#he was so eager to tell that story that he couldn’t even walk around the box

[meeks-just-wants-to-scroll]

WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT HOW HE JUST DECIDES TO CLIMB OVER A BOX AND WAVE HIS ARMS TO NOT LOSE HIS BALANCE.

[dreaisgrayte]

Half Blood | Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, TW! YN does get assaulted, mentions of blood, drinking blood, gore, how many times do I mention claws? Oral fem!receiving, fingering, kissing, breeding kink, virgin sex, creampie, and overstimulation.

Word Count: 4.9k

a/n: guys this started off as a quick break from a Sanemi fic I'm working on (keep in mind I think short fics are no longer than 3k) and here I am... with a way longer fic than I intended and something I actually want to expand on in the future. It was a lot of fun to write this so I hope you enjoy it <3

“You,” His pink irises are illuminated by the moon high in the night sky. The blood within your body cools as you stare back at the man who stored your fate. His inky black hair flows down his shoulder in waves. A deep blue yukata loosely hung on his frame. “I’ve been watching you.” Muzan growls, edging ever closer to where you stood. His pointed canines glinted in the light, his nails sharp and ready to claw at your jugular. The demon king rolls his tongue along the tips of his teeth, studying you carefully. Was he deciding whether or not to feast upon your flesh?

He had never seen such a creature as yourself. Your skin was glowing, soft, and supple. The lavender color yukata covered most of your body, a delicate pattern of white flowers spanning the kosode fabric. Your obi was white with purple vines flowing around it. You wear simple white tabies paired with purple strapped zori. Elegance and grace radiated from you. He could smell the wisteria perfume in your hair. 

It was strange, you were a confrontation to the world he wanted to live in – yet something he could not tear his eyes away from. Here you were, standing in front of him without fear. He rather thought it would be better fun if you were afraid, he did so enjoy the chase. Though, there was – of course – a reason you relented in running away from him. Your eyes were stormy, eclipsed by thousands of emotions. That’s when a different smell, that had not yet hit him, tickled his nose. Blood, and not just any blood. You had the blood of a demon in you. Your stern, furrowed brows, with the revolting smell of wisteria burning his nose. You confused him. “What are you?” He purs out, not sure if what would come out of your mouth would be a lie or truth. He could always figure it out for himself one way or another. 

Your lip ticks, a show of annoyance you’d yet to master. The man in front of you knew, he could smell it, of that you were sure. Yet, he dared ask. What are you? You’d been told many times what you were. An abomination. A curse. A monster. “Are you not the demon king?” You spit back, growing angry. Would the other half of you reject your existence as well? You had hoped at least the demons would have the scarce bit of comradery running through their systems. Muzan’s brows lift, then knit together. Did he need to answer you? After all, he could easily swipe at your neck to kill you for being so insolent. The eager need to hear what you had to say captivated him though. 

When the man does not answer you tut, crossing your arms over your chest. “Here I thought the mighty demon king would be able to tell me apart from the rest.” You shake your head, laughing stiffly into the night. In a flash Muzan has you pinned to the trunk of a tree. Splinters etch toward your face from the very force of his hand. His muscular body cages you in and it takes you a moment to realize how your body aches to be near him. 

“I can smell you,” He mutters, squinting his beautiful eyes like he couldn’t quite distinguish what he was looking at. “You assault my senses, it’s driving me mad. There’s something different about you.” Muzan had first observed you walking in your village one evening, the way people sneered and cowered at your presence intrigued him. He found himself looking for you every night, wondering what your story was. These villagers were shunning you. He wished to know why such a pretty thing as yourself would be outcasted in her own village. “You smell like me, yet you are not. So I ask you again, what are you?” His voice is low, edging on the precipice of anger. 

You do not yield in holding his gaze. “I am you, yet I am not. Born of the sun and moon. A half-blood.” 20 years ago your mother found herself in the entertainment district, serving the pleasures of others. A man came to visit her on multiple occasions. Eventually, the two ran away together. Sharing in love and secrets. Your mother was a demon and your father a local carpenter. How you were able to be conceived was a mystery, even to them. They lived in peace, until one night. The villagers had finally seen through your father’s lies, storming their house. They slaughtered both of them and assuming you were a child taken captive, they whisked you away to a widowed mother. As you grew it was obvious where your origins lay, yet no one in the village dared to lay a hand on you. 

Muzan lets his gaze drop to where your heart pulsed, bouncing the skin of your jugular. “You are human and demon?” Something pulled tight in his chest. Could you walk in the sun? Did you regenerate? Were you the answer to his plight? “You are radiant.” He cannot stop the words from falling past his lips. Your eyes light up with recognition, acceptance, and for a moment your past falls away. He had the ever-growing urge to sweep you away. Your very existence was tantalizing to him in the least. He tilts his head, wrinkling his nose at the obscure way you smelt. 

Your eyes settle on the way he reacts to you, wondering if he’ll take you away someplace. Some place away from these villagers who had slaughtered your parents who just wanted to live in harmony. They did not deserve to die and you did not want to live one more second with their murderers. Muzan wanted to take you, but he couldn’t. Not yet. You were so fragile. If he were to touch you he would fear you would break on the spot. “Are you going to take me away from this place?” You whisper, hopeful tones floating to Muzan. He swallows something deep and thick. 

Muzan backs away from you, eyes tensing. “No.” He replies softly. He could not take you into his den, the other demons were too stupid to realize how precious you were. You would be dead within seconds. The line between your brows hardens again as his words hit you. 

“No? Why not? Am I not good enough for you?” Your voice is rising. You sound like a whining child who hasn’t gotten their way. Muzan winces at the obvious pain seeping into your voice. You were nothing like he’d ever seen before. Something beautiful, a miracle in his eyes. Therefore, he did not answer you. He simply faded back into the shadows. With his disappearance, your hopes and dreams faded as well.

—

The next time you see Muzan is two years later. His hair is shorter than you last saw it, the curls kissing the nape of his neck. This neat look couldn’t contain the loose curls that framed his face. A starched white collar shirt was tucked into an ornate waistcoat. He looked utterly different, yet he was your Muzan. He had the same eyes, the same far-off look, and on top of that, you could practically taste his scent. It was overwhelming, crushing even, but in a way, you enjoyed the rush. 

It was also a fact that you had escaped your village after one of the men tried to see how strong a half-blood was. He told you he was turned on by how revolting you were and he would take you as his wife in duty only. Until then you had never seriously thought about killing a human. The realization was both terrifying and freeing. So you fled to the entertainment district, living off of what you could at the Kyogoku House. There were so many smells here. Food, humans, sex, and demons. 

You worked under a beautiful tayū and you could tell… she wasn’t human. Part of you wanted to become friends with her, but if she hadn’t reached out for the sake of commonality, you didn’t think there was a chance of any other relationship than servant. 

Muzan’s brows furrowed. He had come to visit Daki and yet your scent prosecuted his brain. Ever since he left you in the forest that day he had been thinking of a way to retrieve you. You were too precious to let out of his sight again. This time he would secure you. He could feel his blood boil at the thought of you living in the Ukiyo. Kyogoku House was well protected, but anywhere without him wasn’t safe for you. Were you being used by men far beneath you? Muzan had never felt such rage toward the thought of men touching a woman. He often indulged in watching, humans were ever so entertaining – but you weren’t human. You were one of his and he swallowed harshly at the fact that you weren’t only his. 

He brushes past some of the lower-ranking courtesans, his eye twitching at their giggles. You watch from afar, the familiarity of his back etching a cold ache into your heart. He would leave again, of that you were sure. You hug the fresh sheets to your chest, making your way to the linen closet down the hall. “Ah, YN, I’ve been looking for you.” The Okaasan Omitsu stands before you. She has a cunning sneer behind the kind smile she wears. 

You bow, storing the sheets away before turning your full attention to her. “Yes Okaasan?” You can smell the evil intent behind this woman, it makes your stomach sink. 

“You wouldn’t mind doing me a favor would you?” She uses the word favor like you’d have a choice. She is the Okaasan after all. It’s like she thinks you’re some stupid girl that will follow whatever she says. Using the word favor is a manipulation tactic and if you were a naive girl, you would be eating out of the palm of her hand. 

You tilt your head to the left, plastering a fake smile of your own onto your lips. You knew anything out of your mouth except ‘yes Okaasan’ would make things harder for yourself. So with all your better judgment pushed aside, you say exactly that. 

Her eyes gleam. “Thank you, my dear. If you will kindly follow me.” She walks back up the hall, toward one of the private Ozashiki rooms. You glance around, nerves settling into your bones. You couldn’t be headed into one of these rooms, you weren’t even a kamuro. You were just an older shinzō. 

She stops in front of the panel, a cruel smile lifting the corners of her mouth. No, please, not this. “You are very blessed my dear, one of our chūsan is interested in you.” She slides the door aside and sitting against a wall smoking a pipe is a middle-aged man. Cushions are scattered around the floor and a twisted smirk plays with his mouth when he sees you. Okaasan bows then slides the door shut behind you. 

The room was stifling, the smoke choking out any of the senses you had. It was dizzying. “Mmm, you’re a lot older than I thought.” The man sneers, setting his pipe down. The fog of opium seemingly wraps around your throat, making it hard to breathe. “But you’ll do.” He laughs, patting the cushion next to him. “Why don’t you come a little closer?” He offers. Your body tenses. You were in danger, of that you were sure. You were not willing to give your virginity up to such a man but if you denied him the right to your own body, there would be outrage. You swallow, tentatively kneeling on the cushion next to him. 

He leans over you, sniffing the area around your shoulder. You stiffen. “You smell so good, better than all those flora bitches.” He growls. “I like your natural…musk.” Oh Gods did this man – who probably has a wife and children – just compliment how you smell when you’ve been working all day? “What do you like about me?” What a loaded question. 

You smile, one that shuts your eyes – if he saw the look in your eyes he’d be sure to know you were lying when you said, “I appreciate your generosity.” You bow your head and the man laughs heartily. 

His tongue darts out to coat his lips. “I can be more generous if you’d like?” He moves himself closer to you. “I was blessed with wealth, good looks, and a tool to make women scream.” Please let the tool be an ice pick so you can lobotomize yourself. “Whad’ya say, darling?” He coos, going in for what appears to be a kiss even though you hadn’t been given the time to answer him. 

You grimace away from his advance, shoving at his chest. The eerie playful tone in the room suddenly seems to vacuum out. The fog is still thick from the burning opium, but you don’t miss the way the man before you lunges for you. He’s panting above you with a charming pointy sneer. “Ah ah ah, not so fast. You haven’t serviced me, whore.” He digs his nails into your shoulder, pinning you to the wooden floor. “Look at you, begging for my cock with your eyes, ooohh you want it that bad you slut?” He hisses, fumbling with the buckle of his Western-style pants. You squirm wildly under his grasp but it’s like he’s infused with superhuman strength. “I’m gonna fuck you and then, as your reward,” His face is next to yours now, eyes glowing an electric yellow, pupils in slits. “I’m going to kill you.” His hand is on your throat, crushing your windpipe. You choke on what little air you were able to breathe earlier. 

A demon, this man was a demon. One of your kind. No… he wasn’t. He was something else. He was driven by the carnal desire to fuck and kill. You were too weak to push him off, your internal forces constantly warring against each other. You had always presented as human, meek, malleable, and obedient. What you would give to have your demon side come forth, bite this fucker’s head off. You want to scream – but on account of his claws sinking into the back of your neck – if you even moved that would surely be the end of your life. 

He tears your yukata to shred, ripping the soft skin of your stomach open as well. Your mouth opens the pressure of a scream pushing against his hand. Blood mixes with the tattered cloth, the cotton dying red.

Muzan pauses, Daki grumbling about some inferior human drama. His eyes search the room, this time Daki taking notice from her self-indulged rant. Where was that smell coming from? He stands, silencing Daki before she can start whining again. The potent smell of blood was swirling to the top floor, but not just…any blood. “YN,” He hisses, the annoyance, rage, and blood-boiling sensations he felt earlier returning tenfold. Why were you bleeding? He needed to find you or he feared the worst. “I need to go.” He barely says to the demon next to him. Her face morphs into one of anger and before she can hurl anything at him, Muzan slips out of her room. Where were you? He follows the pungent scent, clambering down the stairs, and rushing down the hall until he’s in front of a private room. He’s sweating, for once fear is humming in his ear. He shoves the door to the side, witnessing a demon hunched over your body. 

Your blood is pooling around you dying the wonderfully blue yukata you wore earlier a sickly brown color. The demon doesn’t have time to look up because Muzan is already crushing its head, slashing its throat to shreds of what it once was. 

The room is covered in blood but the demon is dead. Muzan slides to the floor, cradling you in his lap. “YN, no, no please don’t die.” You were his miracle. You were his hope. If anything could save his damned soul it would be you. His arms are trembling as your stomach bleeds out, the skin marred, and…God the smell of your blood was driving him mad. It was something he shouldn’t be thinking about as you bleed out under him. You needed to regenerate. He wasn’t sure if you could so maybe your demon just needed a little push?

With his free hand, Muzan tears the flesh from his arm, bringing it down to your mouth. His blood trickles onto your lips, sliding into your mouth. After a few silent beats, your eyes shoot open. Muzan has never felt such joy as this very moment. Your arms wrap around his, bringing it into your mouth. Muzan hisses at the way your tongue dances around his wound, lapping up the blood he shed for you. You’re panting, gasping for more. Your eyes glow as you drag your tongue up the muscle of his forearm. His blood flows through you like your own life force, strengthening your nerves, hardening your muscles. He has made you stronger. 

It sends a pinch of desire through Muzan. He hadn’t felt the heat of wanting to sink his cock into the warmth of a cunt in decades. You were mouthing at his arm, wounds healed on both ends, but now that you were moving the once whole yukata falls off your shoulders. Blood trails from your lips down your chest, between your breasts. Muzan was never one to fend off his desire to want. He took whatever he wanted, without a care. He wanted to take you without a care. Fuck you senseless into the floorboards, claw at you, feed on your blood while you fed on his. It was ecstasy just imagining driving his cunt into your pretty tight pussy. 

“I should’ve never left you.” He whispers and it sends a rolling wave of want through you. You move to straddle his lap. 

“Then don’t leave me now.” You could both smell it, the heat and arousal in the air. “Take me, my Lord.” He smirks, holding onto your thighs. 

He hums, enjoying the way you’re bare in front of him. You were a sight to behold. “Mmm, such a smart girl.” A portal opens underneath him, the wooden floor sinking into an expanse of rooms, platforms, doors, lights, and endless corridors. The sheer speed whips your hair around your face until – it doesn’t. You’ve stopped in the middle of whatever this place was. “Welcome home,” Muzan’s pink eyes darken to a deep crimson as he sits up straighter, pressing himself into you. You moan in delight as his hands work their way up your hips, sitting you down on the stiff part of his lap. 

You tilt your head, peeking at him. “I’ve never liked pants,” You mumble, playing with the hem of his. He chuckles his smirk growing. 

“And why is that?” He inquires, moving his tongue to lick up the blood that has traveled toward your navel. You choke out a moan as he makes his way between your breasts. You can feel his teeth against your skin and it’s a wretched thought. “Aheh,” He swipes at the crest of your breast. 

“H-hard to get off.” Muzan hums against your skin in agreement, but he’s too preoccupied with the way you tremble with untapped pleasure. 

He wants to tear into your flesh, mark you as his, burn only his name onto your tongue. “Such an eager kitten,” He licks his lips, capturing the back of your neck in his hands. “You want me bare that badly?” All you can manage is a small nod as he gingerly moves you so that you’re laying down. Your hips are still lined up with his as he gazes at you. “I can promise you I have a similar urgency.” He grins, pulling the belt from his breeches with a smooth movement. He tosses it to the side, but doesn’t make any more movements to pull his pants down. Muzan notices your heated gaze pointed toward his hardened groin. 

Did you know nothing about the workings between a man and woman? His eyes trail down your body, stopping at the apex of your thighs. He wraps his arms around the bend of your knee, smirking when your eyes widen in surprise. He tugs you upwards, to where your legs are over his shoulders. Being this close to your glistening pink cunt made his groin stiffen even more, if that was possible. The smell of you was intoxicating. He couldn’t help himself. “What a fucking view.” He growls. 

Muzan buries his head between your thighs, latching his mouth onto your swelling clit. You gasp in pleasure, breaths turning into ragged moans as he plunges his tongue deeper into you. “O-oh my God, f’ck, ngh.” With the way his tongue his twisting and sucking inside of you, breathing seemed impossible. His claws dig into your outer thigh, scratching red trails to your knees. He devours every bit of you he can reach, crazed by the tangy sweetness of your arousal. Your walls were squeezing around his tongue, heat running through your body. 

Your own hands find your stiff nipples, rolling them around in your fingers. You couldn’t get enough, it was the same feeling you received from drinking his blood. Heat rolling around in your veins as his eyes take in your puffy cunt and how your eyes roll to the back of your head. He maneuvers one hand from under your knee to the one place that was being ignored on you – your entrance. It was like the gate to a shrine and he wanted to worship there for eternity. “Look at how fucking wet your cunt is.” His pointed nails shape into shorter rounder ones, he dare not damage this holy place. Then, without warning, he presses two fingers into you. A yelp echoes across the void of the infinity castle. “Ahhh, shit,” You huff, tensing from the sensation of your pussy being stretched. 

Muzan knew you were a virgin, he would be lying if the fact didn’t make him grow more feral to have you sit on his cock and take his seed deep within you. He wanted you. He wanted you. He wanted you. That was all he could think about while lapping up your wetness. 

The slick from your cunt was sucking his fingers in, a growl rumbling around your clit. This makes you scream out as a shockwave shoots through you. Your thighs are shaking and every once and a while – as Muzan still selfishly fingers you through your climax, sucking on your clit – your body will twitch. Heavy and heady moans fall from your lips, breaking into whines as you come down from your high. 

“You did such a good job my sweet,” Muzan lowers you gently back to the floor. Your neck is sore from being at an awkward angle for so long, but you would give anything to see the disheveled man before you with your arousal still on his lips. “That’s it. Prefect. You’re so perfect.” He mutters, licking his lips and watching you still play with your nipples. 

Though you feel like you’ve just ascended, you crave more. You want Muzan to breed you like his own personal slut. “M-more,” You gasp. “I feel so empty my Lord.” You huff, the edges of your voice bleeding to a whine. Muzan’s eyes widen. He hadn’t intended to fuck you just yet. Give you some time to grow accustomed to sexual things so it wasn’t rushed, but your eyes are pleading him to continue. He’s… nervous, which isn’t like the demon king. He’s so eager to please you. Make sure you’re comfortable. He wants to give you hell, heaven, and the earth. 

“You’re practically begging me.” He chuckles, unsure if you really knew what you were asking. There was no way that once Muzan slid into your heady cunt that he would not ravish you. There was no way to tell time in the infinity castle, so there was no way for him to know when to stop until he was satisfied. You squirm to get closer to him, spreading your legs wide for him. His gaze drops from yours to your center, whatever shred of humanity that was left in him suddenly flying away. “Such a filthy slut. You’re already hungry for more? You want me to fill you up? Then beg for it.” His eyes narrow into slits, the magma growing in his belly. 

Your body cools with a shiver of excitement, as you reach down in between your thighs. You purse your lips and then spread your labia apart. The cool air tickles the sticky wetness but you can tell it’s doing something for him. “Please, my King, I want you to fuck me so hard I can’t think. I want you to take my virgin pussy and make it yours.” 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a smirk. “As you wish my Queen.” He frees his cock and you have to take a moment to gulp at the sheer size of it. The head is leaking precum and bruised a red color from the lack of release. The shaft is a pale pink, a thick vein running down the underside. The muscles of his hips also catch your attention. They were unlike the drawings some of the courtesans had shown you. His were muscular, ready to thrust into you for hours. 

Muzan lines himself up at your entrance, this time with the head of his cock. The idea was thrilling, finally pushing into your pussy and breaking the barrier of your womanhood. He hisses as your slick coats him, making it easy enough to start entering you. Your face contorts with a mixture of pain and pleasure. “Shhh, you can take it.” You want to wiggle away from him, the pain of his member stretching you out is enough to break you. “Ah ah ah, you’re not going anywhere pretty girl. Remember you asked for this.” Muzan leans over you seizing your mouth with his own. You share a leisurely kiss as he swallows your moans. 

He feels the head of his cock hit your hymen and with a wince he thrusts past it. He can feel the rush of silky blood around his cock, but he tries his best to divert your attention with heated kisses. You break free, a long drawn out moan gasping out of you. “Ahhh, oh my, hngh nngh yes!” 

Muzan nuzzles into your neck, the feeling of your walls clenching around him driving him practically insane. “Yeah? Tell me how good I am. Tell me how good I am at fucking you.” He hisses out, desperate for your compliments and approval. 

“Nnnggh, s’good, f’ckin’ me s’good.” You slur, drunk on how he guided a new path into you. You pant and writhe under him, eyes fluttering shut. 

“Not yet my love, I want you to watch.” He starts to move his hips and you wince in burning pleasure. “That’s it. You’re doing so good.” He grunts, snapping his hips back into you. The wet slap of skin hitting skin sends shivers down your back. 

You’re straining against the build up in your stomach, a pit of coils wanting to spring forth. “Mmm, harder.” You huff, reach out to grab the back of his neck. He shakes his head, a playful smirk on his swollen lips. 

“Use your manners.” He teases, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Please fuck me harder.” You mewl just as he starts to thrust into you with a quickened rhythm. Your breath is sucked away by the pure bliss aching from the friction. 

Muzan bites down on his lip, brushing a few curls that had come free from behind his ear. “You like it when I do that?” He quizzes, fucking you harder. You can only manage a nod.

Your voice has grown hoarse from moans breaking into screams and whines. You buck your hips along with his as you arch your back, tumbling over your peak. “F’ck, haa haa hnngh,” You squeeze his cock and release his neck, breathless from your second orgasm. 

“Cum all over my cock, fuck,” Muzan growls, the feeling of your slick cum coating his length. He was gliding into you with such ease. He would apologize to you later for this. He pounds into your sensitive cunt, overstimulating you as you cry out. He rams himself into you and stays deep within your pussy. Panting heavily Muzan finally crashes over his own wave of pleasure. Splurting his cum around the walls of your pussy. He doesn’t want to pull out – for one fact he wanted all of his cum to stay within you – and for another fact, you were all the salvation he needed. He could find redemption with you. He rolls you both onto your side, hiking your leg over his hip to make sure he can stay inside of you. 

This was it, you had driven him to the edge and he would make sure to never let anything else touch you. As he gazes upon your soft features drifting off to a satisfied slumber he feels what once was his heart ache. “We should get married.” He blurts out.

[watchmegetobsessed]

OLD GRUDGES (part 1)

A/N: wooohoooo im bringing something new!!! i feel like it happens so rarely it's like a miracle lol anyway, this will be hopefully a couple of parts (probably about 3) and lets all pray i will actually finish it lol

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNING: sexual content

SUMMARY: Harry and Y/N go way back. Working together was like a dream when 1D was still going strong. Now, years later, when they end up working together again, things are very different. Mostly because Y/N seems to be hating Harry passionately. But he has not idea why.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Everyone loves Harry Styles. It’s a known fact, not just amongst the people who actually know him, but all around the world. He is known as one of the most unproblematic celebrities, someone who gives just as much if not even more respect as he gets, always kind and patient with others, rarely loses his temper. It’s hard to imagine that there is anyone walking this planet who doesn’t see him as a lovable, sweet man.

Well, it might be hard to imagine, but there is actually one person who has a very different opinion when it comes to the british popstar. 

And that person is music producer, Y/N. 

The interesting thing is that their history goes way back into his 1D days. Y/N was an up and coming name in the industry, just started working with bigger names when she got the chance to produce several songs on the band’s third studio album. Harry remembers her as a bubbly, funny girl who is passionate about her job and is also excellent in it. Working with her was easy and motivating, she was always eager to perfect songs to an extent Harry couldn’t even imagine and that’s why songs like Story Of My Life, You & I and Midnight Memories were such hits. Y/N put her heart and soul into them, which eventually earned all the recognition they deserved. 

Harry loved working with Y/N and she was in talks of working on their fourth album as well, but the deal ended up ditched and she went on to do other projects and they somehow had a fallout. It was a shame, but he hoped his path would cross hers again. 

Years and years went by and so much changed by the time their professional ways finally met again. Jeff brought her name up when Harry just started writing for his fourth solo album and Harry gave him the go to do whatever it takes to get her on the project. A few weeks passed and Harry didn’t get any confirmation about her and just when he was about to bring it up to Jeff, he hit him with the news.

“Y/N is in for five songs. Contract should be signed by Wednesday and you can start working next week.”

Harry wondered why it took so long to get her on board, but he brushed it off because he knew she was a big name now herself and had plenty of offers from which she could choose from. He was excited to work with her and simply see her again.

It was utter shock for him when she was the complete opposite of what he remembered. Okay, that might be an overstatement, but Harry could feel something was off instantly.

She was still bubbly and fun, but for some reason, she had a certain iciness and bitter attitude whenever her focus was on Harry. To anyone else it was unnoticable, Harry knows, because he asked Jeff about it.

“What are you talking about? She is awesome,” the manager said with a shrug and Harry tried to tell himself it was all in his head, because if Jeff doesn’t see it, it’s not real.

But it kept happening and it felt even stronger when it was just him and her in a room. Sometimes she even pretended like he wasn’t there, sometimes her snarky comments were all he got and they just strengthened him in his belief. 

He wanted to ask her about it, he tried, several times, but his attempts just bounced right off her icy behavior so eventually, he gave up and there was only one thing left for him to do.

Return what he was getting. 

Yes, it is childish, but he felt like he needed to deal with her unreasonable hatred towards him somehow and this was the easiest way. Was it a smart idea to practically become enemies when working together on his album? Of course not. But it just happened.

And going against each other became their thing. 

They were great in arguing, disagreeing even when they could easily compromise, riling each other up and lashing out on each other when the tension had been building up for hours. It got to the point where others started to notice that something was off between the two of them and when Jeff questioned Harry about it, he couldn’t give him a reasonable explanation.

“She started it,” he said and instantly felt like a kid, telling on his classmate at school. But this is all he could say, because he had no idea why she was acting this way. And he has to live with it while they work together.

Something is off. Harry knows it. Something about the melody… or the guitar… or is it the lyrics? He can’t tell, he has listened to the recording a million times so it all melts in his ears and he can’t identify what’s setting him off every time he hears it. 

“Why don’t we take a break?” Jack, the technician suggests, turning in his chair. “Y/N will be here in twenty, I’m sure she’ll–”

“Okay,” Harry snaps, just so he doesn’t finish. He knows what he wanted to say. 

She’ll know what’s wrong and will correct it in a second.

Y/N always knows what’s wrong and most of the time it’s a perk, of course it is, but today, Harry feels like it’s gonna make him want to crawl out of his body. Maybe it’s because he’s been in the studio for five hours and he got nowhere or maybe because Mitch will have his first ever solo gig tonight and Harry has been worried his fame or relation to him might ruin this experience for him. 

Either way, today he is just extra pissed by the fact that Y/N will be the one to solve this mystery. 

“I’m gonna grab a coffee,” he clears his throat, standing up from his seat. “Do you want one?” he offers, feeling a bit guilty he snapped at Jack.

“Uh, yeah, just an espresso is fine, thanks man.”

“Sure, I’ll be right back.”

Putting on his headphone, Harry jogs across the street to the tiny coffee shop he’s been a regular at. He likes the place because they are discreet and their coffee is just simply amazing, though they swear there’s nothing extra in it. 

He waits for the two coffees at the end of the counter and scrolls on his phone in the meantime. Emails, messages, there’s always something to answer to. He sends out a few replies before he ends up in his calendar. It’s neatly color coded and he takes pride in keeping it up-to-date all the time so he can always be on top of his game, no matter what. 

His eyes land on one particular date. Five weeks from now Y/N’s contract expires and if the five songs are done by then, she’ll be out of Harry’s life again. Seeing how the work is going, she’ll easily outdo that number so there won’t be any reason for talk about an extension. 

An unsettling feeling spreads in his stomach as he stares at the date but he doesn’t have time to figure it out because  he is snapped out of his thoughts when the two paper cups are placed in front of him. He is trying his best to keep a positive mindset as he returns to the studio’s building. With the two coffee cups in his hands he makes a right turn and then stops at the door, seeing Y/N sitting where he did previously, already listening to the recording with Jack with a critical expression on her face. 

Harry doesn’t interrupt them, just stays put and waits for her feedback. When she is done listening, she leans back in her seat.

“It’s the bass. Or more specifically the lack of it. Can you double it? Let’s see how it changes.”

Jack is quick to do as she asked and then he starts the song again and…

Harry wants to scream and laugh in bliss at the same time, because it’s perfect now. He’s mad he couldn’t spot such an obvious thing, but he is also happy it’s finally sorted out. It’s just a shame Y/N was the one to do it and not him. 

“Great, so this is done then,” he makes himself noticed as he walks into the studio and hands over one of the cups to Jack. 

When he looks at Y/N he can see that familiar, irritated look on her face that’s almost always there when he’s around. He hasn’t decided if he wants to physically wipe it off, or…

“Thanks for bringing one for me,” she comments in a bored tone, turning back towards the screen.

“You weren’t here when I went out.”

“But you knew I was coming.”

Harry opens his mouth, but then closes it, because this time she is kind of right. And it irks him even more today.

It’s gonna be a challenging session today, Harry thinks as he takes a seat.

It’s always exciting for Harry to be behind the stage when he’s not the star of the show. Kind of like a whole different world.

He hasn’t been here for long, but he’s been trying his best to stay as unnoticed as possible and let Mitch take the spotlight. Just a few minutes ago Sarah put him on Scout-duty which he gladly took up on, he’s always happy to spend time with the little guy. This time he is letting him explore freely and he’s just following him around to make sure he’s safe. Scout seemingly enjoys the adventure with uncle Harry, who doesn’t really pay attention where he is heading. 

That’s how they end up in the green room where Y/N is.

Y/N and Sarah have worked together a while ago, which is a random coincidence how they are connected outside of Harry. Because of their history, Y/N is often where they are, however she was never around when Sarah and Mitch were playing for Harry. 

Scout runs up to Y/N, arms in the air, asking to be picked up and Harry stops a few steps away from them when he realizes who he just found.

“Hey there, little guy! Are you all by yourself?” Y/N asks, settling the boy on her hip.

She’s changed since they parted ways in the studio. Harry has always admired her sense of style, which mostly consists of basic pieces, almost like a capsule wardrobe, but there’s always something extra, something vibrant on her that makes her sets interesting. Tonight she is wearing a simple black dress with a rather low back cut, simple heels, simple makeup, but she added a silky scarf with vivid colors and shapes around her neck that brings Harry’s attention to the curve of her neck and collarbones, almost as a cheeky invitation for his eyes to her naked skin. 

He has to fight the urge to touch her.

Despite the spiteful relationship they’ve been sporting lately, Harry had to deal with a rather unreasonable desire for Y/N in a physical way.

Unreasonable, because he never thought he could be attracted to someone who pisses him off so easily, yet there’s been plenty of occasions when Harry found himself imagining scenarios he could never admit to her, not when she hates him with such obvious passion.

Tonight it’s not just the outfit, but also the way she’s handling Scout. It’s not just women who find it incredibly hot when the opposite sex is great with kids, Harry can definitely feel something inside him moving as he watches Y/N sway from side to side with the little boy in his arms.

“Uncle Hazza is here!” Scout points at him, answering her previous question. Y/N looks up and because Harry was already looking at him, he catches a slipping moment where there’s no irritation on her face, but it returns quite fast when her gaze settles on him. 

“Ah, hi,” she says, lips pressed together as she nods, acknowledging his presence. 

“Hey. Long time no see.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth he regrets it. Who says that? Why did he even say anything else other than hi? He smacks himself in his mind. 

Part of him expects her to say something like ‘not long enough’ but she just keeps quiet and turns all her attention to Scout. Harry feels out of place, he is supposed to be babysitting, but Y/N is taking care of Scout, Harry knows he is in good hands but Sarah asked him to watch over him. Should he leave? Or just keep standing there awkwardly?

“You can go, I’ll watch him,” Y/N says, as if she could read his mind. 

“You sure?”

“I’m pretty sure I can take care of him until Sarah is back.” Her reply is not just dry, kind of offended, nothing Harry wouldn’t expect from her, but it’s still irking him.

“I didn’t say you’re not capable, I just–”

“I’m not in the mood for this,” she cuts him off with an icy look. Harry is too stunned to reply, just watches Y/N walk away with Scout. 

He almost finds it amusing how easily she can piss him off, not many people have been able to do that, in fact, Harry thinks she does it the best. 

Clenching his jaw he takes a deep breath to calm his nerves and then just lets it all go. 

The after party is always kind of Harry’s favorite. The stress is over, it’s just the relief and celebration that is left.

Mitch’s show went well, that’s what Harry expected, but it’s still great he was right. Seeing his friend be the star of the show was an experience he is glad he could be part of. Now that the core of the group has moved to a nearby bar, Harry has loosened up thanks to the couple of drinks he’s had. 

He’s been mostly sticking to the familiar faces he knows, rotating between the same few people  while enjoying how under the radar he is currently. 

The more drinks he has had, the less he’s been able to control where his gaze goes. To be exact, he’s been finding himself looking Y/N’s way the past hour or so. That damn dress and scarf, it’s like she’s put a spell on him that forces him to keep wanting to look at her. 

Harry is not experienced with feeling like this. Being attracted to someone who he hates, it’s such an ambivalent impulse, he can’t think straight. Or maybe it’s the amount of tequila he has drunk tonight, either way, it’s getting a rise out of him. 

From the corner of his eye he sees her slip out to the back where the smoking area is, he hesitates, shifts his weight from one leg to the other before making the leap and heading after her. He has no plan, no idea what he wants to ro will say to her, but he just feels like he has to talk to her.

Stepping out to the dimly lit back alley he is met with a few people scattered around, having a cigarette with drinks in hand, talking or scrolling on their phone and then he spots Y/N on the left, standing by the wall, cigarette in one hand, the remaining of her drink in the other as she stares ahead of her. 

She doesn’t smoke regularly, but she does enjoy one in certain social settings or when she’s had a few drinks. Harry knows it from years ago, because they shared a cigarette at a party, back then she seemed thrilled to spend time with him, he remembers all the conversations they had while working together, telling each other stories, sharing their plans, Harry truly thought they would remain good friends on this extraordinary journey, yet they ended up here.

As Harry walks towards her, she notices him and he sees her lips twitch in annoyance. 

“Care if I join?” he asks and she just shrugs without a word, avoiding to look at him. 

They stand there in silence for a while, she is lazily puffing the smoke out from time to time.

“Is it still just an occasional thing?” he tries to strike up a conversation.

“Mhm,” is all he gets as a reply.

“Have you tried to put it down fully?”

“Why are you doing this?” she snaps at him, finally looking his way. 

“What?”

“Why are you trying to chit-chat when we both know we don’t do that?”

“And why don’t we?” He challenges her. “Tell me why we are like this in the first place, because I have no idea.”

She stares at him for long moments and he awaits her answer like nothing before, but then she shakes her head and turns to the pin beside her, puts the cigarette out and flicks it into the bin. Then, without another word she is already heading back inside.

It takes a moment for Harry to start moving again, but he is quick to catch up with her in the hall that leads to the restrooms. 

“Y/N, give me a fucking answer!” he demands, grabbing her wrist to pull her back before she could escape, but she shakes his hand off as she comes to a stop, turning towards him.

“I owe you nothing!” she hisses at him. “I owe you no one, but especially you!”

“What the fuck does that suppose to mean?! I never thought you owe me anything!”

“I’m not doing this, Harry, leave me the fuck alone,” she growls and tries to leave, but Harry pulls her back again, determined to get an answer this time. 

“Don’t think I will just swallow everything down forever. I will get to the bottom of this, whether you like it or not. It’s your choice if you make it hard on both of us.”

She is looking back at him with wide eyes, this time his hand remains on her arm as they stare each other down in the empty hallway. Neither of them knows what will be their next move, the tension is so thick, it’s almost suffocating.

But then it all changes.

If someone asked who moved first, they wouldn’t know. One moment they are standing like stone statues, barely even breathing, then the next moment they are kissing like there’s no tomorrow.

It doesn’t take long until Harry has her pressed up against the wall, his hands roaming her body, feeling her up the way he fantasized about before, they are both rough and impatient, she is clawing at him, moaning into his mouth when his hips press against hers and she feels how hard he’s gotten already. 

Blindly, Harry pushes the closest door open which happens to be the staff’s bathroom that someone left unlocked, lucky for them. Still glued together they stumble inside, Y/N kicks the door open before Harry pushes her against it and he locks it before his hand returns to her tempting body. 

He has never acted like this when it comes to sex. He does like to spice things up sometimes, but the way he’s biting her lips or unbuttoning his pants or reaches under her dress to pull her underwear down is just so out of character for him, yet so freeing. 

Nothing is said, but when her hands pull his hard, leaking dick out of his pants, there’s a fleeting look they exchange that says it all, just how much they both want it. 

It’s the fastest pace he’s ever experienced, yet the most passionate too. They moan at the same time when Harry pushes into her and starts moving in a rush, desperate for relief. She’s panting and whining for more, the only form of speaking she is able to as she holds onto Harry who is focused on keeping up his quick and steady pace while holding her left leg up to ensure the perfect angle. 

The animalistic need is there for them both, making them act like this is what they must do to stay alive. It’s messy, fast and mind-blowing and they don’t need much time to reach the peak. As she comes her nails dig into her shoulder and she bites into his bottom lip so harshly it draws blood, but he doesn’t care, only follows her into bliss just a second later. With the last bit of his consciousness Harry pulls out right before he comes, covering her thigh with the white, sticky evidence of just how much he enjoyed the past minutes. 

They are breathing heavily and Harry feels like a thick haze is still lingering around his head, stopping him from realizing what just happened. Y/N however is ahead of him and when reality comes crashing down on her, her instinct to flee kicks right in. Harry is still trying to clear his mind when she grabs a paper towel and cleans herself up as fast as possible and Harry only snaps out of his trance when she is already unlocking the door.

“Y/N, what the— wait!” He can’t go after her as she slips out of the room because he is still pretty indecent, so he has to pull his pants up and can only rush out then, but by that time she is already gone.

He’s quite frantic as he tries to find her in the bar, but she is nowhere to be seen. Harry returns to the rest of their group, hoping to catch her somewhere but she has vanished into thin air. 

“Hey, have you seen Y/N?” he asks Mitch, his eyes still roaming the place.

“Nah, haven’t seen her since she went out to smoke.”

Harry groans and makes his way outside, maybe she’s there waiting for a car, but as he steps out to the street he sees no trace of her. Fishing his phone out of his pocket he doesn’t hesitate before dialing her number. The line rings once, twice and then… it goes to voicemail.

“Hey, this is Y/N. Do whatever you want after the beep.”

“Fuck!” Harry ends the call and he has to stop himself from throwing it against the nearest wall. 

This is not how he planned. Well, he didn’t plan any of it, especially not fucking Y/N like a horny teenager. He wanted to solve this whole issue between the two of them but instead he just created another one.

A stupid, giant one. 

NEXT PART

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

[romanreignseater]

A Phone Call Away.

Roman Reigns x Black Female Reader

Rating: 18+

Warning: Smut; oral (female receiving)

“Now that Roman is on a hiatus from the ring, you would think that would stop the busy nature of this man… but boy were you wrong.”

A/N: Is your girl back or WHATTTT?!??! Heyyyy y’all, I missed you guys so much and I missed writing for you guys. Thanks to all of those who checked up on me (I promise those messages didn’t go unseen). I truly appreciate all the love still shown on my stories but I am back and better than ever. School has been really tough for me and I nearly dropped out, but BITCH I pulled through. I’m moving onto my junior year this fall and I couldn’t be happier. To express my happiness, I wrote this about the ONLY Tribal Chief. Mr. Roman Reigns. Hope you enjoy 😘😘😘!!

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GIF: @rashyford

Roman Reigns… or as you like to call him Joe. You’re doting husband and father to your three kids. A man with a multitude of talents, charms, and good looks. You won the lottery with this man and he feels the same about you. Joe has never had a problem making anything happen for you or your kids. Yet, he can seem oblivious to all of you.. and you know why?! It’s because of that damn phone.

Yeah, Joe’s an amazing and caring man. But that phone stays strapped to his ear while attending to you or the kids.

The kids want him to open a Caprisun, he’s on that phone. You want him to take out the trash, he’s on that phone. You want him to change the baby’s diaper, you guessed it… he’s on that phone.

Although these tasks do get done, he never makes eye contact with any of you and seemingly gets annoyed anytime one of you walk up to him. So you weren’t surprised seeing your 5 year old daughter come up to you with an attitude as you were breast feeding.

“Baby girl what happened?!” You questioned as she crossed her little arms and huffed out a deep breath making the strands of her hair on her forehead rise into the air fall back down.

“Papa’s till on the phone.” My god did that little girl look like a spitting image of Joe whenever he caught an attitude. Your baby is one hundred and ten percent a daddy’s girl so to see him not give her the attention she wants made you upset.

“Listen baby okay, mommy’s gonna put your baby brother to sleep and I’ll deal with papa for you. Go upstairs and play with your big sister.” She gave you a sweet little smile and nodded her head in agreement. You watched as she ran up the stairs eager to play dolls with her big sister.

Once your baby boy wasn’t latched on anymore, you went upstairs to place him on the bed you shared with Joe. You placed a pillow fort around him to keep him safe and turned on the baby monitor. You checked on the girls quickly and made your way back downstairs.

You find Joe in the living room with the dogs surrounding him as he watched the NBA Draft. You could overhear him talking about WWE can further the Bloodline story even more before his return. Now assuming he’s talking to Hunter, you placed your hands on his shoulders and began slowing massaging before he turned around to face you as he gave a small smile.

You make your way around the couch and sat next to him. His eyes still glued to the TV as he placed one of his hands on your thigh, caressing it ever so gently. “Joe… you think you c—.”

“Shush.”

Joe lifts up the hand that was on your thigh and placed in on your mouth in order to motion him telling you to be quiet. Your eyes nearly bulge out of your head as you couldn’t believe he just shushed you.

After you could his meals, massage his back after a match, wash his laundry, and pushed out his big headed kids.. he had the audacity to shush you.

Two can play at that game.

Knowing how much Joe can’t resist you, you can’t believe you didn’t think of this earlier to get this man off the phone. As Joe moves his finger away from your lips and places it on his own thigh now, you lean back into the headrest of the couch and spread open your legs.

Joe doesn’t take much notice until he hears you fumbling with your pants. He turns his head slightly as witnesses you bare from the waist down and your perfect pink magic spread before his eyes.

You giggled as Joe completely disregarded the draft completely and stared in awe. You lifted up slightly to take the hand that was once on your thigh and placed his hand near your dripping cunt.

On command, Joe automatically makes his thumb prominent and places it on your beating clit, rubbing in a circular motion. You drop your head back and moan as he continues to play with your pussy with his thumb. Dragging your essence up and down your slit. He soon seems to be losing memory of his call and he begins spitting out “yeah’s” and “mhmmm’s” to Hunter giving the most vague answers to his suggestions and questions.

Joe bites his lip as he looks you in your eyes, giving him the cheesiest grin knowing you’ve basically won the battle. “Yeah, I totally understand.” He says into his phone once more before he puts it on speaker and then mute and places his phone on your stomach.

The heat of his phone makes you hiss slightly and then you begin to hiss more as his tongue comes into contact with your drooling heat. He begins eating you out like a true champ. He nuzzled his face deep into your wet heat and flicked your clit with his thumb. Your back began arching off the sofa as you were beginning to reach your climax.

But a loud voice parades inside your mind as you try to enjoy yourself. “Roman, Joe. You there?!” Joe looked up at you and it was almost like his eyes were telling you something. You watched as his hand that was holding your thigh open, comes near his phone as he presses the mute button once more.

You quickly shut your mouth as Joe removes his mouth from you but keeps the assault on your little clit going. “Yeah I’m here. Umm… what’s gonna happen with my wiseman??!” You watched intently as he pressed the mute button again and goes back to town. He takes his tongue deep into you as Hunter is on the phone blabbing about what’s gonna happen with Paul.

Just as he was wrapping his summary of the wiseman’s future, your legs began to shake and sputter as you finally reached your climax. Your legs clamp around his head and breathing heavy. You let out one deep breath as Joe removes your thighs from around his head and looks as you with a devilish smile as you essence coated his entire beard.

He picks his phone up again and removes it from mute. “Yeah, that was a great convo. We got a lot done, but listen boss man duty calls I gotta get into daddy mode. Mama’s had enough for today.”

You shook her head in agreement as Hunter expressed his understanding. They bid each other farewell and Joe threw his phone behind him. You laid with her legs still spread open, pussy on display for his viewing pleasure staring a hole into his eyes. He lifted his brow at you as if to question what the next move was.

“Ummm if you want more of this sir, you’re gonna have to get myself off your face and go play with your baby girl cause you really upset her today baby.” He hung his head low as he understood the damage he’s caused by focusing on his phone too much.

“Alright I will baby.” He playfully closed your legs for you and you giggled as he placed a blanket over you. He stood up and as he went to walk away, he bent down to whisper in your ear.

“Just know when you want that part two, I’m a phone call away.” He reached for his phone and waved in your face as he chuckled on his way up the stairs.

That man crazy as hell..

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THE END.

Not gonna yieeee… I’m happy to be writing again 😂. Shout out to @thesamoanqueen @mzv11 & @msbigredmachine your stories really motivated me to get back into writing and it helped me realize writing isn’t dead 🫶🏾🫶🏾!! (Jey fic next, cause that’s my baby, YEETTTT!!!)

Hope you all enjoyed 💕💕💕!!

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*If you want to be added to my tag list, don’t be afraid to let me know!!

[bb-eilish]

I NEED taboo anakin somno shit NOWWW. The worse, the better. The more fucked up and taboo, the better

yes!!

—somnophilia with dilf!anakin who’s your fiancés older brother

-might make something similar but with boyfriend’s dad anakin. This was kinda tame tbh.

She was already pushing it with her fiancé, he was 10 years older than her. Now she was really pushing it since his older brother was around 20 years older than her. Who could blame her though? He was tall, classy, so charming, and unbelievably sexy.

“Not sure golfing is for me after all .” Her fiancé laughed, he finished telling a golf story to the table, which consisted of his mother, father, and older brother. Her fingers mindlessly played with his own as he spoke, she wasn’t there mentally. Not with the way his older brother’s eyes would catch hers every few minutes.

They’ve all had a few drinks and she blamed the incessant lustful thoughts on it. Why else would she be imagining Anakin’s strong hands? Maybe they’d pull her hair, force themselves into her mouth, inside of her. Even just the thought of how well they could grip her skin made her head dizzy. But the way her eyelids began to droop and become heavy wasn’t something she could ignore any longer. With a soft, sleepy yawn, she tapped her soon-to-be husband’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go to sleep, okay?” He nodded, barely registering what she was saying before going back to speaking.

“Goodnight guys, I’ll see you in the morning.” The smile that graced her face faltered slightly as she made eye contact with Anakin again, her skin felt as though it was going to catch fire as it warmed. He rubbed a hand over his chin as he said goodnight, the small act seemingly very loud. The tension between them, unknown to everybody else, steadily rose and it had her walking a bit quicker up the stairs to the guest room.

It was wrong, obviously. No matter how much her body craved whatever skills he possessed, it was wrong. With a huff, she got ready for bed, soon crawling under the covers almost half asleep.

The dreams conjured up in her unconscious mind weren’t any better than the day dreaming she’s been doing. In her dreams Anakin had a sinful way of talking, a sinful way of touching her.

“That’s it, god I want my cum leaking out of your nose” He’d say, gripping her hair tightly as he forced her further down his cock. He shivered at the tightness of her throat as he slid into it. “Would you like that?” His deep voice was velvety, painfully smooth as he spoke. All she could do was moan around him, spit bubbling from the sides of her mouth.

Back at the table Anakin excused himself, saying he was going to the bathroom. His tall figure stalked up the stairs, stopping in front of the guest bedroom’s door. He leaned closer, slowing his breathing to check if he could hear her. It was silent, proving that she was probably asleep.

With a gentle turn of the doorknob, he pushed the door open, his eyes landing on her sleeping figure almost immediately.

His heart beat faster in his chest as he shut the door behind him, stepping closer to gaze at her sleeping face, the only light came from the tv that softly played in the background. From what he could tell, she was perfect. Perfect face, perfect lips, perfect body.

Oh, he loved her body. The way she’d wear low cut tops, her cleavage almost spilling from the fabric. The pants she’d wear were tight, sometimes too tight and he’d have to excuse himself to jerk off in the bathroom. All he wanted was to get his hands, his mouth on her and do as he pleased. He knew he could treat her better, fuck her better than his brother. She needed a man like him, someone who could handle her, fuck her tired when she couldn’t sleep, when she was bratty, he’d do it all with a smile.

He’d teach her how to be the perfect whore, he knew she’d be eager to please him, to learn how to take it.

His pants tightened at the thought and he couldn’t stop himself from hooking his fingers in the comforter and dragging it down to her ankles. She was wearing a tank top and shorts, shorts that would have killed him if she wore them around him. The globes of her ass strained the material and he thanked whatever god was listening to his prayers and brought her into his life.

“So pretty.” He mumbled, his voice thick with need. The shorts were cute but had to go so he softly yanked them down and off, leaving them discarded on the floor. He bit down a smile at the panties she adorned, white lace, it was almost like she was doing this on purpose.

His gaze flicked upward, checking if she was stirring awake at all. When he knew it was safe to keep going he spread her legs, almost moaning at her panty-clad mound. It took every ounce of self restraint to not tear the lacy material off and force his aching cock inside of her.

She laid on her stomach, shielding her breasts from him which he didn’t really appreciate. He thought about flipping her over but that was too risky and he was on a time crunch. So he pushed down his pants and boxers just enough to free his cock, his hand lazily stroking as he positioned himself behind her. She had such an effect on him, his tip already leaking pearls of pre cum as he pushed her panties to the side.

The gentle musk of her had his eyes rolling to the back of his head, oh what he wouldn’t give to press his face against her pussy and live out the rest of his days there. Another shaky breath left him as he leaned on his hands over her, guiding himself to her core.

The first touch had goosebumps spreading over his clothed skin, and this time he couldn’t stop himself from fully pushing forward and filling her up. His mouth parted and his hips stuttered at the heavenly feel of her tight walls enveloping him. It took a few soft thrusts to fully get inside her but he didn’t care, the house could be burning down at that moment and he still wouldn’t have cared.

She made a few sounds in her sleep, moving a little but didn’t wake up. His gaze was fierce as he stared at the side of her face as his thrusts picked up, her eyebrows knit together a moment later. Lowering himself to her back, his chest pressed against it and he nudged his hands under her to get to her breasts, harshly groping when he made contact. Anakin lets out a strained groan into her neck, feeling like he was on cloud nine.

He fucked her like they’ve been married for years, like this wasn’t the first time, like she wasn’t engaged to his little brother. Her body lunged forward every thrust and soon her eyes were creaking open.

He didnt care, his hand made quick work of leaving her breast and pressing tightly against her mouth. His cock twitched when she fully came to and tried to push him off, her feeble attempts made this so much hotter.

“‘uh-uh, baby, you’re not going anywhere. Be a good girl and take it.” He panted into her ear, his forehead pressed against the side of her head.

She was beyond confused, but the one thing she knew is that he felt amazing in her. Anakin’s tip kissed her cervix every thrust, her fiancé had never done that before.

Anakin was big, she could feel the veins on his shaft, she could feel how he split her in half to accommodate his size. It was mind numbing as he picked up the pace, even just the way his broad frame shadowed her own. He could break her in half if he wanted and it had a muffled whimper leaving her throat.

The man above her smirked, it was lewd and predatory. He was right, she was a whore, a slut for good dick. He hummed against her ear, pressing harder against her mouth so her head was pushed back further. He slowed his hips, opting for pushing deeper in her.

She groaned into his hand, pushing back into his hips as best she could, trying to signal for him to speed up again. He chuckled darkly, digging his teeth into his bottom lip, the action threatened to draw blood but he didnt pay any mind to it.

Most people would’ve been distraught by now, but not her. She wanted this and he knew it. She stuffed her hand down and into her panties, toying with her puffy clit in fast circles.

“You want more? You’re fucking pathetic, begging your fiancé’s brother to fuck you faster. What would he say if he saw you dripping all over my dick? Hm? If he saw you being fucked stupid.” He taunted cruelly, he decided to drive into her again, fast enough to make her brain stop working but not fast enough to have the bed make any noise.

The realness of his words caused her stomach to tighten in worry, but the idea that his brother could walk in any moment and catch them had her squeezing Anakin’s cock and coming around him hard. A broken moan leaves her, still muffled by his hand thankfully. Humiliation nips at her because of how fast she came, but she couldn’t help it. She’s touched herself to this exact scenario multiple times, being taken roughly and without choice by him.

The euphoric feeling had her toes curling, her fingers digging into the sheets below, and her eyes rolling.

“That’s a good girl, pussy so fucking tight.” The feeling of her orgasm had his balls tightening, he was getting close. Her gummy, wet walls almost suctioning around him was lethal, and he would happily die right then and there. Lodged in the most perfect pussy he’s ever fucked.

“Gonna cum inside you, fill you up. Kay, baby?” She nodded quickly, sweat dripping down the sides of her face. Anakin wasn’t any better, drops of sweat dripped onto her hair and the back of her neck.

A muffled “please” came from her and he groaned, probably a bit too loud before his hips stuttered once more. He pressed himself as far as he could inside her and pressed his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder, painting her walls white.

“That’s it, taking it so well.” He murmured, gently thrusting before coming to a stop. The pair panted, catching their breaths before he gripped her hips and pulled out. White leaked from her abused hole, making it almost impossible for Anakin to get up.

But he did, pulling his pants and boxers back up. She thought he was going to leave just like that, but he leaned over to firmly grasp her hair, tugging her head backwards so he could duck down and sloppily connect their lips. It’s all teeth and tongue but has a familiar feeling stirring in her gut again.

“Don’t waste what I gave you, I’ll check tomorrow.” His gaze bores into hers and she dumbly nods. Tapping her cheek meanly, he stood back up straight, stretching his arms to get rid of the stiffness in his joints before he cast one last glance at her debauched form and left. She tried to call out to him softly but he didn’t turn back, only shutting the door silently.

[lxvsiick]

I KEEP THINKING OF YOU | HAN TAESAN X READER

PAIRING: best friend! han taesan x best friend! fem! reader

SUMMARY: Han Taesan keeps thinking about his best friend, Y/n.

GENRE: best friends, one-sided crush, imagine, short story

WORDCOUNT: 3.8k

A/N: this is an apology for THE STARS ARE ALL ASLEEP 🙇🏻‍♀️ i love writing stories/imagines related to songs -- the song for this story is an unreleased, self-composed song by none other than BOYNEXTDOOR's Han Taesan called I KEEP THINKING ABOUT YOU,, he's so talented ,, let me know if you want a pt 2 for this imagine or any of my imagines/short stories! ENJOY!

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The bustling cafeteria was filled with the hum of voices, laughter, and the clatter of trays. Taesan sat at his usual table with his friends, but his mind was far from the conversation at hand. Instead, his gaze was fixed across the room on Y/n, who was laughing with her group of friends. She was always surrounded by people—always so effortlessly popular.

Four hours, he thought with a quiet smirk. She never lets me forget that she’s four hours older than me. It was a running joke between them since they’d known each other quite literally their entire lives. Their moms had been best friends long before they were born, so their friendship felt inevitable, woven into the fabric of their childhood.

But somewhere along the way—probably around age ten, when she had scared off those bullies who were picking on him—something had shifted for him. He’d started to see her differently. And now, in high school, that crush had only grown more intense, even though she was often playfully mean to him. The teasing? He pretended not to notice most of the time.

“Dude, are you even listening?” Jungwon snapped his fingers in front of Taesan's face, pulling him back to reality.

“Huh?” he blinked, tearing his gaze away from Y/n. His friends exchanged knowing glances.

“You’ve been staring at her this whole time,” Leehan teased, smirking. “You’re not exactly subtle, man.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Taesan mumbled, but his ears turned red, betraying him.

“Sure, you weren’t.” Jo leaned in with a grin. “You’re, like, obsessed with her. Why don’t you just ask her out already?”

“She’s my best friend,” he muttered defensively, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “It’s not like that.”

“Yeah, right.” Jungwon rolled his eyes. “You’ve been crushing on her since middle school. Everyone can see it but her.”

Taesan sighed, glancing back across the room at Y/n. She was telling some story to her friends, her usual energy drawing people in like a magnet. He felt a pang of annoyance—not at her, but at how popular she was. She never seemed to have time just for him anymore. There was always someone else around her, always something else going on.

“Ugh, she’s so... popular,” he grumbled, more to himself than to his friends. “Why does everyone like her so much?”

“Probably because she’s, you know... fun,” Leehan replied sarcastically. “Unlike a certain someone who spends lunch staring at her from a distance.”

“Shut up,” Taesan shot back, though there wasn’t much bite to it.

Before his friends could continue teasing him, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Students began to gather their things, the cafeteria turning into a flurry of movement. Taesan stood up with a sigh, glancing one last time at Y/n as she waved goodbye to her friends.

“Let’s go, lover boy,” Jo said, slinging an arm around his shoulder as they headed toward the door. “You can pine over her later.”

As they walked out, Taesan couldn’t help but feel a familiar frustration creeping in. No matter how long they’d been best friends, no matter how close they were, there was a growing part of him that wanted more—something he wasn’t sure she’d ever want. And that thought gnawed at him as he followed his friends back to class.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The end-of-day bustle filled the school hallway as students rushed to leave, eager to escape the long day. Taesan and Y/n walked side by side, their footsteps falling into an easy rhythm. But while she was chatting casually about something he could barely register, his mind was far away, lost in thoughts about her—even though she was right there beside him.

He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, taking in the way her hair fell over her shoulders and how effortlessly she smiled when she talked. He wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, though. All he could think about was how, after all these years, his feelings for her kept growing, even though he had no idea if she saw him the same way.

“Hey, you okay?” Y/n nudged him gently, breaking him out of his daze. “You’re totally spacing out. What are you thinking about?”

He blinked, trying to come up with an excuse. “Uh... just, you know... school stuff.”

“School stuff?” She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You hate school stuff.”

“Yeah, well... maybe I’m trying to focus more,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

She laughed, and for a moment, he thought he had dodged the question. But just as they reached the doors to the outside, her attention was drawn to something—or rather, someone—else.

Standing by the steps was Lee Heeseung, the guy everyone liked. And by the way Y/n straightened up, her steps slowing slightly, it was obvious she was no exception.

“Oh... hey, Heeseung sunbae,” she greeted him, her voice shy, her usual confidence nowhere to be found. She gave a small wave, her cheeks pink.

Heeseung smirked in that effortlessly cool way he always did, giving her a nod and a flirty wave in return. “Hey, Y/n,” he drawled, his eyes lingering on her a little too long before he sauntered off.

Taesan watched the whole exchange, an unpleasant knot forming in his stomach. His jaw clenched. Of course, he thought bitterly, it’s him again.

As they resumed walking, he couldn’t help but let the words slip out. “What do you even see in that guy?”

Y/n glanced at him, surprised. “What?”

“I mean, I’ve heard rumors about him. People say he’s a player.” He tried to keep his voice casual, but the bitterness seeped through.

She frowned, her defenses instantly rising. “That’s none of your business. You don’t know him.”

“Neither do you,” he shot back, frustrated.

“Just let it go,” she said sharply, turning her face away from him.

Silence fell between them as they walked, the tension thick in the air. He shoved his hands in his pockets, staring at the ground, but his mind kept racing back to her. Why did she have to like him? What was so special about Lee Heeseung? The frustration bubbled inside him, but more than that, the longing grew deeper.

His thoughts were interrupted when Y/n spoke up again. “You’re spacing out again,” she pointed out, glancing at him suspiciously. “What’s going on with you today?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, trying to snap out of it.

She gave him a sideways glance, clearly not convinced. “Are you thinking about a girl?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? No!”

She smirked, her mood shifting. “Is it Wonyoung from Class C? I saw you talking to her last week. Come on, you can tell me,” she teased.

He looked at her like she’d just said something insane. “What? No, it’s not—why would I—”

“Whatever,” she muttered, cutting him off and rolling her eyes. She stormed ahead a few steps, grumbling under her breath.

He watched her walk away, his heart sinking as he slowed his pace behind her. She had no idea what was really going on in his head, no clue how he felt about her. As he stared at her retreating figure, that familiar ache filled his chest, the longing settling in as it always did.

If only she knew, he thought, but then again, maybe it was better that she didn’t.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

Taesan sat at his desk, headphones on, staring blankly at his notebook while a slow, steady beat thumped in his ears. He wasn't really focusing on the music or the homework in front of him—his mind kept drifting to Y/n, as it always did.

Suddenly, the door to the classroom burst open, and a whirlwind of energy rushed in. Y/n, her eyes sparkling and her smile wide, headed straight for him, barely paying attention to anyone else.

He pulled off his headphones, startled. “Hey, what’s up?”

Her excitement was contagious, and before he could ask anything else, she leaned on his desk, practically bouncing on her feet. “You won’t believe what just happened!” she said, her voice high with glee.

“What?” He raised an eyebrow, both curious and concerned. Whenever she was this excited, it usually meant something big.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him with a dreamy expression, her cheeks flushed. “Heeseung sunbae—he asked me out on a date!”

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, he was frozen. He didn’t say anything, couldn’t. His heart sank, and an unpleasant, heavy feeling settled in his chest. He tried to find something to say, anything, but nothing came out. All he could do was force a tight, bitter smile onto his face, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That’s... that’s great,” he mumbled, trying to sound supportive, though the words tasted bitter.

She didn’t seem to notice his hesitation. “I mean, can you believe it? Heeseung sunbae actually asked me! It’s like something out of a movie!” She twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, clearly lost in the daydream of what her date might be like.

Taesan felt his stomach twist. Why him? Of all people, it had to be that guy—the one everyone liked, the one who didn’t even know how special she really was. The one who couldn’t possibly care about her the way he did.

He stared down at his notebook, trying to block out the envy and frustration rising inside him. But her words kept echoing in his head, over and over again.

“So... what are you gonna wear?” he asked, trying to keep his voice light, though every syllable hurt to say.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” she gushed, lost in her thoughts. “But it’s gonna be perfect, I just know it.”

He nodded absentmindedly, his mind drifting far away from the conversation. Please let this date suck, he thought bitterly. Please let him be a total jerk.

But instead of voicing any of it, he just sat there, smiling that fake smile, while inside, he cursed the senior, the date, and everything else that kept pulling her away from him. Why does it have to be him? Why can’t it be me?

As she rambled on about her upcoming date, he sighed quietly to himself. He wanted to be happy for her—he really did—but the truth was, the only thing he could think about was how much he wished it was him she was excited about.

And with every word she said, the bitter feeling grew stronger.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The room was a whirlwind of clothes, shoes, and accessories scattered all over. Y/n darted from her closet to the bed, tossing different outfits across it, completely absorbed in her task. She held up a dress, then tossed it aside, muttering something about it being “too much,” before grabbing another option.

Taesan sat at the edge of her bed, watching her, though his mind wasn’t on the clothes she was throwing around. It was on her. Every time she ran back and forth, the same thoughts swirled in his head, thoughts he’d been trying to push away but couldn’t. She looks so happy about this stupid date. Why him?

He barely registered when she asked for his opinion on an outfit, just nodding absentmindedly, his eyes following her but his mind far away.

Y/n stopped in the middle of the room, a pair of earrings in one hand, staring at him with suspicion. She’d been talking to him, but it was clear now that he wasn’t paying attention. She dropped the earrings on the bed and slowly walked toward him.

He didn’t notice her coming until she crouched down right in front of him, meeting his eye level. “Hello?” she said, waving a hand in front of his face.

Startled, Taesan blinked and snapped out of his trance, his heart suddenly racing as he realized how close she was—way too close. Her nose was inches from his, her curious eyes searching his face, tilting her head like she was trying to figure him out.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she teased, her voice soft, but there was something playful in her gaze that made his stomach flip.

He swallowed hard, feeling his pulse quicken as he tried to act normal. “N-Nothing,” he stammered, but his voice betrayed him.

She smirked, leaning in just a tiny bit closer. He could feel the warmth of her breath. “Are you sure? You’ve been spacing out a lot today.” Her eyes narrowed, and she raised an eyebrow. “What, are you thinking about some girl or something?”

His whole body stiffened, and before he could control his reaction, he jerked back in shock, nearly falling onto her bed. His heart pounded as his back hit the mattress, his ears burning with embarrassment. “W-What? No! I-I wasn’t—” he fumbled over his words, but it was too late. His ears had turned bright red, a telltale sign.

She stood up straight, crossing her arms and staring down at him, her smirk deepening. “Really? You’re blushing pretty hard for a guy who wasn’t thinking about anything.”

He quickly sat up, avoiding her gaze as he tried to regain his composure. “I wasn’t—seriously, it’s nothing,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Y/n narrowed her eyes, her suspicion growing. “Hmm, I don’t believe you,” she said, poking his arm. “I think you’ve got a crush. Is it someone I know? Is it Wonyoung from class C?”

“No!” he said quickly, maybe a bit too quickly. His voice came out louder than he intended, and he cursed himself internally.

She tilted her head, clearly not buying his excuse. “Okay, fine, keep your little secret,” she said, rolling her eyes, though there was still that teasing smile on her lips. “But you’re acting weird.”

He sighed, trying to play it cool, but his heart was still pounding from how close she had been just a moment ago. As she turned back to her bed, picking up another dress to examine, he watched her with a mix of frustration and longing. She was completely unaware of the effect she had on him, oblivious to the way he felt.

And as much as he wanted to say something, he couldn’t. Not when she was so excited about her date with the senior.

With a heavy sigh, he lay back down on the bed, staring at the ceiling as she continued to prepare. If only she knew it’s her I’m thinking about...

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The sound of video game gunfire echoed in the background as Taesan sat at his desk, hunched over his diary. His friends were scattered around his room—some sitting on the floor, others lounging on his bed—talking, laughing, and completely unaware of the turmoil brewing inside him. They were immersed in their game, but Taesan couldn’t care less.

His hand flew across the pages of his diary, the pen digging into the paper as he furiously scribbled down his thoughts, venting all the frustration that had been building up inside him since this morning. She’s going out with him. Of course she’s going out with him. Why wouldn’t she? He’s popular, good-looking, and probably says all the right things. Meanwhile, I’m just the best friend. 

The words flowed faster, his anger growing with every sentence he wrote. He didn’t want to feel this way, but he couldn’t stop. Every time he thought about Y/n smiling and laughing with Heeseung, it felt like someone had twisted a knife in his chest.

Finally, when there was nothing left to say—when he’d poured every bit of his anger and jealousy into the pages—he slammed the diary shut. The sharp thud cut through the noise of the game, drawing his friends' attention.

He turned around, ready to pretend like nothing was wrong, but his heart nearly stopped when he saw all three of his friends staring at him. Their mouths hung open, eyes wide with a mix of shock and amusement. One of them even had his controller dangling in his hands, forgotten in the moment.

“You guys...” Taesan groaned, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. “How long have you been watching?”

“Dude,” Jungwon said, raising an eyebrow. “We’ve been watching you angrily write in your diary for the last five minutes.”

Jo snorted, trying—and failing—to hold back laughter. “You looked like you were about to set that notebook on fire.”

Taesan felt his face flush even more, embarrassed at being caught in such a vulnerable moment. “I wasn’t—” he started, but his friends cut him off.

“Okay, okay,” Leehan said, sitting up from the floor. “Clearly, you’re not over her.”

“I never said I wasn’t over her,” Taesan mumbled, crossing his arms.

“Oh please,” Jungwon teased. “You’ve been spacing out for days now. And writing in your diary like you’re Shakespeare in love? Come on.”

The room filled with chuckles, but the teasing didn’t bother him. What did bother him was the fact that his friends were right. He wasn’t over her. Not even close.

“Look,” Leehan said, standing up and walking over to him. “You’ve got two choices, man. One: you confess to Y/n that you like her. Just get it out there. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Taesan winced at the thought. “She could stop talking to me.”

“Or...” Leehan continued, ignoring him, “Two: you get over her. Move on. We can help. First step, throw away all those pictures you took with her.”

Jo chimed in, grinning. “Yeah, you’ve got, like, a million photos of the two of you together, right? Gotta start somewhere.”

The room fell silent as everyone looked at Taesan, waiting for his response. He stared at them, feeling the weight of their suggestions sink in.

Confess? The thought terrified him. What if it ruined everything? What if she never looked at him the same way again?

Get over her? The idea of moving on felt impossible. Every memory they shared, every laugh, every inside joke—they were all too precious to let go of. Even if it hurt, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “I’m... I’m okay with things the way they are.”

His friends exchanged confused looks. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he continued, “I don’t need to confess. As long as she’s by my side, I’m fine. I’ll deal with it. Even if we’re just friends... that’s enough for me.”

The room went quiet. His friends stared at him, clearly not convinced. But Taesan forced a smile, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Come on, man,” Jungwon said softly. “You don’t actually believe that, do you?”

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “I do. I don’t like it... but I’ll deal with it. I can’t risk losing her.”

Leehan sighed, giving him a sympathetic look. “You’re tougher than I thought, dude. But... don’t torture yourself. You deserve to be happy too, you know?”

“Yeah,” Jo added. “And if she can’t see how awesome you are, that’s her loss.”

Taesan nodded but didn’t say anything. The truth was, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself that being “just friends” was enough, deep down he knew it wasn’t. But for now, he’d keep pretending. Pretending that he was okay with being just the best friend, even if it broke his heart a little more every day.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

The sun had just begun to rise, casting a golden glow on the quiet neighborhood as Taesan and Y/n met outside their houses, ready to walk to school together like they had a thousand times before. The cool morning air hung between them, and the familiar rhythm of their footsteps echoed as they walked side by side, their conversation casual but comfortable.

But Taesan was dying to ask about one thing. He cast a sideways glance at Y/n, watching her as she focused ahead, her arms swinging slightly with each step.

“So,” he began, keeping his voice as nonchalant as possible, “how did your date with Heeseung go?”

Y/n immediately let out a scoff, crossing her arms over her chest. “Don’t even get me started.”

Curiosity piqued, Taesan raised an eyebrow. “That bad, huh?”

“Worse than bad.” She rolled her eyes, clearly still annoyed by the memory. “The guy spent the entire date talking about his Australian friend and how they’re ‘ramen brothers.’ Like, who even cares about that?”

Taesan stifled a laugh, biting the inside of his cheek. He tried to play it cool, but inside, he was practically doing backflips. She didn’t like the date. She’s not interested in him anymore.

“Oh wow,” he said, feigning sympathy. “Sounds like a real... charmer.”

“Yeah, well, I’m over it,” she grumbled, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. “He’s not who I thought he was. I’m definitely not interested anymore.”

Yes! Taesan cheered inwardly, though he kept his expression neutral. “I guess some people aren’t what they seem,” he said, trying not to sound too happy.

As they neared the school gates, the morning crowd of students bustled around them, heading into the building. Just as they were about to step through, a familiar voice called out to Taesan.

“Good morning, Dongmin!” It was Wonyoung from Class C, her smile bright as she greeted him.

Taesan gave a polite nod and returned the greeting. “Morning.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Y/n watching the exchange with a raised eyebrow and an unmistakable smirk tugging at her lips. He rolled his eyes dramatically, already knowing what she was thinking.

“Whatever you’re imagining right now is wrong,” he said, giving her a pointed look.

“Mhm, sure it is,” she teased, nudging him with her elbow.

Ignoring her playful jab, Taesan grabbed her wrist and gently pulled her through the crowd, heading toward their classroom. As they walked, he glanced at her, noticing how she was unusually quiet after the interaction.

Y/n tried to push the weird feeling away, but she couldn’t stop the small knot forming in her stomach. She wasn’t sure why, but seeing Taesan so easily talk to Wonyoung made something stir inside her—something unfamiliar. It wasn’t like she cared who he talked to, but...

Was it jealousy?The thought caught her off guard. She shook her head slightly, trying to brush it off. No way. There’s no reason to be jealous. But even as she told herself that, the feeling lingered, gnawing at the back of her mind as they made their way to class.

𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡🪷˚♡

MASTERLIST

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, lxvsiick, 2024

[cozage]

Captured by Marines

Characters: Luffy, Law, Ace cw: f! reader, angst, gore, mentions of injury/surgery A/N: A bit of a 180 from my post this morning haha! Also, I know I put it in the cw but again, this is obviously going to have some angst and there are also varying mentions of gore. I'm going to tag each individual story with major content warnings, hope that helps.

Luffy

A/N: spoilers for Marineford ahead in this one. 

“Listen Luffy,” Nami begins hesitantly. “I need you to sit down, and remain calm when I tell you this.” 

“What’s up, Nami?” He jokes, laughing at her tone. “You’re always so serious!” He hasn’t realized you were missing yet, or noticed the tears in Nami’s eyes. 

“Luffy…” Nami takes a ragged breath to steady herself. “It’s Y/N. She-” Nami breaks off unable to finish the sentence, tears finally pouring out of her eyes.

Her tears surprise him, and Luffy’s head snaps around, suddenly very aware of his surroundings. You’re not here. You’re not at the rendezvous point. He does a crew count, everyone is here except you. He does the count again. One short. And Nami crying…

He grabs Nami’s shoulders firmly. “Where is she, Nami?” He begins to shake her, trying to get the words out faster. “Where is Y/N?!”

Nami is sobbing now, inconsolable. Luffy knows she’s trying to speak, but the words simply won’t come. “Nami, TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE SHE IS?” He can’t stop shaking her. He knows it’s not helping, but he needs her words to come out faster. He needs to know that you’re safe.

“Luffy, that’s enough.” Sanji takes a long drag off the cigarette between his lips, ready to step in at any moment. “Calm down. You shouldn’t be acting that way towards a lady.”

“THEN TELL ME WHERE SHE IS!” Luffy roars out to the room, but he releases his navigator. Nami backs away from him until her back hits a wall, and then sinks to the ground. 

“I’m sorry,” she sobs into her hands again and again. “I’m so sorry, Luffy.”

“She got taken.” Sanji says in her place. He takes another inhale off the cigarette and removes it from his mouth. He makes brief eye contact with Zoro, both of them prepping for the worst reaction from their captain. “By the Marines.”

Luffy stands there, stunned for a moment. Surely he had misheard Sanji. There was a strange ringing in his ears, and his vision started to get dark around the edges. “By the…marines?”

Sanji sighs. “Yeah. She was protecting Nami, and they got her with the sea prism stone cuffs and made a quick escape. We tried to get her back, but they were quick. It almost felt like that was their mission the whole time.”

Sanji mouth kept moving, but Luffy couldn’t hear him. He could only hear your laugh, see your smile. And then he hears Ace, thanking him with his final breath. No, the outcome wouldn’t be the same. He was stronger now, and he would save you. He had to save you. 

“We’re not letting them leave this island with her.” His voice is authoritative, even if his entire body is shaking with fear. 

The entire crew responds in unison. “Obviously.”

Rescued

Law

A/N: Injury and surgery mentions

“CAPTAINNN!!!” The Heart Pirates race towards their captain, eager to see him again. It had been too long. He smiles at his crew, but his eyes are scanning the crowd. He can’t locate the two people who are always first to greet him. “Where’s Bepo and Y/N-ya?” You and Bepo had been sent for a reconnaissance mission a few days ago and should’ve arrived back before Law. His unease grew as he watched his crew’s eyes shift nervously between each other. 

Penguin finally clears his throat and speaks up for the crew. “Bepo is back at camp. He got inju-” Law is already on the move, not waiting for Penguin to finish his sentence. He refuses to run, but he’s walking as fast as he can without doing so. 

Penguin is following close behind, not missing a beat. “Captain-” he starts again, trying to find the right words, but he’s cut off again by the surgeon. 

“How critical are they?” He asks, tone clipped. He had used a lot of energy on the mission, but he’d do whatever he needed to in order to keep his crew alive. Especially you and Bepo. 

“Bepo has blunt force trauma to his torso that will probably need to be examined and a deep wound in his leg and paw that will need to be checked out. He’s unconscious but stable.” Penguin responded. He had gotten used to reporting injuries to the Captain. “But, Captain-”

“And Y/N-ya?” Law felt better knowing Bepo was okay, assuming you probably had the same injury status. 

Penguin said nothing for a long moment, which caused Law to glance his way. His mouth felt like sandpaper suddenly, and he realized that Penguin hadn’t actually report about you at all yet. “Penguin,” he prompted again. “What about Y/N?”

“She hasn’t reported in yet.” Penguin’s voice was pained. “We found Bepo unconscious about a half a kilometer from camp.”

Law hissed in disapproval, resisting the urge to Shambles closer to camp. He needed to save what little energy he had left. Penguin kept moving silently beside him, but Law could feel there was something his crew member wasn’t saying. He waited a few moments before he couldn’t stand the tension. “What aren’t you telling me, Penguin?”

“It’s not confirmed.” Penguin starts out, trying to keep it positive. “But Shachi heard something on the radio.”

“What? Spit it out.” Laws tone was dangerously close to being hostile. 

“The Marines said..” Penguin stopped moving, taking a breath, as if to prepare himself.

Law didn’t raise his voice at his crew often, but with a member of his crew injured and another missing, he snapped. He turned on his heels and glared daggers at his subordinate. “Stop keeping me on edge and tell me already, dammit!” 

“The Marines said they had someone in custody!” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a squeak, leaving a heavy weight in the air. 

The captain paused for a moment to take in Penguin’s words, and then turned away, heading towards Bepo again without another word. 

“Ca-Captain?” Penguin was back on his heels again, but Law said nothing. He couldn’t be distracted by a simple rumor. You were probably safe, hiding in the woods, waiting for a moment to come back to camp. Bepo would confirm that when he woke up. 

Penguin tried again. “Captain, it’s just that-”

“You said it wasn’t confirmed right? She’s fine, then. Let’s worry with Bepo, and then we’ll send out a search party for her when we get a better idea of her last location.” The Captain’s confidence in you left Penguin stopped in his tracks, but Law kept moving forward towards his injured crew member, leaving Penguin in the dust. 

—

Law waited by Bepo’s side after the surgery, within close earshot of Shachi and the radio. He had split the crew into small groups and sent them out to search for you in rotations, but nobody had found any sign of you so far. 

Law couldn’t sleep while you were missing, but he knew he needed rest. He compromised by sitting and staring at the radio, as if he were trying to will it to speak to them. After a few hours of silence, radio static signaled that the channel was active. “Do we have confirmation on the identity of the individual in custody yet?” A husky voice broke the air.

“Standby.” A younger voice responded, maybe even younger than Law.

Law stood up for the first time since he had finished tending to Bepo. “Switch to-”

Shachi was already flipping to the secure line they had tapped earlier. 

The husky voice returned as Shachi hit the channel switch. “-me you have a name, Lieutenant. I’ve got HQ on my ass about this matter.”

“Yessir. We have confirmation that the individual in question is [F/N] [L/N] of the Heart Pirates led by Trafalgar Law.”

The husky-voice man let out an audible gasp. “You better not be shitting me, Lieutenant. You’re positive?”

Shachi looked nervously at his Captain, but Law was fixated on the radio. It had to be a mistake. This couldn’t be happening. 

“Yes sir.” The younger man confirmed. “We have multiple sources from the battlefield confirming her skill and her identity. We’re departing for Impel Down as we speak”.

Law’s breath was shallow. He needed to get to you. To pull you back to safety. “Room.” If he can just make an area wide enough, he can shambles himself to you and free you.

But the effects from the mission and the operation weigh heavy on him, and he can feel his ability fading before he can find your presence. He falls to the ground, the weight of failure finally pushing him over the edge into total exhaustion. He can feel the world spinning, and know he’s far surpassed his limit. 

“Ready the ship to set sail immediately and do so immediately.” He can feel his eyes closing against his will, no matter how determined he is to stay awake. “We’re going after her. Follow them at any cost.”

As he slips from consciousness, he only thinks about you. How he’s lost you, and how he’ll stop at nothing to get you back. 

Rescued

Ace:

A/N: major gore/injuries

“To Whitebeard!” Mugs of various alcohols slammed together for a toast. Ace had Marco in a headlock, laughing and drinking his cup of ale while Marco struggled to get free. 

“I’m just saying we should wait to celebrate!” Marco squirmed below him. “Jozu’s division still isn’t back-”

“Come on, Marco,” Ace jested. “You really have that little faith in division three? I’m telling Y/N. She’ll never forgive you, y’know.”

Marco finally freed himself from Ace’s grip and stood upright, looking out to sea. “It just…they should be back by now.”

As the hours passed and the party raged on, Ace found himself glancing at the horizon more and more frequently. By the time the sun was setting, his gaze was stuck on the path you should be returning back on.  “They should be back by now,” he muttered to himself. “Where are you?” Ace pulls out your vivre card, relieved to find it intact and inching towards the way you should be returning.

He held your vivre card all evening, watching for any signs of distress. Marco sat with him on lookout, waiting for any kind of news as well. It wasn’t until the moon hung high in the sky that lights appeared on the horizon. “They’re back!” Relief washed over him as he shook Marco awake. He tucked your vivre card away and stood up for the first time in hours. “I’m going to go meet them and see what’s going on.”

“Wait, Ace,” Marco started, still groggy with sleep. “It could be-” but Ace was already jumping off the boat, aiming for his Striker. Flames appeared far below where Marco was sitting, and the Striker’s engine roared as it took off towards the approaching ship. 

Ace was used to you all being apart for missions. You were in the third division with Jozu, so it didn’t always line up that you all worked together. But Jozu was a man who was always has his crew back by rendezvous time, and it had been over twelve hours since that time had passed. 

The ship was flying a Whiteboard flag, and he could pick out a few crew members he recognized when he looked through the binoculars. He let out a sigh of relief, finally releasing a burden he didn’t realize he was carrying. The pit that had grown in his stomach over the past half day had been so slow, he didn’t even notice it until it started to ease away. 

The feeling of relief didn’t last long. As he got closer, he realized the ship itself was in bad shape. It had clearly been through an unexpected battle, maybe even more than one. He threw more flames out from his feet and raced towards the ship, the pit in his stomach returning and multiplying by the second. 

He jumped aboard the boat, looking for your face in the crowd, but all he could see were beaten and battered crew mates in various states of conditions. Some had cuts, others were more bandages than human. The smell was worse. The stench of death and distant smell of blood was mixed with a strange smell of meat cooking. Ace’s vision blurred for a second seeing such a sight, and he willed himself to stay focused. 

A deep voice called his name from the other side of the ship. Jozu. He looked around, searching for his fellow commander, but couldn’t locate him. “Down here, man.”

Ace had a pretty iron stomach, but the sight of his friend made it do a few somersaults. Jozu had a horrible head gash that someone was applying constant pressure on, a bandage wrapped around one eye, and the entire left part of his body seemed to be blackened, as if it were burnt. 

“Jozu…” Ace resisted the urge to ask about your status, suddenly afraid of the answer. “What happened?”

“Navy ambush.” Jozu took a ragged breath, and those around him exchanged worried looks. “We didn’t stand a chance.” Jozu was gasping for air at this point, but he was determined to get the information out. “They took prisoners. About 10-15.” It was clear he wanted to relay more information, but his body convulsed with a sudden coughing fit. 

“Who was taken? Where is-” Ace stopped himself right before he says your name, shameful of the fact that he’s prioritizing your life over everyone else. 

His cheeks must’ve turned a shade of red, because a kid passing by glares at him. “If you’re going to vomit, do it over the side of the ship. We have enough to clean up.”

Jozu’s cough finally subsides, and he looks at his brother with deep regret in his eyes. Ace’s heart plummets, and he knows what to expect before the words are out of his mouth. “They took her, Ace. They took Y/N. I’m sorry. I-” whatever Jozu was going to say is cut off by another round of coughing fits, but Ace doesn’t need an explanation. He just needs you back. 

Ace gingerly puts his hand on Jozu’s right shoulder, one of the few places the third division commander doesn’t seem to be injured. “Don’t you worry, Jozu. I’ll get them back.” Without another word, he jumps off the ship and onto his Striker. 

“Hang on, Ace.” Marco’s voice of reason calls out to him from the deck of the ship, and Ace silently curses himself for waking him in the first place. “You need a plan. Don’t go charging into this headfirst. It’ll just get you killed.”

“I have a plan!” Ace fibbed. “I’ll be back in the morning with the prisoners.”

“Ace,” Marco starts. It was clear to him that the freckled boy wouldn’t listen to anyone who stood in his way.

“If they get them to Impel Down it’s over and you know it!” Ace’s panic was starting to show. Marco could see his eyes from the deck, wild and desperate like a cornered animal. 

“Tch, you’re always such a hothead.” Marco chided. “Good luck. I’ll relay what happened to Pops, but be prepared for any consequences when you get back.”

Ace grinned and tipped his hat towards Marco. “Good luck here, Marco. Thanks for everything.” The Striker’s engine roared to life once again, and he pulled out your vivre card, ready to follow your compass to hell and back. 

Rescued

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 1 (Alastor x Reader)

Banner Alastors done by @blobin456drawz <3

Human Alastor x married reader Rated Adult for adult themes, triggering content and sexual content. I wouldn't say this is dead dove but it's dead dove adjacent. Series Trigger Warnings: Adultery, stalking, Sexual assault, Rape, smut of undetermined sorts, Domestic Violence, Time period accurate views on women and domestic violence and skin color, Alastor is a serial Killer, there's murder, there's angst, there's dark content. If you know me from my old days you'll know this warning: Kit's up to her old shit again.

Summary: Fading away in an abusive marriage, each day passes just the same as the last. Painful monotony eats at you until a pair of warm brown eyes sparks the idea that you could have something more. When a business deal between men sparks a torrid affair, how long can you keep things going before the fire either leaves you a burnt out shell or burns up everything around you?

And what becomes of the radio host who thought he was above the fickle fires of the heart when the match he strikes burns his hand instead? Can he possess what rightfully belongs to another man without leaving everything he has fought for in ashes?

A note from Kit: First, before anything I want to credit my friends @blobin456drawz, @nyx-umbrakinesis, @wendigonamecaller and the rest of you (you know who you are) for doing the heavy lifting during the outline phase of this project and being so eager to hear everything about it as it consumes me. Eventually I'll shut up about this project but it'll be a few more weeks at least. I love you guys.

Onto more important matters- Please be mindful. This story is dark and triggering at times. I've written portions to elicit an emotional reaction. As you should always do with dark content, even if you're not at risk of being triggered, please step back and take a breather when needed. The story will always be here when you get back. I am so tickled by the excitement this story has generated ahead of its release. We're looking at tentatively between 20 and 30 chapters (A note from future Kit: Ha! That was a cute prediction... I'm drafting chapter 37 rn and looking at 50...) posted once a week on Wednesdays. This day will change WITH NOTICE as other series finish and my more traditional posting days open up again.

Come along friends and learn why I had my own trigger warning in the Marvel fandom.

Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord, all are welcome!

Audio by Nyx Productions, Part 1, part 2

To the world, you appeared nothing more than a simple woman with a placid smile, gliding through town. The rhythmic click of your sensible black heels echoed against the sidewalk. To a trained eye, your gait could be categorized as slightly staggered, stiff, and just a little uneven, but to an untrained eye? There was nothing to see, but a modestly dressed woman, impeccably put together though just slightly out of fashion, performing the role of the ideal well-to-do wife with the precision of a clockwork automation. 

You could have taken a bus, but you would rather walk, or at least that was your story, but it wasn’t totally true. You tried to focus on the positive, a lesson your parents had instilled in you from an early age. If you couldn’t focus on the positive little bits of your life, what else was there?

It was nice to get out of the prison of your home. That is what you’d tell anyone that asked, though you wouldn’t call it a prison to anyone but yourself. They would smile and nod, like was polite and they’d make small talk about how mundane the life of a homemaker was and assure her that as soon as little ones landed her days would be filled with excitement and joy. 

What wouldn’t be said was how you wished she could brave the bus because your simple heels hurt your feet or how the idea of falling pregnant terrified you. You couldn’t, wouldn’t really, brave the bus because it would jostle you and you’d surely bump into someone or something. This time of day, the bus would be crowded and people would bump into you.

Today you couldn’t have that. 

Today you needed to protect yourself.

Stepping into the tailor shop you thanked the man on his way out, holding the door open for you on his way. With a sigh, you let the relief of an errand half done wash over you as you stepped up to the counter. Behind you, the bell above to door jingled, announcing another new arrival to the small shop.

Glancing over your shoulder, you hardly registered the tall man with tan skin and fluffy brown hair as he held the door open for his short blonde companion. An odd pair, you thought before turning back to the counter, showing the woman where the sleeve on your dress was torn, seam along the shoulder ripped and explaining your fabricated story of how it happened. 

She smiled at you with pity. This was injury to clothing she knew well though she would never be so bold as to talk about it. You were not the only woman in town to frequent the tailors with ripped shoulder seams or dark rust colored stains. These were the secrets she kept, a professional curtesy that was expected from her but always unsaid. Did the people of the city even realize the things she knew?

“It’ll be ready in a few days, Mrs. Latimer.” The shopkeeper was quick to take the dress from you, doing the work of holding it up and examining the rip. 

It was a small mercy, to not have to raise your arm much at all. The woman folded the dress neatly away and slipping it below the counter before motioning you aside while she wrote out your ticket. She was a master at multitasking, finishing your ticket as she greeted the newcomers who seemed less eager to step up to the counter than the shopkeeper was to serve them.

“What about that one?” the blonde woman whispered to her companion as you thanked the shop keeper as she handed you your ticket. The newcomers lingered, taking their time making their way to the counter. 

“Mimzy, we are here to pick up your dress,” the man’s rich voice sounded familiar but you couldn’t place it. Glancing at him, you tried to place where you could know him from but came up blank. That was just as well, Laurence didn’t let you really socialize much outside of your day to day tasks.

The blonde, Mimzy you had gathered her name was, wiggled her fingers to you in a wave as she caught you looking their way before directing her attention back to the man she was with. 

“Yes, yes. And you need the lining of your coat restitched,” She made a show of rolling her eyes, performing for an audience of only a handful, “You’re no fun sometimes.” 

“A dreadfully dull time, that’s me,” the man laughed lightly.

“I’m just saying,” Mimzy continued as you stepped toward the door, “You’re a good man. A decent man. You should find someone, is all. You don’t gotta settle down but you don’t gotta be alone all the time either.” 

You cringed, struggling to push open the heavy door, trying to not listen in on the pair’s clearly private conversation. You had been too eager when you pushed on it and your shoulder didn’t hold up to the stress well, pain flaring. It was easy enough to forget how painful your shoulder was in the moment. 

It wasn’t so bad, as long as you didn’t overdo it. Pushing open the heavy door yourself was clearly enough to count as overdoing it today. 

“Here, allow me.” The man pushed open the door for you, holding it open with a palm high along the edge of the door, giving you plenty of space to exit. 

You ducked under his arm with a mumbled word of thanks. It didn’t matter, he didn’t seem to really be listening for it anyway as he directed his attention back to his companion as he let the door begin to fall closed as soon as you were out of striking range of it.

“And why should I-” the rest of his words were lost behind the closing door. 

Alastor sat in the empty lounge, sipping his rye as Mimzy talked on and on while she changed. The dress surely would fit her just how she wanted, it was custom fitted but that didn’t stop her from putting on this whole production every time they got back from the seamstress. 

He knew the song and dance well enough, having known the woman for the past few years. She would change. He would complement. She would complain. He would reassure. She would blush and call him a flirt. He would move on with his day. 

“Oh!” Mimzy interrupted herself, earning a raised eyebrow from Alastor. “I forgot to tell you.”

“Tell me what, my dear?” 

She popped her head out from between the curtains, “I think I found myself a new juice supplier. You’re off the hook.”

“You think?” Alastor downed the rest of his drink in one smoothe gulp.

“Ya- Laurence’ll be able to take over soon and you’ll be off the hook again. I know you ain’t eager for that amount of risk. Told you it was only temporary.” 

Alastor hummed in acknowledgement as Mimzy went on and on about Laurence. He was tall, not as tall as Alastor, she assured him, but still tall and handsome. He tuned out her ramblings, mind instead turning back to the woman Mimzy had pointed out at the tailor shop. Such a timid little thing, fashion just outdated enough to stand out. 

Mimzy smacked his shoulder with a bar towel, leaning across the counter to look him in his eyes as she demanded his attention, “Yes?”

“You’re distracted,” she stated simply. 

“Just thinking about tomorrow’s broadcast.” Alastor answered simply, running his finger over the rim of the empty glass. “That’s all.” 

“Mhm,” she narrowed her eyes at him as he leaned back from her. “You sure you ain’t thinking about a pretty face?” 

“Haven’t seen any prettier faces than yours today.” 

Mimzy laughed loudly and teased, “Flirt! But I know it ain’t my face that’s got you distracted. Was it the doll at the shop? She was cute!” 

“She’s got a man,” Alastor countered. 

“And how the hell would you know from not speaking to her at all?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Just got a feeling about her.” 

He could tell Mimzy that she had that hollow look in her eyes that a woman got when she had a partner that got a bit too rough with her. Hell, he could point out the way she couldn’t manage to open the door to the shop, her shoulder weak from strained muscles. Did the man that called her his toss her around by the arm last night? Yank her a little too roughly?

He wouldn’t though because it didn’t matter. It wasn’t worth having Mimzy ask questions about his past or worse, assume the reason he had no partner of his own was due to any reason beyond him not desiring to be weighed down. 

“I bet a charming lad like yourself could sweep her out from under whatever man she’s caught up with anyway. Want another?” Mimzy pointed at the empty glass as melting ice settled in the bottom. 

“I’m good, Darling- It’s early yet.” 

Your feet were killing you as you made your way home. Still, you couldn’t help but take your time. If you were out, you were not home cleaning, cooking or waiting for your husband to return. While you were out, you could pretend to be your own person and it was alright, you had to keep up appearances as long as it was the right appearance. 

Lingering in front of the newsstand, you let your eyes run over the papers and magazines each with bold words on the covers, fighting for the eye’s attention. 

The headlines were polar opposites in many cases. Some celebrated the progress and change made in the 24 months since women had been granted the right to the vote. Others bemoaned the change and the influence women could now have on the world around them, pointing at any little thing as a sign of the doom this would spell for society as a whole. 

The idea made you laugh. Two years and while you did your best to learn, you hadn’t even come close to a polling center. Your husband wouldn’t allow it. Whatever change there may have been for better or for worse, you had no part of it. 

You knew which of the papers your loving husband would pick up and celebrate. It wasn’t the same ones you would but that didn’t matter. Women may have had the right to vote but you knew you were little more than an accessory in the world you lived in. 

Moving on with your walk home, you tried to force yourself to relax your shoulders and back. The pain was starting in from tensed muscles, telling you that while you hadn’t been watching your posture well enough, you had curled in on yourself. 

A deep breath in through your nose and out through your parted lips, slowly as you pulled your head up and your shoulders back, trying to ignore the way the muscles screamed in protest. You forced your spine straight and winced at the pain in your shoulder as you worked your fingers into the tense muscle, trying to convince it to relax. 

It would pain you for a few more days yet and if you were lucky, that would be it. You just needed to be good until it had a chance to heal. 

“Good Day, Mrs. Latimer.” A man you should have known tipped his hat at you in greeting, startling you out of the thoughts you hadn’t realized absorbed you as you walked slowly down the sidewalk. 

He was closer than you had expected when he snatched your attention, causing you to gasp and flinch back, shoulder twinging in pain. You didn’t like people in your space, at least not without warning. All it would take was someone saying you were getting too close to a man to your husband and hell would rain down on you regardless of the truth of it. 

Your shoulder banged into the light post behind you. You didn’t know it was there, having lost track of your surrounding as you walked in the haze of thoughts. A gasped yelp slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Appearances. You had to keep up appearances. Swallow the pain, don’t let anyone know. Don’t let anyone see. 

“You alright?” The man asked as he steadied you, large hand gripping the outside of your shoulder only making the pain flair more. 

Shrugging out from under his grip, you painted on a false smile as you willed the tears in your eyes back. 

“I’m fine,” You looked away as you saw pity cross the man’s face. How much did he see? Surely not more than what was normal, what was acceptable?

“You be careful ma’am,” the man nodded wisely to you. “Didn’t you hear? There’s a serial killer running around. Probably not good for a lady to be out alone till they catch the bastard- pardon my language.” 

“Oh my,” you tried to play the unsteadiness on your feet as being from the terrifying news. Would be believe it? Did be believe it? “I’ll be sure to be mindful, thank you.” 

You didn’t need his pity but what you needed even less of was him seeing any real reason to pity you. Forcing your hand from your shoulder, you tried to ignore the pain, to will it away. 

There was nothing to see here. Just Mrs. Latimer making her way home from the tailor shop. There were no bruises. No torn dresses. Nothing wrong. 

Life was perfectly normal, a storybook where you were married into a family of means with your family having so very little to offer. 

Tag List: @xalygatorx, @catticora, @alastor-simp, @alastorthirsty, @nyx91, @lilith-jae, @goyablogsstuff, @kaylopolis, @sirens-and-moonflowers, @charlottemorningstarsdarling, @diffidentphantom, @rainydaysmut, @honestlyshamelesskid, @yui-onnero, @lunarmango

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Next? Masterlist

[hidden-snow]

✦┈⋆┈ ⋞ 〈 Ｒｕｎｎｉｎｇ Ｈｏｍｅ ｔｏ Ｙｏｕ 〉 ⋟ ┈⋆┈✦

Summary // You thought your relationship was as special to him as it was to you. You thought he loved and cherished you as much as you loved and cherished him. But when his family leaves the Omatikaya and all he has to offer is ‘I’m sorry’ when you beg and plead for him to stay with you, you realize that you were so, so wrong about him. Heartbroken and defeated, a girl barely seventeen years old, you decide that you will never love again. After all, it hadn’t meant anything to him. Years later and you are the best of the best. A strong warrior and an even better hunter, you provide for your people in every way except for a child to add to the next generation of Omatikaya people. They respect your wishes but you can hear the whispers. You can feel the concerned gazes from your parents, too old to conceive a sibling to make up for your lack of children. When he comes back, it throws you through a loop. Handsome, mighty, and different, he comes to you right away. But you promised yourself.

Warnings // Angst, a bit of stalker Neteyam, some fluff, mentions of drinking, heartbreak

Word count // 1,506

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7

He was everywhere.

When you were supposed to be training the younger hunters, when you were telling stories to the children, when you were eating meals with the rest of the clan.

No matter where you were, you could count on him being nearby, keeping an eye on you as if you were his and only his.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought, mainly because you knew that, no matter what, you would never belong to anyone. Especially not to him.

Though… in a way, it was also kind of sweet that he cared so much about who you were around. Annoying as it was, he was very eager to show that he still cared about you despite all these years of separation.

No matter what, though, you were determined to not allow him to get into your head again. Not this time. Not ever again.

Gritting your fists, you set yourself into the mindspace of the task you had to do now; some one on one training with a young student who was currently a bit farther behind than the others.

Walking along the trodden dirt path, you came to a clearing surrounded by thickly growing plants, trees towering over you as if reaching to the blue hued sky above. You draw in a slow breath, letting it out slowly as you wait for your student to show up, bow resting against your back.

“I hope you don’t mind. I convinced Ìtseì to let me have this training session with you. I could use some practice with you.”

Exasperated, you turn to level Neteyam with your best, coldest glare, only to find that he was unfazed by your hostility. He simply smirked back at you, raising an eyebrow as he pulled his bow from behind his back.

“Are you sure you still know how to use a bow? After all that time, swimming with the reef people… it probably left you extremely rusty.”

“Ah, there’s that spitfire I’ve been waiting for,” Neteyam responded, notching one of his feathered arrows. Intricately carved, delicate and deadly. Quick to pierce hearts, sharp enough to end a life in one shot.

Just like how he ended the life you’d had before.

You shake your head, regathering your thoughts to what you needed to do.

“You’re a big boy. Help yourself. Since Ìtseì did not show up, I will go and hunt by myself,” you respond, turning your back to the male, fully intent on hunting alone.

Except, he didn’t leave you alone.

You were beginning to wonder if this was a behavioral pattern that had been forged into him by his father from a young age. After all, Neteyam followed Jake around all the time as a child, ready and waiting for orders or instructions that only he could take care of.

That had to be the reason for his stalker-like behavior.

Pushing aside heavy, large leaves and small viney shrubs, you could hear him behind you, despite the fact that he was very obviously trying hard not to make a sound.

“Following me is not going to get you on my good side,” you warn softly, throwing the comment over your shoulder aggressively as you walked a bit faster.

He wasn’t discouraged, nor did he seem to be bothered by your sharp words or your dismissive behavior. In fact, it seemed to spur him on more, his footsteps speeding up so that he could catch up with you.

“Come on, Y/n. Can’t we just talk? You and I, together, like we used to do. Please.”

His fingers wrap around your wrist and you yank away, at the same time swinging your bow at him, instinctive training kicking in. He ducked down, barely missing the slash of your bow in the area where his face had been mere seconds ago.

“Do not touch me, Neteyam te Sulli Tsyeyk’itan. I am not your yawne. I am not your childhood friend. I am not your toy or your plaything. You have destroyed everything we once had. You have crumbled every bridge that sat between you and I. I want nothing to do with you.”

This time, he falters, a look of horror and shock on his face. But you aren’t really sure if that was directed towards the fact that you’d tried to hit him or the words that had just spilled from your lips.

You turn away to hide the tears that were now burning hot and fresh in your eyes, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing you cry. He didn’t even deserve that.

Your feet move before you can think about it, taking you rapidly farther away from the stunned form of the boy who’d ruined your life. You were certain he’d leave you alone now. After all, he was smart, quick to understand the things people were telling him.

Or at least, he used to be.

Your ears twitch to the sound of him running to catch up once more and you sigh, rolling your eyes. Obviously, the ways of the water have dumbed down that intelligence, considering how desperate he was to ignore your stinging-sharp words and your ice-cold disposition towards him specifically.

“Y/n, stop walking.”

You don’t belong to him. You never did. So why did your feet falter in your path? Why did you hesitate to keep going, even as you turn to face him once more?

“Open up, Y/n. I’m back. I’m here. I’m here and I want to talk to you. I want to fix what I broke before. Please, let me explain myself to you.”

There’s a hint of desperation in that smooth tone of his, a soft drop of pleading that didn’t belong to the body that spoke the words. He’d never been the begging type before.

You open your mouth, prepared to respond in the same way as before, when a sharp sting erupted in your cheek and you tumbled to the ground in an ungraceful heap.

Your hand slides up, cupping your sore cheek, as you stare up in shock at the male looming over you, a new expression on his face. Unreadable and hard to pick apart.

“I just want you to hear me out. Just onc- oomph!”

Before he’s finished, you’re launching yourself at him, slamming your shoulder into his abdomen and knocking him to the ground, the soft grass beneath your feet doing nothing to cushion his fall.

“You don’t deserve my attention!” you shriek, grabbing and yanking at his braids as you wrestle him in an attempt to win the little brawl. He’s fighting back, which you had to give him credit for. It wasn’t something you’d expected from him.

Rolling in the grass, disrupting plants and innocent, wandering wildlife, biting and scratching and pulling at anything you can get your hands on, you realize he’s not going to let you win easily.

And for once in your life since he left, you welcome this. Everyone else had been taking it easy on you, seeing as how you were pretty destroyed by his departure. Things had been done for you if they seemed to be too hard. Your parents had doted on you for the past three years, trying to make up the love that you’d lost.

You needed a challenge.

And he was providing it.

It was exciting, exhilarating, full of promises of a frustrated loss or an awarding victory.

You put your all into this little sparring match, putting all of your otherwise-useless training to use. When it became clear that he was doomed to lose, he still refused to fold, fighting until the very end.

When he tapped out, the sensation of a satisfactory win filled you up inside and you couldn’t help the grin that began to grow on your face.

You sat in the grass, working to catch your breaths, silence spreading out between the small clearing you’d both found yourself in.

It was nice, peaceful and calm. Like the days you’d shared as children, playing in the streams under careful adult watch or laying in the grass and staring up at the sky as his siblings ran around picking flowers and playing games.

“Please, talk to me,” he murmured after a while, breaking the soft, gentle silence that had begun to fill you with melancholy as you reminisced on the days of your childhood.

You stand slowly, dusting yourself off as he watched you, trying to come up with the right way to explain yourself.

“I can’t,” you respond, finally meeting his gaze.

“Neteyam, you cannot fix this. Not now. Possibly not ever. I’ve moved on with my life. Don’t you think it is about time that you moved on with yours as well?”

He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even bother to get up, and you grab your discarded items from the ground, not saying another word.

Yet… as you walk away, you realize with a sinking heart, that perhaps, you’d not gotten over him as much as you wanted to believe you had.

Taglist // @earthling55

[wickedscribbles]

if i get too loud you can shut my mouth: ch. 1

Masterlist Ch. 2 Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Logan Howlett/Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: descriptions of violence, excessive swearing, fourth wall breaks, yearning, bridgerton season 3 spoilers, sexual tension

Word Count: 2.4K

If you like what I write and can afford to do so, please consider buying me a coffee! It would be much appreciated.

It feels like it took them ten years to get here.

In reality, it was a little less than half a year, but still – fuck.

Wade might not be two hundred years old, enduring some endless drag of time like Logan has, but he knows that every day spent orbiting one another and pretending like things weren’t boiling with unspoken tension was agonizing. Seeing Logan in those fucking flannels was agonizing. Watching him doze off on the couch. Catching the way his face softened when he smiled, ruffling Mary Puppins’ ears.

It was all such a pain in the ass.

(Thankfully, not literally, this time. Al would kill him if he brought another fight into the apartment. Even if she couldn’t see bloodstains all over the carpet, she’d sure as hell know when she stepped on one.) And Wade understood – really he did. He could see through Logan’s prickly act the second he met him in that bar. Even with what they’d been through to save the current timeline they now both resided in, Logan felt some deep-rooted urge to distance himself from people. He didn’t want to hurt anyone else. Didn’t think he had it in him to lose anyone he got close to again. That kind of cycle was hard to break.

They saw one another at the occasional get-together, now held at Al and Peter’s place. With Wade throwing himself back into mercenary work and the money getting better, that meant things inevitably getting more dangerous, so now he bunked in a one bedroom with the only girl in his life willing to put her tongue down his throat every hour of the day. That girl also sometimes threw up after eating her kibble too fast in the morning, but hey. We all have our problems.

But if Wade ever tried to hang around when the night was winding down – or if he extended an invitation to just Logan – things got sketchy. He’d always mutter some excuse about work – the old man was getting his hands dirty as a mechanic, apparently, but Wade had his resources and heard more than a few stories about the Wolverine cropping up as the months passed.

And Wade can feel it. That pulling away, that distance. Whether it’s there because Logan actually feels any sort of sense of connection between them, or because he can’t stand Wade and wants him to leave him the fuck alone, Wade can’t really tell. When he’s not in a fight, Logan’s so fucking quiet. Keeps to himself so much.

He tries not to push. The whole thing with Vanessa went south again, fast. Because he either pushes too hard, or not enough, and fuck if he can ever find a solid in between.

Spring slides into summer, sweltering.

Wish we could just walk around in a g-string when it’s fuck me degrees out here, right?

Wade sends the text to Logan one insufferable July afternoon, crouched in an abandoned warehouse. He never expects a reply. The man doesn’t exactly give off “knows how to text” energy. But hours later, his phone vibrates.

You’re nasty

Wade grins. “Exactly, big guy.”

A stupid, eager part of him can’t help but hope a little harder, after that. He could’ve just ignored the text entirely. But this was something.

He digs in his heels, thinking of anything and everything to hound the man about throughout his day.

You ever think about what these goonies are jerking it to before you cut their heads off?

Stupid shit, totally off the top of his head.

Still hotter than absolute shit, is this why you only go out in the suit at night? Think I can feel my balls boiling

Sometimes he’d get an answer, sometimes not. Either way, it was typically a short response. (Thank fuck he didn’t text like a boomer – Logan was hot, but that might have been the end for Wade’s boner regardless.)

Puppins says she misses you :(

(Don’t tell her but you’re nicer to cuddle with)

Nothing to that one. Alone in his apartment, he sighs. Mary Puppins groans her sympathy and snuggles closer into his chest.

—---------

A little over a month later, there’s an urgent knock on the door.

More like a banging.

Cops is Wade’s first half-awake thought as he slings himself out of bed, already gripping the first gun he can get to. He stashes it in the pocket of his fuzzy ducky-patterned bathrobe, getting to the peephole.

Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit.

This is somehow worse than cops.

Wade unlocks the door and Logan pours himself in, dominating the frame and almost stumbling to get inside. His eyes are wild, skin glistening with sweat. He still wearing that stupid fucking flannel, light brown and dark blue, the sleeves pushed up to the elbow like he’s personally asking Wade to fuck him.

He huffs out a few heavy breaths, blinking at the hush of Wade’s apartment like he isn’t quite understanding it.

“Hey, princess,” Wade offers up to break the silence. “You, uh, coming over for the weekly rewatch of Bridgerton? I mean, I already skipped to the good parts, but we can always –

Logan’s hand closes over his windpipe so fast that the rest of the sentence vanishes in a wheeze. Pleasure blooms somewhere in the back of Wade’s brain, and he’s almost certain that he’s hard as he’s backed up against the refrigerator. Puppins only raises her head from the dog bed to look between them, her tail wagging frantically.

“What the fuck,” Logan grits out. “You called me.”

He sort of had. After a few ignored texts, Wade’s thumb had fumbled the CALL button. There’d been a mild rush of panic before the usual tossing and turning that led him to sleep. To be honest, he didn’t even think Logan would catch that. And he definitely didn’t think that it would lead to a pissed off Wolverine storming his living space at 2 a.m.

“Sure did,” he says cheerfully, once the fingers around his throat loosen somewhat. Wade holds up his hands, trying to look innocent. “Butterfingers. My mistake, peanut.”

A maelstrom of emotions flit over Logan’s face in an instant. He drops Wade, his expression settling on something that the other man can’t read. At last he shakes his head, sighing, and turns back to the door.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, then, I’ll just…”

Dude looks like a fucking kicked puppy. A tired kicked puppy that’s lived longer than most people would care to.

“Aww, c’mon,” Wade urges.

It’s hard to look sexy with a face like his, but he splays himself back against the fridge, bathrobe falling back a little to reveal what’s definitely still hard in those boxer shorts.

“When’s the last time we really hung out, huh? Mano a mano? Not since the potential end of the world – we really could watch Bridgerton, you know.”

Wade doesn’t miss the quickest flick of Logan’s eyes down to his crotch. Ohoho. Gotcha, bub.

“I don’t even know what the hell that is,” Logan growls, folding his arms.

His body language says arghhh no I’m so grumpy, don’t touch me, but his eyes are telling Wade everything he needs to know. They’re kind of nice, when he isn’t glaring at something. You know what he’s got? He’s got the deep brown eyes of a Golden Retriever.

And Wade wants to pet that puppy.

“Puppy play? Before we’ve even kissed? Girl you nasty,” Wade says out of nowhere, turning to an obscure corner of his apartment.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.”

Wade clears his throat, pushing his chest forward somewhat.

“Anyway. Puppins loves a good period romance but we can put on whatever, if you want to stay.”

Please stay.

“What do you normally watch when you’re lurking in your apartment after a long day at the shop?”

He delivers the end of that sentence with a light Southern twang. Logan doesn’t seem to appreciate it, but he relaxes ever so slightly. Swallows. Fuck. Wade can smell the work on him too, the grease and sweat of a long day. Gasoline. There’s a smudge right under Logan’s left eye, and he really, really wants to close the distance and touch the mark. Not knowing if doing so would temporarily lose him a couple of fingers, Wade stays where he is.

“...Home Improvement,” Logan says finally.

“Jesus Christ, you would,” Wade scoffs out. “I mean that as a compliment, sweetheart – if you looked me in the eye and told me you watched Dance Moms I would keel over, regeneration or no.”

It’s clear that Logan has no fucking clue what Dance Moms is either, and maybe that’s for the best. He shuffles from foot to foot, still seeming to be stuck between wanting to stay or go.

“It’s late. I should probably –”

“Wait,” Wade interrupts. “Wait. Can I just – ask something?”

Logan gives him a little shrug, like I think you’re going to anyway, so go for it.

He hesitates, biting at a thumbnail. There’s blood underneath it, and probably not his own. With a grimace, Wade lowers it again.

“What are we doing? With the texting and the avoiding and the –?” He moves his hands around in gentle circles. Logan doesn’t quite meet his eye, but Wade isn’t finished yet. “Y’know, you save the timeline with a guy, get niiiice and cozy in the back of a Honda Odyssey –”

Logan turns a shade of pink that they both know can’t be contributed to anger. “Listen, pal – when you’re fighting sometimes that just happens –”

“Oh, okay, buddy,” Wade continues, grinning. “I know it does, believe me, I’ve been as hard as vibranium for many a fight. But I’ve never curled up next to the guy who’s trying to kill me afterward and woken up with their lips on my forehead.”

It’s all true. After truly destroying his variant’s Honda Odyssey, Wade and Logan had finally exhausted themselves into a state of sleep. And even though he’d found himself restrained by a truly impressive seatbelt arrangement, he’d come to with the heat of the other man’s body pressed fully against his own.

Holding his breath, not daring to move a muscle, Wade had peeked out of one eye to confirm it. Yes, that was the Wolverine acting as his little spoon. Minutes or perhaps hours passed before Logan shifted in his sleep, his bottom lip pressed sloppily against the top of Wade’s head. His breath was warm there. Something about the comfort of that lulled him back to sleep.

Of course, he hadn’t dared breathe a word of that. They had important shit to do and a runtime of only two hours and seven minutes.

Oh, Wade fucking adores putting that look on Logan’s face. Even better with the tinge of pink to match. How many people can say that they’ve made the Wolverine blush? Well, how many living people?

“Shut up,” Logan splutters.

“No can do, princess,” Wade says, grinning wide. “I think we both know the truth when we hear it. Even if it’s hard. Not that that’s the only thing that’s hard around h –”

This time, Wade sees Logan coming and ducks. The door of his refrigerator crumples inward with a metallic sound, things tumbling around inside as they fall.

“Fuck, I just got that, you animal!” Wade complains as he watches the LED screen on the side of the thing crackle and die. He fumbles for the gun in his robe, unsure of whether or not he’ll need it. “Do you know how much a smart fridge costs?!”

Logan’s still coming after him, claws unextended but his face a storm. “Why do you need a TV on your fucking fridge?!”

“To watch Colin and Penelope make sweet, beautiful love after three seasons of sexual tension!”

He weighs up his options. If Logan wants to make this a fight, he can’t start with the gun. Better to have some sort of melee option so the rest of the building doesn’t panic – his tableside lamp is looking like the best way to go right now, even if it was a steal at the local thrift place and gives the whole place a beautiful ambiance.

But shit, he forgot that Logan is lightning fast as well as strong. The whole fucking package. One wrist caught in another iron tight grasp, then the other, and he finds himself being dragged to the nearest wall. Pinned there.

“Fuck,” he breathes out, Logan’s face close enough to lean in and touch. That smear of grease on his cheek. The crow’s feet around his eyes. His mouth. Fuck.

“We can’t,” Logan says, his voice softer than Wade’s ever heard it.

“You’re gonna say that to me while pinning me to the fucking wall? I–”

“Listen to me, jackass,” Logan cuts him off.

Fuck, he’s so warm. He’s like a radiator. If Wade could only lean in. He’s begging at this point.

“I don’t – it’s not that I haven’t thought about –”

“My succulent body meat?” Wade suggests.

“Shut the fuck up.” He sighs, exasperated. (Wade’s dick feels that way too. How much exposition can an author shove into one fanfiction before two characters actually fuck each other, Jesus Christ?) “I’ve thought about this. But you’ve got people, and you’ve already risked your life and mine to keep ‘em safe. I don’t wanna mess that up again.”

“A noble thought,” Wade concedes. “However, if anything does threaten my oh-so-treasured loved ones, you know I’ll be right there to kick that threat’s ass, right? And that being so horny for you twenty-four/seven is severely impacting my quality of life? The vet’s saying he might have to put me down.”

The tiniest smile tugs at the corner of Logan’s mouth. He ducks his head as he does, something shy and young about it. Something hot blooms in the bottom of Wade’s stomach, and for once, it’s not the ache of sex and need. It’s the major fucking crush he has on this man. Although, at this point, he is also so hard it hurts.

Logan’s eyes flit down again, noticing that particular fact when it jumps against his thigh.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Wade.”

“Not Jesus Christ, my friend. Marvel Jesus.”

“Yeah, no one ever said that but you.”

Logan leans in and kisses him like he’s wanted to do it just as long as Wade has.

[mynameismckenziemae]

Unbroken

Part 1

(next part here)

Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x You

Summary: You (Jake’s younger sister, Emma) were gutted by the way your first (and only) relationship ended, you’re not looking for anything but some fun. Bradley Bradshaw shows up for your older brother’s wedding and is eager to scratch your itch, but refuses to let it be a one-time thing. Will you let him mend the heart he didn’t break?

*Should be able to read alone but helps to read Jake and Charlie’s story, ‘In Case You Didn’t Know’ first.

Warnings: 18+. MDNI! This chapter contains adult language and situations, future chapters will have smut. There’s probable veterinary inaccuracies-I work in people healthcare, not animal healthcare 🥴TW: unwanted/nonconsensual touching/advances. Please message me if you have questions.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Thanks for letting me get ready here, I was afraid I wouldn’t have time to shower and get ready after that last call. Does this look okay?” You ask as you check your reflection in the mirror.

“No problem,” your oldest friend and soon-to-be sister-in-law, Charlie answers as she comes into the guest bedroom. “Emma Lou, you look gorgeous. That dress new?”

Charlie and Jake had invited you over for dinner to meet the other half of their wedding party, Bradley Bradshaw.

“Kind of? I got it at the beginning of last summer, just haven’t worn it yet. It’s too short for church and can’t really wear a dress when I’m wrangling farm animals,” you laugh.

“Well, you could if you really wanted too. I’m sure the farmers wouldn’t mind,” she teases.

“Ew,” you shudder, thinking about one client in particular you work with. “No thanks.

“Anderson still being gross?” Charlie asks, reading your mind.

“Uh-huh. Speaking of, I have to go out there tomorrow, he thinks one of his cows is pregnant,” you sigh, following her to the kitchen.

“Can’t Gav or Noah go instead?” She asks, washing her hands at the sink.

“I’m sure either would in a second,” you reply, wetting your hands too. “They’ve been nothing but great since I joined the practice, but I haven’t told them how he acts towards me. They’d fire him in an instant if they found out. It’s dumb, but I feel like he wins if he knows it bothers me. Plus he brings a lot of money into the practice. Ky comes with me too.”

Charlie frowns but then nods. “Okay, but be careful. He’s a dead man if he ever lays a hand on you,” she warns.

You don’t tell her that he already has.

“So this Bradshaw guy…Is he as hot in person as he is on Insta?” You ask, changing the subject.

“Nope,” she laughs, drying her hands. “Even hotter.”

“Off to a good start. Straight? Single?”

“Yes and yes. He told Jake he was going to ask me out but I think it was just to push Jake into telling me how he felt,” Charlie replies.

“Should’ve done that 10 years ago,” you mutter, smiling when she rolls her eyes.

“Bradley’s a sweetheart. I think you’d make a cute couple.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “I’m just looking to get laid. My vibe isn’t cutting it anymore.”

“What’s not cutting it anymore?” Jake asks as he walks into the kitchen behind the two of you.

“My vibrator. I was telling Charlie I need to get laid,” you answer, forgetting Jake was picking Bradley up from his hotel on the way home.

Jake coughs awkwardly, “Bradshaw, this is my sister, Emma.”

You cringe, laughing as you turn around, refusing to be embarrassed.

Damn. Charlie wasn’t lying; he is hotter in person. Dressed in tight jeans with a Hawaiian shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his dog tags, and a white tank clinging to his defined chest.

“Couldn’t have led with that, Jake?” You glare at your older brother before turning to Bradley with a smile. “Nice to meet you.”

“You can call me Bradley, or Rooster if you want. Nice to meet you too,” he chuckles, cheeks flushed and his deep brown eyes twinkle with amusement as he takes your outstretched hand, making it look small. Your eyes flicker to his dog tags, wishing you could reach out and grab them to pull him in for a kiss.

“Who wants a beer?” Charlie asks, breaking the spell.

“Me, please, and thank you,” you answer as you reluctantly pull your hand away, wondering how his callouses would feel on other parts of your body.

“I’ll take one too, thanks,” he answers as his eyes do a perusal of you.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“So you’re a vet?” Bradley asks as you finish your singer around Jake and Charlie’s kitchen table.

“Yep. Large animals mostly, but I’ll cover the clinic if needed,” you reply.

“Emma was always the smart one,” Jake says, nudging you with his elbow.

“And the pretty one, and the sweet one, and the strong one…” you tease.

“Strong one is true,” Charlie agrees, squealing as Jake pinches her.

“I’ll never hear the end of it ‘cause Em beat me in arm wrestling once or twice,” Jake rolls his eyes.

“Once or twice?! I was 14 the last time you beat me,” you scoff as Charlie laughs in the background.

“Sounds like there needs to be a rematch,” Bradley says, sipping his beer.

“I’m in,” you shrug, looking at Jake.

“Fine.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Everyone helps clear the table and load the dishwasher. It’s refreshing to see a man besides your dad and Jake help; you and Jake were raised without household gender roles but most of the men you know weren’t.

“Alright, on 3. Jake,” Charlie looks at him as she holds your intertwined hands. “No cheating.”

You laugh at the look he gives her.

“1, 2, 3!” Charlie says and releases your hands.

Jake’s stronger than you remember, but still not as strong as you. You let him push your arm a little, biting your lip to not laugh at the look of surprise that flashes over his face before you take a deep breath and push his arm down.

“Oh come on, you totally dropped your shoulder!” Jake argues.

“She did not, you’re just a sore loser,” Charlie laughs, kissing his cheek.”

“Gym muscle just doesn’t compare to farm muscle,” you grin, flexing your bicep.

“Guess not,” Bradley smiles.

Your phone rings and you frown when you see that it’s your tech, Ky.

“It’s work. Sorry, I gotta take this,” you excuse yourself to the front porch.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Everything okay?” Jake asks when you come back inside.

“Yeah,” you nod. “It was my tech. His kid is sick so he won’t be with me tomorrow.”

“So you have to go to Anderson’s alone?” Charlie asks, remembering your conversation from earlier.

“Yep,” you sigh, flopping down on the couch.

“As in Jim Anderson? The pervy old fuck?” Jake asks, sitting forward on the couch.

“That’s the one. He thinks one of his heifers is pregnant and I’ve got to go take a look at her before the weekend.”

“Shit,” Jake sighs, thinking. “I’d go with you but we meet with the pastor tomorrow morning. I’ll call him and see if we can-“

“No. You’re getting married in a few days. I can handle it,” you assure him.

“I know you can,” Jake agrees, “But it’d make me feel better if you weren’t alone.

“I can go with you,” Bradley offers. “I was just going to hang out at the hotel while these guys were busy.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you shake your head. “It’s smelly and gross.”

“I don’t mind,” Bradley shrugs.

“He can use some of my old clothes and work boots,” Jake adds. “I know you can hold your own, Em, but I really don’t like that guy.”

Knowing Jake won’t drop it, you sigh and look at Bradley. “You really don’t mind?”

“Not at all. I think it’d be cool,” he smiles so genuinely that you can’t help but believe him.

“Okay. I’ll pick you up at 8.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley’s waiting outside the lobby holding two coffees when you pull up the next morning in your work truck. He looks good enough to eat, even if he is wearing your brother’s Wranglers and a Longhorn tee; your Alma mater.

“Two creams, no sugar,” Bradley says, handing a travel cup over. “I texted Jake how you take it,” he answers before you can ask.

You take a sip. “Oh it’s perfect, thank you. I was gonna treat you since you’re helping me out.”

“You’re saving me from a morning of scrolling on my phone, it’s the least I could do,” he replies. He’s practically vibrating in his seat as you pull out of the driveway.

“Excited?”

“Yeah,” he replies with a grin. “I’ve never been up close to a cow before”

You laugh. “Really?”

“Really. I grew up in the city.”

He tells you about it on the way; his dad died before he really knew him and much like Charlie, he was raised by a single mom that he lost to cancer too young.

“You don’t have any family left,” You realize softly.

“Mav’s like an uncle, plus Jake and the rest of the squad.”

“Jake’s not the best at expressing it, but he considers you a brother.”

“You’re telling me the guy who was in love with his best friend for 15 years but didn’t tell her isn’t good at expressing his feelings?” Bradley jokes.

“Crazy, right?” You laugh. “I hear you were gonna ask Charlie out.”

“I just told him that so he’d finally make a move. Yet he always says I’m snug on my perch.” Bradley sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah…what is the story with your callsign?” You ask.

“My dad’s callsign was Goose, so it’s a nod to him. I’m also a morning person.”

“That’s it?” You ask as you turn into the driveway.

“…why?” He asks, avoiding your question and your eyes.

“I was just wondering if it means you have a big cock,” you answer as you grab your bag and hop out of the truck, eyes flicking to his groin before meeting his with a cheeky grin.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

Bradley catches up to you a minute later.

“Good. He’s not outside,” you observe out loud as you round the corner of the barn. “I’m assuming she’s the one in the holding chute. Maybe we’ll get lucky and be gone before he realizes I was here.”

“That bad, huh?”

Your blood boils as recall you the times he’s touched your ass, brushed your breasts, and the inappropriate comments he’s made.

“Yeah, that bad,” you reply, starting your exam.

You finish quickly, laughing when Bradley turns green as you palpate inside her.

“Jesus! Your whole fucking arm’s inside her!” He gulps, turning away and patting her side.

“We got a fetus,” you say pulling your arm free, and removing the lubricated sleeve from your arm. “I just need to give the mama-to-be some vaccines and we’re done.”

“You know, she’s actually kind of cute,” Bradley says, crouching on the other side of the chute to rub her head.

“The calves are even cuter,” you reply, patting her. “I’ll be ready in a second here. Just a heads up, she may flinch.”

You hum as you draw up the meds, not hearing the footsteps behind you. You jump when a hand brushes your backside.

“Didn’t even come to the door to say hello. You avoidin’ me?” Jim breathes into your ear, reeking of chewing tobacco and old sweat.

“Hi Jim. No, I’m just in a hurry. Have a lot to do with Jake’s wedding in a few days,” you reply, stepping to the side to get out of his reach, refusing to look at him.

“You can spare 5 minutes, can’t you? I never get you to myself,” he spits before entering your space again.

“No. I’m here to see the animals, not you-hey!” You yelp when he tugs your ponytail.

That’s the final straw.

He stumbles when you jerk your elbow back, knocking the wind out of him when it nails his solar plexus.

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” you seethe, quickly administering the injections and picking up your bag.

“Oh come on, honey. I was just playin’,” he wheezes, bent over. But he reaches for you again.

“You heard her. Don’t touch her. Or anyone else for that matter,” Bradley says calmly as he walks around the chute; but you can see his hand shaking out of the corner of your eye.

Jim gulps as he looks up at Bradley before nodding. “Alright. Sorry Em.”

“I’ll send you the bill and you can find your veterinary care elsewhere,” you reply, ignoring his apology.

Jim’s face goes white when Bradley murmurs something and slaps him on the back none too lightly before following you to the truck.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“So that was unprofessional,” you sigh as you back out of the driveway. “But fuck, it felt good.”

“It’s not unprofessional to protect yourself,” he replies. “You’re quite the woman, Emma.”

Your cheeks heat under his praise. “I really appreciate you coming with me and having my back.”

“You had it handled, but no problem.”

“Can I treat you to lunch? As a thank you,” you ask as you pull into the parking lot of his hotel. Not admitting to yourself that you just want more time with him.

“You don’t have to do that, but yeah, I’d like to get lunch with you.”

“Great! I’d take ya now, but I smell like a barn,” you smile. “I’ll pick ya back up in about an hour after I shower.”

“Can’t wait,” he winks, walking to the lobby after shutting the door.

He grins when he glances back, catching you watching him walk away in those tight Wranglers.

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“Sorry I’m late. I ended up calling my coworkers to let them know what happened before Jim calls to complain.”

“No worries. How’d that go?” He asks, climbing into your personal (and much cleaner) truck.

“Good. They were furious,” you reply, continuing when he arches a brow. “But not at me, said they wish I would’ve told them earlier. Noah’s going to give him a call later. I’d love to be a fly on the wall during that conversation.”

“I’m glad they’ve got your back too.”

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

“Wait a minute, is there where Jake took Charlie on their first date?” Bradley asks when he sees the sign for the scenic outlook turn, handing you a fry from the bag of food you picked up from Ray’s-the town’s old carhop.

“Yeah, he told you about that?”

“I gave him the idea. Well…sort of,” he chuckles. “He was freaking out and didn’t know where to take her. Wanted it to be special, you know? So I asked what he would’ve done if they were in high school. I laughed when he told me he’d take girls to a car hop and find some place to park and fool around, but he said Charlie would like it.”

“She did. She would get so jealous when he’d take other girls out. It was so obvious. God, he’s an idiot,” you laugh, parking under the shade of a live oak.

You eat your lunch on the tailgate as he tells you about his dates when he was younger.

“…my mom tracked us down when I missed curfew and didn’t answer my cell, found us necking in the grocery store parking lot,” he smiles.

“I’m sure it wasn’t at the time, but that’s hilarious.”

“It was mortifying. That was the first and last date I got with Ashley Jones.”

“Thats too bad; if your mom hadn’t found you when she did, you might be married with 2.5 kids by now,” you tease, sipping your milkshake.

He laughs. “Nah, I’m happy with where I am at the moment.”

You smile, catching his insinuation when his eyes meet yours.

“How about you? You ever come out here and make out in a truck with a guy?”

“Nope. I’m Jake Seresin’s little sister, so every cop in town always had an eye on me. Fucking Jake,” you sigh dramatically. “It’s like a rite of passage around here and he ruined it for me.”

“You know, I’m a guy….and we’re sitting in a truck,” Bradley murmurs, brushing a strand of hair off your forehead.

“Yeah? You offering?” You ask, leaning in.

“I am,” he whispers before pressing his lips to yours.

•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•

A/N: I worked on this way too longgggg. I originally liked it but now I’m not sure lol. I hope everything makes sense and you all like it 🥺

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in comments/reblogs.

Tagging (please let me know if you want to be added/removed!):

@mamachasesmayhem

@its-the-pilot

@dizzybee03

@sweetwhispersofchaos

@shanimallina87

@blindedbythelightt

@getmyprettynameoutofyourmouth

@lexixstewart

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[buzzcutlip]

Cracks and Gaps - The Waterfall (part II) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Mature (Explicit in the following parts) 6573 words

You meet Carmen in Copenhagen through a mutual friend and bond over shared experiences. After following his rising career from afar, you reconnect in Chicago when he renovates his late brother’s restaurant. As an editor, you can’t miss an opportunity to find out more about the comeback of this chef prodigy. part I The Worst Day

A/N: The angst continues and morphs. This part is full of fashion, understanding and soft words. Thank you Amy @foreveraimingtowardsthesky and E @butchcarmy for giving me the confidence to write and to publish this :) (Also reader is reffered to as someone who blushes, in case you would like to know this ahead of deciding to read the story)

THE WATERFALL

You want so badly to forget the fight, but instead, you keep replaying it in your head over and over, until it feels like a movie you saw on TV or in a cinema. Like it wasn't really you Carmen was shouting at. You try to comfort yourself by imagining what you should have done in that moment—anything but nothing, like you actually did. But at least you stood up for yourself. That’s somehow comforting.

The way forward is to go—to leave. To remove yourself from the situation and find a new environment that has nothing to do with what happened. For the weekend, you take a long-postponed trip to Seattle. People envy you for traveling to fancy places for work, but to you, it’s just that—work. This time, though, you’re unusually eager to get on the plane to another state. Nothing in Washington is going to remind you of Carmen Berzatto, you hope. The plan is to try a luxury wellness retreat for women in tech and business at Salish Lodge by Snoqualmie Falls. You’re not in tech or business, but the place paid the magazine to review the program, so you couldn’t really say no. There’s a "pillow menu for the best night’s rest" and a "Canna-bliss CBD natural ritual" option, so you’re not complaining. To escape the busy networking event on Saturday, you sneak out and walk to the top of the falls, take a deep inhale—just as you practiced during that morning's yoga class—and shout into the void, letting the roar of the water swallow it all. 

There’s so much pent-up energy in you that you start to worry you’re scaring all the Zen businesswomen around you. During a workshop, you realize that most of them are your age, or even younger. They have careers, partners, and some even have kids. It sucks, being reminded of what society expects from you when you’re thirty.

When you get back on Tuesday, the office clerk tells you that someone was looking for you on Monday. Not thinking much of it, you sit down at your desk to start working on your piece about the trip. It’s scorching outside—concrete city in July is unforgiving—and you’re grateful for the office's functioning AC.

The next time you check the clock, it’s already noon. You stand up to stretch and grab the empty mug on your desk. It was a silly gift from your parents when you first got this job—white with a black handle and a funny picture of a green pickle with a face that says "It’s kinda a big dill." As foolish as it sounds, drinking coffee from this mug always makes you smile.

As soon as you step out of your office, Dasha, the desk clerk, waves you over. Even sitting, she’s tall, her head and upper body towering proudly over the counter. She always wears amazing glasses.

“I love your glasses,” you say, complimenting her tortoiseshell frames.

“Thanks,” Dasha smiles. “You have a visitor. I was just about to call your desk.”

The blood in your veins seems to stop. You turn your head toward the guest sofa by the elevators. There’s no doubt who the visitor is.

“He said his name was Caramel—Carmel? Sorry!” Dasha fumbles with the name, blushing and nervously fiddling with her pen. “I should’ve written it down!”

Of course, it’s Carmen.

“You’re fine,” you assure her with a quick smile. Taking a very, very deep breath, you ask sweetly, “Could you send Caramel to meeting room three?”

‘I’m so Zen,’ you tell yourself as you walk to the kitchen, giving Dasha and Carmen a few minutes. If you’re going to meet him, it’s going to be on your terms, you decide standing by the fridge. Or, hiding by the fridge?

Wearing a summery yet elegant dress, heeled clogs, and your hair up, you look nothing like you ever did at The Bear. You’re pleased to discover, just before opening the door to meeting room three, that the tight feeling in your stomach isn’t just nerves—it’s also a bit of excitement and confidence.

The frosted glass door closes behind you, and you watch as Carmen’s eyes land on you. He’s already seated in one of the uncomfortable white plastic chairs, and now he’s looking at you. His gaze drops to your legs, where the frilled hem of your dress stops just above your knees, then to the mug you’re still holding, though it’s empty.

“Hey,” he greets you, shifting as if he might stand up. You sit across from him, setting the mug on the table.

“Hi,” you reply, curious about what he’s going to say. You’re fairly sure he’s here to apologize, probably sent by Natalie and Sydney—maybe even Richie—to make things right. You had texted Natalie to say you needed to focus on your "real" job as an excuse to avoid going back to the restaurant. Now, you wish you had told her the truth.

“I brought you something,” Carmen says, awkwardly pulling out a paper bag. “Thought you might be hungry.” He hesitates, then adds, “It’s smoked mozzarella mezzelune.” When you don’t make a move to take it, he places the bag back in his lap.

Leaning back in your chair, you fight the urge to cross your arms. You probably feel as out of place as he does right now—but you’re not about to let him see that.

“We didn’t have to meet here,” he says, glancing nervously around the room. “I just wanted to bring the food.”

You blink a few times, wanting to make him even more uncomfortable. “You could’ve left it at reception,” you say calmly.

Carmen rubs a hand over his face and purses his lips. “About before—the recipe. It was all bullshit.”

You grimace. That doesn’t sound like an apology. You're starting to lose faith that Carmen is even capable of one. Disappointed and at a loss for words, you scoff, and Carmen’s eyes dart back to yours. He looks almost offended, which really pisses you off.

“Bullshit,” you repeat, your voice steady. “I’m not interested in this, Carmen,” you say, meeting his gaze without wavering. “Go to hell with your food.”

He looks down, fidgeting with the paper bag. “I’m terrible at this.”

“Terrible at what? Apologizing? Well, it’s past time you learned.”

The urge to shout at him is strong. You want him to feel as humiliated as you did. But you won’t. He spent his whole life in an environment where people yelled for different reasons—or no reason at all. That’s not your style.

Not expecting anything else from him, you push your chair back, the screeching noise cutting through the tense moment, sending a shiver down your spine.

When Carmen suddenly stands as well, his chair scraping even louder, your heart jumps. You gasp, nearly sick from the fright.

“I—I also came to tell you that I’ll do it,” he stammers. “I’ll do the interview.”

You study him for a moment. Is he serious?

“This isn’t what I want, Carmen,” you say, shaking your head and rubbing your wrist. “Why now?”

“I talked to Syd and the crew. It’s the right thing to do. Right for the restaurant.”

He’s sincere, as far as you can tell. His eyes look huge, and that tortured artist look is back. A martyr. How much does he enjoy playing that role?

“Please, don’t ruin my Zen,” you say quietly, not wanting to return to how you felt a few days ago.

“I’m not interested anymore,” you add, praying Rob won’t find out and fire you. “Dasha will see you out. Or you can take the elevator.” The condescension in your voice is clear, but you’re not sure if Carmen even notices.

—

For the next two days, you decide to work from home and mope. Calling Becky isn’t an option because she would probably go talk to Natalie and tell her everything. The feelings of anger and humiliation are mixing within you, and you don’t know which one makes you more miserable.

When you get back to work, Rob calls you over to his office. Shit, you think.

You walk in with a smile and confidence—fake it till you make it. The usual clutter of papers and magazines is still there, but Rob himself seems unusually animated, almost buzzing with excitement. He waves you in, barely able to contain a grin. “Take a seat,” he says, his tone a little too eager.

You sit down cautiously, trying to gauge what's coming. Rob leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk, and you can see he’s practically bursting to share something. “So, I got a call this morning,” he starts, and you immediately feel a sense of dread creeping in. “It was from Natalie, the manager over at The Bear.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you force yourself to stay composed. You nod, prompting him to continue. “She told me that Carmen Berzatto—yes, that Carmen—wants to do the interview and a photoshoot,” Rob says.

“A—a photoshoot?” you stammer. “Is this the same Carmen Berzatto?” God, you couldn’t imagine Carmen wanting to be a center of attention like that. He would probably die right on the spot.

Rob ignores your snarky remark—as he often does—leaning even closer, his excitement palpable. “And get this—he specifically requested that you be the one to do it.”

He pauses, waiting for your reaction, clearly expecting you to share in his enthusiasm. But all you feel is a mix of shock and apprehension. “Rob, I—” you start, but he cuts you off, too caught up in the moment.

“I mean, this is huge!” he exclaims, practically bouncing in his chair. “The Bear is blowing up, and an exclusive like this could improve all the important numbers for us. And he wants you—he’s insisting on it! Do you have any idea how big this could be for your career?”

You do, of course. An exclusive interview with Carmen could put you on the map in a major way. But all you can think about is that last encounter in the meeting room, the awkwardness, the unresolved tension, and the anger laced in bitterness you thought you had finally let go of. Rob notices your hesitation and softens his tone, though his excitement is still simmering beneath the surface. “Look, I know there’s some history here,” he says, a bit more gently. “But this is a massive opportunity. And honestly, if Carmen wants you specifically, there’s something there. He’s not the type to just pick someone randomly, right?”

You shake your head and swallow hard, your mind racing. The offer is tempting, the kind of opportunity that doesn’t come around often. But it also means facing Carmen again, reopening wounds you thought were starting to heal but ignoring the issue—the healthy way, you think bitterly. But also, you would need to contact Nat and Sydney again about your place in The Bear, which you’ve been putting on hold for a long time now, in internet terms.

Rob senses your inner turmoil and leans back, giving you some space. “I’m not going to pressure you, but I really think you should consider it. We could make this the cover story. It’s that big.”

The room is silent for a moment as Rob waits for your response, his eagerness practically vibrating off him. You’re absolutely sure that if you don’t agree to this project, Rob will ask another editor, or even hire a freelancer. As much as you want to be offended a bit longer, letting it simmer inside you, you also want to do this with The Bear staff. As Natalie must know—this is all her doing, after all, you suppose—the visibility for the restaurant is going to be huge.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Then, you make your decision. “I’ll do it,” you say, your voice firmer than you expected.

Rob’s face lights up instantly. “That’s what I’m talking about!” he exclaims, practically beaming. “I knew you’d come through. This is going to be incredible, I can feel it.”

His enthusiasm reassures you, and for a brief moment, you let yourself feel excited, too.

Rob starts rattling off details, already planning how to make this the magazine’s biggest feature yet. “We’ll do a full spread—interview, photoshoot, the works. We can even tie it into some of the broader trends in the culinary world. This could be huge!”

You nod, letting his words wash over you, but part of your mind is still focused on the impending meeting with Carmen. You pretty much sent him to hell. How will you handle this?

“Let’s get the ball rolling,” Rob says, snapping you back to the present. “I’ll coordinate with Natalie to set up the interview. We’ll get the photographer involved, and I’ll make sure you have everything you need.”

“Thanks, Rob,” you say, managing a small smile, not mentioning that you will get in touch with Natalie too. “I’ll make sure it’s worth the hype.”

“I have no doubt,” Rob replies confidently. “This is going to be something special.”

As you walk out of his office, the reality of what you just agreed to starts to settle in. You’re going to see Carmen again, face to face, in a setting that’s as personal as it is professional. It’s also a chance to prove to yourself that you can handle it—and maybe even come out stronger on the other side.

The nerves are still there, but so is a newfound resolve. This is your story to tell, and you’re ready to own it.

---

Naturally, you had to tone down your emotions in Rob’s office, as he didn’t know anything about your work you had done for The Bear or the situation with the chef himself. The need to show off your professional skills, both to Rob and Carmen, won. Natalie nearly pisses herself—her words, not yours!—when you confirm the news over the phone. She shares with you that it actually was Carmen’s idea to do the interview, supported by Sydney and Richie and Tina and everyone. The shoot not so much, but he’s gonna do it too, she says, and you can hear the mischievous smile in her voice.

The photoshoot is set to happen in a studio your magazine usually uses for smaller productions, as it’s only Carmen you need to get. Rob informed you that he had sent a photographer to The Bear earlier, so the photos from the place, as well as photos of the team, are already done. You know this from Natalie and Sydney already, who thanked you probably more than a million times for “arranging this,” but in front of Rob, you play guileless.

It’s awfully quiet in the room when you enter, the swinging door swooshing quietly behind you. No wonder. The shoot had to be planned on Sunday—the only day Carmen’s not at work, which has been met with not very enthusiastic responses. There’s no music playing, which is very unusual.

The studio has high ceilings and large windows that let in natural light. It obviously used to be a factory, now rebuilt into a fancy, modern building with that historic edge. You’ve been here a couple of times before.

You spot the photographer, Elena, adjusting her equipment with the precision of someone who knows exactly what she’s doing. She smiles at you and you give each other a quick hug. With a shoot this small, there’s no one doing production, as you’re using the magazine’s regular talents. As much as you want to stall, you know that Carmen must be sitting on the make-up chair, very probably freaking out. It’s a bit unpleasant, but the fact that he’s more uncomfortable than you here makes you feel better, helps you calm your nerves down. The situation is similar to the one in the office a few weeks back, and you realize it’s more your confidence than maliciousness.

Your steps echo as you walk around the corner to the make-up and hair spot by one of the big windows. Carmen’s just getting up from the high chair, his posture screaming uneasiness.

“Hi Margot,” you say to the make-up artist with a piercing in her eyebrow. She’s younger than you, so you get why she thinks that the 00’s are so cool, since that’s probably when she was born.

Then the spotlight is on Carmen and you, and it takes you both to the moment when you approached him outside of The Bear months ago.

Carmen stares at you without blinking, probably relieved to see a familiar face, and also terrified, because it’s you. It’s crystal clear he doesn’t know what is appropriate for him to do in this setting.

Deciding quickly, you move towards him, giving him a similar hug as to Elena—quick, light, and impersonal. When you feel his palm press against your lower back fleetingly, the touch immediately makes you shiver, unfortunately not completely in a bad way, but you don’t have the time to ponder.

“I’ve just fixed his hair a bit and covered some bits here and there,” Margot explains, already cleaning her brushes. You notice immediately that Carmen’s curls are more defined and softer looking. He also appears less tired, but that’s surely due to Margo’s concealer magic.

“Thank you, Margo, that’s perfect,” you say as Carmen stands unmoving.

“Carmen just needs to moisturize more,” she adds cheekily, giving Carmen a wink over her shoulder.

You suppress a laugh. You’re absolutely sure Carmen has no idea what moisturizing or face cream means. He’s as lost here as you had been in the Bear's kitchen.

“Uhm—” Carmen makes an unsure noise, his hand reaching up to his hair, but Margo interrupts him:

“No touching!” she says hurriedly. “Not until the end of the shoot.”

You laugh for real now.

“How is it looking, guys?” Elena calls from the other side of the studio, checking on you.

“We’re fine. Carmen’s about to get changed, so you can get ready, El.”

You turn back to Carmen, who’s checking the studio with a mix of hesitance and curiosity. He’s dressed in light blue denim—unusual—and a gray jumper you’ve seen on him before.

“I’ll help,” you assure him. As the stylist is absent, you promised Rob that you would give a hand on the shoot. Besides, some selected garments are meant to be ready, plus you know they had asked Carmen to bring some of his stuff. “Follow me.”

Disappearing behind a screen that creates a changing space with clothes and steamers, you come properly face to face.

“Hey,” you say, unable to think of anything better. Your voice remains steady despite the slight flutter in your chest.

“Hey,” he replies, offering a small, almost uncertain smile. He glances around, taking in the unfamiliar setting. “This is… different.”

“Yeah,” you agree, gesturing to the setup around you. “But it’s all about making you look good.”

Carmen chuckles softly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “No pressure, right?”

You smile, unable to play the Ice Queen anymore, and for a moment, the awkwardness between you dissipates. “Let’s get started.”

Carmen glances at you, seemingly reassured by your calm demeanor, even if he’s out of his element. You walk over to the clothes neatly hung on a rack. Immediately, you spot the cool embroidered Bode jackets, simple Carhartt pieces, more tailored Ami Paris clothes. There’s Maharishi and PAM too, probably included by the stylist based on your comment that Carmen likes the workwear style, though they are a bit too colorful.

You tell Carmen a little about every brand, trying to get him out of his head and focus on something else. To give him a taste of the world of magazines, media, and fashion. Similar to what he had done for you in the restaurant—when he was in a mood to talk about his dishes, ideas about combining ingredients, and crafting new flavors.

“What about this?” you suggest, handing him a soft, tan brown Carhartt WIP suede jacket. You know that Carmy knows Carhartt because you’ve seen him in their clothes, and you also know that he’s a big denim head. This garment will also help him not to feel as exposed in front of the camera at the start.

Carmen takes the jacket, his brow furrowing slightly as if he’s analyzing every stitch. He slips it on, and you can’t help but note how well it fits him. Natalie nailed the sizes of his clothes perfectly.

You go wait for him at the spot that Elena has set up, Margo already waiting there too, in case any adjustments to the hair are needed during the shoot. When Carmen finally walks over, Elena gives him a reassuring nod as he takes his place in front of the camera, hands in the jacket’s pockets. You watch from the sidelines, a little amused but mostly impressed at how the whole scene has come together. The large windows bathe the room in soft, natural light, casting shadows that play off the industrial vibe of the studio.

Carmen is nervous—anyone can see that—but he stands tall, doing his best to follow Elena’s quiet directions. You watch the laptop screen from the corner of your eye, where all photos appear after Elena presses the shutter, frame after frame. Carmen’s unease is apparent, and for a second you wonder if this really was such a good idea after all.

After another five painful minutes, it’s clear that it’s not getting better. You share a quick look with Elena and say, “Could you put some music on, girls?” Then, turning to Carmen, you add, “I think we can change the outfit now,” you say easily.

You go back to the styling corner, Carmen following you. When you’re both hidden again, you glance at Carmen whose whole body is stiff, discomfort oozing off him.

“This is really not so bad,” you start, but Carmen shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, messing it up in a way that would drive Margo mad if she saw it.

“I’m a chef, not… this,” he says, gesturing to the setting. “I’m not supposed to be in front of cameras, doing interviews, pretending like—like I fucking know what I’m doing. This is all bullshit.”

You take a deep breath, trying to figure out how to reach him. You’ve seen him under pressure before, but this is different. This isn’t about the restaurant; this is about him feeling out of place, exposed.

“Carmen, you’re right. You’re a chef, and a damn good one,” you say, keeping your tone calm and reassuring. It’s strange to be this way for a person who you’ve only ever seen confident and sure, except for what happened in the office two weeks ago.

“But this is part of it, too,” you carry on, trying to catch Carmen’s eye. “People want to know the person behind the food. They want to see the passion, the creativity. Even the struggle. That’s what makes the Bear special—it’s you.”

He looks at you, eyes filled with doubt. “But what if… what if they see through it? What if they realize I’m just faking it?”

You step closer, close enough to reach out, but you don’t. Instead, you offer him a small, genuine smile. “Then they’ll see that you’re human, just like the rest of us. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be perfect, Carmen.”

He closes his eyes, exhaling slowly, trying to steady himself. “I don’t know if I can be that guy.”

“You don’t have to be anyone but yourself,” you reply gently. “And if you’re not feeling it, we can stop. We don’t have to do this. We could just use the pictures from the Bear.”

Carmen opens his eyes and looks at you, something shifting in his expression. It’s still a mix of fear and doubt, but there’s also a flicker of determination. “You really think I can do this?”

“Absolutely,” you confirm with deadly certainty.

The next moment, “1972” by The Smashing Pumpkins starts playing from the speakers in the studio.

Carmen surprises you by taking the initiative and choosing the clothes by himself. You turn when he starts shedding the jacket. Instead, you hang it back on the rack, needing something to do. When the rustling stops, you face the chef again. He’s wearing a pair of vintage Levi’s and a striped sailor crew neck. He looks good in the dark colors.

“Yeah?” he checks, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Yeah,” you nod, hoping it’s not obvious how much you like what you’re seeing. “Yeah.”

Gathering your courage, you reach to roll the sleeves up, exposing Carmen’s forearms, then move up to straighten the seams on his shoulders. You catch his gaze and this time, there’s a flicker of something—perhaps gratitude, or just recognition that you’re both navigating unfamiliar territory. Not just here, on the set, but also between you. You’re discovering another layer of your relationship, perhaps sensing that at this moment, you have the upper hand.

Carmen's expression softens from that tight apprehension to something more open, more trusting. “Thanks,” he says quietly, then looks down at himself, as if trying to imagine how he’ll appear in front of the camera now.

You step back slightly, giving him space, but also giving yourself a moment to collect your thoughts. The tension between you feels different than before, less about awkwardness and more like a mutual acknowledgment that neither of you has the playbook for this. And yet, you’re figuring it out together.

“Here,” you point Carmen to a big mirror in the corner, and he checks the reflection.

“I think I like it,” he says after a moment, and you give him a thumbs up, the silly gesture completely honest.

Back on set, with the music playing, the atmosphere lightens. Carmen doesn’t smile, but there’s a shift in the way he carries himself. He seems more settled in his skin, the dark colors enhancing his quiet confidence. Elena notices the difference immediately; she barely needs to give direction this time. He’s still far from relaxed, but there’s an authenticity in the way he stands, his gaze steady.

The photos start to reflect that subtle transformation, and you feel a tremendous sense of relief as you watch them pop up on the screen. Watching him, you feel an odd sense of pride. This isn’t just about Carmen being in front of the camera; it’s about him facing something that makes him uncomfortable and pushing through it, allowing himself to be vulnerable in this position. If you’re completely honest, you’re surprised that he’s willing to go through with this.

Elena seems pleased, giving Carmen a reassuring nod after every few clicks of the camera. When she finally steps back and lowers her lens, you see Carmen visibly exhale, tension easing from his frame.

“That was good,” Elena praises, glancing at the screen. “We’ve got some solid shots here.”

Carmen looks over, seemingly a little surprised, like he wasn’t quite sure it had gone as well as she said. “See?” you say, nudging him gently. “You nailed it.”

Carmen gives you a small, genuine smile this time. “Maybe,” he says, scratching the back of his head, messing up his styled hair.

After the third outfit change, Rob shows up, as planned, alongside the magazine’s publisher. As this had been arranged before the shoot, you hope it doesn’t throw Carmen off balance too much.

Luckily, Carmen slips into his professional chef mode as Rob greets him, calling him “Chef,” and thanking him sincerely for the opportunity. Rob shoots you a happy grin over Carmen’s shoulder. 

The final outfit is dark gray tailored wool pants and a simple white tee, similar to what you know as Carmen’s daily uniform—probably why he chose it. You suggest adding a nice leather belt with a silver clasp to complete the look. Elena positions Carmen on a high stool this time, changing angles and perspectives.

For the first time today, Carmen looks truly at ease, despite the additional onlookers. You know Rob is looking for the perfect shot for next month’s cover.

Elena captures a few more shots before lowering her camera. “That’s it! We’re done,” she announces, a smile of satisfaction on her face. “Carmen, you did amazing.”

Carmen slides off the stool, his shoulders visibly relaxing as the weight of the shoot lifts. He looks over at you, a small, almost sheepish grin playing at his lips. “That wasn’t as bad as I thought.”

You laugh softly, walking over to him. “Told you. You nailed it.”

Rob joins you and Carmen. “Chef, you were great today,” he says, clapping Carmen on the shoulder. “Can’t wait to see the final shots.”

Carmen nods, clearly more comfortable now that the shoot is over. “Thanks, Rob. I appreciate it.”

Rob turns to you with a grin. “You too. Thanks for making this happen.”

You nod, feeling a bit of pride at how smoothly things turned out. You’re careful not to jinx it—after all, the interview is still looming in the second half of the day, after you’ve had something to eat.

For the interview, you and Carmen sit down in a corner of the studio that’s been set up to look more intimate—two chairs facing each other with a small table in between. Your notebook rests on your lap. Elena is supposed to take a few shots of the formal interview, and now it’s your turn to be nervous. Very nervous.

You did an extensive amount of research and preparation for the article, keeping in mind your personal history with Carmen. He’s not just another personality you’re interviewing. He’s a guy you once knew. A chef at whose restaurant you had worked, or volunteered. These facts leave you feeling like you’re balancing on a thin rope, and you’ve spent a lot of time thinking about how to approach the interview. In the end, you decide to let Carmen set the tone. He could keep it personal or strictly professional.

“How did you enjoy the shoot?” you ask with a mischievous smile, starting off lightly. You don’t need to check your notes for that.

Carmen smiles, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “It was a new, interesting experience. I’m afraid I wasn’t very good, but I hope you’ll be able to find a couple of decent images.”

“And one excellent for the cover,” you add, careful not to interrupt him.

Out of habit and nervousness, you adjust the recorder on the table between you, making sure it’s on. Then you glance at your notes.

“When we met in Copenhagen ten years ago, you were staging at Noma. How do you look back on those times—when you were at the beginning of your journey but already experiencing the kitchens of the world’s best restaurants?”

It takes a moment before Carmen responds. “I was very young and very lucky. I took every opportunity that came my way, worked hard—harder than most—to learn and grow, and hopefully to stand out.” Carmen’s words are measured, careful. “Noma was my first experience outside the US, and it was intimidating. But also—it’s an incredibly peaceful and inspiring place. I loved every moment there. It also helped that I knew someone familiar in Copenhagen. That definitely made me feel less alone.”

You catch yourself staring, a warm feeling spreading through your chest—liquid heat filling every corner. You imagine this is what drinking Felix Felicis must feel like. You smile, and Carmen returns it with a quick smile of his own.

Clearing your throat, you prepare for the real questions, the ones that have to live up to everyone’s expectations—Rob’s, Carmen’s, and mostly your own. As the interview progresses, you feel a shift in the atmosphere. The initial tension has faded, replaced by a sense of collaboration. You’re both here for the same reason: to tell a story that matters.

You ask Carmen about his journey in the culinary world, the chefs he’s worked with, and the chefs he looks up to. You discuss diligence, innovation, and respect. You briefly touch on the topic of Michael and Carmen’s family, letting him decide how much he wants to share.

“You can be more or less fortunate with the starting position you get in life. That’s out of your hands. But the rest is in your hands. There’s no point in thinking about how others might have it easier—it will only paralyze you, trust me. You have to focus on what you can do, what you can change. Take the little you have and turn it into everything you have. Be proud of it. Stand up for yourself. Value yourself, but also others.”

His words are thoughtful, and you can tell he’s reflecting deeply.

There’s a pause, and you realize he’s waiting for your next question. You nod, acknowledging the weight of his words. Carmen answered everything with a mix of humility and passion, offering you—and the audience—glimpses of the person behind the chef: the struggles, the doubts, the relentless drive to succeed.

You glance at your notes, then back at him.

“That’s it. Thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to share a glimpse of your life and The Bear’s story with Taste readers,” you say, finishing with a cheeky smirk, hoping Carmen knows you’re sincere.

Carmen chuckles at your tone. “Thank you for having me,” he replies, smiling with that familiar mix of modesty and quiet strength. “It was a pleasure to talk. Hopefully, your readers won’t be too bored.”

You laugh lightly, shaking your head. “I doubt that. If anything, they’ll be more intrigued than ever. You’ve got a story people want to hear—and not just about the food.”

He raises an eyebrow, studying you. "Well, that’s good to hear."

You stand up and reach out to shake his hand, a gesture of thanks and closure. He takes it, his grip firm but gentle. Then Rob approaches with more handshakes and thanks, joined by Mrs. Sullivan—the publisher. You quietly slip away, not wanting to disturb their networking, and head over to thank Elena and Margot, who have already packed up their gear while you were interviewing Carmen.

“You guys are cute together,” Margot teases, winking at you. “I didn’t know you actually knew him knew him.”

You absolutely do blush, and Elena adds, “Totally,” giving you a sly grin. “He IS cute.”

“You should see him in the kitchen,” you grumble, shoving your notebook into your tote bag to hide your flushed face.

Suddenly, Carmen appears next to you, having parted ways with Rob and Mrs. Sullivan, who likely have better things to do on a Sunday. “You did good,” he says quietly, almost as an afterthought, as if offering reassurance you didn’t know you needed.

Your chest warms again with that liquid heat, a mix of pride and gratitude blooming. You offer him one last, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Carmen,” you reply softly.

“Actually,” he begins, looking nervous again, hands on his hips, “I—I wanted to talk to you. If you have time now?”

He glances back at Rob, but the man is nowhere to be seen, already gone. Carmen nods, seeming relieved.

“Lead the way.”

—

The weather’s been sweltering lately, the sun heating up the city’s concrete walls, asphalt roads, and stone pavements until it feels like being in a big kiln. Luckily, the coffee shop has air conditioning, which both Carmen and you welcome. They are offering unusual caffeine drinks—most of them including something fruity and milky. Carmen orders a Coke with ice without checking the menu, and you go for an iced blueberry matcha latte.  

“Thank you for—” Carmen says when he’s seated properly, across from you once again.  

“Really, that’s enough of the thanks,” you wave him off, but Carmen talks over you, “For respecting that I wanna keep some things private. During the interview.”  

“Ah,” you nod slowly. “You know, normally I would send all the questions for authorization first,” you tell him truthfully, stirring your drink with the thin paper straw, mixing the green matcha with the milk froth and the purple syrup. “I wanted to be a bit nasty.”  

It’s Carmen’s turn to slowly nod, once. “I see,” he says. “I’m not surprised, honestly.”  

You fiddle with the collar of your cotton blouse nervously.  

“I appreciate that you had my back today,” Carmen continues. “It means a lot to me, you know?”

Not used to hearing kind words from Carmen, you find it hard to look at him directly, so you keep staring into your drink instead. “I think I do.”

As if sensing your hesitation, Carmen gives you a second before he asks:

“So, you have a thing for clothes, huh? Fashion, I mean.”

“As you do,” you shoot back playfully but honestly.

“I guess I enjoy the aesthetic aspect of it… I really liked some of the clothes today. It was nice to try something new. I’m not very good at new things,” he muses. “I liked the dress you wore in your office the other day. You looked—different,” Carmen adds uncertainly, playing with the napkin under the sweaty glass.

“I don’t wear dresses very often,” you stammer out, trying to hide the flush creeping up your neck. “And in the restaurant, I wanted to be in something that can get dirty. So… not too fancy clothes.”

Carmen notices how caught off guard you are right now.

“I wanted to bring up the topic of what happened at your work,” he explains slowly, hesitantly. “And what happened at The Bear before that… A lot of the aggression comes from my own frustration. And I shouldn’t take it out on other people. Like I said, there’s no excuse for it.”

You squirm in your seat, nervous to talk about the topic out loud for the first time. “It’s hard, Carm. First, you pretend you don’t know me. Then you barely talk to me. Then I feel like we’re actually starting to get along well, but you accuse me of this huge nonsense. All the while, I’m only trying to help you.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I don’t know how to respond to kindness.”

Your eyes fill up with tears, and you have to blink a couple of times to chase them away. You take a deep breath, your chest expanding with it. Carmen’s sitting still on the stool, looking like a schoolboy who had misbehaved during recess.

“Be kind to kind,” you say simply, spreading your hands, your eyebrows raising.

Carmen chuckles, sounding very self-deprecating, scratching his nose. “I’m working on it.”

He might think you’ll let it slide. You won’t. “Promise,” you press, urgent. “Promise me.”

His eyes meet yours, and he says it. “I promise.” Then once more, in a stronger voice: “I promise. And I’m sorry.” And your heart breaks for him because you know he’s never known much kindness.

“Deal.” To keep your hands occupied, you take out your chewing gum, wrapping it in an empty sugar packet. Then you raise your iced latte in a mock toast, taking a first sip of the drink.

“Just... be careful with the 'nasty' part,” Carmen says with a slight grin, breaking the tension. “I don’t think either of us needs more of that.”  

You chuckle. “Fair enough. I’ll try to keep the nastiness in check.”  

Carmen smirks, shaking his head as he relaxes back into his chair. “I appreciate that.”

[sheloveshp]

Heart Vessels - Harry James Potter x fem!reader

summary: where harry and you spent a night at his dorm as a couple. Both of you are very vocal about your feelings and share what’s in your hearts, connecting you two.

masterlist

One could say that there has never been a time in your life where you were not happy when Harry, your beloved boyfriend, was with you.

That’s not exactly true though. Your hearts became intertwined the moment you both confessed your undying love to eachother when you were just 15. Therefore whenever Harry felt sad, you were sadder. When he was mad, you became the maddest witch in Hogwarts, ready to burn down your entire school to find out what made him upset.

When he was happy, you were the happiest. Smiling from ear to ear when seeing the boy who lived, live.

Today was one of those days. Harry had been at breakfast almost radiating positive energy and happiness off of him. Everyone could tell, even you when you came into the great hall for dinner.

As soon as you stepped in a hexed note came flying your way. The way the paper was folded, gave away who the sender was.

You looked across the hall to find your boyfriend already staring at you. Harry waved at you and gestured you to open the note. He already has an empty seat next to him, waiting for you to join.

“My dorm, after dinner!” read the note and you laughed to yourself at his goofiness. You took the paper into your robe and walked to your seat…next to harry.

“Hi, Baby! How are you?” Harry got out of his seat to greet you while hitting his knee getting up. You kissed his flushed cheeks and reciprocate the hug. “Harry, my love you know I will always sit next you.” refering to the little note he sent you eagerly. You loved Harry so much and his little gestures he did to show you his eager love for you and only you.

“I know, I was just so excited because we finally get to spend the Holidays together.” Harry stretched out his hand for you to sit on the bench. He followed right after you and you kissed his cheek again for his cuteness.

After many years at Hogwarts, Harry finally got the Dursley’s to agree to let him stay at school for the winter holidays.

Holidays were usually awful for both of you because of the forced lack of communication since the Dursley’s barely allowed Harry to receive letters.

When he told you he’d be staying for the holidays you were over the moon and couldn’t wait to finally spent time with the love of your life.

Weirdly enough this years Hogwarts Express would be leaving the train station for London at night, so the students will be home for Christmas eve.

Both you and Harry finished your food while sharing stories, food and touches here and there.

After 2 years of being with him your love has never faded. Still with every feel of Harrys presence your hurts jumps.

Finally, both of you left the great hall and went towards the boys dormitories before Harry stopped you.

“Love, you forgot this.” He pulled out the invisible cloak and put it over your head before stealing a peck. “can’t have anyone disturb our time together.”

With a skip in his step both of you finally arrived at his dorm. Thankfully, Ron had already left therefore, you had two whole weeks of sleepovers in front of you with your favorite boy.

“Have I ever told you how much I love your dorm Harry.” you take in the beautiful scenery of the snow falling softly outside his window. The scent of Oranges and Cloves filling the air. Reminds you of the amortitia potion you brewed in class a few years earlier.

“Maybe just every time you come here when Ron isn’t here.” He chuckles putting his hands on your waist and like muscle memory you immediately put your hands around his neck and laugh softly. Your faces merely inches away from you.

The whole air was full with love. No sexual Tension, no. Purely the great love between Harry Potter and Y/n L/n that could crush mountains.

“Well, it can’t be said enough my Love.” You close the distance between you and carefully kiss his soft lips. Harry hugged you even closer and kissed you back.

This was a kiss full of admiration and softness reserved only for eachother. After a while both of you pull aways and stare into eachothers eyes. Out of Shyness both of you started laughing softly while catching your breath. Once the laughter quiet down you speak out.

“I’ll grab the my PJs out of that sleep over bag I have laying around here somewhere and we’ll continue this in bed. I am so tired, baby.” You huff putting your hands on his shoulders as you put your head in the crook of his neck and leave a soft peck there.

“Alright, my love.” Harry says pushing you towards the bathroom to finally have you in his arms for more than five minutes.

10 minutes later you walked out of the bathroom finding your Harry on his bed.

As mentioned before, Harrys love language is acts of service. That’s why you already found a bottle of cold water on the bedside table for you. Not to cold as it is winter and Harry doesn’t like it when your sick. Not because he won’t take care of you but because you, yourself hate being sick.

Also a cup of tea, that isn’t too hot for since harry doesn’t want you to burn your tongue. Since he made you hot tea once while you were pinning at eachother, causing you to burn your tongue he has never once been not cautious when handing you, your tea.

“Finally, Baby I’ve been sitting here for ages.” Harry light up like a puppy once he saw you getting nearer to the bed.

“Darling, i was gone for 10 minutes.” You said as Harry put the covers on you, that he had already put aside for you earlier.

“I know and that’s 10 excruciating minutes too long.” Harry said almost whining as he snuggled you under the blankets.

“Do you really love me that much?” You said snuggling into his side and leaving pecks on his cheek after every word.

You already knew the answer to this question. Harry loved you and would kill and die for you with no afterthought. You know this because you would do the same. Nevertheless, you couldn’t get enough of him saying it.

“Baby, are you crazy?” Harrys blue eyes piercing through yours. “Everytime you leave me I feel this sting in my heart. As if the vessels in my heart are sticking to yours and every time you move a way one of those vessels just rips apart.” He finished

speaking as he starts to plant soft kisses all over your face. Honestly you were never that shy or speechless with Harry but this time he really did it.

You gathered your thoughts before you spoke. Before you softly cupped his cheeks to make him look into your eyes again.

“Harry. You’re the only person that understand me. I feel the same heart aching sting whenever I do not see your beautiful smile and sky blue eyes next to me. And with every “I love you” you say when we reunite I feel those vessels in our heart reconnect.”

Harry was honestly also at a loss for words now. He has so much love for you that’s it’s almost overwhelming because he doesn’t know where to start. If he were to pour out his heart that is full of you, it could never be emptied.

The rest of the night the room was filled with shared m “I love you”s and kisses all over eachother.

“I love you.” Harry said with warm and red cheeks.

“I love you.” You tell him both of you feel another vessel reunited with the others heart.

inspired by this great request! thank you so much anon for supporting me and sending that request. harry fluff is one of the best things that happened to this app and i don’t understand why ther is not more of it. :(

[tojisbbygworl]

Just For The Night - Hobie Brown x Black!Punk!Reader pt. 2

Summary: Two anarchists meet at a concert and decide that one night just isn't enough...but one night is all they have

Words: 5,697

Tags: 18+, 3rd person, Mutual Pining, SMUT, Oral (f receiving), Degradation, Marijuana, High Sex, Pussy Whipped, Slight Accent Kink, Slight Angst, Yandere if you squint, Reader and Hobie are 21+, Canon Divergence (Doesn't follow ATSV events/Hobie's universe is present day instead of 1978), Mentions of protesting and Cop City in Atlanta, I tried my best with the British slang

author's note: Here's part 2! This one is muuuchhh longer so you can really skip the part before the page break if you're just here for the smut. It's mostly just her (your) backstory.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

"Shit, it's brick out here."

"You're telling me." The difference in temperature from the sweltering venue to the city almost made Hobie want to go back inside and fuck her in the bathroom instead. But Y/N did say that she had a blunt at home and she seemed very eager to smoke it. Or fuck him. Either one was good.

He took a moment to admire her. He was right about her Demonias. They were long with lot's of large buckles and he loved that he still towered over her even though they were platforms. Now that they were out of the dark building, he could see the various tattoos that littered her arm and thigh. Fuck him, he was going to have fun with her.

She told him that she didn’t live far and they could walk there. That was fine with him, he didn’t want to get on a cramped train anyway. He did wish that he could just swing them there, but then he wouldn’t see the way her ass moves while she walks.

He would be lying if he said she didn’t intrigue him. From his knowledge, Atlanta, Georgia was considered the Deep South of America. It had to have been hundreds of miles away. And this area doesn’t seem like a place someone who was swimming in money would be living in. Not that it was terrible, more so humble. Like where he lived.

“So, tell me,” he calls out to her. She was walking a little ways ahead of him, courtesy of Hobie wanting to ogle her. She turned around when he spoke. “How does an Atlanta babe find herself at a Rico Nasty concert in Brooklyn?”

She waits for him to catch up to her then starts walking by his side. “Huh, it’s a…long story.”

“I don’t mind.” He answers honestly. Since they’ve left the concert, Hobie has felt a strange pull towards her that exceeded his feeling of lust. He wondered if she felt the same.

She went quiet and opted to look thoughtfully towards the ground. Hobie began to backtrack. “Or, I could shut up and let you sit on my face instead. Whichever one you want.”

She squealed and hit his chest making him laugh. It wasn’t really a joke, but Hobie’s glad to see that he didn’t make her uncomfortable. “Nah, your good,” she reassured him. “I can do both.”

“Oh?” Hobie raised his eyebrows and gave her his full undivided attention. She takes in a deep breath, let’s it out, and begins to tell him her story.

“Well, you seem like someone who can appreciate a rebel.”

“Yeah?” Hobie bemused. What would this girl be rebelling against? “So, what your like a runaway? Parents, maybe?”

She looked away. Ah, he read her like a book. Then she dropped a bomb on him. “Eh, kind of. More so the Atlanta Police Department.”

He froze. She giggled to herself pretending to not notice and turn around when she was some feet away. She knew he wasn’t expecting that. No one does. She could count on her hand how many people up here she’s told and he was one of them. She trusted him, and she doesn’t know why. She hoped he felt the same.

Hobie couldn’t take his eyes off of her. When he realized how far she was, he ran to catch up. “You're on the run from the Atlanta PD?” She couldn’t contain herself enough and she let out a snort and nodded her head. Hobie shakes his. “No. I don’t believe it. You’re having a laugh.”

“I’m deadass.” She answers still laughing. Hobie drops his head in utter disbelief.

“Well what in bloody hell did you do?” The both of you start walking again.

“...You might not know but, a couple years ago there was a huge uproar of protesting here. In the US, I mean.”

Hobie did not know. He assumes something terrible must have happened, and he’s sure that something like that would have reached London. Maybe it didn’t happen on Earth - 138.

He gingerly shook his head. “I was a part of them. I would organize with some close friends and hand out water and snacks while we were there.” She explained.

“My parents weren’t too happy about that. I had just graduated and I wasn’t going to college. I had a job at a tattoo parlor so…they thought I was a failure.” Hobie listened intently to every word she said. “They would say I just love to bring trouble and always used me going out as an example.”

“They were afraid an officer would come to the door next. And then one day shit went left and we were getting sprayed with tear gas. My stupid ass picked up a can and threw that shit. I guess it hit one of them in the face, I don’t know. I couldn’t see shit.” She giggles and he laughs with her.

“I was pinned down and put in a holding cell for about a week.” She continues.

“Shit.” Hobie knew a few people who that’s happened to. Every story shares the same thing, it’s fucking terrible.

She nods. “Yeahhhh…then my parents kicked me out.”

“Shit,” he exclaims. She continues to nod. “So is that how you got here?” She shakes her head. Hobie gasps. “There’s more?” Nod. He gasps again making her laugh at him. “Tell me.”

“Okay, Okay,” She waits to calm down a bit. “I was just staying with friends after that. Then, maybe some months ago, there was this project announced for the city.” Hobie frowns noticing how much more dejected she had become. “They were going to cut down a forest to create a ‘training ground’ for emergency services.”

“What the fuck…?” Hobie was appalled.

“You can imagine how that sounds to civilians, right? A mock city for law enforcement to play cops and fucking robbers.” She spits out. “I was part of the groups of people who stayed in the forest to prevent construction.”

Just like before, he stopped again. This time, in complete and utter admiration. She smiled at him. “That’s…amazing.”

“Thank you.” She nods her head back to the path so they can continue walking. Hobie stands just a little bit closer to her now.

“So...did shit go left again?” He asked only half joking. She grimaced.

“It was bad. There were a lot of gunshots, and screaming. And fireworks.”

“Fireworks?”

“Fireworks.”

He stared at her expectantly. “And what did you do with them?”

She looks around cutely while smiling. Hobie knows that whatever she did, she didn’t regret it for a second. “Maybe I lit up and threw it at one’s foot. And then it lit the leaves on fire.”

He can’t hold back the laugh that kept from his throat. “Ha!” He clapped his hands and looked at her. “What happened after that?”

“I think he recognized me from the protests or maybe I’m just a hot topic, because the way that man came at me and mowed me down.” Hobie jerked his head back.

“What?”

“Boy, yes. That man tried to beat me with his baton.” The story just kept getting wilder and wilder.

“How did you get out of that?”

“I stole his taser and shot it at his chest.”

“No, your taking the piss,” he shouted excitedly. “No you didn’t.”

“Hold on now because he was still holding me so I got shocked too.” Hobie cackled at her. “It worked though. He let me go and I ran away with some of the others. Only a few people stayed behind. I went back home and woke up to my face on the news the next day.”

The the emotional rollercoaster that Hobie was one was something for the books. He had never felt such quick changes in such little time. He was shocked, then sad, then impressed, then elated, then sad again. What is this girl’s life?

“Man I had to get the fuck out of there. My friend took me up to Maryland where her family lived. Then they brought me here. I got a lil’ ugly ass apartment and a new tattoo job. Made a couple friends, and now I’m here. With you.”

That last part wasn’t expected for either of them. It just came out. But it felt nice.

The two of them looked at each other and basked in their presence. She could feel the pride and admiration for her coming off of him in ways. She could see it in his eyes just as brown as hers. Good. He wanted her to.

A car pulled up from down the street. The both of them were released from their trance and looked. They recognized those kinds of headlights anywhere.

Hobie fought the urge to try and hide before the cop car got to them, as he didn’t want to scare her. There was no reason for her to run from NYPD, right?

Wrong. She grabbed his hand and slipped into the alleyway.

Hobie just let her pull him along. She clearly knows what she’s doing. After coming out on the other side of the street, she begins to keep her eyes alert. She lets go of his hand and continues walking. She just won’t stop giving him reasons to want her, huh?

“And what was that about?” He teases. She smirks at him.

“I didn’t come to New York to be a good girl.” And it was as simple as that.

She walks a few more feet then turns wondering why he’s not saying anything. But when she meets his eyes her heart start beating in anticipation. He was staring her down hard. His smirk was small and his eyelids were low. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

Hobie uses her surprise to his advantage. He walks up to her and pulls her into a tiny space between two buildings. It wasn’t much of an alley, but it did enough to shield their bodies from the street light; it only shining his wicks as he towers over her body and presses her against the wall. He nudges her chin up, winks at her, then meets her lips. Her hands rest on his shoulders as his arms trap her in. He resists putting his tongue in her mouth, as she still had her makeup on and this sweet but desperate kiss would turn sloppy.

He’s the one who has to pull away, her eyes were still closed when he did. “How much longer do I have to wait before I can have you?”

She catches her breath and tells him, “We’re only a couple minutes away, Hobie.”

Hobie leans down again and kisses her neck. She shudders and moves her hands to the back of his. Hobie gives her soft smooches, one lick, and a bite. Then, one more kiss, before he finally pulls away. He tugs her back onto the street and nods his head down the path. She starts to pick up the pace.

~

Her building wasn’t too shabby. At least the walls looked freshly painted. The inside of her apartment looked very cozy. She had rugs wherever it made sense to put them and low beam orange-yellow lights. She was walking ahead of him and turned around to speak. “Get comfortable on the couch. I’ll be right back.” Then she disappears down a hallway.

Hobie pulls off his boots and places them against the wall. Then he takes off his jacket and a few extra accessories that were a bit uncomfortable now that he had no adrenaline. He walks into her living room and plops himself onto the comfy, leather couch. Faux, he hoped.

He rests his arms and hangs his head backwards over it, eyes closed. Before Y/N disappeared down the hallway, she had flicked a little device on the wall. It must have been the heater since Hobie had just heard something blowing air in the walls. He lifts his head up and takes in his surroundings.

It was a bit small, but perfect for one woman living alone. There were unlit candles on almost every surface, and a beats pill sitting in the side of the room. His favorite sight, by far, was a fat bong sitter right on the coffee table. He chuckled to himself. She could probably live here with a significant other.

It was times like this that he wishes he was normal. He wishes he could wake up to a beautiful face, smoke something, leave home to work, dismantle corporations, or just spend time with his friends, then come back home to that same face, light some candles, and enjoy the rest of his night in her arms. He doesn’t understand why he’s thinking of her when he imagines this, but he invites it.

She comes back with a burner and a small Bic lighter. She uses the burner to light the various candles and Hobie admires her. She still had her clothes on except her shoes which he was happy about. He really wanted to see her tits in those fishnets. Her makeup was off. Her skin was glowing. Her Bantu knots were still in her head. He wondered if she would let him help her take them out, but he’s sure she just wants to fuck and get it over with.

He stops watching her to think about it for a second. When they’re done smoking and having sex Hobie would leave. Not just leave, go back to his own dimension. The thought that he couldn’t keep tabs on her, maybe follow her Instagram or even get her number hadn’t even crossed him. He didn’t like it.

His face must have seemed troubled, because she stopped and looked at him in concern. “You good?” She asks getting his attention.

“Hm? I’m fine, love.” She nods and reaches into her pocket and throws a condom onto the table, then behind her ear to take the blunt out. Then she sits next to him on the couch.

“Want some music?” She asks. Hobie nods. “I’m all punk’d out. Can I play RnB instead?”

“Please do. I feel like chilling right now.”

The pill begins to play soft drums and a bass before Erykah Badu starts singing. He liked music from Miles’s universe, regardless of the genre.

It’s like an unspoken agreement that they would be hanging out for a while. She lights it up, takes a couple puffs, then hands it over to him. He does the same. He takes longer drags producing a much larger cloud then breathes it all in. She looks at him incredulously.

“Ay? Problem, love?”

Her eyes narrow. “You think you’re so cool?”

He takes another drag. “I am.”

She grabs it from him and does a French inhale. Hobie couldn’t stop looking at her. He reaches his hands behind her back and pull her even closer to him. Her legs rested on his. She hands it to him.

“I told you everything about me. What about you? Did you travel to America just to see Rico?”

Hobie shook his head, trying to rack his brain for a proper explanation. “I travel around a lot. Had a pen pal who lived here and I came to see him. He told me about the concert so I went with him. Not as interesting as your journey.” He takes a drag. “Although I’ve had my fair share of trouble with cops.”

“Is that why we click so well?”

He smirked at her. “Yeah.” Another drag. “But, as banging as you are, you’re not on my level.”

Raising her eyebrow she sits up. “And why the hell not?” She jokes.

“Haven’t killed a cop yet.”

It was her turn to be shocked. She gave him the same fascinated look he had. “You’ve killed a cop?”

“Check the laces, innit?”

She stretches her head over the couch to look at his shoes and sure enough, his laces are blue. Speechless and filled with admiration, she freezes. Her neck is exposed, and Hobie doesn’t stop himself from licking it then giving it a smooch. She gasps and shudders. Slowly she smiles as she sits back down and stares at him.

“Does that excite you?” Hobie asks. She nods. He shifts, his pants beginning to get uncomfortable. He puts the blunt down on the side table, grabs her and pulls her into his lap. Her center collides with his crotch and they both groan. Hobie picks up the blunt, puffs on it to light it up again, then hands it to her. “Hit it nice and slowly. And lift your head up.”

She does as he asks. Hobie pulls her neck down to his mouth and his begins to bite and suck on it. She whines and takes the blunt out of her mouth, not being able to focus on it. Hobie hums in desperation when she starts grinding on him.

“You’re a proper sket, aren’t you?” He whispers. He’s sure she has no clue what he means, so he brings her face down to look at him. “Just a big fucking slut.”

She bit her lip and nodded. Hobie smirked, takes the blunt and drags, then kisses her. The smoke escapes their conjoined mouths as they explore them with their tongues. She starts to suck on his, making him hold her tighter to his body. Hobie makes a sound of pleasure in his throat that ripples through his chest. He pulls his face away from hers and they pant while staring at each other.

“Take this shit off.” He lays her down onto the couch and stands up to pull his shirt and jeans off. She takes off her shorts and fishnet bottoms at the same time. Before she could take off her top, Hobie holds her thigh and squeezes it. “Only take off the shirt.”

She nods and pulls the crop top off. Her tits fall in unison constrained by the fishnets. Hobie could moan at the sight of them. He was right about how good they would look. He doesn’t waste anytime in getting between her open legs and grabbing them. He lets his thumb flick her nipples, enjoying the feeling of fabric and skin. Her small moans go straight to his member, and he decides to take his underwear off completely. She braces herself.

He is long and curved. She knew he would ruin her when she got him home, but she underestimated how nice his dick looked.

“Don’t get scared. I’ll take good care of you.” He tells her.

“Yeah you better,” she tells him. She begins looking around. “Hey, where is it?”

“This?” He pulls out the blunt from seemingly nowhere then the lighter lighting it up once more. He hands it to her then leans over and takes a nipple into his mouth. Her moan was lethal, and Hobie loses his resolve. He was going to tease her, but he couldn’t deny the pleasure shooting through his body as he licks her nipple through the small diamond hole. She begins humping the air.

“You’re desperate to be played with aren’t you, love?”

“Uh-Huh” she says breathy. Her eyes are red and lidded. Hobie gets an idea.

“Hand that over,” he takes a couple more puffs giving her a kiss afterwards. She reaches out for it and he smirks at her. He holds it away from her, rubbing her thighs. She lets out an exclamation.

“Excuse you. That’s my weed.”

“What’s yours is mine.”

“Um, what’s mine is mine.”

Hobie trails his finger to her wet center, playing with her thong before pushing it to the side. He puts his thumb on her clit and she flinches. “Oh…”

“Yeah. Stop talking all that shit.” He begins to rub his thumb around it, his finger getting wet with each pass over. She’s whimpering and jerking her hips into his hand. “You like that?” All she can do is nod.

Hobie slows down and switches fingers. He smokes while inserting his middle finger into her. As it sinks further and further, she lets out a satisfied moan. He pumps it in and out of her pussy, a squelching sound filing the air.

He leans down and puts his tongue on her clit not letting up on fingering her too. She lets out a loud moan. Hobie puts the blunt on the floor, obsessed with the way her pussy gushes in his mouth. She starts to hump his face. Hobie watches her hand begin to reach out to him, then he grabs it and puts it on his head, wrapping her fingers around his wicks. He moans when she begins to pull him further into her pussy. He pulls his drenched finger out grabs her thighs and grips them tightly. He shakes his head back and forth, sucking and spreading her juices across her vagina.

“Ooo, I’m gonna cum.”

When he hears that he lifts his head and wipes his mouth. She whines but he shushes her by taking the blunt, holding it to her mouth, and she takes a drag from it. She is completely relaxed as she breathes it out, her eyelids lidded and eyes fluttering into the back of her head. He thought it was the sexiest thing you had done that night.

“Fuck, you’re peng.” Shit, he has got to start learning American slang. “That was sexy. I want to see you do it with my dick inside you.”

He takes the condom and rolls it on his dick, groaning under his breath from how it feels. He aligns himself with her hips.

“Ooo,” she lets out. “But wait, you don’t want some head?”

Hobie shakes his head and jerks himself. “I want you now, beautiful.” He keeps the blunt in his mouth and slaps his dick on her pussy. Her juices splash onto their thighs. Hobie grunts.

Keeping his head down, he looks at her face. Her eye lids are still low, but he can see her beautiful brown cornea staring at him full of lust and want. With the blunt in his mouth, he talks out the side of his mouth. “Beg for it,” he says.

Her eyelids widen, but the promiscuous look on her face doesn’t change. “What, baby?”

“Mm,” he says pleased by the pet name. He takes it out of his mouth and smiles at her. “Beg me to fuck you like a whore, love.”

She scrunches her shoulders up and tries to close her thighs, but she smiles and bites her lip. She liked the degradation and embarrassment of it all. Hobie liked it too. He pulls her thighs apart again. Placing his dick on top of her pussy, he waits for her to follow his instruction. “Come on, I know you can, pretty girl. You want this dick don’t you?”

“Yes, baby.”

“Call me baby again.”

“Please fuck me, baby.”

Hobie pumps his dick even more. He places the tip right at her hole, becoming evermore impatient. “Fuck, now say my name.”

“Hobie…mmm…” he slowly sinks himself into her.

“Fuck, say it again.”

“Hobie…” They sigh together when he’s fully sheathed inside of her. Her walls are already clamping around him. She’s so wet, and ready for his dick. Hobie keeps himself inside her and lights the blunt again reveling in her desperation. He takes his precious time to smoke some more while she begins to whine and grind herself onto him.

“Hobie, please fuck me.”

“Wait.” She whimpers for him, tears begin to form in her eyes from the depravity.

“Hobie…”

“If you keep saying my name like that I might stay inside you like this.”

“No, please don’t. I need it so badly.”

He inhaled a ghost. “Yeah?” He slowly unsheathes himself then slams back into her. She yelps.

“Yes, daddy,”

Hobie whistles. “Oh, I didn’t know you had that in the vault. You wanna keep calling me that, Atlanta babe?"

“Start fucking me and I’ll call you whatever you want.”

Hobie chuckles. “You got a mouth, don’t you?” He holds the blunt to her mouth again, grabs her hips, then starts fucking her. "I like baby a little more." She blew out the smoke the same way, it coming out in puffs from Hobie’s humping.

“Shit, love. You’re amazing.” He takes the blunt away and places it on the side table. Hobie grabs both sides of her hips and begins to fuck her harder. Their moans fill the apartment. Hobie stares at her beautiful breasts bouncing in her fishnets. Hobie’s too tall to lean down and suck on them, so he grabs one instead and squeezes it. She looks into his eyes and grabs his face. She smiles at him. Hobie’s eyes fill with curiosity.

“You can smack them if you want.”

Hobie slows down in disbelief. Then he smiles and starts fucking her harder. Hobie takes his hand and smacks one, as she requested. She moaned with a permanent beam on her face. Hobie is completely and totally enamored. He stops fucking her and pulls himself out.

“Come sit on me.”

“Okay, baby”

Hobie sits upright on the couch. She climbs on top of him and grabs his dick, loving the little grunt he let out She inserts him back inside her. They moan together while she sinks down onto his curved length. She pauses when he’s fully inside, his dick hitting places she didn’t even know could feel so good.

She grabs his face and pulls it up to meet hers. They stare into each other’s eyes for what felt like forever. Hobie lost himself in hers. He couldn’t move or speak or think. All of his emotions were portrayed in the way he looked at her. He wanted her, badly. In this moment she became everything to him. Then she started to rock.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered embarrassingly. The sounds that left his love’s mouth were lilted and pleasured. It didn’t take long for her to go faster. “Just like that, babe.”

Hobie’s breaths are loud and raunchy, while she lets out small pleasured hums. He takes his hands and rubs up her torso. Hobie wraps his arms around her waist and embraces her tightly. His head rests in her neck as he shifts down the couch the begins lifting his hips up into her. She doesn’t sound so quiet anymore.

“Oh…Y/N…” he whines.

Something inside of Hobie broke and he felt completely vulnerable. If she were to ask him anything, he would answer truthfully. He wanted to tell her everything. About the spider society, him being a spider man, the multiverse and everything within it. He wonders if she would accept it. Hell, he felt as though he could, she reacted better than he imagine she would when he told her he’s killed a cop.

For some reason, he felt like he could trust her. He thinks if he did tell her the whole truth, she wouldn’t even bat an eyelash. How would she react if he opened a portal right then and there and brought her to his own apartment in his own universe? Would she be okay with it? Would she even come in the first place?

He liked the idea of keeping her with him. He liked the thought of seeing her all the time without the risks of inter dimensional travel. Just coming back home, after the most tiring and troublesome day of working for Miguel, and seeing her beautiful body and even more gorgeous face.

Mm, he really liked it.

“Ngh…fuck, Y/N,” he whines into her ear, holding on to her body for dear life.

“Hobie, I’m gonna cum,”

He smacked her ass then pulled her face towards his. "Call me baby."

"Baby, I'm gonna cum." He bites down on her shoulder and begins to really pound into her forcing quick breaths from her lungs.

When the both of them come undone, they stare into each others eyes, not saying a word. She slowly grinds into him, and it overstimulates the both of them.

“Fuck, doll,” he whimpers looking between their stomachs. He was completely seated inside of her, and made him want to go for a second round. It normally would take him a minute to get himself back up, but with the way she was yearning for him with her eyes, it won’t take him long before he flips her around and takes her from behind.

As the both of them were coming down, Hobie began to feel an overarching sense of anxiety. This wasn’t Spidey-sense as there wasn’t any feeling of danger. No. Hobie was feeling…grief.

Grief from what? Why is it that he didn’t want to stop humping into her? Making her whisper curses into his ear? Was it because if he did, that would mean what they were having was over? If he pulls out of her, he’ll put on his clothes, find an alley, and travel back to Earth-138. Hobie can’t see or contact her. He would be gone forever.

Did she feel the same? Is that why she refuses to let go of him? Why she sounds like she’s on the verge of tears as she continues to milk his dick?

He could use some rest. He wanted nothing more than to finish smoking and fall asleep. But, when he thought of his bong at home it felt…wrong. As if there was a question and that wasn’t the right answer.

Why is he instead thinking about finishing what they were smoking then falling asleep on her bed? He needed to get a fucking grip. So he knocked out of his stupor. It felt like a bucket of cold water splashed over him and he came back to reality

She felt the shift. The thought they both shared that it was time to stop. Their time together has come to an end. The toll of a bell rings through her chest, and she fights the tears as she climbs off of him, kissing him sweetly before she goes.

Hobie sits there and looks at her standing up. He enjoyed that kiss. He wanted another one. He needed another one. He swallows his spit and asks her, “How was it?”

She smiles at him shyly. She was just the prettiest thing he had laid eyes on. “Amazing, Hobie.”

He smiled in content and relief. “I live to please,” he joked. It was otherworldly for him.

She giggled and walks by him, but before she could go, Hobie grabs her arm and pulls her down towards him. He captures her lips in a blissful kiss, then lets her go so she can walk to her room for a minute. Hobie isn’t sure what she’s doing, but while she’s gone, he lets his mind run. Tonight, he had found a perfect woman. She was beautiful and disruptive, not performative in anyway. All the qualities of a superhero in one civilian body. If anyone deserved the spider bite, it was her.

This…can’t be the last time he sees her. And why does it have to be? No one cares about the casual travel rule; everyone visits each other’s worlds all the time for whatever reason. The only thing was doing it sparsely so Miguel doesn’t catch on. Hobie could pop in here and there, right?…but would she want that?

How could it even work? He has no way of contacting her, so she’ll never know when to expect him. Is she just supposed to wait for the one day he can finally show up?

This was frustrating. Hobie always breaks the rules. He does what’s not supposed to be done, but he can’t figure out how this relationship would ever work. He can’t bring her with him, lest her particles stretch, bend, and spread across space and time, and he can’t stay here. His people need their spider man.

Damn, he wants to keep her so bad. She is perfect. Even if he could get to America back home, he would never be able to find her. The story is different in every universe. Hell, she probably wasn’t even in America.

She comes back into the living room adorned with pjs to see Hobie standing with his clothes back on. The condom had long been thrown away. Some of his belts and accessories were off as well as his jacket, but he looked as though he was ready to go. She felt…broken. And she didn’t know why.

This wasn’t her first one night stand, but she doesn’t think she’s ever clicked with someone like this before. Definitely not a stranger. Definitely not a fine stranger like him. He was perfect to her, in every sense of the word.

And she to him. Certainly, this was his Gwen Stacy. “You goin’?” She whispered. She cleared her throat and held up the roach. “Thought you would want to finish this.”

Hobie could feel that she was just as desperate to get him to stay as he was inclined to. He looked into her longing eyes with some of his own feelings, and considered a possibility. If Miles can have his Gwen from a different universe, why can’t he have the same? It worked for Miles.

And he knows the answer. It’s because she’s a regular person. Hobie is Spider Punk. He doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to dream of getting what he wanted.

He clears his throat. “I, um…” he couldn’t find the words he wanted to convey. How does he say, “I’m a spider man from a different universe and we will never see each other again.” without scaring her from how clinically insane it sounded?

Luckily, she speaks for him. “I’m saying…you can stay the night.” She finishes confidently. “If you wanted.”

He did. He did want to. He wanted to stay with her so bad. But he shouldn’t. He’s spent way too much time here, and he has no idea what would alert Miguel…he should go. He should go. He really should go.

Hobie…

Go.

“I would love too.”

Her beautiful smile makes its appearance and the doubts that Hobie had melted away. He drops his things and start to take off his shoes. When he walks towards her, he notices how badly she’s struggling to contain her excitement and he knows he made the right choice.

“…Just for the night,” She says, giving him the roach.

“Yeah.” He takes it from her and grabs her hand to walk down the hall into her room. “Just for the night.”

He’s gone before the sun is up the next morning.

ending a/n: I hope y’all liked this. I love writing angst so much y’all don’t even understand I had to put some in here. And yes, he takes her hair down for her.

I am cursed with writing way too much and I apologize for all that reading. I hope you still enjoyed it. It was very fun to write and it’s probably one my most favorite things I’ve ever written. I love Hobie so much, maybe I’ll write for him again idk chile. Maybe I’ll write these two again in an unrelated fic. Or maybe I’ll continue this and y’all can get y’all’s happy ending. Maybe. I don’t rly write those lmao.

Part 1 Epilogue

AO3 Version

My AO3

Masterlist

Taglist: @otaku-degenarate

[21wanderer]

Wanted!

Body a day - #23: Want

Stefan had been on the run for three days, he was wanted, and it was beginning to tear on him - always being on guard, always keep moving, always trying to stay three moves ahead. When he received a phone call from his companion, Filip, he began to feel hopeful. After a few minutes of talking, Filip asked him; ”do you trust me?”

- “Yes,” Stefan replied tonelessly.

- “Okay, then meet me at the old brickworks tomorrow morning. Until then, keep a low profile.”

- “What do you think I’ve been doing?” Stefan snarled only to discover that Filip already hung up. The old brickworks was located several towns over, but Stefan knew where it was, it closed years ago, the buildings and ground abandoned and falling into disrepair. A good hiding spot, if a tad obvious. Nevertheless he needed to make his way there, unseen.

It was a cold night, but Stefan survived, he just had to wait till daybreak, then hopefully Filip would come to his aid. As dawn broke, Stefan began to scout from his hiding spot every now and then, he just needed Filip to turn up. He wouldn’t risk calling him again, all he could do was wait.

In the distance Stefan heard an engine or possibly two approaching the quiet grounds. Then the noise disappeared, he assumed that was Filip, who had come to his rescue. From his cover Stefan tried to scout to see, who had come to this dump. But it wasn’t Filip.

It was a police officer, and he was looking directly at Stefan. Stefan froze, he couldn’t move, he realised that Filip had betrayed him, handed him over to the police. The police officer approached him, Stefan got up not breaking eye-contact. Now was the ’fight-or-flight’-moment, but before even considering his options, the officer stood only a few meters from him and had taken off his helmet, and with a firm voice he said: “You are under arrest, we have the area surrounded. You might as well come along willingly.” This was the end.

The police officer then burst into laughter, and Stefan was as confused as he was dumbstruck. “Stefan, it’s me, Filip,” the officer laughed at Stefan’s shocked face. “Filip? But how-” before Stefan could finish the sentence, the officer raised his hand to his head. With the hand he pushed his forehead backwards causing the officer’s face to distort as his mouth widened grotesquely as another head emerged from the gaping maw.

”It really is you?!” Stefan exclaimed, he was astonished, seeing him here, in a genuine police uniform and what appeared to be an ultra-realistic mask flopping around his neck.

“Sure is,” Filip grinned, enjoying the look of utter disbelief on Stefan’s face, “but when I’m wearing this, I go by the name of Officer Marcel Kowalski.”

“I have a colleague, who is very eager to meet you, waiting outside,” Filip continued, smirking and winked as they walked towards the road.

“You got a disguise for me too?” Stefan asked, believing he had guessed what Filip meant with that remark.

“Of course, I told you to trust me, I originally thought of giving you Kowalski here, but then I decided to make another for you.”

Make another? Stefan wondered.

“It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later. Right now we got to go back to the station,” Filip said and pulled Kowalski’s face back over his own, bringing the officer back to life.

“The station!?” Stefan exclaimed.

“Calm down, nobody is going to recognise you, not when you’re Officer Tomasz Kubik,” ‘Kowalski’ explained with his authoritative voice. Once outside the brickworks, ‘Kowalski’ pointed towards two police motorcycles parked by the road.

There was another police officer, or at least something, that used to be one. Tomasz Kubik laid across his motorcycle like a deflated balloon, his head seemingly squashed under the weight of the helmet. Stefan looked from Kowalski to the skinned man on the motorcycle with undeniable fascination.

- “So you want me to become a cop?”

- “For the time being... You know you want this.”

Stefan couldn’t deny he was excited, actually very eager.

”I think he’s about your size, he's going to look good on you,” said Filip, pulling off the ex-officer’s helmet and holding up the amorphous head for Stefan to see. It was just a lifeless mask now, with empty eye-sockets and floppy facial features. Together they began to undress the officer, then Stefan dragged him into the bushes and began pulling on the skin. It was warm and squishy inside, but still very tight. Slowly and steadily, Stefan managed to wiggle into Kubik’s body. As Stefan’s body fitted into the officer’s body, he could feel the suit bind to his skin, becoming alive again. “I’m done,” Stefan called out from the bushes, when he had successfully pulled on the entirety of Kubik’s skin, but the head.

Filip/Kowalski nodded satisfyingly; “go on then, put on the face.” Stefan grabbed the edges of Kubik’s mouth around his neck, then with one final stretch, he let Kubik’s face swallow him, pushing the face into place, before opening his eyes, for the first time seeing the world as Officer Tomasz Kubik.

- “I could get used to this,” Stefan said with his new and unfamiliar voice.

- “Good, then it wasn’t a complete waste of time then. Let’s get you back in your uniform, Tomasz.”

‘Kowalski’ threw some of Kubik’s clothes to his friend, then he walked over to the pile of Stefan’s discarded clothes, emptying the pockets, folding them neatly, before igniting them with a lighter. Stefan saw his old clothes and life burn, but he didn’t care, he wanted this more.

With great enthusiasm Stefan began to pull on Kubik’s uniform, he couldn’t believe how much he wanted this. He pulled on Kubik’s leather pants, threw on his thick police leather jacket, and stepped into the officer's heavy motorcycle boots and secured his belt around his waist. It was a perfect fit. Stefan was now Officer Tomasz Kubik and Filip, Officer Marcel Kowalski.

Kowalski disposed of the remains of the burnt clothes, whilst the new Kubik admired his face on his motorcycle’s side-view mirror. He certainly looked good in uniform. Kowalski returned and the two leather-clad ’officers’ mounted their bikes.

”Remember, we are law-abiding citizens for the time being.” said 'officer Kowalski' jokingly.

”Actually we are law-enforcing citizens,” 'officer Kubik' replied with a devilish grin.

Hiding right under the police’s nose might be his best option for now, it might even be fun, but one thing was for sure, Stefan didn’t mind having ’police on his back’ for the time being.

[coral-melon]

Heya!! CM! (Get it your user!)

Its 🍓 again :3

Would you be able to write imagine/hc thingys how they would react to seeing your human form for the first time when you go to the human world with them! Im thinking along the flustered fluff/ possibility suggestive thoughts about mc =^=

Any of the brothers/dateables u want! But if your looking for specific just mammon & levi as personal preference :3

(AFAB preferred but No description of gender js cool too :3 )

Aghhh sorry this is worded so weird I’m not the best leaving suggestions i feel too askyy ;^;

Your writing is lovely and i can’t wait to see more!!

- 🍓

Hello again -🍓! Love the ‘CM’ nickname! And by all means, ask whatever you want and however much you want! I’ll always make the time to write any requests~

Also sorry for taking so long; I really wasn’t too sure how to write this, and I’m sorry but I kinda tweaked it and lil bit.. ^^’ I was going to make everyone but I ended up only doing Mammon cuz I thought it would’ve been a very long post. BUT! I can most definitely make separate posts for each of the brothers if that’s something you and others want!

A and as always, if it sucks just lemme know! Constructive criticism is always welcome >;)

Cotton Surprise

Obey me! Mammon x Sheep!MC

Genre: Fluff, crack/shenanigans, slightly suggestive

What’s it about?: Seeing your human form for the first time!

Not that many but They/them pronounce; mainly AFAB

A throwback to Lesson 19 from the original game but tweaked it as well

Edit: ((There were minor changes cuz someone made a comment that pointed out to me how maybe some people didn’t understand what I was telling. Totally my fault ^^’🙏))

None of them ever understood why you turned into a sheep. It happened as soon as you first arrived to Devildom. But the more time they spent with you, they got used to it — some even forgetting you’re a human all together.

One day, most of the Brothers were sitting together in the living room. It was mostly quiet until Asmo brought the question: “Hey, What do you guys think MC looks like if they weren’t a sheep?”

It left them a bit dumbfounded that they hadn’t even thought about it. They got so used to you being a sheep so it kinda just slipped their mind. It also got them to start bickering a ton of what they thought you’d look like.

— “What’s with all the commotion?” A voice interrupts their conversation. Lucifer walks in with you in his hand, talk about perfect timing!

— “We were just talking about what MC looks like if they were in their human form.” Beel explains.

— “Oh right.. none of you have seen them.” Lucifer remarked, chuckling softly under his breath.

— “What does that mean?” Satan says with already irritation in his voice.

— “Well, it’s only right that I know what MC looks like. I was the one who picked them, after all.”

This got many of them heated! Jealous that Lucifer was pretty much the only one that knows. Mammon, Levi and Asmo were whining about how that’s not fair, Satan was gritting his teeth, and Beel along with Belphie just sat quietly watching the scene. They quieted down once you said, “I could just describe what I look like, y’know.”

All of them gathered around like a bunch of kindergartners getting ready to listen to a story book. They payed such close attention to every detail you said and tried to visualize it in their head to the best of their ability. It only made them even more eager to see you for themselves.

And it didn’t happen until the very last moments before you had to go back to the human realm..

… With a true loves kiss! >;D

Cliché, I know. - -’

Mammon

After dipping the House of Lamentation, he ends up in who knows where but more importantly, away from Levi. After he was done huffing for air, both of you start laughing from the absolute fun of stupidity you guys had. You couldn’t help but think about how odd it must’ve look from someone else’s perspective.

You two eventually eased off and took the time to catch your breaths. And then realize the beautiful view you guys have of Devildom. He sits you down gently on the thick stone fences while he rests his body on it. There was a short, soothing silence between the both of you — a soft, cool breeze blowing while you watching the city lights together. Mammon eventually brakes the silence and says,

“Y’know what? It’s always fun whenever you’re around.. I’m always smilin’ and laughin’ when we’re together. There’s never a dull moment..” he says softly; when you look up at him, he’s not looking at you but can tell he has a blush decorating his cheeks.

You smile at him warmly, before looking down at your tiny trotters. You were a sheep till the very end.. you had fun, but you can’t help but get a little sad thinking about it. Like just now, you would’ve been able to run away with him instead of being carried like a pillow.

“W-Who needs the human world, eh? You don’t gotta go back! I want you right here in Devildom, I want you here with me, all the time..!” Mammon looked straight at you, you perked up at him once he said that. He looked at you as if you were the greatest treasure he’s ever had. He wasn’t kidding around, such an unusually serious and determined face…, you felt butterflies in your stomach.

There was a silence again, you looked at him with in awe eyes. He slowly leans in, you leaning slightly forward.. letting whatever was going to happen, happen. Until finally, his lips reached you.

☁︎ —Poof— ☁︎

Light clouds suddenly surrounds you, Mammon was completely taken aback; and then he just freezes. When the clouds disperse, it revealed you.

You felt.. different. Blinked a couple of times before you looked down again. And to you completely surprise, the troopers you looked at but merely a few seconds ago were replaced with hands! You touched your face, your hair, your legs.. they were all back! You give a yell for joy, your curse has been broken! But then you also realize how you didn’t have any clothes on… you looked at mammon — who had his face completely red and eyes glued on you, completely frozen in place. Which made you freeze for a moment.

(Him)→ ╭( ⸝⸝๐_๐)╮ (○□○) ←(you)

— “AAAAAAAHHH!!!”

— “AAAAAAAHHH!!!”

You tried to cover yourself to the best of your ability; but first of all, you can’t really cover much. Second, he already saw everything! Both of you were very flustered, embarrassed, and still shocked by what just happened. You weren’t a sheep anymore! What’s up with that?!

Thankfully, Mammon at some point finally snaps out of it and covers you with his uniform’s blazer. You grip onto it tightly and covering yourself to the best of you ability. You mutter him a ‘Thank you’ under your breath. But both of you were still quite frantic, looking at each other with wide eyes while huffing to calm you nerves.

“Aha! …Found you!” A voice suddenly says from a short distance. It was Levi!

“Oh shit..”

“Mammon, Give me back my moneeey!!”

“Yikes! Time to go!” He says, lifting you up into his arms and making a run for it. And man did he run! He probably ran faster than when he was being chased by Lucifer. Levi didn’t see it coming’.

You were in a daze, you’ve been carried by him countless times.. but today you felt like a princess that’s been swooped by Prince Charming — a very peculiar one, but still charming.

He — at some point — stops running and hid in whatever corner he thought was good enough so that Levi wouldn’t find you two. With his back to the wall, he collapses to the ground. With you still in his arms but making sure you didn’t fall. You can’t help but laugh and pull him into a tight hug.

Mammon felt like his face was going to explode any second now, he just couldn’t believe that he was holding the actual you — and naked at that! But whatever was going through his head completely perished once he heard your lovely laugh. You were so happy.. embracing him with all your new found excitement. It felt like it was only the two of you in the whole word, so nothing else mattered.

“You broke my curse, Mammon!” You say. When I say this guy’s ego got inflated, I mean it. He felt like nothing could stop him now. That’s right! The great Mammon just did that! No one else!

He takes a closer look at you face; he always kept in mind all of the details you said that day, but you looked way better than what he had imagined. He couldn’t believe his eyes…

You suddenly pull him in and give him a passionate kiss; and oof, was he over the moon! After that one, he starts feeling greedy. Just one kiss isn’t enough..!

—☁︎

Later on, he bought you a few clothes since, of course, you didn’t have any. And decide to go back home.

When he went back to the House of Lamentation, he wanted nothing more than to just sneak in without his brothers knowing. But much to his dismay, Levi was already waiting for him at the gates. And when he realizes that the person he’s holding is you, he goes hysterical and now the rest of his brothers know..

“Oi, that’s enough! Step aside! Can’t ya see MC needs to get to their room??”

He’s always looked out for you.. from beginning to end. You felt like you were falling in love with him all over again. It was hard to believe that life here was coming to an end.. You want to make the most of it before having to go back home. But at the moment, you just wanted time to stay still, just for a moment..

End

I had a lot of fun writing this! So tysm for requesting it -🍓. Tho again, I’m sorry for not really completing what you asked for.. I still hope I was able to put a smile on your face! Take care~