#anyways did you guys miss him i sure did (i literally think about him every day)

[crazylittlejester]

Unsure if you’ve answers this already, but what’s the rest of the chain doing in your modern au?

I don’t think ive ever really talked a lot about it like, in depth, but im more than happy to because i love my au and my silly guys :)

my bad for spelling errors i am Stupid 💔

Time: (46) Lives on the ranch with Malon. He worked full time as a mechanic before he met and married Malon, and he still works at the same place just SIGNIFICANTLY less hours because he’s also doing work on the ranch. He also plays guitar as a hobby, he played more when he was younger but Twilight’s BIGGEST flex in middle and early high school was that his dad owns some fuckass guitars

Hyrule: (20) He really really really likes rocks and being outside so he’s going into geology because he wanted to dig in the dirt and find special rocks. Sometimes Twi will text him like “bro where are you?” and if he even has service Hyrule will just send him a pic in the literal middle of fucking nowhere. Hyrule lives with Legend in the same apartment as Wars, Twi, and Sky, EXACTLY one floor below them

Legend: (20) Political science major, because he was running out of time and had to pick something. He’s not super sure what he wants to do, he has like, no plans, he didn’t think he’d be alive this long and have to DO something with his life. He works at the same little coffee shop as Sky, and those two are good friends. Every time Wars is being too loud above him (jumping, screaming, dancing) he will get up on his table and smack the ceiling and yell, or he’ll leave him angry voicemails. He left the dorms because he couldn’t handle being in the room next to Wars’s dramatic ass, he was DEVASTATED to discover all he did was move in underneath him

Wild: (19) He’s doing fashion/arts and he really really likes photography. He’s a retired skater (same as Wars) and on good days he can move around alright with minimal pain, but it’s not uncommon for him to use a mobility aid. He’s very good friends with Wars and sometimes they’ll fuck around at the rink together, other times when he has five minutes to spare Wars will drive him around and they’ll go to parks and just sit. They’re each other’s oldest friend and they both left a sport that was literally their entire world and its been hard to adjust to life without competitions but they’ve got each other. Wars makes a very serious effort to meet up with Wild 2-3 times a week

Four: (19) He’s a blacksmith, like his grandpa, but he got roped into this mess of a friend group somehow anyways. He finds most of them to be far too loud or dramatic, but they’re his best friends and he’s stuck with em

Wind: (16) He’s still in high school, but he does band and soccer. Wars took him skating ONCE because he used to babysit him, and Wind kinda got obsessed with the idea of what he calls ‘knife shoes’. Of ALL the people Wars has taken to the rink with him (who have no prior experience skating), Wind is the best. He’d be able to fuck around and play ice hockey with Wars, he’d get his ass beat if he went against an actual hockey player, but he can play a simple friendly game with Wars if Wars agrees to it

and then for anyone unfamiliar with the au!!:

Wars: (20/21; depends on what time of year I write the au in, because everything is just about their last year of undergrad and he’s a December birthday) He’s a retired figure skater who holds a world record and several gold medals, and he won the hyrule equivalent of the olympics at 18. He’s a dance major now, he’s been doing ballet since he was 3 and he never quit it, and he’s gone pretty much all day during the week because he goes skating for two hours before class, his last class ends at 5:30, and then if he’s actively in a show rehearsal ends at 10. Weekends are his only time to breathe but he’ll still have rehearsal from 1-6 and will hit the rink from like 10-11 unless Sky and Twi get on their literal hands and knees and BEG him not to because they miss him and “when will my husband return from the fucking war??”

Twilight: (21/22; his birthday is March) Bio/chem major with the intent to become a vet for ranch animals. He LOVES animals so so so so much, and he has a rather bad habit of bringing home sat wet creatures to his adoptive parents/aunt&uncle Time and Malon who just need a little extra love, including but not limited to: Several dogs, several cats, an injured bird, Warriors, a baby deer. Most of these things get taken care of and then released or Time helps them get adopted, and others get kept (at LEAST four dogs (including a very fluffy one named Wolfie), Wars, and two cats)

Sky: (21) English literature major who wants to become a teacher because he had an awful time as a disabled kid in school and he was made to feel stupid and he NEVER wants a kid to have that experience. It broke his heart to realize Wars had that experience too and still thinks he’s stupid, but Sky is determined to be the kind of english teacher you remember DECADES after you leave grade school because they were so important and changed your life. His gf Sun also loves english literature, and they go on dates to the library together and it’s just disgustingly sweet. He’s living out his best coffee shop romance au life because he does in fact work at a coffee shop and he did in fact fall in love with the girl who came in and ordered mint tea at 4 pm on the dot every day he just so happened to be working

[sirenspells]

[Amnesiac Omori AU]

Washed away all my devotion

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[bigwishes]

Embarrassed?

Tom sat there staring down at his phone, typing like his life depended on it.

"if this is true I will literally trade anything to get bigger, you can make me a dumb jock, make my dick small, Ill even take being a walking joke, you can take anything you like so long as I can get huge!"

He had stumbled upon a site called "give'n'take" which was claiming that it would allow him to trade something he currently has for something he wanted. He had seen claims from guys claiming to of turned into their dream self over night by giving up something that they never really liked about themselves anyway.

But it was Hard for Tom to pick something he wanted to give up, he had almost won the genetic lottery in his eyes. A fat nine inches down stairs, 6.5ft tall, a good amount of body hair, not enough to be annoying but enough to drive guys wild. Everything had made him a walking stud that oozed confidence with every step. All but one thing that is. Tom had loved bodybuilding ever since he could remember, he loved the look of huge guys and he loved the idea of being one, but on his 23rd birthday he looked in the mirror and saw after years of work he looked nothing like a bodybuilder. sure he had some size but there was no real mass. He just looked like a guy who played sport on the weekend. He wanted to be so much bigger. He got hard imagining himself being the guy who had to turn sideways to get through a door or who rocked up to a house party in gym shorts and an XXL stringer tank top that clung to him like it was about to snap. Unfortunately his height was against him, his long muscle fibers took ages to develop and when they did it was so evenly spread out it didn't look like he had done anything at all.

He'd do anything to be bigger, he'd be happy with anything taken away so long as he was huge. So he left the choice up to the people behind the screen.

---

The next morning Tom woke up and instantly felt strange, he felt off balance some how like his body had gone up 30 pounds over night and when he got up and looked in the mirror he realised...it had.

"HOLY SHIT" Tom yelled out into his empty apartment.

His body had beefed up and become more defined without any more work. He couldn't worship himself for long though as he instantly began investigating to see what had been taken, but it didn't appear like anything was missing at all.

He was still packing, he hadn't shrunk in fact he might of even gained an inch or two and he didn't have any issues remembering anything from his engineering degree or any day to day stuff. The thought crossed his mind that maybe they had forgotten to take something, or maybe because he wanted to be big so badly they cut him a break.

Tom's worries melted away as he smiled and flexed his newly enhanced biceps.

"mmm, not as huge as I was hoping for but I'll keep working on it"

Tom picked up his gym bag and decided to head out to see what his new size could do, and to stick to the habit, he didn't want all this new size to make him forget to work out and end up losing it all in a few months.

Tom arrived at the gym and changed into his workout gear but he looked and felt different was he...bigger? nah, he thought to himself, its just him getting used to being this big although as he stared at his new size in his reflection a new thought entered his mind.

"Maybe this tank top is too tight...I probably shouldn't be such a show off and buy some looser clothes to cover up"

He shook his head and decided to think about it when he got home, right now he just wanted to see how strong he had gotten.

As Tom worked out something weird was happening, he knew how to exhaust his muscle, he new how to overload the weight and really make it feel like work but as he added weight with each set it felt just as easy as the last.

He'd occasionally see his reflection in the mirror wall and he looked like he was getting even bigger, and his tank top felt even tighter than before. Surely it was just the pump he thought to himself as he continued to lift and push his body.

He sat down at the cable row and put the pin almost at the bottom of all the plates, surely this would be a struggle for him. Tom leant back and pulled when suddenly.

Cutcshhhhhhh!

the sound of ripping fabric rung out in his ear as he felt the shoulder strap snap and felt the fabric split across his back.

"aw shit" Tom said as he stood up and took of his shirt.

Immediately he saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked huge. His muscles bulging he couldn't help but pull his gym shorts up and flex, this is what he wanted to be an absolute tank...

but, everyone probably thought he was a dickhead flexing outside of the changing room, he thought to himself. He started to wonder if he was that guy now, the guy who'd workout shirtless and annoy everyone in the gym.

He noticed a few dudes looking at him like they were waiting to get on the machine. His face turned a slight pink on his cheeks and he was flushed with embarrassment.

"oh s-sorry" Tom stuttered as he quickly tried to move out the way

Originally he thought he'd just move on to the next exercise but he realised he was shirtless and bolted for the changing room. Once inside he gazed at his reflection again.

"maybe...I shoulda asked to be just a little smaller, fuck now I gotta walk outta here shirtless"

Tom couldn't get a grip and didn't no what had come over him. He had never felt a shred of embarrassment in his life but now he was worried what people would think about him being shirtless in the gym.

The changing room was empty and Tom took the time for a few more poses before he was gonna make a run for the exit. He flexed his arms as hard as he could and felt the blood rushing into the muscle, but it was strange, the muscle wasn't just pumped up, it was like it was still pumping up. He tilted his head and watch in the mirror, slowly but surely his shoulders and arms were expanding, his chest was filling with mass and size. He saw his already huge legs slowly expanding out into colossal pillars as they stretched his shorts. He could hear the fabric starting to strain and quickly bend down to get his gym bag.

The moment he leant over he heard the changing room echo with a large tearing sound as he felt the tightness relieve across his ass. Tom's face turned bright red as he quickly reaches around to make sure it was just the shorts he had split and not his underwear.

He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his underwear was still in tact, he stood up and took a step hearing has his massive thighs tore and split his shorts with just one step. He was almost at the door when he saw his hulking figure in the mirror.

He stood frozen admiring his huge body, he flexed his entire body at once loving how huge he had become, he noticed his underwear was straining and the fabric was starting to become see through and then he remembered....he had to walk through the gym like this to get out....

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, everyone was gonna be staring at him

Tom quickly grabbed his bag and made a break for it through the busy gym. He had hoped to run but his body was so big that was almost an impossible task, so jogging was next but even just a slight jog left him out of breath and gasping for air. By the time he reached the door he had multiple people staring at him confused as he was huffing and puffing like he had just run a marathon.

He swung open the door to the gym and bumped between two guys that were on their way in. Tom tried to apologise but the only noises that came out were him gasping for air and trying to catch his breath. He flashed a quick apology wave as he climbed into his car which was luckily parked right in front of the entrance.

Tom looked down trying to slow his breathing and catch his breath when he noticed his huge hard on. His dick was like steel, the thought of everyone staring at him....judging him....

Tom started his car trying to ignore it but he heard the two guys he had just bumped into talking, muffled by his window.

"bro did you see that guy, there is just a thing as too big"

Hearing those worse Tom felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment swell in his stomach and work its way to his pelvis as he started taking deep and slow breaths.

"I know right dude, and the way he was so out of breath just walking through the gym, and working out in his underwear? what a loser"

the two men walking into the gym laughing as the door shut behind them

The words echoed in Tom's ears, he couldn't help it, he gripped his steering wheel so tight he thought he was going to break it, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as his dick began to twitch and erupt. Tom let out a pathetic moan as he looked down to see not just his underwear soaked but his car seat and thighs caked in cum.

Tom looked into his rear view mirror, his head, traps and shoulders completely blocking the view, his face was flush as he felt more embarrassed than ever before in his life, He started his car and quickly reversed out.

"god...I'm such..."

His dick instantly got hard again.

"fuck, I'm so big....I'm...too big"

Tom started panting as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm a fucking big, freakish, loserrrr--eerruuuuughh!!"

Tom couldn't help unload himself into his underwear and over his car seat thinking about how pathetic he was...

Well...he did say he was happy for them to take anything, His confidence seemed like a fair price.

[teenmaximoff]

They get into the car and Buck immediately takes off his tie and tosses it to the back seat. He’s never been much of a suit guy. But it was a funeral, he had to dress up. And make Tommy dress up too. Same as him, Tommy is also not a suit guy. It’s hard to get those beefy arms into a tailored jacket.

Tommy starts the engine and turns to Buck with the most affectionate glint in his eyes. He stares at him for a few moments, just taking in his view. “What?” Buck asks, smirking. “Something on my face?”

Tommy rolls his eyes and starts driving. “You’re cute is all.”

“I am?” His cheeks flush and he ducks his head the way he always does when Tommy compliments him. “Even covered in boils?”

“Of course.” It’s their thing – ‘Of course.’ Before every shift, one texts ‘Be safe’ and the other responds ‘Of course.’ Buck wants to get it tattooed on himself. It’s way too early for permanent commitments, but he can’t shake the idea. “You’re always cute, Baby.”

“This mean you’re going to kiss me now?” He says pursing his lips, even though Tommy’s eyes are on the road.

“Don’t continue this slander, Evan.” He replies, deadpan as ever. The dry charm is so hot, damn. “I did a hell of a lot more than kiss you this morning.” True. Actually, now that Buck is thinking about it – a rim job is just one long, pleasurable kiss.

“On the face, Kinard.” Buck can deal with the itchiness and sore arm. What he can’t handle is going over twenty-four hours without feeling Tommy’s lips on his own. “Don’t you miss kissing my birthmark every other minute?”

Tommy looks over just in time to see Buck pout and shine his best ‘puppy dog’ eyes at him. He laughs and looks back at the road. “Brat.” He knows exactly how to push his boyfriend’s buttons. “I’ll make up all the missed kisses… once you’re better.”

“And not gross?” Yeah okay, so maybe he is a bit of a brat.

“Did I not call you cute five minutes ago?”

Buck crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Not cute enough to kiss apparently.”

***

They eventually get stuck in Traffic. Buck switches from his dress shoes to sneakers, not being able to handle another moment of uncomfortable torture. “Better?” How Tommy is driving with his on, Buck has no idea.

“Much.” There’s a bit of comfortable silence between them, just NPR playing too soft to make out in the background. “I-I want to thank you, babe.” Buck admits shyly, patting Tommy’s (thick) thigh. “For doing this. I know you think I’m dumb for believing in all this curse crap.” He bites the inside of his cheek, feeling a bit small. “I appreciate you going along with it anyway… driving me out to fucking Temecula of all places and indulging my – uh – my weirdness.”

Tommy’s lips flatten and he tsks, shaking his head. “First of all, baby. I don’t think you’re dumb. And you shouldn’t think that either.” He quickly looks over to Buck, making sure he’s taking his words in. And with the way he looks at him, how could Buck not? “This curse means something to you, so of course I was going to help.” Buck feels his chest tighten. This man. “Even spoke to Billy for you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes light up. “What did you say?”

“That’s between me and the dead man.” He places his hand on top of Buck’s on his leg. “He knows not to mess with my boy.”

His cheeks flush and he squirms a little in his seat as a burst of heat travels through him. “Yeah, Daddy – you gonna fight a ghost for me?”

“I’ll fight a thousand ghosts for you, Evan.” Something about the way he says it, in his usual stoic tone, but laced with so much admiration – makes Buck honestly believe him. Not that he’ll literally fight a ghost - although with this Billy situation, who’s to say that couldn’t happen? – but that Tommy will fight for him, for them. He will go to bat for him; time and time again showing up whether Buck needs him or not. He’s all in.

Is this what it feels like to find the one? Buck’s not sure. It didn’t feel like this with Abby or Taylor. He loved them – in different ways. But nothing close to this. Buck can’t imagine a life where Tommy isn’t beside him, indulging him in his antics and looking at him like he’s the sun, moon, and all the stars in between. It’s too early to say it, he knows it is. But, fuck, he really is in love. “Tommy –“ He says, his boyfriend quickly glancing from the road to him. “You matter so much to me.”

“You matter to me too, baby.” Tommy smiles, his eyes crinkling beautifully and so kissable. Maybe they can just pull over for a quickie? “Evan, know this. I will happily put on a suit and drive to Temecula whenever you ask. As long you keep being you.”

Sounds a hell of a lot like Tommy wants to say ‘I love you’ too. Just not now. Not while he’s covered in boils and driving. Because the second he says it, he has to know Buck will say it back and then drown him in kisses. The moment will come soon enough.

***

Buck eventually falls asleep against the window. With all the traffic, it takes them an hour longer than it should have to get back to LA. Tommy shakes him a little to wake him up, leaving a line of drool on the glass. He blinks a few times at the setting sun shining in his eyes, not recognizing the building they’re outside of. Tommy comes around the truck to open Buck’s door for him. Such a gentleman. “Where are we?”

He sighs affectionately. “A dermatologist, Evan.”

[kwanisms]

Kinktober 「10:02」 — s.mingi

» ateez menu | mingi menu | kinktober masterlist «

➮ werehyena!Mingi × fem!reader wc: 4k summary: Y/N hasn’t been intimate with her boyfriend but not by choice. Every time she tries, he always ends up pushing her away and its starting to affect her confidence. After an argument, Mingi finally blurts out just why he's been pushing her away this whole time. genres/themes/au: angst/fluff/smut; supernatural, horror, thriller; non idol au, monster idol au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, supernatural and horror themes, mentions of: food consumption, insecurities, past trauma, breakups; sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist has been moved to reblogs join my taglists! taglist for kinktober is CLOSED. Strikethrough means I cannot tag you. MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED.

a/n: i promise the next thing i write for Mingi will make him dom. I already promised @yoonguurt and i will keep that promise but here is some sub mingi for the sub mingi enthusiasts lol also, if anyone is curious, i'm using STRIPED HYENAS as a reference for his werecreatures. NOT SPOTTED. Spotted hyenas are fucking insane to learn about. seriously, if you're curious, look up spotted hyena reproduction. it's literally unreal. anyway, the next part is for Chris' birthday and includes our fave aussies from stray kids! notice how i said aussies 😉 stay tuned for that and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: teratophilia (aka monsterfucking), facesitting (m receiving), mommy kink, oral (f receiving), handjob (m receiving), sub!Mingi, dom!Reader, use of pet names (hers: mommy, ma’am; his: baby boy, sweetheart, etc), and I think that’s all but let me know if I missed any. kinks: facesitting + mommy kinkdialogue prompt: ❛❛ Sit on my face. ❜❜

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

When you first met Mingi, you were intimidated by his presence, taking him as a very imposing and menacing but once you got to know him, you discovered it was merely in his looks alone. Standing at 6’1 with broad shoulders, he was a physically imposing man.

Adding to that aura of dominance was the fact that he wasn’t entirely human. You learned early on that Mingi was a werecreature. Specifically of the hyena variety. It was something you were new to, having never met another werecreature before him.

When things shifted in your relationship with him from platonic to romantic, Mingi was quick to let you know everything he felt was important about his condition. When he transformed, when his heat was, and what he usually did during his transformation and how long it lasted.

When his first transformation since making your relationship official happened, you had seen him the day before, making him a variety of meals for afterwards as you knew he would be too tired and weak to do it himself. His first cycle passed by without issue and soon it became part of your monthly routine to go over the day before, check on him, make him a week’s worth of meals and kiss him goodbye until you saw him a couple days later.

For almost a year, this was the norm for you. Something that had also unintentionally become the norm was not being intimate with Mingi. At all. Sure you’d kissed and even made out but as things got heated, Mingi always managed to push you away, trying to change the course of the evening or even leaving before you got a word in.

You’d never gone beyond a few lingering touches and it was slowly chipping away at your confidence and self esteem. It made you feel unwanted and unattractive despite being the center of male attention when you went out with your friends to the clubs once a month.

You didn’t want the attention of some random guy at the bar trying to buy you enough drinks to forget your own name and end up in bed with him only to regret it the following morning.

You wanted the attention of your boyfriend.

You’d tried speaking to Mingi about this, expressing your concerns but each time he managed to change the subject, steering it in an entirely different direction and avoiding the conversation altogether.

You didn’t expect sex from him. Of course he could have very specific reasons for not wanting to have sex with you but it was the fact he wouldn’t discuss it with you. All you wanted was a reason, something as simple as he wasn’t ready and you would drop it but you didn’t even get that.

And so, after being rejected all day on one of your rare days off, you wanted to find out why your boyfriend didn’t want to have sex with you.

You let out a sigh, keeping your eyes on the TV as you sat on the couch with Mingi sitting a cushion’s distance away, his massive frame taking up the opposite side of the couch from you. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, noticing the way his eyes were wandering your body, focusing on the exposed skin of your thighs.

He often would look but never touch. You wanted so desperately for him to touch you in more ways than guiding you out of his way when he was trying to pass you or cupping the back of your head so he could kiss your forehead. You want his hands everywhere.

You heard Mingi clear his throat and you quickly focused your gaze back on the TV. You had no idea what was playing, having lost interest in it a long time ago as you were too busy fantasizing about your massive boyfriend’s hands all over you.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. You want one?” he asked as he got up from the couch, towering over you. “Sure,” you said softly as he nodded and moved around the couch to the kitchen behind where you sat. You heard the fridge open and close and a few moments later, he returned with two cold cans of cola, handing one to you and sitting back down.

“You don’t have to sit all the way over there,” you said as you cracked open your can and took a sip. Mingi turned to look at you wide-eyed. “Oh, uh I’m okay over here,” he said nervously. You set your can down, settling back against the couch, disappointment settling in your chest. “Fine,” you muttered, picking up the remote and changing the channel.

Mingi turned to look at you, taking in your profile as you flipped through channels until you exasperatedly tossed the remote onto the couch between you. “You pick something,” you snapped, not looking at him. Your tone made him recoil internally, wondering why you were upset.

He picked up the remote and flipped through the stations until he found something to put it on. He set the remote on the coffee table as an uncomfortable silence fell over the two of you. He could tell you were thinking hard, something bothering you but you were working out a way to bring it up.

Mingi hated this. He hated fighting with you. He hated the silent treatment. He hated denying you. Earlier, when he’d arrived and sat on the couch, you had joined him while dinner was finishing cooking in the oven. What started as a few kisses turned into more as you straddled his lap, kissing him deeply as you started to grind against him. 

Mingi wanted more than anything to let you have him right there on the couch but he was reminded of his past experiences. His previous partners who became weirded out upon learning that a man so strong and physically large was so submissive. He’d never been one to be a leader or in charge of anything and that extended to his preferences in the bedroom.

His relationships in the past failed because of his inability to take charge in not only the bedroom but in the relationship as well. He wasn’t comfortable with it but he really, really liked you, possibly even loved you, and he didn’t want to mess this up. He’d forced himself to take charge in some scenarios but he felt so out of his depth. 

And when it came to intimacy with you, he wanted more than anything to be intimate, to give into his more carnal desires but his past trauma held him back and he ended up pushing you away just like earlier. He’d quickly pushed you off him before things go get too far and luckily for him the timer on the oven went off and he was saved for a little while longer.

He knew it was no way to conduct things and that he should have a serious conversation but he just never seemed to be ready because he felt that things would end if he was honest with you. He was trying to prolong the inevitable.

“Do you not like me or something?”

Your question caught him off guard as your words hung in the air, waiting for his response. He turned to look at you, taking in your profile as you sat there, arms crossed over your chest, one leg tucked under you. “What?” he asked stupidly. He shouldn’t have done that. He should have immediately refuted your claim but he was just so taken aback.

“Do you not like me?” you asked again, turning to look at him. Mingi hesitated. Of course he liked you. He loved you. His brows knitted together in confusion. “Of course I like you,” he replied, turning in his seat to look directly at you. “Then why do you always do this?” you asked.

“Do what?” Mingi asked, knowing it was the wrong thing to ask. He knew what you were talking about. Your eyes narrowed. “Always push me away when we start to get intimate.” Mingi felt his stomach sink, the same feelings of anxiety and dread that he always got when this topic came up, rising into his chest.

It was starting to get hot in the apartment. He needed fresh air.

“I need some air,” he said getting up.

“No,” you said, getting to your feet and following your boyfriend. “We’re not doing this again!”

Mingi sighed as he stopped abruptly, making you run into him before he turned. “I can’t have this conversation with you, really,” he said. “Why?” you asked, feeling a pang in your chest when he turned and started for the door. Panic rose up inside of you as you watched him grab his keys from the counter as he passed it. You don’t know what came over you but you weren’t about to let this go.

“Song Mingi, if you walk out that door, we are through!!”

He froze, hand on the doorknob as your voice rang through the apartment. His shoulders visibly relaxed before he turned to look at you, a look of shock on his face. “You’d break up with me over this?” he asked softly. You threw your hands up in exasperation. “I don’t know what you expect me to do!” you all but shouted at him.

“I’m trying to have a mature conversation with you but all you’ve done is shut me down. I just want to know why you don’t want me!” you said, the corners of your eyes burning as you fought back tears. “I… don’t want you?” Mingi asked, sounding confused. “When have I ever said I didn’t want you?” he asked, walking back into the living room.

“You didn’t have to say it!” you countered. “Every time we’re intimate, you always push me away before it gets too far. I could understand if you would explain to me that you aren’t ready or it was something else but you won’t even entertain a conversation about it with me!” You blinked away the tears and turned away from him, not wanting to let him see you cry.

“What else am I supposed to think?”

Silence fell over the two of you, punctuated only by the sound of the TV, forgotten in the midst of your argument. Maybe it was better to just let him go, let this all go. Maybe you’d be better off. You loved Mingi, you really did, but you never signed on for all of this. You knew getting involved with him was going to be a learning experience after he revealed his nature as a werecreature but to you, that was nothing.

The silence was broken by the sound of Mingi’s keys being set on the counter and the floor creaking as he walked towards where you stood. You felt his arms wrap around you, warmth from his body enveloping you as he rested his head on yours. “It’s not because I don’t want you,” he murmured, finally speaking.

“I want you so bad I can barely stand it,” he added. “I just don’t want to scare you off.” You turned in his arms to face him. “How would it scare me off?” you asked, looking at him with a confused expression, brows knitting together. “Because,” Mingi started, his voice faltering. “It’s embarrassing,” he continued. “You thought I would judge you?” you asked. Mingi shrugged.

“It’s happened in the past. The people I’ve dated didn’t want…” he trailed off. “Didn’t want what?” you asked, trying to coax it out of him. He sighed, throwing his head back to look up at the ceiling. “Someone like me,” he blurted out. You reached up, cupping the back of his neck and forcing him to look down at you. “What does that mean? Someone like you?”

“I’m not very… confident,” he started. You snorted. “Now that’s a damn lie,” you retorted. “You’re the most confident man I know,” you added. Mingi shook his head. “Confident is the wrong word,” he admitted. “I’m not… I don’t like to be… in charge.”

Realization dawned on you and you let out a sigh. “You’re not dominant,” you stated. Mingi nodded, shutting his eyes and bracing for what you assumed was some sort of angry response. It nearly broke your heart that he felt he had to lie and hide this from you because of the reactions of his past relationships. You could understand his hesitation. But you weren’t like his previous partners.

“Mingi,” you started, grabbing the front of his shirt when he tried to turn away. “Yah,” you said sternly. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you!” the tone in your voice must have surprised him. You’d never sounded so commanding before. At least not to him. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered quickly.

“I wish you had just told me, instead of hiding it from me,” you explained, cupping his cheek. “If you had told me, we could have solved this a lot sooner instead of tiptoeing around it.” Mingi leaned into your touch. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “I thought that if I told you, it might make you leave me.”

You pulled him into a kiss. “I almost broke up with you because I thought you weren’t attracted to me,” you said softly. “This is why we need to communicate,” you continued. “I’m not like your previous partners, you know this.” Mingi nodded, pressing another kiss to your lips. “I know,” he murmured. “And I never should have compared you to them. I was just…”

“Scared,” you said. “I get it. It can be hard to break that cycle of trauma.”

“It’s not weird though,” you continued, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom. “I don’t mind taking control,” you added, smiling at him as you pushed the door open with your back. “How about you lay down and let me take care of you. How does that sound, baby?”

Mingi nodded wordlessly as you guided him over to the bed, turning so you could push him down onto it. He landed on his butt with a soft oof as you moved to shut the door and returned to him. “Let me take care of you,” you repeated, slowly kneeling in front of him, hand sliding down his chest to the waistband of his sweats.

You slipped your fingers under the elastic pulling it forward slightly before letting it snap back against his stomach, making him gasp. You chuckled softly as you grabbed the sides of the waistband and started tugging. He lifted his hips, letting you pull the material all the way down his thighs and to the floor where it pooled around his ankles. He sat in his underwear, waiting for your next move.

You could see he was starting to grow hard but you knew Mingi’s body, even if you hadn’t seen it fully. You knew that your boyfriend had a massive cock and from what you could see now, half hard, you were correct in your assumptions. You pressed your hand over the bulge in his boxers, making him his, a shudder run up his spine as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Does that feel good?” you asked, stroking him slowly, watching his expressions. “Y-yes,” he whined, hips starting to roll up into your touch. You could feel him growing harder and harder by the minute and decided to take it a step further. You slipped your hand into his underwear, pulling his cock free from the material. Wrapping your fingers around the base, you started to slowly pump your hand up and down.

“Fuck,” your boyfriend hissed. “Feels so good, babe.”

You let go, spitting into your hand and resumed stroking him, your saliva working as a lubricant and moving faster with ease. He was almost completely hard by this point. “Babe, please,” Mingi whined. “What is it?” you asked softly, your speed never faltering as you looked up at your boyfriend. “I wanna be inside you,” he whined, hips bucking.

You clicked your tongue as you slowed your hand for a moment. “No, baby,” you answered. Mingi whined again, shaking under your touch. “Please, mommy,” he gasped and you felt your cheeks burn. That was a new one. You’d never been called that before but you weren’t about to comment on it. Not when you wanted to focus on making Mingi feel good. You could discuss it later.

“Sorry baby,” you said softly. “Only good boys get their dicks wet.” Mingi whined, lifting his head to meet your gaze. “It’s literally wet right now,” he countered but you shushed him, stroking him faster and making him remove his shirt. He did as you asked, tossing the tee to the floor. 

“Please, baby. I’ll be good, I promise,” Mingi begged. It was tempting to give into him but why the rush? “Not tonight, baby boy,” you cooed. “Maybe in the morning.” You continued to stroke him, his hips bucking up to meet your movements as you drew him closer to his high.

You felt his cock throb and twitch in your hand and you knew he was close. “Just a little more,” you cooed. “Be a good boy and cum.”

As if on command, Mingi let out a moan and you angled his cock away from you, watching as thin ropes of his milky white cum shot out of him, landing on his toned stomach, contrasting with his tanned skin. You continued to pump him slowly, making sure to squeeze every last drop out of him.

“What a good boy you are,” you said sweetly as you got to your feet, ignoring the gusset of your panties sticking to you as you climbed onto the bed. “I bet that felt really good, didn’t it?” you asked, to which he nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” you said, starting to get up but his grip on you was strong. He muttered something that you couldn’t make out.

You leaned over to hear him better. “What was that, baby?” you asked. “You need to speak up.”

“I said,” Mingi started, licking his lips. “Sit on my face.” You let out a chuckle. “It’s okay, baby,” you said softly, caressing his cheek. “You don’t need to do anything. We can clean up and go again tomorrow if you really want to.” Mingi shook his head. “No,” he said, grabbing your wrist, moving to lace his fingers with yours. “Please, Y/N,” he whined. “P-please, mommy. I want you to sit on my face!”

You stared at him, nibbling on your bottom lip for a moment before you relented. “Fine,” you said. “But no cleaning or wiping your mess away until I cum, do you understand me?” you asked, leaning over to look into his eyes. He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

You got off the bed, tugging your shorts and underwear down and letting them fall to the floor, stepping out of them and then returning to Mingi on the bed. He waited eagerly as you straddled his chest. “Before we do this. You have to tell me if you can’t breathe. Tap my thigh three times if you need air,” you instructed. Mingi shook his head. “I don’t need air,” he replied. “I just need your pussy on my tongue, right now.”

You reached behind you, grabbing his sensitive, soft cock. He let out a whimper before nodding. “Yes mommy,” he said quickly. You let go and scooted forward until your knees were on either side of his head. Mingi’s hand moved up to cup your ass. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “Just sit down.”

You lowered yourself onto his waiting tongue and let out a moan as he immediately wrapped his lips around your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue, the room filling with lew slurping sounds. You reached down, combing your fingers through his hair gently. You felt him flatten his tongue against your clit, licking up and down slowly before he started to circle the nub with the tip. 

You let out a moan, eyes fluttering shut as he continued to make out with your sex, ignoring the wetness that seeped from you onto his lips and chin. He could careless and lapped away at your core, fingers digging into the plush of your ass, pulling you down and close as possible.

His tongue traced down to your hole, teasing the entrance before he pulled you flush against him, his tongue wiggling into your pussy. You let out a gasp, feeling his nose bump against your clit as he tasted everything you had to give him. His tongue slipped out and was back on your clit, flicking against it in quick succession, each flick making your body jerk violently as he built you up to your climax.

Your fingers in his hair tightened as your hips started to move involuntarily. Mingi gently pushed you up slightly. “Yes, ride my tongue,” he murmured, slurring his words before pulling you back down on his flat tongue, letting you grind against him. You let go of his hair, leaning over to place your hands against the mattress as you started to roll your hips, grinding your clit against his tongue.

Your body shook, thighs squeezing his head as your orgasm washed over you, a wave of euphoria spreading throughout your body as you continued to ride out your high. Finally, you shuddered, feeling the effects of your exertion in the burning of your thighs but also in the sensitive bundle of nerves your boyfriend was still licking slowly.

You finally pulled away, lifting off his face and swinging your leg over to kneel beside him. The lower half of his face was coated in your release, shining in the low light of your bedroom.

“You are a mess,” you said with a chuckle before getting up and heading into your ensuite bathroom to grab a clean washcloth, wetting it with warm water and returning to the bed. Mingi held out his hand but you pushed it away and started wiping his face clean before wiping down his stomach, cleaning it of his release. 

Once you were satisfied he was no longer sticky, you tossed the towel into the hamper as Mingi’s arms circled your waist, pulling you onto his naked lap and smiling up at you with a very tired and lazy smile. You felt his cock prod at your thigh and you chuckled, running your fingers through his hair before kissing him. “You’re hard again,” you noted between kisses.

“Mmm,” he hummed in answer. “I could go again,” he offered. “But I’m also very tired.” You nodded. “My thighs are burning,” you admitted. “How about we rest and then maybe later we can go again. Maybe I’ll even let you fuck me,” you said, pulling him into a slow, languid kiss that was messy and nothing but tongue. “Have I been a good boy?” he asked, perking up slightly, making you laugh.

“Yes,” you answered. “You’ve been a very good boy,” you added. Mingi pulled you into a kiss, grabbing your hips and pushing you down so his cock pressed against your clit. “I could go right now,” he said eagerly. “You won’t even have to do anything,” he added. You cupped his cheek, pressing a kiss to his lips. “If you promise I won’t have to lift a finger,” you said.

Mingi nodded excitedly. “I promise!” he said eagerly. You nodded, nose bumping against his. “Alright,” you replied, kissing him and pulling back, resisting the urge to laugh when he pouted, trying to chase your lips. “Show me what you can do, big boy.”

Keeping his hold on you, Mingi shifted from sitting to his knees and laid you back against the pillows before removing your top, dropping it to the floor and cupping your chest over your bralette. He kissed down your chest, pushing your bralette up and taking one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it before kissing down your stomach, moving your legs over his shoulders as he drew level with your cunt. 

“Will you let me fuck you without a condom?” he asked suddenly. You reached down, brushing his hair back. “One step at a time,” you said. “Make me cum with your mouth and then we’ll discuss condoms afterwards. Sound good?” you asked. Mingi nodded. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You nodded, leaning back against the pillows. “Don’t worry about rushing,” you reminded him.

“We have all night.”

©️ kwanisms 2024 | all works on this blog are protected under copyright. Do not repost, continue, or translate my works. All graphics made by me.

[bee-wg]

Year 3:

Now that I think about it, football has been a constant in my life for five years now. I’m not sure if I enjoy football anymore; it used to be about the fun we have passing the ball, now it’s all about the stats or the perfect form. 

I stood up from the bleachers to hand Brad his towel.

“I’m going to leave the team, Brad,” I said.

“What? Where did this come from?” He said frantically.

“Everyone knows I’m still on the team because you’re the team’s captain now,” I said.

“I don’t want to cause tension between you and Coach. There’s nothing I could do wobbling around the field anyway,” I added.

“Dude, you know I started playing football because of you, right?” Brad said.

“Bradley, relax. I’m not dead. You can come over to my house whenever you want.” I said.

“Theo can make you some lemon pudding cakes if you want to come,” hopefully this will calm him.

“Fine. Just so you know, I’m not happy about this,” he said, sounding like a brat.

“Okay, got it. Have fun at the party,” I chuckled.

“I won’t. I’m going to make the DJ play Lana Del Rey,” he said before entering the locker room.

There might be an oversight of me quitting football.

It’s literally the reason why I quit. I don’t know why it never crossed my mind.

How the fuck am I going to lose weight now?

“Maybe I would’ve thought it if the word, “exercise” was anywhere on my to-do list this past year,” the voice from the back of my head said.

Shut up, rational thought. I was just a little too cocky, that’s all.

My mind spins around the paths I could take to shed the fat.

Back to the gym for the bodybuilders to laugh at me jiggling like a puddle of slime on the treadmill.

No. Hard no.

Stop eating whatever Theo puts in front of my face.

Productive, but I’d rather die than miss out on the joy of the world.

Post my weight loss journey edits on social media, reminiscing on my rock-hard abs like a depressed, fat person.

No? No, actually it might just work.

My thumbs got to work. It took me an hour to choose a profile picture that represents me. I could go for a vacation photo by the beach, or the classic black and white moody gym pic. Except, I don’t have a picture of myself on my phone, so I chose the picture of an orange cat eating a banana.

With my camera set up, in my favourite green tank top. I pressed record.

It was an embarrassing experience editing myself, watching my belly sway every time I made a movement. In the end, I closed my eyes and uploaded the video.

“Oh! First comment already.” I said.

“Look at those milkers spilling out the tanks!”

3. Post my weight loss journey edits on social media, reminiscing on my rock-hard abs like a depressed, fat person.

The following weeks consisted of me eating my feelings. At least half of my classes are online this semester. I can be embarrassed in peace.

The pounds kept creeping up with each spoon of ice cream down my throat. In the blink of an eye, I am dangerously close to 300 pounds.

I finally worked up the courage to ask during a normal family dinner.

“Honey, what happened? You’re not eating as fast as usual. Is Theo not cooking enough?” Mom asked.

“No, Mom, I just…I just hope you guys can ease up with your little cooking competitions.”

“Oh honey, you know Theo and I will stop with the food whenever you ask.” Mom tries to reassure me.

“No! Obviously don’t stop the food. It’s just that I’ve been blowing up like a pig and I don’t know what to do about it.” I said.

“I didn’t know you were sad about it. I just want my family to be happy, you look the happiest when you eat,” Mom said

“It wouldn’t have helped when you guys lost for the past two years,” Mom added.

“Well, Dad likes to eat better, and no one eats like him,” I replied. 

“I’m sure my cooking was the reason we won. David is a gym teacher, he walks off the food easily,” Mom said.

“Theo is a professional though, no offence but no one on the planet cooks like him. I’m sure football was the reason we lost,” I said, trying to talk some sense into her.

Theo stares at us with wide eyes.

“Jacob, I’m sure you didn’t mean it,” Mom said with a blank face.

“You know what? Keep doing your competition, this time again next year we’ll see who’s the winner,” I said.

I am clearly a failure at losing weight. The only thing I’m good at is eating. If I’m going to gain weight anyway, I’m going to go all out and win this shit once and for all. Once this is settled, I can get back to normal. Not wanting to disappoint Theo when we lose again was probably the thing holding me back. I can’t wait to eat all the delicious things Theo is- I can’t wait for this to be over.

“Alright, Jay,” she turned to Theo and said.

“Theo, my boy. I’m looking forward to seeing the results next year,” Mom said with a determined smile.

Everyone knows not to mess with Mom when she has that look. Even then, I feel like we could still win. Theo’s food is hypnotic already when I am restrained; imagine what it will do to me when I’m going all out.

“What’s going on again?” Dad asked with cheeks full of pasta.

“Don’t worry baby, you just need to eat a little more next year,” Mom answered.

“Okay, as long as I get my lasagnas,” Dad said.

Later at night, struggling to sleep, I contemplated on the bad decisions I’ve made. This one might take the crown to be the stupidest thing I’ve done. Yet, I don’t regret it.

“You didn’t have to stand up for me,” Theo said.

“It’s the least I can do when you wake up early to prep for my food, or go off on the weekends for groceries when you could’ve been doing anything else,” I explained.

“Thank you so much, Jay. You don’t know how much this means to me. My family wanted me to do anything other than cooking, but you guys have been nothing but supportive,” he said.

I smiled at the ceiling. The gremlin is nicer than I remember.

“Now, I won’t allow you to slack anymore with the amount you’re eating. Not until the competition ends.”

Huh?

Theo had stuck to his word and increased the amount he was cooking. I am now eating the amount of three people in each spread-out meal, still lacking behind Dad’s impressive five person’s amount per meal. So I have been playing catch up with him this entire month.

I realized quickly that I had underestimated the gap between Dad and my appetite. In the last few years, for the most part, I have been eating whatever I want, leaving the rest to Dad. With the exception of eating for the team once a week, I have been slacking. That was quite a hard pill to swallow. I’m 300 pounds, yet not doing a good job as a fatass. How is that possible?

So far I have gained about 23 pounds in the past two months. Normally, I would freak out and have a breakdown in bed because I’ve gained more than my freshman year in two months. Right now with my messed up head, all I can think about is how far I am behind. If we lose this again, it would be once and for all, and I would never let myself live this down. Theo deserves better with how good he’s been treating me.

With my new bulk, the stairs have been an increasing challenge. So, a few weeks ago I moved downstairs to a tiny guest room that was converted to a storage room.

The moment I moved down, I could hear Theo’s voice yelling, “Yes, Finally! Goodbye insomnia,” In my old bedroom. Before, I would’ve yelled for the brat to shut up. Now, with my stomach full. I just wanted a nap in peace.

It took me no time to adjust to the new arrangement. With more time home from all the online classes, I get to be as lazy as I want. Dad has a similar arrangement at home. He retired from being a high school gym teacher and football coach, now he tutors history at home. He also abandoned his hobby of brewing in order to laze on the sofa all day.

On weekdays, Theo would leave an abundance of food for me to consume with a list of how I should eat them to expand my capacity. The weekends are like heaven. From the moment I woke up, Theo would prepare delicious appetizers and pancakes for me. From then on, I would have a constant stream of food flowing into my mouth every thirty minutes. Sometimes, I would move my hands and my mouth would start to chew unconsciously. Alarming, but helpful. 

My belly started to expand outwards on my lap each day as I sat in front of the computer. The arm rest would feel more snug when I move around.

I have now discovered the perks of being a fatass. I can explore things I never had time to do, like the anime Brad has been begging me to watch, games I always wanted to play. Best of all is to experience all of these without moving an inch. These are the things I would definitely look back on with fondness when the competition ends.

***

Today is my rare outing of the month; the bus is late again but I don’t blame them this time. The downpour of rain is gathering at the clogged sewer, creating a puddle. People are supposed to grow out of stepping in puddles when they’re kids. These undeveloped assholes apparently didn’t. Several cars saw the puddle and decided to splash it straight to my face.

It’s fine. It’s all fine. I will feel better later.

I walked a small trail after getting off the bus.

Great. The angels decide to stop peeing from the heavens when I’m about to get inside.

Dad is buying a new SUV, maybe I can drive it next time. It’s too big to sneak off though.

I thought as I skipped through the stone pathway. The usual grass is covered by the water, creating a small pond.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” I said to the door cam.

After pressing the doorbell several times, it replied.

"안녕, fuck boy. Back so soon?" Number Seven said.

“Yeah, yeah. Just open the damn door,” I said, trying to hurry the fucker.

Number Seven’s face appears in front of me.

“You’re soaked! Come on in,” he said.

His house appears to be orderly. Clean. He must’ve had another fatass here not long ago.

“Woah, you look—Wait, let me guess. Another fifteen pounds since last time?” He asked.

“Come on, let’s cut to the chase. I really need it right now,” I urged.

“Hahaha, not even a shower. Desperate much?” He said.

I walked inside his bedroom, dimmed the lights and took off my shirt.

He walked towards me. Grabbing me by the belly hang in one hand, he pulls down my underwear, causing my ass to vibrate.

“Fuuuuck, can you take it out first?” I asked, trying not to moan.

“Sure, you think you’re ready for me today?” He asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” I answered. 

He slid his hand behind, right down my ass crack and slowly pulled the vibrator off. I applied it before leaving home, without accounting for the possibility of the bus delay.

“Mmmmph, fuck,” I groaned.

I’ve been training towards today for a while. In the beginning, I would come to his house and he would suck me off. If I’m feeling experimental, I would suck him off. It stayed like that for about a year and he never complained. Then I asked him for more. He would start fucking me between my moobs or between my ass but never enter. One day, I told him I was ready for him to start fucking me.

Big mistake.

He’s a manwhore for a reason. I didn’t think an 8-inch would be so hard to take. How the girls and twinks take them in porn is beyond me. It was painful when he entered, even when he said he had “loosened my hole” with his fingers. I shouldn’t have believed him, the fucking thing was massive.

After the incident, he gave me small dildos and vibrators to get used to it. We eventually worked our way up the scale until the one he’s holding now. Why did I do all this work to have a men’s dick in my ass? Who knows. I have already accepted that I’ve lost it.

He sucked on my nipple suddenly. The sensation took me by surprise.

“Dude, some warnings please,” I asked.

“Yeah, sorry. Those tits are just so plumped. Your nipples have grown larger than my thumbs now,” he said, about to continue.

“OKAY, I get it. Can you get to work now?” I asked.

My boobs are what everyone thinks about when they see me these days. I’m sick of it.

“Hahahaha, can’t wait to be fucked, my pig?” He said before pushing me down the mattress.

I held my belly to stop it from jiggling. 

He raised one of my legs and opened the bottle of lube with his teeth.

“There’s something by the pillow. Put it in your mouth. It will distract you and dull the initial pain,” Number Seven instructed.

I reached out to grab a—frosted pound cake?

I’ve never seen people doing this in porn, but I’m smart enough to know not everything in porn is real. 

With my mouth full of cake, I spread out my legs, trying to relax so I don’t end up like last time.

He pushed two fingers in, slowly massaging me, then three fingers to stretch my hole. When the frosting melted in my mouth and I finished the chunk of the cake, he signalled me that he was done.

Another piece of the pound cake fills my mouth when he aligns his cock to my hole. He was right, I was fully consumed by the sweetness to notice any discomfort. I quickly swallowed the cake so he could proceed. 

It was unbearably slow as he entered. I don’t understand what all the fuss is about with people bottoming.

He kept asking for reassurance. At this point I just want him to st—

“A-ahhhh oh shiiit!” I moaned.

“Fuuuuuck, what the hell was that?” I screamed.

I must have been too loud and spooked him.

“Are you alright? Sh-should I call an ambulance?” He asked.

“No! Don’t stop, please,” I begged

“Okay, just so you know, I’m not all the way in,” He said.

How? This is already longer than any toys I’ve put in there.

“Gnghhhhh~” I moaned as he thrusts all the way to the bottom.

He kept a steady pace all the way in then almost all the way out, leaving me feeling empty.

“Hurry! Faster,” I asked, almost in tears.

He looked at me with a devious smile and thrust right into the spot.

“Mphn- Yes! Keep going,” I urged.

Every small movement rubbing my G-spot feels like masturbating for hours without release.

He thrusts quicker with more force, causing my belly and moobs to shake violently. 

I try to stabilize my belly with my hand before trying to reach my throbbing cock.

“Help, I-aghh fuck, I need to touch my dick,” I asked.

“Let go of your belly, fat boy. Or I’ll stop,” He said.

Immediately, my belly returned to wobble violently.

“I can’t believe you turned into such a pathetic horny mess in such a short time,” He said.

”Come on, Seven. I just need you to hit that spot. Please, I’ll do anything!” I begged.

He keeps deliberately missing it. I need to be fucked there!

“Keep your hands on your nipples,” he ordered.

The over-sensitive nipples drive my weeping cock into a frenzy.

Fuck, I need to touch my cock right now. If only my fucking belly is not on the way.

“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you were the kind of jock to gain a beer belly in college, and not get fat until you turn thirty,” he said, before ramming straight into my prostate.

“Fuuuuck yeahhh,” I said unintelligently. 

“You are much more of a pig than I realized,” he said, thrusting straight into it again.

“Helll yeahhh,” I said, trying to rob my ass to his dick.

“How do you feel seeing your bubble butt balloons four times the original size?” He asked, followed by another thrust. 

“I fucking love it! I love how it wobbles around whenever I walk!” I said, moving my jiggling ass back to his dick again.

“How do you feel seeing your abs growing before your eyes, knowing you could stop it if you just stop eating?”Another thrust.

“I can’t help it! I love eating too much!” Maybe I am meant to be a fat ass.

“Right answer. Now you’ll get your reward,” he said and sped up, hitting the spot perfectly every time.

I imagine his face to be someone else, someone far from my league.

My cock rubbed against my sensitive underbelly, and I shot out jets of cum for what felt like forever.

As white clouded my vision, a euphoric relief spread over my body, melting me into the mattress.

“You passing out again, fuck boy?” Seven asked.

“No, just enjoying the bliss. I can’t believe so many men in the world are missing out on this,” My hole already feels empty. How am I going to go back from this?

“Aww man, I’m all sticky and shit,” I examined my body, cum shots and rain definitely don’t mix well together. Some of them even got between the fat folds. I swipe my finger in between the fat. “Oof, I stink too.”

Seven looked at me and signed. “You’re somehow still a stupid jock inside.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

“I got you the fast food you asked for,” he said.

“Yes!” I rushed to the kitchen.

Ignoring his stupid laugh, I microwaved the burger and fries.

The breeze of the air conditioning reminds me of something.

“Shit, I ran out here naked.”

When I ran back, he had already put my clothes in the dryer, and I got into the shower.

When I got out, Seven brought me an old shirt I left here. It fits me like a glove with half my belly exposed. He stopped laughing when I was about to throw myself on him, then brought out a shirt with the Flash’s symbol on. Probably from another fat ass he fucks. The shirt still looks painted on, revealing the shape of my nipple and the dent of my belly button. At least he’s driving me home.

***

Staying at home has been a life-altering experience. 

The only time I ever move is going out of the bed to the desk, or to the bathroom. All I have to do is sit back, relax, and eat some fried food. 

With more time with myself. I’ve realized how much I dislike all the people in school that only approached me because I was one of the football jocks. I could’ve been anyone. Now, I am me. Not a worry about whether or not I’m muscular enough like other jocks, just a bigger Jay.

Sitting beside me, Dad scratched his belly and released a belch without a care in the world. He has adapted to fat guy mannerisms quickly. I’m catching up too. Today is movie night, usually we have pizzas and beers. We started this when the football season came, he asked to skip it. It was the first time we’ve skipped watching a Super Bowl season. I guess I’m not the only one losing interest in the sport. We decided to watch the Lin-Manuel Miranda Monkey movie instead.

Being on the couch with Dad made me realize I was getting closer to my goal. I can’t wait to see the results.

***

“Hell yeah, my man, you can do it!” Brad said, slapping my shoulder.

“What are you doing here?” I asked

“You said I can come in whenever I like,” he replied.

He’s been breaking into my house for no reason, just to stay on the second floor the entire time doing god knows what.

“I’ve brought some beef jerky here to celebrate,” Brad said.  

The scale has been set up, we’re only waiting on Mom. They’re doing some last minute catch up; mom is using a funnel to pour some milkshake in him. I am not concerned though, sticking to Theo’s strict diet every day has not been easy. I have to eat until my stomach is fully bloated. Every morning, I watch my belly deflate a little less, every evening, it bloats even further. 

“Don’t worry, Jay. We’ve got this,” Theo assured me.

“By the way, what are we doing again?” Brad asked.

Dad came out, looking absolutely massive. With Mom on his side, he stepped on the scale.

The numbers keep going up and don't seem to be stopping.

300-350-392-400-443

Holy shit, Dad gained a hundred and forty pounds this year. 

With more uncertainty, I took my step on the scale.

“Woo-Hoo, Jay man, you got this!” Brad shouted quietly.

I try to look under to see the number, but my belly is too big for me to see the scale.

Theo stepped closer and read. 

“Four Hundred and fifty yes!” Theo cheered.

“I won? Yes, finally!” I said and did a little jump.

The scale made a “Pop” noise.

“Oh! Sorry, Mom. I know this is really expensive.”

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We need to upgrade anyway,” Mom said, then she walked towards Theo.

“Congratulations Theo, you made me pull out every trick in my book. It’s so nice seeing you improve so much in front of my eyes, in terms, you pushed me to improve too,” Mom said, then hugged Theo.

“I can’t believe my boy is bigger than me now. Excellent work, Jay!” Dad said and hugged me, too.

Last time I was bigger than Dad I had sculpted abs, the body I dreamed of. This time, I’m almost three times the size as I was, fully covered with fat. Yet, I feel less empty inside.

“Thank you Dad,” I said, hugging him back. 

After all this time, I finally have a body I like being in. The belly doesn't look so wrong on me anymore.

Chapter 4 ->

[kinda-super-hot]

I Want More. (1)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Pairing: Harvey Specter x F!Lawyer!Reader - friends to enemies to lovers <3

Summary: This will be a series! Part 1: (Y/n) and Harvey were 'together' during their time at Harvard, but Harvey couldn't commit to an actual relationship. They 'break-up', or whatever you do to end a situationship, and split on bad terms. Years later, after they become successful lawyers, their paths collide once again when (Y/n) takes a job at Pearson Hardman.

Warnings: commitment issues, angst, arguing - I think that's it but if you noticed something I missed, please let me know.

Word Count: 1784

A/N: I haven't written in a WHILE. Please, please, please constructive criticism. Also, there's, like, no Harvey fanfics. I think I read literally all of them soooooo... that's why there's this thing. Anyways, lemme know if you're interested in part 2 (I already started writing lol).

Harvey and I didn’t used to be so distant. Once upon a time, while we were both attending Harvard, I was the person he went to practice flash cards to study for the bar. While I sat against my bed frame asking him questions off the cards, he’d lay on his stomach with his feet in the air. Seeing as we were both quick witted, we’d often get distracted and end with a battle of lighthearted jabs.

               And likewise, he was there for me when I had been stood up on a date with some frat boy. He ordered in some Chinese food and pulled a big tub of ice-cream out of my freezer. We sat on my goodwill couch picking apart the guy and making up some dumb unfathomable story as to why he hadn’t texted.

               “I can’t wait to hear the headline in the morning: Duke, whatever the hell his last name was, found having been thrown from his car in a head on collision right into a semi-truck loaded with rubber ducks.” He did a news reporter voice that didn’t sound far off from how he normally talked. “Luckily, the ducks cushioned his fall, so he only suffered having lost his phone and missing out on the opportunity of a lifetime with the (Y/N) (L/N).” I repress my giggle but can’t stop the goofy smile on my face. “What a loss.”

               “I mean,” I spoon more ice-cream into my mouth, “Who would name their son Duke? You can tell they wanted a dog.” He nodded along to that and all the other ridiculous things we talked about that night.

               But some friendships don’t last forever. Especially, when you want more.

               We grew closer and had fleeting kisses often. Some borderline dates, but never anything serious. Never anything real. Not to him.

               “Harv.” I called his name from the couch after I heard the door to his apartment open and close. He walked through the door with a smile on his face. “How was your day?” I asked, but I already knew the answer just by looking at his face. He had a mock trial set that day and absolutely crushed it. He was assigned the husband’s attorney and was in charge of making sure that the wife got the minimum of what she was entitled to without having signed a prenup.

               After he boasted about his triumph, I applauded him. But he wasn’t finished running his big mouth. And his next, one little comment, threw our relationship through a loop. “One of the stupidest things a person can do is get married.” He smirked as he took of his jacket and started on his tie.

               I froze in my place on the couch. He continued getting comfortable and taking off his restricting clothes with his back facing me. My throat was tight, but I persevered, I had to make sure that I had heard him right. “You think marriage is stupid?”

               I eyed his back feeling distraught. Every fiber in my being hoped and pleaded that he was joking, but my gut knew better. Moreso, it knew Harvey better.

               “Marriage, in my eyes, is an irrational vulnerability. There’s no point other than, I don’t know, taxes?” He rambles on with his back still facing me. My heart clenches. “And even then, it’s not worth it. Divorce can ruin everything. A man, his family, hell, it can run an entire business into the ground.”

               My head was throbbing, and I couldn’t help the hot tears that brim my eyes. “Huh.” I acknowledge. My voice feels raw already from holding back letting out any noises. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

               My voice must have given me away because Harvey flicks his head over his shoulder to spare me a glance before double taking. His eyes widen and his body tenses. He turned his body to me and takes a step in my direction before stopping in his tracks. A tear falls down my cheek and I feel burning hot embarrassment in my chest.

               “Honey…” He gently grabs me by my biceps and looks into my eyes. “What’s wrong.” His voice is smooth as he caresses my cheek and pulls my face into his chest. I let out a choked cry and he rocks me back and forth for a few moments.

               I feel ridiculous. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I can tell I’m not being convincing when Harvey pulls my face from his chest and gives that knowing look before putting it right back where it belongs.

               I had no idea what to say. How do you tell your kind-of-but-not-really-boyfriend that you had already planned what the centerpieces at your wedding would look like? That this was it. This was everything you wanted. He was everything you wanted.

               “Even if it was me?” I blurted it out before I could really think about what I was saying. He looked confused for a second but then his face went stern.

               “Y/N.” All of a sudden, his delicate touch is a little heavier. “We’re not even-…” He cuts himself off and looks to the corner of the room. My mouth opened as I processed what he was too scared to say.    

               “You don’t want me.” My expression turned icy and I looked down. He let out a frustrated noise and pulled away from me. Though, I felt empty before he could even begin to move from my embrace.

               “That’s not it.” His brows were furrowed, and he wouldn’t look at me. That’s exactly it. I read his face and could feel he was holding something back. I was at a loss for words. I removed my body from the bed and let out an emotional scoff.

               I speedily walked into the bathroom, trying to make a plan. Any plan that won’t leave me anymore heartbroken than I already was.

Leave.

               It was my only option. I eyed the unused, small garbage bag next to the toilet and ripped it from its basket. “Y’know,” I suddenly felt his presence behind me. “I know you’re studying to be a lawyer and their whole schtick is lying and-” I started tossing my deodorant and face wash and every other thing I bought for his place into the bag. “-and withholding the truth.” I ranted in a demeaning voice. “But I didn’t think you would do that to me-”

               “What the hell are you talking about?” His voice was raised and his hands were out to his side in an exasperated way. “I didn’t lie!” I didn’t stop tossing things in, in fact I’d finished my bathroom segment and moved on to his closet.

               “You’re right- you didn’t lie, you just kissed me, went on dates, and cuddled me! But, oh no, you’re right. We’re not anything.” I growled as I tossed my spare shirts and pants from his closet onto the bed before stuffing them in my already bulging, see-through bag.

               He didn’t yell, but he did have an icy tone when saying, “It’s not my fault if you convinced yourself there was something here when there wasn’t.” I stopped trying to make everything fit into the bag. The next few seconds were silent as I let his words sink in. My heart had to have gotten heavier because it felt like it was in my gut. Either that, or I was about to vomit.

               All I could think was ‘get out’. I couldn’t look at him, fuck, my heart hurts so bad. I tie off the bag and walked from his bedroom into the living room and finally, slam his front door. I couldn’t help but stop outside of it to try and listen for footsteps… but I heard none.

               So, I left. For the next few days, I spent my hours crying, sleeping, crying again and completely and utterly alone.

               I hardly saw Harvey again whilst I was at Harvard, thank God we were in different law classes. Of course, with an ego as big as his, it was impossible not to at least hear about him every once and a while. During graduation, I grimaced knowing that he was a few feet away with that million-dollar smile on his face. Never the matter, I put a smile on my face too and high-tailed it when the picture was over.

I moved back to the city I was born and raised, not too far from New York. I practiced as an associate for a while, but quickly climbed the ranks and made Junior Partner at the firm. I had mind blowing reviews and an amazing success rate that assured a job offer at whatever firm would have me. In fact, I worked so hard at my firm, that I reached the capacity of what they could pay me as a Junior Partner. I could either become Senior Partner or go somewhere else if I wanted to continue to grow my paycheck.

               And if I learned anything from Harvey Douchebag Specter, it’s that I should never settle. I set my eyes on the most successful firm in New York: Pearson Hardman. One over the phone interview and a quick glance at my numerous 5-star reviews, recommendations, and success rate-and I was welcomed to the Pearson Hardman family.

I rented an apartment not too far from the firm and began unpacking the few things I had. After paying off my student debt, I went on a spending spree, and I wound up with more than I could manage. After being knees deep in Dior, I had to offload some stuff. I packed everything I couldn’t part with and donated everything else to be distributed to a few women’s shelter. They couldn’t contain their excitement and now I’m a part of the state-wide organization. Funny enough how those things happen!

Either way, it was a fresh start, through and through. I had the bare necessities, and I was content. A shopping spree for some Ikea furniture was calling my name, though. The apartment was a literal husk up and would remain that way until I could find the time to go shopping.

Being in the city where I studied law and had some of the toughest years of my life made me emotional, but in the best way. Now I’m back, and at least 3 times as kick-ass as before.

Of course, since Harvard, I’d heard a comment or two about Harvey and what he’s been up to, but I tended to butt my head out, far away from his business. I’m sure he’s somewhere still in New York, I mean, he loved this city- but New York’s huge! There’s no way I’ll be seeing him anytime soon.

[bad-and-drawn-that-way]

Let me just say, I absolutely adore your writing so much!! Your More Than Anything series with Vox is honestly one of, if not my favorite Vox series!!!❤💙 I was wondering if you could do a kind of silly, fluffy imagine with Vox where they're in their early stages of flirting/crushing and the reader avoids the topic of kissing... because they think Vox isn't able to kiss with his screen? Literally before episode 8, the question in my mind was "Can the dorky TV man kiss?" And then we got confirmation he most DEFINITELY could 🤣 I just think it'd be so cute and funny for that to be something the reader was wondering as well but wasn't sure how to ask him about it without being weird lol

Oh my goodness, such high praise aaaa! I actually have a scene in my Ao3 fic based on the same concept! I'd be happy to write some awkward smoochums! This guy is such a fucking dork and I love him.

Assumptions [Vox x Reader Fluff]

You and Vox had been dating for a month and the overlord was on the verge of insanity. He knew that Valentino had much more intense needs when it came to physical affection than most, but he wasn't expecting such a drastic shift in needs when it came to you.

He knew that being in a real relationship was very different from what he'd experienced before with his fellow overlord. But he thought the two of you would have done something by now. Not even necessarily sex. (Although he'd definitely been fantasizing about that more than he cared to admit.)

The two of you had cuddled, slept in the same bed, and even h*ld h*nds, but you hadn't kissed yet and it wasn't for his lack of trying. He'd invited you on romantic dates and set up several perfect opportunities. But whenever he'd try to go for it, you'd always pull away before he had the chance.

He didn't understand. The two of you had been doing so well. You always seemed to be swept up in the little heated moments just as much as he was, so why?!

Vox had been completely distracted during his entire news segment and groaned as slipped into his secluded dressing room. If it wasn't for the fact that he caught sight of you in his mirror, he probably would have flipped out when he felt your arms slip around him from behind.

"What are you doing here?" he chuckled as he lifted a hand to rest on one of your arms.

"I missed you," you smile, squeezing him gently before letting go. "And I saw that..." you cringe. "Performance. You seemed off. Is something on your mind?"

Vox's eyes widened and he cursed himself mentally for putting on a subpar show in front of the camera. If you noticed, then the audience probably did as well. No one really gave half a fuck about the news, but ratings were ratings.

"It's nothing," Vox muttered. "It's just..."

He looks up at you with an unreadable expression and you gasp as he reaches up and gently takes hold of your chin. His brow furrows as he tucks your hair behind your ear and your heart races a million miles per second as he searches your blushing face for something. His eyes flick down to your lips and he slowly starts to lean, only for you to suddenly push him away.

"A-Anyways I just wanted to check in on you and see if we were still on for a movie tonight," you stammered.

Vox froze, not listening to your ramblings as he processed your deflection. He felt a sharp, cold sting of rejection in his chest and wondered if maybe you weren't as interested in the relationship as he hoped. His heart started to break, but then he noticed the way you were blushing.

"Why?" He asked quietly.

"Well, I just thought maybe you wanted to-"

"No," Vox grit his teeth as he grabbed you by the shoulders. "Why the fuck won't you kiss me? Every time I try, you pull away. We're dating, so why?"

You blinked up at him owlishly, your jaw hanging open before you grabbed his arms and breathed, "You can kiss?!"

Vox's brow furrowed as he looked you over, "Wh- The fuck are you on about? Yes, I can fucking kiss! I've been trying to kiss you for the past three goddamn weeks!"

You gasped before burying your face in your hands and groaning. "Oh my god, I thought... There were a couple times that I wondered, but this whole time I didn't think you could and I didn't want to be weird and..."

Vox stood taller as he processed your words. You didn't hate him. You weren't repulsed by him. You were just...

He burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as he absolutely lost it. "O-Oh my god! You're such a fucking idiot!"

Your face was burning with embarrassment. You knew he wasn't being malicious, but you were still mortified at the misunderstanding. "Oh shut up! It's not my fault you're a flat-faced fucker!"

You were about to go bury your shame into the couch, fully expecting him to hold this against you for the rest of the day, but you were barely able to take two steps before Vox intervened.

You let out a startled yelp as you felt his claws wrap around your arm and yank you back. In the split second it took you to blink, he'd trapped you against a wall. You flinched as his hands slammed against either side of your head, trapping you as he grinned down at you.

"You are so fucking stupid," he snickered.

Your face only grew warmer as your heart pounded with mixed anger, embarrassment, and something else entirely due to the position he had you in. His hand traces lightly over your cheek before cupping the side of your face as he looks at you with the softest expression you'd ever seen from him.

You gasp as he leans down and presses his lips against yours. Your entire body feels like tiny fireworks are dancing lightly over your skin. You shiver as your hands instinctively reach up to grasp at his vest when he pulls you close.

You're both breathing much harder than is necessary when he pulls away. For a moment you just look at each other with half-lidded gazes as you process the sparks that just metaphorically and literally flew. You were pretty sure a bulb went out due to the little bits of blue energy that sparked off of your boyfriend during the kiss.

Speaking of your dork, Vox breathlessly grinned as he squeezed your arms. He let out a small laugh before stepping away from you and turning as more little sparks flew.

"Fucking finallyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!" Vox yelled as he pumped his arms in the air and kicked his legs like a giddy child.

[waffledforbreakfast]

Eyes On Me - [MUTI! BLLK X F!READER]

Staring: Rin, Shidou, Sae, Niko, Kaiser, Ness, Otoya, Karasu, Reo

[ BLLK Scenario Masterlist ]

TW: heavy ooc, bad grammar, bad spelling, bad formatting, etc.

Bllk if you watch their game

>Rin

Made a habit of scanning the crowd for you face before you even attended his first game. He was so shocked and excited when he saw you.

Couldn’t stop smiling to himself, but had to pull himself together in front of his teammates

Looked up at you after every goal, or whenever he could, really

Ran up to you immediately after the game with a hug, you couldn’t breathe. He still smelled like crap too

Ignored any/all questions from his teammates

Asked you if you were proud of him and if you were watching

“I looked cool right? You think I’m cool right? Definitely better than Sae.”

You guys went out for food afterwards, but you had to remind him to shower first.

>Shidou

Doesn’t usually look at the crowd so he didn’t notice you first

He managed to pinpoint your voice out of the crowd though, and that man SPUN around to see you

And see you he did, Shidou literally screamed “HII [Y/N] WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE??”

The looks everyone gave him 😭

He missed his first 2 shots because he tried to look cool for you

Once he started focusing he completely forgot about you ;v;

Tackled you into a hug after the game though, like, RIGHT after- he hopped though the stands

>Sae

He doesn’t really want you to watch his games for a few reasons (he thinks you’ll distract him, and he’s worried that his teammates are gonna hit on you.)

So he didn’t notice you til his teammates pointed it out 

“Yo Sae, look at that cute person over there, imma go ask for their number after the game”

He genuinely didn’t care at first

“Sae she kinda looks like the person in your wallpaper”

THE WAY HE WENT SO ALERT

His jaw drops and he just urgently mouths/signs to you, what are you doing here??!?

He refuses to acknowledge you during the game, but he glanced at you like 20 times already LOL

Calmly walked up to you AFTER he split up from the rest of the team

He’ll just stare at you “What are you doing here?”

“I came to watch you :D” 

“... Let me know next time.”

>Niko

Always imagined you watching, was shocked when you actually did

He actually played pretty calmly, but his ego got buffed LOL

Niko took more goals for himself to look cool :> 

His teammates got kinda mad at him, but he did NOT care XD

Kept looking at you to see your reaction to his plays

He was so proud of himself after the game, and was SO HAPPY to hear your praise

>Kaiser

He was probably too focused on warming up until Ness pointed you out

THE GRIN THIS MAN WORE, MF IS SMUGGG

Non-stop smiling

DEMANDED Ness to pass EVERY ball to him

Winked at you like every 2 minutes

Walked up to you afterwards, so very proud of himself. And he was expecting you to bury him in praise too

If you did praise Kaiser, his ego would get a MASSIVE boost. I’m not sure if it’s physically possible to be as smug as him

If you didn’t praise Kaiser, he’d just frown at you and wait.

>Ness

He wasn’t intentionally looking for you, but his eye spotted you IMMEDIATELY

He was so happy XD giggling, clapping, jumping, Ness was overjoyed 

He played normally for the most part, but he did pop off more than often

Looked at you with every move he made

Ran up to you after he showered and threw himself into your arms

Boy was a blushing mess when you complimented him  

Treated you out to food afterwards, he wants you at EVERY GAME now

>Otoya

He was lowkey pretty shocked when he saw you (he was scanning the crowd for cute chicks to hit on after)

Bro was SMILINGGG, he couldn’t help it LOL

Made bolder moves so that you’d watch him, kept looking at you after he scores

He’d do the same as Kaiser after the game: strut up to you and expect complements

Otoya would invite you to his next game too, fully expecting(hoping) you to show

>Karasu

When his teammates told he they saw you in the crowd, he thought they were kidding

He turned around anyway though-

Immediately smiled when he saw you

“This is exciting.”

Bro was hogging the spotlight, his teammates were so fed up with it LOL

Once they won, he cleaned himself up and went to go find you

“You never told me you were coming” (he’s not complaining though 🤭)

He’d treat you so well for the rest of the day, can’t stop smiling 

>Reo

He was SO EXCITED bro could NOT stop smiling 

It felt like he was performing so much better than usual, and may or may not have sacrificed Nagi’s goals for his own XD

Everytime he looked at you he looked so proud of himself, and hoped you thought the same

After the game, he speed-ran showing, Reo didn’t even dry his hair before looking to find you 

“Hey [Y/N], good to see you here” (he was smiling so much LOL)

Would bring you to dinner after :3  

[hanrinz]

COME BACK WE MISS YOU — wherein rin doesn't really like your cat at all, maybe..

+ rin itoshi x reader | fluffy short drabble | i just thought of this while eating, literally unrealistic writing here lmao. ooc but who cares. idk this was so rushed

rin doesn't think he minds when you're not around, it's not like he needs to spend all his time with you. but, what he really minds is when you haven't greeted him all day or seen your presence anywhere. and then he would see you in an alley on his way home, you're feeding a damn cat.

is this what's been taking all your time away from him all week? a stray cat? and you'll turn around from your crouch position and give him your radiant smile, ah there it is.

but that doesn't really change the fact he hasn't been able to have you all this time. and sure as hell that damn cat knows what it's doing, looking at him with smugness. he knows he didn't imagine it at all.

it was stupid, really. a cute fur stray against him a talented striker, and you chose that lukewarm animal.

and it's coming home with you? what? it's living in your house? hell. now he has to fight for his position? oh, he'll win this. he'll make your cute little cat know he doesn't back down from a challenge.

"rin, please stop giving death glares to our child,"

yeah, no. he tries to behave himself anyway. he only does it for you. if sees that cat laying on your lap he'll literally throw hands any minute.

you're pretty sure your boyfriend will love the cat you brought home and this is not what you expected from him. nevertheless, you're determined to make them get along with each other, note — more on your boyfriend's part.

and you just had the perfect idea.

fortunately, you had to leave for two days to visit your grandparents for the weekend. the perfect excuse to leave rin with your cat, and he can't refuse either. you had convinced reo and the other guys not to be free on those times, even telling them not to answer rin if he ever did. not that he'll do it, but it's better to be prepared.

and the day you'll be leaving has come, making a list for rin, the things he will be doing. he was listening intently, nodding and storing every bit of information in his brain.

"i'll be back on sunday evening, are you sure you'll be okay?" you asked, a little hesitant about this, but you really can't go back now.

"don't worry 'bout me, you should go now. don't make them wait for you too long."

"i'll call you!" you said as you kissed him goodbye boarding on the train to your hometown. your cat curling in his arms, purring like a farewell say on you, it had you smiling from how rin looks holding your cat.

"take care of our child!" you said a little too loud. you laughed, seeing rin's embarrassed face from your words and how some people have looked on your way.

god, why do you have to pertain to this little feline as your child. he's definitely gonna miss you.

on the way back to your apartment, he had stopped by the convenience store to buy cat food, browsing through the different kinds not really knowing which one you always buy. he had almost fish out his phone out his pocket to text you, but decided against it.

looking at your cat, lucky—yes, you named it lucky—he had contemplated as if the cat would talk and tell him which one it likes.

"the red one or the blue one?" he muttered to himself and it was stupid, but your cat grabbed the green one on the shelf giving him the answer he's been looking for. when did food get so expensive? he's ignoring the fact what just happened a minute ago.

paying for everything and heading back home, he did everything you had instructed him not a single left uncheck on your list, feeling a little proud of himself. taking a spot on your couch to read as he waits for your call.

your little cat climbing on his lap, turning as it lays down on him, leaning its head in his hands, urging him to pet it and he did. he thinks it was not so bad spending a whole weekend with your child in his hands.

"hey, did i wake you?" you asked from the other side of the call, trying to lower your voice as you see rin's messed up hair and your cat laying on his lap sound asleep, a book which seems to be haphazardly thrown on the side of the couch.

rin rubbed his eyes awake, looking through his screen as his lips quirk up a little. "are you coming home soon?" he muttered, his voice raspy.

you hum in response, as you secretly take a picture of him and lucky. a new addition to your gallery, smiling to your self.

"..we miss you,"

"we?" you laughed from this shocking revelation, well it looks like they got along pretty well.

"yeah," he confessed.

"i miss you too, rin," and you could only smile more.

i was hoping to post more this week, but i have something coming up this weekend so please take this small offering◝꒰ ´ ˘ '♡ ꒱

[goldustwomun]

will we talk? (j.p.)

pairing: bodyguard! james potter x baker! reader

summary: it was only meant to be a one night stand-- a pretty fucking amazing one night stand, but one night nevertheless. so when your dad informs you of a bounty on your head and beloved bakery, you expect just about anyone in the world but james to show up as your newly appointed bodyguard. he doesn’t even fit in with the decor!

warnings: allusions to sex (minors dni!!!), swearing, mentions of a sketchy job (drugs, arms, trafficking etc. u kno the drill w/ obscure mafia stuff), very very hot james xoxo

wc: 2.9k+

note: guess who’s back! (back back) back again! (again, again). anyway, hey :) i had random lines written for this for over a year & tbfh first yr of uni was great and then shit and then really shit so i had no desire to write, but i want to try!!! i really do!!! please, <3 comment & reblog <3 it means the world to me & literally every writer out there! excited for u all to read this :)

Some might say it’s obscene to be sat at a bar, three vodka cokes down, when it was only just past 7 o’clock. The sun still stared pointedly down outside the window, streets bustling with people only just starting their commute home. And sure, any other young adult might have used this opportunity to meet some friends, have a quiet night in, maybe text that one guy on Tinder they’d been putting off meeting– something, anything to fill the awkward lull in time that wouldn’t be too much of a regret the next day.

Some might say it’s obscene, but you like to think it’s just another Tuesday.

The problem with Tuesdays is that more often than not, Wednesdays tend to follow. And it was at noon on the dot that you’d have to make your forty-minute bus ride downtown (a mistake in itself when all anyone could smell was weed, piss and something else indistinguishably rancid), into the one office building that seemed to substantially out-tower the others like some sort of architectural pissing contest, only to sit in front of your Dad and his ever-overpowering bluntness.

And it’s not like you despised him with every molecule in your body– rather, a few molecules here and there. He loved you, that you were certain of, but owing anyone money, your own father especially, made relationships uncomfortable in a sticky, sweaty, clammy-hands kind-of-way. He had always been an immovable figure, suspiciously mafia-esque, even, but of course, you’d never dare broach the subject.

So, Dad, Pa, Father dearest– are the rumours true? Do you really run an underground boxing ring? Or is it arms? Drugs, maybe? As long as it’s not human trafficking, I’ll still love you!

Some things are better left untouched. If ignorance was bliss, you were determined to remain in whatever liminal state of unknowing you’d been in your entire life.

And while he kept to himself and you did to, the last Wednesday of every month, noon on the dot, was not to be messed with. You’d learned that the hard way when you’d missed one during a particularly harrowing cold. It’d been like a SWAT team smashing through your apartment windows when you’d forced her eyes open.

So instead, you gulped down another glass of scathing liquid, all but gagging near the end at the acidic taste of un-mixed liquor swirling around the bottom of your glass.

It was Tuesday, after all, and you hoped if you drank enough, there would be a chance you’d be able to zone out tomorrow– a sweet spot you’d yet to master (somewhere between mildly hungover but still coherent enough to please him).

“What is that– your fourth? Fifth?” A voice questioned alongside a scratch of the bar stool to your left. It was deep, curious, deliciously rough– enough so that your mouth quirked behind your glass, bracing yourself for the face attached to such an addictive timbre.

“Third, actually–” you turned, finally taking in the tousled, black hair, crooked nose with rounded glasses perched on top of them, “--have you been counting?”

He had a kind of all-consuming appearance. Dark yet boyish when you noticed how his smile leaned one way, and a slight chip in his front tooth. An athlete, maybe? You were going to thank whatever misguided angel, deity or God herself had brought him to you.

You didn’t make a habit out of chatting up posh-looking lads with egos that rivalled even that of Icarus and his melting wings, but maybe just this once you’d give in– actually take what’s being offered.

“Huh– dunno why you’re sounding so smug, love. Three drinks and it’s not even dinner time. Some might call that a problem.” Almost immediately that smile of his morphed into an all-knowing smirk, a teasing gleam swimming about in those swampy hazel eyes of his.

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “Who? Eighteen year olds having a taste of their first legal drink? Not sure three drinks add up to literal alcoholism, love,” you threw back, defensive, accompanied by that kind of uppity tone in your voice you despised hearing in others’.

His irrefutable bemusement only sharpened the knife poking away between your ribs. Your frown deepened, and so did his grin, but still, his hands flew up in mock-defence as if your words could bite back (and boy, did you wish they could).

“My bad, sweetheart, only teasing,” he assured, nodding at the bartender and then your now-empty drink. Another one, his practised movements seemed to say,

“Do you make a habit out of calling girls alcoholics and then buying them a drink?” you asked, curiosity taking over your irritation.

He shrugged and you couldn’t help but follow the movement, watching as his broad shoulders seemed to invade your space with such careless effort. “So far, just you. It’s something new I’m trying out. What do ya’ think, is it working?” Again with that boyish charm– some sort of arrogance and humility all at once.

Your head shook in an immediate no, but more so to hide the smile that had unwillingly crept onto your face. You knew, with the way things were going, that you’d give into just about anything the man offered (of which he’d not even hinted at yet, but you were just so mesmerised and maybe a little tipsy so you didn’t quite care enough to think of how desperate you may be coming off).

“‘M James, by the way,” he offered as a white flag, a surrender, if you will. You accepted by returning the formality and raising your new drink to his own– a half-empty glass of clear liquid and ice.

“What is that?” you motioned to the beverage in question, “like– 10 shots of straight vodka at once?”

He snorted, a little ugly yet somehow endearingly attractive. Fuck. “Even better, actually– water.”

“And is that new as well, to go with the accusations and drinks?”

“Oh, yeah– I’m really trying to commit to this new year, new me thing,” he bounced back effortlessly.

“It’s November,” you deadpanned, brow arched.

“So I’m either a month and a bit early, or eleven late,” he quipped. You were stunned by the easy rhythm of your back and forth, wondering in what world someone like him could exist– a paragon of a man or whatever the scholars called it. “And while that’d be a fun little story if it were the truth, ‘m actually starting a job tomorrow. Big one, as well. Figured some self-restraint was in order.”

And it was only then that you’d noticed just how little space there was between the both of you, having somehow drifted closer, closer, closer like galaxies hurtling towards each other.

You all but swallowed, staring at his drink held between you, a last barrier that seemed both momentous and insignificant. He’d got you caged in as well, an arm lazing on your backrest, near enough to feel the heat radiating from his skin, blood, maybe even his desire. And his legs, in a somewhat similar position, only a whisper away from knocking into your own.

You considered giving in right then and there, urging his mouth to yours, maybe leading him to the restroom in a grungy stall you wouldn’t otherwise go near on even your worst, most wasted nights.

“Self-restraint with the drinks only, right?” you questioned, tearing your gaze from his glass to his eyes, only to find them already fixated to you. His mouth was perched open, a glide of his tongue against his bottom lip, and the action draws you closer to that chip in his tooth you’d noticed earlier– the one that begged you closer. For inspection, a taste– whatever.

“Oh, but of course. It’s my undoing really, my Achilles Heel, my Hubris,” he seemed to murmur, his words a secret between the two of you. You felt bold then, a rush of heat pouring through your veins as your palm came to rest on the thigh closest to you.

His eyes flickered down for a moment, as if making sure it was real — that touch — before they returned to you. Waiting, watching, with bated breath.

“What is?” you asked, questioning if you’d missed a part of his sentence or if he really was striking you speechless and a little stupid with his words.

“Pretty girls with drinking problems,” and you couldn’t help the surprised laugh that burst from you. He grinned and it was pure majesty.

“Yeah?” you mumbled, inching forward.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, sealing his mouth to yours.

It was bright, too bright in his office– like the ceiling lamps worked part-time in interrogation rooms on the weekends. As much as you needed to be alert, comprehensive, at least mildly sober– it just wasn’t going to happen.

Last night had been something else entirely– the kind of mind-blowing fuck you could only ever dream about, when nights were lonely and the left side of the bed cold for too long. Your memory was somewhat hazy, tinged red with lipstick and lovebites and kicking the duvet out of the way to reach more skin. It was scathing yet sweet and a kind of ruination you welcomed with open arms.

But it also ended abruptly when your eyes flickered open the next morning (a few hours later, more like) and he was already gone. You knew it was for the best– you barely had time for yourself, your family and friends, let alone a stranger with a quick (and skilled, in many ways) tongue and wit.

So there you were, jarred by the empty feeling seeping into your bones. And the lights (had you mentioned the lights?).

“Now, how have things been going this past month?” your Father asked in that all-business, no-nonsense way of his. You think he knows you’re hungover but like all things in your relationship, the two of you choose to ignore it.

“There haven’t been as many customers as I would have liked. The school down the road has been half empty since most of everyone is on study leave, but I–”

“I didn’t ask for excuses, only how it’s going,” he interrupted swiftly. A stabbing pain seemed to appear at the base of your skull as you conjured the remaining energy inside of you to not roll your eyes at your own Father, as well as the man you quite literally owed thousands of pounds to.

“Of course, my bad,” you bit out, taking a deep breath before continuing. “The shop wasn’t as successful as previous months but I’ve got the money here anyway so I’ll still be on track.”

He nodded, accepting your answer and the envelope you placed on his otherwise scarce desk in front of him, before he slid the money, unchecked, into his top drawer.

You sighed, hurrying your words and rushing to gather your things and be out of that dreary office, “Well, if that’s all, I’ve got some errands to run and–”

“--Actually, there’s more I need to discuss with you.” For the second time that day, he cut you off and you fell, defeated, back into the cold leather of the chair. You tilted your head in some sort of half-nod that said, go on.

With his hands clasped in front of him, a stern front if there ever was one, he continued. “As you know, my work is complicated–” (you frowned) “--complicated and expensive. And when one is dealing with the amount of money this company makes, things can get… messy.”

To say you were confused would be an understatement. An actual conversation, albeit clouded with obscurity, about his job? “And when things are messy, one tends to make enemies.”

You couldn’t help how your frown deepened, but you held back any concerns before they could make their way past the tip of your tongue. Your Dad wasn’t one to be interrupted, even if he was particularly talented at doing it to others.

“Essentially, there’s someone who’s not very happy with me–” your mouth opens finally to prod at his statement but he continues anyway, “--and despite every precaution I have taken in order to keep you safe and separate from my work, it’s unfortunately backfired this time around. And so, for your safety, I’ve hired a bodyguard to watch over you for at least the next few months.”

He finished and then there was a resolute silence hanging over you as you took in his words.

You couldn’t help it– you burst out laughing.

“Dad, you’re not– I mean–” the sentence barely made its way out of your mouth before you were overcome with a fit of nervous giggles once more. This is absurd. “You’re not being serious, you can’t be. Right?”

Silence.

Oh.

So that’s when the panic set in, your fingers clutching the armrest on either side of you until your knuckles were white. “Holy fucking–”

“Language,” he scolded with no particular bite and you couldn’t help but scoff,

“Language? Seriously, language. That’s all you have to say. You’ve just told me there’s some kind of bounty on my head and that I need a bodyguard– like, a person to follow me around, twenty four-seven, and carrying a gun or some shit– but all you can think to say to me is fucking language?!�� Your breath came out in quick pants, jumping to your feet as you paced the office.

This must be a joke, you thought incredulously. You can’t have some stranger following you around. You had a business to run, croissants to sell, debt to pay off! Who could possibly–

And somehow it got worse.

He walked in and the two of your gazes connecting immediately, like magnets (though this time in a completely different context with your own Father as a member of the audience). You could see, from your place by the window, how his irises grew imperceptibly wider for barely a second as the recognition set in.

“No. No, no, no,” you blurted out immediately, mouth still wide from shock and suddenly you questioned whether your rapid heartbeat was a surprise or something close to a heart attack. Oddly, you’d have preferred the latter.

“Sweetheart,” he had pulled out the big guns now, “this is James Potter.”

“Dad—” you tried and failed to interrupt.

“Don’t worry about the logistics, I’ve sorted it all out. I’ve already rented the apartment next to yours so that he’s nearby at all times. He’ll need to be hired as an employee at your bakery– you know, for appearances sake— but don’t worry about the cost, i’ve got it covered.” Your mouth opened and closed, gaping like a fish out of water.

“And most importantly, he is not to leave your side. Ever.” He said it with ease like he hadn’t just informed you that your one night stand had turned into your shadow for the foreseeable future.

James had yet to say anything, his face a facade you wished you could slap off in that moment. Instead, he stood stalk still, arms poised behind him like some sycophantic robot ready to do whatever your Father pleased.

“He can’t be my bodyguard, Dad,” you urged, rushing to his desk, palms slamming down in front of him.

His response was a raised brow (you shared that in common). “And why’s that?”

It’s like you could hear James’ heart skip a beat, probably because yours had as well. You couldn’t tell him the real reason– that’d be a death wish, for the pair of you, if there ever was one.

“It’s just– he’s too big!” James didn’t smile, not outwardly, but you could see it in his eyes when you glanced his way. “I mean, he’s scary or whatever. He won’t fit in with the decor and it’ll scare away the customers,” you reasoned.

He finally spoke and it was then that you truly did consider walking over and slapping him across his stupid, gorgeous face. “What customers?”

You scoffed, whipping your head towards him. “Oh, screw you!”

James looked as if he were going to bite back, mouth poised for a reaponse, but your Dad cut in to save the two of you from outting yourselves.

“That’s enough. This isn’t up for discussion. James is your bodyguard and you’ll have no say in the matter.”

You deflated immediately, collapsing into the same chair you’d sat in, clueless, earlier.

So much for one night.

comment & reblog :)) if u have any ideas for the next chapters do lmk!!! woo!!

[six-eyed-samurai]

HEHEHEHEH >:3 all im saying is rindou x popular!reader? like bratty and full of herself. REGINA GEORGE. REGINA GEORGE READER. but not actually

SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSING I JUST WANNA KNOW WHATYOU THINK AND IF YOURE WILLING TO WRITE IT OK LOVE YOU MWAH MWAH MY WHIPPED CREAM ON TOP OF THE PERFECTLY WARM HOT COCOA WITH THE SMALL BUT REALLY TASTY MARSHMALLOWS <3 (almost typed mushrooms LMAAOO)

A/N: PLEB MY BELOVED TERIYAKI PEACH I AM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG YOU ALREADY KNOW MY EXAMS AND SHIT BUT RAAAAAH ALSO I NEVER WATCHED MEAN GIRLS (the number of people about to murder me rn) SO I HOPE I'M ACCURATE, PLEASE ENJOY IN RETURN FOR THE VIP I LOVE YOU TO PLUTO AND BACK (Did someone say mushrooms? Well, I am a fun-guy- get it? GET IT?!) WARNINGS: Swearing and breaking the fourth wall. Nowhere says the Haitani brothers attend high school, but nowhere also says they don't, so here they do.

🌸First of all, let this be known that the one and only Haitani Ran came up with that title and is responsible for the whole story below (or so he claims, because I did about 80% of the work typing this out).

🌸Anyways.

🌸You meeting each other was probably inevitable - the Haitani brothers the head delinquents of Roppongi, you the literal head of every single popular girl clique.

🌸Do you hit off at once? Absolutely not. You made a very cutting comment about Rindou’s hair, even after your terrified girlfriends (minions) warned you about who he was and similarly Rindou called you a wannabe with fake Prada and your makeup was smudged.

🌸What a great start to a friendship! From that day onwards every time you both caught side of each other it was snarky jab after snarky jab at each other’s hair, clothes, shoes, speech, grades, lunch, anything you both could think of.

🌸Rindou hates you because you’re just such a prissy, spoilt princess brat with hella nice hair. You just hate him because who does he think he is to insult your fashion taste? So what if he’s a total bad boy delinquent? What about it?

🌸Ran thinks it’s hilarious. Rindou cannot not talk about you even when you’re not around, even if it’s just the repetitive complaints of your usual petty annoyingness, and gee, Rin-Rin, are you really that obsessed with them that you even still think about what colour their nail polish are in the middle of a fight? It’s almost worth missing a nap, Ran decides, when he can record Rindou spluttering out protests and declarations that you’re the ugliest, nastiest girl he’s ever met.

[Ran turns the camera to his face] I think my brother is a kindergartener afraid that girls have cooties. Sigh, he was supposed to be the more mature of the two of us.

🌸Even your traitorous girl clique were shipping you both! Even after you told them to shut up! Ugh! You don’t need them to stalk out his socials, you don’t need them yammering about how you always greet him in the corridors (”Did a dog shit on your shoes, Haitani?”), you don’t need them taking pictures/photoshopping you both together. Just, ew.

🌸Once again, so what if both your rivalry was turning into a…really weird obsession?

🌸You were pretty sure you hated Rindou with a burning passion, but one day you caught yourself studying your figure in the mirror, judging - judging?! - your own outfit by his standards: what sort of comments would he make this time? Is he going to jibe that you had finally found a skirt shorter than you? Are you actually wondering if he’d like it?!

🌸You CANNOT be seriously breaking one of the sacred rules of no pink on Wednesdays right now either just because Rindou had once made a muttered remark this being the only thing that looked good on you.

🌸Rindou was quite certain as well that if he could, he’d run a bus over your snobby ass but…here he was, cringing at whatever made him stop by the roadside asking if you needed a ride home since it was raining. Not because he cared or whatever. He hoped you got soaked to the bone sitting on the back of his motorbike. And that your hair gets messed up from wearing his helmet.

🌸You treating him to the boba cafe that nearly opened the next day was also strictly returning a favor so you didn’t have to owe your biggest nemesis. In fact, HE should owe you for making you wash his stupid jacket that he had forced you to wear that night as protection from the storm.

🌸Rindou sasses you right back, but yes, he supposes he owes you another drink. And another. And another. And another.

🌸At this point it’s so obvious the only reason none of you have admitted you’re practically dating already is because of your egos and reputations.

🌸That is, until one day when you’re strolling home by yourself and scrolling on your phone to scoff at Rindou liking your latest photo, A FEW DAYS AFTER YOU POSTED, you’re cornered by several members of a gang with a grudge to settle with the Haitani brothers - what better way to do so than to target Rindou’s girlfriend (see, if they were targeting Ran, they’d have to target every girl in the neighborhood, playboy that he is).

🌸Now you might be a prissy mean girl but that don’t mean you can’t kick ass physically. One of them made the stupid mistake of trying to grab your arm and EW, WRECKED YOUR NAILS? You slapped him pretty hard for that…and the rest too, with your new handbag, which made you even more pissed off, because hello, that shit was designer?!

🌸Also, congratulations, you've managed to make them all extremely self conscious while unconscious with your jibes about their appearances.

🌸Unfortunately that can't help you when more of them show up and you're outnumbered. At least you're going out with a bang…but not in the way you think when Rindou’s motorbike suddenly plows through them, engines revving, an irritated expression on his face.

“The only one who gets to piss my girlfriend off is me, so hands off.”

🌸Most people would've thanked him once he was finished knocking them all out but you immediately start berating him for taking so long in arriving.

”You really took your sweet time driving here, so of course I just decided to head home myself! I didn't need you to accompany me!”

He rolls his eyes because if he ignores your ungratefulness he can see your fingers trembling as you picked the items fallen from your bag, evidence of you still being shaken up. This (bratty) behaviour was just your…coping mechanism? Or maybe just typical you. “Then how'd you get surrounded so easily?”

“How was I to know people wanna beat me up today?!”

“You know what, stuff it and get on the bike. I'm taking you home whether you want me to or not.”

You stuff it and get on the bike. Rindou only uses that tone when he's worried.

🌸Aaand then it's only when you're on your doorstep do you realize what he had said.

🌸Rindou sees you frozen and raises an eyebrow. “What is it this time?”

“You called me your girlfriend.”

“So I did. You're not? Aren't we going on dates and everything? Sorry, “outings just between the two of us”?”

“We never talked it out or agreed on anything official!”

“I didn't know we needed to file a form and get a stamp of approval in order to go out.”

“OMG, you're so annoying I can't even - fine, I’ll…be your girlfriend. The moment you get a better haircut.”

…

“WIPE THAT SMIRK OFF YOUR FACE! Ugh, gotta go redo my makeup now.”

“Stop talking about my hair then, before you look at yours.”

He's still smirking as he leaves.

🌸So now Rindou has not one but two divas in his life. He can't decide which of you is the lesser evil, because on one hand he has Ran killing his wallet with all his dye jobs and on the other you're demanding his wallet for that new pair of heels he's pretty sure will break in less than a day.

🌸What are dates like? You dragging him off to clothing/shoes/jewelry stores, mall dates where you empty him of all cash on dessert and boba, going to the latest trending cafe while you judge everyone around you, spill all the gossip at school and naturally, talk about yourself (Rindou secretly eats your cake and zones out when the last one happens).

🌸If you've seen that reel of someone digging a hole in their cake to secretly reach the other person's cake…you know what Rindou does now.

🌸However both you and Rindou's favourite kind of date is when you're just driving around aimlessly in your shiny sports car with the wind blowing through the windows and the only fights are over your music choices: popular ones from Instagram (you) and whatever strikes Rindou's fancy.

🌸Has Ran attempted to gatecrash your dates and plead to drive your car? Absolutely. Have you let him? No. It's one of the few things you and Rindou agree on.

🌸You can be pretty annoying with that full of yourself attitude, “camera eats first!” mindset and double meaning words, but it's only annoying because Rindou has to go clean up your messes and apologize - apologize - to whoever was dumb enough to incur your wrath lest you get into trouble (for the millionth time). You'd never admit it, but you'd stopped directing any of that bxxchiness at him a long time ago.

🌸For anyone that did something wrong to Rindou though? Hell hath no fury like a woman with an ego bigger than Jupiter and a protective instinct for her man.

🌸If Japan has prom, you both would be crowned king and queen. If someone's hosting a party, you both would be the ones rocking the dance floor. If any of this happened, it's because you forced Rindou and he can't say no, however much he grumbles.

🌸First kiss was probably during some heated argument in front of everyone and Rindou claims he only instigated it because he wanted to shut you up. You reveled in the gossip that came with such a scandalous affair but yes, he took you very aback with the “Because I love you, dumbass?!”

🌸(Ran recorded everything and posted it on his super secret fan account following his favorite crack ship, the two of you.)

🌸Rindou doesn’t strike me as the jealous type. He KNOWS, however full of shit you are, you ain’t going to leave him for any of those losers just staring at your ass. To him they’re just minor annoyances, like flies - bothersome, but easily dealt with. Besides, who’s crazy enough to take THE Haitani’s girlfriend?

🌸You don’t get jealous much either, or so you claim. It’s quickly proven false whenever you snap spitefully at any girl who dares to lay a manicured hand on him - you won’t even tolerate your own girlfriends. You’re proud of the fact he’s so attractive, but that makes you even more possessive, because some deep, dark, insecure part of you is afraid he’d leave you for a similar girl, because surely there’s no difference between you and them. Just petty, bratty, arrogant mean girls.

🌸”I’m just going to get this tattooed on you, because for the hundredth time, sweetheart, I’m not going to leave you for some airhead bimbo. You’re more than just a face, and yeah, you really need to get off your high horse sometimes, but I’m still here, aren’t I?”

🌸The sappy moment is ruined when you sniffle and slap him lightly for making you cry and ruin your mascara. Rindou sighs (how many times has he sighed throughout this piece of writing already?)

🌸Average conversation between you and Rindou:

“I’m not surprised he got beat up with that kind of hair…is he trying out a new style from the slums?”

“Mhm. Couldn’t even throw a punch properly.”

“I bet you put him in his place, bae.”

“I’d kill myself if I didn’t.”

🌸And if the person in question overhears?

“Oh…we were just, you know, discussing your ah, state of hair. Bad hair day? Thought so.”

“That black eye really goes well with it, don’t you think?”

“Now that’s why you’re my boyfriend.”

[2knightt]

IM SORRY, I KNOW U GOT A REQUEST ON THIS SO MUCH ALREADY BUT…

Your motherly!reader fics are so good 😭! can you pleasee do another? platonic with the gang!! no romance 🥰 thank youu ❤️❤️❤️ your work is amazing btw!

the gang x motherly!reader

!warnings!

1.i did headcanons i hope thats okay😭

2.fem!reader

3.swearing and a small mention of violence.

Johnny Cade ;

like i’ve said before in other fics, he loves you so much.

honestly, you might be one of his favourite people!

when he walks down the street and he just so happens to see a cute flower, he picks it and gives it to you!

when he first met you, he refused to see you when he was injured in anyway. he thought you’d think he was weak and never see him again.

but as time went on, and you showed that you genuinely cared for him, he showed more of his vulnerable side.

johnny likes it when you patch him up now!

he thinks it’s calming, relaxing, and a, ‘nice change of things rather than lettin’ mother nature cure it.’

when he unknowingly/accidentally vents to you about his home life, he does get embarrassed.

he didn’t want you knowing, but when you hugged him real tight and told him sweet nothings?? he teared up ngl.

johnny wishes you could’ve been his mom.

when or if you have kids, johnny wishes they don’t take the, ‘how was your day?’ and the, ‘how’s school going?’ for granted.

because to johnny cade, that would be his perfect fairytale.

having someone as sweet as you to turn his life around, makes him excited to see tomorrow.

Dallas Winston ;

another bitch with mommy issues who is glad to have you.

mrs.curtis was definitely the mother he never had but always wanted and when she died, he was devastated.

but when you came along and started being that mother he missed??? he was both annoyed and over the moon.

he didn’t like that every time you bailed him out of jail, he got an ear full. however, he did like to know verbally that someone cared about him

he doesn’t show you any sort of affection, but he will tell you how he feels when drunk.

“thank you, so much y/n. i-i don’t know where i’d be without you.”

for mothers day, he doesn’t do anything special.

BUT—you didn’t hear this from me, before the clock hits 12, expect to hear like a cute little knock at your door, and open it to see a single flower on the ground with a pack of cigarettes.

dally ran off before you or anyone else could see him.

even though he didn’t sign his name, you knew it was from him. so, next time you see him, say thank you.

Ponyboy Curtis ;

he’s like a toddler around you???

ponyboy definitely pretends to be like, your own bodyguard.

but really, who’s scared of ponyboy?

he tries though!

when he watches a movie and some character reminds him of you, expect that to be the first thing he tells you.

“ya know, when i went to the drive in, you really reminded of this one character.”

“oh? why’s that?”

“well because-“

and now you have to sit there and listen to him.

he’ll draw for you so much :(.

if you tell him your favourite flower, he WILL give you a drawing of it the next day. he’ll stay up all night if he has too!

Sodapop Curtis ;

he’s literally your #2 fan. first place goes to johnny.

he’s your biggest hypeman??? omg???

“gee, y/n! you’re lookin’ real fancy!! gonna get all the guys, eh?”

when ponyboy and darry argue and he just can’t take it anymore, he calls you and asks to come over.

and of course, you say yes everytime.

so please, PLEASE, just let him cry into your arms!!!!

when he’s done, he’ll try to go home but i’m begging you to tell him he’s welcomed to stay the night.

and if he does stay? ponyboy will be at your doorstep too.

he’ll share his famous chocolate cake with you!! he’ll make sure steve doesn’t touch it.

“STEVE THAT WAS FOR Y/N! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!”

“OH SHIT SHIT SHIT! WE MAKE MAKE ONE TOGETHER! THE MORE PEOPLE THE FASTER THE CAKE WILL BAKE RIGHT?!”

“DO I LOOK LIKE A SCIENTIST??”

Darry Curtis ;

he is so thankful for you i legit can’t stress that enough.

you keep the gang in check, you keep ponyboy happy, and you help him around the house. what more could he ask for?

you legit force darry to relax while you look after the gang to make sure nothing bad happens.

“we’ll be fine, darry. go to bed, your dark circles are gettin’ darker by the minute.”

“yeah super-man! we’ll be fine with y/n!”

“yeah!!”

“fine, but if she wakes me up to tell me about any of you, so god help me.”

if you welcome him home with a newspaper and his favourite cup of coffee after a long day at work, he might ask you to move in.

Steve Randle ;

steve pretends that he doesn’t like you that much.

but he really does. like, the second he hears some soc threaten or insult you? he’s after them.

shit, he might be chasin’ after them in two-bits car while two-bit yells at the person.

he will legit go to war for you if you asked him nicely.

he will rant to you about cars if you let him😭.

he’ll rant to you about anything, honestly.

“and then the old bastard asked for a refund! the ‘no refunds’ sign was right on the door! how could that old bat not see it?!”

“steve! don’t call people that, but yes, it was very rude of that man to do that too you.”

“RIGHT?!”

Two-bit Matthews ;

he forces you to relax and watch mickey mouse with him.

he says it’s for your own good but when really, he just wants to spend time with you without the gang interrupting.

“guys! you’re stressing her out with all your STUPID questions! c’mon, y/n, mickey mouse is calling our names. can’t you hear it?”

“or maybe its the booze you had at 10AM.”

“i will sock you in your fucking throat steve.”

he plays with your hair…he finds it fun!

please tell him how to do some styles so he can go home and impress his little sister :(.

he offers you beer every once and awhile just so he can say he got you to loosen up.

“so y/n…you want some?”

“oh! no thank you, two. you know i don’t drink.”

he calls you mom in a joking way, ya dig?

“momm! steve called me a dumbass!”

“steve, be nice! apologize.”

“what the fuck?!”

author notes ;

1. i like totally rushed near the end LMFAO.

2. i never thought you bitches would eat motherly!reader up like this??

3.are you guys okay??

4.THANK U SWEETHEART OMFG??

5.i think theres no romance??

may 15th, 2023. 6:39PM

[hollybell51]

If I don't have you

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Ethan Hunt x AFAB!Reader

Mission Impossible (around MI3)

Word count: 6.6K

Summary: your mind won't let go of a close call, or all the things that remain unsaid between you and Ethan.

Content: gratuitous smut, angst, light blood/wounds (canon typical), swearing, angst with a happy ending, some mildly dubious moments (ie., sneaking into people's beds), but there's explicit consent so dw about that. Friends to lovers, first kisses (like between people), oral (f receiving), handjobs, making out, missionary, unprotected sex, bit of dirty talk, sappy love confessions (I'm a sap myself, give me a break). I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: hey guys I'm back with another terrible title and porn nobody asked for! I've recently been consumed by Mission Impossible and was devastated by the lack of Ethan Hunt content, and I may or may not be starting down the Tom Cruise rabbit hole, so I did the natural thing and wrote some good old smut. This man makes me absolutely feral in every film (sixty fucking one and he's still got it! What the fuck!) but the long hair really gets me (you all know this already) so I chose to go with somewhere around the MI3 mark. I'm also somehow convinced that he just gets hotter with each film but that's another issue.

Mandatory disclaimer, I don't really care what Tom Cruise does in his own free time with his money and energy but I personally don't fuck with scientology, so yeah. Anyways, enjoy!

The door to the hotel room banged shut behind you, loud and sudden in the cool stillness of the evening. Your face felt hot, and not just because of the heat outside or the fact that you’d just effectively undertaken a high-speed parkour course, blood rushing in your ears, heart pounding. 

“What the hell, Ethan?” you hissed as you spun to face him, jerking your arm out of his grip. 

He ignored you, stepping closer in the narrow entryway. “Are you hurt?” 

Were you hurt? God, it never failed to amaze you just how little regard this man had for his own safety. First he’d quite literally jumped off the roof of a building (albeit a low building, and he’d slid down the tented roof of one of the market stalls first), then raced head-first into what had nearly ended up an all-out fire fight, despite you and Luther both yelling across the comms at him to stop, go around and cut them off! Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t listened. 

“That was fucking insane!” you burst. 

“Are you ok?” 

You were being pursued, first at a walk and then a run. Ethan had seen, you’d told him and Luther both over the comms, and had been receiving directions from the latter. But there were three men chasing you – working for the man you were stalking, most likely, although you weren’t sure – and the streets were unfamiliar, the heat of the evening oppressive, the crush of bodies at the market stifling and the air dusty and thick. You knew, even as your feet pounded on the uneven ground, that you were not going to outlast these men – locals, larger and more numerous than you. 

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” 

Ethan had barrelled into you from the side just as the first gunshot had gone off, rolling with a grunt and a curse over some poor stallholder’s display and behind a wall of crates. The rush of relief his presence unfailingly conjured was short-lived as he dragged you to your feet, a quick “alright?” and that goddamn movie-star grin before he was pushing you out from behind the makeshift shelter and back into the crowd. You hadn’t even noticed the substantial tear in his shirt or the rough hatching of a graze high on his cheek until you’d been leaning against a wall, panting and a little shaky, but alive and free of your pursuers. 

You’d almost ripped him a (another) new one then and there, but then he’d shaken his head at you and held up his hand, panting, “let’s just get back,” before you could even open your mouth. So you’d held your tongue. Until you’d gotten back. 

Now, both his hands were on your shoulders, firm and warm, holding you still. “(Y/N),” he was saying, his eyes searching your face. “Are you hurt?” 

“No,” you sighed after a moment, half tempted to jerk out of his grasp again. You didn’t. “I’m fine. Are you?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He nodded, his hands sliding down to grip your arms. The graze wasn’t too bad up close, but as your eyes flicked to the cut on his arm, your anger reared its head again. God, if that had been twenty centimetres to the right…

“No you’re fuckin not,” you said, breathing deeply. It was late, and you didn’t want to disturb anyone more than you already had. “Let me see that.” 

His hands dropped from you altogether, and he stepped back. “It’s fine, (Y/N), just a graze.” 

“A bullet graze!” 

“It’s fine.” 

You shook your head, closing what little distance had opened up between you to point your finger into his chest. “Don’t ever pull shit like that again.” 

“No promises,” he shrugged.

Jesus fucking Christ! You had half a mind to grab his gun off him and finish the job right there, see how fine he’d be with his brains blown onto the wall behind him. Even then he’d brush it off as a bruise, maybe a light concussion. You swallowed. “Ethan, you could have been killed !” 

“But I wasn’t. All that matters is that you’re alright.” He’d taken your hand, folding your accusing finger back towards your palm gently – so gently it made your heart ache – and enclosing your fist in his much larger one. Your stupid, traitorous stomach did a flip to rival his acrobatics. 

“No,” you gritted, “that’s not all that matters! You fucking–” matter. You matter to me. You pressed your lips firmly together, the words boiling in the back of your throat, spiralling into a hard, painful lump. You matter, Ethan, more than any fucking mission. None of it would mean shit if you didn’t make it, if I didn’t have you. You matter and I fucking love you, you idiot!

He was looking at you oddly, you realised, the silence hanging between you so thickly you’d need a damn chainsaw to cut it. His hand still cradled yours, but as you watched, his shoulders slumped ever so slightly and the ready-for-anything gleam you were so painfully familiar with faded from his eyes. 

You both turned as someone – Luther – cleared his throat, a sharp silhouette against the glow of twilight through the window behind him. 

“Are you alright?” your friend asked, looking between the two of you. 

“Yeah,” you huffed, pulling back and running both your now-free hands through your hair. 

“Ethan?” 

“Yeah.” 

Another silence, though less tense. 

“Taking a shower,” you muttered, feeling your own body slouch as the adrenaline drained from you. You were sweaty, hot, dusty, shaky and too strung out for any more of this shit. Nobody stopped you as you trudged past first Ethan, then Luther, down the narrow hallway and into the small hotel bathroom. You thought you could hear Luther’s rumbling voice over the stream of shower water, Ethan’s higher-pitched response, but couldn’t make out any words. Maybe that was for the better.

In your dream, Ethan wasn’t fine. In your dream, he hadn’t moved as fast and wasn’t stumbling to his feet, pulling you with him. In your dream, he went down and stayed down, breath coming fast and short, and instead of a rip in his sleeve there was a dark stain spreading over his chest. 

“Ethan?” you said, watching yourself scramble across the rough dirt of the street to his side, your hands flitting uselessly over his torso. 

He cursed, taking your hand as he had so many times before, big and warm and more comforting than it had any right to be. “You alright?” he asked, teeth gritted. 

“Yeah, fine. Fuck, Ethan hold on–” 

“No, (Y/N)–” 

“Hold on , dammit!” It was amazing how viscerally you could feel the pain, sharp and hot like a gunshot wound of your own. You fumbled at your pockets with one hand, pressing down on his chest with the other, but your phone was nowhere to be found. When you shouted for an ambulance or help or anything at all, nobody was listening. The market bustled on around you, the people no more real than shadows on a wall. 

Ethan was saying your name again, his blood hot and wet against your palm. Too much, too much too fast. 

“All that matters is that you’re alright,” he was telling you, and half your mind was seeing him as he had been in the hallway – serious, sweaty, patch of pink skin over his cheekbone hatched with where the dirt had caught and cut it as he’d rolled. 

In your dream, you told the truth. The whole truth and nothing but the truth, words spilling from you in a sick waterfall. “You matter, Ethan. You matter to me, I love you, do you know how much you matter to me?” 

You’d seen people die before. It was part and parcel of your job, so you knew what it looked like. This was no different. Ethan’s eyes were hazy, unfocussed, and he was too pale. There was a light sheen of sweat beading his face and neck. His chest was soaked with his blood and your hands were slick with it. His fingers were loosening around your own. 

“Ethan?” you asked, your own grip slackening as his head lolled. “Ethan, come on, just hold on–” 

No one’s coming. 

“Hold on, Ethan. Don’t go. Don’t go, I can’t do this without you.” 

He wasn’t looking at you anymore. 

“Please, just– listen to me. You don’t know. You have no idea how much you matter to me, how much I need you. Ethan, come on, I love you!” 

In your dream, Ethan was dead and you woke shivering despite the warmth of the room. You lay stock-still, counting to ten again and again until your breathing finally slowed and your heart rate returned to normal. You wriggled down under the sheet you’d draped over yourself, curling inwards and wishing for something more substantial than the loose t-shirt – once Ethan’s – and your underwear. 

You’d watched Ethan die a thousand times, in a thousand different ways. Nobody would ever torture it out of you, but these – when he didn’t know, when it was too late before you told him – were the worst. It left you with a sick feeling in your gut, a hollow emptiness in your chest where your heart and lungs should have been, and limbs so heavy you were always surprised you managed to get up the next morning. And, of course, the inevitable wave of loathing at how fucking pathetic you were dreaming about telling your partner – friend , probably your best friend, because you were long past being coworkers – that you loved him. 

You sighed, turning over. It was close to the full moon, the open window casting a rectangle of silver over the lump that was your legs, the light breeze moving the curtains gently. You could get up and close it. You should. 

You’d been too pissed off and tired after your shower to do much more than grunt thanks to Luther when he handed you a cold doner kebab, eat it, then fall onto your bed and close your eyes. Usually, you’d have forced Ethan to take a shower too, waited until he emerged in fresh clothes and smelling like cheap soap, hair damp and curling around his ears, and patted the spot on the couch or bed or floor beside you. He’d always roll his eyes but sit anyway, and he’d stay sitting as you cleaned and dressed – sometimes stitched – whatever injuries he’d acquired with only minimal complaining. He’d give you the same treatment afterwards. 

You hadn’t done any of that before, and now you missed the little ritual. You’d been mentally cataloguing the first aid kit for antiseptic cream, bandages, wound pads, suture needles and sterile thread as soon as it had even clocked in your mind that he had more than just the graze to his cheek, the uncomfortable weight of your dream growing heavier with the realisation that you’d left it all to him. And Luther, you supposed. 

It was such a little thing, but in the moment it seemed to loom over you, blocking out the moon’s rectangle. 

You sighed again, your feet hitting the floor before you’d even fully realised that you were getting up. 2.28 AM glowed sickly green from the digital clock on the nightstand. Maybe if you hadn’t had that specific dream, you thought, you would have given this more consideration. Turned over and closed your eyes, decided to wait until morning proper, dismissed your guilt and concern as remnants of a stressful evening. But you had had that dream, and now that you’d eased the door open and were slipping down the hallway towards the room Ethan occupied, there was no way you could have turned back. 

His door was ajar, and didn’t squeal or protest when you eased it open. The set-up, like most hotel bedrooms, was exactly the same as your own. Cupboard on one wall (open, with a duffle bag resting half in and half out of it), dresser next to the door (two guns and a few spare magazines next to them), and a double bed by the window. The orientation of the room meant that the moonlight fell on the floor instead of the bed, but you could still clearly make out Ethan’s prone form, sheet wrinkled and twisted under him, one arm dangling over the side of the mattress, a few strands of hair over his face fluttering with each breath. 

You’d seen him asleep before, of course you had. There hadn’t always been hotel rooms with two bedrooms and a pull-out couch to rotate through, nice as that was. There hadn’t even always been separate beds or mattresses – or any at all. Sometimes you ended up side by side in a queen that was supposed to be two singles, slumped on top of him in the back of a van or on a rooftop, curled against his back in a sleeping bag that was only really meant for one person. You didn’t mind, not really, but seeing him like that – totally relaxed, peaceful – tugged at something deep inside you. 

You hesitated, one hand on the doorframe, shivering once more in the breeze from his open window. The curtains billowed inwards, floated suspended for a moment, then receded back to brush at the thick sill. The bed rustled as Ethan turned over, and you froze. He’d said something, you thought he’d said something that sounded like your name. Then he did it again, and you were sure. 

“(Y/N).” 

You crossed the room silently, kneeling then lying smoothly on the bed and against his back like you were made to fit there. He hummed softly as your arm slid over his ribs, your fingers splayed over his heart. Still beating, strong and even and alive. 

He sighed, shifting ever so slightly back towards you, his own hand finding yours, larger fingers lacing with your own. 

“I’m sorry,” you breathed. The dressing on his arm where the bullet had clipped him seemed to glow, taunting you. He did this himself, it said. You left, he almost took a fucking bullet for you and you didn’t even fix it for him .

The slow expansion and contraction of his torso paused for a moment. Neither of you were heavy sleepers, your job had seen to that. “(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah.” 

“What’re you sorry for?” he asked, voice thick with sleep. 

Everything. “Yelling at you. I just…” You paused, no longer cold in the shadow of your dream, but still aware of its presence. “I don’t wanna see you get hurt.” 

There was a beat of silence, then he was turning over again to face you, his hand slipping from your own to run up over your forearm, your elbow, your upper arm, catching momentarily on the sleeve of your shirt before coming to rest on your shoulder. “You’re here,” he whispered. “Thought I was dreaming…” 

You smiled, reaching out to run your fingers around the neck of his wifebeater singlet. Even just waking up, he looked good in the damn thing. “You were.” 

He frowned, the patch of rough red hashing standing out in the silvery dimness. Up this close, you could see every minute crease between his brows that hadn’t been there a minute ago, every tiny line of tension around his eyes. “What’re you doing here?” he asked. 

 You shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. I felt bad.” I couldn’t help you. I couldn’t help you and I couldn’t tell you, and you still don’t know. 

“For yelling at me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“I don’t wanna see you get hurt, either. That’s–” 

“All that matters. You said.” 

You were at a crossroads. You felt it as if someone had infused your every cell with the knowledge that you had two options, and you could only take one, and it would change things. How, you weren’t sure, but the sticky warmth of Ethan’s blood between your fingers and the rough dirt digging into your knees still made your skin tingle. 

“You’re wrong,” you continued. “That’s not all that matters.” 

The frown deepened. “Hm?” 

“You matter, Ethan. To me. If I don’t have you…” You shrugged, once again counting your breaths. How was it that you were more highly strung now than you had been while you were quite literally being chased through a market and shot at? It was so far away now, a distant memory of someone else. This, here, the gap barely wider than ten centimetres between your face and Ethan’s, the warm air and the pale moonlight, the warmer weight of his hand still on your shoulder… That was real. 

But bravery – a strange word, you realised, even as you had the thought – only went so far. “Don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you,” you finished lamely. 

He knew it wasn’t what you’d been going to say, that it barely went half way to getting across what you wanted to. But still, he just smiled and gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You won’t ever have to find out.” 

Maybe you weren’t really awake. Maybe you’d wandered into his dream instead of his room, or maybe (and more likely) he’d found his way into yours. Maybe you really had turned over and gone back to sleep instead of padding down the hall and sliding in next to him, and this was your mind’s way of apologising to you for the earlier horror show. It must be, you reasoned, because somewhere you’d ended up pressed against his front – something that hadn’t happened before; you always found yourself curled around him from behind. Your skin felt like it was on fire as his hand slid across your collar, up your neck to rest on your cheek. 

The kiss, when it came, hardly registered as something new. After all, how many times had this played out in your mind? How many times had you wondered what it would be like to move those last few centimetres, lean across that last gap, shove the two of you over that line like he’d shoved you out of the way of that bullet. It was an extension of where you were right now, of where you’d been for the last however long, of where you’d somehow known you were eventually going to end up. 

He was as gentle with you as he’d always been, soft and so painfully careful. He held you like you might break, as if you were something precious and delicate, his hand warm where he cradled your face. You felt the last sticky residue of tension and fear drain from your body as you slid the hand that had been resting on his chest down, over his ribs, around his back, pressing between his shoulder blades. 

“Ethan,” you whispered as he pulled away, still close enough that you could feel his breath on your face. You weren’t shivering anymore. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he replied, brushing a stray piece of hair away from your face. 

You smiled, every cell in your body tingling with warmth. “So’re you.” 

“Mm-mm,” he sighed, shaking his head. “Not like you. You have no idea how beautiful you are.” 

There wasn’t much your kiss-addled, Ethan-filled brain could say to that. You closed the gap once more, his mouth impossibly soft, the faint hint of his toothpaste clinging to his tongue when it slid against your own. Someone – you or him, you weren’t sure – made a tiny noise somewhere in the realm of a sigh as you shifted even closer to him, hooking your leg over his. 

He was almost on top of you now, leaning over you, suspended carefully on one arm. You’d been here before, pressed into the floor of wherever you were sparring, sweaty and determined to do whatever it took to gain the upper hand again. Secretly, though, you’d wondered what that would feel like like this, and now you wondered if he had, too. 

Just as you had all those other times, you pushed your hips up off the mattress and flipped him smoothly. He huffed as you straddled him, blinking up at you in surprise before a smile spread over his face and he sat up, kissing you once more, his hands settling on your hips. You were half aware of your body curving towards his as your hands tangled in his hair, the rapid deterioration of your kisses into something that probably wouldn’t fit the word under any stringent definition. 

“Can I?” he asked, fingers flitting around the hem of your shirt. 

You just nodded, pulling the garment over your head quicker than you ever had before and casting it aside. If Ethan recognised it, he didn’t say anything. 

“You too,” you whispered when he didn’t show any signs of copying you, pulling at the thin cotton of his own shirt. 

“Huh?” 

“Shirt, dummy,” you smiled. “It’s not fair if I’m the only one who’s naked.” 

“All’s fair in love and war.” 

Love. Your heart sped up at the word. This could be love. Or war, you supposed.

“I don’t think that’s what that means,” you said, wrinkling your nose. 

“Sure it is,” he shrugged. But his hands were at the hem of the stupid thing, and before you could say anything else he was easing it over his head – mindful of his arm – and tossing it to join yours. “Fair now?” 

“Yeah.” You’d seen him without a shirt before. Changing in the back of a van, bandaging a cracked rib or disinfecting a patch of tiny cuts where he’d rolled through broken glass (which happened far too frequently, in your opinion), passing him on his way out of the bathroom. Every time made your stomach flip over and your mind race, but you’d never been able to touch him like this before; run your hands down over his shoulders and arms, across his stomach, up again over his chest, around his ribcage, down the curve of his spine. 

He was in the same boat, you supposed, smiling as his hand slid appreciatively up your side, thumb skimming the soft underside of your breast. You moaned as he bent to kiss down the column of your throat, sucking at the flesh over your jugular and where your neck met your shoulder, teeth grazing the skin occasionally, tongue soothing the blossoming marks left behind. 

“Can I ask you something?” you sighed as he mouthed at the hollow of your collar bone. 

“Yeah.” 

“You said my name before. Were you dreaming about me?” 

Again, “Yeah.” 

You smiled. “What about me?” 

“That you were here.” He broke away from your skin, stretching to place a soft kiss on your lips. “And you were safe.” 

“Well I am.” There was more to it, you could feel it. 

“You are.” Another kiss, almost chaste in its brevity. 

“What else?” you asked. 

He paused, hesitant, then, “You had your legs around my neck.” 

Oh. Oh. 

“Fuck, Ethan,” you whispered. That image wasn’t a new one. The fact that he dreamed about you was news enough, but that… That sent a veritable deluge of heat and desire down through your body, pooling wetly between your thighs. You had to consciously stop yourself from grinding on him right then and there.  

You wouldn’t have been able to, anyway. He was pushing you backwards now, his kisses trailing down over your sternum, between your breasts – he paused here to mouth at one, kneading the other gently, making you moan again – and on to your stomach. He slowed when he reached the waistband of your underwear, kissing across the bridge between your hip bones, leaving you a belt of faint hickeys. 

“Can–” 

“Yes,” you answered.

He looked up at you from where he’d slid between your legs, one hand on your hip and the other pushing at your thigh. His hair hung over his forehead and almost into his eyes (you’d been trying to get him to let you trim it for weeks now), lips pink and kiss-swollen and so pretty. “Ok,” he smiled, pulling your underwear down over your legs shockingly easily, considering they were still wrapped around his waist. You cursed softly as he bent his head again, kissing the inside of your thigh. 

“Wondered what this’d be like,” he whispered, sucking at a spot beside it.

“Fuck, Ethan,” you gasped, your hand sliding down to rest on his head, fingers carding through his hair. 

He hummed softly into your skin. “What you’d taste like.” 

You cursed again as he licked over the mark, fingers skirting where you wanted him most, your skin on fire with every kiss.

“What you’d sound like.”

You pressed your lips together firmly, stifling any sound as he slid a finger over your wetness. You raised your head, meeting his eyes directly. “Do you wanna find out?” 

“Yes,” he breathed. His breath hitched in his chest, and there was that perfect movie-star grin. “Fuck, yes.” 

You opened your mouth to say something to that, but before the words had formed in your mind Ethan was licking up your cunt and the only thing that came out of your mouth was an embarrassingly loud moan. You felt him smile, his own soft noise of pleasure muffled against your flesh as he licked again, then sucked determinedly at your clit. 

“Oh, fuck , Ethan–” you gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, legs locked around his shoulders. 

“Hm?” 

“That’s fucking– You’re– Holy shit that’s good.” 

Ethan just grinned again, his tongue flicking over you, one finger circling your entrance. A suggestion. “Is this alright?” 

You nodded frantically, pressing your lips together as he pushed it inside you. “Yes,” you whined as he licked you again, letting yourself fall back onto the mattress as the hand not gripping his hair twisted in the sheets. He groaned softly, the sound reverberating over you as he sucked your clit, his finger working your hole. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop–” you panted, practically grinding on his face. 

A soft hum, then he was adding a second finger, lapping up everything you were giving him as you squirmed , your breath coming in ragged gasps. You could feel the orgasm coming now, coiling in your stomach like a spring, hot and tight and Ethan was the one building it up. Every curl of his fingers, every brush of his tongue and lips, every little grunt or hum, and his free hand gripping your thigh like a vice. You hoped you’d have bruises. 

“Oh, oh, Ethan, oh my God–” 

Close, you were so damn close. You were aware of your hips jutting up against his face, and the tiny part of your brain that wasn’t consumed with pleasure and want might have felt bad. 

“I’m gonna– fuck – holy shit , Ethan– Ethan I’m gonna–” 

Then everything was crashing around you and you were crying his name, your legs spasming and your spine arching, electricity fizzing through you. Ethan continued fucking you with his hand, slower and gentler now, his mouth soft on your sensitive clit. Maybe it was gradual, maybe not, but eventually your body transitioned from roiling static to a gentle buzz and your grip on his hair slackened, your legs relaxing around his shoulders. 

He sat calmly between your legs, licking his fingers. The entire lower half of his face shone silver in the moonlight with your slick, his lips pink and swollen, eyes fixed keenly on you. You thought if he looked at you like that a second longer, you were going to cum all over again. 

You smiled at him, your hand finding his where it still rested on your hip. Gently (though maybe it was because your limbs still felt so heavy and floppy), you pulled him up the bed and down on top of yourself, stretching up to kiss him hard. You could taste yourself on his lips, on his tongue when it slid into your mouth, and his hand on your skin was slightly sticky. It slid around your waist, pushing against the small of your back, pressing your chest to his. You didn’t think you’d ever be able to get enough of it.

You whispered his name against his lips, your own hands settled firmly around his shoulders, holding on for dear life. The fabric of his underwear – why the hell was he still wearing anything? – seemed to burn where it brushed over your hip, pressing hot and hard against you. 

“(Y/N),” he breathed, pulling back enough to study your face carefully, as if he were memorising every detail. 

You felt the air catch in your lungs, your heart skip a beat. “You’re so…” Pretty. Lovely. Gorgeous. Hot. Handsome. Beautiful. You’re everything, Ethan. “God, I love you.”

He froze, and it was only then that you realised you’d said it. You’d actually said the goddamn words, aloud, to him. 

“Are you serious?” he asked. Not incredulous, not judgemental, simply seeking clarification. 

And how the hell were you supposed to lie? You nodded, your mouth suddenly dry. 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you,” you repeated numbly. Then, swallowing, “Is that ok?” 

Another beat passed in silence, then he laughed. “Yes, dammit, I love you too.” 

“You… love me too.” Had you heard him right? Had you somehow wandered back to your dream, fallen into an orgasm-dulled sleep and imagined the last few minutes? But no, Ethan’s lips felt real enough when they brushed yours again, his fingers felt real enough on your back. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” 

“Say it again.” 

“I love you. And you love me, don’t you?” 

You nodded, an absurd bubble of laughter swelling in your chest. “Yes,” you grinned. “I love you, Ethan.”

This kiss was different. A kiss has to taste different after something like that, you supposed, and you were both still smiling. You reached down, your fingers skirting the waistband of his underwear, then further still to press your hand against his hard bulge. He moaned into your mouth, breaking the kiss to glance down, up again. 

“Off,” you whispered, already pulling at the fabric. He obliged, quickly and smoothly as he’d rid himself of his shirt, and in a moment his lips were back against your own, hot and hungry. You took his cock in your hand, your own lips moving away from his across his jaw, the hollow where it met his neck, his skin clean and smooth and tasting faintly of hotel soap. 

His dick was hot to the touch, thick and long and roped with veins. You’d wondered, sometimes, what this would feel like. You’d imagined the sound he’d make when you touched him like this (it couldn’t ever have come close to the real thing, you knew that now), how that hot weight would feel against your tongue. He groaned in earnest as you stroked your hand along his length, your thumb swiping around the leaking head. He cursed softly, your name hissing between his teeth, hips moving gently in tandem with your hand. 

“I wanted you for so long, Ethan,” you murmured into his neck. “You have no idea.” 

“Yeah?” 

You smiled. “I dream about you too, you know.” 

He faltered, just for a moment, then, “What about me?” 

You felt your smile widen and you frantically suppressed the urge to laugh again at the echo of your own earlier words. “I dream about fucking you six ways into next week,” you said simply. “Sucking your cock till I’m choking on it and making you cum in my mouth. Or in my pussy, I don’t care.”

“Oh fuck, (Y/N), Jesus,” he groaned, the sound sending another bolt of heat to your still sensitive pussy. “You think about that when we’re out there?” 

“Mhm.” This time you did laugh, nothing more than a soft exhale, not stopping your hand’s movements. “Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to jerk you off when you’re tryna aim a gun.” 

His cock twitched in your grasp, a low moan pressed back behind his lips. “God, (Y/N) that’s–” 

“Insane?” 

“So fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Wanna feel you, all of you. Can I?” 

Now it was your turn to curse. “Yes,” you breathed, wriggling to wrap your legs around his waist, your hand leaving its place to grip his shoulder, run down his arm, guide his hand to your hip. “Please, Ethan.”

“Here?” 

“Yeah. Here.” You ground your hips against his, already tingling as his cock slid against your slick centre. “I want you inside me. Need you.” 

“Shit, ok, just let me–” He broke off as he sank into you, his hum of pleasure mingling with your own breathy moan. Maybe it was the after effects of your earlier orgasm, the dream state you still weren’t entirely sure you’d broken out of, or a combination of both, but you swore that nothing would ever top this feeling. It was like he was made for you, slow and soft as he pulled out and pushed back in, did it again, then again and again. 

“Shit, Ethan,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair as he bent his head to kiss your chest. You were glad it was still long enough for this, that you hadn’t managed to get him to cut it. He groaned against you and you smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“Harder?” you murmured. “Don’t have to be so gentle.” 

“Don’t wanna hurt you,” he replied, his breath warm against your skin. 

“You won’t, don’t worry. Please?” 

He raised his head, eyes searching your face. “Ok,” he said, dipping down to kiss your lips quickly and softly before he was drawing away and sitting back between your legs, lifting your hips with one hand and sliding a pillow under your lower back with the other. 

Your heart skipped a beat, butterflies swirling alongside the magma in your stomach. This time he pushed hard into you, his cock stroking every inch of your insides, the hand that had been on your hip sliding to press down on your pelvis. “Yes,” you gasped, “yes, just like that.” 

“Like this?” Another thrust, even and determined. 

“Yeah, oh fuck that’s so good.” You reached up over your head, one hand gripping the headboard of the bed as the other twisted in the sheets, eyes fixed on Ethan. He was so beautiful in the moonlight, shining as though he was cast in silver. He was a fucking masterpiece. 

“You’re so good,” he said. “You look so perfect like that, feel like Heaven, (Y/N), I swear.” 

Oh, did he know what he was doing to you? Every jolt of his hips against yours building low inside you, his barely restrained little sounds and the heaving of his chest. You weren’t going to last much longer. 

“Don’t stop,” you gasped, “ fuck, Ethan, you feel so good. Making me feel so fucking good, so good , you have no idea.” 

“Hm?” 

“So hot. You’re so goddamn hot, you know that?” 

“(Y/N)–” 

You were close. You were so fucking close, wound tight and ready to snap at any moment. You whined his name, rocking your hips to meet his thrusts, legs tight around his waist. 

“Fuck, (Y/N), I’m– I’m gonna–” He broke off, pressing his lips together, his eyes fixed on you. 

“Yeah? You gonna cum?”

“Yeah, fuck, where do I–” 

“In me.” 

“You sure?” 

Were you sure? You’d been sure for way too long now. “Yeah, dammit, wanna feel you cum in my pussy, fucking filling me up so good–” 

That did it. His thrusts stuttered and slowed as he spilled inside you, his chest heaving and his head tilted back, eyes closed, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. God, he was just too much, and you’d made him look like that. It had been you, all you, and it was you he was still buried deep inside. Your own climax rolled over you with that, your body squeezing tight and hot around him, your grip on the bed hard enough that you were sure your knuckles were white, spine arching as bliss flooded your body. You might have said his name, he might have said yours again, but it didn’t matter. 

You lay there, warm all over and shaking, watching him. After a moment, his eyes opened and he smiled at you, gingerly pulling out to flop beside you on the mattress. 

“Clean up?” he asked, already reaching over the side of the bed. 

“Yeah.” You were too heavy to do anything but let him gently run the towel he’d found between your legs, thighs and stomach twitching when the rough cotton came into contact with your oversensitive clit. 

“Sorry,” he muttered, cursorily wiping at his own crotch before tossing the piece of fabric away. “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed again, wriggling off the pillow and kicking it aside. You shifted closer to him, his arm sliding around your shoulders and pulling you against his side, his heart beating strong next to your own. Your eyes were drawn to the darker, rougher patch on his cheek, and you frowned. 

“What?” he asked. 

“This.” You ran your fingers over it gently, barely even touching the skin, doing the same to the dressing on his arm. “And this. Can I have a look tomorrow?” 

“It is tomorrow.” He nodded to the clock. Right, yeah. After midnight. “I thought I did an ok job,” he went on before you could say anything. 

“Ethan, there’s nothing even on this one,” you protested. “It’s just… there.” 

He rolled his eyes. “You’re not gonna kiss it better?” 

“I never said that.” You smiled, dipping to brush the spot with your lips. Featherlight, barely there. “Better?” 

He nodded. 

“I still want to check them.” 

“Ok,” he relented, squeezing your shoulder gently.  

You shifted closer, your face inches from his own. Up this close, you could see the baby hairs stuck to his forehead with sweat, every eyelash shining iridescent white under the moon. “I meant it,” you whispered.

“What?” 

“That you matter to me. You’re the most important thing in the world to me.” 

His breath rushed through his lungs and back out again as he stretched to place a soft kiss on your forehead. “You’re the most important thing to me, too. I love you.” 

You tilted your face to his, this time meeting his lips with your own. It was slow, unhurried, relaxed and tender, and everything you adored in Ethan. “I love you, too,” you whispered into it. Then, grinning as you drew back, “And I meant all the other stuff, too.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “All of it?” 

“Yeah.” 

His chest shook with faint laughter under you, his hand stroking over your shoulder. “I didn’t know you thought like that. Didn’t know you thought about me like that.” 

“Yeah, well…” You trailed off, shrugging, your cheeks warm. “Sorry if it was a bit much.” 

“Don’t worry,” he smiled, “it wasn’t. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You know,” you said as you lay down, “anyone else couldn’t waterboard that out of me.” 

“Guess I’m just that special.” 

“You are, Ethan.” You weren’t shivering anymore, the only weight in you was the pleasant kind of exhaustion that came with finally being safe, being home. Ethan was alive and he knew, he knew you loved him, and he knew what he meant to you, and he loved you too. If this was a dream, it was the best one you’d ever had.

[astermath]

nemesis; part two.

pairing: carmen berzatto x fem!reader

summary: with carmen reworking the restaurant, you’d think his mind would be far too occupied to even think about anything else. yet he can’t shake the guilt from what he’d put you through a month prior. after some talks in therapy, he decides to take a leap of faith and see if he can talk it out with you. he not only wants to convince you that he can be better, but he's got an offer for you too. one you truly can't refuse.

♡ landing page ♡

word count: 4.9K

tags: carmen being unsure about his feelings but trying to be better episode 3265742, letting reader in a little more, APOLOGIES!!!, cursing ig, carm goes to therapy yippee, syd being the absolute realest, regular font below!

notes: sorry this took literally forever omg, I lost my carmen muse for a bit but we are SO back baby. I missed him so much and so sorry if some things don't follow the canon completely (I've been watching season 2 on and off bc I've been so busy lol BUT my fics never follow the canon completely anyways),, hope u guys enjoy and let me know if you'd like a part three ;))

lmk if you'd like to be added to the tag list for further carmen berzatto related content! comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

Carmen’s life hadn’t known a moment of mental rest in ages. If you asked him when he last sat down with his thoughts or acknowledged his mental anguish, he probably would have said he couldn’t remember the last time. If ever.

With plans to completely revamp The Beef and everything that came with it, now his feelings should be the last thing on his mind. Renovation plans, unforeseen costs and a completely new menu, sure, he could worry his ass off about those, but feelings? Absolutely not. Good thing he was usually so good at suppressing those anyways.

So why was it that he couldn’t shake the thought of what he did to you?

Why, every time he had a moment to himself, would he be overtaken by this intense feeling of guilt? He didn’t even have to be alone, just a second of quiet and the image of you crying in distress would intrude on his thoughts.

It was getting to a point where he’d told his sister, Natalie, about it. Well, not all of it, he wasn’t even sure if he knew all of it. Just that he knows he hurt you, and that coming to terms with what he projected onto you might be a good first step in understanding himself better.

Or maybe it was something more along the lines of “I gotta talk my shit to some people”. Probably that.

To his surprise, it was actually helping. Besides the group therapy sessions where he’d talk about Mikey, the business and his future, he was talking to other people in his life too. Even told Sydney about you, kind of on accident. The words just seemed to… Flow out. It was probably the exhaustion doing its thing.

“I guess I just felt like,” he kept his eyes on the floor he was sweeping, “she was doing it all to fuck with me. I don’t even know where I got the sick idea that she had some obsession over me, but it— it drove me at the same time. It’s like her being on my heels at every aspect of culinary school just made me want to try even harder.”

“Maybe you painted her in that light because you knew it was a good way to keep pushing yourself.” Sydney spoke almost absentmindedly, sweeping the other side of the room. She listened to everything he said in the meantime, and though what he was telling her was a bit worrying, she was glad they got to have talks like this. Carmen often doesn’t like to bring up his past like that.

“Huh,” he paused sweeping for a moment, “yeah… yeah, maybe. Or maybe it was something else.”

Sydney wasn’t even sure he knew what he was referring to. It sounded like something entirely different, like a crush, but what kind of person treats their crushes like that?

Probably an overworked, pressured, overachieving culinary student with a dangerous need for validation. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

“So yeah, I visited her restaurant, and… It just felt the exact same as back in New York, you know? Like she was rubbing it in my face again, and— and I know that sounds insane, or conceited, but I just can’t let it go. It’s like the thought of her is stuck to my brain like a stubborn piece of gum.” He wanted to smack himself for that stupid analogy, but what was said was said.

“So how’d you handle it?” Sydney’s head perked up, some of her braids now draping over her shoulders.

“Handle what?” Carmen became more and more uneasy the more he talked about you. Like his chest was tight, it was uncomfortable, but not in the way he was when the health inspection came by, it was different. Weirder. Unfamiliar. He didn’t like it, because he didn’t understand it.

“The talk with her.” She emptied the last bit of dust into the trash bag.

“Oh,” his mind took him back to the parking lot a month ago. The way he could almost taste the tears of your skin from how close he stood, he could hear the shakiness of your breath and the profound desperation in your voice when you apologized to him, when you really had no reason to.

If it was still so clear in his mind, then what must it be like for you?

“Carmen?” Sydney snapped him out of his oncoming train of thought.

“Yeah? Sorry, I— Uh, I don’t know it was…” He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly finding it in his best interest to look anywhere else but her face. “Bad. It was— It was bad.” He looks a bit shameful when he meets her eyes. “I fucked up. I like, went all New York boss on her. And then I just… Left.”

His colleague just stares at him for a moment. She knew what he was like when he snapped like that, but that was with his staff, people he liked. So how badly did he snap on you, a person he’d been resenting for years?

“I’m gonna go take out this trash, and uh… Head home.” She lifts the grey plastic bag she was holding. “But uh, Carm?”

“Yeah?”

“You got issues, man.” She has a bit of an awkward smile on her face, but he knows she means it. He knows she’s right. She usually is.

He nods, silently, letting her words sink in. He did have issues, everyone knew that, but most people didn’t just say it. That’s why he liked Sydney, she was so real, so honest. She was so good for the business, for the kitchen. And maybe her saying that to him was all part of grounding him in the reality of it all. Of his issues, just that they existed.

“Heard.” he says. His voice comes out raspier than he expected, like he’s struggling to say it.

“Goodnight, chef.”

“Night.”

He’d thought about what Sydney said the entire night. He does have issues, he knows that, he’s just mad at himself for letting everything get this far before seeking help. It scares him. Because it reminds him too much of Mikey. Or what he heard about him when things got bad.

He doesn’t want to make the same mistakes his brother did. Lock people out of his life just because it seems easier, because it’s better to minimize the damage than to figure out why you’re doing damage at all. And yes it’s uncomfortable, yes it’s scary, terrifying even. But he keeps being reminded of how it must feel for you.

It’s something he’d never considered before. He always thought he had you all figured out, all fake smiles and backhanded compliments to distract him. It never occurred to him to just… Ask. It was always just easier to assume. It fit his view of you and it kept him going, even if it was at the expense of ever getting to know you at all.

He’s hoping he can change that with a few text messages and a long, probably uncomfortable, talk over coffee. Just hoping, trying, that’s really all he can do. He’s well aware of how bad he is at communicating, but he has to give it a shot. For you, at least.

He stares at his phone screen for far longer than is necessary, continuously rereading the messages he’d typed. His eyes keep flicking to your contact, making sure he sent it to the right person. The only thing you two had texted about before was a time and place for him to try your new restaurant. His heart aches at the exclamation points and emojis you’d sent; you were so excited, and he drove all that excitement straight into the ground.

He closes his eyes and shuts off the phone. His chest hurts, like he’s been holding his breath the entire time. Maybe he has. You could have that effect on him, making it harder to breathe. He always wondered why he had such nervous reactions around you specifically. He always figured it had to do with your one sided rivalry, but it feels… Different. More complex.

Your eyes are finally peeled off your computer screen when numerous phone notifications alarm you. Truth be told, you’ve been trying your best to keep yourself occupied as much as possible. That usually helps when you get waves of emotions like this, keeping busy, distracting your mind from overthinking.

Ever since your last encounter with Carmen, you’ve been so on edge. Always trying to do something, anything, so you wouldn’t have to think about what happened, why he acted like that to you. Because you know if you did, you’d just start blaming yourself again, and you’d be back to square one.

Your eyebrows raise at the name of the contact. You were sure he’d blocked you, or at least deleted your number after last time. He was avoidant like that, and frankly, you weren’t sure if you wanted him to talk to you again after that anyways. Maybe it was just to drive the point home, make you feel even more worthless.

Still, you were curious. Even if it was just to cuss you out even more, at least you knew what to expect, right?

[carmen]: hey, I really want to talk to you about what happened last time.

[carmen]: well

[carmen]: I want to apologise

[carmen]: but I can’t do that like this

[carmen]: I’d much rather do it in person

[carmen]: if you’d let me

[carmen]: meet me at odette’s tomorrow around 10? coffee’s on me, I just want to talk

[carmen]: please

The last message was sent minutes later than the rest, while you were reading them. He was desperate for an answer, and though you wanted to hear him out, to talk to him, something in you felt off about the whole thing. Like he was just doing this to clear off his own guilt, only to then ditch you just like he ditched you after culinary school. Because you’re rivals, apparently. That’s what you do.

But then there’s something else in you too. The part that’s still nostalgic about New York with him. About the glances back and forth when you were timed on preparing certain things, about the way he’d stare at you when you got feedback, the ignorant bliss you lived in. When you still believed he might have liked you just a little.

That part of you takes the upper hand when you reply and take his offer. Your heart is in your throat, nerves overtaking you already and you weren’t even with him yet. He had that effect on you sometimes, making it harder to breathe.

You wondered what that meant.

Carmen sits alone at a booth, all the way at the back of the café he’d chosen. It’s rather quiet, as most Mondays are, yet at the same time, it’s so loud. Loud in the way he hears the clinking of every spoon against porcelain cups, the crinkling of a napkin and the not so subtle ticking of the clock above the entrance. 10:06. You were late.

Suddenly he's filled with more regret than he's ever felt before. He's not ready to see you again, only to be reminded of how he made you cry, and of his own tumultuous emotions and shortcomings that lead to this moment. It's surprising how fast the emotions he associates with you changed; he's not angry anymore, he's scared, guilty, nervous. He wants to see you so bad and yet he feels like you'd be better off never talking to him again.

It's too late to make a run for it when you finally walk through the door. Hair a little damp from the rain, just a bit disheveled from what he could only assume to be rushing over to the café. And that same angelic smile you offer to the barista that greets you, the same one you'd offer him every morning, whether he looked at you or not.

He had no choice but to look now.

Your smile falters into something more nervous, a little melancholic, when your eyes meet his across the café. Though you knew he was going to be there, something in you feels surprised to see him again. Maybe it’s because he isn’t yelling at you or throwing insults at your head this time. Or maybe because he’s actually looking you in the eye. Since when did he get so good at that?

You sit down across him, taking off your coat and putting your bag besides you.

“Hey.” You smile again, much more awkward this time.

“Hey.” He returns the same thin lipped smile.

It’s quiet for a few seconds. Carmen swears the whole café has gone silent in that moment, leaving the two of you to listen to the sound of your own breathing and heartrate picking up. You’re not sure where to look, not being used to being in such an intimate setting with him.

“Do you want a coffee?”

“Sorry I was late.”

You both talk over each other, and the urge to chuckle about it overtakes you. Carmen can’t help but smile as well. You seem nervous, and somehow that puts him a little more at ease. Like he’s not the only one who’s in their head about it.

“Sorry, I, uhm, yeah— I would like a coffee.” You scramble over your words. “Please.”

“Sure,” he nods, “and no worries.”

“Hm?”

“That you were late. I haven’t been here that long either.” He lied. He’d been there half an hour early, cursing himself for letting him sit along with his thoughts for that long and psyching himself out into almost leaving.

You both order and another heavy silence sits between you two. You both know why you’re there, what needs to be talked about. Yet neither of you know how to bring it up.

You’ve lived most of your lives believing this version of each other you had in your minds. Because it kept you grounded. Because it was easier. He never let you in and for the longest time, you were at peace with that. You could have a slightly distant view of who he was, your classmate, your rival. And he could do the same. Keep you out, pretend you were there to keep him on his toes, to always try to outdo him.

Those facades of each other don’t work anymore. The real world has forced you to reconcile with each other, whether you liked it or not.

Your coffee gets brought to your table, and both of you feel this urgency to say something, anything, at least.

“The pastries here are good too, if you want to get one.” He finally broke the awkward silence. He can start with talking about food, something he knows. If all else fails, resort back to that.

“I haven’t tried a pastry besides my own in a long time. Maybe I could learn a thing or two here.” You admit. He knows that feeling. He’s not nearly as adventurous with his food choices as he wants to be, but as a busy chef on the brink of a new entrepreneurship, it’s usually beef sandwiches and frozen meals.

“I think yours were better though.” He takes a sip of his coffee.

“Huh?” You look up, realizing you were avoiding eye contact by staring into your cup.

“The danish I tried at your place. It was fire.”

“Oh. Right. Thank you, we make everything from scratch.”

“I could tell.” He takes another sip. “I guess I— I kinda forgot to tell you that. In the heat of it all.” He huffs to himself. “Food was so good it made me upset.”

“Upset?” His word use frustrates you. Upset is when they forget to give you your sauce with your order. What happened back there was not upset. That was rage. Wrath. You raise an eyebrow and he realizes he said something wrong.

“Well, more than upset. Listen, I— We need to talk about what happened.” His blue eyes peer into your own. They’re almost distracting enough to avoid you noticing his fidgeting hands.

“I’m listening.” You lean back slightly in your seat. You’d played nice with Carmen all your life, given him every chance to return it. Now it was his turn to try.

"Right." Of course he has to talk. It's his fault, isn't it? He's the one who snapped-- why did he even imply you'd have to explain yourself? He runs a hand through his hair, and there he goes again, eyes darting across the café to find something to focus on as he sought out the right words. You'd almost find it endearing, how bad he is at this, if it wasn't so important to you.

"You don't do this often, do you?"

"What, like-- meeting up for coffee?"

"Talking about stuff. Your feelings and shit." You hid your slightly amused smile behind your coffee cup before taking a small sip.

"Oh. Yeah, no, I-- I don't. Not until recently." He takes a deep breath. Just like they had told him to. “I’ve been going to this therapy thing my sister recommended. S’not much, but… It’s a start. Talked about the restaurant, my brother—“

“Your brother?” Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah, my— my brother. Mikey.” He looks a bit surprised. He’s come to the shattering realization that he’s never told you anything about his personal life, ever. You don’t even know about one of the most important people in his life, his main drive. You’ve known each other for so long yet you know so little. “I never told you about him?”

“You never told me anything.” You answer curtly. “We never really… Talked, you know?”

“Yeah— yeah, you’re right. I just thought… Wow.” He smiles, more out of shock than anything. He feels so stupid. How immature is it to be feuding this much with a person who doesn’t know anything about you?

“I guess I really don’t know much about you either.” His fingers rake through his messy curls again. “Makes me feel like even more of an idiot for going off on you like that. Like I had you all figured out.”

“Yeah, that was uh... That was something." The mood shifts a little. His smile fades as soon as he sees the melancholy in your eyes return. Of course it wouldn't be that easy for you to forgive him, to feel better about all this. "You know, I never knew you thought of me like that." A small smile graces your features. Somehow it's sadder than the expression you had before.

"I mean, I knew you didn't like me. I was pretty much at peace with the fact that you were never going to like me, either. But I never thought you hated me that much." You sniffle, trying your hardest to blink away any oncoming tears. "Like your life, your entire career, would have been easier without me there at all."

His heart aches at the sight of you, all teary eyed and trying to be brave. You're much braver than him. Sadness is a much harder thing to express than anger. He's starting to figure that out more and more.

"I don't hate you." He starts. He sees the confusion contort your features, and he knows he's not making any sense. "I mean I did-- I did hate you. Or, maybe not you, just... The fucked up idea I had of you. And-- and that was on me, that was my own fault." He feels an urge to touch you; to rub your back, hold your hand, anything to comfort you. It's tearing him apart to know that he's the cause of all this.

"But why?" A single tear rolls down your cheek, leaving a wet streak on your skin in its wake. "Why did you think that about me? I-- I get that we had a little rivalry going but jesus Carmen, did you really think I spent my whole culinary school career trying to outdo you?"

"To be honest... Yeah." He feels ashamed. So ashamed. He hopes the waitress doesn't walk by and listen to any of this, see you crying, and make you feel even worse. "Cooking was always just... My thing. If I was good for anything, it would be that. So seeing you do so well at something I'd started to base my whole existence around, it made me jealous, so fucking jealous." He meets your eyes, even if it's hard. You have to know he's being sincere.

"And it's-- it's unfair, it's so unfair to you, I know, and I'm really fuckin' sorry. I'm trying to work on myself, on everything, and I hope I can prove that to you." His face has that red tint you recognize whenever he's nervous or stressed. You can tell this is taking a lot from him.

"Is that really all? You were just jealous?" Your voice is quieter, fragile almost.

"I don't know. I wanna think it's that simple but I really don't know. There's a lot I don't understand about me, or you, or us. My mind doesn't know how to react when I see you anymore I think, now that things are different." He takes a deep breath, like saying that took a physical toll on him. "You have this-- this weird effect on me, and I don't know how to cope with it. I think it was just easier to be mad at you than to be anything else."

Anger is easier to express than sadness. The easiest out of all emotions, actually. Sometimes a little too easy.

You look to the side, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. You huff out something close to a laugh, and though he’s caught off guard by it, he doesn’t mind it. Even if you’re laughing at him, at least that means you’re not crying.

“You’ve got issues Berzatto. You know that?”

“Yeah. I’ve been told.” He smiles, and it’s heartfelt this time. Not nervous, or sad, or awkward. He’s happy to see you a little more at ease.

“It’s just really crazy to me.” You trace your finger over the edge of your coffee cup as you talk. “I spent so much time in culinary school looking up to you. And then I find out you were always just trying to keep up with me.”

Carmen’s eyebrows raise a little at your words. “Looked up to me?”

“Yeah, like… Your drive, your passion, it’s so impressive. Always looking to improve, to do better, it just— it inspired me to do better too. As cheesy as that may sound.” You smiled. “S’why I opened up in Chicago, you know.”

“Really? Huh.” He leaned back in his seat.

“Because I wanted to work with you. Or for you. Either would have been fine with me.” You sigh. “I like owning my own place, but… I don’t know, for some reason I always imagined us working together.” You smiled. “Is that stupid?”

“No,” he replied quickly, “no not at all, I— I totally get that.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head when he stares at you for a moment.

“I mean you’re a remarkable chef, really, like— insanely remarkable, and, well, we’re revamping the restaurant completely right now. We need people— more people, new people, and so, I was wondering— or I’ve been thinking—“ He stops himself from losing his breath from all his rambling, before he freaks you out even more than he already has.

“I want you to come work for us at the Bear.” He puts his hands together, as if he’s about to beg. “Please.”

You can almost hear yourself blinking out of confusion. There’s suddenly no more loud silences, no, the café seems dead quiet for once. All you can do is stare at him, wait for a laugh, because clearly this was a joke right? There’s no way Carmen Berzatto, chef supreme, arch nemesis of yours, would want you anywhere near him, let alone work in his own establishment.

“I’m sorry?”

He feels stupid already. You had every reason to say no. He’d been the biggest asshole in the world to you, he’d kept his distance all his life, and now he expects you to be his employee. Or, well, colleague, more so.

“I’m uh— we’re redoing the restaurant entirely. New equipment, new staff, new everything.” He swallows; the thought of everything that needed to be done arises for a moment. “We need people that work hard, who know what they’re doing and who are passionate about it. And I barely know anyone who’s better at what you do than yourself.” He pauses, waiting for you to stop him. But you don’t.

“So I’m asking if you’d work for me. With me. It won’t be anything like old days, if anything I— I need to learn from you.” He scoffs at himself. “Could take a thing or two about how to communicate with my staff.”

You smile, and he genuinely thinks you’re about to start laughing at him. You chuckle, but it’s not mean, it’s honest. Cute.

“You know, you have great timing.” You grin.

“I do?” the smile on his face reflects the hope he feels.

“One of my chefs wants to take over the place for me. Well, has been wanting to. I haven’t had an exact reason to say yes to her yet.” You shrugged. “Guess I do now.”

“…Is that you saying yes?”

“It’s definitely not me saying no.” Your eyes meet his, and there’s something between you both that’s different now. It’s not like there’s a switch that’s been flipped. It‘s more like this conversation was the turning page of a new chapter.

“I’ll think about it. I want to see it first. Maybe talk to some of your staff.” Carmen’s chest strains a little when he thinks about you interacting with Richie. Then he’s reassured when he thinks about you interacting with Sydney or Marcus. You’d fit in well, you have great feeling for people.

“Yeah— yeah, I get that. Totally. I can arrange that. Uhm, we’re renovating right now, actually, it’s all really kinda wild, but if you wanna stop by, chat with Syd, or Nat, or talk about the plans, let me know. I’m sure they’d love to talk to you.” He’s not lying, you seem like you’d get along well with them. Especially Sydney. Your thinking processes are very similar to each other. And to his.

Carmen gets the bill, even though you try to pay for it.

“It’s just a coffee, just let me get this one.”

You let him have this one, simply because you can’t argue with him after the conversation you just had. You’re in too good of a mood after his proposition too.

He walks you to your car, hands in his pockets when you reach it. It’s cold outside, and his breath comes out in visible puffs of air. His nose is a little red, but you think it looks cute.

“Thanks for coming, by the way,” he starts, “I know you didn’t have to. Like— after how I acted to you. But— But I really do appreciate that you’re givin' me a chance here.” He’d always been confused about how positive and faithful you were in people. He never thought he’d be grateful for those exact features too.

“No worries, I… I had a good time. I’m glad we talked.” The keys jingle as you fidget with them. Among them is a keychain in the shape of a cherry, he recognizes it. It reminds him of how little you’ve both changed. And how much.

“Yeah.” He sighs. Relieved, almost. “Me too. But I’ll let you leave, might wanna tell your chef the good news.”

“Good news?” You quirk an eyebrow.

“That you’re selling them the business.”

“I haven’t decided yet, Carm.” You scoff. But he can tell you have, you look too excited about it all to not have your mind made up yet. It excites him too. Scares him a bit as well, but what’s a new chapter without a bit of tension?

“Right. Sorry.” He huffs. “Just text me when you wanna head over to see the place. It’s uh… It’s a work in progress, but it’s getting somewhere.”

“I believe you. I’m looking forward to it.” You lean back against your car a little.

“Yeah. Me too.”

“See y’around?” You unlock it and walk up to the driver’s side.

“Course. Uh, don’t be a stranger.”

You grin, leaning down to get into the vehicle. “Never with you, Berzatto.”

He watches you drive off, standing in the cold for far longer than any sensible person has any business standing there. But he feels good. He feels warm.

He thinks about what you said to him before you left. You were right, you were never a stranger to him. You were always like a constant in his life; whether you were actually present or not. And even if he didn’t know that much about you, which he was insistent on changing, you were never a stranger.

Never with him.

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