#i think they need to look more cruel and for lack of a better word

[thelongestwalk]

I kinda wanted Ink5oul and Madame E to become a toxic influencer couple ... imagine the psychic damage they would wreak on the internet combined

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: It's been some time since your death and yet none of the Hashira still have the heart to remind Muichiro you're gone. A/N: I'm not too sure if the title means what I think it means so let me know if it's wrong...anyways I got the idea from a fic of @oceanxmoonz, so credits! Also you can probably tell I got lazy at the end... WARNINGS: (y/n) is dead. That's it.

“Where’s (y/n)?”

Shinobu’s smile was a little faker than before as she turned around to face the expectantly waiting Mist Pillar, who seemed a little upset. She couldn’t answer that quite yet. “Are you looking for them?”

“Yes,” Muichiro said plainly. “I couldn’t find them at all this morning. Or afternoon…have you seen them?”

Was it sadder to watch Muichiro lose his closest friend - if not something more - and grieve about it for a long time after or sadder to watch him forget they were long dead? That they weren’t avoiding him like his amnesia had him think, that they actually couldn’t? He always needed to be reminded and Shinobu didn’t like to be the one to do so.

“Tokito…they died a few months ago, remember?”

“No, they didn’t. Ginko would’ve told me.” His eyes widened, then narrowed angrily. “I don’t think that’s a very funny thing to say, Kocho.”

“But, Tokito-”

“I’ll go find (y/n) myself,” he said abruptly, then walked off.

Of course he came back later with the same question; of course Shinobu’s smile faltered.

***

“…I forgot your name.”

“…”

Muichiro blinked at the stoic Pillar before him. “You’re the…something Hashira, right? I think (y/n) mentioned you. Are they back from both of your mission yet?”

Tomioka hesitated. He was honest but he wasn’t cruel. He knew exactly what Tokito was talking about, knew that he suffered from huge blanks in his memory. He envied the younger Hashira a little, to be able to forget such tragedy - however seeing him constantly wander around wondering where they’d gone was a pitiful sight.

So in the end he decided to evade the question. “Yes. (y/n) came back safely from the mission.”

The Mist Pillar’s eyes lit up. “Thank you. I’ll go find them now.”

Yes, (y/n) came back from their mission together safely. If only the same could be said of the last.

***

“HAR?”

“I said, where’s (y/n)?” Muichiro sighed after his almost shout at the disbelieving Wind Pillar. “Has your mission damaged your ears?”

“You little-” Sanemi checked himself. “I know damn well what it was you said.”

“Okay then, where’s (y/n)? I found this flower I wanted to show them.”

The older man’s mouth fell open, probably to harshly remind Tokito for the fifth time that month that who he was looking for was long dead and gone. Then it closed again.

Sanemi was not a soft man, evidenced by his scars, shouts, and treatment of his younger brother. But at the end of the day his intentions, though misguided, were what he wanted best for everyone. It was a tragic world out there and whether his next words were going to exacerbate it he would accept the consequences whole-heartedly - no one would fault him for not wanting to bring the poor kid back to shattering reality either, right?

“Probably out on another mission. You can’t keep hogging them to yourself, Tokito.”

“That’s odd…I thought they just came back…”

“Yeah, well, demons don’t wait for anyone!” Sanemi barked. Sadly, too true.

***

“Oh, Tokito…!”

“…Kan-something-san?” Muichiro’s face twisted in confusion as the pink-haired lady threw herself at him crying, pulling him into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” Mitsuri straightened and wiped at her face, plastering a bright but trembling smile for the younger Hashira.

Muichiro blinked. “Okay. Have you seen (y/n)? I just got back from a mission but I can’t find them.”

“…perhaps they’re busy?” Mitsuri swept the tears on her cheeks again. “Don’t worry, I don’t think they’d ignore if they had a choice, Tokito!”

“Oh…alright then.” Muichiro drifted off, readily accepting Mitsuri’s story despite the obvious holes for lack of better explanation.

Mitsuri bit her lip, guilty at her lie. Every day Muichiro would approach with the same question and every day someone or some way it would be broken to him that (y/n) was long gone but as terrible as it made her feel Mitsuri never wanted to be the one who did it.

He’d found the love she’d always been searching for. Unfortunate one didn’t survive for long.

***

“Young Tokito! Are you looking for someone?!”

“You’re really loud…” Muichiro tilted his head. “Have you seen (y/n)?”

Tengen and Rengoku shared a look - the Sound Pillar broke the pause first. “Tokito, don’t you remember?”

“Remember what?” Muichiro’s attention span was already running out. “I think I saw them today but I can’t remember where.”

“You couldn’t have seen them,” Tengen starts again, for it’s not the first time the Mist Pillar has mistaken someone else for (y/n). “They’re-”

“Oh, right…at the Butterfly Mansion, I think. Thanks for…helping?” Muichiro left and the two Pillars glanced at each other again.

“Who’s gonna tell him? He can’t keep walking around thinking they’re still alive. That’s just cruel.”

“But if he remembers his spirit will be beyond crushed - you remember how he was when he first found out. For now, when we need to be most vigilant, perhaps we should let him be!”

Rengoku’s voice carried a tremor of uncertainty, however.

***

“I saw Kanroji and you talk a few days ago. Did you make her cry?” Obanai glowered menacingly at the deadpan Mist Pillar.

“No? She was crying?”

“Yes!” Kaburamaru hissed with his owner.

“Oh…right. Now I remember. I didn’t make her cry.” Muichiro looked up. “At least I don’t think so?”

Obanai resisted the urge to slap his hand on his forehead. He leaned in clsoer. “Why was she crying?”

“I have no idea,” Muichiro said, leaning back. He brightened. “Oh, right. I was asking about (y/n).”

“(y/n)?” Obanai stiffened but took a step back. “Oh. I see.”

“Which reminds me…I wanted to go see her after our sparring, but I don’t know where they are.”

The Serpent Pillar and his snake shifted uncomfortably. “You’ll find them.”

Not really. Obanai hoped for the sake of his comrade that he’d forget he’d already asked the question and not stumble upon (y/n)’s grave.

***

Himejima too cried.

It didn’t really make sense to Muichiro, but he let the oldest Hashira lay a hand on his shoulder and say some prayers. He didn’t really pay attention to the wording but he caught his name and (y/n)’s.

It was safe to assume the Stone Hashira didn’t know where they were so Muichiro bid him goodbye (or at least he thought he did) and set off to go find them himself. From behind the trees one Shinazugawa Genya watched him go before joining his master’s side.

“Why isn’t anyone telling him?” Genya couldn’t imagine what it was like to lose someone so close to you, someone to love and care for, and not even remember when they were no longer there.

“Some things must be found out by himself.”

“Isn’t it unfair to (y/n)’s memory if Tokito doesn’t remember?”

“I’m sure (y/n) will understand…they were very patient with him. They will understand that he needs to take his own time in coming into terms with…”

“Coming into terms?” Genya’s frown deepened. “You mean it’s not just his memory thing?”

“Grief and denial are strange things.”

***

“Where are you, (y/n)?”

Muichiro knelt down by the headstone, dropping the bouquet next to him. “I hope you’re happy, wherever you are. I’m sorry I forgot about you for so long.”

He takes a deep breath and begins to tell about his day, like he’s been doing every day ever since he regained his memories after that fateful fight at the Swordsmith Village and befriending Tanjiro. He thinks they’d like this version of him much more.

“The demons have been awfully quiet lately,” Muichiro mused. “They say Kibutsuji’s planning something. They’re probably all out to get Nezuko. A big all out war’s going to be coming, I think, and I’m sorry I won’t be able to visit when that happens. So I’ll come more often now.”

He dusted off the stone, staring sadly at the inscription. “I’ll kill the demon who got you. I promise.”

At the price of his own life, (y/n) knew, sitting invisibly next to him, crying transparent tears but he wasn’t to know that.

[jenneyquinn]

“who do you think you’re impressing with this stuff?”

“everyone. you wouldn’t understand.”

after adjusting his tie, pacifica looks up from dipper’s neck, her blue eyes meeting his brown ones. it’s the very first time she sees him without that lame pine tree cap on, so naturally, her eyes aim a little higher.

upon inspecting the brunette’s tufts of hair, she thinks to herself, he definitely doesn’t shower much, trying her best to not react too visibly to the accumulation of sweat. who knows, making him feel more awkward will just make things worse—after all, that suit must be stuffy enough as it is.

so, she remains indifferent as she continues inspecting his hair. despite a lack of showering, she thinks, he’s lucky to have fluffly hair… for a nerd, i guess.

before she backs off completely, walking back into the party to the ‘problem room’, pacifica notices something about dipper’s forehead. a blemish, perhaps? or maybe, a hint of acne.

acne makes sense for him, trying very hard to roll her eyes at the thought, obviously not the type to spare time for proper skin care, geez.

for all she knew, pacifica soon came to the conclusion that from all that sweat… the pores on his forehead being clogged thanks to his brown hair and that hat of his, she wouldn’t worry much about giving away some facial cleanser, mosturiser, and a trip to pick up some ointment (since she never needed any).

yet, before she could start on a list—first, she needed to know how bad it was.

pushing his hair back, dipper feels his whole body go stiff in a flash. what the heck was she doing?

“i don’t have time to give you a total makeover, but the least i can do is advise you on better personal hygiene.”

pacifica answers, which meant that dipper was definitely thinking out loud.

stupid! now that, he whines in thought, but refrains from physically face-palming himself.

when pacifica fully pushes dipper’s hair back, his forehead now bare to her, she observes it, her face remaining indifferent as she focuses on what lies before her. it’s… a big dipper?

behind that poker face of hers, she’s laughing inside; trying desperately to not let the corners of her lips twinge up and succumb to her amusement.

clearly embarrassed, dipper’s face flushes red, but finds himself staying still as he feels frozen under pacifica’s gaze. his doe-brown eyes are only glued to her diamond-hued irises, then glances a bit down to her glossed lips, awaiting the inevitable mean-girl cackle.

“so that’s why people call you dipper.” pacifica points out softly, showing the smallest hint of a grin on her face.

only, it isn’t malicious—dipper notes to himself. amused, yes, but not in a cruel, insulting way.

feeling awkward enough as it is, dipper breaks away from pacifica’s touch, backing himself away and heading towards the door; laughing inorganically.

“yeah, it’s just a dumb birthmark, started going by dipper so no one could tease me about that anymore, heh,” he tries to explain in a single breath, pulling out the third journal to avoid being further burned in her gaze, “anywaysweshouldgoaheadandfindtheroomwheretheghostwaslastspottedright?”

“i don’t think it’s dumb.”

the confession slips pass pacifica’s lips almost instantly, unable to stop the words from spewing out.

now, they’re both pink in the face, both in disbelief of the blonde’s admission.

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

feeling veryyyy normal thinking about being offered as part of bounty to the ghoul because the bounty poster doesn’t end up having the caps they promised him. and they need to pay him somehow. they’ll offer him their lil captive vaultie as payment for the rest. 👉🏻👈🏻 will he accept?🫣

A Fair Trade

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,980

Warnings: smut (18+), p in v sex, oral (m receiving), creampie, sex as payment for debt, human trafficking typical of the Fallout universe.

Summary: The Ghoul always gets what's owed to him.

Notes: Oh, wow! My first submission-type ask! I'm genuinely super flattered and totally open to doing more. I initially ballparked that this would be around 2,500 words and it ended up almost 4,000 because I have no self control when it comes to this man. I will try to keep other submissions a little shorter, generally, to hopefully get them out quicker.

To the anon: This may have turned out...sweeter than you may have envisioned? Maybe that's not the word. Less rough? If so, my apologies! I hope you still enjoy.

Things had been...unfortunate for you since you had decided to leave your vault.

Looking for a taste of something new, chasing the feeling that the world had other things for you to experience, you had managed to make it to the nearest settlement of any import with only a few scrapes and bruises. But, regrettably, you lacked a true understanding of how cruel and selfish people on the surface could be, and you quickly ended up the captive of some random outpost runner.

Well, you'd been traded to the outpost runner. You still weren't quite sure how that had come about, even after weeks and weeks had passed, but, frankly, the scrawny, dirty man was a lot less scary than the guy who had initially captured you. He wasn't not scary by any means (no one up here really was, as far as you could tell); he still confiscated your things and locked you into the small room in the back that you were fairly confident was intended to be a closet every night, but he hadn't really done anything to hurt you so far. You were given a pillow, at least.

But you were growing increasingly uneasy with not knowing what his plans for you were. Worst case scenario, you guessed, he could kill and eat you like you'd heard some surface people did, but that didn't seem to be the case. Nevertheless, the way he eyeballed you, "accidentally" brushed against you with increasing frequency, made you uneasy. Maybe he'd bought you to be his wife, or whatever the Wasteland equivalent would be. You imagined that in the next few weeks he'd offer you more favorable sleeping accommodations...so long as you shared them with him.

Maybe you could accept, kill him in his sleep and flee. You really didn't treasure the idea of ending someone's life, but...you needed to get out of here, and soon.

The sound of the creaky, rusted front door hinges flexing drew your attention, distracting you from your bloody ruminations and the pile of scrap you'd been sorting through. The front office hadn't been loud, but the small murmur of voices instantly faded, a clatter of movement towards the door, followed by some very familiar sounding footfalls. He was back.

The tall, noseless, rad-ravaged man made his way in multiple times a month, sometimes even multiple times a week when the bounties were easy and the work was plentiful. You'd seen each other somewhat often the past few weeks, as your keeper had begun to allow you to clean and assist in the front of the office more and more. It was both better and worse; the days passed with less tedium and you got to see some of the interesting characters the desert produced. However, many of those characters sized you up with predatory eyes, as if they were estimating how many caps they could sell your flesh for in their heads. The ghoul had yet to give you that feeling, interestingly enough.

You'd heard whispers all over town about him, about all the things he'd apparently done, how he was supposedly hundreds of years old. You didn't believe that for a single second. After all, despite his fascinatingly gruesome appearance, he was just a man, wasn't he? A man with very advanced radiation sickness (and a rather unfriendly general disposition), but a man nonetheless.

Sometimes, you felt as if he was certainly looking at you the way a man would. You were unsure, frankly; social etiquette was so vastly different on the surface than it was at home. It sure seemed like he let his eyes linger on you, on your body. Perhaps he was simply curious about you, as you were about him; most people seemed afraid to even look his way, or too disgusted by his condition to even consider it.

"You wanna run that by me again?"

Your ears pricked up instantly at the tone in the ghoul's voice, your heckles raising as you sensed trouble. Tiptoeing towards the door to the front room, you stood as close as you dared, shoulder touching the rotting door frame as you listened in.

"I told you, we were robbed a few nights ago. I don't have the full payment for you right now. This is everything I've got."

You knew your keeper was lying, about the robbery, at least; the place was so small that if anyone had been in to steal anything, you'd have certainly known about it. Whether or not he really had the caps, you didn't know, but you supposed he didn't, figuring that he wouldn't take the risk of pissing off the ghoul if he did. You had overheard him discussing gambling on a few occasions.

"Well, you better find something to make me whole, quick." came the ghoul's acidic reply.

On some level, you understood his frustration. The work was done, the bounty delivered. Un-delivering it wouldn't make up for all the time he'd put in. But, you also knew his reputation for being unforgiving, and you felt a chill run up your spine as you began to fear that he would kill your keeper and you if he didn't find some sort of satisfaction soon.

"I don't have anything worth anything. I told you, this is all I have." the scrawny man shot back, trying to sound confident, tough.

However, based on the way his voice trembled and faltered, the uneasy way he cleared his throat, you suspected the ghoul knew he was lying, too, confirmed only a moment later by what you were certain was the sound of a gun thwish-ing out of its holster and cocking. Your heart flew up into your throat, hammering even harder when, a second later, the lighter sounds of the scrawny man's footsteps rapidly approached the door of the back office. Scrambling back towards the desk, you'd only closed about half the distance when the door flew open, the man grabbing at you almost blindly, his long, dirty nails digging into your exposed wrist as he dragged you, protesting, out behind the counter.

"Hey!" you hissed, trying your best to snatch your arm back out of his grip and failing, infuriatingly. You were momentarily blinded with outrage that he would offer your body to someone to cover his own debts, though you supposed that was just how people did things in this awful place. Your eyes, feeling like they could pop out of your head they were so wide, flew to the man on the other side of the counter, who was assessing you with a look you couldn't read.

"What about her?" the scrawny man asked, and that was the final straw. If things were going to get worse for you, you weren't just going to accept it with a smile. The fingers on your free hand curled into a fist, which you smashed into the side of his face, causing him to release your arm in shock. Almost instantly, he jerked towards you, but the Ghoul pointed the modified pistol in his hand further into his face, stopping him.

"Now, how're you gonna offer me merchandise and then try to damage it in front of me?" he said, speaking to the man, but not looking at him. He was still looking at you, an intrigued glint in his eyes. They were...pretty, actually. Warm and golden brown. Was he really thinking about taking the offer? You'd be lying if you said you weren't curious about what his body would be like underneath all the layers of clothing. However, the entire situation had your walls up high, your whole body trembling slightly.

The Ghoul stepped slowly around the counter towards you; the scrawny man shrunk away, the gun still pointed in his direction, while you held your ground, doing your best to keep your head held high as he stepped right into your bubble, your chests almost touching as he seemed to really size you up. After a moment of incredibly tense silence, his eyes moved to the door, then back to yours. Slowly, he lowered the gun.

"Alright. C'mon, Vaultie." he said simply, turning on one foot to make his way back to the other side of the counter. You hesitated, but soon moved to stand beside him, a surreal feeling washing over you.

"Hey! No fucking way, man! You can't just take her for keeps. She's worth way more caps than I owe you!"

The man was even more red-faced than usual, his tone downright indignant, but he didn't step out from behind the counter to follow.

"Ah, but, see, once we factor in the interest on my missed payment, hurt and suffering, on top of my 'you're a dumbshit' fee...I think it's a wash, personally." the Ghoul replied, leaning back over the counter into the man's dirt-speckled face. He clearly wasn't in a place of strength to negotiate, and his angry gaze moved to you again before he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"What the fuck ever." he grunted.

You felt your body relax noticeably as the bulk of the conflict seemed to pass. However, there was a small amount of unfinished business you wanted to address before you left this place. You crossed your arms, turning your narrowed eyes to your former keeper, feeling emboldened with the Ghoul standing at your back.

"Where's my bag you took from me?"

Soon, you were back in possession of your things, including your Pip Boy, which you fretted over as you and your new keeper set out the door and into the desert heat. As you walked, you flexed the sore fingers on your hand absentmindedly. Soon, you were pouring sweat, pausing briefly to peel the top half of your vault suit down to your waist, tying the sleeves around you hips. The Ghoul appraised you silently as you did, taking a hit off of an inhaler from his pocket before continuing on.

As grateful as you were to be away from the trading outpost, away from the scrawny man and his uneasy ways, you couldn't help but worry in the back of your mind, fret at the possibility that you were going somewhere worse. It was being too trusting that got you into your situation to begin with. You worried at your lip with your teeth as he began to direct you down the road, his hand flat and firm between your shoulders. You weren't sure if the gesture was intended to be one of comfort, or if he was simply ready to snatch you up by the back of your vault suit if you decided to try to run.

The two of you walked in complete silence in the direction of the setting sun for what felt like a hundred miles. In truth, your Pip Boy revealed that you'd only gone a single mile and some change when the sun fully dipped behind the horizon, granting some blessed relief from the sweltering heat. You kept on a while longer, until the stars began to appear; eventually, the man veered from the decrepit highway, steering you to a little alcove in the rocky hillside, barely big enough to be a coyote's den.

"Alright, we'll bed down here for the night. Gettin' too dark to keep walkin'." he said, dropping his bag on the ground in a little cloud of dust as he turned to survey the site suspiciously.

You stood waiting for him to direct you, your fingers wrapped tight around the straps of your backpack, watching as he checked around wordlessly. After a few minutes, you chose one of the flatter rocks around and sat against it, watching as he built a small fire, inhaling some of the rations that had been hid away in your bag. Eventually, the ghoul threw himself down on the other side of the flames, facing the highway, and did the same, tucking into something canned from his bag. Things were quiet for a while, but eventually he spoke to you again, his voice pulling you away from fidgeting with with your Pip-Boy.

"Y'know, you're insanely lucky he didn't sell that thing. Can get quite a bit for a functional one these days. Moron didn't know what he had." he said, still chewing.

You blinked at him, your eyes flitting between the gadget on your arm and him, unsure how to respond. Briefly, you felt a growing sense of apprehension, but he must've sensed it, as he rolled his eyes and sighed softly as he swallowed.

"I'm just sayin' you're lucky you still have it, kid. Don't piss your pants. Trust me, if I wanted that thing, I'd have taken it from you already." he said, tossing the now-empty can over his shoulder.

You nodded silently, willing the tension out of your spine as you watched him dig around inside the oiled leather saddle bag once more. He produced a silver flask and a canteen, taking long pulls off of one, then the other. He then took another drag off of the inhaler he'd been puffing as you walked. Eventually, he stood, gave his back a stretch, and shrugged the long, tattered duster from his shoulders, splaying it out quickly on the ground behind him before turning back to face you.

"Alright, darlin'. Get your little ass over here."

You felt yourself freeze almost completely, your head turning sharply towards him. He hadn't said anything about the initial deal for so long that you weren't sure he was actually interested.

"What? I accepted you in lieu of payment. That means you are the payment, sweetheart. And I do intend to collect." he said, plainly amused, sinking down to the ground, his back sliding against the red rock behind him. "Besides, I've seen the way you look at me. Don't pretend you're not curious."

Your cheeks instantly felt agonizingly hot; had you been that obvious in your interest in him? Every day, something new in this place made you feel so silly, so naive. But, at the same time...he wasn't wrong. He might be rough-looking overall, but he'd been kind to you so far, and he did have quite a nice build. Besides, it had been weeks since you'd felt sufficiently alone enough to masturbate. A tad awkwardly, you went to lift yourself to walk to him when he cut you off.

"Mmm. How about you crawl?"

You felt your face twist into a mask of indignant confusion, and he chuckled. Hesitating, you made measured eye contact with him over the flames, quickly realizing, as those mischievous eyes glinted back at you, that he was serious. You swallowed hard, pulling yourself slowly onto your hands and knees before crawling the half-circle around the small fire as quickly and as dignified as possible, though there felt like there was very little dignity in it anyway. You stopped at his feet, kneeling with your hands on your thighs and looking up at him, trying your hardest to not seem as nervous as you felt.

"Take your shirt off." he ordered, head tilted as he watched you quickly pull the grimy undershirt over your head, tossing it near your bag. The night air was cool on your bare breasts, your sensitive nipples quickly peaking into hard little nubs that stung slightly. You wanted to press your warm palms to them, soothe the ache, but you didn't want him to think you were trying to cover yourself, so you simply sat, staring again, waiting for further instructions.

He grinned at you, leaning forward into your space, his gloved fingers stroking along your jaw, sliding a single one under your chin to lift your eyes fully to his. They were just as pretty glinting in the dying firelight as they had been in the outpost office.

"Y'know, you take direction pretty well, Vaultie. I like that in a lady." he said, tone low and conspiratory.

Your entire face burned now, even your eyes feeling hot, but that fire spread its way down into your core, blooming between your thighs, and you shifted slightly to press them together harder.

Reaching down, he made quick work of the belt holding up his pants and his fly, tugging free a cock that was about as red as the rest of him, the bulbous head glistening with precum already in the yellow-orange glow of the fire. Your tongue darted out to swipe at your lower lip, and you crawled up his legs to look closer. The Ghoul seemed surprised, leaning back ever so slightly from you as you came near, giving you room to move close and wrap your hand around him, drawing out a long hiss from between his yellowed teeth.

"Right on it, eh?" he chuckled almost breathlessly. "I like that in a lady, too."

You shot him a bit of a chastising look as you began to work your hand up and down over him, your free fingers coming to play along the weeping slit of him, earning another groan. He was a pretty average length for his height, you thought, but thick and already almost completely hard. It didn't seem like it would take much work to get him the rest of the way there. Your musings were interrupted by the feeling of his leather glove brushing against the swell of your breast before encaging the whole thing in his palm, massaging almost reverently. You whimpered when he plucked at your other nipple, sending shocks down your spine and straight to your already throbbing clit.

"Let's see what that pretty mouth is good for, hmm?"

Embarrassingly, you immediately dropped your head, pushing your body flat so you were sort of lying between his spread legs, bringing your lips down to hover a few inches above his leaking cock head. Tongue darting out to lap up a little taste of the shiny slickness there, you hummed; he tasted different than you were expecting, sort of the same, but with an almost metallic edge. You ran your tongue in a full circle around his tip, clenching around nothing when he groaned throatily, his right hand sliding through the dirt beside him.

"Fuck." he spat out when you unhinged your jaw, allowing the first few inches of him to fill your mouth, wrapping your lips around the head and sucking hard as your left hand continued to work the base of him. More and more precum leaked from the slit as you tongued at it, the taste and the knowledge that you were arousing to him making you rub your thighs together shamelessly.

"Play with your pussy." he commanded, clearly struggling to keep his tone even. Beneath you, you could feel his hips rocking almost imperceptibly. He didn't need to tell you twice; you could already tell you'd soaked through your underwear as you wrestled your hand down into your pants, pushing the wet gusset aside to rub tight circles around your swollen bud, moaning around his cock at the feeling.

The sound seemed to really turn him on, one of his hands suddenly moving to fist into your hair, the slight pain at the roots making you throb. His other hand came to cup your jaw again, holding you in place as he fully fucked his hips up into your waiting mouth, cussing under his breath as you continued to push yourself closer to orgasm. He kept you like that for a few long minutes, your neck cramping slightly by the time his thumb reached down, wiping away some drool that was dribbling down your chin. Bleary eyed, you looked up at him pleadingly. His answer was a wicked chuckle, his grin less of a smile and more a predator bearing his teeth.

"Blowin' a ghoul turn you on that much, cutie? What would the other vaulties think?" he tutted, shaking his head. "I think it's time you get on my cock."

Blushing hard at his little taunt, you could feel his burning gaze as you pulled yourself back up into a sitting position, tugging your boots off and setting them aside before shimmying the suit the rest of the way off, along with your underwear. A shiver broke down your spine as a small breeze hit you, your fire pretty much nothing but glowing embers now. However, when you pulled yourself back onto his lap, sighing as you ground your wet slit against his erection, you found that he was pleasantly warm feeling, bringing your hands up to his chest so you could lean over just enough to reach between you and position his cock at your entrance.

Too afraid of injuring yourself to attempt to take him all in one move, you instead opted to sink down onto the head, wriggling your hips before pulling them back up, then sinking down again, gently bouncing yourself down onto him. The man beneath you was tense, his hands kneading at your breasts as he huffed and hissed his way inside you. By the time you'd worked yourself most of the way down onto him, his hands moved to your hips, gripping them deliciously tight as you bobbed up and down on his length. For as cocky as he'd been before, he was pretty clearly struggling to keep his cool now.

One of your hands moved up from his chest, leaving you unsteadily balancing on one hand as the other pinched your nipple the same way he had before, making you cry out like a wounded animal. He must've liked that, as well, as his hands immediately yanked you the rest of the way down onto him, your ass resting flush against his hips. You repeated the sound again, higher, more strangled as he sat so deep inside you, the fat tip of him strumming away at something amazing right behind your belly button. It was too dark to make out much of anything, but you could feel the way his body twitched and bucked beneath you, strung tight as a bow.

The Ghoul's hands were digging deep into the fat of your hips, so hard you knew you'd bruise, restricting your movement, forcing you to swivel and grind your hips against him, the angle putting delicious friction on your poor aching clit and pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your body began to clench around him rhythmically, and his hand quickly appeared on your clit in the dark, rubbing surprisingly deft stripes up and down the puffy flesh until you were suddenly gasping for air, trembling hard against his chest as he fucked up into your heat roughly, sloppily, the hand that wasn't on your clit slapping you hard on the ass. Suddenly, he let out a long, low groan, and you could feel the hot throbbing of him pumping his cum inside you, his hips stuttering as you let yourself slump halfway against him. There was a sudden metallic taste in your mouth. For several long moments, there were no sounds but your co-mingled harsh breaths and sound of the wind swirling the sand across the foothills.

After you'd finally caught your breath, you made a move to extract yourself from him. He promptly stopped you, flipping you onto your back, the smell of the duster's rich leather curling in around you as he kept grinding his hips into your overstimulated cunt. It drew an embarrassing squeal from you, hands flying to his chest once more before being rather playfully batted away.

"Oh, no, sweetheart. Nice as that was, your buddy owed me quite a bit of money. I think you'll be paying me back in installments." he growled in your ear, one hand moving around to give your ass a firm squeeze as you gave another clench around him. Your mind, foggy with sex, wandered to the Radaway still stashed in your bag.

It was going to be a long night.

[tacticaldiary]

Frightened Of The Fall

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"Simon." He rasps, grip tightening around her arms. "Call me Simon."

Her smile widens and it makes something in him break with a need to let her light smooth over his jagged, broken pieces.

"I love you, Simon."

Masterlist

Baby birds are born with an innate fear of falling. Frightening little things, skittering over to the edges of their nests and peering down, curious but never brave enough to take a leap. It's their mothers that nudge them along, shove them over the edge knowing that they'll come out unscathed.

Simon remembers the soft look on his mother's face when she used to read to him at night, locking the door and draping his bedsheets over their heads like a little makeshift tent.

It's one of the clearer memories in his head, but nothing in his life comes completely untainted.

His father always got tired of yelling and banging on his door. He'd find the master key somewhere and click the lock back open, ending her attempts to distract him on the worst days.

His father had shoved him off the edge too soon, not accustomed to a mother's intuition and only driven by the cruel need to see him flail and fall as he hit the ground hard.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

"Does pasta sound okay?"

Ghost hums into his cup of coffee, skimming over a document he'd put off till the last minute to review. Their kitchen table is littered with files and folders belonging to them both. "Thought you were going out tonight.?"

Working in the same division of the military means their privy to the same confidential information, luckily.

"I was," She nods, setting down the packet of pasta. "But I cancelled. Thought some time alone with you would be better..."

He nods, and the knot of unease that's been tightening in her chest for the past week makes an appearance again. He doesn't say anything, he hasn't been saying much at all these days, and it's making her more than uneasy.

Ghost wasn't an overly silent man, especially not with her, so this behaviour has been out of character enough to raise some flags. A little frustrated at his lack of interest, she walks across the kitchen to join him at the table.

"Is something wrong?"

Sometimes, Ghost sees the gentle nature of his mother in her.

When she smiles at him like he's hung the moon and the stars for doing her a simple favour. The quiet nights together spent soaking in company that he hasn't had the chance to experience in years...

"Nothing's wrong."

"You're angry at me."

He glances up at her, raising an eyebrow. "You'd know if I was mad at you, love."

"Then what is it?" She pushes, "You've been so...so disinterested lately." She really tries to word it eloquently in a way that's not too intense. "You don't join me for any activity apart from work, you barely say a word to me if I don't initiate a conversation!"

She's certainly got his attention now.

"You didn't even ask where I was going when I told you I had plans tonight, it's like...it's like you don't care anymore." She finishes, pushing out the last part of her sentence in a voice wrapped with hurt. "If you don't...don't want me, I'd rather you just say it. I'll understand, but it's not fair to keep me at arm's length when-"

"Stop." He cuts her off loudly. "You think I don't want you anymore?" The papers lay on the table, completely forgotten as he pushes himself to stand up next to her. There's an urgency in his movements that she hasn't seen before.

"You sure make it seem that way."

"I don't." His gaze flickers across her face and his stomach sinks when he sees nothing but raw honesty and hurt. "Of course I want you-"

"Then why don't you talk to me?"

That shuts him up.

"I was thinking." He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "About everything. About...us." When he sees devastation flash across her face, he's quick to correct her misunderstanding. "Fucking hell, not like that." He assures her, taking her arms in his hands and stepping closer. "Never like that, darling. Shouldn't have made you doubt anything, didn't mean to." Ghost presses her face to the crook of his neck, loosening a sigh of relief when she doesn't push him away and nestles there instead.

"Then what is it?" She draws in a shaky breath. "If it's not me, why are you pulling away?"

It's a beat before he answers.

"I've always wanted a family." He squeezes her arms briefly. "Never thought I'd have anyone else to call that." His gaze is fixed firmly on the wall behind them, even when she tilts her head up to peer at him.

She doesn't push him, doesn't beg for details. Patient as always, and the knowledge that she would not force him to tell her anything he couldn't is the very thing that drives him to bear his thoughts to her.

Ghost tells her about coming home to a house of cold bodies. He doesn't spare any details, she's not frail or fragile. Hell, she's drawn just as much blood, just as viciously as he had, so he lays it all out as it happened. He tells her about his mother, about the good in his life ripped away by a fate that he dragged across their doormat.

"You're afraid it'll happen again." She whispers when he finishes.

"I'm...cautious."

"It's okay to be afraid." She smooths a hand over his hair much more gently than a man like him deserves. "You're human, Ghost. You're alive, they would be glad that you made it out alive."

"Shit luck I brought them, though." A hoarse voice he lets mingle with the loathing he's carried ever since he could remember.

"It won't happen again." His gaze flickers down to her at the declaration, "It's in the past, baby. Unless you let me go, I'm not going anyway."

"I don't." He tightens his grip instinctively. The very idea of being the reason he's lost the best thing that's ever happened to him is revolting. He intends to keep her for as long as she'll have him.

"Good." She cracks a small smile. Her fingers ghost over the scars on his cheek, marred with years of memories. "Neither of us are good people." She whispers. "Not with the things we've done, the things we've seen. But we're good for each other. You're so good to me and nothing in your past is going to take that away. Not even you."

Earnest and honest and determined, there's no protest Ghost can make that would strike her words untrue. He takes in an unsteady breath instead, letting himself sink into her promises.

"Let me in." She whispers, soft and pleading. "Build a life with me. Let me take care of you, Ghost."

He loosens a shuddering sigh out of his chest, a feeling so viscerally overwhelming washing him inside and out. It grows and expands, sheds lights on the corners of him untouched by love and safety.

Always shrouded in caution and fear, the sudden light is bound to sting the eyes of someone who's kept in the dark. The warmth is enough to burn someone kept in the cold.

She searches his eyes for something, for anything. A hint of agreement, a crack in the iron walls she can take as a sign to start chipping at.

"I love you."

And he believes it.

"Simon." He rasps, grip tightening around her arms. "Call me Simon."

Her smile widens and it makes something in him break with a need to let her light smooth over his jagged, broken pieces.

"I love you, Simon."

And she can see the light shining through.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(28/11/2023)

[scoobydoodean]

ok so forewarning, i don’t really have a question here, just lots of thoughts.

there’s so many layers to the general *badness* about the mia vallens therapy scene. like to the manipulation (for lack of a better word) that sam rewrites. like it makes such a difference that she thinks jack is their little brother instead of the son of the thing that killed dean’s best friend/loml. not to mention the fact that it’s been what like a week since *everything*

and like yes dean’s being cold towards jack and giving him orders (which, i could argue they weren’t uncalled-for), but tbh he’s only being moderately colder/more direct with him than he’s been with cas at times on hunts (thinking hunteri heroici) and even similar to how *sam* has been with like claire and even dean himself (thinking that episode dean turned into a teenager and all of MOC). like genuinely, how was sam expecting him to act like?

also (half joking) i genuinely think dean would’ve warmed up to jack even quicker than he did (we can already see it in this same episode, like that look he gives jack when he asks mia if buddy hurt her too) if he heard jack say he hates anakin skywalker lol

ok wait i do have a question. do you think jack actually was “terrified” of dean during that therapy scene?

(post linking to some context)

Okay so I rewatched 13.01-13.04 on a plane this past week so it's all extra fresh on my mind rn. The thing about 13.04 is that Dean wasn't comfortable bringing Jack on the hunt, and Jack didn't want to go, but Sam pushed insistently for all of them to go on the hunt together... primarily because Dean's feelings were thwarting Sam's plans for Jack and his own emotional coping mechanisms in a larger sense.

I think Dean's feelings compared to Sam's here are relatively more simple (and yet somehow still intensely misunderstood to a baffling degree). Dean was grieving. He was grieving Cas who died right in front of him, he was grieving Crowley (he pleads with Chuck to bring "even Crowley" back in 13.01!) and he was grieving Mary.

The thing with Dean's grief over Cas is this: instead of viewing it from Dean's perspective, we tend to analyze it as omniscient viewers who know Cas will come back, refusing see how miraculous Cas’s return truly was. We refuse to see Cas's death was different this time and appeared very permanent. There was no uncertainty like there was in season 7 or 8. His wings burned into the ground and his grace extinguished. Dean pleaded and prayed for Cas and Mary and Crowley's return to the only person who ever brought Cas back from certain death (via explosion in 5.01 and 5.22)—the person who told Dean in 11.23 he was leaving and Dean was on his own. Dean didn't hear back. The ONLY reason Cas comes back in 13.05 is that 1) Jack woke him him up unwittingly using powers no one knew he possessed and 2) Cas then annoyed a creature they didn't even know existed into letting him out of a place they 3) didn't even know existed and 4) Cas somehow came back with a body even though he had been burned to ash. All of this is completely miraculous. It was unforeseeable. It doesn’t even make complete sense as a viewer. In other words, Dean has ZERO reason to hope for Cas's return. There was ZERO reason to refuse to acknowledge that grief… but that's exactly what Sam does. He suggests Dean pray for Chuck to bring Cas back in 13.01. As soon as Sam knew Dean already tried that and Cas was DEAD dead, he treated Cas as something Dean needed to reframe and get over:

SAM: You thinking mom is gone and Cas is gone, and that Jack can’t be saved. Dean, after everything we’ve gone through… We just lost people we love, people who have been in our lives for a long time. Everything’s upside-down. I get it. But we’ve been down before. I mean, rock bottom. And we find a way. We fix it because that’s what we do.

This is the "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps" speech in 13.02—like a day after they burned Cas's body. Sam's wording here is cruel too—saying Dean is "thinking" Cas is gone as if he didn't die right in front of him? He refuses to acknowledge Cas's death as something Dean was actively and rightfully mourning. This becomes a major point of contention between the brothers at the end of 13.03.

DEAN: Look, I know you think that you can use [Jack] as some sort of an interdimensional can-opener and that’s fine, but don’t act like you care about him! Because you only care about what he can do for you! So if you want to pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid! Because when I do all I see is everybody we’ve lost! SAM: Mom chose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack!

Sam will only name Mary—the one person whose death they can’t 100% confirm (the same thing happens in front of Mia in 13.04). The absence of Cas’s name here is pointed. So Dean says:

DEAN: And what about Cas?

And how does Sam respond?

SAM: What about Cas?

Uh... wow. That's what really sets Dean off to full on shouting:

DEAN: [Jack] manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

Sam's denial of what Dean literally SAW (Cas died) and how that hurts—his insistence that Dean also halt grieving to hope for the impossible—it's a major sticking point and very revealing of Sam's own coping mechanisms. Sam's chief response to grief is to disassociate himself from it. We see a textbook case in season 8 (see: 8.08), but in most of the series, what this actually looks like for Sam is to keep moving and hunting (ex: 1.02, 2.02, 2.10, 2.11, 2.18 3.11, 4.09, 9.01) which is also why he insists on bringing Dean and Jack on the hunt in 13.04. Sam tries not to think about what they've lost and focuses on what he CAN do. He focuses on hoping Mary can be saved because she's the one person he didn't SEE die.

The thing about Dean’s grief over Mary is this: he convinces himself Lucifer had to have killed her. She's the one person whose death Dean can't be certain of, but he absolutely cannot bear the thought of hoping she’s alive and it turning out he’s wrong. He knows he wouldn’t psychologically survive hoping in that and his beliefs being crushed. It would be like losing his mom all over again (a THIRD time). So he sticks to what is most likely: Lucifer killed her. He can't contend with the hope Sam is clinging to desperately, and that's what makes them such poor companions in grief. Sam feels off balance when Dean won't keep moving and hoping like him—when Dean can't keep up the pace Sam wants to run at in his own grief—and in doing so, Sam keeps pushing Dean to contend with hopes that open Dean up to a WORLD of pain Sam can psychologically convince himself not to feel. Grieving together just really just doesn't work for them because they're never on the same page and deal in such different ways—and this has been hurting them from as early as 2.02!!!

Now to bring Jack into this more fully: Jack represents Sam and Dean's different perspectives on grief and on Mary. Just like Dean despairs over Mary's demise, Dean despairs over the possibility of Jack being good. He can't bear the idea of hoping in that and being wrong. The psychologically safest option for him is to assume the worst and not hope or believe in anything turning out okay.

Sam, on the other hand, pretty much immediately sees a way to use Jack to get Mary back. This is clear when he and Jack get locked up together in the jail cell in 13.01. After establishing that Jack isn't hearing things and (probably) isn't going to murder him imminently, Sam immediately starts down a line of questioning establishing how well Jack understands his powers, and then asks him outright:

SAM: Jack, look, um... before you were born, you -- you opened up a door to another world. Do you remember that? JACK: Yes. SAM: Okay, um, could you do that again?

Shortly after, when Sam arrives, he tells Dean (who is convinced after everything that happened in 12.23 that 12.19 that Jack is evil or will turn evil):

We need him.

Sam repeats this sentiment multiple times with clear meaning, and later in 13.04, he admits to Jack that he wants to use him to open the portal. This doesn't mean he doesn't also grow to see himself in Jack quickly and genuinely believe in his capacity for good, but he isn't fully honest with Jack about his motives until 13.04 where he finally comes clean, and this poisons the well with Jack a little.

@shallowseeker has pointed out before that in 13.03, while trying to figure out how to get Jack's powers to work (and spying on Jack through cameras from another room) Sam is seen reading "The Drama Of The Gifted Child". I wish I could find the post because Shal probably brought it up too, but when I was rewatching this episode, I noticed the chapter Sam had just settled into read before being interrupted was titled,

"Depression and Grandiosity: Two Related Forms of Denial"

Given the accusations flying from Sam toward Dean then from Dean toward Sam about denial in the following episode (13.04), this feels amusingly pointed. Dean is depressed (and about to attempt suicide in 13.05), Sam is depressed and has "grandiose" ideas of using Jack to pop open a portal to another reality while hiding behind the guise of being the most rational person in the room when he... isn't necessarily? And it's easy to argue "Well, Sam turns out to be right even if he didn't ultimately have much of a reason to think he was" but the core problem here is how his beliefs effect how he treats other people's grief. He isn't honest with Jack about his motives (while Dean is somewhat brutally honest) and pushes and watches even while claiming he's giving Jack space (13.03), he refuses to give Dean space to grieve even the family member they know is dead, he inserts a therapist into the situation and criticizes Dean's grief when Dean won't play his game, and in 13.05, after Dean says that he can't believe in anything right now, Sam's clumsy attempts at help involve plying Dean with alcohol he says he doesn't even want and trying to send him off to strip clubs—believing that Dean performing being okay will somehow address his mental state because Sam's idea of coping himself is simply "going through the motions".

As for Jack, I don't think he's scared of Dean. I think he's scared of what Dean believes. He's scared that Dean is right. From 13.01-13.06, Jack is contending with the question of whether he's destined for evil or good, and in his depressed state, Dean believes Jack is destined for evil because hoping in anything is completely beyond him at that moment. Sam tells Jack that he can be good, but he hides ulterior motives as to why he's being nice, and when those ulterior motives are revealed, it leaves Jack thinking Sam is the kind of person who will lie to Jack and tell him he's good just to get what he wants. Meanwhile, Jack knows Dean is being completely honest with him about what he believes. 13.03 and 13.04 clearly demonstrate that Jack understands the difference between beliefs and facts: Dean could be right or he could be wrong. What Jack holds onto like an anchor is that he can trust Dean to tell him the truth about what he believes—even if it hurts.

It's also just so obvious that Jack immediately wants Dean—specifically—to like him (see: Jack mimicking Dean's mannerisms while eating in 13.02, and his clumsy attempts to earn his favor in 13.04). Sam also picks up on this, and encourages Jack to seek Dean's approval in 13.04 to try and change Dean's beliefs. Sam (and to some extent Jack) are thinking in 13.04, that if Jack can prove to Dean that he can be good, and if Dean tells him he did a good job (which Dean does in the end), Jack can believe that. Sam sees that Jack wants Dean's approval and the impression that Dean's beliefs have had on Jack and thinks by pushing them together as soon as possible (when neither of them want to go on the hunt) and treating them as a family and forcing Dean to accept Jack when Dean just isn't ready (including by paralleling Jack with himself in a way that becomes an accusation), he can "fix" Jack so he isn't scared of his powers anymore (13.03) and then he can teach Jack to use his powers and Jack can open a portal to save their mom.

Jack's attempts to earn Dean's favor in 13.04 are clumsy. His first attempt is directly ignoring Dean telling him to wait in the car and sneaking into the crime scene, potentially contaminating it. At Mia's office, Jack's outburst about losing a mother is what allows Sam to set up the whole family therapy trap to begin with, and because Dean knows Sam is going to use that to hurt him, he warns Jack not to make outbursts like that. Dean is not being nice. Point blank. And I do think his tone is a little different than with Cas which in the past felt more like exasperation. I also don’t think it makes him the devil. I think that's understandable when putting in even a tiny amount of effort and it's kind of laughable to me how few people seem to even try because they're so caught up in Sam's happy family narrative and the idea that someone wanting Dean's approval presents an obligation that Dean give it no matter how emotionally impossible—and in a situation where asking him to lie would actually destroy that much more of Jack's trust.

[butchcarmy]

Blood Orange (Ch 1: The Walk-In)

Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

Rating: E (7.3k words)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tomorrow,” was your desperately honest answer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How do you work under pressure?”

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

“Willing to learn?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, who's fault is that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—” You hear her start to protest. 

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

“I know, but Richie—”

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

“...Yes, chef.”

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

“You're just gonna let her—”

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

Yeah…definitely not in a good way.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you not want it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmen Berzatto

773-555-0901

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

Maybe you should be more worried about this.

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

. . . . .

Your first day on the job starts with introductions. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Carmy is the last one, and he’s…he’s…

He’s something else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I haven't even chopped anything yet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who the fuck touched my stock—”

“No one touched your stupid shitty stock—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hey,” you reply.

“Everythin’ goin’ okay so far?”

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

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

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

“You're bleeding.”

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wraps it around your finger just right. Not too tight, not too loose. 

“Is that too tight?” He asks, almost in a whisper. He's so close, and he smells like kitchen oil, cigarette smoke, and a faded cologne you can't place. 

“No, it's okay.” You don't mean to talk so quietly back, but you do. You can't stop staring at his fingers. They're long and marked up with silver scars and burns. If you look carefully, you can place the locations of his callouses. 

“Good.” You don’t know why he does it, but he runs his thumb across the seams of where your bandaid overlaps. Surely it’s just to secure it further…surely.

“Thank you.” He’s still holding your hand. You’re unsure if you’re imagining the tension in the air or not. Everything feels more intimate behind closed doors, especially in low light. “I could’ve done it myself.”

“It’s easier if another person does it.” He lets go, finally, and you try not to mourn the loss. “Did you finish prepping for the stock?”

“What you gave me, yeah.”

“Alright. Let’s go take a look at it, then,” he says, like that isn’t the most anxiety inducing thing you’ve ever heard. 

“R-Right now?”

“As opposed to?” He opens the door to his office, and the muffled noises in the kitchen become sharp and clear again, like emerging from underwater. “Come on.”

You don’t know how it happens, but Carmy gets into five separate arguments on the way to the walk-in. FIVE. To be fair, two of them are from Richie.

“I’ve been telling you guys to sharpen your knives, don’t fucking treat them like this,” Carmy shouts, trudging over to someone’s station. “You see this? This is exactly what we should not be doing! How many times have I said this today?! Don’t—“

“Stop going into my office when I’m not there,” Carmy hisses at Richie next. “You keep fucking up where the papers are put, and I can’t find anything! It’s enough of a mess as it is! No—I said—cousin, listen to me—“

“Everyone shut the hell up, clean your stations, and get the fuck back to work!” Is the last thing he shouts before slamming the door to the walk-in behind you. He slams it so hard the wire racks rattle. You decide not to comment. 

The difference in sound is eerie. You’re always surprised by how sound proof these walk-in fridges are.

“Is this the prep you did today?” Carmy asks, touching one of the clear plastic bins. Sure enough, it’s the one you placed there a moment ago.

“Yeah, it is.” You chew the inside of your cheek. You were hoping he would be in an okay mood when he checked your work. It seemed like he was at first, but now?

“It's on the wrong shelf.”

“What?” You stare at it sitting on the first shelf, just like he told you to. “You told me to put it on the first shelf.”

“It goes on the second shelf.” He's pissed, and there's ice in your veins. He huffs as he takes the container and moves it one shelf up, slamming it down unnecessarily. “I told you—second shelf.”

“You literally said it went on the first shelf.” The ice has melted, and it's boiling. 

“No, I didn't.” You wanna punch him. Badly. You know what you heard. “And you forgot to label it.”

“Shit.” That, you did forget. You’re not above owning up to your mistakes, unlike him. “I'm sorry, I was—”

“We always need stuff like this to be labeled,” he interrupts, rude and abrupt. You can hear the thinly veiled anger in his voice. “I told you.”

“I know, I just—“

“Don’t make excuses. Just do better.”

“It’s my first fucking day!” You snap, finally, and it’s like a firecracker in the dead of night. “I don’t expect to be coddled, but I’ve only been here for a couple hours, and you’re just—“

“I told you to put a label on it, to put it on the second shelf, and you didn’t do either of those things.” This is a different type of anger. It’s quiet, contained. Dangerous. And with your outburst, it’s trembling at the edges. 

“You literally hired me yesterday!” You’re exasperated. “You looked at my resume for like two seconds before hiring me, and you’re mad that I’m messing up?”

“You had enough credentials on your resume. You told me you could work well under pressure and learn quickly. Is that true or not?”

“It is true! You just have to give me a chance first!”

“I just gave you a chance,” Carmy snaps back, “and you fucked it up.”

“Oh my god. I just—“ You take a step back. “I don’t have to take this shit.”

“Are you quitting already?”

“I wasn’t going to.” You move towards the door. “But maybe I should, before you fire me. Doesn't seem like you want me, anyway.”

You were planning on exiting the walk-in after that, to leave on cue, but the door doesn’t budge. You and Carmy notice it at the same time. 

Suddenly, there is a new problem.

“Fuck,” Carmy curses under his breath. The two of you are pushing against the door, but it won’t budge. He slams his fist on it and calls out. “Guys, the walk-in door is stuck! Can any of you open it from out there?”

“Carmen?” Richie's voice is muffled from the other end. There's the sound of frustrated efforts on the other end. “It's not fuckin’ budging!”

“Fuck,” Carmy repeats, seething, and you agree. “Call Fak!”

“I already did! He’s gonna be here in 20!”

“20 minutes?!” Carmy shouts. You close your eyes and sigh, audibly. “Don't we have a screwdriver in here or something?! Just take the hinges off!”

“Why do you think I called Fak?! Shut the hell up and be patient!”

“Tell him to hurry the fuck up,” Carmy barks, and that's where their conversation ends. 

“Just what I needed right now,” you mutter under your breath. Carmy's not looking at you, eyes boring into the door that's trapping the both of you in here with each other. “To be locked in a room with you.”

It's quiet for a minute before he speaks, cutting the silence open.

“...I do want you, y'know.”

“You—huh?” He said it so quietly you're not sure if it was a hallucination. 

“We need you here.” He's still not looking at you. “This place—it's fucked.  We don't have enough hands.”

“I can tell,” you say, and you mean for it to come out bitter, but it's soft. Naively so. 

“I want you here. I do.” He doesn't need to say it like that. You don't want to believe it, neither his words or the way hearing it makes you feel. “I need you.”

“Can you at least look at me when you say it?” 

You’re not sure why you say it. You instantly recognize it for how needy it sounds, but you don't get the luxury of embarrassment. Carmy's already turning to face you. 

“I want you,” he repeats, voice low. You think about the paint you'd need to mix to match the color of his eyes. Blue, white, and the slightest bit of orange to desaturate it. You're not sure what type of orange, though. “I need you.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, despite yourself, and it's too late.

“Are you gonna do better?” You didn't even register him moving closer to you. When did your back end up against the shelves?

“I’m gonna do better,” you whisper, “if you stop being such an asshole.”

“It won't happen again,” he whispers back, and you recognize it for the lie that it is. 

You don't really care, though. 

His face is so close to yours that you can see the separate specks of colors in his iris. You watch his gaze fall from your eyes to your lips, and it lingers there before rising again. Any shreds of self respect or control you were clinging onto disintegrate. It doesn't matter if he really means what it says. All that matters is getting your mouth on his.  

“Okay,” you say, a whisper of foolish acceptance, and you're kissing him. 

Or is he kissing you? You don't know who leaned forward first. It's not important. 

“I saw you staring at my hands today,” Carmy says against your lips. Spit makes your mouths slide easily against each other. “Yesterday, too.”

“What the—no you didn't,” you gasp, appalled, heat rising in your face, “how did you—?”

“You're right. I didn't,” he admits with a cheeky grin. You’re really gonna punch him now. 

“God, you're just,” you mutter, “you're such an asshole.”

“I know.” At first, you think he's being smug, but there's a surprising sense of remorse under it. You don't have time to think about it, though, not when his hand is cradling your face. There's no way he doesn't feel how hot your face is. 

“What're you…?” His thumb passes over your lower lip, and the words fall away. 

“Tell me you want this.” Your eyes flicker to his hand, then to his face. His other hand is at the top of your jeans, fingers resting on the edge of your waistband. Excited arousal hits your gut, sizzling like browning butter, warm and toasted. His eyes are dark, caramel on the verge of burning. “If you don't, I'll pretend like this never happened. I'll never touch you again.”

I'll never touch you again, he says, like it's not the last thing you'll ever want. 

“I want this,” you murmur. “Touch me. Please.”

“Good,” Carmy praises, one quiet word enough to sear your insides with heat, blue flame on the underside of a pan. “That's what I thought.”

His hands slip behind you to untie your apron. The strings fall to your sides, and you tug it hastily up and over your head. It falls to the floor next to you. Surely that's a gigantic health hazard, but Carmy's the one who throws it there, so you don't say anything. You lower your gaze to his fingers unbuttoning your pants. The sight of it makes you woozy. You take note of his other tattoos, noticing the letters on his fingers. You watch as the stabbed hand made of ink on his right disappears under the cloth of your underwear.

“Oh,” you breathe. You didn't expect his hand to be so warm, even though you had just felt his heated palm gentle on your cheek.

“You're wet.” The tip of his index finger dips into where your hot folds separate. It strokes at the fluid that's pooled at your entrance, coaxing it out. “When did this happen?”

“Fuck you is when,” you bite back, but it's all bark. “I don't know.”

“Sure,” he agrees, but not really. His condescending smile shouldn't be hot, it really shouldn't, but your pussy throbs against his hand, and he smiles knowingly. “All you need is me to talk and you get wet, is that it?”

“I—” His finger rises upward, splitting you open and flicking at your clit. You buck against his hand. “Don't ask me a question and then touch me like that,” you hiss, horribly turned on.

“Mm, sorry.” It's barely an apology. You throw your head back in frustration. “I didn't mean to.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” you pant. He's pushed your slick up your pussy to your clit, two slick fingers sliding back and forth on your stiff nub. The pads of his calloused fingers are rubbing you almost where you're too sensitive. 

“Then don't. I don't care what you think of me.” You think he's about to get his fingers inside of you, and your breath hitches, but he pulls back. You regret the frustrated whine that is just audible enough in the back of your throat. He does it again, just barely pushing the tips of fingers in before pulling away.

“You—why—do you want me to beg or something?” Your clenched hands raise by your sides to grip the collar of his white shirt and yank him forward. The shock that flashes across his face gives you a sick sense of satisfaction.

“It wouldn't hurt,” he mumbles. Seeing him stagger like this, even if briefly, sends a rush through your head.

“Is that what it's gonna take for you to get those fucking fingers inside me?” 

Like a coward, instead of answering, he leans an inch forward and kisses you. Or maybe that was his answer. That's when he sinks two fingers inside you, long and thick, pushing until your wet pussy's pressed tight against his palm. 

You moan, a pathetic thing, and Carmy swallows the sound of it.

“You're already begging,” he says quietly. He pulls his fingers out. You whine in protest, desperate and angry pleas on the tip of your tongue, but then he's pushing inside again.

That's the last moment of reprieve you get. His fingers start thrusting into you faster, dragging out slick each time he pulls them out. Paranoia suddenly screams that you’re gonna wet the front of your pants at this rate. The aching pleasure is louder than your fear, though. You can’t help the way his fingers are making you moan.

“More,” you plead, “give me another, I can take it.” Your hips are thrusting forward to meet his hand when they push inside. Your clit slaps against the heel of his palm, and you chase the friction. He must notice, because when he obliges and stretches you out with a third finger, he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit.

“You have to be quiet,” he says lowly when you keep moaning. “They’re gonna hear you.” 

“I—I’m trying,” you whine. You’re squeezing so tight down on him. You feel so full. “Your fingers—“

“You’re the one who asked for more.” He slaps his other hands firmly over your mouth. It silences your sound of surprise. “You said you could take it, so here’s what’s gonna happen.” His fingers are slamming into your now, and your hole spasms around them in pleasure. “You’re gonna come on my fingers, and you’re gonna be quiet. Understand?”

You know how soundproof the walk-in is. You had just witnessed it moments ago. But Carmy’s warnings do something fierce to you, bypassing logic straight into anxious, desperate arousal. He’s right, you think. You need to be quiet. You nod quickly in response, so he takes your consent and sprints with it.

To your credit, you try to be quiet. You said you would. But there’s only so much you can do when he’s fingering you so hard your legs are shaking. You’re whimpering into his hand, the sounds muffled.  Your own moans, his heavy breathing, and the slick sound of your pussy getting railed by his fingers—that’s what you listen to as you come.

“Fuck, you’re squeezing down tight,” Carmy hisses, and for an irrational second  you’re afraid you’re hurting him, but one look at his starved expression changes your mind. His three wide fingers are fucking you slowly through your wildly contracting orgasm. In one of his palms, you're oozing slick, and in his other palm, you're smearing with spit.

You should be thinking about how bad of an idea this all is, having sex with your boss. It’s too bad your orgasm is so potent you can’t think at all.

You lean your head back against the cold metal railings of the wire racks behind you. It’s uncomfortable, but a part of it feels good against the coiling heat that’s unraveling in your stomach. The air around you is cold, but you’re hot, far too hot. You don’t remember the last time you’ve finished this hard.

He finally pries his hand off your mouth once you've stopped clamping down on his fingers. His hand lingers at your face before wiping it on the side of his jeans. His expression has this unreadable, unnamed intensity to it, and you can't tell where that ends and where the hunger starts. Although he is looking very, very starved.

His hand that's tucked into your underwear tugs it upward as it leaves, pulling the fabric taut against your pussy. It sticks like paper mache with the glue of your orgasm, molded to your shape. You make an aroused noise that's a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

You're about to complain, something along the lines of “was that really necessary”, but then your eyes are zeroed in on the sheen of his fingers that were fucking you.

“Don't,” you start, suddenly worried he's going to wipe them on his jeans again, but you don't get to finish. He's pushing his index finger into your mouth, and you taste yourself on his skin.

“Good,” Carmy whispers when he feels your tongue wrapping around him. Fuck, hearing him say it like that does awful things to you.

You don't know why you accept it without a fight, but if you're being honest with yourself, this is exactly what you wanted. You start to suck, but he doesn't linger. When he pulls his finger out, your parted lips expect the other two, but he sucks them into his mouth instead. 

God. What do you even say to that? He even has the nerve to look you in the eyes as he pops his cleaned fingers out of his mouth. 

“Let me touch you,” you decide to say instead, because if you think about him and his fingers in—anyway. 

“It's fine. I don't need it.” He's oddly cagey all of a sudden. 

“Let me return the favor, please,” you insist, even adding in some good manners. It seems to still him for a moment, giving you enough time to lift his apron.

Fuck, you think to yourself, the word resounding like an alarm inside your head. His jeans are tented so tightly it looks painful. All this from touching me, you realize. You can see the shape of his bulge under the denim. The silhouette is vague, but...

It's big.

“Carmy? You still in there?”

A voice you don't recognize calls out beyond the door. As soon as you both hear it, Carmy jerks away. You mourn the loss only for a moment before you remember yourself. You're scrambling to get your pants buttoned and your apron over your head. 

“Yeah, I'm still in here,” Carmy shouts back, instantaneously irritable. His back is turned to you, and you want to feel those muscles tensing under your palm. “About fuckin’ time!”

“You're welcome, by the way! I could've left you in here to freeze and die a tragic death!”

“It's not just me in here, Fak.” A beat of silence. “Are you opening it?”

“Am I fucking—Jesus Christ, Carmen, just give me a second! I'm working my magic!”

That shuts Carmy up. Almost. He sighs before turning to look at you. 

“Sorry for getting us stuck in here.” The apology is equally as surprising as the softness of which he speaks. “Shitty first day, huh?”

“It's cool. It's not your fault.” Other than all the shit that was completely your fault, you think, remembering the way you were shouting at each other just a moment ago. “Kinda shitty though, yeah.”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “If you wanna leave, I don't blame you.”

“I thought I wasn't getting fired.”

“You're not,” he says quickly. “But I'm—this place is a shitshow.” You're not sure which he really means to say, but you hear both. The restaurant, and him especially, are both complete messes. That much was obvious from the beginning. “So if you wanna take off, just…” He shrugs. “Just go.”

Maybe that'd be for the best, if you left. As far as first days go, you've already broken every rule in the book. You messed up your first task, got into an argument with your boss, and then had sex with him. Nothing about this place is particularly inviting, either. This restaurant wears its dysfunction on its sleeve, unabashed in all the ways it lacks. You had left the kitchen with ringing ears from all the noise and a cut on your hand you didn't even notice. 

But here you are. You're not running. Maybe it's because of the fact that you need to pay rent. Maybe it's knowing that just one more pair of hands here could really make a difference. Maybe you're just desperate to keep food on the table. Maybe it's Carmen Berzatto, beautiful, haunted, and angry. Maybe it's all of that, a combined whole that's become greater than the sum of its parts.

Or maybe it's just that now that you've kissed him, had a taste of him, you refuse to let go. Maybe the reason is as shallow as that. 

Carmy's been waiting for you to speak, tired eyes searching your own. You're still not sure what exact colors you need to perfectly recreate the blue you're staring at. 

“Almost done!” Fak shouts. “Just one more hinge!”

“Heard,” Carmy shouts back. He hasn't taken his eyes off you. “So? What's it gonna be? Are you staying or not?”

Blood orange, you think all of a sudden. That's the orange you would need to make the perfect blue to match his eyes. Just a little bit—that's all you would need.

“I'm staying,” you tell him. “I need to pay rent, after all.”

Yeah. That's the reasoning you're settling on. Rent.

“Right. Of course.” There's a glimpse of that gentle smile you've seen flashes of today. It fades away as quickly as it came. “After this, I'm gonna have you learn how to check produce next.”

“Okay, sounds good,” you say as naturally as you can, given the tonal whiplash.

“There should be some that's about to get washed. I'll show you where that is.” The door's shifting. “But before that…” He lowers his voice, leans in close. Is he about to kiss you?

“W-What?”

“Get a new apron from my office. That one's dirty.” Beams of light stream through the entrance of the walk-in, forced wide open. “You need to keep your apron clean, chef.”

YOU WERE THE ONE WHO THREW IT ON THE GROUND, you want to scream. Just when you thought he started being nice, he does something that makes you want to grab him by the collar and shake him.

But you can't. The walk-in's open again, and you see your coworkers crowded by the door. 

“Yes, chef,” you reply, and the words taste bitter on your tongue.

~

@zorrasucia

[evermoredeluxe]

it baffles me that people think taylor doesn’t know the discretion of a shorter album anymore. it downright makes me think that fans sometimes just don’t understand her. im not even gonna talk about re-records because if you’re using them as your argument then… do you even understand the re-records’s marketing… as for TTPD, taylor outright said that she needed to release everything to be free of it. she went through a shitty experience (understatement) and did what any artist does: make art to process it. in her case, it’s also her job. and she wanted to be free of the trauma so she released it all for the public. maybe look at her beyond just an entertainer, and try looking at her as a human and you’ll probably understand why she made this selfish decision (and btw she’s allowed to make selfish decisions, that doesn’t make her a bad human lol). none of this means that she needs to be forced back into a controlling relationship with her label so she can be kept in check… that’s a fucked up thing to say

the only time i would say she released a new album that could’ve been chopped is lover (and i love lover). if i were to critique the album as a consumer, i think if it were shorter, it would’ve felt more authentic because there’s some stuff on it that feels forced (for the lack of a better word). but even in this case, as a fan, i can understand that she had just started with a new label and thought this was her last chance to be “successful” so she was doing everything to ensure that the opportunity doesn’t go away and she gripped the moment with too much force. like idk i feel like fans are so cruel and not-understanding of taylor and everything she does is looked at in bad faith and it shocks me because that’s usually what haters do…….

[bonefall]

if rainflower was given a dishonor title, what would it be?

also is mapleshade still killed by crookedstar in the BOTTE?

Definitely something related to animals they disrespect. I don't see him going as far as to hit her with "Cuckoo" but he'd want to center her cruelty and lack of compassion. "Lamprey" makes a fine choice, and there's also a disrespectful word in Clanmew for egg-laying animals that don't care for their young.

But, he would certainly not do it because Rainflower is popular. Hailstar is a smart cat, in spite of how long he spent denying the problem and justifying it (sometimes intellect just makes you better at making excuses). He knows full well that something like that could backfire politically.

There's a portion of the Clan who thinks he was wrong to punish her at all, and more who are in that nebulous state of not being totally sure if his response was justified or not. He took her child and stripped her of all status. If he went further than that, it would look like retribution... which it would be, and in another, more furious Clan, would have appeased the angry mob.

But this Clan isn't furious. The reception is mixed. Hailstar's goal isn't to make a big point, it's to protect Stormkit the way he should have done a long time ago.

The best plan of action is the action that makes this transition go smoothly. Rainflower does not need to wear a name like Lampreypool right now, to draw attention to her, to have the whole Clan be looking at her while she plays the poor, besieged victim of a cruel and unusual leader. She needs to be kept out of power, and away from Shellheart's son as the poor child recovers.

(Also Mapleshade didn't die in the Battle of the True Eclipse! Not in BB and not in canon's The Great Battle either, lmao. She's still around, chilling in the Dark Forest, haunting Applekin.)

[jasmines-library]

Hi there! I absolutely adore the way you write and how you approach heavier topics. If it doesn’t bother you, could I request a Batfamily fic with reader who has an ED? I know a lot of people struggle with it and I feel like we all need a little affirmation sometimes. <3

Just The Way You Are

Warnings: Eating Disorders - please read with caution.

Word Count: 1.1k

Note: This one hit home hard. As someone who has struggled with and ED, I think it is important to raise awareness about them. Please note that this is based off off my personal experiences and from research. EDs present themselves in many different ways that vary for everyone. Please remember to be kind to yourself and others and if you are struggling and are able to, to reach out. I have linked some helplines below for those who are in need. Please remember that you are loved and you are perfect just the way you are. You are special. You are loved. You are unique. never let anyone take that away from you.

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

You hadn’t touched most of your food. It sat there getting cold as you pushed it around the porcelain listening to the way your fork scraped gratingly against the shiny surface. You had taken a few bites, longing to savour the taste of Alfred’s cooking as it melted on your tongue, but it didn’t seem to have the same effect anymore. You couldn’t bring yourself to bring anymore of the food to your lips. Even the smell began to make your stomach churn. And you felt so stupid as you sat there staring at the plate as everyone else delved in. In some ways that made you feel worse. But eating had begun to feel like a crime. 

When it first started, you never thought it would go this far. You just wanted to lose a little weight, to tone your stomach and your muscles just a little bit more. You weren’t even entirely sure why. Perhaps a cruel comment made in passing? It didn’t matter. But what did was the way that your mind seemed to wrack with cruel thoughts every time you looked in the mirror. Pointing out everything that seemed to be wrong. Or didn’t look like the models in the photos in Jason's magazines. 

So, you started cutting back. Just a little at first. Snacks in between meals. And you started working out more, trying to burn off calories faster. But when you checked the scales it felt like it wasn’t enough. When you looked in the mirror, your mind still screamed at you, replaying comments and thoughts in your mind like a broken record. They scratched away at you until soon you began to cut back on meals. Breakfast. Smaller portions at lunch and just a few bites here or there at dinner, so that your family wouldn’t suspect a thing. And still even that didn’t seem to be enough. You still felt wrong every time you glanced in the mirror. You still felt like your body wasn’t good enough. 

Soon they noticed. You were becoming more withdrawn, often slipping away into the bathrooms after meals. Often not at meals at all. You were sluggish too and seemed to lack the spark that you used to hold. They would ask you tenderly if you were okay, but most days you would scatter or pretend not to have heard them. And other days you would just tell them that you had already had something to eat. That you weren’t hungry.

And somehow lying to them made the situation feel so much worse. Like you were harming them as well as yourself. Your mind was a blur. Days seemed to pass by in some strange mess of time and the only thing that consumed thoughts were the lingering, cruel jests of your inner monologue. Sometimes, you begged for it to stop. You wanted to stop. But you couldn’t. Because you felt as though if you did you would feel disgusting. You would feel as though everything you had done had been for nothing. 

“Not hungry?” Tim asked from across beside you. You had zoned out, not sparing the rest of them aside as your mind wandered off on a tangent. 

“Hmm?” You frowned. “No. I had a big lunch not too long ago. It was stupid of me really, I should know better than to eat too close to dinner.”

Jason frowned. “You’ve been doing that a lot. Are you okay?”

“Mhm.” You hummed, keeping your eyes plastered on the table cloth, not daring to meet his gaze.

“I didn’t see you at breakfast either today Y/N.” Damian added. “Are you sure you’ve had enough to eat?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, swallowing down the anxiety that rose within you quickly. “I’ve already said I’m just not hungry.”

“You’re looking a little pale kiddo.” Dick said “I don’t want you getting sick. Why don’t you try and take a few more bites. It’ll help.”

And soon it all became too much. Everything seemed too much. Too bright, too loud, too hot. And a tear that had been threatening to spill from your eyes for weeks now finally slipped free of its cage. 

“I can’t.” 

It was a simple phrase, but your voice trembled. 

“Why not, kid? What’s the matter kiddo?” Jason asked calmly. 

“I just… I just can’t.” you sobbed. “Because if I eat then I feel like my body isn’t good enough! I don’t look like a model. Everytime I look in the mirror I see a body staring back at me that is mine, but it doesn’t feel like me. It doesn’t look like how I want it too. How it’s supposed to.”

They fell silent for a moment. But then Damian spoke up. 

“Oh Y/N/N… your body is beautiful.”

“Is that why you haven’t been eating?” Dick tilted his head.

You nodded meekly.

“Oh kid…you’re so perfect. You don’t need to change for anyone ever. Who cares what you look like?”

“Me! Everyone! I don’t know!” 

“We don’t care. We think you are beautiful just the way you are. You are perfect y/n, and we wouldn’t want you any different.” Tim told you gently, placing his hand atop of yours. 

“We love every inch of you. You are beautiful.”

You sniffled, wiping away your tears. 

“We’re sorry you couldn’t tell us how you feel. But we are here for you. Always.” Damian told you.

“We’re always going to be here kiddo. We’re here to help you. Here to love you.” Jason added. 

“We don’t know what we would do without you. It’s so important that you take care of yourself, beautiful.” Dick said. “And it will take time, as recovery does, but we’re going to be here to help you every step of the way.”

And they were true to their words. The four of them began to help you on your recovery journey. Often they would sit with you, taking small bites of food with you or offering you your favourite treats, reassuring you that it was okay. 

If you ever felt overwhelmed, they would wait with you, allowing you to take your time. 

Everyday they reminded you of how proud they were of you, even if you felt your progress had gone backward that day.  Because they truly were.

Often they would slip you notes. Sometimes they came under your door or were left by your bathroom mirror. You had quite the collection. Each one was different. A different reason why they loved you, or a reminder of how proud they were of you. Reminders that you are loved and you are beautiful just the way you are.

HELPLINES

BATFAM TAGLIST:

@aestheticdaisies

@hell-o-kittys

@xxrougefangxx

@mamapucket

@hearts4robs

@harleycao

[becca-e-barnes]

Limerence

Limerence: a state of mind resulting from romantic attraction, characterized by feelings of euphoria, the desire to have one's feelings reciprocated.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2.2K

Warnings: Angry/ hate sex, mention of an argument but nothing specific, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, anal play, double penetration, one spank, vaginal fingering, mention of oral, just a little mirror stuff

Summary: I learned a new word last week and I chose to ignore its negative connotations. It's more fun that way.

Reblogs and comments are always appreciated!!

Minors, do not interact.

Life is cruel sometimes.

He’s standing over there wearing a cream coloured Hawaiian shirt with a blue floral pattern and, in spite of yourself, you very much want to jump on him.

You can’t look at him though.  You’re convinced that if you look at him, everyone will know.  They’ll know he’s kissed just about every inch of your body.  They’ll know that you crave the way he touches you.  They’ll know that bringing him to orgasm often feels more euphoric than your own climax.  And they absolutely can’t know that.

His poker face is better than yours.  The wry smirk on his slim lips when his gaze flits over to you momentarily won’t give the two of you away and just seeing him look at you like that is enough to make you question whether you possess a single ounce of self control.  He’s better at this than you are, no doubt about it.  There’s plenty you can learn from him.

'Are you still being a bitch?' The message flashes up on the watch on your wrist.  Holy fuck, this man is irritating.

You unlock your phone to respond to the message, your thumbs move quickly across the keyboard.  'That depends.  Are you going to admit you were wrong?'  You glance over at him and see that he’s ignoring those he had previously been engaged in conversation with, in favour of responding to you.  The conversation goes on without him and no one is any the wiser that it’s you he’s texting.

'I wasn’t wrong.'

'Then yes, I’m still a bitch.'

'I thought as much.  But so we’re clear; you made your point in that dress.  Even if you are painfully stubborn.'

'I’d rather be stubborn than wrong.'

'That’s cute.'  You watch him slip his phone back into the pocket of his shorts once he sends the message, re-engaging with the conversation that he’d been neglecting for the few short minutes in which he’d focused his attention on you.

You’re certain he knows how frustrating he is. Surely he must know.

You’ve been at an impasse for over a week and in all honesty, neither of you can really remember how the argument started.  Did it even really matter anymore?  It’s not even so much about the disagreement, now it’s about pride and who’s willing to sacrifice theirs first.

That’s the problem with being equally stubborn - neither of you want to be the one to give in.  At this stage though, sex has been off the table much longer than you would have liked.  Nothing makes you desperate quite like a lack of orgasms and while you can do it yourself, you’d be the first to admit that it’s not even nearly the same.

The way you touch your own body is so different to how he does.  Your touch is borderline clinical sometimes.  It’s methodical and calculated because really, you’re only working towards an end goal.  You focus on release more than pleasure and that’s fine.  You achieve what you need to and that’s enough but the way he touches you is so different.  

When he’s taking you apart he takes his time, touching you because he simply needs to.  It’s evident that he gets off on your pleasure just as much as you get off on his.  There’s never any rush, delivering sensations that you don’t have the time or patience to administer when you do it yourself.  Pleasure with him feels luxurious.  It’s hedonistic and intimate; a perfect blend of satisfying and tender.

It’s hard not to miss that: sex so good that it’s both too much and not enough all at once.

'Do you think anyone would notice if I slipped my hand under your dress?'  The next message flashing up on your watch feels like he must have read your mind.

Your eyes dart around the groups of people attending the small get-together, all engrossed in their conversations and sipping their drinks in various little huddles around the bar.

'I can’t imagine they would.  You could probably bend me over this table and fuck me right in front of them and no one would be any the wiser.'

'I’m sure they’d notice but it’s a nice thought all the same.'  You can tell he’s imagining it and now so are you.  You can almost feel his two large hands, one either side of your waist, holding you tight as he plunges his length into you.  ‘Shut up.’ He’d whisper, letting go of your waist with one hand to place the fingers in your mouth, silencing your little over-pleasured sobs.  ‘Unless you want all your friends to watch you cum for me.’

You shouldn’t really want that, should you?  You shouldn’t want an audience.  The truth is, you know people there want him.  They want to see him the way you get to see him and the possessive part of you that you didn’t know you had until now wants to make sure no one else gets that privilege.  

Arguing or not, his cock is yours.

'I’m leaving in 10.  You’re welcome to join me so long as you promise not to run your mouth again.  You’ll like my hotel room.'  It’s nice to see his resolve weakening first because you certainly weren’t up for accepting defeat.

'You should know me better by now.  Running my mouth is what I’m good at.  Send me the address.'  You shoot the text back and realise he’s wearing that same wry smirk as before.  The very same one that’s tugging at the corner of your own lips.

'Give yourself some credit.  I’ve found your mouth has some other great uses.'  He seems proud of himself, following up with the hotel’s address before starting to make his goodbyes to the group.

You take separate taxis and he’s waiting for you in the lobby.  You’re far enough away from the prying eyes that at least you can be seen speaking to each other now.

Neither of you say a whole lot in the short walk up to his room, letting the door click closed behind you before you start to speak.

But right as you set your bag down his lips are on yours, hot and insistent, his body pressing you flush against the door.

“You’re so fucking annoying.”  He groans, nipping your bottom lip between his teeth.  He cups your throat with one hand, holding you in place to begin sucking on the exposed side of your neck.

His mouth begins to trail lower but not before you tangle your fingers in his hair, pulling him back.

“You’re so much worse.”  You use as much of your strength as you can muster to push him back, leading him over to the bed, pressing him down onto it before straddling his lap.

Now it’s your turn, biting at his exposed throat, feeling his needy groans vibrate through his skin.  Undoing the first couple of buttons allows you enough space to nip and suck his collarbones, revelling in the way he melts into this.

He only gives in for a couple of minutes before he needs to feel like he’s back in control, holding your hips and flipping you both over so he’s got you pinned under him.

His hand trails up your thigh, pulling your dress up before two thick fingers sweep across your clothed sex. “You’re wet already.”  He muses, teasing you ever so gently.

“Incredible attention to detail, well done.”  You know you shouldn’t bite the hand and all but he’s a whole lot more fun when he’s angry.

“That mouth is going to get you in trouble some day.”  He’s smug as he withdraws his hand, delivering a gentle slap to your cunt.

It hurts in the most electric way, nerve endings lighting up at the painful stimulus and, in spite of yourself, you want him to do it again.

“Fuck, I didn’t think you’d like that.”  He sounds thrilled, delighted by a moan that you hadn’t even realised had escaped.  “Getting off on the way I slap your wet little cunt.  Do you know how fucked up that is?”  He shifts the thin cotton underwear out of the way, trailing his fingertip from your clit to your fluttering hole before pressing inside to the second knuckle.

“You take me like such a good girl.”  He muses, adding a second finger before pressing as deep as he can.  “It’s a shame you don’t act like one.”

“Maybe if you fucked me right, I’d act like one.”  You’re as quick to bruise his ego as he is to bruise yours.

“Ouch.”  He teases, curling his fingers inside you in the way he knows makes you see stars.  He fucks you perfectly and he knows it.  You act like a good girl when you want to.  You’re even.

“Are you even planning to fuck me?  Or maybe you just want to sit around and enjoy the sound of your own voice.”  It shouldn’t be so much fun to watch his face reflect his discontent but it really is.

“You.”  He begins before pulling your panties off, pushing your skirt up and arranging you on your hands and knees on the bed.  “Might be the most frustrating person I’ve ever met.”

You hear him undo his belt and zipper and a short while later, you feel the blunt head of his erection teasing your slit.

Now you understand why he thought you’d like this room.  The mirror strategically positioned right at the end of the bed lets you see his face, even in this position.

“I fucking better be.”  You tease, pressing your ass backwards, forcing his cock to slide into your eager cunt.  He meets you half way, thrusting the rest of the way into you with a force you only could’ve dreamed of.

“You are. So.  Damn.  Arrogant.”  He punctuates his sentence with equally powerful thrusts, his hand on the small of your back to hold you in place.

“And yet you’re still here, balls deep inside me.  Guess you don’t hate me that much.”  Your pride is short lived, establishing your own rhythm of thrusts that he eagerly meets.  Your fingers cling to the bedsheets, each rut into your body almost knocks the thoughts from your head.

He loses himself just as fast as you do.  You’re both far too pent up for this to last much longer.  Frustration bubbled over into lust and now it’s hit boiling point.

His body is yours to use just as much as yours is his.  

“You take me so well.”  You hear him groan and in the mirror you see him slip his thumb into his mouth before it disappears out of your view, pressing against the tight ring of muscle only he can see from this angle.

Oh.  You don’t often go there.

Your hesitation is short lived, the tip of his thumb presses inside you, slowly stretching out your tightest hole.

It feels amazing.  It’s a different type of fullness and when the initial discomfort subsides, you’re able to let yourself enjoy the sensation.

“I can feel myself inside you.”  He sounds almost broken and it’s delightful.  “Filling up both your pretty little holes.  I can’t last much longer.  Fuck, I’m so close.”

The stretch of his thumb in your ass is the only constant you’ve got with his cock slipping in and out of you.

Your own hand reaches down between your legs, rubbing your clit frantically, desperate to cum in time with him.

“Don’t you dare.”  You groan, watching him in the mirror.  “Don’t cum yet.”

He whines, his face screwed up in pleasure, doing his very best not to spill inside you just yet. At least this is one thing you can agree on.

“F-fuck, hurry up. I’m so close.”  He’s trying to maintain the same pace while holding himself back and you know it can’t be easy.

Your fingers graze your clit just right and before you know it, your moans are getting higher pitched, your holes fluttering around his cock and his thumb, squeezing both involuntarily as your orgasm takes over.  

It’s beyond intense.  There’s so much happening at once and within a few moments of your own climax, you feel your partner achieving his.  He’s pressed as deep inside you as possible, flooding your body with his release, groaning your name loud enough for his neighbours to hear.

---

The following morning with the argument forgotten, everything feels right again.  The Hawaiian shirt he’d worn yesterday evening is draped over your shoulders, unbuttoned, giving him access to worship your breasts.  His cock slips in and out of you beautifully, soft gasps from both of you filling the crisp early morning air.  Your hands are planted on his broad chest and your fingers tease the soft curls of hair on his chest.  It’s hard not to feel like he’s engulfing you, rather than the other way around.  He’s beneath you, he’s inside you and with his shirt draped over you, all you can smell is him.

It’s incredible, as close to perfect as you’re willing to believe exists.  There’s no rush.  There’s nowhere either of you need to be.  One orgasm can bleed into another and you can spend as long as you like enjoying each other’s bodies.  

[storm-angel989]

Valentino x Daughter (My Best Friend, Ana Part Two)

Admitted.

The word itself seemed harsh, cruel and less than understanding. But as my father told me with a voice I hadn’t heard in a long time, admitted was better than the death I was allegedly very close to. 

For five days I sat in the hospital as therapists came in to talk to me. I ignored them to the best of my ability. I didn’t need their help- I didn’t belong here. Why couldn’t they see that? 

“Let me out of these stupid things,” I demanded when my father finally came to see me. “I don’t need them.” 

A pained expression across his face. “The doctor doesn’t think that’s a good idea, bebita.”

“Then let me go home, Dad,” I begged. “I’m fine, really, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not,” he replied softly. He brushed the hair away from my face. “Start by talking to the therapist. Then we can discuss where to go from there.” 

I turned my head away. Ana encouraged me to tell him to fuck off, to tell him he was a terrible father and how dare he keep me trapped here. But I couldn’t bring myself to. Instead, I closed my eyes until I heard his footsteps retreat and the door close. 

Six times a day the nurse came in to shove slime into the tube. I hated it, not just for the lack of control I felt but the sensation itself was uncomfortable. The first few times, I tried to just ignore what she was doing, determined to keep a silent resolve. But with each pass, I grew more and more desperate to know what exactly she was forcing into my body. 

“How many calories is this thing giving me?” I finally demanded. 

“That’s something you can discuss with your therapist,” came her cool response. 

I stopped talking to her after that. I ignored the therapist, my father, my Uncle Vox and even the doctor who came in every few hours. If I couldn’t convince them I didn’t have a problem, then I had nothing else to say to them. 

Day five my Aunt Velvette came in like a whirlwind. I looked up as she slammed the door shut, marched over to the bed and undid the cuffs that held me down.

“I swear to fucking christ if you try to pull out that tube I will pin you back down myself,” she growled. “Why the fuck arn’t you talking?”

“I have nothing to talk about,” I replied as I sat up. “Aunt Velvette, everyone thinks I have a problem and I don’t.”

“Your weight says otherwise, reader take a look at yourself. You’ve got a feeding tube for christ sake, your blood pressure tanked, and your heart is all over the god damn place. You need to eat.”

“No, I need to be thin so I can stay on the team,” I snapped. 

And then I burst into tears. Somewhere inside, the floodgate spilled open. I brought my knees up to my chest as I unloaded the entire story- the journal, the coach, the need to win, the feeling that I got every single time I said no to food. Everything came spilling out, everything except Ana. I couldn’t tell her- she probably would think I was insane, lock me back in the cuffs and ship me out. 

“I’m scared, Aunt Vel, I don’t want to be locked up, I don’t want to be put aside, I want to go home,” I said through shaking sobs. 

She pressed a tissue into my hand and it turned to water in seconds. Another pass, and then another as we sat together in quiet as I tried to control my choking sobs. 

“Please, I’m begging you, take this thing out of my throat,” I begged. “I’ll talk, I’ll eat, I just, I can’t lose my place on the team. Aunt Vel, please.”

“Sweetheart, that’s already happened,” Velvette replied, her voice soft. “Until we get your bloodwork, heart, body back to normal, you’re off the team.”

Cold anger and disbelief flooded through me. The expression on her face told me she wasn’t lying. As I wrapped my arms around myself, I felt her pull me into her arms.

“I know it hurts. I know it isn’t fair. I’ve been where you are a time or two- your Dad and Uncle Vox, god they know eating disorders better than anyone else,” she said softly as she stroked my hair. “You’re not the first in this family to fight this fight and I promise you, you won’t be the first to lose it either.” 

“I just want to be thin,” I sobbed. “I want perfection, I want beauty and to keep my place on the team and I just…”

“Shussh, I know,” she said gently. “The pressure to achieve the unattainable, the pressure from ourselves, from the world, it isn’t fair. And Ana, she promises…”

“How do you know her name?” I demanded through chest wracking sobs. “How do you..”

“She’s a powerful demon, she spins her web of lies and her strength comes from her ability to feed on your fears, your doubts and your self loathing, among other things,” Velvette said, “She promises to be your best friend, she promises perfection and in the end she leaves you alone, nothing but bones. She screams its your fault, while in reality she is nothing but a gluttonous bitch, who loses her energy souce as you fade away into nothingness. Poetic, really, if you think about it.”

I watched my Aunt Velvette gaze across the room as if she was looking at someone, her sharp eyes studying the wall the way I had watched her study countless models. She swallowed and shook her head, breaking the spell.

“Regardless, the biggest thing you need to understand is that Ana, Ana is nothing but a liar. If she wasn’t, you wouldn’t be laying here, fighting for your life.”

“I don’t, I’m not dying,” I replied slowly. 

Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew I was lying. Aunt Velvette must have realized it too, because she leaned over and kissed my forehead.

“No. Not anymore. We helped you start to win this fight, now its up to you to continue to win.”

I crossed my arms and ran a rough hand against my eyes as I tried to wipe away the tears.

“How do I do that?” I asked.

I saw a small smile pass over Velvette’s expression. 

“You start by talking,” she replied simply. “That’s a good start.”

[secretswiftymarvelfan]

Guilty As Sin - Andy Barber x Reader

A/N: This is my entry to @stargazingfangirl18 and @labella420 's Cum Together Extravaganza! As soon as I saw the prompt 'The one who (almost) got away' I knew I had to write something for our favourite lawyer!

Summary: Someone from Andy's past walks back into his life after over a decade, after keeping his longings locked will he finally admit his feelings?

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF! The insinuation of Masturbation! FLUFF!!!!!​

Masterlist

Andy let out a big yawn as he leant back in his chair and raised his arms above his head to stretch out his back. He glanced at his watch to see it was almost lunch time yet it felt like 5 pm. He’d stayed up late last night to work through the evidence for this case, something he was slightly regretting now. But if it meant the victim got the justice they deserved then a little lack of sleep would be worth it, he’d sleep when it was over.

He grabbed his mug from the desk taking a large sip of his coffee which he may as well just pump straight into his veins at this point when there was a knock at his door. “Come in” he called out as he set his mug back down.

Lynn, his boss walked in holding a folder “I’m guessing you didn’t get much sleep last night?” she said knowingly, brow ached. 

Andy gave her a lop-sided smile “Sleep is for the weak, what can I do for you? Is that another case?” he asked nodding to the file. 

“No, I’m just here to let you know the new ADA will be joining you on this case, it’s gathering more and more media attention so I want my best team on it and I don’t want you working yourself to death on it” Lynn explained with a knowing look. 

Andy arched a brow in confusion, he didn’t realise they were looking for another ADA, let alone hired one “new ADA?” 

Lynn nodded “Just transferred from New York, they’re very good with a record that rivals yours”

Andy hummed “Well that’s good but I don’t need the help on this case, I’ve got it covered,” he said with a shake of his head.

“This wasn’t a request” Lynn said as someone else knocked on Andy’s door “That’s her” Lynn moved back towards the door before Andy could protest. 

Any protests he did have though died in his throat when he saw exactly who the new ADA was. It was like seeing a ghost and falling back into a time wormhole all at the same time. 

“Y/N,” he said before he even realised he was speaking, shooting up from his seat like he’d been electrocuted nearly knocking over his coffee. 

“Andy, long time no see” You smiled warmly back at him. 

Andy grinned back at you as he stepped out from behind his desk to walk over to you. He instinctively went to hug you but it had been over a decade since he’d seen you which made him hesitate. 

He stopped just short of you instead and pushed his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out  “You could say that again”

“You two know each other?” Lynn asked, brow arched. 

“We went to law school together” you explained, still smiling at Andy, not looking back at Lynn.

“Yeah Y/N was my only competition for the top of the class” Andy smirked unable to take his eyes off you.

“There was no real competition though” you chuckled with a knowing look up at Andy.

“I guess that’s why you ended up being a big shot lawyer in New York” Andy grinned. 

Andy couldn’t believe you were here. When you parted ways at the end of law school he didn’t expect to ever run into you again and it killed him. You had been his best friend, he honestly didn’t think he’d gotten through law school if it wasn’t for you. You pushed each other to do better, creating a healthy competition which neither of you cared about winning. 

After spending so much time together it was only natural that Andy developed feelings for you but law school was so intense that you’d both said that dating anyone would be a dangerous distraction. So Andy kept his feelings hidden and buried in the hopes that once you graduated he could confess his feelings. 

Fate was a cruel thing though as when you graduated you landed a big job in New York while Andy decided to stay in Boston. Andy had selfishly wanted to ask you to stay but he knew he couldn’t let you pass up this opportunity for just him. So he once again buried his feelings and let you go. 

The relationship he wanted with you remained in his mind. Over the years he tried to move on, he had partners but none of them captured his heart like you did. They were doomed from the start. Every time he thought he was over you, your name would appear on the news after winning another major case and he’d slip back into that maze that was his mental relationship with you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit that on his loneliest nights, he would often picture himself with you, his desire crashing over him like waves. 

When it came to you, he was guilty as sin. 

“Well I’ll let you catch Y/N up on the case once you two finish catching up,” Lynn said with a pointed look “I hope this means no one will be staying up late on this case anymore” 

You shrugged your shoulders “Sleep is for the weak” 

Lynn rolled her eyes as she walked out muttering “I’ve got two of them now” 

Both you and Andy laughed “Let me get you caught up” Andy said gesturing for you to take a seat. 

Despite Lynn’s wishes you and Andy did end up working into the evenings together. But it was mostly because you were spending too much time catching up and acting like it was old times again. Currently, you were at Andy’s house pouring over the evidence while dining out on Chinese takeout. 

“So how come you decided to come back here? Getting too famous in New York?” Andy smirked as he dug through his chow mein. 

You snorted leaning back in your chair, you shook your head “No… I mean was I well known? Maybe” you smirked  “But that wasn’t the reason” Andy arched a brow in silent question “I wanted to become a lawyer to get the little guys justice, help victims, but in New York, I just ended up doing loads of fraud and corporate based crimes” you explained “I mean it felt good to take down these big rich guys who thought they were untouchable but it didn’t feel like I was actually helping the little guy” you sighed “I asked my boss for those sort of jobs but he said I was better suited to these corporate cases and I should leave the other cases to those who wouldn’t get emotionally invested AKA the men”

Andy frowned “That’s bullshit” he said, he didn’t even know who your old boss was but the anger he felt made him want to hunt him down and give him a piece of his mind. 

You shrugged “Yeah so I handed in my notice and looked to transfer back here” you said with a small lopsided smile. 

Andy pursed his lips, ever since you walked back into his life he wondered why you had chosen to come back. He hoped that he was at least part of the reason. He’d put off asking you for so long that it was impossible not to ask now. 

He plastered a smirk onto his face “Did you miss me?”

You chuckled quietly “I did actually” you admitted before taking a deep breath “It kinda felt like this was the place I needed to come back to”

Andy nodded, looking down at his food to hide the hope that was blossoming on his face “Well this place is definitely better with you in it” 

You snorted shaking your head “Nah I bet you found someone else to compete with” you smirked.

Andy shook his head “There’s Neil, stay away from him by the way” he pointed over to you with his chopsticks “but he’s pretty lousy competition, even after I taught him everything I knew” 

You chuckled “Noted,” you said before pausing for a moment “but there’s no one else? No… Mrs Barber to be that you’ve yet to introduce me to”

Andy shook his head “Nope, just me myself and I” he told you. 

You arched a brow “I’m surprised. I thought you’d have girls fawning over you once law school was over” you admitted.

Andy gave you a bashful smile “No, I mean I’ve dated but nothing that’s stuck… guess I’ve been holding out for something, someone else” Andy admitted quietly hoping you didn’t pick up on the hidden meaning. 

You just nodded understandingly “it’s been the same for me, except the thing I’m holding out for has only ever happened in my head”

Andy’s brows pinched together “What do you mean?” he asked. 

You let out a long sigh as you put your container back down on the table and cleared your throat “Well this confession wasn’t one I was planning to make before drinking copious amounts of alcohol but I guess there’s no time like the present” you sighed “I had a massive crush on you in law school and I was kinda hoping that once we graduated that something would happen” 

Andy blinked in surprise, his lips parted as he took in that information and tried to make sense of it “But- but when you got the job offer you said there was nothing keeping you in Boston” Andy recalled. 

It was a painful memory that he wished he could forget but never could. He regularly went back and wondered what he could have said differently to change your mind only to decide that he didn’t want to change your mind. 

You huffed quietly “I think I was just protecting myself by lying… and part of me, well part of me hoped that you’d say you were a reason to stay” you admitted. 

Andy sat back in his chair in shock. You had wanted him to say what he’d wanted to say. All of this time you both wanted the same thing and neither of you was brave enough to say it. 

“I wanted to” he admitted quietly.

Your brows rose slightly in surprise “You did? Your voice was full of disbelief “Why didn’t you?”

Andy sighed “Because I didn’t want to be the reason you missed out on a great opportunity, I didn’t want to you regret it years down the line and hate me for it” 

“My only regret is not having you” you said quietly. 

Andy put his food down as he stood up from his chair and walked around the table to crouch down next to you “Well… you can have me now if you still want me because I’ve been in love with you ever since you wiped the floor with me first week of law school” he smirked.

You laughed as you recalled that day “I promise my flirting technique has improved since then” 

Andy laughed and shook his wondering how on earth you both were so blind all this time “So do you want me?” he asked.

You nibbled your lower lip and nodded your head “I’ve always wanted you Barber”

Andy grinned as he cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply and passionately to make up for all the years wasted. Still not quite believing how the one who got away became the one who almost got away.

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[deathmetalangel]

hi if your taking requests I’d like to request a mid 90s forth-grade x fem skater reader. I could be whatever tbh but she’s like really soft and nice. Idk you could do what ever you think is best <33

IN CHAINS, ENTOMBED (FOURTH GRADE X FEM!READER)

warnings: stevie has mommy issues, mentions of drinking, mentions of smoking, sad stevie, nothing else really it’s mostly fluff

“from the day you arrived, i’ve remained, by your side, in chains, entombed”

ahhh i just really love fourth grade. i might’ve went overboard a slight bit.

Their friend group was strange, anyone could see that. They varied in ages, most being juniors and seniors with two exceptions. And they drastically varied in personalities. Ray was the oldest and looked out for his friends like siblings, they were all he had. Fuckshit was rowdy and always down for a party to distract himself and stay entertained. Fourth Grade was more aloof, the others called it stupid, but Y/n preferred observant.

Y/n herself was the sweetest person you’ll ever meet, a heart made of gold that shone brightly wherever she went. Ruben was almost condescending at times, he always felt the need to prove himself to Ray and Fuckshit. And Stevie, he spiraled down a dark path for a long time. Until now, he finally returned to the sweet boy they met at first. So eager and just happy to have friends.

They had their squabbles sure, but nothing they’d ever let separate them. The closest out of everyone was easily Y/n and Fourth Grade. She was a senior, about a year older than he was. Yet they’d known each other for years. She’d lived on the nicer side of town, but their dads had been really good friends. Both worked at the DMV, but it’s where their moms worked that changed their living situations. Mrs. L/n was, to be quite honest a spoilt brat of a woman. She was heinous and cruel. Only supported by her husband and her trust fund. Which she spent most of pretty quickly during her college years. But it still kept the family going strong.

Y/n had a surprisingly good work ethic. She didn’t work at Motor like Fuckshit and Ray, but she did work with her uncle at his mechanic shop. It helps to fund her “passion project”. Which is just an old 67’ Mustang Shelby.

Said girl currently sits on the couch in the back of the skate shop, her feet propped up on Fourth Grade’s lap with a book placed in hers. Her beanie is slightly slipping from her head, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “College applications are stupid. They’re all the counselors at school talk about now. I get that they’re important, but I don’t even know If I wanna go to college.” She sighs before shutting the textbook.

Fourth Grade turns to look at her, his usual far off look replaced. She always has his full attention. It doesn’t matter what she’s talking about. He’s gonna listen if she’s the one saying it. “I dunno. You’re smart. College might be good.” Ruben looks at them from the other couch. He was more interested in them than what Fuckshit was rambling about next to him. He liked the way Fourth Grade looked at her. It was, for lack of better words, full of devotion. He never sees that at home.

“Yeah, but where would I even go? All of these colleges are expensive and far away. I wouldn’t wanna leave you or the guys.” Mostly him. “I think I wanna be a mechanic. Sounds stupid huh?” She brushes off her own words.

Fourth Grade shakes his head. “I don’t think it’s stupid.” He mumbles off handedly. Like his words held no weight, what did they mean coming from someone as dumb as him? “I’ve seen your car, you’re good. You should do it.”

Yet his words meant the most to her. “You want to be a director right? You can go to college for that you know. A few colleges with fine arts programs reached out to me too. I think you’d do good.” He never really expected her to remember anything about what he wanted to do. Most of the guys assumed he just didn’t know or was too stupid to care. He pauses, they both think about the cost of it all. “I mean there’s scholarships and stuff. Next year I can help you look into it?”

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”

She smiles at him, sweet and genuine. Ruben liked the way she looked at him too. There was no doubt with her, she loved him. Fourth Grade feels himself growing flustered. Y/n tended to do that to him. It was like he was in middle school all over again. She was the one who taught him how to skate. Y/n was so patient and understanding, she still is.

Everyone’s attention is caught by the bell to the front door. It chimes letting them know someone is walking in. The someone was Stevie, the only one missing from the current hang out besides Ray who was helping his mom. He’s a mamas boy, but y/n won’t tell anyone where he’s at. The guys tend to tease. Stevie walks in the shop clearly aggravated. She hadn’t seen him this agitated since last summer.

“Hey Fuckshit can you and Ruben go get some Arizonas and snacks? It’s on me just take this twenty. I don’t feel like going.” She holds out the cash she grabbed from her pocket.

Fuckshit looks up at her and takes the cash. “Hm yeah sure. Only cause you treating ma. I’ll get some different flavors n shit. Come on Ruben let’s bounce.” He clearly didn’t see her true intentions as he walks past Stevie on his way out. Y/n sits up straight as Stevie finally comes over to them on the couch.

“Hey Stevie you okay? It’s just us,” He knew what she meant. Just her and Fourth Grade so he could say whatever he wanted judgment free. He bites down on his lip to stop it from quivering. His nose twitches, she picks up on his tells. Y/n places a gentle hand on Stevie’s arm. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. Just sit down, we can talk when you’re ready.”

Fourth Grade watches her tentatively. She was so gentle. Stevie sits down in between the teens before he places his head onto her lap. Y/n looks at Fourth Grade who was watching Stevie carefully. The boy had been through a lot in the time they were friends. He’d grown to care about him a lot. Y/n softly caresses the boys hair. Her best attempt at soothing him.

“My mom she just doesn’t get it anymore. She doesn’t get me anymore. She’s always with some guy, Ian says she used to be like that before I was born. But I thought she’d be better. She’s so preoccupied I never see her. And then she just bugs about stupid shit. I hate her sometimes.” He vents to the pair who don’t pity him, they are just there to console him.

Y/n sighs. “I get it. My moms flighty. Always in her own world. I’ve met your mom, and both times weren’t exactly pleasant or under great circumstances. But, I do think she cares. She loves you, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to feel this way. She isn’t right to put more focus on someone other than you especially when you’re so young. However, she is still entitled to a love life Stevie.” He liked talking to her. She never judged him. Or scolded him. Just let him talk, and would advise him as best she could.

Y/n looks at Fourth Grade, her eyes flicking down to Stevie as if to tell him to say something. He can get that hint at least. “It’s hard for a mom to have a son. My moms weird with me sometimes, it’s different than her having a girl. Ya know? She’s probably just nervous because you’re getting big and growing up.” She smiles at him, his thoughtful answer was more than adequate. He blushes at her smile. She always did encourage him to be smarter than everyone thought he was.

“You and y/n aren’t weird with me. So why is she?” Y/n blushes slightly at the implications of what he was saying. “Y/n you don’t ignore me for Fourth Grade. And you’ve been like in love forever. So why does she ignore me for those guys she’s known for a few months?” Both teens almost were too embarrassed to answer.

Y/n tries to recover as best she can. “We’re a lot closer in age to you than she is Stevie. We know what it’s like to be your age. She doesn’t remember it quite as well. And me and Fourth Grade, we’re not- um. New relationships take more work. There’s a lot more of getting to know each other Stevie. That’s probably why.” She can’t even make eye contact with Fourth Grade who kind of just sits there trying to figure out what she’s saying.

They weren’t dating, but why didn’t she finish her sentence. Was he reading too much into her words? “Can I stay at your house tonight? And maybe Fourth Grade stay over too?”

Y/n smiles softly. She could never say no to Stevie. She gently wipes away a few stray tears from the boys face before responding. “Of course you can stay with me. I’d rather you stay over than be god knows where. And you’d have to ask Fourth Grade if he wants to have a little sleepover.”

Stevie looks up towards Fourth Grade who’s caught slightly off guard. “Can you come too? I like when you’re hanging out with us.”

“Sure kid.” They were really the only ones who actually treated Stevie like a kid. He wasn’t Sunburn the cool skater, he was Stevie the twelve year old. They didn’t infantilize him or belittle him, he was still an equal. But they made sure to remember he was still growing up. He didn’t have to be cool and drink or smoke. He was dorky and that was fine.

Stevie smiles before laying down on Y/n’s lap again. Her fingers gently play with his hair as he starts to fall asleep. Y/n hums a soft lullaby as he does. “He’s a good kid. It’s funny you act more like a mom than a friend to him sometimes.” Fourth Grade whispers while he watches the boy nap.

“I guess it’s just my big sister instincts. And what about you? I swear sometimes he comes to you with his problems more than me or Ray. Fourth Grade I like this girl what do I do? Fourth Grade I need help with a video project for school. Fourth Grade I’m mad at my friend again.” She laughs softly before looking back down at Stevie.

Fourth Grade laughs as well. He did often get tasked with helping Stevie, it was mostly with stuff he didn’t want to ask Y/n about. He cared a lot about what she thought of him. “He’s a bit confused, but he’s only got his mom and his brother. And his brother doesn’t seem like the brotherly type. We’re really the closest he’s got to older siblings. And only three of us are decent influences.” Fuckshit and Ruben were most definitely not good influences. In fact Y/n almost has a heart attack when she finds out Stevie is hanging out with only them.

“You parent him a lot Y/n. And you always manage to get me roped into it.” Fourth Grade chuckles softly. “No wonder he thinks we’re dating.” He mumbles the end. Afraid of the weight of his words.

Y/n pauses. “I mean, we do kind of act coupley. I wouldn’t be surprised if more people thought we were dating. I don’t really care. I’m comfortable around you.” This was her way of putting the ball in his court. Fourth Grade pauses. He looks at her and just thinks. Jesus she had him whipped. Ever since he met her he’s been following her around like a puppy.

Yet, he really didn’t want it any other way. He liked being around her. Y/n was kind, but not ignorant in the slightest. She was intelligent and so fucking sweet. He fell more in love with her little by little, he was entombed by her very being. “You scare off any girls I might get, you know that right?”

She giggles. He wasn’t serious, but he wasn’t lying either. “Like you don’t scare off guys. ‘Don’t talk to her she’s with that tall lanky guy’. I hear pretty well you know.” Fourth Grade smiles.

“I mean if we’re ruining each others chances of ever dating someone, why don’t we just actually date?” Her eyes widen. She hadn’t actually expected him to be so up front. Fourth Grade never said anything this forward. He usually stuttered and rethought his words mid sentence.

She looks into his eyes. She could tell he was being genuine, perhaps that was what compelled his bluntness. “Are you asking me out Fourth Grade?”

He scratches the back of his neck almost awkwardly. “Uh-yeah. I mean. If you wanna.” And there was the Fourth Grade she knew. Y/n smiles before gently kissing his cheek.

“I’d love to.” She smiles before placing her head on his shoulder. Leaning onto him while Stevie napped comfortably in her lap. “I love you, you know. I have since we were kids.”

His face was almost bright red. Fourth Grade swallows hard. “Y-yeah? If I’m being honest you’ve had me since we met. Especially after you taught me to Ollie.”

She smiles at the memory. “I don’t think Fuckshit is coming back with my money.”

Fourth Grade wants to laugh, he quiets himself into a soft chuckle. “Yeah. I don’t think so either. It’s okay though. We can just relax. Just us.”

Y/n mumbles something before slowly dozing off with her head still resting on his shoulder. Fourth Grade looks down at her, still in awe of the girl before him. He’d do anything for her. And he knew she’d do the same. That’s just how she was, the kind of person she was. The person he was so irreparably in love with. And by her side he’d remain.

[sunshades]

okay i want to talk about canto vi again. this line is one of my favorite- the reference to the same scene in the book is not only precise but it also catches an implication there always is in the book, that hindley calls his sister catherine in front of heathcliff to signal that is what he wants HIM to do. despite nelly's later claims that the two just didn't talk for Who Knows What Reason, they both remember why: it's hindley breaking the bond between the two by stressing the barrier of race and class, something he'll keep doing for the rest of his life.

in the book this scene is also reprised in the second half. i think everybody knows the canto blends together the two generations, and it's interesting how hindley's behavior often reflects book!heathcliff's in many instances, like in this one, where he does his best to make hareton feel ashamed of himself, by stressing on his role as a servant and lack of education and refinement compared to catherine, to the point of not speaking or even looking at her.

it's much of the same. like book!heathcliff, hindley is noted to be extremely proud of this little plan of his falling together.

BUT beside this the interaction that i think is very interesting in this same chapter is the one that follows, linton and catherine discussing hareton--

it's a terrible scene on all sides for hareton, but of the two catherine appears (as usual) as just being kind of a snobby sheltered girl, while linton has some real fun out of insulting someone who is "beneath" him, and he feels comfortable doing so because he's already seen his father do the same. going back to the first quote, it's interesting how hindley uses the laziness as an insult, as beside being racially charged, it's also referencing this scene and what book!linton says to hareton. it reinforces the fact that book!linton and book!heathcliff's dynamic is being reprised through linton and hindley:

it's probably linton's most noticeable character trait, straight from his namesake, that he is incredibly cruel but doesn't have the physical strength to act on it, instead having to rely on other people to do it in his stead.

it sources many other points of his character- much like in the book!linton, catherine, hareton dynamic, linton effectively offers nothing to catherine as a partner, with the only thing he could use to "win her over" being his degrading of another based on his presumed superiority, and in the end even his pursuit of catherine appears much less like "devotion" and more like his need to own yet another thing for his collection, one more trophy to show that he is worthy of his name and wealth.

this characterization is consistent, and he prizes the idea of this devotion that makes him superior to others, acting as if his love not being requited makes him a better man than heathcliff, and holding this devotion up as a shield to refuse taking the blame, trying hard to give the impression he was the one with no agency, even when he was completely aware catherine's mental health had completely deteriorated and she was a danger to herself and others

in the end hindley and linton are incredibly similar people- hindley uses violence to carry out the belief in his own superiority, and linton must use words, but they're both as cruel and self-centered as the characters they're based on

[madebycloud]

I Can't Help Falling in Love With You

wednesday addams x reader — 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: you took your girlfriend on a date, one she will remember for a long time to come. warnings/themes: FLUFF!! softwednesday (???), reader is a simp, (who's not? it's WEDNESDAY ADDAMS) slow dancing, making out. words: 4.5k note: LMAO THIS GOT ME GIGGLING WHILE I WROTE THIS! i think y'all need some fluff before i write another angsty one again.. 🏃

You raced over to Wednesday's dormitory as the clock struck midnight. You reached to her door, you gently rapped your knuckles against it, patiently waiting for someone to answer. 

After a few long seconds of silence, the door slowly creaked open, revealing Enid, Wednesday's roommate and a dear friend of yours. 

With a sense of urgency in her voice, she greeted you with a "Wednesday, faster! Y/N is here." She flashed you a panicked smile and added, "I told Principal Weems you're both sick, so she won't come looking for you."

You immediately understood the reason for Enid's stress and took a moment to appreciate her for saving your ass. "Thank you, Enid." 

Eventually, Wednesday approached you, and you couldn't help but notice how stunningly beautiful she looked. She noticed your stunned expression and rolled her eyes, breaking the tension.

Enid gave you a wink before closing the door, leaving you on your own. You picked up Wednesday's bag in one hand and offered her your arm. She rolled her eyes again, took your offer, and off you went. Wednesday followed you through the school gates and out into the night.

Wednesday couldn't keep her curiosity at bay any longer, and she asked you, "Okay, where are you taking me?"

With a grin, you replied, "I don't want to ruin the surprise." You could see the cogs turning in her mind, but she decided not to press the matter for now.

You made your way to a car parked on the street. "Where did you get the car? It's not stolen, is it?" She immediately asked, her voice both emotionless and full of underlying curiosity. 

"No, my love. It's my uncle's car. He let me borrow it for our date." Wednesday watched as you placed her bag in the trunk and walked around to open the passenger door for her, leaning your head back to give her room to get inside.

She didn't say anything but rolled her eyes one last time before sliding into the car's leather seat. You climbed into the driver's seat, started the engine, and opened the radio.

"That better not be a pop song." You laughed at her and responded, "Too bad, it is."

The catchy beat of Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift filled the car, and you began singing along at the top of your lungs, your voice sounding surprisingly in tune.

"Come on, love," you teased, leaning over to her and grinning. Wednesday's lips twitched slightly, almost as if she was fighting back a smile. But she didn't give in, just shook her head and rolled her eyes again. 

Despite her lack of enthusiasm, she sat in silence as you sang along to the pop song. 

She was clearly not a fan of the song and was probably wishing she was listening to something else, but she said nothing. She didn't want to insult you or your musical tastes and was willing to listen to whatever music you liked, even if it wasn't her favorite.

You drove on for what seemed like hours, your eyes growing heavy as your eyelids drooped more and more with each passing moment. 

The traffic was at a standstill, and the noise of the engine and the honking of horns from other drivers was starting to grate on your nerves. 

Despite the chaos around you, you couldn't help but feel peaceful and content as you looked over at Wednesday, who slept peacefully next to you.

Her gentle breaths and demeanor were enough to make you forget about the traffic and the stress of the situation, and for a moment, everything seemed okay. 

You couldn't imagine being anywhere else but right here by her side, even if it meant enduring the monotony of the stop-and-go traffic.

You reached over to the backseat and grabbed a pillow, placing it gently under her head. You wanted to make sure she was comfortable and that she was taken care of while she rested.

After enduring the never-ending road and traffic, you arrived at your destination, and then you saw a sight that was well worth the trouble.

You were greeted by a beach house, standing majestically in the middle of the pristine white sand and surrounded by clear blue water. 

You turned to Wednesday, who was still sound asleep beside you. You gently nudged her awake and whispered softly in her ear, "Hey, love, we're here." She stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open and looking up at you. 

You leaned down and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead. 

She took in her surroundings, a look of confusion flitted across her face. "Where am I?" she murmured, her words still half-awake.

You replied reassuringly, "We're at the beach house I rented for us. I'll get the things, you stay here and rest," you said, and she nodded and leaned back against the headrest, closing her eyes. 

You leaned down one more time to kiss her forehead, stepped outside the car, opened the trunk, and started unloading your belongings.

When you were done, you opened the passenger door and held out your hand to guide Wednesday out of the car. She took your hand, and you helped her step onto the sand. 

You walked toward the beach house together, you noticed a small smirk forming on Wednesday's lips as she took in the scenery before her. 

Even on Wednesday, the often stoic and reserved Addams, couldn't help but be amazed by the beauty of the surroundings.

You led her into the beach house, where you had already set up your bedroom.

Knowing she needed some rest after the long journey, you gently helped Wednesday settle in the bedroom, watching as she lay down on the bed, her eyes closing as soon as her head hit the pillow. 

You couldn't help but admire Wednesday's beauty, even in her slumber. Her dark hair fanned out around her on the pillow, and her pale skin looked even more ivory against the colorful bedding. 

For a moment, you hesitated, wanting nothing more than to jump into the bed next to her and hold her close. You gently covered her with the blankets, whispering, "Sweet dreams, my love."

You went back and finished unloading the rest of your things. When you finished, you took a deep breath and let out a sigh of relief. 

The long and strenuous journey to the beach house was finally over, and now you were both here, safe and sound.

You felt your stomach growl, reminding you that it was time for breakfast. So you steeled yourself and went to the kitchen.

You took a deep breath and began to prepare your meals, pouring the scrambled eggs and toasted bread into two bowls. You added a splash of hot sauce and some grated cheese on top, finishing off the meals with a sprinkle of parsley. 

You set the plates on the table and took a seat, feeling proud of yourself for managing to cook such a delicious meal. 

You were sipping your coffee when you suddenly heard the sound of the bedroom door creaking open. You turned your head to see Wednesday walking towards the table.

"Morning, my love," you said, standing up to greet her. You placed a kiss on her cheek and directed her towards the chair. "Sit down here, and I'll serve you breakfast. I was just about to wake you." She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. 

You placed a plate of warm food in front of Wednesday, the scent of eggs and toast filling the air. You sat down opposite her, and you both began to dig into your breakfast.

It was simple, but it was everything you needed after such a long drive.

—

You and Wednesday had spent the day enjoying each other's company at your beach house, playing board games, eating delicious food, and watching movies.

It was a day filled with fun (and perhaps even a little bit of competition), but it was about to get much more interesting. 

The hours ticked by, you noticed it was already 4 PM, and with the scorching heat of the sun bearing down on you, you decided it was time for a dip in the ocean. 

Wasting no time, you hurried to your closet, choosing your favorite two-piece swimsuit, which was a sleek, figure-hugging design that highlighted your curves. On the other hand, Wednesday opted for a more conservative choice, a one-piece swimsuit that covered her body, providing maximum protection from the sun's harmful rays.

You both walked down to the beach, and you couldn't resist taking a jab at Wednesday's swimsuit. "You look like a penguin in that," you teased with a smirk, admiring her graceful poise. 

Wednesday raised an eyebrow and narrowed her eyes. "Say that one more time, and I'll rip your tongue out of your head," she spat back.

Feeling guilty about your comment, you tried to make amends by reaching for her hand, only to have her put it away. 

You tried again, but she pulled it away once more. "Not so fast. You've already offended me once, and I'm not one to forget easily," she said with a stern glare.

You tried to talk to her, but she ignored you, leading you to decide to tread quietly and keep following Wednesday as you both walked into the sea. 

Wednesday's resentment erupted when a random female stranger approached the two of you and asked for your phone number.

Despite the fact that she detests physical intimacy, she swiftly encircled your hand in a display of affection and dominance. 

She then marked her territory and made it known that you were hers and no one else's by giving the girl a death look until she walked away. 

You smirked, enjoying the idea that Wednesday loves you so much, and said, "Come on," as you pulled her closer to you in the water.

You and Wednesday made your way to the water, and you felt the soft sand sinking beneath your toes. The waves crashed against your body, sending a tingle of excitement through every inch of your being.

Wednesday's movements were as graceful as ever as she swam around you, with her black hair billowing behind her like a banner of victory. 

Both of you couldn't help but stare into each other's eyes, lost in the moment. You can't help but admire her features, the curve of her nose, the color of her eyes, and the way her hair flows in the water. 

It felt as though time had stopped, and the only thing that mattered was the two of you, connected by an invisible thread. 

With a mischievous smirk on your face, you couldn't resist the temptation to play around.

You took a handful of water and splashed it in her face. Wednesday's eyes widened with surprise, and you couldn't help but let out a chuckle at her reaction.

“Oh, you wanna play?" She asked, but her tone wasn't threatening or angry. Instead, it was filled with a playful edge, as though she was teasing you back.

Without hesitation, she began splashing you back, and you both were quickly engaged in an all-out water battle.

You tried to one-up each other with your splashes, but no matter how hard you tried, Wednesday seemed to always have the upper hand.

After a few minutes of fighting, you decided to take things up a notch.

Grabbing a hold of Wednesday's waist, you dipped her into the water and pulled her down with you.

She lets out a shriek of surprise as she is dragged beneath the surface. She kicks and thrashes her legs, desperate to reach the surface for air.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, she emerges from the water, gasping for breath.

You couldn't help but let out a laugh at her wicked stare.

You noticed how beautiful she looked in the sunlight as you wiped the water from your eyes, the drops of water glistening on her skin like tiny diamonds.

Without warning, you leaned in and planted a kiss on her jaw, feeling her soft skin beneath your lips. 

"I'm going to kill you, you know that?" she says with a mischievous glint in her eye as you scramble to get away from her. 

You take off running, your heart pounding in your chest as you feel the sand and water beneath your feet.

Wednesday ran like a bolt of lightning, her legs propelling her forward at incredible speeds. You try to keep up, but it's no use, she's just too fast. 

In desperation, you raise your hand in surrender and stop running.

You stumble to a stop and sit down on the sand to catch your breath, gasping for air. 

You look up at Wednesday, still catching your breath, your chest aching with the exertion. “I didn't know penguins were this fast," you manage to gasp out between breaths.

She sits down next to you, still catching her breath as well. "You're not too fast yourself."

You couldn't help but breathe a sigh of awe as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. The sky was a vibrant canvas of color, filled with gradients of pink, purple, and gold. The beauty of the world was all around you, encapsulating every square inch of the beach and even the very air you breathed.

"Oh wow," you muttered under your breath, your eyes fixed on the sky. 

You were so entranced by the breathtaking colors of the sky, the vibrant sound of the waves crashing against the shore, and the soothing rustle of the sand that you almost forgot you were sitting beside Wednesday.

Almost, but not quite, as your peripheral vision took in the fact that she was staring at you with such intensity that you couldn't help but smile. As if she couldn't believe that such a person even existed.

You continued to stare up at the sky as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon, casting the sky into a beautiful shade of orange and red.

Despite the beauty of the sunset, it was you who truly captivated her.

The way your eyes mirrored the colors of the sunset was almost hypnotic, your gaze drawing her in and making it impossible to look away. 

Everything else was just noise, but the harmony of the setting sun, the sound of the waves, and your very existence were all perfectly combined. It felt like home, a place of serenity and completeness. 

It was your presence that made her heart skip a beat, your face that kept her awake at night, and your voice that she would hear in her dreams. 

Wednesday had never experienced anything like it before, a feeling so intense and overwhelming that she felt like she was falling through a tunnel, with you being the light at the end of it.

She was so lost in thought that she didn't realize how long she had been staring at you. She only snapped back to reality when you called out to her.

"What are you staring at?" you asked, noticing the intensity of her gaze.

She hesitated for a moment before responding, her voice soft and breathless. "You," she whispered.

You were about to respond when you felt your stomach growl. You looked down at your empty stomach and let out a sigh of frustration. 

Without hesitation, you got up from your seat and turned around to face Wednesday. You silently motioned for her to take your hand, and she immediately reached out and grabbed it.

You both walked along the shore, listening to the sound of the waves crashing against the sand in the distance. You kissed the back of her hand, a simple yet romantic gesture that seemed to speak volumes.

You both stayed silent as you walked back towards the beach house, both of you engrossed in your own private thoughts. 

It was a comfortable silence, one that allowed both of you to simply be in each other's presence without feeling the need to fill the air with trivial conversation.

—

The soft hum of the radio fills the solitude of the night, and you can't help but feel a deep sense of peace and serenity sweep over you. The sound of the ocean waves crashing against the shore below and the shimmering of the stars in the night sky add to this feeling of calmness.

Suddenly, the sound of the glass door opening takes your attention away from the tranquil surroundings as Wednesday steps onto the balcony. 

With a curious expression on her face, Wednesday walks towards you and asks, "What are you doing up at such a late hour?" 

"Just admiring..." Your response may be short and vague, but it is the truth. You are simply admiring the beauty of the world around you, a world that seems to come alive during these quiet hours of the night.

She walks to the edge of the balcony, taking in the view herself, her figure illuminated by the moonlight, her silhouette framed against the vast ocean.

A/N: (I recommend playing "Can't Help Falling in Love with You" while reading this part.)

As you took in the beauty of the ocean and the night sky, the first notes of the classic Elvis song "Can't Help Falling in Love with You" started playing from the radio, and your heart began to beat a little faster.

You stepped closer to Wednesday, wrapping your arms around her waist. You can feel the warmth of her body against yours and the texture of her clothes as your arms touch them. You can hear the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, a low murmur in the background, as the radio's soft voice fills the silent air. 

She turns her head to look at you, the moonlight catching her features and illuminating her face, making her appear even more beautiful than before. 

You place your chin on her shoulder, humming along to the lyrics of the song. Wednesday, feeling the warmth of your breath in her ear, turns to face the night and the endless ocean in front of you. 

Slowly, you begin to sway her from side to side, the radio and the sound of the ocean providing a beautiful soundtrack to your dance.

The music lulls you both into a trance, and, without thinking, you lean down and kiss the back of her neck, feeling her skin against your lips, soft and warm.

Then, with a swift move, you twirled her around to face you, taking a hold of her hands and pulling her close. You held her left hand up, her right hand on your shoulder, and your left hand around her waist, pulling her closer to you. 

She squeezed your hand, your faces were inches apart. You stared deeply into her eyes, feeling the slivers of light in them reflect the depth of your love.

You didn't say a word, but your eyes told her how much you loved her without needing to speak. Your eyes tell her everything, everything you can't put into words.

The song plays on and the moon shines brightly overhead, Wednesday relaxes against you. You feel the soft warmth of her breath brushing against your skin, and it makes you feel alive in a way you never have before.

The bond that existed between you was as deep as the ocean and as vast as the sky above. You didn't need words to express how you felt, the love you felt for each other went beyond words, beyond the physical.

You lean in to kiss the crown of Wednesday's head, and you take a moment to savor the moment. 

The late-night air is crisp and cool, the sky is clear, and the ocean is sparkling under the light of the moon.

The song continues to play in the background, adding to the romantic atmosphere that you've created together. You close your eyes, feeling Wednesday's heart beating in your chest, and let the moment wash over you. 

For a moment, the rest of the world falls away, and all that exists is the two of you, standing on the balcony, holding each other close.

—

The day had been perfect from start to finish, filled with memories that would last you both a lifetime. As the sun set over the ocean and the day came to an end, you could feel a sense of melancholy in the air. 

It was time to head back to Nevermore, but a part of you didn't want the day to end.

You hopped into the car, with Wednesday riding shotgun. 

She was sitting in the passenger seat, reading the book she had just bought, her eyes fixed on the pages, oblivious to the world around her. 

You kept your focus on the road, though you couldn't help but steal glances at her as you drove.

Driving along, you couldn't help but let your mind wander, thinking about all the wonderful things that had happened that day. You had spent the morning exploring the shore with Wednesday, feeling the cool ocean breeze on your skin, and taking pictures together that you would treasure forever. You had bought souvenirs for your friends. 

And then there was the car ride back to Nevermore, which seemed to fly by, the traffic moving swiftly for once.

The road was quiet, and you could hear the soft rustling of leaves as the cool night air blew through the open window of your car. 

You felt a gentle tug on your right hand and looked down to see Wednesday's hand holding yours, her eyes still focused on her book. Your heart melted as you squeezed her hand.

Wednesday didn't say a word, but you could see the contented expression on her face as she continued reading, unaware of your gaze. 

The red traffic lights changed to green, and you drove towards Nevermore, your thumb brushing against hers as you took turns on the road.

Once back at Nevermore, you headed directly to Wednesday's dorm, where Enid answered the door, her hair a disheveled mess as if she had just woken up from a deep sleep.

You smiled and handed her your gift, a smile spreading across her face as she took it. "Thank you so much!" she exclaimed, giving you a quick hug. 

"Enid," Wednesday said, and the tone of her voice instantly signaled to you that something was amiss. Enid, clearly not wanting to add fuel to the fire, released her grip and offered an apology as she retreated back inside to help Wednesday unpack her things.

The door closed, leaving you and Wednesday alone in the hallway. You could feel the tension in the air, and a small part of you regretted coming back. You hesitantly stepped forward, afraid of the consequences.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

However, as you were about to leave, Wednesday grabbed your hand. 

She gently caressed your palm with her thumb, and you couldn't help but feel a jolt of energy coursing through your body. 

You leaned in to kiss her cheek, but she pulled you in for a deeper kiss, her lips meeting yours with a passion that took you by surprise.

Her hands roamed over your neck and shoulders, holding you close and pulling you in even further.

You pulled away, taking a deep breath as you smiled at the warmth spreading throughout your body. 

Wednesday leaned in yet again, her lips finding yours for one more blissful moment. You couldn't help but savor the taste of her kisses as she held you close once more.

Once you finally broke apart, you rested your forehead against hers, feeling the connection that you shared. 

It was a moment that felt like it would last an eternity, your bodies pressed against each other, your breath coming in short gasps. 

You could feel the heat building between you, a tension that threatened to tear you apart at any moment.

"I love you."

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, a whisper that echoed in the silence of the hallway. 

Wednesday's eyes locked onto yours, her breath catching in her throat as she took in your confession. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something in response, but the words refused to leave her mouth. Instead, she kissed you once again, this time with a passion that threatened to consume you whole.

You wanted to pull away, to catch your breath, to take in the moment. But you couldn't, your body was consumed by the heat of Wednesday's touch. 

Your hands grasped her back, pulling her close as your lips found hers again and again. The world seemed to melt away, leaving just the two of you in the hallway, lost in a world of your own.

Finally, you pulled away, your chest heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. Wednesday's lips were swollen from your kisses, her eyes shining with anticipation.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you managed to whisper, before you leaned in for one final kiss. 

This time, it was slower, more gentle, as if you both understood that this moment was too precious to be rushed. 

You held each other close, your bodies pressing together, feeling the warmth of each other's touch.

Feeling a tingle in your chest, you pulled away, the warmth of her touch lingering on your cheeks. Her hand slowly released its grip on yours, her fingers lingering for just a moment longer before she let go, her face falling back into its usual stony expression.

The grin on your face persisted as you made your way back to your dorm. You knew that you would forever hold on to the memories of that perfect day. 

Then you sighed, the familiar weight of reality settling back in. 

You walked toward your own dorm, feeling the fatigue of the long drive weigh on your shoulders. As you entered your room, the familiar smell of home beckoning you to rest your weary head on your pillow, you couldn't help but think of the image of Wednesday that was forever imprinted in your mind.

One last look, the sun setting over her shoulder, casting a glow of warmth over her face. 

A moment frozen in time, a dream that would fade soon enough but remain a precious memory for as long as you lived.

And as you drifted off into sleep, the image of her remained seared into your mind. 

The waves crashing against the shore, the smell of salt in the air, the warmth of the sun on your skin. A dream like no other, a reminder of what it meant to be truly alive.