#I'm fucking imploding over here
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Seething with rage because my DnD character might be about to die (mini boss fight, unconcious, already failed a death save, and I'm the healer), we won't get to resolve the cliffhanger for three more weeks (my job is making me do fieldwork on our game nights), and on top of everything else happening in my life right now that just feels unfair.
#chronic stress ongoing family crisis anticipatory grief my brain is a scrbled egg#i feel like everything is going wrong and i can't stop it#i left my fucking laptop at work i prepared the wrong spells i signed up for this stupid fucking#massive work project bevause it wqs supposed to be fun#i picked the field site with 100 degree weather and truly unimaginable numbers of ticks#i hate everything right now I'm so mad#i hate it i hate it i hate it please god can't something go right for once?#the more stressed and tired i get the less i can do anything right and it just gets worse#i keep making careless mistakes and digging the hole deeper#I'm fucking imploding over here#hylian rambles#vent post
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just came face to face with the paragraph limit
#WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PPL !!!#WHAT THE FUCK IS A BLOCK!!!#why is this site so determined to make everything worse all the time like i actually think they want to run this place into the ground#before you could get away with posting 50k fix and now I CANT EVEN PUT 30K ???#i already hate splitting up my work#i mean i didn't think i could get away with posting anything that was over 100k words in one post#so i thought oh maybe 3 posts will get the job done#now it's gonna have to be like 6 posts#;_;#genuinely what is the purpose of that restriction?#do they think we are going to implode the sight#site** my anger doth blinded my ability to write with such grace and accuracy#in reality i feel like there can't be THAT many people logging onto here like 'oh let me upload my 50k fic'#or maybe there is#but i feel like there isn't#cuz all the b1tch3s who write that long only post 7 times a year#but maybe i'm the delusional one idk#okay deep calming self soothing breath of inner peace
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made the impulsive decision of making a profile on bluesky lol
i'd love to be moots with some of you on there! (≡^∇^≡)
#twitter is fucking imploding rn with that whole dumbass blocking sutff but i'm not exactly sure how active i'll be here on bluesky..#since my main social will probs always be tumblr BUT it's still nice to have options y'know#i'll probs try to post more of my non spoon art over there#idk yet we shall see lol
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I currently have to write a thesis, work on the biggest project in my entire study programme and will have to start preparing for my bachelor's exam at some point, and my brain thinks now it's a good time to get back into Red Dead Redemption 2👍
#I bought the game last summer but I'm still only at the very start of chapter 3 because I'm slow as fuck with making progress in the story#tbh I think it's bcI've spent the majority of my playing time so far with just admiring the beautiful landscape and taming cute horsies🐴#this game really brings out my inner horse girl again😭 I'd actually love taking riding lessons irl again once uni stuff is over -#but I'm gonna feel really awkward contacting my riding instructor again after such a long (unintentional) radio silence#like 'hello I got consumed with body and soul by university for one and a half years but here I am again do you still do lessons?'#also aside that I'm just really blown away by this game from a game dev perspective#I read that Rockstar used their own engine to make it so I don't have as much of an idea how they do stuff#but based on all the interactions you can do and things you can discover in the game -#my brain is imploding just trying to comprehend the internal structure of how like objects and their states are managed#and how it keeps track of everything and all that#I'm pretty sure it's not possible with a game like this since it's a company secret but I'd love to just get to look at the code#I probably won't even understand shit but it would still be absolutely fascinating#selnia talks
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ZAYNE?!!
I AM IN PHYSICAL PAIN RIGHT NOW AND I CANT STOP SCREAMING. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING AHHHHHH! 🤯😱🫣😳
#ZAYNNNNEEE OH MY GOD#oh my god oh my fucking god what is going on somebody call an ambulance im about to die#the nippppleeeee tickle 'dont stop' 🤣🤣🤣 zayne you fucking animal#love and deepspace#lads zayne#love and deepspace spoilers#I'm sorry I'm going to be screaming about this until it's over... or until I fucking implode. whichever happens first#shit has me giggling like a child help 🤣#it hot in here? i think its hot im here. my face is on fire
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first post high-fever clear thought: im still so fucking in love and still so fucking heartbroken about it
#Like truly I'm imploding#having a few days where ive been literally forced to not so anything has ruined the illusion that I was over it#*do#I was just... too busy i guess#fuck#also I had honestly and stupidly hoped that something would've happened these days i was here#and it was a stupid stupid hope#But it's being horribly shattered#and I can't help but feeling horribly shattered#oh god im so not okay actually#having time to think is the worse actually i take it all back i want to be working 24/7
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woah way too long rambly reflection hours at 1am despite having morning tutorial
i think though, my body knew my past relationship was not right for me before even i knew it. right from its inception, despite my surface level happiness, i was always uncomfortable and anxious. it was a love that made me sick and sicker, all the time.
and part of me thought it was commitment issues that stopped me from sticking to a great guy, but it wasnt commitment issues. it was just my body screaming at me to get out.
and its not like he was a terrible person. on the contrary, he was so good, and good to me. just not right for me. square peg in a round hole. it never would have worked, i just didn't know that at the time.
breaking up felt like i could breathe again, after being held underwater. i didn't even realise i felt like that until i was out of it.
i'm so so so grateful to him and the experience, even if it ended really ugly to be honest.
i don't have commitment issues. i didn't think like or love could feel like this. i thought it would always come attached to baggage, shit, and regret. but all the worries i struggled with then are completely gone. no wandering eyes, no desire to run away, no anxiety to leave. a singular desire for him and him only. a strong desire to put in the hard work to cultivate and maintain a healthy relationship. wanting to stay. to settle here, call him home and build my house here.
i know it's still early days. but even if he breaks my heart, i'll let him with a smile. i'm just happy to be here. i value all experiences, even if they end bad and even if it's temporary. and i want him to be happy no matter what, even if it's without me. i also still want my ex to be happy no matter what and i always will. and i know he's happier with me out of his life now. so i respect that.
#listening to love of my life by leanna firestone and its literally perfect#also soooooooooooooooooo many of her songs on her EP public displays of affection describe my life so much rn#my current bf making friends with the skeletons in my closet and the elephants in my room. my friends and family loving him.#when she said to her ex - 'breakups are blessings in disguise. losing you only helped me find the love of my life'#'so now that it's over i'm glad that it is'#so fucking truuuuuuuuuuuue#him staying despite me bracing for him to leave me after witnessing my ex boyfriend implode my friend group in spectacular drunken fashion#while i cried and panicked and hyperventilated#him STAYING and holding me and comforting me and loving me just the way i am for all my tears and mess#fuck my life theres a lot going bad here but seriously. i dont know how i did it but ive done one thing right at least#life is good at handing me good guys. good guys.
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What the ever-loving fuck am I ever saying to anyone?
Because whatever the hell it is, I sure as shit don't mean it.
#here we are with vinny's feelings vaguely disguising my own#several sucky things have happened in succession that've made me feel AWFUL and it's all cause I'm.. bad. at talking#I got blocked and did not understand what had happened til after I spent an hour meticulously apologizing then couldn't send it#I!!!! feel terrible!!!!!! I'd conducted myself SO POORLY this person thought I'd just go complain about them and forget it???#like no damn sorry I feel horrendous about this and probably will forever. I'm extremely sorry and I couldn't even tell you#I literally could not think about anything else for days.#I deleted our chat since I didn't want to obsess over every word I had ever said to them like I knew I would#cause there isn't really any recourse here that doesn't hurt them. I just hurt them and they'll never know how immensely sorry I am#I just. couldn't get over how they thought I never cared. that's been said to me in so many ways over the years and FUCK it hurts#I think it stung especially hard bc something similar but much more hurtful happened years ago#I dunno. then a couple other more mild instances of me being foolish occurred. it's been making me want to implode#how can I continue to do such awful things and not even realize what I've said before it's way too late#sigh sorry I did not want to go on like this it's going to stick with me for a while and probably not feel better for a long time if at all#guh. I looked at this sketch on the phone and you cannot see anything if you're on a low brightness as I am all the time. gotta fix that#also realized in the caption 'ever' is in there like 3 times and idk if that repetition sucks or kinda has a rhythm#how should I know! as we just established I am the WORST with words!#I FORGOT ALL MY TAGS#do I even want em here after this novel of wough#idk maybe when/if I come back to this n make it presentable it'll get proper tags
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christmas shopping, matching pajamas and family discounts
college!sukuna masterlist
"Why are we here again?" college!sukuna huffs from next to you for the umpteenth time.
"Stop acting like a little bitch. You asked me that 20 seconds ago, Yuuji is acting better than you," you hiss out, glaring at him. It's true though: the kid is trotting right in front of you two, not a care in the world, while his caretaker is currently dragging his feet on the pavement you're walking on.
"And you still didn't answer, fucker," he barks back, grimacing, kicking a little rock.
"Yes, I fucking did! I told you this morning we were going Christmas shopping! You never listen to me," you start, jutting your lip out and trying to play the victim. You know he hates it when you do it. "Maybe I should tell Yuuji how his big brother hates the idea of going shopping with him," you provoke, whispering so that only you and him know what you're talking about. He scoffs, offended.
"Liar. Don't you fucking dare-"
"Are you two fighting again?" whines Yuuji, turning around and pouting. You and Sukuna glance at each other before shaking your head at the same moment.
"No, we're getting along so well," you force yourself to smile.
"Yeah, she said she's so glad I'm accompanying her. Matter of fact, she said she's going to offer us lunch," Sukuna continues, an evil glint in his eyes when he hears you gasp.
"I did not-"
"Really?! Yippie!" screams Yuuji, coming to hug you violently. You stumble back, gritting your teeth, and reciprocate the hug while narrowing your eyes at the grinning tattooed man in front of you. He knows you're not able to say no to his brother.
When Yuuji runs inside the mall, you push Sukuna's shoulder, mumbling "bitch". He just chuckles, then boldly gets you close by placing one open hand on your lower back. You know he's just going to tease you, so you put both hands on his chest to fight back, trying to put some distance between you two, but the place is crowded and everyone is looking at you. A woman passes by you and looks at you weirdly, so you stop wriggling in his grasp, and he delicately pushes you even closer. You're chest to chest, his breath fanning over your features, grin ever present on his face, enjoying how you look pissed out of your mind. From the outside, it looks like you're hugging each other, when in reality he just puts his mouth on your ear to utter "Never play with me, baby. I know how to drive you mad," then frees you and walks behind Yuuji with his hands in his pockets, not turning back to see if you're following him or not. You're seething.
"Oh my God, Yuuji, look at these!" you swoon over a pair of pajama pants. They're a soft brown, decorated with little green Christmas' trees and little reindeers, a bright red Merry Christmas! on both knees.
"It's a set!" squeals the kid next to you, grabbing the sweater right on top of the piece of cloth you have in your hands. You both notice at the same time that the set comes both in adults' and kids' sizes. "Can we take it?" he asks you looking up, puppy eyes activated. Your heartstrings are pulled so tight you feel like you could implode if you look at his face for a second longer.
"Of course we can, I thought it was obvious," you say excitedly, grabbing his hands and jumping up and down with him in a circle while he laughs, smile on full display and brown eyes squeezed shut happily.
Sukuna, who has kept watching his phone for the majority of the time you've been inside the mall, raises his gaze when he hears your laugh mingled with his brother's. If you had been looking at him in that instant, you would've seen the brief soft glimpse that passed on his whole face when he took in how happy you both looked together. When you turn around, though, he's already schooled his features to appear bored.
"Are we done?" he yawns.
"Would you like to match with us?" you ask him, at the same time. You scowl and he scoffs.
"Hell no, girl. I'm not with whatever stupid shit y'all are doing," he says, trying to act tougher than what he actually feels like. Seeing you being kind to the only person in the world who shares 100% of his genes makes him feel things he doesn't want to acknowledge right now.
"You're a party pooper, 'Kuna," Yuuji mumbles, frowning. "Can we still match? I really want us to match," he adds, shily, looking at you. You're shocked. His cheeks are getting redder the more you gawk at him. "Sorry, you can say no-"
Your kiss on his cheek resonates all around the ally you're currently staying in. "Of course I want to match with you. We don't need your evil brother, Yuuji. Let's go try them on," you sweetly say, taking his hand and walking away from Sukuna, not before flipping him off. Yuuji is so giddy that he follows you like he's walking on clouds, his face slightly hurting from how hard he's cheesing.
Sukuna just stands there, baffled and even a little offended. He stiffens, noticing he still has his phone in his hands. He's so fast with it he's the first to remain shocked by his own actions: he hears the click of his camera and looks at the pic he's just taken, feeling his chest heavier than it's ever been. It's a beautifully taken pic, where you and Yuuji are squinting at each other, hand in hand, laughing. He turns off his screen, shakes his head and catches up to you. You're going to give him a headache if you continue being like this. Or a heart attack. Or both.
"Hello, what can I do for you?" the nice old lady at the checkout says.
"Hi, we'd like to take these two pieces," you kindly respond, handing her the pajamas you and Yuuji just tried on.
"Let me see... oh, we actually have a family discount on this! Is the daddy not going to take anything?" she innocently asks, looking over at your older roommate.
"Yo, I'm not his-"
Your eyes almost fall out of your sockets. "Ah ah ah! Silly us! We forgot his one! Just give me a second," you interrupt a scowling Sukuna, covering his mouth with your hand before he can finish his sentence, dragging him away. Yuuji gives the old lady a confused look, to which she responds with "Young parents these days," shaking her head.
"You're going to take the fucking matching set, Sukuna, and you're going to like it," you seethe, still dragging him away (well, it's more like he's letting you drag him away). You hear how he's trying to talk behind your hand. "Don't piss me off. I'm going to pay less to get more, and you're going to listen to me. Go." You ignore him and he raises one eyebrow, looking you up and down, before biting your fingers. You yelp and let him go, scowling. "I said go! And act like you care about me when we get there, we're a family until the discount tells us so!"
"Okay, ma'am," he grins down to you, wiping his saliva from the corner of his mouth with a slow movement, his gaze lingering a bit too much on the way you're panting.
"Move! Take your size and let's go! Yuuji is waiting for us!" you push him, rushing back to the cashier.
"Oh, you were really fast. I thought you were going to argue with the way you rushed away," she says when she sees you come back, surprised. You nervously chuckle, telling her how you were already planning on buying one for Sukuna, you just forgot. "That would be 20.99$."
While you're swiping your card, you suddenly feel engulfed by heat. Sukuna positions his hands on your waist, giving you a half hug from behind while simultaneously giving his best confident grin to the old lady in front of him.
"Yeah. I just like when she bosses me around a bit, if you know what I mean," he says, sultry, winking at the cashier who is chuckling behind her hand, embarrassed, waving him away.
What the fuck? You initially try not to stiffen, then relax and give her a shy smile, and he squeezes you a bit closer. You melt on his chest, feeling hotter than you've felt all day. He's so comfortable. He brushes his lips near your ear and makes sure you hear the way his raspy voice is all around you. "And I do, baby. I really do."
#college au#sukuna x reader#sukuna fluff#ryomen sukuna#ryomen sukuna x you#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#sukuna x you#sukuna jjk#jjk x y/n#jjk fics#jjk x you#jjk x reader#jjk fanfic
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Part One
They don't tell anyone. Not about the marriage certificate, at least. Buck comes back from his conference with a new-old boyfriend and money exchanges hands despite protest from the losers that Bobby had inside knowledge.
(He did not.)
They put the rings away. They talk a bunch of shit out that they'd only skimmed the surface of on the patio of that dingy bar.
Buck buys him that beer.
Finally.
Things are - things aren't easy. Buck skips ahead in his own mind and desperately backpedals before Tommy notices (he hopes). Tommy continues to be tight lipped about things, goes with the flow more often than he should and absolutely hates being called out about it.
Eddie is slow to readjust to having Tommy back in their lives.
With Chris back, he swears up and down he believes Buck that they're both serious about this, but he invites Tommy over less, doesn't involve him in Chris's life as often. Buck tries desperately not to let Eddie's hesitancy inform any of the feelings bubbling in his chest, any of the half-formed futures in his head.
Bobby calls Tommy and they go out for coffee and Tommy spends a week pretending to be so fucking fine about whatever they talked about that Buck starts baking again.
Tommy's abs get a little less defined.
Buck takes him to a gay bar, because they never did that before, never explored anything that wasn't just the two of them, never talked about the community or the history or the impact of being queer. The first time someone approaches their spot at the corner of the bar, Tommy seems to be trying incredibly hard not to read into any of the reactions Buck is having, and failing miserably.
But the thing is. The thing is Buck did this on his own. Petty, unhappy, Tommy's words swirling in his head, he's tried a few dozen times to find another person remotely as appealing as the one at his side, and they'd all fallen short.
When the guy asks Buck if he wants to dance Buck blurts out words before he can think about it that he's absolutely certain are gonna send Tommy spiraling. "Appreciate the offer, but I'm here with my husband. We're celebrating."
The guy blinks. He's young. Younger than Buck, slim and attractive, dark brown eyes and light brown skin that glows golden even in the crappy bar lighting. His gaze darts almost eagerly between them, like he's seeing something he hadn't expected. Something hopeful blooms in his gaze, and Buck - oh.
Buck gets it.
That's a lot of weight to carry just for existing in the world and trying to snatch some happiness from it.
Buck smooths a hand over Tommy's knee and smiles at him, something soft and settled that has been harder to find this time around but still curls up against his spine like it belongs there.
The kid buys them a round and leaves.
"What are we celebrating?" Tommy asks, and Buck pretends not to notice the way his thumb is rubbing over the bare patch of skin where Buck had slid a ring, a few months ago. He's not freaking.
"Whatever we want," Buck says with a shrug, and doesn't mention that neither one of them have brought up the marriage certificate tucked away in Tommy's safe since they got back from Vegas.
---
"The Abby thing is still weird," Buck says, breath heaving as Tommy rearranges Buck's legs and tucks himself into Buck's side. They'd spent an evening talking candidly about their exes because Buck can't understand how they went six months without realizing.
Tommy's hands shift through the hair Buck stopped shaving the first time Tommy admitted he preferred it to the baby smooth skin Buck had tried desperately to maintain for the first four months. It's just now feeling normal, after so many years of keeping it smooth.
"I think she'd freak more than you did."
"I managed to implode a six month relationship with my freak, Tommy."
Tommy chuffs a laugh. Slides his calf up and down Buck's lower leg, and despite the fact that Buck has a few more notches in his belt that'd had that same scritch of hair against his, Buck relishes the feel just because it's Tommy.
"You had help." He pauses, though, tips his chin and tucks it against the give of Buck's shoulder. "I'm not implying her reaction was particularly homophobic, but - I think that was the worst part, for her. The fact that I hadn't just lied about how I felt. It was - she assumed I couldn't feel it."
Buck can't help the brow raise. "Tommy, you're a Kinsey six."
"I still loved her."
He's been working his way through romantic vs sexual vs platonic and learning a whole hell of a lot in the process. He gets Tommy's point. He's thrilled that Tommy is still in a sharing mood. It's just -
Tommy shifts, noses into Buck's underarm. Breathes deep, and Buck has to fight the urge to shove him away.
"If I'm totally off base here tell me, but I think you loved her like I love Eddie."
Tommy narrows his eyes. Contemplates. "Tell me again how jealous of his hair you were when you met," he decides on, and shrieks when Buck digs a finger into his ribs in retaliation.
---
They fight, and it's thrilling.
They never did that before. Minced their words and apologized and let it all drop away but never actually let it go, and when Tommy gets on a roll he's bitchy as hell. It drives Buck insane. He wants to wring his fucking neck. He wants to take him to the mat and actually learn enough about Muay Thai to stand a chance lasting two minutes. He wants to throw him against a wall and jack him off until he sees stars.
"He wouldn't do the same for me, Evan, so why should I bother?!"
Tommy's dad is dying. According to Tommy, it's days or weeks, not months or years, and Tommy had said it so emotionless that Buck had jokingly tried to check him for panels and plugs and wiring. Tommy hadn't appreciated the robot joke.
"Screw your dad, Tommy! Do it for yourself."
"I'm not like you, Evan! That bridge burned a decade ago. I don't need - ." He pinches the bridge of his nose. Grimaces and sucks in a breath. Usually that means he's yanking back words he knows he'll regret. Rearranging them in his mind until they're less likely to sting. "I don't want a death bed reconciliation any more than I want to be proven right about him."
Buck takes two weeks off to help Tommy plan the funeral.
Tommy tosses the contents of the urn into the ocean two weeks later, and when Buck asks about it, Tommy gives him a shifty look, like he thinks the answer might send Buck running. "He hated the ocean."
It's the last time they talk about his dad, for a while.
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fall off. | pjs x fem!reader
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i.e your boyfriend is so shy and you have so much fun making him flustered!
content warning: smut! (18+ only, mdni!!), oral (f. rec), fingering (f. rec), implied dom!sung sorta… established relationship!
word count: 1.6k (not proof read sawri)
author's note: this is entirely based off of that tiktok sound that goes "come here bae come sit next to me come and take ur draws off damn u on the edge of the bed u about to fall off!" i had sososos much fun writing this :3 i love freaky shy jisung! likes & reblogs are very appreciated and i hope u guys enjoy reading this!! also i finished this before the hurricane hits because i have nothing better to do for the next few hours LOL... will try to get some more stuff out over the next few days!
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"come sit next to me," you patted the empty space on your bed as you looked across at your boyfriend, jisung, "why are you so nervous?"
jisung was gripping his jeans so hard his knuckles were turning white and ears flushed fiery red, "oh. i'm okay right here. thanks."
his words were coming out very strained and jisung couldn't even bring himself to look at you, "it's really warm in here."
"you are wearing jeans and a hoodie, as well as a long sleeve shirt underneath it," you replied, leaning back against your pillows and extending your legs out, "you could take them off."
jisung's voice got caught in his throat, face turning beet red, "all of it?"
you giggled, poking his side gently with your foot, "sure. make sure you take your underwear off too."
it took everything in you to not bust into laughter at your boyfriend, and it took everything in jisung to try not to implode from embarrassment.
jisung was by no means a virgin, he had a plethora of sex before the two of you started dating. there was just something about you that made him so nervous to be intimate with you.
you had your fair share of make out sessions, always ending up with you in his lap and sucking dark hickeys into his neck, but anytime the two of you tried to do more, he just froze up and couldn't.
of course you never made him feel bad about it. you found it endearing and cute how nervous he was. even when jisung mentioned that he never had this issue before, you didn't get upset. you were so understanding.
"jisung," you sat up on your elbows, "come back to me. you started wondering off in your little world again."
he muttered out a quick sorry, starting to fan his face gently to calm down this heat in his face. you watched him in adoration, smiling because he was just too cute when he was flustered.
however, your head tilted in concern when you saw how far off the bed he was, "sung, you're about to fall off of the bed."
"oh. didn't even notice." he scratched the back of his head, adjusting his positioning on the bed, leaning against the wall, "sorry."
the two of you fell into a silence, comfortable for you, but awkward for jisung. you stretched your legs out to lay across his lap as you rested against the pillows again and closing your eyes.
jisung didn't know what to do or say. he's been in your room before, so he's not sure why he feels so. . . hot. the temperature isn't too high, and he's been in physical contact with you.
he really wants to get more physical, to make you feel good and fall apart from pleasure that he knows he can inflict upon you. there was just. . . something that made him nervous about doing it. maybe he didn't want to disappoint you because unlike other people he's slept with, you are a constant presence in his life.
and also, most of the people he's slept with were drunk freshman year experiences.
he just needed to stop thinking about the what ifs. jisung needed to stop thinking in general, he just needed to do it. he was more than capable of doing these things to you.
"stop thinking." he told himself as he looked at your legs across his lap, drumming his fingers against them, "just do it."
"fuck it, we ball." he squeezed his eyes shut before adjusting himself to stand on his knees, pushing your legs gently to stand between them.
your eyes fluttered open, looking up at your boyfriend who had an unreadable expression on his face, "everything okay, ji?"
jisung nodded, his hands coming up to unzip his hoodie before shrugging it off and tossing it behind him, "y-yeah."
you smiled up at him, gazing at his defined arms before finding his eyes again, "you look handsome."
his cheeks turned a rosy pink which caused him to mentally curse because he just got that hue to leave his face, "you look pretty. you always do."
"what's on your mind?"
with a strong exhale through his nose, jisung pushed all of these nervous thoughts that returned down and pressed his lips against yours.
a surprised noise escaped you, but you brought your arms to wrap around his neck and kissing him back. one of his hands brought your leg to his hip, pressing his growing erection into you and causing you to part your lips slightly.
jisung took his opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth and you gently tugged on the nape of his hair. a moan escaped the man above you, causing you to pull on it again to get another noise out of him.
his hands began to wonder between the two of you, starting to travel underneath the material of your camisole, fingers dancing lightly against the expanse of your stomach.
the boy pulled away from you slightly, his lips slightly swollen and eyes full of desire, "can i. . .can i touch you, y/n?"
"of course you can, ji." you said softly, hands rubbing up and down his chest, "you can do whatever you want."
he gently pushed your shirt up until it reached your collarbones, breath hitching when he saw that you weren't wearing a bra.
you watched him for a moment, wondering if he would touch you or get flustered and pull your shirt back down over your tits.
instead, he caught you by surprise and leaned down to suck one of your nipples into his mouth while rolling the other one around between his fingers.
a noise of pleasure escaped you, bringing your hands up to his hair to pull on it once more.
jisung switched between your tits constantly, making sure to show them an equal amount of attention before removing them from his mouth and continuing to kiss down your stomach.
the cold air coming into contact with your now hard nipples caused you to whimper, jisung looking up at you with concern.
"are you okay? should i stop?" he asked, pulling himself up to check on you, which you quickly stopped by pushing his head back down.
"i'm fine, perfect actually," you flashed a reassuring smile at him, "continue, please."
he nodded, beginning to kiss your stomach once more, his hands moving their way up to your shorts.
jisung gently dipped his fingers into your waistband, slowly starting to pull them down to your hips.
his lips followed behind, kissing over the hibiscus tattoo that began to fade after years without a touch up, grazing his teeth over the skin lightly.
“no panties?” he murmured against your skin, biting down harshly, “hah. . . it’s like you planned this.”
you smiled mischeviously at the boy between your thighs, threading your hand through his hair, "wishful thinking."
"don't think," he said in between kisses, pulling your shorts down your thighs and over your ankles, tossing them behind him, "just focus on me."
jisung grabbed one of your legs, adjusting himself before placing your knee over his shoulder and attaching his lips to your inner thighs.
you felt your heartrate pick up, nervous at what was to come next. you talked a big game because you didn't actually think anything would come from teasing jisung.
his lips traveled closer to your core, but instead focused on sucking light marks into your skin. jisung wanted to see how desperate you could get for him, even though he wanted nothing more but to taste.
"ji," you whined out, tugging on his hair harshly, "don't be a fuckin' tease. you were just acting like a virgin who's never even touched a girl before."
annoyance crept up on jisung, rolling his eyes in disbelief. there was no way he was gonna let you talk to him like that when you both know he is far from a virgin.
"talking a lot for somebody who wants to be touched," he muttered back, using two of his fingers to spread your lips open and admiring how glistening your cunt was, "she's practically drooling for him."
your face flushed at how vulgar he was, but oh you were eating it up on the inside. this is exactly what you wanted, jisung to snap and show you how nasty he was under that shy boy exterior, "then do something about it."
jisung ignored your comment, blowing air on you cunt to make you shut up. he was going to get you to beg, no matter how long it took or how much he desired to lick you clean, "ask nicely."
"i'm not asking for shit," you spat, faux irritation escaping you, "we both know you wanna eat it anyway."
you got him there, he couldn't lie. however, he knew what game you were playing, and he decided to give in, "you're right."
a victorious look on your face quickly contorted to one of pleasure when jisung wrapped his plush lips around your clit.
a high pitched whine left your lips when his teeth gently grazed your bundle of nerves before letting his tongue lick down your slit.
your grip in his hair tightened when you felt his tongue move skillfully as he teased your hole with one of his fingers. the one wrapped around your thigh began digging crescents into your skin, the boy between your legs moaning into your cunt.
"fuck ji," you breathed out when his finger slid into you, gently pumping in and out, "fuck it feels so good."
the boy pulled away for a moment, looking up at you with your juices glossing his lips and dripping down his chin, "good because i don't plan on stopping anytime soon."
END
pt. 2 ???
#park jisung x reader#park jisung smut#park jisung imagines#nct dream hard thoughts#nct dream hard hours#nct dream smut#nct dream imagines#jisung smut#park jisung hard thoughts#jisung hard thoughts#jisung hard hours
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Heinrix van Calox Lore & Headcannons
Don't mind me, I'm just over here chewing on some random thoughts about our favorite agent of the Inquisition. Playing around with some of it for a fic and writing it out because it helps me organize my thoughts.
Knight World Culture & Heinrix's Internalized Hatred of Psykers
Having grown up on a Knight World, Heinrix would possess an internalized hatred for psykers (generally called "witches" on Knight Worlds) that we see him continually struggle with.
In Warhammer lore, many Knight Worlds survived the Age of Strife due to the fact that these worlds tended to shun psykers and not take advantage of the benefits of advanced machinery. So, when the warp imploded and AI told humanity to get fucked, many Knight Worlds were spared from the horrors of the Age of Strife and went on existing as they always had, led by a doctrine of tradition.
The noble families that lord over Knight Worlds hold to a rigorous belief in honor, fealty, social status, obligation, discipline and self-mastery. This creed is only reinforced by the Throne Mechanicum when, at 18, a prospective Knight pilot bonds with their Imperial Knight suit. The Throne Mechanicum is the cybernetic control hub of an Imperial Knight, and it connects to the pilot via neural interface implants in the pilot's brain. Through this neural connection, the Throne Mechanicum implants positive associations with the concepts of honor, fealty, etc., when the pilot bonds with their Knight. And it continues to do so over the course of the Knight's life. This is why these beliefs are so ingrained in Knight World nobles - because it is constantly reinforced by their bonds with their Imperial Knight suits.
On Knight Worlds, being a psyker is to be something impure, rotten and dangerous. They are the antithesis of everything the nobles hold dear and their shunning of psykers was what kept many of those worlds safe during the Age of Strife. Psykers are seen as unpredictable, violent and corrupted by the warp, and thus have no place in Knight World society. If not outright killed, they are always exiled and sent away on the Imperial Black Ships, just as Heinrix's family did with him.
Though Heinrix never went through the Ritual of Becoming - the rite to bond with an Imperial Knight suit - he was certainly being prepared to and would have grown up with the belief that psykers are corrupted and dangerous. Thus, when his psyker abilities manifested during his adolescent years, everything he believed about psykers was turned inward and became truths about himself.
Time and experiences have altered and evolved his beliefs, and we see him show empathy and understanding for other psykers like Idira and the RT, if they are a psyker. However, at his core remains the belief that psykers are inherently lesser.
We see this time and again, especially on his romance route, with how he talks about himself and psykers, in general. During his romance scene in Commorragh, if the RT questions why he remains loyal to the Imperium, Heinrix will say that the Imperium "deemed me stable enough to keep me as a sanctioned psyker" - refering to the Imperium's sanctioning process for psykers the Imperium wants to enlist. In Heinrix's mind, it's only through the grace of the Imperium that a corrupted individual like him is allowed to live. Which brings me to...
Heinrix believes it's his duty to die for the Imperium.
Heinrix literally believes he owes his life to the Imperium of Man. He grew up believing psykers were evil and corrupt individuals, likely deserving of death. And then his own powers manifested and suddenly he was one of those evil and corrupt individuals.
Something to understand about the Imperium is that sanctioned psykers are rare in Warhammer lore. While there are not any concrete numbers, conjecture from Warhammer books, etc., puts the ratio of those identified as psykers by the Inquisition as one in one billion. Then, in order to sustain the Astronomican, roughly 1,000 psykers perrish daily after being locked inside coffin-like devices bound to the Golden Throne. Inside, their essence is extracted and used to power the Astronomican. Psykers are constantly being shipped to Terra in order to fuel the Golden Throne, and the Imperium is, of course, holding onto backlogs of psykers in case ships don't come in or Terra gets cut off. This is what the majority of psykers in the Imperium are used for, and not many psykers are deemed worthwhile enough to go through sanctioning, which is also limited by the number of sanctioning implants available. Remember, no one is making these devices anymore.
The existence of a psyker in the 40k universe is not a happy one. If you manage to not get sacrificed to the Golden Throne, or used as a test subject or whatever else the Imperium is doing with psykers these days, the most common way to serve as a sanctioned psyker is to become an Astropath. Which sounds like it sucks. Very few are chosen for other service.
Considering all of this, it's hardly surprising that Heinrix feels he owes his loyalty to the Imperium. The Imperium allowed him to live. And then the Inquisition came along and saw something in him worth making him an acolyte for.
After being disowned by his family and having his implants ripped from his body, Heinrix likely thought all that awaited him after the Black Ship was death as a sacrifice to the Golden Throne. And yet he was pardoned and given another chance at life, as long as he uses that life to serve the Imperium.
If the RT passes a Persuasion check to get Heinrix to talk about what happened when he used the cogitator on Kiava Gamma, he even concludes his explanation by saying his "path leads to one place, and one place only."
This man fully expects to, and is ready to, die for the Imperium. The Imperium is the only thing giving him purpose. The Imperium accepted him after his family disowned him. The Imperium is all he has, and he will use the life they allowed him to keep and serve them faithfully until that life is used up. In his mind, he deserves nothing more and ought to be happy to be given the opportunity to exist and serve.
Heinrix is extremely self-concious about his appearance.
We get a hint about this in Act 5 when talking to Tanakia, a member of Calcazar's retinue. She mocks him by talking about the attention he paid to his hair and eyes, a sore point for Heinrix considering that, by the time he joined the Inquisition, he's lost an eye and had a chunk carved out of his head in order to remove various implants.
During his romance scene in Commorragh, he refers to himself as a "maimed freak" and talks about how he used his biomancy to repair his damaged cranium and eye in order to "look more like a human again."
If you're romancing Heinrix, he even leaves after you release him in the Anatomical Opera. When you find him in the Pit, he talks about how he didn't want the others, or the RT, to see him in the condition he was in.
Considering his childhood as a noble on a Knight World, care for appearance would be something strongly instilled within him. Knight Worlds are feudal worlds with highly aristocratic societies, so the concept of presenting a buttoned-up and well-kempt appearance would be important for children of noble families.
Heinrix talks about spending years working to reconstruct his eye, which I think also hints at him having a fastitidious and perfectionist personality. I have a personal headcannon that he dislikes the fact he wasn't able to perfectly match his original eye color, and it's a sore spot for him.
Okay, this is a lot longer than I originally intended for it to be. I've got more, but need to stop turning this man over and over in my head and get some actual work done.
#heinrix van calox#heinrix x von valancius#warhammer 40k#warhammer rogue trader#rogue trader#rogue trader 40k#rogue trader crpg#warhammer 40000#warhammer#owlcat games
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fawn over you ♡
yandere hunter x fawn hybrid reader
warnings : yandere content and themes, unhealthy behaviors, relationship and relationship dynamic
authoress note : first post :3 lowkey inspired by 'my sweet bunny cage' manga and i'm planning on making a bunny hybrid one too
his heart almost imploded and gave out upon sighting such a delicate, dainty fawn such as yourself.
little ole you had him in a rhapsodic trance, him whom's nature greatly differed from hers (you).
he, a mere man who's psychological disturbances causes him to hunt and kill. and you, a lovely creature who now gained the attention of a brute man who's main objective was to capture and claim.
the pattern on your skin like pearls, little dots trailing you. so perfect, almost impossible yet here you were.
it didn't help that by the beautiful white lily of the valley flowers surrounded you, like it was a symbol of how fucking perfect and graceful you are. you were ethereal. an angel or a goddess.
and god, those beautiful glassy orbs peaking his way held nothing but the universe and more in them. so innocent. the epitome of pretty and perfect.
he's sorry you had to meet him of all people, someone who'd ruin and corrupt you but he'd also worship you, others may do much worse to you anyway.
his movements were so still that you'd only notice him due to your instinctive feeling of being watched. your tailed and ears twitched.
you shivered, feeling bare and open to such preying eyes with selfish intent behind them.
his eyes held such a mad and malicious look, as if he were some sort of barbaric mad lad. he looks honcho and quite the opposite of you whom had a much smaller and soft physique.
his whole aura wrecked of death, he is, without a doubt, a true blood lusting predator's, a troubled psychopathy who needed to take his frustrations out on poor, unsuspecting creatures.
with that in mind, and thanks to your nimble agility and speed, you darted off before he could even approach you from the shades of the trees only 10 feet away from you.
he'd only chuckle to himself, engulfed by your beauty and elegance, and more than intrigued by the pretty, little doe-eyed fawn hybrid he just had the pleasure to encounter.
sure. you're quick witted. but being quick only gets you tangled up in a trap quicker.
and with that, his infatuation steadily mounts. he immediately started littering the leafy forest grounds in traps ever since that faithful encounter.
you've taken extra precaution after that day, hiding far away from his cabin and even further from that specific meeting sight.
like a lethal game of hide n seek, you both played your parts. and just like that, you started feeling more unsafe and uneasy knowing that he'd set up traps and cameras, watching your every move, both during the day and night.
sure. he had a life outside of this secluded forest he loves visiting. which is the only thing really giving you time to run and hide.
his work life was distressing as a lawyer, it was a very mentally, emotionally and sometimes psychically taxing line of work.
but that don't mean much considering whenever he got time or a day off, whether late night or not, he'd clear out an entire section of the forest with traps and cameras.
and eventually, you run out of both stamina and luck. you become dreary and tired, exhausted from fearing for your life. and your little stalker becomes impatient.
your little game of cat and mice becomes long over due, and sooner or later, you find yourself injured and trapped in enemy's territory.
it only takes 12 hours for him to finally come off work and whatever other things he may be preoccupied with in his life to come get you.
mean time, you kept your wound clean by licking it, fearing what he'll do to you once he gets there.
and boy oh boy, were you shivering when you'd hear the sound of twigs cracking under heavy boots approaching in the darkness of the light midnight. he's here.
you already cried a lot from the pain and realization of your situation but that didn't stop you from repeating the whole process again.
tears already brimming at your swollen, red eyes. the light from his flashlight becoming brighter as he gets nearer, near enough to shine the light directly at you, in your eyes and blinding you from seeing him.
yet he could quite clearly see you, those teary innocent eyes, your wound. every detail up close right in front of him as you lay right in his trap. looking at you with a sinister smile which you cannot see, leaving you guessing what smug facial expression he must have right now.
he let out a feral, maniac laugh.
"my little fawn, you're finally mine."
you had no where to run or hide anymore. grasping onto what little sanity you have now and praying for whatever great deity above to have mercy upon your innocent soul.
what awaited you next was a life of constant torment. the tears run off your chubby soft cheeks, colliding with your skin and the snot in your runny nose made the whole ordeal pathetic and shameful for you.
but to him? it was such an exquisite show! to him... that disgusting crying face of yours was nothing short of adorable.
he grabbed you away, kidnapping you from your carefree life of freedom. the last thing you felt was a prickling sting on your neck before you were enticed with an unknown sleeping drug that took effect instantly.
all the stress and negative emotions that were building up inside subsided as you were knocked out cold, remembering only his footsteps as he carried you to your new home...
the rest of your days were all a painful blur, you were cared for yes but you'd now have shackles placed on your ankles, a big enough cage and a collar. forced to comply to whatever rules he'd put in place for you. punished when disobeyed those rules. dressed to his liking, feed like a child and forced to learn tricks for his entertainment.
for lack of better words, you've been reduced to a pet.
his pet
your leg wound was still healing, which made escaping difficult. worse yet, his home in the city was large and difficult to navigate, with a built in security system that is literally impossible for anyone to get in or out without permission.
"shhhh don't be so scared, you're safe with me, my little fawn," he'd coax, all while keeping you sedated and locked up. you don't know why but for some reason he'd smell strange but also strangely good at the same time. you'd feel a bit oozy when around him, and inhaling his scent was addictive.
that's because his cologne is laced with pheromones and a special drug to get you addicted off him.
but you didn't know that, and you didn't need to know that. your innocent self blamed yourself for becoming addicted to him. he only smiled and hugged you, because he knows you can't think straight every time he's near.
keep this up and he might just send you into heat a little too early. not! that it's a bad thing for him, not that he wouldn't like that of course.
you hated every bit of this. hated him for making you into his glorified object rather than a living being, a person with thoughts and feelings.
but oooohhhh how he loved every second of it, loved dressing you up in all sorts of cute clothing like some little doll, loved pulling your collar when you misbehaved, and absolutely adored watching you get high off him.
the way your nose twitched, and your little tail sweep from side to side, that look you give him cause you're thinking this is all your fault when it's absolutely not.
#yandere x reader#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere male#male yandere#yandere oc#male yandere x reader#yandere oc x reader#yandere#yandere writing
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The Guest House - Chapter 12
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.
The Guest House Master List
Word Count: 3,760
A/N: I'm back! Therapy has been great, I'm feeling like myself and that I can breath again. It's been a tough year and ya girl's mind needed a restart, but I am back and doing good.
Also, hope this chapter can be a bit of escape with the election insanity this week. Take care of yourselves everyone! 💖
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Dean squeezes his eyes shut as he rests against the door.
What the fuck are you doing? Is all that rings in his mind.
Here he is, with some random girl who's staying in his guest house, put there by his bitch of an ex wife, basically groping her while his mother is a room away. Like he’s seventeen again.
Really and truly. What the fuck. Are. You. Doing?
Dean rubs an exasperated hand down his face, the heels of his palms digging into his eyes before his hands slap down against his sides.
It’s the whiskey. He tells himself. Just the whiskey.
It has nothing to do with your smile. Like when you lit up on the track when you found out Rick would be taking you racing in your dream car.
Nor your smart ass remarks that always seem to be waiting behind those pretty lips of yours. Or how you drive him crazy in the best and worst ways. Like making him say “please” in the garage this afternoon.
It definitely has nothing to do with the way you look at him, no longer with disdain, but more recently with shining Y/E/C eyes and something that makes him want to throw you against this damn door, his nose running down the delicate skin of your neck as he takes you in as his hands explore every part of you.
It also doesn’t help how you react to him; like when he turned your manners game around on you in the garage, and your eyes lit up in a way that made him want to throw you across the hood of Baby and have his way with you. Then just now in the hallway, how you seemed to want this as much as he did. How you leaned into him at his touch, the feel of your curves everywhere as he held you against him.
Those god damn hips.
Dean’s jaw tightens at the thought, his teeth grinding down as something besides his heart rate starts to rise.
Fuck. His head falls back with a thud against the doorframe.
Y/N is hardly the first woman he’s been attracted to since his separation from Lisa. Hell, in the beginning, women were what kept his mind off his imploded marriage. Benny had laughed that Dean was making up for lost time since he and Lisa had gotten together when they were so young, but in reality, Dean just hated coming home to an empty house every day. All he could think of was Lisa and Gavin in his house. In his bed.
But Dean would be lying to himself if this was only attraction. Ever since their hike, he’s found himself looking towards your cabin everyday before work, hoping to catch a glance of you before he has to leave. When sitting at his empty dining table, he would think about texting you, or maybe even going over and knocking on the cabin door, envisioning interrupting your own meal and riling you up in the process. Watching that fire come alive in you set something alive in Dean. It was like a wildfire, and he was happily caught in its path. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt like that. Somehow, at some point, you had drawn him in, and god damn did he want more. So much more.
And it’s not just your body he wants to get to know. He’s found himself wondering what your favorite color is, or what movies you like to watch. He wanted to know, besides him, what made you tick? What makes you happy?
Could I make her happy?
Dean shakes his head and toes his boots off, shaking his head, trying to rid his thoughts of you. He doesn’t want to think about that last question, because he knows the answer.
And while he tries to focus on undressing, his body is not willing to let go of the idea of you just yet.
He’s wound up, and god damnit did he need a release.
He undoes his belt and reaches into his boxers, feeling himself strain against the fabric as he takes a deep breath. He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut before pulling his hand out of his pants.
He shakes his head. He can’t do this. Not with you a wall away and his mother across the hall. He has some self respect. Not much, but he couldn’t sink as low as jerking off to you while you slept in his little brother’s room.
Sam.
And just like that, thinking of Sammy snaps him out of it. He relaxes with a deep breath, the tension finally beginning to fade away.
For extra measure, he pushes himself off the door and pulls it open, striding quickly down the hall to the unoccupied bathroom. He locks the door behind him and reaches into the shower and throws the water on. He drops his undone pants, letting them and his boxers pool around his feet before stepping out of them and throwing his sweater over his head before stepping into the shallow tub.
He takes in a sharp breath as the cold spray of the shower meets his heated skin, his teeth clenched tight as he drowns himself under the stream as he works to think about anything but you.
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Your eyes flutter open, a glimmer of the morning sun sneaking through the gaps of the curtained window. You take in a deep breath, flipping from your side to your back and sigh as you look up at the ceiling.
Your mind is still reeling from last night; Dean’s hands holding you tight against him, his lips teasing your neck.
You shut your eyes and swallow.
It was simultaneously one of the hottest and most frustrating things a man has ever done to you. Of course you had wished he had done a hell of a lot more, but the tease of it somehow made it that much more exciting. It made you wonder what else was in store for you. Just a sweet little taste of the possibilities that was Dean Winchester.
Your phone buzzes on the nightstand beside you, and you shake off last night’s memories as you lean over to pick it up, the screen reading 9:52 with a few notifications beneath it.
Shit. You quickly sit up. Normally, this would be a regular wakeup time for you on vacation or on the weekends, but you were a guest in someone’s home, and it felt incredibly rude to be up here sleeping while they were most likely downstairs waiting for you.
As you scramble out of bed, the throb from last night’s wine is front and center in your head. You reach into your purse and throw back two Advil with a swash of water that you set out on your bedside last night before you throw on some fuzzy socks and a hoodie large enough to snuggle yourself into.
Before you reach for the door, you peek at yourself in the full-length mirror and grimace. You smooth down your hair and give it a fluff with your fingers before you reach into your makeup bag, dabbing on some concealer under your eyes and on a few of your red spots, with a light swipe of subtle blush on your cheeks before you deem you look good enough without looking like you’re trying.
You take a deep breath and open the door, taking in the quiet hallway and noticing both the doors to Mary and Dean’s rooms are ajar.
Fuck. You were at least hoping Dean might have also slept in after last night. But no such luck.
You head down the stairs, your hand on the rail so you don’t slip in your socks before you wander into the kitchen. Mary is sitting at the table in front of the windows, one of her legs propped up and her head hidden by a book. Dean is hunched on a barstool at the island, a plate of food in front of him, currently being shoveled into his mouth, his usual caveman behavior, you’ve noticed, when it comes to food.
“Morning,” you offer softly as you head over to the coffee maker, a half pot waiting for you. Mary had given you a tour of the kitchen while you cooked dinner last night, and you reach into the cabinet above the brewer and grab a light yellow ceramic mug and fill it about 3/4s of the way.
“Milk’s in the fridge.” Dean mumbles over the food in his mouth and you turn to face him fully. His eyes are cast down at a paper spread flat in front of him next to his breakfast. A smile you hadn’t intended falls at his lack of attention and you head over to the fridge, pouring until your coffee resembles the color of sand. Exactly how you liked it.
“Want some coffee with that milk?” That deep voice rings out again, and this time when you look up, you’re met with Dean’s enchanting, forest eyes. Your heart skips a beat in your chest and you recap the milk before putting it away and closing the fridge door.
“Some of us enjoy flavor.” You smirk at him as you lean against the counter behind you, your hands wrapped tightly around the warmed mug, the kitchen cool in this March morning.
“Milk doesn’t have flavor.” Dean grumbles, shoving a fork filled with eggs into his mouth. You frown at him.
It’s like the tale of two Deans. The suave, sexy sweatered Dean who looks at you like he’ll throw you over your shoulder and make you scream until your voice is hoarse, and the pain-in-the-ass, mannerless idiot you’ve mostly grown accustomed to these last few weeks.
Looks like you were getting the idiot this morning. You sigh at your own disappointment and swallow down your frown, wondering what that means about last night.
When you don’t respond, Dean looks back to you, a question in his eyes.
“There’s a plate for you in the oven.” Dean points his fork to said appliance. You turn your head, following the direction of his utensil-turned-compass.
“Oh,” your shoulders drop. “You didn’t have to save me a plate.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought that they waited for you so long this morning that they had to keep a plate warm for you in the oven.
“Oh don’t worry, Dean made it fresh.” Mary peeks out from behind her book for a quick second before disappearing again behind the cover. Dean drops his fork with a clank and shoots his mother a look, one she misses.
You push off the counter and pad over to the oven. You pull open the door to find a blue ceramic plate.
No way.
You pull out the plate from the oven, the platter only slightly warm, and are greeted with two pancakes and a side of bacon.
You quickly close the oven and turn on your heel facing Dean.
“You made me pancakes?” Your voice catches in your throat as you stare down at the fluffy buttermilk pancakes sitting poised on the plate.
“Yeah, well, mom made eggs and I know your picky ass won’t eat those. Can’t have you starve before a big day.” Dean’s eyes met yours for only a moment before he shifts on the barstool and returns to his paper.
You smile, even though Dean’s not looking at you anymore. You maneuver around the kitchen, grabbing a fork and knife before settling down at the island, a barstool between you and Dean.
You turn and look at him, his shapely jawline adorned with a devilish level of scruff.
“Thank you.” You say earnestly. This catches Dean’s attention, his gaze finding and holding yours long enough to make your heart skip a beat.
“Don’t mention it.” He lingers on you for a moment longer before turning back to his paper and flipping a page.
Your lips quirk but you try to not think too much on it as you begin digging in; the pancakes, buttery and full of vanilla, melting deliciously in your mouth.
The rest of breakfast goes on in silence; Mary reading her book, Dean focused on the paper, and you left flipping through your phone since no one seemed interested in chatting.
As you load up your dishes in the dishwasher, Dean folders his paper up and slaps it down on the counter before sitting up straight and crossing his arms as he stares you down.
“Think you can be ready in an hour?” Your face falls.
“More notice would have been nice, but yes, I can be ready in an hour.”
“Good, cause we’re leaving in an hour.” You cross your arms, matching his stance.
“You don’t say.” Dean rolls his eyes at you and you huff.
“Just go get ready.” He shakes his head, and now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.
Such a pain in the ass. A handsome pain with a handsome ass. But still a pain.
“Fine. See you in an hour.”
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Forty-seven minutes later, you’re showered, your hair is dried and curled into a soft wave, and you’re putting on the finishing touches of your makeup when there’s a soft knock on your door.
You peek at your watch.
“I still have thirteen minutes!” You call out.
Dean really was pushing the boundaries today. And it was driving you crazy.
He practically dry humps you last night, ignores you this morning, but makes you a delicious breakfast because he remembered you hate eggs. The man was impossible and it was starting to annoy you. And frustrate you, in a way you were not used to. You bite down on your lip.
“It’s just me.” Mary’s gentle voice calls back.
Shit.
You drop your mascara into your makeup bag and push yourself off the floor and scurry to the door.
“Sorry about that,” you apologize as soon as Mary comes into view. “I assumed you were Dean.” You offer a half smile as Mary chuckles.
“It’s okay. Mind if I come in.” You step aside and open the door fully, allowing Mary to step in.
“I just wanted to see if you need any help with your outfit.”
“My outfit?” Your brow furrows, and you look over to your bed where your black chunky sweater and jeans lay waiting for you. Mary’s eyes follow your line of sight.
“I’m going to guess Dean didn’t give you a heads up, since men never think about these things, but these car shows tend to be on the dresser side.”
Fuck. No, Dean did not tell you that. Your jeans were the nicest thing you brought with you.
“Yeah, he failed to mention that.” Now you stare at your outfit, anxiety flooding through you at the thought of sticking out for being underdressed.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Mary just smiles at you.
“Come with me.” She waves at you before heading out of the room, and like you’re told, you follow her, heading across the hall and into her bedroom.
The room is large and full of windows and natural light. The lake-chic theme of the downstairs continues through the primary bedroom, with white furniture, a canopy bed with a blue bedspread that matches the wainscot walls, and yellow accents throughout the room. On one of the dressers is a large, framed, selfie of Mary and John, which looks more recent than a lot of the pictures in the living room. Mary’s smile is bright as ever as John kisses her cheek, the two of them in heavy jackets and beanie hats, the hint of snow behind them.
Mary continues through the room, stopping in a short hallway before disappearing through a doorway.
“I’ve got a few options that will probably fit you.” Mary’s muffled voice carries through the open doorway before she steps back into view, several hangers in her hand. “You look to be about my size from twenty years ago. And luckily I’m terrible at throwing out old clothes.” She chuckles as she lays out her six options on the ombre comforter that probably matches the lake when it’s not frozen.
They’re all a mix of dresses, different colors and styles, but the fifth from the end catches your eye.
“Ohh, how about that one.”
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Dean taps his foot as he waits in the foyer, checking his watch again. It’s now been an hour and seven minutes since you went upstairs.
“God dammit woman,” he mutters out in a sigh.
He meant to tell you last night what time you had to be ready, but the two of you got a little preoccupied. Now he was paying for it by not giving you more of a heads up.
He should have said something the moment you came downstairs this morning, but he wasn't ready to face you right at that moment. The dreams he had about you last night made it hard to look you in the eyes. And when he finally did, you looked absolutely beautiful, sleep still in your Y/E/C eyes and a glow in your cheeks. You looked like you belonged here, resting against the counter in his mother’s kitchen, cozied up in some giant hoodie and pajama pants with coffee-flavored milk in your hands.
The floor above him creaks and he turns quickly on his heel, his face dropping with his mood when he sees who it is.
“Is she ready yet?” Dean all but whines to his mother as she descends. Rather than answer him, she stops two steps from the bottom, standing slightly higher than her statuesque son, and smacks him right in the side of the head.
“Ow!” Dean’s hand jumps to where his mother landed her stinging blow. Not that there was much power behind her swat, but she hasn’t smacked him like this since he was a teenager.
“What the hell was that for?” Dean bemoans with a grimace, cradling his head.
“Dean Michael Winchester.” Dean’s eyebrows furrow at his mother’s use of his full name.
This was not good.
“You didn’t think,” Mary takes another step down. “To one,” she raises a finger. “Tell her that the car show is cocktail attire.”
Shit.
“And two.” The second finger goes up. “What time to be ready. So don’t you stand here with a puss face asking when she’s going to be ready.” Dean drops his hand at his mother’s scolding and rolls his eyes.
He starts to shake his head when Mary’s hand makes contact again, the surprise sending Dean stumbling.
“OW!” Dean yells louder this time, more annoyed than actually hurt. With how much smaller Mary was compared to him, Dean doubted she could actually hurt him even if she really wanted to.
“Don’t you roll your eyes at me, Dean.” Her voice is sharp as her grass-green eyes stare him down.
“I’m sorry, fine.” Dean concedes. “I just didn’t think about it.” But Mary doesn’t break eye contact.
“She’ll be down in a few minutes.” Mary gives him one last pointed look before taking the final step down and disappearing into the living room.
Dean watches her go before glancing back towards the empty staircase, sighing out his frustration and giving you a few more minutes of grace.
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Three minutes and forty-two seconds later, Dean is leaning against the frame of the front door when the upstairs landing groans again.
Dean’s head whips in that direction as he pushes off the door, just in time to see you take the first step. You’re wearing the black heeled boots you had on yesterday, but it’s paired with a strapless beige dress, the edges trimmed in black with a matching belt wrapped tight around the gentle curve of your waist.
Without thinking, Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle, ignoring the pounding in his chest as he stands up just a little straighter.
Your hair is down, styled off to one side, with the most makeup Dean has seen you in so far; with full, dark lashes, pink cheeks, and bright red lips, which Dean can’t seem to look away from.
Something else is starting to stand a little straighter too.
Dean clears his throat, and offers out a hand as you get to the last step.
“Thanks,” you reply gently before you drop his hand and head for the coat rack.
“You look nice.” Dean’s now taking in the view of you from the back, leaving little to the imagination like those workout pants did a few weeks ago as the dress seemed to hug your body perfectly.
Damn. And here mom thought you weren’t prepared.
You spin on your heel, one arm shimming into your jacket sleeve, your eyes as bright at your smile.
“Thanks.” You repeat. “The dress is your mom’s.” You smirk.
Dean’s mouth drops open as his stomach falls.
“Please don’t tell me that.” Dean groans. The last thing he needs to think about is his mom in that dress. The same dress he was just checking out your ass in.
You just quietly chuckle as your other arm flails for your second sleeve, just missing the opening.
Without a word, Dean steps closer, grabbing your jacket for you and holding it steady so you can slip your arm into. Once it’s in, Dean raises your jacket just a bit before resting it on your shoulders.
You turn back to him with a smile of thanks, which he can’t help but return.
“Ready?”
“Sure am.”
Dean opens the front door for you and you step outside into the bracing afternoon air.
“Have fun, kids!” Mary’s voice travels behind the two of you as Dean steps outside and closes the door behind him.
You take gentle steps across the driveway, avoiding the few patches of ice that are still lingering. This gives Dean the opening he needs to step in front of you, getting to the passenger door of the Impala about three steps ahead of you.
Without a word, he pulls open the door.
“Wow, getting the full gentleman treatment today, huh.” Your cheek dimples with your half smile as you lower yourself into the passenger seat. Dean smiles down at you.
“What can I say, I’m full of surprises.” You chuckle as Dean gently shuts the door before heading around to the driver’s seat and hopping in.
With one last check of the mirrors, Dean backs out of the driveway, and the two of you were off.
#dean x reader#dean winchester#dean imagine#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfic#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fic#dean x y/n#dean winchester fanfiction#the guest house
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i'm calling just to hear you scream - part ii.
“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar and you don’t even fucking care!” or it's your first day at The Bear (or is it The Beef still?), Richie is convinced you're a fed, and Carmen may or may not hate your guts.
A/N: well surprise, surprise! here's part two of i'm calling just to hear you scream. definitely more of a filler chapter before everything starts to implode and get more serious and downright grimey, but i hope you enjoy!
The shadows created by the awnings of the sandwiched businesses chill your bones while the Sun makes your backside sticky beneath your sweater and light spring jacket. Chicago is beautiful in March, but always full of surprises.
One day comes an icy snowstorm that adds to the gray slush collecting on the side of the street and the next a blissful sixty-one degrees that gaslights everyone into walking around with shorts on because it’s just “so warm.”
You can’t revel in the tranquility for much longer. Not when you’re pretty sure you’re coming up on the address Natalie emailed you two nights ago. 628 West Wager Street sits prettily in between an old antique shop and a Chicago Cubs merchandise store that has definitely seen better days. Despite no sign hanging on the window and the glass completely shielded from outside eyes by brown butcher paper, it somehow looks like it belongs; the younger sibling of a once booming and vibrant street scene.
Being outside of the door is a feeling that fills you with both anxiety and uncertainty. You know you’re in the right spot but you don’t feel like you are; not when you can’t hear any noise coming from any of the three storefronts that stand in front of you. You’re made even more uneasy when you see the five by eleven sheet of insulated foil wrap with capital letters written in Sharpie taped to the front window.
The Beef is closed. Thank you for your patronage. The Bear is coming.
The nerves start to hit you even harder. All Natalie had mentioned over the phone and through your frequent emails have been about needing help with a restaurant. The name of the aforementioned restaurant had never been disclosed and its location remained a mystery until this morning when you got an email with the unspoken directions that Apple Maps would omit. There’s nothing more embarrassing than doing a consult and not knowing any of the details. It’s even more humiliating when the feeling of being made a fool seems inevitable.
Your arm refuses to move forward and yank the door open in case this is some sick prank. You half expect Becca to be hiding behind it with the “good ole boys” crew that is full of Senior and Junior partners at your law firm; their only purpose is to further humiliate and belittle you more than they already do on a day-to-day basis at the office.
It’s a ridiculous thing to think that someone would care enough about you and your shame to do that, you know, but it’s the only way you can rationalize your brain warning you not to touch that door. Your eyes catch your reflection and suddenly you want the concrete sidewalk to swallow you whole. You take in how your navy blue pantsuit engulfs you and how your work bag seems to get heavier and heavier as it hangs solemnly at your side.
You don’t belong here.
The itch to turn around and run back to the train as fast as you could possibly manage crosses your mind, but the shattering of the quiet oasis around you interrupts that thought before it can materialize.
“Do you ever shut the fuck up!” you hear a voice scream.
“Do you ever realize you don’t know fuckin’ everything!” another one screams back.
The sound of a wall being hit accompanies the shouts as well as numerous other voices joining in on the cacophony the verbal altercation created.
Call it a hunch (or just having enough common sense), but you definitely are in the right place and there are certainly people inside. The scary part of not knowing is over. The absolutely horrifying part of having to see where you fit in is pending.
Your fingers grip the solid metal door handle and you rip it open. The resounding squeal it emits makes you want the floor to swallow you up whole. The chaos of screaming shouting and yelling start to pause before the sound of the sledgehammer hitting the wall a second time interrupts it and sends it into a full frenzy once again.
The world seems to be moving in slow motion and your words are caught in your throat. You’ve never seen chaos like this before, but you’ve definitely felt the way you’re currently feeling every day for the past five years. Faces you don’t know, a nagging feeling of responsibility, a dire need to do the best job you possibly can and not fucking up and not pissing anyone off, and yet no idea where to even start.
“If I already fuckin’ told you you were tearing the wrong wall down why the actual fuck would you do it again!” a strained scream bounces off the walls.
You jolt at the echo. The current lack of infrastructure and an igloo of scaffolding tarp amplifies the sound by three thousand decibels.
He can’t see your face because his back is turned toward you, but the temperament and the mop of curls tell you the obvious. Carmen. Natalie’s brother and shareholder that she had subtly warned you about in a half-joking, half-not tone when you had spoken on the phone the other day.
“To prove a fucking point,” a lankier taller man scoffs back. Richie. Their cousin, not cousin (which you don’t really understand, but you chalk it up to a deduction that not everything is meant to make sense), and the absolute bane of Natalie and Carmen’s existence at times. She had also warned you about him on the phone. “Even if I’m wrong you never fail to always think you’re fucking right like a – like a fucking baby! You walk around here pissed the fuck off and fucking changing everything and makin’ it everyone else’s fucking problem –”
Carmen lunges at him and two other men from the crowd almost pick him up from the floor to prevent him from tackling Richie.
“Everyone else’s prob – You’re my fucking problem! You’re my fuckin’ problem and all you know how to do is fuck up and make everything fuckin’ worse!”
“Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuckin’ pissy ass pamper cry baby.”
Carmen tries his hardest to wrangle himself out of the hold he’s currently in. Sydney, a genius and the Lord’s prayer (according to Natalie, also), clumps herself near him as he remains twisting and turning like a toddler fighting a parent’s protective hold through a temper tantrum.
“Chill, chill, chill. Stop. Just stop,” she gently coos. Her hand claps the shoulder of one of the men holding him up. You can see the gentle squeeze it gives to provide silent comfort, but you wonder if the softness in her tone is to deescalate the situation or to help regulate herself.
He’s dragged out to what you can assume is the backdoor and it slams with a cadence that demands attention. A sharp thud can be heard five seconds later accompanied by various, “Yo, what the fuck, dude?”’s.
He must have kicked the door. He definitely kicked the door.
Your body continues to stay frozen in the bare entryway. The survival skills you’ve adapted kick into full effect. Don’t make a move. Don’t make a sound. Do not piss anyone else off.
The aftermath of commotion and chatter fills the room and leaves no space for you. You have half the mind to put your hand back on the handle and dip out before anyone notices. You’ve been here all of three minutes and you feel as if it’s been a year. The shouting and the hurtful insults and the frequent use of the word “fuck” send a blush down your chest. You’re embarrassed because you’re starting to think that you can’t handle it. You’re not good enough. You’re not strong enough.
What the fuck were you thinking even coming here?
The push of your thigh against the door causes the rusted metal hinge to groan again. The sound is indiscernible from relief or protest; staying or leaving. Either option makes your skin crawl. The sudden redirection of eyes casts a dome of silence and everyone zones in on the thing that wasn’t there before: you.
No one moves and for a second, you don’t think anyone blinks. The realization of someone infiltrating a rather robust and rage-filled argument occurring at nine in the morning sinks in before the vein of awkwardness begins to bleed. You know the logical thing to do is to introduce yourself; to force a plaster-like smile on your face and extend your hand and ask how everyone is doing.
But you don’t.
You can’t.
Natalie can feel the alarm bells going off in her head when her eyes float to your figure. You look worried; a flash of pensiveness and subtle fear floods your facial expression and she starts to panic. Opening a restaurant is beyond humbling and asking Becca Cantor for her help was a last-ditch effort to contain the smallest bit of confidence she had left. Besides, she would rather roll over and die than you to walk out that door, tell Becca about how they’re sledgehammering walls with a gang of lunatics at the restaurant, and somehow get a call from Uncle Jimmy that turns into a stern talking to about how they’re just dicking around with his money and how it’s a waste of time.
You absolutely, positively can not walk out that door.
She’ll make sure of it. Even if it’s the last thing she ever fucking does.
Her feet carry her faster than what her brain is aware of. Her eyes have to catch up with the scenery passing her in a blur as she walks up to you. Seeing her face calms you down in a way that is small but not unnoticed. She has kind eyes and a calm demeanor. This is the kind of client that gives you confidence. This is the kind of client that brings you joy. This is the kind of work you were made to do.
“Oh, hey! You found it!” she cheers. Her hand brushes against your bicep in a welcome.
The pool of spit inside your mouth gets swallowed as you curtly nod. “Yeah! Yeah, I thought Apple Maps led me astray but I was definitely in the right spot.”
Pretending not to notice the curious gazes behind your interaction proves difficult, but it’s not something you’re not used to. Working in an office means there’s always someone in your business and you always feel like you’re under constant surveillance.
At least this time, the threat of humiliation seems considerably low. The obvious danger of being chased out of here with a sledgehammer is considerably high though.
“How are you doing?” you ask quietly. A conversation of niceties always makes things less awkward and gives you some leeway for at least learning who the owners are of the staring eyes.
“Yo, who the fuck is this, Suge?” Richie asks, wiping his plaster-covered hands on his shirt. His face still harbors a flush that had yet to dissipate. He also has kind eyes but you know from the moments you witnessed prior that he can turn his kindness off and on instantaneously.
Natalie rolls her eyes and huffs. The damage control that she’s doing is not going to plan. She had grown up around cursing and incredibly forward questioning and knows that not everyone else had, and from the disastrous commotion you stumbled into five minutes prior and the way your eyes show more of the whites than the irises, the crudeness needs to take a backseat.
At least enough of one to ensure that you’re not about to turn around and bolt out of that shitty ass door that she had been bitching at Richie to oil for the past two months.
She moves to stand next to you and puts her arm around your shoulder. Natalie knows that the second they find out that you’re an attorney all hell will break loose. Something about accusing you of being “fed” and coming to rip the “fundamentals of democracy” out from under them brews in her mind and she gags a little at the thought of having to diffuse yet another shit show before ten in the morning.
The unwelcome taste of acid tinging the back of her tongue makes her take a mental note to ask her OB about being so nauseous.
“This is our attorney,” she starts and begins to ignore the groans coming from the crowd in front of her, “She’s gonna help us with some...things.”
Richie scoffs and throws his hands up. He wipes at his nose with his forearm and some of the plaster residue makes a home on the tip of it.
“You brought a fuckin’ fed in here, Sugar?” His eyebrows rise to his hairline and it doesn’t take a genius to know how he doesn’t want you here at all. “I told you I had this under wraps. The fuck do we need a fed up our ass for if we’re just tearin’ down walls and shit.”
You sigh and Natalie can feel the anxiety radiating off of you. She’s starting to absorb it, but the fight in her to make this right persists.
“Well, first of all, the fed has a fucking name, you dick,” she snaps, “And you’ve been slinging beef sandwiches your entire adult life so the fuck do we need you for?”
Richie exhales as the rest of the people around him start to snicker.
“Damn, Papa. You need to pipe down,” whom you guess is Tina from some of the people who had been mentioned to you through the phone calls (and there’s so many goddamn people in here for it to be out of business and you’re sure you’ll need to start doing flashcards every night to remember who they are).
“Thanks, T,” Natalie and Richie chirp in unison; their voices capturing the different emotions of annoyance and triumph differently.
Some more harsh words and excited chatter served with a side of frustration occurs and you’re so checked out that you don’t even realize that no one has asked you directly what your name is. The animated voices and exaggerated body movement swell the room even more; pushing you outside and three blocks away so vividly through emotion that you have to check to make sure your feet haven’t moved.
No one has asked who you are and which firm you came from. No one has asked how you are. And still, no one has asked you what your name is.
They continue to talk and joke and yell and you start to feel yourself shrinking in.
Smaller, smaller, smaller.
Gone.
You know that it’s not personal. It’s almost never personal, but the mind tends to conjure up ideas when it can’t make sense of the feelings it detects from the body.
Maybe it had just gotten thrown to the wayside. Maybe they were making room for direct conversation with you to occur later when things weren’t so awkward. Maybe they don’t hate you and think you’re the worst and may actually like you.
But then maybe they don’t.
Maybe they just don’t give a fuck.
In your catatonic daze, you hear an offhanded remark about how you look like a high schooler who just waltzed in after a Model UN convention and that Natalie has no idea what the fuck she was doing. The laughter that follows highlights those who actively agree and the agitated huffs of frustration show those who silently concur.
In any other circumstance, you probably would have joined them in laughter or returned a smart-alecky response or accompanied them in making fun of you, but this isn’t a different circumstance. You’re in a construction zone on a Saturday morning, overdressed with a pantsuit on, and have not a clue on how hospitality law works, and the facts leave a non-disputable conclusion.
You’re the odd one out and you can’t get an invite to be even no matter how hard you try.
You truly don’t belong here.
“Richie, have you ever considered that maybe we need to do it right this time?” Natalie asks, her tone dripping annoyance, “Her being here clearly doesn’t affect your ability to be an idiot, so you can go fuck yourself because she’s staying.”
Richie narrows his eyes at her. His lanky limbs flail as he attempts to make his emotions seen without having to verbalize them. Natalie has had it with his stubbornness and she knows that she might be puking her guts out in about fifteen minutes. The great debate has to have an ending in sight soon.
Besides, she knows that Richie’s apprehension toward the whole thing is because he’s resisting change and trying to get under Carmen’s skin. It doesn’t matter how great she knows her brother can make something. Richie will try and put a pin in it before it becomes something he no longer recognizes.
Just like their dad. Somewhat like Mikey. Especially like Carmen (even though she knows he doesn’t recognize his own stubbornness yet).
“Jesus, that’s fuckin’ horse shit if I’ve heard it,” he sneers, “And I happen to be very intelligent and very charming – and FYI – I also know how a fucking business works and all this “foo-foo,” “high dining”, microgreen shit –”
She holds up her hand to him and rolls her eyes. She’s surprised she hasn’t been able to see the back of her skull yet. “It’s fine dining, but whatever.”
“Fuck all the way off. Fine dining, microgreen shit is a dishonor to our roots and I will not stand for it.”
Natalie’s hand smacks down on a metal rolling table with a rusty toolbox and a wrinkled pad of Post-it notes. The sounds of clanky metal snap everyone’s attention to her. Natalie was never mean. She was always sugary sweet and ooey gooey; trying to be in everyone’s good graces at all times and forever attempting to fix things before they had the potential to be broken. But she could also brush the sugar off and leave a bitter and tongue-curdling hurt if she got pushed to her limit.
She’s not had a full night’s rest since she got asked (more like begged, but she’s not one for bragging) to be their project manager, she can’t bare to stomach anything nowadays without wrestling the urge to puke it back up, and the fucking pregnancy hormones are filling her with unexplained bouts of rage as of late.
She is not one to be fucked with and Richie knows that. He just always wants to poke the bear.
“Well that’s fuckin’ sad that your “roots” are tied to an Italian beef shop, but that doesn’t change my mind whatsoever,” she pushes past him with more force than she intended, guiding you along with her to wherever she had in mind, “You can bitch and moan and holler all you want but you’re not the one losing your fucking mind over fucking paperwork so whatever other unhelpful and extremely negative shit you have to say can get shoved up your ass and you can get fucked because I’m not putting up with it.”
Richie is rendered speechless – a phenomenon that does not occur very often.
She turns to you and gives you a friendly smile. Her hand rests softly above yours that are bawled into anxious fists. “Let’s go into the office so we can talk some more. Are you okay with that?”
You’re still frozen in equal parts shock and fear; too scared to say no.
“Umm. . .yeah. Yeah, we can go to the back,” you swallow and she brisks you away to what you assume is where all the paperwork is housed that they need help making sense of resides.
You arrive outside of a closed wooden door and Natalie steps in front of it, her arms coming down to hug the hinges of it in a way that makes you slightly worried. “So I know that you’re not a hospitality attorney and I know that you’re doing this for free and you’re totally at liberty to say you want out the second you say the word,” she speaks softly.
You know that she’s starting to panic. Your feelings and her feelings are starting to merge into one; two halves of the same whole – people pleasers.
“But it’s. . .a lot and I don’t know even know where to start and this is legitimately driving me insane so –”
Her anxiety starts to break your heart. The pang in your chest makes your decision for you. No matter how uncomfortable you are, you know you need to do the right thing out of the kindness of your own heart.
“No, it’s fine!” you cut her off, “I’ll take a look and we’ll figure it out. Nothing you have here is too much. I can promise you that.”
Ocean blue irises engulf you with sentiment and appreciation through their gaze. Natalie’s shoulders sag before her hand finds the gold doorknob. A deep breath adds to the noise of chatter and squeaks of the faulty fire alarm in the hallway. The oak door opens with a wheeze and a groan; stuck because of the swell its wood causes from the constant fluctuation of temperatures in Chicago.
“Well,” she begins, “Here it is.”
The mountains of cardboard boxes all labeled with acronyms and doodled with nonsense send the pit in your stomach down to your toes and through the center of the Earth.
Holy fucking shit.
Natalie notices your shock and starts to go back into “fix-it” mode. She hasn’t eaten at all today, but she figures that the emotions bubbling up and down at a fixed and constant rate are what fill her insides and are making her nauseous. Bile starts to make its way up her throat but she forces it back down.
She’ll be damned if this goes even more sour than how she knows it has.
“It’s a lot and it’s more sorting things and making them make sense than doing actual work? Like you’re gonna be doing work but it’s not rocket science. . . Not that being an attorney isn’t hard! My husband is one and I. . .need to shut up now,” she word vomits. Despite the apparent fact that she’s panicking, the sound of her voice is soothing and the gentle hand she places on the junction between the base of your neck and your shoulder does wonders to ground you. “And there’s no rush to have all of it done. It’s a work at your own pace kinda thing?”
You both know that she’s fibbing about the last part.
The frantic text at 11 PM last week and the hour-long phone call debriefs you had yesterday and three days before say otherwise. This is her compromising and making her needs smaller. This is her being like you and you being like her; being like each other. Digging yourself into holes to help others no matter the effort – no matter the pain.
“No, I’m doing this because I want to. Just let me know exactly what you need and we can get to it as soon as possible.”
You know that you must have said the golden word because as soon as the statement leaves your mouth, Natalie whips out her phone and starts reading off a list she had compiled of all things that have some link to the legal world.
Contracts. Permits. Tax revenue sheets. Paystubs. Workers Compensation. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. City Ordinances. Chicago royally fucking anyone who dares to open a business, really.
The sad part is that this should scare you. This should make you want to run out of here and never look back and purposely take the long way to get somewhere if you knew where you were headed would cross paths with the restaurant.
But you don’t do any of that, and the buzz of finally doing something that you know is helping people overpowers the migraine of stress you can feel looming over you the second you agree to help them out.
“You’re amazing,” she says, eyes twinkling with admiration.
Your cheeks turn a shade of baby pink that you hope she can’t see. You’ve never taken well to flattery.
Richie’s knuckles give a soft knock on the door and it opens before either of you can think to welcome another presence. His gaze finds both of you fist-deep into the first box labeled “Cocksuckers: For IRS - 1987.” You already know that he’s not related to the Berzattos by blood, but the beautiful blue eyes make you question that fact. He gives a sheepish smile almost to apologize for his interruption and you think he’s about to apologize before he opens his mouth and says, “Suge, your dashing baby brother is bout to blow a fuse because the fed is here.”
Natalie stops what she’s doing. Her hands come to rest on the flimsy cardboard box and she throws her head back to eye the ceiling. If she can count the row of six vertically, maybe she can slow her breathing and calm herself down enough to spare Carmy the chewing out of a lifetime.
One.
“Sugar!”
Two.
“Get the fuck off me!”
Three.
“I said get the fuck off me! I need to see my fuckin’ sister!”
Four.
“Sugar!”
Five.
“Leave me the fuck alone!”
Six.
“Natalie!”
Her brother appears in front of her disheveled and angry. Even though she’s only five years older than he is, she always sees him as the little baby she used to put in her strollers and push around for years until he got too big and too “grown” to think playing with his older sister was cool. Years spent with him also meant years studying him; knowing his ticks down to the smallest one and learning how he expresses every emotion.
It was the only way she survived living in that house until she was eighteen.
Dealing with an angry Carmen is nothing in comparison to dealing with an angry Michael or even attempting to console a slightly agitated mother.
Besides, Carmy’s anger, while often misguided and very explosive, was never unexpected. He always has a tell and there’s always a few seconds before he completely comes unglued. Adult temper tantrums are shit shows, and quite frankly she’s fed up with having to diffuse one of his every couple of hours as of late.
Her face starts to fall when she sees Carmen’s left eye begins to create that deep crinkle it does when he gets pissed. He starts to wrinkle his nose and she knows that he’s about to start screaming.
Richie lets out a whistle before pushing Carmen’s head in a playful yet agitated manner. Before his hand can be swatted at, he jumps out of the way and joins in on a distant conversation about his daughter’s last dance recital.
He has a smug grin on his face that Carmen wants nothing more than to slap off him. He knew that touching him would provoke him even more.
Richie always has to poke the bear.
Always.
Carmen tries to contain his anger the best he can. Even though he’s totally against the idea of having you in the building, he knows there’s jackshit he can do about it now. Sydney said yes, Natalie sought you out, and Uncle Jimmy thought the idea was brilliant. The vote was three against one and he knows that all he can do is go fuck himself. So much for everyone promising not to make decisions about the restaurant without his okay.
It’s not like his credit will be the one that’s fucked if this place turns to shit.
His arm stretches to hold the side of the door’s hinge and supports his body weight as he leans to the right. “You hired a fucking attorney and didn’t tell me?” he snaps. His face pinches in a way that brings his nose, eyes, and mouth closer together; a face their mom used to make before she came totally unglued.
You have your back turned toward the door he’s looming in. Something about being targeted makes you want to be blind to it; to shut your eyes as tightly as you can and will it away. You know that the way he’s acting has everything to do with him and nothing to do with you, but you can’t help it. When you feel out of place, every action to push you further out feels personal.
“She’s doing it for free,” Natalie scoffs, putting a lid back on one of the boxes and crossing her arms over her chest. She would offer up more information, but what would be the use if Carmy is as wound up as he is?
“Free means “fuck.” She’s gonna fuck us, Sugar, and you don’t even fucking care!” he screeches, seemingly uncaring that you’re right in front of him and that he’s biting his sister’s head off as if it’s nothing.
You start to pull files out of the boxes faster than you were before. The distraction is needed because you know that if you listen too intently to what else is being said, you’ll start internalizing it later.
Nothing with you. Everything with him. Nothing with you. Everything with him.
“No. She is not gonna fuck us,” she pushes a finger into his chest and her nostrils flaring, “You’re gonna fuck us because you’re being so stubborn and stupid and can’t have a goddamn conversation like an adult.”
His chest pushes deeper into his sister’s finger. “You calling me a baby? You calling me a fucking baby?”
Carmen usually isn’t one to pick a fight in his everyday life, but once he gets started he refuses to back down. The rational part of his brain knows that he’s going overboard but he can’t help himself. The rage inside has nowhere to go and this whole thing is really pissing him off. He’s so fucking sick of everyone acting like he’s too immature and irresponsible to handle things.
Natalie’s finger comes out to become a full palm. “Well then stop the yelling. Stop the pissy pamper attitude. Stop wasting our fucking time and just admit that you’re way over your fucking head and don’t know everything.”
Carmen balls his hands into fists and licks his lips to prevent him from saying something really fucking mean. He knows that Natalie is just trying to help but she always is, and it fucking sucks when she always saves the day even when he doesn’t want her to. The restaurant was supposed to be theirs; supposed to be all him and Mikey and everyone who made them into the people they are. It was never supposed to be his. It was never supposed to be his when he has not a goddamn clue what he’s doing and Natalie driving herself borderline insane trying to proactively fix everything before it turns to shit.
He doesn’t know what to say because she’s right. Sugar is always right and Carmen is always wrong and he wishes Michael was here to balance them out; to add a third option so it wasn’t so split.
But he’s not here. He won’t be here. He never really was here.
“Fuck!” he yells at the top of his lungs.
“Fuck!” Natalie shouts back.
Argument over.
His shoes slide on the floor with ease and he tries to steady his breathing. His arms let go of the door frame and his head hangs with the dissatisfaction of still housing a boulder of anger.
“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he whispers, voice growing smaller as he walks away. A loud clash of hollowed metal is heard shortly after. “Fuck!”
“Punching the lockers doesn’t get rid of the fact you’re a little bitch, Cousin.”
Richie has to poke the bear.
Always.
#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#the bear#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen 'carmy' berzatto#carmen berzatto x fem!reader#carmy berzatto fic#carmy berzatto fanfic#carmen bezatto fic#carmen berzatto fanfic#carmy the bear#carmy x you#carmen x you#carmen carmy berzatto x you#the bear fx#the bear fanfiction#the bear fanfic#was def gonna combine this part with the other half I'm still editing but i couldn't help myself#all the homies hate carm after season 3 and you're about to hate him even more when the rest of this fic comes out#TRUST he gets worse than what we've seen
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So I minishifted to my kpop idol dr last night and I'm loosing my mind
Lowkey still kinda freaking out about it because it's only just when the realisation settled in that I FUCKING SHIFTED. AND TWO OF MY FATTEST CRUSHES WERE STOOD RIGHT THERE. FUCK. OKay let me explain what happened before I IMPLODE!😆
So given how startled I was when I woke up in what i assume is my studio room? (It was a pretty cute studio and looked like it WOULD be mine🤭🤞🏾) I was only there for a good 2 minutes before freaking out and shifting back like the COWARD I AM, so I'll tell you everything that happened whilst I was there😁
Okay so first of all, I woke up in "my" studio right next to my group leader Mei and my other best friend on the other end and I was SO confused at the time because I was trying to figure out where I was. I didn't understand why I was in a different room but like at the same time it felt familiar.
But anyway, I felt so comfortable and warm and realised it was because I had a really soft blanket wrapped around my body, which I suspect was from one of my members?? Maybe?? and then Mei looked over at me and noticed I was awake, she was like "Youre finally awake Keesh" and rubbed my back so gently i could have fallen asleep right there and then again. It was like I got a taste of satisfaction for my touch starved self.
And GOSH her voice was so much more raspy than I thought it was going to be i was quite taken aback😭😭 and her face sculpted by Aphrodite herself kinda switched to a concerned expression when she saw me looking around the room frantically like I didn't know where I was, she asked me if everything was alright, and I couldn't even reply with my voice because I was so stunned so I nodded weakly with most unconvincing smile ever because I was still processing what the hell was going on.
Then suddenly, I heard like two worryingly familiar male voices coming close to the studio room we were in☹️☹️(internally i was like FUCK OFF I cant do this rn). My head literally snapped to the door when i heard it creek open and standing right there was the glorious man he is, Min Yoongi, leaning on the door frame (with long black hair btw) and the gorgeous man he is, Jimin, peaking his head through from behind the door😭😭 (I think i remember him being Blonde?). When I tell you my pulse picked up at a million miles per second. Seeing Yoongi and Jimin in the flesh is something else you guys. And to say Yoongi is intimidating is an UNDERSTATMENT☠️☠️ those two were so hot oh my GOD. I was lowkey panicking because I was NOT prepared to come face to face with AANYONE from my kpop dr nevermind BTS☠️☠️ even though i intended to shift there last night.
But anyway, i heard Yoongi ask my members ask if I was still asleep because my food was getting cold, and Mei said, "Oh yeah, yeah, she just woke up.." and Immediately placed my head back on the table and covered my face with the blanket, PRAYINGGG she'd think I fell back asleep WHICH SHE DID THANK GOD🙏🏾 and right before I woke up here I heard Jimin saying something like "you should wake her up before he eats it all??" He was giggling while he was saying that, too. And then I shifted back here.
OH AND LET ME NOT FORGET TO ADD, THIS ENTIRE DIALOGUE WAS IN KOREAN?? AND I UNDERSTOOD IT ALL.
This experience is actually one of my most scariest/exciting/crazy ones ever. Not even just because I shifted there, but because of what happened prior to the shift. Me and my best friend were yapping to each other about BTS, and we were talking about the signs we picked up on and then the realisation I came to. The moment me and my friend and I made this silly girl group as a joke, it seems that we created a butterfly effect in our reality. And now, whatever sign I get about BTS, "coincidentally," always links back to my girl group.
Anyway so yeah idk wether or not I want to shift back because LORD I CRAVE TO SEE THEM AGAIN but like I am so intimidated by Yoongi and even Jimin I might just freak out the next time I see them again😭😭 @livingmydreamlife5555 @samara444 @4ellieluv @theshifterbear
#successstories#kpop shifting#shiftblr#reality shift#reality shifting#desired reality#master manifestor#law of assumption#4d reality#shifters#loa#shifting#drself#loa blog#shifttok#shifting community#shifted
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