#but the food options have been awful

[thebraxiatelcollection]

I am so excited by the prospect of coming home and eating a proper meal.

[fanficmemes]

Life has been insane lately, but recently it has taken a much more Disney channel original movie turn. Allow me to explain. Many years ago (middle school) I was friends with this girl and we were very close, she had an older sibling with cool green hair and tattoos, genuinely didn’t even know I was bi but I had a huuuuuge crush on them. Fast forward to present day, through a series of what I consider some of my best choices I now have a date with the older sibling this week and like. Who gets to do that!! Who gets a chance with their childhood crush!! How am I gonna take this man on a date I’m so nervous!!!!!!!!!

[the-doggy-diaries]

hello everyone i am moving back in with my parents after living away from them for nine months ... they are absolutely insane to me i have already had really shitty stuff happen and we have not even picked up my stuff from my house ... but at least i will be living rent free and i will be able to save up and try again

[starstruckpurpledragon]

So the good news is that having the humidifier pointed at me pretty much all day since it arrived was a good plan. Yesterday afternoon my cough disappeared entirely. Much rejoicing.

The bad news is that I realized this because I was starting to feel a bit clammy and so shut off the humidifier. Turns out the humidifier wasn't making me feel clammy (and a bit jittery too); it was one of the early signs of the food poisoning I was up with all last night.

I, uh... I would have preferred the cough turned into bronchitis than to have gotten food poisoning. So much for my healthy salad for lunch. *grumble* I'm pretty sure it had to be the salad's fault, anyway.

So now I still may wind up visiting the doctor's office tomorrow or Friday, just not for the bad allergy-cough.

Taking today off from work. Just gonna read fanfic, scroll mindlessly here on tumblr, snuggle Estelle (who is concerned about her pet human), and try to drink plenty of liquids.

[yeyinde]

ghoapxreader in the baby trapping series IM BEGGING 🧎‍♀️

i think i've exhausted the whole "tampering with contraceptives" thing to death by now so i would probably do something different with them. like a surrogate situation or something, but awful lmao

maybe down on her luck reader is in desperate need of cash, and these two men swoop in to save you from this horrible pit you've fallen into.

you need money. they need a baby.

simple, right?

except the simplicity falls apart when they blatantly tell you they want a natural insemination—as in, a threesome.

multiple, the pretty Scot tells you. after all, it has tae take, hen.

(and this is the part where you should have run. the moment when you'd be screaming at the television at the hapless protagonist as they walk mindlessly into danger despite the warning signs hanging overhead. but like the oblivious hero, you're too blinded by pretty, gleaming white to realise that the thing you're marveling over is a maw. cracked open wide and full of jagged, deadly teeth rearing up to sink inside of you.

but the problem with making shady deals when you're desperate is that no one really bothers to read the fine print, do they? and by the time you see past their crooked charm, you're waving your child off as they skip up the stairs to school, standing like a prisoner between them as they lean down and ask if you're ready for another—)

but that comes later.

what comes first is message on Craiglist.

one that you spend less time considering it than you should have. desperation, you find, clouds your judgement. blots out common sense. makes you susceptible to manipulation. and oh, how susceptible you are. despite priding yourself on your common sense and keen self-awareness, the overarching issues hanging over your head like an idling guillotine seem to erase that instructive need for self-preservation.

so, when the message itself pops up, you're already primed for making bad choices. ones out of malformed desperation. the barrage of texts from your landlord demanding rent, the ones sent to your family in moments of dire need asking for fruitless aid that will never come in time if the read receipts mean anything at all. the package from HR apologising for the inconvenience, but this was, regrettably, the only feasible option for the company at present, and too bad you didn't sign up for that union, huh? student loans. credit cards.

the measureable calamity of your life manifests itself in the shape of a black cloud hanging onto your aching shoulder, wrapping long, inkstained fingers around your jugular as it hisses the insurmountable figure needed to climb out of this pit in your ear.

sleepless, of course, hasn't helped.

and in that bog you can't swim through, their offer sounds far more appealing than it should.

let's meet up somewhere, comes the next message at half past three in the morning as you talk yourself in (and out) of this mess. talk about things more.

what else are you supposed to do?

job hunting sites mock you with their generic emails, thanking you for applying, and saying they'll reach out within a few business days for an interview if you're a good fit. ones sent off weeks ago. hundreds of them to no avail. it's almost like you're being plagued. blacklisted from the city.

even the fast food chain down the street refused your application when you sent it in, and the help wanted sign has been taped on the drive-thru window since you were sixteen.

it all pushes you closer and closer to making stupid choices, like replying with a simple (nervous, shaky, bile-tinged) sure to the message they sent. i'm down—

(—and drowning)

but you're smart enough to know better, so you act like it, too.

ping your location to your friends. tell them where you're going. clutch your keys so tightly in your fist that your knuckles just out through thin skin. layers upon layers of safety measures glimpsed through the various articles about how to stay alive.

but all the tremulous air is siphoned from your lungs when you see them for the first time.

something magnetic thrums through your chest. copper sutures running lines from their skin to yours until touching just seems like the most natural thing in the world. and you suppose it is when the pretty Scot folds you into a tight hug, cinching you close to his chest as if he's known you his whole life instead of just several seconds.

he's a thing of beauty. chiselled from marble, almost; David made human when he runs his tanned hand through the tumble of uneven hair along his crown. eyes the same varicoloured palette of a boscage in autumn framed in the setting sun's golden halo.

there's a distinct ruggedness about his beauty, too. one that reminds of you a lion's mane. the sleek fur of a stallion. pretty in a wild way. and as his eyes list towards you again and again, like he can't quite manage his fill of staring at you, taking you in, you think about that wildness again. the hunger in his eyes so similiar to the desperation of a predator fattening up for the encroaching chill of winter. it makes you shiver, but you can't look away

(because you know what's waiting for you when you do)

and when you finally pluck up the courage to glance at the shape devouring the light with his intimidating bulk, you come to quick realisation that if Johnny is the personification of an autumn evening, then the man standing next to him is the tried and true testament that bad things happen after dark.

he's a strange figure, one who veers almost comically into the uncanny valley with his hood pulled over the plain, black ballcap hanging low over his brow. a balaclava covering every inch of his face with the exception of a small, ovaled hole for his eyes. remnants of something ashy smear into the corners, running up the crooked bend of his nose.

he doesn't look like a real man—not with those liquid, haunting eyes—but at the same time, there's something preternaturally human about him. a stereotypical sense of masculinity—just one warped around the edges.

with his worn jeans pulled tight over thick, bulging thighs, and the silver zipper of his hoodie resting at the base of his throat, you could easily think he was just another man in the crowd, but it's off. a glitch. a skip.

like mistaking a coat rack for a man in the dead of night.

eerie.

dangerous.

if the man beside him is playfully carnivorous, a basking lion rolling onto his belly at the zoo, separated by thick glass, then he (Simon, Johnny supplies readily when the silence lingers; Simon Riley), Simon, is what it feels like to be followed home at night.

but—

there's something about fear and desire that are almost inseparable when broken down into a physiological response.

and when he steps up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body soaking into the drying sweat on your back, you liken the way your heart climbs up your throat to same as it would seeing a dorsal fin cutting above the waves in open water.

desire, you think, and then catching the white-hot burn of the stare, you add, in a thin whisper: fear.

when they sit you down, and begin to spin a story about how they just want a baby—no strings attached—you stay seated in the chair even as an itch in the back of your head starts, nails scraping at your skull.

their reluctance toward traditional methods makes sense when they explain that with their lifestyle, it's impossible—or the Scottish man does; the other one with a marbled skin of thick, ugly scars on his hands just stares, pinning you down with the weight of his gaze—and this arrangement is the only way they'll get the baby they've been hoping for.

and even though the scratching in your head sounds suspiciously like why you and run, you eat the food they bought for you in the fancy restaurant where appetisers start at $30, and a glass of water is priced at $6. volcanic spring water, the waiter explains as he pours it from a marbled glass pitcher.

you haven't eaten a real meal that wasn't microwavable or cup noodles in weeks.

maybe that's why you find yourself thinking why not instead of no.

they're attractive men. it's not the worst situation you could have found yourself in, even if the idea of parenthood—however brief it's supposed to be—has bile clawing up the back of your throat, and the bones housing your trembling heart feeling laden, heavy like iron, and starts to cinch your chest shut each day, squeezing tighter, and tighter, and—

they drop off the first the installment to you the moment your doctor starts to talk about boerhaave syndrome, as if they know the doubts that plague your head when they leave your apartment and the silence starts to mock you.

and that leads you here.

guilt for their situation. desperation over your own. an overarching need to please. it's all a dangerous cocktail that douses over rationality until you're nodding along, accepting their words as gospel until sleeping with them—multiple times—doesn't seem like such a bad thing.

until it happens. until you have Johnny and Simon actively working to knock you up. a marathon of intense sex with the single-minded goal of putting their baby in you.

Johnny drooling all over you as he ruts between your thighs, mindlessly driving himself into a frenzy as he slurres out his desires in an incomprehensible mess of English and Gaelic and animalistic grunts. barely pulling out in time before Simon is pressing your knee down to the mattress, cooing mockingly at the mess his boy made of you. cruelly taking bets as he slides into your sore, aching cunt about who will take first. his or Johnny's? and who do you want, birdie? who's baby do you want first?

fingers always shoving inside to cap the overflow when they exhaust themselves in a liquid-limbed stupor, barely conscious as you tapped out some three, four rounds ago. unable to keep your eyes open any longer as they both came to the same conclusion that cumming inside of you at the same time was the quickest way to knock you up together. ain't he a romantic, birdie?

and it's probably for the best that you passed out before it happened, drooling on Simon's scarred shoulder as he gripped the cheeks of your ass, pulling you wide open as Johnny shuffled forward between his spread legs, eyes riveted to the spot where Simon's cock split you open. the ache you felt the next morning, coming to on a broad chest with fingers stuffed inside of you—shush, shush, just keeping you nice an' plugged, sweetheart—was almost unbearable.

you expected them to clear out after getting what they want, but they stay. tend to you carefully like you're made of fine china.

or—Johnny does. bundles you up in his arms before setting off towards the bath, finally letting you wash the sticky, flaking grime from your skin, some awful mixture of drying cum, spit, and sweat, groaning in your ear as he pulls you to his damp, hairy chest about how sweet you are for them. how they're going to take care of you.

Simon caters to other things. packs your bags as Johnny scrubs thick fingers over your shoulders, pausing to grasp a sore, tender breast in his palm, hefting the weight up as he feverishly mutters about how hot it'll be to watch you feed their baby. an' maybe you'll let him have a little taste, too—

and when you finally emerge from the bath, sorer between the thighs than you were when you woke up, another mess pooling in the gusset of the panties he pulled up your legs, Simon's waiting, eyes riveted to your belly. staring at it with so much hunger, a cold sweat breaks out along the nape of your neck.

in the grand scheme of things, the threesome is the easy part. the hard part comes when they turn the arrangement into a prison, locking the shackles around your wrists when the pregnancy test comes back positive a few weeks later.

they're only doing what's best for their baby, they say, when they move you out of your apartment and into theirs. the cut lease was the only way to do it, Johnny says, shrugging. why make you pay for something you aren't using anymore?

and maybe if your head was thickened with a fog, you'd have questioned the phrasing, but as it stands, pregnancy, even as early as this one, adles you. leaves you a syrupy mess of emotions that they take turns exploiting. aren't you so lonely all by yourself, hen? don' ye want a family?

aren't they good enough for you?

it's less subliminal messaging and more overt coersion. what are you going to do after this? where will you go with your lease cut? and when the funds run dry? what then?

gonna find another couple to knock you up? Simon hisses, mangled hands mauling your belly, pinching and squeezing the flesh as if he could feel the fragile box their happiness is housed inside. should jus' stay with us if that's the case, birdie.

but it's all so sweet, in its own way—

(—sweet like a parasite nesting inside of it's host.

but at least you'll never be lonely.)

they stand by the fact that they're looking out for you. that they care. that they can't do much else but idle and watch your body evolve into something new (an' magnificent, Johnny breathes, kissing this unfamiliar shape you call home) and it grates at them because they're not used to feeling so useless, so can't you just let them do this for you? take care of you in all the ways they see fit? like cutting your lease and giving you a better place to stay. handing in your resignation from that shitty nine to five that wore you down to the bone. culling out the annoyances in your life—the friends and family—who kick up needless fits over your wellbeing, and just stress you out more than you need to be.

they're not good enough for you, is what Simon says when you ask why he blocked them from your phone, Johnny hovering by the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. barring the exits, you'll realise later. but what comes first is fear, is anger, is—

happiness. maybe. or some broken, fragile facsimile of it. a subpar humuliculus masquerading around as if it was realised flesh and bone.

"oh," you say, and think you should be touched by his care, his concern, and so you are. shape this emotion from the sludge that pools at the bottom of your chest, running fingers through the muck to find pieces of gold. and then: "thank you, Simon."

it's sweet. or it could have been if it didn't spiral out of your control when they systematically dismantle your entire life until all you're left with is loose sediment slipping through your fingers. the foundation itself soften clay they shape into the image they've been after with the whole time: you.

(or more specifically, a momma for their baby.)

and when they ask you, at the end of this thin, fraying tether, if you want to be with them—an equal, a mother—and be a mother again for them, there's nothing else you could say except yes.

nothing because they made it so.

[starstruckmiraclekitty]

“Fuck, fuck, shit.” Simon cursed as he ran to the kitchen. He’d lost track of time again, and in the process, burnt the chicken that was supposed to be your dinner for the night.

How did you always make cooking look so effortless? Simon could recall in the dozen times he’d watched you cook for him, how you’d dance around the kitchen with your beautiful head in the clouds.

He sighed deeply before throwing out the chicken, frustrated with himself that he couldn’t cook a single dish right today. He’d been in the kitchen all day trying various recipes, and ended up wasting nearly your entire fridge of food in his attempts.

Simon ran a hand through his hair, frowning as he now had nothing planned for tonight, and had a little over an hour until you’d come home. You’d had a long week, and he figured the least he could do for you was to make you dinner.

With seemingly no other options, Simon decided to go with his last resort- takeout. He’d remembered you said that you wanted to try the new diner down the road, so he quickly dialed the restaurant and ordered something he was sure you’d like, including your favorite bottle of wine.

~

With ten minutes to spare, Simon raced through the front door, and began to set up the kitchen table for your arrival. He set out your favorite candles, poured each of you a size-able amount of wine, and out the food from the takeout containers, setting it all neatly on the table.

Upon hearing the click of the front door, Simon quickly put the finishing touches on the table, before making his way over to you- his eyes softening as they landed on your tired frame. “Hey, sweetheart.”

You looked up at your boyfriend, your foul mood immediately forgotten upon looking at the shy smile lining his lips. “Hey, Si.”

Simon walked over to you, grabbing your coat from you and placed it on the back of the couch. He turned back to you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips before pressing another kiss to your nose. “Are you hungry?”

“I’m starved.” You groaned, grabbing Simons outstretched hand and following him into the kitchen.

You felt tears tricking the corners of your eyes as you took in the sight of the table Simon had prepped for you. You looked over at him, and found him wearing a proud expression. “Oh, Simon you didn’t have to-.”

“Don’t even finish that thought. Just sit, and eat, yeah?” He gestured to your chair, which he held out for you. You giggled slightly as you sat in your chair, and looked down at the food in front of you.

“This looks incredible, Si.” You said in awe, before placing the napkin in your lap.

“I’ll certainly say you make dinner look like a breeze. I uh..didn’t have the easiest time with what to do for tonight.” Simon chuckled, his cheeks turning red from embarrassment.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. You cooked this yourself?” You asked, your eyes practically rolling in the back as you took a bite of the food.

He was going to tell you, he honestly was, but with the way you were looking up at him in complete admiration had Simons heart melting, and before he knew what he was doing, he was nodding at you with the biggest smile on his face. “Yeah, ‘s nothin.”

“Nothing my behind. You’ll be Chef Riley from now on this house. This is incredible, all of it. Thank you.” You praised, practically beaming up at your boyfriend.

Simon felt his cheeks burn red at your praise as he continued to eat, occasionally stealing glances at you throughout dinner.

Conversation flowed naturally between the two of you as you finished eating, and Simon could see the weight of the day visibly leaving your shoulders as you began to relax into your chair.

Simon stood and bent down to place a lingering kiss to your lips, causing you to moan softly against him. You sighed deeply before pulling away from him. “I should help you clean this up.”

“Don’t worry about clean up, love, that’s my job come mornin’. You’re my priority right now.” He spoke, as he looped his arm underneath your thighs and began to carry you bridal style toward the bedroom. “Be a good pup and let me take care of you.”

~

You, of course, would never mention the takeout containers you found in the trash can the next morning - after all, “Chef Riley” did have a nice ring to it.

[flawseer]

"#21 - Ancient", follow-up

I'm not going to be able to finish Smaugust #23 today, so that will have to wait until tomorrow. Apologies.

Instead, for a change of pace, let's talk about something different. I've seen a few reactions to my submission for day 21 that wondered what on earth must have possessed Secretkeeper to romantically pursue Morrowseer, and what that must have been like. Did they love each other? Was there any tenderness or affection between them? I figured I should give you my take on them.

I believe that Morrowseer--somewhere deep within his black, twisted lump of a heart--did indeed have feelings for Secretkeeper. You can kind of see this in the Prisoners short where he very unfavorably compares Farsight to Secretkeeper and sings the praises of the latter. He holds her in high esteem and seems to value her intelligence. He probably really wanted to have a meaningful relationship with her.

Unfortunately, he is wracked with the burden of having to be Morrowseer; a bitter, deeply unpleasant, emotionally shallow old dragon incapable of the humility required to be compassionate. For all the prestige and clout that Morrowseer has as an elite member of the Queen's court, his social life seems very empty and sad. He has no friends, only co-workers (who don't like him) and underlings (who butter him up), and I think he feels incomplete because of that. To fill this void, he fixates on asserting his importance and is desperate to maintain his status. He deeply desired to be the father of the prophecy Nightwing--which would have cemented him as the one dragon who saved his tribe--and the fact that he failed to sire a child in time not once (necessitating Starflight), but twice (necessitating Fatespeaker) eats him up on the inside. He perceives this as a huge failure, and Mastermind (who succeeded where he failed) picked up on this and mocks him for it. His entire conversation with Farsight reeks of "I am mad and jealous that your kid is special! It should have been mine!! Goddamnit why wasn't it mine!??"

For Secretkeeper's side... no, I don't think there's any deep affection there. I don't think she anticipated this relationship happening in the first place. But she did want to have a child, and when Morrowseer approached her, she weighed her options. If one can stomach living with someone like Morrowseer--who always has to be the most important person in the room--it's not an entirely bad deal. You get a lot of social clout as the Queen's right hand's mate, and since Morrowseer is exempt from the strict food rationing policy, you also get to eat. And he actively wants to have children to secure his legacy, which, if that's what you want as well, is pretty good. So in my mind she probably just went "Yeah, I can probably make this work. I'm sure he's not as bad to be around when he likes you." and agreed out of convenience.

But I doubt she loved him. There isn't really a reality where I can reconcile "She loved him" and "She kept their shared child a secret from him because she did not trust him". The only thing Secretkeeper genuinely loved about Morrowseer was that she was able to have Moonwatcher. So she stuck it out for her daughter, and I don't think she was upset for very long when Morrowseer died. She might have even felt a sense of relief that she didn't have to keep lying anymore.

I've seen people point to the fact that Secretkeeper felt a desire to tell Moonwatcher who her father was, and then posit that this means she did have feelings for him. I'm not sure I really agree. All that tells me is that she has feelings for Moonwatcher and wants her to know the truth. But if the truth is "I didn't really love your father, he was an awful and unpleasant person and I was just with him so I could have you", it becomes understandable why she would choose not to tell her.

That's my read of the situation anyway. Yours might be entirely different!

[specialgradefckr]

Heatwave: Day 5

tw: explicit content, noncon/heavy dubcon. 4k+ words. Satoru/Reader/Suguru poly. afab!omega!reader, alpha!gojo, alpha!geto. yandere gojo and geto.

mind games, de-socialization/infantilization, caregiver/dependency kinks, piss kink, humiliation/control, captivity, stockholm syndrome, physical restraints, force-feeding (briefly), restricted bathroom access, suggestions of heat/breeding/pregnancy, reader has a panic attack.

Prompt: An omega is made to regularly piss themselves to show submission to the alpha(s) around them.

It’s for different reasons that Gojo and Geto force you to piss yourself during your captivity, but it always ends the same.

Laughter in your ears. A teasing joke – kinder, if it was from Geto – and perhaps they force you to sit there, soaked, for a few minutes until they tire of taunting you and carry you to the bathroom to wash it off.

They never leave you in there unsupervised, so it’s not like you’re ever relieving yourself without either of them present, as awful as the thought is.

That had happened only a couple times, early on.

Gojo had snapped that if you wanted to be left alone so badly, then he’d do it, even as Geto frowned in disapproval.

He’d continued to deliver you meals but otherwise went along with Gojo’s plan… even though you were chained to the bed, unable to so much as go to the bathroom on your own volition.

It was in part due to your own pride that you didn’t ask one of them to help you. You held it as long as you could – surely Geto would have to know.

He’d even asked if you needed anything one day in, and you were just about to ask him to take you to the bathroom when someone – Gojo, presumably – dragged him away.

Then you’d been left in the humiliating position of being forced to soil yourself. Literally, there’d been nothing else you could do.  

Afterwards, you’d gone on something of a hunger strike. Couldn’t have your bodily functions and sanitary conditions held hostage if you didn’t eat or drink, right?

You would have been proud of how long you lasted, were it not for how it ended.

It was hard – very hard – to keep on declining food after Gojo started to get desperate, realizing that you really were starving yourself.

He started bringing you offerings of all the best food and drink you could think of. Tempting you with a picnic on the balcony, what would’ve been the first fresh air you’d gotten since they kidnapped you.

That might have been his rut coming on, which would explain his shitty attitude. Being possessive over Geto, over you.

Wanting to provide for you, feed you, growing utterly distraught that you refused to eat the food he presented. Going through a thousand options to please you, like you were his mate.

He was scary. Gojo had always been scary, so upfront and outright with his desires, so unwilling to ever hold anything back.

And it pleased you, somewhere in the dark part of your heart, to make your displeasure – your rejection – so plainly known to the alpha before you.

Later you'd realize that Geto was the scary one. He’d come in one last time, made a final offering and a strict but firm warning.

You turned him down again and he’d returned with a cloth soaked in chloroform.

When you woke up, it was to a tube down your throat and your arms and legs strapped down.

Geto waiting patiently at your bedside for you to wake up, shushing you as you struggled and tried to choke it out, holding your head down gently so you didn’t hurt yourself.

He cooed that you were just so helpless, you couldn’t take care of yourself, couldn’t even eat without being made to, so you absolutely needed to be taken care of.

Couldn’t you see? This was for your own good. You were literally starving yourself, and for what?

Geto reeked of alpha pheromones, which was worse. While Gojo had been inconsolable, seeking your approval and acceptance, Geto’s scent was all delight and satisfaction at having given you what you needed.

Your alpha who knew what was best for you, better than you did yourself, and he was easily able to wrestle his stubborn little omega into submission.

It hadn’t been all his patronizing rambling and smug proclamations.

It had been the fact that you were physically incapable of talking back, telling him he was wrong, telling him you were starving yourself because they did shit like this and you didn’t want to fucking LIVE LIKE THIS –

The fury had choked you, leaving you coughing around the tube for Geto to fuss over you some more, inordinately pleased with the situation.

He’d left you with the tube for two days. You’re sure he would have done it longer, would have left you miserable and uncomfortable like that, forced you to soil the special bed padding made for elderly patients, forced you to endure even more sponge baths like you were an actual invalid.

But Satoru whined about how lame it was to have to change and clean and check your tubes instead of sharing a nice meal together, how boring it was that he couldn’t speak with you, that you’d definitely learned your lesson now, right? Right?

You weren’t even embarrassed to nod as they both stared at you. Look me in the eyes, darling. You wouldn’t put us through that again, right?

Put THEM through it. Like you weren’t the one starving, locked in a room, treated like an actual fucking animal for not wanting to be cozy with your captors.

It’s worse because it plays into your instincts. That’s why they have these expectations, why they go along with all these insane things.

At first you’d been angry, as reluctant as any abductee would be, but the longer you were exposed to their scents, the more you grew accustomed to them.

The more they tried to take care of you, the more you wanted to let them. Two beautiful, strong, lovely alphas who wanted so badly to be good to you, isn’t that what any omega would want?

They knew it, too. That was the worst part.

Your heat was coming up, the first since they’d taken you away, and you weren’t proud or delusional enough to think you’d make it even a day without begging one of them to knot you. If Geto wanted to hold out, you knew Gojo would give in, all you had to do was whine for him.

It fucking stung, the fact that you’d already thought about it so thoroughly. It stung to know their plan was working, that you knew and expected yourself to fuck them during your heat, even as sexual encounters with them became more and more commonplace.

None of them were really consensual, but you weren’t confident calling them rape, either.

Not when they always did stop when you’d asked them to, even once or twice when you’d wanted it bad so so fucking bad.

Pheromones hot and sticky in the air, the scent of pleasure and desire tugging you in. Making everything perfect and right and safe with your alpha for just a few precious moments.

Just by his scent, you knew the alpha was just on the cusp; it was the most arousing thing you’d ever felt in your fucking life and everything inside you screamed to make them cum and give you more of those comforting, arousing, pleasurable pheromones… and you’d told him to stop anyways.

Just to prove that you didn’t actually have any power, this was all because of them. They were in control and they’d fuck you whether or not you wanted them to.

But they did stop.

Even when Geto’s impeccable self-control was in tatters, even when Gojo had gone feral with need fucking you hard; if you told them to stop, they would.

If you told them to get off you, they did. If you said not to touch, then they wouldn’t. At least, not for sexual purposes.

It didn’t stop either one from jerking themselves to completion in front of you; your alpha moaning and whining with a flushed face as he locked eyes with you.

What a tease, Geto would say, Needy little omega wants me to put on a show?

Gojo was no better, Fuck, babe, you kill me, you really do… but what my omega wants, my omega’s gonna get.

Utterly unfazed by rejection, by denial. It wouldn’t even stop him from cumming, from finding release as he gazed at you. The scent of his arousal was more than enough to keep you hot and wanting, hand moving to rub yourself without your permission at the sight.

Sometimes the other one would come and help your partner out, drawn in by the heated noises and obvious arousal thick in the surroundings. Eager to assist with a warm hand or a wet mouth, even locking eyes with you while he did it.

Something dark and possessive flaring inside you at the sight of the alpha that had been inside you seconds ago brought to completion by another. 

Something almost worse filling your core with heat at the sight of your alpha being ravished, and another alpha your alpha fluttering his lashes at you as if to say don’t you want to be next? Next to cum, next to us? Inside us, around us, a part of us, like we’re entwined now?

Insane. Insane insane insane they’re driving you insane with this behavior. This façade of care and consideration.

Like you’re really lovers except for how you’re not allowed to choose what room you want to be in at any given time.

You can’t go to the restroom without permission. Can’t eat except for what they feed you. Can’t pick what show to watch, can’t go on the internet, can’t read a book or do anything to entertain yourself without their say-so.

They’ve arranged it somehow so that one of them is always with you. Even your bedtime – in the king-sized bed in the main room of the penthouse – is determined by them. No doubt they schedule it intentionally, so that if they both need to be gone, you’ll be asleep.

You can’t choose anything for yourself, but that’s not an omega’s place. Your alphas will present you with everything you need or want. It’s their duty to know you well enough to keep you satisfied always.

And when you do need to make a choice, when you need that element of control, they’ll give you the options to pick from, so you don’t get too overwhelmed.

Fucking archaic. No one thought that way about omegas anymore. No one treated omegas – anyone ­– like that anymore.

Nobody but Gojo and Geto, the only alphas in the world with both the power and the perceptiveness to provide so perfectly and so thoroughly.

But even those little moments where they offer you some choice, something they’ll actually follow through with, where your opinion truly counts – even that is just the illusion of power. They decide what to give you, when to give it to you.

And they do what they want, ultimately, hence the current situation. They like to make you drink, bring you glasses of water throughout the day for you to finish, “keep you hydrated”, and it’s laughably transparent what it’s in the service of.

But what can you do? They’ve proven they’re not afraid to force things down your throat. This is infinitely more comfortable than the alternative.

Sometimes if you complain enough they’ll bring you something other than water. Once or twice, Geto would let you pick – “Apple juice or orange, darling? You can always still have water, if it’s too hard to choose.” – and to your utter despair, you felt grateful.

Gojo, you think, genuinely gets off on the scent of your piss.

He’s a bit of a freak, though you’d known that from the beginning. Prone to nuzzling into the scent glands on the side of your neck while he took you from behind against some surface.

Inevitably, he pressed you into it, hard enough to pressure your lower abdomen. Between the pressure of his cock filling you entirely, and the press from outside your body as he fucked you against it, all you could do was whimper.

“S-Satoru,” He’s nicer when you call him by his first name, “Satoru, please, please, I – I have to go – ”

Another thrust, hot, heavy, harder than the rest you think, a grin you can hear, teeth against your ear, “I’ve got you, baby.”

“Eugh – please Satoru I can’t hold it – ”

“If you gotta go, baby, go,” He purrs into your ear, “Just follow your instincts. You can do that, right? Just let go.”

His words make it all the harder to hold back, the innate desire to please an alpha surging through you as your release approaches.

And you’re close, too, about to cum even as you can feel the urge to pee swelling with it. It’s gross, it feels awkward, but you just want it to be over –

“Aww, little omega needs some help? Let alpha help you along~”

Fingers trace over your clit and you squeak, Gojo just laughs while he rubs tighter against you, bringing you all the way over the edge. You cum with a cry, a shudder, clinging to him at your involuntary, humiliating release.

“That’s it, there you go, baby,” He pants, deep breaths as he thrusts his own release into you, “Piss all over my cock. Mark your territory. I can smell you.”

Heat shoots up your body, your cheeks. A sigh of relief as your bladder empties itself. Burning shame. It roils, churns; your thighs feel sticky with more than just cum.

You quiver, burying your head in his neck to avoid the smell. Gojo’s scent is sweet with delight as he rides you through the aftershocks.

He strokes your back while he coos, “There you go, wasn't that nice, baby? Didn't that feel good? Don’t worry, just leave the rest to your alpha.”

He made you do this. But it’s no use getting angry, tensing up or doing anything, really. Your omega instincts are telling you to give in, go limp and obedient and he’ll take care of you.

And you do. It’s either that or soak in your own piss. Gojo’s breaths are deep and he hardens inside you at the scent in the air, and all you can do is whimper.

You don’t complain when he fucks you again in slow strokes to avoid overstimulating you. When he gets fully hard again, you’re starting to clench against your will, and he starts pressing into your clit again in short circles.

His fingers are wet, warm, and it’s not long before he brings you to another peak, warbling high, soft noises while he purrs in satisfaction.

You try not to think about the mess on the inside of your thighs, on his cock. Gojo brings his finger from your clit to his mouth. Blue eyes boring into yours, grinning, while he licks it clean.

So you wait a little while before you whine at Gojo, “Bath,” leveraging the alpha’s need to coddle you.

It usually works. You’re usually only made to sit in your disgust for a few moments of hot, sticky, uncomfortable pleasure before he scoops you up and takes you to the bathroom.

You have a surprisingly thorough skincare routine. Geto likes routines, you think, and Gojo likes sweet-smelling soaps and lotions, and they both like pampering you.

Pretending that you’re their sweet little omega girlfriend they spoil rotten instead of a prisoner who can’t leave.

It could almost be nice. Gojo’s large form in the tub beside you as he carefully scrubs you clean, massages his favorite fruit scented shampoo into your hair.

Grooming you with a diligence that you wouldn’t expect from him, all soft hands and gentle circles. Rinsing everything out.

Your tongue darts out over your lips, purely reflexive, as he cleans you up. For his part, Gojo doesn’t even try to resist the desire to lick over your scent glands when he towels you dry.

You smell like him, after. It makes him hard, but it’s easy to make Gojo hard, like that’s his default state whenever you’re around.

Your bare neck does things to him, you think. It’s stranger that smelling Gojo on you makes Geto hard, when he comes in to make sure he's following your routine correctly.

Gojo kisses at the corner of your mouth before he pops out the cleanser. You sit down obediently for him as Geto walks in, like he can tell you’re going to be put to bed soon.

They fuss in unison; Geto wants a leave-in conditioner for your hair, Gojo thinks that’ll weigh it down. Taking turns massaging your face, your hands, with one product or another. You feel like a doll sitting there – they certainly treat you like one.

Neither of them ask for your input on anything. Gojo styles your hair as he likes, using the hair dryer on you. The one time he hadn’t, Geto threw a fit, saying you could catch a cold.

It feels nice. Hands running through your hair, brushing it. You could almost catch yourself purring. And then Geto will mention a trim, of Gojo will suggest some styling, and you’ll remember with frigid clarity that it’s not really your hair anymore. Just the hair on their pretty little omega doll.  

Frighteningly, the thought makes you wet, sometimes. Sometimes you think you’re conditioned to get wet when you feel helpless, because that’s the only useful thing you can do. Get wet enough to make one of your alphas purr and kiss and fuck you into blissful comfort.

Gojo thinks it’s cute, thinks it’s darling, he’ll usually give in to you right away.

Geto actively tries to make you feel helpless. You think that’s what it is, when he makes you piss yourself, that’s what he gets off on. Making you drink more and more, knowing you can’t really refuse. Asking you to hold it just a little longer.

“Come now, we don’t want to make a mess, do we? Just another minute, little omega.” Geto likes it when you make a mess.

Or rather, he likes when you need him to clean you up. When you need him, in general.

“Needy little thing.” He sits you on his lap. The arm wrapped around your waist pressing against your abdomen. “One more minute, love, then we’ll head to the bathroom.”

He doesn’t encourage you like Gojo, but he wants the same thing. You’re not sure which one you hate more. He’s only pretending to fix your hair. Gojo and him are the only ones who see it. It’s not remotely critical, not like your bodily needs –

But you don’t get to decide what’s important. Geto does, and he says you stay here, even when you desperately, desperately need to go.

“Suguru,” You whimper, squirming. You just want it to be over. “Suguruuuu.”

No pretense, anymore. His hand that isn’t constricting your middle darts down between your legs. Rubs your clit over your underwear.

Rock hard. You can smell the arousal on him. But Geto’s worse than Gojo, because Geto doesn’t always care about getting off. Sometimes he’s happy just to finger you. Sometimes he either jerks himself or gets Gojo to get him off. Sometimes he’ll eat you out for hours, claiming you were too fussy, and if he puts his dick in you, you’re not awake for it.

The scent of his arousal has you dripping quickly, it’s not even worth it to stave it off. The best you can do is get him to do it faster, and even that’s not really up to you.

The pleasure comes beneath his fingertips, but it’s sharp, tapered by friction, and he keeps a steady pressure around your abdomen that has the pressure building in your bladder. It’s a painfully familiar feeling.

“Hold it.” He commands, your alpha, and you do, you really do. You don’t want to piss yourself, but you know he does, and he’s just fucking toying with you while he gets you there. “Hold.”

It’s hard, hard, pulling against the tide, fighting the promise of release that swells beneath his touch. You can’t do it long. Full to bursting.

“There you go, just a little more.” He finally drags his fingers beneath your panties. You’re ready to start crying. “So wet. You don’t want to make a mess, do you? Just wait a little longer.”

Lying lying he’s lying and the thought makes it so much harder to control but you don’t WANT to. You don’t!

You really do cry, a sob that catches in your throat when he dips a finger into you and you feel a dam begin to swell against the increased stimulation.

“What a good omega,” He purrs, like he’s noticing your discomfort and trying to relieve you, instead of enjoying it, “Hold it. Hold it.”

Another finger in. So full, you’re so full, it’s like his cock is inside you, there’s so much that it hurts, you just want to let go. He starts rubbing faster against your clit, a sweet friction that you have to fight not to buck into, muscles spasming, control faltering.

“Suguru,” Reduced to pitiful mewls. Just how he likes you.

“Hold it.” He says, and he knows, he fucking knows, he must know –

Fingers darting deep inside you, arm clenching violently against your lower half. Squeezing, squeezing, so hard, all while he pinches tightly at your clit. White hot pleasure pours through you, heady, flooding, and all you know is relief.

“Oh,” He says, like he’s surprised, even though you can feel his smile widen against your neck, “Oh, poor little omega. Had an accident, have you? It’s all right. It’s okay.” He prods tenderly at your clit, nursing you through it.

“I know how it is. You can’t help it, can you, baby?” He kisses against your neck from the left. “Poor thing. Don’t worry. Your alpha will take care of it. It’s only natural, silly little thing like you, you just couldn't help yourself.”

It’s a constant refrain they both like to repeat. Not to be ashamed of your instincts, your body, your needs.

You know why. To your great misfortune, you were born an omega, and so once you go into heat you’ll be struck with the insatiable desire for their knots, and it’s in their best interest for you not to resist that.

The less you resist, the better the chances their claiming bites will stick. Gojo already loves to chew at the glands on your neck – you think he’s even ‘called’ the right side, gnawing at there lazily while Geto is in the room.

For Gojo, it’s just dirty talk, but Geto likes to lecture you. There’s no one in your tiny world who has any level of disgust for your bodily functions.

They’ve seen it all, seen you helpless, sick, all kinds of messy, and they loved you, loved taking care of you. It was an honor for them to see you so vulnerable, an honor only your alphas deserved.

Sometimes he calls it desensitization training, like there’s a purpose to making you piss yourself besides getting high on control and making you humiliate yourself into submission to their whims.

But you do think there’s more to that for Geto.

If they had their way, you’d be a complete degenerate, an invalid, helpless by choice and totally disinterested in changing that.

A spoiled, mewling omega just a few steps away from ferality. They already don’t let you do much on your own, attending to even the simplest things all by themselves.

Knowing only to whine for your alphas to entertain you, provide for you, comfort you, because that’s all you ever needed to do. Utterly incapable of functioning in normal society, and unable to see anything wrong with that.

It’s coming. Soon. You know it is, and you’re sure they do, too. Geto in particular probably knows your body better than you do; probably tracks your hormones and cycles, may even be feeding you suppressants or stimulants.

You can only pray he’s bothered to give you contraceptives, too. Gojo’s a lost cause, he’s probably chomping at the bit to put a baby in you, but Geto would at least be concerned with the implications.

They’d chained you to the bed and locked you up for a couple days alone but they couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. Their instincts just wouldn’t permit it.

Thinking about it makes you shake, uncontrollably. In your shared bed, in their arms, even with their voices cooing in your ear and their purrs and cuddles desperately soothing you.

Your heart trembles. Your heat is coming, it’s coming, and after that you could get pregnant.

They couldn’t leave you alone if you were pregnant. No alpha would ever be able to tear themselves away.

Alone, alone, locked in that tiny room. Chained up. You couldn’t even relieve yourself. Stuck in your own filth, abandoned by your alphas, the ones who were supposed to love you, protect you, provide for you.

They couldn’t, they wouldn’t. No alpha could abandon their omega. But they had once. They had once. They do whatever they want with you, no matter how much you hate it.

You tell yourself desperately you don’t want to be bred, and even you can’t tell if you mean it, excuses flashing back and forth in your mind.

What if they got you pregnant and decided you didn’t deserve their company? Decided you weren’t grateful enough for the calming presence of an alpha during your most vulnerable time? What if they thought you’d look cute, all pregnant and desperate and crying for them?

There’s no fix for this, nothing you can do about it, they’ve taught you that you can’t control anything in your life anymore.

Realization after realization crashes down, each little thing, can’t stop them from leaving, can’t stop them from breeding you, can’t stop them from fucking you in your heat, can’t do anything can’t you can’t you can’t –

They’re going to leave you. You’ll be heavy with child, longing for comfort and affection.

They’re going to make you need them. They’re going to make you weak in the worst possible way. They’re going to use it to hurt you.

Jerking, sniffling. Someone comes closer – it’s warm, paler, probably Gojo – but the shivering just gets worse.

Come closer, leave you alone. They’ll do whatever they want to do. You’ll just have to accept it.

They’re going to leave. Leave you alone. All alone. All by yourself. Locked up, in chains, unable to do anything. They made you need them and they’re going to leave –

Wetness pools in your eyes, and you blink it away without really trying, without noticing so much how the tears roll down your cheek.

The numb terror overwhelms everything. Cold, it’s cold, and somehow so hot. Your heart is trying to bolt out of your chest.

A name you distantly recognize as yours rings in your ears, but you don’t notice, don’t understand.

You’re too busy trying to breathe through all your panting, all the adrenaline rushing through you with the panic.

You feel helpless, completely helpless. Pinned between the two of them.

Larger, stronger, alphas who can subdue your resistance just by existing, emitting pheromones that send you into dizzy complacence or heady lust.

Alone. Alone, alone, they’re here now but it’s not because you want them they don’t care what you want they do what they want you can’t have anything can’t do anything you can’t you can’t you can’t.

The thoughts coil endlessly through your mind, spinning, spinning, spinning in place. A hand rubs against your back, a desperate purr in the distance.

Background noise. You're alone, trapped in your head, trapped with thoughts that won't stop coming.

Spiraling despair that just goes deeper and deeper, new fears unearthed with every thought.

You feel like throwing up.

Would they feel like cleaning you up? You’d be at their mercy, caked in your own vomit.

You feel like you’re dying.

Maybe you are. Maybe this is how they kill you, from the inside out.

[love-quinn]

— PARTIAL CREDIT

summary — when a new member of the waitstaff starts undermining you, you worry that your job might be in jeapordy. carmen knows you better than you think.

warnings — swearing, i think that's it

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!waitress reader, semi (?) established relationship

pronouns — she/her

word count — 2.2k

note — i know i fully dropped off the face of the earth but unfortunately i was too busy channeling waitress reader a little too hard, i actually have to leave for work in a few hours but i really wanted to get something out. this 100% isn't inspired by true events or me projecting in any way, anyway i hope you enjoy!! <3

Being the only waitress at a successful restaurant is hard. During the dinner rush, between wiping tables, grabbing drinks and running food, you’ve slowly learned to be more adaptable to the Bear’s new clientele base. That’s not without its struggles, of course. 

Fortunately, Carmy and Natalie seem to understand that it’s a major handful to simply do your job. Which is why Richie thought it appropriate to call you in two hours early to meet the new waiter.   

Liam’s nice from what you’ve gathered. He’s been working with you at the Bear for about two months at this point, most of that has involved you and Richie training him, and he’s been very receptive to your instruction. 

Sure, sometimes he mutters under his breath when a customer asks him for something, but hey, they’re annoying sometimes. And sure, sometimes you find him in the walk-in on his phone, but you’d be lying if you said you were never on your phone at work. He’s had no complaints, and the work is always done to a standard that’s expected (he is still in training, you’re not delusional). 

You’ve worked at the Bear since they were still the Beef, right after Carmen took over. He realised Richie couldn’t keep up with the stuff at the front by himself, so he’d gone with the cheapest option available and thanked god every day that you weren’t awful at your job. You had just graduated from UofC and if you didn’t get a job when you had, you would have been pretty much out of options. You had no work experience outside of being a TA in college (which apparently didn’t have a lot of transferable skills, according to most of your potential bosses). You hadn’t been able to score an insane internship, you didn’t make super stellar grades, you’d been too busy being desperately poor and struggling to keep up.

You’d been really lucky that Carmen had taken a chance on you when he had, and you had been desperate to show him you were aware of that. Liam didn’t seem to have the same sentiment.

He was the same age as you, and he’d actually gone to UofC as well. He’d gotten a pre-med degree but wanted to take some time off before he went for his MD at Rosalind Franklin. 

He picked up on the work fairly easily, remembered when you showed him where the cleaning supplies were, showed him how to work the buttons on the till to ring in orders, and introduced him to all the staff. They were nice to him, nice enough. It took them a while to warm up to him, just like it took them a second to warm up to Carmen, to Sydney, to you. 

But now, several months in, they all got along enough that work was going well. You didn’t have to work six days a week if you didn’t want to now that Liam was there to lighten the load (you did, you made sure Natalie knew that). Now, you could actually take your lunch break without worrying they were being completely overrun. 

On the whole, things seemed to really improve. 

Until, of course, they didn’t. 

You started hearing whispers, soft remarks of “Oh, I did that for her,” to Richie about greeting table seventeen. Small “I wonder why that wasn’t done, I’ll just do it quickly.” 

“Not to be that person, but I noticed that a lot of the straws haven’t been stocked up. I feel like I have to do it every time. I just wonder what she’s doing when she’s back here…”

You do your best to not let it get to you. He’s never worked in the service industry before, he’s probably just doing his best to make sure that his efforts are being noticed. You were almost lucky, in that way, that you were the only real waitress they’d hired. 

It’s an unusually warm day as you slide in through the back entrance to work. You’re your usual twenty minutes early, lucky that there’s enough work to do that Carmen often encourages punctuality (and thus, fairly compensates for it). 

Liam is scheduled today, but he’s leaving after the lunch shift. You get your break while the kitchen does prep-work for dinner, and then you’re coming back for dinner as well. 

Marcus is in his corner, kneading bread dough with a concentrated look on his face. You brush past him with an airy hello that he returns with a half-hearted wave, not looking up from his task. 

Tina is on vegetables, and she stops you for a moment to ask about a shipment arriving. You assure her that you’ll check when you get to the other side of the kitchen, making your way to the front.

The chairs are already all down, table cloths clean and freshly washed. Sydney went down to the laundromat to get them all clean that morning; she’d texted you and asked if you wanted to come but you told her that you really, really didn’t. 

Your first job is a pre-opening sweep, then a restock, then a menu review. You have 87 minutes until service, and Liam should be here in the next fifteen minutes or so. You have just enough time to go and bug Richie into showing you more pictures of Eva’s last birthday party. 

You stick your head into the office just in time to catch the tail end of a sentence that you definitely weren’t meant to hear; “...doesn’t even stack the chairs? What is she doing here?”

Your work anxieties - the idea that every time something goes wrong it was your fault, that one missed drink or late appetiser would have you fired, that every time a customer berated you it was actually your fault - had definitely eased some in the six months you’d been working there. You’d stopped thinking that every time someone was complaining it was about you, but that meant that when they really were talking about you, you knew. 

Liam’s standing there, leaning up against a pile of papers that Carmen is staring roughly at. He looks tired - when doesn’t he? - and like he doesn’t really want to hear whatever it was that Liam was saying. 

“A lot more than you do,” Carmen grumbles. He runs a hand over his face from the bottom up, coming to a rest when it’s gripping onto his curls. 

“I’m always covering her sections,” Liam groans. “The amount of time that Rich’s given me her table’s drinks, it’s insane. We should start pooling our tips.”

Carmen wants to say a lot back to that. That his name is Richie, and calling him Rich doesn’t make him any more like the finance frat bros that Liam is so desperate to associate with. That tip pooling would be insanely unfair to you considering Carmy’s pretty sure Liam’s made less than what you make in a day. That he stacks the chairs because he likes to, and you know that. 

Instead, he settles on “you’re always covering her sections because she’s always covering up for you when you screw up.”

Liam looks like he’s unsure whether or not to go ghostly pale or beet red at the statement. “Wh- has my performance not been up to scratch, sir?”

Carmen stands. “I didn’t really notice it, at first, cause everything was going so well. She’d never tell on you, she knows what it’s like to struggle at a job.” He looks disdainfully down at Liam’s too-new dress shoes. Professional but impractical as a waiter. From what Carmen’s noticed, this is the second pair he’s ruined. “She’d never tell me that your silverware is never rolled, so she’s been staying late and rolling every single one of them. She’d never tell me that your tables are never cleared away. She’d never tell me that you had six meals comped in your first month because you couldn’t be fucked writing shit down.

So yeah, maybe you get her tables a refill when she’s too busy telling one of us one of your guests was coeliac because you forgot to, but that does not give you the right to look down your entitled fucking nose at her.” Carmen gets close, not close enough to the point where it could be uncomfortable, but much closer than he’d ever get to Liam if he could help it. 

“You don’t like picking up her slack? That’s fine, that’s fucking fine, because to be honest, it seems like you’re creating more work for her anyway. You’re done.”

He looks pointedly towards the door to the small office. 

Liam knows exactly what Carmy’s telling him. “Sir, I-”

Carmen raises a finger and points. “You’re fucking done.”

Liam scampers away so quickly he doesn’t even see you eavesdropping. 

Carmy knows, though. He seems to have a sixth sense for when you walk into a room. If you’re not planning on coming in to confront him about firing Liam then he has no intention of bringing it up with you. He sits down, putting his forehead on his fist. “Sir.”

You’re standing right in the door, it’s practically impossible for Carmen not to notice you. But he pretends, allowing you the chance to slip away and act like you hadn’t just witnessed him firing Liam for being slightly mean to you. 

He opens his eyes to see you standing there still. 

“You didn’t have to do that,” your voice is soft. The collar of your shirt is tucked underneath on one side, and Carmen has to resist the urge to reach up and smooth it out. He’s not quite sure why and he doesn’t feel like unpacking it. “He’s still learning, I don’t mind helping him out.”

Carmen doesn’t mince his words. “He’s a dick, don’t defend him.”

He swivels away from his desk and gestures for you to sit. After a second of hesitation, you perch yourself on top of the small surface. You’re not sure who moves first, Carmen to reach up and take your hands or you to reach down to let him. Neither of you have ever spoken about it, like a lot of things. How he always makes sure you get extra food and you make sure Carmen isn’t bothered while he sets up the dining room. 

You hadn’t realised how much Liam had been heightening your anxiety while he was there. “He’s not allowed to do that to you.” Carmy sounds genuinely pissed. “You do fucking everything out there, he’s not allowed to come in and treat you like some sanctimonious fuck. You… you should’ve come to talk to me about it.” He gives in. “You could’ve.”

“I didn’t want to be a problem.” You admit quietly. “You have enough without me.”

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t talk when he drives you home in the dark, in the snow. But he’d be naive to believe that the same rules applied to everyone else. The kitchen staff talks, none more than Richie. Carmy is surprised he hadn’t decked that pre-med asshole already. 

“You’re not a problem, honey,” he says gruffly. You stay silent for a moment before realising that’s probably all you’re going to get out of him. 

“I need to go prep dining for service,” you say after a moment, not wanting to speak too loudly. 

Camry’s grip on your hand tightens and for a brief second he feels panic set in. You clearly are feeling okay, so it’s not that he needs to check on you. You’re well ahead of schedule. There’s no reason for Carmen to keep his hand enclosed around yours. And yet he does. And yet you let him.

“Liam was just in here bragging about how dining room prep was already done,” he says after a short while. “You’re well ahead of time.”

“He is,” you point out airily. “I’d never want to take credit for his work.”

Carmen squeezes your hands once, eyes crinkling at the sides. You both know you need to go over everything Liam did in an attempt to make himself look better, not one hundred percent trusting him to have done it properly. There’s 56 minutes until service before Carmen finally lets you go (and only because he has prep he needs to get done).

Plenty goes unsaid between you and Carmen. You don’t say anything when he cracks his office door open for you when you need a breather. You don’t say anything when his station’s been cleaned for him miraculously while you’re waiting for him to finish paperwork.

Luckily for you, the rest of your coworkers seem to understand this time. Nobody mentions Liam or his absence. No one mentions the stars drawn on the band-aid on Carmen’s wrist. And, most surprisingly pleasant, no one mentions how Carmen has started calling you honey more than perhaps your real name.

It makes it even nicer when everyone heads out, leaving you and Carmen alone in the restaurant for the night. They seem to have miraculously developed tact over the last 24 hours, but you’re pretty sure nothing could have stopped Richie from telling everyone about the way that Carmen holds your hand the entire way to your apartment. 

[hermesserpent-stuff]

more thoughts about creeds intro for brotherhood gambit au

Creed is tired and hungry. He claws his way out of the ditch and snarls a bit to himself. Magneto owes him. Big time. That mission was far more complicated than the man had promised. And he had ended up in a ditch! Dead if not for his powers. Creed had gotten done what he needed to be done. The dried blood is proof of that. 

He starts walking.

And walking.

Walking.

Then Magneto fails to show where they are supposed to meet. Anger flares. He moves on, growling deeply.

Creed stumbles to the building that he knows Magneto had been sending teens. He needs to report in about the last job and recuperate some strength.

He bangs on the door, flicking a bit of mud onto the front stoop. It splashes over the welcome mat. 

The door opens and a teen stares up at him. There is a flash of recognition there. Red eyes widen and then blink.

“Bonjour? Why’s the infamous Sabretooth drippin’ mud on my doorstep?” 

The teen asks, head tilting.

“I'm looking for Magneto. Have some things I need to settle with him.”

The kid hums.

“In. It's cold out here, monsieur. And I got chili on. Come on.”

The kid settles, pulling the door wider. Creed comes in and settles at a table he is lead to. The house smells vague of water damage and cleaning products. The teen putters about the kitchen spooning out a bowl. He glances at Creed and then spoons a second bowl. Both are settled in front of Creed, along with some water. Creed starts eating, ignoring the spoon, simply tilting the bowl into his mouth. The teen settles in a chair opposite.

“‘Neto ain't here. Never comes round. Not regular like anyways. Now, Mystique will be back tonight. She comes by to eat dinner, and leaves if she don't like what I be cookin’.”

The kid scrunches his nose in offense at the last sentence. Creed growls. The teen plops another bowl in front of him. 

“Not Remy's fault our fearless leader hides away all the time. Talk to Mystique. She sees him more often than the rest of us. Now. Imma fill the tub and heat it. You can keep on eatin’ till you're good. Then you gonna take a warm bath and settle in for waitin’.”

Remy says calmly. Creed tilts his head and decides that this is probably his best option.

“Fine.”

“Good. Pots yours. Been told you eat a lot. I'll have to make… somethin’ else for Toad and Blob. They can handle sandwiches for now. I'll go draw the bath monsieur.”

The teen nods to himself and trots off.

Creed feasts, the taste of the food heavenly to his empty gnawing stomach. When he goes upstairs he finds Remy withi his hand in the water reading a text book. The kid looks up at him and shakes out his hand. 

“Its pretty hot now. Pipes don't make no heat so you wont get any more hot water from them. Desole monsieur.”

The kid states and then stands. 

“I dont think any of the clothes in the house gonna fit you. Not that youd wanna wear any teens clothes.”

Remy says with a nose scrunch, looking at the muddly clothes. He then snaps his fingers.

“We do got somethin’! Big ol’ sweater and pants. Ill grab them and trade your stuff so I can clean up your duds.”

“You’re a regular old housewife aren’t you.”

Creed states and Remy rolls his eyes.

“Someone has to ensure the guild’s form of xenia is followed.”

Remy huffs. And then cocks his head to the side.

“And I don't wanna clean up mud from all over the house monsieur. Now! Let's get a movin’!”

Remy claps his hands together and trots out of the room. Creed shifts off the clothes and sinks into the warm water. A sigh comes unbidden from his mouth as he relaxes. He draws the curtain and closes his eyes. He hears Remy renenter and the shifting of cloth. Then the door closes again with a firm click. He slips a little more under the water. After a moment he starts running his hands through his hair. He finds soap that doesn't smell awful and scrubs at the dirt and blood. 

It is a little relaxing to be able to get all the gunk off. When the water get cold he pulls himself out and dries off and slips into the provided clothing. He walks back downstairs and finds Remy facing off with a crouched teen.

“What I tell you about shoes on my counters t’crapaud??! I can't keep cloroxing them. I know that you like jumpin’ up mais, not my counters!!”

Remy rubs at his face looking like a tired mother. The teen looks like he is about to say something when he spots Creed. He jumps up and onto Remy who causally catches him like its nothing.

“AHH! Yo! Whats the kitty doin’ here???!”

Oh. Toad. He had seen him at a fight before. Its one of Magneto’s drafted teens. 

“T’crapaud. Petit brigand, dont be rude! Man’s a guest. Now, scoot. He goin’ to the livin’ room and your gonna wipe down my counters so I can make your dinner.”

Remy gently puts the teen down and shoos him off. Toad looks at Creed with huge eyes and Creed gives a small growl and the kid scampers. Remy turns on a dime, eyes sparking.

“Non! You be a guest and you dont be growlin’ at mon petits. I will extend my hospitality, mais if you gonna spit in the face of it, I will not hesitate to show you how Guild treats enemies invading the house.”

Creed tilts his head and then nods.

“Got it. Won't hurt anyone while here.”

He says with a shrug. He won't promise to grow or hiss. It's his nature. Remy nods and then waves his hand.

“Livin’ room this way. None of the spare rooms are made up yet. I'm workin’ on it. But for tonight you got a couch. Desole.”

“Eh, it's better than a ditch.”

Creed says with a shrug and plops himself down on the couch. He stretches out with a yawn.

“Fair. I'll keep the others outta here. Get some sleep grand chat.”

Remy tosses a blanket over him and Creed blinks.

“Quoi? Need more?”

The kid asks and tosses another blanket over him. Creed lets out a confused murp and Remy walks off. 

--

Creed wakes up several hours later. He can tell that it is past midnight. He gets up and slinks over to the kitchen. Surprisingly he finds Remy there, spreadsheets layed out with assorted bills and coupons strewed about. Remy looks up from the pile and a red flush flickers over his face.

“Oh, ah, sorry. Mystique never came, so I let you sleep.”

Remy has puffy eyes and Creed can smell salt. But there is no tremor from tears in his voice. 

“Gotcha. Got anymore to eat?”

Creed asks and remy breathes.

“No more meat. Chili was the last of the chicken. There is a bone broth, but just some. Id… there wont be anymore meat in the house for a few days at least. Its too expensive.

Creed notes the kid fiddling with the papers and swipes them up.

“Hey!”

“Jesus kid, do you run the whole budget of this joint?”

He asks, looking over the expenditure columns written in freakishly neat hand writing for someone that is definitely not legally able to drink or be this responsible. He sees a few sticknotes penciling in estimated costs for repairs around the house and what priorities things had.

“I-... it started out as just the groceries. Mais I noticed… well, someone has to do it. And Mystique’s to busy bein’ the principal to look after us.”

Creed puts the papers down, thoughts quickly flashing through his head. The kid had treated him better than most strangers ever had or would. And he did eat all the chili on his own, where it could have fed the teens of the house twice over.

“Can you cook animals if they are freshly killed? I like hunting and I like eating.”

The kids eyes have no right looking that hopeful when aimed in his direction.

“Oui! I can cook just about any meat. If you show me how to skin and carve up the stuff I aint dealt with before, this cajun cook anythin’ you drag back!”

Creed hums.

“Yeah. alright. I can show you a few tricks for carving up meat. Ill go hunting tommorrow some time.”

“Maybe a bit later in the day, so its not dead for hours while Im in school? I can give you the schedule!”

The kid looks genuinely excited. Its… novel. Most people got grossed out at the mere thought of him dragging a kill home. But here this kid is, basically begging for it. 

“Yeah. sure. Means I get to sleep more.”

“Oui! Oui! Though, Imma wake you for breakfast. We having pancakes. And coffee. Dont want a guest hungry while Im away.”

[melliemell]

Pairing: Dazai x f!reader

Contents: mostly SFW, first date with Dazai, making out at uncomfortable places yet again, CW for Dazai-typical discussions of suicide, nothing too graphic; fluff and cheekiness in full. Approx 2k.

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

There it was again. The stare.

You moved about the food on your plate, feigning ignorance to Dazai’s gaze from the other side of the table. He’s been doing this more often in the past hour than your entire date. It got you wondering what on earth you did to get that switch up. He struck you as the airheaded type, at least at first. 

First dates as a general rule were rather awkward, as common sense points out. Even more so when said guy was a complete stranger you happened to bump into on the street. Dazai did have that effortless charm about him though, and you found yourself saying yes before you registered you’d just agreed to taking him out on a date. 

You. You taking him. 

He had a way with words, that you couldn’t deny.

And now, a second iced tea in and genuinely enjoying yourself, it was easy to see how that happened. From the constant flow of conversation to the rather peculiar sense of humour– yeah, he might be a little weird.

 A bit. 

Okay, a lot. 

But learning the effects of mushroom poisoning wasn’t all that boring. The contrary, actually. But it definitely had to do with Dazai’s ability to disarm any situation of its soberness. You found yourself relaxing into the evening with no worries over figuring out how to come up with escape plans. 

You were sticking this one out. Even if you’d probably be the one paying for dinner.

A faint tapping caught your attention.

“Aw, you’re not paying attention to me,” Dazai said, pouting. He clung his fork against his plate again, looking rather dejected enough to make you feel sad for him. “My lady doesn’t see me worthy of her precious time. Gah, what pains!”

You raised a brow. “I’m here with you, aren’t I?” You wondered how quickly he could switch between emotions. The look from earlier was completely gone.

“So are lots of people around us.” He loomed in closer, eyes glinting with only trouble. “But I keep my attention on the really cute ones.”

Ah, a charmer indeed. Hmm. Let’s see then…

“Do you, now? In fact–” You looked around innocently, weighing your options before settling on a table to Dazai’s back. A smile crept on your lips and you pointed discreetly. “–I’ve always been more of an admirer of elegant appeal than ‘cuteness’, to be honest.” 

“Oh?” 

You sipped your tea patiently as Dazai threw a carefree glance over his shoulder to the woman sitting not far from him. Nothing stood out at first glance, but the way she carried the simple, yet classy dress was enough to give you a double take. It was a stark contrast to the rest of you here.

The restaurant you were in did not have any dress code; it was far from those high-end establishments that required such frivolity.

The low woah that left Dazai’s lips was pretty much on point. It was almost like seeing a poorly disguised celebrity on a random Wednesday. 

Dazai hummed. “I see, I see.” He rested a cheek on his knuckles. “Sad to hear, though. You have a lot more fun with cuties! I have a coworker who’s very tidied up. He’s pretty fun to vex, but it’s almost impossible to free him from that stick up his ass. What a shame.”

“So I should go for the fun ones?” 

“I hear it’s good to mingle with like-minded people,” Dazai said, and winked. 

“Eh, I wouldn’t say that. I’m rather ‘tidied’ too, And if it comes with being seen as classy– I don’t mind.” You didn’t feel embarrassed by this. Too much adventure tends to stress you out more often than not. It was a miracle you even went on this date to begin with. But the look on Dazai’s face made you pause.

“Whaat? Pshh,” he waved a hand dismissively. A small glint of mischief flashed in his eyes, making you narrow yours in distrust. “Your modesty is making my heart flutter, here–”

He reached forward, clasping your hand into his before resting it against his chest. His vest felt warm, the wool grazing at your fingertips gently.

You blinked, face blank. “You know I can’t feel anything through–”

“Oh my,” Dazai said, that cheeky smile reappearing. He leaned closer, tone low, “I will admit, this is a bit straightforward; I’m quite shy. But… when a beautiful woman hints at wishing to undress me, and publicly I might add, then–”

Your face heated up. “What? No– nono, you just–,” you hissed, your other hand flying to cover the already spreading flush on your cheeks, and Dazai laughed heartedly.

“See? Told you you were a cutie,” he said, cocking his head. He squeezed your hand, showing no signs of letting go anytime soon. 

“And you’re too much,” you said, eyes peeking from spread fingers. 

“Maybe I need the guiding hand of a good honest samaritan.”

“So long as you don’t lead them to a heart attack first,” you said, cheeks still red.

“Aw, man.” Dazai wrinkled his nose. “That doesn’t sound fun at all. Too uncomfortable for my tastes. Did you know some heart attacks could last for hours? Bleh.”

“Add a comfy bed there in the mix and I’d agree. Heart attacks suck,” you said, and immediately drew slightly back as Dazai all but bore his gaze into you, eyes wide. You weren’t expecting that level of attention… and that stare from earlier. The fleeting one; it was back. 

This man was curious indeed.

There was a moment where no one spoke, Dazai not breaking eye contact with you as you blinked back at him. Then– the sound of wood scraping on floor reached your ears as Dazai scooped his chair closer, crouching close enough to you to feel his body heat. His thigh was flush against yours.

“Please,” Dazai began, “share with me what you meant by needing a bed. How would you like to leave this so dreadful world? Do you have opinions on carbon monoxide?”

You looked down at your seating. “Uhh.” 

Your brain blanked. It was a sudden change, and you were sure you had struck an interesting chord. Dazai nodded his head, beckoning you to share, but your focus was slowly seeping away, replaced by the newfound knowledge that Dazai’s hair was actually probably dark auburn, not chestnut,  and not as straight as you assumed. Or maybe it was the light. Might be. 

It looked floppy too. The type that glides smoothly through your fingers. 

You snapped back, sudden and quick. “Carbon what? Yes, no– I mean, I– like sleeping? Doesn’t sound bad to just drift off in the middle of it.”

Dazai nodded again. He was way too invested in this. “I see. a bit old-fashioned, but I respect that. Very Victorian of you.” 

“Yeah, and you strike me as the obnoxious type. Quiet and peaceful doesn’t ring quite as accurately,” you said casually. You’ve had weirder discussions with your close friends. This wasn’t all too outside your calibre. 

Dazai cradled his chin in his hand, striking a rather silly pose as he pondered this over. “I have said before I’d rather go out with a bang, hah. I am a man of my word, but if a beauty like you were to offer…”

You patted Dazai on the cheek. “Buckle up, clown man. We’re too young for that. Ask me again in, hmm, 60 years? No, make it 70, I’m an overachiever.”

A low whistle left Dazai’s lips, and he flopped back dramatically on the back of his chair. “Time is excruciating! Oh, to wait so long, my frail heart.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re such a baby.”

Dazai stuck out his tongue. 

Insufferable. Yet endearing. Keeping back your smiles was becoming harder and harder. Dazai didn’t need a confidence boost like that. Not when he leaned closer every time he made a remark, or when he listened to you intently as you rattled on about your shitty day job last summer or how you missed living at home with your mom’s cooking and her daily gossips. He wasn’t as obnoxious as you thought. 

Okay, maybe a little. 

At some point his hand came to rest over your knee, index finger looping lazy circles on your thigh. You didn’t remember giving him permission to do that, but… somehow, losing that contact wasn’t something you wanted. You leaned into it, catching the quick grin that formed on Dazai’s lips.

It wasn’t long before he had you completely wrapped around his finger, the pair of you stumbling out into the late evening filled with too much giddiness and anticipation. There wasn’t a drop of alcohol in your system yet your mind felt light, barely registering the walk back to your car. 

Dazai sprinted a bit ahead, bowing at the waist as he held the door open for you. “My lady, allow me.”

You snorted as you climbed into the driver’s seat. “Very smooth, but if this is your way of pleading for a ride… hmm, wasn’t the subway that way?”

“Aww, you’ll leave me stranded here, and all alone.” 

 Big brown eyes and a pout to kill for, Dazai was pulling the sympathy card like a champ. You weren’t gonna let him so easy, though. “Aren’t you a big boy? I’m sure you can manage.”

He bent down, resting on the lowered window. “I take it I didn’t win you over? Bummer. And I thought we were having a great time.”

“We were. But I learned something new about myself today.”

Dazai perked. “My my, and what is that?”

“You’re too fun to torment. I like that in a man.”

“Cruel,” Dazai said. “I’m way more fun to cuddle.”

You came closer, watching to see Dazai’s body language. He did not budge from his position, his attention fully drawn to you. He was needy for attention; it wasn’t hard to draw that conclusion, but giving in so fast wasn’t your style. Just a small pinch then, maybe…

“Hmm,” you said, twirling a loose strand of Dazai’s hair around your finger. He leaned in closer. “We’ll see.”

You had but a second to glance at his lips before Dazai captured yours. Your hands raised instinctively, cupping his face and you pulled him closer, earning a yelp as Dazai nearly lost his footing before he grabbed at the window frame. You paid that no mind, too busy. 

You didn’t expect Dazai to be a shy kisser; after the sudden moment of quick passion– you found him slowly working your lips together. Chaste and sweet, before he coaxed your mouth open with his. You swallowed his quiet sigh of contentment as his tongue explored yours, felt him running a hand through your hair to settle back at your neck, beckoning you closer.

Not that you could. It was getting hard to breathe, or you just forgot how to. You weren’t sure. 

“Stop, stop,” you whispered in between kisses. “We should really stop, Dazai.”

“2 more hours, please.”

You both laughed, and it was followed by a gentle nib at your lower lip before you lost yourself in him again. 

The world blurred, forgotten, as heat settled between your legs. It always marveled you– how nothing seemed to be enough in those moments. the only thought was more, more, more.

You wanted more. 

“Enough,” you said suddenly, hands pushing at Dazai’s shoulders. He had almost crawled inside your car, through the fucking window.

Dazai blinked at you, still a bit dazed. His pupils were blown wide, teeth grazing his lower lip as he tried to lean subconsciously in again. “You have really round cheeks, did you know that? Cute. Why is everything about you cute?” 

“Yeah?” You set your key in place, starting the engine. “You can make me a list later. Come on.” You patted the seat beside you.

“Wait–” Dazai beamed at you “–does this mean I get to be your passenger princess?”

“Not if you don’t hurry.” The car moved slightly forward in warning, Dazai’s grin widening as he scurried to the other side.

This wasn’t how you planned your night to go but… as Dazai sat down beside you, belt secured and giving you a thumbs up with both hands, well, you could only shake your head with amusement. 

He sure was something. 

Might as well see where this goes…

[becsabillion4]

false god (we still worship)

pairing: carmen berzatto x f!reader

summary: Carmen has a bad shift, but you’re more than willing to turn his night around and show him exactly how good he is.

word count: 3,362

tags: SMUT, rough sex, unprotected sex, oral sex, creampie, semi-public sex, window sex, lingerie, praise kink, vulnerable Carmy, 18+ only

note: this is explicit 18+ only and yet again NOT an advert for safe sex. with that said, it’s fucking hot ;) and thank you to the wonderful person who submitted the prompt that inspired this, based around Carmy having a tough day and reader taking care of him (even though I’ve failed at tumblr and can’t find the original message). enjoy!!

thesydkid

Yo. Awful shift. Glad you weren’t here to see it.

whochefsouschef

fuckkk what happened?

thesydkid

Newbies think they know better than Tina because they went to CIA. You can imagine how Carmy took that.

whochefsouschef

was it kyle? he’s been like that since he started.

thesydkid

Yeah

Classic

whochefsouschef

syd?

I know that’s not all. kyle doesn’t warrant a text warning

thesydkid

Carm got food sent back.

whochefsouschef

shit.

thanks for the heads up

thesydkid

Good luck, cya tomorrow.

—------------------------------

It’s late, the kind of late where even the drunks winding through the streets have stopped their singing, the kind where it’s already too late to go to bed and get an ounce of good sleep. It’s the kind of late where you would have known it was a bad night even if Sydney hadn’t texted you first, because you know how hard Carmy cleans when he’s upset, and exactly how long that takes.

You sit up in bed abruptly, pushing your hair out of your face and considering your options. You have maybe ten minutes if Sydney texted you as soon as Carmy left, ten minutes to decide how you want to handle this kind of bad day. You feel a surge of frustration that you weren’t on shift tonight. As the Front of House Manager, you could have soothed the moronic, greedy, power-tripping customer who wanted to pull one over on the best chef in Chicago by sending back his perfect food-

Actually, maybe it was for the best you weren’t on shift tonight, or you might no longer have a job.

You smile when you think about how Richie will have handled it though. His courteous, collected energy even as he probably said something like, “Oh, you’d like to send this back? Wow, I’ve never heard a, uh - what do you call ‘em - oh, complaint before. Are you sure you know what this dish is?”

The smile fades when you think about Carmy’s reaction. You push yourself out of bed, decided by the image of his frustration, the anger he uses to hide his sadness. There’s been a few particularly bad shifts since you and Carmy moved in together - and Richie labelled himself as “matchmaker to the stars” for hiring you - and you know that if left to his own devices, Carmy will happily stay up all night stewing.

But you’re here now, and you’re determined not to let him. So you set your plan in motion.

By the time you hear his keys clink in the lock, you’re settled by the sofa, bare skin slightly chilled by the evening air coming in from the cracked window. You glance up as Carmy walks in, catch his eye, and he stops dead, hand still on the lock.

Bluer-than-blue eyes flicker across the scene you’re presenting for him - your best lingerie, your patient kneel, steady eyes - and he straightens from his tired stoop.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes still tracing how the lace drapes across your skin in the low light.

“Hi,” you smile. “Join me?”

Without looking away from you, Carmy shuts the door, drops his stuff in a careless pile. “Syd texted?”

“I couldn’t sleep. And I wanted to surprise you.”

Carmy’s eyes drift away from you for a second, glancing around the room, like he does when he’s thinking something through. You can almost hear his brain clicking through the gears. Turning the kitchen off, turning something else on.

“It was bad, sweetheart,” he says. “Fuckin’ shitty.”

“It’s over.” You raise a hand to him, tilt your head towards the sofa. “Get over here and let me do filthy things to you to make up for it.”

He laughs at that, toes off his shoes and takes the few steps to the sofa. He doesn’t sink into the cushions like you expected though, but kneels in front of you. You reach out, run a hand over the side of his face, feel the days-old stubble rasping under your touch. Bringing your other hand up, you cup his face, thumbs tracing over the bags under his eyes like you can smooth them out with that simple touch. You can feel his exhaustion in the way he leans forward into the feeling, and it breaks something in you.

When you kiss him, you intend for it to be careful and slow. Bring him out of his shell, remind him that things outside The Bear exist. But the moment your mouths press together, the moment you nip the edge of his bottom lip, the drained and defeated Carmy is gone.

He surges forward, almost sending you tipping over backwards, arms wrapping around your waist. One hand slides to your lower back, stretching to cover as much of your skin as he can possibly grasp. Pulling you forward, Carmy bows his head to suck a bruise into your throat and you know for damn sure it’ll be visible tomorrow. A glaring mark, a “fuck you” to the rest of the world painted on your skin.

Your hands are far from idle either, and as one pulls at his T-shirt, rucking it up to explore the muscles beneath, you run a finger from the other over the arch of his ear. Carmy shudders in a broad, full-body motion and his hips stutter, jerk forward into you. You both moan at the contact and you want to chase it, feel him pressed between your thighs, but clearly Carmy has other ideas.

He reaches under your arms and pulls you up to stand with him, letting his hands continue their journey down your sides to reach your waist. All you have time to do is gasp as he hoists you off your feet, and he’s already walking towards your floor-length window as you desperately try to wrap your legs around his waist. He doesn’t give you much chance to breathe, the hand not holding you up pushing deep into your hair and curling strands around his fingers so he can pull your head back, press more kisses to the hollow of your throat.

For a dizzying moment, you can see the lights of Chicago upside down, but you manage to pull your head up just before your back hits the cold glass. You hiss at the chill against your bared skin and Carmy runs a hot palm around to your back in apology even as his tongue continues its insistent sweeps against your own.

You barely register the soft clink of his belt, the push and rustle of fabric between you until his cock is pressed close, the only thing keeping it from filling you your own stupid lacy underwear.

With a frustrated groan, Carmy gently lowers you until your feet sink into the carpet, but he still gives you no room to move, pressing you into the misted-up glass as if he can’t tear his body from yours.

“Carmy,” you pant, unsure what you’re asking, but you know he understands when he grabs your upper arm, spins you around to face the view. The glass is warmer now, but still cold enough that the press of your barely-concealed nipples to its surface makes you moan as you hear Carmy kneel, feel him sliding your panties down your legs.

He doesn’t even let them reach your ankles before he’s up again, kissing his way along your spine as he goes, and finally, finally, the head of his cock nestles in where it needs to be.

Its hot and heavy presence has you pushing your hips back, wanting to feel the glorious slide of him, lose yourself in the moment he splits you, and all you can see, eyes half-slitted in pleasure, are the glittering lights of the city below. You live pretty high up and the lights are low enough that none of the busy pedestrians below should see, but all it would really take is a glance up and an observant eye. To see your breasts pressed against the glass, Carmy’s possessive hands gripping your hips as he finally drives into you. Even from this distance, you imagine the pleasure on your own face and your walls flutter around Carmy until he growls, pulls your hands from where they were flat against the window into a bind behind you.

There is nothing kind and gentle about this moment, no give in Carmy’s body as he fucks into you, and you revel in it. Let him take his pain and translate it into pleasure through your body. Let him take and take and take until he has nothing left to give, and let the world see him doing it. Let them see what’s his.

These thoughts alone have you teetering, desperate for a few more strokes, but the surprise of Carmy reaching around to draw lazy circles over your clit as he snarls, “Fucking look at you, look how good you take me,” has you seizing up instantly. You can faintly hear your own surprised cry through the buzzing in your ears, and Carmy’s gasps as he feels you pulsate around him, but you only fully come back to yourself when you press your forehead against the blessedly cool glass.

The strength of your orgasm is enough that your legs are visibly shaking now, and without a word, Carmy bends to scoop up your lower half and pulls you in, cradling you across his front. You close your eyes for a moment, trying to calm your breathing as you push your face into his chest, but before you can even begin to get your head straight, you feel soft sheets on your back as he lowers you to the bed.

He sinks down beside you, and all his desperation from a moment ago is gone as his body finally relaxes. He’s still hard and straining towards you, but the light has dimmed in his eyes, so when you reach for him, it’s to run a hand across his cheek, to bring his eyes to yours. When you move towards him, it’s to curl your legs with his, to press your forehead against his and settle his breathing with your own.

People think Carmy is so used to taking shit that it doesn’t hurt him anymore, but you know. You know how each word drives so deep that he doesn’t know how to take good anymore, how he invites the anger and the aggression of a kitchen into his soul because the alternative is realising that all the shit he’s been through is too awful, too devastating to reconcile. To keep feeling it, so he has no time to wonder what his life would be without it.

You see the weakness and the fear and the vulnerability, and you know how he absorbs the feeling and translates it into his work, how he uses it to fuel him, how he turns the criticism and the insults and the hatred into being better, being perfect, doing a good job.

“You are so wonderful, Carmy,” you murmur, and when he tries to look away, you hold his head still. “Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing. Shit, not really anything.” You’re silent, and he sighs as he caves under the pressure of your gaze. “Back when I was in New York, you remember that chef I told you about?”

You nod, because you know you can’t say anything remotely okay about that particular chef.

“He had this thing, about pasta. Thought he was some kind of expert because he spent, like, three months with Massimo Bottura. We had to boil water from cold every time, for every single batch of pasta we served, and there was this exact amount of salt we had to add. It wasn’t like a teaspoon, it was seven point three grams for every hundred of pasta. And he could fucking tell if you were off, he barely had to taste it. One time I saw him smell somebody’s pasta and tell them they were off by point two.” Carmy’s voice is shaking, and you move your thumb along his cheekbone slowly, calmly, giving him something to root himself to. Remind him he’s not there.

“And I was thinking about it while I was cooking the bucatini, and it’s like he was in the room again, saying the same shit he always did. Watching over my shoulder as I added the salt, and it made me so mad,” Carmy mutters, breaths coming in pants now. “And I didn’t even think, I just added like way too much salt. Enough to fuckin’ ruin it, ‘cos I just wanted to see him choke on it. And then I sent it out.”

You don’t take your eyes from his face as you curl one hand down to straighten the fingers of his, to stop the nails he’s digging deep into his palm from cutting into his skin.

“And of course it got sent back, and Richie apologised and comped their bill, and they didn’t care. But, like, I just sabotaged my own restaurant. My own reputation, becuase I can’t stop fuckin’ thinking about salting pasta,” Carmy finishes in a rush, and he finally meets your eyes.

“Carmy, you’re working in a kitchen every day. It’s no surprise you remember other kitchens you’ve been in, and the kind of behaviour you’ve had to endure. But it’s not that kitchen anymore. This is your kitchen we’re talking about, your space. When you look over your shoulder, he’s not there anymore. Syd is, and she’s got your back. We’re not some pristine, sterile team with no heart. Richie’s there.” You feel a surge of emotion so strong for the brilliant, vulnerable man in front of you that you push your face into his shoulder, hard enough that he has to steady himself from falling back onto the bed. His other hand comes up to card loosely through your hair, and you suppress a soft noise of comfort to finish with, “I’m there.”

“I know, baby,” he responds, pulling you closer until you’re practically curled into his lap. “And I think it’ll get easier, it’s already easier. I just don’t think I’ll ever entirely stop sabotaging myself. I’m not like the food I make, I’m not composed and-and, perfect. I’m not, uh, not always good at stuff.”

“Okay, but you’re good plenty of the time,” you whisper, looking up at him. You smile as he glances down, catches your eye. “I could go on for days about the stuff you’re good at.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmy murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead, down and round the edge of your face to the shell of your ear. You shiver instinctively, press into the feeling.

“You’re good at that. Good at getting me out of control,” and your voice is already shaking.

“You’re not out of control, babe. I’ve got you. You’re mine,” Carmy is muttering inbetween kisses as he rolls you onto your back, pins your arms to your sides with his legs and begins to fully slide off your lingerie, slowly, carefully. His hands are, as always, steady. You remember all the times you’ve watched him roll a cigarette, piece together edible art as flames lick at his chef’s whites, and you can’t remember a time you’ve seen them shake.

From the eye of the storm he’s creating in you, you watch as he slides down the bed, skimming his lips across your trembling thighs until he sits back, and moves his hands to your knees.

You can almost feel the pleasure it gives him as, at the lightest touch from him, you part your legs, let him see what he does to you. What he has done. When he growls, you realise he can see remnants of your earlier escapade against the window at your entrance, his come marking you.

When Carmy dips his finger inside you, your hips jerk towards him, but he holds them down with one hand. His finger delves deep for a moment, and then leaves you suddenly, but before you can protest, he brings his hand to your face, offers you the digit. You’re entranced by the silent command in his eyes, and with no hesitation, you open your mouth and let Carmy’s come-covered finger slide inside, press deep towards the back of your throat. When you swallow, the bitterness makes you moan, envision being on your knees for Carmy, his fingers twined so deep into your hair it hurts, feeling his white-hot heat at the back of your throat.

It breaks whatever tension was stretched taut between you, and Carmy wraps his arms around your legs, pulls your body towards him and lowers his face between your thighs. For a moment, he teases you, nibbling at the juncture where your leg curves into your hip, skimming his teeth across the bone, but you know he’s secretly just as impatient as you are, and when he takes his first tender lick across your clit, he moans even louder than you do.

Giving head is an art for Carmy, and feels like a privilege to you. You’ve seen him enjoy food in the kitchen, give somebody that blown-away glance that they’ve worked their whole lives to see, but he never takes more than one bite.

But this, with you, as you watch him devour you whole...It’s the only meal you’ve ever watched him finish.

Tongue swirling delicately across your center, breaking for hungry kisses to your thighs as his hands grasp at any inch of you he can reach, you can’t help the words that spill from you, “yes, yes, Carmy, you’re so good, you make me feel so good, my good boy, please-“, but you can’t continue as he slides two fingers deep inside your aching pussy, so deep you don’t ever want him to move.

At this point in the erotic novels you read during your lunch break (which, if Fak were to find them, would spell the end of your career), the heroine says something about how it feels like hours pass with her lover between her legs. But this is real life, and all Carmy has to do is mutter, “Finish for me baby, finish for me,” for you to come embarrassingly quickly.

You’re practically incoherent on the comedown, and all you can summon the strength to do is pull him into you, press kisses to his forehead and mumble over and over how fucking amazing he makes you feel.

“If you lose everything else, Carmy, if you ever think there isn’t a thing in this world you’re any good at, just know that you are a god at giving head,” you pant eventually, and when he pushes his face into your neck, you can feel his smile there.

For a moment more, you just enjoy the press of his body against yours, revel in the sweat and slick between you. It dawns on you slowly just how slick it feels, and you gasp as you realise-

“Carmy, did you-?”

Carmy laughs into your skin, tracing one hand across your chest idly until you shiver. “Yeah. You, uh, you were moaning and telling me how good I was and…it was hot.”

You laugh with him breathlessly, still kind of in awe at how well you fit after all this time, how at home you feel with him. “Well, I hope that made your bad day a little better.”

Carmy is silent for a second before he murmurs, “You have no idea what you do for me,” and you can see the shine of his eyes in the glitter of the city lights filtering through your window. “There can never be a bad day if I end it right here, in this bed, in your arms.”

You would reply, but he’s kissing you into silence before you can, and you wonder for a moment if any words will ever need to be said between you and Carmy again, or whether you can communicate all the fear, all the anger, all the love, just with kisses and touch and his lips against yours. But eventually, as you slip into sleep with his body twined around yours, you decide that tongues were made for more than just talking.

[pdflayn]

Tip-Toe (1.8k)

Lando Norris x Reader !

summary : you and lando had lunch at lando's family house

tags: smut !! p in v, unprotected sex, f receiving, fingering, orgasm denial, dacryphilia, degradation & praise kink, a bit of slapping.

note: AFTER A LONG TIME FINALLY HAD THE CHANCE TO WRITE AGAINN

It was a normal Sunday morning inside Lando’s condo as the both of you are snuggled up under his sheets. Another race week is approaching and he will be flying to Canada on Tuesday so you really want to spend most of your waking days in Lando’s arms while he’s still here in the UK.

“Good morning, baby.” You hear your boyfriend mumble with his morning voice which is often very cute to hear. You leaned in to his side to give him a quick kiss on the cheek in which he returned in the form of a hug, making you his little spoon like you always were. “What do you want for breakfast?” You asked as you melted into his embrace. Moments like this made Lando’s head spin, it feels unreal that he’s beside a literal angel.

“Can you be one of the choices?” You immediately turned around and slapped him lightly in the chest and gave him your irritated stare which he only laughed at. “God, Lan, it’s too early.”

“Eggs and toast then, is that an option?” You nodded as a response and kissed him one last time before standing up and fixing your side of the bed. You went out of the bedroom and straight to the kitchen to cook breakfast for the both of you. Soon enough you heard footsteps coming closer to you along with hands wrapping around you from behind.

“Mom wants to have lunch with us later, do you feel like going?” he whispers as he rests his head on your shoulder, hiding his head to the crook of your neck leaving a little kiss. “Sure, why not? I miss your mom, we don’t get to talk much anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure she misses her favorite daughter too.” Lando jokes before placing a kiss on your cheek. He removed himself from you and sat himself down at the kitchen table as you served breakfast. The both of you ate in complete chaos because there’s never a dull day with Lando Norris, never.

“What do you think? Do I look good?” You said as you stepped out of his walk-in closet with a cute orange sundress. “Or does the skim dress look better?” Lando looked at you in awe, he always does. “You look great in both, even better without it.” You shook your head with Lando’s response, you couldn’t help but smile with it as well.

You decided to go with the sundress and a cute little purse to match with your outfit and flat sandals. The drive was quite short since there was no traffic and his parent’s house wasn't far away as well. To be honest, their house is somewhat your home now, since you were a child you would always go there as your mother arranged playdates with Lando and some other kids. As a teenager you would always come around to help Lando with his studies to make it less of a burden for his career and in return he would give you tickets to your favorite concerts. And then there goes the dating phase, their family would always invite yours for dinner and even during events and holidays. You were all just one big family and nothing makes you even happier than that.

“There you are! We’ve been waiting for the both of you to show up. Come sit!” Lando’s mom said as she opened the door for us. Turns out we were the ones left to arrive and the food was already served. “I hope the both of you are hungry, I accidentally cooked a whole feast.”

The lunch was going smoothly but knowing Lando, he would always have something that screams trouble. It’s imprinted to his whole existence. You can’t look at this man and tell yourself he’s not going to cause trouble because one way or another, he always will.

He took off his shoe on one foot and was aiming for your thigh since the both of you sat on opposite sides facing each other. But instead of your thigh, he touched something else which made the both of you surprised. Making you choke on your food and making people stare at you, so you reply with an “I’m okay.”

As soon as everyone finished eating, you stood up and went straight to Lando’s room, still a bit flushed with what happened and a bit hilarious because Lando never really pulls up things like what he did just a moment ago. Soon enough, Lando appears inside the room, smiling from ear to ear like a kid. You lightly slapped him in the cheek, “So what, are we toe-fucking now?” You asked and the both of you bursted out laughing.

“We can if you want to?” Lando giggled as he placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I think I prefer your tip rather than your toe.” Lando smiled at your response, “Good answer, love.”

With his hands still on your waist, he guided you to his bed, laying you down as he crawled on top of you. He kissed you feverishly, the both of you fighting for dominance waiting for someone to give in. and that someone was you as you felt pressure caused by his knee on your pussy. Your mouth went wide open as a low moan was heard from you making Lando grin. He knows how much he affects you. “You need to be quiet, baby, or mom will hear us. Wouldn’t want her to think her favorite daughter-in-law is such a slut don’t we?” You squirmed at his words.

You arched your back from all the overstimulating sensations caused by Lando. Your chest touching his, it pushed Lando to his edge. He held your hips tightly making you wince as he switched your position. You were now straddling his lap as he sat down. He guided you at his erection, making you grind your hips slowly as you feel him with your aching pussy.

His hands roamed around your body, tracing every part of you as he slowly took off your sundress. His hands went in to cup your cheek, you were all flushed, feeling all hot and needy. “God, you look so perfect.” he said before diving to your lips, kissing you roughly, biting each other’s lips until the taste of blood is evident. You felt his hand sneak inside your panties, playing with your wet folds. “You’re so wet, so wet for me.” He groaned at the feeling of you clenching at his fingers inside of you.

“Lan..” before you could even say anything, Lando leaned to you and shushed you. He added another finger, stretching you wider. You bit your lip as an attempt to be quiet but failed as he fastened his pace with his fingers inside of you. You gripped on the headrest of the bed for dear life as you started to tremble. You were almost at your peak until you felt emptiness as Lando pulled out his fingers.

You whined at the loss of touch from Lando. “Put it back, please.” You pleaded but Lando was playing deaf, only smiling at your request. He unclasped your bra, revealing your tits in which he delved on. His tongue flicking your nipple while his other hand playing with your other tit.

Lando switched your places once again, he's now on top of you. Kissing you from your lips down to your neck, leaving marks you will definitely struggle to hide soon enough. His kisses traced all the way down to your torso as he finally reached the hem of your panties. He looked at you like he was asking for permission and it made you giggle. This man literally just denied you of your first orgasm and had the guts to ask permission to take off your panties.

You nodded as a response to his request. And as soon as he did, he started kissing you from your inner thigh up to your slit. He blows cold air making you shiver from anticipation.

He started to give kitten licks on your folds, teasing your entrance with his tongue. Your hands locked in his curls as you try to shove his head down on you. Each flick of his tounge made you crazy, writhing in pleasure, not knowing what to hold and where to put yourself. “Fuck, you taste so fucking good.” Lando hummed as he continued to devour you. Hearing Lando eat you out with all the sensual noises the both of you makes you haywire. You can feel the build up of pleasure inside of you, your legs trembling once again.

“Damn it Lando!-” You hissed at him as he abruptly stopped, denying you of your orgasm which stressed you out. “You're such a dick-” You said to him as soon as he leveled with you but you were replied with a slap which made you form tears in your eyes. “Talk more like that and you won't be getting this dick, you hear me?” Lando said as he kissed the cheek he slapped.

He kneeled on top of you and removed every piece of fabric left on him and kissed you roughly. “Oh fuck, I wanna be inside you, baby. I wanna make you feel so good.” You moaned at his words as you felt him slowly entering inside you.

“Fuck- Lan-” He placed a hand on your mouth, covering your moans not because he doesn't want to hear them, oh god how he wanted to hear thos beautiful screams of yours, but this is a different situation. A more thrilling situation.

“Look at you taking me so well. It's such a shame I can't hear your pretty moans.” He said as he applied pressure on your lower abdomen, doubling the pleasure you felt. It was a surprise to you how you could hold your screams from everything that Lando has been doing to you.

“Lan- Fuck! Please, I wanna-”

“You wanna cum? Go on baby, let it out, make a fucking mess.” And so you did. Clenching around him as you reach your peak makes him groan. He didn't stop, not even for a bit. He kept ramming inside of you, you felt him so deep inside of you.

You started trembling, sensitive all over your body, overstimulated. You started to cry which somehow made Lando more eager. “Lan- stop-” you whimpered but you didn't really mean it. You can feel another build up inside of you. “Come on, baby, one more. Cum with me?”

Heavy groans and low moans along with the sound of skin slapping against each other were the only things heard inside his room as both reached their highs. “I love you.” Lando whispers in your ear in which you replied with a hug as you felt all his weight on top of yours but still enough for you to not have trouble breathing.

“Let's go get you cleaned up.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

xii ⊹ ࣪ ˖  Let It Happen 

Series mlist 

Tags — I yapped this chap ngl, man hate 🗣️, mentions of marijuana/smoking, cursing, kys jokes, fat jokes 

Words — 2.4k (ZOO WEE MAMA) 

The drive to Toge, Yuta, and Panda’s place was blissful. The sun was just beginning to lower in the sky, moving further west with every passing moment, every screamed lyric of the Tame Impala songs you’d put on shuffle. Even Maki, who had responded to your initial enthusiasm with an eye roll and a shake of the head, had mouthed along with what you swore was a smile. She wasn’t so dry when you were free of the boys, you’d noticed. The constant talk of either food or obscure indie games could get old, especially for someone like her. 

Nobara leaned forward from the back seat, swaying both you and Maki to the rhythm of the song. She almost made you swerve the car into incoming traffic, but it didn’t seem to bother her. It did bother Maki, though, who sat up straight and whipped around to look at her. “What the fuck? You just almost killed us!”

“I was doing fine without you, ‘til I saw your face, now I can’t erase!” Nobara sang, completely ignoring the half panicked shouts of the girl in the passenger seat. Her orange hair shifted with every bob of her head, brushing over her shoulder. The grin on her face spoke of girlhood so strongly that you couldn’t help but mirror it, a sort of euphoria radiating from the vehicle as the wind blew through your hair, the vibrations of the radio shaking against your hands as they gripped the steering wheel. 

You rounded a corner, the two story building that was just a tone off of white coming into view. It was decently nice, they were able to afford it thanks to Panda’s lucky position as the dean’s son and the wealth of the Inumaki family. Of course Yuta paid his fair share–he had a job at the bookstore down the street– but it was likely they’d have gone for a more affordable option had it not been for the other boys riches. If you’d been going there directly from campus, the three of you probably would have walked, but thanks to your little shopping trip you had triple the distance, half the gas, and moths flying out of your wallet every time you opened it. 

“Do you think if we tried to invade their apartment and kick them out they’d leave?” Nobara asked, sighing dramatically as she realized how near the end of girl time actually was. “We are not seizing their place, Nobara,” Maki rolled her eyes, glancing to the back seat. You had to resist a laugh. Maki was rather blunt, you’d like to say at times, but that was just her constant. 

“Why not? I love seeing women in male dominated fields.” 

You giggled, pulling into the parking lot. The car came to a stop, the brick structure standing tall above you as you reached for your shopping bags, grinning at the two women who were also preparing to get out. “I think Maki is just itching to be around Yuta,” you grinned, only to be swiftly struck in the side of the head. You yelped, pressing a hand to your temple and wincing. “Yep. Sorry,” you said, teeth gritted as you stepped onto the grey asphalt of the ground and standing to your full height. The three of you made your way towards the door, bags noisily brushing against eachother with every step you took. 

It was only a few short minutes before you were pushing past the door of their apartment, slipping off your shoes and making your way towards the living room. You were met with the sight of the three boys living in the unit, as well as Yuji sprawled out over the expanse of the couch, and a bored looking Megumi standing on the sidelines. You retrieved two heaps of pink fabric from a paper bag hanging from your elbow, promptly tossing them at the faces of Toge and Yuji, both getting their attention and delivering the clothing articles they’d been so desperate to receive. Yuta, on the other hand, was gifted his own by an oddly gentle Maki. It took Toge no time to recognize the fabric, a grin spreading across his face. 

“Aw, [name], you really do love me!” he exclaimed, placing a hand over his heart. 

“Don’t push it,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. The shopping bags dropped at your feet, following the other girls actions. 

“A win is a win,” Yuji said. Inumaki pumped his hand over his head, laughing. “Huzzah!” 

Soon enough the eight of you were scattered around the living room, matching pyjama pants adorning your legs (save for Megumi and Panda) as you played a game of Uno. You were lying on your side, propped up on your elbow and holding your own hand of cards. Deeming your friends behaviour more entertaining than the game itself, you’d made some mental notes. 

Nobara had leapt across the room to tackle someone twice, and by the looks of it, the next person who placed a +4 card was next. Speaking of which, Toge seemed determined to induce this, somehow blessed with every card in the deck that would inconvenience her in the slightest. 

“[name]! Hello?” Panda waved a hand (paw?) rapidly in front of your face, followed by a gentle nudge from Megumi beside you, and a nod toward the stack of cards in the middle of the little circle you’d formed. You blinked, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you nodded. 

“Sorry, zoned out,” you said, laughing breathily as you glanced down at the collection of cards in your grasp. 

Yuta glanced down at you, then at Maki and Nobara. “Were you guys smoking again?” 

The three of you whipped your heads around to look at him. The crease between Nobara’s brows was deep, and Maki was clearly refraining from smacking a hand over his mouth, silencing him herself. It was hard not to laugh, but the blunt statement made by your raven haired friend left you more surprised than anything. 

“Again?! What do you mean again?!” 

“[name], I never thought you’d be such a bad influence,” came a gruff voice from beside you, a hint of playful tease lying beneath his tone. You grinned in return, your free hand coming up to weakly shove him. For a split second, the solid structure of his shoulder was beneath your palm, unmoving and strong. It was but a fleeting moment, though, the feeling soon gone as well as the sight of the smirk pulling at his lips. Though, as you looked away, two things lingered. The first was that dopey grin lying on your lips, the second was his eyes over the expanse of your face, trained on you for just a moment too long. And in that beat, that one split second, everybody in the room seemed to come to a realization. Everybody except you, that is. 

“You guys all suck. I zone out once and you assume we’re all zooted? How terrible do you think we are?” you asked, voice just a hint softer than it usually was. 

“Well…” 

“Toge, shut up.” 

Two wrestling matches and an undetermined amount of lingering gazes later, Nobara had a revelation. 

“Oh! Oh! I almost forgot!” she said, shooting up. The game of Uno was long forgotten, one can only handle so much insignificant rage before they give up. A devious smile crossed her face as she met your eye, and it was as if she was preparing to take candy from a baby. “Makeup,” she said, one simple word, but it was enough. Enough to send an image of shared messages appear in your mind. Enough to make you match her demeanour, much to the confusion of everyone else. 

Little by little, they remembered. Toge and Yuji practically shook and jittered with anticipation, Yuta sat quietly with a gentle blush on his face, just observing, and then there was Megumi. He looked as if he was overwhelmed with a sense of impending doom. He glanced at you, then Panda, then you, and back to Panda once again. He shook his head. “No.”

Panda took a tentative step towards him, only making the poor spiky haired boy appear all the more avoidant. “Get away from me,” he grumbled, though no actual heat lied beneath his words. In the weeks you’d grown closer, you’d been able to see the layers of Megumi Fushiguro, see what lied beneath. 

He was polite, but had a reflective sort of aura about him that made him seem as if he was in his own world. He was stoic, somewhat a grump, even, but every once in a while that concealed softness would flicker in his eyes and reveal that maybe he wasn’t so cold. Reserved was a better word for him, because Megumi wasn’t mean. He was annoyed, sure, but he was never mean. Well… at least never to you. Your Megumi gave you jackets when you were cold and grabbed you books from the top shelf, he walked you to class and talked to you about his favourite novels. Your Megumi sat with you at your favourite coffee shop and looked at you when you talked, shared soft, cozy moments with you that had a sort of intimacy in them that no physical connection could challenge. Your Megumi’s face pinkened slightly every time you said something nice about him, though he always blamed it on the cold. Your Megumi was kind and warm and familiar. That’s what made it all the more amusing, seeing him scramble away from Panda like he was infected with rabies or something. 

A series of begs and whines echoed throughout the room, all met with cold glares or annoyed groans. “Absolutely not. Back off,” he said, crossing his arms as he inched away from Panda. 

“Please, Megumi,” you asked, voice pleading in an ironic sort of way. Something in his eyes flickered, shifted, his body stilling as he made eye contact with you. A moment of silence passed, and with an annoyed sigh, his arms fell to his sides. 

“Fine.” 

“Yes!” you celebrated, already grabbing your supplies. Pairs were made. Nobara would go with Yuji, You with Megumi, Yuta with Maki, and… Inumaki with Panda…? 

You chose to ignore the odd imbalance in gender, happily prancing over to Megumi and settling beside him. The plastic and glass of your products clanged gently against eachother as you set them down, smiling in anticipation as you turned to the boy next to you. He looked somewhat defeated, shoulder slumping as he avoided your eyes. 

You moved closer to clip his hair up, and his breath hitched. You could’ve sworn that the skin of his cheeks, currently resting beneath your fingertips, had heated up. Was he always that warm? 

No, he wasn’t. But Megumi was desperate to conceal that, to conceal that he didn’t actually hate this. He didn’t hate the idea of being “pretty,” as you’d say, no, he didn’t actually mind that at all. What he did mind was the odd fluttering in his chest as you shifted closer, as you cradled his face and narrowed your eyes in concentration as the brush swept across his cheekbone. He had grown used to that feeling in recent weeks, he had to adapt to live with it, or it would plague him. You would plague him. That didn’t mean that it had become a welcome feeling, though. He tried to keep it settled, keep it at a low simmer in the cavities of his heart, but that was proving to be difficult as your breaths mingled and he can’t tell if he’s hallucinating, or if you just looked at his lips. No, he was being silly. Letting his thoughts run wild. That was ridiculous, right? You wouldn’t see him that way, let alone allow it to show in a moment like this. You wouldn’t- 

“Done!” you said, abruptly pulling away from him to get a full view of your masterpiece. You smiled proudly, and he was sure his heart stopped. He could feel the light weight of the makeup against his skin, and he suddenly felt undeniably silly. What was he doing, allowing you to doll him up like this? If it had been anyone else, he’d have told them to fuck off and went back to his own activities, but it was you. So he sat still like an obedient dog and waited for you to be done with him, barely able to look at your face out of fear he’d lunge forwards and do something he’d regret. 

“Mm. Let me see,” he said, looking at you for what felt like the first time in the past twenty minutes. “Or do I even want to?” 

“Of course you do. You look pretty,” you laughed, pulling out your phone, presumably to use the camera as a makeshift mirror. Suddenly he was grateful for the pink powder you’d dusted on his skin earlier, or else you’d have caught the way the skin beneath began to match the rosey pigment.  

You turned it towards him, allowing him to see himself. He looked mildly shocked for a moment before letting out a low hum, whether it was one of dismissal or contentment, you were unsure. You snuck a second hand to the screen, and a click met your ears as you snapped a picture. 

You giggled wildly as you snatched the phone back before he could get his hands on it, and he nearly lunged for you. Nearly. 

He was going to, he truly was! But when you pulled up the picture and admired your sneakiness, your eyes twinkled. They shined with a content joy that he wanted to bring from you again and again. He figured that if he could make you shine like that, maybe one little picture wasn’t so bad. It was just one photo, one that you’d likely forget about and let sit in the depths of your phone until you inevitable got a new one. So he let you have your picture and your laugh and didn’t protest as the other boys pranced around in their full faces, because it was just one thing. Just one thing, and it was making you and the others happy. He could deal with that. 

Little did he know, this was merely the start. 

Taglist !¡ —

@1l-ynn @meowymeowbreow @missunrise @kiss-my-asscheeks @starrysho @good-mourning0 @gumims @beaniesayshi @mrowwww @luvvmae @megumislovedoll @azharyy @starsryi @tibibibi123 @rreveurdoll @idkidk32 @dazaisfavgf @tlissablr @vi0let-writes @walllflowerrrsss @sh0ot1ngst4r @blubearxy @tvnamayo

ouh we’ve officially reached the down bad stage. I’ve been updated so often recently (TWO IN A ROW ‼️) do yall fw that be honest proud of myself lwk. Next step is proofreading (im never gonna do ts) im half asleep writing this. Again. So thankful for autocorrect rn yall don’t know how many words I’ve misspelt in this authors note I want him I fear. Also lwk guys Toge… I need to stfu sorry

Expect updates every 2 days (give or take) at 8am or 4pm EST

[earlysunshines]

secret rhymes - 30. night market (written)

a/n: this chapter and last were noooot proofread lol

hanni is overthinking this.

she's put on three different tops only to realize that they'll be covered up by her puffer for the most part. she groans as she resorts to a pair of cargo pants and a crewneck sweater. and finally, she plops a cap on before checking herself out in the mirror as she puts on her jacket, pursing her lips unknowingly while examining her reflection.

"you look fine," haerin assures flatly as she approaches. "relax."

hanni rolls her eyes before hyein emerges from the hall, dressed in a fleece jacket and blue denim bottoms. she smiles before walking over, checking hanni out herself.

"look at you." hyein teases, earning another eyeroll from hanni.

"okay, okay. let's go, y/n said she'd meet us there. i'm scared to keep her waiting."

haerin and hyein exchange a look, one which hanni decides not to be bothered by, before they all head out the door.

—

a beanie hugs half of your head and your hands stay in your pockets as the wind blows. the sounds of the bustling street market accompany you while you wait.

you check the time, hanni should've been here ten minutes ago. you bite your lip as you sit at the bench outside the market, illuminated by the streetlight, and stare out at the vendors and people walking in and out.

your phone vibrates in your hand and you immediately check it, eager and just a bit impatient.

hanni: turn to your right!

and just when you do so, you spot a group of three girls headed your way.

the shortest of the bunch walks up to you first, waving happily and the smile on her face travels to her eyes, which scrunch in the corners just a bit.

"hi! i'm sorry we're late." hanni says, stopping three steps in front of you. "someone forgot their phone at the dorm. we had to walk back halfway and... yeah." hanni adds, looking at the tallest girl. she then gestures to the both of them. "this is hyein and haerin."

"hi, nice to meet you." you say, standing and giving them a small wave.

hyein grins. "you're the famous y/n, we've heard a lot about you."

"famous?" you repeat, glancing at hanni, who looks a little flustered.

"she talks about you," haerin says simply, her tone neutral but the amusement in her eyes is palpable.

hanni clears her throught, brushing off the comment. "okay, okay. let's go, i'm so hungry..."

together, all four of you walk through the aisles of stalls. the air is thick with savory foods, but all of you are distracted by the tanghulu and bungeoppang. the younger two of the group let you and hanni walk first, amused by the awe and shock in your faces since you both haven't had the time to walk around.

hanni is walking beside you, close enough that your arms brush here and there. hyein nudges haerin each time it happens.

you all stop by a stall that sells tteokochi, and hanni sneaks a picture when you're distracted with the options laid out. you notice it immediately, groaning before you retaliate by snapping a picture of her mid-laugh.

"seriously?" she says through a grin.

"payback." you reply, taking your phone away before paying for a skewer.

hyein and haerin are clearly here for the food, eyeing each stall that catches their attention. haerin has already bought a piece of bungeoppang and hyein is holding a half-eaten corndog. still, you don't miss the way they occasionally glance at you and hanni, sharing subtle smiles. you don't really pay too much attention to it, but it's obvious that they're here for another reason too—curiousity.

you and hanni, on the other hand, feel like middle schoolers again. you're laughing, joking, and teasing each other as you make your way through the streets. you tease her about how she keeps getting sauce on her fingers, and she fires back about how you need to work on your pronunciation.

the group eventually buys enough food to the point where they have to stop at an area to finish it in place. you take a bite of the rice cake in your tteokbeokki, unknowingly getting sauce on the corner of your lip.

"you're messy," hanni chuckles, grabbing a napkin in her hand to wipe the little speck of sauce near your lip.

there's a weird flutter in your stomach when she does so. maybe it's just the attention to detail that catches you off guard, or how she leans in slightly, reaching over due to the height difference. or maybe it's the way the lights seem to add a glow to her, making her look radiant in a way that catches you off guard.

your cheeks warm—but you decide to blame it on the spice level of the food you've eaten throughout the night.

eventually, the group stops at a convenience store to grab drinks. as hyein and haerin browse the aisles, you and hanni find yourselves in the snack section together.

"tonight was fun," she says, her voice quiet now, just for you.

"yeah, it was," you agree, leaning against the wall. "we've ended up back at the convenience store, isn't that funny?"

she laughs softly, the memory of your first late-night encounter replaying in her mind briefly. "i guess it just loves to pull us back together. maybe it's where the two of us are meant to be," she jokes, but there's a hint of something genuine.

"maybe." you reply, your smile matching hers.

she pokes at you again. “i can’t believe you’re so normal even when you’ve just met your bias.”

“oh shut up. i have to fake that I’m not hyein’s fan. can’t let her know…”

“you’re so—“ hanni chuckles, then shakes her head. “whatever.”

“but i think it’s safe to say you’re my bias now.” and at that additional comment, hanni grins.

the night ends with all four of you walking out with your drinks of choice—you specifically chose a yogurt soda to wind down.

when it's time to part ways, hanni smiles at you. regardless of how dim the light is, it's radiant. you can't help but mirror her, the corner of your lips turning up. it's cold out, but wow, you sure feel warm inside.

"bye y/n!" hyein beams. "you're really cool, by the way."

"yeah, i get why hanni talks about you," haerin adds, her tone still calm but the words make hanni groan.

"alright, let's go." hanni says, pushing haerin into hyein, which earns a chuckle from you. "see you around, maybe at the convenience store again?"

you laugh. "maybe, maybe."

there's something—a feeling, maybe?—keeping your feet planted, screaming 'stay' in the back of your mind.

"bye then, i had a lot of fun."

"me too." you reply, turning around and walking off.

you turn around after a few steps, surprised to catch hanni doing the same. haerin and hyein must be conversing, you assume that after hanni waves at you eagerly.

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[sturnsdarling]

teenage dirtbags, part one

a small collection of the times skater!matt and overachiever!reader realised they'd never be friends.

vibe check: flashbacks to childhood and high school, general loathing

1.2k words

A/N: i had this idea and couldn't get it out my head...i was trying to think of ways to establish the bad vibes and this was my best option.

introduction, part two , part three

love and cigs, merc

the first day of middle school

It was just gone 8, and you were walking down the beige path towards your new school, books tucked in your arms, hair tucked behind your ears and your cream sweater tucked into your pleated plaid skirt. You looked perfect, as always, and had spent hours making sure of it. This was a new beginning for you, the start of your real academic career (you were a very intense kid) , and you were taking it very seriously, despite being only eleven years old.

Your brogues splashed in the little puddles that had formed on the concrete, the shiny leather being undisturbed by the water as it rolled off its surface. From behind you, the sound of skateboard wheels rolled against the beige floor, broken up by periodical slaps of a van shoe against the ground.

The sound got closer, and you thought nothing of it, along with thinking nothing of the giant puddle that you were absentmindedly walking closer and closer to. A boy with messy brown hair, an ACDC t-shirt on over a white long sleeve and work trousers he definitely took from his dad was fast approaching behind you, headphones in and not a care in the world.

You approached the puddle at the same time, and just as you did, the boy sped through it, splashing dirty brown puddle water all over you, and partially himself.

you screamed in shock, it was everywhere, and you were filthy.

"oh, crap, I'm so sorry" Matt said as he halted his speed, the sound of your scream pulling him from his daze as he jumped off his board and ran back towards you.

"what is wrong with you" you screamed, looking down at your now filthy outfit.

"it was an accident, I didn't me-" Matt began to speak, brows furrowed like a sad puppy.

"get away from me" you spat, shooing him away as he attempted to pat out the brown stains with the sleeve of his top.

Matts face screwed up in annoyance, he placed his board back on the floor, and was gone in a flash.

8th grade History class

"The French and American revolutions were one and the same, they ran parallel to each other and were reflections of the worlds desperation to be free from British rule" Matt said, answering the teachers question.

your brows furrowed in disagreement, "thats not right" everyone in the class turned from Matt, to you.

"and why's that, y/n" Your teacher spoke up.

"because the french revolution started in 1789, ours happened over a decade earlier, so they couldn't have been parallel" You said, your teacher grinning at you "and the french revolution wasn't about the British, it was about peasant revolt, and the abolishment of the French monarchy" your cadence was thick with pride.

Everyone in the class turned to the teacher, waiting for them to confirm who was wrong and who was right.

"very good, y/n" She nodded, continuing with her slides on world revolutions.

Matt was glaring at you over his shoulder, face riddled with irritation, you simply smiled, raising your brows for a split second before looking away. Matt rolled his eyes, and turned his attentions back to the board.

Lunch, Sophomore year of high school

You were sat just behind the resident table of skaters, not your first choice but it was the only table left where you could sit alone and read without having to sit next to anyone.

They were being idiots, as usual, throwing stuff at each other and making awful jokes. One said something about how they wish food fights were still a thing, and another agreed, picking up their mash potato and humming it at Matts head. The whole able erupted into laughter, Matt included.

He took a hand full of his spaghetti, and pulled his arm back in preparation to throw it at his friend. Just as Matt let go of the wet, red noodles, his friend ducked out the way, and Matts handful of food was launched directly at you.

It splatted on your face, covering your clothes and book in red bolognese sauce. The whole cafeteria gasped, laughs erupting from every corner as Matts face was riddled with a shocked smile, trying his best to hold back his laughter.

"Matt!" You screamed, taking your fingers and raking them down your face, pulling the pasta off.

Matt chuckled, holding his hands up in surrender, "sorry, y/l/n, my bad"

You clenched your jaw, slamming your book shut, squishing the spaghetti and got to your feet.

"you are the most insufferable, idiotic, stupid, worthless boy, I have ever known" you borderline screamed, picking up your bags and storming out the cafeteria.

All his friends turned back to face him with looks of 'oh shit' spread across their faces, all holding back laughs.

Matt smiled through the sting of your words, trying to play it cool and act like he didn't want to run after you and apologise. Who cares, he hated you anyway.

In the hall, Freshman year of college

Matt was leant up against the wall, talking to a girl he barely knew about skateboarding, or something else that you really didn't care about. He was obviously flirting with her, and she was relishing in it, peppering his arm with touches and twirling her hair round her delicate fingers.

You and Matt had somehow ended up in the same college, and you despised him for it. He never even had to try, he was effortlessly good at things, being handed your dream life on a silver platter with a smug smile and a nonchalant attitude. From a distance, your distaste for the sight ahead of you would look like jealousy, it obviously wasn't, it was pure hatred, and despite your better judgement, you found yourself walking over to them.

"what're you doin' here, y/l/n" Matt said, annoyed at the sight of you.

You ignored him, placing your arm round the girls shoulder and talking directly to her.

"I wouldn't waste your time, girl, I heard he gave half the volleyball team chlamydia" You said, the lie rolling off your tongue effortlessly as you tried to hold back your smile.

The girl scoffed in disgust, looking Matt up and down as she walked away. Matt tried to defend himself, shouting out that you were lying and that he swore it wasn't true. His efforts failed and he turned to you with a clenched jaw.

You couldn't help but smile, your tongue pressed to your teeth as he glared at you.

"what the fuck is your problem" matt spat

you shrugged, "I was bored"

Matt scoffed, "you were bored, so you told the only girl who's shown interest in me in months that I have chlamydia?"

You giggled, and with another shrug, you walked away.

Matts whole face tensed, and he stuck both his middle fingers up at the back of your head. You turned back, knowing exactly what he was like and returned the favour, flashing your perfectly manicured middle finger at him with a smug smile.

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