#the pause and laugh …… oh my god he’s trying so hard he’s so desperate and it’s all failing

[badnew2005]

noticed something SINISTER … end of clip show when they get their phones back dennis “thank god we’re back to normal” smiling and laughing. everyone ignores him. he’s trying so hard. all he Wants is to be back to normal. but they never can. because he left. and then came back because he just couldn’t stay away. because mac came out. and he so desperately wants him to Just Go Back In the closet. the rest of the gang knows they’re not back to normal. that something has Changed within dennis. and within them as a whole. but he’s still So Desperate. Thank God we’re back to Normal. we don’t need to talk about anything that’s happened. nothings changed !!! but it has !! and he can’t keep running

[evie-sturns]

overstimulated - Matt Sturniolo

summary: where you overstimulate matt to the point where he can’t walk anymore.

contains: smut, sub!matt, overstimulation, slight humiliation, mocking, teasing, use of safe word.

————————————🎀————————————-

i don’t even know how matt and i got in this position, but right now i’m sitting on his lap, pinning him down as his erection pokes into my thigh.

“please?” he whispers shakily, his pale cheeks a cherry red.

i trace my fingers along the waistband of his sweatpants, earning a soft whimper from him.

he’s been desperately horny this whole day, constantly clinging to me, but i’ve been too busy.

i slowly rock my hips against the clear bulge on his lap, my clothed cunt rubbing against his sweatpants.

his head tips back, “oh god- don’t do this to me” he sighs

“dont do what?” i grin, reaching my hand down and tracing the outline of his dick through his pants.

“you know- ‘m gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing that” he says barely above a whisper.

“that would be pathetic, wouldn’t it sweetheart?” i say, cupping matt’s jaw and making him look up at me.

he nods, squeezing his eyes shut. i wrap my warm hand around his dick through his pants, squeezing lightly.

“oh my fuck-“ he whines, rutting his hips up into my hands.

he clutches the bedsheets beside him with his veiny hands, trying to resist his movements.

“look at you, all whiny, don’t even have your dick out yet.” i scoff, matt nods frantically,

“-‘m sorry!!” his breathing picks up.

i feel his dick twitch in my hand as i continue to rub the fabric over it, before a loud groan escapes his red lips, raw from being bitten.

and he finishes in his pants.

a large damp patch is obvious right under my hand as matt’s hands cover his embarrassed face.

i let out a small laugh, “poor thing.”

he shakes his head, “i couldn’t help it, i really tried!” he states with a small pout.

“yeah? now your gonna be sensitive for the rest of this.” i say, matt’s eyes widen

“what- more?” he breathes,

“you thought we were done?” i taunt him, pulling my shirt off of my body.

i reach down for his pink shirt, text lays across the fabric saying ‘i need a kiss’.

i tug it off of him, laying it on the matress beside us.

goosebumps travel up his skin from the cold air as he looks up at me with pleading eyes.

i stand up off his lap and tug down my pyjama shorts, leaving me fully revealed for him.

his eyes roam over my body.

“you’re so pretty.” he sighs, clutching the sheets beside him again.

i smile at him before crawling back onto his lap, i look down infront of me, he’s hard again.

i tug down his sweatpants to his thighs, before pausing my movements.

his eyebrows furrow, i just sit comfortably on his lap, waiting for him to start begging.

he fidgets with his short nails as he avoids eye contact,

he’s never usually this submissive, quite the opposite, i guess he’s not used to having to wait.

“please?” he finally speaks up, his voice husky.

“please what.” i reply instantly.

he bucks his hips up slightly, his dick hitting my stomach.

i push his stomach down, placing him back on the bed.

“use your words.” i tell him, staring into his eyes.

he shakes his head, “that’s embarrasing-“ he starts, but i instantly cut him off.

“if it’s so embarrassing then i’ll leave you here, all needy and nobody will be here to get you off, would you like that?”

he shakes his head, “no- no! i just.. ‘just need you!”

“matt that’s not clear enough, tell me exactly what you want from me.” my voice is stern, seeing how far i can push him.

“i want you on- on my dick.” he speaks quietly,

“yeah? then what.” i reply,

“then- then i want you to ride me.” he says, his eyes travelling everywhere but mine.

i run my hand through his hair, “there we go, wasn’t so hard to use your words wasn’t it?”

he nods,

i grab his jaw, “i want you to keep looking at me okay?” my tone is softer now,

i take his length in my hand and pump his cock a few times.

“oh-“ he stammers, maintaining eye contact with me the whole time through his squinted eyes.

his hair sticks to his forehead, and his abs tense.

i run my thumb over his tip, he gasp lightly, gripping the sheets harder.

“you’re doing so well, so good for me.” i praise him, continuing to run my hand up and down his length, squeezing slightly as i go higher up.

“thank- thank you-“ he squeezes out breathlessly.

his legs shake slightly as his orgasm comes on, spurts of white hit his stomach.

his jaw hangs open slightly as he lets out strings of moans.

i don’t waste time to sit up properly, hovering myself above his sensitive tip.

i run his cock through my folds, his eyes spring open. “i can’t! ‘m to sensitive-“ he pleads,

“i know you can do it for me matt,” i whisper with a warm smile.

he shakes his head, his hands find their way to my bare hips, he grips tightly for dear life.

i slowly sink down onto his dick, a strained groan escapes his lips as he digs his finger nails into the plush of my skin.

“i’m gonna cum too soon, that’s- that’s embarrassing” he stammers, squirming slightly on the mattress.

“that’s okay, you’re okay matt” i assure him through sharp breathes as i continue to bounce on his cock.

the sound of skin slapping along with matt’s strangled whimpers fill the room, his eyes are scrunched shut and his brunette locks are messily laid across his flushed face.

my pace picks up, matt sinks his top teeth into his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to silence his pathetic noises.

“so close already? you already came twice tonight.” i scoff, which tips matt over the edge

his legs judder as his back arches off the bed.

he frantically grips the pillows beside him as he finishes, his warm seed coating my insides.

i don’t stop riding him, chasing my own orgasm.

he winces with pained moans, “too much! too much-“ his voice cracks.

i don’t stop, matt knows we have a safe word.

he shifts himself below me, his arms twisting as he tries to squirm under me.

“s-stop- stop i’m too- too sensitive!” he squeezes out.

i shake my head, strings of groans exiting my mouth as i clench around him, signalling my upcoming orgasm.

“red- red” the safe word falls from his mouth, making my heart skip a beat.

i instantly pull off of him, my juices coating his dick, even dripping onto his pelvis.

i look at matt, a few tears roll down his cheeks.

my eyes widen, “hey- hey don’t cry, i’m sorry sweetheart are you okay?” i ask, flopping down ontop of him and wrapping my arms around him.

“no- i’m fine just intense, i-i’m not sad or anything” he says shakily with a small laugh.

“i’m sorry baby.” i say, squeezing his waist tight as i hug him.

“don’t apologise- tha-that was so hot.” he mutters.

i hover above his tear stained face, i reach my hands down and wipe away his tears.

“i promise i’m not crying- just sensitive.” he laughs, i giggle in response before standing up off of him.

i look down at him on the bed,

what a sight.

i clench my thighs together as i look down at him, he’s flopped messily across the matress, his arms and legs sprawled out different directions.

his face is a deep red, and his hair is stuck to his sweaty face. his lips are raw and bright red,

and finally he’s coated in his release, white streaks painted across his tummy and chest.

i just admire him, “jesus fuck- matt you don’t understand what you’re doing to me right now.” i whisper

he smiles in response,

“can- can i please take a polaroid of you?” i ask shyly, “just for me to keep.” i follow up.

he grins with an eyebrow quirk, “finnneee…”

i clap before running over to my closet and pulling out my polaroid camera,

i stand at the edge of the bed, matt gives me a tired smile and thumbs up, i snap the picture.

“thank you-“ i say with a small laugh, he rolls his eyes with a smirk.

“cmon, let’s get you nice and cleaned up.” i say to matt,

he nods with a small hum, followed by a massive yawn,

“you’re so tired sweetheart.” i laugh,

“how could i not beee..” he whines,

“i’m just teasing you.” i smile, grabbing his hand and tugging him up

he stands up on his feet before stumbling over, his legs basically jelly.

he flops backwards onto the bed,

“can you seriously not stand up straight.” i ask with a giggle.

“no- no i can!” he protests, heaving himself back up off the bed, but his shaky legs instantly give out.

i erupt into laughter,

“oh my god!! i’m gonna use that forever! imagine me telling people that i took away matt sturniolos ability to walk”

he covers his face with his hands as he laughs uncontrollably with me,

“you’re so insanely stupid” he giggles,

“tell that to me when you can stand up!!”

-

@downbad4reid @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris

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[skzdust]

This Damn Rain

THIS IS SMUT. MINORS DNI.

Summary: You and Felix are in bed on a rainy night and neither of you can manage to get to sleep... Felix has an idea how you can stay occupied.

Pairing: Felix x afab reader

Includes: fingering, "good girl", slightly dominant Felix, begging, penetrative sex, reader described with a vagina and breasts

Word Count: 1.1k

Reblogs, likes, comments all appreciated!!! Thank you!!!

Masterlist

----

“The thunder’s so loud tonight.” You mumbled, curling into Felix as you tried to sleep. The rain usually soothed both of you in the evenings, but it was loud tonight. Grating, for some reason.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, and you could head the thoughts in his voice.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked, slightly un-curling and looking up at him.

“I have an idea. It’s a game we can play.”

“What kind of game?” You sat up a bit.

“It’s called… ‘Make y/n moan loud enough that they can’t hear the rain anymore.’”

A thrill ran through you. “That sounds like a great game.”

“Yeah?” Felix gently ran a hand into your hair, and you inhaled sharply as his fingers twisted into it and yanked your head back. “Let’s see how far I have to go, hm?”

“I can be very—ngh!” Your eyes shut and your lips parted as Felix’s mouth found your pulse, gently nipping and sucking the skin. His hands began to roam the rest of your skin, finding their way under your shirt. His thumbs brushed your nipples, and you inhaled sharply.

“Feel good?” Felix’s voice was low and dripping with need, his breath hot and heavy on your neck. He knew what the answer would be.

“Yeah, Felix, s’ good.”

He moved to straddle you. Your eyes darted down between his legs, but the thunderstorm made the room dark enough that it was hard to see.

He pulled back the front of his hair in a swift motion, tying it into a half-bun and pausing for a moment to make sure there were no bumps before he leaned down, practically on all fours over you. “You want me to touch you, love?” His leg pushed between your thighs.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “Fuck.”

He laughed, a low noise. The noise of a predator, about to dive onto their prey. “You want me to fuck you?”

“I—well—” You stammered.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. “Spit it out, love.”

“Yes.” You whispered back.

“What was that?” He leaned back. “Can’t hear you.”

You knew what he wanted. “Yes, Felix.”

“Mm. Good girl.” His thigh pushed in harder. You almost involuntarily whimpered.

He laughed again. “You’ve gotta be a bit louder than that to drown out that rain.”

“I believe in your abilities.”

“Oh, so it’s on me?”

You nodded. “I believe that’s what you said.”

“I don’t think that’s what I said.” Felix smiled, letting his dominance slip for a moment, which you found quite endearing. “I think it’s your responsibility to be loud.”

“It’s your responsibility to give me something to be loud about.”

Felix’s smile drained off his face in a second as he tilted your chin up towards him. “Are you trying to give me an order?”

Another thrill ran through you. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” His hand tangled in your hair again, and he gave you a long, searing kiss, as if branding your mouth as his. You breathed him in, breathed him out. He was everything, his hands everywhere, his mouth everywhere, his voice everywhere, murmuring worship and degradation equally.

“You’re so beautiful for me, love, you always look so beautiful when you want me.” Kiss. “You’re so needy, so desperate, you want me so bad and I’m gonna make you wait as long as I want, and you’re gonna wait, you’re gonna wait for me.” Kiss. “God, I’m gonna fuck you so hard, your body’s gonna remember the shape of my cock forever, isn’t it, love?” Another kiss. Thumbs brushing where your thighs met your core. “I want an answer.”

“I want it so bad.” You whimpered.

“That isn’t an answer.” His fingers moved even further, dipping between your folds, and just as quickly teasing your thighs again.

“It is, it’s gonna remember you forever, no cock is gonna ever match yours.” You breathed. “Please, Felix.”

He grinned. “I’ll give you my cock, love, but you need to be loud.”

You nodded quickly. “That will not be an issue.”

“I know.” He took off your sleep shorts and underwear, humming. “You made a mess, love. Someone’s turned on.”

“Yeah, I am.” You whispered.

“What did I say about being loud?” He didn’t look at your face, instead spreading you open and sliding a finger inside you.

You didn’t suppress your moan. “God, it’s so good.”

“It’s one finger, baby. Gonna need more than that to be ready for me.”

“Please, more.” You whined, moving a pillow down to prop your hips up to provide easier access.

“Alright, alright.” He jumped straight to three fingers, pulling another moan from you as he moved inside you.

“Fuck… fuck.” Your voice was thick, your head thrown back, but you looked up at Felix. He was smirking from between your legs, and his fingers pushed up into you as your eyes met. You moaned again, eyes fluttering shut.

“Ready for me?” He asked after a few minutes.

“So ready.”

Felix slipped off his boxers and threw them across the room. He stroked himself a few times, his head falling back.

Your tongue darted between your lips, wetting them as you looked at him. His almost-hard length, the way he was slightly biting his lip, the hair falling in front of his eyes that he shook off his face.

You could not have been any more turned on.

He lifted your hips with one hand and lined himself up with your entrance. “Ready, love?”

“Yes.”

With one swift motion of his hips, he pushed inside you, and you exhaled in pleasure. “Fuck, Felix, fuck me, please.”

“Your wish is my command.” He leaned on his forearms over you, mouth slightly open as he began to thrust in and out. One of his hands found a bit of your hair, gently petting and playing with it.

“Jesus Christ, that feels so good, you feel so good—”

“Yeah?” He panted. “You like it when I fill you up? Fuck you just the way I want?”

“Yes.” Your voice broke, and you moaned. “Yes, Felix, I love it.”

“Good. Gotta— gotta treat my baby well. Gotta fuck my baby well.”

You clenched around him, and he groaned. “You fuck me so well… please, please, don’t stop!”

“I have no plans to stop, love.” His hips snapped into you, and you moaned. “You feel so fucking good, you have no idea.”

“Gonna fuck me all night?”

“All night.” He paused for a second to press a long kiss to your lips. “All fucking night, or at least until this damn rain stops.”

[happy74827]

Forced to Listen

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Dean hated it when you hunted him down for advice, and he also hated that you knew exactly how to bait him into listening.

WC: 1082

Category: Fluff, Ranter!Reader, Mentions of Cheating, Sam being absolutely useless (iconic).

Can you believe that it’s been TWO WHOLE YEARS since I last wrote of him?? I’m so angry at myself 😭😭

『••✎••』

Dean could sense what was coming when he watched you stomp towards him with nothing but a small bottle of beer. The look on your face was one he had come to recognize over the years.

It was the one that said that you were about to coerce him into listening to your woes, and he had no other choice but to do it. The heat outside was unbearable, the kind that made Dean strip off his flannel and ditch the leather jacket, leaving him in his sweat-covered shirt.

But as he stood under the hood of the Impala, trying to get her to start, that bottle of beer was calling his name. The promise of the cool, carbonated drink sliding down his throat, relieving him from the dryness that had settled in his mouth, was something he desperately craved. And you knew that. That's why you were headed straight for him.

"Hey, Dean," you said innocently, the small bottle of beer dangling from your hand.

Dean sighed, his gloved hands pausing as he glanced up at you. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to you whine about what was going on in your life, but that bottle of beer was too tempting to pass up. It was his favorite brand, too.

Goddamn it, you really were a temptress.

"Two minutes,” he grunted out, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'll give you two minutes."

You grinned, placing the bottle of beer in his open hand. In a matter of seconds, half the liquid was gone, and you were waiting impatiently for him to give you the sign to begin.

After another second, a sigh of content slipped from his mouth, and he nodded, signaling you to start.

You didn’t waste any time. "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"I think you're a pain in my ass," Dean retorted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn’t make much difference since his hand was already covered in dirt and grease, but it made him feel a little better. "Don’t tell me you came over here just to ask me that?"

"No, I'm serious, Dean," you insisted. "Do you actually think I'm a bitch?"

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

So, he just raised his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on while he took another sip of his beer.

"Dating's hard, Dean," you started, and he already felt a groan coming on. He did not want to have this conversation. "I just don't get it. Why am I not good enough for them? Why do I keep getting cheated on?"

You were pacing around the car as you spoke, and Dean kept his eyes on the beer. As you went on about everything that was bothering you, the more he regretted his decision to drink that damn thing.

"Am I not attractive? Am I not smart enough? What is it, Dean?" You looked at him, hoping for an answer. But when you realized he wasn't paying that much attention to what you were saying, you let out a scoff. "Great, so I'm not even good enough for you to listen to me? God, Dean, you are such a douche."

Dean rolled his eyes and finally looked up at you, the annoyance clearly visible. "Can I get back to fixing up my baby, now?"

"Would you date me?" You asked, suddenly, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Am I worth dating?"

God, you were killing him. He’d rather get heatstroke than continue this conversation, and he was sure Sammy would agree on his behalf.

He could actually see his baby brother from where he stood. He was a few yards away, sitting in the shade. A book in his hand, but his eyes were on the two of you.

Was he…? Oh hell no.

He was laughing.

Sammy was having a good time watching him squirm under your gaze, doing absolutely nothing despite avoiding the work Bobby needed help with.

Oh, was Dean pissed off. He’d get his payback soon, hopefully. It would be whenever he actually gets away from you and fixes up his car. Baby always comes first.

"I mean, c'mon, Dean," you pressed on. "Just give me some advice. You were with so many women, and they were all beautiful and perfect, so what's wrong with me?"

You were pouting, and Dean felt like throwing his beer bottle on the ground and stomping on it. This was the worst two minutes of his life.

"There’s nothing wrong with you,” he finally said, looking you in the eye. "You could be a pain in the ass, but unfortunately, I’m apparently the only one who has to deal with it, so... yeah. You're fine."

"Fine? I'm fine?"

"Yup," Dean replied. He turned back to the Impala, taking the last swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle into your hands. "Thanks for the beer. Is that all?”

"I just feel… I don't know. I feel like I'm not good enough, ya know?" You said a sad look on your face. "Like there's something wrong with me. Something that's making everyone leave me."

"Listen," Dean started. He looked at you again, but all of his annoyance was gone. The two minutes were definitely up; he could quite literally kick you out of sight, but with the look you had on your face, he just couldn’t do it.

So, despite Sam’s utter lack of help, he was going to do his best to try to make you feel better.

"It's not you, alright?" He assured. "There's nothing wrong with you. If a guy can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you, okay? Trust me, you will have no problem finding someone else."

The corners of your lips twitched, turning into a small smile. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded, giving you a smirk. "If you want, I could always give out the ole hunter's special with your past one. Bobby could use a new rug for his living room."

A loud snort slipped past your mouth, and Dean was satisfied.

"Okay, Winchester," you said. "This is my sign to get the hell out of here."

And so you did, but before you could get even slightly close to the house, he called out to you.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, a small smile forming on his face. If you thought it was going to be wholesome, then you were sorely mistaken.

"Next time you come to me to talk about your feelings, at least have a damn pie."

[carmenized-onions]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[nyoomfruits]

38 landoscar

38. kiss because they’re running out of time

“Boys?” The voice of Oscar’s mum floats up the stairs into Oscar’s bedroom. “Are you ready? I want to take some picture before you leave!”

“We’ll be right down!” Oscar shouts back, before he turns back to the mirror, fiddling with his bowtie. “God, this thing.”

“Here, let me,” Lando says, getting up from where he was sprawled on Oscar’s bed, having already put on his own suit and tied his tie. He moves over to where Oscar is standing, takes the ends of his bowtie out of his hands.

They’re close, like this, faces only inches apart as Lando desperately tries to focus on the bowtie and not on the way he can pretty much count Oscar’s individual lashes from here. “Nervous?” He asks, just to have something to say.

Oscar shrugs. “It’s prom,” he says, in a rather deadpan voice. Like it’s any other night. And the beauty is, to Oscar, it is. He doesn’t care about this stuff. The dressing up, the dates, the dancing. Which makes it all the more infuriating he actually got a date when Lando didn’t.

Well, that, and the fact that Lando wishes desperately he was said date.

“There,” Lando says, finishes tying the bowtie. “Perfect.”

“Thank,” Oscar says, glancing at himself in the mirror and smiling. “Where did you even learn how to do that?”

“Oliver,” Lando says, noncommittally, because it would be embarrassing to admit that he learned it when it was just him and Oscar going to prom together, when Lando was still hoping something was going to happen, when Lando thought this might be his moment, if it happened.

But then Lily asked him. So.

Speaking of, she should be here any minute, so they can take perfectly cute prom pics in front of the stairs, show them to their kids later, tell them the story of how they met.

Lando’s stomach churns.

He always thought. His entire high school career he thought there was time. He isn’t a hopeless romantic or anything, but he always thought him and Oscar would have this moment. Where they both realized how much they meant to each other. And then they would kiss and everything would be perfect.

But now it’s prom night, and high school is almost over, and the clock is ticking, and nothing has happened.

And the real, harrowing truth is nothing is going to happen, unless.

“Oscar, wait,” Lando says, because seriously. Fuck it. He spend all these years waiting on Oscar, but why can’t he take the plunge instead?

Oscar, by the door, turns around. “Yeah?” He asks, and then lets out a surprised noise when Lando marches over, grabs him by the face, and kisses him full on the mouth.

There’s a second where it’s the most awkward moment of Lando’s life, where they’re just standing in the bedroom they’ve spend so much of their time hanging out together, lips pressed to lips, and then Oscar lets out a shaky breath, and his shoulders fall, and his arms wrap around Lando’s waist, and he kisses back.

It’s the best 30 second of Lando’s life. And then a door opens downstairs.

“Oscar! Lily’s here!”

“Shit,” Lando says, jumping away, nearly launching himself into Oscar’s desk. “Shit, Lily,” he presses. “Oh my god. Oh my god, I made you like. Cheat on your girlfriend, what the fuck. What is wrong with me. Holy shit I’m so not a girl’s girl right now.”

“Lando, what,” Oscar says, still standing by the door a little dazed. “Me and Lily are friends.”

“But you’re going to Prom together,” Lando says, trying so hard not to cry. God, he’s being a horrible friend right now. And Lily. Lily is so nice. Seriously what’s wrong with him.

“Yeah, as friends,” Oscar stresses. “Because you never asked me.”

Lando pauses. Blinks. “But. No, but you didn’t ask me,” he says.

Oscar laughs then. And god, Lando’s heard it a million times, by now, but it never stops being the most gorgeous sound he’s ever heard. “Oh, we’re idiots aren’t we?”

It all starts sinking in now, and Lando laughs too. A loud, relieved thing. “God, we really are,” he says.

There’s a moment where they just stare at each other and then Lando thinks. Take the plunge. “Do you think Lily minds?” He asks. “If I steal her Prom date?”

Oscar laughs, shakes his head. “As long as we still dance with her, I think she’ll mostly be glad to be rid of my pining.”

Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “Pining? Oh my god, was there pining?” He rushes past Oscar suddenly, heads to the stairs. “Lily! Lily my love you have to tell me about the pining.”

Oscar’s laughter, his delightful, beautiful, show stopping laughter, follows him all the way down the stairs.

[lunetoone]

dont ignore me

s: harry cant stop looking at cho, leading to you ignoring him for a period of days. he can't handle it so he decides to disperse the situation himself.

harry j potter x fem!reader

five days. five days you've neglected harry, five days youve neglected his needs for you and his desperate need of your attention. he tries so hard to talk to you before you leave potions class but you talk to pansy so lively without sparing him a glance.

the reasoning behind the avoidance was he couldn't keep his eyes off of cho five days prior. sure you two arent in a relationship but does that mean all the late nights hookups and secret kisses in between classes meant nothing to him?

you skipped dinner that night, eager to finish the book you've picked up a couple days back. the girls dorm was empty, setting your mind at ease, just the thought of the quiet book read is making you excited. although upon opening your dorm room you find yourself quite surprise, or interested.

harry james potter, the boy who lived, a powerful wizard on his knees staring up at you with glossy eyes. you fight back a smirk, "what are you doing doing here potter." you cross your arms trying your best to not jump and giggle at this sight.

"please, look at me in class" he grabs your hand and place your palm on his cheek, leaning on it "please, touch me like this when nobody is looking" the desperateness of his voice made you tingle. he brought your palm to his lips, kissing it while his eyes focused on your own pupils. "i miss you, stop ignoring me. I'll make it up to you"

you wanted to strip naked right then and there with the way hes looking at you. "why should i? go get cho to do these things to you" a tear ran down his cheeks and you felt yourself becoming more excited by the second. your palm now in-between his hands, hes holding it dear "i want you, please i dont need cho, just you." his begging so nicely how could you deny?

"show me how much you really want me then" with no hesitation he stands up and pull you in a kiss, hands having its own mind exploring your beautiful body.

you melt in the kiss, your hands on his chest gradually going lower. when your hands reach his lower abdomen his breath hitches and you smirk in the kiss. his hand now on your neck pulling you further in the kiss. you hands tease on his crotch, palming it harry lets out a high pitch moan. "shit y/n, its been five days i might explode just by your touch"

you laugh at his joke, he continues kissing you, his mouth now on your neck. your hands palm his clothed cock slowly, teasing it by stroking it up and down. his moans and pauses from kissing you indicates just how much hes been waiting on this. you decide to tease him further by kissing his neck, the beautiful moans he lets out was music to your ears. the teasing of his dick and the feeling of your warm tongue on his neck is sending waves of pleasure to harry.

you push him on your bed on get on top of him, grinding your clothed wet cunt on his own clothes private. his head now in the nook of your neck hand gripping your waist tightly. you let out a small moan in his ear and bite it playfully and harry just snapped.

"ah.. fuck y/n" he bites your neck and moans, body flinching and breaths faced. "oh my god harry did you just-" "please, im embarrassed as it is, don't point it out" you laugh to yourself and he sits up properly, pouting.

they way his hair clung to his forehead from sweat made you lick your lips. "ill make it up to you y/n.. just dont tell anybody about this" "oh.. i dont know, i think ron and hermione would love this story" you gasp in surprise when he grabs you by the waist to pin you down, body hovering over you. "you won't find it so funny when i fuck that attitude out of you"

"dont forget harry, we're just friends" "fuck that, tonight we're more than friends.. im going to-" his seducing words were cut off by giggles of girls outside the door, "just when it was getting good"

"harry??? how am i going to explain this?" "dont worry love, ive brought my invisibility cloak" he kisses your lips and puts on the cloak, just in time for the girls to come in. "oh y/n! there you are, im surprised you aren't with harry, he too wasn't at dinner. i hope you two still aren't fighting" hermione puts her books on the table, while looking at you concerning. you stare at the spot harry was on knowing he's still there "dont worry hermione, all is well" you wink to the blank wall and smile to yourself.

[pedge-page]

HIIIII UR LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAV WRITERS IN TUMBLR and ily so much 💝 i appreciate all your hard work that you poured into your writings, making them perfect to read. i've been obsessed with himbo!joel lately and i have an idea. idk if you've done this before but how ab himbo!joel and piss kink crossover? ignore this if you're feeling that you're not comfortable this ask! 🩷

Nonny, I know you submitted this back in May but this has been top of my mind for so long. When i first read this, I was ELATED because Himbo!Joel's original first draft was actually a piss kink! I went a different direction but I'm sooooo glad you've asked this because i didn't have to throw away the og after all :) Thank you for your patience and please enjoy!

Different Kind of Lovin'

Himbo!Joel Miller x F!Reader

warnings: Piss kink, Mommy kink, himbo!Joel, unprotected sex, peeing inside vagina, sub!Joel, dom-ish!Reader, public sex, slight somnophilia, brief piss drinking

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Joel howls as you clench around him, taking a moment to pant like a dog in heat.

He buries his nose into your neck, where it’s safe, where he belongs, as you stroke along his sweated back. “You okay, baby boy?” You coo softly into his ear.

You feel his head nod. “Mkay...” He shivers before kissing your cheek and resuming his thrusts. In, out, up, down, again and again, in ample rhythm. He’s practicing a beat today. There’s a time for wild fucking with the intent to cum his brains out, and there’s a time for slow, sensual, methodical sex, which is something he’s working so well on today.

“You’re doing so good for Mommy today."

He purrs. His hips stutter from excitement, and you feel his cock swell impossibly larger in your swollen, squelching pussy. Joel pauses briefly, collecting himself before returning to his steady pace.

“Mommy,” he hums dangerously. You turn your head to look at him, but he’s still buried into your neck. Almost as if embarrassed by something.

“What is it, baby? It’s okay, you can tell me.”

He grunts again, shaking his head. His pace falters again. Humping in quick, desperate succession. He’s straining hard, fists clenched under your upper back. 

You gather his face, and he nearly loses it right there. Your eyes on him, so soft and sincere, and there for him. Always there. Whenever he needs you and whenever he wants you. Even when he doesn’t know it yet. You’re there, you’re here, you’re his.

“Tell me,” you whisper lovingly while stroking along the stubble of his beard.

He gathers his courage. “Mommy. I—um. I need…I need to pee.”

You can laugh. but a small grin cracks at your lips. “Is that it?”

He nods quickly. You realize all the clenching, and the poor rhythm was most likely due to him trying to hold it, as opposed to trying to be steady. 

Your smooth calves slink along his taught ass before wrapping around, securing him to you.

“That’s okay, angel,” you nod encouragingly, using your ankles to start rocking his hips back and forth, driving his cock in and out of you again. He moans, pleasure consuming his intuition. “You can do it inside.”

“I-Inside?”

His length pulses excitedly, but he’s trying so hard to act like that didn’t just give him a thrill. As if he can pretend he didn’t think of it before.

“Mhm. You can squirt all your juices into Mommy’s pussy. I want everything you give me. Give me your juices, Joel. Mommy wants to feel your warmth filling her. No matter what it is. Mommy will take it.”

“But—ugh fuck Mommy please don’t squeeze like that—I don’t… wanna pee myself—“

“You’re not gonna pee yourself,” you say sternly. Your hands make their way to his ass, pulling him into you at your own desired pace. He can’t be left to be in control of his desires right now, so you need to take charge, to show him it’s really okay.

To show him what he’s missing out on.

“You’re gonna squirt your piss inside me. It’s gonna be okay. It’ll feel really good honey, I promise.”

“Oh my god,” he cries. His brows are drawn tightly together as he takes your lead. His throbbing member is practically forcing out your sweet pussy juices, making way to fill it with his own brew. 

You can barely see straight as he positions his knees to force himself deeper into your womb. Arching your back, Joel holds on tightly, arms tucked below your pits and hands snaked back over your shoulders as his whining increases. The room fills with your hot breaths, Joel’s throaty rasps, and the fastened slap of wet skin.

His voice catches in his throat when it happens. The tingling sensation feels free, and he releases inside of you. He can’t believe it. Can’t comprehend the feeling inside him, inside you right now. Dumping, pouring, squirting and stuffing you to the brim with his massive load of hot urine just shooting out of his cock and safely into your pussy. He never knew it could be this good. you were right, you always are of course, but to think it would amount to the level of pleasure, yet on a different end, as cumming inside you.

“That’s it—that’s my boy—ohhhh honey you had to go a lot didn’t you?” You tease, eyes rolling as you start to shake and cum around his cock. “Oh fuck! Oh baby that’s it. Keep squirting inside me. Fuck you always have big load. Always ready to fill Mommy with your sweet hot juices. Fuck Joel, keep going!”

You quiver as Joel’s mouth still is agape, watching you, having an out of bodied experience himself. He feels another stream, stronger than the last ready to make its way from his bladder to your cunt, and here it comes-- fuck yes!

Hot and wet, his urine plunges out of you in spurts, soaking your ass and the bed below. He pushes in further, feeling his balls and pelvis get soaked with his new juices that his Mommy loves so much. Why had he never peed inside you before? Given the blissed out look on your braindead face, he knows you liked it, you liked it so much. He starts thrusting again, eager to give you more of his warm juices from his body.

The squelch is phenomenal. So hot, hot, hot, sticky and wet all over. Fueled now the he still hasn’t cum. Where his piss ends and your slick begins, he can’t tell, and he loves it. Loves that he’s put something in you that couldn’t be contained, flows out like the love he fills you with each day.

You laugh off his hungry fucking again, no longer caring to practice rhythm. He can rut, hump, piss and cum to his hearts content. So long as he’s buried balls deep inside you, anything he wants to pour into you, he’s eager to put it in.

Eventually, he can’t pee anywhere comfortably unless it’s inside you. Which makes regular day to day routines… slightly more complicated than before. 

Like at night, when you’re fast asleep with his cum still sticky and leaking out of you. He fists his cock and slides right in, careful not to stir you. He holds his breath and starts to go, wetting the you and the bed. He passes out in a puddle of his own piss before you can really discipline him. 

He finds you without fail, whether you’re in the same house or 5 miles apart. When he needs to go, he gets hard too, and he knows only Mommy can handle that for him.

Pushes you against a wall and grinds his length against your ass. “Mommy,” he hums with a grin. “I need to go, please.”

It’s not really an ask, as he strips your pants down and pushes aside your panties, rolling his bulbous tip against your slit. He doesn’t wait for a reply. Poor thing, probably holding it in all day and doing a little funny dance as he rushed his way to find you and give you his juices.

“Have a big potty for ya today. Almost burst my juice everywhere. Got to ya just in time…”

He pushes in one go, his voice stuttering with a lazy grin. Not even a thrust later and he moaning in content as he pisses inside your hot pussy with even hotter urine. It rapidly spills and trickles down your thighs. Luckily from experience, you had known to discard and kick your pants away when he does this, so the yellow puddle of his liquid forms on the pavement below. 

He grips your hips with both meaty paws, grinding his front into your ass as closely as possible. It feels best when his tip can brush along your cervix before spurting out the last of his potty. 

“Joel Miller, you have made a mess of me,” you say, shaking your head with a slight smirk.

Rather than feeling any remorse, he returns your grin with an even bigger one of his own, slowly sliding down to his knees while maintaining eyes with you.

He swallows just as you lean back and spread your legs, fingers parting your folds to reveal the shiny translucent drips of his piss still wetting your cunt and down your inner legs. 

“Clean me spotless, and I’ll let you piss in Mommy’s ass, and I’ll plug it all day so I keep your love warm for the next time you have to go.” 

You never need to ask twice. His tongue is already lapping at your knees, between your thighs and up to your succulent, swollen, precious, pretty pussy. Sucking the little dribble on your clit. Straightening his tongue to dive deep into your entrance before flattening it, stretching your wall and making a slide so his pee and your juices can slide right into his mouth.

He smiles like a stupid, drunk, fantastic boy.

He can’t wait to put his piss in your ass next. 

- - - -

Taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @peekyourinterest

[sorceresssundries]

Until We Wake

Pairing: Gale/Tav

Warnings: Talk of death, afterlife, angst.

Word Count: 1000 words

A/N - I wanted to try and write something different, and move away from my usual overly-descriptive style.

I hope you like it <3

You are dead.

It was easy in the end. Like taking off a coat you’d been wearing too long.

There’s no confusion. You know you are dead, and it’s okay…Was okay? Is okay? Time is strange here. Slippery.

You are sitting at the edge of a great lake. Well, not really sitting, not really by a lake, but that’s how it feels. There is no sunshine, but you can feel the warmth of it on your—skin? No, not skin. There isn’t any skin. There isn’t a body at all. You just… are.

It’s nice, actually.

“God?” A voice, though not a voice, fills the space around you.

“Erm, no. Sorry. There may be one around somewhere, though,” you reply.

You sense a kind of exasperation.

“No,” it says, more insistently. “Which God is yours? Who did you worship?”

“Oh!” That’s funny. If you had lungs, you would laugh. “I didn’t really worship one.”

The silence that follows is heavy.

You’ve probably given the wrong response and are now going to drift here for eternity in silence. That doesn’t seem so bad. There’s peace in it.

“But, uh, I felt close to Selûne. I knew her daughter, actually. Aylin? I saved her once—no, twice! From an eternal cycle of ritual torture and sacrifice. Twice!” You pause, waiting for the weight of your heroism to settle in. “Can you write that down? Are you writing things down? I don’t really know how this works.”

“I am not writing things down.”

“Right. Okay.”

More time passes—seconds, hours, centuries. It is hard to tell. If experience has taught you anything, it’s that you should probably be a little hesitant about listening to mysterious entities who appear in your unconsciousness. But, for whatever reason, you have no doubt that you’re safe.

“Who are you?” you ask.

“Nobody.”

“Oh.” Another eternal pause. “Sorry, I don’t know what that means. I know you don’t have a body. I don’t either. What I meant to ask is... what’s your purpose here?”

“To help”

“Ah.” You think about that. It feels distant, though, like the thought isn’t entirely yours. “Can Withers bring me back? He usually does.”

“No. Not this time.”

That’s alright, you realise. Everything ends.

“Can you tell me how you died?” the voice continues, unhurried.

If sadness existed here, you would feel it.

“I failed somebody. I couldn’t convince him he was deserving enough to live. He sacrificed himself. I stayed with him.”

“Gale Dekarios,” comes the response. Even now, even here, the sound of his name warms you.

“Yes! That’s him! Have you met him? Is he here too?”

“He is not.”

You pause, a moment of confusion or relief, it’s hard to say. Perhaps he’s with Mystra.

He had followed her order, hadn't he? He had used the orb. Perhaps he was cradled back in her starlit palm. Perhaps he was finally fulfilled.

“He’s probably with his Goddess,” you say, matter-of-factly.

“He forgot his Goddess. At the end, he thought only of you.”

Right. He had said something like that once. On a boat he had built out of hope and stardust. It felt like a lifetime ago. You wish you had said more to him—something different. You should have been more convincing, made him see he was more than magic, more than martyrdom. He was kind. Funny. So very human.

Not anymore.

“Will I see him again?”

“Maybe”

This voice that’s not a voice is not hugely helpful. It feels distant. Somehow big and small. Like many voices, or none, all at the same time.

“I let him down,” you whisper, though no sound leaves you.

“He forgives you.”

What do they know of Gale? This mysterious spectre. Maybe it’s just your own thoughts, your desperation, trying to clutch at forgiveness. Maybe death has splintered you into fragments of yourself whispering back and forth. Maybe the afterlife is nothing more than talking to yourself in the quiet, with no one left to answer. A conversation in circles, where you are both the call and the response.

“You loved him" they say. It isn't a question.

“I did. I do. I always will.”

It's lucky you don't have a heart. It would be in splinters.

“Would you like to try again?” The voice offers.

Your thoughts pause, grasping at the idea. “You mean, go back? To the start? Is that possible?”

“Sometimes. Under certain circumstances.”

A chance to try again. At what? Saving Gale? Having a better life? A better death? Eventually finding your way back to this place, with no regrets holding you back?

You would like that.

“Will I remember this?”

“No.”

“Will he?”

“No.”

You could have had this conversation hundreds of times before, or perhaps it is the first and only. It is impossible to know.

“Ok. Yes, please.”

You can feel the pieces of yourself starting to come apart, like threads of a tapestry being unspooled by the oldest and gentlest of hands.

You reach out for those delicate, golden threads on instinct, but they slip away, and it is hard to know whether you are letting go of them or they are letting go of you.

Scratch the Dog. Karlach’s laughter. Night Orchids. Sunlight on scarred skin. Homemade cookies. Gale. Magic. A kiss.

You try to hold them tighter.

“How do I know I won’t make the same mistakes all over again?” you ask.

“You don’t,” the voice that wasn’t a voice says.

A silver sword. A man with horns dancing. Pipe smoke and bear fur. Taverns and temples and soft touches. Gale.

You’re trying to hold so many of them, you have to let others go. What is your name again? How old are you? Who were your parents?

Moonlight through shadow. A boat on make-believe water. A hand in yours. A purple dagger.

“Will I still be me?” You’re no longer sure what that means.

“That depends.”

The lake that wasn’t a lake, the warmth that wasn’t the sun, all of it begins to fade. You feel yourself pulled away, or maybe pulled together. You aren’t sure which—you just know you’re going somewhere, somewhen.

The voice speaks a final time as everything ends. As everything begins.

“Who are you?”

[its-vannah]

Sweet Nothing | Jacaerys x Reader

A/N: My goal is to finish this Masterlist by December, and I've got to say that this is one of the most wholesome fics on this whole list. I dearly loved writing it, and I hope y'all love reading it ❤️

Warnings: Childbirth, intense pain, labor, birth, lots of fluff

Midnights Masterlist

Another restless night had gone by, with bouts of sickness and fever. Laying in bed, feet propped up, you tried to ease the pain in your stomach.

You were only eight months pregnant, but you felt as though the baby could arrive any day now. Praying to the Gods to give you another month, to ensure the safety of both you and your unborn child, you hoped they answered.

I found myself a-runnin' home to your sweet nothings

Jacaerys had insisted on being by your side throughout it all. He had instructed your handmaiden to care for your oldest son, Arewyn, while he tended to you.

Slowly opening the door to your shared chambers, he held a cold, damp rag in his hands. Standing at the side of your bed, he placed the rag over your forehead in an effort to break your fever.

That I'm just too soft for all of it

He sat beside you, gently running a hand over the curve of your stomach, a soft smile on his face, "I can hardly wait, my love."

You let out a content sigh, the baby kicking against his hand, "I don't think the babe can either."

Placing your hand on top of his, you guided him to the upper part of your stomach, "Just wait..."

A hard kick came, and Jacaerys released a breathy laugh, "A strong one we have, don't we?"

"Oh, I'm sure of it," You winced at the pain in your lower stomach, exhaling slowly, "Too strong."

"Any day now, my love, I'm sure of it," He said, pressing a kiss to your stomach, and then your forehead, "Is there anything I can do?"

You shook your head, "I don't believe so, but..."

I spy with my little tired eye

Pausing, you saw the door opening from the corner of your eye. It was slow, as if each push was a struggle.

Tiny as a firefly

Seconds later, a small boy peeked his head through the door, pushing his body through, his eyes wide as he saw you.

A large smile plastered on his face, he ran towards you, his feet slapping against the stone floor.

Desperately trying to get up on the bed, he motioned for his father to lift him up.

And smooth-talking hucksters

"Is the baby here? Can I see it? What's it's name? Is it's name Arewyn, too? Do we have the same name? What does it look like? Like me?"

The constant questioning typically drove those in the palace mad, but Jacaerys found it endearing. He remembered when Joffrey was that young, only three and full of questions.

Jacaerys grinned down at his son, lifting him into his arms and setting him on his knee, allowing him to face you.

You say, "What a mind"

"He has a mind of his own, doesn't he?" Jacaerys said, trying to tame his son's head of curls which he had seemingly inherited from his uncle.

Arewyn searched the room, "Where's the baby?"

You pointed to your stomach, "Not here quite yet, my love."

"When is it going to be here?"

"Soon, my sweet, have patience," Knowing fully well it was impossible for a four year old to practice the art of patience.

This happens all the time

Shaking your head, Jacaerys smiled, nuzzling his son's cheek, "Always asking questions, aren't you?"

"Tell me, Arewyn, where is Pia?" You asked, caressing his small cheek, "She was supposed to watch you."

Arewyn furrowed his brows, crossed his arms, and huffed, "She wouldn't let me see you and the baby. So we played a game. She hid, and I found her."

"So where is she?" Jacaerys asked.

He shrugged, "I didn't find her yet."

Everyone's up to somethin'

The two of you shared a look, shaking your heads, "He's too smart for his own good."

Feeling a sharp pain in your abdomen, you held back the urge to cry out, not wanting to scare your son. Suddenly, you felt warm.

Grasping Jacaerys hand, you shot him a look, "Go fetch the Maester."

He jumped up, Arewyn still in his arms, and promised he'd be back shortly.

-------------------------------

Every time you pushed, you felt a stabbing pain inside you. Although Arewyn's birth had hurt, you hadn't expected this birth to be worse.

They said the end is comin'

A fresh stream of tears cascading down your face, the maester promised it would be over soon.

Out glad-handing each other

Jacaerys held your hand, which was quite the fest itself with how hard you were gripping him, tighter with every push.

Nearly out of breath, you shook your head, suddenly dizzy, "I can't..."

"You should be doing more"

"You must, Princess," The Maester urged, "You need to push more."

Struggling to breathe, you kept pushing, crying out in pain.

After what seemed like hours, you heard the cries of a newborn baby, begging for it's mother.

The wetnurse lifted the babe, a smile on her face as she wrapped it in a blanket, "A boy, my prince."

Jacaerys smiled as she handed the babe to him, as you were too weak to hold him in your arms.

We almost forgot it

Watching as your husband rocked him slowly, back and forth, you nearly forgot about the pain.

The Maester sent a handmaiden to grab fresh linens as he tended to you, and she returned with not only the linens, but little Arewyn, too.

Outside they're push and shovin'

Rushing to your side, he struggled to climb on the bed. Using all his might, he gripped the sheets and sat cross legged beside you.

Attempting to lean over you to get to his brother, Jacaerys reached out a hand to stop him, "Careful, Arewyn. Your mother is still weak from the birth."

And the voices that implore

Groaning, Arewyn tilt his head to get a better look at the babe, a soft smile on his face, "Is it—"

"A boy," You answered, "We have yet to chose a name, my love."

"Then pick one," He urged, excitedly, clasping his hands together, "You can name him Arewyn."

Jacaerys shook his head, "That's your name. He needs a name of his own."

You gazed up at him, "Not quite a name of his own, but a memory of another."

It took him a moment to connect the dots, but once he did, he pursed his lips, "Are you sure?"

"I'm certain."

Jacaerys looked at your eldest son, turning the bay to face him, "Lucerys the second."

Arewyn smiled at him for a moment, before looking between his parents, "That's a long name. Can I call him Luc?"

To you, I can admit

Memories struck Jacaerys, of the times he and his brother had spent together, before he nodded, "I couldn't think of a better name."

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothin'

Before the births of your son's, you and Jacaerys shared a strong, beautiful love. And even after the addition of your heirs, that love continued, with only one difference. It was stronger. It was unconditional.

[markiecake]

pairing: jeong jaehyun x bimbo! fem! reader

warnings: smut (minors dni !!!), degrading (reader recieving), humiliation, manipulation, pet names & name calling (slut, whore, baby, good girl), impact play (jae slaps reader's face while he fucks her :o), face fucking, rough sex, anal (reader gets called his anal princess :3), creampie, squirting, hard dom jaehyun (who also becomes a sweetie for like 5 milliseconds whoopsies !)

one thing i know for sure: jaehyun loves bimbos. ditzy airheads who only think about cock 24/7 !!

so when he sees you talking to one of his friends in your tiny skirt and skin tight shirt which your boobs are basically spilling out of, your head tilting to the side like a confused puppy, he knows he has to fuck you :O

this is how you ended up in some grotty hotel with jaehyun's cock down your throat 😵‍💫 he holds your hair in two ponytails, moving your head back and forth, his tip hitting the back of your throat making you cry :(

"you're fucking gross," he groaned out, "letting some random guy fuck your throat in a cheap hotel room? what a slut."

you moaned around his cock as he didn't stop his movements. that is until he pauses and pulls out of your mouth, making you whine. he tapped his cock on your cheek a little bit, making you feel more humiliated than before.

he laughed from above you and cooed at you, "you want more? you want my cock back in your mouth, hm?"

you nodded desperately, and let out a broken "please", to which he laughed again.

"well that's too bad, isn't it, baby?" he said condescendingly with a fake pout on his face, god he's so so mean :(((

he yanked you up onto your feet by your hair, making you screw your eyes shut and wince in pain. jaehyun obviously didn't care, as he picked you up and tossed you onto the bed.

he pulled your panties down, not bothering to take your skirt off as well. he just lifted it up so it was now covering a bit of your tummy.

he rubbed his tip over your pussy, making you moan and squirm around. he slapped your face, making you gasp out :( he then grabbed your jaw and moved closer to your face.

"don't fucking move," he said, "just take it like the whore i know you are, yeah?"

a single tear streamed down your cheek as you nodded up at him. without warning, he shoved himself inside your tight hole, making your jaw slack.

he put a hand next to your head to support himself as he didn't even give you time to adjust to his size D: muttering something about how "sluts like you don't need to be prepped, huh? just need cock as soon as you can, right?" into your ear.

your mind went blank as he sped up, just nodding dumbly at him with glossy eyes. you tried to grab at his shoulders weakly, to which he just shrugged your hands back off.

he was absolutely pounding your brains out, your eyes rolling back as your boobs bounced through your shirt (that he never even offered to take off for you) with every single one of his sharp movements.

he slapped your face again, a little harder than before, making you open your mouth so he could spit in it !! he just needed a dumb girl like you to let him do all these nasty things to :')

"so nasty, aren't you?" he spoke as he pushed your jaw closed to make you swallow his spit, "gonna make such a fucking mess of you."

he pulled out, making you whine once again. he was basically edging the both of you at this point, it was so so unfair !

he didn't even speak to you, he just did a motion with his hand for you to roll over onto your hands and knees rather than your back.

as soon as you wouldn't do something he asked you to straight away, he would be such a meanie about it, saying things like "what, are you stupid?" "all you think about is cock, yeah?" "can't even fucking move on your own." ＞﹏＜

as soon as he got you in the position he wanted, he wasted no time before rubbing his cock against your other hole. you gasped and reached a hand behind you to try and push his hips away.

"oh come on, you've never been fucked back here?" he scoffed, almost in disbelief.

you shook your head 'no' and continued to try and reach towards his hips, but jaehyun just grabbed your arm and pushed it up onto your lower back.

"didn't you want my cock? were you not begging for it before?" god he could get so manipulative sometimes :,(

"n- not there, jae, please-" you cut yourself off with a moan as you felt him spit on your ass.

"see? i haven't even fucked you here yet and you're already moaning." he said, "you don't have to think about it baby. just let me use you, that's what you're good for." and with that, he pushed his tip inside.

you cried out into the matress, as you heard a loud groan from behind you.

"so tight here, still can't believe you haven't been fucked in your ass before." he slightly chuckled.

"j- jae, please give me a second." you screwed your eyes shut in pain as the stretch was nearly unbearable :(

and to your surprise, he actually didn't move for a little bit. he wasn't a complete monster. he gripped onto your hips so tightly, there would for sure be bruises left in the shape of his hands.

"can i move now, baby?" he asked, in a more gentle tone than before. you hesitantly nodded as he slowly pushed in further.

"biiiiig stretch, that's a good girl." he groaned, making you arch your back into him further.

and you couldn't believe it, but after a while, it actually felt so good !! so good to the point where you started to fuck yourself back onto him on your own 😵‍💫😵‍💫

"see? i knew you would fucking like it," jaehyun spoke as he removed his hands from your hips and watched himself go in and out of you, "braindead girls like you just love cock anywhere, isn't that right?"

you were incoherent as you moaned out in agreement. soon enough, you were getting so close to coming, your spent pussy clenching and dripping around nothing :(

jaehyun quickly noticed you were barely moving back anymore, and put his hands back where they were so he could pound your ass properly ≧ ﹏ ≦

"gonna cum from me fucking your ass, baby? gonna make a mess around nothing?" you barely made out what he said from behind you, but still whined out broken pleas.

and make a mess is exactly what you did, squirting all over the sheets below you, moans becoming borderline screams, squirming and crying as jaehyun just didn't stop.

"gonna turn you into my pretty anal princess, baby, not gonna fuck you anywhere else." he rambled. you just nodded, drool dripping down your chin, tears streaming down your face.

you swear you blacked out from a second, your senses failing you, but your eyes instantly shot back open when you felt jaehyun cum in your ass, his loud moans and groans could honestly be heard from miles away 😵‍💫

and we all know that when jae cums, there's just so much, so when he pulls out after a little while, he takes a second to admire the way his thick load drips out of you and back down to your cunt !!

you're absolutely spent, you can barely move or speak, and you just lay there for a little while before you feel his presence in front of you.

"you have ten minutes." he began, with a smile on his face, to which you lift your head up and tilted it to the side, just like you did when he first saw you.

"i'm getting my money's worth. not gonna let this hotel go to waste, right?" he grabbed your chin which was covered in saliva, "you want it too, don't you? want me to fuck you 'til we get kicked out of here?"

to which, you just smiled and nodded.

[bkgml]

ex bf againnnnnn!

(cw! mentions of vomit but nothing descriptive)

i wish i wasn’t shadow banned so more ppl could see this cause i worked hard!! :(

————————————————————————

10:47pm

yn: hey

katsuki nearly dropped his phone.

“bakugou man, why’re you so quiet?”

bakugou sighed deeply, rolled his shoulders and opened his mouth to speak.

“uh it’s nothing. none of your business.” he shrugs him off.

but sero already made his way behind him.

“bro, yn texted you?!” he calls out.

dropped jaws from around him make the boy seethe.

“i told you to mind your business!” he yells.

ignoring his friends screams, kirishima sees through bakugous facade.

“you gonna text her?” he asks calmly.

bakugou meets his eyes and sighs again.

“probably.” he groans.

“dude, what the hell! you were torn up for months after that breakup!” kaminari pipes in.

but he’s already typing.

10:59pm

suki: why are you texting me?

yn: sorry if i woke you up

suki: you didn’t

yn: can i call you?

he pauses again and the boys have now made their way to surround his phone.

“you guys are like fuckin hyenas.” he frowns.

“are you gonna call her?” kirishima says.

bakugou takes a moment to think before groaning and getting up.

“it could be an emergency.” he mumbles out before opening the door to kirishimas room to stand out in the hall.

*incoming call from ‘suki’*

your breath catches in your throat before you make your shaking thumb press the answer button.

“hi.” you speak shakily.

you pray he chooses to ignore the upset tone in your voice and he does.

“hey.” he replies calmly.

“um. were you asleep?” you ask.

“no, i was with the idiots.”

he hears you laugh lightly through the speakers.

“why’d you text me?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“well, i uh.” you laugh again, a habit you have when you’re nervous.

“i don’t feel well.” you say.

he pauses and starts tapping his foot.

“how’s that my problem? i’m not your boyfriend anymore.” he says, sounding meaner than he intended.

you sigh shakily and he can practically hear the tears forming in your waterline.

“yeah, um… i know that. it’s just i really can’t sleep.” you mumble, afraid of his reply.

“what do you want me to do about it?”

the pause is long before you speak again.

“god this is so embarrassing.” you whine, letting an uncomfortable laugh slip through your lips.

“just say it, alright?… it’s fine.” he says quietly.

“okay um… can i sleep in your bed with you? we don’t even need to make contact or anything.. i just feel like shit and it’s so hard to sleep without you.” you whisper.

he takes a second to think over his answer. if he’s being honest he was hoping you’d say something like that. he hasn’t had a good nights sleep since you broke up either. but on the other hand you’re broken up. he shouldn’t be doing this.

“are you still there, kugo?” you interrupt his train of thought.

he breathes deeply though his nose and blinks away some tears that are trying to form at the use of the nickname.

“uh yeah. just thinkin.” he replies, shakily.

“you really don’t need to let me. i only asked cause i’m really desperate and we didn’t end on terrible terms, you know?” you say quietly.

he rakes a hand through his hair and sighs.

“how bad is it?” he says.

“huh?”

“is it just a cold, or what?” he confirms.

“oh um, i have a high fever and i keep throwing up. sorry if that’s gross i just know you don’t get sick because of your quirk. i can’t ask any of my friends they’ll get sick.” you say.

he groans deeply while pinching the bridge of his nose. you guys are broken up, why does he still care?

“meet me outside my dorm in 5 minutes, and im not doing this shit again.” he mumbles out.

he hears you whine and sniff, feeling a tug on his heartstrings.

“thanks, kugo.” you say as your voice wobbles.

“don’t keep me waiting.” he replies.

the two of you hang up and he groans at the thought of having to tell the idiots.

he opens the door and steps inside.

“hey, so what’d she say?” kirishima asks.

“nothin. i’m going to bed.” bakugou grumbles.

“you sure?”

“yeah, fuck off.” he says as he steps back outside.

he heads back to his room and steps inside.

he made sure to get here before you so he could clean up some things he’s not so proud of.

the framed picture of you he’s never taken off his desk, the small bottle of perfume that rests on his nightstand and your shirt that sits on your side of the bed.

he can’t sleep on your side anymore.

he stashed them all in one of his desk drawers before hearing a knock on his door.

“here goes.” he whispers lowly to himself.

he opens the door to see you standing there.

face red and covered in tear stains, bed head, deep eye bags, lips plush and bitten and his hoodie draped on your form. you’re biting your nails, another habit you have when you’re nervous.

“hi.” you say with watery eyes, bringing the sleeve of his hoodie up to wipe the tears that are threading to fall onto your cheeks.

“hey.” he says, pushing the door open wider.

you step inside hesitantly, before getting a waft of nausea and sprinting into katsuki’s bathroom.

“yn?!” he calls, running after you.

he finds you hunched over the toilet.

“hey…” he says, walking over to you and kneeling beside you.

he’s hesitant but he does start to rub your back and clasp your hair in his hand to keep it out of the way.

“it’s alright, let it out. katsukis here.” he says, soothingly.

“hurts…” you whine.

he chuckles quietly.

“i know, swe-“ he cuts himself off, praying you didn’t hear the beginning of the pet name.

you sit up once your done and he sees fresh tears sliding down your face.

“that was a nice icebreaker, huh?” he smiles while he wipes your tears.

“oh yeah, me throwing up. great icebreaker.” you smile back as you lean into his touch.

“better now?” he asks.

you nod slowly before your face crumples up with disgust.

“i still have your extra toothbrush, come on.” he says as he helps you up.

you steady yourself once you’re on your feet.

“thanks, kugo.” you smile brightly.

he has to turn away from your bright smile and your cheery nickname.

“let’s just get you in bed.” he replies.

he waits for you to brush your teeth. while you were together he’d be doing it for you, you sitting on the counter with your legs around his waist and your hand holding his.

he blinks away tears that haven’t even formed yet at the thought of how things used to be.

“bed?” you ask sweetly once you finish brushing your teeth.

he nods and resists the urge to bring you by the hand into his bed so he can hold you until you feel better.

he walks into his room and heads into his bed.

he pats your side of the bed and you bite your nails again before slipping under the sheets with your ex boyfriend.

you turn towards each other but make no move to touch each other.

“you tired?” he asks when he sees your drooping eyes.

you nod and wipe your tears with his sleeve once again.

“why’re you crying?” he asks.

you sniff and snuggle deeper into the sheets of his bed.

“im sorry i made you take care of me.” you cry.

he lets a sigh through his nose.

“i know.” he says and he doesn’t resist the urge to cup your cheek to comfort you.

you whine and lean into his hand again.

“get some rest, yeah? katsuki’s here.”

he’s here. you’re okay.

you repeat those phrases in your mind as you close your eyes and drift off into a calm sleep.

once he knows your asleep he presses a lingering kiss to your head as he finally lets a single tear fall from his eye.

11:37pm

kirishima: hey bro, why’d you leave so early?

bakugou: none of your business.

kirishima: don’t tell me she’s there

bakugou: shut up.

kirishima: bro

bakugou: even if she is here it’s none of your fucking business

kirishima: im just saying you wore torn up for months about her

bakugou: it’s not like we fucked. she’s sick.

kirishima: are you sure?

bakugou: yes now fuck off.

he puts his phone back on the nightstand and ignores the buzzing of his friends protests.

staring up at the ceiling he sighs before he feels rustling from beside him.

you make your way from beside him to resting on top of him with your limbs tangled with his.

he inhales a shaky breath as he wraps an arm around you and kisses your cheeks.

he feels you hug him tighter and he stiffens.

“miss you…” he hears you mumble.

he pauses.

“miss you too, baby.” he calls out in the silence of his bedroom.

[just-a-creep-babe]

61 for the smut thing? Can you do EJ

Ooooooh so i was sUper inspired during this one, and I’m thinking bout turning it into a multiple-part fic--would y’all be interested? 👀

Lmk if you enjoy ❣️ ✨

~Requests are closed but commissions are open!~

Join my Patreon if you’d like to support me!

Masterlist: x

61. “Just…once. Please. I just need to taste you once.”

It wasn’t a secret that the hybrid had a thing for you

But you didn’t know just how badly he wanted you

Or how often he found himself thinking of you

And how often that led to him rutting his stiff cock into his fist, desperately wishing it was you beneath him instead

You knew Jack was into you

But you didn’t know he was borderline obsessed with you

He passes you down the hall on Friday night, and your scent alone is nearly enough to drive him feral

You pause in your tracks, then call out to him

“Oh, Jack!”

God, just the way you say his name has the muscles in his abdomen tensing

He turns to you

“Yeah, what’s up?”

He tries not to cringe at how husky his voice sounds—you somehow always seem to coax a deeper pitch from him, almost as if by some kind of instinct

You smile, and god, he swears you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen

“Are you free right now?”

For you? Always

“I wanna get some training done,” you continue, entirely unaware of the way his heart is beating in his chest, “but I can’t find anyone else to spar with”

“I’m free,” he blurts the words out faster than intended, but only because the thought of you sparring with someone else makes his blood boil

“Great,” you smile again, and he can feel himself getting warmer, “are you ready for it right now, or do you have to change or something?”

“Now’s fine,” he hums

He gestures for you to lead the way, which you happily oblige

You make small talk as you walk down the corridor to the gym together

He could listen to you all day

He wants to hear every possible sound that can escape your delicate little throat; your laughter, your hums, your moans, your screams

Fuck, he has to distract himself

By the time you get to the training mats, he’s already partially hard

And though they won’t be fun to work out in, he’s thankful he wore his dark jeans instead of his grey sweats—he hates the thought of making you uncomfortable just because his damn pants might betray his arousal

“You really gonna fight me in that?” you laugh, and for a split second, he’s scared you can read his mind

But then he realizes you’re talking about his oversized hoodie, and relief washes over him

Wait—are you flirting with him?

Dumb grin on his face, he shakes his head and pulls the top over his head, tossing it out of the way into the corner of the room

“That better?”

He’s shirtless beneath it, and he almost can’t help but tense his muscles to give you a bit of a show

“Mmh, yeah, I guess it’ll do~” you tease

Fuck, fuck, fuck

He forces himself to think about Jeff and BEN to hopefully ease the way his pants keep tightening around him

He wants nothing more than to inhale your scent to see if there’s any change in your hormones

Does seeing him shirtless like this turn you on—even if just the slightest bit?

But he knows he’d be done for if he focuses too much on your scent

It’s already hard enough for him to control himself around you as is

You bring your hands up either side of your face, readying your stance, and he does the same

A mutual nod is shared, indicating you’re both ready, and then you’re making the first move

You step towards him and try to throw a hook

He dodges easily, then retaliates by kicking at the foot you’ve shifted your weight to

You stumble, but only for a second before using the momentum to try for another punch, this time aimed at his stomach

Again, he sidesteps it, his instincts making him unnaturally light on his feet

He wonders if he should let you get a few hits in; he’d hate to see you train with someone else just because he so obviously outmatches you

But while he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to fake out another punch, only to spin on your heels and give him a roundhouse kick

He tries to dodge it at the last second, but combined with his previous dilemma and the fact that he’s still very much so trying to conceal a boner, you hit him right in his side

He chokes out a groan, clutching the spot you landed the blow, and while you’re ahead, you take another shot, this time at his legs

He’s just as shocked as you must be when you get the hit in

He falls to his knees, and you’re about to drop your attack stance when he reaches out and grabs your ankle

His instincts take over for a split second, and the next thing he knows, he’s on top of you, pinning you down, and the both of you are panting heavily

Well, there go his attempts at hiding his hard-on

“Jack—“

You cut yourself off when you notice the way he’s looking down at you

The air seems to grow thick

Neither of you say anything

You both just lie there, staring at each other, sweaty body on sweaty body while you try to catch your breaths

And then, it happens

He makes the fatal mistake of breathing you in

Your scent is intoxicating

As soon as he gets a whiff, he can’t help but nestle into your neck to breathe in more of you

It’s not just your sweat—you’re turned on

You want him

His pelvis digs into yours, rolling circles between your thighs

“J-Jack—“

You gasp his name, and he almost has to stop himself from biting down into your neck right then and there

He wants to claim you, brand his mark into your skin

You’re his, you’re all his

The only thing stopping him from doing that right now is his damn fucking mask

“J-Jack, stop—“

His body freezes at the command

The word stop repeats itself in his clouded, lust-drunk mind

“W-we can’t,” you swallow thickly, “we can’t do this”

“…Why not?”

Any other time, it would’ve made him cringe to hear how much of a snarl his voice sounds like

But right now, he’s so horny, he can hardly bring himself to care

“It-it’s not—we just can’t. We’re just friends”

Friends

The word stings

He wants to spit it out, tear it in half because it’s in the way of him getting what he wants

A groan escapes him, something guttural and frustrated

You can’t lie—you want him too

He knows it, he can smell it

His cock twitches, and he notices the way it has more of your delicious scent filling the room

He buries his face into your neck again, cursing his fucking mask for blocking his lips from your skin, but knowing all too well it’s probably for the better

Breathing you in again has his hips rolling into you involuntarily

He can’t help it

He doesn’t even know if he’s really in control of himself anymore, or if it’s just the demonic instincts taking over

“Jack”

You say his name again, and oh, how he wishes it meant something different

“Just…once. Please,” he chokes the words out

He’s desperate

“I just need to taste you once”

He watches you bite your lip, brows furrowed, the need evident in your eyes

It’s pathetic, he shouldn’t be begging like this

But he’s so, so fucking desperate

He’s almost surprised when you finally make up your mind and give a shy nod

But it’s more than enough of the confirmation he needs

His hands travel down your form, trying to memorize every curve of your body beneath his touch

He’s almost salivating by the time he reaches your shorts

He looks up at you one last time, like he’s asking for permission again, and when you nod once more, biting your lip, he pulls the material all the way down

He thinks he might be in heaven when your bare cunt is revealed to him

You’re so wet you’re glistening

And your scent has his head spinning—to the point where he can’t focus on anything else

He wants to take his time, good lord, he wants to savor this, but he’s too impatient for his own good

He pushes his mask up to kiss at your thighs and hips, his sharp teeth occasionally leaving teasing nicks into your soft flesh

Your hands reach out to fist at his hair, legs spreading apart just the faintest bit more

When his tongue first makes contact with your folds, he groans deeply

He must be in heaven

He’s immediately addicted, hooked on the taste of your dripping sex

He grasps your thighs, tugs your legs over his shoulder, and firmly holds you in place

When he presses his lips to your cunt, just like that, he’s gone

He loses himself entirely to you

He sucks at your clit, lapping long strokes up your slit, and circling at your entrance

The way your body reacts to him, the way your cunt clenches every time he delves further into you, all those fucking sounds you’re making for him

He wants more

He needs more, so much fucking more

You pull his hair, whimpering his name, and he has to stop himself from grinding down into the training mat beneath him

He’s so hard, it’s almost painful

But as long as he gets to keep fucking you on his tongue, he’s over the moon

He’s so lost in you that he almost fails to notice the way your thighs start shaking around him

You’re getting close, and every nudge of his lips and tongue against your clit is making you moan even louder for him

“F-fuck, Jack— Fuck!—“

Your back arches, lifting off the ground

You look like a goddess

Even as you cum, he can’t bring himself to stop

You’re moaning and squirming, writhing in the palms of his hand, and something about it is driving him absolutely feral

He snarls, pushing his tongue deeper down your sex until he can feel you clenching around him

The string of curses falling from your parted lips is like a prayer he knows he won’t forget

He only stops when you start pulling at his hair, trying to tug him off of you

You’re shaking from the overstimulation

He, on the other hand, is throbbing in his jeans

He’s never felt so desperate

He wonders if he’s on the verge of triggering a heat

He licks at his lips, tasting your arousal off of his skin

The room is filled with your scent, and your taste is on his tongue, but if it were up to him, he’d still have more

And fuck, you’re so cute when you’re all flushed and panting after your orgasm

What he wouldn’t give to be able to see you like this all the time

He sits up, and he has to tense his muscles to prevent himself from shaking with need as you fix your shorts back on

He wants to say something, anything, but he’s at a loss for words

The word friends still hangs in the dead air between the two of you

It’s just about the only thing stopping him from folding you into a mating press and filling you with his seed

You look unsteady on your feet when you pull yourself up to stand

He looks up at you, still kneeling in front of you, and all he can picture is how good you’d look sitting on his face right now

Why must you make him so insatiable?

You make up some excuse about needing to go, looking shy and flustered and bashful all at once

He wants to say something that’ll convince you to stay, but he’s way too horny to think straight

And for the first time this evening, he’s thankful he’s still wearing his mask

It’s pushed halfway up his face, but maybe that’s just enough to conceal his expression so that you can’t tell all the depraved thoughts he’s having

He’s left there, kneeling on the training mat he just ate you out on, as he watches you leave

And he thinks fuck it, he’ll make sure that won’t be the only time he gets to do that to you

[alastorsfuckassbob]

You're Never Fully Dressed-

Alastorxfem!reader

oh boy everyone's favorite! Please I have never written before, I just figured I'd give it a shot it was 1:35 and I was not feeling sleepy so an hour later here it is, its not edited so SORRY ABOUT THAT- all of my friends are normal and would definitely not proof read this hot garbo!

Basic Plot!! Yikes another song fic i know i KNOWW, the reader knew our good pal Al in her life but oopsies he "left" her (he died duh) and now shes taking a sad hot girl bubble bath to reminisce!!

Lyrics are bolded, past events Italics for the most part.

ALSO Please DNI if you're a minor k thanks bye!! You are responsible for your own internet consumption, so here are the warnings! If you don't want to view that ✨dont✨

Warnings include:

-Swearing

-Violence

-Alcohol Use but not abuse! (its hell duh)

-Abusive Relationships

-Slight Innuendo but not a strong one!

-Angst

The fire danced, flitting left and right. It was different than any other fire set in hell, it wasn't meant to hurt anyone or destroy anything. It was just a small flame, melancholically melting the dripping wax down the white lilac scented pillar. Floral scents were hard to come by unless you made them yourself, it was hell after all, its not like theres a flower garden planted on every corner. The candles single wick didn't produce more than a drop of light. It just flickered every now and then, entertaining its own little lonesome sway. Your demeanor softened as you looked at it from the petal filled bath you currently resided in.

Oddly you felt at peace, understood, almost comforted. You had learned to dance the same way it seemed. You caught yourself when you fell, twisting and turning to please an audience. It was a cruel existence. At least the flame looked content in some way, at least it would never know what it was like to contort under the will of another. Yet it was still a light in darkness, shining for no other reason than to survive...All it could ever do was take, even if it didn't want to, fire needs to burn. To burn it must destroy. You sighed sinking deeper into the bubbly water. You didn't want to think about your past. Not anymore. You didn't have to anymore anyway. Life had not been kind to you and that constant displeasure followed you through your death and into the pits of hell. Funny how suffering could follow biting desperately at your heels and the man who was so "desperately" in love with you in life just couldn't find it within himself to stay...God you sounded bitter. To be fair you were. After all he had ruined your life and he didn't even know it...It wasn't that bad was it? You probably would still be in hell regardless, even without his "involvement" or lack of- you had always been a sinner. It wasn't worth it to be upset, not anymore he's most likely dead, you definitely are, whose to say if he'd even wind up down here. You paused a moment, laughing at the silly conclusion overthinking had led you to.. no that fucker is definitely in hell. Sweet as he was up front, he had a dark side that went much deeper than his soft exterior could cover. You closed your eyes..

1923- Central New Orleans

Suddenly it was 1923. The flower lined streets of late spring in New Orleans. His smile never wavering as he dragged you from store to store. As your dear companion, and biggest supporter, he had asked you to assist him at the radio station. Now that you had finished school you would need a job anyway. You'd always had a beautiful voice and a knack for writing. It just made sense. His hand squeezed yours lightly pulling you from your thoughts. In his hands, he held a burgundy day dress and a matching bow.

"Darling, would you try this on for me? I believe it is high time you were rewarded for all of your hard work. I believe you would simply sparkle in this color"

You smile softly at his gentle tone, taking the delicate dress in your hands. You find yourself caught in his eyes. It feels like you two are the only people on the planet

You feel the familiar sensation of tears on your face, you open your eyes again, you hadn't realized you'd started crying.

you let out the shrill scream you didn't know you were holding in. the fluke of champagne you had so tediously been savoring since you began your bath cracked slightly. You downed the rest of the glass, and grabbed the bottle sitting lazily on the floor. You didn't want to think about him or your life anymore...but it consumed you. You had so many more important things to fret about in your..current..environment. Songs to sing, bitches to kill, people to fuck. A grand glorious array of newer shinier problems, and yet you were stuck sulking about the past. You take a deep breath shaking slightly despite the warm vanilla scented water surrounding you. You remove your hand from the water motioning to the shadow hiding behind a vase (of no more than slightly wilted roses). It slinks forward at your beckoning, climbing to the white marble countertop of your vanity, it clicks the worn down knob of your rickety old radio. light jazzy music trickles out and fills the air with lovesick nostalgia you weren't entirely prepared to let in. No matter what he had done...you would always fall back to him. Even if he was nothing more than ill-fated failed fourteen year "endeavor". fourteen years is quite a long time, even if the majority of it was spent more or less platonically. You really did love him. Love doesn't always follow those that leave, you are testimony and truth to that. You let your mind wander guided by the static filled notes of the radio.

Hey, hobo man

Hey, Dapper Dan

You've both got your style

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

Even through the shudder of the static, it really did sound like him. Despite being the "host" of the station. He had his fair share of performances. For such a Hell bound soul he had the voice of an angel.

You close your eyes once again and allow the melody to take you back to an easier time.

1926- New Orleans, Your apartment

You sing along with whatever tune the radio gives you. You're at peace, simply existing for no other reason than to be with your friend.

"Dance with me my little canary, your voice lights a fire within me"

He pulls you in by the waist. His hands splayed across your hips holding them with a gentleness you'd never expected him to hold for you. He leans his head down against the yours and places a chaste kiss on your forehead

"Alastor" you giggle, the sensation tickling you slightly. "You are quite ridiculous"

"Ridiculous?" he feigns hurt. "My darling I am so far from ridiculous the word does not find sense within my ears" he spins you around and into his chest, you roll your eyes ignoring his antics

"Dearest are you aware you are speaking with the future of radio?"

"The future of radio? Please Love, don't jest. The 20s surely have more in store than you" You laugh into his chest and he shockingly laughs with you.

Neither of you know it but you are both so drunk on the sound. To you, his laugh sounds like the swift church bells that used to ring throughout your home town whenever someone got married. It feels familiar and yet like a distant memory. It makes you want to hear it over and over again until your ears stop working, and even then you'd settle in just fine feeling the vibrations of his chest. He sounds like home. To him, your laugh sounds like the rushing creek and smooth algae covered stones resting deep beneath the trees draped in Spanish moss of his mothers cabin in the woods. Just hearing your laugh he can feel the spotted sunlight speckling his freckled face underneath the big willow tree. You sound like home. Everything about you- it felt like home to him. His hands were crafted to hold soft curves of your body. His ears were made to hear your voice and your voice alone. You were purpose, his home. You don't know it, but it is that realization that sparked the idea of marriage into his heart.

That fire was put out not long after.

You at least had those nine years as his friend, three years as his "copain" if you will- and two years as his fiancée...and so many years alone. You only spent 14 years in the company of this man. You had lived before knowing him a good 17 years, and a good long bit after.

Why were you so stuck?

You hum along subconsciously, the objects in your bathroom begin to glow a familiar pink, levitating slightly in the air as you continue to hum. Your ability isn't weak by any means, but for some reason you were. You were nothing in comparison to hells overlords, especially the newest trio of Vs. Your power is so deeply connected to your voice, how can you hold power when it doesn't belong to you anymore? You drift back to the memory of your arrival. Scared, alone, dressed a great deal less than modestly, and equipped with nothing more than a pair of horns, some wings you couldn't quite use yet, and a thin devil like tail. It was only your third hour in hell. You didn't understand the rules. You were playing a twisted game in which you didn't realize you were just another piece of.

Shock can make a person anxious and fear will make them stupid. He was tall and smelled distinctly of cigars, soured whiskey, and something pungently sweet you couldn't name. It burned your nose as you inhaled it. You would become well aquatinted with the smell of lust in the years to come, you just didn't know it yet. It seemed innocent at first, just a simple contract, no different than a job. All you had to do was sing and dance at a club, in exchange for safety. But it was different and it wasn't innocent. He was cruel and yet no different than so many of the men you had dealt with in life. He agreed to your terms of anonymity and thats about it. You had your private life and his life. Valentino never played fair. You didn't know that yet, and now you're hells favorite sinner, a least no one knew it was you. If he had asked you another day later you would have realized you could have probably fended for yourself, with some difficulty anyway. At least you wouldn't have to be in this mess. You wouldn't be fucking six people before noon. You wouldn't be constantly covered in bruises and scars...Maybe you could have found him, Alastor that is. Maybe you could have at least been friends again. Its silly to hope for anything more since your romantic relationship ended...✨the way it did✨

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But brother

You're never fully dressed

Without a smile!

1931- New Orleans, The river

The two of you sit beside each other in a small wooden row boat. Your hair is tied back with your signature crimson ribbon. He fiddles with the pocket of his jacket. The Louisiana soundscape of crickets, frogs and running water accompanies your conversation. Fireflies light up the air, almost bringing the stars down to your fingertips. With a buzz and a gentle green glow, the small creature lands on your hand. Your smile leaks wonderment and Alastor can hardly contain the love he feels for you.

As a Radio Host, he is quite agile in the way of words, yet something about you has him constantly at a loss. He takes a deep breath, unsure of what to say his voice wavers as he begins to speak.

"y/n, I want to thank you for the effect you've had in my lif-"

"My love look at the stars!" You didn't mean to cut him off, Your arms stretched upwards your face turning to meet his. The stars were so much brighter then they were in the city, it was only natural for you to be excited

"Yes doll, I see them, they're the same as they were last night and many many nights before hand"

You let out an impatient huff

"that doesn't make them any less beautiful." a mischievous glint hides in your eyes "now wouldn't it be so dreadfully terrible if I got bored looking at you just because I've already seen you before?" You fake a yawn and look at him eyes seething with boredom

"It would be so dreadful considering I was about to propose to you"

There is no other word to describe what you felt other than shocked. You had been an item for quite some time, but you never figured he would stick around (and "seal the deal" if you will).

Tears begin to run down your face rambling small words of agreement and love. You had never expected him to..love you that way. He was who he was, a dreadfully popular radio host, and you weren't really anything more than an assistant. People really only listened for him..yet in this moment, he was speaking only for you.

"I love you so dearly my y/n. If life without you exists I do not want to exist through it"

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

1934: New Orleans, Alastor's house

The house was empty. He was gone. Fully and truly gone. It had been a year since you'd seen or heard from him and six months since the birth of your son. It didn't feel like your house, it didn't feel like your life anymore. It was all still his. His things still bled into your side of the closet, his last purchase, a book, dust encrusted and unread. The blankets and pillows set on the couch exactly as you both had left them after falling asleep to the rain the night before he left wordlessly. You found yourself sporting one of his shirts more often than your own...until eventually they didn't smell like him anymore. The whole house used to reek of his signature vanilla smell. Theres nothing left here but dust and the crooked board of the desk he insisted he could build himself "just fine".

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

That matters

1936- New Orleans; ✨that shitty bar you performed at✨

"Get the fuck up you bitch"

You felt his hand tangle in your hair and pull you to your knees. All you could do was groan in pain.

"I'm so sorry it won't happen again I promise"

You mutter almost to yourself. He rolls his eyes shoving you into the counter smashing a glass in the process. Your vision blurs for a second seeing the glass shards decorating your h/c locks in a halo. You feel the blood trickle down your forehead.

"Do you think anyone else would hire you? A whore with nothing to her name and a useless ugly bastard child from god knows who?" You feel angered at his words. Insulting you is one thing, but your child?

But then it sinks in, he's right. The 30s are a sick decade, nothing progressive about them. No one else would hire you. You are lucky to work here..despite it all. You tell yourself anything is better than living on the streets. The mantra doesn't dull the pain but it makes it easier to put up with. You don't have a choice. You have a child to take care of.

"Get rid of him"

you stay silent unsure if you heard him correctly.

"Get rid of the boy. I don't care if you leave him in a box on the street or kill him yourself"

He reaches for a small silver knife under the bar's counter. He places it against your throat.

" y/n..You won't like it if I do it dearest, besides you are saving him the shame of having a mother like you. At least if he's adopted elsewhere he has a chance at a half decent life" he took a deep swig from his un-shattered glass of whiskey, looking at you with such deep distain.

You had never hated anyone the way you hated that man..But he was right. You would never be able to give your baby the best life. It would never get better because you couldn't make it better. So you found a young couple not to far from New Orleans, they took him in, and he got to be happy. he ended up living a successful life. He still is. If nothing else theres that. You know your own misery doesn't automatically allow others to be happier, but at times its what keeps you going.

Your mind is flooded with more and more thoughts. Thousands of little memories pilling themselves on top of you. Who would've thought, even deceased, even owned by Valentino, even trapped in an ever so violent place, the real plight of hell would be your thoughts. You light a cigarette and get out of the tub. You throw on a dark red robe and sit on the vanity's counter to brush your damp hair. The song continues into a jazzy interlude before it reprises again

Your clothes may be Beau Brummelly

They stand out a mile

But, brother

You're never fully dressed

You're never dressed

Without a smile

You stretch out your wings in the mirror, looking at your demonic self. No matter how many times you catch yourself in the mirror, even after ten years of this hellish existence. It still strikes you as odd. You look more or less the same. The same hair color and skin tone, although slightly more grey. The tail was just fucking weird no matter how long you had it. The song erupts into the finale distracting you from your thoughts. You begin to sing along with it, smiling softly. It really does sound like him. The same pink glow takes over the room as well as your body, Your eyes begin to glow that same soft pink, your hair floating above your shoulders.

Who cares what they're wearing

On Main Street

Or Saville Row

It's what you wear from ear to ear

And not from head to toe

You're never fully dressed without a smile

The last line comes out much quieter than the rest. A sense of sadness overtakes you once again as you realize how pathetic this whole night turned out. You'd spent the whole night "Simping", as Velvette would say, over a relationship that ended decades ago. Yikes. The static from the radio clicks up a few notches, You cover your ears at the sudden noise. You quickly reach for the dial in order to turn off the device..And then you hear it. You hear him.

"Dearest.." Its almost unintelligible through the static

You think you've finally fucking lost it. Ten years in Hell and you've officially gone "delulu"...another Velvette saying but it feels fitting.

“y/n.”

He called softly, the static in his voice heavy and nearly unreadable.

You almost didn't believe it.

"Y/n" He repeats the static fizzling out leaving his voice raw and almost natural. Fuck this was real. You didn’t respond. You didn’t know how to. You weren't sure if he could even hear you..how he would respond? Would it be worse if he did? It had been an entire decade since you fell, All of this time- he never bothered to contact you. Why now? Why so much later?... Had he forgotten about you? Did he just..die? You cant discern which is worse...that he had left you and your son and lived a long guilt free life...or that he made no attempt to even speak to you in the decade you had inhabited the same existence.

Ok that was all like exposition and shit..considering part two but I AM VERY TIRED RN

[l1tw1ck]

Sweet like Honey

dom!bottom!ftm!stepbro Kaeya x sub!top!masc!perv reader

☆ AFAB Language Used ☆

↳ [Part One]

CW: Stepcest, Finger Sucking, Cunnilingus, Nipple Play

You, on your knees, look up at Kaeya who's sitting on his bed with his legs spread. He's wearing the light blue thong you bought him, rubbing his clothed pussy with two slender fingers. "Thanks for the gift, pervert." Kaeya presses his foot on your hard-on and rolls it around. "You're so hard already."

You whine. "Please."

He bites his lip and moves his foot away. "Go ahead. Jerk off." He pushes the thong aside and slides two fingers inside his wet pussy. You quickly take your length out, lightly gripping your cock and sliding your fist up and down as he fingers himself, occasionally rubbing his clit.

"Ah~" Kaeya moans, showing off. You watch in awe as his fingers skillfully work his pretty pussy. He takes his free hand and brings it up underneath his shirt, pulling on his hardened nipple. "Fu- fuck-" Kaeya hits his g spot and calls out your name. "Gonna come~" He warns. You pause your masturbation, staring in between his legs and anticipating his orgasm. Kaeya pulls his fingers out and rubs his clit furiously, arching his back and squirting on your face. You quickly open up your mouth and try to drink whatever you can. "Pervert." He grins, pushing two fingers back inside and getting them slicked up before pulling them out and pressing them on your tongue. "Suck."

You wrap your lips around his digits, moving your tongue around them and tasting his delicious slick.

The taste soon leaves, causing you to frown. Kaeya notices and pulls his fingers away. "You want more?" He asks and you nod. "How greedy." He laughs.

"Please, Kae." You whimper.

He shivers. "Go ahead."

You bury your head in between his legs and swipe your tongue up his wet pussy, moaning at how good he tastes. You stick your tongue inside him, exploring his warmth. Kaeya rolls his head back in pleasure. "Ah~ yes~" He moans. "Good boy-"

You tongue fuck him, drinking straight from the source. He closes his thighs around you as you poke at his pleasure spot, getting him close to an orgasm. "Oh Gods–" He gasps. "[Name]–" He lets out a loud moan as he comes, cum gushing onto your tongue and into your mouth.

this part is very self indulgent

You were busy all day and couldn't come home until late, leaving Kaeya to his own devices. When you entered his room, you were greeted with the sight of him half naked and finger fucking his wet pussy. "Harder- fuck me harder, puppy–" He moans. You instantly grow hard and walk towards him. You unsheathe your hard length and jerk yourself off as he comes. "Ah~" He sighs happily, taking his fingers out and relaxing his body.

"Were you waiting for me?" You call out to him. He jumps in shock and turns his head to you. He glances at your cock before spreading his legs and presenting himself to you.

"Yeah, so hurry up and make up for lost time." He smirks. You quickly get onto the bed and slide your length inside him.

"Ye- yes!" He cries out in pleasure. "Pu- pull my hair~!" He orders, eyes rolling back as you do so. Kaeya grins as you fuck him stupid, ruining the eyeliner he'd forgotten to wash off. He loves how you fuck him so desperately, how you fuck him like he's the best you've ever had. You use your free hand to rub his clit, his body reacting positively to the feeling. He's already about to come again thanks to you. Kaeya shakes hard as he orgasms, squeezing your cock. "Ooh~!" He whimpers as you slow down, the slow but constant movements tickling his sensitive insides. You turn him onto his back and slide his shirt upwards, leaning over to lick his hardened nipples. Kaeya whines as you grope and suck on his chest, he's so sensitive that he might come again. "'S too much-" He shakes his head. He doesn't want to stop you but he can't deal with the stimulation.

You pull out and choose to jerk off instead, pumping yourself to the amazing sight of his tear stained face. "Gods, you're so fucking pretty.." You groan. Kaeya's cheeks grow hot, suddenly feeling like going another round thanks to your current expression. He loves the way you look at him. "Can I come on your pussy, Kae? Please?"

Kaeya bites his lip and nods. You soon spurt thick ropes of cum on his cunt. You wish you had a camera to take a picture of the current view presented to you, but you opt to clean him up instead.

[tiredenby98]

The Morning After(Cole Brookstone x Gender Neutral Reader)

Yippee another one shot! Somehow wrote this one in one sitting lol(and because of that I didn't really proofread).

Anyways warnings for this one shot: Suggestive themes

Reader wakes up after a night with Cole and panics. (As always requests are open!!)

I groaned, my body turning in the bed. I slowly pulled myself up into a sitting position yawning. I looked down, my eyes widening at my bare body. “What…?”

I grumbled and then sat up in realization as my eyes caught sight of the raven haired boy sleeping peacefully beside me. The events of the night before finally hit me and my face was burning as I scrambled to get up from the bed. “God, what have I done…?” 

I scold myself bitterly, searching desperately for my discarded clothes. Thankfully they weren’t too far off from the bed and scooped them up quickly. I throw them on, cursing as I struggle to pull the shirt over my head. “Where are you going…?” hummed a sleepy voice from behind me, causing me to freeze in my tracks.

Cole had woken up, his locks of hair disheveled and his bare chest on full display. I thanked the First Spinjitzu Master that his bottom half was covered by the comforter. He looks me over with a frown on his face, “Are you leaving?” 

“I was just uh…heading off to training!” I say lying through my teeth and laughing nervously.

He looks over at the clock on the bedside table and then raises an eyebrow at me “Training isn’t for another hour…What’s up with you?” 

He takes the blanket off and gets up walking towards me. 

My face goes red now that he is no longer covered “Nothing! I’m just uh…tired?” I offer with a forced smile. 

He is now standing before me looking me up and down and a smile creeps its way onto his face as he realizes something. “Oh my god are you embarrassed?” He lets out a loud laugh.

I scoff in defense, “No! Maybe…” I whisper the last part. 

His grin grows wider, snaking his arms around my waist. “Aw don’t be embarrassed hun…” 

He teases, arms giving me a small squeeze. I pushed him away slightly, “We were too impulsive…this was a bad idea.” I ramble, beginning to pace.

I can feel his eyes on me as I pace the room, “I mean what will the team think and oh god forget the team Master Wu will give us a whole lecture about relationships on the team-'' I bury my face in my hands and groan loudly. 

Cole sighs and walks over to me, “One the team doesn’t need to know and they won’t if we don’t say anything. And two…just ignore Master Wu, he’s an old man he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” 

I shake my head “This was a mistake…”

Upon hearing this Cole gives me an incredulous look before taking my face in his hands, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t regret it at all and I find it hard to believe that you do.”

I sigh heavily, leaning my face into his touch. “I’m sorry I’ve just never…done this before.” I mumbled out a bit embarrassed. 

He looks at me in surprise, his own face tinted red now. “Why didn’t you tell me that? If I had known it was your first time I would’ve- done better? I don’t know?!” He groans in frustration this time walking away from me and flopping down onto the bed.

I let out a laugh, of course out of everything this is what he was worried about. This brings a soft smile to my face and I take a seat next to him on the bed, his head turning to look at me. I look away, cheeks red. “You were really amazing if that helps…” 

“Really?” His eyes brighten a bit and his smile returns. 

I nod shyly and he throws his arms around me, tackling me down onto the bed. “Cole!” I yelp in surprise. 

He just smiles and kisses me all over my face. I laugh loudly, trying to push him off but failing. He finally ceases his attack and settles on just looking at me fondly, our bodies tangled up in the mess of blankets. We lay there for a bit and he pulled me closer, humming in thought. “You…you’re not sore are you…?” 

I paused, taken aback by the question. “Uh no I don’t think so…? I feel fine.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and nestles his head into the crook of my neck.

I craned my neck to look over at the clock noticing the time, shaking Cole slightly. “Cole we have like five minutes until training, we should get dressed.”

He groans into the crook of my neck. “Just a few more minutes.” He pleads. 

I’m about to protest when there’s a knock at the door, causing me to freeze.

“Cole, make sure you are out for training soon! Sensei will be pissed if you're not and I am not doing extra reps just because you slept in!!” Yelled an annoyed Jay from the other side of the door. 

Cole made eye contact with me and rolled his eyes, moving off of me. “Yeah yeah be out in a sec!” He yells back just as annoyed. 

“I’m holding you to that!” Jay yells again before leaving. 

Cole grumbles “He’s so goddamn annoying.” 

I smirk at him, “Told you we had to get up for training.”

He responds with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah yeah whatever.” 

Already half dressed it takes me a total of 10 seconds to pull on the rest of my clothes, Cole still trying to find his. “I’ll meet you out there.” I say giving him a quick kiss before heading off.