#countering adversity

[cyber-soul-smartz]

The Power of Rejection: Embracing Authentic Expression

Rejection is more than a mere redirection Reflecting on my experiences with releasing my work, “Empowered Journey,” I remembered how I would intuitively and meditatively get the message not to water down my ideas under any circumstances. I thought this was just me being guided not to alter the message, but later, I realized it was more than that. It reminded me of what I had known before. It…

[vilnan]

the way i haven't gotten my periods since last september <3

[kaurwreck]

I think you're right that it's significant, and I think Mori is clever to recognize that Akutagawa is a rook.

Like a rook, Akutagawa is powerful, but generally contained and often undercut by his predictability. However, because he's keenly aware of his own constraints, and because others often aren't (especially regarding variables they've internalized as known), he's able to play into and against his own predictability to paradoxically surprise them.

He moves within the confines of his rigidity to shape outcomes, sometimes more effectively than his more dynamic opponents and peers. Rooks do that too, if you let them.

Me, knowing nothing about chess, probably overthinking the significance of referencing akutagawa in this scene, but is going to look it up later anyways

[sooniebby]

ఌ 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔

꧁ 𝙎𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧𝙪 𝙭 𝙢𝙖𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 ꧂

w.c. › 4.9k

Plot › if you had told yourself six weeks ago, that you would meet the camboy you’ve been faping for a year, you’d laugh. But meeting Gojo was a curse from God. Part 2 of this post!

Warnings › same as before. Gojo is a little shit and very annoying. A bit of dubious consent at first since reader doesn’t say “yes”. Nothing extreme. How yall not notice the porn I linked in p.1 though? Smh

Kinks › size kink, praise, rough sex, lite dry humping, creampie, manhandling, possessive Gojo, groping, brat behavior from reader, lite dom/sub,

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

“Today’s my lucky day, huh?”

Oh, fuck.

You kinda just… stood there for a few seconds, staring at Gojo in shock. Before you screamed out in fear and ran into the back room.

So humiliating.

“Hahaha!!! Put your glass back on, your blue eyes scared (Name)!” Nobara laughed, walking to join you in the back room. Megumi only rolled his eyes.

Nobara found you in a fetal position on the ground, rocking back and forth as she stared at you in shock.

“Okay, I know his eyes are freaky but it couldn’t have been that bad,” she said, kneeling down to get on your level. She ‘comfortably’ patted your hair, twirling a few strands around her index finger.

It took a few minutes before you could really open your mouth.

“I…know…him…”

“How? This is his first time here.”

You sat upright, staring Nobara right in the eyes.

“Camboy.”

Nobara was quiet, her eyes slowly widening as she took in the new information. Her mouth opened as a shriek left her mouth.

“No fucking way?! Him?! You’ve seen his dick?!”

“Nobara!!!”

She lowered her voice. “Him? Really? The one I called a 4 inch? He’s…. The one you had the call with? Holy shit! Do you think he remembers you?”

“Hopefully… not.. but he said it’s his lucky day.. do you think…?”

“Maybe he’s still mad over the four inch comment.”

“Uhm.”

“Or maybe he’s upset that you were a guy.”

“I dunno…”

“Oh! Maybe he wants to fuck you.”

“Oh c’mon. Now you’re just saying shit.” You stood up with a grunt. “If I’m lucky, he was just saying something about getting a discount. Can you do the cake for him? I really don’t wanna talk to him.”

Nobara frowned but didn’t say anything else. She walked away to go do Gojo’s order. It was silent for the most part, the slight muffled voices of Gojo and Nobara talking. Though it seemed Nobara was talking shit about him.

Hopefully, Gojo wouldn’t come here again due to Megumi’s insistence.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“So, can you take my order this time?”

You blinked, staring right at Gojo as he leaned on the counter, grinning at you. It was in the evening and the cafe was mostly empty. So you didn’t feel bad about shaking your head. You had hoped this blue eyed freak would leave you alone but he seemed set on bothering you.

He’d even come on days Megumi wasn’t there yet or was off that day!

You didn’t speak to him directly. Too embarrassed. All you could remember was your desperate moans to know his name. Yup, no way in hell were you going to speak to him.

Nobara came over to the cashier and took over—you didn’t even have to ask. This had been happening for weeks now. Just a simple look was all she needed. Even Inumaki and Megumi knew what to do. Though the two didn’t know why you seemed so adverse to speaking to Gojo.

Megumi believed you hated him for being annoying. He could relate to that.

Inumaki believed Gojo must’ve did something because you hardly hated people.

So he did from time to time purposely put salt in Gojo’s coffee.

And would sometimes put jalapeño seeds into his food.

What could he say? A true friend.

Nobara was the only one to know the truth. And while she did think you were overreacting a bit—she knew how embarrassing your actions were. If you didn’t want to speak to Gojo, so be it. She’s not one to force it.

You were in the back room when Nobara came back, sighing to herself. She plopped down on the chair beside you, staring down at the table before looking over to you.

“That blue eyed slut keeps asking for you it’s annoying.”

“Slut?”

“Affectionately.” She said. “‘Why does he keep ignoring me?’ ‘Why isn’t he speaking to me?’ ‘Let me talk to him.’ ‘Aren’t you his friend?’ Blah blah blaaaah!” She cried, her voice rising in pitch out of frustration as her hands dug into her scalp, moving her hair around.

“What would he even want to talk about?” You whispered to yourself.

“Maybe he’s scared you’re going to tell Megumi.”

“What would I gain from that? The only thing I’ll tell Megumi is to ban him from the cafe.”

Nobara let out a soft huff. “Really though… if he’s making you that uncomfortable, tell Megumi.” She said, her voice suddenly serious. She reached out and rested her hand against yours, squeezing it gently. “You don’t even have to tell Megumi the true reason… he won’t judge. If it comes down to it, we’ll tell Boss.”

She pulled away. Your eyes met hers, a bit shocked at how.. caring she was about the situation. You knew you were overreacting a bit and a normal person would’ve just told Gojo straight up to leave them alone. And you knew she was right.

Megumi wouldn’t judge. He would tell Gojo to stop coming.

But…

It was like you didn’t want him to go for some reason.

In the back of your mind, you truly wanted to know why he kept bothering you.

Was he angry?

Scared you’d tell people?

Well… it couldn’t be good either way.

You just hoped he’d get tired of you soon.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

The sound of loud music was beating with your heart as you leaned against the wall. You, Nobara, and a begrudged Megumi were at a newly opened gay club in Shibuya. It was cool for like the first two hours but now your social battery was practically dead.

Megumi was somewhere… you remembered him saying he needed some fresh air.

Nobara was having the time of her life with some girls on the dance floor. Good for her.

You were dressed way more conservatively than most of the people at the club. Just a t-shirt and pants. You weren’t someone to dress up like that. As you drowned your drink and placed it on the bar counter, you asked for some water.

No one was approaching you which was great. You didn’t know if you could handle talking to someone right now.

But that soon changed when someone was suddenly right beside you.

A taller guy, black hair and brown eyes. He seemed to be looking for one thing. You didn’t look his way at first, believing he was just getting a drink until a shot glass was slid over to you.

“What’s a pretty boy like you doing here all alone?”

Typical…

You forced a slight smile. “I’m here with friends. No thanks.” You said, sliding the shot back over to him. He shrugged and took it himself, downing in seconds.

It was quiet for a moment, even though the music still roared in the background. “Would your friends mind if I steal you for a little bit?” He suddenly asked, his lips right near your ears. You flinched but couldn’t help but grin in response.

“Why? Where are you going to take me?”

“Wherever you’d like, baby.” His hand slowly trailed down your shoulders to your hips, lightly squeezing before his finger teased the slight opening in your pants. Since you were so touch starved and the last time a man ever touched you was a hundred years ago, you didn’t push him away at first.

So what? You were desperate at this point.

Dildos get lonely…

“Mhm, I don’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence because suddenly the man was… gone? You blinked rapidly before looking around in confusion. Huh?! As you reeled in shock at how fast a man could just disappear, you felt a tug at the belt loop of your pants before the hand grasped it entirely and pulled you out of the club.

“Who?! Dude, you’re going to rip my fucking pants off! Get—”

The fresh air slapped you in the face before you were harshly pushed against the wall of the alleyway. Your eyes saw dark spots before you could fully open them, ready to scream bloody murder before you saw who attacked you.

Fucking Gojo!

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you looked away. No way he found you here! Did Megumi tell him? Nobara? No, they’d never do that to you. Oh… he was a fucking stalker!

But you didn’t get to accuse him as he grabbed your face and forcefully turned it so you would look him in the eye. No, your cock didn’t twitch. You’re just horny.

You didn’t speak. More so just because you knew it pissed him off that you weren’t. So you only gave him your meanest glare and closed your eyes, knowing he wouldn’t pry them open. Only to be wrong because apparently Gojo has no sense of boundaries.

He did force open one of your eyes and you quickly slapped his hand away. Fuck that felt weird. You looked at him shock, the fuck was his problem?

But you weren’t going to speak first! No way. You were going to be petty until the day you died.

Gojo was silent for a moment before groaning, deciding he had to be the one doing the talking.

“What’s your problem?”

“My—?!” You clamped your lips shut. He almost got you there. You reached up and began pushing at his chest but you didn’t even make him budge. Gojo rolled his eyes and grabbed your wrists, with one hand, and pushed them against the wall, right above your head.

“You avoid me like I killed your entire family. What the hell did I do?”

You pursed your lips and shook your head. For the next few minutes, it was Gojo spouting questions and you acting like a child being asked if they were the one who drew on the wall. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so stupid.

It took a moment before Gojo was finally giving up. He sighed as his hand released his grip on your wrists. You watched as he pulled away and suddenly, you didn’t want him to do that.

So without thinking, you grabbed the belt loops of his pants and pulled him close. Gojo’s eyes widened, his hands quickly moving to rest on either side of you so he didn’t crush into you. You didn’t like the sad look on his face.

But you were about to regret it as his signature smirk appeared. He leaned in close, his mouth pressing against your ear. His light chuckle sent a shiver down your spine, making you unintentionally arch your back.

“I see how it is… you’re into being a brat, huh?”

You shook your head violently, biting your lip. Okay, you were certainly playing into it. But it was the reason your ex broke up with you so you didn’t exactly like the word used in regards to you.

Something something ex boyfriends suck

You gasped as his leg was shoved between yours, rubbing right against your crotch. It happened so fast you couldn’t even think straight.

“I asked you question. Answer.” He said, pulling away so you could see his face. His blue eyes stared straight into yours, making you squirm in embarrassment. You kept remembering the incident. Cumming just from seeing his face.

Gosh, who can say they’ve done that?!

The only sense of light in the alleyway was the moonlight and the blinking neon sign of the club. It would occasionally light up Gojo’s face and you felt your cock twitch when you got a clear view. His eyes staring you down. Jaw tight. His lips no longer in a smirk. You didn’t know he could look so serious.

His eyebrow raised a bit when you didn’t answer. You wanted to see what he’d do and he was quick to show you. His leg began to rub your crotch but it was slow—way too slow for you to get anything from it. It felt like a taste to what you could truly get if you acted like a good boy.

As your cock began to twitch, straining against your pants, he stopped. You whimpered, staring up at him with pity as he tilted his head.

You knew what you had to do to get what you wanted.

“N…no…” You whispered, shaking your head. He let out a sigh, a hand moving away from the wall as it harshly gripped your face, forcing you to look him in the eye.

“I don’t like liars. Tell me the truth. What happened to the good boy on the call, huh? The one who listened and put on a nice show for me.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, not wanting to look him in the eyes. When you felt his hand squeeze your cheeks, you slowly opened them only to see him looking at you with worry.

“Do you want to stop?” He asked.

Did you?

Did you want to stop?

You reached up and placed your hands on his shoulder, leaning up on your toes to press a soft kiss on his lips. It was soft, way too soft compared to the debauchery you two were just participating in.

Gojo eagerly kissed you back, his hands gripping your waist as he pulled you closer. He kissed you as if he was hungry. Like if you were to pull away, he’d miss his chance. You moaned into the kiss as he grasped your ass, gripping it tightly before moving downward to grab your legs and hoist you up.

He slammed you against the wall, never pulling away from the kiss as you gripped his hair for some sort of purchase. The innocent kiss you had given him was leaning to pure lust.

His teeth biting your lips, earning little gasps from you. You’d never kissed a man like this before. But even though it was pure lust, you somehow felt loved.

“Ahem..”

You both froze. Gojo was still biting at your lip as you both glanced to your right to see a pissed off Megumi.

“I called you to take me home, not fuck my friend.”

Gojo pulled away, though his hand still held you up, “Megumi~~ sorry! I just got caught—”

“—fucking my friend? C’mon, I found Nobara.” Megumi stormed away while you felt like jumping off the nearest bridge.

Jesus Christ!! You might as well replace your middle name with “Embarrassment!”

Gojo only chuckled slightly as he pulled out his car keys and placed it in your hand. He gently placed you back on your feet. “Go to the car, I’ll join you guys in a minute.”

“What are you doing?”

He simply smirked. “Taking out some trash.”

He was so weird…

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

Nobara was conked out in the spare bedroom while Megumi slept on a futon in the same room. Gojo had driven you three to his apartment. It was actually quite nice. You wondered what his actual job was because you knew being a cam boy couldn’t actually pay that well.

While Gojo was looking for some spare clothes for you, you decided to take a look around. You found his office and instantly knew this was where he did his cams. It was surreal seeing it in person.

As you closed the door, you shrieked when you came face to face with Gojo. He was smirking, handing you a pair of pajamas he found that could possibly found you.

“How was it?”

“How was what?”

He rolled his eyes. “The room. Better in person?”

You simply let out a huff. “Where’s the bathroom? I’ll change in there.”

“No need—change in my room. You’ll be sleeping there anyway.”

And then he just walked to his room. You stood there for a moment, mouth agape. Sleep? Sleeping? In there? His room?!

If there wasn’t two people already sleeping you would’ve screamed.

You slowly followed behind him, unable to stop the steady rise of your heartbeat. Your stomach felt weird, slightly churning as you thought about what could happen. But it didn’t feel like anxiety, more so like excitement. Though you couldn’t fight back the slight feeling of nausea.

You haven’t slept with someone in over a year.

And Gojo was so experienced.

Would he compare you to others?

Would you disappoint him?

You suck at giving blowjobs, haven’t gotten out of the habit of not using teeth. Your ex complained about that all the time.

Has he even fucked a guy before?

All these thoughts rushed in your head before you bumped right into something. You glanced up, grinning shyly as Gojo raised an eyebrow. His hands gripped your shoulder as he leaned down a bit to look you right in the eye.

“What’s wrong? Nervous?”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to lie. So you mutely nodded.

Gojo chuckled slightly, his hand moving up to lightly caress your cheek. “Don’t be. I’ll lead.”

His hand slowly slid down, his thumb lightly teasing your lips. It pulled down at your bottom lip before he switched to his index and middle finger. They pushed your lips apart before inching their way inside your mouth. It took a moment for you to not push them out—getting used to the odd feeling of them.

Slowly, you lightly suckled on them, closing your eyes to try and keep calm. More than likely, he was going to finger you open. And you felt your cock twitch at the thought.

You almost completely lost yourself, not even noticing the stuttered breath Gojo let out. Your eyes opened slightly, looking up at him hooded eyelids. He almost looked possessed. His throat bobbed as his lips pulled into a slight snarl.

You pulled away, taking his fingers out of your mouth. “What’s wrong…?”

“I wish it didn’t take me so long to fuck you.”

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“Jeez, you’re tight, (Name), you don’t stretch yourself often?”

The sound of your muffled whimpers was filling the room, moonlight seeping through the curtains as you tried to keep still. You were sitting on Gojo’s lap, your legs spread open as he fingered you. His fingers stretched you deeper than you thought was possible.

Your back pressed against his chest as you had your hand clamped around your mouth. You only imagined his hands inside you. Especially during his streams. It was almost like a fantasy that it was happening right now.

That he actively sought after you.

“If they weren’t here,” he muttered, most likely referring to Megumi and Nobara, “I wouldn’t have allowed you to hide those pretty little sounds.”

You felt yourself blush.

He finds your moans pretty?

If you weren’t too busy moaning, you would’ve been giggling.

His fingers stretched you slowly and methodically, rubbing against your wet walls as if searching for something. You wondered if he was having trouble reaching your prostate. So you shuffled a bit, thinking maybe it was the angle you were sitting in that was giving him trouble.

“Uncomfortable?” He suddenly asked, his fingers stopping.

“Oh.. no… thought you… were having trouble reaching my.. uhm, prostate.”

“I wasn’t. I know where it is.” You felt his finger brush against it, causing you to whimper. “I’m avoiding it on purpose.”

“W..why..?”

A light chuckle left him as he rested his chin on your shoulder, looking down at your nude lower half. He hummed slightly, his free hand trailing downward to tease your leaking cock. It was still taking you some getting used to being fully nude while he was still dressed.

“Because of this.”

Suddenly, his fingers began to harshly target your prostate. Rubbing and teasing it relentlessly. Your body arched against him, toes curling as you screamed out. It was inhumane at how he was able to keep the fast pace with just his fingers.

No wonder those girls in the video practically screamed when he fingered them.

His free hand grasped your cock, thumb lightly teasing your sensitive tip. The constant between the harsh thrusts and slow, sensual movements on your cock was something you never felt before. Your hands gripped at everything beneath you—bedsheets, your leg, but soon found purchase gripping his thigh.

Wow, how often does he work out?

You couldn’t dwell too much on it as you began to feel the familiar sensation in your body. Your cock leaking pre-cum all over your tummy. But just as you almost reached your peak, it was over.

His fingers pulled out.

“Wha…?” You muttered, chest heaving as you glanced over at him.

Gojo only patted your thighs before motioning for you get off. You hesitantly stood up, legs feeling entirely like jelly as you watched him pull down his pants, his cock sprinting out.

It was huge.

That seven inch dildo certainly came in handy…

His cock was possibly close to eight. Seeing it in person was different from any video or live stream. The veins and just how much thicker it was.

“Condom.” He whispered, pointing at the nightstand beside the bed. He began to lightly stroke his cock, spreading the pre-cum leaking from his tip.

You didn’t move to get the condom. He didn’t use condoms when fucking those girls. Why did he need to use one with you?

There was some weird surge of jealousy within you. And it wasn’t because he fucked other people.

It was because he wasn’t going to cum inside you.

Well, what if you wanted that?

“Mhm, no.” You replied, pushing his hand away from his cock.

Gojo raised an eyebrow at this, watching as you moved to sit down on his lap. You grasped his cock and placed it right between your ass, lightly teasing your puckered hole. Your free hand gripping tightly at his shoulder, balancing yourself a bit.

“You cum in all those girls.” You whispered, smirking slightly as you leaned in. “What if I want it too?”

A laugh left Gojo as his hands reached over and grasped your waist, his fingers digging into your soft flesh. You were sure this was going to leave a mark. Any sort of control you just tried to hold was pushed away by Gojo.

“Aw~ it’s okay, baby. You’ll be replacing those girls, no need to think about ‘em anymore.”

“Wh—?”

You screamed out as he pulled you down onto his cock. Your face squinted in pain as you whimpered and squirmed, trying to get used to his cock. It was different seeing it than feeling it stretch you whole. No wonder he spent a good amount of time stretching you out.

Gojo kept his grip on you tight as he bounced you up and down on his cock. You didn’t get no say in how he got to use you. Your voice filled the room, you forgot all about keeping quiet by this point.

“Ngh, sorry, hate this position.”

You didn’t even get to answer him back when you were suddenly picked up from off his cock and dropped onto the bed. You were now on your knees as he got behind you. His cock teased your hole for just a moment before he slammed right back inside.

Your face squished against the bed as his hands moved downward, gripping your ass tightly as he began massaging it. His cock stretched you fool, easily rubbing against your prostate with each thrust.

It was better than any dildo.

“You don’t even know… how much I masturbated to your moans,” he suddenly said.

You almost didn’t hear him at first. “H..hng..?”

“I recorded the sound of your moans during the call. How could I not when it made me cum so fast,” he reached down, pressing his chest against your back. He angled his hips against your ass and began thrusting again, his cock continuously rubbing right against your prostate.

You tried to say something but the only sound that left you was cries of pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping and your whimpers filled the room.

It was weird, totally. But…

You’d look past it.

Dick too good, y’know?

“Then you came from just seeing my face.” He chuckled slightly. “Knew I couldn’t let you get away but you blocked me everywhere.”

He pulled away slightly, his thrusting coming to a pause. You whimpered in disappointment, glancing back at him. Gojo grinned slightly as he grabbed your arms, pulling them back a bit before sliding down to grasp your hands.

The position wasn’t comfortable at all, having your hands behind your back. You couldn’t hold up your face anymore, being forced to just let it lay on the sheets.

“Imagine my luck when I saw you again. You’re prettier in person.” His hips slammed against your ass, earning a scream from you. But he didn’t move again, leaving you to calm down from the harsh thrust.

“But then you ignore me.” He muttered. “Thought I was going to have to give up on you… but today was my lucky day. Just had to throw that guy away and you were mine.”

You felt your cock twitch.

His?

You were his.

He released his grip on your hands and pulled out again. You didn’t even get to whine this time as you were flipped onto your back, staring at him now. He crawled over you, his cock easily sliding back inside. You wrapped your legs around his waist to hold him close.

“Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours…” You whispered, “won’t… run away anymore… promise.”

Gojo grinned slightly as he leaned down to press a kiss on your forehead. His hand patted your head, his finger twirling a strand of your hair. Seeing him like this, so soft compared to his camboy persona was out of a dream.

“I’ll be nice—since it’s our first.” He sat back, his hands reaching down to rest on the curve of your hips.

As he began to slowly thrust inside of you, you couldn’t help but sigh. It felt nice. The soft rhythm of his cock going in and out. But it soon started to pick up, his grip tightening on your hips. You whimpered, gripping at his chest as you wondered how this was going to go.

“G-Gojo?!”

“Hm?”

“H…how is this nice..?!” You managed to moan out.

His hips slammed against your ass, the sound of skin slapping together returning in harmony with your moans.

“This is my nice.” He grinned.

Fucking asshole!

His hand moved up and gripped one of yours, tangling it into a handhold. Your hand was practically engulfed by his. Crap, he was making you feel crazy.

“You know my name now, so scream it.”

You gasped in shock, suddenly remembering when you had whined in the call about not having a name to moan. Your back arched as his pace somehow picked up even more, his hips slamming into you with a force you questioned was human.

If this was his nice… you didn’t want to know what his mean was.

Okay—that was a lie, you definitely wanted to know.

You started to moaning his name which soon turned into screams. Your cock spurted pathetically on your stomach, coating it with your cum. But he didn’t stop. He kept his rough pace as he used you for his own release.

His last thrusts practically took your breath away as he pushed deep inside of you. The only sound left was your gasps as he cummed, coating your insides.

Your hand was still entangled with his and he didn’t seem to want to let go. As he pulled out, cum slowly leaked out of you, coating the bedsheets beneath you. He laid down beside you, wrapping his free arm around your waist as he tugged you closer.

It was silent for a moment, only your heavy breathing as you tried to calm down. Gojo buried his face in your neck, humming slightly. The moonlight shined down on you both through the windows, illuminating his white hair beautifully.

As your eyes felt heavy, you cuddled closer to him and fell asleep with a smile.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

“I can’t believe you.”

You and Gojo sat kneeling on the floor in front of a disappointed Nobara and Megumi.

“I can believe Gojo… but (Name)…” Megumi whispered, shaking his head as he looked at you.

Nobara sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I thought he was killing you at first. Can you imagine the horror of hearing you scream in the middle of the night?!”

You froze, glancing up at Nobara. “Did you…?”

“Head back down!” She yelled, you quickly obeyed. “And yes, I did see Gojo fucking you! So traumatizing.” She whined, wiping at her imaginary tears.

“I wish I didn’t hear it.” Megumi muttered.

“So, were you guys role playing or something?! Why did you act like you hated him for almost two months straight?!” Nobara asked, staring right at you.

You pursed your lips, keeping your head down. “Uhm… I dunno… I just…”

Gojo grinned. “It was a brat tamer role play!”

“I didn’t need to know that!” Nobara screamed, covering her ears as she began to sing to herself as she ran away to the kitchen. Megumi only gave you another disappointed look, one that reminded you of a mother, before glaring daggers at Gojo.

“You still can’t bother me at work.” He said before walking away.

Gojo simply laughed, standing up. He stretched as he held out a hand to help you up. “Don’t mind Megumi, he’ll get over it.”

You nodded with a pout, hoping he was right. As you moved to go join Megumi and Nobara in the kitchen, Gojo suddenly grabbed your hand. He pulled you close, pressing his lips against your ear.

“I wasn’t lying about you replacing the girls, I wanna show you off.” He whispered before releasing you. He gave you his signature cocky smirk before walking away to go bother Megumi some more.

You stood there for a moment, reeling in shock.

Show… you… off…?

Did he mean…?

Holy fuck.

He wanted to make videos with you!

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

No part 3, stop bugging me

Tag list: @teyvat-writer @tehyunnie @the-ultimate-librarian @kiiyoooo @mello-life69 @iwishtobeacrow @remdayz @ofclyde @smellwell @flurrina @tomoeroi @star-3214 @rhetorical-conscience @honey-valentin3 @byul9158 @xiaovrsven7ti @vivian-555 @huboi @a-purple-person

[bountycancelled]

decisions

luke castellan x child of hecate!reader

requested: yep! I hope you like it anon

warnings: allusions about death, but no character dies.

content: yall, it's 1 am rn, and I just wanna go to sleep. it's unedited and nothing bad happens I promise. I'll do a proper content thingy in the morning. pls enjoy while I pass out.

"you know those kids are probably gonna have nightmares for at least a week, right?"

you didn't need to turn to know who was behind you as you leaned against a tree trunk, toying with a twig in your hands. Luke castellan seemed to have an affinity for interrupting you anytime you found solace in being alone. you didnt know how he just... knew, when and where to find you during times like these, but he always did. you found yourself minding his presence less and less as time when on.

"they should consider themselves lucky, I was debating whether or not I should just summon a ghost for them tonight, but I figured they couldn't handle it, and this camp doesn't have any trauma counselling so." the leaves on the twig in your hand withered at an accelerated place in your hands, and a part of you felt bad. you usually kept your distance from anything living since you knew your touch had the possibility of having an adverse, and sometimes deadly affect, but tonight was just one of those nights.

Luke chuckled at your words, plucking one of the now wilted leaves from the twig in your grasp as he spoke up once more. "you know, I actually want you to help me with something, if you don't mind. I need help deciding whether or not I should do something."

you rolled your eyes, giving him a pointed look. "you know I can't make decisions for you. I don't have the ability to know what consequences you'll have to deal with."

"isn't hacate the goddess of crossroads?" Luke countered, a small smirk on his face. you knew that he was only pestering you because he thought it was funny that you always needed to explain your abilities and your godparent to people, but you couldn't just keep silent at his bait nonetheless.

"that doesn't make me some kind of fortune teller, I can't decide for you which direction to go to when you reach a fork on the path. I just have a vague understanding over what you're currently debating if you should do."

"okay okay, no fortune telling. but can you at least point me in the right direction? it doesn't matter how vague." he asked, and you tilted your head to stare up at the starry sky, because you knew that even in the dark, Luke could convince you to help him with nothing but a pleading glint in his deep eyes.

he didn't relent at tour silence or your avoidance of his gaze, uttering a small "please?" which finally broke your resolve.

you took a deep breath, finally looking at him once again, your face deep in concentration. "not a guide either. but I get the sense that... if you don't do what you're thinking of doing, you'll regret it." you felt a bit lightheaded afterwards, but the tree you were leaning against was enough security for you.

Luke on the other hand didnt seem to think so, showcased by how his hands immediately went to your shoulders in an effort to keep you up, while also unintentionally coming closer. a bit too close for comfort, but you were too foggy for the lack of distance to hit you yet.

he nodded at your advice, biting his lip before speaking once again, not missing the way your eyes flicked towards his lips and then back to his eyes, almost instantaneously.

"then I'll just go ahead and say it, I like you. a lot." he had expected a few different reactions, you immediately jumping into his arms and accepting his confession (his personal favourite hypothesis), you shyly stating that you felt the same way, you being shocked that he had feelings for you at all (he liked to believe that he wasn't entirely obvious) but he didn't expect what you did next.

instead, you blew air from your nose, giving him a look he couldn't quite place. "you have horrible taste. and you're also delusional. we've had maybe 4 conversations the entire we've known each other, and you like me?" you rolled your eyes, shaking your head at the words you were about to utter. "but I guess that makes me delusional too, because I feel the same way."

he pouted at your words, feigning hurt with a hand placed on his chest. "you wound me. if I had known you were gonna be this mean... I would've confessed sooner." he added with a slight smirk, trailing his other hand from your shoulder down to your waist, leaning his face towards yours.

you were quick to shut down his advance, maneuvering your way out of his hold. "one thing you're gonna need to get used to, castellan. no touching. at all. at least, not until I'm sure I can control my ability. you have a goodnight though." you called out as you walked away from a now needy Luke, leaving him leaning against the tree.

he quickly followed after you, trying to plead his case. "no touching? that's insane, how could I not touch you? I'm not afraid of death, especially if it comes from my hands on your body, or vice versa. I'll happily forfeit my life for a kiss. come on, I'm fine with just a peck. actually, no. I take that back. if I'm gonna die, we need to make out before I go."

you simply shook your head, reiterating your rule, unable to stop a grin from forming on your face. you stopped abruptly, turning to face him with a serious look in your eyes. "... okay. but just a peck. im serious."

it was not just a peck. but luckily, Luke made it out alive. (though, he seriously wouldn't have minded if he didn't.)

[crossdreamers]

Iman Khelif, the cis victim of transphobic harassment from JK Rowling and Elon Musk, is now on the cover of Vogue

Imane Khelif, a boxer who faced racist and sexist scrutiny during the Paris 2024 Olympics, has achieved a significant milestone by becoming a cover star for Vogue Arabia.

This accomplishment comes in the wake of controversial "transvestigations" directed at her by high-profile transphobic figures such as J.K. Rowling and Elon Musk

The article, published on November 1, 2024, highlights Khelif's resilience and success in the face of adversity.

By securing a coveted spot on the cover of a prestigious fashion magazine, Khelif has effectively countered the negative attention she received during the Olympics.

Khelif's Vogue Arabia cover serves as a symbolic "knockout" against those who attempted to undermine her based on unfounded speculations about her gender identity - speculations based on white, traditionalist and sexist ideas about femininity and what it means to be a woman.

Sources: Out and Vogue

See also: The Transphobic Olympic Travesty, the Imane Khelif Story (Resources)

[mikkomacko]

need a sequel to the NYE nico fic ! like maybe she tells him she’s pregnant on valentines day

Well this definitely got away from me but ask and you shall receive!

Nico Hischier x reader

Warnings: smut, daddy kink, breeding kink

Part two of this Next part

You can hear him pacing through the door. Maybe it would have been better to just let him wait in the bathroom but you couldn’t risk ruining your surprise. Even if it meant you had to drive Nico insane for a couple days.

Besides, he seems to play better hockey when he’s frustrated anyway, something you’ve always admired. Nico doesn’t shut down and run in the face of adversity, he pushes harder and harder, grows even more stubborn than he already is.

Which is how you ended up with a daily sex schedule on a shared doc after Nico discovered that his drunken New Years Eve romp wasn’t as successful as he thought it’d be. He was determined, and you weren’t complaining. You’d take any chance to have set pillow princess time with Captain Nico.

“Please tell me it’s been 10 minutes?” He whines through the door, and you bite back a giggle at his tone. The pregnancy test you’d just taken rests on the counter in front of you, a bright and clear positive sign on it.

Butterflies swarm in your chest, your suspicions true after the past couple days of tender breasts and raging hormones. You have to swallow a couple times to clear away any happy tears, quietly stuffing the positive test in your old box of tampons.

“Like two more minutes, Nico hold on.” You call back, deciding to hide the test in your bathroom junk drawer instead. Nico has taken up the habit of checking your tampons and pads to see if you started your period lately and the last thing you need is him ruining his present.

After tucking it away, you fish out the negative one from awhile back that you saved just for this. Steeling yourself, you force the smile on your lips into a frown.

“Nico,” you say softly, your voice cracking because you do feel bad lying to him and you feel like crying over anything and everything right now.

“Yeah?” He calls back through the door and you can practically see him pressed into it on the other side. “Come out please? I need to see you.”

You flick the lock and open the door, clutching the negative test in your fist. Nico is crowded in the door way, big brown eyes already looking at you with an unusual droopiness. He doesn’t even look for the test in your hand, just takes in the tears in your eyes and the way you’re biting your lip nervously.

“Aw baby,” he mumbles, opening his arms for you. You step into his embrace, resting your cheek against his chest and wrapping your arms around him. He squeezes you tightly, large biceps caging your body to his and his fingers tangle in your hair. He nuzzles into the top of your head, and you feel his chest rise with deep breaths as he pulls himself together.

“I’m sorry Nico,” you say, sincerely knowing he’ll think you’re apologizing for not being pregnant. But you’re more apologizing for lying to him, for disappointing him one last time.

“No,” he says firmly, and you let him wordlessly walk you towards the bed. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. We’ll get it, I know we will.”

And there’s that determination. You lighten up a bit at that, realizing that maybe this didn’t hurt him as much as you thought it would. Pulling back from his embrace, you look up at him to find a wetness in his eyes that wasn’t there before and your heart falls to your stomach. Instinctively, you press your palm into your belly, wincing at the way your gut twists with guilt.

Frowning, Nico takes your wrist and pulls your hand back, placing it over his heart instead. His heart thuds against the pads of your fingers, strong and steady like him.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” you whisper, looking down at your hand. He’s in the same black shirt he wore that night at the bar. You almost smile, thinking about how sweet and excited he was about starting a family.

“Not crying,” he insists “just a little water.”

You laugh gently, meeting his gaze again to find him smiling. “That is crying, for you.” You argue and he scoffs, shaking his head.

“No, you’ll see real bawling like a baby tears from me when we get our baby.” He promises. “And I don’t want hear sorry then either.”

You simply nod, heart warming at his words. Nico’s always so positive, so ready to take on anything with you. Prepared, he’s always a step ahead. You hope that this time you’ll finally catch him lagging. He’s a hard man to surprise.

“Give me a kiss and let me take you bed.” He requests, tapping the top of your head like you’re one of his teammates that’s just scored a goal. Giggling, you stretch up to seal your lips with his, sinking into the haze that is Nico in love. You don’t even pay attention to him slipping the negative test from your hand until he’s pulling back from the kiss and hiding it behind his back.

“Fresh start,” he says, stepping around you to take it to the bathroom. He tosses it in the trash, flicking off the light before joining you at the bottom of the bed.

“Thank you,” you murmur, kissing his chin before taking him by the hand to his side of the bed. Instead of climbing over to yours, you peel back the blankets and lay against his pillow. Taking a moment to fluff everything how you like, you open your legs for him and pat your thighs.

His eyes crinkle with his laugh, cheeks turning pink and you giggle when he knees way on top of you. You give him a sec to settle in, laying on his tummy between your thighs with his elbows on either side of your head.

“Night my love.” He whispers, resting his nose against yours and pecking at the corner of your mouth. You pull the blankets up over him, letting him reach over to flick off the lamp before he slides further down your body in the darkness.

Nico rests his head on your chest, one hand holding your thigh and the other sliding under the small of your back. He can’t stay like that all night but for now he’ll try.

“Night neeks,” you mumble into the top of his head, closing your eyes and stroking your fingers up and down his broad back. He adjusts his head, a curious noise coming from his mouth.

After a moment, his voice breaks the stillness.

“I thought you were pregnant,” he whispers, and you hum to let him know you’re listening. “Your boobs are bigger,” he continues and you blink your eyes open to stare at the ceiling.

Of course he’d fucking notice that.

“And you cum really fast now,” he adds as an afterthought. “Like really fast, always so wet too. I don’t even have to try anymore.”

Of course he’d notice that too. And it’d be hot, the cockiness of his words if they didn’t drip with disappointed confusion.

“Oh,” you mumble, unsure of what to say.

“Maybe we should see someone?” He prods, and his fingers nervously stroke over your thigh. You realize he’s feeling insecure about this, about not being able to get to you pregnant. He feels at fault, like he needs help somehow. Your heart almost breaks at the thought and you so badly want to tell him the truth.

When you don’t respond he continues, “I just, not that I think anything is wrong with us but I…”

You bury your other hand in his hair, scratching his scalp to soothe him.

“I want this so badly,” he confesses. “And I want it now.”

Guilty and unsure of what to do, you hold him tighter. “I know Nico. But it hasn’t been that long and maybe we just need to try more?”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly “yeah but I think I’m still gonna do research, ok?”

You smile in the darkness. Always ready to go, to do more. You’d expect nothing less of him.

“Ok baby,” you agree “now get some rest for tomorrow. That schedule of yours has us down for like 3 times.”

He giggles boyishly and you swoon like a school girl. “Not that you need it since I’m apparently easy now.”

Nico snuggles further into your chest. “Nah think I’ve just spoiled you with good dick too often now.”

You can’t deny his words so you just kiss his forehead, shushing him to sleep. Hopefully you can keep up this act for the next couple days.

~

Nico came home to a romantic dinner on Valentine’s Day. This year it was your turn to plan, so you’d made his favorite pasta dish and set the table up all nice and pretty with pink and red confetti and candles and heart balloons.

Dressed up in his favorite little red silk dress you owned, you two talked and laughed over dinner, him sipping his beer and you water as you simply caught up on everything. You’re lucky to have Nico as both your lover and best friend, it makes conversation easy and fun, and kept it away from the topic of a baby. You figured a break from it would be refreshing, especially after that damn schedule of his had almost half the day blocked away for sex.

“Extra on the day of love,” he’d explained with an innocent smile and you let him be.

You needed him happy and distracted until dessert. And he was, so happy he didn’t even notice your lack of alcohol or the way your hormones had your eyes on his lips and half unbuttoned dress shirt all night.

Finally, at dessert you sealed the deal. Perched up on the kitchen counter with your legs swinging, you dipped a mini marshmallow into the chocolate fondue he made. Popping it into your mouth, you admired him as he poured two glasses of sparkling cider, in a bottle you made look like champagne.

Nico handed you your glass, parting his lips for a bite of chocolate covered strawberry that you fed him. You caught his lips right after, enjoying the sweet taste of dessert on his tongue.

“You know,” he murmured “I think we’ve still got an hour on the calendar.”

You laughed, peeling back from him to take a drink from your glass. Nico watched you with big moony eyes, dimples in his cheeks and his free hand wandered to your hip to hold you. Catching the way his eyes fell to your cleavage, you kicked at his thigh to keep him from staring too long. The last thing you need is him noticing that your boobs have grown even bigger in the last two days.

“Drink your champagne and then maybe,” you instruct and he huffs, rolling his eyes before bringing the glass to his lips. You watch him take a drink, notice the way his eyebrows furrow and he quietly smacks his lips afterwards.

Looking at you curiously, he frowns. “Baby this isn’t alcoholic?” He takes another drink before you can answer, still smacking his lips before setting the glass down.

“What?” You play along, slinking down from the counter and moving to the other side of the island. Nico pays you no mind, grabbing the bottle off the counter and lifting it to read the back of the label.

“What kind even is this?” He mutters, ever the Swiss wine critic and you smile as you dig out the positive test from where you hid it in the kitchen drawer.

Bouncing on your toes, you return to his side just as he turns the bottle to the front. It takes him a moment to fully read it. The custom label you made that in fancy lettering reads

Baby on the way!

Congrats daddy!

2024

“What?” He mutters confused, but you can feel the excitement bubbling in his chest as the words start to click.

“This might help,” you offer, placing the test on the counter in front of him. You attach yourself to his back, arms around his waist as you bite back a smile. Nico immediately picks it up, and you feel his whole body tense.

“No fucking way,” he mumbles, bottle and test clattering to the countertop. Nico shakes your hold off, spinning around to you. “Baby w-what? Are you-what?”

He grabs your face between his palms, eyes already filled with happy tears as they bore into your own watery ones.

“We’re pregnant Nico.” You confirm, laughing wetly. It’s as if he’s unsure of what to even do with himself, going between clutching your smiling face and raking his fingers through your hair. Finally he settles for wrapping you up in his arms, spinning you around the kitchen and hopping around like a giddy child.

You paw at his neck and shoulders, needing something to hold onto because he feels like he’s going to float up to the ceiling with you in his arms.

“We’re having a baby!” He cheers through a laugh “A baby! My baby!”

By the time he’s placed you back on the ground you’re breathless and dizzy from laughing. You cling to him, happy tears rolling down your cheeks and you’re so glad you decided on no makeup tonight.

Tear tracks stain his cheeks, his smile so big you think it might fall off his face and his neck has gotten all red and splotchy from excitement. You coo at him, tracing your fingers over it as if trying to soothe him.

“How long? I mean just the other day-“

“I lied,” you admit, frowning guiltily. “The test I showed you was old but I wanted to surprise you. I know you wanted this as a birthday gift so I figured I’d just make it a Valentine’s Day gift. I’m so sorry-“

His lips cut you off, sweet and passionate as he teasingly traces his tongue over your bottom lip. Nico backs you up into the countertop, moaning softly when your chest presses into his.

“No apologies,” he insists when he pulls back, still smiling. “This is the best gift.” He kisses you again, softer and shorter this time.

“Do you know how long?”

You play with the top button of his shirt. “I haven’t gone to like a doctor or anything. I only realized it last week and I took that test two nights ago but I think I’m a little over a month.”

A shit eating grin overtakes his face. “News Year Eve I knew it!” He exclaims, kissing at your cheeks and you laugh. “Or maybe my birthday. God we were so good on my birthday.”

“We’re always good,” you argue, pressing your front into him. You can feel the bulge of his cock in his jeans against your lower stomach but you don’t comment on it, waiting for him to do so.

“Yeah,” he agrees thoughtfully, eyes raking over your face. You bat your eyes at him, smiling shyly until he chuckles.

“I’m hard,” he admits as if you didn’t know. You hum your agreement, slowly working the other buttons of his shirt undone.

“Let’s go take care of it,” you murmur into his ear, breathy when you add a sly “daddy” to the end. Nico’s knees shake, a painful groan escaping his red lips and he’s scooping you up and hurrying to the bedroom.

You whine, pointing toward the couch and kicking your feet in protest. “It was so much closer,” you complain and he grunts in disgust.

“Not fucking my pregnant girl on the couch on Valentine’s Day,” he argues, tossing you gently into the pillows. “M’gonna take good care of ya.”

Shamelessly, you watch him unbutton the rest of his shirt and strip it from his body, squeezing your thighs together as he moves onto his jeans. He drops them and his boxers in one go, eager as he crowds over you on the bed, cock red and dripping as he goes.

You almost moan at the sight of him, hungry and desperate for him despite how often he’s been between your thighs lately. Nico notices, simpering as he works your dress up your thighs and torso, revealing the white panties you wore underneath with a simple red heart on the front. You’d forgone a bra early today, knowing it would just be uncomfortable and awkward and Nico mumbles his appreciation when he gets the dress up around your neck.

His lips find the swell of your left breast, kissing gently at the swollen flesh as he blindly works your clothing over your head.

“My pretty girl,” he says more to himself than you, moving to the other breast as you toss the dress to the floor. “God I knew something was different.”

You laugh, tangling his hair in your fingers and drawing his mouth up to yours. He kisses you sloppily, hands moving to your underwear. Nico doesn’t even tease you before he’s pushing them down and you help wiggle out of them impatiently.

Your cunt throbs, wet and raw and desperate to feel him again and again. You whimper into his lips, slinging a leg around his waist to draw him closer.

“Need you now, Nico please.” You beg as his mouth moves to your neck. His hand blindly reaches down to fist himself, and he obediently obliges your begging by burying his cock in you, one swift motion.

You gasp for a breath as your toes tingle, pleasure swirling in your belly and Nico moans in your ear, voice husky and broken. He’s just as desperate as you.

“So fucking wet, Jesus,” he mutters in astonishment, lifting himself to watch you writhe beneath him. “All needy and horny for the cock that put a baby in you? Always ready for me weren’t you? Should fill you up, put another one in you right now huh?”

You slur some sort of agreement, as least something intelligible enough for Nico. His dirty mouth continues, working you tighter and tighter as he steadily ruts into you.

“Did I take care of you sweetheart?” He asks lowly, mouth hot against your ear. “Before? When I didn’t know?”

Your jumbled, sex fogged brain clicks for just a moment. He’s not just talking dirty, not trying to get you to cum. He genuinely wants to know if he fucked you good enough all those times before. When he didn’t know you were dripping into the mattress because your pregnancy brain was all hot and bothered over him 24/7. Because he was so focused on just putting a baby in you that he didn’t pay attention to the fact he already had.

“Yes!” You gasp, digging your fingers into his shoulders. You meet his gaze, eyes glossy and wild with love. “So good Nico, every time. Felt like you knew.”

His hips slow, rocking into you softy. “Yeah?”

You nod, frantically, the slow drag of his cock against your sensitive walls driving you mad. “Didn’t even notice,” you admit to him, earnestly “but you got so soft, so strong and instinctive like…”

Like a parent, you realize. He always fucked you like he was trying to thank you for giving him something so precious while also taking care of you.

“Like I wanted to make you feel so fucking good without hurting our baby.” He fills in, because he’s realized it too. His mind may have been in the dark before, but his body wasn’t.

“Can I cum?” You ask pathetically, fighting to keep your eyes from rolling to the back of your head. Nico coos at you, sympathetic and gentle when he slots his mouth to yours for a quick nip at your lips.

“Always, can always cum for me baby.” He promises, pressing his chest down low to yours. His knees dig into the mattress, steeling himself as he draws his cock out to the tip and then fucks into you with earnest.

You cry out, the head of him nudging into you so perfectly you could melt. Nico kisses you as best he can around your blubbering noises of pleasure, the flames of your orgasm licking at your core.

Nico’s fingers find your clit, the pads of them rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. White bursts behind close eyes, your toes curling and ears roaring as you reach your high.

“Ooh,” Nico breathes into the side of your face “yes sweetheart, come on my cock. So good, you’re so good to me.”

The rest of his needy mumbles are lost to you, your mind occupied with the wave of pleasure that sweeps over you, pulsing with each pass of Nico’s fingers and each thrust of his hips.

Foggy and hazy you hear him whimper, find enough of yourself to kiss him slowly as his cock twitches and throbs, filling you with his cum. His lips are languid and hot against yours, broken breaths and moans falling from them as you both come down.

Finally he settles into your neck, taking one last deep breath before he’s holding you tight to his body and rolling to his back. You go with him easily, falling into his chest like a rag doll and curling up. Unsure if it’s him enjoying the moment or habit by now, you sit comfortably on his softening cock with no protest, exhaustion pulling at your bones already.

“All I want to do lately is jump your bones or sleep,” you mumble to him, yawning afterwards. His chest rumbles with laughter, hands running up and down your spine in some unknown pattern.

“I can live with that,” he says, “like fucking you so good you get all sleepy afterwards. Snuggle into me so nicely.”

You smile, eyes falling shut as you curl your arms around him. The room falls silent save for the sound of you two still catching you breaths, and the rise and fall of his chest is lulling you to sleep when he speaks up.

“Thank you,” he whispers “for giving me a baby.”

You can hear the emotion in his voice, how it sticks in his throat and weighs down his words. If you look at him you don’t imagine he’d be crying, but pretty damn close you think.

“Don’t thank me until the baby is here,” you reply, and than just because you can feel him starting to slip from between your thighs you add. “Besides, this is the work of you and the pretty cock of yours.”

Nico jolts as if you’d just pinched him, hips pressing up into you and his cock twitches with interest. You giggle, amused at his predictability as he whimpers.

“You’re gonna have fun with this aren’t you?” He asks but he doesn’t sound too upset.

Tired and content, you nod. This is going to be a fucking blast.

[andy-15-07]

The Legacy of House Harkonnen

masterlist ! pairing Feyd-Rautha x reader

Summary: Feyd trains his daughter, Lysandra, while Y/n reminisces about their past joys and the family's enduring bond, showcasing a lineage of strength and love.

Dune Masterlist

The vast training arena echoed with the metallic clangs of swords as Feyd Rautha Harkonnen, the feared and formidable heir to House Harkonnen, sparred with his daughter, Lysandra. She was seventeen, possessing her father's sharp wit and agility, a true reflection of her lineage.

"Faster, Lysandra!" Feyd urged, his voice echoing across the training ground. "You're leaving yourself open."

Lysandra nodded, her focus intensifying as she countered her father's strikes with swift precision. "I'll do better, Father," she promised, determination gleaming in her eyes.

Feyd smiled proudly, his heart swelling with paternal pride. "Good. Now, remember what I taught you about footwork. It's crucial to maintaining your balance."

As they continued to spar, Y/n watched from the sidelines, a soft smile playing on their lips. They remembered the day Lysandra was born, the joy and happiness that had filled their hearts as they held their newborn daughter for the first time. It seemed like only yesterday, yet here she was, a skilled warrior in her own right, training alongside her father.

Memories flooded Y/n's mind, transporting them back to the early days of their marriage, when Feyd was not just the heir to House Harkonnen, but also a devoted husband and father. They recalled the tender moments they had shared, the laughter and love that had bound them together through triumph and adversity.

Lost in reverie, Y/n's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden clash of swords as Feyd and Lysandra engaged in a particularly fierce exchange. With each strike and parry, it was evident that Lysandra had inherited her father's skill and determination, a testament to the legacy of House Harkonnen.

"Feyd, watch your flank!" Y/n called out, their voice filled with concern.

Feyd heeded their warning, swiftly adjusting his stance to deflect Lysandra's attack. "Thank you, my love," he said, his gaze briefly meeting theirs before returning to the fray.

As the training session drew to a close, Feyd and Lysandra stood facing each other, their breathing heavy but triumphant. It was a scene that filled Y/n's heart with pride and joy, knowing that their family's legacy would endure for generations to come.

"Well done, Lysandra," Feyd praised, a hint of admiration in his voice. "You're improving with each session."

Lysandra beamed, her eyes sparkling with gratitude. "Thank you, Father. I couldn't have done it without your guidance."

Feyd placed a hand on her shoulder, a rare display of affection from the stoic warrior. "You have the potential to surpass even me, my dear. Never forget that."

Y/n approached them, a sense of contentment washing over them as they watched father and daughter share a moment of mutual respect and admiration. "You both make me proud," they said, their voice filled with love.

Feyd and Lysandra turned to them, their expressions softening with affection. In that moment, surrounded by the echoes of their past and the promise of the future, they were reminded of the unbreakable bond that bound them together as a family, a legacy that would endure for eternity.

[merbear25]

With a s/o who doesn’t celebrate their birthday (Luffy, Law, Corazon, Caesar)

a/n: My birthday is later this month, and I haven’t celebrated it in many years. The day isn’t particularly joyous for me for many reasons, so I decided to write something for myself. Idk if anyone else feels the same about their birthday but hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, some angst, an ounce of modern au with Cora’s

Luffy

With your birthday drawing near, you were merely hoping that the day would pass without a hitch. However, it just so happened that Luffy got the idea to ask you when your birthday was.

You didn’t want to lie to him, so you gave him the correct date. He looked at you, as if processing how close the day was. When it dawned on him that it was practically just around the corner, he gasped and got excited.

“We gotta celebrate then! We can have a big cake and lots of food!”

“No, that’s okay.” Your refusal was kind, which meant it wasn’t interpreted how you intended.

“It’s fine! We’ll get Sanji to do it!”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” you protested.

“Huh? What’s wrong?” He tilted his head to the side in interest.

“Well, I don’t celebrate my birthday.”

Complete and utter shock washed over him. How could someone as amazing as you not take full advantage of one of the best days for anyone. “What! Why not?” He shouted.

You put your hands up to hush him, so as not to alert the others that Luffy was getting excitable. “It’s just a normal day for me. Not anything worth celebrating in that sense.”

“Not anything worth…” He hopped down from the counter he was sitting on and clamped his hands on your shoulders. “You more than anyone should be able to celebrate yourself!”

The sudden intensity in his eyes put you a bit on edge, although the passion he had in his words struck you to your core. “Thank you but really. It’s no big deal”

Unconvinced by that, his eyes kept their hold on you. With not much else being said, he left the kitchen to join the others.

Unsure how well that actually went, you chose to brush it off.

As your birthday was coming to an end, you realized that the others were nowhere to be found. When you opened the kitchen door, you were met with a table filled with all of your favorite foods and everyone chatting and having a grand time.

“What’s all this?” You asked Sanji

“Hm? Just thought we could indulge a little.”

Taking your seat, you soaked up the atmosphere—your friends enjoying themselves, filling the room with laughter as you shared a meal together. You leaned over to Luffy to express your gratitude.

Even with his mouth full of food, he managed to smile just as affectionately as any other time.

Law

He was observant, which was one of the things you both loved and hated about him depending on whether you were trying to be sneaky. This time was no different; with his eyes focusing on you one too many times, you got the feeling that he’d noticed something was wrong.

“I’m fine,” you broke the silence.

“I didn’t say anything.” His gaze remained fixed on you.

“But you were thinking it.”

He inched closer trying to get a better read on you, his eyes seemingly burrowing into your soul.

“Okay, okay,” you huffed, “It’s my birthday. It’s coming up soon and I just…I just don’t want anyone making a big deal about it.”

As your eyes hesitantly met his, the cold stare he had had shifted into one with compassion. 

“I can relate to that,” his words alluded to more pain than he’d probably anticipated. “Sometimes it’s easier to treat it just like any other day.”

You nodded, feeling the tears build up in your eyes. Of course, you were well aware of the hardships he had to overcome. The adversities either of you faced were your own. The experiences that weighed on you in different ways and yet were still parts of each other you could easily connect with.

“We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t up for it.” Even with the cool tone, the support he was giving you was unmistakable.

Having spent your birthday the way you had intended, Law approached you. Looking up at him, you gave him a meek smile—-the conflict of not celebrating your birthday this year didn’t quite sit well with you.

“I want to show you something.” Offering you his hand, his touch was tender as guided you to the deck.

Stepping outside, you were met with the Aurora Borealis. “We were passing by at the perfect time. Thought you might like to appreciate them with me.”

With the inner-strife you’d been dealing with subsiding, you happily took a seat next to him. Gazing up at the beauty swirling in the sky, you leaned your head against his shoulder.

He rested his head against yours, adding a sincere, “Happy birthday.”

Corazon

He was one of the most attentive individuals who could pick up on how you were feeling before you yourself had even realized. As the days came and went, it became more and more obvious that something was weighing on you.

Coming over to where you were, he sat beside you. With the softness never leaving his demeanor, you couldn’t help but melt from the warmth he radiated. 

When you gave him a smile, he placed his hand on top of yours. “How are you?” Such a simple question yet one that held vague concern.

“I’m alright,” you chuckled. “Don’t I look like it?” Even your playfulness seemed to be a front you were putting up.

He hesitated, taking a moment to notice the subtleties in your voice and expression. “No,” he spoke with sincerity. 

Breaking eye contact, you looked down at your fingers laced with his. “My birthday is coming up, and I’m not quite sure how I feel about it.”

He watched your fingers trace his hand before bringing them to his lips. “I can sympathize with that.” With his eyes meeting yours again, he led the conversation with his heart. “But you of all people deserve to feel special on their birthday.”

“You always know how to pull at my heartstrings.” The smile you wore trembled as your chest swelled with a heaviness.

“Aw, I didn’t mean to upset you!” He pulled you in for a hug.

Holding you closely, he made a suggestion, “We don’t have to have a formal celebration, but what about getting something to eat? Just the two of us?”

“I’d like that.”

When the day came, Rosinante drove the both of you to a secluded spot on top of a hill. Turning to smile at you, you wondered if this was the spot.

“Oh, yeah, this is it!” While he took the glasses and packed food from the back seat, he pointed to the treetops. “When the sun sets, the light peeks through those trees just perfectly enough to shine on the water, making it look like it’s sparkling.”

When he handed you some of the food, you smiled as you pressed it against your lips. 

As the sun set and the water resembled crystals, you allowed yourself to appreciate how special this day could be. 

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Caesar

Humble and wanting to remain out of the spotlight: ways one could never use to describe him. He took full advantage of his special day, wanting to be the main character. After being his other half for a few months and celebrating his birthday, it got him wondering.

“I don’t believe you’ve ever told me when your birthday is.” The careful phrasing was intentional—purposefully pushing off any blame for not asking sooner.

“I haven’t,” your tone was just slightly indifferent towards the topic but was light-hearted enough not to be mistaken as taking offense. “It’s in two weeks.”

He blinked at you, not fully understanding why you hadn’t brought it up sooner, why he had to be the one to ask. “Why didn’t you mention it sooner?”

You shrugged, delivering the answer in a cool tone, “It doesn’t hold many fond memories. It’s just another day for me.”

It was absolutely ludicrous to hear you say that. The one most suited to stand by his side not allowing themselves the proper celebration they clearly deserved had him stumped.

He chose not to pry, instead thinking of little ways he could help you feel special on your day. He easily gathered tidbits of information to make this coming birthday one you could look back on with fondness.

While that day began like any other, Caesar was finishing the small preparations to surprise you. When you finished your work, he went to collect you, guiding you to the kitchen.

“Ah!” He feigned irritation. “Those idiots made such a mess. Wait here.” He turned the corner, shuffling about the kitchen. 

When the lights turned off, you called out to him. Peering behind the corner, you stood there for a moment before you saw a faint glow coming from behind the counter.

“What’s this?” Your heartbeat quickened from the hope that he’d planned something for you.

“I know that you don’t quite like your birthday, but there’s no harm in having cake now, is there?”

There was a faint tightness in your chest from the sweet sentiment. As you came closer, you noticed that it was your favorite flavor. With the soft glow of the candles flickering on top of his unusually kind gesture, you looked up to see him smiling—nervously awaiting your reaction.

“No harm at all.” Although your smile was weak, the emotion held in your voice and the affection in your eyes spoke volumes. “Thank you, Caesar.” 

The heartfelt appreciation made him giddy with joy as you happily blew out the candles.

[tofusfortbhk]

Can we acknowledge how tragic of a detail this is? In ch114?

The fact that Teru views Kunishige (shrine grandpa) as the only one he can rely on despite how their relationship is at-best frenemies and at-worst hostile is downright devastating.

Reason #1: Teru and Kunishige’s relationship is predominantly negative.

In ch79, gramps was making jokes about threatening Teru’s livelihood and while Teru later joined in to counter, the comment was clearly in bad faith — an attempted power play to exert control over Teru and his flippant behavior. It’s a baseless threat stuffed within the carcass of a joke: “your family needs us — show respect.” Teru’s an instigator for sure, but he’s not the adult in this situation.

Point #2: Kunishige has done little to deserve Teru’s faith as an individual.

Shrine politics aside, gramps was beefing with a teenager and snitches on him to his dad! He pulled the “I’m telling Dad on you” with Teru’s OWN FATHER pushing 90 — like DAWG.

I don’t fault gramps for reporting the Red House incident given his past experiences or its history, but it was the professional choice — not the kind one. It doesn’t indicate any affection towards Teru nor resemble how you would treat a child you would go out of your way to support. Teru clearly has an adverse reaction to his father. He’s off-put by the idea of contacting him in ch79 and canonically views his father as absent and not someone he can expect help from in ch114. Not over Kunishige at least.

Yeah, gramps puts on the Santa suit per Teru’s request. That in itself is an undeniable act of kindness. He does care and I don’t doubt that he is there for Teru. But it’s not enough to deny this fact:

Conclusion: The only person (and adult) Teru feels he can rely on doesn’t treat him very well and won’t protect him from his father if it meant going against his shrine duties. A bottom of the barrel choice because it becomes unnervingly evident this child, Teru, as early as 14, grew up having no one else. He chooses Kunishige over his own father, family members, friends, teachers — everyone.

And Kunishige doesn’t even like him.

[ethereal-pie]

bullfrog head cannons

I have seen no fics of this beautiful French man so I have done it myself

just a ramble of my thoughts in bullet point form

he is an american bullfrog, he not only looks like one but also there are tons in France

He enjoys warmth and gets grumpy if he is too cold

I feel like he doesn’t touch you all that much but adores cuddling 

If given the opportunity he will burry himself in pillows and blankets ( bonus if they are weighted) especially during winter cuz of his hibernation instinct

He will insist you join him and promise it’s very comfortable 

He isn’t slimy like his real world counterpart but his skin feels very moisturized 

He gets cold super easy and shove himself under your shirt or jacket to soak up your natural body heat 

You also don’t have to worry about it being too hot to cuddle as he is cool to the touch 

He will insist you let him put his cold ass hands on your bare back to warm them up , he will pout if you don’t let him 

Letting him do this will more then likely result in him having his head under your shirt and his face pressed into your back and his hands on your upper stomach 

He usually avoids conventional touch based pda, the most normal pda you’ll get out of under normal circumstances is a peck on the cheek 

Instead the way he shows touch based pda is by sitting on your shoulders

Although if he is super cold he won’t care all that much

 And  Unless your in a situation where being partners with him would put you in danger, he will be  fairly vocaly affectionate

He will call you his beloved and other pet names 

As well as praise, flirt and compliment you

Some of His pet names  involve your name 

He seems like a darling, my dear, love type of person

He will jokingly call you stupid ones as well 

He has a lot of running jokes with you and will tease and joke around with you all the time, he just likes laughing with you in general 

Some of your jokes might take a second to land with him in the beginning but as your relationship continues he will pick up almost immediately 

He tries really hard to be cool cuz he wants to make friends but everyone being stuck on him being a frog annoys him a lil 

He will complain about this to you at least once 

He is trying to be cool and Poetic!

When he is mad he will begin to speak in a mix of French and English but he doesn’t really yell at all, he does talk faster tho 

He will bath for hours but doesn’t like to shower 

He cannot use certain soaps or he will get sick because he will absorb the chemicals through his skin 

He likes the look of bubble baths but if he sits in them he gets sick cuz of the soap In the water 

Given his accent I assume he speaks French but I think he can speak multiple European language, due to his job 

He is very adverse to the idea of eating bugs, he isn’t scared of them but if someone offers him a bug he will be grossed out.

He is the kind of person to not only catch and release bugs he finds inside but he will have little convos with them too

You’ll hear in the other room “hello there my miniature friend.’’ And as he takes them outside “ I’m very sorry but you cannot stay here.” 

His approach to flying bugs is far different, he will take NO PRISONERS

He is very efficient with a fly swatter and knows all the concoctions to lure and kill flys fruit or other wise 

He avoids using his hands cuz of the bug guts 

If you are afraid of bugs he will find it amusing but he won’t tease or torment you, he will just chuckle at how ridiculous you look up on the counter while he captures the invader.

He is very polite and kind to everyone he interacts with unless they have done something to warrant other wise 

He will use French sayings in English  instead of the English one because he is convinced that “ they are far superior” 

Pins and needles are now ants, it’s raining ropes not animals, forget apples and trees, dogs don’t make cats.

If you use the English versions he will argue the French version is better 

“ bolt of lightning explans the felling of it, love at first sight is so bland.’’

Please convert he will find it unendingly adorable every time 

He does get cuteness aggression and will randomly shove his face into your chest and aggressively nuzzle into you whist squeezing you and violently kicking his legs and making a happy humming 

He will be embarrassed the first few times he does this 

He will get cuteness aggression from your cuteness aggression 

If you bite him he will be very confused but won’t care all that much so long as you aren’t hurting him

You will probably be taller then him and honestly he likes it that way because when you hug him he feels like momentarily  he is a totally encased by you 

You can carry him but only certain ways

No toddler hold, with one arm and him on your hip 

Piggy backs, shoulder sitting and standing are encouraged 

You can only sling him over your shoulder in emergency’s 

Same with under your arm 

He doesn’t like princess carry’s cuz he can’t hold on to much and he wants to touch with  max surface area

Carrying him by his armpits away from you has the same problem, he will struggle 

He does enjoy if you hug carry him with both arms, either his face in on your chest or resting on your shoulder 

I have made a helpful diagram ( I can draw but it’s just stick me cuz I’m lazy)

He will randomly start monologueing if given the opportunity 

He will tell you about being an assassin but only if you ask 

I think he is more likely to be with Someone who has prior experience with fighting

He feels nauseous after producing bubbles 

He will lean on or try to be touching you while he recovers 

You cannot truly surprise him, he will know something is up the moment you even begin to plan 

He knows because you act slightly different 

And hiding  or sneaking something past him is also impossible 

He has to actively try to avoid finding out what your doing 

You’ve snuck something into the garage, I guess he isn’t going In There for a while 

Hiding something behind your back, he isn’t even gonna face your direction while you hide it 

You cannot sneak up on him either 

When you try he will scare you by suddenly turning around and grabbing you 

On the other hand he has  scared and surprised you accidentally many times 

hope you enjoy and this inspires more fic to be written of bullfrog

[leroiestmortvivelareine]

Strap in if you dare, I’m going to talk about Riko.

Yes, he is a Bad Person. Nothing I’m about to say counters that. However… evil isn’t always so obvious as to dress in black and torture everyone you love. Evil is insidious and nuanced - it can creep in when you aren’t expecting it and have no defences. We’ve been given this incredibly complex and interesting example of it, and we’ve been given it for a reason. Riko is a character worth trying to understand.

Could Riko ever have been saved, and if so what would it have taken? What if he’d been able to follow the Fox path to redemption instead of the Ravens to perdition?

Except both Foxes AND Ravens were traumatised… the thing that ruined Riko was power. Lincoln said it: “nearly all men can stand adversity but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.” Who was Riko without power? It’s hard to see.

So I’m fascinated by a different question - how did Riko see Riko?

We know how the Foxes saw him: a low-functioning sociopath with zero coping skills and the personality of a cat trapped in a wall cavity. Presumably that’s not how he saw himself. What kind of headcannon did he construct for himself, what was his own personal mythology?

We know he wanted his father’s approval, he wanted to be number one. We know how badly he dealt with those desires being thwarted.

I know how it feels to be an abandoned child. You feel like the outer edges of a person, with this gaping hole in the centre. It’s not just that you lost a loved one, it’s - how can I say it - it’s like the clasp that lets you hold on to people has been torn out too. Everyone will leave now, and you know it.

(I didn’t cope by turning my bedroom into Abu Ghraib, though.)

It’s the worst of both worlds. His father is far enough away to cause that gaping wound, yet not sufficiently gone for it to ever close over and heal.

But… despite his impossible situation, Riko wasn’t withdrawing into himself. Resentment ate away at him and he liked doing side-projects of revenge, but it was hope driving him on. I see Riko as someone with a very hot flame in them, someone determined to succeed (like Neil). He was driven, even if the goal he chased so eagerly was an illusion. I think he saw his situation as a challenge, an opportunity to prove himself and eventually take his rightful place at his father’s side (surely that’s what Kengo really meant, surely this was a test, a test he can pass if he just wins one more time...)

Imagine something like… the second son of a Roman emperor, sent to some far-off outpost to get him out of the way subdue rebel tribes. A chance to make a name for himself, an opportunity to create an elite unit where violence and skill are everything, where winning is everything. A challenge he accepts with savage excitement.

And the world views them with the kind of awe once reserved for ancient Sparta. Unsurpassed warriors, impossibly focussed. Yes, they endure conditions no one else could even consider but they always win, and everyone loves winners. They are the legends of legends. Surely his father will see.

Kevin was his Lancelot, his shining sword, his right hand. Kevin added to Riko’s status, assured him he must be a hero if he had such a splendid champion at his side.

But Kevin is beautiful, so perhaps Riko’s feelings were more complicated than that, perhaps they were feelings he couldn’t admit he had. He could still work those feelings into the overall picture though… it’s all part of Kevin being his beloved champion.

Until the champion started edging him out of his own story and had to be sacrificed. A necessary sacrifice, but losing Kevin struck a huge blow to the mythology Riko built up about himself. He could no longer look in the mirror, side by side, and see Kevin’s glory (and, yes, Kevin’s dad) reflected back as though it belonged to him too.

Despite this Riko finds a way to keep winning, even without his champion. Surely that is even more impressive? Can his father see that?

Still no response. In the story Riko constructs for himself his father does no wrong, so this towering rage he feels has to crash down on someone else. He tells himself he is punishing his troops for daring to be unworthy.

Then there is Jean, someone from a caste so low as to be unclean, even subnormal, someone it would hurt Riko’s prestige to treat with any kind of respect. But Jean is also beautiful, and those feelings can’t be worked into the myth. Their outlet is the darkness behind closed doors, along with all the other feelings that don’t fit the story of the hero.

Harming his people, his intimate possessions, was Riko’s coping mechanism for rejection and humiliation the way self-harm in many forms is to many others. (Are you hearing me if I say hurting yourself is hurting your own Perfect Court, and there is collateral damage even if you think it’s just you, because people love you and suffer because of it? Are you hearing me if I say stop being Riko to yourself?)

And maybe his enjoyment of that cruelty was, deep down, a form of denial that the cruelty arose from anguish. ‘No I’m not upset, I’m not a loser, I’m in control, I’m doing this because I like it…’ Maybe even to the point where rendition becomes sexual.

But it’s starting to unravel. He’s lost his only friend and can no longer unleash his mounting frustrations on Jean the way he wants to; he’s running out of pieces for his board.

Then he finds the fugitive his family were chasing for so long. This is his big chance. He’ll have a brand new champion for his stable or a valuable offering to please his father, he wins either way.

He captures this feral child who tells him there is no empty throne waiting by the side of the emperor, Kengo never mentions his son’s name, Riko is nothing more than a joke in that far-off capital. So much scorn in those words that the carefully constructed mythology withers before it.

First the would-be rook took the queen, then the wild-card knight escapes again, and now the whipping boy / concubine / bishop is taken by a girl with a cross around her neck. The king has lost all his men… because that’s your REAL story, isn’t it: everyone leaves you.

And then… Kengo dies.

Yes, Riko is a Bad Person. No, I do not like him. But Nora gave us two boys who met their brother for the first time, two boys who cried out their brother’s name only to see their hopes shattered. And in that moment they were one, so I cannot dismiss this monstrous, horrible abomination no matter how hard I try.

I can however dismiss anyone who says Nora is not a goddess of writing.

[quizzicalwriter]

can you please write a dallas winston x fem!reader smut where he likes has super aggressive sex with reader with praise (and a lot of squ!rt!ng) thank you!

PDA

Pairing: Dallas Winston x Fem!Reader

Summary: Playfully flirting to make Dallas jealous? At a party no less? Scandalous.

Warnings: SMUT. MDNI. This is pure, unadulterated filth. Kissing, touching, blowjobs, squirting, mirror sex, all that good stuff.

A/N: Thank you for the request! All these requests have me looking in dictionaries for synonyms. Thank you all for the broadening of my literacy even if it’s centered around filth. Second part can be found here!

Word Count: 2.6k

Three shots, that’s all you’d promised yourself you’d do when you and Dallas arrived at the house. But, as always, you weren’t the best judge of what you’d do when the circumstances shifted into something more chaotic. After all, how could you turn down Two-Bit when he was proudly flaunting his latest creation? You’d have been better off heeding the warning from Sodapop, his face twisted into a grimace as he took a sip. 

“What is that?” He asked through a hoarse groan, words followed by a cough as he placed the remainder on the counter. You’d seen all the guys drink their fair share of straight liquor, but you’d never seen such an adverse reaction before. It made you laugh as you leaned against Dallas’s side, all of you looking at Two-Bit who stood with a proud smile on his face. 

“Everything!” He exclaimed, words already semi-slurred. “Found all the bottles, mixed them.” 

You could hear Sodapop groan, his brows furrowing as he moved from the kitchen. Steve moved in, taking a cup from Two-Bit who’d mixed everything into a punch bowl, which you were fairly certain he’d stolen, but you’d ask about that later. Steve seemed to take it well, only shaking his head with a coughed-out laugh. 

Throughout your relationship with Dallas, you’d grown used to the boys, quickly growing close with some of them as well, close enough to do foolish things alongside them if prompted. Two-Bit turned to you then, extending out a cup to which Dallas quickly put his hand out, blocking the cup with a gruff, “Fuck no, she’s not drinking that shit.”

You looked up at him, feeling rather rebellious that night, so you pushed his hand away and grabbed the cup for yourself. Two-Bit cheered, moving back to Steve as the two conversed over what all went into the bowl. Dallas rolled his eyes, looking away from you as you took a quick sip from the cup. Sodapop was right to make the face he had, yours quickly twisted up as you struggled to keep the mixture in your mouth. 

“See?” Dallas laughed, moving to grab the cup, only for you to pull it back and away from him. “Fine, drink it.” He muttered. 

It was awful, but you were stubborn. You’d drank nearly half the cup before your stomach warned you if you drank another you’d be spending the night in the bathroom. However, whatever had been in the cup had done its job of getting you tipsy, and that’s all you cared about. 

Time always moved odd whenever you found yourself drunk, minutes passing like hours, only for you to look back at the clock and realize it was nearly two in the morning. You’d been dancing with someone you’d presumed was Dallas, only to realize halfway through that it was most definitely not Dallas. For some reason you didn’t push him away, your tipsy mind convincing you it’d be hot to see Dallas jealous. 

What you didn’t consider was how violently jealous Dallas got, the thought not crossing your mind until you felt yourself shoved forward. You turned to see the guy who’d been dancing with you on his ass, Dallas standing directly over him. You cursed under your breath, moving to Dallas's side, grabbing his arm as you tugged him away. 

“Dal-“ You sputtered out, looking down at the poor guy who had a noticeable bruise forming along his cheekbone. “Not his fault.”

Dallas turned to you then, clearly pissed. “The hell were you doing dancing with him? Letting him touch you?”

The plan was stupid from the start, but only now were you realizing just how stupid it was. You swallowed, throat suddenly dry as you looked down at his chest, focusing on his necklace as you replied. “Wanted to see you jealous.” 

To your surprise Dallas sighed, head tilting back as he steadied his breathing. He looked back at you, raising a hand to cup your jaw, tilting your head up to look at him. His eyes were no longer angry, still irritated, but not angry. “You’re mine, alright? I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

The words caused your stomach to flutter, a smile you quickly tried to hide crossing your features as you met his gaze. He noticed, smiling himself as he leaned down to press a kiss to your lips. As he pulled away you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth from his palms against your skin. 

“Yours.”

Dallas intertwined his fingers with yours, placing his cigarette between his lips as he led you through the crowd. You didn’t know where he planned on taking you, but you felt your thighs clenching with each step, trying to quell the growing ache at the sight of Dallas being so fiercely protective over you. You passed by several couples pressed against the wall, one girl, in particular, you were fairly certain was being fingered out in the open, but you simply averted your gaze as Dallas pulled you into a nearby bathroom. 

“I don’t have to pee.” You stated, looking up to Dallas. Your confusion was precious to him, causing him to stifle a laugh as he exhaled a lungful of smoke around his cigarette. 

“Didn’t bring you in here to piss, doll.”

His words registered quickly, even with your mind in the tipsy state it found itself in. You smiled up at him, feeling yourself growing wetter at the way his eyes raked over your form. 

The noise outside the bathroom was loud enough to conceal anything you two might do, but the risk of being caught, walked in on, being overheard - all of it only served to strengthen the pang of arousal between your legs, leaving you beyond eager to drop to your knees against the cool tile if it meant having him down your throat. 

He turned his gaze to the sink, snubbing his cigarette out against the porcelain, hardly having noticed you’d sunk to your knees until you began undoing his belt. He smiled down at you, tilting his head to the side as he raised a hand to cup your jaw, thumb brushing against your lower lip. You parted your lips, taking his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the digit as you kept his gaze. 

He whined, brows furrowing as your hands moved to his abdomen, pushing his shirt up to expose his stomach. You leaned up on your knees, kissing down his stomach until you reached his jeans, slowly unbuttoning them in between each kiss. His hands moved to your hair, fingers threading through your hair to grab at the roots, the pain causing you to whine out a breath of air. 

“You that desperate?” He asked through a laugh, clearly not wanting to admit how much of an effect your actions had on him. “Go ahead, doll.” 

You smiled, taking your bottom lip between your teeth as you unzipped his jeans, his cock already straining against the fabric of his boxers, precum dampening the fabric near his tip. You pressed a kiss to his tip through his boxers, the feeling causing him to gasp, his grip on your hair tightening. 

“Stop teasing.” He groaned, hand moving to push his thumb into your mouth, pressing down against your tongue as he pulled down his boxers himself. You didn’t move away from his hold, even as your spit dribbled down your chin and onto your breasts. He pumped himself lazily, causing a whine of need to die in your throat as you shifted on your knees. 

“Open.” He murmured, removing his hand from your face. You didn’t need to be told twice, immediately opening your mouth as you continued looking up at him, feeling yourself clench around nothing in anticipation of the feeling of him fucking your throat. He smiled down at you at the quickness of your actions, seemingly proud as he pressed his tip against your tongue, the warmth of your mouth causing his eyes to flutter. 

Whatever warmth was in his eyes mere seconds prior was gone the moment you wrapped your lips around his tip, languidly licking a stripe up his slit. His grasp on your hair tightened, hips flexing under the flickering fluorescent light above the bathroom sink. His free hand moved to your cheek, giving it a gentle pat, a condescending sigh passing his lips before he roughly thrusted into your mouth. You could feel the burn down your throat, back involuntarily tensing as his navel touched your nose, cock nestled in your throat. 

“Fuck-“ He croaked out, taking in a shuddering breath. “You want to flirt in front of me, doll? Do they know whose cock you’re choking on? Huh?”

Your hands flew behind you, hands clasping each other as you tried to refrain from pushing him away, wanting to be good for him. After all, you’d done what you’d done for a reason, and this was it. He pulled out after a moment, a loud gasp for air tearing its way from your chest. He only smiled, hardly giving you a second of reprieve before pushing into your mouth again, the salty taste of his precum coating your tongue as he gave into his desires, grunting out your name in between broken words of praise as he fucked your throat. 

Your eyes watered, blurring the vision of him pumping himself down your throat. You blinked away the tears, your mascara smearing down your skin. The sight caused him to snicker, thumb gently wiping away your tears as he continued fucking your mouth, tongue flat against the underside of his cock, trying desperately to take all of him. The look of you on your knees with his cock nestled in your throat was enough to make him cum, but he didn’t want to, not yet anyway. With a sharp grunt, he pulled out of your throat, causing you to sputter out a series of coughs, hands moving to wipe away your tears before looking back up to him. 

“C’mon, bend over the counter.” He stated, extending a hand down to help you up from the floor. Before you’d even had the chance to breathe he had you bent over the porcelain sink. Only then did you realize there was a mirror, horribly smudged and cracked in certain places, but you could see your fucked out reflection clear as day. It made you blush, gaze averting from the sight. He caught on quickly, fingers threading through your hair once more, pulling it back to ensure you stared at yourself while he fucked you. 

“What?” He asked, tone close to a coo, the sound causing your stomach to flip with arousal. He pulled down your jeans and underwear, tossing the bundled clothes to a nearby corner before moving back behind you, hand steady on your hip. “Don’t want to watch yourself getting fucked, doll?” 

You’d opened your mouth to respond, but all that came out was a broken moan as he pushed himself into you, burying his cock to the hilt within your cunt. You could see his smile in the reflection of the mirror, eyes set on you as he started moving his hips. The cold porcelain of the countertop bit into your thighs, but the arousal and sight of him fucking you outweighed any feeling of pain.

“That’s it, sweetheart.” He whispered, words breaking off into a grunt as he slammed into you. You were sure anyone near the bathroom could hear you two, if not his words then your desperate moans and the sound of skin meeting skin. Neither of you were trying to be discreet, simply focused on making the other cum. “Taking my cock so good, like you were made for it.”

His arm wrapped around your waist, hand trailing down to the top of your cunt where he began swirling his fingers around your clit, a cut-off laugh leaving him as his fingers slid against your skin, cunt coated in a mixture of your cum and his. A moan akin to a mewl fell from your lips at the feeling, unable to look away from yourself as he fucked you, cock stretching you out and nudging against a spot within you that had your legs wobbling beneath you. 

A feeling you didn’t recognize began to build in your lower stomach, a pressure that had you whining. He only picked up his pace, tip hitting near your cervix with each thrust, shaft brushing against that same fucking spot. Before you could stop yourself you were cumming around him, a drawn-out moan ripping its way from your chest as your cunt fluttered around him. You felt your thighs shaking beneath you, hands shooting out to stabilize yourself against the counter as the feeling flowed through you. 

You’d hardly realized Dallas had gone wide-eyed until you looked up at him, and then you realized just how wet your legs were, as well as the floor beneath you. Dallas laughed then, smiling at you before pushing himself back in. 

“Came so hard you pushed me out, doll.” He murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Soaked yourself, got it on my jeans.” 

You could only muster a near-silent apology, words soon cut off by a whimper as he resumed his previous pace, every feeling magnified by overstimulation. His hand moved from your hair to your throat, pulling your back flush against his chest as he rutted into you, curving his hips to push himself deeper inside of you. Your hands moved to his forearm, watching your reflection in a dazed state, any words you tried to utter coming out a slurred mess. 

His grasp on your throat tightened, your breath being cut off doing nothing to deter him as he chased his orgasm. Just as your vision began to blur you felt his cock twitch inside of you followed by a litany of curses as he flooded your cunt with his cum. His hand moved from your throat to smooth down your stomach as he pressed gentle kisses to the back of your shoulders, whispering words of praise against your damp skin. 

“So good-“ He whispered, voice hoarse. “So fuckin’ good, doll.”

You tilted your head back, capturing his lips against your own. The kiss was messy, it made you clench around his cock as he pulled out, cum dripping down the inside of your thighs. You felt him laugh, the noise filling the silence between you two as he grabbed a nearby towel, wiping down your thighs and legs. 

“Can’t believe you did that.” He murmured, looking up at you as he helped you to step back into your underwear and jeans. “Squirted all over me, down your legs. Even got the floor wet.”

His words were laced with gentle laughs, but the faint flush on his cheeks told you enough, he’d found it hotter than he’d be willing to admit. Something told you that he’d be trying to make you do it more often in the future. Before you could linger on the thought a loud series of knocks sounded on the door, followed by an incredibly irritated-sounding voice. 

“You two done? I gotta piss!” Shouted a voice, causing both you and Dallas to freeze. You scrambled to button your jeans while Dallas simply pulled his up, opening the bathroom door with an overtly proud smile. Your eyes locked with Two-Bit, an incredibly drunk and now embarrassed Two-Bit. “Jesus Christ, I’ll go piss in the yard.”

You could only laugh at his words as Dallas closed the door, turning to you with a smile as he buttoned his jeans. His hands moved to cup your jaw as he kissed your forehead, smiling against your skin before pulling away with a simple, “Mine.”

“Yours.” You replied. 

A/N: Thank you for the request and for reading - even if you simply skim over it, I appreciate the interactions nonetheless! As always you can find my work posted over on ao3 under the username “Unscriptural.” I hope you all enjoy this one, it took a while to write and a fair bit of revisions, but I’m happy with it!

[deliciousangelfestival]

Flour Power - 2

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

With each passing day, Bob's strength began to return. He wasted no time putting his newfound energy to good use, eagerly diving into his tasks at the bakery. Rising early, he matched your dedication, lending a hand wherever needed.

In the kitchen, Bob proved himself a quick learner, diligently tackling each task. Whether he was cleaning, lifting heavy bags of flour, or manually whisking dough, his commitment never wavered.

His presence brought a renewed sense of energy to the bakery. Bob's help made the workload lighter, and the atmosphere buzzed with productivity.

As you watched him work, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his assistance, realizing that having Bob around was a valuable asset to the bakery.

As the day progressed, the usual hustle and bustle of the bakery continued. Bob, wiping the counter with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence with a question, "Why is it so quiet here?"

With a hint of bitterness in her tone, Tammy pointed her fingers towards the bustling bakery across the street. "That's because our loyal customers got stolen by them," she lamented, her frustration evident.

Bob's gaze followed Tammy's gesture, his expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief as he saw the crowded shopfront.

"The ungrateful not only stole the family recipe but also put this bakery into debt," Tammy continued, her voice tinged with resentment.

Bob's sense of justice was stirred. "Not fair. This bread is more delicious," he remarked, his loyalty to the bakery evident in his words.

You couldn't help but feel gratitude towards Bob for his unwavering support. "Thanks, Bob," you interjected, a sense of appreciation coloring your voice.

"You want to learn how to make croissants?" you asked, noticing that each time you prepared the flaky pastries, Bob's gaze would inevitably drift towards you, silently observing your technique.

As you spoke, you could see a flicker of curiosity in Bob's eyes, his interest piqued by the prospect of learning something new. His shoulders straightened slightly, and he nodded in response, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Bob's face lit up with childlike excitement as you extended the offer, his eyes shining eagerly. "Can I?" he asked, his enthusiasm palpable.

You nodded with a smile, touched by his genuine interest. Your family had always believed in sharing their knowledge with others, and Bob was no exception. Teaching him how to make croissants would strengthen his bond with the bakery and equip him with valuable skills for the future.

"Of course," you replied warmly. "My family has always believed in passing on our baking expertise to anyone who's eager to learn. You're no exception, Bob."

You gestured towards the work surface, inviting him to join you. "Come on, I'll show you," you said warmly, your voice filled with encouragement.

As Bob diligently worked on crafting the croissants, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, eager to see the results of his efforts. But as the baking process unfolded, it became apparent that things weren't going as expected.

🥐

"This isn't what I expected," you remarked, disappointment coloring your tone as you examined the misshapen and oversized croissants that emerged from the oven.

Bob's attempts at normal-sized croissants had ended in failure, but to your surprise, he had inadvertently succeeded in creating jumbo-sized croissants. The sheer scale of the pastries was impressive, a testament to Bob's determination and creativity in the face of adversity.

Tammy's arrival only added to the excitement, her eyes widening in amazement as she beheld the oversized croissants. "Whoa... This is incredible," she exclaimed, reaching for her phone to capture the moment and then upload the photo to her Instagram.

"How did you upload it so fast?" you asked, surprised by Tammy's quick actions.

Tammy shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "You know me," she replied coyly, her fingers flying across her phone as she shared the extraordinary sight with her followers on social media.

The 'Ping' of notifications continued incessantly, and you couldn't help but grow curious. "What's that?" you asked, glancing at Tammy as she retrieved her phone.

Tammy's eyes widened in astonishment as she scrolled through her notifications, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. "I've never received this many notifications this quickly," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with awe.

One comment: "Omg, is that real?"

Another comment: "Can I try? I think it's perfect for brunch with my girls."

"Oh, I know this bakery. It's called Sunrise Bakery. I used to go there with my mom. I should go there."

Another comment: "Eating and coffee time with friends? Sign me in."

You and Tammy exchanged a glance, realization dawning upon you. Could Bob's oversized croissants be attracting attention on social media?

With a shared nod, you turned your gaze towards Bob and the jumbo croissant behind him. "Alright," you said with a newfound sense of determination. "I think we could do this."

🥐

The jumbo croissant and coffee craze continued to sweep through the neighborhood, and your bakery became a bustling hub of activity, filled to the brim with eager customers clamoring to get a taste of the viral sensation.

Jumbo coffee, expertly crafted by Tammy, only added to the allure, drawing in even more patrons eager to savor the perfect pairing of freshly baked bread and aromatic brews.

But amidst the excitement and flurry of activity, a new phenomenon emerged – the presence of Bob, the enigmatic baker behind the scenes. His silent demeanor and skillful craftsmanship had captured the imaginations of many, particularly the female customers who flocked to the bakery in droves, hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious baker.

Because of your best efforts to maintain privacy and respect Bob's wishes, the allure of the elusive baker only seemed to intensify. You banned taking photos of the employees, hoping to preserve their privacy and dignity.

But rather than deter them, the ban seemed to fuel the customers' curiosity, sparking a fervor that only drew more attention to the bakery.

You felt a surge of gratitude as you served the bustling crowd, the familiar hum of activity reminiscent of the days when your grandparents had run the bakery.

As you delivered a loaf of bread to an elderly couple, you noticed they were foreigners, likely Japanese.

The elderly man nodded at you and spoke in Japanese, his request catching you off guard. "Sumimasen, koko de keitai o juuden shite mo ii desu ka? Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("Excuse me, can I charge my phone here? My phone battery died, and I couldn't use the translation app.")

Feeling momentarily lost, you quickly excused yourself and approached Tammy. "Can I use your phone?" you asked urgently.

Tammy shook her head. "My phone is live right now, showing it to my followers," she explained.

Realizing your phone was also out of reach, you returned to the elderly man at the table, feeling helpless.

"Sumimasen," he said, following you to the cashier.

Confused, Bob suddenly appeared and approached the grandpa, asking in Japanese, "Doushite? Nani ga okotte iru no?" (What's going on?")

You explained the situation, amazed to hear Bob conversing fluently in Japanese. "Dekinai desu ka?" ("Is it not possible?") the elderly man asked, his expression crestfallen.

Suddenly, Bob's revelation left you and Tammy stunned. "Nanika o tasukeru koto ga dekimasu ka?" Bob asked in Japanese. ("Is there something we could help with?")

The elderly man's face brightened as he explained his predicament. "Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, koko de juuden dekimasu ka? Watashi no teburu no chikaku ni denki no soketsuto ga mienai node, keitai ga nai to hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("My phone battery is dead. Can I charge my phone here? I don't see any power sockets near my table. Without my phone, we couldn't use the translation app.")

Bob extended his hand. "Wakarimashita. Anata no keitai o kudasai. Koko de juuden shite kudasai," he offered in Japanese. ("I understand. Could you give me your phone? You can charge it here.")

Grateful, the elderly man bowed his head. "Arigatou gozaimasu," he said sincerely. ("Thank you very much.")

The Japanese grandpa told Bob "Arigatou. Mae no pan'ya wa koko mitaina basho ni wa tetsudatte kurenakatta yo." ("Thank you. The bake shop in front were not helpful like this place.")

Bob replied "Maa, bokutachi wa kanojo-ra yori umaku iu." ("Well, we're better than them.")

The grandpa laughed and went back to his table.

You and Tammy approached Bob with a mixture of surprise and curiosity evident on your faces. "Wait? You could speak Japanese?" you asked, incredulous.

Bob seemed equally surprised by the revelation, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I did?" he echoed with a hint of disbelief.

"How come you didn't realize? It was you who was speaking?" you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Wow, Bob. You're amazing," you exclaimed, unable to hide your admiration.

Hearing your compliment made Bob's ears turn slightly red, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he turned on his heel and dashed back to the kitchen, leaving you and Tammy to exchange bemused glances.

"What was that?" you asked, still trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Hmm..." Tammy mused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she watched Bob disappear into the depths of the bakery.

🥐

Luck seemed to be on your side with the Japanese grandpa's glowing 5-star review, praising the bakery's hospitality towards foreigners and the elderly.

This drew in a wave of foreign customers eager to experience the warm welcome for themselves.

Equipped with a translator app, you managed to communicate with foreign customers, though sometimes the language barrier proved challenging, especially with fast speech or colloquial expressions. In those moments, Bob became your secret weapon.

To everyone's surprise, Bob displayed an unexpected talent for understanding and speaking various foreign languages like Mandarin, French, Spanish, and Turkish. His proficiency was impressive, though he couldn't explain how he acquired it.

Speculating that his past self might have been bilingual, Bob's newfound linguistic skills proved invaluable in connecting with foreign customers, enhancing the bakery's reputation for hospitality and service.

As business flourished, you couldn't help but marvel at the mystery of Bob's talents and how they'd unexpectedly contributed to the bakery's success.

With the influx of customers to your bakery, the business's overall income increased significantly. This allowed you to pay off your debts on time and provided the means to give bonuses to both Tammy and Bob for their hard work and dedication.

However, when Bob received his bonus, he seemed unsure what to do with the money. "I don't deserve this."

He hesitantly handed it back to you, expressing his belief that he didn't deserve to be paid since you had provided everything for him.

You stopped him in his tracks, shaking your head. "You deserve it, Bob. The success of the bakery is in large part because of you. Your hard work and dedication have made all the difference."

Despite Bob's initial reluctance, you insisted on him keeping the bonus as a token of appreciation for his invaluable contribution to the bakery's success.

Grateful and touched by your words, Bob accepted the bonus with a humble smile, understanding that his efforts had truly made a difference.

As you stepped outside to take out the trash, you were unexpectedly blocked by someone. You let out a sigh of annoyance when you realized it was Rick, the former employee who had stolen your family recipe.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your tone laced with frustration.

Rick wore a smug expression on his face as he replied, "Oh, nothing. Just checking on you, who stole my customers."

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. "Funny you should say 'stole,' considering it was you who stole in the first place."

Rick laughed dismissively. "I was just putting it to good use. I knew I could do it better."

You scoffed at his arrogance. "Even though you stole it, it still tastes flavorless."

Rick snorted in disdain before turning on his heel and walking away.

As Rick left, you couldn't help but feel a surge of indignation at his brazen attitude. Despite his attempts to undermine you, you remained steadfast in your commitment to your bakery and its loyal customers.

Tammy's eyes narrowed with disdain as she watched Rick's retreating figure. "Was it him? Next time, call me. I'll hit him with my Louis Vuitton heels."

You winced at the mental image. "Ouch."

Bob, sensing the tension, interjected with concern. "Is he bothering you?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the encounter. "Just my mortal enemy. Forget it. He always stops by to throw an insult."

Despite your attempt to brush it off, Bob could see the frustration etched on your face. With a sympathetic nod, he silently vowed to watch for Rick in the future.

🥐

As you lay sleeping, a loud crash shattered the stillness of the night, jolting you awake. Instantly alert, you noticed Bob also opening his door simultaneously, both of you exchanging a concerned glance.

"A burglar? Or a cat?" you mused aloud, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"I don't think a cat could destroy a window," Bob replied, his tone serious.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and without hesitation, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed 911.

Intent on investigating, you moved to go downstairs, but Bob's firm grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks. "Stay here," he commanded softly but firmly.

"But—" you protested, the urgency of the situation driving you to action.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Bob insisted, his voice laced with concern for your safety.

Reluctantly, you acquiesced, remaining on the second floor as Bob descended to confront the intruders. For a tense moment, the house was eerily quiet, broken only by the muffled sounds of a struggle downstairs.

Unable to resist the urge to see what was happening, you cautiously approached the railing, peering down to the first floor. Your heart skipped a beat as you witnessed Bob engaging in a fierce battle with the masked intruders, his movements swift and calculated as he fought them off one by one.

Despite being outnumbered, Bob displayed remarkable skill and determination, his body language exuding confidence and strength as he defended your home against the would-be burglars.

With each precise strike and well-timed block, he gradually gained the upper hand, ultimately emerging victorious in the intense confrontation.

As the last intruder fled into the night, Bob stood tall and triumphant, his chest heaving with exertion but his gaze steady and unwavering. With a sense of awe and gratitude, you realized how fortunate you were to have someone like Bob by your side in peril.

"I'm here. Oh my god. Who would want to steal from this bakery?" Tammy exclaimed, rushing over from her apartment in a daze. She had been deep in slumber when you called her.

Surveying the damage, her eyes widened in shock. The bakery window lay shattered, tables and chairs lay broken, and the bread display case lay toppled on the ground. It was a heartbreaking sight, a stark contrast to the care and effort you had invested in preserving the legacy of the bakery.

As Tammy took in the devastation, a mixture of anger and disbelief crossed her face. "This is terrible. How could someone do this?" she muttered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Just then, the police arrived on the scene, their presence adding a sense of urgency to the situation. As they began their investigation, one of the officers turned to you with a questioning gaze.

"So, it was your employee who beat up all four of these burglars?" he inquired, his tone incredulous.

You nodded firmly at the officer's question. "Yes, officer. He saved me and this place."

The mention of saving the bakery seemed to catch the officer's attention, and he glanced around at the damage with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Do you have insurance?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly.

You nodded again, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yes," you confirmed, grateful for the reassurance that you would not face the financial burden of repairing the damage alone.

"Good, I will give you a letter from us as soon as possible, then you can send it to the insurance," said the police, offering you a reassuring nod.

"Thank you," you replied gratefully as the officers began to depart, their presence comforting in the wake of the chaos.

You approached Bob, who stood with his head bowed low, his expression weighed down by guilt and regret.

"I ruined the bakery," Bob muttered, his voice heavy with self-blame.

As you drew nearer, you could see the turmoil etched on his face, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Approaching Bob, who stood with a troubled expression, you offered a gentle smile. "You didn't ruin the bakery, Bob. You saved it. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stopped them. Thank you," you said sincerely, your gratitude evident in your voice.

Glancing at the tools the burglars had brought – gasoline and a lighter – you couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the destruction they had intended to unleash upon your cherished bakery.

Tammy's voice broke the silence, her tone filled with awe and admiration. "Did Bob really fight all of them?" she asked incredulously.

You nodded emphatically. "Yes. He's amazing," you affirmed, your pride in Bob's actions evident.

Bob blushed at the praise, his humility shining through even in the midst of the chaos.

Tammy smirked mischievously. "He can bake, speak foreign languages, and fight. I think his old self was a Jack of All Trades," she remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You considered her words thoughtfully. "That means your brain and muscles still remember. Do you start remembering something?" you asked, hoping for a breakthrough.

Bob was quiet for a moment. He shook his head sadly. "No," he replied, his expression filled with frustration at his continued lack of memory.

Tammy's eyes lit up with excitement as she proposed a new idea. "How about we enroll him in acting classes, poetry classes, singing lessons? Perhaps he's good at those too, and it could trigger his old memories," she suggested eagerly, her enthusiasm infectious.

As you considered Tammy's suggestion, a sense of hope stirred within you. Perhaps there was still a chance to unlock the secrets of Bob's past and help him reclaim his lost memories. With determination, you resolved to explore every avenue in the quest to uncover the truth.

🥐

As the bakery underwent renovations, you decided to accompany Bob to try new activities in the hopes of triggering his old memories. Despite your efforts, there was still no progress in unlocking his past, but you couldn't deny that his instincts and strength seemed to be growing stronger by the day.

"Perhaps you were an MMA fighter? Or a boxing player?" you suggested one day, pondering the possibilities.

"Really?" Bob asked, his interest piqued by the idea.

Determined to explore this further, you took Bob to a boxing trial class. As you watched him don boxing shorts, you couldn't help but gulp nervously, realizing you had never seen him shirtless. His well-defined six-pack muscles and faded scars on his back hinted at a past filled with physical prowess and strength.

The trainer eyed Bob skeptically from the ring and asked, "Are you sure he's a newbie?"

You nodded, though the trainer seemed unconvinced. From a glance, he could read the muscles rippling beneath Bob's skin, indicating a level of proficiency that belied the term "newbie."

"Let's start," the trainer announced, motioning for Bob to step into the ring.

In the blink of an eye, the trainer let out a pained cry as Bob delivered a powerful punch, catching him off guard.

"Ouch!" the trainer exclaimed, clutching his stomach in agony. "Get out of here. I'm banning you both from this place," he declared, his voice strained with discomfort as he struggled to recover from the unexpected blow.

As you walked home together, laughter bubbled between you and Bob, the sound echoing through the quiet streets. Despite the challenges you faced with the bakery being closed for renovations, you couldn't help but feel a sense of lightness and joy in Bob's company.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that you would be able to laugh during such a difficult time. Yet, with Bob by your side, everything seemed to fall into place, and the day's worries melted away in the warmth of his laughter.

🥐

After two weeks of renovations, the day finally arrived for the reopening of the bakery. As you unlocked the doors and stepped inside, a wave of apprehension washed over you. Would anyone still remember your bakery? Would the customers return after the temporary closure?

To your surprise and delight, as the day progressed, a steady stream of people began to trickle in through the doors. The familiar aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter once again filled the cozy space.

You couldn't believe your eyes as you watched the tables fill up with eager customers, each one eagerly sampling the delicious treats on offer. It was as if the temporary closure had only heightened the anticipation, drawing even more people to your bakery than before.

As you busied yourself behind the counter, serving up delectable treats to the eager crowd, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in the resilience of your beloved bakery.

Many familiar faces returned, offering their condolences for the recent ordeal the store had faced. Their gestures of support were deeply appreciated as a reminder of the strong community surrounding the bakery.

Amidst the familiar flow of customers, however, a sense of unease settled over the bakery as a tall man with blonde hair rushed in, commanding attention from all who watched.

His hurried movements and searching gaze drew curious glances from the patrons, their eyes following him as he made his way through the crowd.

His attractiveness is on the same level as Bob's. That made female eyes at the bakery follow him.

Suddenly, the man stopped beside Bob, arranging a new batch of bread on the counter. With a relieved sigh, he enveloped Bob in a tight embrace, causing gasps of surprise to echo through the bakery.

"Huh?!" you exclaimed, along with Tammy and Bob, as the unexpected display of affection unfolded before you.

The blonde man spoke, his voice filled with emotion. "Bucky, I finally found you," he declared, his words hanging in the air.

The implications of his statement dawned on you, and a sense of confusion and apprehension washed over you. It was clear that this man knew Bob, but the nature of their relationship remained unclear.

Bob, visibly uncomfortable, pushed the man away and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know him," he stated firmly, his expression betraying a mix of confusion and disgust.

You couldn't help but wonder about the connection between Bob and the blonde man. Was he a friend? A relative? Or perhaps something more?

Sensing your silent question, Bob moved closer to you, his gaze meeting yours with a silent plea for understanding. "Don't look at me like that," he murmured, his tone filled with unease.

Before you could respond, the blonde man approached, his eyes fixed on Bob as he repeated the name again. "Bucky."

Bob's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his tone devoid of emotion as he addressed the customer directly. "Who the heck is Bucky?" he demanded, his words sharp and pointed.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

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[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

links: fic playlist, pinterest board, ao3 link, ch 2

Summary: Losing your job is the worst thing to ever happen to you. Getting hired by Carmen Berzatto is a close second. You tell yourself that The Beef is only temporary, that it's just a replacement until you find something better. It doesn't work. You've stopped listening. You've had a taste of Carmy, and now you don't think you're ever gonna be able to let go. No matter how bad it gets. 

Content Tags: secret workplace relationship/sex, friends/coworkers with benefits, they/them afab reader, miscommunication, mental illness (carmy and reader), dom/sub dynamics, dom carmy (for now), enemies to friends to lovers (eventually), unhealthy coping mechanisms, dysfunctional relationship

A/N: It's finally here! New series! We even get sex in the first chapter! In my other fic, I'm taking care of Carmy. In this one, I'm making him worse. Of course, here's a disclaimer that I DON’T condone or intend to glorify any of this behavior. It's just compelling to write. Enjoy!

You return to The Beef for the first time in years when you're at your lowest.

The only upside to this abysmal situation is that the job was shitty. The job you just got laid off from, to be exact. Retail was never your passion, and there's a certain relief in knowing you don't have to go back to that windowless place. You didn't play an important role in the ecosystem, but it played a pretty crucial role in yours. It kept a roof over your head.

You're sure you could’ve sued them in some fashion for letting you go without any warning, any parachute, but you didn't have the luxury of time. You needed to figure out how you were going to pay rent, and fast.

After the rage boiled over (not to say that it's resolved, the residual anger's leveled into an even simmer), you pulled your hair back, found your cleanest, nicest outfit, and started your job search. With your updated resume in hand and scuffed sneakers on your feet, you've trekked all over Chicago looking for a new job. You weren't optimistic, nor were you hopeful. 

You suppose the only word you could use to describe yourself was desperate, and it was a matter of finding someone that was just as desperate, if not more desperate than you. To put it politely, the odds of that were low. Very low. 

You got laid off that very morning. The rest of your afternoon has been spent walking from door to door to every establishment you could spot. By some cruel twist of fate, none of them were hiring. The ones that were hiring looked unenthusiastic, even adverse to taking your resume. 

“When would you be able to start?” Some of the workers asked. 

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 

“If all goes well, you'll hear from us in a week,” was their response. The unspoken was, of course, the fact that radio silence was more likely than an email or phone call. Places didn't even send rejection letters anymore. 

“Thanks for your time,” you'd say, bringing out a bright smile from a complete lack of reserves, and as soon as you turned around, your face would drop. 

Your hopes were low, nearly non-existent, but damn. Damn. It wasn't looking good for you.

That's why you enter The Beef. You vaguely remember visiting this place a couple years ago, back when you first moved to Chicago. The owner was…pretty nice, actually. You don't remember his name, but you remember having a pleasant conversation with him. Of course, there's nothing you can do if he doesn't have a job opening, but it wouldn't be bad to see a friendly face. Even if that face is from someone who's basically a stranger. 

The doorbell rings when you enter. It catches the attention of the man standing behind the counter, and with how his head jolts up, you'd think the bell functioned as an alarm instead. 

“Welcome,” he says. Your first impression, other than the fact that he seems very, very, tired, is that he's irritatingly attractive. If anything, the eyebags and the greased back waves only add to whatever the hell he's got going on. 

“Hi. Um…” You're briefly caught off guard by his biceps, but you catch yourself. “I was actually wondering if you guys were hiring.”

“We are,” he replies, and it's the best thing you've heard all day. He lights up like the spark of a lighter, bright and instantaneous. It doesn't shake the pervasive exhaustion that radiates off him, though. 

“Thank god,” you mutter, and you want to take it back (it's far too casual), but he cracks an amused smile that makes you want to dissolve like a pinch of salt in a sea of sauce. “Sorry. Do you mind if I talk to the owner? We met a while ago, and—”

“I'm the owner,” he interrupts, and any other words you had planned fall away.

“Sorry?” You repeat. “I swear it was this guy—he had short dark hair, I think—”

“Yeah, he left the place to me. Didn't want it anymore, so.” He shrugs. The light you just saw from him has fizzled away like the end of a sparkler, short-lived and ultimately disappointing. 

“Oh. Got it. Uh…” To your credit, you don't fumble for too long. You have a lot of questions, but you've got more pressing issues. You pluck out a resume from a file folder. “Here's my resume, then.”

He takes it from you, flips it to face him. He's quiet as his eyes lower down the page, and you wonder if it's going to be a guillotine or a pot of gold at the end of this. The only sounds in the entrance are the passing cars outside, the rickety air conditioning, and muffled chatter from the back. 

“You worked as a prep cook.” He says it like a fact, but you know it's a question. 

“Yeah, nothing fancy. Just at some chain restaurants.”

“Right. I see you worked as a line cook at another location. Which one did you prefer?”

“Uh…” They both came with their separate pains. Your honest answer is that being a line cook was one of the most stressful experiences of your life, but if he has a position open as a line cook, you don't want to fuck it up. “They were both fine. I think I was a little better as a prep cook, but I didn't mind either.”

He hums, satisfied by your answer. At least it’s only half of a lie.                                                                                                                    

“How do you work under pressure?”

“Good,” you answer quickly. “Well enough.”

“Willing to learn?”

“Obviously. I mean…” You think you see a flash of a smile, but you're unsure. “Yeah.”

“When'd you be able to start?” You're surprised he's already asking this.

“Tomorrow,” you say, just like you’ve been, and his reaction is different from the others. He nods. He doesn't smile, not like he did earlier, but you can tell this is a good sign. 

Before he can get a word out, there's a sharp, metallic explosion of noises that resounds from the direction of the kitchen. 

“Uh,” he starts, eyebrows pinched in irritation, the voices come in. 

“I told you, you have to say behind!” A woman's voice. She sounds young, but there's no real way to be sure of that.

“How the hell did you not hear me coming?” A Chicago accent, male. Older, maybe. “I was in the middle of having a conversation with Tina—”

“Great, I'm so happy for you, I don't give a shit, now this has all went to waste—”

“Well, who's fault is that?”

“Who's fault is that? You did not just—”

“Guys!” The man you've been talking to gives you an apologetic glance before walking to the back, pushing through the folding doors. You catch a glimpse of the two people arguing on the other side before it shuts. “I'm tryin’ to talk to a new hire here. We can't be like this right now. Not ever, but especially right now.”

Finally, the first sane person I've met all day, you think. 

“Carmy, talk some sense into her,” the older guy shouts, and it gives you a name to the face. “All of this on the floor—”

“You didn't say behind,” the woman repeats, except with more fury in it this time.

“You didn't say behind,” he imitates back. “Carmy—”

“She’s right. Richie, step out,” Carmy says. “Syd, you clean this up.”

“But—” You hear her start to protest. 

“You spilled it, you clean it,” he cuts through, decisive and firm.

“I know, but Richie—”

“Clean it,” he repeats, firmer, darker this time, and there's a beat of silence. 

“...Yes, chef.”

“I told you to step out,” Carmy tells who you assume is Richie. 

“You're just gonna let her—”

“Step the fuck outside right fucking now!” Carmy screams, his patience shooting away like a gunshot. You feel something shrivel inside you, and not in a good way. “Do the one fucking thing you're good at and get out of the fucking way!”

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

From what you hear, it sounds like Richie has to get wrestled outside by someone, whom you're not sure. After another minute, Carmy returns to the front. 

“I'm sorry about that. Fucking—” He drags a hand across his face. You swear his eyebags have grown heavier in the 5 minutes he was in the kitchen. “What was I saying?”

“Um, I was saying that I could start tomorrow,” you remind him, although the vigor you had just stated it with is a bit fizzled out. 

“Right. Okay. Uh—” He pats his hands on his apron, searching for something. A pen and paper appear in his hands, and he scribbles something on it. This is when you notice his tattoos. A flower on the back of his hand. Surprising. “You're hired. Here's the paperwork you need to fill out, along with the number and email you'll be hearing from me at.”

“What?” You take the sheets, but the smooth paper doesn't feel real in your hands. His handwriting is hasty and dark, like he was running out of time on a test. “I mean, I'm just surprised.”

“Do you not want it?”

“I want it,” you promise, and you feel your cheeks flush. This is a bad time to yet again notice how attractive he is. His pretty eyes, his nose. The little moles under his left eye. “Y-Yeah, I want the job.”

“Good.” He motions towards the sticky note again. “Come in at 8 am tomorrow. You'll be starting as a prep cook, which you've done before.”

“Okay. Okay, yeah, I'll be there.” The reality is setting in now, and an odd cocktail of relief, apprehension, and excitement is settling in your stomach. “Thank you so much.” I just got laid off from my job this morning, so this means a lot, you want to say, but it's too soon. You don't want to say anything that'll make him change his mind about whatever he sees in you. 

“Thank you,” he echoes back. “We need the help. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“See you,” you reply, and with that, the door rings behind you. A customer comes up to the counter, peering up at the menu. You figure this is your cue to leave. He's not looking at you anymore anyway. 

So, I got a job now, you update your friends, texting them on your way home on the metro. As the relieved congratulations come flying in, another remark seems to resound amongst all of them. 

I can't believe you got the job just like that. That place must be desperate, too, is roughly what they've all said. The thing is, they're not wrong. 

You managed to find someone more desperate than you in the job economy. Just one, but that was enough. It makes you think, though. You think about Carmy's weary blue eyes, his brief smile, and his hand tattoos. You wonder if it's just the restaurant that gives him that bone-deep exhaustion, or if it's a smaller part of a bigger picture. 

You think about it for the rest of your commute, you think about it as you smoke on the porch, you think about it as you lay in bed. You think about it as you fill out the paperwork, fingers tracing where Carmy's written his name, number, and email.

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

So Carmy's a nickname, you think. Not about what type of boss he's going to be, not about what it's going to be like working under someone you are obviously attracted to. 

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

If it's bad, I'll just find another job, you tell yourself, and you foolishly believe it.

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 

At least, that's about as much as you've figured out so far. When he sees you upon arrival, he pauses and stares at you like he's forgotten. Not a great start. Granted, he does snap out of it. That's when he tells you to follow him, which is where you currently find yourself. You're not sure where he's leading to, only that he's introducing you to others as you pass them by.

“They’re working with us starting today,” Carmy tells everyone. “They’re gonna be on prep.”

Right. So that's what you'll be doing. At least he told you that much yesterday.

The catalog of coworkers expands exponentially. You remember Sydney from yesterday, and to her credit, she apologizes about having you witness her fight with Richie, who conveniently isn't here yet. She seems the nicest out of all the bunch, so you decide to let it slide. 

Marcus is pretty nice, too. So are Ebra, Sweeps, Manny, Angel—everyone seems to be pretty alright. It’s obvious they’re standoffish by you being in their space. You find it hard to hold it against them. You’re not really sure how your relationships with them are going to pan out. There are only three that you’re particularly unsure on.

The first and obvious one is Richie. He came in eventually and didn’t give you the best impression, immediately talking over everyone and oozing arrogance. The only salvageable thing is that he’s not even a chef. At least you won’t have to be in the kitchen with him much. You want to avoid the honor of talking to him as much as possible.

Tina is next. She clearly doesn’t enjoy having someone new in the ecosystem, and she’s spent more time ignoring you than talking with you. As you understand it, she’s close to the rest of the staff since they’ve all been together for a while. Minus you and Syd, as you learn she’s only been there for a week. You think Tina will warm up to you…eventually.

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

He has you doing prep for most of the day. After introducing you to everyone and giving you a brief tour, he brings you to your station, scratched up stainless steel.

“You’re going to be cutting onions and carrots today for the stock. The vegetables are in the walk-in I showed you earlier, and when it’s done, it goes on the first shelf.” Carmy’s to your right, set up at his own station. You swear you keep your eyes focused on the vegetables, not his biceps in that shirt, but… “You should already know this, but label everything. I don’t want to see anything without a date. Got it?”

“Yes, chef,” you confirm, snapping out of it. He’s been flinging new information at you like it’s a war and he’s gunning to survive. But so are you. “I’ll do my best.”

“I expect as such.” He slides over a peeler for the carrots and some plastic bins for trash. “It’s just a stock, so don’t worry about an even cut. Just salvage whatever you can, cut off anything that doesn’t look good.” You nod. “Been a year or so since you did this, right?”

“Yeah. I cook regularly, but I’ll need to get back into the groove of things. And I will,” you add hastily. “I’ll combine them into this one when I'm done, right?” You ask, nudging a large plastic container. 

“Correct.” A brief smile flashes across his face. “You're already following quicker than I thought you would.” You’re not sure if he means it as an insult or a compliment, so you decide to take it as the latter. 

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

“I know.” His expression is flat again. You resist a laugh.  He plucks an onion from the bin, puts it in front of you. “Show me a rough dice.”

The knife is sharp. You notice this as you place careful cuts into the onion. It's not quite as sharp as his unnerving gaze, which layers pressure upon pressure. It builds up like a pastry puff, thin multitudes of layers expanding upward. You need to be good. You need to be perfect. You don't want to disappoint him, not this early, even though you've barely been here for an hour. 

It's just a shitty old sandwich shop, you tell yourself, but your dicing is uneven and you briefly think about accidentally chopping your fingers off. 

“Not my best work,” you admit, vaguely breathless. Carmy hasn't said anything yet.

“It'll do.” You're waiting for him to say something else, give you some tips, but he doesn't. Irritation prickles to the tips of your fingers. “I'll be back to check in on you later.”

You stand there, motionless and shocked in the aftermath. You're not sure what you expected from today, but being abandoned an hour in was not at the top of your bucket list. 

Man, what the fuck, you think, the thought clear in the silence around you, and that's the last time you can hear yourself think for the rest of the shift. 

There's a prepared stock from yesterday simmering on the stove behind you. It's flanked by boiling potatoes and reducing tomato sauce. The heat from it’s searing your back like a steak, slowly drawing lines of moisture all over the surface of your shirt. Your coworkers constantly invade your space to check on them. You suppose it's not their fault that the kitchen, but it's still irritating. They're also all shouting over each other like it's a competition.

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

“I am trying to find this cutting board, will someone please—”

You move on from the onions with only a thin layer of sweat collected at your hairline. 

Your hands are shaky as they peel the carrots. You know you're not getting as efficient of a shave as you could be, but the caffeine crash from your morning coffee is getting to you. You don't remember the last time you drank water. A cigarette sounds nice. 

“Clean your station, chef.” Carmy materializes next to you. You hear him before you see his hands scooping carrot shavings into a plastic container. It shocks you so much that you almost cut yourself. 

“Sorry, chef,” you reply reflexively. You look down at your station, straightening your tools. You want to ask if you can take your break, but you don't want to look any weaker than you do already. “So, uh, do we get 30's here?”

When you don't get a response, your head snaps up, irritation on the tip of your tongue, but he's not even there. 

Fucking hell, you think, annoyance simmering into something akin to anger, and you go back to finishing your prep. 

You don't see him for another hour after that. It's not even him that tells you to take your 15, it's Syd, who noticed you were half-way through your shift and on the verge of…something. 

“You finished the prep he gave you, right?” Syd had asked. You told her you finished and put it back in the walk-in. “Yeah, then go take your break. Did he not tell you we get 15's here?”

“He didn't,” you say, too annoyed to bother hiding the disdain in your face. Sydney just sighs, rolling her eyes, and you think you love her. 

“Asshole.” She makes a shooing motion at you then. “Go, get a break from this madness. It'll get better, I promise.”

You're not sure if you believe her, but you do step outside to take your break. 

As you stand outside in the back, you take note of tightness in your body that you weren't even aware of. The cigarette smoke calms you, loosens you. Or maybe you owe that to getting out of that hot kitchen. 

This time, you see Carmy before you hear him. You turn to the door to see him stepping out, a pack of smokes in his hand. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

“Yeah. It's fine.” Other than everything.

“Really?” His surprise just pisses you off further. “Well, that's good.”

“...Yeah.” You decide if your mouth stays unoccupied, you'll start cussing him out, so you put your cigarette back in your mouth. 

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

“I said, you're bleeding. Your hand.” 

You look down at your hand holding the cigarette, and sure enough, there's a thin, shallow cut oozing blood near one of your knuckles. 

“Shit,” you mutter, quickly sucking the skin into your mouth. When you pull it back, the red refills. “I didn't even notice.”

“Let's get a bandaid on that.” He puts his unlit cigarette back into his pack. “I have some in my office.”

That's how you end up in the enclosed, dark space of his office, seated on the only chair as he leans back against his cluttered desk. The dingy first-aid kit is propped on top of a shaky stack of papers. Carmy takes out a bandaid from it and peels it open.

“Thought I gave you a sharp knife, it shouldn't have cut you like that,” Carmy comments. 

“It was sharp,” you correct. “Guess I just fucked up.”

“It happens,” he says, which surprises you. He keeps surprising you. You just can't seem to figure him out. “Let me see the cut.”

You only realize that he's putting the bandaid on you when he cradles your hand in his. His hands are warm. 

He has so many hand tattoos. You notice the letters on his fingers first, the SOU curled around your palm. You notice the other tattoo on the back of his hand next, since that's the one carefully placing the bandaid on you. 

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

���I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 

You don't really care, though. 

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

~

@zorrasucia

[suugarbabe]

foolish flowers | g.w x reader

word count: ~1.5k

summary: little georgie blurb based on an ask I recieved and lost.

warning: fluff

The dinging above the door alerted you that a customer had walked into the shop. You did your best to sound polite as you shouted from the back, “I’ll be right up.” Whoever had walked in told you to take your time, but you still found yourself rushing a bit as to not appear rude. 

You walked from the back with a bushel of Aster flowers in your arms, completely obstructing your view. You feel yourself nearly tripping over a pot as you’re making your way to your work station, quietly cursing to yourself. “Here, let me help you with those,” two large hands grab the bushel from you, placing it on the counter. 

You smoothed out your apron before looking up and meeting quite possibly the softest and kindest green eyes you’ve ever seen, “T-thank you.” The man in front of you just smiled, giving a nod before going back to look at the flowers and arrangements you had around your small shop. 

His brows furrowed reading the different cards associated with certain displays. You found yourself watching him, observing him as he looked around. He was incredibly tall, having to nearly bend in half to read anything on the counter. 

You couldn’t help but find his looks of confusion endearing. You decided it was probably best to offer your assistance, for as much as it seemed like he wanted to appear like he knew what he was looking for, he was completely lost. “Looking for something for your girlfriend?” you kept your tone innocent, but you’d be lying if you said there wasn’t motive behind the question beyond being helpful to a customer. 

“Erm, no, for my mum actually,” a blush crept up the man’s neck, dusting his cheeks along with it and accentuating his freckles. “Well then might I suggest not getting these,” you gestured towards the red salvia’s, “as they typically symbolize meaning ‘forever mine’, not quite sure that’s best for mum.” 

You gave him your sweetest smile and he returned a nervous one, scratching the back of his neck, “What, erm, do you suggest then? It’s her birthday tomorrow, my mum, that is, I just wanted to get her something nice.” 

You tapped your finger against your lips as you thought, glancing around the shop to create a beautiful and meaningful piece in your head. “How about…” you trailed off walking up to the marigolds and grabbing a handful, “and a little of…” you grabbed a small batch of chamomile, “oh and definitely…” you grabbed some fully bloomed clematis, “and lastly…” you grabbed some columbine. 

The man watched and you arranged it all in a beautiful glass vase, the purples, whites and yellows dancing together perfectly. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face as he watched you work. “Stunning,” he breathed, “What does it all mean?” 

You clapped your hands together in excitement, explaining pieces was one of your favorite parts of your job. “So, the marigolds here,” you pointed to the flame colored flower, “are her birth month flower and these here,” you pointed to the chamomile, “mean patience in adversity. I assumed because she was a boy mum that she probably dealt with a lot while you grew up,” you shot him a playful wink. 

He laughed lightly at this, “You have no idea.” You continued, pointing next at the clematis, “These mean mental beauty, which is simply true for any mother, and these here,” you pointed at the white flower surrounded by what looked like a purple shell and leaves, “are columbine flowers, they represent foolishness.” 

The man quirked an eyebrow at this one, “And why, pray tell, did you pick these?” You bit your lower lip slightly, “Well, you look awfully close to the moving character atop the joke shop across the street, so I just assumed you probably own it. Thus the additive of some foolishness representation.” 

He smirked at your explanation, leading you to believe that you were correct in your assumption, “Would you believe me if I told you I was born on April fools?” You giggled lightly, “I would expect nothing less coming from the man who owns a joke shop. What is it called again?” 

The man smiled proudly now, “Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.” You looked at him curiously, “So is that your name? Weasley?” 

He nodded, “Surname. My first name, however, is George.” 

“Well it’s very nice to meet you, George.” You smiled sweetly, then turned to your register, “That’ll be ten galleons.” His smile never faltered as he dug into his pocket, pulling out the coins needed. 

He grabbed the vase, walking towards the door. As he was halfway out, he turned back to you, “I just realized that I told you my name, but you never told me yours.” You shrugged your shoulders, “Guess you’ll have to ask when I stop in your shop next time.” 

George raised his eyebrows, liking the bit of mischief you were flirting with, “Alright, guess I’ll see you then, love.” With a wink, he was out the door. 

—--------

Fred stood at the top of the steps, watching the smiling faces roam around his shop. He loved the kids faces as they discovered a new way to prank, a new toy to cause chaos, or how he could see the light switch in their eyes when they saw something on the shelves that had them plotting. 

He and George would get the same look when they were younger. Godric, they get that same look still to this day, they just try their best to choose the appropriate time and place for their shenanigans. 

What his shop did not often get were beautiful women exploring his shop and looking at… “Puking pastilles?” He looked at you curiously, but you hadn’t yet lifted your head from the package. 

“Seems like they’d come in handy for the family dinner I’m trying to avoid tonight,” Fred laughed with you and you finally turned to look at him. 

“Well, you’re certainly not George are you,” your smile was sweet as Fred cocked an eyebrow at you. “And how could you possibly be certain of that, darling?” 

You looked up at the man in front of you, he looked exactly like George, very obviously a twin brother. However if you paid attention enough, there were subtle differences. You didn’t inform George of this last week but you had noticed him before he walked into your shop that day. 

There were quite a few times you had spotted him through your front window, leaving or coming to work, always dressed colorfully and having a smile on his face. When he smiled the corners of his eyes wrinkled just a little, his eyes downturned just slightly more than the man in front of you. 

But the thing that really gave it away you had noticed just last week, when he was finally close enough for you to really see him properly. Staring into friends eyes you smiled, patting his chest, “George has a beauty mark on his neck, right here.” You pointed towards the spot where George’s mark was on Fred’s neck. 

Fred’s smile seemed to grow impossibly wider, “You’re the flower shop girl aren’t you.” He said it more like a statement rather than a question. “Y/n,” you corrected. 

The redhead laughed, “Oh Georgie is going to hate that I learned your name before him.” You shook your head, “Is Georgie here?”

Fred nodded, “Yeah, boyo’s here alright, but I’m really relishing in me getting to learn more information about the girl he’s been pining after before he does.” 

He was hoping to embarrass his twin a little, so what you said next instead had Fred a bit shocked. “Well I’m glad the feeling has been mutual,” your tone and smirk quite impressed Fred. 

When you looked over his shoulder he turned, seeing his twin on the upper level of the shop, “If you’ll excuse me, not George-”

“Fred,” he interrupted. You smiled, “If you’ll excuse me Fred, I’m going to go find George.” 

Fred watched as you sauntered up the staircase, George still none the wiser as he helped a few customers out. As you made it to the top you stood behind him and started speaking, his ears perking at the sound of your voice, “Got anything here to get out of a dinner party?” 

George turned around, sly smile on his face, “Have you looked into puking pastilles?” You held up the box in your hands, “Ah yes, that’s what the other George suggested.” 

The smile on George’s face quickly turned to laughter, “The other George?” You nodded, “You didn’t tell me you had a twin; Fred was it?” 

He nodded, leaning a hand on the railing beside him now, “And you still haven’t told me your name. I’ve been referring to you as flower shop girl in my head all week.” 

Your grin widened, knowing now (thanks to Fred) that George had probably been referring to you as that for a lot longer than a week, “Y/n. My name’s Y/n.” 

“S’beautiful,” George was bold, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Fred watched from a few floors below, mentally patting his brother on the back for pulling out the moves they used to use in school.