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prael · 3 months ago

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A Bargain To Remember

Kinktember Day 13: Car sex

(G)I-DLE Miyeon x male reader smut

words: 4,950 Kinktember Masterlist

"Finally, a face to the name."

You know all about Miyeon, of course. She's the type of girl whose face is plastered on every screen and every street in every corner of the galaxy, a darling of the interplanetary conglomerates. From the spaceports to even the most downtrodden of back-alleys, you can probably find her face on some poster or flyer or some massive digital billboard high above you—those corporate powers that be sure want to squeeze as much out of her as possible.

The surprise is that she knows you.

Of course, it's on those screens, or the ones at home, or the ones in their pockets, that most people become acquainted with a girl like Miyeon. Those glossy eyes, her effervescent smile, her delicate but fierce features, of course, they leave an impression. They sell you dreams, products and promises. That's why you can find her all over the place—but the versions of her you can interact with— ones to purchase and enjoy—are another beast altogether.

"Can I help you, miss?" you feign ignorance of her identity as she takes the chair at the other end of your desk.

"I would like to make a purchase."

"A purchase? From me? What could I possibly offer to someone like you? I sell scrap electronics to junkies and fix the broken implants of low-life thugs. How could that possibly interest you?"

She crosses her legs, and says, "Don't play with me. I have seen your work, quite the artist you are, though I wouldn't say you exactly have my mannerisms down. The curve of my mouth, the cadence of my voice—not exactly up to par with the real deal. But as fakes go, you do well with what you have."

You scratch at the back of your head and then catch a bead of sweat forming at your temple, "Think you have the wrong guy, miss. You're talking AI and Virts here. Not my thing, definitely not my forte."

She's quiet as you look around at anything but her face. The grey concrete walls and steel beam of the roof are awfully fascinating suddenly, and then the holos playing on loop above the screens of your makeshift booth—really anything than to have to admit that your life's work consists of making and selling forgeries of people like her. She knows why she's here—the least you could do is be brave and admit to your craft.

"I tried your work myself. Quite the experience. Can't say I ever planned on fucking myself—but well, there's a first time for everything I guess."

There's enough power across your desk to not only shut you down and make it so the only tech you would ever touch again is a pair of electrified cuffs at best, and at worst she could have you put down and silently disposed.

Miyeon continues, "As I say, it wasn't entirely accurate, I'm not actually that loud or aggressive, for the record. But it was fun, so if you're thinking I'm about to expose you, not the case—I'm actually here to invest in your skill. Your art is fun, and I dare say your tastes in women, are spot on."

You let out a small nervous laugh and then say, "I don't usually take requests."

Her pink-painted lips, the gloss shimmering slightly from the bright fluorescent overhead light, form into a delicate, mischievous grin. "I'm willing to make you an offer, one you won't refuse. You get me what I want, and I'll license your work. Think about it. An official Miyeon VirtueX™, think of how lucrative an asset that could be. The whole galaxy's lining up to get a taste—and you would be the only real supply."

You lean forward in your chair to peer at her and ask, "Let's say I was who you think I am, what is it that you want from me?"

"What I want from you," she pauses and tilts her head, her eyes glance across your features briefly and her tongue traces the edges of her teeth. "Is to show me the past." She places a drive on the desk—old-tech, the kind that would never run on any kind of systems that are sold today. "You can get this working, right?"

"Is that a government stamp?" You point to the symbol on the drive. "I plug that in and I'll have execution squads here in under a minute."

"It's all above board. Officially disposed and untracked. I just need to live it, once." Her voice is quiet and pensive.

"Alright. Deal. But those two lumps of metal you call bodyguards have to stay out there, and you're coming through to my studio. If I'm gonna help, you have to play by my rules."

She flashes you a winning smile. You thought you had her pegged down but all this has proved you wrong—there was more to Miyeon than the flashy clothes and the blinding lights, a lot more. And your curiosity is getting the better of you now.

"You know, you're only the third person to ever step in here," you open up the secret passage into the back room, and gesture for Miyeon to step in.

You close the door behind you both and feel the heavy metal slide lock with a hiss.

"The first was me, naturally, and the second left it in a body bag a few years ago."

She doesn't flinch, just brushes past you and sits on the edge of your desk, running a finger along the steel as if surveying the conditions of your equipment. "Hard to imagine you make the stuff you do from a place like this," she says.

"The drive," you say as you hold out a hand.

She passes it over and you examine the shape and material. Most drives these days are designed to interface with neural implant ports or organic docks directly—this is true vintage work. It might have been what some would have called groundbreaking tech a hundred or so years ago. You hook the little device up to your primary work machine and start running tests.

She slides off the table, her hands resting on your shoulders. She bends down, her body pressed into yours as she murmurs near your ear. "How is it?"

"A mess. But a fixable mess. Should have something you can use soon enough."

Miyeon breathes gently in your ear before placing a hand on your arm, "Please, whatever you do, do not look at the contents. It's personal, just let me view it, and live it, one last time. Then you can lock it away again for all eternity and erase the copy from your server. And then you get exactly what you want from me."

You breathe in deeply, a mixture of her perfume and the thick oily scent of hot electronics flooding your brain. "Whatever, it's none of my business anyway. Now take a seat will you." You nod to the chair on the other side of the room.

The drive whirrs softly and a data scan runs to gather all the fragmented encryptions left behind on the device. Miyeon lies flat back on your chair and waits for you to connect her—she holds out her forearm expectantly.

"Come on then," she smiles sweetly and pulls a loose curl behind her ear.

You clamp your eyes tight and inhale. "Here goes nothing." You run the system at the push of a button and all the data you scraped compiles in a memory, one for Miyeon and Miyeon alone to relive. You walk over, drawing the connection from the chair and readying to insert it into her arm. "Connections like these, they can hurt, okay? Are you ready?"

"Do it." She's insistent.

A quick stab of your fingers later and the tiny prongs slide into the barely visible organic slot on her skin. Her head tosses violently and for the first time, there's fear on her face. But as soon as you have her connected, her eyelids begin to flutter. You sit a while, watching her as a million synapses all spark to life behind rolling eyes—whatever the moment is, she is in it. You leave her in peace and sit back at your workstation, waiting.

There's an artificial sensation of the atmosphere becoming slightly humid all around, the lights are a soft pastel blue, and the world is swathed in cotton wool. Silent. You find yourself completely frozen in time. It drags and yet somehow comes to a finish just as you're still adjusting to the quietude.

Miyeon's connection beeps and you turn around, removing the port from your system. She pulls the connection from her arm.

"So, tell me, was it worth the trip down memory lane? You get everything you wanted?" You unplug the old-school hardware and await the confirmation that all the corrupted data's safely expunged from your hard drives.

"Almost everything. But most things, in the end, never get a happy ending, do they?"

"Sounds heavy. The stuff that happened on there, pretty rough, huh."

Her pupils are dilated, the whites of her eyes flooded red. "Like you wouldn't believe." Miyeon climbs from the chair, finding her feet back in the real world after living in another for a precious few minutes. She blinks twice and there's a distinct film over her corneas.

"So that's it? My end of the bargain was fulfilled. And I get my licensed content?"

Miyeon turns and you wonder if that's a tear that's been cast down her cheek. "Sealed and guaranteed. Now let's give you some real data to work with. The right anatomical model, an authentic Miyeon behavioural pattern, every single unique vocal calibration, every erogenous spot, every subtle expression in real-time—have it all. One more condition. I have another memory, a real one in my head, if you make me relive that, you can record it and scrub every detail you need. Are we agreed?"

You nod. "Done. Sit there and we'll connect."

"You're going to manually record?"

"How do you think I get it all so accurate?" you tell her with a smug smile.

She sits and gives a nod. "If it's got to be done." You take a seat behind her, and you both reach over your shoulder to pull the neural connector into your napes and slot them in.

A brief flash of many realities as you slip into her consciousness and she welcomes you to her memory.

A calm setting, sitting in a car, you were driving and she's in the passenger seat. You're parked beside a winding hillside road and looking out over a city. A city you don't recognise. Miyeon's fingers dancing across your thigh with a suggestive gentleness, a sly smile.

"Where are we?" you ask.

"Seoul." Miyeon smiles.

"When are we?"

"2024."

"2024? That's over seventy years ago!"

She laughs. "Yeah? You wanted the real authentic Miyeon, didn't you?"

"Sure, but in 2024? That's just unbelievable. You look the same. How are you so—"

She leans close and traces a finger across the line of your jaw. She stares directly into your eyes and says, "We'll worry about the details later. Right now, you want what I've promised, and you've come this far, so you know what has to be done. We're already where we need to be."

Your senses are engulfed in an emotion and memories that are not your own. All a simulation and all a vivid and overwhelming experience. You're in love with her, that's the overriding feeling—the feeling of whoever she was really with at this time.

"This is the memory of the best sex of my life." She leans close to whisper to you. "So do try your best."

"This is just..." You don't get to finish, she's grabbed your shirt and pulled you close. She kisses you deeply. There is nothing of the daintiness or composure that you're used to, you've lost all your will and she is dragging you out of control. You find yourself consumed with an overwhelming and perplexing ecstasy and the idea of restraint or of reason seems unimportant now. You're driven purely by passion and by instinct—she has to have you and you have to have her, it's almost a compulsion. She's yanking off her seatbelt and reaching for your trousers, clawing at them desperately.

And just like that, you're scrambling at each other's clothes, almost frantic. You have the sensation of her breath across your face, the heat of her lips against your skin. Hands, everywhere. Exploring the curves of her body. A hungry desperation to peel back every layer of fabric to feel more, and more of her. She bites your bottom lip and looks at you with pleading eyes.

"I want you and I want you now." Her lips move like liquid lust and her hand like electricity, the energy tingles when she wraps her fingers around your cock and pulls it free from your pants.

She gasps and then giggles as if pleasantly surprised, a cute and kittenish squeal, she hums with her own approval of her actions.

"I'll be gentle," she whispers, her eyes shining with mischief. She rubs you from tip to base, taking the full length, slowly and teasingly over and again until the blood's pumping and you're at full salute. She's on her knees in the passenger seat and leaning over you. A smirk on her lips, she goes lower and lower still, her tongue warm and wet. Taking your crown into her mouth and enveloping you, her pace slow but sure.

Your hand in her hair, not to control or pressure, just to feel her in the moment. Encourage her, caress the back of her neck and appreciate every moment of pleasure. She takes you deep, deeper into her throat, the heat of her lungs, the power in her movements as she comes off and plunges again and again. It's effortless and instinct, and not for anything other than her own desire to please, and that itself is thrilling, you have to admit.

It's a strange new world for you to have sex without the enhancements of technology. It's so raw.

You sigh and whimper at every suckling pull, your nerve endings raw and singing. Her palms firmly pressing down onto the tops of your thighs, her movements grow slower, more sensual but she sucks harder, the vibrations from the moans of her enjoyment humming through the root of your shaft—fuck, it feels so fucking good, too good. She releases you with a slight gasp for air and a drooling line of spit.

She wipes her lips with a knowing glint in her eyes. "Outside, now." Miyeon doesn't hesitate. Her shirt pulled off and tossed into your face and she's leapt over to the rear passenger door, flinging it open wide, the warm night air rushes in to greet you, along with the sound of crickets. She slams the door shut and you open yours.

You climb out and head to meet her at the front of the car, she's already leaning against the metal hood. The car is one of those muscle cars from back at the time, a real classic ride that suits a woman like her. "Hey you," she rubs her hands against the metal as she leans forward and sprawls herself over it. "Get behind me already," her tongue dancing across her red-stained lips, her chest heaving in excitement, you're as hot and as hard as you'll ever be.

Miyeon tilts her head, watching you closely with half-opened eyes, her pretty pink tongue sticks out between her perfect teeth, and a teasing wink follows. She wiggles her hips, an inviting gesture, her skirt raised to reveal the gentle wobble of her cheeks—she doesn't have underwear, what a perfect minx she is—all bare for you.

She runs a hand down over the hem of her skirt and then raises it fully up over the top of her ass. As glorious as the very stars overhead. You have an overwhelming urge to run your hands across her bare flesh and as you take the first steps towards her, you find your arms reaching and touching and tracing every inch of skin that's exposed.

You run your hands over her cheeks, spreading them, kneading them, Miyeon's letting out soft little noises, encouraging you, inciting you—but fuck, this view... it's exquisite. It's so clear now, that all those fakes, the painstaking hours of recreation, simply did not live up to the real deal, and not just the view, everything is magnitudes superior.

You smooth your palm between her thighs and you part them, pulling her ass to the edge, sliding her legs open, watching as her wetness shines. "Just how badly do you want me?" you ask her.

"Look at me, how can you say something like that? Of course, I fucking want you. I hate having to wait. Come and fuck me."

You guide your cock to sit between her cheeks and rock into it gently, enjoying how those perky cheeks cradle your length and the way her whole body rocks with every movement. "Is it wrong that I love watching you squirm?" you ask, running the palm of your hand over the bare skin, digging your fingers in, grasping a handful and appreciating how it yields under your fingertips.

"Only wrong if I mind, and I don't," Miyeon groans, lifting her hips against you and smothering your dick in her deliciously juicy flesh. She is irresistible. "So what are you waiting for," her voice soft and suggestive. "Go on, you know you want to. You know how much I need it."

You grit your teeth and trace her lips with the tip of your cock, and it's like lightning flashing between you both. Fuck. Her lips are so wet and hot—they're so tantalisingly puffy. She wiggles and gyrates against you as you rest inside her opening. She groans and you're shuddering.

You slide the first few inches and gasp. You both moan softly together as you glide in, she's so much tighter than you had imagined she might feel—every inch that slides inside makes her clench you more.

"Yes," Miyeon is urgent and breathy, her muscles are contracting as though attempting to swallow your entire length. And she's hungry for it. "That's it baby, nice and deep," her words as electrifying as the sensation of her snug walls quivering as she clings on with greed.

"Like this?" you whisper in her ear as you lean over and pin her petite frame against the metal, letting her feel you, all of you. Every inch. And as she moans and shivers under the weight of your body. Your hands reach her shoulders and your fingertips find her neck, circling and caressing and massaging in all the right places—she turns her head as far round as she's able to gaze at you as she hums and gasps with each rolling movement of your hips.

Her teeth biting her bottom lip, her cheeks flushed pink, a complete dream in motion. Her body arches as she urges and wills herself back on you. You groan in return. Everything about her feels unreal in its perfection. She's squeezing against your cock, and her most hidden recesses begin to melt for you.

Miyeon cums like this, and it's without warning. She tenses, her eyes go wide and her mouth hangs open—her silky tunnel clamps tight as a vice grip. And the way she gushes all over you, covering you, she can barely breathe, she can barely let out a cry or a single noise, only ragged breathing as you hold her firmly in place and fuck her through it.

You fuck her without shame or inhibition. She whimpers, a feeble cry, every thrust powerful and deliberate. Miyeon moans what feels like your name and you give another forceful snap of your hips, both hands firmly on her slim and shaking waist. There are no words that can possibly encapsulate her.

"That's it," her breath erratic and shaky. She grinds her ass into you with every forward push, working into a perfect rhythm and going balls-deep with each pump. "Hard." You slam against her ass, the clapping sound of skin against skin—it fills the warm and humid air.

Miyeon cums again. So fucking easy to make her cum. Her beautiful brown eyes are desperate with desire. She shakes, she is panting, "Just like that, keep doing exactly that and I'll lose my damn mind. God, you feel so fucking big."

She's limp now, just taking rough, powerful and blissful strokes—her cries a series of hoarse grunts and weak moans.

You grab her by the waist, hard, she lets out a yelp, and then you're manhandling her, throwing her delicate figure over onto her back. There they are, those perfect little tits, grown red being forced against the metal of the car. Her soppy mess drips out from her thoroughly fucked hole.

"This, is all you wanted right?" You gather her legs and thrust them roughly up and over your shoulders, sliding easily back inside. Her pussy gushing and absolutely soaking. "A good rough fucking. You just love to be used don't you, baby. This is the side of you I've been missing, seeing how you have always been so prim and proper in front of everyone."

"That was your problem, all those homemade VirtueXs made me all commanding when I really just love to be taken." Her breaths are ragged.

"Maybe that's just how I'll be selling you in future then," you say.

She gives a throaty chuckle. "Do whatever the fuck you want, but for now," Miyeon takes a tight hold of her knees, and draws them against her chest. "Make me cum again, please."

You have her absolutely filled with every inch of cock and stretched tight with every savage drive of your hips, again, and again, and again. Sweat forms a light film over every curve and groove of her form. She's gorgeous, she's taking it, and she's loving it. "Let me feel you cum," she breathes between pumps and thrusts, her fingers kneading the flesh of her thighs as she spreads herself as open as is physically possible.

A combination of pressure and adrenaline, you're hammering deep. Miyeon is groaning and pleading. A loud moan, a series of short sharp exhales and whimpers. Those narrow hips are trembling, her slim thighs shake, toes are curled. Her orgasm and invitation for you to join her come as a surge.

You explode. Locked, sheathed so deep and full, you fill her. "Cum so much..." Miyeon sighs in awe. Your climax is euphoria.

Both a sweating, quaking mass of interlocked limbs, you pull away and your drenched cock slips out. "How are you real," you exhale. "Never felt anything like you."

"I am one of a kind." Miyeon laughs gently to herself. "Now let's get back in there and you can fuck me some more."

You're in the backseat now, Miyeon's slender body climbing all over you. She leans in and takes your lips, her sticky lip gloss and the sweet taste of her mouth as she invades with her tongue and leads yours into a frenzy. Her fingertips drag down across your chest. She's positioning herself over your cock.

The beauty of simulation is there's no recovery, only the chasing of the next orgasm, and she's keen to provide the means. She takes you with her eyes closed, a small, grateful moan and she slides herself slowly up and down. Your head arches back with a cry as she holds onto your shoulders and glides her lips down over your shaft.

"Gonna ride you," she whispers as she rocks herself in time with the rise and fall of your breaths. "Ride you until you explode again." Your fingertips squeeze into the supple curves and muscles of her torso.

It is a euphoric ecstasy. Miyeon looks perfect riding a dick. She sinks down low, grinding back and forth. She moves like waves, her hair stuck against her cheek. You take hold and move the strands out of the way, before trailing down the bare skin of her neck and to her tits, groping them firmly.

"Been so long since I last got to do this. Missed how big you are." She grasps the headrest as the speed and intensity of her motions increase. "Yeah, that's it, baby."

Her eyes flutter and her head starts to fall further and further back. Erratic, out of control, wild—she starts slamming her ass down hard. Fucked-slack and oozing, her juices dripping down. She's growing quiet and you watch her expression transform, her eyes turn glassy. You watch her face strain in her pleasure, it's a wonderful sight—pure bliss. Then she erupts into moans as her body convulses and spasms, and all you can do is hold her steady, her hole throbbing tight around you. She gasps, desperate for oxygen, every fibre and nerve singing in harmony.

From one, right into chasing the next, Miyeon lifts herself, turns, presents her ass to you and sits back on your cock. You watch it slip up between her cheeks and disappear inside her cunt once more, she hums a content sigh and leans forward. Miyeon braces herself against the window of the car, looking over her shoulder as she moves.

Her groin rocks and grinds on your shaft in a rolling motion and it's heaven itself. That cute, perky ass smacks on your groin in a sensual motion. Her hand snakes between her legs. Her moans grow in strength and volume. Wet, slippery, soft, Miyeon's fucking you and riding herself to her own orgasm. She starts to tremble. You start to tremble. She's squirming wildly, desperate for her climax, that gorgeous cunt squeezing every inch and driving you crazy.

And you lose it. Another intense explosion that makes you clasp onto her ass and hold it steady. A groan rips through your entire body, and you empty everything you have. She cums the instant she feels the heat spread through her. A unified orgasm. Pure heavenly relief. The energy seems to drift into the air and the car rattles beneath you both. It is incredible. The euphoria is otherworldly.

"Tell me that was good," she asks softly.

"Like you wouldn't believe."

"Again. Again. Please, one more time?"

"It's your head, sweetie. Have at it."

"Hmm, I suppose it is. Then I want to sit on you, and I want it in my ass." Miyeon giggles and slips herself off you, a mixture of your cum and hers falling down her thighs.

"Whatever the fuck you want," you groan, delirious as Miyeon pulls you up to the seat and then takes her place on your lap, she spread her legs out over yours and you take her hips, guiding her ass onto your cum-soaked cock. Everything is a fucking blur but the sensations are turned up to eleven, and there is nothing else that is comparable.

You plant kisses on her hot, sweaty back as you slide her down onto your length. She's twitching, and squirming. You hear her let out a soft gasp of delight at the invasion. The tightness, the constricting squeeze is just...

"Oh yes..." Miyeon breathes softly. "Let me... let me do the work now, let me fuck this big hard dick with my tight ass." She circles her hips, drawing on your cock with a slow, tight, merciless motion. Your world starts spinning all over again. She's slick with sweat, her cheeks grinding on your thighs, the scent and the sex drives you fucking wild. "What a perfect dick. I could do this all day."

You lean your head forward, and sink your teeth into the muscle of her shoulder—a flurry of loud moans from Miyeon as she bounces on your shaft. The sloppy sounds, the music of her pleasures, the clapping slap, it's insane and exhilarating. You lick her sweat from her flesh, tasting her.

She's slick and stretched, clamping around your cock as her pace quickens and turns ragged and urgent. It's a whole other level, it's unparalleled and all-consuming. You're just about ready to blow inside her ass.

"Hold onto me," She pants, grasping your left wrist and bringing it over to her mouth, placing your fingertips upon her tongue and sucking. It is lewd and erotic and exciting and your insides begin to churn and ache.

There's no stopping you now, you erupt again, gripping her waist as your hips buck up on instinct, jamming yourself deep and blowing. Miyeon moans around your fingertips—taking your load while still rubbing her swollen little clit.

"Yes, I love it when I make you cum like that," she murmurs, sliding herself slowly off your half-mast cock and crawling off your lap. She throws herself down on the seat in a heap, peering down at the thick mess of cum dripping out of her freshly fucked orifices, a dazed smile, satiated.

You blink and try to get her into focus but it's to no use—she blurs and vanishes before your eyes. And soon, you're back. Your workshop, in your chair, and still hooked into Miyeon. Still sitting back-to-back, your foreheads damp, breathing hard and ragged. The lights flickering a bright electric blue.

"Incredible," you breathe.

Miyeon sighs. "Yeah..." She detaches the link from behind her ear. Miyeon climbs to her feet, shakily making her way around your workspace. "I'm such a mess," She says, touching under her dress.

"Fuck, yeah me too," you sit there trying to process what just happened.

"I want a copy. The whole thing." Miyeon places a card down on the desk.

"I'll get started."

#kinktember #kpop smut #Miyeon smut #gidle smut #kpop fanfic #male reader #m reader #smut #Miyeon x reader #Cho Miyeon smut #(g)i dle smut

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that-fic-girl · 10 months ago

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HAZBIN HOTEL X READER HC #1

Head canon: what it would be like to date them.

characters: Alastor, angel dust, husk, vox

disclaimer: everything i write about these characters might not be accurate to the actual story, please take everything in the fic with a grain of salt, none of this is canon!!

Alastor

he hasnt been in an actual relationship in a while so being close and vulnerable with someone is quite hard for him, especially as someone who associates emotions with weakness.

First off, its safe to say he adores the ground you walk on. He's in love with everything about you, your clothes, the smell of your hair, your sickly sweet voice. his loves it all.

If there was ever a problem you needed fixing, a person you needed taken care of or even a errand you needed to run he would tend to it himself. he would not let you lift a finger.

PDA is a iffy thing for him, he wouldnt do grand big gestures but maybe a hand on the hip or a few words of affirmation.

everyone in the pride ring quickly learned of yours and radio demon's relationship. And no one dared to mess with you, ofcourse there was people who wanted to test their luck but they would have to pay the price later.

his love language is definitely words of affirmation, he will sweet talk the shit out of you. At night when it's just you two in bed, he will have his hands stroking through your hair whilst you rant to him about your day and he'll reply with sweet nothings

"oh darling, i've missed you all evening"

"you looked ravishing today my dear.."

"mm your hair smells amazing, my love"

Angel Dust

Angel is one of, if not, the horniest mother fuckers out there but somehow, he manages to somewhat make a healthy relationship with someone.

you two are seen as "the bad bitch" couple. you're always out together, always getting into dumb shit together. You'll get yelled at by vaggie at early hours in the morning because the two of you where playing a childish game of tag in the hotel halls.

his love language is definitely physical touch, he'll have his arms slung around your waist almost all the time. Kisses are a MUST every 5 minutes, like this boy will NOT part from you. especially in the mornings when you have to leave for work;

"mmnnnnoooooooo...stayyy for five minutes pleasseeeee"

"but sweets..you're soooo warm"

"sweetheart please, you feel so comfy"

yeah good luck with that.

nights with him are VERY eventful, if it wasn't obvious. You two would usually be at it late hours into the night but sometimes, when you two where too exhausted to fuck like rabbits, he would be sprawled across your lap whilst you stroked his fur.

Husk

Despite his harsh tone and uncompromising demeanor, you understood that Husk wasn't trying to be malicious towards you. It was simply his way of communicating, and you knew that his behavior wasn't personal. Even though he could be abrasive at times, you loved him for his rough edges and authentic personality

You and Husk's time together was mostly spent at the bar. You didn't like to drink much, but you loved seeing him work and make cocktails like a pro. You didn't mind that it wasn't considered a typical date, because you liked spending time with him in whatever way he felt most comfortable.

Husk is not used to receiving compliments, as he didn't often receive them in his past life. When you complimented him, it caught him off guard and he was surprised. But he eventually learned to appreciate it, and it even made him feel a little sentimental.

Despite the difficulty, you were able to help Husk realize that you genuinely cared about him. He had been used to being surrounded by dishonesty and hypocrisy, but you were always sincere and real. He held you in high regard, as you were the only source of light in his life, and he didn't want to lose you.

vox

You were known as a strong and independent person who didn't need assistance from others. You knew how to stand up for yourself, despite being harsh and tough at times. Despite your exterior, no one was aware of the soft spot in your heart that Vox's affection and touch alone could melt away your severity.

He appreciated seeing your affectionate side, as it felt special and intimate, like a shared secret between the two of you. He knew you valued your privacy, and he respected it by never sharing photos or other details on social media. He didn't want to betray your trust.

You were often feared and respected when you were with Vox. People found it hard to believe that someone as intimidating as yourself could have a tender, caring side that was kept hidden from most. Vox was glad that he was the only one who got to see that side of you. He didn't want to share something so special and personal with anyone else.

Quite often, he would call you on the phone, knowing that sweet words could be just as effective as a kiss. He enjoyed hearing how your voice softened from its usual seriousness to a more affectionate tone. He was aware that when he said loving phrases to you, you would blush and smile shyly, and sometimes he even regretted not being able to witness it in person.

"i've missed you today babe.."

"mhm look at my pretty girl/boy!"

#Hazbin Hotel #Hazbin Hotel x Reader #Hazbin Hotel headcanons #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Vox #Vox x Reader #Hazbin Hotel oneshots #Husk #Husk x Reader #angel dust #angel dust x reader #vivziepop\

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luffington · 3 months ago

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nurse's office ♡

➤ summary: Even doctors need check-ups, so you indulge your boyfriend and put on a sexy nurse costume. (18+)

➤ pairing: trafalgar law x afab!reader

➤ word count: 3.1k

➤ warnings: switch!law, modern AU, nurse-patient roleplay, praise kink, established relationship, fluff, silly porn dialogue, fem reader

➤ notes: i LOVE law with all my heart but i have such a hard time writing him.... hopefully this turned out okay and it's accurate to his character :')

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

When you returned to your apartment after work, the lights were on and a familiar black trench coat hung in the entrance, but the coat’s owner was nowhere in sight. You called his name as you slipped off your shoes and received no response.

A muffled noise coming from your shared bedroom caught your attention.

Curious, you crept through the living room and creaked open the door just enough to slip inside. Law sat at his desk in the dark with his back turned away from you. Completely focused on his dimmed laptop screen with headphones plugged in and unaware of your presence. A smile spread across your face when you noticed what he was watching.

A busty brunette woman in an incredibly cliché nurse outfit batted her fake eyelashes at the camera as she deep-throated her patient’s dick. Your boyfriend’s inked hand rose up and down his own cock, eyes half-lidded and biting his lip to attempt to stifle his throaty groans. When you were literally right behind him, you leaned over his shoulder to read the video title out loud. “‘The Best Prescription In Town Is A Dose Of This Naughty Nurse’s Pussy’?”

Law’s entire body went cold.

“I-It’s not what it looks like!” He panicked, whipping his head towards you and accidentally ripping his headphones cord out of the jack. Exaggerated and unrealistic slurping sounds, accompanied by the male actor’s moans, started playing at full volume. Law forgot how his typically agile fingers worked as he rushed to pause the video. He was ready to diagnose himself with a heart attack.

Your eyes flickered to the bottle of lube and box of tissues beside his laptop. “I think it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“No, I…” Embarrassment flooded his veins and he scrambled for a logical explanation. You were clearly amused instead of upset, but that didn’t deter him. Steeling his nerves, your boyfriend cleared his throat and prayed his voice didn’t shake. “I wanted to see how accurate this was, but it’s a disgusting mockery of nurses. This is completely inappropriate in a real hospital.”

“Well, duh,” you chuckled and rolled your eyes. You leaned closer to study the other tabs open in his incognito mode browser. One search for ‘hot nurse’ and another for ‘nurse fucks patient’. A second video titled ‘Nursing Student Gives Penis Exam’. A spark ignited in you. “Law, is this what you’re into?”

He stayed silent and let his head fall down in shame – which only directed your gaze to his quickly softening dick – as he mumbled a timid apology.

“Oh, baby, you have nothing to apologize for.” You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and nuzzled against his neck. “Please don’t be embarrassed, I genuinely wanna know what turns you on. I won’t judge, I promise.”

“You’re prettier than everyone in these videos,” was his only response. He was such a sweetheart without even trying.

Even though you’d been together for quite a while, Law still had a hard time discussing his kinks. The man had a neurotic need to protect his innermost thoughts and thick iron walls guarding every part of his mind. It took a lot of time and patience, but you’d managed to break down most of his barriers. You wanted him to trust you and feel comfortable around you; having fun in the bedroom was just a bonus.

Pressing your lips to his ear, you teasingly whispered, “I can buy a nurse costume, you know.”

“Huh? Are you serious?!” Wide gray eyes met yours, a flurry of emotions overtaking his stressed-out expression.

“Of course! I’ll look for a cute one right now.” You pulled out your phone, pausing before opening your browser to bat your eyelashes and say, “Only if you want me to.”

“I – I…” Law fumbled for words, unable to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain. After a moment of hesitation, he licked his dry lips and hastily leaned over to look at your screen. “Let me see the options.”

The costume was set to arrive in 3-4 business days, which gave you and Law plenty of time to talk and plan. Both of you discussed what you wanted out of the scenario and what you each felt comfortable doing. You promised Law you’d do actual research by watching nurse pornos in order to imitate them, and he swore to never correct you mid-scene with his accurate medical knowledge.

His steely eyes lit up when he spoke and made your heart flutter with love. As an accomplished surgeon, he took care of countless patients every day – of course he wanted someone to do the same for him. Nothing was sexier than seeing Law turn to putty in your hands, happily melting into your protection.

The fateful night arrived with a flimsy package at your front door.

Law sat on the couch in the ‘waiting room’ (also known as the living room), anxiously rubbing the letters tattooed on his knuckles and bouncing his legs. His throat was parched, his heart was racing, and his dick was already getting hard.

His jaw dropped when you opened the bedroom door – no, your office. The tight white dress hugged your body perfectly, accentuating all of your best features. Firetruck red stripes lined the sleeves and collar, and a prominent zipper ran all the way down the front. Your boobs were spilling out of the low-cut top and the skirt barely covered your upper thighs. A dainty white hat sat atop your head, sporting a white cross in a red circle that matched the one on your breast pocket. The look was complete with thigh-high white stockings, lacy crimson lingerie, Law’s real stethoscope around your neck, and a notebook and pen in your hand.

“Trafalgar Law?” You called out coquettishly.

His excited cock tried to answer for him, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “T-That’s me.”

With an overly sweet grin, you beckoned him into the room. “It’s time for your appointment. Follow me.”

Previously arranged pillows on the bed mimicked the half-upright position of a medical chair. Law couldn’t look away from you as he shuffled towards his ‘exam table’, sitting down so his legs hung off the edge. You placed a gentle hand under his scruffy chin, his gaze flickering between your face and your tits.

“Now, what seems to be the problem?”

Law didn’t have the confidence (nor the acting ability) to answer ‘my dick’ the way a pornstar would. So he settled for, “I’m not sure, miss. Maybe… give me a physical?”

“Ooh, a full body inspection,” you giggled, putting on a pair of hospital-grade latex gloves. “Please remove your shirt and lie on your back.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Only my shirt?”

Biting back a laugh, you responded, “Let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

Your boyfriend nodded obediently, neatly folding his canary yellow t-shirt beside him on the bed. It didn’t matter how often you saw his heavily tattooed chest – you were in awe of it every time. You opened your notebook, humming in mock contemplation and scribbling nonsense on a blank page in an imitation of Law’s terrible doctor handwriting. He tried to peek at what you were doing, but you quickly shut the cover.

“Just relax, I’ll take care of you,” you cooed with a gentle smile and ruffled his hair.

He apologized curtly and settled back into a comfortable reclined position. Running your fingers along his jawline, you trailed your touch down the column of his throat and across his collarbones. Gently massaging his shoulders and feeling the tense muscles loosen as he let out a content sigh. You were unable to resist tracing the massive inked heart on his torso as you’d done so many times, lightly trailing your pointer finger across its flames and swirls and sending pleasant tingles throughout his body.

Repeating the action on his matching bicep tattoos, you cheekily stated, “Such strong muscles. Your girlfriend is a lucky woman.”

He chuckled, finally beginning to relax into his role. “You have no idea.”

“Let me check your heartbeat.” Not even bothering to put the stethoscope in your ears, you ran the cold chestpiece against Law’s nipples, forcing a pretty hiss from his lips. Rubbing circles atop them until both were stiff peaks, then teasingly rolling them between your fingertips until he was flushed and panting.

Satisfied with his worked-up state, you pulled away to write more nonsense in the notebook. Your boyfriend furrowed his eyebrows. “Seriously, what the hell are you writing?”

“Please let me do my job, Mr. Trafalgar.” You firmly smacked the end of your pen against one of his nipples. The sudden display of authority made his cock twitch.

You caressed his defined abdomen muscles, moving lower down his gorgeous body and brushed over his dark happy trail.

“Your chest seems fine, which means…” You trailed off and tugged at the waistband of his sweatpants. Law’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed in anticipation, lifting his hips to help you slide down his sweats and boxers underneath.

His rock-hard dick sprung free gratefully, angry red and twitching in excitement. You’d never seen him get this worked up so quickly – it made your cunt ache.

“Well, this is clearly the issue! Poor thing, you must feel so lightheaded from all the blood flowing down here.” You cooed, wiping his dark bangs away from his eyes in mock comfort. “I have to relieve this pressure or else the swelling won’t go down.”

“H-How will you–“ Law’s cheeky question was cut off by a groan when you curled your fingers around the thick base of his cock. Just one stroke pushed out several beads of pearly precum from his pretty tip. The synthetic softness of latex gloves felt strange against such a sensitive part of him, but it made the scenario extra immersive.

“I need to milk you dry. Is that okay with you, Mr. Trafalgar?”

Law nodded eagerly, too overstimulated to consent with words. He’d heard that phrase so many times in his videos. Your chest swelled with pride as you admired his submissive state. It wasn’t easy for your boyfriend to relinquish control to you during sex – no matter how much he wanted to – but he looked like he would die for you at that moment.

You swung your leg over his body to straddle his upper thighs, cunt inches away from where he needed it. The movement caused your skirt to ride up and reveal a peek of your lacy panties. Law gulped when he noticed your soft thighs bulging around the elastic band of your stockings.

Using both hands, you began to jerk him off with slow and deliberate movements. Dragging your palms from the base to the head with the perfect amount of pressure, making sure to trace the sensitive vein on the underside. A steady stream of translucent fluid dribbled out, the length pulsing and begging for more in your grasp. You paused to spit on his tip for added lubrication and rubbed it into his heated skin.

Law was glad you were fixated on his cock rather than his face. He knew he looked pathetic. Barely three minutes had passed and he was embarrassingly close to cumming (though he was proud of himself for not bursting in his pants the moment you emerged in your costume). His abdomen muscles were wound tight and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. Steely gray eyes never left your body, your hands, almost too afraid to blink.

When you fondled his heavy balls, his orgasm hit him like a truck. Law threw his head against the pillow and cried out, painting white streaks across your baby blue gloves. You grinned watching your boyfriend heaving for air, finally meeting his gaze when you swiped your tongue across a thick glob of cum on your thumb. He watched dazedly as you wiped the rest of his spend off on your skirt, then tossed your dirty gloves on the floor.

“Perfect! The swelling went down,” you grinned slyly and added, “but it might come back.”

“Oh, it’s definitely coming back.”

Law grabbed your waist and quickly flipped your positions, pinning you underneath him by sitting on your hips. Holding your wrists above your head in one hand and using the other to cup your jaw, he pressed his lips against yours in a wet and messy kiss. You whined as he shoved his tongue down your throat, eagerly devouring your mouth.

“M-Mr. Trafalgar, this is very unprofessional…” Weakly faking a struggle against his grasp, whining when it only got tighter.

“I gotta self-medicate now, miss, or I’ll never get better.” Your boyfriend kissed his way down your sternum, tugging down the zipper of your costume just enough to reveal your chest. He groaned at the sight of your vivid red bra. “Fuck, what a uniform.”

While mouthing at the swell of your breasts, your boyfriend stroked himself to full hardness – which didn’t take long. Desire was overtaking his mind and turning his vision hazy. He might actually have a medical issue if he didn’t fuck you immediately.

Law slipped his hand between your legs and snickered at the wetness soaked through your panties. Pushing the fabric to the side, he unceremoniously thrust his E and A fingers in your cunt. Those skilled digits pushed and prodded inside you, a grin spreading across his face when he heard the sinful squelch of your drenched walls.

“Naughty nurse,” he chuckled teasingly, gray eyes burning holes into your own when he sucked his sticky fingers into his mouth, moaning at your taste.

“I’m not naughty,” you pouted. “My job is to make patients feel better, and this is helping, right?”

“Shit, yeah, you just might cure me.”

Law tapped your inner thighs and you spread them willingly, unsurprised when he chose to shove your panties to the side and keep the costume intact. He pressed his swollen mushroom tip against your leaking entrance. With freed wrists, you gripped the bedsheets, heart racing and pussy throbbing.

Rather than fulfilling both of your desires, your boyfriend paused in thought. “Hold on, what did you diagnose me with?”

You shrugged and defaulted to something you heard in a porno. “Big dick disorder?”

Law fought against every well-educated neuron in his brain begging to correct you. He took a deep breath and let out an exaggerated exhale, but smirked proudly. “I’ll accept it.”

His cock slammed into you and knocked all the air from your lungs. Bottoming out with a groan, he paused to lean back and admire your outfit, feeling his cock get impossibly harder inside your cunt. Fucking a fantasy nurse was a deep-rooted desire of his, and he was amazed and incredibly grateful that he was able to act it out with you.

“Is this the right way to treat my illness?” Smugly punctuating his words with a sharp thrust, the head of his cock kissing the tip of your womb. You’d never seen him so talkative in bed.

“M-move faster… it’ll be more effective.”

“Okay. I trust you, miss nurse.” Law whispered seductively in your ear. His beard tickled your skin when he nipped at a soft spot of your neck.

Setting a brutal pace, he pistoned his cock in and out, balls slapping against your skin with every thrust. Messy wet sounds filled the room – your cunt gushing and your tongues desperately sliding against each other. Law typically limited his vocal expressions of pleasure to grunts and soft groans, but something in him had clearly snapped. He had no issue throwing his head back and moaning unashamedly, interweaving spat curse words and praises of your body.

He sucked on your tongue while switching his hip movements to a slow grind, his dick fully sheathed and rubbing against every delicate inch of your cunt.

“T-Traf… oh, fuck, Law.” Your eyes rolled back into your head as you tangled your fingers in his messy black hair and held onto it for dear life. He swallowed the string of saliva connecting your lips with a playful grin.

Shifting your position into a mating press, you locked your stocking-clad knees around his shoulders. His rough pace resumed, cock reaching impossibly deeper inside you, bullying your cervix with every thrust. Your body rocked back and forth on the shaking mattress. Every movement caused your hat to press against the pillow and reminded you of your costume – no, your role.

“Good girl,” Law panted, pupils blown wide with pleasure. “Taking care of me so well with your pretty pussy.”

You whined needily, feeling your core tighten. “I’m s-so close, baby,”

A sharp slap came down on your tit. Law’s eyes narrowed. “Be professional.”

Despite his strict command, he rewarded you by pressing and flicking his thumb against your neglected clit. You bucked your hips into his touch desperately, grinding the sensitive nub on his calloused finger.

You threw your head backwards, arched off the bed and came with a cry of, “Mr. Trafalgar!” Arms wrapped around his back, legs pulling him in even tighter as your pleasure hit you like a tidal wave, flooding over you in a bright white light.

“Naughty fucking nurse.” Your boyfriend growled with a pleased smirk. Hot cum coated your walls as Law let out a deep moan, your cunt eagerly milking every last drop. Your boyfriend kissed you deeply until the aftershocks of both of your orgasms had subsided.

He collapsed on top of you, both of your chests heaving against each other as you struggled to catch your breath. Releasing your tight grip on his shoulders, you lovingly rubbed the giant skull tattoo on his upper back.

“Thank you, miss. I’m cured.” Law mumbled happily, kissing your cheek.

You frowned. “You are? After one round?”

“Oh.” That certainly wouldn’t be a satisfying ending to his appointment. “Um… No, I’m still very, very sick.” He followed it up with a fake cough. Not exactly a symptom of having a big dick, but whatever.

Deciding to give your overwhelmed boyfriend a break, you took control of the situation again.

“I’m not sure how much medical knowledge you have, Mr. Trafalgar, but I have an ache in my chest.” You reached between your bodies to innocently spread your unzipped dress even more, pushing out your tits. “Mind checking it out for me?”

Law pushed up the cups of your bra without a second thought, groping your soft flesh with large palms. “I’ll see what I can do.”

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sealsdaily · 10 months ago

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Rating Seal Emojis

Somewhat of a tired format but i still enjoy it so i decided to do one myself?

These sweet thangs don't have much history, as the seal emoji was only added in 2021, but there's still enough to go around so let's go.

Apple iOS

Looks to be evocative of a really grey baby seal. It's quite sweet but i dont like that it has shoulders. 7/10

Google Android

Actually biased, but this is easily one of the cutest. I can excuse the undefined flippers. 10/10

Samsung 2.5

Like trying to redraw the Google emoji from memory. The features seem weirdly disconnected from each other. 5/10

Samsung 6.0

They went back, and decided it needed to be cuter, which they overdid, but who's to say it didn't work? 100% baby thing. Hind flippers are way small though 7/10

Windows 11 2021

Feels more evocative of a baby harp seal than the other ones. The tail makes what i can only describe as a "Seal Bident" and the front flippers are closest to the sleeves of a wavy blouse, but above all, it's JOYFUL and y'know what, i love the energy 9/10

Windows 11 November Update

...and then this came in. There's nothing wrong with this one per se but just compare the previous one! They took its joy and made it some kind of undefined mystery species. 5/10

Microsoft 3D Fluent

It's just the last one, but in 3D. Purple is a pretty novel color to shade a seal with but it doesn't add much, and the definition 3Dness gives it makes it feel weirder. 5/10

"A seal is just like if you put a dog head on a fish, right?" I can't find a single species of phocid that has this coloration making me think they found an Australian sea lion and went "good enough". Ironically, this one also has the most accurate pose and flipper detail, so it's kind of a net zero. 7/10

Twitter

Sea lion! The tail is a hand and while usually that could be fun and interesting this emoji is going for accuracy and it just makes that fall apart a little bit. 8/10

Facebook

Standing tall and proud! This emoji, while recognizing how the hind flippers are placed, seems to forget the tail resulting in Smooth Barbie Crotch for seals. Front flippers bend real weird too. 8/10

#not daily #mod ribbon #unidentified species #fictional species #harp seal #phocidae #otariidae #baby seal

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holdmytesseract · 2 months ago

Note

Dad-to-be!Daryl fighting tooth and nail to keep the reader—who’s water had broken while they were on a walking around in the Hilltop—safe while trying to get her back to Alexandria so that Siddiq and Carol can help with the delivery of their little one. (Plus maybe the post-delivery fluff that ensues when Daryl and reader get their first moments alone with their baby.)

No pressure to write this! I just saw your post asking for dad!Daryl requests and had this idea, and thought I’d throw it your way. Love you whether you write this or not. 💜

In the Eye of the Storm

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: You go into labor while staying at the renewed Sanctuary. Daryl has to safely get you back home to Alexandria, of course - through a thunderstorm...

Warnings: usual TWD stuff, pregnancy, childbirth, baby things, mentions of blood, weapons, quite a bit angst, fluff, protective!Daryl

I tried to write this as accurate as possible. I'm no expert, heh.

Set in the beginning of season 9!

Word Count: 4,5k (whoops)

a/n: I'm not kidding when I say that I literally pounced that request. Gods, I loved to write this! Thanks for requesting, @dixons-sunshine ! I hope I did this justice! 🥹

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

Daryl had a critical gaze directed at the darkening sky above him. The wind had picked up; bringing dark clouds over the Sanctuary. A thunderstorm was approaching - and fast.

Unbeknownst to him, had the archer started to chew on the inside of his bottom lip; causing you to gently squeeze his side. "Earth to Mr. Dixon," you giggled; trying to get his attention. "You okay, Dar?" The archer blinked and lowered his gaze back to you - his wife, who was neatly tucked against his side on a walk through the yard of the renewed Sanctuary; past the not yet growing crops which had been planted. You smiled up at him - slightly grimaced, but you smiled. He shook his head; "I shoulda been askin' you tha', sunshine..." eyes drifting to your prominent baby bump. You took a deep breath, but nodded. "Just Braxton Hicks, you know..."

Daryl's eyes drifted from your eyes to your (yet) unborn baby and back; a mix of worry and fear swimming in his blue-greyish orbs. You could tell. "Ya been havin' them already the whole day... Since we got up this mornin'. Ya sure this ain't the real thing?" Now you were the one shaking your head. "No. I promise, we're okay." "A'righ'." The archer jutted his chin towards the factory and looked back up in the sky. "Let's get ya back inside," he prompted and gave your hip a soft squeeze, before he started to walk; urging you on to follow. You nodded and scrunched your nose. "Yeah... Looks like rain."

With the first roll of thunder, Daryl closed the door behind you and him, without his hand leaving your body for even a second. He was so adamant to always be by your side; steady you and help you walk, it was ridiculously cute. It made you fall in love with the archer even more - not knowing it was even possible.

You giggled; one hand on the small of your back, the other on top of your belly. "Babe, you know I can stand on my own, right?" "Don care. Want ya close. 'Specially round 'ere... Ain't trustin' 'em..." You knew of course what he meant. The smile on your face immediately vanished; replaced by a concerned frown.

You understood Rick's intention; wanting to make Carl's last wish true. You'd do the same for your own child - within a heartbeat. You just didn't understand why Rick had charged Daryl of all people with the supervision of the Sanctuary. Sure, he was his bother, his right-hand-man, the one he possibly trusted most besides Michonne, but... After everything Daryl has been through here? After all the psychological torture? You knew it wasn't easy for your husband to be here. Even though he didn't say anything. You could feel it.

You took a step towards the archer; invading his space. Placing a hand on his chest and the other on his cheek, you scanned his face. "Daryl... You... You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't be the one having to do this. I'll have a-" You stopped dead in your sentence; eyes widening and heart leaping into your throat at the feeling you had just experienced. Daryl was immediately on alert; completely ignoring what you had just said. "Y/N?! Wha's goin' on?!" His free hand came to rest on the bump which was his child instantly.

You swallowed hard; taking a step away from him again and looked down yourself. A prominent wet patch was spreading across the crotch and inner thighs of your maternity sweatpants. "I-I think..." Your husband's eyes followed yours quick; realisation dawning on him right away. It could mean only two things...

1) You peed yourself.

2) Your water broke.

The archer begged internally to whatever force above that it was not the latter. "Please tell me ya peed yerself..." Daryl mumbled under his shaky breath; already slightly on edge. It wasn't a fortunate moment for the baby to make their appearance... You were at the Sanctuary, for God's sake! Rosita and Eugene were the only one here you could truly trust. Not much medical supplies and even less people who knew how to birth a baby either.

"I-I'm honestly not sure, Dar..." He nodded; trying to keep his calm. "A'right. Let's, uh, get ya in a fresh pair of pants 'n check?" "Uh.Huh," you answered; nervously nibbling on your lip as well. You actually didn't want to 'do this to Daryl' now, but it wasn't like you could take a pick. It wasn't in your hands... It was in the tiny hands of the peanut living in your belly.

You felt your husband's strong arm around your waist once again; supporting you as best as he could and helping you to walk through the darkish, grey hallways of the 'former' enemies hideout and towards your shared room.

After the sweatpants and your panties were not much longer on your body, you and Daryl realised quickly that you did certainly not pee yourself. It was a different... substance - which meant the one thing the both of you hoped it wouldn't be... Your water broke.

"O-Oh, fuck, that's..." You cut off your own sentence; "W-What are we, uh, going to do now?" swallowing hard and balancing on one foot, while you gripped Daryl's shoulder as he helped you step inside a fresh pair of underwear and sweatpants.

The archer looked up at you; panic swimming in his blue-grey orbs. You could tell that his mind was working on overdrive to find an answer to your question. "I-I dunno, sunshine, I-" He inhaled a deep breath; eyes darting around the room. "Ya can't have the peanut here... 'S no doctor 'round. I ain't risking tha'..." Daryl shook his head and stood up; palms immediately lading on your hips. "W-We gotta get ya back to Alexandria. To Siddiq. Now." You nodded; clenching your jaw at the incoming contraction - and Daryl noticed, of course. "'N we gotta time 'em contractions. C'mon."

Trusting your husband and his decision making blindly, you quickly threw a few things you might needed in Daryl's beige backpack, while he was informing Rosita about the situation you found yourself in.

It didn't take the archer more than a few minutes to return to your side; giving you a helping hand and finally walking you back to the door, which led to the yard - but once he opened it, a harsh breeze hit him (and you) instantly; rain splattering across your faces.

Fuck... The thunderstorm... Daryl had totally forgotten about the weather conditions; too occupied with you and the baby. You did, too.

"Fuckin' shit," the archer cursed under his breath; trying to shield you from the rain with his broad body. "Well, that's gonna be a fun car ride, eh?" You halfway joked; trying to lift the mood, but without success. "I'll get the truck; park as close as somehow possible. No matter wha'... We have ta get ya back home."

The Sanctuary had borrowed a truck from the Hilltop for moving things and other 'heavy' stuff. It was the only car option Daryl got. Of course he couldn't take his bike. Hell no.

"Ya wait inside. Don want ya ta get wet 'n cold." You nodded; bracing yourself beside the door against the wall. "Ya good bein' alone?" Once again you nodded; giving him another half-smile. "Go." He gave you a last once over, before he stepped out in the rain to get the truck.

Soaked to the bones, he helped you down the stairs then and outside; sitting you in the passenger seat of the truck; not letting go of you for even a second. "Y-You're soaked, baby..." You noticed with a furrowed brow; concerned. "You'll catch a cold if you-" Your husband immediately interrupted you; shaking his head and squeezing your hand. "Doesn't matter. This ain't 'bout me. 'S 'bout ya 'n the baby."

You knew that arguing would be just a waste of time. It wouldn't help. And honestly were you way too tensed and stressed to discuss. So you said nothing.

"Ya comfortable, sunshine? Tha' okay fer now?" His voice was on edge. You could see how hard he was trying to not lose it. This spurred you even more on to keep a cool head yourself. After all, this was your first birth. Your first child. You wanted to panic and give into the nervousness, concern and fear, but you knew you couldn't. You had to try at least. For Daryl.

You nodded and gave him a soft smile. "Y-Yeah, I- We're good, I-I think. Thanks, babe." The small smile he gave you was sloshing over with nervosity and concern, but he tried as well.

Daryl quickly rounded the car and got inside the driver's seat; immediately starting the engine. "Let's get ya home." He started to drive, while you tried to focus on your breathing like Carol taught you. Both your hands splayed on your big baby bump; feeling the subtle movements of the child within you.

Some time passed until the next contraction hit you. You breathed through it; grimacing. "Damnit..." You gasped once the waves of pain subsided; noticing how Daryl gazed back and forth between a watch around his wrist you never saw before and the street. "Been 'bout forty minutes since the last one." You swallowed hard. "T-That's already quite close, isn't it?" He shrugged his shoulder. "I dunno, but... Feels like it." You shifted slightly in your seat and placed a hand on Daryl's hand, which was gripping the gear shift for dear life. "We're gonna make it, 'kay? Everything's gonna be okay," you tried to reassure Daryl - and yourself. You could see how he chewed on his bottom lip. "Shouldn't 'ave taken ya with me... Shoulda left ya back home where ya 'n the baby 'r safe 'n taken care of. Hell, I shouldn't 'ave left at all... 'S my fault tha' we gotta do this now."

You immediately shook your head and gave his hand another squeeze. "Dar, this is everything, but your fault. I was the one encouraging you to go... And I practically begged you to take me along, because I can't stand to be away from you - especially now. I knew the risk, but I made the decision. If anyone's to blame, it's me." Your husband just scoffed at your words and just as he actually wanted to answer, the sight of the street a few miles ahead forced him to stop the truck.

The thunderstorm hadn't calmed down in the slightest; was raging on and had caused a tree to fall and land in the middle of the street. "Shit... 'S too big ta move it... We have ta take a different road." His eyes landed on you, just like his hand on your swollen belly. "Can ya both hang on a lil' while longer? 'S a stupid question, ain't it?" You shook your head and gave him the most convincing smile you could muster in that moment. "It's not. I-I'll try... Right, peanut?" You addressed your unborn baby. "We'll try."

Unfortunately wasn't the fallen tree the only obstacle you had to overcome on your rushed journey to Alexandria... The storm was going on and definitely took its toll on the nature. And that wasn't the only problem... The night had settled over the world and the dead weren't exactly a help as well, and at some point were your contractions only fifteen minutes apart... It was a race against the time now - and your upcoming nerves. The closer you got to actually birthing your child, the worse it became. Fifteen minutes apart and you didn't even know if everything was fine and going the way it should down there. It was excruciating.

"Sonofabitch," you suddenly heard Daryl exclaim, which snapped you out of your thoughts. Lifting your gaze, you instantly understood what caused his small outburst... A few walkers were exactly in your way; stuck in the rain soaked, muddy ground. "Have ta get rid of 'em, sunshine," Daryl stated and already moved to unsheathe his knives from their confines; his barely dried clothes about to get soaked all over again. "I-I can help-" "Hell nah," he cut you off immediately; scoffing. "Yer stayin' right here inside the truck where ya 'r safe. I ain't riskin' a damn thing. Gotta keep ya safe." You nodded in defeat; realising once more that arguing wouldn't get you anywhere.

Daryl gave you a stern but loving look, before he took a deep breath and exited the truck. Anxiously, you watched your husband fighting off the undead threat. Sure, most of them were kinda stuck, but the noises had attracted more walkers... The headlights of the truck provided enough light for you to see what was going on in front of you, but not besides and certainly not behind the vehicle. The relentless rain made it difficult to see straight as well, and when another, much worse contraction hit you and the pain managed to blur your vision entirely, you lost sight of Daryl. Sweat was dripping over your brow as you couldn't hold back the scream which wanted to break free from your lips; hands clutching your baby bump. "O-Oh f-fuck..." Your fingers clenched into fists as you tried to breathe through the contraction. Agonisingly slow subsided the pain; leaving you breathless. You looked around through the windows; trying to find your husband. But you couldn't see him. It was quiet. Except for the running engine and the rain drumming down on the truck.

"D-Daryl?!" You called out; knowing very well that he couldn't hear you. Uneasiness crept up in you; threatening to cut off your airways and sent your anxiety skyrocketing. It didn't help that you were on edge already... What if something happened to him? What if he got bit? What if he...? Your brain already conjured the worst case scenarios, as suddenly two pale hands slammed against the window pane beside you; the tow curling growl almost giving you a heart attack. "Fucking hell!" You squeaked and clutched your now rapidly beating heart.

The hands clawed and scratched at the wet glass - but to your sheer endless relief didn't they stay long. With a dull thud hit the undead man's skull the window; blood splattering everywhere, before it got slowly washed away. The hands stilled, before they entirely disappeared. Blinking, you watched it happen, still somewhat caught up in your thoughts. But then, the driver's door got opened and slammed quickly shut again. A familiar grunt urged to your ears - and you could've cried of relief and happiness.

"Daryl!" You more or less whimpered; shifting in your seat as good as you could and turned to him; taking in his water and blood soaked appearance. Some blood was on his cheeks and water dripped down his long, brown hair. You reached for him; grabbed onto his wet sweatshirt and slippery vest. "A-Are you okay? I-I lost sight of you a-and..." You hiccuped; taking a deep breath. The archer immediately nodded and leaned in for a sweet, soft kiss; letting you feel that he was alive and well, before he moved to take your hands in his bigger ones. "'M good, sunshine. 'S a'right. 'M here." His blue eyes scanned your body then; lips pressed together in worry. "Wha' 'bout you?"

You swallowed hard. "H-Had another contraction..." His eyes widened. "Darlin', you had one barely ten minutes ago..." "I know." Daryl looked at you a few moments longer, before he gently let go of your hands and gripped the steering wheel instead. "We gotta keep movin'," he mumbled and kept on driving - and you knew he was right.

Luckily the truck didn't get stuck in the muddy mess ahead of you... That would've been the cherry on top.

It took you longer than planned to drive back to Alexandria, but in the end you finally made it - most likely just in time. You swore you were never that happy before to see the familiar gates of the place you called home. Daryl felt the same. You could tell.

The thunder and lighting had ceased by now. It was still raining, but not as bad. Due to the bad weather conditions was nobody on watch, but the archer knew that at least one person was positioned up in the windmill; looking out for threats from up there. So, he gave whoever was up there a sign; flashing the truck head lights three times and signalling that friends were standing in front of the walls and not enemies.

"Jus' a few minutes longer, sunshine. Almost there," Daryl tried to reassure you as he gently squeezed your hand. You just nodded; occupied with taking deep breaths.

Moments later, the gates got opened for Daryl to drive through, which he immediately did and headed straight for the infirmary; parking the car as close as he could get.

The approaching headlights must've caught Siddiq's attention, since the doctor immediately went to the door; trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. He watched the archer quickly rounding the vehicle; getting soaked in the rain a third time. "Daryl?!" Siddiq called out; switching on his porch light. "What-" Daryl didn't let the man finish; cut him off mid sentence as he opened the door and helped you out. "Need yer help! Y/N's in labor!"

Siddiq didn't need more information. He knew and was immediately on high alert. The doctor opened the door and let the both of you in; instantly helping Daryl to steady you. Usually, he would've asked about your condition, but Siddiq knew the moment he saw you. "How far apart are the contractions?" You wanted to answer, but Daryl did for you. "'Bout six minutes." The black haired man nodded, "You got here just in time, I'd say." and helped you sit on the bed inside the room he had led you and Daryl in. "I'm afraid we have to get you out of these..." Siddiq nodded at your sweatpants. "Daryl, would you...?" Your husband's eyes were locked on you as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I got it. C'mon, sunshine."

While Daryl helped you shimmy down your pants and panties, Siddiq prepared some things he needed in the upcoming hour(s)... Towels, gloves and some other medical stuff.

"Alright. I have to check on you. Is that alright?" Siddiq asked carefully; knowing how... protective and territorial the other present man in the room could get. You nodded; trying your hardest to not scream due to the contraction you were going through. The doctor noticed and placed a reassuring hand on your knee. "Deep breaths, Y/N. We got this, okay?" You gave your friend another nod, before he went to check as soon as your contraction subsided again.

"You're about eight centimetres dilated, I'd say." "'N tha' means?" Daryl spoke up with your hand neatly tucked in his, as he was standing by your side. "Two more and she'll be able to start pushing. Means, your baby will see the light of day in the next one or two hours." The colour visibly drained from the archer's face. He knew that he'd be a dad soon, but... That soon? You, on the contrary just groaned and threw your head against the pillow. "Thank fuck. I want this to be over... Hurts like a bitch - and I finally want to hold my baby."

Siddiq witnessed both very different reactions and tried to hide a smile; quickly deciding to give the soon-to-be-dad a little task to keep him from freaking out.

"Daryl?" The archer's gaze lifted from where he was staring at the floor and gnawing nervously on his thumb. "Could you get Carol? I might need her assistance." Daryl frowned in confusion, but the feeling which started to flood his veins was happiness. "She's here?" Siddiq nodded with a smile. "Yes. She was on the road and decided to stay for a few days. Might as well call it providence." The man nodded; shaking a few bangs of wild brown curls from his face and nibbled on his bottom lip again, but turned to you; needing your permission. "'S a'right if I go 'n get 'er, darlin'?" You nodded; sweat doting your forehead. "As long as you'll come back to me... Go. I'm in good hands." Your husband gave you a loving look and gently squeezed your hand, before he let go to get himself soaked in rain again - for the nth time... Not that he cared, though.

The archer didn't even had to ask where to look for his best friend. He knew. After all has she been sharing a house with the both of you, before she moved to the Kingdom. Where else to look but there

Opening the main door, he stepped inside; calling out for his friend. "Carol?!" It didn't take long for the grey haired woman to peak out from the kitchen in the hallways; frowning. The frown immediately vanished, though, when she saw who the 'intruder' was... "Daryl?" A bright smile darted over her face, as she quickly bridged the distance to hug her best friend. They hadn't seen each other in a while after all.

"Ya good?" He simply asked; definitely enjoying the embrace of the woman he got luckily stuck with since the very beginning of this shit show. "Yeah, I am. What about you? And especially Y/N?" Daryl instantly retreated from the hug; a frightening, but also happy look on his face. "W-Well, uh... S-She's in labor. 'S why I brought 'er back here... Siddiq sent me ta ask for yer help..." Carol's eyes widened, but she immediately scrambled for the kitchen to turn off the stove. "Of course, I'm coming to help! Can't miss my best friend becoming a daddy, can I?"

Daryl blinked. "Best friend? Really?" Carol ignored his sceptical question and grabbed him by the shoulders instead; turning him around and maneuvering him towards the door. There were more important things to do now than discuss that.

Siddiq's predictions had been quite on spot. About one and an half hour, quite a few painful contractions and several tiring and debilitating pushes later, you finally held your baby in your arms. Since the doctor's announcement that you gave birth to a - as far as he could tell, healthy little girl, Daryl's mind had gone blank. He was physically present, but mentally, he was somewhere lost in a haze; trying to process the life-changing information... A girl. His daughter. He was a father now. A father!

Of course, you noticed. Carol and Siddiq did, too and all of you decided to give him the space and time he needed right now; just letting him stare at the white wall across your bed.

Only once the afterbirth was done, you getting cleaned up as well as the baby, the umbilical cord cut by Carol (Daryl would've most likely fainted if he was asked to do it. He already looked as white as a ghost...), a few further instructions and information shared by both your friends, and your newborn daughter wrapped up in a diaper and a slightly too big beige romper suit with cute teddy bears on it, you decided to try to guide your husband out of the haze he still was in. Especially now that you were given some time alone...

"Daryl?" You called out softly; voice barely above a whisper to not startle him. He didn't react, so you tried again... Same result. Freeing a hand from the baby tucked against your chest, you reached out to gently touch his arm. "Babe..." You whispered; letting your palm glide down the length of the limb and brushing the clammy skin of his hand. "Hey..." That seemed to finally do the trick...

The archer blinked and redirected his glance; eyes focusing on you instead. "'M sorry, sunshine, I-" His words quickly died in his throat, when he finally saw his daughter nestled against you; greedily suckling on your exposed right breast and making the cutest little noises he had ever heard. You smiled tiredly and slipped your fingers through his; giving them a soft squeeze. "Your baby girl, Daryl... Your daughter..." He swallowed and lifted his free hand; almost hesitatingly hovering over the infant, before his pointer finger came into contact with her soft cheek.

Daryl gasped; releasing a breath he didn't even know he was holding. You watched the interaction with loving eyes; only now noticing that the small girl had stopped nursing and was wriggling around in your hold instead. Her eyes were closed and she had her legs pulled up against her belly; tiny fingers clenching and unclenching.

Your husband had cupped her head now, which was covered in a dark brown fuzz. "She's perfect, darlin'..." Daryl whispered after a long moment; smiling that smile you loved so much.

"Do you want to hold her?"

That question caused Daryl's hand to immediately stop caressing his daughter's head. "I-I..." He stammered; nervous, yet with such a strong urge. "Y-Yeah, I... I wanna hold 'er." You patted the empty space on the bed beside you. "C'mere, then." The archer followed your 'command' and switched from the chair to sit on the bed. Only now did you notice that he hadn't changed yet and that the shirt he wore was still damp. Worry roared to life within you. You didn't want him to catch a cold or even something worse...

"Baby, you should change... I don't want you to get sick..." Daryl shook his head. "Do want ta leave ya..." "I know..." You bit your lip; uncertain if you should propose the suggestion in your mind or not. "Then, uh... How about you take the shirt and vest off? Carol and Siddiq won't be here for at least another hour and skin-on-skin contact with your daughter would be good, too... Helps her bond with you." You gave him a soft smile. "It's your decision, though. I won't force you to do anything."

You could practically see the gears turning in your husband's head, but in the end he nodded and started to peel the damp clothes off his upper body. Once he was shirtless, you started to transfer the little girl over to her father. "Make sure to support her head, Dar," you instructed him; noticing his eager nod, and suddenly was the infant tucked in the crook of his arm. She snuggled against his bare chest; definitely enjoying the warmth of his skin.

And suddenly the world stopped to turn around Daryl.

He gazed down at the tiny human being he helped create - and she was the most wonderful, beautiful creature his eyes had ever seen (besides you, of course). Love flooded his veins; heart threatening to slosh over with the warm feeling.

Yes... He'd rip the world apart to keep her safe. Anything. Just to make sure his girls were protected.

You watched your husband and newborn daughter; a tired, but happy look on your face, and you realised soon, that everything had been worth it... Everything you've gone through. Every obstacle you and Daryl had to overcome, just to get here - to experience this moment. She was worth it.

You smiled. Yeah... You could definitely get used to Daryl being a dad...

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @bigbaldheadname @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

#daryl dixon the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl dixon fan fiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n #the walking dead daryl #twd #the walking dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fic #the walking dead fanfic #twd fanfiction #twd fic

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checkeredflagggs · 3 months ago

Text

Glazed and Confused

Pairing: Lando Norris x Potter!Youtuber!reader

Summary: when lando fails to make a simple mug, fans direct him towards your YouTube channel

a/n: I took 1 hr long class on pottery and quit. Don’t like the feel of it, have mostly forgot literally everything about it so…🤷🏻‍♀️

a/n 2: I really struggled to get lando’s voice down and don’t really think I did. Oops 😬 will work on that for next time (also plz ignore that changing of the handles. I try to keep them accurate but again I’m not on those social media platforms so…)

a/n 3: I tried to make sure that this reader was never gendered or given a race — there’s one photo near the end that depicts 2 white smaller hands but I think that is the only time. Please let me know how I did, if you could

Pottery Made Easy has posted

potterymadeeasy

liked by user1, user2, and 2316 others

pottermadeeasy: my newest video (mugs and bowls, pt 2) is now up! In it I show you ways to add a little flourish and decorations to the pieces you made from part 1!

view all comments

user1: thank you your majesty! Easy to understand and so so easy to follow!! (unlike my professor 🙄😬)

user2: right? If they either stopped mumbling or spoke up…

user1: might be asking too much of someone born in the 1800s 😭🙄

user2: unfortunately

user3: god your work is so gorgeous. Do you sell anything?

potterynadeeasy: occasionally! I’m based in Monaco rn and a friend owns a shop and sometimes they let me use a shelf or 2

user4: ohh! I’m in France. Plz plz plz make an announcement when you will next have some ready! I’d love to own a piece

potterynadeeasy: of course lovely 😊 vague plans are to have some ready in the next week or 2!

user4: seriously?!? Marking the calendar right now!

user3: you have no idea how jealous I am right now…

potterynadeeasy: dm me! I might be able to ship it to you depending on where you are!

user3: faints bless you

user5: landonorris here! They might be able to help you

user6: be so for real right now. It’ll take a miracle to help landonorris

user7: I hate to be a negative nancy but…yeah. That latest stream was bad bad landonorris

user8: I dont even know…that clay flew… landonorris

user9: would hate to be his cleaner…

lnupdates

liked by user5, user6, user7, and 1,897,455 others

lnupdates: some of our favorite moments from Lando’s latest stream where he was attempting to make a ceramic mug…bowl? It was certainly an interesting one to watch

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user5: interesting is one way to put it. Tragic is another

user6: no but really…that was. I legit have no words

user7: he needs to watch potterymadeeasy! I love their videos

user8: oh? I haven’t heard of them

user7: they’re a Monaco based potter that has a lot of simple how to videos!

user8: just watched one of them! And god their voice…🥵

user7: oh my god right?!?

user5: but are they gonna be enough to help lando?

user7: well they certainly couldn’t make it any worse tbh

user9: you got this lando! Pottery isn’t something easy to pick up - you just gotta keep trying!

user10: yeah! There was definitely some improvement by the end

Twitter

Private DMs

landonorris

liked by oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 2,790,469 others

landonorris: progress! these ones were mostly standing. I’m not done yet though - catch me tomorrow night giving it another go

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user11: those looked good! Most definitely an improvement!

user12: he’s almost there! It’s literally just the little things now

user13: oh how far we’ve come! In less then a year he’s gone from flying clay to something that could generously be called a bowl

user14: and an “artistic” vase!

oscarpiastri: definitely better then last time

landonorris: mate…

oscarpiastri: you don’t pay your cleaner enough

landonorris: mate!! get out of my comments

charles_leclerc: keep trying! Maybe one day you’ll get there

landonorris: yeah say goodbye to your Christmas present

charles_leclerc: 👎🏻

alex_albon: will be there! And will definitely be recording - gotta have proof 😂

landonorris: is it national bully lando day here or something?

user15: yes

user16: yes

oscarpiastri: yes

charles_leclerc: yes 👍🏻

georgerussell63: yes

alex_albon: yes!!

maxverstappen1: yes

danielricciardo: yes!

carlossainz55: yes!

landonorris: you freaking muppets!

user17: ok but am I the only one who noticed he kept looking to the side and like beaming?

user18: no but I thought I was going insane? Like he was so soft?

user17: yeah! definitely getting the feeling he wasn’t the only one there. Just who are you looking at?

user18: dare we say little lando norris has a partner now?

landonorris

liked by potterymadeeasy, oscarpiastri, carlossainz55, and 2,723,944 others

landonorris: haha! I did kt! A mug a vase and a bowl!! On to the next step - glazing! And you muppets didn’t think I could do it

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user19: woohoo! Congrats lando! Those look so so good!

user20: and those glazes are gonna be fire when they’re done. I use the same brand and colors he did and they turn out AMAZING

user19: ok don’t be shy drop the names plz

potterymadeeasy: those look great!

landonorris: thank you! Had a great teacher 😉

user21: ariana (potterymadeeasy) what are you doing here?

user22: thoughts are being thunk

user23: unthunk those thoughts right now

user22: sorry…thots are being thunk rn

user23: nurse she’s out again!

user21: really? Under my comment thread?

user24: I’ve connected the dots.

user25: you’ve connected shit

user24: no I’ve connected them

user25: god get a life

charles_leclerc: congrats!

carlossainz55: it only took a few months…

alex_albon: a couple of different throwing wheels

georgerussell63: and 3 different cleaning companies

landonorris: I’m gonna run you all over with my car

mclaren: legally this is a joke

landonorris

liked by potterymadeeasy, danielricciardo, carlossainz55, and 2,922,713 others

landonorris: first round of my ceramics are currently cooking in the kiln. Starting a new batch and stretching my creative skills

view all comments

user26: holy shit those look INCREDIBLE

user27: I’m so shocked! I just started watching the old streams so like in the course of a day he went from wet clay lumps to these masterpieces

user28: I’m so so proud of him - I’m currently trying to get into pottery and ceramics and watching him keep at it is so inspiring

user26: user28 you can do it! Persistence is key

oscarpiastri: man thinks he’s Picasso now…but for real congrats lando. Those look good! And functional too

landonorris: I’m only gonna give you the lumpy ones actually

oscarpiastri: I’m good thanks

landonorris: 🙃

oscarpiastri: honestly proud of you. You’ve come a long way

landonorris: thanks mate!

oscarpiastri: I’m also glad you can stop calling me crying about your latest fuck up

landonorris: you muppet!

danielricciardo: too soon to call dibs on that dragonfly mug?

landonorris: after the way you continuously kept laughing at me?

danielricciardo: in encouragement?

landonorris: 😑

danielricciardo: 🥹🧡?

landonorris: fine 🙄

user29: ok yeah good job on those designs and whatever but are we gonna mention those HEART MUGS?!

landonorris: 😂🧡😉

user29: get back here and answer some questions! What? Does? That? Mean?

landonorris: 🏃🏻‍♂️💨

user29: SIR!

maxverstappen1: i see you’re finished making my present but really? Matching heart mugs?

landonorris: not actually for you!

maxverstappen1: heart❤️ been broke💔🤕 so many times⏰ i don’t know❌🤷‍♀️ what to believe 🍃🙏

landonorris: …who are you and where is max?

maxverstappen1: I thought what we had was special

landonorris: not my favorite relationship anymore! Sorry 🧡

maxverstappen1: 💔

potterymadeeasy: those look good!

landonorris: I had a good teacher 🧡

potterymadeeasy: flatterer

landonorris: always 😉

User22: !!!

User23: shut up shut up shut up

landonorris

liked by yourpriv, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, and 3,123,321 others

landonorris: kiln unveiling and some upcoming projects!

listen. when I randomly decided that I wanted to learn how to make ceramic dishes, it was mostly because I wanted to make something with my own 2 hands — and when I wasn’t immediately good at it, I decided that I wouldn’t stop until I was.

Its been a long couple of months with a lot of struggles but I can finally say that I’m proud of how far I’ve come. It hasn’t been easy but the journey and the process has been fun and i genuinely can’t wait to see what comes next!

view all comments

user30: I’m? Crying? 😭

user31: omg same!!! To see how far he’s come and to hear that he’s finally proud of himself too…

user32: we’re excited for you too!

user33: excited? For what? Some more mediocre “Art” by some mediocre man?

user32: go fuck yourself. And get out of my comments. And off lando’s page

used34: user33 how about you go get some sun and maybe shove some kindness up yours! 🖕

oscarpiastri: seriously, congratulations. Those look incredible

landonorris: thanks mate! I do appreciate your support

oscarpiastri: and my cupboards appreciate your work

user34: 🩵🩵 ahhh he’s giving away his pieces

alex_albon: it’s been a fun ride watching you!

landonorris: thanks i think

alex_albon: no problem!

alex_albon: and could you send me the name of your newest cleaning crew? They most be ungodly good

landonorris: and there it is… cleaningcrew

alex_albon: anyway i could get a series of mugs inspired by albon_pets?

landonorris: I’ll need a lot of pretty good pictures

alex_albon: on it 🫡

landonorris: in fact I might need to visit in person

albon_pets: yay! We love ❤️ getting visitors

user35: UMMM?!? That 5th photo?!?

user36: IS THIS A SOFT LAUNCH? DOES LITTLE LANDO NORRIS FINALLY HAVE A PARTNER AGAIN?!?

landonorris: 🫢🤫

user36: YOU CANT KEEP GETTJNG AWAY WITH THIS

landonorris: 😂🏃🏻‍♂️💨

yourpriv: my love, I’m so proud of you! Putting yourself out there in the world to learn something new is never easy but you have done it with amazing persistence and talent.

landopriv: babe… you know I couldn’t do it without you

yourpriv: oh I have no doubt you would have gotten here on your own

landopriv: no. No i don’t think I would have. I’m a fast guy and I’m used to fast results. When I reached out to you, it was a last resort last string. If it didn’t work out with your help, I was honestly going to quit. You pushed me to get better, to stick with it till I made it.

yourpriv: 🥹🥹🥹

landopriv: I’m serious. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me — i love you 🧡

yourpriv: 🥹🥰🧡 I love you too hun

maxverstappen1: can’t lie — it was a fun ride watching you fail but I also can’t wait to see what you make next

landonorris: …thanks for your support 😑🙄😅

maxverstappen1: you know it!

landonorris

liked by yourpriv, charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, and 2,997,245 others

tagged: yourpriv, potterymadeeasy

landonorris: no time for a soft launch. Thank you honey for teaching me pottery and for designing such a bomb ass helmet!

comments have been limited on this post

potterymadeeasy: Lando! We had a plan!

landonorris: 🤷🏻‍♂️

landonorris: love ya!

potterymadeeasy:…love you too!

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carmenized-onions · 5 months ago

Text

Something to Do. | Catering

logline; Itinerary for your trip to New York? Just try not to fucking cry.

[!!!] series history, this is the twelfth; gonna start season three after I post this. Wonder how bad it's gonna throw off the rest of my plot line. Ideally not at all. We'll see.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I really like this playlist for all chapters, but for a wedding where music is blasting, it feels particularly fitting.

portion; 13.3k how does this keep happening.

possible allergies; Terrible self-image, everything feels bad, very real conversations abt ,,, self-death and addiction.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets referred to as a woman and other feminine honourifics but no pronouns, i believe)

i made you all so mad last chapter. Let's see if i can make it up to you, babydoll (probably wont)

You hate to admit it, but you were kind of relieved when you found out Carmen wasn’t coming on the plane. You’re in a bit of a state of fight or flight; well, more accurately, currently leaning towards the flight side— Pun intended.

He’s coming to the wedding. You know he is. For one, he’s getting thirty grand for this, he has to. For two, his location is still on for you— Whether he forgot to turn it off or just didn’t care, you’re not sure. But he hates you, so there’s no way it was intentional, you’re certain about that much.

You know you shouldn’t be looking at it, but you have. You’ve been looking all week. Checking your Find my Friends like a doting mother. He goes to work far too early, he stays far after close, he goes home. Rinse and repeat.

You check on him one last time before boarding the plane. He’s opted to drive, with Richie. Something about ‘wanting to bring their personal equipment’, Richie texted you. They’re halfway through Ohio. You’re sure that road trip is definitely going spectacular after their side of the explosion.

Richie texted the day after that fucking fiasco, asking if you’d want updates on how it’s going at The Bear. How it’s going with Carmen. You said you wanted to know if he wanted to tell. He opted not to tell.

You hate to admit, you were kind of relieved, to not know. To just look at Carmen’s little icon go from Point A to B. Instead of Carmen Reports, you and Richie text about much lighter things. Normal things. Eva drew a funny picture of you kinda things. It’s nice. You know you’re probably being childish, but it feels so much fucking better to ignore the Bear in the room. You don’t know how to feel about anything, and frankly you don’t want to try to figure it out.

You suck, Carmen sucks, what more is there to know? Process it? Fuck that.

Carmen hasn’t texted you; you haven’t texted him, the entire week. Radio silence. You stopped playing Connections. Didn’t see a point. Not like they even have a streak function anyways— You’d die before you let that Wordle streak break, though. That was your thing. Carmen doesn’t get to take your things, too.

You didn’t get a text from the Exec, either. So that’s… Something? Or, rather, explicitly, that’s nothing. Does that mean Carmen gives a shit? Not necessarily. Ugh. Your whole system was so shocked after that fucking fight that you didn’t really have time to take in the fact that that jag was into you? Vomit inducing. You’ve got to rethink your life choices, if they lead you to him.

But also, you know if Carmen and you were okay right now, you probably would’ve given him your number. You would’ve catfished him for weeks, laughing over your phone with Carmen and Syd as this idiot falls into your trap. You miss Carmen. You also don’t miss Carmen. You want to see him desperately and also never fucking look at him again.

Carmen’s going to be in the kitchen; you’re going to be out in the banquet hall, on bar, this whole wedding. The likelihood either of you have to actually interact this weekend is quite low. The likelihood either of you have to confront what you’re supposed to do with yourselves now is quite low. You hate to admit it, you’re fucking relieved.

Sydney sleeps on your shoulder, for most of the plane ride. You sleep against her head. Shout out Marcus, for switching seats. He’s behind you, with Tina. He wakes both of you up about an hour in, shaking your seats— Because the dessert cart came out and he didn’t want either of you to miss it. The mini cheesecakes are better than expected, to be fair, so he’s forgiven.

This is going to be the stupidest weekend of your life. You’ll take that, over worst, at least.

“Be honest, would you tip me extra well?”

You give a twirl in your probably too fancy semi-cultural outfit. Your family shows up for weddings, if Vinnie and Mira didn’t want their bartender to go hard, they should’ve put that in their notes. It actually would have been nice to get sent notes, though… What is the theme for this wedding other than ‘Italian’ and ‘New York’…? Glitter eyeshadow is probably fine, right? Yeah it’s fine. Not like you could get that shit off now, anyways.

“If you were my bartender, I would ask ‘what are we?’” Answers Syd, watching you from the bathroom as she attempts to put her hair up. Definitely struggling in silence.

Sharing a hotel room was the best idea you ever had. It would be a nightmare to get ready alone in silence, right now. It’s nice to talk and have something to do. If you didn’t, you’d absolutely be ruminating about Carmen, debating whether or not to check on his room, that’s just down the hall, you could see if he needed help with getting ready and also see if he’s as tired as you think he is and— Plus, the amount you saved on splitting a one bed? Christ. Economy is in shambles. So is your brain.

“You would not be brave enough to ask your bartender ‘what are we?’”

“For you, I would.”

“Are we about to kiss, bro?” You duck into the bathroom, getting way too close to the side of Syd’s face. She laughs, pushing you away with the palm of her hand, you scoff, “Wooowwww—”

You clutch your heart, mortally wounded. Retching, truly. Now this is heartbreak in its rawest form. “—Reject me, why don’t you?”

“I’m playing the role of timid—” “I’m sick of this friends to lovers plot line!” “It adds! It adds!”

“Shut up— And tilt your head back, dumbass, what are you doing?” You stand behind her, taking her braids into your hands as she struggles to bundle them all herself.

“I do this all the time by myself, y’know.” So Syd says, but she lets you take her braids regardless.

“Yeah, but I’m here.” You stretch the hairband on your fingers. “Messy bun?”

“You think?”

“I think primal is too clean.”

“No, I was gonna do the one where it does like— Like the infinity in the front?”

“Who’s mom are you tryna fuckin’ look like?”

She kisses her teeth, attempting to reach a hand behind her head to smack you. You dodge and somehow manage to make it easier to smack you. “I’m literally only gonna get to come out after everyone’s left, I dunno why we’re making effort here—”

“High messy bun?” “High messy bun.”

Oh, the days of doing each other’s hair. You’re glad it’s back. You’re glad you get to become, together, again. It used to be bobbles, friendship bracelets, and glitter tattoos—but now it’s tying up each other’s hair, helping with the curling iron, clasping the gold chains on your neck, zipping up the back of your outfit, pinning the collar pins on her uniform, fixing makeup, asking each other to compare perfumes before going through with the final decision, mocking each other’s purchases.

“Wait, what mini deodorant did you get at customs?”

“Oh, one of those Native ones— I think it’s peach—?”

“Those cost like five fucking dollars, Ink. For like two swipes.”

“Excuse me for wanting to smell good, fuckin’ ‘wolfthorn’—”

“I work in a restaurant. I need Old Spice strength, okay—!”

“Oh, pbbbttt— Syd.”

“Pbb—Fuck, how do you do that?��

There’s a knock at the door, interrupting your squabble. “Are you decent?!”

Sydney groans, “No!”

“Yes, Rich, we’re decent, doors open.”

Richie comes in, unceremoniously. A touch awkward. He’s so rarely been in a room with women getting ready. It’s simultaneously exactly what he expected, and not at all what he expected. “Chip, can you put these fuckin’ things on f’me?”

Cufflinks. He presents the box to you. They’re just plain and silver, boring. Save that in your rolodex of gifts to get this Christmas. “You’re fuckin’ forty and you don’t know how to put on some cufflinks—?”

You’re nagging, but you’re already putting them on him, he holds his wrist out for you. “Nah, I was too busy runnin’ shit to learn.”

“Runnin’ your mouth, more like.”

“Yeah, yeah.” It’s a quiet moment, a tender moment, of adjusting his sleeves. Sydney’s scrambling to clean up the room around you two in the background. It’s hard to turn off the autopilot of cleaning one’s station, no matter where she goes.

You purse your lips. You shouldn’t ask and you shouldn’t care, but you do. You half-whisper, to Richie. “How was the drive?” He knows what you’re asking.

“Terrible start. Surprisingly okay middle. He went straight to the banquet hall once we got here.” He swallows, treading carefully, a thing Richie never does. “Do you wanna know the dirty details?”

Oh good, you wouldn’t be able to check on his room even if you wanted to. You want to. Need to? Stop thinking. Carmen sucks and you suck.

“Not particularly.” You take one final look at his sleeves, happy with your handiwork, letting his wrists go. “You feel settled, though? Or jury’s still out?”

Richie shrugs, tilting his head back and forth. “Grovelled decent enough, by time we hit Penn. But I’m waitin’ on my informer.”

You cringe, knowing what he means. You also know he’d smack you if you said he doesn’t need your say in order to forgive Carmen. “It’s gonna be a minute, until your informer has an answer.”

“I know.” He nods, twisting his wrists back and forth, looking at the cufflinks. Then he gives you a once over. “Y’look good.”

“You too.” You look over him, he does look good. He’s in his suit, wearing his wedding ring, which makes your heart hurt a little bit, but he does look good. “What’s your fuckin’ job tonight, by the way?” He can’t be doing kitchen. He sucks at kitchen. But he’s also just not dressed for it.

“Fuckin’ everything.” Hyperbolic? Typically yes, with Richie, but not this time.

“Wait staff here had too high a fee—”

“Translation: more than free?”

“More than free, yeah.”

“Heard.”

“So, I’m server, set up, and fuckin’ whore-derve—”

“What?” That pronunciation snaps Sydney out of her autopilot clean, her back snaps up straight. Hands on her hips, like a disappointed teacher. “It’s hors d’oeuvres.”

Richie rolls his eyes and really his whole head back. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ CIA or whatever the fuck—”

You interrupt the fight before it can start. “Let’s just say appetizers.”

Sydney does not let you. “Apps and hors d’oeuvres are different.”

You angle your body from Richie to her, deadpanning. “Just because you went to the fuckin’ FBI or whatever the fuck—”

“Alright!” She’s already walking to the door, despite the fact that she started it— “We’ve gotta fuckin’ get to hall now or we’re gonna have like zero prep time, Chefs.”

You both follow after her, doing one last check to make sure you’ve got everything you need. You honestly don’t need to be in this much of a rush, you’re pretty sure, but you don’t mention that. Richie said Carmen just went straight to the banquet hall, when they came in this morning. You’re not sure how well you know him anymore, all things considered, but by your best guess, he’s almost certainly done all the prep by himself.

Carmen did not do the kitchen prep entirely himself. Well. He might’ve, you haven’t checked, but you don’t think he would’ve had the time.

Carmen did your prep entirely himself.

When you get to the bar, in the banquet hall, you have nothing to do. Side work finished for you. Lemons, limes, oranges— All cut into wedges and loaded in their baskets— even the cherries are pitted. The glasses are organized from wine to whiskey glasses, the sink is clean— Which you know the banquet hall staff didn’t do— They never fucking do.

You don’t see Carmen, but you know he did it. He showed up before anyone else, he was in the kitchen before anyone else— So no one else could’ve left the simple braised beef sandwich on your station. Exactly how Mikey used to make it. Half hot, half sweet. Your order at The Beef. Carmen would’ve done pork, but this is what they had on hand, and he had a feeling this would mean more, anyways. It does. Granola bar on the plate with it. One of the nice ones, too. The wrapping boasts fifteen grams of protein.

He knows how hard running bar is. He knows you won’t have time to eat once it starts. So, he’s making sure you get something down now— And that you have time to eat it in peace, and making sure you have something you can scarf mid-shift later, when you don’t have time.

Fucking. Hell. Fuck this fucking guy. Carmen fucking sucks. You fucking suck. This all fucking sucks so much. This sandwich is so fucking good. You’re so fucking mad. Stop saying fuck. Fuck your subconscious for wanting you to stop saying fuck. It’s so unfair, for him to be maybe the cruelest a person could possibly be, in front of an audience made out of your loved ones, and then be sweet, like this.

He is awful, with words— Well, he’s typically better, with you, par for the last time, but he’s best in the kitchen. You can taste the sorrow, the guilt, the apology. The first thing he ever made you, was a sandwich, the brisket sandwich, that Mikey refined for you, as an apology, for freaking the fuck out in a freezer and having that be your first impression of him— Or, at least, first first-hand impression of him. How far you’ve come.

This will not pass, as an apology. Not a proper one. But… You’ll give him a sign, in return, at least. A confirmation that you got the message, nothing more. Definitely nothing more.

“Rich.” You stop the guy in his tracks, as he marches through the room, helping the rest of the staff set up the hall. Not his job, but it’s Richie. “Can you ask kitchen their shifties?”

He nods, like he understands, walking away with stacks of chairs under both his arms.

He comes back after two minutes, straight up to your bar. “What the fuck is a shifty?”

“Oh.” You feel condescending, for being surprised. You’d never really thought about the huge difference between morning servers and night servers until right now. Richie has never worked with a bar staff. He worked at a fucking sandwich shop. “It’s uh— Your drink. Get a drink on your shift— Shifty— It can be like, a cocktail, a straight, a shot, coffee—”

“I know how many fucking drinks exist, Chip—” “Mocktail, smoothie, juice—” “Yeah, I’ll get a Pina Colada.” “I will break the blender over your head.” “I’ll get you a list.”

You nod, already starting on usuals you know will have remained unchanged since your absence. Steel trap memory. Getting drinks with The Beef staff used to be the highlight of your week, which isn’t a sad statement at all. “I won’t tell anyone you like Dirty Shirleys.”

He defends. “Eva put me on them.”

“Insane thing to say about your five-year-old.”

“You know what I meant— She likes the normal—” “I’m pokin’ fun, go give this to Carmen.”

You’re hoping if you say it fast, coupled with bickering, Richie won’t make mental note of it. Won’t register it. Of course, he still does. How could he not? You slide the mug to him; he takes it, though, slow, with a perplexed look.

Yeah. They had lavender and maple syrup behind the bar. And cardamom. And milk to froth. And black coffee. Whatever. You didn’t have any dried lavender to top it with, this time, so it’s not actually that cool, anyways. Doesn’t make it special. Did you do a maple syrup drizzle to make up for this? Yeah. You hate yourself just a little bit, for it. You really cannot shut off the way you love, can you? Hopeless. Be even the slightest bit withholding, would you? Just a touch petty? God, you suck. Such a princess.

Rich shrugs, when you don’t try to justify yourself. You’re an adult, he won’t coerce you to be sharper, even if you should be. “Aye aye, Chippy.”

If Carmen ends up wanting to drink later, then he’ll have to come to you. That’s being tough, right? Sure. That’s definitely withholding, Chip. Really showed Carmen there. Certainly, a church woman must be clutching her pearls at your backbone, somewhere in the world.

Do you think you’d be able to handle him coming to your bar, anyways?

No. Decidedly no. Which is a bit stupid, because you’ve faced much scarier things in your life, than some asshole you owe two grand. Well, some asshole you owe two grand that you love deeply that hates you deeply because you are in some part responsible for not taking care of his brother—

Carmen doing your side work was unintentionally cruel, honestly. You don’t have anywhere for your brain to go but him. Don’t have anyone to talk to, or anything to do. Richie can tell and whether you want him to or not; he knows what you need. He repeats himself, walking off with the mug. “I’ll get you your list.”

He knows what you need. Something to do. Something to fix, for someone. Not fix someone. People’s princess. Still failed Mikey, no matter how hard you tried.

Sprite, grenadine, vodka, lime, maraschino cherries. Dirty Shirley. Something to do. Just focus on something to do.

You miss the naivety of wanting something to do. Three hundred guests versus one bartender without a barback is a layer of hell that Dante forgot to specify in his Inferno.

“What can I fix for you, ma’am?!” You’ve got to yell every sentence to get anything intelligible over the music and the cacophony of conversations.

There is an overlap of voices from every single woman crowding around your bar, despite the fact that you were definitely making explicit eye-contact with just one of them. You lean over the counter to hear her alone. She blinks, when you get in her face.

“What are we?”

You cannot stop the snort, but you’re pretty sure she didn’t hear it, music's too loud to hear anything. Syd’s a fucking oracle. “We’re fucked. What can I get for you?”

“Lemon drop shot?” Of course. It’s New York.

“Comin’ right up—”

The crowd of women interrupt you, and each other. “Oh, make that two!” “Make that three!” “Wait what are we making?”

Who the fuck is we? They’re more than welcome to get behind the bar with you. You’d take anyone, at this point.

“Lemon drops, babe!” “Oh—Oh, we doin’ lemon drops?” “Let’s just say ten and be safe!”

Of course.

It’s a lot of that, on repeat. But it’s better than the ones that want one very specific brand of scotch with their soda, because at least you can make huge batches for these ones— Does no one know how to fucking act around an open bar anymore? You get a vodka cran and you fuck off. You really need to start telling people you don’t know how to make bellinis.

Working alone is hard, because you can tell when you turn your back to make drinks, and aren’t able to take twenty more orders at the same time, that everyone’s real fucking annoyed with you. You have tried splitting your cells to become a second person, didn’t work. You’re constantly spinning around to accommodate people, and it’s getting fucking nauseating. And you’re usually patient, but the questions are getting just as mind-numbing.

“Can I get a uh… A negroni… Sbagliato? With prosecco?” “Sbagliato means prosecco is in it, sweetheart.”

“Do you do hurricane shots?” “I’m happy to slap you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, so it’s open bar?” “Yeah.” “So, I don’t have to tip, either?” “Well— It’s appreciated— Oh, and you’ve already walked away. Okay.”

It’s a lot of that, on repeat.

You see from twenty feet away, amidst the crowds, Uncle Jimmy walking towards your bar, and when he waves all friendly, he sees your glower, and opts to turn in the other direction. Smart man. No wonder he’s successful.

Richie swings by your bar, waiting at the corner, where the line hasn’t congregated. You don’t need to be shaking this martini for as long as you are, but it’s a good way to look like you’re working when you’re just trying to talk to Richie. He presents his serving tray to you. “Tiny quiche?”

You open your mouth, hands full with your shaker. He gets the point, stabbing a toothpick into the appetizer and shoving it in your mouth. Oh God, food is beautiful. Food is what sustains. You could write a full book of poetry right now about why food is everything. Well, not everything. You’re still in hell.

“Richie, I’m dying, your job can’t be that important, come be barback.” You pour out the martini. You attempt to open the jar of olives by yourself, when you struggle, Richie puts his tray down and grabs the jar from you.

Thankfully for your pride, he’s also struggling with it. Plus, it gives you time to annihilate the tray of quiches. He shakes his head, his job is important, allegedly. “You want me to starve guests?”

“Ideally? Yes.” You ignore the dirty looks you get from eavesdropping patrons. He hands you the opened jar. You take a toothpick from his tray, since you’re already out of yours, pierce an olive, toss it in the martini, and pass it to someone— Quite frankly, there’s every chance that’s not the guy that ordered the dirty martini, but he takes it, so who gives a fuck.

Richie sighs, he does want to help. “I’ll ask kitchen if they can cut someone.”

Thank fucking God. “Ask Marcus, he’s got mixology experience or some shit.” You remember being occasionally impressed by his verbiage— At the very least, he knows what stuff is back here, and that’s enough for you.

Richie just shakes his head, lips in a line, when you mention Marcus. A universal sign that something has gone horrifically wrong. You furrow your brows, immediately worried, leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Excuse me! What’s it take to get a long-island iced tea around here? This open bar is not very open!”

You and Richie both grimace, at the thick Jersey accent on this woman waving her hand hysterically at your bar. He gives you a nod, already taking his empty tray and starting to walk back to the kitchen. “I’ll ask.”

You turn your body to the woman, but head still to Richie. “Don’t ask. Tell.”

Not even five minutes pass, before you get a barrage of texts, from multiple people, all at once. You watch them flood in on the notification screen of your phone laying on the counter, while shaking up a cosmo, this time.

From Marcus, worrying. ‘sorrysorysorrybakkingemergencymbmmbmb’

From Syd, concerning. ‘couldn’t stop him lmk if it’s bad’

From Richie, alarming. ‘yk how to call your dog right’

But it all makes sense, when Carmen comes up to your bar, removing his apron. “You need a barback?”

Hair is normal. Not at its best, not how you taught him, but it’s better than before. He smells excessively like you; like accidentally used half the bottle levels like you. Maybe not an accident. Don’t read into it, too much— They’re almost certainly the only travel sized bottles he had on hand. Of course he’d take them. He smells like Old Spice, too, though. Don’t read into it. He looks tired. You knew he would. You’ve watched his location, every day. By the time you go to bed each night, he’s only just left The Bear. He deserves to feel tired, he was a fucking asshole, and you’re glad your cat ate just short of all of his flowers.

But you brought in the plate, the next morning. You cleaned it, and then hid it in the back of your dishwasher. You wanted it to be safe, you also just didn’t want to look at it or think about it or have it exist in your mind, at all. That’s half the reason you couldn’t let it perch outside your window anymore. Taunting you. He’s a piece of shit, but you can feel it in your chest; the care you cannot get rid of. The desire to ask are you okay? Have you been sleeping? How are you? How’s your week been? Want a hug? Have you been playing Connections? What did I do wrong? Did you need me? Did anything break? Did you break?

You missed him. Was the radio silence relieving? Yes. Preferably, you’d never acknowledge each other for the rest of your lives besides an eventual wire transfer. Preferably, he’d stay in the back of your dishwasher for the rest of your life. But God, you missed him, this week. You’ll probably miss him for the rest of your life. Is that toxic? You’re working on it. No you’re not… He just made every space easier to breathe in, kept a light on, for you. Not at the end, but he did before. Before he figured out that he hates you.

It’s a thing that everyone says about you, that you bring ease, and whether you can confirm or deny that, who’s to say— But you know Carmen does it for you. Lights up a room for you. And you might be alone in that feeling, but that’s okay with you. Or it was. It was, before he figured out he should hate you.

Oh, shit, you’ve been staring at him in silence for way too long. It’s hard to know how to navigate this. You don’t know how to feel, so you don’t know how to act either. It’s all a weird state of limbo that you desperately want to get out of, but don’t want to do any of the work required to do so. What do you do with your hands? Your body? Your voice? Are you supposed to be funny and nice still? Christ, just say something. What’d he ask, again? Can’t remember.

“Uh…” Still can’t remember, but— “What’s happening with Marcus?”

He seems to falter, slightly, but he comes into your bar, oh right, barback. You needed a barback. He exchanges his kitchen apron for a bar apron. Not used to seeing him wear all black. You wish you could enjoy it. Wish you could say it’s cool watching him act as one of your professions. He answers, as he ties the strings around his waist. “Uber dropped their wedding cake.”

Fuck whatever tension you two have. You nearly fold over in shock. The current track on the speakers fades out, right as you yell back, “They dropped their fucking wedd—!?”

With haste, Carmen puts the palm of his hand over your mouth. Knife tattoo hand. Oh, he missed being this close to you. Not the point here, though. “Shhhhhhh…!”

You relax, he removes his hand, you’re annoyed that you wish he didn’t. You whisper, though it’s still screeching in tone. “They dropped their fucking wedding cake?”

He nods, combing his hair back with his hand. Knife tattoo hand. It’s making your shampoo waft. You both notice it. He stops. “Marcus is remaking one, now.”

“From scratch?” You were right to be so worried; Richie was right to make the face he did. Carmen tilts his head back and forth. “Box mix that he’s finessing—”

You finish the sentence with him, “—Because he’s Marcus.” The king of doing too much, especially when there’s no time for it. It’s his best and worst trait.

He nods, smiling just slightly, but not the typical smile you get from him. Timid. “Yeah, so he’s locked in, but I’m here.”

Simple sentence, but it still schisms your brain. You cannot help but feel a distrust of it. “Shouldn’t you be running the back, though?” Keeping his kitchen in order? Being the Exec in his head?

He shakes his head. “They run a tight ship without me just fine.” The first lesson you gave to him, that that’s a good thing. Is this conversation hitting specific pain points on purpose as a punishment from God or is this just how all your conversations are going to feel, from now on?

Probably both. You nod. “Okay.” You do need a barback.

“This is so cute, girl, and I love love but I’m gonna need that Cosmo like yesterday.” Why did this woman have to say love? That would already be terrible if you were good right now. Carmen’s probably not the type of guy to say the L word for like several months anyways. You’re not even dating anyways— Or weren’t? Can you use past-tense on something that never was?

You hand her the Cosmo, and you both pretend you never heard her.

Running bar with Carmen makes your life infinitely easier, though albeit tenser. He hasn’t done this before, but he’s watched previous bar staff from the sidelines— And one of his best traits is how quick he catches on to things. He’s not confident enough to mix drinks, but everything else, he does just fine.

“Behind.” There’re occasional autopilot moments that make you laugh, though. He snaps back into his body, when you do, moving next to you. He tilts his head, “What, you don’t say behind?”

You shrug, and it feels normal, for a second. “Professionals probably do, I’ve never worked in a place that does, though.”

“But what about when you’re holdin’ shit?” You allow yourself to feel normal, for a second. It is a delight to teach him something about your work. You continue to make drinks and hand off orders, all while you both speak. It reminds you of the domestic flow you were both so used to doing. That was so easy for you both to fall into. It’s nice that it somehow hasn’t gone away.

“So, you know when you’re in the kitchen, or here, behind bar, you get like, really fucking hot?” Don’t let that entendre stay doubled— “Like sweaty?”

“Mhm?”

You hold onto your chilled shaker, stepping behind him, “So, we don’t say behind, we—” and press it just under the back of his neck. He shivers, immediately, full shock running through his system. “Do that.”

“Christ!”

You want to enjoy the moment, but you can’t help but remember him calling you a modern-day saviour. You try to push it down, but the warmth you were starting to feel tones down, quite a bit. You manage to keep him from noticing, manage to keep the smile on. “What, don’t like it? It’s nice!”

“Think it’s a safety concern, f’sure.”

“Call OSHA.” You touch the shaker to his face, before going to pour it. He laughs. Actually laughs. You wish that made you feel good, still. And somewhere, in some corner of yourself, it still does. But not like it did before.

Soon enough, you two get a second of reprieve, as Vinnie’s Best Man gets up to do his speech, or whatever. He uses a knife to clink his glass, and of course, it fucking shatters. You’re half-mad, because technically for the night, those are your glasses, but it’s too funny to actually give a shit. Plus, the Best Man gets a pass tonight, in your book, because one, he understood protocol and got a vodka cran from you, and two, his speech is forcing everyone to sit down and leave y’all the fuck alone.

“Beautiful night, beautiful couple, beautiful people— Couldn’t ask for a better weddin’ for my best friend— But let’s be honest, I didn’t think he’d be gettin’ a wedding at all— Aye! This guy Vin, amirite?”

You take this moment to halve your protein bar from Carmen. You wordlessly hand the other half to him. He shakes his head. “M’Good, you eat.”

You shove it towards him. You know he hasn’t eaten much, you don’t know how, but you just know. “I’ve eaten twelve tiny quiches and a beef sandwich, Carm, take the fuckin’ granola.”

He breathes heavily through his nose, but he takes it. You both watch the Best Man, quietly eating your halves. He is silently overjoyed at the verbal confirmation you ate the sandwich.

“I don’t need to introduce my goddamn self, I’m sure my reputation precedes me, right? But I’m Leo, I’m my boy’s Best Man, and I just couldn’t be more honoured, y’know? We grew up together, playin’ stickball in the Bronx, and now this guy’s marryin’ one of the most wonderful women in the world? And I get to be here? Man, I love ya.”

As cranky as you’ve been all night, this really is a gorgeous wedding. More often than not, the guests are nice, it’s just that the shit ones stick out in your head like nails to be hammered. Vinnie and Mira seem like a good couple. You wonder if you’ll ever get to have a wedding like this. They commissioned one of those painters to do a live painting, too. Always wanted one of those. And they’ve got little gift bags for the guests. You’re taking notes, internally, of what you like here, what you’d want to do for your own.

You wish you and Carmen were talking, right now. Despite the fact that Leo’s voice is booming throughout the hall’s speakers, the silence between you feels deafening, because you both know that you would be talking right now, if you weren’t living in fucking limbo. You need to work. You need something to do. The ice basket is running low, refilling it will take at least two minutes and maybe holding the ice will shock your nervous system.

You grab a bag of ice from the freezer behind you both, Carmen pretends to be listening to the speech, because he doesn’t feel like he has the right to help you with the weight. You cut the bag, emptying huge chunks of ice into the basket. You ball up the plastic in your hands to throw out; you nod to Carmen. “Can you break the ice?”

He seems surprised, taking a second, before nodding, crossing and uncrossing his arms. “I owe you an apology—”

“Oh, no!” You hastily correct. “No— Yes but no— I— I meant—” You hand him the metal scooper, nodding to the clumped-up ice you just poured out. “I meant can you break the literal ice blocks?”

Carmen wishes he has dead. And you can both tell that. “Yes. Yes— Yeah, f’sure, one-hundred— Course. Heard.” You nod back, pensive, throwing the plastic bag out, staring straight ahead, trying to refocus on Leo again. You can’t.

Carmen beats the ice, softly, so as to not make a noticeable noise for the audience. After a few seconds, he returns to his point. “…I do owe you an apology, though—”

“Don’t even worry about it, Carmen.” You don’t say this. Fak does. He sidles up to the bar. Where he keeps apparating from and hearing your conversations, you’re really not sure. “I’ve got this one.”

Neither you or Carmen know what Fak thinks he’s got, here, but you’re both too intrigued or surprised to stop him. Well, Carmen does give it a fair shot, after a second, “Fak, I’m—”

“Nono—” But there’s simply no chance. “I appreciate you trying to fix my problems for me, but y’know, I can handle myself, Carmen.” …You wish that’s what Carmen said, last Friday, instead of calling himself your charity tax write-off.

Fak pivots to you, sighing, shrugging, hands up, as if you know as well as he does what the fuck he’s about to say. You can’t tell if you’re supposed to be scared right now or not. When you don’t say anything, he starts, “Alright, I guess I’m the one that's brave enough to say it, there’s some major tension here.”

Now why does Fak think he’s the one to acknowledge this. Quite frankly, why is Fak here? Is he working, too? On what exactly? You don’t remember seeing him on the plane, either. Was he a part of the road trip? Dear God, that's a nightmare third wheel. You just let out a, “Huh?”

“Oh, come on, you haven’t shown up at The Bear since last Friday—” You’re now remembering that before the fight of all fights broke out that night, Fak ran out of the kitchen. Guess no one filled him in, after. “And like, this week, when something broke—” He nods to Carmen, who grimaces, hand over his face. “Carmy told me to fix it, instead of calling you, like he’d usually.”

You know you’re not allowed to be upset about that, and yet, you really fucking are. You’re Carmen’s fucking fixer. Or were? Fuck. Christ, are you jealous of Fak now? You turn your gaze just slightly to Carmen, who’s leaning over the counter, propping his head up on his hands. “What broke?”

He answers briefly. “Expo clock.”

It was extremely apt and even more upsetting for him, the way time literally stopped, when you left. When he made you leave.

You tuck your hands in your pockets, looking back to Fak. “You fix it?”

He shrugs. “Yeah.” Carmen stands back up, opening his mouth to intercept, Fak puts a hand in front of his face. “No Carm, I’ve gotta tell her the truth…” What.

“Tony…” Neil sighs, unable to make eye contact, at this moment. “I was really harsh on you, that Friday…”

“…Huh?” The fucking degree thing? Is that what he’s talking about? You honestly can’t remember anything before Carmen, from that night.

“You don’t need to hide your pain.” He nods solemnly, “I— I’m just gonna say it… I know it’s hard to believe, but I was… jealous.”

“I know.”

He ignores that you’ve said this entirely, “I know, I know, it’s crazy. Me? Jealous? But yeah, I was really good at hiding it, but you’re just really like smart, Tony, y’know? And everyone was like— Tony can fix this— Tony can fix that— And I was holding it together, but then you were good at serving, too. And it got to me— And obviously Carmen could tell, so he stopped calling you. Trying to be a true bro.”

Oh, Fak really doesn’t know what the fuck is going on, huh? “Of course there’s like, the other obvious tension in the room—” Oh okay, so he does know— “Between us.” What.

“What’s up?” You blink, voice going high for a second. Carmen cannot stop staring at Fak, face entirely unmoving, unblinking. Neither of you are sure what emotion to feel right now. Is Leo’s speech still fucking going? You’ve completely tuned it out, if it is.

Fak gestures to the air between you two. “Well like, there’s obviously a really intense sort of rivals to romance dynamic happening here…”

What.

“And like,” He raises his hands, in defense— Of what exactly? You couldn’t be less sure. “I could totally see that happening, in the future.”

It takes everything in you, to just hold your lips closed together. You have to bite down on your top lip, to not scream laugh in his face. “For sure, man.”

He nods, continuing, “But right now, I just don’t think I’m ready to take what you’re giving, y’know?” Holy shit, wait, is that how Carmen feels? Is that what the fuck is going on in his head? “Just not ready for all—” He gestures to you in general. “This.”

“Little harsh.” You tilt your head. “Fuckin’ cool it, Fak.” Carmen barks, in tandem with you. Oh, he’s upset. He wasn’t set on his emotions, this entire time, but he seems to have now settled in the upset category.

“Right.” Fak nods. “And so, I’m sorry I can’t be that for you… And I know it’s gonna take time to recover, but please come back to The Bear, when you’re ready. You’re… You’re a better repairman than me. We need you.”

You put a hand over your mouth, to cover your shit eating grin, trying your best to compose yourself and look sad. The best way out of this is to just agree with him. It’d take far too much energy to clarify everything for Fak. You’re nodding too much. “…Yeah, y’know, Fak… I will consider that. All those words you said? I’m gonna… Gonna really take all of it to heart, dude. I really appreciate… The directness— Y’know, that takes… Strength, man.”

“Thank you.” He nods. “Still friends?”

You did not realize you were even friends to start. And not in the insecure way, this time. You nod. “For sure, dude.”

You and Carmen both watch him walk away, in perplexed silence. Carm’s the first to break it. “…Was that anything—” “Obviously fucking not.”

He’s going to reply something witty in response, and it’s going to make you both feel like everything’s okay, again, but then he seems to see something that scares him straight. He turns to the back of the bar, aimlessly grabbing bottles, for no reason. Literally no reason, everyone sat for the speeches, what’s he doing—?

“You still serving?” Older man, oval glasses. He stands in front of your bar. Ah. Kinda rude of him, maybe that’s why Carmen’s giving the cold shoulder to this guy? Whatever. You'll serve him. Just because you're Chicago's Kindest doesn't mean everyone else has to be.

“Yessir, what can I fix for you?”

“Manhattan with bourbon?”

You salute, “Aye aye.” And get to mixing the drink. You’re pretty sure Carmen must know this guy, because he’s already set out the bourbon, vermouth, and angostura. It doesn’t take long to fix the drink.

When you go to hand it to the man, he seems to notice the mop of blond curls behind you. “Aye, Carmen? Jimmy told me you’d be workin’ tonight.”

A small, tentative, meek wave from Carmen. He sniffs. “Yeah. Hi, Uncle Lee.”

“Oh.” Is all you can say. Pulling the drink away from his hand, as Uncle Lee reaches for it. “You’re Uncle Lee?”

“My reputation precedes me?” He chuckles, nodding.

Carmen comes up beside you, and witnesses a smile from you that he’s never seen from you, and ideally hopes will never be directed at him. It’s the slowness of it, it’s a smile, but you’re doing it purely to bare your teeth.

“It sure does.” Give him a chance, it’s been four years, give him a chance. “I was a friend of Mikey’s.”

He fails the chance. “Ah… I see, friend, ya did a little—” He taps the side of his nose, sniffing. “Together?”

He really fucking fails the chance. Your smile grows, painfully so. The apples of your cheeks so high they practically close your eyes for you. You laugh a deeply fake laugh. “Hahaha, yeah, yeah, that’s exactly what we used to do. Uncle Lee.”

“Oh!” You tilt your wrist quickly, pouring the bourbon Manhattan in the bar sink. “Ah, fuck. Hand slipped.”

Lee is a bit taken aback. “Really—?”

“Really.” You repeat. Putting the glass down. “And y’know, I could remake that for you, but I dunno if you wanna trust my shaky junkie hands.”

Holy fuck. Carmen has always been great at keeping his reactions hidden, and still is, so Uncle Lee cannot tell how out of character this is, of you. You’re nice, you don’t bite— Or Carmy didn’t think you did, because of the amount of grace you gave him, last Friday.

“Lee, I’m gonna level with you.” You cross your arms, smile fading, but there’s still that venomous lilt in your voice. “I’ve been thinking for the last, I dunno, two years, what I’d say to you, if I had the displeasure of seeing you.”

There’s a pile of forks behind your bar, that you’d asked Richie for, just in case this situation came to a head. Just in case this fucking idiot came by. But it just doesn’t feel right, now. Doesn't feel right to leap over the counter and stab him in the neck with a fork. Though you've imagined it, and you still actively are.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nod, looking around the venue. “But we’re at this beautiful wedding, and Vinnie and Mira don’t deserve to have their reception ruined by us causing a scene.” You gesture to the air between you, almost comical.

He shrugs, “Better than Mikey, in that regard, then.” You know what he’s referring to, despite not being there.

You nod, smiling real big now, really baring your teeth, now. “His fuckin’ house, Lee.”

“I could have your ass fired, y’know.” “So do it.”

You lean forward, elbows on the counter. “I’m not getting paid for this. Please, get me fired. Snitch to Uncle J, c’mon, fire me. I’m delighted to get cut. Do it.”

After what feels like eons of a silent stare down, Uncle Lee throws a fake punch. Carmen’s the only one that flinches, immediately rearing his own fist back, stopping short when Lee does.

You’re still just coy, elbows on the counter. Lee scoffs, “Cokehead.” Of course.

“Yessir.” You just lightly shake your head, standing up straight again, smiling, amused, delighted, even. “That’s me. That’s who I am.” It’s not, but there’s no point in arguing with him— Especially when you agreeing just seems to piss him off more.

You’ve given Lee nothing to work with, to insult you, so it takes him a moment to generate something. “You’re—”

You don’t let him get it out, putting a hand up for him to give it a rest. “Lee, I’m not startin’ a scene, it’s a gorgeous wedding.”

“Oh, how grown of you—” “But, if you wanna have a scene, just wait in the parking lot.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You really think—” “I do. I do think, Lee.”

You lean forward, again, shrugging, speaking nonchalant, speaking with your hands, casually. “I wanna make it so clear, for you, too. I’m not gonna crack my knuckles, not gonna make some empty threats, not gonna scream in your face— I’m not gonna tell you I’m gonna kill you or anything like that. Because obviously, I wouldn’t do that.”

You nod, slowly, methodically, clearly. “What I am gonna say, is that I have been a bartender on and off since I was twenty-one. I was an E-M-T, for three years— All in our beautiful city of Chicago, Illinois. The sheer volume of geriatric white guys I have had to pull to the concrete in a full nelson in both professions— Insurmountable, Lee. So again, to be, so fucking clear, Lee— If I see you outside, I’m taking you to the fucking pavement, and I’m not getting off.”

Uncle Lee’s got no comeback, for this, but he’d be dead in the ground before he just lets someone have the last word. This is why Uncle Jimmy is more successful. “Oh, I’m sure you fuckin’ would.”

You grin. God, those forks are tempting. Resist. You keep your hands busy by grabbing a maraschino cherry from it's jar behind your bar to snack on. “Enjoy your night, Lee.”

“You’re a real fuckin’ bi—” A fork flies over his shoulder, clattering behind him. Not from you, from Carmen.

He speaks for you. “Enjoy your night, Uncle Lee.”

It feels good to be backed. Carmen’s here, and he’s on your team. You tack on, waving goodbye to the fucker, “Back lot, Uncle Lee.”

Lee pivots his gaze to Carmen, he rolls his eyes, disappointed. “Alright, Donna.”

Carmen goes for another fork, you stop his hand, holding it there, for a second. The metal clatters behind the counter. Lee’s pleased enough with the provocation. Men like him don’t leave until they’ve won something in their heads. He leaves, on his way to the punch bowl, since he’s determined he’s not getting shit from the bar tonight. You and Carmen just watch him, like prey, making sure he leaves without looking back.

“You’ve got teeth.” Carmen’s first to speak, cleaning a glass, both of you looking straight ahead. You nod.

“I do.”

“You don’t bite much.”

You shrug. “Try not to.”

Carmen considers the fact that what he wants to say would mean sticking his foot in his mouth. He then considers the fact that nothing he could say now will ever be worse than what he said then. He keeps rubbing away at a perfectly shining glass.

“You didn’t bite me.”

“I didn’t.” You nod, and your body goes on autopilot, as you start making a drink no one’s ordered. Just need something to do. “I couldn’t.”

He doesn’t like that answer. “I deserved it.”

“I deserved it, too.” You’re not a big fan of your own answer, either. But you can’t say it’s not true. You deserved it. Just some failure leech trying to reattach yourself to people through merry good deeds, as if they’d add up to fucking anything—

“No, you didn’t.” He pivots to you, tone inarguable. He puts the glass down. It’s a lowball, you need a lowball, you grab it from him.

“Do you like cognac or vodka?” You ignore his words, but you look him in the eyes. You regret it.

He lets you get away with it, because he is absolutely not the one allowed to lead the conversation, here. He did enough bulldozing, before.

“I dunno, I don’t really drink much.” You squint, you’ve seen his apartment. He clarifies. “Other than wine n’ beer.”

You nod. You opt for cognac. He watches you, for a moment, before asking. “What’re you—”

You’re already finished, by this point, sliding the glass over to him. “Black lavender latte. Cognac n’ coffee liqueur. If it’s too strong, let me know, I can add more milk.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Is all he can think to say. He takes a sip. It’s far behind in his long list of regrets, but certainly one of them in the way he spoke to you, is that there’s a strong chance he will never have a mixologist as talented as you working at The Bear.

“Hmm.” You hum, not watching him drink it, because you won’t be able to handle either reaction— You won’t be able to handle disgust nor pleasure. You never want to look at Carmen again. He’s also all you want to see. This sucks. You suck. Carmen sucks.

“Thank you for the coffee earlier, too.” You’re overjoyed at the verbal confirmation he drank it.

“Figured you’d need one.”

“I did.” He thinks about it, and decides to take the bullet. “Needed yours.”

Your breath hitches, and he can’t tell whether or not that’s a good thing. He doesn’t get the chance to ask, as a meek and overly sweaty man comes up to your bar. There are bar stools at your counter, though they’ve been tucked far under it to keep the flow of traffic moving. But the man points down to the stool, silently asking. You nod.

“You can sit, sir.”

He’s delighted. He sits. “Sorry, I’m not gonna sit long, I just uh— Just—” He turns around pointing to the Maid of Honour, who’s just gotten on the hot mic for her speech. “I uhm, it’s— Usually the bar is empty, when uh, when people are talking.”

“That they are.” You nod, smile soft. “Can I get anything for you, or d’you just wanna sit? No shame in that.”

“I— I, uh, if it’s not a bother— I was just wonderin’ if uhm— Totally fine, if it’s— If it is— Do uhm, do you— Do you do mocktails?”

Carmen watches you grow ten times softer, in demeanor. It’s wonderful, how you’re able to flip on a dime. It’s wonderful what you’re willing to give to people, when they deserve it. You nod. “Yeah, sir. What’s your drink?”

“Oh— I— Anything’s fine, really.” He plays with the loose strings on the cuff of his left sleeve.

You tilt your head, recognizing his nervousness. “If it’s not too personal, sir, are you…” You debate the best way to say it. “Taking twelve steps?”

He looks scared, initially, to be caught; but then he looks at your face, and he knows he has nothing to be worried about. He nods. “One— Two months, two weeks, one day.”

“That’s huge.”

He shrugs. “It’s a start.”

“A start is huge.” You emphasize, and he nods, because that’s inarguable. “What was your drink before? I can make a mocktail of that— Or maybe you’d prefer somethin’ total opposite?”

“Oh! Yeah, I uh, I liked uh, old-fashioneds, but you can’t really make those without whiskey—”

“Yeah, you can.” You’re already grabbing your shaker. “You just use barley tea. I can do that— If you want that.”

He thinks on it, for a second. Debates whether nostalgia is good or not. “Yeah, yeah I’d like that.”

While you work on it, the guy feels enough confidence, bestowed by you, to tell you about himself. “I liked sitting. That was the thing I liked about drinking. The sitting and the talking and the feeling good about it.”

“I hear that.” You watch the tea steep, nodding. “Reason why the phrase is ‘takes the edge off’.”

Carmen has to turn around. He’s listening intently, but he has to turn around. Again, he’s pretty good at hiding his tells, but you’re pretty good at reading them. And you’d be able to tell his flat expression is the equivalent of being absolutely fucking bug eyed on anyone else. You’re a bartender. You were a paramedic. You have seen so many people, on their worst day— Seen so many people like this guy, like his brother. You have taken care of so many addicts.

The number of times he said loser or junkie to your face, and the way that that was what you always fought back on. It will not stop replaying, in Carmen’s head. The way you think that wasn’t okay, but the way he spoke about you was. It’s all just nauseating. You’re so good to everyone but you. You defend everyone but you. Carmen's almost furious about this, though he doesn't feel he has the right to be. You should've treated him like Uncle Lee. He acted exactly like Uncle Lee.

“It can make it easier, to be at the bar, for some people, I've found.” You continue, still making conversation with the man as you stir the steeped tea into the glass, over ice. “Makes you feel normal.” Forced sobriety is definitely in the top five, of the most ostracizing human experiences.

He nods, relieved to have someone. “Most people don’t get that.”

You nod, strain out the virgin old-fashioned, and push the glass to him across the counter. “Well, I get that.”

He takes a sip of the mocktail, it’s perfectly nostalgic in a way that doesn’t hurt. “Thank you.” He’s thanking you for a lot more than the drink.

“A pleasure.” You nod. He stands up, tucking the stool back under the counter, as the speeches end. It won’t be long until the bar is crowded again, and he knows it’ll be too much, for him or you. You add. “Good luck with month three. It's a heavy one.”

“If you work it and you’re worth it.” He recites the line incorrectly on purpose, it’s an important one, but you both still laugh at it. Like an inside joke, practically. You give one quick dap, he puts a twenty in your tip jar, and walks off, with less sweat, and more spring in his step, this time. Good.

When he walks away, before guests start to stand, there’s a lull of silence. You don’t need to look at Carmen to know he has a million different thoughts, and a million more follow ups.

“You have questions?”

“None of my business.” He sniffs, awkwardly. “Unless you want it to be.”

Why did he have to fucking say it like that. Why did he have to put the ball in your court. Carmen fucking sucks. Y’know what, no, turn it on his ass.

“Did you give the New York Exec my number?”

“No.” The reply is instant. He doesn’t get thrown by the topic change in the slightest. You were pretty sure you knew the answer, but the speed of it is still a little surprising. Like it wasn’t something that was ever up for debate.

“What’d you say to him, then?”

This is when he looks embarrassed, just slightly. This part was up for debate, seemingly. “We—”

“Everyone, please stay in your seats for just a moment, our wonderful catering crew will be coming around to serve you!” Says… Vinnie’s mom? Mira’s mom? They all kind of blend together. It’s not long after this, that Syd rolls by with Marcus and a cart of food. She’s starting with you, despite the fact that you’re not a guest. Sweetie.

“Salmon or chicken?”

“Just gimme both, we’ll split it.” You nod your head to Carmen. “Best of both worlds.”

And then, the game of eye contact conversation ensues. A game that Carmen nor Marcus can comprehend.

‘I asked you’ Syd glares.

‘You can’t just starve him out’ You deadpan.

‘Who said?’

“Syd.” You say aloud. She sighs, handing you both plates, mumbling ‘whatevers’, walking off to serve the actual guests. No time to bicker. You look to Marcus, worried. “Heard about the cake, how’s it goin?”

He shrugs but he’s smirking, proud and bad at hiding it, he hands you a paper plate with a little chocolate cupcake. The floral frosting job is simple, and you know if he had more time, you’d probably be looking at a full realistic rose, but it’s still beautiful. “You tell me. Taste test.”

“Lil sacrilege, to do dessert before dinner, but okay.” You grab a fork from your pile, digging in. “Oh fuck,” You have to laugh. “Marcus— You stress me the fuck out, how do you have time to make shit this good?”

It’s a built-in habit for you, to hand your fork to Carmen. He gives you a moment to realize or pull back. You should but you don’t. He takes it, thankful, and tries the cupcake for himself.

“S’fire, Chef.” He points the fork, emphatically. “‘Specially with what you had.”

“Thank you, Chef.” Marcus nods.

You tilt your head, curious, “Do you even have time to test, though? If this sucked you wouldn’t have time to remake the full cake anyways, would you?”

“No.” He answers bluntly, and you both snort. He adds, “Just wanted to make sure you got dessert, over here.” Just wanted to make sure you ate something.

“Marcus…” You pout, overcome by the sweetness of the sweets Chef. You’ve gotta return the favour. “Gin and juice still your go-to?”

“You tryna get me fucked up at work?”

You shrug, grinning. “Are you tryna get fucked up at work?”

He’s going to say yes, but then he pauses, and looks to his boss. Looks to Carmen. Ah, you don’t run his kitchen— Get that through your head. Of course, Marcus can’t just drink—

Carmen shrugs, smiling, “Are you tryna get fucked up at work, Chef?”

Marcus claps his hands, grinning. “Yessir!”

That makes you feel a little lighter. You nod. “Gin and juice, comin’ up.”

You pour out the pineapple juice— Marcus’ preferred juice, of course you remembered. And Marcus leans over the bar, to watch you stir in the gin, even if it’s just a stupid simple drink, the guy loves to learn.

He asks, “How much they payin’ you, tonight?”

You shake your head, “Tips. Nothin’ else.”

Carmen’s ears burn, at that, while he evenly divides and plates out the salmon and chicken plates so you both have a little of everything. If things were normal you could just eat off each other's plates.

Marcus tilts his head, just as surprised. “You in debt, too?”

“Just to Mikey.” You smile, shaking your head. “No, I’m doin’ this in exchange for Uncle J getting me out of work early, a couple weeks back.”

“That’s it?”

“I was in a rush.” You shrug, measuring out the simple syrup. “Got like thirty missed texts from Syd, I thought someone fuckin’ died, didn’t have time to bargain.”

“Wait—” Marcus cannot help but grin, nearly laughing, at the ridiculousness of it, at how bad you got fucked over, by your own permission. “You’re here because you… left work… to go deliver Nat’s baby?”

“Yessir.” Are you fucking serious? Carmen can’t help but stare at the side of your head, for just a few seconds, before going back down to the plates. You’re in this hellscape of a bar, three states from your home, because you were delivering his niece? You did that for them already, and promised yourself for this, in order to do that?

“You know me,” You hand Marcus his glass, and you shouldn’t make the joke, but you can’t help yourself. “Modern day Christ.”

Marcus stifles down his snort, turning his head away from Carmen, to look at the ground. You do the same. There is something painful, about it all, for everyone; but Carmen can’t say that pain isn’t deserved, on his end, so he takes it. You’re allowed to joke about it all you want, if that’s what it takes for you to feel lighter.

A timer goes off on Marcus’ phone. He takes a sip from his gin and juice, nodding in approval, “Oh, shit— Alright, cool times up—” He lifts the glass to you, you hurriedly get the point and grab a random empty cup to clink with him, cheers.

“I’ll be back.” He says. Doubtful, you think. But you nod and wave him off nonetheless.

“If T needs a drink, tell her to take five.” You haven’t seen her tonight, but you realize yourself, again, once you say this. Not your kitchen. “Uh— If that’s, that’s okay—”

“Tell Chef to take a break if she needs it, we haven’t seen her.” Says Carmen, beside you. We. Don’t read into it. He hates you, and you hate him, actually. Carmen sucks, and so do you.

Marcus nods, and makes his mad dash off as a tsunami of guests that have just gotten their plates decide now that they want a drink with their meal. Sonofabitch.

God, you need a break. It’s really hitting you, and your stomach. As full as everyone’s tried to keep you, you really need to just sit down and have your fucking plate. Working behind a bar is a nightmare on the feet and back— Your earrings feel heavy, and your bracelets feel like handcuffs. It’s just all too much, without a break. You need a nap and maybe a thirty-minute session of just staring at a wall.

But the tsunami.

Carmen watches your side profile, and thinking back in his head, the collage of memories forming your face— He’s never seen you genuinely fatigued before. He’s seen you in the middle of the night, he’s seen you caught off guard, seen you distressed— But you’ve never really been one to ask for a break. It’s always yes of course it’s done, with you. It’s your best and worst trait.

As the crowd closes in, and your face morphs into a smile, ready to serve, Carmen claps his hands together, calling out to the sea. “Ey, sorry everyone, we’re just gonna take a quick thirty, alright? Union mandated.”

There is no such thing as a Bartender’s Union, you and Carmen very well know that. You’re about to call it off and say it’s fine before someone can throw an empty glass at your head or something, but instead, a scrawny but wide built, deeply New York Italian man, at the front of the crowd nods.

And as he nods, the crowd groans. He looks deeply offended by this. He turns to his fellow guests. “Where do y’all get off? We fought for those thirty-minute breaks, you fucks!” This quiets them pretty quickly. “We can live with the fuckin’ punch bowl for thirty minutes, c’mon.”

Carmen gets close enough to whisper to you, but far enough that it’s still not personal. Far enough that he still hates you. “Most of the family does or did service work. Say ‘union mandated’ and you can do anythin’”

You smile, watching the crowd dissipate, you crack a joke, because that’s probably what you’re supposed to do. “Union mandated… Murder?”

“Revolt, y’mean?” “Is that an offer?” “I’d ride for you.”

It’s supposed to be light and fun, but you can’t stop yourself, you can’t play the part and it comes out. “Would you?”

That one hurts. It all hurts, but that one really gets Carmen. That you’d have genuine reason to have pause about his dedication to you. Not your fault, his.

You grab your plate from his side of the counter, embarrassed by your instinctual prod. “Sorry.”

He’s not embarrassed by his. “Stop apologizing.”

There’s a heavy silence, before Carmen adds, “I’m supposed to be fuckin’ apologizing.”

There are no more interruptions. Fak isn’t going to come by, patrons are leaving you be, the staff is either helping Marcus or serving food. There is nothing left, to interrupt you two. This is going to happen. Christ, why does Never Let Me Down Again have to be playing right now? That’s not a fucking wedding song. This is too dramatic and simultaneously awkward and clunky and bad. There is no somethings left for you to do. There is nothing left to do, but talk. Nothing left to do but escape the void, ideally together. Please let it be together. You hate to admit it, but you want it to be together.

There is no good place to sit. So, you pick up your plate, and one of the many forks from your pile. With a sigh, you crouch down, and slide yourself underneath the counter, sitting with your legs folded, so Carmen can join you. You nod to him, to let him know that he can in fact join you.

He does. You take a few bites, in silence, before he breaks it.

“I didn’t mean a fuckin’ word.”

“It’s okay if you did.” You can’t look up from your plate. You deserved it.

He says your name, with a severity, to it. “—I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I—” Despite rehearsing what he wanted to say, and having ample stage to say it, he does not know how to say any of it, anymore. “I was like, like, jealous? But not in the— Not in the normal way.”

“Normal way?”

“Like, I didn’t— Well I did— But I like—” He puts his fork down, “I saw you as competition.”

You don’t know what to say, and so he keeps going. “I saw you like… Like being so perfect at everything, and being so… Being so what everyone needed, and you being there, and and— I felt so… the way you can just do that— Like— Like you can just be you and it just works. And I just fucking can’t.”

A talent you share with his brother. A talent Carmen envied in Mikey, and thus, envies in you.

“And then I got so… weird about that thought. Like you being you is— You’re for everyone. And I got this idea in my head that…” He cringes, trying to find better wording in his head for it, and he can’t. “That you were for me.”

“But you’re not for me—” “Ouch.” “—Not what I meant.”

He thanks you, internally, for being willing to add levity, right now. “I lo— I like you, so much. And I don’t want you to change. If you were like…” He half gestures to himself, which you’re not a big fan of the deprecation, but you let it slide. “Cold, and not for anyone, you wouldn’t be… you.”

Carmen realized as much, watching you tonight. Watching you interact with full strangers to long time friends. If you were callus, you wouldn’t be you. If you didn’t love his family as much as he did, he wouldn’t have attached himself to you, so quickly. He loves the way that you love. The way that you can’t turn it off. It’s not that Carmen isn’t special. It’s that you are so fucking special. He’s fucking stupid for not connecting those dots, earlier.

He picks up his fork again, needing to do something with his hands. Your brows remain furrowed, as you try to walk back how he spiraled from what and where.

“So, you just wanted to take me down a peg?”

He shakes his head. “It— I— With Mikey, I— I saw some shit that made me think that I was just… fillin’ a gap, or you were just being so good to me out of like… Guilt.” He chews down on his salmon. “And I couldn’t find your fuckin’ invoice, so I just kept drilling into my head that I was just… Charity.”

“You’re not charity.” You’re quick to refute.

“You didn’t fail Mikey.” So is he.

Oh Christ. You nod, but you don’t believe it. “You weren’t wrong to say it.” You have to put your plate down. “I— I don’t see you like I saw Mikey, at all. But I do…” You trail off, just looking at him has you tearing up.

He leaves home so early. He comes home so late. He looks so tired. Gaunt. Has he been eating? Did he light his oven on fire again? Remember how he looked in the freezer. Remember how Mikey looked in the freezer? Remember how they are so so different. They are so different but you still can’t stop connecting every fragment and taking it as a sign and worrying so fucking much, so fucking paranoid—

“Do what?” He swallows his last bite of chicken, and you can’t stop looking at him and fuck you just can’t hold it back, this time. You were doing so good about this. This isn’t even the point of the conversation— Well, kind of. Just breathe.

As your eyes begin to water, he sets his plate aside on the floor, reaching out immediately, worried, immediately. He pauses, hand floating in the air. Hesitating. “Fuck—Can I?”

Eyes barely open, you nod. He’s quick to take your plate from your hands, set it aside, and hug you there. It’s awkward, underneath a bar counter, half sitting, half crouching, grappling you. Carmen does not wish to be anywhere else.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and babble, unable to hold back a fear that’s been long standing, since the day you met him.

“Sometimes you remind me of Mikey so much and I get so scared and I just— Fuck, I just— Please don’t kill yourself, Carmen.” His arms wrap around just a bit tighter, as do yours. “I know that’s selfish—”

“It’s not.” Mumbled, to your neck. Skin to skin isn’t really the focal point, here, but there is a lurking part of his subconscious fearing that he will never be able to hug you like this, again. Never be your rock. “I won’t.”

It’s silent, for a minute. You believe him. He holds you there, and you believe him.

“Why did you think all that? That you were filler?” You pull back, just a bit, to look at his face. “Did I do something to make you feel like that?”

“No— God no. You’re—” He swallows. It feels stupid now, to even say how his fucking tantrum started, you had it so much worse, in your head. Why didn’t you tell him? “I was looking for your invoice, and—”

“I forgot the booths, by the way.” You recall the shoddy invoice you wrote. It’s a stupid time to interrupt, but as you slowly grow more comfortable, inches from his face, it feels like the time to be stupid. “And taxes. I owe you something more like eighteen-seventy.”

“You don’t owe me shit.”

“I’m paying back a Berzatto, somehow.”

“Where’d that money come from?”

“Where’d your tirade come from?”

He swallows again, getting back to the point. “I found a folder. Called ice chips, or something like that— But it wasn’t for ice. It was, for you.”

You look at him, genuinely perplexed for a second. Then you get it. And it makes a lot more sense, why Carmen knows you failed Mikey—Try as he might to deny it. “Oh… You found my Ice folder.”

“Fuck’s that mean?” You’re glad, honestly, that he’s never had a reason to learn what it means. It’s fair. You had to teach it to Mikey, too.

“Ice. I-C-E, Carmen. It’s an acronym.” You spell it out, slow. “In Case of Emergency. I-C-E.”

It knocks the wind out of him, immediately. He’s extra glad he’s holding onto you, because he’s starting to feel untethered. “What?”

You nod. It’s time to walk him through it. You have to tell him. “I made Mikey keep some sort of emergency stuff as a fail-safe, for when he forgot people wanted him alive.” When Carmen’s quiet, you continue. “I was in his work cabinet, I think Richie was in his bedside, you and Sug were in his wallet.”

His stomach lurches, at the idea of being the emergency his brother always had on him. “You knew he was suicidal?”

Who didn’t? You think, but don’t say, because that’s not fair. Mikey cut him out, how could he know?

“Everyone’s suicidal, when they’re trying to get sober.”

“What?”

“What?” You parrot back. It’s both your turns, to squint at the other, confused beyond belief now. How is he confused? You’re first to ask. “Carmen, what was in my ice folder?”

“Anniver— Oh my fucking God.” He unwraps himself from you, because he’s frankly too ashamed to touch you, realizing everything he misunderstood. “Oh, my fucking God.”

You let him go, though you don’t particularly want to. He’s probably realizing he’s hugging the enemy.

“Carmen—?” “You didn’t fucking date Mikey.”

“What?!” You jump, your head hits the bottom of the base of the bar’s sink. “Fuck! Ow, no— What?!”

It’s a mess of limbs and emotions, as he grabs your head haphazardly, seeing if you’re hurt— It honestly hurts more, to be pulled around like this. “Are you o—” You don’t let him finish, grabbing at his wrists, ignoring your sore head.

“You thought I’d fuck your brother and then—What— try to fuckin’ get the whole set?” You’re cringing at the thought. This had just never come up in your mind. You would’ve set him straight, if it did. It was way worse in his head. Why didn’t he tell you? “I— Carmy, babydoll, are you fucking insane?”

You say nice pet names, when you’re perplexed. You’ve got a pattern of doing so. He also has no comeback for this, completely mum. You release his wrists. You add, again, aghast. “How old do you think I am?”

“Ah— As old as Syd?” “Correct.” “So, twenty-eight?”

“Turning, but yeah.” You nod, like a teacher walking him through a problem. “And how old was Mikey?”

“Forty something.” “Forty-three.” “No one remembers their brothers’ age—” “Sixteen years. Carmen.”

You press your hands over your eyes. “And listen, I get at a point age is just a number but I was twenty-five when I met him and he was already fucking forty— I grew up with Muppet Babies and he grew up with Muppets. Period end of sentence.”

You sigh. This situation isn’t funny at all, but you feel a load lighten off of you significantly. And also the situation is extremely funny. It’s hard to be mad at someone this thrown off.

“It’s just— Listen, do I think Mikey’s hot? Absolutely—”

“Alright—” He cringes, putting a hand in the air, asking you to lay off this train of thought.

“Oh, what do you want me to say ‘your genetic make-up fucking sucks actually’? No, you have a hot family, Carmen.”

“Say this in any other way but this one.”

“I did not date your brother, Carmen.” You finalize, he breathes lighter. “Think about it for like more than two seconds. Richie would’ve fuckin’ run his mouth about it immediately— Would’ve said you’re getting sloppy seconds or call me a fuckin’ homie hopper—”

“I did think that he’d say that, yeah.”

“Well fuckin’ think harder on it, next time—” “Well, what about the joint bank account?”

The most romantic paperwork he’d ever seen. It makes you pause, and Carmen’s considers a universe where you’re just the most incredible pathological liar in existence.

“I made him make it.” You finally say, saddened just thinking about the failsafe that didn’t fucking work. “I didn’t put any money in it.”

“Why’d you want it, then?” The idea of you dating his brother quiets in his head, now he just wants to listen.

“So I could keep track of his spending and withdrawals.” You pick up your fork and twirl it around, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Need something to do with your hands. “Mostly his withdrawals.”

Carmen thinks about it, trying to tie together the red strings in his head without asking you first. “So you could see if he was buying.”

“If he knew he was being watched, he was less inclined to deal.” You shrug and nod. “Plus I wanted him to get into the habit of keeping savings.”

“Lotta good that did.” Carmen can’t help but laugh, pitifully, at that. “Everythin’ got claimed, when he kicked it.”

You shake your head, you tuck your knees to your chest. “Not everything.”

He just looks at you, curious, waiting for you to explain. Mikey had so much credit card debt— Everything he had outside of fucking tomato cans was claimed.

You shrug. “Not the accounts he wasn’t sole proprietor on.”

Joint bank account. It was partially your money, technically. It deferred to you. Carmen’s head just falls over, another painful realization of another thing you did, that he got completely wrong. You never gave Mikey a cent. You just gave him the protection of your name and credit score.

“Why’d you do all that, for him?”

Holy shit, he doesn’t know. Carmen doesn’t actually know you killed Mikey. You live in a world, still, where Carmen doesn’t completely rightfully blame you. You tap your fingers on your knees. Staring aimlessly. There is nothing else to do.

“Anyone ever tell you why I get called Chip?”

“I asked Richie. Said to ask you.” Carmen shakes his head, he’s a bit sick of himself, for being almost excited to get an answer about this. “Said it was personal.”

You squint and snort. “Since when does Richie give a fuck about personal?”

Carmen smiles, finally, and tucks his knees to his chest to mimic you. “Since me, I guess.”

“Good influence.” You smile, trying to distract from the nervousness, thrumming hard in your chest. Spit collects in your throat like it’s trying to choke you. “I uhm… Chippy is, uh, Mikey started calling me Chip or Chippy cause of uhm—”

You take a moment, one deep breath. A breath of air in the world before Carmen knows. A sanctimonious breath.

You pull at the long black rope chain on your neck, pulling it out from underneath your top, where it’s always been safely tucked. Not hidden necessarily, just always close to your chest. Close to your heart.

“It’s a joke, about— It’s like—”

Just do it, Chip. Let it rip.

“It’s—”

You hold out your fist for him to put his hand out and take it. Carmen gets the point and holds his palm out. You press the pendant into his hand. Holding your hand over it, for a moment, as if you could decide now that actually he shouldn’t be allowed to see this. Like there’s still an escape option, somehow.

You move your hand, you try to speak calmly, as he stares. And the text on the large round pendant stares back at him.

To Thine Own Self Be True.

“Sobriety chip.” Unity, Service, Recovery.

A proud and large 3 months, in the middle of the triangle, leers back at Carmen.

“I was— I was Mikey’s sponsor.”

Now y'all in my asks see why I was waiting, eh?

Ya caught on! Well, after thinking collectively, ya caught on. Some of you got it quick. Anyways, I shouldn't be talking about this like it's some gotcha, it's deeply painful.

A lot of hard confirmations! Fuck! This conversation was so hard to navigate, because I was like-- There's just so much for them to catch up on, and so they keep like moving forward and so I was like wait I have to go back and address this-- No. That's not how most real convos like this work, they just keep running forward, they can clarify later. Such a weird brain challenge. I was tweaking. I hope it's sensical to read? If it's not, dw, i'll walk into the sea about it.

Can you believe this chapter began with Syd/Chip/Richie? Absolutely bonkers. We started with getting ready in a hotel/taking a flight. We were so young, then. I've gotta go watch season 3, so don't send me spoilers, but please send me literally any and all thoughts about this chapter. I really fuckin-- Rah.

I'm happy with this chapter and I honestly think I will probably make a separate post sometime this week showing bits you might've missed-- So much of this was me harkening back to those first three chapters. I went back and reread them recently and I was like woah. I don't know how I did the thing where the writing style felt distant and slowly became close as they became close as characters, but I did feel like that was a thing. In the early chapters. Having to recreate that distant feeling here? Oh fuck. Brutalizing feeling.

Oh but on the more cute side, if you also see Tony as Desi, I was thinkin like a lehenga style blouse with all the work, and like, some black flared pants? and she's got big fuckin jhumkas, OF COURSE!!! OF COURSE BRO!!! But I just left it at semi-cultural so everyone could have fun, hehehe

I feel almost certain, someone's gonna be missing from this tag list, and for that, a thousand pardons, I am gonna put it in my notes app so I don't forget next time, mbmbmb, also added people that did not ask but you are so frequent that i feel like you're just forgetting to ask? idk if you wanna get taken off always just ask dw

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101 @popcornpoppin @renaissance-painting @lostinwonderland314 @v0ctin @ashtonweon @sharkluver @fridavacado @hoetel-manager @mrs-perfectly-fine

anyways, if you wanna be added send me your thoughts/analysis/diagnosis at length + ask to be added and i will ! try! sometimes they get lost and i am sorry abt that but i do try!

Next Part

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear #the bear hulu #the bear fx

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tealvenetianmask · 4 months ago

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I want to think a little about Blitz's self-perception with regard to his lack of education/sophistication. In my opinion, HB gives us a very accurate portrayal of what it feels like to navigate relationships when you're a person with a long history of feeling like you're never good enough ("I can always do better").

Let's start with his friendship with Moxxie, though like a lot of my posts, it will find its way back to stolitz.

Moxxie doesn't necessarily have more formal education than Blitz. I mean . . . he likely had the economic resources growing up, but I don't think Crimson seems like the kind of parent to prioritize education. Besides an education in violence. I assume that both Blitz and Moxxie had some basic education as kids, but the difference is that Moxxie likes "high culture(ish)" things like musicals and bow ties, enjoys knowing details about history, and probably reads for fun. He's also the kind of ". . . um actually . . ." friend who can make even a secure person feel a little stupid. Not that Blitz doesn't sometimes need to be called out, but Moxxie does seem to take some joy in correcting him.

And yes, Blitz bullies Moxx and calls his junk tiny and tells him to eat a salad, but like . . . it's pretty obvious that to some extent, Blitz is covering up for feeling inferior to Moxxie on some level.

We see how Blitz really feels about this in Truth Seekers.

Borrowed observation from excellent reaction youtuber Omn1media: When Blitz hallucinates Moxxie lecturing him, Moxxie goes really hard specifically on the insults to Blitz's intelligence. Moxxie's speech is also much more rambly/laced with figurative language than it is in their real (non-imagined) interactions.

We can see from Blitz's face in these scenes that these comments really get to him. Of course they do- he's making them up in his own nightmare.

"Foolish flights of fancy" is the rest of the caption there . . ."

He's very upset by the idea that he's really inferior to Moxxie- under all of the bravado, he's deeply insecure. It probably doesn't help that the truth gas made him admit that he didn't like the musical that Moxx recommended. Yes, I know that was a Cats joke, but also, Blitz bothered to lie, and he doesn't seem allergic to hurting Moxxie's feelings, so I think he wanted to pretend to "get" the "higher art" that Moxxie likes.

Okay so if Moxxie (with an essentially equivalent status and education) manages to unintentionally make Blitz feel stupid and uncultured, how does this translate when Blitz falls in love with Stolas, who IS objectively very high status and very well educated and DOES speak in "fancy rich people" language?

Oh. Right. The pedestal, the impossibility, and all of that.

I'm not saying that Hell's strict hierarchy doesn't have a lot to do with how Blitz perceives a real relationship between himself and Stolas as impossible- it absolutely does. And so does his history of failed relationships and heaping backpack of trauma. But also, the education/sophistication piece is there, and it's major.

I'm on the fence about whether Blitz actually sees himself as stupid or is just worried about being perceived that way by others. He obviously knows he's very good at the work he does, and that takes both a certain level of strategic thinking AND some very brilliant improvisation. I think he knows this. But he also knows he'll never . . . let's say, be the best read person in the room (if you want to know my thoughts on Blitz and literacy, click here- but short answer, I think he's quite literate but also dyslexic).

I think that like many real people who are kind of out of the box in this way (disrupted education and/or neurodivergence) he's simultaneously aware that he's very intelligent AND deeply insecure about being stupid or having others devalue his kind of intelligence.

#my helluva meta #blitzo buckzo #blitz #blitzo #helluva boss #stolitz #stolas #moxxie

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janeyseymour · 2 months ago

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If This Is Love

Summary: Melissa's not familiar with what love should be. You come along though, and you turn her whole view on love upside down. Based off of Ingrid Michaelson's "If This is Love" from the notebook musical- and please give the song a listen, as it's my own cover!

WC: 3.25k

Since the day that Melissa Schemmenti could form coherent thoughts, she dreamt about finding love. As a little girl, she wasn’t quite shown love- seeing her parents’ marriage turn into hatred and then a messy divorce. Her aunts and uncles weren’t much better. But being a young girl who grew up with Disney princess movies where Prince Charming comes whisking the princess away, and then after falling in love with reading, the young redhead was determined to find love.

And she did… or she thought she did. Joe came along her junior year of high school, perhaps when she was the most vulnerable she could be. Being in the midst of moving house once again, dealing with a father who was as good as dead to her at this point, and having the body insecurities that every teenage girl has, she would find love in the wrong place with Joe. Not that she knew it at the time. No, she wholeheartedly believed that Joe was her true love- he didn’t degrade her or hit her the way she watched her father treat her mother. She had broken the cycle.

Until she didn’t. Until she grew up while Joe stayed the boyish person that she thought would grow up with her. And while Melissa blossomed into a lovely, yet somehow still relatively tough and true to South Philly, teacher, Joe found himself at a standstill. That did not bode well for the redhead. It led Melissa Schemmenti to the life that she had so desperately been trying to avoid, and yet here she was.

With the help of her new found friend at work, the second grade teacher was able to get away from her husband. And in that act, Melissa Schemmenti and Barbara Howard were bonded for life.

Since leaving Joe, Melissa has rarely let love into her life. Of course, she yearned to satiate her desires and often let herself, but the men that she went home with or brought back to her home were very clearly one night stands. A no strings attached situation.

If the redheaded divorcee couldn’t make it work with what she thought was her first love, her true love, her life partner, there was no point in letting anyone else in, as much as she still wished and dreamt of Prince Charming to come sweep her off her feet and carry her away to a palace, to a happily ever after.

And then you came along. Everything that the rough and tough woman thought she knew about herself went out the window. Maybe, just maybe, she didn’t actually need a Princess Charming… but a Princess Charming?

That threw her for a whole new loop, but still the redhead stood her ground and refused to let you into her life in a romantic way because of her prior experiences. Well, the more accurate statement is that she tried to refuse to let you into her life in a romantic way.

But you, with your sweet charm and truly kind heart, had wormed your way into that one spot that Melissa so desperately kept guarded. As time goes by, the two of you grow close, and it’s… it’s nice. It’s almost as if the two of you have slipped into a relationship without either of you really knowing it.

Until Barbara Howard, your favorite redhead’s work wife, makes it apparent to Melissa just how in deep she is. And the glass shatters around her as she sees exactly what the kindergarten teacher is speaking of.

I've waited every day to feel the way I feel. Knots in my stomach, the kind that never heal. Butterflies that fly in me and never seem to go away.

It is true that Melissa has been waiting everyday to feel the way she feels about you. From the time she was little, she wanted to feel unconditional love for someone, and all the somewhat broken girl wanted in return was the same connection from someone else. Green eyes soften and glance down at her hands as she realizes you provide that warmth and love that she craves and has been craving for years now. The thought of it alone makes her stomach knot, but she oddly finds that she doesn’t ever want those knots, butterflies really, to go away when she thinks about you. It’s a warm, somewhat pleasant feeling when you simply greet her with a gentle smile or softly spoken words. It’s in the way that you show her you care for her, backing up the words that you promise her everyday. As opposed to just the words, you show her that you mean them. And… it makes her heart flutter. She remembers the first time she ever felt that with you, and it brings a warmth to her soul like no other.

Melissa comes into the staff room looking exhausted and a little pale, if you’re being honest. The second grade teacher throws her purse on the chair that she usually occupies before sighing heavily as she makes her way to the coffee machine.

“Long night, Schemmenti?” you tease her. “Out avoiding all your problems again?”

She looks to you with a tiredness in her eyes that, despite her appearances, you still weren’t really ready for. “No. I was in bed by nine, and my body feels like it’s absolutely dragging today.”

By the time her coffee is ready, she hasn’t engaged in conversation with anyone else in the room, and she simply gathers her things and heads for her own classroom. That’s quite odd. Unusual. Maybe she really isn’t feeling well.

Come the time for lunch, your kids have you going crazy. All you really want to do is sit in your classroom for some much needed peace and quiet, but your curiosity about how your favorite redhead gets the best of you. So, with a soft sigh to yourself, you make your down to the staff lounge. You know you’re a few minutes later than you would be on a normal day, so when you walk in to see that Melissa isn’t sitting in her spot, you grow a bit concerned.

“Where’s Mel?” you ask Barbara.

The kindergarten teacher shrugs. “I know she said something about her kids having her wiped and maybe staying in her room to nap during lunch.”

Your brows furrow, and you grab her lunch from the refrigerator before heating it. Once it’s hot and ready, you gather your own meager lunch and head down to the redhead’s classroom.

What you see when you walk in is not what you expected at all. The woman is wearing her winter coat, she has the blanket that she usually sits on draped over her, and she’s asleep on the carpet as she leans against the beanbag that she usually keeps in her calm down corner.

You frown before crossing your way over and feeling her forehead. She’s burning up. It’s clear she isn’t feeling well, because when you expected her to bat at your hand, she doesn’t so much as flinch at your touch.

“Mel,” you shake her gently, so as not to disturb her quite as much. She doesn’t stir in the slightest.

With a frown, you take her things back down to the staff lounge, stick it in the fridge, and then grab your keys. If she’s feeling so terrible that she can’t even stay awake for the entirety of the school day, the afternoon is going to be rough.

“Where are you going, Y/N?” Janine asks. “Aren’t you going to eat lunch with us?”

“I forgot I have to run out to the store,” you lie.

“Well, when are you going to eat lunch, dear?” Barbara asks as she takes a bite of her salad.

You shrug. “I’ll be fine. I had a big breakfast, and if I really get hungry, I’ll eat while my kids are at music today.” Without another word, you’re out of the staff lounge and running for your car to make it to Acme and back before you have to pick the kids up from their lunch period.

You don’t think you’ve ever been in and out of the grocery store in such quick timing. Your arms are equipped with congestion and fever reducing medicine, a bag of cough drops, tissues, tea bags, honey, and a thermometer.

You hastily eat your lunch on your way back to the school, prepare the mug of tea just how you fix it when you’re sick yourself, and then you’re quietly making your way back into the redhead’s room. She’s just as you left her, although she’s shivering now.

“Mel?” you gently shake her awake. She has to wake up- the kids are almost done their lunch period.

Her eyes open, and she blearily looks up at you. “Y/N?”

“Hey hun,” you smile softly. “It’s time to get up now, but I brought you a few things to help you get through the rest of the-” She cuts you off with a harsh cough that sounds and looks painful. “-the rest of the day.”

You silently present her with some of the medicine and the bag of cough drops. Then you hand her the tea. “Drink it. It’ll help your throat.”

“‘m fine,” the second grade teacher grumbles.

“You aren’t,” you tell her softly. “And that’s okay. You just have to make it the next two hours, and then you can go home and rest tonight, tomorrow, and over the weekend.”

What you had done for her that day, and then even just checking in on her throughout the weekend, it was something special to Melissa Schemmenti. You did all of it out of the goodness of your heart, expecting nothing in return. You just… wanted to be there for her when she was in a time of need. It sent her into a tizzy when she realized that she had more than just platonic feelings for you.

Sick to my stomach when I think about (her) face. But in a good way, in a way I can’t replace/ Nothing can stop this- it’s almost like a hurricane.

If the tougher than nails redheaded teacher thinks her stomach turns in knots when she thought of your sweet, kind actions that you consistently show her, it is no match to the way she feels when she thinks about your beautiful face.

She can recall the first time she laid eyes on you. Stunning was the first word that popped into her head. And then, in her own inner monologue, she chastised herself. That word couldn’t capture how beautiful you are. She decided later on what word best describes your face- ethereal.

It’s something in the way that your eyes glimmer when you’re speaking of something that you’re passionate about- whether that be your kids, the music that you love to listen to, or another hobby of yours entirely, Melissa Schemmenti swears she could get lost in your eyes for forever, and she wouldn’t have a single complaint about it.

Your eyes give so much away in general. She can see when you’re happy, elated, sad, frustrated, angry… just by glancing into your eyes for a split second. The redhead almost swears she can touch your soul when she looks into your eyes. They tell her everything she needs to know. Melissa swears you hold a whole other universe in your eyes that is just waiting to be discovered.

She wants to be the one to discover that piece of you. At first, she had tried to step back from you and stop the feelings that she seemed to harbor for you, but it wasn’t possible. It isn’t possible. You, like a hurricane, came barreling into her life- a force to be reckoned with that can’t be stopped.

If this is love, I’m not ready. If this is love, why am I so unsteady? If this is love, why did no one tell me the pain that I would feel?

The redhead, not wanting to but being forced to, sits in her emotions almost everyday after school. She gets into her car (before either driving to her house to prepare dinner for the two of you, or to make her way over to your place to eat one of your infamous dishes), and she takes in what Barbara had spoken quietly at lunch while you were in the restroom. Shit. Melissa is in deep. She’s not ready for this- not in the slightest. She isn’t in love with you. She can’t be. But if she is… why does she feel so unsteady, so uncomfortable with it.

Taking a deep breath, the second grade teacher calls her best friend.

“Melissa, we just left the building,” Barb answers the phone.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Melissa huffs out. Then she makes herself a bit vulnerable. “I- I think you may be right.”

“Well, of course I am,” the kindergarten teacher smirks. “But what am I correct about this time?”

“I- I think I’m in deep for Y/N.”

“And you’re calling me to tell me this because…?”

“Barb,” the usually strong and confident woman says in such a way that Barbara’s heart almost aches for her friend. “If- If this is love, why does it hurt so much?”

“Melissa, dear… if I may, the last times you’ve been in love, they’ve hurt you,” the wise woman says into the phone. “Perhaps you’re projecting the hurt and emotions that you’ve buried deep down onto this.”

“I dunno,” the redhead shrugs.

“Tell me, when you think of Y/N, how do you feel?”

Melissa bites the bottom corner of her lip before admitting, “Lighter than I’ve felt in a long time… There’s- she’s somethin’ real special, Barb.”

“She is,” Barbara smiles into the phone. “If you want my honest opinion, I think you’ve had enough heartache in your life, and I truly don’t think Y/N is capable of hurting anyone. You are a strong and confident woman, Melissa. And I think you need to open yourself back up to love- for yourself, for Y/N, and so the rest of our friends stop asking me if the two of you are secretly dating!”

The second grade teacher hums into her device, thinking on it. “M’kay, thanks.”

“Think about it, and make a choice, Melissa. But remember, dear: not making a decision is a decision.”

And with that, Barbara hangs up the phone, and Melissa closes her eyes.

If this is love, maybe I’m ready. How do I know? I’m in my head again. If this is love, I think I’m in it. If this is, if this is, if this is love.

The entire drive back to her place, Melissa Schemmenti is all but a basket case. One second, she thinks she’s ready- maybe. And then she’s not so sure. And then she’s asking herself how she would know if she loves you before berating herself for getting herself absorbed in her thoughts to the point that she hardly remembers the drive home.

As she treks her way up the front steps to her house, you pull up with the same bright smile on your face that she saw at the end of the day. And Melissa thinks to herself that she’s used to seeing that beautiful grin after a long day at work- that she could get used to you always being around for dinner, like you have been for months now. Silently, Melissa Schemmenti thinks that if this is what love is, she thinks she just might be in it.

The world around me says no, but I say yes. I wanna scream it out, instead it’s stuck inside my chest. It’s like a bird, in a rage, in a cage- and nobody wants to free me.

The entire time that the two of you dance around the kitchen to make dinner, the redhead’s eyes hardly leave you. You can’t say you don’t notice. Melissa often has an eye on you no matter where you are, whether that be in her home, your house, the school, or elsewhere, but the way that she’s watching you tonight is… it’s different.

Everything in the second grade teacher’s heart is telling her to profess her love for you. To tell you that despite the fact that she’s got a not so great track record with relationships that left her terrified of love and what it can do to people, that you are worth all of those doubts and fears.

You almost ask her what’s going through that pretty head of hers, but you know how the redhead can be. If she doesn’t want to say it, she won’t. So you settle for giving her warm smiles and feather light touches as you maneuver your way through her house with ease throughout the night. What you don’t know is: if you had asked Melissa, she would’ve told you this time. And she actually wanted you to ask.

If this is love, I’m not ready. If this is love, why am I so unsteady? If this is love, why did no one tell me the pain that I would feel?

When you leave for the night, Melissa is about as confused as Janine was when Gregory was trying to teach her physics. She- she knows that she loves you now, but something was stopping her from telling you tonight, even when there was a perfect opportunity for her to lean in and kiss you. That alone tells her that she isn’t ready. God, why is she so unsteady in her feelings?

The redhead groans as she drags herself to bed, and only once she is in the quiet comfort of her own bed does she truly let herself fall into her thoughts.

Melissa has been burned, seen other people burned, and… her heart quite literally aches, a dull sensation that feels like a knife to the heart, as she remembers what that feels like. She wonders if you’re worth the risk of feeling like that again.

If this is love, maybe I’m ready. How do I know? I’m in my head again. If this is love, I think I’m in it. If this is, if this is, if this is love, I think I’m in it, and in between it, and upside down, and inside out. I think I’m in in, and in between it, and upside down.

Sleep doesn’t come easy for Melissa that night. But when she does finally give into her own exhaustion, she dreams of you. She dreams of what a life could be like with you.

When she wakes with a soft jolt, the redhead wishes she hadn’t. Dreaming of a life with you was better than reality- a reality where you aren’t hers.

As she sits up in bed, she comes to the conclusion that if this is what love is, she’s in love with you and everything that could be.

Those thoughts are only confirmed when she walks into the staff room, and there you are- practically glowing as the sun surrounds you perfectly as you sip from your coffee mug while grading your students’ spelling tests. You look like an angel- you are an angel in her eyes.

And with enough courage, Melissa knows that this is what love is supposed to be, and she has to do something about it- soon.

If this is, if this is, if this is, if this is, if this is, if this is, if this is love.

Tags

(and let me know if you want to be included!): @schemmentis @thesapphictimelady @marvel210 @itisdoctortoyousir @morgana-larkin @doesthatsuggestanythingtoyou @marvels--slut @gwennybriggs @megamultifandomtrashposts @lemz378 @http-sam @melissaschemmentisbranzino @imaginesmultifandoms @sexysapphicshopowner @lilfartbox1 @maybe-a-humanbean @imlike-so-gaydude @a-queen-and-her-throne @notinmyvocab @melanielaufeyson @dvrkhcld @cosmichymns @sasheemo @m1lflov3rrr @ricejucie @temilyrights

#abbott elementary #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfiction

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jadeyarts · 4 months ago

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Separate from that other anon I for one would personally love to hear your Peri and Harbinger/Foxglove headcanons

OMG YAYYYYY. I HAVE QUITE A FEW ♥ (for my own convenience i'm referring to them by their og series names for reasons)

the events of timmy's secret wish are what first planted the seeds of genuine, fully positive feelings and fondness for poof in foop's mind and heart... maybe even a puppy love crush. he seriously thought "well, dying in poof's arms wouldn't be so bad" and hoped that wouldn't awaken something in him. it did.

in a lot of episodes they often have differently colored eyes - foop has a darker shade of purple. i think poof's noticed, and i think he even likes the look of those darker eyes.

given how foop would cry out for poof to protect or save him, i think that poof grows to be incredibly protective of foop… poof will square up for his square!!!

hes the one telling cashiers that foop asked for no pickles, imho ♥

at some point poof stopped intervening in foop's nefarious schemes so i've kind of interpreted poof as just... not caring anymore. he can't stay mad at foop for long, and he finds himself not even bothered by whatever damages he ends up causing anyways. i think he might even find his antics amusing.

after the events of certifiable super sitter, foop actually feels comfortable with admitting that poof is his best friend-

it'd take a few more years to admit it to poof's face, though, it's too embarrassing for him! he'll gush to chloe constantly, though - she knows he's in love with poof before either of them does.

foop's first boyfriend was actually their mutual friend sammy sweetsparkle in high school, while poof had kind of an on-and-off puppy love situationship with goldie... until he kind of flipped out on her about constantly getting foop's name wrong in the middle of a jealousy induced break-down. foop was actually thrilled to hear that poof let his dark side show over wanting to be with him.

sammy and foop ironically broke up on good terms because sammy's best attempt at understanding the fairy/antifairy situation is that they must be soulmates and he didn't want to stand in the way of true love. he's their second biggest supporter.

technically poof confessed first but his confession was literally just screaming IF I DONT SPEND THE REST OF MY LIFE WITH YOU I AM LITERALLY GOING TO BLOW SOMETHING UP!!!! at foop, which was a love confession that would only appeal to foop.

chloe TRIED to plan the "perfect" first date for them but it was horribly awkward and not to their tastes. so instead their first REAL date was poof taking foop to a kelly clarkson concert where they got matching "my life would suck without you" t-shirts.

poof actually buys - WITH HUMAN MONEY, IN A HUMAN DISGUISE - every kelly clarkson album as it releases for foop.

they nearly elope several times but got caught by wanda every time. wanda doesn't really like the fact that poof is with foop but doesn't wanna turn into mama cosma about it so she comes to terms with it. she doesnt want them to just run away and get married when she doesn't think they're ready yet either, though. timmy has to be the one to appeal to foop's desire for attention to convince them to have a big wedding after they graduate. poof doesnt care whether he has a big wedding or just elopes - as long as foop is his. if foop wants a big wedding, that's what they'll have.

whenever people ask how long they've been together they tend to go silent because their first instinct is to say "about 50 years" even though they're only about 22-24, and they've only officially been a couple for about 6 or 7 years. foop's second instinct is also to say "from the very first moment i drew breath" like the dramatic weirdo he is. which isn't even accurate and they both know it.

literally so specific to my own little homebrewed post-canon that you can't even pretend it works with anw:

in my elaborate fanon after AC and AW abandoned foop in season 10, poof begs wanda to find someone who would be willing to take foop in. luckily, wanda knew just the fairies for the job.

after getting adopted foop changes his name to foxglove thimbleplight - poof changed his last name to thimbleplight when they got married so he becomes periwinkle thimbleplight. :3

they still call each other poof and foop - usually in the form of embarrassingly cheesy affectionate nicknames. we're talking "smoopy-poo" level cheesy usage here.

(actually that one still works with anw but the art i drew is clearly my own designs and not the anw designs and it's exceedingly cheesy so)

poof convinced foop to go to the fairy academy with him - initially foop was hesitant because he… wants to… but… antifairies cant become godparents, right??? poof was willing to do literally anything it would take to keep foop by his side though. he initially considers manipulating some poor unsuspecting godparent to quit on their godkid just so he can hijack the ensuing fairy idol for foop to win and take their job… it's devious, and he knows foop would have loved that he did something so malicious just for him, but in the end he just gets into a fight with jorgen and the fairy council about it. he argues that technically foop is legally a fairy now since he was adopted by fairies, so he should be allowed to become a godparent. they end up agreeing.

their relationship was kind of a controversial issue in fairyworld for a few years because of poof's high profile status - while they're not the first fairy and anti-fairy couple, they're the first recorded instance of a fairy coupled with their own counterpart in eons. the media did get bored of them eventually though.

they already wanted to get married after high school but they agreed to postpone the wedding until after they graduated from the fairy academy so they had enough free time to make it as over the top as foop wanted it to be. poof actually proposed to foop AGAIN with a diamond ring after they graduated from the fairy academy, even though they were technically already engaged - with the intent of being as over-the-top dramatic and annoying to the rest of their classmates as possible.

^ which is similar to what cosmo and wanda did as teens though details differ. cosmo is literally the only one who seems to realize this and audibly goes "WOW, DEJA VU..." when this all happens.

while wanda had to get used to poof and foop together, cosmo accepted it pretty much immediately. mostly because sometimes they reminded him of himself and wanda. (<- actually canon)

#sketch #fairly oddparents #doomwinkle #spoopy godparents au #<- for. you know. the second half

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grandeoatmilklatte · 2 months ago

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Kinktober Day 13 🎃

Tom Riddle x Blood (630 words)

A/N: let's be real, out of all the potential kinks the HP universe men could have, this one feels the most character accurate LOL. Please ffs read the warnings on this one and feel free to skip if this is not your thing. Warnings: || NSFW || MDNI || 18+ Characters || P in V || Peri0d bl00d || yup you read that right || Tom Riddle being Tom Riddle I feel like that needs a warning in itself ||

You gently locked the Restriction Section gate as quietly as you had unlocked it, leaving your disillusionment charm set until you descended down to its lower level. Your eyes found Tom right away as he paced around the shelves impatiently. He hated tardiness, but you had a valid reason. Your period had just started hours beforehand, almost making you cancel your encounter tonight. But you didn’t want to disappoint him, fully aware of how obsessed with you he was. And quite frankly, you wanted to see him too, even though you knew you couldn’t really do much tonight.

“I’m so sorry I’m…”

Your words were silenced immediately as he crashed his lips into yours, uninterested in your excuses tonight. The force at which he crashed into you sent you stumbling into a nearby table, a muffled squeal sounding against Tom’s lips.

Despite the stumble, Tom’s lips remained connected to yours as if you were his source of oxygen. It was animalistic the way he grabbed at your clothes, eager to tear them off your body. Part of you was frightened by his intensity, but another, more prevalent part of you was desperate for him, heat rising in your body as he discarded your blouse to the floor, hands shooting to your hips to work off the rest of your clothes. As much as it pained you to do it, you reached for his hands, stopping his movements. An annoyed look graced his face.

“Tom, we can’t…I’m menstruating.”

A loud cackle left his lips, leaving you confused. His hands resumed their work, maneuvering your skirt down your body.

“Do you really think I care about that?” He sneered through gritted teeth. Quite frankly, the thought of being covered in your blood, your pure and sacred magical blood, sounded like the closest he'd ever get to heaven. The blood being from your cunt was merely an added bonus.

Curiosity replaced your nervousness as you sat back on the table you had just bumped into and spread your legs. He was the first guy to ever be so eager to fuck you in this state, and you didn’t know what to expect.

Tom slid into you instantly, and immediately began his assault on your body, his thrusts hard and unforgiving. As your eyes moved to meet his, you noticed that his gaze was locked on the spot where your bodies met, seemingly fascinated by the bloody mess. Although you refused to look down, still feeling slightly embarrassed, you could certainly feel the mess you were making. But watching Tom gaze down hungrily at you, completely unbothered by your blood, released any remaining inhibitions you still had. You gave into the pleasure, loud moans leaving your lips with each snap of his hips.

You came with a shudder and a scream of Tom’s name, Tom never once stopping his movements as you orgasmed around him. He followed you off the edge moments later with a groan, releasing deep within you. Curiosity got the better of you finally, your eyes trailing down to watch him slowly pull out of you, his cock smeared with blood. Embarrassment overcame you again as your body throbbed from his absence, a combination of blood and semen beginning to drip out of you. But your embarrassment was snuffed out once more as you watched Tom’s eyes widen at the sight of you, a wicked smile forming on his face. All the while, his fingers were wrapped around his cock, further smearing your blood up and down his length.

You couldn’t help yourself, apologizing for the mess twice while you got yourself cleaned up and dressed. Both apologies went ignored as Tom stared off into the distance, fantasizing about more opportunities where he could be covered in your pure, magical blood.

#tom riddle x you #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle smut #tom riddle

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tomieafterdark · 9 months ago

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Toxic!Eren drabble (18+ minors dni)

Synopsis: you want to break up but your bf is too toxic to allow that.

Recently I had a conversation with someone and it kind of inspired this drabble (If you feel like Eren is not like canon Eren here, it is because his personality here is also based on whoever inspired this smut), except he did not fuck me after saying he would leak shit if i backstabbed him. Also a tiny disclaimer: I feel like this is obvious but I will say it anyway, everything written in this is purely fictional and should be kept that way. If anyone tries this with you in real life, get help. This is also not an accurate representation of my dynamic with whoever this smut is based on, he just has his “moments” and I like making smut out of them. That is all.

About ten minutes ago, you told Eren you wanted to break up. Things aren’t working out, and he’s way too much for you right now. Instead of having a normal reaction, he does the unthinkable—threatening to leak certain information about you and certain pictures.

It hurts you deeply, not to the core but close enough. Trust isn’t easy to build up, and it was even worse for you considering your past wounds that still haven’t healed. Every bit of trust you had built up just shattered in that moment, as if it was never there to begin with.

He is dangerously good with words, sometimes it makes you feel like you’re his puppet and he pulls the strings whenever he wants to. Even if you can resist his words, his intense stare will pull you in instead. He has the most beautiful eyes, of course no one can resist their pull.

When you were upset about him threatening to leak your information and photos, he just started pulling the strings without a care in the world which is what led you here; back arched, face buried in the plushie, whimpering and crying as he pounds you with no mercy.

Your mind is foggy, you still haven’t processed the words that came out of his mouth when you wanted to break up. You did not, in a million years, expect those words to come out of him. It pretty much feels like a knife to your throat. Just as you are about to get lost in thought and perhaps cry some more, he grabs a handful of your hair and pulls on it harshly.

“Get a grip.” He says coldly and lets go of your hair.

You try to argue back, but he is 5 steps ahead and starts circling your clit before you even open your mouth. Whatever you were wanting to say just comes out as incoherent blabbers and whimpering as your insides squeeze tighter around him. He chuckles in response and mutters “that's what I thought” under his breath.

Since he is 5 steps ahead he is also aware you will cum any second now, which is why he switches positions quite hastily. He has your legs resting behind your ears as he teases your entrance by barely giving you the tip. He knows you get needy and will do or say anything to cum. You look up at him, that smug sadistic look on his face puts you in subspace faster than you can blink. At this point he practically got what he wanted, you won't want a breakup after this. Whatever else he does to you is just for fun.

“Please..” you plead, looking up at him with puppy eyes. You had cried so much earlier that your face was glowing from it.

“Repeat what you were telling me earlier babe,” he says while continuing to tease your sensitive entrance with the tip. “Tell me how I am too much for you and how you don't want to continue this!” You can hear the anger in his voice now, he does not take kindly to breakups unless he is the one doing it. This was peak betrayal to him.

Something about him turns you into a horny nymph, even though this was your chance to resist and actually break up with him, your body and mind were both betraying you completely. You were so desperate for him, being manhandled and fucked disrespectfully hard by him was the only thing on your mind right now. His firm grip on your thighs, as he was pushing them back further, was not helping. He could feel your pussy squeezing and fluttering around his tip, even if you were not saying a word right now the rest of your body was very loud and clear.

You feel your eyes watering again, from the frustration this time. It doesn't help that he is staring right into them, all while caressing your face. Staring into his eyes, especially with the state you are currently in felt like a trance. You were so lost in his eyes, you weren't even aware of how you were trying your best to move against his tip, completely desperate for any friction you could get.

You have no idea how much your crying turns him on, same with your frustration and desperation. It was about time he reminded you again of how badly you need him, a reminder that no one but him could get you to act like this just for dick. He was equally desperate for you, probably more frustrated than you but he is so stoic and cold on the outside. You would never know. He had enough of messing with you though, and by the looks of it you were nearing your edging limit.

His right hand lets go of your thigh, creeping up to your neck instead. He keeps eye contact as he chokes you very lightly. He is so close to your face, staring deep into your eyes with a predatory look. It makes you shudder, but it also makes you want to spread your legs even more for him.

The way he suddenly bottoms out fully, with no warning, has you seeing stars. You had been in this position with previous partners, but none of them reached this deep inside of you. You have to bite your cheek to not scream, especially when you look down on your stomach for a split second and you can see his dick print on it. You suddenly remember that back when you had just gotten to know each other, you texted him saying you want him in your guts. Looks like you got what you wished for.

He chokes you harder while pushing your head back, making you look right into his eyes again. His stare is so intense, you want to look away sometimes. His stare made you feel so vulnerable and exposed, it cut right through all your layers and saw right through your soul. It would not be too far off to say his eyes were fucking your soul.

“I-I’m gonna cum-” you whimper, struggling to keep eye contact. You know exactly what you have to say next if you don't want him to suddenly stop and edge you even more.

“I’m sorry for causing unnecessary drama-” you cry out. “I-I was wrong..I do not want to break up..I love you!”

“That's right.” He smiles and starts thrusting into you even harder, he drops eye contact now and the focus shifts to between your legs. He is obsessed with how you take all of him in so well, he loves watching you swallow him whole and he especially loves that you are so sensitive that you quiver and squeeze around him at every movement he does.

He doesn't stop fucking you when you cum. Not even slowing down the pace.

Instead, both his hands are on your hips now slamming you against his pelvis. You keep squirting, but he doesn't stop even for a second. You are so overstimulated at this point, every few thrusts make you cum all over him.

You are close to tapping out at this point, eyes rolling at the back of your head. You are in safe hands though, he may be toxic and not allow you to break up because he is too possessive and wants to almost own you, but with that comes him being extremely careful of you. He pulls out and slaps you lightly to wake you up, fully attentive of you now.

“Babe, are you okay?” He asks, albeit in a cold uncaring tone, but that's just how he sounds in general. He really does care.

He comes back and slaps you again lightly, holding a glass of water in his other hand. You wake up this time.

You don't really say anything when you regain consciousness nor do you drink the water, you just mumble “I am fine” under your breath and start straddling him. There is something about his caring nature that turns you on so much, his attention to detail is already attractive as it is but when it shows like this during sex it just makes you want him on a different level.

The breakup was history at this point, now you were on top of him whispering dirty things in his ears. You wanted him to fill you to the brim with his cum, then fuck you with all the cum in you and cum in you some more. You had never met a guy that unlocked this side of you, it feels unreal, he is so perfect it drives you mad.

“Please fill me up, I need you so bad..” You were crying in his ears as you quickly slid his cock inside of you, wasting no time and starting bouncing on it. “I truly am sorry for earlier, I could never be without you!”

He is both amused and extremely turned on by your behavior, mostly turned on though as he wastes no time, putting you on your back with your legs on his shoulders. Eren had no idea how hot he looked, the sounds he was making was music to your ears. You were staring in awe as he came inside of you.

You truly can't get enough of him, so when he collapses next to you on the bed, you crawl over to him licking him clean hoping it will lead to a round two in the shower perhaps.

Author's note: I did not proofread this. If you find any mistakes, take it to the grave pls.

#aot smut #eren smut #attack on titan smut #eren jaeger smut #eren x reader #not proof read #eren aot smut #smut #toxic eren

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sirjaketkiszka · 3 months ago

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Josh Kiszka One Shot: Just Friends

You share an embarrassing secret with Josh. Turns out, he shares the same one.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Josh Kiszka x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,253

Warnings: 18+!!, sexual content, cursing, mutual loss of virginity, slight dirty talking, kissing, dry humping/grinding, oral f!receiving, fingering, unprotected sex, oral m!receiving, swallowing, and, of course, mediocre writing.

Disclaimer: apologies for any potential spelling errors or grammar mistakes.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

The slight chill in the early summer air causes goosebumps to pepper your bare arms and legs, making your hands subconsciously rub the textured skin. You and Josh retreated to the backyard when Jake’s end-of-the-school-year party got too overwhelming, but a majority of the company had vanished by now. The previous music coming from the house is no longer playing, and the cars that littered the streets have all pulled away.

Golden and blush pink hues paint the skies like rough brush strokes, and minuscule twinkles of surfacing stars shine through the fading clouds. You could stare at the sun-setting sky for hours, but the brisk wind sends a chill up your spine and you grow noticeably uncomfortable.

“Want my jacket?” Josh asks, his head turned toward you as yours cranes upward to the scene above you. His soft voice pulls you to look at him, and you can tell by the way the tip of his nose sports a gentle shade of pink that he’s also cold.

“I’m okay,” You dismiss his question, hoping he’ll leave it alone.

“Please, just take it,” He insists, his hands finding the bottom hem of his oversized hoodie and lifting it above his head, “You know I run hot anyway.” He winks, handing you the bundle of warm fabric. You know his statement is a lie to get you to accept the jacket, but you also know he won’t let the topic go until he gets his way.

“Thank you,” Mumbling under your breath, you slip your arms through the sleeves and allow the fabric to fall over your shoulders and cover your torso. Immediately, your senses are flooded with his rich and comforting scent. Notes of cinnamon, firewood smoke, and the faint smell of weed intertwine themselves in the carefully woven wool of the Baja hoodie.

A comfortable silence falls between the two of you, and the light breeze creates a soft woosh sound; a product of the branches on bordering trees brushing up against each other. The bonfire before you dissipates into a low amber glow, the quiet crackles indicating its last leg. You know it’s time to head back, but just by glancing over to the house, you can tell that Jake is cleaning up and he’ll ask for help the moment you two walk inside.

“So,” Josh’s voice turns your head back to him, “Did you enjoy your first year of college?”

“Um,” You hesitate, giving the question some thought, “Yeah, I did.” Though the tone of your voice says otherwise, and Josh, of course, notices. As a form of comfort, you bring your thumbnail to your parted lips, anxiously nibbling on it while you zone out.

“That wasn’t convincing at all,” Josh chuckles while leaning over and gently wrapping his long fingers around your wrist, stopping you from chewing your nail off. This time, you really look at him; concern is reflected in his furrowed brows, his eyes searching your face for any indication of the truth, “What’s wrong?”

One thing is for certain, Josh always knows when you are upset. It sometimes feels like he knows you better than you know yourself, which can get a little annoying, especially when you prefer to process certain things privately. Although, with being friends since elementary school, his accurate reading of your emotions is a given.

“Well, I guess I expected more,” You shrug, avoiding the real reason.

“Like what?” He pushes, and your pulse begins to climb under his interrogating stare as he’s nearly falling out of his seat, quite literally on the edge of it. If you tell him you don’t want to talk about it, he will let it go, but another part of you wants to tell him.

“I just– Ugh,” You groan, the words proving hard to form because of how embarrassed you feel by them, “I expected more male attention.” Your words are rushed, your eyes diverting from his softening gaze. God, you hate when he pities you.

“Oh,” His lack of response surprises you, and you can’t help but notice the subtle disappointment laced in his features, “What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know,” A frustrated huff exhales from you, and you slump in the uncomfortable lawn chair, “A relationship maybe– my first relationship.”

“Well, you know, the right person will–”

“And my first time,” You blurt out. Both yours and Josh’s eyes widen at your admission and, of course, you panic and continue, “I know we don’t talk about our sex lives with each other, but I thought maybe I would’ve lost it by now.” You feel so juvenile avoiding the word virginity, but you can’t help it, and you’re afraid of any potential nearby listeners.

“It’s perfectly normal to wait,” He soothes, and you only now realize that his hand is still wrapped around your limp wrist, absently rubbing small circles on your smooth skin with his thumb.

“I know, but… I don’t want to,” You sigh, feeling as though a weight’s been lifted off of you, and now you can openly express your disappointment, “I know I shouldn’t feel embarrassed, but I am, and part of me does want to wait for the ‘right’ person, but another wants to just get it over with, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” He sits back in his chair, releasing your wrist and resting his hands on the chair’s armrests, “If it makes you feel better, I haven’t done it either.”

“Wait, really?” You sit up a little, and he smirks at your enthusiasm. When you think about it, Josh hasn’t ever dated anyone long enough to get to that point, so it should make sense, yet you still assumed he lost it somewhere along the way. You’re not entirely sure why you’re so relieved to hear that he’s still a virgin, like you, but you can’t help but smile.

“Don’t sound so excited,” He laughs, his head thrown back and perfect teeth flashing.

“I’m not!” You giggle, “Just surprised, that’s all.”

“I guess I’m just waiting for the right person,” He shrugs, resting his head on the back of his chair and staring up at the darkening sky. The previously colorful shades morph into a jet-black sky, and the stars freckle the dark backdrop. The temperature will only lower from this point on, and when you take another glance at the house, there’s no more movement, just the soft glow of the television from the living room. “Hey, what if–” Josh breaks the brief moment of silence, and you’re eager to hear his thoughts, “Never mind.”

“What if what?” You urge, fully sitting up in your seat.

“It’s nothing,” He shakes his head, brushing you off.

“Oh c’mon, Josh,” You nearly whine, curiosity getting the best of you. You have an inkling of what he might say, but then again, the idea is ridiculous. Absurd, even. He’d never suggest a thing like that.

“I was going to say we could… you know… together,” Oh, he would suggest it, apparently. He glances over at you, then away, his voice hardly a whisper by the end of his sentence, and you’re left speechless, “It’s stupid, I know. I thought maybe because we’re best friends that it wouldn’t be so weird, but I can see now that it is weird, so let’s ignore–”

“Okay.” You cut him off, his lips sealing and eyes holding yours.

“Okay… let’s ignore it?” He asks.

“No, okay as in ‘let’s do it’,” You explain, and his jaw nearly drops, “If you’re okay with it, and I’m okay with it, what’s the harm?”

“I–” He pauses, “That’s true. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” You respond confidently, “Are you sure? We totally don’t have to.”

“No, no, I want to,” He rushes out, and you have to fight back the smile that threatens to pull at your lips.

“So,” You drag out the word, feeling a little awkward, “When should we…?”

“Oh! Um,” He looks around and takes note of the empty house, all prior company is suddenly gone and the street is empty, “We could do it now?”

“Like now, now?”

“Unless you don’t want to!”

“No, let’s go,” You say, nodding your head toward the house and getting up. His gaze follows you, his eyes locked on yours as he gets up from his chair. The fire has dwindled into nothing but smoking ashes, and the only light that guides your way is the dimly lit back porch light. Your footsteps create quiet thuds into the overgrown grass, and you try to be courteous while climbing up the steps to the sliding door. Josh follows closely behind you, letting you walk in first, and you both remove your shoes by the door.

The kitchen is surprisingly clean– you almost can’t tell that there had been a party just over an hour ago. The rest of the house is eerily quiet, but the muffled sound of the living room TV carries into the kitchen, and you both have to walk through the room to get to the stairs. When you peer into the living room, Jake is sprawled out on the couch, clicking through channels and sipping on his last drink of the night.

“Hey, guys, I was wondering when you’d come inside,” He greets you and his twin, although he doesn’t look away from the TV.

“Hey, Jake,” Josh steps in front of you, addressing his twin, “We’re going to go watch a movie in my room, let us know if it gets too loud.”

On any other day, that would be a normal thing for the two of you, but tonight, it feels very different. It isn’t out of the ordinary for you to stay late and watch movies with Josh, but it is out of the ordinary to lie about what you were actually going to do, and somehow, you feel like Jake knows. He couldn't possibly know, but your conscience says otherwise.

“No worries,” Jake mutters into his cup, taking a sip and finally settling on a channel to his liking.

Josh motions for you to follow him, walking past the TV and up the stairs. Your pulse pounds in your ears the closer you get to Josh’s room, and you swallow down the anxious lump in your throat when he opens the door for you, allowing you to walk in first and lock the door behind you. You’ve been in his room plenty of times, but again, this is under different circumstances.

He rushes past you and slips a random DVD into his small TV, turning the volume up considerably loud. When he turns to face you, a nervous smile is on his lips, and you’re sure your expression is mirroring his. Was this a good idea? Only one way to find out.

Taking a seat on the bottom edge of his twin-sized bed, you pat the empty spot next to you, urging him to sit down. He moves quickly, sitting beside you and turning to look at you. His eyes frantically search your features, and yours do the same, taking in his appearance; his face is slightly flushed, and his shoulders show how deeply he’s breathing, slowly rising and slowly falling.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, his voice coming out in barely a whisper.

“Yes,” The single word comes out in a quick huff, and only now do you realize how you’ve been holding your breath, anticipation prickling up your spine. Josh’s eyes zero in on your lips, his upper body leaning toward you, gravitating your own to him. Through parted lips, quick breaths exit the both of you, brushing against each other when you get closer, and eventually collide.

With eyes fluttering close, his lips are plush and perfectly molded against yours. The feeling is foreign, but a feeling you wholeheartedly welcome. Only a fleeting moment passes before your lips move fluidly with his, causing heat to rise to your neck and settle in your scarlet cheeks. Desperate for his touch, your hand reaches for his, guiding him underneath his sweatshirt that you’re still wearing, and allowing his fingers to glide along your bare waist. Your stomach clenches and a small gasp is pulled from you when his hand slides up your ribs and settles just below the cup of your bra, gripping the heated flesh slightly.

Pulling away, your eyes peel open to hold his gaze; his pupils are blown, his irises nearly pitch black, and his plump lips are a shiny maroon. Soft pants leave the both of you, eyes wide and yearning for more.

“Are we really doing this?” He asks, breathless, his brows scrunching in disbelief.

“I don’t want to stop,” You admit, your hand on his caressing reassuringly.

“Neither do I,” He says with a smile, flashing the gap between his teeth. You always love it when it shows through his toothy grin, a result of his goofy laugh or pure excitement. From now on, you will think of this moment, and that thought scares you, but yet, you can’t find it within yourself to care.

“Good,” You smirk, pulling away from him while backing up fully onto his bed, only stopping when your head hovers above his pillows. He remains at the end of the bed with his hand that was once on your skin subconsciously reaching out to you. “Come here,” You instruct him.

He turns over to crawl up the bed, his eyes bouncing from yours to your opening legs when he gets closer. Inching over your body, his hips lay snug against yours, and you hold back the surprised moan that settles in your throat when you feel his growing bulge against your core. He wastes no time placing his lips on yours again, letting his arms hold himself up on either side of your head, caging you in.

Your legs lazily tangle with his, your hands coming up to grip his clothed waist. This kiss is unlike the last; it’s fervent, hungry, and urgent. His breathing is heavy through his nose, and your small whimpers travel into his haste kisses while he absently grinds into you. Heat pools in your core when his bulge massages your aching clit, causing whimpers to mix with needy moans, and rough grunts to catch in the back of Josh’s throat, muffled by the kiss.

Moving his hips faster, your mouth opens to let out a moan, but his tongue swipes against yours, silencing you. The simultaneous sensation of him grinding into you and his tongue clashing with yours dulls your senses, drowning out the blaring sound of the movie playing, making you dizzy. If you found his scent comforting, his taste is all the same; smokey, cinnamon, and just Josh.

Pressing a final peck to your partially open lips, he travels down your chin to your jawline, leaving open-mouth kisses along your jawbone. Breathless moans consistently brush past your parted lips as he moves to your neck, your head tilting to allow him better access. Traveling up from his waist, one of your hands rests on the back of his neck, intertwining his braided rat tail between your fingers. He gently sucks on the sensitive skin below your ear, making sure to pull away before leaving a mark of any sort.

“Can I try something?” His words are broken up between gentle pecks, slightly muffled by the crook of your neck. When he pulls away, you nod eagerly, watching him sit back on the heels of his feet and gripping the bottom of your hoodie. Sitting up slightly, you let him lift the garment off of you, leaving you in just your tank top and shorts. A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips, his eyes shamelessly admiring your flushed state, heavily breathing with legs spread open for him. “May I?” He asks, sliding his hands up your bare thighs, inching up the rough fabric of your denim jeans, and stopping just where the button and zipper are.

Nodding again, he unbuttons your shorts and slowly unzips them, his fingers hooking into the waistband and tugging gently. You lift your hips, allowing him to slide the fabric over your ass and hips, and down your legs. He tosses the shorts somewhere behind him, his focus solely on your clothed cunt. His jaw is slack, his tongue swiping along his lower lip as fingers trace the hem of your underwear.

You silently thank your past self for choosing such cute underwear; a simple black cotton pair with a lace waistband. If only you knew how handy it would become. His eyes flick up to yours, “Can I take them off?” His voice oozes with tenderness, though there’s a slight tremble, telling you that he’s just as nervous as you are. The thought oddly soothes you, reminding you that this is his first time too.

“Please,” You beg, slowly nodding and swallowing back the nerves that come with being completely exposed to him. You figure the anxiousness would be worse had you agreed to do this with someone you don’t know as well as Josh, and the closer you get to the real thing, the more eager you are. He removes your underwear at a tantalizing pace, the stretchy fabric sliding over the hills of your ass when you lift your hips, and peeling off your wet slit. If your face could get any hotter, you’re sure your cheeks are dark maroon, and you fight the urge to close your legs when he nearly stops breathing at the sight of you.

“So beautiful,” He mumbles to himself, and barely audible enough for you to hear. Your hands fidget with the sheets on either side of you, and you watch as he leans forward, pressing a tender kiss to your bent knee, and then to the other. He takes his time alternating between legs, leaving gentle kisses along your thighs as he repositions himself to lay on his stomach, his head just inches from where you want him. Feeling his soft breaths cascade on your soaked cunt, you fight the urge to grind your hips upward, desperate for relief of any sort.

Thankfully, he takes the hint, likely noticing your restraint and near lack thereof. His hands press on your inner thighs, prompting you to spread them wider, and he holds you there. Leaning forward, he presses a light kiss on your clit and your hips writhe at the simple gesture. If that can get you worked up, you aren’t prepared for what’s next.

He places another kiss, firmer this time, and a moan carries itself out with the shaky exhale you release. Just when you think you can’t take the teasing any longer, Josh swipes his tongue along your slit, and your back arches at the foreign feeling. If this felt otherworldly, how did actual sex feel? More swipes of his tongue pull incoherent words from you, mumbled between desperate whines and surprised gasps. Low hums vibrate his tongue, and his hips absentmindedly grind into his mattress, his eyes closed and eyebrows synched while he tastes you.

“Oh my, God,” You breathe out, feeling the warmth erupt in your lower abdomen and send waves of pleasure straight to your core, “You’re so good,” Encouraging words elicit him to flick his tongue on your swollen clit, and a deep groan pushes past your lips as you throw your head back in his pillows and a free hand carefully grasps at his curls, “Fuck— Just like that, please, Josh.”

One of his hands holding your thighs apart slides along the plush flesh, and you gasp when his middle finger toys with your entrance, “Is this okay?” He mumbles against your clit.

You nod frantically, “God, yes, please.”

Slowly pushing his middle finger in, he continues his attention on your clit, distracting you from the feeling of your walls stretching around the digit. There’s no pain, but you know he’s just trying to get you adjusted to feeling full. Short pumps and the curl of his finger press against your g-spot, and you whine at the feeling, your back peeling off of the mattress.

Trembling legs, the string of breathless moans, and the uncontrollable writhing of your hips signal a close release. You’re so close to finishing, feeling your walls pulse around him, but you’re afraid that it’ll end once you reach climax.

“Need more,” You mutter while lifting your head and tugging on his hair slightly, making him look up at you, “Need you inside me.”

He pulls his mouth away quickly and removes his finger leisurely, eager much like you are, and returns to his kneeled position between your legs— your hands returning to their resting position on either side of you. Without a word, he lifts his t-shirt over his head and you nearly salivate at his impressive physique. Sure, you’ve seen him shirtless plenty of times, and yet, this is different; his abs clench with every passing breath, his shoulders visibly heaving, and to top it all off, his lips and chin shine in the dimly lit room, a product of you.

Cautious eyes observe him while he unbuttons his khaki shorts, unzipping them and pulling them down just enough to pool around his bent knees. His erection strains in his boxers, begging to be released, and when he pulls the waistband down, you swallow thickly. The tip of his cock leaks precum, and his hand wraps around the shaft, pumping lazily. Your gaze travels up his body, settling on his face, which reflects how eager and nervous he is.

“Shit… I don’t have a condom,” His meek voice admits with a chuckle, “We don’t have to—”

“No! It’s okay,” You rush out, a little too impatiently, but you really wanted this and didn’t want to back out now, “We’ll just be… safe.”

“Okay… Okay, yeah, we’ll be safe,” He nods, understanding what you mean. Leaning forward, his fingers still wrapped firmly around his length, he rests his other hand on the pillow beside your head. A shared shaky breath leaves both of you when his tip glides between your folds, roughly circling your clit and gathering the wetness. Slowly, he positions his tip with your weeping entrance, and the pressure causes you to hold your breath, “Ready?” He asks, making sure to maintain strong eye contact.

“Yes,” You choke out, still afraid to breathe.

“Let me know if it hurts too much,” He comforts, and while you appreciate it, you want— no, need— him now, “We’ll stop, okay?”

“I know,” You swiftly nod while your eyes shoot between his and his erection poking at your cunt, “I’m ready. Are you?” You make sure to ask, realizing how reassuring he’s been this entire time, and afraid that you’ve been lacking the same hospitality.

“Of course,” He smirks, and his hips move forward by an inch, letting his tip be consumed by you. Your chest gets tight, your lungs stalling as you anticipate pain of any sort, “Breathe,” He comforts, inching deeper into you, “Just relax, mama.”

His unusual pet name almost distracts you from the stretching feeling of his cock pushing into you, your walls doing their best to accommodate his size. You breathe deeply, letting out shaky exhales as your wide eyes lock onto his, a sharp gasp pulling into your lungs when he eventually bottoms out. A relieved groan melts from Josh’s tongue; his eyebrows scrunched in pleasure, and his lips agape. The stinging sensation is dull, not overwhelming in the slightest, but you still grip Josh’s waist, waiting for it to hurt.

“You feel so– fuck,” His voice is strained, his hips unable to move while his cock twitches inside of you, wanting more. His eyes nearly roll when you absently squeeze around him, pulling a drawn whine from him, “How can someone feel so… good.” His words send a rush of arousal to your core, coating his erection as he inches his hips back, and carefully pushes back in.

“Holy shit,” Your words are dragged out by a moan, surprised by how natural this feels. You expected blistering pain with little to no pleasure involved, but this felt delicious. As his tip brushes against your textured walls, a mixture of your whimpers and his breathy grunts tangle in the space between you, silencing the TV that plays loudly just feet away from you.

“How does that feel?” He murmurs, his voice lost when he speeds up slightly, the previous resistance no longer present, allowing him to glide in and out of you effortlessly. With his gaining speed, your legs wrap around his waist, creating a new angle that pulls him in deeper.

“So good, Josh,” You cry out, your eyes squeezing shut as the pressure rebuilds itself in your gut, “Please, don’t stop.” He quickens his thrusts, repositioning his arm beside you, resting his upper body weight on his elbow and forearm. His free hand explores your curves; gripping your thighs, your waist, skimming over your clothed breasts, and finally sliding down to your spread cunt.

“Does that feel good?” He sweetly whispers directly in your ear, lazily rubbing circles around your clit. Your hand flies from his waist to his, guiding him to press firmer and rub faster.

“Fuck, yes!” Your words grow increasingly louder the closer your climax gets, and your distracted mind forgets the company that resides in the story just below you.

“God, you feel so good,” Josh’s husky voice and quick breaths brushing against your earlobe add to your pleasure, heightening your peak and tightening the wounding coil, “So warm, so tight.”

“Oh god, Josh,” You whine, your other hand leaving his waist and sliding up his back, your nails pressing crescent moons into the warm skin. “I’m close,” Crying out, your legs tighten around his waist, and your hand grips his wrist, encouraging him to keep going, “Shit!”

The coil in your abdomen snaps, sending a rush of heat through your limbs and core, causing your legs to frantically shake around him and your cunt to rapidly squeeze him as he continues pumping into you. Eyes shooting open to look at the ceiling, your vision is hazy and hearing is muffled, the only sound being let in is the distant string of profanities and cries. Whispered phrases like “That’s right,” “It’s okay,” and “Holy shit.” leave Josh’s lips, which press against the top of your ear.

The final pulses of your orgasm grasp around his length and your moans melt into exasperated breaths, your chest heaving against his. Placing soft kisses along your jawline, he moves further down, peppering along your exposed collarbone and nibbling on the thin skin. His hips gradually slow down, and he practically comes to a halt.

“What- why are you slowing down? Are you okay?” Your words are rushed, and they pull him to look at you, a lazy smile plastered on his plump lips. His face is completely flushed; red splotches cross the bridge of his nose and make a home of his naturally rosy cheeks.

“It’s okay, nothing’s wrong,” He assures, pressing a soft peck to your parted lips, “I just need a minute,” He chuckles as his hips tiredly thrust into you, “I’m so close.” His admission gives you an idea and a favor you’d like to return.

“Wait,” He immediately stops when the word leaves your lips, and his eyes are piercing, afraid he might’ve done something wrong, “Can I– Can I taste you?” Your shy voice comes out in a whisper. His face is stunned, but if it’s possible, his eyes grow darker, clearly enjoying the thought.

“Of course,” He chokes out, clearing his throat. Carefully pulling out, a noise of resistance exits both of you. Glancing at his cock, it’s covered in your release, and your mouth waters at the sight. You switch positions with him, letting him lay on the bed while you sit in between his legs. In the process, he’s taken both his shorts and boxers off, leaving him bare to you.

His eyes are expectant, patiently waiting and watching as you bend forward, lightly grasping his member with your hand and gently placing a kiss on his leaking tip. His hips jut forward, chasing your mouth when you pull away, looking at him with a satisfied smile on your face.

Leaning forward again, your lips part and wrap around his sensitive tip, sucking delicately and pulling a trembling sigh from Josh. The saltiness of his precum and the taste of your climax coat your tastebuds, making your mouth water. Swirling your tongue around him, you plunge deeper, inching his erection into your mouth until his tip pushes against the back of your throat. To prevent yourself from gagging, you hum, making his cock twitch. A sharp gasp pierces his lungs when you pull away and immediately sink back down, your head slowly bobbing on his length.

“Oh, my God,” He mumbles, your eyes shooting to his while you work your way up and down, sucking just enough, “that feels so– fuck.” His head falls back with his eyebrows scrunched, and his hips do their best not to thrust into you, chasing his own release. You move quicker, ignoring the stinging sensation of tears gathering on your waterline, “Keep going, oh god,” You do, sucking harshly, “I’m gonna come.”

His choked words morph into mouth-watering whines, encouraging you to work faster, pulling his orgasm from him. Rushed-out curses leave his sweet lips as his hips sputter and stomach clenches, his cock twitching deep within your mouth. A hand flies to your hair, silently begging for you to keep going while spurts of hot cum coat the back of your tongue. The feeling is overwhelming, and the liquid threatens to leak from the corners of your mouth as you continue your work on him, only pulling away when his erection no longer spasms with every passing of your lips.

When his head finally lifts from the pillows, you swallow eagerly, making sure to hold his amazed stare when you do so. His eyes are shining, cheeks deep red, and his lips stay parted. His eyes are wide as his hand travels from your hair to your cheek, cradling your face and wiping away the drop of cum that escaped on the corner of your mouth with a swipe of his thumb.

“That was—” He breathes out, his chest rapidly rising and falling, an appreciative smile falling on his lips.

“It was,” You shoot back, smiling in return and crawling up his body, surprising him with a firm peck. His hands grip your waist, his chin lifting to deepen the kiss, a pleased hum vibrating your lips.

Knock Knock

The two of you separate at an impressive speed with Josh scrambling to cover you with the blanket located at the end of his bed. Even with the door locked, you feel panic rising in your throat, making you feel sick, “Yeah?” Josh calls out.

“I’m going to bed, can you turn the volume down?” Jake’s muffled voice comes from behind the door, presumably clueless to the state in which you and Josh are in.

“Yes! Sorry!” Josh quickly replies, rushing to the TV and turning the knob, making the volume gradually lower until the room is near silent. When he turns back to you, you both stifle a laugh, and you lift the blanket, motioning for him to join you. “Shouldn’t I get dressed first?”

“Hmmm,” You think about it, lifting a brow and smugly smirking, “Nah.”

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My second Josh one shot, hurray! It’s a little different from what I usually write, but I hope you enjoyed! <3

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@musicislove3389

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Tags:

#greta van fleet #gvf fic #gvf smut #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiskza smut #joshua michael kiszka #josh gvf #josh kiszka #greta van smut #greta van fic #gvf fanfiction #greta van fluff

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