was over. Long distance sucks, but it was possible, and there were many cases where it had been quite successful. Take Ona’s girlfriend, Lucy, for example. Lucy had left Barça nearly four months ago, and both she and Ona were closer than ever. Yes, being apart would be difficult. She was fully aware of that fact. But doesn’t the saying go, distance makes the heart grow fonder?

"That was a bad one, huh?" She murmurs as she presses her forehead against her own, and you could do no more than nod. Panic attacks weren't uncommon for you, but rarely does it get to the point where Alexia has to intervene anymore thanks to years of therapy. You'd learnt to anticipate the usual warning signs allowing you to talk yourself out of one before it could even begin, but that evidently hadn't been the case today for obvious reasons.

"Was it because of me?" Her hands cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping away the wetness beneath your eyes. Her touch was so gentle you could barely feel it.

You shrug noncommittally as you harshly wipe off your cheeks. "Not really."

"Not really?" She raises an eyebrow, and you sigh lightly as you tuck a damp strand of hair behind your ear.

"I just..." you trail off. "I guess I just panicked. You wouldn't answer me and my mind just jumped to the worst case scenario." You admit, hating the fact you were once again so close to tears.

Alexia's eyebrows furrow in confusion as she loops her arms around your waist. "What do you mean?"

"I told you...I told you I was leaving, and you didn't say anything. My mind jumped to the conclusion that that was because you hated me and never wanted to see me again." Voicing your thoughts out loud made them sound stupid, and you worry now that maybe you'd majorly overreacted.

Alexia doesn't seem to have the same concern.

"Amor, you really think that little of me?" She sounds more hurt than she does mad, and the guilt hits you like a punch in the stomach. You immediately shake your head as you attempt to amend the situation.

"Of course not," you insist. "But I panicked. As I said, worst case scenario.”

Alexia releases her hold on you for a short second as she rubs her hands over her face.

You can't help but frown. "Ale, I'm so-"

Alexia cuts you off cupping your cheeks and kissing you fiercely. It quite literally takes your breath away, and you have absolutely no time to reciprocate before she was pulling away.

"I love you," your mouth parts to say it back, but Alexia shakes her head, resting her pointer finger against your lips. You gently kiss the digit, lips quirking up into a small smile when Alexia plainly pokes your nose.  "I love you, and whilst I am so incredibly sad you are going to be leaving, it is not forever. I will visit you, you will visit me.”

"But it won't be the same." Your voice was a broken whisper.

Alexia clears her throat softly as her eyes grow shiny with tears. "I know," she murmurs, taking both your hands in her own and squeezing softly. "But we will get through this, sí? You are strong, and I am strong. We will be strong together until we are no longer apart."

"Strong together." you mimic, and Alexia nods with a sad smile on her face. You attempt to mimic that too, but you find it difficult to do thanks to the way your bottom lip was trembling. The first tear falls before you could stop it, and Alexia blows out a shaky breath as she pulls you back into her arms.

Yeah, this was going to suck.

*

So yeah. Alexia loves you so terrifyingly much that she was willing to risk your relationship by being approximately nine hundred and twenty nine miles apart. You had faith you would be just fine, but a small part of you, way way deep down was sure it would end up crashing and burning right in front of your eyes. Long distance relationships were hard, and yes, you loved each other, but would that really be enough in the long run? Would love really be enough to survive who knows how many years apart with only the occasional visit until your contract at Arsenal ended?

You'd voiced your worries to Alexia who had been quick to assure you that whilst your fears were valid, they were wrong. That it was just your brain, again, jumping to the worst case scenario because you were anxious about leaving. She'd assured you that love was most definitely enough, so long as you communicated with one another which was something you were both thankfully pretty damned good at.

From that moment forward, you make the most of what time you have left together. You go on dates that last all day, visiting all the places in Barcelona you’d fallen in love with. You spend hours in bed, skin against skin as your favourite movie plays in the background. You even make the drive over to Alexia’s childhood home and spend the day with her family as one final farewell.

Your team was told about your transfer just two weeks before you leave, tearful hugs being shared with the ones you were most close to. Mapi had all but clung to you throughout the entirety of your last training session, Ingrid having to coax her into letting go when it was time to head back home.

You play your last game a few days later, playing the entire ninety minutes and scoring three goals with the assistance of Aitana. When the whistle had blown, your entire team had surrounded you, murmuring their praises and pulling you into hugs so tight you struggled to catch your breath. You tightly clutch the crest on your chest as your eyes skim around the arena, meeting the tearful yet smiling faces of the fans who were cheering so loudly for you it was the only sound you could hear.

This was it. Your time at Barça was over, and what a ride it had been.

**

Tags:

@codiemarin @goldenempyrean @girlgenius1111 @ceesimz @liloandstitchstan @xxnaiaxx @marysfics @alexias-putellas

[asurrogateblog]

The Syd Poll

the topic of this poll is one that is frequently avoided in the pink floyd fandom, but inevitably one we all consider – our individual views on what we think caused syd's psychological struggles (and by extension, led to his departure from the band). I think that – at least in this neighborhood of tumblr – this is a conversation we are capable of having in a way that is civil, nuanced, and at least minimally disrespectful to syd.

So, to help facilitate this, here are some ground rules:

let's all assume we have a mutual understanding of the complexities of this. syd could never actually be reduced down to a poll, and all of our viewpoints are limited in various ways

the poll options just serve as just a conversation starter, and responses are not necessarily a statement of absolute beliefs

feel free to discuss as much or as little of your own perspective as you feel comfortable sharing.

in the case that debates break out, please try to assume good intent – and also demonstrate it (unless, for instance, someone is being blatantly insulting beyond a misunderstanding that needs correcting)

please do NOT vote if you are not actually a pink floyd fan with at least basic knowledge about what we're talking about here.

The options I've included below are not meant to be exhaustive, they are simply the "theories" that I have seen most commonly circulated. I have also decided not to include combinations. I'm fairly sure we'd all agree multiple factors were involved. Rather than make the poll too complicated, I ask you to instead select the one that you think is the "most" important to your viewpoint, and clarify further in your tags/comments as you wish.

so. here we go.

READ BEFORE VOTING ^^^^

(note of correction: "late-onset schizophrenia" should just be "schizophrenia". the typical timeline for onset of symptoms is late adolescence/early adulthood, so syd would've been well within that period at the time)

[rockethorse]

The basegame wedding dress has a pregnancy morph??

[solxamber]

Hey there! This is just a request but could you please do an unhinged reader x Leona(romantic)? Like, menace to society, 0 self preservation skills with questionable morals that just keeps bugging Leona out of boredom.

I guess the genre would be crack and you can basically choose the details.

Thank you❤️

Leona Kingscholar x unhinged Reader

thank you for this, I had so much fun writing this <3

Leona wasn’t sure why the universe had cursed him like this. Of all the people in the world, why you? Why had you, a walking disaster with all the survival instincts of a toddler with scissors, decided to latch onto him? And why did he fall for you?

And it wasn’t even in a cute, lovesick-puppy way. No, you were like a chaotic gremlin that had crawled out of some alternate dimension just to make his life worse.

“Leona, watch this!” You stood precariously on the edge of a crumbling wall, grinning like you were about to unveil the world’s greatest invention.

Leona didn’t even bother lifting his head from his nap spot under the tree. He’d learned that reacting only made you more encouraged. “If you fall, I’m not catching you.”

“That’s fine, I’ll just bounce!” you chirped back.

Leona opened one eye, an eyebrow twitching in disbelief. “You’re not a ball.”

“Not with that attitude,” you shot back, then proceeded to leap from the wall like you had just discovered flight. Spoiler alert: you had not. Gravity, however, was very familiar with you.

You crashed to the ground in a flurry of limbs and dust, groaning dramatically.

Leona sighed and got up with the enthusiasm of a sloth being asked to run a marathon. “You good, or should I call someone with a stretcher?”

You waved him off from your spot on the ground, laughing despite the fact that you were very clearly in pain. “No worries! Just testing my limits. Next time, I’ll stick the landing.”

“There better not be a next time.” Leona rubbed his temples, wondering how his life had come to this. “You’ve got the brain of a rock, y’know that?”

“Rocks are strong!” you shot back, scrambling to your feet, dusting yourself off like you hadn’t just risked spinal damage for absolutely no reason.

Leona turned to walk away, muttering, “Great. I’m babysitting a suicidal pebble.”

But, of course, you followed him. You always followed him. It was like you’d made it your life’s mission to annoy him into an early grave. He wasn’t sure if it was boredom, insanity, or both.

“Where are we going?” you asked, bounding beside him like some overexcited puppy.

“We’re not going anywhere. I’m going somewhere. You’re going away.”

“But that’s boring,” you whined, clearly oblivious to any and all social cues. “You’re so lazy! Don’t you ever want to do something exciting?”

Leona stopped dead in his tracks and turned to glare at you. “I don’t want to do anything exciting. Ever. I want to nap in peace, without you pulling some stupid stunt every five minutes.”

You shrugged, unbothered. “Sounds like quitter talk. What if I found us something really fun to do?”

Leona gave you a deadpan look. “Fun by your standards means I’ll either end up in jail or hospitalized. No thanks.”

You grinned mischievously. “What if I told you I’ve got a plan to steal all of the fancy food from the Mostro Lounge? No one would even know it was us!”

Leona stared at you, trying to figure out how you’d come to this conclusion with a straight face. “We literally live in a dorm with a kitchen. If you want fancy food, just ask.”

“Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” You waggled your eyebrows. “Come on, live a little! You’re a lion, aren’t you supposed to be all fierce and stuff? You should be excited to commit some petty crime.”

Leona pinched the bridge of his nose. “First of all, lions don’t do crime sprees. Second, stealing isn’t a hobby. And third, if you try something stupid, don’t expect me to bail you out.”

“Oh please,” you waved him off, smirking. “You’d totally bail me out. You love me.”

Leona narrowed his eyes at you, opening his mouth to argue, but then closed it. Damn it, you had a point. He would bail you out. Probably. Begrudgingly.

But he wasn’t going to admit that.

“I tolerate you,” he corrected, turning on his heel and continuing to walk away.

“Aww, that’s practically a love confession coming from you!” You sprinted after him, making ridiculous heart gestures in the air. “Leona Kingscholar, prince of sarcasm and naps, tolerates me. I’m honored.”

Leona groaned. He’d tried ignoring you, scaring you off, threatening you with bodily harm (all of which you’d laughed off). And somehow, despite his best efforts, you were still here. Still determined to bring chaos into his otherwise peaceful life.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed one day,” Leona muttered as you fell into step beside him again. “And I’m not dragging your body out of trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah, sure.” You waved him off, clearly not listening. “So, what’s for dinner? And can I challenge Ruggie to a spoon duel?”

Leona sighed heavily. Why were you like this? And why, despite every instinct telling him to ditch you in the Savanna, did he kind of, sort of… not hate it?

Great. Now you were rotting his brain with your nonsense. Just what he needed.

At least life wasn’t boring anymore.

Masterlist

[l4long-winded]

i. sunday's first light fades, cigarettes burn on gravel, shame shadows the day...

summary: carmen's dedicated to fixing his past mistakes through overworking himself, his approach what others may consider as tyrannical. nothing is going as smoothly as he would like it and his mission further derails itself once uncle jimmy's niece starts working front of house (carmen berzatto x fem!reader)

reflection: i started this before season 3 was released. for so long, i thought i would never finish this. i have ideas written down, but if anyone wants to send some my way for the upcoming parts, i would be glad to hear them out. i'm just glad to finally be sharing this with all of you after letting it rot in my docs. please enjoy, and as always, feedback is always appreciated!

admonitions: reader and carmen are not related, cynical tone, self-deprecation, character analysis, mostly carmen's pov, season 3 setting (possible spoilers), claire mentions, depictions of anxiety, commentary on mental health, carmen's a dick, carmen and richie beef, avoidant!carmy, mikey mention, slight angst, cigarettes, carmen's a little obsessive, perv!carmy, objectification, masturbation (m receiving), cursing, imagined oral, carmy's down bad, sensory descriptions, religious illusions.

word count: 6,362

It starts as simple as Carmen shouting “Hands” as he’s in the middle of vigilantly swiping a syrupy blemish off his plate away from the otherwise pristine, seared amberjack he’s prepared something close to 60,000 times. He’s not exactly sure. He’s bad with numbers, but he’s certain it’s something ridiculous like that with how instinctually he works the recipe and recalls its every visual detail without needing a point of reference. It’s muscle memory and he doesn’t need to glance at any instruction to do it right or as perfectly as he intends. This is not the moment for error, and from his recent misconception of locking himself in the walk-in, he has to make up for it and catch up with the staff he failed to cooperate with and lead. They miraculously didn’t set the kitchen into any sort of disarray akin to the to-go orders fiasco, and for some reason, the more he contemplates it despite his confidence in his skills, he’s stained his reputation among his coworkers, new and previous. That’s not him.

Carmen Berzatto doesn’t instigate fault in the kitchen, he conducts symphony. It fucking kills him inside knowing the first impression he bestowed on his new hires was him knocking his fists and elbows against a door he couldn’t pry open. He shouted at it, spit at it, and cursed it all in vain. It’s humiliating to him that on the night of his restaurant’s grand opening, he’s the one who fell short, he’s the one who fucked up, and now it’s up to him to correct what he can, what he’s good at, and he’s able to without the distraction his mind’s straying towards as he examines his amberjack.

No, he thinks to himself, Do not think about Cl—

His digits don’t detract from the plate in time before someone’s knuckles graze his, a hand he does not recognize lifting the meal up and away. It’s certainly not Richie’s nor anyone else’s name he’s forgetting already that Tina brought in from her excursion. The hand that touched his is too soft, too warm, a manicure on its fingernails freshly done. This means a presumable nail salon visit could have been days ago, untainted by the frequent handwashing and the inevitable redness from hot plates cultivating heat into the skin. His puzzled gaze shifts up, not expecting to see a face like yours greet him.

For a moment, as cheesy as it sounds, his ears ring. A long, unpausing beep censors the thrum of the kitchen behind, flatlining the chaos as his lips part from one another in… disbelief? Awe? He can’t label it, overall frozen in his spot, your nude, glossy lips breaking into a smile that exacerbates his inability to move and overwhelming inability to think. He’s a master at living in his head, but coherence escapes him when you glance down at the plate, steam simmering above it that he swears you inhale from how your nose twitches. The aroma is robust, but it evades him in favor of pinpointing wafting perfume coming from you, attacking his nostrils because of the proximity. You need to take two, three, or thirty steps back so he can resume what he’s doing, and recall what it is that he’s doing for that matter.

“Looks delicious, chef,” pours out your mouth, voice sweet like viscous honey straight from the comb protected by buzzing bees, yet unintimidated. It’s solid. Steady. A boat docked at the harbor over a calm sea. You don’t know any better, do you? Reinforced steel quivers in a career like this. You cannot be unmoving in the culinary world’s earthquake, not unless you’re vibrating inside with blistering anxiety and acid reflux.

“Table 3,” he says, somehow over the impending you, too that almost slips off his tongue to banish him into the fiery flames of embarrassment. Where on earth did you come from? Carmen’s been here this entire day and he didn’t notice you once. If he did, he would’ve remembered. You’re burdening (and appeasing) his eyes, following your polite head bow and figure walking off towards the door into the dining area.

Your disappearance releases him from the enchantment your tone captured him into, unmuting the noise in the background, Sydney calling out orders he’s slightly behind on due to the wrench you’ve thrown in his rhythm, lightning speed halted he required for his standards. According to those, no one is moving fast enough, so it’s up to him to pick up the imaginary slack his perfectionism’s reiterating to him now that you’re out of sight, and therefore, out of mind. He really does not have any second to spare trying to decipher when you clocked in, when Natalie and Richie must’ve hired you, what your credentials are, why you weren’t in the meeting earlier before the dinner service started, what your name is, what that lingering floral scent is along with the green hazelnut and the caramel coming off you that he easily picked up, why your hands don’t have a lick of experience his have, how warmly you regarded him when everyone else seems to approach him like he’s a ticking timebomb, a bear ready to pounce and roar and claw and ruin everything. Why does he ruin everything, why does he ruin everything, why does he ruin everything, why does he ruin—

He knocks the plate he transitions over to right off the counter. Before it can fall to the floor, he catches it, the meal close to slipping off over the edge of the dish. Carmen tilts it and ensures the hard work there doesn’t slide off, Tina precariously jutting her own hands out as a safety net just in case he did drop it. They’re lucky his reflexes saved him, the action involuntary, muscle memory again he thanks on the inside while his mind wandered off without his permission. Autopilot in life is often regarded as a negative thing, but it’s where he finds solace. A break from how he feels about himself and the world and the rapid acceleration of his heart rate and the dramatic rise of his blood pressure.

He exhales a breath of relief, the worst of the incident being his cloth on the floor since he prioritized the food. “Here, chef, lemme get that for you,” that confectionary voice goes again, oozing and pouring over him like it’s smelting him in place as he glances your way. He watches you bend down to grab what he dropped, work slacks stretched tight over your ass and thighs. He gulps down hard, looking away because Tina is standing nearby and he couldn’t be caught checking you out when he almost screwed up Tina’s concoction. She looks at him in confusion.

“I’ll get you another towel,” you utter in the middle of turning on your heel in the direction away from the cooking. Carmen swallows thickly, staring at the path where you skip off to.

“Are you feeling alright, Jeffrey?” Tina asks, concern twisting throughout her accent, but Carmen sets the plate back on the counter. He’s not paying attention. You’ve been here for less than an hour and he’s losing precious seconds, dropping shit, and wearing slacks too well that everyone else is required to, but on you, they’re like a second skin. 

This won’t do. Carmen is not putting up with any more bullshit. The spontaneity of the worst that could happen creeps up on him too consistently.

“Fix your plate,” he murmurs, not looking back despite how Tina looks at him appalled. She’s warned him countless times in the past to watch his attitude with her, but everyone is pretty much resigned to the notion that Carmen’s on this new tirade no one can shake him out of. Tina is good. She wants to be better, showing to herself that she can. She listens and fixes the plate.

Carmen marches his way to the office. When he enters, Natalie is sitting at the desk, busying herself with writing inside an open binder. She turns her head up to see Carmen. There’s no sign of a smile. It’s barely acknowledgment as she immediately returns to her binder. His hands land on his hips regardless. Like she was the one in the principal’s office and he didn’t just barge in.

“Hey, Carmy, I was thinking about the inventory costs and I think if we—”

“Who’s working front of house with Richie?” He blurts his question, cutting off Natalie’s idea. She stares at him for a moment, perplexed by his sudden behavior for all of two seconds. Her brother has been a pain in the ass as of late. His manners were already atrocious in her eyes and with his recent mishap fresh in everyone’s collective minds, she’s aware of his overcompensation. The nonnegotiables can attest to this. There’s a nicer way of asking about the new employee without shutting her down, but Carmen apparently has no time for “insignificant discussions” and arguments he’ll walk away from if he can. He’s walked away from Natalie several times while he’s in the middle of a shift. The real question here is why he’s in here wasting time asking about something so trivial.

“Jimmy’s niece,” she says flatly, placing her binder down on the table. If she has it her way, she’ll raise it and hide behind it until he leaves, but he’s stubborn when it comes to what he wants these days and being exact about it. She turns her body slightly away from Carmen as she tries to jot down notes. Or doodles since she can’t focus as well with Carmen like this. She’s going to figure this out whether he’s in the room with her or not.

“The fuck do you mean Jimmy’s niece?” His eyebrows knit together. “Jimmy doesn’t have—”

“On Gail’s side. It’s Uncle Jimmy’s niece on Gail’s side.”

Gail. Fuck. Fuck you, Gail.

Gail didn’t do anything to Carmen to warrant that abhorrent thought, but this wrings out the authority in him like his hands twisting a kitchen rag over the sink, diluting him dry of his impending drive to fire you. It’s nothing personal, just like he has nothing personal against Jimmy’s ex-wife. Though, he sort of does now. If it wasn’t for Gail, you wouldn’t be here. If it wasn’t for Jimmy’s Achilles heel in endorsing family, and those he considers family like the Berzattos, or an idiot like Richie, Carmen can locate an excuse to repel you away from him and his restaurant. But, that’s another thing on its own. This isn’t Carmen’s restaurant alone. He can’t fire someone Jimmy has a familial connection and moral obligation to. Jimmy’s funding everything and he’s loud about the spending Carmen’s engaging in. Why not try and fuck over his niece in the process out of a job while he’s at it? Pissing off Uncle Jimmy is all he seems to do these days.

“Why?” Natalie asks for the second time. She grips her pen tighter, holding mere strings of patience with Carmen as he stands there and stares off into space. His absent-mindedness is grating on her nerves.

“Carmen, why? Are you even here right now?” She repeats, her voice a little louder this time. Carmen returns from his trip, glancing at Natalie and then back into the random space, intention in his eyes.

“Why what?”

“Why were you asking about–”

“Oh, y-yeahyeahyeah,” he chirps. “Uh… His niece doesn’t seem to have a lot of… experience.” Carmen’s purposely cautious about his words. He’s teetering a line right now, not trying to seem invested, not trying to make this about how you look and how it’s fucking his game up, all while he doesn’t say something Natalie will run off and tell Cicero about. In that regard, she resembles being the younger sibling more than he does.

“Nope. Barely anything.” Natalie sighs. “But she’s fresh out of culinary school and eager to learn and apparently, she really wanted to work under you. No idea why.”

Carmen’s dumbfounded. Natalie’s sarcasm is a thorn in his side, but he’s learned to ignore it when he can. He replays Natalie’s words in his head. You want to work for him? He’s disappointing Sydney. He’s not sure how he can handle disappointing yet another person and their expectations of him.

“We’re letting her tail Richie around until she gets more comfortable.” Natalie continues to disperse information over Carmen. At this rate, how else will he get what he came in for? He’s too vague. Shouldering more than he’ll admit. He repeatedly grows quiet to sit in his thoughts. She wonders what kind of maze he’s wandering around in mentally.

“Why am I just hearing about this?” He asks, head raising, eyebrows pinching together. Natalie recognizes that expression. The one when he’s fixing to argue. The moment she’s sympathetic with him, giving him what he asked for, he flips up into his defensive mode.

And now here comes hers.

“Because you and Richie keep arguing like toddlers and hiring new staff isn’t your job,” she spits. “She came in late ‘cause of car trouble, we got her situated, and now you’re here asking questions when you could be out there leading the kitchen.” Natalie points to the office door, staring at him in disbelief.

Carmen bites the inside of his cheek. She has a point. He hates it whenever he wastes time. He came in with the intention of canning you and of course, with his luck, it’s impossible to do so. He drops his hands from his hips and then he walks to the door.

“That’s it? No goodbye? No rant?” Natalie talks to his back. She barely hears him, his steps hasty, unpausing. No time for that.

“I have to get back to work, Sugar.”

Natalie watches Carmen disappear behind the door. She tries not to take it personally. Carmen’s thinking a lot, but not thinking enough on the right things.

Carmen turns a corner, “Corner,” yelled, but his torso collides with another. Your perfume clings to him in that instant. He refrains from cursing somehow as his eyes come open to the view of you laughing it off. Yeah. Somehow.

 “My bad, I was waiting for you,” you snicker. It’s this light thing. It sticks to him. “Here, chef. Do you need anything else?”

He glances down to the new cloth you promised him. How long were you waiting here for him in this spot holding that? Did you hear anything from the office? Regardless, he grabs the towel from your hand and gestures to the kitchen space. You’ll learn how much this fucking sucks quickly enough.

“No… go shadow Richie.” And stay the hell away from me.

Carmen exhales out, watches the familiar iceberg mist of his breath depart from his open mouth. Cold Chicago nights provide nostalgia, nights when he shared cigarettes with his family members, when Mikey was still alive, when they’d ignore their trembling lips and burning lungs exhausted from breathing in cold air, laughing with one another talking about nothing, stubbornly savoring nicotine and endorphins. Fragments of memories attempt to flash behind his lids, Mikey’s laughter nestling in his brain, yet it’s a phantom of a sound. These fragments morph into what happened to Carmen in recent memory. There’s a part of him begging to cling to the former, to the pleasant past, to Mikey’s laugh, but instead, all his visible breath reminds him tonight after a grueling shift in his turbulent kitchen, is being stuck in the walk-in. With no cell service, guilt sizzling in his rotator cuffs, all he could do was helplessly read peeling labels of stored food and entertain himself with the wisps of his shaky puffing air, and a voicemail he can’t delete.

Two weeks passed under his new regime. No one finds their footing or a miraculous rhythm, unexplained talents they showcase to save their asses. Progress, if there, is slow, far too slow for his liking. Broken glass from dishes occupy the dumpster he glares at, boxes (that are supposed to be fucking broken down) sticking out the top, overflowing with cardboard, rotting meals he failed to perfect sticking to the bottom. He wants the deformity far the hell away from his restaurant, but they need the disposal. It’s easier to look at imagining Richie’s body hanging half out of it, kicking his legs out in protest, voice silenced by garbage bags. Carmen can only dream.

“Are you staring at the trash can again, chef?”

Carmen’s head snaps up. You’re smoking a cigarette, the smoke swirled up by the contrastingly cool night air. Lipstick hugs the white stick’s circumference, the ash lighting up orange as you suck in your cheeks to inhale, releasing the breathful of nicotine after five seconds. He envies you at this moment, sucking the saliva from the gum sitting at the back of his tongue.

He didn’t know you smoked. You worked at The Bear for this new experimental period in most of its entirety. Thus far, he’s done an excellent job at maintaining his distance from you. Sometimes, however, when he lowers his guard down, you’re around to remind him he has no business doing that. He never bothered to ask your name, hearing it one day when you were chatting with Marcus and Sydney about the raspberry jam Marcus used a week ago. It was only said once and yet it bounces around his head when he’s not watching his thoughts.

“You don’t have to call me ‘chef’ after closing,” Carmen mumbles. He ditches the formalities. He decides one actual conversation with you won’t kill him. Besides, he really doesn’t want to begin his walk home yet. His legs are tired from standing and his back hurts from bending his neck, his fucked posture to blame.

“Okay, then what do I call you?”

Carmen watches you flick ash off the cigarette. He wonders if there’s a pack of sapphires in that purse slung over your shoulder, because there certainly aren’t any pockets on that form fitting dress you chose tonight. The clothes you put on rotation earn his attention more than he would ever admit, but he can’t complain. He’s the one with his head stuck in the gutter; your work attire is professional. He prefers your pretty face greeting and serving guests more than Richie, eons more than any of the Faks. You’re valuable to have around. You learn quickly and it irritates the fuck out of him how you’re improving instead of deteriorating.  

“Antipathetic to Carmen or somethin’?”

The tips of Carmen’s ears flush red whenever you laugh. His joke, if he can call it that, wasn’t that amusing. He swallows down the urge to say something else with the purposeful intention of replicating that giggle.

“No, I didn’t know if I should call you Carmen,” you say, emphasizing his name. Oh, that sounds worse than your laugh does. That’ll follow him home like when you said cherry compote last week. “Or Carmy. Or Bear.”

Carmen refrains from scoffing. The trouble you’ve unknowingly brought into his life by merely existing around him is too complicated to sort through. If he wants any kind of success escaping your web, he absolutely can not have you calling him Bear. But when he’s about to voice a not-so-clever way of keeping your tone away from his nickname, you continue to speak.

“Or maybe Cousin Car—”

“No, no, no, no, no, no.” He puts that to an immediate rest. “Do not call me that.” He might very well throw up if you do. It’s worse than if you called him your work friend. You’re acquaintances. Colleagues. Nothing else, and especially not family.

“Hey,” you reply while raising your hands up in surrender, “I just thought since Richie calls you that…”

Right. You value what Richie has to say. Richie knew of you and met you before you started working here. Carmen stops himself from rolling his eyes. Richie’s magnetism, at times, is impeccable. It’s also incredibly annoying. Maybe you two met at a family event of Uncle Jimmy’s Richie wormed his way into. Or maybe Carmen’s mother invited you for a house party. He’s somehow dodged you and your significance in the people close to him’s lives all these years. Then again, he missed a lot going AWOL.

“Nah, uh, Carmy, or Bear, is fine.” He decides to give it to you. Anything other than that atrocity you almost called him less than a minute ago.

“When do I get an animal nickname, too?” You jest. Carmen’s lips betray him, morphing into a small smile as he glances at you from the side. You’re a charming thing, aren’t you? Good work ethic, a quick tongue, nice legs…

“It’s more of a play on Berzatto. Bear, Bear-zatto,” he explains. “Like… I call Nat’ Bear.” He called Mikey Bear.

“Interesting,” you say with a short nod. “That didn’t answer my question, though.”

You can’t be serious. What could he begin to even call you without his skin blooming crimson? He can barely say your name aloud. You need to not expect too much from him. He’s not easygoing. He’s not witty. When the temperature of a room mismatches his internal vibration, he never acclimates, he never shapes it into something comfortable for himself. You’ll burn him alive or he’ll freeze your light.

“It’d be inorganic if I gave you one after you asked,” he says slowly, trying his best to worm his way out of this, out of your ridiculous demand.

“No, it would be chivalrous of you to oblige a woman’s request.” You shoot back. Carmen isn’t guarded for a response like that. You’ve got more personality than he thought. He chews on his bottom lip, glancing at the cigarette tucked between your fingers at your side like it’ll help him and give him the answers. All it gives him is temptation.

“How about I get back to you? I’m not that creative.” He hopes this will help pull him out of the hole he’s burying himself into. This is the longest you two have interacted. His skin itches. His hands flex in his jacket pockets, playing around with lint he finds.

You appear as if you want to say something in regards to that. You cut yourself by breathing in deeply instead once your mouth comes open the second time. “... Okay, fine. But get back to me, alright?” You step closer. Carmen feels heady, his eyes almost slipping closed as he smells hazelnut again, and nicotine, and you, something that is so particularly you that clings to his clothes when you pass him in the kitchen. Repeated instances where his eyes followed your tracks, calling to him silently like cartoon smoke coming off a pie on a windowsill, cradling his nose, daringly levitating his feet off the floor.

“I’m learning a lot from you, Bear.” You whisper the sobriquet. You can’t have done it on purpose. You don’t know the mess floating through Carmen’s head every time he sees you. But regardless, it feels targeted. You aimed to shoot him, hunted him when he lay dormant and unsuspecting.

Carmen’s jaw flexes as you depart from him. You toss the cigarette onto the concrete, waving at him once as you leave. He winds up glancing at the soiled white stick on the floor. He has to or else he’ll watch you head into your car until it leaves.

You branded the cigarette that taunts him from the ground. The orange at the tip fades, puffs of smoke swallowed up, the stick greeting its death, but not unscathed. Carmen licks his lips seeing the nude shade of lipstick around the circumference of the cylinder. He shakes his head and begins his walk home.

If he stayed at that parking lot any longer, he would’ve picked that cigarette up, and put it in his mouth. Not because he’s got nicotine withdrawals, well it partially is that, but because he needs to get your lipstick and gloss on his lips somehow without colliding into your orbit. Knowing this, it reinforces to him how distance is key. He slipped tonight, but it could have gone worse, right?

He has not known you long for you to already be affecting him this much. He can get you out of his head. He can do it. It’s necessary to avoid how much his hands shake whenever you speak to him. You work together, it’s bound to happen, and he’s stuck with you. He must figure out how to be civil with you. Healthily.

Sunlight glows in the room, open blinds patterning bars of the golden warmth over Carmen’s bed and the wall resting behind it. One of the glimmering beams catches him across his closed eyes. He groans, the shift in temperature waking his restless body. He turns over away from it with a huff, the blanket on his legs feeling too hot as well. He forgot to close the blinds last night after staring out the window, dreading this day and its arrival.

It’s Sunday morning. Carmen does not like Sundays. As usual, the day comes anyway, and although he can not sleep throughout his work week, it’s a grander problem for him when he has nothing to do. He slept for about two hours out of sheer exhaustion from the week.

Yet, as tired as he is, he sighs once he shuffles onto his back, once he glances down his torso and sees the tall tent pitched in his boxers. Morning wood. Something he can’t escape, his body betraying him, no matter how restless it truly is on its own. That, and his dreams were all over the place. In such a short amount of time, he walked the moon, careened through space, ended up in a forest, led himself to a waterfall, and of course, because Carmen’s head is a little fucked, there you were sitting near the trickling water, peering at him over your shoulder like you had a secret to tell him. The closer he got, dream Carmen doesn’t know any better, the more he realized you weren’t wearing any clothes. Yet, as much as dream Carmen tried to crane his neck, he couldn’t see a thing.

It’s as if someone put a filter over your skin. It blurred everything from his sight. Your skin was bare, sure, but he couldn’t see a thing besides your long lashes batting and the coy smile spreading over your lips. The secret you kept never made it to him. He woke before it could.

He resigns himself to the fact that he can’t will his throbbing erection to go away. It’s never that simple, and for Carmen, it feels like nothing ever is. So, instead of trying to think of things that might help, things that will make his stomach flip, or trigger his anxiety on purpose, he stares up at his ceiling in shame as his hand slips past the waistband of his boxers. This isn’t the first time he’s woken up like this. He’s a man. Anatomy is not only a tricky subject for him, but his traitor. He’s woken up to morning wood for no reason, after a hookup or two, and even when his dreams were completely monotonous.

This song and dance isn’t new. He’s tried in the past to rack up unpleasant memories, focus on things that disgust him, go about his day like a piece of steel didn’t sit between his thighs during, and yeah, it worked other times. But now he’s suffering from withdrawals, and if he’s popping a fucking boner while in the wiles of struggle at his restaurant and quite frankly his life, then he’s not allowed to just avoid and ignore and hope it goes away. The luxury of that coping mechanism can only get him so far. His dick is attached to his body and he can’t run away from it no matter how much he wants to.

His efforts went moot around the time you showed up at the restaurant. Literally, the next morning. He thought about David, his annoying family members, embarrassing moments in middle school he never let go of… and then he thought about you. And his dick got harder. Then, he got up out of bed, took a cold shower, ate half a bagel slathered in cream cheese, and he took care of the issue as quickly as possible in the bathroom because he was not going to walk to work with a hard on in the early morning civilian traffic of Chicago. And again, he thought about you as he cupped his tip and caught his release, wondering to himself for a split second before he could realize it how your hand would feel on him.

He’s given up on the routine of waking up unbearably hard and attempting to disregard it. Too many of his days went on like that with the inevitable stroke of his hand fixing himself. He opts to skip the failure and head straight into the blissful affair, however fleeting it may be, however self-loathing and guilty he ends up feeling by the end of it once he gains clarity back. If this is how fate wants him to spend his Sunday morning, then he’s obliging it. The restaurant isn’t calling for him. Today, he has no purpose (but he will obsessively put together new ideas for recipes later anyway) other than to throttle his cock and let his mind wander to his beautiful hostess. He has time for it. He’s not in a rush to head into the freshly renovated building. He has no choice but to enjoy himself for what this is and turn off his habits for however long he’s able.

His fingers form a fist around himself, pumping upwards slowly. He thinks about last night when you said his name, the way your lips embraced it with a smile, testing it out in front of him like an old friend would. Did you talk about him to other people while he was busy avoiding you? What do you think of him? Do you still admire him? He’s falling apart at the seams, but his brain alerts him how your mouth twisted and caressed the linguistics of his name, the phonetics on your welcoming tone, and his breath hitches, grip tightening. He bets you would moan it loudly for him, disturb his neighbors, infiltrate every fiber of his being with it, cause him to capture it on a recording so he could listen to it like the music he never bothers with, replay it until he has the luxury of fine tuning it out of you for him again and again.

Carmen groans thinking about how Bear sounds coming from you. It’s one thing to hear you call him Carmy, but something stirs inside of him, goes fucking feral thinking about you begging him for his dick, throwing in the occasional Bear in a pleading voice he knows he would not be able to deny for a second. Fuck me, Bear would be his new anthem, his new melomania, his ringtone if he could have it his way and not give a shit about who else might hear it. But Carmen’s a jealous fuck. If he had the balls, that would be for him alone. Something to play during a lonely night, some material worth jacking off to instead of his imagination like he’s currently doing now. He feels like a fucking loser for it, yet not enough to stop what he’s doing, and not enough for his cock to go limp.

The reality of it is that he hasn’t really heard you call him Carmy or Bear enough to really know if it’s as good as his head is making it sound. In theory, it sounds like fucking paradise, but his nervous system may very well implode if he hears anything close to these daydreams and deep desires you’re bringing out of him. Yet, his hand speeds up envisioning your mouth wrapped around that cigarette he desperately wanted last night. He was completely serious about wanting to lift it off the ground and smoking the remnants of it, coating his lips with your makeup, positive it has some kind of flavor to it if you’re in the culinary world. You, or so he thinks, must appreciate the way things taste like he does. He wonders how the nicotine and the lipstick would taste from the source rather than off a sad cigarette butt, muttering fuck silently as his wrist twists at the top of his cock, pausing for a moment to spit onto his palm, images fluctuating one after the other of shoving his tongue into your mouth to find this all out for himself.

His saliva makes the slide easier on his girth. Then, he didn’t want to get to this place, but he always gets here regardless, he thinks about your cheeks hollowing out. He thinks about how you looked sucking on the sapphire casually, how you never coughed, how you held the smoke in your lungs and waited before you let the breath out. He wants you to shotgun it to him. He wants you to exhale into his mouth, forcing him to swallow a smoldering heat. He wants you to say to hell with the cigarette, the hell with nicotine, and he wants you to suck his cock with the same vigor, with the same hollowed cheeks, and he wants to gag you, challenge how long you’re able to hold your breath before you sputter. Carmen needs your tongue apologetically swirling over his tip, he needs a lipstick ring at the base of his cock, and he envies that cigarette now more than ever as his hips raise off the mattress to fuck faster into his fist, wishing by some kind of miracle that it would magically morph into your pretty mouth. Your pretty mouth suckling before you pull off and whisper cum in my mouth, Bear.

“Fuck, what the fuck are you doin’ to me?” He moans aloud, shoving his boxers down lower on his hips, tossing sheets off his bed in frustration. He moves onto his knees, one hand planting on the mattress, the other jerking his cock. Pre oozes down the head of him, sunlight kissing his tip when it should be your stupid, plump lips. A gentle, inconsequential peck. All he asks the universe, God, whoever the fuck is listening and watching him in disappointment. He could cum from that alone.

He pictures it now. You must be a tease, you have to be. Yeah, with those outfits, and the way you carry yourself? Fuck, he sounds like an asshole putting it that way, but those dresses of yours would provide him with the easiest access, a blessing if he wished to bend you over a counter. What color are your panties? Are you wearing anything under there, you filthy thing? Would you mind if he kept a pair or two? Shoved them into his pocket so he could wrap them around his dick and have something to sheath himself with other than his rough hand trying to work himself to an orgasm? He can put them on a fucking altar. He’ll put you there too without any clothes, spread out, glistening with wetness he’ll eventually tongue at. Like he thought before, an imposition he bestowed upon you in his rampant fantasies, Carmen appreciates taste.

This goes like all the other days. He closes his eyes, tries to get through all of his desires with the shame flowing throughout him, but like a curious victim in front of medusa, the idiot opens his eyelids. They drape halfways, and there you are, a blurry vision underneath him, innocent eyes pulling him in, your lips parted, and suddenly, his hips work in tandem with his jerking hand. No longer is it just his hold touching himself, fucking into his hand, imagining fucking into you, the beautiful shift of your collarbones, the way you would cry his name out and force him to surrender. That’s what does it for him, and he can’t feel like a fucking fool just yet once your name comes off his lips like a prayer, shooting ropes of his cum into his hand.

He never catches it all. There’s always so much and this Sunday morning is no different. His cum drips from his palm onto his sheets, his body calming down from the sensory overload, pumping with the viscous substance until his dick is softer and he’s overstimulated. He doesn’t care anymore, wiping his hand on his bed, holding himself up on his hands and knees, groveling to the thought of you. As it always does, his mind scolds him for the act now that it’s over. A pool of white and darkened spots remind him of his errors. He doesn’t fucking know you to be doing any of this. But thinking about you is the only way to rid himself of the problem that you also have caused without understanding it. You’re unattainable. You couldn’t be his even if he tried to make it work, forbidden fruit he could not pick, let alone stare at. The universe keeps on dangling you in front of his nose, daring him to take a bite, but he refuses to let himself go that far.

He needs a solution as soon as possible. He can’t live like this, avoiding you, inevitably running into you, engaging in any more small talk, watching those dresses and skirts and form-fitting slacks, watching you smoke his favorite–former favorite–brand of cigarettes, hearing your stupid laugh… it’s going to ruin him. You’re going to fucking destroy him and he doesn’t need any more help in doing that with his habit of self-sabotage.

Carmen Berzatto needs to get rid of you for his own sanity. The question lingering in his mind is a matter of how without fucking his conscience up and his standing with Uncle Jimmy. He’ll think about it more after a shower and after he washes his sheets from the mess you induced.

[maelancoli]

Adding Tension After the Ship Happens

i feel a lot of slow burn ships lose steam after the characters finally get together, whether it's just from sleeping together or them actually engaging in a relationship, so here are some ideas for how to maintain steam.

their problems are not solved now that they've crossed the thresh hold

first things first, the plot itself i'm sure has other details than just their relationship. even the most fluffy of fluff has other things going on than kisses and giggles. don't abandon these details once the relationship truly begins. and if there was any kind of unresolved tension point or previously mentioned ex/trauma/insecurity/fear bring it back! bring things back around that might put a strain on a new, tender relationship. this can either make them have problems or be a way to develop their bonds and *show* it in action. any of these foreshadowing/resurrected points can be added in edits if you didn't start out with them or with retconning if you're writing rp/fanfic. all the writers do it. we see it in tv everyday it's ok if u gotta pull a rabbit from a hat.

their relationship will not be suddenly smooth and solid as if they have been married 20 years

okay they kissed/fucked/agreed to be together. now what? what circumstances kept them from getting there sooner? are those circumstances still present and how will they deal with it as a team? you also don't have to have characters officially together once they've done something physical. there is still discussion to be had and boundaries/expectations to establish. those conversations could be interesting to explore. and, even more-so, this is the perfect point for plot to happen and keep them from being able to have those conversations when they should. you can add angst, you can add miscommunication, you can add anything that tickles your fancy. especially a perfect time to have an ex return to cause some tension and uncertainty if they haven't made it official. they don't know what they are yet and that uncertainty is a delicious point to write it and really give the characters a hard time

utilize the main plot's tension

again, if you're writing more than just a contemporary fluffy romance, the romance should enrich the main plot. the romance as a subplot should be a component which merges with the main storyline and does not take away from it. if you don't want to milk the will-they-won't-they anymore than you already have it's time to build the relationship up in the midst of OUTSIDE conflict. let them disagree about how to resolve problems. let them butt heads. let them be scared and do and say stupid shit because they're scared. let them be worried or angry or frustrated and have to figure out how to balance their newfound vulnerability with who they are and were before that point. let them hurt each other a little so they can come back together stronger.

utilize the characters around them

if it is a plot which is mainly romance filled, then think about the tension from the lives around them. think about their loved ones and how their own issues could influence the plot points the characters have to face together. this could be a time for them to be introduced to loved ones. you could throw in a group trip with silly mishaps and shenanigans. you could even have loved ones try to break them up or doubt the love interest. navigating new relationships while also dealing with friends and family can be a source of plot and tension in and of itself. this can be a point to let love interests reassure each other and prove their salt. it can help them grow closer. it can be the heroic moment for one of them to stick up for the other or prove they're there for them no matter what.

overall if you're struggling with what to do after the slow burn feels like it's sizzling out it's time to zoom out. make sure you are not losing the whole picture of their environment or steamrolling past the real development of new relationships.

[icyg4l]

October 2024 Predictions

Hello beautiful people! Today’s pick a card reading is going to be what you can expect from October 2024. If you resonate with this reading, please don’t hesitate to book a reading with me. Refer to my guidelines and my booking site before doing so. Please help a broke college student out, if you can lol! But anyway, let’s get on with the PAC. Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: Somebody’s gonna be having a lot of fun. I can tell that you need moments of relaxation, but also to party! You will get invited into a Halloween party, but please do not get shit-faced. You may end up in the hospital. I feel like you’ll be playing around with different methods of manifesting, if you’re actively manifesting something tangible (a car, new clothes/makeup, etc). You should not get too specific with their manifestations. Leave the why’s/how’s up to the Universe or whatever you believe in. Some of you could be wearing a Santa Muerte necklace or worship Santa Muerte. You may have a dream in which she sends you a message, telling you not to worry. She’s got it. This pile needs to practice safe sex!! Some of y’all are celibate but will soon be giving it up, lol. If you have a partner with a penis, you may find yourself being more fertile than usual. If not, then you should still practice safe sex. Be communicative with your partner’s and thoroughly wash yourself and any objects that you may use during the act. And of course, have fun! Also, some of you will have a dream that will spark a new idea. I get major Pisces energy from this pile. Why are y’all so horny lol??? Don’t lose sight of reality this month. Curveballs will be thrown but you just have to stay put. 

Cards Used: Ace of Cups. 2 of Discs. The Hanged Man. 9 of Cups. The High Priestess. The Moon.

Pile Two: I heard the word “glorious” as I was shuffling for this pile. Pile Two, you are free to do whatever you please. After a time of trials, you will finally feel triumphant. You have been waiting for this moment: to feel uninhibited and abundant. You are going to meet someone that will help open doors for you so that you can receive more clientele, if you are looking to start a business. For others of you, you will meet someone who is well-connected to different people and you may find a few friends/a lover. If it’s a lover, it is something that will be short-lived. This connection will help you get more comfortable in a new environment. Some of you could have moved to a different state/city (congratulations!). It feels chaotic right now, but right now you have to remember that help is on the way. Do not try to do everything on your own. If you do, then you will feel overwhelmed. This month, you will get more familiar with traveling in your downtown area/around the city. Be sure to keep something on you (bear spray, a pocket knife, graffiti spray, amulets, Nazars, etc). Be prepared for what is to come but don’t stress out over the small details (especially if you’re working on a project that will benefit you monetarily). It’s easier said than done, I know. Your plans will come into fruition as long as you keep your eyes on the prize. By any means necessary. 

Cards Used: Princess of Swords. Queen of Swords. Wheel of Fortune. 2 of Cups. Death. The Emperor (RX). 

Pile Three: Someone is about to level up! While you are doing better for yourself, some people will not be able to be in your presence anymore. You must cut them loose. If you have a hunch about a friend, specifically if they have any Aquarius placements, then it’s time to cut them loose. You’re too good for them and you know it. I feel like this is a friend outside of your friendship circle. You were warned about them before. Aside from the friendship drama, this month will be a great month to romanticize the little things. Fall may be your favorite season. Being in tune with nature will help you manifest more beauty. Staying grounded = staying beautiful. This month will go by very quickly for you. Some of you will be baking cookies and spending more time with your mother figure. Some of you may have to give advice to an impulsive, younger person to prevent them from making a huge mistake (possibly involving their friends and/or their schoolwork). There is nothing wrong with playing the role of a nurturer. Embrace it. And lastly, if there is anyone or anything that brings you chaos, it is time for you to leave it behind. Starting anew can be scary but this will change your life for the better by making room for what is to come. Out with the old, in with the new!

Cards Used: 3 of Cups. 7 of Swords. 5 of Wands. 6 of Cups. 8 of Wands. The Empress. 

Pile Four: Are you catching a coach flight via Southwest/Spirit Airlines? Are you taking an Amtrak train soon? I can tell you’re really over the bs, lol. I heard “catching flights, not feelings”. But unfortunately for you, you will be catching feelings. Be open to being in a loving relationship. It is safe for you to love. They could be very reminiscent of your loving father figure. You may meet this person as you are traveling. It is possible that you are moving to wherever you plan to travel to. If you are, then you will feel content with your decision. Right now, you are in a waiting period. The momentum is about to pick back up for you. Consider the reality of where you are going and compare it to your head. At this time, you could find yourself being anxious at times, questioning if you are ready, and you in fact are. Things are aligning for you. You could find that people in your position are landing on your for you page on TikTok. You could find that people are wearing/successfully obtaining what it is that you want. A lot of you want a new house/apartment. This will help you gain the confidence to fully pursue your goals and dreams. Don’t put them on hold for anything or anyone. I am channeling the scene where Fiona finally leaves Chicago in Shameless. 

Cards Used: The Lovers, The Emperor, Prince of Cups, The World, 8 of Cups, 4 of Swords.

[emilys-bangs]

if your cascade ocean wave blues come | e.p

Tags: established relationship, vague details of a case gone wrong, hurt/comfort, fluff, non-sexual nudity, taking a bath, use of petnames, no use of yn, reader feeling guilty

Summary: After a bad case, Emily suggests a bath to get your mind off it. Requested here. Repost of this fic because for some reason the tags weren't working.

Word count: 2.4k

The unsub is in cuffs, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

In the jet, you walk past Emily as she sits on the couch—where you usually join her—and make a beeline for the lone seat in the back. It’s nothing against her, but right now you’re desperately craving comfort—her comfort—and you know that if you sat with her you’d cling to her like honey, curling into her lap so she can somewhat ease the tightness in your chest. The case ripped you raw, leaving your emotions splayed out for anyone to see, let alone profilers, and the thought of them seeing you collapse into her makes you shirk away and head to the single seat with steady steps.

Her eyes follow you; you ignore them as you sit down, sure if you looked into the endless depths of them you’d crumble right to the floor. Instead you turn to rest your head against the window and close your eyes.

Even though you do it just to avoid her gaze, sleep takes you quickly. Exhaustion had steadily seeped into your bones throughout this past week, day after day spent trying to catch the unsub who left dozens of bodies in his wake. Now it catches up to you.

Your brief sleep isn’t dreamless. The unsub’s remorseless face swims in your head, his smile slowly creeping over his lips at the sight of your clenched jaw in the interrogation room. He’s smug, boasting the deaths of the slaughtered women whose names you’ve memorized, your shoulders rising up to your ears as you try in vain to get him to reveal your kidnapped victim’s location. Her cold corpse comes next.

Emily wakes you with a silent hand on your shoulder. You startle awake, looking up to find her eyes concerned when you blink up at her sluggishly. The clenched fists in your lap don’t escape either of your attention. You blink the sleep from your eyes as you uncurl your fingers, stifling a wince at the tender imprints of your nails on the heels of your hands.

“Let’s go,” Emily whispers. Your bag is slung over her shoulder, its strap laying on top of the handle of her own bag. 

Ridiculously, it makes you want to cry. She holds her hand out for you and her love is so quiet but so, so loud; steady and patient even when you ignore her hand and stand up, tears burning the back of your eyes as you walk past her and out of the empty jet.

No one’s here, but you still can’t accept her touch. It would break you, and the pieces of you would shatter on the asphalt, glinting under the fluorescent lights of the parking lot. So you hold yourself stiffly and walk to the car without looking back to see if Emily follows.

Her heels click resignedly against the floor, sounding far enough away that you know she’s keeping her distance. The lump in your throat only grows as you pull open the car door and get into the passenger seat, hearing her throw both of your bags in the backseat. When she opens her own door your eyes are closed, tears dampening your lashes as you turn your head away.

She doesn’t deserve this. She was working the case same as you, losing sleep over it and pouring herself into finding the unsub. You know that, but you fear any apology would soon be followed by your sobs, the force of them shattering your body into pieces.

So you stay quiet, let the lump in your throat grow as Emily drives you both home in silence.

She quietly picks up the bags again when you arrive, her eyes briefly flitting over you as she fits the key in the lock. You see her brows draw together, her lips pressing into a thin line as she unlocks the door and swings it open.

It barely clicks shut before you barrel into her. Her chest caves as she huffs in surprise, the breath knocked out of her, but in seconds her arms are around you. Emily holds you tight, one of her hands cupping the back of your neck as you exhale shakily.

“Hey,” she breathes, her lips gently nudging your temple. “Hey, I got you, honey.” Her fingers weave into your hair, the cold inside of her palm pressing against the nape of your neck. “It’s not your fault.” She says. There’s a firmness to her low voice, ready to defend you against your own mind.

You press your lips together, trying to keep your tears at bay. “I know it’s not.” Do you, though? Your voice is croaky and unconvincing. “It just fucking sucks.” The last word breaks and shatters, along with what’s rest of your composure. 

Tears blur your vision. You close your eyes, trapping them inside. “Just wanna forget,” you mumble, stuffing your face further into Emily’s warm neck, “help me forget, Em.” 

Her breathing stutters. 

Emily squeezes you tighter. “How about we take a bath?” She whispers.

Weakly, you nod into her neck. You know she won’t let go before you do, so you do it even though your body screams in protest. Emily sets down the duffle bags and takes your hand, gently leading you through the dark apartment while switching the lights on, her fingers steading your shakier ones. She passes by Sergio with a quiet hello before pulling you into the bathroom.

You’re too drained to protest when Emily gently pushes you down on the closed toilet seat. She turns on the tap as you watch, running her fingers through the water and making sure it’s warm enough before she bends to plug the drain. The sound of it splashing against the sides of the tub almost loosens something in you. You close your eyes, smelling rather than seeing it when Emily sprinkles in bath salts.

Your eyes are still closed when she gently takes your hands. Her fingers wrap around yours, securely curling around your wrists as she tugs you up. You stand, opening your eyes as Emily lets go. She gives you a small smile and the ghost of a kiss on the corner of your mouth before slowly tugging at your clothes, as if waiting for you to say no. 

You don’t. You let her take care of you, peeling your clothes off and gently nudging you into the tub. The water is almost hot enough to burn, but you’re glad for the sting as you sink into it.

Water laps at the sides of the tub as Emily joins you. It sloshes over the edges and drips to the floor when you lean forward and hide in her neck, closing your eyes as her hands wrap around your shoulder blades.

Emily doesn’t say anything. She just holds you, quietly pressing kisses to your forehead as she rubs warm circles on your back. You let out a shaky breath as something in you unwinds, a product of her steady hands and the warm bath water swirling around you. Again you know she won’t let go until you do, so you reluctantly loosen your grip on her waist.

“Gonna wash your hair now,” she murmurs. 

You nod and hear the water as she gathers it in her palms; some of it drips onto your body before she pours it onto your head, soaking your scalp. Warmth cascades down your face, your shoulders. It takes a few more scoops before your hair is fully drenched, and when that happens, Emily grabs your shampoo bottle.

“No,” you rasp and she stills. Her brow raises in question. “Your shampoo,” you say quietly, the twist in your stomach telling you it’s a ridiculous request. Emily probably thinks the same; you lower your eyes and draw your knees into your chest, the very tips of them peeking out from the water and getting exposed to the cold air of the bathroom.

The comforting scent of Emily’s shampoo floods your senses. Soon after her gentle hands follow, raking through your hair and lathering the shampoo until it bubbles on your scalp. Her repetitive motions are soothing; your shoulders loosen and slump further into the warm water, some tension leaking from your body if not your restless mind. You keep your eyes down, chin on your knees, tilting with her movements as she moves your head this way and that to properly clean your hair. Her short nails scrape against your scalp as she generously massages the shampoo into your locks. You breathe out a quiet sigh.

Conditioner follows on your roots, Emily’s chin nudging against your forehead as she leans forward to reach them. This takes less time, though she’s no less thorough as she spreads it through your hair. When she’s done, you hear her dip her hands into the water, washing the conditioner off before gently nudging your chin.

“Head up, baby.” Emily whispers.

You oblige. Her eyes meet yours and she gives you a small smile, concern visibly swimming in her dark irises. You can’t bring yourself to return her smile, but as she leans forward and kisses your temple, you grab her hand under the water and squeeze. Emily squeezes back.

“Keep your eyes closed, okay? Gonna wash this off.”

Too tired to reply but not wanting to leave her with silence, you hum. Even that sound is thready and weak, drowned out by the splash of the water as Emily pours it over your head. 

Her arms must ache; she repeats it over and over, runs her fingers through your soaking hair to wash out any lingering shampoo or conditioner, and she does it all with endless patience. She doesn’t take the easy route by dipping your head backward into the water, or better yet telling you to wash your own damn hair yourself. Painstakingly, she cups her hands under the water and pours it on your head until your hair is clean.

Her love only brings tears to your eyes. You feel them gather beneath your closed eyelids, a lump forming in the back of your throat as something clicks and you smell Emily’s body wash next. Opening your eyes, you find her lathering it between her palms, letting it froth into bubbles before she starts rubbing it into your chest and shoulders.

“Emily?” You say, your voice thick with tears.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Tell me something good.” 

Tears balance on your lashes. You blink and they drip into the cloudy bath water, leaving small ripples in their wake. 

Emily stops lathering the body wash into your skin. Her hand slips down your chest, her fingers pressing into the left side of your ribs. “You’re alive.” She says quietly. Your pulse rises to meet her fingers. “We’re both home. We’re okay.” Her other hand gently cups your cheek, her thumb tracing the underside of your jaw. “It won’t always be like this.”

Maybe it’s the intensity of her stare. Or it could be her words, both firm and gentle. Or her hand against your heart, making the both of you feel your pulse. It could be all of these things, or none of them, that makes more tears drip down your chin, a choked exhale leaving your lips as you cover the hand on your cheek with your own.

“How do you always know what I need?” You ask, the tremble of your words echoing through the bathroom tiles.

Emily kisses the tip of your nose. “Because I know you.” Her hand leaves your chest and goes to the back of your neck, gently nudging you into her arms. Water sloshes as you sink into her again. “And because we’ve all been in this place before. We’ve been in it and we’ll continue to deal with it in the future, because that’s the price of the job.” She whispers into a kiss, this one to your damp hairline. 

“We can only do so much, honey. We have to remember that.”

The two of you are quiet after that. Emily trails her fingertips up and down your spine, again waiting until you move from her arms to continue taking care of you. She wipes the leftover tears on your face before grabbing her body wash, rubbing it onto your skin and chasing the bubbles off with rapidly cooling water and her soft lips. 

By the time you get out of the tub and pad into her bedroom, you feel somewhat lighter. Not as heavy as before, your tears and Emily’s touch taking away some of the heaviness in your chest. More of it is chased away when Emily hands you her pajamas and spreads her lotion over your skin, enveloping you in a bubble that’s purely her; her hair products and pajamas and lotion, her arms around you when she nudges you into bed and brings you into her chest.

Her fingers again delve into your hair, gently detangling the knots that have formed over the past few days. “Make you some tea?” She murmurs, her lips tracing your forehead. A kiss is pressed there.

“No.” You whisper, curling your fingers into the collar of her pajama shirt. Her pulse beats steadily under your knuckles—we’re okay. You swallow and nuzzle under her jaw, your eyes falling closed. “Just stay with me.”

“Okay.” Emily says.

Her fingers continue running through your hair, ever so carefully working through the knots in it. There’s the occasional scratch of her nails against your scalp, and even when you shift to get more comfortable in her arms, her lips follow your forehead. Sometimes they lay there, still, but every few minutes she’ll press an absent kiss to your temple.

The events of the day sink heavily onto your bones. With your girlfriend soothing your weary soul, her heart thumping steadily under your ear as she murmurs sweet nothings in a language you don’t understand, everything feels just a little bit better. The bed dips as Sergio climbs onto it, finding his way into the small space between Emily’s arms and your body. He curls into your side and one of Emily’s hands goes to your back, rubbing small circles at the base of your spine as she runs her fingers through your combed hair.

You didn’t think you’d find sleep again. But with her holding you like this, you’re helpless to stop it.

taglist: @suckerforcate @sickoherd @lextism @catssluvr @i-lovefandom @haiklya @justhereforthosefics

[mysticinsightstarot]

♧PAC : 🔞 NSFW THOUGHTS OF YOUR FS♧

🔥 Welcome to Our Spicy Pick-A-Card NSFW Reading! 🔥

Hello, beautiful souls! 🌟 Today, we’re diving deep into the steamy and sensual thoughts your future spouse has about you. This pick-a-card reading is designed to give you a glimpse into their most intimate fantasies and desires—so, get ready to feel the heat 🔥💋.

✨ How to Pick Your Pile:

Take a deep breath and clear your mind.

Focus on your energy and intentions.

Look at the three piles below, represented by different images.

Trust your intuition to guide you to the pile that calls out the most.

Once you've chosen, click on your pile and dive into the details of your future spouse’s fantasies 😏.

Pile 1: (Image of a Softly Lit Candlelit Room 🕯️)

Pile 2: (Image of a Dimly Lit Room with Shadows 🌑)

Pile 3: (Image of a Couple Silhouetted in the Moonlight 🌙)

👉 Special Offer: Bring in 3 Paid Clients and Get a FREE Reading!

Refer 3 clients who book paid readings with us, and you’ll receive any one of our paid readings FREE! 🎉

Your referral code is SunSera3_(your name)—make sure your referred clients mention this code at checkout for the offer to be valid.

Spread the word and enjoy a complimentary reading on us once your referrals are confirmed!

Visit our website for more details and readings: https://sunseratarotcommunity.wordpress.com

⚠️ Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. It’s meant to give you insight and guidance, but remember, the future is fluid and subject to change. We encourage you to use these readings as a tool for reflection and self-awareness, but always trust your own judgment and intuition in all matters. Must be 18 or older to engage with NSFW content.

Happy picking, and we hope your pile reveals everything you're curious about 😉💖!

Pile 1

Pile 2 > Pile 3

💋 Pile 1: NSFW Thoughts of Your Future Spouse 💋

Card 1 – Initial Attraction (6 of Swords): When they first saw you, babe, it wasn’t just your looks—it was your aura. You’re like this mysterious, calming presence that they can’t get out of their head 🌊🖤. They love that you seem chill on the surface, but they know there's something darker and deeper underneath. They fantasize about those private, sensual moments where they get to break through that calm exterior and find out exactly what gets you wild. They want to take you from that peaceful state to one where you’re both completely consumed by each other 💫. It’s that vibe of “I’ll take you away from your everyday life and into a world where it’s just us, and nothing else matters.”

Card 2 – Secret Desires (3 of Pentacles + The Tower): 👀 Listen, their secret desires? Let’s just say they need to shake things up with you. The 3 of Pentacles? Oh, honey, they’ve been thinking about putting in some serious work with you, but it’s not your usual "teamwork" stuff 🛠️🔥. It’s more like, they want to take control of every move, every touch, guiding you and collaborating with you in the most intense ways. And The Tower? Whew! 😈 Their ultimate fantasy is a sudden, explosive moment—where neither of you holds back. They want it to be rough, unexpected, and passionate, where things get a little chaotic in the best way possible. They crave that feeling of you both losing control, tearing down all boundaries (maybe even some clothes 😏), and just… going at it without thinking twice. They want you completely undone.

Card 3 – How They Want to Please You (Ace of Swords + 6 of Wands + The World): Let’s get one thing straight—your future spouse is OBSESSED with the idea of being the BEST you’ve ever had 💥🗡️. The Ace of Swords shows they fantasize about being the person who gets inside your head first. It’s not just physical—they want to turn you on with words, their voice, and their intelligence. They dream of whispering in your ear exactly what they’re about to do to you, watching as you react. And when the time comes? The 6 of Wands means they want to be your ultimate victory 🏆. They fantasize about you screaming their name, making them feel like they’re on top of the world as you reach your peak. With The World card, they’re thinking about completeness. They don’t just want to please you once—they dream about giving you everything: body, mind, and soul, over and over again until you both can’t take it anymore 🌍💦.

Card 4 – Emotional Connection (The Emperor): Don’t get it twisted—this is about more than just heat. The Emperor shows that in their fantasies, they’re not just thinking about passion, they’re thinking about control—but in a way that makes you feel safe and desired 👑🔥. They want to be the one you look up to, the one who takes charge and guides you, not just in the bedroom but in life. In their fantasies, they’re the one holding you together emotionally and physically. They want to take care of you, but they also want to dominate you 😏. That mixture of love and power? Yeah, they fantasize about owning every part of you, in the most seductive way possible.

Card 5 – Fantasy Scenario (7 of Cups + Ace of Cups): Your spouse has got quite the imagination, babe 😈🌈. They fantasize about all kinds of different settings with you—from classy, romantic dinners that end with heated kisses under the stars, to late-night rendezvous where they can’t keep their hands off you the moment the door closes. The 7 of Cups shows that their mind runs wild with options. Maybe it’s in the shower with water dripping down both of your bodies 💦, maybe it’s outside in a secluded spot where no one’s around 🌲🔥. And the Ace of Cups? Oh, baby, it’s not just about lust—they fantasize about filling you with love and pleasure at the same time. They dream of those slow, sensual moments where it’s just about the two of you and how deeply connected you feel when your bodies finally meet. They want that sweet mix of passion and overflowing emotion, where every touch means something 💖🥰.

Card 6 – After Intimacy (10 of Wands + 6 of Pentacles + Queen of Swords + 10 of Pentacles): After they’re done with you (if they’re ever really “done” 😏), they feel exhausted but in the best way possible. The 10 of Wands shows they fantasize about carrying the weight of your pleasure, leaving them spent but satisfied. It’s like they’ve given you EVERYTHING, every bit of energy, every ounce of passion 🔥💼. The 6 of Pentacles? They dream about giving and receiving in equal measure—they want you to feel as fulfilled as they do, so they imagine you both laying there, completely satisfied but still wanting more 🤲💋. And with the Queen of Swords? Oh, honey, they see you as this strong, powerful person who they’ve totally impressed. They fantasize about you giving them that look of approval, like, “Yeah, you handled that well.” Finally, the 10 of Pentacles means they want to build something lasting. Their fantasies aren’t just about one night—they dream of a future where you’re both still wrapped up in each other years from now, building a life together that’s just as passionate as day one 💍🏠.

Bottom of the Deck – The Hermit: Their spicy thoughts are locked away in their mind, babe 🔒🕯️. The Hermit shows that they keep these fantasies to themselves, dreaming of the day when they can make them come true. It’s like their little secret, only shared in the quiet moments when they’re alone… and thinking about you. They’re waiting for the right moment to turn all those fantasies into reality, and when they do? You better believe it’s gonna be explosive 🌙💥.

💌 So there you have it, hun! Your future spouse is dreaming of moments with you that are intense, passionate, and full of desire. They want to completely blow your mind, while also building something lasting and deeply emotional. It’s the perfect mix of heat and heart, and when they finally get you? Let’s just say… you’re both gonna be left breathless 🔥💖. Let me know if this got you all heated up 🔥💌!

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

Here’s your Pile 2: NSFW "Thoughts of Your Future Spouse" reading, set in a dimly lit room, dripping with sensual energy and mystery. 🔥💫 The lighting is low, but their desires are burning bright—let's see what their deepest fantasies are about you.

💋 Pile 2: NSFW Thoughts of Your Future Spouse 💋

Card 1 – Initial Attraction (5 of Swords + Queen of Wands + King of Cups + 2 of Swords): Your future spouse is intoxicated by your bold, confident energy 🔥. The Queen of Wands tells me that they’re immediately drawn to how you command the room. You have this magnetic charm, and it drives them crazy. In their fantasies, they love the idea of trying to break through your strong, confident exterior. The 5 of Swords shows they want to dominate you in a way that leaves you speechless, like a battle of wills, but they want to be the one to come out on top 😏. Yet, with the King of Cups, they’re deeply emotional about you. It’s like they’re thinking about getting you to surrender—not just physically but emotionally, too. And the 2 of Swords? Oh, they imagine you teasing them, like you’re indecisive, playing hard to get… which only makes them want you more. It’s that push-pull dynamic that drives them wild 🌪️.

Card 2 – Secret Desires (The World + 6 of Wands + 7 of Swords): Oh, baby, their secret desires? They want to win you in every way possible 🌍🏆. With The World, they’re fantasizing about making you theirs completely, like they’re the only one who gets to experience all of you—mind, body, and soul. They’re picturing themselves undressing you slowly, savoring every moment of your submission to their touch, until they’ve got you exactly where they want you. The 6 of Wands says they fantasize about being your ultimate victory—they want you to feel like they’re the best you’ve ever had, like no one else even comes close. But the 7 of Swords? That’s where it gets spicy—they love the idea of a secret encounter, something forbidden, where you both can’t keep your hands off each other. They want you sneaking around, meeting in dimly lit places where the risk of getting caught adds to the thrill. They’re thinking about breaking all the rules with you 😈.

Card 3 – How They Want to Please You (6 of Cups + 10 of Cups): Your spouse is a romantic, babe, and in their fantasies, they’re all about pleasing you both physically and emotionally 🥰. The 6 of Cups shows they imagine you in sweet, intimate moments where they’re doing little things to make you feel special—soft kisses, touches, and making you feel like the most cherished person in the world. But the 10 of Cups? Oh honey, it’s all about the endgame. They dream of ultimate satisfaction—emotional fulfillment mixed with pleasure. They want to take you to that place where you’re both feeling everything—the intensity of the moment, but also the deep love and connection behind it. They want to make you feel like you’re living in a perfect world when you’re together, where every touch and every moan is part of something bigger—something that feels like home 💖🏠.

Card 4 – Emotional Connection (King of Pentacles + Page of Pentacles + Page of Cups): Let’s get one thing straight—this isn’t just about heat. The King of Pentacles shows they fantasize about being your provider and protector. They want to be that stable force in your life, someone you can rely on no matter what 🏆🌳. In their fantasies, it’s not just about lust—they imagine taking care of you, spoiling you, and making sure you feel safe. The Page of Pentacles adds that they’re eager to learn everything about what pleases you. They’re curious, excited, and more than willing to put in the work to keep you satisfied. And with the Page of Cups? They fantasize about sharing their softer side with you—those tender, quiet moments after the heat, when you’re both wrapped up in each other. They’re daydreaming about whispering sweet things in your ear, and watching you smile, knowing they’ve won your heart as much as your body 💞.

Card 5 – Fantasy Scenario (Knight of Cups + 8 of Pentacles + 3 of Wands + Judgment + 2 of Cups): Okay, so this fantasy is next-level 😍. The Knight of Cups is all about sweeping you off your feet in the most romantic way possible. They fantasize about taking you on an adventure—somewhere new and exciting, where the anticipation builds. The 8 of Pentacles shows that they’re ready to put in the work, literally—they imagine every touch, every kiss being just right, as if they’ve mastered the art of your pleasure. The 3 of Wands suggests they dream of taking you somewhere with a view, maybe overlooking the city at night or a place by the sea, where it’s just you two. And with Judgment, they imagine that moment of release, when everything comes together and you both experience something almost spiritual. It’s like they fantasize about you both reaching a place of pure bliss, where nothing else matters except the connection between you. And with the 2 of Cups? It’s not just about physical satisfaction—they’re dreaming of a love so deep it feels like destiny 💫.

Card 6 – How They See You (The Empress): Babe, in their fantasies, you are the ultimate goddess 🌸👑. The Empress means they see you as this stunning, nurturing, powerful person who is irresistible. You’re everything they’ve ever wanted, and in their daydreams, they can’t get enough of your beauty, your softness, and your strength. They imagine worshiping your body, making you feel like the most desired person on Earth. They want to indulge in every part of you—treating you like the queen you are, while also craving the way you make them feel alive. Their fantasies are all about giving you pleasure, watching you lose yourself in the moment as they take care of your every need 💋.

Bottom of the Deck – 6 of Pentacles: Your spouse is a giver and they fantasize about reciprocity in the bedroom 💞. The 6 of Pentacles shows that in their fantasies, it’s all about balance—they want to give you as much pleasure as they get. It’s a give-and-take situation where both of you are left completely satisfied. They imagine those moments where you both can’t get enough of each other, where the passion is mutual, and the connection feels perfectly balanced 💫. They want you to know that it’s not just about their satisfaction—they’re here to please you in every way imaginable 🔥.

💌 So there you have it, babe! Your future spouse is dreaming of moments with you that are filled with passion, romance, and deep emotional connection. They want to sweep you off your feet, leave you breathless, and make sure you know just how much they cherish every part of you. The dimly lit room? Oh, it’s just the setting for something dangerous and unforgettable to unfold 😈���.

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💋 Pile 3: NSFW Thoughts of Your Future Spouse 💋

Card 1 – First Impressions & Their Deep Desires (The High Priestess + Death): Your future spouse is spellbound by your mystery 🖤✨. With The High Priestess, they see you as an enigma—a quiet power that turns them on beyond belief. They fantasize about peeling back your layers, finding out what lies beneath your cool exterior, and unlocking the hidden passions you keep buried. In their dreams, they imagine your quiet confidence giving way to something wild and uncontrollable. Death here? Oh, babe, that means they fantasize about a total transformation between you—crossing that line from casual attraction to something intense and all-consuming 🔥. They imagine you both evolving, crossing the point of no return, where everything changes. They want to ignite that spark in you and burn it down until there's nothing left but pure, raw desire.

Card 2 – The Heat of the Moment (Wheel of Fortune + 7 of Wands + 2 of Cups): Things take a spicy turn when they think of your chemistry—it’s explosive ⚡. The Wheel of Fortune tells me they fantasize about things happening unexpectedly, like fate brings you together in a sudden and intense encounter. They imagine it being like a game of chance, where neither of you can resist the pull anymore. And with the 7 of Wands, they dream of the tension—they love the idea of fighting it off, resisting the urge until it boils over. It’s the ultimate power struggle. They imagine you both pushing and pulling until the heat is unbearable 😏. But with the 2 of Cups? The fantasies end in sweet surrender, where you finally give in, and the connection between you is nothing short of magical. It’s more than just lust—they see it as an inevitable connection, like you two are meant to come together in this heated moment 💫.

Card 3 – What They Want to Do to You (8 of Wands + Queen of Wands): When it comes to what they want to do? It’s fast, passionate, and intense 😈. The 8 of Wands shows they imagine things happening at lightning speed—they want to sweep you off your feet and leave you breathless. Their fantasies involve sudden bursts of passion, where they can't keep their hands off you. They want to move fast, like once they get started, there’s no stopping them. The Queen of Wands shows how much they admire your fiery, confident energy—they fantasize about your assertiveness and love that you can match their intensity. You’re their equal, and they imagine you taking control, showing them what you want. In their mind, you're a queen who knows exactly how to please them, and that dominates their thoughts 🔥👑.

Card 4 – Emotional Depth (9 of Wands + King of Cups + Lovers): They fantasize not just about the passion, but about the emotional intensity of being with you 🌊💖. The 9 of Wands shows they’re imagining holding out for you, guarding their heart until the right moment. In their fantasies, there’s this buildup of emotional tension—they’ve been waiting for you, craving this connection. And with the King of Cups, their thoughts run deep. They dream of being the one to finally break through your emotional walls and claim your heart. It’s not just about the physical—they want to love you completely. The Lovers confirms it—they fantasize about you as their perfect match, their soulmate, both in and out of the bedroom. They crave the emotional highs, not just the physical ones, and imagine every moment with you being steeped in passion and love 🔥💏.

Card 5 – Their Fantasy Scenario (3 of Cups + 2 of Pentacles): In their fantasies, they dream of celebration and indulgence 🥂💃. The 3 of Cups shows they want to enjoy you in a relaxed, carefree setting—they imagine playful encounters, where you’re both laughing and teasing each other. Maybe it’s a party, or a night out, where things escalate quickly from innocent flirting to something more heated. The 2 of Pentacles suggests that in their fantasies, they love the back-and-forth between you two. They dream of balancing that playful energy with serious passion, taking you from light-hearted teasing to deep, intense moments in the blink of an eye. They want to keep things fun but electrifying, always keeping you on your toes.

Card 6 – How They See You (Temperance + The Star + Queen of Swords + Page of Wands): You, babe, are their dream come true 🌟. Temperance and The Star together show that they fantasize about you being the perfect balance in their life—you’re calm and collected but with a fire that ignites them from the inside out. They see you as their guiding star, someone who brings them peace and passion all at once. The Queen of Swords says they admire your sharp mind and independent nature, which makes you all the more irresistible to them. In their fantasies, they’re just as attracted to your intellect as they are to your body. And the Page of Wands? They dream of exploring new, exciting things with you. You make them feel alive, like they’re on an adventure. They fantasize about you two exploring each other’s desires with enthusiasm and curiosity, discovering every secret pleasure together 🔥.

Bottom of the Deck – The Hierophant: Your future spouse fantasizes about commitment—they want something deeper than just a physical connection 👰🤵. The Hierophant shows that, at their core, they dream of something sacred with you, a bond that goes beyond passion. They imagine being with you in a way that’s traditional yet intimate, where you both share not just your bodies, but your souls. They fantasize about making you theirs in every sense—body, heart, and spirit. It’s not just about the heat—it’s about the future they see with you, where you both belong to each other, forever 💍.

💌 So there you go, babe! Your future spouse has some deep, intense, and downright electrifying thoughts about you. They’re dreaming of the perfect balance—wild passion mixed with deep emotional connection, where you both challenge and complete each other in ways no one else could. From playful encounters to soul-shaking love, they’re ready to give it all to you, wrapped up in commitment and desire 💋🔥.

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

✨ Conclusion: Your Journey Awaits! ✨

Thank you for joining us on this steamy journey into the thoughts and fantasies of your future spouse! We hope your chosen pile has revealed some tantalizing insights that spark your curiosity and deepen your connection. Remember, the universe is full of possibilities, and your love story is just beginning! 💖

If you enjoyed this reading, please consider sharing this post, reposting it to your stories, and spreading the word to your friends! Your support means the world to us. 💌 We’re aiming to reach 500 followers by the end of October, and with your help, we know we can get there!

Follow our account for more exciting content, tarot readings, and exclusive offers. Let’s grow this beautiful community together! 🌟

Thank you for being part of our journey! We can’t wait to see where the cards lead you next. Until next time! 🔮💫

[nightxcreature]

Hurt so good.

Summary: After the reader makes a comment about missing Dean’s leather jacket and the old days, he takes matters into his own hands and takes her on the hunt of her life.

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, dark romance, hunting, p n v, all the things.

This is not the way I thought this fic would go, but here we are.

My first entry for #Jackelsversebingo2024! 🥳 This one is based on the prompt ‘Camping’ and I have no idea how I came up with this based on that. It’s smutty, it’s a little dark, and it’s got a brief appearance of early season’s leather jacket. 🤗 I loved writing this one, and I hope you enjoy reading it! I guess this could also be classified as Kinktober, but I’m not involved in one of those. 🤣

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Fluorescent lights flicker above my head as I rifle through the dryer, separating my clothes from Deans and folding as I go. He’s never separated clothes, not that he didn’t know how, he just didn’t care to; so it was always up to me or Sam to go through them and make sure nothing was ruined. I slide my arm back in and grimace as I feel the rough leather of one of his new jackets. Slowly pulling it out I can already tell that it’s about two sizes too small at this point; I toss it, along with the rest of the clothes, into the basket and grab a few extra hangers before heading up to our room to finish putting everything away.

“Dean!” I call as I ascend the stairs to the library, “I’ve got some bad news.”

I hear him rattling around in the kitchen, ‘Small Town’ by John Mellencamp softly playing through the little speaker above the door, “Bad news?” He roughly replies, “What do you mean?”

His head peeks around the door of the fridge as I set down the basket and wrinkle my nose, holding up his jacket, “You put this in the dryer.”

He runs a hand across his face and sighs, “Shit.”

“To be honest though,” I start, a slight smile playing at the corners of my lips, “This one isn’t nearly as nice as the one you had when we first met. That one was always my favorite.”

He raises an eyebrow and grins as he shuts the fridge door, “The brown one? That was my dad’s, I don’t even remember the last time I wore that.”

“The day Sammy came back from hell and we met your grandpa.” I blurt out, eyes widening and a blush creeping up my neck as his eyes snap to mine.

“Excuse me?” He gasps, a chuckle escaping him, “Did you just recount, in detail, the last time you saw me wear that jacket?” He takes a few steps toward me and I back slowly out the door. His normal baritone drops what feels like an octave as he whispers, “Did that jacket do something for ya, Darlin’?”

“I-I just-I liked it, and sometimes I miss the days when-when it was just you, me, and Sammy on the road, ya know?” I stutter out and snatch the basket of clothes out of the floor, “It’s-it’s not like I think about the jacket…or-or you in the jacket…”

He shakes his head, rubbing his face again and grins, “Sure, Sweetheart. I miss those days sometimes, too.”

“I’m gonna, uh, finish this.” I nod toward the basket and book it down the hallway, leaving Dean to his thoughts and me to hide in my embarrassment.

A few days later, I’m laid up on the bed with a new book, relaxing during an unusually slow day at the bunker when my phone lights up with Deans name.

‘Meet me in the garage, pack a bag. Got a case.’

‘Didn’t think we had any leads at the moment?’ I send back and grab my duffle from under the bed, stuffing it full with extra clothes and supplies. I sling the bag over my shoulder and grab my phone as another message comes through.

‘Not Chuck related.’

Weird, but not unusual. We could use a run of the mill hunt after everything Chuck’s been throwing at us lately. I shove my phone into my pocket and follow the rumble of the Impala into the garage.

“What did you two get tired of—.” I’m stopped dead in my tracks as Dean turns to face me from the drivers side of the Impala, leather jacket and black tee layered on his torso, Metallica’s greatest hits blasting through the speakers, and the box of his cassettes and 8-tracks sitting beside him. His face is clean shaven and his hair spiked up a little on his head, the only difference is the little aging in his face. If I didn’t know any better I would assume we had spun back in time to 2005.

“Dad’s on a hunt, and I need help looking for a Wendigo,” He nods at the seat next to him and I slowly set my duffle down in the floorboard, “You coming or not?”

Nodding, I sit down beside him and shut the door, trying to stay in character, “Couldn’t get Sammy to help out on this one?”

He snorts and shakes his head, “You know he’s too busy getting a fancy education so he can get me out of trouble.”

I laugh and nod again, “He’s got a lot of learning to do then.” pointing toward his jacket I smile and break for a moment, “Where did you find that?”

“Find what?” He asks, wrapping an arm around the seat and backing out of the bunker, “My jacket? I’ve had this thing for years, Sweetheart, I’d never lose it.” He winks and peels off into the afternoon.

A slight chuckle leaves me and I look out the window, “Where are we headed? Did you bring the map?”

He swaps the tape out, setting the box in the floor before pulling me closer as the intro to ‘Whole lotta Love’ fills the cabin, “Don’t need a map, I know exactly where we’re going. You just sit back and relax.” He places his right arm around my shoulders and I lean into him, the smell of the leather overwhelming my senses, “You gonna sleep? It might be while. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to rest up before we get there.”

I nod and doze off for a while not even feeling the car roll to a stop several hours later. Sunlight warms my cheeks and I stretch, opening my eyes I burst into laughter at the scene in front of me.

“Did you recreate the Wendigo hunt we went on back when we were looking for your dad?!” I exclaim, hopping out of Baby and staring at the tents set up around me, “You’ve really outdone yourself, Dean Winchester.”

He awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and sweetly smiles, “I was thinking about it after you mentioned liking the jacket so much and I’ve been missing the ‘monster of the week’ hunts. I thought it’d be fun to pretend for a little while.”

I return his smile and nod toward the bag beside the tent in the back, “Are we really hunting a Wendigo or do you have something more fun than a flamethrower packed in that bag?”

“Is there anything more fun than a flamethrower?” He questions with a shit-eating grin, “I have a lot of things planned for this weekend…and hunting a Wendigo is not one of them.” He stalks toward me slowly and reaches a hand into his jacket, pulling a rope and a black bandana out of the pocket, “But I do plan on hunting you.”

My jaw slightly drops and I take a step backwards, “This is not where I thought this was going.”

He sends me another sweet smile, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to, but I do keep track of the books you read…and this does seem like a theme they follow. If it’s not the kind of hunt you had in mind though, I’m sure I can find something else.”

He shrugs coyly and begins to turn away before I jump and grab his arm, “No!” I can see the smile on his face as he turns back to face me, “I-I mean, no. This is fine. This is…great, actually. I am more than willing to do...this.” My feet shuffle beneath me and I can feel the anticipation in the air as he stares at my face, checking for any sign of hesitation.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He says as he shrugs off the jacket, his black tee stretching deliciously across his chest as he reaches up to tie the bandana around his face, “Run.”

My heart leaps into my throat and I freeze, “Now? The suns still out, that’s too easy…”

“Run.” He says again, picking up a knife I didn’t even know was sitting on the small cooler beside us.

“Dean, this feels like something we should do at….”

“Run!” He yells, stepping quickly toward me and I take off into the trees.

In my race to hide I realize that I have nothing but my cellphone with me, no food or water, and nothing to signal to Dean that I need help if I end up in a complicated situation. As if this isn’t a complicated situation already. The first place my mind goes to hide is higher ground, but Dean knows my mind just as well as I do, so I scan for somewhere lower and spot a small hole in a tree trunk just big enough for me to fit through. Sliding in, I shimmy my way up and into the trunk, listening intently for any sound that Dean was close by.

My phone begins to buzz in my pocket and as I dig it out I try not to laugh as I notice Dean must’ve taken my phone while I slept because his contact photo has been changed to Ghostface.

I quickly swipe right and put the phone to my ear, “Oh, please don’t kill me Mister Ghostface. I want to be in the sequel.”

A dark chuckle comes from the other end of the line and I hear him suck in a breath, “Tell me where you are and I won’t have to.”

“No way.” I breathe out, “You’ve gotta catch me.”

The snap of a twig comes from outside of the tree and I feel my heart plummet, “I don’t think you picked a very good spot.” He whispers, knocking softly on the tree trunk, “Do you?”

A hand suddenly slides through the opening of the trunk and wraps around my ankle, pulling hard enough to make me lose my balance landing me on my ass, “Got’cha.”

I pull on my foot and panic sets in as I realize he isn’t letting up. His other hand wraps around my other leg and one hard pull has me out in the open air.

Dean wags a finger at me, his green eyes sparkling, “I know you can hide better than that. I taught you better.”

My brows furrow and I set my jaw, “Speaking of which, how hard are we playing?”

He raises a brow and I see the bandana twitch as he smirks, “No holds barred, Darlin’. Do what you need to get away, it’ll make it more fun when I catch you….again.”

“Good.” I raise a leg and stomp on the hand still holding my ankle in place. He yanks his arm back, cursing, and I scramble away back in the direction of camp, “Catch me if ya can!”

I find another tree with branches low enough that I can swing onto and pull myself up high enough that I can see below me and for a few feet surrounding the tree. My phone rings again and I put it to my ear, hearing Dean’s gruff voice before I can answer.

“That wasn’t very nice.” He spits out, “Are you hiding better this time?”

“You didn’t say I had to play nice.” I whisper, “I think I’m hiding quite well, thank you.”

I sit on the branch with my back toward the trunk of the tree, keeping my knees to my chest in case they dangle and he sees me, “Are you coming to get me?”

“Maybe I already found you.” He whispers back, “Maybe I’m looking at you right now.”

“What are you gonna do when you catch me?”

“When?” He replies, and I can hear the smirk on his face, “Giving up so easily?”

“No, just curious.”

“You’ll find out soon.” The line suddenly goes dead, and I quiet my breathing, as if he could hear it from the ground. The birds and the sound of the creek below are the only noise surrounding me and I chance leaning over to see if he’s anywhere close by, slamming myself back quickly when I see his bandana clad face in the tree next to me. After a moment I realize he must’ve missed me and I chance leaning around again, when a hand wraps around my throat from behind.

“How do we keep meeting like this?” He grunts cockily into my ear, “It’s like you want to be caught.”

My heart is in my throat as he pulls me to him, “I’m going to help you down,” He whispers, one hand on my throat, his thumb and forefinger on either side of my jaw, the other hand on my ass, “Are you going to run?”

I shake my head dumbly and blink, “No.”

“Are you going to hit me?”

Another shake of my head, and he slowly helps me to the forest floor, “Now what am I gonna do with you?” He wraps a hand in my hair and pulls me to my feet, “You did try your best, didn’t you?”

“Uh huh.” I nod, frantically looking for someway to get out of his hold this time as he drops his hand to my jaw again.

Leaning down and he pulls my face up to his, “Your best just wasn’t good enough, was it?”

I smile sweetly and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer and then abruptly shoving him away. Losing his balance, he curses again as I take off running. He scrambles to his feet and lunges to tackle me to the floor, we roll for a few feet before I pin his arms above his head, my knee on his chest.

“Who’s catching whom?” I smirk as I stare down at him, “This isn’t going the way you thought, is it?”

The bandana moves again, the hint of a smile in his eyes, “Sweetheart, this is exactly what I had planned.” His knee finds its way underneath mine and we’re suddenly rolling once more, him pinning me and straddling my hips, “Now, are you going to stay still?”

I nod, my heart in my throat once more, as his hands make their way slowly down my body to the hem of my shirt.

••••••••••••••smut below the cut•••••••••••••••

He lifts the fabric above my head, throwing it to the side, and pulls the rope from his belt loop, wrapping it loosely around my wrists, “Tighter.” I whisper, watching his eyebrows raise before he pulls the knot tight against my skin.

His hands slide down my torso and he slowly slides my jeans down my legs, “Should’ve had you run around like this instead.” He whispers, biting his lip, “Would’ve caught you the first time.”

I blush and bite my own lip, as he rakes his eyes over my body, “Jesus, you’re so beautiful.”

He grips my jaw tightly, dropping the bandana to his neck and pulls me into a searing kiss, his tongue dancing over mine. I strain against the ropes on my wrists, lifting my arms to place my hands in his hair, “No.” he gruffly says before pinning my arms down again, “Don’t touch me.”

I groan, but his lips are on mine again before I can complain and any arguments fly out the door as he lays his body across mine and pushes his hips into me.

“Dean.” I moan, raising my hips to meet his, “Please.”

“Please what?” He asks, and I can feel the smirk on his lips as he runs them down my throat, “What do you need, Baby?”

My legs wrap around his waist and pull him roughly into me again, and he grunts as I sink my teeth into his throat, “Please, Dean.”

He moans again and slides a hand down my waist, “I love it when you beg.” He sinks his thumbs into the waistband of my panties and slides them down my legs before unhooking my bra and helping me stand.

“Now you.” I bat my lashes and he flashes a smile my way before reaching behind me.

“Got something else for ya, first.” He pulls a duffle bag over and takes the old brown jacket out, laying it out on the forest floor, “Lay down. Put your head on it, not above it.”

I do as he instructs as he takes his own clothes off and finds his way in between my thighs again, and slowly runs his hand over himself. I blush as he stares at me again, one hand around himself, the other around my throat as he brings me up to him in another kiss.

“I love you.” He whispers against my lips and pushes me down onto the leather again, before reaching below and feeling the wetness building between my legs, “All that because I chased you through the woods like a maniac?”

“All that because I know you’d never really hurt me.” I reply with a moan as he sinks a single finger into me.

“Oh, I’m gonna hurt you, Baby.” He grins as he adds another finger and runs his other hand across my breast, tugging and pinching at my nipples, “Hurt you so good.”

He slides his fingers out of me and shoved them between my lips with a groan before grabbing the rope above me and flipping me to my stomach. Lifting my hips, he lines up with my entrance and slams his hips into mine, pulling moan after moan from my lips as he rocks into me.

“Good girl,” He groans out, “Yell as loud as you want, no one’s coming to help you.”

His hand wraps around my throat and pull me flush against his chest as his other hand slides across my stomach to rub circles on my clit, “Are you gonna cum for me?”

“Uh huh. Yeah.” I whisper, breathily, “Gonna cum for you.”

“Then do it.” He grunts out as he runs faster, “Wanna feel you squeeze the life outta my cock. Wanna cum with you.”

The mix of his words and the sensations overwhelming my body send me directly over the edge, my eyes roll back and I go limp in his arms, feeling his hips stutter to a stop shortly after. He pulls himself out of me and spins me slowly to face him as he cradled my face, placing a sweet kiss to my lips.

“That was awesome.” He breathes out with a grin, “We should do that once a month.”

I laugh as he places the jacket around my naked shoulders and pulls his pants up around his waist, “Yeah, next time you can keep the jacket on.”

He winks and pulls me toward our camp, “We’ll see. You wanna rest, eat a s’more, and then maybe I’ll let you chase me through the dark.”

“Didn’t you tell a cop one time that you don’t get trapped in the woods with people, people get trapped in the woods with you?”

“I’d make an exception for you.” He says with a grin, tugging me close to him and kissing my temple, “I love you, Pretty Girl.”

I smile against him, “I love you, too.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

A/N: I was not sure how to end this so I hope that’s satisfying enough. My first time writing smut e v e r. I enjoyed this one, I hope you did, too! 🫶🏼

Tag list: @lmhf1

[byllsbytch]

SHARK WEEK

Nicholas Alexander Chavez

Genre: Fluff

Summary: You experience period pains and call off Nicholas visiting. He refuses to stay away.

Warnings: N/A

It was that time of the month and I laid in bed awaiting for Nick to rock up after filming . 

It'd taken Nicholas 2 years to finally convince me to come off the pill.

I typically wasn't in so much pain when it came to my period but no longer being on the pill I had forgotten how bad my cramps and lower back pain was.

It was surely kicking my ass. 

I was paralyzed in pain I kept my eyes closed trying not to throw up. "I'm going to have to cancel Nick coming over tonight." I thought to myself groaning. I cannot see anyone like this.

I cautiously reached over to my phone not trying to make any sudden movement and put myself into a world of more hurt. I dialled up the number of the studio that the Nick was at and sat listening to the ringing for a while, after moments of waiting finally an answer.

"Hello, Ben speaking" The voice said, I screwed up my face and looked at my phone again making sure it was the right number before I placed it back to my ear.

"Its me prick, you're not that famous asshole" 

"Who is this?" Nick was puzzled.

"Y/N?" 

"Oh, you sound grouchier than Y/N" he joked

"Well, that's what happens when you tell your girlfriend to get off the pill!"

"Really?!"

"No dipshit, it's uh- whatever. Nicholas, I'm dying right now"

Nicks eyes widened as he looked over at the director who was gesturing at him. When Ryan Murphy is working he doesn't take bullshit and just wants to get filming over with. Ryan was getting agitated but Nick lowered the phone covering the mic.

"It's shark week" he mouthed to the him. 

"So don't worry about coming over tonight, i wont be much entertainment tonight."

"Dont be silly, i love to just being around you, we dont need to talk, you know this. You presence is all I need."

"Nawee" I whined tears forming in my eyes. 

"Are you crying?" 

"No" I sobbed. 

"Look I'm still coming over, we'll be done soon."

At that he hung up.

Mum came in with Panadol and a heat pack and I took two tablets rolling over and curling into a ball eventually drifting to sleep.

- 

I woke up to see Nick sitting beside me on the bed eating pasta; his eyes fixated on the TV. I smiled and scooted closer. He looked down at me and smiled placing down his bowl on the bedside table. "Good Morning Beauty, how you going?" he ran his fingers through my hair. 

"Mmm" i mumbled contently. 

"Give me a second" he said getting up, taking the heat pack with him. After several moment he came back with the warmed heat pack. raspberry bullets and a pack of pads.

"Baby I'll be honest... I still don't get what pads you use, the worker just picked these ones out for me."

I groggily raised my head to the sound of his voice and smiled dopily slowly raising myself to sit up.

"Lay down baby" he huffed running to my side. "It's all good you just rest."

But your couldn't rest; your heart was currently exploding from all the detail, love and care Nick put into being there for you. Sure he wasn't too sure on what pads to get you but he knew raspberry bullets were your favourite and that you needed a heat pack.

"I'll just place these ones in the bathroom for when your ready." He called from down the hallway, placing the pad atop the toilet shelf.

I laid with the heat pack against my stomach as I filled my mouth with the raspberry liquorice. Nick came back into the room and grabbed my hand placing sweet kisses on it.

"Can I get you anything else Princess?" He winked while rubbing his thumb in circles on my hand.

(A/N: OH. MY. DAYS. guys with nice hands that do that lil thumb rub thing have me in a CHOKEHOLDDD!!! n ik Nick would do it all the time too)

I slightly chuckled to myself. "Come park up," I smiled tapping on the free spot next to me. With no obligations - Nicholas was quick to go back to his spot on the bed and finish his pasta.

You best believe the rest of the night was filled with cuddles and kisses.

[starryknight-dragonarts]

The average village characters are often an overlooked part of any fantasy story, who cares about what the Basket weaver is doing I want to see the cool things the Heroes are up to! That's not the case in Bionicle, the Matoran villagers that the Toa protect are just as interesting as the Toa themselves and this is explored heavily in the early series point-and click adventure game MNOG (Mata Nui Online Game) You view the Vast Island of Mata Nui as a Wandering Matoran named Takua who travels from village to village helping other Matoran with their problems and occasionally running into the Toa and getting to see them doing something cool and Heroic, also despite being a Browser based game from the early 2000's meant to sell Legos it's also one of the best pieces of interactive media! You are immersed in this world learning about lore and mysteries from this franchize and the Matoran villagers who make this world feel alive and lived in so you are just as invested in protecting the Island from the Evils of The Makuta as the Toa Heroes!

One of the Memorable characters is a little Matoran from the Air Village Le-Koro named Tamaru. When Tamaru is introduced the Le-Matoran are hiding because their home in the treetops of the jungle have been attacked by Giant Wasp Monsters called Nui Rama who have kidnapped other villagers! By playing a little tune on a flute you notify the village that it's safe to come out now. Kongu the Heroic Bird Rider swings down to meet you by swinging down a vine!...Followed by Tamaru who proceeds to fall and faceplant behind him.

Tamaru is not just a comic relief character, part of the appeal is that they do not fit in among the other Le-Matoran and some of these details though never explicitly stated have lead fans to the widely accepted headcanon that Tamaru is a Trans-Girl Le-Matoran.

A little bit of weird Bionicle worldbuilding is that all of the elements among Matoran, Toa, and Turaga are gendered. This was actually a sort of clever work around on the creators of Bionicle part because of some really stupid rules when it comes to marketing children's toys...as much as I wish decisions could purley be made for the benefit of telling a good story, Bionicle was made to sell Toys because Lego was going Bankrupt in the Early 2000s and needed an original action based franchise that could compete with Star Wars as their best seller before Bionicle were Lego Star Wars sets which means Lego had to pay royalties back to Lucas Films. Basically the reason Toys are so heavily split between Boys and Girls is because corporations want in that way, they split demographics so they are not competing with themselves for Toy sales. Bionicle was Marketed to appeal to boys, so usually with other kids media they would have all Male Hero characters, and a girl on the side who isn't as cool as the heros. By gendering the Elements they made sure that there would always be a girl member of the team who is an Equal member to the dudes. Just as Strong, just as Cool, and just as heroic as her male counterparts. 

I wish they had at least made the team equally split between Male and Female characters, of the 6 original elements only 1 of the tribes is Female, the Ga-Matorans (Water). I guess I gotta take what I can get...but then there is Tamaru. 

Most Le-Matoran are very agile and graceful living up in the trees, leaping from branches, swinging on vines, riding giant birds. Makes sense for a village with Air as their element. This does not come naturally to Tamaru though, Tamaru is scared of heights and gets dizzy looking down at a long fall, but Tamaru has something that the other Le-Matoran don't...She can Swim. Le-Matoran typically don't like water and don't like swimming, it just feels wrong to them for some reason, however Tamaru has no such problem with Water and is more comfortable in the water than she is in the air almost like she has the coding of a Ga-matoran not a Le-Matoran!

Despite being different from the other Le-Matoran, Tamaru is still Heroic. She joins the Chronicler's party and helps defend the Temple Kini Nui from being destroyed by The Makuta's possessed beasts and ensures the Toas safe return to the surface because sometimes Heroes need a Hero too.

This is why Tamaru is very special to me and many other Bionicle Fans.