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simplygojo · 1 day ago

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Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Six

author's note ⸺ Hello all!!! I wanna say again, thank you SO MUCH for all the support on this series!! I am blown away by your comments and support and DMs. I SERIOUSLY LOVE Y'ALL!!! ANYways here is chapter 6 pls lmk ur thoughts ilysm <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.9k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

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The rest of the evening unfolded gently, like the warm glide of a second drink—smoother, slower, and softer around the edges. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that didn’t need to be clever or loud to feel good.

There were no revelations, no confessions, just small, steady moments: Geto nursing his drink long after yours was gone, you reaching for the bowl of bar snacks just as he pushed it toward you, the unspoken agreement to linger a little while longer than either of you expected to.

When it was time to leave, he walked with you to the subway.

Not because it was on his way—it wasn’t—but because, as he shrugged with a faint smile, “You never know.”

He rode with you all the way to your stop, never getting off, never needing a reason. He stayed close, quiet but attentive, occasionally murmuring something about the people passing through—soft observations more than conversation.

It felt less like small talk and more like a way to keep you company and make sure you got home safe.

He really was kind…

The two of you drifted through the city’s flickering lights in the quiet of the subway car, the hum of the tracks beneath you a kind of peaceful backdrop to the steady beat of your thoughts.

You had the strangest feeling that time was moving a little slower than usual.

But that’s what these kinds of moments felt like, didn’t they?

Moments that felt effortless, where even the silence didn’t feel like an absence.

You weren’t sure when exactly…but at some point, you stopped thinking.

Your mind wandered, drawn to the way Geto’s features softened in the dim light of the subway, the glow casting shadows across his face, making him seem somehow even more present, more real.

You sat side by side, both of your hands resting between you on the seat, close but not touching.

At least, you thought they weren’t—until you felt it.

A brief, subtle contact, as if the universe had nudged you closer in that moment.

Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch so faint, so fleeting, that for a second, you questioned whether it had happened at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even notice, his hand remaining still, his focus elsewhere, his attention absorbed by the world outside the subway window.

But before you could really lose yourself in the thought, the sound of the automated voice broke through, crackling over the speakers like an old radio.

Your station.

You recognized it instantly, its familiar tone cutting through the fog of your thoughts.

You blinked, suddenly pulled back to reality, and stood up from your seat. Glancing down at Geto, you gave him a small smile.

“Well, this is me,” you said softly.

He didn’t move right away.

A look lingered in his eyes, like he hadn’t quite accepted that the night was over. The subway car hummed around you, the city lights flickering outside the windows, a faint reminder of the world outside.

His hand rested just beside where your fingers had just touched, barely an inch away, the space between you somehow feeling heavier now—although it was probably just all in your head.

The soft rush of the city, the low murmur of the train all seemed to seep into the quiet that settled in the air between you.

He finally spoke, his voice a touch softer than usual, “It was really nice catching up. Feels like it’s been longer than it has.”

You met his gaze and nodded, warmth beginning to bloom in your cheeks.

“Yeah, it was. I’ve missed it.” You paused, unsure how to keep the conversation from slipping into the usual goodbyes.

Then, as the train slowed, he added, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The way he said it, like it wasn’t a question, like there was no doubt about it, made the air between you tighten just a little more.

You gave him a smile, a little slower this time. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

The door slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out, the sound of your shoes against the platform unusually loud in the quiet night.

"Goodnight, Geto," you said, your voice steady despite the subtle undercurrent that ran through it.

He didn’t immediately respond, but his eyes stayed on you, watching as you moved, a flicker of something unspoken in his expression.

He didn’t follow, didn’t reach for you. He simply stood there, the door sliding shut between you, leaving the space between you both quiet, full of things unsaid.

As the train pulled away, you could almost feel the weight of his gaze lingering, still suspended in the space between you, even though he was gone. The stillness clung to the air, heavy, unbroken.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You turned and made your way up the stairs, with the station mostly empty at this hour your footsteps echoed against the tiled walls.

Outside, the city had quieted.

The sharp edges of the day had worn down, leaving behind something gentler—cool air, the muted glow of streetlights, the distant hush of passing cars.

It was the kind of night that asked nothing of you.

You walked slowly, not in a rush to get home, the hush of the streets matching the quiet stillness that had settled inside you.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the evening.

No grand turning point, no dramatic shift. And yet you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted anyway—something small, something soft. You felt lighter. Steady. As though something in you had been gently realigned without you even noticing.

Its warmth stayed with you all the way home.

Inside your apartment, you moved through the motions of your routine with easy familiarity.

Coat off, shoes by the door, bag dropped with a soft thud.

The apartment was quiet, but not in a way that made you feel alone more like the world had given you a little space to exhale.

You glanced at the clock: 10:13 p.m.

Funny—it hadn’t felt like nearly five hours. Somehow, the time had just… folded in on itself.

You made your way to the bathroom, peeled off the day layer by layer.

The water from the shower was already hot, fogging up the mirror and curling into the corners of the room like it was settling in for the night too. You stepped under the stream and let it wash over you, a steady, comforting heat that eased the faint chill from your walk home.

It was the kind of warmth that didn’t just touch your skin—it sank deeper, unwinding something knotted just beneath the surface.

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting the water drum gently against your scalp, the steam rising around you like a shield.

You didn’t rush. There was no need.

Your thoughts wandered loosely, untethered—you hadn’t realized that you missed chatting with Geto until tonight.

It wasn’t just the conversation itself, but the way it felt—effortless, like playing a familiar melody you hadn’t heard in years, and still knowing every note. It had been a while since you’d let yourself settle into something like that, where the silence between words didn’t feel heavy, but comforting.

You inhaled deeply, the steam filling your lungs, and in that moment the world outside seemed to slip away. There was something about the rhythm of the water, the soft thrum of the pipes, that made everything else feel distant—like it was only you, here, and the quiet.

You thought of the way his eyes had lingered earlier, just a little longer than usual. But you didn’t dwell on it.

By the time you stepped out and towelled off, the tension from the week had left your shoulders entirely.

Later, dressed in a soft t-shirt and tucked beneath the cool weight of clean sheets, you sank into bed with the kind of ease that only comes when the night has given more than it’s taken.

You were tired, but not worn out—just full, in a quiet, settled way.

There was a peace to it. No buzzing thoughts, no spirals to chase. Just the soft afterglow of good company, of laughter that hadn’t needed to be loud, of silences that had felt like enough. A night that hadn’t demanded anything from you but your presence.

You reached over, turned off the light, and let the darkness fill the room.

For a while, you simply listened—to nothing, to everything.

And as your eyes adjusted to the shadows, a small, contented smile tugged at your lips, warm and weightless.

It had been a good night. And it made you happy to know you had another friend in the city.

And for once, that felt like more than enough.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You woke just past ten.

Not late by most standards, but enough of a sleep-in to feel like a small luxury—especially on a weekend, when your body usually insisted on rising with the same weekday discipline. The light in your room was gentle, filtered through the blinds, casting pale strips across the floor.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Just let yourself exist in that thin space between sleep and wakefulness, where the mind is soft and the world feels a little quieter.

Your limbs were warm beneath the sheets, heavy in the best way, like your body hadn’t quite let go of the calm from the night before.

Eventually, you stirred, stretching your limbs beneath the blankets before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath your feet, grounding you further into the day.

You padded softly into the kitchen, still wrapped in the gentle quiet of the morning.

It was the kind of morning that asked nothing of you. No urgency, no noise.

And then your phone buzzed—loud and insistent, rattling against the kitchen counter like it had something to prove.

You flinched at the sound, the stillness around you abruptly shattered.

Gojo. His name lit up your screen in bold, unmistakable letters, followed by a series of increasingly chaotic emojis in the preview of his missed messages.

You sighed, already bracing yourself as you picked up the phone. It buzzed again in your hand, this time with a video call request.

Because—of course—he couldn’t just text like a normal person.

The call connected with a sharp buzz, and Gojo’s face filled your screen—bright-eyed and messy-haired, already halfway through what looked like a green smoothie in a too-big mason jar.

“Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who finally woke up.”

You rolled your eyes, voice still gravelly from your sleep. “It’s barely past ten.”

“For you, that’s practically noon.”

You gave him one of your fakest smiles and walked over to the counter, propping your phone up against the fruit bowl so you could continue doing your morning routine whilst yapping.

He talked as you filled the kettle and flicked it on, his words folding easily into your usual weekend rhythm—something about his hot coworker who got a nosebleed during a fire drill, and how he, naturally, had been the only one equipped with both tissues and sarcastic commentary.

You laughed as you rinsed your mug and set it down. “How do these things always happen to you?”

“I attract chaos. It’s a gift.” He lifted his smoothie like a toast.

You moved around your kitchen, wiping down the counter absentmindedly, the familiar cadence of Gojo’s voice a steady backdrop to your morning.

It was easy like this—comfortable. This was what your weekends often looked like. A sleepy catch-up call—either with Gojo or one of your other friends from university.

You opened the cupboard and reached for the tin of loose-leaf tea. Just as you were spooning it into the strainer, Gojo’s voice dipped casually into something quieter as he changed the topic of conversation.

“Soooo, you ended up hanging out with Geto last night, huh?”

Your hand stilled, spoon hovering just above the tin.

The soft rattle of the kettle heating filled the silence that followed.

You glanced at your phone. Gojo hadn’t said it with any particular weight—just a statement, light on the surface, but with a thread you weren’t sure you wanted to pull yet.

You didn’t look up as you answered. “Yeah.”

The word was light, clipped. Not defensive, just... efficient. Like you didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

You put two spoonfuls of tea into your mug and stepped around the open dishwasher, nudging it shut with your hip.

Gojo didn’t say anything right away, and that was suspicious in itself. You could feel it—his silence had shape to it.

Still, you kept going. Wiped down the counter, flicked a crumb into your palm and tossed it in the sink. “We just caught up,” you added casually, voice over your shoulder. “It wasn’t a thing.”

You didn’t have to look at the screen to know he was smiling.

“Oh yeah?” He said, leaning into the space between you like he always did when he smelled something interesting. “That’s not what heee said about last night.”

You paused with the towel in your hand.

“…What?”

Gojo let out a loud laugh, delighted at your colour-drained face. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

But your heartbeat had already ticked upward, just for a second.

“I haven’t even talked to him since Wednesday,” he added, totally unbothered, eyes squinting with a grin. “You should’ve seen your face, though. Goddamn.”

You stared at the screen, lips parting like you had half a dozen things to say and none of them made it to the surface. Then you blinked once. Twice.

“…You’re so annoying,” you said finally, turning back to your tea like it owed you something. The strainer clinked a little harder than necessary against the side of the mug.

Gojo was still grinning. “Aw, come on. You make it too easy.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re deflecting.”

You exhaled through your nose, slow and pointed, and reached for the honey. “You’re insufferable.”

“You say that, but I know for a fact you miss me every day of your life.”

You squeezed the bottle in your hand a little too tightly. “You’re gonna miss your life if you ever do that again. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He just laughed again, head tipping back against the couch cushions wherever he was. “Okay, okay. Truce. Promise. No more fake-outs.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. You poured the water slowly over the leaves, steam rising between you and the phone propped up on the counter.

“So, to answer your question,” you continued, carefully neutral, “yes—it was fine. Good, actually. It was nice to know there’s another friend in the city.”

Gojo raised a brow, tilting his head like a smug little parrot. “Mmm. Friend, huh?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, Gojo. Friend. Capital F.”

Gojo wiggled his brows. “You say friend like that means something it didn’t used to...”

“Oh my lord, do you ever shut up.” you said flatly, fake-scandalized, snatching up your phone. “You weren’t even there!”

But even as the words left your mouth, you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

Gojo dissolved into laughter, head tipping back.

“You don’t know anything!” You added, brandishing the phone like a weapon.

“And yet,” he wheezed, “I know everything.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait—no, don’t—”

Click.

You held the phone in your hand for a second longer, staring at the dark screen, lips twitching upwards at that chaotic interaction.

Then you let out a small, exasperated laugh and went back to your tea.

‘Gojo always blows things out of proportion — this was just another example of that.’ You thought to yourself as you went to sit on your couch to start your lazy morning.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The rest of the morning passed with a softness that settled into your bones like the warmth of your tea. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, curling your legs beneath you as the quiet of the apartment embraced you.

The sound of the show you were catching up on drifted lazily in the background, the plot unfolding at its own pace.

You didn’t pay it too much attention, letting it wash over you in the same way the morning sun had slowly warmed the room.

Time seemed to slip away. Hours passed in a soft, steady rhythm—just enough to remind you that the world was still moving, but not enough to demand your attention.

There was no rush, no schedule to follow, just the steady pulse of your own thoughts and the low hum of everyday life.

A few errands nudged their way into your day—nothing major.

You picked up groceries, took a slow walk through the park, and checked a few emails. The air outside was crisp, the sun filtering through the branches of trees that were just beginning to show signs of spring.

It was a small reprieve from the buzz of the workweek, a brief moment to catch your breath.

But despite the ease of the day, there was a persistent thought that lingered, always hovering just beneath the surface.

You tried to push it away, tried to focus on the small details of your errands or the quiet hum of the city around you.

It didn’t work. No matter how many times you distracted yourself, it crept back in.

Why hadn’t Geto texted you?

He wasn’t obligated to keep in touch. The two of you were just barely friends, and last night hadn’t been anything special or unusual.

Just a casual catch-up. Nothing to read into.

But still, the thought wouldn’t leave no matter how far you tried to push it back.

Maybe this was just how things would go—occasional texts, brief exchanges, and that was it.

Once a month you’d get together to catch up, maybe, like a fleeting check-in between old friends. Which is totally fine, because that's all you were—friends.

Nothing more.

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, walking down the street back towards your apartment with your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to fight the odd twist in your gut.

You couldn’t quite pin the feeling down, but the absence of a text—the silence between the moments you’d shared—felt different than you expected.

Something about it tugged at the edges of your thoughts, like the quiet undercurrent of a stream you couldn’t see, but knew was there.

You stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and tried to shake it off.

You almost reached for your phone to check—check what exactly?

You weren’t sure.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

It wasn’t until the following night that you heard from Geto again.

You were standing in the kitchen, folding a dish towel still warm from the dryer, when your phone buzzed on the countertop. The sound was unremarkable, the kind of everyday chime that usually meant a notification from some app you hadn’t opened in weeks.

But something about it made your hands still.

You glanced over, and there it was—his name lighting up your screen, steady and quiet like it had been waiting for you to notice.

Geto: Busy weekend. Sorry I ghosted.

Two short sentences. No emoji, no punctuation embellishments. Just that even, familiar tone you’d come to recognize—casual, but never careless.

You read it once, then again. The tightness you hadn’t fully acknowledged in your chest loosened, just a little.

It shouldn’t have mattered.

He didn’t owe you anything. He could ghost you if he wanted.

And yet the silence had curled around you over the last day like a thread you couldn’t untangle. Now, with just a handful of words, it unravelled.

You: All good. Hope it wasn’t anything too chaotic, lol.

You hit send, then set the phone down—face down—as if that would keep your thoughts from spiralling back into it. But your hands betrayed you, fingers tapping the edge of the counter, heart thudding in a rhythm you couldn’t quite ignore.

Outside, the city breathed in its own quiet way—the low murmur of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog several blocks away, the muted clatter of a neighbour’s life just beyond the thin walls of your apartment. Rain tapped at the windows in a slow, unhurried rhythm, like fingers drumming on glass, steady and soft enough to almost blend into the background.

Inside, time stretched.

Then—another buzz.

Geto: Just some work stuff. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. It was faint, but real.

Another message came through a moment later.

Geto: Was gonna text last night. Didn’t want to overdo it.

You blinked at that.

Something shifted low in your chest—quiet and unnameable, quiet and unnameable, but warm, like the weight of a blanket pulled over you in the middle of the night by someone who thought you might get cold.

The words landed softly, but something about them lingered—like the faint trace of perfume in an elevator, or the ghost of a thought you’d almost forgotten.

‘Overdo it’... overdo what exactly?

It wasn’t the kind of thing someone said unless they thought about it a lot. Considered what the boundaries were. Wondered if they might cross one. Did you even have the kind of relationship where you had to set boundaries? You barely ever see him?

You let your fingers hover over the screen, unsure if you wanted to step into that space he’d opened—or if you were just imagining it.

You: Not sure I’d call one text ‘overdoing it’.

The typing indicator appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then returned.

You waited. The moment swelled.

Geto: Fair.

And then, barely a breath later:

Geto: You doing anything right now? If you don’t have any plans, do you want some company?

Your breathing simply stopped for a moment.

You never did anything on Sundays.

That was the rule—even if it wasn’t one you ever said aloud. Sundays were for soft clothes and quiet routines. For folding laundry and eating leftovers in front of the TV. For getting into bed before ten and letting the weight of the week ahead settle gently onto your shoulders. The kind of day you kept for yourself, tucked away like a pressed leaf between the pages of a worn book.

You hadn’t so much as considered going out tonight.

It wasn’t even a question. You’d already washed your hair, already lit the candle on your nightstand that always meant we’re winding down now. The world had been filed away under tomorrow.

But then—

You: Sure.

You stared at the message, at that one syllable blinking back at you from the screen, and felt something shift in your chest—quiet and irreversible, like the soft click of a door swinging shut behind you.

It wasn’t what you meant to say.

Or maybe it was. Maybe some part of you had been waiting for this—waiting for him—to reach through the static and routine of your carefully constructed quiet, and ask.

The typing bubble appeared again, this time almost immediately. No hesitation.

Geto: Okay. You good with me just coming to chill for a bit?

You looked around your apartment— The laundry was still folded in the basket. The half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. The quiet hum of your Sunday night life, suddenly feeling like a stage you hadn’t meant to set.

You: Yeah sure! That's fine!!

He didn’t answer right away.

Why did you use so many exclamation marks…

The typing bubble blinked on, then off, and when it finally returned—

Geto: Great, I’ll be there in 30 :)

And just like that, your night cracked open.

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4drianaaaa · 2 days ago

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"i think i like u"

Hamzahthefantastic x influencerreader! ⚠: fluff, making out out, suggestive, alcohol wrd count: 1.6k

part 4 | navi

yourusername

: love my friends <3

mandys_iphone: I love you more than my boyfriend 🥺 ↳ yourusername: wait I am your boyfriend ↳ thatmartinkid: alright bru 😑

hamzahthefantastic: I got a crush on u ↳ yourusername: 2hollis refrence..right? ↳user2009: ???

ilovey/n: I know aritzia hates seeing Mandy and y/n coming

Hamzah's head replayed that one night three days ago in your apartment. His fingers clicking on the keyboard wasn't helping. Martin's and Ashley's conversation went in one ear and out the other. The way your lips were pink and glossy, your hair a little messy. He licked his lips just thinking about the wet intimate kiss. He sighed as he hated how he didn't make a bigger, bolder move. But again, you guys just met. But how could he be that in love with someone who might not even like him like that. The thought lingered whenever he was with you.

"Hamzah!" Martin called out as he swung his head back. "Dude, we've been calling you for like 10 times already!" Martin looked directly at Hamzah. Almost as if he was sucking the moment you and Hamzah had together. "S-sorry, Just busy email-ing...Um what's uh, what's the problem" Hamzah looked at the computer and back at Martin obnoxiously. Ashley laughed as Martin did so too. "Did you not sleep last night or something?" Ashley chuckled

he did not.

busy awake thinking about you.

"My neighbors were having a party, so no." Hamzah swallowed his embarrassment as he spun his chair back facing the computer again. He rand his hands through his hair hating how glued you were on his mind.

You were met with Rudy and Eddy scratching at your loafers as you giggled, "awhh my boys, It's been forever!" you squealed as you pet the two pups. "I missed your house so much Mandy. Seriously." you placed your purse on the coat hanger as the smell of vanilla and wood hit your face. "Okay, I have a couple outfits planned and since Mexico is very hot I'm guessing, I have a bunch of tanks." Mandy opened the shopping bags on the counter. She had asked you to come along as she was a week from leaving on a bae-cation with Martin to Cancun, Mexico. She had also asked to pet sit and house sit and obviously you could never say no to Mandy.

After 3 hours of Mandy trying on a bunch of outfits, skirts, and dresses, she had already packed a lot of her clothes into her luggage. You were both making dinner sipping on some wine as Love Island was playing in the back.

"Soooo, any boys here caught your interest?" she slightly spun her glass as you immediately thought of Hamzah. That night he came over to your place. The smell of his cologne and the weed making you super horny, You could have fucked that guy right then and there but there was a grudge holding you back. That "Does he even like me back" grudge.

"no.." you said bluntly, taking a swig of your wine as you tried to hide your giant grin.

"Seriously? No one has tried to at least ask you for your number?" Mandy said taken aback. You bit your tongue trying your best not to spill his name out. "Well, I invited this guy to my place and we smoked and what not." You blushed looking down at your drink. "Righttt" she dragged, "And we might have made out afterwards.." you bit your lip as she gasped "y/n! Oh my gosh! Are you guys talking?!" she held her hand over her mouth as you shrugged. "I don't think so..." You shook your head as you remembered that night with Hamzah. "I'm pretty sure he had or has a girlfriend anyways.." you pulled a random lie out of your ass as you avoided any more questions. "Oh girl we gotta go out someday." She poured more wine into her glass as you scoffed, "They gotta fit certain requirements though, not letting anyone get a piece of this!" You winked as you clinked your glass with Mandy as she poured wine into your glass. As you two were finishing the pasta the front door creaked open as you saw Martin and Hamzah walk inside greeting the pets. "Y/n, what a surprise!" Martin walked over to you hugging you and Mandy. You locked eyes with Hamzah as it seemed as if he was getting hot just by looking at you. He looked at your skimpy skirt that was just above your thighs. Was there something that you wore that was ever not sexy? You walked towards him as you hugged him, his hands slithering to your waist, "missed you" You whispered as his tongue poked the inside of his cheek, "Alcohol got a hold of ya'?" he questioned as you rolled your eyes and handed him a glass. "Not yet" you opened the wine glass as you poured some into his glass.

Claire and Chase had come over aswell as the six of you spent the rest of the night making drinks and playing games. You felt Hamzah give you swift glances at you all night. Most of you were tipsy as Chase had cleared the gap between you and Hamzah. You looked over at Hamzah as he had that tipsy look on his face. He patted the open space next to him as you scoot over to him. "Came running huh?" he teased as you scoffed, "Just be glad I'm here" you hummed as were leaned against his shoulder as his hand was wrapped around you, playing with his fingers. "You know, I couldn't stop thinking about Wednesday" he said lowly making sure no one heard. He would have had to be at least very tipsy to admit this to you. Which he was. "me neither." a small tint of red foreshadowed on your cheeks. Hamzah felt more bold than ever. He wanted to admit he liked you already as he hoped you'd give the same answer too. In the span of hours all of you guys were together he was defiantly the one who drank the most. "Your stunning you know that right?" he groaned as you smirked, "Stop Hamzah. Your drunk..." you looked over at him as brought your legs on his lap. The same way as you did that night. "Fuck I couldn't stop staring at you on the day of the shoot." He sighed. You felt yourself get hot as you looked over at Hamzah who leaned closer to your ear, placing soft and gentle kisses on your neck and below your ear. "Your everything I ever want" he slurred as you giggled. You cupped his face as you wished you were alone with him. You got up from the couch as you waited for everyone to be 100% distracted as Hamzah followed you outside.

"Hamzah you suck at being discreet" you giggled as you were pinned against the wall next to the front door, "Can't control myself around you y/n." he huffed as his lips wasted no time crashing onto yours. His hands wrapped around your waist as yours were around his neck. His tongue slipped into your mouth tasting every bit of you. The 4 glasses of wine you had tonight. His knee parted your legs as your skirt slid up your thigh. A shiver shot down your spine as you felt the cold breeze in the air. His hand slowly reached down to your leg lifting it up as small grunts echoed from your mouth to his. His grip was harder from hearing your low groans. His hand slowly but carefully moving down to your ass. His hand cupped your ass as you moaned. "Fuck-" he cussed, "Don't start.." he said in between kisses. Suddenly you heard his phone buzz in his front pocket. You felt the vibration through your clothed skirt as you yelped. His lips parted from yours as he reached for his phone.

It was Martin.

"Hello?" Hamzah questioned, "Dude where are you, and have you seen y/n?" Martin questioned through the phone. "She got a call from her manager and she asked for me to come with her...She just got off the phone though." "Hm, alright. Hurry up. We're about to play Uno!" Martin said as Hamzah gulped as he quickly hung up. "Sorry.." Hamzah sighed as he put his phone back into his pocket, You swiped your finger across his lips smearing off the lipstick you had on.

"Where were you guys?" Mandy questioned as if she was worried. "I had got a call and I didn't wanna go out there myself...sorry." you set your phone on silence as she sighed in relief "Oh okay, come one last round and I'll see if Martin can drop you guys off!" She smiled as she dragged you to the couch. You all played one last round and before being dropped off after.

[Next day]

You groaned as your head was ringing from how much you had drank last night. Not to mention you and Hamzah's make out sesh in the front door. Your lips suddenly curled from what you remembered. The way he was so good at kissing and his hand placement. You squealed in excitement as you got up and cleaned your room. As you hoped out of the shower you heard you had got a message. It was Hamzah.

You heard a knock at your door as you opened it and saw Hamzah standing there with two Tim Hortons bags. His hair was messy as his glasses covered his eyebags. You stepped aside letting him in as you giggled. "Thank you but you didn't have too Hamzah." you pouted as handed you an iced coffee. "Oh my- How'd you know!" you jumped up and down as he smirked "I know my ways with the ladies" he teased as you sat beside him, "Promise I'll pay you back" you wrapped your arms around his neck "No, It's on me. You know I'll never make you pay for anything" he cooed. You felt a small warmness on the apple of your cheeks rise as you pecked him on the cheek.

adri's note: I hate this sm omg...

#hamzahthefantastic #slushy noobz #hamzah x reader #hamzah x y/n #hamzah imagines #hamzah #blurb #2006wr #hamzahsmut #smut

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slowdrawl · 2 days ago

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| Everybody Loves Contractors | AU NO OUTBREAK| JoelMiller X f!reader |

She’s got a fixer-upper, trauma, and an attitude problem. Joel’s got calloused hands, a tool belt, and a soft spot for crazy. This is going to go great. "You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring." |a/n| I love them already, I hope you do too. home depot next!

| Warnings | Explicit language, sexual tension, mutual pining, age gap, a little angst, mentions of DV/Stalking mentions of PTSD, mentions of death, Joel being Joel, etc. Please read responsibly.

You wake up to a bird screaming outside your window and a throbbing in your head. You barely even drank. Maybe had three beers max, but you've spent the last two weeks struggling to acclimate to the hellscape that is Texas.

The humidity in Austin is no joke, and you’ve been seriously underestimating how much sweat one person is capable of producing.

Back home in Washington, summers were a lot drier. You’re not used to the constant layer of sweat that covers your body, it’s like you could drink a gallon of water in an hour and not even pee.

You groan and reach your arm over to the bedside table, searching blindly for your water bottle, refusing to open your eyes yet.

But then the regret hits you, jolting into your brain like hot electricity. Spiky, immediate.

You snap your eyes open, then squeeze them shut again, like if you cringe hard enough, you could will those text messages you sent last night out of existence. You drink half the bottle of water, it’s lukewarm and has some flavour you’re still not quite used to. Water in the south fuckin’ sucks apparently, you never thought you would be one of those people. You grab your phone to add ‘Brita filter’ to your shopping list, but stop before you get there.

One unread text message from him..

(7:42 AM)

Joel Miller: mornin’ psycho.

Your face heats up instantly. He texted you first… technically. He called you psycho. You should really be insulted, but your dopamine-deprived brain decided to interpret it as affection instead.

(8:07 AM)

You: goodmorning contractor. how kind of you to acknowledge my existence after I sent you drunk and kinda mean texts last night.

You wait for a response, it’s agonizing.

The phone buzzes on your chest.

(8:12 AM)

Joel Miller: figured ignoring you would be rude. manners and all. Huh. Okay. A little colder than you expected. You reread it, trying to decide if he’s annoyed or just…being himself.

(8:07 AM)

You: I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had ghosted me.

(8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: I wouldn’t do that Your heart rate picks up. (8:08 AM)

Joel Miller: can’t anyways, you still gotta sign the contract Ouch. Of course, this is business. Duh.

(8:09 AM)

You: ah! yes! Capitalism!! the true foundation of our new friendship. Almost forgot.

You: can we talk about that? wanna know how soon I’m going to be bankrupt, might need to go get a pedicure and snap a few photos of my toes for craigslist.

(8:11 AM)

Joel Miller: you good for a phone call around 10?

You hesitate.

(8:11 AM)

You: yeah, thats perfect. ThanksNo emoji. No more sarcasm. Strictly business. You put the phone down gently and stare up at the ceiling tiles for a while. He didn’t flirt. Didn’t call you darlin’ or throw in a wink like he did last night. He was polite. Blunt. All contract, no fun. And why wouldn’t he be? He doesn’t even know you.You’re nothing but a client. A mess of one at that. Some unhinged girl who moved to Texas on a whim, running away from god-knows-what, sending him cringeworthy late-night texts. And he’s just the man you hired to rip the walls open. He might even be married. You never checked for a ring. Oh my god, you never even checked for a ring. You fucking’ idiot. You’re fantasizing about being a homewrecker.You sit for a while, picking at hangnails, pulling half the stitching out of the hem of your t-shirt, letting your mind chew on it all for a while. You really should stop reading so deeply into things. Just because someone is kind…in a brooding way, or doesn’t ignore you, doesn’t mean they want anything from you. Not really. Not always. At 10:03, your phone buzzes. You’re lying down, flat on your back on the couch in the faux-living room of the Airbnb. You stare at the ceiling fan like you’re about to be sentenced by the royal court. You answer the phone on the third ring. “Hey,” You say, normal. “You sound alive,” Joel says, voice low and rough. “That’s debatable. But yeah. Morning.” You mumble, trying to sound like you don’t care he called. “I’m prepared to hear the details of my financial ruin.”

He chuckles, low and brief, like maybe—just maybe that was funny. “You asked for it, kid.”

You sit up right and swing your legs over the side of the couch. “Alright, alright, true. Tell me about it then.”

“Sent the paperwork over to the office,” he says. “Should have it back by Monday, early. I’ll walk you through it if you’ve got questions.” What if he talked me through it instead? Ha Ha…Ha “Okay. Cool. Thanks.” “You’ll need a 20% deposit before we start. End of next week alright?” You choke. He notices.

“Still with me?”

“Yup… yeah. Just thinking about you draining my savings account…kinda hot.” You let out an almost believable laugh. “Okay, sign papers, 20% by the end of next week. I can do that.”

Joel's voice softens a bit. “You sure?”

“This is what I want,” you say quickly. “I’ll figure it out.” He doesn’t respond right away, just stays quiet. You can hear some background movement—maybe he’s walking. Or he’s searching for an excuse to hang up on you.

“I’m thinking we can do Wednesday through Friday, ten to six, give or take, depending on deliveries. Unless that won’t work for you?” “No, that's fine.” You’re dissociating, “Alright. Mondays and Tuesdays, I’ve got other jobs. Keeps weekends open for both of us.”

“Oh my god, it’s like you’re giving me custody hours, I’m like the mid-week mom.”

“If you want weekends too, you gotta make me dinner,” he responds.

Your face heats up, you go silent again.

You clear your throat, “So. Ten to six, Wednesday to Friday, weekends maybe, but only if there’s lasagna.”

“I’ll see you on Monday, then,” he says, voice even. “We’ll go from there.”

“Okay. Thanks, Joel. Appreciate it.”

Another second of silence, it feels full, your brain feels like mud.

“Alright then,” he says. “Try to learn how to behave before Monday.”

You laugh, “I’m making no promises.” You’re grinning ear to ear despite yourself. The line clicks dead a second later. And you’re left sitting there, phone in hand, wondering what you’re doing, and why the fuck you liked that so much. When you toss the phone down, the reality of the situation really settles into your bones. You’re really fucking doing this. Hell, you’re already most of the way through it. You left. You packed your whole life into your Civic and drove two thousand miles, from Bellevue to Austin. Alone. You left him there. Said absolutely nothing about it, couldn’t. Not legally, at least. Instructed everyone who knew the two of you to never tell him where you went. You chose peace. You chose yourself. And somehow, that still feels radical? Like it was an act of defiance instead of survival. You didn’t even cry until Oregon. Didn’t let yourself fully believe you were even actually free until you passed the Idaho border and realized nobody was following behind you. You’d been with him since high school. That kind of history doesn’t go away easy. He hurt you slowly, taking parts of you away month by month, year by year, until you were a shell of who you once were. He broke things inside of you that still rattle around sometimes when you’re not paying enough attention. His hands left burn marks that you’re worried will never truly fade. You sit there for a long moment, letting the silence press in on you. The Airbnb is too clean, sterile, too…impersonal. Like it's holding space for a version of you that hasn’t quite arrived yet. Eventually, you get up. You cross the room to the only thing that really matters to you right now. The box. It’s battered. Duct-taped around the edges. “KEEP SAFE” scrawled across every side of it in big, Sharpie letters like that would somehow protect it from fire, flooding, or the unrelenting hands of grief. It’s slightly smudged from rain, maybe tears, who knows. It’s the only box that’s never made it into a U-HAUL. You kept it tucked in the passenger seat on your way to Texas. Buckled in, riding shotgun the entire drive from Washington. You brought it in to sleep next to you in every motel. Just in case. Just in case he found you. Just in case the house burned down. Just in case the last pieces of you disappeared, slipping through your hands like sand before you could properly hold them again. You carry it over to the bed and pull the top open, hands maybe a little too careful. In it, his watch that hasn't worked since you were 12, his favorite ball cap that somehow still smells like him after all these years if you press it to your nose. And a photo. You and your dad from a birthday party a lifetime ago, you’re wearing a polka-dotted paper hat, blowing out 9 candles. He’s staring at little you like you’re the only thing that existed in his world. Even though it's a still photo, you can almost see his eyes twinkling.

He’s wearing a hat with The Lion King logo embroidered in it, black with an orange bill, and one of his classic denim button-downs. You smile down at the photo, then your lips start to tremble when you think too hard about whose smile you're really wearing. He probably would have hated the heat here, he certainly would have had something to say about the humidity. Woulda cursed the mosquitoes, the grasshoppers, the very concept of Texas apart from the barbeque. But, he would have still come to visit… because he would’ve understood.

He always understood. The only reason you could afford the move, the house, was because of him. Two months after you lost everything else, his life insurance check showed up. You never even wanted to cash it. Because it felt like if you did it would solidify it, he would really be gone. But eventually you did. Then you bought the most broken thing you could afford, hoping maybe it would be strong enough to hold the weight of starting over like this. “I’m gonna fix it,” you whisper to the box, voice small. “I swear, I will.” You fold the flaps of the box in on themselves and carry it out the door of the Airbnb with you, like maybe bringing it to the house is step one in bringing yourself back, as well. The air is already warm, the sun is still climbing into place in the sky, and cicadas are going feral in the trees. The street hums with quiet suburbia, children playing, and truck tires. You hold the box to your chest as you climb into the front seat and drive. You keep one arm wrapped around it firmly as you turn the corner to your home. You don’t play music, you just let the silence wash over you this time. When you pull into the driveway and open the door, you don’t put it down right away. You just sit on the floor with it, sunlight pouring in through the broken blinds in the kitchen window, your knees pulled up to your chest. You breathe deep, letting it ground you, hoping that somehow your dad’s things will pour some strength into you, because god, you need it right now. You look around, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about the way your dad might have reacted to the house. He’d probably shake his head. Probably mutter something stupid like, “Jesus, kiddo, didn’t know the Blair Witch house was in Austin.” He’d probably tell you that he didn’t raise you to be so damn impulsive. But secretly, he’d be proud. Because he’d know, he’d know that you had to go, had to start over. He wouldn’t have wanted you to dull yourself down. He’d hate knowing that you had become someone who kept shrinking herself to make someone else comfortable. And this house, for all its rot, imperfections, and ghosts, it’s yours. Your mess, your future. You tuck the box safely in the hall closet and head back to the car to grab more of your stuff.

You spend the remainder of the afternoon cleaning the second bedroom, the only one that has windows that don’t stick in the tracks when you try to open and close them. It feels the least haunted, too. You vacuum and take your spot cleaner to a particularly ominous stain in the middle of the floor. It’s the color of rust, hopefully not blood. You wash the windows, wipe about an inch of dust off the ceiling fan blades, and fill a Swiffer duster with so many cobwebs it looks like cotton candy. Gross. By sunset, it finally looks like one of the after shots from an episode of Hoarders. Not perfect, but livable. You put a dehumidifier in the corner of the room and pulled out the air mattress you bought one year. Your ex decided that camping at The Gorge for a music festival would be a good idea. It wasn’t… You got heat stroke and threw up during Kid Cudi’s set. You blow it up and place it in the center of the room. When you flop yourself down on it, you hear a hiss, and you let out the world's heaviest sigh. Of course. ////

Joel was in the kitchen, reheating something from a takeout box that barely counted as dinner. He stood over the microwave, arms crossed, waiting for it to beep.

Sarah was perched on the arm of the couch behind him, legs folded, humming some song he didn’t recognize. Probably something from a playlist her roommate sent her. She didn’t look up until he passed by with his food and collapsed into the recliner with a quiet grunt.

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

(7:42 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: ten bucks says you’re gonna hate my ass by friday.

Joel didn’t answer right away.

He stared at the message, chewing slowly, unsure what to make of it—or her. She was already too much, even through a screen. But she was funny. Quick. There was something behind the sarcasm that kept tugging at him, even though he knew he shouldn’t let it.

He exhaled through his nose and replied.

(7:43 PM)

Joe Miller: by friday huh. do i get extra cash if I already do?

Her reply came fast, but it wasn’t a text.

It was a selfie.

She had one hand pressed to her chest like she’d just been mortally wounded, mouth open in mock betrayal. Hair messy. Eyes wide, dramatic, shining.

Joel huffed a quiet laugh before he could stop himself. Louder than he meant to.

Sarah’s head whipped around from the couch. “Who are you texting that has you laughing before noon?” she asked, eyebrow arched.

He didn’t look up. “Nobody,” he said, reaching for his fork again. “Just a dumb meme.”

“Mmm.” Sarah didn’t sound convinced. “You only figured out what a meme was last year. Don’t start acting like you’re fluent.”

Joel grunted, annoyed. His phone buzzed again.

He ignored it.

Sarah, of course, refused.

“What kinda meme makes you blush like that?”

“I’m not—” he started, cutting himself off before the sentence could hang him. He set his phone down, face-first on the coffee table. Kept eating like it would somehow defuse the conversation.

She was still watching him.

He picked it back up eventually. Couldn’t help it.

(7:47 PM)

Opengate Demo Girl: glad you’re pretending to be my best friend after a whole 24 hours. ur commitment to the bit is admirable. i’m moved.

He smirked. Barely. Typed out a response without thinking.

(7:48 PM) Joel Miller: charity work’s good karma. gotta get into heaven somehow.

Joel didn’t hear Sarah get off the couch until she was behind him, reading over his shoulder.

“Oh, so you’re going to heaven now?” she snorted.

He locked the screen and looked up at her, deadpan. “Gotta aim high.”

Sarah didn’t laugh. She crossed her arms instead, squinting at him like a bloodhound.

“Who’s Opengate Girl?”

He sighed. “It’s the address. New client.”

She made a face. “You saved her under the street name? Ew. That’s so sterile. You couldn’t even put her actual name?”

Joel shook his head. “Helps me keep track. You know how many houses I’ve walked through this month?”

Sarah was still watching him like he’d just confessed to a federal crime. “Okay but why are you smiling at your phone like that? Are you flirting with a client?”

“I’m not flirting,” he muttered.

“Right. Sure. And I’m not currently watching you act like a teenager.”

“Jesus, kid.”

“You’re blushing, dude.”

“Shut it,.”

“You are.”

He pointed at her with his fork. “Go do your homework.”

She rolled her eyes and backed away, still grinning. “Flirt responsibly, old man.”

Joel muttered something under his breath and went back to his food, trying to pretend none of that happened.

He didn’t open his phone again for a while.

Instead, he asked about her classes. TikTok. What she was watching. Tried to be normal.

Tried not to picture the shape of that girl’s mouth in the photo.

And mostly… he failed. ////

Meanwhile, your hands are full. You kick the front door of the Airbnb closed and make it most of the way to the kitchen before one of the paper grocery bags explodes. You almost break an ankle tripping over a can of soup and curse out the ghost of Campbell’s under your breath.

You throw the perishables into the fridge and glance at the clock. 7 PM.

Check-out for the rental is at 11 AM tomorrow. Thankfully, you’re mostly packed. You never really unpacked anyway—you’ve been living out of a suitcase since you left home three weeks ago. At least this place had a washing machine. You’re already critically low on clean underwear, and hand-washing wasn’t on your bingo card.

When you’re finished stacking your remaining belongings next to the door, you head back into the kitchen. It would be criminal to waste your last night with a fully functional kitchen on Top Ramen or mac and cheese straight out of the pot, so you don’t.

You stare into the fridge for inspiration. Reach into the crisper drawer and pull out whatever isn’t fully wilted or growing a second skin.

Stir-fry it is.

Something simple. Something comforting. You throw on a playlist and grab a cutting board from the cupboard, chopping carrots and peppers while singing No Scrubs at full volume, utterly disregarding the fact that this is a duplex. You cook the chicken that was dated for yesterday because it still smells…fine. You’re pretty sure you’re immune to food poisoning, courtesy of growing up on your dad’s questionable "experiments" in the kitchen. Stomach of steel. It's practically a superpower.

You miraculously don’t burn the rice. You eat dinner on the couch, scrolling through your phone, feeling— Not settled. But maybe… okay.

When you finish eating, you wipe down the counters. You let yourself stare out the kitchen window for a second, It's dark now. The only thing illuminating the yard is the moon; it's peaceful. You contemplate going to bed early, calling it a win, you’re exhausted anyway. But nope. You’re a dumbass with a maybe-kinda crush and too much flour. Plus, you already bought a bag of chocolate chips at Kroeger. Who gives a shit if it’s 77 degrees outside, you’re baking cookies. You throw together a batch, your grandma's recipe that you know by heart. You’re doing this half out of spite, half out of some unspoken womanly urge to nurture the world. But mostly you’re doing it for yourself, and maybe a grown man whose astrology sign you don't even know yet. I bet he's a Scorpio… Scorpios are always brooding. You hum to yourself as you fold in the chocolate, and by the time you’re putting them in the oven, you’re belting Bohemian Rhapsody using the spatula as an impromptu microphone. You burned the first batch, you were…distracted. Distracted googling ‘Can my contractor sue me for emotional damages?’, it was a joke at first, but there are a surprising number of Reddit threads that cover this topic. The second batch of cookies is perfectly golden. You let them sit by the open kitchen window to cool like you’re some housewife in a fairytale that’s bound to end with a wild animal eating your firstborn. You sit cross-legged on the couch, Sharpie and notebook in hand. HOME DEPOT: Hammer (not pink) Lightbulbs LED Paint Extension cord (the ugly orange kind) Coffee maker (duh) Snacks Duct tape (you can never have enough) The will to live You stare at the list for a hot minute, chewing the end of the Sharpie like a feral animal. Maybe you should buy a taser. Or a whole new personality. Or coveralls. Oh my god, what if he wears coveralls… I’m going to be sick. You flop backward onto the couch with a full-body groan, one arm slung across your face, the other clutching your phone. You might not survive this summer. You’re going to sweat to death, trip over all of your boxes, maybe die alone in a haunted house with no aircon and a hot contractor who absolutely doesn’t think about you at all and might be married. You are unwell. You grab the notebook once more, scribbling ‘ant traps, more duct tape’. You giggle to yourself as you write ‘vibrator????’ in bubbly script. Before you head to bed, you check the locks, twice. Not because you’re worried. Just… muscle memory. He’s not here. But your body doesn’t believe that yet. ps. if you like this fic please tell me because your comments are what keeps me writing

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller angst #joel miller x you #everybodylovescontractors

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mothgirl2001 · 3 days ago

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As an asexual the thing that worries me most about ‘canon asexual Viktor’ (along with the whole CL issue… Trust me I am very iffy with that mess) is that many people who aren’t asexual have very little idea as to what it actually is and view us as a monolith.

I’ve seen people already point the finger at shippers or complain about nsfw art on jayvik posts because “Viktor is ace!! Art of him being intimate is ignoring that!!”

No. No. Again. We are not a monolith. You have it completely wrong and you are being ignorant.

Ace people can fall in love and have long term relationships. Some ace people can have and enjoy sex. Just the same as some ace people will not have nor enjoy sex.

It comes down to the individual. Viktor’s asexuality can be interpreted in a number of ways, and no interpretation is wrong.

I personally see Viktor as someone who has very little interest in sex/intimacy unless he develops a strong emotional bond with someone, once he’s with that special someone, he enjoys the physical pleasure of it and is fond of being so close to someone he loves. But he’d never particularly dive head first into it.

I actually think he’s the type to cry from happiness when he… you know… anyway…

In my mind, he’s favorable and positive towards it, but it is far from a priority.

That’s just how I see it, someone may have a completely different view.

But yeah, please stop generalizing us. Thanks.

Oh and yes I know there’s a lot of talk on whether to take CL’s words seriously but that aside I know people will take it and run with it anyway and the ignorance and acephobia I’ve been seeing is… sigh

Also if you don’t like any sexual art of Viktor… maybe block the artist and leave them alone. Instead of harassing and shaming them. Curate your experience.

#arcane viktor #arcane #viktor #jayvik #jayce talis #jayce x viktor #arcane jayce #arcane silco #viktor machine herald #viktor league of legends #league of legends

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calebslittlecrow · 3 days ago

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Fuck Doubts. Fuck a "Doubt-Free Mindset". Just Don't Let Them Win.

Another rant from me? Yes. I am very proudly procrastinating a Scaramouche drawing and instead you get this semi delightful word vomit from me. You're very welcome (≧◡≦) ♡

The concept of a "doubt-free mind" in shifting haunted me back around 2020, and now (to my absolute dismay), I see it popping up again, poking at my eyeballs. No, I'm not talking about the "being doubt-free helps" stuff, I mean the "you must be doubt-free to shift" garbage. Anyone who has wrestled their doubts into submission or never had them in the first place? I applaud you and throw confetti your way, congrats, seriously. I dream to achieve your mental stability in my next lifetime. But to be real, most of the community isn't really built that way. I see people spiraling because somewhen, somewhere, someone spoon-fed them the idea that "doubt=failure". And the moment you have doubts, your progress will be gone like a corrupted save file. And now add the pseudo enlightened posts that ramble about "how you need a clear and completely doubt free mind, or you will never shift" nonsense, and we've got a recipe for tears, panic and unhappiness. Fuck that noise. If you happened to spent more than five minutes interacting with society in your life, congrats, you probably have doubts. Welcome to being a sentient human being, doubts come free with your lifelong oxygen subscription. We live in a world where people lie about literally anything: shifting, manifesting, lucid dreaming, their birth charts, shade of carpets, height, whatever really. It's normal to doubt and quirk up an eyebrow sometimes. Doubts are built in bullshit detectors that sometimes go off for no fucking reason. But they also keep you from handing over 500$ to some Instagram coach who claims to shift you in 3-7 business days, that's at least a win. The real issue is people clinging to their doubts and making them their entire reality instead of moving on or accepting them for what they are: there, but not supposed to dictate your reality. No, some people seem to build entire shrines to their doubts, whispering "Yes, I am unworthy, yes I will never shift, thank you, almighty fear of failure." like a weird prayer. No. Get up, take a breath and go. No need to be a blindly devoted believer, but for the love of being mildly functional, stop letting doubts run your life. Think of them as flies; persistent, annoying, respawning at the worst possible time. You wouldn't let them unpack their bags in your home and raid the fridge, right? Didn't think so either. What wrecks people isn't doubt, it's their own death grip on them. "I am doubting, I will never shift" Cool, you've just decided how this shit will end, are you happy now? Maybe just be open to entertaining the idea that you are capable of doing something despite doubts, and without immediately sabotaging yourself. Maybe it will help?

#reality shifting #shifters #shifting #shifting antis dni #shifting blog #shifting community #shifting realities #shiftingrealities #reality shifter #shifting motivation #shiftblr #shifting tips #desired reality #shifting reality

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charliegyrth · 3 days ago

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Speedos - 1 of 2

A Competitive Swimmer Gets Fat

Hi, everybody! Charlie here. I wrote this story in response to another awesome suggestion from Anonymous. Whoever you are, I hope you like this story!

***

Micah walked into the room with a cake in his arms and a big ol’ smile on his freckled face.

“What’s this?” I asked from the couch.

“What do you think?” He placed the cake on the table in front of me. It had vanilla-white frosting with a blue triangle drawn on the top. A tiny plastic gold medal sat in the center.

I had to laugh. “Okay, I get the medal.” (I was on our college swim team and I’d just placed first in the 300-meter butterfly.) “But what’s with the triangle?”

“Don’t you get it?” he asked as he slid next to me on the couch.

I shrugged.

“Seriously? It’s supposed to be a speedo!”

I looked closer. I guess the shape was a little speedo-like, and the baker had added a pile of extra frosting at the bottom to simulate a bulge. “Cute,” I said. It really was.

But I still didn’t get why he got me a cake. He knew I didn’t like sweets.

He kissed my cheek. “So glad you like it, babe. I figured the cake is like Step One for us finally getting back to normal.”

“Back to normal?” I asked.

He flinched. “Yeah. You know, so we can be… like, happy again.”

“Huh?”

“Look, Nate. I freaking love you, but you know how you get during swim season.”

“No?”

“Okay. I’ve been holding my tongue for months now, but we gotta talk about this. Off-season, you’re the perfect boyfriend. But once the season starts, you’re kind of a… monster. No offense.”

“How am I a monster?”

“One, you’re always at the pool. I barely see you. And when I do see you, you snap at me all the time. You’re never happy.”

“It’s because I get so stressed.”

“No! It’s because you’re starving yourself. We can’t even have carbs in the house when you’re competing. You just eat your tasteless slabs of chicken every day. And it makes you so angry! All the time! So I thought, now that you’re a champion and the season’s over, we’ll celebrate with a cake. You’ll allow yourself to eat normal stuff. And you’ll start being nice again.”

My stomach sank. “Is that really how you feel?”

He looked away. Clearly he wasn’t planning to unload all this stuff on me, but I’d asked. Now he felt guilty for saying it. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

I squeezed his hand. “No. You’re right. I haven’t been a good boyfriend, and you deserve better. Really. I’ll, uh, be right back.”

I rushed into the bathroom, not because I had to use it, but because I didn’t want Micah to see me cry.

I took a long look at my reflection. I was in the best shape of my life: 8% body fat, smooth muscles coating my entire body. I had the perfect body for swimming, but I also had sunken cheeks and a constant look of exhaustion on my face. I was objectively handsome, but… but it wasn’t worth it.

Thinking back on the last few months, I remembered all the times I’d been harsh with Micah. I did snap at him. I cancelled our plans all the time. I was mean. And just because he never called me out on it didn’t mean he wasn’t upset.

He should be upset.

So as I looked at myself, my image blurry through tears, I promised that I’d fully embrace the off-season. I wouldn’t hold back. I’d do whatever I wanted. I’d eat whatever I wanted. And most importantly, I’d treat Micah with the respect that he deserved and really pay attention to his needs.

I wiped my face and walked back into the living room. “Let’s have some cake!”

Micah beamed as I sat next to him. “Actually, none for me. It’s all yours.” He sliced off a huge piece and plopped it on a plate. Then he handed it to me. That was way more than I could eat, but I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to disappoint him.

I took a big bite. Ugh, it tasted terrible. Just pure, processed sugar. The sweetness overload literally gave me chills.

Micah watched me swallow it down. “Good, right? Doesn’t it feel great to finally stop restricting your calories?”

“Totally,” I lied.

His eyes were still on me, so I took another bite. And another. And another.

As I ate, Micah told me about his day. He mentioned that his mother had finally recovered from pneumonia.

“That’s great,” I said through a mouthful. I felt so guilty. I had no idea that Micah’s mom had been sick. I’m sure he told me, but in the midst of swim season, I hadn’t paid attention to anything he said. Yet another thing that I’d have to change about myself.

Pretty soon, I’d finished the entire slice. I ate it super-fast because it was terrible and I wanted to get this over with.

He grabbed the empty plate from my hands. “Damn, Nate. You loved this, huh?”

“Delicious,” I lied.

“Thought so.” He scooped me up another piece, just as big as the first.

I almost refused, but he looked so happy that I took it and started eating. Somehow, the second piece was easier to get down than the first. I think I’d gotten used to all that sugar.

***

“What do you want for dinner, babe? Shrimp fettuccini or spaghetti bolognese?”

Neither. Pasta was way too rich for me. Micah had been making Italian food all week, and it always left me sluggish and bloated.

But it meant so much to him. He loved cooking, and now that I wasn’t turning down his meals, he went all-out every dinner. He always served me these massive portions, and I ate every bite. For him.

“I don’t know…” I said gently. I tried to think of the best way to reject both choices without offending him, but he interrupted me before I could say anything.

“Great! I’ll make a little of both!” He scurried into the kitchen. Dinner was hours away, but he wanted to get started early.

That gave me some time to head to the pool and swim for a couple hours. I needed that time to sort through my thoughts.

I dug through my dresser, but I couldn’t find my speedo. “Micah?” I shouted across the apartment. “Where’d you put my swim clothes?”

“Can’t hear you, babe!” he called back.

I headed into the kitchen to find Micah holding a measuring cup with three sticks of butter. He kissed me. “So I was thinking. After dinner, wanna watch the latest episode of Bridgerton?”

“Uh, sure.” He liked that show way more than I did, but if that’s what he wanted, then why not?

“Awesome! You’re all caught up, right? We’re on episode eight.”

“Oh. I guess I’m a few episodes behind.”

“Perfect. You can watch the last few while I’m cooking. Otherwise, you won’t understand what’s going on.”

“Actually, I was…” I stopped, remembering the look of disappointment on his face whenever I chose swimming over spending time with him. I didn’t want to see that look again. “Good idea.”

I trudged into the living room and switched on Netflix. I guess I was gonna binge-watch a show that I didn’t even like just to keep Micah happy. Small price to pay.

***

After an hour of searching, I finally found my speedo and goggles shoved in the back of the closet. Micah must’ve put it there. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was purposely hiding them from me.

It had been two months since I’d been in a pool, and I was getting restless. All I did was go to classes and stay home with Micah. I loved spending time with him (don’t get me wrong) but I really needed to move my body.

Micah was at the library in the middle of a study session with his classmates, so now was the perfect time. I stripped naked and pulled on my speedo. At least, I tried to. I got it halfway up my thighs before the tight fabric started digging into me. This kind of material (a mixture of polyester, nylon, and spandex) didn’t shrink, and I didn’t own any smaller sizes. Weird.

With effort, I pulled it all the way up, feeling the fabric dig painfully into my waist. I’d outgrown my speedo, and judging from the lack of circulation, I’d outgrown it by a lot.

That could only mean one thing: I’d gained weight. I always did during the off-season. Every year, my muscular body became smoother and less defined, but I’d never outgrown my swimwear before.

Logically, I shouldn’t be surprised. Micah made me huge dinners every night. He took me out to restaurants, too. Often, he’d surprise me with sugary snacks, always kissing my cheek and saying things like, “Aren’t you glad it’s the off-season now?” or “You’re so much nicer when you’re not starving yourself.”

I should’ve known that my body would change. I felt so stupid.

I hurried to the mirror and looked at my reflection for the first time in months. I was fat. I bulged out of the top of the speedo, in the front and (especially) on either side. My hips looked so much wider than they should’ve. I turned to the side to see how far my ass flared out in the back, and… Well, it flared out a lot.

The changes were so obvious that it was impossible for Micah not to notice. He knew I was fat, and yet he never said anything. Perhaps that was because he thought I knew it too.

But then why did he keep encouraging me to snack? Why did he look so happy every time he ladled me seconds? Hell, why did he hide my swim clothes in the back of the closet?

The only explanation was because he wanted me to gain. I doubt that he actually liked these new love handles. (I mean, who would?) He was trying to sabotage me throughout the off-season so that I wouldn’t be able to compete next year.

My God. It all made sense now! I only had one more season left before I graduated, and with every bite he forced onto me, he was ensuring that I’d never swim again. At least not competitively.

As I was sorting through all these thoughts, the front door creaked open. Very quickly, I pulled off my speedo and hid it under the sink. I hid the goggles, too.

“Nate? Where are you?”

“In the bathroom!” I called. “Give me a second.”

He didn’t. He just walked right in, glancing up and down at my plump, naked body. His mouth curved into a half-smile. “Hey, sexy.”

This was my chance to confront him, to tell him that I’d figured out his little game, but the words wouldn’t come out.

He walked closer and wrapped his arms around my waist. I felt his hands squeeze my fattened cheeks. “I’m so glad I left my study session early.” That’s all he said before he pulled me toward our bedroom.

He threw me onto the bed and then climbed on top of me.

“Micah...?" I started.

He stopped me with a kiss.

***

For dinner that night, Micah made a huge platter of lasagna. I still hadn’t confronted him about his devious plan. Now that I was aware of it, though, all his little tricks were ridiculously obvious. The massive serving he placed on my plate, compared to the much smaller serving on his own. The subtle comments about my appetite. The way he kept glancing down at my stomach, as if he was mentally measuring me.

I didn’t want to argue with him, but I was done being manipulated. I ate less than half my meal before pushing my plate away. “Babe, that was delicious.”

“But you didn’t finish.”

“Naw, I’m full.”

He looked surprised. Since the beginning of the off-season, this was the first time I’d turned down his food. I could sense his little brain gears clicking away as he thought about how to respond. “Should I add more cheese?”

“Nope,” I said, holding firm. “It really is delicious.”

“Okay,” he said. It was a very dramatic-sounding “okay.” It didn’t sound like he was mad at me. It sounded like he knew I was onto him and he finally had to give up on his plan. He sounded disappointed, resigned.

“So how’d your studying go?” I changed the subject.

“Great, actually.” He started telling me about everything he’d learned, and even though I found it really boring (macroeconomics), I loved his enthusiasm. He wasn’t mad at me. He’d moved on.

I ended up eating the rest of my food as he talked. The last few months had increased my hunger, but I was eating because I chose to, not because anyone tricked me. And I didn’t go for seconds.

That’s progress.

***

I went to the pool, wearing a brand-new pair of speedos. This wasn’t a secret to Micah. I told him I was going.

It had been a week since I’d realized how fat I’d gotten, and while my boyfriend continued to make huge meals and always have snacks within arms’ reach, he stopped encouraging me to eat. Everything felt like old times again.

I still ate more than I would’ve last year (and I’d grown to like that artificial-sugar taste in all the packaged sweets Micah bought), but I wasn’t going overboard anymore. Just a bit more than usual.

And now, I was going to start exercising again. It would take a while to get back to my fighting weight, but that was totally fine. I had months and months before next season. More importantly, I had determination.

The pool was surprisingly packed for this time of day. All the lanes were taken, so I was stuck in the smaller side pool, meant more for hanging out than swimming laps. I peeled off my shirt, feeling my belly flop out. That was such a strange sensation. Jiggling. I’d never felt that before.

Then I took off my pants. Even though my new speedo was a couple sizes bigger, it still felt tight. My soft thighs just spilled right out.

I started walking toward the edge of the pool. I felt stares from all directions. People recognized me, and now they could see how out-of-shape I’d gotten in just a few months. I caught one of my teammates staring from a distance, his mouth hanging open and his eyes locked on my wide, swaying ass.

Sounds embarrassing, right? Well, I didn’t feel embarrassed. I loved it. In fact, I loved it a little too much. I could feel my dick stiffen under my speedo. I was only halfway to the pool, and already I had a noticeable bulge. My hands shot down to my crotch and I raced back to my beach chair, plopping down.

People noticed. Of course they did.

I kept my towel on my lap, scrolling through my phone and waiting for little Nate to shrink. Finally, he did.

I stood up and started back toward the pool. I felt jiggles ripple through me with each step. And just like that, my erection came back. “Dammit!” I rushed back to my chair and pulled my pants back on. Swimming would have to wait.

***

Read Part 2 here.

#gainer fiction #gainer stories #male wg #feeder fiction #gainerstory #gainerfiction #gainer story #gainerstories #weight gain fiction #gay feeder #weight gain story #weight gain stories #wg story #wg fiction #wg writing #wg stories #chubby

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isabella-2025 · 6 hours ago

Text

Loving you was Complicated 2: Warnings: None just a lot of emotions.

Jey Uso X Ella (OC)

Plot: After Jey shows up at Ella's hotel room how will Ella react, and will this lead to a night of disappointment or a night of Love?

So how did we like part 2?

Thoughts?

Thank you, guys, for all the support and love. ❤️❤️

Ella Looks at Jey and says

" um Yeah you can come in."

Ella opens the door and Jey walks inside he shifts nervously, he looks at her and says

" Sorry I just didn't think you would wanna see me."

" You know you can always come to me come sit down lets talk." Ella says

Jey walks over to a chair that was by the window and sits down Ella sits across from him. Ella says

" So, I saw your match I'm sorry it ended like that."

" Yeah me to." Jey says sadly.

" you fought hard just like you always do." Ella tell him softly

" I didn't fight hard enough." Jey whispers

" Jey you fought Roman tooth and nail for that title you didn't know he was going to do that." Ella tells him.

" I didn't know nobody gave me any warning but that's not….. never mind." Jey says his voice filled with nerves

Ella can sense his nervousness so she slides her chair right up next to his, gently grabs his hands and says

" Jey, i can read you like a book you are anxious about something don't hold it in tell me what did you mean by that." Ella says gently

" It its nothing." Jey says softly.

" look at me Jey, tell me what's going on in your head." Ella says

Jey looks her his eyes filled with something neither of them wanted to name. Jey says

" I don't mean I didn't fight hard enough in the match."

" Then what did you mean Jey." Ella says while stroking his hand with her thumb attempting to ease his nerves.

" I I mean I should have fought…….." Jey trails off his voice shaking with emotion.

" Jey its okay you can tell me, you should have fought harder for what?" Ella says

" I- I- should have fought harder for you….. for us." Jey says looking her directly in the eyes.

" Jey…" Ella starts to say but Jey cuts her off and says

" hold on please I am not finished."

Ella nods and jey continues

" Ella, you were my rock the person I could go to and there no judgment or anything bad you bring a sense of peace to my life that I don't deserve."

" Jey you do deserve peace and love." Ella says

" No I don't I'm just the failure of the family and I didn't fail at that I failed at keeping the one thing that mattered to me I failed to keep you." Jey says tears brimming his eyes

Ella moves closer to Jey to where she is right in front of him. She pulls him into her arms and lets him cry on her shoulder. She softly says

" Jey, you didn't Fail and you damn sure didn't lose me."

Jey looks up at her and says

" I left you that night just like I left Sami lying in the ring like a coward."

" Hey, You left Sami because you were conflicted and he understands that." Ella says

" He doesn't understand it he doesn't even want you to talk to me I heard him tell you if something happened to not be involved with any of us especially me." Jey says

" I just told him okay where he would shut up and leave me alone I wasn't going to stop talking to you Jey." Ella says seriously

" Really." Jey says

" Yes really Jey I care about you more than you know." Ella says seriously

" Ella why didn't you contact me after that night." Jey says softly

" I was waiting for you to come to me when you were ready." Ella says

Jey gently grabs Ella's hands and says

" I am so sorry I should have I just thought Sami had gotten in your head and you didn't want to see me anymore."

" Jey, You know nobody can control me." Ella says as she giggles

Jey laughs gently and says

" Yeah, Yeah I know."

" Jey…. " Ella starts to say but Jey interrupts her.

" Ella, I need to tell you something." Jey says as he looks at her directly in the eyes.

" Okay go ahead say what you need to say Jey." Ella says

" Ella, you have always been my Rock my light my safe space and I lost you once and I don't wanna lose you again." Jey says pulling her close to him.

Ella's breath hitches and she says " Jey…. I"

" Ella please let me finish I don't want to lose you or be without you, I need you Ella I love you." Jey says as he pulls her closer to him so that she's almost in his lap now.

Ella's breath hitches as she says" Jey, you are my comfort person, my joy, my peace and I cant live without you either I love you too Jey."

Jey smiles and says

" God that is such a relief I am so glad….can I do something I have always wanted to do."

" What have you always wanted to do?" Ella says

Jey brushes some hair out of her face leans in close and whispers

" Ella, may I kiss you."

Ella looks at him smiles and with tears in her eyes says

" Yes, that's all I want."

Jey wipes a tear from her eye leans in and places a gentle kiss on her lips.

That is the story of Ella and Jey they had a happy ending even though there love was complicated.

The end

@trippinsorrows @acute-crashout-jeyuso @empressdede @punksyeet @uceyliyahh @femdisa @mytribalnightmare @eringobragh420 @southerngirl41 @officialeve24 @usoinked @bossbitch-22 @madhatterbri @purplementalitybluebird @bloodlinemadness @holycollectivekitty @jstarr86 @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @duhitzkay380 @bloodlinesbabe93 @theusotwinzcom @thebigredmonster @chynagirl13 @mamis-girly

#wwe fanfiction #the bloodline #sami zayn #jey uso

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